September-- In return

In return, both Nick and Zach grew to accept Mike's sarcasm and black humor, though both still worried when their friend occasionally relapsed into depression. On these occasions Nick would do whatever he could to try to cheer Mike, sometimes with backfiring consequences since optimism and depression were not very compatible together, and had a tendency to combust when mixed. Zach did what he could, knowing himself to be far too logical and therefore not overly bright at comforting people. He always backed off when he sensed that his logic was going to provoke more temper than help. And Mike, having gotten used to handling his moods alone, at first tried to wander away by himself when he felt his temper slipping and discovered, much to his dismay, that his friends wouldn't let him. After a particularly exasperating session of "No-We're-Not-Leaving-You-Alone-Mike" Mike reflected, rather philosophically for him, that he should probably start getting himself used to it.

He did. It just took a while, that's all.

It took not very long before the three where habitually dropping in upon each other, and a even shorter amount of time passed before the Nick and Zach decided to drop in on Mike over the weekends. Mike's great aunt was absolutely THRILLED to be meeting her Mikey-boy's friends...and consequently was fearfully (term used loosely) disappointed the first time around when she discovered she already had an appointment at the time of their arrival and wouldn't see them till the next time.

Needless to say, Mike was very, very, VERY much relieved. He lead his two friends down the boulevards feeling almost optimistic, and his optimism experienced an pleasant surge when he opened the door and discovered the house to be empty.

"Just leave your stuff here," he called over his shoulder, dumping his backpack on the living room couch and sauntering into the kitchen. "What'd you guys want to eat?"

"Something that's edible and doesn't move by itself," said Zach, joining him in the kitchen. As it was Friday night and well-past dinnertime, neither boy was feeling particularly picky. "What time's it?"

"Seven, almost eight," answered Nick, who was staring the refrigerator magnets as if one fascinated. Mike's great aunt owned quite a collection of them. The front of her fridge would by the envy of any museum collector.

"Yeah, those are my great aunt's," said Mike, shoving Nick aside so he could look in the fridge. "There's a pretty big bowl of clam chowder left and plenty of bread. We can heat the chowder and make a quick salad."

"Sound's good," said Zach, glancing at Nick, who nodded.

They got down to work. Mike knew how to cook because his father almost never came home for lunch or dinner, and there was only so long before a person gets tired of fast food. Zach knew how to cook because his mother refused to let him go away to college without learning how. Nick jumped in, honestly eager to help, but after Mike watched him wielding the knife to hew the first chunk of bread, he was hauled out into the dining room and ordered to set the table.

Mike returned to the kitchen to find Zach looking at him with considerable amusement. "What?"

"A bit territorial, aren't we?" remarked Zach with a grin, and went back to slicing the tomato.

"How hard is it to cut bread?" demanded Mike, bluntly. He set about cutting the rest of the loaf.

"I know how to cut bread!" Nick protested indignantly, returning for the utensils and plates.

"You can take the salad over when you're done with the table," interjected Zach, before Mike could respond.

"Uh, a moment," said Nick. "Where're the spoons?"

Mike sighed and rattled the cupboards as he got out all the necessary kitchenware, and some besides, as a show of annoyance. Nick took what he needed back to the dining room with raised eyebrows.

"You're the only one who knows where all the stuff are, around here," pointed out Zach as he put all the bread on a plate.

"Yeah I know," grumbled Mike, "It's just...."

"Don't worry," said Zach, lightly. "It's Friday night, you're excused."

"Thanks," said Mike sarcastically as Zach disappeared into the dining room with the bread. He checked the chowder.

"Food's ready!" He yelled, and started ladling the stuff into the bowls. Nick and Zach came and carried the bowls back. Mike checked to see if the stoves were all turned off and then got soda and a bottle of water. Zach came and helped carry some napkins.

When Mike went into the dining room Nick was already seated but Zach was still wandering around the room. He noticed that he needed something for the salad and went to get that, and when he came back, Zach was still hovering about.

Mike's patience, never long in suffering, snapped. "Why aren't you sitting down?"

"Because you aren't," Zach answered, looking at the salad-tosser and wondering if it could be considered a lethal weapon. If Mike was holding it-probably. "I'm just seeing if you need any help...your wandering around getting things is making me feel guilty."

"Well sit down," returned Mike. "Because YOUR wandering around is make ME feel guilty!"

Zach made a noncommittal noise and remained where he was, out of the range of the salad-tosser. With an exasperated sigh, Mike slammed down the utensil, grabbed Zach by the shoulders, spun him around, and pushed him into the nearest dining room chair.

"Sit!" He told him curtly.

Zach stared up at him, wide-eyed, and grinned. "Woof!" he said.

Mike stared then grinned in return. "Good dog, stay!"

"That works too," murmured Zachary, exchanging an amused smile with Nick. Against all else, this was a good day.

"Are you guys laughing at me?" asked Mike suspiciously.

"Not yet," answered Zach, who was beginning to feel an inclination to, as it generally went in these cases.

"Why would we laugh at you?" asked Nick with an innocence that did not belong on his face, and looked it. He tried to maintain a straight face. Tried, being the operative word.

"Nick," Mike said with dignified sarcasm, though not without some bit of exasperated amusement. "Sometimes you're about as subtle as an elephant in a parlor."

"I know," responded Nick, accepting the statement as if it was the highest of compliments. "That's why I'm such a great guy, right? Right?"

Zach nearly choked and hastily took a gulp of water.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Riiiiiight."

Dinner ended with them cleaning up or, in other words, dumping all the dishes into the sink. Zach started washing them because of his over active sense of conscience and Mike, after a moment of contemplation, helped dry and put them away since he was the only one who knew where everything goes. While this was happening he also did his uttermost to keep Nick out of the kitchen.

"Go watch TV," suggested an exasperated Mike. "It's in the living room and the remote's somewhere on the couch."

"We're almost done," Zach added in helpfully.

"Where's the remote?" asked Nick from the living room, a moment later.

"Couch!" answered Mike from the kitchen.

"I can't find it!" said Nick. "It's too dark!"

Mike grumbled a bit before answering. "There's a floor lamp. Use it. And don't touch the switch on the wall."

"Okay," said Nick. In another moment the kitchen lights went off.

"Buenas noches," said Zach in the darkness. "What happened?"

"Didn't I tell you not to touch the switch?!" growled Mike, stomping out of kitchen and into living room. "What did I tell you!?"

The kitchen light went back on.

"Let there be light!" said Zach.

"But I-" began Nick, then paused, possibly making note of Mike's expression in the light of the now-turned-on floor lamp. "Geez, fine." He muttered. "This is the remote control, right?"

From the kitchen Zach heard a very pronounced "AUGH!" followed by a muttered "For cryin' out loud...!" coming, presumably, from Mike. Shortly thereafter the television was turned on, despite of the many detours which occurred along the way. The TV as the witness.

"What do you want to watch?" Mike asked Zach as he entered the living room.

"I don't know any programs," admitted Zach, a little shame-faced. "I don't usually watch the TV...aside from occasional evening news."

"Go figure," muttered Mike, browsing what was on the TV. "Boring. Boring. Horrible. Boring. Horribly boring." He pronounced as he glanced at the content of each channel. "Should we try news? Nah. To depressing. Football. Ugh."

"You don't like American football either?" said Zach. "Me too."

"Me three!" added Nick.

"Go us," was Mike's sardonic comment as he returned to browsing. "Boring. Boring. Freaks. Boring. Weird guy with a moustache."

"What do you have against moustaches?" asked Nick, who sported a small one on his upper lip.

"They look weird," answered Mike without ever taking his eyes off of the TV screen.

"I do not look weird!" exclaimed Nick. "Do I?" He asked Zach.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" asked Zach, who had a habit of hitting the unpleasant truth bluntly and therefore, out of courtesy of others, always warned people ahead of time when the answers might be otherwise than what was desired.

"You do too look weird," said Mike, who had taken his eyes off of the TV and was now regarding Nick with a wicked expression on his face. "A bit like a demented assassin."

"Hey!" said Nick indignantly. "DEMENTED?!"

"Or Hitler gone Mexican," suggested Zach.

"Or gone French," said Mike, contemplating Nick's face.

"Or French," agreed Zach, contemplating his friend's face in turn.

"Well FINE," huffed Nick, "if it bothers you that much I'll just shave it off the next time!"

"Would you do that, really?" asked Mike, giving Nick a sidelong glance.

"What, you do not believe me?" Inquired Nick, who, by now, seemed to have collected enough indignation to fill several swimming pools. Mike was enjoying himself immensely.

"I'll hold you up on it," offered Zach, straight-faced.

"You do that," Nick told him.

"When are you leaving?" Mike asked Zach, catching him checking the time.

"About now, I think," said Zach slowly. "I should get back by ten."

"Aw, stay a bit longer," pleaded Mike, who did not want to spend the rest of the night watching TV by himself, though that was what he frequently did. Or perhaps he didn't want it because it was what he frequently did. "What, did your parents set you a curfew or something?"

Zach mumbled something inaudible.

"I guess I'll go too, then," said Nick.

"Why the hell are you leaving too?" asked Mike, almost politely. Almost.

"Because he might not be able to find the way back by himself," teased Zach. Nicolas was notorious for his sense of direction...at least, among the three of them.

"I can TOO find my way back!" protested Nick, sounding a little sulky. "You just go out the door, turn right, reach the end of the block and turn left!"

"Nick, you turn right at the end of the block if you're planning to go to the campus," corrected Zach. He exchanged a look of harried amusement with Mike. "See, a tour guide's necessary."

Mike snorted. "Of course. Well, have fun then."

"We will," said Nick.

"Don't worry, we won't get lost," said Zach, grinning, as they stepped out the door. "At least, physically we won't."
_______________________________
nothing seems to establish character better than situation and dialogue.er.