Work Text:
I would recognize him by the pattern in which his fingers would tap against the wooden table, an annoyed, rushing rhythm of boney digits falling once louder, once much quieter down onto the bar counter whilst he would wait for the barman to refill his beer glass.
I would recognize him by the way his face would scrunch up because the taste of the golden liquid is too bitter for him, because beer is his least favorite alcohol to drink, but he always wants to look cool, so he orders another one, even though his teeth are tingling and his tongue is numb from the harshness of the hoppy beverage.
I would recognize him by the way he looks around as if scared, but in reality he’s more stressed than terrified. If he was afraid, he would never step out of his house, out of the coziness of the knit blanket my mother once gifted him for his 18th birthday. If he was afraid, he would not look excited at the same time, like he does right now, before my eyes.
I would recognize him by the way the sparse but intense, flashing light of the club in which we are standing right now is illuminating the straight slope of his nose. Him sipping the beer slowly, and me-watching him from afar, in between the sweaty bodies whirling, spinning, and swaying on the dance floor. That is the moment we are in now.
I would recognize him by the look in his eyes when they were set in my direction, staring right into my soul and making me feel like I am drowning and levitating at the same time. I would recognize that feeling because it’s the feeling that embraced me during the lonely nights of my childhood, when we were just a few streets apart, in our beds. He would be fast asleep while I would still count all the ways he looked at me that day. I would count all the ways he made me feel like dying and living all at once because he would dare to whisper my name in a tone that should have meant something.
I would recognize him by the smile blossoming on his face, making his cheeks stand out even more than usual, making the butterflies in my stomach bite and tear and claw against the fleshy walls of my insides. Making the thorny rose tighten its prickly stem around my throat, dangling that beautifully smelling flower just before my nose, letting me breathe in the intoxicating scent, suffocating me more with each new whiff I took.
I would recognize him by the way he’d look down at himself while standing up from the barstool, checking if there was any stain visible, although he already knew that if there was one, he would not be able to clean it off. I really want to tell him he looks fine; that the few hairs that are out of place are fine; that the slightly too big shirt on him is fine; that his awkward smile is more than enough because it’s his.
Because it’s Mike’s.
I would always recognize him even if the look he gave me was a look lasting maybe a second or two, even if the smile he sent my way was directed right past me as if I was just a barrier, not even a solid one, but a crystal clear wall that anyone would miss from so far away.
I would recognize him even if the welcome hug he used to give me was given to another person, even if the hug would last much longer than any of our embrances lasted. Even if the hug would end with their hands linked with one another, fingers entwined, knees touching, faces closer than ours ever been. Even if my body, soul, and heart are torn apart and the floor is swallowing me and gnawing at my mind, because the butterflies are no longer that but moths breaking free from the empty shell of what was left of me.
I would recognize him by that feeling alone, the pain, I would know him blind, by the way he’s laughing out loud, his voice forever engraved in my brain. I would know him in death, but he wouldn’t even remember my name.