Post by Deleted on Aug 18, 2019 18:57:50 GMT -5
ICE CREAM SOCIAL
Mike had a lot to process. Frankly, they always did. Between their share of they and John’s partnership (which normally but not always entailed the cooking, bookkeeping, scheduling, travel booking, and merch supply orders- generally the nuts and bolts stuff), wrestling moves and strategies, and their own rats’ nest of personal anxieties, their brain was hardly ever a still, calm place. This absolute tangle of utter chaos was held together mostly by willpower, stubbornness, and complete bullheaded pride.
On that note, it was little wonder what had popped out of Mike’s mouth over the phone. Dr. Moriarty had called them to check on John, how he was adjusting to a rather jarring and yet not unexpected (at least on Mike’s part) diagnosis she’d given him on their last session. Mike had answered earnestly- he was angry. He was dealing as well as someone could, Mike supposed, but while he wasn’t directing it at anything unearned he was obviously displaying more fury than they’d ever seen him at length. It was slowly dissipating over time, but Mike could tell he was still trying to deal. They’d been told such things were to be expected, and anger was perfectly fine as long as it wasn’t misdirected. Then the conversation shifted.
Appointments that had been scheduled, not with Dr. Moriarty but with one of her colleagues. Appointments that hadn’t been attended. Was there any reason Mike missed them.
“I’m fine.”
Alright well it’s usually appreciated that if you’re going to miss a scheduled appointment, you call and let someone know. Just a reminder for the future.
“Okay. Sorry about that. Anyway. Next time. Soon as we get back from London.”
London? Oh lovely. You both should take some time to enjoy it, it’s a wonderful city. Please tell John I’m looking forward to seeing him again. Goodbye.
“Bye, Doc.”
They hadn’t lied. They were totally fine. They didn’t need need to talk to anybody, they were fit as a fiddle. They could take care of John just fine without any help, they were tag team champions thrice over, they were dealing with the death of their trainer with, they thought, an expert level of grace. Everything was peachy fuckin’ keen.
You’re absolutely adorable, you know that?
Shut up.
Feigning being a perfectly functional, normal member of society while inside you’re fucked up six ways to goddamn Sunday. You’re walking a tightrope and this fuckin’ close to slipping and doing an acrobatic fuckin’ pirouette right into a nervous breakdown. Which I’m sure’ll be helpful for everyone.
I said shut up.
“That’ll be eight dollars.”
“Here you go, thanks.”
“Have a good day!”
“You too.”
He still hasn’t told you he loves you. And before you go using the way his brain works as an excuse, I’ll remind you that he had no problem admitting he loved someone he can’t even fucking remember clearly anymore. So have fun with that, chucklefuck.
You are the absolute fucking worst.
Huffing, Mike’s pensive expression melted into a smile. John was sitting on the park bench where they’d left him, peacefully enjoying the attention of some grateful pigeons he’d thrown cracker crumbs to. Animals just naturally seemed to love him- birds, cats, dogs, anything. Even the stingrays at the touch pool at the zoo all flopped over to him for pets.
Mike sat beside him. A good portion of the pigeons flapped off. They handed him a paperboard bowl full of two scoops of cool green ice cream flecked with dark brown chips, and then licked at their own waffle cone that was beginning to drip- chocolate studded with marshmallows, walnuts, and a dark fudge swirl.
“Sorry about that, didn’t mean to spook your friends.”
With his free hand, he bundled up the brown paper bag that he fed the birds out of and tucked it into his jeans pocket.
“That’s alright,” he stabbed at the ice cream with the plastic spoon, “They had their fill.”
They licked at their cone in silence for a bit. He took neat, careful bites of his mint chocolate chip. Mike sighed a bit- they’d let things settle for a few days, didn’t bring up the obvious issue. But that didn’t stop them from being concerned about it, so finally, they breached the subject.
“You doing okay? I mean… do you feel any better?”
The park was more or less empty. The kids that would’ve been using the nearby playground were all at school now, and the only people around besides them were the odd jogger, and they usually had earbuds in anyway. The conversation, Mike figured, was safe to have despite the technical public nature of the space.
“Nothing’s really changed as a result of it,” the revelation was dual natured. In the same breath, it was earth shaking and nothing whatsoever. Moriarty had just given a name to this … affliction. He had appreciated Mike’s efforts to make this an even partnership but he couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain. He stirred at the scoops, the bottom of the bowl getting soupy.
“That’s true.” Mike shrugged, attacking a stray run of chocolate ooze threatening to roll over their fingers. “How I feel about you hasn’t changed. How we do things hasn’t changed. I mean, not to handwave anything, but you’re no different than you’ve always been. Well, angrier for a couple days, but that’s fuckin’ super understandable. Not gonna hold how you feel about anything against you, that’d be stupid.”
“Don’t think I want this out there,” John mused between spoonfuls, “Although I would say it’s obvious based on what people say. Far from the same from what you’ve dealt with.”
“Yeah. I mean, fucking Christ, it took meeting you to be willing to have anybody use the pronouns I really wanted. Even longer to make it public. Up to you when or if at all you say anything about it outside’a personal conversation. I won’t till you do, if ever. That’s your fuckin’ call, not mine.” They had bit the ice cream down to a lower level by now, and nibbled a bit at the edges of the cone. Breaking off a small piece, they tossed it to one of the lingering birds, who cooed and pecked at it, the pigeon’s green neck bobbing comically.
John set his bowl aside, “I don’t know. Been thinking more on it. Been reading about it. Feels like it could become an excuse, or has already,” he stammered on that, “I, I don’t want that. Now that it has a name, I hate it.”
Mike looked up sharply. Set the ice cream cone in the bowl upside down. Rocky road mingled with mint chocolate chip, the two flavors on the opposite sides of the bowl distinct, yet swirling effortlessly together where they met. The redhead’s expression looked positively heartbroken.
“...I don’t want you to think that.”
They bit at their lip, fingers curling into the top of their palms.
“I mean I don’t wanna invalidate your feelings or nothin’, tell you that you can’t feel or think this or that way or the other, b-but…”
Their cheeks burned, and they felt very grateful that they were alone with only birds and the occasional squirrel to eavesdrop on them. Still, their voice lowered to an odd, quiet tone, choked up in a way it very rarely ever was.
“...I don’t want you to hate anything about you because I love everything about you.”
John smiled, albeit a small one, at that, “I appreciate that,” that response in itself was typical of him, “Sometimes…”
And his mind jumped around searching for something similar - at least similar to his line of thought.
“Realized something the other day. That stuff with Heart last year? You see tape on him over the past ten years, he’s about the nicest guy you could meet. I’m the one who frustrates him. I’m the one who doesn’t reciprocate. Easy to call him a jerk. Easy to say it was just part of who I am,” John stopped himself before he went on a tangent. Wasn’t trying to dwell on that, “Have to wonder, how many people have I done that to? How many people am I doing that now to?”
“No, he was definitely a dick to you. Then he cut it out. Then the other guy replaced him and I actually started to miss the fucker.” Mike laughed a bit, wiping their face on their sleeve and trying to make themselves presentable again. “I dunno. Some people just ain’t very patient. Or understanding. But then, I think I’m pretty good at understanding you and I’m as perceptive as a fuckin’ brick. Anyway. Misunderstandings happen. I guess the only thing to do is try an’ clear them up soon as you realize they’re happening, and that goes for both ends.”
Standing up, Mike stretched, and frowned at what was left of their ice cream- it’d melted into the bit of what was left of John’s, the remnants of the cone standing like a monolith in a marbled sea of brown and green. Shrugging, they tipped the bowl to their lips, slurped up the ice cream soup, and crumbled up the rest of the cone for the birds, tossing the bowl and spoon into the trash.
“Rocky road mint. Not bad.”
They held their hand out.
“C’mon, bud. Let’s go home.”
He took it, the pair of them heading down the paved pathway that led, eventually, to the sidewalk.