#somewhat anti malex

[likeadisgruntledpelican]

I’m pretty sure we will get to see malex happy that’s why I said that lmao

That wasn’t really what you said though, but I’m not trying to fight about it.  I just noticed a thing and commented on it.  It doesn’t change whether or not the couple is “endgame.” 

I honestly don’t even get this obsession with the concept of “endgame.”  Why is the idea that this couple is “endgame” more important than whether or not the journey they go on is unsatisfying all the way through?  I’m not even saying anything bad here regarding the ship itself.  So it’s not like I’m bashing Malex.  I mean I have my issues with Michael (yes, just Michael), but it’s not like I don’t ship it. 

I have issues with the way queer story lines are written for nearly every show I’ve ever watched.  Schitt’s Creek is probably the only show that I trust completely.  With Malec, they could have improved a lot of things, but overall, I loved Malec.  With Malex, I don’t like how they push the majority of the blame of the relationship onto Alex.  (I’m not talking fandom here, which is a diff story.  I’m talking the narrative itself). 

Alex leaves an abusive situation to protect himself and the boy he loved from his homophobic father.  That’s the extent of the grudge that the narrative can have against Alex.  But Alex is treated like he’s the toxic one, and that being involved with him could only result in bad things happening.  To paraphrase Alexis Rose, I’m allowed to not like that journey for him. 

I don’t want to watch him being traumatized or reliving trauma for a full five seasons just so they can finally decide he’s been redeemed enough to be with Michael.  (I also don’t want to see Michael constantly retraumatized either)

I want to watch the two of them grow together.  Sure, they can be apart, and they can date other people, but the narrative needs to stop pretending like Alex is the worst part of Michael’s life.  It needs to stop telling us that Michael can only be happy if he chooses someone other than Alex because Alex is a victim to those incidents too.  I also want the narrative to stop acting like Alex has to go through more redemption than Kyle or Jesse Manes (or any of the other Manes).  (And no, I’m not trying to lump Kyle in with them.  I love Kyle.  But they wrote a good redemption arc for him regarding how he treated Alex). 

Why does Kyle get to be redeemed for what he’s done, when Alex can’t even be redeemed for stuff he didn’t do?  That’s the part I don’t like.  The narrative has Alex fear that he is just like his father, and then the narrative also treats him like it too. 

If that’s what she’s after (Carina) - a story arc where Alex just suffers and suffers and sticks by Michael’s side through everything, but we don’t see Michael do the same for him - I have to look at that and think “what’s the point in ME watching?”  I’m not at all telling others not to watch.  But I’m not here for that.  I’m never here for a story line that punishes queer characters and never gives them a break from it (I’m including Michael here).  I don’t care if the show runner swears on a Bible that her queer characters are safe from the burying your gays trope.  If they’re only there for her to shame and torment and to reinforce horrible stereotypes around them and through them, then what you have is exactly what I said. 

A canon ship that’s put through hell for no other reason than for the sake of trauma.  On a show where the show runner has shown multiple times that she doesn’t care about the ship (I said shown, not told).  She wants Miluca for now, and if she does, that’s fine.  But I will never be here for a narrative that tells a queer character that your history with a same gender relationship is toxic and unhealthy but that if you will just choose the opposite gender person, everything will be fine. 

I will never be here for a narrative that’s trying to tell bisexual people that you will only ever see pain if you choose a same gender relationship but you’ll be happy and free and whole if you choose the opposite gender relationship.  That’s a crappy message to send to bisexuals (and it’s why the accusations of biphobia in the fandom piss me off - there are biphobic people but they aren’t the real problem - the narrative that’s doing this is).

I’m not here for a narrative that constantly has a gay character who was abused for being gay dismissed as being no better than his homophobic family.  That’s literally what we see either onscreen or behind the scenes from her.  I’m not here for that.

TL DR or whatever.  I’m not trying to yell at you, I’m just tired.  I’m tired of the choices always being “this same gender platonic relationship is coded as queer but it will never see the light of day on screen” OR “this canon same gender relationship will never be happy as long as I’m alive, but we’ll throw them a bone in the last 15 minutes of the last season.” 

Dan Levy is tired of it too.  So until show runners copy his POV, I will never understand why it’s more important that a couple be endgame rather than happy.

[laufire]

Michael never got flack because he was blatantly Carina's favorite. She sidelined Liz, THE LEAD, in favor of Michael and Malex whenever she could. Maria's treatment is abhorrent for all the reasons already mentioned, and some Malex stans were dead silent when it was revealed Tyler lied about his ancestry - because it was an argument they would weaponize when their anti-blackness was called out. Vile.

Agreed.

Frankly, Michael's perspective taking over the show is one of the reasons I stopped watching. I like Michael, most of the time (with the exception of his involvent in Rosa's cover-up, like I've said. I HATE the pod siblings for that. That time Michael joked about desecrating Rosa's corpse in front of Liz's face I wanted to strangle him). I certainly like him more than Max.

But if he takes center point in the show, every character I'm far more invested in suffers: Liz, as you said, is sidelined from her own story; Rosa becomes completely irrelevant, as it was shown in s2, and even risks freaking Isobel creeping over her storyline again; Kyle would become even more of a prop, barely in the background. Maria would've been the only one that miiiiiiight have benefited somewhat from it, like how in s2 at least she was more involved in the central plot, but it's just as likely she could get shafted too.

And oh, definitely. In this case I find fandom's attitude particularly vile ngl. Not only are they ignoring that racist mess because it happens to pertain to their favorite actor/the actor of their favorite character; not ONLY did they try to deflect by accusing Liz's, Maria's and Rosa's actresses of being "just as bad" for playing characters that don't completely align with their ethnicities (as if their circumstances could be compared. If Rosa's actress, Amber Midthunder, had to wait until the call-sheet specified "Native American woman", she wouldn't be able to work). Nope, they actively weaponized Alex's race as an argument for their defense whenever anyone pointed out the racism in their attitudes; and now that it's revealed it was all based on an actor's lie all you get from them is *crickets* lmao.

BTW: I know the actor that plays one of Alex's brothers, Flint IIRC, is Native American, but I'm pretty sure Greg's isn't? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I looked it up a while ago when all this happened and I found nothing, at least. Frankly at this point they should retcon it, if they're not going to recast the roles properly this time. Say Greg and Alex were from a different mother or something.

[captainsassmanes]

I hope they do take the somewhat muted response to m*luca into account when writing season 3. It's hardly just malex fans who don't like them as a couple from what I've seen but I doubt they'll deviate from the 5/6 plan because viewers have held steady all season and unless it falls no one at CW will particularly care. They're money makers at the end of the day, not fan pleases

Yeah I feel the same way. Obviously Malex fans tend to be anti M*luca but I’ve seen some middle of the road fans and just casual viewers say they don’t buy them as a couple. The actors don’t jive the same way Vlamis and Tyler do. And I don’t think it’s too complicated to understand that it’s time for a steady, queer couple.

Take note from Schitt’s Creek, CAM!

[eveningspirit]

It's Been a Long, Slow Collision (malex fanfic)

#

It was time. Shit happened, there was nothing left to lose anymore and, looking at the piece of shimmering glass Alex realized, that holding on to it no longer made sense. He figured it wouldn't be easy, so he made sure to take care of himself and took one of those extra anti-anxiety pills he was prescribed. Those he was supposed to take when his nerves were more rattled than usual after a nightmare or a flashback. Or before an event that might set him on edge. As for things difficult to face sober, confronting Michael Guerin with a piece of his alien spaceship scored right there at the top.

When he drove up to the airstream Alex was cool as a cucumber. The funny comparison didn't even make him quirk a corner of his lips. Emotions were all gone, save for maybe determination. He approached the trailer in a perfectly even step and knocked.

Guerin opened, disheveled as always, curls wild, tee crooked on his shoulders and torn in places. Alex wondered why he catalogued the elements of his appearance and stopped himself. Looked straight into Guerin's eyes.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Guerin replied, somewhat surprised. They haven't seen each other for at least a week. Since Max's welcome-back party at the Crashdown. "What are you doing here?"

Alex probed his mind and found no traces of apprehension there.

"I have something to give you," he reached into the backpack, then paused. Perhaps Guerin deserved some explanation? "I should have brought it sooner, but... I don't know if you care about excuses. I can say them... or not." He pulled the thing into the daylight.

It simmered violet and vibrant green and golden.

Guerin's eyes grew wide and he reached for it with pious adoration.

"This..." he whispered, darted his eyes at Alex. "It's a... How? Where did you find it?" He finally laid his hands on the thing and lifted it to inspect closer. "This must be one of the largest intact pieces I've seen!"

"It was at the cabin. Valenti found it. I guess."

"Wow." Guerin was watching the ins and outs of the piece, tracing the golden sigils with his fingers, overwhelmed. Alex was about to leave him to it, when Guerin asked, "How long did you say you had it?"

"I didn't." Alex met his eyes head on. "I didn't say. I had it with me the day I came to talk. The day you showed me the bunker and that you were,” he made a vague, meaningless gesture, "trying to rebuild the ship down there. I was going to show this to you, but when I found out how you wanted to use it, I freaked out."

"Freaked out? Why?"

"You wanted to leave. And I didn't want you to leave."

Guerin snorted. "Ironic, huh?"

"Considering how it all turned out? Yeah."

"No. I mean, considering that you were always the one to leave. And then," Guerin chuckled mirthlessly, "you got afraid what it would feel like to be the one that's left behind, for once in your life."

A pang of anger and choking raw pain tore, for a blink of an eye, through the fog layer provided by the medications and vanished back, deep within Alex's scrunched stomach.

"For once?..." he breathed out. "This, you saying something like this, is a proof enough that we didn't know each other at all."

Guerin had the decency to cast his eyes down. He nodded, then looked back up and smiled, more with challenge than with the apparent reconciliation offer his words might suggest.

"You want to come down there?" he asked. "See how this fits?" The second sentence sounded more genuine. Then he reinforced it with, "I owe you that at least," and a flicker of tongue over his lower lip.

Alex blinked the image away.

Then he went.

The ship's console looked different without sunlight, but it was still beautiful. More pale maybe, not so lively, but the moment Guerin came in contact with it, ripples of something unearthy spread through the surface. Guerin tried to position the new piece here and there, furrowing his brow and biting his lips. Then he pulled it away, tucked against his side and scratched his head.

"Do it again," Alex whispered.

"Do what?"

"Hover it above the console."

Guerin did as he was told.

"Look."

The console all shifted. Like waves went through it, not just under the surface, but the solid glass morphed and moved. It wasn't glass, not really, the substance the console was made of resembled glass, but it was made of something else entirely, something undefinable on Earth.

Guerin turned to look at Alex, eyes bright and shining, opened his mouth to say something, but never did. Instead he furrowed his brow, his gaze focusing in the distance behind Alex's back. Somewhere far behind the wall of the bunker. Alex felt, before he heard, a distant deep rumble. Like a wave approaching, it got louder and louder and within a couple of seconds the bunker begun to shake, tools rattling, fans of the ventilation system grinding with an ear splitting noise, then the wave moved away and the rumble of the ground passed by along with it.

"What?--" Guerin gasped, wide-eyed, leaning against the table.

"Earthquake," Alex whispered, also breathing fast, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He didn't feel any agitation though, only a vague, empty tickling at the back of his head, strange and familiar at the same time. The drugs in his system taking care of excess neurotransmitters before they could flood his brain.

Guerin left the artifact where it lay on the table and jumped to the ladder to glare up the shaft. Made a face, then quickly clambered to the top, banged in the hatch several times, then cursed. Alex neared the ladder too.

"We're stuck." Guerin jumped back to floor level and marched toward the side wall with purpose, then halted as if he forgot what the purpose was. Turned to Alex, ran his hand through his hair and shrugged. "Something must have fallen on the hatch. I can't see it so I can't lift it."

"Your airstream?"

"Most likely."

They were silent for a moment, then Alex pulled out his phone.

"There's no reception here," Guerin provided, but that had no effect on Alex.

"Military issue," he muttered as an explanation, then stared blankly at signal bars indicating 'zero'. Well, that had an effect. "We have no reception."

"I literally just said that."

"No. This one should work. It has extra boost and connects not only with civilian antennas. Underground, extra mile, what have you." He walked around the bunker lifting and lowering his cell, but the bars didn't budge.

"We just had an earthquake," Guerin gave an obvious explanation, his impatience palpable. "Maybe something, you know, broke."

So they were stuck. Guerin was right, they were stuck until someone would get them out. It wasn't... scary. Or even disturbing. Not to Alex anyway, because Guerin tried his trick with the hatch one more time, then stuck some rod into one of the fans that had stopped spinning. The rod didn't make it move. Guerin cursed.

"It's gonna be okay," Alex attempted to reason. "Someone will come looking for us."

"Yeah? Like who?" Guerin snapped at him. "Did you tell anyone you were coming here? Didn't think so. Do you have an appointment with anyone in, oh, fifteen minutes maybe? To which you'd be late? No? Well, me neither." He started to pace up and down the room, tugging at his curls. Alex still didn't share in his agitation, but he was beginning to get worried.

"Won't Max or Isobel call, just to check if you're okay?"

"If I had a working phone, it would maybe give us some bonus points." His snark was cutting. Alex didn't want to fight.

"If you don't pick up, won't they get worried? Maybe come here? They know about this bunker, don't they?"

"I hope they are both okay," Guerin's attitude suddenly deflated.

He looked young, much younger than a moment before and Alex felt the urge to come over and comfort him. Hug him maybe, press their foreheads together and whisper it was all going to be alright. They were getting out of here and Max and Isobel were fine, everybody was fine and in the evening they would all laugh about it in the Pony.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Because of the Pony and Maria and everything. Guerin and Maria weren't even together anymore, but those two weeks while they had been... A lot had changed in those two weeks.

Alex didn't want to think about that time and those things. That's why he'd taken his pills earlier.

"We could try to find some other way," he looked around the bunker and spotted an old radio transmitter, "to communicate with the outside world." Picked it up, attempting to appear triumphant.

Guerin shrugged. "We could try," he didn't sound convinced.

But at least it gave them something to do for the next few minutes, as they moved Guerin's papers out of the way, set the transmitter on the big table in the middle of the room and tried to connect it with the source of energy. When it finally lit up though, all they got was static, on all frequencies.

"Shit!" Guerin threw a piece of junk against the wall.

"We need a better antenna." Alex was more in his element though. His brain had switched to a different mode as they worked and now he zoomed in on the mission. He had been in a similar situation, besides. Under fire, with far less of suitable plates, slabs, tubes, wires, scraps and junk made of metal and plastic. This was going to be a piece of cake. "Give me that," he ordered Guerin around in his own bunker.

He was so focused on his task, he barely registered what was happening around. The ability to tune out his surroundings was a blessed gift on more than one occasion and not just in the combat zone. Working on lyrics or a sweet melody while being sore from the beatings had been a perk too, long ago. Not during the beatings; indifference might just piss off Sergeant Manes more. Ancient history, Alex snorted to himself.

"See you're having a good time," Guerin spat with more anger than Alex would find justifiable.

He straightened up, screwdriver in hand. Guerin stood on the other side of the table, merely five feet away. His face was unreadable. Eyes sparkling with what they always had, fondness and longing, like nothing ever happened. And yet, his lips were twisted, nostrils wide, like in a charging bull. Posture challenging. Accusatory.

There was no love left between them.

"Yeah," Alex said, skin on his arms and back crawling. "I actually like to assemble stuff, so that it does something."

"This doesn't seem to do something, though, does it?" Guerin gestured at the dismantled radio and a net of amplifiers and conductors attached to it.

Alex gasped, the tingling in his back intensified, climbing up his spine and neck. True, the radio wasn't working. Yet. But it was going to. It had to.

"All I hear is still static," Guerin added with a hint of malice, then, "Sorry," he said in a low voice and, again with anger, "How are you so calm?"

"I'm not," Alex mouthed.

He was, he knew he appeared calm on the outside still, but inside his stomach scrunched again, with more gusto this time. Right, it was what? over an hour since he took the pills and the situation got far more aggravating than what he'd initially anticipated. He'd anticipated some confrontation about their feelings, their not-relationship or the hideous follow-up, maybe about his pettiness with the console piece. Instead they got locked up in a bunker. With no way out. And a possibly failing ventilation system. Still. It was. Actually it was less troubling than the alternative. At least they weren't talking like... talking. Alex wanted to laugh. It was ridiculous in a way, the two of them stuck here for who knew how much longer. They'd been doing a pretty good job so far, ignoring the elephant in the room.

Guerin must have read his mind.

"Isn't it the first time we're alone together since..."

"I know!" Alex cut in and glared at Guerin. Since then, since before everything changed, before Maria.

They'd even approached him together to tell him they were a couple now. Then. No face-to-face with either his best friend or his – whatever-it-was. That had been for the better actually, Alex didn't know what he would do or say if he had been alone with either of them, when they'd told him. Or after.

Or now.

"I don't..." he shook his head.

"Yeah." Guerin muttered from five feet away. "Me neither."

Ignoring. That's what they were going to do. Just keep ignoring.

Guerin climbed up the shaft again and banged in the cover. Then he came down. Paced for a couple of minutes muttering something, tried to focus on contacting his siblings through the mental link they shared, helped Alex find something that might serve as additional capacitor, then climbed back up again. Then again. And again. He tried to fight the peace of metal keeping them inside, but it wouldn't budge. At the beginning Alex assumed Guerin tried to maybe sense the layout of what was beyond and make his powers work that way. He didn't know how they worked exactly. When there was no noticeable effect though, he started to think it was pointless. He should have thought that it at least gave Guerin something to do, something to have control over.

"You really think banging it will help?" he voiced his doubts after the seventh time, but tried to say it without annoyance.

"If nothing else will!" Guerin blew up. He leaned over the table, closer to Alex this time, on the side. “What is the matter with you?” he seethed, like he was offended by something.

Alex looked up, taken-aback.

"You didn't even bat an eyelash when the earthquake hit," Guerin accused, leaning away. "You just took to fixing the radio, like it was a lazy Sunday afternoon. Even the fucking fucked ventilators do not phase you."

Oh. That. The fake calm. How was he supposed to explain that to Guerin? He wasn’t calm, not at all. He could feel emotions in his mind shift and change by the minute. His breathing became strained for a couple of seconds and he had to put effort into stabilizing it. The ventilators? Yeah, they actually did worry Alex. A little. Two of them were more-or-less working, with an occasional hiccup. One had tried to screech for a while, on-and-off, but seemed to have stopped for good now. The last one was definitely busted. It's not like the air wasn't coming through and they might suffocate, but it was getting somewhat stuffy. Like in a room with closed windows.

Except it wasn’t that. His trouble breathing wasn’t about busted ventilators. Shit. Soon he might have to tell Guerin the truth. If they were going to remain in here longer than four hours, Guerin might have a mess of a panicked Alex on his hands.

Not yet though.

"Maybe you should try to fix them," he pushed back as soon as he gained back a semblance of control. "Make yourself useful, for a change?"

"It's the worst thing that could happen to you," Guerin spat, "isn't it? Being stuck here, with me, of all people. Oh, how you hate it!"

Alex met Guerin’s eyes. Molten gold. He could drown in their deepness, he wanted to.

Hate it.

He didn’t hate it. Guerin though... Guerin wasn't afraid of the tight space, Alex realized, or the inability to get out of here; he wasn’t worried about his siblings. That was not why he was restless all this time. It was because of this – them being stuck here together. It was so obvious. Alex was shocked he hadn't seen it before.

"So that's what this is about," he whispered. "You hate being here with me."

"That's not what I said," Guerin protested.

"You didn't have to. You hate this, so you think I hate it too." Alex watched the network of cables on the table, suddenly not understanding their purpose. Only hearing ‘hate-hate-hate’ to the rhythm of his own heart. "I don't," he forced out.

"Me neither." Guerin sounded almost offended by the accusation. Surprised and wounded for certain.

"Good," Alex mouthed, just as Guerin muttered, "I just..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Nothing. Right, nothing. Alex breathed in and out. Shook his head like it could help clear his mind. Cables in front of his still mocked him with their mysterious configuration. If he concentrated though... Some screws needed fitting.

"You need any help with that?" Guerin asked.

"Actually, yeah.” Alex pointed at a bundle of wires. “Can you hold it in place, while I... No, like this.” He reached to correct the placement of Guerin’s hand and at the skin-on-skin contact he shivered.

He heard Guerin’s breath, only inches away now, hitch-up too. He turned to the side, afraid of what he’d find there and sure enough, Guerin’s eyes, Guerin’s crooked nose, Guerin’s mouth, parted slightly, were right there. His tongue left a wet trail on his lower lip and Alex had to bite on his own, not to...

And then Michael’s mouth were on his, but his hand was on Michael’s arm and it pushed, even though, when the warmth of Michael’s breath moved away, he chased after it like a parched plant, mindless and blind.

The moment was gone, though. Alex couldn’t look at Michael, he couldn’t breathe. He was dizzy and tired and his knees were weak, so he leaned on the table and wanted to let himself cry. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until they were out of here.

“Shit!” Michael’s reaction was entirely different. Again he threw something against the wall, he screamed and gestured wildly. “Will you ever let me live it down?” He spread his arms, opening up his chest to Alex. Showing his vulnerable underbelly as if saying, you can kill me, if you want.

Alex shook his head. “What do you want from me?”

“What is it you want?” Michael shot right back. “I told you what I wanted. I’ve always told you, straight up, what I wanted. I wanted to be with you,” he screamed, making the last three words each their own sentence. “Did I ever not make it clear? But you always left. Always, Alex. Ten years ago. Three times in between, without so much as a word and three times after an argument. And then, when you were apparently back in Roswell for good and I thought... I thought it was finally getting real...” Michael shook his head, unable to find words.

Alex lowered his head. Michael was right. He was leaving, time and again. He remembered very well the last time, the evening at the drive-in, and what he’d told Guerin. He was so... So confused that day. First because of Isobel almost discovering them, then because Michael obviously didn’t share his conviction that they should hide their relationship – in fact he seemed hurt by Alex expressing his desire to keep it from the world. Then, because his fears came true right as he decided he would not hide, that he would make the effort for Michael, because Michael was worth it. But his father saw them and made some comments Alex couldn’t even remember later, no matter how hard he tried. All he knew was that it made his mood plummet and then he found the first best excuse to break things off completely.

He was weak. He wasn’t worth it.

“And then you change your mind,” Guerin started talking again, when Alex didn’t respond. “Was that it? You coming to me and telling me that you shouldn’t have left, but you wanted to leave and all that nonsense, was that it? Was it supposed to mean that you wanted to stay, this time?”

Alex looked up. He nodded. He wanted to say, yes, he wanted to say something more, but words were, as usual, elusive. So he just nodded.

“And because you wanted to not-leave, I was supposed to come at your every beck and call, huh?”

“No,” this time Alex managed to utter. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It wasn’t? Then what was it? Your behavior later? Angry and jealous and pissed because I needed something else? Damn it, what if I did? I thought I needed something else, Alex. At the very least I needed to find out what the fuck I needed!”

Maria. Alex couldn’t say her name. Not in this context.

“I wanted you to be happy,” he uttered under his breath, just as Michael added, “Even if it turned out to be someone else.”

They looked at each other and before Alex managed to understand the implication of Guerin’s words, Guerin blurted, incredulous, “You what? You sure as hell weren’t showing it.”

He stood in front of Alex, his arms slack at his sides, brow furrowed, head shaking like he heard something that completely blew him out of the water.

“You acted like you were jealous and pissed off and you didn’t want to talk to anyone, not just me and Maria, but any-freakin’-one. And all you would do was lock yourself up with all the Project Shepherd stuff and sacrifice yourself for everyone by finding the way to save Max!”

“That’s not what I...” Alex shook his head. “I just needed time. And distance to process this. I... Michael, I know it was a terrible time for you,” he didn’t dare bring back the memories of Caulfield and Max’s death by saying the names out loud, “but you made it obvious I was not... Not what you needed, so research was all I could do to make it up to you somehow and you don’t even know what it was all like for me.”

“Then tell me. That’s just what I’m asking, Alex. Tell me. What do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Bullshit!”

The word reverberated in the silence that fell, like a slap to the face or a hit to the stomach. Or maybe Michael’s powers made everything inside the bunker rattle with his fury.

Bullshit.

Alex found himself fighting for breath. He was leaning on the table and forcing each inhale, trying to count to five, to four, to three at least, but his lungs weren’t cooperative, pushing the air faster than he could take another breath.

He was shaking.

“Alex.”

He was dizzy and he was shaking and he couldn’t stand, because his knees buckled and he was going down like a stone.

“Alex!”

Something caught him and slowed his descent, but he was still dizzy and floating and Michael’s face over his was a blur. Two hot streams of something hot rolled down his temples when he blinked and his vision became clearer. His breathing was coming back to normal, but his head felt empty, like a barrel. Light like a barrel too when he moved it from right to left and back again.

“Alex?”

“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.

“Like hell you are,” Michael breathed out. At least he wasn’t shouting anymore. Alex closed his eyes. Maybe he would be able to sleep now that all went quiet.

Just for a moment.

Just for a breath.

He turned his face into Michael’s warmth, burrowed it in Michael’s shirt and dug his fingers into the fabric trying to pull him closer, closer, so close they would become one. Michael’s arms wrapped him in tight and it felt so good, so good.

Just one more second.

Even if it’s all a lie.

“Come on, man,” Michael said, too soon.

Alex pushed himself away and sat straight on the ground.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he tried to scramble to his feet.

“It’s alright,” Michael’s arms were around him again and Alex found himself wanting them to stay like this, but at the same time not wanting Michael to touch him, because it made him weak, unable to resist this pull, and at the same time still needing him for support, because his legs were made of gel-o and he hated this weakness, emotional and physical alike, hated his body, hated his mind, hated himself so much he wanted to vanish into thin air. To never have existed.

“Sorry,” he muttered again, biting back a sob and making himself, forcing himself with everything he had, to push this weakness deep, deep down, where it couldn’t reach him. He knew how to be strong. He had been strong all his life. He was strong, until he wasn’t and he needed those damn pills to stay strong, but even they were failing him now.

“Alex, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Michael whispered, his hand still on Alex’s back, its warmth reminding him of his weakness and his worthlessness and he straightened his shoulders, because he had control over his body once more.

“Yes, I do,” he huffed out a slow exhale. “And it’s gonna get worse.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Panic attacks. They’re gonna get worse if we don’t get out of here soon. I’m not calm, Michael, not at all. I’ve taken pills and they have been taking care of most of it, but I think I’m all out now. Or, on the verge, I don’t know. So it’s gonna get worse.”

“Shit,” Michael said and tried to turn on the radio, but it still didn’t emit anything other than white noise. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

Alex looked at the tangled wires and pieces of metal, but figuring it all out required too much effort and he was spent. It was so hard to gather thoughts and complete ideas. He picked the piece he’d been working on before this argument started, but he couldn’t remember what he’d intended to do with it. “We could,” he started, uncertain, but Michael interrupted him.

“No. Not that.” He pushed his hand down and took it in his own. “What do you need me to do when you... When you feel worse?”

“I, no, I don’t.” Alex glared at him and shook his head. “I’ll fight it. I know how to fight it.”

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here for you.”

“No. No, I don’t want you to put up with this. I don’t want you to have to...”

“Listen to me, you moron.” Michael grabbed his face between both his palms. “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to. Geez, me and Maria didn’t last two weeks, because... Because simple and quiet was not what I wanted. It doesn’t mean I want hurt and pain either, it’s not like that, I don’t want you to be in pain and I don’t want to suffer either, but. But I want you. You and everything that entails. All of it. So. I’ll rephrase my question now. Do you want me?”

“Yes,” Alex’s mouth responded before his mind caught up. It was like instinct, one obvious answer in his life. He wanted Michael.

“But.” It was complicated. “I’m.” He was complicated. "How can you want me?”

“Shut up,” Michael replied and placed a soft, delicate kiss on his lips. A kiss that was warm and safe and good.

He was wanted. Unbelievable as it was.

He was wanted...