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The sound of his skateboard along the asphalt was only made louder by the silence of the night. Rumbling in his ears like thunder, even with the cheap dollar store headphones that covered them. The foam was already falling off even though he had only had them for a week. They were connected into his Walkman, but nothing was playing. Anything he’d try to play would undoubtedly skip to all hell with every pebble that passed under his wheels.
Officially, he and Mikey didn’t have plans. In fact, he had told Mikey that the odds of him having time to show up were slim. i am a graveyard was Frank's new passion project, and he’d be damned if he skipped out on rehearsal early.
But rehearsal was supposed to run until 1am. So, call him damned.
At least he didn’t need to think about the route much at all. The quiet suburban streets were like a second home. And like he had some internal Mikey beacon, Frank would be able to make his way there with his eyes closed.
The house was dark, except for the sliver of light spilling out the basement window. Gerard must’ve been awake. Which wouldn’t surprise Frank. If he hadn’t seen Gerard eat garlic bread with his own eyes, he might’ve been convinced he was a vampire. He had certainly come a little too close to believing it when he was eight years old, and Mikey had first insinuated it.
Frank kicked up his board, carrying it with him as he went up the lawn, and around to the back. He was eyeing the second storey the whole time. As soon as he turned the corner, he saw him. Mikey, sitting on the roof, waiting.
Frank knew he would be: just like Mikey knew he was going to show up. 12 years joint at the hip would have that effect.
What Frank couldn’t yet predict was if he was going up, or if Mikey was coming down. That was always a toss up that depended on a lot of factors that Frank couldn’t even begin to guess. Like, how likely was Gerard to bug them, what mood were his parents in before they went to bed, were they even home, how brave was he feeling, or how horny was he. Frank was horny enough that he’d never turn down a night of twisting and grinding in Mikey's bed, even if they only did over the clothes stuff because Mikey was too paranoid about waking up his parents.
Frank waved his hand to wave, and Mikey waved back at him, inching his way away from his bedroom window. Coming down was the answer, it seemed, as Mikey edged to the gutter, and shifted his weight, hanging onto the pillar that connected to the back porch. Thank God for that porch, that made sneaking in and out of Mikey’s window an all too easy task.
“Rehearsal ended early?” Mikey asked; a hint of amusement in his tone.
“Somethin’ like that.” Frank answered with a shrug. “Where are we going?”
Mikey shrugged. “The park?”
The park normally wasn’t a place you wanted to hang out after dark. At least, it hadn’t been when they were kids. Now that they were older, they knew to steer clear if anyone else was there, or if anyone else showed up. Most nights, it was quiet.
And tonight was no different. As they walked along with hands brushing hands. “How is the band going, anyways?” Mikey asked.
Frank was always eager to talk about his music, and went on a spiral about it - about the chords he had been working on, about the lyrics he was thinking about, even going as far as to tuck his skateboard under his armpit to give Mikey a visual demonstration via air guitar of a solo he was thinking of incorporating. In his excitement, it was pretty easy to not notice the sadness reflected in Mikey’s eyes.
When they got to the park, it was empty, and Frank was quick to climb up onto the structure, sitting with his back against the rotating tic-tac-toe board as he fished a slightly crushed up joint out of his back pocket. “You want some?”
“Definitely.” Mikey said.
Frank lit it up, and in the soft glow of his lighter, he was finally able to notice the look on Mikey’s face.
“Is something bothering you?” He asked.
Mikey didn’t answer. Instead, he plucked the joint out of Frank’s hands, and leaned back as he took a long drag from it. Frank watched him, his brow furrowed in mild concern, but he didn’t push the matter. He knew well enough that Mikey would talk when he was ready to talk. And when he had had his fill of the joint, he handed it back to Frank, and back and forth they went, until it was all burnt up and Mikey pressed his lips against Frank’s instead.
So they really weren’t going to talk about it, but Frank wasn’t going to complain. Even when Mikey’s bony ass was digging into his thighs and his jeans started becoming uncomfortably tight. He made a move to undo Mikey’s pants, and Mikey stopped.
Frank pulled his hands back, frowning. “Sorry. Too much?”
Mikey shrugged.
Frank exhaled, and sat up a little straighter. “Alright, man, what is it?”
Mikey glanced away from him, quiet again. But Frank gave him the room he needed. Gave him the moment to breathe. “I got my letter from Rutgers.”
Mikey’s gap year was coming to a close, and with his plans to go to college and study something - anything - that could get him a half-way decent job until either writing comics with Gerard took off, or one of the dozens of bands he had joined over the years actually became something.
Or in case none of that worked out.
But Frank knew the letter from Rutgers wasn’t a good one. And Montclair had been a bust, too. That much Frank already knew.
“I mean, there’s always next year-”
“I got a letter from Temple, too.”
Temple University in Philadelphia had been one of his safety schools. One of the ones that Mikey’s mother had insisted he apply to just in case. Just to keep his options open. Or maybe because she thought at least one of her sons could do with moving out of the house.
“Oh.”
Mikey nodded.
“So you’re going to Philadelphia?” Frank asked slowly; although that much was obvious already, he didn’t like the way Mikey wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“I thought about hiding the package, but my mom got it before I did. I don’t think I have a choice.” He explained.
Frank frowned. On paper, Philadelphia wasn’t all that far. And while he could drive, he didn’t have his own car. And even then, Mikey was probably gonna get a part time job, on top of his classes, and Frank had his own classes, and his band and all too quickly, he felt them falling apart.
Mikey felt it too, judging by the way he pressed his forehead into Frank’s shoulder, and took a deep breath in. Frank’s hand found his back, and rubbed in a slow circle. “It’s gonna be okay, Mikes. We’ll figure it out. Trust me, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Mikey swallowed. “I’m never gonna see you.”
“But you’ll call. And I’ll call.” Frank promised, and kissed his cheek. “And you’ll visit, or I’ll hitch a ride with Gerard when he comes to visit you, too.”
Mikey lifted his head, staring up at the starless sky overhead. “Why does it feel like the end of the world?”
Frank went quiet, and closed his eyes. His hand found Mikey’s cheek as he tilted his head back down, and pressed their foreheads together. He let out a slow exhale, too. The air between them grew thick and warm.
“I dunno, baby.” Frank murmured back. “But I know it’s not. I know I’m not gonna lose you.”
Mikey tilted his head, and pressed their lips together again - just to breathe him in. Just to be close. Frank slid a hand into his hair instead, keeping the kiss for as long as they could both stay there. “You don’t have to worry,” Frank said, when he pulled back to take a little breath. “We’re okay here.”
“We’re okay here.” Mikey repeated, his voice lifting - a tell-tale sign that the weed was really starting to hit him. Frank cracked a little smile, and laid back. Mikey followed, fitting himself next to him, his head on Frank’s stomach.
“Your stomach sounds funny.” Mikey said out loud.
“It’s ‘cause I can’t digest shit.” Frank answered, brushing his fingers through Mikey’s hair still. Only then noticing the spots hardened with gel. He smiled a little more. “Sucks that there’s no stars.”
Mikey hummed. Frank couldn’t see his face, but he knew his eyes were closed, his glasses crooked, and his nose pressed into the fabric of his shirt. “All the stars I need are in your eyes.” His voice was low - the words drawn out, and they made Frank laugh brightly. It was the lamest shit he had ever heard.
“Fuck, I love you.”