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osfvrth · 2 days ago

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Where the Loneliness Broke - Michael Gavey x Unnamed Female Character

Summary: After finishing his exams alone and weighed down by loneliness, Michael meets an unexpected stranger who quietly rekindles his sense of connection and hope for what comes next.

Warnings: none really (well michael's very lonely and sad in the beginning)

Fix type: Drabble

Author's note: okay wow.. first fic I uploaded in a while. my apologies if this took long. but yeah! a while back, I was inspired by this small scene to write this drabble. (even if it was only a small spotting of him) when they did the auctions for the costume , it revealed that michael was supposed to congratulate oliver in that scene. but apparently that was cut out of the final cut. even though this is a drabble , it had been sitting in my docs collecting dust. and even though this is a unnamed female character , this also works as a reader insert! also I do wanna clarify that I did do my best to do my research. with that being said , here is the pic!

Tag list: @slytherincursebreaker @starxs-s @ylva-syverson

The sun dipped low behind the spires of Oxford, casting long golden shadows over the cobbled streets. It was a day of jubilation.

Finals were over.

Students poured out of the halls in a frenzy of laughter, confetti, and champagne. Cheers echoed through the ancient stone corridors. Friends clutched each other, leapt into fountains, screamed, cried, and posed for photos, their relief palpable, their joy infectious.

But Michael Gavey? He had walked alone.

He exited the building through the side door , the one fewer people used , his steps slow and deliberate. The moment he stepped into the open , a wave of sound hit him. A wall of celebration he couldn't penetrate. Clusters of students clinked glasses, arms thrown over each other's shoulders, exhaling months of pressure in giddy relief. They called out names. Yet none of them his.

Michael had kept his head down.

He had no champagne. No friends waiting. No one threw powder or silly string at him. His hat flapped in the breeze like a loose sail on a ship going nowhere.

He paused at the edge of the street, watching the crowd from a distance. He spotted the faces he knew some from lectures, some from tutorials, a few from fleeting conversations in the hall. They were all lit up with camaraderie and laughter, woven into something he’d never quite touched.

It wasn’t that Michael hated people. He had tried, at first. Tried to make friends. He joined societies, attended formals, even attempted small talk over awkward library silences. But somehow, something always slipped. People smiled politely and then moved on. Groups solidified around him, never including him. Some even ignored him. After a while, he stopped trying.

Bitterness settled into him like dust in an old room. So gradually he barely noticed until it covered everything.

Now, standing in the middle of the celebration, he felt like a ghost. They were living. He was merely observing.

He turned away.

He walked slowly through the narrow streets, past colleges where centuries of students had lived and loved and triumphed. He wondered how many of them had walked like him. Unseen. Forgotten.

The bells of a nearby church rang out. A reminder that time moves on , regardless.

Michael reached the bridge and stopped. The river shimmered in the late afternoon light. A few students moved past, their laughter drifting up to him. He let out a long breath and leaned on the stone railing.

Maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe it was his fault. Or maybe it was no one’s.

All he knew was that the exams were over, and he had no one to share it with. No photos. No toasts. No promises to stay in touch.

Just the silence of the water below, and the quiet echo of celebration behind him.

And somehow, that felt like the real end.

The sun had almost vanished by the time Michael wandered into the city center, his robe now folded over his arm, the white bowtie hanging loose at his collar. Oxford’s dreamy skyline had surrendered to the dusk, and fairy lights blinked lazily in shopfronts and above alleyways.

He didn’t know where he was going, not really. Just walking. Not ready to go back to his room. Not ready to face the quiet.

Eventually, he turned into a side street he barely remembered the name of and pushed open the door to a pub. The King’s Arms. Familiar, but not sentimental. He’d come here a handful of times, mostly alone, sometimes with coursemates who never became friends.

The pub was warm. Amber light from the low lamps brushed the tables. The wood smelled like old beer and varnish. A hum of low conversation filled the air. Students, professors, tourists. Nothing like the chaos outside. This place, at least, had stayed calm.

Michael stepped up to the bar.

“Pint of Guinness, please,” he said, his voice scratchy from disuse. The bartender nodded and turned away.

He stood waiting, feeling the room glance past him. People occupied themselves with each other. No one noticed the guy in the rumpled sub fusc and tired eyes.

He took his drink to a corner booth, slid into the seat, and stared into the foam. For a moment, he just sat, not drinking, not thinking, just being. The exhaustion catching up with him, filling every corner of his limbs like wet cement.

He tried not to, but his mind turned backward.

He thought of the first week at Oxford. How everyone had seemed nervous and eager and open. How it had felt like a fresh start, like maybe here he could build something. Hell.. he even thought that Oliver Quick would be his friend until he left him for another group. But then the social circles formed, quickly and quietly, like doors closing just before he could reach them.

He thought of the nights he’d walked past parties in his own college, hearing music through stone walls while he studied in silence. Of the dinners spent scrolling through his phone to look busy. Of conversations that never quite reached past the surface.

He took a long drink.

Michael barely noticed when the pub door swung open again. The warm chatter hummed on around him, a steady background to his thoughts.

Then, a soft voice broke through.

“Is this seat taken?”

He looked up. A girl stood there, a little hesitant, holding a half-empty pint. She had an easy smile, the kind that didn’t try too hard but felt genuine. Her eyes were curious but kind, as if she was offering a quiet invitation without demanding anything.

Michael shook his head, gesturing to the seat beside him. “No, go ahead.”

She slid into the booth, setting her glass down. For a moment, they sat in silence, sharing the quiet space.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said finally, “but you looked… alone.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious, huh?”

She smiled gently. “Sometimes it’s easier to notice those who don’t fit the party. Especially here.”

Michael didn’t ask what “here” meant exactly. He just nodded, staring at his nearly empty pint again.

“I’m not great with crowds either,” she added after a pause. “Exams make people so loud afterward. It’s like they’re trying to prove something.”

He looked at her then. Her hair loosely tied back, a faint smudge of tiredness under her eyes. She seemed different somehow, like another quiet island in a sea of noise.

Michael traced the rim of his glass thoughtfully as the girl, still unnamed, leaned back in the booth, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“So,” she began, “how did your semester go? I mean, aside from the obvious final exams torture?”

Michael chuckled softly, the sound more relaxed now. “It was... rougher than I expected. The work was tough, sure. But the harder part was figuring out where I fit or not fitting anywhere at all.”

She nodded, eyes sympathetic. “I get that. It felt like everyone already had their circles before term even started. I spent most of it drifting between groups, trying to find something that stuck.”

“Yeah,” Michael said quietly. “Sometimes it felt like I was invisible. Like no one saw me.”

She shrugged, her smile wistful. “Maybe some of us just show up later, or in different ways. Not everyone finds their people right away.”

Michael looked at her, curious. “What about you? What do you plan to do this summer?”

She tapped her finger on the table, thinking. “I’m hoping to get away from all this. Travel a bit.. maybe visit family. And maybe read a lot of books I’ve been ignoring all term.”

Michael felt a small warmth spread in his chest. “That sounds nice. I haven’t really thought about summer yet…” Michael admitted. She gave a nod and an understanding look. They fell silent for a moment, the pub’s low murmur filling the space between them.

Michael found himself feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

The last of Michael’s Guinness swirled slowly in the bottom of the glass, the amber light catching the foam like a fading sunset. Across from him, the girl took the final sip of her pint, setting it down gently on the wooden table.

The pub’s warmth was comforting, but outside, the evening air called softly through the open window.

Michael hesitated a moment, then felt a surge of something new. Was it boldness? Or maybe just a quiet hope.

“Hey,” he said, voice steady but low, “would you… want to take a walk? Maybe just outside? It’s nice out there, and it’s quieter than this.”

She looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes, quickly replaced by a smile. Warm and genuine.

“Sure. I’d like that,” she said.

They stood together, slipping on coats and stepping out into the crisp night. The streets were calmer now, the buzz of the day’s celebrations fading into the gentle hum of Oxford at twilight.

As they walked side by side, the gap between strangers seemed to narrow.

The night air was cool but not biting as they strolled down the quiet streets, their footsteps muffled by the soft patter of scattered leaves. The city lights cast gentle pools of gold on the stone, and for a while, they just walked. Side by side, neither rushing to fill the silence.

After a few minutes, she glanced over at him, her breath forming small clouds in the cool air.

“So… Do you have many friends here, Michael?” she asked gently, curiosity woven into her tone.

He paused, the question hanging heavier than she probably intended. He wanted to answer honestly, but the truth sat like a weight in his chest.

“Not really,” he said finally, voice low. “I had one friend. Well, maybe I still do, but... he kind of left. I guess I wasn’t important enough to stay.”

She slowed, turning to face him more fully beneath the streetlamp. “I’m sorry. That must hurt.”

He swallowed, the bitterness rising but tempered now by the quiet understanding in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was a strange thing. Sure i.. Yelled at him to ask for a sum at first.” His face was red as a tomato from the embarrassing memory. But Michael sighed. “But over time, he just drifted away. I didn’t see it coming until it was too late.”

She nodded slowly. “Sometimes people change.. or maybe they reveal who they really are when things get hard.”

Michael looked at her, feeling a flicker of trust. “It’s why I haven’t tried to make new friends much since. Feels safer to be alone than risk getting hurt again.”

“But sometimes,” she said, “taking the risk is the only way to find someone who actually stays.”

They turned onto a quieter lane, the laughter and clinking glasses from the pubs behind them growing faint. The air was still, scented faintly with late-spring blossoms and the faint memory of earlier rain. Michael tucked his hands into his coat pockets, glancing sideways at her.

“You asked me about my friends,” he said, his voice softer now. “What about yours?”

She hesitated. Just a flicker at first, a blink too long, the way her gaze shifted briefly to the ground.

Then she gave a quiet breath of a laugh, not unkind, but tinged with something older, more worn.

“I had friends,” she said. “Kind of.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Kind of?”

She looked up at him, her expression hard to read. “I was part of a group. You know, those default ‘friends’ you end up with just because you happen to be at the same university, go to the same parties, attend the same lectures. At first, it was nice. It felt like I belonged. But… it didn’t last.”

He said nothing, just listened.

“They weren’t bad people,” she went on. “But it was all surface. I think I started to realize that they liked the version of me who went along with everything, not the person I really was. Once I stopped pretending, they just… moved on.”

Her voice didn’t crack, but there was a quiet ache in it. Familiar.

“I guess I didn’t want to spend my last term pretending anymore.”

Michael looked at her, something settling between them. An unspoken recognition, like two silhouettes finally overlapping in the same light.

“I understand that,” he said.

They kept walking, slower now, footsteps in sync without thinking. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore. It was comfortable. Earned.

“Maybe,” Michael said after a moment, “this is what it looks like when two people finally stop pretending.”

She looked over at him, a small, real smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe it is.”

They reached the edge of the meadow, where the trees whispered in the breeze and the path opened into a quiet expanse of grass and twilight. The sounds of the city were far behind now. Just the rustle of leaves, their footsteps on gravel, and the occasional splash of water from the river beyond.

Michael slowed to a stop near a low stone wall, resting his hands on it as he looked out into the open space. The sky above was fading into deep blue, streaked with the last embers of sunset.

He had just stood there and began to think. For once, he didn’t feel lonely. He kept thinking about the girl. How easily she smiled, how she listened without looking past him. He wanted to keep in touch, to see her again, but a knot of fear tightened in his chest.

What if she thought he was strange? People always did. But deep down.. Maybe, just maybe, she’d understand.

He hesitated for a breath, then turned to her.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little rough, a little unsure. “This might sound kind of… forward and fast. Or maybe just awkward. But uh- would you want to keep in contact? Over the summer I mean.”

She turned to him, surprised.. but not in a bad way.

“I don’t know,” he added quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s just… tonight’s the first time in a long while I’ve felt like I was actually seen. Like I wasn’t walking through fog.”

Her expression softened. She wasn’t smiling exactly but her eyes lit up in a way that made him feel like maybe he hadn’t misread anything at all.

“I’d love that,” she said, after a small pause. “To keep in contact. To not disappear into our separate corners of the world.”

He smiled this time without hesitation.

“I mean, we’ve already walked through half the city,” he said, almost joking. “Might as well see where the next few miles take us.”

She laughed under her breath. “Bold move, Michael.”

He shrugged with a crooked grin. “I’m trying something new.”

She nodded, a quiet understanding between them now. Not forced, not desperate. Just simple and real.

“Let’s not let this be a one evening thing,” she said. “We don’t have to pretend we don’t exist when summer comes.”

Michael felt something loosen in his chest. Some old knots are finally beginning to untangle.

“Deal,” he said.

They started walking again, side by side, no longer strangers, no longer alone.

They walked on into the deepening night, the hush of the meadow wrapping around them like a promise. No grand declarations, no need for anything more than the quiet rhythm of two people choosing not to drift apart.

For the first time in a long while, Michael wasn’t looking back. He didn’t know what the summer would bring, or where life would take either of them but for now, under the stars and beside someone who had truly seen him, he felt something he hadn’t dared to feel in months.

Hope.

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey #michael gavey fic #saltburn #michael gavey fanfic #ewan mitchell

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