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Mike didn’t bother looking up from his notebook when someone slouched through the door to the house, slamming it behind them. He kept plucking along to the most recent melody he was writing, entertaining the thoughts of why the mood of the room may be shifting behind him. Davy ended things with another girl, he thought. Micky’s messing around, trying to distract me. The shuffling of dragging feet continued around the room behind him, how the hell did I play this riff in the first place this can’t be—wait. His head shot up, looking through the open back of the house and his suspicions were confirmed: Micky and Davy were still down at the beach. But that leaves… Peter?
Mike spun in his seat, fast enough to give himself the bends, and came upon Peter. His Peter, well not his per say—forget it, his Peter, his bright, happy, made-of-pure-sunlight Peter, moping on the couch. Mike slowly put down his guitar, afraid to spook the man, but the more he looked at that familiar face, the less likely that seemed. Sure, Peter tends to live in his own world, always floating a couple inches above the ground, so to speak, but he was just easily distracted, easily excited, curious. Now he looks… disconnected. His eyes glazed over and his mouth was set in a cartoonish display of a frown, like his face wasn’t quite sure how to manage it.
After looking a beat too long at Peter’s little pout, Mike approached the couch and sat next to Peter, leaving more space than any of them typically would at this point in their friendship (they could barely achieve personal space from each other in the bathroom, let alone their small couch).
“Hey Pete.” Mike cleared his throat, not liking how shaky his voice sounded. “How’s it goin’, good buddy?”
Peter’s head bounced over to Mike, not spooked like Mike anticipated, but rather like he didn’t quite realize Mike was there. Even in his sad state, his brown eyes were so bright, Mike had to dig his nails into his palm to stop himself reaching out to push Peter’s soft hair off his forehead and leave a kiss there. He imagined stroking his cheek and softening the fresh frown lines on his face. Focus, Mike.
“Hi Michael.” Peter’s voice was softer than usual, and it wavered in a way that pulled at Mike’s sternum. Apparently Peter felt the same pull, as he threw himself at Mike in a bear hug, throwing his arms around his neck from the side so Mike’s shoulder grazed his torso. Mike softly inched his arm back to slip between Peter and the couch, any hesitation leaving him as he returned the hug.
“Hey, hey Peter, it’s okay. What’s wrong, honey? Did Ms Harper’s dog bark at you again? I promise Peter, Shiloh likes you fine, that’s just what he does when he’s excited.” Mike could feel himself devolve into a ramble as he tried to comfort Peter. “He’d run up and lick your face if he could.”
“No, it’s not that.” Peter’s words were muffled in Mike’s neck, the vibrations eliciting a shiver from the taller man. Mike’s hand ran up and down Peter’s spine, trying to calm both of their nerves.
“It’s just, Michael, do you,” he sniffled a bit and paused.
“Deep breath Pete,” Mike said quickly, trying not to interrupt. He obediently took deep breaths until they stopped sounding so shaky.
“Michael, do you think I’m stupid?”
Mike began to pull back in shock at the question, making Peter let out a whimper and hold on tighter. Alright, not a good time to let go then. Taking that as direction, he wrapped his arms tighter around Peter’s midsection and laid his cheek on his head. “Honey, I could never think you were stupid.”
“…Really?”
“Pete, I know you better than anyone—don’t tell Micky and Davy I said that, they’ll get all competitive and we’ll end up in a game show situation—” he stopped himself, and pulled back, still keeping his arms wrapped around Peter. He looked into those big, wet, brown eyes and let out a sigh one could describe as wistful. He sure wouldn’t, but one could. “I know you. You see more of this world than any of us will ever see. I wish I could see it all through your eyes, I think it’d be a real gas. I’d probably be a lot more pleasant to boot,” he joked and Peter smiled, more tentatively than usual, but still a Peter smile. The beam of light inside Peter was never dim, but when he smiled, it was downright blinding.
“I think you’re pleasant, Michael!” he insisted. He pulled back one of his arms to wipe at his eyes and Mike missed the warm weight on his shoulder. “You always say hello to the neighbors, and you call everyone sir and ma’am! You’re even nice when it’s early in the morning and Micky kept you up late with his sleep-talking!” Mike laughed and shrugged it off, ready to move past the strange compliments, but Peter was determined. “And you take such good care of all of us, Michael. You even let me cry on your good denim jacket,” he said, wiping fruitlessly at Michael’s shoulder.
Now that they weren’t embraced, Mike’s head was a bit clearer. How did this turn into Peter trying to make him feel good? He smiled. “First of all, it’s just good manners to call people sir and ma’am. Secondly, I love you. All.” He swallowed tightly at his slip up, but moved swiftly on. “I love you all, of course I’m nice to you guys. What sense would there be in bein’ mean to my best buddies?” Peter shrugged and his face warmed to a pink, because he was put on this earth to torture Michael with his beauty.
“Now,” Mike got fractionally more serious, “what’s this nonsense about you being stupid? Where’d you get that idea from?”
Peter looked down in his lap, clearly embarrassed. It wasn’t often he was truly embarrassed by something, typically lacking the self-consciousness. But sometimes, like when he tried to make the boys dinner, or when a girl came up to flirt with him after one of their shows, he would turn pink and curl in a bit on himself.
“I, um, you know how some mornings we’ll work on the crossword together?” Mike nodded, already knowing where this was headed. Peter and the paper had conveniently disappeared right after breakfast this morning. He had assumed Pete just went out to sit in the sun and read the Peanuts cartoon.
“Well, I tried it by myself, just because I- well I wanted to show you I could do it. I mean I love doing it with you, Mike! But you always do the spelling and everything and I help with the clues, but I wanted to put it all together and I guess I just… I wanted to be able to do it by myself, and I just couldn’t.” His mouth fell back into a pout.
Mike beamed despite himself and couldn’t help the uncharacteristic move that came from him next—he grabbed Peter tight and brought him close again. “Aw, Peter, that’s okay! I don’t mind doing all the writing. You’re always quick with all the history clues, and you’re a savant on the music ones. Spelling is just a skill, and some people are better at it. It doesn’t make you smart. I know Mr Babbitt can spell, but if you’ve ever read any of those fool notes he posts on our door, you know he ain’t smart.” Peter giggled and practically crushed Michael’s ribs hugging him in return. “You’re plenty smart, honey. Don’t you worry about that.”
Peter sniffled a little again, but this time Mike could feel a big smile against his neck. “Thanks, Michael.”
They silently hugged for a bit longer before Peter shifted, sliding out from Mike’s arms. He sat up straighter, pulling into a cross-legged position on the couch. The speed at which Peter’s mood could improve was bordering on inhuman, but Mike would be lying if he didn’t feel pride at his hand in it.
“Hey Mike, is it also polite to call people honey?”
“What?”
“Like you said with sir and ma’am. Is honey like that?”
Mike wondered where this seemingly random example Peter supplied came from. His chest burned a bit, was someone out there calling Peter honey?
“Honey? Um, well no, not really. Honey is more of a term of endearment, Pete. People only tend to whip that out when they like somebody.”
Peter nodded like he understood. “Like a friend.”
Mike scratched at his neck and looked at the creases in his shoes, trying to find the words. He never doubted Peter’s ability to understand, it was just about the right words with him. “Well no, I mean I suppose you could, but I probably wouldn’t start calling ‘honey!’ up the stairs when I need Micky to get his butt in gear. It’s more like when you’re in a relationship Pete, like you really like someone.”
When Peter didn’t respond, Mike stopped studying his boots and looked back at Peter. The man had that same bashful look from earlier, but with a semi-manic smile on his face.
“What? Am I confusing you still?”
Peter shook his head fervently. “No, no at least I don’t think so. I hope not, it’s just… do you um…” Somehow his smile got bigger and he locked eyes with Mike. “I really like you too, Michael.”
Mike thought this was a really inconvenient time for a heart attack. Maybe if he sat perfectly still his heart would realize there was no imminent danger. The same could be said to his eyes, as he knew they were wide as saucers.
“What.”
Peter glowed. “You called me honey! I thought it might be a polite thing, or a friend thing but you said it’s a really like thing and I really like you too!”
Mike doesn’t know how long he sat there frozen but then the previously unthinkable happened. Peter Tork, his roommate, friend, and greatest love he would never let himself near, leaned over and placed the most lovely, adorable peck on his cheek, and any part of him that was still frozen melted.
Mike could be impulsive, but with Peter he was the picture of control, never willing to risk the loss. This was different. This was not impulse, it was suddenly, miraculously, a safe bet. Before the smile could finish creeping to his face, he leaned into Peter and pressed their lips together.
He let his hand make the journey down Peter’s warm cheek, his thumb brushing where those frown lines laid just a few short minutes ago. Peter did a horrible job of not smiling into the kiss, but Mike didn’t care. Peter was like a puppy, vibrating with excitement, changing his position, kissing messily from Mike’s lips, around his face, and back to his mouth, trying to lean more bodily into Mike with every breath they took.
Peter ended up straddling Mike, their torsos entirely pressed together, when Mike pulled away. He practically had to hold Peter away by the hand in his hair, but he tried to be gentle. He just wanted to look at the beautiful boy with a rubbed-raw pout sitting on his lap. He smiled up at Peter quietly until he got that dopey smile in return. He gave himself the gift he didn’t often grant himself—open affection.
“Hi honey.”
Peter blushed like it was his first time hearing it. “Hi.”
They held each other close, a light embrace in the warm day, until Micky and Davy came in in a sandy clatter. “Ooo, cuddle pile!” was the last they heard before the two launched themselves towards the couch.