Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Things Don't Change
3 reviewsMikey's always looked after Ryan. And Ryan's always looked after Mikey. MIRO one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
1Moving
Things Don’t Change
Ryan Ross and I have been best friends for longer than I can remember. Since way before I got my glasses at age seven, before Gerard started thinking he was a vampire and thus needed to hibernate during the day; hell, it was even before I figured out that forks and toasters are a worse combination than Frankie and sugar. In short, Ryan’s always been by my side. Through everything. Even when I came out as gay and lost most of my ‘friends’ last year, he stood by me. Held me as I cried as though letting go would be the same as doing the unthinkable; abandoning me.
And, in return, I’ve always been there for him. When his mom left because she couldn’t cope with Mr Ross’ relentless alcoholism, it was me he came running to for comfort. Comfort that I could and would never deny anyone, let alone my bestest friend in the whole wide world. Just like whenever living with an alcoholic father gets too much for him to handle, he phones me and I pick him up, ready with his favourite Beatle’s CD playing in my beat-up old Ford.
His dad just doesn’t understand Ryan at all; he thinks that the stunningly intricate eyeliner designs he labours over in the mornings are a waste of time that show some sort of weakness, he thinks that those diamond lyrics he pours every part of his being into are a stupid folly that will never matter to anyone. He thinks that Ryan shouldn’t be hanging out with a faggot like me. That, of course, hurt. As it does every time someone calls me that, but part of me is glad he called me that in front of Ry; it gave the kid a harsh shock that jolted him out of his idea that he was in the wrong and that his father was right. I think that was the first time Ry ever stood up to his father, when he was screaming at him for calling me that pointless collection of syllables that, when moulded together, form a digging knife of spite.
Ryan’s younger than me, even if he acts twice as mature. When he moved into the house opposite the road from ours, he was four and I was six; me interested in a potential new playmate and him eager to get out and explore his new surroundings.
I guess you could say that I’m the most influential of the two of us. He’s like the visionary and I’m his enabler; if he has a dream, an idea, a musing playing on his head, then I will make sure that he lives it through. There is a slight downside to being the eldest, though; it means I have the responsibility of teaching him stuff and that he tries to copy me when I do something that looks like it could be remotely interesting.
Like getting drunk. Last weekend Gerard somehow got us invites to one of his friends’ parties, an older friend with ID and more money than is probably healthy for a kid to have. Meaning that there was booze. A lot of booze. And some bastards from school laughing at me, at the ‘faggot’ who belonged at a freak-show with his little pet weirdo. The last part being aimed at Ry, but thankfully going right over his fourteen-year-old head as it spun in time to the too-loud music and glaring disco lights. The words got to me though, cut deep into my skin like a razor and made me head straight for the one thing I knew from experience could drown it out; vodka. I was about halfway through my second bottle and barely standing when I noticed something that sobered me up pretty damn quick; Ryan hunched in a corner, whimpering and puking his guts out. The poor kid had tried to copy my reckless actions. Apart from with tequila. So I scooped him up, carried him to the bathroom and held him in my lap as he emptied his fragile little tummy, right before falling asleep with his head propped against my shoulder, caramel hair tickling my chin like gold dust.
I think that’s when I let myself finally admit it to my insides; I’m in love with George Ryan Ross.
I’ve known it for a very long time now, ever since I realised I was gay because, well, it was his name that I was moaning in my scarily smutty wet dreams, but I just never could let myself believe it. Because he’s my best friend. One of my only friends after my own big brother, a crazy Jack-in-the-box punk called Frank Iero and the guitar hero that is Ray Toro, who only hangs out with me because he’s my big brother’s closest pal, a compassionate soul too.
In my head I tried to put it down to having known him for so long, Ry I mean. I struggled with what I knew to be true to convince myself that I only look at him like that because we’re so close and I’m at that age now where someone could paint a face onto a cabbage and I’d manage to fall in love with it. But no; holding my best friend as he vomited more than I thought his tiny stomach could possibly hold, I realised that this is proper love. The kind that little girls dream about and that Disney makes cheesy movies based on.
I’m in love with Ryan motherfucking Ross.
As in the very same Ryan motherfucking Ross who is currently sat on my bed, head leant on my shoulder like it always is when he gets sleepy, and telling me about his latest fight with his dad. The third one this week that’s been bad enough to drive the poor lad to my bedroom and into the soothing depths of my arms. Arms that will always be open to the intricate cuteness of my fragile porcelain trophy.
“What was it about this time, Ry?” I ask softly, voice flittering through the strained silence of the room and making him lean to be even closer into the chest that would quite happily be his mattress for the rest of forever. “What did he say to you?”
He sniffles slightly, the small sound reminiscent of the time I broke my mom’s precious vase that used to be Grandma Elena’s before she passed it down to us on my christening. It’s the sound of something precious, something priceless and devastatingly beautiful breaking in my own hands. Apart from this time it isn’t some stupid, ugly piece of china; it’s my irreplaceable little diamond. My Ryan.
“It was about you.” He gulps, looking away from the hurt and self-hate that I’m certain is melting through my usual mask of neutrality. “He called you… that word again and I told him to shut up.”
That word.
Ry refuses to say, always has done right from the moment I explained to him what it means. Told me that love is love, that it’s still the same beautifully enchanting concept whether it’s between two boys or two girls or one of either sex; that love can’t ever be described by such a cruelly spiteful and derogatory term. I used to think that he just said that because it was me, his gay best friend, he was talking to, but over time I realised that that’s how he truly feels. Despite his father and his father’s beliefs, Ry is genuinely accepting of any sexuality. Just like he’s accepting of everyone, a large contributing factor into him being the nicest person I know and the person I’d adore to share my first kiss with.
I look down at the boy, who’s shaking against me in efforts to suppress the whimpers that are fleeing from his lips like rats off a ship, and smile at him softly. We might be having a far from pleasant conversation, but a smile is the very least I owe him for sticking up for me against a man I know for a fact terrifies him when he’s angry.
“Oh, Ryan.” The sigh comes out as somewhat motherly, comforting and responsible at the same time. “Don’t pay any attention to him, okay? It doesn’t matter, I don’t mind.”
“Yea? Well, I do!” The outburst shocks me slightly; Ry’s normally pretty quiet after a row with his dad, but at the same time it makes my smile widen. Because this is him, in his own cute little way, showing the world that he cares about me almost as much as I do him. “And it does matter, Mikey. He can’t just call you that and get away with it. It isn’t right.” His face creases in anger, something that would look absolutely adorable if it wasn’t for the fact that I can see tears burning trails down his pretty little cheeks. “Homophobic bastard.”
I run a hand over his hair, savouring the way it brushes against my fingers like the tips of an angel’s wing, and let out an airy breath. I might despise Ryan’s dad with everything I have, but he’s still Ryan’s dad; the one member of family that he has left. I can’t let Ry lose that over something as insignificant and silly as me.
“Look, I appreciate you sticking up for me, Bud. Of course I fucking do, but don’t let me come between you and your dad.” My tone is strong, as immovable as a mountain, but even as I say it I regret it; I don’t want my Ryan anywhere near that harshly narrow-minded motherfucker that has the audacity to credit himself with creating such pure beauty. “It’s not worth it.”
“B-but, what if I think it is?” The way he stutters nervously over the first word makes my heart burst; he really is the most adorable little kid I’ve ever seen. Even more adorable than Frank when he was five and thought it’d be funny to turn himself into a human fluffernutter. “What if we were fighting about it because I started it? Because it’s worth it to me?”
“Whatcha mean, Ry?” My puzzlement is blatant in my question; I know that Ryan avoids confrontation at all costs, especially with his father, so why start one on purpose over a particularly touchy subject? “Tell me what happened, Buddy. I’m all ears.”
Soft pools of golden honey blink up at me, an ingenious mind whirring away behind those irises as though searching for the right thing to say. Something that worries me because, over my ten years of being Ry’s bestest buddy in the whole wide world, he’s never had to look for the words; they’ve always just come straight to him. Because with me there are no wrong words, every word is valuable and something that I’m willing to hear. Nor has he ever had to hide anything from me with his words, something that makes me sure he trusts me more than is probably healthy.
But now he’s searching for words, seeking out ones that he deems safe for him to use. And that terrifies me.
“”I, uh, I told him that I’m…” He swallows hard, eyes locking on to mine in his search for the confidence that someone as naturally beautiful as him should just exude. “Mikey, I think. No. I know I’m gay.”
My arms swamp him around the waist; pulling him into me in such a tight bear-hug that it’s a miracle I don’t hear his ribs snap through his pale, fairy-wing skin. I know how hard it can be to tell someone, I burst into tears when I first came out to Ry, but here he is telling me because he knows I won’t judge him. Judge him like I bet that bastard father of his did. I think I’ll paying Mr Ross a visit later, once I’ve gotten Ry to sleep. A visit that will involve me telling him exactly what I think of him and exactly how amazing his son is.
The force of my glomp knocks his feeble weight over, making it so that we’re lying on the marshmallowy softness of my bed. I’m on top of him, a position that I’m liking a little too much for it to be normal, and he’s smiling meekly at me, letting me know that I’m reacting in just the right way. The only way a person can react upon finding out that their long-term object of affection and lust might just possibly feel the same way.
“How did you find out, Ry?”
He blushes, a cute little habit of his that makes my urge to just kiss him right now all the harder to fight off, and lets out an airy giggle. The kind that’s been melting my heart on a daily basis for the past ten years of my existence.
“I, uh, I started having dreams about a guy.” He pauses to take stock of the dirty smirk that’s wormed it’s way onto my face. “Wet dreams.”
Before I can stop myself, a question wiggles it’s way from lips;
“About who, Ryan?”
“Just some boy I know.” He risks throwing me a wink, showing me a side to him I never thought could exist under the layers of outer shyness. “He’s beautiful and kind and looks after me more than my own dad does. He’s got these glasses that make him look super smart and super sexy. I’ve known him since forever and I don’t want to be his best friend anymore. I want to be his boyfriend.” He stops, making sure that the euphoric look on my face is as sincere as his words. “Because I love him with all of my heart. Have done for ten years.”
“I love you too, Ry. My baby boyfriend.”
A/N: Just a little Miro one-shot, please let me know what you think! :)
Ryan Ross and I have been best friends for longer than I can remember. Since way before I got my glasses at age seven, before Gerard started thinking he was a vampire and thus needed to hibernate during the day; hell, it was even before I figured out that forks and toasters are a worse combination than Frankie and sugar. In short, Ryan’s always been by my side. Through everything. Even when I came out as gay and lost most of my ‘friends’ last year, he stood by me. Held me as I cried as though letting go would be the same as doing the unthinkable; abandoning me.
And, in return, I’ve always been there for him. When his mom left because she couldn’t cope with Mr Ross’ relentless alcoholism, it was me he came running to for comfort. Comfort that I could and would never deny anyone, let alone my bestest friend in the whole wide world. Just like whenever living with an alcoholic father gets too much for him to handle, he phones me and I pick him up, ready with his favourite Beatle’s CD playing in my beat-up old Ford.
His dad just doesn’t understand Ryan at all; he thinks that the stunningly intricate eyeliner designs he labours over in the mornings are a waste of time that show some sort of weakness, he thinks that those diamond lyrics he pours every part of his being into are a stupid folly that will never matter to anyone. He thinks that Ryan shouldn’t be hanging out with a faggot like me. That, of course, hurt. As it does every time someone calls me that, but part of me is glad he called me that in front of Ry; it gave the kid a harsh shock that jolted him out of his idea that he was in the wrong and that his father was right. I think that was the first time Ry ever stood up to his father, when he was screaming at him for calling me that pointless collection of syllables that, when moulded together, form a digging knife of spite.
Ryan’s younger than me, even if he acts twice as mature. When he moved into the house opposite the road from ours, he was four and I was six; me interested in a potential new playmate and him eager to get out and explore his new surroundings.
I guess you could say that I’m the most influential of the two of us. He’s like the visionary and I’m his enabler; if he has a dream, an idea, a musing playing on his head, then I will make sure that he lives it through. There is a slight downside to being the eldest, though; it means I have the responsibility of teaching him stuff and that he tries to copy me when I do something that looks like it could be remotely interesting.
Like getting drunk. Last weekend Gerard somehow got us invites to one of his friends’ parties, an older friend with ID and more money than is probably healthy for a kid to have. Meaning that there was booze. A lot of booze. And some bastards from school laughing at me, at the ‘faggot’ who belonged at a freak-show with his little pet weirdo. The last part being aimed at Ry, but thankfully going right over his fourteen-year-old head as it spun in time to the too-loud music and glaring disco lights. The words got to me though, cut deep into my skin like a razor and made me head straight for the one thing I knew from experience could drown it out; vodka. I was about halfway through my second bottle and barely standing when I noticed something that sobered me up pretty damn quick; Ryan hunched in a corner, whimpering and puking his guts out. The poor kid had tried to copy my reckless actions. Apart from with tequila. So I scooped him up, carried him to the bathroom and held him in my lap as he emptied his fragile little tummy, right before falling asleep with his head propped against my shoulder, caramel hair tickling my chin like gold dust.
I think that’s when I let myself finally admit it to my insides; I’m in love with George Ryan Ross.
I’ve known it for a very long time now, ever since I realised I was gay because, well, it was his name that I was moaning in my scarily smutty wet dreams, but I just never could let myself believe it. Because he’s my best friend. One of my only friends after my own big brother, a crazy Jack-in-the-box punk called Frank Iero and the guitar hero that is Ray Toro, who only hangs out with me because he’s my big brother’s closest pal, a compassionate soul too.
In my head I tried to put it down to having known him for so long, Ry I mean. I struggled with what I knew to be true to convince myself that I only look at him like that because we’re so close and I’m at that age now where someone could paint a face onto a cabbage and I’d manage to fall in love with it. But no; holding my best friend as he vomited more than I thought his tiny stomach could possibly hold, I realised that this is proper love. The kind that little girls dream about and that Disney makes cheesy movies based on.
I’m in love with Ryan motherfucking Ross.
As in the very same Ryan motherfucking Ross who is currently sat on my bed, head leant on my shoulder like it always is when he gets sleepy, and telling me about his latest fight with his dad. The third one this week that’s been bad enough to drive the poor lad to my bedroom and into the soothing depths of my arms. Arms that will always be open to the intricate cuteness of my fragile porcelain trophy.
“What was it about this time, Ry?” I ask softly, voice flittering through the strained silence of the room and making him lean to be even closer into the chest that would quite happily be his mattress for the rest of forever. “What did he say to you?”
He sniffles slightly, the small sound reminiscent of the time I broke my mom’s precious vase that used to be Grandma Elena’s before she passed it down to us on my christening. It’s the sound of something precious, something priceless and devastatingly beautiful breaking in my own hands. Apart from this time it isn’t some stupid, ugly piece of china; it’s my irreplaceable little diamond. My Ryan.
“It was about you.” He gulps, looking away from the hurt and self-hate that I’m certain is melting through my usual mask of neutrality. “He called you… that word again and I told him to shut up.”
That word.
Ry refuses to say, always has done right from the moment I explained to him what it means. Told me that love is love, that it’s still the same beautifully enchanting concept whether it’s between two boys or two girls or one of either sex; that love can’t ever be described by such a cruelly spiteful and derogatory term. I used to think that he just said that because it was me, his gay best friend, he was talking to, but over time I realised that that’s how he truly feels. Despite his father and his father’s beliefs, Ry is genuinely accepting of any sexuality. Just like he’s accepting of everyone, a large contributing factor into him being the nicest person I know and the person I’d adore to share my first kiss with.
I look down at the boy, who’s shaking against me in efforts to suppress the whimpers that are fleeing from his lips like rats off a ship, and smile at him softly. We might be having a far from pleasant conversation, but a smile is the very least I owe him for sticking up for me against a man I know for a fact terrifies him when he’s angry.
“Oh, Ryan.” The sigh comes out as somewhat motherly, comforting and responsible at the same time. “Don’t pay any attention to him, okay? It doesn’t matter, I don’t mind.”
“Yea? Well, I do!” The outburst shocks me slightly; Ry’s normally pretty quiet after a row with his dad, but at the same time it makes my smile widen. Because this is him, in his own cute little way, showing the world that he cares about me almost as much as I do him. “And it does matter, Mikey. He can’t just call you that and get away with it. It isn’t right.” His face creases in anger, something that would look absolutely adorable if it wasn’t for the fact that I can see tears burning trails down his pretty little cheeks. “Homophobic bastard.”
I run a hand over his hair, savouring the way it brushes against my fingers like the tips of an angel’s wing, and let out an airy breath. I might despise Ryan’s dad with everything I have, but he’s still Ryan’s dad; the one member of family that he has left. I can’t let Ry lose that over something as insignificant and silly as me.
“Look, I appreciate you sticking up for me, Bud. Of course I fucking do, but don’t let me come between you and your dad.” My tone is strong, as immovable as a mountain, but even as I say it I regret it; I don’t want my Ryan anywhere near that harshly narrow-minded motherfucker that has the audacity to credit himself with creating such pure beauty. “It’s not worth it.”
“B-but, what if I think it is?” The way he stutters nervously over the first word makes my heart burst; he really is the most adorable little kid I’ve ever seen. Even more adorable than Frank when he was five and thought it’d be funny to turn himself into a human fluffernutter. “What if we were fighting about it because I started it? Because it’s worth it to me?”
“Whatcha mean, Ry?” My puzzlement is blatant in my question; I know that Ryan avoids confrontation at all costs, especially with his father, so why start one on purpose over a particularly touchy subject? “Tell me what happened, Buddy. I’m all ears.”
Soft pools of golden honey blink up at me, an ingenious mind whirring away behind those irises as though searching for the right thing to say. Something that worries me because, over my ten years of being Ry’s bestest buddy in the whole wide world, he’s never had to look for the words; they’ve always just come straight to him. Because with me there are no wrong words, every word is valuable and something that I’m willing to hear. Nor has he ever had to hide anything from me with his words, something that makes me sure he trusts me more than is probably healthy.
But now he’s searching for words, seeking out ones that he deems safe for him to use. And that terrifies me.
“”I, uh, I told him that I’m…” He swallows hard, eyes locking on to mine in his search for the confidence that someone as naturally beautiful as him should just exude. “Mikey, I think. No. I know I’m gay.”
My arms swamp him around the waist; pulling him into me in such a tight bear-hug that it’s a miracle I don’t hear his ribs snap through his pale, fairy-wing skin. I know how hard it can be to tell someone, I burst into tears when I first came out to Ry, but here he is telling me because he knows I won’t judge him. Judge him like I bet that bastard father of his did. I think I’ll paying Mr Ross a visit later, once I’ve gotten Ry to sleep. A visit that will involve me telling him exactly what I think of him and exactly how amazing his son is.
The force of my glomp knocks his feeble weight over, making it so that we’re lying on the marshmallowy softness of my bed. I’m on top of him, a position that I’m liking a little too much for it to be normal, and he’s smiling meekly at me, letting me know that I’m reacting in just the right way. The only way a person can react upon finding out that their long-term object of affection and lust might just possibly feel the same way.
“How did you find out, Ry?”
He blushes, a cute little habit of his that makes my urge to just kiss him right now all the harder to fight off, and lets out an airy giggle. The kind that’s been melting my heart on a daily basis for the past ten years of my existence.
“I, uh, I started having dreams about a guy.” He pauses to take stock of the dirty smirk that’s wormed it’s way onto my face. “Wet dreams.”
Before I can stop myself, a question wiggles it’s way from lips;
“About who, Ryan?”
“Just some boy I know.” He risks throwing me a wink, showing me a side to him I never thought could exist under the layers of outer shyness. “He’s beautiful and kind and looks after me more than my own dad does. He’s got these glasses that make him look super smart and super sexy. I’ve known him since forever and I don’t want to be his best friend anymore. I want to be his boyfriend.” He stops, making sure that the euphoric look on my face is as sincere as his words. “Because I love him with all of my heart. Have done for ten years.”
“I love you too, Ry. My baby boyfriend.”
A/N: Just a little Miro one-shot, please let me know what you think! :)
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