greatamazingfeelingsboy

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michael guerin

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Dec 21

Working on the car is a regular thing. Caleb has therapy on Sundays, and he works with Michael on the car on Fridays and Saturdays. Clint and the guys have invited Caleb out with them more than once since the dance, but Caleb is feeling a little... crowded by them.

By Clint.

Clint really likes Caleb, and it's weird. Not bad-weird, like Caitlin's butterflies, but also not good-weird, like Adam's. Just... weird. So he's bowed out, but he texts Clint regularly so he doesn't think Caleb hates him, or regrets dancing with him, or anything. They're friends. Caleb doesn't want him to think they're not.

Today, he's going into the shop, but with a different purpose in mind. He's got his school bag, but instead of his textbooks in it, he has the books he'd bought at the bookstore earlier in the week.

"Hey, Kid," one of the other shop guys greets. Tim, Caleb thinks his name is. "Michael's back by the car."

"Cool, thanks," Caleb says. It's weird to him, but in kind of a cool way, that the guys Michael works with are starting to recognize him.

He makes his way towards the car, because he knows which one Tim was talking about, and the closer he gets, the more easily he feels Michael's red coming out to meet him. He smiles at the familiarity, and sets his bag down near the car so he can examine how much work they've done so far.

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Michael pops his head up from the engine that he's bent over, working on getting a few parts installed and in. He gives Caleb a bright smile and a smirk, glad to see him not just because they're going to be working on the car, but because he went and bought him a gift that's half joke and half-serious, because it might end up working the way he wants it to.

"Spending your Saturday with me again," he jokes. "You're definitely making me feel like I'm popular, getting your time like this."

Caleb rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. "Whatever, you're kinda cool, I guess." He shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over his bag for now. "Um, I was actually kinda wondering if you minded if I did some reading here? From those books we got last weekend? It's quieter here, and... it's just easier to focus. I mean, I know that's not the actual point, but." He shrugs a little helplessly.

"Excuse you, I'm extremely cool," he says with a scoff, hand over his heart like he's been insulted gravely. "But yeah, I don't care. I'm in for a few hours to work on your thing and catch up on some paperwork," he says, gesturing for a seat nearby.

Before he does that, he leans over for the small wrapped box. "This one's for you. More from me than Alex, because he rolled his eyes when I told him that I bought it," he admits, given that he'd bought Caleb a mood ring.

Caleb reaches over for the box, but hesitates. "Why d'you feel so proud of yourself?" he asks, then narrows his eyes. "And... playful." He takes the box, Michael's amusement tickling the insides of his ribs as he tugs the taped ends open. He draws it out on purpose, wanting Michael's anticipation to rise just on principle. This seems to be a gag gift, so he's going to make him wait for it.

"Because I'm a very smart man and I should feel proud of myself," he says, ducking down again to start tightening up one of the caps as he gestures for Caleb to keep working the gift open. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I didn't go out and spend tons of money on you, but..."

He leans back to wait, eager and anticipating what he's about to find, hoping that he'll think it's funny.

Caleb shakes his head a little, then finishes unwrapping it, then pops the box open. The ring inside is pretty, at a glance, not aggressively feminine but not overtly masculine, either. Caleb doesn't get it at first, until he realizes that the gem in it is a specific sort of dull rainbow that's familiar.

Michael's awfully proud of himself, amused, hopeful...

"Oh fuck you," he says with a laugh. It's a fucking mood ring. It is funny, even if the colors of the gem aren't usually accurate.

"What?" he asks, all innocence. "And here I thought this was something completely normal and natural. I mean, it fits you, right?" He took a guess on literal sizing, but from a gift perspective, he's pretty sure that it's perfect. "It's a mood ring, you're a ..." he nods towards him.

"On the serious side, I think it's a good reminder, of how you can control your thing," he adds, wiping his hands on a nearby towel.

He rolls his eyes again, but he pulls it out of the box and starts to put it on his ring finger, but stops when it gets too snug and moves it to his pinkie finger instead.

Of course it's a perfect fit. Fucking alien genius.

The gem starts adjusting its color to match the temperature of his skin.

"Think so?" he pushes, looking at it.

Yup, that's the smugness out again, with his delight clear in the way he lifts his chin up, smug and completely an asshole about it. "See? Look at that, it's perfect," he boasts.

He deflates, just a little, to calm himself.

"Yeah, think of it, though. I mean, you already assign colors to 'em, maybe it's more about thinking about shifting between them fluidly, like the ring does."

Caleb hums thoughtfully and looks down at the ring, where he knows he's going to keep it, gag gift or not.

Not all of the feelings he feels are fluid, he realizes, and that's why it feels weird trying to shift between them. He tries to imagine shifting from the Pop Rocks sensation of curiosity to the swelling, sunshine warmth of pride, but without feeling the emotions in that moment, it's difficult, so he focuses on something a little more present.

Michael's smugness isn't slimy, like some people's. It's warm, and slightly damp, like an early summer morning, before the dew's evaporated by the sun. Near that, always present, is a sense of guilty shame that Caleb's come to realize is tangled with the edges of his love for Alex. Where there's one, there's the other. Following his love for Alex is a love for other things, vaguer and gentler, less overwhelming but still there, and the joy that those things bring him.

"Okay, it is... surprisingly easy to navigate your feelings," he admits, re-focusing on reality and not the various shades of red that Michael lives in.

Michael shrugs, because he's not surprised. "I mean, I put up a lot of fronts," he admits, "but deep down, I hate secrets, so I'm not surprised that I'm an easy read for someone who can get under the surface." He heads over to grab some equipment and drop cloths, because he figured that they could start painting while Caleb is here, so he can see the color.

"I don't hide 'em. I cry, I shout, I scream, I love," he admits bluntly. "That's me."

"That is definitely you," Caleb agrees with a laugh. He goes quiet, then, as he allows his empathy to reach out to Tim, further into the shop. Tim is focused, and it makes Caleb want to sit down and study, makes him want to work on the car. It's a nice feeling, like when his dad is working, hyper focused, and it makes Caleb want to do his homework.

But Tim is also worried about something. It permeates like a fog underneath the focus, and Caleb frowns a little as he follows that worry. It wraps around a pool of love, different types. Love like Michael's for Alex, but love like his parents' love for him and Alice, too. He's... worried about his kids? Worried about his whole family.

"Is Tim okay?" he asks Michael.

Michael keeps his head down and out of trouble, which means he kind of doesn't know his coworkers, and yeah, that's on him. "Tim? I don't know," he admits, loading the paint into the tool as he glances over at him. "Alex probably knows better, he pays attention to that kind of thing."

Michael's there to work, not make best friends.

He squints at Caleb, feeling proud and curious. "You can feel that from over here?" he asks, a smile beginning to grow on his lips.

"Yeah, he's not that far away," he notes.

The shop is big, but it isn't huge — it's probably the same overall square footage as his house back home, with just fewer walls between him and everyone else — so Tim falls what feels well within Caleb's range. But Michael's pride bubbles up and Caleb finds himself blushing a little.

"I guess I'm more familiar with his feelings than I thought," he mumbles. "Do... d'you think I should go ask him? He's. He's really worried about something."

Michael glances to Tim, giving Caleb an encouraging nod. "Yeah, go for it," he says, thinking that maybe he should be better about actually learning about his coworkers, but he always tries to keep apart on the off-chance that getting too close means that they'll learn his secret.

"He might even appreciate it. He's a good guy," he says, and knows that much. All the guys here are, even if Michael's still getting used to coworkers who aren't Sanders.

Caleb nods, and he makes his way out further into the shop. Tim's working on a multi-point inspection, so the car is lifted high enough to walk beneath it as he explores the different, surprisingly fine details of the car. His brow is furrowed, but when he sees Caleb, he gives him a nod and a smile.

"Hey, Kid," he greets.

"Hey," he answers. Don't jump right into it, Feelings Boy. Lead the conversation.

"What's up?" Tim asks. "Guerin send you out to get some extra training? Or you just bored of working on that rust trap he found for ya?"

Caleb huffs a laugh. "Nah, I just, um. Wanted to see how you were? You looked a little... I dunno, um." Shit.

"Ah," Tim says, saving him. "Yeah, well. That's how it goes when you're a grownup, Kid. There's always something on your mind."

"Do... you want to talk about it?" he asks. Tim smiles, and Caleb feels the gentle appreciation that blooms as a result of the question.

And, surprisingly, Tim does want to talk about it. He tells Caleb about his family, about the kids he just wants to raise up well, and the cancer his wife has been battling for years that finally seems to be in remission, and what would happen to him and his kids if she lost the battle. Caleb listens, and he feels the feelings Tim is offering him with every word. It's hard, but he does it, and he follows the threads of each emotion to the next, until he finds something that makes Tim happy, and he brings that up, slowly shifting his mood into something calmer, easier.

"I'd— I'd better get back to the car," he says once the conversation peters out. He feels hollowed out, and tries to reach out for Michael's red, tries to find that orange place again. "It was good talking to you, Tim."

"Hey, you too, Kid," Tim says. He gently claps Caleb on the shoulder and gets back to work on the car.

Caleb beats feet back to Michael's side and sags against the car. Jesus.

Michael keeps glancing up in the middle of painting to see if things are going fine, though he's careful not to let the paint drift too far. He works on getting a concentrated area, though, to show Caleb what it's going to look like, and eventually Caleb comes back and Tim seems good.

Okay, even.

Michael coaxes him back as he turns off the paint, clasping Caleb on the shoulder to give him a little shake. "Hey, you good in there?" he asks, genuinely concerned that he just burned himself out all because of a suggestion Michael made.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, actually, that... that was... really good." He looks at Michael, a little bit of awe on his face, like he can't even believe it. "I-I mean, he's not great, y'know? His wife is really sick, so he's really worried about her and their kids. But... I mean, I found all that. I followed it, like you said." He's getting excited, now, talking faster and gesturing. "It's like, if you imagine a bowl of water, y'know, and you take food coloring and drop it in, and it just slowly spreads through? And then it's in the water, but it's not the water, itself, and instead there're just these colors, like, snaking through and sometimes touching and sometimes not, and, and, it was almost easy."

Michael squeezes Caleb's shoulder again, proud of him. That's really only the first step, as far as he's concerned. "When you use your talents like that, is there anything after that would help you out? Like, for me, I drink acetone," he says.

He also makes a note to talk to Alex about Tim, maybe put together some kind of fruit tray or something supportive.

"You feeling okay? No lingering anything?"

Caleb isn't sure 'talent' is the word he'd use for his empathy. He used to refer to it as a Problem. It'd started to feel like one again, when he'd first arrived, but... maybe it doesn't have to be. Then Michael mentions acetone, and he blinks and looks at him.

"Is that what that is?" he asks, frowning. He totally ignores the follow-up question, trying to find that weird, not-quite-drunk feeling that Michael carries with him. It's hard. His body doesn't know how to accept a sensation it's never experienced.

"What, the stuff I drink?"

He shrugs, still not sure what it is about the acetone that does it for aliens, but that he knows it works. He also doesn't want to get into how he found that out, because today shouldn't be about 'sad Michael Guerin stories'.

"Yeah," he agrees. "If you don't use them that often, or you go too much, the acetone is like morphine. It makes things better."

"I can't really, like, feel it from you?" he says. "I mean, it's there, but I can't figure out what it is. My body just sort of... ignores it, I guess? Since most people can't drink nail polish remover."

"I mean, you definitely shouldn't, because then there'd be a hospital visit involved," he deadpans, but he gives Caleb a curious look, not sure how that works. "My body can process it, but it's like a numbing agent, a drug."

"I'm sure there's something like that for you, right?" Michael can't imagine that Caleb has this without having something to help.

Caleb looks thoughtful, but he shakes his head. "I don't think so. Dr. Bright said that some Atypicals' abilities reacted really badly with medicine and stuff? And I can't drink alcohol, like, at all. It makes my ability so much worse." He can't imagine anything making it easier, or calmer, other than practice and balancing, like Dr. Bright's always said, but...

"I do kinda wish there was something that'd, like. Calm it down. Just so I could sleep, y'know? The fucking Home is just... Everyone there is so loud, I sleep like shit, now. When I sleep at all."

Michael tucks away his acetone, giving Caleb a worried look. The whole atypical thing is one thing, but what Caleb is saying is a more pressing thing that grabs his attention. "How many kids are you in a room with?" he asks, trying to ignore old memories flooding back.

Sometimes, he really wishes he could forget his time in the homes, but he can't, which is why he feels so much sympathy for what both Luke and Caleb are going through.

"Just a couple other ones, but I can feel the whole floor, plus the floor right under us," he explains. "Don't— no, I mean, you don't have to worry, I'll. I'll get used to it, I'm sure. It's so much easier when everyone's sleeping, but... people aren't all asleep at the same time. There's kids with insomnia, or they're fucking making out or, y'know, more, and it's just. It's fucking awkward."

He really doesn't want Michael to worry, but he's a bad enough liar — and Michael's a good enough friend — to want to tell the truth.

Michael knows a thing or two about that. He'd been in and out of group homes in between his terrible foster parents, and the evangelical home in Roswell took too many kids on, which meant that he'd been stuffed in a room with three other kids.

He gets it. It's sad, but he does.

"I mean, at least you got better options here than I did." Because opting to live in the back of your truck is one of those things that in retrospect, hadn't been really smart. "Just take my apartment."

"What d'you mean?" he says, frowning. Michael feels like he's made a decision, and it's buoyed by sympathy and concern that makes Caleb feels sticky and slow. "I can't just take your apartment. You live there with Alex."

Michael didn't really think that one through, but it's an easy enough fix. "Yeah, Alex and I live together now," he agrees, "but when I first got here, we weren't together. There was two months of me living in my own place."

"It's being used for storage right now, with a webcam, for my hobbies," he says calmly. "But there's a bed and no one's sleeping there. I mean, if I fuck it up with Alex, I'll probably get sent to the couch there, but I'm hoping to avoid that."

Hobbies. "Oh," he says intelligently. "So it's, wait, are you serious?" he asks, changing course halfway through his own question. "I can, I mean, I can pay rent, I think. I don't want you to— shit, really?"

He can't even get all of the words out that he wants, because the idea of borrowing Michael's apartment, even for just the next five-plus months, is exciting enough to stumble the words in his throat.

"It's sitting there with no one in it," he admits, so it's not like Caleb would be kicking anyone else out. "Look, I wouldn't want you bringing people over where they could see it, but you need a quiet place to sleep, it's yours."

Because yeah, he is living with Alex now, and he's hoping to stay there. "I don't need you to pay rent, I make enough at the shop to cover it plus the allowance I get for being a happy kidnapping victim."

Caleb feels his stomach drop out, like he's missed a step coming down the stairs. Excitement. It's tinged pastel pink with relief, and he grabs Michael in a hug before he can even think about it. Fortunately, Michael doesn't send him any immediate negative feelings, so he doesn't regret it, even if it does make him feel sort of silly.

Michael loves a good hug, and he doesn't get near enough of them these days, so when Caleb grabs him for one, he pulls him in, burying his face in Caleb's neck (since he's got a little height on him, just like Max does) and squeezes the back of his neck.

"I mean, it's empty, so you're not putting me out or anything. It's a lot of gratitude," he jokes. "But you're welcome."

Caleb huffs a laugh, but clings into the hug for a little longer. When he leans back away, he has to wipe the corners of his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he says. "I'm just. This is huge, for me. I'm gonna be able to sleep. Thank you so much. I'll— when can I move in?"

"Hey, kiddo, it's okay," Michael assures, because he doesn't mind the hug, it's just a lot of gratitude over something that doesn't seem worth it. "And I don't care. I might have to head over and get all the alien stuff in the second bedroom."

"That's the rule," he warns. "No one sees it. You don't let anyone see or touch it, you can stay as long as you want."

"Oh, shit, yeah," he nods enthusiastically. "No way, that's, no one will see it, I promise." He has to make sure to keep that promise, too, and mentally adds a locking door knob to his shopping list.

"Fuck, okay," he says. "I know it doesn't seem like a big deal to you, but. This is huge. This is so huge."

"Good," Michael says, maybe a little sharp, but it's important to him. The last thing he needs is someone finding out what he is or what he can do. That way leads to danger.

"But yeah, I get how big of a deal it is," he adds quietly. "I've been where you are, remember?" Michael knows all about shitty group homes, and terrible situations that don't let you sleep.

He nods, settling a little. On the outside, Michael seems put together, rock solid. When Caleb's not around him, feeling the red storm inside him, it's easy to forget that he's got a fairly fucked up past. He can relate a lot to Caleb's current problems because he'd lived worse versions of them, himself.

"Well—" he starts, then gestures at the car. "Let's put me to work! I'm suddenly really energized."

Michael lets out a laugh and gestures to the car with a nod of his head. "Go check out the color," he encourages. "While you were practicing your talents, I was getting a patch on there so you can see exactly what the green looks like when it's on."

He wanders back over, rapping his knuckles on the area. "What do you think?"

Caleb follows him to the patch. He'd given Michael paint chips that matched the shades of green that made him think of Adam. He had no idea how car paint worked, or if the protective layers over top would change the final color, so he'd let Michael choose the exact shade from those chips, in case it actually mattered, and...

"Fuck. Yes, that's. That's gonna be perfect."

Michael's pretty proud about that, because he'd genuinely been concerned that he'd picked the wrong green and Caleb was going to hate it. Lucky for him, they don't have to worry about that. "Perfect," he says, holding out mask and then paint gun.

"Then get to work, kiddo, put all that energy to good use."

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