He shakes his head. “You said it now, so it’s fine,” he declares, hand sliding up to tug gently at his hair. “It’s not like it’s actually been that long, anyway. And just so you know, I’ve always wanted to throw a television out the window. I wish the president would actually tell me to, it would be the best excuse ever. Who could stop me? They’d have to clear the street and everything.”
Michael licks his lips again, swallows, blinks a few times, tries to calm down. “I’d be a fucking hypocrite to, I dunno, like you less now,” he says. “And I don’t. Like you less, I mean. Honestly it’s a relief in a way. Terrifying, and a relief. Not that it’s you I’m scared of, it’s the thing that’s terrifying. Being that way. Knowing you know what that’s like, it’s good and bad, you know? Although I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know if it’s the same thing.”