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The UNM student dorms are a cinder block hellscape, but Michael Guerin has lived in worse places. At least here there are no violent addicts or religious freaks, and Michael has at least this modicum of space all to himself. It’s nice, really – Michael has never needed much room, and he can put any shit he wants up on the walls, schematics and formulas and stupid pictures of things that he just likes. A stupid doodle of a horse in a cowboy hat that Isobel drew him during her short-lived artsy phase takes pride of place above his desk, alongside all the nerdy genius shit he wants. Does the end result kind of look like a mad scientist’s lair mixed with that meme from Always Sunny in Philadelphia? Yeah, but Michael kind of digs the aesthetics of it all. Makes him feel like he’s living up to the genius label that was slapped onto him long ago.
The room mostly doesn’t look crazy enough that it dissuades any of the lovely guys and gals he brings home – he likes to think that it all looks just eccentric enough to be interesting, but honestly if he’s doing his job right, it’s not like any of them are really there for the décor.
On the whole, Michael likes college. He really does. His classes feel a little basic right now, but he’s been talking to his academic advisor about skipping some prerequisites and getting right into some more advanced courses next semester. Isobel and Max are based close enough that he still gets to see them pretty often. And there are plenty of co-eds on campus that he can sway towards and coax easy kisses out of. It’s a great life.
Michael meets Alex Manes on a Tuesday.
After everything, after all their chaos and sex and pain and love, that detail sticks with him, for some reason. It’s a Tuesday night, their college-town bar is still packed, and Michael looks up from the beer he’d ordered with his shitty fake ID to find big brown eyes watching him from behind long lashes. A sharp impulse digs into his ribs, and Michael has always been a big fan of following impulses.
“Hey, brown eyes,” he says, sauntering over. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”
Brown-eyes smirks at him, eyebrows raised, so much more challenge in him than Michael had been expecting. He finds himself leaning in further on pure instinct, drawn in like this guy has a gravitational pull.
“How many people does that line work on?” he asks, mocking, but he’s turned towards Michael, body language open, like he’s challenging Michael to come up with something better.
“About half,” Michael drawls. “Wanna up my statistics?”
The smirk at the corner of his mouth deepens. “I don’t know,” he says, matching Michael’s tone. “I think I ought to make you work for it.”
“Alright,” Michael says. The air between them crackles with electricity – Michael flirts with a lot of people, but rarely has it ever felt quite like this. “Can I get a name to work with?”
“Alex.”
“Alex,” Michael repeats. “Was hoping for something a little more flowery, so I could say ‘pretty name for a pretty guy.’”
“Well, my dad was not exactly the king of creativity.” There’s something a little dark about the words, another layer to Alex’s voice, just below the surface. “What’s your name, then, cowboy?”
“Michael.”
“Mm,” Alex nods. “Pretty name for a pretty guy.”
Michael snorts. “Oh yeah, real pretty,” he grins. “Most common boy’s name of 1997. That’s how they choose your name at the group home if you don’t have one.”
Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. Of course they do — that was a wildly personal thing to tell a virtual stranger. God — he hadn’t really meant to say that at all. It’s not like he tends to discharge all of his abandonment issues at every one night stand he picks up at a bar.
“Let’s skip right past that, though,” Michael hurries to say before Alex can respond. “How about you let me buy you a drink?”
“Hm.” Alex sips at the drink he’s already holding, which Michael now realizes is still half full. “Between insulting my name and bringing up your childhood, I’m not sure you’re working hard enough for it.”
Michael laughs — god, he’s kind of a bitch, huh? In the best way, though. “Alright, alright,” he grins. “Alex. How about a game of pool?”
There are those eyebrows again, that challenge sparking behind those eyes. “Pool,” Alex repeats.
“Yeah.” Michael gives him a slow once-over, letting himself linger. “You look like you can handle yourself with a pool cue. If I win, you let me buy you a drink.”
Alex’s gaze has a weighty to it, magnetic. “And what do I get when I win?”
When, not if. Michael thinks the confidence is hot — Michael thinks Alex is fucking hot. “That depends,” he drawls, sweeping his gaze up Alex’s body again. “What do you want?”
Alex shifts to his feet, surprisingly graceful. “I want a lot of things, Michael,” he says lowly. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
And that sounds damn promising. Michael grins and saunters after him to the pool table, admiring the view all the while.
Michael will insist, later, that he let Alex win, but here’s a secret: Alex is competent as hell at pool, and Michael may be a bit of a pool shark, but he also has a competency kink. He lets Alex break, and he’s screwed from the get-go, distracted by Alex’s hands and the smug quirk of Alex’s mouth and Alex’s ass when he bends over the table. It ends up being quite possibly the worst game of pool that Michael has ever played, but damn, what a way to go.
“Alright then, gorgeous,” he says, as Alex is grinning over his victory. “What’s your prize?”
Alex takes a step forward. Michael has been doing all the pursuing so far in their little encounter, but now for the first time he feels like prey.
It’s an addicting feeling. Michael wants to sink into it, wants to lose himself to Alex’s lazy seduction.
“Do you have any roommates, cowboy?” Alex says, low and warm, a hand coming up to skate along the skin of Michael’s neck.
“No,” Michael says on a breath, leaning into the touch.
“Well then, in that case,” Alex says. “I want you to take me home.”
And that’s the start of everything. They crash into Michael’s tiny concrete dorm room with its mad-scientist walls on that Tuesday night, and Alex Manes burrows his way beneath Michael’s skin.
There is a brief moment of pause when Michael goes to tug Alex’s jeans down and Alex stops him. “What?” Michael says. “You wanna slow down?” He’s down with that, if Alex needs it, but considering the way that Alex was just tugging him around by his curls, he would maybe be a little surprised.
“No, it’s just…” Alex takes a deep breath, and then he says, “I only have one leg.”
Michael blinks. “Oh,” he says, recalibrating. “Okay, sure. Anything I need to know about that?”
“I have a prosthetic,” Alex says. “At some point, I’m gonna have to take it off.”
“Okay,” Michael says. “Sounds good.”
Alex squints at him for a moment, examining Michael’s face like he’s trying to read the meaning of life in his expression. Michael just looks back, letting himself be read. “Okay,” Alex nods eventually, and gets his hands back in Michael’s curls, dragging him close. “Get to it, cowboy,” Alex murmurs against his lips, and just like that, they’re back on track.
Alex is still there in the morning, wakes Michael with kisses pressed to the skin of his shoulder, a hand trailing across his chest. And Michael is usually pretty meticulous about keeping his hookups to one night only, if only because he likes to keep his life as drama-free as possible. But there’s something about Alex. Michael has never really been the type of person to live his life by a set of rules, but if he was, he has a feeling that Alex would be smashing his way through every single one.
“Hi,” Michael says, rolling to brace himself half-over Alex’s chest.
“Hi,” Alex says, softer with sleep, silky brown hair attractively mussed. Michael is pretty sure that nobody is supposed to look that good first thing in the morning. It’s like, against the rules of the universe. Michael’s own hair, for example, is almost certainly an absolute rat’s nest. And he's originally thinking breakfast with the kind of ferocity that a perpetually undernourished 18-year-old is prone to, but Alex apparently has other ideas. Michael is perfectly happy to go along with it when Alex leans up to kiss him, soft and lippy and gentler than anything they managed last night.
Breakfast ultimately gets forgotten for quite a while – until well after the sun starts beating through Michael’s shitty blinds and the chaotic noise of the residence hall has slowly come alive around them. Michael doesn’t really mind getting sidetracked – he’s got Alex here to occupy his mouth, after all.
“Do you like living in the dorms?” Alex murmurs afterwards, chin propped against Michael’s sternum.
Michael is kind of surprised at the question, mostly just because they’ve done very little talking up to this point. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “I like having my own space. Not like I’ve got much choice, though.”
“You wouldn’t want to live off-campus?” Alex asks, and Michael snorts.
“Not a question of want,” he says. “Dorm room comes with the scholarship, so. Here I am.”
“Scholarship, huh?” Alex smiles. He looks soft in the morning light filtering through the shitty blinds, and Michael can’t help but stroke his fingers through his hair, feeling a fondness that feels outsized for this person that he barely knows. “What are you, some kind of genius?”
“You could say that,” Michael says.
“Guess that explains the walls,” Alex says, but he doesn’t sound creeped out or anything. Sometimes people take one look at Michael’s room and start looking at him differently, like he’s just a little bit odd. But Alex seems to be commenting on it just to comment on it, and Michael finds he likes that kind of indifference.
When they finally get out of bed, they waste an absurd amount of time searching through Michael’s tiny room for Alex’s shirt.
“I don’t know where the fuck it could be,” Michael says, standing back, hands braced behind his head. “This room is like, the size of a closet.”
“It’s fine,” Alex shrugs. He’s sitting on the edge of Michael’s bed, adjusting his running shoe around his prosthetic. “Can I borrow a sweater or something? I have to get going.”
So Alex walks out of Michael’s dorm room wearing an Albuquerque High Speech and Debate Team hoodie with ‘Guerin’ emblazoned across the shoulders. Michael tries to ignore the silly possessive purring in his chest as Alex pulls it over his head, and instead focuses on the fact that the name on the sweater means he’s likely to get it back. He doesn’t really have that many articles of clothing to spare.
***
Isobel rolls into Michael’s dorm room like a tornado, which is unfortunately pretty much par for the course for her.
“Michael Guerin ,” she says, delightedly scandalized. She’s been practically sniffing around his room like a fuckin’ bloodhound, poking around in the corners and crevices. She holds up a shirt, grinning: Michael recognises it immediately. It’s the soft charcoal t-shirt that Alex had been wearing beneath his jacket, the other night, hugging his chest beneath the dim bar lights. He has no idea how on Earth she managed to find it, but there it is, held between a careful thumb and pointer finger. “What poor unsuspecting boy did you seduce back to your lair this time?”
“None of your business,” Michael says easily. He’s leaning back against his desk, arms crossed, watching her go through all his shit. He doesn’t really care – Isobel has always been very hands on with his life, if he lets her be. Michael has finally accepted it as a part of her love language, and so now he just lets her do her thing. Alex’s shirt is probably the most incriminating thing in here, and even then, if he really wanted to, he could always just claim it was his.
Not that Isobel Evans ever believes his bullshit. But she does drop things when he needs her to.
“I still can’t believe you manage to bring anyone back here,” she says, throwing the shirt in his face. He catches it with one hand, smug. “If anyone ever brought me back to a place like this, I would run for the hills.”
“It’s charming.” Michael tosses the shirt behind him. “I’m an eccentric genius.”
“You’re eccentric alright,” Isobel rolls her eyes, and then she shepherds him out the door and into the hallway. “Come on, you owe me breakfast for subjecting me to that hellscape.”
“You’re the one who bullied your way inside,” Michael says fondly, turning to lock his door behind him.
“Can I help you?” Isobel says, somewhere behind him.
“Iz,” Michael sighs, turning, only to come face to face with Alex, wearing a soft patterned sweater, looking just as delectable as he had under the bar lights.
“Um, hi,” Alex says.
“Hi,” Michael says back, like an idiot.
“Hi,” Isobel says, tilting her head, eyes darting between them. “Michael, who is this? Introduce us.”
“Uh –” Michael flushes, how goddamn embarrassing. “This is Alex. Alex, this is Isobel.”
“Um, nice to meet you,” Alex says, stepping forward to extend a hand to Isobel, a surprising bit of manners that Michael hadn’t really expected from the spitfire he’d taken home the other night.
“Nice to meet you, too, Alex,” Isobel says. She’s looking at Michael like this is the greatest thing she’s ever witnessed, and Michael’s ears are burning, and he needs to leave this situation right now. “How do you know our dear Michael?” Isobel asks.
Alex stutters for a moment, and Michael is done with this nightmare. “Okay, Isobel, we gotta go,” he says, clapping onto her shoulder and steering her away from Alex. “I’ll see you around,” he says over his shoulder.
“Michael,” Isobel laughs, jostling him with her shoulder as Michael practically drags her into the stairwell. “Aww, are you blushing?”
“No!” Michael snaps.
Isobel faux-gasps. “You are,” she says, delighted. “Oh my god, was that t-shirt guy? Michael, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” Michael says, stopping at the landing of the stairs, spinning to face her. “I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have a girlfriend, I don’t have anything, okay? Maybe I just don’t want you harassing my friends!”
“Friends, okay,” Isobel says. She’s absolutely not buying his bullshit, as always. Michael shouldn’t be surprised. “Yeah, okay, sure. How much do you want to bet he was knocking on your door to collect that shirt that was on your bedroom floor?”
Michael rolls his eyes, turning away from her to start back down the stairs. “Whatever,” he says. “I don’t need you harassing my one night stands, either.”
Isobel follows right after him. “A one night stand that made you blush,” she says. “I didn’t know Michael Guerin was capable of blushing. What, was he super kinky?”
“Okay, no,” Michael shakes his head. “Even I have a limit to what I’m willing to discuss with my sister.” He pauses, and then: “But no, not really.”
“Mm,” Isobel catches up to him as they reach the bottom of the stairs. “Or maybe,” she says, “Michael Guerin has a little crush.”
“Nope!” Michael spins to walk backwards, facing her. “He certainly does not!”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody that you actually have a heart.”
“Uh-huh, thank you,” Michael nods. He lets himself be turned back around, Isobel linking their arms together.
“You owe me a mimosa,” Isobel says. “Bottomless. So many mimosas.”
“For what ?”
“Being a locked safe of emotions,” Isobel grins.
“Fine,” Michael agrees. It’s always easier to agree with Isobel. Plus, Michael could really do with a mimosa, too. “But you’re buying next time.”
***
Michael has graphing paper spread all over his floor, weighted down with like four rulers and his heaviest engineering textbook, spread open, when there’s a knock on his dorm room door. It takes a moment for Michael to surface from his math haze and realize that there was, indeed, a knock, and it was, indeed, on his door.
He doesn’t bother cleaning any of his shit up. Whoever is at his door can deal with the mess.
“What,” he demands, swinging the door open.
Alex stands framed in the doorway, and he looks pissed off. “What the hell, Guerin?”
Michael frowns. “Uh, nice to see you, too,” he says. “What is your damage, dude?”
“My damage,” Alex snaps, all that fire back in his eyes, “is your freaking girlfriend.”
And look, Michael had been expecting any number of things, but that? That takes him aback entirely. “What?”
“Oh, don’t lie,” Alex says. “Tall blonde who you introduced to me while looking like you wanted to crawl out of your skin? Ring any bells?”
A crazed sounding laugh makes its way out of Michael’s throat. “Oh my god,” he says. “Ew, stop.”
Alex frowns, groove appearing between his eyebrows. “What?”
“Do you mean Isobel?” Michael asks. “Isobel. My sister, Isobel.”
There’s a heartbeat of dead silence, where Michael watches the realization hit, drain across Alex’s features. All of that self-righteous energy falls away, leaving Alex’s pretty brown eyes looking… sheepish? “In my defense,” he says finally, “you look nothing alike.”
“Well, technically, we’re not sure if we’re biologically related,” Michael says. He leans a shoulder against his doorframe, watching Alex, the way that Alex is watching him right back. “We were found together with Isobel’s twin, Max, wandering in the desert. How’s that for a tragic backstory?”
“You could get a DNA test,” Alex points out, like ‘biologically’ was the most important part of that sentence.
But – “Nah,” Michael says. He doesn’t know how to explain that the DNA isn’t the point. Doesn’t know how to explain how horribly crushing it would be to find out that he has absolutely no tie to Isobel and Max at all. Some things, you’re better off not knowing. And Michael has a healthy dose of scientific curiosity, but he’s always known when to stop.
There’s silence between them again, and for the first time there’s a haze of awkwardness creeping in from the edges, filling the spaces between them.
And Michael hates it.
“Hey,” he says into the silence, tilting a little towards Alex, probably a little pathetic with how obviously he wants this boy’s hands back on his skin. “I think I have something of yours.”
Alex’s eyebrows go up. “If that’s a line, it’s pretty bad,” he says, but Michael sees the way that those pretty brown eyes flick down to his lips. Hah – bad or not, if it were a line, Michael is pretty sure that it would have worked.
“No, really,” he says. “C’mere.”
It’s gratifying when Alex does – all his fire, and Michael can manage to reel him in by batting his eyelashes.
Alex follows him in – Michael had honestly forgotten about the state of his floor, when he invited him in, and now he’s kind of regretting not tidying up before opening the door. Alex raises his eyebrows at the mess, and Michael braces himself for the derisive comment, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Alex says, “What are you majoring in?” as he squints down at the graphing. “Is this an assignment?”
“Nah,” Michael says, as he shifts a textbook on his desk to grab Alex’s T-shirt. “I’m in engineering, but that’s a personal project. Here,” he tosses the shirt at Alex’s chest. He catches it, which – it’s stupid that Michael finds something that simple attractive, but somehow Alex’s hands snatching the fabric out of the air is hot. Alex’s hands are nice in general, really – long-fingered and elegant. When Michael had first met him, he’d been wearing flat black nail polish, but his nails are bare now.
“Thanks,” Alex says, and Michael drags his attention away from his hands with great effort. “I’ll get your hoodie back to you.”
“You don’t have to,” Michael says, too quickly. He tries to save it, adding, “Something to remember me by,” as if that’s smooth. He’s being so, so dumb right now – he kind of needs the stupid sweater. He only has like, two, and they’re rapidly heading into winter.
“Oh yeah?” Alex raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t drag me in here to give me something to remember you by?” It’s cocky as hell, and if Michael weren’t so fucking into him he would probably be pissed about a comment like that, but. Well. He is really fucking into Alex, and what is he supposed to do with an opening like that except push Alex back against the desk and fall to his knees?
“Hey,” Alex says when he’s leaving, gratifyingly mussed up and kiss-drunk. “I’m glad you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh yeah?” Michael leans into his space in the open doorway. “Me too.”
The problem, Michael realises when he wakes up in the morning, is that somehow he’s now managed to have sex with Alex twice, and somehow he still doesn’t have the boy’s number. And they’ve come back to Michael’s room both times, so Alex knows where to find him, but Michael has absolutely jack shit to work with. If you don’t count the shitty bar where they met – and Michael does not – he basically doesn’t know anything about Alex at all. Which makes the amount of time he spends thinking about the dude completely ridiculous. He’s hot, sure – those big brown doe eyes and soft silky hair hit Michael where it hurts, okay? And he’s surprisingly built beneath his clothes. So yeah, of course he’s hot, but Michael has slept with plenty of hot people since he came to UNM, and none of them have stuck the way that Alex has.
Which makes it doubly frustrating when he seemingly drops off the face of the earth for a couple of weeks.
Michael tries to distract himself – he’s usually very good at distracting himself from unsatisfactory situations. It’s a well-honed skill. He throws himself into his classes and redoubles his efforts on perfecting the schematic he’s been working on. But still, he’s haunted by memories of brown eyes and talented fingers.
And that just won’t do. Michael Guerin does not pine. That is not the kind of guy he’s supposed to be, out here.
The math isn’t helping, so he sets out to distract himself in other ways. It’s a Friday night, so Michael throws on a tight pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt that he knows clings to him all over, tops it off with his cowboy hat over messy curls, and then he saunters into a bar with the express purpose of getting laid. He goes to a different bar than the one where he met Alex, an impulse that he follows without examining too closely.
This bar is rowdy – every bar is rowdy, this close to campus. That’s the best part, in Michael’s opinion. It’s crowded, and it’s easy enough to find somebody interested – Michael knows his own appeal intimately, and he’s gotten pretty good at knowing how to wield it. It’s easy, finding a pretty girl whose eyes catch on the flex of his biceps beneath his t-shirt, and it’s easy, telling a couple jokes, getting her laughing, leaning into his touch.
It’s not challenging, the way Alex was. Her touch doesn’t light up his skin with electricity, doesn’t make him wonder if he’s going to get burned.
It’s perfect, though, or it should be. It’s exactly what Michael came here for, tonight. Simple, safe. Get laid and get out, no getting attached.
The universe, apparently, has other plans.
Michael has a beer in one hand, the skin of a pretty girl beneath the palm of the other. By the time they’ve finished their drinks, he’s confident they’ll be in mutual agreement to take this back to the dorms. And then he looks up, arm around her shoulders, and locks his gaze directly on the very pretty brown eyes that have been haunting his dreams for the past two weeks.
Alex.
Fuck. What the hell? Where did he come from?
“Michael?” The girl he’s been talking to draws his attention back down to her. Right. You know what? Screw Alex. The guy ghosts him for weeks, and then he shows up here when Michael is about to score with someone else? No.
Now, logically, Michael knows that Alex obviously had no idea that Michael would be here, and is probably just going about his life like normal. But still. Michael is determined to demonstrate that he, too, is just going about his life.
“Sorry,” he tells Allison, shifting so that he can caress the skin of her back with his thumb. “What was that?” He tries to keep his focus on her – he really, really does, because she’s pretty and sweet and honestly probably deserves his full attention. But Alex’s gaze is burning into him – it’s like he can literally feel the weight of it against his skin.
Eventually, he excuses himself to the bathroom, and he’s barely even surprised when the door opens again behind him. “Are you stalking me?” he asks, turning to brace against the sink, face to face with Alex in this tiny enclosed space.
“Why?” Alex asks, raising those expressive eyebrows of his. “You miss me?”
“Didn’t even notice you were gone,” Michael lies through his teeth.
“Mm,” Alex hums like he doesn’t believe him. Michael can’t blame him – he wouldn’t believe himself either. He’s pretty sure that he must be looking at Alex like he’s desperate – like he craves those hands back against his skin.
Like he wants to be devoured.
“You can’t look at me like that,” Alex says, voice soft in the empty bathroom. “Not if you want to go back to your pretty brunette out there.”
Michael spares one second to feel bad about it before he says, “I don’t.”
“Oh, good,” Alex says. And then he turns and locks the bathroom door.
“Presumptuous,” Michael says, but it comes out a little bit too breathy to be believable.
Alex doesn’t dignify that with a response, just crowds Michael against the sink. He leans in just as Michael reaches for him, the two of them coming together like magnets. Like this is where they fit, here, together like this.
It’s a clash, more than anything, quick and hard and desperate, searching hands and teeth and tongues. Alex’s hands are rough when they go to Michael’s thighs, hoisting him up in one quick motion so he’s seated on the hard porcelain of the sink, and Michael goes with it, locking his feet together behind Alex’s back, using his calves to pull him closer.
“You,” Alex breathes, pulling back to press his mouth to the hinge of Michael’s jaw, “are unreasonably distracting.”
Right back at you, Michael thinks. “Wasn’t doing anything,” he says.
Alex stops his assault of Michael’s jaw to look at him, eyebrows quirking up. It’s a good look on him – he’s distressingly hot, really, all kiss-swollen lips and those expressive eyebrows of his. “You were,” he says, voice low, leaning in just enough to drag his nose up the slope of Michael’s throat. “Looking at me over that girl’s shoulder, like you wanted me to see.”
“Maybe,” Michael gasps. “Or maybe you just have a big head.” He laughs at the look Alex gives him for that, and a moment later his laughter is being swallowed by Alex’s lips.
Michael’s breath is coming in harsh pants, and Alex’s clever fingers are attacking his belt with a kind of vicious urgency that Michael remembers from that first time. “Wish I could fuck you right here,” he murmurs against the side of Michael’s throat, lips catching against the skin. “Send you back out there still feeling it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Michael pants, hands scrambling at Alex’s shoulders. He doesn’t remember Alex being so talkative. “Please.”
Alex presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Can’t, baby,” he says. “Unless you happen to have lube hiding in those jeans.”
“I don’t care,” Michael whines, throwing his head back. “Please, I don’t care.”
Alex’s touch is gentle when he cradles Michael’s jaw between his fingertips. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says. “Okay?”
A rough sound makes its way out from the back of Michael’s throat, but he nods under Alex’s burning gaze. “Okay,” he agrees roughly.
“Good,” Alex says simply. “Now, c’mere. Let me make you feel good.”
In the end, there’s not a lot of finesse to it, jerking each other off against this disgusting bar sink. But by the time Michael is burying his face in Alex’s throat as he comes, he’s kind of certain that this boy has ruined him for anybody else.
“Gonna give me your number, this time?” Michael asks as Alex is straightening his shirt. Maybe it’s ill-advised, but they’re three for three, now, and every time it’s just getting better. And also: Michael likes him. Likes how he’s witty, how he’s not afraid to call Michael on his shit, how he’s this firecracker waiting to be let loose.
Maybe Alex is just in this for the sex, Michael doesn’t know. The guy is a little hard to read, like he’s used to locking everything down – Michael understands that, honestly. But Michael isn’t just in this for the sex, at this point. And he doesn’t want Alex to just disappear into the ether again.
“Don’t know if you earned it,” Alex drawls, and then laughs when Michael smacks weakly at his ribs. “I’m just kidding,” he says, warmer. “Here, pass me your phone.”
So when they finally make the walk of shame out of the bar bathroom, Michael has Alex’s phone number burning in his pocket, and a self-satisfied smile on his face.
***
Alex: Why ask for my number if you’re not going to use it?
The message absolutely catches him off guard one night as he’s spread out on the floor again with the engine he’s tinkering with.
Alex is right – he hasn’t used the number yet, even though he absolutely intended to. It wasn’t really on purpose – he’s been busy. He’s been spending a lot of time with his Academic Advisor, figuring out what courses he can handle, next semester, what tests he might have to take in order to get around prerequisites and requirements. Plus, Max had rolled back into town after his Europe trip, and Michael had been dragged out to several dinners and club nights by his pushy siblings.
He thought about texting Alex a couple of times, but he also feels like he’s been making most of the moves in their little game, and he doesn’t really want to come off as desperate. It goes completely against the Michael Guerin brand.
But now Alex has made a move, something that Michael honestly hadn’t been sure would even happen. He’s not gonna make the guy sweat any longer.
Michael: miss me, sweetheart?
And then, because he doesn’t want to push him away by being a shit, he adds:
Michael: sorry, had a crzy few days. acadmc advisor is becoming my new best friend
He focuses back on his engine, really going at it with a wrench to distract himself from his phone. There’s not really any reason to have this engine, actually – it’s not a project for any of his courses, and it isn’t one of the various tasks his advisor has him completing. It’s just a ‘for fun’ tinkering, this one. He’d picked it up the other day, when he’d dragged Max to a junkyard and dug it out of a pile of discarded things.
“I don’t know why you bother with these,” Max had said, kicking at a broken scooter.
“It’s fun,” Michael had told him. “I like fixing stuff.” And that’s true, but it’s not quite all of it. Michael likes fixing things, yes, but more than that, he likes figuring out how things fit together. How they work. Engines are easy – Michael worked at a variety of auto shops when he was a kid, bouncing all around New Mexico. He’s known how to put an engine together since he was 14 years old.
This particular engine looked nearly irreparably damaged, though, and Michael likes a challenge. He likes to stretch his brain a little bit when he’s trying to keep his hands busy.
His phone buzzes against the floor, reminding him of other things that he can do to keep his hands busy.
Alex: All good
Alex: What are you doing rn?
Michael’s eyebrows fly up, eyes flitting to the clock. It’s after midnight, damn – is this a goddamn booty call? Not that Michael would be opposed, necessarily. It’s just that he is, technically speaking, up to his elbows in grease, so it’s not really the best time.
Instead of putting this conundrum into words, he manages to snap a picture of one hand buried in the engine’s inner workings, greasy and dirty and clearly occupied, and sends it off as his response. It’s kind of a sexy picture, in Michael’s opinion, but then again, his brain is hardwired to find mechanics hot.
Alex: Sexy
Alex: But not exactly what I had in mind
Oh, this is absolutely a booty call. Michael sits back on his heels, snagging a rag to properly cleanse his hands.
Michael: oh?
Michael: looking for a different kind of dirty pics?
Alex: Very funny, Guerin
Alex: But yes
Well then. Michael can get on board with this. He can so get on board with this. If his engine gets forgotten for a little bit, well, Michael’s pretty sure that he can be forgiven. Alex is gorgeous even through a phone screen.
***
Michael: alex
Michael: wyd tn babygirl 👅
Alex: Why are you like this
Alex: I can come over after 9
***
Michael: you wanna meet up for dinner?
Alex: Can’t do dinner sorry
Alex: I have a late class
Michael: want me to bring u something?
Alex: No, I have to eat with my dad
Alex: Might be able to swing by the dorms after?
Michael: ok sweet i’ll be here
***
Michael: this guest lecturer is sexy af
Alex: Okay Guerin thanks for the update
Michael: dont pout baby, ur still my #1
***
Michael: is your cute ass on campus tn?
Alex: Indeed it is
Michael: come see meeee
Michael: 👅🍆💦
Alex: I’m banning you from using emojis
Alex: On my way
***
“Dude, seriously, none of this makes any sense,” Max grins, staring up at the various math-heavy notes open on Michael’s pillow.
“To you,” Michael says, raising his beer in his brother’s direction. Max snorts, and Michael snorts, and it feels a little bit like they’re repairing the strained tint that their relationship has suffered under for the past few years.
Michael had been angry when Max had first found him again, angry about being left behind and angry about life, about all the bullshit he’d been put through since they’d been separated. It had always been a cruel twist of fate, that Michael had been in the bathroom when Mr. and Mrs. Evans had first entered the group home. By the time he made it back, Max and Isobel had already been solidified as a unit – Michael was just the spare, the scrawnier younger orphan, and he’d been left behind.
He didn’t blame his siblings for any of that, obviously, but when they tracked him down in Albuquerque when he was 15, he’d been angry and isolated and he hadn’t known what to do, other than chase them away. But both Max and Isobel have been relentless in their own individual ways, and Michael loves them both too much to keep them at any kind of real distance, now that he finally has them back. It was easier with Isobel, because she’s straight-up with the way that she pushes her way into Michael’s life. Max is more complicated, for reasons that Michael has trouble articulating. Maybe it comes down to the fact that he’s always felt protective over Isobel, but Max feels protective over Michael. And Michael doesn’t know how to let anybody protect him. He’s gotten by for this long all on his own – he’s not going to change now. But Max has been trying, and Michael has been trying to be better about letting him in.
All this to say that Michael currently has Max Evans lounging on his bed, a massive pretentious-looking book on his chest, and things are getting back to easy between the two of them.
“So,” Michael prods. “Tell me about your new girl.”
Max laughs, ducking his head. “I don’t – I don’t have a new girl,” he says, sheepish. “I mean, not yet.”
“Uh-huh.” Michael nods. “Okay, tell me about your not-yet girl, then.”
“I don’t know, man,” Max says. “I don’t want to jinx it.” Which is such a Max thing to say that Michael laughs.
There’s a knock at the door out of nowhere, and Max furrows his brow. “You expecting anybody?”
“No,” Michael says, ambling over. He has an inkling of who it might be, though – only one person tends to be knocking on his door, these days.
Alex is wearing a beanie when Michael pulls open the door, a fact that grabs Michael’s attention so thoroughly that he doesn’t even manage to say anything in greeting.
“Hello to you, too, Guerin,” Alex says, sounding amused. And then his eyes drift to the room behind Michael, and the sweet smile practically falls off his face, and that has Michael gathering his wits about him enough to muster up some words.
“Before history starts repeating itself,” Michael says, bringing a hand up to Alex’s chest, “let me introduce you to Max. Isobel’s brother.”
Max waves from where he’s still lounging on Michael’s bed. “Stop introducing me like that,” he mumbles. “You’re my brother too, man.”
Michael waves away that statement. Alex, in front of him, ducks his head, frowning a little. “I wasn’t going to accuse you of anything,” he says, soft like he doesn’t want Max to hear. (Max can definitely hear. He clearly tries to be tactful about not paying them any attention, but nobody on this Earth has ever called Max tactful.)
“Okay,” Michael says, surprised for some reason. “Just trying to be clear, man.”
“Okay, well.” Alex leans into Michael’s palm and then away. Michael drops his hand limply to his side. “Good.”
“What’re you doin’ here?” he says into the silence. “Max and I are just hangin’ out, you can join if you want.”
Alex bites his lip, and Michael knows exactly what Alex is doing here. Max’s mere presence is a cockblock. Of course it is. It sucks - Michael hasn't seen Alex in a week or so. Their meetups are totally random. Sometimes Alex goes MIA for a few days, not answering his texts, and Michael still doesn't know why.
“No,” Alex says, “that’s okay. I’ll come back some other time, okay?”
And Michael says, “Okay,” even though his brain is busy conjuring an image of Alex coming in, sitting on Michael’s shitty desk, ordering pizza with Michael and his brother, shooting the shit. The image is too tempting – Michael is in too deep, here. This is supposed to be casual. They both know that this is casual.
“I’ll text you.” Alex knocks twice on the doorframe, and turns away.
“You’re not going to go after him?” Max sits up as Michael closes the door.
“What’s to go after?” Michael says. “Pretty sure he was here to hook up, man. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Max rolls his eyes. “You like him, though.”
“Sure,” Michael says. “Looove his cock. Do you want all the dirty details?”
“You’re being purposefully obtuse,” Max says.
“No.” Michael feels himself getting a little snappish. “You’re meddling.”
Luckily, Max takes the cue to back off. Michael isn’t sure if it’s just because of their fragile relationship, but either way, he’s grateful. “No meddling,” his brother says, raising his hands in defeat.
“C’mon,” Michael says, letting the topic go entirely. “Let’s order pizza, man, I’m starving.”
Isobel joins them the next morning for brunch. It doesn’t take long for Michael to realise he’s being ganged up on. He sits there, backwards hat shoved over his curls, with his siblings staring at him from the other side of the table, and it’s obvious: he’s being offered up for an interrogation. Goddamn – he has never hated their stupid freaky twin telepathy more.
“So,” Isobel announces, mimosa perched in one hand, “I hear that Max met your new boyfriend.”
“Betrayer,” Michael hisses at his brother. Max just chews on his toast, completely unaffected. Michael adds: “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Ah, yes,” Isobel drawls. She looks like she’s enjoying this way too much. “You looove his dick, we’ve heard.”
Michael glares at Max. “Why would you tell her that?”
Max shrugs, completely unashamed. “You used the L-word, man.”
“Yeah, about dick!” Michael says, way too loud. Several people around them turn to stare at him, and an older lady in an ugly yellow sweater at the table next to them literally gasps.
“Stop scandalising the locals with your disaster bisexual energy,” Isobel says, also too loudly. Michael is pretty sure that the lady at the next table is going to have a literal stroke if they keep this up.
“I’m not the disaster bisexual, you’re the disaster bisexual!” Michael hisses, which is patently untrue, and Isobel knows it.
“Yeah, okay,” she says. “What are you going to do about the pretty boy who keeps showing up at your doorstep and then running away?”
“Nothing,” Michael says. “It isn’t a relationship, Iz, okay? He doesn’t want more from me, I’m not gonna push him.”
“He does, though,” Isobel insists. “Michael. People don’t get jealous over fuckbuddies they don’t care about.”
“Sure they do,” Michael says. “Sometimes wires get crossed.”
“Nah,” Max says. “Dude was glaring at me, man, c’mon.”
“You have a very glare-able face,” Michael insists.
“Men. You’re all so stupid.”
“I know,” Michael says agreeably. “Now can we please just eat our omelets and stop scarring the general public?”
“Fine,” Isobel says. “But this is not over.”
It’s not over, because Alex is apparently Michael’s drug – he’s addicted. And not just to the press of his hands on his skin, no. It’s just Alex. Alex, who laughs into kisses, scrunching his nose up. Alex, and the way that he speaks, sometimes – ending sentences low and serious when Michael would have ended them on an exclamation mark. Alex and his quiet confidence.
Michael might be falling for him, ass over teakettle. And Michael isn’t exactly boyfriend material. He doesn’t fall for people.
Especially since Alex keeps pulling away.
The Thursday after the disaster bisexual brunch with Isobel and Max, Michael spends an enjoyable afternoon making out with Alex in the bed of his shitbox truck, parked out in the desert. They don’t just make out, though – Alex leans his head on Michael’s chest and they chat about stupid shit: Michael’s feud with the other most brilliant person in his biology class; Alex’s obsession with this disgusting banana milkshake from the campus café; the latest ridiculous pretentious book that Max insists Michael would love.
It’s so fucking nice. Michael loves the making out, obviously, and yes, he loves the dick, too. But he really loves this Thursday afternoon, just being here with this boy in the sunshine. He could do without all the sex stuff, even, if he had to, which is fucking unprecedented. It’s unbelievably sappy, but Michael just likes him.
And that Thursday afternoon? It sure seems like Alex likes him, too. He falls asleep on Michael out there in the middle of nowhere, curled up on Michael’s chest like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. It’s a lot of trust from the most guarded guy he’s ever met.
But Isobel is right – Alex does keep knocking on Michael’s door and running away. After that sun-drenched afternoon, Michael gets radio silence for nearly a week. Eventually, after his teasing text gets no response for days and days, he breaks the cardinal rule and double-texts.
Michael: you alive, dude?
Nothing. Nada. No fucking response.
And he can’t do anything about it – they have no classes together, no shared friends, and Michael doesn’t even know where the guy lives. It’s somewhere off-campus, he’s pretty sure, for accessibility reasons? But that’s all he’s got. So again, everything is on Alex’s terms, and Michael is getting a little tired of this push-and-pull dance.
“Why are you moping?” Dallas pushes him in the side of the head. He’s been destroying Michael at darts, and even Michael can admit that he’s been a little spacey.
"I'm not moping," Michael protests anyways. "You're moping because Maria isn't working."
But Dallas isn't buying it. "Oh, no, Guerin, you're not changing the subject on me. It’s no fun kicking your ass if your head’s not in it.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Michael cracks his neck. “Little preoccupied, I guess.”
“Yeah?” Dallas looks at him for a moment, and then, with his usual nonchalance, he says, “So. What’s their name?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael says, but Dallas is annoyingly emotionally perceptive, and he sees through that bullshit no problem.
Michael met Dallas on his first day of classes at UNM. He’d been sitting in the back row of his musical history elective, and Dallas had seemingly seen him slouching all alone and decided that he needed a friend. And Michael hadn’t wanted a friend, but Dallas was a persistently kind motherfucker, and he had a similar background to Michael on top of that. He was an unfailingly steady person: Michael could throw a tantrum right in his direction and he would just weather the storm. Michael probably doesn’t deserve him.
And, look – Michael doesn’t have many friends here, really. He doesn’t have many friends, period. There’s Liz Ortecho, who keeps him on his toes during every biology class. She's a science whiz, a truly brilliant person who makes class more challenging in the best way. Their semi-playful rivalry could probably be considered a friendship. And there’s Maria, the object of Dallas's embarrassing crush, who works at the bar they frequent. She's great - Michael likes her almost as much as Dallas does. She always remembers Michael’s order, has a sharp sense of humour, and is always down to help him poke fun at the other regulars. But everyone else he’s met here is an acquaintance at best. Dallas is the truest friend he’s managed to find, maybe ever. Someone who feels like family.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” he says. “Somebody’s got you fucked up. Come on, who is it?”
Michael sighs explosively. Fine. “His name is Alex,” he says. And then, somehow, the whole story comes tumbling out.
“You need to communicate, man,” Dallas says. “Clearly he’s going through his own stuff, and he’s icing you out a bit, but if you want a little more effort, then you have to tell him that.”
Michael sighs. “I don’t know, man,” he says. “I mean, the sex is good.”
“But you want more,” Dallas says. They’ve migrated to a booth, and Michael is slumping over his beer.
“I mean…” He picks at the label. “I’m not really the boyfriend type.”
“Guerin.” Dallas chucks him on the bicep with a fist. “Sure you are. I think if you find someone you care about, you could be great at the whole relationship thing.”
Michael’s not sure about that, but Dallas is pretty good at giving sound advice. “I don’t know,” he says again. “I like him, you know? But it’s like you said – he’s working through something, and I don’t know if it’s worth it putting myself out there if I’m just going to lose him.”
The look that Dallas gives him is too knowing for Michael’s peace of mind. “You’re just hurting yourself like this,” he says quietly.
“Nah,” Michael says, but it feels hollow. “When have you ever known me not to be good with casual sex?”
“Hey, there’s a first time for everything." And that's honestly fair enough.
But Michael is not exactly known for following his friends’ advice. So when Alex finally messages him a few days later, it only takes a few hours before Michael is gripping his headboard with one hand as Alex absolutely fucks him into the mattress.
Alex, as usual, has one hand attached to his curls, and he’s getting him so good on every thrust that Michael is on the edge of tears. He has no words, just these pitiful little whines that keep getting punched out from the back of his throat.
“I know, baby, I know,” Alex murmurs, but he slows his pace down again, keeping him from tumbling over the edge, and Michael has to close his eyes against the onslaught of feelings rolling through his chest. It’s too much.
Over the past couple of years, he’s had a lot of good sex, a lot of fun sex, and even some weirdly emotional sex. But this? Michael doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He has his eyes squeezed shut against the crook of his arm, but the tears are escaping anyways, and when Alex clutches him to his chest and finally lets him come, he feels scraped raw with the strength of it.
It’s good. It’s so good. Even the crying feels perversely good – cathartic, somehow. He lets it all just run through him, helpless.
“Are you okay?” Alex says the second that he sees his face, sounding stricken. He’s arranged them so that Michael is curled into his chest, and now he thumbs at the moisture on his cheeks, eyebrows drawn down in the center, worried. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No,” Michael murmurs honestly, swiping at his eyes. “No, ‘m sorry. This has never happened before.”
“It’s okay,” Alex says softly. “Come on, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Michael says, tucking his face into the skin of Alex’s throat. “That was just… it was a lot.”
Alex is stroking the bare skin of his back, soft and soothing, and that is also a lot. He feels wrung out and fragile, but not necessarily in a bad way. He’s not really sure what to do with any of it. “Okay,” Alex says softly, pressing his lips to the top of Michael’s head. “Do you want some water? Or do you want to sleep?”
Water sounds nice, but also Michael would rather not let Alex go. “Sleep,” he says. There’s a blotchy bruise standing out against the pale skin of Alex’s bicep, and Michael traces the edge with a fingertip. Alex shivers.
“Yeah, we can sleep, baby,” he says. He keeps up with the soothing strokes down Michael’s back, and soon enough Michael finds himself lulled into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Alex is still there when he wakes up, combing his fingers gently through Michael’s curls, massaging his scalp. “You stayed,” he croaks, blinking up at him.
Alex frowns slightly. “Of course I did,” he says, like that should be obvious. And Michael knows, knows, that Dallas was right, and that he should talk to Alex about what the hell it is they’re doing here before he manages to get himself hurt. But sitting here, Alex’s fingers in his hair, he can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t want to lose this.
Alex is extra attentive the next few days, texting Michael throughout the day, checking in in a way that feels excessive, knocking on his dorm room door at random times. It would be sweet, if it weren’t the most attention Alex has ever given him. If it weren’t all for a stupid reason that makes Michael chafe under the weight of his pity. “You really don’t have to treat me like I’m on the verge of a breakdown,” Michael snaps eventually. “People cry during sex sometimes. It’s not exactly an unusual phenomenon.”
Alex just looks at him from where he’s standing in Michael’s doorway. “Alright,” he says. “I just thought we could hang out, but if you’re gonna snap at me...”
Michael raises his eyebrows. “When have you ever come here to hang out ?” he says, still irritated.
“We hang out all the time.”
“Come on, Alex,” Michael says. He’s snapping again.
“I’m going,” Alex says, stepping back, hands in the air. He sounds pissed, and Michael isn’t sure what the fuck he thinks he has to be pissed about. “I’ve got it.”
Michael is more irritated and out of sorts than ever when he shuts the door. “Fuck, man,” he murmurs, kicking out roughly at his dresser. He hates this, not knowing what the fuck Alex is thinking, not being brave enough to nut up and ask. And more than anything, he hates being treated like he’s fragile. He’s a grown-ass man – he can cry during sex. That’s allowed. He’s not going to break.
They cool it off for a little while after that. Michael doesn’t hear from Alex for days, and he doesn’t reach out either. It’s so fucking stupid, though, because he misses him. It’s only been a few days, and he was pissed at the guy, but he still misses him.
Michael is unbelievably fucked up over Alex Manes. He has no idea how things have gotten to this point.
“You’re being a pussy,” Isobel informs him over brunch. It’s the same fucking place as before – Michael is pretty sure that the old lady who gasped at him last time is here again, sitting three tables away, wearing the same stupid yellow sweater.
“Fuck off,” Michael says. “Aren’t you not supposed to say that shit? Usually you’re all – vagina power! – you know?”
Isobel swats at him. “It’s a figure of speech. Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not!” Michael says.
Isobel looks at him like he’s incurably stupid. “You are avoiding the conversation with me just like you are avoiding the conversation with him. Nut up!”
Michael kicks her under the table and stuffs his face with toast so he doesn’t have to answer. But Isobel just waits him out, and Michael has been in enough standoffs with his sister to realize that he’s going to end up losing every time. “Fine,” he sighs, finally. “It’s just… he isn’t really doing anything wrong.”
“He doesn’t have to be doing anything wrong to be hurting you, Michael.”
“God.” Michael drags a hand down his face. “I don’t know why everyone keeps saying that. I’m not hurt.”
“Okay,” Isobel says, like she doesn’t believe him. “But you’re not communicating. It’s not fair to him or you to let him keep crossing boundaries he doesn’t even know are there.”
Michael drops his head to the table, bangs it against the wood a couple of times for good measure. “I hate talking,” he whines.
“Suck it up,” Isobel grins, patting his curls condescendingly. “This is how you have an adult relationship, little brother.”
“How would you know,” Michael pouts, peeking up from the table.
“I am very wise in the ways of relationships,” Isobel grins. “And also, I dated Anatsa for like six months.”
Michael rolls his eyes and snags another piece of toast. If he’s going to be miserable, at least the food is good.
And look, the thing is, Michael knows that they’re all right: Dallas and Isobel and even Max. He’s not communicating, he needs to set boundaries, he needs to talk to the man before he drags himself over the coals. But he also knows himself, and he knows that he hates talking. And he knows that he doesn’t want to fuck things up.
But he does have Isobel’s voice ringing in his head, screaming Nut up! And so eventually, he goes home and he stares at Alex’s contact in his phone until the screen goes dark.
And then he hits call.
“Hello?” Alex’s voice is quiet, a little rough. Michael smiles at the sound of it, which is so unbelievably sappy he wants to smack himself in the face.
“Uh, hey!” he says.
“Are you okay?” Alex is so quiet he’s almost whispering.
“Yeah?” Michael blinks. “Yeah, man, I’m good, why?”
“Oh, sorry,” Alex says. “It’s just, I don’t think you’ve ever actually called me before.”
“Right.” This is not going as smoothly as Michael might have imagined. “Look, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for snapping at you. I didn’t want you treating me like I was fragile, but I probably could have expressed that a little less uh… less like an angry wasp.”
Alex snorts softly. “It’s fine,” he says. “I promise I wasn’t trying to make you feel fragile. You just kind of worried me, and I guess I let my protective instincts get the best of me.”
And – god, Michael doesn’t know what is going on in his chest. Michael still isn’t used to anybody trying to protect him. “Okay,” he says, hoping his voice comes out normal. “Thank you. I, uh – do you want to hang out? We could get dinner, there’s a pretty good Indian place down the street.” He smacks a hand over his eyes – this is so fucking embarrassing. Usually Michael is smooth. What is Alex Manes doing to him?
“Oh,” Alex says, “yeah, that would –” There’s a distant sound on the other end, and Alex goes completely silent mid-sentence.
“You okay?” Michael says, after the silence drags a beat too long.
There’s another short silence, and then Alex says, “Yeah.” He sounds strange.
Michael blinks. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Alex says again. “Look, uh – It’s not a good time. We can grab food some other time?” He sounds almost robotic, like a switch has been flipped, and Michael feels a little out of sorts.
“Uh –” he stutters. “Yeah, yeah. Sure, babe.” He doesn’t know why he says it – it slips out, like it’s something he uses with Alex all the time.
“Okay,” Alex says, in that same short, emotionless tone. “I’ve gotta go, bye.”
“Bye,” Michael says, but the line is already dead.
Alex turns up two nights later, knocking on Michael’s door without warning. They’ve been texting since their weird, aborted phone call, but not much – just short messages that don’t touch on anything important. Alex has been distant, but Michael is nearly positive that something is going on with him, so he’s doing his best not to take that distance personally.
“Are you okay?” Michael asks. Alex looks tired – exhausted, really, with dark circles under his eyes, hair flattened to his head. And Michael isn’t dumb – this is yet another sign that something serious in Alex’s personal life is majorly influencing his behaviour, like the way he gets jumpy sometimes and is guarded about his personal information, and that abrupt, cut-off phone call. He likes to think that Alex knows that he can trust him with anything, but then: Michael still hasn’t even seen his apartment.
Baby steps.
“I’m fine,” Alex says, but he accompanies that obvious lie with a gentle touch to Michael’s bicep, like an apology. And then, to Michael’s surprise, he adds, “I missed you.”
Michael’s breath literally catches. “I missed you, too,” he says, ducking his head.
Alex holds up the takeout bag in his hand. “I went to that Indian place you mentioned? I thought maybe we could take it to eat in the desert, but the weather kind of disagrees.”
Michael glances to the window, where rain is pelting against the glass. “Yeah,” he says, “don’t really need a shower at the moment.”
Alex smiles, one of those sweet ones that crinkle up his nose. “Did you want to eat here?” he asks. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a bunch of stuff.”
They eat cross-legged on Michael’s shitty twin bed, the massive spread of takeout between them. It’s the easiest things have ever been between them, grinning at each other over Michael’s shitty plaid bedspread, the steady drumbeat of the rain pressing in around them, a cozy background track. Alex talks about the music class he’s taking, the songwriting project he’s been digging his teeth into, the latest sci-fi show that he’s obsessed with. Michael squirrels away every morsel of information as they come, lets loose some tidbits of his own: the guitar he stole from the foster brother who used to beat the shit out of him, the way he’d played it until the strings were broken. He wishes he still had it, but he hadn’t been able to afford the replacements, and when you’re a teenager living out of your truck, there comes a point when dragging around a broken guitar becomes more sad than anything else.
“We should play together, sometime,” Alex says, soft like he’s nervous.
And Michael has never played for anybody before, but he smiles at Alex’s big brown hopeful eyes and says, “I’d like that.”
They don’t fuck, that night, just make out for a little while on top of the comforter like teenagers, until Alex literally yawns into Michael’s mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Michael grins, pulling back enough to look down at him. “Am I boring you?”
Alex tucks his laugh into Michael’s neck. “Sorry,” he says. “I haven’t slept well the last couple of days.”
“S’okay,” Michael says, lips brushing the soft hair at the crown of his head. “We can just sleep.”
Alex blinks, eyelashes brushing the skin of Michael’s throat. “I should probably go home,” he says, but he sounds hesitant.
“Mm,” Michael hums, but he doesn’t let him go, and Alex doesn’t make any move to leave. If anything, he snuggles closer, breath warm against Michael’s skin.
They don’t talk, just breathe together, chest to chest. Eventually Alex’s breathing evens out, and Michael realizes he’s fallen asleep, right there in his arms. There are a shit-ton of emotions rolling in his chest, as he trails his fingertips up and down the other boy’s spine. Like: yes, Alex is always keeping him at arm's length, but then he has moments like this where his guard is completely down, where he’s sleeping against Michael’s skin, sweet and calm and still.
It’s something, at least. This entire day has been something, this boy showing up with food, letting Michael in on the details of his life, falling asleep in his arms. It makes him think that maybe, maybe Alex is in deep with this thing, just as much as Michael is.
But there’s still just this wall up around him, this impenetrable fortress that Michael doesn’t know how to tackle. And he’s seeing flashes through the clouds, but he’s not sure if he can get anywhere unless Alex decides to hand Michael the key.
***
Alex: [Image Attached]
Alex: Reminded me of you
Michael: you callin me a dog, manes?
Alex: Nah
Alex: It’s the curls. Youre practically a poodle
Michael: awww
Michael: i wish i had a dog, man
Alex: Oh yeah?
Alex: I always wanted one, but we werent allowed
Michael: quick, kidnap that poodle, we can raise it together
Alex: Can’t, Ive got class
Alex: Ill leave the dog-napping to you
***
Michael: bringing home that indian place, should i get some for u?
Alex: Yeah I was gonna come by after class
Michael: sweet ill get you that good shit
Alex: 💙
***
Alex: Hey, I’m outside
Michael: getting out of class in a couple mins
Michael: be there in like 10
Alex: No I mean I’m outside the Eng building
Michael blinks at his phone, everybody packing their shit up around him. His heart is pounding in his chest – Alex has never done anything like this before, has never sought him out outside of the dorm. His gut-reaction is fear – something must be wrong.
He finds Alex leaning against the wall, eyes closed, face turned up towards the sunlight. “Hey,” Michael says, as he pulls even with him. “What are you doing here? You okay?”
Alex blinks his eyes open with a laugh. “I’m fine,” he smiles. “I had a meeting with my comp sci group next door, figured I’d walk you home.”
“Oh!” Michael blinks. “Okay, sure, great.”
Alex laughs at him a little. “Michael,” he says, sounding fond. “Why do you look like you were expecting someone to have died?”
Michael tries to shake it off. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess growing up if people showed up when I didn’t expect them, it was usually bad news.”
Alex’s face softens. “Sorry,” he says, pushing off the wall and skimming his fingertips down Michael’s bicep, comforting. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Michael shakes his head. “No, you’re fine.” He gives him a smile, aiming for normal. “This is all me, you’re fine.”
It happens a couple more times, Alex showing up at Michael’s classes to walk him home. Michael would love to return the favour, but Alex is never very specific about what classes he’s in and where. Still, it’s nice, walking out of a classroom and finding Alex there waiting for him. They still haven’t had any kind of talk about what exactly they’re doing here, but when Michael walks out of another class to find Alex’s smile waiting for him, he feels like he can’t possibly be reading things wrong.
***
“Guerin.” Liz Ortecho grins at him from the front row of their biology classroom. Her hair is up, today, and she’s practically vibrating with excitement in her seat.
Michael, sitting right behind her, as always, kicks at her chair. “Ortecho.”
“Are you ready to concede defeat?” she grins, raising her eyebrows loftily.
“When hell freezes over,” Michael says.
They’re getting their midterms back today, and at this point the two of them are neck in neck in grades. They’ve been competing over their grades ever since the first class, when it became clear that the two of them were head and shoulders above the rest of the riffraff in this first year class.
He likes Liz. She’s intense and has a kind of manic energy about schoolwork that he just truly cannot relate to, but he likes her. Their stupid little competition has made this class entirely bearable, despite the fact that Michael already knows most of the material.
Their biology professor is a man with a beaky nose and sandy orange hair, and he reluctantly tolerates their antics – Michael is pretty sure he only lets them get away with their shit because they’re his two best students, and also because Liz Ortecho seems constitutionally incapable of not being the teacher’s pet. He hands their midterms back at the end of the class, and Liz is practically vibrating in the row in front of him. Michael kicks at her chair again. He’s got his own midterm in his hands already – Guerin being well ahead of Ortecho – but Liz had given him a death glare that has him sitting here, booklet still closed between his fingertips. When her booklet comes her way, Liz snatches it up with fervor. “On three!” she says, turning all the way around in her chair. “One, two –”
Michael rips his booklet open at nearly the same moment Liz does.
“Hah!” she yells, stabbing a finger at the red 97% on her paper. “Beat that, Mikey!”
Michael rolls his eyes. “Mikey?” he repeats incredulously. His own 95.5% glares up at him from the page. “I’ll get you back on the final,” he promises. “You were lucky this time.”
Liz laughs. “Nothing to do with luck,” she says.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes as they move to leave, trotting up the stairs together towards the door.
Michael is busy digging around in his backpack, putting his test away, so it takes him completely off guard when Liz stops dead just outside the door and says, “Alex?”
Michael’s head snaps up. “Alex!” he says. And then he blinks, frowning at Liz. “Wait – you two know each other?”
“Hi, Liz,” Alex says softly.
“Are you –” Liz stutters worse than Michael has ever heard from her, flustered. “How are you? How’s your… your leg?”
“Doing better,” Alex says. That catches him off guard – he’s not using his crutches today. Michael has never heard him bring up the prosthetic to anybody, and he doubts Liz Ortecho has had the pleasure of seeing him naked, so Michael has no idea how she even knows about it.
“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” This is painfully awkward – Liz is acting almost guilty, although Michael can’t imagine why the hell she would be.
“I’m okay,” Alex says. “I’m actually just here for Michael.”
Liz’s eyes snap back to Michael like she’s just remembered that he’s here, too. “Oh!” she says, eyebrows going up in surprise, and then – “Oh, okay! Uh, I’ll leave you to it.” She’s clearly realized the nature of their relationship, and Alex surprises him by reaching out and skimming his fingers down Michael’s arm, linking their fingers together in confirmation.
“It was good to see you,” Alex says, soft and earnest and sincere.
Liz says, “Yeah,” in a matching tone, and then she turns abruptly and walks away.
Alex squeezes Michael’s fingers before dropping his grip. Michael misses his warmth immediately. He shoves his hands deep in his hoodie pocket so he isn’t tempted to reach back out. “How was class?” Alex says, voice strained with forced levity.
“Ortecho beat me on our midterm,” Michael says, as they start to amble their way down the path. As usual, they seem to be migrating their way towards the dorm through some unspoken agreement. “How do you guys know each other?”
Alex looks away, gaze drifting towards the big oak tree in the courtyard. “We went to school together,” he says distantly. “I’ve known the Ortechos almost all my life.”
“Wow.” Michael blinks. “That’s a bit of a mindfuck for me, I’ve gotta say.”
“Oh yeah?” He sounds… off. The tone of his voice kind of reminds Michael a little of the weird robotic tone from their phone call the other day. “Why’s that?”
“I dunno,” Michael shrugs. “Just – Liz is my weird class rival, and you’re my… you. I mean, worlds are colliding here.”
Alex laughs. That’s a good sign. “You know, I didn’t realize that your biology enemy was Liz Ortecho, but in retrospect, it makes so much sense.”
They manage to keep a light, joking conversation going on the walk back to Michael’s room, although Alex still seems a little shaken by seeing Liz. What kind of history is percolating there? It’s gotta be something – both of them were acting totally strange.
When they’re back in the familiar territory of Michael’s room, Michael leans himself up against the desk, pulling Alex in to stand in the cradle of his knees. “Hi,” he says, bringing him in with his fingertips on the smooth slope of his jaw, lips meeting for a sweet kiss hello. They stay there for a moment, until Alex suddenly draws back with a frown on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “Did I just out you to Liz?”
Michael draws back, surprised. “What?”
“God, I’m an ass. I can’t believe I just grabbed you like that –”
“Alex.” Michael touches his shoulders, trying to be soothing. “It’s fine. I don’t – I mean, I guess I’ve never told her? I don’t know, I might have mentioned it in passing, like, hooking up with a guy or something, I’m not sure.” He catches Alex’s gaze, looks at him earnestly. “Hey: I don’t care. It’s not a secret.”
Alex’s face does something strange, a twitch of emotion covered so quickly that Michael can’t quite read it – almost wistful. “Right,” he says. “Sorry, ignore me. This has been a weird day.”
“Okay.” Michael rubs his shoulders soothingly again. He doesn’t really know what to do: Michael is not a comforting person. He knows this about himself. There’s a moment of awkward silence, and then Michael thinks fuck it and just kisses him.
Things devolve from there, as they tend to do with them.
Michael holds him close, afterwards, buries his nose in his hair and breathes him in. He has no idea how to be comforting, but he hopes, at least, that Alex feels more at ease than he did before.
“Can I tell you something?” Alex says out of nowhere, face tucked close to the vulnerable skin of Michael’s throat.
Michael can’t see much of him, can’t see the expression on his face at all. “Okay,” he says, neutral, playing his fingers down the knobs of Alex’s spine.
“I was in a car crash,” Alex says into the darkness.
Michael sits with that for a second, files the information away with all the other things he knows about Alex. “Is that how you lost your leg?”
He feels more than sees Alex’s nod. “I was in the car with these girls,” he says. “Liz’s older sister, Rosa Ortecho, she was my friend. She was driving, but the other girls in the car were wasted. One of them tried to climb into the front seat, and Rosa, she – she lost control.”
“Sounds scary,” Michael says, soft. He’s pretty sure this is where he’s supposed to say something like I’m sorry , but he can’t imagine that Alex would actually want to hear it. It’s the kind of stupid thing you say when there are no other words.
“I don’t remember most of it,” Alex says. “But I was the only one who made it out of that car alive.”
Jesus.
What a thing to learn. What a thing to survive, losing a leg and a friend in one fell swoop, but still expected to feel lucky to be alive. Michael can barely fathom it. And of course – of course, this explains the strange vibe with Liz: both she and Alex must look at each other and see the worst day of their lives, see everything they both lost, a ghost standing between them. Michael is surprised that they managed to speak with each other at all.
He tugs Alex in closer against him. “You’re a survivor,” he says softly.
Alex makes a soft sound that Michael doesn’t know how to interpret. “Sometimes I’m not so sure that’s a good thing,” he finally says, voice so quiet that the words almost get lost in Michael’s skin.
“Alex,” Michael says. His voice sounds raw – he feels raw. Scraped thin and shaky. “It’s incredible.”
Alex doesn’t answer, and – shit, was that the wrong thing to say? It was, wasn’t it, and now Michael has just gone and made everything worse. Just when he’s opening his mouth to apologize, Alex shifts, and says, “Sometimes I just wish there wasn’t anything to survive. You know? I don’t want to have to… endure things all the time.” Michael isn’t sure if they’re only talking about a car accident, anymore. “I just want to live.”
“I get that,” Michael says, because he does. Oh, he does. He used to wake up every morning in high school, back aching from the hard surface of the truck bed against his back, shivering from the bite of the cold overnight air, and he used to think: when is it going to get better? As a seven year old kid, he watched Isobel and Max be taken away from him, watched person after person walk into the group home and walk out again without choosing him. He used to bike out to the desert where they’d been found, sit on a fence and wonder when his family was going to come back for him, would shiver in the cold, nursing a painful kernel of hope that he never managed to kill. Every day in the group home was a game of survival – every shitty, abusive home, every family stretched too thin to let him borrow a scrap of love or affection… He gets it. Michael Guerin is an expert in endurance. He just maybe hadn’t realised that Alex Manes was an expert, too. “And I know that it doesn’t count for much, but in my experience, eventually whatever you’re surviving? It ends. And then you wake up one day and you’re not fighting for every breath anymore.”
Alex breathes, a deep, shuddering movement that shakes against Michael’s skin. “You’re probably right,” he says finally. “It just feels like it’s going to be like this forever.”
And they’re definitely not talking about the car crash anymore. Michael wants to ask: wants to beg Alex to let him help, let him ease whatever it is that’s constantly pressing down on his shoulders. Michael wants to take some of the weight. He wants to let him take a breath. But he also doesn’t want to push him too far too fast.
“It won’t,” he promises instead. And he presses his lips to the sweaty skin of Alex’s forehead, soft and sweet.
“It’s strange,” Alex says, clearing his throat a little. “I haven’t seen Liz since she left town. I knew she and Maria were going here, too, but I just… wasn’t sure they would want to see me.”
“Maria?” Michael asks. “Maria DeLuca?”
Alex tilts his head up to look at him. “Yeah,” he says. “You know her?”
“Yeah,” Michael laughs a little, disbelieving. “Shit, we were like, one mutual friend away from meeting this whole time, huh?”
Alex smiles, this shaky little thing. “Meant to be,” he says.
They spend the rest of the night together, doing homework side by side. It’s a quiet night – they don’t talk much. But somehow it isn’t stilted or awkward at all: just comfortable. Michael tinkers with a broken watch that Max asked him to fix, and Alex settles next to him with headphones, lilting sideways until he finally gives in and lies his head in Michael’s lap. It’s all so gut-wrenchingly domestic that Michael doesn’t really know what to do with any of it. It barely feels real. He keeps waiting for Alex to stand up and leave – to retreat back to his apartment, to take some space. After such a draining emotional conversation, Michael wouldn’t even blame him. But he never does. He stays. And when Michael is getting ready for bed, he looks at him, says, “You staying?” as casually as he can manage, and Alex nods.
Michael could get used to this, he thinks, as he settles into the warm circle of Alex’s arms in his tiny fucking twin bed. It’s a dangerous thought, but he really, really could. And it’s starting to seem like he might get the chance to.
Alex does make his retreat, eventually. He’s quiet, the next day – leaves pretty early, and doesn’t text much. But he does text – that’s something. Michael just does his best to make sure that Alex knows that he’s here for him, but he lets him have his space.
He gets a text the next day, early.
Alex: Hey, my dad is in town this weekend
Alex: I might not be able to see you much
Objectively speaking, it’s a totally normal and mundane message to receive, but it still feels like progress. It’s progress, that Alex is giving him a warning about his absence, that Michael isn’t going to be left wondering in the wake of an empty silence. It makes Michael’s chest warm in a way that he’s beginning to associate purely with Alex Manes.
Michael: ok 💙
Michael: ill miss u
Alex: Me too
Alex: 🖤
After a whole weekend of minimal contact, Alex rolls back into Michael’s room on Monday night like a hurricane. There’s clearly something bothering him, because he’s all stormy and closed-off, energy sizzling under his skin. “Hey,” Michael greets him, as Alex comes in and tugs off his sweater, laying it on the back of Michael’s chair. “You wanna order some food, or did you eat?” Michael just finished devouring some roast beef in the caf, but hey – he can always eat again.
Alex responds to the question by stepping into Michael’s space and kissing him breathless.
“Hello to you, too,” Michael murmurs when Alex finally lets him breathe.
“Hi,” Alex says, with a ghost of a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Michael caresses Alex’s chest, just to touch. “Are you okay?” he asks. Because he doesn’t look okay – he looks upset.
“I’m fine.”
Alright, okay, not in the mood to talk. That’s okay. In an ideal world, Michael would like to talk to him about whatever the fuck is going on, but if what Alex needs is to work this out non-verbally, then Michael is also here for that. He’s happy to be here for that.
“I don’t have much time today,” Alex says, which is disappointing, after not seeing him all weekend, but whatever. Michael can deal.
“Okay,” Michael says. “That’s fine, man.” He gets another kiss for his trouble, fierce and burning.
“You don’t have any classes tonight, do you?” Alex asks, eyes dark.
“No,” Michael breathes.
“Good.” The praise zings down Michael’s spine, lighting him up. He tongues at his lower lip, and Alex’s gaze zeroes in on the movement, magnetized. He brings up a hand to thumb at it, and Michael drops his mouth open, closes his lips around it. “Such a pretty mouth,” Alex murmurs. “Let’s put it to good use, hm?”
“Please,” Michael says.
“Oh, good,” Alex says softly, and Michael’s eyelids flutter. “Begging so pretty, and I didn’t even have to ask.”
Over the past few months, Michael has discovered that he really loves it when Alex gets like this, pushy and authoritative. It gets him so fucking hot, makes him feel needy in all the best ways. He lavishes his tongue over the pad of his thumb, looks up at him from under his lashes, tries to beg with his eyes.
“On your knees for me,” Alex orders, drawing his thumb back, and Michael is dropping down without a second thought. “Perfect.”
Michael lets that perfect settle into his spine, sits there with his hands on his thighs and waits.
“Do you know,” Alex muses, working at his belt with one hand and tangling the other in Michael’s curls, “how pretty you are?” Michael makes a scoffing sound in his throat, half of a choked-off laugh. “Hey, no,” Alex says, “none of that. You’re fucking gorgeous like this.”
And – look, fine. If Alex is going to insist on saying things like that to him, well then, maybe Michael can allow himself to enjoy it. Can let the reverent tone of Alex’s voice slide into his chest, light him up from the inside out.
“Beautiful boy.” He thumbs at Michael’s lower lip. “Open.”
And Michael isn’t usually one to be called obedient, but there’s something about the way that Alex settles him like this. He lets his eyelids fall closed and his jaw fall open, and all he has to do is take what Alex gives him. Alex feeds him his cock, and Michael lets himself be used.
It’s fuckin’... heavenly. Michael has never had sex like this before. It’s strange, sometimes, to think about, but sleeping with men and women is usually not that different, for Michael. Well – it’s different in the way that every individual person is different, likes different things, has a different energy to them. But it’s the same in that often, in his sex life up to this point, Michael has been expected to take the lead, no matter what gender his partner is. And generally speaking, he’s happy to do so – it comes naturally to him, pressing someone down into the mattress, hitching their legs around his hips, making them feel good. He likes that. And they do it that way around, too, him and Alex – they’re very flexible. Michael has never seen anything more beautiful than Alex Manes beneath him, looking up at him with desperate brown eyes. But sometimes – more often than not, Alex will lay Michael down and systematically take him apart, and Michael loves it. He can’t fucking get enough. Alex gets him out of his head, gets him to this space where everything is quiet, where he can just be.
Michael closes his eyes. Everything is quiet, now – everything in Michael’s brain has narrowed down to the feeling of Alex’s cock in his throat, the stretch of his lips, the fingers in his hair. Michael doesn’t have to think, like this. All he has to do is make Alex feel good. And that’s one thing he knows he can do.
Alex keeps up a steady stream of dirty talk, praise and filth in almost equal measure, every word riling Michael up further until he’s grinding into his own hand, getting off on the cock between his lips and Alex’s filthy fucking mouth.
“God,” Alex gasps, fingers yanking at Michael’s curls in a way that sends delicious shivers up his spine. “So good for me. Look at you. You love this, don’t you? Like you were fucking made for it.”
Michael pulls off desperately, leans his forehead against the hollow of Alex’s hip, and comes in his pants like he’s fucking 15 again.
“Holy shit,” Alex breathes, a sharp grin taking over his features. “Michael. Baby.”
Michael can’t even be embarrassed about it, is the thing, too focused on the way that Alex is clearly right at the edge. He drags his head away from Alex’s skin, brings up his hand to work at that perfect dick of his. “C’mon,” he murmurs, looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes. Alex likes that, likes seeing Michael look up at him from his knees.
“You’re perfect,” Alex says, breathing all fucked up the way he always gets just before he comes. “You want it on your face, hm? You want me to mess you up?” At Michael’s nod, he pauses, like he thinks he’s pushing it, and then he says, “Ask nicely.”
And Michael doesn’t miss a beat. “Please,” he begs. “Please.” And then he opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, waiting.
Alex loses it, hand clenching ruthlessly in Michael’s hair, eyes slamming shut. Michael barely has the wherewithal to close his own eyes before Alex’s come is hitting his skin.
“Beautiful,” Alex murmurs, once he’s gotten his breathing back under control. He trails his fingers through the mess on Michael’s skin, reverent. “Come here,” he says finally, tugging Michael up to his feet so he can kiss him.
Eventually, Alex steers Michael over to sit on the edge of the bed, track down some tissues to wipe down his face, clean him up with touches so, so gentle. Michael tilts his head up for it, eyes closed, feeling relaxed down to his bones. Alex takes his time with it, too, touching him for longer than is probably necessary. “Drink this,” he says, handing Michael one of the half-full water bottles that have been populating Michael’s desk.
“Sir, yes sir,” Michael snarks, but he drinks the water. Alex lets out a half-choked laugh at that, sounding pained, for some reason, but he follows it up by pressing soft lips to Michael’s forehead.
“Did you eat?” Michael asks once he’s done drinking, because he hadn’t missed the way that Alex dodged the question earlier.
But Alex is distracted, now, fetching his discarded sweater, not looking Michael in the eyes. “It’s fine,” he says, “I’ll get something later.”
“Going somewhere?” And when that doesn’t get a response: “Alex.”
This can’t be happening. Just when he thought they were finally getting somewhere, he’s being shut out again. Again. Alex is avoiding his eyes, ducking into his sweater as he pulls it over his head. “I have an evening class,” he says.
“Alex.” Michael doesn’t want to beg for a conversation, but he’s getting desperate with this hot and cold.
“I just – I can’t do this right now,” Alex says, shifting towards the door.
“Please,” Michael says, feeling fucking pathetic. “I need you to talk to me, man, or I can’t do this. I really can’t.”
Alex freezes. “What?”
“Look.” Michael steps close enough to skim his hands up Alex’s biceps, coming to rest on his shoulders. “I like you. I really, really do. But I can’t just be sitting here waiting for you to decide if you really want me for more than a good fuck.”
Alex’s eyebrows furrow. “Michael,” he says, sounding almost incredulous. “What are you talking about? You know that you’re more than that.”
“I don’t, Alex!” Michael says, voice climbing. “You don’t talk to me, I have no idea how you feel!”
“Michael,” Alex says, more urgently. “Come on. I’m here almost every night.”
“To fuck, man,” Michael says. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. But I want to… to hold your hand on Main Street, and walk you to class, and watch you drink your disgusting banana milkshake at the café. Right now, it kinda feels like I don’t exist to you outside of this room.”
Alex looks fucking devastated at that. “Baby,” he says, a word that Michael has only ever heard from him in the midst of sex. “You don’t really think that. You can’t really think that.”
Michael closes his eyes, tilts forward to lean their foreheads together. “No, I don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really. But you don’t talk to me, Alex. You gotta talk to me. I’m not a mind reader.”
“I really like you,” Alex says. “I really, really do. Look, there’s a lot of shit going on for me right now, and the concept of actually being with a guy is a bit of a mindfuck, for a lot of reasons. But you’re not just a quick fuck, okay? If I ever make you feel like I’m just… using you? You have to tell me. Because that’s the last thing I want to do.”
“Okay,” Michael says. “But you can talk to me about your shit, too, you know that, right?”
“I know, I just –”
Michael strokes his thumb over the hollow of Alex’s throat, gentle. “It’ll be easier for me to feel that you’re in this if you actually let me in,” he says.
Alex nods, still pressed close, forehead to forehead. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I know, I'm sorry, you’re right.”
“Okay.” Michael follows a deep seated impulse and tilts up to press his lips to Alex’s forehead. “You want to start by telling me why you’re jumping to run out of here?” He tries to make it a suggestion more than a demand, but this is what started this whole mess. He thinks he deserves some kind of explanation.
Alex reaches up, pushes his fingers through Michael’s curls, something else that he’s only ever done when they’re fucking. “My dad came up to campus yesterday,” he says finally. “Let’s just say that he and I don’t have a great relationship.” He pauses, and then shakes his head. “No, actually, he’s an abusive, homophobic dick, and I don’t want you anywhere near him. It makes me anxious hanging around you like this is something that I get to have. I don’t want him to find you if he comes looking for me.”
“Okay,” Michael says, leaning into the gentle fingers on his scalp. “Next time, just tell me that. It’ll make me feel less abandoned if I know you didn’t just come here to fuck my mouth and run out on me.”
Alex gives him an affectionate scratch through his curls. “Never,” he says seriously. “I am so fucking sorry that that was even a thought in your head.”
And Michael’s not sure who moves first, but they’re coming together like magnets, a press of lips so soft and sweet it tugs at something deep in his chest.
“Now that we’re on the same page,” Alex murmurs, pulling back just far enough to speak. “I wasn’t lying, I do actually have a class tonight.”
Michael pouts. “You could skip,” he says, swaying into Alex’s space, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He pushes his tongue against his lower lip, watches his eyes track the movement. “We didn’t even get to the make-up sex.”
Alex raises his eyebrows. “Make-up sex,” he repeats. “Did we fight?”
“We argued,” Michael says. “Come on, man, don’t deprive me. I’ve never had make-up sex before.”
Alex is laughing when he leans in to kiss him. “Alright,” he says against his lips. “Twist my arm.”
“That’s my boy,” Michael grins, and when Alex flushes and laughs, he feels like he’s finally doing something right, here. Alex walks him back with a rough grip on his hips until they’re tripping into Michael’s shitty mattress.
“C’mere, baby,” Alex murmurs. His hands come back up to Michael’s hair, tangling in the curls, using his grip to pull Michael to him.
When Michael pulls Alex’s t-shirt up over his head, he comes face-to-face with a stretch of sickly purple skin. “Holy shit,” he says, stunned. “What happened to you?”
Alex raises his eyebrows. “What do you think?” he says, and Michael’s heart stops.
“Your dad did this to you?”
“I’ve had worse,” Alex shrugs it off. Michael feels a little sick. “Hey –” Alex tilts his chin so he’s looking at his face instead of the bruising. “I’m fine. I don’t want you to… to treat me any different, or –”
Michael kisses him, a gentle press that he lets Alex steer into filthy territory. “Okay,” he says when he pulls back. “You’re fine. I hear you.”
But if he’s extra careful, pressing soft lips to the purpling skin of Alex’s ribs while he’s opening him up, well then, at least Alex is so distracted by Michael’s fingers that he doesn’t seem to notice or care.
This time, Michael gets his afterglow, basking in the warmth of Alex’s skin, the weight of his body where he’s draped all over his chest, the soft contentment that washes over him when Alex noses into the skin of his throat, clingy. Neither of them are moving for a long, long time.
Alex tells him more about his dad, too, haltingly, like he’s afraid he’s going to scare Michael away. “I’m pretty sure he’s having my professors report to him,” he says, sounding tired more than angry. “Like, who I’m talking to, what I’m doing, who my friends are.”
“That’s fucked up,” Michael says. “Is that allowed? Like, is that illegal?”
“It isn’t illegal, I don't think,” he says. “I’m sure he’s very good at presenting it like he’s just concerned about how his disabled son is adjusting.”
Michael wrinkles his nose. “You’re adjusting fine,” he says. “And that shouldn’t have anything to do with your friends and shit.”
“No, I know,” Alex says. “He doesn’t actually care how I’m adjusting, anyways. He’s just trying to catch me doing anything queer so that he can punish me for it.”
Michael can’t help but touch his fingers to the purple skin of Alex’s ribs, the sick outline of what must have been a boot. “God,” he whispers.
“It’s not that bad,” Alex dismisses. “I’ve mostly just been focused on keeping him away from you.”
Michael snaps his gaze away from Alex’s bruised skin to look at his face. “What?” he says. “Who cares about me! You’re the one he’s fucking hurting.”
Alex ignores this completely. “I think he knows I’m seeing someone,” he says. “I’ve been so careful with my phone, but I’m worried he’s going to figure out a way to get access to your number somehow. It’s so stupid of me to be doing this with you in the first place. I’m actively putting you in danger.”
Michael scoffs. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Stop worrying about me, I don’t even know your psycho father. Start worrying about how we can get you out of there.”
This, for some reason, seems to take Alex off guard. “Michael, are you hearing me? He’s dangerous. I hooked up with a guy once in high school, and my father came at him with a hammer.”
“Yeah,” Michael says, “and you’re telling me he has full access to your living space and schedule and maybe even your phone. We need to get you away from him. Can you get a restraining order?’
Alex stares at him, speechless, and it occurs to Michael suddenly that maybe he’s overstepping. “I mean –” he backtracks, but then Alex is leaning forward and cutting him off with his lips for a kiss that’s hard and bruising. “What was that for?” Michael says when he pulls back, breathless.
“You’re not real,” Alex says, sounding reverent. “I fucking made you up.”
Michael snorts. “Very funny, Manes,” he says, but Alex isn’t laughing. “You couldn’t have made me up a less tragic backstory?” he says lightly.
Alex smiles. “Sorry about that,” he plays along.
“I’m serious, though,” Michael says. “What kind of documentation do you need for a restraining order? Do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alex says, face falling back into its solemn set. “He’s high-up in the military, he has a lot of sway with law enforcement. Nobody is going to help me one bit.”
Jesus. What a goddamn tragedy of a situation. “Can you leave?” he suggests instead.
Alex furrows his brow. “He owns the apartment,” he says. “And even if I were to move into the dorms, he’d still know where to find me.”
“Would he follow you?” Michael asks. “Like, say you somehow got your own place – would he follow you? Or would he leave you alone?”
Alex sighs, propping his chin against Michael’s sternum. “I don’t know,” he says. “My brothers all went into the military – none of us have really tried to get away from him.”
Michael strokes back Alex’s sweaty hair. “I didn’t know you had brothers,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Alex has fuck-all for options.
“Yeah,” Alex says. “Three of them. I’m the youngest.”
“Hm,” Michael says. “Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you as the youngest sibling.”
“Yeah, well,” Alex shrugs, “I had to grow up fast.”
And that’s really fair enough. They don’t talk about Alex’s dad much after that, but right before he drifts off to sleep, Michael mumbles, “Hey.”
“Hi,” Alex snuffles sleepily into his bicep.
“I don’t want you worrying about me,” he says. “If he goes after me, I don’t care. I just want to get you safe.”
Alex is silent for a moment, and then he presses his mouth to Michael’s skin. “I really, really like you, you know that?”
“Well that’s good,” Michael says. “Because I kinda plan on keeping you around.”
Alex finds his lips in the dark, a lazy press, sleepy and sweet. “Hey,” he says, when he pulls back. “I want to keep you safe, too. Okay?”
And Michael doesn’t really have a response to that, except to kiss him again.
***
Michael clings to Alex, after that – tries to keep him safely in his dorm room as often as physically possible. “Babe,” Alex says one night, exasperated at the way Michael is literally curled around him in bed, refusing to let go. “Nobody is even at my apartment right now. I can’t keep borrowing your clothes – you don’t have enough to spare as it is.”
And – yes, it’s true that Michael’s wardrobe is wearing a little thin as Alex keeps borrowing things to go to class, but there’s a washing machine down the hall. Michael keeps seeing the purple bruising on Alex’s ribs every time he closes his eyes – it’s making him nervous to let Alex out of his sight. Michael grumbles into the cap of his shoulder, tightening his grip.
“Hey.” Alex turns them enough so that he can look at him properly. “Michael. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
“That doesn’t really reassure me,” Michael mumbles, but eventually he acquiesces. Alex has made it abundantly clear that he can take care of himself, and besides, Michael doesn’t want to be the overbearing boyfriend. If that’s even what they are. Even after all the sappy talk and tragic backstory, they never got around to the whole DTR. The Boyfriend Talk, capital-B, capital-T. But he’s pretty sure. Right?
The worst thing in all of this is that there isn’t much that Michael can do. He can make sure that Alex has a safe space inside his dorm room, but that’s pretty much it. But Michael is a problem-solver – it frustrates him, having nothing to do. Here’s a problem that is actively hurting someone that he cares about, and Michael is being forced to sit at the sidelines and hope. Hope that Alex’s dad doesn’t feel like beating on him today, hope that Alex’s reassurances that his dad has a line are correct.
Alex promises that his father would never go too far, but Michael has a new fear burrowing into his brain every time Alex leaves: he’s always terrified that he’s never gonna see him again. Despite Alex’s assurances, Michael is well familiar with the worst of humanity.
Two days later, Michael is in bio when his phone buzzes against the table, lighting up with a message that fills him with dread.
Alex: Giving you a heads up: my dad is coming down today
Alex: Please don’t worry too much if I go a little MIA
Michael: fuck
Michael: okay
He smacks his head against the desk dully. He feels… he doesn’t know what he feels. His chest is churning – he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to breathe easy until he sees Alex again, whole and unharmed. He’s not sure if that’s something that he’s even gonna get – it’ll be a fucking miracle if Alex is unharmed. Michael feels so fucking hopeless.
Michael: pls check in with me as much as u can?
Alex: I’ll try
And that’s not much. But, Michael reminds himself, it’s better than nothing. More than anything, he just wants Alex to be safe.
“Are you okay?” Liz’s careful voice breaks into Michael’s vague haze of misery.
“Nah,” Michael says, picking his head up enough to look at her. “But when am I ever?”
“Michael,” Liz says softly. Oh good, she’s bringing out the first name – he must look pretty damn pathetic.
Michael sighs. It’s so annoying having people care about him. “It’s Alex,” he says.
Liz’s eyebrows fly up. “Alex?” Her voice is an octave higher than usual. “Is he – is he okay?”
“Yeah,” Michael says. And then – “No. I mean. Look, what do you know about his dad?”
Liz’s expression shifts, and that alone confirms to Michael that she knows enough. “He’s awful,” she says quietly. “Everyone back home acts like he’s some big hero, but he isn’t. I don’t know exactly what he did to Alex, though. He would never tell us.”
Michael makes a vague sound in the back of his throat. Now that he’s embarked on this conversation, he’s realising that he doesn’t actually want to tell Liz all about Alex’s personal business without his consent. “Well, I’m worried about him,” he says. “His dad’s at the apartment today. I’m just –” he breaks off. “I’m worried about him,” he says again.
Liz frowns. “I didn’t know his dad was still coming up here.”
“Yeah,” Michael says sourly, dropping his head down on the desk again. “All the time, apparently.”
“Can he get like, a restraining order or something? He’s eighteen now, right?”
“Yeah,” Michael says. “But Alex says that his dad has all these connections. He says it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“Hm.” Liz has a look on her face. It’s the same look that she gets sometimes in class, when she’s putting all the pieces together. When everybody else is three steps behind.
“What?” Michael says, picking his head up off the table just a little. “What is it?’
“It’s just…” Liz trails off, looking into the middle distance like she’s in a movie or something. “Alex says his dad has connections. What if he’s not the only one?”
***
Kyle Valenti does not make a great first impression.
Now: it is debatable whether he would have ever been able to make a good impression on Michael after the stories Alex had told him. But the guy swaggers into Michael’s dorm room like he’s god’s gift to humanity, like he thinks Liz is jumping to get back together with him, and Michael is annoyed pretty much on-sight. But the second Valenti sees Alex sitting there at the desk, he stops dead.
“Manes,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Kyle,” Alex says.
Michael shifts restlessly where he’s leaning sullenly against the wall, arms crossed. The movement draws Valenti’s attention, and he frowns. “Who the hell is that?” he says, turning to Liz. “Liz, what is this?” For the first time, he seems to take in the room itself, the pastiche of Michael’s walls. “Where is this?”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “But we need your help. Michael’s room seemed like the best option.”
Valenti blinks, gaze rocketing between Liz, Alex and Michael. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“What?” Liz yelps. “No! Why would you think that?”
Michael snorts, and Valenti’s gaze snaps back to him. “Okay, well, do you maybe want to explain why there’s a stranger here who looks like he wants to murder me?”
“The stranger can hear you,” Michael drawls, crossing his legs at the ankle. Every inch of his body feels coiled tight.
“This is Michael,” Liz says. “He’s here for moral support.”
“Well,” Kyle says, telegraphing ‘ex-boyfriend’ with every movement, “your boyfriend doesn’t look very supportive.”
“I’m not her boyfriend,” Michael snaps.
“He’s mine,” Alex says calmly from the desk chair.
Kyle blinks. “What?”
“Michael is my boyfriend,” Alex says, and Michael smiles without meaning to. “And he’s here to support me as I ask my high school bully to do me a favour.”
Kyle seems truly taken aback by this information, which Michael thinks is bizarre. Clearly, it’s not like Alex’s sexuality is a surprise to him. Is it Michael? Michael has been told that he, quote, doesn’t look gay (which: he isn’t.) (And what does a gay person even look like?) But still, the revelation of his sexuality usually doesn’t produce shock like this. Probably the reaction comes from being called Alex’s bully – bullies never seem to see themselves as the problem. Michael has had personal experience with people like that.
“Oh,” Kyle says finally.
Alex snorts. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he says, pushing back from the desk, although he doesn’t get up yet. “Liz, I appreciate you trying.”
“Wait, wait –” Kyle says. “What are you talking about? Why am I here?”
Nobody moves, and nobody speaks. Liz is looking at Alex – this is Alex’s story, and clearly she doesn’t want to say anything without his go-ahead. Michael looks at Alex, too – looks at the way that his shoulders are tight and his knuckles are white where he’s gripping the edge of the desk. He doesn’t want to do this. Michael doesn’t really want to do this, either. But more than anything, he doesn’t want to watch Alex go back to that apartment. He doesn’t want to find any more bruises on his boyfriend’s skin.
“Alex,” he says quietly, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. He doesn’t care about anyone else, though – he cares about Alex, and so he holds Alex’s gaze, letting him read whatever it is that’s on his face.
Alex makes a soft, irritated noise in the back of his throat, but then he says, “Fine.”
Kyle Valenti’s eyes bounce between the two of them, a furrow between his eyebrows as Alex turns back to him.
“I need your help,” Alex says. “Or, more accurately, I need your parents’ help.”
“My parents?” Kyle says.
Michael watches Alex take a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “Yes,” he says. “I’m going to file a Domestic Violence Order of Protection against my dad.”
For a heartbeat, Michael’s dorm room is deathly silent. “Okay,” Kyle says, gaze softening. “Yeah, of course. I’ll call them up.”
Their plan is relatively simple, while also being one of the biggest undertakings of Michael’s life. Both of Kyle Valenti’s parents are, apparently, police, back in Alex and Liz’s hometown of Roswell. Alex thinks that having their connections is important. According to him, he’s known them both almost his whole life, and also, Sheriff Valenti probably won’t be surprised to hear about the situation with his father.
“If he’s not going to be surprised to hear it, then why the fuck has he never helped you before?”
“My dad is…” Alex trails off. “Scary,” he says finally. “Like I told you, he’s got a lot of influence.”
They're in the bed of Michael's truck, stretched out over the blankets, milkshakes balanced next to them. It's been a few days since they first talked to Kyle, and the Valenti parents are coming up to talk to them tomorrow. Everything is suddenly becoming very real.
“But you think this is going to work?” Michael curses himself the moment the words are out of his mouth. It’s overly sceptical – Alex needs support, not Michael’s plethora of trust issues rearing their ugly heads.
Alex is quiet for a minute, and Michael wishes he never opened his big mouth. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “Liz thinks it will, and Liz is right about a lot of things.”
And that’s true enough. But Michael sees something in Liz Ortecho that he’s never been able to see in himself - something at the core of her that thinks things are going to go well. Like all she has to do is keep moving until she gets where she needs to go. Michael feels that need to keep moving, too, but it’s really not the same. Michael just feels this constant, deep-seated dread that things are going to come crashing down around him. Everything is going to go wrong: disaster is waiting for him just around the corner. He needs to keep moving because he needs to keep ahead of it. It’s always nipping at his heels.
This – trying to take on Alex’s father? It’s not just nipping at his heels anymore – it has a firm grip on the back of his shirt. Something bad is coming. The dread is overwhelming.
“Okay,” Michael says. “But – look, I know this was kind of my idea, but are you sure you want to do this? Have we thought about what happens if this doesn’t work?”
Alex looks at him like he’s a little slow. “Extensively.”
Right. “I just…” Michael looks at him. “I’m afraid that I’m going to pitch you into more danger by making you do something you weren’t ready for.”
“Michael,” Alex says, rolling over in the bed of the truck to blanket Michael with his body. “I’ve been ready to escape my father since I was fourteen years old.”
“Right,” Michael says, hands automatically coming to his hips. “But is it safe?”
“I think,” Alex says, slowly trailing soft fingers up the edge of Michael’s jaw, scratching through his stubble, “that safety is a relative term, at this point.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Alex says, “that you were right. I’m not safe in that apartment. I never have been.”
“But are you safer there?”
“I don’t think so,” Alex says, slow like he’s considering the question seriously. “I’m much better off with Liz, and Maria, and Kyle, and you on my side.”
“We’re on your side either way, honey,” Michael says quietly.
“I know,” Alex says. “Stop trying to talk me out of this, okay? It’s a good idea. Any idea that comes from the combined brainpower of you and Liz Ortecho is one that I trust.”
“It’s your plan as much as ours,” Michael reminds him. “You’re getting yourself out.”
“Am I?” Alex smiles. “I thought you were talking me out of it.”
“I’m not talking you out of anything,” Michael protests. “I’m just voicing concerns.”
“They’re valid concerns,” Alex says, sobering. “But I’ve thought them through a thousand times. And I want to do this.”
Michael is terrified. He’s terrified that he’s being selfish, that he’s taking decisions out of Alex’s hands. That despite his best efforts, something horrible is going to happen, and he’s going to regret pushing for this. But he has to remember that Alex, for all that he never wants to take any credit, is quietly brilliant. Most of this plan is his. Michael usually doesn’t trust anything except his own goddamn mind, but Alex wants to do this. And Michael trusts him more than anybody.
“Okay,” he says, leans up enough to brush their lips together. “Then we’re doing this.”
So they are. Alex, it turns out, has a veritable mountain of documentation of the violence his father has been inflicting on him – pictures, hospital bills. One shaky, low-quality audio recording that brings Michael to the verge of being physically sick when he listens to it. Alex has the records from an incident a few years back where his father was officially reprimanded by the Air Force. He has the personal number of a nurse from the Roswell Community Hospital who can testify to the kinds of injuries Alex came in with as a teenager. There’s evidence of abuse going back years – it’s clear that Alex has been quietly and carefully amassing this hoard of information, just waiting for the right opportunity to come along.
“Listen.” Sheriff Valenti is a large man with kind eyes. “Michelle and I have the power to help you file the DV Order of Protection. But you’ll stand a better chance of keeping him down if we get the Air Force’s attention, too.”
“Okay,” Alex says. He has his elbows propped on his knees, leaning forward, eyes serious. “I agree. But the Air Force doesn’t have the greatest track record of protecting queer people against people in power.”
“That’s true,” the Sheriff says. Michael shifts restlessly – he’s back to leaning against walls, hovering around Alex protectively.
“Okay,” Alex says. “So what’s our move?”
“I think the first step is to file for the protective order as soon as possible. We need to get you away from there, the quicker the better. We talk to all of your teachers, your boyfriend’s RA, whoever is in charge of the building Elizabeth and Maria live in. We get to them before he does, we make sure the adults in your life are aware of the situation.” Michael jolts a little when this person he barely knows says your boyfriend so casually. He’s not used to that word referring to him. Michael Guerin, someone’s boyfriend. How weird. He loves it more than a little.
“That’s great,” Alex says, impatient. “But the Air Force?”
“Michelle and I will have to look into it,” the Sheriff says, and Michael watches Alex’s brow furrow.
“I’d feel a lot better about this if I knew we could separate him from the Air Force’s protection.”
“Alex,” Sheriff Valenti says, not unkindly. “I don’t know if I have that kind of power.”
Alex’s face is hard to look at – the hope and anger and the too-young hero-worship he’s directing at this man. This man who had an idea of what was happening for years – years! – and he did nothing. “Can we at least try?” Alex says.
And Valenti says, “Yes.” Micheal is still not sure if he means it. But it’s clear that Alex believes he does.
In the end, Alex writes a letter. Michael argues against it – any son of a bitch who can leave bootprints on Alex’s ribs deserves to be served with his restraining order without a whisper of fucking warning.
“I can’t just disappear,” Alex says, twirling a pen anxiously between his fingers. “He’s my father.”
“You say that like it means something.”
“It does.” He and Alex see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but this is one place they differ. “You might not like it, but it does.”
“Only because you’re letting it,” Michael says. Alex doesn’t give him a response, just scrunches his eyebrows and sets pen to paper again. Michael doesn’t know what, exactly, he intends to write – only that he’s surrounded by crumpled pages and failed attempts.
Alex doesn’t let Michael read the final draft. Michael doesn’t ask to see it, but Alex still looks at him before he leaves it on the kitchen table. “It’d just make you angry,” he says by way of explanation. And that’s pretty much true, no matter what it says. If it were Michael, he’s just leave a big FUCK YOU. He’s pretty sure that Alex is a little more eloquent. He wishes he wasn’t.
The apartment is sparse. Liz and Maria are graciously letting Alex crash with them in their little off-campus apartment, so Michael and Alex are just here to pack up Alex’s things and get him the hell out. They’re leaving all the furniture – anything that Alex’s dad could prove that he purchased is being left behind. Alex’s phone, his laptop, his fucking guitar.
It’s the guitar that seems to be hitting the hardest, for whatever reason. “We’ll get a new one, baby,” Michael says softly.
“I know.”
“We should go,” Michael says. “We don’t want to be here if he shows up.”
“I know,” Alex says again.
But they still stand in the apartment’s kitchen for a while longer, Alex’s breath echoing softly in the open space. It’s the first time Michael has been in the apartment. They’re never coming back.
“Alex,” he says finally. “We gotta go.”
They carry the last two boxes out to Michael’s truck, and Alex doesn’t look back.
Actually moving Alex into Maria and Liz’s place ends up turning into a bit of a party. It’s not really on purpose – what with everything, Michael doesn’t think that Alex is in much of a partying mood. But they have some heavy-ass boxes to move, and Michael invites Max who invites Isobel, and Kyle is still hanging around, and then Maria says Dallas is coming over, and suddenly there are eight of them in the small apartment, and beers are being passed out, and, hey, look! Just like that, Alex is co-hosting his first get together at the new place.
The biggest surprise, though, comes when Liz opens the door for Michael and Max, who are both lugging massive boxes. She smiles at Michael, and then her gaze drifts behind him and she stops dead. “Max?”
“Liz?”
Michael stares between them. “What the hell?” he says. “How do you two know each other?”
Liz blushes. Max avoids his eyes. “Um,” he says, and Michael’s jaw drops open.
“Oh my god,” he says, realization dawning over him. “Liz Ortecho is your new girl?”
“Michael.” Max is blushing now, too. Michael’s little brother gene takes over: he has a deep-seated compulsion to give Max shit.
“The girl you’re totally obsessed with,” he grins. “That girl. That’s Liz Ortecho?”
“Michael, come on.”
“Liz. Elizabeth, if I may,” Michael says, turning back to Liz. “You have the whole state of New Mexico at your disposal. What the hell are you doing with this joker?”
Liz laughs. “I think I could ask Alex the same question,” she says, and Michael mimes being wounded as best he can while still holding a cardboard box in both hands. “Come on, come in! We’re putting the boxes over here for now.”
The apartment is nothing special. They enter into an entry hall that turns into the kitchen, white walls and an ancient looking stove. Further in is the living room, which houses the pullout couch that Alex is claiming until they can figure out something better, across from a TV and two cluttered bookshelves. There are two tiny bedrooms and a bathroom, too. The biggest draw, in Michael’s opinion, is the exposed brick of the back wall. It doesn’t necessarily suit Maria and Liz’s style, really, but Michael likes it. He could see himself living in a place like this someday. Maybe get a dog. Maybe with Alex Manes there too, wandering around barefoot like he is right now, to cook dinner with and cuddle on the couch and fuck against every surface. The thought is a little scary, mostly because of the strength of it. Michael is a little bit terrified of how badly he wants it.
“Hey,” Alex says. He claims a kiss as soon as Michael has deposited the box on the floor, a sweet, short thing.
“Hey yourself,” Michael says. “Sit tight, we’ve got a couple more trips.”
Dallas shows up as they’re bringing in the last of Alex’s stuff, and Isobel had somehow snuck past without Michael even noticing her, so by the time he gets settled in the apartment, things are really starting to feel celebratory. Kyle and Maria are setting up music while Dallas grabs some beers. Over on the couch, Isobel is talking to Alex – Oh no. Michael makes a beeline for that situation.
“I don’t recall authorizing this conversation,” he announces, dropping down onto the couch directly next to Alex, turning so he can hook his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Don’t corrupt him,” he warns Isobel.
“Too late,” Alex says cheerfully, turning his head to smack a kiss against the jut of Michael’s cheekbone.
“Begone, demon,” he grins at Isobel, wrapping his arm around Alex’s waist. “I’m the only one allowed to corrupt this one.”
She rolls her eyes epically. “I was just trying to get to know your boyfriend,” she says. “And fondly reminiscing about the time when you so vehemently declared that he was only a friend and nothing more.”
Michael rolls his eyes. “You’re annoying,” he says. “Go be annoying somewhere else.”
Alex snorts. “Don’t be rude,” he chides. “Maybe I like her better than you.”
“Better not,” Michael says. “I got you a beer and everything, see?”
“Ah, well, in that case,” Alex says, and turns enough to kiss him in thanks.
“Okay, lovebirds,” Isobel says, getting up from the couch. “I’ll leave you to flirt.”
Michael just kisses Alex again, eyes closed, feeling stupidly content. “I’ll have to remember that,” he murmurs against Alex’s lips when they pull away. “All it takes to make her leave us alone is a little PDA.”
“Mm,” Alex says, pulling back a little further, enough for Michael to see him raising his eyebrows. “You don’t have to worry about her scaring me away, you know,” he says. “I like her. She’s cool.”
“Well, she can also be a major bitch,” Michael says. “But then, so can you. So I’m sure you’ll get along fine.”
Alex laughs, and Michael can’t help kissing him again, swallowing that beautiful laugh with tongue and teeth. “Hey,” Alex says, when Michael lets him go. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Michael grins, tongue between his teeth. “My incredible kissing?”
Alex pushes his face away with his palm, affectionate. “No,” he says. “For – all of this. For getting me out of there.”
Michael shrugs that off. “I didn’t do anything,” he says. “That was all you, baby.”
“No,” Alex insists. “I wouldn’t have taken that first step without you there. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not for a long time.”
“Alex…”
“Thank you,” Alex says again. “For helping me believe that I had a chance.”
“Of course,” Michael says. It feels so strange, being thanked for something like that. It doesn’t seem like anything to be thanked for – all he really did was care about Alex, in the end. Anyone else in his position would do the same. “We’re a team, right?” he says. And – maybe that’s too revealing of him to say. A lot has happened, but really he and Alex have only been together a few months. But – it feels true. Like they could take on the goddamn world together.
“Yeah,” Alex says. “Yeah, we are.”
Michael doesn’t know what he’s going to say – something stupid, probably. But he sees something out of the corner of his eye that has him completely sidetracked. “Oh hell no,” he mutters.
Alex’s brow furrows. “What?”
“This can not be happening,” he says. “Absolutely not.”
Alex turns so that he can see what Michael sees, which is this: Kyle Valenti, leaning against the door jam, looking at Michael’s sister like she’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. And Isobel is looking right back. No – hell no. He moves to stand up, but Alex’s fingers wrap around his bicep and pull him back down.
“Relax, cowboy,” Alex says, sounding unfairly amused.
Michael turns to him, scowling. “Let me go,” he whines. “I can’t allow this.”
“They’re grown adults,” Alex says. He’s looking at Michael like Michael is being cute , which he is not . He’s being a very scary brother who is going to give a certain someone a hell of a shovel talk. “Your sister can look after herself.”
“Sure, of course she can,” Michael agrees, very reasonably. “But Valenti should still know that I’m going to cut his hands off if he touches her.”
Alex tugs him in closer, so he can run a fond hand through Michael’s curls. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, smiling. “You’re not telling Liz that you’re gonna cut her hands off.” He nods over to where Liz is sitting on the counter in the kitchen, legs wrapped around Max’s waist. They’re not kissing, but they’re pretty damn close.
Michael dismisses this with a wave of his hand. “Well, I actually like Ortecho,” he says. “Valenti, on the other hand… he’s on thin ice.”
Alex laughs. “Come here,” he says, pulling Michael in until he’s right up in Alex’s space, breathing his air. “Stop worrying,” he grins.
“Oh yeah?” Michael raises his eyebrows. “Something else I should be doing instead?”
Alex’s grin lights up his face. “Kiss me?”
And: look. Michael is a dedicated brother. There’s very little in the entire world that he wouldn’t do for his family. But right now he has Alex Manes in front of him, looking happy and healthy and safe. He can give Valenti the shovel talk some other day. He’s kissing Alex right now.
The rest of the impromptu party goes well. Michael gets distracted for a bit by the leaky faucet in the bathroom, and by the time he’s fixed it, he finds Alex sandwiched between Liz and Maria on the couch. He hovers awkwardly in the living room doorway – Michael likes both Maria and Liz, but he’s not really sure how to navigate the dynamic between the three of them: a group missing their fourth piece, just as bonded by tragedy as they are by a loving childhood friendship.
But Maria looks up and spots him, and her face lights up. “Guerin!” she says, beckoning him with a beer bottle that nearly sloshes over her wrist. “Get in here!”
There’s not really room for him, but he gets pulled down into the middle of the pile anyways, squished in next to Liz, half on Alex’s lap.
“Hey,” Liz says, fingers scrambling against Michael’s sleeve. She’s grinning, and Michael has never seen Liz Ortecho tipsy before, but he kind of loves it.
“Hey, Ortecho,” he grins.
“Hey,” she says again. “I am so glad that you two found each other.”
That takes Michael completely off guard. “What?” he says softly.
“Yeah,” Maria agrees, from Alex’s other side. “Alex deserves something good in his life.”
Michael can’t do anything but stare at them. The idea that these people, who know Alex so well, could look at Michael, at what they’re doing together, and think that it’s something good? It’s insane. Michael doesn’t deserve that vote of confidence. He’s not a good thing for Alex: he’s a fucking mess.
“Hey,” Alex says, tugging Michael towards him. “I’m glad we found each other, too.”
And maybe Michael doesn’t deserve him, but by some fucking miracle, he has him. Michael holds his hand up, palm up, and Alex takes it. They’re gonna be alright.
***
“Hey there, brown eyes,” Michael smiles, leaning up against the bar.
Alex’s smile lights up his face. “Hey,” he says, tilting his chin up. Michael leans down obligingly to press a smacking kiss against his temple. “Got you a beer.”
“Thanks, sweet thing,” Michael grins. Alex rolls his eyes at the pet name, but there’s a blush climbing up his throat, which is 90% of the reason that Michael keeps doing it.
“Oh my god.” Some blonde next to Alex frowns over at them, and Michael sees Alex’s shoulders lock up with tension.
Michael leans all the way into Alex’s space, bracing one arm protectively around him. “Got a problem here?” he drawls.
“Michael,” Alex murmurs.
“It’s pretty fucked up of you to pretend that you’re gay,” the girl says.
There’s a second of dead silence, where Michael stares at her, open-mouthed and dumbfounded. Alex, under his arm, starts laughing, just a touch hysterical.
“I’m serious,” she says. “I saw you here the other night draped all over Allison Carthage.”
Michael blinks. Alex just laughs harder, probably remembering exactly what happened that very night in the bathroom. “First of all,” Michael says, adjusting his stance so that Alex can tuck his face into his chest to muffle his giggles. “That time I was talking to Allison was like, months ago. And second of all, have you never heard of bisexuality?”
She snorts. “Yeah, sure,” she says. “You’re bisexual.” With air quotes.
“Who are you?” Michael demands. “What’s it to you whether I’m bisexual or not?”
“I don’t need to know you to know people like you,” she says.
And, okay: Michael should probably just walk away. But this conversation is genuinely baffling, and frustrating, and fucking nuts, and he can’t let it go. He gestures at Alex. “This is my boyfriend,” he says.
“Yeah, okay,” she says.
“What do you want?” he demands. “What, do I need to wear a t-shirt that says I love cock?”
She rolls her eyes. “No need to be crass,” she says. “You’re not proving anything to me.”
“Babe,” Alex murmurs. He’s finally gotten his laughter under control and he’s watching Michael like he’s reluctantly amused by this entire conversation.
“No, Alex, seriously,” Michael says. “We’re just minding our business, this girl is attacking us for no goddamn reason.”
“Pretending to be gay is fucked up,” she says. Michael has no idea how she’s maintaining this air of superiority when she’s so clearly in the wrong.
“I’m not pretending to be gay,” he snaps. “But I am bisexual, and you’re being insanely biphobic right now.”
“Ou, big word,” she says. “Did your ‘boyfriend’ teach it to you?”
Again with the goddamn air quotes. “Fuck this,” Michael murmurs. He turns, gets his fingers in the fabric of Alex’s collar and drags him in. He makes the kiss fucking filthy, too, teeth and tongue and wandering hands. Alex sinks into it easily enough, letting himself be kissed, letting Michael prove his point.
He looks gorgeous when Michael pulls back, kiss-swollen and sweet. He raises a hand to thumb at his boyfriend’s slick lower lip, before finally remembering his audience.
“That gay enough for you?” he asks the girl, who’s staring at him, pink-cheeked and taken aback. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s go.”
Alex grins at the girl, looking suitably debauched. “Have a good night.” And then he gets up and snags Michael’s hand and drags him away.
“What the fuck,” Michael murmurs as they settle into a booth. “Who talks to a stranger like that?”
“Pretty ridiculous,” Alex agrees, “But if you’re gonna kiss me like that any time someone questions your queerness, I don’t know if I mind.”
Michael snorts, ducking his head. “Sorry,” he says. “I know I kind of sprung that on you. Shoulda asked.”
Alex tilts his head up with a hand on his jaw. “It’s okay,” he says. “You’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to ask to kiss me.”
There’s a giddy jolt that still runs through him whenever Alex calls him his boyfriend. “That’s sweet,” Michael says, because it is. “But I know the whole public thing can be tough for you. So you can tell me to chill out.”
In response to that, Alex leans in and kisses him slow and sweet and lippy. “You,” Alex says, “are sweet. And you –” he kisses him again, “don’t ever have to ask to kiss me.”
“Okay,” Michael smiles. “Message received. But you might regret that blanket statement, Manes.”
Alex raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” he grins. “And why’s that?”
“Well…” Michael leans in to kiss his cheek. “I don’t ever wanna stop kissing you.”
Alex laughs into the next kiss, and Michael is so incandescently happy that he could fuckin’ explode.
***
When Michael picks Alex up from Liz and Maria’s place, his boyfriend is frowning, standing out on the curb, a deep groove present between his eyebrows.
Michael rolls down his window as he pulls up, sticking his head out. “Hey, pretty thing,” he teases. “Wanna go for a ride?”
Alex rolls his eyes spectacularly, but he does smile, which is what Michael had been going for all along. “Yeah,” he says back, not missing a beat, “but it’s gonna cost ya.”
Michael holds up the takeout bag, grinning. “This payment enough?” It’s from that Indian place down the street that they both love, and he’d made sure to get Alex’s absolute favourite – not that Alex can tell that, yet.
“Mm,” Alex hums, “not sure if that’s good enough. Got anything else?”
It’s crazy that this boy knows him so well already – of course Michael has something else. He’s grinning as he produces his other offering from the centre console: a king-size Mars bar for each of them.
“Fuck yes,” Alex says, slinging himself around to the passenger side. As he slides into the seat, he leans in close, and says, “I’m all yours.”
“Better fuckin’ be,” Michael grins, leaning forward to press a kiss to Alex’s cheekbone. “Hi, by the way.”
“Hi,” Alex says. “Give me that chocolate, I deserve it.”
Michael laughs, but he acquiesces. Alex deserves anything he wants, after this shitshow of a week. And Michael is perfectly happy to indulge his boyfriend’s sweet tooth. Makes him feel useful.
Alex is back to frowning once they’re out of the truck and back in the residence hall, but at least the groove between his eyebrows is less pronounced. Michael’s goal is to dismantle that groove altogether, somehow. It’s his own personal battle against Alex’s skin.
“Hey,” he says, as Alex throws himself down onto the bed with a groan. “Are you okay?”
Alex makes an inhuman sound in response. Michael is not sure how to interpret this, but he’s pretty sure it’s not positive.
“Alex,” he says. “Honey.”
“I hate living with Maria and Liz,” Alex says, very fast, like the words had been stored up for a while, and now they’re finally exploding out.
Michael frowns. “I thought you liked it there?” he says, perching on the edge of the bed by Alex’s hip.
Alex sighs. “I do,” he says. And then: “It’s just – they already lived there, and now I’m disrupting their space, and they say it’s okay, and they want to help, but sometimes… sometimes Liz still looks at me like I’m a ghost, and I’m just… I shouldn’t need them. I’m just in the way, there.”
“Okay,” Michael says, in absence of anything else to say. “I’m sorry. Do you want to try to figure something else out? I can ask Isobel –”
“No,” Alex cuts him off. “No, you’ve done enough. Don’t bother anybody else on my account.”
“Alex,” Michael says softly, smarting against the idea that helping Alex is a bother.
And Alex seems to know that, because he sighs again, says, “I know, sorry.” He sits up, slides out from beneath Michael’s palm to pace across the room. Michael hates seeing him like this, but he recognizes it intimately: it’s all the signs of a relentlessly independent person chafing under the indignity of relying on other people. Michael has seen it enough times in the mirror. He stands, too, draws Alex in close the moment he lets him. “I hate this,” Alex murmurs, digging a palm into his eye socket.
“I know,” Michael says, running a hand down his bicep, a comforting touch.
“It’s just –” Alex sighs, frustrated. “Whenever I pictured myself getting free from my father, it was because of something I did. I would find the perfect piece of leverage, and I would finally get to win.”
“I get that,” Michael says softly. “But – Alex. What if we never get the perfect piece of leverage? He would just get to keep fucking you over forever?”
“No,” Alex says, “obviously not.”
“You don’t have to do everything yourself,” Michael says, as gently as he can manage. It’s fucking hypocritical of him, he knows, but sometimes the best advice comes from the worst sinners, right?
Alex sighs. “I know,” he says, but Michael isn’t sure that he actually believes it.
“Look,” Michael says. “You’re still winning. Just being away from him? Where he can’t control you anymore? That’s winning, baby.”
“No,” Alex says, but then he’s tugging Michael in by the hips. “I mean, yes, but – what’s really winning is this.” And he kisses him.
“That’s romantic of you,” Michael pants, when Alex lets him breathe again.
Alex brushes his fingers affectionately through Michael’s curls. “I never thought that I’d get to have this,” he says quietly. “A real relationship, I mean. A partner. It never seemed like it was going to be in the cards for me.”
Well, that breaks his heart, but honestly – “Me neither,” Michael says. “I never, uh – I never really thought that I was relationship material.”
“Michael,” Alex says fondly. “Of course you are.”
“Yeah, well,” Michael says, “you’d be the only one to think so.”
Alex tugs him in again, warm fingers pressing against the hollows of his hips. “Lucky me,” he murmurs.
When their lips meet, Michael loses himself a little bit. He’s used to it, by now, though – Alex always provokes that reaction in him, and he doesn’t even try, is the thing.
“Alex,” Michael mumbles against his lips, fingers scrambling against the shoulder of Alex’s sweater. “Mm, Alex.”
“Yeah?” Alex doesn’t stop kissing him, these deep, long pulls that leave them both breathless, stealing air from each other's mouth.
“I just –” Michael breathes. The words are tumbling out almost without his permission. He’s not sure it’s a good idea, but he’s doing it anyway – no stopping it. “Alex,” he says helplessly. “I think I love you.”
Alex stops kissing him.
And Michael slides into a panic with alarming velocity.
“I’m sorry –” he backtracks. “We can just ignore that, if you’d rather –”
“Michael.” Alex stops him mid-stream, hands coming up to cradle his jaw. “Hey, shh.”
Michael shuts up.
“I think I love you, too,” Alex says, very, very softly. Like he can hardly believe it himself.
Michael stills. “Really?” he asks, voice small, and Alex smiles, this gorgeous thing that lights up his face. He looks really, strikingly young like this. Michael just wants to protect him.
“Really,” he says.
Michael would like to say that their kiss, after those declarations, is soft and sweet and romantic. But it isn’t. No, instead it’s near frantic, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue. Michael wants to fuse them together; he wants to crawl inside Alex’s chest and never leave.
“I love you,” he keeps murmuring into Alex’s lips, like now that he’s said it once he’s broken the dam, allowing the feeling to run away with him. “I love you.”
And it does start out frantic, all grasping hands and heat and teeth, but by the end they’re shockingly tender with each other, forehead to forehead in Michael’s tiny twin bed. Michael thinks he could easily find himself addicted to looking in Alex’s eyes as he comes, breathing in his gasps, only inches apart.
***
When Michael wakes up in the morning, he’s alone.
He blinks at his rumpled bed sheets sleepily, stretching one arm out to Alex’s side of the bed and finding only empty air. Strange. On closer inspection, his prosthetic isn’t in its usual spot by the desk where they left it, either.
Michael barely has the time to work himself into worry, though, because moments later the door to his room is clicking open, and Alex Manes slides in, a tray of coffee and a pastry bag clutched in his hands. When he turns to close the door, Michael smiles at the bold GUERIN printed across his shoulders.
“Good morning,” Alex smiles when he notices Michael is awake.
“Alexander Manes,” Michael croaks, voice still low and morning-rough. “Are you wearing the sweater I gave you on our first date?”
Alex is close enough now to lean down and peck him on the forehead as he drops their breakfast on the desk. “You’re calling that a date?” he grins, eyebrows going up.
Michael smiles, stretching, preening a little at the way that Alex’s eyes linger on his bare chest. “There was beer, there was pool, and there was sex. What more could you want?”
Alex laughs. “I could want a little more competition,” he teases. “You were terrible at pool.”
Michael pouts at his boyfriend. “I let you win,” he lies through his teeth. “Obviously.”
“Oh, obviously,” Alex repeats, dripping in fondness.
“I guess you’ll just have to challenge me to a rematch and see,” he grins, pushing up on one elbow, putting himself within Alex’s reach.
“Alright,” Alex says, leaning down to kiss him properly, a soft and sweet ‘hello’ kiss. “You’re on, brown eyes.”
And Michael hadn’t known, back when he’d picked Alex up in that grungy little bar – he hadn’t known that Alex Manes is snarky and warm in equal measure, hadn’t known that he’s so good at his core. He hadn’t known that he was meeting someone who makes him better, someone who makes his skin light up with every touch.
But he thinks that he did know that Alex was special. From that very first conversation, that crackling electricity between them was impossible to ignore.
Growing up, Michael didn’t much believe in fate – it felt too cruel, to say that he was destined to be in every shitty circumstance that came his way. But it feels a little like fate, that he was in that crowded little bar on a Tuesday night, that Alex was there. And, well – if the universe gave him Alex, Michael can’t be anything but grateful.
“Hey,” Michael says, as Alex hands him his coffee, wearing Michael’s sweater and his beanie, looking so fucking cute that Michael just wants to cuddle up against his chest. “I love you.”
Alex smiles that gorgeous smile of his – the realest one, the one that Michael is always working so hard to see. “I love you, too,” he says.
And not everything is perfect, yet, if it ever will be. The threat of Jesse Manes might not ever feel completely gone, and their communication still leaves a lot to be desired. Michael knows he has issues from his childhood that are going to rear their ugly heads eventually. But… Look, Michael doesn’t want to jinx anything, but he thinks they might actually get to have this.
They might finally get the room to breathe.
And looking at Alex, tucked up next to Michael on the bed, coffee clutched between both hands, quiet and settled and happy… Michael is so grateful for whatever cosmic force drew him to Alex, on that Tuesday night. After all, there’s nobody he would rather just breathe with.