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therarepairestofthemall · 9 months ago

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All the ways Zoey says "I Love You."

"Multiples just means there's more Mike to love!"

Zoey loves Mike, even though ... he isn't always Mike. But that's okay, because she loves the different people who live in his mind just as much.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mike — Touch

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when, because it had crept up on me — Mike had crept up on me — and the love I had for him left me breathless.

It hit me one day when Mike and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie that I didn’t really know when I fell in love with Mike.

I never forgot that moment on Total Drama, when Mike had held my hand, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird as he looked at me with his beseeching eyes as he told me the truth about him and his alters, about how he really liked me and how he didn’t want to lose me.

I held his hand, my eyes soft and understanding as he told me somethings he’s never really told anyone before. I think what really shocked him was how I understood. I didn’t look confused or freaked out, I didn’t tell him to back off or slap him.

I had merely laughed at how silly the situation was, because I really, really liked him and he really, really liked me and I had leaned into him telling him how much I loved oddballs.

Maybe that’s why I fell for him, because he was so different.

Mike was one of a kind.

I love him.

I’d do anything for Mike; as long as he’s here with me, as long as I can hold his hand and smile back at him, I’d go to the ends of the earth for Mike, and he’d do the same for me.

I turned to look at Mike, who’s shoulder I’ve been using as a pillow during our movie and he turned to look at me with that cute grin of his. I smiled back, my thoughts slowing as our faces moved closer and closer, until our foreheads were touching.

It was quick, only a short moment where I leaned over and pressed my lips against his, but it felt like all the love just rushed through my body in a single flash. I sighed against his lips, trying to emulate everything I felt through touch alone.

“I love you.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chester — Acts of Service

I won’t lie — Chester was hard to talk to.

Chester only came out when Mike was frustrated, so usually meant the old man would complain about whatever circumstances and groan about today’s youth whenever I would talk to him.

However, I was determined to get through to the old man and actually get him to enjoy himself.

“Are you having fun, Chester?” I asked as I struggled to secure a wriggling worm to my fishing pole.

“Eh, fun is for the youth.” Chester swatted his hand irritably. “Back in my day, it was either work and survive or shrivel up and die. We didn’t have any time for this “fun” nonsense ‘cause we were always working so hard. You lazy youngsters are havin’ fun all the time ‘cause you ain’t workin’ as hard!”

I cringed, not sure how to respond to that, before I decided on optimism. “Well, you never know, you might have fun fishing! This was my grandfather’s favorite hobby when I was a kid.”

“And where’s your grandfather now? You dump him in an old folk’s home?”

I went quiet, staring at the hook and worm in my hands. “No. He— he died. When I was a kid.”

Chester, fortunately, seemed to somber at that, making no more complaints as he dropped his line into the water and let it sink.

“Sorry.” I shook myself out of the memories of my lonely childhood. “I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. I just … miss him.” Looking at Chester, I smiled. “You know, I think if he was still alive, you and him would be good friends.”

“Friends?” A spark seemed to light in old Chester’s eye, before he quickly extinguished it with a grumpy scowl. “Meh, I don’t have any friends. Those silly things are for young whippersnappers just like yourself.”

“I don’t know, anybody can be friends with anybody. I, for one, would like to be friends with you.”

Chester stared at me with his one eye, not quite glaring and not quite scowling, before he turned away with a huff. I bit my tongue trying to keep away the hurt. It’s just one day, I reminded myself. It’s only been one day. You’ll get through to him.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when I saw a tug on the fishing pole. “Chester! You have a bite!” I gasped.

Chester began reeling in his line, and for a minute I thought I saw something like excitement in his eye.

It went on like this for months.

I would take Chester out and would try to help him enjoy himself and have fun, even if all he did was complain. I would always help him out, even if he was suspicious of my niceness.

It took a lot of perseverance and patience on my part to get him to open up to me. Every act of service I would do for him was regarded with suspicion, and every smile was met with a glare.

But slowly, Chester stopped grumbling and seemed to appreciate what I would do. Granted, he would still grumble and complain, but whenever I would offer him help or a way to have fun, he seemed to make less of an ordeal than before.

One day Chester came up to me when I was laying on my couch reading a book, hand gripping the wooden cane I bought him and scowled at me.

“Yes, Chester?” I asked primly, closing the book. “Do you need anything?”

Chester had glared at me, and in his usually wheezy voice, told me that there was a ventriloquist performance in town and he wanted to go, where I would then tell him about myself and my grandfather — but if there were any youngsters and their “rock and roll nonsense” there I could forget about it. He told me that he would absolutely not have fun and that we were definitely not friends.

I was smiling the whole time, even though the puppet was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen and that it told the most corniest jokes in the most horrible voice I’d ever heard. I was smiling the whole time because Chester was laughing the whole time, having fun.

It was like a turning point in Chester’s and I’s relationship. The empty gap I felt since my grandfather died was always a bit fuller whenever I was with Chester.

The old man seemed to appreciate the effort I would put into every act of service I did for him, saying that it was good that “a young whippersnapper such as myself was respecting my elders”.

I leaned down to hug the old man with a smile, feeling myself glow with happiness. “I love you, Chester.”

Chester seemed to stiffen, at the contact or what I said, I didn’t know. “Eh, you ain’t too bad — for a youngster.” Chester grumbled, but couldn’t help the smile from growing on his grumpy face.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Svetlana — Receiving Gifts

Svetlana was — by far — one of the easiest alters to get along with.

She was so bright and cheery, enthusiastic and fun it was impossible to not like her. The first time Svetlana and I hung out I was surprised how easily we clicked. Apparently, she had always wanted to meet me, seeing how happy I made Mike.

I grew up as a lonely child, so Svetlana was like a breath of fresh air, the girl friend I always wanted.

We hung out all the time, watching those sappy romantic movies that make the guys gag, we went shopping — but the thing we did together most was gymnastics.

I’ll admit that the first time Svetlana saw me climbing the trees in my backyard, I purposefully showed off; doing more flips than nessacary as Svetlana stared in awe.

“Vhere did you learn something like that?” She’d gasped as I climbed down the tree. I shrugged, trying to keep the blush off my face.

“Just something I picked up,” I waved nonchalantly. “I was always a bit of a wild child growing up.”

“Oh, you must try gymnastics!” Svetlana gushed, and of course I said yes because I was an absolute people’s pleaser; and if I knew Svetlana, she wouldn’t stop asking until I said yes.

Besides, how hard could gymnastics be?

“Ah, hah … Svetlana … can we please take a break?” I panted days later, drenched with sweat. “My legs are about to fall off.”

“Rest after success!” Svetlana declared cheerfully, looking as perfect and polished as she did before practice started. “Now, complete zhe triple point axle!”

I groaned, nearly folding into myself as my knees weakened at the thought. Svetlana was a brutal coach, having me perform all kinds of complicated flips even though she insisted they were “beginner”.

Yeah, right.

Sighing, I got into position and took a running leap — only to fail miserably as I twisted wrong and promptly faceplanted in front of my coach.

“Hmmm … perhaps you can use a little break.”

I merely groaned, wallowing in my misery as I heard Svetlana leave, then return a moment later.

Something cold touched my shoulder, and I turned to see Svetlana holding out a water bottle with a kind smile. “You are not so bad, for an amateur.” She said. “Svetlana is sorry if she has been … overzealous. None of the others has shown an interest in gymnastics.”

I smiled and unscrewed the bottle. “It’s okay. It must be hard to be the only girl in a brain full of five guys.”

Svetlana scoffed. “Oh, you ‘ave no idea.” With that, she launched into a full on rant with me listening patiently, our lesson forgotten.

Months later, Mike told me Svetlana had a big competition coming up — only the best of the best would be there. And she wanted me to come.

Svetlana won the whole thing and got a perfect score. As the cheers rang out, Svetlana flounced over to me, practically glowing from her victory as I flung my arms around my friend, clutching the flowers I was going to gift her.

I laughed, beaming. “I love you, Svetlana!”

The words slipped out before I even realized it, but Svetlana didn’t seem to mind as she seemed to press me tighter into the hug.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Vito — Words of Affirmation

Out of all the personalities in Mike’s head — besides Mal — I got along with Vito the least.

It was just … he was just so …

Vito didn’t get a lot of time out of Mike’s head, so he was sure to make it count.

When Vito came outside, he wanted to do what he wanted. He wanted to live, to meet people, to experience as much as he could before the shirt was pulled on once more and he had to be crammed into one head with multiple personalities.

I’ve tried to talk to Vito, I really have, but most of the time he would treat me like a pest he couldn’t get rid of. Every time I try to talk to him he just ends up hurting my feelings somehow. He’ll tell me I’m not that pretty or that I’m annoying him, and sometimes I would have to storm off to stop myself from punching him in the face. Honestly, the only reason why he didn't have a missing tooth by now was because he had Mike's face.

And for a while I thought that was all we were going to be. A jerk to me, and a nuisance to him.

Until …

Vito stormed into the room I was in, looking ticked off with a dark look in his eyes. I looked up from the book I was reading on the couch.

“Vito, what’s wrong?” I asked, trying to keep the right amount of concern in my voice. Too much and he would tell me to back off and shove my pity somewhere else. Too little and he would think I didn’t care.

“Nothin,’' he shrugged. “What could possibly be wrong when you’re this sexy?” As if to prove his point, he started to flex his muscles in a way that was … admittedly distracting, yes, but I refused to be swayed.

“Vito …”

“I don’t need ya pity, Red,” He told me casually — and yes, there it is. How can it be that he’s so good at reading me like I’m with him, but we still don’t get along?

“It’s not pity, I’m just worried about you.” I said, closing the book I was reading to give him my full attention. “Can’t I be worried about you?”

Vito glowered at me, looking at me with a mixture of annoyance and mistrust, before turning away.

Thinking quickly, I said, “You know, we’re not too far from the beach. Do you want to go swimming and work on your tan?”

That seemed to catch his interest a little. “I could go for some rays. But don’t ya think this makes us all buddy buddy or anything!”

“Of course not,” I stood up and patted his shoulder. “I’m going to go grab the surfboards. Can you start the car?”

I walked away to hear Vito’s surprised exclamation of knowing I could surf and smirked.

From that day forward, Vito and I became friends … sort of.

He would still get on my nerves like no other but … I think we reached an understanding, one can say. He made me competitive, wanting to prove myself and him wrong. We went back and forth when we conversed, but not in a bad way, but in a fun way.

But for some reason, there was still this underlying tension between us, one that would make my stomach knot for no good reason. It confused me, and I could tell Vito could feel it too.

The way he would flirt and flaunt in front of women when I was right there, the way he was always obsessing over his self-proclaimed “hotness”. For some reason it bugged me to no end, just like it did back on Total Drama when Vito was with Anne Maria.

But I didn’t want to dig into it. Vito and I were finally getting along, and I didn’t want to complicate things and make us go back to the way things were.

“So, how come you’re with a dorkus like Mike when ya can be with someone much more attractive, like me?” Vito asked one day as he drove us to the beach. Vito kept insisting that I needed to work on my tan even after I repeatedly told him that “I don’t tan, I burn.”

Vito smirked and did an eyebrow wiggle that made me snort into my hand. “You share the same body, genius.” I roll my eyes and giggle. “Besides, I’m more of a substance-over-style type of girl.”

“A dying breed.”

“Maybe, but one that does not fail.”

“The Vito can’t be held down by any broad,” he boasted.

“That’s because you haven’t met the right one yet.” I countered.

Vito seemed to pause at that, and I fell quiet. Right. How could Vito ever meet a girl when Vito wasn’t even out? It would be hard to find a girl and settle down if you weren’t even in control of your own body half of the time. Would Vito ever find his girl? Did he even want a girl?

I remembered that first day Vito and I hung out, he had quietly told me how he had gone to see Anne Maria, and that they had gotten into a huge fight because she thought he was choosing me over her. She wouldn’t listen — or couldn’t understand — that he was Vito, not Mike.

I turned to look at him and felt my stomach clench. Vito …

He would need someone to understand him, to know when he was sad or angry. Someone who could keep up with him, someone who wasn’t afraid to call him out, someone who knew —

I stopped cold. Someone like me.

When I told Vito “I love you,” it was quick and quiet, slipping out between my breath as we slammed the car doors shut. It’s noise should have drowned the words out, but I knew he still heard from the way he stopped.

Vito went quiet and still, and that freaked me out like no other because Vito was never those two things. He was cocky and obnoxious, always instigating conflicts and preening over his looks in his loud Italian accent.

He was always moving, whether it was to flex for the ladies or to slick his hair back or to mess with his golden necklace and to tap out the beats of music that would thrum through the car.

I instantly slapped a hand over my mouth the moment those words escaped, berating myself for possibly saying the stupidest thing of my life in front of Vito …

… when he did something unexpected.

Slowly, Vito reached over, cupped my face, and kissed me.

It was thrilling, warm and soft with a hint of spice. Vito was a master at kissing, from his warm lip-only kisses to his more heated tongue-centric kisses. He was good, leading me with such skill that I found myself giving back as much as I received.

Vito pulled back, gauging my reaction with his dark eyes as I stared back, vulnerable and lightheaded from the kiss. An unavoidable blush rose to my cheeks.

My mouth worked, opening and closing as I tried to find my voice. “... you just kissed me.”

“You just said you loved me.” Vito challenged back.

Touché, I thought.

I contemplated what just happened in my still-fuzzy head, weighing my decisions before finally settling on one.

Face still flushed, I asked, “If I said I loved you again, would you kiss me again?”

In response, Vito pulled me closer and my heart flew out of my chest.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Manitoba — Quality Time

One of the things that enraptured me first about Manitoba Smith was his thirst for adventure. He spoke of stories that … normally wouldn’t make sense, given that he was an alter in Mike’s brain, but still spoke of dangerous adventures and freedom and wilderness that I wanted to experience.

Manitoba offered to take me one.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?” I gasped as Manitoba and I hiked up the steep side of the mountain. My legs felt like they were about to collapse with every step I took and my breath had left me miles back.

“Come on now, Sheila, we’re almost there. You were the one who wanted to go on an adventure with me, remember? Not that I blame you, of course. Manitoba Smith is the best adventurer of this century.”

I looked up to see the said Australian holding out his hand, smiling. Gratefully, I took his hand and he hoisted me up. “There we go.”

“I don’t know how you do this every day,” I huffed. “This is exhausting.”

“Now, now. I have years of experience with exploring, and you’re just a beginner. Only time has bearing on a man’s skill, should he be one or one hundred.”

“Or woman.” I added.

Manitoba only smirked crookedly and we continued climbing in peace, while I looked back on the memories.

This wasn’t the first time Manitoba and I had gone on one of his adventures. It had happened a while ago, when I had offhandedly blurted out how I wanted to go on one of his adventures. I was more than suprised when he agreed to take me.

That was months ago, and since then, Manitoba and I had gone on multiple travels together. He had been kind enough to show me the ropes, even though it was through multiple flirting attempts.

It was nice though, I mused as we reached the destination point, to spend time with Manitoba. There was a lot more to him than met the eye, and on every trip we made I was uncovering more treasured pieces of him that made up the whole.

We finished setting up camp and both sat on the edge of mountain, precariously dangling our feet over open air. We were both quiet, just enjoying the moment and the quality time together when suddenly—

“Why do you make it so hard for me to flirt with you?” Manitoba asked.

“Well, if I made it easy then you wouldn’t flirt with me at all,” I replied without thinking. There was a beat of silence, and it quickly dawned on me what I said. With a flash of horror and embarrassment, I whipped my head towards Manitoba to see his surprised gaze reflecting my own.

For once, Manitoba Smith was at a loss of words.

I smacked a hand over my mouth, turning away. “I shouldn’t have said that aloud.” I mumbled, almost to myself. “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

Before I could fully close off from him, Manitoba grabbed my chin and gently guided it back so I could meet his eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” He chided. “Don’t pull away.”

I puffed my cheek out, annoyed and embarrassed. Manitoba merely grinned, cocky and bright-eyed as he took in my reaction.

“So, does this mean you like it when I flirt with you?”

I refused to answer, knowing he was only asking this because now he knew the answer. As if I would inflate his ego anymore than I had now.

Manitoba’s eyes glinted and he leaned closer, until he was right in my face. No doubt it was the color of my hair. “It’s okay to admit it, sweetheart. I rather like flirting with you too.”

I pushed his face away. “Well, you’re certainly a better flirt than Vito. All he does is flex his muscles.”

Manitoba smirked crookedly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I rolled my eyes.

A couple hours passed, with Manitoba staring a fire and cooking us dinner before we were both back on the ledge, watching for the sunset.

Manitoba dangled his feet over the ledge, eyes trained on the dying sun as it cast shades of red and gold.

I found my eyes slowly being drawn away from the view, turning to look at Manitoba Smith. He was quiet, taking in every moment of the sunset’s beauty. I felt my heart in my throat.

Oh.

He looked— he looked —

I didn’t just like Manitoba, I realized. I loved him.

It was the accent that caught my attention at first— an Australian one, that held a certain cockiness in the voice

Then it was his bravery, facing whatever challenge came to him head-on.

Then it was his kindness, his selfless nature, his confidence. It was all of that, all of him, that made me realized how much I loved spending time with him, how much I loved his company, how much I loved him

I wasn’t one to hold back from telling the truth, and he wasn’t one to shy away from what he was feeling. So with that in mind, I plucked up my last strand of bravery, swallowed back my nerves, and said, “I love you.”

There was a split second of silence, then—

“I was wondering when you would get around to saying that.”

I whipped my head around. “Excuse me?” Was he seriously taking my confession as a joke? Something to boost his own ego? Well, then—

I froze, biting back the verbal lashing I was about to give him when I saw his face.

There wasn’t the usual confident glint in his eyes or the cocky grin on him. Instead, Manitoba Smith was looking at me tenderly with a gentle smile on his face that looked so different, but at the same time, so right.

I swallowed the heart in my throat.

Oh.

“That’s seriously all you have to say to me? ‘What took you so long?’” I rolled my eyes in fake exasperation, trying to hide the amusement in my voice and failing.

“Well, of course! I happen to be an Australian heartthrob for the ladies. I’m impressed you managed to hold off for so long.” Manitoba winked.

“You’re a lot of work. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m worth it.”

I snorted, even though I couldn’t exactly deny his claims. I leaned my head on his shoulder and we sat in silence, both of us just enjoying each other’s presence as the sun sank behind the horizon.

“So, uh, think you’ll be going on any more adventures with me, Sheila?” Manitoba asked sheepishly.

I leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I just might.” I said, smiling.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mal — ?

Sometimes on cold nights Mal would come out.

He had toned down since Total Drama All Stars, but his reputation had preceded him so at first I was always cautious and kept my distance whenever he would appear.

But Mal was different. Quieter. He didn’t burst into fits of rage or go on a streak of vengence like all of us expected; instead he was more mellow.

Granted, he was still Mal — he would still threaten bodily harm whenever I annoyed him (which was a lot), he still had a cruel sense of humor, and perhaps he did still have a sadistic edge to him – but it wasn't like he was trying to drown me or anything like he did during the finale, so I figured it was okay to try and talk to him.

And ... strangely enough, it was.

Mal was tight-lipped and short whenever I would pry for conversation, and oftentimes would respond with scathing remarks that would hurt my feelings or pride.

But he never physically hurt me. Ever.

Months passed, and slowly ... oh so slowly ... he opened up.

Mal talked to me.

He told he about his past, how he would fill in Mike's memory gaps from his childhood. He told me about juvie, about how he had to stay in control because someone of Mike's caliber would have been chewed up and spit out in a place like that. He told me how the others came to be, why they came to be, through awful, awful stories that made me sick to my stomach because that happened to Mike, and the people I loved didn't know, and Mal had to remember.

I think the thing that shocked Mal most was that I listened. I stayed. I cared, even though at the beginning he thought it was fake. I tried to understand him, I listened to his problems, and tried to help him through them.

The funny thing was, I wasn’t even in love with him at the time I was doing those things.

Sometimes Mal would say he wanted a break, so whenever he was out and at my place I took him to my rooftop to let him breathe.

It worked better than I thought, because on some days when I wasn’t even home he would just break into my house and sneak onto my roof.

On cold nights like tonight, Mal would come out onto my rooftop and draw. I sat down a couple feet from him, since I knew he liked his personal space. The cold tiles bit through my jean bottoms as I wrapped my arms around myself. My misty breath floated in front of my face and into the night sky.

I peered over at what Mal was sketching and had to stop myself from giggling. A menacing tower was etched on the page. Overlooking a volcano. Bats and skulls flew from the paper.

I watched him with a smile on my face. Mal was absorbed with his art, occasionally blowing his hair out of his eye as his pencil worked across the page.

"You're staring," Mal startled me out of my daze with his low tone.

"Sorry." I laughed a bit nervously. "I'm just a bit distracted today. I’m happy."

Mal didn't say anything for a bit, before he said without looking up, "You're always happy."

I chuckled. "Yeah, but today I realized something that made me really happy."

There was a brief silence, and I could feel him prompting.

I took a deep breath. This is it, I thought. Like ripping off a band-aid.

"I just realized that I loved you."

The sounds of sketching stopped, and I determinedly stared up at the star-speckled sky before I looked down and began fiddling with the worn red sleeves of my hoodie.

My stomach started twisting itself in anxious knots as the silence dragged on, and I can feel Mal's eyes set me on fire as I avoid his gaze.

For once, I can't read his silences, and that alone was making me nervous. Before I could get up and excuse myself, something warm and lean pressed up against my side.

"Huh?" I said, because I have genuinely never been so confused in that moment.

Mal ignored me and continued to lean against me as he drew. I was completely baffled as he began whistling his signature tune with a small smile/smirk – the one he always used whenever he was in –

I gasped. My heart skipped a beat and it suddenly felt like a million tons was lifted from my shoulders.

"You –" I stopped, because natually he wasn't going to answer.

I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding as an exhilarated smile split my face. I bit my lip to control my giddy grin as I gently twined my fingers with his, squeezing once as he stiffened, then relaxed.

Mal squeezed back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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