The car's broken down. And so has Mikey. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
Out of Gas
“Shit! Motherfucking bastard banger! Asshole, fucking fucktard! Fuck!”
Brendon’s splutter of obscenities comes almost simultaneously with the engine’s splutter of protest, announcing for all to hear that the old dear, or ‘Sarah’ as Bren so affectionately calls her, has finally had enough of driving through the dimly lit backstreets of New Jersey. Alongside the old girl’s indignant whine of exhaustion and overuse comes a sudden jolt, thud and consequent ceasing of all movement from the neon pink, old-fashioned Beatle.
Great. Now Bren and I are stuck out in the dodgiest side of NJ in a beat-up car that’s most likely older than our parents without any call-credit or way of getting home until sunlight scares away any potential dangers. In short, we have broken down. In the middle of the night. In the freezing cold and torrential rain.
I turn away from my window and to Brendon, my best friend desperately fiddling with the keys in vain attempts of getting the engine to suddenly jump back to life.
No such luck.
“Sorry, Mikey. Looks like Sarah’s clean out of gas.” He sighs, giving the steering wheel a half-hearted slap for good measure. “Shit, I can’t believe I didn’t fucking fill her up.” He faces me, trademark smirk instead replaced by a sheepish smile of profuse apology. Not that it’s needed; I could never get mad at my best friend, at Brendon Urie. ”I’m so fucking sorry, Mikes. I swear it; I’ll make this up to you.”
He’s always like this, acting like a grade-A drama queen. Well, he’s been like it ever since I met him at Pete Wentz’s seventeenth two years ago, back when we were the two youngest there; me being only fourteen and Brendon at a year older than myself. We both kinda felt like spare parts, too jittery to join in with all of the underage drinking and certainly too shy to indulge in the numerous games of ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ that were taking place. Me being the shyest of the two of us, I just gazed at the beautifully defined raven-haired young man until he noticed me. At which point I looked away, not raising my head again until he’d crossed the room and was asking me to dance. To start with I thought he was taking the piss like I could see all of the other kids doing to me, but it turned out he was serious. And so I danced, letting my exalted smile doing all the talking because, well, I couldn’t.
Still can’t; I’m mute.
A birth defect, one that’s cost me any chance I may have once stood at being popular. Most people take one look at my little whiteboard and pen communication set, stifle a giggle or hide a pitying glance and then leave me be. All apart from four people. My big brother, Gerard, his boyfriend, an awesomely accepting dude in my grade at school called Frank Iero, my self-declared personal bodyguard, Pete Wentz and then, of course, Brendon Urie. My best friend.
Best friends with the odd dash of benefits.
It’s like we both know that we want each other, that we like one another’s flavour, but neither of us have the guts to say it out loud. Or write it out on a white board. Those three little words that I would scream at him if only I possessed functioning vocal chords. But I don’t. So I can’t.
Because I’m just some stupid little mute who can count his friends on one hand.
“MiWay, you okay?” His soft, probing voice breaks me from the vein of thought that is fast making my eyes overflow like it always does and forces my gaze to his deep, earnest portals of caring vision. I like his eyes; they’re framed by glasses almost identical to my own, yet entirely different. On Brendon they look sexy, on me they just make me look even more like I don’t fit in. I don’t. “Oh, Sweetie, it’s alright. C’mon, c’mere.”
I don’t even have time to consider protesting, not that I would, because a pair of warm arms are pulling me onto his lap before I can even finish processing his soothing words. My heart nearly stops when I feel his hot, cigarette-scented breathe on the back of my arctic neck, creating a pool of warmth that my soul just wants to drown in for the rest of forever. Even longer than forever. Until I don’t want to be drowning in it anymore.
“Is it the dark? Is it scaring you?” He coos sweetly, in a tone that would sound insultingly patronising coming from anyone other than Brendon. “I won’t laugh if it is, MiWay.”
Not wanting to have to write out my pathetic self-centredness, I just nod. It’s not a complete lie either, being out at night has always made my tummy do funny things because it reminds me of all the scary stories Gee used to taunt me with as a child. Taunt me with right up until recently, when he found out the kids at school tease me for my muteness from Frank because my friend couldn’t take seeing anymore bloody noses apparently. So he told Gerard and ever since Gee’s been acting like I’m fucking made of glass.
See? My own damn big brother pities me.
“Aw, don’t worry, Sweetie. I’ll keep you safe.” I smile up at him, blushing traffic-light red when the motion causes our noses to rub. “You’re far too precious for me to let the monsters and muggers get you.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, letting my facial expression talk for me because he knows me well enough by now for the whiteboard to be almost unneeded in everyday conversation. Apart from I wish I had it to hand right now because I really want to tell him what’s truly on my mind; the fact that I’m a mute little freak in need of comforting. In need of loving. Loving from someone far too special to truly want to love me.
At that thought another surge of near-tears stand to attention in the basin of my eyes, making my best friend’s face crease in concern.
“It’s not the dark, is it?” Shamefully, hating the hurt in his voice from me having lied to him, I shake my head to indicate my earlier dishonesty. He sighs and pulls me closer to his chest, so I can hear his heartbeat like he knows I like doing. “It’s about being mute again.” He mutters the statement, not question, and uses his silken thumb to mop away a stray tear that had started to make it’s mad bid for freedom. “Look, is this because of what Ryan said earlier?” I fidget awkwardly, not wanting to make him hate his childhood friend for planting the fresh seeds of self-hatred in my head just a few hours ago. “Dammit, he was drunk, Mikey. He didn’t know what he was saying and he didn’t mean it. I know he’ll feel awful about it in the morning.”
But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m mute, does it?
I can’t stop thinking about Ryan Ross’ drunken giggles as he held my whiteboard out of reach, telling me to ask for it even though he knew I couldn’t. Brendon had been in the bathroom at the time, thinking and hoping that I’d gel with Ryan like I do with him. No such luck; the guy hates me. Kept asking me tonnes of taunting questions like ‘Tell me, what’s it like to be a freak?’ and ‘What’s wrong Mikey; cat got your tongue?’ all the while withholding my whiteboard from me. By the time Brendon returned I was a nervous wreck, wheezing and weeping, my eyes pleading with him to make the tormenting stop.
And he did. Punched his friend clean in the face, got my board back and then carried me out to Sarah, furious tears clinging to his eyes like crystals all the while.
“Sweetie, I know Ry and I know that he didn’t mean it; he’s just like that when he has too much.” Bren runs a hand soothingly through my hair, making me show my appreciation by nuzzling against his chest to let him know that I really am grateful for having him. “But that doesn’t make it alright. People can’t just treat you like that. And do you know what, Mikey?” His voice is dripping with conviction, making everything within me tingle in suspense. “I’m not gonna let them. Not anymore. The next person who hurts you in any way will end up with a broken nose. And the person after that, and the one after that. Right up until they get the message that they can’t fuck with my Mikey Way.”
His Mikey Way?
Yes, I like that. Sounds like that’s how I’m meant to be; his. Not to mention how un-alone it makes me feel. Because I am his. I am property of Brendon Boyd Urie, just like he’s property of Michael James Way.
“Wanna know why, Sweetie?”
Before I can stop myself, I’m nodding eagerly, desperate to hear the kind words that are sure to come from the person who matters to me the most in this cruel, blaring world.
“Because I love you, MiWay. I really fucking do.”
And that breaks my heart.
Because I know I’ll never be able to say it back.
A/N: Just trying out a new pairing, hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :)
NEW A/N: So, I was kinda thinking about turning this idea into a series of one-shots/short stories, all keeping in the story-line of Mikey being mute and Brendon being awesome. Requests, ideas and anything else are more than welcome! :D
Song of The Chapter: "Always" by Panic! At The Disco http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHJioXF67oE