Five Times Mike Carden Fell In Love
Author: sullen_hearts
Fandom(s): Bandom, Skippy
Characters/Pairings: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas at the end
Summary: Five Times Mike Carden Fell In Love
Warnings: Nope, don't think so
Notes: With thanks to doublefourtime who let me steal her story of how she fell in love with Ryan Adams, and with thanks to parenthesised, who betaed
Bill
It’s strange, because later Mike can never remember how or when he originally met Bill. He just was aware of him, even though they were at different schools and had mostly different groups of friends. He was 15 when he first knew Bill’s name, though, and then they played against each other at baseball aged 16. Mike’s school won, but Bill, not sore in defeat, bumped fists with him and said, “Great game, Mike”. Mike had no clue how Bill knew his name.
Later, when he heard Bill sing for the first time, he couldn’t reconcile the boisterous, graceful baseball player with the shy, talented singer playing in the corner of a darkened bar, where they had no business being but where the owner turned a blind eye to underage drinkers as long as they paid.
Bill got a smattering of polite applause and seemed to go red in the dim light, then tripped over a cable stepping off the stage, and practically fell into Mike’s arms. “Whoops, sorry.”
“Hey man, careful,” Mike said, smiling slightly. “Nice set.”
“Fucked all up in one song.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
Bill tipped his head to one side, as if trying to decide if Mike was teasing him or not. “You’re on next, right? What’s your band called?”
“Jodie, but we’re on just after these guys.”
“I’ll stick around a while.”
“Cool. Yeah. Cool.”
Bill smiled and wandered off, but was standing at the back when Mike’s band played, sipping a beer and nodding along. It wasn’t the best Jodie had played, but it wasn’t the worst, Mike thought. Afterwards, while he helped Dave pack his drums into the back of his car, Bill caught up with him again.
“Hey,” Mike said. “What did you think?”
“You mostly suck.”
Mike huffed a laugh, taken aback at Bill’s bluntness. “Thanks.”
“The band, I mean. You’re all over the place, and that singer screams way too much.”
“We’re a hardcore band.”
Bill nodded. “Sure. But hey, you can really play.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I think. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it was true.”
Now it was Mike’s turn to decide if he was kidding or not, but Bill’s eyes gave little away.
“Come play with me some time,” Bill said.
“Yeah? Okay. Yeah.”
Bill passed over his cell phone for Mike to put his number in. He took it back with a smile, shook Mike’s hand, and wandered off down the street with his guitar case in hand.
*
When Bill and Mike live together it’s almost like being a married couple. They like each other, sure, but they get on each other’s nerves a lot, and there’s barely enough space to breathe, never mind room for them to have space. Headphones are Mike’s savior, he can plug into his laptop or iPod and have some alone time. It’s either that or they both get horrendously drunk on cheap wine, because then they’re both too friendly to argue.
One such night Bill is singing happily, wandering around the bedroom picking up clothes, separating the laundry that they’ve recently schlepped to the Laundromat. Mike is folding stuff up, a little haphazardly but it’s good enough. They have an open shelving unit and hanging wardrobe, shelves designated for each of them. Mike piles Bill’s t-shirts up together and puts them neatly on one of his shelves.
“Aww,” Bill says, breaking off from the song. “You’re such a good wife.”
Mike snorts. “You’re a wife.”
“I would be your wife.”
Mike laughs. “Sure you would.”
“I would. You’d make me feel like the prettiest boy!”
“Shut up.”
“No, you would. You’d be a great boyfriend.”
Mike can feel color rise in his cheeks. “Thank, I guess?”
Bill laughs and throws another shirt at him. Mike starts to fold it.
“You sure never worked at the Gap,” Bill says, finally finishing and bouncing on the bed next to Mike. “They’d never let you fold that way there.”
“If you don’t like it, you do it.”
“Oh hell no,” Bill says, wriggling out of his jeans.
Mike shakes his head, and eventually gets into bed. It’s not ideal, their sharing a bed, but he’s gotten used to it. His head is starting to spin. It’s going to be a hell of a hangover.
Bill surprises him by kissing him in the semi-darkness, gentle but firm, his mouth warm on Mike’s, and tasting of red wine.
“What’s that for?” Mike asks, annoyed at himself for kissing back.
“I’m definitely not gay.”
“I never said you were.”
“Are you?”
“I’m... fluid,” Mike says, because that’s the best way he can describe his sexuality. He’s taken a while to figure it out, and he isn’t exactly shouting from the rooftops that he’s anything but straight, but he’s comfortable enough with himself.
“I love you though,” Bill says, pulling the sheets a little more around them both.
“I love you too,” Mike says.
*
Ryan Adams
It’s November 2001 and the world is still reeling from the events of 9/11. Mike is almost 17 and somewhat politically aware, but he hasn’t quite figured out yet how he feels about what happened. He has friends at school who are planning on joining the military, and some of his friends have siblings already there, so the prospect of war frightens him. New York is a mess. People are missing. Night after night the news shows images on a loop, so that they’re familiar and yet still terrifying. The President has a new grim message every day but his mom, a die-hard Democrat, sighs and tells Mike that he can do anything he wants in life except vote Republican. Mike laughs but she’s not joking; she’s deadly serious.
Then one day, flicking channels, he sees the World Trade Center on MTV and stops, thinking it might be more bad news. Instead it's a song, by some guy called Ryan Adams. The song has Ryan standing on a bridge across the water from the Twin Towers, singing about how much he still loves New York.
It's a great song, a little bit rock and a little bit country. Kinda like Wilco, Mike thinks, a band that Bill has introduced him to. He taps along, wondering if this is some kind of charity record for the victims of the attacks.
Later when he's on the computer, he connects to the internet and searches for what he can find. It's not a charity record, just a song that Ryan wrote and happened to film in NY just four days before the attacks. Now it's a poignant tribute, something which strikes Mike in a place he didn't know he had feelings.
The song comes from an album called Gold, which Mike buys from a store downtown when there one Saturday with Bill and Sisky. A guy browsing next to him says, "Great album, man. Didja see the video in New York?"
"Yeah," Mike says. "That's how I heard of him."
"Oh, dude, you gotta check out his stuff with Whiskeytown."
"Whiskeytown?"
"His old band, they're like... Like Gram Parsons with too much weed in their bodies."
Mike laughs. "They got any here?"
"Probably, yeah."
"I'll check them out." Mike goes over to W and flips through the CDs. There are two Whiskeytown albums there so Mike adds them to Gold and goes to pay.
That evening he and Bill lay sprawled on Mike's bed, head to foot with each other, passing a joint between them and letting the music absorb into their minds.
"I like him," Bill says eventually, about halfway through the 2nd listen of Strangers Almanac.
"Me too, yeah." Mike more than likes him. The music seems to thrum through him, touching nerves in his body and spirit. The lyrics are amazing. He wants to write like this, make music like this.
"One thing, though," Bill says, sitting up cross-legged and pulling his notebook towards him.
"What's that?"
"Sisky is gonna hate him."
*
"I do hate him," Sisky says, a couple years later, viciously stubbing out a cigarette under his sneaker. "Emo little fuck."
"You're wrong," Mike says.
"He just complains all the time."
"Not all the time."
"Does so."
"Just come and see him with me and Bill, okay?"
"Sure, yeah, if you're buying the ticket."
"I'll buy the fucking ticket."
"Awesome!" Sisky grins. "Then I'll come. And I will keep an open mind."
This is the first time that Mike has managed to see Ryan. He, Bill, and Sisky drive to the venue together, park, and join the queue. By the time they get inside, black Xs scrawled on the backs of their hands, the support act is already on. They buy drinks and stand idly watching.
When Ryan takes to the stage, about forty minutes later than Mike really considers polite, they're all fed up and tired. Sisky is looking like he'd like to kill everyone in the room, Bill is yawning madly, and Mike's back aches from slouching against the wall.
But then Ryan picks up the guitar, says, "Hey, I'm Ryan," and launches into When The Stars Go Blue, and Mike forgets everything except the music.
*
"The music, damn, the music," Sisky says when they're on the way home, fresh air blasting in through the open windows of Bill's car.
"I told you," Mike says, tapping his fingers on his knee to the rhythm of a new song that he'd heard that night.
"I think I might get to like him," Sisky says.
"I love him," Bill says decisively.
"Fuck, me too," Mike says, and then launches into the new song's chorus, which feels as much like a manifesto as anything Mike has ever heard. "IIIIIIIIIIIIIII am onnnnnnnnnnnn your siiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!"
Bill and Sisky both join in to sing the next line: "I'm soooooooooo aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive."
*
When Mike meets Michael Guy in 2006 he's drawn immediately to the Ryan Adams Rock N Roll sticker adorning Michael's guitar case. "Hey, cool Ryan sticker."
Michael's face lights up. "You like him?"
"Love him, yeah."
"I saw him last year at the Bowery Ballroom."
"I've never been there."
"It's cool, real small and intimate, you know? It was a great gig."
"What did he play?"
"Him and Cardinals, mate. Have you seen them?"
"Not yet, no."
"Next time they tour, we'll go." Michael smiles.
"Sure thing," Mike says, smiling back.
The Cardinals are amazingly tight, a brilliant backing band for Ryan. Mike is so grateful for Ryan and everything he is in his life.
*
Tom
Mike didn't realise he loved Tom until they were breaking up.
It had started out casual, just fucking, just sex when they were bored, only that wasn't Tom, it didn't suit him. Tom was clingy and Mike didn't like that, he bridled at it and wanted to be free.
But they had had a good time. Mike had thought that right from the beginning. He thought that a good time was all Tom had wanted, but hell, this was Tom they were talking about.
"I can't take this anymore," Tom said, screwing his face up. They were at Mike's place, both smoking furiously and arguing in a way that Mike hadn't realized they had the passion to.
"Me either."
Tom laughed bitterly, his face turned to the wall, his back tightened tensely. "This is all because of you."
"Why is it my fault?"
"I just want-"
"What? What do you want?"
"I thought we had something."
"We do, this is it, this is something. It's the best I can do."
"You're so fucking closed off - you're like a robot or something."
Mike sat down on the edge of the sofa, moving towards Tom but not so close as to spook him. "That's not true."
"It is, I mean we've been at this for - what - over a year now, and you just - nothing."
"I didn't know - I didn't know it was more than just-"
"Just casual. You thought it was just casual."
"Well - yeah."
Tom took a deep breath. "I didn't. It wasn't, for me. I loved you."
"Like, past tense?"
Tom was nodding, but still not looking at Mike. "I guess."
"Tom..." Mike stretched out his arm towards him.
"I have to go," Tom said. He stood up. "I just think - this is over, right?"
"I dunno. Maybe."
"Yeah." Tom left the room, and went to pack up his stuff.
There was more than Mike had thought. A few odd clothes, a guitar and amp, just little things that had accumulated over 15 months. Tom had become part of the furniture.
Tom stood at the door and shrugged on his jacket. "I'll see you."
Mike went over. "I do love you." He swallowed as he spoke, so that the words came out strangled.
Tom looked at him from under his lashes. "Yeah. I think in some way, you do."
"Tom, please-"
"I can't."
Mike couldn’t say anything. Not one damn thing.
Tom left, letting cold air in as he did so.
Bill’s warnings had been right. It affected the band. Mike could kick himself for that.
*
Kevin
Kevin was unexpected. A friend of a friend in LA introduced Mike to a gaggle of people at a house party, including 3 dark-haired young men who Mike couldn't fail to reognize. In person it was strange how alike they looked. He smiled, said hi, and grabbed a drink.
He didn't expect to like them. What could he have in common with the Jonas brothers? But then he got to talking with Nick about music, along with their mutual buddy Shane, and Joe turned out to have a filthy sense of humor and a wickedly infectious laugh, and Kevin... Kevin had no idea about how adorable he was, and his self-consciousness was endearing. Mike ended up perched on a coffee table opposite Kevin and a friend, laughing and joking with him. He left the party having had a better time than he thought he would.
He ran into Kevin a few times over the next few weeks, once in a restaurant, once at the mall, and again at a friend's engagement party. Then the 4th time, at an independent coffee place that was always quiet.
"Hey," Mike said, smiling. "This is getting to be a habit."
"Hello, ha, yeah," Kevin said.
"People will start rumors about us," Mike said. He was teasing, but a faint blush rose on Kevin's cheeks. "Could I get you a coffee?"
"Sure, thank you." Kevin gave his order and Mike handed the barista a twenty.
They took a table close to the back.
"So what brings you here?" Mike asked.
"Oh, you know. Just in the area. I'm meeting Nick up on Sunset soon."
"Cool, how is he?"
"He's great, yeah." Kevin relaxed when talking about his family, a wide smile taking over his features. Mike wanted to keep him talking and couldn't help smiling back.
Coffee drunk, Kevin apologetically stood up, checking the time on his cell phone. “I have to go meet Nick.”
“Sure, well, it was nice seeing you again.”
“Yeah, you too... Look... I wondered if maybe you’d like to have dinner with me one evening?” Kevin’s eyes slid away from Mike as he said.
“Like... Dinner?”
“Like a date type of dinner.”
Mike couldn’t recall having ever been asked out for dinner before. “I’d like that.”
“I - oh wow. I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“Was I not supposed to?” Mike joked.
“No, I’m glad! I - no. Yeah. Dinner.”
“Will be great. When?”
“I don’t know. Friday?”
Mike smiled. “Yes.”
“Could I maybe take your number?”
Mike gave him it, typed the number in carefully to Kevin’s phone. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll call,” Kevin said, and he did, barely an hour after Mike got home.
They meet for coffee again, and then for dinner, then Mike invites Kevin over to his. This does mean he has to clean, which he does. He even buys some flowers.
Kevin arrives with a bottle of wine and some OJ. “Because I don’t drink,” he says apologetically.
“Hey, no problem. Thanks. Come in.”
Kevin looks comfortable on the couch, making the place look more like a home than Mike has managed in 3 years. He toes off his shoes and stretches out. Mike brings him a glass of juice and sits near him, close but not too close. Mike’s not even sure if they’re properly dating. He hopes they are though; he really likes Kevin.
He’s made a mozzarella salad, then carbonara, which he’s pretty good at. Finally he has his friend Heather’s brownies, which are super chocolatey and squidgy.
“Oh my goodness,” Kevin says, tasting one.
“They’re good, right?”
“Amazing.”
“I’ll pass on your compliments.”
“Can I marry her? I would marry her just for these.”
Mike laughs. “Aren’t you a little too gay for that?”
“Yeah, but I would go straight.”
“You’re easily bought.”
“Hey!” Kevin tries to look affronted but fails. “I’m anything but easy.”
Mike cannot stop laughing at the look on Kevin’s face. Kevin joins in, grinning, and reaches across the take Mike’s hand.
Mike smiles at him, delighted, for way too long.
“We should clean up,” Kevin says eventually. He stands up and pulls Mike with him, picking up a plate. Mike follows, Kevin stacks the plate by the sink, he turns, and Mike steps into his space to kiss him.
It’s tentative and soft. Kevin tastes good, like stars and sugar and love.
When they finally pull away, Kevin says dazedly, “You taste of wine.”
Mike rests his forehead against Kevin’s, comfortably. Kevin strokes his arm gently.
Mike is never ever giving this guy up.
*
It’s past 2am and Kevin is yawning madly. “I should call a cab.”
“You’ll be waiting forever, why not just sleep over?”
Kevin’s face goes defensive. “Mike - no - you know I can’t.”
“I’ll take the couch,” Mike says.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Kevin follows him through to the bedroom and starts to get undressed while Mike rummages in the closet for the sleeping bag he knows is stashed there. When he turns Kevin is sitting up in bed in his t-shirt.
“You’re cute,” Mike says.
“Thanks. Your bed is comfortable.”
“Yeah, it’s the best.” Mike grabs two pillows and kisses Kevin chastely. “Goodnight.”
Kevin gently tugs the sleeping bag out of his hands and pulls him down, kissing him, one hand running up his side.
Mike moves down carefully, kissing back, deepening it and licking into Kevin’s mouth, which makes him make this tiny noise that goes straight to Mike’s dick.
Eventually Kevin pulls away. “Mike - I can’t.”
“No, yeah.” Mike understands and moves away immediately. He does not want to be the guy that pressures someone. “Sorry.”
Kevin catches his hand. “Don’t apologize. I want to, I really do, but I also want to wait until I’m married.”
Mike nods. “I know. I’ll leave you sleep, okay?”
“You could - I mean if you wanted to - you could sleep here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Kevin smiles softly.
Mike gets undressed, aware of Kevin’s eyes on him, making him feel naked under the scrutiny.
They lie side by side in the dark, holding hands.
“I just,” Kevin starts. “When I do it, I want it to be with a guy I really love.”
“I get that, it’s important to you.”
Kevin moves closer. Mike hugs him gently.
“I would like you to be that guy,” Kevin says quietly.
Mike’s stomach is warm, a wonderful warmth that he could really get used to. He says nothing, just finds Kevin’s mouth to kiss.
When they wake up, they’re spooned together comfortably.
*
“Marry me,” Mike says, standing shoulder to shoulder with Kevin on the pier, nothing but clean blue ocean beneath them.
“Yeah, good try, Mikes.”
“I mean it.”
“Sure you do.”
It’s the middle of the summer and they’ve been dating for five months, growing comfortable and getting to know everything about each other. They don’t have sex. Mike never thought he could live without it, but here he is, in the best and most grown up relationship of his life.
“Kevin, I do.” Mike turns to him. “I do mean it.”
“For sex? Is that it?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m proposing just so I can get into your pants!”
Kevin widens his eyes. “I don’t get it. Why would you even want to? We’re both young, we haven’t known each other that long, we-”
“Jesus fuck, Kevin!”
“Don’t swear,” Kevin says blithely.
“Listen to me, you. We’ve known each other long enough and we’re definitely fucking old enough-”
“Don’t swear!”
“Shut the hell up and listen. I do mean it. I want to marry you, I wanna be with you for-fucking-ever and wake up with you every fucking morning and buy a fucking house with you and have this big-ass fucking wedding because I love you, okay?! I really fucking love you!”
Kevin licks his lips, staring at Mike, for a long pause. Eventually he takes Mike’s hand. He’s smiling. Thank god, he’s smiling. “I love you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Yes, you idiot. Let’s get married. I want to. I do.”
Mike can’t help but throw his arms around Kevin and kiss him any place he can reach. “Thank fuck.”
“You’ve got to stop swearing,” Kevin says, although they both know he won’t.
*
Isaac
Kevin’s cousin Jonathan has been volunteering in Russia and lands back in LA. He comes to see Mike and Kevin for a few days before he goes home.
Kevin happily shows him their house. It is a pretty nice place, Mike has to admit. He makes dinner while they wander around, both chattering and exchanging news. He hears Jonathan exclaim over a wedding photo of the two of them that’s hanging in their bedroom. Mike smiles to himself.
“Dinner smells great,” Jonathan says, smiling as he comes in to the kitchen diner.
“Just steaks and fresh salad,” Mike says. “Can I get you a drink?”
Jonathan accepts a glass of lemonade and sits down. “Nice house.”
“Thank you,” Mike says. “We like it, right?”
Kevin nods. “It still needs a little work. We’re getting there.”
Mike serves them each a plate, then sits down with his own.
“You have enough room for when you have kids,” Jonathan says, tucking into his food.
Mike looks up at him sharply, but he doesn’t notice. Kevin doesn’t look up either. He and Mike hadn’t talked about having kids. Mike hadn’t thought about it, but now that he does, well. He’d love for them to investigate surrogacy or something, and although he has no burning desire to pass on his genes, he thinks that Kevin probably does. That would be okay. A mini-Kevin would be kind of sweet.
Later, he and Kevin are brushing their teeth in the small bathroom off their bedroom, bumping hips like they always do, just a stupid game that they’ve done ever since they moved into this house. They have his’n’hers sinks in a vanity. Kevin insists on calling them his’n’his sinks.
“Jonathan was telling me about these kids he saw in Russia,” Kevin begins.
“Oh yeah?”
“Orphans. Lots of them.”
“That’s sad.”
“We could adopt one.”
Mike spits and then looks at Kevin’s reflection in the mirror. “Adopt a Russian baby?”
“Yeah. Jonathan says a few American families do it.”
“But - me and you.”
“We’re a family, aren’t we?” Kevin sets his chin obstinately.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Mike begins. “I just - we hadn’t talked about it.”
“Well, I’m talking about it now.”
“I see that.” Mike splashes his face and grabs a towel. “You’d really want to adopt?”
“I hate the idea of so many kids in orphanages with no one to care for them, when we could afford it.”
Mike turns to him properly this time. “Let’s look into it.”
“Yeah,” Kevin says, as if it was already a done deal. “Let’s.”
*
Moscow is freezing in February. Mike has clearly been living in LA too long because this is way, way, way too cold.
Their facilitator, Elena, meets them at their hotel. She and Kevin don’t seem to notice the cold. They greet each other warmly. They’ve talked to Elena a few times on the phone and many times on Skype, but haven’t met before. She’s tall, and graceful, and unflustered. She orders coffee for the three of them and they sit down.
Their baby is 10 months old. He’s a boy, given up for adoption at two weeks of age, and has waited the requisite 8 months for adoption within the region and within Russia. They’re here to accept the referral in court, and then they must return home to wait for their court date to get the baby.
“It could be 9 months,” Elena tells them, “but many are much less.”
“How long?” Kevin asks.
“Probably five.”
“So he could be home by August.”
“Hopefully, yes.”
“But definitely by Christmas?”
“Oh, yes. I would think so.”
Kevin smiles at Mike. “Great.”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “Good.”
They get the chance to meet the baby, but they’re both trying desperately to not attach to him too much in case anything falls through. The orphanage is nice; cosy, warm, and staffed by people who seem to genuinely care for every one of the kids in there. It’s not their fault there are so many.
The baby has a Russian name, given to him by his mother. They’re going to keep it as his middle name while giving him a more American first name. They just can’t decide what that name should actually be.
“We can decide when we actually bring him home,” Kevin says on the plane on the way home. “We don’t have to decide now.”
“True. Something might inspire us.” Mike can’t get the picture of the baby out of his mind. He wants this so desperately to work out, suddenly. It feels much more real now.
Kevin seems to know this, and reaches to stroke his thigh softly. “It will work,” he says. “He’ll be home with us by the fall.”
*
They’re stuck between Isaac and Benjamin when they leave LA in June for Moscow. The baby is now almost 14 months old. They have their court date set, and then they have to stay in Moscow for ten days before they can travel home. They don’t have a lot of stuff. Elena has assured them that anything they need they can buy in Moscow. Mike’s still nervous even on the plane that it could all go wrong.
Kevin is reading every book he can find on adopting a child, on adopting an older baby, on adopting from abroad, etc etc. Mike’s read a few too, but now he’s reading a crime novel, trying very hard to ignore the time.
Moscow is warmer this time. They get a cab to the hotel that they stayed at before, and settle in before setting out to find dinner.
“Last night of freedom,” Kevin grins.
“Oh, totally,” Mike nods. “After this it’ll be all sleepless nights and baby vomit.”
Kevin laughs. “I can’t wait.”
“Me either,” Mike says, and steals one of Kevin’s fries.
“What do they mean?” Kevin says out of nowhere a few minutes later.
“What?”
“The names. Isaac or Benjamin. Maybe we’ll know by their meanings. Like my name means ‘handsome’.”
“Oh, well you certainly are that,” Mike laughs, winking at Kevin. “I don’t know. Google it.”
Kevin does so, scrolling down on his phone. “Ohhhh,” he breathes a few minutes later. “It has to be Isaac.”
“Why? Is it good?”
Kevin nods and looks at him. “It means ‘he who will laugh’. We have to call him that. I want him to be happy.”
Mike nods too, liking it too. “Isaac. Yes.”
“Isaac Jonas-Carden,” Kevin says, trying it out. “I love it.”
He’s fussy at first, unused to them and unused to the quiet of the hotel room. He likes it when the TV is on. The court date passed without incident. Elena kissed them both on the steps of the courthouse, and told them to keep in touch “in case you ever want a sibling for him”. Now they’re waiting in the hotel, trying to not go stir-crazy. Everyone in the world has Skyped them, and everyone can’t wait for them to bring the baby home, but Mike kind of likes it just being the three of them.
Isaac is sleeping in a bassinet that is really too small for him, which makes him crankier. Kevin has taken to getting him to sleep by rocking him, arguing that it gets him used to them. To Mike it just means that when he wakes up, he’s confused by being laid down in something uncomfortable.
Mike is already used to his cry, knows when to catch it before it turns full-scale. It’s 5am when he picks Isaac up just before he begins to wail.
“Hey, baby,” he says quietly, aware that Kevin is still asleep. “It’s okay. We’ll get you some milk, okay?”
Isaac is chewing on his hand, a sure sign that he’s hungry. Mike can make up a bottle with one hand already. Finally he sits down by the window, cradling Isaac in his arm to feed him.
Isaac makes happy snuffling noises.
“That’s good,” Mike tells him. “You’re getting used to us, huh?” He pulls the curtain back slightly so that he can see outside, and so that a little bit of light spills on to the baby.
Isaac smiles around the bottle. It’s a gorgeous smile, showing off his few tiny teeth and crinkling his eyes. He does have beautiful eyes.
Mike leans down and kisses his hair. “Hey Isaac,” he says, “I think I love you.”
Fandom(s): Bandom, Skippy
Characters/Pairings: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas at the end
Summary: Five Times Mike Carden Fell In Love
Warnings: Nope, don't think so
Notes: With thanks to doublefourtime who let me steal her story of how she fell in love with Ryan Adams, and with thanks to parenthesised, who betaed
Bill
It’s strange, because later Mike can never remember how or when he originally met Bill. He just was aware of him, even though they were at different schools and had mostly different groups of friends. He was 15 when he first knew Bill’s name, though, and then they played against each other at baseball aged 16. Mike’s school won, but Bill, not sore in defeat, bumped fists with him and said, “Great game, Mike”. Mike had no clue how Bill knew his name.
Later, when he heard Bill sing for the first time, he couldn’t reconcile the boisterous, graceful baseball player with the shy, talented singer playing in the corner of a darkened bar, where they had no business being but where the owner turned a blind eye to underage drinkers as long as they paid.
Bill got a smattering of polite applause and seemed to go red in the dim light, then tripped over a cable stepping off the stage, and practically fell into Mike’s arms. “Whoops, sorry.”
“Hey man, careful,” Mike said, smiling slightly. “Nice set.”
“Fucked all up in one song.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
Bill tipped his head to one side, as if trying to decide if Mike was teasing him or not. “You’re on next, right? What’s your band called?”
“Jodie, but we’re on just after these guys.”
“I’ll stick around a while.”
“Cool. Yeah. Cool.”
Bill smiled and wandered off, but was standing at the back when Mike’s band played, sipping a beer and nodding along. It wasn’t the best Jodie had played, but it wasn’t the worst, Mike thought. Afterwards, while he helped Dave pack his drums into the back of his car, Bill caught up with him again.
“Hey,” Mike said. “What did you think?”
“You mostly suck.”
Mike huffed a laugh, taken aback at Bill’s bluntness. “Thanks.”
“The band, I mean. You’re all over the place, and that singer screams way too much.”
“We’re a hardcore band.”
Bill nodded. “Sure. But hey, you can really play.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I think. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it was true.”
Now it was Mike’s turn to decide if he was kidding or not, but Bill’s eyes gave little away.
“Come play with me some time,” Bill said.
“Yeah? Okay. Yeah.”
Bill passed over his cell phone for Mike to put his number in. He took it back with a smile, shook Mike’s hand, and wandered off down the street with his guitar case in hand.
*
When Bill and Mike live together it’s almost like being a married couple. They like each other, sure, but they get on each other’s nerves a lot, and there’s barely enough space to breathe, never mind room for them to have space. Headphones are Mike’s savior, he can plug into his laptop or iPod and have some alone time. It’s either that or they both get horrendously drunk on cheap wine, because then they’re both too friendly to argue.
One such night Bill is singing happily, wandering around the bedroom picking up clothes, separating the laundry that they’ve recently schlepped to the Laundromat. Mike is folding stuff up, a little haphazardly but it’s good enough. They have an open shelving unit and hanging wardrobe, shelves designated for each of them. Mike piles Bill’s t-shirts up together and puts them neatly on one of his shelves.
“Aww,” Bill says, breaking off from the song. “You’re such a good wife.”
Mike snorts. “You’re a wife.”
“I would be your wife.”
Mike laughs. “Sure you would.”
“I would. You’d make me feel like the prettiest boy!”
“Shut up.”
“No, you would. You’d be a great boyfriend.”
Mike can feel color rise in his cheeks. “Thank, I guess?”
Bill laughs and throws another shirt at him. Mike starts to fold it.
“You sure never worked at the Gap,” Bill says, finally finishing and bouncing on the bed next to Mike. “They’d never let you fold that way there.”
“If you don’t like it, you do it.”
“Oh hell no,” Bill says, wriggling out of his jeans.
Mike shakes his head, and eventually gets into bed. It’s not ideal, their sharing a bed, but he’s gotten used to it. His head is starting to spin. It’s going to be a hell of a hangover.
Bill surprises him by kissing him in the semi-darkness, gentle but firm, his mouth warm on Mike’s, and tasting of red wine.
“What’s that for?” Mike asks, annoyed at himself for kissing back.
“I’m definitely not gay.”
“I never said you were.”
“Are you?”
“I’m... fluid,” Mike says, because that’s the best way he can describe his sexuality. He’s taken a while to figure it out, and he isn’t exactly shouting from the rooftops that he’s anything but straight, but he’s comfortable enough with himself.
“I love you though,” Bill says, pulling the sheets a little more around them both.
“I love you too,” Mike says.
*
Ryan Adams
It’s November 2001 and the world is still reeling from the events of 9/11. Mike is almost 17 and somewhat politically aware, but he hasn’t quite figured out yet how he feels about what happened. He has friends at school who are planning on joining the military, and some of his friends have siblings already there, so the prospect of war frightens him. New York is a mess. People are missing. Night after night the news shows images on a loop, so that they’re familiar and yet still terrifying. The President has a new grim message every day but his mom, a die-hard Democrat, sighs and tells Mike that he can do anything he wants in life except vote Republican. Mike laughs but she’s not joking; she’s deadly serious.
Then one day, flicking channels, he sees the World Trade Center on MTV and stops, thinking it might be more bad news. Instead it's a song, by some guy called Ryan Adams. The song has Ryan standing on a bridge across the water from the Twin Towers, singing about how much he still loves New York.
It's a great song, a little bit rock and a little bit country. Kinda like Wilco, Mike thinks, a band that Bill has introduced him to. He taps along, wondering if this is some kind of charity record for the victims of the attacks.
Later when he's on the computer, he connects to the internet and searches for what he can find. It's not a charity record, just a song that Ryan wrote and happened to film in NY just four days before the attacks. Now it's a poignant tribute, something which strikes Mike in a place he didn't know he had feelings.
The song comes from an album called Gold, which Mike buys from a store downtown when there one Saturday with Bill and Sisky. A guy browsing next to him says, "Great album, man. Didja see the video in New York?"
"Yeah," Mike says. "That's how I heard of him."
"Oh, dude, you gotta check out his stuff with Whiskeytown."
"Whiskeytown?"
"His old band, they're like... Like Gram Parsons with too much weed in their bodies."
Mike laughs. "They got any here?"
"Probably, yeah."
"I'll check them out." Mike goes over to W and flips through the CDs. There are two Whiskeytown albums there so Mike adds them to Gold and goes to pay.
That evening he and Bill lay sprawled on Mike's bed, head to foot with each other, passing a joint between them and letting the music absorb into their minds.
"I like him," Bill says eventually, about halfway through the 2nd listen of Strangers Almanac.
"Me too, yeah." Mike more than likes him. The music seems to thrum through him, touching nerves in his body and spirit. The lyrics are amazing. He wants to write like this, make music like this.
"One thing, though," Bill says, sitting up cross-legged and pulling his notebook towards him.
"What's that?"
"Sisky is gonna hate him."
*
"I do hate him," Sisky says, a couple years later, viciously stubbing out a cigarette under his sneaker. "Emo little fuck."
"You're wrong," Mike says.
"He just complains all the time."
"Not all the time."
"Does so."
"Just come and see him with me and Bill, okay?"
"Sure, yeah, if you're buying the ticket."
"I'll buy the fucking ticket."
"Awesome!" Sisky grins. "Then I'll come. And I will keep an open mind."
This is the first time that Mike has managed to see Ryan. He, Bill, and Sisky drive to the venue together, park, and join the queue. By the time they get inside, black Xs scrawled on the backs of their hands, the support act is already on. They buy drinks and stand idly watching.
When Ryan takes to the stage, about forty minutes later than Mike really considers polite, they're all fed up and tired. Sisky is looking like he'd like to kill everyone in the room, Bill is yawning madly, and Mike's back aches from slouching against the wall.
But then Ryan picks up the guitar, says, "Hey, I'm Ryan," and launches into When The Stars Go Blue, and Mike forgets everything except the music.
*
"The music, damn, the music," Sisky says when they're on the way home, fresh air blasting in through the open windows of Bill's car.
"I told you," Mike says, tapping his fingers on his knee to the rhythm of a new song that he'd heard that night.
"I think I might get to like him," Sisky says.
"I love him," Bill says decisively.
"Fuck, me too," Mike says, and then launches into the new song's chorus, which feels as much like a manifesto as anything Mike has ever heard. "IIIIIIIIIIIIIII am onnnnnnnnnnnn your siiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!"
Bill and Sisky both join in to sing the next line: "I'm soooooooooo aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive."
*
When Mike meets Michael Guy in 2006 he's drawn immediately to the Ryan Adams Rock N Roll sticker adorning Michael's guitar case. "Hey, cool Ryan sticker."
Michael's face lights up. "You like him?"
"Love him, yeah."
"I saw him last year at the Bowery Ballroom."
"I've never been there."
"It's cool, real small and intimate, you know? It was a great gig."
"What did he play?"
"Him and Cardinals, mate. Have you seen them?"
"Not yet, no."
"Next time they tour, we'll go." Michael smiles.
"Sure thing," Mike says, smiling back.
The Cardinals are amazingly tight, a brilliant backing band for Ryan. Mike is so grateful for Ryan and everything he is in his life.
*
Tom
Mike didn't realise he loved Tom until they were breaking up.
It had started out casual, just fucking, just sex when they were bored, only that wasn't Tom, it didn't suit him. Tom was clingy and Mike didn't like that, he bridled at it and wanted to be free.
But they had had a good time. Mike had thought that right from the beginning. He thought that a good time was all Tom had wanted, but hell, this was Tom they were talking about.
"I can't take this anymore," Tom said, screwing his face up. They were at Mike's place, both smoking furiously and arguing in a way that Mike hadn't realized they had the passion to.
"Me either."
Tom laughed bitterly, his face turned to the wall, his back tightened tensely. "This is all because of you."
"Why is it my fault?"
"I just want-"
"What? What do you want?"
"I thought we had something."
"We do, this is it, this is something. It's the best I can do."
"You're so fucking closed off - you're like a robot or something."
Mike sat down on the edge of the sofa, moving towards Tom but not so close as to spook him. "That's not true."
"It is, I mean we've been at this for - what - over a year now, and you just - nothing."
"I didn't know - I didn't know it was more than just-"
"Just casual. You thought it was just casual."
"Well - yeah."
Tom took a deep breath. "I didn't. It wasn't, for me. I loved you."
"Like, past tense?"
Tom was nodding, but still not looking at Mike. "I guess."
"Tom..." Mike stretched out his arm towards him.
"I have to go," Tom said. He stood up. "I just think - this is over, right?"
"I dunno. Maybe."
"Yeah." Tom left the room, and went to pack up his stuff.
There was more than Mike had thought. A few odd clothes, a guitar and amp, just little things that had accumulated over 15 months. Tom had become part of the furniture.
Tom stood at the door and shrugged on his jacket. "I'll see you."
Mike went over. "I do love you." He swallowed as he spoke, so that the words came out strangled.
Tom looked at him from under his lashes. "Yeah. I think in some way, you do."
"Tom, please-"
"I can't."
Mike couldn’t say anything. Not one damn thing.
Tom left, letting cold air in as he did so.
Bill’s warnings had been right. It affected the band. Mike could kick himself for that.
*
Kevin
Kevin was unexpected. A friend of a friend in LA introduced Mike to a gaggle of people at a house party, including 3 dark-haired young men who Mike couldn't fail to reognize. In person it was strange how alike they looked. He smiled, said hi, and grabbed a drink.
He didn't expect to like them. What could he have in common with the Jonas brothers? But then he got to talking with Nick about music, along with their mutual buddy Shane, and Joe turned out to have a filthy sense of humor and a wickedly infectious laugh, and Kevin... Kevin had no idea about how adorable he was, and his self-consciousness was endearing. Mike ended up perched on a coffee table opposite Kevin and a friend, laughing and joking with him. He left the party having had a better time than he thought he would.
He ran into Kevin a few times over the next few weeks, once in a restaurant, once at the mall, and again at a friend's engagement party. Then the 4th time, at an independent coffee place that was always quiet.
"Hey," Mike said, smiling. "This is getting to be a habit."
"Hello, ha, yeah," Kevin said.
"People will start rumors about us," Mike said. He was teasing, but a faint blush rose on Kevin's cheeks. "Could I get you a coffee?"
"Sure, thank you." Kevin gave his order and Mike handed the barista a twenty.
They took a table close to the back.
"So what brings you here?" Mike asked.
"Oh, you know. Just in the area. I'm meeting Nick up on Sunset soon."
"Cool, how is he?"
"He's great, yeah." Kevin relaxed when talking about his family, a wide smile taking over his features. Mike wanted to keep him talking and couldn't help smiling back.
Coffee drunk, Kevin apologetically stood up, checking the time on his cell phone. “I have to go meet Nick.”
“Sure, well, it was nice seeing you again.”
“Yeah, you too... Look... I wondered if maybe you’d like to have dinner with me one evening?” Kevin’s eyes slid away from Mike as he said.
“Like... Dinner?”
“Like a date type of dinner.”
Mike couldn’t recall having ever been asked out for dinner before. “I’d like that.”
“I - oh wow. I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“Was I not supposed to?” Mike joked.
“No, I’m glad! I - no. Yeah. Dinner.”
“Will be great. When?”
“I don’t know. Friday?”
Mike smiled. “Yes.”
“Could I maybe take your number?”
Mike gave him it, typed the number in carefully to Kevin’s phone. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll call,” Kevin said, and he did, barely an hour after Mike got home.
They meet for coffee again, and then for dinner, then Mike invites Kevin over to his. This does mean he has to clean, which he does. He even buys some flowers.
Kevin arrives with a bottle of wine and some OJ. “Because I don’t drink,” he says apologetically.
“Hey, no problem. Thanks. Come in.”
Kevin looks comfortable on the couch, making the place look more like a home than Mike has managed in 3 years. He toes off his shoes and stretches out. Mike brings him a glass of juice and sits near him, close but not too close. Mike’s not even sure if they’re properly dating. He hopes they are though; he really likes Kevin.
He’s made a mozzarella salad, then carbonara, which he’s pretty good at. Finally he has his friend Heather’s brownies, which are super chocolatey and squidgy.
“Oh my goodness,” Kevin says, tasting one.
“They’re good, right?”
“Amazing.”
“I’ll pass on your compliments.”
“Can I marry her? I would marry her just for these.”
Mike laughs. “Aren’t you a little too gay for that?”
“Yeah, but I would go straight.”
“You’re easily bought.”
“Hey!” Kevin tries to look affronted but fails. “I’m anything but easy.”
Mike cannot stop laughing at the look on Kevin’s face. Kevin joins in, grinning, and reaches across the take Mike’s hand.
Mike smiles at him, delighted, for way too long.
“We should clean up,” Kevin says eventually. He stands up and pulls Mike with him, picking up a plate. Mike follows, Kevin stacks the plate by the sink, he turns, and Mike steps into his space to kiss him.
It’s tentative and soft. Kevin tastes good, like stars and sugar and love.
When they finally pull away, Kevin says dazedly, “You taste of wine.”
Mike rests his forehead against Kevin’s, comfortably. Kevin strokes his arm gently.
Mike is never ever giving this guy up.
*
It’s past 2am and Kevin is yawning madly. “I should call a cab.”
“You’ll be waiting forever, why not just sleep over?”
Kevin’s face goes defensive. “Mike - no - you know I can’t.”
“I’ll take the couch,” Mike says.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Kevin follows him through to the bedroom and starts to get undressed while Mike rummages in the closet for the sleeping bag he knows is stashed there. When he turns Kevin is sitting up in bed in his t-shirt.
“You’re cute,” Mike says.
“Thanks. Your bed is comfortable.”
“Yeah, it’s the best.” Mike grabs two pillows and kisses Kevin chastely. “Goodnight.”
Kevin gently tugs the sleeping bag out of his hands and pulls him down, kissing him, one hand running up his side.
Mike moves down carefully, kissing back, deepening it and licking into Kevin’s mouth, which makes him make this tiny noise that goes straight to Mike’s dick.
Eventually Kevin pulls away. “Mike - I can’t.”
“No, yeah.” Mike understands and moves away immediately. He does not want to be the guy that pressures someone. “Sorry.”
Kevin catches his hand. “Don’t apologize. I want to, I really do, but I also want to wait until I’m married.”
Mike nods. “I know. I’ll leave you sleep, okay?”
“You could - I mean if you wanted to - you could sleep here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Kevin smiles softly.
Mike gets undressed, aware of Kevin’s eyes on him, making him feel naked under the scrutiny.
They lie side by side in the dark, holding hands.
“I just,” Kevin starts. “When I do it, I want it to be with a guy I really love.”
“I get that, it’s important to you.”
Kevin moves closer. Mike hugs him gently.
“I would like you to be that guy,” Kevin says quietly.
Mike’s stomach is warm, a wonderful warmth that he could really get used to. He says nothing, just finds Kevin’s mouth to kiss.
When they wake up, they’re spooned together comfortably.
*
“Marry me,” Mike says, standing shoulder to shoulder with Kevin on the pier, nothing but clean blue ocean beneath them.
“Yeah, good try, Mikes.”
“I mean it.”
“Sure you do.”
It’s the middle of the summer and they’ve been dating for five months, growing comfortable and getting to know everything about each other. They don’t have sex. Mike never thought he could live without it, but here he is, in the best and most grown up relationship of his life.
“Kevin, I do.” Mike turns to him. “I do mean it.”
“For sex? Is that it?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m proposing just so I can get into your pants!”
Kevin widens his eyes. “I don’t get it. Why would you even want to? We’re both young, we haven’t known each other that long, we-”
“Jesus fuck, Kevin!”
“Don’t swear,” Kevin says blithely.
“Listen to me, you. We’ve known each other long enough and we’re definitely fucking old enough-”
“Don’t swear!”
“Shut the hell up and listen. I do mean it. I want to marry you, I wanna be with you for-fucking-ever and wake up with you every fucking morning and buy a fucking house with you and have this big-ass fucking wedding because I love you, okay?! I really fucking love you!”
Kevin licks his lips, staring at Mike, for a long pause. Eventually he takes Mike’s hand. He’s smiling. Thank god, he’s smiling. “I love you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Yes, you idiot. Let’s get married. I want to. I do.”
Mike can’t help but throw his arms around Kevin and kiss him any place he can reach. “Thank fuck.”
“You’ve got to stop swearing,” Kevin says, although they both know he won’t.
*
Isaac
Kevin’s cousin Jonathan has been volunteering in Russia and lands back in LA. He comes to see Mike and Kevin for a few days before he goes home.
Kevin happily shows him their house. It is a pretty nice place, Mike has to admit. He makes dinner while they wander around, both chattering and exchanging news. He hears Jonathan exclaim over a wedding photo of the two of them that’s hanging in their bedroom. Mike smiles to himself.
“Dinner smells great,” Jonathan says, smiling as he comes in to the kitchen diner.
“Just steaks and fresh salad,” Mike says. “Can I get you a drink?”
Jonathan accepts a glass of lemonade and sits down. “Nice house.”
“Thank you,” Mike says. “We like it, right?”
Kevin nods. “It still needs a little work. We’re getting there.”
Mike serves them each a plate, then sits down with his own.
“You have enough room for when you have kids,” Jonathan says, tucking into his food.
Mike looks up at him sharply, but he doesn’t notice. Kevin doesn’t look up either. He and Mike hadn’t talked about having kids. Mike hadn’t thought about it, but now that he does, well. He’d love for them to investigate surrogacy or something, and although he has no burning desire to pass on his genes, he thinks that Kevin probably does. That would be okay. A mini-Kevin would be kind of sweet.
Later, he and Kevin are brushing their teeth in the small bathroom off their bedroom, bumping hips like they always do, just a stupid game that they’ve done ever since they moved into this house. They have his’n’hers sinks in a vanity. Kevin insists on calling them his’n’his sinks.
“Jonathan was telling me about these kids he saw in Russia,” Kevin begins.
“Oh yeah?”
“Orphans. Lots of them.”
“That’s sad.”
“We could adopt one.”
Mike spits and then looks at Kevin’s reflection in the mirror. “Adopt a Russian baby?”
“Yeah. Jonathan says a few American families do it.”
“But - me and you.”
“We’re a family, aren’t we?” Kevin sets his chin obstinately.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Mike begins. “I just - we hadn’t talked about it.”
“Well, I’m talking about it now.”
“I see that.” Mike splashes his face and grabs a towel. “You’d really want to adopt?”
“I hate the idea of so many kids in orphanages with no one to care for them, when we could afford it.”
Mike turns to him properly this time. “Let’s look into it.”
“Yeah,” Kevin says, as if it was already a done deal. “Let’s.”
*
Moscow is freezing in February. Mike has clearly been living in LA too long because this is way, way, way too cold.
Their facilitator, Elena, meets them at their hotel. She and Kevin don’t seem to notice the cold. They greet each other warmly. They’ve talked to Elena a few times on the phone and many times on Skype, but haven’t met before. She’s tall, and graceful, and unflustered. She orders coffee for the three of them and they sit down.
Their baby is 10 months old. He’s a boy, given up for adoption at two weeks of age, and has waited the requisite 8 months for adoption within the region and within Russia. They’re here to accept the referral in court, and then they must return home to wait for their court date to get the baby.
“It could be 9 months,” Elena tells them, “but many are much less.”
“How long?” Kevin asks.
“Probably five.”
“So he could be home by August.”
“Hopefully, yes.”
“But definitely by Christmas?”
“Oh, yes. I would think so.”
Kevin smiles at Mike. “Great.”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “Good.”
They get the chance to meet the baby, but they’re both trying desperately to not attach to him too much in case anything falls through. The orphanage is nice; cosy, warm, and staffed by people who seem to genuinely care for every one of the kids in there. It’s not their fault there are so many.
The baby has a Russian name, given to him by his mother. They’re going to keep it as his middle name while giving him a more American first name. They just can’t decide what that name should actually be.
“We can decide when we actually bring him home,” Kevin says on the plane on the way home. “We don’t have to decide now.”
“True. Something might inspire us.” Mike can’t get the picture of the baby out of his mind. He wants this so desperately to work out, suddenly. It feels much more real now.
Kevin seems to know this, and reaches to stroke his thigh softly. “It will work,” he says. “He’ll be home with us by the fall.”
*
They’re stuck between Isaac and Benjamin when they leave LA in June for Moscow. The baby is now almost 14 months old. They have their court date set, and then they have to stay in Moscow for ten days before they can travel home. They don’t have a lot of stuff. Elena has assured them that anything they need they can buy in Moscow. Mike’s still nervous even on the plane that it could all go wrong.
Kevin is reading every book he can find on adopting a child, on adopting an older baby, on adopting from abroad, etc etc. Mike’s read a few too, but now he’s reading a crime novel, trying very hard to ignore the time.
Moscow is warmer this time. They get a cab to the hotel that they stayed at before, and settle in before setting out to find dinner.
“Last night of freedom,” Kevin grins.
“Oh, totally,” Mike nods. “After this it’ll be all sleepless nights and baby vomit.”
Kevin laughs. “I can’t wait.”
“Me either,” Mike says, and steals one of Kevin’s fries.
“What do they mean?” Kevin says out of nowhere a few minutes later.
“What?”
“The names. Isaac or Benjamin. Maybe we’ll know by their meanings. Like my name means ‘handsome’.”
“Oh, well you certainly are that,” Mike laughs, winking at Kevin. “I don’t know. Google it.”
Kevin does so, scrolling down on his phone. “Ohhhh,” he breathes a few minutes later. “It has to be Isaac.”
“Why? Is it good?”
Kevin nods and looks at him. “It means ‘he who will laugh’. We have to call him that. I want him to be happy.”
Mike nods too, liking it too. “Isaac. Yes.”
“Isaac Jonas-Carden,” Kevin says, trying it out. “I love it.”
He’s fussy at first, unused to them and unused to the quiet of the hotel room. He likes it when the TV is on. The court date passed without incident. Elena kissed them both on the steps of the courthouse, and told them to keep in touch “in case you ever want a sibling for him”. Now they’re waiting in the hotel, trying to not go stir-crazy. Everyone in the world has Skyped them, and everyone can’t wait for them to bring the baby home, but Mike kind of likes it just being the three of them.
Isaac is sleeping in a bassinet that is really too small for him, which makes him crankier. Kevin has taken to getting him to sleep by rocking him, arguing that it gets him used to them. To Mike it just means that when he wakes up, he’s confused by being laid down in something uncomfortable.
Mike is already used to his cry, knows when to catch it before it turns full-scale. It’s 5am when he picks Isaac up just before he begins to wail.
“Hey, baby,” he says quietly, aware that Kevin is still asleep. “It’s okay. We’ll get you some milk, okay?”
Isaac is chewing on his hand, a sure sign that he’s hungry. Mike can make up a bottle with one hand already. Finally he sits down by the window, cradling Isaac in his arm to feed him.
Isaac makes happy snuffling noises.
“That’s good,” Mike tells him. “You’re getting used to us, huh?” He pulls the curtain back slightly so that he can see outside, and so that a little bit of light spills on to the baby.
Isaac smiles around the bottle. It’s a gorgeous smile, showing off his few tiny teeth and crinkling his eyes. He does have beautiful eyes.
Mike leans down and kisses his hair. “Hey Isaac,” he says, “I think I love you.”