The drummer and the bassist; the heartbeat and the pulse. Short BIKEY one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
He was the drummer boy, the heartbeat to every song, the blonde guy with a lip ring and dangerously deep blue eyes. A hell of a lot more, nothing less.
I was the quiet little bassist, the pulse to every song, the skinny guy with pale skin and the little brother of the lead singer. Nothing more, maybe a little less.
And, just like a heartbeat and a pulse, we were kind of the same; both camera shy and both happy to go praise-less for the parts we both played within the band. Also, as it turned out, both terrified of thunderstorms.
It’s funny really, how he rushed off to his bunk that night we were stopped in New York, how the heartbeat of the sky frightened off the heartbeat of the band.
It’s pathetic, really, how I hid in my own bunk as though blankets could blot out the storm, how I acted like a stupid little toddler.
I could hear Frank laughing at something Gerard said about the ‘real’ reason we had both rushed to the bunks, a reason a lot more pleasant than hiding from a storm.
I could hear Ray telling them he thought if there was anything ‘going on’ that it was extremely sweet, a lot sweeter for me to focus on than the crashing claps of nature’s fury.
Bob would later tell me that thunderstorms scare him because he really is, despite what many may believe, a very docile person; hates surprises and any form of loud noise that isn’t being created by his drumsticks. He hates them because they make him feel small and insignificant in a world that he doesn’t want to get lost in.
I would later tell Bob that thunderstorms scare me because I really am, going along with popular belief, the baby of the band; still jumps at the things that go bump in the night and nothing gets bumpier than thunder. I hate them because they make me feel even more quiet and invisible in a world that wants to blot me out.
Thoughts flooded me whilst I curled up into myself to escape the storm, thoughts about the drummer in the bunk opposite, about how he never tries to act like a rock star and yet he couldn’t be more perfect for our little rock band if he came complete with a luxury tour bus; about how his eyes, like two sunlit puddles, are always full of comprehension, like he’s always deep in thought about things that I’d love to know; about how nice it would be to not be alone in my bunk, not be alone in being frightened of something that I used to be ashamed of being afraid of until that night, because that night I learnt that Bob was afraid too.
It was then, head hidden under my pillow and blanket wrapped tightly around my body, that I came to a rather startling yet not entirely unexpected conclusion. A conclusion that spelt out a huge crush. On the drummer boy, on the heartbeat to every song; on Bob Bryar.
It was also then, fingers scratching at each other in anxiety and eyes tightly shut in nervousness, that I came to another conclusion, this time one that made a lot of sense and wasn’t at all unexpected. A conclusion that illustrated a lack of a crush. A crush from Bob on the quiet little bassist, on the pulse to every song; on me, Mikey Way.
Imagine, if you will, how it feels to realise all that you have been lacking in life, the fun and love and heartbeat, is lying a few feet away from you. It’s a fantastic feeling.
Imagine, if you will, how it feels to then realise that all you have been lacking in life, the fun and love and heartbeat, will never not be lacking. It’s a shit feeling.
But then, just as two of the biggest revelations to ever hit me settled into my mind, something truly miraculous happened. Something that made me forget about the threatening sound of thunder. The heartbeat to every song was suddenly loud and clear, beating next to the quiet pulse of every tune.
Bob had clambered into my bunk with me, apparently finding his own bunk way too cold and hearing my little whimpers too heart-breaking to fall asleep to.
Bob had pulled me close into him, apparently finding his own body heat not enough and trying to calm my whimpers away so that he could fall asleep.
Maybe it was my imagination, maybe not, but I’m sure that I felt him peck my cheek just before I drifted off.
Maybe I’m going insane, maybe not, but I’m sure that I heard him whisper ‘I really like you’ just before sleep deafened me.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, maybe not, but I’m sure that I saw him smile wistfully at me just before dreams blinded me.
When I woke up I was alone once more, just like every morning prior and unlike every morning since.
When I woke up the others were teasing Bob about something, something that made him blush.
When I woke up I was no longer just a pulse, we were a pulse and a heartbeat.
Our own little song.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I’ve never written a Bikey before, so I hope that it went alright. Thanks for reading and please review! :)