Mike nods.
“You have underpants on, big guy?”
Mike flushes, but nods again. He remembers putting them on before he left the house to go… to go to—
“Okay. It’s okay. We’re good.”
He’s breathing heavily, like he’s working himself up again.
“Hey.”
He looks at Sean, gaze skirting off as soon as he meets Sean’s eyes. It’s almost too much.
“Hey,” Sean says, and Mike can’t help but look back at him. “You with me?”
He’s not sure. He says, “Yeah,” and it’s hoarse, like his voice hasn’t been used in a long time.
Or like he’s been screaming.
There’s a brief fumble with the buttons, and Mike feels the backs of Sean’s fingers against the skin of his stomach. It’s just a brush, a barely there touch, but it grounds him further. The zipper is loud in all that quiet. It could be something sexual, something more. But it’s not. This isn’t physical; that’s not what Mike wants right now. It’s intimacy, simple and easy, and Mike doesn’t have this with anyone else. He doesn’t want it with anyone else. He knows he’s going to have to explain himself, knows how terrible it’s all going to sound. But he doesn’t want to lose this. These little moments where it’s just Mike and Sean and nothing else matters.
He lifts one leg at a time and Sean pulls the jeans down and tosses them to the side. He stands again, and Mike hasn’t felt this vulnerable since… well. He can’t remember the last time he felt this vulnerable, and that just adds to everything. Because he can’t remember, can’t remember anything before Amorea, and he knows that now. He doesn’t know where he came from. What kind of a life he had. Who his friends were. He remembers being in Amorea the first day, but nothing before that. There’s the distinct sense he came from somewhere, but when he tries to focus on it, it’s only known as Away. He came from Away to Amorea and found someone to love.
(There’s that part too, that small part that says, What about before? What if you loved then? What if you were loved in return? But he leaves that part alone because it’s dangerous and he doesn’t think he wants any part of it.)
Sean steers him gently to the bed, pulling back the ruffled sheet and comforter, and Mike sinks down onto it for the first time. It’s soft and warm and it smells like Sean and home. He’s scared, more scared than he’s been in a long time, but it’s better now. He lies on his side, facing the other side of the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sean coming round. He’s trying hard not to curl up in a little ball and pull the comforter over his head because he doesn’t want to worry Sean more than he already has. He may not know how he got here, but he knows why. He just wishes there were another way.
Sean climbs into bed beside him and lies on the pillow. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and then turns to his side, mirroring Mike. Their faces are close together, and their knees bump. Mike pulls the comforter up to their shoulders so they’re safe.
Mike can feel Sean’s breath on his face, they’re so close. Sean has this freckle, this little freckle on the bridge of his nose that’s always fascinated Mike. He doesn’t know why. It’s nothing extraordinary. Except maybe that it’s part of Sean, and everything about Sean fascinates Mike. Even when he was sure Sean was better off without him, better off with someone his own age, he’d been fascinated. He doesn’t know why it hit so hard, just that it did.
Sean reaches up between them and traces a finger over Mike’s eyebrows, the lightest of touches. Mike lets him, because he’d let him do anything. It’s just how he is. Ever since that first day, Mike hasn’t been the sole owner of his heart anymore. He knows that now, even if he didn’t understand it then.
“Better?” Sean whispers. There’s no one to overhear them (though Mike doesn’t know how true that is), but it seems fitting to do this as quietly as possible.
Mike shrugs. Then, “A little,” because Sean deserves the truth.
The fingers on his eyebrows brush over his forehead. The tip of his nose. His cheeks, his bottom lip. “Good.”
And then he falls silent.
Mike waits.
Sean doesn’t say anything else, just continues brushing a finger over Mike’s face.
He thinks that’ll be it. That they’ll let this go, that Sean doesn’t need to know what drove him here in the middle of the night. They’ll sleep, and in the morning, they’ll blush and stutter at each other, and it will be painfully sweet. Mike will pretend he’s not crazy and Sean will continue being the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
(Are you sure about that? the little part of him asks. How can you know? You only know three years. You don’t know anything more. For all you know, this is heaven. Or this is hell. Or They Came from Outer Space and now you’re on their ship, spinning in a vat of fluid as they experiment on you, and this is nothing but a dream. Or you’re just schizophrenic. And this is yet another delusion. Another hallucination. Wouldn’t that just be the bee’s knees if Sean weren’t even real?)
He can’t take the silence anymore. Not like this. Not now. Not with that thought barreling through his head.
He says, “You’re real?”
It’s a question. It’s not meant to be a question, but it is. It’s whispered softly, but it’s still a goddamn question.
Sean says, “I’m real.” No hesitation.
It’s a relief. “Yeah?”
Sean wrinkles his nose. “Yeah.”
And waits.
He’s not going to push. He’s not going to pull.
Mike’s a little angry at that, though he has no right to be. He lets it go as quickly as it rolls over him. He’s sure there’s something complicated going on with his face right now, but Sean’s trailing a finger over the shell of his ear and it distracts him.
He says, “I think I’m haunted.” And it’s not exactly what he meant to say, but it’s close. It’ll do. For now.
“Haunted,” Sean repeats.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Sean shrugs. “Okay.”
“But—”
“Mike. Listen.”
Mike does.
“I believe you.”
“But you don’t even know what I’m—”
A finger to his lips shushes him. “I believe it because you believe it.”
He doesn’t think it should work like that. He doesn’t know what he’s done to earn such blind trust. He doesn’t say anything as the finger falls away.
Sean’s eyes are locked with his, and Mike has to fight to not look away. “Now. Haunted.”
Mike nods.
“Real or in your head?”
And that’s… tricky. He says, “Both.”
“Okay. How?”
Mike tells him.
Tells him about the voices he’s started hearing. Tells him about the man at the end of his bed. Tells him about the birds and their great cloud. About Nadine the African Queen and the man she loved. He gets a little lost there because he doesn’t know her, and he can barely remember him (Oscar, Oscar, Oscar, fo sho, Mikey, let me tell you). He tells him about the morning that started all of this, that morning when he didn’t come into the diner, the morning he doesn’t remember how he got where he was. He talks about how he feels cracked and hollowed out, and doesn’t know what to do about it.
Through it all, Sean doesn’t look away. He doesn’t recoil in disgust or fear. He doesn’t tell Mike to leave. He doesn’t tell him he’s crazy.
Mike says, “Doc says it could be delusions. Paranoia. Paranoid schizophrenia. That it’s all in my head, that I could be making all of this up.”
Sean snorts. “One-way ticket to Crazytown?”
“The round-trip ticket was probably too expensive,” Mike mutters.
They stare at each other. Sean breaks first, a little breathless laugh that turns into a chuckle. It just crawls out of him until Mike can’t do anything but laugh too, and soon they’re clutchin
g each other, cackling as their foreheads press together. The vise around Mike’s heart slowly loosens, and yeah, he’s got Sean.
Eventually, the laughter fades. Sean reaches up and wipes the tears from Mike’s cheeks. He doesn’t know when he started crying, just that he did.
“So you trashed the diner,” Sean says.
“Yeah.”
“All the photos off the wall.”
“Most of them.”
“But you stopped when the ghost aliens came again.”
“Yeah.”
“Because you were strapped down and couldn’t move.”
“About right.”
“And you have memories of someone else hitting a woman after she attacks him with a big knife.”
“And pushes him through a window.”
“Right. Through the window.” Sean frowns. “And disappearing tattoos on your wrist for dates in 1915 and 1882.”
“Yeah.”
“And we’re on an island. Like in that book you read.”
“Or in a fishbowl.”
Sean frowns. “How’s that?”
“Everyone can see in while we’re trapped, swimming in circles.”
“Okay. I have to ask.”
And here it goes. Here’s where Sean tells him to get the hell out. Here’s where he finds out that he’s truly alone. “What?” Mike croaks.
Sean looks him straight in the eye and says, “Did you make all of this up to get out of going to the Harvest Festival with me?”
Mike gapes at him.
Sean cocks an eyebrow.
“No,” Mike says faintly.
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way.”
“What the hell.”
“Hush, big guy. I’m thinking.”
Mike hushes and lets him think.
“You’ll show this to me,” he finally says. “Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“The road to the mountains. It’ll start there. We’ll go. I’ll see what you saw. We’ll figure this out, okay?”
He thinks, I’m not alone. He believes me and I’m not alone.
“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Why now?” Sean asks. “Why can you remember all of this now? Why not before? Is it some Commie experiment? Like, they sealed off the town and are running tests?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or alien ghosts.”
“That’s not that funny,” Mike mutters.
“It sort of is. If you think about it.”
“I could be making this all up,” Mike says. “This could be all in my head. This could be insanity. This whole thing. These ghosts. These voices. These events. The people. You.” He’s choking again. “Sean, you might not be—”
Sean kisses him then. It’s hard and insistent and more teeth than any other time they’ve kissed. He presses his body against Mike’s, the long line of him warm. They fit like this too. Mike shouldn’t be surprised by how much, but they do. It’s chaste, and then it’s not because Sean rolls his hips against Mike’s. He gasps, and Sean’s tongue is against his. He’s clutching at Sean, desperately trying to move them together more. Sean’s tongue is in his mouth and he’s never had anything like this, nothing that he can remember. Sean’s panting against him and this is all Mike wants. This is all he’s ever wanted.
Sean gentles the kiss down. They’re both hard and they both know it, but Sean’s not pushing for more, and Mike’s not sure he can ask for anything more than he already has right now.
Sean sighs against his lips, and Mike can feel the just-for-Mike smile. It’s good, even better when it’s this close.
“That’s real,” Sean mumbles. “Okay? You and I are real. I don’t care if I have to tell you this every day for the rest of our lives. You and I are real and you and I will always be real. It doesn’t matter to me what happened before. It doesn’t matter to me what happens tomorrow. Just as long as right now, you know that I’m real. You’re real. We’re real. You get me, big guy?”
“I get you,” Mike says roughly. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” And, “It’s funny, though. And odd.”
“What is?”
“I can remember, Mike,” Sean says. “I can remember the day you came. I remember days before you. I remember my f-f-family. M-m-my p-parents. It’s—”
“Sean? Sean.”
It happens then. While he watches. He thinks it happened with Doc while sitting in his office. With Walter in the diner after the photos were on the ground. He thinks it is just like it was then. Sean’s eyes slowly slide unfocused. His mouth falls open slightly, and he exhales. He says, “I don’t… I can’t…,” and it looks like it’s hurting him. His mouth is twisting and he’s starting to tense. His jaw clenches. He chokes out, “Mike, Mike, it’s, I can’t, I won’t have this—”
And all Mike can do is hold on as Sean starts to seize, eyes rolling back up into his head, and he’s thinking, No, not him, not now, you can’t have him, you can’t have him, but Sean’s shaking. His legs are kicking the covers away and his head is jerking back and forth. Seconds ago, less than a minute, they’d been pressed together like this, and Mike’s lips are still spit-slick from it. Now he pulls Sean into his arms as Sean’s limbs skitter out of control, jerking against him. He’s worried Sean’s going to choke on his tongue, but before he can do anything about it, it’s over. Sean’s entire body goes rigid and he lets out this low grunt, and then he all but collapses against Mike.
Sean’s brow is sweaty when he presses it against Mike’s neck, but he’s breathing slow and even, and Mike thinks he’s either asleep or unconscious. He doesn’t know the difference. He doesn’t know that it matters.
He waits, though he knows what’s coming.
He waits as the hours pass.
The sky is getting its first hint of light when Sean’s alarm goes off at five. The diner opens at six.
Sean stirs in his arms. He’s yawning, eyes fluttering. He reaches out blindly and smacks the top of the alarm clock. The room falls silent.
Mike waits.
But he knows.
It’s only a few seconds later when Sean stiffens. His eyes snap open, wide and almost fearful. He rears his head back and says, “Who are you and what’re you doing in my—”
He stops.
Looks around.
Looks back at Mike.
His gaze softens. He says, “Mike?”
“Yeah?” Mike says.
“Hey,” he says. “Hey.” He lays his head down on the pillow, nose brushing against Mike’s. “When did you get here?”
Mike’s smile is a fragile thing, held together by the fiercely whispered promise that this was real, that this was all real. “Last night,” he says, and his voice is somehow calm. Somehow even. “I just… I needed….”
“Bad dream?” Sean traces his fingers over Mike’s eyebrow. It’s almost enough to cause Mike to burst into tears right there.
“Yeah,” he says.
“You should have woken me up when you got here,” Sean says. “First time I have you in my bed and I miss most of it.”
“Next time,” and it’s both a promise and a curse.
Sean cocks an eyebrow. “Sure of yourself, aren’t you, big guy?”
Mike laughs, though his heart is breaking. “I guess.”
Sean frowns, like he can hear everything Mike isn’t saying. “Hey. You okay?”
He thinks, No. No, I’m not. I’m alone. I’m alone in this. And that’s worse than insanity. I’m on an island and I’m alone.
He says, “Yeah.”
HE GOES home to shower and change.
Martin rubs against his legs.
He’s out the door and down the road.
The bell rings overhead as he walks into the diner.
Everyone seated raises a hand or calls out, “Morning, Mike!”
Calvin, Donald, and Happy salute him with their coffee mugs.
Walter’s behind the grill and tips his spatula toward Mike.
&
nbsp; Sean’s there behind the lunch counter. He winks and says, “Hey, big guy. Long time, no see.”
Like it’s a secret. Just between them.
The photographs, of course, hang from the walls, perfectly intact.
XVII
HE HASN’T given up.
He hasn’t.
It’s just that he doesn’t know what to do.
The Wednesday before the Harvest Festival, he takes Sean to the road leading out of Amorea, and Sean’s laughing at his side, saying, “Taking me for a walk, big guy?” Mike’s got a death grip on his hand, and he’s a little angry that this is happening, that he has to keep showing this shit to Sean and have it amount to nothing.
But here they are and maybe this one will stick. Maybe this one will open his eyes and let them stay open.
He says, “Do you trust me?”
Sean says, “Always.”
He says, “I’m going to show you something. Something you won’t understand. But I need you to see the truth.”
Sean grins at him. “You got a secret identity? You a Ruskie? A Red? A spy?”
“No.”
“A vampire, then.”
“No.”
The smile starts to fade. “Hey. It’s okay, Mike. You know you can tell me anything. You know that.”
Mike squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “I know.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay? You can tell me anything. You’re my best friend, Mike. My fella. My main man. We can do this together.”
Mike opens his eyes. Sean is watching him, looking concerned. “Your fella, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I like that.”
“I know you do. So do I.”
They start walking down the road again.
It takes only a few minutes before the pressure hits them, and everything around them distorts and bleeds together. There’s a roaring in his ears but he can still hear Sean saying, “Oh my god, what is this, oh my god, Mike, Mike,” and then it’s over. They’re through and facing Amorea from the opposite side of town from where they stood just seconds before.
Sean’s pale when he says, “What… what is…?” He takes a stuttering step forward. He inhales sharply. “Mike. It’s—”