Work Text:
The two of them are watching the new episode of Sunny together, like they always do, curled up on Geoff's couch in front of his absurdly large TV. Geoff's got his arm thrown over the back of the cushion, and Michael's slumped next to him, close enough that his curls brush the inner curve of Geoff's forearm and his elbow juts into Geoff's side when they both start laughing too hard. It's natural, the two of them barely taking up one and a half couch cushions, but the proximity means that Geoff can practically feel the tension rolling off Michael's shoulders, that he keeps catching the boy with his eyes cast away from the television.
Michael is putting on a good act, alternating his snarky, closed-mouth giggles with his loud, breathless laugh at the right moments in the show, and Geoff is thoroughly convinced that he's enjoying it. It's just, once the episode rolls into commercials and the distraction is gone, Michael keeps going quiet. He doesn't bother with over-the-top imitations of infomercial actors, and he doesn't take the time to recite jokes from two minutes ago so that they can crack up at them again. Michael just sits there in relative silence in those small interludes, his gaze far away like there's something in the room that Geoff can't see, something that's staring Michael down and pulling his attention away from another cheesy horror movie trailer.
By the start of the third commercial break, Geoff lets his arm slip from the back of the couch, draping it over Michael's shoulders. He hopes that the physical gesture might ground him, or at the very least, will communicate that Geoff's noticed that he's out-of-sorts.
Michael goes a bit tense at the contact, but doesn't shrug Geoff away. He doesn't meet Geoff's expectant gaze, either.
"Do you, uh. Do you ever think you made the wrong choice?" Michael pipes up finally, watching his stocking feet fidget on the coffee table instead of looking up at Geoff. Geoff feels a pang of hurt, of uncertainty, and he considers pulling his arm back to his side. Michael must feel the shift in movement, because he backpedals immediately. "I don't--hey, no, I don't mean about us or anything, nothing like that. Just, like... this. All this. This fuckin' life, dude, I don't know if this is the one I should have picked."
"Yeah. I second-guess this lifestyle every damn day, Michael," Geoff admits.
Michael pauses, sighing, and turns to face Geoff on the couch. Geoff's arm fits so perfectly in the crook of Michael's neck, and the sight of Michael curled up there, folding his knees under himself and leaning his head tenderly into Geoff's touch, would make Geoff's breath catch in any other context. But Michael looks small, looks vulnerable in a way that makes Geoff's chest ache, makes him want to drag Michael closer both so he can comfort Michael and so that he doesn't have to keep seeing him this way.
"But, like, I used to be a completely different person, right? And there are still people... people back in Jersey, people I knew in high school or extended family I haven't seen since I was a kid, that only remember me that way. There's still that version of myself that exists with those people I used to know."
Geoff manages a smile at that, trying to imagine Michael as a teenager--a more trusting Michael, maybe, although still reckless as all hell and equally as enchanting. "I wish I could have been able to meet him."
Michael snorts. "I'm glad you didn't."
"What, why?"
"Pretty sure you would've liked him better," Michael says, casting his gaze down, away from Geoff's searching eyes. "I sure did."
"Michael--"
"I'm not tired of the job or anything, boss, don't worry," Michael cuts him off bitterly. "I just wonder what it'd be like if I had gone to college, or started working, or something, instead of robbing corner stores and breaking people's noses for money. I wouldn't be here, I probably wouldn't have ever met you, and that'd suck, but like, I'd be doing something worthwhile. Helping people, maybe. I dunno, man, it's just pretty fucked up that I ended up this way."
Geoff wishes Michael would look at him, wants to press a kiss to Michael's forehead to relax away the furrow there.
"Michael, just because you--"
"Oh, hey," Michael interrupts again, turning back to the TV. "Show's back on."
Geoff lets Michael use the show as an excuse to avoid a response, but Geoff does drag him closer, pulling Michael flush against his side. The man permits the contact, seems to welcome it, even, as he curls himself into the warmth and comfort of Geoff's body. It feels odd, like there's too much unsaid, because Michael's brash laughter at the comedy he's pretending to be engaged in has turned to a few huffs of amusement, an occasional understated chuckle.
They sit like that for several long minutes as the show drags on, although Geoff is positive neither of them is engrossed in it any longer. When the credits finally roll, the air shifts uncomfortably around them, an expectation to fill their long silence hanging over the both of them. Michael, who always seems to have something to say, remains quiet.
"Hey, Michael," Geoff tries. Michael doesn't respond, even though Geoff is positive he must have heard. "Even though you think you're the fucked-up, morally-corrupt version of a person you could have been, I like you. I like this you."
"Okay," Michael says clearly. Carefully. "I--okay."
"You're too clever for some desk job or blue-collar work, anyways. I don't care if young-Michael had all the fuckin' potential in the world, you're too good for anything people expected you to be. God, I wish you knew how amazing you are," Geoff says, reaching out to catch Michael's jaw in his free hand. He tips the other man's head up, and Michael's face is so open, his eyes so shiny that Geoff couldn't look away if he wanted to. "Whatever normal shit the world had planned for you, of course you said 'fuck it.' You wouldn't be Michael Jones if you didn't spit in the face of every goddamn authority you ever came across."
That surprises a high, sudden laugh out of Michael. His voice cracks when he does it, but Michael remains smiling thinly, and it coaxes a smile from Geoff as well.
"Christ, dude, I've never known anyone that's such a kiss-ass, but won't do a fucking thing anyone tells him to," Geoff says affectionately. The hand on Michael's face moves to cup his jaw, fingertips brushing soft at the curls along the nape of his neck. "You're a goddamn piece of work, Michael."
Michael's nose scrunches up in a way that's altogether way too charming as he smirks up at Geoff. "You fuckin' love me."
"Yeah, yeah. Lucky me." Geoff can't help grinning fondly at him, can't help the way his chest feels pleasantly tight at the admission. He presses a quick kiss to Michael's forehead, then turns away to reach for the TV remote. Michael tips his head forward, chasing the hand that disengages from his face, and the small movement makes Geoff's heart ache in a way that is so beyond his control. "You wanna re-watch last week's?"
"You fuckin' know it," Michael replies enthusiastically, tucking himself more comfortably under the weight of Geoff's arm and into the warmth of the other man's body. Geoff clicks through the DVR, selecting the re-run of last week's Always Sunny.
As they both become engrossed in the show, Geoff gets to hear Michael laugh, genuinely, all the way from his belly. He savors the way the two of them rattle off each other's favorite quotes, ones that they've already managed to memorize despite the episode only being a week old. And, god, he maybe always knew that the terrifying, paralyzing, elating ache in his chest was all Michael, but he's not sure exactly when he became so content with the feeling.