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Michael didn’t sigh. That was important. He wanted the record to show that he did not sigh. But if he had, it would’ve been because he’d asked Guy twice—twice—to put the damn communicator in the designated tray by the door.
But no. Of course not. Because Guy Gardner didn’t do designated trays.
Now Michael was elbow-deep in Guy’s top dresser drawer, sifting through a battlefield of mismatched socks, ticket stubs, bottle caps, hair ties (Guy swore they weren’t his), and—somehow—a tiny plastic dinosaur.
“Are you trying to build an ecosystem in here?” Michael muttered.
From the bathroom, Guy shouted back, “Hey! Be careful! I got a system!”
“This isn’t a system,” Michael called. “This is what happens when entropy gives up.”
“Still didn’t hear a ‘thank you’ for helping you find your lucky socks last week,” Guy countered, brushing his teeth.
Michael ignored him.
He reached toward the back of the drawer, fingers grazing something solid. He tugged it free—a hardback book, old but in good condition, the cover still familiar even after all these years.
Michael froze.
Quantum Entropy and the Architecture of Thought.
His book.
The same one he’d been reading at the coffee shop the first time they met. The one Guy had joked gave him a migraine just from the title.
Michael had lent it to him, half as a dare, half as a joke— “Maybe you’ll learn something useful, if only by proximity.” He hadn’t expected Guy to actually keep it.
He hadn’t seen it in years.
The inside cover still had his name, scrawled in small, neat handwriting: Dr. Michael Holt. Below it, in thick black pen, someone had added: This book tried to kill me – G.G.
Michael’s lips twitched.
He turned a few pages. There were little notes in the margins. Not serious ones—Guy hadn’t suddenly become a quantum physicist—but comments like:
“This part makes no sense.”
“Does entropy apply to relationships? Asking for a friend.”
“Michael was probably smug as hell writing this footnote.”
It was ridiculous.
And oddly touching.
Michael heard Guy enter the room behind him, toweling off his face. “Find it?”
Michael didn’t answer right away. He was still holding the book. Guy frowned and walked closer.
Then stopped. Blinked.
“Oh.”
Michael turned, holding the book up. “You kept this?”
Guy hesitated. “Yeah.”
There was a pause. One of those pauses that stretched just long enough to say everything neither of them wanted to blurt out first.
Michael looked back at the book. “I gave this to you because I thought it would bore you to death.”
Guy grinned, leaning against the dresser. “It almost did.”
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“But,” Guy said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you gave it to me. And I figured… y’know. If you thought it was important, maybe I should try.”
Michael blinked.
“You didn’t have to try,” he said quietly.
Guy shrugged. “I know. But I wanted to.”
Michael didn’t reply immediately. His thumb brushed the edge of a dog-eared page. “I didn’t think you cared.”
“About the book?”
“About what it meant.”
Guy softened. “Babe. You’re the only guy I’ve ever chased for several Tuesdays straight without even knowing your name. Trust me. I cared.”
Michael huffed. “You were insufferable.”
“Still am,” Guy said cheerfully. “But you married me, so the joke’s on you.”
Michael stared down at the book again. “You wrote in it.”
“You say that like I committed a crime.”
“You wrote… in pen.”
Guy snorted and leaned over his shoulder to look. “Well, yeah. I figured if I was gonna butcher my way through your brain puzzle of a book, I might as well leave breadcrumbs. You read the one about the footnote?”
Michael nodded slowly.
“Tell me I was wrong.”
Michael closed the book carefully, resting it in his lap. “You were… irritatingly insightful.”
Guy beamed.
They sat in silence for a beat, the kind of silence that married people wear like a blanket.
Michael ran his fingers along the spine again, then looked at Guy. “Why didn’t you ever give it back?”
“I dunno,” Guy said, voice quieter now. “It was the first thing you gave me. Felt like a start.”
Michael tilted his head. “A start?”
“Yeah.” Guy looked down, suddenly sheepish. “I wasn’t exactly a guy people gave books to. Or… took seriously. Not the way you did. Even when you were annoyed, you saw something in me. I guess keeping it felt like holding on to that.”
Michael didn’t speak for a moment.
Then, carefully, he stood and crossed the small distance between them. Pressed the book against Guy’s chest.
“You’re still not getting smarter,” he said flatly.
Guy laughed. “Nope.”
“But you’re better,” Michael added.
Guy looked up. Met his eyes.
“Because of you,” he said.
Michael didn’t blush. He cleared his throat and stepped back.
“You left the communicator in your jacket pocket, by the way,” he muttered. “The one you wore two days ago.”
Guy blinked. “Seriously?”
Michael nodded. “It’s in the coat closet.”
Guy groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t I check there first?”
“Because you are, in fact, not getting smarter.”
“Right. But I have charm.”
“You have something.”
Guy leaned in and kissed his temple. “Still lucky you love me.”
Michael rolled his eyes but leaned into the touch.