(no subject)
Title: You're Just A Boy Who's Afraid Of The Dark (16/17)
Rating: R
Pairing: Gabe/William, William/Mike
Summary: It was, Mike thought, sort of remarkable that even after these last weeks, those dark, tired eyes and a face streaked with tears and the way the streetlights fell through the windows over the curve of William’s shoulder hunched up under his shirt-it was amazing that could still stop him dead.
Previous Chapters:
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/2953.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3103.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3399.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3845.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4332.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4647.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5052.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5142.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5522.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/6262.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/6641.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/6721.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/8652.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/8793.html#cutid1
Chapter Sixteen
A/N: Second-to-last chapter, and the final chapter’s written-it’s a beast, just to warn you, way too long but I couldn’t cut it down any-and I’ll be posting that tomorrow.
It was, Mike thought, sort of remarkable that even after these last weeks, those dark, tired eyes and a face streaked with tears and the way the streetlights fell through the windows over the curve of William’s shoulder hunched up under his shirt-it was amazing that could still stop him dead.
Because he was angry, he reminded himself, glancing down at the envelope crushed in his fist numbly, like the fingers curled around the paper, white-knuckled and trembling, weren’t a part of him. He’d been so angry, all it had taken was one line-I love you, Will, I miss you-and Mike had known.
How could he not? It was Gabe’s handwriting on the envelope and William’s name in the letter and Mike wasn’t stupid, he hadn’t had to connect much. After everything he’d done, everything he’d put up with, William still wanted Gabe and you know what? Fuck him. Fuck him and whatever sick tendencies had him crawling back because Mike...
Mike was done.
And he’d stormed up to the apartment, letter crumpled in one hand, a plastic bag of Chinese takeout in the other and he’d only just managed to set the food on the counter and open his mouth to yell at William and William just looked up, just lifted that sad, sorry head of his and oh, his eyes.
He was biting his lip, curled up on the armchair, all spindly limbs and sharp angles, maybe to keep Mike away, maybe to keep himself in. One shuddery, “Mike,” and the neon caught his tears like costume jewelry and the letter could matter later because this was the here and now, those bony limbs unfolded for him and his breath was warm where he tucked his nose into Mike’s collarbone.
He wasn’t sobbing, wasn’t shaking, he was just tense and clinging and he didn’t seem to want to let go of Mike’s shirt, so Mike didn’t make him, just maneuvered him mostly back onto the chair and sat on the arm, with William’s thin hands still fisted in worn cotton.
They didn’t speak-Mike didn’t know what to say-just stared at each other for a long time. Not for the first time, Mike couldn’t tell what William was thinking because there was something in those eyes, in the docile curve of his neck, in the way he wouldn’t let go, and Mike recognized pain and fear and maybe, maybe an apology.
And then William touched his face, just the brush of shaky fingertips over Mike’s cheek and Mike was stretching, leaning into the touch, wishing this was all it took to make Will happy.
He didn’t say he was sorry-and he didn’t need to, the way he watched Mike like he was learning something was all the apology Mike needed-he just touched Mike’s face, slid those cool, nervous fingers down the tendon in his neck and rested a palm flat against his collarbone and kissed him.
Quick and simple and as close to chaste as another boy’s lips could be on his and before Mike could react, before he could push him away and remind him that no, he was still mad, how dare he-or more likely, pull him closer and pretend it didn’t hurt-William had drawn back, watching Mike again, those eyes open and wide and he tapped his own lips, letting them quirk up into a tiny half-smile before he mumbled, “Okay,” so soft that Mike might have missed it, had he not seen his mouth move.
Mike didn’t know what that meant and he didn’t want to ask, but William had decided something because he rested his head against Mike’s collarbone the way he used to before all this-God, it seemed like years ago-and if Mike closed his eyes and breathed in the way Will smelled-warm and familiar and a little bit like an obscure Hawaiian flower-he could pretend it was the way things used to be, back when Will smiled for real and didn’t flinch away from Mike’s touch.
“Help me,” broke the silence and William wasn’t looking at him, it was murmured against the fabric of his shirt, bleeding right through the cotton and razorsharp into his heart and he would, he would.
Except he didn’t know how.
But he mumbled “Okay,” anyways, soft into William’s hair and William sighed like something was changing, his bones went lax and when those long, too-thin arms draped over Mike’s shoulders, when Mike’s hands slid up to cup his shoulder blades, the letter fluttered to the ground and Mike stopped caring.
Gabe could matter in the morning.
```````````````
He didn’t.
Morning came and went before Mike even opened his eyes and when he did, there was William, awake and watching him.
Which should have been weird, really, William staring at him like that, with satisfied, half-lidded eyes and a ghost of a touch on Mike’s wrist but it wasn’t-just warm and familiar and Mike smiled when William leaned over to kiss his forehead because this?
Yeah. He could get used to this.
```````````````````
Everything was...not okay, no, because Mike wasn’t sure if William could ever really be okay again, but it was content. They fell into a pattern, something they’d swore only a few months ago-but that was a lifetime, now wasn’t it-that they’d never do and funnily enough, neither of them minded. Mike made breakfast in the morning and William did the dishes and they split the housework and grocery shopping and it was so domestic, so commonplace and Mike couldn’t have cared less.
The calls had even slowed down-Pete only called once a day now, Brendon a few times a week, Travis occasionally, and Siska had even left a message on Mike’s answering machine-he’d taken William out to dinner-apologizing and asking if there was anything he could do.
They weren’t recording and that was okay, actually-the fans knew something had happened, if not exactly what, and they were forgiving, thank God, because right now, Mike thought the best thing for William was this, their quiet, normal little lives, at least for a while. There was plenty of time to be rockstars after William had recovered at least part of what Gabe took from him.
They climbed into the same bed at night, but they hadn’t fucked, hadn’t done anything past that one awkward time with Mike reluctant and William confused and it was a first for both of them, because maybe Mike wasn’t as wild as William, but he’d never really been one for taking it slow, either. It was just...he liked the way William curled against him in his sleep too much to maybe jeopardize that because he could remember the way William writhed and the look on his face had been too much like pain.
All of this hit Mike too suddenly on a brisk Saturday morning with the promise of fall sharp in the air and bright on the changing leaves because if there was one thing Mike hadn’t done since William had come home, it was to actually sit down and think this through. There had never been any question that William would stay with him-they were best friends, after all, and Mike had been taking care of William since they were just kids, no reason to stop now. And neither of them had so much as said the words ‘moving in’ or ‘living together,’ but William hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment, and wasn’t showing signs of ever wanting to do so. And Mike was fine with that.
There was that little thing, though, the one where Mike didn’t like boys, and even that was mattering less, because he liked William. He’d never go after someone like Pete, or Ryan, but William, with the way he still smiled like his heart was breaking, and how his hands settled heavy and solid between Mike’s shoulder blades and how he laughed now, abrupt, like he was surprised he could still find anything funny...
It was still William mostly, he still had that sharp, cutting sense of humour and sometimes he was still an asshole, and sometimes he said things so fucking deep and philosophical that they very nearly didn’t make sense, but he was different. Little things, subtle things, like how he didn’t drink anymore, and how he was a bit quieter, and if Mike hadn’t ever thought of William Like That before, he did now-this new William, the one who still shook sometimes late at night with his fingers curled in Mike’s T-shirt like he was drowning.
Mike sipped at his coffee and outside, William wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaned on his rake-they had a small yard, but William kept it up nicely, and even if there hadn’t been many leaves on the ground to begin with, William seemed pleased with the way the yard looked now. He waved up at the window Mike was leaning against and grinned-his nose was bright red from the cold and the wind was tugging his hair in every direction, but it was the happiest Mike had seen him in a long time.
Mike thought he was maybe learning to love him.
Rating: R
Pairing: Gabe/William, William/Mike
Summary: It was, Mike thought, sort of remarkable that even after these last weeks, those dark, tired eyes and a face streaked with tears and the way the streetlights fell through the windows over the curve of William’s shoulder hunched up under his shirt-it was amazing that could still stop him dead.
Previous Chapters:
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/2953.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3103.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3399.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/3845.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4332.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/4647.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5052.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5142.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/5522.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/6262.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/6641.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/6721.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/8652.html#cutid1
http://oxygen-losers.livejournal.com/8793.html#cutid1
Chapter Sixteen
A/N: Second-to-last chapter, and the final chapter’s written-it’s a beast, just to warn you, way too long but I couldn’t cut it down any-and I’ll be posting that tomorrow.
It was, Mike thought, sort of remarkable that even after these last weeks, those dark, tired eyes and a face streaked with tears and the way the streetlights fell through the windows over the curve of William’s shoulder hunched up under his shirt-it was amazing that could still stop him dead.
Because he was angry, he reminded himself, glancing down at the envelope crushed in his fist numbly, like the fingers curled around the paper, white-knuckled and trembling, weren’t a part of him. He’d been so angry, all it had taken was one line-I love you, Will, I miss you-and Mike had known.
How could he not? It was Gabe’s handwriting on the envelope and William’s name in the letter and Mike wasn’t stupid, he hadn’t had to connect much. After everything he’d done, everything he’d put up with, William still wanted Gabe and you know what? Fuck him. Fuck him and whatever sick tendencies had him crawling back because Mike...
Mike was done.
And he’d stormed up to the apartment, letter crumpled in one hand, a plastic bag of Chinese takeout in the other and he’d only just managed to set the food on the counter and open his mouth to yell at William and William just looked up, just lifted that sad, sorry head of his and oh, his eyes.
He was biting his lip, curled up on the armchair, all spindly limbs and sharp angles, maybe to keep Mike away, maybe to keep himself in. One shuddery, “Mike,” and the neon caught his tears like costume jewelry and the letter could matter later because this was the here and now, those bony limbs unfolded for him and his breath was warm where he tucked his nose into Mike’s collarbone.
He wasn’t sobbing, wasn’t shaking, he was just tense and clinging and he didn’t seem to want to let go of Mike’s shirt, so Mike didn’t make him, just maneuvered him mostly back onto the chair and sat on the arm, with William’s thin hands still fisted in worn cotton.
They didn’t speak-Mike didn’t know what to say-just stared at each other for a long time. Not for the first time, Mike couldn’t tell what William was thinking because there was something in those eyes, in the docile curve of his neck, in the way he wouldn’t let go, and Mike recognized pain and fear and maybe, maybe an apology.
And then William touched his face, just the brush of shaky fingertips over Mike’s cheek and Mike was stretching, leaning into the touch, wishing this was all it took to make Will happy.
He didn’t say he was sorry-and he didn’t need to, the way he watched Mike like he was learning something was all the apology Mike needed-he just touched Mike’s face, slid those cool, nervous fingers down the tendon in his neck and rested a palm flat against his collarbone and kissed him.
Quick and simple and as close to chaste as another boy’s lips could be on his and before Mike could react, before he could push him away and remind him that no, he was still mad, how dare he-or more likely, pull him closer and pretend it didn’t hurt-William had drawn back, watching Mike again, those eyes open and wide and he tapped his own lips, letting them quirk up into a tiny half-smile before he mumbled, “Okay,” so soft that Mike might have missed it, had he not seen his mouth move.
Mike didn’t know what that meant and he didn’t want to ask, but William had decided something because he rested his head against Mike’s collarbone the way he used to before all this-God, it seemed like years ago-and if Mike closed his eyes and breathed in the way Will smelled-warm and familiar and a little bit like an obscure Hawaiian flower-he could pretend it was the way things used to be, back when Will smiled for real and didn’t flinch away from Mike’s touch.
“Help me,” broke the silence and William wasn’t looking at him, it was murmured against the fabric of his shirt, bleeding right through the cotton and razorsharp into his heart and he would, he would.
Except he didn’t know how.
But he mumbled “Okay,” anyways, soft into William’s hair and William sighed like something was changing, his bones went lax and when those long, too-thin arms draped over Mike’s shoulders, when Mike’s hands slid up to cup his shoulder blades, the letter fluttered to the ground and Mike stopped caring.
Gabe could matter in the morning.
```````````````
He didn’t.
Morning came and went before Mike even opened his eyes and when he did, there was William, awake and watching him.
Which should have been weird, really, William staring at him like that, with satisfied, half-lidded eyes and a ghost of a touch on Mike’s wrist but it wasn’t-just warm and familiar and Mike smiled when William leaned over to kiss his forehead because this?
Yeah. He could get used to this.
```````````````````
Everything was...not okay, no, because Mike wasn’t sure if William could ever really be okay again, but it was content. They fell into a pattern, something they’d swore only a few months ago-but that was a lifetime, now wasn’t it-that they’d never do and funnily enough, neither of them minded. Mike made breakfast in the morning and William did the dishes and they split the housework and grocery shopping and it was so domestic, so commonplace and Mike couldn’t have cared less.
The calls had even slowed down-Pete only called once a day now, Brendon a few times a week, Travis occasionally, and Siska had even left a message on Mike’s answering machine-he’d taken William out to dinner-apologizing and asking if there was anything he could do.
They weren’t recording and that was okay, actually-the fans knew something had happened, if not exactly what, and they were forgiving, thank God, because right now, Mike thought the best thing for William was this, their quiet, normal little lives, at least for a while. There was plenty of time to be rockstars after William had recovered at least part of what Gabe took from him.
They climbed into the same bed at night, but they hadn’t fucked, hadn’t done anything past that one awkward time with Mike reluctant and William confused and it was a first for both of them, because maybe Mike wasn’t as wild as William, but he’d never really been one for taking it slow, either. It was just...he liked the way William curled against him in his sleep too much to maybe jeopardize that because he could remember the way William writhed and the look on his face had been too much like pain.
All of this hit Mike too suddenly on a brisk Saturday morning with the promise of fall sharp in the air and bright on the changing leaves because if there was one thing Mike hadn’t done since William had come home, it was to actually sit down and think this through. There had never been any question that William would stay with him-they were best friends, after all, and Mike had been taking care of William since they were just kids, no reason to stop now. And neither of them had so much as said the words ‘moving in’ or ‘living together,’ but William hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment, and wasn’t showing signs of ever wanting to do so. And Mike was fine with that.
There was that little thing, though, the one where Mike didn’t like boys, and even that was mattering less, because he liked William. He’d never go after someone like Pete, or Ryan, but William, with the way he still smiled like his heart was breaking, and how his hands settled heavy and solid between Mike’s shoulder blades and how he laughed now, abrupt, like he was surprised he could still find anything funny...
It was still William mostly, he still had that sharp, cutting sense of humour and sometimes he was still an asshole, and sometimes he said things so fucking deep and philosophical that they very nearly didn’t make sense, but he was different. Little things, subtle things, like how he didn’t drink anymore, and how he was a bit quieter, and if Mike hadn’t ever thought of William Like That before, he did now-this new William, the one who still shook sometimes late at night with his fingers curled in Mike’s T-shirt like he was drowning.
Mike sipped at his coffee and outside, William wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaned on his rake-they had a small yard, but William kept it up nicely, and even if there hadn’t been many leaves on the ground to begin with, William seemed pleased with the way the yard looked now. He waved up at the window Mike was leaning against and grinned-his nose was bright red from the cold and the wind was tugging his hair in every direction, but it was the happiest Mike had seen him in a long time.
Mike thought he was maybe learning to love him.