(no subject)
Title: Friendly Morning Greeting
Pairing: Frank, Mikey
Rating: gen
Wordcount: 1180
Summary: In which Frank hates mornings, and Mikey is neither high nor insane.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Like every morning -which doesn’t strictly mean morning as much as time gotten out of bed- Frank’s having a smoke out on the balcony. He’s completely alone in the quiet. No other bodies on any of the balconies that line this side of the apartment block, no angry assholes in the parking lot a few floors below slamming doors or arguing with their passengers. It should be peaceful, but really it’s just quiet. Overwhelmingly quiet. There’s a reason why when Frank gets home from the noise of a tour he still has a roommate. He’d live with the whole band year round if he could.
In a minute, when the cigarette is down to filter, he’ll go inside. If Mikey’s awake he’ll crank some Misfits, if he’s sleeping he’ll put on his iPod and crank some Misfits. It’ll be nice to be inside, where the seats are couches, not old weather bleached beach chairs. Frank hates smoking on the balcony. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t. Mikey doesn’t care about the smell of cigarette smoke on everything. As a matter of fact, Frank would be willing to bet between the band, Gerard, and Mrs Way, Mikey finds it comforting. One of the many things he learned in Psych was how much people imprint on smells without realising it. It’s why there’s no universally approved scented candle smell; everyone feels good about different smells. Unfortunately the world doesn’t revolve around Frank’s ease of life, or Mikey’s sense based security blankets. In this case it revolves around landlords that run smoke free buildings and will kick them out, rockstars or not.
His mental grumbling is cut through by a shriek. It’s not the first time Frank’s heard Mikey shriek. They’ve all had a few nightmares on tour. In the bus Gerard’s usually the one to ask Mikey if he wants to talk about it, but in absence of the older Way, Frank can do it. At this point they’re all basically brothers anyway.
Frank glances at the cigarette in his fingers. There’s not enough left to bother stubbing it out and saving it. Instead he drops it while it’s still burning. He knows from experience it’ll skitter in the slight wind and put itself out. Frank opens the sliding door with both hands -it’s old and rusted, it needs a hearty yank- but before he can step inside and kick his shoes off Mikey bolts out beside him.
Mikey’s naked. Naked, and sopping wet, and he’s got a fresh bite mark on his shoulder. Frank has seen the combination before, but there was a woman involved. Of course, Frank had his bedroom door closed by the time Mikey got home last night. It’s entirely possible there’s a woman involved now. Who knows if there’s someone else here. Still, why the shriek?
“Did someone try something funny?”
“What? No. Frank-”
Well in that case it’s time for some wise sarcasm. “Streaking is for college, dude.”
“Frank, it’s crazy. I woke up cold, so I decided to take a bath. I put the space he-”
Frank crosses his arms. “You promised you’d never do that again.” Frank distinctly remembers Mikey promising with a mocking hand over his chest that he’d never put electricity that close to water again. Frank distinctly remembers punching Mikey for being such a shit about promising. He might not have a signed affidavit or anything, but it was a gentleman’s agreement.
“I put it on the floor, not the ledge. But it snuck closer and bit me!”
“That’s insane, Mikey.” He’d taken Mikey’s rapid blinking for trying to get the water dripping from his hair out of his face, but clearly it’s a sign of deeper problems than long bangs.
“I just ran. I didn’t have time to grab a weapon. I think something blunt would be best. You happen to have a cricket bat you never told me about?”
“Mikey, I don’t know what you took last night, but you haven’t come down.” That’s why Frank only does pot and pharms. You know what you’re getting yourself into when it has a label.
“I’m sober. I’m totally sober, and a space heater bit me, and we need a weapon.”
“Uh huh.” Frank grabs Mikey’s hand and pulls him into the living room. He’s babysat trips before and even if he hadn’t he’s not stupid. High hallucinating people don’t belong on balconies. Besides, there’s the unanswered question of is someone in Mikey’s bedroom. Frank wouldn’t put it past Mikey to get so high he’d forget a girl in his bed while he took a shower to hear the water speak to him.
Frank guides Mikey to the couch. The first step is to pull the afghan draped on the back of the couch over Mikey so he doesn’t have to air dry and get cold. The next step is ambient lighting. No blinding natural light, just a bed sheet draped over a lampshade to tint the world a soft blue. Frank casts his hand blindly on the stem of the lamp for the push-switch. That’s when the light crumples in on him. It’s like a scene out of Beauty and the Beast. One second everything is normal, the next the fucking lamp is fucking biting him.
Frank snatches his hand back before it can be ripped clean off and jumps away out of the beast’s reach. He lets out a string of shocked curses, and it takes him a minute to realise he’s doing it over the soundtrack of Mikey laughing at him.
“What the hell?” Alive and ravenous lamp or not, the question is directed at Mikey. He didn’t laugh at Mikey’s bitemark.
Mikey takes ownership for the question, although he doesn’t seem to care about the indignation. “Serves you right thinking I’m crazy. We’re neither of us crazy. We just pissed off a witch. Or someone with contacts. Neighbour maybe, or our landlord.”
Frank’s like seventy percent sure he paid the rent. And even if he didn’t, hiring a witch is serious business. Last time Frank checked it was a grand a spell, which is more than rent. It’s probably not the landlord. “So what do we do?”
“I guess we don’t touch any appliances until we apologise to everyone we can think of. Or we can go the cricket bat direction, if you know any ex-pats.” Mikey shrugs, already calmed down from his earlier shriek and run escapade. His excitability has a short half-life.
Frank sighs. That’s just fucking great. The coffeemaker is an appliance, how the hell is he supposed to live without his morning cup? His morning cup is second only to his morning smoke.
“You know what? I’m gonna go to Starbucks. You wanna come?”
“I’m going to try to settle a land dispute with the space heater so it’ll let me finish my bath,” Mikey answers.
“Good luck with that.” If Mikey’s not dead by the time he gets back, Frank’ll probably help. He just needs a coffee before he can deal with this shit.