Chapter Text
Alex sits in the front seat of his car. He’s parked at the junkyard, engine still running. It’s early morning, the sun barely up. He darts his eyes up to his rearview mirror and frowns at the toolbox in his backseat. The toolbox is ordinary - gray metal, covered in various scratches and dents. A completely unremarkable object in every way except one - it belongs to Michael Guerin.
Which is also unremarkable unless you are Alex Manes and Michael Guerin is your ex.
He returns his stare to the airstream’s door. The Chevy is parked to the left of him, so it’s a safe bet Michael is home. Another fifteen minutes pass and he still hasn’t moved. He glances over his shoulder at the toolbox. A stray sunbeam bounces off the corner, the glare momentarily blinding - like the damn thing is mocking him.
Sighing, Alex opens his door and slides down to the ground. He pulls the toolbox from his backseat and walks to the trailer’s door. The only sound is the generator running and a couple of enthusiastic songbirds. He knocks and takes a step back. ‘It’s me, Guerin.’
A few minutes go by before Alex hears Michael shuffling around inside. When he finally opens the door, Michael is only half-dressed. Low slung sweatpants and no shirt. Alex is also pretty certain there’s nothing underneath said sweatpants. No matter how many times he’s seen Michael naked, the sight of his bare skin never fails to leave him breathless.
‘Alex? Did I know that you’d be here at ass o’clock in the morning?’
No. He didn’t know. They haven’t talked in ages. Nothing more than the occasional head nod or wave when they see each other around town. And Alex hadn’t called or texted about this meeting because he hadn’t known this would be the morning he found the courage until his alarm had gone off earlier than expected.
‘You didn’t. Sorry. I just wanted to stop by and return your toolbox.’ Michael doesn’t say anything, just blinks at him. Sleep still crusted in the corners of his eyes. ‘I’m...uh...cleaning out my garage. So.’ He holds up the toolbox by it’s rusted handle, but Michael doesn’t move to take it.
Finally, Michael yawns and leans against the door frame. ‘Did I ask for it back?’
The question is unexpected and catches Alex off guard. Which he hates. ‘No. But when you borrow something, it’s polite to give it back.’ Tired of holding the heavy toolbox, Alex sets it down at his feet. Michael just watches him and it makes Alex uneasy. ‘I guess I should go. Thanks for letting me borrow it. And sorry to bother you.’
Walking away, he slows his pace and listens for Michael to call out his name, asking him to stay. For a cup of coffee or just to talk. The reason doesn’t matter. The reason will never matter so long as he asks. But all Alex hears is the sound of the door slamming shut.
Alex pauses. Fights with himself to keep from looking back over his shoulder. Or worse, turning around and begging Michael to be let inside. It was hard being away from him all those years, but it’s much lonelier now being so close. Clenching his fists, he climbs back into his Explorer and pounds his fist against the steering wheel, accidentally sounding the horn. Startled, he looks up at the airstream for any signs Michael noticed. Nothing until his phone vibrates in his pocket.
Michael: You alright?
Alex: Fine. Sorry.
Michael: Stop saying you’re sorry.
And that’s it. Alex doesn’t know how to respond and Michael doesn’t offer anything further. So he fastens his seatbelt and cranks his engine. With one last look at the toolbox sitting lonely on Michael’s stoop, Alex puts his car in reverse and leaves the junkyard.
The ride home is uneventful. He spends a lot of time cursing himself for being so needy and desperate. Forrest had moved to New York only two weeks ago and already he’s crawling back to the boy who clearly no longer loves him. Alex hates nothing more than being a constant disappointment to himself.
He spends the rest of the day distracting himself with chores. Mainly, decluttering his garage so that he can begin the long, arduous process of converting the small space into a music studio. The idea has been banging around his head since before he’d even closed on the house. Imagining himself recording his first album in a place that he’d built with his own two hands. With maybe Michael’s two hands helping - another failed dream.
At noon, Alex stops for lunch. Making a couple of sandwiches and settling into his favorite patio chair. It’s not long before he hears the familiar sounds of Michael’s truck growing closer. He shifts in his seat and looks on as Michael parks in the gravel next to his cluttered driveway. Heart rate rising at the first glimpse of his black cowboy hat.
He frowns when he sees what Michael’s carrying.
It’s the toolbox. The one Alex had returned only a few hours ago. The guitar incident quickly replays through his head. Dread pooling in his gut.
Michael strolls through Alex’s patio gate like he owns the place. Tossing his hat on the table in front of Alex and dropping the toolbox at his feet. ‘You forgot this when you left.’
Alex’s lips part while he tries to find something to say. Confusion rendering him mute. The best he comes up with is a raised eyebrow.
Michael sighs. ‘It’s not mine. It’s yours.’ Said like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
He shakes his head. ‘I remember you giving me the toolbox, Michael. Last year when I asked for a pipe wrench.’
‘Right. And I could have just given you the pipe wrench. But instead, I walked around the junkyard putting this together for you - gathering the tools I didn’t need or had duplicates of. So that you’d be taken care of next time.’ Michael collapses into the chair next to Alex, exasperated.
Alex makes an annoyed noise deep in his throat. ‘How in the holy hell was I supposed to know that?’
Michael throws his hands up. ‘Because we were in a good place!’ He sighs and presses his knuckles into eyes.
‘Guerin, the only thing you said to me when I picked up that toolbox was let me know if you need help with anything.’ He kicks Michael’s boot softly. ‘Not a single indication you were giving me a gift.’
‘Open your garage door.’ Michael jumps to his feet, startling Alex. He bounces on his heels and tugs Alex out of his chair. ‘Now, Alex. Open the door.’
Growing more annoyed by the minute, Alex does as told despite wanting to strangle Michael. He heads into the house and through the hallway to his garage. Stepping inside and pushing the button to raise the door. Slowly, the chains grind through the opener and sunshine eats away at the shadows. Michael being revealed inch by gradual inch.
Michael looks around at the empty space. ‘Where’d everything go?’
‘The driveway mostly. I’m converting the garage into a studio.’ Alex waves to the piles outside. ‘If you want anything, feel free. It’s mostly junk.’
‘Huh.’ Another indecipherable response. But he marches to a spot in the back corner and points at his feet. ‘The toolbox lives here. There’s even a rusted outline because it’s sat here so long.’ Michael drops the toolbox to the ground with a bang. ‘Which means water is probably seeping up through the concrete foundation. You should definitely have that checked out before starting construction.’
He moves to leave, not sparing Alex another glance until he’s back in the sunlight. Hands on his hips, he spins around and narrows his eyes. ‘Why would you return the toolbox if you were about to start renovating?’
Alex grits his teeth so hard it hurts. ‘Because it’s not mine! Because I’m trying to clean out the garage.’ He closes his eyes and gives up. ‘And my heart.’ He blinks his eyes back open and glares at Michael.
‘Is he here?’
‘Forrest?’
‘Yes, Alex. Forrest. I need to know if he’s about to charge out here to kick my ass for yelling at his boyfriend.’ Michael’s eyes shift to the door behind Alex. ‘Well, he can try anyway.’
‘He’s not here.’ He doesn't offer any further information despite the pounding of his heart.
‘Good.’ In just a few strides, Michael is within arm’s length. ‘You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to show up at my door unannounced. You don’t get to return toolboxes. And goddammit, Alex, you don’t get to return me. That’s not how this fucking works.’
Anger flames in Alex’s chest. Before he can stop himself, he storms over to the toolbox, picks it up with a huff, and walks it to his ever growing trash pile, dumping it unceremoniously on top. ‘It’s you who doesn’t get to talk to me like that. Now go home, Michael.’
It’s frustrating. How their story never seems to change. No matter how much both of them want nothing more than to crawl into each other’s arms.
On the way to his truck, Michael stops and gives Alex one last look. ‘You’re right, Alex. You deserve better. You always have. Glad you found it.’ And then he climbs into his truck and disappears.
Fuming, Alex steps back onto his patio determined to finish his lunch. But everything goes to shit as soon as he spots Michael’s black hat abandoned on the table. He groans and mutters a weak fuck before heading inside in a feeble attempt to ignore everything.
The toolbox and now the hat. And a universe that just won’t let them quit each other.