Chapter twenty-two – Really And Honestly

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Which one of us will speak first? Will it be me or him? If it has to be me, then what do I even say? If it's him, how will I respond to whatever he says?

Stop, Citria; you're panicking about nothing. You heard Michael – just go with the flow.

Before I can speak, Michael takes the opportunity.

"Um ... sorry," he apologises quietly.

"For what?" My eyebrows furrow in confusion, finding his shyness cute.

"Just ... that." He touches his fingers upon his nose – he's nervous.

My heart is racing from the adrenaline rush I've got after the kiss Michael and I just shared. I mean, I thought we were friends ... I never imagined that this would happen. It's been years since I've kissed anyone – now my best friend has just broken that. Does he have feelings for me? Perhaps the kiss was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, more than anything. I'm not sure ...

My mouth opens to speak, but all that comes out is an exasperated-sounding breath. Why can't I speak to him now? Why won't my mouth let me talk? I need to talk about this with him.

"Uh ... y-you can forget that happened, if you want." Michael's voice suddenly breaks the silence between us. He averts his eyes downwards, visibly bashful, "I ... wouldn't blame you if you did."

"I-I can't really forget something like that, Michael." My voice finally manages to come back properly, "But why would I want to forget it? I mean ... " Unable to find any other words, I close my mouth to indicate that I've finished speaking.

"Well, I started that. I wasn't sure on whether or not you played along, or if you really ... liked it." His eyes move upwards to look at my face, but only for a second before embarrassment shows clearly on his own face, forcing his eyes back down towards the floor, "And I'm sorry ... if you ... didn't."

"I—No, Michael ... don't apologise. I'm just wondering about whether—" I cut myself off, not wanting to speak such a ridiculous thought out loud, "Um ... "

"Whether what?" Curiosity forces his eyes to meet mine once again, indicating that he genuinely wants me to tell him what I was thinking, "Tell me, Citria."

My head shakes frantically, "No, nothing ... nothing at all." Although this is a clear lie, I try my hardest to make it appear to be the truth. My head turns to see the clay pot; it's really lost its shape since our kiss.

"So you're saying that I can pluck up enough courage to kiss you, but you can't even tell me what you're thinking?" His voice sounds hurt, now ... and that makes me feel guilty for wanting to hold my questions back.

"Did you want to kiss me, Michael?" I find myself inquiring, "Or was it just a heat-of-the-moment thing?"

Initially, he looks a little surprised at my question, but then clears his throat a little, "I wanted to, Cit. I wouldn't have done it, else ... would I?" Shyness seems to be invading his senses now, which I do find cute – but this is somewhat serious, right now. "Why? Did you not like it?"

"Oh, no, no, it's not that, Michael." My breath catches in my throat a little, "I just ... I thought you only liked me as a friend – a best friend. I didn't think you would ever like me as a—" Being unable to find the right words again, I stop talking once more.

"As a crush?" Michael suggests, earning a nod from me, "Honestly? I didn't think I would ever like you that way, either, Cit. But ... over the past few weeks, you've constantly been there for me, and made sure I'm okay, and supported me through everything, no matter what I've done to you, and—" He pauses for a moment, almost looking ashamed of how he feels, "And I guess I've just ... grown to love that."

"Then it isn't me, Michael." A slight overwhelming feeling fills my stomach, "It's what I've done, that you've grown to love ... but anyone would have done the same thing. I'm nothing special."

Before answering, he stands himself up, obviously wanting to stretch his legs and have a breather. "No, Citria. A lot of people may have helped me on the day that my family died, but they wouldn't have done everything you've done." He then begins to elaborate, "No one else would have taken me in, or fed me, or given me somewhere to go if I needed it. No one would have created a bond and a friendship the way you have, Cit ... and that's what I've grown to love."

"But Mich—"

"I'm just a guy ... a simple guy with absolutely nothing. That alone would turn most people off. Who'd want to be friends with a nobody like me, huh? I thought nobody would ... that is, until I met you." He begins pacing around the room, fiddling with his thumbs nervously as he continues his confession, "I was at my absolute worst on the day you found me on the curb not far from here, but yet you still had the kindness in your heart to take care of me. I could have been anyone – I could have been a murderer, or a rapist, or anything. But you still put me first, despite your own harsh reality."

His words are making me think hard, now. Perhaps he has a point about all this; perhaps I really am a good person for what I've done for him. But that's only my nature ...

"And Citria? I love all you've done for me." He hesitates in his next words, but says them anyway, "And I'm starting to believe I ... might be developing feelings for you."

Swallowing hard, I stand myself up, too, needing to stretch my muscles a little. Having finally gotten everything off his chest, he has the ability to look at me without turning away, now, so we finally make proper eye contact.

A hopeless sigh tumbles from my lips, "Michael—"

"And you can forget everything I just said, if that's what you really want to do. It's okay if I care for you in a different way to the way you care for me. We're best friends ... and I'll do that for you, you know."

"I won't forget it, Michael. I'm ... I'm just shocked, that's all. All this time, I thought you were trying to hide the fact that you care for Clover. When really ... it was me?" My tone expresses confusion, but is still inviting.

He nods, his eyebrows slightly raised, and his doe eyes sparkling, "Yes. Clover is just my friend; she never meant anything to me – at least, not in the way you do." His hand reaches behind his head, to scratch the back of his neck, "What made you ever think Clover means more, anyway?"

A pang of guilt becomes obvious in my stomach, as I let out a small sigh. "Just ... whenever you see her, your eyes light up. You seem to forget that the rest of the world exists, when you're with her. It just made me think—"

"No." His voice suddenly becomes more stern, and firm, "All that? Just a front. An act. I did it on purpose so you would think exactly that."

"But why?" My eyebrows raise in curiosity.

"Because when I first worked out I cared for you ... you know, more than a friend, I was too shy to tell you. I wasn't ready for you to know. If I acted that way in front of Clover, it was bound to make you feel like I had a crush on her. Hence ... you had no idea about how I really felt for you." A small, nervous chuckle then escapes from his lips, "Looks like it worked."

"Oh." A hint of embarrassment is audible in my voice, "Uh ... well, how long have you felt this way for me, Michael?"

"Since the day we went to your father's house for the first time. If Clover hadn't have been there, I would have had no idea how to keep my feelings a secret for so long. I'd have had no way to cover it," he explains.

"Right ... I get it." My mind contains so many other questions right now, but for some reason, I don't want to voice them.

"But, you know ... thanks for making me less embarrassed just there." Michael's voice fills the brief silence between us, as he washes his hands in the sink at the side of the room.

"Huh?" I demand, puzzled.

"When I kissed you ... you could have embarrassed me by pulling away from the off. But you didn't; you kissed back to make me feel less stupid." His smile becomes timid-looking, "So thanks."

"Wait, what? Michael ... I wouldn't have pulled away, anyway." I take gradual steps towards him, and once I've washed my hands in the sink, too, I come opposite him, "I-I haven't quite known this as long as you have, but ... I'm beginning to feel like our feelings for each other are ... mutual."

He looks surprised by this, but tries to remain casual, "Wha—Really? Are you sure? I mean, 'cause you can totally not be sure, too. I don't want you to feel pressured because of the fact I've just poured my entire heart out to y—"

His speech is cut off when I place my index finger over his mouth, "Michael ... you're starting to rant a little, now. I'm going to ask you this question, and I want you to answer it. Okay?"

He nods, his eyes looking down on mine. He's taller than me, so his frame towers slightly over my own. "Fire away," he ushers me on.

"Do you really – and I mean really, honestly – do you really like me that much?"

No words come from his mouth; only a nod. He looks so overwhelmed with different feelings right now, bless him. But now I know that he does like me ... really and honestly.

To this, a mellow smile forms on my face, as I take a single step forward to bring us closer to each other, "Then, Michael ... I really like you that much, too. Really and honestly." Our eyes haven't moved away from each other's for about two minutes now; our conversation must be truly genuine.

"You're ... willing to give us a go?" he questions, a slight look of worry on his face in anticipation of my answer.

A silence lingers between us for a few moments – not an awkward one, but a peaceful one – so during this silence, I nod in answer to his question, causing a light smile to form on his face.

"So ... uhm, Cit ... I'm a little shy about asking, but ... do I have the permission to ... kiss you? I mean ... not so suddenly and randomly, this time." He licks his lips, before taking his lower one into his mouth bashfully.

"Yes," my quiet voice lets out.

He then gives me a loose grin, an exhalation that resembles a snicker coming from him, as he carefully tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. His eyes are glistening, which to me, shows just how much happiness is in his heart right now; I'm feeling the same way. His grin becomes a closed-mouth smile as he slowly leans in, and the both of us close our eyes, feeling one another's lips only seconds later.

My body shivers as I feel Michael's hands move up my arms, to my shoulders, before running through my hair, then down my spine, stopping at the small of my back. My arms find their way around his neck, bringing us so close, that our bodies touch. One of his hands then runs back up my back, until it reaches the back of my neck, which he then uses to push my head closer to his. We don't go as far as French kissing, but the passion is certainly there. Then, I feel Michael slowly pushing me backwards, until I feel myself press against a wall. After this, the hand Michael previously used to caress the back of my neck moves down to my waist, resting comfortably against my side, whereas the arm that was supporting the small of my back runs up my body, and his hand is used to cup my cheek. All the time, I feel him smiling against my lips, which in turn has caused me to do the same.

Eventually, though, he slowly separates his lips from mine, the same smile from our kiss still lingering. It takes a few moments for us to catch our breaths, but all the while, we're smiling. Even when Michael bites his lip and averts his eyes downwards shyly, he's smiling. Is this really what we've needed to find true happiness?

His cheeks are tinted a soft red shade, and his eyes still contain that magical sparkle they've been holding for the past half hour or so. To be honest, I feel that the silence between us at this moment in time is ... right. Neither of us need to talk, really. The actions we've just completed have really spoken for us. Despite this, Michael decides to speak.

"Wow, girl ... " He inhales deeply, trying to find words to say, "This is ... this is the happiest I've felt in a long time. Really and honestly." His eyes finally connect with mine, as his fingers touch gently upon the tip of his nose.

"Just because we kissed?" I raise my left eyebrow in amusement.

His soft smile becomes a grin, his amusement obviously matching my own. "No, Cit. I mean because ... I've finally been brave enough to tell you how I feel, and ... you feel the same way. That makes me so happy," he explains.

Without saying a word, I wrap my arms around him in an embrace, so he returns the favour, letting his arms coil around me. Neither of us speak; we just make the moment count together. After all, it's the first of many more.

My chin leaning against his shoulder, I inhale deeply, closing my eyes to savour this warm hug we're sharing. It's unlike the others we've shared – it just feels different to me.

Before we both pull away, Michael gives me a light squeeze, which I return. After parting, we exchange glances, but then I turn my head to face the potter's wheel that we've just left alone for the past fifteen minutes.

"We better be finishing that, now," I suggest, making my way over to it, "I mean, it has to be perfect. After all, you said you knew how to make a vase."

Before I can get too far, Michael tugs at my shirt sleeve, constraining me a little. "No, leave it as it is," he instructs, pulling me back into his arms, almost hugging me from behind, "It'll be a constant reminder of the day we finally admitted our feelings for one another. Don't you think that's a nice memory to hold in a piece of clay?"

Finding his idea adorable, I nod in agreement. "Okay. We'll keep it that way, then." My hands then cup around my mouth, "Louis! We've finished here!" I call out.

Shortly after, Louis enters the room, immediately seeing Michael and I plastered with clay from our first kiss, "Uh ... you two enjoy yourselves?" His gaze shifts to the potter's wheel, "Interesting pot shape you got there." Added to his statement, he laughs to indicate he's being playful.

"Yeah, well, this shape has a special personal meaning." Michael places his hands behind his back as he explains to Louis, "A personal meaning that only Citria and I understand."

Louis nods in understanding, before carefully taking the pot to the kiln, "I see." He slides the clay into the kiln, before closing the lid, "Now, you guys can come back in a few days to collect that. It needs time in there to harden and set. I hope you guys enjoyed your experience, and, uh, Michael?"

Michael's head snaps up at the sound of his name. "Yes, Louis?" he answers.

"Don't let anyone get you down about your Vitiligo, alright? You're still a handsome kid, with or without it. This one here—" He points at me, "—Is lucky to have you."

He then exits the room, leaving me stunned, "How did he know we were togeth—"

"No idea," Michael snickers, "But anyway ... let's go home now. We can come get the "vase" in a few days. Okay?"

With a nod of my head, we start to head out the door, myself ahead of Michael. But then, I hear Michael's voice call: "Hey, wait, Cit." Turning around to see what he wants, I notice him coming closer to me, "I want to try something."

Before I can speak a word, I feel his hand take mine, then his fingers lace with my own, sending shivers down my spine. Now I understand why physical contact gets to us both so much – because we've both needed someone to show we care for each other ... for an exceptionally long time.

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Chapter twenty-two! I enjoyed writing this one. Hehe!
I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!