ONCE THEY got into the car, silence settled uncomfortably. Kyle turned the ignition, and as the engine roared to life so did the stereo. Music thankfully filled the void, and the volume was loud enough to make conversation difficult. Neither boy sought to turn it down.
But after a while, as they made their way down Brunswick Street and into the Fitzroy café strip, it was painfully obvious to both of them that something had to be said or else they would be sitting across from each other with only a cup of coffee to act as a conversation point.
“I guess I should ask you how Perth is,” Kyle said, his eyes darting back and forth as he looked for an empty car space.
Unable to meet his eyes, Micah stared out onto the familiar streets of his hometown, watching the people spill out of the cafés onto the sidewalk. Although they looked just like ordinary people, they were Melburnians. They were his people. And he missed them; missed being a part of their tribe. He didn’t feel the same aura emanating from the people of Perth, even though they were friendly enough. Maybe it was just homesickness polluting his perception of them.
“Oh, it’s fine,” he lied. “I mean, it’s taking some getting used to.”
“I bet.”
“How about Canberra?”
Kyle laughed, and it didn’t sound exactly happy. “Oh, about the same. Experiencing culture shock. Sometimes it feels like the city is hardly any bigger than Fitzroy itself. And even then it still seems to have less people around.”
“But you’re surviving?”
Kyle let out a triumphant whoop; up ahead, someone was pulling out of a parallel parking space. He flipped on his indicator to make sure everybody know it was their spot, and theirs alone. He shot a glance at Micah. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“You don’t sound a hundred percent certain.”
“Neither do you.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
A look of concern crossed Kyle’s face, but at that moment a car horn sounded and he realised the spot was now empty and he was holding up traffic. Micah bit his tongue and wished he had never given voice to what he thought. It made him feel weak, and that was the last thing he wanted to seem in front of Kyle.
Kyle steered the car into place with ease, and left the engine running to safeguard against the heat outside.
“You’re not?” he finally asked.
Even though they had only gone out for a short time (far shorter than either of them had wanted it to be), Micah felt more relaxed around Kyle than anybody else other than his family, and Dec (and he guessed, Simon, after they had gotten to know each other more). So it was easy to open up to Kyle, even if he had lied to him only minutes before. “I know it should get better, at least eventually, but I’m so fucking lonely at the moment. I don’t really know anybody except my host family, and the youngest brother there hates me….”
He trailed off. He hated that Kyle was looking at him with pity.
“I get it,” Kyle nodded. “I was there myself.”
“Was?”
“It is getting better now. And it will for you too. You’re forgetting I know you, and you find it difficult to get along with people at the best of times. But that’s because you close yourself off. And you’re probably doing that in Perth.”
Kyle didn’t even know the half of it. What would he think if he found out the only way Micah could feel close to someone was if he was fucking them? And even then, it only lasted as long as the sex actually did. Micah tried to get out the door before the condom was even disposed of. Kyle would probably tell him he wasn’t judging him, but he would be. Micah knew what he was doing; it was clichéd textbook psychology. Freud would have sent him on his way, saying his diagnosis was too mundane to deal with.
But he heard himself saying, a trifle hollowly, “It’s like you know me.”
Kyle grinned. “Yeah, I guess I do. So you’ve got to put yourself out there a little more. Otherwise you’ll be miserable the whole time you’re there, and that could be years, thanks to your contract.”
“Not really feeling any better.”
“You need a friend, Micah. It’s that simple.”
“It’s not, though. I’ve got friends.” Micah was thinking of Sam and Daril, but could he really claim them as friends? Friends required intimacy; at the most they were mates. And that was probably more his fault, because it wasn’t like Sam hadn’t been trying his hardest to be his bestie/surrogate older brother. And Micah pushed him away at every opportunity. “I need more than that. I need someone to be with, someone to go on dates with, watch TV with, kiss, fuck, make love. I need a boyfriend.”
He was sure his longing for Kyle was emblazoned across his face, but he wasn’t even looking at him right now.
Kyle was looking down at his lap and shaking his head. “I would focus on something other than that right now. You need stability, not a relationship that could break up at any minute.”
Micah knew what he needed. Or, at least, wanted. Before he could talk himself out of it, he threw himself at Kyle, his hand snaking around his neck and bringing him in closer. He kissed him hungrily, and was relieved when Kyle responded after a brief hesitation.
And it lasted just as briefly. For all of about two seconds.
Kyle then pulled away, the distance between them unbearable.
“What’s wrong?” Micah asked.
Kyle looked shaken. “Micah, what are you playing at?”
Bewildered, Micah gaped at him. “Playing?”
“We broke up, remember?”
“It’s not something I would forget.” Now that embarrassment had set in, the usual Micah defence mechanisms had come into play. Maybe Kyle was right, and he was playing after all. Just a kiss and a fuck, that’s all he wanted.
It was easier to try and make himself think that in retrospective.