146 - c
PART TWO
The rest of the tour is in the States. Their next show is in Pontiac, MI. Pontiac will only ever remind Ryan of the car company, though he’s not sure he could even name one kind of Pontiac. It’s windy but not rainy, so Ryan just pulls a hoodie on over his t-shirt, and leaves to go find Gerard. He has a few questions.
Gerard is, predictably, on My Chem’s bus. It’s not such a trek from Panic’s van. My Chem is on last on the main stage tonight, so they’ve got plenty of time to sleep and lounge around until they have to set up.
“You realize,” Gerard says, when he walks in, “that today is the last day of July? Tomorrow is August. That’s so weird.”
“I guess I hadn’t thought of it yet,” Ryan says, and realizes that this means there are only two weeks of the tour left. It seems like there should be more of it.
“Tours always seem that way to me,” Gerard says. “Y’know, like. They go on forever and last for no time at all.” Gerard is sitting in the kitchenette with a notebook and a felt-tip pen. Maybe he’d wanted a hard surface, or something. The notebook is flipped open near the end. Ryan wonders what Gerard has been drawing all tour. He slides into the seat across from Gerard, and watches the pen slide across white paper, slightly battered at the corners, where the sketchbook has been shoved into Gerard’s backpack. He can’t tell what the drawing is, upside down - some kind of figure - but he likes watching the varying thickness of the line.
“It’s like stasis,” Ryan says, and looks up to Gerard watching him. “What?”
Gerard shrugs with one shoulder, his other hand cross-hatching confidently. “Nothing. Mikey said you guys hung out last night.”
“Mm-hm,” Ryan says. “He and Pete -“ he almost says were pretty drunk, but manages to swallow the words. He’s not even sure if Gerard would react badly - he has to be used to the fact that the people around him drink.
“Yeah. He woke up pretty hung over this morning. I got it,” Gerard says, returning his eyes to his paper. He doesn’t sound exactly bitter, but Ryan’s happy to change the subject, anyway.
“I wasn’t here about that, though,” he says. Gerard raises his eyebrows without looking up. “Wanna give me a haircut?”
Gerard laughs, surprised, and glances at him. “You sure you trust me with that kind of power?”
“Not like it won’t grow back. I’m sick of the curtain of hair.” He wraps a lock of hair around his fingers, annoyed with the way it’s almost touching his shoulders, straight and even.
“Okay, sure.” Gerard grins that infectious grin of his, and Ryan can’t help but smile back. “I’ll see what I can do.”
+
They use an extra top sheet as the smock to keep the hair off of his clothes. Ryan’s pretty sure that no one on the bus has changed or washed any of the bedding once in the past two months, but he’s not surprised that Brian would stock the bus with a few extras. Gerard has a sharp pair of scissors he normally uses for fabric, and they go outside so that they won’t have to clean up the hair. Ryan’s not sure that he knows anyone who owns a vacuum cleaner. They don’t shower, why would they have a vacuum?
Gerard’s only just started when Mikey shows up, eating a hotdog covered in catsup and relish. Pete’s not with him, but Ryan supposes that they’re not actually surgically attached. Mikey stops in front of the picnic table Ryan and Gerard are sitting on, and takes another bite.
When he swallows, he asks, “Haircut?” like it’s not obvious.
Ryan doesn’t nod; he just makes a noise of assent instead. He’s enjoying watching the hair fall in long, straight locks.
“You should cut it a little shorter on the sides,” Mikey says, and Gerard stops cutting. Mikey reaches over and threads his fingers into Ryan’s hair, pulling at it a little. Ryan has to stop himself from making an embarrassing noise. He didn’t think that was something he liked so much. “Yeah, like, short on the sides, but a little longer on top?”
“That could look good,” Gerard says, contemplative, and Ryan can imagine the way he’s cocking his head to the side. Ryan’s kind of fine with being one of Gerard’s art projects. It’s already gotten him pretty far in life, all things considered.
“It would look good,” Mikey says. “Hot.” He stuffs the last bite of his hotdog in his mouth, and balls the paper wrapper up in his hand.
Ryan doesn’t say anything, just watches Mikey watch Gerard.
+
After the haircut, the eyeliner is Gerard’s idea. Ryan isn’t at all surprised, considering their stage show. Ryan had actually been considering asking Gerard if he could try it out, but hadn’t worked up the balls yet. Luckily, Gerard thought of it on his own.
“You should let me show you what it looks like,” Gerard says, his voice high and excited. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have a huge fucking variety of colors and shades.”
Mikey snorts. Ryan hasn’t seen himself in the mirror yet, but he’d taken Mikey’s nod of approval as a good sign. Mikey’s eyes had lingered on his face in a way he’s pretty sure he’s not making up. He scrubs his hands through his newly cut hair. He loves the way it feels under his fingertips. Soft, though still pretty dirty. It’s been a few days since his last shower.
“Do whatever you want,” he says, finally, and Mikey laughs.
“You probably shouldn’t have said that.” He’s standing with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, hip cocked to the side, glasses falling slightly down his nose. He looks tired out, bags under his eyes, lips chapped. Probably, he’s still a little hung over.
“You can supervise,” Ryan says, and tries not to sound wheedling. Mikey looks at him for a long moment, and then shrugs.
“Sure. I said I’d meet Pete in a bit, but I don’t think I want to miss this.” Ryan smiles before he can help it, and glances back at Gerard. Gerard is giving him an odd, contemplative look, but shakes himself out of it, smiling again.
“I’ll get some supplies. No mirrors until I’m finished, though,” he warns, and Ryan rolls his eyes.
“Whatever you say, Gerard.”
Gerard laughs, and goes back into the bus, leaving Mikey and Ryan alone in the sun. Mikey doesn’t say anything, but he sits next to Ryan on the table, kicking his feet idly against the bench. Ryan closes his eyes against the sun and tilts his head back, catching the warmth on his face.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Ryan hears the bang of the bus door slamming shut, and opens his eyes again. Mikey’s looking at him, face blank; Ryan can’t tell what he’s thinking. He glances at Gerard in order to have something else to do, and finds him holding an entire toolbox filled with makeup in his hands.
Gerard must see something in the look on Ryan’s face, because he draws up, slightly defensive, and says, “What? Better to be prepared than not, right?”
“Sure,” Ryan says, watching Gerard set the toolbox on the table and start opening compartments. Finally he pulls out a black eyeliner pencil, turns to Ryan, and tells him to close his eyes.
+
When Gerard’s done, he gives Ryan a handheld mirror. “Here,” he says, “take a look.”
Ryan holds the mirror up to his face and watches his own eyes widen in surprise. His hair is short and spiky, sticking up like a crest in the center of his scalp, but short on the sides. It’s a little messy, obviously, but it looks good. It makes him look sharper in a way that he likes. The makeup is actually pretty subtle, for Gerard. The eyeliner is thick and black, but it makes his eyes look lighter and bigger.
“Huh,” he says, and hands the mirror back.
“You look good,” Gerard says, grinning wide and enthusiastic. “Right, Mikey?” Gerard turns to Mikey, who is still sitting silently next to Ryan. Ryan is close enough to feel the heat coming off of Mikey’s body, so he can also feel it when Mikey shifts subtly. He looks at Mikey, who is silent for a long time. His eyes trail over Ryan’s face and Ryan has to fight to keep from blushing. Luckily, he doesn’t have the kind of complexion to blush easily.
“Yeah,” Mikey says. “You look really good.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says, instead of the you really think so? that he wants to say. He’s insecure, he knows, but he’s smart enough to not express it very often.
+
Ryan doesn’t know anything about taking off makeup - he’s worn it before, sure, a few times, but he still doesn’t know much about the ins and outs of cosmetics. Which is probably why he sleeps without washing his face, and wakes up still wearing thick, and now slightly smeared, eyeliner. He doesn’t think it looks bad, though, when he checks himself out in the van’s rearview mirror - smeared makeup is kind of a look, too. Gerard had pressed an eyeliner pencil into his hand when he left and told him that he should keep wearing it. Ryan’s not sure if he’ll keep it up or not - it kind of depends on the reception he gets from fans.
The drive the night before had taken something like five and a half hours, and Ryan spent most of it driving, or staying awake with Spencer. He’s still half-asleep at 11:30 when they go onstage, trying to remember not to rub at his eyes, even if they do still feel partially glued shut. He hates the days they play early.
Before they get onstage, Brendon catches his wrist. “I meant to ask last night,” he says, “but what’s with the makeup?”
Ryan shrugs. “Gerard did it.”
It’s apparently enough of an answer for Brendon, who nods as he slips his bass on over his head. “Kay. The haircut looks good, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says, and then they head out onto the stage. Spencer’s already sitting behind his drum kit, and he taps his drum sticks together as if to rush them. Ryan slings his guitar over his shoulder and listens to the crowd cheer as Brendon introduces them.
He wasn’t exactly expecting a huge blowout from Spencer and Brendon. He’s still kind of relieved that they’re both so blasé about it, though.
+
“Hey,” Brendon says, that night. “Brent wants to see the haircut.”
“You told him about it?” Ryan asks, turning in his seat to look at Brendon.
Brendon shrugs, and smiles. “He asked for an update. I’m a very detailed updater.” Ryan laughs before he can help it, and Brendon looks pleased with himself. Ryan hands Brendon his phone and poses for a picture, pouting dramatically. He texts the resulting photo to Brent, though he’s not sure where Brent is at the moment, or what time it is there. the new haircut, he adds in the text box, and doesn’t expect a reply.
Two minutes later, though, he gets a text from Brent saying, thats a hell of a new look, ry.
i know, Ryan says. where r u?
home sweet home, Brent texts in reply. when r u back?
Ryan has to ask Brendon - he’s not even entirely certain what day of the week it is, anymore. Brendon laughs at him, but this is nothing new. two weeks. ill c u then.
Ryan stuffs his phone into his pocket, and thinks about Brent’s bedroom, the comforter covered in trains, the basketball posters, and it seems infinitely far away from where he is now. But Brent’s off tour, and Panic will be too soon enough. Ryan will be happy to see Brent, but he’s not looking forward to going home.
+
They drive from Pennsylvania to Georgia, which takes about eleven hours. The show isn’t until the 3rd, making the 2nd of August their last day off until the end of the tour. The rest of Warped is on the East Coast, and thus the venues are much closer together. Still, Ryan’s looking forward to washing his hair. He wonders if the cut will look any different when his hair is clean.
“Last day off,” Ryan says, curled up in the passenger seat. Brendon’s driving, so they’re listening to sixties music that Ryan can’t place. He really doesn’t know much about music history.
“What’re we even going to do after this is over?” Brendon asks, though he doesn’t seem particularly worried.
“I have no idea,” Ryan says. “Take some time off?” He’s not looking forward to being home, but it’s not like they have anything else lined up at the moment.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I guess.” He doesn’t sound any happier about it than Ryan is. Ryan knows that Spencer will probably be very happy to see his parents and his sisters, but Ryan’s just happy not to be the only one dreading the end.
+
Ryan spends most of the day in Atlanta hanging out in the merch tent. It’s fucking hot, and humid, and Ryan’s glad for the shade and the water cooler. He’s had a lot of compliments on the haircut, which he appreciates. He even managed to apply his own eyeliner without it looking completely ridiculous. It’s lighter than when Gerard applied it, but still noticeable.
He takes a picture with a girl who drove all the way from Albany, Georgia to see them, which is possibly the craziest thing he’s ever heard. He doesn’t know where Albany is, but the girl assures him that it’s more than a three hour drive. He mentally boggles at the idea that anyone would drive that far specifically to see them, but takes a picture with her and tries to smile convincingly. She beams when she thanks him, and holds out a sharpie and her copy of their CD. Ryan’s not sure he’ll ever get tired of people buying the record, listening to it, liking it.
Mikey shows up just as she’s leaving, and stops next to Ryan, watching the girl walk away.
“Do you ever get used to that?” Ryan asks, and Mikey shrugs.
“I have to deal with it less than Gerard or Frank. But not really.”
Mikey still looks tired. They sit in the lawn chairs behind the table, and Ryan hands Mikey a paper cup filled with water.
“Thanks.” Mikey swallows the whole thing in one long gulp, and Ryan can’t help watching the way his throat bobs as he swallows.
“You okay?” he asks, not expecting a straight answer, but feeling he should ask anyway.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mikey says, and Ryan’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
It’s Pete. hav u seen mieky?, he asks, and Ryan looks over at Mikey.
“It’s Pete,” he says. He wonders why Pete would ask him about Mikey’s whereabouts.
“Don’t tell him I’m here,” Mikey says, voice thin. His closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and sighs. “I’ll - find him later. I will. Just.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ryan agrees. not recently he types to Pete, and feels immediately guilty about it. He wonders what he’s getting himself into the middle of.
“Thank you,” Mikey says, and sounds some mixture of relieved, guilty, and exhausted.
“Want to get some lunch?” Ryan asks, and is rewarded when Mikey smiles a little.
“Sure,” he says. “Let’s go.”
+
In Jacksonville it’s too hot to be outside or in the van, even with the a/c on, so Ryan sits on the bus with Frank and Gerard and watches some old slasher film - Nightmare on Elm Street? Friday the 13th? One of those.
“I fucking love this part,” Frank says, leaning forward.
“You say that every time.” There’s a complaint in Gerard’s voice, but he’s not even looking at the screen. Ryan snorts, but doesn’t actually have much of an idea what’s going on. He keeps zoning out, thinking about Mikey. Finally, he decides to text him.
were watchin some horror movie. ur missin out, dude.
He can hear Mikey’s phone buzzing from inside his empty bunk. Ryan wonders where Mikey’s gone without it.
+
The drive to St. Petersburg is about four hours, but that’s less than they’re used to, so they stick around later than usual. Spencer and Ryan wander around the buses, walking in silence.
It’s still hot, but cooler since the sun went down. The heat’s more humid than Vegas, but almost everywhere on the east coast is - it comes from being near the water, he supposes. Plus, Florida has the wetlands to think about.
“Ten days,” Spencer says. “Have it marked on your calendar, yet?” Spencer’s wrist brushes against Ryan’s arm, and Ryan’s at ease, here, walking next to Spencer. It’s what they’ve spent most of their lives doing - following each other.
“I’ve been thinking about it, believe me,” Ryan says. He rolls his eyes, even though Spencer can’t see him. “I’m not sure if I’m dreading it or looking forward to it.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, and then they trail off into silence for a while. Eventually, Spencer speaks up again, voice soft against the faint breeze. “Was the haircut about anything in particular?”
Ryan thinks about it for a few moments. Not long enough for Spencer to think he’s avoiding the question, but enough to give himself time to actually think it through. “I needed a change.” He shrugs, and listens for Spencer’s low noise of assent. “I’ve spent this whole tour being one thing, so I thought I’d try something new.”
“Fair enough,” Spencer says. “Do you think Brendon’s saved any of those slim jims?”
Ryan smiles. “No, probably not.”
+
In Pompano Beach, Ryan stands side stage to watch Fall Out Boy. Pete looks like shit, deep circles under his eyes. Mikey’s onstage playing bass for them, so that Pete can launch himself into the audience the way that he likes, but Pete doesn’t really connect with anyone onstage - not Mikey, not Patrick - just concentrates on the audience, fixated.
Ryan can see the worried looks Mikey is sending Pete. He’s not a complete idiot. He knows that something is going on. It’s just not enough of his business for him to ask, he thinks - that’s what Pete’s band is for. That’s what My Chem is for.
+
They play at 2:00 PM, and then Brendon asks if they can go to the beach. He says, “Well, it’s called fucking Pompano Beach, there’s gotta be a beach around here somewhere, right?” Ryan doesn’t mind going. According to the map, it’s a straight shot to the ocean - they just take East Atlantic Boulevard until they hit the sand. Ryan’s not sure if he’ll swim, but he’s looking forward to smelling the saltwater and sand. Beach grasses. It’s a different kind of dirty than touring - dirt versus sand.
Spencer drives, and it takes them fifteen minutes. The beach is covered in hotels and condos, but Spencer finds a place to park, and they all take off their shoes, walking barefoot down the steep dunes, toes in the sand.
Ryan stops on the edge of the waves, water lapping up over his feet and covering them with wet sand. He takes a picture of his toes, burrowed into the ground, and texts it to Mikey and Pete.
wish u were here, he says, because the picture reminds him of a vacation greeting card, and it’s also true.
wish i was there, too, Mikey texts in response. Pete doesn’t say anything.
+
Gerard’s the one who inadvertently tells him the next day, probably because he assumes that Ryan already knows. Maybe he should know, but Ryan hardly ever asks, so he doesn’t.
He and Brendon are on the My Chem bus, and Brendon’s talking to Bob about how much he wishes they had time to stop at Universal Studios so he could go on the E.T. ride. Apparently he went when he was a kid, and it terrified him, so he wants to go again now that he’s older and wiser. Bob’s spent most of the conversation vaguely rolling his eyes and smiling, but Ryan can kind of see the logic.
Gerard’s fucking around with his makeup for the show, and Ryan glances down at the sketchbook open on the counter. It’s open to a sketch of Mikey, bent over his sidekick, his glasses falling down to the end of his nose. He looks sad or pissed off in that muted Mikey way, so Ryan can’t help but ask.
“When’d you draw this?”
Gerard looks up from where he’s spreading eyeshadow all over his face. “Oh, uh, like. Two nights ago, maybe?” He pauses, considering. “I keep losing track of the days. That was the day he talked things out with Pete. He’s been moping since then.”
Ryan tries not to think about what that means, exactly. “Huh,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say. Gerard glances up at him, and his expression is surprised, like, what, you didn’t know? And even if Ryan’s still not sure what he doesn’t know, he thinks that he should.
+
The next time Ryan sees Mikey it’s that evening, after My Chem has finished their set, and Mikey’s a little drunk. Ryan’s sitting outside of the van, cross-legged, waiting for Spencer and Brendon to come back from eating so that they can leave. Mikey must be wandering aimlessly, because he looks as surprised to see Ryan as Ryan is to see him. He hesitates, wavering, as if he’s not sure if he should stop, but the moment of indecision passes, and he walks the few steps closer, folding gracefully into a sitting position.
“Hi,” Ryan says, and Mikey smiles, a little off kilter.
“Hi,” he says, and Ryan can smell the alcohol on him. He doesn’t mind, exactly, but it worries him - this is the first time he’s seen Mikey drunk, alone, without a party somewhere in the vicinity. Mikey leans back on his hands, posture relaxed and tense simultaneously, like he’s physically relaxed, but wound tightly mentally. “Just ask,” he says, after a silent moment. This is the reason Ryan never knows how to act when Mikey’s drunk - Mikey’s much more likely to say the things he’d otherwise keep to himself.
“I -” Ryan starts, about to say I’m not sure what you’re talking about, or I don’t want to bother you, but Mikey gives him a withering look, and he stops. “What’s going on?” he asks. “With you and Pete, I mean.”
Mikey doesn’t say anything immediately. He bites his lip, and Ryan knows that he doesn’t want to answer. As he’s about to retract the question altogether, though, Mikey starts talking.
“Pete suggested we stop sleeping together,” Mikey says, voice flat. “That he’s tired of being convenient. He likes me, and I’m a good friend but, and I quote, he’s ‘not going to put up with my shit, either.’” Mikey punctuates this with ironic finger quotes on either side of his head. He looks away, down at the dying grass, and Ryan sucks in his breath through his teeth.
“What does that mean, exactly?” he asks, before he can stop himself.
“Fuck if I know,” Mikey says, and there’s a bitterness in his voice. “I asked him that, and he said some mysterious bullshit about how I don’t like him enough, and it would be better off for both of us if we weren’t fucking.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, completely out of his emotional depth. He’s caught between hope and anxiety, and he doesn’t know what to do with either. “I’m sorry, Mikey.”
“No, whatever, it’s - I’ll be fine,” Mikey says, and bites his lip again. “Could I - do you mind if I ride with you guys? I don’t want Gerard to see me like this.” He snorts. “He puts up with enough of my shit.”
“I - yeah, sure,” Ryan says, surprised again. “You’re welcome any time.”
+
It takes Ryan two days to text Pete about it, mostly because he’s not sure he wants a real answer. Mikey drives with them just the once, and it’s fine - he falls asleep halfway there, slumped against the window, glasses pressing into the side of his face.
Virginia is fucking hot in August - well into the 90s, which isn’t such a big deal, but it’s laborious while performing. Ryan hasn’t seen Mikey since they got to Charlotte, except onstage. It’s not that weird, but Ryan feels like it should be.
He waits until the end of Fall Out Boy’s set and then texts Pete.
whyd u break up w mikey? he sends, because he doesn’t know how else to say it. Just sending the text makes his heart pound, anxiety that he’s pushing himself into a situation in which he’s not welcome. But it only takes Pete a minute and a half to text him back.
im not completely blind & selfish ross, Pete’s text says. Ryan’s not sure what to make of it.
what does that mean?
im not letting him use me as a buffer anymore, is Pete’s response.
It’s only slightly more helpful than the first was.
+
Bristow, Virginia marks their sixth to last show. They’re all exhausted from driving and performing and sleeping without beds. Ryan can see the telltale snippiness between them that marks too much time spent in close quarters. It’s been more than two months without a break. They all deserve it.
They’re lucky it doesn’t affect the shows - Brendon is just as outgoing and sunny onstage, even if, just moments before, he’d been threatening to rearrange Spencer’s face if he didn’t stop air drumming.
Ryan wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and glances back at Spencer, who is biting his lip as he keeps time. Five shows left. They can make it.
+
Ryan runs into a party the next night, outside Scranton, and Pete’s already obviously drunk.
“Ross!” he calls out, loud, raucous like he always is, his grin wide and white. He doesn’t seem so worse for wear, at the moment, but, looking at him, Ryan feels a stab in his gut, and it’s not like it’s his fault they broke up, but. He feels almost like it is, anyway.
“Hey, Pete,” Ryan says, much more quietly. Pete’s leaning back against his bus, slightly apart from the rest of the group - Ryan can make out Joe and Patrick and Carden off to the right, laughing loudly. “Why’re you over here by yourself?”
“Waiting for you, obviously,” Pete says. He laughs again, just the slightest tinge of bitterness. Ryan stops in front of him, and Pete reaches out, slinging an arm around Ryan’s neck.
Ryan makes a surprised noise, but lets himself be pulled up snug to Pete’s side.
“Pete?” he asks, and Pete looks slightly up at him. “Are you okay?”
“Ross,” Pete says, rolling his eyes, “I’m fine. Peachy keen, even.” He pauses, and Ryan can’t see his face very well, but his grin turns a little more real. He laughs. “Or I will be, anyway. I promise. You have my blessing, little dude.” Pete’s voice is amused, fond. His fingers are wrapped up in the fabric of Ryan’s shirt, and Ryan can smell the beer on his breath. Ryan believes him, though he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s just that Pete’s been through much worse and come out alive.
“Sure.” It’s not that he doesn’t know what Pete is talking about, it’s that he’s not sure why it matters. It’s not exactly Ryan’s decision, entirely.
“Whatever,” Pete says, shaking his head and releasing Ryan. “Want a beer?”
Ryan shakes his head, and Pete doesn’t move. Ryan doesn’t, either, enjoying the warmth from Pete’s arm against his side.
“Me neither.” Pete laughs. “Just don’t wuss out, Ross.”
“I’ll try not to,” Ryan says. He’s not entirely sure why that would matter anyway.
+
Ryan hates New Jersey, even if four fifths of My Chem were born there. They always get lost in New Jersey. It takes them an hour and a half longer than it should to get to Camden, and Ryan’s stewing in his own annoyance by the time they make it.
He ends up walking among the merch tents, trying not to make eye contact or talk to anyone. He scrubs a hand through his hair and knows that it’s probably sticking up in all sorts of odd angles, but he doesn’t care.
He finds a quiet spot by the parking lot, eventually, and sits on the curb, wrapping his arms around his knees. Sometimes he thinks about the way Mikey had looked at him after he got his haircut, the way Mikey’s eyes lingered, how close he’d sat, and Ryan thinks that if he wanted to do something about it, he could. He can see the signs. The problem is that he actually likes Pete, and he knows that Mikey does, and so there’s no point. There’s no point in even thinking about it.
He shifts until he can lean back on his hands, palms against the rough concrete.
He kind of wants to send Mikey a text message, do u like me? circle y or n, but this isn’t grade school, and it’s never that easy.
+
Ryan happens to glance side stage when they’re performing, and Mikey’s standing with Frank, watching them. He’s got his arms crossed, chin sunk down to his chest. He occasionally leans down to yell something at Frank over the sound of the amps. Ryan tries not to let it distract him, since all of the members of My Chem have come to watch them at one point or another, Mikey more often than the rest of them. He’s not quite sure he manages it.
The day is hot, and he can feel the sweat collecting at his hairline and in the corners of his eyes. He wonders if his makeup is smearing. He still thinks that they’re better than they’ve ever been - more confident, more talkative. Brendon even gets Spencer to talk, sometimes.
As they pile offstage, the crowd still cheering, Mikey wraps a hand tight around Ryan wrist and says, “Good job.” Frank, next to him, rolls his eyes a little, and wanders over to Brendon.
Ryan doesn’t look at Mikey’s hand on his wrist, though he’s sure that Mikey can feel the way his heart is beating in the pulse under his skin. He’s lucky that it could be as much from the performance as from the touch.
“Thanks,” he says. He doesn’t say anything else, but Mikey tugs on his wrist before letting go.
“Want to get dinner?” Mikey’s voice is inscrutable, and Ryan wishes he could ever understand what Mikey was thinking.
“Sure,” Ryan says. “I have to help break down first, though.”
“I can wait,” Mikey says, and smiles a little. Ryan suspects that something is up, but he decides that it’s better not to think about it.
+
They end up eating cheeseburgers from one of the food stands closest to the backstage entrance. A few people glance at them, but no one bothers them, and they take their food back to the bus area. Mikey’s almost finished his burger by the time they sit down. Ryan waits, though, so that he can put catsup on his before eating it. The cheese is congealed and yellow, pretty much what Ryan expects from fairground food. It still tastes fine.
“What’s up?” he asks, when it becomes clear that Mikey isn’t going to start the conversation. Mikey doesn’t answer for a long time. He finishes chewing the last bite of his burger, and then balls the wrapper up between his hands.
“If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?” Mikey’s voice is quiet, serious, and Ryan can feel the anxiety collecting in the pit of his stomach. If Mikey’s bothering to ask, Ryan’s probably not going to like it.
“Yeah.” Ryan nods, pulling at the grass with his free hand.
“Okay,” Mikey says, and then pauses, like he’s not sure how to formulate the question. “Do you have a crush on me?”
“I -” Ryan starts. He’s not surprised; he can’t be. They’ve been dancing around this all summer and even he’s figured it out by now. Maybe for longer than that, he’s not sure. Pete complicated things, but didn’t change them. Not for Ryan, anyway. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Mikey’s voice is almost faint, and Ryan is still watching his face, the way he bites his lip, glasses sliding down his nose. Mikey presses a hand against the side of Ryan’s face, palm and fingers warm and slightly sticky. Ryan leans into the touch before he can help it, and Mikey swallows.
“I can’t help it,” Ryan says, and Mikey’s fingers are moving, sliding up into his hair and tugging gently. Ryan wants Mikey to kiss him.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mikey asks, and he’s leaning in, but Ryan keeps still.
“When?” Ryan says, and shrugs as best he can. “What could I have said?”
“You’re such a dumbfuck,” Mikey says. “Pete, of all people, shouldn’t have to help you out.”
“I know,” Ryan says, and then Mikey kisses him. His lips slide, wet and soft, against Ryan’s mouth, and it’s exactly what Ryan thought it would be. Mikey’s fingers tug on his hair, but it’s Ryan who pulls away.
“Why did you do that?” Ryan resists the impulse to touch his fingers to his lips like some fourteen-year-old, and instead looks down at his crossed feet.
“Because I wanted to,” Mikey says. He curls his fingers into the cuffs of his hoodie, and sighs. “You have no idea. I’ve wanted that for six months. I’m tired of waiting.”
“What about Pete?” Ryan’s not sure what he wants to hear, but he still has to ask.
“I don’t know,” Mikey says, looking away. “Pete - he’s a great friend. He’s awesome, and he was there. Maybe he was right to break it off.” Mikey pauses, like he’s collecting his thoughts. “But I could - I’ve wanted you longer. Is that enough?”
Half of Ryan wants to say, yes, it’s enough, and pull Mikey to him, but the other half wants to say what would you have done if he hadn’t broken it off?. He’s caught between having what he wants and wondering if it’s really his at all.
“I’ll give you some time,” Mikey says, and stands. Ryan doesn’t say anything, just watches Mikey walk away. Then he throws his wrapper in the trashcan, and goes to find Spencer.
+
Spencer doesn’t ask questions, just lets Ryan lean his head on his shoulder. Ryan has to think, because - he knows that Mikey wants him, but he also knows that Mikey likes Pete, that Mikey’s been sleeping with Pete for two months, and that ended just over a week ago. The summer’s almost over. He doesn’t want to be a rebound.
This is why he tries to keep his mouth shut.
“You’re not going to tell me about it, are you?” Spencer asks, eventually.
“Maybe later,” Ryan says, and listens to Spencer sigh.
“Okay,” Spencer says, and wraps an arm around his shoulders.
+
Ryan doesn’t see anyone from My Chem the next day. He doubts that Mikey is going to talk to him again unless he initiates it, and Ryan has to figure himself out, first, before he does that.
would mikey have ended it if u hadnt? Ryan asks Pete sometime mid-morning. Mostly because he can’t help wondering, and Pete would know if anyone would.
y eventually, Pete says, and then shortly after, or id kill him prob. i didnt break it off just 4 u so dont get cocky.
thanx pete, Ryan texts back, and he feels slightly better.
np, Pete says, as long as u know u have 2 keep in touch.
i will. Ryan wonders how he got to be friends with Pete Wentz. He’s pretty sure it was mostly not his own doing, but he can’t say that he minds.
+
Ryan’s taken to painting more elaborately on his face when he goes onstage - still in black, but with swirls coming out from the corners of his eyes, or, once, wings. It works for Gerard, and Ryan likes it. It gives him more of a routine before the performance. Even with whatever drama is going on in his personal life, he’s going to do his best for the performances.
Their third to last show is in New York, and Brendon walks over to Ryan onstage, that swagger he only has when he’s performing. Ryan looks down at his guitar, and starts when he feels Brendon’s fingers on his face. Brendon slides his thumb just in the corner of Ryan’s left eye, careful not to smudge, singing the words Ryan wrote on the floor of his bedroom - can’t take the kid from the fight, take the fight from the kid - and then spinning away.
Ryan takes a deep breath, and listens to the girls cheer.
+
They hit traffic on their way back through New Jersey, and it takes them forty minutes longer than it otherwise would. Ryan leans against the window and watches Brendon and Spencer talk about hip hop. Brendon’s got the most diverse musical taste out of the three of them, something Ryan can only be grateful for.
In a lull, he asks, “What was that, today, Brendon?”
“Hm?” Brendon asks, looking over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. Ryan just tucks a finger in the corner of his left eye, and raises his eyebrows right back.
Brendon pauses, and the shrugs. “I dunno.”
Ryan knows from writing with Brendon that he’s not telling the truth, yet, but he will. He always does. He just needs to work himself up to it.
+
Ryan doesn’t sleep much, that night. Instead, he spends the sleepless hours staring at the ceiling of the van, listening to Blink-182 on his iPod and trying not to think about how Mikey’s mouth had felt on his, Mikey’s hands in his hair. He’s certain that he wants to feel that again, he’s just not sure if it’s worth the potential heartbreak later.
+
The next day, in Old Bridge, Ryan’s carefully smudging his eyeliner when Brendon comes to stand next to him, eyes tracking Ryan’s hands in the mirror.
“It just really cool,” Brendon says, eventually, and Ryan raises his eyebrows in the mirror. “No, really. I - wanna practice on me?”
“You can’t practice on me,” Spencer says from behind them, tapping his drumsticks against his knees.
Ryan turns to look at Brendon. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, and exhales loudly through his mouth like he does when he’s nervous.
“Okay,” Ryan says, and when Brendon smiles it’s huge and broad. Ryan wasn’t expecting this to be a thing for them, but he doesn’t mind it, either. He’s going to need more makeup, though.
+
He finds Gerard smoking outside My Chem’s bus later that day, and Gerard raises his eyebrows.
“I almost thought you were avoiding us,” Gerard says as he exhales smoke. The wisps of it curl around his head and dissipate.
Ryan almost says, I’m not avoiding you, anyway, but decides against it. Gerard probably knows at least some of what’s been going on. Mikey has a hard time keeping things from him. Ryan shrugs, instead.
“I have a favor to ask.” Ryan watches Gerard take another drag, and then stub out his cigarette.
“What is it?” Gerard’s voice is a little colder than Ryan’s used to, and Ryan winces. He doesn’t want to cause drama.
“Can I borrow some of your makeup? Some colored eyeshadow, maybe?”
“What do you want to use it for?”
“The show. You’ll see. Just come watch the last one side stage. I have a plan.”
“Does this plan involve not being a dick to my brother?” Gerard’s looking down at his beat-up combat boots, and Ryan bites his lip.
“I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just - I need to figure myself out.” Ryan’s hoping that Gerard can understand. Gerard is almost as important to him as Mikey is.
Gerard sighs. “I know you’re not. You should see him, though, Ryan. Whatever. You’re welcome to use whatever you want.”
“Thank you,” Ryan says quietly. He leaves before he can cause any more problems.
+
The last day, in Northampton, Massachusetts, Panic goes on an hour before My Chem.
“You have to let me do this,” Ryan says, and Spencer scowls.
“I don’t want to look dumb,” he says, and then snorts. “Whatever. Fuck it. If it looks horrible, I’m never letting you do it again.”
“He did an okay job on me,” Brendon says, still looking at himself in Gerard’s handheld mirror. Spencer sighs, but doesn’t dispute it.
“Thank you, Spence.” Ryan means it. If this looks good, it could be a whole thing. He wants to be dramatic. He wants to be something different.
“Anything to make you stop moping, Jesus.”
Ryan can’t help but grin.
+
Ryan’s heart is fluttering in his chest when they take the stage. He can hear the crowd cheering, and he hopes that he doesn’t look completely ridiculous - birds painted in black and primary colors across his cheekbones and up into his hairline. Brendon looks the coolest, Ryan thinks, but he has to - he’s the lead singer.
Spencer counts them off, and it’s as easy as it’s always been. No bottles being thrown at them, no one yelling faggot, or get off the fucking stage, just girls singing along at the barrier, and the crowd pushing behind them. Ryan looks side stage, and almost trips over a mic cord when he sees Mikey standing with Gerard and Pete. Mikey smiles, catching him looking, and Ryan has to stare down at his guitar.
He’s not going to fuck this up. He’s not going to fuck anything else up.
+
My Chem goes on at 5:45, and Ryan stands just offstage and watches. Brendon and Spencer have left to go take off their makeup, but Ryan hadn’t wanted to miss anything. He still has the birds on his face, but he doesn’t even care.
My Chem is as on as always - Gerard’s voice clear and strong, Frank and Ray fucking shredding it, Bob behind them keeping the beat. Mikey doesn’t look up once, concentrating hard on his bass.
The set goes by faster than anything Ryan remembers, and when Gerard stumbles offstage, Ryan has to take a step back so as not to be in the way. Mikey’s the last off, and Ryan almost doesn’t do anything. He almost lets Mikey pass by without acting.
“Mikey,” he says, voice louder than he means it to be. Mikey stops moving, and glances up at him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Mikey looks over his shoulder at Gerard, who’s still talking to Frank and Bob by the amps, side stage. “Sure,” he says, and Ryan feels the relief build in his chest.
They walk around behind the stage and end up sitting by the back fence, on the trampled grass.
Ryan doesn’t know how to start, but he makes himself talk, anyway. “I didn’t mean to - I didn’t want to push you away, I just wasn’t sure -”
“I get it,” Mikey says, cutting him off. He’s looking down at his hands and not at Ryan, so Ryan’s not sure that he does.
“But I do,” Ryan says. “Want you. It’s worth it.”
Mikey’s head comes up fast, and Ryan can see the way his eyes are wide behind the frames of his glasses. Ryan can’t help it; he leans forward and kisses Mikey on the mouth, one hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt at the shoulder. He misses a little, lips sliding off-center against Mikey’s mouth at first. Mikey makes a sound that’s mostly surprise, and presses forward, opening his mouth against Ryan’s. Ryan lets his fingers curl against Mikey’s shoulder, and presses his tongue against Mikey’s lower lip.
Mikey’s hand touches the side of Ryan’s face, sliding from his hairline to his chin and then up into his hair. Mikey’s probably smearing his makeup everywhere, but Ryan doesn’t give a fuck. Mikey pulls away to pant wetly against Ryan’s cheekbone, hand still tugging at his hair. Ryan makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat; he really does have a thing about the hair pulling.
“You look so hot like this,” Mikey says, nipping at his jaw, kissing the corner of his mouth.
“Shut up,” Ryan says, and kisses him again, sloppy and warm, sliding his fingers up under the sleeve of Mikey’s t-shirt.
They’re both dirty, unwashed, and Ryan’s covered in smeared stage makeup, but he can’t think of anything he’d rather be doing.
+
Ryan wakes up alone in Mikey’s bunk on My Chem’s bus. The light trickling through the dirty windows indicates that it’s morning, and that he’s slept through the night. He’s shirtless but still wearing his jeans. There are red marks along his hips where the waistband dug into his skin as he slept. He remembers Mikey’s fingers pressing against his bare back, Mikey’s mouth on the side of his neck, and thinks it’s worth it. He rolls out of the bunk and wipes the sleep from his eyes, starting when his fingers come back blue and red. Then he remembers that he never bothered to take off his stage makeup, and shrugs, leaving to go find Mikey.
Mikey’s in the back lounge with Gerard, and hands him a half-full mug of coffee. Ryan takes a sip of the coffee, bitter and strong, before passing it back.
“Hi,” Mikey says, and grins. The expression still makes Ryan’s heart clench. “You’re awake.”
“I am,” Ryan says, grinning back, and sits next to him on the couch. “Good morning.”
“Keep it to yourself,” Gerard says, but he’s got his sketchbook open to a new page, and he can’t pretend that he’s not drawing them right now.
Mikey slides his fingers over the back of Ryan’s wrist, and, for that moment, Ryan doesn’t even care that they’re both leaving in a few hours, and driving in opposite directions.
+
“I have to go,” Ryan says, eventually. He couldn’t find his own shirt, so he’d stolen one of Mikey’s - it’s a little loose in the shoulders, but Ryan doesn’t mind. Spencer’s been texting him about getting on the road, and he knows that he has about half an hour before the threatening starts.
“Okay,” Mikey says, and stands. “I’ll walk you back.”
“We’ll see you soon, Ryan, don’t worry about it,” Gerard says, and hands Ryan the folded up drawing he was working on. “Look at it after you start driving.”
“Okay,” Ryan says. “Thanks.” He gets a hug from Gerard and a promise that he’ll tell the rest of the guys goodbye for them.
It only takes them four minutes to get to Panic’s van. Mikey’s hand brushes against Ryan’s the whole way there, but Ryan’s still not happy about leaving,
“Gerard’s right,” Mikey says, breaking the silence. “It’s not like we won’t ever see you again.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ryan catches Mikey’s wrist before he can think about it, thumb sliding just to the middle of Mikey’s palm. He’s looking at Mikey’s face, though, and his crooked smile, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Let’s get a move on!” Brendon yells out the passenger side window.
“Call me, or something,” Ryan says, and Mikey nods, wrapping his free hand around the back of Ryan’s head and kissing him.
It’s just about the best goodbye that Ryan could hope for.
+
The drive to Las Vegas will take them more than a day and a half, but they’ve got no plans at the moment besides more songwriting, so they can take their time. Ryan waits until they’ve been on the road for a few hours before he looks at the drawing Gerard made him.
It’s Mikey sitting next to him on the couch, the two of them looking at each other, Ryan’s hair sticking up every which way, the smeared makeup on his face. Mikey’s looking at him with a soft expression that Ryan’s never noticed before. Ryan stares at it for a few minutes before folding it carefully back up, and sticking it in his songwriting notebook.
An hour later he gets a text from Mikey. It’s a picture of Ryan’s shirt, which he’d apparently left on the floor, and a note saying, at least i have something to remember u by.
ill see u soon, Ryan texts back. save it 4 me.
The rest of the tour is in the States. Their next show is in Pontiac, MI. Pontiac will only ever remind Ryan of the car company, though he’s not sure he could even name one kind of Pontiac. It’s windy but not rainy, so Ryan just pulls a hoodie on over his t-shirt, and leaves to go find Gerard. He has a few questions.
Gerard is, predictably, on My Chem’s bus. It’s not such a trek from Panic’s van. My Chem is on last on the main stage tonight, so they’ve got plenty of time to sleep and lounge around until they have to set up.
“You realize,” Gerard says, when he walks in, “that today is the last day of July? Tomorrow is August. That’s so weird.”
“I guess I hadn’t thought of it yet,” Ryan says, and realizes that this means there are only two weeks of the tour left. It seems like there should be more of it.
“Tours always seem that way to me,” Gerard says. “Y’know, like. They go on forever and last for no time at all.” Gerard is sitting in the kitchenette with a notebook and a felt-tip pen. Maybe he’d wanted a hard surface, or something. The notebook is flipped open near the end. Ryan wonders what Gerard has been drawing all tour. He slides into the seat across from Gerard, and watches the pen slide across white paper, slightly battered at the corners, where the sketchbook has been shoved into Gerard’s backpack. He can’t tell what the drawing is, upside down - some kind of figure - but he likes watching the varying thickness of the line.
“It’s like stasis,” Ryan says, and looks up to Gerard watching him. “What?”
Gerard shrugs with one shoulder, his other hand cross-hatching confidently. “Nothing. Mikey said you guys hung out last night.”
“Mm-hm,” Ryan says. “He and Pete -“ he almost says were pretty drunk, but manages to swallow the words. He’s not even sure if Gerard would react badly - he has to be used to the fact that the people around him drink.
“Yeah. He woke up pretty hung over this morning. I got it,” Gerard says, returning his eyes to his paper. He doesn’t sound exactly bitter, but Ryan’s happy to change the subject, anyway.
“I wasn’t here about that, though,” he says. Gerard raises his eyebrows without looking up. “Wanna give me a haircut?”
Gerard laughs, surprised, and glances at him. “You sure you trust me with that kind of power?”
“Not like it won’t grow back. I’m sick of the curtain of hair.” He wraps a lock of hair around his fingers, annoyed with the way it’s almost touching his shoulders, straight and even.
“Okay, sure.” Gerard grins that infectious grin of his, and Ryan can’t help but smile back. “I’ll see what I can do.”
+
They use an extra top sheet as the smock to keep the hair off of his clothes. Ryan’s pretty sure that no one on the bus has changed or washed any of the bedding once in the past two months, but he’s not surprised that Brian would stock the bus with a few extras. Gerard has a sharp pair of scissors he normally uses for fabric, and they go outside so that they won’t have to clean up the hair. Ryan’s not sure that he knows anyone who owns a vacuum cleaner. They don’t shower, why would they have a vacuum?
Gerard’s only just started when Mikey shows up, eating a hotdog covered in catsup and relish. Pete’s not with him, but Ryan supposes that they’re not actually surgically attached. Mikey stops in front of the picnic table Ryan and Gerard are sitting on, and takes another bite.
When he swallows, he asks, “Haircut?” like it’s not obvious.
Ryan doesn’t nod; he just makes a noise of assent instead. He’s enjoying watching the hair fall in long, straight locks.
“You should cut it a little shorter on the sides,” Mikey says, and Gerard stops cutting. Mikey reaches over and threads his fingers into Ryan’s hair, pulling at it a little. Ryan has to stop himself from making an embarrassing noise. He didn’t think that was something he liked so much. “Yeah, like, short on the sides, but a little longer on top?”
“That could look good,” Gerard says, contemplative, and Ryan can imagine the way he’s cocking his head to the side. Ryan’s kind of fine with being one of Gerard’s art projects. It’s already gotten him pretty far in life, all things considered.
“It would look good,” Mikey says. “Hot.” He stuffs the last bite of his hotdog in his mouth, and balls the paper wrapper up in his hand.
Ryan doesn’t say anything, just watches Mikey watch Gerard.
+
After the haircut, the eyeliner is Gerard’s idea. Ryan isn’t at all surprised, considering their stage show. Ryan had actually been considering asking Gerard if he could try it out, but hadn’t worked up the balls yet. Luckily, Gerard thought of it on his own.
“You should let me show you what it looks like,” Gerard says, his voice high and excited. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have a huge fucking variety of colors and shades.”
Mikey snorts. Ryan hasn’t seen himself in the mirror yet, but he’d taken Mikey’s nod of approval as a good sign. Mikey’s eyes had lingered on his face in a way he’s pretty sure he’s not making up. He scrubs his hands through his newly cut hair. He loves the way it feels under his fingertips. Soft, though still pretty dirty. It’s been a few days since his last shower.
“Do whatever you want,” he says, finally, and Mikey laughs.
“You probably shouldn’t have said that.” He’s standing with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, hip cocked to the side, glasses falling slightly down his nose. He looks tired out, bags under his eyes, lips chapped. Probably, he’s still a little hung over.
“You can supervise,” Ryan says, and tries not to sound wheedling. Mikey looks at him for a long moment, and then shrugs.
“Sure. I said I’d meet Pete in a bit, but I don’t think I want to miss this.” Ryan smiles before he can help it, and glances back at Gerard. Gerard is giving him an odd, contemplative look, but shakes himself out of it, smiling again.
“I’ll get some supplies. No mirrors until I’m finished, though,” he warns, and Ryan rolls his eyes.
“Whatever you say, Gerard.”
Gerard laughs, and goes back into the bus, leaving Mikey and Ryan alone in the sun. Mikey doesn’t say anything, but he sits next to Ryan on the table, kicking his feet idly against the bench. Ryan closes his eyes against the sun and tilts his head back, catching the warmth on his face.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Ryan hears the bang of the bus door slamming shut, and opens his eyes again. Mikey’s looking at him, face blank; Ryan can’t tell what he’s thinking. He glances at Gerard in order to have something else to do, and finds him holding an entire toolbox filled with makeup in his hands.
Gerard must see something in the look on Ryan’s face, because he draws up, slightly defensive, and says, “What? Better to be prepared than not, right?”
“Sure,” Ryan says, watching Gerard set the toolbox on the table and start opening compartments. Finally he pulls out a black eyeliner pencil, turns to Ryan, and tells him to close his eyes.
+
When Gerard’s done, he gives Ryan a handheld mirror. “Here,” he says, “take a look.”
Ryan holds the mirror up to his face and watches his own eyes widen in surprise. His hair is short and spiky, sticking up like a crest in the center of his scalp, but short on the sides. It’s a little messy, obviously, but it looks good. It makes him look sharper in a way that he likes. The makeup is actually pretty subtle, for Gerard. The eyeliner is thick and black, but it makes his eyes look lighter and bigger.
“Huh,” he says, and hands the mirror back.
“You look good,” Gerard says, grinning wide and enthusiastic. “Right, Mikey?” Gerard turns to Mikey, who is still sitting silently next to Ryan. Ryan is close enough to feel the heat coming off of Mikey’s body, so he can also feel it when Mikey shifts subtly. He looks at Mikey, who is silent for a long time. His eyes trail over Ryan’s face and Ryan has to fight to keep from blushing. Luckily, he doesn’t have the kind of complexion to blush easily.
“Yeah,” Mikey says. “You look really good.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says, instead of the you really think so? that he wants to say. He’s insecure, he knows, but he’s smart enough to not express it very often.
+
Ryan doesn’t know anything about taking off makeup - he’s worn it before, sure, a few times, but he still doesn’t know much about the ins and outs of cosmetics. Which is probably why he sleeps without washing his face, and wakes up still wearing thick, and now slightly smeared, eyeliner. He doesn’t think it looks bad, though, when he checks himself out in the van’s rearview mirror - smeared makeup is kind of a look, too. Gerard had pressed an eyeliner pencil into his hand when he left and told him that he should keep wearing it. Ryan’s not sure if he’ll keep it up or not - it kind of depends on the reception he gets from fans.
The drive the night before had taken something like five and a half hours, and Ryan spent most of it driving, or staying awake with Spencer. He’s still half-asleep at 11:30 when they go onstage, trying to remember not to rub at his eyes, even if they do still feel partially glued shut. He hates the days they play early.
Before they get onstage, Brendon catches his wrist. “I meant to ask last night,” he says, “but what’s with the makeup?”
Ryan shrugs. “Gerard did it.”
It’s apparently enough of an answer for Brendon, who nods as he slips his bass on over his head. “Kay. The haircut looks good, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says, and then they head out onto the stage. Spencer’s already sitting behind his drum kit, and he taps his drum sticks together as if to rush them. Ryan slings his guitar over his shoulder and listens to the crowd cheer as Brendon introduces them.
He wasn’t exactly expecting a huge blowout from Spencer and Brendon. He’s still kind of relieved that they’re both so blasé about it, though.
+
“Hey,” Brendon says, that night. “Brent wants to see the haircut.”
“You told him about it?” Ryan asks, turning in his seat to look at Brendon.
Brendon shrugs, and smiles. “He asked for an update. I’m a very detailed updater.” Ryan laughs before he can help it, and Brendon looks pleased with himself. Ryan hands Brendon his phone and poses for a picture, pouting dramatically. He texts the resulting photo to Brent, though he’s not sure where Brent is at the moment, or what time it is there. the new haircut, he adds in the text box, and doesn’t expect a reply.
Two minutes later, though, he gets a text from Brent saying, thats a hell of a new look, ry.
i know, Ryan says. where r u?
home sweet home, Brent texts in reply. when r u back?
Ryan has to ask Brendon - he’s not even entirely certain what day of the week it is, anymore. Brendon laughs at him, but this is nothing new. two weeks. ill c u then.
Ryan stuffs his phone into his pocket, and thinks about Brent’s bedroom, the comforter covered in trains, the basketball posters, and it seems infinitely far away from where he is now. But Brent’s off tour, and Panic will be too soon enough. Ryan will be happy to see Brent, but he’s not looking forward to going home.
+
They drive from Pennsylvania to Georgia, which takes about eleven hours. The show isn’t until the 3rd, making the 2nd of August their last day off until the end of the tour. The rest of Warped is on the East Coast, and thus the venues are much closer together. Still, Ryan’s looking forward to washing his hair. He wonders if the cut will look any different when his hair is clean.
“Last day off,” Ryan says, curled up in the passenger seat. Brendon’s driving, so they’re listening to sixties music that Ryan can’t place. He really doesn’t know much about music history.
“What’re we even going to do after this is over?” Brendon asks, though he doesn’t seem particularly worried.
“I have no idea,” Ryan says. “Take some time off?” He’s not looking forward to being home, but it’s not like they have anything else lined up at the moment.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I guess.” He doesn’t sound any happier about it than Ryan is. Ryan knows that Spencer will probably be very happy to see his parents and his sisters, but Ryan’s just happy not to be the only one dreading the end.
+
Ryan spends most of the day in Atlanta hanging out in the merch tent. It’s fucking hot, and humid, and Ryan’s glad for the shade and the water cooler. He’s had a lot of compliments on the haircut, which he appreciates. He even managed to apply his own eyeliner without it looking completely ridiculous. It’s lighter than when Gerard applied it, but still noticeable.
He takes a picture with a girl who drove all the way from Albany, Georgia to see them, which is possibly the craziest thing he’s ever heard. He doesn’t know where Albany is, but the girl assures him that it’s more than a three hour drive. He mentally boggles at the idea that anyone would drive that far specifically to see them, but takes a picture with her and tries to smile convincingly. She beams when she thanks him, and holds out a sharpie and her copy of their CD. Ryan’s not sure he’ll ever get tired of people buying the record, listening to it, liking it.
Mikey shows up just as she’s leaving, and stops next to Ryan, watching the girl walk away.
“Do you ever get used to that?” Ryan asks, and Mikey shrugs.
“I have to deal with it less than Gerard or Frank. But not really.”
Mikey still looks tired. They sit in the lawn chairs behind the table, and Ryan hands Mikey a paper cup filled with water.
“Thanks.” Mikey swallows the whole thing in one long gulp, and Ryan can’t help watching the way his throat bobs as he swallows.
“You okay?” he asks, not expecting a straight answer, but feeling he should ask anyway.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mikey says, and Ryan’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
It’s Pete. hav u seen mieky?, he asks, and Ryan looks over at Mikey.
“It’s Pete,” he says. He wonders why Pete would ask him about Mikey’s whereabouts.
“Don’t tell him I’m here,” Mikey says, voice thin. His closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and sighs. “I’ll - find him later. I will. Just.”
“Yeah, okay,” Ryan agrees. not recently he types to Pete, and feels immediately guilty about it. He wonders what he’s getting himself into the middle of.
“Thank you,” Mikey says, and sounds some mixture of relieved, guilty, and exhausted.
“Want to get some lunch?” Ryan asks, and is rewarded when Mikey smiles a little.
“Sure,” he says. “Let’s go.”
+
In Jacksonville it’s too hot to be outside or in the van, even with the a/c on, so Ryan sits on the bus with Frank and Gerard and watches some old slasher film - Nightmare on Elm Street? Friday the 13th? One of those.
“I fucking love this part,” Frank says, leaning forward.
“You say that every time.” There’s a complaint in Gerard’s voice, but he’s not even looking at the screen. Ryan snorts, but doesn’t actually have much of an idea what’s going on. He keeps zoning out, thinking about Mikey. Finally, he decides to text him.
were watchin some horror movie. ur missin out, dude.
He can hear Mikey’s phone buzzing from inside his empty bunk. Ryan wonders where Mikey’s gone without it.
+
The drive to St. Petersburg is about four hours, but that’s less than they’re used to, so they stick around later than usual. Spencer and Ryan wander around the buses, walking in silence.
It’s still hot, but cooler since the sun went down. The heat’s more humid than Vegas, but almost everywhere on the east coast is - it comes from being near the water, he supposes. Plus, Florida has the wetlands to think about.
“Ten days,” Spencer says. “Have it marked on your calendar, yet?” Spencer’s wrist brushes against Ryan’s arm, and Ryan’s at ease, here, walking next to Spencer. It’s what they’ve spent most of their lives doing - following each other.
“I’ve been thinking about it, believe me,” Ryan says. He rolls his eyes, even though Spencer can’t see him. “I’m not sure if I’m dreading it or looking forward to it.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, and then they trail off into silence for a while. Eventually, Spencer speaks up again, voice soft against the faint breeze. “Was the haircut about anything in particular?”
Ryan thinks about it for a few moments. Not long enough for Spencer to think he’s avoiding the question, but enough to give himself time to actually think it through. “I needed a change.” He shrugs, and listens for Spencer’s low noise of assent. “I’ve spent this whole tour being one thing, so I thought I’d try something new.”
“Fair enough,” Spencer says. “Do you think Brendon’s saved any of those slim jims?”
Ryan smiles. “No, probably not.”
+
In Pompano Beach, Ryan stands side stage to watch Fall Out Boy. Pete looks like shit, deep circles under his eyes. Mikey’s onstage playing bass for them, so that Pete can launch himself into the audience the way that he likes, but Pete doesn’t really connect with anyone onstage - not Mikey, not Patrick - just concentrates on the audience, fixated.
Ryan can see the worried looks Mikey is sending Pete. He’s not a complete idiot. He knows that something is going on. It’s just not enough of his business for him to ask, he thinks - that’s what Pete’s band is for. That’s what My Chem is for.
+
They play at 2:00 PM, and then Brendon asks if they can go to the beach. He says, “Well, it’s called fucking Pompano Beach, there’s gotta be a beach around here somewhere, right?” Ryan doesn’t mind going. According to the map, it’s a straight shot to the ocean - they just take East Atlantic Boulevard until they hit the sand. Ryan’s not sure if he’ll swim, but he’s looking forward to smelling the saltwater and sand. Beach grasses. It’s a different kind of dirty than touring - dirt versus sand.
Spencer drives, and it takes them fifteen minutes. The beach is covered in hotels and condos, but Spencer finds a place to park, and they all take off their shoes, walking barefoot down the steep dunes, toes in the sand.
Ryan stops on the edge of the waves, water lapping up over his feet and covering them with wet sand. He takes a picture of his toes, burrowed into the ground, and texts it to Mikey and Pete.
wish u were here, he says, because the picture reminds him of a vacation greeting card, and it’s also true.
wish i was there, too, Mikey texts in response. Pete doesn’t say anything.
+
Gerard’s the one who inadvertently tells him the next day, probably because he assumes that Ryan already knows. Maybe he should know, but Ryan hardly ever asks, so he doesn’t.
He and Brendon are on the My Chem bus, and Brendon’s talking to Bob about how much he wishes they had time to stop at Universal Studios so he could go on the E.T. ride. Apparently he went when he was a kid, and it terrified him, so he wants to go again now that he’s older and wiser. Bob’s spent most of the conversation vaguely rolling his eyes and smiling, but Ryan can kind of see the logic.
Gerard’s fucking around with his makeup for the show, and Ryan glances down at the sketchbook open on the counter. It’s open to a sketch of Mikey, bent over his sidekick, his glasses falling down to the end of his nose. He looks sad or pissed off in that muted Mikey way, so Ryan can’t help but ask.
“When’d you draw this?”
Gerard looks up from where he’s spreading eyeshadow all over his face. “Oh, uh, like. Two nights ago, maybe?” He pauses, considering. “I keep losing track of the days. That was the day he talked things out with Pete. He’s been moping since then.”
Ryan tries not to think about what that means, exactly. “Huh,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say. Gerard glances up at him, and his expression is surprised, like, what, you didn’t know? And even if Ryan’s still not sure what he doesn’t know, he thinks that he should.
+
The next time Ryan sees Mikey it’s that evening, after My Chem has finished their set, and Mikey’s a little drunk. Ryan’s sitting outside of the van, cross-legged, waiting for Spencer and Brendon to come back from eating so that they can leave. Mikey must be wandering aimlessly, because he looks as surprised to see Ryan as Ryan is to see him. He hesitates, wavering, as if he’s not sure if he should stop, but the moment of indecision passes, and he walks the few steps closer, folding gracefully into a sitting position.
“Hi,” Ryan says, and Mikey smiles, a little off kilter.
“Hi,” he says, and Ryan can smell the alcohol on him. He doesn’t mind, exactly, but it worries him - this is the first time he’s seen Mikey drunk, alone, without a party somewhere in the vicinity. Mikey leans back on his hands, posture relaxed and tense simultaneously, like he’s physically relaxed, but wound tightly mentally. “Just ask,” he says, after a silent moment. This is the reason Ryan never knows how to act when Mikey’s drunk - Mikey’s much more likely to say the things he’d otherwise keep to himself.
“I -” Ryan starts, about to say I’m not sure what you’re talking about, or I don’t want to bother you, but Mikey gives him a withering look, and he stops. “What’s going on?” he asks. “With you and Pete, I mean.”
Mikey doesn’t say anything immediately. He bites his lip, and Ryan knows that he doesn’t want to answer. As he’s about to retract the question altogether, though, Mikey starts talking.
“Pete suggested we stop sleeping together,” Mikey says, voice flat. “That he’s tired of being convenient. He likes me, and I’m a good friend but, and I quote, he’s ‘not going to put up with my shit, either.’” Mikey punctuates this with ironic finger quotes on either side of his head. He looks away, down at the dying grass, and Ryan sucks in his breath through his teeth.
“What does that mean, exactly?” he asks, before he can stop himself.
“Fuck if I know,” Mikey says, and there’s a bitterness in his voice. “I asked him that, and he said some mysterious bullshit about how I don’t like him enough, and it would be better off for both of us if we weren’t fucking.”
“Oh,” Ryan says, completely out of his emotional depth. He’s caught between hope and anxiety, and he doesn’t know what to do with either. “I’m sorry, Mikey.”
“No, whatever, it’s - I’ll be fine,” Mikey says, and bites his lip again. “Could I - do you mind if I ride with you guys? I don’t want Gerard to see me like this.” He snorts. “He puts up with enough of my shit.”
“I - yeah, sure,” Ryan says, surprised again. “You’re welcome any time.”
+
It takes Ryan two days to text Pete about it, mostly because he’s not sure he wants a real answer. Mikey drives with them just the once, and it’s fine - he falls asleep halfway there, slumped against the window, glasses pressing into the side of his face.
Virginia is fucking hot in August - well into the 90s, which isn’t such a big deal, but it’s laborious while performing. Ryan hasn’t seen Mikey since they got to Charlotte, except onstage. It’s not that weird, but Ryan feels like it should be.
He waits until the end of Fall Out Boy’s set and then texts Pete.
whyd u break up w mikey? he sends, because he doesn’t know how else to say it. Just sending the text makes his heart pound, anxiety that he’s pushing himself into a situation in which he’s not welcome. But it only takes Pete a minute and a half to text him back.
im not completely blind & selfish ross, Pete’s text says. Ryan’s not sure what to make of it.
what does that mean?
im not letting him use me as a buffer anymore, is Pete’s response.
It’s only slightly more helpful than the first was.
+
Bristow, Virginia marks their sixth to last show. They’re all exhausted from driving and performing and sleeping without beds. Ryan can see the telltale snippiness between them that marks too much time spent in close quarters. It’s been more than two months without a break. They all deserve it.
They’re lucky it doesn’t affect the shows - Brendon is just as outgoing and sunny onstage, even if, just moments before, he’d been threatening to rearrange Spencer’s face if he didn’t stop air drumming.
Ryan wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and glances back at Spencer, who is biting his lip as he keeps time. Five shows left. They can make it.
+
Ryan runs into a party the next night, outside Scranton, and Pete’s already obviously drunk.
“Ross!” he calls out, loud, raucous like he always is, his grin wide and white. He doesn’t seem so worse for wear, at the moment, but, looking at him, Ryan feels a stab in his gut, and it’s not like it’s his fault they broke up, but. He feels almost like it is, anyway.
“Hey, Pete,” Ryan says, much more quietly. Pete’s leaning back against his bus, slightly apart from the rest of the group - Ryan can make out Joe and Patrick and Carden off to the right, laughing loudly. “Why’re you over here by yourself?”
“Waiting for you, obviously,” Pete says. He laughs again, just the slightest tinge of bitterness. Ryan stops in front of him, and Pete reaches out, slinging an arm around Ryan’s neck.
Ryan makes a surprised noise, but lets himself be pulled up snug to Pete’s side.
“Pete?” he asks, and Pete looks slightly up at him. “Are you okay?”
“Ross,” Pete says, rolling his eyes, “I’m fine. Peachy keen, even.” He pauses, and Ryan can’t see his face very well, but his grin turns a little more real. He laughs. “Or I will be, anyway. I promise. You have my blessing, little dude.” Pete’s voice is amused, fond. His fingers are wrapped up in the fabric of Ryan’s shirt, and Ryan can smell the beer on his breath. Ryan believes him, though he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s just that Pete’s been through much worse and come out alive.
“Sure.” It’s not that he doesn’t know what Pete is talking about, it’s that he’s not sure why it matters. It’s not exactly Ryan’s decision, entirely.
“Whatever,” Pete says, shaking his head and releasing Ryan. “Want a beer?”
Ryan shakes his head, and Pete doesn’t move. Ryan doesn’t, either, enjoying the warmth from Pete’s arm against his side.
“Me neither.” Pete laughs. “Just don’t wuss out, Ross.”
“I’ll try not to,” Ryan says. He’s not entirely sure why that would matter anyway.
+
Ryan hates New Jersey, even if four fifths of My Chem were born there. They always get lost in New Jersey. It takes them an hour and a half longer than it should to get to Camden, and Ryan’s stewing in his own annoyance by the time they make it.
He ends up walking among the merch tents, trying not to make eye contact or talk to anyone. He scrubs a hand through his hair and knows that it’s probably sticking up in all sorts of odd angles, but he doesn’t care.
He finds a quiet spot by the parking lot, eventually, and sits on the curb, wrapping his arms around his knees. Sometimes he thinks about the way Mikey had looked at him after he got his haircut, the way Mikey’s eyes lingered, how close he’d sat, and Ryan thinks that if he wanted to do something about it, he could. He can see the signs. The problem is that he actually likes Pete, and he knows that Mikey does, and so there’s no point. There’s no point in even thinking about it.
He shifts until he can lean back on his hands, palms against the rough concrete.
He kind of wants to send Mikey a text message, do u like me? circle y or n, but this isn’t grade school, and it’s never that easy.
+
Ryan happens to glance side stage when they’re performing, and Mikey’s standing with Frank, watching them. He’s got his arms crossed, chin sunk down to his chest. He occasionally leans down to yell something at Frank over the sound of the amps. Ryan tries not to let it distract him, since all of the members of My Chem have come to watch them at one point or another, Mikey more often than the rest of them. He’s not quite sure he manages it.
The day is hot, and he can feel the sweat collecting at his hairline and in the corners of his eyes. He wonders if his makeup is smearing. He still thinks that they’re better than they’ve ever been - more confident, more talkative. Brendon even gets Spencer to talk, sometimes.
As they pile offstage, the crowd still cheering, Mikey wraps a hand tight around Ryan wrist and says, “Good job.” Frank, next to him, rolls his eyes a little, and wanders over to Brendon.
Ryan doesn’t look at Mikey’s hand on his wrist, though he’s sure that Mikey can feel the way his heart is beating in the pulse under his skin. He’s lucky that it could be as much from the performance as from the touch.
“Thanks,” he says. He doesn’t say anything else, but Mikey tugs on his wrist before letting go.
“Want to get dinner?” Mikey’s voice is inscrutable, and Ryan wishes he could ever understand what Mikey was thinking.
“Sure,” Ryan says. “I have to help break down first, though.”
“I can wait,” Mikey says, and smiles a little. Ryan suspects that something is up, but he decides that it’s better not to think about it.
+
They end up eating cheeseburgers from one of the food stands closest to the backstage entrance. A few people glance at them, but no one bothers them, and they take their food back to the bus area. Mikey’s almost finished his burger by the time they sit down. Ryan waits, though, so that he can put catsup on his before eating it. The cheese is congealed and yellow, pretty much what Ryan expects from fairground food. It still tastes fine.
“What’s up?” he asks, when it becomes clear that Mikey isn’t going to start the conversation. Mikey doesn’t answer for a long time. He finishes chewing the last bite of his burger, and then balls the wrapper up between his hands.
“If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?” Mikey’s voice is quiet, serious, and Ryan can feel the anxiety collecting in the pit of his stomach. If Mikey’s bothering to ask, Ryan’s probably not going to like it.
“Yeah.” Ryan nods, pulling at the grass with his free hand.
“Okay,” Mikey says, and then pauses, like he’s not sure how to formulate the question. “Do you have a crush on me?”
“I -” Ryan starts. He’s not surprised; he can’t be. They’ve been dancing around this all summer and even he’s figured it out by now. Maybe for longer than that, he’s not sure. Pete complicated things, but didn’t change them. Not for Ryan, anyway. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Mikey’s voice is almost faint, and Ryan is still watching his face, the way he bites his lip, glasses sliding down his nose. Mikey presses a hand against the side of Ryan’s face, palm and fingers warm and slightly sticky. Ryan leans into the touch before he can help it, and Mikey swallows.
“I can’t help it,” Ryan says, and Mikey’s fingers are moving, sliding up into his hair and tugging gently. Ryan wants Mikey to kiss him.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mikey asks, and he’s leaning in, but Ryan keeps still.
“When?” Ryan says, and shrugs as best he can. “What could I have said?”
“You’re such a dumbfuck,” Mikey says. “Pete, of all people, shouldn’t have to help you out.”
“I know,” Ryan says, and then Mikey kisses him. His lips slide, wet and soft, against Ryan’s mouth, and it’s exactly what Ryan thought it would be. Mikey’s fingers tug on his hair, but it’s Ryan who pulls away.
“Why did you do that?” Ryan resists the impulse to touch his fingers to his lips like some fourteen-year-old, and instead looks down at his crossed feet.
“Because I wanted to,” Mikey says. He curls his fingers into the cuffs of his hoodie, and sighs. “You have no idea. I’ve wanted that for six months. I’m tired of waiting.”
“What about Pete?” Ryan’s not sure what he wants to hear, but he still has to ask.
“I don’t know,” Mikey says, looking away. “Pete - he’s a great friend. He’s awesome, and he was there. Maybe he was right to break it off.” Mikey pauses, like he’s collecting his thoughts. “But I could - I’ve wanted you longer. Is that enough?”
Half of Ryan wants to say, yes, it’s enough, and pull Mikey to him, but the other half wants to say what would you have done if he hadn’t broken it off?. He’s caught between having what he wants and wondering if it’s really his at all.
“I’ll give you some time,” Mikey says, and stands. Ryan doesn’t say anything, just watches Mikey walk away. Then he throws his wrapper in the trashcan, and goes to find Spencer.
+
Spencer doesn’t ask questions, just lets Ryan lean his head on his shoulder. Ryan has to think, because - he knows that Mikey wants him, but he also knows that Mikey likes Pete, that Mikey’s been sleeping with Pete for two months, and that ended just over a week ago. The summer’s almost over. He doesn’t want to be a rebound.
This is why he tries to keep his mouth shut.
“You’re not going to tell me about it, are you?” Spencer asks, eventually.
“Maybe later,” Ryan says, and listens to Spencer sigh.
“Okay,” Spencer says, and wraps an arm around his shoulders.
+
Ryan doesn’t see anyone from My Chem the next day. He doubts that Mikey is going to talk to him again unless he initiates it, and Ryan has to figure himself out, first, before he does that.
would mikey have ended it if u hadnt? Ryan asks Pete sometime mid-morning. Mostly because he can’t help wondering, and Pete would know if anyone would.
y eventually, Pete says, and then shortly after, or id kill him prob. i didnt break it off just 4 u so dont get cocky.
thanx pete, Ryan texts back, and he feels slightly better.
np, Pete says, as long as u know u have 2 keep in touch.
i will. Ryan wonders how he got to be friends with Pete Wentz. He’s pretty sure it was mostly not his own doing, but he can’t say that he minds.
+
Ryan’s taken to painting more elaborately on his face when he goes onstage - still in black, but with swirls coming out from the corners of his eyes, or, once, wings. It works for Gerard, and Ryan likes it. It gives him more of a routine before the performance. Even with whatever drama is going on in his personal life, he’s going to do his best for the performances.
Their third to last show is in New York, and Brendon walks over to Ryan onstage, that swagger he only has when he’s performing. Ryan looks down at his guitar, and starts when he feels Brendon’s fingers on his face. Brendon slides his thumb just in the corner of Ryan’s left eye, careful not to smudge, singing the words Ryan wrote on the floor of his bedroom - can’t take the kid from the fight, take the fight from the kid - and then spinning away.
Ryan takes a deep breath, and listens to the girls cheer.
+
They hit traffic on their way back through New Jersey, and it takes them forty minutes longer than it otherwise would. Ryan leans against the window and watches Brendon and Spencer talk about hip hop. Brendon’s got the most diverse musical taste out of the three of them, something Ryan can only be grateful for.
In a lull, he asks, “What was that, today, Brendon?”
“Hm?” Brendon asks, looking over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. Ryan just tucks a finger in the corner of his left eye, and raises his eyebrows right back.
Brendon pauses, and the shrugs. “I dunno.”
Ryan knows from writing with Brendon that he’s not telling the truth, yet, but he will. He always does. He just needs to work himself up to it.
+
Ryan doesn’t sleep much, that night. Instead, he spends the sleepless hours staring at the ceiling of the van, listening to Blink-182 on his iPod and trying not to think about how Mikey’s mouth had felt on his, Mikey’s hands in his hair. He’s certain that he wants to feel that again, he’s just not sure if it’s worth the potential heartbreak later.
+
The next day, in Old Bridge, Ryan’s carefully smudging his eyeliner when Brendon comes to stand next to him, eyes tracking Ryan’s hands in the mirror.
“It just really cool,” Brendon says, eventually, and Ryan raises his eyebrows in the mirror. “No, really. I - wanna practice on me?”
“You can’t practice on me,” Spencer says from behind them, tapping his drumsticks against his knees.
Ryan turns to look at Brendon. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, and exhales loudly through his mouth like he does when he’s nervous.
“Okay,” Ryan says, and when Brendon smiles it’s huge and broad. Ryan wasn’t expecting this to be a thing for them, but he doesn’t mind it, either. He’s going to need more makeup, though.
+
He finds Gerard smoking outside My Chem’s bus later that day, and Gerard raises his eyebrows.
“I almost thought you were avoiding us,” Gerard says as he exhales smoke. The wisps of it curl around his head and dissipate.
Ryan almost says, I’m not avoiding you, anyway, but decides against it. Gerard probably knows at least some of what’s been going on. Mikey has a hard time keeping things from him. Ryan shrugs, instead.
“I have a favor to ask.” Ryan watches Gerard take another drag, and then stub out his cigarette.
“What is it?” Gerard’s voice is a little colder than Ryan’s used to, and Ryan winces. He doesn’t want to cause drama.
“Can I borrow some of your makeup? Some colored eyeshadow, maybe?”
“What do you want to use it for?”
“The show. You’ll see. Just come watch the last one side stage. I have a plan.”
“Does this plan involve not being a dick to my brother?” Gerard’s looking down at his beat-up combat boots, and Ryan bites his lip.
“I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just - I need to figure myself out.” Ryan’s hoping that Gerard can understand. Gerard is almost as important to him as Mikey is.
Gerard sighs. “I know you’re not. You should see him, though, Ryan. Whatever. You’re welcome to use whatever you want.”
“Thank you,” Ryan says quietly. He leaves before he can cause any more problems.
+
The last day, in Northampton, Massachusetts, Panic goes on an hour before My Chem.
“You have to let me do this,” Ryan says, and Spencer scowls.
“I don’t want to look dumb,” he says, and then snorts. “Whatever. Fuck it. If it looks horrible, I’m never letting you do it again.”
“He did an okay job on me,” Brendon says, still looking at himself in Gerard’s handheld mirror. Spencer sighs, but doesn’t dispute it.
“Thank you, Spence.” Ryan means it. If this looks good, it could be a whole thing. He wants to be dramatic. He wants to be something different.
“Anything to make you stop moping, Jesus.”
Ryan can’t help but grin.
+
Ryan’s heart is fluttering in his chest when they take the stage. He can hear the crowd cheering, and he hopes that he doesn’t look completely ridiculous - birds painted in black and primary colors across his cheekbones and up into his hairline. Brendon looks the coolest, Ryan thinks, but he has to - he’s the lead singer.
Spencer counts them off, and it’s as easy as it’s always been. No bottles being thrown at them, no one yelling faggot, or get off the fucking stage, just girls singing along at the barrier, and the crowd pushing behind them. Ryan looks side stage, and almost trips over a mic cord when he sees Mikey standing with Gerard and Pete. Mikey smiles, catching him looking, and Ryan has to stare down at his guitar.
He’s not going to fuck this up. He’s not going to fuck anything else up.
+
My Chem goes on at 5:45, and Ryan stands just offstage and watches. Brendon and Spencer have left to go take off their makeup, but Ryan hadn’t wanted to miss anything. He still has the birds on his face, but he doesn’t even care.
My Chem is as on as always - Gerard’s voice clear and strong, Frank and Ray fucking shredding it, Bob behind them keeping the beat. Mikey doesn’t look up once, concentrating hard on his bass.
The set goes by faster than anything Ryan remembers, and when Gerard stumbles offstage, Ryan has to take a step back so as not to be in the way. Mikey’s the last off, and Ryan almost doesn’t do anything. He almost lets Mikey pass by without acting.
“Mikey,” he says, voice louder than he means it to be. Mikey stops moving, and glances up at him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Mikey looks over his shoulder at Gerard, who’s still talking to Frank and Bob by the amps, side stage. “Sure,” he says, and Ryan feels the relief build in his chest.
They walk around behind the stage and end up sitting by the back fence, on the trampled grass.
Ryan doesn’t know how to start, but he makes himself talk, anyway. “I didn’t mean to - I didn’t want to push you away, I just wasn’t sure -”
“I get it,” Mikey says, cutting him off. He’s looking down at his hands and not at Ryan, so Ryan’s not sure that he does.
“But I do,” Ryan says. “Want you. It’s worth it.”
Mikey’s head comes up fast, and Ryan can see the way his eyes are wide behind the frames of his glasses. Ryan can’t help it; he leans forward and kisses Mikey on the mouth, one hand clutching at the fabric of his shirt at the shoulder. He misses a little, lips sliding off-center against Mikey’s mouth at first. Mikey makes a sound that’s mostly surprise, and presses forward, opening his mouth against Ryan’s. Ryan lets his fingers curl against Mikey’s shoulder, and presses his tongue against Mikey’s lower lip.
Mikey’s hand touches the side of Ryan’s face, sliding from his hairline to his chin and then up into his hair. Mikey’s probably smearing his makeup everywhere, but Ryan doesn’t give a fuck. Mikey pulls away to pant wetly against Ryan’s cheekbone, hand still tugging at his hair. Ryan makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat; he really does have a thing about the hair pulling.
“You look so hot like this,” Mikey says, nipping at his jaw, kissing the corner of his mouth.
“Shut up,” Ryan says, and kisses him again, sloppy and warm, sliding his fingers up under the sleeve of Mikey’s t-shirt.
They’re both dirty, unwashed, and Ryan’s covered in smeared stage makeup, but he can’t think of anything he’d rather be doing.
+
Ryan wakes up alone in Mikey’s bunk on My Chem’s bus. The light trickling through the dirty windows indicates that it’s morning, and that he’s slept through the night. He’s shirtless but still wearing his jeans. There are red marks along his hips where the waistband dug into his skin as he slept. He remembers Mikey’s fingers pressing against his bare back, Mikey’s mouth on the side of his neck, and thinks it’s worth it. He rolls out of the bunk and wipes the sleep from his eyes, starting when his fingers come back blue and red. Then he remembers that he never bothered to take off his stage makeup, and shrugs, leaving to go find Mikey.
Mikey’s in the back lounge with Gerard, and hands him a half-full mug of coffee. Ryan takes a sip of the coffee, bitter and strong, before passing it back.
“Hi,” Mikey says, and grins. The expression still makes Ryan’s heart clench. “You’re awake.”
“I am,” Ryan says, grinning back, and sits next to him on the couch. “Good morning.”
“Keep it to yourself,” Gerard says, but he’s got his sketchbook open to a new page, and he can’t pretend that he’s not drawing them right now.
Mikey slides his fingers over the back of Ryan’s wrist, and, for that moment, Ryan doesn’t even care that they’re both leaving in a few hours, and driving in opposite directions.
+
“I have to go,” Ryan says, eventually. He couldn’t find his own shirt, so he’d stolen one of Mikey’s - it’s a little loose in the shoulders, but Ryan doesn’t mind. Spencer’s been texting him about getting on the road, and he knows that he has about half an hour before the threatening starts.
“Okay,” Mikey says, and stands. “I’ll walk you back.”
“We’ll see you soon, Ryan, don’t worry about it,” Gerard says, and hands Ryan the folded up drawing he was working on. “Look at it after you start driving.”
“Okay,” Ryan says. “Thanks.” He gets a hug from Gerard and a promise that he’ll tell the rest of the guys goodbye for them.
It only takes them four minutes to get to Panic’s van. Mikey’s hand brushes against Ryan’s the whole way there, but Ryan’s still not happy about leaving,
“Gerard’s right,” Mikey says, breaking the silence. “It’s not like we won’t ever see you again.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ryan catches Mikey’s wrist before he can think about it, thumb sliding just to the middle of Mikey’s palm. He’s looking at Mikey’s face, though, and his crooked smile, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Let’s get a move on!” Brendon yells out the passenger side window.
“Call me, or something,” Ryan says, and Mikey nods, wrapping his free hand around the back of Ryan’s head and kissing him.
It’s just about the best goodbye that Ryan could hope for.
+
The drive to Las Vegas will take them more than a day and a half, but they’ve got no plans at the moment besides more songwriting, so they can take their time. Ryan waits until they’ve been on the road for a few hours before he looks at the drawing Gerard made him.
It’s Mikey sitting next to him on the couch, the two of them looking at each other, Ryan’s hair sticking up every which way, the smeared makeup on his face. Mikey’s looking at him with a soft expression that Ryan’s never noticed before. Ryan stares at it for a few minutes before folding it carefully back up, and sticking it in his songwriting notebook.
An hour later he gets a text from Mikey. It’s a picture of Ryan’s shirt, which he’d apparently left on the floor, and a note saying, at least i have something to remember u by.
ill see u soon, Ryan texts back. save it 4 me.