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“Last day of school, motherfucker.” Pete climbs the last of the front steps and walks towards where Mikey is waiting for him, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. “Still planning on going back to Jersey and leaving me here to rot?”
Mikey’s only reply is an outstretched hand. Pete shoves the steaming cup into his waiting palm and hums idly to himself while Mikey practically inhales the coffee, making appreciative noises all the while. By now, Pete has mastered the subtle art of Mikey Way and His Morning Coffee. He knows better than to expect a reply until the caffeine has worked its way into Mikey’s overly dependent system.
Finally, Mikey drains the last of the cup’s content and chucks it into a nearby bin. “I haven’t been back home since we moved out here. Gee’s all excited and shit.”
“But how will I survive without you, Mikeyway?” Pete asks him solemnly, making his eyes as wide and beseeching as possible. “You were the last good thing about this part of town.”
Mikey snorts, his glasses slipping down his nose. Pete pushes them back up into place and Mikey stiffens. He’s not very much into physical contact, which is such a shame because Pete is the most affectionate person he knows, and the way Mikey’s staring at him makes him feel like he’s crossed some kind of line.
It also makes him feel a little warm inside for some reason.
The silence stretches on a bit more, and Pete starts to get uncomfortable. Finally, Mikey says, “You say that like we don’t live in one of the biggest cities in the country,” and rolls his eyes. Pete grins. There’s something about the way Pete can get away with doing things that Mikey wouldn’t normally be okay with that makes him feel like he’s special somehow.
Pete’s still not entirely sure when exactly Mikey Way became such an important fixture in his life. He remembers walking into biology class on the first day of freshman year and sitting next to this kid wearing the world’s most worn out Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt, glasses pushed so far down his nose that he had to tilt his head upward so he could see.
Mikey had been a tough nut to crack, even in the face of Pete’s natural charisma and his general ability to ignore any subtle hints thrown his way. Pete can be pretty unrelenting when he wants to be, and once somebody catches his attention, it’s pretty futile trying to get rid of him.
Seriously. Pete first heard Patrick sing during a music class in seventh grade and had basically followed the guy around for a week trying to get him to sing something else. Eventually worn down by Pete’s constant requests, Patrick caved, and the start of the world’s most epic friendship was born.
Unfortunately, all Pete’s initial attempts at starting a friendship seemed like they were going nowhere until Pete realized Mikey was just actually that stoic. The mere fact that he even deigned to make eye contact meant that Pete was basically in. Three weeks after that first day of school, Pete walked into biology, sat down, turned towards Mikey, said, “So, uh, what are your thoughts on Siamese Dream?” and smiled to himself when Mikey stared at him and then began talking for twenty minutes straight.
Pretty soon, conversations about music turned into lengthy discussions about whether or not Chicago was indeed better than New Jersey which turned into early morning Starbucks runs and trips to the movies and concerts and passing out at each other’s houses after a night of too much drinking.
Even now, when they’re as close as Pete ever dared hope for, there’s always this strange sense of triumph that manifests itself whenever he feels Mikey breaking open in front of him, a pleasant, happy sensation that curls around his gut whenever he gets Mikey to smile or make a joke. It’s weird that he still feels this way after so long, but Pete doesn’t give it much thought. He’s pretty used to feeling things he can’t explain around Mikey. It’s just the way things are with them.
“What about you?” Mikey’s eyeing him now, his gaze all scrutinizing and piercing from behind his glasses. “Any interesting plans for the summer?”
Pete shrugs. “Hang around here, I guess. Bother Patrick until he gets sick of me.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Wait by my window until you come home.”
Mikey’s lips twitch. “Fun.” The bell rings and he lets out a sigh. “Let’s get this day over with.”
They make their way into the hallway and Pete immediately links both arms through Mikey’s, plastering himself to his side. He smiles when Mikey doesn’t move away or try to push him off.
—
“You’re sulking,” Patrick tells him.
From his spot on the floor, Pete frowns up at him. “Am not.”
“You’ve been making sad faces at your phone for the past hour. They’re visiting some place in the mountains this weekend. No signal.”
Pete scrambles upward, his chest tight and heart pounding. “How do you know this?” he demands. His mind is racing. Why would Mikey be texting Patrick when he could be texting him? Patrick is great and all, but Pete’s awesome at texting. His ex-girlfriends would so back him up on that.
Patrick gives him a look. “Gerard told Frank who told me.”
“Oh.” Pete suddenly feels like he can breathe again. “What?” he asks upon noticing Patrick’s incredulous gaze.
“You really don’t—” he starts, and then changes his mind. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” Ignoring Pete’s confused expression, he looks towards the door. “Come on, Andy’s got some documentary on The Rolling Stones he wants us to watch.”
“You’re my favorite,” Pete tells him earnestly as they walk out of his room together.
“Yeah,” Patrick mumbles, “keep telling yourself that.” But from beneath his trucker hat, Pete can see he’s blushing, anyway.
—
Contrary to what Patrick says, Pete doesn’t actually spend the whole summer sulking.
He spends the first few weeks in Andy’s basement with Joe and Patrick, smoking up and lazily playing video games. Every now and then, his mind will wander off and he’ll think about Mikey and what he’s doing in that vague, detached way he gets when he’s high.
It doesn’t make sense that two months should seem like an inordinately long time, but he thinks maybe he’s as addicted to Mikey’s rare smiles as he is to Patrick’s singing. After a while without them, he starts to miss it.
He says this out loud one day and is a little surprised when he gets a collective groan in response. “You think we should tell him?” Andy asks from where he’s mucking around with his drum kit.
“Give it time, man,” is Joe’s contribution. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Figure out what?” Pete challenges, but everything is so hazy and bright and he can’t quite muster up the energy to care. “You guys wound me,” he adds, putting a hand over his heart. “What are you all hiding?”
Patrick wafts his hand at Pete. “Nothing you won’t realize at some point.” He nods at the abandoned video game controllers. “Hey, you guys want to go another round?”
The others agree and Pete lets the discussion die off, unanswered.
—
By the third week, they’ve run out of things to do.
The weed stash has gone dry and video games no longer hold any appeal. They spend about an hour lying around and taking turns moaning about boredom until Andy’s brother comes down and yells at them to shut up.
When Joe informs him exactly why they’re all being so loud, his brother rolls his eyes and says something like, “So start a fucking band or something, Jesus,” and then stomps back upstairs.
Pete’s eyes widen and he sits up slowly, his smile growing bigger. The others’ faces hold similar expressions of Holy shit, why didn’t we think of that? on them, and suddenly the rest of the summer stretches out in front of him, long and bright and full of promise.
—
Getting their band together is a lot easier than Pete expected.
Andy and Patrick debate a bit over who should play the drums, but then Pete stares Patrick down until he blushes, the tips of his ears turning red from beneath his cap, and mumbles something like, “Didn’t want to assume.” After that, there’s no more discussions over who is playing the drums and who is singing.
Pete’s always wanted an excuse to buy a bass, and the one he gets is awesome. It’s all red and black and vintage looking, and it doesn’t remind him of anyone’s favorite colors in particular, Patrick has no idea what he’s talking about.
It’s weird, actually. He wakes up one morning—afternoon, oh, shit—and realizes that it’s been a while since he’s thought about Mikey.
He’s got around thirty minutes until Joe picks him up for practice. Ever since the incident last week, Pete is now officially last on Joe’s carpool list even though he lives only ten minutes away.
Basically what happened is that Pete was so caught up songwriting, he sat on his bedroom floor for forty minutes in only his boxers, ignoring all Joe’s attempts at getting his attention. (“When inspiration hits, it’s better to strike while it’s still hot, Trohman!”) After that, Pete was pretty sure that Joe was going to leave the band, until Patrick promised to write him some kind of solo to make up for it.
The way Pete sees it, he can either get up and start getting ready, which is what he really should do. Or he can text Mikey, which is what he wants to do. Pete decides to text him then because, fuck it, he’s never been good at ignoring what he wants.
We are starting a band, he types out.
Mikey replies almost instantly and Pete allows himself to believe that Mikey’s been waiting on him, too.
Cool, it says, bet all your songs will be about Patrick.
Pete grins. Most prob, he replies. What have you been up to?
This time, Mikey doesn’t text back and Pete feels his stomach sink; he’d been hoping to talk a bit more. He gets so lost in the resulting brooding that occurs, he doesn’t notice his Sidekick vibrating until it nearly falls off the edge of his bed.
Mikeyway is flashing across the screen, and Pete feels an electric jolt at the base of his spine that spreads throughout his entire body. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks, giving himself a mental high five for managing to sound so casual.
Without preamble, Mikey’s voice says, “I am so fucking bored.”
It’s been weeks since Pete’s heard it, and, wow, okay, he totally forgot how much he likes listening to it. “Jersey getting to be too much for you?”
“Huh? Oh, no, Jersey’s fine,” Mikey replies. “I’ve just been sitting in this room waiting to get my LASIK done for the past hour and it’s kind of killing me.”
Pete frowns in confusion. “What’s LA—” But before he can finish his question, Mikey interrupts him.
“So, you’re starting a band, huh?”
“Yes.” Pete grins. He loves talking about this. “It’s in the early stages, but we’re getting there. Plus, you know I’ve always wanted to own a bass.”
Mikey makes a noncommittal noise in reply. “I was in a band once.”
“Ooh, a fellow musician.” Pete makes a suggestive face he hopes conveys down the phone lines. “I’ve always known we were meant to be.”
Mikey rightfully chooses to ignore this statement. “Yeah, with Gee and a bunch of our friends from Jersey. You remember Bert? He was in it, too.”
Pete had met Bert McCracken once when he came to visit. He’d been nice enough, but Gerard seemed weird around him and Frank kept giving him these little glares every now and then. Pete suspects there might have been something with Gerard in the past, but Mikey had refused to say anything on the grounds of the Bro Code (literally, in their case). Pete understands, blood is thicker than water and all that. “Ah. Did you perform anywhere? I bet all the girls were falling over trying to get to you.”
“Hardly,” Mikey counters wryly. “We did a cover of ‘Under Pressure’ in our basement to a crowd of one, if that counts.”
Nice, Queen and Bowie. Pete will never stop being in awe of Mikey’s fabulous taste in music. “What’d you play?”
“Well, I wanted to play bass, too,” Mikey answers. “But there were too many of us so I was demoted to the tambourine.” He sounds so incredibly long-suffering, Pete can’t help but laugh.
“I bet you rocked that shit out, anyway.” Pete can fully imagine Mikey standing in the background, gripping a tambourine the way a rockstar would hold their guitar, headbanging and mouthing along to all the words. It’s a strangely endearing mental picture.
“Oh, yeah,” Mikey deadpans. “I totally killed it.”
“Well, if you ever want to pick up the bass again, I could teach you,” Pete offers. “I’m quite the expert with my hands,” he adds lewdly.
Mikey snorts and Pete immediately wonders if his glasses have slipped down his nose again. “Dude, you chose your instrument on the basis that you wanted to own one,” he scoffs. “I don’t think that makes you the authority here.”
“True,” Pete concedes. “Way to crush my dreams, man.”
There’s a pause, and then Mikey asks, “So, how is everything in the Windy City?”
“A little less windy without you in it.”
“That made no fucking sense.” But Pete can tell he’s trying not to smile.
“I know,” Pete admits, grinning. “Just tell me you miss me and make my life, Mikeyway.”
“You wish,” Mikey intones, and Pete can practically hear the accompanying eye roll. But he doesn’t exactly deny it either, so Pete counts that as a win.
“What about you?” Pete lies back down and rests his right arm behind his head. “You never answered my question.”
Mikey immediately launches into a brief summary of his summer so far, and Pete relishes in the familiar feeling of having Mikey open up to him this way. Even if they aren’t exactly discussing anything thought provoking, it’s nice to have Mikey steer their conversation for a bit. Pete’s pretty used to being the clingy one in most of his friendships, that’s just what tends to happen when you befriend sarcastic gingers and aloof dorks.
“…and my mom has been making me and Gerard do yard work, my arms hurt like a bitch—oh.” Mikey stops in the middle of his story and makes an apologetic noise. “I have to go, it’s my turn.”
Pete makes a frowny face he knows Mikey can’t see. “Okay, talk to you soon, dude.”
Mikey hangs up and Pete’s left to ponder how exactly someone can feel so elated yet empty at the same time, something else that usually happens around Mikey. At least until Joe's car pulls into the driveway, and then his thoughts are focused on how to explain to Joe that he’s gotta wait another forty minutes until Pete finishes getting ready.
Pete figures that at this point, their band is going to end up being called The Joe Trohman Show what with all the solos Patrick’s going to give him to make up for Pete’s inability to be on time.
—
By the time summer comes to an end, their band has managed to finish up two songs that Pete mostly worked on in the early hours of the morning when sleep wouldn’t come. Seeing their own original work start coming together gets him keyed up and excited in a way that seems to directly affect his sleeping habits, but he doesn’t mind. When he isn’t writing, he lies on his bed and lets his mind spin out melodies and fantasies about everything they can be.
He’s only talked to Mikey on the phone that one time, but they’ve exchanged a few text messages that mostly consist of Pete lamenting about how none of them can seem to agree on a band name. Patrick is all for something short and simple, while Pete wants to give in to his more theatrical tendencies, maybe have it long and intricate with a cultural reference thrown in for good measure. Andy wants their name to be one-worded yet complicated, and ever since Pete mentioned The Joe Trohman Show in a fit of pique, Joe’s been championing for it. Mikey promises to let him know if he thinks of something, and Pete is left feeling strangely hopeful that he does.
As predicted, Pete does write a song with Patrick in mind. He finishes “Saturday” at almost four in the morning one night in early August and texts Mikey some of the lyrics, adding, You were right, Patrick is totally my muse!!! at the end. Strangely enough, Mikey doesn’t reply to that one. Pete doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it; school is starting soon and he’ll see him then.
Pete has always been the kind of guy who thinks every great musician should have a muse, and Patrick and his infinite talent is as good an inspiration as any. But when he hands over the sheet scribbled with his lyrics and informs Patrick of this, instead of being grateful, since Pete is pretty much writing their band’s songs about him, Patrick stares at him blankly and shakes his head, muttering something about giving things a bit more time. Whatever. Pete knows he’ll warm up to the idea eventually.
—
“Mikey’s back today,” Pete tells a disgruntled Patrick on their way to school for the first day. They don’t have any shared classes this time, but by carefully asking about Mikey’s schedule, he figured out that they would have to pass by each other in the hallway between fifth and sixth period.
“Really? I had no idea,” Patrick deadpans. “It is way too fucking early to be this upbeat.” He’s usually in a much better mood than this, but Pete had shown up at his house fifteen minutes earlier than usual, interfering with Patrick picking out his hat for the first day of school. The fedora actually suits him a lot more than his usual caps, but when Pete points this out, all he gets a glare in response.
“Have a great day!” he yells at Patrick’s retreating form, ignoring all the weird looks he’s getting from people. Maybe it is too early to be this cheerful about school. “I love you!”
Pete stands by the front door, his body thrumming with this restless kind of energy. It had been a good summer, better than he ever expected, but something tells him that maybe this year is going to be even better. He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet; he’s never been good at waiting. His early morning Starbucks runs usually get him to school after Mikey, but he had forgotten to go this morning, and when he mentioned it, Patrick stared at him murderously. He figures Mikey can go without coffee for one day.
To alleviate his growing boredom, Pete scans the hoard of students around him, and his eyes fall on an unfamiliar guy walking towards the school. The first thing Pete notices is his hair, a dyed blonde that’s so bright, it’s practically luminescent. He’s wearing an intricate black jacket, all done up with shoulder pads and these little silver details stitched onto the front, the kind Pete could never hope to pull off. Pete’s never seen him before so he assumes he’s probably new or something, but then Frank Iero pushes his way forward and yells, “Gee!”
Pete’s eyes widen in shock. It’s Gerard. Mikey’s brother, Gerard. Truth be told, Pete’s a little intimidated by him. They’re on good enough terms what with Pete hanging around his brother all the time, but every now and then, Pete will say something and Gerard’s eyes will narrow in suspicion like Pete’s said something personally offensive. He doesn’t mean to, really. Pete tends to kind of do that a lot.
Gerard can also be a little disconcerting at times. He spends about ninety percent of his days living somewhere inside his head and the other ten percent of it with Frank. He’s also dead cool; he owns all these vintage superhero comics and authentic records, and watches movies in languages Pete doesn’t understand. One time, Mikey and Pete had been watching Star Wars in the Way’s basement, and Gerard walked in, changed the channel to this German expressionist film, and watched the whole thing through without saying a word.
The movie turned out to be pretty cool, though: all science fiction-y with dystopian elements and a kickass explosions scene at the end. Looking at him now, Pete thinks the new look makes him look like a character straight out of one of those movies, the conductor of Death’s marching band, and a mad scientist all at once. He totally rocks it.
He’s so distracted by (and a little jealous of) Gerard Way’s appearance that he completely forgets who it is he’s waiting for until a familiar voice from behind him goes, “No coffee today?”
Pete feels his face split into a grin. “I figured you should try and give the caffeine a rest,” he says, turning around. “Because that shit will kill—” Pete gets his first look at Mikey in two months and completely forgets what he’s about to say. “Oh my God.”
Mikey is—Mikey is standing there wearing a black hoodie and jeans, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jacket, and it’s the same clothes and the same awkward mannerisms, but his jeans are tighter, his glasses are gone, his hair is shorter and darker, and Pete’s pretty sure he makes some kind of surprised sound just staring at him.
Mikey is hot.
Pete’s brain activity has come to a complete stop. Mikey is staring at him, and without the glasses, Pete can see how long his eyelashes are. Then he gets stuck on that thought because who the fuck notices eyelashes? Mikey’s gaze is as sharp and assessing as usual, but the shadows around his eyes are more prominent, and they make him look broody and mysterious and intense. Pete is so, so fucked.
“Are you okay?” It’s probably just Pete’s imagination going into overdrive, but has Mikey’s voice always been this…deep? His thoughts continue to wander off and suddenly, all he can think about is tracing the underside of Mikey’s jaw, Mikey’s voice in his ear, raspy and full of need and—what the fuck is wrong with him?
“What?” Pete asks dumbly. “I mean. Your glasses.”
“What?” Mikey echoes, frowning slightly. “Oh!” He brings his hand up to his face. “Yeah, I told you I was getting LASIK, didn’t I? Laser eye surgery?”
Pete will give himself time later to mourn the loss of those glasses. Right now, he’s too busy watching the way Mikey is running a hand through his hair in another one of his usual gestures. But this time, instead of falling back down to lie flat across his forehead, his hair stays upward, sticking out everywhere. It makes him look all disheveled. Pete wants to card his own fingers through it, he wants to tug at it while Mikey—
Pete wants his brain to shut the fuck up now.
“Your hair,” he adds in the same stupefied tone.
“Family dye project.” The side of Mikey’s mouth curls upward in his usual smirk, but the new look makes him seem all cool and sexy and—
The bell rings.
Oh, thank fuck.
Completely oblivious to Pete’s internal battle, Mikey reaches into his jacket pocket and brings out a crumpled piece of paper. “Shit, I’ve got history on the fifth floor.” He frowns at his schedule and even that makes Pete want to fall to the ground. “I’ll catch you later.”
He enters the building, and even the way he does is different. Mikey used to walk around as if he was unsure on his own two feet, his legs way too long for his frame. Now he’s practically swaggering into the school, and Pete doesn’t miss the way people’s heads turn to look at Mikey as he passes. He feels like the floor has dissolved from beneath him; he’s completely undone and he has no idea why.
When Pete finally composes himself enough to remember how to move, he walks to class, passing by Frank and Gerard in the process. Gerard is giving him another one of his speculative stares, but Frank is grinning at him looking positively gleeful. If Pete wasn’t already so confused, he might’ve asked them what their problem was.
It’s going to be a long day.
—
Lunchtime is its own particular kind of torture. Pete cannot stop staring across the room where Mikey and his friends are sitting, feeling an unwarranted spike of jealousy every time he laughs at one of Ray Toro’s jokes. Pete is pretty sure he’s acting like some jealous ex-boyfriend. Scratch that, ex-boyfriend would be a pretty generous term for him at this point. That would imply that Mikey dated him. Mikey is never going to date him. That thought floods his insides with an unusually large amount of distress and he shakes his head, trying to clear it. There is seriously something wrong with him. He can’t remember ever having much of an opinion on who Mikey dated before.
“You’ve got it bad, bro,” Gabe informs him, his eyes dancing with amusement at Pete’s obvious struggle. Pete doesn’t even know what exactly he’s got so bad, but Gabe is really not helping. “I never knew the kid had it in him,” he adds, eyeing Mikey speculatively. “Even I’d ask him out.”
Pete eyes Gabe despairingly, panic alarms going off inside his head. Gabe is tall and suave with the weirdest fashion sense in the world, but it totally works on him. No one else should be able to pull off neon pants and white sunglasses and still possess the unearthly amount of swag that Gabe does. He’d probably be able to charm Mikey into loving him using nothing but Spanish and metaphors about cobras.
Gabe snickers like the asshole he is. “Oh, dude, you should have seen your face just now. I was only joking, hombre. I’m still with Bill, you know.”
Pete doesn’t know, actually. Gabe’s known to be a bit of a player, and considering how many people he’s been with over the years, it’s a little surprising to find out that he’s somewhat settled down. Good for him; Bill is thin, pretty, and between him and Gabe, their children will probably be over seven feet tall.
Come to think of it, Pete doesn’t even know how he ended up having lunch with Gabe Saporta in the first place. Andy has some administrative thing to attend, Joe had mumbled something vague about smoking up in the student parking lot with Siska and Butcher, and he knows Patrick has a glee club meeting. Their school’s is the only one in the state that actually writes their own songs. Gerard is in it, too, and last year they performed a song he wrote about his grandmother, dressed in funeral attire complete with a choreographed dance with umbrellas. It was pretty awesome.
In the middle of contemplating this, Mikey suddenly stands up and pulls off his hoodie. From where he’s sitting, Pete watches him shove it into his bag, his arm muscles displayed prominently as he pulls at the cloth. Belatedly, Pete realizes that this is the product of his summer doing yard work, and he kind of wants to find Donna and kiss her in thanks for inflicting this upon the world.
He also wants someone to hit him over the head and tell him exactly what is happening to him. He hasn’t felt this hormonal since he was about thirteen. He makes another pitiful sound and buries his face in his arms. To add insult to injury, Gabe pats him on the back sympathetically.
Pete hates everything.
—
Later that day, Pete passes by Mikey in the hallway for their (planned) encounter. Mikey is wearing the same ratty Anthrax T-shirt he favored all throughout the last year of school, but this time it’s pulled way too tight across his chest, and when Mikey salutes him in his usual greeting, Pete is given another view of the Suddenly Spectacular Summer Muscles.
Because his life is a joke and a trashy romantic comedy at the same time, Pete then proceeds to honest-to-God walk into an open locker door. The sound reverberates around his skull, and he thinks that maybe things can’t get any worse than this.
“Ow,” he says, rubbing at his forehead and wincing. “Haven’t you ever heard of closing the goddamn door?”
The world is unfair and out to get him, it seems. That would be the only possible reason for why said locker belongs to someone he actually knows. Ryan Ross is Pete’s favorite sophomore. He dresses like a cross between the ringmaster of some vaudeville circus show and a hobo, and he’s even more skilled with eyeliner than Pete’s sister.
Ryan’s still eyeing him and Pete actually detects a hint of pity in his otherwise blank gaze. “Congratulations. You’ve reached a new level of low.” There’s absolutely no inflection whatsoever in his tone, but Pete’s familiar enough with Ryan to know that he’s making fun of him.
“Don’t even start,” Pete mutters, hurrying in the opposite direction before Ryan launches into another one of his rants about facing these things with poise and rationality.
—
That night, it isn’t Pete’s insomnia that keeps him from falling asleep. His sheets are tangled from where he’d been tossing and turning on them, and doing something else doesn’t seem to help. He even tries writing at first, but when he’s unable to come up with anything that isn’t about a tall, dark, and handsome guy with a mysterious smile and intense eyes, he shoves the papers off his bed in frustration and watches them flutter to the ground. They’re a pretty good metaphor for his state of mind right now.
Lying back on his bed, Pete can’t stop himself from thinking about Mikey and how he’s turned from this adorable, dorky guy who worked glasses like no one else could into a confident, badass motherfucker. It’s simultaneously mind-boggling and a complete turn on; he can’t wrap his head around it. Mikey’s just always been this guy who fit so perfectly into Pete’s life without him realizing it. Now, he’s thinking about Mikey in a completely different context and he doesn’t know whether he wants to jerk off or cry.
Maybe a bit of both.
Afterwards, he’s sticky and his body is exhausted, but his mind is still whirring. His thoughts are racing around inside his skull, bumping into each other and scattering in opposite directions until it feels like his brain is about to explode. He just jerked off thinking about Mikey. He just jerked off thinking about his friend. He imagined pressing Mikey down onto his mattress, Mikey’s deep voice in his ear urging him on, Mikey’s hand wrapped around his—oh, God, he has a problem.
Pete retrieves his Sidekick from where he’d pushed it underneath his pillow and clicks on his contact list. He refuses to spend another minute of his life living in this…limbo of uncertainty and sexual frustration. He needs someone to tell him what the fuck is going on before he goes insane, and if that means suffering through another one of Patrick’s lectures about calling during Normal Hours, he’ll gladly do it if it means getting answers.
Patrick doesn’t pick up his first three calls, but Pete is pretty relentless, like, all the time. Especially when he needs something as badly as he does now. Eventually, the phone clicks and the still-sleepy voice of Patrick Stump says, “It’s fucking four in the morning, what the fuck?” But the heat behind his question gets drowned out by a massive yawn. Even halfway undone, Pete can’t help but grin at how ruffled Patrick sounds and says so.
“Tell me why you called or I’m hanging up,” Patrick growls.
Oh. Right. “I, uh. I need your help with something.”
From his end of the line, Pete hears Patrick let out a resigned sigh. “Oh. Did you finally figure it out?”
Pete frowns. “What? I haven’t said anything yet!”
“I think I can guess.” Patrick sounds like an exasperated parent whose toddler refuses to listen. Pete’s even willing to bet he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re in love with Mikey. You just realized it.”
Pete’s pretty sure his mouth has fallen open in surprise if his stunned silence is anything to go by. Seriously, a singer, drummer, and interpreter of Pete’s inner turmoil? What can’t Patrick do? The possibilities are both equally endless and terrifying.
“Dude,” Pete says excitedly. “Are you psychic or something?”
“No, Peter,” Patrick replies mockingly, and, okay, the whole parent thing is starting to get a bit too literal. “You’re just really fucking oblivious.”
“What?” Pete is sitting up now, his fingers gripping his phone. No, seriously, what? “You all knew except me? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Fucking hell,” Patrick grumbles. “Andy and Joe owe me twenty bucks.”
“You bet on when I would figure this out?” Pete is a little offended. Friends are supposed to be there for you, not make a profit off of your pain. He’s mostly amazed he never noticed, though. Suddenly, a lot more things are starting to make sense. “Oh. This is what you meant when you told me I’d understand eventually, didn’t you?”
“Two years, Pete,” Patrick says. “It took you two years to work out how you feel about Mikey.”
“Is that what this is?” Pete asks desperately. “I mean, it’s Mikey. He’s just a friend.”
Patrick is silent on the other end, and Pete is sure he’s got his How stupid are you? expression on his face. Pete is quite familiar with that look. They meet often. “Last time I checked,” he says slowly, “you don’t buy coffee every morning for ‘just a friend.’”
“He won’t talk to me unless I do!” Well, that used to be the case, anyway. Back when Mikey had first started talking to him, he mentioned in passing about needing a caffeine fix every morning. Pete, eager to stay in his good books, passed by Starbucks the next day and handed Mikey a cup of coffee before class. He even tried to make sure it was Mikey’s exact order, something so long and elaborate it sounded almost lyrical. He remembers carrying around the image of Mikey’s surprised look in his head for the rest of the day, and the next morning, he did the same thing without a second thought. Pete’s probably spent more on coffee these past two years than he has on anything else, but somehow it’s never seemed strange to him until now. “Oh.”
“You got him those ridiculously expensive tickets to Morrissey for his birthday,” Patrick continues.
“So?” At least this one Pete has a reason for. “It was his birthday. It’s literally a day for giving each other presents.”
“Not when you forget your own birthday, it isn’t.”
That shuts Pete up. He remembers coming across the poster for the concert and buying a pair of tickets without really thinking about it. Mikey’s face had lit up in a rare display of emotion that Pete was still unaccustomed to at that point, and he recalls thinking that he would do anything to get Mikey to smile that way at him again. “Oh.”
“And that thing you do with his glasses, don’t you realize how weird that looks?”
Pete opens his mouth to reply and abruptly closes it again. Mikey’s old glasses had been these huge, wiry things that were way too big for his face. One day, he had been so engrossed in describing some movie to Pete that he hadn’t noticed the way they were about to fall off his nose. Pete had instinctively pushed them back up for him…and somehow never really stopped doing it, even when the glasses changed. In retrospect, the way his forefinger runs along the slope of Mikey’s nose is a pretty intimate gesture. How did he not notice how couple-y that must seem?
“Yeah,” Patrick says in response to his silence. He is officially on a roll. Two years of repressed comments have started to surface, and there’s nothing Pete can do but listen. “When was the last time you went on a date? Hell, when was the last time you found anyone attractive?”
Once again, Pete finds himself unable to answer. The last serious relationship he’d been in had ended a little bit after he and Mikey became friends. He’s hooked up with a bunch of people over the years, but those had barely been anything other than fueled by alcohol and pills. Pete’s pretty much fine being…whatever he is. He’s had flings with both girls and guys, and he’s always thought he could grow to love anyone depending on the circumstances.
Pete finds Mikey attractive. Pete found Mikey attractive even before his summer transformation, he’s just so clueless that it took something huge like that to make him realize it. “Fuck, you’re right.”
“Pete.” Patrick must sense how overwhelmed Pete is because his tone softens considerably. “Do you even hear the way you talk about Mikey half the time?”
Patrick has a point there. “I—” he starts. “I just, thought. You know how I am with you.” On the rare occasions Pete tried to look into his behavior, he always chalked it up to the way he tends to really love the people he surrounds himself with, sort of like the way he is with Patrick.
“No,” Patrick replies firmly. “It’s not the same. I’ve seen the way you act with him, okay? Trust me, it’s different.”
Patrick is probably right. Pete loves Patrick more than anything, but even he’s never done something without thinking about it just because it felt like the natural thing to do. Patrick is cute as hell, but Pete’s certainly never jerked off thinking about him. Patrick doesn’t give him these strange, swooping sensations in the pit of his stomach solely because of his smile. His whole friendship with Mikey has always been this one big message from the universe, the only thing missing is a giant neon sign proclaiming: This Is It, It’s Him.
Looking back on two years of bizarre, confusing sensations and instincts, things suddenly shift into focus, sharp and crystal clear. The way he still isn’t over how Mikey talks to him even after years of friendship, his disappointment when he found out Mikey was leaving for the summer, hell, even the way he reacted when he realized Mikey was calling him. Everything is piling up in front of him, and, yeah, it all makes perfect sense.
“I’m in love with Mikey,” Pete marvels. How did he never put the pieces together? Pete’s pretty unobservant, but this is just extreme.
Daylight breaks and light filters in through his bedroom window. “Go to sleep, Pete.” Patrick hangs up, and Pete is left listening to the dial tone, wondering how to go about with his life.
—
The problem is, even though Pete finally understands what exactly’s been going on with him, it’s not going to make facing Mikey any easier. Pete still can’t look at the guy without wanting to jump him, but now with the added desire to punch himself in the face for being so fucking oblivious.
The second day of school isn’t any better. Pete skips his first few periods; he’s tired as fuck and his brain hasn’t stopped churning out past situations that remind him precisely how stupid he is for not recognizing how he felt for what it was sooner. To make matters worse, when he does finally get to school, it’s only to find out that word has spread about Mikey Way’s new look. He’s getting all kinds of attention, the kind he never used to get back when he still looked like a nerd and Pete was the only one who loved him. Now, Pete has to compete with most of their junior class and (much to Gerard’s alarm) even some of the seniors. Pete has officially lost his chance.
The next morning, Pete still decides to wait for Mikey at the top of the school steps like usual, though. He even gets him his normal coffee order because old habits die hard and Pete is also a bit of a masochist. (Also because Victoria from Starbucks knows him so well, he never has to recite it anymore. It’s kind of a mouthful.) It’s the second time he’s gotten there before Mikey, and as the minutes tick by, he starts to get a bit antsy. Scenarios start flashing through his mind like a film played on fast-forward. Maybe Mikey has run off with Gabe Saporta after all. Maybe they’ve moved away to the desert to breed snakes and harvest juice from cacti. Maybe they—
Maybe Mikey is late because he’s too busy making out with Alicia Simmons.
Pete blinks, rubs his eyes. Mikey and Alicia are still standing out on the lawn, in full view of everyone. Mikey’s hands are cupping the bottom of her face, his thumb running across her cheekbones. Alicia’s arms are snaked around his waist, pulling him close. Some distant part of Pete’s brain thinks, Well, at least he’s not with Gabe. The other, more prominent part, however, is thinking, This really fucking sucks.
He’s still standing there frozen in shock when the two finally break apart for air. Alicia is all smiles, looking up at Mikey like she’s the heroine in some Austen novel. They hold their eye contact for so long that Pete feels his stomach clench. Just as he’s about to leave, Mikey jerks his head around and sees Pete watching them, cup still clenched tightly in his first. The corner of Mikey’s mouth curves upward, and he goes to make his way over to where Pete is standing.
Panic floods Pete’s insides. There’s a ringing in his ears, his heart is beating way too fast, and all he can think about is the fact that he can’t talk to Mikey. Now now, when he’s sure to discuss how great and amazing his new relationship with someone who isn’t Pete is. Before he fully registers what he’s doing, Pete sets the coffee down on the railing, turns around, and makes a run for it inside the school like the coward he apparently is.
Because he’s also a walking cliché, the first place he thinks to hide in is the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, rests his head against it, and tries his best not to think about anything.
—
“I am heartbroken,” Pete declares later at lunch. He’s sitting with his best friends this time, but they may as well not be there for all the attention they pay to his statement. Joe doesn’t even bother looking up from the sheet where Patrick’s written down the chords for their new song, and Andy kind of hums at him, more focused on the sandwich in his hands. Pete has the worst friends ever.
“Is this about Mikey and Alicia?” Patrick asks because Patrick is the only good thing in the whole world. Pete would gladly go to wars for Patrick Stump. “Because—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Pete says, cutting him off. “I just need to know what to do to get this out of my system.”
“Please don’t write more songs about how much you want to bang Mikey Way,” Joe interjects, finally looking at him. “Because you tend to get complicated when you’re emotional, and this love song of yours is getting pretty confusing.”
Patrick stares at Pete in horror. “You wrote ‘Where Is Your Boy’ about Mikey? I’ve been singing a love song to Mikey Way this whole time?”
“More importantly,” Andy adds, raising an eyebrow, “you wrote a love song for Mikey and you only realized how you felt about him two days ago.” Joe starts to snigger. “This is bullshit, I should have won the pool.”
“I didn’t write it for him!” Pete defends. “I just…used some stuff I might have said to him. The same way I wrote ‘Saturday’ for Patrick.”
“Pete, how many times do I have to tell you, it’s not the same thing.” Patrick shudders. “At least, I really, really hope it’s not.”
Pete sits there in silence, trying to digest everything. His mind had been a jumbled mess of phrases he’d wanted to turn into lyrics, and for some reason, You were the last good thing about this part of town seemed to stand out amongst the rest. He hadn’t explicitly intended for the song to be for Mikey when he started writing it, but now that he thinks about it, the rest of the lyrics had been references to either things he’s said or things they’ve done together. Damn, he really is slow.
“Joe, you’re a genius,” he blurts out, and the three of them startle and turn to look at him. Pete swears Joe even looks a bit smug. For as long as he can remember, writing has always been the best outlet for his feelings. He could write a song for Mikey, this time totally aware of it, and maybe it would flush everything out. Joe had even given him a great idea for a title. “‘Bang Mikey Way’ would be the perfect title for our next song.”
The self-satisfied expression slips right off Joe’s face and Andy clips him on the back of his head. “Nice going, asshole,” he growls. Patrick groans and mumbles something under his breath about never being able to sing their songs the same way again.
“Hey, Patrick!” a voice from behind them yells, cutting off Patrick’s tirade. Pete swivels around in his seat and his eyes land on Bob Bryar from Patrick’s music class. Bob’s a drummer, too, and a pretty awesome one at that. The three of them wave at him, but Pete sees that Patrick’s gone all red and awkward, hiding his face beneath the brim of his hat. He has a sudden inkling about what this could mean, and from the dread on Patrick’s face, he knows Pete’s figured it out.
“No way.” It’s the first time Pete’s smiled all day, and it makes him feel like everything is back to normal. “You totally—” The rest of his sentence falls away when the cafeteria doors swing open, and Mikey and Alicia walk in holding hands. Pete actually feels the smile on his face vanish as something cold and unpleasant seeps its way into his stomach. Beside him, Patrick doesn’t even have the decency to hide how thankful he is for the sudden interruption, even if it means Pete’s faced with his heartbreak. Pete takes back everything he ever said about going into battle for Patrick.
Maybe he needs just a bit more time to get over this. Nobody ever told him being in love would be this complicated.
—
Over the next week and a half, Pete blatantly ignores Mikey.
He intentionally leaves his house twenty minutes later so he gets to school right after the bell has rung. He finds himself taking longer, alternate routes just so he won’t have to pass by Mikey in the hallway. One notable time, Mikey had actually been standing right by his locker, and Pete turned around and begged Patrick to get his textbooks for him, ignoring Patrick’s reproachful look.
Pete will be the first to admit that this manner of dealing with things isn’t exactly the healthiest or most mature way to go about it. But he can also be pretty selfish when he wants to be, and if something works for him, he’ll keep at it regardless of anyone’s feelings. In his defense, he tells himself it’s only until he can stand seeing Mikey and Alicia without wanting to hit something. Or think about them without his insides tensing up. Yeah, Pete’s gonna need a lot more time.
One day, on his trek up the south staircase, which he knows for a fact Mikey never passes because all his classes are on the opposite end of the school, he gets to the top landing and finds himself face to face with a waiting Frank Iero.
Frank is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He’s got all this red stuff smeared around his eyes which means he’s probably been hanging around the art room with Gerard, who spends so much time there that Pete is surprised the school hasn’t asked him to pay rent. When Frank notices him, he pushes off and heads towards Pete looking determined, a knowing glint in his eye. Pete isn’t all that tall, but Frank is shorter. He should be able to take him in a fight if it came down to it.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, dude,” Frank says when he’s standing right in front of him. Pete blinks in reply. “You can stop doing mental battle tactics now.”
Pete must look completely floored because Frank grins despite the tense atmosphere. “Try hanging out with Gerard sometime. The guy can practically read minds. You pick up on some stuff.”
“Um,” Pete replies, confused. “Okay?” Frank is staring at him pretty intensely, and Pete is starting to get a little self-conscious. It’s the same look Gerard used to give him that made him feel like he’d done something wrong.
Eventually, Frank says, “You’re ignoring Mikey.” The look on his face makes Pete start to question if maybe he was lying about not hurting him. “I know why, too, so don’t try and bullshit your way out of this.”
“Uh, what?” Frank’s always been kind of a friend, but he was seriously not close enough to be playing therapist. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Frank gives him a surprised look, like he expects Pete to know what the fuck he’s talking about. Pete is so tired of everyone giving him that look. It’s pretty clear he doesn’t know anything anymore. “He wants to know why.”
Pete laughs hollowly. “So he sent you to find out, is that it? Is he too busy with Alicia to ask me himself?”
“Well, he’d ask you, but he can’t since you’ve been avoiding him,” Frank replies slowly, obviously trying to hide the fact that he thinks Pete is an idiot. “And what are you talking about? Alicia isn’t—”
“I do not want to talk about this.” Pete glowers at him and makes his way back down the stairs. “And keep your mind reading shit to yourself!” he yells over his shoulder.
He practically stomps down the stairs, the anger bubbling away inside him. Fuck Frank Iero. What does he know, anyway? Mikey doesn’t give a shit. Mikey is probably too busy sucking face with his girlfriend to notice the way Pete never waits on him anymore. Mikey is—
“Pete Wentz!”
Fuck. Mikey is walking towards him with Brendon, Ryan’s boyfriend, in tow. Brendon is practically bounding down the hallway, lavender hoodie and blue jeans about two sizes too small. Pete has actually thought about how fantastic Brendon’s ass is more than once, and it’s probably one of the reasons he realized he wasn’t fully straight. God forbid Ryan ever finds out about that, though. He is so the jealous type.
Pete is still standing at the foot of the staircase, motionless. In his haste to get away from Frank, he completely forgot why he’d been taking that route in the first place. Mikey is wearing another one of his black T-shirts, and the contrast between him and Brendon should be pretty funny, but Pete’s mouth has suddenly gone dry, and it’s like the past eleven days didn’t even happen. He’s still totally gone on Mikey Way. Fuck everything.
Thinking quickly, he reaches for the handle on the nearest classroom door and ducks inside, slamming the door behind him. From the tiny bit of clear glass that surrounds the frosted window pane, Pete can just make out Brendon and Mikey passing by. Brendon is chattering on, hands flying everywhere, but Pete thinks Mikey looks a bit distracted, his mouth pulling down a little at the corners.
Whatever, it’s probably just wishful thinking.
—
Pete spends the whole of that weekend writing.
There’s something really different about writing a song for someone, Pete thinks. It’s so much easier when he doesn’t have to try and bury anything underneath a bunch of convoluted metaphors. Instead, he can mention particular memories and past experiences, turning them into lyrics that are ambiguous enough to be about anyone, yet still specific enough so that maybe if Mikey hears it in the future, he’ll know and he’ll understand.
He writes about waking up one morning after a party in Gabe’s basement and drawing a smiley face on Mikey’s forearm as a goodbye note using the only writing instrument he could find at the time, an old tube of Donna’s lipstick. He writes about going on joyrides in Gerard’s first car, this huge, yellow thing, sitting with Mikey in the backseat, the windows down and the city flashing around them. He can still remember how the wind felt against his face, and feeling so alive he thought that he might burst.
He yawns, and he’s surprised to see that it’s still a bit early. He’s actually tired at a reasonable hour for once. He reaches for his phone to text Patrick about it, but then stops himself when he remembers that a bunch of them have gotten together at Bob’s tonight. He turned down the invitation on the grounds that Patrick would have more of a chance of getting with Bob if Pete wasn’t there making suggestive faces at them the entire time, but he knows it’s mostly because he can’t face Mikey. Or Frank for that matter. Pete is going to lose all his friends at the rate he’s going.
There’s a knock on his door, loud and insistent. Pete considers not minding it, but when the noise doesn’t stop, he groans and forces himself off his bed. He practically stalks across the room, deftly avoiding his bass, which he left in the middle of his bedroom floor, and yanks the door open with a, “What?”
Except what is supposed to be an assertive statement emphasizing his annoyance at being disturbed during his creative process, turns more into a, “Whaa—” because he sees who it is standing at the other side, and actually rubs his eyes to make sure he isn’t hallucinating.
“You’ve been ignoring me,” Mikey says, straightforward as always.
Pete’s staring at him like an idiot. Mikey is wearing another one of his statement T-shirts and tight jeans, but this time he’s paired it with clunky boots, and Pete aches with how much he wants to pull him close and not let go.
“Like, you actually hid in an empty classroom like some of kind preschooler,” Mikey continues, sidestepping Pete and walking into his room. “What the fuck is up with that?”
Pete is still a little gobsmacked because Mikey is here. He’s standing in front of Pete with his arms crossed, his face tense, and Pete really hates himself for being a little turned on right now. “What are you doing here?” he demands when he finally finds his voice.
Mikey glares at him. “To find out why you’ve been acting like such a fucking head-case.”
Pete glares right back. “What’s it to you, anyway? Why aren’t you with Alicia tonight, huh?” Pete hates how bitter and jealous he sounds, but fuck that, he is. His life would be in less of a mess right now if he just learned how to acknowledge his feelings properly.
Mikey stares at him in disbelief. “What? Alicia? How stupid are you?”
Pete can feel himself getting angry. “Did you actually just barge into my room and call me stupid?”
“Yeah.” Mikey is still standing in the middle of the floor looking stiff and closed off, the way he did when Pete first met him, and Pete can’t stand that he’s reduced their relationship to this. “Because you’re being stupid.”
“What are you talking about?” Pete grits out, practically shaking with the effort of controlling himself. If he gets mad now, he’ll either end up punching Mikey or kissing him. He doesn’t know what would be worse at this point.
“Alicia isn’t my girlfriend.” Wait, what? “Jon Walker asked us to be in his photography project. Something about high school couples, fuck if I know.”
Pete feels like the entire world has tilted on its axis. “You mean. She’s not…” He trails off at the force of Mikey’s answering scowl. “Oh.” Sifting through his memories of that day…no. Pete literally cannot recall ever noticing Jon Walker in the vicinity of Mikey and Alicia. And the guy’s camera is huge. Fuck, he really needs to start paying more attention to things.
All the same, Pete is simultaneously embarrassed and relived. Alicia’s always been a great girl, and he never wanted to be the kind of person who hated someone just for having something he didn’t.
Mikey rolls his eyes in response. “So why the fuck have you been ignoring me?” When Pete doesn’t immediately reply, his eyes narrow. “Well?”
Outside Pete’s window, a car passes by, the headlights casting his room in an ephemeral glow. “Because I love you.”
It’s pretty fucked how out of all the things Pete could have possibly said, he chooses the one thing he knows is absolutely true. He definitely wasn’t planning on saying it, but once it’s out, it’s all he can do to just stand still and wait for a response.
Mikey’s arms fall to the sides and he stands there staring at Pete in surprise. His eyes are wide, his mouth is slightly open, and he looks vulnerable in a way that Pete has never seen. It fills him with warmth to the very core, and he wrings his hands together as the silence stretches on.
“That’s no reason to ignore someone,” Mikey says eventually, but his eyes have gone all soft and Pete can see the hint of a smile forming.
“Yeah,” Pete replies, and he feels like he’s floating through space. “I guess it isn’t.”
“Can I ask you something?”
Pete nods.
“Did you only, uh, did you only start feeling this way after the summer?” Mikey’s attempt at sounding casual falls flat, and Pete can see the way the tension’s returned to his body, ready to pull away if Pete’s reply isn’t the answer he expects.
Pete shakes his head so hard his ears start to ring. Because it’s always been Mikey. It’s Mikey and his caffeine addiction and the way he wears hoodies even in ninety degree weather. It’s how he seems like such a normal guy until he’ll mention something strange yet intriguing that will remind Pete he’s actually related to Gerard. It’s how the universe has been trying to tell Pete for years, and how Pete still hates himself a little for thinking he realized it too late.
“No. I mean, I only realized after I saw you, but—no!” he exclaims when he sees Mikey’s face go blank. Fuck, he’s usually so good with words. “You getting hot was nice and all, but, fuck, Mikes, I’ve been in love with you since you were all spindly and awkward, and getting you to talk to me would always be the absolute highlight of my day, and the way you smiled after I gave you those tickets, and your glasses, holy shit, I—”
Mikey takes four steps forward, frames Pete’s face with his hands, and shuts him up with a kiss.
—
“You know,” Mikey says, “I always thought this whole thing was just me.” They’re lying on Pete’s bed, sated and sweaty. Mikey’s arm is a welcome weight around his shoulders, his finger tracing patterns around Pete’s hipbone.
“What?” Pete struggles to sit up, bracing himself on his elbows. “Why didn’t you say anything? According to Patrick, I’ve been making heart eyes at you for, like, two years.”
Mikey blinks at him in confusion. It’s kind of completely adorable and Pete has to resist the urge to kiss him. “Sometimes I thought you did? I mean, Gerard knows. That’s why he’s always been kind of weird around you.”
“Weird?” Pete echoes. “Man, there were times when I thought he was gonna come at me with a knife. That time I said I liked the Star Wars prequel trilogy? I really thought I was going to die.”
"Yeah, he actually tried to convince me to get over you after that one." In response to Pete's stricken expression, Mikey rolls his eyes. “That was just him playing the older brother card. Don’t worry, he likes you.”
“I really fucking hope so.”
“Well, I like you,” Mikey states, and Pete actually feels his heart flutter in his chest. He is so far gone, but for once, he couldn’t care less. “That should be enough for him.”
“We are so fucking stupid.” Pete lies back down, and Mikey’s arm resumes its initial position around him. “We could have been doing this for years. I wish you’d said something.”
Pete feels Mikey shrug. “You’re affectionate with everyone, especially Patrick. You’re always going on about how great he is, I thought it meant I didn’t have a chance.”
This time, it’s Pete’s turn to roll his eyes. “Dude, I’m just oblivious as fuck, okay? I didn’t even realize how weird that thing I do with your glasses is until Patrick pointed it out.”
Mikey shifts a little, and when Pete looks up at him, he can see that Mikey looks a little awkward. “What?”
“I…liked it?” Mikey definitely looks uncomfortable now; he’s staring up at the ceiling, avoiding Pete’s gaze. “I mean, yeah. I never minded when you did that.” For a fraction of a second, Pete frowns in confusion. Then suddenly, it hits him.
“You were totally turned on and trying to hide it, weren’t you?” His face feels like it’s about to fall off, he’s grinning so hard. When Mikey doesn’t say anything, Pete nudges him. “Weren’t you, Mikeyway?” All the times Mikey had tensed up after Pete touched him are finally starting to make sense. Pete had always assumed it was Mikey’s natural aversion to physical contact, but it’s pretty gratifying to find out that it’s actually the complete opposite.
“Shut up,” Mikey mutters, his cheeks darkening. “You make me so embarrassing.”
“Well, now I’ll tell you something embarrassing,” Pete replies, turning so that they’re facing each other. “I thought the way I was with you was the same thing as the way I am with Patrick. That’s why it took me so long to figure out how I felt.” Mikey is watching him impassively, and Pete wonders if he’s made a mistake. “But I realized it wasn’t.”
“Yeah?” Mikey’s face is inching closer, and Pete can feel the ghost of his breath on his skin. He shivers.
“Really, really not.” Pete’s breath hitches as Mikey’s hand starts to travel up to his waist, and he leans forward to close the gap between them. Mikey’s weight is a solid, comforting presence on Pete’s body, the way their legs are tangled together on his sheets reminding him of how much they fit.
“Wait,” he gasps out, pulling away from Mikey. His lips are red and swollen, his pupils are probably the size of saucers, but something’s just occurred to him. “You actually thought you didn’t have a chance with me?” Pete starts to laugh. “Dude. Dude. Once you got all hot and shit, I thought it meant I didn’t have a chance with you.”
If Mikey is annoyed by Pete interrupting their moment to continue asking stupid questions, he doesn’t show it. It makes Pete love him even more. “I actually did all this for you.”
Pete’s eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”
Mikey actually blushes, and Pete has to force himself not to ruin the mood. “Yeah, I know. It’s very John Hughes of me. But, hey, it worked?”
“I was in love with you when you looked like a dork, man,” Pete corrects him. “But I mean, I don’t mind.”
“Yeah.” Mikey smiles, and this smile is softer and more genuine, and Pete will gladly live the rest of life trying to get Mikey to look at him like that. “I know, you should have seen your face when you first saw me.”
Pete groans and buries his face in Mikey’s shoulder. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a bit.” Mikey grins at him, then takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure at first. I thought maybe it might have been just a physical thing. Like, I was over at Bob’s tonight, and I was gonna go over here to confront you, right? But Frank mentioned that you might not feel the same…” Pete is going to kill Iero. “…but he also brought up how jealous you seemed to be about Alicia, so I figured you probably did…” After he kisses him within an inch of his life.
Or maybe not. Gerard might actually stab him in his sleep.
“…anyway, you’re not a very subtle person,” Mikey finishes. He tends to babble when he gets nervous, something he and Pete have in common. Then Mikey’s words register and Pete is left wondering whether he should be offended or not. “Don’t worry,” he says, noticing the look on Pete’s face, “it’s what I like about you. People work so hard to hide how they feel, you’ve always been real.”
“I actually wrote you a song,” Pete says, rolling his eyes, embarrassed. “I guess I can’t be any less subtle than that.”
Something flickers in Mikey’s expression, and when he talks again, his voice is strangled. “You…wrote me a song?”
“Two of them, actually.” Pete reaches over and pulls off a stack of papers from his nightstand. “I just finished this one when you barged in,” he adds, handing over a copy of “Bang Mikey Way”.
“Nice title.”
“Joe came up with it.” Pete shrugs. “I think it’s accurate as fuck, especially now.”
“Happily ever after below the waist,” Mikey reads out, cocking an eyebrow. “I agree. What’s the other one?”
“Oh, uh.” This time, it’s Pete who blushes. “I wrote this one a few weeks after you left. You might recognize some of the lines and stuff.”
Pete watches Mikey scan the lyrics scrawled in his messy hand, words added and crossed out until he felt like the depth of his emotion translated perfectly. At the time, he hadn’t even realized the significance of what he was creating. Now that he does, he can’t believe he ever thought it could be anything other than a love song.
“You were the last good thing about this part of town,” Mikey murmurs, and when he looks at Pete, there’s something unfathomable about the expression on his face. Then he leans over and presses their lips together, and Pete understands that it means I love you, too.
This time, just as things are starting to get heated, it’s Mikey who pulls away. “By the way,” he says, “I think Bob has a thing for Patrick.”
Pete’s eyes immediately light up. “Dude. Patrick totally has a thing for Bob! We need to get them together. We should start plan—”
“Yeah,” Mikey cuts him off. “But it can wait until after we’ve had sex again, right?”
“Definitely.” Pete moves in closer. “They aren’t expecting you back at Bob’s tonight, are they?”
“Wouldn’t count on it.” Mikey cups his hand around Pete’s jaw, tilts his face upward, and slowly leans in. This time, no one pulls away.
—
Dating Mikey, especially in the face of his newfound hotness, soon turns out to be the most frustrating thing ever. Now that Pete is actually allowed to touch Mikey whenever he wants, it gets pretty hard to control himself, especially during school. Pete doesn’t think Mr. Schechter will ever forgive them for what they did to the janitor’s closet. In Pete’s defense, Mikey had come to school wearing a jacket that looked like the one Gerard had worn on the first day of school. How the hell was he supposed to resist that? Pete didn’t even know he had a thing for marching band uniforms before Mikey. And leather jackets. And wristbands. Pete has a thing for everything about Mikey, basically.
“Dude, stop staring at my brother like that,” Gerard protests, waving a hand in Pete’s direction. “I can feel the sexual frustration radiating off you.”
“Fuck off, Gee,” Mikey retorts, taking a sip of his Pete-bought coffee. Pete is still not over the way he can buy coffee for Mikey now and have it mean something. He’s still not over a lot of things, really. “As if you and Frank were any better at first.”
“It’s true,” Ray pipes up from where he’s sitting next to Joe. From the other side of the table, Pete is a little in awe of how much hair two people can actually possess. “I had to announce myself before going into any room for a year.”
Gerard’s face twists into an almost cartoonish expression when the rest of their group lets out a collective agreement. “At least I’m not so desperate I resort to hooking up in the janitor’s closet!” he blurts out.
Pete turns an accusatory glare in Mikey’s direction. “You told him about that?” he demands at the same time Mikey yells, “I swore you to secrecy!”
Gerard looks unbearably smug while Frank cackles next to him. No, seriously, cackles. Joe, Andy, and Ray’s faces each hold varying mixtures of disgust and suppressed laughter. “Guess we aren’t the grossest couple now,” he declares triumphantly.
Across the table, Mikey suddenly perks up, and Pete’s not so sure he likes the look in his eyes. “Are you sure about that, Gee?” he asks, and, yeah, there’s definitely a mischievous edge to his voice now. “At least Pete and I aren’t the reason they had to repaint the benches in the art room.”
Gerard’s mouth drops open and it’s Frank’s turn to stare at him in recrimination. “Mhmm,” Mikey says, continuing his reign of terror. If Pete’s a little honest with himself, he’s pretty scared. If Pete’s completely honest with himself, he’s mostly turned on. “Some stains just don’t come out, do they?”
“You mean…” Ray’s eyes widen in horror. “Motherfuck, I sat on those benches all last year!”
Beside him, Joe suddenly erupts into laughter. “Oh, man, you’re all disgusting,” he manages to say in between giggles.
Andy stares at each of them in turn before shaking his head slowly. “I need new friends.”
Gerard retaliates with something else, but Pete’s already tuned out the rest of the ensuing discussion in favor of continuing to watch Mikey drink. Anyway, Pete’s pretty sure that Bob and Patrick have just lost the argument by default since they didn’t even bother showing up to lunch.
Pete wasn’t even aware that he was getting so jittery, but as he continues to watch Mikey slurping liquid from his little takeout cup, he starts to wonder how much longer he’ll be able to last. Has Mikey always sounded this…sexual whenever he was drinking coffee? Pete decides to add that to the list of things he’s never noticed that have come back to bite him on the ass. It’s getting pretty extensive.
Just when he thinks he’s about to explode, Mikey reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of glasses. With a surreptitious look in Pete’s direction, he slides them on his face, the too-big frames already slipping down his nose. That’s it. Between Mikey’s glasses, the practically obscene sounds he was making, and his bossy, vengeance-seeking attitude, Pete has officially become Hot and Bothered.
“Hey,” he says loudly, and everyone turns to stare at him. “I, uh, forgot something in my locker.” He glances towards Mikey and gives him That Look. “Go with me?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Andy complains, as Mikey stands up with a grin. “I’m eating.” From the corner of his eye, Pete sees the superior look return to Gerard’s face.
“See you guys later!” Pete calls out over his shoulder. “The grossest couple bids you farewell.” He blows a kiss in their direction, grabs Mikey’s hand, and speed walks out of the cafeteria.
“You know this means we lost, right?” Mikey remarks, outwardly casual. But the glint in his eyes tells Pete otherwise.
“You totally planned this, didn’t you?” When Mikey’s smile widens in response, Pete lets out a surprised laugh. “Powerless to resist the glasses, you know me too well.”
“They’re lensless, but you know, I figured you’d like them.” Mikey shrugs, and the glasses drop to the tip of his nose. Pete takes a step forward and reaches out, one hand coming up to hold Mikey’s chin in place, and the other goes to fix his fallen glasses. But instead of just pushing them back up, he takes his time, his finger running a smooth line from the end of Mikey’s nose all the way to the bridge. When he steps back, Mikey’s pupils are blown. “Guess I’m not the only one who can play dirty,” he responds hoarsely.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Pete whispers. His mind is already supplying him with very unhelpful images of Mikey lying on his bed, stretched out in front of him, wearing nothing but the glasses. “Want to ditch and head back to my place?”
Mikey kisses him. “Yeah, I do.”
—
Fall Out Boy.
Mikey comes up with the name after a weekend binge watching The Simpsons, and Pete spends the next three weeks walking around with a huge smile on his face, remembering exactly how he thanked Mikey for his contribution. (“Fuck, I feel like I should get a shirt made now or something,” Mikey says breathlessly, chest still heaving. “It’ll say: I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me.” Lying down where he’d collapsed beside him, Pete’s eyes widen. “Mikeyway, that is the best idea for a song title I have ever heard.” He smirks and then turns over, his finger trailing its way up to Mikey’s shoulder. “You do know I’m going to have to thank you for that one, too.”)
He never tells his bandmates the exact nature of the events that went down regarding their name, though. Partly because everyone loves it and he doesn’t want to ruin anything, but mostly because he’s sure it would get him punched in the face.
In fact, Patrick once makes the mistake of asking Mikey for his opinion on it, and when Mikey instantly blushes like a schoolgirl in response, Patrick immediately turns around and walks away without another word. Pete assumes he probably cleansed his mind of the images it conjured up by making out with Bob or something.
Three months later, the four of them make their debut at the Winter Formal. They end their set with “Bang Mikey Way” (conveniently changed to “Bang the Doldrums” to avoid getting them kicked out for inappropriate behavior) and towards the end of the song, Pete chucks his bass to the side, wanders into the crowd, and pulls Mikey into a long kiss in front of everyone.
Ironically enough, they get thrown out for that one. (“You know the rules on public displays of affection, Mr. Wentz! You’re coming, too, Mr. Way. Not you, Gerard, I’m talking to Michael. Mr. Iero! There is no reason to make that kind of gesture at me, I was talking to Michael.”)
But Pete wouldn’t change anything for the world.