greatamazingfeelingsboy

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au,
michael guerin

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He's not new, not exactly. Caleb's been here maybe a month or two longer than him, but he's the latest new kid to come to the city, so he's still The New Kid. His emotions are always a swirl of hope/boredom/excitement, tinged slightly with a bitter edge, like he's constantly got a bad taste in his mouth, or something. There's more to it, but Caleb can't pinpoint it. He's furtive, distrustful, but it's not an active thing. It's always under the surface, this dark plum purple that's not fear but not suspicion, either.

Wariness, he thinks.

His name is Michael Guerin, and Caleb hates the days he's not in class. His feelings are always so easy to latch onto, because he never has to try. He doesn't stress out. Class is easy for him, but he's going to fail out if he doesn't start participating, which is why Dufresne had suggested him when she'd told Caleb he should look into tutoring.

It's not like Caleb is dumb. He's usually a pretty good student. But he's under eighteen, so he still lives at the Children's Home. He's surrounded by pubescent kids, some of whom don't know how to control their urges, some of whom never fucking sleep, which means Caleb gets, maybe, two hours a night. He goes to school exhausted, has no focus, and has stopped being able to balance the most basic emotions. So his grades are slipping. If they keep slipping, he's going to be kicked off the team, which he really, really doesn't want, so he finds himself outside the auto shop some of the music kids said Michael works at part time, staring at the door like it might swallow him.

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"Well, like," he says eloquently, "what d'you charge? 'Cause I don't have a job. Between school and football and homework, I don't really have time, so I just have the shitty allowance that the city gives me, and the Home only lets me access like, twenty bucks a week, so."

He tries not to wince as he basically admits that he's an orphan here, but there are rumors going around that Michael's homeless, so maybe he won't judge. It doesn't feel like he does, anyway.

Michael lets his gaze slide over Caleb. The truth is, it's not about the money always. When it's the rich kids at school, then yeah, he'll charge whatever, but Caleb seems like he's in a shitty spot. "Burger," he says. "Or pizza," he adds, because being homeless means he's independent, but often super hungry.

"How about when I tutor you, you get my lunch and we'll call it even, even if you're just bringing in leftovers," he says, extending his hand to make the deal.

Caleb looks at his hand, hesitating for just a few heartbeats as he feels out Michael's emotions. He doesn't feel any pity, which is good. He also doesn't feel any deception, so he reaches and grips his hand.

Michael's skin feels impossibly warm, but not in an awkward, clammy way. It's like Caleb's been out in the cold and never even realized it, not until Michael's hand grips his like this. He has the sudden, irrational urge to pull him close and just snuggle him and feel that warmth, but he tamps it down and clears his throat.

"Um, so," he says, pulling his hand away when he realizes he's... probably been holding it for way too long. "When d'you want to start? It's, it's mostly math and science? I'm doing okay in English and History."

Michael tugs him in a little on that handshake, but lets him go.

Ever since he got here, he's been waiting for Alex or someone else, but he's not blind and he's able to see how eager and earnest and good Caleb is. Even if he's a football player, he's not like Valenti's crew. It goes a long way.

"Perfect, my specialities," he says cheerfully, because when he's building a spaceship, he can handle high school math. There's something weird in his head, like this frisson he gets with Max and Iz, but they're not around. It's something to think about, though. "My shift here ends in thirty. We can start today, if you're really desperate."

"Man, I am counting on football to get me into Barton," he admits. "My grades alone are not gonna cut it. If we could start tonight, that'd be awesome?" He tries not to do puppy eyes, because Michael had basically offered, but he doesn't always have control over them.

"Sure," Michael says, and is grateful when his stomach doesn't instantly growl and give away how fucking starving he is, because he hasn't had anything to eat. The donuts the guys brought in were gone when he got here, so he's been living on coffee with a lot of sugar and cream for calories.

"Let me change and grab my stuff," he says. "My truck's here, if you wanna drive somewhere?" he offers, looking up at Caleb, rocking a little on his toes, like he's trying to see how much closer that gets him.

"You have a truck?" Caleb asks, for lack of anything better to say, because responding to Michael talking about changing is probably not appropriate, especially when they barely know each other. He clears his throat and adds, "Well, shit, the city's ours for the conquering, I guess."

Michael shrugs, not wanting to talk too much about the fact that he has a truck because that's his home, but yeah, there's a truck sitting outside. He steps out of the coveralls easily, grabbing his hoodie and his backpack, slinging it on as he heads back out, shoulders slumped forward a little.

"Do you have your textbooks? I leave mine at school," he admits, because it's not like he needs them to study.

There's something there, a withholding feeling that he can't recognize. He frowns, but he doesn't bring it up. How could he? He follows Michael out and nods when he asks about his books.

"Yeah, I've got 'em all in here," he says, tugging on his bag strap. He'd grabbed all of his textbooks before leaving for the day, just in case he'd need them, and he's glad he did. "So, like, where d'you want to go? I don't think the Home's a good idea. I'm... not gonna get any studying done there."

"Too much noise, I get it," he says, and he means normal noise. Roswell had been packed a few times, and Santa Fe and Albuquerque were no better. Homes of misfit boys and girls, all unwanted, all lonely and lost. He shrugs, figuring that maybe Caleb can spot them for his suggestion.

"There's a diner? We could get a big plate of fries, some milkshakes, and I can show you the wonders of STEM," he quips.

Caleb huffs a laugh. "Um, sure," he says. "I'm really excited to learn about plants." Stem, plants, ha, get it? He looks at Michael, then rolls his eyes. "Oh my god, I'm kidding, I know what STEM is. I'm not that dumb."

Michael had been about to malign the fact that he'd agreed to tutor an idiot, so he's glad that Caleb made it clear that it's a joke. When he gets to the truck, he uses his powers to make sure the blanket over the back hides his bag of clothes and sleeping bag, patting the roof as he gestures for Caleb to get in.

"I mean, if you were, I was gonna start charging double," is all he says, a deadpanned guarantee. "Burgers and dessert."

Caleb rolls his eyes again, but he unslings his bag from his shoulders. He climbs into the truck and sort of packs his bag on his lap, which is probably super unsafe, but there's no space to tuck it under his legs — his legs are too long, and the bag too full of books.

"You do realize the milkshake is sort of the dessert, right?" he points out.

"No, pie is dessert," he argues, as if he has any ground to stand on, when he's just relieved he's going to get a meal. "Milkshakes are a beverage," he says, like he's smug about the fact that he's arguing, or maybe it's just that he enjoys it.

"How come you asked me?" he says, once they're driving. "I'm not the only kid tutoring, and I know I got a bit of a reputation. So, why me?"

He's fishing for something, Caleb can feel it, he's just not sure what. Maybe just the truth, or maybe he's hoping for something more. It's hard to tell: the kid is sunny with hope for something. But Caleb's not a mind reader, so he just shrugs.

"Dufresne said you'd be a good option," he says, because he can't bring himself to admit a fascination with him, and because it's true. "She said you kinda coast through class and maybe it'd be good for both of us, or something."

She had said she thought it'd be good for both of them, but Caleb doesn't tell Michael it's because she'd thought Michael was lonely and could use a friend. Nobody likes to hear that.

Michael can't help his derisive snort. He's heard this before back in Roswell about applying himself outside of his grades, because he coasts so easily, but then he doesn't do much beyond that. So yeah, he gets it. Lucky for Dufresne, Caleb's cute and Michael likes him.

Which is saying a lot, because he doesn't like most people.

"Yeah, all right," he allows. "But only cuz you're cute."

"Oh, so cute," Caleb agrees, framing his face and offering a winning smile. It's easier than acknowledging that he's definitely feeling something from Michael — not butterflies, exactly. Smaller and tighter, more... certain? Caleb isn't sure, because he's never felt anything like this before.

But he likes it, a lot.

The server comes up, an older woman who recognizes him from his times here with the team, and she doesn't even pull out her pen and pad.

"Lemme guess, Kiddo," she says, in her cigarette-rough voice. "Basket of fries, extra-large chocolate shake, four hot dogs on toasted buns, and a diet Cola." When Caleb's grin widens, she rolls her eyes. "I dunno where you put it," she says fondly. She looks at Michael and nods her chin at him. "What about you, Squirt?"

Michael stares at the waitress, a little stunned and wary when he gets called 'squirt', even if she's not entirely wrong. After all, he doesn't eat that much, and he's usually in clothes that are a touch too baggy for him. "Uhhhh..."

He gapes at her, then says, "Fries?" as if he's not entirely sure.

Because fries sounds good, right? He doesn't want to ask for too much, after all, because Caleb doesn't know how smart he is yet, so he might decide this ends today. "Where do you put all that food?" he asks Caleb warily.

"And a milkshake," Caleb offers when Michael only asks for fries. The waitress hums and nods, but she gives Michael the stinkeye before walking away. Caleb smiles after her, then looks at Michael when he echoes the waitress's remark.

"I play football," he says, like that makes perfect sense. "Listen, don't mind Flo, she's... she can be a lot, but she's really nice. She usually undercharges me, 'cause she found out I live at the Home, so..."

Michael is a little taken aback by the stinkeye he gets, but he's used to adults thinking he's not worth their time, so he shrugs and heads inside to the booth, curling in on himself as he sits on the opposite side of Caleb, giving him an amused look.

"Never thought about washing dishes or taking on a job?" He's not trying to pick and prod, just trying to talk, but the thought's there.

"I thought about it," he says with a shrug. "Even talked to the school counselor about it? We budgeted out my time on paper and I think it left me with, like, two hours to sleep a night?" Which is pretty on par with what he gets anyway, but Caleb can't imagine trying to fit a job into his current schedule. He shrugs as he adjusts his bag on the bench beside him, unzipping it. "Most places won't hire a minor until the summer, anyway, and that's when I'll have way more time." Just a few more months, and by the summer, Caleb will be eighteen, anyway.

"Yeah, you gotta find some place like me," he quips, reaching for some of the napkins to shove them in his pockets, because it never hurts to have extra toilet paper. "They love hiring a kid who can work on cars, because I don't ask for as much money."

He shifts to gesture for Caleb to sit on the same side as him. "Here, over here, I don't wanna read upside down," he insists, staring up at Caleb from where he's sprawled in the booth. "You pick. Math or science first."

"Are you sure? You look like you could make a little nest over there," Caleb says with a little laugh. He pulls out his math textbook though, because he fucking hates math, so he might as well get it over with. He sets his last failed test next to it, then turns both around to face Michael before sliding out of his side of the booth and moving over to Michael's side.

As he's settling, Flo brings their milkshakes out and sets them on the tabletop. Caleb's has whipped cream and extra chocolate drizzle over top.

"Wasn't sure how you liked yours, Squirt," she says to Michael. "Gimme a holler if you need it dressed up."

He waits until she's gone to make a face, all polite and 'thank you' and 'all good ma'am' while she's there, dutiful because group homes taught him not to rock the boat, but when she's gone, he gives Caleb a confused, almost mildly frantic look. "I'm not that small, am I?"

Never mind that he knows he's not eating enough. Still, he reaches for it and digs a pencil out of his pockets to drag the test towards himself, making a few notes rapidly, because this stuff is like child's play to him.

"Look, I can teach you all of this, it's easy, but I need to know how you like to learn."

Caleb reassures Michael that Flo is just the quintessential grandma figure, who likes feeding everyone she sees. Then they dive into the math portion of the tutoring. Caleb isn't dumb, and the longer he works with Michael, the plainer it is to see that he's actually pretty smart — when he's not distracted. He's no genius, and he marvels at how quickly and easily Michael can work through the problems on the exam. But he has enough of a grasp that it's probably confusing why he'd failed this test in the first place.

They break when Flo brings out six hot dogs, two baskets of fries, two Colas, and two more milkshakes.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna go into a food coma," Caleb says once she's walked away.