Chapter Text
Michael wakes up suddenly, heart pounding like a techno beat with his startlement. Someone’s knocking on his door. Not a normal rap-rap-rap and done. It’s a rapid booming knock, like a yeti with a sledgehammer. So much for Morrison Tower having a charm to mute neighbourly noise. Either it was a bullshit lie from the time he signed his lease, and it’s just gone untested until today, or someone’s found a loophole. It’s not Michael’s job to know. That’s for the men upstairs. Or downstairs, technically. Michael’s pretty sure Gavin copped to living downstairs when his lie got outed.
An adrenaline rush in preparation for fight-or-flight is not the best way to start off a Monday morning. It’s already the first day of his exile, he doesn’t need anything else on top of it. The sentiment only doubles when Michael opens his eyes. There’s no light filtering through his makeshift bedsheet curtains, it’s as dark as it was when he went to bed. He doesn’t know the exact time, but it’s dawn at best. Whatever this is, it’s un-fucking-necessary.
The way he sees it, there are four options he might face. It could be Gavin, wanting a late night hook up. Pro being Gavin still wanting him, con being side by side orgasms don’t necessarily mean Team Dynamite is good. It could just as easily be a drunk man or woman trying to come in from a back door smoke getting off on the wrong floor. In that case Michael’s going to have to meet belligerence with belligerence, make them fuck off despite their drunken certainty. Slightly higher up on the awkward scale, but lower on the potential danger scale is someone providing a late night service, like take out or drugs or prostitution or magic, with the wrong apartment number. That way all Michael has to say is ‘not my order, bro, thanks anyway’. Worst case scenario is someone crazy. Last month a neighbour wanted to use Michael’s landline because people with no heads were trying to set his couch on fire. Who the fuck even has a landline anymore? The studio floor is not the floor with the highest quality tenants.
No matter what it is, he has to answer the door. The knocker has made their persistence clear. If he doesn’t make the noise stop, someone on this floor -possibly even the floors above and below- will kick his ass. Michael considers grabbing his phone from where it’s charging in the corner, but doesn’t. The chances of having to call 911 are low. He can take anyone. Timothy was a fluke.
On the other side of the door is Jack. He looks a lot less put together than he did at ten. Not that Michael can talk, he’s all matted curls and boxers with material washed so thin he could spit through it, and one of the legs is riding up high enough that it’s half in his ass crack. Whatever. He has a right to be sleep disheveled, he’s been slammed awake at something like three in the morning.
“Is there a reason you want my neighbours to murder me?”
“What,” Jack asks, clearly confused. Whatever this is about, the magician obviously didn’t expect to be interrogated. Well, fuck him for expecting an open armed greeting. Michael’s fucking sleepy, and the air conditioning is shrivelling his dick. Congeniality doesn’t come in those conditions.
“Your hands are basically battering rams,” Michael explains, irritation leaking into the syllables. “There’s no way the floor didn’t hear the last five minutes.”
“They didn’t. It’s a spell, only the intended hears my knock.”
Michael grins, a teeth baring beauty of sarcasm. “Well that’s good, I guess. Any reason you want me up at dawn? I get that Gav probably guilted you into lowballing. Did you decide you want some back breaking labour to pay you back? Am I like tilling a field or something?”
“What? No.” Jack crosses his arms defensively. It’s interesting that a bear of a man can be intimidated by what boils down to a dumb skinny teenager in boxers.
“What then?”
“I want to offer you something.”
“Jesus. Just come in.” This is obviously gonna be a capital T Talk, and Michael’s not having one leaning in his doorway. Even if he doesn’t have an entire floor of neighbours observing, there’s still a chance that any of the previously brainstormed situations could still happen. Michael’s never actually seen a magician with a mission be shouted at and distracted by a obnoxiously plastered person, but prime time tv suggests it’s not good.
“You should never invite people in. What if they’re vampires?” Jack jokes.
“Are you,” Michael asks pointedly.
“What? No?” Jack makes a confused face at him. “Seriously though, do you have a bad intentions charm on the doorway? To make sure you’re safe. You realise this isn’t the best apartment block.”
“Do you wanna fuck me up?”
“No of course not.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.” Gavin’s done things in his apartment -to his apartment- a few times, but he’s never really explained what. Michael’s never quizzed him about it. He can respect boundaries like a goddamn champ, and Gavin’s are visible from space. So if Gav doesn’t see fit to tell his master’s best friend and occasional spit roast buddy what he did that day once he gets home, Michael doesn’t have much more to say.
“I always forget how cold these apartments are,” Jack comments as he crosses the threshold out of the hallway.
“Yeah, guess Gav and Geoff come to you.” Michael’s a goddam gentleman, cutting himself off there. That way Jack can chose to believe he means for magic tutoring, not ass plundering.
“Sometimes they do,” Jack agrees, friendly enough. “Geoff’s a great teacher, don’t get me wrong, but I have a more dedicated space. There are some things that are harder to do in a building with five hundred tenants than a single person home. Man this is cold.”
Michael points out “and you’re wearing pants.” His boxer shorts are a hell of a lot thinner than the jeans the bigger man’s got on.
Screw it. In one swift move Michael climbs back on his bed and under the blanket. He stays sitting up, but with the blanket pulled to his neck so only his back is bare. If Jack wants to be treated more professionally he can call Michael to his home office in the afternoon, like a normal person.
Rather than comment stupidly that yes, he is wearing pants, or being a dick about professionalism, Jack gets awkwardly quiet. Michael’s about to tell him get on with it or fuckin’ cuddle up on the other side of the bed, because he’s going back to sleep when Jack does break. Not that they’re very useful words. “I don’t know how to say this.”
“Fuck it man, just say it.”
“You should come live with me.”
The statement is so off anything Michael might have expected Jack to say that he doesn’t know how to answer. Who could have a prepared response for a question that out of the blue? A delusional person, someone schizophrenic or bipolar, for which nonsensical non-sequitors are a common thing. That or a magician trained in thinking about every scenario at all times. But Michael is neither, so he just stares up at Jack.
“I think you should. I want you to.”
That at least has an easy reply. “Why?”
“Because I always knew it killed Gavin to not be able to help his boyfriend but I didn’t get it until last night. It wasn’t personal until last night. You deserve better things than you can afford. If you moved in with me I could help you out.”
“That’s stupid. I’m doing fine.” For levels of fine, at least. It’s not like he’s going to be living under a bridge. The more important point is how often did Gavin complain about his situation that Jack’s ‘always known’ about it? Not even Geoff, but Jack.
Jack scoffs. “You didn’t sound like it when you asked if I could make you win the lottery.”
“Who doesn’t want to win the lottery?” Michael combats the statement with pure logic. Because really, who doesn’t want to be on a sandy shore in Tahiti, beach house totally paid off? It’s a wish that goes for more than moderately broke people, Michael’s sure of it.
“Look, your parents royally fucked you. Let me unfuck you.”
Michael’s barely listening to the older man, busy wondering what Gavin’s told him about his goddamn family. No way it was Ryan. Even though they know each other already -even if they met by Ryan wanting to buy a hex to fuck up one of the Jones brothers- Ryan wouldn’t just casually complain. Jack wouldn’t have enough proof to claim ‘royally fucked’ if it was from Ryan’s point of view. Thanks to the inattention it takes a moment for Jack’s second sentence to kick in. Then the offer makes a lot more sense. Jack thinks he’s hot. Jack wants to jump his bones. What better way to make that happen than to offer room and board?
“Right. That’s what you want out of it. To not fuck me.”
“Michael, no. This isn’t some sugar daddy thing. One of the requirements to go from journeyman to master is to have a place you can welcome a new journeyman. Even if you’re the most proficient magician in the world, if you can’t host you’re not considered a master. I have a guest room by necessity. Take it.”
“You sleeping down the hall and not in my bed still doesn’t convince me you don’t want to fuck me.”
“Do I have eyes? Yes. Would I ever coerce someone? I have a friend who’s wealthy from the stock market, so he does only pro-bono magic. His specialty is rape cases that the legal system failed. You don’t learn the effects of that and not get disgusted by the concept. You shouldn’t really be a human being and not be disgusted by the concept.”
“So it’s not suck for rent. Is it just less?” Even twenty bucks less is money that doesn’t come from his college fund to pay for utilities. Twenty bucks less is enough to make Michael consider this insanity. Maybe that’s pathetic. Maybe he just knows when he has to put his foot down and when it’s okay to lift it up a little. He’d suffer through anything to not go back home. Going to Jack’s is not the same scenario. Even if Jack hacks him to death and bottles his blood to put in his ingredients cupboard, Jack won’t be doing it because he’s a sinful faggot who deserves to die, and deserves what comes for him after death.
“No rent at all. Until you can live with Ryan save your money.”
“You’re just gonna let me live in your house for free?” It’s so fucking hard to believe that it’s that easy. Nothing’s ever that easy. Nothing has ever been that easy, since the first time Ezekiel threw a dirt clod at him at recess for playing with the girls, not the boys, and when Mom got mad that he was covered in soil at lunch and Michael tried to put the blame where it was due, Dad said Ezekiel was looking out for him like a brother should, to make sure he didn’t become a pansy. It took a good eight years to realise he was gay, but that was the day he realised he didn’t fit in his family.
But maybe he fits with magicians, or at least magican adjacent, because Jack nods, then further explains, “I’m kinda pissed at myself for not offering it earlier.”
“Which is why you had to tell me at three am?”
“So what do you say? Do you trust me enough to park yourself in my guest room for a bit?”
Chances are this will end badly. Most things do. Almost everything, if you lengthen the timescale you’re working on. But the real question is, how long can Michael stretch out the time until that implosion? Even one month’s saved rent and groceries would be worth suffering through a lot of guest rules.
“Enough, yeah.”
Michael gets out of the warm spot of his bed then. From the way Jack’s not relaxing or leaving it’s pretty clear that this move is happening right now, not at a decent hour. The air conditioning is no less brutal for the temporary respite. It takes Michael less than ten seconds to give in and pull his robe on. It’s a bit girly, there’s no way bear Jack has a fluffy robe at home, but it’s the lesser of two evils. Michael’s not about to get dressed in front of the man. It’s easy to say you won’t objectify someone. It’s harder to not look at someone you find hot when they’re stripping. It wouldn’t be fair to Jack.
“You should ask Gavin to help you pack.”
“I don’t really have that much shit,” Michael mutters as he surveys his apartment. It’s a studio, he can see everything in one sweeping look. He really doesn’t have a lot. If not for the few pieces of furniture, he could probably move internationally with just his two suitcases.
“Not the point, dumbass.” It’s eerie how much Jack sounds like Ryan when he’s talking smack.
“So what is your point?”
“We fucked up as masters. Not with safety or skill, but with the community aspect. Geoff knew, we knew he was keeping you from us. We didn’t realise it was as bad on the other side. What happened earlier? He’s not mad about what you think he’s mad about.”
Michael glares at Jack. What a bullshit statement. “You know that’s actually the second time I’ve heard that? This week.”
“I don’t know what happened the first time, but this time it’s true. It was a lot less about you impinging on their relationship and a lot more about wishing you’d never met. We talked to him about it. At freakin’ length. It’s possible we managed to dislodge his head from his ass. Ask him to help you move.”
That’s completely obnoxious. It’s basically what Ryan did, telling Gav to change his opinions and feelings. Michael’s going to go downstairs with the specific order that Gavin do and think whatever he wants about anything.
“Great, sure, whatever. More talking, just what everyone loves. Except when that particular truth nuke dropped, he didn’t actually say what apartment.”
“Five fifteen,” Jack replies instantly.
“It’s just that easy,” Michael mutters.
It completely isn’t. Jack’s not the one who has to have a talk with someone who’s either mad at him or brainwashed into not being mad. Still, for that shit alone, Michael has to. No one’s sticking up for Gavin’s right to think what he wants. Michael can be that champion, even if it bites him in the ass. Or, you know, blows up in his face, to use a dynamite metaphor.
He doesn’t take the robe off to go down two flights. Frankly, being swaddled in polar fleece won’t make him the oddest three am hall wanderer. The hallway’s a bit warmer than his apartment, but not enough to make Michael want to disrobe. No doubt part of the chill is the starvation settling in. According to the skin-crawling ana blog he checked it’s also supposed to make him fatigued, irritable and dizzy. But considering the surprise wake up, the first two are already acceptable and he hasn’t fallen over yet, so who knows.
Apartment 515 doesn’t look any different from the rest of the doors on the fifth floor. There’s nothing proclaiming that two magicians live behind the painted metal. There’s no hint that beyond the threshold is something Gavin’s been lying about for years, and never intended anyone to know, ever. Michael takes a deep breath and raises his arm to knock. Here goes...well, fucking everything, really.
“Michael!”
“Hiya, neighbour!” Michael exclaims, over-cheerful. Until he knows how this is going down, might as well be his normal obnoxious self. Honestly he’s kind of surprised that the teenager is answering the door, not the master magician, but what does he know? Maybe the apartment does have one of those no-ill-intentions barriers Jack was talking about, and it would be safe for a toddler to answer a middle of the night knock.
Gavin yawns. It’s a full feature gesture, squinted eyes and wide open jaw and scrunched eyebrows. “Can’t we boff in the morning? I am absolutely mullered right now. I don’t even know if I could get hard.”
Michael’s not sure what to do with that response. Hopefully it means that Gavin’s okay with him, that Geoff used his elderly wisdom and wiles to make sure that Gavin gets that the kiss wasn’t an attack on him. Considering that the alternative to Gavin coming to his senses is Gavin throwing shade about Michael’s sluttiness, Michael has to go with the first.
“We’re not doing that. Would have been nice, knowing I could do that whenever we wanted, but that’s not this.”
Gavin frowns. “What then?”
“So Jack’s cool, right?” Michael’s pretty sure, but this is the sort of thing that deserves a second opinion. He’d say the more opinions the better, except he needs to stay away from Geoff, and Ryan isn’t going to share how he knows the man, so his own and Gav’s will have to do.
“Yeah. Unless I’m being a right cocky prick, then he wants to hit me.”
“That one hundred percent does not count. No one in the world doesn’t want to hit you when you’re overconfident.” The words are out before Michael remembers that he doesn’t know how tense Gavin feels towards him. Stupid. Just so fucking stupid of him, picking a fight before the last one is even for sure over.
Luckily Gavin doesn’t seem to take it badly. “What do you want then?”
“I think I’m moving in with Jack? Like, right the fuck now, actually. I was hop-” Michael cuts himself off and rephrases. “Help me move.”
“Michael, I have to go to school in a few hours,” Gavin whines.
“Well I’m not exactly happy about the fact that I don’t, okay? Jack offering this is a rare nugget of good luck and it’d be super awesome if you didn’t piss on it.”
Michael hears the voice before he sees its owner. “What the dicks is going on?”
It’s Michael’s third time in the presence of Geoff, but his first where the man’s not groomed. His hair is ruffled. His chest is bare, except for the orange and blue ink of fantasy tattoos. His pyjama bottoms sit low enough that Michael can almost see his pubes. His moustache isn’t curled out. If Michael had one word for the tousled look it would be sexy. Geoff doesn’t look like he just got out of bed, he looks like he just got out of bed. It’s embarrassing to think mere seconds after being worried that Gavin might believe he’s a slut, but there it is.
“Michael’s moving out.”
“Moving in with your friend,” Michael tacks on. No doubt Geoff has more than one. He probably has a hundred; he’s a smart, funny, hot man who fits in least three different scenes -the master scene, the punk scene, and the gay scene- and he looks like he’s old enough to have just graduated college, which is prime friend-making time. But thanks to yesterday they both know he knows Jack, so why clarify?
Geoff scratches his inner thigh through the plaid flannel. “He didn’t say anything to me.”
“I think he just came up with the idea. But he wants me and I want free rent so why the fuck say no?”
The reason to say no hits Michael about twenty seconds too late. Pathetic, kind of, except Michael’s not running on all cylinders right now, and is willing to cut himself a break about that. No one is at the top of their game when they’re tired, cold, starving, and thrown off by everyone around them acting irregularly. Unless they’re some sort of super spy. Michael doubts he’d be good at spying. Even if he loved his country enough to dedicate his life to protecting it, he’d really rather just shoot bad people in the face over infiltrating and sending info back home.
The reason is obvious. If Gavin and Jack is a thing, and Gavin and Geoff is a thing, the chances of Jack and Geoff being a thing are really high. Maybe Geoff doesn’t want his sex dungeon being converted back to a spare bedroom. Maybe he doesn’t want to make breakfast in bed for two and an annoying freeloader. Or maybe Geoff’s reverse magiphobic. That kind of thing happens. Hell, the guy who hexed all the groceries no doubt had hate in his heart for non-magicians. Michael’s not sure he buys it in this case, he’s supposed to be Gavin’s perfect complement, and Gavin’s not magisupremacist. But it’s possible.
“Well that’s a great two am choice.” Geoff rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Gavin, hurry your ass up about it because you’re not skipping first period.”
“Okay Geoff.”
When they get back to the seventh floor apartment, Jack’s done a little. Not a lot. Either the charm is more difficult with one person, or Jack’s spent the time making sure Michael doesn’t have any dirty secrets. Michael could get mad about the potential snooping. There’s a way there to flash back to his brothers going through his shit on behalf of his parents. But he doesn’t. It’s fair for Jack to be snooping. Why would he want a secret alcoholic or junkie or wild magic collector in his house?
The magic he has done looks like the same charm from yesterday. It’s a pillowcase stiffened into a long box, not a garbage bag. The charm’s probably a bit different, since it has a different base. But maybe not. That’s not Michael’s department, and he’s not risking magician’s fugue to ask.
Jack’s obviously got magic on the mind. The first thing he says after a quick greeting to Gavin is, “so you threw all the hexed food out already?”
“Yeah, yesterday. Uh, Saturday yesterday, not technical yesterday because it’s not tomorrow until the sun comes up.” Which is possibly Gavin-style logic, but Jack’s a master, and a man who invited a basic stranger to live with him. He should understand quirky logic.
“It shouldn’t affect any animals that get into it, but uh. Do you have many homeless people in the area? Or those freegan people?”
Gavin snorts. “You’re here all the time, have you ever seen someone asking for change?”
“Wouldn’t matter anyway. It’s not edible, even for some anti-waste hipster. I wrecked it. I was pissed.” It still pisses him off now, speaking in general terms. He just probably couldn’t manage a fit of the same calibre. At least not right now. Actual tomorrow, maybe.
“So you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday?”
“Friday, technically. Found out my food was poison before breakfast. Don’t tell Ryan?”
“I’ve got this.” Gavin takes the few steps to the kitchen and opens a cupboard. Finding it bare he does the next three in quick succession.
“I told you, I destroyed all my hexed food.”
“Yeah, but what about the before groceries?”
Michael crosses his arms tightly. The fuzzy hem balled in his fist stops his fingernails from cutting into his palm. “How fucking long have you known emancipated me? Have I ever had multiple shopping trips in one paycheck?”
Gavin stands frozen with his fingers still on the last cupboard door, totally called out. It takes a moment before he bursts into a flurry of activity. He picks up Michael’s keyring and lobs it at Jack. “Carry something to your car, we’ll be right back.”
Gavin then latches onto Michael’s wrist, hand jammed up the loose polar fleece. Gav’s pulling him back out into the hallway, back down to his own place. Michael goes willingly. It’s not like his boi is about to take him out back and shoot him to put him out of his misery. Gavin’s going to feed him like they’ve got a kink for it. Not true, of course. If he gets a boner later it won’t be because he’s just eaten, it’ll be because Gavin’s groped him or said something dirty. Still, Michael wouldn’t say no to enough food to make his waistband tight.
Michael’s never been in a multiple bedroom apartment in this complex. He’s never even been in a normal apartment. Even when he was negotiating with the landlord about being an underage but legal adult he told her not to bother showing him anything but a studio. He can’t help but be curious. The first thing he notices is that Geoff and Gavin’s apartment is a riot of colours. The foyer is spring green, and Michael has a second to see the bright cyan and white living room before Gavin takes him to the kitchen. That room’s a dark red, like the juice of a barely cooked steak. It kind of makes Michael want to hunt down a buffalo and spear it to death.
Gavin throws the fridge door open and gestures. “What do you want to eat? Choose anything.”
There are some Tupperware containers that are tempting. Michael’s had bites of Gavin’s leftovers at lunch before, and not once has he had the thought that Gavin would be better off buying something from the counter. There are about fifteen stacked on the middle shelf, making Michael wonder why Jack thought Geoff needed to shop. They could live off bits and pieces for a week. Middle class privilege, he guesses.
Gavin sighs. “This is that horse between hay bales thing, issenit? Everything’s great so you pick nothing? Try saying ‘what’s the best thing in this thing?’. It’ll work.”
Michael repeats the sentence. It’s a jumble of words, but Gavin or Geoff probably did that on purpose, so no visitor would say them accidentally and be startled. The next thing that happens is something in the freezer bumps up audibly against the underside of the bottom shelf. Michael opens the fridge-wide drawer and a bag of pierogies float up a few feet. Michael wouldn’t have even thought to ask Gav if he had any, but now that he sees them, he wants them. Pierogies are the kind of luxury food he can’t justify buying, no matter how much he likes them.
“Really?” Gavin asks. Before Michael can bitch that if Gav had limits on what he could steal he should have said that before letting Michael pick, because yes, he’s totally fucking aware that beggars can’t be choosers, Gavin goes on. “I mean go ahead, but they’ll take a while.”
Michael shrugs and starts looking for a frying pan. “It’s already been over two days. Fifteen more minutes won’t send me into convulsions.”
Gavin frowns at Michael’s triumph of finding a scratched to shit hopefully non-stick pan even as he passes the oil over. Michael’s grateful for the assist, it probably would have taken him five minutes to find it. Everyone’s kitchen is poorly ordered to anyone who doesn’t live in that household. “They’re frozen, don’t you need to microwave them first?”
“Most microwaves buzz when they’re counting down.” Or at least the one at Ryan’s dorm does, threateningly, like it’s one metal fork away from shattering into a million pieces and destroying the idiot who fucked with it. “I think it would be a shitty idea to bug Geoff a second time.”
Gavin snorts. “Geoffrey won’t give a toss. Worst case scenario he’ll want a pierogi from your plate.”
Michael defiantly starts placing the pierogies down, fingertips careful of the oil that’s already beginning to sizzle. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”
“What?”
“Fucking. Idiot. Do you want me to make out with him a third time? Because I was under the impression that you are a possessive little bitch, and would shit your spleen out if I ever so much as looked at his lips again.”
Gavin can’t make eye contact. He even looks away for a minute before turning back. “When they’re done give me a bite. You’ll kiss me straight away. You don’t need to waste your toothpaste.”
Michael might be exhausted, but he’s not braindead enough to not pick up on that. He didn’t tell Gavin that’s what the solution is. Gav’s clearly been talking to someone, making sure he’s kept up to date. Michael wants to ask who. If it was Ray it was probably just the info. But if it was Ryan, they might have had the no stupid fake shit convo. And if it was Jack, that’s probably when Gavin got called out for hiding magic. Michael doesn’t ask. There’s a sixty six percent chance that asking will lead to more serious conversation. Since that’s the last fucking thing Michael feels like right now, he nods at the offer of a safe way out of his hex and doesn’t say anything more pointed.
The pierogies are fucking amazing. It’s honestly the only word for the plate full of goodness he’s diving into. Michael hadn’t checked the packaging at any point. It was more comfortable to stand in front of the element with two butter knives in hand to flip them when necessary, Gavin close by. Close enough to spoon, for a minute or two, before Michael broke free from the arms to check the fridge for sour cream. Turns out they’re the potato and onion kind. The best kind, if you ask Michael. The charmed fridge knows what the fuck it’s talking about. Unless it’s a spell? The magic is based on a person and an object working together, so who knows.
He kisses Gavin when his plate is empty. Of course he does. He hasn’t immediately brushed his teeth, and now for the rest of his life if he doesn’t he’ll kiss the first relevant person. In this case that’s his boi. This time is different though. It doesn’t feel like a violation. This is just Gavin, the skinny awkward journeyman Michael fell in love with. Gavin wants to be kissed. Gavin wants to kiss him. This isn’t wrong.
***
“You going to help me move everything into Jack’s?”
Gavin looks at the pile of charmed pillowcase-boxes they’ve got on Michael’s bare mattress, his sheets being folded inside one of said boxes. “Nah. You won’t have a problem getting it all in. Bet it takes you under half an hour.”
“I don’t think duration was the main thing Michael had on his mind,” Jack replies.
Michael doesn’t tend to like people speaking for him, but when they’re right they’re right. Things seem to be going fine with Gavin now, by some non-denominational miracle. He doesn’t want Gavin to fuck off back to bed. If he does, the next time Gavin sees him will be after six hours of everyone talking smack about that crazy kid 201 getting suspended- no, expelled- no, arrested! and an endcap of Geoff. There’s no way to know if Gavin will get through that without his disgust blooming again.
“It’s late. If I hitch a ride it’ll be later, and you don’t need my help and I have a quiz in English. Earlier was crap and I’m tired, okay?”
“Earlier was crap for Michael too.” Jack glares. It’s Michael’s first real sign that this could be a good thing for him. People don’t really glare for his benefit, besides Ryan or Gavin on occasion.
“I know. I get it. I heard it all earlier from you two. But I’m still knackered and you still only have two trips worth of stuff!”
“It’s fine. I get it.” He’s being selfish. He could literally hibernate for a week and be fine. Gav’s gotta be up in four hours.
“Fine, whatever, be an asshole,” Jack mutters. Gavin squawks a little, but doesn’t actually verbally protest. The blessed lack of drama lets Michael transition to the ‘get the fuck out’ portion of the night.
“You want me to tuck you in?”
Gavin grins. “If I said yes, would you?”
“Are you fuckin’ three? No. Fucking go to bed!” Michael kicks it down a notch. “I think Ray’s meeting up with me to give me homework. You should come too.” At least that way he’ll know for sure how much outside influences have fucked Gav’s head up when Michael’s not around to defend himself.
“Cool. Yeah, probably will.”
Gavin comes forward. He first leans into Jack to give the older man a one armed hug, insult clearly already forgotten. Words don’t really stick to Gavin. It could be friendly, a see-you-later hug that you give to a cousin or a church member, except Michael knows it’s not. It doesn’t bother him though. More than that, he understands it. Jack’s a comforting kind of guy. If Michael didn’t know the cold hard facts about depending on people, he’d probably be into him as much as Gav is. Then Michael gets his own gesture, a kiss on the cheek. He could twist his head for a real kiss, but that would make it a competition. Michael doesn’t want to compete. At least not against Jack. Ray could make for an interesting challenger in the future, keep things like their first time.
Gavin turns the way of the stairs when he leaves. He’ll probably spend his last spurt of energy sprinting down the two flights, and then curl into his covers. Nice for him, but Michael’s still got shit to do.
Elevators are notoriously hard to charm to stay open or closed. It’s one of those things that makes perfect sense to Gav that he couldn’t explain in a million years, even if he wanted to. Michael’s sure Jack -and Geoff- comprehends it too. Even if they didn’t teach Gavin it, even if his boi’s just got innate knowledge Michael can never have, that only means it’s inside every master too. Thanks to the elevator’s magical impenetrability, Michael ends up standing on the crack between the hall floor and the elevator floor. Every minute or so the doors attempt to close. They get as far as his sides before bouncing back open, safety feature triggered. Confident that the doors won’t suddenly go rouge and split him in half, he stands there until Jack’s got all the boxes stacked on the shiny metal floor.
Five minutes later Michael’s pulling the same human doorstop routine after Jack drives his car as close as he can to the back door. He stays where he is, holding the door open so Jack can hustle boxes a second time. It feels kind of lazy of him, but to be fair to himself, he’s less lazy than Gavin, who’s probably already asleep. Besides, Jack isn’t asking for help. Michael would if he did, but he hasn’t, so why not feel justified just keeping the door open?
Michael’s not surprised to find out all his worldly possessions fit in the back seat of Jack’s car. He didn’t make it out of his parents house with much, and it’s not like he could afford to buy frivolous shit like picture frames or wind chimes. Well, everything except the bed frame, mattress, and coffee table. To get those to Jack’s they’ll probably have to tie them to the roof, or whatever the charmed equivalent is. Maybe Jack could make the mattress just float a few inches above the top of the car and follow them? Who the fuck knows.
“Could we not put the air conditioning on,” Michael asks as Jack pulls out of the parking lot.
“Sure thing.”
Jack’s true to his casual promise. As they start winding through the lamp lit streets Jack skips between two or three radio channels but doesn’t touch the AC toggle. Even so, Michael’s glad he left his robe on, rather than shove it into the top of one of the pillowcases boxes. Shit, he might even wear it to bed, depending on what temperature Jack leaves his house at. At four thirty in the morning, the world is dark and cold.
Jack twists the volume knob close to zero, just enough to hear vague scratchings of music. “I have another idea.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” If Michael sounds suspicious, that’s because he damn well is. This whole thing is pretty obviously too good to be true. This is the point the bomb drops.
“You should sublet.”
“What?” What the hell? That was not the sound of a bomb dropping.
“Don’t break your lease moving in with me.”
“Yeah, wasn’t gonna.” That wasn’t actually in his mind at all, but he can’t let Jack hold all the power. The sooner he establishes that Jack can’t tell him what to do, the better.
“Uh, okay. Anyway, you should sublet. Rent your room to someone. It’ll have to be less than a new apartment, but you could be making income, not just saving.”
That actually sounds like a good idea. “Do you know how to do that sort of shit?”
“I can figure it out, if you want? If you don’t mind me taking over?”
Michael snorts and waves his hand. Jack can totally take over the boring adult shit, as long as he understands that it doesn’t necessarily mean that Michael’s going to follow his instructions.
Third time’s a treat; when they park in front of Jack’s house he does carry in the pillowcase boxes. Only as far as the porch step though, Jack’s the one to bring them into the house.
“Can we figure out where to disseminate everything later and just crash now? I think I’ve lost my second wind, I’m getting pretty sleepy.”
“I was sleepy when you woke me up at three am!” Michael shouts.
Jack barely reacts. “So that’s a yes then.”
Michael’s pleased to see the guest room is away from the other smaller room that’s probably Jack’s. Beggars can’t be choosers, but it’s nice to know he could have Ray and Gav and Ryan over without being overheard. Ray’s basement is still probably the best place to hang out, but they haven’t lost a secondary location thanks to his move. Actually, this is an even better back-up. His team can have snacks here.
The room is the blankest room to have furniture that Michael’s ever seen. Everything’s white, from ceiling fan to the sheets. The one outlier is the sand coloured wood flooring that runs through the whole house, but it can’t do much against the overwhelming whiteness.
Michael flops onto the bed. The mattress dips underneath him before springing up slightly. So at least it’s good quality furniture, even if it’s as white as living in an igloo. Which, maybe if he says something Jack will let him hang a poster or something. “This is sterile as fuck man. I appreciate you letting me use the room but whoa.”
Jack shakes his head. “It’s part of the journeyman thing. Some of the first spells I’ll do with him or her are colour and design spells.”
“So what’s the first spell?” Might as well ask Jack. It’s not like Gavin’s ever going to tell him. Even now that the seal is definitely broken he hasn’t said anything.
“I would have thought Ryan would have told you. You know Gavin’s journeyman pendant?”
Michael’s rapidly getting the sense that any time Ryan said he wikied magic answers behind Gavin’s back he really just asked Jack. It would make total sense. Ryan’s the kind of guy to go searching out for real answers, not rely on secondary sources. If Jack’s a student or a TA at UT and Ryan found out it’s pretty fucking likely Ryan’s grilled him more than once. It would explain Ryan leading Jack away earlier today too. Better to interrogate the magician he already knows than take chances with Geoff.
He’ll save pinning Ryan down for later though. Right now Jack’s asked him a question. “Yeah-huh...”
“Well apprentices get a different necklace. Not a collar, but a short one that doesn’t slip off. It prevents the unstable child from doing magic until they become journeymen.”
“So a magical slave collar.” Michael replies bluntly. If it goes around your throat and can’t come off it’s a fucking collar.
“Fine. Maybe it is.” Jack crosses his arms. This time it doesn’t seem weak and defensive. This time it’s a power stance, Jack being big and strong and secure in his opinion. Michael’s maybe staring at his strained sleeve hem a bit too much. Blame it on the exhaustion. Or hell, Jack said earlier he had eyes but wouldn’t do anything skeevy about it. Michael can have eyes too.
“Damn right.” Of course it’s a collar. Semantics is a bullshit game. The only time it comes in handy is when writing an essay, or squeaking a lie that’s not a lie based on specific wording past authority figures.
“Don’t act all high and mighty and against it. Apprentice neckl-” Jack rolls eyes eyes at Michael’s raised smirk, “Apprentice collars can stop a child from saying something that destroys the universe.”
“Oh bullshit.” Michael’s seen as many horror movies as the average guy, but they’re movies, which means they’re fake.
“No, not bullshit,” Jack corrects sharply. “Easy example. A seven year old with magic gets stung by a bee. What happens to agriculture, food production, the other animals, if that first grader gets pissed and hexes all bees to die? Because that future look a lot like food shortages, a fuckload of the animal kingdom dying, and land erosion.”
“Wouldn’t she, he, whatever, wouldn’t the kid need the powders or whatever? Don’t supply them and everything’s fine, no need for a freakin’ collar!”
Jack shakes his head. “They’re all focusing agents. They help make sure the widespread effects don’t happen. Without them an apprentice mouthing off would be even more likely to do something disastrous.”
Michael winces. “Okay so apprentices can cause the apocalypse. Point fuckin’ made. Consider me wrong as fuck.”
“Anyway, to get back to your question: an apprentice gets assigned, becomes a journeyman, the master undoes their necklace and sometimes gives them the location pendant, and then their first creative lesson is ‘what’s the best way you can think of to destroy your apprentice necklace?’ Kind of endears you to your journeyman, since most of them are happy to get it off with a vengeance. Plus you can see how your journeyman’s thought process runs. That’s important, since how they think is the building blocks for the rest of your time together.”
“What did Gavin do?”
“That’s his story. I know it, and it’s great, but if he hasn’t told you maybe he doesn’t want to.”
“He hasn’t told me dick all about anything! You know that, you said you were gonna bitch at him about it.”
“Yeah, Geoff and I did. But at some point it’s not about keeping secrets and trying to prevent worlds from crossing, it’s about a right to your own past. I’m not going to tell you things he won’t. Just like if you ever tell me anything about your past I won’t share it unless you tell me it’s okay.”
“Fuckin’ Gavin already knows my past! He was fuckin’ there!”
Jack shrugs. “Sorry, but I won’t.”
“Great, you have the moral integrity of fuckin’ Gandhi. That’s great. Did you catch a third wind, or are you going to bed now?” Pleasant code for get the fuck out of my bedroom, Michael thinks.
“Bed now, for sure.” Jack’s almost completely out of the room when he stops and turns around.
“I know you usually wake up pretty early.” Fantastic, another thing that Gavin’s obviously blabbed that Michael has no context for how it came up. Not that there’s anything particularly sinister about wake up times, but it’s the fuckin’ principle. “I’m a late sleeper. I usually get up around eleven. If or when you get up before I do, eat whatever, do whatever. Noise won’t bug me.”
Jack doesn’t say if that’s because he’s a heavy sleeper or if stuff is charmed soundproof. Either way Michael can’t see it coming up, at least not tomorrow. He’s going to sleep in on his first day of suspension. That was already the plan before Jack hijacked the next few months of his life with one statement.