Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
We Can Do It
5 reviewsFrank just wants to be a good boyfriend. Mikey just wants to fade away. Short FRIKEY one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
5Moving
We Can Do It
My poor, poor little angel; my little white rose petal in a sea of red; my little perfection in a world full of hate; my wonderful little bass-playing boyfriend. So fragile, so sweet, so innocent, so little.
But that’s the problem; little.
He is little, way too little for it to be natural or healthy. The kind of little that makes his big brother blanch at simply the sight of him even though he’s seeing him at every waking moment through fear of him slipping away into the atmosphere when not in view; the kind of little that forces to Ray follow him around like a lost sheep through fear of him just disintegrating into the nothing that he’s fast becoming; the kind of little that causes Bob to get a sad twinkle of a fallen star in his eyes whenever Mikey tries to persuade everyone that he’s fine; the kind of little that’s killing him and absolutely destroying me.
The kind of little that’s bought on by one deadly, harsh, cruel, despicable word that can sum up all that is wrong with paradise; bulimia.
Mikey Way, my Mikes, my world, the heartbeat to my respiration, is bulimic. As in; he forces those intricately slender smoke-like wisps of his fingers down his throat every time he eats, fingers that belong intertwined with my own like a key belongs in a lock. My poor little baby makes himself throw-up just because he thinks that he’s not good enough, because other people are all too willing to shoot down something beautiful just because it makes them realise how ugly they are. I can see it dimming the glow of his chocolate-coated gems of vision, how he thinks that he’s nothing but a shadow following me around; how he thinks that he deserves to get hit and yelled at and spat on just because some piteous losers think that he can’t be who he is due to the fact that who he is stands as a far better person then they are; how he aches for it all to stop, but will never do something about it because people have taught him that he’s a failure, that he’s ugly and can’t do anything. Anything other than the one thing that makes him feel in control, anything other than retching and heaving over some snake-pit of a toilet.
I can sum his thoughts of himself up in one word; bullshit. The sort of bullshit that makes every other lie look like an honest truth compared to how much of a mistruth his ugly views of his beautiful are. I know my Mikey and I know that he can do anything.
No; I know that we, together, can do anything.
Why?
Because I’ll never let him fail. I love him way too much for that.
I only found out last night, with Gee sobbing down the phone that he just didn’t know what to do; that he’d found Mikes passed-out on the bathroom floor with a slick of vomit dribbling down his chin like an oil slick on a tropical beach serving to remind the world that humans are evil, that humans can and will destroy something naturally stunning whenever possible.
I can still hear Gerard’s sickened voice drilling through my cell like a hurricane of hopeless helplessness; the guy’s my best friend, it hurt to hear him so terrified, so lost without the knowledge that he is being the best big brother that he can be, that Mikes needs now more than ever.
”Frankie! Thank God, please, I don’t know what to do! I found him and he’s and I just, I do-“
“Woah, calm down, Gee.” I pause, waiting to hear his frantic bursts of breath slow into a more normal pace. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
And then it hits me like a falling star; Mikey. Something’s wrong with my Mikey, something’s hurting him.
He’s been seeming a little down lately, not to mention terrifyingly skinny, but that’s just Mikes being Mikes, just another reason for me to cuddle him that little bit closer when we’re anything less than an arm’s-width apart. Apart from recently he’s been shrinking away from me, been acting all jumpy and I just put it down to something that he’ll tell me about when he’s ready; what if this is an accumulation of that, what if this a consequence to me ignoring the fact that my angel’s wings are even more broken than normal?
That has to be it; why else would Gerard be phoning me in a state of near-hyperventilation at ten o’clock at night? God, my poor little angel, what if it’s something really bad? What if he’s dead?
I don’t know what I’ll do if my life really is dead.
No, I know exactly what I’ll do; I’ll die too. Because a life without Mikey Way isn’t a life at all. Not to me it isn’t, anyway. A life without Mikey Way is simply an existence; dull and pointless and empty and everything that was killing me before Mikes came into save me from the darkness like I know that I can save him.
“Frankie, I think he’s sick.” He sniffles down the phone, as though the words are clawing their way violently out of his lips. “Really sick. And I just don’t know what to do.”
Gerard was absolutely heart-broken; all fragmented shards of glass-like tears scarring his disbelieving face and protective body curled around his brother’s in a shielding manner, just like whenever Mikes gets beaten up at school by the bastards who caused all of this atrocity to befall my wonderful little wonder.
But what did I expect? Gee always takes pride in protecting his baby brother, almost as much as I do, even from the things that nobody can prevent from happening, so it only makes sense that something as completely world-shattering as finding out that his little brother, my boyfriend, lied to us for months, told as that everything was fine when he was purging himself to the point of collapsing behind our backs, would reduce Gee to the state that he was in when I got to the Way household, still in the clothes that I had worn to school just hours ago; hours that made the difference between me thinking that I was a pretty good boyfriend to my serene little perfection and me knowing that I’ve been nothing but bad for my lost, lonely weeping angel.
”Shush, it’s alright, Mikey-Mouse, I’m here now. I’m right here with you.” My words fall like drifting feathers into the tense silence of my boyfriend’s tension-thick bedroom, breaking up the silence that has been gripping the room ever since I helped Gerard carry him in here, his moonlight limbs beaming limply down on my own skin as I hold him close to me. “You’re not in trouble, Mikes.”
He shuffles to get closer to my warmth, like a moth to a candle, and looks up at me with hazy, dead eyes. Eyes that mine and Gerard’s frantic yelling have only just managed to prise open like two pirates desperately yanking the lid off of a treasure chest. The adorable shine that his eyes normally enchant me with whenever I pull him close to me like I am now has been replaced with a different type of shine entirely; the type of glassy shine that you see in the unblinking eyes of taxidermy animals, something so closely associated with life and love that it makes this new shine in his eyes have the same effect on me as some sort of visual cyanide.
God, he looks so weak.
Just like a broken rag doll that’s been tossed around twenty times too many, like the broken wing of a fallen angel; but that’s okay, because I can fix it. Between the three of us, Mikey and Gerard and me, we can make this right again. We have to; if we don’t then it won’t only be Mikes who suffers as a result. He may very well think that the only person that he’s hurting is himself, which is a thought that makes this all the more horrifying for my tattered heart, but by doing this he’s dragging Gerard through his own personal hell at the thought of losing one of the few people who actually understand him and he’s completely killing me; making my heart stop beating because it’s broken, broken at the thought that he was suffering so tremendously and didn’t come to me, the one person he’s supposed to come to for anything and everything, for help.
Maybe he thought that I’d judge him; shout at him; laugh at him; dump him?
No. He knows me better than that.
But then why the fuck didn’t he ask for any sort of assistance, for someone to help him stop making himself throw up as though it’s the most sensible thing for him to do?
Just fucking why? It doesn’t make any fucking sense; he’s always been slender, has always been perfect in just about every way, so how can even the idea of shoving his nimble fingers down his precious throat appeal to his normally brilliant mind?
“Why’d you do it, Mikes?” Gee croaks brokenly, making my eyes bleed a tear for his bleeding heart. But then his eyes flash with something that makes Mikes tremble in dread; anger. “I don’t understand, Bro. I thought you were doing alright, but then I walk in to find you covered in puke and out for the count in the bathroom!”
I want to hate Gee for shouting at my juddering bundle of boyfriend, loathe him for adding to the pure emotional trauma that is already crushing the poor kid, but I just can’t; if it weren’t for the fact that I can feel each of Mikey’s delicate bones pressed up against my own body then I probably would be yelling the very same thing, apart from with a tad more hysteria in it. But I can feel each individual bone under his paper-thin skin and so I feel that it is my duty to force-feed Gee the most dangerous glare that I can give; a glare that clearly conveys a message of warning to any whom dare make my boyfriend cry.
“I-I-I… I didn’t mean to-“
“How can you not mean to stick your fingers down your throat, how can you not mean to lie to everyone, how can you not mean to fucking let this happen to yourself, Mikes? Look at you; how can you call this not meaning it?” Gerard reaches out and grabs one of Mikey’s barely-there wrists, shaking it to show how skinny it is; how utterly fragile and frail he has become. “You meant every last bit of this, don’t you dare say that you didn’t.”
I just gawp at Gee, who is sat in the centre of the carpeted room with his hands running through his stress-mussed hair, in unbridled disgust; disgust which breaks down into pity the split second that his desperate sobs reach my ears. He wasn’t angry; he’s as scared as I am and too afraid to admit it because doing so would be like admitting that he’s a bad big brother. Something which I don’t think that he can ever be, not if he’s crying like this over something that is all down to me.
But then I feel Mikey shaking against me, hands gripping my t-shirt an uncountable number of times tighter in his absolute distress; Gerard may be my scared best friend, but Mikes is my petrified little angel.
Someone who nobody can fuck with and get away with it. Not even Gerard.
And that brings me to where I am right now, still in my little love’s bedroom with Mikes cradled against my chest just like a collection of endless hours earlier when Gerard dared to shout at him; apart from Gee’s gone out to cool down now. I know that he didn’t mean anything, but Mikey needs to be calm right now, needs to digest the toast that I’ve just coaxed him into eating with my beseeching eyes and encouraging little pecks.
He lets out a groan from deep within my chest, my hands reacting like lightning by raking gently through his sweat-slicked hair.
Why can’t he just have five minutes without his own body tormenting him?
“Frankie?” He mewls weakly up at me, our eyes locking in such a way that I like to think my gaze is transferring some of my own strength into his exhausted orbs of vision and I nod my chin against his feverish forehead, letting him know that he has my full attention. Just like always. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
His innocent request rattles through my veins like a derailed train of hope; he’s only had a slice of toast, is he really that bad? Is he really to the point where my love and Gerard’s protection might not be enough anymore?
“I’m sorry but I… I can’t do it. I can’t do this, Frankie!”
“No; you can’t do it.”
His eyes widen in an almost adorable way, making me glad that I for once know what I’m doing, I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure that my words will work.
I press my lips softly to his, not caring that he tastes mildly of vomit because this isn’t for me; this is for him, to show him how much I don’t believe in him but rather how much I believe in us. I know that he can’t do this alone, his current predicament proves that with brutal clarity, but with me helping him I know that we can overcome this together; that together we can do anything because being with him means that I can find a way to bring down the moon if that’s what he so desires.
I stroke a little tuft of his feathery hair around my fingers, using it to gently pull his hungry face away from my own longing one so that I can fix him with the most affectionate gaze humanly possible; a gaze that confirms my heartfelt words.
“We, however, can.”
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and sorry if it kind of sucked, but I hope it was alright! Please let me know what you think! :)
NEW A/N: THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!! I can't believe that this has gone green, it really does mean the world to me and I would just like to say a huge THANK YOU to anyone who has rated/reviewed this one-shot; you've made a girl very happy! :D
My poor, poor little angel; my little white rose petal in a sea of red; my little perfection in a world full of hate; my wonderful little bass-playing boyfriend. So fragile, so sweet, so innocent, so little.
But that’s the problem; little.
He is little, way too little for it to be natural or healthy. The kind of little that makes his big brother blanch at simply the sight of him even though he’s seeing him at every waking moment through fear of him slipping away into the atmosphere when not in view; the kind of little that forces to Ray follow him around like a lost sheep through fear of him just disintegrating into the nothing that he’s fast becoming; the kind of little that causes Bob to get a sad twinkle of a fallen star in his eyes whenever Mikey tries to persuade everyone that he’s fine; the kind of little that’s killing him and absolutely destroying me.
The kind of little that’s bought on by one deadly, harsh, cruel, despicable word that can sum up all that is wrong with paradise; bulimia.
Mikey Way, my Mikes, my world, the heartbeat to my respiration, is bulimic. As in; he forces those intricately slender smoke-like wisps of his fingers down his throat every time he eats, fingers that belong intertwined with my own like a key belongs in a lock. My poor little baby makes himself throw-up just because he thinks that he’s not good enough, because other people are all too willing to shoot down something beautiful just because it makes them realise how ugly they are. I can see it dimming the glow of his chocolate-coated gems of vision, how he thinks that he’s nothing but a shadow following me around; how he thinks that he deserves to get hit and yelled at and spat on just because some piteous losers think that he can’t be who he is due to the fact that who he is stands as a far better person then they are; how he aches for it all to stop, but will never do something about it because people have taught him that he’s a failure, that he’s ugly and can’t do anything. Anything other than the one thing that makes him feel in control, anything other than retching and heaving over some snake-pit of a toilet.
I can sum his thoughts of himself up in one word; bullshit. The sort of bullshit that makes every other lie look like an honest truth compared to how much of a mistruth his ugly views of his beautiful are. I know my Mikey and I know that he can do anything.
No; I know that we, together, can do anything.
Why?
Because I’ll never let him fail. I love him way too much for that.
I only found out last night, with Gee sobbing down the phone that he just didn’t know what to do; that he’d found Mikes passed-out on the bathroom floor with a slick of vomit dribbling down his chin like an oil slick on a tropical beach serving to remind the world that humans are evil, that humans can and will destroy something naturally stunning whenever possible.
I can still hear Gerard’s sickened voice drilling through my cell like a hurricane of hopeless helplessness; the guy’s my best friend, it hurt to hear him so terrified, so lost without the knowledge that he is being the best big brother that he can be, that Mikes needs now more than ever.
”Frankie! Thank God, please, I don’t know what to do! I found him and he’s and I just, I do-“
“Woah, calm down, Gee.” I pause, waiting to hear his frantic bursts of breath slow into a more normal pace. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
And then it hits me like a falling star; Mikey. Something’s wrong with my Mikey, something’s hurting him.
He’s been seeming a little down lately, not to mention terrifyingly skinny, but that’s just Mikes being Mikes, just another reason for me to cuddle him that little bit closer when we’re anything less than an arm’s-width apart. Apart from recently he’s been shrinking away from me, been acting all jumpy and I just put it down to something that he’ll tell me about when he’s ready; what if this is an accumulation of that, what if this a consequence to me ignoring the fact that my angel’s wings are even more broken than normal?
That has to be it; why else would Gerard be phoning me in a state of near-hyperventilation at ten o’clock at night? God, my poor little angel, what if it’s something really bad? What if he’s dead?
I don’t know what I’ll do if my life really is dead.
No, I know exactly what I’ll do; I’ll die too. Because a life without Mikey Way isn’t a life at all. Not to me it isn’t, anyway. A life without Mikey Way is simply an existence; dull and pointless and empty and everything that was killing me before Mikes came into save me from the darkness like I know that I can save him.
“Frankie, I think he’s sick.” He sniffles down the phone, as though the words are clawing their way violently out of his lips. “Really sick. And I just don’t know what to do.”
Gerard was absolutely heart-broken; all fragmented shards of glass-like tears scarring his disbelieving face and protective body curled around his brother’s in a shielding manner, just like whenever Mikes gets beaten up at school by the bastards who caused all of this atrocity to befall my wonderful little wonder.
But what did I expect? Gee always takes pride in protecting his baby brother, almost as much as I do, even from the things that nobody can prevent from happening, so it only makes sense that something as completely world-shattering as finding out that his little brother, my boyfriend, lied to us for months, told as that everything was fine when he was purging himself to the point of collapsing behind our backs, would reduce Gee to the state that he was in when I got to the Way household, still in the clothes that I had worn to school just hours ago; hours that made the difference between me thinking that I was a pretty good boyfriend to my serene little perfection and me knowing that I’ve been nothing but bad for my lost, lonely weeping angel.
”Shush, it’s alright, Mikey-Mouse, I’m here now. I’m right here with you.” My words fall like drifting feathers into the tense silence of my boyfriend’s tension-thick bedroom, breaking up the silence that has been gripping the room ever since I helped Gerard carry him in here, his moonlight limbs beaming limply down on my own skin as I hold him close to me. “You’re not in trouble, Mikes.”
He shuffles to get closer to my warmth, like a moth to a candle, and looks up at me with hazy, dead eyes. Eyes that mine and Gerard’s frantic yelling have only just managed to prise open like two pirates desperately yanking the lid off of a treasure chest. The adorable shine that his eyes normally enchant me with whenever I pull him close to me like I am now has been replaced with a different type of shine entirely; the type of glassy shine that you see in the unblinking eyes of taxidermy animals, something so closely associated with life and love that it makes this new shine in his eyes have the same effect on me as some sort of visual cyanide.
God, he looks so weak.
Just like a broken rag doll that’s been tossed around twenty times too many, like the broken wing of a fallen angel; but that’s okay, because I can fix it. Between the three of us, Mikey and Gerard and me, we can make this right again. We have to; if we don’t then it won’t only be Mikes who suffers as a result. He may very well think that the only person that he’s hurting is himself, which is a thought that makes this all the more horrifying for my tattered heart, but by doing this he’s dragging Gerard through his own personal hell at the thought of losing one of the few people who actually understand him and he’s completely killing me; making my heart stop beating because it’s broken, broken at the thought that he was suffering so tremendously and didn’t come to me, the one person he’s supposed to come to for anything and everything, for help.
Maybe he thought that I’d judge him; shout at him; laugh at him; dump him?
No. He knows me better than that.
But then why the fuck didn’t he ask for any sort of assistance, for someone to help him stop making himself throw up as though it’s the most sensible thing for him to do?
Just fucking why? It doesn’t make any fucking sense; he’s always been slender, has always been perfect in just about every way, so how can even the idea of shoving his nimble fingers down his precious throat appeal to his normally brilliant mind?
“Why’d you do it, Mikes?” Gee croaks brokenly, making my eyes bleed a tear for his bleeding heart. But then his eyes flash with something that makes Mikes tremble in dread; anger. “I don’t understand, Bro. I thought you were doing alright, but then I walk in to find you covered in puke and out for the count in the bathroom!”
I want to hate Gee for shouting at my juddering bundle of boyfriend, loathe him for adding to the pure emotional trauma that is already crushing the poor kid, but I just can’t; if it weren’t for the fact that I can feel each of Mikey’s delicate bones pressed up against my own body then I probably would be yelling the very same thing, apart from with a tad more hysteria in it. But I can feel each individual bone under his paper-thin skin and so I feel that it is my duty to force-feed Gee the most dangerous glare that I can give; a glare that clearly conveys a message of warning to any whom dare make my boyfriend cry.
“I-I-I… I didn’t mean to-“
“How can you not mean to stick your fingers down your throat, how can you not mean to lie to everyone, how can you not mean to fucking let this happen to yourself, Mikes? Look at you; how can you call this not meaning it?” Gerard reaches out and grabs one of Mikey’s barely-there wrists, shaking it to show how skinny it is; how utterly fragile and frail he has become. “You meant every last bit of this, don’t you dare say that you didn’t.”
I just gawp at Gee, who is sat in the centre of the carpeted room with his hands running through his stress-mussed hair, in unbridled disgust; disgust which breaks down into pity the split second that his desperate sobs reach my ears. He wasn’t angry; he’s as scared as I am and too afraid to admit it because doing so would be like admitting that he’s a bad big brother. Something which I don’t think that he can ever be, not if he’s crying like this over something that is all down to me.
But then I feel Mikey shaking against me, hands gripping my t-shirt an uncountable number of times tighter in his absolute distress; Gerard may be my scared best friend, but Mikes is my petrified little angel.
Someone who nobody can fuck with and get away with it. Not even Gerard.
And that brings me to where I am right now, still in my little love’s bedroom with Mikes cradled against my chest just like a collection of endless hours earlier when Gerard dared to shout at him; apart from Gee’s gone out to cool down now. I know that he didn’t mean anything, but Mikey needs to be calm right now, needs to digest the toast that I’ve just coaxed him into eating with my beseeching eyes and encouraging little pecks.
He lets out a groan from deep within my chest, my hands reacting like lightning by raking gently through his sweat-slicked hair.
Why can’t he just have five minutes without his own body tormenting him?
“Frankie?” He mewls weakly up at me, our eyes locking in such a way that I like to think my gaze is transferring some of my own strength into his exhausted orbs of vision and I nod my chin against his feverish forehead, letting him know that he has my full attention. Just like always. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
His innocent request rattles through my veins like a derailed train of hope; he’s only had a slice of toast, is he really that bad? Is he really to the point where my love and Gerard’s protection might not be enough anymore?
“I’m sorry but I… I can’t do it. I can’t do this, Frankie!”
“No; you can’t do it.”
His eyes widen in an almost adorable way, making me glad that I for once know what I’m doing, I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure that my words will work.
I press my lips softly to his, not caring that he tastes mildly of vomit because this isn’t for me; this is for him, to show him how much I don’t believe in him but rather how much I believe in us. I know that he can’t do this alone, his current predicament proves that with brutal clarity, but with me helping him I know that we can overcome this together; that together we can do anything because being with him means that I can find a way to bring down the moon if that’s what he so desires.
I stroke a little tuft of his feathery hair around my fingers, using it to gently pull his hungry face away from my own longing one so that I can fix him with the most affectionate gaze humanly possible; a gaze that confirms my heartfelt words.
“We, however, can.”
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and sorry if it kind of sucked, but I hope it was alright! Please let me know what you think! :)
NEW A/N: THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!! I can't believe that this has gone green, it really does mean the world to me and I would just like to say a huge THANK YOU to anyone who has rated/reviewed this one-shot; you've made a girl very happy! :D
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