"I am an anime and video game maniac who always wander around Akihabara. I always thought, is it really possible for a guy like me to find love? This is how I met her."
Inspired by a true story of an Otaku that found love on a train in the 90s, during the aftermath of Japan's Lost Decade or economic bubble crisis which leave many graduates unemployed.
A time when hikikomori (social recluse of graduates due to social pressure and broken dreams), and karoshi (death from overwork in order to retain their highly competitive jobs) became prominent.
Before the arrival of social media, there were chatrooms where singles talk about their woes, including the man whose username is "Train Man" as he commutes to work and home daily by trains.
A post went "viral" attracting many online users who find the story fascinating. "Train Man" told the story of how he accidentally save a young woman from being harassed by a drunkard salaryman.
He has been pestering the passengers who are mostly women but none dare to stop him. It wasn't until he harass a woman sitting
across the "Train Man" that he summoned to courage to stop him.
Despite being terrified as he never confronted anyone before and do not know whether he is armed, he asked the drunkard to stop which caused them to struggle for a short time before others start to help.
They end up at the police station to clarify what happened as the women stepped forward as witness to save "Train Man". The young woman thanked him and asked for his address to send gifts.
Shocked by the incident, "Train Man" rushed home to share his story with online users of gamer addict, social recluse, neglected housewife, burnout salaryman and divorced nurse.
"Train Man" later received said gift from her: an expensive set of cups made by Hermès. Flabbergasted, that the tea set was too expensive to be a mere thank-you gift, he asked online users for advice.
They began giving grooming and dating tips, like getting a clean haircut (no more long hair), nice clothing (no more jeans and anime t-shirts), scouting for dining places (no more cheap ramen shops).
Feeling encouraged and thankful, "Train Man" consistently post updates on his daily situation asking for advice from the enthusiastic and chaotic users who find his new life development interesting.
They push him out of his comfort zone and wish for him to succeed as they hope he will be their inspiration to change their respective lives to find their own happiness too. If he can make it, so can they.
The story starts to get funny, wholesome and heartbreaking, as "Train Man" discovers the joys and hardships of relationships and his first taste of love as he learns that it's not as easy as he thought.
It's a good movie worth watching, about how hard it is for someone with social anxieties struggles to be "normal" like everyone else to find love and happiness, while overcoming his fears and insecurities.
When Alex walked into the Wild Pony on New Year’s Eve, the party was already in full swing. Maria had bought the Pony a few months ago and had decided to host a big New Year’s party. She had begged Alex in multiple emails to come and, much to his surprise, he had actually been able to move his leave around and be in Roswell for New Year’s.
For the occasion, he had even embraced his former teenage self a little and bought new eyeliner. It had felt really weird, but also oddly comforting to put it on for the first time since the day he had left Roswell to join the Air Force.
Aside from the eyeliner, his teenage self would probably be disappointed in his outfit. No black nail polish, no jewelry beyond the dog tags hidden under his shirt. His shirt was black and his jeans on the skinny side, but no one would consider his outfit punk or emo.
He still felt more like himself than he had in a long time, but also slightly alien in his skin as he walked through the bar. He had only visited the Wild Pony as a patron a couple of times while he was on leave, yet it felt incredibly familiar to him. Mimi DeLuca had sometimes let him, Maria, Rosa and Liz visit her there when the bar had been closed.
He spotted Maria behind the bar and walked over to greet her, absentmindedly checking what familiar faces he saw around the bar.
Maria squealed when she spotted him reaching over the bar for a somewhat awkward, but very tight and enthusiastic hug.
“Alex, you made it!” She looked him over once she released him. “And you’re wearing eyeliner! What a throwback. I love it, you look amazing.”
Alex laughed. “Thank you, you look amazing too. The Wild Pony suits you. Congrats on buying it, by the way.”
“Let me do my job then, what do you want to drink?” Maria asked with a grin, “best friends who I haven’t seen in way too long drink for free tonight.”
“Well, I’m not sure how good of a business decision that is, but I’ll start with a beer,” Alex said with a laugh. “On the topic of long lost best friends, did you manage to persuade Liz to come?”
Maria’s smile dimmed a little and she shook her head.
“No, when I invited her she said something about a work thing that sounded a lot like she’d just made it up. I get it though, there are too many memories of Rosa and her mom here.” She handed him a beer. “Have you heard from her lately?”
Alex sighed and took a sip, “I don’t really hear from anyone. The internet is never great, not all of our private communications are as private as I would like them to be and it’s not exactly easy to engage in smalltalk doing what I do. You’re pretty much the only one I hear from semi-regularly.”
Well, for a while, on and off, he’d heard from someone else, but he pushed that thought down as far as he could.
Maria nodded, but before she could answer, one of the other bartenders called her name.
“Sorry, I have to go check on that, we’ll catch up more later, okay? Enjoy the party!”
Alex raised his beer to her as Maria hurried off to take care of whatever had come up.
Turning a little to rest his elbow on the bar, Alex looked around. He’d seen some familiar faces earlier, but no one he knew well enough to be interested in catching up. That would probably only lead to someone awkwardly thanking him for his service and then a lot of tense small talk because they wouldn’t know what to ask and Alex wouldn’t really be able to tell them anything about his job anyway.
It wasn’t as if he had a personal life worth discussing and most of the people here would still remember him as the kid who was rumored to be gay. Neither the military nor his sexuality were topics he wanted to discuss with almost strangers.
To his surprise, he spotted Isobel Evans not too far from him at a table. He definitely hadn’t expected to see her here, unless something changed since the last time he’d been in town, Isobel and Maria couldn’t stand each other. Of course, where Isobel Evans was, Max Evans was never far. Alex spotted him carrying drinks over to the table Isobel sat at.
After spotting the Evans twins, Alex decided to stop looking for familiar faces, in fear (or hope) of finding one in particular. Instead he focused back on his beer and waited for Maria to come back over.
His strategy didn’t work, only a few minutes later he heard a laugh he could recognize anywhere. Whipping his head around, he spotted a painfully familiar head of curls sitting with the Evans twins now.
Continue reading on AO3
You can find the amazing gifs made by @manesalex to go along with the fic here.
Written for the Roswell, New Mexico Big Bang 2022 @rnmbb
This is sort of a reaction ficlet, but not a coda. @haloud and I were just casually freaking out about Sanders calling Alex pretty, and Sanders as protective dad, and Sanders’ “Alex ain’t shit” phase, and this little Lost Decade scene popped into my head. @christchex and @lambourngb and @arielana are also, no doubt, to blame.
Wow, it feels good to write to completion again lol.
As dawn burns a garish pink slash across the horizon, Walt sits in his office portable with a stack of receipts and watches the Manes boy sneak out of Michael's trailer, shaking his head. Manes is down the rickety steps of the Airstream and halfway across the dirt to his waiting Jeep before he pauses, eyes dark and gleaming even at a distance as he turns back towards the silver bullet.
"Come on, son," Walt mutters into his coffee cup. "You know you wanna stay."
The boy stands frozen for a long minute, one foot twisted behind him in flight, the other planted firmly forward. But then, like pieces of a Rubik’s Cube, his body turns away from the trailer in segments; hips, then shoulders, and finally his head, gaze lingering to the last moment on the dark interior visible through the small, papered window. He climbs into his car and drives away.
Walt sighs, dropping the papers in his hand back onto the clutter of his desk.
The kid'll be hell in cowboy boots today, that's for damn sure. Always is, after a visit from Alex Manes.
They're few and far between now Jesse Manes has his way and all four of his sons serve Uncle Sam. But no matter if the boy's in town a month or 24 hours, he finds his way to Michael's door like there's a magnet melted into the metal. And it always ends the same. Alex leaves, Michael stays, and the kid's heart breaks all over again.
Sometimes, Manes is gone while Michael’s still dead to the world, slipping away into the dark night or the brisk, early morning. Other times, they spill out of the trailer like dominoes, one after the other, angry, pleading voices carrying across the desert. Few years back, Michael all but chased Alex out the door, shirtless and barefoot, his sneakers gripped tight in one hand and his shirt draped over his shoulder. That memory's always a little too vivid for Walt's taste.
The glow of the Airstream's low light flickers on through the little window and Walt stands slowly as Michael's dark figure begins to shuffle around inside. He crosses the small office to the ancient coffee maker, pouring a new cup without bothering to refresh his own.
Walt used to wonder why Michael didn't kick Manes's ass to the curb. Sure, he's a good-looking kid. His features are pretty in a way his daddy no doubt hates; Jesse Manes mistakes beauty for weakness, even after his wife showed him the steel of her spine. Walt sees her most in Alex Manes, in the curve of his cheekbones and the dark depth of his eyes. And they damn well have chemistry, sounds like Walt has never heard before, he's sorry to admit, echoing through the thin walls of the trailer.
But Michael's got his own charm; sandy hair darker than Ms. Nora's, but his curls catch in the light same as hers, and his young body is lean and strong thanks to years of ranch work. He does more than all right with the women of Roswell when Alex isn't around.
He’s around eventually, though. He comes back. He always comes back. Manes inevitably stands at Michael's door and shifts his weight, flexing his muscles like he could even make his legs carry him away if he wanted them to. And Michael hems and haws, squints his golden eyes like he could look through Alex if he glared hard enough, like he could look away. And then he pushes the door wide open and Manes steps inside, and when it shuts behind them it stays that way for hours, all day, a weekend.
The kids want to be together. Nothing's stopped them so far, and Walt's come to realize nothing probably ever will. Not even some damn self-preservation.
Michael bursts out of the trailer dripping wet and stormy-eyed, and Walt steps out to meet him, holding out the steaming mug of fresh coffee like an offering.
"We're backed up today, kid," he says instead of a greeting. "Drink fast."
Michael looks surprised, tries to cover it with a roll of his eyes.
"How long you been here, old man?" he asks, slurping the coffee greedily.
Up close, his eyes are shaded by dark circles.
"You get any shut eye?" Walt asks pointedly in lieu of a straight answer, raising a knowing brow, and Michael huffs, head rolling back in exasperation.
"Relax," Walt grunts, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm not gonna tell you something you already know and don't wanna hear."
Michael tilts his head forward, nodding slowly and looking anywhere but Walt's face. He fights the urge to cup Michael's chin between his fingers, the ghost of a gesture Ms. Nora once used to still Walt's restless energy. But the kid's a grown man, and Walt's not his father, not for lack of trying. Instead, he squeezes Michael's shoulder.
"He'll be back," he says, and Michael's eyes fly to his, wide and shining with hope.
"That so?" Michael asks, and Walt nods, turning back towards the office as a classic truck rattles into the lot, the first of the day.
"If he knows what's good for you," Walt calls over his shoulder. "And I think he does."
Lost Decade cinema: the inevitability of transposing our conscious onto the digital — webs of powerlines towering over us — which introduces subjectivity to our Death. between thousands of forum posts we leave behind a persona that exists beyond our physical death; a spiritual tether that leaves us incapable of passing on, tormenting us that we can't ever connect again.
The words had haunted him throughout the night. The distant sound of Alex’s guitar and his voice, the echo of it in the desert as he played to the stars and to Michael, seemingly asleep in the Airstream next to him.
Michael had fallen asleep with Alex in his arms and had woken up to the cold night air and music on the wind.
It’s not goodbye when I want to be anyone, anywhere with you
Alex’s voice was as beautiful as it had been a few years ago, playing emo standards in the back of Michael’s pick up as Michael tried hard to ignore the thrum of pain in his left hand.
This wasn’t a emo standard, that Michael knew. He had no clue if it was something new, he hadn’t changed his station from the classic country station since Alex left. He had changed it to avoid the songs he knew only because of Alex, just as he had avoided everything in his life that Alex had touched.
He didn’t even remember seeing Alex’s guitar when he pulled up in his rental car. They hadn’t really wasted a moment. Alex had stepped out, duffle bag in hand, and Michael had thrown it to the back of the Airstream and had pulled Alex into his arms.
And it’s not goodbye when I say I have to go because everywhere I carry a little piece of you. And every time I leave a little bit of me with you.
Michael glanced at the clock. 5 am. Alex would be leaving soon, Michael knew. That’s how they did this. Limited time, no goodbyes. Just Michael waking up in the morning to silence and the vast empty desert, nothing but the stars and his loneliness for company. This was a change, waking up before Alex actually left.
He wasn’t sure if it was better.
And it’s not goodbye because I’ll miss you every day and it’s not goodbye when I still your face, even a thousand miles away.
Was it better to know Alex didn’t want to leave, just as much as Michael didn’t? Was it better to know that Alex didn’t spend his last few hours with Michael at his side, instead he left to sing to the stars about how hopeless they were?
Michael rolled over. The pillows were thin, but Alex wasn’t singing loudly and the gusts of wind would cover up anything else. It would have to do.
Michael closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Tried to ignore how much he hurt at the thought that Alex never said goodbye, never said I’ll see you again. Michael could hear the strum of the guitar stop. He heard Alex’s card door slam. He braced himself for the sound of the engine as it started.
It never came. Instead, the Airstream door opened and Alex slipped off his jacket, then his jeans. His cold body slipped under the thin sheets. Michael shivered. Alex pulled him in tight. Michael kept his eyes closed.
Alex hummed and kissed his shoulder. He hummed the melody he had been singing. Michael let his body relax. Alex kept humming as Michael drifted back to sleep.
And it’s not goodbye because I keep coming home to you.
Hey, can you give an expansion on the X-Men's "Lost Decade" and how terrible it was?
Don't know if I'm the best choice to go in-depth. Other more fanatical fans might be able to shed more light on the subject. Still I can easily offer my outsider's opinion and I do love talking about stuff I'm not qualified to talk about.
Hickman places the "Lost Decade" as starting from Avengers vs. X-Men and lasting until the start of his run essentially. Arrogant as hell but accurate as well by my assessment. I'd even stretch it further, as a non-hardcore X-Men fan there's really nothing worthwhile that happens within the time period stretching from the end of Whedon's Astounding up until House of X/Powers of X. That entire time only gave a few worthwhile ideas, Gillen's campy Sinister, Cyclops becoming more militant, Magneto basically joining with the X-Men, etc. But there's nothing in that time period that really endured and fueled the franchise the way that Claremont, Morrison, and Whedon did, at least not that I can see. Hope's storyline of being the first post-M-Day mutant, being fought over by mutants and humans and struggling to deal with everyone viewing her as a Messiah figure, ended anticlimactically on account of it being undercut by Marvel. Their wanting to establish the Avengers as superior to the X-Men ruined her storyline. Instead of being about her and the mutants AvX really became about the Avengers and the Phoenix Five. After that story Hope and the other new mutants basically disappeared entirely until Hickman bought her back and made her important again.
What's hilarious about these hero vs. hero stories Marvel does is the writers ALWAYS fucking rebel against what the editors want, and so do the readers! You're supposed to see the Avengers as the designated good guys of the conflict, but Bendis of all writers has Cyclops basically call them out on never being around when the Sentinels show up to kill the mutants. Not a fair criticism, that's like Batman complaining that Flash doesn't just clean up crime in Gotham for him, it would ruin the status quo people want to read, but it sure as hell made readers feel like the Avengers were bullies. Plus the P5 basically make a paradise on Earth, didn't start losing control until the Avengers kept attacking them, wouldn't have even EXISTED in the first place if the Avengers hadn't mucked things up, and there's really no good reason to fight against them other than a need to go back to status quo (and also I suppose how unsettling it is to have a world get Miracleman'd). Hence why "Cyclops was right!" became a meme, readers rejected the stance Marvel pushed of Cyke being a villain for stuff he did under the influence of the Phoenix, something Bendis ended up running with as well. If Jean can get off for killing a world than Cyke can get off for killing Xavier while Dark Phoenixed.
After AvX is when shit really hit the fan however. That's when the mandate changed from Quesada's "make this like the comics I read when I was a kid" to Perlmutter's "fucking Fox won't give us the rights back, make the Inhumans our new top franchise". Mutants just spin their wheels doing NOTHING under Bendis who starts strong with a really great premise. Sincerely believe the basic idea of the O5 is brilliant. What if the young, uncorrupted original X-Men come to the present and to them, THIS is a bad future like Days of Futures Past or Age of Apocalypse? Cyclops killed Professor X, Jean is dead, Beast is a hypocritical asshole blue furry, Angel is whatever, and Iceman is still irrelevant! Shit is insane and completely not what they thought their futures would be like. So they stick around and try to unfuck the future before going back.
There was a ton of potential there and Bendis wasted all of it on boring storylines that went nowhere. We never got Scott's Mutant Revolution, it was all just empty hype. O5 did nothing meaningful at all except Bobby came out as gay, yay for him. Still funny to me that Bendis went out of the way to establish that the O5 couldn't just wipe their minds and time travel home anymore because of temporal shenanigans, but Marvel basically said fuck that and sent them home that exact way regardless. Really annoyed we never got the story of how Cyke got a Phoenix Egg by Time Runs Out in Hickvengers, but I doubt Bendis could've told that story well anyway.
Meanwhile you've got the Inhumans getting pushed but in their usual hilariously incompetent way, Marvel editorial completely botches their handling of that franchise as well. Instead of leaning into what makes them unique, they chose to make them diet mutants and copy the whole "hated and feared" part. Also they have the brilliant idea of making it so the Terrigen Clouds that create nuHumans also kill mutants, thus making the Inhumans a threat to mutants in-universe and out. So of course the X-Fandom hates these new guys for killing mutants and stealing their spotlight, nobody cares about diet mutants when you've got the real thing, their handling of the one Inhuman people liked in Black Bolt sucked, and the Inhumans show was dogshit and basically killed the franchise. Was a total failure that's more or less ended with the Inhumans banished, but it really was a terrible time for both franchises. By the end Cyclops and Wolverine were both dead which feels symbolic of the state of the franchise. Two of the biggest male mutants were killed off and nobody cared, everyone was just praying things would get better soon.
Oh Christ that quote on the cover has me rolling. Benefit of hindsight is that Rosenberg came in and did exactly what he needed to: burn the franchise to the ground so Hickman could come in and rebuild. He brought Cyclops and Wolverine back to life after Jean had been revived as well, setting up the return of the OG Mutant Trinity for the first time since Morrison killed Jean off. Emma came back and revealed herself to have always been working for the benefit of mutants still, due to Marvel abandoning their idiotic plan to make her evil again. But he killed a bunch of mutants off apparently, and in ways that made Twitter pissed.
There's plenty of stories I left out because I didn't read them or don't remember them, but the point of this is that the "Lost Decade" is called that because it's a decade in which nothing meaningful happened. Mutants died but nobody cared because there was no sense of direction. Events occurred that people didn't like and were pure cash grabs such as Age of X-Men or Battle of the Atom. Fans lost faith in the writers ability to chart a course, the entire franchise lost momentum in part because of editorial, and in part because not even Claremont nostalgia bait could entice people anymore. X-Men needed new ideas, needed to stop naval-gazing, and needed to establish a new jump on point. Hickman delivered all three in spades but unfortunately it looks like his run has become a victim of it's own success. Nothing about the post-Hickman lineup entices me and I think after Inferno I'll be dropping the franchise again.
A collection of essays focused on social and cultural change during Japan's Lost Decade through a cinematic lens. Volume 1 collects together topics of youth violence during this period. The essays included are: The Representation of Violence in Contemporary Japanese Cinema. The Representation of Dissatisfied Youth Culture in Contemporary Japanese Cinema. The Criticisms and Media Sensationalism of Generation Zero in Japan.
I'm still here hoping (that one day you may come back)
Set during the lost decade. After years apart, Alex and Michael spend a night together.
Fic prompt: “I don’t want you to go.” - Day 3 of Michael Guerin Week 2020
content warning for alcohol, semi-explicit sex, self-destructive behavior
Read it on Ao3
Michael slammed the door to his truck and took a breath, looking around to see if anyone else was loitering in the parking lot of the bar. Too many people, too dangerous to do what he wanted and throw something heavy across the lot with his mind, but too much energy to go inside. Instead, he slammed his fist against the side of the truck, reveling in the way the blow rang through his bones.
It was a Friday night, so of course the parking lot wasn’t empty, which was good since Michael was looking for a fight tonight. He was getting good at recognizing the types of truck that usually belonged to the kind of guy he didn’t mind going to jail for pummeling, and there were several excellent contenders.
Satisfied with the potential, he strode into the Wild Pony, avoiding Maria’s gaze and slipping into a seat at the bar. He was enough of a regular that he barely had to motion to the guy behind the bar to order a drink.
“Don’t you have a trailer to loiter in?” Maria sauntered up, leaning on the bar like she owned the damn place instead of her mom.
“Can’t you afford to hire other people to work here?” Michael shot back, accepting the drink the actual bartender slid in front of him and smirking at her when she frowned. “Go away, I’m a paying customer.”
“Tabs don’t count.”
Michael gave her an actual smile, even though he felt like screaming and crying and tearing the entire town down to splinters. “No, but see, I’m promising to someday be a paying customer. That’s just as good.” She put her hands on her hips, staring him down. Michael was struck again by how ridiculously unfair it was that being an adult was just the same as being in high school, except everyone felt even more entitled. The able-to-drink-in-public part is better though. “Are you gonna take away my drink?” he asked inflammatorily. “No? Then goodbye.” She rolled her eyes but walked away.
Michael sipped his bourbon and slipped some acetone into it. More than he should, probably, but numb was better than whatever he was currently feeling. Numb had always been better than the noise and the tangle of thoughts and the pain—all of the fucking pain—and the worry.
It shouldn’t have even been this bad. It was just a party, an engagement party, for Isobel and her utterly normal, friendly boyfriend. Well, fiancé, now.
Michael wasn’t sure what it was about the whole thing that made him feel the way he did. Maybe it was that reminder of Max and Isobel’s happy, wealthy family, and how completely unaware the Evanses were of the ridiculousness of throwing a gauzy, white party in the middle of the desert. He could always see in their eyes that they were glad when he left, even if they pretended otherwise. Or maybe it was that Isobel had actually found someone to marry, an actual companion, someone who didn’t make her sad, who didn’t make her feel so much that it ached.
Not that Michael was looking for someone to marry. Fuck, no. He was happy chasing the smaller highs of casual hookups. Or at least, he was content with it. He’d had his taste of that something else, of that ache, of that feeling they wrote melodramatic poetry about; he’d had his chance and it had been too much. Too much for someone like Michael, too much to sustain, too much to sacrifice for when he didn’t have anything to give except himself, and even that was small and insufficient.
That summer, the three of them had become bad people, the kind of people who cover up a murder for their own good, no matter how justified it might have seemed. And while Max and Isobel dealt with it by being the very best, upstanding citizen parodies of themselves, Michael just stopped acting like anything mattered. He wasn’t a cowboy, or an upstanding citizen, or a drunkard, or anything—he was only himself. And one of these days, he was going to get off this forsaken planet and become something.
But until then, he split his mind between working and going to Isobel’s parties and pretending he didn’t hate every minute of it. The engagement party had been semi-formal, which meant Michael had put on a clean shirt and jeans, and grudgingly accepted the tie she thrust at him when he walked in the door (now buried somewhere on the floor of the truck). He’d put on a smile and he’d toasted the happy couple and he’d tried to stem that idiotic part of him that had the nerve to feel jealous.
The jealousy, and the sadness, and the feelings of inferiority weren’t even the worst part. The worst part was that they’d gone years and years without telling anyone their secret, and now Isobel was getting married. She was literally going to swear to be honest and faithful and whatever else, and Michael couldn’t help but feel a little worried that she would want to tell all her secrets to this man she was planning to spend her life with. All of their secrets. No matter how much she protested that she didn’t want that, that she wanted a normal marriage, it was still concerning.
Michael finished the drink and another one appeared. Got to love being a regular, even if he wished he had a nicer place to haunt. He took a drink and tipped more acetone in, glancing around the bar for someone to talk to, or hit on, or just plain hit. And his eyes fell on someone walking through the door: Alex.
Michael turned back to the bar immediately, taking a drink with shaking fingers. Fuck. This wasn’t the right night for his first lov—his high school ex, who he hadn’t seen in years, to come wandering back into his life. Then again, Michael wasn’t sure there ever would be a right night for it.
They hadn’t talked. The end of that summer had turned into one nightmarish day after the next—Michael had his first string of arrests, his first nights in the drunk tank, all to try and chase the memory of that night from his mind, to chase away the disappointed look Alex had given him when Michael admitted that he wasn’t going to college after all. It wasn’t like he could say, ‘I have to stay and keep an eye on my homicidal alien sister.’ Things had been bad enough before he’d woken up one morning to find that Alex was gone. Really, actually gone.
That had been the worst string of nights Michael had experienced since he’d learned to punch back.
Michael looked around again, unable to stop himself. He wasn’t sure if Alex had seen him, and besides that, he wasn’t sure if Alex would give any fucks about him. Probably not, which was fair. The only people who did give a fuck about Michael were Max and Isobel, and they didn’t have a choice.
The problem was that Michael was smart. Smart enough to have noticed which tables were empty in the bar when Alex walked in, to find him within seconds at one of them, talking to Maria. Michael was too smart to believe that his shaking hands weren’t the prelude to something larger and more fantastic and extremely not attached to him shaking, to think that he was going to be able to sit there at the bar and drink like nothing at all is different and—fuck.
Michael accidentally met Alex’s gaze and immediately ducked his head down, like he could somehow hide behind nothing, when it was clear that Alex had already seen him. Michael’s head was too fuzzy already to have a good sense of what Alex’s expression had looked like, the whole bar was suddenly too loud and chaotic for him to grasp something as intangible as a social cue.
Maria slid up to the bar and leaned over it to grab two beers, looking sideways at Michael. “What’s wrong, Guerin? Someone bigger and stronger steal the girl you were eyeing?”
He mimed laughter. “Funny.” Michael swallowed the remainder of his drink and stood up, feeling a little bit wobbly and not from the bourbon. “Save your material, I’m leaving.”
Maria looked happy he was going, which was just the icing on the damn cake. Absolutely no one wanted to see Michael, and he wasn’t even really drunk enough to pick a worthwhile fight. He spared another quick glance at Alex’s table, ignoring how it made his pulse speed, ignoring that Alex still looked good as hell, and shoving his still shaking hands in his pockets as he walked past and out of the bar.
He didn’t go to his truck though. There was nothing waiting for Michael anywhere else, and he was far too wired for sleep. Maybe he could still find something to do while he waited for Alex to leave so he could have the bar to himself. Michael slipped into the shadows, leaning against the wall of the building and taking the momentary lull in parking lot foot traffic as an opportunity to sip a little more from his flask of acetone.
He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but standing there in the warm night air, with the faint sound of music and laughter seeping through the windows, he felt almost okay. It was almost enough to unsnarl his mind for a moment.
And then the door opened, and Alex stepped out of the bar.
Michael’s breath caught as he waited to see if anyone was with Alex, but no one else appeared. He couldn’t tell if Alex was intentionally walking towards him, or just walking with his fingertips trailing the side of the building, but either way, in a matter of moments they were closer than they’d been in a long, long time.
It wasn’t the right night for this. Michael felt like he needed someone, he had been thinking about their time right after high school anyway, and now he felt unmoored and uncontrollable and like if he was going to make a mistake, he might as well dive in. Michael reached out as Alex drew near him and grabbed Alex’s hand, pulling him into the shadows where Michael was lurking.
“Guerin,” Alex breathed, and it didn’t sound like anger.
“Alex.” Michael’s hands were shaking.
“How are you?” Alex hadn’t pulled his hand away, and Michael honestly wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a terrible sign. But it was contact. What aliens crave. “I saw you before, inside, but I wasn’t sure if—”
“What are you doing here?” Michael asked abruptly.
Alex smiled, surprised, and it was all nostalgia and ache and the burning brightness of a star. “I’m on leave.”
If it had been another night, if Michael hadn’t been feeling raw and lonely, if he was a little more or a little less drunk, if his hands weren’t shaking like damn leaves. But it was, and he was, and they were. It was a foregone conclusion.
“Wanna go for a drive?”
Alex nodded, and Michael hated how it made his chest clench.
They drove into the middle of nowhere, far enough away from lights that the stars blinked into view. Michael just drove, and god help him, it reminded him of that summer, driving out to the middle of the desert just to be alone with each other. And here Alex was, again, sitting just too far across the bench seat of Michael’s truck, making idle conversation and good-naturedly criticizing every song that came on the radio.
Eventually, Michael found a place to park, cutting the engine and the radio off. They sat in silence for a long, terrible moment. “Nicer view from the bed,” Michael said without thinking about the wording, and Alex laughed nervously.
“Yeah, okay.”
They clambered out and into the truck bed, and Michael was glad he’d recently washed some of the blankets he kept thrown in there. Alex sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, while Michael lounged across the other side, trying to make himself look more put together than he felt. Alex looked at the stars and Michael looked at Alex. He looked good—older, and maybe more tired, and he was missing the jewelry and eyeliner that was so endearingly rebellious. He looked quieter, somehow, and the thought of that made something in Michael want to scream.
“I forgot how quiet it was,” Alex said eventually, looking over at Michael. His eyes were the same, or at least they still made Michael feel achingly adrift.
“Must be a nice change.” Michael had no idea what he was saying, he was just trying not to let the conversation die. Alex laughed wryly. “How’ve you really been?”
Alex shrugged. “You really want to hear about it?”
Michael didn’t. The idea of Alex—Alex who was good and real and made him ache—off fighting someone else’s wars made Michael sick to his stomach, made him want to flip the damn truck over.
“I’ve spent all day talking about the Air Force,” Alex said eventually.
“Okay, so tell me something else about you,” Michael said.
“I’m glad to see you,” Alex said, staring straight at Michael, like he was daring him to argue. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”
“Well, I am. For now.” It was a lie—Michael wasn’t leaving Roswell unless it was in a flying saucer—but the lie made reality easier to bear.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” The information was offered before Michael could decide if he wanted to know. Alex’s phone chimed from where he’d left it in the cab. “And I had plans for tonight.”
“Breaking plans to bum around with me? I’m honored.”
“When you looked at me in the bar, I forgot all about them,” Alex continued, sounding mildly disgusted with himself.
Michael swallowed hard. “When I looked at you in the bar, I forgot about everything else.” It was easier, out here, to say things like that, knowing it was just between him and Alex and the desert and the night sky—and Alex would be gone tomorrow.
“Are you still getting into fights? Still drinking? Still getting arrested?” He sounded hopeful. That just made it all worse.
Michael looked down at the blanket he was sitting on, worrying the edge of it between the fingers of his bad hand. “Not currently.” Alex’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped his fingers, stopping the fidgeting. Michael looked up and Alex was closer, their faces inches apart.
“Just for tonight,” Alex said, and Michael nodded, unable to turn away even if his life depended on it. Alex smiled like he couldn’t help it, and then pressed his lips to Michael’s.
Everything was quiet. Everything was eclipsed by the desire, the ache, the need to press as much of himself to Alex as possible. Alex’s lips were more chapped than Michael remembered, but otherwise it was the same—the same swooping sensation in his stomach, the same warm wet pressure, the same fervent way Alex licked Michael’s lips until he deepened the kiss. Michael bit back the high, needy noise threatening to burst out of him, wrapping his hand around Alex’s waist, holding him as close as possible when they were both awkwardly sitting side by side in the truck bed. It was enough.
Michael had asked Isobel how it felt to kiss Noah, once. It was under the guise of teasing, but he had really wondered if everyone had the same brilliantly overwhelming feelings he experienced with Alex, like nothing else mattered but the two of them, like nothing else even existed. Michael hadn’t felt that with anyone else, but no one else had been nearly as important as Alex was to him, as Noah seemed to be to Isobel. Isobel had laughed, and said something cliched and cute, but it hadn’t come anywhere near the words he would use to describe kissing Alex. And now, he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t undersold the experience in his memory.
They fell back against the blankets, legs intertwined. It was perfect until Michael misjudged and hit his elbow on the side of the truck with a bang and a loud “Fuck!” Michael slid quickly away from the offending metal, closer to Alex, and Alex giggled, hiding the sound in the curve of Michael’s neck. Michael filed that away, the sound of Alex giggling, deep in his memory, a balm for the really bad moments.
His face still tucked into the juncture between Michael’s neck and shoulder, Alex turned the laughter into kisses, pressing them along the sensitive skin of Michael’s neck. Michael ran his good fingers along Alex’s spine, and Alex shivered at the light touch. Michael felt good, he felt weightless, like he’d been carrying an invisible weight, and now Alex was lifting it.
Alex’s fingers plucked at the edge of Michael’s shirt, and Michael let Alex peel it off of him, the air and anticipation prickling at his bare skin. Alex touched Michael with a look of reverence, running his hands along the lines of Michael’s collarbones, tripping across his nipples, stroking over his ribs, smoothing the line of his stomach. Michael had forgotten how this felt, to have someone really want him, really want to touch him, in a way that felt intimate instead of rushed and anonymous. It made him feel powerful and incredibly vulnerable.
Michael tugged at the buttons on Alex’s shirt, slipping them from their holes, slowly revealing skin, an exceptional tease. Alex huffed a laugh as Michael’s tugging became more insistent, the last button popping clean off the shirt, rolling across the metal of the truck bed. They crashed together, gripping each other’s hips, pressing their skin together and kissing messily.
It was just like the last time, except the sting of that summer was dulled; over time, it had been overtaken by the way that Michael ached when he thought about how long it had been since he’d seen Alex, how many nights he’d spent lying in bed hoping that nothing terrible had happened to him. They were both still eager, and they both seemed to want it just as much. The difference was that Michael knew now that this wasn’t just a summer fling, that it never could be; the difference was that Michael knew that something in him broke every time Alex left, and he would have to try his best to rebuild himself tonight because in the morning, it would break again.
Michael ran his fingers arounds the waist of Alex’s pants—soft, ticklish caresses that made Alex’s breath catch, his exhales twisting towards a moan. Michael undid the fiddly zipper of Alex’s pants, letting out his own moan at the sudden expanse of skin as Alex helped pull them off, at the suggestive bulge of Alex’s cock beneath his boxers. Michael’s pants were off after another moment, hurried motions that made both of them giggle and moan like teenagers.
Filled with the restless energy of want, Michael pressed Alex back down on the blankets, rolling to hover over him, sweeping his eyes over all of Alex’s skin. Their kisses were heated, spurred on by their bodies sliding together. Michael could feel every nerve in his body reacting to touching Alex, every bit of him lit up and conscious of Alex’s every movement, every sigh, every push of his hips against Michael’s, every look and every kiss burning through him.
Alex pulled away, breathing hard, his hand tangling in Michael’s hair. “Christ, I missed you,” he whispered, quiet even though no one else was around. He sounded wrecked, and Michael felt the sound sear itself in his memory.
Michael took a deep breath. Alex was smiling up at him, looking blissful; Alex was here, with him, and he had to make it count, to make it good for Alex, because Michael knew with a sudden certainty that he wouldn’t be able to survive it if Alex came home the next time and didn’t fall into his arms. Michael spent so much time disappointing so many people, but this—loving Alex—this he could do.
“You look nervous,” Alex said, later, when they were both naked and Michael had found the lube he kept stashed in the glove compartment.
“No,” Michael laughed, running his tongue along the sensitive skin by Alex’s hip. “It’s just been a while since I did this with someone I liked as much as you.”
Then Michael’s mouth was on Alex’s cock and Alex’s response turned into a moan, his voice rising into the quiet air as Michael tried to say everything he really wanted to say without any words and hoped Alex would understand.
Hours later, as they lay wrapped together in blankets and each other, sweat cooling on their skin, Michael ran his hand through Alex’s hair and wished he had the power to slow time. Alex’s hair was longer in high school, and Michael regretted slightly that he couldn’t pull on it the way he remembered Alex liking. It was just another reminder that things were different now, that Alex was going to leave for someplace he might never come back from, while Michael dug his own grave slowly in Roswell.
“That’s nice, Michael,” Alex said, leaning into Michael’s touch. Michael pressed kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his lips—gentle, unhurried kisses, the kind they never got to have in high school. There was always some danger lurking around the corner, the fear of being seen, of being caught; now the only threat was the sun, and the morning that would take Alex away.
“Only nice?” Michael teased, kissing along Alex’s jaw, down his neck. “Do I have to demonstrate my charms again?” He pressed his hips toward Alex suggestively.
“Nice is good,” Alex replied, sighing as he leaned closer to Michael. “And this was perfect.”
Don’t leave, he wanted to say. Instead, he rocked their bodies together again more purposefully as he felt Alex respond. They gripped each other like they could hold together the things threatening to tear them apart with every passing minute, kissing with renewed passion, making the most of what time they had.
They hadn’t slept at all when the sun started to rise, painting the broad expanse of the desert with color and light, or at least Michael hadn’t. Alex was dozing, and Michael was watching him, watching the way the glow of the early morning made Alex’s skin golden, the way his eyelashes fluttered as he dreamed, the dark red of his well-kissed lips. It would have been creepy to take a photo, but Michael wished he’d brought his phone out of the cab, wished he had a picture of Alex looking peaceful and fucking radiant, to remind himself that not everything was shit all of the time. Instead, Michael looked and looked and tried to etch the image onto his memory.
Alex stirred, blinking awake and smiling up at Michael. “Hey.” His voice was thick with sleep and sex, and Michael’s chest felt tight at the thought he might never get to hear that again. He’d never admit it, but while Alex slept, Michael had mentally seriously considered the pros and cons of joining the damn Air Force himself just to have some piece of Alex around him all the time.
“Mornin’,” Michael drawled, kissing Alex’s eyelids, kissing Alex’s hand, kissing Alex everywhere he could see. Alex yawned and Michael grinned. “Tired?”
Alex’s face slipped from contentment to something sadder and more complicated. “Hey, that’s the first time we’ve both actually slept in the same place.”
“Speak for yourself,” Michael replied, then switched tactics when Alex’s face dropped a bit. “Yeah, I know.” He paused, watching Alex’s expression brighten. “I liked it.”
“Me too.”
The sun sped higher in the sky, drenching them in light. Michael wondered what would happen if he tried to telekinetically move the sun back towards the East. Probably worse than just a nosebleed.
Alex started to root around for his clothing in the mess of blankets, shooting Michael small smiles despite the aura of sadness surrounding them. Alex pulled on his pants and slid off the back of the truck, standing up and looking around them like he was cataloguing his surroundings. Michael sighed and pulled on his own jeans, trying to ignore how final it felt.
“So.” It was stranger, in the light, with Alex standing up and out of reach. “You going back to some buff Air Force boyfriend?”
Alex laughed, glancing over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at Michael. “You going back to some drunk townie?” It stung, a little, and after all hadn’t Michael been trying to sting him by asking first. Alex sighed, turning back to Michael fully, his face suddenly sadder and less guarded. “Don’t worry, Guerin, you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
Guerin. After being Michael all night, it hurt more than he expected. Michael’s chest tightened at the name, at the offhand remark, and he wanted nothing more than to agree, to tell Alex that he felt the same and have it ring with truth, to admit that nothing else could ever stand up to whatever it was they stumbled upon at 17—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because Alex was leaving and there wasn’t a damn thing Michael could do about it, because Michael was still himself and now that it was light he could feel the unease spreading over him, because they were different people now than who they had been years ago, and it was nothing but foolish to pretend that nothing had changed.
“I don’t want you to go,” Michael said instead, petulantly.
Alex smiled sadly and shook his head. He pulled his shirt on, tucking it in to hide the missing bottom button, and walked back to the passenger door of the truck. Done. Finito.
Michael sighed, blinking back the heat sitting in the corners of his eyes, threatening to become something he couldn’t laugh off. Michael would only let himself cry in one place, and that was alone in his trailer, where no one could see or hear him, where no one could sense any weakness.
Michael started the truck before realizing he had no idea where Alex wanted to be taken. Not home, because home was still his father’s house, and Michael avoided that place like the plague.
“You can drop me off at the Wild Pony,” Alex said quietly. “I’ll get a ride from Mimi.”
“Right.”
It wasn’t a long drive. Far too short, but neither of them talked. They sat in silence, the cab filling with unspoken words, dread and sadness neither of them could force past their lips. Michael wanted to tell him to be careful, wanted to beg him to stay, wanted to cry and scream and protest that it wasn’t fair for something to be this important and still be impermanent. He drove in silence and parked at the edge of the lot, giving Alex the chance to sneak away without being obvious about where he was coming from. That hurt, too.
“Oh, hey.” Alex paused with his hand on the door latch. “I have something for you, don’t leave.” He climbed out of the car and went running towards the building.
Michael stared after him, his hand on the gear shift, ready to escape if anyone else appeared, certain he’d misheard the request to wait. He could vaguely make out a figure in the doorway handing Alex a bundle of fabric—probably Mimi—and Alex gestured at her to go inside before running back towards Michael.
He pulled open the door and slid back inside, handing Michael a thin cd case. Michael took it cautiously and Alex shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “It’s um—it’s a mix cd. I made it a while ago, thought maybe you could use some good music for a change and it—it made me think of you, so.”
Michael considered the cd, brushing his fingers against the plastic, a sheet of paper with Alex’s handwriting on the inside of the case, listing a bunch of songs he didn’t know. It was very plain, no doodled hearts or personalization or anything, but still, it was something tangible that came from Alex, something Michael could hold, something given to him on purpose. He looked up at Alex with something like wonder. “Thank you,” he breathed, then recovering some swagger, “Knowing your music taste, not sure that counts as a gift, but…thanks.”
Alex smiled, and pulled Michael in for a kiss, short and searing and carrying so much that was unsaid that Michael felt the weight of it settle over him. He wasn’t ready for Alex to leave again, he was never going to be ready, and Alex was always going to leave because Michael was never going to be enough to keep him. That’s just how it was, but Michael knew he would never be able to stop trying to be enough.
“I think I might love you,” Michael said against Alex’s lips, unable to hold back the surge of emotion.
“Don’t.”
Alex breathed in sharply, and Michael could see a tear fall from Alex’s eye, neither of them acknowledging it. He kissed Michael again fiercely, and Michael knew it still wasn’t enough, and he knew that Alex wasn’t going to reply, and he knew that he would swallow it down and disappoint everyone and life would go on. It was inevitable that Alex would pull away, and it wasn’t until he did that Michael realized their hands were clenched together, the cd lying in his lap.
They didn’t do goodbyes, so Alex just smiled tightly and slipped out of the truck and into the bar, and that was it.
Michael drove home. He parked the truck and climbed into the trailer and showered, washing Alex Manes and every painful emotion he brought up down the drain with the soapy water.
Clean and changed and exhausted, Michael tried unsuccessfully to focus on work. His gaze kept going back to the stupid mix cd—who even did that anymore?—and eventually he gave in, rolling his eyes and trying not to feel anything as he started the cd playing.
He didn’t know the songs, and it wasn’t his taste, and it didn’t matter in the least. Michael sat on his bed and listened to the songs that reminded Alex of him.
Sitting there, Michael imagined that he could hear the sound of a jet overhead, carrying Alex out of New Mexico and out of Michael’s grasp; he imagined he could hear Alex’s footsteps, his uniform shoes clicking on the tiled airport floor, tapping anxiously against the floor of his father’s car. Michael listened to the cd and it felt like senior year; it felt like everything he’d ever tried to forget because it hurt and Michael didn’t know what to do with hurt except swallow it down or drink it dull; it felt like lying in the middle of the desert watching the sunlight dance on Alex’s face as he slept.
Michael listened to the cd again when it finished, and then again, and he let himself fall apart, alone in his trailer, mourning the life that they could have had, mourning the life that they never would. He listened until his eyes were sore and red and his chest burned with longing and he felt drained and exhausted. And then he took the cd and slipped it back into its case and put it inside of a cabinet, buried beneath other things, and tried to remember how to forget.
