#and for that i need a bottle of acetone …… we won’t go into that again

[sadlazzle]

suddenly devastated i never had a frankie doll tht came with watzit bc i jst had the genius idea to add pink watzit to the design

[prouvaireafterdark]

Wrong Place, Right Time

For the @malexremix, I remixed @insidious-intent’s excellent frat bro Michael fic! Fair warning, though: it’s rule 63

Also on AO3!

***

Fuck this fucking planet, Guerin thinks as she shivers in the icy December chill, leaning heavily against the cold metal of the bus stop shelter. The minutes drag by slow as molasses as she waits for the shuttle that was supposed to take her home almost half an hour ago.  

Ugh. This is the goddamn last time she tries to do the responsible thing and doesn’t take her truck when she’s heading to the bar. Now, with her patience and her alcohol blanket wearing thin, she’s never been more disappointed that her alien powers don’t include flight or teleportation. 

With a beleaguered sigh, she takes her phone out of her pocket and pulls up the bus schedule. The tips of her fingers grow numb with the cold as she waits for the piece of shit app to load, and when it finally does she’s met with a red banner that reads, Late night buses cancelled due to icy conditions.

“God fucking damn it,” she groans, throwing her head backward in frustration so forcefully that her skull smacks against the hard metal bus shelter. “Ow, fuck,” she winces, the pain flaring up instantly. She reaches up to rub the tender spot with her cold fingertips, wishing she had a bottle of acetone at her disposal.

It’s the thought of acetone that reminds her of Isobel and, more importantly, Isobel’s car, which is undoubtedly sitting in the lot outside her sorority house not too far from here. She’ll mock her mercilessly for it, but she probably won’t say no to letting Guerin borrow it if she promises to buy her bubble tea when she brings it back. 

Without a better idea, Guerin pushes off the bus shelter and starts walking, head downcast as her numb fingers type out a text to Isobel. 

She heads a few blocks down Sorority Row, eyes scanning the houses for those familiar Greek letters. When she finally spots them, she recognizes Isobel’s handiwork immediately in the tasteful Christmas decorations adorning the house’s brightly lit facade. Garlands encircle the tall white columns that line the porch and each and every window is framed with pale yellow lights, a festive wreath in its center. 

She also notices, much to her chagrin, that there appears to be some kind of party going on inside. Muffled music seeps through the walls and she can see people mingling inside through the large windows in the front of the house. 

Guerin checks her phone one last time, but Isobel’s read receipts tell her she hasn’t even seen the message yet. Looks like she’s going to have to go inside and find her. 

She looks down at her jeans and fleece-lined jacket, both threadbare and thrifted, and briefly considers some light carjacking, but in the end, she decides against it—as annoyed as Isobel will be with her for showing up to a party at her sorority dressed like this, it’ll be much worse if she wakes up to find her car missing. 

Sighing deeply, Guerin turns down the red brick path to the porch and makes her way to the front door.

One fist is poised to knock, the other buried deep in the pocket of her jacket, when an unexpected voice comes from her left.

“You lost?” the voice says. 

Guerin’s curls whip through the air as she turns to see Alex Manes, the very talented, very hot musician who sometimes plays at the undergrad cafe Guerin works at on the weekend, sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the porch. How she missed her sitting there is anyone’s guess, but now that she has the opportunity to look at her she isn’t going to waste it.

In the glow of the Christmas lights, she can see Alex is wearing heavy black combat boots and the tightest skinny jeans she’s ever seen with a thick knit maroon cardigan drawn closed across her chest. Her dark eyes are lined in black, as always, and in her lap is a battered moleskin notebook with a pencil caught between its pages.

“Nope,” Guerin answers, smiling as she turns more fully in Alex’s direction and takes a step closer. “I’m looking for Isobel.”

“Really?” Alex asks, head cocked to the side in confusion. “Why?” 

It’s a fair question, Guerin supposes. Isobel doesn’t exactly broadcast that their campus’ resident bisexual stoner is also kind of her sister.

“The buses stopped running apparently so I need to borrow her car,” Guerin explains.

Alex barks a laugh, a bright sound that makes the pit of Guerin’s stomach warm in spite of her. “Good luck with that.”

Guerin smiles good naturedly, but doesn’t head back to the door just yet. As cold as it is, she’d rather see if she can make Alex laugh again.

“I’m Guerin, by the way,” she introduces herself as she sits down in one of the rocking chairs next to her.

“Alex,” she says unnecessarily. “And I know who you are,” she continues, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smile. “You work at Bean Me Up, right?”

“I do,” Guerin says, face brightening. They smile at each other for a moment, neither one really sure where to pick up the thread of conversation before Guerin asks, “So, what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Oh, uh, wine mixers aren’t really my thing,” Alex answers, gesturing over her shoulder to the party inside.

“A sorority girl who doesn’t want to party?” Guerin asks, equal parts amused and confused. “I think you maybe joined the wrong crowd.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Alex sighs.

That brings Guerin up short. Sure, she’d been surprised to hear that Alex was in Isobel’s sorority—her emo aesthetic doesn’t exactly match the sorority girl stereotype that lives in Guerin’s brain—but she figured she at least enjoyed being a part of it.

“Do you really not like it here?” she asks.

Alex shrugs noncommittally. 

Guerin frowns. “Why not leave then?”

Alex is quiet so long Guerin wonders if she’s crossed a line, but eventually she gets an answer.

“My mom’s a legacy and kind of an asshole, so,” she says, as if that explains everything, and then adds, “If joining Greek Life is what it takes for her to keep paying my tuition, I guess this is where I’ll be.”

That is something Guerin can understand. If her scholarship relied on participation in Greek Life, she sure as hell would’ve pledged too. 

“Mm, gotcha,” she says with an understanding nod. “That sucks, though. I mean, we’re in college, right? Isn’t now the time we’re supposed to spend doing whatever we want?”

Alex raises her glass—a pink solo cup that’s been resting on the small table next to her—in agreement.

Silence stretches between them for a long few seconds. She should probably head inside to find Isobel now, but Alex is beautiful and talking to her and she just can’t quite bring herself to walk away.

“So, are you working on a new song?” she asks eventually, looking down at the notebook in Alex’s lap.

“Trying to,” Alex admits, her cheeks flushing just a little. 

“What’s it about?”

Alex bites her lip for a second before she answers.

They talk about the song, and music in general, for so long that Guerin forgets about Isobel entirely. It isn’t until Alex brings her up that she remembers.

“Oh, shit, don’t you need to find Isobel?” Alex asks, breaking off in the middle of her story about the My Chemical Romance concert she went to when she was thirteen.

“It can wait,” Guerin shrugs.

“In that case, you want a drink or something?” she offers, looking over her shoulder and through the window into the house.

Guerin thinks about it before she answers, “Wine mixers aren’t really my thing either, but I wouldn’t say no if you’ve got something stronger.”

Alex gives her a considering look before she says, “Alright then,” getting up from her chair. “Follow me.”

As she heads for the front door, Guerin follows close behind.

She’s a little surprised to be led straight up the stairs to Alex’s bedroom, but she isn’t about to complain about it.

“You can take your jacket off and sit on my bed if you want,” Alex says as she lets her inside. 

Guerin unzips her jacket and lays it over the back of the chair by Alex’s desk before she kicks off her boots and climbs onto her bed. She sits with her back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles as she watches Alex rifle through the top drawer of her nightstand. 

She comes back a minute later holding a clear plastic baggie with a rolled joint and a shitty bic lighter inside. She tosses it on the bed beside Guerin’s thigh.

Guerin has it out of the bag before Alex can get her boots off and climb onto the bed, but she waits until she’s sitting next to her, too close to be an accident, to light it.  

 With one end between Alex’s lips, Guerin lights the other. She watches Alex take a long drag off the joint, watches the smoke curl around her mouth as she exhales. Her lips look so soft and pink and—Jesus fucking Christ, Guerin has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her life.

It must show on her face because after a calculating look Alex takes another drag and holds the smoke in her lungs as she leans in close enough to kiss her. Guerin gets the picture and follows suit, her eyes slipping closed, lips parted and waiting. 

She inhales as Alex gently blows the smoke into her open mouth, their lips touching for a brief and charged moment. She holds it in her lungs for a minute before releasing it into the air between them. When her eyes flutter open, she’s as pleased as she is unsurprised to see Alex staring blatantly at her mouth. 

Without letting her eyes drift, Guerin takes the joint from Alex’s fingers and brings it to her mouth, sucking the smoke into her lungs once more. When she leans in to return the favor, she can’t resist flicking out her tongue to taste her bottom lip.

Alex moans softly against her mouth, the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, and the next thing she knows Alex is climbing in her lap.

Guerin lets out a shuddering breath against her mouth, the warmth of Alex’s thighs around her waist as intoxicating as the smoke burning her lungs and the lust rushing through her veins. It’s by a stroke of luck more than anything else that she doesn’t drop the joint onto Alex’s comforter and set her fucking bed on fire in her haste to get her hands on her hips.

Gentle fingers reach for Guerin’s hand then, taking the joint back from between her fingers. 

“What are you doing?” Guerin asks against her lips as Alex settles her weight on top of her. 

She feels it when Alex smiles against her mouth.

“Whatever I want,” she answers cheekily.

“Fair enough,” Guerin smiles back, and as she leans in to press their lips together for real this time, she can’t help but think that maybe leaving her truck at home wasn’t the worst idea she’s ever had after all.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 3

Thomas X Shelby

2075

Summary: Thomas goes on a date with Grace. An old melody makes it difficult.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

Grace paced nervously in her flat as she went over the details she had planned for this evening. She’d chosen a venue she knew was outside of Peaky Blinder territory and far enough away from any sort of police presence that she should be able to get Thomas to relax tonight. 

Inspector Campbell’s instructions the other night left her rattled. She didn’t appreciate the idea of being so expendable even as she reasoned that it was for a good cause.

Even as she flattened her dress again in an attempt to calm her nerves, she heard the doorbell ring. She flinched from the noise but made her way toward the doors regardless. Grace checked the clock next to the door. Ten minutes early. A true gentleman.

When she opened the door there he was. He'd traded out his normal attire for something more eloquent, tailored. However, his signature cap was still there revealing the devil in fancy clothes.

Thomas smirked, "Keep staring at me like that, and we won't make it to the dance." 

It took everything Grace had not to recoil. But instead she ducked her head, attempting to conjure up a blush. She grabbed her purse and hurriedly joined him in the hall.

After an agonizingly long stroll she finally led him up the steps to a restaurant that had been converted into a dance hall for the evening. Every surface behind the tall oak doors gleamed in the dim electric light. The floor was marble crafted so seamlessly it looked as if it were poured from the heavens into the place it was now. If it wasn't marble it was either polished oak or gilded in gold.

A soft music filled the air, filtering through thin red curtains that seperated the VIP lounge from the rest of the diners. Upon entering they were greeted by the host.

He stood tall in his immaculate uniform, "Do you have a reservation?"

Grace nodded, "It's under the name Shelby."

She barely caught the gang leaders' raised eyebrow as they were led further inside. Upon further inspection not only did the venue reek of upper class opulence, but so did the guests. Many of them were upper middle class citizens, which the Peaky Blinders rarely had any interaction with. There were even some lower level parliament members sipping wine and leering at the demure maids who served them.

When they arrived at their table Thomas, ever the gentleman, helped Grace with her chair. His eyes scanned the room slowly deconstructing each detail a thief would need. Grace shifted uncomfortably as she waited for him to join her. 

Eventually he took his seat, “You have quite the taste in venues.”

Grace shrugged, “You’re footing the bill. So I figured we would go somewhere we normally wouldn’t.”

He turned towards her, taking her in for the first time since they left her flat. Grace couldn’t help but shift underneath his gaze. Reflexively, she cast her eyes about the room for any type of distraction.

“Admittedly,” she said, “I had thought this place would be more targeted towards dancing. I’ll be right back and see what I can do about the music.”

“And if the waiter returns?”

“Order for me,” she waved her hand dismissively as she rose, not giving him the opportunity to pull out her chair.

She hurried off to put some distance between herself and Thomas. The room suddenly felt suffocatingly hot. All the small ways her clothes pinched and clung to her began to become an irrational irritation. Her skin was already crawling with the idea of what might happen after she left this place. At any cost. 

The walls around her became a safety blanket of finery. If she could find a way to make the night stretch long enough then maybe she could prolong what seemed to be the inevitable. Even as the thought crossed her mind she schooled herself on the unprofessionalism. She should want to serve her country. Even if it crossed every boundary I’d set for myself?

Grace’s eyes kept being drawn to the only color in the room. The red curtains separating the lower class citizens from their ‘betters’. And the musician.

She glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention before she slipped past. She blinked awkwardly; the majority of the light was outside of the curtains, casting a disturbing red glow on the room. A haze of cigar smoke filled the room making it even harder to see. Only small candles were used to create the barest amount of light for people to function. This particular part of the building was in a more secluded alcove which the patrons used to the fullest.

Men who ran the country were letting themselves be seduced. Women watched as their jewels were being bartered for. Every indulgence was being passed around from exotic chocolates to opium. Soft sighs punctuated the murmur of conversation.

In the middle of the room was an elevated platform with a grand piano. Grace blinked a couple more times to make sure she was seeing correctly. Instead of the man in a tux she’d expected, there sat a woman in one of the most beautiful dresses she’d ever seen. Something about her was familiar, but Grace didn’t pay much attention, only wanting to get out of the room as soon as possible.

She strode up before  waving towards the bored looking pianist, “Excuse me, do you do requests?”

Grace was initially answered with an arched eyebrow, “What kind of requests were you thinking about Ma’am?”

“I was thinking maybe a sad love song then building up to some dancing music?” Grace collapsed her hands before her, wringing them together.

The woman paused to think, “Classical dancing or something more lively?”

Grace blinked, “L...Lively.”

She nodded then went about finishing her song. Grace shrunk in on herself as she scurried away. The whole exchange reminded her of being scolded by a school teacher and in the end she wasn’t even sure if she’d gotten anything out of the endeavor.

〜

Thomas glanced around once more. While he’d feigned ignorance with Grace this location was one he was well aware of. It was a nice building but it was also mere moments away from becoming a glorified opium den. He’d looked into possibly being a supplier for the more illicit items. The only thing stopping him was the lack of financial security his other ventures were producing at the moment.

He’d chosen their foods, intentionally going for an array of items. Their cups were full, and he leisurely sipped his wine. Thomas began to wonder if Grace knew the worst of the drugs that frequented the Birmingham underground. If she did, would she leave me alone with her food?

After a while, Grace seated herself opposite of him with a huff.

“How did it go?”

He watched as she schooled her features. “The elite seem to be hoarding the music tonight.”

Thomas chuckled, “That’s how it is isn’t it? Don’t worry, we can always find somewhere else.” 

She shook her head. “No, I chose this place. Let’s experience it.”

“If you insist.” 

He wasn’t sure when things had changed but as he spoke something pulled at the edge of his senses. It was an undercurrent below the ebb and flow of conversation. His heart began to ache even as it sped up. It wasn’t until the echoes of war began that he realized what it was. The music. Her music.

Thomas’ face fell as the words died in his throat. The finest wine he’d tasted in years turned to acetone in his mouth. All the splendor of England was laid before him and it was worth nothing.

He could sense the tension in Grace as she watched him cast his eyes about. He hadn't seen the source of the music on the way in, and honestly if he couldn't see her she couldn't see him. Yet that song still played.

"Thomas?"

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at the woman he'd been admiring moments before.

"What's wrong?"

Everything. Nothing.

He cleared his throat, "Do you know this song?"

Grace paused then closed her eyes to listen. After a few moments she shook her head.

"It was created three and a half years ago by a woman posing as a man." He continued.

Her brow furrowed, "How do you know this?"

Thomas couldn't stop his wicked grin as he stood, nor did he want to, "I was there when it was made. Tell me. Where did you see the musician?"

Uncertainty was clear in Grace’s eyes but she pointed toward the curtains nonetheless. Thomas knew he shouldn’t be doing this in front of her or possibly future clientele. But as the notes on the piano hit the chorus he couldn’t find himself to care. For this was the one song he couldn’t bleach from his soul. It was his song, the one he asked for on one of his darkest days. Or so he thought.

He strode with the confidence of a Shelby. His back tall and his chin held high he gripped the heavy curtains and flung them open. He welcomed the hiss of the patrons as light stung their eyes. Every glare that landed on his skin felt like soap in his wounds. It was familiar, something he could deal with.

Blessedly, the music stopped. Even then he wasn’t prepared for the wide eyes that found his among the chaos. Y/N sat there back held straight in defiance prepared for whatever fight might come her way. There was a strength there wrapped in fine lace. A memory of hands gripping his shoulder firmly and hauling him away from certain death. It caused something inside him to come to life. A resonating pull towards a destiny he couldn’t name. 

“Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen, I will be hiring out your musician tonight. I was promised some dancing, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get it.” As he spoke he pulled out his wallet and slapped a stack of bills onto the polished wood beside Y/N.

He didn’t give her time to reply as he waved the Host farther into the room, “Come here. Yes, good man. You see this room? I want you to open a bottle of wine and make sure everyone here has a glass. Then clear out this mess. We’re dancing tonight.”

A portly man, with his vest and shirt unbuttoned, wadled his way up to Thomas with a face as red as a tomato, “Who do you think you are? The King of England?”

“Oh no friend. I’m not the king. I’m Thomas-Fucking-Shelby.” He let his smile spread too wide across his face. He knew the look he got in his eyes when he did this and loved to watch as people cowered before it. Just like the nameless bastard in front of him.

The Host glanced at Y/N, giving her a nod to continue as Thomas had instructed. With a shrug, Y/N pocketed the money and began playing quite the jaunty tune. Thomas lingered a moment, making sure his instructions were being followed. As he turned away he didn’t miss the tense set of Y/N’s jaw. A thought, there and gone again, begged him to kiss her stress away. 

He returned to Grace. Her eyes were wide as he held out his hand to her. She’d seen the whole affair, he knew she would. However, the fact that she didn’t actively shy away from him meant something. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“Care for a dance?”

〜

Hours later, Thomas escorted Grace back to her flat. He scoffed at himself for not taking the chance to go farther with her but the night had gone sour the moment the music began. And I told Y/N I wanted her playing every Saturday.

When he’d brought Grace to her door she looked at him expectantly. Yet even a blind man could see she was absolutely terrified of spending the night with him. Hell she shook like a lead when he removed her coat. It was a gentlemanly thing to do. Something Aunt Pol had beaten into him at a young age.

Now he strode down the near deserted street smoking to keep himself warm. Thomas hummed a tune. That one.

[litwitlady]

with you i serve, with you i fall down

Read on AO3.

Angst Prompt #3 - ‘Is that blood?’ (I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING)

Warnings: blood, minor physical violence, guns, gunshot wounds, mind games, mind control

‘We don’t have to do this today,’ Michael begs, eyes shifting back and forth between Isobel and Alex.

Isobel places her hand on his shoulder and tilts her head slightly, trying to make him understand. ‘There are innocent people inside, Michael. At last thirty heat signatures. We might be their only hope. We can’t wait for Max. He’s in California.’

‘We’ll be okay.’ Alex knows that’s not really enough, but it’s all he’s got at the moment.

Michael turns to him slowly. ‘You don’t know that. Me and Iz will go, Alex. Please stay here.’

‘You know that’s not the safest option. We’ve been over this already.’ Isobel tugs Michael’s eyes back to her. ‘There’s no cell reception in that building or even outside of that building. Leaving Alex here by himself cuts us off from communication. But having you out here means I’ll be able to reach you if something goes wrong.’

He makes a strangled noise and shakes his head. ‘Then you stay. Alex and I will go. You cannot ask me to watch the two people I love most on this planet - or any other fucking planet - walk into that building.’ He shrugs his shoulders and takes several steps away from them, needing the space to breathe. ‘I will not do that.’

Alex watches him walk away, kicking at the ground in frustration. Michael has never said the word ‘love’ to him. Not in the present tense, anyway. It makes him slightly dizzy. They’ve only just started finding their way back to each other. A friendship blooming gradually and finally able to talk to each like grown adults. Their future open and waiting for them.

Michael climbs into his truck and slams the door. But he doesn’t start the engine. Alex and Isobel watch him lean his head against the back glass and close his eyes. ‘He’s never going to agree to this.’ Isobel crosses her arms and stares at Alex. ‘It’s a terrible thing we’re asking him to do.’

‘None of us have a choice. I’m not willing to risk someone else’s life to keep my own safe. So, there’s no calling anyone else for help. And like you said, we can’t wait.’ Alex squares his shoulders, frowning. ‘I’ll go talk to him.’

‘No.’ She moves in front of Alex, blocking his way. ‘It needs to be me. Wait here.’

She slides into the truck next to Michael. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence. Just keeps his eyes shut and stays silent. ‘You know it has to be me and Alex, Michael.’ No reaction. ‘I’ve worked on my abilities more than you have. So, I’m better equipped, better armed. You know I’m right.’

Michael’s eyes open and he blinks several times at truck’s the rusting roof overhead. ‘I feel it deep in my gut, Isobel. Something bad’s going to happen if you leave me behind. We don’t have enough information.’ He turns his gaze out the window, focusing on Alex. ‘I love him too much, Iz. And you too.’ Angry tears burn down his cheeks.

‘You’re willing to risk all those lives - more than two dozen people - just because something might happen to me or Alex?’ She squeezes his knee. ‘I know you’re not. And we both know how this ends. So, if you want to sit and watch from the safety of your truck, that’s okay. But Alex and I are leaving.’

Isobel rejoins Alex by his Explorer, one last look over her shoulder at Michael. ‘We better get going. I don’t want to be inside that place after sundown.’

Alex checks that his gun is fully loaded. ‘What did you say to convince him?’

‘Honestly? Not a whole lot and I’m pretty sure he’s not convinced.’ She stuffs several bottles of acetone in Alex’s backpack next to his extra bullets. ‘He loves you, you know. I’m never sure how clear that is between you two.’ They hear a door slam shut and turn at the sound. Michael is on his way to them, sadness etched deep in the lines of his forehead. Alex sighs. ‘It’s much clearer these days.’

He’s left his hat behind and his curls swirl in the wind. ‘I don’t want you to go, but I won’t stop you either. But Isobel? At the first sign of trouble you scream for me. Do you understand?’

‘I promise. The first sign of trouble - even the inkling of trouble - and we’re out.’ She pulls him into a tight hug and whispers in his ear. ‘I’ll keep him safe. As best I can.’

Michael nods into her neck and watches Alex slip the backpack onto his shoulders. Isobel unfolds herself from him and Alex gives a little wave as he turns towards the concrete warehouse. But Michael reaches out and grabs his elbow, spinning him back around. ‘No, you don’t get to just walk away like that. Not anymore.’

He pushes the backpack off Alex’s shoulders and onto the ground. And then they fall into each other’s arms - Alex’s wrapped around Michael’s neck and Michael squeezing at Alex’s waist. Noses buried in hair and fingernails clawing at naked skin. So many words left unspoken but not a single one left unheard.

‘Don’t go playing hero, Alex. Sometimes running away is the right choice.’ Michael holds on tighter and glances towards Isobel who’s already at the electric fence, giving them their space. He pleads with his eyes and she mouths I promise one last time.

They pull apart. Hands lingering at collars and hemlines. Eyes blurry and hearts worried. Alex takes a couple of backwards steps, grabbing his backpack and then turns away. Joining Isobel at the fence and setting off together to whatever fate awaits them. Michael looks on completely and utterly helpless. He knows they are competent and well-armed. Smart and desperate to return to him. But that knowledge does absolutely nothing to ease the ache in his chest.

Once they disappear from sight, Michael heads back to his truck. He stands with his hand on the door handle for a long time, trying to convince himself to open the door and not do the thing his heart wants him to do. But his heart wins. Unlocking Alex’s Explorer with his telekinesis, he slides into the driver’s side seat and shuts the door behind him. It’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever done in his life, but he doesn’t care. That nagging feeling is still punching at his stomach and the smell of Alex surrounding him helps to calm his nerves.

The interior is immaculate. So clean it makes Michael roll his eyes. There’s nothing in the center console but two pens and a roll of quarters. The glove compartment offers only the owner’s manual and a flashlight. But when he reaches around into the seat pocket, he strikes gold. Michael smiles down at the cd case he pulls free. The title is written in Alex’s too-perfect script and black-inked sharpie - Desert Mix.

Starting the engine, Michael slides the cd into the disc player and waits. Static crackles through the speakers and then the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar, followed shortly by Alex’s own voice. And Michael knows these songs - remembers the lyrics scratched across the various notebooks tucked under the futon in the toolshed. He’s listened to Alex sing these songs over and over again in the bed of his truck underneath the starry sky more times than he can count. When they were still teenagers with all their dreams still alive and close enough to touch.

Thirty minutes pass and Alex’s songs have nearly lulled him to sleep when he feels the first twinge of fear. It’s faint and distant enough to not immediately alarm him. He just shifts into a more comfortable position and recloses his eyes. The second wash of fear is much stronger and arrives accompanied by Isobel’s screams echoing in his head. Within seconds he’s running harder than he ever has in his life, straight into his worst nightmare.

No doors exist in the building’s central door frame. Just a gaping hole daring him to enter. Which he doesn’t hesitate to do, especially once Isobel begins to chant help us help us help us through his thoughts. He checks behind every door he passes, but finds nothing until he arrives at a large open space. Bleak and gray, the roof leaking water onto the concrete. Isobel on her knees and Alex sitting flat in the center of the room. Farmer Jones behind them, deviant grin spread wide across his face. ‘Welcome, Michael. So glad you could join us.’

Michael’s heart sinks to the floor. He tries using his telekinesis but knows if Isobel has been rendered powerless, so has he. And with that reality before him, whatever hope he’d been trying to hang onto flees. ‘There were never any hostages, were there?’

Alex and Isobel shake their heads.

‘Front and center, Mikey! We’re going to play a little game.’ It points to a spot between Alex and Isobel. Michael has no choice so he steps forward. Stopping when he’s commanded to. ‘Well done. Now, take a good, long look at Isobel and Alex. Spend some time thinking about how much you love them. Let me know when you’re finished.’ He steps back, arms crossed over his chest and still grinning like a madman.

That’s when Michael sees the gun.

It’s Alex’s personal weapon. The one he keeps for protection. Protection he’s needed more than once in his life from those supposed to love him most.

Dragging his eyes down to Isobel, he can tell how broken she is despite the way she holds her shoulders back, strong and proud even in her despair. Her eyes are wet with tears, her chin lifted in rebellion. But he can no longer find her in his head, so Jones must have cut their communication.

Beside her is Alex. A dark red stain soaking the shoulder of his t-shirt. ‘Is that blood?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Just a little scratch. Alex didn’t like my methods at first. But he’s since come around to see things my way.’ Alex’s jaw flexes and Michael watches him try to speak. But no sound leaves his mouth in spite of how hard he’s straining, veins in his neck throbbing with the effort.

‘Let them go and I’ll do whatever it is you want.’ Isobel and Alex both violently shake their heads. Michael ignores them. ‘Please.’

‘Can’t play the game with only one other person. Sorry.’ Jones rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shrugging.

‘Then let Alex go. He’s not one of us. Just a human who doesn’t belong here.’ Emotion chokes Michael’s voice which makes Jones’s eyes light up. Alex continues to shake his head, tears now trailing down his cheeks.

‘Everybody stays, Michael. Are you ready? You’re going to need this.’ He yanks the gun from the waistline of his pants and holds it out to Michael. ‘Go on, take it.’

Dread seeps deep into Michael’s bones, making him dizzy. He keeps his hands at his side and gulps loudly. Brain frantically searching for some way out of this horrific situation.

‘Now, Michael. Before you make me angry.’ Jones steps between Isobel and Alex, shoving the gun into his chest.

Michael takes the gun, hands beginning to shake. Eyes pleading with the monster in front of him, eyes avoiding the two people he can’t afford to lose at his feet.

Jones begins to walk in circles around the three of them. Slow and menacing. Taking his time and enjoying every sick second. ‘The game is simple. The rules easy to follow.’ He stops and puts one hand on Isobel’s shoulder, the other on Alex’s. ‘Your mind is a fascinating place, Michael. An electric minefield of love and suffering. Never a dull moment.’

He pauses for effect. Basking in his control and breathing in their terror. ‘This backwater planet has made you so soft and pliable. Imagine what you could have been had you grown up on our marvelous star.’ He feigns pity and then laughs. ‘But instead, you are this. Pathetic. Now you will pay the price for your mother’s wicked hubris. And the choices she made.’

Jones uses his power to raise Michael’s arm. The one whose hand is holding the gun. Michael fights like hell but it’s no use. The gun wobbles as Jones swings his arm back and forth. Pointing the gun first at Isobel and then at Alex. ‘So that’s the game! Your mother once had to make a decision and now her son will do the same. Isobel or Alex, Michael. You have five minutes or I shoot them both.’

Michael knows the moment his voice returns to him - his arm under his own control again as well. Jones smiles at him and Michael shakes his head. ‘I won’t do this.’ He tries to turn the gun on himself, but Jones just takes control again and laughs.

‘You will do this, Michael. Losing one is better than losing them both. And you’ll make it quick. I’ll make it sweet and so very slow.’ Jones tenderly cups Isobel’s cheek and runs his other hand through Alex’s hair. Michael watches as they both wince and shiver under his touch. ‘It’s not like we don’t know who you love the most. I mean, it’s no contest really.’ With a strike quicker than a snake, Jones backhands Alex square in his jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. Michael shouts and tries to go to him, but Jones holds him in place.

‘The lover. Well...the ex-lover, anyway. And the purest love you’ve ever felt.’ Jones wraps his fingers in Alex’s hair and yanks him back into a sitting position. His lip is split, blood flowing freely down his chin and dripping onto his t-shirt. All three of them are panting and openly weeping. Michael’s entire body covered in a cold sweat. None of the thoughts in his head coherent with no last minute save-the-day solutions presenting themselves. Wordlessly, he begins to pray.

Jones goes back to lapping the three of them. ‘In case you were wondering, they both desperately want you to choose themselves. Alex is begging you to pick him. Isobel is maybe less enthusiastic about offering herself, but that’s still what’s inside her head. Noble, really. And Max, well - he’s enjoying the show all the way from sunny California.’

He sits between Isobel and Alex like he’s preparing for some grotesque kindergarten story time. ‘It disgusts me how weak the three of you are. Born to wield such power and instead you’re this - something lesser than even toddlers back home. I blink and you can’t move. I blink again and your minds are easy to crawl inside. Another blink and you’ll do whatever I say.’ He tsks with his tongue and shakes his head. ‘And to think you were meant to save us all, Michael.’

He releases Michael again. ‘Choose. Your five minutes start now.’

Faced with an impossible choice, the decision is easy to make in the end. He’s able to talk but decides not to. Not with words anyway. Michael raises his eyes to Alex and then the gun. And Alex smiles. Because he knows it was always meant to end this way.

Michael thinks back to the first time he’d seen Alex in the hallways of their middle school. An unremarkable moment. Alex and Valenti laughing in a classroom doorway. Valenti grabbing his arm, ‘Who are you?’ And Alex smiling, waiting for his answer.

But the next barrage of memories collapses his lungs. The first time Alex had come to school with his ear pierced, the septum ring hanging from his nose. Always with Maria and Liz, right in the middle. The occasional what’s up, Guerin. Valenti slamming him into a row of lockers after the first rumors started to spread. And eventually, a stolen guitar.

His hand shakes violently. But Alex softly and nods his head. Resigned and ready for what comes next.

Michael takes a moment to step back inside the UFO Emporium. Bright Eyes playing through the speakers overhead. Not a soul in sight. Other than the prettiest boy he’s ever seen with a bigger heart that he could have ever dreamed. A flood of quick flashes - Alex naked beneath him, making out at the movie theater, the desert sky as Alex strums his guitar, Alex’s hair shorn to regulation, letters written and never sent, first glances after long absences, hands on hips and lips on necks, harsh words and bitter tears, i loved you and i think that you loved me, the toolshed destroyed, another soft smile and would you come home.

Michael pulls the trigger.

The gunshot ricochets around the cavernous warehouse, reverberating off the back of Michael’s molars. And then everything falls silent and time stops. Alex crumples to the floor, blood leaking from the hole in his forehead. Eyes dead and lifeless. Michael’s heart claws its way out of his chest and throws itself on Alex. Alongside a screaming Isobel who can move again, hand covering Alex’s wound trying to staunch the bleeding.

But it doesn’t matter because Alex Manes is dead.

Jones tugs the gun from Michael’s hand and pistol whips Isobel on the temple. She collapses across Alex’s unmoving chest. Then Michael is thrown through the air, landing with a thud against the cylinder block wall. He hears the crunch of his skull and then mercifully blacks out. The gunshot playing one last time through his mind before the world disappears.

Time inevitably continues to pass. Alex growing colder and colder as the seconds tick by.

Michael reawakens to Isobel’s gargled cries. Shouting his name over and over again, hoarse from the effort. Michael has no idea how long he’s been out. Looking around, Jones has vanished. A ghost in the night. He squints into the darkness, Isobel slumped over Alex still trying to save him. Beating at his chest and pressing her hand over his wound.

Alex remains dead.

And to think you were meant to save us all, Michael. That line replays in Michael’s head as he sits watching Isobel’s struggle. It’s those words that convinced him to choose Alex. He closes his eyes and goes to the place deep in his gut where his power lives. An electric minefield of love and suffering. He rests his mind, truly hushing it quiet for the first time in his life. Laying the love and suffering aside long enough to connect his brain with his power. Completing a circuit that his trauma had never allowed before.

Energy flares in his nerve endings, clearing all the muck and grime. He thinks of Isobel and easily slides into her mind. There’s chaos and panic and an overwhelming gut-wrenching fear. Bile rises in her throat. She’s convinced that both of them are dead and that she’s all alone in this hell house. Michael reaches out for her and settles her nerves. Sends his own energy through her arm and down into the palm of her hand. The one pushed tight to Alex’s forehead.

Michael concentrates on picturing Alex’s face, whole and happy. Warmth from his belly travels through his connection with Isobel and begins to weave Alex’s brain back together, one fiber at a time. He can feel Isobel gasp when the wound under her palm slowly smoothes away. Her fear subsides and big, choking gasps tear from her lungs the minute Alex’s eyes reopen and his chest rises. She starts to scream Michael’s name again, but this time for a very different reason.

He climbs to his feet and is amazed at how good he feels. Not drained at all - slightly light headed in a pleasant way. Alex sits up and Isobel pulls him into a tight hug, waving at Michael wildly with her free hand.

It takes Michael a moment to take that first step forward. Questions twist in his mind and he knows in his gut that his relationship with Alex will never be the same again. And while he’s excited for what comes next, he’s also terrified of what it might all mean. The overwhelming desire to feel Alex’s heartbeat eventually tugs him forward, though, and before long he’s dropping to his knees beside them.

Alex paws at him, crawling into his lap with Isobel not far behind - clinging to the both of them like she never intends to let go ever again. ‘I felt you, Michael. You did this. How?’

Michael feels Alex bury his nose in the crook of his neck and reaches out to pull Isobel closer. ‘What he said about me being meant to save everyone. It just clicked in my brain and I knew I could save us.’ He presses his lips into Alex’s temple. ‘But I had to choose Alex in case I was wrong and needed help.’ His voice cracks and falters, a sob catches his breath and Michael collapses into them. They hold him close while he cries. The crash of adrenaline and the weight of his choice catching up to him.

They sit tucked tight together for a long time while the sun sets outside.

‘Is he going to have a handprint on his forehead?’ Isobel asks, pushing Alex’s hair aside to see if his skin has started to glow.

‘I don’t know - I don’t think so.’ He cups Alex’s cheeks and inspects his face, finding nothing. ‘Do you feel any different?’

‘Yes. I feel you everywhere. All over me. Inside of me.’ He wraps his fingers around Michael’s wrists, gently knocking their foreheads together. ‘It’s hard to breathe around, actually.’

Michael laughs. ‘Well, I’m having a lot of feelings right now.’

‘About me.’ Alex smiles.

‘Yeah, baby. About you.’ Michael hovers his lips over Alex’s, waiting. Alex doesn’t hesitate to answer, instantly closing the gap between them. And when their mouths finally lock together, both whimper at the touch, kissing each other like it’s the first time all over again. Eager, a little shy, and once again filled with so much hope for their future.

Isobel stumbles to her feet to give them space. She’s still covered in Alex’s blood, needing fresh air. And desperately wants to call Max to explain everything. Reaching out with her mind, she searches for signs of Jones somewhere nearby but finds nothing. Glancing back at Michael, she supposes Jones must know what he’s awakened inside her brother. Michael - the savior. Honestly, she’s not really all that surprised.

Michael hugs Alex flush against him. ‘I’m going to do something, Alex. And you’re going to feel it.’

But Alex shushes him. ‘I already know. Are you sure?’

He nods and shuts his eyes as Alex pushes them as close together as they can get. Offering Michael everything he has to give. Michael smiles and whispers. ‘I love you.’

And Alex responds, ‘I know.’

Michael searches across the desert, not knowing exactly what he’s doing. But before long, he spots what he’s looking for - a mind signature frantically fleeing from his wrath. Alex puts on a hand over Michael’s heart and Michael snaps Jones’ neck, his mind signature blinking out as he crumples to the dirt. He reopens his eyes and looks down at Alex. ‘Let’s go home.’

They rejoin Isobel and Michael informs her that Jones is dead. She nods her head. ‘It was the right decision, Michael. I guess I just wish we’d been able to find out more about where we come from.’

‘We don’t need him for that. I took his mind from him, Iz, before I killed him. I know everything he knows. And we have a lot to talk about. But first, I’m taking Alex home and crawling into his bed for at least a week.’ He hugs Isobel and she looks at him like the marvel he truly is and always has been before climbing into her SUV and leaving them alone.

‘I haven’t said I’m sorry yet.’ Michael turns to Alex. ‘And before you say I don’t have to,’ he holds his hand up to Alex who is already trying to stop him, ‘let me finish.’ Alex reluctantly nods. ‘I know I made the right decision. But I’m so sorry that means you can close your eyes and picture what it looks like to watch me hold me a gun to your head and pull the trigger. Because I can’t fix that part.’

Saying it out loud breaks something inside of him. Something he’s not sure will ever heal. So, he doesn’t bother trying to stop the tears that burn down his cheeks.

Alex grabs his hands. ‘Look at me.’ He waits for Michael to meet his eye. It takes a while but eventually he gets there. ‘I have seen a lot of horrible things in my life. My father’s fists aimed at my face, his hammer breaking your hand. Friends - brothers - riddled with bullets and bleeding out in my arms. Innocent people dying at my hand, riddled with my bullets. My leg shredded to pieces on the side of a dirt road in Iraq.’

He pauses to take a breath. Michael threads their fingers together to give him comfort. ‘You pointing that gun at my head? It is an image that will stay with me. Forever. But not for the reasons you fear. Because you didn’t get to see your face in that moment. The steel and certainty in your eyes. The courage and the love. And the defiance, Michael. I knew I could trust you. I knew I’d open my eyes again and get the chance to tell you how much I love you.’

‘But it’s even better than that. Because now it’s like you’re tattooed underneath every inch of my skin. You’re the oxygen expanding my lungs and the blood pumping through my veins. Yes, you shot me, Michael. But when I opened my eyes, I was so much more than I was before. You gave me that and only you could have given me that.’

They push against each other, chest to chest. Fingers clawing at whatever purchase they can find. Nose in necks and the first flares of arousal spreading through their hips. The scent of rain and Alex’s shampoo mingling together for the first time in over a year.

Michael feels something insistent pressing between his shoulder blades. Reluctantly, he pulls away from Alex and turns to find his cell phone floating freely. He concentrates on his power and realizes it’s not coming from his mind. Alex laughs behind him as Michael yanks his phone out of the air, stunned into silence.

A death. A homecoming. Something bright and new.

[brimmingwithautism]

Nail Painting for Idiot Sorcerers and Tired Lesbians

Archive Link Here

Fushiguro threw himself against the window for the third time, forcing his skinny shoulders under the frame so he could push the old hinges as high as they could go. Nobara sighed from her position on the floor, a bottle of dark green nail polish already open and fumigating the broom closet the school had given her as a room.

“Itadori will be here in a minute, he can brute force his way through,” she said as her teammate once again slumped over in defeat. It’s not even that she minded the smell of acetone so much, but she doubted Fushiguro would stick around if they couldn’t get any amount of fresh air in. Well, she thought with a vicious little smirk, he might if Itadori asked him to. 

As if sensing her thoughts, Fushiguro twisted his neck around to glare at her. “I still don’t understand why we aren’t training.” He had his uniform on even though it was the weekend, shoes laced tight and muscles tensed. As far as Nobara could figure, her teammate never relaxed, something that had only gotten worse after Itadori died, then came back, then nearly died again in the exchange event with Kyoto. 

But Nobara had also picked up on the fact that Fushiguro had been involved in the world of sorcery and curses for years, maybe most of his life. It was her solemn duty to teach him how to chillax once in a goddamn while, regardless of how grumpy he got. And he could get pretty grumpy, a fun fact she was learning day by day. 

She didn’t say any of that, though, because she didn’t just go around spilling her feelings like that to teenage boys who couldn’t even understand their own moods. She stuck her tongue out instead and started the first careful pull of the brush over her pinkie finger. Her hands were rough, of course, and getting rougher every day in Tokyo. She knew this. She allowed this.

But she also wanted them to be beautiful. Nobara was getting better at the balancing act since coming to Tokyo: making the decisions she could and dealing with the ones she couldn’t. She had a black eye given to her from Panda yesterday that she couldn’t control but the hammer she had swung at his wrist in retaliation was something she could give back in return.

Plusses and minuses. Choices and sacrifices. Pretty nails and a stinky room - Nobara was learning. 

The window opened with a deafening screech by the time she had started on her middle finger. Fushiguro gave a pleased grunt. She put down the bottle in her unpainted hand long enough to give off a couple victory snaps that were only half-sarcastic. It was impressive he got it open at all considering Gojou-sensei had told her that he himself glued the windows down years ago as a prank on another student.

“Can I get back to training now?” he asked even as he sat down on the floor next to her. Nobara didn’t want to sit on the floor, but she knew it would be easier than trying to convince her teammates to get on the bed with her - and she couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling that once they did get on the bed Gojou-sensei would pop through the window to accuse them of youthful troublemaking. She just assumed he really had nothing better to do.

For Gojou-sensei it would be a coat of white polish, she thinks, or maybe bright blue with a sparkling silver accent nail. She knew she wouldn’t find a color to match his eyes, though, something that would frustrate her. 

Fushiguro was an easy choice: black. It’s the only thing she could even get near his hands without him scuttling away and it went well with his whole “I’ve been in my goth phase for years now” look. Even still, pushing the bottle of jet black polish towards him only garnered a huff and a set of shifty eyes. It didn’t matter - she still had a secret weapon.

For a while they sat in silence, the only sound the wind as she went down her left hand and started on her right. Nobara had never really had male friends before, honestly didn’t think they were worth more than the time it took to bully them off the swings at recess, but she liked Fushiguro.

He was quiet, which was always nice, but he wasn’t scared of noise, which was practical. He took Itadori’s brash personality and Nobara’s absolutely charming personality in stride, content to let them fill the space around him. He was quiet with his kindness as well, but it was there in the way he made the meatballs Itadori taught him, the way he saved her life in that cursed domain all those weeks ago.

Nobara wasn’t nice like that, she knew. But she could paint nails.

When Itadori eventually did bother to show up it was through her now-open window, thirty minutes late. He practically leapt through, landing hard on her floor before rapidly crawling under her bed. His sudden entrance surprised her enough that her brush went wide and painted her cuticles more than her fingernail. Fushiguro dragged himself so he could poke his head up enough to see through the window while Itadori seemed to be trying to claw Nobara’s duvet off her bed for another layer of protection. 

She nailed him in the eye with her comb, prompting the most dignified yelp she’d heard in her life, but the sound of Fushiguro hitting the desk was enough to make her turn. Eyes wide, he only had to whisper one word to send her diving along with Itadori under the bed: Panda.

If he saw them, it didn’t matter how many days they had already trained this week  —  they were training again. Ears straining, eyes wide, Nobara shook her hands as frantically and silently as possible in case she ended up needing to fight with only the base layer on. It wasn’t fair, they were barely even dried yet!

There was a shadow cast on the floor through the open window as a lumbering form wandered past the building, calling out Itadori’s name. Fushiguro became one with the floor as he silently slid under the bed as well; he was smart enough to drag the nail polish with him. 

The shadow grew ever larger until Nobara could see the white head of Panda peering through the window, sniffing experimentally. “Inumaki, it looks like they finally managed to get the window open!” 

Another tuft of white hair poked its way through the window with a muttered “Salmon,” before withdrawing once again. Panda left a few seconds later, swiping at his nose and complaining about the smell of nail polish.

Nobara, now unfortunately squeezed in the narrow space under her bed with both her teammates and a duvet, gave the quietest sigh of relief that she could before trying to maneuver her body down and out. It was slow going given her unwillingness to touch anything with her hands and mostly left her wriggling around like a worm on a hot sidewalk as Itadori giggled into his scarf. 

“Shut up!” she hissed, hitting him with her wrist. 

“Oh, that’s a pretty color!” he exclaimed, grabbing her hand. “Did you do it to match Maki-san’s hair?” 

The headlock she put him into was a purely instinctual response and therefore NOT her fault, even if it did manage to get the wet polish on her right hand all over Itadori’s cheek. It ended with Fushiguro divebombing them with the duvet to muffle the choking sounds, leading to an uncomfortable tangle of limbs that ended with both boys blushing and Nobara lamenting her ruined paint job. 

Getting out from under the bed was an exercise in frustration and more worm-like movements that Nobara would take to her grave. Fushiguro took lookout once more, but after a thumbs up all three of them managed to wrangle themselves to a circle on the floor with the nail polish once again.

“So!” Nobara started, because it was her idea, “Fushiguro is getting black nails and Itadori can have pink. It should match with your dye job.” The bottle she held up to his head wasn’t perfect, but she thought it was pretty enough. Itadori confirmed this when he snatched it from her hands with a wide grin.

Her other teammate pouted but took the bottle of black polish as well, falling to a combination of Nobara’s fearless leadership and Itadori’s enthusiasm. 

The way they were so obviously crushing on each other made Nobara feel better about her choice in polish - Maki-san wouldn’t think it was creepy, right? It was just a nice color, really, and it didn’t have to be any deeper than that. 

She methodically wiped away any mess off her hands and began once again to paint her nails, paying close attention to making them neat. Itadori didn’t seem to mind the mess he made on his hands, and Nobara was glad she had plenty of remover on hand. Her other teammate managed to paint his nails perfectly on the first try, but Nobara was resolved to not even look at him so she wouldn’t get angry about it. She mostly succeeded.

“But Kugisaki, won’t we all mess up our nails tomorrow in training anyway?” Itadori asked after about five minutes of blissful silence. 

Nobara gave another paranoid peek out the window as she considered the question. “We can put on a top coat to protect it some, but it’ll probably get dirty, yeah.” She inspected her left hand in the light, tilting it from side to side before blowing on her fingers lightly. It looked better than it did before.

Fushiguro, fed up with the disaster next to him, grabbed the pink polish and started painting Itadori’s right hand, entirely oblivious to the violent blush that stained Itadori’s face. “Then why,” he asked, moving his canvas into a better position, “Are we bothering to put in on in the first place?’

“Because I like it when my nails look good.” And you need a break. And Itadori needs to be around people again. And we need to do something other than train and fight for a day. “And you guys desperately need my fashion advice.”

Right hand finished, she thought with satisfaction. Time to dry and then put on another layer. She was debating about trying to do additional details or designs but she knew Fushiguro was right - they would be destroyed in training tomorrow.

And she would do it again. And again. She made the decision, she painted the nails, she fucked them up later trying to avoid Maki-san’s endless arsenal of weaponry. 

Itadori bounced his knees up and down as he sat criss-cross waiting for his hand back. He always had energy with whatever he did. Nobara had never seen him still, not really; she was still lying unconscious in the car when they picked his body up and she had never gone to see him in the morgue. It didn’t feel right considering that they had barely known each other. Considering Nobara hadn’t been able to help him at all.

His finger on her nose pulled her from her thoughts. “Hey, Kugisaki, is liking Fushiguro’s cousin breaking the bro code or not?” 

“I am not your bro!” she shouted with enough presence of mind to lash out with her feet instead of her hands. Her kick to his abdomen did nothing, unfortunately, his stupid abs absorbing the blow without even having the hand that was being painted shake.

Fushiguro huffed. “Can we not talk about your crush on Maki while I”m still here?”

“Would you rather talk about your crush?” she retorted. Again, both her teammates turned beet red, and again, both her teammates were completely oblivious. The only reason she hadn’t gone right out and said anything was because their entire situation was too funny to cut short prematurely. 

She picked up her bottle of polish with a grin and began the second coat. Itadori started to furiously blow on his fingers in the background, though Nobara thought that the heat still coming off his face was enough to dry his hands in seconds. 

“Are you doing a second layer?” she asked Fushiguro as he sat still, not moving to leave but not moving to continue painting either. 

“Kugisaki-san,” he mumbled, looking off to the side. It was uncharacteristic for him to look embarrassed like that considering Nobara had seen him say the stupidest things with the straightest face, so she didn’t interrupt. “Maki doesn’t paint her nails.”

Oh, she thought.

He really is kind.

Pinky finger done, then the ring finger. “Whether or not I have a crush on Maki-”

“But you do,” Itadori sang gleefully.

“Shut up! Whether or not I have a crush on Maki-san is immaterial - I’m painting my nails because I want to.” She grinned at her teammates before deflating again. “The color is just a coincidence.”

Itadori made another little crow of victory at her admission. “You’re really cool, Kugisaki!” 

“Watch your nails!”

The next half hour or so managed to actually be some measure of peaceful as Fushiguro and Nobara traded off painting their own nails and Itadori’s. Panda never came around again, and if she thought she saw a flash of white hair pass by the window, she didn’t say anything. And neither did Inumaki-san. 

Itadori complained enough about not being able to use the nail polish himself so she let him apply the clear topcoat to her fingers, confident enough that he couldn’t stain her work with that. When he grabbed her hands, twisting her wrist to look at the callouses on her palms, she didn’t stop him, just raised her eyebrows. 

She knew he wasn’t hitting on her, a comfort she didn’t take for granted. As much as she denied her crush on Maki-san (It was just because her senior was cool!), it was still surprising every time she heard her teammates joke about it in a kind manner. 

“Kugisaki,” he eventually said after about five seconds of solemn reflection, “When did you learn to fight curses?”

Nobara opened her mouth automatically before closing it again, letting herself think about the answer. Fushiguro was also looking at her, head tilted in the way that meant he was absorbing every single word to an uncomfortable degree. 

“I was young,” she eventually said. She drew her story together in her head as Itadori resumed painting her nails, trying to decide what would matter to her teammates and what wouldn’t.

“There was a curse on the swingset of my school, one that only I could see. I wasn’t scared, really, mostly annoyed that it was interrupting recess.” She blinked and could almost see the shape of it crawling on her dresser: a long spindly mess of mulch-brown legs and protruding eyes. It carried itself over all the equipment, tripping or pushing children along the way. “The teachers didn’t believe me but my dad did. My aunt lived with us and she was a sorcerer, B-Grade, but she was on a job at the time so he told me to just read inside during recess so I could avoid it.”

Itadori laughed at that. “You tried to beat it up, didn’t you?”

“Of course! My aunt used throwing knives in a technique almost like mine - I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was my dad worked as a carpenter and he had a mallet in his toolshed that was light enough to swing around.

“I carried it in my backpack the next day and after school, I went to the playground and beat that ugly little curse’s face in. It was beyond weak, thankfully, but at the time I felt like I was a superhero. When my aunt came home the next day I told her everything and demanded she start training me, so she did.”

She freed her hands from Itadori and gave them to Fushiguro to clean up all the excess topcoat that was hanging around her cuticles. “She painted her nails before and after every mission and she let me pick the colors.”

She stopped there. She had answered the question in full, told Itadori and Fushiguro more about herself than she knew about them, but she still wanted to go on.

Her aunt was gone a lot, traveling around all the country towns exorcising the curses that no one else noticed. But she raised Nobara when she could, not a mom but a mentor. An idol, almost, with the way Nobara used to look at her. She had always been so cool: short hair, leather jackets, heavy work boots that matched her father’s construction shoes perfectly. And her nails were always bright and colorful and fun.

Her aunt wanted to be an exorcist so she was. She didn’t want to get married so she stayed single. And on a job that should have been routine, she made the choice to save a family and then she didn’t come home. 

Nobara, who was barely able to land her nails with precision at the time, had been too numb to cry when her father had told her. Saori had already gone by then, a wound Nobara had been stubbornly ignoring, but this was an absence that was too wide to even think about.

What made up a life? What made up Nobara when everyone was gone, leaving her in a town that drove away anyone it didn’t understand? Her aunt had never minded, had been too strong to mind the sneers that followed her when she stuck around between jobs, but Nobara wasn’t strong like that yet.

Nobara was eleven.

Or, she was. 

But now she was older and her attacks always landed and she made her own choices exactly like her aunt did. 

Nobara didn’t need to say this though. She needed to finish painting Itadori’s nails so they could sneak out to dinner in order to avoid more evening training with the second years.

Fushiguro finished applying the topcoat to his own nails with a bemused look, like he still couldn’t believe he bothered painting them at all. 

“Hey Itadori,” she whispered as loudly as possible, “Fushiguro kinda looks like one of his dogs right now.”

Itadori did a perfect imitation head tilt in response that had both of them rolling on the floor and Fushiguro did his best to seem grumpy. The fact that he was still hanging out with them ruined the effect a bit. Her plan to make them calm down was going perfectly! Next was a nice dinner out (that she would make them pay for) and maybe some retail thera-

“Oi!” came a call from out the window. 

Itadori fell completely flat on the floor out of instinct and Fushiguro wasn’t moving, so it was up to Nobara to make her way over. In the four steps it took to reach the window she mourned her dreams of Tokyo sushi and late-night shopping: Maki-san was standing three feet away and staring directly at her.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey,” she said, poking her head out and leaning on the windowsill. Maki-san wasn’t wearing her jersey, at least, but the glint in her eye told Nobara that Maki-san knew she had been hiding. It wasn’t fair how put together she still looked after what was probably a full day of training: Maki-san really was the worst kind of jock.

“Let me see your nails,” Maki-san said with a snap, causing Nobara to reel backward in surprise and almost trip over her duvet which the boys had left on the floor. She saved herself though - letting her senior see her fall over like that after all the training they had already gone through would be a nightmare. 

Maki-san laughed, tilting her head back (in a way that was completely unfair!). “If you first-years are going to skip training so you can all paint your nails together, I at least want to see if you did a good job.”

Nobara blushed, or maybe she had been blushing the entire time, but dutifully stuck her hands out for Maki-san to see. She was seriously regretting the color choice now, but she had to be brave! It was her decision to use the color so it was her decision to be completely embarrassed in front of the coolest girl Nobara had ever met.

Cool hands grabbed her own, pulling her forward so Maki-san could get a better look at all three of them’s combined efforts. Nobara turned away so she wouldn't have to look at Maki-san’s only to find her room empty, Fushiguro and Itadori apparently having fled like the traitors they are. All that was left was a small note on the ground with the phrase “Good luck!” and a grinning Itadori with a thumbs up. For a second she let herself be impressed with how quickly he drew the picture. 

She still made the choice to kill her teammates the next time she saw them.

“Ah, Maki-san, well, Fushiguto and Itadori needed the break, you know? And they were too dumb to know it so I had to take charge. And it was team bonding, which is actually a kind of training!” Nobara was very much not noticing that Maki-san was still holding her hand. In fact, Nobara was noticing everything else in the world. Was this what Gojou-sensei felt like?

“I like the color,” Maki-san said, after an excruciating fifteen seconds of study. “Do you have more?”

…

(She could never make fun of Fushiguro and Itadori again.)

“YES!” she screamed and then stopped. “Yes,” she repeated at a normal human volume. “Would you like me to paint your nails?”

Maki-san stepped forward, closer and closer until Nobara had to back up as once again someone came through her window, though Maki-san did it with much more grace than Itadori.

Nobara, with the UTMOST grace and poise, did her best to discreetly kick her fallen duvet over the note and Maki-san was too kind to say anything about it. 

Instead she grinned, mouth sharp and eyes bright, a cocky set to her hips and shoulders that Nobara couldn’t help but admire. “If you’re offering, sure, but I’m thinking of a different color.”

Maki-san sat on the bed, confident to the last, so Nobara picked up all her polish bottles from the floor and followed. “If you want black I should warn you that you’re going to match Fushiguro.” 

Maki-san patted the seat next to her and laughed. “Nah,” she said, holding up her own calloused hands to the light, “I was wondering if maybe you had an orange. Something that matches your hair.”

[polandspringz]

Request: something about Glory & Asmo vibing . maybe painting each others nails . ill pay u

I know you already got to read this when I finished it, but here you go!!!

Title: Always at the Right Place, at the Right Time

Summary:

Whenever Poland invited everyone to the Human World, there was never any actual obligation to hang out with her. At least not for Glory. Any adventure were moments reserved for them, the Avatar of Lust and the Avatar of Vainglory.

(This is set in my series involving my MC, “Designing in the Devildom”. AO3 Link will be posted in the notes)

Grass. The smell of flowery perfume, too strong and too tacky. It burned the throat and lungs like sugary cotton candy, but they were both immune to the taste by now. A picnic blanket spread over the land, flowers were crushed beneath their weight. They didn’t care. The sun shone down on a chilly spring day in the human realm. Glory held out his hand, and Asmo held it gently in his own as he applied nail polish across it carefully.

“Don’t mess up,” Glory huffed, “I have a date tonight.”

“Another commitment? And here I thought you cleared your whole day for me!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why, darling, others do that for me,” Glory rolled his eyes at that, but it was all in good fun, no actual malice, “But, I won’t mess up. Although knocking your beauty down a peg would make me the prettiest in the three realms, I wouldn’t risk my beautician skills being slanders because I decided to be petty.”

“Good, cause if you mess up my nails I will douse you in acetone.”

The little brush moved across the nails, leaving gooey, light blue color behind. It was like liquid lipstick, squishy and shiny but as it dried it would harden into a perfect coating. The clear bottle of top coat rolled around on the picnic blanket as Asmo shifted, knocking into Glory’s knee. The color would be preserved, but protected underneath a thin layer of plastic and gloss.

“You’ve been different lately,” Glory blurted out. Asmo glanced up with surprise.

“What do you mean? Have I been even more beautiful?”

“No, and that’s just it. What you said earlier,” Glory rolled his free hand in the air as they gestured for something, “I’m used to you saying you’re the prettiest- which is false- but normally you don’t leave room for debate.”

Asmo finished the pinky finger, and then blew a soft puff of air over the whole hand before setting it back down on Glory’s thigh.

Glory didn’t like feelings. The only mushy stuff he cared about was makeup or textured fabrics of designer clothes that he knew would look great and help him show others up. But there was a distant look clouding Asmo’s eyes. He was smiling but his mind was elsewhere. He just sat there for a moment, leaning on his knees after he closed up the blue polish and set it down beside them.

Glory couldn’t help but notice the ugly pact mark that decorated Asmo’s skin, the bright pink ring that tattooed his skin, staining his neck, just visible underneath the collar. It seemed to pulsate when Glory stared at it, taunting him.

It disgusted him. He would die before he ever made a pact with any human.

Glory let out a scoff and sat back, tapping Asmo forcefully on the shoulder to knock him back to reality, “You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep a face like that. If you turn any uglier than you already are, I won’t hang around you anymore.”

Asmo let out a hearty laugh, his whole body radiant in the sunlight. He reached for the clear polish and shook the bottle as he let himself settle down. When he looked towards Glory’s other hand to inspect the nails, his eyes were brighter again, but also all too knowing. 

Glory never needed to say much, Asmo was the best at picking up on the emotions people liked to hide. He could see right through him, but it was still nice of Glory to try and say something to make Asmo feel better. It was all the more genuine when said in his own Glory-way.

**

The balloons bumped into one another and the strings tangled as they were pulled through the wind and down the street. Two sets of shoes clattered and scraped against the sidewalk as the two ran along the tiny shops of downtown.

Asmo spun around, the balloons swinging with him as Glory rushed passed, taking the other demon's hand as they continued running. They hadn’t stolen anything and weren’t being chased, but there was something different about the human world. The air and the way everything was so colorful and bright as light bounced off everything, from puddles to windows of glass. The way life and the scents of the city were carried on the breeze. It was like Devildom but better.

The two of them stepped off the curb to cross the street, Glory’s heel clicking on the edge of the curb as he skipped forward.

He wished he could stay here forever.

**

Flashes of a camera interrupted the darkness of the night. The human realm’s night sky was much darker than Devildom’s artificial one, turning completely black even though it was only nine p.m. Glory lowered the polaroid that Poland had let her borrow, and Asmo scampered to take the developing photo from her. Slowly, the image of Asmo holding pink and blue cotton candy formed itself against the golden ferris wheel lights that spun against the black sky.

It was summer now. Poland had invited them all back to her world to visit a fair. Apparently this was a yearly thing where she used to live. It was a little crowded, a little too noisy and full of snot-nosed kids, but there were rides and there was food and strange human world entertainment. Most of it didn’t appeal to Glory, besides using the place as a backdrop for new Devilgram photos, but Asmo was coming with the rest of the brothers, and Diavolo was giving them a few extra days before they had to go back, and Glory would do anything to get out of the boring Devildom.

Poland must have noticed Glory’s disgust at the farm animals, stalls, and dirt paths when they first entered the fairgrounds, because Poland handed the camera over to her almost immediately. She had packed tons of film, handed a bunch of boxes full of starry, rainbow bordered packs that Glory could use to her heart’s content.

Half of the photos were already used up, littering the inside of the mini backpack Poland had given over to her. Random photos of people screaming on rides, humans running around or sitting under the tents. Seeing kids eat popcorn off the ground was gross, but taking pics as they tripped and ate shit and spilled popcorn all over the ground was fascinating. Before their group had split up, Lucifer had watched as Glory photographed the people in the historical tent, feeling the need to supervise the only demon not hiding her horns with magic in case she caused a ruckus.

“Based on your grades, I never suspected you would be interested in history,” he said smugly.

Glory focused on making sure the photo was tucked safely away and developing properly before shooting Lucifer a glare, flipping him off for good measure. The gasps of the historic actors had Lucifer flailing and shoving her hand down, dragging her away before she could cause anymore problems.

“Luce, wait!” Poland yelled, “You’re going to miss out on the old fashioned ice cream.”

Glory debated shouting out Lucifer’s full name, seeing if that would illicit anymore startled gasps from the old men and women sitting with bonnets by the display. That would make for a good picture too.

“Glory, let me take one of you now!” Asmo said, his fingers crawling around the camera as he tried to gently pry it out of her hands, “Go stand in front of that ride over there! The Himalaya!”

He pointed to a ride that was spinning at an unbelievably fast speed (for humans anyway), but it was flashy and colorful, which meant it would look wonderful blurred together, and there were so many humans waiting in the line, which would mean more people to preserve in her collection (she would have to invest in a scrapbook). She started to skip over, her boots digging into the clay, orange soil as the ride’s music was interrupted by a loud siren-like horn.

“Kolia, you stay back there with Belial!” Asmo waved to the other two members of their group. Kolia was the one suffering the most from the atmosphere of the fair. She only tagged along on the trip because it meant she got to see Poland again, but somehow she had gotten separated and nearly lost until she ran into Belial and the others outside a funnel cake stand.

Asmo hurried to take the photos as fast as the camera would allow, Glory striking a few poses and being tempted to take back the camera to snap the faces of the screaming riders behind her, but Asmo signaled the camera needed to be refilled with film and Glory had the bag so…

They rejoined the rest of their group.

“Where do you want to go now?” Asmo asked. Belial pointed towards the tents where all the vendors were in the middle of the fair grounds.

“I want to buy something. I saw shark tooth jewelry earlier.”

“Oh, and sand art!” Asmo chimed in.

“Do we have enough money? How much did Lucifer give us?” Kolia reached for her wallet.

“Hold on, hold on,” Glory mumbled as she finished snapping the new box of film inside the camera, “There! Good to go! Oh, wait a second-”

She leaned in and reached her arm around all of them, holding the camera up to snap what would become a very blurry selfie of them all.

“Alright, let's go!”

**

It was fall now. Glory sat on a bench surrounded by an expanse of orange colored leaves in the middle of a park. It was almost too picturesque, too cliche. Asmo had run off to get some warm drinks from the coffee shop down the street. It was getting cold again, the human realm had always felt so much colder than Devildom, but maybe that was just because of where Poland lived?

It was their last visit here before winter set in. Poland already had pulled a lot of strings to get the others to tag along on visits throughout the year, especially since she almost never seemed to invite Diavolo along. Glory wasn’t exactly sure what was up with that, maybe the Prince of Hell was just too busy, or maybe there was some sort of feud going on between them. It didn’t matter much to him though.

“I’m back!” Asmo said, walking up with the two, tall cups in either hand, “Sorry it took so long. They don’t have the drink you like here, so I had to improvise to get something similar.”

“That’s fine,” Glory said, plucking the cup from Asmo’s hand with just their finger and thumb on either side of it, “Probably would have tasted gross either way. Human food is bad.”

“Hey, you may have suffered through Solomon’s cooking over at Purgatory Hall, but that doesn’t mean everything from the human realm is bad,” Asmo chided, “Poland isn’t a great cook either, but there are tons of places all over this world with cute desserts and stuff.”

“A shame we won’t get to see them,” Glory sighed, popping the lid open and taking a sip.

Asmo stared at him for a moment before starting to get up, “I actually saw a shop selling some macaroons earlier! Let me go back and get them-”

Glory grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

“Stay,” they mumbled, avoiding eye contact, “We can go get some later.”

Asmo remained frozen for a moment, then slowly sat back down on the bench, “Alright then.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. They watched birds in the empty park peck at the ground, but it was far too hard and cold for their beaks to find anything beneath it. The carpet of leaves was rustled by the wind, a few brown leaves breaking off to dance in a violent circle, their dried and dead edges scratching against the concrete and making a grating rhythm to the ears.

“It’s only going to be until the spring, you know that, right?” Asmo asked, “It’s not a long time for a demon.”

“It’s a long time for me because I can’t come and go as I please.”

“You… like the human world now, don’t you? I thought with how you always were ignoring Poland, you didn’t like coming here.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, I only come here to hang with you. Poland is just… well she’s convenient, she’s just my ticket for a new hangout spot. I just didn’t expect to find other humans so interesting.”

“They are interesting, aren’t they?” Asmo laughed behind his hand, “They’re so funny to tempt-”

“-to trip up-”

“-to trick-”

“-to observe-”

“-and to love,” Asmo finished, a deep sigh escaping him as he leaned back against the bench, watching his breath rise with the steam of the drink, mixing together in the air. Glory watched him confused, and although Asmo was wearing a thick scarf, Glory’s eyes shot to where he knew that marking was over his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Glory crossed his arms, setting the drink down on the bench, “But I’m just annoyed because I don’t like being restricted. I don’t care what’s going on with Diavolo and your brothers and Poland and everyone else. It’s stupid of them to restrain us from coming to this realm whenever we want.”

“You could always walk through the eight layers if you really wanted to get here-”

“You know I would never do that to myself. Horrible idea.”

“It’s just a thought,” Asmo shut his eyes, “I might traverse it if Lucifer lets me. I’m sure I won’t be the only one rushing back up here. Poland has a fashion show in January. I might come see it.”

Glory didn’t respond. They just sat and stared at the city skyline rising just behind the trees at the edge of the park. Eventually, Asmo leaned his head on Glory’s shoulder, his hands unknotting Glory’s posture as he pulled Glory’s hands in his. He cracked open his eyes just a bit as he brushed his fingers along the old polish, humming when he noticed the chips.

“You should let me do your nails again. Or give you a makeover. We’ll have so much time in the winter to hang out. Nothing will change.”

Glory sighed again, and shut his eyes and let his head bonk against the top of Asmo’s gently.

He was right afterall. Nothing would change.

**

It was winter. Snow was not really a Devildom “thing” but Glory was certain they would be seeing some in the coming days because Diavolo had a knack for using whatever magic he could harness to simulate as much of the human world as he could. Glory had holed themselves up in the bedroom at Purgatory Hall, sitting on the window seat as they watched the moon outside.

Simeon and Solomon were in the courtyard, doing something with Luke. While teasing the young angel did give Glory some entertainment, they really weren’t in the mood right now. They had gone over to the House of Lamentation to hang with Asmo, but realized they had forgotten he had skipped off to the Human World for Poland’s fashion show. Glory had been invited, but had declined because nothing was being made easy through the use of seals, and they had no idea why Asmo would ever want to torture himself taking the footpath there.

So, now they were alone.

Meaning things had changed.

Belial and Kolia were probably downstairs, Kolia holed up in her room no doubt surrounded by books, ugh. But there was no one to compete with or talk aimlessly with. They supposed they could just go outside and steal Simeon aside, the angel was always too polite to decline even if he wasn’t really interested in the things being said, but that sort of genuine disinterest they would sense from him would just continue to make things boring.

They missed Asmo. He hadn’t even painted their nails before they left.

Whatever, they could do it themselves. If only they could find the energy to move.

Glory knew the human world would be unreasonably cold and snowy and blustery right now, and that was no place for demons, but it would be better than the mundane, boring days full of RAD classes that would continue to stretch on for the rest of their eternity. They still didn’t really understand the point of the academy, just knew that if they didn’t attend it Diavolo would probably rear his true nature and execute them for treason or something.

Glory sighed again, something they had been doing a lot since the seasonal depression set in, and got up finally to move back over to their bed. If they were leaving their room that meant getting dressed up, and although they were the Avatar of Vainglory they weren’t feeling the need to fulfill their sin right now. Instead, they flopped over on their bed, face first as they let themselves sink into the blankets, their mind aimlessly drifting through thoughts but never clinging to one.

At some point, they fell asleep.

And were abruptly woken when Asmo crashed into their bedroom from a portal breaking through time and space.

“Asmo, what the fuck?” Glory sat up, rubbing their eyes.

The demon stood up from the floor and brushed himself off, reaching a hand out to Glory immediately as he kept the portal open behind him.

“Hi! Guess I got the teleporting right! Anyway, you need to come with me to the human world, right now.”

“What? I’m not dressed, why?”

“Poland needs another model for her fashion show! It starts in an hour and one of the models broke their ankle. Come on, we have to go!”

Asmo was pulling Glory out of bed, tugging them towards the portal.

“What? Hold on, is this another seal?” They pointed at the portal, “When did you get this?”

“Poland has one for emergencies. Come on!”

Glory was tossed through the portal with Asmo, popping out on the other side. They opened their eyes as the remnants of the seal disintegrated in Asmo’s hand. He shook off the dust before pushing open the door to a backstage area. There were models milling about, people running around holding bundles of fabric and palettes of makeup. Peeking out from behind the curtain, Glory could see flowers covering the walls, real flowers pasted from floor to ceiling all the way through the maze that had been set up for the runway.

Poland rushed by, nearly missing them as she talked into a headset and carried a dress she was still beading. Asmo caught her arm and froze her in her tracks.

“Wonderful! You’re here!” Poland’s face lit up as she shoved the dress to one of the (Glory presumed) assistants, “Let’s get your makeup done right away!”

They both started to guide Glory to one of the vanities, but they dug their heels in and turned around, “Wait, wait, wait. I’m all in for this but, Asmo, how are we getting back to Devildom if the seal broke? I’m not walking all the way back. Do you even know the entrance to how to get back?”

“I don’t have another seal,” Poland said, “That was for emergencies. Guess this just means you’ll have to stay with me until the others can come pick you up?”

“It will take me a few days to get back home on foot,” Asmo laughed, “If you’re insistent about waiting for another portal home, then that would probably give you a good week or so before Diavolo and Lucifer come to drag you back.”

Glory mulled it over for a moment, really not liking the idea of being stuck living with Poland for a few days, but then Poland flagged down someone who was walking by with the rolling rack, picking a hanger off it to show.

“This is what you’ll be wearing, by the way!”

Glory stared in awe as Poland continued, twisting the fabric of the outfit and pulling more accessories off the top of the rack, “...and so you’ll be the beginning and the end of the show, wearing this at the start and then coming back out at the end to transform it by tugging these pieces off. Oh, and then you’ll be the one to walk out with me at the very end because that’s when the designer normally does their walk- uh, is this all okay?”

“Perfect,” Glory grinned, sitting down in the chair, “Asmo, you need to redo my nails while I start the makeup. You owe me after all.”

“Of course!” He chimed, shooing the cosmetologist away as he found a bottle of polish from inside the makeup kit.

“Um, are you really going to be able to do their nails while they’re moving their hands so much?” Poland asked doubtfully.

“Just leave us, love. You interrupting will be the more likely cause of a disaster if anything.”

“Just trust us,” Asmo said, softening the blow.

Poland didn’t mind. She just shrugged and walked off, wheeling the rack away as she went to manage the rest of the show’s set-up. Glory ignored the stares from the models next to them, as there was no way they were hiding their horns tonight. Grabbing a beauty blender and a bottle of foundation, they smiled wickedly in the mirror at their and Asmo’s reflections.

“We’ve got this.”

“We’ve got this.”

And they set to work.

[seimeinotaka]

Polished (Vil x MC Fic)

(Cross-posted from AO3)

Set after the Pomefiore arc, Ann is trying to paint her nails, but isn’t doing a good job at not painting her finger. (Un)fortunately for her, Vil happens to find her terrible handiwork and decides to give her a lesson, whether she wants it or not, full of scathing commentary.

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this and for the suggestion for the title!

-

Ann was sitting under her favorite tree, back against the trunk as she pressed the nail polish brush against her nail, the red bottle of polish carefully placed on top of her notebook. Was it absolutely risky? Yes, it was a terrible idea. However, doing her nails in her dorm, the seemingly logical place, proved to be even worse. With Grim demanding attention and constantly causing ruckus with the other ghosts, her attempts at painting her nails ended with smudges and marks, sometimes even some of Grim’s hair, to her dismay.

Outside, while still at extreme peril, her nails could dry faster with the gentle breeze.

Though, if someone was standing in front of her, their long slender legs just coming into view, her plan would be thwarted.

"What are you doing, Potato?" Vil’s voice gave away the identity of her breeze blocker, causing her to look up to his unamused expression.

"Painting my nails?" she replied, raising her hand so he could see her work, in case the smell of the polish wasn’t obvious.

What she didn’t expect was for him to pull her hand, so he could actually get a good look at it and her extremely messy handiwork, with splotches of red both on the nail and all around her skin.

"I thought you were painting your nails, not your finger," he replied curtly. Oh right, he painted his nails too, and he was fussy to boot.

"It's ok, it'll wash off when I shower," she said, not giving much thought to his judgmental tone and disapproving frown.

"You're wasting product. Wait, have you used a primer already?"

"A what?" She asked, slightly confused. Primers were used… when painting wood and other materials, as far as she knew. Though she wasn’t that knowledgeable in the art of make-up, barely wearing it before arriving at Twisted Wonderland, and not really being able to afford it until recently. She just wanted to paint her nails. It wasn’t rocket science.

However, it seemed it was rocket science, as Vil’s exasperated sigh let her know of his extreme disdain and disapproval of her methods. "Are you really this helpless?" She looked blankly at him. "Come with me."

And by come, he actually meant get up, as he yanked her arm, forcing her to stand up and pick up her things in a hurry, so that he could then drag her all the way to Pomefiore’s dorm.

-

"Eh,” Ann didn’t even know how to begin, as she looked around at the elegant ornaments and expensive-looking furniture, something out of league compared to the humble lodging of her dear hobo room. “Why are we in your room?"

"Listen well, I am not going to repeat myself nor allow you to make a disaster on your hands," Vil stated, with that tone of his that he was going to give her a lesson, whether she wanted it or not.

"He totally ignored me..." she mumbled, giving his room a short last look, before turning to her now sudden beauty teacher who was eager to smack her for getting distracted.

"To paint your nails, you need 3 items, a primer, your polish and your top coat. This product you got is no good, please replace it as soon as possible."

"But I like the color...." Ok, it was a cheap polish, but it would do the trick, for her.

"I can make you one more impressive than this if you really wanted, the problem is the color doesn't suit you, but stop straying off topic, potato. Give me your hand, I'll erase this hideousness you call nail painting."

Yanking her hands again, he cleaned both with a face wipe before inserting her fingers into a fancy looking cylinder reeking of acetone. The cold liquid touched her skin and her nail, as he scrubbed it slightly before taking her finger out, polish vanished. She arched her eyebrows, she didn’t know they made funky objects like that, her surprise causing Vil to shake his head.

"Remember to treat your hands with cream after removing nail polish and your manicure. Knowing you, you're going to spread the acetone not only on your nail but half of your finger."

‘His hands are really warm and soft...’ she thought to herself, seeing how he wasn’t wearing his gloves, skin against skin. Of course, they would be soft, he would never let his hands be ruined, as evidenced by his perfect manicure, but they were really nice to touch, or be touched by in her case.

"This is a primer, I would have expected you to know this since you are in the Art elective, what am I going to do with you?” Ann bit her tongue. “You put it first as your base coat. Not only will it help the polish stick to your nail, as the oils in your fingers would hinder this normally, but in the case of uneven edges in your nails, the base coat will give them a smooth look. If you are wearing a dark polish, it will prevent your nails from being colored by it."

With elegant and tender movements, unlike his stern voice and possible incoming smacking, Vil applied the primer on her nails, on both hands.

‘He is really skilled, it looks so easy when he does it.’

"Stop gawking at me, I am aware I am blinding you but make an effort to focus on the lesson at hand."

"Yes, yes, Vil-senpai. Teach me your ways." Ann rolled her eyes, but didn’t stifle a dreamy smile.

He huffed, as he sent her a chiding glare. "I wish I could be as cocky as you when you have no idea of what you're doing to your nails. Make sure you use long strokes, from the bottom of the nail to the top. Spread it even."

She was enjoying herself too much in spite of or perhaps because of his cocky scolding.

Vil carefully set the base coat aside and picked a charming long bottle with an exquisite purple liquid inside. He rolled it gently in between his hands as he continued his lesson. "Base coat shouldn't take long to dry, and you shouldn't use more than one coat. After that, you can use your color polish. Make sure to roll it like this before using it, don’t shake it.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll cause bubbles to form in your polish. Are you always this careless with your belongings?”

“Are you always this fussy with your belongings?” she mocked his tone. “For the record, I am careful with my things. I just didn’t think shaking the bottle would be that bad.”

“Who had a mess on her hands fifteen minutes ago?”

“Okay, okay, I got it. No shaking the bottle.”

Vil ignored the playful tone of her words with a stern poker face. However, the touch of his hands against hers remained as gentle as ever. “This part is the longest of the process, make sure to do it well. Depending on the brand and the quality of your polish, you might need more than two coats. Don't be tempted to put one thick coat, it will take longer to dry and you are at a higher risk of ruining your work. Thinner coats are always the way to go."

"When you're spreading the polish, you need to do even strokes. Avoid pressing the brush too hard. Now, we need a second coat, so you have to apply the next one only after the first is perfectly dry. Do not even think of using your finger to check or I'll smack you."

"Why not? If you press it lightly, it should be ok."

He sighed. "But if it's not dry, you will leave your fingerprint or you can smudge the color. You should touch your pinky nails together, gently. If they seem to stick, you obviously need to wait longer. Only do this when you are sure it's dry. Yes, this means you have to be patient, potato."

"Sometimes you test my patience too much, Vil-senpai," she replied dryly with an equally dry and stiff smile at him.

"Bold of you to snark at me like that. The things that are worth most are those that need time, patience, and effort, you should always remember this."

His voice was stern, but there was a hidden warmth beneath his words that brought a gentle, cheeky smile to her face. She could feel his eyes on her for a moment, but when she looked up, he was already looking away.

"Make sure you use a sufficient amount of polish, and get rid of the excess on the rim of the bottle. Apply it in 3 stripes, middle first and then to the sides. Don't paint your cuticle or the skin to the side of your nails. Obviously, this will be more difficult with your left hand, so do your best to practice often."

"Three stripes, thin coats, wait between them. Got it."

At least with him next to her, holding her hands like this, the wait was more than welcome. Of course, she couldn’t say this aloud, but that didn’t stop her face from brightening at this thought.

"You seem quite pleased with yourself, even if I have done most of the legwork."

"You made this class very entertaining, Vil-senpai. Your scathing remarks included." She gave him a bright smile, though he merely huffed at her.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"I'm wounded, thinking I want to butter you up. I'm not Cater, and this tongue of mine is incapable of doing it anyway. You should know already that it's not my style."

"That is one of your good points, potato. At least you are honest with me," he said with a smile, the first time in the entire session. It wasn’t a smirk or a chiding one, but a soft one that made her heart skip a beat.

And of course, she replied with a cheeky laugh.

"But that is too little to be proud of yourself. Next is the top coat.”

"Damn, you like to shoot me down," she mumbled but Vil ignored her as he picked the final polish bottle and rolled it gently between his hands.

"Some say that the top coat isn't always necessary, but why would you compromise on something after all the time you've put into this? The top coat will prevent your nails from chipping, and it helps the polish last longer. Some can even give your nails a finishing look, whether you want them to shine or have a matte look. Similar to the base coat, you only need to apply it once. Again, thin coat, you don't want to overdo it and mess up all your hard work."

And with those words, he carefully spread the top coat on her fingers, with her eyes glued to every movement of his hands.

"So, is that it? It somehow doesn't seem too bad," she said, once her nails were shining thanks to the top coat.

"We are done because I was painting your nails, potato. However, you will need to do another step, which is cleaning your fingers."

"When you shower, the polish on your fingers falls off, that's the cleaning ste-” he smacked her head- “Why!?"

He gave her a dismissive look. "Do you intend to go around class with your messy fingers? You should always look presentable. If I ever see your fingers with nail polish smeared on them, I will give you an adequate punishment."

"Who says I'll let you see?"

"Do you enjoy testing people's limits? If needed, I'll have you show me your hands every day and if I cannot, Rook will check up on you."

"...What was the adequate method?"

"Much better.” He had a winning smirk, and as much as he seemed to complain about it, it almost looked like he was also enjoying himself. “There are different ways, but the easiest for you is to use a cotton swab with polish remover. Of course, this needs you to have a steady hand as you erase your mistakes. There are corrector pens too, but it will be cheaper for you to use a Q-tip instead, and much easier and cheaper if you just learn to do it properly."

"Excuse me for being poor in this world I was suddenly thrust into," she rolled her eyes but then focused on her hands.

Perfectly painted nails, shiny deep purple, no smudges or marks of fingers like she would always have them whenever she tried, which wasn’t so often. They looked professional, though Vil was a professional, so he wouldn’t do anything but perfection.

"They've never looked this pretty in my life, thank you, Vil-senpai!" She was beaming as she switched between admiring her nails and him.

"Never? That sounds depressing.” He folded his arms and shrugged nonchalantly. “It was a simple manicure, I didn't even fix your nails and cuticles."

"That's okay!” she replied, shaking her head. “And we match in colors!"

"We only do because I picked that bottle. Don't think too much about it."

"Hehe, perhaps, but I really like your colors. I like..."

"Purple, yes I know. You've made it clear in your Magicam account."

"Does that mean you've checked my-"

"Absolutely not."

Whatever he said, and no matter what he would later add, nothing would erase that bright infuriating smile from her face. Cheeky, and so blinding that it made him turn his eyes away.

"Well, sure sure, Vil-senpai! I have to go back to my dorm, but thank you again!" she said brightly, waving at him happily before rushing outside of his room, almost beaming.

"Hey, don't run insi- Ah, she already left. Seriously, what am I going to do with you?" He muttered to himself, as he brought the hand which had held hers the entire time to his face. Cheeks flushing pink, he closed his eyes for a moment as his lips pressed against the faint traces of her warmth.

As Ann ran to her dorm, she pressed her hands over her chest, heart beating loudly, as she kept thinking of his gentle warm hands.

-

This was written based on my own personal experience. I tried painting my nails purple so Halloween Vil would come home. However, I’m not good at not painting my finger, so I imagined Vil would make a big fuss if Ann had the similar problem.

Thank you for reading!

[female-overlord-3]

Bring Them Home  Ch 15 Smash

This fic is slow going with everything but going. Kept this baby as a draft until I wrote the next chapter :D

Alex, Michael, and Isobel bond and talk! Enjoy 💛

Read on AO3

Prev - Next

They get their 3 hours and a little bit more until Michael finally becomes the voice of reason.

"As much as I want to spend the rest of the day with you, I need to check in with Sanders and do my actual day job. Plus Izzy is nothing but greedy for all the attention on her."

Alex just gives him a look before dragging Michael back onto the bed and rolling to be on top.

"This is a once in a blue moon lazy day for me Michael. You give me another hour and then I'll be satisfied."

Their first hour was the nap after their call, Michael carrying a dozing Alex to his bed so they'd be more comfortable. The second was Michael thoroughly massaging Alex's full body after Alex does his at home PT routine. The third was them switching between kissing and talking.

Michael wouldn't mind the third hour becoming 2 straight hours of more talking and kissing. He also doesn't think he can move because Alex is pretty much the ideal weight for holding him down.

Then the small touches start. One hand moving to his neck as a thumb swipes up and down his throat slowly before it moves to sink into his curls. Fingers gently digging into his scalp as lips press randomly across his torso and above. Michael is in actual heaven as he loses time to Alex's devoting touches until his left hand cramps and he lets out a hiss from the pain.

Lifting up Alex gives him space to do whatever he needs, his face pinched in worry and flickers of guilt at seeing Michael cradle his hand.

"Do you need a heat compress or acetone for the pain?" Alex quietly asks but Michael shakes his head.

"It'll pass. Give it a minute."

Hesitantly Alex reaches for it and let's the tips of his fingertips rest ever so lightly on the ridges of the scarred skin that Michael barely feels as Alex traces it. Michael lifts his hand up to feel the pressure and warmth of Alex’s hand but Alex snatches it away.

“Doesn’t it-” Alex's voice was quiet and a bit hoarse. “I don’t want you to hurt. I was trying to-” He stops himself again with his words stuck as old guilt starts to consume him.

Sighing Michael sits up but keeps his hands to himself.

“You think we’re ready to talk about this?” He waves his left hand between them.

He gives Alex a good minute to breathe through what he’s feeling right now before slowly inching his right hand to the thigh resting next to his.

“I am but that’s cause I made peace with it a long time ago. If you’re not then we can put it on hold for another time but you didn’t do this to me, you’re not a monster or violent like him. I’m not gonna lie, it reminds me that there’s bad in the world, that it’s cruel and doesn’t care but,” His hand has traveled up and cups Alex’s cheek. “It also reminds me that there are kind people like you who somehow left me a medical kit even though I didn’t see you for a week because you were hurt too. That wanted me to get help and go to the hospital but found an alternative when I kept telling you no.”

Alex’s eyes fall closed as he leans into Michael’s hand.

“You’re lucky your antibodies are immune to human infection and diseases.” Is the only thing he can say.

“Pretty nice that my form of power boost is just 5 bucks a bottle too, though my personal brew is much better.” Michael raises his left and holds it in front of Alex. “You didn’t need to go and make us a matching set but of course you had to one-up me.”

All he gets is a soft noise from Alex who’s finally reached for his left hand, both of his cradling Michael’s like it’s precious as he brings it to his chest to lay right over his heart. The steady thump is a song he’s missed.

“You could’ve healed it but you didn’t want to. You wanted to remember the good and the bad.”

Michael snorts at that. “I mean Max only offered like once but it also would’ve become a thing if people found out. Even though I didn’t know how much your dad was actually watching us, I didn’t want to give him anymore reasons to start snooping around. Hey you think he knew before and that’s why he went psycho?"

He asks it like an actual question, one of pure curiosity because now with everything they know it might actually be true.

"Maybe but I knew regardless he'd do something to anyone I brought home. Sure it was like an open secret but I tamed it down around him, the eyeliner and punk was just the easiest way to be proud but on just the edge. It helped that he hated both."

Michael watches as Alex's face pinches again.

"Would you heal it now or like a partial one?"

Smiling Michael just rubs his thumb against Alex's chest.

"Don't know. Depends really."

He pulls Alex back down and holds him close, soaking up as much comfort and the feeling of safety, love, and peace.

Of course not 10 minutes later there's a honk and a mental nudge from Isobel.

"Nooooo." He groans and buries his face in Alex's hair.

Alex agrees and presses closer as their phones start ringing.

"How is she calling both of us!"

There's a knock at the door then the sound of intentionally loud footsteps that stop at the window of their room.

"I promised lunch."

"We could be having really kinky sex right now Iz."

"Oh that reminds me I need to find a new playmate. Alex we're going to a gay bar. I want to see if me going all obsessed over Rosa was a me thing or his and I need a wingman who gets me."

Michael makes a face and holds onto Alex tighter. He doesn’t want Alex going to any bar without him.

"In my professional opinion it might be too soon and you're technically still married but screw it let’s go have fun." Alex pauses and reconsiders his words. “Actually if anything Kyle might be more game then me. I may be out and proud but I kinda dislike people… and crowds now.”  

He gives Michael a deep but short kiss and starts to wiggle free. Michael makes a valiant attempt to keep him in bed which is funny because earlier he was trying to head out for work and be responsible. He flips them over and tries to distract Alex with more kisses and he can feel Alex starting to give in when Isobel knocks on the window.

"We still game to blow up stuff or was that just the land around the cabin? Also will someone please let me in!"

They both groan and finally scramble out of bed to put pants on. Michael turns to face where the front door is and glares at it until it opens.

“It’s open.”

“Lovely. I’ll bring my stuff in.”

Michael slips down to slide on the sleeve then prosthetic for Alex before waddling closer to wrap his arms around Alex’s waist so he can bury his face in a very warm stomach.

“No bar without me. Someone’ll snatch you up.”

The vibrations and sound of Alex’s quiet laugh is nice.

“I was being honest about not really liking bars Michael and I'm only a tiny bit better about people. Have no fear everyone will be flocking to your sister.”

Silently Michael stands before climbing into Alex’s lap and latches onto him like a koala.

“Jesus I forgot how clingy you are.” Alex teases as his hands settle on Michaels sides. “Not that I mind.” He adds.

Leaning back to face each other, Michael gives him a dramatic pout. “You’re hot stuff and people will absolutely flock to you. I can’t stop people from looking but I can at least stop them from touching.” He eyes Alex’s neck hungrily and starts to lean down but a hand in his hair stops him.

“Ah and the marking thing. You sure you’re not a vampire?”

“It won’t be like-”

The unamused look Alex is sporting just makes Michael grin smugly. “You made it go around my whole neck. You gave me an actual hickey necklace Michael and it lasted for a whole week. No hickey necklace.”

“What about like two where everyone can see?” Michael questions and his eyes stare at the perfect spot. “I’ll keep them small.”

They roll over with Alex keeping him pinned down.

“You and I have a very different idea of what small is. No hickeys or marks until we go on another date.” He kisses Michael’s cheek before rolling off and leaving to go see what Isobel’s up to.

Michael mopes and gets dressed slowly. If the hoodie he has on is unusual for him well it’s Alex’s fault for leaving it in the room. In the closet and folded up top but Michael found it so finders-keepers.

“Michael you're staying 20 minutes so you can praise me while I break stuff with my mind." Isobel eyes the sweater and frowns. "Are you having a mental breakdown? That's the only time we wear hoodies." She comments and takes a step closer, ready to bring Michael into a hug for comfort which kinda confuses him.

"Um no. I'm good Iz. Just claiming one of my rights to wear something of Alex's." Michael pauses before taking his own step forward in concern. "Are you good? I know I haven't fully been there for you with everything but if you-"

Isobel rolls her eyes at him.

"I'm a big girl. It's been…. A lot but Alex and the others have helped in their own way. I do know breaking all this stuff will feel good so come on teach me how you do it." She says as she pats his shoulder then heads to Alex's backyard, Michael quickly following her.

"You're sure?" He asks. "I know we all have a tendency to avoid actually talking about our shit so if there's anything you want to then I'm here."

The tight line of Isobel's lips hold for a few seconds before dropping as she sighs.

"I'm still mad and hurt. Also sad because I- this whole mess started with him and I was just a tool he used. I was finally starting to feel like I could be myself but even that's a lie. First it was thinking I was the one who killed everyone and that sucked but finding out the actual truth was worse." Her voice wobbles a bit before she takes a deep breath to steady it. "I know I'm not okay and we're all dealing with our own shit but for once I don't feel totally alone. I'm gonna try and be a better sister to you because you've always been there for me Michael, you carried what happened that night with you for a decade so I wouldn't have too. I've let myself follow whatever Max decided because we got to grow up together and I thought he was right, that he was protecting us and the normal life we had."

She swallows and her eyes dart away.

"And he was but that meant you were left out because you never got our type of normal. So I'm gonna work on being there for you too and making sure you're included. Now let's go break stuff."

Michael grabs onto her hand and squeezes it. Isobel squeezes back and both their eyes are a bit misty but the smiles they wear are bright.

They see Alex a couple yards out, placing items from the box Isobel brought around his open backyard.

“Whatever you break you also clean up so I would suggest a tarp or something.”

Michael swaggers over and latches onto his side, nuzzling into his neck.

"Of course gotta keep the place clean. I'll go grab one." He leans to take a sip from Alex's milkshakes but it's moved away.

"You hate mint."

Michael blinks at him and can't help how big his smile turns.

"I don't mind it when it's from you." His eyes land on Alex's lips in an obvious request.

Michael's curls slap him in the face.

"Ow Iz why!"

"What? I'm just practicing my power." Her sickly sweet voice and eyelashes fluttering says anything but.

Michael rolls his eyes and pecks Alex's check. "You get thirty minutes and then I have to head to Sanders."

A hand slides into the back pocket of his jeans and he's pulled closer to Alex's side.

"Whatever you don't break or wanna leave to burn will be our bonding time."

Isobel's eyes light up at the offer.

"You really weren't lying about getting to explode shit! Like actual explosives?" She grabs onto Alex slowly and starts tugging him back to the house so he can show her.

Michael doesn't let go and they all walk back inside relatively easy for the three of them latched onto each other.

"More like I have the basic materials needed to make bombs which you would be surprised on how easy they are to make." Alex comments as Michael gives an understanding nod.

"Though I do have some minor explosives that are probably closer to fireworks which are easier to clean up after and that can easily be stated as such."

Alex slips out of their arms and goes to the small closet hidden behind the bathroom, the three of them bring all the goods to the living room.

"Does this mean I can use you as an excuse to come here instead of my mother's Fourth of July barbeque? I'm always stuck talking about nothing and everyone keeps expecting me to be pregnant. Do I look like mother material to you?"

She's settled in Michael's lap as they hold each other comfortably. Michael rests his head on her shoulder as he chuckles.

"Hmmm you're more Aunt material. You'd spoil my future kids rotten but also make sure they know how to talk circles around people the second they learn how."

"Their first words will be aunt Izzy or some variation of that. I'm not picky."

Her tone is casual but her eyes don't leave Alex who's gone quiet.

"I'm not saying a hard no to possibly being a surrogate but in a few years ask me again. I'll be back, just need to use the bathroom." She glides off of Michael's lap and out the door.

Michael doesn't pay her any mind and flops back to lay back on the bed.

The thought of having kids have been an off and on thing for him. Sometimes he doesn't because he's not even human and not the stablest person, being in the system didn't do him any favors. There's so much entailed with it that if he ever did he's worried the poor kid will turn out worse than him, that Michael won't have or be able to provide what they'll need. Then there are days he'd love to be that parent for someone who needs it, to be who he needed as a kid. Save at least one kid from a bad situation. Have the type of family he's sometimes let himself dream and barely hope for.

Sometimes it's just him raising a kid alone but other times Alex is there too, both of them sharing the love they have with someone else who might need it. Alex would never be like his father and would give their kid everything they needed no matter what but also make sure they have boundaries and morals and good life lessons.

"Would you want kids Alex?"

Michael voices once he's brought back to the present.

Just because he wants kids doesn't mean he needs them. He knows better than anyone that you gotta be committed and ready for that type of responsibility.

There's always the future but for right now he just wants to get his mom and people free, to deal with Noah, and to be with Alex.

"In another life… yes but I'm not sure about this one." Alex gets this nervous look on his face before sighing. "I'd have to think about it."

That's pretty much on par what Michael knew he'd say.

"Do you- I mean obviously you do but I'm not-"

Michael uses his powers to tug Alex to him. He takes Alex's hands and gives a light squeeze.

"I do but not now or for a while. I want to get my mom out and deal with the insanity of our lives first then enjoy being with you. I would like them in the far far future but I don't need them. I'm not letting some punk take all your attention until I've gotten my fill."

Alex clings to him and nods.

"Okay."

"As of now I love you and my meddling sister. You can come back in Isobel."

She walks in stubbornly with her head held high.

"I didn't mean to bring up future kids. You did that all on your own Michael and I'm sure you'll both be amazing uncles when Max and Liz figure their shit out. Max will finally have a reason to quit the force and stay at home to write like he's always wanted while Liz works on saving the world and all that jazz."

She grabs all the explosives quickly and carefully to do something with her hands.

“I mean who wouldn’t want an adorable hybrid of me though right, the world would all but perish under our reign. I’m sure i’d be a good mom though… with time and everyone else’s kids as a trial but like you guys said, now is a horrible time.” Her voice lowers to something almost hushed. “I’m sure plenty of kids need a home once i’m ready so all we need to do now is learn and be as prepared as possible.”

Michael smiles fondly at her as he stands and wraps an arm around her waist, pressing his forehead to the side of her neck.

“There’d be nothing stopping you once you decide your ready Isobel.”

Alex leans into her other side and they all just take a moment to breathe together.

“When we’re ready.” Alex voices with hope and it brings a smile to all their faces. “Does that mean we’re ready to go blow stuff up now?”

That gets a laugh.

“Come on all this emotional talk is ruining the mood. I’m ready to see how much control I need to learn to beat Michael!”

The three proceed to smash, break, and explode the contents of Isobel's boxes while enjoying their lunch.

Isobel is a bit shocked and proud of how much control Michael has on his power. A bit jealous too but she’s only just started. She finds it sickeningly sweet how awed Alex looks when he looks at Michael but the kind one he gives her makes up for it.

“How did I not see it?” She asks them. Her tone is light with wonder. That she never saw how much love just poured from them. It’s been a decade and she’s only finding out now.

Both Alex and Michael sigh but there’s less of a haunted look in their eyes.

“Shit timing and even worse communication.” Michael voices and then he’s at Alex’s side. “It’s hard to have something when everything’s going against you.”

Alex nods with his face set in a hard look before it clears.

“We kept it to ourselves cause it was safer but now there’s less bullshit to fight against.”

Isobel hurts from even the idea of what they’ve been through, the flashes she’s gotten from Alex flickering before she lets it all go.

“Well you’ve got someone else on your side.” she stands tall again, stronger and more solid with this certain topic worked through. "I'd happily melt anyone who's brain keeps giving you guys trouble. I'm sure I can make it look like an aneurysm."

She’s trying to be reassuring but the pained and overwhelmed look on Michael's face makes her feel unsure, like she's miss stepped somewhere.

It's only when Michael launches at her and holds her in a crushing hug, that his mind is so loud it's screaming at her by being in contact, that she understands.

Michael's always been so strong and never truly had anyone who he felt he could rely on, to truly rely on. Alex probably now with everything known but not really anyone else and that hurts Isobel all over again.

They should've been united from the start. They should've been together, able to rely and trust each other without doubt.

She holds on tight to him and lets out a sigh when Michael’s mind quiets, Alex’s presence closer being the obvious reason why.

Isobel is going to have a talk with Max about Alex and about Michael. Alex is right that they need to all work together to figure this mess out.

[echo-bleu]

Five Things You Can See

I originally wrote this for the Whumptober “Asphyxiation”, but I never posted it on here. So it’s not technically new, but it’s my entry for day 1 of the Missing Alex Manes weekend ( @alexmanesappreciation) since I didn’t have the time or energy to write new things.

[panic attack, PTSD, abuse, mentions of war]

“Hey, I'm heading out,” Kyle says, passing behind Alex's chair.

Alex checks the time on his computer to see that it's already lunch time.

“Got a date?” he asks.

“No, just a healthy work routine,” Kyle shoots back. “You should get out more.”

“I'm eating out tonight,” Alex shrugs. “So I just brought a sandwich for lunch.”

“Eating out, uh? That's what got you mooning at your screen all morning?”

Alex turns in his chair to look at Kyle, who is opening the bunker door. “I'm not mooning!” he exclaims.

“Right,” Kyle rolls his eyes. “See you later.”

Alex glares at his back and goes back to his monitor. Seeing the shimmering out of the corner of his eyes, he pulls back his sleeve to admire the handprint on his palm. The colors and shining still mesmerize him every time he sees a handprint or the console, and today it's tinted with a rush of pride−and a foreign feeling of love love love mixing perfectly with his own. Michael did that.

He's been struggling with his powers for weeks. After Isobel shared that she manage to make a picture frame explode, and that Noah said they all had more powers than they thought, Liz became convinced that the only way to bring Max back was for Isobel and Michael to figure out how to heal him. Since then, they've been working at it most days, and it's been a trying time.

Alex has tried to support Michael through his grief the best he can, ever since he came back to his trailer late the evening Max died, after Alex waited for him all day, and collapsed in Alex's arms. He told Alex everything, talking through the night, about Noah, about Max, and finally about Maria. How he'd tried to find solace in paying guitar and Maria's lips and found out that all he wanted was Alex's arms.

Alex welcomed him into his arms gladly.

Isobel is now good at tossing objects around the room, and Michael is a convincing telepath. But neither of them had made any kind of progress on healing wounds. Liz, always self-sacrificing, has given herself countless paper cuts−all in the controlled environment of her lab, of course−and even convinced Alex and Kyle to help, but nothing has seemed to work.

Until last night, when Alex cut his hand deeply while trying to cook for a date dinner. The date almost ended in the ER, which Alex should have known because he's a terrible cook, but Michael sat in front of him as Alex was trying to control the bleeding with a bunch of tissues, cursing, and grabbed Alex's hand.

It took almost half an hour before the wound was completely gone, and Michael spent another hour throwing up and chugging acetone, but it worked. And it gave Alex an interesting new perspective on Michael's feelings for him, as their emotions started to mingle.

That's why he's spent the whole morning smiling to himself like a newlywed, but he's not going to tell Kyle that.

Pulling his sandwich out of his bag, he absently presses play on the next of the Caulfield surveillance video. He and Kyle have been going through them for months, now, and by now they're mostly doing it to give themselves good conscience, because it's highly unlikely they're going to find something new. The videos Alex is currently speeding through are nearly twenty years old.

Except the image on the screen makes him stop in his tracks. It's his father. Alex has seen him pop up in the surveillance images often, but he's almost never taking part in the experiments. But this time he is.

He's towering over a woman strapped to a table, whom Alex recognizes immediately as Michael's mother. Fuck. His father and Michael's mom in the same room doesn't sound good. There's no sound, which is part of the reason why the surveillance videos have been less than useful, and the image is grainy.

Alex watches, transfixed, as Jesse Manes talks. He has the same expression on his face as the one he gets every time he tells Alex how much he's disappointed in his son. Alex can't tell what he's saying, but his features slowly turn angrier at Mara's lack of reaction. She looks strangely immobile, peaceful, like her mind is not even there. She's dissociating, Alex thinks. I recognize that look.

Alex can't take his eyes off the screen. He flinches, the first time his father slaps Mara. He can hear the sound in his mind, like a clap of thunder.

This would have been...he checks the date in the corner of the screen. A couple of months after his mother left. Alex was eight. His father was angry all the time then, and Alex bore the brunt of it.

It turns out he wasn't the only one receiving the abuse. And he wasn't the only one who was completely defenseless in front of Jesse Manes.

Alex bites on his finger as Jesse slaps Mara again. He can almost feel the slap on his own cheek, but worse than that, he remembers the marks on his mother's cheek, more and more common in the last few months before she left. Jesse Manes has always liked people he can tower over, people who will cower in front of him. His wife. His youngest son. His son's seventeen-year-old already-abused boyfriend, once.

And, apparently, tied-up alien women.

Alex doesn't even realize he's having a panic attack until the world is swimming in front of him. He gasps, desperate for air that won't fill his lungs.

Dammit. Alex tries to focus on breathing, but the video is still going, and his hands are shaking too much to stop it. Not that he can. He can't take his eyes off his father and Mara.

Breathe. It doesn't help.

Five things you can see. Alex has done this hundreds of time. He learned this particular technique in therapy, but he used some variation of it long before he even made it to basic training. The screen. The bunker around him. His father, in the goddamn video. Shit.

Wheezing, Alex lets himself slide down from his chair and to the floor. He huddled under the desk. At least from there he can't see the screen anymore.

The legs of the chair. Part of the table. His bag, on another chair beside the desk.

No movement. Jesse Manes isn't there. Alex gasps.

Four things you can touch. Er, the floor. Probably dirty, because no one has bothered to clean since Jesse Manes ended up in the hospital. Alex closes his eyes at the thought of his father. Focus. The wall behind his back. The desk, with the top of his head. His neck is going to hurt later. His leg, too. The prosthetic, he can feel it, the sock around his stump. His clothes.

Three things you can hear. There isn't much, with the bunker underground and soundproof. Ventilation. The computer's buzzing. His phone, ringing.

Wait, his phone is ringing.

Alex ignores it, still panting. The world is coming back into focus around him, slowly, but he feels exhausted.

Two things you can smell. Dust. Plastic.

One thing you can taste. Ashes.

Alex swallows.

The ashes taste is what he gets for letting his traumas mix up together, because that's one from the explosion. Oh, well. He could rinse out the taste, but his water bottle is in his bag, too far away. He lets his breathing slow down instead.

His phone is still ringing. It's on the desk, where the video is playing on the screen. He can't deal with it right now.

It stops ringing, and Alex makes no move to get up. He'll need to, before Kyle makes it back here, but he has maybe another half-hour. He rests his head on his arm instead, so tired that he would lay down on the floor if there was enough space under the desk, and traces at the shining mark on his hand, trying to find comfort in it.

Alex scrambles to stand up when he hears the door of the bunker open, almost hitting his head in the process. His neck and his leg have seized up from the awkward position he was in under the desk, as he suspected, and he lets himself drop onto his chair just before Kyle walks in.

“Alex? You're still here? Liz's been calling you,” Kyle says.

Shit. “I guess my phone's on silent,” Alex answers as casually as possible. He makes a show to check it, and the screen shows three missed calls from Liz and one from Michael.

A cursory, though apprehensive, look tells him that while the surveillance video is still playing on his computer monitor, it's now showing an empty room. He lets out a breath of relief. “What's up?” he asks.

“Apparently something weird happened to Michael during training,” Kyle says. “They called me to check him out.”

“Weird? Weird how?”

“He said it was like he was being asphyxiated for a couple of minutes, and then it was gone just as silently.”

Alex frowns. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he's fine, just a little shaken up. But we don't know what caused it.”

“I should go check on him,” Alex says, standing up. “I haven't eaten,” he adds, taking his sandwich. He hopes Kyle doesn't notice that there's several bites missing, or that Alex limps more than usual when he walks out of the bunker. Kyle doesn't need to know about his father and Mara.

Alex shudders just thinking about it, the images stuck in his mind. Trying to distract himself, he starts his car and puts the radio on, thinking about Michael. Is something wrong with him?

He makes it to Max's house, when Michael and Isobel have been training, before he's even finished his sandwich.

“Hey,” he knocks on the door, coming in without waiting for an answer. “Kyle told me something happened?”

“I've been calling you,” Liz says immediately, pulling him into the living room. Alex stumbles, but catches himself on a bookshelf. “Oh, sorry. You okay?”

“Fine,” Alex says through gritted teeth, riding the sudden added pain. “Michael?”

“I'm okay,” Michael walks up to him from the couch. “It was nothing. It's gone.”

“I still think you should come with me to the lab to draw some blood, see if I can figure out what caused this,” Liz says.

“Maybe you should,” Isobel adds. “It was kinda scary.”

“I don't think anything's wrong with me,” Michael says. “I feel fine. It felt more like...it came from somewhere else. Maybe the mind stuff went wrong somehow. Maybe Isobel choked me without knowing it with her telekinesis, she's still not fully in control.”

Alex looks between them, trying to follow the conversation. “You should do what Liz says,” he pipes up. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Fine,” Michael sulks. “Wait, didn't you feel anything? You're supposed to feel everything I feel,” he indicates Alex's hand.

Alex starts to shake his head, frowning, but he stops himself. What if−

Fuck. He looks at Michael, then down at the shimmering handprint. He did this. He made Michael feel−

Fuck. Fuck Fuck−

“Alex!” Michael chokes out.

“Michael!” Liz shouts.

Michael's hand goes to his throat, as Alex struggles to breathe.

“Shit, that's what it was!” Liz exclaims, catching Alex before he falls down. “What the hell?”

“He's having a panic attack,” Alex dimly hears Isobel says. “Alex, breathe with me.”

Alex tries, but he can barely see Michael in front of him, struggling to breathe. “Alex, focus on me!” Isobel tries, forcing herself into his field of vision. “Count down from twenty, okay? With me. Twenty−”

Alex shakes his head, looking wildly around him. He has to get this under control. Right now, before it affects Michael even more. Only the thought that he's doing that to Michael is making it worse.

Arms engulfs him, squeezing him tightly, and−it's Michael. Alex can hear his wheezing, irregular breathing in his ear. The hug grounds him, almost immediately.

Count down. Twenty. Nineteen.

Michael is like a warm cocoon around Alex's trembling form.

Eighteen. Seventeen.

Alex forces his breaths to lengthen, ignoring the burning feeling in his chest. He has to do it, for Michael.

Fourteen. Thirteen.

“You're doing good,” Michael murmurs haltingly.

Ten. Nine.

They're on their knees, and Alex knows he's not going to be able to walk after that, but it's okay. Michael's there.

Not his father.

Five. Four.

“Almost there,” Michael says.

Two. One. Alex lets himself falls fully to the floor, unable to hold himself up. Michael gently accompanies him until they're both lying down. Their hearts are beating in unison, too fast and too strong.

“There.”

The girls have retreated somewhere else. Alex will care, later, that they saw all this, but right now he doesn't. “You okay?” he asks Michael in a whisper.

“Yeah,” Michael says, pulling himself up to look at him. “Looks like I feel what you feel, too.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'd like to know what brought it on the first time, but we'll talk about it later. Right now, just let me get you to the couch and you can rest.”

“I don't need−” Alex starts.

“Alex, if the next words to come out of your mouth are that you don't need to rest, I'm going to choke you myself.”

Alex laughs weakly, surrendering. “Fine.”

He lets Michael pull him up and help him to the couch, using both his body and his telekinesis to keep Alex upright. Once Alex is lying on the couch, he sits down on the edge, running his hand down Alex's back.

“You don't have to stay,” Alex murmurs. Two panic attacks in a row are a bit too much for his body to handle. He feels his eyes closing on their own.

“I'm not leaving. I'd rather not end up randomly choking again without knowing why. So I'm stuck with you for the next few days.”

“Won't happen again,” Alex mutters.

“Yeah, well let's make sure of that together, alright? You can sleep. I'm just staying here.”

Alex nods, too tired to fight it. The hand on his back is still grounding, and he never wants it to go.

[justlightlysedated]

don't you know the kids aren't alright

friendship malex edition™

one.

Michael had taken Maria at her word and only stayed over four times out of the week, probably because he spent the rest of the week with her inside of the bar.

But when the Airstream wasn't parked in the back of the Pony, it was back at the scrapyard.

Maria gets out of her truck and walks around to get the brown paper bag full of food and booze that she'd gotten together.

Liz had called her and told her that Michael had been hurt, and the gist that she'd gotten from the conversation was that it had been serious, and that Michael had insisted on being left alone.

Maria figures that it's early enough in their relationship that she shouldn't expect to be let into every single aspect of his life, but she didn't think there was any harm in offering a little company.

She shuts the door closed with her hip and makes her way around the Airstream towards the front.

She rounds the corner and then stops short when she hears Michael hissing.

She looks for him, and then ducks back towards the side of the Airstream, the back of her calf hitting the trailer hitch before she even realizes what she’s doing.

She had been expecting Michael to be alone, so it’s more than surprising that he’s not, but what’s more surprising than that is that he’s with Alex.

Thankfully, Michael was sitting with his back towards where she’d been walking from, because his gaze was focused over Alex’s head, but Alex’s gaze is focused in the space between them, where Michael had one of his arms propped up on a small table.

Michael hisses again, but this time she hears the click of something glass hitting something metal, and then Alex is exhaling loudly.

“I have no idea how you drove all the way here like that,” he says, and Maria can hear the sounds of something being unzipped.

“I’m multi talented,” Michael says, sounding like he’s talking through his teeth.

“You should’ve let Kyle stitch this up for you,” Alex says, and the words surprised Maria. 

She didn’t really question how Liz seemed to know so much about Michael. She had seen them in Texas. It seemed that in her quest to get Max Evans, Liz had made a friend in Michael.

And while she had known that Kyle had been making amends, especially where Alex was concerned, she hadn’t realized that he was someone that Michael hung around with as well.

Just like she hadn’t realized that Michael and Alex spent any time together.

“But now you’re stuck with my basic medical knowledge,” Alex continues, and Michael makes a low sound, almost like something scared him.

“Are you sure we can’t just stick a bandaid over them and be done with it?”

Alex makes a low amused sound, “Are you afraid of a tiny needle, Guerin?”

“No,” Michael says firmly and too fast to actually be believable. “But I’m definitely afraid of the mad man holding it.”

Alex doesn’t really reply to that, and there is a tense silence between them that Maria definitely doesn’t understand, but it’s broken up by Michael saying Alex’s name in a soft low tone, like he’s trying to be careful.

“Don’t,” Alex says, firmly. “It’s okay. I got what you meant, but I still have to do this. You don’t know the definition of keeping still and you’ll tear the gash open again, no matter how fast you heal.”

Michael just exhales and Maria doesn’t hear him say yes, but he must nod or something, because the next thing that she hears is Alex speaking again.

“This will all be over before you know it,” he says, and then Michael makes a low pained sound.

“If you don’t keep still, I’m going to tie you up,” Alex bites out, not sounding serious about the threat.

Michael inhales sharply, a small hitch of pain before he speaks, “Is that a promise?”

Alex makes a scoffing noise and Maria doesn’t have to be looking at him to know that he’s rolling his eyes.

“Just keep still,” Alex says. “I’m almost done.”

“Yes, Captain,” Michael drawls flirty, but serious.

There is silence for a few minutes where Maria thinks about making her presence known.

“Thank you,” Michael says in a low voice, almost too low for her to hear.

Alex makes a low questioning sound, and Michael inhales deeply before exhaling again, “If you hadn’t kept your head, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a second.

“Well, one of us has to be the cool, calm and collected one, and I hate to break it to you, Guerin, but it’s definitely not you.”

Michael makes a noise in protest, but they both fall into silence for a few minutes before Alex speaks again.

“There,” he says. “All done.”

She can hear him, most likely, moving to stand, the chair scraping backwards through the dirt and gravel as he does. She hears more zipper sounds and then the rattle of a bottle of pills.

“Liz says that these should help with the pain, but you can’t mix them,” he sounds a little resigned, like he knows that Michael is going to tell him that he doesn’t want to take them, but to both their surprise, she hears the rattle of the bottle and then the low sound of something being uncapped.

“You know I also mean acetone, right?” Alex asks, which makes Maria furrow her brow. Was that supposed to be some sort of code word for something?

She moves to take a look, and sees that Alex is standing, looking at Michael with a raised eyebrow as Michael tips his head back and swallows the pills he just took dry.

He shakes his head and then turns back to the big first aid kit that Maria had missed at her first sight of them, putting things away.

“Kyle is probably going to stop by tomorrow, if you would prefer to avoid that, but as long as you keep the stitches on for a couple of days, you should be fine.”

“Leaving already?” Michael asks something strange in his voice, and Alex stops what he’s doing to turn to face him, tilting his head to the side like he’s trying to puzzle Michael out.

“Yeah, you didn’t want me here in the first place, I know how not to overstay my welcome, and besides, there’s something that I have to do before it gets too late.”

Michael just nods his head, and doesn’t say anything else.

Maria stares as Alex closes the first aid kit and then exhales roughly as he turns back to face Michael, clenching his jaw.

“Listen, since I’m already here,” he says, and Michael tips his head back to look up at him. “I know that you said you didn’t want my help, but I still went ahead and continued to look through the files we got from Caulfield, and there is something that I think you’d like to see.”

Michael stares at Alex in silence for long enough that Maria would’ve found it uncomfortable but Alex just lets him, gaze steady right on Michael, like this is something completely normal that happens all the time.

“Okay,” Michael says, voice careful. “What is it?”

Alex reaches up into the front pocket of his military fatigues, and pulls something that Maria is pretty sure is a picture and hands it to Michael.

Maria moves to lean back against the Airstream feeling the hot metal at her back.

She wonders how Michael learned what had happened to his mother exactly, and if it had anything to do with Alex.

She hears a low noise, that sounds almost like a sob and a soft ‘hey’ coming from Alex, and she closes her eyes tightly, biting down on her bottom lip.

Michael had told her so many things the night that they had officially gotten together, but never once in the speech that he’d given her had he mentioned himself, not really.

She hears a sound like something dropping to the floor, and curiosity gets the better of her, enough that she sneaks another look, and then decides that maybe it will be better to wait until Michael comes to her.

She turns to head back towards her truck, trying to blink away the image of Alex kneeling on the floor and Michael, leaning over him, their foreheads pressed together, and she really hopes that she won’t have to add Alex along to the provision that Michael doesn’t kiss any Lindsay’s.

two.

Alex hadn’t helped to set up the lab, but he’d cleaned up the rest of the place, even going as far as to set up a training room for the aliens, where he had also set up a small space for Kyle to work out if he had to be here in the lab and couldn’t get to the gym.

Some of the equipment he’d brought was even better than the equipment at the gym in the hospital so Kyle found himself there most mornings.

This morning he walks into the room and promptly wishes that he had decided to use the gym at the hospital.

He had thought when he heard that Michael and Maria were dating that things would tone down between Michael and Alex, but no, Kyle still got the urge to ask them if they wanted him to leave the room every single time they were in the same room together.

They seemed to gravitate towards each other, and slowly shut everything else out like they were in their own world, when they both became focused on what the other was doing or saying.

Case and point, the fact that Kyle was able to walk into the room, that was dead silent, and that neither Michael nor Alex noticed that they weren’t alone.

Michael was too busy focused on keeping something that looked way too delicate and entirely too expensive in the air and Alex was too busy entirely focused on Michael and the stopwatch he had in one hand.

Michael makes a low pained sound, and then gasps, hands coming up to his head and Alex steps forward, easily catching what looked like a centrifuge, only grunting slightly as he sets it down on the floor at their feet and moves forward and stops Michael from curling forward, bracing him with his body.

“Come on, Guerin!” he says, as he tries to get Michael’s hands away from his head. “I know that you can do this!”

Michael shakes his head and his voice sounds thick with anger when he speaks. “No I fucking can’t, Alex! I need the acetone!”

“No, you don’t,” Alex snaps. “You’re dependent on that shit, and while I’m sure it does help you manage the pain, it’s not necessary! You know what you have to do!”

Michael drags his hands away from his face, and he looks at Alex, glaring so hard that Kyle is surprised that Alex doesn’t step away, and just gives Michael an unimpressed look instead.

“Yeah, well maybe terrified aliens were able to get themselves under control and use their powers on command after several hours of being tortured, maybe you should try some more of your family’s methods to really get this thing rolling.”

Kyle sees Alex’s reaction because he’s looking for it, unlike Michael, whose gaze moves to the side as he shakes his head, the way his eyes flash with an infinite sadness and pain that he hides beneath a steely look, and then takes a step away from Michael.

Michael’s gaze snaps back to him then, and Alex just nods his head once, before he’s stuffing the stopwatch back into one of his many pockets and then reaching for something at his back.

Kyle inhales sharply when he sees the gun and freezes along with Michael who goes so still that Kyle momentarily thinks that he unlocked a new ability to freeze at will.

Alex stands at attention, feet shoulder width, and he lifts his hand up, pointing the gun towards Michael, not dead center, but in his general direction, and Michael’s gaze goes hard and brutal, and then Alex is bending his arm and pointing the gun at his temple.

Michael’s face immediately loses all sort of hardness, as he seems to almost melt as he takes a staggering step towards Alex.

“Alex,” he says, voice questioning and shaking, and he looks like he’s two seconds away from somehow standing in the way of that bullet. “What are you doing?”

Alex gives him an impassive look. “A bullet can travel two thousand five hundred feet per second. The same principle applies here for holding something that weighs nearly two hundred pounds completely still for fifteen minutes. Only a little more advanced.”

Michael shakes his head a little, giving Alex a highly incredulous look, “You’re not planning on shooting yourself.”

Alex just blinks at Michael like he doesn’t see what’s so unbelievable about that.

“Alex!” Michael snaps. “Lower the gun.”

“Five,” Alex starts, and Michael furrows his brow like he doesn’t understand what Alex is doing until he takes the safety off the gun and continues with, “Four.”

Michael reaches out with one hand and Kyle can see that he tries to pull the gun away from Alex’s head, and Alex’s arms moves a little, but he still manages to keep a hold of the gun.

“Three.”

Michael moves towards Alex, and Alex takes a step backwards for each move Michael makes forward, keeping the distance between them equal.

“Two,” Alex keeps going, and Michael makes a low wordless noise, and then he shuts his eyes tight and holds both of his hands out towards Alex, and Kyle is more worried about the gun being pointed at Alex, even if he’s the one pointing it, and he’s about to make his presence known so that he doesn’t actually have to witness this, when the entire room starts vibrating, every single machine starts to shake, and even the walls seem like they’re trembling.

“One,” Alex says, finishing his countdown, finger on the trigger.

Kyle barely has time to do or say anything when there is the sound of the gun going off.

At the same time, every single thing in the room goes absolutely still, even the air feels like it’s still even though Kyle knows that that is impossible.

Alex is still standing on the other side of the room, and Kyle can smell the scent of singed hair in the air, but Alex looks otherwise unharmed, even though there seems to be a tiny explosion frozen right by his head.

Kyle’s eyes go to Michael, who is standing, breathing heavily, but in a steady rhythm, eyes open wide as he stares at where Alex is standing, both of his hands open in front of him, fingers barely trembling.

He twists both of his hands in the air and the explosion disappears into nothing, leaving behind a bullet frozen in the air.

Alex reaches up and plucks it out of the air like this is something that happens all of the time, and he hisses a little, probably because it’s hot, and then looks over to Michael.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting that to work that well,” he admits, and Michael drops his hands, exhaling roughly and the entire room seems to breathe out with him, taking all of the heavy tension with it.

“What the fuck were you expecting?” Michael asks, sounding angry, but not as much as before. 

“That you would manage to pull the gun away?” Alex says, sounding more like he’s asking a question than making a statement.

Michael stares at him in disbelief, and Kyle shares the sentiment.

“Now,” Alex continues, putting the gun back in it’s holster against his back. “The centrifuge please, holding that still for a half an hour should be easy after that display.”

Michael shakes his head a little, but does what Alex says, reaching out with one hand, and easily lifting the object even higher than he had it when Kyle had walked into the room.

Kyle moves then and sits down on the bench, deciding that he’s had enough of Michael and Alex for today.

He puts his headphones in, and ignores them as much as they seem to be ignoring him.

Curiosity does get the better of him, and he finds himself looking over and pausing his music while he jogs on the treadmill.

Michael keeps the centrifuge in the air, and doesn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat and there is a look on his face that seems something like wonder.

“Time,” Alex says, voice sounding so proud, smiling widely at Michael, that Kyle is surprised that he doesn’t just reach out and pull him into a hug.

Michael lowers the centrifuge carefully, and he exhales once it’s on the floor and turns to Alex, who raises an eyebrow at him in question.

“Fine,” Michael says. “You were right.”

Alex’s smile just widens, and Kyle can see the confused light in Michael’s eyes at the sight.

“I knew you could do it,” he says, reaching out and patting Michael on the arm. “And no acetone! I’m very proud of you.”

“Now,” continues turning towards a clipboard he has propped on the back wall, so he doesn’t see the way that Michael’s eyes go from confused to hungry within a millisecond.

There are plenty of things that he knows about Michael that he would prefer never to know, but the fact that he apparently has a praise kink was definitely at the top of that list.

Kyle turns the treadmill off, and makes enough noise as he’s leaving for them to know that they definitely weren’t alone.

three.

Isobel turns the corner expecting to find Michael alone so she finds herself stopping short, right next to the front of his truck when she hears him laughing, long and loud and delighted. Isobel tries to wrack her brain for the last time she’d heard Michael laugh like that. She’s seen him snicker at jokes and chuckle when he’s flirting and smirk a whole lot and smile, small but genuine when he's happy, but she can’t remember the last time he laughed like it was something that he couldn’t help.

“That was terrible,” she hears him gasping out between breaths.

She’s not expecting Alex Manes to be the one to snort and say, “Yeah, well you’re the one who laughed.”

She moves a little closer, and she can see them lying back in the back of the truck. Michael is lying flat, hands crossed behind his head, propping him up as he looks up at the sky. Alex is lying on his side, propped up on one hand, staring at Michael.

She hears Michael inhale deeply and then exhale, the cold air making a plume of smoke escape his mouth.

“How long?” he says, and she hears Alex sigh, and turn a little so that he’s looking out across Max’s backyard.

Isobel crouches down right by the front wheel, not really wanting to hear this conversation, but feeling like if she moves she’ll interrupt their conversation, and something about it feels important.

“A few weeks,” Alex says, sounding like he hadn’t actually wanted to speak.

She hears the truck moving as though someone moved, and Michael’s careful breathing.

“Just ask,” Alex says after a few seconds of silence.

Michael exhales loudly and then the truck moves again, and Isobel looks over to the back of the truck and she can see that they’re both sitting, facing Max’s backyard, and staring at the lights that make up Roswell.

They’re both quiet for long enough that Isobel’s legs start to fall asleep, and she thinks about making her presence known since it’s not like they’re talking about anything important.

She’s making to stand up when Michael speaks.

“Are you planning on coming back?” Michael asks, voice almost too low for her to hear.

“Yes,” Alex says with no hesitation, almost before Michael even finished speaking, and from the way she can see Michael turn to face him, she knows that Michael wasn’t expecting him to answer so fast. “Roswell has never been home, but there are still some people here that I care about.”

Alex doesn’t look at Michael as he says it, and Isobel can’t make out their faces, but there is something in Michael’s silence that feels too heavy for the words that Alex said.

"Tell me, Guerin," Alex says, breaking the silence. "What is the center of gravity?"

"The point in any solid where a single applied force could support it," Michael answers, speaking slowly, voice coloured in confusion.

"Actually," Alex says, and Isobel sees him turning to face Michael as well. "It's a v."

There is a second of silence where Isobel cannot believe that Alex just said that, and Michael's silence is heavy with judgement, and then Alex snickers, the sound falling out of his mouth, before he starts to giggle helplessly, and then Michael loses it completely, laughing hard and leaning to push Alex hard enough that he moves backwards and the truck moves with him.

"That's even more terrible than the last one," Michael says between laughter.

Isobel can see Alex well enough now, that when he smiles it looks so bright and happy that it could probably be seen from space. "Yeah, but you still laughed."

Michael just shakes his head, and Isobel wonders if he's ever going to tell Alex that he didn't laugh because the joke was funny, but because Alex found it funny.

four.

Liz is waiting for Michael by his truck since she already knows that Kyle will be taking Alex home and she doesn't like the idea of him driving home alone. 

She's looking up at the sky when she hears footsteps, and she turns towards the door and spots Alex walking out, his arm in a sling.

She almost calls out to him, but Michael walks out right behind him, and reaches out, stopping him right in front of Kyle’s car.

“Wait,” he says, and Alex turns around a little too roughly, pulling away from Michael’s hold and taking a step backwards.

“What is it, Guerin?”

Liz can just make out Michael's expression from her position, but his body language is easy to read, and his fists are clenched to his sides, and he keeps rocking on his heels, and he doesn't speak, he just continues to look at Alex, or well, at where Alex had told them that he'd gotten shot.

He had played it off, but he'd been gone for a few weeks, more than enough time to recover from the worst.

Alex sighs and opens his mouth, but Michael beats him to it.

"Can I see?" He asks, sounding both hesitant and determined.

Alex barely hesitates before he's pulling the sling over his head and then popping open the buttons of his shirt.

Michael moves closer then, eyes intent on Alex's shoulder.

Liz sees his hands unclench, fingers stretching out before he shakes them out a little, eyes so intent, like he's trying to heal Alex through his gaze alone.

As soon as she thinks it, Michael moves forward, hand raised.

Liz ducks down to avoid being seen as Alex looks around, one of his hands coming up to trap Michael's hand against his chest.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice a low hiss that Liz almost doesn't hear.

"What do you think?" Michael snaps back, sounding a little exasperated.

"You can't do that," Alex says, and there is a sound, almost like a scuffle, before Alex speaks in a low urgent voice.

"Hey," he says, like he's trying to get Michael's attention. "I have a doctor's appointment in a few days and a miraculous recovery is going to be hard to explain. Otherwise I'd let you do it in a heartbeat. It's really uncomfortable."

Michael makes a low sound.

"I can always just go into your head and make you forget all about the pain," Michael suggests, but it sounds half hearted at best.

Alex makes a low humming sound, "Don't tempt me."

Michael just laughs low and amused, but doesn't say anything else. 

There's enough silence that Liz feels safe enough to straighten up and check if the coast is clear and she exhales softly when she sees them.

Michael has his forehead pressed to Alex's shoulder and Alex has one hand in his hair, and they don't seem to be doing anything but just breathing together.

They look so comfortable in each other's space that Liz realizes for the first time that maybe their previous relationship was more serious than she'd thought.

Kyle walks out of the building then and he makes a low aggrieved noise when he sees them.

"Come on," Kyle says, walking by them and hooking his arm around Alex's, dragging him along. "I want to get at least four hours of sleep."

Liz doesn’t bother to duck out of sight, since Kyle waves at her, but she’s distracted by Michael’s face as he watches Alex leave, something sad, but somehow sweet.

Liz keeps staring at him until he turns and catches her at it.

He raises an eyebrow at her, and she raises one back at him as he walks closer.

“Figured you’d want some company,” she tells him.

Michael just shrugs, but unlocks the truck with a flick of his wrist.

She gets into the passenger’s seat worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and waits until they’ve been on the road for a few minutes before she decides to say something.

“You don’t really talk about it, but if you ever do need to talk about Alex, or anything, I’m-”

“No offense, Liz,” Michael says, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “But I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Liz makes a face at him. “Maybe talking about it will help you-”

The radio blasts loudly with static for one second before the tape clicks and starts playing a country song that Liz is pretty sure was made before she was born.

She just rolls her eyes and leans back in her seat.

five.

Jenna isn’t exactly sure how she got volunteered to chauffer Alex to the next Team Save Max meeting, but having Michael Guerin in the passenger’s side seat of the car wasn’t exactly one of the things mentioned when Liz had asked her for the favor.

The only good thing is that she doesn’t have to get out of the car or even call Alex.

Michael gets out of her car before it even properly stops, and she stares as he walks towards the front door, crouches down by the plant pot holding a ficus too shiny to actually be real, and digs around in the pot before he pulls out a shiny silver key covered in dirt.

Jenna watches him letting himself into Alex’s home like he pays rent there and wonders if everyone does that or if Michael is just a special case.

He’s rushing out of the house not even a full minute later, and he looks a little flustered, and a lot preoccupied. She stares at him as he walks past her car, and then realizes it and turns back around, getting into the backseat wordlessly.

His brow is furrowed, and Jenna can feel the discontent vibes and she wonders what the hell happened in the less than a minute that he was inside of Alex’s house.

Alex walks out of his house a couple of minutes later, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that that is definitely sex hair.

It also doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he is pissed the fuck off.

He waves at Jenna through the open passenger side door window, and then gets into the backseat pushing Michael aside.

Jenna seriously would like to curse out her libido for getting hooked on Liz Ortecho so badly that she said yes when Liz asked her to please pick Alex up.

She puts the car into drive and Alex turns to Michael and hisses in a low angry voice, “Do I really have to have a conversation with you about privacy?”

Jenna distinctly knows that this is not the way to get through to Michael Guerin.

“Maybe, if you had told me that you were dating someone, I wouldn’t have just walked in!” Michael answers back, voice coming out harsh and accusing.

“I’m not dating anyone,” Alex answers back through his teeth.

Jenna glances at the rearview mirror and she can see Michael giving Alex a pointed look.

Jenna can feel Alex rolling his eyes.

“You don’t have to be dating someone to have sex with them. You know that.”

Jenna can feel the unhappy vibes exuding from Michael.

“And besides, even if I was dating him. You still have no right to walk into my house uninvited!”

“That’s never been a problem before!” Michael snaps back.

Alex exhales loud and rough, and Jenna glances at the rearview mirror again to see him giving Michael a tired look.

“Things are different now.”

Michael doesn’t respond to that, and Alex doesn’t say anything else.

The rest of the drive passes in silence and once they get to the Crashdown, Alex gets out of the car, before Jenna even fully parks it, and it makes her hum a little thoughtfully.

She looks to see Michael still sitting in the backseat, staring as Alex walks into the diner with eyes that are entirely too big and wet for his face.

He looks really sad and upset, and Jenna distinctly remembers him kissing Maria goodnight the last time that she had seen them together.

“You’re actually an oblivious idiot,” she tells him, and Michael turns to her, giving her a confused look, and Jenna just shakes her head.

Trying to get Michael to understand something by force was an exercise in futility. She remembered Max failing at it more than once, and it looks like Alex has decided to just let him come to his own conclusions, but the problem is that she’s sure that Michael is coming to all of the wrong conclusions.

It might be worth it to stick around just to see the fallout.

“If you don’t get it, I’m not going to be the one to explain it to you,” Jenna replies before she gets out of the car and heads towards the diner.

six.

Max is setting the empty glasses down in the sink so that they’re out of the way when he sees Michael walking down the hall, fast enough to be suspicious.

Max follows after him after barely a moment’s consideration, and finds himself outside on the side of the house where all the cars are parked, Michael momentarily out of sight.

Max doesn’t have to search long to find him again, heading to the only car with a light on, Alex’s.

Max slows down and hides behind Kyle’s SUV, peering around the corner to see Michael slowing his walk as he gets closer to Alex, who is bent over the driver’s seat like he’s getting something out of the glove compartment.

“Not going to complain about the secret message if this is the sight I’m getting,” Michael drawls.

Alex moves to get out of the car, and Max can feel the unimpressed stare all the way where he’s standing.

“I have a present for you,” Alex says after a few minutes of silence where Michael moves to lean back against Alex’s car.

“Oh yeah,” Michael responds easily. “What’s so special that you couldn’t give it to me in front of everyone?”

Alex reaches inside of the car and pulls out a backpack, which he hands to Michael, zipper already open.

Michael gives the bag a confused look, but grabs it and takes a look inside.

Max practically feels the shock going through Michael as whatever it is that Alex has in the bag surprises the hell out of him.

He reaches into the bag, and Max can see the way whatever is inside lights up as he touches it reminding him of their pods.

Michael moves his shocked eyes from inside of the bag to Alex.

“What?” he asks, breathless, but a slight undercurrent of anger.

Alex inhales deeply, and he squares up like he’s preparing himself for a fight.

“Jim Valenti had that hidden in his cabin. I found it months ago when Kyle went to figure out if he had anything hidden out there and we found the bunker he had fully stocked for Rosa going through withdrawal. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was until you showed me what you had in your bunker.”

Michael looks back inside of the bag and then back at Alex.

“And you didn’t think to tell me that you had it then?”

Alex makes a low sound and takes a step towards Michael, and Michael takes a step backwards and Alex freezes.

“To be honest with you, no, I didn’t even think about telling you that I had it. I wasn’t exactly thinking about anything else but the fact that you’d been planning to leave the planet.”

Michael just scoffs low and disbelievingly shaking his head. “What does it matter to you if I want to leave or not?”

Alex just laughs hollowly and drags his hands through his hair.

“You ever get tired of reopening this wound?” Alex asks, rhetorically, and the words seem to surprise Michael who turns to look at him, brow furrowed.

Max starts thinking that maybe he shouldn’t be witnessing this conversation.

“I get that you’ve obviously moved on, and are happy with someone else, but none of that negates the fact that I care about you, and that I would be devastated if you went somewhere where I couldn’t find you.”

Michael’s face goes slack, and he just continues to look at Alex who turns and paces a little in place as he keeps talking.

“I had hoped that these last couple of months you would’ve figured that out by now, but obviously we’re never going to get on the same page, so here’s this.”

He turns back towards Michael. “I kept it out of some sick and twisted sense that as long as I had it, some part of you would still be mine, but it’s time to let go of that. And let go of any hope of someday. All I want is for you to be happy, and you are, and it still hurts that it’s not without me, but it’s the only thing that I have ever wanted for you.”

“Alex,” Michael says, shaking his head, eyes wide and wet as he takes a step towards him.

Alex just shakes his head. “It’s alright, you don’t have to keep explaining yourself. I get it, okay?”

Michael just stares at him not saying anything, and Alex turns away, blinking his eyes rapidly before he inhales deeply and turns back to Michael, a brittle smile on his face.

“Happy birthday, I had a fun time but I think that I-”

“I am happy,” Michael says, interrupting him, and Alex just exhales shakily, turning away from Michael momentarily. “And I like making Maria happy. We’re good together. She makes me feel needed and mattered, and I like that.”

Alex makes a low sound, almost like a sob, and he just says, “Guerin,” in a sharp voice, and Michael just shakes his head and moves closer, dropping the bag and reaching for Alex before he can move back.

“But I’m not in love with her, I like her a lot, and I hoped that it would’ve been enough, but it’s not, Alex. It’s not enough when being in the same room as you makes me feel so much more than I do when I’m alone with her.”

Max really desperately wishes that he had left when Alex had given Michael the backpack, so he turns around and sneaks away as quietly as he can, really not wanting to witness whatever was going to happen next.

“What are you trying to say?” he hears Alex asking, voice shaking a little.

“I’m saying that you should keep the bag,” Michael answers back, almost too low for Max to catch it.

“But you like Maria,” Alex says, pushing the words almost like a barrier between them,

“Yeah,” Michael admits easily. “But not as much as I like you.”

Max gets too far to hear anything else, but he turns at the door and catches a glimpse of them, standing still, foreheads pressed together.

He shakes his head and walks back inside of the house wondering why his siblings have to make love so complicated.

[bestillmyslashyheart]

part one

Kyle didn’t know what to do. Alex was clearly in a great deal of pain and there was a concerning about of blood coming out of his leg. But Alex had clearly stated more than once that he did not want Kyle to touch him. As much as he wanted to help, there was no way he’d touch Alex without his consent. 

“Alex,” Michael said slowly. He hadn’t moved from where Alex had pushed him away with his foot. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides and there was an unreadable expression on his face but his eyes never left Alex. “Let me help,” he pleaded.

On the couch, Alex shook his head. He took a deep breath and sat up, his hands reaching for the mangled prosthetic. The room was quiet as Alex struggled with it, his unchecked hisses of pain echoing in the room. 

Jenna stood up from her chair. “We need to figure out if the Chief is coming here or not,” she glared at the others until they started to shuffle awkwardly out of the room. Kyle didn’t move. Neither did Michael. Jenna got them as far as the kitchen before they all stopped moving. There was a clear line of sight between the two rooms but it was far enough away to give Alex the pretense of privacy. 

Alex tried one more time to undo the strap holding the prosthetic on his leg before giving up. He sat back on the couch carefully, his eyes closed and his breathing unsteady. “Guerin,” he started, not opening his eyes. “Can you-” Michael was already moving- “use your powers to-” 

He didn’t get to finish the sentence. As soon as he’d said enough to give Michael the go-ahead, the straps were twisting themselves free and the prosthetic fell to the floor with a muted bang. Alex hissed at the relief in pressure. 

Kyle swallowed hard at what he could see. There were small pieces of glass stuck in the fabric of the sock and clearly digging into Alex’s skin but it was the larger piece, longer than a finger but very thin and apparently very sharp that was lodged in the base of his stump that worried Kyle. It was the source of most of the blood and it would make wearing a prosthetic next to impossible until it healed. 

“Okay, hand me the kit,” Alex ordered. He pulled himself into a upright position and shifted so that more of his right leg was braced on the couch. Kyle handed over the kit without a word. Alex placed it, opened, in the small space between his leg and the back of the couch and slowly rolled down the sock. Alex bit his lip as the pull of the fabric tugged the glass out and it was shortly followed by the sound of glass shards tinkling against the floor. “Oh,” Alex paused when it was almost off. He was starting to pale. “That’s not good is it?” He reached down and fingered the large piece of glass again. Kyle looked at it carefully. It was far enough into his skin that it was holding the sock on. To get it off, Alex would have to yank the glass out. And it was already bleeding more heavily than Kyle would like. Alex would have to work quickly to try and stitch it up, though Kyle had no idea how he would be able to from his angle. 

“Alex,” he had to ask, “there’s a lot of blood and you’re losing color fast. I’m worried you might pass out soon. If that happens, can I tend to your leg?” 

Alex didn’t reply right away, obviously considering it carefully. A pained look appeared on his face and vanished just as quickly before he shook his head. “No.” 

“Alex,” Liz reprimanded softly from the kitchen. “You won’t be able to do it on your own if you’re unconscious.” Alex shook his head again. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping the edge of the couch.

“Don’t touch it,” he ground out. Alex didn’t look away from his leg, though, didn’t even spare her a glance. “Just- don’t.”

“So what would you like me to do if you pass out?” Kyle asked. “I can’t call 911. I can’t take you to a hospital. If you won’t let me touch you, how can I help you?” He couldn’t let Alex bleed out on his couch but he honestly wasn’t sure how to prevent that.

“How handy are you with those powers?” Alex asked, his eyes flicking over to Michael for a brief second. “Can you patch me up without touching me?”

“Probably not,” Michael admitted. Kyle wasn’t sure if he could do it on a good day and he was far from having a good day right now. “That looks like you might need stitches and there’s no way I can do stitches with my powers. Especially not right now.” He looked genuinely upset about it. “I might be able to apply bandages or something but anything more...”

Alex closed his eyes and breathed in carefully. He didn’t look surprised. 

“Alex?”

“I’m thinking,” he spat out.

“Okay,” Kyle said, his voice sounding far more calm than he felt. “Well, while you’re thinking, do you want to get started?” He nodded at the open first aid kit. “If you don’t want to tackle the larger piece right now, I’d suggest cleaning the smaller cuts and putting ointment over them before putting a bandage on.”

“I hate to rush you,” Jenna sounded apologetic. “But I’m pretty sure we only have about 10 minutes before your dad shows up.” She glanced at her phone. “If that.” Kyle spared a thought to wonder just what she was looking at before deciding it wasn’t important. 

“Get everyone in the cars,” Alex suddenly sounded more alert. “There are two bags, one in the hall closet and one in my bedroom closet. Grab them. We can head to the Indian School. If that doesn’t work, I have a secondary location we can go to.”

Jenna headed straight for the closet. “That only helps if you’re conscious enough to tell us about it,” Maria reminded Alex. She slid off of the table and leaned heavily on Rosa. “You can’t help us if you’re-” dead thankfully remained unsaid. 

Kyle was about to say something about respecting Alex’s wishes when Michael suddenly moved. He planted a knee on the couch between Alex’s own and gripped Alex’s knee tightly with his left hand while his right cupped Alex’s neck. He had his thumb under Alex’s jaw forcing him to look at Michael. Kyle jumped to his feet, ready to intervene.

“Don’t be stupid, Alex,” Michael said lowly. Kyle froze and the kitchen quieted. “You can’t protect me if you’re dead or passed out from blood loss. We need you to save us from your father today so you need to decide what’s more important. Protecting us? Protecting me? Or your issues with your leg?” 

“Guerin,” Kyle snapped. “Back off.”

Michael didn’t even look at him. He didn’t look away from Alex at all, their eyes locked. Neither one of them said a word for at least a minute. In that time, the only movement either made was to press their foreheads together. 

Jenna appeared in the entryway, two large duffel bags in hand. “Why are you standing around?” She asked the group at large. “Let’s go!” Before stepping out the front door she spared a glance for the men on the couch. “They good?” Kyle shrugged. Jenna shrugged back and left. Liz and Isobel picked Max up and together they staggered after her. 

“Fine,” Alex finally said. It was quiet enough that Kyle almost imagined it. 

But Michael pulled back and looked Alex straight in the eyes. “’Fine’ is not yes, Alex.”

Alex closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said firmly. “You can touch my leg.” Kyle was already reaching for the kit. “But only you, Guerin.”

Michael looked over at the kit then at Kyle. “I’m not the doctor here, Alex,” he reminded him.

“No,” Alex agreed. “But if I have to have someone touch it, I’d strongly prefer it was someone who already has and not someone new.” A strange look passed over Michael’s face as Alex opened his eyes and met Michael’s in a steady gaze. Something unspoken was exchanged then, something Kyle knew he could never understand. 

“It’s like you people want to get shot again,” Jenna grumbled. She crossed the distance from the front door to the kitchen table in a few quick strides. Maria’s arm was over her shoulder in an instant and, with Rosa’s help, they were soon out the door. “Hurry up if you don’t want to do that in the car!” She warned over her shoulder.

Michael didn’t waste any time pulling the sock all the way off and tugging the final piece of glass out of Alex’s leg. Alex grabbed his shoulder with a grunt of pain. 

“Shit,” Kyle cursed when the wound started bleeding heavily. The piece was larger than it seemed. He looked at the first aid kit but there weren’t any more supplies than there’d been a moment ago. “Guerin,” he said lowly, a soft warning in his voice. When Michael looked at him, he nodded at the kit.

“Shit,” Michael echoed. He moved his left hand from Alex’s knee to cup the other side of Alex’s neck. “Two options, Alex,” Alex blinked at him, his eyes unfocused, “either I do a very terrible job of stitching that up with too few supplies or I heal you.”

“Handprint,” Alex mumbled.

“Yes,” Michael affirmed. “It will leave a handprint.”

“Can you heal him right now?” Kyle had to ask. Michael had already healed Max and used his powers to get them out of the diner and the bullet out of Maria. He’d downed a bottle of acetone but he had to be maxed out.

“It’s Alex,” was all Michael said. Alex blinked slowly, his eyes more closed than open. “Hey,” he said softly, his thumbs stroking Alex’s cheeks. “Look at me, Alex.” Alex looked at him. “Needle and threat or alien magic?”

Alex’s dropped back with a heavy sigh. “Magic.” Michael’s hand was on his leg a moment later, his fingers curving carefully around his leg just below Alex’s knee. Nothing happened.

“Dammit!” Michael grunted. “Come on!”

Still nothing.

Alex brushed his fingers along Michael’s jaw. “It’s fine, Guerin. We can work it out in the car. We need to go.”

“We do,” Jenna concurred. Kyle didn’t hear her come back inside. “We’ve got maybe one minute.”

Kyle hurriedly packed up every remaining supply into one first aid kit and latched it shut before throwing it to Jenna. That done, he turned to Michael and Alex. “Come on,” he urged. “I’ll help you get him to the car.”

“Grab his crutches,” Michael ordered. “They’re by his bed.” Kyle glanced behind him to see Jenna already disappearing around the corner. “I’ve got his right side,” Michael shifted around Alex. Kyle was on Alex’s left in a second. Together they got Alex out to the car and into the front seat. It was a large SUV with three rows of seats but with all nine of them crammed in it was a tight fit; unfortunately they didn’t have any other options. The other car they’d driven here had two flat tires. So Michael got in first and Kyle helped him get Alex into his lap before jumping in the back. Jenna pulled away as soon as the doors were closed.

“Is he okay?” Liz asked from the back. She leaned forward to try and see past Kyle.

“It’s a little worse than we thought,” Kyle admitted. “How many medical supplies do we have at the lab?” Liz shook her head. 

“Maybe a basic first aid kit?” 

“Dammit,” Kyle said. They’d gotten too comfortable having alien healing powers around. “How much acetone?”

“Oh that we have a lot of,” Liz told him. She nodded at the front seat. “Michael kept us well supplied.”

“That’s one thing I suppo-”

“Alex?” Michael sounded frantic. Kyle leaned into Maria trying to crane his neck around the seat in front of him. Alex had gone pale and wasn’t responding. “Alex!” 

Michael wasn’t Kyle’s favorite person in the world but if he never heard his voice sound like that again, it would be too soon.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Michael grabbed Alex’s stump, his fingers slipping on the blood. “Goddammit, come on!”

There was nothing.

And then there was a glow.

[braveclxrke]

Malex fic

Title: Your life won’t feel like a war forever

Description: With Alex taken right from under Michael, with him seemingly unable to do anything to get him back, will this cause Michael to confront feelings he had all but pushed aside, or has Michael lost Alex forever.

Chapter 8 below or read on Ao3

Michael felt himself jolted, his eyes opening slowly. It was dark, street lights speeding past him. Michael took a breath, his body still feeling drained, he felt something beneath his head. Michael glanced his eyes down to see a still sleeping Alex. It looked like he hadn't moved since Michael had fallen asleep. Michael rolled his head to look at his body; chest rising, body warm. "He's doing okay," Kyle spoke from the front. Michael carefully lifted his head to look forward. Kyle had one hand on the wheel, the other leaning again the open window. Michael looked back over at Alex to check Kyles words. "I pulled over a while ago to check." Michael felt some relief wash over him, Alex was still okay. "How are you feeling?" Kyle asked.

"Fine," Michael almost instantly replied, right now he wasn't worried about himself, he was just tired that was all. Alex may be alive, but he was still hurt, the bullet wound might not be bleeding out, but it was still there, same for the injury to his shoulder and the injuries Jesse caused. The thought of the man cause Michael to tense for a moment. Michael might have left Jesse behind this time, but he was sure if he saw Jesse again it would be different. He'd given Jesse a chance to walk away, and he'd shot Alex. Michael would make sure the next time he saw the man he'd make him regret that and every other thing he'd done to Alex. Jesse thought Michael was a monster if Michael saw him again he'd show him how much of a monster he could be.

"We're almost back in Roswell," Kyle said, interrupting Michael's dark train of thought.

"We're almost back? I've been asleep for four hours?" Michael sat up a little more in his seat, still being careful not to wake Alex; who worryingly had also been asleep for four hours.

Kyle nodded in the front, catching Michael's eye in the mirror. "Yep, guessing bring someone back from the brink of death can really take it out of you." The comment was meant to be casual and humorous, but Michael could see through it. The way Kyle's voice hitched on the word death, and his eyes glazed over. Michael wasn't the only one that had nearly watched Alex die this evening.

"I didn't even fully heal him," Michael said, looking down at the dark strain on Alex's shirt, having to look away after a few seconds. Kyle briefly turned around in his seat, catching Michael's eye,

"You saved his life, Michael," Kyle turned back around, taking a deep breath, "He'll need stitches and some rest for the other injuries, but he's going to be okay." It was more of a reassuring statement to himself than to Michael, and he understood, having done the same thing since they'd gotten in the car. They spent the rest of the journey in silence, the exhaustion and reality of the situation settling over them. It was almost like a heavyweight had been lifted; they had Alex back, yet another had been added; they'd watched him almost die. The entire situation leaving both men drained.

Eventually, they pulled up to the hospital, Kyle coming to a gentle stop. Michael looked over at Alex, his head still on his shoulder. Michael carefully moved his body slightly. "Hey, Alex, wake up," Michael lightly said, not wanting to startle him. Alex made no movement. Michael turned slightly, reaching his arm out to tap Alex's shoulder, "Alex, we're at the hospital," Michael spoke a little louder this time. Alex moved a little, then violently wrenched away from Michael, "Hey, hey it's me, it's Michael," Michael calmed, trying his best to not touch Alex, holding his hands out in reassurance. Alex's eyes flew around the car before landing on Michael, his breath heavy. "You're safe, we're back in Roswell," Michael said, nodding to the hospital sign outside. Alex carefully turned to look at the sign, noticing Kyle standing outside.

"Sorry," He sighed, sitting back in his seat.

"It's alright," Michael assured. Kyle came to Alex's side of the car, pulling open the door slowly.

"Hey man," Kyle said, a small smile on his face, clearly relieved to see his friend awake and talking. "Before we go in, I grabbed this from the boot, to cover the handprint," Kyle was holding a large bandage, he reached forward into the car, carefully taping the bandage over the handprint. Alex gave Michael a finale nod before slipping out of the car towards Kyle, grimacing as he went. Michael followed behind, grabbing the truck door when he found his legs weren't as stable as he thought they would have been. Michael blinked a few times, a wave of sickness coursing through him.

"Michael, are you okay?" He heard Alex ask. Michael looked up to see a frowning Alex being supported by Kyle.

"I'm fine, just been sat down too long," Michael lied, Kyle, giving him a disapproving look. Michael took a breath and started walking towards the pair. They walk through the front doors of the hospital, sat on a row of chairs was the rest of the group, looking up when they entered. Liz and Maria shot up, rushing towards Kyle and Alex.

"Alex!" Liz called, coming to a halt in front of him when she noticed the blood on her shirt, "Oh Dios mío," Liz muttered under her breath.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Alex said, a slight smile growing on his face. Both the girls stood there, their hands clasped in front of them like they wanted to reach out, but we're scared to do so. Maria walked forward lightly, placing her hands on the side of Alex's face, "I'm glad you're okay," She smiled, standing back to let Liz step forward, her eyes watery. She carefully reached up and gave Alex a one-armed hug, avoiding his injured shoulder.

"Thank you for being okay." She whispered.

A nurse started to walked over to the group, Kyle gave her a nod. "Alright, let's get you seen to," Kyle said. The girls stepped back, their arms interlocked. Alex gave them a small smile, turning to look at Michael, who was still stood next to him. "Once we've got you checked out then I'll come get you guys, it shouldn't be too long," Kyle said, choosing to look at Michael as he spoke. Michael gave a small nod, giving Alex an apprehensive smile. The nurse, Alex and Kyle started to walk away from the room, down the fall. Michael felt the tension reappear in his body as Alex disappeared out of sight. Michael suddenly felt someone hugging him; Isobel. Michael gave a small relieved sigh, wrapping his arms around his sister. After a moment they parted, Max appeared, slapping Michael on the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug. For a moment Michael was taken aback, but then he returned the hug, patting Max on the back. They parted, the group standing around in a small circle. Suddenly the group's relieved face changed to that of worry.

Isobel reached forward and grabbed Michaels's hands. "Oh my god are you hurt?" Michael looked down it was then he noticed that his hands were bleached red, the blood dried. Michael suddenly felt his knees go weak, a surge of sickness shook him. Michael pulled his hands from Isobel and shoved them into his pocket, not wanting to look at them.

"No, no it's uhh Alex's blood," Michael said.

"What happened?" Maria asked.

"Jesse shot him in the stomach," Michael said through gritted teeth.

"How is he alive?" Isobel asked.

Michael looked around, stepping a little closer to the group, his voice hushed. "I healed him,"

Everyone looked around, also standing a little closer. "What?" Max asked, his face covered in confusion.

"Since when did you master that little trick?" Isobel asked.

Michael sighed, shaking his head, looking down at the floor. "I dunno, we were out in the desert and he was...bleeding out in front of me and-and I didn't know what to do and then," Michael drifted, trying not to think too much about what happened.

"How are you walking? When I healed Liz it damn near killed me?" Max said a concerned looked for his brother.

"I didn't completely heal him, just partly," Michael corrected, feeling a wave of sickness roll through from again.

"How is that possible?" Maria asked.

Liz stepped forward, a pointed look on her face. "That actually makes sense," Michael looked towards his siblings, all of them then turning to Liz. "I've been thinking, you guys all have different powers but I think healing is something universal, it just has to be unlocked."

"Unlocked?" Isobel asked.

"Max said he'd only been able to heal people yet when I was shot he brought me back, I think intense emotion releases some sort of energy which allows you to heal someone?" The group all turned to Michael. H

Max nodded, walking towards Michael, "We should get you some acetone," Michael gave a small nod, both of the men heading out towards the parking lot, Max paused for a moment, "What happened to Valenti's car?" Michael looked over to where Max was nodding towards, Valenti's car had all the window blown out, scratches across the hood.

"I think that happened when I healed Alex," Michael said he'd fix that later once this was all over.

The pair walked over to Max's truck, he popped the boot and opened a bag, grabbing a couple of bottles of acetone and passing them to Michael, both men leaning on the boot of the car. Michael drowned a couple of bottles, feeling his body start to heal and regain his energy. "How are you feeling?" Max asked.

"Better," Michael said, finishing the last bottle. Max took the empty bottles and opened the boot again, throwing them in. He reached in and grabbed a bottle of water and a cloth, dosing the cloth in the water, passing it to Michael.

"Here," Max said, passing it over to Michael.

Michael took the cloth and wiped his hands, finally getting rid of the blood that was staining his hands. Michael roughly cleared the blood, giving the soaked cloth back to Max. "Thanks," he said.

"You wanna talk about it?" Max said, leaning against the boot again.

"'Bout what?" Michael said, wanting to get back to the hospital feeling uneasy being so far from Alex.

"What happened there?" Max said, still not moving.

"There's not much to say," Michael said, not looking at his brother.

Max pushed himself off the car and walked towards his brother, "Michael, I know what it's like to almost lose someone in front of you," Max gave his brother a compassionate look, his eyes furrowed.

Michael kept his eyes on the ground, scuffing the rocks under his feet. He took a breath, biting his lower lip a little, "I found him locked in a room downstairs then on our way out Jesse found us, I tried to get him to let us leave but then..." Michael paused, he'd been trying to push that thought to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about it, but at this moment the memory was ripped forward, he squeezed his eyes shut hoping it would go away, but it didn't. Michael finally looked up, pass his brother, "Alex pushed me out the way and got shot," Michael walked back to the car, leaning on the boot, he shook his head. "He was just lying there on the ground covered in blood and...there was nothing I could do," Michael chocked, his hands trembling slightly in his pocket. He looked over at Max, who had a soft look on his face, "He was willing to die to keep us safe," Michael said, "And I almost gave up on him," Michael admitted, guilt making its way throughout his body.

"But you didn't," Max said, pushing himself off the truck, walking back to the hospital with Michael. Once they got inside the group was still sat in the waiting room. Michael and Max walked over to them, taking a seat. Liz rested her head on Max's shoulder, Max planting a kiss on her forehead. Michael leaned back on his chair, looking up at the roof.

The group sat there for a while, no one saying anything all just waiting for Kyle to reappear with news about Alex. Finally Kyle reappeared around the corner, wiping his forehead. Michael shot up in his chair, walking towards Kyle. As he got closer he noticed the stern look on his face, Michael felt a wave of coldness run over him.

"How is he?" Liz asked.

Kyle breathed out, crossing his arms. Michael felt his heart sink; something was wrong.

"He's got a handful of broken ribs, a puncture wound in his shoulder that needed stitches, and then bruises; lots of them." Kyle looked away for a moment, the look on his face wasn't dread; but rage. Michael felt fury start to settle over him, hearing what Jesse had done to Alex causing everyone in the group to shake their head, cursing under their breath.

"And the bullet wound?" Max asked.

Kyle uncrossed his arms, "You managed to heal everything internally so I just stitched up the wound, there's bruising but he'll be fine,"

"Can we see him?" Maria asked, a small pleading smile on her face.

"Yeah, he's on a lot of medicine for the pain so I don't know how long he'll be awake for," Kyle said, walking down the hallway to where Alex was.

Kyle opened the door, the group filing in, Michael leading the rear. Alex was lead in the bed, a clean hospital shirt on, his face cleaned of blood and dirt. Maria and Liz walked over to one side of Alex, Isobel and Max standing at the foot of the bed. Michael came to the opposite side of the girls, sitting down in a chair. "Hey," Maria said, reaching out and placing her hand over his,

"You're looking better," Liz said that signature wide smile on her face.

"I feel better thanks," Alex said, his voice strained. "Do I have to stay the night Kyle, I'm fine." Alex sighed,

Kyle shook his head, "You're not fine, you need rest and If I let you go we all know you aren't going to do that," Alex let his head fall back against the pillow, his eyes quickly looking over at Michael before back to the rest of the group. Alex shifted in the bed, wincing and gasping slightly as he did. Kyle walked over to Alex, a concerned look on his face.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Alex breathed, holding his hand up.

Kyle looked around the group, "Okay maybe we should let you get some rest," Kyle said, looking around the group. Liz and Maria smiled, standing up to give Alex a small hug before heading to the door. Isobel gave Alex a smile, Max giving a small nod before they walked towards the door. Kyle watched as most of the group departed. He turned to see Michael was still seated, his eyes never leaving Alex.

Michael felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see Kyle standing there, "Sorry," Michael muttered going to stand up when Kyle patted his shoulder a little.

"I'm going to go check on some other patients, I'll probably be about 20 minutes," He said, nodding his head giving a small smile. Michael slowly sat down back down in his chair, understanding what Kyle was saying. If someone had told Michael two days ago that he'd be thankful for Kyle he'd laugh in their face. Kyle left the room, shutting the door behind him.

There was silence for a moment as Michael watched Alex, "How are you feeling?" Alex asked, turning his head to look at Michael.

Michael nodded, "Max gave me some acetone so I'm good," He said, clasping his hands in front of him.

"You should rest," Alex said.

"I'm fine Alex," Michael huffed, Alex was the one lying in a hospital bed with a bullet hole in his stomach and a stab wound in his shoulder.

Alex sat up straighter in his chair, wincing. "No you're not, I can feel you're exhausted." He said, his head tilting to the side slightly.

Michael furrowed his brows before realisation hit him, "The handprint," Michael sighed, he completely forgot the handprint allowed Alex to feel an echo of what Michael was feeling. Michael sat up in his chair more trying his best to clear his mind and push down any thoughts and feelings he'd, "I'm just tired that's all," Michael said.

Michael leaned back in his chair, looking up at the roof. "You don't have you stay here," Alex said, reaching up to rub his shoulder.

"I know," Michael said, letting it hang in the air. "I want to." He admitted, not meeting Alex's eyes. "I still can't get the image of you bleeding out on the ground outta my mind," Michael breathed, his voice a little shaky.

Alex looked up from his lap, his brows furrowed. "Michael-"

"How could you be so stupid, Alex." Michael bites back, the anger starting to come over him and take control.

"I was trying to protect you guys-" Alex tried to defend, but Michael cut him off, standing from his chair, pushing it back a little.

"I don't want your protection Alex, I want you alive!" He yelled slightly, his arms thrown out to the side.

Alex leaned forward in his hospital bed a little, "I wanted you alive too and if my dad got that file it-"

"We could of help!" Michael shouted, shaking his head "Do you have any idea what would have happened if I couldn't have healed you," Michael paced on his feet slightly, reaching up to pull the ends of his hair slightly. "You would have died Alex!" Michael cried, the admission almost breaking him, "Wha-what would I have..." The rest of the words got stuck in his throat, unable to finish the sentence. Michael stood there, breath heavy. Michael squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment, throwing his arms out to the side. "Look you need rest okay, we'll talk tomorrow," Michael said, the exhaustion settling in again.

Michael looked over at Alex, the hurt look on his face causing Michael to quietly curse under his breath. Michael walked back over to the chair, slumping down. "You're staying?" Alex asked, generally confused.

For someone that could feel what Michael was feeling, somehow Alex was still clueless. Michael leaned forward on his chair slightly, "I'm not going anywhere Alex," Michael confessed, the pair looked at each other for a moment, both having so much more to say. Alex gave a small nod, leaning back in his bed. Michael shifted the chair bringing it as close to Alex's bed as he could. Jesse Manes was still out there somewhere and that thought played on Michael's mind. Michael closed his eyes, leaning back on the chair. He heard a noise from the bed, he opened his eyes to see that Alex had shifted closer to his side, his head resting right near the edge of the bed where Michael had his chair. Michael gave a fleeting smile, Alex was laying on his side, his hair had fallen in front of his face. Before he could stop himself Michael reached out brushed the hair from Alex's face, keeping his hand on Alex's face for a moment. "Don't make me lose you," Michael whispered, letting the walls down a little bit. Michael felt his eyes closing again, the effect of the acetone wearing off. Michael kept his hand on Alex, just needing to feel him next to him. There was still so much to say; why Alex did what he did, why didn't he ask for help but that could wait till tomorrow, for now, Alex was alive and safe and that was enough for Michael.

[starryviolentine]

Color Me Blue (That’s Me Without You): A Pre-Apocalypse Story

Part 1 (here)     Part 2 (here)

Part 3/10: A Gruesome Twosome

Therissa slaps on her headphones, cranks up the volume on her CD player, and lets herself get lost in her world of mediocre, low-budget nail art. Starting off by removing her old coat with some “peach scented” acetone (which actually smells like pure toxic chemicals and isn’t fruity in the least), Therissa decides to go with a simple basic black and starts with her right hand. Therissa likes to get the worst over with first. Painting her own nails with her non-dominant hand is still a pain in the ass even though she’s done this a hundred times before.

By the time Therissa’s finished with two coats of black and a clear top coat on both hands, it’s been well over an hour. All she’s got left to do is wait until they’re dry. To speed things up a bit, she plugs in her hair dryer and uses the cool setting to assist with the drying process. Curious, she glances over at Violet’s bunk again, just to see if her roommate is still in the same spot she saw her last.

Sure enough, there she is… in all of her gloomy, glowering glory.

Except now she’s sitting upright and watching her.

“You know, if you’re just gonna creep on me the whole weekend, maybe I should stay with my sister after all,” Therissa comments aloud, knowing full well that her voice is being drowned out by the obnoxious humming of her hair dryer. She watches as the frown on Violet’s face is replaced with a perplexed expression, confirming that she didn’t catch a word she said.

Violet mouths something, and even though Therissa can’t hear it, it’s undoubtedly a confused ‘What?’

Once she deems her nails to be dry enough, Therissa shuts the appliance off. “You’re not seriously going to mope around the entire time Brody’s gone, are you?”

Scowl returning, Violet visibly stiffens and crosses her arms. “I’m not moping.”

Therissa rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the mess on her desk, starting to put things back into their proper place. “Whatever you say.”

Hair clips, cotton pads, tiny bottles of dark reds, purples, blues and blacks… The teen haphazardly tosses everything back into her makeup box. So she isn’t the most organized person in the world, but so what? Her fingers curl around her half empty bottle of nail polish remover, ready to put it back as well, but then she stops as an interesting idea comes to her. The corners of her lips twitch with the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Hey, V,” Therissa calls, “come here for a sec.”

Violet is apprehensive, her voice unsure. “What for?”    

“Just get your butt down here before I change my mind.”

Before she can stop herself, Violet finds herself complying with the command. She climbs down her ladder and stops once her feet reach the floor, pausing to stare at Therissa as though trying to figure out her intentions before stepping any closer.

Still seated, Therissa scoots herself a couple of feet to the right and gestures to the space beside her. “Pull up a chair.”    

The younger girl silently obliges, dragging her own chair across the room and placing it beside Therissa’s, but still keeping a bit of distance between them. Violet slowly lowers herself onto the very edge of her chair and keeps on her toes… just in case. Curious green eyes watch the teen, who pulls out several small bottles from a box on her desk and starts to line them up in a neat row.

Oh no.  

If this is what this looks like… and it really, really does… any second now Therissa is going to-

“Let me do your nails.”

Violet internally groans.

“You’ve got nothing better to do… I’ve got nothing better to do…” Therissa leans her head on her hand, looking at the unenthusiastic girl beside her. “Honestly, what have either of us got to lose?”

“My dignity.”

The comeback is timed so perfectly, with just the right amount of snark that Therissa is both amused and impressed. Compared to when she first arrived at Ericson’s, Violet has come a long way in regards to feeling comfortable around others, Therissa included. There’s something rather endearing about the way that she’s gone from never saying a word to Therissa, much less making eye contact, to being able to be herself around her. She can even be kind of sassy sometimes.

For the second time that morning, Therissa explodes into laughter.

By now, Violet can recognize when Therissa’s laughing to be mean and when she’s laughing for real, and this happens to be one of those rare times when it’s a genuine, happy-from-the-inside-out kind of laugh. The younger girl sits up a little straighter, feeling somewhat proud of herself for making her roommate laugh like this. It turns out to be almost contagious, too, because Violet has to try really hard to keep a straight face.

“Relax, I promise I won’t make you look like a fairy princess or whatever. My shades rock,” Therissa says confidently. “Besides, if you end up hating them, just take the polish off. No commitment needed.”    

Violet has never cared about makeup and nail polish and girly things like that, but the fact that Therissa, the teenager who never used to want anything to do with either her or Brody, is extending an invitation to join her is such an unheard of occurrence that it’s kind of enticing. So Violet shrugs and forces out a sigh, sitting deeper into her chair. “Fine.”    

“Pick a color, any color.”

All of Therissa’s nail polish is dark and dramatic, much like the teen herself. Her selection of colors may not be bright and bubbly, but they’re still rich and vibrant in their own way. It’s no surprise that there are two different shades of black in the mix as well. Leaning closer to get a better look at those two in particular, Violet immediately gets the urge to ask what in the heck the difference between “Midnight Misery” and “Satan’s Satin” is, but, before she can, her gaze locks onto one particular bottle at the very end of the row.

Inside the bottle is a gorgeous sapphire blue with swirls of silvery glitter, like an ocean of stars against the night sky. It’s mesmerizing, and Violet can’t quite take her eyes away. She’s never seen Therissa wear this color before. And it’s not that she wants to put it anywhere on herself, exactly… she kind of just wants to look at it.  

She must have stared for a little too long because Therissa, catching on, grabs the bottle in question with a teasing grin. “Did you always like sparkly things or is Brody rubbing off on you?”  

Violet’s ears feel hot. “I don’t! I was… I was just looking.”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” Therissa says. “Give me your hand.”

“What?”

The teen raises an eyebrow. “Your hand, so I can do your nails. Duh.”

“R-right…” Violet clears her throat and timidly offers her left arm to Therissa, who takes her wrist and pulls it closer to her face. The first thing that the younger girl notices is that her roommate’s hand is a lot softer and warmer than she expected, and it makes her feel a little strange.

“Gross, Violet, you need to stop biting your nails.”

Now completely and utterly mortified, Violet tries to yank her hand away, but Therissa holds on tight.

“Uh-uh, I’m fixing this.” The teen fishes through her makeup box until she locates what she’s looking for - a pair of nail clippers. “Seriously. Don’t do that. It’s a disgusting habit.”

So Therissa clips the uneven, jagged tips of Violet’s chewed fingernails and only then starts to paint them. The teen works left to right, from Violet’s little finger to her thumb, each stroke smooth, fluid and deliberate. It’s so much easier doing somebody else’s nails than your own. In no time at all, she’s done with one hand and sets the brush down. “What do you think?”

“Um...” Violet moves her hand to get a better look.

“Don’t move your fingers or you’ll ruin them.”

Keeping her digits as stiff as she can, Violet rotates her wrist to examine her nails. The unfamiliar weight on her fingertips is totally new and is definitely one of the most bizarre sensations she’s felt in a long time. She answers honestly. “It feels kinda weird.”

Snorting, Therissa grabs Violet’s other hand so she can finish up. “Seriously, though. Don’t touch anything until they’re dry, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You know, Brody would kill to be in your place right now. Apparently her mom won’t let her paint her nails until she’s sixteen.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve read her diary.”

“You what?”

Therissa holds back a laugh. “It was like one time, I swear. Like last year. And that was before..." She trails off, stopping herself from finishing that sentence out loud. Before we liked each other. Therissa's not in the mood to humiliate herself by admitting that she cares about Brody now and would never read it again. Time to change the subject. "Can you believe that, though? The only thing more ridiculous is the fact that she actually obeys that stupid rule."

For the next several minutes, both girls are quiet while Therissa continues working on Violet’s nails. There’s something about sitting so close to one another, hands touching, that’s making this a little more intimate than either of them expected. They seem to have formed an unspoken agreement to just not say anything else until Therissa is finished.

With one last swipe of glittery blue across Violet’s pinky, Therissa lets out a satisfied sigh and recaps her nail polish. “Done and done. Let’s get these dry and then you’ll be good to go.”

While Therissa gets her blow dryer set up again, Violet holds her hands out in front of her and stares at her new nails, unable to recognize them as her own. It almost feels like a stranger’s hands have somehow been fused to her wrists. There’s only one way to be sure. Violet takes a deep breath, then tries to wiggle her fingers.

And they move.

These are her hands.  

Out of her mouth slips a soft, breathy whisper. “...Holy shit.”

Smiling smugly, Therissa switches on the hair dryer and extends her open palm. By now, Violet knows the drill so she wordlessly gives her roommate her hand. Anything else she said wouldn’t be heard over the noise anyway. As Therissa dries her nails, Violet notices right away that the air is nice and cool against her skin - not warm like she expected. After Violet’s fingertips have been under the dryer for long enough, Therissa shuts the device off.

“Well, congrats. You survived.”

After giving her fingernails another long, hard stare, Violet looks over at Therissa, only briefly meeting the teen’s eyes before having to look away. “Thanks, I guess…”

Therissa quickly waves it off. “Don’t mention it. Ever.”

The younger girl stands and pushes her chair back to her own desk on the other side of the room, then plunks down on the unoccupied bottom bunk, sighing.

“Do you really have nothing to do all weekend?” asks Therissa, leaning back in her chair and using Brody’s empty bed as a footrest. There’s no malicious intent behind the question. Violet can tell by her neutral tone that she’s not asking to make fun of her, but because she truly wants to know the answer. “I mean, like, isn’t there anybody else you can hang out with?”

Violet merely shrugs, now appearing to be a little too interested in one of the scuffs on the floor. “I just don’t feel like it today.”

“Brody’s cool and all, but you really should try to find some other friends.”

The blonde picks her head up and peeks at her roommate, lips pursed in a sort of half-smile. “Did you just call Brody cool?”

“No! Shut up. I meant ‘cool’ in that… you know...” The teen struggles to find the right words to convey how she feels about their other roommate. She thinks back to the other day, the night before Brody left, and she can still picture her stuffing clothes into that gaudy yellow duffel bag of hers while excitedly rambling on and on in her quirky southern accent about all the things her family had planned for the weekend. “Like, in that cute, geeky sort of way.”

Violet’s smile grows into what Therissa would call a blood-boiling, shit-eating grin. “You called her cute.”

“God, Violet!” Therissa grabs the first object within reach - a nail file - and flings it in her direction. “I just meant that she’s a good kid.” Violet has the audacity to laugh, causing Therissa to jump up and lunge at her. “And you’re infuriating!”

“I’m not laughing! I’m not-” Clearly laughing, Violet tries to fight Therissa off her, but the older girl easily pins her to the bed.

“Laugh it up while you can, Blondie,” huffs Therissa, releasing Violet and collapsing onto the mattress beside her. The teen waits for her roommate to get a grip on herself before laying down the law. “Here’s how it’s going to be, so listen up. You won’t mention this conversation to Brody, ever, and I won’t tell her how miserable you are whenever she’s gone. Capisce?”  

The younger girl freezes. There is no way Brody can ever find out about that. Not that it’s true, of course, because it’s not... but Violet can’t have Therissa putting crazy ideas into her best friend’s head. And knowing Brody, she would totally believe her. Seeing as she doesn’t have much of a choice, Violet gives a weak thumbs-up.  

“You’ll live. It’s only four days.”

Violet watches as Therissa pushes herself upright and goes back to her side of the room. The teen resumes cleaning up her desk and Violet, ignoring the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest, takes that as a sign that the two of them are done hanging out. Returning to her own bunk, Violet lies on her back, trying to come up with something to do for the rest of the day… and the three after that.

Four more days...

“The hell are you doing back up there?”

Violet lifts her head at the sound of her roommate’s voice. Therissa’s standing there, hand on her hip and looking at her like she’s an idiot. There’s a stack of CDs and an old boom box on her desk where the nail polish and makeup used to be.

“Come on, I’m going to introduce you to some real music.”

A tiny smile forms on Violet’s face.

Maybe the next four days won’t be so bad after all.

[caitlesshea]

breakable heaven

(tw: after the toolshed, mentions of abuse, descriptions of injuries)

Michael doesn’t know where Alex is taking him, but he honestly doesn’t care. Alex is black and blue and Michael’s hand looks like it went through a meat grinder. The pain is almost unbearable, and he was only able to get down a bottle and a half of acetone before Alex found him.

They walk up to a front door and Michael leans more heavily on Alex even though he knows Alex’s ribs are bruised.

“Alex. Whose house is this?” Michael grits out through the pain.

“Shh. They’ll help.” Alex says as he knocks on the door. Michael sees the lights turn on and then the Sheriff, Jim Valenti, is opening the door. Michael freezes instinctively and tries to get out of Alex’s hold, but Alex is strong and tightens his grip.

“Jim. Please. He can’t go to a hospital.” Alex grabs Michael’s left hand and Michael barely contains a scream.

“Alex? Son, what happened?” Jim asks as he pulls them inside. Alex shakes his head as Jim pulls Alex’s face into the light. The bruising has already started to form and Alex winces. Jim takes the hint and pulls them further into the house.

“Jesse?” Jim asks them quietly. Alex nods and Michael sees a silent conversation pass between them. Just as Michael’s about to sit down, Jim’s wife, Michelle, comes in.

“Oh god. That son of a bitch.” Michelle curses and goes to put ice on Alex’s face.

“No. I can’t. He doesn’t let me treat them for the first twenty four hours. He’ll know. I have to go home, but please can you help Michael.” Alex leans his head towards Michael’s hand that’s still wrapped up in a bloody t-shirt. Michelle gasps as Jim nods.

“Michelle. Take Milo for a walk, make sure he gets home, but don’t be seen.” Jim grabs the leash for their dog and hands it to her as she nods. Jim turns to Alex.

“You left your window open?” At Alex’s nod Jim continues. “We’ll take care of him. Go.” He pats Alex’s head and Alex’s squeezes Michael’s right hand.

“Alex?” Michael croaks out as he reaches for Alex’s hand. Alex pauses and comes up to him.

“Let them help you Michael. I promise, it’ll be okay.” Alex looks into his eyes and Michael calms down. He takes a deep breath and nods. Just as Alex is about to walk out of the front door, Kyle comes into the living room and Alex flinches. Michael can hear him ask what happened.

“Mijo. Help your father. He’s in the kitchen.” Michelle says.

Michael’s momentarily distracted by Kyle coming into the kitchen so he doesn’t notice when Jim takes off the bloody t-shirt and he yelps.

“Shit.” Kyle says as he looks at Michael’s hand.

“Kyle get me the first aid kit.” Jim says as he examines Michael’s hand and Michael whimpers at every touch. When Kyle walks down the hall Jim runs into his bedroom and comes back with two bottles of nail polish remover.

Michael freezes and backs away on the chair. “No.” He whispers as Jim’s voice gets farther and farther away. He can’t breathe.

“Michael. Michael. It’s okay, son. It’s okay. I know. I know. And I’ll explain everything, but you’re in pain. Please. Nothing will happen to you. Let me help you.” Jim shoves the nail polish remover towards him and Michael breathes in and out, until he feels the panic recede.

He takes the olive branch and finishes both bottles before Kyle comes back with everything. He’s floating in a haze from almost four full bottles of acetone but he can still feel the pain as Jim tries to stop the bleeding and assess the damage to his hand.

“What did he use?” Jim asks him as Kyle hands him a water.

“A hammer.” Michael whispers. Jim’s hand falters and Kyle slumps heavily in a chair.

“Jesus.” Jim exclaims and continues examining his hand. “I’m just going to wrap it tonight to try and stop the bleeding. But I want to set the fingers.” Jim tugs lightly on one and Michael whimpers.

“No.” Michael says breathlessly.

“I have to son. It won’t heal right if I don’t.” Jim grabs a towel and hands it to Michael. “Put this in your mouth, it’s going to hurt but we can’t wake the neighbors with your screams.”

Michael takes the towel and bites down on it. He thinks he hears Jim counting down and then the pain hits. He knows he’s screaming, the white hot pain almost feels like he’s getting hit again. He can vaguely feel Kyle press his face into his chest as he sobs through the agony. When Jim is done and his hand is wrapped, he can hear Kyle and Jim mumbling.

“We need to get him on the couch. With the amount of pain he’s in I’m surprised he’s still awake. Go grab the extra pillows and sheets.” Jim instructs Kyle and then turns to help Michael.

“Can you walk?” Jim asks as he takes most of Michael’s weight. Michael nods and practically falls into the couch. Michael can hear Michelle getting home and saying that Alex is safe in his room, and that’s enough for him to succumb to the darkness and let sleep take him.

[salmonthestoryteller]

Michael & Alcohol

I wasn't going to address this outside of my author notes for School of Hard Knocks, but then I saw a comment (not on Tumblr) that made me see red, so here we go.

Short Version: I don't view Michael as an alcoholic. I view his alcohol consumption as a mixture of unhealthy coping mechanisms and self-medicating for chronic pain (which is easy to misinterpret as addiction to someone from the outside looking in.)

There's a difference between being an addict and just plain bad life choices. They require different things for recovery - addiction is far more complicated.  And we have already been told we have two addicts that are part of the overall RNM story arc - Rosa Ortecho (who is newly resurrected) and Jim Valenti (who we will no doubt see in flashbacks).

Any and all three (Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Medication/Self-Medication, and Addiction) can overlap in reality, and therefore in storytelling as well. And if Michael becomes an addict in season 2 due to the abrupt healing of his hand, I would be okay with it.  But overall I'd much prefer a "poor life choices" story arc over a "substance addiction" plotline for Michael. It's my preference. It won't be a breaking point or anything if they choose the latter.  I'll live with it. Will I be a little disappointed? NGL, I will. But I'll live with it.

Onto the long version:

I made a mention of it in previous author notes, but since it affects my opinion I'll repeat it. YMMV, but my experience has been that drinking permeates Southwest culture in a way it doesn't other places in the USA.  Look, I am not pulling this out of thin air. I lived in the Southwest for almost twenty years. I have lived almost ten years in the PNW, and a mix of the remaining tenish years between the East Coast and Midwest. The best way I can think to phrase it is this - Drinking is part of the Party Culture in the other areas I have lived. Drinking is part of the Everyday Culture in the Southwest.

And when I watch Roswell New Mexico, I see that portrayed.  I see it in the way there is scene after scene of social drinking.  I see it in the way that alcohol is used as a coping mechanism by pretty much every character.  I see it in the way that it’s casually mentioned Arturo has a tequila stash.  I see it in the way drinking is not treated negatively - as I have seen it done by shows in the past - but treated as just something people do.  They have their hearts broken and they have a drink.  They have an argument with their friends or family and they have a drink.  Their lives were just in danger, time for a drink. They get off work for the day and they - guess what? - have a drink.  

This is why “Michael has a beer in X number of scenes” is not a winning argument to me.  Because when someone says he has a drink in certain scenes, my literal thought is: Yeah, of course.  It’s after work hours.  What’s the big deal?

Then there’s the facts that we are shown his hand causes him pain in two episodes, and that we’re also shown that the aliens use acetone and alcohol in place of pretty much any type of medicine.  To me, it’s an easy leap from there to Michael self-medicating.  Given the extent of his injury and the lack of proper care it received, chronic pain was going to be a given as far as I’m concerned - and we’re also shown and have it verbally acknowledged that his hand has spasms, as well. 2+2 is 4 to me on that one.  He’s not going to get through a day without something to relieve some of the pain.

Now here’s where the unhealthy coping mechanisms come in.  Because while getting drunk to cope with bad things in our lives (or, more accurately, not deal with them for a night) is something indulged in by millions of adults worldwide and probably billions over the centuries, there is a point where it becomes unhealthy.  And, yes, I do think Michael’s use of it reaches that point.

When he’s upset about things, he doesn’t talk about it -  he goes to the Wild Pony and drinks so he has an excuse to start a fight.  When he fights with someone - he drinks.  When he's worried about someone - he drinks.  I don’t think he has an addiction - I think this is all choices.  Most of his drinking, at least what is not social, is after specific, upsetting events.  I see his use of alcohol change during the course of the season.  As these secrets that he’s been holding in are revealed, as he starts to open up to the other characters about past events, as he starts to actually deal with the things he has been using alcohol to cope with, his drinking slows down.

We’re introduced to him in the drunk tank after one of his bar brawls.  He’s at the bar pretty much all day in 01x02 after losing his job and being rejected by Alex.  He’s stealing whole bottles of alcohol from behind Maria’s bar after Alex dumps him and he finds out Liz knows one of them murdered Rosa in 01x04.

But.

We never see him get into a bar brawl or end up in the drunk tank after 01x01.  His drinking socially with the group in 01x09 is clearly not at the same level as his non-stop day drinking in 01x02.  He has one beer with Isobel when they’re speaking in his trailer in 01x10 - one beer is a far cry from the way he was drinking in 01x04.  Then we get whole episodes without him drinking, such as  01x11.

Does he stop drinking altogether?  No.  But, aside from the fact that shitty things are still happening and he’s still self-medicating, that’s where things come back to point one for me.  Drinking is Southwest culture - of course, he goes to the bar after work.  Of course, he cracks open a cold beer after five. That’s pretty much par for the course in day to day life in a small southwestern town.

Michael drinks in 10 episodes, yes.  You know what?

Liz drinks in 9 episodes.

Maria is only in 10 episodes and drinks in 6.

Michael being singled out for being an alcoholic, not by fandom but by canon, would irritate me. The main character went to college and has a white collar job, so she can drink in ¾ of the episodes, including in the middle of the day, and it means nothing. Isobel is rich and privileged so she can literally steal Michael's own acetone infused drink, and have countless bottles of empty acetone lying around her house, but she's good. However, the blue-collar worker with the poor background is an addict because we put a drink in his hand for 10 episodes, even though 7 of them are related to trauma and heartbreak.  Yeah, I pretty much hate it.

The fact that shows always choose the "wrong side of the tracks" character to be the addict reeks of class prejudice to me. It’s a negative stereotype.  They're the “lower class” character, therefore they're an alcoholic.  Like addiction doesn't occur in all social statuses or something.

There are posts out there that literally dismiss Michael’s character as an  “Unemployed Drunk”. Sorry, you can't sell me on the notion that classism isn’t involved in that interpretation of his character.  Not when Liz is unemployed more times than Michael is and drinks almost as much.

So - yes - I would be annoyed by them choosing an addiction story arc for Michael.  Choosing the only “lower social status” character to be the addict when you have a whole cast of other characters to choose from?  I am very against that.  Is it a deal breaker? No, I've put up with far worse things in shows than a single arc I don’t appreciate.  But it is how I feel.

People have a variety of coping mechanisms, unhealthy and healthy.  Michael being able to let go of an unhealthy coping mechanism by learning to open up to others is my preferred version of the plot.  Especially if we get to see him turn to a healthy coping mechanism, like playing music again.  As much as I hate the way his hand was healed against his will, no longer being in pain meaning he no longer needs alcohol or acetone to assist him through the day is also my preference.  And I feel both are capable of being interpreted by canon events just as easily as an addiction.

I do feel the abrupt healing of his hand could lead to an addiction.  He’s used to being in pain, his body is used to having a certain level of acetone/alcohol in it because of the injury.  That suddenly disappearing could really mess up his system. And they could also use it to address that Max healed him without his consent, which would psychologically affect him on top of the physical effects.  But that’s really the only addiction story arc for him that I would truly be fully okay with.

[andrea-lyn]

I was listening to 'Do I Wanna Know?' (Chvrches cover of Artic Monkeys) & these lines screamed Malex: Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new Now I've thought it through Crawling back to you Maybe one half of Malex is drunk, really wants to call the other but doesn't & the next day goes to have a sober talk with him about them?

When Michael wakes up, it’s to nearly fifty texts in his drafts. They’re all unsent, but they paint a very vivid picture. Sitting up slowly, he groans as he glances behind him to make sure he didn’t bring anyone home last night after a blackout night at the Pony, but luckily he’d been both smart enough to come home alone, but also not to send any of the texts.

Staring at them, he reaches for a bottle of acetone, because hair of the dog is a necessity if he’s going to cope with this.

They’re mostly to Alex. Early in the night, there’s a few drafts for Isobel (what was w/ ur weird muppet vest the other nite? did you skin fozzy bear?) and then a few to Liz (i need u to know that if u call me mikey in front of witnesses, i will crush u w/ my brain).

From there, it looks like he’d had a little too much to drink and had gone one-track mind.

Alex-minded, more like. 

u know what i miss, i miss the way you kissed my neck

fuck, how come we only ever woke up together once?

i miss you

ilu

They go on like that, and on, and just when Michael thinks that his parade of pathetic pining is over, he scrolls down and finds some more. Grabbing a bunch of his curls in his hand, his only relief is that the messages are all sitting in his drafts, so even drunk, he had some sense. He groans and collapses back on the bed. 

He knows he’s not doing so well, not since Max, but this is a new low. When he hadn’t been able to explain to Maria how his hand had healed, that relationship had grown complicated too, and he’d cowardly bolted from going down that road because the last thing he needs is yet another complicated thing that makes him feel like shit.

His drunk self doesn’t agree, it looks like. 

There’s a few texts to Maria in there, but they’re mostly apologies, the kind of drunken sad ones that radiate regret. He definitely didn’t text i want to lick every inch of your body to her the way that he had to Alex. 

For a few hours, he hydrates and drinks acetone until he feels like he can move a few steps without puking. 

Once his head is clear, Michael has the feeling that he needs to talk to Alex. He brings up a brand new message and texts Alex to ask if he can come by the cabin to speak to him. He sends this one, and this is the one that gets an instant reply.

only if you bring coffee

Right. Coffee run it is.

He drops by the Crashdown to get Alex’s usual and then adds two extra espresso shots to his own order before he makes the drive out to the cabin, caffeinating until he’s jittery. He owes Alex a lot – apologies, explanations, actual lines of honest communication – but right now, he just needs to sort out his head so he doesn’t have nights like last night. 

“Hey!” Michael calls out, letting himself in the cabin. Alex has already said that he can come and go as he pleases, which would be exciting if it weren’t for the fact that he’d also made keys for Liz and Kyle and said the same thing. He’s no better than a friend, right now, which is the bed he’s made and has to lie in.

He can hear rustling from the bedroom and Michael heads to the door to see Alex finishing with his prosthetic, fiddling with some of the adjustments. 

“Coffee,” Michael says, setting it on the nightstand beside Alex since his hands are busy. He’s nervous and a bit frantic, and he puts his phone down on the nightstand beside the coffee because he’s worried that he’s going to press the wrong button and send all those drafts, seeing as they’re open so Michael can let his eyes skim over them to remind himself why he’s here. He navigates back to the home screen, lingering at the edge of the bed, trying not to think about Alex getting undressed instead of this.

He wants to talk about the messages in his phone, wants to show Alex and talk about how much he still wants to be with him, but not yet. Michael decides that he needs a minute to collect himself. He can talk to Alex about it, he can, he just needs a minute. 

“Hey, can I use the bathroom?”

Alex nods, distracted with the latches, cursing under his breath. Michael takes advantage to bolt for the bathroom, where he spends a good five minutes staring at his reflection in the mirror, telling himself that he can do this. He’s here to talk, that’s all. They’re not ending things, no one is walking away, and they can be mature adults about this.

When another few minutes pass, Michael figures that either he’s got to get out there or Alex is going to think he only came over to the cabin to abuse bathroom privileges. 

When he leaves the bathroom, it’s to the sight of Alex with Michael’s phone.

“Fuck!” he can’t help his automatic reaction on the heels of a panicked noise, and the severity and suddenness of it makes Alex nearly fumbles the phone. 

“Sorry,” Alex says. “Sorry, it was ringing and I saw it was Isobel, so I was trying to silence it, only I think it shifted to your messages and I…” Guilt flashes over his face. “I saw the messages. The drafts.”

That wouldn’t just be there. That means that Alex had to go looking for them. “Why would you…?”

“Because last night, I got this one random text from you, and it looked like it was part of something else and I…” Alex gives him an apologetic look. “What you wrote me was pretty safe. It just said something about my mouth, how you missed it when I was reading something and i started mouthing the words out loud. I didn’t really think much about it, because it was kind of really badly typed and I know that you’ve been drinking, lately.”

Understatement.

“Guerin,” Alex exhales. “You’re not the only one with unsent, unspoken words. I just never know how to bring them up.” He gives him an unsure look as he steadies his weight on the prosthetic, standing carefully (with Michael’s help as he reaches out to hold onto him). “Is that why you’re here? To talk about them?”

He nods. “I think it says something about the fact that I wrote more than ten times the texts to you than I did to anyone else. I’m glad my finger only slipped the once, that some part of my brain knew it wasn’t right to send them to you, but I’m here because it also says that there’s something still there.”

Michael’s in pain and fighting grief and it’s not that he wants to use Alex as a bandage, but maybe part of his grief is because of the wound that he and Alex never let heal.

Alex reaches for the coffee and Michael’s phone, handing the latter out to him.

“Look,” Alex says quietly, “when you’re ready, send me the texts. Okay? I don’t want there to be things unsaid between us. Not anymore. I also don’t want you to think that you have to keep drinking instead of talking to me. So…” He reaches over to squeeze Michael’s shoulder. “Think about it?”

Michael nods, feeling like he’s been struck mute. It’s a terrifying ask, but it’s one that he knows will take them to a new level – a better place, even. All it will take is some courage, some honesty, and some willingness to try; on both their parts. 

“Come on,” Alex breaks into that unnerving silence. “Since you’re here, I was gonna clean out the eaves today and…” He waggles his brows at him, tapping his temple.

Michael huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, my alien powers were definitely meant to clean out blockages.”

“You’re here,” Alex points out. “And you brought me coffee. It’s up to you.”

Because Michael is a sucker and because it’s better than obsessing over all those unsent messages, he does stay and he uses his powers to help clean the eaves of the cabin. His phone is in his pocket and it feels like it’s burning a hole, but he’ll figure it out. He even thinks soon, because it feels like he’s sitting on a landmine and at this point, he’d rather it just go off. 

*

It turns out that Michael doesn’t need much time to figure his shit out.

He knows that he’s not automatically healed. He knows this won’t fix everything and that he has a lot of damage to undo both with Maria and Alex, for what he’d done. Still, he also knows that the only way out is through and if that way happens to end with Alex at the finish line, then he definitely wants to pursue it. He’d come over to Alex’s place with coffee again, because yesterday after they’d finished with the eaves, Alex had mentioned something about needing to dig out the foundation to repair a crack.

So here he is, ready to work, and ready for other things, too.

The next day, Michael presses a button and sends all his drafts. He takes immense joy in hearing Alex’s phone going wild with notifications, combined with the strangled sound that Alex makes from the kitchen that tells Michael that he’s read all of them, including the filthy batch that Michael had drafted nearer to the end of the night. 

That smug feeling of victory evaporates when his own phone goes wild with alerts and he sees his inbox:

278 unread messages from Alex Manes

It looks like he’s not the only one with things unsaid. Grinning as he catches Alex’s eye, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

“No more unspoken words?” Alex suggests. 

That’s a promise Michael can definitely make. “No more.”