The ten things Frank hates about loving Mikey. [Based on the poem from the movie]
I hate the way you talk to me,
He was supposed to be making soup. Instead, Frank held the wooden spoon in the air like a sword, rambling on about how he was a 'mighty warrior'.
From the couch, a rather cranky Mikey coughed loudly. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Frankie. Could you please act like an adult for once in your life and make me some fucking soup?!" His head was pounding, his entire body ached, and he felt like death. Mikey loved Frank to pieces; but he simply couldn't take his immaturity in his sick state.
Frank was always sick, and Mikey was more than happy to take care of him. It gave him a sort of feeling of accomplishment, to have his lover constantly rely on him like that. So, now that the roles were reversed, shouldn't Frank be trying to make Mikey feel better- not make his head hurt more?
The younger man's normally bright eyes filled with sadness at Mikey's words. Frank knew his boyfriend was just cranky, but it still hurt. Sighing, he returned to his previous task of stirring potatoes into the soup.
And the way you cut your hair.
Black. It was black... like his brother's. Frank resented that.
Mikey was so unlike his older brother; that was what made him fall so deeply in love with him. Gerard and Michael Way were completely different. Running his hand through his boyfriend's newly-dyed hair, Frank thought to himself how it should have stayed that way. The black seemed to be a helmet covering Mikey's natural chestnut color.
"You look like Darth Vader, baby..." he mumbled, lightly brushing fallen strands out of Mikey's eyes. They didn't feel slightly dried-out from straightening; they felt like fresh-out-of-the-salon silky-smooth black strands. Frank instantly felt guilty- it seemed way too much like Gerard.
Mikey sighed, kissing the top of his little lover's head. "I know, I know. The dye will have to fade eventually." Although he'd never admit it, he felt slightly flattered to be considered a Sith Lord. All he'd ever wanted since the release of 'The Phantom Menace' was to be one.
"That's not all, though." Frankie frowned, tracing around Mikey's eyes. "I miss your glasses..."
I hate the way you drive my car,
Clutching the leather of the seat for dear life, Frank tried to catch his breath. Unfortunately, his breath was impossible to catch, considering how fast Mikey was driving. He fought the urge to let out a girlish scream as they quickly turned a corner; he could've sworn that they'd crashed into a tree.
Mikey laughed heartily. The adrenaline was rushing through his veins almost as fast as the wind in his hair. Tonight, he felt alive. It was cliché to say so; but it was true. Laughing again, he turned on the stereo, 'Zero' blasting through the speakers.
Seeing the light in Mikey's eyes, Frank [almost] forgot the absurd speed they were driving at. He [almost] forgot how he was about to hurl over his car's new leather seats. Mikey was happy; and Frank wished his stomach would allow him to be happy as well.
I hate it when you stare.
Waiting for the PATH train to come to take them to New York, Frank and Mikey decided to have a staring contest to pass the time.
Soon, Mikey found Frank's beautiful green eyes far too hypnotizing to ignore and slammed his lips against the other's, gently tugging on his lip-ring with his teeth. Frank couldn't help but let out a small whimper when Mikey pulled away and smiled. "Frankie," he whispered, "People are staring..."
"That's not fair," Frank pouted, "This is a private staring contest."
Giggling, Mikey shook his head as Frank turned back around to hum a tune. Frankie was so amazing and beautiful; but he refused to believe it. He glanced at the bright colors adorning his arms in many pictures and phrases. They were like Frank, in a way- so special and unique. Each new picture was a memory Frank had wanted to remember forever, so he'd had them inked onto his body. It was like a celebration of Frank's life, forever with him. Mikey loved that. He moved up to look at his chiseled, clean-shaven face; the fringe beautifully framing the perfectness; those emerald eyes he almost always drowned in.
Frank, feeling eyes on him,- mentally undressing him- shifted on the bench. "Mikey," he whispered, "Stop staring."
I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.
"What the fuck are those, Mikes?" Frank questioned, pointing towards his feet.
"These?" Mikey lifted his left foot as Frank nodded. "These are my new boots." A smile on his face, he looked back at his boyfriend, who seemed far from impressed.
The younger shook his head. "Honestly, Mikey..."
A hurt look washed across his lover's face as he frowned. "You don't like them, do you?"
Frank sighed, "They look like pimp boots, babe."
Clearly offended- yet slightly amused- Mikey feigned anger, "And how exactly do you know what pimp boots look like?"
Frank gave Mikey a devilish look before strutting passed him, gently stroking his chin with his calloused fingers. "I have my ways." he whispered in his ear before walking off.
I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.
I hate it when you're always right; I hate it when you lie.
He wasn't an idiot; it was obvious to tell when Mikey felt guilty about something. It was the early days of their relationship, and Frank had gone out one day to visit his mother.
Mikey had begged Frankie to tell his parents about them, but Frank had ended the conversation with a harsh 'No.' Mikey pleaded for days, telling him how it would be easier to tell them than for them to find out the hard way. Sure, they were both strict Catholics and condemned anyone who was gay, but they had always been so supportive of Frankie. "It would be so much easier," Mikey promised.
Of course, he was right.
Mikey had gotten lonely while waiting for Frank, so he decided to text his phone with a simple: "Hey Frankie. Miss you lots. I love you- see you soon. xoxo Mikey" Unfortunately, Frank had left his phone on the table while he went to wash up for supper, so his parents had caught the phone when it vibrated off the table and read the message. When he got out of the bathroom, they went at him full-force.
Mikey denied having sent the text. But he was a horrible liar; he had the proof. Either way, he didn't mind all that much. He'd found a way for Frank to come out to his parents. It was perfect.
I hate it when you make me laugh; even worse when you make me cry.
"Why?" came Frank's small voice from beneath the pillow. "Why, Mikey?" he choked on a sob.
Mikey stroked his boyfriend's hair after taking the pillow off his head. "I don't know, Frankie. I'm sorry." His voice was even, smooth, and seemingly unaffected by Frank's tears. "God, if I knew Gerard would lash out like that... I swear I wouldn't have taken you there."
"You were lashing out with him! Do you love me or not, Mikey; I'd really like to know!"
Mikey bit his lip, "He didn't know about me... about us. I-I am really sorry, baby. I promise, I'll tell him first thing tomorrow."
A soft "You better." came from Frank's lips before he pressed them against Mikey's and went to sleep.
I hate it when you're not around, and the fact you didn't call.
It had been two weeks- two long, torturous weeks- since Mikey had left for his grandmother's funeral. He called once, to tell Frank he had to stay to make sure his brother was okay. But that was it. Two long weeks without his Mikey. Frank honestly didn't know how he was still alive.
Frank had spent the fourteen days cleaning, making a mess, cleaning again, then buying a dog. He was so lonely without his boyfriend that he resorted to buying a dog. He named her Piglet Tree Way, out of sheer boredom, and was delighted when Mikey came home a week later and picked up the squishy puppy, snuggling her into his chest.
Mikey smiled, looking up at Frank before saying, "I love you." and sealing it with a gentle kiss.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you; not even close- not even a little bit- not even at all.
Wow. Well, that took quite a lot out of me. Shiiiiit.
And, no, this is not part of the real-life series, I just had to post this.
Ratings and reviews, please? [they make my day.]