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Alex is leaning against a truck, his truck, brows casted inwards as if he’s contemplating more than he needs to in the middle of a parking lot of a supermarket.
Michael halts, grips his lunch in his hand as he obscures his presence as to think over what he should do.
He’s about to earnestly contemplate until a hand curls around his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Isobel peers over his shoulder, quick to grab him instinctively as he intuitively jerks back into the metal shank. He avoids a mishap of keeling back but his head on the other hand, is not immune to inconveniences.
“Jesus,” he growls, rubbing at his scalp as he grimaces at her, void of any ill-intent, “What’s happened to personal space?”
Isobel nudges him in the chest as she tilts her head as he had mere seconds ago.
Her mouth contorts into a wide ‘O’ as she nods understandably, “What did you do?” She’s accusatory as she crosses her hands naturally across her chest.
Michael snorts.
Right.
What hadn’t he done?
“Which one do you want to hear?” He says jokingly, coveting his gaze when Isobel reaches out to flick his temple.
“Ah-shit,” Michael snarls as he kneads his fingers into his aching flesh. He expunges his hand out from under her grip, “It’s a joke.” He reminds her, as if it wasn’t painstakingly apparent that when it came to Alex, it was always going to be matters of gravity.
Isobel’s not satisfied as she cuts to the chase, her charm which although alluring, it warranted serious consequences.
“Whatever you did, apologize. Whatever you think you didn’t do, apologize. Whatever you think you are going to do, apologize.” She’s brusque as she reaches into her clutch and promptly thrusts a 20-dollar bill into his curled fist.
Michael begins shaking his head, “I’ve got backup, Isobel.” He insists, only to have her deadpan as she rests her hand promptly on her hip.
“I know that look. And I also know, that look on Alex. So, if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push it. I just want to know if you are going to be okay.”
It’s almost rhetorical if it weren’t for the fact that she’s expectant as she studies him attentively. She doesn’t needle for a reply because they both were aware that it’s seemingly apparent of what his answer would have been.
“Have you called Max?” She asks instead.
He knows what’s to come so he slides the money into his jeans and gives a curt nod, as a manner of capitulating. So that he could avoid answering.
She gives him an awfully familiar reproachful look. The one where he’s done exactly what she’s expected he would do. The one where she has to wonder why she thought any different. “Call him.” She repeats, “Or I swear Michael…”
The threat is inherent.
He nods as she retreats in the opposite direction of him.
Michael doesn’t prepare much mentally as he makes his way towards his truck. He lowers his gaze but makes no effort to disregard Alex.
Because-
He inhales vainly.
Because, it’s Alex.
“Hi.” He offers first, as if that was strung along with ‘we’re good, all is forgotten’ and ‘I’m sorry’ because when wasn’t he.
Alex purses his lip, gives a curt nod.
“You need a ride?” He motions to him, dangling his keys out from underneath his grip.
He’s met with a plain ‘no.’
Michael has the urge to drop his gaze, to curl inwards and melt into the pavement just to avoid himself and this situation and everything. Instead he says: “Want lunch?” Offering the only burger he has and trying to overlook the churn in his gut that follows.
Alex raises his brow, contemplates saying something but clamps his mouth shut.
Michael’s skin starts to itch.
“What’s with the resounding silence?” He asks, diffidently. He throws on a quick grin as to diffuse the palpable tension but is met with an inscrutable expression.
Ah, shit.
“Alex-“
Maybe it’s the way Michael is unable to say Alex’s name without endearment, or the way he exhales animatedly as if he’s about to elaborate on something that hasn’t been asked of him, or because he’s a sentence away from losing all constraint-
But as soon as he says his name, Alex discloses a key from behind his back.
Michael peers down at it.
“What’s that?”
“A key.”
Right.
“To what?” He’s monotone as he asks.
“My brother brought a foreclosed property a couple of years ago. He’s done some renovation and furnished basic necessities into the place. There’s a furnace and a boiler so it’s warm. It’s a fifteen-minute ride into town and as off-grid as you can have around here. So,no one’s going to bother you.”
Michael blinks.
“It’s temporary,” Alex adds, “Until you find a place to move into. It just gives you enough time to, you know, find something.”
Michael looks back up at Alex, only to find him wearing an expectant gaze.
A silence ensues for about a minute, because he’s counting the seconds.
“I don’t think I should.” He ends up saying, walks over to pull the car door only to have Alex follow suit.
“You don’t think you should?” Alex parses over the word, “Why?”
Because it’s instinctive, Michael shrugs. Says nothing.
“Michael.”
There were numerous reasons not to. The most decisive being that it was a gesture that was borderline pitiful.
“I found a place to crash.” He lies through his teeth.
Alex grunts in skepticism.
“Where?” He prompts.
Michael maneuvers his way into his seat, careful as he goes to shut the door close behind him. A cane intercepts, Alex appearing dubious as he rests his hand on the side panel.
“Consider it like an Airbnb. It’s not free, Guerin. You’re going to have to pay for-“ he scrunches his nose, “the water,” he says, as if he’s mustered it out of thin air, “and gas,” he lists as if he’s being convincing.
“I can’t-“
Isobel was brusque, but Alex was unabashedly curt.
“It’s not a handout.” He says ultimately, as if he’s seeing right through Michael-as he always has. “So,” he drops the keys softly on the dashboard, “you can drop in whenever.”
Michael runs a hand helplessly through his hair, grunting as he puts the key into ignition.
Shit.
There were at least a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t accept. Why he has a notable chance of evading mindfuckery if he resisted until the bitter end. If he jammed his towering body into his commercial vehicle for the time-being.
But, as it had been, when it came down to it, as all things did when it came to Alex, he had no fighting chance.
“Text me the address.”