Chapter Text
There is someone looking at them. Really, really looking at them. Hard.
Michael is regretting everything that led them to this little cafe. It had been very charming when they originally walked in, a soft pop song they didn’t recognise playing in the background and drowning out the sounds of keyboards clacking and passersby shuffling by outside. The warm air and smell of fresh bread was irresistible to their deprived senses and Michael happily inhaled the comfort of it all. There were only a few other customers inside, all preoccupied with their own business, and one lonely barista who was friendly in a polite but distinctly distant way. It felt like a perfect, safe place to be alone.
Everything was normal for a while — they’d ordered, paid, and had been peacefully eating their strawberry sponge cake for about ten minutes before becoming uncomfortably aware of the glare of the person at the table in the corner.
They appeared just a few moments after Michael sat down and had caught their attention instantaneously. They couldn’t imagine a person looking more out of place. Everything from the dramatically long trench coat, their numerous visible piercings and awful black hair dye made them stand out harshly in comparison to the gentle, neutral colours of the cafe. Michael remembered how the stranger’s eyes had lingered on them shortly when they’d initially come in and surveyed the place, but brushed it off at once when they walked towards the counter and ordered as normal.
Just another regular person in the same cafe as Michael on this random Wednesday morning.
Michael isn’t exactly sure when they’d begun seriously staring, but it’s unignorable now. Their eyes bore into them, and even as Michael’s overthinking brain urges them to find whatever flaw this odd individual was so offended by, they consistently come up empty handed. They rub their finger alongside the cool porcelain of their coffee cup, still almost full as the bitter aftertaste keeps making them grimace involuntarily. Their white shirt is pristine, their vest wrinkle free and tie… passable, at least. Michael pretends to check something on their phone before chancing a, hopefully discreet, glance upwards.
Yep. Definitely still watching. They’re not even pretending to show interest in the pastry that they’d bought, and Michael can literally feel the irritation coming off of them in waves, as if Michael is somehow doing something rude just by existing. Coming here was a bad decision.
They’ve been here long enough, right? They’ve barely eaten the sweet cake they’d bought themselves as a treat for getting a new job, but that’s fine. The institute pays decently enough, there will be plenty of opportunities for more cake in the future (ideally in the privacy of their own familiar flat). Besides, it’s getting on a bit anyways, they absolutely do not want to be late for wo-
Oh. Oh no. The person who hasn’t blinked once since setting their eyes on Michael is getting up and strolling towards them casually.
Michael freezes like a deer in headlights for a moment when their eyes meet. The idea of being at the institute early has suddenly become very appealing, and their chair makes an atrocious screech against the floor as they hastily stand and grab their bag from the floor. They sling it over their shoulder and listen helplessly as their breathing gets faster — just for the thing to slip off when they reach for their phone on the table. Readjusting in the middle of the space, which has suddenly gone from feeling quietly calm and welcoming to quietly oppressive and stuffy, makes the colour rush to their cheeks. The time that it takes for Michael to panic themselves dizzy is also apparently more than enough time for someone to corner them in an innocuous cafe in London for no discernible reason.
The intimidating pair of combat boots enters their vision, stopping directly in front of them.
Michael hesitantly, and with all the fortitude they can muster this early in the morning, lets their gaze meet the intruder's once again. The minute details of their appearance are much more clear from this distance; their makeup was likely done carefully and yet it doesn’t hide their eye bags, their eyeliner running a bit from the London rain, and the black lipstick looks like it’d leave an imprint on anything it makes contact with. There’s also some freckles near their jaw that aren't covered by white foundation; however it’s the simple, large eye tattoo directly in the centre of their throat that catches their attention — it’s a common enough tattoo they suppose, even if the location is a bit odd, but it’s somehow deeply unsettling to Michael. Meanwhile, the person’s actual eyes hold an intensity that makes their heart beat distractingly loud in their chest in a tense apprehension.
They’re also studying Michael, and if the sheer discomfort shows on their face then it’s definitely not a concern to the person in front of them.
“Sit down. Let’s talk.” The voice has a sort of determination that puts Michael on edge, annoyance made clear in the slight pursing of their lips. The words themselves are certainly not making Michael any more comfortable; their palms begin to sweat as the glower focused on them becomes increasingly stern the longer they don’t make a move to return to their chair. After a prolonged minute of tense silence, during which Michael realises that everyone else in the unobtrusive cafe has stopped doing whatever they were busy with in favour of observing the odd spectacle they’d unfortunately been made part of, the stranger scoffs and shakes their head as if Michael is the one being ridiculous, “Jesus, I’m not gonna- just sit, okay? It’s just a chat.”
They raise their hands in a placating gesture, but Michael retreats until the back of their thighs hit the table anyways.
Their throat feels dry. They swallow and stare down at their steaming cup of coffee, considering an excuse as their gaze drifts towards their phone displaying the time. There’s still an entire half hour before they really have to be at the institute, and they curse their compulsive need to always be on time. If Michael was even fifteen minutes later leaving the house, this whole debacle could’ve been avoided. Employment is their best excuse by far though, and it’s not outright lying since they really do have a job. The stranger won’t know, it’s not as if they know their working hours. It’s fine.
Michael’s fingers habitually tug on a loose thread on their sleeve. They don’t even know why they’re trying so hard; it’s not as if they’ll see this person again, ideally, and they’re not entitled to Michael’s time. It’s not impolite to say no. It’s just a no.
They breathe deeply, set on their decision, “Uh, listen- I’m sorry, but I’ve actually got work soon, s-”
“I don’t care. Sit. It’ll be five minutes at most,” They insist, shifting to block Michael’s view of the front door as if they’re worried they’ll make a break for it. Michael begins to get suspicious — everything about the person in front of them is screaming that they don’t want to have this conversation just as much as Michael doesn’t, so why are they being so persistent? So stubborn that Michael stays and hears whatever it is they have to say?.
The first stirrings of curiosity make themselves known in Michael’s stomach. The weather outside has just turned from a light drizzle to something more in line with “torrential”, and while their coffee is not tempting them at all, the sponge cake is sitting patiently waiting for their restraint to abate. The drumming of raindrops gets even louder; Michael didn’t bring an umbrella.
Five minutes. Michael can sacrifice that. It’s fine. They’ll have a “chat”, and then they’ll go their separate ways and never think about each other again. Simple. Easy. Maybe they’ll even get a couple of answers to all the questions they have.
Casting a final glance at the outside world, Michael nods and slides their bag back down to the floor.
The person opposite them visibly relaxes and doesn’t seem at all worried about the creak their seat makes when they slouch on it. In contrast, Michael takes their place as discreetly as they can, which is difficult when every other customer and even the barista working the counter seem as invested as they are in the upcoming discussion. Michael tries to appear as unaffected by the attention they’d garnered as the person sitting opposite them is.
“Great.” They waste no time, opening their mouth as soon as Michael is no longer standing, “So, have you got any friends?”
The question, understandably, throws Michael off, and they are suddenly a bit concerned they’d completely misread this person’s intentions — guilt and humiliation rise in tandem as they mumble hesitantly, “Not- I mean, not really? I know a couple of people fr-”
“How about family then? Are you close with your mum, dad, grandparents- anyone like that?”
“I have my mum and my grandparents, I guess?” The words don’t come out as confident as they’d wished, and Michael cringes. The feeling of being interrogated by a person whose name you don’t even know, especially about personal relationships, leaves them floundering for a response, “Uhm, I don’t see my grandma that much anymore, and my mum- well, we’re not not close, you know? We just don’t speak that much but like, she’s still my mum, right? I love her, it’s just- well, yeah.”
The immediate regret after oversharing leaves Michael unable to say anything else, but something about their words causes the stranger’s expression to soften inexplicably. The firmness of their eyes disappears before Michael’s own, and unexpectedly they become the one painstakingly ignoring Michael’s interested ogling.
“Okay, I- but are you close?” They’re fast to disregard the momentary lapse in concentration, and Michael’s own speculations are left to be forgotten. The questions keep getting more and more personal, and they find themself tugging once again on the loose thread on their sleeve — this might just be one of the strangest mornings they’ve ever had, which is a funny coincidence considering they’d just begun working at the Magnus Institute. Figures that something like this would happen now, “Do you trust her a lot?”
“Not particularly? Again, I love her, and she- well, I guess we don’t really… have that kind of relationship?” The painful confession spills out, and frankly Michael starts wondering why they’re even being honest in the first place. They shouldn’t be, this whole encounter would have been far easier if they weren’t, but the thought didn’t even occur to them. Lies do not regularly pass from between their lips, and when they do the sound is always strained; unnatural. Lying may as well be another language, one that Michael is not fluent in. However, judging by the reaction of their heckler, it’s as if they just said the most inconvenient thing possible. Their patience thins, “I’m sorry, but why’re you asking me about this? It’s very ru-”
“What are you doing right now?” They demand, face grim. They must sense the redundant answer Michael wants to give, something along the lines of “being harassed by an unknown individual in an expensive London cafe” on the tip of their tongue, so they don’t give Michael a chance to reply before clarifying, “Once you’re done here, obviously.”
“Well… my job, hopefully? I wasn’t lying when I said that,” Michael laughs awkwardly, “Uhm, I really do have to leave soon though, so if-”
“I’ll walk you there.” Michael is starting to notice the number of times they’ve been cut off during this “conversation” — but they’re still here, still listening intently and giving this person the time of day. Michael’s never met anyone like them; there hasn’t been a single sentence out of their mouth that Michael might’ve foreseen, and the unpredictability both puzzles and, marginally, excites them. As Michael watches them scoff and shake their head, likely realising how bizarre this whole thing is, a minuscule unintentional smile breaks out on their face. The stranger keeps going, mistaking Michael’s restrained amusement for reluctance and trying to convince them, “Just- let’s be… friends, okay? It isn’t anything creepy, I swear, I’ll just walk you there. That’s it.”
Friends. This is, by far, the strangest way someone has asked to be friends with Michael.
They’re undoubtedly strange. Their manner of speaking is direct, even while clearly avoiding the words they’d actually like to say, Michael still doesn’t even know their name — the literal only thing they’ve given them is questions. But something about them, maybe in their speech or presentation or just the “feeling” that Michael gets from them, tells Michael they’re honest. They’re definitely not saying everything, but they’re also not hiding that they’re not saying everything, and although Michael really does crave an explanation, that’s precisely why they can’t let them slip away just yet. They want to unravel this person and know them, and perhaps even be known in return. They’re so unapologetically themselves, and it’s a confidence that Michael can’t help but feel inadvertently attracted to.
Maybe it’s a bad decision. Maybe this will go nowhere and Michael will be left exactly where they were before. But maybe they’ll be introduced to a fascinating new way of life they’d never considered before, and isn’t that possibility just irresistible?
“Yeah. Okay. I’d appreciate it. It’s a bit of a walk but nothing too bad,” They declare, and the decision feels like letting go of a breath they’d been holding for too long. Michael watches as their shoulders relax and they crack their knuckles (there’s tattoos there as well, eyes that are smaller and more abundant but otherwise almost identical to the one on their throat) and finds themself curious about every thought going through their head right now. Michael ignores the pang of wrongness that passes through them; there’s no explanation for it, except that all the socialising is catching up with them at last, “I’m Michael, by the way. Michael Shelley.”
“Great. Nice to meet you. I’m…” They trail off, and Michael leans in expectantly, “Gerard Keay. But you can call me Gerry, if you’d like. That’s what my friends call me. Where do you work, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Gerry. The sudden politeness throws Michael off a bit, but doesn’t overcome their joy at putting a name to the face; they wonder how long it will be before “Gerry” stops surprising them with every other sentence. However in the meantime, Michael is happy enough to lightly brag about their new position. They know they’re young, young enough that the majority of their colleagues are vastly ahead of them in both work and life experience, but the sense of accomplishment feels so… fulfilling. It’s a new start.
Michael’s grin is full of pride as they say, “It’s The Magnus Institute! You’ve maybe…”
Their confidence vanishes as quickly as the disbelief, slight panic, and genuine frustration in Gerry’s visage appears.
“You’re having a laugh.”