greatamazingfeelingsboy

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early Jan

Being in a feminine body is... different, but not bad. Now that he's been assured that, yes, this is a thing Darrow does, and, yes, he's going to change back, Caleb's taken the time to sort of... get used to the idea. He's still pretty tall, though not over six feet anymore. Rosie had helped him get his hair into a ponytail so it's not in his face, and then she'd blessedly helped him buy clothes so he didn't feel totally weird.

He doesn't really want to talk about the bra experience.

But it's Saturday, so now he has to face Michael. He hadn't been anticipating that. He'd ended up trying to call him, but, of course, it went to voicemail. He was the worst. So, dressed in his new, much better fitting clothes, Caleb makes his way to the shop.

Tim greets him like always, with a smile and a "Hey, Kid," and doesn't seem to think there's anything weird about Caleb being girl-shaped. That's... kinda weird.

"Hey," he greets, still a little thrown off by the sound of his new voice. Then he makes his way back to the car he and Michael have been working on.

He braces himself for Michael's feelings, squares his shoulders, and calls out another "Hey," loud enough for Michael to hear him.

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"I'd do anything for Isobel," Michael admits, because he knows that he's already gone further than most people would (after all, not everyone takes the brunt of blame for three murders, not unless you really love someone).

He shrugs, because that's just his life. He's not sure that she'd do anything for him, because he's not Max, but it doesn't matter. "You wanna work on the tires today? Get them on the rims?"

"Yeah, yes," he answers with a nod. He sheds his jacket at last, dropping it into the back seat of the car so he doesn't have to worry about it. It's still his usual jacket — no point in buying a new one — and it'd done a pretty good job of hiding his changed body shape.

He's wearing a long sleeved shirt that's a little more fitted than he would have liked, especially now that Michael's teased him about pleasuring himself in this different body. It shows off his new figure, and he quickly focuses on the car instead of on what Michael's reaction is going to be.

Michael gives Caleb an amused look, pieces clicking together. First, there'd been the bra thing, and now there's the clothes. "So, I take it that you went shopping at some point today?" is his guess, which he feels like is the pretty normal thing to be judging.

"Seriously, I definitely would've thrown on sweats. It's a teen thing, right?" he asks curiously, popping the hood. "Caring about all that?"

"None of my clothes fit," he argues, hugging himself again. "And... these were way bigger than I expected. Heavier, I mean." He blushes and looks away. "It kinda hurt to, like. Do... anything."

"So, your tits are too big and that gave you the chance to go on a shopping spree," he deadpans. "You should ask Alex if he wants to go out. He's got opinions about fashion," he says with a knowing nod, even if he's proud.

"Don't worry, I don't care. I'm in a committed thing, remember? I'm all about the responsible adult life now," he says, waving his hand as he grabs some tools, getting the lift in place. "Come on, crank this baby up, we're getting new tires and rims on."

Caleb steps over to the lift control to hold the button. He gives Michael a look. "Even if you weren't in a committed relationship, ew, you're, like, ten years older than me." There's no blush this time, because Michael isn't an ugly guy, but he's definitely got an older brother vibe to him, and Caleb likes his feelings, but he isn't drawn to them the way he is to Adam's.

"Oh, fuck off, I'm not coming on to you," Michael protests, wrinkling his nose, because yeah, he is a lot older, and that's the point. He doesn't want this to suddenly get weird, and it's starting to verge close.

He nods towards the tires. "Come on, you wanna be helpful, drag these over. We're installing the rims I got, cuz they're way cooler," he says, because the ones he found have a great design that'll show off while spinning.

Caleb makes a face. He hadn't been trying to make it weird, but he's glad to learn that Michael feels the same way about it that he does. They're friends first, and unless Michael were suddenly a teenager, Caleb doubts he'd really be interested in him that way.

He grabs a tire off the stack—

And yelps, nearly dropping it onto his own foot. Either it's much heavier than he'd thought, or this frame is a lot weaker than he'd expected. His arms are slenderer, but he'd still seen muscle when he'd flexed, so he'd thought it would be the same.

Michael glances over in time to see the tire slipping, towards Caleb's foot. The yelp had given him enough warning that he can use his powers to steady it before the whole thing slams down on him, rushing over to grab it and set it down.

"Hey, easy," he warns, giving him a concerned look. "Look, just shove them over," he says, not wanting to say that Caleb can't, but he doesn't want them being dropped either.

He can feel the weird, slightly bubbly way the tire slows in the air, and then he's looking up at Michael, trying not to frown at him. The traffic cone orange of his concern is a surprise. It's been awhile since he felt that.

"I got it," Caleb insists. "It just— caught me off guard, or whatever."

Michael doesn't want to tell Caleb that he can't do anything, but he also feels like he's allowed to be concerned, especially seeing as it's not like he could lift around tires when he'd first gotten started, and he'd just had the excuse of lanky arms.

"You sure?" he checks. "Because you don't have to lift them around, there's other ways to get them here."

Caleb isn't sure why he's so annoyed by this. Michael's not annoyed. He's concerned, yes, and he can feel that it's because he doesn't want Caleb to hurt himself. But it doesn't feel like Michael thinks he's weak. It feels like Michael's just... being a big brother, or whatever. Like the way he worries about Alice when she's in a bad mood.

He huffs a breath and tilts the tire up onto its treads so he can roll it over to the car.

"I used to lift heavier than this back home," he complains.

"Yeah, and you just nearly dropped it on your foot," Michael feels like he should point out, glad that Caleb's rolling it now. "You don't gotta try and prove you can still swing a dick around, when you can use your brain," is his point, and seeing as Caleb's doing that now, he's pretty glad.

"You're not at home, and this place did some weird shit to you, so yeah, you'll have to adapt," he admits.

Caleb wants to argue, but Michael's only saying this because he cares, he can feel that. So why does he feel like he wants to cry? He's still annoyed — angry, almost, but it feels big, and it doesn't make him want to punch something like it usually does. It just burns behind his eyes, making him narrow them.

...It's not because he's girl-shaped, is it? He keeps his back to Michael has he grabs another tire, tilting it onto its tread the same as before. He does not want to deal with this right now. This is supposed to be Car Day, and he just wants to feel normal for thirty fucking seconds.

Michael sees the way Caleb is reacting and he sighs, throwing his hands up in frustration before settling back, staring at him pointedly. "Just say it," he encourages, because he hates the silent treatment, always has. Nothing good ever comes of it, so if Caleb has something to say, he'd rather just hear it.

Talk to me talk to me talk to me. It plays on a refrain in Caleb's ribs, beating a gentle tattoo in time with his heart. He huffs harder.

"Stop it!" he insists, leaning the third tire against his leg. "I'm not mad at you, I-I'm just mad, okay? I hate this stupid city, and I hate this stupid, wrong body, and I hate that you're so worried about me!"

Michael's not insulted or hurt by anything he says until the last part. He recoils, and every part of him says that he needs to save face. His nostrils flare slightly, and he hears it. The little voice in his head that says, fine, then I'll stop caring at all.

It's so easy to do, and he doesn't spit it out, but he wants to.

"It's temporary," he snaps instead. "In a week, you'll be back to normal, and you're allowed to be mad, but if you don't want me being worried about you, then don't fucking come to car day and expect anything else."

Caleb flinches as soon as he feels that hurt, and he looks down. "No, fuck, Michael—" he tries, but then Michael's speaking, voice propelled by the sting of Caleb's words.

"I'm sorry," he insists. "I didn't mean it like that. I-I'm just— fuck." He pushes the tire over so it lays flat, then sits on it in a heavy slump, fingers buried in his hair until it gets caught on the braid. "Everything feels so sharp right now," he continues, and he hates how this wrong voice sounds with the sob trying to come through. "Your worry hurts."

That's not right, either. It's so hard to explain it, especially because, right now, in this girl-shaped body, even his ability feels slightly different. He feels too full, like his skin might rip open from the pressure. It's like his ability stayed Caleb-shaped, but his body didn't, and now it's like a water balloon with too much water inside of it. How is he supposed to make room for other people's emotions when he can barely contain his own?

Michael's anger is still the thing that often controls him and right now, it's front and center. He hates that Caleb doesn't want him to worry, that it hurts, and it's probably good because it's ebbing away, replaced by his rage instead.

"Then what the fuck are you here for?" he snaps, and he tries not to let the objects on the table vibrate. "You're in a weird bind, I get it, but guess what, I'm gonna worry when you drop tires on yourself or you're feeling hurt." He shakes his head, and gestures to him. "Don't, you'll..." he sighs, because Caleb's fucking up the braid.

Caleb realizes too late that something's wrong. Michael's so angry, and it's feeding into Caleb's frustration, darkening it, and suddenly, he does want to punch something. How the hell did this happen? They were fine just a minute ago. Now everything is red and hot and Caleb's hands are white-knuckled in his hair as he tries to find the orange under the red. His breathing is coming harsh where he's buried his face into his knees, and distantly, he's aware he's shaking.

Michael recoils back when he sees the way Caleb is acting, feeling like shit for being the one who yelled and scared him. His eyes are wide and he knows that he's quick to anger, but fuck, it's hard for him not to do it.

He swallows it back, gesturing for his hair. "Here," he says, sounding rough. "Let me fix your hair."

"No, I don't— I don't want to hurt you."

His voice is tight and shaking, but he slowly pulls his fingers from his hair to wipe his face instead. Then he covers his mouth and nose with his hands, and he breathes on the four-count, holds for four more, then releases on a four-count, the way he's been taught. He shakes his head, trying to pull his ability back in from Michael.

"I don't want to hurt you," he repeats, muffled into his hand.

Michael's pretty sure that Caleb won't hurt him, so he keeps approaching, sitting on the tire beside him and resting a hand on Caleb's back, rubbing in circles as he gives him a worried look. He knows that if the worry hadn't been helping before, it's definitely not going to work now, but it's just who he is.

"I feel like I'm the one hurting you," he says, a little confused and definitely not sure of his next step here.

It feels like forever, but slowly, Caleb feels the orange again, and he closes his eyes and sinks into it. Michael's hand on his back feels good, too. His immediate anger has faded, and now it's just that same, simmering red it usually is, making way for confusion and worry he's feeling now.

It still hurts. Caleb still feels too big for his body. But it's easier to feel than the anger had been. That had felt like... melting. Almost as bad as the safe house.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles when he feels like he can speak.

Michael's still feeling kind of awkward and unsure, because what the hell is he doing, trying to comfort someone when it's his own angry outburst that had upset Caleb in the first place, right on the heels of his worry.

"Look, if me being worried for you is a thing, then we might need to figure something out," he admits. "Cuz I don't think that I can stop it." Caleb's one of his people, that means he's definitely going to be concerned when it seems like he's having a rough go.