#michael cliffordAU

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Dreaming Like Fools

Soulmates meet in dreams and they don’t always come when you want them, but they come right when you need them. 

Michael’s all sold on Odette but Odette has too much going on to be concerned with love quite yet. 

This one is for @5-secondsofcolor​ because without you, I don’t think I would’ve come back to this fic. Happy Birthday, love!!!

Enjoy my masterlist

***No one has my permission to repost with fic, including translations to any other site. © be-ready-when-i-say-go 2020***

CW: Mentions of Death, Blood, and Anxiety. Deals with major health concerns and major surgery. 

She’s falling, breathless, and unsure if her flailing limbs are actually helping her. This beats the running, though, from a shadowy figure. She couldn’t make out what it was, if it was someone in particular. But Odette will take the falling instead of the running. Running meant she had to make choices. Falling just means whatever happens happens and there’s not a thing to be done about it. Running means if she gets caught it’s her fault. Falling is just the grace of physics and a little bit of luck.

Miraculously, she lands on a park bench, in a part of town just up the road from her apartment. Across from her on the other side of the paved asphalt, as the echoes of runners coming and going filter around, is a man in a beanie. Part of his dirty blonde hair is casted over one eye. Neither one of them have words at first. Just gazing. They’re apart, but close enough that she takes is his green eyes and soft grin.

This is not happening to her. She remembers all the stories. The way her parents gushed about their first encounter. The awe and wonder they felt, how they knew they were soulmates for each other. Odette doesn’t buy the hype. Soulmates do not meet in dreams. It is such a ludicrous idea. No one could ever just shut their eyes and suddenly be faced to face with their soulmate. It would never work, she thinks. There would always be some mismatch or that they were falling in love with the idea of love, but not necessarily the full person in front of them.

The soulmate thing makes it all too easy and that makes her hesitant. Would this ever really work? Were people just so desperate to fit in that when it happened they let the delusion suck them in?

“I-uh, guess we’re soulmates?” he starts. He tugs at the end of sleeves, curling the excess fabric around his hands.

“I-I guess.” She can’t quite meet his eyes again. Unsure if this is actually happening to her or not. Her gut doesn’t flutter. Her heart isn’t racing. Everything people said would happen isn’t and she’s sure it’s just her subconscious playing tricks on her.

“What’s your name?”

“Odette. You?”

“Pretty name,” his grin is soft. “And I’m Michael.”

“Thanks.” There’s a lull in conversation. She’s never been great at the small talk and would always rather hide under a rock than deal with platitudes.

Michael just watches her, the way she keeps her gaze slightly averted, flicking back to him every so often. His palms are sweating beneath the fabric. He gets the nerves, the uncertainty of the whole ordeal. There’s no warning, no preview screen that counts down from ten. Michael is slightly positive he’s hallucinating too. Having gotten no sleep the night before and fitfully sleeping tonight, he wants to believe he’s making the whole thing up. But even if he is, it’s a nice dream to have, much better than the panic and anxiety that normally plagues him.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I-I’m not the greatest at talking. I just never know what to say.”

“It’s okay,” Michael offers. “Why don’t we start with something easy.”

Odette looks up. “Okay.”

His eyes twinkle as he tucks his legs underneath himself. As he ponders the subject to bring up, she takes another look at him. His bottom lip is so plump as he tucks it under his teeth. And for a second, she almost can’t believe the thought crossed her mind and she can feel her cheeks warming. “Do you think pineapple belongs on pizza?”

Michael has to laugh at the way her eyes widen, a rich dark brown color that contrasts to the amber hue of her skin. Her hair falls in ringlets around her head, some strands a light brown, others a honey gold. “It absolutely does not belong on pizza,” she retorts, her wide nose wrinkling at the thought.

Michael covers his chest with his hand. “Ouch, you wound me.”

“You’re kidding me?” Her laughter circles around and Michael closes his eyes just to let the sound settle into his ears with no further distractions. “That’s disgusting.”

“It is not. Have you ever had pineapple on pizza?”

“No, why would I ruin the savory of my pepperoni and sausage with the acidity of pineapple?” Odette is immensely grateful for the topic. It’s not anything about her, it’s nothing about all the shit that’s falling apart in her life. She can handle this.

“Pineapple is acidic, yes, but there’s a zest. Nothing quite like the little kick of sour to really make you savor all the rest of it the pizza.”

She shakes her head, curls gently brushing along her face. “You’re an absolute madman.”

Michael can’t help but grin, watching her. “There are many things I’ve been called in my life, a madman isn’t one of them.”

“I’m happy to be the first.” Though it starts out softly, she can hear the irksome buzzing of her alarm clock. “Sorry,” she offers, feeling herself pulled from the bench. Her arms are rising, the bench starts to fall out beneath her.

“Don’t be. It was nice to meet you, Odette.”

“Nice to meet you too, Michael.” He gives a small wave, watching as the last of the park around them filters out of existence. Her body starts to flicker too. Her wave in return is short and when Odette blinks, she’s staring up at the white of her ceiling. She can hear the creaking steps of her upstairs neighbor. She can hear the piercing cries of the baby across from her too. Music thumps against her windows. It’s just freshly seven in the morning and she knows that her day is full already.

It takes all her might to pull out of bed and Odette blinks again, watching herself in the full length mirror. It’s clear with the streaks of sunlight that in the few days since she last cleaned it, dust would always find its way back to the glass surface. With a huff, she pushes off the bed and pads softly into the kitchen. She can hear the clinking of pots. “Momma if you don’t sit down,” she grumbles.

“I am not the child here,” her mother retorts. Odette only stares. There is a ghostlike hue taking over her mother’s complexion. They look more like twins than mother and daughter, but right now as her mother grips onto the back of the kitchen chairs, it’s clear that no matter age, something is still very wrong.

“Just go to Urgent Care, please, Momma,” Odette urges. She hurries into the kitchen, to aid her mother in settling down in the creaky wooden chair. It’s losing its paint, the mint hue cracking and showing the wooden brown roots.

“I’m fine,” her mother retorts, fingers pressing into her temples. “It’s just the lights.”

“You can’t go to work like this.” Odette knows she’s been out of work for the week because of the migraine but it isn’t improving. Now, the addition of how faint her mother looks. Odette worries. Waiting too much longer for something to happen is only going to cause more damage in the long run.

“I’ve been out of work a week. Who’s gonna pay rent?”

It’s in moments like this that Odette wished she weren’t the only child. That someone else was there to bear the brunt of her mother’s wrath. As her mother shouts into the air about bills to be paid, and grocery to get, Odette silently flips over the pancakes. There is nothing to be said. Nothing that will soothe her mother’s anger, not even the hums of acknowledgement that always threaten to scratch over her voice.

As the eggs fluff under the constant scrape of the fork, Odette is shocked that there’s not more anger. There’s usually a whole breakfast full of her mother’s sadness. Turning her gaze, she spies her mother, head hanging on her neck towards her chest. “I’m sorry, baby,” her mother mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”

Odette assembles the pancakes and eggs, along with her mother’s morning smoothie in front of her. She presses a kiss to her mother’s forehead. Her lips can’t form the phrase, ‘It’s okay’ or even ‘I understand.’ Instead, she prepares her own plate and eats it near the sink, leaning up against the knobs of the cabinets and into the counter. “You shouldn’t go to work not until you go see a doctor. You’re not getting any better.”

“Someone has to take care of us,” her mother objects softly.

“Like my two jobs don’t mean shit, huh?”

Her mother’s glare is sharp and fierce as it lands on Odette. Odette meets the gaze with a blink. She knows she’s playing with fire. She knows that they are on the verge of breaking down. The walls of their life have been beaten in a storm breeze and they are rattling but the both of them try to keep up appearances. But she’s tired, tired of always tip toeing around. “Watch your language around me.”

There’s still nothing in the way of an apology, no sympathetic downturn of her eyes. No averted gaze. Just the continued blank look and pouty lips as Odette polishes off the last of her pancakes. She wonders if it’s going to take her mother dropping dead too for things to finally click. If she ever wanted to know where she got the stubbornness from, the proof was surely looking her in the face.

Odette washes her plate, waiting for the clink of her mother’s dishes against the counter. “If I go to Urgent Care, they’re gonna send me home. Tell me to rest.”

“Or they might be able to tell you what is going on. Or they refer you to a clinic.”

“And then we’re swimming in medical bills.”

“Then we’re just swimming,” Odette replies. When she turns, her mother’s plate is clear thankfully. So she picks it up, dumping it into the soapy water. “Swimming is better than you in continuous pain, Momma.”

It’s a losing battle. And it always will be, if the last year and a half of Odette and her mother butting heads is any indication. Odette finishes cleaning the kitchen, stacking dishes in the rack to dry while they’re gone for the day. It’s as she pulls the plug on the drain, watching it all swirl down that Odette wonders if one more push, one more attempt to speak reason with her mother is worth it. She never quite gets the chance before the front door opens. “Love you. Have a great day,” her mother calls.

“Love you too.” The door closes, the soft clink of keys on the ring shakes as the lock turns.

Her mother shouts from the other side of the door, “Turn down the goddamn music!” Odette strongly believes it’s not heard over the crooning vocals of Luther Vandross of a thousand kisses never being too much.

************************

Michael doesn’t want to call himself a dreamer. Though his track record has proven otherwise. It’s the only way for him to take off in this band, to drop everything and lean into the naivety of youth. But Michael doesn’t really want to call himself a dreamer, though the entirety of his day is spent trying to reconjure Odette. The soft curl of her lips when she smiled. While he was a little hurt at her hard fast stance against pineapple on pizza, he wanted to hear more about the way she viewed the world. From the very brief interaction, Michael was sure she was chalked full of interesting perspectives.

And he really does not want to call himself a dreamer. But it’s obvious as he gets dressed and makes the drive to the studio that maybe his head is a little in the clouds. Normally, there’s not much thought into his attire, but for the briefest of moments he wonders if the all black and baggy attire would turn her off. Does she like more vibrant colors? The thought doesn’t linger long before he realizes he has to get out the door if he’s going to make it on time. L.A. traffic is unforgiving and the last thing he needs is to be late again this week.

“Someone got laid last night.” That’s the first thing out of Ashton’s mouth upon seeing Michael.

Normally, Michael would smirk, maybe even laugh but hold the details close to his chest. At least for the moment anyway. But all Michael can do at the moment is blush, biting at his lip to attempt to suppress the smile. It's futile and the grin cracks, lifting his cheeks and reaching his eyes. “So, I’m like, eighty percent sure my soulmate was revealed to me last night.”

The boys cheer, gently patting him on his back. “Tell us about the lucky one,” Calum encourages, his arm slung around Michael’s shoulders. In an endearing and slightly subverted way, Michael feels like the younger brother under his older brother’s wing. But it’s nice for just a moment to know that no matter what that support is still there.

“I really don’t know a lot. We only met briefly before she had to go. Just her name. And that she does not like pineapple on pizza.” Michael’s not sure how, but he wishes he could convey the way her nose scrunched up at the thought, the disgust that curled her lips down into a frown. The words escape him just at the thought of Odette’s face.

“Gonna be love sick for a while,” Luke teases. He’s been down this road before. Ashton has too. Both of them have made it seem easy and though for them, it worked out well that both their soulmates live in the area.

Michael and Calum had a running joke that they were the late bloomers in all matters of love. Not that they hadn’t attempted to speed the progress along. Both of them have a treasure trove of stories of relationships and dates that all wound up going nowhere fast. But the two of them were sticking it out for the long haul on being the last two in the group to get their love lives straightened out. Soulmates were said to be revealed when the people needed them. Not just when they wanted love. The cosmos always had a formula, always knew what was coming ahead.

“Sorry to leave ya hanging, mate.” Michael gives a small sympathetic smile. Their day’s a little slow to start, as Luke clutches his first cup of tea for the day.

Calum shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He makes note not to remark on how he doesn’t remember many of his dreams anyway. He liked to think there was a chance he had run into his soulmate but just didn’t remember. Now he would be quested with finding them again, the old fashion way. It is something he tried to find solace in, albeit it is dark and morbid.

“Have you made plans yet to meet her?”

“No, not yet.” The group of them walk down to their booth. Luke and Ashton are huddled together chatting away about something, sounds like it’s about the voice notes that Luke has on his phone. “It was actually kind of a short encounter. By the time I was able to get like two sentences out of her, her alarm went off.”

“There’s always next time, mate,” Calum encourages. He nudges Michael’s shoulder again, a sly grin lifting his cheeks.

Michael’s slight laughter comes out in a squeal and with a twinge of indignation. “That’s that look for!”

“Just happy for you; that’s all.”

“That is not the look of someone happy for someone else. But if you say so.”

“What’s her name?”

“Odette.”

There’s a thoughtful pause as Calum nods, repeating the name aloud. “Definitely not a name I’ve heard before. But judging by the way your cheeks are red, you’re smitten already.”

“Am not!” Michael retorts. He knew he could feel the heat in his cheeks and he knew that even though his drive wasn’t terribly long, he passed the time wondering how much of a fight Odette would put up about who controls music. If she’d scramble to eat breakfast in the car as she went about her day, or did she plan enough time in the morning so enjoy it and not rush. Sure, this was all insane to think about, but Michael couldn’t risk anyone else knowing that he did.

Though, there was no real risk at all. Not with the guys. Luke had shared more about his love life and the challenges when he first found his soulmate. Ashton had always been a little reserved about that, but wasn’t opposed to dropping advice whenever someone needed it. So that always left Michael and Calum wondering, maybe even conjuring up more than what was really to be expected. However, that did not stop and could not stop Michael from envisioning the little things with Odette.

Calum’s laughter isn’t loud but the flickering silence of his choked inhales between his giggly exhales alerts Michael that maybe he is not as good as he wanted to be about hiding just how far down the rabbit hole he was going. Things are going to be rough for the next few days, Michael can already tell.

Micheal’s not sure how he finds it so easy to sleep. The normal battle to sleep consists of the fatigue weighing down his eyes but his mind usually finds something to cling onto. Whether it be conscious or subscious, it always lies with him, chattering in his ears. But tonight, tonight is wholly different. Michael climbs into bed, his Netflix already loaded up with anything to attempt to silence the stress. But as he curls up in his sheets, arms cradling one pillow to his head and chest, his eyes manage to flutter. He’s not even ten minutes into the show and everything about sleep is calling out to him.

He’s not sure at first what is happening. There’s a faint roar of a crowd, just a generalized cheering. And soon it comes in closer to his ears. The area around him is mostly dark with a flickering of light. Should he go towards it? There has to be something said about him walking towards the light. And it’s not completely favorable to him either. But maybe just on the other side there’s something. So his feet carry him while his mind tells him he maybe should turn around now before he gets too far down and can’t get back out.

As the light washes over him, he finds himself in a crowd. The faces aren’t too familiar to him. They bustle by without actually touching him. As if he was not actually real standing there. He’s not sure what he’s meant to be doing here, but he carries on, upstream through the throngs of people. And there, just a head is a gate. He can see patches of green, hear the rattle of basketballs bouncing off backboards.

Michael pushes his way up, holding onto the metal of the gate to keep him stronger than the current and when he steps through, it all falls away. It’s just him. In the park. The same benches from before are off to his left and he wanders over. What will he and Odette discuss tonight? Maybe he should ask if she likes hot sauce on her eggs? Or if sugar belongs in spaghetti?

Michael settles in, legs tucked up underneath of him. Every creak of the gate has him lifting his head. At first it’s just the wind. And sooner rather than later, Michael knows he’s willing the door to creak. He wants to hear it so he does hear it. But there never is anyone. There never is a body that floats in to join him that night.

************

Her mother laughs, before turning her head to look at Odette. The intercom comes on again, another droning voice that’s attempting to convey the urgency of the message without causing a ruckus in the middle of the hospital. Odette’s beginning to hate the sound of the machine tracking her mother’s heartbeat. “Maybe I should’ve listened to you.”

Odette wants to say something. Anything. Instead, she stares at the white floor, watching as harsh fluorescent lights reflect off it into her irises. When the call came in at the front end of the store, with several folks in line and Odette trying to clear them out as her supervisor tried to explain to a customer that the return policy was firmly in place, it almost went unanswered. But the assistant store manager had finally come to help her front end supervisor and answered the ringing phone. It forced one of the floor associates to come up and ring while Odette took her call. Leaving in the middle of a customer tirade and a forever growing line would’ve originally scared Odette. It would’ve made her worried that she wouldn’t have a job.

However, after a few years, and now being the only family her mother has left, the last thing she thought about was her job. The first thing she hoped for was that there were no cops on the road to catch her speeding. During the entire drive, her blood thumped in her veins. She felt the ones in her neck vibrating. The only thing she thought: Not her too. She could not lose her mother, not now. Not after just losing her father. She wouldn’t have it. Even if the universe was trying to kill her slowly, she would fight back. Thankfully, when she arrived at her mother’s job at the grocery store not too far from her department store, her mother was still conscious. But barely able to really walk or stand for any extended period of time.

“You have to say something. Not even swearing at your mother.”

“What do you want me to say? I told you so?”

“Something, I just want you to say something.”

But Odette had nothing to say. Truth be told, she is more worried that this could’ve been the end of the mother. The doctors ran some test, counted her hemoglobin. They told Odette, outside with the flimsy curtain between her and her mother, that it’s a miracle her mother was still alive. She had lost nearly two-thirds of the blood in her body. That her mother’s period hadn’t stopped. They’d have to do some ultrasounds too, to see what exactly was going on. The hospital would try to contact her OB/GYN in the morning to confer with them. None of the doctors were sure how her mother managed to get through any amount of time during her shift or how her mother wasn’t unconscious when she brought her in. But yet, her mother was still, against all the odds as conscious as ever.

Maybe, in a twisted way, her mother being unconscious would’ve hopefully scared her mother some more. Right now, they are in hour two of the noted four for the blood to be brought to the hospital. Because this one is so small, they don’t keep things like blood on site and had to order it to be delivered. Once they got all the bags, it would be another six hours before the transfusion would be over.

“It’s bad when you’re quiet,” her mother continues. “I mean, you’ve always been a quiet girl. But you’re too quiet right now.”

“I told you to go to the doctors sooner. But Dad was right. You’d be stubborn until they put you into the ground too.”

“There it is. There’s the little firecracker I raised up.”

Odette slides down even further into the chair. Her stomach growls and she swears it’s at her back, attempting to take in her spine and nerves as nutrients. But she can’t leave her mother. She has no one else to call to even sneak her a snack. There’s a vending machine. She noticed it when she was trying not to panic as they rushed her mother into a room. “Do you want a snack?”

“No, no, I’m okay.”

Odette tiptoes out into the hallway, bouncing the change in her hands. Nurses breeze past her. There is more for them to worry about. More people behind curtains and in rooms that cling to threads of hope. That’s the only thing around her right now, threads of hope. And maybe the fraying strings of her work jeans at her thighs. That’s less of a worry though. At the front of the machine, she glances over the bright packages. There’s Oreos. And honeybuns. None of it will be filling, but at this moment, she needs something to get her through the night, allow her to keep her head on straight.

As Odette rubs her fingers clear of Oreo crumbs, she wonders just how vicious blood must be, as it slugs down the tubes and into her mother’s IV. The bags are a little shadowy, as if trying to hide their contents but not fully committing to it. She doesn’t check her phone for the time. Her eyelids tell her it’s probably too early in the morning of the next day. She can feel them wanting to shut on her, but she keeps them open. She’ll have to call her job. Tell them she won’t be able to come in for the next couple of days.

“Sleep. We’re gonna be here all night anyway.”

“Cookie?” Odette offers, trying to swallow down the bite to tell her mother that she can’t sleep, she shouldn’t sleep. The last time Odette took her eyes off her mother, they wound up in a hospital bed.

“Why not?” She raises a hand as Odette leans up, extending the bag to her mother’s waiting fingers.

The room swells again, more doctors, more machines and Odette slips out of the way, tries to bury herself in the corner for the time being. Now she wishes the heartbeats were louder as the doctor explains, “Your uterus looks what would be the size of someone carrying at three to four months. Which is not good at all. With the way you’ve talked about your cycle and flow, I’m going to have to say a partial hysterectomy is your only option at this point. There are flash procedures but I don’t think they’d be effective at this stage. Not if you’re losing blood like this. Have you had issues with your cycle before?”

“Nothing that seemed too bad. Flow was getting heavier, I noticed. I wasn’t sure what it was. But I don’t--”

Odette steps in, resting a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “This is about your life.” Her mother will riot, complaining about how their insurance probably won’t cover nearly enough for the surgery. Her mother nods.

Odette feels herself slipping, head falling on her neck. The doctor left and her mother held her peace, thankfully about the surgery. There are no more Oreos to share. There are no more silences to hold. Just her mother in the bed. Odette in the chair, head sliding on her neck. And it’s the drop, when the sliding is finished and there’s nothing left to catch her head, so it drops--that’s what wakes her. The mostly still see through bag of blood is still hanging, still letting gravity pull it down and travel up the IV. A nurse shuffles into the room, taking vitals, her voice low but somehow a bit more chipper for it to be whatever time it is. Odette finally looks at her phone. It’s nearly 6 am.

She’s not sure how much she’s actually slept. It feels like nothing at all. It could be because she kept waking, kept cracking open her eyes to verify it was all just a bad dream. But bad dreams don’t beep like this in real life. They don’t leave her phone at less than twenty percent left in the charge. The doctor comes back in again. “You’ll be hearing from us tomorrow, about a date and time for your surgery. It’s marked as an emergency because we need you sooner rather than later.”

It’s only in the car, when Odette slides into the driver seat after getting her mother settled, that her mother raises hell. “How are we supposed to work this out? How? How?”

The tears come. She can hear them in her mother’s voice. She can feel them stinging her own eyes. But she has the road to watch out for. She has traffic lights to stop at. There are no times for tears. The drive’s somewhere between silent and painfully full of noise. Just white noise, the kind of noise that doesn’t need to be sounded out but it’s buzzing just below the surface. Odette white knuckles her steering wheel, trying to keep her mother’s tears and her own worries from climbing up her throat. At least, not right now.

Her mother is slow as she ascends the stairs of their apartment complex. And she barely gets through a shower before Odette tucks her into her sheets. And only then, when the door to the apartment is closed does Odette let the vicious sob through her chest. It’s not fair, it’s not fair. It’s just not fucking fair. She lost one parent. She cannot lose another one. Her neighbors may bitch but she doesn’t care. Her mother needs the rest. She needs the release. So Odette doubles over in front of their apartment, heaving into the creaky wood, and somewhere in the prickle of the tears and sticky mess of snot she thinks she didn’t even get to see Michael. Not that she slept that long or that deeply. Not that she wanted to rely on him, not that she really thought he was real. But a part of her wanted that too, wanted a glimmer of hope to hold onto.

**************

“I don’t like this,” Michael says, hooking his teeth into his nonexistent thumb nail. “Was she real even at all?”

“Look, the girls are on it. She was real,” Calum returns. Michael paces in front of him. The sun is high. The afternoon is warm, but not unbearable thankfully. It’s been five days since the last time Michael saw Odette. Calum’s doing his best to keep Michael preoccupied. It’s hard because at every pause, even if it’s between trying on shoes, or while Michael contemplates which headset he should get or while the console countdown for their new match, Michael ponders Odette. If she’s okay, if she was real. The what if’s keep getting grander, more involved, more terrifying in some ways. It reached a point where Calum begged Luke and Ashton’s girls to do some digging, see if any Odette’s matching Michael’s description popped up anywhere.

Granted, their investigations only began fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t have a last name so Calum’s sure it’s a lot of eliminating grandmothers and aunts from Instagram, Twitter, and FaceBook. “You’re going to wear a whole in my concrete. And I really didn’t think that would be possible,” Calum returns, waving for Michael to take a seat. Even if it’s only for three seconds before he pops back up again.

“I’m sorry. I’m probably bugging the shit out of you with this.” The cushion gives enough but the weaved wicker supports Michael’s back as he leans into it.

“You’ve bugged me about way less.”

“Do you think--”

“No,” Calum answers, already knowing the question before it’s finished. “You’re not crazy. You’re just concerned.”

“I mean, like, just a little bit right? For panicking like this. I mean, maybe she’s not even my soulmate. She hasn’t shown up again since then.”

“I hate to break it to ya, mate. But we’ve all got lives. They get a little bonkers. Maybe she’s just tied up right now.”

“I hope they find something. I think I could literally go insane, right about now. If I haven’t gone insane already.”

There’s nothing Calum can say that will make Michael understand that part of his concern is rational. A portion of that concern just shows that Michael cares. Instead Calum offers more distractions. Rounds of Rocket League while they wait for their lunch to arrive and attempt not to look at their phones for any signs of life from the girls about any signs of Odette. It works for the time being but Michael’s worry holds down his shoulders. He curls up on Calum’s couch, an arm wrapped around Duke’s body, the other under his head, and tries not to think about if he fell asleep right now if he’d run into Odette again.

“I’m only allowing the dog cuddles now. But any other time, I’d fight,” Calum teases, lifting his heels to the edge of the coffee table. Their boxes of take out have been trashed already but the bottles and cans still linger on the wood. Their last match didn’t end spectacularly, but they were only down by one goal. Maybe the edge of Rocket League has run its course. “FIFA?”

Michael shrugs, not moving from his fetal position. His feet pressing into the arm of the couch. His head a cushion away from Calum-- it’s how he managed to scope up Duke. Calum says nothing, arms folded in front of his chest. Michael takes his fingers from Duke’s fur and pushes up. His phone rests near his bottle of water. “Don’t you dare,” Calum retorts.

“Just, like not even for Twitter?”

“If you go to Twitter, you’re going to go to the group chat. If you go there and there’s nothing there, you’re gonna be even sadder. I know you.”

Michael doesn’t want to admit that Calum is right but he knows he can’t win in a fight either. So he falls back into the cushion. “I’m just gonna take a nap then. Since I apparently can’t do anything else.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Even though they laugh into the quiet hum of Calum’s house, Calum still worries. It’s the middle of the day. They have no clue what she does for work, so if she's sleeping now or not is really a shot in the dark. His own phone hasn’t chimed with signs of anything from the group chat. He can’t tell Michael to never sleep, to never shut his eyes if he manages to get proper and good rest, knowing how much sleep evades Michael on a normal basis. Maybe it’s irrational to hope for Michael to find her in his dreams right now. It’s really all they have. It’s all Michael has. So even if it’s crazy, Calum watches Michael for a second with the briefest prayer to the universe that Michael finds her on the other side just for peace of mind.

There’s no crowd for Michael this time. He spots the metal gates. He hears the creaks of the backboard, the bounce of basketballs on the concrete and he struts right towards it. He can see his bright pink sneakers in his peripheral vision under his body, carrying him towards the grass and concrete and wooden benches. This is how it’s gone for the last five days. Him walking right up the gates, settling onto the park bench and just...waiting. He waits with knees bouncing, and dragging his hands over his face.

But this time, as he nears, he spies the ringlet curls. The dark brown hair. Her amber skin. “Odette,” he whispers.

There’s no way she should’ve heard it. But her head snaps up and he can see her red eyes. He jogs over, sliding onto the bench next to her, taking her hands into his. “I tried pineapple on pizza,” she confesses. Her voice is hoarse and he wants to ask what happened, where she’s been. But he’s more shocked that she’s right in front of him, that she remembered their first conversation. “I still stand firm that it does not belong on pizza. But it’s good on pizza. There’s a huge difference.”

Besides himself, Michael chuckles. “You can fight me. It does belong on pizza. It has a rightful spot amongst, cheese, veggie and pepperoni pizzas.”

“There’s a reason that speciality pizzas exist.” She unravels his hold of his right hand, but threads her fingers through his left one. “I guess this is a real thing.”

“I absolutely lost my shit not seeing you for five days. Is everything okay?”

There’s a simple headshake, her hair bouncing with the movement. “No.” It’s just one word. But it falls from her lips in a whisper and she doesn’t look up at him. Her broken voice hits Michael in his chest. It almost feels like someone’s reached into his body and snatched his lungs from him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he returns, waiting for his brain to figure out the next step. Does he comfort her? And if he does, how?

“I just want a break,” she says, lifting her head and looking out, where the empty bench is across from them. “I just want a goddamn break.”

“Where are you right now? I could come by, drop you off some food if you want. Or whatever you need.”

“It’s okay. Thanks, though.” She just sits, silently watching out. Her fingers brush over his and Michael tries not to think how perfect her palm feels against his. He tries not to think too much how she kind of slides into him, the way she presses into his side.

“You sure? I wouldn’t mind.” Yeah, and he wouldn’t mind maybe seeing her in person, just so he could lay his real eyes on hers and know without a shadow of any doubt that she was real.

“I appreciate it.” Silence settles around them as they lean into each other, hands and fingers intertwined. Michael’s not sure what to say, what he can do. So he just sits, holding her hand. Maybe it’ll be their thing. Like no matter how bad it gets, no matter what’s going on in the world all they have to do is just reach out and take each other’s hand.

Michael wouldn’t be able to tell anyone one the silence breaks and when he’s left that park bench and finally finds himself face first into Duke’s fur again. When his eyes open, though it’s bleary, he can see the TV flashing, players running across the field. Calum’s up a goal. He hums, before pushing himself up, head falling into the back cushions. “Ah, he lives. I was worried there for a second.”

“Shockingly,” Michael replies with a small tuft of laughter. “I saw Odette.”

Calum glances away from the screen, to see the half smile on Michael’s face but it’s quickly clouded yet again with concern. “How is she?”

“Not good. We just sat there really.” Michael runs a hand over his face, partially to wake himself up. In part to hide and even suppress the hot flash of worry that rises on his cheeks.

“She tell you what’s wrong?”

Michael is quiet. Duke’s paws as he climbs down the sofa and over the hardwood floor to his water and the clicking of the controller under Calum’s thumbs and fingers are the only real sound for a moment. Michael exhales. “No, she didn’t tell me anything.”

Calum knows that tone, the frustration that bleeds into it. “The girls have posted what they found in the groupchat.”

Michael surges forward. His bottle of water, only a fourth full, wobbles at the weight slammed into the table. Michael, holding himself up mostly by his elbows, unlocks his phone and finds the thread. Your girl hides herself pretty well. But here’s what we found. The next few texts are links: one to Instagram and the other to a FaceBook page.

“She is real,” he sighs, after the page loads. Calum pauses his game, taking a gander at Michael’s phone too. The pages are private, but the profile picture is very clearly Odette to Michael. There’s no doubt about it.

***********

I hope you don’t think this is too strange. I just wanted to reach out. Let you know that if you need anything at all, someone just to sit with IRL I’ll be there. Take care.

Odette saw the message the second it came in, while sitting alone in the waiting area on the second floor of the hospital. Her mother’s overnight sitting between her feet. Michael. She wasn’t even shocked that he managed to find her on social media. Anyone with half an hour to kill could do it. But this message makes things even more real. It’s not just some guy that appeared out of nowhere in her dreams. It was a guy in a band. A successful one, she would give him that. But a band, with enough traction that would just cause her more panic than good. If she allowed herself just two seconds, if she let her think about what could be, she knew it would have it’s own challenges. She’d have to navigate the limelight, the prying eyes. She doesn’t like anyone in her business as it is

Timing is terrible, she concludes. Even if she wanted to pursue anything with Michael, she still had her mother’s health in near shambles and that would take precedence over everything else. The message sits behind the locked phone and two swipes and a tap. It’s been six hours now. Her mother now settled into her room. She’s woken up once or twice, mostly with a soft hum, but nothing major to say. Odettee sits curled up in the chair, watching the machines, the TV above their heads plays the news.

I appreciate it Michael. Everything’s kind of crumbled right now. I’m sorry if I’m hard to reach. Thanks again.

Her phone doesn’t even sit face down for longer than a few seconds before it shakes again. Another message. I understand. Just want to help. His icon pops up again with another message beneath it. I know it sounds crazy but I just really care. I’ll do whatever I can.

She closes her eyes, tears stirring behind her eyes. It’s not even Michael’s message. It’s the goddamn hospital. Her father in surgery, her mother in the ER, her mother in surgery. She hates this place. It makes her stomach twist up. She always thinks she’s going to be sick when she catches a whiff of stale sterilization and white walls. She hates it here. She hates her mother having to be here. She hates that her father took his last breaths but they couldn’t be there. They couldn’t comfort him.

And there’s no one else. There’s no one else to take her place. There’s no one else to take this burden from her. “Don’t cry.”

Odette wipes her face with the backs of her wrist. “Rest, Momma. You need it.”

Her mother hums, turning her head into the pillow again and within a few seconds, she can tell sleep has overtaken her. Her mother’s face is not her own. The carbon dioxide is still bloating her mother’s cheeks. It was needed to increase visibility but now Odette’s sure if she were to take a finger and poke a cheek, her face would just deflate. Her mother would just flatten and disappear into the sheets.

She covers her face with her hands. She enjoyed sitting with Michael. He didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t press her. But she didn’t have time for love. She didn’t want to become her mother. If her father was still alive, her mother wouldn’t have thought twice about going to the doctor’s sooner. Odette didn’t understand. Her mother was stubborn. When things looked like they could get worse, when everyone else was warning to just cut ties, her mother would hunker down and see things all the way through, even if it was to a bitter end. However, when it came to her father, there was hardly a fight. If her father said jump, her mother hardly asked how high before pushing her body up into the air. They were somewhere between individual people and magnets. One of them was never too far without the other.

Now her mother is just running herself down. Taking more and more shifts at work. Hardly sleeping. Hardly paying attention to her health. If Odette didn’t know her mother better, she could’ve almost thought that she was doing it on purpose. Of course, there were easy excuses to cast blame on: they still had expenses from her father to take care of, rent to pay, Odette’s student loans. She hadn’t even gotten the break she thought she would with her art degree.

With one less income coming into the house, her father hadn’t retired yet and while his insurance policy covered most of the funeral expenses, it just seemed to be a sinking ship. And Odette wouldn’t let herself get off one and into another one. She wouldn’t let herself be so dependent on someone. At the end of the day, she still had to be able to take care of herself if something went wrong. She doesn’t want to turn into her mother. It seemed so cliche. Everyone fears turning out like their parents. But to lose oneself, to become so intertwined with one other person that the thought of losing them seemed far worse than death honestly scared Odette.

But there’s Michael. There is Michael, creeping into her thoughts whenever she thinks her boat might actually hit rock bottom. She’ll admit it’s nice. She doesn’t have to worry about anything. She doesn’t have to be her mother’s only provider for those quiet moments. He just wants to help, but there was no way he really wanted to get involved with her and her mess. Not when he could have the pick of the litter. Not when no doubt had his own crazy life to handle, though. Michael would be better off on his own ship. Not with her adding weight to it.

She doesn’t see Michael that night. She hadn’t really expected too with how fitful her sleep is. Every hour or so she wakes, checking that her mother is still there, that she hadn’t slept through any emergency. When the doctor’s come in the morning, it’s all smiles. They clear her mother.

“You look tired,” her mother comments. “Have you been sleeping?”

“No.”

“You need to sleep.”

Odette laughs dryly-one tuft of laughter-, pausing as the traffic clears before crossing the intersection and starting north towards their apartment. “I know.”

“Rest once we get home. I’ll fix us baked ziti.”

“That goes against every instruction the doctors gave you.”

“I’m fine now.”

“You’re getting home and you’re lying down.”

“Who’s the parent here?”

“Right now, it doesn’t matter. You’re still recovering, Momma.” It feels like talking to a toddler. Her mother doesn’t want to give up the control that she has. But if she doesn’t listen, it’ll cause more problems than before.

The first two days go well. Her mother does make light jokes of Odette’s cooking but they both know Odette learned from her. Odette stares at her ceiling, waiting for the alarm to go off, wondering if she should just see how Michael is doing. The mornings are really the only part of the day she has to herself. At night, when her head hits the pillow, she thinks too much about everything going wrong. Sleep’s always kind of evaded her, but now, it feels tenfold.

Take care. Michael sends it with almost every message. They finally exchanged numbers. He must mean it well, must mean it like, don’t forget about yourself. But Odette’s only swimming and swimming and sometimes she is sinking. She’s not sure when she can take care of herself. But she likes to escape from her real life bullshit by drawing. She’s started taking commissions since she’s been out of work for a week and will be out for at least another one. And sometimes, she lets herself daydream about Michael. Not often and not for long. Because there is always food to cook, dishes to clean, bills to hide from her mother.

There’s a clatter. The distinct sound of metal hitting the floor and filling their house with the tinny and high sounds. Odette flies out of her bed, heart racing. Please let her be okay, Odette chants to herself, throwing open her door and not bothering with putting on pants. And there, in the kitchen, is her mother standing at the sink with a pan on the floor. “Momma.” It’s a warning, soft and a small part of the disappointment dripping into the word.

“Don’t Momma me. Just pick it up please.”

“You have to take it easy.” The pan is returned to the sink, awaiting another scrub.

“I just wanted pancakes, that’s all.”

“I can make you as many pancakes as you want, you know.”

“I’m not old! I’m perfectly capable!” The kitchen echoes with the frustrated shouts of her mother.

Odette, still facing the sink, wishes she could just disappear. “Momma, I’m not saying you’re not.”

“Then just let me make myself pancakes!”

“The doctors told you you’d have to take it easy for a few days. Just relax and I’ll make them.”

“Making pancakes is not going to kill me.”

“No, but you hemorrhaging will. You bleeding out at work or making yourself some fucking pancakes in your kitchen will if you don’t just sit down for a second!” Odette pushes off the counter, facing her mother. The tears are blurring her vision and if she weren’t such a goddamn angry crier, she’d be able to seethe. She could show her mother just how fed up she is. “I don’t know what you want. Do you want kill yourself? Is that what you’re trying to do? Do you miss Dad? What is it?”

The two women stare at each other. Odette feels her arms shaking. Her stomach trembles. She doesn’t know what else to do to help her mother. “He’s just gone,” her mother sobs. It’s the first time outside of the funeral that her mother’s cried in front of her. “That morning I was kissing him, telling him to have a great day and that night he was just gone.”

“He is,” she agrees. “It’s not fair. But Momma, I need you.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Odette knows this is the moment to attempt to console her mother. But what can she say? What can she do? The only thing Odette knows to do is walk over, wrap her arm around her mother and walk them both to the couch. It’s almost unreal. How both of them are just so lost. Maybe it was naive to think her mother would have all the answers. That her own mother wasn’t grieving just like her.

At the stove, Odette dares not a tear to fall into the batter. As the batter cooks, bubbles appearing all throughout, Odette knows she has to get out. She has to have a break. But God, she can’t go too far. She plates the pancakes, even tops it off with a cup of tea for her mother and then puts it onto a tray. Her mother gives her a soft thanks but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she continues on to her room, finding her phone.

“Hey, what’s up?” Michael answers.

“Shit, sorry,” she returns. It’s barely seven in the morning and it was only the gravel in his voice that reminds her that not everyone has the early morning routine that she does.

“No, no, it’s okay. Is everything okay?”

“I should let you sleep.” What Odette hadn’t anticipated was the relief that settled in her chest at the sound of his voice. Since they’ve started talking more readily, they see each other less in their dreams. But it still happens occasionally, especially if Odette hides for a couple days. As if it’s life’s way of reminding her that she will always be pulled towards this person, she’ll never be able to escape them. And sometimes she didn’t mind that fact, but other times it scared her.

“Did you need something?”

An escape. Ten minutes in another universe to let her know if this really was all worth it. “I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that, you know? World’s not going to explode just because you call me early enough to hear the rooster call.” His laughter floats in through the phone a small bit of a squeal, mostly coated in the still gruff grip of hours of not being used during the night.

“It’s not that early. Early, yes. But I didn’t, like, call at five in the morning.”

“There it is,” Michael hums. “The Odie I know.”

“Odie?” Her chest tightens just a little. No one’s called her that since her father. She hadn’t even thought about that nickname since her father’s car accident and death.

“Do you not like it?

“My dad used to call me that. I haven’t heard that nickname in almost two years.” She can hear her own voice cracking. The tears are slipping down her cheeks. “I don’t mind it.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like you’re crying. And I just, I don’t want to make you upset.”

“It’s-it’s okay. Just a lot going on.” Odette works the tears back down, fights to keep her tone even. How many more tears could she cry?

“We can go get breakfast, if you want?”

Her sigh creates a crackle through the receiver. She still hasn’t told him. Still hasn’t let him in fully. She didn’t want to lose herself. But maybe sitting on her bedroom floor, in just a t-shirt and panties, crying her eyes out for who knows how many times in the last two and half weeks, isn’t exactly having herself either. “I can’t go for long. My mom just had surgery and I’m the only one she has.”

“I’ll bring it to you and your mum then. How does that sound?”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I probably don't even live anywhere near you. I don’t want you to go so far out.”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter. Sounds like you’ve had a stressful couple of weeks. Please let me help.”

Odette inhales. “Make it lunch and you’ve got a deal.”

“Just give me your address and I’ll be at your door at 12:30.”

“It’s not, the greatest. Where I’m at. I’m sorry.”

“Just send your address and I’ll see you at 12:30.”

Michael texted her at 11, asking what they wanted and ever since then, Odette’s been sitting at the kitchen table. Her mother’s watches TV but Odette will always be able to tell when her mother’s eyes flick from the Netflix playing some romantic comedy to her. They’ve yet to have words outside of discussing lunch. “You look like you’re about to be in trouble,” her mother calls. The neighbors above them stomp about.

It’s then, as Odette finally casts her glance at her mother, that she wonders if she should share the truth about Michael. Would that hurt her mother more? Would her mother think that she’s leaving her too? “It’s nothing,” Odette says, looking down at her phone. It’s just after 12:10, so Odette stands. “I’m just gonna be outside.”

She takes the stairs down to the door and then settles on the curb. The concrete is warm against her thighs. Her old volleyball shorts do nothing to protect her legs from the loose gravel and dirt. Her slides are loose on her feet and she sits, watching the parking lot as cars she knows all too well slide in and out. While Odette truly wished to get the hell out, she didn’t want her mother to think she would up and abandon her.

But she couldn’t stay here forever. She has to go at some point. She has her entire life to live still.

It’s Michael. It has to be because she doesn’t know anyone else to roll up in the white Tesla. Suddenly her hands are a little shaky. As she stands, she quickly wipes her hands on her thighs, crossing the parking lot to him pulling into the visitor spot. Odette only gets as far as the trunk before the door opens and Michael steps out. She can’t lie about it now. She can’t pretend when her heart nearly stops at the sight of him. Real. In front of her. She half jogs the few feet between them.

His arms open, to let her in, a grin on his face. “Hey.”

Odette tucks herself into his chest. “Hi.”

She smells like honey and flowers. Michael would’ve never guessed that combo. But it feels right. It crawls up his nostrils and settles into his chest. He feels almost like he’s at home. Michael fully encases her body into his arms. “Nice to finally meet you. In person,” he laughs gently into her ear.

Odette can’t say anything. She didn’t think Michael was real for a second. But now he’s here and he drove from god knows where to her. “Thanks,” she exhales, her voice shaky. “It means a lot.”

“Of course, Odette. I’d do anything.”

Odette leads Michael up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes mixing in with the thumping music bleeding out from a number of apartment doors and with the laughter that swells from behind closed doors. At her front door, she stops and turns to Michael. “I apologize now for whatever my mom says.”

Michael nods. She works her bottom lip underneath her teeth. “It’s okay.”

Nodding, Odette cracks open the door and her mother is not on the couch. “Fuck,” she whispers, rushing to set the bag in her hand on the table. “Momma!”

Her panic tone pierces Michael’s ear. “In here!” The response comes from deep in the house and Odette scurries deeper into the apartment, pausing at a door right near the start of the hallway.

She hovers outside the door. “Everything okay?”

“Girl, I’m not dead.”

Michael watches from the edge of the open living room space, drink tray still in his hand. “The food’s here,” Odette relays. Her voice is softer and she’s slow to push away from the door. The weight settles on her face and when she walks back to the kitchen table, Michael sees it all. All the nights she probably hasn’t slept.

“What else do you need?” he asks. “And please don’t bullshit me.”

Odette scrubs over her face, collapsing into the chair. “We’ll be okay.”

“What do I have to do?” Michael finally places the drinks down. “I just want to help.” He takes her hand, kneeling in front of her. “Just want to help.”

“Odette hasn’t mentioned you before.”

Michael looks up and for a moment, he wants to laugh. Say that they’re playing a cruel joke on him. But when he looks back to Odette and then to her mother, he knows it’s no trick. They are practically twins. He ought to be used to it, with the way Calum and his mother look so much alike. But it’s always a shock, it appears.

“Michael, this is my mom. Mom, this is Michael.”

Michael stands, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brown.”

Odette watches, praying to the high heavens her mother doesn’t say anything slick about the lack of Odette’s warning. Instead, her mother shakes his hand. “Thanks for getting us lunch. It’s very sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome. And please, if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out. Odette has my number.” He bows, a quick dip of his head. “I hope you have a speedy recovery, Mrs. Brown.”

Odette walks him to the door. Michael takes a quick hold of her waist, for one last hug. “Please call me, okay? If you need anything, want anything. Doesn’t matter, call me.”

She nods. “I will.” The door shuts after Michael slips through it and as the bag crinkles to her mother’s hands, Odette rests her head into the wooden door. Michael is actually real and more handsome in person than she ever thought. And why had she been so scared before? Why had she kept Michael at arm’s length? He was sweet. He listened. He cared.

“So, who’s the guy? A friend?” Her mother’s tone drips with the playful tease.

Fixing to keep the smile of her face, Odette spins, back pressed into the door. “Yeah, um, just a friend. My-” It happens. Even if her mother tries to deny it, Odette still sees the slight falter to her smile. There it is. Her mother being in the way. And Odette wonders for just a split second, if it was on purpose. “Just a good friend,” Odette corrects.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, sweetheart.”

“Momma--”

“Eat. The food’s no good cold.” They eat with only the sounds of the TV playing in the background as their only source of conversation happening.

**********

I’m sorry. The last line in Odette’s text. An apology about missing their facetime call, after saying that she picked up a double at work. Michael gets it. Though her mother’s been able to return to work, Odette’s been carrying the brunt of pulling in the bulk of income. They’re not terribly behind, but they are just scraping by. The tensions are rising. The last time Michael called before Odette could even get out a word to him, her mother was shouting in the back.

Michael stares down at his phone. I’m coming to get you on your next day off. We can just go to a cafe or something and talk. Anything you want. Just want you to take care of yourself too. He waits. He shouldn’t expect a response so soon but then he sees the bubbles pop up.

Okay.

What no fight? Not gonna make me wrestle you out of your apartment, throw clothes and walk you out the door?

No fight, it seems when the text message sits for five minutes. And then ten without a response.

Odette’s already standing outside of the apartment complex when Michael pulls in. Her shoulders are covered in a tattered denim jacket. He can’t tell if it’s age or purpose that’s caused the holes. She’s quick to jump off the curb. There’s barely enough time for the car to stop completely before she’s opening the passenger side door. She sniffles, just once, wiping at her cheeks and secures the belt. “I don’t care where we go, just away from here, please.”

Michael suspects a fight with her mother. They seem to be happening more frequently. Michael tries to think of a place nearby, though he doesn’t know the area at all, and is interrupted by the guttural scream from Odette. One moment she’s quiet and the next her sweltering scream fills the car and probably can be heard from anyone on the outside too. Michael doesn’t say anything, just makes sure there’s no traffic and after about a minute she falls into the seat.

“Sorry.”

“You gotta let it out somehow.” Putting the car into gear, Michael continues forward until he’s able to find a spot to pull in, then back out off and then heads for the road. “My place is an hour out and maybe we can just hang out in my backyard. Just get you away from everything for a little bit.”

“I’d like that.” She’s silent for the first part of the drive, minus the few times she unsticks her thighs from the leather of his seats. “Thick thighs save fries but right now they’re not doing me many favors,” she laughs, mostly to herself pulling her thighs up again and readjusting.

“Sorry.”

“No need. I didn’t think these shorts would ride up this much.”

“The plus: easy to clean,” Michael jokes, glancing out of the corner of his eye to her. She smiles for a second, mostly a smirk and shakes her head.

“With this white leather, I don’t think anyone would dare think to make a spill.” They fall silent again. Much less tense than before. Odette, against all better judgement, turns to face Michael. She watches the earrings that dangle and catch the sunlight. His bottom lip is slightly bigger than the top lip. His head bops ever so slightly to the song playing over the radio. She knows about the band. Michael has talked her through countless hours in the morning about crazy touring stories. But yet, she hasn’t really shared much about herself.

“Sometimes I wonder if my dad was still alive if I could’ve left by now. If I could’ve found my break with designing.”

Michael, braking at a red light, takes her hand. “I’m sorry. That has to be rough.”

Odette nods, eyes tearing up. Traffic threads through before them. People turning, people continuing straight down the road to their left. “I hate working retail. But it’s the only thing around that I know I can get steady hours. I was going to try and move out by now. But then Momma got sick. She hardly takes care of herself since Dad died. She’s only got me and if I live, I fear she’d just let herself crumble. I don’t want her to think there’s nothing left for her.”

A couple cars honk. Michael looks up to the green light and sighs before continuing on. He keeps his hand locked around Odette’s. As tires glide, Odette squeezes at Michael’s hand. “I’m scared. I don’t want to break her heart. And if I let you in more, what happens? Do I lose myself?”

“Or maybe you find yourself. Maybe this is your story and if you fuck up, you just fuck up. In the end, if you stay, you’re probably breaking your own heart more.”

Odette sniffles, taking her free and clearing the tears. More well, more tears fall behind them. “Maybe, maybe I am.”

Michael pulls into the driveway of his house. Bringing the back of her hand to his lips, he grins. “How are you at video games?”

“I’m terrible at them,” she answers, voice wavering.

“Perfect.”

“Get back here, Michael!” Odette shoves him, still spinning out from the red shell that was thrown. He can only laugh, still holding onto the gas as his character crosses the finish line. Odette yelps as she’s hit with the flame from an NPC’s fire plant. “This is so unfair!”

She crosses the finish line in eighth. From the coffee table, her phone buzzes again. Another call, they both can tell by the way the shaking is consistent and long. It’s the sixth call since they got to his house. Who knows how many times she ignored the calls while she was in the car?

“You gonna answer that?”

“When I get first place, I will.” When she glances over to Michael, she can see the slight concern in his eyes. “I thought we were getting better, my mom and I. I thought that we would make progress. But she knows. I never said you were my soulmate and I didn’t have to. She knew.”

“We can do Moo Moo Meadows. It’s a chill map.”

“Oh, the cow is so cute! Please don’t utterly destroy me on this map again.” She looks up from underneath her lashes, a pout on her pinky and pouty lips. Michael’s not breathing. It all left him in a blink. “What’s that look for?”

Shaking his head, Michael turns back to the TV. Now’s not the time to be wondering how she’d taste on his tongue. “Nothing, nothing.”

Her fingers are soft on his chin, nails scratching just a little at his beard. Michael falls into the touch and turns to her. “No, what was that look for?”

“It’s not appropriate right now.” He doesn’t miss the drop of her gaze to his lips. Maybe it is appropriate. Now seems as a good tune as any.

“Try me.”

He leans in, slowly, centimeters at a time until their noses brush. Odette tilts her head and their lips brush. Just for a moment and Michael pushes in for a deeper kiss. Inhales that are sharp and lips that are almost bruising for something more. Odette pushes up into Michael, hand resting on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat.

“I still have to kick your ass in MarioKart,” she teases, pulling back just enough to speak.

Michael, hands now kneading at her waist, his remote fallen to the coffee table. He can only smell her hair, her lotion, only Odette. “If you think that you can beat me, you’re insane.”

“Then call me insane.” Her exhale is shaky and her fingers still clutch the soft black t-shirt.

“Okay, Miss Insane,” Michael laughs before they share one more kiss.

Perched on the kitchen island, Odette watches as Michael slides the omelette onto the plate. They placed a bet, the loser had to cook. With the winning combination of a Bullet Bill and three red shells, she managed to overtake Michael in fourth to finish third in the last race. He still placed higher than her overall in the tournament. With her breakfast for dinner handed over, she grins. “Thanks.”

“Bets are bets. I’m just still so shocked that you beat me!”

“It was only the one lap though.”

“Hey, no,” Michael interrupts her bite, lifting her chin. “None of that. One lap is still pretty crazy considering I am the King of video games.”

Odette snickers. “Yeah, okay, King.” Michael takes the fork, cutting a piece off. “Hey! That’s my victory omelette!”

“It was my hard work!”

Feeding Michael another piece, she smirks. “All you had to do was ask, you know?”

Michael grins around his bite, standing between her legs. He could get used to it. If he let his mind wander and he didn’t think too hard about the challenges of her home life. He could get used to her just being around, playing video games with him. Hanging out late at night, watching the stars maybe if they couldn’t sleep. “Stay the night with me?”

Odette sighs, setting the plate down next to her. She can’t stay the night. That’s too much too fast. But she can tell Michael is gone, hook, line and sinker. She couldn’t give in fully. Not right now. Sure that could be a thing that would ruin her and this, but for right now, until she figured out what to do with her mother, she can’t give in just yet. “I have work in the morning. And I doubt you want to be up at 5 in the morning trying to get me back across town.” It’s not a lie either. She does have work in the morning, but she has mid shift not the opening shift. Either way she should get home tonight.

“Of course, of course, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be. There’s still the rest of today. We can hangout. Do whatever. Do nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

********

“It doesn’t matter, okay, Michael. It’s okay.” Odette reaches in the dark for her jacket. Her keys are in the pocket. She knows because she remembers leaving them in the pocket, thinking she’d retrieve them in the morning. Sleep is still trying to shut her eyes but the panic in Michael’s voice shoots adrenaline through her veins. His sentences barely come out coherent, attempting to apologize for waking her in the middle of the night. “It’s okay. I’m on my way, okay? I’m on my way. Stay on the line with me. Can you do that? Can you stay on the line with me?”

“Ye-yeah.”

“Good.” Finally with her jacket in her grasps and the slides on, she tiptoes down the hallway. The front door creaks open. Of course everything is louder in the night and it sounds like she could wake the whole neighborhood. But even if she did, she doesn’t care. Not if it means getting to Michael. In her car, she fumbles to get her keys straight. “Do you need me to pick up anything?” Her phone rests on the popsocket holder attached to her air vent.

“No.”

“Okay. Just stay on the line with me, baby.” The entire ride Odette keeps a tight knuckled grip, trying to think of everything under the moonlight to keep Michael’s thoughts occupied. She tells about her failed adventures in dancing, at least with classical ballet. She talks about trying to convince her parents into letting her have a dog. But that never flew. Pets were just too expensive. They were like having children and her parents couldn’t afford that. “If I could have a dog,” she continues, “I just would never stop adopting. Or fostering. I would just constantly need a new dog in the house. I could never be the crazy cat lady. I’m allergic.”

Her rant continues as she listens for Michael’s soft exhales or hums to let her know he was still listening. Was this letting Michael in? Or had she already let him in and this was just hte first time she was noticing it? Because her heart would never be at rest until she laid eyes on Michael and saw that he was okay, or as okay as he could be for the anxiety that was wreaking havoc on his brain. Maybe that was the thing about soulmates, maybe you didn’t really have to let them in. They had the key already.

At his house, she scurries up to the front door. Phone still carrying the time of the entire 45 minute drive. “I’m outside.” In the dark, she’s not sure she could find the spare key and return in without leaving it obvious. So she waits, praying and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

By the time Michael gets the door, he all but falls into her arms. She pushes to get into the door, closing it behind them. They only make it as far as the couch. Michael curls up into her chest, body still shaking and the tears still hot as they fall onto her chest. She didn’t even change out of the camisole, merely threw on leggings and the jacket before climbing into her car. “What’s going on? What do you need?” Odette asks. Her nails trail over his scalp.

“It’s just...hard,” Michael sighs. “I can’t shut off my brain right now. Some days it’s easier. But now it’s just hard. It’s like I can’t trust myself. I don’t trust myself.”

She hums. “I’m sorry, Michael.” They stay on the couch. Michael curls up in her side, and she keeps her hands trailing, up and down his back, humming. She’s never considered herself a singer, having only sang in the church choir as a young child. But that’s all and it only lasted for a few years. But she keeps humming, keeps filling the air until she knows Michael has fallen asleep.

Michael wakes first. His limbs feel like they’ve almost been detached in a couple places. But when he cranes his neck and sees Odette, he gasps. Her hair is wrapped in a scarf, the brown curls pooling at the top of her head. He can’t even imagine the time of day it is. It’s bright from the windows though. “Odie,” he starts softly. His voice is hoarse. His chest aches just a little. He remembers when the thoughts first started racing, all he could think to do was call her. “Odie,” he tries again.

She hums, arms tightening for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Let’s go to the bed. It’s probably more comfy.”

She nods, slowly pushing up. Her jacket is still on. She didn’t have a thought about it once she saw Michael. Now, it falls to the arm of the couch before she follows him down the hallway. In his bed, she pulls him back into her, kissing his forehead. “I’m always here, you know?”

He nods. “Thank you.”

When he wakes again, he can hear a hushed voice. Odette’s not in bed with him. “He needed me, Momma.” It goes silent and Michael shuffles down the hallway. “I’m not--I’m--Listen to me! He needed me. And that’s final. I did what I had to do. I can’t bring Dad back, okay? I can’t bring him back. I can’t make things better. But if Michael needs me, I would fly over the fucking moon. It doesn’t matter what he needed or what I would have to do, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But frankly, I’m 24, Momma. I’m an adult. I have to live my own life.”

Michael can see her, pinching her nose. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty. He just needed someone to talk to, to help him calm down. Odette spins, her jaw dropping when she spies Michael. She hangs up the phone, striding from the living room. “No, no, I know that look.” She runs her hand up his chest, bare without a shirt.

“I don’t like you fighting with your mom.”

“Mom and I are always going to fight. But if you need me, it doesn’t matter. You call me. Dead of the night, middle of the evening, crack of fucking dawn. You call me, okay?” Michael can only nod, taking her hands into his. “I can cook if you want. Or we can order in. I’ll let you win in Mario Kart, yeah?”

“Oh, you will not let me win in anything. It’s I who let you win.”

“You sure about that? Sounds like a lot of talk but I don’t see nothing backing that up.”

Michael glances across the way, to the clock. It’s nearly ten. Too early to call in for lunch just yet. “Two tournaments before we get food. We’ll see who comes out on top.”

It’s no question as Odette settles down that Michael will win both. But she’s happy to see him like his old self for the most part. He still settles in super close to her and when they wait, with the TV just playing for the food to arrive, he curls up in her side again. She knows the storm hasn’t left completely but they’ve caught the eye of it. They’re settled for the moment being and she’s happy for it.

Odette returns, only after making Michael promise to call her for literally even the smallest thing, to her mother sitting at their kitchen table. Hanging up on her mother wasn’t the smartest choice. But Michael didn’t need to hear her arguing not when he had his own anxiety and issues causing him turmoil.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me like that again,” her mother seethes, finger tapping on the wooden table to emphasize her point. “You let me know where you’re going!”

“Michael needed me. I’m sorry.”

“Just leaving out in the middle of the night. What if something happened? What if you got in a car accident? I would’ve never known. I can’t-” the emotion chokes her mother for a moment. “I can’t lose you too.”

“Don’t make this my responsibility. Don’t become the saint now when you literally almost took my head off because you didn’t want to follow doctor’s orders after your surgery. Momma, in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been at each other’s throats for the last six months. Every time we turn around, you’re on me. You’re ranting about bills and keeping afloat. I am sick of being your punching bag. You’re really going to lose me. I can’t bring Dad back and I can’t stay under your wing forever.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Her mother stands, crosses their living room. “If you go, there’s no one else.”

“Momma, I’m always gonna be there. But I can’t. I can’t stay here. Michael was right. It may break your heart to see me go, but can I keep breaking mine? I love you, Momma. I do. But I’m suffocating.”

Odette doesn’t know when her mother will accept that. Doesn’t know when that will finally make sense to her mother. But at this moment, it’s a relief to get it off her chest. To finally stop tiptoeing this subject. This apartment is just too small for the both of them. Odette can’t fix her mother and herself at the same time. She is not a miracle worker.

But after leaving her mother standing in that living room that Odette knows she has got to change her life around. She has to move out. Find her own place. Start somewhere fresh and new. She’s started to get more commission work, mostly help with logos. Occasionally, she gets asked to help build the work for a website. Odette knows with everything that’s been going on, she hasn’t necessarily given as much time as was needed for this craft. But maybe now, maybe now things can start looking up.

*********

Micheal glances over his shoulder, fingers still working over the frets, not fully playing anything. Mostly just going over the progression before they lay down the track. Odette’s snickering, attempting to keep her laughter from bubbling. But it’s always going to fail. She’s always going to give into the life of her laugh. Calum’s phone is tilted towards her and not before long, she’s giving in. Her head falls back into the cushion, hands clapping together. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she wheezes, singling Calum out.

Michael only watches as Calum joins in, attempting to cover up his laughter with his own hands. “I-I had to,” Calum huffs out.

“Send that to me, please.”

“What are the hyenas on about?” Ashton jokes entering the room again. Calum only lifts the phone in return and now Michael can see it’s a picture of him and Calum, in their school uniforms attempting to act cool. It’s grainy now, upon comparison of the cameras on phones in this time compared then when it was taken. How Calum still had it, Michael’s not sure.

Rolling his chair closer, Michael attempts to take Calum’s phone. “You’re giving her trade secrets, mates!”

Calum’s quicker, ducking the phone back. “Nah, she’s allowed to get dirt on you, man.”

“It’s not that bad,” Odette attempts to recover. Tears are still pouring from her eyes. But she wipes at them and stands up from the couch.

Michael pouts as she walks over. “I’m sure you have plenty of shitty and uncool selfies too.”

“Yeah, and pictures my parents took of me buttass naked in the tub too.”

Michael snorts. Odette stands behind him, arms wrapped close around his upper chest. “What were our parents thinking?”

“They weren’t.” She punctuates the sentence with a kiss to his cheek. “But you’re still cute. Even in the dorky selfie. And Calum did kind of incriminate himself too.”

“Hey! I was adorable then!” Calum calls out.

“Sure, sure,” Odette says, directing her attention to Calum, “But that pose. The emo fringe that wasn’t fully a fringe.”

“Look, I didn’t become a fashion icon overnight. It’s hard work,” he retorts.

“Keep working,” Odette returns, snickering as the room explodes into a chorus of ‘oh’s.

Michael looks up at her, the disbelief but admiration dripping from his fromgaze. “I still have to work with him you know.”

“Alright, alright. That’s okay. I like your spunk though. Keep her around, Michael.”

It’s later than they anticipated by the time they leave the studio, which isn’t too off course for them. But Odette seemed ready to pass out nearly eight in the evening. Michael finds it endearing when he offers to end the night early but she refuses, saying that she didn’t want to interrupt their work. But now she’s curled up on the sofa, under Michael’s jacket to keep warm. Having not brought a heavy enough jacket to withstand the air conditioning of the studio.

“Baby, c’mon. Let’s go home.”

She snaps awake, even at the gentle touch of Michael’s hand. “Hmm?”

“I’m taking us home, so we can cuddle and sleep.”

“I want a milkshake.”

Michael laughs at the sleepy confession but nods. “We’ll get some tomorrow, yeah?”

Odette nods, keeping herself awake enough to follow behind Michael. Taking the week off feels nice. She doesn’t have to worry about anything else. She’s still working on commissions and has managed to pull some more steady weight income wise that way. She’s yet to move out. But she takes more time to hang out with Michael. Mostly at his house. Occasionally they go out, catch movies. It feels normal now for them.

As they slide under the sheets, Michael pulls her in close, arm slung over her waist. “Coming in tomorrow with me?”

“Need to work,” she returns, nose and exhales brushing over his chest. Michael kisses her forehead, allowing the steady rise and fall of her chest to guide him. But he doesn’t fall asleep, not immediately. He lays there.

“We should adopt a dog. Maybe two. And it’s gonna be awesome.”

“I vote two,” Odette returns after a long moment.

“You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“So are you!”

**********

“You know what’s lame?” Michael asks, flinging his arms around Odette’s shoulder. Her screen is zoomed in on the corner of something. The edge is rounded and he can’t see the preview of the full image. He assumes it’s new work for a client. Work has come more steadily for her after working with an up-and-coming band. Michael happened to run into them on Instagram and they made a post about needing some help on the team. He forwarded the information to Odette and things took off from there.

“What’s lame?”

“I don’t see you in my dreams anymore.”

“You see me practically every day now!” Odette counters, setting her pen down and cranking her neck up. She moved in three months ago. It’s been interesting to say the least. But they have a good routine. Odette works part time at one of the local boutiques and still does work for design.

“Yeah, and like that’s definitely a dream in and of itself. But I don’t know, I miss talking to you in my subconscious.”

“You’re so weird,” Odette chuckles. Soulmates only communicated via dreams when real world communication hadn’t occurred for an extended period of time after they first met in person. When Michael leaves for tour, she expects he’ll crop back up. He’ll find her again at that park bench.

“That’s just a fact. But still, there was something about them. Maybe it’s because I thought you were the best thing since sliced bread, but they were kind of amazing.”

“That was the cusp of my life falling into the sewer.”

“But you found me there, so it wasn’t all that bad.”

She laughs, nodding her head and nudges his hold to slacken. She spins the barstool around. “I thought people who talked about their soulmates were fools. Like no one falls in love like that. Not through a dream and certainly not all at once. I mean, it just sounded so unrealistic.”

“Certainly not you, of course. But I’ll admit to being in the camp for falling in love all at once.” Odette rolls her eyes. “What can I say? You’re drop dead gorgeous. You know how to dish it out just as hot as anyone gives you hot shit. It was a recipe for love.”

“No, certainly not me. But I’m glad it was you in my dreams. No one else would’ve gotten me to eat pineapple on pizza that’s for damn sure.”

Michael laughs. “Maybe that’s what we get for dinner, yeah? To reminisce?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“That won’t spoil your appetite for your dinner with your mom tomorrow will it?”Michael knows about the long standing pizza dates. They were hard to get started. Odette unsure if her mother was going to attempt to guilt her into coming back home. But after the first couple, things smoothed out. Odette wonders if her mother still felt haunted, even in sleep.

If no matter what her mother did or believed, she would always know that her husband was gone and not her subconscious would always try to bring him back. But it would never work. Her mother would never have peace. That scared Odette, if she was honest. Though she figured, there had to be something. There had to be some safeguard if that one of the soulmates died the dreams would stop, that her mother would stop reaching out for her father. And maybe there was, but there’s no safeguard on those memories. There would be nothing to stop her mother from dreaming for her husband, of all the times they shared before he died.

She hadn’t asked her mother yet those questions. But just imagining that allowed her to understand her mother better. She still hurts, still looks at her mother and feels that same uneasiness, like at any turn she could set her mother off. But she imagines it cannot be easy for her mother either.

Odette, finally blinks, staring back at Michael. Finally reconnecting back to their conversation from before. “Pizza is a food group. It must be had at least twice a week.”

He giggles, fingers tapping away at the screen for their order. “You know I think I might have to run that by the FDA before fully subscribing to it.”

“No need.”

“And why not?”

“Because I am the FDA and I just said it.”

“I take back what I said about not seeing you in dreams being lame. I’m glad to get at least 6 hours break from you.” Micheal scurries down the hallway once her gaze narrows. The dogs chase down after him, unsure of what’s happening but wanting in on the action.

“Just for that,” she hollers, “I’m not saving you the last slice of pizza!”

“You wouldn’t dare?”

“Try me.”

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