Inconsequential - Standalone
Title: Inconsequential
Rating: PG
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Summary: Love was only ever a four letter word. Four letters, one syllable, and only three sounds since the 'e' at the end was silent. By itself it didn't mean a damn thing.
Disclaimer: This is fictional.
Author Note: This is a little thing I started writing a while ago.
Love was only ever a four letter word. Four letters, one syllable, and only three sounds since the 'e' at the end was silent. By itself it didn't mean a damn thing. No dictionary could properly explain it, no other words could be lent to force others to comprehend; it was something that you had to define yourself. Mikey didn't understand how a word with absolutely nothing behind it could make him feel the way he did. It wasn't as if he wanted to put that label on it, the whole incident had been unintentional. Lying in bed, he had rolled over to face Pete. He wasn't sure what made him do it, what forced the words from his mouth. They'd come out tired and weary, not unlike the way he felt after too many weeks on a bus playing show after show until the calluses on his hands wore away and bled anew. Scabs and hearts harden, Mikey learned, but the pain it takes to get there aches deep for a long time beforehand. It only take three words to start the process all over again. I love you. And there, it was done, three new words for the universe to swallow up and for another person to pretend they'd never heard. Mikey remembered --a memory that he recalled in a way that was neither fond nor apprehensive, but instead some form of timid neutral-- the way Pete's eyes caught his, the exhaustion sinking over both of them but not yet taking charge and closing their eyes for the night. They darkened and then lit up; there was a pause before he stuttered those same three words right back.
Maybe it was because they were running out of time. They both knew it. The sun was on the verge of rising at the time, plaguing the world with its unearthly glow, Mikey wish it would wait a few more hours. Everything was coming to an end; that was the nature of things. Mikey thought he had accepted that in the past, but it was coming back to bite him. The last show had come and gone, leaving a small ache in its absence that threatened to grow with each passing day. Pete rolled over again and went back to sleep, but Mikey couldn't. He stared up at the ceiling of the bunk he had found a home in the past few weeks, thinking that if he looked long enough that he'd be able to remember the feel of it even when it was long gone.
Two weeks and he'd already forgotten. The picture faded in his memory, dwindling down until all he could recall was an overwhelming sense of 'gray'. He tried not to be surprised when he got a phone call from Pete. He hadn't been there to pick up the phone himself, something he regretted, but there was a voice message. He'd curled up in his bed, listening to the other's voice come over the receiver, scratchy but still there. He could hear the quirk of a smile, it made him smile too before he could help it. That was something new, he knew, he'd always been so good at keeping neutral; he hadn't wanted someone to shift him into another gear, but he wasn't hating it either. It was too hard to, and he wasn't willing to put forth that effort. So when he heard the instructions, listening closely as Pete rambled, he didn't ever consider not following them.
Standing in an empty parking lot, Mikey waited. He did so much of that he was practically a professional, so it didn't bother him much. He'd waited so long, hours melted together. What was a life but waiting anyway. A series of things you stand in lines for, that you battle to keep, and then wait to lose again. They're all waiting in some way or another; waiting for a saving grace, waiting for the afterlife whatever that may be, waiting for someone or something else. Mikey could wait, he was human enough not to fight against the fundamental design.
As time creeped by, Mikey's foot began to tap. He gripped his phone tight, checking to see how long it had been, checking to see if he'd missed a call. The way his fingers curled around it --clenching then relaxing then doing it all over again-- gave the appearance of nervousness, but Mikey wasn't. Pete had said midnight, he'd arranged the when and where. Sitting under a florescent streetlamp, Mikey knew he wouldn't be overlooked.
Flashes of pale pink and orange started to streak across the sky when the car pulled up, its tires crunching broken glass strewn across the lot as it slowed to a stop in front of him. His back cracked as he stood, the result of sitting too long with his knees tucked towards his chest. The world which had been silent through the night was slowly starting to wake up as Mikey reached out and opened the car door, sliding into the backseat of the familiar vehicle.
"He didn't show," Gerard asked from the driver's seat of the car, but it wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, and it was one that Mikey couldn't deny. He doesn't want to play with the difference between fact and fiction, and so he keeps quiet instead.
"Me and Gee will kill that fucker," Frank added from his spot in the passenger seat, always a purveyor of succinct wit and wisdom.
Mikey stared out the window as they pulled off, his eyes locked at the spot where Pete was supposed to meet him, where Pete had told them they'd start a new life, get a chance to do everything fresh, new. As the lamp faded in the distance it was still as lonely as when Mikey had first arrived, and he knew that it wasn't going to change. They say that change fuels the world, that change is inevitable, but Mikey isn't sure he agrees. In fact, he's certain that some things in life stay the exact same, no matter how much you wish or will otherwise. That's the only inevitability he believes in.
"Nah," Mikey answered, still looking out the window, the exhaustion he'd misplaced for so long starting to flood back into him, making his limbs heavy and his heart lethargic, "It was only ever four letters."
Rating: PG
Pairing: Pete/Mikey
Summary: Love was only ever a four letter word. Four letters, one syllable, and only three sounds since the 'e' at the end was silent. By itself it didn't mean a damn thing.
Disclaimer: This is fictional.
Author Note: This is a little thing I started writing a while ago.
Love was only ever a four letter word. Four letters, one syllable, and only three sounds since the 'e' at the end was silent. By itself it didn't mean a damn thing. No dictionary could properly explain it, no other words could be lent to force others to comprehend; it was something that you had to define yourself. Mikey didn't understand how a word with absolutely nothing behind it could make him feel the way he did. It wasn't as if he wanted to put that label on it, the whole incident had been unintentional. Lying in bed, he had rolled over to face Pete. He wasn't sure what made him do it, what forced the words from his mouth. They'd come out tired and weary, not unlike the way he felt after too many weeks on a bus playing show after show until the calluses on his hands wore away and bled anew. Scabs and hearts harden, Mikey learned, but the pain it takes to get there aches deep for a long time beforehand. It only take three words to start the process all over again. I love you. And there, it was done, three new words for the universe to swallow up and for another person to pretend they'd never heard. Mikey remembered --a memory that he recalled in a way that was neither fond nor apprehensive, but instead some form of timid neutral-- the way Pete's eyes caught his, the exhaustion sinking over both of them but not yet taking charge and closing their eyes for the night. They darkened and then lit up; there was a pause before he stuttered those same three words right back.
Maybe it was because they were running out of time. They both knew it. The sun was on the verge of rising at the time, plaguing the world with its unearthly glow, Mikey wish it would wait a few more hours. Everything was coming to an end; that was the nature of things. Mikey thought he had accepted that in the past, but it was coming back to bite him. The last show had come and gone, leaving a small ache in its absence that threatened to grow with each passing day. Pete rolled over again and went back to sleep, but Mikey couldn't. He stared up at the ceiling of the bunk he had found a home in the past few weeks, thinking that if he looked long enough that he'd be able to remember the feel of it even when it was long gone.
Two weeks and he'd already forgotten. The picture faded in his memory, dwindling down until all he could recall was an overwhelming sense of 'gray'. He tried not to be surprised when he got a phone call from Pete. He hadn't been there to pick up the phone himself, something he regretted, but there was a voice message. He'd curled up in his bed, listening to the other's voice come over the receiver, scratchy but still there. He could hear the quirk of a smile, it made him smile too before he could help it. That was something new, he knew, he'd always been so good at keeping neutral; he hadn't wanted someone to shift him into another gear, but he wasn't hating it either. It was too hard to, and he wasn't willing to put forth that effort. So when he heard the instructions, listening closely as Pete rambled, he didn't ever consider not following them.
Standing in an empty parking lot, Mikey waited. He did so much of that he was practically a professional, so it didn't bother him much. He'd waited so long, hours melted together. What was a life but waiting anyway. A series of things you stand in lines for, that you battle to keep, and then wait to lose again. They're all waiting in some way or another; waiting for a saving grace, waiting for the afterlife whatever that may be, waiting for someone or something else. Mikey could wait, he was human enough not to fight against the fundamental design.
As time creeped by, Mikey's foot began to tap. He gripped his phone tight, checking to see how long it had been, checking to see if he'd missed a call. The way his fingers curled around it --clenching then relaxing then doing it all over again-- gave the appearance of nervousness, but Mikey wasn't. Pete had said midnight, he'd arranged the when and where. Sitting under a florescent streetlamp, Mikey knew he wouldn't be overlooked.
Flashes of pale pink and orange started to streak across the sky when the car pulled up, its tires crunching broken glass strewn across the lot as it slowed to a stop in front of him. His back cracked as he stood, the result of sitting too long with his knees tucked towards his chest. The world which had been silent through the night was slowly starting to wake up as Mikey reached out and opened the car door, sliding into the backseat of the familiar vehicle.
"He didn't show," Gerard asked from the driver's seat of the car, but it wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, and it was one that Mikey couldn't deny. He doesn't want to play with the difference between fact and fiction, and so he keeps quiet instead.
"Me and Gee will kill that fucker," Frank added from his spot in the passenger seat, always a purveyor of succinct wit and wisdom.
Mikey stared out the window as they pulled off, his eyes locked at the spot where Pete was supposed to meet him, where Pete had told them they'd start a new life, get a chance to do everything fresh, new. As the lamp faded in the distance it was still as lonely as when Mikey had first arrived, and he knew that it wasn't going to change. They say that change fuels the world, that change is inevitable, but Mikey isn't sure he agrees. In fact, he's certain that some things in life stay the exact same, no matter how much you wish or will otherwise. That's the only inevitability he believes in.
"Nah," Mikey answered, still looking out the window, the exhaustion he'd misplaced for so long starting to flood back into him, making his limbs heavy and his heart lethargic, "It was only ever four letters."