Spirit-Sensitive | BxB

0: andy

Michael Cross, twenty-four, felt that he lived a relatively ordinary life.

He had a normal job in a standard newspaper office, and he'd never had trouble with conversation. He lived in a rather run-down apartment building, yes, but it was in the heart of the city. The short commute made the inconveniences worth managing.

Furthermore, Michael considered himself a relatively ordinary man. He was of average height and build, and nothing spectacular in the way of looks or intelligence. He had one very peculiar talent that he had always kept to himself, but that was about as far as his eccentricities went.

The same could not be said for many of the people with whom Michael shared an apartment complex. Several of his neighbors were unusual, and always in the exact same way.

One of these oddballs was Andrew Guzman. On this particular day, Michael caught sight of him right away. He was standing alone by the wall at the edge of the lobby and doing nothing of note. Michael knew that something was wrong when Andrew didn't offer him a shy (but friendly) greeting. He squinted at the boy's lanky silhouette, taking a few steps closer to him.

Andrew always looked a bit timid, or perhaps like he was perpetually sad about something. To see him wringing his hands together was nothing new. But his stance was unusually rigid, and he rocked back and forth on his heels, his eyes flitting about as if searching for unseen danger. Michael studied him for a moment more before he cleared his throat.

"Andy."

The boy in question flinched at the sound of his own name.

"Ah! I-I didn't see you there, Mr. Cross. I-I should get out of your way. I'll just be heading back to my apartment—"

"Andy," Michael repeated, more emphatically. "How many times must I tell you to call me Mike?"

Andrew chuckled nervously.

"At least one more time, I guess."

The younger man (he couldn't be older than twenty, right?) hid his brown eyes beneath the shadow of his hair, the mop of dark curls aiding him well in this disguise. Michael sighed.

Andrew had always been hesitant to talk about himself, and for good reason, if Michael's suspicions were correct. Maybe Andrew was finally beginning to understand his place in the world. It would explain his current level of anxiety. Michael would have to be careful breaching that subject, though— best to start neutral, he decided.

"Is something bothering you?" Michael asked as carefully as he could. He briefly touched the other man's forearm. Andrew stared at the hand with an expression of confusion. It had probably been a while since anyone had touched him. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm always willing to listen."

Andrew didn't react at first. He stared, not fully processing the statement. It was easy enough to see when it finally hit him. And as soon as that offer registered in his mind, Andrew cast a frantic glance around the lobby.

"...Since you're always so nice to me, I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell anybody else, okay?! I don't want anyone to think that I'm crazy!"

Michael smiled a kind smile as he leaned against the wall beside Andrew. When they stood side-by-side like this, the difference in height was obvious. Andrew was a bit short for his age. Or maybe he was just short. Michael couldn't tell, with any certainty, how old Andrew actually was (something about his face made it difficult to tell), but he'd make a short teenager as much as he would make a short adult.

"Go right ahead," Michael encouraged. "I won't tell a soul."

Andrew bit his lip as he contemplated something. He nodded when he'd made up his mind, and then he screeched something in a whisper: