[the same way i think of you; pete wentz/mikey way, 1210 words]
Title: The Same Way I Think Of You
Author: blindmadness
Word Count: 1210
Pairing: Pete Wentz/Mikey Way
Rating: PGish, probably? I'm so bad at this.
Fandom: Bandom
Summary: For emmaheartscake for her birthday! ♥ I was planning on apologizing here since it's not very happy (if not nearly as angsty as I thought it might be), but then I was like "...wait, it's Pete/Mikey." This is also my first time writing them and I'm secretly terrified that someone is going to jump at me and be all WHAT THE FUCK, BITCH, YOU GOT EVERYTHING WRONG >:((((, so um. /o\ Yeah. I hope you like it and it doesn't totally suck! :D; Many thanks to peridium for five-second-betaing. ♥
Together, they watch sunsets.
It's usually right around when they start their time together -- the days are full of time with their bands on stage, not seeing one another offstage for more than a few minutes at a time, not staying in one place long enough to be photographed together. It's a distracting time for both of them and their days are both busy, but their evenings are always cleared for one another.
It was probably Pete's idea, this nightly ritual, not so much because he has more of the ridiculous romantic in him (he just tends to be more demonstrative of this) but because when he thinks of something, he'll almost always mention the idea out loud and its existence in the air is almost like a challenge, and he has to do it. Mikey doesn't object, nor does he mention it when a one-time suggestion becomes a nightly ritual, so every night they pull away from everyone else, finding their own place (sometimes one on the other's lap, sometimes just leaning on each other) with a clear view of the sky, and sit. They don't speak during this time, they don't touch more than innocently (Pete's hand lightly stroking Mikey's hair, the edge of Mikey's glasses digging into Pete's shoulder, a nose rubbing against a temple or a thumb brushing the back of a hand), but it's almost as if this is somehow the most intimate thing they do, like a silent understanding worth more than words of actions passes between them, like this is more meaningful than anything else could be.
Later, once the sky's gone fully dark with no traces of red or violet or pink or orange, they go back to one of the buses for the night. If the day's been exceptionally long and wearing, Mikey swats tiredly at Pete's hand and all they do is sleep, finding comfortable spots against one another around Pete's height and Mikey's angles in the bunks. More often, though, they're up later than that, late enough to talk before and after in hushed tones, late enough to muffle moans against skin and grip sheets for support as they arch against one another, late enough to enjoy the moments when the only sound between them is that of their breathing mixing and the only thing separating them from being one seamless organism is the skin of their bodies. The days when they forgo even one of these -- though all three together are most common -- are rare.
They never see the sun rise in the morning; they sleep through (and well past) it, both to be as rested as possible for the demands of the tour and too busy relishing every moment in one another's presence. Pete usually wakes first, though it's before sunrise and almost never holds; he simply seems drawn awake by some inexplicable force while the sky is still dark. Through whatever light there is -- usually not much at all -- he watches Mikey, who sometimes tosses and turns even in those few minutes Pete's eyes are on him; it never bothers or wakes him while he's asleep, though that's likely because Pete sleeps just as restlessly. He likes to think that they find some sort of strange comfort in this similarity of theirs and it brings them peace. During these few minutes of wakefulness, Pete never speaks, even to himself -- he barely even thinks. He simply watches Mikey, then touches him in some small way -- knuckles lightly brushing across his cheek, fingertips running gently through his hair, pulling their single, light sheet a little higher over his chest -- and that done, he curls back around him and goes back to sleep, never seeing the first rays of the sun on the horizon.
The days are full of music, their own and others', roaring in their ears, the cheers of fans, the earnest, thrilled smiles of the owners of the merchandise presented for them to sign and the flashes of cameras around them. They watch one another play -- Pete melting into the crowd, Mikey mouthing or singing along to the lyrics; Pete dedicates songs to Mikey and Mikey fills in for Pete on bass. When there are no other demands on their time, they walk together, more space between them than usual, sometimes talking more than usual to contribute to the casual air, sometimes not talking at all to give those moments more intimacy. They never talk about why they aren't photographed together; it isn't a decision they make or talk out or anything. It just happens.
And when the bright sunlight of day starts to fade into the darker shades of twilight, they find each other and watch another sunset.
Apart, they watch sunrises.
The hot, golden blaze of summer fades to a more tarnished shade before giving way to the copper breeze of fall, dissolving into the silver glow of winter. Neither of them says anything about it, to one another or to anyone else, their communication cooling as slowly as the temperature of the air.
Mikey sometimes goes to bed early, even before midnight; it isn't like he's sick and needs the extra sleep to recover, it isn't like his mind is so blank that he has nothing to do but sleep, and it doesn't feel like he's fixing anything or hiding from anything. He simply stays inside during sunset, in the days when it comes relatively late, and an hour or two later finds him in bed. He wakes early, of course, even getting a solid amount of sleep, while the sky is still dark; he pours himself a bowl of whatever kids' cereal he can find, sometimes with milk, and still in his pajamas, wanders outside when he sees the sky start to get light. He stands, doesn't sit, and absently spoons the cereal into his mouth, eyes fixed on the horizon, watching as the colours of the sky shift before settling on the day's familiar blue and yellow, and then he goes back inside. Sometimes, as the days get longer, he doesn't bother with sleep at all; he sits next to his east-facing window, cross-legged, watching time pass outside, only moving after the sun's risen.
It's not a conscious change in routine, but it is a change, and it's not a bitter one or a vindictive one or a symbolic one -- just a change. Still, because it's a change, he keeps it, not for any reason but a marking of the change it mirrors. Sunsets were Pete's; sunrises are his.
They still communicate -- texts back and forth, casual phonecalls, Pete offers Mikey the chance to play with them again and posts about him on his blog -- and it's not strained or tense or loaded, it simply is. There isn't any sort of falling out between the bands or huge drama exploding in the media. They still see one another -- less, because they're not on tour together anymore and often in different parts of the country. Sometimes, if they can find time, they even still go to waterparks. Always, they still never say a word about it.
And they're never together when the lighter colours of the day tentatively start peeking over the horizon, but they always watch the sunrise at the same time.
Author: blindmadness
Word Count: 1210
Pairing: Pete Wentz/Mikey Way
Rating: PGish, probably? I'm so bad at this.
Fandom: Bandom
Summary: For emmaheartscake for her birthday! ♥ I was planning on apologizing here since it's not very happy (if not nearly as angsty as I thought it might be), but then I was like "...wait, it's Pete/Mikey." This is also my first time writing them and I'm secretly terrified that someone is going to jump at me and be all WHAT THE FUCK, BITCH, YOU GOT EVERYTHING WRONG >:((((, so um. /o\ Yeah. I hope you like it and it doesn't totally suck! :D; Many thanks to peridium for five-second-betaing. ♥
Together, they watch sunsets.
It's usually right around when they start their time together -- the days are full of time with their bands on stage, not seeing one another offstage for more than a few minutes at a time, not staying in one place long enough to be photographed together. It's a distracting time for both of them and their days are both busy, but their evenings are always cleared for one another.
It was probably Pete's idea, this nightly ritual, not so much because he has more of the ridiculous romantic in him (he just tends to be more demonstrative of this) but because when he thinks of something, he'll almost always mention the idea out loud and its existence in the air is almost like a challenge, and he has to do it. Mikey doesn't object, nor does he mention it when a one-time suggestion becomes a nightly ritual, so every night they pull away from everyone else, finding their own place (sometimes one on the other's lap, sometimes just leaning on each other) with a clear view of the sky, and sit. They don't speak during this time, they don't touch more than innocently (Pete's hand lightly stroking Mikey's hair, the edge of Mikey's glasses digging into Pete's shoulder, a nose rubbing against a temple or a thumb brushing the back of a hand), but it's almost as if this is somehow the most intimate thing they do, like a silent understanding worth more than words of actions passes between them, like this is more meaningful than anything else could be.
Later, once the sky's gone fully dark with no traces of red or violet or pink or orange, they go back to one of the buses for the night. If the day's been exceptionally long and wearing, Mikey swats tiredly at Pete's hand and all they do is sleep, finding comfortable spots against one another around Pete's height and Mikey's angles in the bunks. More often, though, they're up later than that, late enough to talk before and after in hushed tones, late enough to muffle moans against skin and grip sheets for support as they arch against one another, late enough to enjoy the moments when the only sound between them is that of their breathing mixing and the only thing separating them from being one seamless organism is the skin of their bodies. The days when they forgo even one of these -- though all three together are most common -- are rare.
They never see the sun rise in the morning; they sleep through (and well past) it, both to be as rested as possible for the demands of the tour and too busy relishing every moment in one another's presence. Pete usually wakes first, though it's before sunrise and almost never holds; he simply seems drawn awake by some inexplicable force while the sky is still dark. Through whatever light there is -- usually not much at all -- he watches Mikey, who sometimes tosses and turns even in those few minutes Pete's eyes are on him; it never bothers or wakes him while he's asleep, though that's likely because Pete sleeps just as restlessly. He likes to think that they find some sort of strange comfort in this similarity of theirs and it brings them peace. During these few minutes of wakefulness, Pete never speaks, even to himself -- he barely even thinks. He simply watches Mikey, then touches him in some small way -- knuckles lightly brushing across his cheek, fingertips running gently through his hair, pulling their single, light sheet a little higher over his chest -- and that done, he curls back around him and goes back to sleep, never seeing the first rays of the sun on the horizon.
The days are full of music, their own and others', roaring in their ears, the cheers of fans, the earnest, thrilled smiles of the owners of the merchandise presented for them to sign and the flashes of cameras around them. They watch one another play -- Pete melting into the crowd, Mikey mouthing or singing along to the lyrics; Pete dedicates songs to Mikey and Mikey fills in for Pete on bass. When there are no other demands on their time, they walk together, more space between them than usual, sometimes talking more than usual to contribute to the casual air, sometimes not talking at all to give those moments more intimacy. They never talk about why they aren't photographed together; it isn't a decision they make or talk out or anything. It just happens.
And when the bright sunlight of day starts to fade into the darker shades of twilight, they find each other and watch another sunset.
Apart, they watch sunrises.
The hot, golden blaze of summer fades to a more tarnished shade before giving way to the copper breeze of fall, dissolving into the silver glow of winter. Neither of them says anything about it, to one another or to anyone else, their communication cooling as slowly as the temperature of the air.
Mikey sometimes goes to bed early, even before midnight; it isn't like he's sick and needs the extra sleep to recover, it isn't like his mind is so blank that he has nothing to do but sleep, and it doesn't feel like he's fixing anything or hiding from anything. He simply stays inside during sunset, in the days when it comes relatively late, and an hour or two later finds him in bed. He wakes early, of course, even getting a solid amount of sleep, while the sky is still dark; he pours himself a bowl of whatever kids' cereal he can find, sometimes with milk, and still in his pajamas, wanders outside when he sees the sky start to get light. He stands, doesn't sit, and absently spoons the cereal into his mouth, eyes fixed on the horizon, watching as the colours of the sky shift before settling on the day's familiar blue and yellow, and then he goes back inside. Sometimes, as the days get longer, he doesn't bother with sleep at all; he sits next to his east-facing window, cross-legged, watching time pass outside, only moving after the sun's risen.
It's not a conscious change in routine, but it is a change, and it's not a bitter one or a vindictive one or a symbolic one -- just a change. Still, because it's a change, he keeps it, not for any reason but a marking of the change it mirrors. Sunsets were Pete's; sunrises are his.
They still communicate -- texts back and forth, casual phonecalls, Pete offers Mikey the chance to play with them again and posts about him on his blog -- and it's not strained or tense or loaded, it simply is. There isn't any sort of falling out between the bands or huge drama exploding in the media. They still see one another -- less, because they're not on tour together anymore and often in different parts of the country. Sometimes, if they can find time, they even still go to waterparks. Always, they still never say a word about it.
And they're never together when the lighter colours of the day tentatively start peeking over the horizon, but they always watch the sunrise at the same time.