Before we start, I want to say that this chapter is very special to me. I wrote it months ago and now I can finally post it! And also, this is the original FAAH cover; it was meant to be Dangerous era originally, but I changed it at the last minute. x3

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Chapter twenty-one – Potter's Magic

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-The next day-

So ... today Michael and I are going to the pottery place not far from here. It would be a lie to say I'm not looking forward to it – because honestly, I'm really excited; I haven't been to this place since I was a child, so it'll be nice to walk down Memory Lane a little.

We've already had breakfast; gotten dressed and ready for the day ahead, so now we're going to walk there. We exit the house out the back door, then I lock the door for precautionary measures.

"So ... you're looking forward to today, huh?" Michael asks as we walk down the country road. His hands are tucked deep into his pockets, the ends of his sleeves hanging out loosely because they're too baggy to fit inside the pocket.

"Yes, I am actually." A genuine smile forms on my face, "I'm looking forward to reliving old memories, in a way. Just ... with a better person than the first time around."

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but keeps his eyes ahead so he can watch where he's going, "A better person? Why, what was so bad about your friends?"

Wow, he remembered the last time I went to the pottery place. It was for a birthday party when I was younger ...

"Yeah, well, friends have to be genuine to make decent memories with them," I explain dejectedly, bowing my head so that no matter what, we can't make eye contact any time soon.

"Were they not genuine?" he questions, his voice suddenly dropping in volume.

"Well ... not really. They seemed like it at the time, but ... well, they all showed their true colours eventually. First there was Tanisha, who I believe was the girl who had a party at the pottery place. She showed her true colours when ... " Pausing briefly, I begin to relive the moment, "It was about seven years ago; not long after Eren and I broke up. You know ... Eren, my ex boyfriend. Anyway, Tanisha was the nicest girl you'll ever come across, especially towards me. I mean, I was her best friend!" My eyebrows knit together, "But apparently, that niceness was fake. Whenever I wasn't around, she would talk about me to everyone else – telling pure lies about me."

"Lies like what?" Michael inquires.

"She told them things like ... like I only dated Eren to hide the fact I'm ... lesbian, which isn't true. I'm not a lesbian, or bisexual. I'm heterosexual and always have been. At the time, it turned out my friendship group hated the idea of anyone being bisexual or homosexual ... so they all went off me. I tried time and time again to explain that it wasn't true, but then it got to the point where they heard the lie so much, they started to believe it was true. They all turned against me, despite me trying to convince them it wasn't true. That's not genuine friends."

Michael gives me a sincere look of sympathy, "I'm sorry Cit. Gosh, that must have been so hard for you ... "

I nod a little, "Yeah, it was. After that, I had practically no friends apart from this girl called Lavinyah. She was bisexual, so she "accepted me" for who I was. But once I told her I wasn't homosexual, she believed me like a good friend should. The only thing that stopped our friendship was—"

My breath catches in the back of my throat, as I remember the time, five years ago, "Uhm, sh-she was shot a few years back, and she died instantly. It still hurts me to this day, because she was the last friend I ever really had apart from you ... "

As I look up at Michael, I notice a tear rolling down his cheek, "Citria ... " he calls my name softly, "I-I'm sorry," he apologises. He shifts his gaze down to the floor as we continue to walk, "Like ... this has made my friendship with you even more special to me now. You've not just been needing me for seven months – you've been needing me for, like ... years. You've needed a friend for a long time ... and boy do I feel honoured that I'm the lucky man to be that friend."

A small smile forms on my face at his comment. It's really quite adorable, what he just said ... and that's just another reason why he's my best friend.

* * *

We're now at the pottery place, entering the building. As we go into the room, a man with short brown hair, sparkling blue eyes and light skin enters too. He's also in his mid-forties – and I only know this because this was my mom's friend Louis – the one who made my special vase.

"Oh my! Citria Espinosa!" he gasps, dashing over to me and hugging me tightly. As he pulls away, he beams at me, "It's been months, darling! Oh, how's your dear father? Is he coping? Are you keeping well?" The number of questions he has causes Michael to stifle laughter, which makes Louis finally notice him, "Ooh! Boyfriend?" he asks into my ear through gritted teeth, so Michael can't hear.

I give a small chuckle, "Boyfriend? No, no, Louis ... he's just a friend – Michael. He's actually been staying with me the past couple weeks because he lost his family and friends not too long ago," I explain.

Louis mouths the word, "Oh!", with a slight look of concern on his face for Michael, "So, your name's Michael?" He turns his attention to him.

Michael nods shyly, "Yeah ... I'm Michael. Don't you remember me coming a few years back?" He then furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head, "No, sorry, you probably don't remember me. I've changed a lot since I last came."

Louis walks closer to Michael, almost inspecting him, "I might remember you. What did you come here for, Michael?" he asks, "I never forget a customer's face after I've seen it once."

Michael smiles in embarrassment, "I came to get my ex girlfriend a present. It was about nine years ago. Her name was Eleanor. I remember asking you to "Make the vase perfect for her, because she needed something perfect to match her" ... " he explains.

Louis shifts his gaze upwards to think a moment, but then clicks his finger in triumph, "I got it! I remember you! But ... did you have an Afro and darker skin last time?" He then widens his eyes, "Gosh, sorry, that sounded so blunt of me—"

Michael gives a casual smile, shaking his head, "Don't even worry. It's true; I did have an Afro and darker skin. But then ... Vitiligo took over and well ... here I am today."

Louis smiles genuinely at him, "Well, you're still lookin' good, kid. I get the whole Vitiligo thing; my aunt had it. Still beautiful though, mind you. And you're still the handsome young man I remember seeing nine years ago, too."

Michael has to bite his lip to reduce his growing smile, "Gosh ... I'm so happy you understand. Hardly anyone ever does," he admits, his tone slightly sad, but his mood clearly overjoyed because someone else understands.

Louis rests his hands on Michael's shoulder, "Listen, kid: don't even think about the ones who don't accept you. If people start judging you, send them my way. If you're a friend of Citria's, you're a friend of mine, too. Got it?"

Michael nods, licking his top lip timidly, "Yes sir. Thank you."

Louis grins, "Attaboy." He removes his hands from Michael's shoulders, talking to the both of us now, "So, I'm assuming you would like to be working on your own little ... project?" he suggests, referring to the vase-making.

Michael and I nod, but I answer, "Yeah Louis. We're doing this to pass time more than anything. What do you have for us?"

A smirk spreads across Louis' face, as he leads us through to another room, "I got this," he answers, pointing inside.

This room is pretty, with the walls a pastel blue colour, and the floors wooden. Most surfaces have some dry clay on them, from previous pot-making in the past from other customers. There are two potter's wheels in the centre of the room, and a bag of clay next to each one.

"So here you go," Louis smiles, ushering us into the room, "Just have fun. Doesn't matter how awful the pots look at the end of it," he laughs.

He then leaves the room, leaving Michael and I alone. My eyebrows sink in confusion, "Why isn't he giving us a tutorial or somethin'?" I question, "Surely he cares that we're wasting valuable clay?"

Michael shrugs, "Perhaps he didn't give us a tutorial because I have a little experience with clay," he replies confidently.

"You have experience?" My eyes wander over to the potter's wheels to examine them, "Like ... you can make pots?"

He almost scoffs, but it sort of converts into a laugh, "Hell, yeah! When I was younger, my uncle Karmichael worked in another pottery place. He used to show me the ropes with it all. Now I know how to make a pot, with no problems!" he explains.

A small chuckle comes from my lips, "Right, right. So ... teach me, master," I tease, heading over to one of the potter's wheels, sitting down at the stool behind it. Michael takes a seat at the other wheel.

He grabs a small lump of clay, placing it on the wheel, "This bit is simple. Just put the clay on the wheel," he instructs jokily, watching me with a playful eye. Once I've done that, he continues, "Then you press the pedal on the floor with your foot, and that'll make the wheel spin, okay?"

My foot presses down on the pedal, and sure enough, the wheel spins. This is so exciting to me!

"Can we mould the clay now?" My impatience becomes visibly clear, which causes Michael to tut in amusement.

"Hold on there, Cit. That was just a practice run. You can stop spinning the wheel now."

My foot lifts up, making the wheel stop spinning, then I look back at Michael for guidance, "So, now what?"

"Okay, you need to de-air the clay. Just kneed it a little; that should do the trick." He begins to kneed his clay, so I follow suit, applying pressure to the ball of clay with my fists. After a couple minutes of doing this, Michael carries on with his mini tutorial, "That's good. So now, we can wet the clay a little to make it easier to shape. Simple, right?"

"Of course," I answer. It's then that I notice the bucket of water sitting by my side, so I dip my fingers in and then withdraw them, before smoothening the clay with them.

"That's good. Now we can spin the wheel," Michael informs me, pressing his pedal down with his foot, his wheel starting to spin shortly after.

Again following his lead, I press the pedal down too, allowing the wheel to spin. My eyes watch Michael's actions closely as he starts to mould the clay into a basic vase shape. Then, my gaze shifts back to my own wheel, as I attempt to mould it myself, the way Michael has done. Unfortunately, my pottery skills are not as decent as Michael's, so my vase becomes something of a complete mess.

"Okay ... so I don't have your magic," I sigh, lifting my foot off the pedal in disappointment.

Michael stops what he's doing to look my way, and when he sees my clay, he snickers a little, "Sure you got the magic. You just need to know where to find it!" he assures me.

He stands up from his stool, walking over to my area and sitting down on my stool, behind me. Luckily there's enough space on the stool for the both of us.

"Get the wheel spinning," he demands softly, his eyes on my clay. I press the pedal down again, so he nods, "Now, show me how you were doing it again."

"Okay."

My hands reach to try and shape the clay once more, but again it fails. There's a little hole in it, where the flowers would kind of go in, but it's so awful, it doesn't even look like it's meant to be a vase. It just looks like I've made a hole in a piece of clay – which is essentially what I've done.

Michael laughs at my poor attempt, "Don't worry about it. Here, if you really can't do it, then let me help." With no way around me to reach the wheel with his hands, he resorts to reaching an arm either side of my body, then he grabs both my hands and guides them towards the "vase".

"Okay ... I'll help you," he tells me.

His hands are over mine, helping to shape the clay into a vase shape, and honestly? It's giving me a strange kind of feeling. The closeness of our two bodies right now is both frightening and ... I don't know ... right, to me. Shivers are running down my spine for some reason – I thought we were past the stage of reacting like this when we come into physical contact.

As the vase starts to take shape, me and Michael begin to converse a little more.

"Um ... so, what's happening after this?" I ask, trying to create small talk.

He keeps his eyes on the clay, licking his top lip in concentration, but clearly acknowledging my words, "Well, I don't know. I guess we'll have to see where life takes us."

I laugh a little, "Right, right. But I imagine it'll just be ... going home, right?" My hands – along with Michael's – gradually start to form the clay into a vase shape, which makes me happier; without Michael's skills, it would still be a lump of pointless clay.

"Perhaps, yes. It's just a case of ... I don't know ... going with the flow," he answers, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

The conversation is pretty much just so my mind can stop focusing on the physical contact Michael and I have on one another right now – I honestly don't know how to react to or feel about it. But the thing is ... it's giving me a strange feeling, that I know I recognise from somewhere ... but I can't remember where I recognise this feeling from.

"Beautiful," Michael suddenly says, breaking the few moments' silence we had prior to him speaking.

"I suppose it is," I chuckle, "But we need to finish it to see its full beauty." The room falls silent, so I turn my head to look at him, to see he has a confused expression on his face, "Michael?" I try to earn his attention.

He furrows his eyebrows, his eyes still locked on the clay, "Finish what?" he asks, his tone full of curiosity. His fingers shape the clay with mine, still.

"The vase ... duh." A small smile plays on my lips, as I shake my head at his silliness, "You're the one that called it beautiful, silly."

The next thing I hear is a nervous little laugh from Michael, "Oh, you thought I was talking about the vase. I understand, now."

It's only then that I realise how close we've actually become to one another, "Well, yeah. You were talking about the vase, weren't you?" I ask rhetorically.

Before he can answer, his eyes move from the vase. A single curl droops over his forehead as his eyes meet mine, and that same casual bad-boy smile tugs at his lips. His eyes have an aura about them; they're so deep, you can easily get lost in them with just one simple glance. They seem to sparkle in any light, no matter how dim it appears to be. It leaves me mind blown as to how it's possible for eyes to be that way.

Our faces somewhat close, his bad-boy smile melts into a slight smirk, "The vase, Citria?" he repeats my question, his voice low and quiet, "Well ... no."

There are follow-up questions in my mind, but for some reason, I can't voice them, so my mouth remains closed. It's like I'm paralysed at this moment; I can't move a single muscle, no matter how hard I try to. What is going on?

Then, it seems my question is answered. With only a moment more of our eyes being connected, Michael's eyes wander down to my lips. His head gradually moves towards mine, our faces coming closer and closer to each other's. It's then that we both slowly close our eyes, and I only have to wait a second before I feel his lips gently touch upon mine. It only lasts a second, perhaps two, because shyness brings us to part.

Our eyes open, and his look down on mine once again. Our faces are still only a matter of millimetres away from each other's, so speaking would ruin any kind of moment we're experiencing. Neither of us say a single word. Instead, Michael appears to find a spark of courage within him, as his lips connect with mine once more, but this time with slightly more force.

At first, my lips remain stiffened; not moving, just from the slight feeling of shock at the idea of my best friend and I suddenly sharing a kiss. However, that initial stunned feeling seems to wear off; within a few seconds of our lips meeting, my courage builds up too, so I kiss him back.

His hands steadily pull away from the clay on the potter's wheel, taking my own hands with them. As we unlace our fingers, his right hand finds its way to my hip, resting lightly upon it – but completely out of innocence. My arms – needing something to do – manage to make their way around Michael's neck, bringing us closer to one another. Honestly, I doubt either of us care how dirty our hands are from the clay right now.

Soon, our lips separate again, so our eyes capture each other's once more. A small, timid closed-mouth smile forms on Michael's face, as well as his cheeks being visibly flushed.

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So ... was that something you were expecting? I know you were all waiting impatiently for that! I'm sorry the ending is so abrupt, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter!