Michael’s hard expression doesn’t soften and James’ chest hurts suddenly, and he takes a deep breath, trying to ease the unexpected pain. His anger cripples away and he has to turn back to face the door again, because he doesn’t want Michael to see his anguish. He opens his mouth a couple of times, trying to find something else to say, almost frozen in wait for Michael’s response but it doesn’t come.
If he looked, he’d find the Irishman trying to hold onto his anger to hide his own distress, but trying even harder not to engulf James in a desperate embrace, to tell him he’s so sorry but he doesn’t think he can live without this anymore, without them. He thinks James is beautiful, he’s addicted to everything about him from the inside out; Michael’s feeling the same pain as he is, but he’s much better at containing his feelings than James. He hides everything behind his blue eyes, every weakness and stab of hurt, and when he laughs, the whole world laughs with him and no one suspects anything. He is the king of disguise, his greatest achievement and his greatest downfall, and as he looks on at James’ trembling form, he’s scared of one thing only – that James won’t see past his mask and realize he feels so strongly for him, needs him so badly. He wants James to know that he’s ashamed of what he’s done to him, and how he’s ruining his marriage, and that he’s sympathetic towards the pain the other man is in over the situation, but that not for a second has he regretted a moment they’ve spent in each other’s arms. He never will regret it.
James doesn’t look.
Instead, he huffs, inhaling sharply, straightening up, and without even a glance backwards or a word of explanation he leaves the restroom. For Michael, it’s like the whole world has stopped, frozen in that moment as he watches James walk away from him with tears on his face. But, for James, it’s like everything around him is moving at a million miles per hour. He sees no one’s face as he enters the lobby, oblivious to the world as he tries to make sense of his mistakes, and decide what to do next. He’s angry at Anne, and he’s angry at Michael, because it’s easier than being angry at himself.
Vaguely he hears the bathroom door open again behind him, and he knows Michael’s following him, his feet picking up slightly as he tries to cross the room before he catches up.
“James,” He hears Michael call out from behind him, uncaring of whose attention it might draw. James doesn’t stop until he feels Michael’s hand come down on his shoulder, jerking him to a stand still. “Please, talk to me about this. Don’t just walk away!”
“Why not?” James barks at him, turning around. His hurt eyes are furious now, vicious like a threatened, cornered animal. It’s what he feels like. James knows he’s lashing out at the wrong person, but he can’t shout at himself. He knows Michael never meant any harm, even if he did instigate this. Knowing doesn’t help him calm down. “What could you possibly have to say to me right now?”