Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Face It
A River in Egypt
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A River in Egypt
“Mikey, where you at, bro?” I call through the bus, bunny-hopping over the carnage of last night’s game of spin the bottle, head spinning from the hideous amounts of alcohol consumed during Patrick’s little game. “Mikey?”
I look around the living area for any sign of my baby brother, shoes or shirt or anything, knowing that the alternative to finding him on our tour bus is much worse than the idea of him stumbling in on us all incapacitated last night on his way back from Wentz-sitting. Because the alternative is-
“He stayed on the Fall Out Boy bus, Gee.” I look around at the tired-sounding voice to see none other than Frankie, my Frankie, peeling himself out from the couch and brushing some sort of creamy chip dip from his black jumper. “Same as Pete.”
He steps over a passed-out Patrick, who for some reason is clinging onto Ray’s hair like a child with a comfort blanket, and comes to stand next to me in the kitchenette area with a small grin plastered on his face at my appalled expression. Which I quickly wipe from my face, reminding myself that Pete and Mikey are like best friends; if Pete really had the fever that Mikey said he had last night, then it is entirely plausible that my caring baby brother just wanted to stay with him to make sure he’s alright.
Yeah.
But what about the million other times he’s slept on the Fall Out Boy bus?
No. Mikey’s a smart boy, he wouldn’t let himself fall for someone as annoyingly arrogant as Wentz. Not to mention too innocent to actually do anything of the things Pete taunted me with yesterday.
“They’re pretty close, aren’t they?” Frank chuckles, eyes sparkling as he grabs an apple from the small fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. “Pete and Mikes, I mean.”
Great.
Here we go a-fucking-gain.
The one thing I want to forget about is getting dragged up for what feels like the thousandth time since my spat with Pete yesterday, the one that left me questioning my sweet, shy little brother’s naivety and innocence. But that’s exactly what Pete wants me to do, he just said those things to get inside my head and I’m letting it work like the idiot I am.
Well, no more!
“I don’t wanna talk about it, Frank.” My voice comes out a lot more grumpy than I intended, but it gets the point across because Frank just shrugs and scuttles over to the coffee machine. “He’s an asshole.” I add on as an honest afterthought, waiting for Frank to agree with me.
He doesn’t. He just looks up at me with shining eyes and a wicked smirk to match.
“That’s not a very nice way to talk about your little brother’s boyfr-“
“Shut up, Frankie!”
He barely ducks in time to avoid the banana I sent flying through the air from the fruit bowl, like a torpedo twirling through the small dining area to silence my impish little guitarist. It doesn’t seem to have worked though. If anything, Frank’s full on laughing now, clutching his sides and everything. I bet he and Wentz discussed this, the two seem alike enough to form some sort of alliance, decided to give me a run for my money by using my poor baby brother.
Well, I’m not falling into that one. Not after the last time the two of them wound me up. Granted, it was mainly Pete and Frank was just sat their openly applauding him but it still makes my blood boil and hands shake just thinking about it. Pete had found a Waycest website and took it upon himself to teach me the meaning of “smut-fest”.
I still have nightmares.
“Denial’s not just a river in Egypt, Babe.” Frank mumbles, fixing me with the kind of look that fills me with complete and utter dread; like I can see the apocalypse being reflected in those beautifully bottomless hazel eyes of his. “What do you think he does on the FOB bus all the time? Play scrabble?”
“What’s wrong with scrabble?” It’s a stupid response and I know it, as my bright blush will testify, but it’s the only thing I can think of to change the topic that will only make me fall even further into Pete Wentz’s stupid little joke. “Scrabble’s fun.”
Well, it’s better than what Frank seems to be suggesting anyway.
Way better than that. Because Mikey would never do that, not with Pete Wentz and not on some cramped little tour bus. That’d be kind of like doing it in a sleazy motel room with a twenty-dollar whore. Mikey’s better than that, better than an arrogant asshole like Pete, and far too sweet to let some older guy be on top of him and sweating and grabbing.
I take a deep breath in and release it slowly, extending the exhalation to loosen some of the obvious tension in my shoulders. I’m being ridiculous. I’ve never even heard Mikes talk dirty to anyone, I doubt he even knows how, let alone do dirty things with anyone. He’s just far too innocent for that. Far too baby like because he is my baby brother; still that same kid who thought a blow-job was an occupation involving blowing bubbles right up until he was seventeen. That conversation had been awkward enough, so the idea of him getting on with Wentz? Impossible.
It’s just something that my baby brother would never do. Not in a million years.
“God, Gee. You sound like an old man.” He heaves an exasperated sigh as he pours his coffee and grabs for the sugar. Six heaped teaspoons later and he’s gulping it happily, looking back up at me with a deadly serious look on his porcelain face. “Mikey’s not a baby anymore, y’know.”
Yes he is!
Why can’t anyone else understand that?
He still gets scared of thunderstorms, he still has nightmares, he still gets up early on Christmas morning, he still drinks the milk out of his cereal bowl every day. All of those little things that make it clear he’s still a kid. Far too sweet and naïve to be Wentz’s toy.
“Pete’s not that bad, Gee. Mikes could do a hell of a lot worse.” He offers me a soft smile, sipping his coffee-flavoured sugar as we hear the sound of Bob groaning at the sudden realisation he’s being crushed by his Fall Out Boy counterpart.
I just nod, deciding that this is probably the best way to get Frank to drop the subject. It’s getting old and I just want to forget this whole misunderstanding.
“He can’t be as bad as you think. Mikey wouldn’t moan his name in his sleep if he was.”
A/N: Sorry for adding onto this again, but I keep finding things to add onto it and I was kinda thinking of making this a string of one-shots. I’ve got a few ideas, but if anyone has anything they want to see then please let me know. I hope this was alright and please let me know what you think! :)
“Mikey, where you at, bro?” I call through the bus, bunny-hopping over the carnage of last night’s game of spin the bottle, head spinning from the hideous amounts of alcohol consumed during Patrick’s little game. “Mikey?”
I look around the living area for any sign of my baby brother, shoes or shirt or anything, knowing that the alternative to finding him on our tour bus is much worse than the idea of him stumbling in on us all incapacitated last night on his way back from Wentz-sitting. Because the alternative is-
“He stayed on the Fall Out Boy bus, Gee.” I look around at the tired-sounding voice to see none other than Frankie, my Frankie, peeling himself out from the couch and brushing some sort of creamy chip dip from his black jumper. “Same as Pete.”
He steps over a passed-out Patrick, who for some reason is clinging onto Ray’s hair like a child with a comfort blanket, and comes to stand next to me in the kitchenette area with a small grin plastered on his face at my appalled expression. Which I quickly wipe from my face, reminding myself that Pete and Mikey are like best friends; if Pete really had the fever that Mikey said he had last night, then it is entirely plausible that my caring baby brother just wanted to stay with him to make sure he’s alright.
Yeah.
But what about the million other times he’s slept on the Fall Out Boy bus?
No. Mikey’s a smart boy, he wouldn’t let himself fall for someone as annoyingly arrogant as Wentz. Not to mention too innocent to actually do anything of the things Pete taunted me with yesterday.
“They’re pretty close, aren’t they?” Frank chuckles, eyes sparkling as he grabs an apple from the small fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. “Pete and Mikes, I mean.”
Great.
Here we go a-fucking-gain.
The one thing I want to forget about is getting dragged up for what feels like the thousandth time since my spat with Pete yesterday, the one that left me questioning my sweet, shy little brother’s naivety and innocence. But that’s exactly what Pete wants me to do, he just said those things to get inside my head and I’m letting it work like the idiot I am.
Well, no more!
“I don’t wanna talk about it, Frank.” My voice comes out a lot more grumpy than I intended, but it gets the point across because Frank just shrugs and scuttles over to the coffee machine. “He’s an asshole.” I add on as an honest afterthought, waiting for Frank to agree with me.
He doesn’t. He just looks up at me with shining eyes and a wicked smirk to match.
“That’s not a very nice way to talk about your little brother’s boyfr-“
“Shut up, Frankie!”
He barely ducks in time to avoid the banana I sent flying through the air from the fruit bowl, like a torpedo twirling through the small dining area to silence my impish little guitarist. It doesn’t seem to have worked though. If anything, Frank’s full on laughing now, clutching his sides and everything. I bet he and Wentz discussed this, the two seem alike enough to form some sort of alliance, decided to give me a run for my money by using my poor baby brother.
Well, I’m not falling into that one. Not after the last time the two of them wound me up. Granted, it was mainly Pete and Frank was just sat their openly applauding him but it still makes my blood boil and hands shake just thinking about it. Pete had found a Waycest website and took it upon himself to teach me the meaning of “smut-fest”.
I still have nightmares.
“Denial’s not just a river in Egypt, Babe.” Frank mumbles, fixing me with the kind of look that fills me with complete and utter dread; like I can see the apocalypse being reflected in those beautifully bottomless hazel eyes of his. “What do you think he does on the FOB bus all the time? Play scrabble?”
“What’s wrong with scrabble?” It’s a stupid response and I know it, as my bright blush will testify, but it’s the only thing I can think of to change the topic that will only make me fall even further into Pete Wentz’s stupid little joke. “Scrabble’s fun.”
Well, it’s better than what Frank seems to be suggesting anyway.
Way better than that. Because Mikey would never do that, not with Pete Wentz and not on some cramped little tour bus. That’d be kind of like doing it in a sleazy motel room with a twenty-dollar whore. Mikey’s better than that, better than an arrogant asshole like Pete, and far too sweet to let some older guy be on top of him and sweating and grabbing.
I take a deep breath in and release it slowly, extending the exhalation to loosen some of the obvious tension in my shoulders. I’m being ridiculous. I’ve never even heard Mikes talk dirty to anyone, I doubt he even knows how, let alone do dirty things with anyone. He’s just far too innocent for that. Far too baby like because he is my baby brother; still that same kid who thought a blow-job was an occupation involving blowing bubbles right up until he was seventeen. That conversation had been awkward enough, so the idea of him getting on with Wentz? Impossible.
It’s just something that my baby brother would never do. Not in a million years.
“God, Gee. You sound like an old man.” He heaves an exasperated sigh as he pours his coffee and grabs for the sugar. Six heaped teaspoons later and he’s gulping it happily, looking back up at me with a deadly serious look on his porcelain face. “Mikey’s not a baby anymore, y’know.”
Yes he is!
Why can’t anyone else understand that?
He still gets scared of thunderstorms, he still has nightmares, he still gets up early on Christmas morning, he still drinks the milk out of his cereal bowl every day. All of those little things that make it clear he’s still a kid. Far too sweet and naïve to be Wentz’s toy.
“Pete’s not that bad, Gee. Mikes could do a hell of a lot worse.” He offers me a soft smile, sipping his coffee-flavoured sugar as we hear the sound of Bob groaning at the sudden realisation he’s being crushed by his Fall Out Boy counterpart.
I just nod, deciding that this is probably the best way to get Frank to drop the subject. It’s getting old and I just want to forget this whole misunderstanding.
“He can’t be as bad as you think. Mikey wouldn’t moan his name in his sleep if he was.”
A/N: Sorry for adding onto this again, but I keep finding things to add onto it and I was kinda thinking of making this a string of one-shots. I’ve got a few ideas, but if anyone has anything they want to see then please let me know. I hope this was alright and please let me know what you think! :)
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