Mikey/Gerard standalone fic. Mikey and Gerard have spent their whole lives together...
I roll away from you.
We buy a cheap couch with our savings from last year; a total of sixty two dollars and it isn’t enough for a bed or a mattress quite yet. We share the couch that night, and despite my attempts to kiss your throat and touch your cheek, you roll away, facing the back. I lie there and wonder if it’s really me who’s the problem, you’ve never told me, and as the night stretches on, I feel my heart sinking and I never say anything.
It’s just another night, after all.
As the years stretch on by, pass us in a blur of dull and mess, we finally arrive at a place where we can buy a small apartment. It’s big enough for only one of us, but we share it anyway because we don’t know how to live separate lives.
We find a futon on the side of the road and I help you carry it home, ignoring the stares we get from everyone else. We lay it in the middle of the living room, in front of the window that overlooks the side of a brick building. A billboard with an ad for a furniture store has been put there, and it says ‘Like Sleeping on a Cloud Night after Night’ and I turn away from it and watch you sit on the futon. Our gazes finally meet and it feels like years since we’ve made eye contact. And I want to hold you, but you will never let me.
We have sex that night for the first time since I was sixteen and you were only nineteen and fucked up, and the neighbours bang on the walls when I come too loudly. I cover my mouth and roll off of you, our faces flushed and our skin sweaty and sticky. You sigh and roll away from me, taking the blanket with you so I’m left with the bed sheet, and it’s only then I realise that you never came, and I lie there wondering why you refused to kiss me.
We don’t have sex anymore. We buy an expensive condo in the city with our pay checks joined, and when I walk up the stairs, into our bedroom, I find you standing beside a king-sized bed. You straighten the covers and I fold my arms around me, my heart pounding against my ribs. I stand here wondering what is the matter; is it me all along? But I never ask you.
And you say, “I couldn’t find a mattress big enough so you don't accidentally touch me while we're asleep...”
And I say, “I promise I won’t touch you.”
We lay side by side, our arms as still as stone, and the ceiling is dirty and stained from all these years of looking down at us, hopeless and awkward and afraid to even feel.
I can feel my heart failing and you light a cigarette and take a slow drag, coughing blood into your hand. You wipe it on my side of the bed sheet and I still don’t say anything. I take my glasses off my nose and fold them, placing them on the bedside table, and I still don’t say anything. You finish your cigarette and turn off the lamp, rolling away from me like you’ve done for years.
And I still don’t ask you what is the matter. I’ve long stopped wondering why you don’t answer since you’ve taken the lung cancer and I’ve stolen the heart failure. I stare at your back for the rest of the night, feeling cold and sick and tired but unable to fall asleep. All I want to do is hold you.
It’s not until we’re six feet underground that I turn to you and I finally ask you, “What’s the matter, Gee?”
And you look still and cold but you roll over to face me for the first time in years, and your eyes are shinging with tears, and you say, "You're too late, Mikey."