[ Michael-- doesn't like this. He frowns, looking at Tate long and hard, eyes dropping to the drugs still gone untapped. Bonding with Tate is one thing, but - being reprimanded is another. He doesn't want this.

But his mind, always so active and attentive to dozens of things at once, is feeling a little unchained under the influence of the coke. Tate offers him a distraction and Michael latches onto it, because it's something solid he can think about without drifting further and further into a sea of itchy teeth and excited nerves. He rubs at his nose again, long after it's stopped itching, making it sore and red. ]

I don't know what to tell you. Most of my life is defined by my family problems.

[ He doesn't know what he can tell him. Michael folds his arms over his stomach, bouncing his knee. ]

I'm Michael. I attend a boarding academy called Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men. [ His nose is fucking bothering him, and Michael rubs at it again with his palm before grunting and holding his stomach a little tighter. Kind of worried he'll break it if he doesn't leave it alone. ]

It's - I don't know - basically just Hogwarts for wayward homosexuals. Your turn.