#alicewrites

[engineering-physics]

🪐 alice, she/her, canadian

📠 3rd year engineering + physics major with focus on quantum computing

🔬currently: new semester!

more info + navigation under the cut

current schedule: winter 2026

🔬 engineering economics

🔬 galaxies & cosmology

🔬 computational multiphysics

🔬 electricity & magnetism

🔬 video game physics

goals for 2026

🪐 be better at saying no

🪐 get an internship

🪐 work out consistently

🪐 get above a 7 in all my winter classes

🪐 attend all classes

2026 counters

🏆 books read: 0

🏆 workouts: 0

tags for navigation

#alicetalks - the occasional life update

#alicestudies - photos of my notes, assignments, formula sheets

#alicewrites - writings will go here

#alicedoesntstudy - non-school-related posts

#alicescats - posts including my kitties

[compassinmyhead]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Ellie’s silence hurts.

She hasn’t said a word since she pressed her face into his shoulder and clung to him as if he were the only real thing in the world. Compared to her inability to stop talking that once annoyed him, this new silence is as unsettling as the blood freezing on her face.

So Joel starts talking to her. In the hours that follow, he does more talking than he has in the entire seven months he and Ellie have been together.

--

In which Joel gets Ellie to safety after the resort and they comfort each other.

[forgadgetsandgizmos]

Boys Like You

Written for Day 1 of Malex Week 2020 | Prompt: Meet Ugly | In all honesty, this is probably closer to meet awkward than meet ugly, but. . . close enough.

Summary: Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

Read on AO3

Alex shook coffee drops off the small spoon on the edge of the cup he just finished stirring and took a gingerly sip, wincing as the hot liquid rushed over his tongue. He’d barely had time to swallow before a thud followed by a hushed curse made its way from the hallway leading to Maria’s room.

A man, half-dressed and frazzled, hopped on one leg into the kitchen, his other leg being shoved into a pair of pants gripped tight in his hands. The man finally succeeded and immediately turned his gaze to the floor, apparently too focused on his search to notice Alex’s presence in the room. Judging by the man’s bare feet and empty pockets, Alex would guess he’s looking for his shoes, perhaps a wallet or keys. Neither things Alex had noticed laying around since waking up, but it was just after 5:30 in the morning. It was possible he’d missed them.

Alex took another small sip of his coffee, content with watching the man fumble about the house. As he bent over to search the floor, his still-unfastened pants dipped to reveal a slim, muscular back and black briefs. He wore a white t-shirt, frayed and stretched around the collar from wear. The shirt’s tight fit around the man’s shoulders and arms revealed modest but impressive muscles, especially when he flexed them to lift up the living room coffee table. Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

A few seconds of fruitless searching later, Alex took pity on the man. “What are you searching for,” he asked loudly.

The man — Curls, Alex decided to call him, in absence of a better name — tensed at his voice, twirling around. His eyes landed on Alex and narrowed. “Who are you?”

Alex arched an eyebrow at his defensive tone. “Maria’s roommate.”

“What are you doing up so early?”

“This is my house,” Alex answered, waving his hand around the room as if to display the evidence. “I should be asking that of you.”

Curls tilted his head as if to begrudgingly acknowledge the truth of his statement.

“What are you looking for?” Alex repeated when it seemed like Curls wasn’t going to say anything else.

He shoved his hands into his jean pockets with a short, high-pitched chuckle. “My, uh, shoes and wallet.”

Alex allowed himself a moment of satisfaction for guessing the missing items correctly before responding. “I haven’t seen them in here” —the kitchen, he means— “and you seem to have checked the living room pretty thoroughly. Try the hall by the front door.”

Curls complied, ducking out of sight for a few seconds before returning with shoes in hand and a square-shaped bulge in his back pocket. He nodded his thanks, plopped down onto the nearest couch seat, and slid the shows on. He paused and looked to Alex before asking: “Got any coffee?”

Alex couldn’t say no to that head of hair and hopeful expression. He motioned to the coffee maker behind him which held the leftover coffee from the pot he was currently drinking. “Coffee mugs are in the cabinet above it.”

Curls rubbed his hands together eagerly and made his way towards him, briefly brushing his arm against Alex’s on his way past. He grabbed a cup from the cabinet as directed and poured the rest of the coffee from the pot into it. It was enough for just under a full cup.

“Don’t have cream, but the sugars still out,” Alex offered apologetically. He felt strangely responsible for feeding the rough looking man, despite usually avoiding Maria’s occasional one-night stands.

“This is great,” Curls assured him. He grabbed the clay sugar holder and lumped the sugar straight into his cup, not bothering with the spoon on the counter.

Alex’s eyes widened at the minimum of half-a-cup of sugar disappeared into the dark liquid. Alex liked a spoonful or two here or there, but part of what he enjoyed about coffee was the bitter flavor. It did wonders for waking him up. Curls apparently felt the opposite.

He wrapped his hands around the mug and took a big sip, unfazed by the high temperature. Alex followed suite with his own and they stood in comfortable silence for several minutes.

Suddenly, Curls sucked in a breath. “Shit, I’m running late.” He downed his drink and reached past Alex to rinse it out with soap and water before placing it in back in the cabinet where he got it.

“Oh, thanks,” Alex said, appreciative of the action. “Where do you have to be?”

“Old man Sanders’ Junkyard. I’m a mechanic. He likes early mornin’s.”

Alex nodded and leaned against the counter. He watched Curls pull a set of keys (hell yeah, he was right about that too) from the same pocket as the wallet and head towards the door.

Before he turned the corner into the hall, he spun on his heel to face Alex and grinned, tipping his head towards him in a mockery of the ‘hats off’ gesture, though without the hat. “Thanks for the coffee, Private,” he drawled, relaxed and swaggering. Without missing a beat, he finished his spin and turned the corner.

Alex didn’t move until he heard the slam of the front door shutting behind him.

(It didn’t occur to him until almost ten minutes later when he was putting on his fatigues that Curls had called him private when he hadn’t even told the man his name, much less that he was in the Air Force. It wouldn’t be until after dinner that night when he was doing the dishes that he’d wash the Air Force issue mug he’d brought home from base and realize it was the mug he’d been using when he and Curls had shared coffee.)

—

He didn’t see Curls again for a month. He’d forgotten about him, really, until the man stumbled into his kitchen on a Saturday morning the same way he did last time. He’d replaced the white shirt with a similarly worn grey one, and his jeans had darkened to match. His namesake, his golden mane matted on one side from sleep, hadn’t changed at all.

There was no pandering this time, no awkward questioning. The man merely looked up, smirked, and said, “You again!”

“Me again,” Alex agreed. “What are you doing up so early this time? It’s a Saturday.”

“The work doesn’t stop. If anything, we get busier. People got plenty of time to bring cars by when they don’t need ’em for work. What about you, Private?” Curls asked, tilting his chin up towards Alex’s outfit of sweats and coffee mug in hand.

“I like to keep a schedule, even on the weekends. Otherwise, I’ll never get up during the week.”

Curls made a noise of understanding and took a hesitant step forward. “Got any coffee this time?”

Alex smiled and nodded. “Same as last time. You remember?”

“Of course.” Curls face scrunched up, the meaning behind it clear, at least to Alex. Obviously, he was saying.

Alex reminded himself he couldn’t find it adorable, not when it was on the face of a man who seemed to be somewhat of a favorite of Maria’s. He watched him pour the same, overly large amount of sugar into his coffee as before and swirl it around.

“Spoons are in the drawer beside you, if you need one,” Alex offered.

Curls took a sip before making a face. “Yeah, I probably do,” he said, smacking his lips. He slid the drawer open and grabbed a long spoon from the back holder to stir the sugar. With the spoon still in the cup, he took another testing sip. “Much better,” he announced.

“Good.” Not sure what else to say, Alex fell silent and turned his attention to his drink.

“Sorry to steal your coffee and run, but I woke up late on purpose, so I gotta go,” Curls said, almost apologetically.

“I get it,” Alex chuckled. “Not everyone’s a morning person.”

“I’m definitely not.” Curls finished chugging what was left of his coffee and cleaned out his cup, putting it back up like last time.

“You know where your stuff is this time?” Alex asked.

Curls laughed at that, bright and loud. “I do, yes. Little less drinking involved this time around.”

Damn. That meant this, Curls and Maria, was probably going to become a thing. Alex watched him leave and felt a sort of familiar resignation settle in.

—

Alex decided he was crazy. Or hallucinating, maybe. What other reason was there to feel this kinship with a man he spoke to for a half hour twice a month, three if he’s lucky? And yet he did.

He tried not to feel guilty over Maria sleeping in her room during their talks.

—

They were three months into their morning coffee talks when Alex finally figured out Curls’ real name.

The jeep needed an oil change. He could do it himself, he knew how, but his leg made a lot of simple, physical labor overly complicated. It didn’t hurt that the best mechanic in town also happened to be a certain, curly-haired man who worked early mornings at Sanders’ Junkyard.

When he arrived, he stepped out of his jeep to find a familiar pair of boots sticking out from underneath a car parked walking distance from a visibly lived-in Airstream.

“Michael Guerin, the mechanic?” Alex asked, taking a hesitate step forward.

“That’s me,” the voice called. “Give me a second, I’ll be right with you.”

Alex clicked his tongue in response and shoved his hands in his pocket, letting his feet drag through the dirt and sand under him. He didn’t have to wait long before wheels screeched, and the man slid out from under the car.

He stood quickly, wiping grease off his hands with a dirty towel he grabbed off the hood of the car he’d been working on, asking: “What can I help you with?” as he turned to Alex. When his eyes landed on Alex he froze, eyes comically large. “You?”

“Me,” Alex said. “I need an oil change. A friend told me you were the best mechanic in town.”

“A friend, huh?” Michael asked, stepping closer.

Alex nodded. “You and Maria broke it off.”

Michael tilted his head. “Was that supposed to be a question?”

“I guess not.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to need help with an oil change,” Michael stated, looking him up and down.

Alex smirked. “Was that supposed to be a question?” he returned.

“Okay, I deserved that,” Michael chuckled.

Alex’s mouth dropped a little at the sight, suddenly breathless at the sight of the sun’s kiss reflecting off Michael’s immaculate working-cowboy look with his torn jeans and stained black hands.

“You drove all the way out here for an oil change?”

Moment of truth, Alex supposed. “I drove all the way out here for you to give me an oil change.”

A beat, and then, “You know Maria and I are done. She tell you why?”

Alex shook his head slowly.

“We weren’t serious, at most friends with the occasional benefit when we were bored or lonely,” Michael explained.

Alex hunched over and took a half-step back. What was the point in telling him this? Alex had been there; he didn’t need a recap.

“We broke it off whenever one of us found someone we were interested in, no harm done,” he continued, either not noticing or not acknowledging Alex’s reaction. “I broke it off this time,” he said with an air of finality. He met Alex’s eyes expectantly.

Alex didn’t need him to continue to fill in the blanks. He broke it off because he found someone better than either of them. “Congrats?” Alex offered weakly, regretting letting Maria talk him into driving out here.

Michael huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically.

“You, goof.” Michael shook his head, an incredulous expression on his face.

Alex blinked. Him?

Oh.

Oh.

Alex didn’t even try to stop the grin spreading over his face. He took two large steps forward and kissed him exactly what he’d been wanting to do for months. Michael’s lips melted under his, soft and pliant. He deepened the kiss, letting his hands tangle in Michael’s hair, but was interrupted by a whisper of a laugh against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together and opened his eyes, meeting Michael’s shining back at him. “You’re laughing at me,” he mumbled, not moving. His fell back to Michael’s lips, stretching in a small smile.

“Shut up and kiss me, Private.”

And of course, Alex obliged.

[compassinmyhead]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: The Last of Us (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Ellie (The Last of Us), Joel (The Last of Us), Tess (The Last of Us), Cat (The Last of Us), Original Characters Additional Tags: halloween fic, Life in Jackson, Tess Lives, father daughter shenanigans, referring to Ellie as Joel's daughter is my drug of choice, a bit of Ellie/Cat sprinkled about, episodic, the only thing that connects each chapter to the next is the fact it's Halloween Series: Part 4 of Here We Are Again Summary:

There is a haunted house in Jackson. No one goes there unless on a dare.

--

In which Ellie spends her first Halloween in Jackson with her family, her friend, and a haunted house.

[compassinmyhead]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

He stops moving when his eyes follow his hands to her waist, catching like a sweater on a splinter. Thick black lines stark against the skin just below her bra. A date barely a year gone.

A glimpse into the world in which Lucy Chen keeps her DOD tattoo.

[forgadgetsandgizmos]

Rolling Down This Road

Written for Day 2 of Malex Week 2020 | Prompt: Trope Day

Summary: Michael gets a handcuffed-shaped excuse to cuddle with Alex (who just wants him to take this seriously, dammit).

Read on AO3

“There’s a motel a few miles from here that pays by the hour, no questions. You can sleep the powder off until you can break these” —Alex jostled his left hand where it lay on the center consul, rattling the handcuffs binding it Michael’s right— “then we’ll ditch my jeep, steal a car, and drive somewhere we can buy a burner and call everyone to come pick us up.”

Michael scoffed at the vague plan, not taking his eyes off the road.

“It’ll work,” Alex snapped next to him. “Everything will be fine.”

“Not for the poor sap whose car you’d have me steal.”

“I don’t see you coming up with an alternative, do I? If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” Alex hissed indignantly.

Michael let out a abrupt laugh at Alex’s childish retort, despite knowing the meaning behind it. Knowing that Alex handled his anger with sarcasm. An Alex making quips and clenching his handcuffed fist so tight it was pulling the metal around Michael’s was a terrified one.

“If you keep sayin’ stuff like that, I’ll start to think we’re staring in our own comedy action film,” Michael remarked. The irony, though; an alien and a human, handcuffed together, speeding away in their getaway car (well, jeep, but same difference) as they made their daring escape from the shadowy government agency hunting them.

“I think this would classify as sci-fi, actually,” Alex said wearily.

Michael risked a quick glanced at Alex’s face just in time to see his lips twitch and suppressed his answering retort. Couldn’t argue with that. He pressed down harder on the gas, eager to etch out every last mile per hour this hunk of metal had to offer, not bothering to hide his grin.

Thankfully, they hit the outskirts of the motel before running out of gas and were able to walk the last couple miles, albeit after a somewhat awkward experience having to climb out of the same side of the car due to the handcuffs. Michael had worried over abandoning the car, but they’d taken anything even slightly valuable, including Alex’s emergency hundred-dollar bill stashed in the glovebox. Michael found himself thankful that Alex could afford to keep a hundred bucks stashed away, though Alex’s repeated assurances (This situation is exactly what the money is meant to be used, Michael) didn’t make him feel any better about Alex paying for him.

Michael had also worried over the jeep being tracked, but according to Alex, he watched too many actions movies and real life wasn’t like that. Their goal was to get back to Roswell, where they could rest and recruit backup. No such thing as going off the grid when the person hunting you was, at least in Alex’s case, your own flesh and blood and knew exactly where you lived and worked.

Plus, an upside of his race being a massive government conspiracy? He couldn’t be arrested for it in public.

“You still got the jacket?” Alex asked him when the flickering, rundown sign of the motel was in sight. “We should probably start using it now.”

Michael nodded and grabbed it off his shoulder, bunging it up and switching it to wrap around their clasped hands so that it covered the glistening metal binding them. That had been Alex’s idea too; better to be awkwardly holding hands and a jacket, risking a few judgmental looks, than to have anyone question why they were stuck in handcuffs. It was a relief to cover the metal (it had started to burn his skin a mile back) but the weight of the jacket made their hands, already slick from sweat under the burning desert sun, a furnace. Judging by Alex’s grimace, he felt the same. With him holding onto his metal crutch he’d brought but couldn’t use because of the handcuffs, he probably felt worse.

“I’ll talk when we get up to the counter since I’ve got the money,” Alex said to him.

“No problem,” he answered, relieved. Michael was exhausted, and a midday hike under the prime heat of the desert sun wasn’t exactly mixing well with the effects of the yellow powder he’d practically suffocated on back in the warehouse. If it wasn’t for Alex’s support, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to stand steadily enough that he wouldn’t raise alarm.

Content to let Alex take the lead, he tuned out Alex’s exchange with the desk worker, not bothering to pay attention again until he felt the heavenly burst of air conditioning from room Alex was ushering him in. He paused a couple steps in the doorway to let Alex close and lock the door behind them.

Michael glanced around the room, unimpressed. Faded yellow wallpaper riddled with cracks coated the walls, matched by plain gray, frayed carpet and a puke-green comforter on the bed. “Nice digs,” he remarked, eyeing a particularly suspicious yellow stain where a rubber barrier separated the carpet from the white, square tile of the bathroom.

Alex didn’t respond, but a gentle tug on his wrist pulled Michael onto the bed, the springs moaning under their combined weight. The only bed, Michael noticed. He raised an eyebrow at Alex, who scowled and lifted their hands, placing the chain in front of Michael’s face.

“It’s not like we could’ve used a second one,” Alex said, letting their hands drop between them. “And a one-bed room was cheaper. The cash that was in my jeep is all the cash we got. A hundred bucks only goes so far. We still need to buy a burner phone and food, too.”

Michael snorted. “You’re the boss.”

“Why don’t you try to take a nap?” Alex suggested suddenly. “Hopefully when you wake up, you’ll be able to get us out of these.”

Michael looked down at the bed and then up at Alex. Neither of them had turned on any lights when they came in and the curtains were still closed, but the thin fabric did little to block out the sun’s rays, making for a adequately lit room. Still, it was a room with a bed and a door with a lock, so he supposed he couldn’t be too picky.

But Alex— “What about your leg?” Michael asked, forehead lined with concern. His leg had to be hurting; he’d been limping after climbing three flights of stairs back in the warehouse, and that was before finding the ambush that had been waiting for them. Not to mention the mile trek through the desert.

Alex winced at the reminder. “I’ll be fine.”

“You need to take off the prosthetic and let your leg rest,” Michael insisted, pulling up the cuff of Alex’s jeans.

Alex brushed Michael’s hand away before he could move it up any further. “And if someone barges in that door and I’m stuck on this bed with one leg, we die.”

Michael was shaking his head before Alex could finish. “If someone comes in that door and I have my powers back, it doesn’t matter if you have your prosthetic on or not. If I don’t, well," —Michael tugged his wrist, hard, and Alex fell forward in Michael’s arms with a grunt— “we aren’t doing much fighting like this.”

Alex just closed his eyes and fell back against the headboard, seemingly resigned to Michael’s point.

“So,” Michael continued, “you may as well take that off so when I can get these handcuffs off, you can actually walk out of here.”

Alex still didn’t speak but took off his shoes and plopped them on the floor off the side of the bed. Michael took that as confirmation as followed suite before reaching over to help Alex pull his pants leg up enough to remove his prosthetic. When Alex finally pulled it off and laid it carefully on the floor next to his shoes, it was with a grimace and a stifled grunt, trying to hide the pain that Michael could see etched on his face. Alex had never had much luck hiding his feelings from Michael before and this wasn’t any different.

Michael used his hands (well, hand, since one was functionally useless) to massage over the swollen skin under the slip, pressing deep to knead the skin when he found a knot and letting his fingers trace lightly over everywhere else. He ignored Alex’s sudden curse when he found a particularly large knot, pressing down harder.

“Fucking hell, Michael,” Alex grumbled.

“Would you rather be sore tomorrow? You know how you get,” Michael reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex let Michael massage his leg for a few more minutes before cutting him off with a wave of his hand. “Okay, sleep now,” he insisted. “I’m fine. You need to get yourself back to full strength.”

Michael reluctantly pulled his hands away. Knowing Alex was right didn’t make it any easier to sleep, especially knowing how much pain he was in. He laid down on top of the comforter, unwilling to actually get underneath it, and rested his head on one of the flat pillows stacked against the headboard. He closed his eyes, not that it did much to block out the light and tried to get comfortable.

He spent a few minutes trying not to move, but he could feel every place where the old springs dug into his back and the comforter scratched his skin where his skirt had pulled up in the back. It didn’t help that his right hand was stuck laying limply by his side where it was still being pulled by Alex, who had yet to lay down from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

A sudden, sharp pinch on his rest was the last straw and his eyes flew open with a frustrated growl. “Alex, lay down,” he said, looking at the man.

Alex blinked a few times as if shaking off a haze, then looked at him confused.

Michael let out an exasperated sigh. “How am I expected to sleep when I can feel you over there practically radiating anxiety? And you’re pulling on my wrist,” he added as an afterthought. “Lay down with me. There’s no reason for you to need to be awake.”

“Someone needs to keep watch; I can wake you up if anyone tries to come in.”

“You said abandoning your jeep on the road wouldn’t matter because they couldn’t do anything in public.” Michael threw his free arm out wide in display. “This is pubic. No one’s getting through those doors without alerting everyone else here, including the desk worker. We’re fifty miles from Roswell, at least, no one would think to look here anyways.”

Alex shot him a distinctly annoyed look that Michael ignored in favor of grabbing his shoulder with the intention of pulling him down on the bed beside him. Alex didn’t fight him and let himself be pulled until they laid on the bed, curled in towards each other in mirrored positions.

“Isn’t that better?” Michael asked.

“It’s stressful,” Alex answered, though his tone lacked any bite.

Michael rolled his eyes and straightened out until his back was against the bed again. Alex fidgeted beside him, switching between his place on his side, his back, and trying to roll around the other way before having to stop when the handcuffs help him back.

“What’s wrong?”

Alex mumbled something Michael couldn’t make out.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Laying on the side hurts my leg,” Alex repeated louder, tinged with annoyance.

Understanding and a twinge of embarrassment at not realizing the issue filled Michael. “Okay, lay on your back,” he directed after thinking for a second.

Alex obliged, lying flat against the bed the same way Michael had earlier. Michael scooched closer to Alex until he could loop his leg in between Alex’s thighs, then centered his right hip with Alex’s waist. He bent his leg back away from Alex, using the gap where Alex’s prosthetic usually is, and laid their bound hands on Alex’s shoulder.

“Better?” he asked once he’d rested his head in the crock of Alex’s neck. He didn’t want to move (Alex made for a significantly better pillow than any of the actual pillows) and sent a prayer that Alex didn’t want to either.

He felt Alex’s breathless chuckle rise against his chest before the man buried his head deeper into Michael’s hair with a content sigh.

“I can’t believe you,” he muttered fondly.

Feeling Alex’s cheek pressed into his curls and his thumb slowly brushing over his hand, skin cool against his own, Michael let the exhaustion carry him away.

[forgadgetsandgizmos]

Malex Drabble

* *

No one had seen Alex in three days. 

Which, okay, he left town frequently enough for the Air Force that it could be no big deal. But ever since Alex spent a week in a basement because everyone, including Michael, thought he was at a recruitment job out of town, Alex checked in when he left. Usually with Michael. And Alex hadn’t told Michael that he was planning on leaving, much less checked in.

Michael should’ve let it go. No one else is worried, there’s no dangers around, no lingering threat that could result in Alex being missing or worse. But Michael couldn’t shake the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

And he kept circling back to Alex hadn’t told him that he was leaving.

Which is how he ended up here, standing in Alex’s driveway and staring at the old Christmas lights still dangling from the porch, trying to shake off his paranoia without invading his friend’s private space.

On second thought, that’s exactly what he did last time and he turned out to be right. He started for the door. The game plan that time around had been Find Alex, and okay, it was the same here. Whatever, it was a good plan. At least this time he knows where the spare key is kept.

Michael jogged the last couple steps up to Alex’s front door and knocked loudly. “Alex?”

No response. He stood on his toes to peer inside through the glass in the top of the door. From what he could see, none of the lights were on and no one was moving around inside.

“Alex, I’m worried about you,” he tried. He knocked on the door a few more times. “If you don’t answer, I’m coming in. He backed away to dig the key out of a bottle buried nearby. “Using the spare key,” he added. If Alex was inside, it probably wouldn’t be helpful if he thought Michael was going to telekinetically break his lock.

When he was met with more silence, Michael unlocked the door and took a hesitant step in.

“Alex?”

He made his way around the house. The kitchen held a small pile of take out bags and dirty, plastic containers. Alex was here then, and eating. That was always good, Michael acknowledged.

He walked over to Alex’s bedroom door and knocked quietly, cracking open the door as he did and poking his head inside. A blindness darkness greeted him.

Michael blinked quickly, trying to help his eyes adjust as he took in the room. Heavy, drawn curtains blocked any light from the windows. Two large, empty bottles sat on the bedside table closest to the door. It was too dark to be sure, but the thin, tall neck made Michael think it was tequila. The bed held a pile of blankets surrounding a curled up figure in the center.

Michael let out a breath, his shoulders slumping.

“Alex, it’s me. Can I come in?”

He received a faint humm in response.

Taking that as a yes, Michael slipped into the room and shut the door behind him, careful not to make any loud noises. He slowly inched closer to the bed Alex had buried himself in. He wasn’t sure what the protocol here was. Alex was physically fine; Michael could see enough to make out the movement of the blankets from Alex breathing. Strands of hair peeked out of the fuzz pile and the sunlight in the hall shined back at him from Alex’s prosthetic where it was laying on the floor near the bed.

But Alex obviously wasn’t fine. From what Michael had seen, Alex had apparently spent the past three days of avoiding his friends in bed, ordering takeout, and day-drinking. While Michael may not have much experience with avoiding worried friends, he did have a decade spent deep-diving into a bottle or three in his belt, and multiple empty maybe-tequila bottles did not equal fine.

“Alex, what’s going on,” Michael whispered. He sat on the edge of the bed with one leg still on the floor, hand hovering over Alex’s body as he waited for a response.

After a few seconds, Alex reached a hand out of his pile and pulled the blanket closest to him tightly, framing his face.

“What are you doing here,” he croaked out, eyes still closed.

“I was worried about you. You haven’t responded to me or anyone else in three days.”

“I’m fine.”

Michael caught the blanket before Alex could pull it back over his head. “I see that,” he noted dryly.

Alex huffed and opened his eyes. “I am. You can go now.”

“Not until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding everyone in favor of alcohol and shitty take-out.” Michael kicked off his shoes and crawled over Alex onto the bed. He leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes. “I can sit here all day.”

He opened one eye to see Alex glaring up at him. “I’ll just listen,” Michael offered.

Another huff.

Michael closed his eye again and waited. A minute or two later, he felt the mattress moving under him. He opened both eyes to see Alex sitting up beside him and offered him a smile.

Alex’s lips twitched in response and Michael felt his own widen to a grin.

Michael waited patiently beside him.

“I got a phone call,” Alex started. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor well-away from Michael as he spoke. “I loved being in my squadron. Some of the guys were family in a way I hadn’t had before, you know?”

Loved. Were. Michael stopped smiling.

“Flint and Clay always felt really distant. When I was a kid, I thought it was because they remember Mom. And I love Gregory, but we weren’t super close as kids.”

And Flint and Clay were two peas in a Jesse-spawn pod, Michael wanted to add.

“We has to be together all the time, we didn’t have a choice but to get close. There were four of us that were,” Alex tutted, searching for the word. “I don’t know. Saying brothers feels weird considering my real brothers.”

“I get it,” Michael said softly. He and Max and Isobel, they weren’t actually siblings. But Max and Iz were so important to him, to his life on Earth, and to his past, that calling them brother and sister felt inadequate. “They were real. What brothers should be.”

Alex nodded. “Besides me, it was Hunter, Jamie, and Patrick. Hunter and Jamie died in the same explosion that blew off my leg. Which. . . sucked. But Patrick was okay. He stayed with me as long as he could in the hospital in Germany. He missed their funerals to stay with me.” He took a steadying breath. “He had to ship out eventually. He was assigned a new unit and left for an eight month tour about six months ago.”

Alex looked up to meet Michael’s eyes. He schooled his face, trying to project a sense of calmness and security. He just hoped that the grief and pain and mourning he saw in Alex’s eyes wasn’t echoed in his own.

When Alex spoke again, it was so soft Michael had too strain to make out the words. “Patrick’s new unit chief called three days ago. He - he’s dead.” Alex voice shook as he choked back a sob and leaned into Michael.

Michael gripped Alex tightly and pressed his lips to his forehead. Michael didn’t - he couldn’t comfort this. He had lost a whole world. . . but he hadn’t know them. He lost his mom but, so had Alex. She might not technically be dead, but she had left when he was so young and stayed gone so long that she might as well be. The only think Michael had to compare was Isobel and Max and if he lost them. . . well. He’s sure he would be in the drunk tank in a lot worse shape than this.

“Alex,” Michael said softly, turning to press his cheek against Alex’s head, “When I was a kid, I spent years imaging what it would be like to lose Max and Isobel, either when they got sick of me and left or if they got caught and were killed. I planned out how to be alone, as much as it killed me to admit that, since that implies I wasn’t alone with them,” he chucked lowly.

Michael buried his free hand in Alex’s hair, letting the soft, dark strands run through his fingers. Alex stayed quiet. “I stopped because I met someone who was different. He treated me the same way Max and Iz did and no one had ever done that before. In my experience, people weren’t just nice for no reason. Even Max and Iz treated me like they did because they viewed me as their brother. And this guy, I could never seem to drive him away. And I certainly tried my best,” he admitted, “especially after graduation. He was the fucking sun and he made me realize that I wasn’t better than everyone else. It kinda opened up my world.”

Alex stirred at that. “Life isn’t a rom-com, Michael.”

“Okay, but it is a telenovela. I mean hello, alien from outer space here.”

Underneath him, Alex made a sound that reminded him a baby whining.

“You interrupted. There was more,” Michael chided jokingly. He gave Alex a light flick on the head. “I would still fall apart if I lost Max and Iz. That hasn’t changed. But I would want to keep on going now. Because of you. And you don’t have to get over this or be okay because of me, that’s not what I’m saying-“

“Michael.”

Michael shut up. “Sorry,” he murmured.

Alex finally moved from his half-laying down, half-sitting up position and looked at Michael. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Alex smiled sadly at him and let his hand hover over the side of Michael’s face. “Thank you.”

Michael’s eyes lightened. “Thank you,” he returned. They were words he’s been waiting to say to Alex for over a decade. Since they were seventeen and stupid in love. He owes Alex so much.

They weren’t seventeen anymore. Picking a place to make-out that wasn’t the pickup of Michael’s truck was no longer their biggest hurdle. Now, that would have to be a toss up between the giant government conspiracy, the alien-DNA-targeting-bomb, and the various murders him and his siblings were hiding.

No, they definitely weren’t seventeen anymore. But as Alex curdled back up under his blanket mound and buried himself into Michael’s side, Michael knew that, for him, that was the only thing that had changed.

[forgadgetsandgizmos]

Crimson (Malex)

Read it here on AO3

It wasn’t expected, the blood. A line from one of Iz’s medical shows crossed his mind; everyone knows how many pints of blood are in the body, but no one ever thinks about how much blood that is outside the body.

Does that even apply to him? It doesn’t matter. Blood is blood. It stains everything crimson.

Please—

Michael—

A voice broke through the fog clouding his mind. He focused on it, the constant murmur bringing him comfort.

“Wake up, please, you need to wake up. Hold on for me,” the voice begged. He wanted it to stop.

He willed his eyes to open, faintly aware of a hand cupping his cheek and another pressed again his stomach. He wanted to open them, to look at the owner of this voice and take away whatever was causing his pain. But his eyes felt as though they were weighed down by bricks and when he tried to speak, nothing but silence came out. 

His head drooped back down against the rough concrete below him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be fine. Max knows we’re here and he’s on his way,” the voice — Alex, how could he have forgotten Alex — choked out.

Michael finally cracked his eyes open enough to see a pair of dark eyes, wide with alarm, looking over him. He placed his hand over the one on his chest. Alex jerked, his gaze flying to Michael’s face.

Michael blinked up at him. He tried to smile, to bring him a sense of comfort, but Alex’s face twisted. Alex’s lower lip trembled, his hand now hovering just above Michael’s body, with Michael’s hand still around his wrist.

A car engine echoed in the empty room. Alex jerked around, sending a fresh pain shooting through Michael’s body.

Michael bit back a hiss of pain. Not well enough, because Alex froze above him and slowly turned back towards him, moving his hands to lower Michael gently to the ground.

“That’s Max,” Alex breathed. “I’ll bring him here and he’ll heal you. You’re going to be fine, see?” Alex pressed his lips to Michael’s forehead in a hasty kiss.

Max was still weak and the damage to Michael’s body was too extensive. Michael was going to die. He stuttered, trying to tell him what he wanted to so badly.

Don’t leave.

He was dying and at peace with that, but he didn’t want to die alone. Before he could make a sound, Alex was off, racing towards Max despite the limp Michael knew was there.

Michael let his eyes flutter shut when Alex’s figure grew too small for him to make out. The concrete no longer felt cold against his skin, his blood no longer burning hot in comparison. Distance voices rang out, sentence filled with words he couldn’t distinguish. At least this way, someone else might find his body. Kyle, maybe, or Isobel. She can handle it. Alex can be spared that, at least.