Work Text:
The humid summer air hangs heavy around the two boys. That, paired with the buzzing of a group of dragonflies, creates an almost-barrier between them and the screeching kids from Mikey’s elementary school. The two of them are alone, huddled up under a birch tree, as far away as possible from everyone else down on the beach.
“What colour do you want?”
Mikey’s small voice breaks through the hum, and just like that, Gerard tunes everything else out.
“Huh?”
He looks away from the sketchbook on his lap, abandoning whatever doodle he was working on in favour of gazing down at his brother. Mikey squints his eyes, like it’s obvious what he's talking about.
“I’m gonna go get freezies.”
He nods vaguely in the direction of some coolers where the chaperones are gathered.
“Oh. Uh. I don’t know. Same one as you, I guess.”
He smiles and rolls his eyes. “Kay. Be right back.”
Mikey hauls himself up, dusts dead grass off his calves and starts down the hill. Gerard, almost on autopilot, flips to a fresh page and starts scribbling shapes. Shoulders, the collar of a tshirt, arms; sweat, damp hairs on the back of the figures neck.
Wavy lines come together to form something resembling his brother. He weaves little hearts into the linework, details squirrelled away where only he could find them. Spokes of a training wheel, action figure limbs, blank pages of a book, that one about the ocean Mikey loves. Abstract. Esoteric. Flashy words come to mind, uttered by his underpaid highschool art teacher.
Sneakers ruffle the grass as Mikey gets back, he's a bit out of breath. He flops down in his spot and bites a chunk from the purple freezie in his hand, wincing a little at the plastic digging into the soft corners of his mouth.
“Here,” he grins, yellowy teeth stick out against purple stained lips. “Here you go.” He hands another freezie, halfmelted, to Gerard, and wipes the condensation off his hand onto the side of his shorts.
Mikey’s eyes shift down to the sketchbook on Gerard’s lap.
“What’re you drawing?”
He leans in, slings an arm over Gerard’s shoulder, and Gerard can feel the warm stickiness of his hand lift up the fabric of his shirt.
“Is that me?”
“Uh,”
“Looks good.”
“Thanks.”