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“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Frank held Mikey’s razor-stained wrists, looking up at the tall boy sitting on his knees in front of him. The two sat in a small abandoned wine cellar connected to the boy’s bathroom—the same one Gerard and Ray had called home in their senior year for most of the day until AP Art called Gerard out of hiding.
It had been set up and decorated cozily in the last month of school the year prior when Gerard inevitably let his baby brother take a peek, passed down like a family heirloom and filled to the brim with random shit when Mikey (after constant begging) let Frank in.
Without Ray and Gerard wasting the cramped space, it felt empty. It became Mikey’s shell, a cavern of no doubt old shitty church wine from the school’s early days when it was only a chapel. When Mikey didn’t show up to chemistry or statistics or god forbid, marching band, Frank immediately knew where to check. And this time, reasons cut a little deeper than a quick smoke break.
Mikey could barely think straight—breathe straight—Frank quickly realized the fact and saved the therapy talk for after he had gotten the boy back to speaking level. The shorter’s calloused hands gently and smoothly shifted their grasp over Mikey’s palms where there was significantly less blood. He rubbed his thumbs on clammy palms, soft gaze falling on Mikey’s red, wet, tear-stained face. Delicate as ever. It hurt his heart.
“Count with me okay..?”
Frank’s voice stood barely over a whisper, taking Mikey’s heavy silence as affirmation.
“One… Two… Three…”
Frank’s count started off softer and quieter, gradually increasing his voice confidently until he reached the ten count with his normal speaking voice. Mikey’s count followed behind, significantly shakier and less balanced, but it steadied his breathing and slowed the speed of the tears running down his face.
“…Nine, Ten.”
Frank sighed softly, letting out a breath of his own.
“See? Isn’t that better?”
Frank could practically hear every vibration and shift in Mikey’s breathing.
“..Yeah.” His voice was low and quiet, words clinging on to Frank for assistance.
“Good,” Frank’s small grin was quickly replaced with determination and worry as the situation on hand made its way back into his head. “Now. Back to business.”
Mikey watched as the boy stood up and grabbed the small first aid kit stolen from the supply closet. It had originally been stored in here for when Ray’s high E string would snap right on his fingers—something callouses couldn’t even save you from. Now, it served a different purpose.
“You mind if I, uh..?” Frank pointed to the bloodstained cuffed dress shirt that Mikey sported, school blazer thrown to the side somewhere (thank fuck). Mikey gave Frank a silent nod, a go ahead to pull back his sleeves. Frank frowned, setting the razor blade that was still strewn in between Mikey’s fingers on the stairs next to them, shaky hands sitting vulnerable now as Frank unbuttoned the sleeve and pushed it up. The shorter took out an antiseptic wipe, glancing up at the injured.
“This is gonna sting. Like a lot. Okay..?”
Mikey nodded; it wasn’t anything he hadn’t felt before and still his voice shook. “Okay.”
And yet the sting made him wince every time. He barely processed every little ‘sorry’ Frank let out as the cold wipe grazed the gushing wounds that had been left on his own skin in a panicky haze. It’s not like he went into the anxiety attack meaning to leave those behind. He just… forgot he was clean, was all. Simple as that.
“Motherfucker..” Mikey grimaced. Had to let that one out; lips pursed together hard afterwards.
“I know, baby.. I know.” Frank cooed, preoccupied with the strips of gauze in his hands. This gauze was nothing new; he’d nursed Mikey’s post-detention bruised knuckles with bandages and gauze pads plenty of times. Maybe he’d blame these wounds on an imaginary kid he’d make up in his head later, too. Frank finished applying the bandages and cleaning Mikey’s right wrist.
“All better, tidy n’ that shit.”
Frank glanced up at Mikey, noting that he didn’t look nearly as distressed as he did a few minutes ago, though he still had that guilty look on his face. Frank glanced to the other arm, eyebrow raised in a silent question. Mikey hung his head only slightly, avoiding eye contact.
Frank knee-crawled his way over to Mikey’s other arm, raising the sleeve. Significantly less implied damage, though clearly some frantic scrapes. Frank repeated the process for this wrist now, easier to manage and therefore taking shorter time. He finished with a sigh, moving all the medical shit to the side so he could lean against the wall and sit next to Mikey. A solid empty beat before Frank broke the silence.
“Proud of you, you know.” Small glance up at the still-ruffled man. He looked taken-aback.
“Why…? I still-… I relapsed.”
“But ya toughed through it. Came out victorious in the end. Hell, ya didn’t tear yourself to shreds this time. It’s the little things, Mikes.”
He grinned softly, supportively; leaning into Mikey’s shoulder. He smelled strongly of literal blood, sweat, and tears but Frank didn’t mind whatsoever.
“Thank you.” Mikey replied sheepishly, taking off his glasses to try and smudge off the tear stains.
“‘Course. That’s what friends are for.” Frank reached over to the strewn around first aid kit, pulling out a microfiber cloth and handing it to Mikey.
“Here. For your eyes.” Mikey took the cloth, confusedly putting the cloth up to his actual eyes. The gesture made Frank cackle lowly. In return, Mikey’s cheeks flushed with red, spanning to the tips of his ears.
“W-what do you-” He gestured confusedly.
“Dork! I meant like, your glasses eyes, four eyes!”
If Mikey couldn’t get any redder, he didn’t know what color he was now. He let out a small ‘ohh’ of recognition, wiping his glasses with the cloth frantically as Frank laughed against his shoulder. The sound sort of made him feel funny. It was a feeling he didn’t get too often, but he chased it like a dopamine high.
And then the bell rang, signaling the end of seventh period and—thank fuck—the end of the day.
“Do you.. do you wanna, uhm, you- would it be okay if you came over to.. to my house? Uhm, Gerard is gonna be here soon to pick me up probably. If that’s okay.” Mikey tripped over his words, clearly not in the correct state to be talking still. Luckily, Frank found it very endearing.
“Sure thing, Mikeyway.”
Frank grinned, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and messily putting the first aid kit back together. It somehow landed on the shelf where it came from. Mikey achingly stood up to his heels, wincing as he used his wrists as support to get up. The action earned him a ‘Hey, careful’ from Frank as he handed him his blazer, waiting for the boy to get his belongings together. He walked towards the hatch out of the cellar, twisting the knob to open it. Frank noticed the fact that Mikey didn’t reach back to grab the bloody razor, the action bringing him some peace of mind.
He hoisted himself through the now-opened hatch, suddenly appearing under the sink in the boys bathroom. Frank crawled out first (luckily going unnoticed in doing so), Mikey soon following suite. He locked the hatch with a key Gerard gave him a while back, giving Frank a silent nod. A few of the boys shrieked when they noticed Frank’s presence.
“Ew, what’s she doing in here?!”
Frank only snickered at the comments, sauntering along with a grin. Mikey however, gave the kids a death glare that only made him a prime target for locker-shoving. He only looked like a scared puppy, though, due to the tear stains still present on his cheeks.
“Hey, c’mon, party pooper! Your brother’s gonna leave us behind!”
He giggled, watching Mikey’s bubbling anger shift to worry.
“Shit, hey, come back here..!”
Somehow, Frank was already halfway across the school, various nuns yelling at him to stop running in the halls, but did Frank really care?
Of course not.
Eventually, he caught up outside the school by the curb. They sat together as they waiting for Gerard’s beat up car to roll by. Frank leaned his head against Mikey’s shoulder again, same similar feeling from earlier sparking, like flint against a machete.
And they waited, like two puzzle pieces perfectly slotted together.
————————————
Frank never actually went home after school. He’d told his mom he joined some ‘band club’ for marching band, and that for some reason, it went on until eight at night. So Frank had a solid five hours after school before his mom’s sweet baby angel who’d never tell a lie had to arrive home. And those five hours were usually spent at the Way household—in Mikey’s room, of course. ‘Borrowing’ and wearing and smelling all of Mikey’s clothes, amongst other endeavors. Like normal friends.
After a car-confrontation with Gerard and another long rant about getting into school fights when he’d eyed the new bandages covering Mikey’s hands, Frank ran up to Mikey’s room and put his backpack down. He was excited to be back in what he considered his home away from home, and Mikey soon much less enthusiastically entered the room.
“God, Gerard’s just such a fuckin’ drag sometimes…” Mikey flopped down on his bed, kicking off his shoes.
“He’s just tryna look out for ya, Mikes. You’re his little brother after all.” Frank messed with his tie, loosening it and kicking his shoes off as well to form a pile on Mikey’s.
“I can take care of myself.” Mikey groaned, voice muffled by the pillow his face was shoved into. He moved his head to the side so he could see Frank, whose eyebrow was raised at him while he unbuttoned his shirt.
“Maybe not well. But I can.”
“Mhm… Says the guy who’s still in his uniform.” Frank walked over to Mikey’s sorted closet, grabbing a looser shirt from the large section to the left. He walked over to the boy’s dresser, grabbing soft pajama pants before glancing back at Mikey. “Okay, look away please, Mikes.” Frank could hear a small grunt as the boy rustled himself back into the pillow.
Frank made sure Mikey’d looked away before pulling the binder off his aching chest, forgetting about the fact it was two sizes too small for him until it released his ribs. He let out a small ‘fuck’ at the ache, dropping the binder and pulling the loose faded band shirt over his head. He assumed it was probably one of Gerard’s old hand me downs—Mikey had a lot of those. Frank pulled off his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He pulled the pajama pants on over his boxers, heels stepping on the legs that were way too long for his own.
“Okay. You can look again.”
Frank walked back over to the bed, sitting next to Mikey’s tired body. He ruffled the boy’s stiff, greasy hair, covered in hair spray and smelling of heat protectant. His head raised, awkwardly placing his glasses on the nightstand.
“Feelin’ any better?”
“A little.”
A beat.
“You scared the shit out of me, you know.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, it happens.” He rubbed the taller boy’s back.
“Maybe you can get comfy while I roll us a joint, how’s that sound?” Frank smirked as he saw Mikey’s head perk up, knowing he had needed this for a while. He sat up slowly, bracing a hand on Frank’s back and leaning his face into his hair.
“Migraine’s kickin’ my ass.”
“Damn, the world’s just workin’ against you today, huh?” Frank smiled sadly, making sure to lower his voice. He stood up, shying away from Mikey’s weak-wristed grip.
“I’ll get you some clothes, just take care of yourself.”
He made his way back over to the closet, grabbing one of Mikey’s hoodies—the one that smelled of cigarettes even after a few washes—and some sweatpants. He left them on the bed next to Mikey, smiling at him when they caught each others’ eyes again.
Frank knelt down to his backpack, digging in a hidden pocket and pulling out a small bag of weed—his “emergency” school stash—and a few joint papers. He could hear Mikey changing behind him, tempted to glance back for a quick peep, but kept to himself as he roamed Mikey’s messenger bag for his protractor.
Mikey finished changing pretty quickly, reaching over Frank, who had just finished rolling the joint, and cracked the window open. Frank gave another raised eyebrow.
“What, F? Gerard would beat my ass if he smelled weed in here.”
“Well, Gerard’s a fuckin’ hypocrite and he can suck my dick.” That made Mikey smile. Which in turn, made Frank smile. He crossed the room, scavenging for the lighter still in his school pants and lighting up the joint between his lips. He took a nice, needed drag before handing the well-wrapped joint to the taller. “Here ya go, sweet boy.”
Mikey smiled softly, cherishing the grin on Frank’s face. He took a drag for himself, blowing it nowhere near the window. Frank knew Mikey didn’t care all that much about getting rid of the weed smell—it reminded him of Frank, after all.
The two sat in a soft, comfortable silence for a solid thirty minutes.
“Thanks.. for everything, really….” Mikey practically whispered, breaking the silence and feeling a slightly buzz coating over his brain. A thanks from Mikey was pretty rare; two in a day was a new record for Frank. It warmed his heart.
The shorter leaned against Mikey. “It’s no problem, Mikes,” he leaning in for the joint, noting that Mikey had already smoked a good half of it before taking a drag right out of the boy’s hand.
“Gone already?” Frank smiled up at the boy—no longer crying and no longer in pain. Just a stupid grin and glossy eyes. Thank fuck.
“It’d take another to knock me out.”
“Well shit, I better get rollin’, then.” But Frank didn’t want to move, didn’t want to leave his side in the dormant fear that Mikey’d lose himself again.
“Didn’t you roll an extra this morning before homeroom?”
“Shit, you’re right, Mikes! Smartest boy I know, I swear.” Frank heard Mikey giggle behind him when he reached for the back pocket of his school pants. Every single damn time he’d laugh, it would mess with Frank’s heart. Twisted his throat in all the warm parts and made his stomach ache in ways he’d never felt before, which said a lot. He pulled out the slightly crushed joint, putting it on the bed next to his leg.
The sun was setting now, only half past five and the two were practically falling asleep already. Frank reached for the lighter to light the second joint as the first became a stub. Mikey traded Frank for the full joint, watching him put it out on his ankle and then throwing it out of the cracked window.
“Jesus, doesn’t that hurt?” Mikey took a drag, breathing out and looking at Frank’s ankle, littered with other similarly shaped burns. Clearly not his first time doing that.
“Nah, ‘s just a sting.” Frank reached for the joint, wincing as he took a drag. “Ew, this tastes like shit! You smoked this one, right? Why’s it like that?”
Mikey just shrugged.
“Tastes like any other joint. You also sat on that one.. so maybe your ass tastes bad or something?”
“My ass does not taste bad!” Frank flushed, sticking the joint back in his mouth despite the foulness. “And you’re not smoking all of this one, you’re already out of it.” Frank puffed, spewing smoking at Mikey’s face. He laughed, coughing.
“Ew! That smells rank, it’s definitely that shit Ray bought.”
His eyes widened “Oh my god, you’re so right. How the fuck did I get his weed..?” Frank looked around confusedly, laughing a lot more than necessary.
Mikey yawned softly, squinting at Frank. “Maybe you stole it.”
“Maybe I did, squintyface.” Frank took another sharp drag, sitting in his lungs until Mikey intentionally squinted at him, making him laugh as the smoke escaped through his nose and mouth.
“Dork.” He passed the joint to Mikey, snuggling into his side.
It didn’t take long for the two boys to drift off into the void, just them two as the last people on Earth, half asleep what felt like eternity.
And maybe things could stay like this forever, Frank wished.
Maybe things were perfect, finally.