Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Caring About You
1 reviewBob likes caring about Mikey. Mikey likes hearing about why. BIKEY one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
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Caring About You
“Why d’you do it, Bob?”
At the pained question I very nearly drop the boy in my arms, something that neither of us can really afford to happen because, if I’m being brutally honest, it’s a miracle that he’s conscious as it is. That thought makes me pull him tighter into me, his meagre and barely-there weight making it easy for me to carry his lanky form along the long-emptied corridors of Belleville High.
Again.
This is the third time this month it’s gotten bad enough for me to have to do this; for me to have to carry Mikey out to my car because he’s too bruised up for walking to not make him wince with every step. It makes me sick, like the kind of sick where you want to throw up your own heart just so you can’t feel it breaking, that they treat him like this. Like the only reason he exists is for their amusement and stress-relief.
The kind of stress-relief that I get out of beating them up twice as bad whenever I walk in on them kicking my boyfriend’s ribs like they were not twenty minutes ago.
All because Mikey had the guts to refuse to do their homework. That single act of valiant bravery made me so proud of my Mikey, more prouder than my parents were of me for getting such a sweet boyfriend, and the fact that I was proud of him had made him so happy. All smiles and bright eyes and lips that melted straight into my kiss. But now his lips look like they’re melting down his face due to the blood leaking from them as opposed to Bob-induced bliss.
I look down when I hear a tiny whimper of bottled agony, the kind that makes me wish I could be deaf so I’ll never have to bear witness to it again, and see that he’s waiting for an answer, begging for some kind of verbal painkiller to make his heaving heart beat once more in it’s bruised cage.
“You’re my boyfriend, Mikeyway. It’s my job to take care of you.” My words dribble from my mouth like liquid diamonds, making a small smile start to work it’s way onto his torn face. A face that deserves to always be full of contentment in the knowledge that I love him. “I enjoy taking care of you because I care about you.”
He blinks up at me, eyes even more huge and adorable than that of a kitten begging for cream, and melts my insides with the way he looks just so damn cute. Even with red and blue tainting his saintly features.
“Why, Bobby-Bear?” He mewls up at me, knowing exactly the right things to say to make me love him even more than I already do. “Tell me about why.”
He nuzzles his face into my chest, immediately wincing away when he realizes his nose is in no kind of state to be rubbed against my cushiony chest. Poor little mite. He’s only fourteen; too young to be getting this kind of abuse from the bigger kids, kids around my age and probably too big for me to take on if I didn’t have the motive of protecting my boyfriend driving me onward.
I sigh and suck on my lip ring in thought, trying to come up with the most heartfelt reasons I can. Because he really needs this right now.
Just like every other time this happens; he likes it when I make him feel loved. Says it outweighs the throbbing pain of the bruises by a metaphorical tonne.
If only it were literal.
“Because I love you more than anything. It’s impossible for me not to care.” I stop against some lockers and reposition Mikey to be closer to the welcoming warmth of my chest. “You’re a genuinely good person and you need someone to care about you because you’re too busy caring about everyone else.”
It’s true. Too true. Sometimes I think he forgets he even exists for reasons other than making people happy. His big brother, for example. The other week Gerard couldn’t figure out his homework on quadratic formulas and so left it with Mikey, not even stopping to think that his little brother might have enough stressing him out already. Poor Mikes got so stuck on it and then wound up about it that the poor thing ended up bursting into tears, practically panic-attacking, when Gee asked if it was done. Which in turn made Gerard phone me to come round and calm Mikey down like only I know how. Leading to me having a huge go at the older Way for not noticing that my baby was too bruised-up to be in the right state of mind for doing extra homework. Needless to say, Gerard felt awful. Needless to say, I used that to make sure it would never happen again.
“I care about you because you’re nice to hold. We fit together. Kinda like a puzzle, y’know?”
He nods up at me, eyes sprinkled with the sort of sleep that stresses the gravity of the beating to me; I’ve got to get him back to my place and cleaned up before he passes clean out in my arms. But the drowsy dizziness of the nod doesn’t take away from the meaning behind it. Because it’s true. We really are like two puzzle pieces, two parts of one whole. Like I’m the fire, all bold and angry, and he’s the water, all meek and gentle. We complete each other, as corny as that may sound.
“I care about you because it’s what I like to do; it makes me feel like I’m doing something right with my life.” I pause to smile down at him, instead settling for pressing a kiss to his locker-sliced forehead. “Because if I’m not caring about you then I don’t have any sort of purpose. It’s like you make me matter, Mikeyway.”
Not ‘like’. He does make me matter.
Before I met Mikey Way I was just some lonely sixteen-year-old too rough around the edges and too into the wrong sort of things for anyone to want to be my friend. But then Mikey came along, crashed into my life when he was running away from one of his tormentors. I took one look at his terrified eyes, his torn Misfits t-shirt and at his cute little face; that’s all it took for me, Bob Bryar, the school tough guy, to get smitten. So I defended him, cleaned up what damage they had done and gave him a lift home. A lift that turned into a sleep-over. A sleep-over that resulted in me climbing into bed with him when he had a nightmare and in me telling him exactly why I cared, much like I’m telling him now. All of which led to one thing that made seeing him suffer worth it; our first kiss.
And we’ve been together ever since; me caring about him like he cares about everyone else.
“And I love you for it.”
A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope that you liked it! I do love a good bit of Bikey, so I hope I did the somewhat rare pairing justice. Please let me know what you think! :)
“Why d’you do it, Bob?”
At the pained question I very nearly drop the boy in my arms, something that neither of us can really afford to happen because, if I’m being brutally honest, it’s a miracle that he’s conscious as it is. That thought makes me pull him tighter into me, his meagre and barely-there weight making it easy for me to carry his lanky form along the long-emptied corridors of Belleville High.
Again.
This is the third time this month it’s gotten bad enough for me to have to do this; for me to have to carry Mikey out to my car because he’s too bruised up for walking to not make him wince with every step. It makes me sick, like the kind of sick where you want to throw up your own heart just so you can’t feel it breaking, that they treat him like this. Like the only reason he exists is for their amusement and stress-relief.
The kind of stress-relief that I get out of beating them up twice as bad whenever I walk in on them kicking my boyfriend’s ribs like they were not twenty minutes ago.
All because Mikey had the guts to refuse to do their homework. That single act of valiant bravery made me so proud of my Mikey, more prouder than my parents were of me for getting such a sweet boyfriend, and the fact that I was proud of him had made him so happy. All smiles and bright eyes and lips that melted straight into my kiss. But now his lips look like they’re melting down his face due to the blood leaking from them as opposed to Bob-induced bliss.
I look down when I hear a tiny whimper of bottled agony, the kind that makes me wish I could be deaf so I’ll never have to bear witness to it again, and see that he’s waiting for an answer, begging for some kind of verbal painkiller to make his heaving heart beat once more in it’s bruised cage.
“You’re my boyfriend, Mikeyway. It’s my job to take care of you.” My words dribble from my mouth like liquid diamonds, making a small smile start to work it’s way onto his torn face. A face that deserves to always be full of contentment in the knowledge that I love him. “I enjoy taking care of you because I care about you.”
He blinks up at me, eyes even more huge and adorable than that of a kitten begging for cream, and melts my insides with the way he looks just so damn cute. Even with red and blue tainting his saintly features.
“Why, Bobby-Bear?” He mewls up at me, knowing exactly the right things to say to make me love him even more than I already do. “Tell me about why.”
He nuzzles his face into my chest, immediately wincing away when he realizes his nose is in no kind of state to be rubbed against my cushiony chest. Poor little mite. He’s only fourteen; too young to be getting this kind of abuse from the bigger kids, kids around my age and probably too big for me to take on if I didn’t have the motive of protecting my boyfriend driving me onward.
I sigh and suck on my lip ring in thought, trying to come up with the most heartfelt reasons I can. Because he really needs this right now.
Just like every other time this happens; he likes it when I make him feel loved. Says it outweighs the throbbing pain of the bruises by a metaphorical tonne.
If only it were literal.
“Because I love you more than anything. It’s impossible for me not to care.” I stop against some lockers and reposition Mikey to be closer to the welcoming warmth of my chest. “You’re a genuinely good person and you need someone to care about you because you’re too busy caring about everyone else.”
It’s true. Too true. Sometimes I think he forgets he even exists for reasons other than making people happy. His big brother, for example. The other week Gerard couldn’t figure out his homework on quadratic formulas and so left it with Mikey, not even stopping to think that his little brother might have enough stressing him out already. Poor Mikes got so stuck on it and then wound up about it that the poor thing ended up bursting into tears, practically panic-attacking, when Gee asked if it was done. Which in turn made Gerard phone me to come round and calm Mikey down like only I know how. Leading to me having a huge go at the older Way for not noticing that my baby was too bruised-up to be in the right state of mind for doing extra homework. Needless to say, Gerard felt awful. Needless to say, I used that to make sure it would never happen again.
“I care about you because you’re nice to hold. We fit together. Kinda like a puzzle, y’know?”
He nods up at me, eyes sprinkled with the sort of sleep that stresses the gravity of the beating to me; I’ve got to get him back to my place and cleaned up before he passes clean out in my arms. But the drowsy dizziness of the nod doesn’t take away from the meaning behind it. Because it’s true. We really are like two puzzle pieces, two parts of one whole. Like I’m the fire, all bold and angry, and he’s the water, all meek and gentle. We complete each other, as corny as that may sound.
“I care about you because it’s what I like to do; it makes me feel like I’m doing something right with my life.” I pause to smile down at him, instead settling for pressing a kiss to his locker-sliced forehead. “Because if I’m not caring about you then I don’t have any sort of purpose. It’s like you make me matter, Mikeyway.”
Not ‘like’. He does make me matter.
Before I met Mikey Way I was just some lonely sixteen-year-old too rough around the edges and too into the wrong sort of things for anyone to want to be my friend. But then Mikey came along, crashed into my life when he was running away from one of his tormentors. I took one look at his terrified eyes, his torn Misfits t-shirt and at his cute little face; that’s all it took for me, Bob Bryar, the school tough guy, to get smitten. So I defended him, cleaned up what damage they had done and gave him a lift home. A lift that turned into a sleep-over. A sleep-over that resulted in me climbing into bed with him when he had a nightmare and in me telling him exactly why I cared, much like I’m telling him now. All of which led to one thing that made seeing him suffer worth it; our first kiss.
And we’ve been together ever since; me caring about him like he cares about everyone else.
“And I love you for it.”
A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope that you liked it! I do love a good bit of Bikey, so I hope I did the somewhat rare pairing justice. Please let me know what you think! :)
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