fic: in a long time (pete/mikey)
in a long time
pete/mikey
PG
~2500 words.
summer of like fic, written for "insomnia" for hc_bingo. unbeta'd because it's really plotless and self-indulgent, so if you spot any mistakes, feel free to point them out!
It takes Mikey a while to realise he's not really sleeping again.
The first couple of nights, there are parties that carry way on into the early hours of the morning, and now that Mikey is sure Gerard doesn't have an issue with it, he doesn't feel bad about hanging out until he's one of the last ones there. He puts it down to the vodka red bulls then, to too much caffeine even for him. Then he stays up all night watching movies with Pete in his bunk, and they're both too busy deciding which of their friends would be which character to take note of the time until it's suddenly somehow light and they can hear Frank shuffling in the direction of the kitchen. He spends that whole day happily exhausted, playing their set mostly on autopilot and drinking even more coffee than usual so he doesn't drift off while Ray plays them some stuff he's been working on.
It's that night that he realises how long it's been since he's actually had a decent night's sleep. He's staring up at the bottom of Bob's bunk and the album he's listening to clicks onto repeat for the third time in a row, and his eyes are itching at the corners, but he's still just as awake as he was after his last cup of coffee, hours ago now. Mikey's used to having a fucked up sleeping schedule. It invariably happens every tour, whether they're with a bunch of bands they can hang out with for half the night or not, and Warped is probably the worst for it. It can be useful, handy when people are around, but Mikey's on his own because they're driving through the night tonight, and he hasn't been sleeping during the day, either. There's the beginning of a headache lurking just behind his eyes, edging in closer with each minute that passes. He can't even be bothered to change to a different album; he tries shutting his eyes again and listens again to Morrissey singing about poets with the sound of the road beneath them in the background. It's too hot. He feels as though he'll never be comfortable again.
After a while, it becomes obvious that keeping his eyes shut isn't going to trick his brain into shutting down for the night. He feels weird even trying to keep his eyes shut for so long, like he's so far from asleep he can't even fake it. He sighs, groping around under his pillow until his fingers close around his Sidekick. The keys are a little sticky from where he knocked a glass of Coke over next to it earlier, but he can still text okay, and he types one out to Pete, a little slower than usual. It's hard to keep his eyes focused on the screen, and it's not just because he doesn't have his glasses on. I think i caught yr insomnia.
Pete's reply comes about two seconds later; Mikey's obviously not the only one still awake. i guess i just like sharing things too much sorry.whatre u doing instead of sleeping
The bright light shining up at him from the screen is making his eyes hurt more, so Mikey closes them again for a minute, just in case it's an indication that he's finally ready to drop off. I'm trying to sleep.
He expects Pete to text back straight away again, even though his reply wasn't particularly engaging, just because Pete always texts back. What Mikey judges to be a few minutes pass, although it could easily be less or more; it's harder to judge time with no sleep, as though he's kind of distant from the concept as a whole, like it's somehow left him behind. Then his Sidekick vibrates again, and this time it rings, peterpan flashing up on the screen.
“Hey,” he attempts to whisper as he presses the answer button and lifts it to his ear. His voice comes out louder than he intended, low and croaky. He sounds about as rough as he feels and he winces, hoping he hasn't woken anyone else up. The heavy breathing and light snoring around him continues, unbroken.
“We could make not sleeping a prerequisite for being a Sweet Little Dude,” Pete offers, not bothering with a return greeting. Mikey can imagine his grin, wide and soft around the edges, the same one on his face every time they talk about their gang. It's weird, having to imagine it when Pete is probably just a bus or two away from them, travelling along the same path to the next state.
“I don't think anyone would join then,” Mikey says. He manages to whisper this time, or at least drop his voice down low enough so he's not too worried about waking anyone else up. The rest of the band are heavy sleepers. It helps a lot when they're on tour. Talking is kind of an effort, but he's smiling a little, at least, amused at the idea. His lips are too dry and it makes his mouth feel weird. “It would be kind of a shitty rule.”
“That's okay,” Pete says, “it's cool, we don't need anyone else.”
“That's like, I'm pretty sure that's kind of elitist.”
“Whatever, we can pull it off.” Pete sounds confident, jokey, echoing just a little through the tinny speakers of Mikey's phone, but then his voice softens. “So what's up? Any reason for being awake so late tonight?”
Mikey shrugs, barely even registering that Pete can't see the movement. “Dunno. It happens sometimes, like, it was a lot when I was a kid. Gerard gets it worse, I don't think there's even a cause or whatever.”
“That sucks,” Pete says feelingly, and Mikey feels less on edge, suddenly - not a lot, but some of the tension around his shoulders eases away. It's clear from just those two words that Pete gets it. It's why he decided to text Pete in the first place tonight; that and the fact that Pete's been at the top of his most recent contacts list since halfway through the first week of Warped. He understands, without the edge of worry and concern that Mikey always picks up on when he talks to Gerard about it.
“Yeah.”
“So hey.” There's a muffled noise from the other end of the phone, as though Pete is moving around. “There's a rest stop like, ten minutes away or something. I need some snacks. I think Trohman's eaten everything.”
Mikey blinks at the sudden change of subject. “Okay.”
“You should stop too. The one just coming up, that one? I'm gonna kidnap you.”
“You're gonna kidnap me,” Mikey repeats, slowly. He's not sure if maybe he missed something through the haze of tiredness.
“Yeah, I'm gonna kidnap you and make up for you fucking catching my insomnia, so make your bus stop.”
“I don't think I actually caught it,” Mikey says. “Plus I don't think it's kidnap if I willingly hang out with you.”
“Whatever, I'll make it up to you anyway,” Pete says, and Mikey actually manages a laugh at how that sounds. “You better stop. See you in a few, man.”
Mikey looks blankly at his Sidekick for a few moments, watching the light fade to a duller glow and then go out completely, leaving him staring at his reflection on the dark screen. He looks as bad as he feels right now, pale with dark circles around his eyes, but he grabs his glasses anyway. He picks up three pairs of jeans off of the floor by his bunk before he manages to find a pair that are actually his and fit okay, and then goes to talk to the driver to see if they can stop.
Outside, the temperature has finally dropped. The cool air hits Mikey as soon as he steps off the bus and he shivers, wishing he'd thought to grab a hoodie to go over the old, thin t-shirt he sleeps in. He briefly wonders if he should have woken up any of the other guys to see if they want anything - he's pretty sure that Bob's going to kill Frank soon if Frank doesn't buy his own cigarettes instead of stealing half of Bob's - but he's jealous enough of them all getting to sleep that he doesn't want to disturb it for them. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looks around, squinting through the dull glow of the neon sign above the store for any signs of Pete.
Pete comes out of the door a few seconds later, already carrying a bag. He's wearing jeans and an unzipped hoodie with no shirt underneath. “You're late to your kidnapping, Mikey Way,” he says with a wider grin than Mikey thinks anyone should be able to achieve this late at night.
“Sorry,” Mikey says. He smiles, but his voice is still scratchier than usual, and Pete steps closer, looking carefully at him for a second. Mikey always feels kind of thrown by those moments. When Pete's face shifts into a serious expression, even just for a heartbeat, it's a sudden reminder that Pete is actually older than him, has been through way more shit than he has; until then, this summer at least, Mikey mostly just feels like they're a couple of teenagers again.
“Hey, go and tell your driver to go off without you,” Pete says. He walks toward the bus door. “I'll write a note or something and leave it in your bunk for your band, like, a ransom note or something.”
“What's my ransom?” Mikey asks as he goes back to talk to the driver again.
“I dunno.” Pete pauses, turning to look back at Mikey. “Maybe nothing, I might just try and keep you.”
Mikey feels warm all of a sudden, a rush that has nothing to do with any summer heat lingering on through the night.
On Pete's bus, they head straight to Pete's bunk, even though another bunk ceiling and the dark material of a curtain is the last thing Mikey wants to be stuck staring at again. Pete just waves him in there when Mikey opens his mouth to point this out, though, and Pete has to kill time until everyone else wakes up a lot more than Mikey does, so Mikey goes, taking his word for it.
“It's like,” Pete says, climbing in after Mikey and half squashing him against the wall as he tries to untangle the sheets beneath them. Pete's sheets don't feel as scratchy and stifling as his own, so Mikey thinks the change of scenery must have done some good after all, even if it shouldn't be all that different. “It's not so bad if you have someone else keeping you company while you're awake. Plus,” he adds, reaching around for the bag he was carrying just now, pulling a face at its noisy rustling, “I got provisions.”
“Provisions,” Mikey repeats. It sounds kind of like they're going to be preparing for a war. He likes the sound of it, and he manages another small smile as Pete upends the bag so that the contents fall into the tiny space between them: a share size bag of chips, two bottles of water and a pile of thin, brightly coloured magazines. One of the bottles rolls into Mikey's arm. It's ice cold, shockingly refreshing even just resting against his skin. He picks it up and takes a swig, surprised to find how thirsty he is.
“Thanks,” he says.
“So,” is all Pete says in return, fixing Mikey with a look. “What's on your mind?”
Mikey shrugs, which is kind of difficult when he's lying down and trying to force himself to meet Pete's eyes. Quite honestly, he has no idea; it's hard to catch hold of any of the thoughts jumbled up in his head. It feels there's nothing on his mind at all, or maybe just too much at once.
“Yeah,” Pete says. He pauses, and Mikey thinks for a second that maybe Pete's going to try and get him to talk about it, to pinpoint something that might be the problem even though Mikey seriously has no idea. It's Pete, though; he and Mikey have been close all summer without ever having to explain it. All Pete does, though, is pick up one of the magazines. “Light reading,” he grins, handing it to Mikey, and Mikey blinks down at the cover offering to let him in on the secrets of the perfect bikini body.
“Uh, thanks,” he repeats, not so sure he means it this time.
Pete grins more widely. “I think you already have the perfect beach body,” he says in an earnest voice that doesn't match up at all with the look on his face, “but some of this shit is amazing.”
Mikey scans the cover of the magazine dubiously before opening it and flicking through to a few of the articles. There are more pictures than anything else, which is actually pretty helpful. It's still hard to focus on much even though he's got his glasses on now, like it's his brain instead of his eyes making everything fuzzier than it should be at the edges. It's a weird fucking way to spend the night: nearly four a.m. and lying in silence with Pete in his hot, stuffy bunk, reading women's weeklies because neither of them can sleep, but there's something oddly comforting about it. Pete's right, at least: the magazines are unexpectedly engrossing.
“Hey,” Pete whispers after a while. Mikey has no idea how much time has passed again. Pete twists around so he's lying on his side and looking directly at Mikey, staring intently at his face. Mikey rolls over as well so he can face Pete back, and he thinks, dimly, that something about this is better, staring at Pete's face, his dark eyes and messy hair, close enough to focus on.
“What?” Mikey whispers back.
“What would you do,” Pete asks, voice oddly serious, unblinking, “what would you do if you found out your husband was cheating on you via text messages?”
Mikey actually laughs at Pete's tone of voice, even though a quick glance down at the magazine Pete's got open between them shows him a headline all about heartbreak and heartache. “Um,” he says, “I think I'd probably wonder when I got married, first.”
“Well, it's okay,” Pete says. He pats Mikey's hand reassuringly, no longer even attempting to look serious. “I''ll never cheat on you through text.” He doesn't move his hand from Mikey's. It's still hot enough inside the buses at night that Mikey's hands are a little sweatier than usual, and Pete's palm is just as warm as his, but their fingers tangle together anyway. “So you don't have to worry about it, you can go to sleep now”
“I can't sleep,” Mikey says, for what feels like the millionth time. He doesn't think he's even said it that much, though; it's mostly that it's just been the most prominent thought on his mind for a long while now.
“Well dude, that's okay too.” Pete squeezes Mikey's hand. It's too hot yet again to be this close; Mikey doesn't try to move away. “Neither can I. So hey, listen to this.”
Mikey smiles, letting his eyes close for a few seconds, and listens to Pete read.
pete/mikey
PG
~2500 words.
summer of like fic, written for "insomnia" for hc_bingo. unbeta'd because it's really plotless and self-indulgent, so if you spot any mistakes, feel free to point them out!
It takes Mikey a while to realise he's not really sleeping again.
The first couple of nights, there are parties that carry way on into the early hours of the morning, and now that Mikey is sure Gerard doesn't have an issue with it, he doesn't feel bad about hanging out until he's one of the last ones there. He puts it down to the vodka red bulls then, to too much caffeine even for him. Then he stays up all night watching movies with Pete in his bunk, and they're both too busy deciding which of their friends would be which character to take note of the time until it's suddenly somehow light and they can hear Frank shuffling in the direction of the kitchen. He spends that whole day happily exhausted, playing their set mostly on autopilot and drinking even more coffee than usual so he doesn't drift off while Ray plays them some stuff he's been working on.
It's that night that he realises how long it's been since he's actually had a decent night's sleep. He's staring up at the bottom of Bob's bunk and the album he's listening to clicks onto repeat for the third time in a row, and his eyes are itching at the corners, but he's still just as awake as he was after his last cup of coffee, hours ago now. Mikey's used to having a fucked up sleeping schedule. It invariably happens every tour, whether they're with a bunch of bands they can hang out with for half the night or not, and Warped is probably the worst for it. It can be useful, handy when people are around, but Mikey's on his own because they're driving through the night tonight, and he hasn't been sleeping during the day, either. There's the beginning of a headache lurking just behind his eyes, edging in closer with each minute that passes. He can't even be bothered to change to a different album; he tries shutting his eyes again and listens again to Morrissey singing about poets with the sound of the road beneath them in the background. It's too hot. He feels as though he'll never be comfortable again.
After a while, it becomes obvious that keeping his eyes shut isn't going to trick his brain into shutting down for the night. He feels weird even trying to keep his eyes shut for so long, like he's so far from asleep he can't even fake it. He sighs, groping around under his pillow until his fingers close around his Sidekick. The keys are a little sticky from where he knocked a glass of Coke over next to it earlier, but he can still text okay, and he types one out to Pete, a little slower than usual. It's hard to keep his eyes focused on the screen, and it's not just because he doesn't have his glasses on. I think i caught yr insomnia.
Pete's reply comes about two seconds later; Mikey's obviously not the only one still awake. i guess i just like sharing things too much sorry.whatre u doing instead of sleeping
The bright light shining up at him from the screen is making his eyes hurt more, so Mikey closes them again for a minute, just in case it's an indication that he's finally ready to drop off. I'm trying to sleep.
He expects Pete to text back straight away again, even though his reply wasn't particularly engaging, just because Pete always texts back. What Mikey judges to be a few minutes pass, although it could easily be less or more; it's harder to judge time with no sleep, as though he's kind of distant from the concept as a whole, like it's somehow left him behind. Then his Sidekick vibrates again, and this time it rings, peterpan flashing up on the screen.
“Hey,” he attempts to whisper as he presses the answer button and lifts it to his ear. His voice comes out louder than he intended, low and croaky. He sounds about as rough as he feels and he winces, hoping he hasn't woken anyone else up. The heavy breathing and light snoring around him continues, unbroken.
“We could make not sleeping a prerequisite for being a Sweet Little Dude,” Pete offers, not bothering with a return greeting. Mikey can imagine his grin, wide and soft around the edges, the same one on his face every time they talk about their gang. It's weird, having to imagine it when Pete is probably just a bus or two away from them, travelling along the same path to the next state.
“I don't think anyone would join then,” Mikey says. He manages to whisper this time, or at least drop his voice down low enough so he's not too worried about waking anyone else up. The rest of the band are heavy sleepers. It helps a lot when they're on tour. Talking is kind of an effort, but he's smiling a little, at least, amused at the idea. His lips are too dry and it makes his mouth feel weird. “It would be kind of a shitty rule.”
“That's okay,” Pete says, “it's cool, we don't need anyone else.”
“That's like, I'm pretty sure that's kind of elitist.”
“Whatever, we can pull it off.” Pete sounds confident, jokey, echoing just a little through the tinny speakers of Mikey's phone, but then his voice softens. “So what's up? Any reason for being awake so late tonight?”
Mikey shrugs, barely even registering that Pete can't see the movement. “Dunno. It happens sometimes, like, it was a lot when I was a kid. Gerard gets it worse, I don't think there's even a cause or whatever.”
“That sucks,” Pete says feelingly, and Mikey feels less on edge, suddenly - not a lot, but some of the tension around his shoulders eases away. It's clear from just those two words that Pete gets it. It's why he decided to text Pete in the first place tonight; that and the fact that Pete's been at the top of his most recent contacts list since halfway through the first week of Warped. He understands, without the edge of worry and concern that Mikey always picks up on when he talks to Gerard about it.
“Yeah.”
“So hey.” There's a muffled noise from the other end of the phone, as though Pete is moving around. “There's a rest stop like, ten minutes away or something. I need some snacks. I think Trohman's eaten everything.”
Mikey blinks at the sudden change of subject. “Okay.”
“You should stop too. The one just coming up, that one? I'm gonna kidnap you.”
“You're gonna kidnap me,” Mikey repeats, slowly. He's not sure if maybe he missed something through the haze of tiredness.
“Yeah, I'm gonna kidnap you and make up for you fucking catching my insomnia, so make your bus stop.”
“I don't think I actually caught it,” Mikey says. “Plus I don't think it's kidnap if I willingly hang out with you.”
“Whatever, I'll make it up to you anyway,” Pete says, and Mikey actually manages a laugh at how that sounds. “You better stop. See you in a few, man.”
Mikey looks blankly at his Sidekick for a few moments, watching the light fade to a duller glow and then go out completely, leaving him staring at his reflection on the dark screen. He looks as bad as he feels right now, pale with dark circles around his eyes, but he grabs his glasses anyway. He picks up three pairs of jeans off of the floor by his bunk before he manages to find a pair that are actually his and fit okay, and then goes to talk to the driver to see if they can stop.
Outside, the temperature has finally dropped. The cool air hits Mikey as soon as he steps off the bus and he shivers, wishing he'd thought to grab a hoodie to go over the old, thin t-shirt he sleeps in. He briefly wonders if he should have woken up any of the other guys to see if they want anything - he's pretty sure that Bob's going to kill Frank soon if Frank doesn't buy his own cigarettes instead of stealing half of Bob's - but he's jealous enough of them all getting to sleep that he doesn't want to disturb it for them. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looks around, squinting through the dull glow of the neon sign above the store for any signs of Pete.
Pete comes out of the door a few seconds later, already carrying a bag. He's wearing jeans and an unzipped hoodie with no shirt underneath. “You're late to your kidnapping, Mikey Way,” he says with a wider grin than Mikey thinks anyone should be able to achieve this late at night.
“Sorry,” Mikey says. He smiles, but his voice is still scratchier than usual, and Pete steps closer, looking carefully at him for a second. Mikey always feels kind of thrown by those moments. When Pete's face shifts into a serious expression, even just for a heartbeat, it's a sudden reminder that Pete is actually older than him, has been through way more shit than he has; until then, this summer at least, Mikey mostly just feels like they're a couple of teenagers again.
“Hey, go and tell your driver to go off without you,” Pete says. He walks toward the bus door. “I'll write a note or something and leave it in your bunk for your band, like, a ransom note or something.”
“What's my ransom?” Mikey asks as he goes back to talk to the driver again.
“I dunno.” Pete pauses, turning to look back at Mikey. “Maybe nothing, I might just try and keep you.”
Mikey feels warm all of a sudden, a rush that has nothing to do with any summer heat lingering on through the night.
On Pete's bus, they head straight to Pete's bunk, even though another bunk ceiling and the dark material of a curtain is the last thing Mikey wants to be stuck staring at again. Pete just waves him in there when Mikey opens his mouth to point this out, though, and Pete has to kill time until everyone else wakes up a lot more than Mikey does, so Mikey goes, taking his word for it.
“It's like,” Pete says, climbing in after Mikey and half squashing him against the wall as he tries to untangle the sheets beneath them. Pete's sheets don't feel as scratchy and stifling as his own, so Mikey thinks the change of scenery must have done some good after all, even if it shouldn't be all that different. “It's not so bad if you have someone else keeping you company while you're awake. Plus,” he adds, reaching around for the bag he was carrying just now, pulling a face at its noisy rustling, “I got provisions.”
“Provisions,” Mikey repeats. It sounds kind of like they're going to be preparing for a war. He likes the sound of it, and he manages another small smile as Pete upends the bag so that the contents fall into the tiny space between them: a share size bag of chips, two bottles of water and a pile of thin, brightly coloured magazines. One of the bottles rolls into Mikey's arm. It's ice cold, shockingly refreshing even just resting against his skin. He picks it up and takes a swig, surprised to find how thirsty he is.
“Thanks,” he says.
“So,” is all Pete says in return, fixing Mikey with a look. “What's on your mind?”
Mikey shrugs, which is kind of difficult when he's lying down and trying to force himself to meet Pete's eyes. Quite honestly, he has no idea; it's hard to catch hold of any of the thoughts jumbled up in his head. It feels there's nothing on his mind at all, or maybe just too much at once.
“Yeah,” Pete says. He pauses, and Mikey thinks for a second that maybe Pete's going to try and get him to talk about it, to pinpoint something that might be the problem even though Mikey seriously has no idea. It's Pete, though; he and Mikey have been close all summer without ever having to explain it. All Pete does, though, is pick up one of the magazines. “Light reading,” he grins, handing it to Mikey, and Mikey blinks down at the cover offering to let him in on the secrets of the perfect bikini body.
“Uh, thanks,” he repeats, not so sure he means it this time.
Pete grins more widely. “I think you already have the perfect beach body,” he says in an earnest voice that doesn't match up at all with the look on his face, “but some of this shit is amazing.”
Mikey scans the cover of the magazine dubiously before opening it and flicking through to a few of the articles. There are more pictures than anything else, which is actually pretty helpful. It's still hard to focus on much even though he's got his glasses on now, like it's his brain instead of his eyes making everything fuzzier than it should be at the edges. It's a weird fucking way to spend the night: nearly four a.m. and lying in silence with Pete in his hot, stuffy bunk, reading women's weeklies because neither of them can sleep, but there's something oddly comforting about it. Pete's right, at least: the magazines are unexpectedly engrossing.
“Hey,” Pete whispers after a while. Mikey has no idea how much time has passed again. Pete twists around so he's lying on his side and looking directly at Mikey, staring intently at his face. Mikey rolls over as well so he can face Pete back, and he thinks, dimly, that something about this is better, staring at Pete's face, his dark eyes and messy hair, close enough to focus on.
“What?” Mikey whispers back.
“What would you do,” Pete asks, voice oddly serious, unblinking, “what would you do if you found out your husband was cheating on you via text messages?”
Mikey actually laughs at Pete's tone of voice, even though a quick glance down at the magazine Pete's got open between them shows him a headline all about heartbreak and heartache. “Um,” he says, “I think I'd probably wonder when I got married, first.”
“Well, it's okay,” Pete says. He pats Mikey's hand reassuringly, no longer even attempting to look serious. “I''ll never cheat on you through text.” He doesn't move his hand from Mikey's. It's still hot enough inside the buses at night that Mikey's hands are a little sweatier than usual, and Pete's palm is just as warm as his, but their fingers tangle together anyway. “So you don't have to worry about it, you can go to sleep now”
“I can't sleep,” Mikey says, for what feels like the millionth time. He doesn't think he's even said it that much, though; it's mostly that it's just been the most prominent thought on his mind for a long while now.
“Well dude, that's okay too.” Pete squeezes Mikey's hand. It's too hot yet again to be this close; Mikey doesn't try to move away. “Neither can I. So hey, listen to this.”
Mikey smiles, letting his eyes close for a few seconds, and listens to Pete read.