Work Text:
Michael is halfway through their first sip of coffee of the morning when Sasha off-handedly mentions him.
“Oh, Michael? I saw your boyfriend by-” She’s only half-paying attention, blissfully unaware of the effect her words have until they make Michael audibly choke — cutting her off as she recoils in surprise. “Jesus Christ- are you alright?”
No. Definitely not, they inwardly panic. They’re thrown completely off-balance, thoughts spiralling as they reach about a dozen different conclusions all at once. Throughout their pitiful sputtering, Michael’s cheeks become the same temperature as the steam rising from their mug and Sasha kindly leans towards them to give them some solid pats on the back and help clear their lungs. They use the elbow covering their coughing as a subtle excuse to avoid her prying eyes as the word repeats in their head over and over again. Boyfriend. They know exactly who she’s talking about — in fact, the image of him had sprung to mind so quickly it had almost given them whiplash. Should they mention him? I mean, it really was him she was talking about surely? Sasha would never mistake Martin or Tim for their boyfriend, but saying his name aloud suddenly seems incredibly daunting, an unwilling confirmation. Michael’s throat still aches when they decide to play it safe, and they pray the apprehension doesn’t show on their face when they breathlessly question, “I’m- I’m sorry, who?”
Sasha must be able to hear how unconvincing their voice is, and Michael finds themself unable to meet her disbelieving stare — they concentrate on the laptop screen in front of them as they shakily defend themself, “He’s, uhm, not my boyfriend.”
She must assume Michael is joking or being coy, because she scoffs and shakes her head as she absentmindedly rocks side to side in her chair. Michael does the same, although it’s more because of an unforeseen onslaught of anxiety rather than any sort of whimsy. Her placating attitude makes their palms sweat as she says, “Sure he isn’t. You just happened to know exactly who I was talking about the moment I said it.”
Michael also wishes they had a better explanation for that, “I, uhm, I mean there weren’t many other options?”
Sasha might just be the worst person to have ambushed them with this conversation, only beaten by perhaps Tim. At least if it was Jon, or Gertrude, or even Elias then Michael could be confident that they’d protect their privacy and keep the whole thing to themselves. Sasha won’t spill everything to anyone, but she’ll tell Tim, and if she tells Tim then Tim will tell Martin, and Martin will- oh God, does everyone think he’s their boyfriend? Mercilessly, Sasha continues making good points, “Right. He just visits you basically every day at work because you’re very good friends-”
“It’s not- he also works here?” They argue, voice rising. Michael’s hands itch to fidget with a loose thread on their jumper, but they can’t give her any more ammo than she already has.
“Oh please, you know he despises this place. He’s definitely not coming in on his days off just to see Gertrude.” She scoffs. Now that Michael is really considering it, Gerry does seem to come around often even when he isn’t scheduled — but Sasha is wrong. Even if she’s bringing up things that Michael had never thought much of and perhaps seem a little suspicious to an outsider, that’s not how they are. They’d know. “He just happens to finish whatever he’s doing at exactly the same time as you, the perfect perfect opportunity to walk to the station together-”
“Gertrude is- she’s very nice, and they’re obviously close.” Michael tries weakly. “And so are we. As friends. Close friends.”
Privately however, they honestly hadn’t realised just how close. When Michael first began working at the Magnus Institute, a lot of things intimidated them — and Gerry was at the very top of the list. They had admired him in the safety of their own head, especially his ability to brush off others' opinions of him so easily, but they would have never said anything if he hadn’t talked to them first. Now of course the idea seems silly, and in hindsight Gerry is hardly the most unfriendly person in their place of employment — he’s actually very lovely when he isn’t, in his words, in a ‘shitty archive full of shitty people’. He is, by far, their closest friend. Sasha, Tim, Martin, and even Jon occasionally, are great of course, but Gerry is the only one who regularly checks in on them outside of work. He invites them to things, sometimes to the cinema or restaurants or just on walks, and they’re always the highlight of Michael’s week when he does.
“You’re… sure?” Sasha finally asks, dubiously, “Does he know that?”
“Very sure.” Michael sits up straighter, clearing their throat and attempting to focus once again on carefully wording the email they were writing before Sasha decided to drop that bomb on them. It was just a misunderstanding, they’re not going to agonise over it.
“Well,” She puts her hands up in surrender, “Okay then.”
—
While Gerry is completely certain that Gertrude is making no effort to hide her strange glances, every time he checks there’s only Michael behind him — working away diligently. Not an unusual sight considering it’s almost midday on a Monday.
He’s not sure what her problem is. Michael is doing their job and doing it well. They’re one of the best assistants she has.
When Gerry focuses again on his sort-of boss and sort-of maternal-ish (in a really distant way) figure, she’s letting out an annoyed sigh. He peers at Michael, not finding anything amiss, turns towards Gertrude, still displeased, and then again to Michael. Michael who, while occasionally tugging down the sleeves of their cozy jumper until it comfortably covers their palms again, has their entire focus on the screen in front of them. They’re doing more than Gerry at least, who’s meant to be concentrating on his own responsibilities but keeps getting distracted every few hours by bringing Michael a new cup of tea. They’re typing something, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard in a distinctly practiced manner that has almost managed to put him to sleep a couple times before. There are a few pesky strands of their curly blonde hair that continue to routinely fall in front of their eyes, but their gaze never leaves their computer and it’s left to hang there uncontested; they cast shadows on Michael’s freckled cheeks, making them seem more serious than normal, and Gerry accidentally finds himself staring for far too long before he finally snaps back to attention and pivots to face Gertrude.
She’s scrutinising him with clear exasperation, a sly eyebrow raised high. It’s an expression he’s unfortunately all too familiar with, the one that means ‘you’re being obtuse on purpose’ — except he’s really not this time. He looks briefly at Michael, but when he faces Gertrude again and the expression still hasn’t changed, something clicks. Gerry refuses to think about what he’s denying when he says, “I’m no-”
“Save it,” Gertrude stops him, tone firm in an uncomfortable reminder of his mother that always puts him on edge. His first instinct is to retaliate, to argue about whatever she’s about to say before the sentence even reaches his ears, but he valiantly holds his tongue. He hates when she tries to chastise him like this, especially in public. “Gerry, do remember that while you’re free to do as you like in your free time, you are currently here to do your job. That means you have to be present, not ogle-”
“Jesus, I’m not ogling!” His clamours loudly, unintentionally catching the attention of Michael — Gerry gives them a rare bashful smile before his face drops and he sets his glare on Gertrude.
Humiliating. He knows she’s getting old, but Gerry was hoping that she wouldn’t be going senile so soon — Michael is his friend. One of the only ones he has, and by far the closest. He does a brief scan and makes sure Elias, Jon or, God forbid, Tim, aren’t in listening distance before reiterating, slowly and more quietly than before, “I don’t ogle, we’re friends. Doesn’t surprise me you’re not familiar with the concept.”
“If that’s what you choose to believe.”
He scoffs, but the most miniscule bit of doubt seeps in as he happens to notice that Michael is once again working away unobtrusively. Has he actually been… noticing them more recently?
—
They’re agonising over it. Despite their best efforts, Michael can’t quite get past Sasha’s comment, and the past few days have been spent oscillating between trying to forget it and picking it apart meticulously. She assumed that Gerry was their boyfriend – why? Do they treat him like one? Is Gerry acting like one? Or is he just as clueless as Michael is- or was. They’re not exactly sure where the line between “close friends” and “romantic” even is, but surely Gerry would have said something if they crossed it so blatantly that even Sasha noticed? They get nauseous worrying over it for too long, but it’s as though the idea has seeped into their skin and made itself at home in every part of them. Not even their sleep is safe, and dreams of Gerry ‘jumping over the friendship line’, so to speak, plague them like an itch they can’t ignore. They can’t stop considering it, but they’re friends, right? Friends. Just friends.
So why is Michael’s heart beating so fast?
“Michael? You okay?” A voice unexpectedly asks over their shoulder.
Letting out an extremely undignified yelp, they jump out of their skin and almost knock their chair over on the uneven section of carpet below. It’s Martin who fortunately steadies them, glancing in concern between Michael and the empty document laying in front of them. They recover surprisingly fast but the embarrassment throws their thoughts into a dizzying spiral, and they scramble for an excuse for an accusation that doesn’t exist yet, “Yes! Yes, uhm, I’m fine. Just thinking. About work. That’s all.”
“Uh… okay. I was just making sure.“ Martin appeases, chuckling awkwardly. They’re a terrible liar, but he’s kind enough not to call them out on it and their legs bounce restlessly as he goes on, politely changing the topic. “Anyway, I was just coming by to say Gerry is outside- he should be coming to bother you soon.”
“Oh!” Relief floods their system, and despite everything the information does wonders for their mood. Michael grins at him. “Well then, I should probably get something done while I can.”
“I wish I knew the feeling,” Martin groans in response, “The only time I see Jon is when I’m bringing him tea, otherwise he’s just going on and on about deadlines and research and- well, work stuff. He’d never let me slack off- not that I’m saying you are- you’re doing great! I just meant- well, you know how he gets. No preferential treatment for me, I suppose.”
“Uhm, preferential treatment?” Michael prods reluctantly, dread nudging its way to the forefront of their mind.
They’re vaguely aware of… something happening between Jon and Martin, but it’s only because Gerry had whispered the ‘office gossip’ to them a couple weeks ago after catching the pair together in the break room. Apparently their ‘dancing around each other’ is ‘embarrassing’ and they’re ‘unbearably oblivious’, but Michael can’t say they’ve really seen anything — they don’t see Jon that often though, and he isn’t really one for conversation when they do. They can’t really imagine Martin liking him, but maybe there’s a softer side to him that they’re not privy to. It’s a bit more romantic when they think about it like that.
“Oh! Well, you know,” Martin starts cheerily, “Gertrude favours Gerry of course, then Gerry favours you-”
“Gerry favours me?” Normally Michael would be mortified at so blatantly and rudely cutting someone off, but there’s something a little more pressing on their mind currently. They pick at the skin near their nails as they wait for an answer they’re afraid they can already guess.
Martin must see the pure anxiety on their face, but is evidently unaware of the cause. “…Of course he does? You’re his-”
“I’m not!” They shout, before he can even get the word out. The sound seems to echo throughout the room tauntingly even though Michael knows it’s impossible, and their throat feels stiflingly tight. Martin’s eyes widen, and his gaze becomes pitying; it’s as if he knows something that Michael doesn’t as they frantically attempt to make their previous outburst appear less incriminating. “I mean, I- we’re not like… romantic or anything, if that’s what you meant. We’re just, uhm, friends.”
Martin glances around as if waiting for Gerry to pop up and refute them. He obviously doesn’t believe them, but he doesn’t push them on it. “Uh, okay! Sure.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and for some reason that only makes Michael feel worse.
—
Gerry doesn’t enjoy meetings with Elias on even the best of days.
Today is not one of those days.
Elias sits, high and mighty somehow despite being significantly shorter than him, across from Gerry in a manner that suggests he’s far too excited for the conversation they’re about to have. The way he’s looking at him puts Gerry on edge immediately, the same way it always does because Elias is a fucking freak. His eyes are strange, too knowing and too smug and too unfeeling — and his stare feels suffocatingly personal even with the distance between them. The only time Gerry catches even a flicker of emotion in him is when he’s in the same room as his equally awful husband or, for some reason, Jon. It's irritating and tests his self restraint like nothing else, but Elias is the boss of his boss so there’s not much Gerry can do.
“Gerard, so glad to see you’re doing well,” Elias begins, his smile widening just a touch when the lines between Gerry’s eyebrows deepen. “I’m sure you already have an idea about what we’re going to discuss, so let’s not waste time.”
“Perfect.” It’s the first and likely last reasonable thing Gerry will say if this is about his ‘destruction of company property’ or ‘inappropriate work attire’ again. “Go ahead. I have things to do after this.”
Like go see Michael.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re very eager to get back to doing your job, which we pay you for, but that’s precisely the problem unfortunately.” Elias’ tone pisses Gerry off, predictably, but he doesn’t actually know what the specific issue is this time. He knows he does his job well (when he does it), but he likes to think he hasn’t done anything particularly egregious lately. Elias seems all too happy to inform him of his misdeeds though, “See, the thing is, you've become far too distracted by a certain member of our research team. It’s clearly affecting your ability to complete your tasks.”
“Excuse me?” He blurts out, but his stomach sinks as one person immediately comes to mind.
“I’m sure you’re well aware of who I’m referring to,” Fuck you. “And while I’m certainly not against relationships between-”
“I’m not in a relationship with- with anyone.” He interrupts firmly, only stumbling over his words to avoid saying the name ‘Michael’. If he brings them up, it’ll only confirm whatever strange ideas Elias has about them. Not that it matters, since it’s none of his business in the first place.
“Yes, I’m sure you aren’t. Regardless, wasting company time is unacceptable, and while I know Michael is absolutely lovely-” Great, he said it.
Gerry is about to open his mouth and say some unsavoury things about the man who pays him and the sin of wasting of company time that he’s also guilty of, when the door behind Gerry cracks open and he becomes momentarily mortified at the possibility that Michael was behind it all along and had heard the entire conversation.
“Darli- oh.” Thankfully, it’s just Peter Lukas. Gerry does his best to hide the way his breath hitches when he exhales, and he’s pretty sure that this is the first time he’s felt genuine joy at seeing Peter Lukas’ face and not almost anyone else’s; although the older man doesn’t quite falter, his smile becomes much more plastic and rigid as he recognises Gerry’s presence in the room. Peter doesn’t really like him, as much as he can like anyone outside of Elias or maybe Martin on a good day, but that’s perfectly fine with Gerry — he doesn’t like him either. He looks at Michael too closely sometimes, and gets weirdly talkative about his boring fucking boat considering how reserved he is normally. His voice sounds hoarse as he greets him artificially, “Gerard, how wonderful! Great to see you.”
A lie, and not even a decent one. “Sure it is.”
“I’m working, Dear.” Elias swiftly scolds. He appears begrudgingly upset that his ambush on Gerry had been disrupted; his lips purse, but Peter seems entirely unaffected by Elias’ attitude and stands patiently by the half open door — Gerry is a little shocked at how quickly Elias gives in and turns to him though. “That being said, Gerard, I do believe that’s enough for today. I’m sure you can infer the rest. You’re free to go, but do please remember what we talked about. Have a good evening.”
Gerry literally jumps at the chance, making sure to leave some decent space between himself and Peter Lukas as he’s leaving (which the jovial man seems incredibly satisfied with).
The topic follows him out of the room though. Why does everyone keep bringing up Michael to him? It’s not a big deal; just because Gerry occasionally thinks about how pretty they are, or their admirable, if not slightly worrying, loyalty, or their incredibly charming and uplifting personality, doesn’t mean Gerry is suddenly — oh.
Oh.
—
It’s rare that almost everyone is in the same room together. Gerry normally just comes and goes as he pleases, and although Sasha, Tim, Jon, Martin and themself can reliably be found somewhere in The Institute, they are occasionally sent out on trips on its behalf. Gertrude will also leave every so often, but more sporadically and for longer periods of time while Elias seems to be permanently joined at the metaphorical hip of the building itself. Michael has never seen him enter or leave through the front doors, even though they know logically that he must since he’s wearing a brand new suit every day. They wouldn’t put it past him to have a wardrobe somewhere, though.
Regardless, they can’t help but relish in the moment as everyone gathers around the table in the break room, Jon fussing over some papers as Martin looks kindly over his shoulder.
It’s really simple to see actually, now that they’re looking for it. Jon’s tense, but his mouth remains firmly closed as he refrains from making any comments on Martin’s clearly lacking research skills — a truly impressive feat for him — and Martin stays calm and steady, not taking Jon’s reserved nature to heart and sporadically throwing out half-hearted suggestions before ultimately just telling him to take a break. Jon listens, despite his grumbling, and it’s so obvious. They’re not sure how they missed it for however many weeks or months they’ve clearly been infatuated with each other.
Are they that obvious? Michael shakes their head to rid it of the wanted thought, but it’s already raising their heart rate and making it impossible to focus on the topic of conversation; something about Gertrude’s retirement (she seems to be stubbornly sticking around purely to make Elias’ life more difficult).
They wonder if they’ve been looking at Gerry that tenderly the entire time — if he’s seen it. If he knows. If everyone in this room knows.
“Michael, you okay?” They tense, shoulders raising in preparation for another uncomfortable intervention about their feelings for Gerry, but it’s just the man himself. They physically deflate and nod quietly, their eyes moving from person to person. Tim is slyly watching them out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be engaged in his conversation with Sasha when Michael catches him. Are they talking about them? Are they looking at them in the same way they’re looking at Martin and Jon? They don’t notice Gerry’s dissatisfaction with their answer until he asks kindly, “Want to step outside for a bit? It’s too warm in here for me.”
He’s right — their jumper feels scratchy, stuffy in the oppressive atmosphere and tight in all the wrong places; getting some fresh air sounds heavenly. “Yeah- yeah, uhm, thank you.”
Michael shyly follows Gerry out and ignores the glances that everybody in the room seems to send them the moment they do so. He holds the door for them, and it’s troubling how hot their cheeks become even as the frigid autumnal wind hits them. They can see their breath when it exits them.
“Thank you,” They repeat again, clearer now that they know there’s no listening ears. “It’s, uhm, it’s nice to see everyone- it’s just a bit… much.”
“Course, there’s a reason I only ever visit you in this God forsaken place.” He responds casually, as if he isn’t making Michael’s affection for him swell uncontrollably with every caring word. They shift on their feet, and Gerry leans against the concrete wall as he painstakingly attempts to light a fag while also protecting it from the breeze. He gets it eventually and politely faces away from Michael, making sure the smoke travels in the opposite direction of them. The near-silence is peaceful, but they don’t miss it when he says, “It’ll be weird when she leaves, you know.”
For a moment, Michael has absolutely no idea what he means — then they realise he’s talking about Gertrude; her imminent retirement.
“Mhm. She’s, uhm, a really nice boss. I’m going to miss her,” Michael replies sincerely. They realise immediately that Gerry isn’t going to let that statement go uncontested, but there’s a brief period where all he does is stare incredulously at them — his expression is so full of genuine doubt and scrutiny that Michael doesn’t barely lasts ten seconds before laughter comes tumbling out and they hasten to defend themself. “She is! She’s a sweet old woman, she’s harmless- honestly, half the stuff you tell me about her is probably lies. I mean, there’s no way she really told Elias-”
“It’s not, I swear! Don’t believe whatever she’s said to you- she’s ruthless.” Gerry grins, tugging absentmindedly at the piercing on his bottom lip.
It sucks all the oxygen out of their lungs when they catch him doing so — an innocent habit that Michael has only recently become aware of but is becoming increasingly more distracting every time their eyes happen to wander down to that part of his face. They feel… like they’re lying to him, somehow. And like they’re betraying him. Michael forces themself to lock their eyes on a freckle near his eyebrow that he always misses with his foundation, reminding themself that Gerry is their friend as he laments, “Sasha better make his life miserable. It’s the only way I’ll be able to stand working here for another year.”
“I’m sure she’ll do a great job,” They laugh, humouring him before really considering his words. “Why do you stay though, if you hate this place so much?”
Gerry huffs, smile straining in a way that’s unfamiliar to Michael’s eyes. His serious reaction makes them panic a little at the possibility they might have upset him, but he must see their worry and shakes his head; after inhaling a nicotine-filled breath, he softly says, “It’s not- nothing really that serious. I just… I don’t know- wish my life was a bit different, sometimes.”
It probably shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. He’s always complaining about his job, and there’s been a couple times that Michael had seriously thought he might walk out the front doors and never come back; but him saying it aloud makes it feel so much more inevitable than before. It’s not a bad thing, not at all, but sweat beads on Michael’s temple the longer they consider it. He’d be leaving. They’re not sure why the concept frightens them so much. Michael enjoys their role, sure, but they’d never begrudge Gerry for feeling unsatisfied — it’s definitely not a position that most people would want to be in. They don’t know exactly what Gerry is always out doing for Gertrude, but it’s boring, and repetitive, and in Gerry’s own words ‘sucks the life out of him’. They wouldn’t blame him in the slightest for wanting to leave. So why are they getting so flustered? They can hear their heartbeat in their ears drumming away wildly, and they don’t even realise how much their thoughts have spiralled until they’re already tangled up in them.
Then, out of nowhere, “Not you though, you can stay.”
So simple, the words cut through Michael’s panic and halt it completely — and simultaneously they have the sudden, daunting realisation that their issue isn’t Gerry leaving The Magnus Institute, it’s him leaving them.
They like him. Of course they do, it’s so obvious.
—
Michael lets out a long sigh as they finally let themself slump over their computer. They wouldn’t ever call themself a ‘lazy’ or ‘slow’ worker, but in the past few days they’ve been getting more done than they normally do in a fortnight.
Distracting themself is easier when there’s no time for thinking.
“You look terrible.” They hear unexpectedly, too closely resembling the interaction they’d had that night and nearly making them physically flinch, but despite their ruminating it’s impossible for Michael to fight the smile off their face as Gerry approaches them. His footsteps are soft, as if he’s walking lightly on purpose so as not to disturb them, and although Michael doesn’t raise their head they do turn so that they can see him while pushing some of the hair obscuring their vision out of their face. He looks a little different; they’re not entirely sure why but the pale foundation he normally wears seems thinner, and without it they’d imagine he looks as exhausted as they evidently do.
His hands come to rest near some of their unruly tresses, slender and calloused and inviting. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep they’ve been getting, but the urge to hold it makes their fingers twitch. They’re obviously not thinking clearly when the next words leave their mouth:
“Gerry, are you… my boyfriend?”
“What?” He immediately responds, his eyes wide.
Michael, as though they’d just been violently shaken out of a hazy fog, feels an overwhelming sense of dread washing over them. Why did they say that? Why did they say it like that? Humiliation and immediate regret make themselves known in the colour on their cheeks frighteningly quickly, and they force themself to sit up even as their bones feel limp. Gerry is staring at them, lips parted in open surprise as he gapes at them. They can hear the shake in their own voice, mind scattered and frenzied and rushing to stutter out anything at all, “Uh, nothing- no, it's fine, I’m so sorry- Sasha, uhm, she said something the other day, then Martin was going on about- it’s nothing, I’m really sorry for asking you that. It’s unprofessional and I-”
“It’s fine, Mi-”
“No!” They blunder, hardly hearing him over their own mounting panic, “Honestly I don’t even know what came over me, I’ve just been really-”
He stops them by reaching for their hand with his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Their rambling can’t come out even if they wanted it to, stuck in their throat as it is — and they’re not sure how to explain to him that he’s only making their legs grow more and more restless from unspoken nerves. “It’s okay. Seriously. Honestly, people have been- I don’t know, saying stuff to me as well. Elias even pulled me into my office, isn’t that weird?”
The first inklings of curiosity begin stirring, and although their previous anxieties aren’t forgotten, Michael does manage to somewhat put them to the side, “E-Elias did? That’s, uhm, that’s quite strange. I don’t remember the last time he asked to see me in his office.”
“That’s because you’re perfect,” Gerry laughs, unaware of the effect his teasing has on them as butterflies swarm Michael’s stomach in a nauseating flurry. They feel like they’re on the most disorienting emotional rollercoaster. His stare feels like it’s burning a hole straight through them, engulfing them all at once but dissipating just as quickly when Gerry’s eyebrows unexpectedly come together in a rare expression of embarrassment. “No it was- it was nothing. He does that stuff all the time, he was just trying to get on my nerves.”
Michael doesn’t know actually. The longest conversation they personally had with Elias was their interview, and aside from brief compliments on a job well done he mostly keeps his distance. Michael honestly found him pleasant in their few and far between encounters. They try not to make their prying too obvious, “You sound a bit more upset than usual, though.”
“I just don’t want him involved in my personal life. He’s my boss, it’s fucking freaky.” He groans, as if even thinking of Elias is physically painful — and there’s no denying the sympathy that wells up inside them hearing that. Michael is intimately aware of their nosy coworkers, but as they unconsciously drum their fingers against the wood of their desk they’re once again shaken out of their musings by Gerry huffing. He sways idly on his feet, and Michael notes that even though he seems like he’s got an unwieldy rant just itching to be spoken aloud, there’s something determinedly holding him back. They watch him patiently until he goes on, voice sounding unsure as he says, “I don’t know, maybe- no, it’s nothing.”
“Hm?” They hum, curious; but Gerry isn’t even looking at them now. He seems lost in thought, fixated on Michael’s face and biting his lips again — they resolutely ignore that and let themself believe that their shoes are much more interesting.
Their legs bounce, their gaze drifts, and there’s absolutely nothing that can prepare them for when Gerry does finally say:
“Do you… want… me to be your boyfriend?”
Michael freezes, jittery motions abruptly ceasing as their surroundings seemingly pausing also; the creaking of their chair is gone, and the rain pattering against the window is distant and inconsequential. There’s a long pause as the entire room feels like it’s holding its breath alongside them, and Michael’s fingers suddenly feel cold. The surprise must be so painfully obvious with their mouth opening and closing around nothing like a fish out of water, but Gerry doesn’t say anything — he doesn’t justify anything even as his words and Michael’s reaction to them makes the atmosphere unbearably stifling. He swallows.
They don’t know how to tell him that he already feels like their boyfriend.
“I think, uhm, if you- if you want to be then… you probably already are?” It doesn’t feel like the right thing to say, but Gerry’s shoulders visibly slacken.
He smiles, restrained but with a giddiness that’s infectious and everything around them resumes; Michael can only admire how easy he makes things. It’s like he somehow understands what they mean without any of the awkward explaining, and his confidence seems to have been bolstered as he leans across their desk towards them. All of their feelings of doubt and self-consciousness and fear are dispelled the minute he grins and says, “Then I should probably take you out soon- if I’m your boyfriend.”
After a moment of fleeting hesitation, they reply so softly it’s almost a whisper, “You probably should.”
Gerry leans close enough that his breath fans their cheeks, his arms folding but hands reaching for Michael’s. With the minimal space between them, Michael can feel the heat of his body and his skin brushes against theirs so gently that they start questioning if they’re dreaming, “And is there anything else you’d like from me? Your boyfriend?”
Apparently he enjoys saying that word.
“You, uhm,” Their palms go clammy, and the eye-contact they’re forcing to avoid looking at Gerry’s lips is borderline masochistic. “You-”
The creaking of a door is the only warning they get before they’re made aware of their onlookers.
“I told you! I told you they were together the whole time,” They hear a voice shout, full of conviction. Michael almost knocks their chair over in their scramble to part with Gerry — and when they swivel around, standing there shamelessly is their fellow researchers and unfortunately, their boss. Sasha raises a single eyebrow, an exasperated expression that Gertrude matches while Tim looks smug, hands on his hips as he turns towards Martin. “They were just fucking with us- I told you Michael could lie. I knew it.”
They stutter, flustered and overwhelmed and with a correction on the tip of their tongue until Gerry shrugs and grabs their hand, holding it high dramatically. “Yup. You caught us. We’ve been together the whole time. Isn’t that right, Michael?”
They feel like their brain has taken a spin in a washing machine, but nod along with him while giving a wobbly smile to their audience.
“Mhm. Together the whole time.”
Even to their own ears, it doesn’t sound entirely unbelievable.