Chapter Text
It starts with an innocent question from his sister. “Are you sure you want to wear that?”
He’d taken offense at first. He’s well aware that his clothes aren’t nice or expensive like Max’s or Kyle’s, but he’s comfortable in them. He likes how he looks. He knows that he’s attractive. He doesn’t see anything wrong with jeans, a white T-shirt, and a cowboy hat. It’s a classic look and if there were any doubt in his mind, his boyfriend erases it from his mind every time he looks at him like he’s a fucking snack. And it’s not just Alex. Michael’s never had much of a problem finding people to take home at night wearing the kind of clothes he wears. So he doesn’t see her point. He’s a cowboy. He dresses like a cowboy. There’s nothing wrong with that.
“This is me,” was his response.
“Is it?” she’d asked.
At the time, he’d been so sure. But the longer he thinks about it, the more he starts to question it.
But the thing is, if this isn’t Michael Guerin, then who is?
Michael doesn’t say anything to anyone at first. Not to Isobel. Not to Max. Not to Alex. It’s not that he doesn’t think they would listen, because they would. It’s that he doesn’t know what he would even say. He’s thirty-two years old and he knows who he is. This isn’t some mid-life crisis. He doesn’t need an Eat, Pray, Love moment.
Michael isn’t searching to find himself. He already knows who he is: a loving boyfriend, a supportive brother, a ride-or-die friend. He’s happy with that person. That’s not the issue at hand. Internally, he knows who he is. The issue is, when he looks in the mirror, he’s not sure the reflection looking back is truly his authentic self.
But every time he thinks about saying as much to somebody, he worries it sounds stupid and shallow. He worries he sounds like some bougie influencer worried about aesthetic and branding. He lives in Roswell, New Mexico. He’s surrounded by a sea of denim, flannel, and cowboy hats. What does he care about fashion? His clothes are practical. Sturdy. Affordable. He’s a mechanic and a seasonal ranch hand. This is who he is. Isobel doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
And yet, for months, whenever he puts on his clothes and looks in the mirror, he hears Isobel’s question, again and again.
Is this him? Is this who he is? Is this who he wants to be? Or is this what he became out of circumstance?
He finds himself noticing other people’s clothing more often. He takes note of what kind of shoes people wear with their outfits. He notes color combinations that work and ones that make his eyeballs want to bleed. He identifies prints and patterns that he can’t stand and ones he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t change anything about his own style, but he notices. Starts mental checklists of things he likes and wonders if he could pull them off.
He’s surprised by some of the things that he finds about himself. He still likes a good, well fit and well built jean on a guy. He doesn’t think you can go wrong with a button down shirt. But most male fashion bores him. His eye is drawn to softer fabrics and brighter colors.
At the end of the day, he’s just looking. He doesn’t have any real plans of changing up his wardrobe. Clothes cost money and he can’t justify the expense of them. He has clothes he can work in and clothes he can go out in. He doesn’t need anything else. Nor does he think there’s much of a point. The clothes he’s most curious about trying on for size aren’t functional or affordable. They aren’t something he could work in. And he sure as hell wouldn’t go out in them. Not in Roswell.
So his eyes keep scanning and his mind keeps making checklists and he keeps his interests quiet, going about his life like he isn’t forever hearing Isobel’s voice asking him, “Are you sure you want to wear that?”
“That is the third time you’ve checked that guy out, do you want to go ask for his number?” Alex asks one night when they’ve been dragged to Planet 7 by Isobel and her girlfriend.
His tone isn’t accusatory, it’s teasing. Neither of them are particularly jealous people. There have been enough quiet reassurances whispered into each other’s skin over the last several months together that they know what they mean to each other. Still, Michael blushes. He thought he was being rather sly in his admiration of this one guy’s mesh tank top, but clearly not.
“I wasn’t checking him out,” Michael says awkwardly, not meeting Alex’s eyes because suddenly, he’s incredibly uncomfortable and just wants to leave. The music is loud, the lights are giving him a headache, and none of these people feel like his people. He misses the cozy booths at the Pony.
Alex reaches out and places a hand on Michael’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, it’s fine. He’s kinda cute. I don’t blame you.”
“Yeah?” he asks, looking back up at Alex with tentative eyes, even more confused when Alex smiles at him. “You don’t think his outfit is a bit… much?”
“Uh…” Alex looks back over at the guy Michael had been watching, his eyes truly considering for a minute. Michael is sure that Alex is going to agree with him. That he’s going to say he prefers a toned down look on the boys he dates. Alex’s track record certainly screams a preference for flannels and the occasional sweater, not… loud colors, sheer fabrics, and glitter. So much glitter.
“No,” Alex finally answers, turning back to Michael. “I mean, I wouldn’t wear it myself, but he makes it work.”
Michael nods, looking back down at his feet, letting the words sink in. Unsure why the comment gives him such a feeling of relief.
“I’m gonna grab us another round,” he says quickly, standing up and heading to the bar before Alex can say another word about it. By the time he gets back, Isobel and her girlfriend have returned and the conversation has thankfully moved on to other topics.
It’s not until later on that night, after they’ve both showered off the sweat and smell of the club and are safely under the covers that the conversation comes back up.
Michael is on his side, doing his best to try and fall asleep despite all the chaos going on in his brain. Alex is at his back, arms wrapped around him, breathing softly and steadily enough into his neck that Michael assumes he’s asleep. Which is why he’s surprised to hear Alex ask the question.
“You know, it’s okay if you were checking that guy out, right?” Alex says, placing a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. “I wouldn’t be jealous or anything.”
“Alex, I promise you, that wasn’t what I was doing,” he says, hoping that will be the end of that, but knowing damn well it won’t be. Alex never met a single mystery that he didn’t feel compelled to immediately solve. And Michael just all but confirmed there’s a question to ask and answers to find.
He should have just lied and said he was checking the guy out. Alex flat out gave him permission. So why hadn’t he?
“What were you doing then?” Alex asks.
He can only shrug. Because how is he supposed to tell Alex what he’d really been doing? Alex is going to think he’s stupid. He’ll laugh and Michael will feel like an idiot.
Alex sighs, like he’s disappointed, and that makes Michael feel about two inches tall.
“Listen, Guerin, I’m not blind, okay? I see you checking out other guys all the time. Girls too even. I’m telling you it’s fine,” he says. “I do it too sometimes. You don’t have to hide it. So long as you aren’t making out with any of them, there’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s natural to look.”
The more Alex talks the worse he feels. Michael hates lying. He’s spent a lifetime doing it and was miserable because of it. Once his closest kept secrets all finally came out, he vowed never to lie again to the people that he loves.
Michael sighs, opening his eyes and giving up on the idea of sleep, resigning himself to having this conversation now, no matter how unprepared he is for it. He’s thankful that Alex is at his back, so he doesn’t have to see his face when Michael reveals the truth.
“I haven’t been checking people out,” Michael says, to which Alex’s body starts to tense and Michael knows that he’s getting annoyed. “Not in the way you think at least. I’ve just been looking at their clothes.”
Alex can’t help but snort. “Looking at their clothes. Well that’s certainly a new one,” he says.
Michael’s heart twists and turns as his eyes squeeze shut, instantly feeling like a fool. Of course Alex would laugh. It’s the stupidest thing in the world. It’s shallow and superficial and so incredibly dumb. Michael and Alex make fun of people like this. Teenagers getting dressed up and running around town chasing after the best light, only to take a single photo before throwing their hair up and a hoodie on. Michael isn’t that guy. He doesn’t care about things like clean lines, good vibes, or follower counts. So why is he suddenly interested in clothes?
“Wait, you’re serious,” Alex says, sounding surprised, but the humor is gone from his voice.
Michael doesn’t move a muscle. He continues to stare blankly ahead, waiting for Alex to tease him about it.
Alex’s hands move from their spot on his waist and the mattress shifts beneath him, and he’s sure that Alex is about to leave the bed. Alex doesn’t leave though. Instead, he presses his hand to Michael’s shoulder until Michael rolls over onto his back. Alex is propped upon his side, staring down at him.
“Talk to me,” Alex says. The look he gives him is sincere that it’s hard for Michael to do anything but comply.
“You’re gonna think it’s stupid,” he says. “It is stupid.”
“I doubt that,” Alex says. He reaches out a hand and rests it against Michael’s chest. The move instantly helps Michael feel more grounded and settled.
“Isobel said something to me a few months ago, and at the time it didn’t bother me. But it’s stuck with me and—I don’t know—I think I just let it get to me too much,” he says with a shrug.
“What’d she say?” Alex asks, his face hardening and Michael can already see the gears in his brain turning, preparing to go to battle. Forever ready to fight off anything and everything that dares come his way. A true knight in shining armor. Michael loves him for that every bit as much as he hates it.
“She asked me if I was sure about what I was wearing,” he says.
Alex doesn’t respond right away, instead he stares down at him curiously.
“See, it’s stupid.” He nods in confirmation and moves to pull the pillow out from under him and cover his face with it, but Alex grabs it out of his hands before he can do so, tossing it to the side.
“It’s not stupid,” Alex reassures him. “Why do you think it bothered you so much?”
Michael shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. Talk to me,” he says.
Michael reaches out to place his hand on top of Alex’s, holding it in place over his heart. He wonders if Alex can feel how fast it’s beating. How nervous he is for this conversation.
“She asked me if I was sure about who I was,” he says.
Alex nods, his face a careful mask, belaying none of his feelings on the matter. But in a way, it’s easier that way. He doesn’t have to see the pity in Alex’s eyes. He doesn’t have to feel like a pathetic loser who is still struggling to find his way at thirty-two years old.
“And are you?” Alex asks.
“I don’t know,” he admits. And when Alex doesn’t say anything, when he just sits there and rubs his thumb in soothing patterns over his skin, Michael feels compelled to open up. “I thought I did. But who knows? I mean, I didn’t do any of that stupid teen stuff, I was too focused on figuring out where my next meal was coming from and keeping up my grades so I could find a way out of my situation. I didn’t go to college and go find myself or whatever the fuck you’re supposed to do in your twenties. I was here and I just kind of…”
He trails off, feeling guilty for even thinking of finishing that sentence.
“Became what your siblings needed you to be?” Alex finishes for him.
Michael doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. Alex knows it’s the truth. He’s able to see through him in a way few others can.
“I know who I am,” Michael says. “But I don’t know if I like who I am.”
Alex’s face falls and his eyes instantly water as he whispers, “Michael…”
He shakes his head. “Please don’t look at me like that,” he begs, unable to look Alex in the eyes. “I just mean, I can’t tell what parts of myself are really me and what parts are what circumstances required of me.”
Alex doesn’t respond for a long time. His eyes grow distant and Michael can tell that he’s processing, lost deep in thought.
“I understand that,” Alex says. “I’m still trying to figure out where my dad ends and I begin.”
Michael squeezes Alex’s hand in silent support
“I guess I’ve been struggling with figuring out, if I don’t like who I am, who it is that I want to be,” he admits. “Is that dumb?”
Alex shakes his head. “I regularly ask myself the same question.”
“You do?” he asks, though he probably shouldn’t be so shocked at the revelation. Alex has been searching for himself for a while now.
Alex just nods and they both fall into silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
Michael’s mind drifts to the possibilities, but he doesn’t even know where to start. It’s been easy enough molding his personality and his style to somebody else’s expectation of what he was supposed to be. It’s a lot more difficult to have to figure out for himself who he wants to be and how he wants to project that to the world.
“So, you were looking at other people’s clothes?” Alex asks.
“I don’t know,” he says, looking away with a blush, not sure if he can say the next part while looking at Alex. He’s well aware of how stupid it sounds. “Isobel says that clothes are an extension of who we are. It’s how we present ourselves to the world. And it’s what we say about ourselves without saying a word. It’s stupid, I know. It’s shallow and dumb.”
“I don’t think it’s that stupid,” Alex says.
“You don’t?” he asks.
Alex shakes his head and it’s like a weight lifts off of Michael’s shoulders at the realization that Alex really isn’t going to laugh at him.
“Are you wanting new clothes?” Alex asks.
“I don’t need new clothes,” he says quickly, because it’s the truth.
“I didn’t ask what you needed, I asked what you wanted,” Alex says, giving him a knowing look.
“Clothes are expensive and I don’t even know what I would want,” he explains. “That’s why I’ve been looking…”
“You’ve been checking out people’s outfits,” Alex says, only this time, there’s no sarcasm or disbelief. Only understanding and love. “You’ve been trying to figure out what you like.”
“I like the clothes I have,” he says. “I don’t need a new wardrobe.”
He wants to make that much clear before Alex gets any crazy ideas.
Alex narrows his eyes like he does when he’s trying to solve a particularly complicated puzzle. “What if we didn’t get you a new wardrobe. What if we started small.”
“You keep saying we…”
“I need to find myself too,” Alex admits. “Maybe it’ll be less scary if we do it together.”
“I love you, but doesn’t that negate the idea of finding yourself if you are doing it with another person?” he asks.
Alex shakes his head. “We don’t have to do the same things. Just both commit to trying new things and supporting each other through it,” he says. “What if, once a month, we both picked a day and picked something new to try. Anything. We do different things, but we always do it together.”
Michael nods as a smile slowly forms on his face. One thing, once a month and they always do it together. Somehow, it doesn’t sound quite so overwhelming anymore. And that’s how it begins.