Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Perfectly Imperfect

Thawing Out Ice Angels

by DisenchatedDestroya 8 reviews

"My poor little Mikey." Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Mikey Way - Published: 2012-01-05 - Updated: 2012-01-05 - 6382 words - Complete

Chapter Nine – Thawing Out Ice Angels

Pete’s POV

“You comfy, Sugar?” I ask quietly as I take in the adorableness of the exhausted little angel who is currently tucked up in my marshmallowy double bed.

I don’t know how he managed to stay conscious for the car journey home, but my Mikey was strong enough to keep those beautiful eyes open every time that I asked him to. There were a few points on that short journey home that made my heart quicken it’s concerned beat in panic, every time he slumped slightly before my voice plucked him from near-blackness or when he started shivering even more profusely despite the fact that my Ferrari had become quite toasty. In the end the only way for me to keep him awake was for me tap out soft little rhythms on his icy skin to accompany the sound of us both humming his song that I composed especially for moments like these; moments that are drained of all hope and that make him shake in sorrow, like his eyes are the stunning tropical islands and his tears are a result of the erupting volcanoes of pain.

He really does look like the most adorable little thing in the world, and I’m not just saying that because he’s my adorable little thing; I’m saying it because I think that if he were any more adorable right now then my eyes would probably melt from the warm fuzzy feeling that his image is making wash through my body. Not that I mind that warm fuzzy feeling, just the fact that he’s gone and gotten himself all sick because of something that I was a part of. He may be wrapped up in about five different blankets on top of the clean, dry clothes I helped him change into without managing to think things I shouldn’t at a time like this, but he still feels almost as cold as he did when I picked him up from outside the ninety-nine cents store. I’ve embedded the blankets with every single hot water bottle I own and it’s starting to make him sweat, yet he’s still shivering like he’s in the arctic with only swimming trunks for protection. His eyes are full of a pulsating ache that seems to renew itself every few minutes in the form of a stifled groan and convulsed shake; I know that I’m meant to be the grown up one in this situation, the responsible one because he’s only sixteen, but this is frightening me.

I’m only eighteen; I don’t know how to look after a sick little angel. No matter how much I might like to think that I know exactly how to take care of my Mikey, how to make everything alright with his shuddering little body, even I have to admit that I’m totally clueless about what I should do. I mean, I know how to deal with a stomach bug or a bout of the common cold, but how am I supposed to deal with an exhausted, emaciated sixteen-year-old who just can’t stop shivering?

I have no fucking idea.

And that terrifies me, makes me scared of my Mikey realising how not-perfect I am; makes me petrified of how much I could potentially let him down right now. I’ve got a warm bowl of mushroom soup in my hands and, no matter how much he tells me he is full or just not hungry, he will be eating at least half of it. I am his boyfriend and that means that I have the right to make him not starve like his suffering eyes tell me that he is. But it’s not just food that he’s starved of, not just exhausted of energy, not just frozen from the outside climate; it’s way more than that. He’s starved of affection, the kind of affection that actually means something to him other than a mildly friendly face, an affection that he had in abundance until his big brother burst in like a storm creeping up on a sleepy warren of baby rabbits; his supplies of self-esteem and confidence, both of which I was halfway there to increasing to a nearly existent level, have been exhausted by everything that unfolded after his bastard brother walked in on us; his heart has been frozen by his own big brother’s coldness towards him, by the appallingly cold way that his brother used my Mikey’s attempted suicide against him.

Who the fuck does that; uses something that serious and morose and horrendous against an already crying, shaking, whimpering little angel?

Certainly not someone worthy of calling my Mikey their little brother.

Maybe he’d had a rough day, maybe he was just lashing out in frustration bought on by his workmates, maybe he was just doing what he thought was best for his brother because I really can come across as… I don’t know; predatory? I couldn’t give a shit as to his reason, if he had a rough day then so what? My Mikey’s days are always rough, no matter how hard I try to look out for him, and he never says anything mean to anyone, let alone yell horrible things about someone else’s hidden past. So what if he was frustrated? I get frustrated all of the time whenever I see my Mikey getting or looking hurt, but I always try to hold it in until my frightened little angel is unable to see; I never beat up his bullies with him around, something as filthy as their blood should never stain his pure retinas. So what if he was just doing what he thought was best? He should have apologized the split second anything derogatory about my perfect little angel left his chapped lips or, better still, not let anything derogatory leave his lips; he’s my Mikey’s big brother, he ought to know how Mikey takes everything to heart, ought to know better than to be such a complete dick with someone so breakable.

It’s safe to say that my first meeting with my boyfriend’s family did not go at all how I would have liked. In an ideal world I’d have still had my shirt on, I wouldn’t have been on top of my Mikey, I wouldn’t have been sweating like a tropical rainforest and I certainly wouldn’t have been forcing some of the most pleasantly-surprising un-innocent noises that I’ve ever heard from the mouth of the most innocent-looking person that I’ve ever met. In an ideal world Gerard wouldn’t have misinterpreted it as something extremely un-innocent on my part and he definitely wouldn’t have punched me in the nose. No, in an ideal world I’d have introduced myself, shook his hand and then have done nothing beyond squeezing my Mikey’s hand in his big brother’s protective presence. In fact, I’d even started planning out how I would introduce myself to Gerard; it would have been something a hell of a lot more civil than what actually transpired.

Or would it?

I think that I’d already made up my mind about Gerard Way from what my boyfriend had said about him; already decided that we probably wouldn’t be the best of friends purely because of the way he lets my Mikey arrive at school, because of how alone he lets his little brother feel, because he didn’t say anything about the importance of today. And I think that he probably would have still hated me if I’d had all of the courtesy and propriety of a well-trained soldier, purely because I’m his little brother’s first boyfriend. I completely understand why he might be a little uneasy with his sixteen-year-old charge going out with an older, muscly and ever-so-slightly cocky boy; I get that he doesn’t want to see his baby brother get his already shattered heart broken for what will probably be the millionth time; I can even get my head around his need to get violent with me for having his ‘baby’ brother pressed against the bed, I probably would have done too just because of how fragile my Mikey looks.

But none of that justifies the fact that he made my boyfriend, my perfect and fragile little angel, cry and shake and cower and scream and cling to me like kids cling onto the safety bars of a rollercoaster. Not at all. If anything, it completely contradicts all reasons that he may have had to hate me; if he really cares about my Mikey like the poor kid believes him to, then he wouldn’t be acting like a toddler having a temper tantrum in the first place, would he?

I never got to properly meet Frankie. I really do regret that. The other half of my Mikey’s little broken family that he seems to genuinely adore having around; genuinely adore in exactly the way that he doesn’t adore having Gerard around. Whenever he speaks about his biological big brother, his eyes go dull and the admiration in his voice is quite clearly forced from what his head is telling him must be true; whenever he speaks about Frankie, the man whom I’ve already grown to see as more of a big brother to my boyfriend than Gerard is, it’s obvious that his relaxed and content words are truthful, it is obvious that I would definitely gotten along with him had we had the chance to properly meet. Properly meet rather than me insulting his boyfriend and then running off. I wonder if I’ve let my own hot-headedness teamed with my immeasurable stupidity screw-over any chance of having a good relationship with any aspect of my Mikey’s family? I sincerely hope not; it wouldn’t be fair for my naively innocent little angel to be caught in crossfire between the two most important aspects of his life.

But life isn’t fair. Not one blessed bit. As the pitiful, tear-coaxing sight in front of me is all too willing to testify.

My poor, sweet little angel. My poor little boyfriend.

It will soon be ‘poor Gerard’ if I ever see that bastard again.

“I got you some soup, Sugar.” I announce, calmly sitting down next to my bundled-up boy so that his pillow-supported torso is parallel to my own, and kick my legs up to make us equal in how we are half laying, half sitting on my vast bed. I carefully thread my arm around his back, wincing at how sweat-slicked he is and just how much he really is shivering, and pull him carefully closer to my own warmth. “Do you feel any better?”

He nods against me even though there are still little beads of pure misery trailing down his moon-white face and tries to lift the blankets from himself. ‘Tries’ because I really have wrapped him tighter than a Christmas present and also because I’m pulling the covers back around him before he can get any colder than he already is.

He looks up at me, eyes huge and hurt, making my heart skip several beats at just how utterly innocent and undeserving of everything that he gets my Mikey really is.

I can remember back when we were still getting to know one another and before the whole school became aware that he is under my jurisdiction, I came across something almost as unsightly as this in terms of it’s horrendousness; I’d seen him run into the school toilets, tears running down his face and blood pouring out of his nose, so I had of course followed him. Followed him to find him scowling at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, almost growling things at himself. Things like ’why can’t you just be normal?’, atrocities like ’don’t cry, you know that you deserve it,’ and, worst of all for my agonized ears; ’nobody cares, why should they? I’m better off dead.’. After that particular snarl of self-hatred I decided to step in. I just called out his nickname, one that I had never used before and have used ever since, and caught him in the hug that he unknowingly tripped-up into. Neither of us had made any move to separate, me too pleased with holding the beautiful boy in my arms and my Mikey too shy (not to mention distraught) to move, so I simply held him close and whispered soothing placations into his wounded ears until he managed the cutest little smile ever to dance into my line of sight. Eventually I had gotten him to give me a shaky description of who it was that had made his nose crunch and bleed; it had been one of Aaron’s little gang. A boy too stupid to realise that he was making a mistake that would cost him a concussion and a broken finger.

Although all thoughts of revenge against anyone malevolently vile enough to hurt my frightened little angel usually brings a sly smirk to my face as I picture their own fear-lit eyes in the place of fear that they used to ignite my Mikey’s own, nothing can make me smile right now. Not whilst my Mikey is looking up at me as though me tucking him back in is some sort of cardinal sin; maybe it is. What if he’s overheating? What if he just doesn’t want to feel trapped?

“What’s wrong, Sugar, are you too hot?” He shakes his head at my anxious question, causing concerned confusion to violently run riot in my mind; what if I’ve made him feel threatened or forced into something, is that why he doesn’t want to be cover-restricted? I sincerely hope not. “Would you rather I took you to your house?”

It pains me to think that he might prefer to be with his horrible big brother, that demon parading as the saviour of my angel, but I’d rather he were happy with someone that I despise than frightened and suffering in my retreating arms.

“No! I-I…. I was just hoping you’d…. Doesn’t matter. I was being stupid.” He blushes and looks away to the side, hands wringing nervously in his lap.

If we weren’t in such a serious situation then I’d find his blush cute, maybe a little bit more than comical, and would be saying things to make him blush harder because I know how his blush works; it only sweeps across his face whenever someone makes him feel important enough to be noticed, whenever someone says something so truthfully nice that it makes him feel silly for wanting to believe them. But this a serious conversation; I’ve made him feel uncomfortable whilst tears are still dripping down his face for reasons other than his aching body and I need to make it better. Need to make him see that anything he could think to say, or even just think for that matter, is important to me because he’s my boyfriend and I really do care about him.

More than a prom queen cares about not wearing the same dress as that really unpopular girl; more than a librarian cares about enforcing silence; more than a gardener cares about his most enchantingly stunning bed of roses; more than any other boyfriend cares about their better half.

Oh, yeah; and a fuck of a lot more than Gerard cares about him.

“Tell me, Sugar. Please, I want to know how to make you happy like you deserve to be.”

He shakes his head so vehemently that he comes close to shaking me enough to make me spill the scorching hot soup that I’d all but forgotten about.

My heart drops; I thought that he trusted me enough to know that I’ll never harm a perfect hair on his angelic little head, a head that would be more suited for a halo than any of the bumps that his endless clumsiness and undeserved enemies give him. I’ve got to change tack, got to make it so that he can see how much I really don’t mind him requesting me to do something for my perfectly good-natured little angel.

“Mikey Way, tell me right now or else I’ll have to kiss you until you can’t breathe. Or until you decide to tell me how to make you happy.”

My soft purr of cheeky persuasion intended to loosen his tense shoulders, shoulders that are leaning slightly against my own, teases a soft near-giggle from his frost-bitten lips. Only a near-giggle because my definition of giggle does not extend to tear-stained cheeks and chattering teeth. But still, it cheered him up a little and that’s all that matters to me; all that matters because as long as I’m doing something to help him then I know I’m doing something worthwhile with an evening that would have otherwise been spent watching MTV or strumming out pointless tunes on my bass that are so familiar to me by now that it almost bores me to play them, unless I’m playing them for my Mikey. It’s made him softly near-giggle, and that in itself has resurrected my heartbeat, but he still hasn’t spoken his mind about whatever his little idea was.

So I sigh to make myself serious, as opposed to flirty and mischievous, serious enough to make him see how much I want to help him; how much his own contentment contributes to my happiness.

“Seriously, Sugar, tell me what you were going to say.”

His near-giggles stop, he buries his face under my arms and into my side as tough he fears my reaction to whatever he’s going to say.

Which really fucking tears at me; I’m his boyfriend and that, to me at least, means something more than the idea that he is my property. It means that he can trust me to love him and care for him, no matter what. Or rather, that’s what it should mean; yet it doesn’t, as his reluctance to speak to me right now can prove all too well. Maybe he just isn’t ready to be my boyfriend; maybe I just wasn’t patient enough…

No. I don’t know what the fuck went on after I left him at his house; for all I know that could be what’s causing his current shyness. In fact, I’m sure that’s what is causing his current beyond-introverted state, the conflicted look in his puppy-dog eyes tells me that much. I bet Gerard said something, something worse than making out like his depression is something to be ashamed of, something that’s broken all that my lips had started to fix with their love. I should ask him what happened to make him go out into the cold to begin with, although I doubt that the cold was the only factor to make him like this, I really should let him know that he can tell me whatever happened between him and Gerard after I ran off like some sort of coward; but first of all I need to make him feel relaxed enough by getting him to at least tell me what he wants me to do to make him happy.

“C’mon, Beautiful. Tell me. You know you can.”

He starts to fumble with the blankets again and this time I let him open up the side facing me, accepting that it might be easier for him to show me what he wants rather than forcing him to speak whilst still shivering and whimpering like he was when I found him just over an hour ago. He peels back the blankets, seeming to ignore the fact that it makes his shivers even more violent than I can be with certain bullies, and shuffles along a little, his anxious eyes beseeching me to understand.

“Keep me warm?”

His hoarse, whispered little mew melts my insides like chocolate in the hot summer sun and it’s the least I can do not to crush my Mikey in some form of embrace.

All he wants is for me to cuddle him under the covers like I’ve only been refraining from doing through fear of crowding him or making him feel awkward.

But this means so much more to him than a warm body encasing his own, slowly calming one; to my Mikey it means that he’s opening himself up, trusting someone enough to ask for close contact instead of shying away from it. My Mikey, my perfect and brave little angel, really does trust me like he should trust that he’s beautiful; really is ready to be my boyfriend because that vital trust is there. And I couldn’t happier/prouder/glowing brighter if I’d just been told that I could take a consequence-free swing at Gerard. For him to openly request something like that, something meant in a loving and romantic way, would have been impossible for him a few days ago but now, as a result of my encouraging eyes and soothing arms, he has managed to persuade himself that he’s worth enough to me to be worthy of my loving embrace.

Something that I would rather die giving than deny him.

So I shuffle along a little, making it so that my Mikey has more than enough of the blankets, and then tuck the two of us in behind the black velvet duvet. He presses himself right up close to me, head on my tummy and arms around my waist as though I’m some oversized teddy fortunate enough to be his bedtime comfort, before looking up at me with eyes that shine with complete adulation for the soothing toasty-ness that the beating of my love-hastened heart is exuding to him. It’s like we’re out at sea and I’m the lifeboat; like I’m all that he needs to survive and keep him safe like I have failed to do.

Apart from I’m not all that he needs to survive; he needs food too. The kind of substance that has miraculously managed to stay in it’s bowl.

“Better now, Sugar?” I chuckle softly down at him, very much liking the way that his nod makes his nose nuzzle my tummy in an almost ticklish way, and gently rub behind his ears with my free hand in a way that makes him sigh in content pleasure at my soothing touch.

His sigh, which to my ears sounds like a chorus of exalted angels on electric guitars, makes every fibre of my being pulse with unbridled joy and satisfaction; I, as in his lovingly protective boyfriend, have managed to make him feel a little bit better. I know that he’s still upset, that things are still preying on his mind like Gerard’s lack of ability to look after a traumatised boy is clearly preying on his mental health, but at least I’ve lessened the load a little. At least I’ve made him feel loved.

“Can you sit back up for me, Beautiful? I want you to eat this for me.” I tilt the soup down to his line of vision so that he can see that it really isn’t poisoned, that it’s just a small serving of warm mushroom soup that isn’t even enough to start to fill his stomach but is all that I have that’s light enough to not make him throw up if he really doesn’t eat normally. “Think you can eat some for me, for your boyfriend?”

I hate to sound so patronizing, I hate even more to take advantage of his longing to please me but it’s the only way that I know I can get this down him and into his grumbling gut without force-feeding my already slightly frightened little angel. But he wouldn’t be frightened if I hadn’t have left him at his house.

No, rather than feeling sorry for myself I’m going to be completely honest here; he wouldn’t be frightened at all of Gerard wasn’t so fucking stupid. I call it stupidity because I don’t think that he even realised he was hurting his little brother more than he was hurting me, his intended target. I wish I could teach that man a thing or two, show him how content my hold makes my (not his) Mikey, show him how much better I am than he is. I know that it may sound cruel to want to flaunt my Mikey’s adoration for me in front of the man who wants it the most, but it’s the only way to get back at his own cruelty towards the one he is supposed to be in charge of.

But Mikey’s sixteen, he doesn’t need someone to be in charge of him; what he needs is someone to be there for him, someone to be nice when he meets the kid’s first boyfriend and not make him cry out in fear. My Mikey isn’t the little kid that Gerard, and admittedly myself at times too, seems to view him as. Apart from when I view him as a kid I mean it in a way that makes me think he’s cute and that he needs my protection; not in a way that makes me think I need to baby him and smother him with authority like Gerard so obviously tries to do.

I wonder where Frank fits into the equation. Does he baby my Mikey or does he treat him as an equal? I think that he fits somewhere in the middle from what I know of him, kind of like a hybrid version of what Gerard should be and is in my Mikey’s eyes.

“Not hungry, thanks. You have it.”

“No. Mikey, it’s only soup and you’re having it whether you’re hungry or not.” He flinches at the forcefulness of my words; I’ve never made him do anything before against his will, but if I cave in now I’ll never get him to eat.

Maybe I’m just overreacting; perhaps he really is naturally thinner than my duvet. Perhaps he does eat his lunch in class… every day. Perhaps he really isn’t hungry right now. But then again that’s just like saying perhaps getting buried alive is the most relaxing experience in the world. He’s far too tall to weigh the same as the small child that Gerard appears to receive him as. He’s a terrible liar and I can tell that he only says that he ate during class to stop me from worrying like I am now. I know for a fact that he’s hungry right now because his hollow stomach has been whimpering almost as much as he has. If I wasn’t sure as to his eating habits, or alarming lack thereof, I am now.

My poor little Mikey; my exhausted and starved little angel.

“Please, Pete, I’m not hun-“

“Yes you are, Mikey.” I cut sharply across him, my hand softly stroking his face to let him know that I’m not mad at him at all; just unwilling to be moved on this. “I can hear your tummy rumbling, I can feel your bones like you don’t even have skin and I can see how underweight you are. But what I never see is you eating. So please, for the love of God, just have some soup. You don’t even have to have all of it; just show me that you do eat.” I pause, only then realising that my Mikey’s started crying again. Crying because of me. No. Because he doesn’t want to face what he’s doing to himself. “Please, Sugar, I’m not trying to scare you but if you carry on like this, not eating anything, then you’ll die.” I lean down and kiss the ice-berg tip of his nose with my caring cushions of adoration. “I don’t want my boyfriend to die. Not now, not next week, not ever and certainly not from anorexia.”

“Pete, I… I do eat. Honest I do. So I’m not anorexic, right? It’s okay, please don’t cry over me; you’re far too nice to cry over someone like me.”

His tiny little voice rattles me like a speeding train heading straight for my heart; he really does need some proper help, someone better than Gerard to look after him because when a sweet sixteen-year-old says stuff like that you know someone’s seriously fucked the poor little angel up. And all he cares about are the tears that I can’t even feel trailing down my face like the funeral parade that could well be his in a matter of time if I don’t do something to make him see sense.

“Oh, Sugar, c’mere, Beautiful.” I place the still-full bowl on the bedside table and wrap my Mikey up so tightly in my arms that it’s a miracle that we’re still two separate entities rather than one fused-together being. “And I mean that; you really are beautiful, Beautiful. Inside and out, perfect in every way. No matter what anyone says. No matter what Gerard says.” I carefully tug him so that he’s lying directly on top of me, like the second story of a house, with his head on my slightly upright chest and our hands lacing naturally together. “I won’t make you eat tonight as long as you promise me that I can make you breakfast in the morning and that you’ll eat it all, alright?”

I want to cringe at how like a teacher I sound and I almost do, but then I realise that I am being the teacher here; I’m the eldest looking after the defenceless younger one and teaching him how to believe in himself, how to see beyond what the others see and just to love himself as much as love him. Apart from nobody can ever love anything as much as I love him.

Yeah, I know I sound clichéd but right now I couldn’t give a fuck; I’m just being honest.

“Okay, Pete.” He almost smiles up at me, but then his eyes flash flood with resigned sorrow, thus drowning my heart with all of his unfair negativity.

“Sugar? What is it, Sugar?”

“Why doesn’t Gerard want me anymore, Pete? Why did I become such a bad little brother?”

Fuck you, Gerard, for making this perfect little angel (my perfect little angel) think such thinks, for making his eyes bleed tears like the broken stabs of his whimpers are making my heart bleed; like I’m going to make you bleed the next time I see you without my Mikey present.

“Aw, Sugar, no. No. You are not a bad little brother; you could never be a bad anything, Sugar, because there isn’t a bad part to you. And if Gerard doesn’t want you, which I highly doubt, then it’s his loss. Besides, I want you and let’s face it; I can do way better things than your brother can to make you feel better.”

To prove my point I carefully, in a passionately concerned kind of way, press my lips to his. Lips that were all but ice-blue twenty minutes ago, ice-blue because of his brother’s coldness; a coldness that my heated lips are endeavouring to melt away. My tongue slips into his mouth, coaxing an actual sound of happiness from his upturned lips, and I can taste nothing but Mentos gum being slightly numbed by hints of black coffee; the taste suits him perfectly, gently overpowering and sweet but with a harshness that refuses to let me forget how troubled my little angel is. Of course the ‘things’ that I was referring to that I can do to make him feel better go far beyond kissing and cuddling, but not yet. It just wouldn’t be fair on him to push this any further right now; he’s still weak, still sick from being out in the cold, and he’s still got those dark thoughts about himself, thoughts that Gerard obviously planted, swirling in his mind. To do anything more than this right now would be inexcusably cruel and heartless of me; I refuse to take advantage of my precious little angel like that. Besides, this kiss is more than enough for the both of us right now. It’s just so full of love, so full of him that I can’t think of a better way to round off a rollercoaster day. A day that I really don’t know whether to call horrible or not; obviously too many horrid things have happened today for me to class it as being a nice day, but at the same time today I became my Mikey’s boyfriend so it would feel wrong to call this day anything less than amazing. Either way, this kiss makes up for my still-sore nose because of how my Mikey’s lips are smiling against my own, because of how he’s more confident with his tongue than I would expect from him, because of how much this is helping him to be happy.

I can feel the growl of a yawn forming in his chest and I open my bliss-blinded eyes to see that his own are full of exhaustion, the exhaustion that I’m going to help him sleep away. So I slowly pull away, having to remind myself that my Mikey is way more important than the endless pleasure I was finding in claiming his mouth for my own just as he was mine, and stroke my thumb down his scar in a way somewhat akin to how moonlight strokes a ghostly landscape in it’s romantic glow.

“You are so perfect, Sugar. So perfect and you’re all mine.” I smile at his dizzy little grin that proclaims how truly pleased he is with my praise, how easy it is to make my Mikey happy if only you take the time to find out how. “It’s pretty late and I think you’re pretty tired, are you happy sharing a bed or do you want me to go sleep in my parents’ room? I totally get it if you don’t want me sharing a bed with you, Sugar, so please don’t feel like you have to. I won’t be offended or any-“

“Please don’t leave me,” he mewls nervously up to me, eyes wider than the moon. “I-I don’t want to sleep alone…”

“Good, Sugar. Neither do I.” I smile at him reassuringly as he nestles into my chest, listening out for the vital sound of my most vital organ; his own little heart-shaped music box. I rest a hand on the small of his back, pleasantly surprised to find that the t-shirt I’ve lent him has ridden up slightly so that my fingers are resting in his bare skin. Skin that has finally warmed up a little. “Sorry if I snore a little, Sugar. I’ll try to stay awake until you’re asleep because I’ve been told that my nose can prevent even a drunk from falling to sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it… I, um, I don’t sleep all that quietly… Sorry if I wake you up.”

By now his sincere apology is so slurred by sleep that I have to replay it in my head a fair few times to understand it.

Unsure of how to keep myself awake long enough for my Mikey to be safely off into his dreams, I start rubbing small circles onto his back; smirking to myself as he lets out a complimentary ‘hmm’ in his semi-sleep.

“That’s it, Beautiful, get some rest. You deserve it.” I know that he’s already too out of it to even notice me, but I like talking to him; maybe my nice words will ward off any bad dreams? It’s worth a shot. “You’re the sweetest, greatest person I’ve ever met; you really are a perfect little angel, aren’t you? My perfect little angel. Mine. All mine. And I’m all yours, even when you don’t want me any more I’ll still be yours should you want me again. But we’ll always be together. I’ll always be here, ready to cuddle you and kiss you and make everything as alright as I can.” He’s completely limp against me now, definitely sound asleep. Good. “I just hate seeing you sad, Sugar. Hate seeing you starving. I hate knowing that you tried to kill yourself, that you were hurting bad enough to do that. But I don’t hate you for it; I just want to make sure that I never let that happen again. I don’t know what I’ll do if I ever lose you.”

I lean down to kiss his pale forehead, my lips brushing it before I lean back on my own pillows.

Shrouded in blankets and draped in my Mikey, my eyes start to flutter shut.

“I love you, Mikey Way. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I’m really sorry that this turned out to be so long! I hope that it isn’t too boring. The next chapter is definitely set to be shorter; as things are looking right now it’s going to be mostly flashbacks… Anyway, thank you very much for reading and please review! :)
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