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Michael had a hunch in his posture as he made his way down the sidewalk, ragged trainers scraping through a layer of late-Autumn leaves and soaking up puddles. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his threadbare jacket to fend off the bone-deep chill of the season. His feet were sore. He was tired. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, staining the horizon a brooding red that blended with city lights. Michael frowned, adjusting the bag slung over his shoulders; he didn't like nights here. A breeze rushed past him, and he drew himself further into his hoodie. He'd have to find a thicker coat soon or he'd surely freeze overnight. His thoughts drifted from the cold to the prospect of finding somewhere suitable to stay - even if only for the night.
A shelter was the obvious option. At least, it was when he first came to Austin. He didn't take into account the time of year, or the increasing homeless population. The shelters were all full when it started getting colder - past capacity, from what Michael had seen. Michael didn't have friends in Austin, and his family back in Jersey may as well not even exist, so his next thought was to camp out in a park. That worked for a few nights, until a few men had gotten territorial and... aggressive, for lack of a better word. He still had a limp and a swollen eye and a bruised sternum, but he was okay. He knew worse things could have happened.
Michael shook his head and walked a bit faster. He passed a storefront - a café - that was still open, light flooding out onto the shadowed pavement. A man with broad shoulders wiped down tables while a young woman with purple hair tended to the equipment in the back. Michael only paused to look in because he recognized the song that played over the speakers, just barely audible from where he stood out in front of the large windows looking in upon the small coffee shop. There were only three other people in the shop that Michael could see - a pair of college-age girls bundled up in coats in a booth on one end, and a middle-aged man with a laptop a few tables away. Michael reached into the pocket of his jeans and felt around. He likely had enough for coffee, but only just. He looked toward the man, who had returned to the cash register, only to find that he himself was already being watched. The man smiled at Michael and beckoned him inside with a wave.
There were worse ways to spend the last of your earnings, Michael mused, then pushed open the door, a bell above his head tinkling charmingly. A wave of warmth swept over him, sending goose bumps crawling across his arms. The lighting was soft, the space was cozy but not cramped. Michael breathed in deep, the smell of coffee familiar and inviting.
"Welcome to Brewed Awakening, and happy holidays," the man called in a subdued sort of cheer. His voice was low and smooth; Michael liked the sound of it. Stop right there, a voice in his head warned."Can I get you something?"
Michael offered a polite smile as he approached the counter, shoulders tense.
"Uh, yeah, can, can I just get a coffee? Um, small?"
The cashier gave him a strange, almost strained smile, eyebrows furrowed just enough to make Michael feel a bit uneasy.
"Sure thing," he said nonetheless, nodding toward the woman behind the counter with him. She set to brewing a fresh pot. "That'll be $1.25, please."
Michael handed over the owed amount in quarters, oddly grateful that he still had a quarter, a dime, and three pennies left.
"Thank you," the cashier said, tapping away at the register. "Go ahead and take a seat; I'll bring out your coffee when it's ready." Another wrong smile accompanied the dismissal. Almost like Michael's presence made him uncomfortable.
Right back at ya, Michael thought bitterly, though it was only an automatic thought that he didn't mean a word of, and he very well knew that.
Taking a seat as far from the other patrons as possible, Michael let his bag fall from his shoulder and onto the floor by his feet. He heaved a sigh of exhaustion and propped his elbows onto the table, resting his forehead against his clasped hand and letting his eyes fall shut. He reveled in the comfort of central heating until he heard footsteps approach. Michael opened his eyes and blinked tiredly before he looked up to see the man who had taken his order standing there with a more relaxed grin than before, his cup of coffee, and a plate with what appeared to be a blueberry muffin. He didn't have a name tag, Miller noticed.
"Here ya go," he said, handing the cup the younger man. "We're closing soon, so I thought I'd bring you this, too." He set the plate on the table. Michael looked at the muffin, then back at the man, who combed his sandy-blond hair back with his fingers. The younger man stared wordlessly.
"We usually take left-over goods to the homeless shelter a few blocks down," the man continued - and geez, Michael really needed to learn this guy's name. "But we were understaffed today and didn't get a chance before their office closed for the night and..." The man trailed off, clearing his throat and severing eye contact. His cheeks darkened.
Michael blinked.
"Anyway," he continued." I hope you enjoy."
"Thank you," Michael said after a pause. "That was real nice of you."
"Not a problem." He grinned, this one more natural than the last, and began to back up. "If you need anything else, let me know."
And then he was gone, ducking into the back room and out of sight.
Michael spared no time in getting started on the muffin, but was slower to finish his coffee. He wanted to draw out his time here, if possible. Broad-Shoulders Sandy-Hair had said they'd be closing soon. He wrapped both hands around the Styrofoam cup and sighed blissfully at the heat. This was contentment - this right here. Fed, warm, with a roof overhead, even if those were only temporary. Michael would do just about anything for this feeling to last. Looking at his surroundings more attentively, Michael found he quite enjoyed the cafe's style. What did the cashier say this place was called? He'd have to ask so he could come back here. The walls were painted a light brown - taupe, he guessed it could be. There were a few couches, which were a mellow orange-y yellow-y color. Nothing adorned the walls, aside from a few flyers that he couldn't read from where he sat, and blackboards advertising the daily specials. Michael sipped at his coffee and sat quietly. Both employees were busy behind the counter, cleaning while they talked amongst themselves. The older man with the laptop left, and soon after the college girls followed. Finishing off the last now-cold dregs of coffee, Michael stood, wobbling slightly, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He waved to both the man and the woman as he pushed open the door.
They both called out a bright "have a merry Christmas!" and Michael noted how the man's face fell as he turned to leave.
**********
Later that night found Michael slumped against the brick wall of an alley only a couple blocks down from the café. Exhaustion wove through him in heavy waves. He didn't want to move, or think, or breathe, or exist. He slid further until he was seated fully. The fear that a car may pass through the alleyway flickered in his mind briefly, but they'd have to get through a dumpster to get to him, so that fear subsided quickly. It wasn't long before sleep pushed its foggy fingers into his brain and took hold of him. He fell under with his arms wrapped loosely around his bent knees. He didn't dream in vivid detail any more - perhaps a method of subconscious self-preservation - but he did dream. Vague, unguided, but with a distinct sense of danger, urgency, futility. His dreams came in short sequences, like clips of film mashed together. He often awoke feeling worse off than when he'd fallen asleep, and now was no exception.
Though, something was different about this awakening.
It wasn't the sun light or the sounds of traffic that had disturbed his sleep. No, this time, it was a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking his thin frame, and a low voice coaxing him into consciousness. Michael was awake in an instant, snapping into focus and lurching back, only to find himself slamming into the brick wall he'd used as a pillow. His arms instinctively flew up to guard himself, and he noted how a numbness throbbed through his fingers and toes. He eventually found the sense to look up at his possible attacker.
"Oh - I'm sorry, I didn't..." The man before him trailed off, looking unsure of himself. He seemed awfully familiar, and Michael realized with a wave of panic that this was the same man who had served him coffee and given him a free muffin earlier that evening. "I didn't mean to scare you. Are you alright?"
Michael swallowed reflexively, nodding. He remained silent, though his breath became ragged and shallow. The man before him made no note of it, instead opting to nod along with Michael shallowly.
"Good. I'm sorry, again. Did you - are you, uh." He took a sharp breath through his nose before continuing. "Would you like to come home with me?"
Michael scowled and reared back, his stomach twisting with anxiety and fear. "I'm not a whore," he spat hotly, pushing himself off the wall with shaky arms.
"No, I'm not looking for one," the other protested, holding his hands up in a placating manner. "I didn't mean...I meant that- I have an extra bedroom. Separate bedroom. You can stay there for the night - or however long you want. No strings attached, I promise."
Michael's glower fell into a look of shock and confusion. "Wha..." The younger cleared his throat when his voice came out as a rough whisper. "W-Why?"
The man's face softened and Michael didn't know how to feel about the tender expression.
"It's getting close to freezing out here - no one should be out tonight." He smiled gently, but not pitying like Michael would expect. And Michael didn't know what to do. Didn't know what to say, how to react, how to make his mouth form words. Couldn't understand such a kindness if there wasn't some hidden intent, and he couldn't be sure there wasn't.
But... but something about this man with broad shoulders and clear blue eyes and blond hair that was now hidden under a black beanie... something about him made Michael want to take that risk.
Besides, he'd only get to make that mistake once, right?
"Also," the man continued, sheepish. "It's almost Christmas Eve. I don't know if you celebrate or not, but... I don't want you spending Christmas alone out in the cold."
"Okay," Michael said cautiously, after a pause.
The young man accepted the hand that reached out to him and was easily pulled up by the other man, who appeared to be a good few inches taller than Michael now that the lad was standing. To Michael's surprise, the man didn't let his hand go immediately. Instead, he clasped it between both of his larger palms.
"Oh, god, you're freezing," he murmured, taking up the younger man's other hand so he was holding both. "Let's get you out of the cold, now. My place isn't too far from here."
Michael found himself being tugged along, out of the alley and down the street. All the while, the taller man fretted over him, making sure he was okay, asking if Michael needed a break when the younger had placed a hand over his aching chest. Michael kept his answers short, clipped, as he was beginning to become overwhelmed by this man's generosity and kindness. A hand was kept on Michael's person the entire walk; on his shoulder, resting lightly on his back, guiding him by the elbow.
Soon enough, they both turned down a street and the older man steered Michael down a side road, then up a flight of stairs. Michael's gut was twisting with nerves, but he tried not to let it show. He was a Jersey boy, god dammit, he could handle himself in a fight. Fuck the height and weight advantage, fuck his aching limbs, fuck any edge this man might have over him - Michael would take him on without hesitation if he tried anything, and if he was over-powered, he'd be fighting 'til he was dead.
The man's gloved fingers fumbled with a set of keys for a moment before he was able to unlock the door, pushing it open and coaxing Michael to enter in front of him. The man went on inside after the door was shut while Michael hesitated in the entryway. Michael took in his surroundings carefully. Everything looked mostly normal - to the right of the entry-way was a short hallway that ended with two doors, one on the left and one on the far wall. Directly in front of Michael, the room opened up into the den and dining area, with a cubical-style kitchen to the left. There was one more door in the young man's sight, completely opposite him, which the man had disappeared into. The apartment was furnished cozily with a couch and a few large chairs in the living room, along with a coffee table and entertainment center with a huge flat screen. There was a grand display case next to a bay window, showcasing what appeared to be... oh.
Michael paused.
He didn't take another step into the living space.
He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and suddenly felt weaker than ever.
Oh God.
Any confidence he'd had in himself earlier was gone.
He was going to die here. He was sure of it now.
"You okay?" Michael jumped at the sound of that sweet, smooth voice. He turned away from the expansive display of knives of various sizes and shapes and colors, and faced the other. He was carrying a black towel patterned with small yellow ducks. The sight was almost disarming enough to catch Michael off guard, but he was far too aware of his own heart beat and the distance between Ryan, the knives, and the front door. He tried to sound casual, regardless.
"You, uh..." Michael looked briefly back at the display case, eyes tracing a long, glossy blade. "You like knives, huh?" He was sure his mask was slipping. He could feel his hands shaking. His fear was obvious, he knew.
The other man regarded him with a raised eyebrow. He looked a bit concerned, which helped ease the younger's nerves a bit. "Yeah, I collect them," he said easily.
Michael swallowed and nodded, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
The man chuckled lowly, then.
"I promise I'm not a serial killer. It's really just a collection," he added with a teasing grin.
"That's reassuring," Michael mumbled sarcastically, a smile just barely present. He wasn't entirely convinced, really he was anything other than, but at least his potential murderer had a sense of humor.
"I'm Ryan, by the way." The man tucked the towel under his arm and held out a hand. Michael took his hand and gave it a firm shake.
"Michael," the younger said.
Ryan's smile stretched into something more sincere.
"Now, then. How about you take a shower while I make dinner? You need to get some body heat back. Maybe a bath would be better..." Ryan walked as he spoke. Michael trailed along behind him. They passed through Ryan's bedroom into a sizable bathroom. "Whichever you prefer. I'll be in the kitchen when you're finished - take all the time you want. You can use whatever's in there. Anything you need right now?"
Michael shook his head silently, meeting Ryan's eyes with more confidence than before. Ryan passed the towel to Michael with a small smile, laying a hand on his forearm for a moment before pulling away and ducking out of the room, shutting the door behind himself.
After locking the door, Michael wasted no time in stripping himself bare and turning on the shower. The spray was scalding and he stepped into it with a hiss followed by a deep sigh, eyelids falling shut. He could feel goose bumps raise on his arms and torso. He could feel the tension of living on the streets leave him for the moment. He'd been granted permission to use Ryan's shower products, and he took advantage of that.
He recognized the scent of the shampoo. He could smell it on the older man whenever he stood close; a fresh, though undeniably masculine, scent, almost musky but gentler. Michael let the aroma surround him as he scrubbed the shampoo into his hair then rinsed out the bubbles.
Ryan apparently preferred liquid body wash over bar soap, and Michael wasn't sure why he made note of that, but there it was.
He cleaned himself thoroughly, relaxed with the knowledge that there was no rush here. Ryan said so himself. He was warming up quickly, sensation returning to his extremities in a mostly uncomfortable tingle. He could feel his fingers and toes, and the relief in that was immeasurable. Once clean and warm, Michael shut off the water flow and wrapped himself up in the large black towel, drying himself quickly so he could redress. He cringed at the smell of his old clothes, unwashed for far too long, but there was nothing he could do about that now, so he stepped out of the bathroom-
Only to pause when the door caught on something.
He looked down to find a pile of folded clothes with a scrap of paper on top. He picked up the note and smiled.
'You can wear these if you want.'
He felt a different kind of warmth curl through his core. He bent down to retrieve the clothes and changed into what was revealed to be a black muscle shirt and grey sweat pants, both of which were just slightly too big on the smaller man. Ryan was broader than him, and it showed most of all now, as Michael stood in front of the mirror and observed himself in the older man's clothing. He looked better already. Clean, at least.
He had bruising along the under side of one eye, ugly and purple. If it hadn't been localized to one eye, he would have just assumed it was from lack of sleep. He stayed there for a few moments, until the ache of hunger reminded him that Ryan had said he would have food prepared when Michael was finished in the shower. He left the bathroom and wandered to the kitchen, lingering in the doorway and enjoying the scene before him.
Ryan was facing the stove, his back to Michael. He was humming quietly, so quiet the younger man could hardly hear him from where he stood across the room. The song he was humming was indecipherable. He swayed shallowly, hips rocking back and forth to a beat only he could hear. There was a pot on the stove, gurgling and steaming, that he was adding to, stirring occasionally. Michael smiled at the sight, something too domestic about it all.
His smile faltered when he remembered he'd be leaving in the morning.
He shook his head and forced a grin.
"Smells great," he said, smile easing into something more genuine when Ryan jumped and turned around. The older man smiled and beckoned Michael to sit at the table to Ryan's right. Michael complied and the older man spoke up.
"Thanks. I hope chicken noodle soup is okay. It seemed appropriate." Ryan had turned back to the soup, but now Michael had a view of the side of his face. "It also may have been the only thing I had the ingredients for."
Michael laughed softly at the sheepish expression Ryan adopted.
"That sounds perfect," he assured, twisting in his seat to more comfortably stay facing Ryan. Ryan glanced over at him briefly with a small smile, giving him a once-over.
"I was worried the clothes wouldn't fit. That jacket you had on swallowed you right up, made you look a lot smaller than you are. You look a lot better all washed up and clean," he commented before turning away again.
"I fuckin' feel a lot better all washed up and clean, too," Michael responded, ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks.
"I'm glad," Ryan said, quiet and sincere, with a wider grin than before. There was a lull before Ryan said, "it'll be done soon."
Before long, Ryan was dishing two bowls of soup, setting one in front of Michael then sitting opposite him. Despite being quite positive Ryan wasn't going to try and poison or drug him, Michael waited until Ryan started eating before he went ahead and did the same, humming happily around a mouthful of warm broth. He caught the pleased look Ryan sent his way and flushed. They ate silently, some unspoken tranquility hanging over the pair. Michael finished first and was two awkward to ask for seconds, but he didn't hesitate when Ryan offered him more. Ryan also brought him over a glass of water, which Michael chugged gratefully.
By the time they were both full and sated, it was nearing midnight. Ryan yawned and Michael felt suddenly guilty for being the reason he was kept awake. He was prepared to apologize, but Ryan began speaking, taking both of their bowls to the sink and rinsing them out.
"I set up the guest bedroom while you were in the shower. Whenever you're ready, you can head off to bed. I think I'm gonna turn in soon myself."
Michael stood from the table, taking up his cup and downing the rest before going to refill it, mostly as an excuse to stand next to Ryan.
"Sleep sounds fucking perfect right about now," he said, turning around and leaning back against the counter. He would have offered to help wash the dishes, but Ryan had already finished by the time he worked up the courage to stand by him. The older man was now drying his hands with a dish towel and looking at the younger man, seemingly lost in contemplation, one eye brow raised slightly.
Michael laughed nervously.
"You gonna stare at me all night or are you gonna show me to my room, Ryan?"
That snapped Ryan out of it. He blinked hard, shaking his head minutely.
"Sorry, I was just- sorry." Ryan walked ahead, waving Michael over. The young man smirked at his pink-tinged cheeks. The guest bedroom was on the other side of the living room, far from Ryan's own bedroom. It was furnished sparingly, with a bed in one corner, a night stand placed next to the bed, and a dresser and vanity combination opposite a large window. A barren bookshelf sat next to the window.
Ryan didn't follow Michael into the room, lingering by the door and watching the young man take in his surroundings.
"Good night, Michael," he murmured. Michael regarded him with a smile.
"Good night, Ryan. Thank you for everything."
Ryan didn't say anything, but he did offer a gentle smile. He shut the door, and Michael was left alone.
The young man didn't waste any time shutting off the light and crawling under the comforter, laying his head on one pillow and hugging the other close to his chest with a deep sigh. For the first time in years, he was asleep almost immediately.
***
Michael woke slowly. He was aware of sunlight on his face and a warmth surrounding him and a curious sense of safety. His head was foggy with sleep, so, for a few long moments, he didn't question this peculiar, unfamiliar comfort. The young man took a deep breath in, then sighed heavily, contentedly.
Then sat bolt right up. He blinked rapidly, eyes protesting the sudden bright light, and looked around in confusion before the previous day came back to him.
Tall guy. Muffin. Separate bedroom. Ryan.
Ryan.
Ryan.
Michael's chest swelled with... something. Something lovely and warm. A good, wonderful something.
He kicked himself out of the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, jumping up and hurrying to the door. He paused with his hand on the door handle, suddenly anxious. Would Ryan want him gone as soon as he saw him? Probably, right? Why would he want a man like Michael to stay? He had nothing to offer.
Despite the negativity clouding his head, Michael left the bedroom, unsure what to do when he found the rest of the house empty. The door to Ryan's room was closed - he must have still been asleep. Checking the clock on the wall above the TV, Michael saw that it was 8:12 in morning. A full, uninterrupted night's sleep. That in and of itself was remarkable. Michael ran a hand through his hair and yawned openly, eyes trailing across the room.
His gaze landed on the display of knives he'd been so scared of yesterday and his yawn cut off in favor of a barking laugh that he stifled with his hand. Michael meandered into the kitchen, rubbing a palm across his face tiredly. He paused in front of the fridge, where a note was tacked with a circular black magnet.
'I'll be at work until 6, feel free to stay or go. If you do decide to stay, I'll be ordering in Chinese for dinner. There's an omelet in the microwave and coffee in the pot. Hopefully it's still warm by the time you get up. Go ahead and eat whatever you want though. I hope I'll see you later, Michael. Merry Christmas Eve!'
There was a little smiley face at the end of the note.
Michael's eyes were most assuredly not tearing up.
Ryan hoped Michael would still be here when he got back. Ryan wanted Michael to stay. Ryan made Michael an omelet and brewed him coffee and Ryan wants Michael to stay.
Realistically, Michael knew he couldn't stay here forever, but he was here for now, and he was wanted for now, and that was more than enough to make Michael grin stupidly, nearly in tears. He heated up the food in the microwave, poured himself a cup of coffee (still hot; Ryan must not have left too long before Michael woke up), and after he'd finished eating, he took a shower and threw back on the clothes Ryan let him borrow. He tossed his old clothes into the washer (after searching for it for a few minutes too long - in his defense, he didn't have a cleaning closet in his last apartment and wouldn't have thought to check behind a non-descript door) and decided he should clean up a bit to show his thanks. He was careful not to move or even touch any personal items, opting to straighten up the kitchen, sweep the floor, and tidy up the living room. By the time his clothes were ready to be put into the dryer, the common area was clean and Michael was itching to get something else done.
He tapped his fingers against his thigh before going ahead and cleaning the guest bathroom, too.
Once the entire apartment was clean, save for Ryan's room, of course, Michael collapsed onto the couch. It was nearly 2:00 PM. He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until he found a show he recognized. He let it play and fell in and out of focus periodically. He hadn't thought he was tired when he lay down, but after a few hours, he was fast asleep.
***
Ryan came home shortly after 6 to find Michael asleep on the couch, face pressed into the arm rest in a way that Ryan couldn't help but find adorable. He was relieved beyond all reason that the young man was still there. House MD was playing on the TV and Ryan laughed quietly before muting it and moving to place a few bags from the store on the kitchen table. The dishes were cleaned and put away, he noticed. It appeared the counters had been wiped down as well.
What a sweetheart, Ryan thought warmly, returning to the living room. He observed the young man, who snuffled in his sleep and flipped over to press his face into the back of the couch. Ryan was overcome with the urge to protect Michael, which seemed wholly inappropriate after only knowing him for a very short amount of time. Regardless, he grabbed a blanket from the recliner and tossed it over him, adjusting it to cover the lad more completely. He ruffled the boy's hair, letting his hand linger for a beat, then pulled away to order dinner.