Page 59 of A Mistake of Worth
Chapter ten
Michael
Ithadbeenaweek of small resets and careful missteps, enough time for Michael to watch Henri refold the house into neat stacks.
Michael stood in front of the linen closet, sweat cooling on his skin from his workout, and stared.
Every towel in the closet had been refolded with military precision. Color-coordinated. Arranged in a gradient that looked like something from a high-end hotel catalog. His favorite, the oversized navy that actually absorbed water, was buried somewhere in the middle of a perfect rainbow.
It had been that kind of day. The kind that started wrong and got worse.
This morning, Henri had done it again. Carefully placed the chipped mug at his own setting while giving Michael a pristine white one. Michael had switched them before Henri could pour the coffee, and Henri had flinched. That subtle intake of breath.The twitch of fingers, as though he meant to switch them back but caught himself. His whole body went still, waiting for something.
Permission. Correction. Punishment.
Michael couldn’t guess what Henri expected, and he didn’t want to.
He’d thrown out every chipped dish in the house just days ago. Henri had somehow found this one hidden in the back of a cabinet. Fine. Michael would throw out every single dish, mug, and glass in the house if that’s what it took. Every piece with even the tiniest imperfection. He’d buy an entirely new dinnerware set: pristine, perfect. Henri would never again have a reason to choose the damaged option because there wouldn’t be one.
That mental vow had been made at seven-thirty this morning. By nine, the crisis calls had started. The vendor’s product failed spectacularly in ways that didn’t match their demo. Michael had to drive into the office to oversee the fixes personally, then spend two hours tearing into the vendor who’d sold them rubbish. He’d gone straight to the gym afterwards to blow off steam before coming home, and now all he wanted was a hot shower and his towel.
The towel that had been in the same spot on the top shelf for two years. The towel that was now part of Henri’s compulsive need to make everything perfect.
“Fuck,” he muttered, reaching for a random towel from the top of the stack.
“I hope that’s okay.”
Michael jumped. Henri stood behind him, barefoot and careful, wearing one of Michael’s old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. The clothes fit well; they were about the same height, but Henri’s frame was smaller. His hair was soft, asthough he’d been napping, but his eyes were wide and alert. Worried.
“I thought maybe it would be easier if they were organized,” Henri continued, the words coming out in a rush. “By color and size and... I can put them back. If you want. I just thought—”
“Henri.” Michael’s voice came out sharper than he meant to.
Henri stopped mid-sentence. Stopped breathing, it seemed. “I... Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Michael’s jaw clenched. He pressed his lips together, trying to breathe through the frustration building in his chest. The vendor disaster. The wasted afternoon. The chipped mug this morning. The burned toast yesterday. Henri’s constant apologies, constant flinching, constant need to make himself smaller.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Michael said, turning to face him fully. His voice came out tight despite his efforts. “It’s not bad. It’s actually very nice. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do things like this.”
Henri nodded quickly, too quickly. “Of course. I understand. I’m sorry.”
Michael’s hand tightened on the towel. “You’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Apologizing. For things that aren’t wrong.”
Henri’s face flushed red. “Right. Sorry. I mean...” He caught himself, lips pressing together hard.
“Henri.” Michael closed his eyes. Breathed in. Tried to find calm.
“I’m trying,” Henri said, and there was something desperate in his voice now. “I don’t want to be a burden. Or get in the way. Or mess up your system. I know you like things a certain way, and I just thought if I could make it better...”
“It’s fine,” Michael said, but his voice came out strained. “Really, it’s—”
“I’m sorry,” Henri said quickly. “I should have asked first. I’m sorry.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. He was tired. Bone deep, soul deep tired.
