#I just realized I basically reiterated your point in this reply of being grateful for others just existing

[elbdot]

Hey, your work is amazing. Thank you so much for sharing it with the world the way you have, even in this wretched climate so inhospitable to art and artists. You do a lot of good by existing and sharing and creating. Thank you!!!

ADKJGFJGJDKJGF OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! 😭😭😭 Yeah the whole AI-stuff seems very grim and depressing, but luckily I see more and more conventions, corporations and publishers putting a stop to it by not accepting any AI-generated work and I'm sure more companies will follow this motion and update their guidelines accordingly, for only "human-made" work to be accepted.

I don't say much on the topic because I just don't like to put my attention to it, so this will be my only comment on the subjet, but I absolutely applaud all those who are actively fighting against it, because it's definitely a necessary fight against art theft and to make sure there are guidelines being created to handle this new technology. We can't make it disappear, but we can set up rules and give it proper management.

This may sound naive but I am actually very optimistic that this will be handled and settled in a couple of months. Or maybe a year or two. I don't think AI can replace artists in any way. Because in the end, artists are not a hivemind you can study and simply copy and paste, because every artist is an individual. They're all unique with their own minds, their own styles, their own ideas and concepts and every single person brings something new to the table.

Sure, AI can steal and copy a person's art style. But they cannot copy what's inside your mind. They cannot predict you. They can just copy what you have already created, but its YOU who came up with it. And if you're a comic artist or a storyteller of any kid, they'll never be able to tell YOUR stories.

They'll never replace you because they cannot be you. Nobody can be you. Only you can be you. And that's why you'll never lose your worth, because nobody can create the things you create in YOUR way. Don't let the outside world tell you otherwise. You are so worthy just for being here. You bring so much joy just for being and sharing what's on your mind. Don't let anyone make you feel like you're replacable, because you're not. So thank you for being here too! :DD

[iamcayc]

The Sounds of Gojo - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Exchange Rating: SFW Word Count: 4292 Relationships: Gojo x OC (Kaya)

read here on Ao3

To say that you’re going to murder your cousin would be a vast understatement. Not only did you explicitly tell him to come pick you up after work promptly at 3:30 PM, but you also reiterated that you had zero interest in putting up with Gojo’s shit when you’re still feeling like you ran a marathon after being squashed by an elephant. It was a very reasonable request, and you had worded it very clearly to avoid any potential miscommunication.

So, one could imagine your immense disappointment and rage at the sight of white hair... and that smug-ass grin?

Kento Nanami is dead to you.

“Hey there, teach.” He’s wearing Ray-Bans today, his hair framing his face in a way that makes him look more youthful—and much to your chagrin, more attractive.

“Heard you could use a ride to collect your bike from the school, so I generously offered my services.” You notice that some of the girls are staring at him unabashedly, making you roll your eyes. Sexually-repressed teenage girls around Gojo is a terrifying thought, so you quickly usher him off the grounds and towards the front gate.

“What’s the rush?” he asks amiably. “It’s a nice day, after all. Wanna go get some donuts? There’s a new shop around here that I was thinking about trying.”

Your arms are folded across your chest as you glower at him. “Why are you really here?”

He pouts prettily at you. “Huh? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Why on earth would that be my reaction to you showing up unannounced at my work, again?”

“Well, I still owe you compensation for helping me out last night.” He shrugs as he faces you. “Plus, I thought we had some chemistry going, but maybe I misread the banter. I mean, you brought up my dick the other night—”

Knowing full well that you won’t make actual contact, you cover his mouth with your hand anyway.

“Take me to get my bike so I can be rid of you sooner rather than later,” you hiss. His mouth stays covered until he nods, but your hands don’t make it away unscathed. No, just before you can yank your hand back, Gojo grabs hold of your wrist and you freeze. Not because he grabbed your wrist, but because you can actually feel his skin against yours.

He’s dropped Infinity, just long enough to stroke his thumb across the sensitive patch of skin inside your wrist. He makes actual contact just long enough to brush his surprisingly-soft lips against the back of your hand, all the while maintaining unwavering eye contact.

If you aren’t so stunned, you know your panties would be soaking wet at the intimacy of the moment.

But you are stunned, so you wrench your hand out of his as if burned.

Gojo simply smiles at you before gesturing at the sleek black car parked behind him. “Figured you’d want a ride, rather than warp.”

You sigh and head towards the car, shooting Kento a text.

You 3:30 PM What the actual fuck, Kento

kento-bro 🥐 3:31 PM I did NOT tell him to pick you up. I explicitly told him that the idea was a terrible one and would likely end with me dead. You can imagine his reaction to that.

You could, and you tried not to glare at Gojo as he held the door to his car open for you. The vehicle interior is surprisingly spotless; with his lackadaisical attitude, you expected random junk stuffed into the center console, at the very least.

It also smells just like him, sending a traitorous tingle down your spine.

“Are you cold?” Gojo asks as he slides into the driver’s seat. “I can turn on the heat, if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

You shake your head, tucking a few lavender locks behind your ear. “I’m fine, just a random cold chill. I’m surprised you even both to drive.”

Gojo shrugs as he starts up the car. “No reason not to learn. I’m more than just my techniques, you know?”

It isn’t as if you only saw him as a sorcerer.

Based on the flood of pure heat that you nearly drown in as he shifts the car into reverse and immediately places his right hand on your headrest, looking over his shoulder to pull out of the parking spot, you see him as a red-blooded man just like any other.

And that is something you intend to keep to yourself.

“So, have you decided?” he asks conversationally. Your irritation with him clearly doesn’t matter in the slightest, which only makes you exhale slowly. Traffic is touch and go as you try to make it out of Shibuya, so might as well make the most of the drive.

“You didn’t trigger an asthma attack, and me nearly passing out was due to my own idiocy, so I guess I’ll settle for a bottle of a decent red blend,” you reply as you settle into the passenger seat. Chill EDM and instrumental music hums its way through the car’s speakers from whatever satellite radio station he’s tuned into, your finger absently tapping along with the beat against your thigh.

“Hmm.” You feel his gaze on you for the briefest moment as he continues to drive. “I think I can make that happen. Seems like a pretty lackluster request, considering I practically gave you a blank check.”

You roll your eyes. “What did you think I was going to ask for?”

“I don’t know. Something more exciting, like a date, or even a kiss.”

“Sure you aren’t projecting a bit?” You cock your head a bit as you look at him. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the shifter. Your brain tries to reconcile the tall, charming, sexy as fuck man sitting next to you with the arrogant, pain-in-the-ass sorcerer that grated your nerves like no other. You can’t say why he rubs you the wrong way; it could be his carefree attitude towards absolutely everything, or maybe his continuous assumption that he can charm the pants off you, literally and figuratively.

Either way, it boils down to the simple fact that you don’t trust if and when he’s ever being genuine with you, or anyone, really.

“Would it really be so bad for you to admit you find me attractive?” he wonders aloud.

“I have no problem admitting you’re attractive,” you reply with a half-sigh. “It’s honestly a little disorienting, but then you start talking and all the allure just gets sucked right out, like a nasty little vacuum.”

“Why are you and Nanamin so mean to me?” Gojo whines. He makes the turn onto the campus, easing his way towards the parking lot where you had left your bike the night before. “Here I am, just trying to be nice...”

He parks the car right next to your Triumph, turning to face you with a pout. You simply stare at him, trying to decide how to best to inform him that he once again lost his head in his own asshole.

“Maybe if you tried to just be sincere instead of nice, people would stop being so ‘mean’ to you,” you point out. He pushes his sunglasses up and into his hair, regarding you with somber blue eyes.

“Would that work on you?”

You can tell he’s asking you seriously. The pitch of his voice has dropped, abandoning the air of frivolity and slipping into a velvet soft baritone that sends warmth through your center. It’s a tone you haven’t heard from him before.

“Yes.” Your mouth is spitting words faster than you can censor them. “I’d trust you, at the very least.”

Gojo leans towards you, his expression painfully neutral. “That’s important to you, isn’t it? Trust.”

His proximity to you, speaking to you in that lower pitch… it makes your heart thunder in your chest. You know there’s absolutely no way Gojo can’t hear it—it’s practically pushing out of your chest. What had been basic attraction is suddenly inching its way out of that easy to manage category and into dangerous territory.

Your brain doesn’t get the memo.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, your voice barely a murmur. “When you get fucked over enough times, trust issues develop. A basic psychological fact, as far as I’m concerned.”

He turns this information over in his mind. You can see the thoughts sinking into the vault behind his eyes. Gojo can be a brat on a good day, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t brilliant or observant.

“Can I have your number?”

You blink, reeling from the whiplash of his question. You fully process the moment and realize his charmer’s grin and bubbly tenor are back. The moment of honesty is gone.

A scoff is forming in your mind when you catch Gojo’s eyes again. The dissonance between the honesty swimming in the azure blues of his eyes and the mask he’s presenting is so clear, it takes you a second to quell your retort and hold out your hand.

His mask softens just a fraction as he gives you his phone, but his eyes never waver. You only break the stare to glance at his phone while you enter in your number, calling your own phone to save his number before handing the device back.

You’re typing out his name when you see a text come through from that number.

Unknown Number 4:18 PM this is Satoru, fyi 🤗

The use of his name feels intentional. You focus your energy and let your aura slip along the edges of his, luring it out for you to see. It’s a halo of cerulean blue, humming softly to you.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard for a moment before you save the number under just Satoru.

“I’ll text you when your bottle of wine’s ready,” Gojo says brightly. “But you have to promise that you’ll follow the instructions I send, too.”

That sounds like a trap and you immediately narrow your eyes as you start to exit the car. He just drops his shades with a too-innocent smile. Bickering with him wouldn’t end up being productive, so you just shake your head.

“Thanks for the ride, Gojo.” You step out of the car and unlock your bike, the tiny bit of anxiety you have about leaving it unattended somewhere unfamiliar easing away as you zip up your leather jacket and pick up your helmet.

“Hey, teach.” You see that Gojo’s window has rolled down as you swing your leg over the bike. “Ride safe, alright? Let me know when you get home, too.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “What are you, my dad?”

His smile turns feline. “Why, feel like calling me ‘daddy?’”

Your eyes can’t roll harder than they do right then. Refusing to deign that with a response, you snap your visor shut and take off back towards your apartment in Yoyogi.

The moment he let you past his Infinity replays in your thoughts the entire ride home. The feel of his skin against yours felt so… nice. The internal cringe at the lackluster adjective is unavoidable. It hasn’t been that long since you’ve had sex, for fuck’s sake. Are you really that starved for attention that you’re willing to play with the giant bonfire of fuck-boy that is Gojo just to satisfy your curiosity — among other things?

You ease your bike into your garage and head back into your safe space. Shedding your jacket, you glance at your phone before you move into the kitchen to start dinner.

Satoru 4:53 PM what perfume do you wear??

Satoru 4:53 PM also, have you made it home yet??? 😰😰😰

Your brows knit at his first question as you pour yourself a glass of wine while last night’s takeout reheats.

You 5:09 PM Just got home. Why do you want to know about my perfume?

Satoru 5:10 PM whew, i was worried!!

Satoru 5:10 PM it smells lovely in my car, the same way you did when i carried you into your place last night. call me curious 🤔

Suspicious, that’s what you’d call him. You let the text sit while you stir your leftovers, distracted by the sense of a blush forming on your cheeks at the thought of him enjoying your perfume in his car as much as you enjoyed his scent.

“And those are the thoughts of a complete weirdo,” you mumble as you stick your leftovers into the microwave for another minute.

You 5:12 PM It’s called Wisteria Blue by Nest

Ordinarily, you’d have silenced your phone and left it somewhere beyond reach to completely disconnect while you unwind from the day. And ordinarily, you’d have your attention focused on some murder docuseries instead of thoroughly grading assignments.

Yet, your phone remains face up and on ringer as it stares at you from the coffee table. You’re half-paying attention to the new show on a crazy cult in the States during the 1980s while nibbling on leftover fried chicken and rice, your peripheral honed in on the screen of your phone and diverting your focus like a fucking teenager.

And, just like a teenager, your stomach flips when your phone chimes and lights up again.

Satoru 5:22 PM do you trust me now?

You 5:23 PM Not completely, no. but I am more inclined to try and trust you

You 5:23 PM Besides, not all of us have Infinity to ward off folks we don’t want hurting us

When he doesn’t immediately reply, you attempt to refocus on your dinner. It’s not like you think Satoru plans on hurting you; that moment in the car before you left gives you a tiny bit of peace of mind there. No, your reactions are purely automatic defense mechanisms, ingrained into you after years of gaslighting and emotional manipulation.

Nope, not going to think about all that. You turn up the television to drown out your own thoughts, just as your phone lights up again.

Satoru 5:31 PM got any good stories about nanamin? 😈

The cackle that bubbles up is pure petty bitch. Boy, oh boy, do you have stories? Since you steadfastly believe that the white-haired demon’s appearance in your life is all Kento’s fault, you feel absolutely no guilt in arming his friend with some solid ammunition.

You 5:33 PM Did you know that he’s terrified of moths? Not like, ew that’s gross, but little girl screaming terrified. He’s even had nightmares that they suck his face off if one lands on him

Satoru 5:35 PM you’re my new favorite person 🤣🤣

----

“It’s getting there, you just need to pay attention to your tempo, Ichigo.”

The third year frowns at her hands, as if their lagging is under someone else’s control. You smile at her, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” you tell her kindly. “It’s easy to get wrapped up in how your music makes you feel that you lose sight of little things like your speed or technique.”

“Does that happen to you, when you play, Ms. Nissen?”

An iron curtain drops on the memories of performing that her question pokes at. Instead, you just keep smiling, though it’s lost a little bit of its warmth.

“I don’t play too much anymore, but yes. If my heart is driving me to play, even I lose sight of my tempo,” you reply as you stand up from your perch by her keyboard station. You glance around the room, pleased to see that some of the girls have started to get a head start on cleaning the room after their check-in.

“Great job, all of you,” you say loudly over the low cacophony of music. “Don’t forget that your reports on your chosen pieces are due tomorrow at the start of class.”

With that, the girls go about their daily chore while you collect your things from the podium in the corner. As expected, you see that you have a string of messages from Satoru, which makes you smile a little, despite your best efforts.

Satoru 2:02 PM what made you want to be a music teacher?

Satoru 2:03 PM and why do you have sound proofing in your apartment?

Satoru 2:10 PM i’ve been to the states a few times. where did you live while you were there??

The last few days followed this pattern of intermittent texts from a perpetually curious Satoru, his questions rarely relating to each other as he fires them off during school hours. You understand his students’ dismissive attitude about his authority over them, especially if he’s on his phone most of the time.

You 3:11 PM I’m surprised you haven’t coerced Kento to tell you all of that 🙄

Your warning shot of the moth story did its job, bringing your cousin to his knees for forgiveness after Satoru released a few dozen moths in one of the classrooms while locking Kento inside. The pair of you reached a truce, agreeing to have dinner again this Saturday, without Satoru.

Satoru 3:12 PM he’s still not talking to me 😅

You 3:13 PM I always had a thing for music, since I was really little. My parents decided to capitalize on it and got me all kinds of private lessons… piano, cello, violin, voice, etc. When I decided to stop performing, I didn’t want to leave it totally behind, so I decided to teach.

Satoru 3:16 PM how did you avoid using your technique? it had to have shown up by then

You 3:17 PM Kento would teach me bits and pieces of jujutsu when I visited over the summers, but before he even started going to Jujutsu Tech, all my feelings and intentions were directed inward, rather than to my audience

You slip your phone into your backpack and put on your helmet. There is plenty about jujutsu that you don’t understand, and you wonder if anyone truly does, but you’re still grateful for Kento and Yaga. Without either of them, you’d have drowned in your own self-loathing.

It occurs to you that you haven’t seen Yaga in awhile, so you decide to pay your respects soon. Maybe he would have some tips on how to manage a certain snowy-topped idiot.

After locking up your bike, you drop your things on the couch and head straight upstairs to your bathroom. A hot shower sounds blissful, as opposed to finding out what other questions Satoru has in store for you.

The steaming spray soothes your tense shoulders as you consider the chessboard of conversation in your head. You’re used to answering personal questions with the bare minimum information needed, but Satoru isn’t your average pedestrian poking around. Besides, it doesn’t escape you that you’ve played the trust card, only to be a perfect hypocrite in terms of honesty.

You sigh as you work shampoo into your hair. The simplest solution is to acknowledge that there are things you aren’t ready to talk about, which is always so much easier said than done. A coil of anxiety tightens in your stomach but you dismiss it.

As you dry off, you make a mental note to dye your hair again soon. The color is fading a little too close to silver for your liking, and the last thing you need is for Satoru to start saying that you’re trying to steal his look.

Dressed in only boybriefs and an oversized sweater, you pad back down the stairs to fish your phone out of your backpack.

Satoru 3:29 PM what’s with the sound proofing then?

Satoru 3:43 PM did you die? do i need to come do a wellness check? 😱

You roll your eyes as you plop onto your sofa.

You 4:03 PM I didn’t die. I got home and showered, and didn’t feel like bringing my phone along

You 4:03 PM I put up the tiles to dampen any sounds I might accidentally make at home. Sometimes I start singing along to my Spotify, or hum while I bake. It’s just for my neighbors, really.

Checking work emails keeps you from watching his typing bubble from bouncing. There’s an upcoming faculty meeting that you pray has nothing to do with the school festival that’s coming up in a couple months. Last year, the girls in your class tried to convince you to perform in their faculty talent show — to the point that you had to dodge them in the halls in case they tried to use the power of their puppy-dog eyes.

Satoru 4:06 PM ooo… i bet you smell amazing. should have invited me to join 😏😏

You 4:06 PM Why’s that?

Satoru 4:07 PM i could have helped you wash up the hard to reach spots! instead, i’m just daydreaming about it instead of training the kids

You 4:08 PM Somehow I doubt me in the shower is what’s really preventing you from doing your job

Satoru 4:09 PM why are you so mean to me??? 😭

You 4:09 PM I’m not mean. I’m honest 😇

Satoru 4:10 PM i don’t believe you’re an angel for one second. no self-respecting angel rides around in tight pants and a leather jacket on a motorcycle, especially not one with a voice as pretty as yours

You 4:11 PM Please stop before you dig yourself into a deep chauvinistic hole that you have no hope of getting out of

Satoru 4:13 PM siiiiigh. fair point. so, where in the states did you live?

You 4:14 PM New York City. My dad works on Wall Street at an investment firm. Have you ever been?

Satoru 4:15 PM nah, i’ve only been to California and Hawaii. nyc seems cool though. did you like it?

You 4:15 PM I guess… I was a kid when I lived there. I moved to Japan when I was 15, so I think I missed out on all the really cool things that New York has to offer

Satoru 4:16 PM we should go together then!! you can show me around 🤗

The idea of playing tour guide to Satoru makes you smile but also makes you shudder. He strikes you as the kind of sucker who goes to all the tourist traps purely because that’s where everyone goes. Him in Times Square? Fuck that.

You 4:21 PM Hmm. I don’t come cheap, you know.

Satoru 4:22 PM name your price 😘

You 4:22 PM Do you always offer up blank checks to people you barely know?

Satoru 4:23 PM no, only the breathtakingly beautiful ones

You choke on rice, coughing roughly as you recoil from such a bold compliment.

You 4:26 PM Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you? How do I know that you aren’t just treating me like another conquest?

Satoru 4:29 PM who says you’re a conquest?

You 4:30 PM Don’t act like you don’t literally charm the pants off women whenever you feel the need. There’s no way a man like you doesn’t have a string of fuck-buddies

Satoru 4:31 PM i’m not, i’m asking why you think i see you as a conquest

Satoru 4:31 PM because if you were, i’d have already hit it and quit it

You honestly can’t decide if you’re flattered or more affronted at his honesty. To let yourself cool off, you finish up your dinner and go pour yourself the last of your favorite red blend.

It’s hard to disagree with his logic, the more you let it roll around in your head. You’re just as guilty of doing the same thing, when the dry spells go a little too long for your liking. And you’ve definitely gotten your share of lectures from Kento about being “so reckless” with strangers.

You 4:40 PM That’s fair. I apologize for making assumptions.

Satoru 4:43 PM wow, didn’t expect you to own up to that so quickly 😳

You 4:44 PM Why?

Satoru 4:44 PM getting nanamin to admit he’s wrong is like pulling teeth!!

You smile, knowing how utterly true that statement is.

You 4:46 PM Well, I’m not my cousin… besides, it’s wrong to shame someone for casually hooking up with people when I do the same thing. I’m not interested in being a hypocrite 💁🏻‍♀️

Satoru 4:48 PM glad i’m not flirting with nanamin. that’d be awkward 😳😳

Satoru 4:48 PM ughhh. gotta run and kill some curses.

Satoru 4:49 PM before i forget, your wine is ready! so be set for dinner at 7pm tomorrow night. dress to impress 😉

Beg your pardon? How did getting a nice bottle of wine turn into a dinner date?

You 4:50 PM What the fuck? Can’t you just give me a bottle of wine, like a normal person?

He doesn’t respond, likely because he’s actually doing work, for once. You glare at your phone for another minute before you drain the last of your wine and start updating grades to keep yourself from texting a string of extremely rude curses to the subject of your ire.

It doesn’t escape your notice how he conveniently had to disappear and exorcise curses after dropping that bomb on you, either.

Huffing, you stomp upstairs and into your bedroom. Because, despite it all, you refuse to show up to dinner looking anything less than your best. As the thought settles, a little grin lifts the corners of your lips while you open your walk-in closet and survey the options.

“Time to fight fire with fire.”

[prouvaireafterdark]

Temporary Wounds (3/3)

WE DID IT KIDS! SHE���S FINALLY DONE! Special thanks to @angsty-aliens and @el-gilliath for the virtual cheerleading :)

Part I | Part II

Also on AO3

***

He’s at the Pony again, five shots too many into what was supposed to be a relatively chill night, but, well, it’s also the eleventh anniversary of the day Alex left for basic training and Michael is feeling sorry for himself.

It’s been weeks since Alex and He Who Shall Not Be Named broke up, but Alex still hasn’t told him why. Michael can’t shake the feeling that that’s important somehow, that maybe the reason they broke up has something to do with him, but he sure as hell isn’t about to ask.

So that leaves him here, on the yearly reminder of one of the shittiest days of his life, drowning his sorrows at the Wild Pony like he’s done just about every year running. He’s idly dragging his finger around the rim of his whiskey glass when Maria appears in front of him.

“So,” she starts, leaning forward over the bar on her elbows, “Alex texted me.”

His ears perk up a little at the mention of Alex, but when she doesn’t elaborate, Michael responds, “Congratulations?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “He’s looking for you.”

“Why?” Michael asks, leaning forward in his seat, his interest piqued.

“He didn’t say,” she answers. “Are you avoiding him? Because I can tell him I haven’t seen you if you want.”

“Why would I be avoiding him?” he asks.

“I don’t know, but you’re sitting in my bar staring down the bottom of a bottle for the first time in weeks so something is clearly up with you,” she says.

He grimaces, almost missing the days when he didn’t have friends who noticed things like that.

“Plus,” she continues, “if he’s texting me to find out where you are, you must not be answering him.”

“Not on purpose,” Michael says, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He tosses it on the bar in front of him. The screen is cracked to hell and bits of glass have already started chipping off entirely.  

“Jesus, how’d that happen?”

“Fell out of my pocket when I was climbing the ladder out of my bunker,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. He’d fallen asleep down there after trying and failing to discover a way to bring Max back. He’d slept worse than usual, still dead tired when he climbed up the ladder to get something to eat, and his reflexes were too slow to save his phone. It was the cherry on top of an already shit day. “So much for being telekinetic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m a psychic who didn’t immediately realize her not-boyfriend was in love with her best friend,” she says, offering him an ironic smile.

“You know, it really doesn’t.”

They’ve reached the point where they can joke about their failed romantic experiment, but now’s not really the time.

“Alright, well, if you don’t want me to tell Alex where you are, speak now or forever hold your peace,” she says. “Maybe he can cheer you up.”

About thirty minutes later, a hand falls heavy against his back. Michael jumps, immediately on the defensive before he turns and sees a familiar pair of brown eyes staring back at him.

“Alex,” Michael says. Alex’s hand lingers on his back and there’s a whole new kind of tension thrumming through his body.

“Hey,” Alex replies, smiling.

He looks beautiful tonight, his hair tousled in a way that makes Michael just want to run his fingers through it and hold on. He’s wearing his leather jacket over a dark green henley that looks soft to the touch. His mouth moves, but all Michael can register is his sudden, overwhelming desire to kiss him.

“Uh, Guerin?” he hears Alex ask, that gorgeous smile dimming just a little as his brow creases and Michael snaps himself out of it. Alex isn’t Michael’s to look at like that. Not anymore.

“What?” Michael asks, eyes refocusing on Alex’s.

“Did you get my texts?” he repeats.

Instead of answering, Michael gestures toward his busted phone.

“Oh, wow,” Alex says, his hand falling from his back to inspect the phone. “How’d you manage that?”

“Dropped it,” he sighs, not wanting to reiterate the longer version of the story.

“From what, the Empire State Building?”

“Hilarious,” Michael comments, taking the phone from him. He puts it back in his pocket. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Michael watches Alex’s throat as he swallows, looking a little unsure of himself. Michael takes a sip of whiskey as a distraction while he waits for Alex to say something and when he does he notices Alex’s eyes narrow just a little.

“How many of those have you had?” Alex asks, gesturing toward the glass.

“Why, you looking to catch up?” Michael asks, a little defensive. He knows why Alex is asking and he’s really not looking for an intervention tonight, especially when he’s actually been doing really well at not spiraling into an abyss of alcohol and acetone dependency lately.

“Guerin,” Alex chides.

“Manes,” Michael replies in kind. He knows he’s being childish, but he didn’t come here to get judged.

“I thought you were easing up on drinking,” Alex persists.

“I am,” he snaps. “Just not right now.”

“Why?” Alex asks. “Did something happen?“

Michael laughs humorlessly, and before he can stop himself he asks, “You forget what day it is?”

Alex thinks about that a moment before it clicks. Michael can’t even look at him as he feels the sting of how much less that day seems to have meant to Alex. “Oh. You remembered the date?”

“How could I forget?” Michael asks, picking at the denim frayed at his kneecap. He’s not sure if it’s the liquor or the ache in his chest that makes him add, “Worst day of my fucking life.”

He supposes that, after Caulfield and Max, that might not exactly be true anymore, but it certainly was at the time. Sure, he’d been beaten bloody and bounced around from one shit home to another all his life, but Alex leaving him to go play soldier with his daddy? Shit, that had hurt worse than anything the New Mexico foster system could throw at him.

“Yeah,” Alex breathes, and something in his voice makes Michael look at him. His eyes are soft and full of regret. “Me too.”

Michael thinks about all the pain Alex has lived through, the trauma they’ve shared and the loss they haven’t and it kills him as much as it fuels him to think that Alex might be telling the truth.

“Alex…” he whispers, but the word hangs between them as they watch each other, caught in this fragile moment of honesty. “Look, I’m not, like, falling off the wagon or whatever, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just…” he trails off, searching for the right words.

“Just what?” Alex prompts him, not angry or judgmental like Michael expects.

Michael shrugs halfheartedly. “Needed to take the edge off, I guess.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, not right away. Instead, he slowly reaches for Michael’s hand—the left one picking nervously at his frayed jeans—and covers it with his own. Michael lets out a shuddering breath as Alex starts to stroke his once-ruined knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says at last.

“What for?” Michael asks, voice rough.

“For putting you through that,” he answers, quiet and sincere. “I know it doesn’t mean much now, but… I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Tears prick at Michael’s eyes, but he blinks them hastily away. He will not cry in front of everyone and their mother in the Wild Pony, especially not over something so viscerally personal. He nods and clears his throat and hopes that’s enough.

Alex seems to understand. He gives Michael’s hand a final squeeze before he pulls his own away.

“So,” Alex starts abruptly, eyes shining in the dim lighting, “other than wrecking cell phones, what have you been up to lately? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

Michael’s grateful for the change in subject. He can feel himself relax more and more, the shadow of what happened a decade ago lessening the longer Alex talks to him. It’s a reminder that Alex didn’t stay gone, that he’s here, and Michael wishes he’d realized sooner that that was exactly what he needed.

When Michael talks about his research, Alex even sits patiently and listens to his scientific ramblings. That’s one of his favorite things about Alex that he’s discovered since they started being friends—how fucking smart he is. Even though they come from two different sides of the STEM field, he’s amazed at how much Alex is able to keep up with.

Eventually, Maria rings the bell for last call and as tired as Michael is he can’t help feeling a little disappointed that their night needs to end.

“Guess we should head out,” Alex says.

“Guess so,” Michael agrees.

“Can you drive?” Alex asks.

Michael bites his lip and thinks about it. He probably could make it home without incident, but he’s had a lot to drink tonight and he’s pretty exhausted. He doesn’t want to make Alex drive him home though. Maybe he’ll get a cab or sleep it off in the bed of his truck til he sobers up a little more.

“Your hesitation says no,” Alex interrupts his thoughts, making his decision for him. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Michael hears his name through the sleep-soaked fog clouding his mind and feels hesitant fingertips tickle his cheek before the warmth of someone’s palm settles over his neck.

When Michael opens his eyes to see Alex staring back at him, he feels his heart stutter, just a little. He’s sitting in the passenger seat of Alex’s car, the door ajar to make room for Alex to stand next to him. He must have fallen asleep on the ride.

“There you are,” Alex says, an amused quirk to the set of his mouth as he pulls his hand away. Over Alex’s shoulder, Michael sees the cabin instead of his Airstream. “For a second there I thought I was gonna have to carry you inside.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Michael replies drowsily.

Alex rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too when he says, “Come on, Guerin, inside,” and nudges him out of the car.

The ground shifts a little beneath his feet when he steps out of the car, but he rights himself before he does something embarrassing like face-plant in Alex’s driveway.

“You good?” Alex asks, eyeing him like a hawk.

“Yeah,” Michael brushes him off. “Just need some water.”

Once they’re inside, Alex greets Buffy, who is happily waiting for him near the threshold, and hangs his jacket up by the door before heading straight for the kitchen. Michael can hear the water from the tap running while he toes his boots off by the door after giving Buffy an adequate number of head scritches. He follows that sound into the kitchen to find Alex standing by the sink.

“I’d offer you ice, but the machine’s broken,” Alex says as he hands over a glass of cool water.

Michael takes it from him gratefully and leans back against the counter next to Alex.

“Want me to take a look?” he asks before he takes a sip.

“Maybe in the morning,” Alex answers, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes Michael feel warm. He realizes he’s never spent a night in Alex’s cabin before. It feels like he’s crossing an unspoken boundary tonight, like Alex is leading him over it.

“Am I crashing here then?” Michael asks, still not sure why Alex brought him here when he could have just brought him to the Airstream.

“Well, you were asleep, so I had to make an executive decision,” Alex shrugs. “I figured instead of dropping you off home now and then driving back to give you a ride to your car in the morning, I could just drop you off at your car on my way into town tomorrow. You don’t have anywhere to be early, right?”

“Nah. I could’ve taken a cab, though, saved you the trouble,” Michael points out.

“And how were you gonna call it?“ Alex counters.

“Touché.”

They stare at each other for a moment while Michael drinks more water before Alex says, “I’ll just get you something to sleep in. Be right back,” and disappears down the hall.

When Michael finishes his water, he sets the glass on the counter and goes off in search of Alex. The cabin’s large, by Michael’s standards anyway, but he finds Alex’s bedroom with ease. The door is open, tempting him inside.

Alex is standing in front of a dresser near the bed, rifling through its contents. He freezes when he hears the old floorboards creak beneath Michael’s weight.

“Hey,” he says, turning around to face him, a faded black t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants in his hands. “These should fit you,” he says, tossing the bundle of clothes. “There’s also a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” Michael says once he’s caught them and takes a few steps closer to him. “So where do you want me?”

Michael watches the way Alex’s gaze lingers over his mouth, his neck. Alex wets his bottom lip before saying, “What?”

“To sleep,” Michael clarifies, hiding a smile. The hope he hasn’t let himself feel in so long simmers under the heat of Alex’s gaze.

“Oh, right,” Alex says, running a hand through his hair, snapping out of whatever thoughts he was having about Michael’s mouth. “I’d offer you the bed, but my leg won’t thank me if I sleep on the couch.”

“Probably more comfortable than my mattress anyway, so I’ll take it,” Michael says.

“Oh, it’s definitely more comfortable than your mattress,” Alex laughs. “That thing’s like cardboard.”

“Hey, don’t knock it too much,” Michael says, thinking of all the times he and Alex put its durability to the test. “That cardboard’s been with me through a lot.”

“I remember,” Alex says, flushing slightly.

“Hard to forget,” Michael adds, and he’s sure he doesn’t imagine the hungry look in Alex’s eyes when their eyes meet.

Alex clears his throat and looks away. “We should probably, uh, go to bed now.”

“Yeah, probably,” Michael agrees, even as he imagines what it’d be like to press Alex up against the dresser and get lost in him the way he used to. He won’t, but it’s a nice thought. “Goodnight, Alex,” Michael smiles and starts walking toward the door.

“Night, Guerin,” Alex smiles back. “See you in the morning.”

Michael heads into the living room to find Buffy sleeping on his bed for the night. Buffy, being a beagle, is not an especially large dog, but she’s somehow managed to stretch her body so long that she’s taking up half the couch.

Michael has half a mind to head back into Alex’s room—“Look at her, she’s too sweet to move, we’re just gonna have to share the bed, Alex, we’d be monsters to disturb her”—but he’s playing the long game and that’s just on the wrong side of desperate.

Instead, he nudges the dog closer to the edge of the cushion until there’s enough room for him to lay down. Buffy doesn’t seem to mind and he slides in next to her and pulls the blanket from the back of the couch to cover them both.

When Michael wakes up the next morning it’s to the smell of dark roast coffee wafting in from the kitchen. Buffy’s gone, he notices, presumably to chase birds in the yard or whatever it is dogs do in the morning. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he gets up to investigate.

Alex is standing in front of the stove, fully dressed, with one hand on his hip and a spatula in the other.

“Morning,” Alex smiles at Michael over his shoulder. “Coffee’s on the counter and eggs’ll be done soon.” He jabs the spatula toward the other end of the counter where a mug sits next to the coffee pot.

It’s so… domestic, Michael feels a little like he’s in the Twilight Zone, like he’s just walked from one dream into another where he and Alex are together and Alex is cooking him breakfast just because he can. It’s a far cry from the cold sheets he usually woke up to first thing in the morning when they used to hook up. It makes him feel off-kilter, vulnerable in some indescribable way, like someone looked deep inside his brain and plucked out a fantasy he never even knew he had.

“Hey, you okay?” Alex asks softly, turning around to get a better look at Michael.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, snapping himself out of the daze he’s in. He heads to the coffeemaker and pours himself a cup. “Morning,” he adds when he remembers.

“How’d you sleep?” Alex asks.

“Like a baby,” he says, not entirely honest, but it makes Alex smile for some reason so he’s not about to contradict himself.

“Yeah, you looked pretty cozy this morning,” Alex says, voice light and amused. “I’ve never seen Buffy let anyone besides me spoon her like that, you should feel very special.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, wondering if Alex’s ex had a hard time getting Buffy to warm up to him. The thought gives him a sudden burst of smug satisfaction. He watches Alex cook, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his mug.

“Mhmm.”

“So what’s all this for?” Michael asks as he watches Alex try to flip the eggs without bursting any yokes.

“What do you mean?”

“This, breakfast,” he says, gesturing to what Alex is doing. Alex looks at him with an unsettled look and Michael’s quick to add, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but… people don’t usually go through this much effort for me when I crash on their couch.”

“Well that’s… sad,” Alex frowns. “It’s just eggs, Michael.”

The use of his first name makes his heart jolt. Alex rarely calls him that, and when he does the situation is usually much more intimate than this. Michael concentrates a little harder on Alex’s body language, searching for any hint of what Alex is really thinking.

He’s holding himself a little stiffly, fidgeting more than usual. When Alex catches him staring, he smiles at him a little too wide. If Michael were anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have been able to catch it, but it’s suddenly plain as day. Alex is nervous about something.

“No, it’s not,” Michael says quietly, his stomach suddenly in knots himself. Alex deflates a little, like some of the air’s gone out of his sails. “What’s going on, Alex?”

“Can we eat first?” Alex sighs.

Michael doesn’t answer, immediately running through every possible thing Alex could want to talk to him about. It’s then he remembers that Alex was actively looking for him yesterday, but never told him why.

Alex pushes a plate into his hand and encourages him over to the kitchen table. Michael takes a seat, places the eggs in front of him, but he doesn’t touch them. Has Alex been waiting all night to talk to him about something? Why?

“It’s big, isn’t it?” he asks when Alex sits next to him, not across from him like he expects, with his own plate. Is Alex okay? Did he find something even more nightmarish than usual in the Project Shepard files? Fuck, is he being relocated?

“You should eat first, your eggs’ll get cold,” Alex says nudging Michael’s plate toward him with the tip of his finger before taking a bite of his own food. It’s as much of a confirmation as he needs.

“No offense, Alex, but I don’t give a damn about the eggs right now. Can you just tell me what you want to say?” Michael pleads. “I’m kind of freaking out.”

Alex sighs and puts his fork down beside his plate. “Please don’t freak out,” he says.

“Okay, I don’t know how they taught you to calm people down in the Air Force, but saying ‘please don’t freak out’ is maybe the worst thing you can say,” Michael complains.

“Okay, yeah, that maybe wasn’t the best way to lead,” Alex laughs self-deprecatingly. “It’s nothing bad, I swear—unless I’ve massively misread things, but I don’t think I have. There’s just been something on my mind lately and I’ve been waiting for the right time to talk to you about it.”

“Why didn’t you last night then?” Michael asks. Alex’s reassurance has assuaged some of his anxiety, but none of his confusion. “That’s why you were looking for me, right?”

“You were already drunk when I found you and if we were gonna talk about this, I wanted both of us to have clear heads,” he explains. “Figured it would be better to wait until morning.”

“Okay,” Michael says, shifting in his seat. “Well, I’m sober. Hit me.”

Alex takes a deep, fortifying breath before asking, “Do you remember what you said when I told you I broke up with my boyfriend?”

Whatever he was expecting Alex to say, it certainly wasn’t that. Michael swallows and tries to guard his expression.

“I asked why,” Michael answers. “You never told me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Alex agrees. “But that’s not all you said. You said he reminded me of what I was like in high school.”

Michael remembers. “You said that was part of the problem.”

“Yeah, it was.” Alex wets his bottom lip with his tongue and angles his body more toward Michael before he speaks again. Michael tracks the movement, feeling the sudden desire to lean in and taste, but he lost that right a long time ago. “Do you remember what I was in high school?”

“An irreverent mall goth with questionable fashion choices?” Michael quips, eyes still on Alex’s mouth, but he looks up when Alex laughs. He likes the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Well, maybe, but not the answer I was looking for.”

Emboldened by Alex’s mood, he guesses, “A sexy twink with an eyeliner fetish?”

“Michael,” Alex admonishes with a tilt of his head, but the smile’s still there. Michael’s stomach flips happily at Alex’s continued use of his first name.

“Alright, tell me then. What were you in high school?”

Alex sobers up a little and says, “In love with you.”

It’s not the first time Alex has told Michael he loved him in high school, but it takes Michael’s breath away all the same.

“Alex,” he whispers, but Alex raises his hand to stop him.

“Wait, just let me say this,” he says.  

Michael nods for him to continue, heart in his throat.

“I’ve been… reclaiming myself these last few months. So much of my life has been decided by my father and I needed to figure out who I am now that he’s gone, so I made some changes. I got new clothes, a new boyfriend, let my hair grow out a little. I finally felt like me again, but I was missing something. I was missing you.

“I thought maybe we could be friends, that it would be enough for me if I could just have you in my life somehow, but… God, near the end of our relationship, every time I was with him, I just kept thinking about who I was eleven years ago and how much that person loved you. And you know what I realized?”

Michael shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

“That’s the one thing that hasn’t fucking changed in the decade I’ve known you. It’s the only part of me my dad could never destroy, no matter how hard he tried,” Alex says, eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’re at the core of me, Michael. You always will be and, as much as I love being your friend, I want more. I want everything.”

Michael’s not quite sure who moves first, but the next thing he knows his hands are in Alex’s hair and he’s locked in a kiss so intense it leaves him breathless. God, he’s missed this so much—the taste of Alex in his mouth, his hair soft as satin against his skin. Michael feels alive for the first time in a long time, but before he gets too carried away there’s something he needs to say. Michael pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, smiling softly when he sees how absolutely wrecked Alex looks.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” Michael confesses, untangling his fingers from Alex’s hair and reaching for his hand instead. He takes a deep breath and braces himself before he continues, “But if we do this, we do it for real, okay? No more hiding. No more running away. I can’t do that again, Alex. I won’t.”

“No more hiding, no more running away,” Alex reassures him. “I’m done pretending you’re not the most important person in my life. I’m all in if you are.”

“I am,” Michael nods.

“Really?” Alex asks, an excited smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “You really want to do this?”

A smile of his own breaks onto Michael’s face. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Alex beams at him and moves back in to kiss him. Michael sighs happily into it, losing time to hot press of Alex’s mouth, to the warmth of his hands  against his scalp.

Their eggs get cold, but, well, who fucking cares?

“You’re at the core of me too, you know,” Michael whispers, hours later, when Alex is resting between his naked thighs, his head pillowed on his bare chest.

Michael can feel Alex smile against his skin. “I know,” he says, and presses a kiss to his sternum.