if home is really where the heart is

Gob finds himself pacing back and forth in Michael's house.

"I'm not... a burden."

It's not very convincing.

"What?" Michael's voice comes from the steps, and Gob's head snaps up so fast that he's sure he almost broke his neck.

"Michael!" A tight grin finds itself on Gob's lips, strained as ever. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Since you thought it was necessary to tell yourself that you're twenty-five." Michael takes a few steps forward. "You good?"

"Okay. You caught me talking to myself. But--" Gob falters when Michael holds up his hand.

"Why are you at my house?" He sets down his stuff, and his keys clank on the counter. "Not that I don't enjoy visits from my older sister, but I could use a bit of warning."

Gob nearly flinches. "I wanted to talk to you. That's just it."

"What?" Michael moves so he's sitting on the stool, his elbow resting on the table. "What's just it?"

"Older sister." Gob's mouth is dry. 

"Huh." Michael stares at him. "I like your haircut. Wanna sit down?"

Gob stares blankly for a second before rushing to take a seat. "Thanks. Sorry for turning up uninvited."

"No worries," Michael promises, though Gob isn't sure he believes him. "Where are you staying right now?"

"With some girl," Gob says quickly, eager to speak on the subject change. Something in the back of his head prods him to stay on track, but he ignores it. "Her and I have been, y'know..." He wiggles his eyebrows, and Michael blinks once. Twice.

"Some girl?" He studies Gob's face. "You're into girls."

"Well, yeah." That part isn't as hard for him to admit. "Figured that out way earlier."

Michael nods, dead silent, and then furrows his eyebrows. "Way earlier than what?"

Gob panics for half a second and tries to change the subject. "Nothing. Is George Michael with Tracey?"

"Yeah." Michael looks unamused. He's far from oblivious to how eager his brother is to change the subject. "Way earlier than what?"

"It's--" Gob laughs, an awkward, nervous laugh. Strangled and forced. "That's not important, Michael."

"Uh, yeah. It's not that important. Except it is." Michael stares at Gob blankly. "Tracey's coming back in an hour, so if you don't want her to know, I'd advise you to tell me now."

"Right." Gob's fingers drum on the counter, tap tap tapping until it hurts his head and his nails feel like they're digging back in his fingers. He's done this before, he can do it again.

Michael's eyes are unreadable, his face completely blank. Somehow it's scarier than if he was visibly angry. "Well?"

"Well," Gob starts, and then he doesn't know where to go. He's blanking, and this is so much more stressful than when he told Dad -- and Dad didn't even let him choose his own name! "I just... Michael."

"Yeah." Michael sighs heavily. "I think I'll go do some work." He stands up, and Gob stands up just as fast.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait." He puts his hand on Michael's chest to stop him. Michael just looks tired, too tired. There's an added ten years in his eyes. "Michael... I just-- This is hard for me to talk about."

"And I have work to do." Michael rolls his eyes, trying to walk away.

Gob manages a tight laugh. "Dad's really done a number on you, huh?"