Michael's POV

I grip the picture of my brother and me tightly, the wooden frame fitting perfectly into my hands.

"I miss you, man," I whisper, my lips barely moving.

It feels as if someone is sitting on my chest, and I struggle to keep my breathing even. I really do miss him. I wish he could come back. I didn't deserve to lose him.

Not that this was about me. It definitely isn't about me. Is that what happened? I made it about me. I never asked him how he was doing. Everything always has to be about Michael.

I just wish he could come back. Maybe just a week. A day. A minute, even. It's just—I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say goodbye.

I hear footsteps reach my doorway.

"Anak, dinner's ready," Nanay says, breaking the cold silence of my room.

"I'll be down in a little bit," I reply, setting the picture frame down.

I wipe a falling tear from my cheek, inconspicuously. Unsurprisingly, she notices. She pauses, a concerned look on her face.

"You okay, Michael?"

"I'm alright, Nanay," I mask, not wanting to worry her.

"Okay," she says, hesitantly, "be down soon."

I watch as she goes through the hall and then down the stairs, out of sight. When I'm sure she's gone, I fall back on my bed, sighing.

My brother wouldn't want me to be doing this. I know that. He would tell me to stop pretending like he could come back. He wouldn't want me to forget him, but he'd want me to move on. And I have moved on, at least a little.

But I don't want to move on. Because if I move on, won't I forget him? If I stop thinking about him every night, he'll leave me. I know he will. Because all I have left are memories, and if I forget those memories, my brother will be gone completely. And I don't know what I'd do without him.

A brother. My brother. A brother is someone you're supposed to banter with, to fight with, to confide in, to love but never say that you do. But damn, I really wish I had told him how much I loved him. I wish I could've hugged him more, maybe I could've made him feel alright again. Maybe he would've stayed, even just a little longer. He could've talked to me, could've talked to someone. And he would still be right by my side. Instead, I'm here, alone, left with fading memories and what if's.

I wipe off the tears with the back of my sleeve. With the sweatshirt that he gave me. It was like it was him, wiping off the tears.

Jesus Christ, I've got to get a hold of myself.

I stand up and walk into the hallway, stopping to wash my face in the bathroom. The water feels cool against my skin, and it puts me in a better place.

I go to open up the door, checking myself one last time in the mirror. I look alright. My hair is a bit lopsided. Whatever.

I trudge down the steps, humming lightly to myself, forcing myself to appear a little happier.

My parents are already sitting at the kitchen table. My mama smiles when she sees me, and motions for me to come sit. I allow my self to smile back a little. Even with all her faults, my mama is the best, and nothing can change that.

I find my spot at the table, a bowl of fried rice on a placemat in front of it. Fried rice may not seem like a lot for dinner, but my mom genuinely mixes every single vegetable imaginable plus some chicken. And it tastes fricking amazing too.

I dig in, joining my parents in what one could call "politely shoving food into our mouths."

My Nanay pauses to speak.

"So," she says, casually, "How is school?"

"It's good," I reply routinely.

My mama laughs a little and shakes her head.

"What?" I ask.

"Just good?" My mama responds.

"I don't know, parts are great and parts are bad. So, yeah. It is good."

"What are some of the good parts?" My Nanay asks.

"I like most of my teachers. I have some friends," I pause, talking a spoonful of food, "Jeremy's cool, as always.

My moms look at each other, like they know something I don't.

"What?" I exclaim, wanting to be let on in the secret.

My mama looks at me and winks.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I laugh, half yelling.

"I don't know," my mama says, looking at my nanay, "Jeremy's looking a lot cuter lately."

"Mom!" I shout, incredulous. "What the heck?"

"What? It's the truth!" Nanay agrees.

"Stop it!"

"You're not denying it!" My mama sings, giggling.

"Honey," my Nanay whispers, clearly not for me to hear, "We don't even know if he likes boys."

My mama laughs.

"We've always known, darling," she replies, smiling.

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Not happening.

"The frick, you guys! What is this? Your regularly scheduled programming of 'Pry Into Michael's Life'?"

"Anak," my nanay responds, taken aback a bit, "We're just joking around."

My mama nods in agreement, the remains of a smile still on her face.

"Alright," I challenge, gaining confidence from somewhere, "So what if I like boys?"

"That's great!" My mama exclaims. She sees my expression, and then keeps talking, her tone of voice changing from excited to frantic. "It's, uh, also awesome if you like girls! It doesn't matter. Or if you like both, or neither, or non-binary people...or boys! Especially boys! We're perfectly cool if you like boys and only boys."

"Oh my God, Mom!" I yell, more embarrassed than I have ever been in my life. "It seems pretty clear to you that I like boys!"

It grows quiet. After some hesitation, my Nanay speaks up.

"You do? For real?" She asks quietly.

"For the love of Christ, yes! I am very, very gay!"

I can't believe this.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to gay walk up to my gay room and do some very gay things!"

My Nanay giggles a little, but she mostly succeeds in staying serious. Meanwhile, my Mama falls apart in laughter, pausing only to speak. What the hell is so funny?

"What...very...gay...things...are you....gonna do in your...room?" She honestly cannot control herself.
.
"What? What are you—" Then it hits me. "Ohmygodno! No! I did not mean it like that! Stop!"

I can't help it either. I start to laugh a little, and then a lot. I dash up the stairs, calling over the giggles, "There will be payback for this, Mama!"

"Okay, Mickey Mouse! I'm sure there will be some crazy revenge!" There's a pause of laughter before she shouts, "Have loads of fun in your room, sweetheart!"

"Ahhhhh! Stop it!" I half scream.

I slam the door, giggling, and launch myself onto my bed.

What. The. Frick.

Well, I guess I came out. Maybe not quite how I wanted to, but whatever.

I shake my head, grinning.

I walk over to my dresser, pulling out the drawer with my underwear. I push a pair of briefs aside, and pull out what I'm looking for.

It's just a rectangle, you know? But I mean, maybe, maybe I could wear it. Maybe I have the guts to do it.

I unzip my hoodie, taking it off to hold it in my hands. I find a spot on the sleeve and smile.

Yeah, I kinda like it. It could go here. I could be gay, you know? And not hiding. Just out and proud.

I like it a lot actually. I grab a needle and pull some red thread through it, first try. It's like it's a sign.

I'm sure my friends will be chill with it. Low key though, I think all of them are queer in some way. The gaydar talking, not me.

I put the final stitch in and smile. The patch completes the hoodie. I put the jacket back on and walk over to the mirror.

I do a little modeling, making myself laugh.

I decide to call Jeremy, to tell him I came out to my parents. I think he'll be proud of me. And just the thought of hearing his voice makes me happy.

I find my phone buried in my bedsheets. Swiping it open, I find his contact, and soon enough, the phone is waiting for him to answer.

He picks up, but the other end is silent. Okay, I think, I'll talk first.

"Uh, hi, Jeremy! I just called to sa—"

"I love you!" He interrupts.

"What?"

Word Count: 1465