cuz I can't wait anymore , - - - [avery]

[MICHAELANGELO DONATELLO GRACE]

I need a cigarette.

The thought wouldn’t leave him as he sat at his desk and stared at the paper in front of him. His leg bounced restlessly underneath the old wood, foot poised with the heel in the air to make the movement easier. He frowned at the marks on the sheet. The shade of pencil gray reminded him of ashes from a cigarette and therefore did nothing to help him. His eyes narrowed. A hand came up to readjust his glasses. Maybe if he set the homework on fire…? No. Bad. Don’t set the homework on fire, Mickey. He rolled his eyes at the voice, whispering in his ear as if someone had their lips pressed against the skin. Elsa was the nicest of the voices, when he thought about it. If it wasn’t mildly insane for him to hear voices in the first place, he’d accuse her of being the one who kept him sane—or at least acting it sometimes, like telling him not to burn his students’ homework just to see the flames. The other voices weren’t nearly as nice to him. It was probably a good thing that he had Elsa, considering. She got the credit for him not being fired on a regular basis.

But he just couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d tried, but he couldn’t sit still. He hated doing so anyway. Sitting still was boring and uninvolved. God, he was glad he could pace when he lectured. He jumped up from the position, dropping the paper to the desk and shoving the chair forcefully backwards until it clanged against the wall. Whatever. The chair would be fine. He’d done that several times, and although part of him was just waiting for the day it would fall apart on him, it had held out this long. If it wasn’t, he could get another. He could support himself and the not-so-infrequent destructive habits he possessed. Like burning students’ homework or breaking chairs. Yeah, he needed a cigarette, badly. He reached into his pocket for the package of cigarettes as he was walking out of the classroom, sure that he’d set off some sort of fire alarm if he didn’t, but found something else instead: a bottle of pills. He stopped short. His gaze flickered around the orange plastic, the white label that had his terrible long name printed so neatly on the side, with instructions for taking them. He hadn’t opened it. Why had he put it into his pocket?

You need a refill.

“Thank you, Elsa,”

[/color] he muttered thoughtfully. Of course, this meant he had to put off the cigarette for a little while longer, but since the pharmacy had recently agreed to send his pills to the school medical wing instead, it shouldn’t be too long a trip anyway. Almost with a bounce in his step—he blamed sitting still for as long as he had, not counting the restless leg—he headed over to it, still craving the cigarette and playing with the lighter he kept in his pocket. Where had he put his cigarettes anyway? He started searching his pockets as he walked, frowning as he did so, glad it was technically after classes were over. It was like anyone was going to be waiting for him. The only worry would be that the doctor or nurse or whoever was in charge nowadays wasn’t currently in the medical wing. Considering how copiously the students got hurt in fights due to the alliances he still didn’t quite understand, this was unlikely. The medical professional probably lived in his or her office. Was it a he or a she anyway? He shrugged this off, too, shouldering through the door just as he found his cigarettes in his back pocket.

He’d been sitting on them. At least it wasn’t a chocolate bar. The last time he’d sat on a chocolate bar, his pants had been stained brown even after they’d gone through the laundry four times. That had been humiliating and had successfully put him in a terrible mood.

“Ello?”[/color] he called, looking around curiously. He’d never minded hospitals. He sort of liked how clean and neat they were supposed to be, when you didn’t think about the death and illness and blood and guts that floated around occasionally. He was glad he hadn’t become a surgeon. He didn’t have the patience or the focus to learn all those little bones and muscles that permeated the human body and allowed people to point their toes or whatever shit they did in ballet. He’d never been particularly fond of dancing either, though it had the potential to be an outlet for the extra energy he fell victim to. Like his schizophrenia but so much worse. He really hoped the doctor or nurse or whatever it was could be helpful and trustworthy to at least some degree. He didn’t want some official from a foreign government knowing just what was wrong with him. Mickey, I think someone’s coming. Elsa made him look up again, and he added simply, “I need to pick up a prescription.”[/color] Now, he could also hope that he was coming on a good date. He could never keep straight how frequently he was supposed to pick up his pills—largely because he didn’t take them.[/size][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[AVERY JUNNOSUKE KAEL]

Vulnerability. It was something everyone had--whether they liked to admit it, that was their own choice. Or maybe it wasn't; maybe they were forced to confront it, head on, with no real preparation or notice because life just loved to bring you surprises. Life was an ass like that.

Avery stared at the perfectly folded paper bag that was lying on his desk, the just as white label stuck onto it seemingly illuminating in the light; as if screaming, "Look at me! I'm a reminder of your past! Look at me!" The nurse, who was sitting in his chair, knees brought to his chest, was unsure of how to react. How was he supposed to react? A remnant of the past just came and smacked him upside the head, just when he thought he had gotten rid of all it--the drugs, the alcohol, the bullying, the pure weakness. But no. The bait was right there on his desk, ready to snap its jaws.

Michaelangelo Donatello Grace.

Avery remembered the name as if it was one of the many medical terms he was forced to learn in college. Shoved down his throat due to its importance; due its influence to change a single life. Mickey. He remembered faintly calling the Wind that, his eyes that used to be so dead would light up at the very thought of him. Because Mickey was just that--a light. Back in his Academy days, Avery was weak. Sullen. Unable to defend himself from the growing numbers of bullies that would surround his frail frame. And then there was Mickey--sociable, friendly; not one person tried to question him or his actions when he stood up for the vulnerable Water. There was this unspoken trust between them. You need help, I'll be there. I'll be your shell. Your protector.

And then one day, he was gone. The silent promise they made was broken, and Avery became the main victim of torment because he didn't have his shell anymore. Endless days and agonizing nights of having to deal with the question "why?" And what was even worse, he didn't have an answer to that. But right now, the contents of the orange plastic held all the answers in its quaint little package.

When Avery first heard that prescriptions for a professor at the Academy were being sent here, he paid no mind to it. He saw a lot of people everyday, so this wouldn't really matter, right? It was the end of the day. Avery's shift was over. He wondered faintly if he should drop it off for the other nurses to deal with. What, it'd been ten years since they last spoke each other, let alone speak. What were the odds of them both ending back at the Academy? Slim to none. How could Avery not know the Wind was a professor? He knew almost everybody. But like Avery said before, life was an ass.

Taking a deep breath, he got up from his chair, his hand hovering over the paper bag to drop it off to the nurse next door, when he heard a voice call out. Avery froze, unable to process what to do. Maybe Avery should just keep quiet and stay in the safety of his office. Or somehow make a diversion to make the Wind look elsewhere. Or just throw the prescription at his head and run away--that was a tempting choice. But instead of his mind cooperating with his body, Avery stayed so still, as if he made one movement, Mickey would immediately know someone was in there and come hunting him down. No, no, Avery did not want that. But he took the paper bag in his hands, it crinkling in his touch, and Avery made his way to the door.

For a second, he hesitated. What was he supposed to say? Or act, for that matter. Act like he had no idea who Mickey was? Or just hide his own face in hopes that the Wind would take the prescription and leave without questions. Would the Wind even recognize Avery? So many options and questions in so little time, and it'd only be a matter of time until Mickey saw the nurse hovering near the door. And so he squeezed his hand, the paper bag crinkling again, and greeted his protector. "Hey, Mickey."

[MICHAELANGELO DONATELLO GRACE]

To Michaelangelo, life was a before and after shot—before and after his mind had started to screw with him. Someone who knew the now wouldn’t believe the before. Someone who knew the before wouldn’t necessarily understand the after. The latter typically depended on whether or not one understand what schizophrenia could do to a person.

No one will ever understand you, Angelo. No one. Audley’s soft voice in his head made him frown at himself. At least it wasn’t Chann, though the two inspired distinctly different emotions. Audley was depressing. Chann was infuriating. When Audley talked, it made him want to sit alone in his house and smoke a whole packet of cigarettes. Chann made him want to throw things and yell at people. Admittedly, neither reaction was very healthy. The voices weren’t healthy in the first place. Sure, he could take his pills to fight against them, but the pills did things to his head that he didn’t like. They made him feel dull and stupid. Any creative processes got completely shut down, and he hated that. He hated how listless the damn pills made him feel, which was why he didn’t take them. He didn’t mind the voices nearly as much as perhaps he should. Especially Elsa. She was sweet and responsible and reminded him of the grandmother he’d only ever heard tales of. The thing was, she wasn’t moody like a real grandmother might be. She wasn’t going to get sick and die or fall and break her hip. Elsa was just a one-dimensional figment of his imagination. He liked Elsa. Just not Audley or Chann.

Audley and Chann were part of the after. He liked thinking of the before, though the transitioning period from before to after had been rough. Those months not understanding why he was hearing things, seeing things, why he hated friends he’d previously liked… they had been rough on him. Of course, he’d had a good support system through it. His sisters and his doctor had been very helpful. Some people didn’t have that sort of support system. They were left to fend for themselves. They had to fight off the predators and find their own food, and he imagined it was probably insanely uncomfortable no matter what sort of personality someone had. He didn’t think anybody liked to think the whole world was out to get them. He couldn’t imagine how soldiers coming back from war dealt, even those who managed to stay with their families. The ones living on the streets, dealing with PTSD… those were the ones he feared becoming. He feared losing his mind, his identity, everything, especially because he couldn’t even say he was brave or courageous enough to be soldier. He was a goddamned teacher. He’d never even been a cop like he wanted. He felt pathetic for that. He hated that.

Hate was a strong word. Elsa liked to remind him of that, so he usually tried to avoid using it, but sometimes it was just a little difficult. He hated himself sometimes. Those were the moments he was most vulnerable to Chann and Audley. The two voices teamed up on him. They were like real people sometimes, even if they had only a few traits, had no real emotions, and didn’t actually exist. It was worst when he was seeing things on top of everything else. On top of the paranoia and the irritability and lack of focus and all that. When everything got to him, the voices tended to fight each, and the negative ones won out. Negativity was easy to fall victim to. It was easier than finding the good in the universe. That was a little depressing all on its own. Why was there so much wrong with the world? Because humans are asshats and they fuck up everything around them. Sure, there were exceptions. But in this case, in the general sense, he had to agree with Audley. Humans could definitely be asshats, but they could also be really good people, people who cared about others and were sweet and nice and protective and all that other good stuff that people like about one another. His sisters were sweet and nice. His sisters weren’t asshats.

Was he an asshat? He’d never really thought about it. Of course you are. And of course Chann had decided to join in. He fiddled with the smokes in his hand, trying to get the new package open and cursing the fact that he hadn’t done so in his classroom where he actually had scissors. Success came only when he heard his name—a nickname, actually—and his thumb jerked across the plastic, ripping it open as his head jerked up. His first thought was that he had never met the school doctor or nurse or whatever before.

His second thought was that he knew the face and that he hadn’t known Avery was interested in medicine a decade ago. He swallowed uncomfortably first, his mind going blank for a minute. Then his gaze fell to Avery’s hands, and his stomach twisted. He’d been prepared to have someone at the school know he was messed up. He hadn’t been prepared for that someone to be someone he actually knew. “Hey,” he finally replied, after a long moment. What was there to say? They hadn’t spoken in years. Even back then, they hadn’t spoken immensely much. Michaelangelo had just sorta played a shield for the quite water he remembered. A quite water who was, as he was assuming by the familiar package in his hands as well as the white coat over his shoulders, the Academy doctor. He was pretty sure the recognition had been obvious on his face. He wanted to light up just to inhale the nicotine before the sudden stress of the situation made Audley and Chann appear behind the doctor. Speak. Just calm down and say something. Even if it’s something simple. “Are those my pills?” Avery. He almost wanted to tack the name on the end of the speech, but he didn’t know what else to say, except… “How’ve you been, Avery?” Cool. Calm. Collected. Just relax. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t give Braedon a reason to say anything.

[AVERY JUNNOSUKE KAEL]

Unfamiliar. Avery was far too comfortable with this term--every time he looked into the mirror, it popped up in his head as if it had been waiting to see the mop of brown hair, the equally brown eyes, and the smile that would've felt out of place on his lips so many years ago. But he took it in with a full embrace, because this was who he was now. Not the weak, alcoholic Water who had no backbone. Avery was stronger now, which was why the sudden appearance of Mickey disturbed him. Put him on edge. It was the feeling equivalent to building a house of cards. You spend so much time and patience to build up what could crumble at the slightest touch, but you make it anyway because of your determination, or just to prove something to the people who had repeatedly kicked you when you were down. In this case, Avery spent years trying to live in the present rather than the past. Not to think about how weak he had been; so, so vulnerable, and in turn, buried all that made him like that with it. It was all locked up. No one knew why he acted out, why he isolated himself, or how he began his transformation, because that was all tied to the past he kept locked up in his heart.

And then here was Mickey. The one who saw all this happening right in front of his eyes, though never questioned anything. Just protected.

After a long moment of silence, Avery wondered if the Wind even recognized him. A faint thought in the back of his mind suddenly brought up a good point: why should he? In those days, Avery kept himself isolated. Quiet. In solitude. Only when Avery was in need did Mickey show up, and it seemed like he was there every time. Like a guardian angel who had fallen.

Avery shuffled his feet, his eyes not exactly meeting Mickey's--Michaelangelo's. The nickname rang through his head and wondered if he even had the right to call the Wind that anymore, considering the gap of time. But Avery thought back again to the Academy days, the way his face would scrunch up in irritation when anyone said his full name. The nurse's lips twitched at the memory. It seemed so far away, out of reach. Like it really didn't exist.

His eyes dropped down to the small package of cigarettes in Mickey's hands. Avery blinked; he didn't know the Wind smoked. But then again, he didn't know a lot of things about him. "You can't smoke," Avery finally spoke up, "in the medical wing." The voice that had just left his lips sounded so unfamiliar to the nurse's ears. In an effort to desperately grab hold of this situation, he offered a smile, but it felt contorted, out of place. For good measure, Avery tilted his head toward a sign across from them; the cigarette in the middle with a big red circle around it, a slash across the middle. "Uh, yeah. If you're still Michaelangelo Donatello Grace." He recited the name with full fluidity, as if he had practiced the name in its entirety on a daily basis. And Avery had, back when things were so simple. The nurse tacked on a small smirk, as if telling Mickey silently that he remembered he hated his name to the point of wanting to legally change it. But it was unique. Had presence, just as the Wind had right now. But even as Avery said his name smoothly, there was a sense of the unfamiliar that he had been so accustomed to. "Okay, it's just been awhile, huh? Avery said simply, tilting his head to the side. This atmosphere--he didn't know what to make of it. The Wind was calm, stoic. As if he acted this out so many times before--but it felt all wrong. Like this wasn't the Mickey he once knew. Avery dropped his gaze to the ground again, shuffling his feet, realizing he was still holding Mickey's prescription, and there was a wide distance between each other. "...you?"

Chewing on his lip, he collected himself, taking a step forward, step by step making the gap smaller, until he was arm's distance away. Avery held out the white paper bag, blinking as he took in the unfamiliarity of the Wind. "And I didn't know you were a professor! How long?" Avery lifted his hand, ready to pat Mickey on the shoulder as a friendly, everyday gesture, but a moment later, he dropped his hand, the motion hesitant yet swift.

The conversation thus far was superficial. Common. Used for everyday strangers who had just met. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't far off.

[MICHAELANGELO DONATELLO GRACE]

He’d been royally screwed over with his name. He didn’t know what sort of drugs his mom had been on when she’d picked it, or what had driven his dad to allow it. Sure, the artists from the renaissance had talent. They were world-famous for a very good reason. That didn’t mean he wanted to be named after them, though. He was also pretty sure he could have forgiven his parents if at least one of his siblings had a name of the same humiliating caliber. But no—the other child his mom had named had a reasonable name chosen from Shakespeare’s plays. It was unfair to him, but no one seemed to agree with that. Bullshit. Except his mom was one of the few people he didn’t really want to yell at. He owed a lot to his mom, actually. She’d been the one who had argued his case for therapy. His dad hadn’t really seen into what had been going on at the time, but he’d lost the discussion (it hadn’t really been an argument) and Michaelangelo had met Dr. Jellycut a week later. He missed her.

Was it bad that he hadn’t really missed Avery? To be honest, he hadn’t thought about the water in a very long time. But he still remembered him, could recall what had happened back then. It made him wonder why he hadn’t thought about him. The memories weren’t bad. He’d just been protecting Avery from being bullied. He had no clue he’d affected Avery as much as he had. It seemed normal to protect someone who was being bullied.

At least, it had before the voices had started in on him. The voices had changed everything. He’d secluded himself. He hadn’t paid attention anymore. He didn’t know what sort of bullying had resulted when he’d no longer played protector. He didn’t know if it had bled away or gotten worse. At the time, he hadn’t been thinking about others. He’d been selfish. He’d wanted to think about himself and fixing what was wrong with him. Unfortunately, schizophrenia had no cure. It could be managed, but there was no way to halt it in its tracks once it got started. You could take pills. You could smoke and drink and practice other ways of self-medication. Or you could just deal with it. He wasn’t too big on just dealing with it. The cigarettes helped. Sure, they caused cancer and stuff like that, but that wasn’t a for-sure thing and the schizophrenia was. He was willing to take the risk because it meant he wouldn’t necessarily see faces. He was willing to take the risk because maybe he’d be sane for a little while longer and not get locked up.

But he understood that he should smoke in the medical wing, although this irritated him when Avery pointed it out. His gaze followed to the sign he hadn’t noticed before, though he should probably have taken into account that the medical wing, of all places, would be a no-smoking zone. Second-hand smoke was supposedly deadlier than actually smoking because there was no filter for it. He frowned and tucked the cigarettes into their usual pocket again, still playing with the lighter in his hand because he could not fiddle. Besides, the lighter provided a shade of comfort that, while nowhere near that of the actual cigarettes, helped keep him a calm. A little. He didn’t apologize for wanting to smoke. Smoking was an addiction, an urge. The fact that he was suppressing it just because someone was telling him to should be appreciated. Braedon said nothing solely because Avery had been specific enough to point out that this rule applied only to the medical wing. At least, that was what Michaelangelo was hoping for. He was hoping that Braedon would keep his nonexistent mouth shut.

The goddamn name. Of course Avery knew it. He had the prescription after all. His eyes slid closed and his jaw gnashed together, teeth held carefully still so he wouldn’t grind. He hated the name. He hated that Avery said it. He wasn’t okay with just anyone calling him that. When he opened his eyes and encountered the smirk, it didn’t help. Was Avery actually taking pleasure in his irritation? Bastard.

…if he actually was. He knew he read into things. Maybe the smirk was supposed to mean something else. He didn’t know what else, but it was a possibility. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet, deciding it was better not to snap just because he was irritated about the cigarette. That would be the underlying cause more so than the name, if honesty happened to be the best policy after all. He just wanted the cigarette. Not having one made him even more irritable than he usually was. That, in turn, made him more twitchy when it came to his name. He was twitchy about several things. He remembered when he’d been diagnosed like it was yesterday. First, there had been relief—at least he knew what was wrong with him. That had been quickly followed by disgust and irritation. Why did something have to be wrong with him in the first place? “Eleven years,”

[/color] he said after a moment. He was 27 now. He had been dealing with his schizophrenia for 11 years and it honestly hadn’t gotten any better. From what he’d discussed with Dr. Jellycut, it would never get better. Schizophrenia was a life sentence. “Eleven years is a long time.”[/color] As if he needed to tell Avery that.

Similarly, the desire to answer the question that followed, lacking anything to specify what he was asking though Michaelangelo understood the point, was absent. He didn’t like the question very much, mostly because there was always so much more going on than he was willing to share. He frowned thoughtfully at the doctor in front of him. Did he really have to answer the question? He glanced at the paper bag in his hands and decided to squirrel it out of him. “You know what those are for?”[/color] he asked softly, trying to keep any emotion from his voice so he wouldn’t betray himself. He knew most anti-psychotics could treat bipolar disorder or depression as well, so he wasn’t sure how close Avery would come to picking up on exactly what was wrong with him, but it was worth a question. He took a step closer to the doctor, feeling suddenly like a predator advancing on prey, though he didn’t know why.

Was Avery scared of him? He wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore.

Whether he was frightened or not wasn’t answered by the fact that he was stepping closer, though he noticed the motion was slow and almost hesitant. They were close in height; the water couldn’t be more than an inch or two shorter than he. He accepted the bag calmly, debating if she should just toss it in the trash since he wasn’t taking the pills anyway but knowing if he did it risked someone on the street finding them. That was never a good risk to take. He’d probably just toss it into the shoe box of all the other unopened pill containers he had. Speaking of which… before he answered, his gaze fell into his hand and he realized why he’d been having such trouble opening the cigarettes. The old pills were still in his hand. They rattled softly as he shoved them back into his pocket. Answer the question quickly. Maybe he won’t notice. “Three years. I’ve been teaching criminal justice classes here for three years. How long have you been the doctor? Hell, what got you into medicine in the first place?”[/color][/size][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[AVERY JUNNOSUKE KAEL]

The first day was the one that Avery remembered the most. He was backed into a corner, his body crumpled on the ground due to the fear, ready to receive whatever punch or element was awaiting him--when it didn't arrive at all. Shaky breath and trembling hands, Avery opened his eyes, his gaze instantly falling on the person standing in front of him, his arms outstretched as he blocked the scared Water. And then, the person looked back, his eyes and smile both gentle and friendly--his protector.

Not the person who was standing in front of Avery right now.

The irritation emitted from Mickey was so overwhelming, unfamiliar. Sure, it was an obvious thing for the nurse to say, but he didn't think it'd do any harm. Avery looked on silently as Mickey tucked the cigarettes into his pocket, now playing with his lighter. Maybe Avery shouldn't have said anything, because the silence and constant flicking of the small flame that followed drove him insane. Why won't he say anything? Avery kept his eyes focused, blinking at the flickering flame before he opened his mouth to speak, as if someone was compelling him forward, pushing, to say something. Anything, to get out of this suffocating silence. But nothing came out, and they were soon engulfed in the unspoken tension that Avery resented so much.

Though he could understand it. The smoking, that is, and the urge that came along with it. Avery himself smoked--though that was over a decade ago when the only comfort he ever got was from a 24-pack of cigarettes and lighter. Nothing was sweeter than taking a long drag from his cigarette and the calmness that followed after. Avery had quit in his last year at the Academy, but every now and then he craved it. He couldn't help it--and right now, at this moment, he wished he had one.

Avery once again sensed the irritation when he said the Wind's full name. And he expected it too, but he didn't expect Mickey to react the way he did. Was it always like this? Or had it been a habit he picked up? Maybe it just really had been a long time. Or Avery just didn't know much about Mickey as much as he liked to think. He bit down on his tongue, his smirk slowly disappearing, before his face darkened. He wasn't usually like this. No, far from it. Had it been anyone else who hadn't seen Avery in his vulnerable state, he'd be talking up a storm, his cheeky grin plastered on his face, and a few shameless pick-up lines. Yes, that was Avery now, but the Wind standing before him only knew the Avery then. Such a big and wide contrast that no one would've expected it from the Water. Life was an ass, but for good reason too. The people in it screwed everything up.

Eleven years. That's how long it had been. Avery's lips parted as he did the math himself, blinking blankly as he realized it was true. As if that was something to lie about. "It is," he agreed, rocking back and forth slowly on his heels. Why are you like this? Avery shook the thought from his head--no, no. He was not going to let this shit get to him. And so Avery prepped himself, letting out a small breath, and smirked. "And I see those years have been kind to you." The nurse had to admit--Mickey was handsome. More so than in his Academy days. But he still had this unfamiliar element to him that made Avery shiver.

Avery waited in patience for the Wind to answer the question, his head tilting to the side when no answer came. Rather, silence once again engulfed them in its bubble, and the nurse's eyes dropped as he realized the frown was directed towards him. Avery shuffled his feet, both hands holding the paper bag gently. The Wind finally spoke again, though if Avery hadn't known any better, he would've thought it belonged to a stranger. But maybe that's what they were. Even in the past. Avery shifted in his spot again, unsure of how to respond. Of course he knew what they were--but a part of him wished he were wrong, and he didn't know the specifics. But what he did know; this was the reason why the Wind had pulled back so many years before. Why he stopped being Avery's shell. "I have a general idea," Avery finally said, looking up at Mickey. His own face betrayed no emotion, but when Mickey took a step towards him, he could not help but instinctively step back, his gaze dropping, his shoulders hunching--like Avery did so many years ago when his protector wasn't around anymore. When he wished he was.

This motion was so simple, easy, and yet Avery flinched when the Wind took the bag as calmly as he did. He wasn't scared, no--rather, he just was on edge about this whole thing. His eyes fell on the plastic orange cylinder in Mickey's hands, blinking in curiosity, when suddenly the Wind pocketed them. Avery's eyes looked back up at him, his eyes still blank. Was that just...no, Mickey wouldn't do something as stupid as that...the nurse's eyes were then glued to the Wind professor, his eyes asking unspoken questions. "...Three years," he repeated, his tone flat. "I've...I've been the doc--nurse, for three years too." Avery tilted his head. What the hell? They were both at the Academy for three years, merely coexisting but just missing each other. Why now, of all times? "I could ask you the same thing~!" he said with a grin, trying to make himself comfortable. "I didn't think you were the type to pursue criminal justice." He didn't know a lot about Mickey. "It just...happened, really." All the nights tending his own wounds kind of got to him.

"Ooh, I forgot!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening almost comically. "You have to sign something..." Avery began patting through his white coat, trying to find the consent form for Mickey to sign. Standard procedure was what the hospital told him. And in no way would Avery want to forget that--forgetting now would mean he'd have to go find Mickey again, and that just didn't seem...pleasant. Just looked at this current atmosphere. "It's on my desk~" he suddenly remembered, standing there awkwardly for a moment before he turned around--maybe a bit too fast, because Avery felt himself lose his footing, his balance and coordination falling down the tubes.

And as he fell, the bright yellow sign that said "wet floor" finally became present.

Smooth.

[MICHAELANGELO DONATELLO GRACE]

Michaelangelo wasn’t quite aware how different he was from back in the times when he’d played shield to Avery. He probably would have shrugged it off if Avery asked him, joked about it, and then let it bother him later in private when he could have a good smoke. He did notice the doctor’s gaze on the lighter and, feeling a bit self-conscious, tucked it into his pocket, fiddling with it instead of lighting the flame repeatedly. He liked fire, maybe more than he should. That was probably why he’d been tempted to burn the homework earlier. Just a few minutes ago actually. The moments were dragging out so much he was having a hard time keeping time itself straight. He let his gaze wander, searching for a clock on the wall on which he could keep his eyes to see how much time was actually passing. He wasn’t impatient to leave, necessarily, even though he felt as if there was something solid between them. The tension wasn’t very comfortable. If not for his irritation, still stemming from the lack of a cigarette, he probably would have pulled a face just to make the doctor laugh and ease things up a bit.

He did manage to smile when the other looked a little shocked at the years they’d been apart. The amusement just stuck with him as the other started talking. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to shake it, even if he felt a little silly at the thought. He had no reason to be laughing, even if he was being complimented. His gaze flickered over the other, mind debating whether to return the compliment as well as the truth behind it. He’d never really thought about whether Avery was attractive or not back when they’d been in school, partially because he was so used to seeing the other with bruises or cuts. He could still remember the few times he’d caught sight of the unbruised face, and he had to admit there was something rather appealing about the grown-up Avery that had lacked in the fifteen—year—old one. He took a step closer, invading the doctor’s personal space until their faces were probably closer than either of them had expected. His eyes were intent on the ones in the other’s face, studying the irises curiously.

“They’ve been rather attentive to you, too,” he murmured softly. Part of him realized that normal vocal volume would be completely inappropriate considering how close he’d brought them. They weren’t even touching. Sure, they were close enough to touch, but they hadn’t yet. Not even when he’d grasped the pills. He didn’t mind how close they were, personally. He’d accepted more than 11 years ago that he found boys just as attractive as he found girls, though he had to admit he had just as little experience with one as with the other. Tugging away from social interaction at the age of 16 had sort of prevented him from getting too deep into the whole dating scene. Nonetheless, he doubted that kissing a boy was any different from kissing a girl, especially since, to him, both were equally as attractive. Just to experiment, he was tempted to kiss Avery, but he doubted the motion would be well-received. Hell, he’d be surprised if Avery didn’t jerk away the minute he realized how close they were.

Physically. They hadn’t had any emotional proximity in 11 years.

Of course Avery knew what the pills were for, but it still irked him that Avery hadn’t shared just how much he suspected about his condition. How much did he know? How much had the pharmacy said? Sure, the pharmacy wasn’t supposed to know about his condition. They weren’t supposed to. But he was convinced the government knew way more about people than it ought to, than it was supposed to. So maybe the pharmacy did know. Maybe the pharmacy had told Avery. And maybe, through that logic, Avery knew about the schizophrenia as well. He was still debating on whether that was a good thing or a bad one. A doctor had to be trustworthy, right? He couldn’t just go spilling his patient’s secrets. Admittedly, he wasn’t technically Avery’s patient. He was just getting some pills from the man.

The man who’d been working at the academy just as long as he had. How had they not run into each other before? Not in the faculty lounge. Not in the hallways. Not even here. He hadn’t gotten hurt badly enough to warrant a trip to the medical wing, honestly, but still. How had they not managed to bump into each other? He knew you were here. He lied. He knew and he’s been avoiding you. Just look at him. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near you. He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was Braedon talking or Audley—both had the potential—but he didn’t want to think about it too much. It just made him want a cigarette more. He gripped the lighter tightly in his hand, chewing on his tongue as he tried to restrain himself. Avery probably wouldn’t go for it if Michaelangelo asked him to look the other way as long as he blew the smoke out into the hallway or out the window or something. Unfortunate.

After a moment of deliberation on the question of his interest in criminal justice, he replied softly, “I wanted to be a cop but I wasn’t exactly cut out for it.” Sure, he had the physicality for it. The thing was just that he didn’t have the mental… discipline for it. It would have been too obvious to the people around him that something was wrong with him. Even if he’d been protecting Avery back in school, just for a year though it had been. Maybe protecting Avery had been the thing that had sparked the interest in him. Maybe it had been something else. Elsa was sure to credit Avery, though. “So I chose the next best thing.” Teaching probably wasn’t the next best thing. He could have gone into security or something. Maybe been a lawyer, although he definitely didn’t have the patience for legal matters either. He knew enough to teach, and rather well, or so he thought. He’d done okay in college, when he’d been studying. His grades hadn’t reflected that, to be honest, but you could ask him a lot of things about his subject and he usually didn’t need much more than a moment to think about it.

There was no thought involved when Avery slipped. He slid forward, almost tripping himself but managing to catch him with an amused, “Watch out there, doc,” as he tried to stop him from falling over. Both arms came around the other man. It struck him that they were actually touching. And then, he realized just how he’d managed to keep his old friend from falling over. One arm had snaked around his waist, gripping his ribs on the one side, which was perfectly innocent, of course. It was the other hand that was starting to be a bit distracting and even stuck a blush on his cheeks. Of course his hand had landed right between his hips, groping the doctor in a manner that was completely inappropriate. Part of him wanted to jerk his hand away, but Avery was still a bit precarious, and besides, maybe the sudden motion would draw his attention to it. Of course, he didn’t think it was a very bad thing. He didn’t mind the contact too much himself, except that it was exceedingly embarrassing that his hand had gone there of all places.

Just… why?

[AVERY JUNNOSUKE KAEL]

It took a lot for Avery to get flustered. For someone as shameless and outgoing as he was, it'd be a rare sight to see blood flow to his cheeks with a stutter that was as bad as his erratic heart.

Stick the nurse in a room full of dull elderly people and Avery would somehow find youth in the situation and chatting nonstop. Stick him in a room with little kids and he'd be bouncing off the walls with the same excitement they'd possess when they were high off sugar. Hell, stick him in a strip bar full of drag queens and he'd be as chipper as can be with no care in the world--because that was just how Avery was. Rarely felt the awkwardness, the tension, or the irritation. Always found light in the situation.

However.

Don't stick him in a room full of angry Fires and irritated Thunders, because he'd be frightened to death. Don't stick him in a room full of shy teenagers who looked as if they'd break down any second, because he'd panic and start hyperventilating. And whatever you do--don't stick him in a room of people just as flirtatious and touchy-feely as he was, because he'd end up taking too much of his own medicine and pass out.

And unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

Avery's heart felt as if it had lept up into his throat when Mickey stepped closer, his eyes searching the nurse's. He had barely gotten over the shock when the Wind smiled, the distant warmth vaguely pulling him into the past memories--but this...this was just...usually Avery dealt well with this. His own eyes studied Mickey's features, Avery's eyes steady, gazing. Back when they were teenagers, Avery very rarely ever looked at other people. Never observed them, as he preferred being alone and distanced from the other students, so Avery never really noticed the intensity in Mickey's eyes. It looked so out of place on the baby-faced professor, even after all these years. The nurse's eyes slid down to the Wind's neck, his collarbone, and around his shoulders, taking note of Mickey's physique. Avery smirked and tilted his head to the side, taking another small step forward, their noses now brushing. "So I've been told," he replied, his voice just as soft. And for a moment Avery stayed there, the closeness not really bothering him, until he finally took a step back, the smirk still on his face. Of all things to make Avery somewhat comfortable in this situation; flirting. Really.

Avery really wasn't sure how to perceive all of this. At all. He was naturally flirtatious and affectionate--to both genders. He was bi-curious after all, but Avery couldn't say he was bi-sexual. Yet, anyways. Since that day when he sought comfort from the store owner he was part-timing for, Avery's had torn feelings about it all. It had sparked his interest in the same gender, sure, but he remembered the rush of emotions after wards. The disgust. The intrigue. The trauma. The confusion.

But he'll go along with it, because Avery was just that shameless.

The nurse shifted his feet again, his mind and focus literally split between Mickey, and the question itself as the feeling of irritation from the Wind made its way over to Avery. He read emotions as if it were on the back of his hand. Though at times Avery chose to be oblivious to it, because he didn't want to start any problems that could possibly erupt considering how unthoughtful the nurse was with his words sometimes. So Avery chose to be quiet, his mind going back to the white paper bag that was now in Mickey's hands. Could Avery be wrong? He'd rather be. He usually thought of the worst situation possible, but that's because his doctor nurse side forced him to be over-analytical.

But it would explain why the Wind pulled back so many years ago.

The thought of them working together for the past three years without knowing disturbed Avery. They both came to work early in the morning, prepared for the rush of students, then after a few hours they'd end up back at their homes. How did they end up not bumping into each other? Or at least gain knowledge that the other was there? Avery's eyes looked blankly in front of him, as if he was trying to project his thoughts into the air to make sense of them. Their lives were just like parallel lines. Always side by side, but never touching.

"I could see that," Avery said, nodding his head for a serious moment, then he broke out into a grin. "Too bad, you would've been cute in uniform." And it would've been! The image of Mickey in uniform holding a gun, going around in his cop car, looking for danger sort of amused Avery. And sort of ironic, he guessed. The protecting others part, anyways. Mickey had always been a good protector. "Teaching college kids." It really wasn't a question. It just...kind of stood on its own, as if he was just reaffirming that fact. Avery couldn't imagine the Wind teaching and standing up in front of a class, but then again, Avery was stuck in the past, where the old Mickey stood.

One thing to know about Avery: he was clumsy. Like, to the point where he could be potentially dangerous to him and everyone else in the surrounding area. Avery couldn't help it, really, and he blamed gravity for being such an ass to him--but he was always prepared for the moment when he'd skid his knee across the ground or face planting on the cold, tiled floor. But when that moment didn't happen, Avery slowly peeked open his eyes, blinking as he slowly processed what had just happened. First, he remembered wanting to get the consent form from his office to give to Mickey, then he turned around, losing his balance, and then...

Avery looked down at the hands that saved him from his fall. One was wrapped securely around his waist, gripping him to prevent himself from falling over. The other..well. Let's just say the only other person to touch him there was his mother. And that was over two decades ago, when he wasn't capable of taking a bath himself, let alone walk.

The nurse blinked again, a warm feeling spreading across his cheeks as he turned his head to look at his protector. He stayed silent for a moment, slowly reaching down to remove the hand from his...ahem. "Not to be a buzz kill, but you're gonna have to buy me dinner first~"

[MICHAELANGELO DONATELLO GRACE]

As mentioned, Michaelangelo had expected Avery to jerk away when he had moved closer, partially because he couldn’t rid his mind of the idea of the predator and prey dynamic. He felt like a hunter, looking down at the doctor as he was doing. He felt like the doctor was his prey, about to be trapped or shot or captured or something else that applied. He was no expert on hunting. There was no sense to animal cruelty after all, and hunting sometimes felt like it. And yet, he was staring down at the other and couldn’t fight that feeling. Maybe it was the height difference. Maybe it was because part of him felt rather mean. That was probably the voices making him want to snap at someone, the lack of the cigarette making him unhappy (it was understatement, honestly). He just didn’t want to be very nice at the moment. The thing with the pills provided no assistance, considering he was still a bit unhappy with the fact that Avery seemed to know what they were for. It just seemed a little unfair to him. Why did Avery seem to know everything about him and he knew nothing about the other. He wanted to know things about the doctor that no one else knew. He, after all, knew Michaelangelo’s full, complete name. He knew about the pills he was taking and probably what they were for, so he probably knew exactly what was wrong with him and that wasn’t unfair because Michaelangelo knew exactly nothing about him.

Damn it, he really needed that cigarette. His hand was tight around his lighter in his pocket form the building tension. He needed that cigarette. Well, he needed the nicotine more than the actual cigarette.

Especially because there was no jerking away being done. In fact, the doctor completely surprised him by moving even closer. For a minute, he didn’t think he’d be able to breathe. The air just froze in his lungs, his lips parting slightly. He wanted to breathe—he probably was breathing—but he couldn’t tell that he actually was doing so. Why had Avery stepped closer? He didn’t know how to react to that. He hadn’t planned for it in any way. He hadn’t even considered that the man might do that. They were so incredibly close. Their noses were touching. It was almost a wonder that they weren’t kissing already. He sort of wanted to lean forward and kiss him just because he was that close, and it was basically an invitation. But no. No kiss. He couldn’t just kiss him right now. Even if he could feel Avery’s breath on his lips, warm and soft. He’d never thought about someone breathing on him, nor the reaction it would incite in him. He wasn’t even sure what sort of reaction he was having, only that he couldn’t breathe at the moment. Still couldn’t feel the breath.

The breath arrived again when Avery stepped back and he was too preoccupied with the reaction he was having to their now ended proximity to care about the smirk. Normally, it would have bothered him. The voices were even rattling along in his head, warning him what could potentially be forced along by what happened. So close but nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. So why did things feel so different right now? Why had that quick moment of exchanged compliments and such physical proximity managed to change something? Hell, he didn’t even know what was going on before. He didn’t know what was going on right now either, to be honest, but it just had that moment of being different, as if they had flipped. Before, Avery had been nervous and he had been confident; now he felt almost nervous, and the doctor seemed perfectly comfortable with whatever it was that was going on. That was just as unfair as the difference in knowledge. Sure, it probably hadn’t been fair that he’d been the one previously comfortable, but whatever. Life wasn’t fair. He just wanted it to be sometimes.

Similarly, he still sometimes wanted to be a cop. He thought that life would have been interesting and definitely more exciting than his current job was. Sure, fights broke out occasionally, but he usually only heard about them by overhearing gossip when his students came into class the following day. And of course, the uniform, and the handcuffs and gun that came along with it. He winked at Avery when he commented on it. “Only cute? I thought I’d fill it out rather nicely, not to be conceited,” he complained softly, pouting at him for a brief moment. “Maybe I should go to class in a uniform one day. I’ll even come visit you so you can see, now that I know where you are.” Another wink. Of course, the humor he managed to show in that moment was completely erased when Avery fell and they ended up in that extremely awkward position. All the places his brain went didn’t help him at all, considering where his hand was and the sudden temptation to squeeze just so he could see if Avery had a reaction to it. He didn’t have to squeeze to hear the words though, and nearly breathed out in relief against his cheek—though he contained it at the last minute.

He wanted to kiss Avery just for not making it more awkward than it already was. He slid his hand quickly so it cupped the doctor’s hip instead of groping him, then tugged both hands upward to help him stand properly. He tugged away from him and jammed both his hands into his pockets, still blushing a little. “Fine. Dinner.” He pulled the grading marker he kept in his shirt pocket out, grabbed one of Avery’s arms, shoved his sleeve to his elbow, uncapped the pen, and scrawled his cell phone number on the exposed skin. His eyebrow darted upwards as he met the other’s eyes again. No kiss. A kiss would just bring him back to awkward, although the blush was probably doing the exact opposite and making it obvious that he realized the implications of groping him. He managed a smile nonetheless, even a wink, and said teasingly, “Call me sometime when you’re not busy and I’ll buy you dinner.” He was usually good about keeping his word, and considering who was standing in front of him… well, he didn’t Avery would disagree. Especially since he’d been the one to ask for it. He sort of wanted to keep Avery to his word as much as he planned to stick to his own. “Anywhere you want,” he added, and blew him a kiss as he backed towards the door. That moment in addition to his previous frustration made him really need that cigarette. He lit up as soon as he was out of the medical wing.