Short Stories - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Six years later
It was hot as hell.
Ethan would rather be anywhere else, really. Anywhere inside. Or maybe outside in a pool, or at the beach, or anywhere he wouldn't be simply sitting out in the open, defenseless against the sun's attack.
But he'd promised Yoshi that they'd go to the park today. And even though Yoshi probably had no idea what that meant, Ethan felt guilty going back on his word.
So there he was, stuck on a park bench in the midst of California summer. It wasn't even a shaded park bench. No, all of those were occupied with old people and little kids, leaving Ethan on a hot bench with no trees to provide him with any form of shade while Yoshi had the time of his life, running around with other big dogs and occasionally stepping on the poor small ones that he was too occupied to notice.
Yoshi was two in human years, which meant he was a teen in dog years, and it showed. The moment they got to the park, he ditched Ethan to go hang out with his cool dog friends, only coming back when he was thirsty. Teenagers could be such brats.
Ethan, alone at the park and not in the mood to strike up a conversation with one of the old ladies hogging the shaded chairs, had no choice but to sit with his chin in his hands and think. Which would've been totally fine, if he didn't end up thinking about Katie.
Katie and her awesome blue hair, Katie and her funny jokes, Katie and her I-don't-care-what-others-think style. Katie and that bartender Ethan had walked in on her playing tongue-tag with in her living room, just a week before their two-year anniversary.
That was two months ago. It was kind of hard to forget two years of dating—not to mention four years of friendship—after two months.
Ethan probably would have drowned in his heart-sick thoughts if Yoshi hadn't done that uncanny thing dogs do, sensing Ethan's distress from yards away and bounding over to give his person some lovin'.
"Oh, now you wanna talk to me," Ethan said as the golden retriever put furry paws on his lap and leaned up to lick his chin. His smile gave him away, though, because it's pretty hard to play mad when you're being attacked by seventy-five pounds of affection.
Just as quickly as Yoshi had shown up, he ran off. Ethan sighed to himself, but then his dog reappeared with a bright purple ball in his mouth, wagging his tail expectantly.
"I don't think that's yours, big guy," Ethan laughed, scratching behind Yoshi's ears. Yoshi stubbornly placed his head in Ethan's lap, and his owner quickly gave in, taking the ball from his mouth and standing up.
A classic game of fetch ensued, and all was well until Ethan threw the ball at the wrong moment, sending Yoshi racing after it with nothing else in his sight. He raced straight into some unsuspecting college kid who was too busy spacing out to move out of the way in time.
Ethan sucked in a breath, pressing his fist against his mouth and muttering the word shit under his breath as the guy went down. Yoshi continued as if nothing had happened, jumping over his victim and continuing on his quest for the ball.
Ethan jogged over to do some much needed damage control and extended a hand to the poor boy, who was wiping grass from his cheek. He took Ethan's hand and stood, brushing dirt off of his jeans.
"I am so sorry," Ethan apologized. "I swear that dog is crazy."
"It's fine," he said with a good-natured laugh, which was abruptly cut off when he looked up and saw Ethan's face.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. The dude looked like he'd seen a ghost. "You okay, man?"
He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said, and this time his voice came out hoarse. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Sorry, I just . . . never mind," he laughed nervously, running a hand through his brown hair.
Ethan smiled. It was kind of refreshing—how jittery this guy seemed. And it was cute. Hell, he was cute. He had that tall, pale, blue eyed, pink lipped, dark haired thing going on.
"You seem kind of rocky," Ethan said. "You sure you're good? Yoshi's a pretty big dog."
He chuckled. "Your dog's name is Yoshi?"
"Yeah," Ethan grinned. "My family's kind of got a Mario theme with our pet names."
Something flickered in the boy's eyes. "That's cute," he said, but he had a preoccupied look on his face.
"Watch out," Ethan said as he caught sight of Yoshi bounding back towards him. The boy moved with time to spare as Yoshi made his attack, and this time Ethan was the victim. He was prepared, though, and braced himself enough to only stumble back. "I told you," he said, "He's absolutely fucking crazy."
Yoshi turned his attention to the person he'd barreled over just a minute before. "I like crazy," the boy laughed, leaning over to pet Yoshi who, like the little brat he was, laid on his back to expose his tummy.
Ethan was tempted to say something cheesy, like, well I'm pretty crazy, or you'll like me, then, but he figured that would be way too forward and probably only lead to some major post-interaction embarrassment and subsequent cringing on his part. "God, you're spoiled," he groaned instead, rolling his eyes at his dog. The boy just laughed again, giving into Yoshi's silent demand by crouching down to rub his stomach.
There was a buzzing noise, and he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Shit," he hissed, jumping to his feet. "I'm so disorganized, god."
"Somewhere to be?" Ethan guessed. He nodded. "Well, I'm sorry my dog ran you over."
He grinned. "Honestly, I think I needed that." He gave Yoshi a final pat on the head. "Bye, Yoshi. It was a pleasure being tackled by you."
Yoshi licked his hand affectionately. The boy looked back up at Ethan. "See you around, maybe."
A small grin played at Ethan's lips. "Maybe," he mused. The boy looked at him for a moment longer, and his smile seemed to falter, before turning and speed-walking off to wherever he was going.
When he was out of earshot, Ethan whistled. "Finally making yourself useful, huh?" He said to Yoshi, who just cocked his head. "Do me a favor and run into hot guys more often, kay? Say, if I ever get a date with that kid, I'll buy you one of those doggy-cupcakes."
Ethan knew that wouldn't happen, though. The chances of ever running into that kid again were close to zero—that kind of thing happened in Kansas, not California. And even then, he wasn't ready to start dating again. Not after Katie.
While Ethan was hooking Yoshi's leash to his collar, the boy he'd run into by chance was sat in a rental car, gripping the steering wheel so hard his palms hurt.
"Holy shit," Michael kept whispering under his breath. "Holy shit."
Ethan Bates. The same Ethan Bates who'd made nearly five years in a hospital, which had easily been the worst experience of Michael's life, also the best. The same Ethan Bates who Michael had depended on so much that he'd become like a second life force. The same Ethan Bates that Michael had fallen hopelessly in love with when he was just a kid. The same Ethan Bates that had decided to hate him, leaving him crying for months.
That same Ethan Bates' dog had just run Michael over in the middle of the park. It had to be him. The same caramel colored hair and kind brown eyes. The same face, just older.
And if looks weren't enough, the Mario themed pet names were adequate confirmation. Michael remembered countless stories about Mario the lab and Luigi the tabby cat.
"Holy shit."
Michael's heart was racing. His brain was spinning faster than he could keep up with as memory after memory—memories he'd thought he'd finally forgotten—pushed to the front of his mind. The Bad Guy. Slapjack. Scrabble. Birdie. Mikey.
The memory of their short interaction in the park, however, was already fading. God, he must have sounded like an idiot. He could perfectly imagine himself stammering like a fool and staring like a creep.
He should have said something. Should have told him.
But then again, it had been six years. People don't usually greet each other in passing after six years. And Ethan hadn't recognized him at all. Maybe Ethan didn't even remember. If he did remember, then he probably remembered being mad at Michael, hating him after that stupid kiss.
No, he definitely should not have said something. There was no way that would've gone well.
The past was in the past. Michael just needed to take some deep breaths, try not to remember too much, and hope he never ran into Ethan again.
There was no questioning it. Michael hated rental cars.
First, the damn radio didn't work, so he had to either drive in silence or play his music straight from his phone—which, by the way, was not the same.
And now, a flat tire. Not due to any kind of puncture. It was just flat.
And Michael had to pay for it. Not the stupid rental place that gave him a half-assed car. No, the bill was all his.
So Michael had to use the tiny amount of power the car had left to drive over to the nearest auto-repair place.
He was met at the shop's front desk by a gruff, burly man in navy coveralls who seemed to only be half-listening to what he said. Michael was pretty sure the man was just waiting for him to finish talking so he could call over some other worker to deal with him.
And he was right. As soon as Michael shut his mouth, the man looked over his shoulder and called out the name "Ethan".
No, Michael thought, shutting his eyes and wondering why the world hated him so much. No, no, no.
It was probably a different Ethan. California must have hundreds of Ethans; it's a popular name.
No such luck. Michael forced a smile as the same Ethan he'd met at the park hours earlier appeared around the corner.
"Oh hey," Ethan grinned. "Small world."
The man behind the desk—his name tag said Jerry—huffed and said, "You know each other?" Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but Jerry waved a dismissive hand. "Don't actually care."
Ethan and Michael exchanged a glance, and Ethan smiled sheepishly. "How about you show me your car and I'll see what I can do?"
Michael was silent the entire time that Ethan was looking at the deflated tire. He didn't know if he was supposed to start a conversation or not, and even if he was, what do you say to the guy you spent over four years of your life being in love with, who doesn't even know that you're you?
Michael was pretty sure that anything he said would come out a jumbled mess, anyways. He couldn't even look at Ethan without being swarmed with old unwanted memories. Which was a pity, because Ethan was the one guy on Earth who made coveralls look attractive.
Just being near him was giving Michael this funny feeling, somewhere between feeling like he wanted to throw up and feeling like he wanted to just wrap Ethan up in a big mushy hug. Neither option sounded like it would go over too well.
". . .has to be replaced. Hey, you following me?"
Michael blinked. "What? Sorry. Spaced out. What were you saying?"
"The tire. It's pretty old, and filling it up won't do much, at least not for long. It's gonna have to be replaced."
Michael pursed his lips. "How long will that take?" At least he was speaking coherently. That much was a victory.
"The replacement? About an hour. But we've already got a few vehicles we're working on, so you're looking at three, four hours total."
Michael blew out exasperatedly. "Man, I don't have three hours."
"Somewhere to be?" Ethan asked, just like he had earlier. Michael nodded.
"An interview, actually."
"I can drop you off, if you want," Ethan offered. "Bring you back when the job's almost done."
"Are you allowed to do that?" Michael asked.
Ethan shrugged. "I'm pretty sure. And even if I'm not, you saw my boss. I don't think he even knows what's happening around here half the time," he said with a chuckle.
Michael smiled gratefully, trying hard to ignore the literal dread he felt at the prospect of being trapped in a car with Ethan Bates. "That'd be great, thanks," he said, because he didn't see any other option.
"So," Ethan said conversationally as he pulled out of the parking lot, glancing at Michael in the passenger seat. "Where are we going, exactly?"
"UC San Diego School of Medicine," Michael answered. Ethan whistled.
"Damn," he said. "You're doing an interview there?"
Michael felt his cheeks turn pink and glanced bashfully down at his lap. Ethan caught this out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help the pang he felt at how much it reminded him of his old friend.
"I guess it's not really an interview," Michael said. "I'm meeting with some professors. They're gonna pitch the school to me."
"Pitch it to you," Ethan echoed. "So you're telling me the professors at UC Med are trying to convince you to come to their school. What kind of prodigy are you?"
Michael laughed in embarrassment. "I'm not, really. I'm just . . ."
"A genius."
"No, I'm—"
"Extremely smart."
Michael buried his face in his hands. "You're killing me," he laughed.
"I'm sorry, can't help it," Ethan chuckled. "So, am I ever gonna get your name?"
Michael thought about lying. He could say his name was Mitch, or Justin, or something else. But he could imagine just about a million ways that could go wrong, so he went with the truth. "Michael," he said. "My name's Michael."
Ethan coughed, and Michael internally winced. He might've just screwed up big time.
"Anyone ever call you Mikey?"
Michael forced himself to remain composed. "Nah, I'm not really big on nicknames. Why?"
When he glanced over at Ethan, said boy was smiling. "You just remind me of someone," he said. "A lot, actually. You kinda look like him, too. But that doesn't matter. I'm Ethan, by the way."
"I know," Michael said, and when Ethan looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he quickly said, "Your name-tag. And your deadbeat boss said it earlier."
"Ah," Ethan breathed. "About this interview-advertisement thing; you nervous at all?"
Michael groaned. "Like you wouldn't believe. I'm not good at this stuff."
"What stuff?"
"You know, making impressions and such."
"I don't know," Ethan pondered. "I'd say you're pretty good at it."
And then Michael was blushing and smiling and staring at his lap again, and Ethan couldn't believe how much it reminded him of the Mikey Thing.
Michael had kind of expected the drive to be awkward and silent from that point on. But then Ethan asked some more questions about the interview that led to questions about what Michael was doing in California—trying to decide which medical school he wanted to go to. And somehow that turned into Michael asking Ethan questions about his own college life and finding out that Ethan was also studying at UCSD, but he was studying mechanical engineering. So the whole car repair job made sense.
The drive, as a matter of fact, was never awkward or silent. From the moment they sat down to the moment Michael got out, conversation flowed easily between them, just like it had six years ago. And that same feeling—that awesome feeling you get when you know that the person you're talking to just gets it, no matter what it is—was there, too. It was just natural—one of those instant connections people always dream about—which made Ethan pretty excited and made Michael pretty damn nervous.
"Here," Ethan said as he dropped Michael off. "Let me give you my number, and you can text me whenever your interview is done so I can come get you."
Michael hummed in agreement and handed over his phone. When he got it back, Ethan had added his number under the name Ethan ;);).
"Thanks a ton, Ethan," Michael said as he opened up the passenger door. "You're a lifesaver."
"Not an issue," Ethan said, and as he drove away, he couldn't help but think that it was the exact opposite. It was awesome. This Michael guy was so nice and smart and funny, but also kind of awkward and shy in the cutest way possible. Which was pretty wild to think, because Ethan hadn't seen someone else that way in a good while.
So maybe he'd done a bit of flirting. And maybe that wasn't right, because he was still mulling over Katie and knew he shouldn't bite off more than he could chew, especially after just a few hours. But Michael was giving him a serious case of schoolboy heart-eyes, and he couldn't really convince himself that some minor flirting would do any harm.
It was an hour and a half later when Ethan got a text saying the interview was done. He hadn't even started on Michael's rental yet, so he told him that and asked if he'd rather wait at UC for a while longer, to which the answer was yes.
When one of Ethan's coworkers started working on Michael's tire, Ethan figured that was as good a time as ever and sent Michael a text warning that he was coming. Fifteen minutes later, he was parked at the college.
"Hey hey hey," Michael greeted as he opened the passenger door and sat inside.
"Hey yourself," Ethan grinned. "How was it?"
"Interesting," Michael said, then continued to describe the experience. He shared the things he liked and his concerns, and again they fell into one of those easy, back-and-forth conversations that managed to be a perfect blend of talking, listening, and laughing.
Michael sat and waited in the repair shop for another half an hour before his car was fixed up and ready. Ethan was the one to ring him up at the cash register.
"Thanks again," Michael said, and Ethan chuckled.
"You don't have to keep thanking me, you know," he said. "This is my job."
Michael shrugged and tried to hide his blush. He hated that he blushed so much around Ethan. "Well, you're pretty good your job."
"I try," Ethan said smugly. His cocky image was ruined, though, by a growl from his stomach that even Michael could hear.
The latter scoffed. "You know, I think you might be hungry."
"I think," Ethan mused, "you might be right."
"When do you get off?"
Ethan glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. "In about five minutes."
So Michael did something bold. "Well how about in five minutes, you come grab something to eat with me? Since I'm sure it was driving me around all day that got you so hungry in the first place."
Ethan grinned. "Sounds like a damn good plan to me. Might as well go get changed now. I don't think Jerry will care too much."
Ethan disappeared behind a staff-only door, coming back three minutes later in a navy UCSD sweatshirt and Nike joggers, looking very much like your typical college student. Except your typical college kid didn't usually make Michael's heart miss a beat just by flashing a smile.
Was Michael in deep shit? Yes. Was he just digging himself into deeper shit by inviting Ethan out with him? Abso-fucking-lutely. But that boy had worked his magic once again, pushing Michael's anxieties to the back of his mind and his interests to the front. Because Ethan had just about everything going for him—he was friendly and intelligent Jesus Christ was he nice to look at—and once he'd worked his Ethan magic, whether he meant to or not, he was kind of impossible to stay away from.
"I know a place that's really nearby," Ethan said. "Burgers and fries and such. We can walk if you want—San Diego is really nice at night."
"Let's do it," Michael agreed.
Outside, evening was transitioning to night and the sun had nearly finished setting, leaving the sky a mix of purple and red. "This place is so damn pretty," he breathed. "Like, everything about it is so different from back home. You guys have palm trees and everything."
Ethan chuckled. "You from up north?"
"Midwest."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
"I didn't mean it like that!" Ethan laughed. Michael scoffed.
"I did."
"That bad, huh?" Ethan smirked.
"The most entertaining things I had there were my bookshelf and my TV."
Which led into a conversation about which TV shows they watched, and Michael admitted that reality shows were a guilty pleasure of his, which Ethan shamelessly made fun of.
"I know they're bad," Michael laughed. "But once you acknowledge that they're god-awful, you can just watch them and laugh at them and get invested in the petty drama."
"Okay," Ethan said, unconvinced. "You'll never find me sitting around watching The Bachelor is all I'm saying."
"But that one's my favorite!" Michael said, to which Ethan laughed and shook his head. "You're gonna watch it."
"Am I, now?"
"Yup."
"You gonna make me?"
"Yup."
Ethan grinned. "Maybe I'll watch it with you," he said, which Michael took as a victory. "Alright, there it is," he said, pointing to a small diner.
Michael snorted. "Who the hell names their restaurant Bodacious Burgers?"
Ethan laughed and opened the door, holding it for Michael and stepping in behind him.
"So," he said when they sat down. "How long are you gonna be in San Diego?"
"A week," Michael told him. "Unless I decide to go to UCSD. Then it'll be like ten years."
"What other schools are you looking at?"
"Well I've been to UCLA, Emory, Colombia, and UW," he explained. "And after this one I'm supposed to check out UNC, Stanford, and John Hopkins. But half of those are way too expensive to actually go to anyways, so it's more like wishful thinking."
"And you got accepted into all of them?" Ethan asked incredulously. Michael nodded shyly. "You really are a prodigy, aren't you?"
Michael didn't know how to respond to that, so he took a bite of his burger.
"You're what, eighteen?" Ethan asked a few minutes later.
"Nineteen," Michael corrected, and at Ethan's quizzical look, he explained, "I did one year at a local college back home, but I guess I kind of want more than that, so I'm switching schools and looking for something more . . . challenging."
Ethan nodded in understanding. "Why waste a year, though?"
Michael swallowed uncomfortably. "My mom passed in my senior year. I didn't wanna leave my dad so soon after; we both kind of needed each other."
"God," Ethan breathed. His eyes were wider than usual, and he looked like he felt pretty bad for asking. "That's awful. I . . . I'm sorry." And he really was sorry, and Michael could tell, because Ethan didn't have an insincere bone in his body.
"No worries," Michael said, more than ready to steer away from the topic.
Ethan didn't seem to catch that, though. Instead, he asked. "What was she like? Your mom."
"What was she like?" Michael repeated, and Ethan nodded. After six years, he clearly hadn't lost his way of asking simple yet provoking questions. Questions that were so straightforward yet always managed to make you think, and sometimes smile and sometimes cry.
"Gee, she was the best. She was the most understanding person. Whenever I did something wrong, she was never judgy or accusing. She just talked it out with me and helped me understand why what I did was wrong. Sometimes she was a little too soft," he chuckled nostalgically, "and dad would have to put his foot down. But I trusted her with everything. I don't think I ever kept anything from her, because there was never a reason to. And . . . And I'm rambling, aren't I?"
Ethan smiled encouragingly. "Not at all," he said. Michael didn't know how he did it, but he had this way of getting people to talk and talk and talk without even trying. He was like a Freudian therapist, using free association to diagnose his patients. Or maybe he only had that effect on Michael. "She sounds amazing."
"She was," Michael agreed. "It was so unexpected, too. A drunk driver and a bicycle accident. And the worst part was that when she was in that coma for four months, there would be these moments when the doctors thought they saw improvement. She even started moving a tiny bit, and we thought she was coming back for sure. Then one day, all of a sudden, everything stopped, and she was gone. It was like the world was teasing us."
"I know exactly how that feels," Ethan said, and Michael could hear it in his voice, clear as day, that he meant it. Ethan had always been such an open book, and Michael loved that about him. "And I'm sorry you had to go through it. Nobody deserves that."
"You lost someone?"
"A long time ago, yeah." He cleared his throat.
They both seemed to silently decide then that the conversation had gotten a bit too heavy, and switched to lighter topics like sports teams and embarrassing stories and favorite movies. Their interaction had more or less become an unofficial game of twenty questions, and neither tried to hide how much he enjoyed getting to know the other.
Time was moving, though. Eventually they finished their food, then their walk back to the shop, which they spent debating over which superheroes would win or lose in fights against each other. It was time to say goodnight, and neither wanted to.
"So my friends and I are going to the carnival on Saturday," Ethan said as they stood by his car, leaning against the hood. "And they're all coupled up except for me and my ex, who's bringing her best friend, who pretty much hates me."
"Yikes." Michael scrunched up his nose. "Bad breakup?"
"As bad as it gets, given she cheated on me."
"Ouch," Michael said sympathetically. "Why does her best friend hate you for that, though?"
"Some weird friend code, I guess," Ethan shrugged. "Plus, I don't think he ever liked me."
"Maybe he's jealous," Michael proposed. The idea made Ethan chuckle. Garret Johnson, jealous of him. Yeah, right.
"Maybe," he mused. "Anyways, I don't wanna be an awkward fourth wheel the whole time, and I think it's absolutely necessary that you see how awesome the carnival is before you go, and I'm kinda scrambling to find an excuse to hang out with you again, so what do you say you come along?"
Michael was finding it really difficult to not smile too hard. Ethan wanted to see him again. "If your friends won't mind, then yeah, I'm down."
"Sweet," Ethan said, and he was finding it really hard to not smile, too. "I'll text you."
"I'm counting on it."
"Goodnight."
Michael got that giddy feeling in his stomach. "Goodnight."
He was in deep, deep shit. Both of them were.