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There were people who tended to define "anxiety."
Mikey never seemed to define it, in Ray's eyes, however. He seemed cool, collected, and, well, never anxious at all about literally anything. Of course, he had his moments where his jaw would clench and his entire body would go rigid, but those moments were few and far between, and they only happened under such a specific condition, Ray could have looked at it as extremely reasonable or extremely frightening and dangerous.
It was when he was touched physically, or had his clothes yanked or touched, or when someone got just a little bit too close to his bare skin. Even the mention of changing clothes seemed to make Mikey's skin visibly crawl. Ray, Frank, Bob, and Gerard were all relatively relaxed about their clothes and where they ended up (Ray a bit less than the others), and it wasn't uncommon to see them shirtless or pants-less in the bus or the hotel room. But Mikey's modesty was almost worrying.
Multiple times, Ray had tried and failed to come up with a logical solution to why the skinny vampire bass player got the jitters when someone even jokingly jerks on his jacket sleeve. Eating disorders were out of the question- Gerard would have found out and gotten him some help, and a Ray's seen his eating habits. Next was the phobia of physical touch- which, again, wasn't realistic because of Gerard. They were brothers and practically hung off of each other. Being so pale that you blind people with your shirt off? The Ways tan so easily, Gerard has caked on literal flour so he looks like a vampire, so he chalked that theory up as false.
So, what was it?
Ray was totally stumped, and was still running through every possible theory under the sun as he watched Mikey pay half of his attention to his phone and half to the rerun on the hotel TV. Weird back thing (Scoliosis, Gerard reminds him), scars, stomach mouth, extra arms, vitamin deficiency- you name it, it probably went through Ray's brain. And he was very, very quickly running out of ideas.
When Mikey stretched out a little, and a Halloween commercial played on TV, the absolutely bonkers idea that Mikey was actually reanimated corpse sewn together by some crazy college dropout came to mind, just by seeing the green Frankenstein's Monster on the TV.
Ray had briefly thumbed through the pages of Mary Shelley's novel at one point in high school, and although he barely remembered anything about Lord Byron or the main characteristics of Victor's wife, he vaguely recalled the creation of Frankenstein being intelligent and helpful, but rejected simply because he was supposedly awful to look at (and according to the Hallmark film adaption, it actually wasn't that bad. He just kinda had a big forehead and greasy hair. Like Gerard, sort of).
Of course, Ray was quick to dismiss such an unrealistic idea, dumping it in the mental trash bin next to the vampire and stomach-mouth theories (although they seemed pretty cool). He went back to watching the TV and trying to crack the bass-playing code with horrendous posture but a ridiculously nice jawline.
(That sounded kind of gay, Mr. Toro, but whatever. That isn't relevant right now.)
Mikey suddenly glanced at Ray with a hint of concern in his eyes, like he knew that Ray was wondering about what lay under his Anthrax shirt. He said, "Hey, uh, I just got a message from Bob. He's gonna get takeout, but he's short some money. You got anything on you?"
Ray absentmindedly pulled out his wallet and thumbed through. "How much?"
"Like, uh... Three dollars."
"Oh, yeah, I got that," Ray pulled out three crumpled dollar bills.
Mikey reached over and grabbed them. "I'll run those next door."
"Really? I could do that," Ray itched his neck, noticing something he never had before; Mikey's shoulders were a little uneven. Under oversized jackets, it was unseen, but the old Anthrax shirt gave it away.
"Yeah, but Bob messaged me," Mikey replied, shrugging those uneven shoulders nonchalantly. Ray figured he should be bothered by it, by his crooked frame, but it seemed... oh, he didn't have the words for it.
"Okay, then," He nodded, setting his wallet on the nightstand. He knew Bob would order the usual. He wasn't exactly fond of takeout, but whatever. At least it isn't McDonald's.
Mikey walked over to the door and headed out with the money, and Ray also noticed how awkward his gait was. One knee seemed higher than the other, and he limped, but only barely. Was it a result of scoliosis? Bad posture? Pinched nerve?
Mismatched body parts, rang an insistent voice in Ray's mind, perhaps?
Shut up, he ordered, and go back to the trash bin.
It was a brief exchange before Mikey returned and crashed into his bed, and Ray was still thinking hard. The cogs of his mind were turning so fast, you'd think they would melt from the heat and friction.
Mikey adjusted himself until he was laying on his stomach and messing around on his phone, not even paying attention to the show on TV anymore.
How have I not noticed all of that before? Ray asked himself, eyeing his friend suspiciously. His peculiar manner of walking, his lopsided shoulders, paired with his aversion to being touched or having his clothes touched all seemed to point at a ridiculous number of things, altogether ruling out being a vampire, being too pale...
Ray wasn't sure if anyone else had noticed- he was sure Gerard hadn't, since if he had, something would have changed drastically. Bob and Frank, however, were wild cards. They either noticed and didn't say anything, or they were oblivious. Either way, it was driving Ray mad. He wanted to know if Mikey was alright. But it's not like you could just say, "hey I noticed you were limping earlier and your shoulders are lopsided, are you okay" to your friend and expect them to answer normally! Especially since he's Mikey- he could tell Gerard what happened and boom, you're out of the band because of harassment.
He just... Didn't want to intrude on a sensitive subject.
So Ray decided to not say anything about it, and went back to watching TV.
-----
He was unsure of how much time had passed, but he noticed it was a bit darker out when he looked out the window, and Mikey had disappeared. The TV was playing some old Halloween special that he couldn't place the name of, so he stood up and turned it off. He wasn't really in the mood.
He kicked something as he made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself, and it rolled into the wall with a soft knock. Confused, he approached what he kicked and picked it up, to reveal that it was some kind of black thread.
Weird
As Ray examined it further, it didn't look like craft thread you'd find in your grandmother's sewing kit, either- it was a spool with solid, uniform print, with shiny braided thread, and a plastic cover over it.
Surgical Thread. Silk. Color: Black
Surgical thread? Ray asked himself, looking over the spool in confusion. Who on earth would need this? And why? Did someone who had the room last have it? Why did they leave it?
Is it Mikey's?
Well, no, of course not, Ray told himself, shaking his head and sighing. Why would he need it? What was he sewing?
He set it on the nightstand and went to the bathroom without further thought of the spool of surgical thread. It was a weird little object to find in your hotel room, but maybe he could spin up a tail to tell during an interview. Maybe they shared a hotel with a doctor who performed an emergency surgery in one of the hotel rooms! Who knew? The possibilities were endless.
After doing his business and leaving, he noticed Mikey had returned, holding a little box of what he assumed was takeout.
"Food's here," he mumbled through a mouthful of whatever rice he was eating.
"Nice," Ray smiled a little, going to sit on his bed.
Mikey's eye seemed to catch the spool that Ray had temporarily forgotten about, and he swallowed thickly. It can be debated if it was the rice or fear that caused his throat to tighten. "What's that?"
"Oh? Oh, I found that just earlier," Ray leaned over, grabbing a box. "I dunno. Thread."
"Weird," Mikey murmured, and it seemed, just to Ray, that his neck went stiff, that his jaw locked up, just like it would when someone would get too close. Something was bothering him, and he was forcing himself to relax about it.
"Yeah, man. Like, who could have had it?" He asked, almost rhetorically.
"I don't know..." He took another bite and sighed through his nose. "Weird shit."
"Yeah," Ray agreed, but he sensed a shift in the mood. The air around Mikey seemed tense, like he was waiting for something important.
Whatever, Ray told himself. I'm probably just overthinking it. Mikey's couldn't be hiding anything. Besides, he thinks the thread is a little weird, too.
And he left it at that and had dinner, because what else were you to do in a city you knew nothing about, in a hotel room, when it's getting late at night, and you had takeout?
-----
There was a thunderstorm that night.
The wind and rain battered the window, and thunder rumbled and rolled in the distance. It was a miracle Mikey was sleeping through it, because Ray sure as hell was not.
Mikey was rolled over in his bed, snoring a little, while Ray jumped and flinched at every flash and boom that went off outside. The drawn curtains did nothing to block the sound of rain pelting against the glass like a crowd of people running away from something. He hated storms, just as much as he hated to admit he liked it better when it stormed and they were in the bus. For him, he was closer to someone, and it was comforting.
Closer to Mikey, to be precise, but that's not important right now.
Ray watched as the lightning lit up the walls like fireworks, and seeing the stark shadows still linger afterwards like lost ghosts. It was mesmerizing, but also frightening, since, you know, it was loud and Ray wasn't too fond of pounding sounds unless it was a drum set.
He watched as Mikey kicked off some of his blankets and roll over again, sleeping completely fine in the raging storm that seemed intent on keeping literally everyone else awake. His shirt was riding up his stomach and chest, and Ray sighed and turned back over to the window, as to give him some privacy. He may have wanted to know why Mikey hated being touched or gotten too close to, but he was gonna wait. He'll know in time, but now wasn't it. Mikey will come forward with whatever it is eventually.
But, God, was Ray curious.
His body wouldn't respond to his mind whispering, roll over and see when the lightning flashes. Do it. Just don't tell Mikey. He won't know, and it won't hurt him. Besides, it's probably nothing, anyways. Scoliosis, a really ugly scar- hell, maybe he's actually really pale, who knows? Just roll over and take a gander. And Ray really, really wanted to look. It was gnawing away at him. He wanted answers about why Mikey was the way he was, and there they were! Laid out for him on the cheap hotel sheets, under a worn-out sleep shirt!
Carefully, Ray shifted into his back and stared at the ceiling, torn between respecting his friend's privacy and quenching his thirst for knowing. He pressed his mouth into a thin, frustrated line and groaned. Just a peek?
He shifted over once more and watched the darkened silhouette of his friend, rising and falling a little as he slept, unaware of the eyes upon him. He couldn't make out much, just his arm thrown over his eyes as he mumbled something about... Pete Wentz? Oh, well. He was dreaming.
And, just as if it were a TV show where everything happens right on queue, another flash of lightning illuminated the room through the curtains.
And he still couldn't see it. The flash was much too quick.
He sighed under his breath. I'll just have to wait, he thought, a little disappointed.
But then there was another light.
Thanks to a nicely planned malfunctioning street light that finally registered that it was dark out because of the lightning, a gentle orange glow filtered into the window, casting a projection of the raindrops into the hotel room, like the walls were sweating.
And there was Mikey, asleep through it all, and, wow, that literally wasn't anything Ray expected.
He wasn't expecting his upper right arm- the arm draped over his face- to be slightly paler than him, skinnier, and stitched on at what Ray guessed was the shoulder. Stitched, like cloth. And there was more- patches of actual human skin were sewn, not onto Mikey's body, but into it like a quilt. A patchwork of darker and lighter skin tones littered his chest like stained glass. His stomach was (how to say this delicately) sunken in and poorly constructed, the patches messily overlapping like someone had hastily fixed a doll.
And, dear God, Ray was mesmerized by this.
To anyone else, even Gerard, there would have been a response like gagging, screaming, or at least wrinkling of the nose and wincing in disgust and discomfort, but Ray found it... Again, he was at a loss for words. Mikey seemed to have taken his breath, and his vocabulary, away.
And that's when the thunder clapped outside, shaking Ray from his trance, and causing Mikey to snort himself awake. Very elegant.
Ray couldn't move, watching Mikey sit up and pull the shirt down over his body, and their eyes met slowly. It wasn't romance, and it wasn't anger. But there was something that hung in the air, heralded by the thunder and punctuated by Ray murmuring, "Uh..."
Mikey's eyes blinked slowly, before he began to slide out of bed, intent on going God knows where.
"Mikes," Ray breathed, finally able to speak. There was something that hung with the endearing nickname that caused the younger Way brother to pause. "Please stay."
As Ray took another good, long look at Mikey, he did notice and pinpoint parts of him that seemed off, and maybe sewn in like his torso. His left hand was tanned from the wrist down, and there were a few patches on his collarbone that he could make out, because his shirt was hanging off his shoulder. His knees were definitely not his- they were much different sizes.
"I..." Mikey trailed off, unsure. His jaw was tight again, and his whole body seemed ready to flee. His stitched-together body. "N-no, I... I can't."
"Mikey," Ray steeled his nerves and decided enough was enough. He was going to find out. "Please tell me."
"W-what? What should I tell you?" Mikey ended that statement with a bitter laugh. "You know already."
"Not really," Ray looked down at the floor. "I only saw what was under your shirt. I wanna know what happened. Like, the story."
"What happened to me?"
"Yes. Who else would I be talking about? Bob?" Ray joked a little in an attempt to lighten the mood, but his smile faltered slowly.
Mikey didn't register the humor, and only sighed. He appeared to be weighed down by something unsettling, and it was a minute before he whispered in defeat, "I don't want you to tell anyone, okay?"
"I swear on my life, no one finds out," Ray promised. And he meant it, too.
"...Okay," he nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Take your time, Mikey," Ray encouraged. "We have all night."
Mikey glanced at the wall, and Ray followed his gaze. It was five after midnight. He seemed to relax, but only a little. His overly-straightened hair stuck to his jaw from being asleep.
Frankenstein.
There was that word again, from earlier that day. It hung in Ray's mind briefly, and he decided that this was probably what Mikey was. To an extent, of course- Victor Frankenstein never existed. But, the idea was similar- he was a dead body, decomposing somewhere, and someone took him and other body parts and sewed them together, and managed to revive him. Mikey was, more or less, Frankenstein's creation, minus Lord Byron and Victor Frankenstein.
Ray was half expecting Mikey to cry, to postpone the explanation, or something, but he just seemed numb and stiff.
He got up out of his own bed and sat down next to Mikey, who slowly moved his legs back under the sheets and began picking at his fingers absentmindedly. Mikey's eyes seemed to be avoiding Ray, even though he murmured, "Are you sure you wanna know?"
"Of course I want to know," Ray hummed. "It's a big deal, and if it helps take some weight off your shoulders, I'm listening."
Mikey nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Okay."
Ray reached over with great hesitation, and planted a hand on Mikey's shoulder tenderly. "Go ahead."
Mikey sighed. "It was... It was awhile before the band started. I'd barely gotten out of high school, and then... Then you heard that I was gone for awhile, right?"
"Yeah," Ray nodded, recalling. "For a few months."
"I died," he stated simply. "I was pushed out of a window and the impact broke my back. Killed me."
Ray blinked, taking in the information. "...you died."
"Yep," Mikey nodded a little. "And this guy found me. Don't remember his name, but from what he told me, he was... Experimenting. He found my body in a dumpster, and he brought me to his basement. I was his test subject."
"And he... Revived you?"
"Yeah. He was digging up graves and stealing functional body parts and- and he revived me. But he didn't use a thunderstorm. He used a defibrillator," Mikey did laugh that time, but just a little.
Ray laughed with him. "Modern-day Frankenstein can't wait for the weather to turn, huh?"
"Nope," Mikey shook his head. "And then he sent me home with some supplies to keep myself put together."
"That's it?"
"Yup. I think he got arrested after that."
"Well, I'm... I'm happy he brought you back. You don't... You don't feel different from before, do you?"
Mikey shook his head again, finally smiling a little. "Not one bit. I did feel numb for awhile afterwards, but my body's still working just like it did before- although some of my organs and body parts... Aren't mine."
Ray's eyes meandered to Mikey's arms. "What did he give you?"
"That surgical thread you found," he replied, inspecting one of his stitches on his hand. "Surgery needles, scalpels. Medical supplies in case I fall apart a little."
"H-have you ever?" Ray asked, his heart skipping a beat at the words "fall apart a little."
"Fallen apart?" Mikey clarified. "Oh, yeah, once. It was my hand."
"How bad was it?" Ray's body tensed.
"Not bad. Barely felt it, and there wasn't any blood. Sewed it back on easily," Mikey shrugged.
Ray relaxed a bit. "Thank God, man."
"Yeah. So uh..." Mikey looked up. "That's it, I guess."
"That's it?" Ray tilted his head. "So, I'm the only person who knows?"
"Yep," Mikey confirmed. "Not even Gerard knows. Legally, I'm still alive, thank God."
"What were you going to do in those months?" Ray wondered.
"Learn more bass," Mikey tilted his head to the side, shrugging one shoulder to support it. "I managed to eventually, after I... Recovered."
"Okay," Ray nodded. "That's, uh, that's a lot to take in."
"That's why I don't tell people," Mikey reasoned. "Because it's just... It's too much, even for me sometimes."
"But this is good, right?" He asked. "You don't have to deal with the fact that you died and came back by yourself anymore. You- you have me, right?"
Mikey hesitated to reply, but he seemed to agree before he acknowledged it. His harsh gaze at his fingers softened, and his posture shifted as if he were opening up more. "...I guess that's true."
"I'm happy you told me," Ray admitted. "I did notice some weird things, but, like, it never really occurred to me that it was bothering you that much."
"I-" he paused, his breath hitching. "I mean- It does bother me. A lot, actually. I hate that- that he couldn't save my legs, or- or my hand, or keep my shoulders-"
"Mikey," Ray interrupted, his voice tender. He could hear the fragility in Mikey, as he went on about how his body was barely salvageable. "Mikey, that's all okay. It's fine."
"I should be dead, Ray- I- I'm just- I'm all wrong," he sucked a breath in through his clenched teeth. "This isn't right."
"But it happened anyways," Ray murmured, hoping Mikey's eyes would look up to meet his own. "It happened for a reason."
"Why, then?" He asked. "Why?"
"I- I don't know," he shook his head slightly, trying to think. "But- but it happened and you're here, and without you, the band wouldn't be a thing, and Gerard might have hurt himself, and Frank would have gotten drunk somewhere, or something."
Mikey stopped picking at his hands and looked up to meet Ray's eyes finally. His usual stony expression was replaced with shame, and maybe even fear. "It's not normal, Ray- I- I'm not normal. I- I shouldn't-"
"Stop that, okay? Stop that right now," Rat ordered, and another flash of lightning seemed to agree with him. "This is going to be our normal. This is our normal. You're alive. You might be sewn together, and your knees might not match, and all that, but- but that's normal. That's okay."
"Is it, though? I'm a reanimated corpse."
"So what? Frank should be dead with how much he throws himself around onstage! What if he's just like you?"
Mikey laughed a little, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's impossible."
"A lot of the shit we do is impossible. Haven't you seen another band advocating for gay rights?" Ray asked.
"Queen, I think."
"Queen, okay. Anyone else?"
"Not off the top of my head."
"Exactly. If we can be one of the only bands that advocates for gay kids, you can be the only bass player who died and came back to life. Because that's our normal."
Mikey nodded a little, sighing shakily. "I-"
Thunder rattled the window again, and Mikey was interrupted by Ray jumping and almost falling off the bed. "Fuck!"
"Ray, are you alright?" Mikey leaned forward and glanced at the window.
"Shit, fuck, I'm fine," he laughed nervously, shaking his head. "I hate storms."
"You do?" Mikey tilted his head. "I never knew that."
"Yeah, well, I always have. The bus was always better to sleep in," he mumbled.
"Have you slept at all?"
"No."
"God, it's that bad, huh?" Mikey pressed his lips into a thin line.
"And on top of all that, I broke my headphones the other day, so fuck listening to music," Ray laughed a little dryly.
"Oh, I have some," Mikey perked up a little. "Let me go find them."
"Wait, really?" He was genuinely surprised. "You don't have to do that."
"I literally just bared my soul, and you're asking for nothing in return except to be able to sleep through the night, and even that wasn't even a related subject," Mikey brought up his bag and dug around a little bit. "It's the least I can do."
"Oh, Mikey," he was touched, and maybe a little smitten with the sight of Mikey's partially-open mouth as he searched.
"Here," he procured the headphones, wrapped up neatly. "Careful with them."
"O-of course," he nodded, reaching over to take them.
"Who am I kidding? You're always careful," Mikey smiled and shook his head, setting his bag back down.
"Oh, well, you know, I try."
"They're noise-cancelling, too," Mikey gestured a little. "So, uh, you can sleep."
"That's great," Ray nodded. "Will you be going to sleep anytime soon?"
"...god, I just," Mikey laughed nervously. "No, probably not. My mind's all over the place now."
"Oh, shit, sorry," Ray grimaced at himself. Nice going, man, you woke him up and now he can't sleep. "Uh, want me to stay up with you?"
"Really?" Mikey's eyes widened slightly. "You haven't slept at all."
"Yeah, but I woke you up."
"I mean..." He looked down, then shrugged. "If you want to."
"Sure. Wanna watch TV?" Ray glanced at the clock. Probably more Halloween specials on at this hour anyways.
-----
It was a little bit of a surprise to Ray to find himself sprawled out on his bed the next morning, because the last thing he remembered was watching Dracula. But as his gaze lazily fell on the still-on TV, he heard Mikey's gentle breathing near him, and felt an arm- a rather skinny arm -draped over his chest. In most circumstances, Ray would have gotten up and moved, and maybe woken Mikey up, but there was something intimate keeping him on the cheap hotel mattress with his friend almost on top of him, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the weight, or the fact that he was still groggy, or maybe it was the glimpse of Mikey's too-small shoulder that reminded Ray of the moments they shared the night before.
And so he remained still.