I wrote this a long time ago back when I still liked writing het oneshots. So yeah. That’s what this is—a het oneshot. Only other note: Michaela = mee-KAY-lah. Mica = MEE-kah. Mic = MEEK. Yes, they are the same person. Duh.

Of Course

“Patch…” A small voice awoke Patrick Cunningham from misty, murky dreams that somehow involved Michaela. Of course. Patrick sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His dreams always involved Michaela now.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked his younger brother softly.

Jamie sniffled. “I had a bad dream.”

“Where’s mommy, Jamie?” He pulled the four-year-old onto his bed.

“Mommy’s not here.”

Of course. Mommy was never here anymore. “It’s gonna be okay, Jamie,” Patrick told him. “You can sleep here, okay? It’ll be fine.”

“It’s dark, Patch.”

“I know. But even if it was light, it’d be dark once you closed your eyes anyway.”

Jamie’s brow crinkled and he bit his lip. But he crawled over Patrick and slid beneath the sheets anyhow. “You woke up fast this time, Patch. It usually takes awhile. Were you having a bad dream, too?”

Patrick shook his head. “I was having a very good dream.”

“Oh,” said Jamie. “I’m sorry for wakin’ you up, then.”

Patrick smiled slightly and ruffled the younger boy’s hair. “’Sokay, Jamie.”

The next morning, Mrs. Cunningham still wasn’t home. “Of course,” Patrick muttered to himself. “Up and at ‘em,” he said, shaking Jamie awake.

“Patch?” Jamie said dimly. “Oh, school. Right. School, school, scho-oo-ool…”

Patrick smiled, running his fingers through his light-brown hair. That kid was gonna be trouble for some chick someday.

X-O-X

“Dream about me last night, Patch?” Michaela Kenneth asked during first period.

“You know I did,” he replied jokingly. But (of course) he wasn’t joking. “I especially liked the part with the cake. Mm mm mm,” he licked his lips.

“You sicken me,” she said. But she was laughing.

Her eyes met Patrick’s for a moment that seemed to last longer than it actually did. They simultaneously broke eye contact and blushed, giving identical throat-clearings. “Mica?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, Patch?”

“D’you wanna… um…” It was now or never. Now or… now or… Michaela’s face was much too close. Her… lips… were much… too…

Only, Mica seemed to be thinking along Patch’s lines, too. And she leaned in, right in the middle of Spanish, to give him a quick peck before turning back around and jotting something down in her notebook, presumably something that was on the board. But Patrick couldn’t see the board, not anymore. All he could see was the honey-colored hair of the girl in front of him.

And all he could think about was that kiss. That quick, startling little kiss that had barely happened. Did it happen? It had happened, right? “Mica,” he said with a groan, “What was that?”

Michaela turned around, her cheeks pink. “What do you want it to be?”

Patrick noticed his breathing becoming very difficult to do. “What if what I want it to be isn’t what you want it to be?” he managed.

“Patrick Cunningham,” she said, almost seeming… amused. “Are you nervous?”

“I… well, not that… I… well, when you… not nervous, exactly, more like… uh…” Mica observed his stuttering with raised eyebrows. Finally, he said, “Michaela, d’you want to, um, go on a, uh, datewithmeorsomething?” he finished quickly.

“Pick a time, pick a place, Patch. I’m all yours.”

Six Weeks and Eight Dates later

“I’ll geddit!” Jamie shouted after the doorbell rang. He opened it to find Mica Kenneth. “Oh, hi, Mica. Patch! It’s your girlfriend!”

“Hey, Jamie,” Mica said as Patrick all but sprinted to the front door.

“Hey, Mica,” Patch said calmly, leaning on the doorframe. “What’s going on? You wanna come in?”

“Hey,” she smiled as she entered the dimly lit entryway. “I was just in the neighborhood— driving back from Lindsey’s— and I wanted to see you. And Jamie, of course.”

The little boy smiled at her and said, “We did finger paints today,”

“You did?” she said, and Patrick felt something in his chest tighten as he watched Mica placating his little brother. “Can I see it?”

“You can keep it,” Jamie said proudly, handing her a sheet of printer paper with various splatters all over it. “I made it for you. Sorry, Patch,” he amended as Mica took the painting, kissing Jamie on the cheek as she did so. “I know you’re not s’posta give stuff to other people’s girlfriends. But you know, Mica,” he assured her, “if Patch’s class did finger painting, I bet he’d make one for you, too.”

Mica laughed and ruffled Jamie’s hair. “I bet he would,” she said. “Hey, Jamie, can you let me talk to Patch for a while?”

“Icky-lovey-teenager stuff?” Jamie asked her, wrinkling his nose.

Mica giggled again, nodding. “Yep. Sorry, little dude. I’ll come say goodbye when we’re done, ‘kay? Thanks for the painting, I love it.”

Jamie beamed and ran off to his bedroom. Patrick watched him, and then turned to Mica, smiling softly.

“What?” she mumbled as he took her wrists, leading her to the sofa.

Patch shook his head. “Nothing.” He pushed his fingers through her bangs, tucking the too-long strands behind her ear.

“Patch,” she said, giving him the most reprimanding look that she could under the circumstances— the circumstances being that he had taken her left hand and was slowly kissing each of her fingertips, all the while not breaking their eye contact.

“Mm?” he murmured, now pressing his lips to her palm.

“What’s got you all… mm,” she broke off as he kissed her lips, slowly stroking the back of her neck, playing with her ponytail holder. He began to slide it off, but she touched her fingers to his chest, lightly pushing him away. “Patch,” she said again, looking at him seriously.

He sighed, leaning back a little, his angular face outlined in the twilight that was seeping through the windows. The same smile as before appeared on his lips. “The way you are with Jamie… I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking almost… embarrassed.

Mica smiled in slight understanding. “Aw, Patrick,” she cooed. “You think I’m cute, don’t you?”

Patrick chuckled. “Yes,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But I’ve always thought that. I just liked it. You with my brother, I mean,” he specified. “You act more like his mother than his mother does.”

Mica’s smile fell as he said this. She knew Mrs. Cunningham wasn’t around much, but she also knew that Patch didn’t like to talk about it. “You wanna talk, Patch?” she asked softly.

Patrick shook his head, a movement that slowly turned into a little, shaky nod. Mica felt her lip trembling slightly at his vulnerability. She didn’t like seeing him like this. At the same time, though, it was kind of cute. “She hasn’t been home in days, Mic,” he said tiredly. “I don’t know where she is. She hasn’t called, she hasn’t written. She could be dead,” his voice broke on the last word. Mica brought his head to rest above her breast, near her shoulder. She stroked his hair, making calming humming sounds. “And,” he continued quietly, “and I can’t tell Jamie… I don’t… I don’t know what to tell Jamie.”

Mica kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay, Patch,” she whispered. “She’s fine, she’ll come back. She loves you, and Jamie as well. She isn’t dead, hon, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mic,” he whispered into her collarbone. Mica felt his eyelashes flutter against her skin, felt his tears leak out just slightly, leaving cold trails that fell towards the crease of her breasts.

“Shh,” she said softly. “It’s okay, Patrick. Everything is okay. I’m here.”

He felt like a child. A child who had scraped his knee and went running to his mother. Only, Mica wasn’t his mother. His mother was off in God-knew-where, California, and he had no idea how to even begin to look for her. But what Mica had said was true; she, Mica, was there. Everything was okay. For now, at least. He lifted his head. Her hands stayed in place on either side of his cheeks, her thumbs rubbing away the tear streaks. She kissed each cheek softly, taking some of the wetness away on her lips. “I’m glad you came tonight, Mica,” he whispered. “I’m g-glad you’re here.”

Mica smiled gently, taking her hands from his face and intertwining her fingers with his. “I’ll always be here.”

Patch smiled back. “I love you, Mic. I really do. I hope you know that.”

Mica’s smile widened, but it was still the same, soft smile. “I know. I hope you know I love you, too.”

He kissed her nose. “I know now,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his warm chest. “Mica? You wanna stay over tonight?”

X-O-X

Mica awoke in the darkness sometime later. Jamie stood at the side of Patch’s bed. “Jamie?” she murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a bad dream,” he sniffled. Mica looked behind her at Patrick’s sleeping form and pulled back the sheets.

“Come on, sweetie,” she said, letting Jamie crawl over her to lie between Patrick and herself.

“Thanks, Mica,” Jamie said.

Mica was very glad right then that she and Patrick hadn’t had sex. “No problem. Now, get to sleep, sweetheart.”

Jamie was soon snoring lightly beside her. Patrick rolled over and blinked his eyes open. “Mica? Wha’s Jamie doin’ here?” he muttered sleepily.

“He had a bad dream,” she whispered. “So I let him in. It’s okay, right?”

Patrick looked at her, a crooked, sleepy grin on his face. “Of course.” He kissed his brother’s head, and then his girlfriend’s lips. “Jamie and me, Mica,” he said softly, “we need someone like you.”

“Well, then,” she said, snuggling closer to the boys, “I’m glad I’m here. Because I need people like you guys, too.”

They lay there for a long moment that seemed to silence the slow pattering of rain outside, as well at the sharp ticking of the clock on the wall. A while later, Patrick was asleep again. And then the bedroom door opened.

Mica sat up. “Mrs. Cunningham?”

Mrs. Cunningham looked ashamed, a deer-in-headlights expression on her face. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“I’m Patrick’s girlfriend, Michaela,” she said, sliding out of the bed. “We met a few weeks ago, d’you remember?”

“Oh, yes. What are you doing here?” Mrs. Cunningham surveyed the girl’s clothes—sweatpants and a tank top.

“Patch isn’t doing so great,” Mica admitted, giving his mother a sharp glare. “He freaks out, you know, when you’re gone. He asked me to stay, because I calm him down. Jamie, too. They’re sweet boys.”

Mrs. Cunningham’s glare was almost as icy as Mica’s by this point. “I don’t need some strange girl to come in to my house and tell me how sweet my sons are. I know how sweet they are, I’m their mother!”

“Then why don’t you try acting like it!” Mica spat. “All Patrick does when you’re gone is worry that you’re dead. You never call to tell him where you are, when you might be back! And I know it’s not your fault that you’ve got to be at these places for God only knows how long, and it’s not my business to be telling you off about it. But I care about them, too, you know! And when they’re unhappy, well, how the hell can I be? I love them too, you know!”

Mica stood strong, watching Mrs. Cunningham take in her words. And then the woman burst into tears. Mica rushed forward and hugged her, letting her cry into her shoulder. She hushed her softly, the way she’d done with Patrick. Finally, pulling away, Mrs. Cunningham said, “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve… but my job, and…”

“I understand, Mrs. Cunningham,” Mica said. “I shouldn’t’ve done that, you know. But I just… I hate seeing him unhappy.”

“It’s okay, sweet. I understand, too. You didn’t… I mean…” she gestured at the bed.

Mica giggled. “No, we didn’t. He’s… I… We’re not exactly ready for that, yet.”

“Go ahead back to sleep, dear,” Mrs. Cunningham said, smiling tiredly but surely. “I don’t think Patrick could find a better girl for him than you.”

“Thank you,” she said. And she crawled back into the bed.

Patrick opened his eyes. After witnessing that scene with Mica and his mother, there left no doubt in his mind: He was definitely going to marry that girl someday. No questions.

The next morning, Mica woke to find that Jamie had left the room and she was alone with Patrick. He was already awake, smiling at her calmly, his fingertips stroking her arm. The room was filled with a soft grey light from the still-cloudy sky outside the window, and she saw that the door was closed.

“Your mother came home last night.” She said.

“I know. I heard you two.” Mica looked shamefully down, but Patrick laughed. “I love you, you know that?”

Mica smiled. “I know that. And I love you, too.”

They sat up, and Patch put his arm around her so that her head rested on his chest. “Good morning,” he said shyly.

“Yes,” she said, nuzzling his neck. “It is.”

Patrick smiled. Of course it was.