Michaels Mess - 2. Chapter 2

My phone buzzed one morning as I was scrolling through yet another list of job postings. Seeing David’s name on the screen, I answered quickly.

“Hey David, what’s up?” I asked.

“Are you moving in, Michael?” David’s voice was casual but curious.

“Yeah, sorry I should’ve let you know. I’ve got some furniture coming next week, so I extended my stay at the Airbnb.”

“Dude, that’s ridiculous,” David said with a laugh. “Look, I’ve got a cot here. Why pay for two places? Just move in. You can sleep here until your furniture shows up. I’ll put some hangers in the closet in your room and I've got sheets, and a spare pillow, extra towels... it's all here.”

“Wow, thanks, David. That’s really kind of you. Let me check if I can cancel the Airbnb and save a few bucks.”

“Cool, just text me and let me know. Sorry, not trying to make it weird—I’m not your mom.” Mom. I hadn’t thought about her—or Dad—since I walked out of that house. The weight of them, of everything they represented, felt like a distant burden I’d finally managed to shrug off. It was liberating, yes, but also bittersweet. They were my parents, after all. Somewhere in the tangled mess of love and manipulation, there had been moments of real connection. At least, I thought there had been.

But what did it matter now? I’d made my choice. I’d left. And I hoped, for my own sake, that they wouldn’t try to find me. They wouldn’t know where to look anyway. I hadn’t left a trail, not even a hint of my destination—just a goodbye to the life I was abandoning.

Still, a part of me worried. Would they let me go so easily? Mom especially—she always had to be in control. She always knew what was “best.” But this time, she didn’t. This time, I was gone. And for once, it felt like I was in charge of my own life.

I chuckled. “Will do. Thanks again.”

As I hung up, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of gratitude. David barely knew me, but he was already showing more kindness than I probably deserved. After canceling the Airbnb, I texted him to confirm.

Moving Day

I packed my small suitcase and cleaned up the Airbnb, leaving it as spotless as I could. The cancellation penalty stung, but saving a few hundred dollars was worth it. As I wiped down the counters, I couldn’t help but think about how much had changed in such a short time.

Once everything was set, I called for an Uber to take me to the apartment. The familiar streets of the city were somehow comforting, though everything felt different this time.

Arriving at the apartment building, I climbed the strange, yet oddly familiar steps to the main entrance, then to the second floor. The creaking of the old staircase, each step a reminder of the new routine I was settling into, grounded me. It wasn’t a bad place to live, despite the stairs. At least it gave me a bit of a workout each day—silver linings, I guess. I made a mental note to ask David if he knew of any gyms nearby. With my current lack of a job, I could at least focus on getting my body in shape. As for my mind, well, that would take a lot more work.

As I let myself into the apartment, David was in the living room, lounging on the sofa with a book in hand. He perked up when he heard the door and walked over, likely to ensure I followed his strict no-shoes rule. His easy going demeanor was as apparent as ever, though, and he greeted me with a wide grin.

“Welcome home,” he said, throwing his arms out dramatically. “Cot’s set up, and I even threw on some fresh sheets. Oh, and I bought you slippers. Sneaker slippers. Get it? Anyway, don’t say I’m not a great host.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, his humor disarming as always. “Thanks, David. I really appreciate it. And the slippers, they look great.”

He shrugged. “No problem, man. Everyone deserves a second—or fifth—chance. Make yourself at home. Oh, and if you’re planning to rearrange anything, just remember: the shoes stay at the door. Oh, and don’t rearrange anything. In your room, knock yourself out.”

“Not a problem, I’m not much of a decorator. I let…” I stopped myself. “Thanks, David,” I said, setting my bag down inside. The apartment was as neat as I remembered—minimalist but cozy, with a few personal touches that gave it character.

As I settled into the space, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. It reminded me of the first apartment Sarah and I had shared—small, simple, but full of potential. Back then, everything felt possible. Now, I was rebuilding from scratch, trying to find my footing in a city that didn’t know me and a life that felt foreign.

“Hey, listen,” David said as he leaned casually against the kitchen counter. “I like to cook, and I’m guessing you like to eat?”

I chuckled. “Yup, I can’t deny that.”

“There are plenty of restaurants in the neighborhood, but if you’re up to it and want to stay in, I’m about to start making dinner. I can make some extra if you’re interested? I know I said, you’re on your own for food… so, no pressure, but heads up—it’s going to be American-Korean fusion. My specialty.”

I was tempted to say no and simply go out, avoiding the awkwardness of sharing a meal with someone I barely knew. But my stomach growled, and the thought of a home-cooked meal was hard to pass up.

“Sure, that’d be great,” I said, managing a smile. “I’m not much of a cook, but I can help out. Just let me know what you need me to do.”

“Nah,” David waved me off, already pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “Another one of my quirks—I don’t let anyone near me in the kitchen. When I’m cooking, it’s my zone. Got that from my mom. She used to kick my dad out anytime he offered to ‘help.’ She said he was just there to steal tastes.”

I hesitated, feeling a bit useless. “Well, that feels kind of weird. I mean, you’re doing the cooking and cleaning…”

David smirked, turning to me with an arched brow. “Cleaning? Who said I was doing the cleaning? Presumptuous much?”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. That was presumptuous. “Oh, sorry… I thought—”

“Kidding!” he interrupted, laughing. “Michael, you gotta lighten up. I’ll cook, you clean—dishwasher’s over there. You’re welcome to sit, but fair warning: I may just ignore you while I’m in my zone. Everything I make is from memory, just like my mom taught me.”

I relaxed a little, his easy banter putting me at ease. “Deal,” I said. “But if it’s from memory, does that mean it might be a disaster?”

David shot me a mock glare. “You’ll have to wait and see. But I’ve got a reputation to uphold, so don’t worry—I won’t poison you on your first night.”

David was on fire in the kitchen, his movements fluid and precise as though he’d been doing this for years. I decided to be a good roommate and guest and hang around. Wandering through the living room, I took in the decor—or lack of it. There were photos on the wall, mostly of David with who I assumed were his mom and dad. A few others showed him with younger people, maybe a brother and sister. Another photo of him with a dog, perhaps a pet. One corner of the wall featured a cork board covered in postcards.

Jeez, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen those. They looked like they were from places he’d traveled to—Korea, China, Malaysia, France, Portugal. The guy had definitely been around.

The living room is cozy and compact, fitting snugly into the corner of a modest apartment. The space is thoughtfully curated, with just enough furniture to make it comfortable without overwhelming the room. A small sofa, perfect for three people, takes center stage, flanked by two floor lamps—one on each end—casting a soft, inviting light across the space. Across from the sofa, a slightly larger armchair sits under an overhead lamp, likely the perfect spot for reading at night. It’s positioned next to a family gallery wall—framed photos of loved ones, some in black-and-white, others in vibrant colors, capturing memories from trips, celebrations, and milestones.

A tall bookcase adorned one wall, filled with a variety of books. I wasn’t one to read, so didn’t recognize any of the authors, or titles but it looks like David was an avid reader and old school! Actual books, not an e-reader.

On the opposite wall, a carefully arranged gallery of art, prints, and posters decorates the space, giving the room an eclectic, lived-in feel. The walls are painted a neutral color, allowing the artwork and photographs to stand out.

A window, slightly off-center, opens to the back of the building, facing a narrow alleyway. The view is nothing glamorous—just a stretch of brick wall and a fire escape that’s visible from below. It’s the kind of window that doesn’t let in much light, but the gentle hum of city life can still be heard in the background. The fire escape offers a small escape from the apartment—perhaps to sit and sip tea during the warmer months.

A flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall, neatly placed above a console with a few electronic items—maybe a sound system or a gaming console. Everything has its place, contributing to a sense of order, but it’s far from being overly sterile or impersonal. The space feels lived in, warm, and quietly functional. This is a place where someone can unwind after a long day, sit with a cup of tea, or invite a friend over to chat about the small moments of life. However I noticed one thing, a lack of coffee tables, or tables in general.

David must have noticed me snooping. “Yeah, I like things clean and simple,” he said, flipping something sizzling in the pan. “Not a lot of clutter… very Feng Shui, though I’m not really into that. I just like to keep things my way. Oh and yeah, no tables. Food and drink is for the kitchen, not for the living room. Another quirk of mine.”

“Dinner will be ready in a bit,” he added, turning back to his cooking with a faint grin.

I walked back into the kitchen. Whatever he was cooking smelled amazing. The counter was covered in ingredients and tools, all perfectly arranged like he was shooting a cooking show. I had no idea what most of it was, but it looked impressive.

“What are you making?” I asked, curious.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he said, a playful glint in his eye. “Hope you’ll like it. I toned down the heat—figured you white boys can’t handle it.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at what I can handle,” I shot back.

“Really?” His eyebrows raised, feigning surprise. “I can add some extra heat on top. No problem.”

“No, no… that’s okay,” I replied quickly. Outsmarted by the fox.

“Thought so,” he said, smirking. “Have a seat.”

David began plating the food into serving dishes and brought them to the table. He worked quickly, presenting each dish like it was an event.

“So,” he began, gesturing to the spread. “This is bulgogi—sweet, savory, and ridiculously easy to eat. I could seriously eat this every day. Super versatile too—you can mix it up and it always tastes great. Over here, we’ve got Korean pancakes. They’re kind of like savory onion pancakes with a little twist. And finally,” he sighed dramatically, “store-bought sashimi. My mom would murder me if she knew, but hey, it’s easy.”

“Wow, this all looks amazing,” I said, genuinely impressed.

“Well, don’t give me kudos yet. Try it first,” David said. Then, as though confessing a dark secret, he added, “By the way, I don’t drink beer. Actually, I don’t drink much alcohol at all. Never liked the taste. I’ve got a bottle of wine for special occasions, but if you’re into booze, you’ll have to stock your own stash.”

“No worries,” I said, shrugging. “I’m not much of a drinker anymore.”

“Oh? Was Michael a party animal back in the day?” David teased, giving me a side-eye.

“No, nothing like that. Not anymore, at least,” I replied. “Fresh start and all. I want to get into some good habits.”

“Hey, I get it. New beginnings and all that,” David said, nodding. “Sit, Michael. Dig in.”

We sat down to eat, and I grabbed a bite of the bulgogi first. It was incredible—sweet, savory, and perfectly tender. “This is amazing,” I said, genuinely enjoying it.

“Glad you think so. But enough about the food. Tell me about yourself. Where’d you move from?” he asked, casually leaning back in his chair.

“L.A.,” I replied, keeping it vague. “Just wanted a change. Not much to say, I was tired of life out there and thought I needed a change of scenery.”

David raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Fair enough. New York’s a hell of a change, though.”

“What about you?” I asked, eager to deflect. “Where are you from?”

“San Diego,” he said, smiling. “Work brought me here. My company transferred me.”

“Oh yeah? What company?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

When he mentioned the name of his company, my stomach dropped. That was my company. The company that fired me. I felt panic rising but tried to keep my expression neutral, nodding along.

David, ever observant, seemed to notice my shift but didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved the conversation along. “It’s been a wild ride, honestly. But New York’s grown on me. My parents still live in San Diego, though. My younger brother and sister too.”

“Big family?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Not really,” he said, taking another bite of his food. “But we’re close. My parents emigrated from Korea when I was a kid. My brother and sister were born in the U.S., so they’re more Californian than Korean. What about you?”

“Oh, you know… just me,” I said, keeping it brief. “No siblings. How about you—do you like to travel?” I asked, eager to turn the conversation back to him.

“I love it," David replied, a glint of enthusiasm in his eyes. "But since I moved here, I haven't had much time. Work's been crazy. They dropped me into a new team, so it's been a challenge just keeping up while getting the hang of things. I try to make it out to the West Coast when I can, visit my parents and siblings. But I've tried getting them to come here... they don’t really like New York."

We continued eating, the conversation flowing easily despite the occasional minefield I had to sidestep. For the first time in a long time, I felt almost… normal. Like I wasn’t running from anything.

Dinner ended with David clearing the table and me dutifully loading the dishwasher. As I stood there, rinsing plates, I realized that maybe, just maybe, this could work. A fresh start, one day at a time.

That night, I unpacked the few belongings I had and lay on the cot David had prepared. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. As I stared at the ceiling, the sounds of the neighborhood drifted in through the window—laughter, distant traffic, the clinking of dishes.

For the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t redemption, far from it, but it was a step in the right direction.

The next few days were pretty much the same. Wake up, search for jobs, go out for a run, come home, search for jobs again, eat, and sleep. Rinse and repeat. It was getting monotonous, but I didn’t really mind. At least it gave me a sense of routine, even if it wasn’t the most exciting way to rebuild my life.

David was around most evenings, which helped break up the monotony. We’d chat about random things—his work, my job search, even his cooking experiments. I found out he loved to bake as well, but being single he didn’t do it as often. He’d bake for special occasions at the office, where everyone would ravish the treats he brought.

As much as I appreciated his company, I knew I couldn’t rely on him for social interaction forever. I’d need to get out there, make new friends, and figure out what kind of life I wanted to build for myself.

I thought about the clubs and bars I used to frequent in New York during business trips. Those places had been my escape back then, a way to lose myself in the moment. But now? The idea didn’t hold the same appeal. I wasn’t looking for a string of one-night stands anymore. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Maybe I just needed some quiet moments to figure it out.

To break the routine, I started to explore the neighborhood more. There were parks to visit, coffee shops to try, and even a small outdoor market that looked interesting. The weather was perfect—blue skies, warm sun, and just enough of a breeze to make walking around feel pleasant. Summer in New York was beautiful, but I couldn’t help but think that it wouldn’t last forever. This would be my first winter here, and after spending my entire life in sunny L.A., I wasn’t sure how I’d adapt to the cold.

A few days later, I received a text that broke the monotony of the day as I was out exploring. The furniture was finally arriving in the afternoon. I’d no longer be sleeping on a cot—this felt like a small victory. I needed to get back, and simply wait it out but it didn’t bother me. Setting up my new space, however small, was something I was looking forward to. It felt like another step toward building a life that felt like my own.

The furniture delivery went smoothly, but the excitement of finally having my own space quickly turned into exhaustion. I had a new bed, a small dresser, and a compact desk. They weren't much, but they made the room feel more like mine. I had bought sheets, pillows and blankets. Thankfully everything arrived on the same day. After unpacking everything, I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the past few days catch up to me.

David hadn’t come home yet, so I decided to take care of the cot he’d so generously let me use. It had served me well while I was getting settled, but now that I had a bed, it was time to say goodbye to the temporary solution. I moved the cot to the side of the room for the moment, planning to ask David about it when he got home.

With the bulk of the work done and all the packaging piled in one corner, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I needed a break. I walked into the living room and sank into the sofa, allowing myself a few moments of peace, my thoughts drifting.

David’s familiar footsteps echoed down the hallway before the door opened. He walked in, sliding off his shoes by the door, putting on his slippers and hanging his jacket on the hook, just like he always did. His routine was so ingrained that I found comfort in it, even in the midst of everything else changing around me.

“Hey, you’re home,” I said, looking up from the living room couch, where I had been idly flipping through a book.

“Yeah, long day,” David replied, a tired but contented smile crossing his face as he walked further into the room. He took a deep breath, as if savoring the quiet of the apartment.

“Anything good happen today?” I asked, sitting up a little straighter on the couch.

“Same old. Work’s busy, but I’m used to it. How about you? You get everything sorted?” he asked, glancing around the room, taking in the small changes I’d made.

“Yeah, pretty much. Furniture arrived earlier, and got everything set-up. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I moved the cot aside... figured it was time. I was just about to ask you, though—where should I put it? I don’t want to leave it in the way, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted it in storage or…”

David nodded as he removed his work bag from his shoulder, setting it down beside the sofa. “Let’s just put it in the storage closet for now. Thanks for taking care of it.”

I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, but it wasn’t just physical—it was the kind of tiredness that came from the steady weight of daily routine. “Of course. I figured you didn’t need it cluttering up the place,” I said with a small smile, and then let the conversation rest as David sunk into his arm chair.

I got up and moved the cot out of my bedroom, and took it to the storage closet, trying not to disturb the calm that had settled in the apartment. It felt good to make this place truly mine, even if it was just a small step in my journey.

I wheeled the cot into the storage closet and returned to my bedroom. I’d head into the kitchen once David started cooking, hoping to help out in some way. Of course, I knew his response would likely be for me to sit back and relax, but just being around him felt good. He was so laid-back, and it seemed like the California in him had stuck, even in a bustling city like New York.

With my furniture in place, I stood back and took a moment to admire my progress. My new room was simple but comfortable, a fresh start in every sense of the word. I opened my closet to organize my clothes and realized just how little I actually had. A couple of pairs of jeans, some shirts, and one decent jacket. It wasn’t much, and with fall around the corner, I’d need to go shopping for some proper gear.

I heard a knock. The door was open, so David could have just walked in, but I appreciated his respect for privacy and his habit of always knocking first.

"Can I look?" David asked, smiling his usual easy grin.

David was an odd one, always smiling, but there was nothing to hide. I didn’t mind him looking around.

"Sure, come on in. It’s nothing much—just the basics," I said. "I’m not exactly the best at decorating. Function over fashion has always been my thing."

"No, it looks good," David replied, scanning the room. "You’ll figure out how to make it feel less sterile and more welcoming. It took me a bit of time. If you ever want tips, I know some great thrift stores nearby that sell awesome stuff. It could complement what you’ve already got."

"Hey, I’m cooking dinner—care to join me?" I asked. "Unless you were planning on going out or making something else. Honestly, I find it hard to cook for one, and I don’t mind sharing."

David paused for a second. "No, I hadn’t thought about dinner yet. Yeah, I’ll join you. You cook, I’ll clean up."

"Sounds like a plan, Michael. I’ll get started."

I followed David out to the kitchen.

"Oh, you might want to keep your door closed while I cook," David said. "Sometimes the spices can be pretty strong, and you don’t want it to settle into your stuff."

I turned around and closed the door, then headed toward the kitchen.

My next stop would be clothes shopping. I didn’t need much, but I’d definitely need more than what I had. Winter in New York was a completely different beast, and I’d need to be ready for it.

As usual, David made an amazing dinner, but it really felt like I was mooching off of him. I wasn’t sure if I should offer him more for rent or just continue to eat with him. I figured I should ask.

"Hey David, I’ve been eating here the last few days. Do you want me to contribute something extra for rent?"

"Nah, don’t worry about it," he said casually. "You’re doing the clean-up. That’s enough payment."

"Cool. Thanks. It’s nice having a home-cooked meal."

"I know what you mean."

The rest of the evening was spent cleaning up. David prepared some leftovers for lunch for the next day, and once we were done, David settled on the chair, the one that had the light overhanging and he grabbed a book from his shelf. He enjoyed reading and always spent at least thirty minutes with a book in the evening. I wanted to get a head start on job hunting, so I spent a few hours on that before turning in for the night.