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Nate immediately looked away, realizing how strange his question was. But he wanted to know the answer. Did Florence feel the same way as he did?

Was Nate actually... g...ga... gay... for Florence?

Florence would know the question to that, Nate was sure of it. And if Florence didn't feel the same way as Nate, then, perhaps it really was just the feeling of best friends. Really close best friends. So close, that they were two atoms in a molecule.

"Like... Why did you ask me to the prom as your... date? What, um, feelings made you do that?" Nate muttered under his breath, but then, as per usual, he started to blurt out words. "I know, it's a strange question, but I just want to know, because... Well, I'll tell you after you answer my question first!"
 
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Florence wanted to shove something into his own face, and soon after, into Nate's face, to cause him to stop asking question. He wanted to have him stop talking, shut his mouth and try to stop thinking so hard so fast. Florence flushed wildly, taking his hand away from the other boy. "Hmmm... Yeah, feeling..."

Florence swallowed hard. "I just... felt, like we could be good... dates. Together." Florence was just digging himself deeper into a hole. "And-And I know you're not gay or anything, so it wouldn't be like that, it would just be... two dudes... hanging out and having fun together. Totally no homo. Nope." Florence shoved a handful of Chex-Mix into his mouth.

This was going to be a long night.
 
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"Oh..." Nate whispered quietly. He felt his heart pang and shrink. He felt it crack and he looked down. So, Florence wasn't feeling anything special for him. Then, it was just best friends... The feelings he had for Florence was the same that any two best friends would have for each other...

But if that was the case, then why did it hurt so much to simply think such a thing?

Nate hesitated in saying anything else. He suddenly felt depressed, and not even the bright lights or the loud music did anything to cheer him up. In fact, he just felt a little irritated by it all. Finally, he turned around and grabbed a cup of fruit punch, and as if it was alcohol, he downed it all in one go.

"Yeah! Best friends!!!" He exclaimed, trying to convince himself of the thing. He then looked up to Florence and gave him a small nervous smile. "Sorry about the weird question, I was just... Curious... Because, well... I don't know, I thought I felt something different for you...? And thought it was..." Nate knew he wasn't making any sense. He knew that words were escaping him to the point where he was hardly speaking English anymore. But he didn't know what else to say!

"Well, if you say it's just the two of us hanging out like... friends... And not anything, um... well, I don't know. I trust your word." Nate finally muttered. He then quickly decided to change the subject, "Anyways, is it getting hot in here to you? It is, right? We should go outside."

Nate didn't want to be in the prom setting any longer. He felt suffocated by the sheer amount of people in the room, and he wanted to leave. So he grabbed Florence's hand, once more, and dragged him outside to the night cool air - where the REAL stars are twinkling brightly.
 
Florence tried to correct his mistake as soon as he felt he had made one. He tried interrupting the other boy, he tried stopping him, and he even tried pulling away. None of it worked, though, but once Florence was outside, he felt his mood shift.

He pulled his arm away from the other boy. He looked at him with a mixture of confusion and anger. "Nathaniel," he stated, using his full name at once. "Look, I don't understand any of this, okay? First, you hate me, then we're friends, and now you're telling me you're not gay when you--"

Florence let out a sound of annoyance. "Best friends don't stay weeks at their friends house! They don't sleep tgether-- they..." Florence turned to the boy, and looked at him.

"Best friends can't fuse like molecules, okay? I don't know what to say to you anymore. What are we? What do you want me to tell you?"
 
Nate felt his heart pounding against his chest. This wasn't right. This wasn't how they were suppose to spend a beautiful evening of prom together, right? This wasn't... Nate didn't want to argue today. But he was torn between two feelings. He had felt relieved by the fact that he wasn't gay...

But at the same time, it tore his heart in half. He knew something was there. Rationally, Nate wanted to argue with Florence. "W-what do you mean? Best friends... do..." sleep together every night? Hold each other in their arms as they watch a scary or sad movie? Hold hands whenever they have the chance?

Go to prom together as a date?

As much as Nate wanted to deny by kicking and screaming, he knew he was being ridiculous. "I...Idon'tknow." He muttered, quickly finishing up his failed attempt at arguing. What did Nate wanted to hear? He couldn't answer Florence's question, because Nate didn't know himself. And that fact online frustrated him to no end. He was confused, his heart was hurt, and now Florence was looking at him as if Nate was being absolutely crazy! Nate felt anger running through his veins and arteries.

"I want you to tell me the truth! If you don't think we're best friends, then... What do you want us to be? More than that? More than just friends? Because I don't know what's beyond that between two guys! Unless, you want to date! You even called it a date before calling us friends!" Nate's words were stumbling. He couldn't stop himself. "So, Florence Jean Birdwhistle, do you want to be my boyfriend!?"

Nate didn't even realized what he said until after he said it. His eyes were wide, in shock and horror, and his hand slapped against his mouth. Why must he be such a blabber-mouth and did he just... confess? Did that count as a confession?! Nate didn't know, he couldn't understand himself or what was happening. He just stared at Florence like a deer caught in headlights.
 
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Florence watched the eruption, ready to fight him back with the strength of all his pent up energies. He was going to yell, scream, tell him he was wrong and demand something out of the other boy, but... Well, whatever Florence provoked, he liked the outcome. He looked at him, with rosey cheeks and breathless words.

He stammered, his face growing redder and redder. "I-I... W-Well, I-I mean, ma-maybe, b-but, w-well," The entire lot. Unlike Nate, he didn't have the ability to blabber until the cows came home. He rumbled his words, letting them fall through the air and hitting the sidewalk like led. Florence looked to himself for comfort, scratching his arms, wringing his hands, the whole lot.

"...I-I've been waiting for you to say that... for a long time." He finally admitted, before he bashfully pulled him into a hug. They were now officially dating. Florence could breath again.
 
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Nate didn't know what to think. He was in Florence's arms. He was dating. Dating Florence. A boy. Someone of his gender!!! Nate didn't understand how to feel about the situation.

He was gay?

For the first time in a long time, Nate didn't find too much comfort in Florence's hug. It didn't feel the same; it felt... different. Was it a bad different or a good different? Nate didn't know. He didn't know at all.

"W...what do we do?" He muttered, pulling away. He kept his hands close, but he suddenly felt so much more aware of Florence. "Is it... different... between us now...?" Nate asked, confused. What do couples do? They hold hands. Check. They go out on dates. Check (right? Going to the gas station for slushies count...). They... call each other? Check... They stay at each other's house. Che- Wait. Are they allowed to do that? What if...

Nate flushed as his mind went into an inappropriate direction. "A-and this means I can't stay over at your house anymore?"
 
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Florence felt his face change a shade as he held the other boy. It felt so right to be with him like this. There wasn't any 'buts' in their relationship. It wasn't, 'I'm his best friend, but...' or 'I like him, but...'. It was just... it was right. It was so right.

When the other boy asked about what they would do, Florence couldn't talk fast enough. "No, no, nothing is different..." Florence started. Except we kiss more. Well, he wanted to say that, sure, but baby steps. "We're just... closer, I suppose." And for the staying at eachother's house now... "We... We can still spend the night and stuff."

Florence paused for a moment. "I mean, if you're okay with that, that is."
 
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"Closer?" Nate asked with confusion. How much closer could they be? Nate already felt like he was so close to Florence already, that they might as well be one person. Of course, this made Nate a little more anxious - and excited - about the new level they could reach together.

"Of course I still want to stay over!" He exclaimed loudly. "It's just, I thought that when two people dating slept together it meant..." Nate's eyes casted off to the side, his poor thoughts conflicted about the subject. They were high school students! They shouldn't be talking about such things, let alone THINK about it.

Well, that's not true. Nate knew a lot of people that often... Valencia included, heck, they even caught her in such a position... And Nate KNEW Florence admitted to sleeping with Valencia before.

Unless, Florence didn't ever think about doing it with Nate... Again, Nate didn't know how to feel about that. But he did find the thought to be quite insulting. So he muttered, almost in a pouty-manner, "Unless... You don't think that would ever be a problem..."
 
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Florence, at the question, looked around and blushed further. Sure, they slept together... BUT THEY DIDN'T SLEEP TOGETHER... But that didn't mean that Florence didn't want to start, sure, but... THEY JUST STARTED DATING!! Florence ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to word this.

"Let's... let's just keep it innocent." Florence mumbled gently. "I-I mean, I... I-I don't want to not sleep with you, but-- You asked me out two minuets ago, and-- you know what I mean!" Florence laughed, before burring his face into the other boy's-- his BOYFRIEND's shoulder.
 
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Nate felt just as embarrassed as Florence was.

But, Florence's fumbling... Well, Nate couldn't help but find it endearing. He laughed a bit as Florence also laughed, and he suddenly felt as though a burden was lifted off of his shoulders. Even if Florence actually exerted physical pressure onto Nate's shoulder. He just pulled the other boy in and hugged him tightly.

"I like that idea." Nate muttered. Florence wanted to take it slow. Florence wanted to just have things continue the way that they had. Nate didn't have to jump into anything extreme quite yet. Small steps. Baby steps. Nate liked it; he liked it and Florence a lot.

As their body was wrapped into each other, Nate started to move. But instead of moving away, he just moved his hands a bit and held Florence like a dance partner. He grinned brightly as Florence seemed slightly confused. "Let's dance. Just me and you! Right here!" He exclaimed, then moved around, swaying in a music only he could feel.

It was much better than in the prom dance floor. However, as much as Nate wanted to say he never stepped on Florence's feet, it was a lie. Nate was about a good as a dancer as a duck with 3 left feet. But that was okay! Nate didn't feel as awful about it, he just laughed it off and continued to force Florence to move around with him.
 
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And almost as the regular prom had ended for the two, another party began. They swayed to the music they had in their heads, in the middle of the Highschool parkinglot. Florence danced with him, thinking back to the time when Nate showed up to Florence's door, crying like a child. Florence still smoked. He was scared to face his father.

He was scared to let Valencia go at that point.

Now, look at him. He looked up to the sky and wished silently for rain. He felt like he was a child again. He felt in love. He could feel his longs inflate and deflate to the power of their feet, and he felt as if every single worry had vanished. It had been a crazy ride, a wicked set of events, and Florence wanted to expirence so much Nate.
 
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Dancing under the might night stars, in a school parking lot, with absolutely no music, seemed like an unknown dream come true for Nate. Never, in his life, had he thought he would be doing such a thing with a boy. And with FLORENCE of all people - the boy he spent a good year hating on, simply because of the fact that he thought Florence was no where good enough for Valencia.

Now, Nate knew that his initial thoughts were wrong. It wasn't that Florence wasn't good enough for Valencia; it was that Valencia wasn't good enough for Florence.

And even though Nate wasn't sure if he himself was good enough for the amazing red-headed idiot, Nate felt so right and amazing as they dance around various colors of cars. And even as people came out to go home, Nate didn't want to stop. It seemed like he and Florence kept dancing for hours, although to Nate, he wanted it to last for hours.

But then he kept tripping more. He held onto Florence tighter, and his eyes started to droop even as they dance. Finally, when Nate slammed his hip against one of the cars, and a couple yelled at them, accusing them of being drunkards, Nate agreed to go home.

He didn't stop letting go of Florence's hand, even as he drove. Despite his condition, Nate insisted on driving. He was the man of the relationship! He was going to drive! And no! He didn't care that driving had nothing to do with genders!!!

Of course, he barely had the capacity to do that, and he relied on Florence keeping him awake to keep them both alive on the drive home. Once they arrived into Florence's house, Nate barely managed to stumble into the house with Florence. As soon as they got into the room, Nate threw off his jacket. But other than that, he didn't care for anything else. He just slipped into bed, and curled up next to Florence once Florence came into bed with him.

Nate was happy. "Good night, Florence..." He muttered. Then, he thought of something that couples do that they haven't done yet.

He leaned up and gave Florence a soft kiss on the cheek. No biting and no blood. Just a soft, gentle peck. Then Nate quickly buried himself against Florence's body, refusing to meet his gaze.

It wasn't long before Nate was forced to end the perfect day, though he was glad that it ended with perfect dreams of families, Florence, and dancing under a rain of bright blue slushies.
 
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To say that the academy was tough before would be an understatement. It had never been harder for the other boy. They switched his dorms, and he was forced to learn an entirely different protocol to respond. These men-- these mechanics would never go off to war, so they didn't treat the campus like so. They woke up late, slept in, went to bed late, partied. It was nothing like the North campus that Mikee had grown to love.

But it was on the other side that Mikee learned to grow and mature.

Within the months that he had been shifting over from Pilot to Mechanic, he had went to the North side many times. He went to raise hell with Mister McCoy, get his eyes examined by the nurse, and he even begged and begged to retake the Captain's test. But when he did get assigned, he was in a monitored session.

It began regularly, with Mikee going up to practice the easy dynamics. He was rusty from holding a wrench and hammer for the past couple of months, but he and his plane were both combined machines. He passed the first test quiet impressively, but then came the part he hated. The teachers who were observing wrote down data scores and other observations, and Mikee began to sweat.

He went onto the next test, and broke down like a baby. It was the first question that made him panic, and the rest that just went totally terrible for him. He got simple stuff wrong because he panicked. He didn't know his colors. What was a pure green? A bright yellow? What the hell did red look like?! Mikee didn't even finished the test. He bolted out of the mechanism before anyone else could stop him, and he was found later that day in his dorm, doing nothing but staring blankly at a pile of markers and crayons, trying to decipher them.

In that panic, he had taken all of the markers he could, and wrote a letter to James.

"JAMES -
I CAN'T FLY."

He didn't write any more. Or any less. He wanted to go home.

But that had been previous. It was atleast three weeks after the indecent, and he was now working. He was in the middle of a different test, one that wasn't like the Captain's test, but it wasn't all that easy like the other one. He had to build an engine from the ground up, place it inside a plane, and make sure nothing went wrong during the assembly of the creation.

Mikee finished in four hours and twenty minuets. He got an A. Mikee felt numb as he was handed the paper. This wasn't what he wanted to do with his life, but he was good at it. Under the hood, everything was the same color and everything was ordered. Everything was listed. It was like following a script. He looked at the top of his form, and he saw that the teacher had misspelt his name.

"Uh, Miss. Eugine?"
"Yes, sir?" The old woman asked, putting down her clipboard.
"My name is Mikee," He stated. "Not Mike, like on the sheet."
The old woman rolled her eyes, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He towered over the other lady, and she had to do her very best to reach the new giant. "You are far too mature for such a childish name, Mister Petrackish. Mike suits you better."
Mikee-- Mike nodded. He rolled the name around on his tongue, and went back to the finished product.

Mike managed to pass his classes with high marks. He got scholarships for mechanical engineering, workforce instruction, business educate, and so much more. But all of that didn't stop Mike from dropping out of his schooling in late July. On the first chance he could, he packed up all the stuff he could and decided to leave for good.

While his leaving wasn't graceful, he was 'honorably discharged'. Everyone from the North wing wished him luck, and his teachers from the South did the same. Most of the credits would transfer to the final years of his schooling, and even some went on to college. Mike spent some time to himself on the long bus ride, and he thought about what would come out of all that had taken place.

It was sometime in July when Mike returned home from his own personal war. The sun was hot, and the wind was hotter. He had dropped all of his things off and left almost unnoticed. His parents were often gone to Jordan during the summer months, and they hadn't gotten word that their son came back. Mike, while he was home alone, took a good look at himself in the mirror.

He had changed quite drastically.

He was taller, for one. A bit more bulky, and he grew into his shape. His face was tired, and he hadn't shaved in a while. He had brown stubble going where baby hairs once used to be. He brought his hands up to rub his face, and he felt the calluses and the scars. He felt like he was new. He felt like Mike.

Mike walked out of that house, adorning clothes he had bought from a time long ago. He had on a while shirt, nice pants and a good jacket. Nothing more, nothing less. He spent a good time taking the long way to James' house, so he knew exactly what to say to the boy once he managed there. To think, months away from him and he would be excited to hear from him, but really, Mike was terrified.

One thing he had grown into was, sadly, hesitentivness. He had drawn back. His disability had made him humble. He didn't blurt, or interrupt. He listened, communicated, waited. He was scared and drawn back when he made it up to the large house. Had he already been married while Mike was away? Did he replace him after all? Did he move?

Did James even care about him anymore?

Mike knocked on the door, his rapping matching tone to his wicked heart-beat.
 
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Only a month after the incident, James was discharged from the hospital. Nathaniel, Florence, and even Mikee's family had helped him settle back into his life style. Although tripping and tumbling had caused James to sustain much more damage in the following months, the humiliation was the hardest part of the battle. He couldn't walk up and down the stairs. He couldn't change his clothes. He couldn't cook. Heck, he couldn't even use the restroom without some sort of help. Of course, he fired all of the servants, even those that insisted to stay and help.

He wanted to learn to do it himself. Partially because James was stubborn, and partially because James felt like he had to. If Mikee had to face his disability by himself, James will face his.

And now, James would always wonder how babies managed to learn to walk as soon as their muscles and bones allowed them to do so. But he did manage it, it might have taken him months to finally walk with as much ease as a normal person with two legs, but he did it. He leaned against his crutch, and although it once brought pain to his right arm, it became a normal, comforting pressure. He couldn't run - the doctors had warn him that it would be impossible for him to ever learn to run on crutches - but he could keep up a fast brisk. Not for very long, but he could do it.

Mikee's letter had caused James' heart to break. He wanted to help him further, but he didn't know how. What words could be said at this time? What could he possibly do to help him? James answered to the best of his ability, but he knew it didn't measure up to anything he could do in person.

All he could was still think of Mikee as he went to do his daily tasks and schoolwork.

His father came to visit him once. When James heard the doorbell, he was quite capable of going to the door and opening it. He should have known who it was, there was only one person that James knew that would ring the doorbell 2 times in quick sessions. However, he just stared blankly at the older man in front of him, their blue eyes mirroring each other. Well, not perfect mirrors - James could just feel the judgement coming off in waves from the older man. James was just wearing his normal pajama pants without a shirt. His right pajama pant dangling uselessly as he leaned against the crutch the provided him both support and comfort.

"James."
"Da-... Richard." The old man's face frown seemed to deepen even further.
"No... Son, I came here to apologize." James stared at him even more. But at first, he said nothing. Instead, he stepped out of the way, quite hesitantly, allowing his father to come inside.

They stood there awkwardly for a while. Before his father cleared his voice - twice.

"I want to help you, James. I still think it was incredibly stupid of you, but... You are my only son. I want to help."
James took a shaky breath; he felt a bad feeling coming. "Help me, dad? How?"
"I will buy you a new leg."

Money. Of course - money solves everything. The man could have asked to buy him dinner. The man could have asked James to move back in with him, so they could live like a family where the man could have doted on him like a loving father. Or the man could have just hugged him. That's it. Just hug him.

Stubbornly, James set his jaw. "I don't want a prosthetic leg."
"Why?!"
"Because, I'm perfectly fine without it. Can't you see I functioned months without it? I just learned to walk with this. If you don't like the way I look then you can just lea-"

Then it happened. The man pulled James into a hug. He hugged him tightly, as if he never wanted to let him go.

James eventually agreed to the prosthetic leg, but he hated it. It felt weird against his bare skin, and the plastic scrapped him uncomfortably. It felt wrong, as if it was taking place of his real leg. And in a way, it made James feel like he admitted defeat to his problems. So, he only wore it when he had to; when his father, whose obsession with even numbers still annoyed James to no end, asked him to.

On the fateful summer day, James had spent the morning trying to capture the two cats. They were shedding, like crazy, so James finally got fed up and decided to brush them. Of course, Angela had first thought the brush was some sort of monster and had hissed it for hours. Princess Blade ran away with his tail between his legs.

He groaned when he heard someone knock. He didn't see a car out front, so he thought that maybe it was just a salesman. James was tempted to ignore it, but decided against it. He quickly shoved on a wife-beater, so he wasn't completely shirt naked, and opened the door wide. "Can I help y...o..u..." James trailed off.

The boy- man now? - in front of him was someone James only saw in his dreams. Well, not even. "Mikee?" He asked in shock. Mikee had... certainly changed. And not in a bad way either, James couldn't help but like it, although he felt small in comparison now. Mikee was still slightly shorter than James, but Mikee was bigger in other ways. James had slight arm muscles, of course, but he hadn't exercised in any other way. He grew thinner and leaner, and possibly more pale than he ever was before. Not that James looked sick, he just looked... different. And of course, his leg. His home shorts made it painfully obvious that James was not physically complete.

He nearly shied away. He had only told Mikee once, and Mikee had thought he was lying. James nearly slammed the door in his face, afraid of facing the humiliation he had thought he won against.

But he didn't. Instead, he reached out and hugged the boy. "Mikee, hey." He cooed softly in Mikee's ears. He remembered that Mikee was suppose to be gone for 5 years. But he wasn't - he was here. Therefore, he didn't win. Mikee lost in his battle. His dreams were shattered. James wondered why Mikee wasn't broken in bits.

"Mikee." He muttered once more, "I missed you. Welcome home."
 
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Mike waited for the door to open. He was half expecting a new set of home-owners to come, and ask what the strange man was doing at their house. But when the door was answered, there wasn't a single question. The door swung open, and he looked inside gently. No big interior changes. Everything was the same. Mike looked to the homeowner, and looked him up and down.

The first thing that came to his mind was: He wasn't lying. Mike tried to keep it together, but he felt all of the air leave his lungs when he saw the other boy-- the other man. He had changed. They both had changed. They changed so much, it made Mike scared. Did he still like him? Did he still care? Was he mad? Did he hate him? Did he still like him?

When the other boy came to him, hugging him and calling him by his old nickname, he felt as if the world was lifted off of his shoulders. Mike hugged him tightly, not willing to let him go for anything at all. He tried to hold his breath, but when he had to breath, he let out a shaky sigh. His eyes grew wet, but he refused to cry and show weakness.

Mike wanted to say something. He wanted to say anything at all. He wanted to apologize, and tell him that he would help him, and make sure he was comfortable and that he would never leave. He wanted to tell him that the academy was a shitty idea, and that he should have never left. He wanted to tell him that he was a mechanic now, and he was getting certified. He wanted to tell him all of these things, but all he said before he broke down in the man's arms was,

"I fucking love you,"

He didn't quite know what he meant by that, but he meant it. He supposed that he meant that he loved him, and only him. That he was the thing that kept him working hard. That he was what brought him home. That he would be there to help him, and he would never hurt him like that. Maybe he meant that he would always be there for James, and he would never let him hurt himself like that again. It meant all and nothing at the same time. It made his head dizzy.

It was like looking at a diagram of colors. It was like trying to put names to colors. It was like taking the Captain's Test all over again. "I'm so sorry," He mumbled, his check racking from the shallow breaths and the heavy sighs. "I love you, I missed you, I want to fucking kiss you."
 
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James listened to Mikee cuss and talk. It was like old times, the other boy spewing out nonsense. But James felt his heart swell, and he couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. No matter what Mikee looked like, he was still the left handed bunny he always knew.

As soon as Mikee was done, James took his hand and brought him in. He closed the door behind the former blonde. Then, without warning, he leaned over to kiss Mikee. It was hard and gentle all at once. James was starving for love - he wanted this, no, needed it.

He was out of breath and he leaned on Mikee heavily. His crutch had somehow fallen somewhere, but he didn't care. Even when his body was begging for air, James kissed Mikee more and more.

When he finished, he pulled away. Then he smiled at Mikee, his eyes warm. It was as if he never hated him at all. "You talk too much, Princess." He muttered playfully, his fingers reaching out to touch the corners of Mikee's mouth. It was then that James realized that despite it all, despite all of their mistakes, disabilities, failures, and even complete and utter depression, they would get through it all. Together. But first, they needed it take it one at a time.

And the first steps involved using his lungs.

"I love you too, Mikee."
 
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