"Maybe I'm your guardian angel now, or something."<br/><br/>"Or something," Mica echoed, forcing himself to looked down and away from Thomas. He took a deep breath in and out, allowing himself to envision what life mighta been like if Thomas had never died. Neither of them would be here, that's for sure.  Thomas would have sprouted one last inch or two. He'd bring a girlfriend home for the holidays, a down to earth one, with an honest smile and no makeup on her face. Mica would come home just for them, and they'd celebrate Christmas around a tree they had picked up the night before. Mica's own nails would be stained black with charcoal. Maybe he'd finally be decent at drawing noses. He was never good at noses.<br/><br/>Mica mindlessly scratched his nose and swallowed back a lump in his throat. That future was lost.  He glanced back up at Thomas, hesitant, barely allowing himself the small hope that some of it could be redeemed. He noticed off-handedly that Thomas was also struggling, his body tense, coiled with emotions.<br/><br/>Emotions. Thomas had emotions again, that was just as good as being alive, wasn't it?<br/><br/>"Well, if, and that's a big if, this were that kind of thing, what would you say to me?" Thomas asked. "Like, I never got to say just...goodbye."<br/><br/>Mica's jaw tightened. He knew the answer immediately, he use to obsess about it. Untimely deaths hardly gave way to clean endings. Mica had to swallow again, his throat catching his answer. He didn't want to say it.  He didn't like the insinuation. What if this was some divine intervention that would tear Thomas away the moment they reached closure? No. "I'd say ... don't go. Stay. Let's play battleship." His eyes glistened, his body was seized by the desire to sob.<br/><br/>Let's play battle ship.<br/><br/>It was a thing they had often done together, Mica had been determined to get good and beat Thomas, but growing up Thomas always had the technic and mind game down-pat.  If Mica could change anything, it woulda been asking Thomas to spent the night in with him. It became obvious to him what he had to do right now.<br/><br/>He shoved himself up, his palms sweaty. He crossed behind the couches, to the mahogany bookshelves loaded with dusty books on pointless topics, and boxes upon boxes of dusty boardgames. He found the familiar box, and wiggled it out, blowing the dust as he turned and showed it to Thomas with a weak shrug.<br/><br/>"... What do you say? Old time's sake?"