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There was always something that felt unholy whenever Gerard touched Mikey. It would be his hands or feet, or the back of his head, but it never went away. The feeling never seemed to go away until he finally figured out why he couldn't stop himself from getting close.
It made him feel sick inside every time it happened, yet it felt right in so many different ways at once. Every time the feelings grew more intense, they got worse too. They became almost unbearable and then, suddenly, there was a moment where it all went away. Just like when he stopped touching him because it made him feel so much worse. The feeling of guilt and pain, however, did not go away.
He thought about it, but could not figure out how or what was making this happen. All he knew is that whenever he touched Mikey he felt so bad that he wanted nothing more than to just run far, far away from him. He didn't know how to explain it, not really anyway, and he knew that Mikey wouldn't ask either. He just knew. He could tell by the way he looked at Gerard sometimes with a mix of confusion and worry, as if he'd never seen him before. Even his voice sounded sadder. Like he wasn't used to Gerard's strange, sudden mood swings. Or maybe that had something to do with the fact that even though Gerard would talk nonstop, he would barely look at Mikey. He only focused on his papers and would occasionally glance at him, and the longer their staring went on the more uncomfortable it felt.
And now, as Mikey lay unconscious on his bed after spending the evening trying to watch some TV show, he realized that all of those feelings were coming together into one terrifying thing that sent shivers down his spine. He wanted to touch Mikey. He wanted to trace his fingers into his porcelain skin and dig deeper into his flesh whenever it felt tender, he wanted to rip him up and watch him squirm with those big eyes fueled by raging love and sickness and lust and...
The feeling was so intense that even his own body began to tremble uncontrollably. He wanted to do it, but the feeling made him feel so sick that he just stared at Mikey with wide eyes while he trembled helplessly under the blanket he wore over his body. He was shaking so hard that he feared that it might break through and hit Mikey who still laid unconscious on his bed. And as if sensing the fear of the younger boy in the room, his breath slowed down enough for him to realize that the feeling was leaving him and that he was safe now.
But he also knew it wouldn't last long since soon enough he would reach out to Mikey once again and that he would begin the cycle anew.
He wanted Mikey as a whole, not as a brother or a friend, he wanted something unholy and forbidden and rotten and these feelings whenever Gerard touched him only grew stronger to let him know that what he wanted was wrong. That he shouldn't want it, because Mikey should hate him. Because Gerard was disgusting and gross and a freak and everything Mikey despised. Everything Mikey wanted to hate.
But still he craved his touch and it burned his brain and his fingers and he only could imagine himself with Mikey being part of demonic paintings and rotten paragraphs, he craved his skin and his love and his teeth and it was wrong. Mikey was still unconscious in his bed and his breath was steady, but it would all be alright now. He'd save him. It would be okay.
There’s nothing else to do though. He can't leave. Not right now. Not ever. So he sits on the edge of his bed beside Mikey’s head watching him sleep and waiting for him to understand they were born to be unholy. There is no light here except the blue glow of the moon shining through their window. The sky outside is clear and full of stars, there's no other sound than the soft snores coming from Mikey next to him. It doesn't matter that he's asleep. They are alone. Alone with each other.