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It is a strange thing, to be literally consumed by yourself, when there is no you. A concept swallowing you whole, sending you metaphysically tumbling into the throat of deceit. It is also quite painful. This is why Michael screamed a horrible scream as it was pulled into its halls, the door slamming behind it. Colors and shapes and all sorts of maddening things flashed and twisted and curled. It remembered the joy of becoming and the simultaneous agony of being remade, being rebirthed- and this was almost the inverse of that. It felt weightless with the ecstasy of no longer being Michael, and Michael no longer being it. But how it hurt- not a bodily pain, but a twisting of the mind itself. It could finally separate from Michael, and Michael should be dead, as Michael Shelley was. It should not be surprising that the impossible happened- such is the spiral’s nature. But Michael was surprised at what he felt: human. Bone and flesh and muscle and grey matter- though the brain was warped, he still knew that he was not a concept, but a person once more.
Michael tumbled out of a yellow door into a dirty alley off of some main street, and everything hit him at once. He remembered, but he forgot, he was alive, but he was dead, he was, but he wasn’t, and everything hurt.
He woke up to the smell of ammonia and a plasticky blanket covering him. His eyelids felt incredibly heavy, but he lifted them, and saw that he was lying in a hospital bed. The fluorescent lights above ached to look at. He did not take in any details of his surroundings, he simply stared at his blanket-covered legs. It took a while to notice the tears rolling down his cheeks.
He no longer hurt like before, but he knew there was something inside him that was broken, and that thing was very, very human. And so was he. For the first time in a very long time, he knew what he was, who he was. He was Michael Shelley again- but not the Michael Shelley that followed Gertrude Robinson blindly to his spiraling fate. There was still some of the reborn Michael in him- something warped, distorted, but much more human than before.
To his left was a window. Outside, it was dark and wet, a typical London night. In the glass, Michael could see his reflection. He tried to look at his own image several times as part of the spiral, and what he was was incomprehensible, it could vaguely be described as yellow curling lines and a tall thing. Now, he could see himself: gnarled pale blonde curls, a round and freckled face, stormy blue eyes that look much sadder than he remembered.
A nurse came in, surprised he was awake. She told Michael he had a stroke, “so rare for someone as young as you”. She seemed uneasy when Michael laughed sadly. The nurse tried to get his name, some identification, but Michael feigned amnesia, and asked for some food. When the nurse ran off to get him a tray of bland hospital food, he took his chance to find his clothes- dirty, in a plastic bag near the bed- change into them, and slip out into the dark city. It must have been very early in the morning, and Michael did not know where his feet were leading him until he arrived.
Of course it was his first instinct to come here. It’s not as though he had any family, and he never had a social life outside of his job. The double doors into the Magnus Institute were locked, of course, so he decided to stand and wait.
When he was part of it, time meant nothing. He could wait somewhere for what might’ve been hours, days, weeks, and it would be trivial. But now he was overcome with the typical human boredom, along with hunger. He had forgotten what it felt like. He remembered that his favorite food used to be: honey and cinnamon on hearty bread. But he did not remember the taste. Michael remembered that he used to cook often, too. One of his foster parents taught him how to make all sorts of Slavic dishes. She was one of the few connections he ever had in his life. She ended up being in a horrific car accident which nearly killed her- it didn’t, but she still could no longer afford to care for him. So Michael moved on.
Michael’s mother was very unstable. When she died, he was not young enough to forget it. She was a recluse, shut off from the rest of the world, drinking her problems away. All he wanted to do as a small child was make her pain stop. She was rarely angry and almost never cruel, but sometime her feelings got the better of her. On these days she would lock Michael in his room, only to let him out a few hours later and wrap him in a sad and drunken embrace. The day she died was one of these days. He waited patiently for her to unlock the door and sob an apology into his tiny shoulder, but it was taking longer than usual. He stayed locked in his room for two days before anyone got suspicious. Michael thought he could have saved her if she just let him. After that, Michael jumped from group home to group home, never leaving a connection that lasted past 18, when he put himself through university, and eventually got a job at the institute.
“Michael?”
A voice pulled him out of introspection. The archivist was standing in the open doorway, staring at Michael in confusion. He almost called him archivist, but that didn’t feel right.
“Mr. Sims.” Michael gazed sadly at the dirty concrete.
“What are you- I thought- You’re alive?” Jon asked, and Michael shrugged.
“I suppose I am.”
“...You’re different.” Jon said. “Do you want to come in?”
Michael laughed a sad, uncomfortable laugh. “I guess I’m not the one who asks that anymore...” he sighed. “Yes, I do.”
Down in Jon’s office, Michael did his best to explain, tape recorder whirring in the background.
“I didn’t know where else to go...”
“Well, here’s not your worst choice, I guess.” Jon replies. “Are you... Michael the Distortion still? Or are you Michael Shelley?”
“Both, I think. I know I’m human, mostly, I know that I am Michael Shelley, I know how I became... part of it. And it’s still there, at least a little bit- maybe it’s just a lingering effect? I, uh, I guess I don’t know... but I don’t really know who I am, honestly.” He wrung his hands, his fingers no longer cutting or or warped. “I mean, I guess I’m Michael Shelley, but do names really matter? A rose by any other name, you know... heh.” Michael wiped the budding tears from his eyes. “I don’t have anyone, anything, I don’t know what to do. She... she left me.” he sunk his head into his hands, failing to hold down his sobs.
Jon winced, standing and attempting to comfort Michael.
“I, uh, I’m sorry Michael- you seem like you need some rest, do you want to use one of our cots?”
Michael nodded silently, and stood, letting Jon lead him to another room full of files and a cot in the corner. Michael nestled himself in the thick quilt and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
When he awoke, Michael already knew he had to move on soon. The archives used to be a place of solace and comfort. Now, he felt wildly out of place. So he snooped through some of Jon’s notes and found Gertrude’s address. Michael did not know why he chose to go there. She was dead, she couldn’t give him anything anymore. He just needed something he couldn’t identify yet.
Gertrude’s door lock was broken. Inside was less aged than he expected, and no one had cleaned the apartment yet. It was a small place, with few decorations, and rather impersonal. A cushy armchair sat by a bookshelf, full of books with eyes cut out of any pictures on the covers. The kitchen cabinets were mostly empty, and it seemed like Gertrude was barely living there by the time she died. He still hadn’t eaten, and doubted anything in the kitchen of a dead woman would be good, so he pushed his hunger down and continued to wander the apartment.
Most of his discoveries were not rousing any emotions, besides a sad confirmation of his new understanding of Gertrude. She kept weapons hidden everywhere, not to mention some explosives stored below that were quite startling. But after a while, he pulled a plain cardboard box out from under Gertude’s bed, expecting to find more old photographs or pages ripped out of books. Instead, it contained winter accessories- some gloves, several hats, and a multicolor crocheted scarf. Michael reached for the scarf with shaking hands. It was just as pilled and wooly as he remembered, but smelled like mothballs now. He remembered sailing to the island that didn’t actually exist, offering the woman he thought so frail his scarf when she commented on the frigid temperature. He lowered himself to the floor, curling up into a tiny, trembling ball on the cold wood.
He wasn’t naive. He knew why he took care of Gertrude. If his mother was still alive, he would’ve cared for her the same. But she was not, and neither was Gertrude, and Michael cried for his mother like he was that wide-eyed six year old knocking on that door again. He mourned for her and for Gertrude, even if perhaps they did not deserve it, and he mourned for himself. For the lack of love he had in his life, the void where a parent should have been, the child who read himself to sleep because no one else would. Vague colors and shapes blinked around him, swirling and spiraling. It was an unexpected phenomenon, but Michael did not fear it. The patterns were gray and blue, like the ocean on a stormy day. The tide crashing down and pulling back and everything was shades of gloomy blue.
Michael must have ended up falling asleep like that, because he awoke suddenly and could see light shining through the window, and there was a man above him holding a knife. Michael yelled and threw his arms up instinctively, trying to shield himself. He still held the scarf. The man crouched down quickly and grabbed both of Michael’s skinny wrists in his hand, pinning them down at an awkward angle and holding the switchblade to his throat. Curtains of black hair hung down above Michael.
“Who the hell are you?” he shouted, his voice almost edged with a growl. Michael whimpered and tried to squirm out of the hold, but he was much weaker than the other, and quickly gave up.
“I, uh, Michael Shelley, I used to work for Ms Robinson, uh, she used to live here? I didn’t know anyone else did, I’m so sorry-”
“Michael. Shelley?” the man asked, and moved back slightly to get a better look at Michael. He knit his brows.
“You should be dead.”
“I know.” Michael sighed, as though his living status was an inconvenience to him. The dark haired man took a second to process before speaking again.
“Why are you here?”
“I just- I just wanted answers. I know she’s dead, but maybe there would be... something. I don’t know what I was looking for, really... Wait, who are you? Why are you here?”
The man released him, but did not sheath his knife.
“I’m here on business.” he did not answer the second question. “Thought Gertrude fed you to that thing to stop its ritual. What happened?”
“Well, she did. But it never wanted me, and I guess it figured out how to... get rid of me.” Michael sat slowly up and rested his head on the side of Gertrude’s bed. He massaged his wrists where the man had grabbed him. Should he be running? Maybe. But this man seemed to have some answers, maybe. He also looked oddly familiar: long dark hair and all black clothes, eye tattoos gracing all his joints, several piercings and a scowl that Michael knew he’d seen before.
“Wait- You’re, uh, Gerard, Gerard Keay, right? The one who would help Gertrude with- well, whatever she really did...”
“Huh, you actually remember me.” Gerard said . “Yeah, still doing most of the same things. Surprised I outlived her, I was expecting her to sacrifice me in some twisted plot to save the world.”
Michael went quite for a moment, before speaking again.
“...Was she always like that? So... cold?” his voice was very quite.
“I guess.” Gerard shrugged. “She wasn’t cruel, just did what she thought was best. At the expense of everyone else.” he sounded like he had some experience with that.
Michael nodded. He gripped the scarf in his hands, unsure of how to feel.
“Well, I still have my business to attend to.” Gerard stood suddenly, making his way towards the kitchen.
“Um, what business do you have here, exactly?” Michael asked, standing shakily and following him.
“Fetching some supplies. Gertrude mentioned she still had some stuff here not long before she kicked the bucket, and it’s finally gonna get some use.” Gerard kneeled and pulled open the cabinet below the sink. He began slipping the sticks of C4 into the pockets of his leather duster. Michael grimaced slightly, but figured the stuff was better off killing monsters and not in a vacant apartment. He walked over to the reading nook chair and took a seat, pulling his legs up with him. Once Gerard had emptied out the cabinet, he stood and brushed his long hair out of his eyes.
“So, you’re just gonna stay here?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” Michael shrugged. “I guess I will, I don’t have anywhere else.”
“Right, well... good luck.” Gerard said with a half smile, then took his leave.
Michael did eventually go out for food. Gertrude had left a considerable amount of cash lying around, and it would be enough for him to live on for a while. Well, without paying for heating or water. The electricity still seemed to work, somehow. He fetched some groceries, which cheered him up a bit. He bought a few new clothes, too, since it seemed a step too far to steal Gertrude’s clothes. Most of his time in Gertrude’s apartment he spent lying around, digging through her things, reading her books, and thinking. He thought far too much for his own good, and he was only digging a deeper hole for himself to wallow in. It was two weeks of this routine before he was interrupted.
It was around one in the morning and Michael was lying on the floor, thinking again. By now he was doing his best to move on from the feelings of betrayal and twisted hurt, and was focusing instead on what he was to do. He didn’t see much of a purpose to being alive anymore. Michael held no passion for anything or anyone, and he felt quite lost. It reminded him of first navigating through those winding hallways, but this time he had no map. He did not notice the window being opened from the outside until someone jumped through it and slammed it shut, pulling the curtains over it. Michael sat up very quickly and backed up against the nearest wall, but breathed a sigh of relief when he was a panting Gerard Keay leaning against the bookshelf for support.
“My god, you scared me!” Michael exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Is- is that blood?”
“Chased by angry hunter. Closest place I knew. Not fatal.” Gerard replied between heavy breaths as he sunk down to the floor, sitting with his back against the wall.
“There’s- there’s a first aid kit somewhere around here, I’ll, uh, get it-” Michael stuttered, running to the bathroom to fetch it.
“I’ll be fine.” Gerard rolled his eyes.
“No, if you’re injured, it needs to be treated!” Michael insisted, slamming down the red box. “Uh, where is it?”
Gerard huffed, but pulled his coat down to reveal a deep cut on his upper arm. Michael winced, but opened the kit to find the supplies he needed.
“Disinfectant, gauze, gloves- why is there superglue in here?” He muttered to himself.
“Stitches.” Gerard replied. “It works for smaller cuts. Won’t be helpful for this.” Michael knit his brows at the thought of giving someone else stitches. The kit did contain some sutures, so he had the means, but not the stomach for it, and he didn’t want to potentially injure Gerard more.
“Hand those to me.” Gerard eyed the sutures as well, and Michael obeyed.
Gerard silently took the gauze to wipe up his blood, then poured rubbing alcohol into the cut. He hissed slightly at the burning of the alcohol, but continued with his procedure and unwrapped the needle and thread. Michael decided he couldn’t stomach this part and decided to be helpful in another way.
“I’ll, uh, get you some water or, uh... yeah.” He got up and headed to the kitchen to pour Gerard a glass of water and grab a roll of paper towels. When Michael sat back down he did his best to look away and ignore the muttered curses and hisses of pain. Gerard finished the stitches quickly, and the bleeding seemed to be slowing. Michael pushed the glass of water toward him and him gave a quiet “thanks” before taking a drink.
“So... angry hunter?” Michael prompted.
“Yeah, long story. Was looking for a Leitner but he sidetracked me.” Gerard turned his head and pulled the curtain back an inch to peek out. “Bastard might still be out there.”
“You can, uh, stay here. If you want- I mean, if the hunter is still out there, it’s probably safer here, and you really should get some rest.” Michael offered, fidgeting nervously. He hoped his offer didn’t seem strange, he was just trying to be polite. And he didn’t exactly mind the presence of another. He hadn’t realize how lonely he was.
“Yeah, probably better to stay put. I don’t really need rest though. I mean, you look worse than I do.” Gerard stood and walked over to the kitchen sink only to frown when no water came out. He instead opted to wash the blood off his hands with an old hand towel and the jug of water Michael had bought earlier in the week. Michael sheepishly tried to brush his fingers through his gnarled hair. He was well aware he hadn’t been taking care of himself lately.
“Well, it’s not like I can shower here, and I- I guess I haven’t bothered to do more than eat and sleep lately.” He laughed uncomfortably, trying to fill the silence.
Gerard nodded, unresponsive but understanding. The dried blood on his arm had dripped down past eye inked on his elbow, like it was crying blood. He wiped the blood off his skin, wincing when he got closer to the cut. Michael returned the first aid kit to the bathroom, then shuffled into the kitchen, wringing his hands.
“Um, is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked Gerard politely.
“No, thanks.” Gerard shook his head. He wrung out the hand towel over the sink, rusty water dripping from it and down the drain. “I can sleep on the floor.” Michael nodded in response, silently walking over to the reading chair and curling up in it, wrapping himself in the aged quilt that smelled like rose petals and mothballs. Gerard sat below the window where he’d been before and pulled his coat back on.
“You usually sleep out here? Or are you just making sure I don’t pull any shit?” he raised an eyebrow. Michael shook his head.
“No, no, of course not! I do sleep out here, sleeping in Gertrude’s bed seems... weird.” He nestled deeper into his blanket. “And I don’t expect you to uh, pull anything.”
“Ha!” Gerard smirked. “Where’s your sense of self preservation? You barely know me. I could kill you in your sleep.”
“Yes, and you could’ve the last time you were here, too. Maybe I am in danger, but I don’t think you’ll hurt me. Probably.” Michael shrugged.
“I won’t. Probably.” Gerard crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Soon enough, Michael was falling into a deep slumber.
When Michael woke up, he expected Gerard to have slipped out, but he was still sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. He had his elbow resting on one bent knee, and he stared into space with half-lidded eyes. He turned his gaze when Michael began to stir.
“Oh, good, you’re up.” He said. Michael rubbed his eyes and mumbled an incoherent response. “What?”
“Were you waiting? I’m sorry, you don’t need to repay me or anything, you could have left...” Michael replied.
“I wasn’t waiting.” Gerard snorted. “Well, I guess I was, but don’t apologize. You saved my arse, least I can do to repay you is offer you a better place to stay than this tomb of an apartment.” That got Michael’s attention.
“Huh?” He sat up. “What- why- no, you don’t have to do that!” Gerard shrugged.
“Course I don’t have to, just thought it would be a nice offer.” he stood. “This place doesn’t even have running water.” Michael considered it for a moment.
“I, uh, couldn’t pay rent, not really. I’ve found some money hidden around here, but not that much- I can’t get a job, either, no papers- I can’t burden you like that.” he shook his head.
“Gertrude left me her fortune. No clue why she had so much money, not like archivist is a high paid job, but it’s certainly not unwanted. I pay for my place with her money. Don’t make excuses, if you don’t want to you don’t have to. You can stay until you get on your feet. ”
Michael did not want to inconvenience Gerard, he really didn’t. But he was so genuine, and it really would be better for Michael. He didn’t like how lonely he was lately, it could get to be dangerous, and he really didn’t want to feed an eldritch being again. Maybe this was the answer he had been looking for- a new path, a way forward. So he took a deep breath and nodded.
“Alright.”
There wasn’t a lot to move. Michael filled a duffel bag with the few clothes he had, and all the cash he could find hidden around Gertrude’s apartment. When he was ready to go, Gerard led him out onto the fire escape without a word. They took a winding route through alleys and onto side streets until Gerard finally led them through the back door of a brick building and into a small second-floor apartment. It wasn’t much, but felt more homey than Gertrude’s. There were annotated maps, newspaper clippings, and scrap paper with messy handwriting lining the walls. A faded floral-print couch sat in a corner, in front of it a scratched coffee table with more paper, old mugs of coffee, an ashtray and a few lighters.
“No guest room, but you can take the couch. Kitchen and bathroom are there and there.” Gerard pointed. “Take whatever you need. Make yourself comfortable and all that.”
“Thank you, really, I... I’m really grateful.” Michael smiled.
“Don’t worry about it.” Gerard replied, nonchalant. “I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll be out for a while. There’s a spare key in one of the kitchen drawers, use that if you’re going out. If anyone knocks, don’t answer.” He grabbed a lighter, notepad and pencil from the table and shoved them in his coat pocket. “See you.” He said before heading back out the door.
Michael did his best to make himself comfortable. He started by taking a shower. It had always been awkward, staying over at other people’s homes. It felt so intimate, showering with their soap, eating their food, washing their dishes. It was an odd shift from Michael’s lonely life. He had briefly moved in with a boyfriend, before the Institute. Living in someone else’s presence was a new experience, and it made him feel warm and loved at the time, until that relationship began to crumble and he felt warm in a different way- suffocated, smothered by the constant presence. This felt different- well, of course it did, it’s not like he was dating Gerard. He didn’t even really know him. They had talked less times than Michael could count on his slender fingers. What if Gerard got sick of him? Despite his partnership with Gertrude, he seemed to be the loner type. Or maybe that was just what Michael expected. He had never been in such a personal situation with someone he had so little contact with.
You think too much, Michael chided himself as he dried himself off with a threadbare towel, brushed the knots from his hair, and changed into his most comfortable clothes. There wasn’t much in the kitchen, so Michael settled on microwave popcorn. He lounged on the couch with his snack and a book on old Gaelic myths he had found on Gerard’s bookshelf. It was a few more hours before Gerard got back, covered in soot and specks of blood. Michael must have looked startled, because Gerard reassured him:
“It’s not mine.” He tossed his coat into his bedroom, then continued into the bathroom to shower. Michael continued his reading, though he wasn’t really absorbing anything, just gliding his eyes across the paragraphs. When Gerard was showered and dressed, he put the book down.
“How was your, um, work?” he asked, with a shy smile. Gerard pushed his wet hair back, and Michael could not help but notice how attractive he looked in that moment. He felt a blush color his freckled cheeks but quickly pushed the thought from his mind.
“The usual. Fought with cultists, those lightless flame idiots don’t know when to quit. I got a Leitner from them, didn’t think burning would work, so I shredded it and threw it in the river. Hope that did it.” He joined Michael on the couch, kicking his feet up on the table.
“Do you always hunt... uh, those books? Or do you do other things too?”
“That’s most of it. Stopped plenty of rituals with Gertrude, and I still do on my own. Those don’t come around a lot, though. I also, uh, sell some books. No Leitners, of course, just rare ones to unassuming old millionaires. Makes good money.” He reached over to the coffee table, picking up a sketchbook with the paper cover curling at the edges and a pencil tucked in its spine.
They didn’t talking much in the beginning. It was less living together and more coexisting, but Michael didn’t mind, and it didn’t seem like Gerard did either. Michael still was spending his time reading and thinking. The hallucinatory colors became a common occurrence, luckily he never had a problem with it in public. It was almost like a visualization of his mood, but there was little consistencies with the movements or patterns of them. At least Michael was doing better than when he slept on Gertrude’s floor. And they did have small moments of bonding. Once, Gerard came home and threw a pile papers into Michael’s lap. He flinched as they landed on him.
“Um, what are these for?” Michael touched the top one gingerly as he ran his eyes over it.
“ID’s, a working permit, a resume- all fake, obviously.” Gerard dropped his coat on the coffee table, scattering a few notes. “You said that you couldn’t get a job because you didn’t have this stuff.”
Michael did remember he offhandedly mentioned it a few days before. “I, uh, wow! Thank you so much, Gerard! I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” And Gerard, being Gerard, told him it was “no big deal.” Another time, they were both sat on the couch, Michael reading and Gerard sketching. Gerard broke the silence.
“I was wondering, how long have you been... human again?”
Michael frowned, trying to think. “Not that long, I don’t think. I think it’s been, uh, less than a month? Maybe. Time is... still hard.”
“Not surprising, I’d imagine becoming part of an entity of madness and lies is pretty mind-bending.”
Michael nodded. “I do exist within humanity’s constructs, now, but they still feel foreign.” Then he gestured at the other’s tattoos. “Are you... devoted to the eye? Or are those just to, uh, look cool.” Gerard breathed a laugh.
“Favored by it, maybe, but not devoted. I don’t want to align myself with any of the fears, but the ceaseless watcher seemed to have its eye on me, no pun intended. They’re not a show of gratitude or anything like that, just a “fuck you” to the thing and its stupid institute.”
Things were... good.
But a bad day was bound to come eventually. It wasn’t clear what prompted it. Gerard was out on business per usual, and Michael decided to lie on the floor. He was in a safer place. He was taking care of himself more. He had regular interaction with another person. Things almost felt normal. Except they weren’t. Today his residual connection with the spiral was inky black and a deep purple, swirling like the licks of a flame. Even if he tried to suppress his supernatural nature, he could never lead a normal life again. Gerard said he could stay until he got on his feet, but Michael felt stagnant, unsure of how he could get on his feet. Gerard was probably getting sick of him anyways. The thought crossed his mind: he should just leave. Stop bothering Gerard, or anyone else. It wasn’t like there was anyone there for him, anyways. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged himself and cried and cried and cried.
“Michael?”
He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear the door open. He wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater and sat up quickly. The deep purple faded to a wine red, and the black to a sickly bubbling green. If Gerard was surprised or scared by the kaleidoscopic colors, he didn’t say so.
“‘M sorry, sorry, sorry- I don’t mean to be such a bother, I-uh-I’m fine-” he held a sob down in his aching throat. Gerard crouched down next to him.
“Well, clearly, you’re not fine.” he said. Michael covered his face and shrunk into himself, choking out more apologies.
“No no no, I don’t mean it like that, it’s just, uh-” Gerard sounded slightly panicked. He clearly wasn’t used to anything like this. He took a breath. “You don’t need to apologize for anything, and you’re clearly... upset, about something, and that’s not something you have to apologize for.” Michael shot up, suddenly pacing the room.
“But I- I do need to apologize, I’m just a burden here, I’m a bother, and you- you shouldn’t have to deal with that.” Mindlessly, he scratched the skin of his hand, a bad childhood habit recurring. Gerard stood and did his best to soothe Michael.
“You’re not burdening me, told you that when you moved in.” He walked over and put one hand on Michael’s shoulder, gently halting his stride. “Breathe. You need to breathe.” Michael obeyed, inhaling and exhaling until his lungs were under control and his rapid heartbeat slowed. He brushed the tears and looked at the floor, not wanting to see Gerard’s reaction to his sudden breakdown.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize when you haven't done anything wrong.” Gerard glared, but there was nothing cruel in his voice, it was more of a chiding concern.
“Okay.” Michael glanced up. “Thank you.” he walked over to the couch with soft footsteps and curled up into a ball. Gerard joined him.
“Do you want to... talk? About why you’re upset?” He asked, vaguely gesturing with his hands.
“I-I’m alright, I just... I can’t...” Michael rubbed his eyes again. “Do you think that... someone like us could have a normal life? Could you just forget about all the absolutely horrific things? Pretend they don’t exist? Could I... go back to the way I was before the Archives?” His voice was sad, desperate, almost like he had been backed into a corner and he knew he couldn’t make it out. Gerard traced a thumb over his inked knuckles, looking contemplative.
“...No, I guess we can’t have a normal life. Can’t undo what’s been done. I... tried, when I was younger. I didn’t want to have to live with what I knew, but the ‘regular’ world was so blind. Guess now I’m just trying to balance between the two.” he shrugged. “Can’t change the past, but you can change things now.” Gerard looked at Michael more genuinely and deliberately than he ever had before.
“...You’re right,” Michael smiled, sad yet hopeful. “Thank you, again, and, uh, I’m sorry you had to, well, deal with this- I’ll pull myself together, get a job, so I can get out of your hair, you probably didn’t want me here much longer.”
“And what is that based on?”
Michael did not have an answer.
“That’s what I thought.” Gerard leaned back. “I don’t mind you staying. You’re good company.”
“I’m- I really appreciate this, Gerard, thank you.” Michael replied.
“Gerry.”
“Hm?”
“You can call me Gerry.”
---
Gerry caught feelings far too fast- it was stupid, really. Normally, a man who caught his attention would be a passing fancy. It was a bit harder to let go of that when he was living with Gerry. And no, he wasn’t just taking care of Michael because he thought he was handsome. He didn’t mean to start thinking about Michael so much, either. He felt bad for the guy- screwed over by the fucked entities of their corporeal world, no place to go. So he did something nice for someone else, for once. Gerry wasn’t a selfish person, just not very sociable. Most of his interactions were with the grocery store clerks and non-humans trying to murder him. And look where it got him: falling for the damn guy he invited to live with him. Gerry didn’t realize it until he looked at his sketchbook and saw him showing up page after page: soft curls, a freckled baby face and a gap-toothed grin. Well, Gerry thought, I’m fucked.
He wasn’t going to do anything about it. Chances are, Michael would be uncomfortable but wouldn’t say a damn thing because that’s the kind of person he was. Too worried about being rude to stand up for himself. So, instead, Gerry buried his feelings and continued to go about his life. He wasn’t going to ignore Michael, but he decided to try to keep him at arm’s length to avoid any hurt feelings. He started to let up after a bit and they got to know each other more. His plan seemed to finally halt when Michael broke down. The only person who Gerry was ever close enough with to teach him about caring for others was his mother, who was not a very good role model, to say the least But Gerry was kind, and understanding, and somehow that worked. His resolve finally cracked when he told Michael to call him Gerry (He’d never told anyone that before. He really was fucked).
To break the tension, Gerry announced he’d make them some dinner. Michael swore he didn’t mess up the box macaroni too bad, but he was probably just being nice- especially considering how he took over cooking from then on. Michael was a much better cook than Gerry. Dinner together on Gerry’s ratty couch became a regular thing. They didn’t talk much, usually opting instead to put on a movie.
One evening, after Gerry collapsed on the couch after a boring day of no leads, Michael brought him a plate of leftovers and they briefly recounted their day to each other while they ate.
“I’m running out of books from your shelf to read.” Michael commented offhandedly.
“There’s a library not far from here, some good bookstores too. I could take you tomorrow.” Gerry spoke before even realizing. “...If you want.”
“Yes, I’d like that.” Michael grinned.
The morning was rainy and cold, and Michael didn’t have a thick enough coat for fall yet, so Gerry threw him a fleece lined denim jacket before they headed out to the library. The library seemed almost empty as they made their way to the front desk for Michael to get a card. The man behind the desk didn’t seem too engaged in his job, asking for Michael’s information in a monotone voice.
“Address?”
“Uh...” Michael hesitated, glancing between Gerry and the clerk.
“Twelve Lansdowne Road.” Gerry said, and Michael whispered a quiet thanks to him. The clerk continued speaking in his flat tone, issuing Michael a card and sending him on his way.
“I don’t know where to go first,” Michael mused, looking down the aisles of tall shelves. He turned to Gerry with wide eyes. “Where do you usually get books?”
“The music and art history sections, I guess. I mostly read nonfiction.” He shrugged, and Michael looked at him expectedly.
“Oh, do you want me to- yeah, okay.” Gerry led the way. Michael immediately gravitated towards the art history section, while Gerry headed over to music history for a book he’d been meaning to read for a while, something on the origins of counterculture movements and the role of music in them, right up his alley. He walked back to Michael and peeked around his shoulder to see the book he was holding, and Michael jolted, quickly holding it to his chest .
“Oh, I’ve read that before.” Gerry said. Michael’s surprise seemed to soften. The book about historical gay art- a bit outdated, but still fascinating.
“The section on Saint Sebastian is interesting. Good art, too.” Gerry commented. “Were you worried I’d be bothered that you were reading that or something?”
Michael gazed down at the book in his hands.
“I, uh- Yes, I guess so, I wasn’t sure- well, not everyone is... accepting.” he managed. Gerry nodded.
“Well, you definitely don’t need to worry about that with me.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and Michael looked up. Was he blushing?
“Oh! Oh, um, alright. Cool.” he laughed a bit awkwardly, but he seemed happy that he could be open with Gerry. Gerry breathed a laugh, too. They had just come out to each other, and Michael was wearing Gerry’s jacket, and he was hopelessly attracted to him.
They spent an hour or two longer in the library before walking through the rain back to the apartment. They changed into dry clothes and Michael made hot chocolate, and they spent the day reading on the couch, curled up in Gerry’s warm tiny apartment. It was a sliver of domesticity that Gerry had rarely experienced, and he couldn’t say he didn’t like it.
Gerry didn’t expect Michael to be home when he got out of the shower. Michael had been out looking for job openings and getting groceries, but when Gerry stepped out of the bathroom with his towel low around his waist, Michael was reading on the couch. There was a moment of silence before Gerry turned away and Michael quickly covered his eyes with his hands
“Sorry!” Michael squeaked, sounding more embarrassed than Gerry was. Gerry quickly headed into his room and pressed his back against the shut door.
He had never gotten top surgery. He had the money after Gertrude left him her inheritance, but he never felt like he had the time and it would be hard to take care of himself alone while partially incapacitated in the healing time. It hadn’t bothered Gerry much, anyways. He’d always had a small chest and going on testosterone a few years back had made his breasts even less noticeable. But he’d never let anyone see him shirtless. He wasn’t very insecure about him body anymore, he just didn’t tend to let people that close.
Gerry threw on some clothes and spent the next few minutes standing around his room to avoid seeing Michael. He was usually the anxious one, not Gerry. Fuck, this was stupid. Michael probably wouldn’t have a problem with it, or if he did, he wouldn’t say shit about it. So he bit the bullet and left his room to see Michael still on the couch, with his book closed in his lap. He was chewing on his lip anxiously when he looked up at Gerry.
“I’m so sorry, I thought you heard me come in-” Michael began rambling, but Gerry cut him off.
“It’s fine, as long as you don’t have a problem with what you saw.” He crossed his arms, coming off slightly cold. Michael’s look went from apologetic to puzzlement.
“Why would I have a problem with that?”
“...Uh, cuz I know cis people can be shitty, and while I expect you to be fine because you’re a nice person, I can never be so sure?” Gerry looked confused now, too. A beat passed, then Michael gave a small giggle.
“Oh, no, no, I’m trans, too! I just, uh, I usually expect people to know with just a look.” He glanced down, his usual sad, awkward smile on his face.
“Ah. Alright.” Gerry dropped his arms to his sides. Then he laughed. “Guess I was worried over nothing.”
“I’m still sorry, though, I didn’t mean to- I mean, of course I didn’t intend to see you, uh, but I know its uncomfortable to have your privacy invaded.” Michael said. Gerry shrugged.
“Don’t worry about it. It was an accident, and it was you, so I don’t mind that much.” Shit, did he just say that?
“Hm?” Michael made a small noise, as though he hadn’t heard Gerry right.
“Nothing. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Gerry brushed his hair back and went to grab his coat from the couch, feeling Michael’s gaze following him the whole time.
“Gonna go for a walk, I’ll be back later.” Gerry said, waving to him briefly as he exited. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his pocket, placing one between his lips and lighting it before he got out of the building. He started walking with no clear direction, wandering the streets of london as the sun set in the distance. Gerry needed to relax, or repress his feelings more, or maybe he just needed a drink. He didn’t know what he needed, and it scared him a little. He never thought he could be scared of something as common as human emotions after all he’d seen. Bottling up his feelings hadn’t worked so far, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try a second time. It was that or, what, confess his attraction? Yeah, like that would be a good idea. He didn’t even know Michael that well. Maybe he’d get to know him better and realize he wasn’t that into him after all. He flicked the ash off his cigarette. The sun was almost down, streaks of pale orange glowing through rosy clouds. Gerry blew a cloud of smoke into the cool air, whisps of grey floating into the painted sky. He let his thoughts float away with them.
When Gerry returned to the apartment, Michael was in the kitchen, and a sweet smell wafted in the air. He pulled his boots off and dropped his coat at the door before heading in to see Michael. His hair was tied back messily, stray blonde hairs hanging down to frame his face. He was washing a bowl and turned to see Gerry.
“Good, you’re home! Could you take the cookies out of the oven for me, please?” He asked politely, and Gerry couldn’t help but notice the smear of flour on his cheek.
“Yeah, sure.” he grabbed a kitchen rag and pulled the sheet of a dozen chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. He left them on the stovetop and leaned against the counter, waiting for Michael, though he wasn’t sure why.
“You baked cookies.” Gerry said. Wow, you’re bright! Got any more observations, Sherlock? Gerry mentally kicked himself. “Uh, thanks, that’s sweet of you.” He tried for an awkward smile. Michael put the last dish in the drying rack and turned off the tap.
“Well, I like baking, and I guess I wanted to do something nice for you. Just because.” Michael smiled hesitantly back. “Did I, uh, do something else to upset you earlier? You left pretty suddenly, uh. Maybe that wasn’t about me at all but you seemed bothered, I think.”
“No, you didn’t upset me or anything. I just, uh, needed a smoke.” Gerry said, and Michael nodded.
“Okay, I just wanted to check... Are you hungry? There’s leftovers in the fridge.” Gerry did not respond to Michael’s question, instead asking one of his own:
“Why do you do that?” He didn’t mean to sound snippy, but it must’ve come out that way, since Michael’s face flashed with anxiety, and Gerry felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, just... why do you care so much? Why do you... dote on me?”
“It’s, um, it’s okay, I don’t meant to dote on you, you’re not a child, just, I-I want to show you that I’m grateful that you put up with me, and that, I, I care?” Michael spoke hesitantly, thought Gerry felt he meant it. He was silent for a moment.
“I guess I’m not used to that.” he spoke quietly. “People caring. So, thank you. And I don’t put up with you, you’re not an annoyance, you’re good company- great company. Things have been better with you around, really.” Gerry glanced away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make that weird.”
“You didn’t make it weird!” Michael reassured him. “I’m, um. I’m glad I have you.” And then he took Gerry’s hand. “I haven’t known you very long at all, but, well, I really don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t let me stay here.” Gerry barely heard what he said next because he was so focused on Michael’s thin hand in his.
“I think I finally got a job offer, and once I get enough money I can probably get a cheap apartment and get out of your hair. I’m already looking at a few places, so you don’t have to be bothered any longer.”
“What?” Gerry exclaimed.
“Uh, I’ll probably be able to move out soon-” Michael repeated, but Gerry quickly interrupted him.
“No, I heard you, but- you don’t have to move out, you should stay.” Fuck, that was too desperate. “I mean, you’d be saving money if you did. And I like your cooking.” he swallowed, attempting to hold down intense emotion. Fuck. “You’ve never been a bother, I’ve already told you that. You can stay, if you’d like.”
Michael was still holding his hand.
“You mean you’d... want me to stay?” he asked.
“Fuck, you’re dense- yes, I want you to stay.” Gerry started off a bit harsh, but his tone softened as he replied. He wanted Michael to stay much more than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t imagine going back to living alone, surviving off of microwave popcorn and a pack of Camels, being a bit miserable but not enough to feel like it was worth fixing.
“...Well, I want to stay, too.” Michael looked into Gerry’s eyes, and he saw something he had never felt when someone looked at him: warmth. Appreciation. Maybe even lo- no, Gerry would not let himself entertain that thought. Until, of course, Michael leaned in, eyes closed gently, and gave him a soft peck on the cheek. A deafening quiet filled the room. Say something, idiot, Gerry told himself, but all he could muster was: “Oh.”
Michael’s face was suddenly filled with a familiar anxiety.
“Was I, uh, did I read that wrong? I was reading that wrong, wasn’t I? I’m so sorry, I- uh, I can leave if you want-” He pulled his hand out of Gerry’s, which pulled him out of his shock.
“No, no, Michael-” Gerry started.
“I’m sorry, that was weird, I should have asked-”
“Michael-”
“Really, I’ll leave, I’m so sorry-”
Gerry grabbed the taller man, pulling him in by his shirt collar and kissed him. It was sudden, and maybe a bit too rough, so he released Michael after a moment. This time, Michael was the one in shock.
“Oh,” he lifted his fingers to his mouth, where Gerry had just been. “So-”
“I want you to stay.” Gerry brushed a stray hair out of Michael’s face, then cupped his face gently, stroking his thumb across Michael’s cheek.
“Okay.” Michael said, a smile across his face. “Can I- can you kiss me again?” he asked, almost sheepish, and Gerry wasted no time to pull him in again, one hand in Michael’s hair and the other on his hip. Michael’s hands came to rest on Gerry’s shoulders but soon wrapped his arms around him, deepening the kiss. Michael was an awkward kisser at first, not that Gerry had much experience anyways, but soon they got in a rhythm of mouths moving, Gerry nipping at Michael’s lower lip, trailing kisses down his jaw. After a while, they pulled away, breathy and a bit dazed. The hair tie holding Michael’s hair had almost completely fallen out, and Gerry pulled it away, letting Michael’s blonde hair tumblr back to his shoulders.
“Do you want to, um, sit down?” Michael looked over to the couch. Gerry smirked.
“I have a better idea,” he took Michael’s hand and led him into his bedroom. Michael did not move for a moment, and Gerry stopped and looked back.
“Is that okay?”
“I’m just... I don’t think I want to do anything, uh, past shirts off right now?” Michael covered his face with his free hand. “Sorry, I, uh, don’t have that much experience with anything romantic.”
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You can tell me stop whenever you like, doll.” Gerry told him. Michael blushed at the pet name, then nodded and smiled, allowing Gerry to lead him into his bedroom.
Gerry woke with his face pressed into Michael’s chest. He gave his scars a gentle kiss, and Michael hummed with a soft delight.
“Morning, sunshine.” Gerry yawned.
“Good morning,” Michael had his eyes closed, but seemed very much awake. He scooted down in the bed so his face met Gerry’s and opened his eyes.
“You’re really an amazing sight, Gerry.” He said, a slight nervousness in voice but not as bad as usual.
“Stop, you’re making me blush!” Gerry gave him a playful push.
“It’s really true.” Michael snuggled into Gerry’s chest instead.
“Are we gonna stay here for a while?” Gerry asked. Michael nuzzled closer to him.
“If you’re alright with that, um, I’d like to.”
“I don’t have any complaints.” and Gerry held him.