Work Text:
The first excuse that Alex had for actually believing his house could be haunted was that his house looked like exactly the kind of place that would end up getting haunted.
Located somewhere in woodsier part of Maryland, it was ten minutes from the nearest town and half a mile off the main street of the neighborhood, on a single lane road deep into the forest. Gothic and imposing, it rose out of the trees like an evil witch’s castle in a storybook. A Victorian home in cool brown and grey stone, it had latticework dripping from the eaves and a honest-to-goodness turret. Ivy creeped up the walls, covering the stones in green and burgundy, and the hedges were made of holly, leaves with sharp points jabbing out of six foot tall bushes around three sides of the property with old, twisted limbs hanging over the edges, and waist high versions in the front. Standing in the driveway for the first time, on a misty, foggy day in January, Alex looked straight up towards the sky and saw bare tree branches like gnarled fingers crisscrossing across the pewter sky above him. To a man used to the wide-open New Mexico sky, it was like being held down, caged in. He breathed out and it hung suspended in the air above him before blowing away. It was alien to him, and other in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
It had been left to him by his mom’s aunt, Great Aunt Winnie, a woman he remembered vaguely for her distinctive smell, something smothering and floral, and for being one of the first people to validate his interest in music. He never saw her again after his mom took off, his dad cutting ties with everyone on that side of his family, but apparently he’d made an impression. She’d had no kids to leave her house to when she passed, and of the four Manes boys, she’d picked him.
Alex had just finished his masters degree a semester early and was looking for teaching gigs anywhere that wasn’t in New Mexico. Having a house fall into his lap had felt like life giving him a break for once, even if it was because Great Aunt Winnie had died. He’d found a middle school in need of a music teacher nearby and applied, and soon he had a new job and a new home.
Standing under the oppressive trees, Alex realized that he’d been impulsive for the first time in his life and was looking at the potential consequences.
Great Aunt Winnie’s friend and realtor Debbie showed him around the place. Everything was wood, from the floors to the doorways to the stairs and railings, all of it shabby and scratched. Even the few massive pieces of furniture that hadn’t been gifted to his aunt’s friends were wood, imposingly tall bookshelves and a dining table that Alex was probably stuck with because there was no way he was moving the claw footed monstrosity on his own. If it wasn’t wood, it was carpets and wallpaper in shades of faded purples and maroons. The floor creaked as they walked through no matter how hard Alex tried to step lightly.
Debbie threw open the back doors, like she was presenting something spectacular.
The porch itself was nice if austere, a raised stone area with steps into the yard with wrought iron railing to match the wrought iron fence on the inside of the hedges. What made Alex uneasy was that the backyard was the start of a slope down into the main part of the forrest. In the dead of winter, all Alex could see from his vantage point was grey, spindly husks poking menacingly out of the fog until they looked like a mass of thorns, ready to ensnare anyone who wandered into their clutches. The only thing breaking up the bleak landscape were the evergreens, and their needles looked less cozy and more menacing in the context of the dormant woods.
“It’s not much to look at now,” Debbie allowed. She had shoulder-length mouse-brown hair and a sloth printed on her sweatshirt, and a PTA mom’s no-nonsense attitude. “But wait until there’s snow, it’s magical,” she added with the same flat tone she’d used to give him directions. “And then in the spring, it’ll be green all over."
Alex fixed a smile on his face. “If you say so.”
A loud clang made Alex twitch and spin around. The doors they had come through had slammed shut on their own.
Debbie shrugged when Alex looked at her wide-eyed. “Wind,” she explained succinctly.
This was his second excuse - that weird things like this happened from the very first day. The creaky, creepy house with its self-closing doors made it hard to notice that things got much stranger when someone else moved in.
*
Excuse number three was that the house had felt too good to be true before he saw it, and a disaster waiting to happen once he moved in. He’d had an inspection done, had the mold in the basement and attic cleared away and fixed the lock to the garage. But while all the immediate problems had been taken care of and the house was certainly livable, it was also a mess. And making improvements was beyond his means on a teacher’s salary, especially when home ownership was more expensive than he’d anticipated.
When he mentioned it to Liz on their bimonthly Zoom call, she surprised him by perking up. “Alex, I have the perfect solution. You should rent one of your bedrooms to Mikey!”
Alex’s brow wrinkled. “Mikey?”
“Well, Michael. Max’s brother. He’s starting a PhD program up there in September. I bet he’d love a cheap room and he’d pretty handy, he could help out around the house. Oh my god, this is perfect!” She clapped her hands in delight, eyes sparkling, and even though Alex didn’t commit right then, he knew he was going to say yes. It was too good to pass up, having someone Liz approved of as a housemate, and extra money and help to boot. Making Liz happy was a bonus.
He’d only been in his new home for two months when he reached out to Michael, who had taken a year off between his masters program and pursuing a doctorate. His e-mails were terse but funny, and Alex couldn’t help but like him. After a few exchanges, Michael got a job at a local mechanics and was headed Alex’s way.
When Alex woke up on the day Michael was set to arrive, there was a late season snow frosting his window and piled on his sill. He made his coffee and breakfast in a cozy cable sweater, willing the house to warm up a little so he wouldn’t have to jack up the thermostat again.
A knock echoed through the hallways. The house seemed built for echoing, every sound Alex made reverberating like a judgement. Alex shuffled in his thick wool socks to answer it.
When he opened the door, he took a sharp, involuntary breath of cold air. There on his front porch was a beautiful curly-haired man with broad shoulders and a cowboy hat.
The cowboy grinned. “Hi. Alex, right? I’m Michael Guerin.” He stuck his hand out.
Alex breathed in, slower this time, and took the offered hand in his own. “Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you, Michael.”
They stood there for a few seconds longer than a polite greeting required. Alex was trying to think of something else to say when snow plopped on his head. He looked up to see the roof over the porch had somehow shed half of its covering onto the ground, Michael’s hat, and unfortunately, down the back of Alex’s sweater.
Michael cleared his throat and ducked his head. “It’s pretty windy, I guess.”
He hadn’t felt any wind, and it would be hard for the snow to fall on them from that angle. But he was distracted from wondering about it when he realized he was still holding Michael’s hand. “Sorry,” he said, letting go with an embarrassed wince.
“I don’t mind,” Michael replied with a smirk. He shook the snow from his hat, then hesitated. “You’ve still got some …” he pointed at Alex’s head.
“Oh, right.” Alex tried to sweep the snow off, but he could still feel the cold of it on his skin.
“Here, let me.” Michael reached over and carefully brushed the rest of the snow off, running his fingers through Alex’s hair ever so slightly.
Alex shivered, and he didn’t think it was the cold.
Maybe PTA Debbie was right. Maybe there was magic in the snow after all.
*
For the first couple of weeks, the two of them adjusted to each other. They were both up early, and quickly discovered they shared an inability to be verbal before eight AM. Mornings were spent quietly moving around each other, each doing their own routines in bleary disinterest of the other.
Evenings were more difficult. Alex was used to spending time on his own, having lived in a studio the last few years. He wasn’t sure how to talk to Michael about anything that wasn’t practical, wasn’t even sure if Michael wanted to talk. Did he eat only takeout and microwavable food because he didn’t like to cook, or was he trying not to interrupt Alex when he was making his dinner? Did he not join Alex in watching TV on the couch on the weekends because he didn’t want to impose or did he prefer the time spent alone in his room? Would Alex be friendly or annoying if he tried to include Michael in these things?
That he was attracted to his new housemate was definitely a factor in the awkwardness. It was hard to distinguish if he was being considerate when contemplating asking Michael to spend more time with him or if he was hoping to hang out with his potential crush.
Things finally resolved when Michael came back late one Friday night, carrying supplies, which he dropped on the table heavily. “I’m gonna start working on the floors tomorrow. You may wanna stay out of the spare bedroom for a couple days.”
Alex nodded. “How much will it cost?”
“Don’t worry about it.” When Alex frowned, Michael rolled his eyes. “You’re letting me stay here cheap, helping out is part of the deal. Plus, one of the guys at the garage gave me a discount for shopping at his family’s store.”
“Maybe I can help, then. If you don’t mind showing me how to do it.”
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “What, seriously? Nobody wants to learn how to refurbish floors. I didn’t even want to, but Sanders made me help him fix up our place.”
“Sanders? The mechanic that used to live in Roswell?”
“He adopted me when I was thirteen,” Michael said with an attempt at a dismissive shrug. “He was friends with my mom before I was born, wanted to get me out of the foster system for a long time. Finally found a better gig at a big place in Santa Fe, cleaned up his act, and the state let him take me. He’s a grumpy bastard, but he was a pretty good dad, not that I had anything great to compare him to.”
“I feel the same way about Liz’s dad,” Alex offered. “I had my own to compare him to, and Arturo’s definitely better.”
“Max told me,” Michael admitted, looking sheepish. “Your dad went to jail, right? Something about trying to continue a defunct government project on his own.”
“He was running an unsanctioned prison camp. Most people don’t know this, but the prisoners apparently escaped and made a lot of noise doing it.”
“They escaped?” Michael interrupted, looking weirdly hopeful. Alex supposed it was a better story that way; secret illegal detention was awful, no matter what the prisoners had done, and he was glad they’d gotten away too if he was honest with himself.
“Yeah, although I don’t know if they got caught again, military secrets and everything.” Alex took a steadying breath, because it was going to come out sooner or later, and it might as well be now. “My dad was dragged in kicking and screaming. He tried to fight back when they came for him. That’s how I lost my leg.” His breathing got wetter, but he powered through. “I got caught in the crossfire coming home from school. Not even sure if the cops were the ones who shot me.” He tilted his head away, not wanting to look at Michael right then.
There was a pause. Then he heard, “Your dad’s a dick.”
He snorted out a surprised laugh, eyes crinkling as he looked back up at a smirking Michael. “He really is. If he’s even still alive,” he added thoughtfully. “They transferred him a couple years ago and I have no idea where. Maybe they literally buried him.”
“Sounds like it couldn’t have happened to a better guy. I’m sorry that he was such a crap dad, Alex,” Michael said, looking more earnest than Alex had ever seen him.
“Thanks. But I got to spend senior year with the Ortechos and go to college instead of the army, so it definitely could have been worse.” When he’d woken up in the hospital from the worst day of his life, the Ortechos and Maria and Mimi had been waiting in the hall outside, all of them ready to offer him a new home. Gregory was back home and out of his mind with worry. Even Kyle had been there, face drawn from watching his own father get arrested, but still wanting to make sure Alex was okay, and it was the first step in rebuilding their friendship.
“I feel the same way about Sanders. I wanted to stay close to Max and Isobel, but getting out of the system and living with someone who actually cared about me, it was worth being away from them for a while.” He cleared his throat, apparently done with sharing time. “So you really want to learn to refurbish floors?”
“I like learning things, especially practical things. I am a teacher,” Alex explained, then smirked. “Why, don’t think you can handle walking me through it, Guerin?”
“Oh, you’re on, Manes. Just don’t complain about the smell.”
*
That was how they found their rhythm. Michael showed Alex how to do the work on the house; then when Alex’s SUV started making a funny sound, he showed him to fix it. Then it was chess, taught to him by the professor he’d been a TA for, when Alex had gotten stuck on an arrangement and he'd needed a distraction. Michael was experienced and a literal genius, but Alex was patient and strategic, so once he got the hang of it, he gave Michael a run for his money.
The first time he won a chess game, Michael teased him for winning on a technicality - Michael had been laughing at Alex’s work story and picked up the wrong piece, forcing him to make a bad move - but he also looked proud of Alex, which made him feel warm inside.
He was sitting on the couch he’d bought to match the new sea foam green trim, Michael on the reupholstered high-back chair his aunt had left him. The sconces were clear from rust, the mahogany floor shone, and with no wallpaper and only a few cleaned and restored rugs, the house finally felt like it could be a comfortable home. And it was all down to Michael.
Alex leaned back in the cushions. “A student is only as impressive as his teacher. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. First home improvement, then car repair, now chess. You are kind of impressive, Michael.”
Michael smiled, big and a little crooked. “You’re one to talk. I wish I could play like you do.”
“You play piano?” They were working on restoring the grand piano in the front study, and Alex was more excited than he had been for the floors to stop creaking.
“Guitar. I’m self taught. It help keep things quiet up here,” he explained, tapping his head. “But I’ve never been able to do some of the things you were doing were you were working on that song the other night.”
“I can teach you,” Alex said impulsively. “If you want.”
“Are you sure?” Michael was clearly trying to tamp down his eagerness, but his fingers clenched like they itching to play.
So Alex went into the dining room to get his guitar and they sat side by side on the couch. Michael played a few basic chords, then the opening to Free Fallin’.
“That’s not bad, but your grip could be better. Here, let me show you.” Alex reached over and adjusted Michael’s hand, then looked up to explain the technique but was caught by warm eyes only inches from his own.
A scraping noise interrupted the moment, and he sat up, looking over at the giant dining room table. It looked the same, but it was no longer quite lined up with the chairs at the end. “Did … did the table move?”
“Sorry, I think I hit it with my leg,” Michael said, pointing at the coffee table and chessboard in front of them. “Knocked a couple of the pieces over. Guess I erased all evidence of your victory.”
Alex gave an exaggerated frown. “I know you did that on purpose.
Michael grinned and shrugged. “Can’t prove it though, can you? Anyway, is this right?” He showed Alex his new hand position.
“That’s perfect,” he assured him, mentally kicking himself. Even with the house looking better and better each day, he was still letting his imagination run wild. Thinking the enormous, heavy dining table had moved on its own.
*
One sleepy Sunday morning in May, Alex woke up and made his coffee, and on an impulse took it out to the back patio. The cold had been leaving like the ocean retreating during low tide, uneven waves that resulted in days of melted snow mud puddles and frozen green grass. Alex had avoided the outdoors during the period of adjustment, at least until that particular morning. He sat on the porch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and sipping his coffee.
He tipped his head up to peer through the tree branches, now lively with brown and red bark and a variety of green leaves. They swayed in each small breeze, waving down at Alex cheerfully. The sky above them was a bright blue, brighter because of the contrast of all the color between it and Alex.
An appreciative whistle snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Michael looking at the forest spread like a green sea below them, awed. “I could get used to this.”
Alex hummed in agreement. “I think I finally get the appeal.”
Michael looked at Alex and something changed in his expression that Alex couldn’t put his finger on. “Me, too.”
They spent the rest of the day together, playing chess and guitar, and Alex even talked Michael into watching Star Wars for the first time.
He chaperoned the end of the year dance alongside a few other teachers and PTA Debbie. When he told her she’d been right about how amazing the forest looked now, she sighed and told him, “I know,” in a deeply unimpressed voice. She had a dress with disco balls stitched on the waist and collar and when she shook her head at him, her disco ball earrings whipped from side-to-side.
*
The fourth excuse came in the form of an e-mail a few weeks later. He’d told Rosa about the weird occurrences at the house, because he knew she liked that kind of thing and with no new incidents and the hot weather and return to life for the forrest around them, it was mostly funny to him now. Ridiculous, being jumpy over a creaky old house.
Unfortunately, Rosa had apparently decided all their friends needed to be in on the joke.
He read the e-mail three times then texted, My house isn’t haunted!
yes it is, Maria replied a few seconds later.
Seriously? Ghosts aren’t real, Maria
who is the expert? u rn’t questioning my psychic abilities r u Alex?
No, I’m questioning your Nancy Drew skills
ouch. if you come up with a better explanation, lmk, but at least consider the possibility, k?
The possibility of living in a haunted house. Alex shook his head. That was the start of a horror movie, or maybe a Disney movie, and either way, it was ridiculous and not real life. Besides, the e-mail didn’t even offer a particularly good candidate for a ghost - the owner before his aunt had died in his sleep at ninety in his bed, and a maid in the early nineteen hundreds had a heart attack in the kitchen. Which, granted, was a little unsettling to know, but hardly unusual for an old house; and neither was violent or tragic in the usual ghost-making way, at least according to all the media Alex had ever consumed on the subject.
So it was ridiculous. Maria was so far off.
At least, that’s what he thought then.
*
As the summer waned, Alex started including Michael in his meal planning more and more. As much as he’d try to beg off, Alex saw how happily he tucked into everything Alex made, so kept doing it until Michael asked for cooking lessons.
“I don’t mind doing the cooking myself, it’s fun for me,” Alex assured Michael one last time.
“I wanna cook for you too,” Michael told him, ducking his head as they laid out the ingredients for an easy first recipe - roast chicken, potatoes, and carrots, all in one big pan. “How did you learn anyway?”
“Liz’s dad taught me when I lived with them,” Alex explained as Michael washed and then chopped the vegetables. “I was a light sleeper back then, so I woke up when he was prepping for the day at the cafe, and he showed me some things.”
Which was an editorialized version of how Alex had woken up from nightmares more often than not for months after his dad was arrested. Going down to the Crashdown’s kitchen and watching Arturo cook felt safe and cheerful in a way that spending time with his father never had. Eventually Arturo had asked if he wanted to learn and Alex had discovered cooking was the exact kind of calming distraction he needed. On bad nights, he’d go downstairs and work on whatever was the fussiest recipe he could make with what he had in his kitchen until the cold sweats stopped and his heart slowed to its usual pace.
“So like Sanders showed me how to fix cars. But probably with less swearing.”
Alex smirked. “He mostly just laughed at me when I couldn’t handle spice. But that was all the Ortechos.”
“So why are we putting pepper flakes on this then?”
“Because I got used to it. Mostly. And it makes me think of them. The year I lived with them was one of the best years of my life.”
Michael sighed, hands slowing until he wasn’t chopping anymore. “Trust me, I get it. Sanders kind of saved me, you know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Their eyes met and they gave each other small smiles of understanding, before turning back to their work.
Soon their pan was filled with chicken and vegetables ready to be roasted. Alex checked that the oven had finished heating, then put the food in to cook.
Michael leaned against the counter and raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t so hard. And kind of fun, I guess.”
“I told you.”
“I guess you did.” Michael smiled at him, sweet and almost bashful. “So tell me, Manes, what are you going to teach me next?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, crossing his arms and moving closer. “I think we’ve run out of my bag of tricks. Unless you want to learn how to hack computers or nail painting tips.”
“I think I probably spend too much time fixing cars to use nail polish.”
“Bummer. What about you, Guerin? Do you have anything left to show me besides how to lose at chess?”
Michael’s eyes widened and his mouth made an ‘o’ in surprise. “Wow, Manes. Don’t get cocky, you’ve only won two games.”
“Three.”
“Two and a technicality. I think you’ve tapped out my expertise as well.”
“I guess we’ll have to just hang out then, like normal people.”
Michael beamed at him. “I guess we will.”
Alex grinned back, feeling something fluttering in his stomach. Everything felt warm and perfect and things felt possible right now, the way Michael was looking at him.
“Hey, I think you’ve got something in your hair.” He reached into Michael’s curls and pulled out a piece of potato peel. He showed it to Michael. “Got it.”
But Michael wasn’t looking at the potato. His eyes were heavy and hooded and looking at Alex’s lips. Alex swayed forward involuntarily, heart beating painfully. For the first time, he was sure. Michael was attracted to him too, maybe even had feelings for him, and he was going to kiss him.
He was so entranced that it took him a few beats to realize that the heat he felt wasn’t only from being so close to Michael. The oven behind him was blazing hot.
When he looked over his shoulder, the dial was turned up to five hundred degrees. “Damn it!” he swore, turning the oven off and grabbing an oven mitt, throwing the door open and pulling out their now smoldering dinner. “How the hell did this happen? Did you see that? The oven didn’t malfunction, the dial moved! How does that happen?”
“No idea, Manes, maybe I did it wrong.” Michael was suddenly far away, not meeting Alex’s eyes. “I guess I need more practice. I better go get my phone and order us a pizza or something."
As he left the kitchen, the lights flickered, and a minute later, Alex heard something crash in the hallway. He was left standing alone with a potentially haunted oven and their ruined dinner.
*
Alex had an inspector come evaluate the house that weekend who charged him three hundred and fifty dollars to tell him there was nothing wrong with the house or the oven or any of the mysteriously closing doors. Which he knew from the first evaluation, but he was running out of ideas for what was happening. And very clearly something was happening, even if he had no idea what it could possibly be.
At the same time, Michael was avoiding him. Alex wanted to ask him what was going to happen in the kitchen but couldn’t make himself take that leap, not when Michael was still not meeting his eyes.
He knew it should have been a relief when Michael finally asked for another cooking lesson two weeks later, but Michael was stiff and kept two feet of space between them at all times like he had a precise ruler in his head. There were no more close moments, and Alex wasn’t sure what he did wrong or how to fix it, or if he had imagined that Michael had been interested at all.
*
“You’re definitely being haunted.”
Alex pinched the top of his nose between his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re going to be a doctor.”
“Which means I accept all possibilities until they’ve been given conclusive evidence and then rigorously tested, and ghosts are still in a scientific grey area as far as I’m concerned,” Kyle replied in his reasonable future doctor voice, which was irritating given the circumstances. "Besides, I know better than to dismiss Maria DeLuca when she says something about anything supernatural. And Alex? You are definitely being haunted.”
“I called you for practical suggestions, not more ghost whispering.”
“Sorry, Alex. Liz is the practical one, why aren’t you talking to her?”
“She keeps hinting that this wouldn’t be happening if I moved back to the west coast. Apparently this is my fault for moving to the woods on the other side of the country.”
“Is she wrong?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Okay, okay. You’ve ruled out structural issues or uneven floors? No roads with trucks passing through? Have you talked to your neighbors?”
“No issues with the house beyond some mold damage and a bunch of dead cicadas in the basement, no roads, and no one nearby has experienced any of the things we have.”
“Earthquakes? You’re not too far from a fault line.”
“Yeah, I think someone else would have noticed that. And anyway, none of it explains the oven.” Alex leaned forward on his desk and rubbed his forehead. “There has to be something I’m not thinking of."
"What about -"
"Don’t,” he cut Kyle off with a scowl.
“I wasn’t going to say ghosts!”
“Sorry, what were you going to say?”
“Witches. Your house is cursed.”
“I don’t like you.”
*
Halloween had always been one of Alex’s favorite holidays. As a kid, it was one of the few that he got to celebrate like a normal kid, since keeping his sons from participating in community events was too suspicious for Jesse Manes. He’d been allowed to dress up and go trick-or-treating with Kyle, and eat candy at the Valenti’s before his father picked him up, even hid a few packs of M&Ms and peanut butter cups in his pockets so he’d have some later after his father threw out the rest of his stash. As a goth, he’d been in his macabre element, and now as a teacher, he was surrounded by kids as excited about Halloween as he was.
So the news that he was expected to go all out decorating his house wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Debbie had explained that even though it was out of the way, trick-or-treaters loved coming up to the house for Halloween. It was atmospheric for those looking for a slightly creepier experience than cheerful neighborhood blow-up pumpkins and waving giant skeletons, apparently. He would be continuing the tradition, Debbie had informed him.
He blew up some creepy old photos he found in the attic and put them in the windows, used supplies from the art room at school to make tombstones, and hung up cobwebs all over the house and trees. Michael helped him set up motion activated floodlights to light everything up as the kids approached the house, and even rigged a rubber hand to spring periodically from in front of one of the tombstones.
It was a big success. He got compliments from his kids who came by and a few parents he knew. Even Debbie told him he’d done well when she brought her grandkids by, although she said it with so little enthusiasm he couldn’t tell if it was sarcastic.
By midnight, the trail of trick-or-treaters brave enough to go to the haunted house had dried up, and Alex had changed out of his costume and putting candy away when Michael walked in and slid one of the bursting ziplock bags to himself.
“Hey, those are for my kids tomorrow,” Alex protested, reached to pull It back.
Michael held it in the air behind him, glaring teasingly down at Alex. “You seriously can’t spare a couple pieces?”
Alex swallowed and reached for the bag, trying to ignore that it was the closest he’d been to Michael in weeks. Whatever had gotten Michael spooked had ironically calmed down during Halloween decorating, and now apparently he was comfortable near Alex again. “A couple pieces, Guerin; that’s, like, thirty.”
“I helped set up this whole thing, I want compensation in chocolate.” Michael pressed himself to the counter, and Alex pressed himself to Michael as he tried to grab at the chocolate. Then there they were, chest to chest and eyes locked. This time, Michael didn’t run away or knock into a table. Instead, he leaned in.
They met in the middle, a ghost of a kiss, gentle and hesitant but enough to send shivers through Alex like the first time they met.
When they pulled away, Alex first thought was to ask him what was going on. Or to kiss him again. But the fifth excuse he had for thinking the house was haunted was waiting for him when he opened his eyes.
The lights were turning on and off steadily, like the switch was being flipped repeatedly. And the bags of extra candy was floating in the air around them.
“Oh, my God,” Alex breathed, feeling the blood rush out of his face.
“It’s not what you think,” Michael said.
“I didn’t believe them, I didn’t … ghosts aren’t real.” One of the Skittles packets whizzed by his head, and that was the last straw. “We’re leaving.” He started pulling Michael along, through the living room and headed towards the front door.
“Whoa, let’s just take a beat …”
“Not a chance. We’ll figure it out tomorrow, but right now, we need to get out of here.”
“Alex, wait, it’s not … damn it!” Michael dug in his heels, halting them abruptly. “It’s me. I’m doing it.”
Alex blinked at him, thrown off by the sudden stop and thoroughly confused. “What the hell are you talking about? How is it you?”
Michael let go of Alex and shoved his hands in his own hair, turning and putting some distance between them. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, then turned back decisively and said, “I’m an alien.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re Max and Isobel’s brother.” When Michael averted his eyes, Alex sucked breath into his slowly collapsing lungs. “Okay, fine, then how are you doing this? You have alien powers or something?
“Telekinesis. Look.” He pointed his hand at the chess board. Two of the pawns rose into the air, did a little circle, then dropped back down onto the table gracefully.
Alex shook his head. “No, Michael, that doesn’t make any sense. Everyone would know if you’re doing stuff like this all the time.”
Michael eyes darted to the side. “Um, I don’t do stuff like this, usually.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have complete control of my powers, except …”
“Except what?”
“Except when I’m around you.” Michael looked up shyly from under his one hanging curl, the tops of his cheeks blooming a light red.
There were a few seconds of silent tension. Then the pawn closest to the edge of the coffee table tipped over and plopped sadly on the rug below.
Alex couldn’t help it. He laughed. He bent over and laughed until he wheezed with it.
“Really?” Michael’s tone was disgruntled, but he was smiling now, letting out a couple breathless chuckles of his own. “That’s how you’re reacting to all this?”
Alex had to make a couple attempts to talk through his giggles. “You’re an alien! I thought ghosts were impossible, but I’ve been living with an actual alien!” He wiped away a couple tears from the corners of his eyes, grinning like an idiot. “None of my friends guessed that.”
“So, actually, Liz already knows.”
“Wait, what?” That he didn’t find amusing. “She tried to use my ‘haunting’ to get me to move back west.”
“It wasn’t her secret to tell, and Liz isn’t exactly the type to pass up a golden opportunity.” Michael rubbed his chin. “So the alien thing doesn’t freak you out?”
“I still need to absorb it, probably,” Alex replied, stepping closer. “But it’s hard to be worried when you like me so much you can’t keep your alien powers to yourself.”
“Okay, that’s not what happened, I …”
Alex decided he was done learning about aliens, worrying about ghosts, and even, for the time being, done with with teasing Michael. So he kissed him instead.
It didn’t take long for the alien to get on board and take over. He swept Alex up, licking his mouth open and steering him where he wanted him, which was apparently the couch. He pulled off Alex’s shirt in a single smooth movement before bearing down on him again, pushing him down and kissing him like it was all he wanted, like he’d been thinking about this since they first met, too.
Alex pushed Michael’s t-shirt up until he had to pull back so Alex could take it off, pulling his curls into even more disarray beyond what Alex’s fingers had done. He tossed it away and looked up at Michael, haloed by frizzy hair and the light fixture above him, grinning so wide with his kiss-red lips, and … there were chess pieces floating over his head.
“Uh, Michael?” Alex tried to stop himself from laughing again, but it was hard when there was a detailed horse-headed knight bopping around just above Michael’s curls.
“What?” Michael looked up. “Oh, come on!” The break in mood apparently ended whatever was keeping them suspended, and the pieces dropped one by one onto Michael’s back and head. “Ow,” he complained, pouting down at Alex.
Alex cradled his jaw in his palm and stroked his thumb along his cheekbone, and Michael leaned into it, gazing down at Alex.
“It only happens around you, Alex,” Michael reminded him, voice a little hoarse, and put like that, Alex didn’t feel like laughing anymore. He stretched up and kissed him, pulling him down so he could feel Michael’s skin against his.
And then the light above them turned off and on again.
Alex pulled away reluctantly. “Okay, new plan. My room doesn’t have much in it - you can’t move my bed or dresser with your powers, right?”
“Not far, not without concentrating. Probably.”
“Good enough. We’ll put the lamp and end table out in the hall. Come on.” He pushed Michael off of him, then took his hand and pulled him off the couch and down the hall.
*
Later, they were sharing a single pillow - Alex wasn’t sure where the other one had gotten to - and Michael had returned enough blankets to their bed so they wouldn’t be cold without having to get up to get dressed. Michael was tracing patterns on Alex’s skin while they both caught their breath.
“So I’m guessing the people my dad had had locked up were aliens too?” Alex put together now that his brain wasn’t filled with Michael exclusively. “You want me to help you find them?”
Michaels’ head turned towards him sharply. “You think you can?”
“I have some of my dad’s old stuff and I’m a good hacker, even if I’m out of practice. I can try.”
“Yeah, I want that. But not right now.” And Michael kissed him again, open-mouthed and filthy as he dragged Alex on top of him, and if Alex heard the dresser wobbling a little, he’d worry about it later.
*
Winnifred floated around the yard, admiring the tombstones once again. It was a lovely Halloween display. Maybe not up to snuff with hers, but they had plenty of time to improve.
“Hello, Winnie,” Debbie greeted as she walked up the drive. She was wearing a turtleneck underneath a vest with jack-o-lanterns on it and cat ears in her hair.
“Deborah! I hoped to see you a bit more today.”
“You saw me with my grandkids, and then I had things to take care of.” There was an emphasis on things to indicate the kind of witchy problems that tended to pop up on Halloween. “Were you waiting out here for me?”
“Yes. And my nephew was … occupied.” Winnie clapped her incorporeal hands. “Have you met Michael, Deborah? He’s lovely. So perfect for my grandnephew.”
“He’s not bad.” Which was glowing praise indeed from Debbie. “Should we tell Alex about you? I’d be surprised if he doesn’t have his suspicions already.”
Winnie rolled her eyes. “I closed the doors once by accident, I was newly dead.” She decided not tell Debbie about Michael, at least not for now. As he had inadvertently reminded her, it wasn’t her secret to tell. She hadn’t been there to protect Alex when he was young. She would do whatever it took to protect him now, to protect them both. “Soon, I think. We’ll tell them soon. Let them have their time together first.”
“Whatever you want,” Debbie said with a shrug. “Happy, Halloween, Winnifred.”
“Happy Halloween, Deborah.”