fic: like all things, fades
like all things, fades by Beezus
Pete, Mikey, Alicia| R | 6,000+ words
Because I said:
what if mikey goes back to pete's hotel with alica's permission? like, he was planning on going anyway, but right before he leaves she tells him, "it's okay, babe. i know you both and i trust you." and the horrible part is that he was already half-planning on sleeping with pete again. not CONSCIOUSLY, but you know, it was in the back of his head. he realizes the the way he's been acting all night, up to that point, was indicative to pete and alicia that something might happen.
This isn't that story, not quite, but it's as close as I could manage. This is for sinsense whose fantastical beta-fu saved this fic from the metaphorical trashcan, and also teaspoon for too many reasons to count, but mostly for audiencing this story in it's many incarnations. Hearts for you both.
2/19/2006 - 4:02 AM EST
i feel like howl from howls moving castle embodies every single feeling that goes through my head.
that is all. i am in the lobby of a hotel in new york city waiting for something that isn't ever going to happen.
i am calculating all of the legs and drunken stutters. i am precise. i am a machine. i am a hot mess.
- petey
4.
Pete could see Mikey and Alicia talking through the plate glass window of the lobby. The hotel was quiet, save for the ornamental fountain that burbled by the reception desk. Pete's mind drifted. He wondered about all the other people occupying all the other rooms in the hotel. If they were sleeping, or if they were fucking, or eating, or laughing. He wondered if any of them were waiting like he was waiting, maybe perched at the edge of a bed, hands on knees, waiting for their friend, or lover, or perfect stranger to emerge from the bathroom. Hitting send on his Sidekick, Pete waited for Alicia and Mikey to finish their conversation. His leg jumped involuntarily, and Pete tensed the limb, willed it into stillness.
Since as far back as he could remember, Pete had gotten a nervous twitch in his leg when he was about to do something awful. It was his body's way of telling him to slow down, to stop before he did whatever stupid thing he was about to do. Pete rarely listened to his body, not when it told him to eat or sleep, and this had never been any different. He fixed his kneecap with a stern look. Stop it, he told his leg, clenching and unclenching the muscles for good measure. Pete thought, Just stop.
The display on his phone told him it was 4:12. When he looked back up, he caught the movement of Alicia marching through the rotating door with Mikey in tow. He had always loved the way Alicia walked. She marched though doors and demanded attention. Pete had a bad habit of leaving people behind, but Alicia never let him do that. She charged along beside him, strapping on his bass and grinning at him with a challenge tucked in the corners of her mouth. What they had, well, Pete mistook that for love for a long time. Sometimes he still had trouble telling the difference.
Alicia cocked her head in Pete's direction. "I need sleep, but this one should be good for a few more hours."
Mikey smiled sheepishly at Pete.
"Are you sure you can't come up for a minute?" Pete asked. She looked at him, considering.
Say no, he thought, saynosaynosayno.
"Nah," she said, and smiled. Pete hoped his relief wasn't evident. "I'm meeting some friends for breakfast. Do you remember that kid Randall who used to tech for Mest?" Pete shrugged. "Well, anyway. That fucker owes me a meal, and I plan on collecting." Alicia turned to Mikey who was being unusually silent. "See you at home?"
"Yeah," Mikey stepped forward and pressed their lips together briefly. The hinges of their mouths crinkled when their lips went flush, distorting their faces in a way that Pete should have found unattractive. He had to look away, if only to give the two of them some semblance of privacy in the over-lit lobby.
"It was good to see you, hon." Alicia turned to Pete, bending forward to hug him as best she could in his sitting position. Pete started to get up, but she had already stepped away by the time he was upright. "Are you going to be around tomorrow?" she asked, rummaging in her pockets and extracting her mittens.
"I've got a four o'clock flight, but there's stuff I need to do before I leave, so. Probably not." Pete hoped he sounded apologetic, because he meant it, mostly. Pete missed Alicia in the absent, nagging way that he missed all his exes. He missed her hair, and her legs, and the way she was always game for whatever Pete suggested. Pete missed the way she walked.
Alicia mock-pouted at him, but she pulled him into a real hug this time, with full body contact. "Be good," she whispered in his ear, and Pete tried his best not to react to that, squeezing her tight.
He said, "I'll call you about that thing, okay?" and Alicia nodded at him, but she was already walking away. She and Mikey blew kisses until she stumbled, nearly tripping face-first on the carpet.
"Dude." Pete laughed.
Mikey rolled his eyes. "Like you're one to talk."
Mikey had him there, so Pete shrugged. He whipped out his keycard to wave in front of Mikey's face. "Want to check out my sweet digs? The label is paying."
"You are the label, dipshit."
"Well fine. I guess you'll never know how awesome my room was. You'll never see the Jacuzzi or the stripper pole or..."
Mikey laughed, cutting Pete off mid-sentence. Mikey batted at Pete's hand that was still waving the keycard in his face. "Fine. Whatever. Show me your pad."
1.
Misshapes was busy, buzzing with music and color and kids who were too indie to listen to either Pete's or Mikey's bands. Mikey was having fun, but Mikey always had fun with Pete. It was good to hang out again, have Pete back in his personal orbit. Mikey liked the new-old proximity that allowed him to reach out and touch Pete's shoulder to make a point, or lean on him briefly while they waited at the bar. It was almost too easy, falling back into the habit.
An old habit, which reminded Mikey that he wasn't the only one glad to have Pete back. It was easy for Mikey to forget that Alicia knew Pete long before he had, that Alicia and Pete had their own little universe of private jokes and shared glances. Mikey watched Alicia grab Pete's hand and lead him out to the dance floor.
Alicia stood a few inches taller than Pete, and Mikey liked the look of them: their dark heads angled together, presumably to be heard over the loud bass of the song. Neither of them were great dancers, but they moved in a rhythm he found achingly familiar. Mikey scratched his head under his knit cap. The wool always made his scalp itch. Eventually, Pete and Alicia migrated back to his post by the wall, and he knew at least one of them was going to make him dance.
"Dude, don't make that face."
"I'm not making a face."
"You totally are!" Pete turned to Alicia for confirmation.
"He totally is." She nodded solemnly.
Mikey rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"Stop being a pussy." Pete grabbed his wrist, dragging him through the mass of people. Mikey spared a glance over his shoulder at Alicia who waved him off, gesturing to her drink to indicate she was getting another.
Pete squeezed Mikey's wrist, as if to get his attention, and the metal of Mikey's decal bracelet bit into his wristbone. Pete said, "You used to like dancing with me."
"What?" Mikey was pretty sure he and Pete had never danced before, and if they had, Mikey certainly never liked it.
"Nothing. It's a quote from something. I don't remember what."
"Okay, random." Pete was so strange sometimes, but Mikey couldn't help pulling Pete a bit closer, hand on his lower back to steady him as a group of girls pushed by to get to the bar.
Pete didn't move away after the girls passed.
5.
Mikey followed Pete to his room. The heater was cranked up high in the hallways, and the back of Mikey's throat felt scratchy, burned with dry heat. Pete turned to him while he slid the keycard through the lock.
"Can you stay for a while?"
Mikey blinked. It felt as if no time had passed, like it was just another night on Warped, maybe the night -- when Pete had asked him to stay, and Mikey had spent the whole night. He realized a beat later that hadn't answered Pete's question. Mikey shrugged apologetically.
"Sure," he said, following Pete over the threshold, and Pete unconsciously propped the door open until he was sure Mikey had it.
The lights were dimmed, the temperature cool compared to the corridor. Pete toed off his shoes and flipped the light switch on his way in. Mikey stood in the center of the room while Pete hovered by the bed. Pete was looking at him like he was waiting for whatever Mikey was about to say.
2.
"He misses you, you know."
The music pounded heavy and distracting, but it wasn't loud enough to block out Alicia's words. Pete jerked his head slightly to meet her eyes. She looked calm, like she was merely commenting on the awful music or the gravity-defying cut of the bartender's tank top.
Alicia of all people knew not to say shit like that to him. Pete realized-- it had to be-- she was nervous. Her calm tipped him off. She'd done the same thing when she and Pete neared the end of their backwards version of dating, played it cool, and Pete had felt as betrayed then as he did now. Pete and Alicia both were both dramatic as fuck. It was in their nature, and they had both prided themselves on it at various points in their lives. No detail was too small, nope. Everything was an event, a photo op, a Big Deal. Pete had gone into the end of their relationship in anticipation of a nuclear explosion. He'd wanted war, expected it, even. He never expected this.
"I miss you guys, too." Pete avoided her eyes and knocked their hips together slightly to emphasize his words. Pete recognized her composure for the disguise that it was. He had no intention of calling her on it.
Alicia smiled at him sarcastically. "Aww, I know you miss me. But that's not the same thing."
"Maybe," he admitted. The music changed awkwardly, mid-beat, and it took Pete a minute to place the new song.
Alicia was quiet for a long pause, but she finally smiled at him for real. "I guess I kind of missed you, too."
It was dumb, that her smile could still disarm him. A dull pang of longing welled in his chest, and Pete pushed it down to the smallest, quietest place he could find. He squeezed her hip in silent agreement, prayed she wouldn't push. He half-closed his eyes and mouthed along with the words, shaking his hips to the dissonant melody that was pouring out from the walls around them. Pete tried not to think about what came next.
3.
The cab dropped them off a few blocks from the hotel. Pete reached for his wallet, but Alicia stopped him and pulled her own wallet out of her purse.
"You're our guest," she explained patiently when Pete grumbled at her.
"I'm not even staying with you guys."
"And whose fault is that?"
Pete shook his head, but Alicia paid for the cab. They tumbled out to the cold night, their breath steaming in the frigid air.
It reminded Mikey of something. He said, "When Gerard and I were younger we thought that the white color our breath turned in the cold-- we thought it was like, ghosts. Proof of their existence, or something."
Pete's face lit up. "That's awesome, dude! When we were kids, I convinced my sister that she had to hold her breath when we passed a cemetery, otherwise she'd inhale a spirit."
"Did she do it? Did she hold her breath?" Alicia asked.
"Of course!"
"Every time?"
Pete looked affronted that Alicia would question the validity of his statement. "Yes, she was totally convinced. This one time, oh man," Pete started laughing, bending over to catch his breath. "This one time," he wheezed, "we were on a road trip, passing though Indiana, and there was this big-ass cemetery. Some president was buried there or something. Anyway. It went on for miles, and Hilary tried to hold her breath the whole time. My parents freaked out."
Alicia laughed. "You must have been a great brother"
"I was! Whatever, she totally loves me best now. I get her way better presents than Andrew."
The hotel came into view and they paused at the entrance. Pete and Mikey's bare knuckles grazed, and Mikey couldn't tell if it was accidental or not. It felt like he'd been touching Pete all night. He wondered if it was only conscious on his part.
Alicia turned to Pete, "You go on ahead. We'll be there in a sec."
Pete wrinkled his nose. "You telling secrets about me?"
"Yes, everything is about you." Alicia unearthed her cigarettes from her purse and Mikey extended his hands, flexing his fingers towards the box to snag one from her.
"You guys are sick," Pete said, pinching his nose with his thumb and his pointer finger, making his voice come out high and nasal. He disappeared through the door, but Mikey could see him settle down on the couch, pulling out his Sidekick.
"So I think I'm going to take off," Alicia said, apropos of nothing.
"What?"
Alicia took a drag off her cigarette and her eyes focused on whatever was directly behind him. "You guys have stuff to talk about, it would be weird if I stayed."
Mikey angled his head to catch her eye. "It wouldn't be weird. We all have stuff to talk about." He reached out and laced their free hands together. He was nervous, but he wasn't sure why. It felt like they were having an important discussion, but Mikey was missing all the key points.
Alicia looked down and turned the corners of her mouth into a small smile, the kind that could easily be mistaken for a frown. "What I'm about to say-" Alicia shook her head and closed her mouth, shifting her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. Her eyes darted to the left, his face, then down to the pavement. She said, "You know, I wouldn't be with you if I didn't believe you loved me--"
Mikey's brain went static. His eyes fixed on the pale line of her neck where her scarf unwound from her coat, and one sweet patch of skin in particular where Mikey liked to lip at the thin skin. He remembered putting his mouth on that spot when he was inside of her. He thought, I want to marry her.
Alicia continued on, oblivious to Mikey's revelation, "...doesn't negate the big part of you that still has feelings for him. You guys need to talk this out, resolve... whatever it is that's been keeping you distracted." Alicia wrapped him in her long, skinny arms. "We all need this to be over, kid. Am I right?"
Mikey could smell the sharp sweat from her body under the smoke of their cigarettes and the synthetic mask of her cinnamon moisturizer. He loved her so much, it almost wasn't fair. Mikey swallowed, and swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat that blocked his agreement. He gave up on words and nodded against her sleek hair. The buttons on his jacket scraped against the nylon of Alicia's, creating a rhythmic shushing sound with the up-down movement of his head.
Mikey was in over his head. He didn't feel ready for this much responsibility. He wanted to marry Alicia. He did. He was ready for all that that entailed, be it washing her underwear, or listening to her babble baby talk to a cat that he wasn't sure he liked yet. Mikey was ready to spend every day with someone he loved as easily as he loved Alicia, but. Nothing could have prepared him for this -- the way she stood before him, trusting Mikey not to screw this up.
Mikey tightened his arms, pressing her close until he could feel the cut of her ribs pressing solidly against his own. They stood there for what felt like a long time, individual snowflakes melting on their jackets while they held each other on the sidewalk.
6.
Pete could still feel Mikey's hands on him from the club. He was a little bit high on it, a little shaky having Mikey so close. Mikey said he would stay. Pete guessed that Alicia said as much earlier, but it didn't mean the same thing. Alicia saying that Mikey would stay, and Mikey wanting to stay were two very different animals. Pete didn't miss the subtlety of the distinction.
Mikey had followed him upstairs to his room, and now Mikey was about to say something that would set the tone for the entire night. Pete could feel it in his fingertips.
"Do you remember the time last summer when we switched out all of Frank's underwear?" Mikey asked.
It was the last thing Pete could have expected him to say, and Pete was shocked into a startled bark.
Mikey relaxed when Pete laughed. He took off his jacket and draped it over the chair. The change was overwhelming, like he had removed a layer of armor, and Pete fought the rush of possessiveness that threatened to envelop him. Watching Mikey undress in his presence still twisted something primal in his gut, no matter how much time had passed.
The first part of Mikey's sentence, the: do you remember the time last summer..., felt to Pete like a question they'd both spent a lot of time asking one another. It was almost like that summer needed to be confirmed, both of them making sure it had been real, that they hadn't imagined it. "Yeah," Pete said to address the second part of the sentence. He couldn't remember whose idea it had been, switching Frank's boxers with women's underwear. The fact that underwear was involved suggested Pete, but it had probably been Mikey who had started it, paying Frank back for some small injustice.
Pete sat down hard on the mattress and scooted his butt backwards until he hit the headboard. He made sure to leave enough room for Mikey, who settled next to him on the bed.
"I still can't believe he wore them!" Mikey said gleefully.
Their prank had backfired spectacularly. There had been no way of knowing that Jamia would be so fond of her boyfriend in women's panties. The crazy part was that Frank really did wear them. Not all the time of course, but Pete remembered catching brief glimpses of pale pastels flashing out from the waistbands of Frank’s low-slung shorts. Frankie hadn't even been all that pissed, beyond the obligatory threats on both their heads. Pete suspected that Frank's lack of anger might have had something to do with the way Jamia's hand was often resting casually under the hemlines of his shirts. One memorable evening, Pete even caught the movement of her fingers tracing what appeared to be a g-string peeking out of Frank's pants.
"What's up with Frank these days?" Pete saw Mikey shift to find a comfortable position on the bed.
"Um." Mikey crossed and uncrossed his legs. "He proposed to Jamia. Did you hear?"
"Yeah, Bob told Patrick. I actually emailed Frank to like, congratulate him, but he responded by sending me a bunch of pictures of Bob's gangrenous leg."
Mikey laughed, "Whatever. You thought it was cool, don't lie." Mikey gave up trying to find a comfortable sitting position, and he turned over on his stomach, propping his head up on his hand.
"It was kind of awesome," Pete had to admit.
"Hmmm," Mikey hummed, nodding to himself. Pete slumped down on the headboard, inch by inch, until he was more or less lying down. He unwedged the pillow from the mattress and curled it under his head. Mikey flopped his head down on the adjacent pillow and angled his feet towards Pete. Mikey's body looked like a comma, or an apostrophe, or some other punctuation mark that signified a pause, joined errant letters, or suggested that Mikey wanted to get closer to Pete.
"This room isn't all that spectacular," Mikey said, after a long pause.
Pete's head was occupied, trying to decode Mikey's brand of punctuation through muscular gestures, so he said, "Yeah. I just wanted an excuse to get you up here," without thinking about what kind of message he wanted to convey with his words. It certainly wasn't that.
Mikey's expression froze.
"Well I'm here now." He said. He hunched his shoulders like he was bracing himself for an onslaught of words. Pete could remember with perfect clarity the last time he saw that exact set of Mikey's shoulders.
"You never called me back." Pete had had no clue he was going to say that, either.
Mikey knit his eyebrows together in confusion. "What are you talking about? I always call you back."
"In March when you guys were recording." Pete felt panicked, but he couldn't stop. Not now, not after he started. "Alicia told me, but when I called, y-you never called me back. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm okay," Mikey said stubbornly.
"You weren't, though." Pete wasn't clear on a lot of things, but he was sure of that much.
Mikey sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I am now," he said quietly, speaking to his knees.
"Mikey." Pete's arm reached out involuntarily to rub the tension from the line of Mikey's back, but he knew he wasn't allowed. He let his arm drop down on the bed, and his hand came to rest near Mikey's thigh. Pete stared up at the ceiling, and he was surprised to feel Mikey's long fingers wrap around his hand. Pete held his breath, hoping that if he didn't move, Mikey would keep holding on - would let Pete hang on for as long as they both could stand it.
9.
Mikey stood in the hotel corridor with his back against the door, supporting his weight. He couldn't move, couldn't think beyond his overwhelming desire to knock on the door and have Pete let him back in. Mikey was shaking a bit, and he had to force each measured breath.
Mikey's thoughts flashed back to the time a handful of months ago when Gerard brought Mikey and Bob with him to a meditation seminar. The instructor had been an older woman, her skin weathered and leathery, and she possessed a birdlike aura that put him at ease despite his overwhelming suspicion.
Halfway though the lecture, she instructed them to lie flat on the mats. In an even, percussive voice, she told them to breathe in and out. They were supposed to picture themselves walking through a dense forest, but Mikey couldn't see anything beyond the blank backs of his own eyelids. He gave up after ten minutes, and he spent the rest of the class replaying the smashing pumpkins Siamese dream backwards, fingers twitching along to the bassline in his head.
After the seminar and during the car ride home, Bob and Gerard had been chatty. Gerard had been full of praise for the old woman, and Bob was as likely to agree as disagree. They talked in low and amiable voices, their conversation split up at points by Gerard, who liked to glance back in the rear view mirror to gauge Mikey's reaction. Mikey made a point of meeting Gee's eyes in the mirror with an expression that hopefully didn't betray his true feelings of how unhelpful Mikey felt the seminar had been.
Meditation didn't work for Mikey - not then, and certainly not now - but the memory was enough to distract him. It gave him time to regulate his heartbeat, stop the shaking that started in his thighs and rattled noisy in his chest. Eventually he got it together enough to move.
By the time he reached the elevator, Mikey had his Sidekick out. The mirrored doors pinged open, and he leaned against the guardrail while he texted Alicia to tell her he was on his way home.
7.
Mikey took a deep breath and held it. Then another. Then another. Pete's hand was clammy and familiar in his own. The sense memory was powerful. Mikey needed a minute to collect himself, to explain.
He turned to Pete and asked, "Have you ever been in a haunted house? I mean, a real one?"
Pete shook his head.
"It's... different than the movies."
"Did you see a ghost?" Pete sounded nervous, like he was afraid the answer would be yes.
Mikey wanted to tell Pete he was the ghost. Even in his head it sounded stupid, no matter how true it might have been.
"Sometimes it was almost funny." Mikey remembered the time the door slammed in the kitchen and he and Gerard ran screaming like little kids. "Bob's bathtub kept filling up with water, and the first time it happened, I swear to god he almost pissed himself. I've never seen Bob scared like that before."
Pete snorted, "Right. Haunted house, man. That's fucking hilarious."
Mikey shook his head. "It was so unreal, though. It got to the point where it was humorous it's like-- you know when you're having a shitty day, and the bad stuff keeps happening? Like you wake up with no clean clothes, and when you finally find something to wear, you spill coffee all over your shirt at breakfast? Sometimes shit gets so bad, all you can do is laugh about it because it's ridiculous. That's how scary it was. It was ridiculous."
Pete frowned like he was trying to understand. Mikey didn't feel like waiting for Pete to get it. This wasn't last summer. Pete couldn't read his mind, no matter how much he wanted to or tried.
Mikey felt absolutely picked apart. He'd discussed that spring at length with Alicia, Frank, his therapist, and Mikey was tired of talking about it. That spring had been too many months strung together, on top of a long summer, in addition to a bad year. There was only so much he could take. The house was just the trigger. What happened... It could have been anywhere. Anywhere in the whole world, and there would have been no avoiding it. He tried. Pete was right-- Mikey never called him back. He'd wanted to. He had gone so far as to pick up the phone, fingers hovering over P.P. in his phone book, but he couldn't bring himself to make the call.
Mikey was tired. He had exhausted himself, wanting this thing that didn't belong to him anymore. Most days he wasn't sure if he was mad at Pete or at himself. Relationships should end if you wanted them to. They shouldn't drag on, plaguing him at odd times like this one did. Mikey shouldn't feel guilty every time he read Pete's blog, or shot him a line to ask what's up, especially since Mikey was ninety percent positive that Alicia did the same. Pete was a like a puzzle that they'd had their hand at solving, but never quite finished. Mikey had failed, and he needed to stop walking around with this undone feeling lurking around in his chest, banging around with his internal organs, and wreaking havoc at unfortunate times.
Mikey sighed, "Look, forget what I said. I guess it's something that can't be explained. It's like, you can never really explain what made you take those pills, and I can't tell people why I was unhappy. But I can--" This part was important, but it hadn't gotten any easier for him, no matter who he said it to, "I can apologize for hiding it from you."
Pete looked like he was going to cry or punch or something or make a scene, which Mikey dreaded, but instead he said, "Okay," squeezing Mikey's hand with each syllable, two short pumps of his fingers.
Mikey recognized Pete letting it go.
He looked like he needed a minute to get it together, and Mikey needed some space as well. "I have to pee," Mikey said, gesturing to the bathroom.
Pete nodded, "Sure."
Mikey got up. He stood there dumbly for a couple of seconds, until he snapped out of it, walked the path to the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. He turned on the light, and the electric thrum of the vanity bulbs buzzed loudly in his ears. Mikey's reflection was weak, unstable in the florescent lighting. Sighing, Mikey turned on the faucet, sifting the cool stream through his fingers until the water ran hot.
10.
Pete stared at the ceiling for a long time after Mikey left. He was reduced to something weightless and inessential, his molecules threatening to come apart. Pete pictured small bits of himself drifting through the grates in the walls, diffused through the hotel's ventilation system, spat out into other's rooms where he'd be inhaled and absorbed.
He pulled out his phone and hit three on his speedial.
"H'lo?" The voice on the other end of the line was hazy with sleep.
"Hey."
"Pete," Patrick sounded surprised. "I thought you were in New York with Mikey and Alicia."
"Uh, I am?"
"No, I mean," Patrick took a deep breath. "You don't usually call me about... Isn't this usually Nick's territory?"
"Yeah," Pete admitted. It was true. He usually called Nick or Ryan about Mikey stuff, except-- "I feel like, well, I can't really call him about this because--" Pete paused, "It's different. This time was different."
"Did you guys, uh."
Pete smiled at Patrick's modesty. "No." he said quietly. Pete rolled over onto his side. His knees curled towards the phone, everything rising in him, straining up towards the voice on the line. As if the tangibility of Patrick's voice could suffuse something solid into the fabric of Pete's being until he was filled with it, bursting at the seams with his own reality.
"That’s… good Pete. That's really good."
Pete wanted to agree and leave it at that, but instead he asked, "Then why do I feel so shitty?" because he was Pete and he couldn't help it. Patrick laughed, softly and without malice. Pete didn't actually want an answer, so he kept talking without giving Patrick a chance to respond. "Are you going to be in LA when I get back?"
"Uh," Pete could hear Patrick shifting around, muffled background noise. "You're coming home tomorrow night, right? I think-- yeah. I can probably meet you at the house if you let me know what time you get in."
"I don't need you to take care of me," Pete said stubbornly, even though there was nothing he wanted more than for Patrick to come over and hang out with him. Maybe Pete could even get in some cuddle time, if Patrick was in an affable mood.
"Who said anything about taking care of you? I expect you to provide entertainment when I get there."
"You're such a pal."
"And don't forget it," Patrick said.
"I couldn't," Pete said quietly. "I'll see you at home."
8.
Mikey stood crooked by the hotel chair and, not for the first time, Pete wondered what made Mikey's body bend like that. A mysterious childhood accident, maybe? Fell from a building? Of course, all kids wonder what it would be like to have wings, but Mikey seemed like the kind of child who wouldn't have been afraid to jump off roofs in the pursuit of flight. Pete remembered wondering what it would be like, how it would feel to fly. He'd even gone so far as to stand on the roof of his garage, Ked sneakers hanging half on half off the gutter, but he wimped out without anyone present to cheer him on. Pete had always performed better in front of an audience
Mikey coughed nervously, wiped his hands on his jeans. "It's getting kind of late," he grabbed his jacket and contorted his back further by shoving his arms awkwardly though the armholes.
"I'll be back in the city in a few weeks," Pete said, in case Mikey forgot.
Mikey nodded. "Just let us know. Alicia redid the kitchen, and I'm sure she's itching for an excuse to actually use it."
Pete had tasted Alicia's cooking before, but he passed on the opportunity to give Mikey a hard time about it. "Yeah. That, uh, sounds good." Pete stood and walked Mikey to the door. They hugged briefly.
Pete slumped against the wall and watched Mikey prepare to leave. He felt detached, like he was watching a scene from a tragic novel where the protagonist watches the young man walk out of his life for good, neither getting what he came for. Mikey's hand was poised over the doorknob when Pete heard himself ask, "Are you happy? I mean, god," Pete bit at his cuticle anxiously, angry at himself for letting the weak words leak past his lips, "I sound like such a jerk, but it's really important to me that you're happy. I want you to be."
Mikey scrubbed at his face in annoyance, "--the fuck? Pete. Do you seriously want to get into this right now?"
"Uh." Pete didn't know the answer himself.
"Because," Mikey moved to where Pete stood, boxing him against the wall, "if you're asking if I still think about you, then the answer is yes. Yes, Pete. I'm not over you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Pete's leg twitched. "I'm not over you either."
Mikey exhaled hard. He slumped forward, banging his skull against the wall with a thud. His head rested right next to Pete's head, the tips of their ears whispering together. Mikey said softly into the space between Pete's neck and the wall, "That's not fair," and his voice was small like a child's.
Pete's toes curled in his shoes. "I know it," he said.
There was about an inch and a half of space between them, and not letting himself bridge that small divide took a lot out of Pete. They were stuck, and, as much at it killed Pete to admit it, he knew that it wasn't the right time for them, no matter how loudly his body shouted at him to close the gap and prove to Mikey how much they still needed one another.
Pete's question had been stupid, because Pete knew Mikey was happy. He recognized the blazing, cavernous furnace that had woken inside of himself, that drove him to ask the question. It was the very same machine that called Jeanae unremittingly until her parents disconnected her phone, that hungry blaze that moved Pete to put his fist through walls and windows.
"Shit-- You're right." Pete laughed shakily, "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Mikey drew back to look at Pete. "Just... Don't. I don't want to be another thing you beat yourself up over, okay? Not anymore."
Mikey's words stung. Pete felt a flare of anger, but it was misdirected and half-hearted at best. Pete concentrated on letting the fire leach out of him slowly, felt the way it slid white-hot through his body, from his mouth, down his throat, pooling in his groin, and dripping down until it left him completely and disappeared into the cheap carpeting.
Mikey must have felt Pete relax, because he said, "Don't be sorry," repeating himself, but his words had lost their bite.
"Sure thing," Pete said lightly, extending his foot to let it rest briefly on top of Mikey's foot. Tap, Pete flexed his foot. Tap, tap, tap.
Mikey shifted his weight back and then forward and back again. They looked each other head on for a few seconds, before Mikey took a real step backwards, then another. Mikey backed up until his shoulders hit the opposite wall of the hallway.
"You're going to be back in a couple of weeks," Mikey said.
Something like hope surged in Pete's chest.
"I am."
"You're going to call me, and we're going to go out again. Alicia will make us something disgusting to eat for dinner at the end of the night."
Pete smiled a little at that, smoothing his hand through his hair and tugging at his bangs, "Okay."
Mikey said, "I'm going to get over you someday."
Pete nodded. "Not today, though?"
Mikey shook his head, "No, not today."
Pete, Mikey, Alicia| R | 6,000+ words
Because I said:
what if mikey goes back to pete's hotel with alica's permission? like, he was planning on going anyway, but right before he leaves she tells him, "it's okay, babe. i know you both and i trust you." and the horrible part is that he was already half-planning on sleeping with pete again. not CONSCIOUSLY, but you know, it was in the back of his head. he realizes the the way he's been acting all night, up to that point, was indicative to pete and alicia that something might happen.
This isn't that story, not quite, but it's as close as I could manage. This is for sinsense whose fantastical beta-fu saved this fic from the metaphorical trashcan, and also teaspoon for too many reasons to count, but mostly for audiencing this story in it's many incarnations. Hearts for you both.
2/19/2006 - 4:02 AM EST
i feel like howl from howls moving castle embodies every single feeling that goes through my head.
that is all. i am in the lobby of a hotel in new york city waiting for something that isn't ever going to happen.
i am calculating all of the legs and drunken stutters. i am precise. i am a machine. i am a hot mess.
- petey
4.
Pete could see Mikey and Alicia talking through the plate glass window of the lobby. The hotel was quiet, save for the ornamental fountain that burbled by the reception desk. Pete's mind drifted. He wondered about all the other people occupying all the other rooms in the hotel. If they were sleeping, or if they were fucking, or eating, or laughing. He wondered if any of them were waiting like he was waiting, maybe perched at the edge of a bed, hands on knees, waiting for their friend, or lover, or perfect stranger to emerge from the bathroom. Hitting send on his Sidekick, Pete waited for Alicia and Mikey to finish their conversation. His leg jumped involuntarily, and Pete tensed the limb, willed it into stillness.
Since as far back as he could remember, Pete had gotten a nervous twitch in his leg when he was about to do something awful. It was his body's way of telling him to slow down, to stop before he did whatever stupid thing he was about to do. Pete rarely listened to his body, not when it told him to eat or sleep, and this had never been any different. He fixed his kneecap with a stern look. Stop it, he told his leg, clenching and unclenching the muscles for good measure. Pete thought, Just stop.
The display on his phone told him it was 4:12. When he looked back up, he caught the movement of Alicia marching through the rotating door with Mikey in tow. He had always loved the way Alicia walked. She marched though doors and demanded attention. Pete had a bad habit of leaving people behind, but Alicia never let him do that. She charged along beside him, strapping on his bass and grinning at him with a challenge tucked in the corners of her mouth. What they had, well, Pete mistook that for love for a long time. Sometimes he still had trouble telling the difference.
Alicia cocked her head in Pete's direction. "I need sleep, but this one should be good for a few more hours."
Mikey smiled sheepishly at Pete.
"Are you sure you can't come up for a minute?" Pete asked. She looked at him, considering.
Say no, he thought, saynosaynosayno.
"Nah," she said, and smiled. Pete hoped his relief wasn't evident. "I'm meeting some friends for breakfast. Do you remember that kid Randall who used to tech for Mest?" Pete shrugged. "Well, anyway. That fucker owes me a meal, and I plan on collecting." Alicia turned to Mikey who was being unusually silent. "See you at home?"
"Yeah," Mikey stepped forward and pressed their lips together briefly. The hinges of their mouths crinkled when their lips went flush, distorting their faces in a way that Pete should have found unattractive. He had to look away, if only to give the two of them some semblance of privacy in the over-lit lobby.
"It was good to see you, hon." Alicia turned to Pete, bending forward to hug him as best she could in his sitting position. Pete started to get up, but she had already stepped away by the time he was upright. "Are you going to be around tomorrow?" she asked, rummaging in her pockets and extracting her mittens.
"I've got a four o'clock flight, but there's stuff I need to do before I leave, so. Probably not." Pete hoped he sounded apologetic, because he meant it, mostly. Pete missed Alicia in the absent, nagging way that he missed all his exes. He missed her hair, and her legs, and the way she was always game for whatever Pete suggested. Pete missed the way she walked.
Alicia mock-pouted at him, but she pulled him into a real hug this time, with full body contact. "Be good," she whispered in his ear, and Pete tried his best not to react to that, squeezing her tight.
He said, "I'll call you about that thing, okay?" and Alicia nodded at him, but she was already walking away. She and Mikey blew kisses until she stumbled, nearly tripping face-first on the carpet.
"Dude." Pete laughed.
Mikey rolled his eyes. "Like you're one to talk."
Mikey had him there, so Pete shrugged. He whipped out his keycard to wave in front of Mikey's face. "Want to check out my sweet digs? The label is paying."
"You are the label, dipshit."
"Well fine. I guess you'll never know how awesome my room was. You'll never see the Jacuzzi or the stripper pole or..."
Mikey laughed, cutting Pete off mid-sentence. Mikey batted at Pete's hand that was still waving the keycard in his face. "Fine. Whatever. Show me your pad."
1.
Misshapes was busy, buzzing with music and color and kids who were too indie to listen to either Pete's or Mikey's bands. Mikey was having fun, but Mikey always had fun with Pete. It was good to hang out again, have Pete back in his personal orbit. Mikey liked the new-old proximity that allowed him to reach out and touch Pete's shoulder to make a point, or lean on him briefly while they waited at the bar. It was almost too easy, falling back into the habit.
An old habit, which reminded Mikey that he wasn't the only one glad to have Pete back. It was easy for Mikey to forget that Alicia knew Pete long before he had, that Alicia and Pete had their own little universe of private jokes and shared glances. Mikey watched Alicia grab Pete's hand and lead him out to the dance floor.
Alicia stood a few inches taller than Pete, and Mikey liked the look of them: their dark heads angled together, presumably to be heard over the loud bass of the song. Neither of them were great dancers, but they moved in a rhythm he found achingly familiar. Mikey scratched his head under his knit cap. The wool always made his scalp itch. Eventually, Pete and Alicia migrated back to his post by the wall, and he knew at least one of them was going to make him dance.
"Dude, don't make that face."
"I'm not making a face."
"You totally are!" Pete turned to Alicia for confirmation.
"He totally is." She nodded solemnly.
Mikey rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"Stop being a pussy." Pete grabbed his wrist, dragging him through the mass of people. Mikey spared a glance over his shoulder at Alicia who waved him off, gesturing to her drink to indicate she was getting another.
Pete squeezed Mikey's wrist, as if to get his attention, and the metal of Mikey's decal bracelet bit into his wristbone. Pete said, "You used to like dancing with me."
"What?" Mikey was pretty sure he and Pete had never danced before, and if they had, Mikey certainly never liked it.
"Nothing. It's a quote from something. I don't remember what."
"Okay, random." Pete was so strange sometimes, but Mikey couldn't help pulling Pete a bit closer, hand on his lower back to steady him as a group of girls pushed by to get to the bar.
Pete didn't move away after the girls passed.
5.
Mikey followed Pete to his room. The heater was cranked up high in the hallways, and the back of Mikey's throat felt scratchy, burned with dry heat. Pete turned to him while he slid the keycard through the lock.
"Can you stay for a while?"
Mikey blinked. It felt as if no time had passed, like it was just another night on Warped, maybe the night -- when Pete had asked him to stay, and Mikey had spent the whole night. He realized a beat later that hadn't answered Pete's question. Mikey shrugged apologetically.
"Sure," he said, following Pete over the threshold, and Pete unconsciously propped the door open until he was sure Mikey had it.
The lights were dimmed, the temperature cool compared to the corridor. Pete toed off his shoes and flipped the light switch on his way in. Mikey stood in the center of the room while Pete hovered by the bed. Pete was looking at him like he was waiting for whatever Mikey was about to say.
2.
"He misses you, you know."
The music pounded heavy and distracting, but it wasn't loud enough to block out Alicia's words. Pete jerked his head slightly to meet her eyes. She looked calm, like she was merely commenting on the awful music or the gravity-defying cut of the bartender's tank top.
Alicia of all people knew not to say shit like that to him. Pete realized-- it had to be-- she was nervous. Her calm tipped him off. She'd done the same thing when she and Pete neared the end of their backwards version of dating, played it cool, and Pete had felt as betrayed then as he did now. Pete and Alicia both were both dramatic as fuck. It was in their nature, and they had both prided themselves on it at various points in their lives. No detail was too small, nope. Everything was an event, a photo op, a Big Deal. Pete had gone into the end of their relationship in anticipation of a nuclear explosion. He'd wanted war, expected it, even. He never expected this.
"I miss you guys, too." Pete avoided her eyes and knocked their hips together slightly to emphasize his words. Pete recognized her composure for the disguise that it was. He had no intention of calling her on it.
Alicia smiled at him sarcastically. "Aww, I know you miss me. But that's not the same thing."
"Maybe," he admitted. The music changed awkwardly, mid-beat, and it took Pete a minute to place the new song.
Alicia was quiet for a long pause, but she finally smiled at him for real. "I guess I kind of missed you, too."
It was dumb, that her smile could still disarm him. A dull pang of longing welled in his chest, and Pete pushed it down to the smallest, quietest place he could find. He squeezed her hip in silent agreement, prayed she wouldn't push. He half-closed his eyes and mouthed along with the words, shaking his hips to the dissonant melody that was pouring out from the walls around them. Pete tried not to think about what came next.
3.
The cab dropped them off a few blocks from the hotel. Pete reached for his wallet, but Alicia stopped him and pulled her own wallet out of her purse.
"You're our guest," she explained patiently when Pete grumbled at her.
"I'm not even staying with you guys."
"And whose fault is that?"
Pete shook his head, but Alicia paid for the cab. They tumbled out to the cold night, their breath steaming in the frigid air.
It reminded Mikey of something. He said, "When Gerard and I were younger we thought that the white color our breath turned in the cold-- we thought it was like, ghosts. Proof of their existence, or something."
Pete's face lit up. "That's awesome, dude! When we were kids, I convinced my sister that she had to hold her breath when we passed a cemetery, otherwise she'd inhale a spirit."
"Did she do it? Did she hold her breath?" Alicia asked.
"Of course!"
"Every time?"
Pete looked affronted that Alicia would question the validity of his statement. "Yes, she was totally convinced. This one time, oh man," Pete started laughing, bending over to catch his breath. "This one time," he wheezed, "we were on a road trip, passing though Indiana, and there was this big-ass cemetery. Some president was buried there or something. Anyway. It went on for miles, and Hilary tried to hold her breath the whole time. My parents freaked out."
Alicia laughed. "You must have been a great brother"
"I was! Whatever, she totally loves me best now. I get her way better presents than Andrew."
The hotel came into view and they paused at the entrance. Pete and Mikey's bare knuckles grazed, and Mikey couldn't tell if it was accidental or not. It felt like he'd been touching Pete all night. He wondered if it was only conscious on his part.
Alicia turned to Pete, "You go on ahead. We'll be there in a sec."
Pete wrinkled his nose. "You telling secrets about me?"
"Yes, everything is about you." Alicia unearthed her cigarettes from her purse and Mikey extended his hands, flexing his fingers towards the box to snag one from her.
"You guys are sick," Pete said, pinching his nose with his thumb and his pointer finger, making his voice come out high and nasal. He disappeared through the door, but Mikey could see him settle down on the couch, pulling out his Sidekick.
"So I think I'm going to take off," Alicia said, apropos of nothing.
"What?"
Alicia took a drag off her cigarette and her eyes focused on whatever was directly behind him. "You guys have stuff to talk about, it would be weird if I stayed."
Mikey angled his head to catch her eye. "It wouldn't be weird. We all have stuff to talk about." He reached out and laced their free hands together. He was nervous, but he wasn't sure why. It felt like they were having an important discussion, but Mikey was missing all the key points.
Alicia looked down and turned the corners of her mouth into a small smile, the kind that could easily be mistaken for a frown. "What I'm about to say-" Alicia shook her head and closed her mouth, shifting her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. Her eyes darted to the left, his face, then down to the pavement. She said, "You know, I wouldn't be with you if I didn't believe you loved me--"
Mikey's brain went static. His eyes fixed on the pale line of her neck where her scarf unwound from her coat, and one sweet patch of skin in particular where Mikey liked to lip at the thin skin. He remembered putting his mouth on that spot when he was inside of her. He thought, I want to marry her.
Alicia continued on, oblivious to Mikey's revelation, "...doesn't negate the big part of you that still has feelings for him. You guys need to talk this out, resolve... whatever it is that's been keeping you distracted." Alicia wrapped him in her long, skinny arms. "We all need this to be over, kid. Am I right?"
Mikey could smell the sharp sweat from her body under the smoke of their cigarettes and the synthetic mask of her cinnamon moisturizer. He loved her so much, it almost wasn't fair. Mikey swallowed, and swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat that blocked his agreement. He gave up on words and nodded against her sleek hair. The buttons on his jacket scraped against the nylon of Alicia's, creating a rhythmic shushing sound with the up-down movement of his head.
Mikey was in over his head. He didn't feel ready for this much responsibility. He wanted to marry Alicia. He did. He was ready for all that that entailed, be it washing her underwear, or listening to her babble baby talk to a cat that he wasn't sure he liked yet. Mikey was ready to spend every day with someone he loved as easily as he loved Alicia, but. Nothing could have prepared him for this -- the way she stood before him, trusting Mikey not to screw this up.
Mikey tightened his arms, pressing her close until he could feel the cut of her ribs pressing solidly against his own. They stood there for what felt like a long time, individual snowflakes melting on their jackets while they held each other on the sidewalk.
6.
Pete could still feel Mikey's hands on him from the club. He was a little bit high on it, a little shaky having Mikey so close. Mikey said he would stay. Pete guessed that Alicia said as much earlier, but it didn't mean the same thing. Alicia saying that Mikey would stay, and Mikey wanting to stay were two very different animals. Pete didn't miss the subtlety of the distinction.
Mikey had followed him upstairs to his room, and now Mikey was about to say something that would set the tone for the entire night. Pete could feel it in his fingertips.
"Do you remember the time last summer when we switched out all of Frank's underwear?" Mikey asked.
It was the last thing Pete could have expected him to say, and Pete was shocked into a startled bark.
Mikey relaxed when Pete laughed. He took off his jacket and draped it over the chair. The change was overwhelming, like he had removed a layer of armor, and Pete fought the rush of possessiveness that threatened to envelop him. Watching Mikey undress in his presence still twisted something primal in his gut, no matter how much time had passed.
The first part of Mikey's sentence, the: do you remember the time last summer..., felt to Pete like a question they'd both spent a lot of time asking one another. It was almost like that summer needed to be confirmed, both of them making sure it had been real, that they hadn't imagined it. "Yeah," Pete said to address the second part of the sentence. He couldn't remember whose idea it had been, switching Frank's boxers with women's underwear. The fact that underwear was involved suggested Pete, but it had probably been Mikey who had started it, paying Frank back for some small injustice.
Pete sat down hard on the mattress and scooted his butt backwards until he hit the headboard. He made sure to leave enough room for Mikey, who settled next to him on the bed.
"I still can't believe he wore them!" Mikey said gleefully.
Their prank had backfired spectacularly. There had been no way of knowing that Jamia would be so fond of her boyfriend in women's panties. The crazy part was that Frank really did wear them. Not all the time of course, but Pete remembered catching brief glimpses of pale pastels flashing out from the waistbands of Frank’s low-slung shorts. Frankie hadn't even been all that pissed, beyond the obligatory threats on both their heads. Pete suspected that Frank's lack of anger might have had something to do with the way Jamia's hand was often resting casually under the hemlines of his shirts. One memorable evening, Pete even caught the movement of her fingers tracing what appeared to be a g-string peeking out of Frank's pants.
"What's up with Frank these days?" Pete saw Mikey shift to find a comfortable position on the bed.
"Um." Mikey crossed and uncrossed his legs. "He proposed to Jamia. Did you hear?"
"Yeah, Bob told Patrick. I actually emailed Frank to like, congratulate him, but he responded by sending me a bunch of pictures of Bob's gangrenous leg."
Mikey laughed, "Whatever. You thought it was cool, don't lie." Mikey gave up trying to find a comfortable sitting position, and he turned over on his stomach, propping his head up on his hand.
"It was kind of awesome," Pete had to admit.
"Hmmm," Mikey hummed, nodding to himself. Pete slumped down on the headboard, inch by inch, until he was more or less lying down. He unwedged the pillow from the mattress and curled it under his head. Mikey flopped his head down on the adjacent pillow and angled his feet towards Pete. Mikey's body looked like a comma, or an apostrophe, or some other punctuation mark that signified a pause, joined errant letters, or suggested that Mikey wanted to get closer to Pete.
"This room isn't all that spectacular," Mikey said, after a long pause.
Pete's head was occupied, trying to decode Mikey's brand of punctuation through muscular gestures, so he said, "Yeah. I just wanted an excuse to get you up here," without thinking about what kind of message he wanted to convey with his words. It certainly wasn't that.
Mikey's expression froze.
"Well I'm here now." He said. He hunched his shoulders like he was bracing himself for an onslaught of words. Pete could remember with perfect clarity the last time he saw that exact set of Mikey's shoulders.
"You never called me back." Pete had had no clue he was going to say that, either.
Mikey knit his eyebrows together in confusion. "What are you talking about? I always call you back."
"In March when you guys were recording." Pete felt panicked, but he couldn't stop. Not now, not after he started. "Alicia told me, but when I called, y-you never called me back. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm okay," Mikey said stubbornly.
"You weren't, though." Pete wasn't clear on a lot of things, but he was sure of that much.
Mikey sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I am now," he said quietly, speaking to his knees.
"Mikey." Pete's arm reached out involuntarily to rub the tension from the line of Mikey's back, but he knew he wasn't allowed. He let his arm drop down on the bed, and his hand came to rest near Mikey's thigh. Pete stared up at the ceiling, and he was surprised to feel Mikey's long fingers wrap around his hand. Pete held his breath, hoping that if he didn't move, Mikey would keep holding on - would let Pete hang on for as long as they both could stand it.
9.
Mikey stood in the hotel corridor with his back against the door, supporting his weight. He couldn't move, couldn't think beyond his overwhelming desire to knock on the door and have Pete let him back in. Mikey was shaking a bit, and he had to force each measured breath.
Mikey's thoughts flashed back to the time a handful of months ago when Gerard brought Mikey and Bob with him to a meditation seminar. The instructor had been an older woman, her skin weathered and leathery, and she possessed a birdlike aura that put him at ease despite his overwhelming suspicion.
Halfway though the lecture, she instructed them to lie flat on the mats. In an even, percussive voice, she told them to breathe in and out. They were supposed to picture themselves walking through a dense forest, but Mikey couldn't see anything beyond the blank backs of his own eyelids. He gave up after ten minutes, and he spent the rest of the class replaying the smashing pumpkins Siamese dream backwards, fingers twitching along to the bassline in his head.
After the seminar and during the car ride home, Bob and Gerard had been chatty. Gerard had been full of praise for the old woman, and Bob was as likely to agree as disagree. They talked in low and amiable voices, their conversation split up at points by Gerard, who liked to glance back in the rear view mirror to gauge Mikey's reaction. Mikey made a point of meeting Gee's eyes in the mirror with an expression that hopefully didn't betray his true feelings of how unhelpful Mikey felt the seminar had been.
Meditation didn't work for Mikey - not then, and certainly not now - but the memory was enough to distract him. It gave him time to regulate his heartbeat, stop the shaking that started in his thighs and rattled noisy in his chest. Eventually he got it together enough to move.
By the time he reached the elevator, Mikey had his Sidekick out. The mirrored doors pinged open, and he leaned against the guardrail while he texted Alicia to tell her he was on his way home.
7.
Mikey took a deep breath and held it. Then another. Then another. Pete's hand was clammy and familiar in his own. The sense memory was powerful. Mikey needed a minute to collect himself, to explain.
He turned to Pete and asked, "Have you ever been in a haunted house? I mean, a real one?"
Pete shook his head.
"It's... different than the movies."
"Did you see a ghost?" Pete sounded nervous, like he was afraid the answer would be yes.
Mikey wanted to tell Pete he was the ghost. Even in his head it sounded stupid, no matter how true it might have been.
"Sometimes it was almost funny." Mikey remembered the time the door slammed in the kitchen and he and Gerard ran screaming like little kids. "Bob's bathtub kept filling up with water, and the first time it happened, I swear to god he almost pissed himself. I've never seen Bob scared like that before."
Pete snorted, "Right. Haunted house, man. That's fucking hilarious."
Mikey shook his head. "It was so unreal, though. It got to the point where it was humorous it's like-- you know when you're having a shitty day, and the bad stuff keeps happening? Like you wake up with no clean clothes, and when you finally find something to wear, you spill coffee all over your shirt at breakfast? Sometimes shit gets so bad, all you can do is laugh about it because it's ridiculous. That's how scary it was. It was ridiculous."
Pete frowned like he was trying to understand. Mikey didn't feel like waiting for Pete to get it. This wasn't last summer. Pete couldn't read his mind, no matter how much he wanted to or tried.
Mikey felt absolutely picked apart. He'd discussed that spring at length with Alicia, Frank, his therapist, and Mikey was tired of talking about it. That spring had been too many months strung together, on top of a long summer, in addition to a bad year. There was only so much he could take. The house was just the trigger. What happened... It could have been anywhere. Anywhere in the whole world, and there would have been no avoiding it. He tried. Pete was right-- Mikey never called him back. He'd wanted to. He had gone so far as to pick up the phone, fingers hovering over P.P. in his phone book, but he couldn't bring himself to make the call.
Mikey was tired. He had exhausted himself, wanting this thing that didn't belong to him anymore. Most days he wasn't sure if he was mad at Pete or at himself. Relationships should end if you wanted them to. They shouldn't drag on, plaguing him at odd times like this one did. Mikey shouldn't feel guilty every time he read Pete's blog, or shot him a line to ask what's up, especially since Mikey was ninety percent positive that Alicia did the same. Pete was a like a puzzle that they'd had their hand at solving, but never quite finished. Mikey had failed, and he needed to stop walking around with this undone feeling lurking around in his chest, banging around with his internal organs, and wreaking havoc at unfortunate times.
Mikey sighed, "Look, forget what I said. I guess it's something that can't be explained. It's like, you can never really explain what made you take those pills, and I can't tell people why I was unhappy. But I can--" This part was important, but it hadn't gotten any easier for him, no matter who he said it to, "I can apologize for hiding it from you."
Pete looked like he was going to cry or punch or something or make a scene, which Mikey dreaded, but instead he said, "Okay," squeezing Mikey's hand with each syllable, two short pumps of his fingers.
Mikey recognized Pete letting it go.
He looked like he needed a minute to get it together, and Mikey needed some space as well. "I have to pee," Mikey said, gesturing to the bathroom.
Pete nodded, "Sure."
Mikey got up. He stood there dumbly for a couple of seconds, until he snapped out of it, walked the path to the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. He turned on the light, and the electric thrum of the vanity bulbs buzzed loudly in his ears. Mikey's reflection was weak, unstable in the florescent lighting. Sighing, Mikey turned on the faucet, sifting the cool stream through his fingers until the water ran hot.
10.
Pete stared at the ceiling for a long time after Mikey left. He was reduced to something weightless and inessential, his molecules threatening to come apart. Pete pictured small bits of himself drifting through the grates in the walls, diffused through the hotel's ventilation system, spat out into other's rooms where he'd be inhaled and absorbed.
He pulled out his phone and hit three on his speedial.
"H'lo?" The voice on the other end of the line was hazy with sleep.
"Hey."
"Pete," Patrick sounded surprised. "I thought you were in New York with Mikey and Alicia."
"Uh, I am?"
"No, I mean," Patrick took a deep breath. "You don't usually call me about... Isn't this usually Nick's territory?"
"Yeah," Pete admitted. It was true. He usually called Nick or Ryan about Mikey stuff, except-- "I feel like, well, I can't really call him about this because--" Pete paused, "It's different. This time was different."
"Did you guys, uh."
Pete smiled at Patrick's modesty. "No." he said quietly. Pete rolled over onto his side. His knees curled towards the phone, everything rising in him, straining up towards the voice on the line. As if the tangibility of Patrick's voice could suffuse something solid into the fabric of Pete's being until he was filled with it, bursting at the seams with his own reality.
"That’s… good Pete. That's really good."
Pete wanted to agree and leave it at that, but instead he asked, "Then why do I feel so shitty?" because he was Pete and he couldn't help it. Patrick laughed, softly and without malice. Pete didn't actually want an answer, so he kept talking without giving Patrick a chance to respond. "Are you going to be in LA when I get back?"
"Uh," Pete could hear Patrick shifting around, muffled background noise. "You're coming home tomorrow night, right? I think-- yeah. I can probably meet you at the house if you let me know what time you get in."
"I don't need you to take care of me," Pete said stubbornly, even though there was nothing he wanted more than for Patrick to come over and hang out with him. Maybe Pete could even get in some cuddle time, if Patrick was in an affable mood.
"Who said anything about taking care of you? I expect you to provide entertainment when I get there."
"You're such a pal."
"And don't forget it," Patrick said.
"I couldn't," Pete said quietly. "I'll see you at home."
8.
Mikey stood crooked by the hotel chair and, not for the first time, Pete wondered what made Mikey's body bend like that. A mysterious childhood accident, maybe? Fell from a building? Of course, all kids wonder what it would be like to have wings, but Mikey seemed like the kind of child who wouldn't have been afraid to jump off roofs in the pursuit of flight. Pete remembered wondering what it would be like, how it would feel to fly. He'd even gone so far as to stand on the roof of his garage, Ked sneakers hanging half on half off the gutter, but he wimped out without anyone present to cheer him on. Pete had always performed better in front of an audience
Mikey coughed nervously, wiped his hands on his jeans. "It's getting kind of late," he grabbed his jacket and contorted his back further by shoving his arms awkwardly though the armholes.
"I'll be back in the city in a few weeks," Pete said, in case Mikey forgot.
Mikey nodded. "Just let us know. Alicia redid the kitchen, and I'm sure she's itching for an excuse to actually use it."
Pete had tasted Alicia's cooking before, but he passed on the opportunity to give Mikey a hard time about it. "Yeah. That, uh, sounds good." Pete stood and walked Mikey to the door. They hugged briefly.
Pete slumped against the wall and watched Mikey prepare to leave. He felt detached, like he was watching a scene from a tragic novel where the protagonist watches the young man walk out of his life for good, neither getting what he came for. Mikey's hand was poised over the doorknob when Pete heard himself ask, "Are you happy? I mean, god," Pete bit at his cuticle anxiously, angry at himself for letting the weak words leak past his lips, "I sound like such a jerk, but it's really important to me that you're happy. I want you to be."
Mikey scrubbed at his face in annoyance, "--the fuck? Pete. Do you seriously want to get into this right now?"
"Uh." Pete didn't know the answer himself.
"Because," Mikey moved to where Pete stood, boxing him against the wall, "if you're asking if I still think about you, then the answer is yes. Yes, Pete. I'm not over you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Pete's leg twitched. "I'm not over you either."
Mikey exhaled hard. He slumped forward, banging his skull against the wall with a thud. His head rested right next to Pete's head, the tips of their ears whispering together. Mikey said softly into the space between Pete's neck and the wall, "That's not fair," and his voice was small like a child's.
Pete's toes curled in his shoes. "I know it," he said.
There was about an inch and a half of space between them, and not letting himself bridge that small divide took a lot out of Pete. They were stuck, and, as much at it killed Pete to admit it, he knew that it wasn't the right time for them, no matter how loudly his body shouted at him to close the gap and prove to Mikey how much they still needed one another.
Pete's question had been stupid, because Pete knew Mikey was happy. He recognized the blazing, cavernous furnace that had woken inside of himself, that drove him to ask the question. It was the very same machine that called Jeanae unremittingly until her parents disconnected her phone, that hungry blaze that moved Pete to put his fist through walls and windows.
"Shit-- You're right." Pete laughed shakily, "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Mikey drew back to look at Pete. "Just... Don't. I don't want to be another thing you beat yourself up over, okay? Not anymore."
Mikey's words stung. Pete felt a flare of anger, but it was misdirected and half-hearted at best. Pete concentrated on letting the fire leach out of him slowly, felt the way it slid white-hot through his body, from his mouth, down his throat, pooling in his groin, and dripping down until it left him completely and disappeared into the cheap carpeting.
Mikey must have felt Pete relax, because he said, "Don't be sorry," repeating himself, but his words had lost their bite.
"Sure thing," Pete said lightly, extending his foot to let it rest briefly on top of Mikey's foot. Tap, Pete flexed his foot. Tap, tap, tap.
Mikey shifted his weight back and then forward and back again. They looked each other head on for a few seconds, before Mikey took a real step backwards, then another. Mikey backed up until his shoulders hit the opposite wall of the hallway.
"You're going to be back in a couple of weeks," Mikey said.
Something like hope surged in Pete's chest.
"I am."
"You're going to call me, and we're going to go out again. Alicia will make us something disgusting to eat for dinner at the end of the night."
Pete smiled a little at that, smoothing his hand through his hair and tugging at his bangs, "Okay."
Mikey said, "I'm going to get over you someday."
Pete nodded. "Not today, though?"
Mikey shook his head, "No, not today."