It was late. The sun was setting but not yet gone, a deep golden glow covering the city like a fine cloth. I walked down the hall of an apartment block, a bag of takeaway food in one hand and holding one side of my denim jacket across me with the other. This wasn't a rough place or anything, but I always felt slightly uneasy when I was here (which was every Thursday evening, at the moment). The apartments were decent enough, the lobby was clean, the elevator worked and the carpet didn't smell of cigarette smoke like Dutch's place did. By all accounts, it was ok. But still…

I walked up to the door of number 12, held up a fist, paused, gulped, then rapped my knuckles on the door.

There was the sound of footsteps, the chain being slid back and, finally, the handle turned and the door opened slowly.

"Hi." I started, simply. I held up my bag by way of greeting. "I brought Chinese food. I hope that's ok."

Mike nodded and stood aside to let me in.

I wasn't quite sure how this began.

Well, no. That was a lie. I knew exactly how it began! Just not how it had become… this! It had started with an awkward offer of a lift to college, an almost silent car journey and a weirdly stilted goodbye. After managing to get me on my own at the end of a college day a few weeks later with another offer of a lift, that had somehow become routine. Get a lift to college with Bobby, get through the day, then get a lift back with Mike. After a while, that had turned into getting lunch with Mike every so often but, after being spotted by Jimmy and Tommy and having to think of some three-legged excuse on the spot, we'd put that idea to bed and, instead, opted for meeting at his new apartment in the city.

But, even after six months, I still couldn't work out one fundamental question; Why?

It wasn't as though Mike would ever give me any kind of answer, though. I'd come to understand that much. Whether it was flipping the bird to the other Cobras or just because he appreciated my company, I'd probably never know. Either way, I'd learned not to question it.

"Where should I put this?" I called, as Mike wandered away, barefoot, into the living room, leaving me to take my shoes off by the door.

"I don't give a sh-.. uh.. I don't-.. hold on." Mike walked back through and into the kitchen, presumably to grab cutlery.

That seemed to happen a lot lately. He was making a real effort to curb his knee-jerk reactions. Again, the why was a mystery, but it didn't matter.

I walked through to his living room myself. It was an oddly minimalistic place for Mike Barnes. Plain white walls, grey carpet, simple wooden coffee table. The one area of clutter was a shelf on the wall to the left of his TV that held his many karate trophies. I dropped myself down onto the dark brown, leather sofa, plopping the bag onto the coffee table. The room had become familiar to me and, rather than looking around, I gazed out of the window at the rapidly setting sun.

"Nice evening." I remarked, as I heard Mike enter the room behind me. I turned my head to smile, tentatively.

Mike glanced out of the window too.

"I guess."

He held out two forks and I took one.

"What? Not throwing it at my head this week?" I asked with a snigger.

"Hey, give me a break! I thought you'd catch it! I didn't realise you were completely blind! You catch like a g-.. uh…" he faltered.

I laughed.

"Don't pop an artery. I was joking."

"Well… knock it off."

I twirled my fork with a roll of my eyes before setting about opening my own little takeaway box.

"Yes, Sensei." I muttered.

Mike bent forwards to grab the television remote off the table and turned the TV on while we ate. He leaned back into the sofa, his takeaway box in the hand that rested on the sofa arm. This was all that ever really happened when I visited. We'd meet, eat something, watch some TV, maybe have a casual conversation, then I'd leave. And it was oddly… comfortable! And "comfortable" was a word I never thought I'd associate with Mike "Karate's Bad Boy" Barnes!

I sighed as I relaxed back too. I laughed as I noticed that 'The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air' was on.

"I love this show!" I said, gleefully.

"Didn't it just come out? Like, last week?" Mike asked.

Well.

I hadn't made that mistake in a long time! Most of the people I spoke to on a regular basis knew about the whole world-jumping thing.

"Well, yeah, but wasn't the first episode great?" I asked.

"I didn't watch it." Mike responded, shortly.

"Well then how did-… you know what? Never mind." I went back to my Chinese. I was used to this by now. Mike seemed to be intentionally contrary at times. Almost as though he was hard-wired to confuse and frustrate people and start an argument. I'd learned to just ignore it. We sat in silence, eating and watching the show, for the next twenty or so minutes without talking. As the credits rolled, I glanced over at Mike.

"Your hair's longer." I observed. It was neither as short or as spiky as it had once been. In fact, now I looked, it didn't look as though he'd bothered to put product in it today either.

Mike ran a hand through it before responding.

"I dunno. I just haven't cut it." He shrugged.

"You should keep it like that. It suits you." I smiled.

Mike sniffed, awkwardly.

"You done?" He asked.

"Yeah, thanks." I replied, holding out my empty box. Mike took it from me and walked through to the kitchen again, where I heard the trash rustle and metallic clinking as Mike tossed the forks in the sink.

I stood up and set about buttoning up my jacket as I looked out of the window. The sun had since set and the streets were lit by street lights that glowed yellow, and the passing yellow and red lights of cars as they drove by in all directions.

Mike came back through and leant against the door frame with his hand on his hip, appraising me silently.

"What?" I asked, noticing his gaze.

"Just waiting for you. You're slow as hell." Mike snapped, tersely. He pulled a face and looked away.

"Oooohhhhh nooooooooo…." I drawled, as long and drawn out as I could. Mike whipped his head back round to stare at me, with utter confusion. "IIIIIIIIIIIIII'mmmmmm iiiiinnnnnn sssslllllllloooooowwwwwwwww mmmmmmmmooooooooootttttttttiiiiiiiiooooooonnnnnnnn!"

One side of Mike's lip lifted in a quick smirk before he brought his hand up to scratch his nose. When he lowered his hand again, the smirk was gone.

"Knock it off and let's go." He persisted, though his tone wasn't as cutting as it had been a moment ago.

"You can drop that tough-guy act you know, Hollywood." I countered. "You are allowed to smile, believe it or not. Maybe even (God forbid) laugh from time to time!"

I shot him a look and he simply looked back at me for a moment, his face betraying a serious consideration going on behind his eyes.

"Y'know, you could… you could stay… longer. If you wanted." He shrugged in forced nonchalance. "There's gotta be something else on."

I smiled apologetically.

"I have to get back. I'm sorry. It's after ten. If I stay too long, the Cobra Crew will get suspicious."

Mike pulled a face of sheer disgust.

"Cobra Crew? Really?"

"No? Maybe not." I chuckled. "But, hey, maybe next week I could come round a bit earlier? We can do it that way. What do you say?"

Mike shrugged.

"Yeah, that works." He grabbed his jacket off a hook as we made our way to the front door.

It was a warm summer night so we drove with the roof down on the car and I leant back and looked up at what few stars I could see past the city's light pollution. I decided to take a stab at that same old question I'd had for so long.

"How did this happen?"

"Huh?" Mike asked, glancing over, before returning his gaze to the road.

I turned my head to the left to look at him, still resting on the head rest of my seat.

"Us." I replied, simply.

"There isn't an "us"!" Mike countered, his hackles rising.

"No, I know that. I was talking about us hanging out like this. I mean, who'd have thought, when you socked me one in the face at the dojo two years back, that I'd make a habit of hanging out with you. I mean, it's nice and all, I just wonder why, you know?"

"So, what, you want to stop hanging out?" Mike asked, defensively.

"No no. Not at all!" I assured him, swiftly. "I enjoy it. I really do. It was just something I was thinking about, that's all. Forget it."

And that was that. And that was what always happened when I tried to get an answer to that question. A whole lot of deflection and no definitive answer. But it didn't matter. Not really. In all honesty, hanging out with a quiet, brooding Mike was a nice change of pace from the rowdy antics of Tommy and the others. It wasn't often I found someone I could be in comfortable silence with. And, oddly, I'd found that in Mike.

We pulled up a little way from the Browns' drive as we always did, to avoid anyone looking out of the window at us.

"College tomorrow?" Mike asked.

"I'm on Summer break, remember." I reminded him as I undid my seat belt. "But, next week?"

"Uh huh. Sure."

I smiled and turned in my seat to open my door.

But a hand on my wrist stopped me. A very firm hand.

"England, hold on a sec." Mike said in a low voice. I turned back around with a quizzical look at him. His face was set with grim determination, despite the fact that he wasn't looking at me, opting, instead, to stare down his steering wheel.

"What's up?" I asked, settling back in my seat.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." I smiled. "It was only takeaway. Nothing fancy."

"Not the food, idiot!" Mike snapped. He rubbed a hand over his face, took a breath and continued. "I mean… thanks. You know. For hanging out."

"Oh… you're welcome." I replied, surprised. "I should really be thanking you, though. You're the one who invited me so, thank you too."

There was a pregnant pause.

"So… should I…"

"Yeah. Yeah. Go." Mike said, practically waving me off.

I nodded and turned back round to open my door.

"No, wait!"

"Oop." I turned back once more. This time, Mike looked me dead in the eye as he spoke.

"Look. I know I got a lot to make up for. Ok? I get it. I do. So… you know. Thanks for hanging out."

This time I didn't say anything. I just looked back into his face. When was the cockiness and arrogance replaced with such awkwardness and lack of confidence? When was the hostility replaced with sincerity? Had Snake's death shaken him so badly? And why was I the one he came to? Why me?

I nodded, slowly, a thought floating around my brain as I looked at him. Did I dare? Gingerly, I put a hand out and patted his arm, the whole time expecting him to swipe at me or pull his arm away with some retort or other. But, surprisingly, that didn't happen. He just sat there, his face still flickering as though there was more he wanted to say but couldn't articulate.

"Next week, huh? I'll stay for, what, an extra hour?" I offered.

Mike nodded.

"Yeah." He almost whispered as he turned his head away to look straight ahead.

I nodded, and finally stepped out of the car.