Michael comes to a stuttering halt where he emerges, stomach jumping in surprise. He’s immediately nervous, feels like he should have knocked or texted or not come at all because he’s never seen Wolfgang like this and it seems so private, but at the same time he knows it would be hard for him to leave a sight like this. Wolfgang’s quiet gaze keeps him pinned to the spot anyway; it’s impossible to tell whether or not that’s magic, too.
He’s suspended in that gaze until they ask about the food. Michael had forgotten about any burritos within the span of half a second, and is surprised all over again—but there’s the bag, hanging from his hand, irrefutable evidence. The question is so casual, as though Wolfgang was expecting Michael to walk in on them while surrounded by a halo of luminescent Legos, and what took him so long? He blinks a couple times, then clears his throat. His heart is racing. He can see points of light on the backs of his eyelids.
“Yeah, I, uh.” What are those strings they’re pulling out of the cloud? What is that cloud, anyway? Isn’t it dark in here? He can’t think straight. He can’t think about burritos anymore.
“If I come closer, will it mess you up?” he asks, hesitant.