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They somehow ended up there, mildly drunk, with Gerry’s head pressed against Michael’s chest while they both softly swayed to a song being played on stage in a local tavern. The music tonight wasn’t what Gerry would usually go for, piano chords accompanied by a forbearing voice. But he listened closely, to both the song and Michael’s heartbeat.
It was a gentle feeling, if he had to put it in any way. The combination of sounds, the being held, the holding, the static of alcohol leniently clouding his head, and making his limbs feel just a tad lighter. Gerry would later realize he felt safe like this, like no fear entity would come and rip his identity or flesh. He had forgotten about his mother for the entirety of the night, too. And Michael was right there with him.
Michael was right there with him, and he would most certainly never be again. So he tried to not grip the back of the blonds sweater too hard lest it gave away to his uneasiness. Emma had told him last month upon their first meeting to keep Michael completely unaware of what was actually going on, and so he did. She was the kind of person you shouldn’t disobey. And much to his dismay, besides keeping Michael in the dark Gerry had also… grown feelings for him in the short time they’d worked together, which was great considering how tomorrow the tall and endearing archival assistant was leaving with Gertude to stop the Spiral’s ritual.
And he would most certainly never see him again.
God, Michael had no idea of the situation he was in and Gerry couldn’t tell him, couldn’t do anything about it, because a literal apocalypse of madness being stopped depended on his ignorance, on his innocence from things far too twisted to understand even if he was already familiar with them. It wasn’t fair. He slowly pulled away from the warmth seeping from Michael’s clothes without breaking their rhythmic swaying to the song and looked up.
He looked tired in the way Fridays tire people with normal office jobs look, eyebags and visible tension on his shoulders. But above all he also looked relaxed, like he was enjoying being where he was with his eyes closed, holding him, dancing with him, with him. Holding Gerry and smiling despite himself because the fact that he, a freshly 21-year-old nerdy looking dude was a whole head taller than this very punk, very intimidating goth with a bad dye job was, apparently, very funny.
In Gerrys defense he wasn’t donning the usual platform combat boots that completed the “I commit arson for fun on Wednesdays at brunch” look.
“You okay? You’ve been staring at me for a bit now.” Oh, he spaced out.
“No I just- I was just thinking, well, you look calm and you know, it’s nice seeing you like this” He could feel more than hear the laugh that ended in a little “ah” that came from Michael.
“Well, we did drink more than- more than I usually would to be honest, and I happen to be the kind of drunk that gets sleepy so-” Michael leaned more of his weight on Gerry’s arms and slurred the next words somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear “so I’m very calm and a pint away from passing out right now”
“Better not bully the barman for more drinks then, I don’t think I can carry you home without breaking my back” At this both of them broke into little sets of giggles and laughs as the song they had been dancing to came to an end with a pause for applause from the audience. The next one was a bit livelier despite the considerably more melancholic lyrics.
“I think I’m going to sit this one out, I’m starting to feel a bit lightheaded” This time the voice came from the right side, when did Michael get this close?
His arms were draped over the goth’s shoulders and his cheek rested on the side of his head, the two day old stubble slightly scratching the shaved part of Gerrys head. And he was so warm; they both were if the way all the unspoken personal space rules and boundaries being forgone was anything to go by. “I'm coming with then, it’d be kinda weird if I danced alone to this one” This somehow woke more giggles coming from the warmth around him, they weren’t dancing anymore but both of them refused to move.
“And what would you dance to if you were alone?” There was a teasing smile on Michaels lips that he only caught a glimpse of.
“Well you know, the usual, Carnivore, Cannibal Corpse, Morbid Angel, Type O Negative, Florence and The Machine” Pulling away but still holding hands the pair made their way to the table they’d previously been occupying. They’d have to leave soon but they still had a good half an hour before that happened, and after that Gerry would try to find any excuses available to steal even if just five more minutes of Michael’s time, to see the smile he was currently trying to hide behind his free left hand again. “Florence? I would've never guessed”
“Well I’m as they say- a man of many hats, and she does have lungs”
“That’s the- it’s one of the worst puns I’ve heard you make”
“And yet you still laugh at it! I’d say you’re just denying the truth, the facts, the-” Gerry felt his right hand, the one Michael was keeping hostage being held in between both of the blonds ones now.
“My dear Gera- Gerry” Oh, he remembered “truth is relative but your puns will never evade the rule that they make you sound like a dad- and that reminds me of my dad and-” Ah, he was about to go on a tangent, but it was fine Gerry thought, and cute, so he let him ramble while they still held hands and smiled all throughout.
After a while though the smiling and laughing started to hurt, not so much in a metaphorical sense but a literal one. You know when it feels like your face needs a vacation from happiness? That. But it was a good kind of hurt, one Gerry wanted to remember.
And would he? Would he remember the way Michael was stammering over his words? The way he didn't put his hair up anymore because he was trying to grow out the undercut he got some months ago? Or the odd shade of green his eyes were? Or maybe the way he played with the rings on Gerry’s hands without even realizing it lately. Would he? He knew he would, but knowing that wasn’t any good when he knew that that’s all he’d ever have, memories. Memories of a good kind of hurt that would rot and fester and cease to be good and become something else entirely.
But still, he’d remember about everything they talked about tonight, about how Michael wanted to save up to give Gertrude a nice Christmas present next year, about how his back kept hurting because the desks were too low, about how last weekend his dad made the same exact joke about earl grey tea Gerry had made on Thursday and how weird that was. Everything. And he knew there wasn’t anything to do abou-
“You’re looking sad again Gers, spacing out again?”
“Gers? That’s a new one”
“Don’t try to change the subject Mr.I-avoid-talking-about-anything-that-isn't-work, I know I may not look like it but I’m a great listener, and really good and helping people through mental and emotional turmoil” Michael said that last part with his hand —and consequently Gerry’s— over his heart. The irony of that affirmation however only made Gerry feel more helpless, it showed in his face too seeing how fast he was being surrounded by bony arms dressed in soft wool.
But he couldn’t do this, not now, not to him, he refused to let their last —and first, actually— night out together be muddled by his woes. He still hugged back.
He wasn’t one to cry, not really. And he didn’t, but the dry laugh that escaped his throat couldn’t be helped though. It couldn’t be helped how they held each other close and that despite not knowing what was going on Michael understood that Gerry, his… friend needed him close, because he didn’t need to know things to understand them. And he didn’t know what was happening in Gerry's head to understand that he needed comfort.
“You know, it’s not anything too bad. I’m mostly just overthinking” Michael moved as if to make enough room between them to look at the one he was holding in the eye, but Gerry didn’t let him, he buried his face further in the ever warm and soft material Michael always cocooned himself in.
A soft sigh answered his actions. “Even if that’s the case it’s okay to talk about your feelings, and if you don’t want to, well that’s- that’s actually okay too, you know?” This wasn’t fair. “Can’t force those things either, whenever you’re- whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here for you” It wasn’t fair to either of them to have to spend any fraction of their last minutes worrying. Gerry pulled back.
“Look I- I don’t know how to put it but Michael you don’t need to worry about this, it’s just-” How could he find the words? If his hair wasn't tied up in a bun he’d be picking at the split ends again “I don’t know how to put it but I guess part of it is I’m going to miss you” But that was actually the whole gist of it wasn’t it? Yeah, yeah it was, surely there could've been a better way to say it.
Michael’s face was hard to read, he looked… Relieved? Surprised? And odd cocktail of both and something more? Gerry couldn’t tell besides the fact that he felt his hand being held a little tighter. No, not tighter, just held the way it should always be held. Maybe he was holding Michael’s hand the same way without even knowing it.
“Gerry I-” The sound of the bell signalling last orders cut him off, and his face changed, he looked a bit worried. “Maybe we should- we should get going?”
What? “Yeah, yeah it’s getting a bit late isn’t it? What time do you leave?” As they slowly stood up and donned their light spring coats Gerry couldn't help the feeling he somehow messed up. Did Michael catch on?
“Well the flight to Moscow leaves at a quarter to eight, and it’ll take about an hour to get to the airport so… early, and I still have to finish packing up” There was that laugh again, Gerry hoped it wasn’t the last of the night, he’d like to have more references to remember it from.
“Might as well just ditch sleep and take a long nap on the plane.” Was Gerry scraping for any extra seconds together? Definitely. At least they were holding hands again. But what if he ruined it? Their last minutes —that’s right, minutes, they only had minutes now— ruined because he didn’t know what words to say. Keeping anxiety at bay was proving difficult.
“That sounds tempting, but a power nap won’t hurt. Plus as much as I’d love to stay with you the whole night you said you had something to do early in the morning too, right?” They waved goodbye to the waiters. Oh, that. He really wasn’t looking forward to more Leitner related bullshit.
“Yeah, although honestly it’s not as if it’d be my first all nighter.” The gush of cold air that greeted them when opening the door was blissfully sobering, maybe Gerry hadn’t said anything wrong after all and Michael was just tired. Maybe Gerry misread the situation and weirded out the walking mass of wool sweaters and dangly earrings. Somehow that felt better than knowing nothing beyond what they had tonight would happen.
Nothing beyond the drinking, the holding, the knowing what each other's heartbeats felt like underneath layers of clothes. Nothing beyond the feeling of hands on hands, warmth encapsulating the humid cold that still refused to leave their bones. Nothing beyond them, and their neglected feelings that would eventually grow stagnant and die off.
Maybe that was good enough, these memories would be liminal, they would be the good kind of hurt if nothing at all, never quite beginning or ending, they would be encapsulated in these moments of walking and talking about nothing and everything. Gerry wanted to believe that was good enough, and that if Michael and him were to lead different lives something could have grown between them beyond the innocent office crush.
For now he would put all his brain power into committing to memory his augustine profile and the way the street lights and the fog from his own breath casted soft shadows on the planes of his face while he talked about what sweaters to bring to the Motherland. It was a good thing he wasn’t half bad at drawing and that he had already done some sketches of him, those felt a bit more alive than photographs.
“You know, I think I still have that sweater you lent me on Tuesday” By the way Michael was starting to pat his pockets Gerry guessed they were nearing his flat.
“The grey one?” He was pretty sure he got that one on a trip to Iceland with his mother, it wasn’t as if he was particularly attached to it, but it was a very warm sweater… maybe he shouldn't be the only one leaving this situation with a memento. “Take it to Russia with you.”
“You sure? I could just give it to you I wouldn’t want to ta-”
“I’m sure, you can give it back when you come back. Plus you’re gonna need as many layers as you can up there.” He wasn’t getting the sweater back, but that was the least of it. This was goodbye.
“Heh, well thank you for contributing to the preservation of Michael Shelley’s body heat!” He said that with a gentle squeeze of his hand before letting go; granted it was a late night in London but it shouldn’t feel this cold.
“It is my pleasure” Gerry looked at the door they stood in front of before smiling in Michaels general direction. “I guess this is goodbye?”
“For now, we can just call it an adieu, or if you’re feeling fancy a ciao which is also hello so in a way it’ll just be a three week long greeting.” The light chuckle Michael let out was contagious, he was already halfway through the door.
“Ciao then, Michael. Have a safe journey”
“Ciao, Gerry.”
Gerry turned around and started to walk going nowhere while searching through his pockets for a cigatterre, he needed one. He was about to light it up when-
"Wait!"
Why was Michael running at him?
And why was he suddenly being held again?
"I'm sorry this is sudden but before I leave I wanted to- I wanted to" The small sprint had left him breathless and he was blushing from the cold. But why was he holding Gerry's face?
"I'm going to miss you too and- Would it- Would it be okay to ask for a- a ciao kiss?" He was so close he could see the stray specks of blue in his irises.
Gerry didn't answer though, maybe the ciao kiss part was a bit cheesy but he couldn't care less when he was putting his hands over Michael's and standing on his tippy toes to try and deliver said kiss. Their first and last memory of one.