Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Speechless
I Found Me
3 reviewsLooks like Mikey just found his voice. And it's beautiful. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
1Ambiance
I Found Me
Brendon's POV
Pete told me my Mikey was good, told me with unparalleled admiration and pride consuming his entire being, but I never thought he meant this good. Largely because this isn’t good; it’s fucking flawless, almost as perfect as Mikey Way himself is. And that’s saying something.
I don’t think that I’ve ever been more proud of Mikes as I am right now, sat on the edge of his bed whilst he stands next to the amp, his beloved implement of second-to-none audible magnificence cradled tightly to his chest like a shield. His head’s bobbing in time to the playing, angel-wing hair flopping over his face just like it always is. Swanlike fingers glide over the neck of his comfort object, pressing down on the strings and making notes dance out like a majestic cabaret of pure dedication. On his china-doll-like face there is nothing but concentration. Concentration and an obvious blush of nervousness.
Nervousness because he’s only ever played his bass in front of Pete, his teacher, before. I didn’t even know Mikey was going to the older boy for lessons until Pete asked me if I was amazed by how fast Mikes is picking it up. When I looked like he was being crazy, more so than normal, he just told me to talk to my boyfriend about it, his regular smug smirk of satisfaction plain on his face. At first Mikes had panicked, let out a few scribbled words telling me that he’s not any good and wouldn’t I like to do something else instead? I responded by swearing down that anything he does is impressive to me and that there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than listening to his pride and joy.
I’ll be honest; I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe a tangled together rendition of Happy Birthday or a few chords strung into one in order to resemble some kind of tune. Not that I wouldn’t have been impressed by that. The fact that he finally agreed to play for me impressed me on it’s own.
But what I didn’t expect was this. This four-minute composition of melodic splendour pouring into my ears and making me wish that his heavenly playing will never end.
And I’d still think that even if I wasn’t buried dangerously deep in love for the player.
My dreamy thoughts are shattered when the last note splays into the silence, fading away like a firework into the night, and Mikey’s looking up at me with wide, anxious eyes begging for approval or some sort of anything just to show him that I’m not going to laugh.
I’m more likely to start screaming like a rabid fangirl.
“Michael James Way, where the fuck have you been hiding, huh?” I beam at him, deepening his blush into a shade of bashful exaltation. “That was incredible, Sweetie. Just incredible.” He flashes me his special smile, the one that only two people (Gerard and Pete) other than me get to see, letting me know that I’m doing my job right. My job, duty, pride, habit, role; my entire life. “What song was that? I gotta get it on my iPod!”
He looks down, his nervous habit of tracing patterns with his toe coming into play, and starts fiddling with his bass guitar’s strap as though it can answer the question for him. He really is too adorable for it to be healthy for me when he gets all bashful like this; in a good way, not in the kind of way that makes me want to snap Ryan’s neck in two. Which I probably already would have done if it wasn’t for the fact that Mikey needs me to look after him, something that I can’t do from Death Row.
After a few moments of comfortably cute awkward silence, Mikey raises a hand to himself, pointing to his chest and then miming holding something in his hand. Something that he then waves over his other, open-palmed paw in a kind of writing gesture.
“You wrote it yourself?” I gasp, my levels of pride smashing through the ceiling because my baby boy is showing the world how wonderful he is; how wonderful he can be when he finds his own way of speaking.
I guess that’s what this is, isn’t it? The bass is his voice, letting everyone know how he feels as the product of his soulful strumming.
Mikey nods, gnawing down on his ghostly lower lip in anticipation to what my response could possibly be to this. It’s an action that very nearly kills my blissful mood because he shouldn’t ever have to be afraid with me, he shouldn’t ever have to doubt that I’m capable of even thinking about doing anything less than loving him. Adoring him. Holding him. Kissing him. Protecting him. And yet he thinks I might react negatively to his enchanting creativity. All because he’s constantly put-down by everyone else, always being told that he’s everything he isn’t.
I just smile sadly up at him, gesturing for him to come over to me, and open up my arms to him as he places his bass back on it’s stand. Seconds later I’m knocked onto my back by the force of his starved glomp, taking him down with me so that I’m laying underneath him with his head cradled into my chest. Just like we were when I fell asleep last night after watching him dream until my eyelids couldn’t stay open.
“You’re amazing, MiWay. So fucking amazing and you don’t even know it.” I lace my hands lazily through his hair, relishing the way that my soft praise makes his shoulders loosen in relief and force his face to nuzzle into my shirt. “Not just at bass either.”
Before the sweet little sixteen-year-old knows what’s happening, I’m pressing my lips onto his like a razorblade bullet to a heart and working them around his twin peaks of pinked pleasure. I take a moment to re-familiarise myself with his unforgettable taste that I can’t describe as anything other than Mikey Way. It’s even better than cherry turnovers and Capri Sun put together, even sweeter than a million Snickerdoodles. Metaphorically, he tastes like achievement and hope. Achievement because I can remember a time when Mikes was so broken inside that he wouldn’t even look up at me when I said his name through fear of it leading to something more sinister. Hope because the fact that he’s kissing back means that he trusts me and that equates to one thing; one day he might just have the confidence to believe me when I tell him that he’s perfect just the way he is.
It’s hard sometimes, having a mute boyfriend. I can never receive a quick answer to anything and when his hands are shaking in fear or sorrow he can’t even write out what it is he does want to say. It also attracts a lot of unwanted attention, Mikey being mute, and it’s always me that’s left to fix the carnage left behind by his tormentors. I wouldn’t change it for the world though, and it’s moments like this that make me realise just how much I love Mikey Way. Even though I know he’ll never say it back.
I wonder what his voice would sound like if he were to wake up tomorrow with the ability that most of us take for granted and abuse. I bet it’d be soft, like his lips, and soulful, like his eyes. Maybe it’d be really deep, as though it’s wisdom is weighing it down, or perhaps it’d be high-pitched like the mouse that I associate with Mikey’s manner.
No. I know what his voice sounds like. I just heard it.
It’s his bass guitar.
I pull apart from him and press his head into the warmth of my neck, wrapping my arms around his waist as he loops his like a satin bow about my ribs as though I’ll leave him if he ever lets go. That’s just how Mikey is though; he likes cuddles and snuggles. Almost to the point of being clingy. But in a good way. An extremely good way indeed.
“How long you been playing for then?” I ask idly, fingers painting flowers onto his back. Daffodils, because they’re his favourites. Mikey holds out a hand, showing me three toothpick fingers. “Three months?” My tone’s impressed because I know for a fact he’s almost better than Pete is and Pete’s been playing since before he was big enough to even hold a bass.
Mikey shakes his head, looking up at me with something that I’ve only seen a small handful of times before on his face; a delighted smile, one that’s bursting with more pride than I thought his glowing heart could possess. His fingers change to seven, indicating something that nearly knocks me out with amazed shock.
“Three weeks?” He nods, once more hiding his face in me. “That’s… Wow.” I sigh, branding his forehead with my cushiony lips. “And you’re already composing something like that?” Another nod, one that makes all of my musical achievements feel like anthills compared to Mikey’s mountain. “I’m in love with a genius. With bass-playing, beautiful genius.”
I feel his body shake with giggles, a soft wheezing coming from his lips like it always does whenever he’s trying to express exaltation. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to hearing him talk.
Other than through his bass.
He leans up, eyes huge and smile huger, and presses his butterfly lips onto my cheek; a thank you in his own little language. I think that’s the best thing about being Mikey’s unofficial boyfriend, it makes me feel special because we can have entire conversations without him even needing to use the whiteboard that he gets teased for at school. We just get each other. We understand. And that’s what real love is.
“You’re welcome, Sweetie.” I respond, accompanying the words with a quick lick across his face. Sure, it’s not exactly normal but it always makes Mikes giggle harder, smile brighter. Besides, he tastes pretty fucking good. “So, does the song have a name?”
My arms loosen so that he can get his whiteboard, but he shows no signs of movement. Instead he just points to me, eyes glowing with nervous hope. That and a beseeching to understand. I take a moment to try to figure it out, knowing that it’s clearly very important to my Mikey and therefor it is vital that I get it right.
“It’s called ‘Me’?” He shakes his head, pointing at me with even more emphasis to get his point across better. “Oh! ‘Brendon’. Is that it?” He nods happily, everything within me swelling like a marshmallow in hot chocolate because I think it’s the most loving act anyone could ever possibly do for me.
He wrote me a song.
And that says more to me than any words ever will.
A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope that this was alright! I’m really enjoying writing this series and, because I have way too much spare time on my hands, I’ve written a survey regard it’s contents/future contents. I really value my readers’ (if I have any) opinions, so if you could fill it out I’ll love you forever! Here’s the link: http://www.zoomerang.com/Survey/WEB22FS4LGF7BE
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Song of The Chapter: "Summertime" by My Chemical Romance http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITIPYRcKbKI
Brendon's POV
Pete told me my Mikey was good, told me with unparalleled admiration and pride consuming his entire being, but I never thought he meant this good. Largely because this isn’t good; it’s fucking flawless, almost as perfect as Mikey Way himself is. And that’s saying something.
I don’t think that I’ve ever been more proud of Mikes as I am right now, sat on the edge of his bed whilst he stands next to the amp, his beloved implement of second-to-none audible magnificence cradled tightly to his chest like a shield. His head’s bobbing in time to the playing, angel-wing hair flopping over his face just like it always is. Swanlike fingers glide over the neck of his comfort object, pressing down on the strings and making notes dance out like a majestic cabaret of pure dedication. On his china-doll-like face there is nothing but concentration. Concentration and an obvious blush of nervousness.
Nervousness because he’s only ever played his bass in front of Pete, his teacher, before. I didn’t even know Mikey was going to the older boy for lessons until Pete asked me if I was amazed by how fast Mikes is picking it up. When I looked like he was being crazy, more so than normal, he just told me to talk to my boyfriend about it, his regular smug smirk of satisfaction plain on his face. At first Mikes had panicked, let out a few scribbled words telling me that he’s not any good and wouldn’t I like to do something else instead? I responded by swearing down that anything he does is impressive to me and that there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than listening to his pride and joy.
I’ll be honest; I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe a tangled together rendition of Happy Birthday or a few chords strung into one in order to resemble some kind of tune. Not that I wouldn’t have been impressed by that. The fact that he finally agreed to play for me impressed me on it’s own.
But what I didn’t expect was this. This four-minute composition of melodic splendour pouring into my ears and making me wish that his heavenly playing will never end.
And I’d still think that even if I wasn’t buried dangerously deep in love for the player.
My dreamy thoughts are shattered when the last note splays into the silence, fading away like a firework into the night, and Mikey’s looking up at me with wide, anxious eyes begging for approval or some sort of anything just to show him that I’m not going to laugh.
I’m more likely to start screaming like a rabid fangirl.
“Michael James Way, where the fuck have you been hiding, huh?” I beam at him, deepening his blush into a shade of bashful exaltation. “That was incredible, Sweetie. Just incredible.” He flashes me his special smile, the one that only two people (Gerard and Pete) other than me get to see, letting me know that I’m doing my job right. My job, duty, pride, habit, role; my entire life. “What song was that? I gotta get it on my iPod!”
He looks down, his nervous habit of tracing patterns with his toe coming into play, and starts fiddling with his bass guitar’s strap as though it can answer the question for him. He really is too adorable for it to be healthy for me when he gets all bashful like this; in a good way, not in the kind of way that makes me want to snap Ryan’s neck in two. Which I probably already would have done if it wasn’t for the fact that Mikey needs me to look after him, something that I can’t do from Death Row.
After a few moments of comfortably cute awkward silence, Mikey raises a hand to himself, pointing to his chest and then miming holding something in his hand. Something that he then waves over his other, open-palmed paw in a kind of writing gesture.
“You wrote it yourself?” I gasp, my levels of pride smashing through the ceiling because my baby boy is showing the world how wonderful he is; how wonderful he can be when he finds his own way of speaking.
I guess that’s what this is, isn’t it? The bass is his voice, letting everyone know how he feels as the product of his soulful strumming.
Mikey nods, gnawing down on his ghostly lower lip in anticipation to what my response could possibly be to this. It’s an action that very nearly kills my blissful mood because he shouldn’t ever have to be afraid with me, he shouldn’t ever have to doubt that I’m capable of even thinking about doing anything less than loving him. Adoring him. Holding him. Kissing him. Protecting him. And yet he thinks I might react negatively to his enchanting creativity. All because he’s constantly put-down by everyone else, always being told that he’s everything he isn’t.
I just smile sadly up at him, gesturing for him to come over to me, and open up my arms to him as he places his bass back on it’s stand. Seconds later I’m knocked onto my back by the force of his starved glomp, taking him down with me so that I’m laying underneath him with his head cradled into my chest. Just like we were when I fell asleep last night after watching him dream until my eyelids couldn’t stay open.
“You’re amazing, MiWay. So fucking amazing and you don’t even know it.” I lace my hands lazily through his hair, relishing the way that my soft praise makes his shoulders loosen in relief and force his face to nuzzle into my shirt. “Not just at bass either.”
Before the sweet little sixteen-year-old knows what’s happening, I’m pressing my lips onto his like a razorblade bullet to a heart and working them around his twin peaks of pinked pleasure. I take a moment to re-familiarise myself with his unforgettable taste that I can’t describe as anything other than Mikey Way. It’s even better than cherry turnovers and Capri Sun put together, even sweeter than a million Snickerdoodles. Metaphorically, he tastes like achievement and hope. Achievement because I can remember a time when Mikes was so broken inside that he wouldn’t even look up at me when I said his name through fear of it leading to something more sinister. Hope because the fact that he’s kissing back means that he trusts me and that equates to one thing; one day he might just have the confidence to believe me when I tell him that he’s perfect just the way he is.
It’s hard sometimes, having a mute boyfriend. I can never receive a quick answer to anything and when his hands are shaking in fear or sorrow he can’t even write out what it is he does want to say. It also attracts a lot of unwanted attention, Mikey being mute, and it’s always me that’s left to fix the carnage left behind by his tormentors. I wouldn’t change it for the world though, and it’s moments like this that make me realise just how much I love Mikey Way. Even though I know he’ll never say it back.
I wonder what his voice would sound like if he were to wake up tomorrow with the ability that most of us take for granted and abuse. I bet it’d be soft, like his lips, and soulful, like his eyes. Maybe it’d be really deep, as though it’s wisdom is weighing it down, or perhaps it’d be high-pitched like the mouse that I associate with Mikey’s manner.
No. I know what his voice sounds like. I just heard it.
It’s his bass guitar.
I pull apart from him and press his head into the warmth of my neck, wrapping my arms around his waist as he loops his like a satin bow about my ribs as though I’ll leave him if he ever lets go. That’s just how Mikey is though; he likes cuddles and snuggles. Almost to the point of being clingy. But in a good way. An extremely good way indeed.
“How long you been playing for then?” I ask idly, fingers painting flowers onto his back. Daffodils, because they’re his favourites. Mikey holds out a hand, showing me three toothpick fingers. “Three months?” My tone’s impressed because I know for a fact he’s almost better than Pete is and Pete’s been playing since before he was big enough to even hold a bass.
Mikey shakes his head, looking up at me with something that I’ve only seen a small handful of times before on his face; a delighted smile, one that’s bursting with more pride than I thought his glowing heart could possess. His fingers change to seven, indicating something that nearly knocks me out with amazed shock.
“Three weeks?” He nods, once more hiding his face in me. “That’s… Wow.” I sigh, branding his forehead with my cushiony lips. “And you’re already composing something like that?” Another nod, one that makes all of my musical achievements feel like anthills compared to Mikey’s mountain. “I’m in love with a genius. With bass-playing, beautiful genius.”
I feel his body shake with giggles, a soft wheezing coming from his lips like it always does whenever he’s trying to express exaltation. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to hearing him talk.
Other than through his bass.
He leans up, eyes huge and smile huger, and presses his butterfly lips onto my cheek; a thank you in his own little language. I think that’s the best thing about being Mikey’s unofficial boyfriend, it makes me feel special because we can have entire conversations without him even needing to use the whiteboard that he gets teased for at school. We just get each other. We understand. And that’s what real love is.
“You’re welcome, Sweetie.” I respond, accompanying the words with a quick lick across his face. Sure, it’s not exactly normal but it always makes Mikes giggle harder, smile brighter. Besides, he tastes pretty fucking good. “So, does the song have a name?”
My arms loosen so that he can get his whiteboard, but he shows no signs of movement. Instead he just points to me, eyes glowing with nervous hope. That and a beseeching to understand. I take a moment to try to figure it out, knowing that it’s clearly very important to my Mikey and therefor it is vital that I get it right.
“It’s called ‘Me’?” He shakes his head, pointing at me with even more emphasis to get his point across better. “Oh! ‘Brendon’. Is that it?” He nods happily, everything within me swelling like a marshmallow in hot chocolate because I think it’s the most loving act anyone could ever possibly do for me.
He wrote me a song.
And that says more to me than any words ever will.
A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope that this was alright! I’m really enjoying writing this series and, because I have way too much spare time on my hands, I’ve written a survey regard it’s contents/future contents. I really value my readers’ (if I have any) opinions, so if you could fill it out I’ll love you forever! Here’s the link: http://www.zoomerang.com/Survey/WEB22FS4LGF7BE
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Song of The Chapter: "Summertime" by My Chemical Romance http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITIPYRcKbKI
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