"Fuck you, Mike," I hiss, angry at the idea that he's got some kind of fuckin' expiration date. Mike seems to exist in a state of fuckin' emergency, these days, doin' shit without takin' the time to consider the consequences. This is no different.

"I need you to think about what you're askin' me, instead of tellin' me what to do, like you don't got any control over what you do tomorrow. It's bullshit."

There's a growing hum around us, big black shadows of wings cast in sharp relief by a glowing blueish light seeping from my pores.

Curling my free hand around the back of his neck, I push forward, and it's like whatever makes us both solid, both separate, fades away. I flow into him, angry light and heat, filling up around the broken black shards of what he's been carrying around with him all this time.

It's not until I'm already elbow deep that I realize somebody's screaming.