(no subject)
the academy is; rise of the fall tour series, 2005
lost and found (4/10)
mike / william, adam, 1718 words (pg)
-- no one understands the meaning of your eyes and how i feel, burning deep inside (tell me where you are, sending light just like a star)
Mike wakes up sometimes in the middle of the night to find that the van has stopped moving, and that Bill and Sisky are conveniently missing. It doesn't bother him, in fact most of the time one of them will come back, lead him down a few dark and deserted streets so the three of them can lay down in the middle of the road and stare up at the stars. It's something that they've been doing for years, before the band, before albums and touring, before they even met Mike.
It's why the band is able to stay together the way they do. William and Adam have always been the glue that holds their world together, pulling the other members toward them. Sisky held on to Adrian and Bill held on to Little Mike and Mike, well, he sort of got in the way.
It makes him feel bad sometimes, knowing that he's the odd man out.
If he and Adrian could work out their differences, Little Mike wouldn't have sided with him and they wouldn't have left. It's the same now, with Sisky and the Butcher, Bill and Tom. Sometimes Mike feels like they're all waiting for him to find a fault, so they can do it all over again, fuck up all over again and worse this time.
It's Bill that makes him feel like he belongs, even a little. Were it not for the nights they spend, asleep on opposite sides of the van but close so they can still touch, or the days that go by too quickly where they lose track of time because they're busy hiding from the world in their apartment, were it not for Bill's constant reminders that Mike is what makes the band a band, he might not even be here.
The thing is, William will always side with Mike, and vice versa, and Adam will always do what he thinks William would do. Adrian and Mike didn't understand that, nor did they appreciate it, but sometimes Mike thinks that the Butcher and Tom are different. They understand that Bill and Sisky are inseparable, that no force could ever break them apart, and should never try. And maybe they understand-- or, maybe the Butcher understands, Tom hasn't quite figured it out yet-- that there's something between Mike and Bill, too. Something different and completely confusing, something that's only caught in the form of stolen glances and lingering touches, smiles that try to hide once they're found.
Sometimes Mike wonders if he and William could exist without the band to keep them together. If it all fell apart, would they?
It's a thought that often crosses his mind, though he'll never admit it. His ability to hide these trite insecurities is what keeps him sane most of the time. If he let himself dwell on all the little things, on all the miniscule parts of their lives that interfere with them, he would have never been able to be with Bill in the first place.
That's why Bill and Adam's Excellent Adventures have never bothered him; he knows it's about them, it's not about him. That's why when he wakes up at a quarter to twelve on a particularly brisk November night, he doesn't freak out at the fact that they're parked near some abandoned warehouse, or that Bill and Adam have fled the scene.
He rolls over in his spot, into the area where William was sleeping-- and it smells like him, too, all soft and warm like freshly laundered linen and the lingering scent of chocolate-- and grabs the thick hardcover copy of the Order of the Phoenix, turns to the last page and starts to read backwards.
Sisky knocks on the window quietly and smiles that Adam Siska smile at Mike, though looking incredibly tired as he does so. He sets the book down and tries to climb over Tom and Tony without doing any serious harm to them, but only succeeds in kneeing Tom in the side and kicking Tony hard in the shin. He really doesn't know how Bill could have done this without waking any of them up, but doesn't stick around to see if they're up and looking for the abusive culprit. Instead he climbs out of the van and hurries after Adam who is strolling down the middle of the deserted street with his hands buried in his pockets.
"Is he looking at the stars?" Mike asks, and Sisky doesn't even need to reply, though his cough-chuckle combo is enough verification. "Yeah," Mike says, "he's always looking at the stars."
And sure enough, after they've turned three different corners, crossed the street, and walked through a sketchy looking alley, they find William laying on his back in the middle of the street, staring up at the sky.
Bill doesn't look away, just holds out his hand for Mike to take, his fingers seeming to stretch toward him. Mike and Adam take their places on either side of Bill, and lay down on the hard, cold floor. The van was at least warm, but there is frost all over the street and Mike didn't think to take a sweater. William is wearing his ridiculous patchwork sweater, the one his Nana probably knitted for him, and Sisky is wrapped up in a Bulls hoodie, only Mike seems to be out of luck.
"There's a star right there," William says, pointing with the hand that isn't holding onto Mike, "I think it's perfect for us." He finally looks away and gives Mike one of his more serious glances, one that says in a few minutes William Beckett is going to say something deeply profound, Adam Siska is going to fall asleep and Mike Carden is going to have to carry him back to the van while William analyzes his thoughts further.
Mike nods.
William smiles, sweet and innocent and setting up for absurd profundities. "I keep seeing it," he starts in a rushed whisper, his breath escaping his lips to form a perfect stream of condensation. "I've seen it every day for the past week or so, always in the same place, and do you see--" he points excitedly to a spot a little further along in the sky-- "that one? They're getting closer to each other. It's like they've been trying to find each other all this time and now they have, they just have to make their way across the universe." He looks back up, his left hand coming down to rest on his chest and adds, "Kinda like us."
Usually Mike would ask him if he's sure they're the same stars, because sometimes stars look the same but they're not. Is he sure it's not just airplanes flying really slowly? Is he sure he's not just going crazy? But right now, right now Bill is staring into the heavens with a look on his eyes that says he really believes this, and Mike won't be the one to question that.
He says, "Hey, you know, I'm kind of glad we made our way across the universe," and though William's eyes have closed and the street is dark (only a few streetlights are lit and even so, they're giving off the faintest light imaginable), Mike can distinctly see the smile on his face. He knows that he's blushing, about to nibble on the corner of his bottom lip, on the left side, and his chin is about to scrunch up as he thinks of something to say. "I know I don't say it a lot, Bill, but I am. You're the one I've-- I've always wanted, the one that I just can't live without, and I'm really, I really am glad that you had the nerve to really start something because I didn't, and I don't think I could ever have been as brave as you were, cornering me in the Apartment, telling me you-- Fuck. I don't think I could have done any of that."
"Shh," William mumbles, turning on his side to face Mike. He moves a little closer and for the first time since he left the warmth of the van, Mike is acutely aware of the goose-bumps all over his boy, the chill that quickly runs through him, though he's not sure it has anything to do with the cold. Bill leans forward and kisses Mike for a moment that lasts way too long. "You're rambling."
On the other side of Bill, Sisky says a sleepy, "You guys are so gay," and they all laugh.
They don't really need to say much, because they both know how they feel about each other. No one understands them, really, except maybe Siska, but even he can't really understand what they have. Sometimes Mike thinks it's too complicated to even exist. Sometimes Mike doesn't have a clue what they're doing, and sometimes it seems so clear. He's tried, but there's no real way to describe it, no way to categorize their relationship in any way. The two of them, Mike thinks, are like an epic novel, still being written, but with every chapter the story changes.
What's perfect about them is how simple everything is, even when it's not. It's in the way they can just lay here, freezing to death, and not have to worry about who sees them holding hands. The way they can breathe the bitter air and just be happy that they share the stars and the moonlit sky, the empty street and the thin layer of snow that, in a few days time, will cover the ground in a thick, fluffy blanket.
It's in the way Mike knows that under heavy eyelids, William's eyes are more green than they are brown right now, behind thin ribs and soft skin, his heart is beating just a little bit faster.
--
kind of a short part, but a necessary one. sorry it took so long to post, i had trouble finding it in the vast abyss that is my computer.
photo from theacademyis.com: february fourth, two thousand and six