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psychooomind · 1 month ago

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Flickering Lights

Michael Gavey x singer!reader

Summary: Michael and Violet come from completely different worlds, but when their paths cross at university, an unexpected connection sparks between them. As their relationship deepens, they must navigate secrets, misunderstandings, and their own fears. Can their love overcome the odds, or will the time put them apart?

A multi-entry, slow-burn, friends to lovers fic.

You can also read it at AO3 here.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Chapter 3: Picture me

The Mathematical Analysis classroom was filled with tension. The students, mostly seated at the front of the room, were focused on the equations being solved before them by their peers.

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It was a fierce competition, and everyone knew about the rivalry between Michael and Victor, two of the top students. They were duelling, solving the equations in two different ways. Victor had chosen the substitution method, solving both the integrated function and its derivative, while Michael had opted for the Taylor method, solving the equation with an infinite sum.

Michael was the first to finish, pleased with himself for having beaten his rival, but as he defended his equation, it was Victor who, with a confident smile, presented his solution method more clearly.

Once he finished his presentation, the young man sat down. Michael, with a serious expression and his gaze fixed on the notebook, reread his exposition, concentrating on speaking in front of his peers.

“…and that is why this approach allows the integral to be expressed as an infinite sum of terms that can be integrated individually,” Michael explained. “Although it may seem more abstract, this method is useful in situations where it is not possible to find a closed-form solution using traditional methods,” he added, adjusting his glasses on his nose again. “Thank you,” he murmured, looking at his classmates and his professor, who smiled at him.

“Very well explained, Gavey,” the man complimented as he moved to sit at his desk.

Victor, on the other hand, looked at him irritably and decided, in an act of pure provocation, to ask Michael quick-fire questions, as if playing ping-pong.

“Don’t you think the Taylor method is an unnecessarily complicated approach for this equation?” Victor said, his expression serious. “And what do you think about the difference between using a direct numerical approximation and developing infinite series? Do you really understand those subtleties, Michael?”

The questions kept coming, and with each one, Michael began to feel more uncomfortable. Victor’s mocking tone was getting on his nerves, and although he tried to keep his composure, his colleague’s words were starting to overwhelm him.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Victor. I don’t like being underestimated,” Michael muttered, his anger beginning to show on his face.

Victor, with a defiant gleam in his eyes, kept challenging him. “Are you saying you don’t understand it? Maybe your approach is too rigid to grasp the flow of the theory. Or is it that you just get stressed by the questions?”

The murmurs of the classmates grew louder. Michael tried to remain composed, but something about Victor’s attitude was making him explode on the inside. The competition had somehow left him trapped in a maze of doubts and insecurities.

“Enough!” the professor exclaimed, approaching Victor’s seat. “This discussion ends here, before it gets out of control.”

They both fell silent. Michael couldn’t take his eyes off Victor, who smiled at him with that typical arrogance, as if the argument had been a victory for him. After a moment of calm, Victor approached Michael, letting out a sigh.

“You’re such a weirdo,” he said quietly, extending his hand to Michael as the professor had instructed, in a gesture of peace. He’d said it loud enough for Michael and a few classmates nearby to hear.

Michael spent the rest of the class glaring at Victor with contempt. The comment had struck a nerve.

When the lesson ended, the young man gathered his things, while one question resonated deeply in his mind: Would Violet think he was a weirdo too?

After class, Michael locked himself in his room, studying and reviewing for his exams. He had also gone to the secretary’s office to collect the package his mother had managed to send him. Michael had spoken to her on the phone, and she had sent him his grandfather’s camera and a ton of chocolate bars. The camera was covered in dust, so he spent most of the morning cleaning it, hoping to use it for the photoshoot he had volunteered to help with for Violet’s band. But by midday, Michael began to have doubts about whether it would actually happen.

Maybe Violet had changed her mind; perhaps she didn’t want him to be the one to take the photos and had found a more suitable photographer for the occasion.

Michael checked his MySpace profile, but there were no new messages from her. The same was true on his phone. Maybe Violet had grown bored of talking to him, maybe she didn’t even want to see him again. But then, why had they been texting almost every day? Why had she even sought him out and added him on MySpace? He reread her last message on the platform, where she had sent him a “rest well :p” the night before.

As Michael was reflecting on their interactions, he received a new message from her:

Violet: hey sorry for disappearing, I was studying for a linguistics test

Michael: hey no worries :)

Violet: u wanna meet up tomorrow morning? u could come to my place & we can try some angles before meeting the crew

Violet: gotta keep our secret safe u know ;)

Michael: sounds good, I'm in!

Violet: awesome, see u tomorrow, Gavey! :)

Michael: see u :)

Despite the tense day in class, Michael went to bed that night with a spark of excitement after talking to her. The fact that Violet wanted to spend time with him, outside of classes and away from her friends, thrilled him more than he cared to admit.

They met at the flat. Michael arrived nervous, trying to control the trembling in his hands. The last thing he wanted was to run into Victor, Violet’s brother. He wasn’t sure if she had mentioned anything about the photoshoot, and the idea of Victor mocking him in front of her made him deeply uncomfortable. To his relief, it was Violet who opened the door with a broad smile.

“Hello, Gavey!” she greeted him, radiating joy.

Michael couldn’t help but return a slightly awkward smile, almost as though he were copying hers.

“I’m glad you came early. I made tea for us both,” Violet said as she invited him to climb the stairs of the building.

He followed her without hesitation, feeling a bit more relaxed.

“Victor went out to train, so we have the flat to ourselves for about... forty minutes,” Violet said, stopping at the door and turning to look at him with a conspiratorial smile. She then gestured for him to come in with a gentle wave. “Afterward, we can leave before he gets back and meet up with the others. Does that sound good?”

The flat was spacious and bright, with a large window that dominated the living room and a balcony that let the breeze in. The daylight bathed every corner of the room, where two two-seater sofas faced each other along the walls, framing a modern TV in the centre. To one side, a wooden table with four chairs occupied its place, with a solitary ashtray as the only object on top.

From the other end of the room, a hallway led off, which Michael observed with curiosity. From there, he could see three doors, probably the bedrooms. Beyond them, the kitchen gleamed even more, flooded with natural light that intensified the warmth of the space.

Michael realised the living room was almost the size of two university dorm rooms combined, which made him feel a little more intimidated by the surroundings.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Violet said with a carefree smile, pointing to one of the sofas.

Michael complied, placing the camera case on the sofa before sitting down. As he did so, Violet asked from the kitchen:

“How do you take your tea?”

“Just plain?” he replied, unsure, wondering if that was the right answer.

“Oh, how boring,” Violet teased lightly, letting out a chuckle before disappearing behind the kitchen door.

Michael sat rigidly, not quite knowing what to do. His thoughts began to wander: this was the first time he’d been at a girl’s place, and more importantly, completely alone. Did this mean something? Or was he misinterpreting everything?

Before he could resolve his own dilemma, Violet returned with two cups of steaming tea on small saucers. The citrus aroma from her cup filled the room, giving it a cosy atmosphere. She sat next to him on the sofa, so close that Michael could feel the warmth of her body.

“So...” she began, sipping her tea calmly. “Want to show me your camera? I’ve got some ideas to make you look like a real professional.”

Michael, with an awkward effort, placed his cup on his lap and handed her the camera, trying not to spill the tea in the process. Violet let out a spontaneous laugh as she saw his manoeuvre.

“Don’t try so hard,” she said, leaning towards him to take the camera directly from his hands, brushing against him lightly.

“It’s a bit old,” Michael admitted, looking down. “Sorry, it’s the best I’ve got.”

“It’s perfect, Gavey,” Violet assured him as she turned the camera on. She then raised the viewfinder and aimed it at him. “Smile!”

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, bewildered.

“Taking your picture, obviously.” Violet laughed, and before he could protest, the flash blinded him momentarily.

“Hey!” Michael exclaimed, quickly reclaiming the camera. He placed it out of Violet’s reach as she pretended to protest with a pout.

“I don’t want to fill up the roll with my horrible face, thanks.”

“Oh, Gavey...” she challenged him, rolling her eyes. “Stop talking nonsense. You’ve got an angular face, it’s perfect.”

Michael felt his cheeks burn.

“Yeah, sure...” he mumbled, looking down.

“I mean it, Michael.” Violet placed her hand on his knee and gave it a warm squeeze.

He looked up, only to meet Violet's eyes, which were watching him with a softness that made his heart skip a beat. However, before he could react, she sighed and stood up.

Michael remained still, his mind racing. Why would she tell him his face was perfect? Was she messing with him? Maybe she had stepped out of the room to prepare some prank or to call her brother and laugh at him.

When Violet returned, she was holding several magazines.

"I've marked a few pages with photos we could use as inspiration," she said, handing him the magazines with a confident smile.

Michael flicked through them quickly, trying to absorb any information that could help him learn something he had never done before: taking photos with a purpose.

Meanwhile, Violet observed him closely, noticing how he anxiously moved his knee each time he turned a page.

"I can tell them you can't do it; it won't be a problem..."

"No!" Michael exclaimed almost without thinking. "I mean, no. I'm a man of my word."

Violet looked at him surprised for a moment before a smile appeared on her lips.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Michael adjusted his camera and gestured towards Violet, signalling that they could start with the poses they had planned. He carefully took several shots, making sure to show her the results after each one.

"Wow, Gavey, you’ve got talent," Violet said, reviewing the images on the screen. "You’re picking up the art of photography quickly."

Michael smiled shyly, pleased with her approval.

"Shall we go meet the others?" she asked as she grabbed her coat and bag.

Violet and her friends had decided to head to Cowley Road to photograph some graffiti and urban scenes. When they arrived at the meeting spot, the girls greeted Michael enthusiastically, laughing and making cheerful remarks. As usual, he followed them in silence, observing how Violet interacted with the group. He was fascinated by her natural way of speaking, the warmth with which she hugged her friends, and how their laughter seemed to fill every corner.

As Violet posed in front of a colourful mural, Jessy, the most extroverted of the group, noticed how Michael was watching her.

"Hey, Michael," she interrupted playfully. "Did you know you have to focus on all of us, not just Violet?"

Michael felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"I’m just... taking photos," he muttered, trying to hide his discomfort.

"Jessy, leave him alone!" Walda intervened, giving Jessy a friendly pat on the back.

Jessy raised an eyebrow sceptically but didn’t press the issue. It was clear to her that Michael was smitten with Violet, even if he tried to hide it.

Later, as the group explored more of Cowley Road, Michael and Hannah, one of Violet’s friends, started a conversation that quickly turned into an argument.

"Did you know that Einstein, despite being a genius, was also a sexist?" Hannah said, her tone challenging.

Michael stopped, surprised by the comment.

"That’s not true," he replied, his voice tinged with irritation. "Einstein had conservative ideas, but that doesn’t make him a sexist. He was a man of his time."

"That doesn’t excuse him," Hannah insisted, crossing her arms.

The conversation heated up, and in a moment of frustration, Michael made a remark that sounded more arrogant than he intended.

"Maybe the problem isn’t that you're a woman, but that biology is too much for you," he said, with a smug smile.

The group fell silent, and Violet raised an eyebrow at him, clearly taken aback by his words.

"Are you spending too much time with Victor, Gavey?" Violet asked with a mischievous smile, though her tone made it clear she disapproved. "You’re acting just like him when he’s wrong."

Michael felt a knot form in his stomach. He knew Violet was right; he had overreacted, just like Victor did when he tried to impose his views. Realising his mistake, he stepped closer to Hannah, who was looking at him with obvious annoyance.

"Violet’s right," Michael admitted, lowering his gaze with a regretful air. "I’m sorry, Hannah. I’ve been rude and condescending."

Hannah studied him for a moment before offering a small smile.

"It’s all good, mate," Hannah murmured, though with a slight teasing grin. "Just don’t be a cunt."

Michael exhaled in relief, while Violet, behind him, carefully collected her punk accessories and put them in her bag.

"You're passionate, Gavey," she teased, giving him a playful look. "But tell me, why are you studying mathematics?"

Michael shrugged, answering almost without thinking:

"Because I'm good at it."

Violet looked at him with curiosity, as if expecting more.

"Is that it?" she insisted, tilting her head, intrigued.

Before he could respond, Walda intervened with a challenging smile, adjusting her sunglasses as the group prepared to head back to the station.

"How good are you?" she asked, her tone suggesting she was testing his confidence.

Michael lifted his chin, determined to prove his skill.

"Very good," he assured them, looking at each of them with a confidence he didn't usually display. "I can solve any calculation in my head. Try me, go on."

Jessy was the first to take him up on it, crossing her arms and throwing a random sum his way.

"Okay, tell me what 34 times 5 is."

Michael took barely a second.

"170."

The group fell silent, impressed. But soon, as they walked towards the station, the girls started challenging him with more calculations: additions, multiplications, complicated divisions. Each time Michael answered correctly, the murmurs of astonishment grew.

"That was quick!" Walda exclaimed, looking at him with admiration after he solved a particularly tricky problem.

"You're amazing, Gavey," Violet said, her eyes sparkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. "You're a real genius. Now I understand why it's your passion."

Michael looked down for a moment, trying to hide how much Violet's compliment affected him. He smiled, grateful, but when he looked up again, she was still watching him with that expression that made everything he did feel worthwhile.

"Thanks," he murmured, with more sincerity than he expected.

For him, mathematics wasn’t just numbers on a page or problems to solve. It was his way of making sense of the chaos in the world, finding patterns in what seemed random. But few people seemed to understand that. Yet Violet did. She understood his fascination, and in that moment, Michael felt that finally, someone accepted him for who he was.

As they neared the station, the atmosphere was filled with a light, contagious energy. The group’s laughter echoed around him, and for the first time in a long while, Michael felt completely at ease.

"Hey, Gavey," Jessy said, breaking the moment with a mischievous grin. "If you can calculate all that in your head, why not use that brain for something more fun?"

"What do you have in mind?" he replied, narrowing his eyes, expecting some kind of joke.

"I don’t know, maybe find a formula for picking up girls," she teased, and the group burst into laughter.

Michael rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help laughing too.

"Maybe I will," he said, shooting a sly glance at Violet, who smiled back at him, as if she understood exactly what he meant.

Upon arriving in Oxford, the group of friends quickly dispersed. Only Hannah, Violet, and Michael headed towards the university area. Hannah was the first to say goodbye, speaking with a mix of hurry and exhaustion:

"I have a Genetics essay to hand in next week. I’d better get started on it now."

"Good luck!" Violet said with a smile, while Michael simply nodded, still processing the pleasant chaos of the afternoon.

He expected Violet to say goodbye as well and leave him to return to his dorm, but to his surprise, the girl looked at him with a relaxed expression and made an unexpected suggestion.

"Fancy a beer? There’s a bar nearby."

Michael accepted with an enthusiasm he tried to hide. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but inside, he was excited about the chance to spend more time with her. Before he knew it, they were sitting at a dark wooden table, surrounded by the laughter and conversations of other students.

The night passed in a blur. They talked about mathematics, university life, and their families. Michael, initially reserved, ended up opening up. He told her about his mother, Fiona Gavey, a widowed woman who had dedicated her life to raising him after his father, a Physics professor Michael had never met, passed away.

"So it’s in your blood," Violet said, nodding with a warm smile that made Michael feel less vulnerable.

She also shared snippets of her life, revealing that her mother, a renowned pianist, had passed away when she was young. Her father remarried and, over time, practically disappeared from her life.

"Sometimes I think music was the only part of her that my father really loved," Violet confessed, spinning her beer glass between her hands.

Michael was taken aback by the depth of her words, feeling there was much more to her than Violet let on at first glance.

"It’s incredible to hear you talk," Michael said after his third pint, choosing his words carefully to avoid seeming too enthusiastic. "Generally, people don’t want to talk to me. They say I’m too… intense."

Violet let out a laugh, but her eyes sparkled with an empathy that disarmed him.

"I’ve been told that too," she replied, leaning slightly towards him. "Maybe we have more in common than you think."

Michael looked at her, trying to decipher the emotions behind her words. Before he could say anything else, Violet gave him a playful tap on the arm as they both got up from the table to walk back to campus.

"It’s nice to have a friend outside of the band," she said, breaking the silence with her soft but confident voice. "Oxford can be a lonely place, don’t you think?"

"Sweet baby Jesus, don’t even get me started," Michael replied, letting out a short laugh.

The night progressed, and Michael found himself walking alongside Violet towards the door of her building. Their conversation had flowed effortlessly, with an unexpected naturalness, as though they'd known each other forever. However, as they reached the entrance, the bubble of that moment seemed to vanish with a single word: "friend."

"Thanks for the company, mate," Violet said with a warm smile, leaning slightly against the doorframe.

Michael smiled, trying to mask the pang he felt in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting exactly, but the word "friend" made it clear where the line lay, a line he shouldn’t cross.

"Of course, anytime," he replied, raising a hand in a somewhat awkward wave before turning and starting to walk back.

As he walked away, the warm lights of the building went out behind the door Violet had just closed. Michael felt a mix of emotions, as though he were caught in a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts.

Why had it hurt so much? He was a nerd, a passionate maths geek, someone who had always felt more comfortable with numbers than with people. People like Violet—charismatic, fun, and so self-assured—didn’t take an interest in guys like him. Maybe she had just been kind because she'd taken photos of the band.

Of course, Michael couldn’t stop overthinking the situation, because that was his nature. Every word, every smile, every gesture of Violet’s throughout the night now seemed to take on new meanings in his head. Was there really a connection between them, or had it just been an illusion fed by his own loneliness?

What if she didn’t speak to him again after this? The thought hit him like a punch. Throughout the night, he’d felt that something special was happening, a kind of unspoken bond he’d never experienced with anyone before. But maybe that was just in his head. After all, why would someone like Violet want to spend time with someone like him?

He walked slowly, letting the cool night air soothe his thoughts. But even when he reached his dorm and lay down on his bed, his mind wouldn’t rest.

The ceiling seemed to watch him as he replayed every detail of the day: the way Violet laughed, how she looked at him with genuine interest when he talked about his love for maths, and the casual way she’d touched his arm when they said goodbye at the bar. There was something about her that made him feel seen, as if, for the first time, someone could see beyond the numbers and equations that defined him.

Was that enough to keep hoping? He closed his eyes, trying to silence the thousand questions that raced through his mind. But deep inside, one thought lingered, a tiny spark he couldn’t extinguish: Maybe, just maybe, there was something more between them. And if not, Violet had already changed something in him.

He turned in bed, searching for a comfortable position. But the turns weren’t just physical; they were mental as well. His last thought before falling asleep was a mix of hope and resignation.

"Friend," he told himself, repeating the word in his mind. Maybe that was all it could ever be. But for the first time, he wished it wasn’t.

The next day, Michael was walking through the university halls when his Nokia vibrated in the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the phone and saw a text from Violet. His heart skipped a beat before he even read it.

Violet: Hey, what are u doing for Halloween? There's a party at my uni. Wanna come with me? Don’t know anyone else that u & Hannah.

Michael stopped dead in his tracks. A party. With Violet. His mind immediately started racing. He’d never been one for parties, and certainly not the kind that required dressing up. But the idea of spending time with her was tempting.

Michael: Never been to a party before.

The message left his fingers almost automatically, honest but with a hint of doubt. Violet replied within seconds, as though she’d been waiting for his response.

Violet: Even better. It’ll be u first time. Come round to the flat first.

Michael swallowed, trying to picture what the experience would be like. The noise, the music, people in costumes... and Violet by his side. He wasn’t sure which part intimidated him more—the party itself or spending an entire evening with her.

Michael: Okay. Time?

The message sent quicker than he’d expected. On the other side of the line, Violet smiled as she read it and replied:

Violet: Come at 8. And with a costume. No excusez. 😜

Michael put the phone down and tucked it back into his pocket, his heart racing faster than usual. A costume? He had nothing in mind, and not much time to plan it. However, the thought of seeing her pushed him forward.

The rest of the day was spent trying to concentrate on his classes, but the images of the night ahead kept distracting him. What did it mean that Violet had invited him to go together? Did she really see him as a friend, or was there something more behind that casual invitation?

Michael couldn’t help but smile as he read Violet’s messages on his phone screen. At that moment, he was heading to the corner of the library where Joshua had asked to meet. He’d mentioned something about joining the chess club and that Oliver would be there too. But for Michael, chess was just an occasional hobby—nothing as serious as maths or, in this case, the idea of improvising a Halloween costume.

When he arrived, Joshua was waiting by a chess table.

"Where’s Oliver?" asked Joshua, looking behind Michael.

"I don’t know, mate," Michael replied, puzzled.

"But didn’t he come with you?"

"No, mate," Michael said, his tone slightly irritated. He didn’t understand why there was so much emphasis on Oliver. "What’s going on?"

Joshua hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.

"Well... forget it, Gavey."

Michael’s expression hardened. He didn’t like being treated as if he didn’t matter. He quickly realised what was going on: they’d only invited him because they thought Oliver would be coming with him. It was clear that to Joshua, he was just an unnecessary add-on.

Just as Michael was considering leaving, another boy, of Indian descent, approached with a curious smile.

"Are you Michael Gavey?" the boy asked, looking at him with interest.

"Yeah..." Michael replied cautiously.

"Michael.Gavey88?" the boy added, mentioning his MySpace username.

Michael nodded, surprised that someone recognised him from his online profile. The boy extended his hand in a friendly gesture.

"I’m Rishi. Come, let me introduce you to the rest," he said, leading him into the room.

Inside, a small group of five boys were engrossed in looking at a chessboard projected onto a screen. Rishi led him over to Joshua, who seemed more interested in his phone than the game.

"This is the guy I told you about, Josh," Rishi said enthusiastically. "The mathematician who’s in the top spot on the hot rock chick from Saint Hilda’s’ MySpace profile."

The room fell silent. Joshua looked up, eyeing Michael with scepticism.

"Seriously?" he asked, looking at Michael as if he were someone else. "Are you talking to Violet Bryon?"

Michael tensed when he heard Violet’s name coming from Joshua.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he replied, trying not to give himself away.

"No way!" insisted Joshua, ignoring his response. "Violet Bryon. You? How did that happen?"

Michael didn’t know whether to feel flattered or annoyed by Joshua’s incredulous tone.

"She’s just a friend," he finally said, shrugging.

But the laughter and looks from the others made it clear: no one in that room saw him as someone who could date someone like Violet. To them, he was just "the nerd."

And although Michael tried to focus on the chess game, he couldn’t help but let his mind drift back to Violet’s messages and the Halloween invitation. The thought of seeing her that night made him feel like he had something to prove—not to Joshua or Rishi, but to himself.

For her part, Violet was delighted with Michael. Yes, he was a bit dorky and sometimes socially awkward, but that wasn’t something she disliked; in fact, it was part of his charm. Michael didn’t try to be someone he wasn’t, and Violet found that authenticity refreshing. Unlike many guys she knew, Michael seemed genuinely unconcerned about what others might think of him. There was something about his lack of pretension, the way he spoke with such passion about mathematics or any topic that interested him, that made Violet see him as peculiar but unique.

She had watched him while he took photos of the band, how he analysed every angle and adjusted the camera with almost obsessive precision, completely focused on getting the perfect shot. It was that kind of intensity that she liked. Michael didn’t do things by halves. Even when something wasn’t his specialty, like improvising a casual conversation or fitting in with a group, his effort to try was evident and, in Violet’s eyes, adorable.

Moreover, there was something that intrigued her deeply: Michael was like a puzzle she wanted to solve. He didn’t fit into any of the usual moulds of the guys she was used to dealing with, and that made him fascinating. While others tried to impress her with rehearsed lines or arrogant attitudes, Michael simply... was Michael. He wasn’t interested in being the most popular or pretending to be something he wasn’t.

In a way, Violet saw him as a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt weighed down by superficiality. There was honesty in his words and actions, a vulnerability that made him real. And although she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she enjoyed his company more than she expected. It was easy to be with him, even when he got nervous or said something that didn’t quite fit into the conversation.

For Violet, that Halloween night would be an opportunity to get to know him even better. She wanted to understand what lay behind his fascination with numbers, what else he was passionate about, and if that spark of peculiarity was just the tip of the iceberg of someone who, in her opinion, was far more interesting than he believed. Michael Gavey was different, and Violet loved that difference.

When Halloween night arrived, Violet and Michael decided to meet outside her apartment, avoiding any chance of running into Victor. Violet waited at the corner of her street, leaning against a lamppost and watching as students paraded by in costumes, heading to nearby parties. Dressed as Elvis Presley, in a crisp white suit and golden sunglasses, she tapped her fingers against her hip to the beat of a song only she could hear.

Suddenly, a man appeared in front of her wearing the eerie Michael Myers mask, advancing in a disturbingly slow manner. Violet let out a scream that echoed down the street and froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Then, a familiar sound broke her out of her panic: Michael’s unmistakable laughter.

"Oh, what an idiot!" Violet exclaimed, half annoyed and half amused as she recognised him while he lifted the mask, revealing his smug smile.

Michael was holding a bottle of beer in one hand and leaned slightly towards her with a mischievous air.

"Hello, Violet," he said in a voice slightly deeper than usual, as if trying to mimic the killer from the movies.

"Hi, Michael," she replied, crossing her arms, though a smile tugged at her lips. She pointed at the bottle in his hand. "Did you bring me one, or were you just planning to scare me?"

"Of course, darling," he answered, with a confidence that seemed fuelled by the beer he’d already had. He opened his backpack, pulled out a cold bottle, and handed it to her with a small, exaggerated bow.

Violet blushed at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time Michael had let something like that slip when he was a little tipsy, but instead of making her uncomfortable, it amused her. With a smile she could hardly suppress, she took the bottle, gave him a playful shove on the arm, and then linked her arm with his.

"Let’s go, Elvis," Michael joked as she led him down the pavement.

"Elvis doesn’t walk alone," Violet replied, dramatically adjusting her sunglasses.

As they walked together to the party, Michael felt like he was floating. His costume, which was just a black T-shirt and the Halloween mask, now seemed less ridiculous with Violet by his side. For the first time, he felt like he wasn’t out of place, but exactly where he wanted to be: with her.

At the party, Violet and Michael ran into Hannah, who was dressed as a cat, watching them curiously from the entrance. Violet and Hannah started dancing together, enjoying the moment, while Michael stayed in a corner, silently watching them. Despite being surrounded by people, Michael seemed to notice nothing but Violet, laughing and moving with complete freedom. Violet, for her part, occasionally glanced back, worried that he might be having a bad time, but what she saw was Michael utterly absorbed, as if everything else disappeared when he watched her dance.

However, Michael was so lost in his own world that he didn’t realise Oliver Quick was watching him from upstairs. Oliver wasn’t interested in Michael, but he saw him there and was surprised by how he had managed to get an invitation. He had managed to avoid him all week and didn’t want to even look at him too much, fearing the guy would end up following him. Following Michael’s gaze, Oliver spotted Violet, Victor Bryon’s sister, dancing nearby and throwing him knowing looks. That made him wonder what Michael had done to capture the attention of a girl like her, who clearly had no qualms about inviting him to join her on the dance floor.

Oliver was left wondering whether Violet was just using him for fun or even to take advantage of his intellect. Michael, the rare, antisocial genius, but undoubtedly brilliant, might have been nothing more than a tool for her, something Oliver could easily understand. Maybe Violet just wanted to have a bit of fun, like he would with someone she wasn’t genuinely interested in.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Felix Catton dancing with a visibly drunk girl. His eyes turned back to him, returning to his own fascination with the guy and their upcoming encounter. Nearby, Victor Bryon grabbed a bottle of beer, lost in his own thoughts. Oliver realised that Victor could be the key to getting into that group that had always intrigued him, and his mind was already beginning to form new plans.

Michael and Violet escorted Hannah to her dormitory, as the girl was too drunk to walk on her own. As they headed back to the apartment, Violet pointed out Oliver and Victor, who were walking a few steps ahead of them.

"Hey, isn’t that your friend?" Violet asked, looking at Oliver, who was chatting animatedly with Victor.

Michael, somewhat confused, nodded half-heartedly.

"I thought he hated my brother," he murmured. Then, with a disdainful expression, he added, "A weird guy, that Oliver."

Although his words were indifferent, Michael couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeply troubling about the situation was gnawing at him. Oliver, his friend, was walking alongside Victor as if nothing had happened. How could it be that Oliver was there, laughing and drinking beer with Victor, the same guy who had tormented him? Michael watched him with a growing sense of betrayal. Oliver had witnessed Victor humiliate him, taunting him over and over again, and yet here he was, acting as if nothing had occurred. What had happened to his friend to make him behave this way?

Michael furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw, feeling an internal anger he couldn’t calm. He tried to push the thoughts away, but it was impossible. In his mind, the image of Oliver sharing a beer with Victor kept replaying, like an annoying echo he couldn’t ignore. It was like reliving his high school years over and over again.

Noticing the change in Michael’s expression, Violet watched him carefully. She could read his emotions like an open book. Without saying a word, she decided to change course.

"Let’s go to Monty’s," she said with a warm smile. "I’ll get you a chocolate crepe, and you’ll see you’ll feel better."

Michael looked at her with gratitude, thankful that Violet had noticed his discomfort and had pulled him away from his dark thoughts. The scent of the chocolate crepe filled the small café, and with every bite, Michael began to relax. The sweetness of the chocolate and the easy conversation with Violet calmed his mind. Suddenly, he found himself talking about things that genuinely interested him, like the history of Halloween and its pagan origins.

The night passed, and the friends parted ways when they reached Violet’s apartment. Michael returned to his room with a bittersweet feeling. Despite everything, it had been an interesting night, one that had allowed him to break through the invisible barriers of university, those barriers that sometimes made him feel like a stranger in his own environment. It didn’t matter that the party hadn’t been at his college; what really mattered was that it had been Violet who had invited him. That gave him a strange sense of belonging, as though, despite his solitary nature, someone saw him beyond his apparent oddness.

As he prepared for bed, the image of Oliver came back to his mind. He was determined: he would need to talk to him, figure out what was going on between them. He didn’t want to lose a friendship, but he wasn’t willing to keep being the last to know what his friend truly thought.

Violet arrived at the apartment minutes after Victor, her head still spinning from the party and the unease about what she had seen between Oliver and her brother. As she took off her coat, she tried to push those thoughts out of her mind, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bewildered.

"Are you friends with Oliver Quick?" she asked, her tone absent.

"Oliver Quick?" he repeated, surprised. Victor, slightly drunk, raised an eyebrow, trying to steady himself as he made his way toward his room. "Who the hell is Oliver Quick, sis?" he said, letting out a low laugh before stumbling a little and entering his room.

Violet shook her head, feeling the familiar annoyance that always arose whenever her brother was in that state. Without wasting time, she went to her room and lay down, not wanting to argue any further that night. It wasn’t the first time Victor had come home like this.

The next day, the peace of the morning was shattered by the sound of Violet's bedroom door slamming open. Frederick Bryon, her father, stormed in with firm steps, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang. Violet woke with a start, feeling a knot in her stomach as she saw the serious and unkind expression on her father’s face.

"Dad!" she exclaimed, raising her voice as she tried to fix her hair and get out of bed.

"Violet. Get ready," he said firmly, not giving her time to react. "We’re going for breakfast."

Violet sighed, knowing what was coming. As she tried to get to her feet, she heard her father heading toward Victor’s room.

"What is all this?" came the voice, surely referring to the mess in Victor’s room.

Violet sighed. If her father had asked that, it meant he had found something that displeased him, as always. She glanced at herself in the mirror, trying to look as presentable as possible, knowing it wouldn’t be a relaxing breakfast. And she was right.

At the breakfast table, the tension was palpable. Frederick sat at the end of the table, observing his children with a penetrating gaze. Meanwhile, Violet and Victor exchanged furtive glances. They were used to these types of morning encounters, where the atmosphere was always heavy with tension that only a father like Frederick knew how to generate. He wasn’t there to talk about what they had done the night before or ask about their well-being. No. He was only interested in making sure they weren’t in trouble.

With his cold gaze, Frederick turned first to Violet, knowing exactly what he was looking for: any sign of disorder or wastefulness.

"How are your exams going?" he asked, without breath or a hint of interest in his voice.

Violet looked up, not particularly eager to answer. She knew that nothing she said would change the situation. Her father wasn’t the type to offer support or recognition, and although her grades were always good, that had never been enough for him.

"They’re going well," she replied, trying to make her tone as neutral as possible.

Then, Frederick turned to Victor, who was still half asleep, staring at his cup of coffee.

"And you," he said, with a more accusatory tone, "how are your exams? Still wasting time on nonsense?"

Victor, still a little groggy, lifted his eyes, his expression clearly reflecting the accumulated frustration. He knew his father’s question wasn’t really a request for information, but a disguised reproach.

The twins knew that all of this was just routine. Frederick Bryon wasn’t known for being a loving or affectionate father. Rather, he behaved more like a supervisor, concerned only with performance and discipline. He didn’t show them affection, and even less did he give them space to relax or make mistakes. Exams, grades, and flawless behaviour were the only things that seemed to matter to him.

Tired of the same scene, Violet slouched in her chair and tried to focus on her breakfast, though the discomfort was almost unbearable. She could feel her father’s cold gaze on every gesture, every word, every silence. And no matter how hard she tried, she could never escape the feeling that, to him, they were always just a pair of children who had to play their part.

#micheal gavey x reader #micheal gavey #micheal gavey imagine #micheal gavey fluff #saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #saltburn fluff #ewan mitchell x reader #prince aemond #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell verse #ewan verse #nerdy boy #fanfic #fanfiction

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psychooomind · 1 month ago

Text

Flickering Lights

Michael Gavey x singer!reader

A multi-entry, slow-burn, friends to lovers fic.

You can also read it at AO3 here.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Chapter 4: A Happy Birthday

A Happy Birthday

The crisp Saturday morning air slipped through the slightly open window of Michael's room, waking him with its gentle breeze. It was an ordinary day, like any other weekend. Except, that morning, he felt more restless than ever. In his hands, he held a small package containing the photos he had promised to deliver to Violet. It had all seemed so simple in theory, but now that the moment was approaching, anxiety crept over him.

Michael had spent the entire week selecting the best photos, carefully attending to every detail. He knew how important they were for Violet’s band, and although he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he felt proud of having captured something unique through his lens.

At first, it was just a task to complete, but over time, their conversations and photo sessions became something more. Now, Michael counted Violet as his friend—his beautiful friend, who, perhaps, had dazzled him a bit too much. He didn’t want to admit he was falling for her; it seemed too soon to say something like that. But every time Violet sent him a message on MySpace or via text, it simply made his day better. And that, in turn, left him feeling a kind of anxious joy.

He decided he couldn’t put it off any longer. With the photos in hand and a nervous flutter in his stomach, he headed to the meeting spot Violet had suggested. He wasn’t sure how she would react—whether she’d like the photos or not—but what he feared most was that, after handing over the photos, she might stop talking to him. He worried she might decide, just like Oliver had, to start ignoring him. The thought that all of this might have been an excuse to get close to him for her own gain unnerved him. What if that really happened? How would he handle these growing feelings inside him?

Violet had chosen a café that was conveniently located halfway between them. Michael arrived far too early, thinking he would have to wait for her. But when he walked in, she was already there, seated at a table by the window, jotting something down in a notebook, completely absorbed in her own world.

When Michael entered, Violet looked up and smiled at him.

“Hi, Michael,” she greeted him warmly. Her expression was soft, and Michael immediately felt a wave of relief. She didn’t seem distant or dismissive. Maybe his worries had been misplaced.

“Hi,” he replied, walking over and taking a seat across from her. He couldn’t help but notice the calm energy she exuded. Somehow, just her presence was enough to settle his nerves.

“Here they are. Just like I promised.” Carefully, Michael pulled the package of photos from his bag and placed it on the table.

Violet smiled as she eagerly reached for the package.

“Thanks, Michael. I’m sure they’re perfect.” Her words made him feel a little more at ease.

“I hope you like them,” he murmured, feeling an uncomfortable sense of vulnerability as he watched her unwrap the package.

“Of course, I will,” she said confidently. As she glanced at the photos, her eyes lit up. “These are amazing! I knew you had a creative side hiding behind all that math.” She gave him a smile that made Michael’s chest tighten just a little.

"Do you want to order something? I was waiting to have a coffee with you." Michael smiled and nodded.

"Hey, will I see you at our next gig at Barry's Pub?" Violet asked after they both ordered a coffee. "I'll save a ticket for you. We're doing covers of Oasis and Red Hot Chili Peppers."

"Of course," he said quickly, without giving it much thought. "I love those bands."

"I know," Violet said with a wider smile. "You’ve told me." Michael thought he had never seen something so genuinely charming. However, his insecurities crept back as he remembered the event coming up. While walking her to her university, he decided to just say it.

"By the way," he began suddenly, almost as if trying to divert attention from his thoughts, "next Friday is my birthday. I’m organizing a small gathering with some friends. If you’re free, I’d love for you to come."

"I’ll be there, buddy," Violet assured him, squeezing his hand lightly.

Michael nodded, feeling his heart race. The idea that she was willing to spend his birthday with him gave him a comforting sense of relief. He dared to gently caress her hand with his thumb, and she gave him a silly smile.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, a smile spreading across his face.

After walking her back to the university, Michael headed straight to the library to grab the books he needed for the next day’s class. The low murmur of conversations and the occasional rustle of pages filled the air, providing a calmness that contrasted with his unsettled mind. He still felt slightly off-kilter from the recent events. But when he looked up, that discomfort transformed into something else: there was Oliver, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, flipping through a book with an air of nonchalance that Michael found almost arrogant.

He couldn’t hold himself back.

He walked straight over, ignoring the nerves threatening to betray him.

“We need to talk,” Michael said, his voice tense, more a command than a request.

Oliver looked up, his expression a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, as if he couldn’t fathom why anyone would dare to interrupt him.

“Now? Here?” he replied lazily, closing his book with deliberate slowness.

“Yes,” Michael answered firmly. “Are you friends with Victor now?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow, as though the question were so absurd it didn’t deserve a response.

“Victor? Oh, that. It was just a conversation. Nothing consequential, mate.”

Michael felt a spark of anger.

“Nothing consequential? Sure.” The restrained fury in his tone didn’t quite rise, but it was palpable. “You know perfectly well what Victor’s done to me this semester. And now I run into you on the street, chatting with him like you’re old friends.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, assessing Michael with the gaze of someone mildly entertained by a dull show they couldn’t quite stop watching. He was growing tired of keeping up appearances with him.

“Michael, I was just being polite. I don’t have a problem with him... at least, not really. Besides, aren’t you seeing his sister? Isn’t that the same thing?”

Michael blinked, his irritation only heightened by the comparison.

“What are you implying? Victor’s a jerk, and you know it. Violet has nothing to do with him.”

Oliver let out a soft chuckle, almost a whisper, yet brimming with smugness.

“What I’m saying is that Victor doesn’t affect me the way he does you. Maybe you should ask yourself why you’re still so obsessed with all this.” He paused, tossing out a verbal bait. “And about Violet… well, I’ve heard things.”

Michael felt his anger replaced by a creeping sense of unease.

“What things?” he asked, his tone serious, which only encouraged Oliver further.

“You know, the usual. That she’s a bit… quick with her flings.”

The faint smile that accompanied his words was barely visible but sharp enough to spark a flicker of doubt in Michael. It was exactly what Oliver wanted. He knew that once the seed was planted, Michael would redirect his energy toward Violet, pulling it away from him and Victor.

“Where did you hear that?” Michael sounded tense, caught between anger and uncertainty.

“I don’t want to badmouth her, obviously. Someone just mentioned it. You know, seems like she used to date one of Victor’s friends a while ago,” Oliver said with a sly grin. “Apparently, they had broken up, but only she knew about it.”

Michael nodded but didn’t seem convinced. His mind began to falter, grappling with the possibility that Violet—his friend, his confidant—might not be so different from Victor or anyone else who merely wanted to use him.

Oliver watched him with the patience of a predator.

“By the way, how’s your Civilization project coming along?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.

“I already finished it,” Michael replied distractedly, still trapped in his spiraling thoughts.

“Perfect. Mind showing it to me? I could tell you a few more things while we’re at it.”

Michael hesitated but ultimately agreed. Somehow, Oliver always got what he wanted.

In Michael’s dorm room, Oliver quickly skimmed through the essay while Michael bombarded him with questions about Violet.

“Look, Michael,” Oliver said in an offhand tone, “I don’t know much more. Just that the guy’s name was Dany, and they dated in high school until she suddenly dumped him. Victor claims it was because Violet kissed someone else.”

Each word hit Michael like a hammer. Could it be true? Was Violet that kind of girl? Did she see him as anything more than a convenient accessory? Was she, at her core, just like Victor—a spoiled, privileged manipulator who used people as she pleased?

Oliver, meanwhile, couldn’t help but relish the situation. What a weird little idiot, he thought. Michael was the kind of person who was too easy to manipulate: insecure, desperate to be accepted, and always ready to believe the worst about himself and others if someone hinted at it subtly enough. To Oliver, Michael was nothing more than a useful tool, someone he could shape and use whenever it suited him.

“Thanks for the essay, mate,” Oliver finally said, placing the paper on the desk. “Catch you later. And about Violet… maybe you should talk to her. Or not. Your choice.”

With that, Oliver left the dorm, leaving Michael trapped in a spiral of doubt and self-pity.

Violet, with her sheet music notebook under her arm and her headphones dangling casually around her neck, walked briskly toward the harmony classroom. As usual, she arrived a few minutes early and sat by the window, letting the morning sunlight stream through the curtains.

While the professor spoke about chord progressions, Violet tried to focus, but her mind kept wandering, inevitably drifting back to Michael. His birthday was approaching, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what to give him. She didn’t want something generic; Michael wasn’t like everyone else. He deserved something special, something that showed him just how much he meant to her.

She liked thinking about the moments they’d shared: his laugh when he made one of his sarcastic remarks, the way his blue eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about, and how his presence made her feel important, as if she were the only person in the world who mattered.

Violet sighed, opening her music notebook to a blank page. She scribbled a few notes as she thought about the song she had been secretly writing. It was about him, though she would never admit it aloud. Each verse revolved around his eyes, that deep blue that seemed to hold an ocean of thoughts and emotions only he could understand.

When class ended, Violet walked to the practice room, humming the rough sketch of the melody she had in mind. Despite being in a building full of people, she felt alone with her thoughts. As she plugged her guitar into the amplifier, her mind wandered to Dany Russo, her only boyfriend.

They had dated for a year in secondary school. At first, everything had been thrilling. Dany was popular, charming, and seemed genuinely interested in her, but things quickly changed. He became controlling, mocked her insecurities, and, worst of all, spread lies about her after they broke up. Horrible stories that left her scarred, isolating her from several friends. Remembering it still hurt, but it also reminded her why she was so afraid to get involved with someone again.

Michael was different. She knew that much. He never made her feel small or ashamed. In fact, when they were together, he seemed to value every word she said, listening to her with genuine interest. And that day when he accidentally held her hand while crossing the street… her heart still raced at the memory of how warm and comforting his touch had felt, as if they were meant to fit together.

Yet Violet couldn’t help but feel insecure. She had kissed several boys at parties—a vain attempt to convince herself that she was fine, that she could connect with someone. But she hadn’t been intimate with anyone since Dany. The fear of trusting, of opening up and being hurt again, held her back.

What if I’m not enough for Michael? There were moments when she felt he deserved something more, someone more like him—maybe someone just as clever or someone who didn’t always have their head in the clouds like she did. But then she’d remember how he looked at her when they talked, as if nothing else existed, and that insecurity would fade, even if only for a moment.

By the end of the day, after a group rehearsal and a few hours of solo practice, Violet left the building carrying her backpack and guitar. She stopped by a bookshop and bought everything she needed to create the perfect gift. It would be her little secret, something she would give Michael to show him what he meant to her.

Michael’s birthday arrived faster than he had expected. He had planned everything carefully: a small gathering with friends, something low-key and unpretentious. Despite his excitement to see Violet at the party, he couldn’t shake the odd feeling he had. The thought of her being there, by his side, kept him distracted all day.

In the mid-afternoon, just before the party, he met with his mother as they had arranged earlier in the week. She, as always, was serious, almost expressionless, seated in the trattoria. When he entered, she looked him up and down with her calculating eyes. She was a nurse, so she was used to maintaining a professional demeanour, even outside of work.

"Who are you always talking to on the phone?" his mother asked as she wiped her mouth after they’d both finished their respective plates of pasta.

"Just some friends, Mum. Nothing out of the ordinary." Michael, who had been sorting out a few things for the party, tensed slightly.

"I heard you mention a girl—Violet, isn’t it? Make sure you’re looking after yourself, alright?" She raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. Her tone was sharp, as if interrogating a patient.

"Yes, Mum. Don’t worry," Michael replied, unsure how to handle the subject. What was he supposed to say? You’ve got nothing to worry about, Mum. I’m still a virgin. In the end, his mother simply nodded and left the conversation there, without further comment.

Meanwhile, Violet was getting ready for Michael’s party. She had put on gold heels and a white dress. Carefully, she prepared the gift, wrapping it in brown paper and tucking it under her arm before heading to the party.

When she arrived, Michael, who was feeling slightly down about having turned up too early and finding no one else there yet, couldn’t help but notice her immediately, relief washing over him.

"What’ve you got there, Bryon?" Michael tried to sound cool, sipping distractedly from his beer at the bar table.

"It’s a painting—I made it for this guy, you know?" Violet smiled playfully. "I think it’s his birthday today."

"A painting?" Michael asked, incredulous. Was there anything this girl couldn’t do?

"Yes, I hope you like it... I mean, I hope he likes it. He’s quite picky," she teased, her tone light.

"I’m not picky," Michael protested with a warm smile, and Violet gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

"Well, I’ve heard otherwise, Gavey. Want to open it?"

Michael nodded, setting his beer down on the table. He carefully tore through the wrapping and couldn’t help but blush at the thoughtful gift. It was a medieval cottage, strikingly similar to the ones he had told her about from his favourite game, The Legend of Zelda.

"It’s amazing, Violet. I had no idea... no idea you did anything like this. It’s... it’s perfect." Michael looked utterly astonished.

Violet, feeling encouraged, leaned in to hug him, leaving Michael completely frozen.

"I’m glad you like it," she said softly. "I thought you might."

At that moment, his chess friends appeared behind them, and Michael pulled away from Violet with sudden urgency. She turned to see a group of nerds staring at her in disbelief. Joshua, Mark, Philippe, and Zack had never imagined Michael could actually be with someone like Violet. They approached the pair, curiosity and a hint of amusement in their eyes.

"Well, Michael, you weren’t lying," Zack joked. "Who’s this? Your girlfriend?"

Michael, slightly embarrassed, glanced at Violet, who, though taken aback by the question, only smiled shyly.

"Her name’s Violet," he said, trying to play it cool.

Violet felt her cheeks flush at the comment but didn’t say anything. Inside, though, she was completely overjoyed that Michael had clearly spoken about her to his friends. While she wouldn’t admit it aloud, the thought of his friends referring to her as his girlfriend filled her with a quiet happiness.

The night wore on, and the atmosphere of the bar gradually transformed into a tangle of laughter, loud music, and increasingly lively conversations. Michael, who had seemed nervous at first, slowly let the alcohol dissolve his usual social awkwardness. By the time the clock struck midnight, he had lost track of how many beers he’d had and was completely engrossed in teaching Violet how to play chess. His voice, usually hesitant, now brimmed with confidence as he leaned in to whisper strategic tips into her ear, while a small group of onlookers watched.

Oliver Quick arrived just in time to witness the scene. Pausing at the doorway, he surveyed the room with narrowed eyes and an expression of calculated indifference. The first thing that caught his attention was Michael, whose vulnerability was all the more apparent under the influence of alcohol. But what truly intrigued Oliver was Violet—leaning towards Michael, laughing softly, and feigning clumsiness at the game to draw him closer.

To Oliver, the scene was almost comical. He recognised the dynamic instantly: the girl pretending to be innocent and clueless, and the boy, drunk on both beer and attention, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being played. Michael is so predictable... so ridiculously easy to manipulate, Oliver thought with a mixture of disdain and amusement. He knew Michael well enough to see that he was blind to the signals Violet was sending him. That intense gaze practically begging for a kiss, the nervous smiles, the casual touches of their hands. Michael was lost in his own little world, too infatuated to notice the cracks.

Oliver decided it was time to intervene. With a relaxed stride and an air of nonchalance, he approached the bar, where Violet was waiting for her drink.

“Violet, hello,” he greeted her, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’s it going with the band?”

Violet glanced up at him, her expression a mix of surprise and distaste. Her tone shifted immediately, turning cold and distant.

“Hello, Oliver. Fine, thanks for asking,” she replied curtly.

Oliver nodded, feigning interest, though he was really scrutinising her, analysing every reaction. There was something about her that intrigued him—not in a positive way, but enough to make him curious. That hostility... Was it a shield? Or perhaps she knew that he could see right through her.

Without breaking eye contact, he let his next comment drop casually. “So, you and Michael…”

“What about it?” Violet met his gaze directly, her eyes flashing with irritation.

“Nothing, nothing,” Oliver replied with a smile that suggested otherwise. “I was just wondering what Victor would think about all this.”

“Victor has no say in my social life; he’s my brother,” Violet snapped, her frown deepening, her patience clearly wearing thin.

Oliver nodded slowly, leaning in as though to share a secret. “You’re right, of course. But between you and me, we both know you and Michael have no future. You’ve got nothing in common. Something tells me you’re just doing this to annoy Victor.”

“Does Victor think that?” Her voice rose, tinged with anger. “Because if he does, he needs to pull his head out of his own arse. Whatever’s going on between Michael and me is none of his—or your—business.”

The words seemed to pierce her, and Violet’s tone shifted from cold to sharp, almost defiant.

The bartender interrupted their exchange by placing Violet’s drink on the counter. Without another word, she took it and walked away without looking back, leaving Oliver at the bar with a satisfied smirk.

From a distance, Oliver continued to observe the scene. Michael, oblivious to what had just occurred, was still devotedly teaching chess, his enthusiasm bordering on ridiculous. Violet, though visibly affected, quickly rejoined him, resuming her playful laughter and intense glances.

Oliver knew what he had just uncovered. Violet had feelings for Michael—there was no doubt about it. And now Oliver had that information in his grasp. As he walked away from the bar, he weighed his options. He could use what he knew to tip the scales in his favour, as he always did. After all, Michael was an easy piece to sacrifice, should the time come.

Meanwhile, Violet returned to the section of the bar where Michael’s birthday celebration was taking place. She noticed that Michael was now on his tenth beer and had clearly lost control of himself. He had drunk far more than he’d planned, and his behaviour was becoming increasingly uninhibited. At one point, Michael started rambling incoherently, laughing too much and repeatedly showering Violet with compliments.

“I don’t care what they say about you, Vi. You’re... the prettiest girl in the world,” he said with a goofy grin.

Violet, though amused by the situation, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern. What are they saying about me? She knew Michael wasn’t fully aware of what he was saying, but clearly, someone had said something that had alarmed him.

“I think you’ve had too much,” she said softly, helping him sit in a free chair in the crowded bar. “Just relax, Michael. I’m here.”

As the night wore on, Violet took charge of Michael, who was no longer able to stand on his own. In the end, she decided that the best thing was to take him back to her apartment, not wanting to leave him alone in such a fragile state.

At her apartment, Michael collapsed on the sofa, and Violet sat beside him, concerned. Though Michael mumbled some incoherent things, Violet didn’t dare leave. She stayed with him all night, making sure he was alright.

“Did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the world?” Michael murmured in his sleep. “I still don’t understand how you can hang out with me. You know, it wouldn’t bother me if it hurts a little... It’s worth it, just the fact that you want to be with me is enough...”

“Don’t say those things about yourself, Mickey.”

“Mickey, Mickey, Mickey,” he hummed. “You know, only my mum used to call me that? When I was little, when she liked me.”

With her heart breaking from the drunken comments, Violet leaned back a little on the sofa and stayed there, watching over him. She knew that by the next day, he wouldn’t remember any of what had happened. But she also knew that, deep down, what was between them was beginning to be something more significant than just friendship. She also, on the other hand, wanted to press him with questions about those comments he’d made about her. I don’t care what they say about you? What the hell had they been saying about her? Suddenly, she remembered the disgusting rumours Dany had made up about her and feared that somehow they had reached Michael.

The next morning, when Michael woke up, he got up from the sofa with clumsy movements, feeling his body heavy and his mind shrouded in confusion. He pressed a hand to his temple, where a sharp pain reminded him that something wasn’t quite right. Where was he? His gaze swept the room, oddly familiar but disorienting at the same time. He couldn’t remember anything from the night before, or how he had ended up there.

Suddenly, Violet appeared from the kitchen, holding a steaming cup of tea in her hands. Her smile was soft, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes that made Michael feel a knot of nerves in his stomach.

“Oh, look who’s risen from the dead,” she joked, extending the cup to him. “Looks like you drank a bit too much last night.”

Michael took the cup awkwardly, not daring to look her directly in the eyes. He was embarrassed, and a sense of discomfort washed over him. He nodded, as if that was enough of a response, but inside, a storm of emotions kept him on edge. Confusion, anxiety... and a lingering desire he couldn’t ignore.

What the hell happened last night? The question hit him again and again. Had something happened between them? Had he crossed a line that now put them on uncertain ground? His eyes, almost involuntarily, sought out Violet’s, but she seemed perfectly calm, as if the night before had just been a funny anecdote. Yet, Michael sensed something else in the way she looked at him, a subtle tension that left him puzzled.

Then there was the fact that he was in the Bryon apartment. Why? How? It was hostile territory for him, a place he would never have come to on his own. The only thing clear in his mind was that, no matter what happened, he didn’t want Violet to slip away from his life.

“Your brother…” he started, his voice a little shaky.

Violet let out a laugh, interrupting him.

“Victor is more drunk than you. I doubt he’ll even notice you’re here, Mickey.”

Mickey?! Violet’s voice echoed in Michael’s mind like a persistent refrain as he tried to process what had just happened. The warmth in her gaze, mixed with a hint of confusion, made him feel a swirl of emotions. What the hell had happened between them? Feeling dazed and visibly uncomfortable, Michael forced himself to speak, mumbling about how behind he was with the rehearsals for the week, even though he didn’t believe that excuse himself.

He brought the tea to his lips and drank it in a hurried gulp, as if the warmth of the liquid could calm the whirlwind in his head. Violet, ever perceptive, watched him in silence, her eyes shifting between curiosity and a hint of disappointment. She didn’t say anything but opened the door to the apartment, giving him space to leave. Michael, unable to hold her gaze, slipped away without another word, rushing down the stairs as the weight of confusion settled on his shoulders.

Outside, the cold morning air hit his face, barely clearing the chaos in his mind. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly. What had happened at that party? What did the “Mickey” brimming with familiarity that Violet had uttered mean? His heart raced as he remembered disjointed flashes from the night before: Violet’s laughter, her smile, the warmth of her hand on his. For a moment, the thought that she might feel the same way filled him with hope... but also with terror. What if it had just been a fleeting moment for her? What if he was magnifying it in his mind?

As he walked through the nearly deserted campus streets, Michael couldn’t help but recall how he’d felt on his birthday: for the first time, truly seen. Violet had been there for him, laughing at his jokes, listening to him with an attention he’d never felt before. Even when he tried to be rational, the idea that there might be something more between them quickened his pulse.

But there were too many questions. Had they talked too much? Had they kissed? Had he said something he shouldn’t have? Michael knew he needed to find someone who had been at that party, someone who could clarify exactly what had happened. He couldn’t face Violet without knowing how to approach the situation. His mind was spinning with a whirlwind of “what ifs” and possibilities that filled him with anxiety.

Meanwhile, in the apartment, Violet stood by the door, her brow slightly furrowed. There was something odd about Michael’s behaviour, something she couldn’t quite figure out. He had been more shy and nervous than usual, and that only made her wonder if what she remembered from the night before had been a dream or if it had really happened. Violet bit her lip, hugging herself. She knew she had feelings for Michael. His blue eyes, the way he spoke passionately about things most would consider trivial, even his clumsiness—everything about him made her feel a warmth she hadn’t felt in years.

But the fear was there, lurking. After what had happened with Dany, she had learned to build walls. Violet sighed, leaning against the wall as she tried to calm her racing heart. What she felt for Michael was real, but it was also terrifying. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he was just a good friend confused by alcohol? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of those thoughts. But as she did, she couldn’t help but smile slightly, remembering the way Michael had taken her hand at the party, how they’d flirted as he “taught” her to play chess, how he’d called her “love,” “darling,” nearly the entire night. What if that night had been the beginning of something more?

On the other hand, Michael was determined. He needed answers, but he also knew that, in the end, the most important thing would be facing Violet and being honest. Perhaps, just perhaps, the night before had been the best birthday of his life because, for once, he hadn’t felt alone. What if that feeling didn’t have to be fleeting? As he walked towards his room, he crossed paths with the perfect person to ask about his birthday night: Oliver.

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