(no subject)
Title: Denim
Author: charactereyes (writing journal for ishidashipper)
Pairing: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz.
Summary: It started with the jacket.
Disclaimer: Despite how likely it is that this actually happened, I don't really know what Mikey Way and Pete Wentz do in their alone time. Possibly they watch Family Guy or play nice, quiet games of Canasta. (In other words, this is all bullshit.)
Author's Note: Mikey probably doesn't have a unicorn patch on his jacket. But I want so very badly to believe that he does.
It started with the jacket. White denim, with a worn unicorn patch sewn onto the left shoulder.
Mikey can't even remember where he got that jacket anymore. A thrift store, maybe, or one of Gerard's hand-me-downs. He doesn't recall buying it, just wearing it. It's a little worn, and a little kitschy, and a lot ugly, and he wears it whenever he can because, well, who wouldn't?
The first time he met Pete he was wearing that jacket and watching him on stage, and when their eyes met Mikey could see him laughing a little bit. That's partly why he wears it- it makes people laugh, it even made Gee laugh when everything was terrible and he was always drunk and crazy and talking about hanging himself from the venue rafters. Anyway, Pete met him after the show and they started to talk and the next thing they knew they were in a car (possibly Pete's, probably Dirty's) driving over state lines in search of an open record store because Pete had a song stuck in his head and needed to find it before he went crazy. They couldn't find one or the way back in the dark, and they crashed in a shitty motel with one bed and too many ants, and nothing happened. Mikey remembers thinking that when he woke up, nothing happened and then asking himself why the thought had even entered his head, and if he'd wanted something to happen. He asked himself that question over and over again, silently, in the car on their sheepish ride back to rejoin their respective bands, and never came up with an answer.
He was wearing that jacket a few weeks later backstage, after his set and before Pete's. He was a little drunk- not as drunk as he used to get, but enough that the lights were golden and his skin was warm and all the beautiful people were a little more beautiful than they'd been before. Pete had been sitting next to him, and Bob had been there, Joe, Frank, a couple of nameless Warped roadies with ugly tattoos. They were playing some stupid sleepover game, probably Truth or Dare, and Mikey had asked for Dare like he always does when he's drunk, because Truth gets too dangerous after a while. Frankie, giggling, dared him to kiss the prettiest person there, and Mikey didn't even get up, just fumbled for Pete and pulled him close by the shoulders. It started as a joke kiss, Pete laughing a little into Mikey's mouth, but it stretched on too long for a joke or friendship and everything was suddenly hushed and focused and the roadies stopped guffawing and even Pete's noises died down as they leant into one another, their skin gilded where they pressed together.
Later that night he was not wearing the jacket, or much of anything. He was drunker by then, and Pete was on some strange Pete high, almost angry but not quite, almost giddy but not quite, and they were lying on Mikey's bed-for-the-night not quite touching, legs and arms at mirror angles. Pete's lips were brushing his skin, not his lips but his eyelids and his cheeks and the shivery parts of his neck. Mikey's fingers were on his forearms, barely moving. They did not kiss again that night. They just lay there, eyes on each other when they were open, shadows twisting above them like strange sea-creatures, and they fell asleep.
And later on, after the rollercoasters and the good sex and that one night on the bridge where they'd talked about God and death and sex and everything, he was wearing the jacket when he walked into Pete's room and saw him vomiting on his hands and knees. He must have been doing it for a while, because nothing was coming up. He'd protested weakly when Mikey pulled him up, and he could feel his heart pounding through the denim. Mikey lit a cigarette to calm his nerves and asked Pete if he was sick, and he said yes and then no and then yes again. Later that night he went onstage and fooled around and dove onto the mass of supporting hands like always, and came to Mikey with kisses and another ingenious plan. Mikey smiled and went along with it, but somewhere in the middle of whatever it was they were doing (stealing a urinal?- he can't remember) Pete started crying and retching again and wouldn't tell him what's wrong, although there was something in there about Jeanae, and something about Patrick, and Morgan, and Ryan, and at that point Mikey kind of tuned out and started thinking about Truth or Dare because everything Pete says seemed to be coming at him on repeat and from a thousand miles away.
He'd been wearing the jacket a few hours before, when Pete had shoved him up against the door and screamed some accusatory bullshit in his face about reality, about love, about God and sex and death and everything, and then trailed off into obscenities, his hands buried in white denim. He'd pulled it off of him and thrown it on the floor and stood back looking almost proud, like a child who'd thrown his plate on the floor and expected it to be cleaned up. Mikey had stared at him for a long time and realized that this was as much a part of Pete as everything else- the bad jokes, the late nights, the last-minute trips to water parks. He needed to feel hot and miserable in order to be in love, and Mikey doesn't. He looked at Pete and couldn't think of anything to do but take off his shirt, and then his pants, and they got on with things. Pete smiled then, as though it was all okay, and right afterwards he fell asleep after a few sloppy kisses and a mumbled unintelligible sentence or two.
He can see the jacket on the hotel floor now, greyer than white because he hasn't washed it in so long. Next to him Pete's breathing is deep and steady and he doesn't move- he has nightmares when he's awake these days, not when he's sleeping. Mikey counts sheep and shadows and recites the alphabet backwards, but he can't fall asleep because Pete left the stereo on and that song that he was trying to find is playing. He can't remember who it's by or what it's called, but the chorus keeps on telling him that it doesn't know what it can save him from. It's a quiet song, and domestic humming and the traffic outside and Pete's slow breathing breaks through and around it, but he can feel himself agreeing.
He is lying in bed and falling out of love, and he can hear the cars passing outside like a bad dream.
Author: charactereyes (writing journal for ishidashipper)
Pairing: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz.
Summary: It started with the jacket.
Disclaimer: Despite how likely it is that this actually happened, I don't really know what Mikey Way and Pete Wentz do in their alone time. Possibly they watch Family Guy or play nice, quiet games of Canasta. (In other words, this is all bullshit.)
Author's Note: Mikey probably doesn't have a unicorn patch on his jacket. But I want so very badly to believe that he does.
It started with the jacket. White denim, with a worn unicorn patch sewn onto the left shoulder.
Mikey can't even remember where he got that jacket anymore. A thrift store, maybe, or one of Gerard's hand-me-downs. He doesn't recall buying it, just wearing it. It's a little worn, and a little kitschy, and a lot ugly, and he wears it whenever he can because, well, who wouldn't?
The first time he met Pete he was wearing that jacket and watching him on stage, and when their eyes met Mikey could see him laughing a little bit. That's partly why he wears it- it makes people laugh, it even made Gee laugh when everything was terrible and he was always drunk and crazy and talking about hanging himself from the venue rafters. Anyway, Pete met him after the show and they started to talk and the next thing they knew they were in a car (possibly Pete's, probably Dirty's) driving over state lines in search of an open record store because Pete had a song stuck in his head and needed to find it before he went crazy. They couldn't find one or the way back in the dark, and they crashed in a shitty motel with one bed and too many ants, and nothing happened. Mikey remembers thinking that when he woke up, nothing happened and then asking himself why the thought had even entered his head, and if he'd wanted something to happen. He asked himself that question over and over again, silently, in the car on their sheepish ride back to rejoin their respective bands, and never came up with an answer.
He was wearing that jacket a few weeks later backstage, after his set and before Pete's. He was a little drunk- not as drunk as he used to get, but enough that the lights were golden and his skin was warm and all the beautiful people were a little more beautiful than they'd been before. Pete had been sitting next to him, and Bob had been there, Joe, Frank, a couple of nameless Warped roadies with ugly tattoos. They were playing some stupid sleepover game, probably Truth or Dare, and Mikey had asked for Dare like he always does when he's drunk, because Truth gets too dangerous after a while. Frankie, giggling, dared him to kiss the prettiest person there, and Mikey didn't even get up, just fumbled for Pete and pulled him close by the shoulders. It started as a joke kiss, Pete laughing a little into Mikey's mouth, but it stretched on too long for a joke or friendship and everything was suddenly hushed and focused and the roadies stopped guffawing and even Pete's noises died down as they leant into one another, their skin gilded where they pressed together.
Later that night he was not wearing the jacket, or much of anything. He was drunker by then, and Pete was on some strange Pete high, almost angry but not quite, almost giddy but not quite, and they were lying on Mikey's bed-for-the-night not quite touching, legs and arms at mirror angles. Pete's lips were brushing his skin, not his lips but his eyelids and his cheeks and the shivery parts of his neck. Mikey's fingers were on his forearms, barely moving. They did not kiss again that night. They just lay there, eyes on each other when they were open, shadows twisting above them like strange sea-creatures, and they fell asleep.
And later on, after the rollercoasters and the good sex and that one night on the bridge where they'd talked about God and death and sex and everything, he was wearing the jacket when he walked into Pete's room and saw him vomiting on his hands and knees. He must have been doing it for a while, because nothing was coming up. He'd protested weakly when Mikey pulled him up, and he could feel his heart pounding through the denim. Mikey lit a cigarette to calm his nerves and asked Pete if he was sick, and he said yes and then no and then yes again. Later that night he went onstage and fooled around and dove onto the mass of supporting hands like always, and came to Mikey with kisses and another ingenious plan. Mikey smiled and went along with it, but somewhere in the middle of whatever it was they were doing (stealing a urinal?- he can't remember) Pete started crying and retching again and wouldn't tell him what's wrong, although there was something in there about Jeanae, and something about Patrick, and Morgan, and Ryan, and at that point Mikey kind of tuned out and started thinking about Truth or Dare because everything Pete says seemed to be coming at him on repeat and from a thousand miles away.
He'd been wearing the jacket a few hours before, when Pete had shoved him up against the door and screamed some accusatory bullshit in his face about reality, about love, about God and sex and death and everything, and then trailed off into obscenities, his hands buried in white denim. He'd pulled it off of him and thrown it on the floor and stood back looking almost proud, like a child who'd thrown his plate on the floor and expected it to be cleaned up. Mikey had stared at him for a long time and realized that this was as much a part of Pete as everything else- the bad jokes, the late nights, the last-minute trips to water parks. He needed to feel hot and miserable in order to be in love, and Mikey doesn't. He looked at Pete and couldn't think of anything to do but take off his shirt, and then his pants, and they got on with things. Pete smiled then, as though it was all okay, and right afterwards he fell asleep after a few sloppy kisses and a mumbled unintelligible sentence or two.
He can see the jacket on the hotel floor now, greyer than white because he hasn't washed it in so long. Next to him Pete's breathing is deep and steady and he doesn't move- he has nightmares when he's awake these days, not when he's sleeping. Mikey counts sheep and shadows and recites the alphabet backwards, but he can't fall asleep because Pete left the stereo on and that song that he was trying to find is playing. He can't remember who it's by or what it's called, but the chorus keeps on telling him that it doesn't know what it can save him from. It's a quiet song, and domestic humming and the traffic outside and Pete's slow breathing breaks through and around it, but he can feel himself agreeing.
He is lying in bed and falling out of love, and he can hear the cars passing outside like a bad dream.