FicWad

The white brick wall beneath his back was cold, finding its way through the dark material of his shirt to the sensitive skin underneath, pressing into each fading bruise like a cold-compress used to heal swelling. No sound escaped his lips, his mouth gaping and emptiness spilling out into the hot air between the two, voice gone, electricuted out of his throat from the reality of the situation. Dark eyes slipped shut behind darker lids, too afraid to look down and watch what was going on. This wasn't happening.

Mikey didn't know anything about this girl. Oh, he knew her name was Wendy by the heated string of sentences wrought with promises that she was going to make this good she breathed into his ear. He also knew that she was a fucking stereotype, one of the girls that ran in groups, one of the girls who would eye him with disgust from across the room during class, turn to another girl and whisper giggly little secrets into her ear, both of them bursting into fits a moment later and leaving Mikey wondering if they were talking about him. She claimed that her hair was 'scene', but Mikey didn't know what the hell that meant. He only knew labels past 'emo', 'goth', 'jock', 'prep', and 'nerd' because he didn't sit around like a dick and make up labels for everyone. All he knew was that Wendy was pretty, she wore a lot of eyeshadow and colorful hairclips, she was skinny, and some boys fantasized about her outloud in the boy's room while he tried ignore them and piss, wondering how a blow job would feel from someone like her who had a lip ring. Oh, and he also knew that she was currently grinding her knee against his crotch.

He didn't know what to do, he couldn't say anything, and he knew that pushing Wendy away would result in a lifetime of beatings from every other boy in the school. Boys weren't supposed to refuse when a girl throws herself at them like this, it wasn't good etiquite. Boys are supposed to be sex-crazed and willing to fuck anything that moves. And...unfortunately, Mikey didn't exactly hate this, and his body was putting this fact on display against his better wishes. The hot breath on his neck made him shiver, and yeah, her nails were really long and tacky, and they hurt his hip bones where she insisted on resting them in the dips, trailing the pad of her thumbs down to where his boxers peeked out from under his over-sized pants, but she smelled nice, like the lilacs that his grandmother used to grow in her window box, and her knee was steadily wearing down every nerve in his body, breaking his personal boundaries. He wanted to just collapse on the floor and get this over with, as terrified as he was.

Wendy ran her luminescent purple fingernails down Mikey's cheek, down the column of his gulping throat to rest at the collar of his shirt, playing with the scalloped edges teasingly. She smirked at the fast rhythm of his heart, imagining the birds fluttering violently inside his chest cavity with their multi-colored feathers sticking to the bloody walls of skin, palming a hand over the spot before trailing lower slowly, tracing little nothings onto his flat stomach adoringly. A heart on his ribs, her name over his belly button, hypnotic swirls on the protruding bones of his hips. The smirk turned into a sweet smile as she leaned down, furrowing her eyebrows at the surface she was choosing to dispay her invisible art upon. She splayed her full hand out on the places she had already traced her nails around, erasing them to start anew and make more intimate scribblings. The shirt crinkled in the places she dug her nails into, almost imprinting her drawings into the fabric itself. A lopsided sun over Mikey's heart, something a kindergartener would do but she liked it.

She squinted her eyes fondly up at Mikey, flicking a section of white-blonde hair out of the way nonchalantly. Eager hands slipped their way up Mikey's bare chest under his shirt, gently clawing at sensitive skin. He gasped, shivered and backed away from the pleasant scratches until his back hit the wall again, trapping him in the mercy of Wendy, and all he could hope was that a teacher would walk by, demanding the two get back to class before they were suspended. He didn't want to like this, but it felt so good to know that someone wanted him, and he didn't think he was going to stop it. Let it happen if Wendy wants him.

With the lust-consumed way she was eying him, he couldn't lie to himself and say she didn't want him. This was one thing he was sure of. This girl liked him, and he liked the stability of that. It was safe, in it's own way. There was nothing safe about what they were doing, logically, what with germs and diseases and whatnot, but it was something he could say with confidence, that someone wanted him like this. It was empowering.

Mikey smirked down at her cockily, bringing a shaking hand up from where it originally hung balled up against his leg to rest lightly on Wendy's hip. This was all so...different. Feeling skin underneath his own was foreign, scary, the heat burning his chest and twisting his stomach up. Nervously, his thumb slid down the slope of her hip, down the sharp cut of bone jutting out underneath her healthily pale skin. Milky white and just as smooth, like a baby, almost perfect.

But these weren't the hips he dreamed about.

Before he could comprehend it, he was sputtering out words. "I--can't do...can't do this, sorry.." He cursed that he couldn't sound strong like he wanted to.

Wendy pouted, her frosted pink lips tilting up in what she knew was a sexy way. "Why not? You like it, I know you do." And, to avoid sounding predatory, she added, with a little butterfly kiss to his ear, "Please? You're so hot, and no one has to know."

"But I--" don't have a boyfriend. "I can't. Please stop."

Despite his words, he didn't do anything when Wendy leaned in to press her lips to his, tilting her head to the left to get more access, twisting her hands into the front of Mikey's Samhain shirt to pull him closer. Not knowing the mechanics of kissing, his mouth remained immobile as Wendy tried in vain to slip her tongue between his lips, whimpering slightly when she was met with resistence. Once he realized what it was she was trying to do, he was momentarily disgusted, pulling up high enough where she couldn't reach his mouth. He didn't know why she was doing that thing with her tongue, but he knew he didn't want it in his mouth. It was nasty, he didn't know where her tongue had been--and the assumptions alone were enough to make him queasy.

"Stop," he mumbled again weakly, turning his head to the side against the wall.

Wendy was starting to like this play on dominance she was gaining, understanding and almost sympathasizing with the boys who pressured her to go farther back in middle school when she was halfway human. Almost. Mikey looked too fragile under her gaze, like a little broken goth doll she wanted to scoop up and make pretty, wipe the black smudges from under his eyes and kiss him better. Dress him in clothes that actually fit him instead of handing two sizes too big off of his skinny frame.

"Oh, baby, you make people want to fix you..."

With that commentary, Wendy trailed her hand down to replace her knee, grabbing full-on at his dick from outside his pants.

"Oh shit..." Mikey pulled his body into the wall frantically, arching away from the touch like it was venom. A million thoughts passed through his mind, like why couldn't she see he doesn't want this, why does she want this, where the hell was Frank and why wasn't he here to help?

*

Frank couldn't take it anymore. Mr. Roberts was staring at him again as he tried uncharacteristically to stay focused on the chapter over Mesopotamia his class was supposed to be reading silently to themselves. How could he focus on ancient peoples when he could feel the leacherous pedophile eyes on him, scanning over his body and wondering just how tight his 16-year old ass was. This shit was supposed to be illegal, right? Teachers weren't supposed to be checking out their students, and if they must, show some fucking disgression. Don't sit there with your head resting on your knuckles, staring dreamily at your student crush like a 12-year old! Jesus!

To make matters worse, Frank was obviously the only one who noticed the behavior. Every time he asked one of his classmates, they would tell him he was delusional and cocky for ever thinking a teacher would go after him.

Delusional, my ass, Frank thought bitterly as he bit down on the pink eraser on the end of his pencil, trying desperately to keep his head down because he could not see those big goofy eyes on that awful, disgusting old man. After ten minutes of nothing but uncomfortable silence and Frank constantly changing his stance in his seat, constantly crossing his arms over his chest and making sure that not one inch of skin was showing, he gave up. He raised his hand and looked up at his teacher with hate burning clearly in his eyes. Fuck being objectified, he was more than a pretty face. In fact, he didn't even think he was that pretty, he was just a human. He wasn't like Billie Joe Armstrong with his pretty lips and amazing smirk, or like Mikey with his morbid innocence. He was Frank, and Frank was not a piece of meat.

"Yes, Mr. Iero?" Mr. Roberts asked politely, internally dreading what he knew his student was about to say. He knew he'd taken this a little too far, Frank had seen him staring this time, and he was going to tell, and his wife will leave him because he was perving on a little boy...

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

*

Frank rounded the corner just in time to hear Wendy trying desperately to get into Mikey's pants.

"Oh, come on, Michael, you know you want it..."

Oh, fuck no she didn't. The sight Frank saw at the end of the hall was as horrifying as when Bob was kicking Mikey without mercy. Wendy had Mikey pinned to the lockers, touching him everywhere, and Mikey looked less than pleased with the situation. He was immobile, eyes glued to the wall in front of him desperately like it would materialize into a giant brick man who would save him, lips pursed together tightly. Wendy was in the act of leaning up to kiss Mikey, and it was around that time that Frank's overbearing, jealous, drama-queen self jumped in and decided that this shit was not going to happen even if he had to kill the bitch. Normally, Frank frowns upon violence, preferring to go the Ghandi route and talk his way out of things, but no one would have guessed that as he skidded down the otherwise empty hall and smashed into Wendy full-force, knocking her down to the ground with a loud boom for such a small girl. Frank stood in front of Mikey protectively as he glared down at Wendy with more hate than he felt for his history teacher.

She was climbing to her feet unceremoniously, limbs flailing about as she struggled to regain her balance on the stalky things she passed off as legs. "Frank, what the hell?! What is wrong with you?" she screeched, storming up to Frank and looking down at him once her extremeties were sorted out.

Frank stared up at her defiantly and blurted out exactly what was on his mind.

"You had better stay the fuck away from Mikey, because he is mine and you aren't allowed to touch him," he growled, raising an eyebrow. He immediately regretted the words spilling out of his mouth, since Mikey was right behind him and he had no idea how he would react to this, but that wasn't the biggest task at hand right now. He could sort things out with Mikey later, when he wasn't running off of a furious high and prone to word vomit.

Mikey blinked, stunned to no end by Frank's announcement and unable to force any other kind of movement. He didn't know how to feel about this. When did he become Frank's? They were friends, right? When did that cross over to the point where they belonged to each other, and was that even what Frank really meant? No, he must be saying that to protect him from Wendy.

Well, whatever the reason, Wendy understood. A look of comprehension dawned on her face and she popped a hand over her mouth. A soft 'oh' escaped her lips and she backed a few steps away from Frank.

Frank and the goth kid?

"Wow...Frank..."

Do they have sex?

"That's.."

I must tell everyone.

"Unexpected. Is that why you always blow off the girls who ask you out?"

Frank gulped and looked down at the floor, the whole situation catching up to him, mad for letting himself blurt that kind of shit out when he'd spent so much time hiding it from Mikey. All of his careful overstepping...not letting himself smother Mikey...it had all gone to shit in the course of one sentence. All he could do was stare down. His left shoe fell on a crack in the tiles, reminding him of the gay little saying about breaking his mother's back. His shoe was untied, and was in need of a good washing. The red E on the side was peeling off and there were splatters of mud sprinkling the black. Mikey was wearing black Doc Martins, and Frank knew they were his brother's because no one wore them anymore, the grunge phase was over.

"Frank, you're avoiding the question," Wendy pointed out, being awfully unhostile towards the boy who just pushed her over.

"No, really?" he asked sarcastically without lifting his eyes from Mikey's shoes. He let out an audible sigh. "Yeah, that's why, obviously. So you'd better tell your emo-wannabe friends that they can't touch Mikey either."

Wendy scoffed at the accusation 'emo-wannabe' (emo's not cool anymore, DUH!!) but took Frank's warning into consideration. She definitely didn't want to mess with Frank Iero's boyfriend and encurr his wrath, she still remembers what happened to poor Samuel when Frank got a hold of him.

She pursed her lips and nodded obediantly, sulking away quietly back to her class. Frank sighed in relief and collapsed against the lockers next to Mikey, looking over to his friend in a way that was almost comedic, it was so relieved.

"Damn, I need a cigarette," Mikey stated.

"Yeah, me too," Frank agreed.

*

"So..." Mikey began hesitantly, lighting up his cigarette. He and Frank had retreated to the park instead of finishing out the day and were now sitting under a nice shady Oak tree, Frank leaning against the rough bark and Mikey sitting a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest defensively and a concerned look misted on his face. He was worried that Frank was mad at him now. They'd rode here in complete silence, Frank not even attempting to make the remedial small talk that Mikey found endearing if not annoying, and it was different without it. He liked to hear Frank ramble on about anything, filling the dips and pocks of silence with his rich deep voice that betrayed how old he really was, betrayed that he wasn't a five year-old despite his infatuation with sugar and cartoons and sweet voices. It was safe too.

He longed for that safety as he watched Frank snatch his cigarette from his limp lips, not making a move to stop him as he lifted it to his own mouth and took a drag, letting his head loll back onto his collar as smoke drifted out of his wide-open mouth. Mikey's eyebrows knitted together in the middle of his forehead, wondering how Frank seemed so imtimidating when he did that while Mikey just looked...like he was on his way to killing himself. It didn't cross Mikey's mind that Frank could get lung cancer, like Frank was always reminding him in the mornings before stealing his 'cancer stick' and taking a few drags before handing it back sheepishly, smiling widely. He just saw Frank's lips part slightly, exhaling gray dying breaths that assaulted the cold still air, painting it with translucent neutral swirls of dragons and snakes that curled up and puffed out of existence.

He heard Frank's light sigh and the soft sound cracked his head. This was his fault. He didn't know yet what he did, but this was all his fault and Frank had every right to be angry with him. Mikey's hands fumbled at the chain on his pants, waiting impatiently for the yelling, wanting to get it over quickly so that he could beg for forgiveness and make everything right again. He decided after several unending minutes of thick silence--in which time he'd had way too much time to think of every possibility--that it was his inability to save himself. The lack of desire to do anything with his life, now wasting away to nothing and slowly dwindling down to an evil who had to leech off of others to survive, a soul not motivated enough to pull his torn and tattered body off of the soiled floor and get his shit together. The need to be saved over and over again.

His want to be saved by Frank, to be fucking noticed by Frank, to make Frank worry and rush to his aide. He knew all along that it couldn't go on like this for very long, sooner or later one of them would snap and the cycle would come to a screeching halt.

"Frank?" His voice partially hidden by his coat only barely reached Frank's ears.

Frank didn't know why he was so angry. He didn't know who he was angry at--Wendy, definitely, but...when he looked over at Mikey's cowering form, he didn't want to hug him and make everything better. He wanted to shake him and yell until answers came flooding out of his frail little body. What he saw...Mikey was kissing Wendy at first! Kissing back, at least, and why would he do that? Mikey was his, there was no way Wendy could ever feel like this about Mikey, no one in the world could. He loves Mikey, so why was this shit happening? Isn't that 'love' crap supposed to conquer everything? He and Mikey had finally gotten to the point where they were completely comfortable with each other, not having to out up false pretenses or masks, and that whore ruined it all with one fucking kiss.

Frank sniffed and turned his head to the side, tears seeping slowly down his cheeks, down his nose to drip onto his hand that was fisted in his pants leg. He wasn't going to let Mikey see him like this. He is the strong one.

"T-hanks for helping me o-out earlier..." Mikey whispered shakily. Frank wouldn't even look at him now. He blinked away any sort of moisture that could possible ruin his makeup and brought his hand up to his mouth, biting down on his knuckle fretfully. "Why'd you do it, anyway?" he mumbled through the skin of his hand, biting down harder once the sentence left his mouth and nearly squeaking when he tasted the coppery red liquid gush out onto his awaiting tongue, lapping up the juice greedily. Squinting his eyes shut, he leaned back slowly until he felt the tree behind him, Frank's shoulder bumping his own.

Ah, and the insecure Mikey comes out... Frank thought, getting more upset. He frowned, his fingers busily tearing out the grass underneath his legs savagely and tossing them away, corpses of blades used for nothing and he just wanted to burn them or something, hear their weak little cries as life drained away, into the ground to begin decomposition.

"Mikey...just...what the hell?" He made sure to wipe his face before turning slightly to glance at his friend, fury quickly melting as he saw what a mess Mikey was in. His eyes swimming with tears he wouldn't let fall, quivering lips disappearing into his mouth, breaths coming in short hitches as he tried to get himself under control.

"W-what? What did I do?" Mikey sputtered out the side of his mouth.

Frank dropped his voice to a low, pathetic whine, looking up at the tree, squinting at the rays of sun that peeked through the canopy of leaves. "Why did you kiss her? Why didn't you push her away or something! You didn't have to stand there...like that, just..." He sighed and got down to the real point of it all, despite not wanting to even consider the possibility that Mikey didn't want Frank to stop what was going on, that maybe he liked Wendy and he just came in like an idiot. "Did you like it?"

Mikey huffed, looking down in shame. "No. Well, I mean...at first it wasn't so bad. It was just touching lips, you know? I don't know why everyone gets so excited about it. I see people on the streets kissing all the time, and I don't get it. Why is it good? It's slimy and you get spit everywhere...how's that supposed to make someone like you?"

A smile crept its way onto Frank's lips as he listened to Mikey's innocent explanation, falling even more for the boy as he watched him lean his head on his fist and go on, stumbling over words every now and then.

"And then, she tried to do something with her tongue, and that grossed me out." To show his displeasure, Mikey wrinkled his nose cutely and shook his head curtly. "But...well, who knows where her tongue has been? It's creepy."

Frank snorted, abandoning any left over rage that he had bottled up. Instead, he decided that there was enough of this shitting around and he should just say it before he lost his nerve and life went on as usual. He glanced up at Mikey again warily, a smile planted soft on the side of his mouth, fingers digging deep into the cold earth as he slowly built up his nerve. His hand raked through the grass until he felt the skin of Mikey's hand tightened into a fist. Mikey relaxed his hand when he felt Frank's fingers glide over his knuckles, the touch warm and soft and hesitant just like everything had been for him this day. He flipped his hand over so his palm was touching Frank's, knotting their fingers together desperately, searching for the social Frank underneath this...other, mad, anti-social shell of his friend.

"Mmm, Mikey?"

Mikey noted the hesitance in Frank's voice, immediately not liking it. Frank didn't get nervous, he didn't get shy or mad or any of this shit, he was supposed to remain Mikey's sweet lifesaver, always there with open arms and a smile to get him through the dull days of being ignored or pushed into walls. Instead of answering vocally, he tightened his grip on Frank's hand and made a small little noise in the back of his throat, abandoning words altogether.

"When I was talking with...well, when I was threatening Wendy..." he began, running his thumb over the bone of Mikey's thumb soothingly because he knew Mikey didn't like this and instinctively he wanted to make it better. He didn't like it either, because he knew already how this would turn out. Mikey wouldn't believe him because he's so insecure and sees himself as this awful monster that no one will ever want. He'll think Frank is kidding, or worse, lying, and Frank didn't know how to just make Mikey understand.

"I said you were mine and I meant every word. I know you're not going to believe me, but it's true." He racked his brain trying to think of something that would convince Mikey. "I mean, have you ever seen me date a girl?" He shrugged sheepishly.

"N-no," Mikey breathed. He could feel his chest constricting, webs of muscle tightening and making it harder and harder to draw breaths. He thought back on the time he'd spent at Frank's school. Nearly three months. Frank hadn't showed any attention to any girl. Or boy. Only Mikey.


Frank began to drum his fingers on the leg of his jeans after five minutes had flown by without Mikey responding. His unfortunate bottom lip was getting tortured by his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood and coat them in bright technicolor red that was a shock in the damp, smoggy bowels of a park that had seen more dead bodies than Frank wanted to think about. His other hand still gripped Mikey's painfully, desperately clinging to his fingers tightly enough to hurt him, but Frank wasn't willing to let go. He needed Mikey right here beside him, even though he could feel The End setting in, the end of their friendship, and that meant that Frank would be completely alone because he didn't think he could function anymore in society without knowing that his anti-social little Mikey was right beside him. He didn't want to think about having to face everyone alone. He wasn't the same Frank that he was before Mikey came, he couldn't just strike up a conversation with anyone like he used to. They didn't mean anything anymore, anything that wasn't Mikey was just static in the background, like leaving the TV on when you're listening to the radio. It was there, but no one payed it any attention because an awesome song just came on and you turned it up.

He was too afraid to look up at Mikey's face, afraid he would see that disgusted look--he was a boy, after all, telling another boy this stuff and it wasn't anywhere near normal. But, then again, nothing they did was exactly normal anymore, not the make up or the leash or the feedings or any of it. Frank knew that. Did Mikey? Did Mikey even understand what Frank was trying to tell him? Mikey was so fucking smart--but naive as hell about how life went.

Frank forced himself to look up at Mikey's face, just to get a glimpse of what might be going on in his mind. He looked confused. Just like that, Frank's stomach hopped up into his chest, settling uncomfortably between some ribs. It might as well have been disgust written on his face, because either way Frank wasn't getting Mikey.

The sky was a reflection of Mikey's mind; gray, blotted with rain clouds and swirls of wind and twisters of brown and red leaves.

Frank...what? He was gay, and...did he like Mikey? He was confused, and he had some theories but didn't want to jump to conclusions. And when Frank scooted away, leaving Mikey's shoulder cold from the sudden departure of body warmth, he shivered and felt stinging in his eyes that he wished would just go away. This was going wrong, all wrong, everything he did was wrong.

Mikey started shaking his head, eyebrows knitted in the middle of his forehead in complete confusion, eyes darting down to stare angrily at the hands laying limply in his lap.

A small whimper left Frank's tightly closed mouth before he crawled into Mikey's lap without warning, hooking an arm around Mikey's body and resting his hand at the nape of his neck. The other disentangled itself to reapppear at Mikey's cheek, holding his face still and pulling their stares to one another.

"Mikey," he choked out, wanting to say everything in that one word. I love you. I'll fix you. Don't be afraid even though you are the only thing keeping me here right now and I depend on you more than you can ever imagine.

"Mikey, you're all I have in life. Whatever is going through your head, talk to me about it, please. And I don't want it to be that self-hating shit that I can blame on the dumb fucks at your old school." He petted at Mikey's cheek softly for a moment, drawing solace at the way he leaned into the caress. There was a stirring of movement from the boy under him, and then Mikey was petting back at Frank's hair, threading fingers through the dark tresses that Frank had recently taken to growing out past his ears. Mikey liked his hair like that, it was sweet in some odd way. Other boys--they just looked dumb with long hair, like they were trying and failing to look like sk8r boys, but Frank just looked cute.

He sucked in a deep breath that had Frank lifting with his chest and smiling mundanely at the sensation. Finally, "Frank, you're not happy with me."

"Yes I am!" Frank's voice was sharp, not believing the answer he'd waited on for so long was THIS. He's not happy? The only time he is happy is with Mikey!

Mikey smirked, the expression looking awkward on his lips but hung there anyway, an uninvited visitor that didn't know he was at the wrong house. Mikey's arms swooped around Frank to bring him closer, to make their chests touch lightly through the thick black coats they both wore.

"Hm, I bet. Let's see...I've made Bob pissed at you, and probably Ray too, you've started smoking, and the whole school probably thinks you're gay by now. You're right, I am all that you have, and it's all my fault." He shut his eyes tight and collapsed back against the tree, mildly surprised he got through his two measly sentences without breaking down in tears or something equally embarassing. Stuttering.

He didn't know exactly what to expect from Frank--he was leaning towards a long speech about how it's not his fault when they both know that was a lie. He didn't want Frank to lie to him--he'd told the truth and he wanted it back, no matter how much it would hurt to hear come spilling from Frank's lips. He didn't want Frank to sugar-coat whatever he had to say like he always did, but Mikey wasn't really ready for a little temper tantrum.

"Gah, Michael Way you are impossible and I don't know what the fuck to do with you! Maybe it hasn't occured to you but I don't give a shit about any of that! It's Bob's fault he gets pissy everytime a boy tries to talk to me, alright?" Frank gave a strangled little laugh that might have been mistaken for a cough. "And, as for the school thinking I'l gay, well, I think I am! I like you, and you're a boy, and liking boys means that I'm gay, so I guess I am. I don't care who knows, I'm not ashamed of it."

At this point Frank was practically straddling Mikey, his legs clamped over Mikey's thighs tightly. Dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration over furious green eyes and cheeks turning a dark rosy colour. His bangs hung limp and stringy in front of his eyes as he stared down at Mikey and he tried futiley to flip them off to the side with a quick jerk of his head. His breathing was jerky and erratic from the emotion he'd put into his shouting.

Mikey stared up at Frank helplessly. Looking as he did--sexy, over-exherted, bleeding, powerful--Mikey could drink in every word that escaped his lips like fine parisian that he would never get to taste. He could believe Frank when he said those things. Why else would he be breathless and shaking unless he just let out every syllable of truth? Lying didn't bring this euphoria. It brung with it corruption and a lacing of slow acting poison meant to kill the soul long after the body is gone and pain is over. But truth brings a dispersal of the outer shell built up by the human mind meant to protect from the harsh reality of the world. It left you fucking raw.

And that's what Frank looked like, raw.

"You like me?" Mike asked timidly. He pushed himself closer to Frank because in the course of his rant he had slumped against the tree like he believed he could disappear into the bark. Frank gave a weak smile, still not sure whether the other boy wanted him, and slipped his hand into Mikey's. His voice was immediately softer, sweeter, a full turn from where he was two seconds ago.

"Of course I do. You don't have to like me back or anything, I just want you to know that someone cares. You're always saying how you feel like no one cares, but I do and I always will," said Frank with some growing courage. He waited, as always, for Mikey to respond. Being around Mikey had given him a biy of patience, always waiting for him to answer. The long wait was always worth it, though, because every word that he verbalized came out as thoughtful and eloquent, not at all like the shit that flew out of Frank's mouth most of the time. Mikey actually thought before he spoke and that was becoming an increasingly rare quality amongst people. It was nice to hear him speak what was on his mind.

"I do like you, Frank. I like to be around you and I like to talk to you, so I guess that means that I like you too." Mikey's brown eyes were wide and awfully innocent-looking as he blinked up at Frank, and Frank couldn't shake the feeling that Mikey had no idea what he was talking about. He sighed and shook his head, slumping down in Mikey's lap.

Okay, why is he shaking his head, this doesn't make sense, Mikey thought grimly. He thought Frank would be happy. He thought. Why can't these things go like they did in his head? Frank likes him, he likes Frank, what more was there to it? Did Frank want a relationship, something intimate like that? Because Mikey didn't terribly mind the idea. It meant something deeper and stronger and more absolute than friendship, binding them together in a way Mikey never thought he could experience. He would like to have the assurance that Frank liked him enough to call Mikey his boyfriend, because he was still waiting for that moment where Frank cracks up and announces that this is all a hoax. Who would ever like the goth kid anyway?

No one, that's who. That's why they are all goth and brooding.

But in the back of his mind, way past his logical thinking and nestled in the crossroads of Insecure and Brooding, he didn't want Frank. He didn't want to be happy, he just wanted to be safe and miserable back in his room. Back where no one could find him and he could slip discreetly from society into the dark depths of absolution, peaceful but alone, empty but secure in the knowledge that he can't fuck up what's not there. That voice, the self-hating, mind-mutilating center which his whole brain floated carelessly around like debris, kept telling him that nothing is forever but heartbreak, and losing Frank wasn't worth having him in the first place.

Gerard had warned him, once, how bad it hurt to lose someone that was yours. This was years ago, like most memories of his brother. Mikey was bored that day, homework done and the TV offering nothing but the news and infomercials since they couldn't afford cable back then. He went up to the room he shared with Gerard--his brother hadn't made the move to the basement yet, that came later, as did the make up and dark clothes--and found him on the floor, bawling like he knew his life was ending young and unfulfilled.

Mikey--then around eleven or twelve, young enough to scare easily--freaked out and ran to Gerard, demanding whether he was okay, and who the H-E-double hockey sticks did this to him! He put his shaking arms around his brother's much bigger frame and nearly burst into tears himself. Where was his tough big brother? This certainly wasn't him, this was just a big faker who looked like his brother, oh, and where is Gerard!

"Gee, what's wrong, what happened! Are you alright?" Mikey squeaked, sniffling and trying to pull Gerard into a sitting position so he could see his face. After all, what if this really wasn't Gerard? Lots of boys his age had dark hair like this, wore shorts and a ratty T-shirt like this.

But it was Gerard, Mikey knew as soon as he heard a little yelp and a sniffle.

"Mikes, shh, I'm okay." Gerard lifted his tear-stained face with shame, disappointed in himself for scaring his little brother like this over something so stupid. He wiped his eyes before pulling Mikey's rail-thin body into a tight hug.

"I...um, I'm sorry if I scared you, Mikes."

Mikey hugged back disbelievingly. What was Gerard crying about, and how did he compose himself so quickly? It could take Mikey hours to calm down from crying, but Gee just stopped.

"What happened?" Mikey asked, rubbing Gerard's back a little because that's what Gerard did for him when he cried.

"Pft, Brenda broke up with me."

"But why did you cry? Did she kick you, or bite you, or--"

Gerard stopped him with a strangled, desperate little laugh. "No, Mikes, I just really liked her, and she broke my heart and it hurts. It's called heartache. It's not like a physical pain--like a kick, or if I pinch you, or when you burned your hand--but it hurts inside, kind of like a belly ache in your chest," Gerard explained slowly.

Mikey wasn't dumb, or anything, just oblivious to those types of emotions, he knew. Mikey didn't like to hang around people very much, so he came to Gerard to ask about all the social stuff he didn't understand, like why he didn't get a card on Valentines Day when everyone else did.

Gerard just told him it was because Mikey didn't need a stupid card to know he was special. Cards were a waste of trees, anyway, so Mikey was helping nature.

When Mikey had asked his dad the same question, he said it was because he didn't have enough friends.

"What's the point of liking someone?" Mikey asked, scrunching his nose up on the right side and pressing his lips together tightly so the color disappeared. Really, you can't expect someone to like you forever, so what's the point of liking them in the first place? Isn't that a form of masochism?

...yeah, Mikey knew what that word meant even then. So what if he liked to read the dictionary?

"It's not always up to you, Mikey. Sometimes you can't control who you like."

"Yes I can," argued Mikey with full assurance that he had complete control over his emotions. He was never going to get like this, crying just because some girl broke up with him. He is never going to like someone like that anyways, because it just seems like a nuisance.

*

Mikey looked down at Frank apprehensively. Frank was seemingly staring into space with a thoughtful expression splashed across his features.

Chewing on his lip again, prompting more bloodflow, brows furrowed over sightless, endless dark orbs looking at nothing, simply stuck in a stupor as he mentally scolded himself for bringing any of this up at all. This godawful topic.

"Frank? I don't get it." Mikey scrunched up his face and reached out to finally tuck Frank's bangs behind his ear.

Frank sighed, shaking his head. He didn't get it either. Mikey liked him, yeah, he said that. But did Mikey realize which way Frank was meaning? Was he even ready for that shit? Frank didn't want to overwhelm Mikey by pouring out everything and just expecting them to get together.

"Which way do you like me, Mikey?" Frank asked, the pleading evident in his voice. He wanted to hear that Mikey liked him so badly, he was seriously considering bursting into tears and just completely wigging out if it wasn't what he hoped.

Mikey broke out in a grin as he realized, oh, Frank was insecure too!

This was a huge revelation for him, that other people--perfect people like Frank who had no reason for it--got insecure as well.

"In the gay way, Frank."

He just barely contained a laugh as Frank's head shot up, shocked as hell, eyes wide and pretty, red wet mouth hanging open. The corners of Frank's mouth twitched, spasmed, contorted into a huge, dazzling grin that did no justice to his internal state of euphoric bliss. Frank threw his arms around Mikey's neck, too stunned to form coherent sentences and just needing a hug and maybe a pinch to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He felt Mikey's arms wrap around him, encasing him in a safe, tight, loving hug, and he smiled against Mikey's shirt. He shut his eyes blissfully, curling himself deeper into Mikey's arms and getting lost in the simple scent of whatever and the feel and sound of his breathing.

Frank still had blood on his lips. Mikey knew it, and he wanted to...look. To touch. He lifted Frank's face up, eyes scanning carefully over every important detail that he wanted to remember--impossible eyebrows, a scar from getting hit in the head by a guitar string, cute button nose, beginning of stubble on his cheeks, angular jaw--before letting himself focus on Frank's lips. His red, bloody, inticing lips. Mikey didn't know what came over him. The red just looked divine, strawberry, raspberry, perfect, and Mikey had to taste them. He leaned down carefully, squinting his eyes in concentration and noting Frank's confused expression, because it was pretty obvious Mikey wasn't going to kiss him.

His thumb left a tingling line on Frank's lips, and he struggled to sit still as Mikey did...his examination, or whatever his sudden fascination with his lips was. Mikey flicked his tongue out without warning and sweeped it across Frank's bottom lip, delighting in the copper taste he recieved. Closing his eyes, he leaned in more, wanting to taste more, and right now he didn't care that this was fucked up, that normal humans didn't do this.

But Frank wasn't stopping him, he was encouraging him. Frank's hand was threaded in the back of his hair, urging him on silently. He didn't know what Mikey was doing, exactly--it wasn't kissing--but it felt nice, and he wanted it to continue even though he had a million questions to ask.

*

"Mikey?" Frank asked softly, his head just peeking out from where it hid against the fall weather, his voice floating on air, dulcent and sugar-coated. Mikey glanced down, raising his eyebrows to show he was listening.

"What does all of this mean?" He knew how this would go. Mikey would go 'Oh, I dunno, what do you think?', then Frank'll go 'I don't know either, it's your call' and it will never be settled.

"This means..." Mikey began, not nervous anymore because Frank was giving him the dreamiest look and he was sure he could say 'go plan a mass suicide' and Frank would agree.

"This means be my fucking boyfriend," he said, not asked.