Chapter thirteen – Bond

~~

"See you soon dad ... and you Clover," I bid farewell sweetly, heading towards the door with Michael. Yes, Michael actually heard me tell him we're leaving, this time, "Bye!"

"See you soon darling," father responds, "And happy birthday, Michael."

"Yeah ... hope the rest of your day's great," Clover adds, a warm smile on her face.

Michael nods in acknowledgement, "Thank you. Bye for now," he answers them both slightly shyly.

We both exit the house, and once we're outside, a smirk can't help but form on my face. However, I choose to remain silent so that Michael doesn't notice the smirk – most likely, because it's aimed at him, because of his bond with Clover. I don't want him to notice.

Sadly, my little wish isn't granted, as Michael turns his head and sees my smirk, so I try to get rid of it quickly, as if nothing happened.

"What you smilin' at?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone, "Huh?"

He keeps his eyes locked on mine, waiting for an answer, so I scoff and swat the air with my hand, "Smiling? Me? I'm ... just a happy person," I lie partially, "Why do you ask?"

He grins, rolling his eyes and exhaling, "And you tell me I'm a bad liar." He walks a couple steps ahead of me, causing me to snicker at his over-dramatically confident behaviour, "Nope. Michael Joseph Jackson ain't nothin' on Citria Tiannah Espinosa."

The way he pronounces my middle name is so sweet. Normally, I pronounce it as "Tee-ah-nah". Him? He changes the first syllable to pronounce it as "Tay-ah-nah". I find that really quite adorable.

"And what proof do you have that I'm lying, heh, Michael?" I challenge as we walk.

"I got plenty of proof, Citria," Michael chuckles, "But I'm not tellin' you what it is."

"So it's like that, is it?" My tone is jokey.

"Yeah, it's like that." His tone is the same as mine.

"Alright." I decide to change the subject, "Okay, how 'bout this?" My eyes scan our surroundings, seeing the grass, hills, countryside, fields, etcetera, "How 'bout we race back home?"

He cocks an eyebrow, "So we're ... five years old?" he teases, but when he sees me pout, gives in, "I'm kidding. Sure ... let's race. What's the harm in that?"

"Exactly. You know the way back, right?" I ask in clarification. When he nods, I begin to explain, "Okay, so ... the rule is, you can only use your legs. Can't get any cars, bikes, or anything. Just you," I explain, "You ready?"

He nods, a hint of a competitive glint in his eye, "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's do this."

"Okay," I brace myself, "Three ... two—"

"One, go!" Michael finishes the countdown for me, darting off ahead.

I cup my hands around my mouth, "Cheat!" I name-call, starting to run after him. My experience of running in the fields helps me with my speed, so I quickly gain on Michael, ending up only a matter of meters behind him, "I'm coming to getcha!" I taunt.

"No, you're not," he argues playfully, picking up speed and running even further away.

Feeling more of an adrenaline rush within me now, I increase my speed and manage to catch up to him. However, Mother Nature appears to be on Michael's side, as I kick a rock on the ground, resulting in me tripping over and slashing my knee against the ground. Despite it being mostly grass around here, there's still rocky, sharp surfaces and grounds, too, and – to my luck – I had to trip on one of them.

Obviously having heard me fall, Michael stops running and turns around to see me on the floor, "Oh gosh! Citria!" he jogs over to me, wiping the sweat that has gathered on his forehead. Once he's reached me, he kneels down at my side, "Are you okay?" His tone becomes genuinely concerned for me.

I nod, attempting to stand myself up, "Yeah ... I'm fine, honest," I lie.

"You don't look it," Michael frowns. Getting up on my feet, a sharp pain runs down my leg, causing me to start falling back down to the ground, but Michael catches me in his arms, "See? C'mon, let's get you home."

So he does. He places an arm around me to support me, and helps me every step of the way, until we arrive back home. He's such a gentleman; I can totally see why Clover would be so into him.

Hold up ... did that thought really just cross my mind? How silly of me.

"Where's the house key?" Michael asks.

"Oh, I got it," I answer, taking it from my back pocket, "Here." He takes it from my hand, unlocking the door and letting us in. Upon entering the kitchen, I sit myself down at the table, "Thank you, Michael."

He brushes it off, "No worries, now, where's your first aid kit?" he changes the subject, "We need to sort your cut out."

I suddenly become apprehensive, "No, no, Michael ... it's fine, honest. It'll heal," I answer. The truth is, I don't want him to touch it because I'm worried it'll hurt more if he messes with it ... that's all.

He cocks an eyebrow, laughing a little, "Right, it'll heal ... once you've got the first aid for it," he argues politely, scanning the room and seeing all the potential cupboards and drawers that my first aid kit could possibly be in, "Now, tell me ... where's the first aid kit, Citria?"

"Nothing ... nowhere; I'm fine," I stumble on my words a little, "Honestly ... I'll just let it heal by itself, y'know?" My voice takes on a casual tone.

He shakes his head, tutting in amusement, "Alright, fine. But could you do me a favour and get my drink glass from the living room? I forgot to wash it up this morning," he smirks.

I know what he's doing; he knows I'm in pain from the cut, so he's trying to make me admit it by making me walk around ... which I physically can't. However, I'm not going to show that to him at all. Instead, I rest my hands on the table, pushing myself up from it and steadying myself. It hurts, but I can't let that show, otherwise Michael will start fussing over me when I don't want him to.

Gritting my teeth to bear the pain, my journey begins, as I take my first step. The pain begins to subside, giving me a small boost of confidence, so I attempt to walk without using the table as support. Sadly, though, the confidence is only short-lived, as the pain suddenly comes rushing back, sending me falling towards the ground.

Before I can hit the floor, I feel Michael's arms wrap around me; he caught me before I landed and made a fool of myself ... kind of. He chuckles, "Yeah, you're totally fine with letting it heal over," he remarks sarcastically, mocking my previous words, "C'mon, tell me where the first aid kit is." He sits me back on the chair, "Tell me, Citria."

"The cupboard over there," I finally give in, pointing towards a cupboard at the far end of the kitchen, "It's a green box, with a white cross on it. You can't miss it."

Michael nods in understanding, heading over to the cupboard I just pointed at. He opens it, finding the box I was referring to, before bringing it back over to the table. Inside the box, he finds some band-aids, bandages, and various other medical essentials. He begins unravelling the bandages, taking a pair of scissors and cutting it to the right size.

"Okay ... we need to clean this up a little first," he informs me, his voice soft and gentle. Next thing I know, he's at the sink, soaking a cloth, before returning to me, "It'll sting a little initially, but after a few seconds it'll be okay," he assures me. Lightly, he pats the cut with the cloth, and I hiss from the sudden stinging that he warned me about, "Shh, shh ... it'll stop in a second, Citria."

And he's right – within a few seconds, the stinging feeling fades, replaced with a cooling, soothing feeling from the water. When my hissing stops, he gives a small giggle in amusement, dabbing gently at the cut to remove the excess blood.

Once he's done it, he praises me a little, "There. You did great! Now ... I just need to put the bandage on, then you can let it heal for real ... alright?" he explains, earning a nod from me. He reaches for the bandage, taking it in his hand and wrapping it around my knee three times. After that, he ties the ends together, before giving me a smile, "There, see. Not so bad, was it?"

A hint of an embarrassed smile plays on my lips, "Whatever," I laugh timidly, "Uh, so ... it's almost dinner time now," I attempt to change the subject. "So ... I got everything I need for lasagna; all I need is for you to help me make it, like you said this morning. Yeah?"

He gives me a sincere look, "Honestly, Citria, I think I should cook tonight. Your knee is pretty bad right now."

"But it's your birthday ... I should be making an effort for you, Michael."

"You already have been making an effort!" he replies, his voice slightly raised because he wants to get his point across, "Don't you see? The only thing wrong with this birthday, is that my family isn't here. Apart from that, it's the best birthday I've ever had ... " He shuffles his feet against the floor, looking down to avoid eye contact, "And it's all because of you ... "

A feeling of happiness fills me, but I try my hardest not to show it, based on how serious the mood appears to be. It's made my day knowing that I've given him the best birthday ever ... apart from the fact his family are gone.

"W-Well," my breath catches in my throat a little, "That was my aim ... I wanted to make your birthday bearable ... " I stand myself up, the cut stinging a little, but not so much as to cause me to fall down this time, "Because I care for you, Michael."

My hand lightly touches his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, exhaling softly. Then, something in me tells me to lean my head against his chest, so I do, and upon feeling this, Michael's arms wrap around me in an embrace. He leans his head lightly on top of mine, as I wrap my arms around his waist.

We stay this way for a good few minutes; just being there for one another like we promised to be. Forever and a half, is how long we'll be there for each other ... and I genuinely believe that. We've formed such a strong bond, that I doubt anything will break it now.

"You know ... maybe we should start dinner," Michael suggests softly. I feel his voice and warm breath against the top of my head, sending a small shiver running down my spine, "C'mon, we'll make it together if you're that sure on it."

He lets go of the embrace, so I do, too, and we both start getting out the equipment needed for the lasagna. Once everything is out, Michael starts teaching me how to make it, starting from the start – obviously.

"Okay first, you wanna cook the mincemeat, until it's brown," he instructs, opening the packet and gently placing half of it in a frying pan on the stove. "Now, the idea is to make sure there's no lumps in it, otherwise it won't work. Okay?"

I nod, using a wooden spoon to take out any lumps in the meat. About five minutes later, it's brown, so we move on to the next step.

"Now you gotta add the vegetables and other filling in with it," he tells me, dropping a few mushrooms and various other vegetables in, along with a little pepper and sauce, "See? Like this. Make sure you keep stirring it though."

"Of course," I answer, using the wooden spoon to mix everything together a little bit. "What happens next?"

"Cover it and let it cook for a half hour; but we gotta go back to it every ten minutes to mix it up a little," he explains, taking some tin foil and covering the pan with it, "Now, we'll come back to that in ten minutes. We can start with the pasta part."

With a nod of my head, we get to work. I break an egg into a bowl, before beating it with a fork to mix the yolk and white together. After a short while, Michael takes over, then adds cheese to it.

"Now take the pasta sheets and place them in hot water," Michael instructs, so that's exactly what I do, "That's it. It'll just soften them so we can use them easier."

After a few minutes, the pasta sheets soften, so Michael places them in an ovenproof dish, and once the filling is cooked, that's added on top. Then goes some more pasta sheets, some cheese sauce, and another layer of filling.

"It's almost done now," Michael points out triumphantly, "You're doing great!" He decides to lay the final layer of pasta on top, sprinkling a little cheese over it to finish it off, "See? It's perfect now. You did a great job."

A small scoff escapes my mouth, "Please! Most of it was you, you know? All I did was a little bit of mixing."

"Well ... you can put it in the oven, then. How 'bout that?" he jokes, scanning the top layer of the lasagna with his eyes, "That's the most important part there, you know."

Feeling a little useless, I grab the dish, before opening the oven and placing it inside. It was meant to be mostly me that made the lasagna, but Michael's been too helpful towards me, and ended up doing most of it himself. I'm failing to spot the decent part of this birthday for him ... seriously.

*  *  *

"That was absolutely perfect," Michael compliments after we've finished dinner. He stands up from his chair, taking his plate to the sink, and offering his hand to me, "Pass me your plate; I'll wash up tonight," he says.

I shake my head firmly, rising from my seat and playfully snatching his plate from his hand, "Nope, I am. It's your birthday." With my own plate, I wash up, placing everything on the drying rack afterwards, despite Michael's desperate attempts to do it himself, "Now ... I have a couple things for you, Michael."

He knits his eyebrows together in confusion, "What? No, no, Cit ... you didn't, did you?" He walks back over to the table, sitting at it and lifting his head to look at me, "Please say you didn't go crazy, especially after all you've done today?"

I chuckle lightly, "Calm down; they're only small. They're things that everyone needs on their birthday ... "

Leaving Michael confused, I head upstairs to get his present. It's only something small – a friendship bracelet to signify our bond – he has a male one, whilst I have a female. I realise how childish the idea seems, but honestly, I think it'll be nice for him to constantly be reminded that he isn't alone.

The other thing is the birthday cake. I haven't mentioned that to him, so as far as he's concerned, there is no birthday cake. However, that's downstairs, so it'll have to wait a moment.

After I've grabbed the present, I make my way back downstairs, where Michael is waiting patiently for me. He spots me entering the kitchen, "Back so soon?" he teases. "I hope you didn't go crazy ... "

I shake my head, "Of course I didn't go crazy. Open it." He takes the present from my grasp, before opening it gently, as not to break whatever could possibly be inside. He unwraps if fully, seeing the bracelet inside.

"A friendship bracelet?" he says softly, a smile forming on his face, "That's really cute of you, Citria, honestly." He looks up at me, a beam on his face, "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, there's one more thing for you," I respond, a smirk forming on my face. The cake has been hidden, so Michael couldn't find it during the day, but now I can bring it out to show him. I discretely light the candles on it, before turning around and presenting it to Michael.

"Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear Michael ...
Happy birthday to you," I sing playfully, earning a laugh from him. "C'mon, Michael, blow the candles out! And make a wish!" When he blows them out, I cheer quietly, making him laugh again.

"Thank you so much, Citria," Michael gasps, examining the cake, "You must be psychic; chocolate is my favourite kind of cake! How did you know?" he questions.

"Well ... I knew you had a sweet tooth, so I kind of figured chocolate was your favourite," I explain, "You honestly like it?"

"Like it? No," he starts, "I love it. Man, when it's your birthday, I have a hell of a lot to do to redeem myself, don't I?" he asks rhetorically.

"Anyway!" I attempt to change the subject, "Let's cut this, now. I'll give you the biggest piece, granted," I promise with a chuckle. I grab a knife, before slicing the cake and cutting a section for Michael, then me.

Michael takes his slice, placing the plate on the table. He digs in straight away, eating it somewhat quickly like he eats everything. It's almost like he hasn't eaten for months!

*  *  *

Once we've both finished the cake, and I've washed up, I turn to Michael from the sink, noticing that he's suddenly started crying.

"Michael, what's wrong?" I enter mothering zone to try and comfort him, "Tell me, Michael ... "

He tries to control himself, wiping his tears away with the ends of his sleeves, "No, nothing ... I'm just fine," he lies, "Honestly, I'm fine."

"Yep, the fact that you're a bad liar is still in place." I give him a sympathetic smile, stroking his curls lightly, "Now tell me what's up ... please?"

He sniffles, closing his eyes, "I just wish everyone was here for my birthday ... that's all. I didn't want to say anything in case you got offended; you've been perfect for me today, and I didn't want to seem rude ... "

I kneel down next to him, making myself smaller than him when he sits down, "It's the first birthday you've had without family, Michael ... of course it's going to hurt. That's why I'm here ... you should know this now, Michael. Never hold back your feelings ever, okay? I'm always here."

"Never hold back feelings?" He repeats my words curiously, his voice timid-sounding and innocent still.

"Yeah ... never," I clarify.

"Oh ... " he murmurs. "I'll try follow that advice in future."

A small laugh passes my lips, "Good. That's the best thing to do. Now ... dry those tears, please? For me?" I pout a little, "You'll make Cit-wee-ah all sad."

He giggles childishly, quite-clearly still a little upset, "Okay ... "

"Good boy," I answer playfully, wiping his tears away with my thumb, "I don't like seeing Michael all sad like that."

I open my arms, inviting him in for an embrace, which he takes instantly. He tenses up a little at my touch, but I've come to the conclusion that that's only normal now.

I can't imagine what it's like for him, having no family on his birthday ...

~~

So that was chapter thirteen! I hope you enjoyed it!