Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
I'm (Not) Okay
0 reviewsP!ATD crossover-- Mikey Way was in love with his best friend Ryan. If only he had loved him back. [Mikey Way/Ryan Ross]
0Unrated
Written for XEvil_AngelX, who answered my INSPIRE ME post forever and ever ago. Sorry this took so long. :]
A/N:
I’m going to write a fucking novel out of this thing. Because, when you really think about it… maybe not even really think about it… even just pass one or two fleeting thoughts on it, you can realize something about how much words say. No duh, Sherlock, that’s what words are for, but really? They just sound so lovely when spoken in a soft tone and hold so much power with a little confidence mixed in and it’s not even about what you say that conveys their true meaning. That’s how much words say. Use your voice, use your typewriter, use your head, use your heart.
And so it begins.
~~~
A lonely road stretched out into the black before him, heart pumping out gallon after gallon with less and less returning to go on the ride again. The circle, broken. The strings, snapped, and look-- A puddle pooled on the floor by his arm in a vain attempt to replace whatever went missing inside him. A nice cherry red one, vibrant and thick and growing larger by the second.
To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.
He’d always liked that song. The other boy, he means. The one who wasn’t there, making this death anything but heavenly, and painfully lacking in happy ever afters.
But, see, that’s the thing. Pain—it was nowhere to be found. Even in that moment, with the blade digging into his skin, slicing away at the only part left that seemed to still be put together, he hadn’t felt a thing. The pain all came Before. Before the cutting, Before the end. The pain had been there since the beginning. Now that it was over and his soul was hollow and numb and out of his body, a realization hit him, hard. The hole in his chest still ached.
The lovely, broken boy watched his old self grow cold.
Simple swaying of branches on the willow trees brought back memories that, Before, angry, raw emotion had tried to blot out. Growing up here in the secrecy of the trees, playing hide and seek with their shadows as the day met the night and fell in love… At least then he’d had the other boy. Warm fuzzies were always there to fill his tummy. Laughter always found its way into his heart. Filled it up. Made it swell until it burst out into a smile impossibly lovely that only the one who brought it upon him got to see. He’d had him. Had him, to call his friend. The boy let his eyes drift, where they fell upon an old patch of grass near the base of one of the trees. It brought a piece back to him, a moment in time that developed into something vivid and real behind his broken vision. He could almost taste it. No, he could taste it. Laughter, sweat and summer air.
‘Mikey!’ Ryan said, rolling back and forth in unwilling laughter from the touch of his friend’s long fingers to his sensitive skin.’Mikey— HA! HAHaheegghsh, hu—’ He struggled to gasp for breath in the turmoil of giggles spilling out from his lips to the atmosphere… Up, Mikey drew. Under his T-Shirt, gently teasing the skin with quick dancing fingers. ‘Mikey, p-p-pLEASE, h, p-HA, PLEASE sto-h-HA, Hahehaha, st—STOP! TICKLING! M-HAHAHAA OHHHEGkkksshhheehe, gAH- H- MIKEYY!” Beneath him, the writhing, wriggling mess that was Ryan filled the boy up with a odd sort of feeling in his lower abdomen. The happiness, filling him to the brim… that feeling he knew quite well. But this other, new feeling? God. It was delicious and addictive and Mikey smiled devilishly, wanting to make Ryan laugh harder, beg louder, try to wrestle him away until he finally got the upper hand and flipped their positions so as for the other boy to wreak his revenge by returning the favour.
The innocent pastime quickly became not so innocent—became something that brought feelings to the teenager’s attention he did not know what to do with. Longing? Lust? For his best friend? No… But, as the weeks passed, the longing still remained. It stretched out inside him, causing wild fantasies and mad flutters to his heart that were past all hope of control. Those quiet brown eyes, the long and dark eyelashes that added a brightness to Ryan’s playful gaze, the way his smile drew the loveliest shapes to the curvature of his face, his jawline just-soft-enough to bring the word ‘pretty’ to mind... It didn’t take long, once Mikey had discovered his feelings, to fall for his best friend head-over-heels. He wanted him. He wanted him badly. He wanted him in every way he could possibly think of, and several ways his own imagination had trouble identifying. He wanted Ryan to want it too, to fill in the missing gaps and make him feel whole.
Mikey sighed. He’d had him. Maybe not exactly where he needed, but it was something. A torrent of questions racked his brain. Why couldn’t it have been enough? Why did he have to push it? Why couldn’t he have been happy with what he had? Why?
The boy didn’t know why. He didn’t know anything, and that pained him more than anything else.
“What if things had been different?” he muttered, a sound so slight it may just have been the wind. What if… what if it had been enough? What if he didn’t need anything else, didn’t have all the mucky, complicated feelings that are tried to pass off with a word so simple as ‘love’? What... What If?
The boy didn’t know that, either. A slight glance downward at his still-bleeding body left him guessing, though.
Maybe, just maybe, if things had been different… maybe he would still be alive.
~~~
A/N:
I’m going to write a fucking novel out of this thing. Because, when you really think about it… maybe not even really think about it… even just pass one or two fleeting thoughts on it, you can realize something about how much words say. No duh, Sherlock, that’s what words are for, but really? They just sound so lovely when spoken in a soft tone and hold so much power with a little confidence mixed in and it’s not even about what you say that conveys their true meaning. That’s how much words say. Use your voice, use your typewriter, use your head, use your heart.
And so it begins.
~~~
A lonely road stretched out into the black before him, heart pumping out gallon after gallon with less and less returning to go on the ride again. The circle, broken. The strings, snapped, and look-- A puddle pooled on the floor by his arm in a vain attempt to replace whatever went missing inside him. A nice cherry red one, vibrant and thick and growing larger by the second.
To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.
He’d always liked that song. The other boy, he means. The one who wasn’t there, making this death anything but heavenly, and painfully lacking in happy ever afters.
But, see, that’s the thing. Pain—it was nowhere to be found. Even in that moment, with the blade digging into his skin, slicing away at the only part left that seemed to still be put together, he hadn’t felt a thing. The pain all came Before. Before the cutting, Before the end. The pain had been there since the beginning. Now that it was over and his soul was hollow and numb and out of his body, a realization hit him, hard. The hole in his chest still ached.
The lovely, broken boy watched his old self grow cold.
Simple swaying of branches on the willow trees brought back memories that, Before, angry, raw emotion had tried to blot out. Growing up here in the secrecy of the trees, playing hide and seek with their shadows as the day met the night and fell in love… At least then he’d had the other boy. Warm fuzzies were always there to fill his tummy. Laughter always found its way into his heart. Filled it up. Made it swell until it burst out into a smile impossibly lovely that only the one who brought it upon him got to see. He’d had him. Had him, to call his friend. The boy let his eyes drift, where they fell upon an old patch of grass near the base of one of the trees. It brought a piece back to him, a moment in time that developed into something vivid and real behind his broken vision. He could almost taste it. No, he could taste it. Laughter, sweat and summer air.
‘Mikey!’ Ryan said, rolling back and forth in unwilling laughter from the touch of his friend’s long fingers to his sensitive skin.’Mikey— HA! HAHaheegghsh, hu—’ He struggled to gasp for breath in the turmoil of giggles spilling out from his lips to the atmosphere… Up, Mikey drew. Under his T-Shirt, gently teasing the skin with quick dancing fingers. ‘Mikey, p-p-pLEASE, h, p-HA, PLEASE sto-h-HA, Hahehaha, st—STOP! TICKLING! M-HAHAHAA OHHHEGkkksshhheehe, gAH- H- MIKEYY!” Beneath him, the writhing, wriggling mess that was Ryan filled the boy up with a odd sort of feeling in his lower abdomen. The happiness, filling him to the brim… that feeling he knew quite well. But this other, new feeling? God. It was delicious and addictive and Mikey smiled devilishly, wanting to make Ryan laugh harder, beg louder, try to wrestle him away until he finally got the upper hand and flipped their positions so as for the other boy to wreak his revenge by returning the favour.
The innocent pastime quickly became not so innocent—became something that brought feelings to the teenager’s attention he did not know what to do with. Longing? Lust? For his best friend? No… But, as the weeks passed, the longing still remained. It stretched out inside him, causing wild fantasies and mad flutters to his heart that were past all hope of control. Those quiet brown eyes, the long and dark eyelashes that added a brightness to Ryan’s playful gaze, the way his smile drew the loveliest shapes to the curvature of his face, his jawline just-soft-enough to bring the word ‘pretty’ to mind... It didn’t take long, once Mikey had discovered his feelings, to fall for his best friend head-over-heels. He wanted him. He wanted him badly. He wanted him in every way he could possibly think of, and several ways his own imagination had trouble identifying. He wanted Ryan to want it too, to fill in the missing gaps and make him feel whole.
Mikey sighed. He’d had him. Maybe not exactly where he needed, but it was something. A torrent of questions racked his brain. Why couldn’t it have been enough? Why did he have to push it? Why couldn’t he have been happy with what he had? Why?
The boy didn’t know why. He didn’t know anything, and that pained him more than anything else.
“What if things had been different?” he muttered, a sound so slight it may just have been the wind. What if… what if it had been enough? What if he didn’t need anything else, didn’t have all the mucky, complicated feelings that are tried to pass off with a word so simple as ‘love’? What... What If?
The boy didn’t know that, either. A slight glance downward at his still-bleeding body left him guessing, though.
Maybe, just maybe, if things had been different… maybe he would still be alive.
~~~
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