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“Yeah, so I told her about that idea you had - you know, the one about the filing system,” I turned toward Michael as I spoke. “Because it’s a way better way of going about things, organizationally speaking, and you know what she said?” I raised my hands in front of me to enunciate my words, briefly walking backwards to face the man at my side.
My companion kept up the stride I had set easily, his paper coffee cup clutched loosely in his palms as he watched my theatrics with a smile I had come to expect. A small, barely hidden and slightly toothy grin that he always tried to cover behind his hands - now hidden behind his drink. Our shoulders briefly bumped as he stepped further to our portion of the sidewalk to make space for a passerby.
“She said, and I quote, she said that the filing system didn't need to be changed because it was already ‘just fine’ to navigate around!” I turned my head to look up at Michael while making small air quotes, my mouth slightly ajar in disbelief. “Can you believe that? Does the filing system seem ’just fine’ to you, Michael?”
The blond ringlets around his shoulders momentarily shook as he laughed - a quiet, stuttering sound that sent heat to my face. Slowly the coffee in his hands traveled up and up, up to where he took a languid sip at it, where his lips locked onto the lid as he drank.
“No, I guess not, but what did you expect?” he finally asked, cup lowering back down. “She’s pretty set in her system.”
I watched as the early summer breeze loosely knocked at his curls, feeling like a creep for wishing I could have the chance to test how they felt in my fingers. Soft? Frazzled? They certainly looked soft but I honestly didn’t care if they were or not. But they probably were. Maybe.
“Yeah, well,” I forced my eyes to look at somewhere - anywhere else that was more acceptable to stare at, somewhere like where my feet were going, where his hands rested atop his cup, the way his fingers splayed just so-
My jaw opened and began pushing out words before the thought could continue. “You’d think maybe she’d at least, I dunno, take like some consideration into what we have to say considering we've been busting our asses off for her for…what? A year now?” I turned to Michael, flabbergasted, “oh, Jesus, Michael, has it already been a year?”
He took another long drink, looking at me from the corner of his eye as he hummed a sound of affirmation. A low ’mm-hm’ vibrating from his throat.
I groaned in exasperation, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
God, a whole year in the institute, it seemed all at once like too much and too little. Felt like more time should've passed, felt like too much already had. Part of it made me want to leave London altogether just to get away from it, get away from Gertrude and her secrets.
Minutes passed by quietly, the only sound between us being the crunching of shoes underfoot and birdsong in our ears as we walked - the morning air steadily becoming busy as everything began to wake up for the day. Ever so gently the rising sunrise caught and glittered into Michael’s hair, staining his blond head golden and turning him into a brilliant radiance. It seemed to turn him soft, take whatever small edge it could and fuzz it down into something smooth and gentle - which Michael already was so very much of. It caught me in a choke-hold so deep and sudden I couldn’t help the smile that broke upon my face, something that bubbled up and forced its way topside in such a visceral way I thought I might cry.
I didn't know when it had started, Michael and I’s outings together, but they had come on like a heavy rain, both so slow and sudden until - before I knew it - it was rolling into a proper rhythm. I barely remembered how we had even first started talking, something having to do with Gertrude, that's for sure, and then it had turned into doing casework together, then going out for coffee at the institute during breaks, then going outside of breaks…
And, just like any predictable bad sitcom - which I should have seen coming, should have anticipated in some sort of capacity - we had started having whole days out to ourselves and I had, pathetically, caught feelings. Which was bad. Very bad. Feelings and coworkers? Bad. But here I was, having gotten a shared caffeine fix and currently en route to my shitty five hundred square foot apartment that hadn’t seen a proper cleaning since last month with this very bad, no good coworker beside me.
I craned my neck toward Michael, unsticking my hand from my jacket and pointing a finger at his double deckered paper cup, “what even is that anyway? What did you order?”
He briefly looked at me before raising the cup in question to his eyes, “caramel macchiato, it's pretty good. Takes forever to cool down though.”
A quiet ’oh’ sound fell from my lips and I turned my focus back to our walkway, letting my hand drop back to my side, “I’ve only ever had the iced one before, also -” I twisted my head back to face him, “it’s summer, why are you getting a hot drink..?”
His face scrunched up into a mock defensiveness, “I just like it hot is all, plus it’s sweeter - stronger - not all of us like getting brain freeze.” The corners of his lips twitched up into a teasing smile before dropping into a look of realization. Before I could form a rebuttal or even squeeze out some sort of comeback he was shoving the cup into my hands with a hasty “here, try it! Then you'll get it and I won't have to spend ten minutes convincing you”.
Well, he had probably said it in a nicer way - a more Michael way, but I was entirely too invested in playing the newest and worst version of bootleg hot potato.
Momentarily the two of us stopped walking as I scrabbled to get a hold on the cup. Our fingers knocked together, knuckles clacking and hands clashing until I had finally established a well enough grip on the coffee to not drop it onto the pavement, saving myself from looking even more like a fucking idiot.
“Woah - woah! Hey, it’s got your mouth germs on it!” I finally said, finding my voice now that the crisis had been averted. “Also some type of warning would’ve been nice!”
Michael laughed again, apologizing in that quiet, polite way only he could do before resuming his stroll. “I’m sorry,” he began, turning to look back at me before continuing, “not like you haven't drank my ‘mouth germs’ before though.” He raised both his hands to make quick air quotes, eyes catching onto my own as I caught up to him. “Specifically all those times you stole my half eaten croissants.”
I gasped, pulling the coffee to my chest. “Hey, hey! Not fair, you weren't going to eat them!!” I started, faux hurt in my voice. “You had already left for the day! It’s not stealing if it was gonna go into the trash!”
Honestly I was half convinced he had started leaving them out on purpose just so I could have a small treat for when my shifts went late considering how often he had done it.
Mmm, no. Straight into the ’don’t think about it’ box.
A high, stuttering chortle fled from his lips as he laughed loud and long, his nose scrunching up slightly in humor. The sound had all the air rushing out of me like a squished balloon and I felt myself drawn to the noise, wishing and wanting it to last just a bit longer and feeling high knowing I had caused it. After a moment he sighed, the last traces of his laughter being breathed out as he gestured to the coffee still in my hand, “well, try it, won't you? I mean you don't have to if you don't want, I'm not gonna force you to drink it.”
The cup in my hands, now almost forgotten, was still warm as I looked down at it. Faint, crescent stains of coffee lined themselves in uneven ovals around the opening where Michael’s lips had already laid claim and I felt myself go weak. I pressed my own lips together, my mouth forming a thin line of anticipation and - fuck, it’s just coffee, there’s no actual good reason for why this should be such a big deal.
I brought the lid up, taking a hesitant sip from the cup all the while trying very hard to not latch onto the fact this was about as close to a kiss as I was ever going to get from Michael. Then trying very hard to not think about the fact I was thinking about that because it was depressing and weird. Said person in question watched me quietly, waiting for me to swallow and give my verdict.
And probably wondering why I was taking so fucking long and why I was being such a fucking freak about it all.
It was nice, just like he had said, but I barely even noticed what it had tasted like - too busy and caught up in…everything else that was not coffee. But, he was right, it definitely was sweeter, stronger - honestly better than the iced ones I had always gotten. Probably because it wasn't being watered down by the ice. Probably.
I told him as much, that it was nice, and handed the coffee back into his expectant hands with a lot more grace and tact than our first bout of exchanging, not wanting a repeat of that whole ordeal. He smiled lightly, a triumphant gleam seamlessly taking over his expression as he took back the cup, offering a cheeky “told you”.
The coffee rose to meet his mouth again and I hated myself just a little bit more at the twisting giddiness I felt when he took that next sip.
“So,” he turned to me, his blond curls catching the breeze slightly, “what movie have you got picked out for when we get to your place?” Idly one of his hands reached up to brush some wild strands of muted gold out of his face, clumsily fumbling to keep the hair out of his mouth as another rush of wind tousled it all over again.
Instinctively - or perhaps expectantly - I reached up and pressed the lock of hair behind his ear, pinning it before it could tangle up any more than it already had. My fingertips ghosted ever so slightly across the edge of his cheekbone, smooth and solid under where my skin met his and I felt myself set ablaze. His blue eyes met mine and immediately I snapped my palm back and away as if struck, my fingers feeling hot and warm, my face feeling sweaty and gross. All of me feeling dizzy.
And it was exhilarating.
“Thanks,” he spoke after a long moment. The word came out quietly, a just barely there whisper accompanied by the faintest ghost of a smile.
I backtracked - backtracked hard, my mind reeling through every possible excuse I could give for why I had just done something that like my life fucking depended on it. Anything to save me from whatever rejection or terrible thing that was about to fly next from his voice box to my ear holes. “Ye-yeah, don't need you going blind from your own hair,” air snorked nervously from my nose, “Gerry wouldn’t be able to shut up about that one!”
Michael’s mouth dropped open, an incredulous look on his face and for just a moment I thought that I’d gone and fucked it all up even more than I already had. But then he was laughing again, that sweet, weird laugh that was so unique to just him - a laugh that sounded so exquisitely and perfectly Michael.
Our feet shifted idly on the front steps of my apartment as I dug my keys into the lock, socking the key home and popping the door open with a muted click.
“Sorry about the mess, I knew you were coming but I’ve just been too busy,” I started.
The front door fell open and I stepped inside, turning to look at Michael over my shoulder as I spoke.
“That's alright, can't be any worse than the time you were marathoning that one drama series.” His hand briefly splayed across the hard surface of the door, keeping it propped open as he crossed the threshold. I watched, almost against my will, as his fingers - those fucking fingers - reached down until they pressed against the handle, pushing the door closed behind us.
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged my jacket off, tossing it against the back of the couch as I scrunched my face up in only partial apology. It really had been a mess, but I wasn't exactly completely sorry about it and I was pretty sure he already knew that. “Anyway, I know you've got your coffee still, but let me know if you need anything else.”
I toed my shoes off, flipping them into a corner near the door. Michael moved to stand near the counter, setting his coffee down and repeating my actions. As he did so one of his hands reached up to curl a lock of hair behind his ear, the yellow ribbons chasing his movements as he leaned downwards. The rest of his hair cascaded across his shoulders in thick fair waves, soft and twining and framing his face like a muted sun. He looked beautiful, quietly ethereal in a way I couldn't begin to understand. I wanted my hands on his face - in his hair, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted him closer.
I wanted to throw up.
Powerfully my stomach twisted itself inside out, going so far as to feeling like it was tearing itself straight through my skin. I felt myself mindlessly cross my arms into a tight tangle under my ribcage, the only half baked response I could think of in the moment to quell such a powerful debuff of my person. God, was he actually so pretty I was gonna throw up about it? Fuck, that’d be so embarrassing.
Suddenly his eyes flashed up and he smiled at me, a slightly toothy grin that flashed his crooked front teeth. I felt myself grow cold, go hot, felt all the breath rush from me in a great big crescendo as my hands went sweaty and shaky underneath my elbows.
“So, my turn to pick right?” he asked, standing upright and running his fingers loosely down the length of his hair.
I couldn’t understand what the fuck he was talking about. What were we doing? What? Pick what? Whether I was going to throw up or pass out? Throw up then pass out?
My brain stuttered and coughed and then finally caught up to speed and I anxiously scrambled to force my mouth to make the right words.
“Uh, yeah - yeah, I think so. I'm pretty sure I picked last time and it ended up being a dud, so like. Go for it.”
His face lit up into a proper grin as he brushed past me and towards the pile of tapes sitting strewn about in front of my TV, falling to his knees beside them. “Did Blockbuster have The Shining this time? I've been wanting to see that one for a while since Gerry told me about it and I know you like spooky stuff.”
I finally found it in myself to move from my imaginary pedestal, unfreezing my body and transferring from statue mode to a proper human capable of movement. My feet moved one in front of the other, slowly - as if trudging through a thick mucus - until I was leaning against the wall, overlooking the man currently scrounging through my collection of cassettes.
Michael dug around, though dug was an extreme over exaggeration considering the extreme care and fine precision he exuded as he gently stacked tape after tape to the side. He sifted through a few more before speaking up again, “they never seem to have it for some reason which means it's probably pretty good.”
“Or Gerry’s a liar,” I countered.
Michael made a noise that was his nice way of clearly implying that I could be right but he didn’t want to say anything about it. We both knew Gerry didn’t lie but he did have…significantly varying tastes compared to the more average person. Though, to his credit, he had yet to let us down in the movie department specifically.
Suddenly Michael let out a victorious ”a-ha!”, the film in question held firmly in one hand as he fisted it into the air and turned toward me.
“They actually had it?” he asked, face tilting up from the tape cover so he could look up at me.
His easy conversation made it a little smoother for my psyche to recover and I found my previous fluster dissipating. My stomach was slowly de-twisting itself and it no longer felt like I would upchuck at any given second. Normal. I just had to be normal. I was normal - super normal.
I shrugged my shoulders at him, smirking like I meant it - like it wasn't just some false bravado I pulled out of my ass, “I might’ve pulled in a few favors.”
We worked in tandem to boot up the movie; Michael powering up the VCR machine while I worked at switching the glitchy TV settings, fumbling repeatedly with the different channels that I could never really seem to figure out with a remote that only halfway worked.
After a few minutes of fussing with the system our efforts were rewarded with the blaring sounds of 1980's ads. Startled, we were both quick to jolt and I nearly dropped the buggy remote entirely out of surprise. Definitely for the best I didn’t because I was pretty confident that the fall, however short, to the carpet would have probably finished the thing off entirely. Honestly that probably wouldn’t have been much of a shock to either of us considering the thing had basically been coughing out its last bits of life over the last few months. More of a surprise it still worked at all actually. Quickly I adjusted the volume while smiling apologetically at Michael who shot me an open mouthed, wordless stare in response.
“Do you want anything before we get to the actual movie part?” I asked him, pointedly looking at the screen and trying my very best to not lay any more eye attention on him than necessary.
He slowly got to his feet, having recovered from the mini tinnitus attack, and stretched out his long limbs. In two long steps he was striding over and past me before falling down into the couch cushions in a tangled heap. “Just a blanket please, pretty set on everything else, thank you.”
Michael grinned up at me from his self proclaimed spot and I felt myself smile back. It was just so easy to smile around him - to get lost in his contagious whimsy, to just forget about everything and be consumed by all that was his quiet, joyous charm.
I reached past him to grab fistfuls of a blanket just out of his reach, unfolding and shaking it out before gently tossing it over his legs. “No snacks or anything?”
He shook his head, mumbling a small thanks as he reached down and tugged the blanket up and over his shoulders, curling into a ball that was made up of almost entirely legs against the arm of the couch.
I made to move and sit on the loveseat adjacent to where he was sitting, remote still in hand.
“Wait-” Michael. His voice was quick and cut through the drone of ads still rolling across the screen.
My hand fell to rest against the arm of the chair as I turned to give him my attention, “yeah?”
His lips pursed into a thin line and then just as quickly released, his eyes shifting awkwardly first to the side, then down, and then back up to meet mine. “You can sit on the couch…if you want?”
It had been a statement, and yet he had phrased it as a question.
An invitation.
My chest stuttered traitorously. Now, my couch was by no means small but it was certainly a far cry from spacious and I was…most definitely putting way too much thought into the meaning behind his words. Was this an invitation? An indirect approach towards asking for something…more?
I decided, very quickly and with a very strong finality, that it was not - and I was being stupid - was looking for something that was not there simply because I wanted it to be there, and this whole line of thought was bordering between very creepy and downright problematic. There was literally nothing worse than a friend taking your niceties and twisting them into flirtatious advances, which is exactly what I was doing because there was no fucking way Michael was flirting with me. Because why would he? I was just the weirdo he got coffee with and sometimes dragged around for a time filler because that's all I was - a distraction. Something to pass the time. Someone like him had no reason to like someone like me.
“Yeah, sure.” I replied, voice a little too high and a little too jittery to come off as anything but the sure tone I had been aiming for.
Michael moved his feet out of the way as I collapsed into the spot beside him, splaying his legs - Jesus fucking Christ, his fucking legs - across my lap once I had sat down. He reached one hand over the blanket and scrunched half of it my way, his success varying and slow going. Seeing this I moved one of my own hands to tug the cover the rest of the way to overlap the two of us, anything to help distract from the fact that his fucking legs were on the fucking me. Maybe not seeing them would aid to the illusion that they weren't there at all.
But I could feel them, could feel the heavy weight of his long limbs - which were honestly a little bony and digging into me a little - pressing against the tops of my thighs and I wanted nothing more than to just touch-
“This okay?” He was looking at me now as he spoke, quietly fiddling with the hem of the blanket at his chest.
I nodded, head feeling spacey and light as I got my micro doses of adrenaline for the day, which I imagined felt a lot like doing a line of coke. Certainly felt wired enough for it to be coke, with how shaky my muscles felt underneath my skin. All twitchy and strung out, pulled too tight like a rubber band ready to fly.
“You can, um, you can lay down too if you want,” he licked his lip quickly, tongue briefly flashing out to wet the skin in what I assumed was nervousness. Anxiousness? Over what - what was he anxious over? Then again Michael was always a little anxious, but not like this, not here.
It just didn’t make sense.
I felt myself reeling from just the notion of putting thought into his words, felt myself nearly becoming delirious with how soft his lips looked, felt as my mind absolutely put itself into overdrive and began the operation of shutting the fuck down as to not overheat because all of this was about to do me in. Before I could really think about what he had meant; if he had meant to lay against him or on my side of the furniture - it was really anyone's guess at this point, it would have been some type of spooning either way I supposed - I felt myself drop sideways and softly thud against his side. I landed awkwardly and stiffly, like a lukewarm freshly made corpse, and Michael immediately let out a garbled squawk of surprise. I followed his reaction up with falling off the couch entirely.
“Sorry - sorry, I’m so sorry, I don't know why I thought you meant-” I started, twisting my body and pushing myself up on my elbows to look up at him.
“No! No, I- “ he was scrambling to sit back up to get a better look at me over the edge of the couch.
We stared at each other, both flustered and quiet.
Quietly the TV droned on its random advertisements.
Michael’s hair slipped forward, partially framing the curves of his face as he looked down at me, his lips slightly parted, eyes huge and staring as he tried to fill the silence with something. Or I could only assume he was trying to fill the silence because that's exactly what I was trying to do, both of us failing stupendously.
I stood up, readjusting and mindlessly plucking at the bottom hem of my shirt, spitting out random and nameless noises as I tried to pick out what I could say to explain this or, God willing, move on entirely. Anything to avoid the shame and embarrassment of this rejection - the rejection I was sure would come any second now - I had somehow forced upon myself.
“Come back down.”
His voice was quiet as he spoke, muted blue eyes still wide but no longer alarmed. “Please, come back down,” he said again, somehow even quieter this time.
I felt my breath catch in my throat as I blinked stupidly at him. Slowly, so slowly, I felt myself lowering back down onto the couch, my legs first, and then when no resistance arose the rest of my body. I felt as my form slowly, hesitantly, terrifyingly curled around Michael’s. His hands, warm and kind, reached and splayed across the length of my back to stabilize my nervous body, effectively keeping me from falling off the couch all over again. Long fingers pulled and cradled me closer as he shifted back to make more room, a silent mockery of tug of war until we lay as a tangled pair flush against one another.
My heart drummed staccato beats against my skin, through the scope of my being, and I could feel his doing the same, our skin aflame wherever it touched. I felt unsteady with it all and could only bring myself to look at him with a great effort I wasn't sure I had but I had to be sure. Sure he was there, that I was here.
When my eyes finally found the drive to look up and into his face I found him already staring at me, his own eyes blown wide and his face red-hot with a deep flush. I wanted to speak, wanted to ask him what this was - what was happening, but felt my voice die in my throat. The thought of talking scared me, strangled me, as if opening my mouth and putting out sounds would be enough for him to realize this was a mistake. That this was a mistake or that he didn't mean it or that it was just some joke which would be quickly be followed up by him pushing me onto the floor and fucking leaving. Didn’t sound like something Michael would do, it’s not something he’s ever done - not that I knew. But yet I felt so sure of my impossible, unconfirmed convictions all the same and I wasn’t sure if that made me a bad person or not for thinking Michael would actually do any of those things. For thinking he would hurt me so terribly when he’d never been anything but kind. This only seemed to reinforce all the reasons I had lined up in bullet point form of why he wouldn’t want me in the first place.
And so I stayed silent, my throat closing up around itself and my lungs aching with a profound sadness over something I had yet to even confirm but was so sure of all the same because why? Why would he want me?
“Is…this okay?” Michael spoke for me, breaking the extended length of silence - the awful silence - his hushed voice slicing through the air like a sharpened razor.
“Yes, of course.” My voice warbled in my throat, my eyes stinging traitorously. Of course he wouldn't want me, but then what was all this? It seemed obvious enough, but I couldn't seem to accept the fact that it was what I was hoping because that answer was too simple and things were never that simple.
He must've caught sight of my watery face because suddenly he was pulling away, shifting up onto his elbows. “Woah, hey - it’s okay, we don't have to do this, I’m so sorry-” he was sputtering out words, already so apologetic when he hadn't even done anything wrong.
“No! No - no, I’m just,” I started, laughing wetly, scrubbing at my eyes, “I want this, I want…you. But, please. Please tell me I’m not misreading this whole thing and mixing shit up because I’m kind of freaking out about it.”
Michael relaxed a bit, his body slowly losing some of its string pulled too tight tension. “No, you're- No. I-” his voice cracked slightly on the word. “I want you too. I’ve…I have for a while.”
When I looked up again he was smiling, smiling so widely that it reached his eyes and set his whole still very flushed face glowing. It was a soft look; a charming grin that showed teeth and tilted his eyes and put dimples into the sides of his cheeks and sent my heart spilling into my throat.
“Michael?”
His hands jerked where they still lay spread across my back, “yes?”
My own hands crumpled into the soft fabric of the blanket and I pathetically prayed to whatever higher power there was that I could get my words out properly. “Could you kiss me?”
Slowly he angled his head, his smile now closed and a little smaller now but still wide enough as to raise the apples of his cheeks, and when his lips met mine it felt like gentle fire. A pleasant warmth ghosted the edges of my lips as I leaned against him, pressing the curve of my own mouth snug against his. It felt right, it felt good - it felt like coming home.
One of my hands combed into the tangles of his hair and I only barely noticed as he did the same. Closer and closer, my fingers twisting up into the fine waves of his blond curls. I had been right - his hair was soft. Silky and malleable underneath my skin as I rolled it between my hands.
Michael slowly pulled away, laughing in a not unkind manner as my lips followed after him. He pressed a quick kiss against the corner of my mouth before smoothing some of my hair to the side.
“Like that?” he whispered, his eyes hooded yet gleaming, happy - as far as I could tell.
I couldn't help but to return his selfsame smile back at him, my face warm and cheeks aching. “Like that.”
Hallways.
Circling hallways draped in thick carpet with sprawling rugs that made my eyes ache in the back of my skull.
Sinking.
I felt my feet sink into the floor, be sucked into it - consumed by it - felt the shag carpet grab and bite at my ankles. Had I always been in the floor?
No.
Yes?
I lay on my back, staring up at the shifting ceiling, watching in a twisted and numbed stupor as the colors shifted and merged, intertwined and became shades that had no name.
My body rolled and fell into nothing and I felt as if oil had been set upon my skin and drug through the dirt. I felt wrong, felt hot and weak, felt as if my being had been strung out and put back together in the form of a living fever dream. I couldn't figure out where I was, no - that wasn't quite right. I was here. I had always been here. No, that wasn't quite right either. I had never been here and I needed to leave. I was leaving. I was going to leave.
I was never leaving.
The carpet dragged across my skin like a thousand feathers, dancing across my arms in shimmering waves of technicolor. I spun my hands into the fibers of it, combing my skin through whatever it would let me touch, laughing and crying because of how both terrible and wonderful it felt.
not quite right not quite right not quite right not right not right not right
Above me
(below me?)
the ceiling swelled and rolled against itself, twisting into odd shapes and bending against its own framework - popping and moaning as doors and mirrors alike manifested at will in random places and strange angles.
When had I gotten here? How had I gotten here?
Something fissioned and scattered inside of a mirror beside me, far away from me, inside of a mirror that had never been there at all. A sputtering flash of bright cutting gold, the color of wheat stalks with the saturation set to max.
The floor underneath me tensed, writhed in excitement with the involuntary jerk of my body and tangled me down further into itself.
There had been a man - no, that wasn't quite it.(notrightnotrightnotright) There had been a thing that looked like a man - no. That wasn't it either. There had been a thing that had looked like a man if the man had been put together backwards. All static and bone with no finite form. He had been at the small local cafe downtown, the same one that always smelled of mocha and lilacs.
He had brought lilies, a whole cluster of fresh white ones that curled outwards, and as he stood up to greet me he had said they were for me. His smile had been fine enough, charming even, and there was nothing wrong with it. It was a perfectly nice smile except that it was too wide, that it had too many teeth, that it seemed to cut into his face like an angry wet slash.
It had been a perfectly nice, perfectly fine smile and it had made me feel…home.
And then this man, this backwards creature with too many teeth and a perfectly normal smile had placed his hand in mine and it had felt…wrong. As if someone had just dropped a small pile of sharpened spears into my palm. It had been heavy, with thin, spidering fingers that seemed to stretch on and on. But that was also wrong because I had been looking at, with certainty, a hand that was long, yes, but not long. Not like that. Certainly not heavy. He had had long fingers, pianists fingers, delicate and very much not those stretched out tapering fingers attached to a very much not heavy hand that I was definitely feeling. And yet, it had been heavy and it had been sharp.
He had leaned down, his blond hair framing the sharp fizzling edges of his face, and he had kissed my hand. Feather light and…everywhere. I could clearly see his lips against the back of my hand, ghosting over the topside of my knuckles, but I could feel his touch…everywhere. Against my cheek, across my eyes, the sides of my neck. This man, he had embraced all that was me with a kiss and…and I had known it. I had known it as if I'd felt it before. As if I'd always felt it.
And then this blond man with his waterfalling curls and too full smile and sharp heavy hands had stood - had stood and turned and suddenly there had been a door. There had never been a door there. Maybe there wasn't even a door then, but I had seen it and he had said it was mine and all I had to do was open it to see.
And I did see.
I saw as whatever I had seen or not seen in the mirrors that might or might not have been there barreled down the twisting, shapeless hallway. Twining itself with the shadows and the colors, taking shape and then all at once shedding it like a staticky skin.
It was near. It was far. I could feel it on top of me.
Its face fell down, spilled down to stare directly into my own, its branching blond curls draping heavily across its shoulders and falling into mine. Solidly, but not nearly solid enough, it planted its knees either side of my hips, stabbing its much too long legs into the floor and effectively trapping me between it and the carpet that quaked and shook. A jagged smile dipped and smeared across its face like an open wound filled with bone as one of its entirely too long hands snatched up to seize my jaw.
My mouth fell open but not to scream. Instead a gasp escaped me, a tiny sound in comparison to the constant, droning electric hum being emitted by the creature above me. That seemed to give it pause, it's too jagged, overlong spiraling fingers going ever so slightly slack against my skin.
The carpet below us shifted and swayed as this creature regarded me - considered me - its interest akin to the likeness of something bordering indifference. The sharp point of its nose nearly brushed mine as it further pressed itself near me, crowding me in.
“...come back down.”
The words had pushed up and out of its mouth like a whispering thunderclap. Its voice was beautiful and tiring and angelic and it hurt my head to listen to. I wanted to hear it again, wanted to feel whatever words it had to say press and knock against my brain and I-
I couldn't understand why it had said that.
Its face twisted and rolled up into an expression I could only assume it didn't understand why it had said that either.
All at once it was pulling away with the same grace and gravity of a receding tsunami. It made me want to cry. I snapped up and gripped its wrist between my fingers, nearly keening in desperate anxiety as its hand more or less melted through mine in a singular fluid motion. But instead it solidified, molded back into some type of tangible shape as my seeking limb seized onto it. I pulled it closer, pulled this strange and twisted branching appendage against me - felt as the edges of its fingers, fingers that were longer than my entire face, cut softly and sweetly into the elastic of my skin. And it did feel sweet, in whatever way that could’ve been possible, felt as if a knife made of flowers were carving my nerves to the side.
Its head was backwards and I watched as its face - his face - snapped back around to watch me, study me. Look at me like I was no longer just some interesting blank wall that had wandered into his home but instead a blooming canvas that had finally and truly spoken. His hand, still gently, tenderly stabbing into mine, curled around my fingers, overlapping several times over as they snaked and spun around my wrists.
The air fizzled and popped around us and he was leaning closer, closer, closer until his face was pressing against mine and he was smearing his mouth across my own and it was right and it was home and it was Michael. However it could’ve and couldn’t have been possible, it was really Michael.
Heavily his lips blended against my skin, this thing that both was and wasn’t Michael was once more kissing me everywhere at once and smothering me until I felt I might disappear and I wanted it. Closer still he pressed, his body phasing through and out of mine as he twined around my limbs, contorting his body just so. Closer still. Closer until I could feel his teeth in my throat, until I could feel his eyes against mine, until I could feel his lips kiss the very fabric of my being - until I could feel him remake me into a different song.
A high, stuttering, lilting laugh floated out of him and it was perfect and it hurt and it was lovely and it made me sick and I wanted to hear it forever.
He held my hands in his, held my self in him, whispered and shouted sweet things against the shell of my ear as he folded his frame against mine. The halls around us, ever shifting and ever changing, seamlessly slid down and down and down until I could no longer understand where we were, until I could only see what was in front of me. But it didn’t matter what was in front of me because whatever had been wearing Michael’s face between now and Sannikov Land was all around me, laughing and singing in addictive distorted pitches I both could and could not understand. Whatever had been around us, behind us, or whatever had never been - leaked and bled and blurred into an amalgamation of too many colors that formed shapes and objects I couldn't even begin to name. There was no point in trying anyway even if I could've known them, wouldn't have done anything for me. All that there was was Michael. Michael, who shifted and contorted into loose and sharp and soft gentle fractals with a smile so wrong and lovely that stretched the skin of his face. Michael - with gossamery hair that twisted and writhed and pulled the colors out of my eyes and replaced them with static. Michael - with a voice so pretty and suffocating and ethereal it made my chest sore and heavy and stole the words from my mouth and made them his. Michael - the same Michael who loved me, who brought me home and kissed me everywhere at once.
Michael…who was once a man but now not quite, who hurt my eyes with his backwards face.
“Come back down.”