Fic(let): A Formulated Phrase
So I wrote some fic. And it's not very long, but considering my usual pace at writing as of late, I'm just happy I got it written. (And it's something that doesn't involve Panic in any way, shape, or form!)
Title: A Formulated Phrase
Pairing(s): Pete/Gerard, past Pete/Mikey
Summary: (If they took the time, if it was a photograph in hazy morning light, the contrast of tan and pale skin, maybe a hand resting on a cheek, on a neck; a soft kiss. A kiss with a promise behind it.)
Rating: Oh, PG-13, I guess?
Word Count: 3,000
Author's Notes: Set in or around Summer of Like, but don't expect it to fit into any specific timeline. This was originally written, I think, for secrethitmen; she asked for Pete/Gerard, and this has been sitting in my documents for months. Thanks to velvet_tuberose for the quick beta and for convincing me I should actually post this.
Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient, etherized upon a table
"I can never decide if the night is about being dead or alive." This is Gerard Way talking to Pete Wentz, completely out of the blue. This is Gerard catching Pete in one of his introspective moods, staring at the night sky and writing lyrics in his head that will never amount to anything. This is Gerard's completely apathetic posture, like he doesn't expect an answer, head tilted back as he smokes. There is the smallest hint of his crooked smile playing at his lips.
"It's not dead," Pete says, "it's the absence of life. Like how darkness is just the absence of light. And silence is just the absence of sound, even though it's so fucking loud you can hear it all through you."
Most people would maybe give him a wry smile, a 'Are we still talking about the night, Pete?' But then, Gerard Way isn't most people. Probably most people wouldn't have said anything about the night sky and life and death to begin with. Gerard, though, Gerard says "I don't know, I think silence isn't just the absence of sound, I think it's something else entirely. That's why you can always feel it, you know? Maybe you're right, though. I don't know." Gerard gives him a thoughtful look, and then shrugs. "It's something sacred, though."
Pete watches Gerard's mouth, the funny quirk of his lips, the puffs of smoke wafting into the air from his half-pursed lips, the black hair damp and sticking to his cheeks and forehead. It's just starting to cool down, and Pete's skin is clammy, that strange mixture of sweat and restlessness drying on his skin. He shivers and wonders idly if the smoke is warm, if Gerard is warm, if Gerard's mouth is warm. He looks warm enough, at least, always overdressed. Both the Way brothers are a little bit crazy, but it's not like Pete's one to talk. It's a different kind of crazy, though.
Pete doesn't know what Gerard expects from this conversation. They stand in silence for a while, Gerard still with his next craned back, blowing smoke at the stars, Pete with his arms wrapped around himself, looking small and feeling smaller. It's not until Gerard tosses the end of his cigarette down, crushing it under his boot, says "I don't expect much of anything, really," that Pete realizes he'd spoken out loud. Gerard gives him a flash of a grin and trudges back towards the buses. Pete watches him go, and then stares at the sky until his teeth start to chatter.
*****
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse
Pete kisses Gerard in a haze of smoke and confusion, where too many people could see, almost accidentally. He just leans in and suddenly their lips are together, and Pete has the briefest flash of what this would look like if it weren't just a split second. (If they took the time, if it was a photograph in hazy morning light, the contrast of tan and pale skin, maybe a hand resting on a cheek, on a neck; a soft kiss. A kiss with a promise behind it.) Gerard's lips taste like smoke and some sort of weird fruit, sugary sweet and sour all at once. It's crowded and noisy and nothing really registers - Pete can barely see Gerard, even though his eyes are wide open - and Pete's not sure if the sharp aftertaste is from his drink or bitterness. And then there's a rush of motion and Pete could pull away or lean closer, with the way the crowd is moving, and he -
Wait. Rewind.
Pete kisses Gerard under the stars, because he's a romantic like that. Because the last time they talked was the first time Gerard seemed truly fascinating to Pete, and they were looking at the stars then. Pete had felt small then, pointless and useless and exhausted, more than anything, and now he feels infinite. Gerard is kissing back, softly, like Pete's the fragile one, and Pete wants to say something to Gerard about the stars, because he scribbled something down, last time, and maybe Gerard will understand -
Stop. Rewind.
Pete kisses Gerard while sharing a blanket with him on the My Chem bus. He'd been looking for Mikey, really, unable to sleep, but Gerard had just sat him down and said "Mikey's out. Sorry." He turned back to the flickering TV screen, the only light. "It's a B movie," Gerard said, "There's aliens and I think a werewolf, but it's hard to tell, and the costumes are kind of hilarious. They're so bad, these old films. I just had to watch it."
Pete thought about asking whether Gerard stayed up just to watch it, or whether he was flicking through channels and decided to sit through the whole thing. Instead he said "Like a train wreck," lower than he'd meant to, more of a murmur. "Such a disaster, but you can't help but watch."
"They're just so campy," Gerard said, like that was any sort of agreement with what Pete had said, and then handed Pete a corner of his blanket. "You look cold. You always look cold at night."
"Thanks," Pete said, and felt his legs twitch and let his fingers tap out an erratic rhythm on his thigh.
"Couldn't sleep?" Gerard asked sympathetically, and then Pete kissed him, Gerard's face only half-turned towards him, making the angle impossibly awkward. Pete feels the sweep of Gerard's hair across his forehead as he catches only the corner of Gerard's mouth. Gerard turns further to meet him, lips a little cracked. "I don't-" Gerard says, pulling away, but Pete just nods, doesn't let himself listen to watch Gerard doesn't do, and says "Yeah, I know, sorry" like he actually means it. He turns back to the screen, and knows that Gerard is watching him.
Mikey comes back a little while later, but Pete's asleep with his head on Gerard's shoulder, hands fisted tightly in the blanket.
*****
Of lonely men in shirtsleeves, leaning out of windows
"Hey," Pete calls, tapping on the glass. Louder: "Gerard!"
It's coming on dusk now, the lights around the stages coming on, but Pete can still see the sun's glow through the trees. Gerard turns to him, gives a lazy wave, and then tucks his hands in his pockets. He looks expectant, but then - I don't expect much of anything, really - so Pete just stares at him for a while. The light's hitting Gerard at an angle, catching his eyes and his bottom lip, so he looks golden, paleness of his skin somehow seeming beautiful. Pete always thought that Gerard was pretty messed up, like him, but he never thought about who was worse. Now, with Gerard smiling at him a little, striking even though he's still just Gerard, Pete thinks maybe he's the messed up one. Gerard got better and Pete - well, Pete is staring at Gerard motherfucking Way and thinking about how pretty he is. Pete looks back into the bus, empty, everything swathed in the dark blue shadow that only comes at this time of day. Nothing's moving.
There's a tap at the glass, and when Pete looks back down Gerard is directly underneath him, holding his arm up at Pete. His black sleeve is pushed up to his elbow, and there's one word written in black ink. CAREFUL.
"Of what?" Pete asks, and he says it more to himself than anything, but Gerard reads his lips and shrugs. He seems nonchalant, but his easy grin is absent from his face. He grabs a marker from his pocket and writes 'whatever you need to be' in smaller letters underneath. Pete is pretty sure that's grammatically incorrect, but he doesn't say anything.
"Should I be careful of you?" Pete asks, this time enunciating clearly. He likes the muted conversation; it's making him think before he speaks, making him read Gerard's body and not his tone. It's harder, but he thinks he's learning more.
Gerard grins, but there's still a hint of something more serious in his eyes. "Depends," he says - or maybe he just mouths it, Pete can't tell. Gerard is just having this silent conversation like it's perfectly normal and Pete just leaves it at that. He's all about words and the way people say them; he's never been good at reading people through body language. Pete knows it's too easy to fake a smile, so he's always wary. But that's what he does now anyway, a toothy grin, and maybe Gerard is better at this than him, because Gerard doesn't smile back. He's giving Pete a thoughtful look, careful himself.
*****
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid
"I'm scared of everything," Pete whispers, and he doesn't really mean it. He's not scared of everything; he's scared of some things, specific things. But it's easier to be frightened of everything than reveal his real weaknesses.
"Okay," Mikey had whispered to him, as if that was all right, to be afraid of everything. As if Mikey could still love him like that.
Gerard, though, Gerard says "Like what?" and it's a challenge if Pete's ever heard one.
He's not speechless, he's not at a loss for words; he just doesn't know where to start. "Okay," he says finally, "Maybe not everything." And then there's that grin again, bright and sharp, acute.
"Are you afraid of Mikey?" Gerard asks, and he's too easy with his question; it seems practiced.
Pete wants to say 'Have you been waiting to ask me that all summer? Ask me anything about Mikey?' but instead he says "A little bit. Or, well," Pete pauses to consider. Something about these conversations with Gerard makes him want to choose his words a little better. His life revolves around words, he finds the greatest meaning in them, but he never thinks about the day-to-day ones the way he should. Careful. "I'm not afraid of being with him, but I'm afraid of what being with him would mean." Gerard nods, and when it doesn't seem like he's going to say anything, Pete continues. "I'm also a bit afraid of the dark." He picks at the grass near his feet, curling in on himself. His jeans are plastered to his skin, heat of the afternoon too strong even in the shade.
"Nightlights," Gerard says, and yeah. There's a cure for that, a way of keeping the light at bay. But with Mikey, there's no quick-fix.
“There isn’t a bandage for everything,” Pete replies, but he waits too long to say it, so it’s barely a reply anymore.
“Of course there is.” And there’s that silly grin again, the one that Pete can never quite decipher. “Sometimes they’re just pretty makeshift.” Pete thinks he’s losing his hold on this analogy a little bit. Of course there’s a bandage for everything, but they’re not always effective, and then, well. What’s his bandage for Mikey, then?
Pete doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud again until Gerard answers with a shrug. “Me, I guess.” Pete thinks he needs to stop doing that around Gerard, but then again, he’s pretty sure Gerard is the only one who makes him forget himself so much.
****
…force the moment to its crisis
“I never really thought you were good for each other.” That is Gerard’s confession, completely out of the blue, words curling in the air with his cigarette smoke. They are standing near the stage, too close to the speakers, but Pete’s always thought that the best way to experience music - good or bad - is to really feel it. It is just past dusk, sky still blue (if a deep blue) and he’s been living his life in nights this whole tour. Alive or dead, sacred or not, the nights have been the time when he is most himself.
Pete thinks that maybe, just maybe, they’ve been building up to this confession. This is the moment. This is why he has been spending time with Gerard, why Gerard has suddenly been so captivating; Gerard is the one person who can maybe understand Mikey and Pete, understand what they were together. Maybe Gerard can explain the things Pete never could, still can’t. Maybe Gerard can bring something to a conclusion, tie off a loose end, write an ending for a chapter in Pete’s life. Just - something.
But Gerard doesn’t say anything else. He stands next to Pete, a comfortingly awkward warmth beside him, and he doesn’t turn to look at Pete at all. One sentence is all Pete is going to get, and it’s nothing. He wants to scream at Gerard, tell him that much was obvious, that he and Mikey weren’t good for each other in a million ways, except for that one way that they were.
“Okay,” Pete says weakly, and he sways towards Gerard when the next band comes on, when the bass rocks through the ground into his feet, up through his body. He watches the rustle of fabric across Gerard’s shoulders, how it crinkles and smoothes, how there are shades upon shadows within the black material. Gerard doesn’t turn to look at him, still, but Pete doesn’t really mind. He rests his forehead briefly along the creases of Gerard’s black shirt, and then pulls back to watch the stage.
***
Asleep…tired…or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me
Pete goes looking for Mikey again, and this time he finds him. Mikey’s flipping through a comic, sitting on the couch in the lounge of his bus, and it takes Pete’s breath away for a second, how normal it is. He’s visiting, unannounced, and Mikey is still just Mikey. It’s always been one of those strange things for Pete, how the world goes on even when something big has changed for him.
“Mikeyway,” he says with a sigh in his voice, and Mikey turns to look at him.
“Hey, Pete,” Mikey says, and there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. Pete’s proud of that little half-smile on Mikey’s face, that maybe it’s just an automatic reaction for him. Something curls tight inside his chest for a second, and then he sits down on the floor next to Mikey’s feet.
“It’s been a while,” he says, not meaning anything by it. It has been a while, but he’s not too hurt by it.
“You’ve been hanging out with Gerard.” It’s not an accusation, Pete knows, but Mikey definitely does mean something by it. “You could, you know…” When Pete looks back up at Mikey, Mikey’s looking down at the comic and idly spreading his fingers across the pages.
“Oh,” Pete says, because he’s already kissed Gerard - once? twice? - and he’s not sure he needs Mikey’s permission, anyway.
“I think maybe you’re good for each other,” Mikey mumbles. Pete wants to tell him that things aren’t good when he’s with Gerard, that he feels lost and disjointed and unsure about everything, but then he realizes that that’s just him. Maybe Gerard makes him feel like himself, for better or for worse.
“Oh,” Pete repeats, this time because he’s just realized something, something important and big. “You think maybe?” That’s a lot of uncertainty, Pete thinks. Uncertainty is not particularly reassuring. Mikey nods; Pete doesn’t look back to see it, but he can feel the movement in Mikey’s leg where they’re just touching. That probably means Mikey’s nodding fervently. “Okay,” Pete says finally, and he tugs at the cuff of Mikey’s black pants. “Okay.”
***
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
…
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
“I don’t really know how to say this,” Pete starts, and wishes that his life were like a movie and Gerard would jump in and know what to say here, know what Pete was trying to say and save the situation from any imperfections. But Gerard just looks at him, head cocked to the side like Pete is something he’s trying to figure out. Gerard is leaning back against a fence, cigarette dangling from his hand, and he’s too casual to be truly comfortable. Gerard Way is hardly ever that comfortable; Pete knows him well enough to know that.
“I didn’t mean to imply that I disapproved of the two of you,” Gerard says, because Pete is still struggling to find the words. Gerard raises his hand a little in the air when he says it, a useless, half-finished gesture that Pete only notices because he likes the curve of Gerard’s fingers around his cigarette.
“I don’t really care about Mikey,” Pete says, and it’s a lie. Of course he cares about Mikey. He just doesn’t care about Mikey the same way he cares about Gerard. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
“Okay,” Gerard says, and tosses the cigarette in the dirt. “Mikey doesn’t smoke.”
“It’s okay,” Pete says, and he takes the necessary steps closer to Gerard. Gerard smells like smoke and sweat and he’s wearing the same shirt that he’s been wearing all tour, Pete’s pretty sure. Pete’s not even sure if Gerard’s washed it in that time period. “Is it okay?” He asks, almost too close to be able to pull away, and Gerard just nods and grins at him, wide, and Pete waits until it’s slowed back into a smile before pressing his lips to Gerard’s.
This time there are no indecisions, and there will be no revisions.
Title: A Formulated Phrase
Pairing(s): Pete/Gerard, past Pete/Mikey
Summary: (If they took the time, if it was a photograph in hazy morning light, the contrast of tan and pale skin, maybe a hand resting on a cheek, on a neck; a soft kiss. A kiss with a promise behind it.)
Rating: Oh, PG-13, I guess?
Word Count: 3,000
Author's Notes: Set in or around Summer of Like, but don't expect it to fit into any specific timeline. This was originally written, I think, for secrethitmen; she asked for Pete/Gerard, and this has been sitting in my documents for months. Thanks to velvet_tuberose for the quick beta and for convincing me I should actually post this.
Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient, etherized upon a table
"I can never decide if the night is about being dead or alive." This is Gerard Way talking to Pete Wentz, completely out of the blue. This is Gerard catching Pete in one of his introspective moods, staring at the night sky and writing lyrics in his head that will never amount to anything. This is Gerard's completely apathetic posture, like he doesn't expect an answer, head tilted back as he smokes. There is the smallest hint of his crooked smile playing at his lips.
"It's not dead," Pete says, "it's the absence of life. Like how darkness is just the absence of light. And silence is just the absence of sound, even though it's so fucking loud you can hear it all through you."
Most people would maybe give him a wry smile, a 'Are we still talking about the night, Pete?' But then, Gerard Way isn't most people. Probably most people wouldn't have said anything about the night sky and life and death to begin with. Gerard, though, Gerard says "I don't know, I think silence isn't just the absence of sound, I think it's something else entirely. That's why you can always feel it, you know? Maybe you're right, though. I don't know." Gerard gives him a thoughtful look, and then shrugs. "It's something sacred, though."
Pete watches Gerard's mouth, the funny quirk of his lips, the puffs of smoke wafting into the air from his half-pursed lips, the black hair damp and sticking to his cheeks and forehead. It's just starting to cool down, and Pete's skin is clammy, that strange mixture of sweat and restlessness drying on his skin. He shivers and wonders idly if the smoke is warm, if Gerard is warm, if Gerard's mouth is warm. He looks warm enough, at least, always overdressed. Both the Way brothers are a little bit crazy, but it's not like Pete's one to talk. It's a different kind of crazy, though.
Pete doesn't know what Gerard expects from this conversation. They stand in silence for a while, Gerard still with his next craned back, blowing smoke at the stars, Pete with his arms wrapped around himself, looking small and feeling smaller. It's not until Gerard tosses the end of his cigarette down, crushing it under his boot, says "I don't expect much of anything, really," that Pete realizes he'd spoken out loud. Gerard gives him a flash of a grin and trudges back towards the buses. Pete watches him go, and then stares at the sky until his teeth start to chatter.
*****
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse
Pete kisses Gerard in a haze of smoke and confusion, where too many people could see, almost accidentally. He just leans in and suddenly their lips are together, and Pete has the briefest flash of what this would look like if it weren't just a split second. (If they took the time, if it was a photograph in hazy morning light, the contrast of tan and pale skin, maybe a hand resting on a cheek, on a neck; a soft kiss. A kiss with a promise behind it.) Gerard's lips taste like smoke and some sort of weird fruit, sugary sweet and sour all at once. It's crowded and noisy and nothing really registers - Pete can barely see Gerard, even though his eyes are wide open - and Pete's not sure if the sharp aftertaste is from his drink or bitterness. And then there's a rush of motion and Pete could pull away or lean closer, with the way the crowd is moving, and he -
Wait. Rewind.
Pete kisses Gerard under the stars, because he's a romantic like that. Because the last time they talked was the first time Gerard seemed truly fascinating to Pete, and they were looking at the stars then. Pete had felt small then, pointless and useless and exhausted, more than anything, and now he feels infinite. Gerard is kissing back, softly, like Pete's the fragile one, and Pete wants to say something to Gerard about the stars, because he scribbled something down, last time, and maybe Gerard will understand -
Stop. Rewind.
Pete kisses Gerard while sharing a blanket with him on the My Chem bus. He'd been looking for Mikey, really, unable to sleep, but Gerard had just sat him down and said "Mikey's out. Sorry." He turned back to the flickering TV screen, the only light. "It's a B movie," Gerard said, "There's aliens and I think a werewolf, but it's hard to tell, and the costumes are kind of hilarious. They're so bad, these old films. I just had to watch it."
Pete thought about asking whether Gerard stayed up just to watch it, or whether he was flicking through channels and decided to sit through the whole thing. Instead he said "Like a train wreck," lower than he'd meant to, more of a murmur. "Such a disaster, but you can't help but watch."
"They're just so campy," Gerard said, like that was any sort of agreement with what Pete had said, and then handed Pete a corner of his blanket. "You look cold. You always look cold at night."
"Thanks," Pete said, and felt his legs twitch and let his fingers tap out an erratic rhythm on his thigh.
"Couldn't sleep?" Gerard asked sympathetically, and then Pete kissed him, Gerard's face only half-turned towards him, making the angle impossibly awkward. Pete feels the sweep of Gerard's hair across his forehead as he catches only the corner of Gerard's mouth. Gerard turns further to meet him, lips a little cracked. "I don't-" Gerard says, pulling away, but Pete just nods, doesn't let himself listen to watch Gerard doesn't do, and says "Yeah, I know, sorry" like he actually means it. He turns back to the screen, and knows that Gerard is watching him.
Mikey comes back a little while later, but Pete's asleep with his head on Gerard's shoulder, hands fisted tightly in the blanket.
*****
Of lonely men in shirtsleeves, leaning out of windows
"Hey," Pete calls, tapping on the glass. Louder: "Gerard!"
It's coming on dusk now, the lights around the stages coming on, but Pete can still see the sun's glow through the trees. Gerard turns to him, gives a lazy wave, and then tucks his hands in his pockets. He looks expectant, but then - I don't expect much of anything, really - so Pete just stares at him for a while. The light's hitting Gerard at an angle, catching his eyes and his bottom lip, so he looks golden, paleness of his skin somehow seeming beautiful. Pete always thought that Gerard was pretty messed up, like him, but he never thought about who was worse. Now, with Gerard smiling at him a little, striking even though he's still just Gerard, Pete thinks maybe he's the messed up one. Gerard got better and Pete - well, Pete is staring at Gerard motherfucking Way and thinking about how pretty he is. Pete looks back into the bus, empty, everything swathed in the dark blue shadow that only comes at this time of day. Nothing's moving.
There's a tap at the glass, and when Pete looks back down Gerard is directly underneath him, holding his arm up at Pete. His black sleeve is pushed up to his elbow, and there's one word written in black ink. CAREFUL.
"Of what?" Pete asks, and he says it more to himself than anything, but Gerard reads his lips and shrugs. He seems nonchalant, but his easy grin is absent from his face. He grabs a marker from his pocket and writes 'whatever you need to be' in smaller letters underneath. Pete is pretty sure that's grammatically incorrect, but he doesn't say anything.
"Should I be careful of you?" Pete asks, this time enunciating clearly. He likes the muted conversation; it's making him think before he speaks, making him read Gerard's body and not his tone. It's harder, but he thinks he's learning more.
Gerard grins, but there's still a hint of something more serious in his eyes. "Depends," he says - or maybe he just mouths it, Pete can't tell. Gerard is just having this silent conversation like it's perfectly normal and Pete just leaves it at that. He's all about words and the way people say them; he's never been good at reading people through body language. Pete knows it's too easy to fake a smile, so he's always wary. But that's what he does now anyway, a toothy grin, and maybe Gerard is better at this than him, because Gerard doesn't smile back. He's giving Pete a thoughtful look, careful himself.
*****
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid
"I'm scared of everything," Pete whispers, and he doesn't really mean it. He's not scared of everything; he's scared of some things, specific things. But it's easier to be frightened of everything than reveal his real weaknesses.
"Okay," Mikey had whispered to him, as if that was all right, to be afraid of everything. As if Mikey could still love him like that.
Gerard, though, Gerard says "Like what?" and it's a challenge if Pete's ever heard one.
He's not speechless, he's not at a loss for words; he just doesn't know where to start. "Okay," he says finally, "Maybe not everything." And then there's that grin again, bright and sharp, acute.
"Are you afraid of Mikey?" Gerard asks, and he's too easy with his question; it seems practiced.
Pete wants to say 'Have you been waiting to ask me that all summer? Ask me anything about Mikey?' but instead he says "A little bit. Or, well," Pete pauses to consider. Something about these conversations with Gerard makes him want to choose his words a little better. His life revolves around words, he finds the greatest meaning in them, but he never thinks about the day-to-day ones the way he should. Careful. "I'm not afraid of being with him, but I'm afraid of what being with him would mean." Gerard nods, and when it doesn't seem like he's going to say anything, Pete continues. "I'm also a bit afraid of the dark." He picks at the grass near his feet, curling in on himself. His jeans are plastered to his skin, heat of the afternoon too strong even in the shade.
"Nightlights," Gerard says, and yeah. There's a cure for that, a way of keeping the light at bay. But with Mikey, there's no quick-fix.
“There isn’t a bandage for everything,” Pete replies, but he waits too long to say it, so it’s barely a reply anymore.
“Of course there is.” And there’s that silly grin again, the one that Pete can never quite decipher. “Sometimes they’re just pretty makeshift.” Pete thinks he’s losing his hold on this analogy a little bit. Of course there’s a bandage for everything, but they’re not always effective, and then, well. What’s his bandage for Mikey, then?
Pete doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud again until Gerard answers with a shrug. “Me, I guess.” Pete thinks he needs to stop doing that around Gerard, but then again, he’s pretty sure Gerard is the only one who makes him forget himself so much.
****
…force the moment to its crisis
“I never really thought you were good for each other.” That is Gerard’s confession, completely out of the blue, words curling in the air with his cigarette smoke. They are standing near the stage, too close to the speakers, but Pete’s always thought that the best way to experience music - good or bad - is to really feel it. It is just past dusk, sky still blue (if a deep blue) and he’s been living his life in nights this whole tour. Alive or dead, sacred or not, the nights have been the time when he is most himself.
Pete thinks that maybe, just maybe, they’ve been building up to this confession. This is the moment. This is why he has been spending time with Gerard, why Gerard has suddenly been so captivating; Gerard is the one person who can maybe understand Mikey and Pete, understand what they were together. Maybe Gerard can explain the things Pete never could, still can’t. Maybe Gerard can bring something to a conclusion, tie off a loose end, write an ending for a chapter in Pete’s life. Just - something.
But Gerard doesn’t say anything else. He stands next to Pete, a comfortingly awkward warmth beside him, and he doesn’t turn to look at Pete at all. One sentence is all Pete is going to get, and it’s nothing. He wants to scream at Gerard, tell him that much was obvious, that he and Mikey weren’t good for each other in a million ways, except for that one way that they were.
“Okay,” Pete says weakly, and he sways towards Gerard when the next band comes on, when the bass rocks through the ground into his feet, up through his body. He watches the rustle of fabric across Gerard’s shoulders, how it crinkles and smoothes, how there are shades upon shadows within the black material. Gerard doesn’t turn to look at him, still, but Pete doesn’t really mind. He rests his forehead briefly along the creases of Gerard’s black shirt, and then pulls back to watch the stage.
***
Asleep…tired…or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me
Pete goes looking for Mikey again, and this time he finds him. Mikey’s flipping through a comic, sitting on the couch in the lounge of his bus, and it takes Pete’s breath away for a second, how normal it is. He’s visiting, unannounced, and Mikey is still just Mikey. It’s always been one of those strange things for Pete, how the world goes on even when something big has changed for him.
“Mikeyway,” he says with a sigh in his voice, and Mikey turns to look at him.
“Hey, Pete,” Mikey says, and there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. Pete’s proud of that little half-smile on Mikey’s face, that maybe it’s just an automatic reaction for him. Something curls tight inside his chest for a second, and then he sits down on the floor next to Mikey’s feet.
“It’s been a while,” he says, not meaning anything by it. It has been a while, but he’s not too hurt by it.
“You’ve been hanging out with Gerard.” It’s not an accusation, Pete knows, but Mikey definitely does mean something by it. “You could, you know…” When Pete looks back up at Mikey, Mikey’s looking down at the comic and idly spreading his fingers across the pages.
“Oh,” Pete says, because he’s already kissed Gerard - once? twice? - and he’s not sure he needs Mikey’s permission, anyway.
“I think maybe you’re good for each other,” Mikey mumbles. Pete wants to tell him that things aren’t good when he’s with Gerard, that he feels lost and disjointed and unsure about everything, but then he realizes that that’s just him. Maybe Gerard makes him feel like himself, for better or for worse.
“Oh,” Pete repeats, this time because he’s just realized something, something important and big. “You think maybe?” That’s a lot of uncertainty, Pete thinks. Uncertainty is not particularly reassuring. Mikey nods; Pete doesn’t look back to see it, but he can feel the movement in Mikey’s leg where they’re just touching. That probably means Mikey’s nodding fervently. “Okay,” Pete says finally, and he tugs at the cuff of Mikey’s black pants. “Okay.”
***
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
…
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
“I don’t really know how to say this,” Pete starts, and wishes that his life were like a movie and Gerard would jump in and know what to say here, know what Pete was trying to say and save the situation from any imperfections. But Gerard just looks at him, head cocked to the side like Pete is something he’s trying to figure out. Gerard is leaning back against a fence, cigarette dangling from his hand, and he’s too casual to be truly comfortable. Gerard Way is hardly ever that comfortable; Pete knows him well enough to know that.
“I didn’t mean to imply that I disapproved of the two of you,” Gerard says, because Pete is still struggling to find the words. Gerard raises his hand a little in the air when he says it, a useless, half-finished gesture that Pete only notices because he likes the curve of Gerard’s fingers around his cigarette.
“I don’t really care about Mikey,” Pete says, and it’s a lie. Of course he cares about Mikey. He just doesn’t care about Mikey the same way he cares about Gerard. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
“Okay,” Gerard says, and tosses the cigarette in the dirt. “Mikey doesn’t smoke.”
“It’s okay,” Pete says, and he takes the necessary steps closer to Gerard. Gerard smells like smoke and sweat and he’s wearing the same shirt that he’s been wearing all tour, Pete’s pretty sure. Pete’s not even sure if Gerard’s washed it in that time period. “Is it okay?” He asks, almost too close to be able to pull away, and Gerard just nods and grins at him, wide, and Pete waits until it’s slowed back into a smile before pressing his lips to Gerard’s.
This time there are no indecisions, and there will be no revisions.