Just miss you,” James lies, because there’s no way he can tell her the truth. It would spoil her, and she’s perfect to him. He could never hurt her like that. Almost instantly, his mind is made up; James glances at the letter again and his heart sinks, but he’s sure of his decision this time. He screws it up. “Want to come home, it’s been too long…”
“I know. Of course you can come home,” She replies, and there’s a smile in her voice. “Are you sure that’s all though? You don’t usually get this upset over silly little me. You know you can tell me anything, baby.”
She’s gentle and humble and fun; James reminds himself why he loves her and why he married her, and suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad that he can’t tell her everything because he still feels the same way. “Yeah, that’s all. Just acting like a bit of a cretin. Haven’t been keeping busy, you know…”
His unhappiness subsiding, James manages to chat happily on the phone for a while, and he feels better for it. By the time she has to go, he’s feeling positive, and he’s agreed he’ll come home as quickly as the traffic will allow. Letter still scrunched up in his palm, James gets up with a new wind, ready to move on from this. If his written words were anything to go by, Michael would be fine.
James stops by the other man’s room with his bag before he leaves. Knocking quietly, he takes a few deep breaths and focuses on what he’s going to say. He’s got déjà vu again, but this time James is determined.
There’s factors he can’t control; like Michael opening the door in his dressing gown, hiding slightly behind it, cheeks red and flustered, and the polar opposite reactions of both his mind and his groin to this sight. Ignoring the hot flush, James swallows, one eyebrow raised at the Irishman as Michael stares at him, looking sheepish.