(no subject)
- Title: The Music (6/?)
- Author: _ohholyfoolsx
- Pairing: Mikey and Frankie
- Rating: R
- Summary: He walked into the music store and started browsing the CDs. Every Friday Mikey saw him and never knew his name, only the way he moved, the way he dressed, the 4 layers of shirts, all thread-bare, and the music he liked. It was always about the music.
-Chapter Summary: Mikey goes to Frank's, they cuddle and head off to bed. Together.
Mikey had second thoughts about Frank.
- POV: Third Person.
- Authors Note: Written whilst listening to "A perfect Sonnet" by Bright Eyes.
- Disclaimer: AU. Completely and utterly untrue.
-Dedicated to ghostaeroplane for being so damn cool. Props go out to xburningcities for beta'ing. (ihopeigotthatright)
one, two, three, four, five, six
The winter wind seemed to be getting more and more powerful each time it blew. The scarf wrapped loosely around his neck did nothing anymore and he felt helpless and weak. The icy ground did not prove easy to walk on, did not melt as he stepped so he wouldn't fall, did not do anything but make him wary of his every step as Frank tried to carry him home.
After he'd overheard William's explanation of the events that had taken place a few years ago, Mikey felt bitter and cold. He didn't really want Frank knowing all this about him; it made him seem weak and useless, uncaring and cowardly. He wasn't anything like that, though. Just now, now that Gerard was back in his life; he felt trapped by his past, trapped like he was when his own guitar connected with his back.
The pain had been unreal, almost surreal. Completely expected yet his trust in himself so completely misplaced. How could he not have heard Gerard? How could he not have jumped across the bed and pinned him down? Gerard had been drunk; he wouldn't have stopped Mikey from retaliating. It was like one of those commercials you saw with the family gets destroyed because of some one’s drinking; his own brother, beating him violently because the drink ran so heavily in his veins, as it always did. He was deceiving himself; he couldn't have stopped Gerard, he should have taken it and dealt with it like a normal person.
"Home, sweet home," Frank whispered as he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. Mikey hadn't even noticed they were anywhere specific. Frank's house was quaint, though; small and yet had the feeling of warmth and coziness Mikey would have come to expect of him. Gently, Frank pushed open the door and set both guitars in immediately, knowing what the cold could do to the strings.
He gently lifted Mikey in as the other boy didn't move a muscle on his own. Frank helped take off his shoes; ratty and worn, his coat; covering in the
drifting snow they had walked in, his scarf; lazily thrown on a hook, and his bag; slightly open with a notebook hanging out. After Frank undressed
himself he helped Mikey over to the sofa, muttering about how messy his house was and that he hadn’t realize he was going to have company.
There was a small fireplace in the corner with small Christmas decorations hanging above it. A star; wooden and painted yellow with little sparkles on
it, the cut out of a Christmas tree and a stencil of an angel with a harp. Musical, like Frank's whole life was.
In the corner of the room was a big dish chair covered in dirty laundry. Mikey noticed a couple of the shirts he'd seen Frank in recently and smiled at the ratty boxers and dirty socks. As Mikey walked to the floppy old sofa, he noticed the hardwood floors cold on his feet and Frank knew that, draping wool blanket over his thin figure before disappearing into a doorway to et whatever it was he was getting.
Mikey's eyes were sore, his leg was throbbing densely and his hair was wet rom the snow. He didn't care about any of this; he just felt so dead and nresponsive; as though he had been killed and the whole world was moving on without him, as though he was sitting back and watching a play, a useless pectator with naught else to do but watch it unfold. He had no say in it; no part, no opinion, nothing, as to its outcome, though he felt involved anyway. Sighing, Mikey stuck a finger in his eyes and pulled out his
contacts, setting them into the case he had in his pocket and leaning back, glad to finally have those god-awful itchy things out.
He closed his eyes, his mind drifting and found himself inhaling Frank's scent on the blanket. He pictured Frank sitting at home on cold nights when he didn't have to be out, in front of the fire; his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, strings being plucked by his nimble fingers for hours on end, until they bled, even. He smiled at this thought, smelling the fresh soap mixed with the wood fire and the scent of milk.
"What are you smiling at?" Frank asked with a chuckle, and Mikey's eyes flew pen. Frank was standing before him with his head cocked to one side in curiosity and a tray in his hands. He set the tray down on the small wooden table in front of him and Mikey's mouth started watering at the sight. It was only then he realized how hungry the past while had made him.
Frank handed him one of the glasses, filling each with hot tea before taking a sip. "So that's why this house smells like milk!" Mikey exclaimed, causing Frank to start laughing again.
"Yeah, it's my mom's recipe," he admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "It's, like, a half of cup of brewed Green Tea, and the other half milk and cinnamon. I have a couple glasses every night before bed." He laughed nervously. "Lame, isn't it?"
Mikey smiled and shook his head. "Not at all." He took another sip of his drink and a cookie off the tray and leaned back on the sofa, enjoying not being at home with William, enjoying being in the company of some one who was just like him. He closed his eyes again and smiled, feeling Frank lean into him and move closer.
They stayed that way for a while, silently eating and drinking, feeling the warmth of each other and the fire surrounding them. It was nice. It was very nice. There was no pressure to lie, to play, to pretend as though everything were fine. Everything was actually fine. No one was running around trying to make Mikey feel guilty about something, or trying to talk to Frank. It was just them.
Mikey set his empty cup next to Frank's on the table and pulled the other man up next to him, draping the blanket around his small body. Frank smiled and put his arms around Mikey, pulling him into his chest. As they fidgeted and got comfortable, the doorbell rang and Frank sighed.
"Just as things were getting good..." he grinned at Mikey and made a move to get up. Mikey held him down.
"Come in!" he yelled and Frank laughed. The door jingled open and an older man walked in. He was in a t-shirt, which alone shocked Mikey, was tattooed almost all over and had two lip rings. His hair was cut to the side and short, away from his shoulders. He was muscular looking and short; but when he saw Mikey and Frank curled up on the sofa he laughed and shook his head.
"Frankie, is this him?" the man asked, taking off his shoes and hanging his hat on the hook. Frank sat up quickly and Mikey noticed a pink tinge to his face.
"Jepha, this is Mikey. He works at the music store you like." He was completely red now and seemed to be trying to inch away as much as possible before Jepha said anymore. Instead of letting this go on and embarrassing himself and Frank; he stood up, gently nudging Frank away.
"Where's the washroom?" he asked and Frank pointed, looking at him but refusing to make eye contact. Jepha watched, amused and intrigued as Mikey shook his head and walked towards the little yellow room off to the side. Even with the door closed he heard what Frank was saying.
He sounded angry. "Why did you have to come home? I thought you were going to be out with Ray all night? You're ruining everything!" He exhaled loudly and Mikey heard Jepha laugh.
"Man, I'm sorry. Ray got called in, emergency at the hospital or something." He laughed again. "I'll try not to ruin your fuck of the week next time."
"Fuck off, Jepha, just fuck off. I'm trying to help him." Frank replied with another sigh. Before he heard more Mikey turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face.
He looked into the mirror and sighed; he looked weird without his glasses. Almost unnatural. He felt a pang in his chest for William who'd probably picked up the pieces the night before and put them in his pocket before bringing Mikey home. He missed William and his sweet caring nature and beautiful ability for music. With William nothing was uncomfortable; nothing was awkward and different with him. Playing together with the norm; not speaking, making their own meals, and sitting home alone when the other was out most of the time wasn't anything new. He did miss William, but he didn't want to have to deal with his questions about Gerard, about why he wouldn't see him.
A knock on the door. Mikey shut off the faucet and dried off his face before opening it. A sheepish Frank greeted him. Frank. Ahh, what was Mikey going to do about Frank? He had conflicted feelings; he did like him a lot, maybe even loved him, but he was scared to get so involved. Scared of getting hurt. It seemed to him as though he was trying to escape the past, escape everyone around him all the time and Frank was so carefree, but was trying to help Mikey, latch onto him and be with him when he was needed. They were so different.
He knew he could only do one thing. The same thing Frank had said to him so long about music; it's all emotion. Right now he needed someone who made him feel whole. Frank.
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "He wasn't supposed to come home tonight."
Mikey smiled and stepped out of the bathroom, pulling Frank in and kissing him so gently Frank's eyes were fluttering when he pulled away. "It's okay. I'm just really tired right now, you know?" he said with a twinkle in his eyes. Frank grinned.
"Yeah, me too. We only have one bed, but --"
"Don't ruin it. Let's just go." Mikey replied and Frank took is hand, leading him to the room at the end of the hall.