internal matters

deux

When Michael woke up, he was not in his bed, which was not strange for him. He was young and mostly single, depending on what mood Chris was in, and he hooked up with guys all the time.

The strange part was that he was alone in the bed.

He was not naked, rather fully clothed, and so hesitantly made his way out of the bedroom and down the flight of stairs that lay before him.

The man was rich, at least, Michael could say that much of him. Everything in the house was ornate and minimalistic in a way that managed to still scream wealth. He wondered who the mystery man was.

And he wondered why Jim Moriarty was half-naked and cooking bacon.

"Morning, Michael." Holy shit, he thought to himself. Did I just fucking have a one night stand with my boss?

"Don't worry," Jim said, guessing his thoughts. "We didn't have sex. You tried to make out with some guy, his boyfriend got into a fight with you, and then you passed out in the back of a cab, so I brought you here. How do you like your eggs?"

Michael blinked a few times, and then he pinched himself to see if he was really awake. He was. And so he decided this was just a really weird reality, in which his boss brought him back home after he got too drunk and made him breakfast while he was half naked. Jim acted like it was normal, but Michael was painfully aware that he wasn't wearing a shirt. That his arms were, in fact, very muscular. That his pajama pants sat very low on his hips.

That he'd been staring at his boss without speaking for far too long.

"Scrambled," he managed to choke out. "Please."

The door opened, then, and Erianna came back in. There were two different colors of red lipstick smudged on her face and a pair of heels in her hand. The skirt she wore wasn't her own.

"Hey, Jim. How'd things go with- Oh. Michael." She was staring at him, very hard.

"Hi, Eri." His voice was hazy, distant.

"Yeah, sorry, but, uh... Jim, did you fuck my best friend?"

"No, Erianna, I did not. He got into a drunk fight and passed out in the back of a cab, so I let him stay here overnight."

"Well, it's morning."

"He needs breakfast. He's painfully thin."

"You sound like my mother," Michael mumbled as Jim set a plate down and sat across from him. He immediately winced a little, expecting an icy stare, but Jim snorted instead. He looked uncertainly at the food. James Moriarty killed people for a living. He was the most powerful man he'd ever met. And he was just going to accept food from him?

But the eggs smelled delightful and Jim started to look hurt, so he dug in.

"Thank you," he said uncertainly after he'd finished. Erianna had disappeared upstairs, probably to sleep off her headache, and it'd been awkwardly quiet since then.

"No problem, Fears."

"I should probably go home to get ready for work."

"You can take the day off." Michael looked up in disbelief. Was this the same man who'd been angry he was five minutes late the day before? But he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Thanks."

And, like any sane person, he high tailed it out of there.

-

Like Jim had told him to, he'd taken the day off. He hadn't spent it doing much of anything, just watching reruns of Friends and scrolling through his phone.

The next day back, Jim asked him into his office. His stomach was doing somersaults; what had he done wrong? There were rumors of people who'd gone into Jim's office and never returned.

"Morning, Fears." And there he was, doing it again! He was staring down at his papers, eyes flickering back and forth, refusing to look at Michael.

"Good morning, Mr. Moriarty."

"Coffee." He bit his tongue a little. He wasn't looking at him, and now he was barking out single word commands? He wasn't a dog-

But he held up a Starbucks cup in Michael's direction, finally looking up at the lack of spoken response he was receiving.

"Caramel mocha. It's what you always get, right? Actually, I know it's what you always get."

"How did you-" But he shook his head. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Thank you." He took the cup uncertainly from him.

"No problem. Have a nice day, Michael." He gave him a smile. A sincere one. This was starting to get weird.

"Uh... You, too." He turned on his heel and walked out.

-

"I don't get it, Eri." They were lounged on her couch, Erianna hanging upside down.

"Don't get what?"

"Moriarty. He's being all nice to me lately."

"He probably fancies you," she shrugged, or at least tried to while being upside down. Michael snorted.

"He doesn't fancy me."

"What would you do if he did?" He swallowed and shrugged, trying to look calm, but his heart was ramming against his chest. He didn't understand it; he didn't like James Moriarty.

"Dunno. He doesn't, anyway."

"Yeah," she mumbled, but she sounded distant. She didn't believe it.

"He's crazy," Michael mumbled to himself, switching on the TV, but there was still a flutter in his heart when he thought of the caramel mocha and waking up in Moriarty's bed.