((A/N: First of all, I lied. Zoey doesn't get on a plane in this chapter. Secondly, I wasn't considering continuing this FF, but the responses from people I've received over the past year since I first published this fic have been so amazingly detailed and sincere that I thought why the hell not, I'll do it for you wonderful people.

Happy New Year, guys.

Stay awesome.))

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Mike was already half way up the stairs before he remembered that he'd conveniently forgotten all of the groceries and Zoey's stuff in the car. He hissed in frustration, flying back down the steps and through the kitchen alcove, ghosting through the still open front door and hoisting a fabric bag holding three litres of milk out of his Mom's hands.

She blinked. "Thank you, Mike."

"It's fine, Mom." Mike replied through gritted teeth.

If he hadn't had company, he would've slapped himself then and there. He'd spent the whole car ride home desperately trying not to act weird, but God it was hard when your whole world was suddenly crashing down around you. Personalities? Fabricating out of nowhere? The afternoon before Zoey was supposed to arrive in town? Of course his Mom knew none the better, but she'd eyed him as they'd made their way home, her expression concerned and searching. And then they'd hit traffic, Vancouver's late Sunday cruel twist of fate. And then the questions had started.

Luckily Mike's tight lips had helped him to evade most of the more prying questions, but he'd lost his cool when his Mom had suggested 'lady trouble', Mike reduced to a sputtering, blushing mess. He wasn't used to being drilled, and he certainly wasn't used to not telling his Mom everything. He'd always been an open and honest kid and his Mom knew everything about him.

Well, almost everything.

If she knew his personalities were back, after everything they'd put him through, she'd be broken hearted. And not because he'd be that 'weird' kid again, but for him. It'd been a real test growing up with multiple personality disorder. No friends. All the bullying. The social isolation and rejection. Zoey had been the first girl ever outside of family who'd been his friend, let alone awarded him the title of boyfriend. Zoey had changed his life, and that was why he had to keep this secret from her. His personalities had brought her so much pain and doubt. About who he was. About what they were meant to have. She couldn't know, especially when she was coming to Vancouver to unwind from the motions of school and work and see him for the first time in a year.

Only him.

It'd be cowardly to back out now, not to mention unfair on Zoey. This was his problem and she'd looked forward to their time together so much. He had to do this. And what would Zoey's Dad think about him if he flaked now? Yet another unreliable boyfriend in what he was sure was a long line of boyfriends. All he could do now was survey the damage and work out a solution. He could make it work. He would make it work. He just needed to figure out who was back, keep his triggers in mind and avoid them like the plague.

Simple, right?

"Honey," cut his Mom's voice through his thoughts, tender but sharp as a knife. "There's ice-cream in the boot." He could feel her eyes on him. All over him. There was no way she was giving up the ghost. "Can you take the milk in-?"

"Got it, Mom." He grunted over her, which he immediately regretted.

Here he was trying to play it cool, but judging by the deep rooted concern on his Mom's face, he may as well have just waved a red flag in her face. "Mike-" She began.

"Why don't you go inside and start making some lunch, Mom?" It was a placid suggestion. Or so he hoped. "I skipped breakfast, so I'm pretty hungry." It sounded normal enough. He wasn't sure how much more he could take before he cracked under the pressure.

It worked a charm. He tried not to let the relief show on his face too much as he glimpsed his Mom out the corner of his eye, her hands settling on her hips. "Again?" She muttered, but Mike would take annoyed Mom over prying Mom any day. She exhaled a short of breath, white vapour swirling around her mouth. "It's a little late, but your Father's not getting back till eight." She mused. "So I guess dinner's going to be late." Her dark eyes fixed on Mike. "Grilled cheese okay?"

Mike nodded. "Yes please." Food was the last thing on his mind right now, but he was sure he could stomach a grilled cheese if push came to shove.

His Mom nodded thoughtfully, pleased with his answer. No matter what weird and wonderful things were going on in their respective lives, his Mom had always believed that nothing couldn't be solved with some good grub. "I guess I should make one for Miles too. Kid never feeds himself. He's worse than you are."

Mike's heart dropped. "Miles is home?" He repeated weakly. In any other situation, he would've thrown up from the vertigo that hit him like a crashing wave.

His Mom, oblivious as usual, raised an eyebrow. "Is he ever anywhere else?"

Mike winced. There it was. That bitterness in her voice. In a way, he was grateful for it and how it grounded him. Not being subject to that bitterness was one of the few things Mike favoured about having been born Mike, and not Miles. "Mmn." He hummed. He couldn't really think of anything else to say. He didn't want to open that can of worms. Not now. Finally, he settled for a generic, "You go ahead. I'll be right in."

Whether it was Mike's insisting or the allure of skipping out on her least favourite chore, Mike's Mom didn't need much more convincing, heading for the door. Without turning back to face him, she called over her shoulder, "Don't forget Zoey's stuff in the back! Take it up to your room for now! I still haven't set up the spare room yet, but we'll move it all down there later!"

Oh yeah. The spare room. And by that she meant the study adjacent to their lounge room, giving Zoey access to the kitchen for midnight snacks and the fireplace if she got too cold. At least something was going right. Zoey loved studies. Mike lifted his free hand in a thumbs up, even though his Mom wouldn't see it. "Sure!" He called back, his voice echoing all around the deserted neighbourhood.

He watched as his Mom slipped through the door and disappeared over the threshold, gently closing over the door behind her. The faintest of smiles touched Mike's lips. That was so like her. Even though he'd always been a tidy kid, Mike's parents had always been finicky about keeping the house clean. As much as anyone just absolutely adored the constant, icy snow in Vancouver, any of the white stuff in the house had always been a definite no go.

Mike found himself looking down at his boots, powdered ice coating his leather heels in a frosty blanket. He sighed. Maybe bringing in the shopping would earn him a free pass. It's not like Miles ever did anything, anyways.

Miles.

Mike shivered. Maybe to an outsider it would seem lousy that he'd forgotten his big brother was home from college for the holidays, but Miles rarely left his room, the screech of an endless stream of video games blaring twenty four seven from behind his bedroom door. From what his Mom and Dad told him, Miles was popular at school and a real stud, which Mike could believe. He'd held all the limelight in the only year they'd spent roaming the halls together in high school, glorious Miles as perfect as he'd ever been in his senior year, and Mike a weedy freshman, hiding in restrooms and being stuffed into lockers.

Mike frowned.

Some help he'd been.

He'd heard rumours from his parents that Miles was rowdy, whispered over the dinner table as his Mom berated him over the phone, his Dad shaking his head in embarrassed disbelief. Apparently he was going to too many parties and dating too many girls, neglecting his studies as he chased what he liked to call the 'high life', which Mike ultimately knew was a one way street. That if he didn't change his ways, he'd end up on the street. And there was no 'apparently' about it. Miles had made sure of that. He loved to boast. Bask in his greatness and how wonderful his life was turning out now that he was a college kid. Frankly, Mike was sick of it. He'd been sick of it before Miles had even left home, talking himself up like he was the only twenty-something year old out there who'd made it into community college with mediocre grades. Miles was convinced he knew everything and anything. That his intellect was unrivalled. But only in knowing about things he shouldn't, which of course meant he knew about Zoey. It'd been bound to happen at some point, despite the fact he'd never watched an episode of Total Drama anything in his life, he'd just known about it way before it was due. Before Mike had been ready to tell him. But why wait for your little brother to process all these new and wonderful feelings when you could snoop instead?

To put it simply, on the rare occasion he and Miles had found themselves alone together, Mike had very frantically taken his leave.

But enough about Miles. He never did any work around the house and Mike seriously doubted he'd magically start helping out now, anyways. Even if by some miracle he wanted to help him, he wasn't sure he'd even accept his help.

Mike looked back at the car. Even though it was sub-zero outside, they had blasted the heater all the way home. That ice-cream was probably soup by now. He sighed, more prolonged this time. He trudged around to the passenger door on his right hand side, swinging it open unceremoniously.

He could use the distraction.

OoOoOoOo

Mike's Mom nodded at him from over the stove. Her hands were busy as she fiddled with a spatula in the dish drawer, twin sandwiches cackling in a cast iron skillet. "Sandwiches are up in five." She hummed, shifting her attention to a stack of plates piled high to her right.

Mike returned the nod as he set the last of the shopping down. It'd only taken three trips to get it all in. The groceries, that was. All of Zoey's stuff had fit in his arms easy. He turned towards the fridge, his eyes distant as he rifled through various bags, hands searching for cold goods. His fingers closed around something cool the touch, his hand jerking away from the object when he realised it was Zoey's new mug. His movements slowed, the world teetering to snail's pace around him. He reached a hand around the nape of his neck, paying no attention to the clammy sensation of his skin.

He didn't have much time.

God, he wished he had more time.

He jolted as his Mom's voice cut through the room, even though she'd barely spoken above a whisper. "Mike?" He winced. There it was. That tone "Sweetheart?"

No time to think. Mike sucked in a shallow breath. "Yeah, Mom?" He lifted his head, mustering the best smile he could manage.

His Mom frowned and Mike's heart dropped. It clearly wasn't convincing. "Are you sure you're alright, honey?"

Mike's smile widened. "Of course." He gulped feebly at the lump in his throat. "Zoey's here tomorrow, why wouldn't I be?"

His Mom placed the plate in her hands down onto the bench gingerly. She turned away from the stove, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Did something happen today at the store?" She asked carefully. She stopped. Her fingers flew to her mouth as she thought. He knew her well enough to know she thought she'd crossed a line somewhere, her dark eyes gleaming beneath her furrowed brow.

Mike laughed a dry laugh. It'd sounded more like a cough than a laugh, though. So forced. "Like what, Mom?" He chortled. He pushed Zoey's mug away from his reach, even though he'd wanted to fling it across the room. "You mean like did old lady Lee gang up on me? You know I've been taller than her since I was, like, six, right?" His eyes bore into his Mother's, and he knew it was a fatal move. But it was better than the alternative, even if it meant she might end up in on it. Anything was better than glimpsing Zoey's mug, teetering on the edge of the table, zebra crosses and grinning little girls flashing like strobe lights in his head. He shivered as a bead of sweat trickled from his temple, hairs prickling at the back of his neck. "I mean, I'm just Mike after all."

His Mom's eyes widened. Mike's face dropped. His Mom was frozen, her body perfectly still as if suspended by string. Any icy statue. Mike mirrored her, and no doubt her expression. Shock. Horror. Confusion.

Fear.

He was on his feet in seconds, running a hand antagonistically through his hair. Freaking out wouldn't do. He had to stay calm. "U-uh," he stuttered, the floor rolling beneath his feet. "I g-gotta go take care of something." His hands gripped the chair, his knuckles bone white against his dark skin. He held on for dear life. The room spun around him. Should it be spinning? He couldn't think.

"Michael?" Sounded his Mom's voice, warped and distorted as if she had spoken underwater. Mike shivered, blood roaring in his ears, heat rushing to his face.

He knew that tone and he knew it well. He needed to think of something, and fast.

His head throbbed, his heart leaping in his throat. He'd never been good at making up excuses, let alone lying. His fingers knotted in his hair. He was talking before he'd thought of anything to say, his tongue desperate as he stalled for time. "I, uh," he stammered, his mind racing. "I, um, gotta do something for Zoey. You know, um, like a-" he searched his mind frantically, but he was surprised he could think at all. "Like a-."

He'd trailed off but his Mom had picked up where his voice had faltered, fuzzing out like a wobbly signal. "Like a gift?" She offered, an eyebrow raised.

Mike resisted the urge to snap his fingers. "Y-yeah!" He exclaimed, his voice reverberating around the small kitchen. "I mean, yeah." He said more meekly, lowering his eyes to the table. He could feel his Mom's eyes on him as he played with his hands, fingers grabbing at and fiddling with anything within their reach. He slipped his palms across the smooth oaken surface of the table. He was already nervous, but he might as well play along.

His Mom seemed to buy it, her lips stretching into a thin line. It was a Mom-ism he'd grown up with. He could almost hear her thinking. "I thought the mug was your gift." She said at last, leaning back against the bench.

A jolt of electricity flashed up Mike's spine. Crap. Leave it to her remember the small details. But he played it cool, rolling his spiny shoulders in a shrug. "Its just a mug, Mom." He hoped he'd sounded as collected as he'd envisioned in his head.

But his Mom's gaze was piercing. He could feel her eyes burning into his face like lasers, hot and searching. Mike fidgeted under her glare, the room swelteringly hot as the walls all at once pressed in around him.

And then her face cracked, her stony expression eroding away from her features, and suddenly she was all smiles. "Oh, Michael!" She beamed, crossing the room in an instant and squeezing his cheeks. Mike gasped, but he wasn't sure if it was out of relief or guilt. He just hoped she hadn't noticed him flinch beneath her touch. She pressed a kiss into his hair, holding his chin in her hands. "My not-so-little Michael! The absolute gentleman! Is that all was bothering you, sweetheart?" She laughed, short and sweet. "Oh darling, you really had me worried for a minute there."

For a moment, Mike could've sworn his heart had stopped beating, an icy sensation seeping through his chest.

Worried?

Of course she'd been.

He reached his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. He couldn't believe it. He'd lied to his Mom. But it was all for Zoey, he reminded himself. All for Zoey, and then he'd never lie to her again. He rubbed her shoulders soothingly, his voice breathy against her ear. "You don't have to worry about me, Mom." He reassured. The icy feeling returned, stronger than ever. With every word he was digging himself a deeper hole.

His Mom, none the wiser, sighed a deep sigh of relief. "I know." She whispered, but Mike couldn't help but feel that she was whispering more to herself than to him. "It's just, going off on that Total Drama show, graduating high school, having a girlfriend." She paused, tracing her fingers across his shoulders. "You're growing up, sweetheart. And I'm proud. I'm just not sure I like it."

Mike felt himself stiffen as her arms tightened around his tawny figure. He blinked, slowly. He'd heard this speech before. What kid hadn't? But he guessed Zoey coming over was a big move on his part. It was a decision he'd arranged himself, his Mom stepping behind the sidelines. In her world, he might as well have announced he was getting married and leaving home.

Mike's face went hot as he dismissed the thought from his mind. He didn't need any more distractions right now. Instead he focused himself with his fingers, patting his Mom gently on the small of her back. "You know I'm not going anywhere, right Mom?" He assuaged. He paused, moulding his voice into a tone that he hoped mirrored something along the lines of convincing.

To his relief, it seemed to work. His Mom stilled in his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder. "Mmn."

For a moment, there was silence. A prolonged silence that should've made Mike uncomfortable, but he found it oddly soothing. It wasn't the kind he'd often experienced in the presence of others, the kind that needed to be filled with words or sounds, however insignificant they may seem. It was the familiar kind, warm and comfortable. Just him and his Mom against the world as they'd always been. A reality where nothing could really hurt him, so long as his Mom was there, by his side.

Mike's arms tightened around his Mom's waist. He didn't want to let go. But this wasn't that reality. He forced himself to pull away. "Mom," he said hesitantly, looking down into her eyes. She was so small. Had she always been so small? "I better go. You know. Sort out Zoey's thing."

His Mom nodded, her arms falling to her sides. Her avoided her eyes, glittering with a thousand emotions. She hadn't wanted to let go either. But her voice was cheery as she spoke, if not a little quiet. Good old Mom. Supportive as always. "Of course, sweetheart." She stepped back towards the kitchen bench, reaching an arm out behind her. "And I know it's getting late and you're racing against the clock, but can you try and eat one of these?" She pushed a plate into his hands. Grilled cheese. Mike's heart softened. "You said you were hungry, right?"

Mike nodded, supplying her with a small smile. "Thanks, Mom." His appetite had vanished but he'd make sure to eat it anyways. Just so she didn't have to worry.

She returned the smile, but it seemed different from her usual bright-eyed, gleeful smiles somehow. Grim. She reached out a hand, clasping his forearm. Mike stilled, looking down onto her still smiling face, only marred by her grave expression. It was unusual. Wrong. She looked at him squarely, and everything around them stilled to a complete stop. Frozen in their own little moment. Suspended in time, only intruded upon when his Mom spoke, feather soft. "You'd talk to me, right? If something was wrong?"

Mike blinked. It'd only been a few words, but it felt like he'd been flung into another dimension. Thrown into another timeline in the not so distant past when she had said those exact words to him before. Her hand on his cheek. Him weeping outside the principal's office. Peppered with bruises. He swallowed hard, trying to force himself back into the present moment. It was unbelievably difficult. Nothing felt real. "Of course, Mom." He muttered. But it was only words. Just words. He couldn't process what he was saying.

"Michael."

There it was again. That tone. That goddamn tone. But God, did she sound desperate.

He blinked. Harder this time. And he looked at her. Really looked at her. "Yes. And I mean it, Mom."

More silence. And this time, it was crushing. Pressing in all around him. Sucking the breath out of him. He hadn't expected her to believe it. Not in a million years. Even Mike hadn't believed a word of what he'd said. So it'd come as a surprise to him when her face had relaxed, releasing his arm from her grip with a gentle squeeze. She took two steps back, folding her arms tightly against her chest. "That's all I ever hope." She whispered, but there was something more to her voice. A recessive croak. Hurt. He watched as she pinched her arm between two trembling fingers, her eyes darting around the room, flickering from a cup to the curtains, to the window behind Mike, to the groceries lying forgotten on the table. Anything and everything, so long as it wasn't him. It was only then that Mike realised she was doing everything she could to keep herself from falling apart.

The lump in Mike's throat returned, suffocating him. He was back in that dimension, locking himself in his room after school, dreading the coming morning when he'd have to leave the sanctuary of his house. Kids laughing. Kids screaming. Mike always at the crux of it all. Therapist visit after therapist visit, citing hope for the future and a normal life even though he was making no progress.

He thought this stage of his life was over. But it was just beginning. Reaching it's awful climax. The two people he loved most at the centre of it all.

They could never know.

His movements weren't his own as he pressed a kiss into his Mom's dark hair. His body was stiff, rigid, as if controlled by some charlatan. "Thank you, Mom." He murmured, as if someone had spoken for him. Someone. Not Mike. He was already facing the stairs, his actions automatic. He was halfway up the staircase before he added, "You know where to find me." And then he continued on his way, ghosting towards his bedroom at the very end of the hall, an apparition of the person he'd been for the past year. He didn't look back, not even at the soft sound of his Mom's choked up sigh. He came to a stop before his bedroom door, his eyes burning as he reached for the door handle, his free hand fidgeting at his side.

It was all starting to sink in now.

The pain he was causing his Mom, no matter how many times he'd desperately tried to change his past. The hurt he'd tried to spare Zoey from, staring him in the face every time he looked in the mirror.

What was meant to be the time of his life with Zoey was already here, and so far, it wasn't off to a good start.

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((This one is a two part chapter about the night before Zoey's arrival. I've decided to split it into two because I don't want to give you guys a word wall and I'm trying to improve on chapter length. Seriously, I used to publish some 40 page chapters on Fanfiction for South Park not even a year ago.

But don't fret if you enjoyed this because part two is well and truly on the way. I honestly mean it when I say I love you all, and thank you so much for your amazing support.

I hope 2019 has something incredible in store for all of us.

Forever yours.

KennBo.))