Michael fucking hated Valentine's Day. Scratch that, he fucking hated this Valentine's Day in particular. On most Valentine's days, he and Trevor would be huddled together in some shitty, run down temporary camp, shooting the shit and drinking until their voices got heavy and their vision got hazy. Then they'd partake in throwing the empty liquor bottles out into the trees, chucking them as far as they could manage and making a little competition of it. Trevor usually won, the coyote gifted with stronger muscles, longer limbs, and blunt claws that were better for tightly gripping the necks of beer bottles, as well as other people. Once Trevor had won, the two of them would usually collapse together in laughter, their pelts brushing together and the adrenaline pumping through their veins from the sound of shattering glass making it so that neither of them truly cared, really. They'd fall asleep after that, pressed in close together and not speaking about it in the morning, neither of them truly uncomfortable enough to make a fuss. Most people would've found the thought of spending the day of love like that utterly baffling, but it wasn't for them. It was perfect, and Michael was pissed the fuck off, because he didn't get to do that this year. No, he didn't get to do it because he  was stuck here, in The Pitt, possibly hundreds of miles away from wherever the fuck Trevor was, if the coyote was even still alive. The thought of the canine not being alive made Michael's stomach twist unpleasantly, and he swiftly banished the thought from his mind, choosing not to look too closely at why it made him so upset.

So, instead of a pleasant crazy day of shattering bottles and ignoring weird heart flipping feelings, Michael got... this. The several walls of a fucking cave, his bag shoved in one corner and his body practically shaking with pent up energy. He had a shitty ragged dog bed beneath him, full of tears and dragged in from god knows where. It smelled like canine, and only served to make Michael miss Trevor more. He wanted to smash something. Instead he just got up, lumbering his way over to where his bag was. After several minutes of searching through it, claws picking through jewelry and other accesories, he was able to find what he was looking for: his whiskey, and his cassette recorder. The former made him grin crookedly, and the latter made his heart do a weird, unpleasant flip flop. Still, he dragged both back to the bed, collapsing into it and putting both items in front of him. He twisted the already somewhat empty whiskey open easily, tipping the bottle back and taking a generous sip. The sting was pleasant, and it gave Michael the jumpstart he needed to futz around with the recorder, taking several seconds of fumbling before he found a cassette and jammed it inside. The old human device crackled slightly as the noise from it came to life, filling up the small cave that Michael had claimed as home. There was silence for a long moment, nothing but the faint crackle of recording static, and then a voice. An achingly familiar voice that made Michael's chest grow tight, "Mikey... hey, Mikey, come the fuck on! Pay attention to me, fatass!"

He could hear the tired but amused rumble of his own voice respond back in the recording, and Michael was nearly ready to slam the fucking thing into the nearest wall already. However, he refrained, knowing that these recordings were all that he had left of Trevor, at least for now. He pressed his nose against the cool surface of the machine, his voice raw as he mumbled softly, "Hey, T..." He hated how choked up he sounded, and mentally scolded himself. He was such a dumbass, getting attached to someone as fucking crazy as Trevor. Someone who was bound to get them both in trouble... FUCK.

Michael's heart hammered in his ribs as he heard pawsteps echoing off the walls of the cave around him. Suddenly he was scrambling to shut the recorder off, his paws slamming clumsily at the device as if he had promptly forgotten how to fucking use it. The memory of Trevor's voice was cut off midsentence, and blissful silence returned to the room again, save for the sound of those heavy footsteps. Shoving the recorder half behind him, the bobcat got up to his paws, pulling his liquor closer and glaring viciously in the direction of the sound. His voice was still scratchy as he called out, claws digging against cold stone, "Hey! Who the fuck is there?"

Michael hadn't entirely known what he was doing when he moved in beside Caustic. On one hand he sort of did, since he had definitely noticed the wolf and been intrigued by whatever the hell he was doing. On the other hand, he had chosen to move into the caves mostly for his own reasons. They were nice and private the majority of the time, which not only worked for Caustic but he as well, since it meant he could plot things out and listen to recordings uninterrupted. In addition to that, it was nice and fortified, which meant that anybody coming for the numerous bounties on Michael's head would be in for one hell of a time. Still, the bobcat found himself heavily regretting his choice of residency when Caustic came into view, the other male's eyes curious before becoming excited. For a moment, Michael thought that perhaps one of his bandages had become ripped, and Caustic was staring at that. However, he followed the line of the other's gaze, his chest tightening when he saw that Caustic was looking at the recorder. Michael found himself hastily pushing the recorder further into his side, almost protectively. It was all he had left of Trevor, and he had very little intention of losing it to the wolf in front of him.

Michael found himself wondering, for a brief moment, if Caustic had some sort of Valentine's day plans, and a pang of jealousy ran through him. He hoped not, because that would just be the ultimate blow. He was here, stuck without the only person in the world he gave a damn about – for the moment – and yet Caustic, the weirdo living in the cave next door doing God knows what, had Valentine's day plans. Thankfully, this didn't seem to be the case. The bobcat rose his muzzle skyward for a moment, opening his mouth and detecting no hint of anything, save for his own scent and Caustic's, along with whatever concoctions the other was brewing next door. It put him slightly at ease, but he still found himself twisting around to grab his whiskey again, taking another long chug. While the burn was still settling in his chest, he laughed dryly at Caustic's observation, "Congratulations buddy, you win genius of the year for figuring that shit out." His voice was sharp and slightly bitter, and just the sound of it in his own ears made him wince. God, he was pathetic. He really needed to do something, just so he'd stop with this awful pining. Chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment, Michael sighed before he spoke again, pushing the bottle of whiskey a little in Caustic's direction, "Fuck... I sounded like a dick there. Sorry, here." Without watching if Caustic accepted his offer or not, the feline just continued with his mumbling as he laid his chin down against cold stone, "You're right about me bein' 'in distress.' Nothing serious, though. Just... fuckin' hate Valentine's day right now." It didn't give much info as to why, but Michael had little doubt that Caustic would ask follow up questions.

Michael, unlike Caustic, was extremely well acquainted with petty thievery. Hell, he had made an entire life built around stealing from others and taking what he wanted. Because of this, he knew well how to 9dentify when somebody was looking to snatch something, and he could see that look in Caustic's eyes when he saw the recorder. It made the bobcat tense, and part of him wanted to tell the wolf to fuck off back to his own cave so that he could remain alone to wallow in his sorrows. However, he also wasn't particularly keen on eating his own fucking teeth at the moment, so he kept his mouth shut, just letting his short tail curl protectively over the recorder, just in case. Watching as Caustic sniffed at the bottle that had been pushed in front of him, Michael found himself wondering if whiskey somehow wasn't good enough for Caustic, or if he had done something wrong in offering it. He opened his muzzle to ask, but the wolf was already lumbering off, leaving Michael sitting in confusion. Had he pissed Caustic off somehow? Had the other heard some kind of screeching from his tests that Michael couldn't pick up on? Either way he wasn't given much time to ponder, since the answer came in the form of Caustic returning with a mug. The bobcat had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling as Caustic filled the mug halfway, finding the sight rather amusing. Like the whiskey was hot chocolate or something.

Michael smiled as the bottle was pushed back to him, and he took a big swig of the stuff before he heard Caustic's question. He wrinkled his nose a little bit, both at the bitter taste of the whiskey and the query shot in his direction. He sighed heavily after that, letting his paws remain loosely wrapped around the bottle as he looked down in thought. His blue eyes flicked back and forth as he tried to come up with a satisfactory answer, as if he were searching through page after page of responses. Eventually he just grumbled, shaking his head a bit, "I guess other personal reasoning, if you wanna put it like that. I'm just... missing how I spent a bunch of Valentine's days before this one. Had somebody else by my side then..." He glanced bitterly back at the recorder at his side, as if he could somehow turn the voices that left it into the real thing. As if he could just make Trevor suddenly emerge from the stone floor of the cave. Unfortunately nothing happened, just as expected.

Michael had been taught from a young age that loving others was a mistake. It was asking for trouble, and exposing yourself to everyone with a huge, glaring weakness that they could take advantage of. He had been taught this by his father, a huge and terrible feline who he desperately vowed for the love of until the day that bastard had left. He had known deep down, even as it was happening, that he had been breaking all his own rules for Trevor. He had been growing attached. He had been getting so horribly, desperately attached to this crazy asshole who could probably kill him any second if he wanted to, but didn't. Instead he was just as loyal as ever, sticking to Michael's side like he was glued on there and watching his back. The mention of his partner made his heart ache, and he didn't even think before he was speaking, already slightly tipsy from the large sips of whiskey, "...Yeah. Yeah, I had a partner. His name was Trevor. Coyote. We used to travel together all the time. I was... listenin' to his voice..." He glanced back at the recorder for a moment, before a pained wince ran through him. God, he hated how much he missed that fucker. And he hated how weak a state Caustic was seeing him in. He was in such a state that he didn't even realize he had referred to Trevor as his "partner."

Was he a romantic partner? The question shouldn't have really been that surprising, considering how he was just talking about Trevor in hushed tones, like the other was his entire goddamn world. However, Michael still felt himself recoil slightly in surprise and perhaps even the faintest bit of fear at the question stated to him. Had Caustic really seen through him that fast? He supposed he shouldn't have been that surprised, considering that he saw how analytical and intelligent Caustic was from the start, but he still felt his heart give an unpleasant little leap into his throat. Swallowing thickly, he tried his damnedest to focus on the first question, even as his head spun oddly and his recorder became a strangely heavy weight against his side. His voice was slightly hoarse as he spoke, his eyes flicking over to the bottle of whiskey rather than looking straight at Caustic, "We were both wanderers on the island... I was young. Maybe 15 months? Or 14... I don't know, exactly. At that point I was just beginning to come into my own, and I had been traveling from place to place, stealing and running before I could get caught... I met Trevor when he was doing practically the same thing. We ended up getting along pretty damn quickly after that.." He hesitated for a moment after that, seeming to struggle with what to do next with his words. Eventually he reached his paws out, claws clumsily scrabbling against glass as he pulled the bottle in so he could take another chug, for courage. When he placed the whiskey back down he continued, still able to feel the faint tingling in his chest and throat, "And he... and we... I don't know. We weren't romantic partners, not really. We were close. We... were really close, at times." He wanted to continue. Wanted to push through and add on the I loved him desperately clawing at his throat, but also too scared to actually do so.