Hello? Michael? Are you okay?"
He’s about to hang up, teeth grinding slightly, when the caller speaks.
"…What’re you wearing?" The heavy accent is familiar.
"Michael? What on earth are you on about?"
Another pause. “What’re you wearing?” He repeats, slower this time. James glances down at the phone in his hand, screwing his face up a little in confusion.
"Same thing I had on at work, Mike. Beige pants, white shirt… What’s this about? Are you okay?"
More heavy breathing and Michael makes a low sound James can identify as reassurance. “Well, if you’re okay and you don’t need anything else… I really need to get some rest.”
"Shh…" The sound is low and drawn out, and James hushes instantly, eyebrows rising slightly in curiosity.
"Michael…"
"Describe it." James’s expression slips to a frown, but he obeys.
"Okay… well, you saw me an hour or so ago. I took the jacket off… my top couple of buttons are open because I was about to take a shower…"
"Yeah?" The Irishman’s voice is heavier now, and James swallows hard. He hears a groan. He tells himself he didn’t. He knows this absurd, and ignores the fact.
"Yeah…"
"How many?"
"Three."