There are others queuing for the elevators. They wait, and let them board the first to arrive. Both men are glad it’s no one they know, no one that recognizes them; as they catch the second, Michael stabs his finger against the ‘close’ button before anyone can get inside. He turns to James, looming slightly, the five-inch height difference seeming intimidating for the first time in as long as James has known him. His eyes are dark, a mix of disappointment and hurt, and as James studies his face, enveloped in silence, he can tell by the tenseness of his jaw that Michael’s about to snap again.
“Don’t start,” He warns, raising a finger and pointing it accusingly. “It’s my life falling apart. You have nothing to be upset about.”
“Oh,” Michael laughs bitterly, rolling his eyes. His Irish lilt almost makes the sound worse for James. He knows it’ll ring in his ears for days. “So you’re the only person involved in this are you? You know, your reasons are pathetic, McAvoy. I can’t believe you told your wife about us!”
“Shut up.” James hisses.
“What ‘us’ was there even to tell her about? You’ve been fucking with me for weeks. You want me, you don’t want me. You tell me this can’t happen again and then you fucking jump into my bed…”
“Shut up Michael.”