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Or: five times Michael went to Gerry's domain for help, and one time the opposite happened.
It was not a busy day at the bookstore.
It rarely was. Placed in an unobtrusive street with an unmemorable name, the store was almost aggressively unremarkable. It was, in fact, nearly identical to the mental picture of one that you would get if you asked a lot of people about their own idea of a small bookstore.
The only island in that sea of abnormal commonness, at least as seen from the outside, was the sign. It read Blink, and did not have the image of an eye on it. It was, in fact, very definite about not having eye imagery. Something about its angular letters felt like a beacon and a warning.
There was also the owner. It could not be said that most people, when asked about their mental picture of what the owner of a bookstore should look like, would answer angry-looking goth covered in burn scars from the neck down.
He also had a terrible dye job.
"If you're going to come in, then come in already."
Michael Shelley startled.
"There you are," the goth said. He had not looked up from the book in his hands at any point, even when Michael did come in and bells jingled from their position over the door. "May I help you?"
Would it hurt you terribly to pretend to pay attention? Michael swallowed. "I heard something about this being the place to look for help with… weird stuff?"
"Weird as in I have a single year left in college and somehow every last source for my thesis fell through or as in an understatement for possibly supernatural?"
"The latter."
"Ah", he said. "One of the easy ones." The man snapped the book closed; the sound echoed strangely in the room. "So, what's going on?"
The goth had brown eyes framed by heavy eyeliner. They were really, really brown, close to the color of his roots. The kind of brown someone might write poetry about, if people wrote poetry about brown eyes at all.
Michael hesitated. "It might be just an overreaction", he said.
"Won't know til I hear about it, now will I?"
"I… suppose."
The goth made a gesture that expressed the meaning of well then, go on better than a speech would.
"It's… about my job. I don't think I can quit."
The man with really, really brown eyes raised a brow. Michael resisted the urge to bang his head against the counter.
"I mean- not in the common way? I know a lot of people can't quit their jobs because of, of contracts or money or convenience, and it's not like that, I wouldn't bother coming here if it were. It's more like, I don't really want to quit? My boss is a really sweet lady, I don't have any problems working for her, it's just, I was trying to figure out what I'd do if I had to quit, as a mental exercise, you know, and. I couldn't. So I tried writing a resignation letter. Because I've always been able to picture things like that, and it was weird that I couldn't, but I figured, if I could write that letter… and I could! So no worries, right? Except."
"Except?", prompted the goth, who was starting to look as if he knew the end of this story and didn't like it one bit.
"Except my boss's boss looked at me weird the next day! As if he knew what I was up to! And then I asked Gertrude- that's my boss's name- are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Only you looked a little- well. I asked her about how much previous warning someone usually gave before quitting the Archives, and she just said 'don't worry about it', which of course made me worry more , and then I finally managed to take a closer look at my contract and won't you guess, it doesn't have termination terms. And then I did some digging and do you know how many people managed to quit my post in all of the history of the Institute? One, and he literally blinded himself! And, you know, I, I would have just figured it was a- bad job related situation in general, except, well, I work for the Magnus Institute-"
"Fuck, you should have just started with that", he said. The owner took a deep breath and straightened his posture, swinging his heavy boots clad feet off the counter and putting the book fully aside. "I did guess it was that in the middle, but still. Archival assistant?"
"Yes."
"Well, you were wrong, that's definitely not an overreaction. Kinda hard to overreact to anything that happens there." He sighed. "My name is Gerard."
Gerard. He thought about making a My Chemical Romance joke. "I'm Michael."
"I'd say it's nice to meet you, Michael, but I'm assuming both of us would rather you weren't here for this." Gerard sighed. "You can't quit. You're right. It's the kind of bear trap the Archives employ."
"Wait, really ? Does Gertrude kn-"
Gerard snorted. "Don't worry about her. Believe me. I've seen that woman throw a grenade. She's far from fragile, she's just really, really good at pretending to be when it's useful for her. Anyway, she's not your problem. Robinson would let you go if she knew how, as long as you didn't seem too useful."
Michael's fingers jerked. "That doesn't seem-"
"True? Kind? I've probably known her for longer than you have. Or at least known about her. Look, things must seem really confusing to you right now. Do you smoke?"
"Not- not really, no." Michael was starting to doubt the wisdom of coming here in the first place.
Throwing a grenade? Gertrude? She needed him to carry the binders!
Gerard shrugged. "More the shame. I could use a cigarette. Where was I?"
"I can't quit."
"Yeah," he tapped his fingers on the counter. "Can't stay away from the Archives for too long, either. I mean, an Elias-approved vacation, sure. But you can't stay away without his permission. I would advise you not to try."
Michael stayed quiet.
Gerard grinned. "What, cat got your tongue? No and why should I believe you?"
"Seemed impolite."
He barked out a laugh. "I guess. The answer to that, by the way, is that you came here for a reason. The reason being that you've heard about me, and, since you're from the Institute, you probably heard more than most."
… That was true. Michael was not the archivist, and Gertrude usually didn't like him reading the statements, but he had still seen more than enough. What was perhaps more important- he had talked to more than enough statement givers, the ones who had found him more approachable than an old lady locked in her office.
The owner of the Blink was not your only chance if you got too close to the supernatural, but only in the way the firemen weren't technically your only chance if your house were on fire.
"... What should I do?"
"There's not much you can do", Gerard said in an apologetic tone. "But don't trust Gertrude, and definitely don't trust Elias. Try not to sneak a peek at the statements. And, for everything sacred, if you feel like something is wrong, it probably is and you should get out if you can. Don't go looking for trouble."
Gerard paused. "Of course", he added, "trouble may still find you anyway."
Michael very deliberately did not swear.
"Still alive, I see", a voice called out from inside the bookstore.
Don't sound so happy about it , Michael felt the urge to say.
"Fortunately." The bells were still there, sounding more ominous than they had any right to. Gerard was sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of very old books and what looked like a blood stained magazine. He was still wearing all black, the same heavy combat boots on his feet, regardless of the sun beating down on London. Michael had the feeling that Gerard was the kind of man that would wear boots to the beach just in case he needed to kick a fish. "Might not be in a few days."
He seemed only barely curious at that, but Gerard did stand up. Even if he leaned on the counter afterwards. "Well?"
"I know you said not to trust Gertrude", Michael started, ignoring the answering groan, "but this is really not her fault."
"That's what she wants you to think", Gerard mumbled darkly.
Ignoring that, he resumed. "I was investigating a statement- I know you told me not to read them, and I didn't , that's the archivist's function anyway, but investigating them is my job after all. And. I might have angered a cult."
Gerard breathed deeply through his nose. "Which one?"
He paused. "You know, it is rather concerning that that's your first question."
"Lightless Flame or Divine Host?"
"Divine Host."
"I honestly don't know if that's better or worse," Gerard murmured. He straightened his shoulders. "Okay. What did you do?"
"I might have broken into one of their churches. You know. To investigate. And, uh, it wasn't as empty as I thought it was?... This woman saw me, and started chasing after me, but I managed to climb through this window, except- she tried to grab my ankle, and…"
"Please tell me you kicked her in the face."
"I think I broke her nose."
Gerard cracked a smile. "Didn't think you had that in you. Good job."
His smile was kinda nice. One of his canines was a little crooked, lips were really red in some spots, as if Gerard had been worrying them between his teeth. It was unreasonably endearing.
"I broke a cultist's nose. "
"Congrats! You survived your first close brush with the supernatural!" Gerard paused. "Well. Your first close brush with a part of the supernatural that probably actively wanted to kill you."
Thank you, that's ever so comforting. In doubt, Michael had always thought, just stay silent.
"Something impolite in your mind?"
"Perhaps," he said. Michael did not mention the brief flashes of decidedly impolite thoughts that went through his mind when Gerard asked that.
"Good. Learn to vocalize those thoughts. You might as well, it's not like you're not already at risk all the time anyway." He tapped on his arm. "Did anything else happen?"
"The streetlights in front of my house started not turning on after night soon after that happened." Michael hesitated. "I never liked the dark, so I keep most of my lights on, but… they keep turning off when I'm not looking."
"Yeah, that's a bad sign. Okay. You got torches?"
"Now I do."
"Good man. Keep at least two on you at all times, and I mean at all times. Extra batteries as well, because they will be dying sooner than they should. Lit candles might also work, if you think you can avoid setting anything on fire. Do not go into any dark places, do not stare for too long at shadows but don't ignore them either, and keep a knife on you. Got it?"
"Got it." Michael paused. "That's all?"
"I mean, personally if I had your problem- and I have had your problem- I'd simply blow the specific church up, but these things do have a tendency to escalate sometimes and you're not ready for that."
"I'm really not", he said weakly.
"That's okay, it's good to know your own limits. Don't hesitate to come to me if you do end up needing explosives though."
Michael did not ask.
"So I ended up stabbing someone."
Gerard looked up. By that, Michael meant looked up. He did not understand why anyone would have the urge to lie on the ground of their own store, but by then he had already decided he would not be asking any questions that would not be related to his own survival. His sanity would probably thank him later.
"You did what ," Gerard said.
"I stabbed a cultist."
The man's expression lit up with glee.
"Congrats", he said. "Not gonna lie, I was afraid you had accidentally stabbed a passerby when you said that."
"I would never", Michael said.
"You did end up stabbing a passerby, didn't you."
"Uh," he said. "Not technically. I just bit them."
For a moment, there was silence.
"I'm gonna need you to explain how that happened," Gerard said. To Michael's surprise and relief, he sounded cheerful.
"Yesterday, I went home and all of the lights exploded when I set foot inside. I had my torches on me, so I turned one on, and it was just at the right time because a- thing had been lurching for me, and I only barely managed to dodge. It seemed to grow weaker the longer I kept my torch trained on it? So I tried to keep pointing the light at it, and dodging at the same time, because it didn't have claws as such but it had some very sharp somethings , and eventually I managed to lock it into my cupboard."
Gerard looked genuinely impressed. It warmed places inside of Michael that he did not know were still there.
"That's- okay, I think that's the first I've heard of someone locking up a dark's creature , not just managing to escape. What happened next?"
"Well I decided to keep vigil, just in case, you know? I'm used to pulling all nighters, and I didn't think that falling asleep while that thing was still there was a good idea. Also, I really don't like the dark. So I found my stash of torches and sat down on my couch to wait for the dawn. But I think they grew a little worried after a few hours, because there was this noise near the window a bit after two in the morning, and when I came close, it was the cultist whose nose I broke."
"You went closer to the noise?"
"Usually I wouldn't, I'm not stupid, but it was either that or letting her come to me in her own terms and that seemed like an even stupider idea. Anyway, that's when I stabbed her in the stomach?"
Gerard whistled. "You don't sound that affected for someone who dealt with all that just yesterday."
"Oh, I am," Michael said calmly. "I'm just really good at faking it. In any case, I stabbed her, and she screamed and fell out of the window. I closed it and dragged a bookshelf in front of it, so no one else could get in. And then I sat down again and waited for the dawn."
"What happened to the monster?"
Michael seemed a little embarrassed. "It sort of died? I figured throwing the light of a few industrial torches through the night and then opening one of the higher windows just as it hit noon would do something. I didn't know things without a throat could scream."
"I'm sure it gave it its best try", Gerard said distractedly. The full force of his gaze then fell upon Michael, which was kind of like being hit on the head with a hammer, but in a nice way. There was calculation in his eyes. "Call me Gerry," he decided.
Michael felt as if he should be trembling like a rabbit. "O-Oh?"
Gerry shrugged. "Always wanted my friends to call me Gerry," he said.
Michael smiled.
"What about the passerby you bit?"
"Oh, I was just having you on."
"Really?"
"No," Michael said. "But in my defense, he did get a little too close to me in the subway and I was already on edge."
Gerry threw his head back and laughed.
The bells made a different sound when Michael opened the door.
"Did it just…"
"Yeah", said a disembodied voice from behind the counter. Gerry's head poked out from under it- oh, god, he had tied his hair back in a short ponytail. Michael could feel himself start to blush. "They make different sounds for different categories of customer. Don't worry about it. What disaster befell you this week?"
"Uh," he said.
"You're still alive, it can't be that b- are you bleeding?", Gerry's voice grew serious.
"M-Maybe a little."
"Sit down," he ordered. Before Michael could even ask where, Gerry hauled a chair over the counter and manhandled him into sitting on it. His hands were surprisingly gentle. "What happened?"
"The woman came back." Had it always been so hard to form words?
Gerry swore. "Of course she did. Can I move your sweater aside, just so I can see the wound?"
Michael nodded wordlessly. It seemed a bad idea to say that Gerry could remove his clothes any time.
It hurt . Of course it hurt. But Gerry was gentle even as he produced a first aid kit seemingly out of nowhere and pressed a ball of cotton umid with alcohol on the gash. Michael flailed for an instant- and then latched on to Gerry's arm.
This up close, Michael realized there were very small eye tattoos on each side of Gerry's jaw. There was also one on his neck, and one in each joint of his fingers. It was strange that he had never noticed. They were not burned, and neither was the skin around them.
Michael wanted to kiss each one.
"It's gonna be fine," Gerry said soothingly, eyes not straying from the wound being treated. "It's not nearly deep enough to have hit anything vital, and we will make sure it won't get infected, okay? You did great."
"You don't even know what I did."
"I know you survived and made it to me. That's more than good enough."
Michael closed his eyes. That something he did was enough was not something he heard often, or at all. It felt… nice. Like he could get used to it- if he ever got the chance.
He might have fallen asleep, or passed out, for the next thing Michael knew was Gerry's hand on his cheek.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah," he said hoarsely. Yeah.
"Okay. Do you want me to help you home, or maybe to the hospital?", Gerry asked. Michael shook his head. "Do you want to go home?" He shook it again. "Alright. Would you rather stay here?"
Michael nodded. This place felt much, much safer than his home at the moment. Gerry was safest of all.
Brown eyes softened. "Okay. There's a cot in the back room, you can stay there. This place is protected. You'll be safe here."
It wasn't surprising, somehow. To his muted horror, Michael felt himself slowly tipping forward and leaning on Gerry for comfort. He didn't seem to mind. Putting an arm around Michael's shoulders and another under his knees, Gerry lifted him with a strength he wouldn't have guessed from his scrawny appearance.
The last thing Michael knew was a brief, soft pressure on his forehead, and then nothing.
He closed the door behind him, ignoring the bells, and immediately proceeded to try to drag a short bookshelf in front of it. It wasn't easy. The furniture seemed determined to stay in its place.
"You don't need to go to such extremes to get alone time with me," called Gerry.
"Very funny . There's something after me and I assumed you wouldn't want in your bookstore, but by all means, if you want to open the door-"
"Dark again?"
"I think it's the cousin of the creature I killed."
"Yeah, got it." Gerry yawned, standing up. "Stop harassing my bookshelves, don't you think I have protection from things like these?"
Michael stopped. "I suppose", he said, embarrassed. "Sorry."
Gerry waved it away, fussing with something under the counter. "It's quite alright- ah, here we go!"
The lamps immediately brightened up until their light almost hurt Michael's eyes. An overhead door, of the kind you usually see in warehouses, came down from nowhere to bar the passage much more quickly than what Michael had been trying to do. Those were the only visible changes. Somehow, he knew they were not the only ones.
Gerry straightened up, a torch in hand and a few tucked in his pockets. "If we're going to stay here for a while, we might as well get comfortable."
Michael hadn't noticed much about the back room the last time he'd been there. It had been darker than he was used to, and only now he realized that should have made him wary. It hadn't.
Gerry sat on the dark grey couch that Michael knew was more comfortable than it looked, feet rising to rest on a coffee table. His legs looked very long at that angle.
There was a leather armchair. Miichael sat on the couch.
"So", Gerry said, and he groaned.
"Ambush."
"I'm glad you got here in time, then."
That comment went straight to Michael's cheeks, and he ducked his head, feeling grateful for the curtain of curls that hid his face. It was stupid. Gerry just didn't want anyone to die. It didn't have anything to do with Michael.
"Yeah", he said anyway. "Me too."
Silence fell. It wasn't uncomfortable. He could have fallen asleep like that, head falling to rest on the back of the couch and slowly sliding down, leaning on Gerry's shoulder…
Gerry had carried him here once. Michael could feel his own face burning. It was… a very interesting idea.
It wasn't the first time he had thought about the strength hidden in Gerry's arms, nor would it be the last. Michael had visited a few times, when his life wasn't in danger- had considered that politeness and tried to forget about the part of him that just wanted to see Gerry again- but he hadn't ever been alone with the man in a room people couldn't just enter at any moment.
It felt a little thrilling, and a little scary.
"Are you good? You're a little quiet.'
"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm… I'm sorry I brought them to your bookstore."
"Don't apologize." His tone softened. "It's… okay."
Michael curled up a little, trying to hide behind his shoulders and hair. He heard a frustrated sigh before a hand came to rest on his elbow.
"Look at me, Michael."
Gerry was frowning. There was no anger in that expression, only frustration, and it was clearly directed at himself- an expression Michael was used to seeing in the mirror when he was alone. The harsh lightning emphasized his cheekbones and jaw in a way that made him want to lick them, but it also showed the deep purple under his eyes, the tiredness in every line. Michael wanted to kiss him. He wanted to curl up at his side and see that exhaustion fade away as he slept.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Gerry insisted. "My shop was- well, it wasn't made for this, but it's what it became. I wouldn't blame a stranger for taking shelter here, and especially not you. I'm…"
Michael looked down, surprised to see that Gerry had taken his hand. A thumb marked by burn scars and eye tattoos stroked his skin.
"I'm glad you're safe," he said softly, so much more softly than anyone would have expected. "I'm glad I could make you safe, even for a while."
A high-pitched sound escaped Michael's throat. He took refuge in the place between Gerry's neck and shoulder, surprised when strong arms surrounded him after a few seconds. The leather under his skin felt soft and worn.
"Are you good?", Gerry asked once more, this time with amusement in his voice.
Michael answered with another incoherent sound.
"That's okay. Take your time."
It was comforting. Gerry started to absentmindedly rub his back after a few minutes, apparently unconcerned by their continued proximity. There was no sign of impatience. No I think this is enough, don't you ? He blinked to get rid of the stinging in his eyes.
When Michael begrudgingly tried to pull away, not because he wanted to but because it was proper, Gerry gently guided him back into the embrace. Giving up on property, he melted.
They didn't say anything for a long, long time.
They didn't need to.
"Michael!"
A door opened by itself. There were no bells jingling.
The creature rose, long, sharp fingers curling around Gerry's waist. It bared sharp teeth in a fond smile. "Well, well. Look who's seeking my help for a change."
"The police is after me," Gerry said. "I would appreciate it if you closed your door before they saw it."
He heard a door close, and relaxed against the being that was almost human. Its long arms embraced him promptly- Michael had always been quick to cling once he felt like he could.
"What old man did you beat up this time, Gerry?"
The man groaned. "Please don't even remind me. It's fine, I just set a church on fire."
"I see." Michael curled a strand of Gerry's hair with a sharp finger. "Will you be leaving my hallways soon?"
"I would like to sleep in a bed-"
One suddenly became. Gerry raised one brow in face of Michael's innocent grin.
" And I need to open the bookstore tomorrow. But I suppose I could stand to spend the night here."
A hand that was not shaped like a human's came up to rest on Michael's chest. " Stand to? No, no, you may go. I would hate to be such a hindrance."
Gerry snorted. "You dick. Fine, I would like to spend the night with you. How's that?"
"Rather forward. I would hate for you to think I'm so easy."
Michael's cheek had the wrong texture when poked. It had become rather comforting. "Well, you are."
A gasp dramatically echoed in the hallway as Michael rather literally fell backwards, landing on the bed. Gerry fell on top of him, not even winded. "How dare you."
"What? Are you saying you're hard?"
Gerry suddenly found himself on the floor, Michael's shit eating grin pointed at him from the edge of the bed.
"Pardon me, what did you say?"
"I asked if you'd like to take a nap."
Lying on top of his mostly human, partly monster boyfriend, Gerry laughed at his immediate placement. The feeling of being petted by strange fingers was going to put him to sleep in a few minutes. He was way too used to this by now- Gerry suspected Michael had accidentally conditioned him to fall asleep whenever he stroked his hair. It wasn't such a terrible thing.
"That's what I thought," Michael said smugly.
"You little shit. Stop doing that or you will give me a stroke."
His boyfriend yawned, rubbing his cheek on the top of Gerry's head. "Don't be silly. Nothing will ever harm you here as long as I'm alive."
Relaxing into the arms of someone who loved him enough to stay somewhat human, Gerry knew he already believed that.