Gerard doesn't like Pete Wentz. But he likes the idea of Mikey without Pete even less. PIKEY one-shot.
I hate it when Mikey’s sad. It’s like whenever I hear him crying it’s some kind of alarm letting the world know that I’ve failed at being a big brother; that I’m letting him down when really I should be lifting him up. He never lets me be upset, just like he always does with anyone fortunate to be called his friend, so that makes it a kind of double-blow to me when I let him be anything less than happy.
The only thing worse than an upset little brother is an upset little brother who’s trying to hide it. Just like Mikey is right now.
He stormed in through the front door about half an hour ago, eyes red as raw meat from what I assume to be tears, and has since been sat on the couch acting as if nothing else other than the television exits. When I asked what was wrong, he just shrugged and offered me a small smile. A small smile that refused to reach his eyes like a regiment of soldiers refusing to advance onto ridiculously dangers enemy grounds. That’s what’s got me worried the most; the fact that he won’t even tell me something is wrong. He always does, whether he’s stressed about an exam at school or is missing his pet hamster who died five years ago back when he was ten, he always lets me know that something is wrong so that I can help him.
Not now though.
Now I’m sat next to him on the couch, scared to even put my arm around him because he looks like he might fall apart at even the softest of touches. I’ve got to say something, do something; it’s my job to.
“Hey, Mikes.” My voice is stiff, cardboard-like in it’s vain attempt to sound unworried. “Something’s wrong.”
He looks up at that, revealing two trails of tears to be strolling down his sorrow-reddened face, and my heart dissolves like popping-candy at the sight. I decide that the risk of him falling apart is worth it and so tug him in close, my arm over his shoulder as he shuffles up into me like a tortoise into it’s shell.
“Talk to me, Bro. Tell me what’s happened.” I whisper, hand carding through his hair like Mom does to him whenever he’s sick.
The fifteen-year-old sniffles bravely, wiping at his nose with the cuff of his Green Day hoodie before fixing me with a look so heart-breaking that it puts all those help-feed-starving-African-children adverts to shame. The poor thing looks like he’s about to die. No; he looks dead and zombie-like, as though all of the life has been sucked out of him by whatever has happened.
“Pete.” He mutters, tone like ice and clearly as disbelieving as I want to be at the statement. “Pete and I… we fell out.”
I can’t help but gasp at that, my eyes widening like two black-holes of utter astonishment. Firstly because Mikey never argues with anyone if he can help it, and secondly because I thought Pete Wentz knew better than to fuck with Mikes. Hell, I thought he loved my baby brother better than that.
Okay, so maybe I don’t act like I believe it, but I know that Pete can be a pretty decent guy when he wants to be. Sure, I may or may not have given him a black eye and a bloody nose when I first found out he’s dating my baby brother, but after our initial vehement dislike for one another, I grew to see that he really does love Mikey. It might have taken him two months to get to the point where I’d let Mikey sleep over at his without grassing him to Mom or Dad first, but now I’m almost grateful to have him there for Mikey; to cheer him up when I can’t, to protect him from the bullies at school, to make him feel loved and wanted whenever he feels worthless.
But now it seems that Pete himself has made Mikey feel worthless. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it’s only the thought of Pete loving him that will make it better. I might be overprotective, but I’m not stupid. Not when it comes to Mikey’s happiness, anyway.
I press a kiss to his forehead, making it so that I’ve got him in some kind of sitting-down-bear-hug, and rub a hand over where I can feel his protruding spinal cord. Poor thing feels so fragile, like he could snap if only I had the heart to apply the right kind of force to the right area. Like Pete brotherfucking Wentz already has done to his heart.
“Tell me about it.” He shakes his head, tears flying off of his face like Hell’s angels. “C’mon, Mikes. It can’t be that bad.”
“He- I. Gee…” My name turns into a sob in his throat, meaning that I start automatically rocking him back and forth until he regains the ability of speech. “There’s this new boy at school, Gabe Saporta. He’s in a lot of my classes and we like the same kind of music, so we get on pretty well. I offered to show him around and stuff, but rumours started going around. People think Gabe’s got his eye on me and the kids have started saying stuff. Saying that we’ve, y’know…” He starts crying again, but this time manages to swallow it down without the need for my assistance. “But Pete heard and he asked me about it and I’d had a rough day, Gee, honest. I didn’t mean to blow up in his face. Honest I didn’t. But I did, and, and then he blew-up too and now he hates me!”
“Hey, hey, hey! Calm down, Mikey.” I hush hurriedly, recognizing how his breath is hitching to a rate of panic. “Tell me what you said.”
He shakes his head, turning beet red in what is clearly shame. But I have to get it out of him; like sucking the venom out of a snake bite. It has to be done or else the venom of his own guilt will kill him slowly and painfully. On the inside, anyway.
“I won’t judge you, Mikes. You know that.”
“I told him that he was being a jealous douche bag and that if he was going to be like that then I’d rather be having my dick sucked by Gabe anyway.” He looks away, blatantly avoiding the expected look of disappointment that never even considers finding it’s way to my face. “Then he started yelling at me about being ungrateful and how I’d get beaten up every day if it wasn’t for him. So I told him he sucks at bass and, and… it got kinda petty from there.”
Mikey turns to look at me, wincing at my shocked expression. I am shocked, at the pair of them. Sure, Mikey should never have snapped in the first place, but for Pete to act like that? He’s meant to be the older one, the one who should be protecting and looking after Mikes; not making him cry and using the bullies against him. But then again, Mikey knows how much Pete’s bass-playing means to him, how it helps him feel like he can actually do something useful.
They’re just as bad as each other here, I guess. Actually, no; I guess that they’re just being normal. All couples fight, right? It’s meant to be healthy for the relationship, or some shit like that. To be frank though, right now I don’t particularly care. All I do care about is the sobbing mass of teenager who needs to be re-convinced that he’s worth loving.
“Oh, Mikey.” My voice is soft, just like the thumb I rub over his cheek in order to eradicate all of the tears breaking free of his earnest eyes. “It’ll be okay; I promise.”
“How d’you know?” He sounds childish, grouchy even, but I think in this case it’s allowed. “You didn’t hear the things we said to each other. He hates me!”
“Oh, Kiddo, he doesn’t hate you. You’re his boyfriend, his Mikeymouse.” I fight the grimace at the nickname, remembering with brutal clarity the first time I heard it; it was also at the same time that I found out my baby brother can apparently give amazing blow-jobs, or at least, the kind that Pete Wentz finds to be amazing. “True, seeing him with you has a tendency to make me feel ever so slightly homicidal, but even I can’t deny that he loves you.”
Mikey looks up into my face, seemingly searching for anything in my expression that gives any kind of idea that I’m lying. It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve lied to keep my baby brother happy, but right now I’m just telling it how I see it; how it really is.
I offer him a soft smile and he gives me one back in return, face still blotchy and arms still clinging onto me like a koala.
“You just had a little tiff, but it’ll work out. You know Pete’s short-tempered and you’re not exactly any better. All couples have fights, Mikey; it just makes them stronger because they learn to accept that they aren’t perfect and how to live with that.” My smile turns more genuine as my mouth somehow manages to make it sound like I know at least a little about what I’m talking about. “You’ll get through this, you and Pete.”
“What if we don’t, Gerard?” He sounds small, like a little kid asking if there are any monsters hiding in his bedroom closet.
“Then the bastard wasn’t worth your time and I’ll tear his balls off with my bare hands. Slowly.” Mikey giggles a little at that, not quite getting that I’m really not joking about tearing off Pete’s balls, and I can’t help but chuckle gently in response. “But seriously; I’ve never seen two kids more in love than you two are. You’ll be fine.”
Mikey nods, looking halfway like this isn’t the start of the oncoming apocalypse for the first time since he came home.
“Thanks, Gee.” He mumbles, hiding his face in his hands as he wipes away any stray tears that I haven’t already eradicated on his behalf. “I mean it, Bro.”
I feel something vibrate and Mikey has his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie before I can even realise that it’s his phone causing the distraction. When Mikey does nothing to remove his wide eyes from the screen of his cell, I play the nosy older brother and look over his shoulder.
I can’t help but beam at what I see.
Best friends, ex-friends ‘til the end. Better off as lovers, and not the other way around.
I need some snuggle-time, Mikeymouse. If you’ll still have me.
Love higher than the moon and brighter than the sun,
Your Pete xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A/N: Part six in my ‘Alphabet Challenge’ thingy I’m doing. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :)