greatamazingfeelingsboy

"I have a couple hours before work tomorrow. You can come over?"

That's how it starts. Clint needs some help on an art project, and Caleb isn't an artist by a long shot (which he warns Clint about plenty), but he does remember all the stuff he and Chloe talked about, and when Clint hears that, he seems to think it's enough knowledge for Caleb to be helpful.

So, on Saturday morning before Caleb goes to the shop, Clint comes to the apartment. Caleb has double- and triple-checked that the spare room door is locked. He's covered anything that gives off too much of its own light (which is so weird, and so cool), and on top of installing the locking doorknob, he'd also installed privacy stripping along the bottom.

He won't let Michael's secret get out. Not after everything.

Clint and Caleb are sitting on the couch. There's some TV show streaming on FilmFix while they work. On the coffee table in front of them is a box of Sharpie markers in all sorts of colors, a sketch of Clint's idea, and the final piece he's going to be inking.

"I feel like you should've sprung the extra few bucks for actual art markers," Caleb says. "You're not gonna get shit done for shading with these."

Clint rolls his eyes, but laughs.

"I'm not planning on shading," he says. "I want to do something flatter, y'know? Starker. Something that'll stand out from the rest of the class."

Clint doesn't want to go to art school, but he has ideas about art that a lot of the more pretentious kids in their grade don't seem to. He's talking about it now, and Caleb should be listening, but instead, he's losing himself in the rhythm of Clint's voice. He's drawn into the heady, exciting swell of the passion Clint's feeling. Clint is gesturing as he speaks, voice rising when he starts to get enthusiastic, and lowering again when he feels self conscious. It's adorable.

Caleb's starting to stare, he knows it, so he clears his throat and tries to deflect with a joke.

"Don't you think you stand out enough already?"

"Why, 'cause I'm queer, or 'cause I'm black?" Clint asks. There's a kind of wry, challenging smile on his face, and now it's Caleb's turn to roll his eyes.

"No? Dude, you know that's not what I meant," Caleb says, and pelts a marker at Clint's chest.

"No, I really don't," he says, all faux innocence. "Tell me, Michaels, how do I 'stand out enough already'?"

Caleb feels caught. Clint's playful joy is floating on butterflies that are becoming way too familiar, way too comfortable, in Caleb's ribs. He feels his face heating, and he tries to laugh it off.

"I just— hello, you're the star quarterback. Literally every girl in school that isn't a lesbian wants to date you."

"Yeah, well, it's not the girls I'm interested in," he reminds.

The butterflies surge again. Clint's watching him with dark, hopeful eyes. He doesn't feel the hope, but he can see it. Clint doesn't dare to hope, Caleb realizes. He shakes his head and looks at the project in front of them. He can feel Clint watching him, and he needs to get this back on track before something happens.

"Here, gimme that marker back, I'll start the outline," he says, reaching for it.

"Nah, it's mine now," Clint says. His amusement rises up and crystallizes when Caleb looks at him. "Shouldn't have thrown it at me," he points out, and Caleb rolls his eyes and laughs.

"Dude," he argues, and reaches for it again.

Clint jerks it out of his reach, and when Caleb reaches for it again, tucks it behind himself. Caleb huffs a disbelieving laugh. He stretches to reach around Clint's other side. Clint laughs and twists to dodge.

The ensuing struggle is ridiculous, but Clint's joy is contagious as they wrestle for the marker.

Caleb's not sure how, or when, it happens, but he finds himself leaning over Clint, his arm pinned beneath Clint's body, their fingers tangled around the marker. Their breath is coming faster, heavier, from the exertion of their weird little wrestling match, but they're staring at each other.

For a long, weighty moment, Caleb is reminded of Sadie Hawkins, and leaning over Adam, and how he'd had no idea how close they'd come to kissing. This is different. He can tell, now. He recognizes the feeling that says 'I want to kiss him' in a way that he hadn't back then.

But he still doesn't know what to do about it.

Clint does. He stretches up, pressing his lips to Caleb's like he knows exactly what he wants.

* * *
Caleb doesn't know how long they spend kissing. But when his work alarm goes off, telling him to get his ass to the shop so he isn't late, he jerks back. Clint's surprise settles next to his own, making his heart pound all the harder, and with a curse he turns to grab his phone off the coffee table.

"Fuck, I gotta go," he says. Clint's disappointment paws at him. "I'm gonna be late," he explains, scrambling off the couch. "Um, just... Lock up when you leave, okay?"

"Caleb—" Clint tries, but Caleb's already rushing to the door.

"I'll see you on Monday!" he says, letting the door fall shut behind him.

He's a fucking coward, but he really is going to be late for work.

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Caleb scoffs out a laugh, amused by the remark even as he reflects Michael's frustration.

"Uh, please, yes," he confirms.

"You don't have to worry anyway," he says, with a dismissive hand, even if he's frustrated. He doesn't think this is for Caleb to hear, but he's frustrated and he doesn't really have anyone else to talk to about it, because Luke is too young and also innocent.

And his other friends, well, he feels guilty about bringing it up.

"Things haven't been ah...happening, lately."

"Happening," he echoes, obviously not getting it right away. Then he blinks and blushes. "Oh. Uh. Shit." He has no idea what to say, but he can tell Michael doesn't want to just... hold it in. He needs to talk about it with someone. "So... is that, like... a trauma thing?" he asks, because he doesn't know.

He shrugs, because the thing is, he has no idea.

"I guess? I mean, Alex is still just every bit as handsome and hot as ever," he points out, and even though that would normally get him going frequently, right now, it just..."

It doesn't make him want to push and pounce. Maybe it's the physical ache, maybe it's the grief, but either way, something's going on and it's not letting them have any time. "Maybe it's just things changing. We're turning into that old married couple before we even get married."

Caleb hums thoughtfully, reaching out with his ability to see if he can find anything. He doesn't exactly know what he's looking for, though. He knows Michael still loves Alex. He can feel that. But he isn't finding that low hum of arousal that he's used to. There's almost a memory of it, crystallized like a fossil, but it's deeper, buried beneath the lingering fear and pain and guilt and shame that he's aware of, but not really acknowledging.

"Maybe... maybe you just need time," he says. "You're still healing, y'know? In more than one way."

Michael hates that. He hates being traumatized and sad and healing. He's spent so many years of his life being that, that it feels wrong now, to be this weak. He scowls, though, because he spent ten years without Alex, but now that he has him, he wants to want him.

"It's probably wrong to ask you to find out if Alex is sexually frustrated because of this, huh?"

Caleb offers a wry smile. "You wouldn't like the answer either way, would you?" he points out. If the answer is yes, then Michael would feel guilty. If the answer is no, he might feel relief, but he'd probably also feel hurt, whether he wants to or not. Caleb doesn't want him to deal with that.

He'll get better. He has to.

"Probably not," Michael mutters, like a scorned child who's had his wrist slapped. He sighs, and sinks back to fiddle with his notebook. "I'm sure it'll fix itself, at some point, and if not..." He scoffs. "Well, there's pills for that, right?"

"You're not gonna need pills," he says, wanting to sound reassuring, but he isn't positive it doesn't fall flat. Pills mean doctors, and doctors mean physicals. Michael's not going to want to go through that.

He wants to ask how Michael's doing. He's avoided that question since the beginning, if only because every time Michael or Alex ask him, he feels himself getting a little prickly — he's fine, really, he's just trying to take care of his friends at this point. He knows if he asks, Michael's feelings will answer him more clearly than his words, even if he tries to brush it off. But he also knows that there's a chance he'll get frustrated if Michael isn't honest. Caleb is still learning how to balance his own anger, and knowing when he's being lied to doesn't really help.

So he doesn't ask, just leans in and lets their shoulders bump gently.

"But, if you do, then... there's nothing wrong with that, y'know?" He doesn't want Michael to feel ashamed if that's the case. Trauma can fuck with the body, he knows that now, better than almost anyone he knows.

Michael gives him a faintly amused look, appreciating the lengths that he's going to in order to make him feel normal. "Don't worry, I think you're right," he guarantees. "Once I get over this mental block bullshit, my body will remember what my brain knows."

"That Alex and I are cosmic," he guarantees, "and we'll work ourselves back to each other and my brain and body will remember how furiously smoking hot he is."

Because fuck, he wants more of those heated kisses that land instead of just fizzle out, making him feel worthless.

'Furiously smoking hot' has Caleb laughing, and he nods.

"I believe you," he assures. He thinks about how the purple they make together, even after the kidnapping. It's still there, still as strong as ever. Not even his parents' feelings do that. "You guys just... I really think you're meant to be together."

"You only need eyes to know, and I know we're old to you, but he's hot," Michael says, with the defiant and definitive nod of someone who'd know, because he's been with a lot of hot people (his chaotic charm has its talents).

He breathes out and settles the notebook away, clapping Caleb's shoulder. "I know this is probably gonna make you sad or something, but I think I'm about done for my people time for today."

Caleb nods and pushes up from the couch. "Okay. We can go lay down, if you want." If it occurs to him that Michael was trying to subtly ask him to leave, he doesn't let on, and instead decides to invite himself to stay. Michael doesn't enjoy being alone, but he does want to be quiet and still for awhile. Caleb can feel that.

Michael's relief is palpable and he's so grateful that Caleb didn't take that as a reason to leave. He just doesn't want to talk or be up and about, and he intends to go lie down, but he'd love to have Caleb there to curl up with him.

"Thanks," he says, soft as anything, but truly meaning it.

Caleb nods and helps him with putting away whatever he might need to, just so he's not standing awkwardly in the middle of the apartment while he waits for Michael to do it alone. Then he follows him into the bedroom and lets Michael get comfortable before joining him on the blankets.

More often than not, when they've done this lately, Caleb lets Michael decide how they're going to lay, and he just sort of acts like a giant teddy bear until Michael settles, then snugs him close into whatever position they end up in. He does that again today, waiting until Michael's situated them how he wants them, then snuggling up close so that Michael can feel the physical comfort of someone he trusts.

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