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Micky was often the first one up in the morning. Cozying up to Mike if they had somehow separated throughout the night. Rolling over and wrapping his arms around Mike, letting his face nuzzle in where it could. Waiting until he could feel Mike start to wake up on his own.
“I’m going to go start some coffee,” Micky said against Mike’s shoulder. “Do you want me to bring you up a cup once it’s ready?” It was a quick kiss against Mike’s cheek as he waited for an answer.
A groan coming from Mike, “No, I’ll come make my own cup.” He was still half asleep, eyes still closed. There was a kiss being left against his lips and Mike smiled to himself, opening his eyes slightly to watch Micky walk out of the room. He could hear him in the kitchen, Micky had left the door open so that he could. Mike had never asked him to, just a comment Mike made one time about how he liked being able to hear Micky in the kitchen if he woke up and he wasn’t in bed, and ever since then Mike had been woken up before Micky got out of bed and the door left open so that Mike could hear.
It wasn’t that Mike actually thought that he would wake up one day and Micky would be gone, he knew he wouldn’t actually leave. There had been times before where worried himself sick and Micky held him and told him he had nowhere else to go. That even if he asked Micky, Mike was stuck with him. Him and all his habits and tendencies and impulsive decisions, Micky had even been helping him decorate with the most eclectic collection of things the dumpsters had to offer. But there were still moments where he was half asleep, maybe coming out of something close to a nightmare, where he would reach for Micky and the bed would be empty and the thought would flash through his mind, ‘Remember, scammer, con artist, drifter, vagrant.’ It hurt but he had to deal. And then a moment later he would remember, he would be able to feel the lingering warmth in the bed or see the dent in the pillow next to him or he would see Micky walk back into the room or if none of that happened he would wake up enough to remember that waking up alone was just a bad dream.
Micky always wanted to help Mike with bad dreams, and if leaving the bedroom door open when he went down to start coffee helped with that, Micky was going to do it.
Mike eventually dragged himself out of bed. The smell of coffee and breakfast wafting up into the room. And so he got on his robe and his slippers and made his way downstairs. The coffee pot off to the side, already about half empty, as Micky still stood in front of the hotplate. Mike poured himself a cup, milk and sugar, and a nice big sip before the mug was being set next to Micky’s almost empty cup on the table. Mike took it upon himself to refill it before he found himself walking up behind Micky, letting his arms wrap around his waist and his chin rest on his shoulder.
“What you making?” Mike asked peering down into the pot.
“Oatmeal.”
“Why are you making oatmeal?” Mike practically giggled, “You hate oatmeal.”
“Yeah, but you seem to love this garbage food so I am going to make it.” And those words made Mike fall in love all over again. That soft consideration. Micky had brought him coffee and oatmeal to bed countless times without Mike even having to ask. Micky did so many things. Just did them.
Micky was a storm of chaos that Mike smiled every single time he saw. And now he had his head leaned on his shoulder and arms wrapped around his waist and was leaving occasional kisses on the side of his face. “How did I get so lucky with you? You spoil me, you know that?”
Micky was moving to pour the oatmeal into a bowl, Mike still wrapped around him, “You didn’t get lucky, you got stuck with me. One day you are going to get tired of me and my whims.”
“Just like one day you're going to get tired of my clinginess?” Mike joked as Micky drank more of his coffee.
“Hey now, let's not talk about nightmares at the breakfast table.” Micky joked softly as his free hand settled over Mike’s, keeping them there, leaning ever so slightly back against him.
One of those moments where Mike felt like all was right in the world. That somehow he suffered none of the consequences of his actions and only reaped the reward. Moments like these he cherished, cherished more than gold, cherished more than his own life.
Giggles could be heard from the downstairs room as the door creaked open and Mike slowly withdrew his hands. Moving to grab his breakfast and coffee from Micky as Davy and Peter came running into the kitchen. “I don’t understand you two.” Was all Davy had to say to tease Mike and Micky as he tried to pour himself some coffee, “Micky, did you already finish the pot?” Davy had that fake hurt look on his face, like he had personally disappointed him, personally hurt him deeply, and just like clockwork Micky handed over the rest of his cup to Davy for him to fill with cream and sugar.
Not every morning, but most, unfolded as such. Micky would start another pot of coffee as the others ate their breakfast at the table, oatmeal and cereal and toast, and it almost hurt his heart to see, to feel, to have somewhere he felt so at home. It reminded him of late nights in truckstop diners. Where it would be just him and the waitress and the cook. Normally she would pour her heart out to him as she kept a steady flow of coffee in his cup.
“You’re going to get yourself dead like this.” Her name was Helen, or Kitty, or Rose, or something along those lines. It was hard for him to focus. He had not been on the road for long but he already had a rhythm. Already had a system of sorts.
Micky had said nothing to her, just scarfed down his food and kept lifting his coffee cup for refills. “Well if I had a nickel for every time I heard that one.” Micky was drinking the coffee, “Do you have pie?” His cup almost empty again.
She refilled the cup again before walking over to a glass cabinet, “We got strawberry rhubarb and peanut butter.”
“One of each.” He called back and soon there were two slices of pie being shoveled into him at the same rate as the eggs.
She refilled his cup again. “How long have you had the black eye?” She asked, starting a new pot of coffee.
“Few days. We had a disagreement." Micky said blankly, finishing one of the slices of pie.
She nodded, “How long you been home for?” The statement caused Micky to stop, fork dropping against the counter. His mouth going dry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said as he tried to grab his fork again, other hand reaching for the coffee cup, fork being knocked down to the ground in the process.
She was grabbing Micky a new one. “You just got home from overseas, right?” The new fork being put in his hand. “My kid brother got home about a year ago. He was the same, ate like the devil and drank coffee faster than I could brew it. Plus the jacket, he had the same jacket.” Her voice got quieter, more serious, “You have someone you’re staying with, kid?”
“Nope.” Micky said quietly as he started in on the rest of his pie.
The waitress was quiet for a long time. “You’re family know you’re home?”
“Don’t got one.” It was a lie. Technically there were people that he left. People who had been so proud of him when he said he wanted to serve his country. But their little Georgie died somewhere between Saigon and Hanoi. And Micky wasn’t sadistic enough to subject them to look at the corpse of their sweet little boy that he now puppeted around as his own.
The waitress tapped at the counter, “I haven’t seen my brother in almost a month. He was getting restless and, one morning he was gone, and I just can’t figure out why he left.”
“Sorry about your brother.” Micky, started digging through his pockets for cash to pay her. “He probably left because he couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t be okay anymore. Had to find somewhere where he could exist.”
She nodded, nodded like it helped, Micky didn’t understand how that could help, “Oh, it’s on the house, kid. Consider it a thank you for your service.” She said pushing the money back towards him. “You use that money to find somewhere where you can be not okay. I hope that’s what Eddie is doing. Finding somewhere he could be not okay.”
Micky had never understood what she meant, he only gleaned that he needed to ditch the jacket. Get new clothes that didn’t scream, ‘freshly home.’ That is what he had done, got some money and some new clothes and continued his seemingly never ending run.
But his run did end. It ended in a kitchen with a cup of coffee that he drank at a moderate speed. With a little more meat on his bones and jokes sprinkled through pleasant conversation. He didn’t understand it then but he understood it now. He had understood it for a while. Somewhere he could be not okay.
And before he could step away from the kitchen he was crying. He knew why even if it still caught him off guard. Maybe it was just one of those moments where he was aware of how much things had changed. Where he was so aware of how this would have been impossible for him when he first got back. A realization that he seemed to have again and again and again, each time with a similar level of impact. He was home. He had somewhere to stay and go back to. Something that had used to feel impossible now was practically second nature. It was not difficult for him to stay, or to hand over his coffee to Davy or to make oatmeal for Mike, or to let Peter hug him as he cried. Those things used to hurt and burn and felt like hot steel in his veins. The idea of people even knowing his name used to hurt. But now he sat at a kitchen table as one of his closest friends held him in his arms, letting him get the feelings out.
Not the first time Micky broke down in tears of joy at breakfast, certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was always the simple moments that got him. The simple moments that he thought he would never get to have. He thought his ability to experience that died with the rest of him far before he got shot.
And just as fast as he started crying he stopped, nodding his head and wiping his face with a smile. A sign that he was okay, he just needed to get it out. “Not everyone wants to be a public spectacle.” It was an easy way to change the conversation.
“You love being a public spectacle.” Davy was rolling his eyes.
“Davy’s right, you do love attention.” Mike said under his breath, trying not to crack a smile.
Micky was almost shocked by the words, “Who’s side are you on?” He was shaking his head towards Mike, and just like that everything was okay. It was jokes and teases and taunts and schemes and plans. The new normal of their days. Sometimes they found themselves tied up in far more than they planned, found themselves in peril, but nothing actually that dangerous.
A quiet night at the house, Peter and Davy were still out who knows where, while Mike and Micky called it an early night. Micky rambling about some sort of idea he had as Mike brewed coffee for him and tea for himself. Micky was slower in drinking coffee these days, sipping at it more than just drinking. Sometimes he didn’t even finish it.
Mike sat across from him at the table, a dumb smile on his face, Micky sometimes spoke in riddles and nonsense but it was music to his ears. Just the two of them, just the two of them with the house to themselves.
Something about it almost broke Mike’s heart. He had something good right now. He had something wonderful right now. He had something that made him safe and happy and all of a sudden he was reaching across the table to keep those feelings of guilt from creeping up. It was already too late though, that feeling in his chest set in and he was squeezing Micky’s hand as if to try to remember the shape.
His mind was racing to all the places worse than right now. Because right now was a good moment. And to Mike all good moments must come to an end. One day it would not be good anymore. Micky would get fed up with his tendencies and leave, or Peter and Davy would want more of their own space, or he would get so tired and so sick he just wouldn’t get out of bed anymore, or-
“What’s going on up there?” Micky asked as he leaned over the table and tapped at Mike’s forehead.
It interrupted his thoughts enough for him to see Micky half climbed on the table and right in front of his face. “Be careful on there, you might get hurt!”
Micky just laughed, laughed and leaned forward even more to catch Mike’s lips in a kiss, he may have not known what he was thinking about but Mike knew one surefire way to get him to stop thinking about it.
Mike was pulling away again after a while, before things got too heated, “Okay, now you are going to make me spill my tea.”
Micky was giggling again, sliding off the table and drinking the rest of his coffee. “Never told me what you were thinking about…” Micky said as he was getting up from the table and leaving his mug in the sink. His mug. That thought stuck with him. His mug.
Mike just shook his head. “Nothing you want to hear about. Just bad things, nightmares.” Micky was standing behind him, hands on his shoulders, rubbing them ever so gently.
“Anything I can do to help?” Micky asked all too calmly, not pushy, not wanting to know, just wanting to comfort, and once again Mike worried everything was becoming too good to be true. That he was going to open his eyes and it was all going to vanish.
“This.” He said leaning his head onto Micky’s micky’s hand as much as he could.
Micky let his arms wrap around him as he leaned down, “Shoulder rub or just being close?”
Mike didn’t care, he would take anything Micky would give him. “Whatever gets you to spend the night.” He tried to say it like a joke, but some part of those nerves in his chest, the ones that whipped back and forth like live wires, they bled far too much truth into them.
Micky still giggled as he pulled Mike out of his seat and onto his feet. “Mike, I live here,” Mike was stumbling until they were over to the lounge seat. Mike trying to laugh along, “Spending the night is kinda part of the deal.”
“I know but,” And it was Mike sitting close, leaning in until Micky was laid back on his elbows and Mike was holding his face in his hands, “I just want to cover my bases.” Mike was gently caressing his face, gently kissing him, letting them fall into that romantic fantasy that they danced in and out of.
Micky was leaning all the way back, letting his hands find their way to Mike’s waist. Smiling into the kisses. “Is this what we're calling this now? Covering our bases?” Micky joked between kisses. But Mike just kissed him, kissed him desperately, kissed him like this was his last chance to. Kissed him until Micky was putting a hand on Mike’s chest to stop him, “Is everything okay?”
Mike nodded, looking down at Micky, who was looking up at him with so much worry and concern, enough to urge Mike on that much more. “I just want to remember this, I want to remember us like this,” Mike wanted to remember them happy. Happy and in love without a worry in the world.
Mike leaned back in to kiss him again, but Micky stopped him, “Is this about this morning? Because I promise I am okay, I just was happy and I didn’t, I don’t know, and I just started crying.”
“No, no, it wasn’t that, I just, I just want to remember us,” Mike tried to lean in to kiss him again but Micky still stopped him, holding him in a way that was not at a distance but still keeping him from kissing him.
Micky was specific in holding Mike close, holding him close in a way that showed he still wanted him, that he still needed him, “Do you think you're going to forget?” Micky asked, letting Mike draw closer but still not kiss him.
Mike let his forehead fall against Micky’s. “No, I just,” He let his entire body lean against Micky, let himself be pulled against him, “I want to remember us in love.”
Mike tried to kiss him again but he was still met with resistance. Micky stiff and anxious, “That’s not going to change Mike,” Micky’s voice almost cracked as he said it, “at least, I don’t want it to change.”
That was when Mike was pulling away of his own regard. Sitting up and putting his face in his hands. Micky followed close behind. Pulling Mike’s hands from his face and into his own. “I don’t want things to change either,” Mike said quietly. “I just want to prepare, just in case it ever does.” As he said it he felt like an ass, it all became clear to him how all of this made him seem like he didn’t trust Micky, how it made it seem like he wasn’t going to stay.
But part of Mike prepared himself, prepared himself for the possibility that Micky might leave one day. Not that he thought Micky would leave, but he had left before. And Mike had left too. Not that he had left Micky, but he left home before, he knew that sometimes you just couldn’t do it anymore. That you needed to find a new place that felt more like home. “I’m scared too, Mike.” And Micky was leaning against him, saying all the things Mike wanted to hear, “I’m scared one day I am going to wake up and this is all going to be some dream. That I’m going to wake up on the road again, or worse, wake up back in-” And Micky stopped himself. Shaking his head, like he was trying to shake the thought from his head, practically covering his mouth with his hand. “Let's go back to the kissing part of the conversation, yeah?” And Mike wasn’t going to complain. Micky was right about it being easy to occupy Mike’s mind. Micky had a talent for it. Always had. From that first time they met he could get Mike to stop thinking, to stop worrying, or at least render him incapable while doing so.
Still there was something anxious about that night, not in the way they touched or kissed, but in the way they existed. Those anxious unspoken things that they had a far harder time pulling off of each other. Both of them such creatures of habit. Such creatures of cycle. Both far too used to all things holy being taken from them when they needed them most. Both far too used to revoking themselves when others needed them most.
So they kissed each other in desperation. Mike completely on top of him, as if that was the only way he could get Micky to stay. And Micky playing every card in the deck, as of that was the only way he could get Mike to love him.
Nothing had happened to spur them into this, but like everything else they fell into it. A thought that dug its heels in a little too deep and now they had no choice but to dress each others wounds of the soul the only way they knew how. Until they were out of breath and holding onto each other tight enough to leave bruises. Mike curled against Micky’s chest, letting himself be comforted and coddled in ways he did not know how to ask for but Micky knew how to give him.
“We should probably go upstairs before Davy and Peter get home.” Mike mumbled against the side of Micky’s face, followed by soft kisses. Soft kisses that in no way persuading of them moving.
Micky just held him, kept Mike from falling to the floor. An impressive feat, really. To be able to keep Mike upright with how much he was moving and try to get comfortable. “You know they don’t care.”
Mike was now trying to sit up but Micky was keeping him close. “Yeah but they are going to come home and I bet you they are going to want to turn on music and dance and Davy is going to make some silly comment about how its such a rare sight to see us dancing and all the other snide remarks and I just want to skip to the part where we cuddle under the blankets and pretend that everything is fine.”
Micky wanted to just say okay, agree and go upstairs, and curl up in bed and run his hands through Mike’s hair and kiss his forehead and his lips and his jaw and his shoulders and so on and so forth. But the words dragged through his mind, “Pretend? Is something not fine?” He could feel Mike grow tense, tense and stiff and pulling away more to sit up. Micky just following again. The same dance back and forth, back and forth, nerves and comfort again and again and again.
“Can we talk about it upstairs?” Mike asked quietly.
And as much as no one thought he did, Micky was very particular in picking and choosing his battles. He loved to die on hills, hills that he dedicated his life to. And so like so many times before, he let Mike lead him upstairs. Lead him up stairs and close the door behind him.
Mike had not expected to see Micky again. It was a night he did not regret in any way shape or form. Being able to hold someone close all through the night. Be able feel them breathe against you. It made Mike feel like a real person again.
Micky had left in the morning, left in the morning with a not small amount of kisses. Micky kissed him through the window as Mike tried to convince him to take the front door.
“Faster this way.” Micky said as he let himself fall from the second story and into the lilac bush underneath him. Mike had just watched in near awe as he watched Micky run down the street. It was bittersweet to watch him go. He knew it would leave a mark on his heart. That it would be hard for someone else to capture his attention the way Micky had.
And maybe it had been a mercy, that every time he walked through his front door he didn’t think about Micky walking out of it. Instead he just looked out his window and tried to not think too hard about the way Micky felt in his arms, or against his lips, or that look he got in his eye when it was such an undeniable truth that he cared. He tried not to think about how Micky looked at him as he tried to hand Mike’s guitar back to him, that same look he had as he cleaned blood from his face, an utter and absolute care that Mike was completely weak to.
Mike was washing the dishes near dusk when he saw someone lurking around outside. At first he thought it was a neighbor, but twenty minutes later he still saw rustlings in the dark. He was grabbing a dirty knife out of the sink in preparation, putting it off to the side just in case, maybe it was just because it was night but all he could think was about someone knocking at the back door and trying to rob him. It would be their mistake really, all Mike had was an aging twelve string and about seven dollars and fifty cents.
He looked down for a moment as he rinsed a dish but as soon as he looked up again there was a face, a familiar face, wide eyes and messy hair, one that Mike was happy to see, but seeing it so suddenly meant he was picking up the knife in self defense.
Micky’s hands were up in an instant, he was almost jumping backwards. It took Mike a moment to process but as soon as he did he was dropping the knife and throwing open the window. “What the hell are you doing!” Mike sounded far more upset than he was, really he was more shocked than anything, relief not passing through yet.
“I forgot my jacket.” Micky was climbing in through the window as he spoke. Mike didn’t know what to do, just hold out his hand and help Micky through the window, “Hello again, by the way.” Micky said as he was halfway through the window. “I was debating whether or not this was a good idea.”
“And you came to the conclusion that climbing through my window was?” Mike was holding onto him, trying his best to keep him stable, until Micky made it all the way inside and was sitting on the ledge of the sink.
Micky laughed. “Absolutely not, it’s a terrible idea. Impulsive and self-indulgent,” it was a hand running through Mike’s hair, “but I, well, how should I put it-” Micky didn’t have to put it anyway. Mike saw him before him and kissed him, like it was the only thing he knew how to do was kiss him. Kissed him and pulled him close, and helped him off the counter, and all Mike thought was that he was getting a second chance, he was getting a second go, another night to be close.
Mike had to stop himself, had to force himself to pull away, “How long can you stay?” He asked. Because he already knew the drill. He knew this was not the kind of thing that was going to lead to anything. Micky was not the kind of guy who stayed around places.
“Until morning, probably.” Micky said letting himself get lost leaving kisses up Mike’s arm.
Mike felt himself grow dizzy. It was the attention. Absolutely sickingly addicting attention that Micky gave him in so many small ways. Small ways that he was sure Micky was not aware that he was doing. “Until breakfast?” And as Mike said it he knew it was a long shot, but he could dream, couldn’t he?
Micky paused for a moment, holding onto Mike a bit firmer. “I’m sorry, Mike, I’m just not that kind of guy.”
Mike just nodded, “You don’t need to be.” Because Mike was going to take what he was going to get. He couldn’t even be upset about it. He was already getting more than he thought he would. “I’m happy to have you for any amount of time, even for an hour.”
Micky laughed again, “Well I hope I am here longer than an hour.” And before Mike could say anything else their lips found each other again, leaving them both far too preoccupied for anything as pesky as logistics.
It was close to one in the morning when they could hear the record player start to play downstairs. Mike curled up against Micky’s chest, curled up against his own pajamas that he was letting Micky borrow. Mike felt selfish, felt greedy, to be excited for a set of pajamas that smelled like him.
“That the stray?” Micky asked as Mike was struggling to keep awake. A small noise close to a yes, but really could be anything. “Do you want me to wake you up before I leave in the morning?” Micky asked quietly as he left kisses on Mike’s face.
Yes. Mike wanted to say yes. He didn’t want to wake up alone, far too many mornings had he woken up alone, he hated sleeping alone. Yet it was the only way that he slept. He thought he was just romanticizing it, that once there actually was another body in his bed he would want his space, but he would give anything to keep Micky there as a constant. “Just kiss me before you leave.” Was what he was actually able to say. “Do you want us to roll over so it’s easier for you to leave?” The words half asleep, but Mike still meant them. He didn’t want Micky to think he was trying to keep him here.
“No.” It was followed by a yawn. “I didn’t get to hold you like this last time, and I want to at least pretend for a little bit that we get this.”
Micky was forcing them to roll over in bed so that he could hold Mike, the music from downstairs had already come to an end, and Micky was pretty sure they were the last souls left awake in the house.
Mike took a deep breath, Micky used the same soap as him these days, but it smelled different on him. It smelled different in his hair. He didn’t use motel soap anymore but Mike still thought Micky smelt distinctly like Micky.
Mike held onto him the same though, held onto him tightly, just in case. Things were different now but it was like it was some kind of muscle memory. He didn’t even mean to. Mike felt bad that he even thought that way. That he said things that made Micky ask if things were okay. Because they were more than okay. They were wonderful. They were better than Mike could have ever dreamed. So of course he was afraid of it ending.
“You hate being a public spectacle.” Micky said as he caressed Mike. “But you love attention too.”
Mike looked at him with a confused look, trying to hide the embarrassment. Because it was true, Mike liked to be selfish, he liked attention and being held and being taken care of even if he knew he should be better than that. “Do you have a point, here?”
It was another kiss, one to Mike’s lips and his nose and his forehead, “Yes,” And it was more kisses, kisses that Mike was not asking for but he still felt selfish for receiving, still felt greedy for wanting. Micky gave him as many as he could though, as many as he needed to get his point across. “We don’t have to be a public anything, but this,” Micky was pulling Mike’s face closer to his, “I want to make sure I’m giving you enough.”
“You give me plenty of attention,” And Mike couldn’t help but smile. Smile and wonder what brought this on.
“Just give me a moment to get this out, okay?” The question was soft and pleading, it would have been so easy for it to sound harsh. But it was anything but. It was soft and begging and gentle and all the things Mike wanted to hear. So he nodded his head. Nodded his head and paid attention as Micky continued to gently caress.
It was a deep breath on Micky’s part. His heart beating in his chest. Thoughts and feelings that had been brewing for a long time. Thoughts and feelings that sometimes bothered Micky to think about, because he felt like he should have said them sooner.
“I used to tell you that I am not the kind of guy who sticks around-”
“Micky, I know things are different now.” Mike was tucking Micky’s hair behind his ears.
Micky took a deep breath and continued onwards, “And then I asked you to not let me go. And said I should have never left,” Micky had not rehearsed the words but he had thought about them, again and again and again, “And it scared me, it scared me for a long time, this scared me.” He held onto Mike that little bit tighter, “Being in love scared me. You scared me. Being in love with you scared me.” The longer Micky talked the more serious his voice got. “And you make it easy, make it easy to still be in love when I’m scared, you let me pretend when it’s too much to be real.” All Micky could think about was Mike standing there, asking him to stay the first time. When it was all too much. When he should have stayed, Mike barely holding onto his sleeve but still not being able to pull it away, Mike putting his entire soul on the line for Micky, begging with every part of himself, “You let me change my mind when I got scared, let me change my mind again when I finally came to my senses,”
“You needed time,” Even now Mike was still sweet and understanding, kissing the side of his face and being so affectionately Mike. It made everything so much harder and easier at the same time.
“You said that maybe this could be the start of something,” Micky kept speaking even if he wanted to stop. “And that scared me, starting something, moving on, getting serious, it scared me so much, and you’ve never asked me since I came back again about that.”
“Well we did start something, we have a band, and we live together,” Mike was trying to help.
“I want to start something, Mike.” That’s when Mike got quiet, quiet and looking away, and Micky did his best to comfort. “I spent so long waiting for things to end and moving on without a choice, and now I’ve had time to adjust to a new way of life, and I want to stay.”
It was fragmented thoughts, fragmented worries and anxieties that filled both of them. That led Mike to hold onto him tighter. “You said it yourself, you live here.” But Mike knew that that was not what this was about. Micky had lived in plenty of places, more places than Mike even knew. And this was about something more.
“And this is where I want to live.” The words were simple but still so hard to say. “This is where I choose to live. Not an accident or a coincidence.” Micky was starting to sniffle as he spoke. Still keeping his touches gentle and comforting, “And this is the bed I choose to sleep in because I want to. And I make you breakfast because I want to. And I sing the songs you write because I want to.” Micky was bringing his face close, letting anxious kisses find their way to Mike’s temple. “Maybe I am over thinking things, maybe things are already real enough that this is just redundant, maybe me calling you and asking you for money and to sleep on your couch and inviting myself into your bed was enough to get the point across,” Micky was moving Mike’s face so that he had no choice but to look at him, “But even through our worst days and our worst nights I want us to be real. I want it to be a fact of our reality. That even on the off chance we are sleeping alone it’s real. I have spent so long being so hurt and only seeing other people for how they could hurt me. How they could beat me up, how they could leave, how they could die, how they could shoot me, screw me over, push me away, go missing, or worse how I could do all of that to them.” Micky had to pause, take a deep breath, “And even if all I have known for years is all these awful things I still want to sleep in our bed, and make you breakfast on the weekends, and love you, and be with you. More than just being with you, for us to be together.”
That’s when Micky started crying, and Mike was trying his best, trying his best to hold and nod and understand. Soon Mike was crying too. Because the longer he lived with it, the more he nodded, the more he understood. The more he understood what Micky meant. The more he so desperately wanted it. It wouldn’t fix things, it wouldn’t fix the nerves or the fears or the nightmares. It wouldn’t fix anything. It didn’t mean neither of them would ever leave or that they would never fall out of love. It didn’t even mean they got to be happy. But it was an agreement that this was happening, really happening, and what had happened really happened, and that these were their lives. Their lives that they were choosing to live. Not despite all that came before but because of it. Both of them choosing that they wanted each other, worries and nightmares and all. Bad parts included. Deciding for certain that they would rather hurt each other over and over and over again than keep each other at arms length.
They laid there silently for a long time, holding each other. Occasionally sharing kisses. Until they were dozing off into much needed sleep. Entwined in one another, as they so loved to be. Somehow sleeping better because of it.
And in a way, nothing really changed.
Micky still slowly woke Mike up in the morning, “I’m going to go start some coffee, do you want me to bring you up a cup once it’s ready?” he said quietly against his shoulder.
Mike slowly stirred awake, still half asleep as he looked over to Micky, eyes barely open. “No, I’ll come make my own cup.” And it was a quick kiss to the lips before Micky was getting out of bed. Mike laying there and taking his time.
Micky still left the door open so Mike could hear him downstairs as he started coffee and breakfast, and Mike couldn’t help but smile. Smile and wonder if other people ever got so lucky to be so genuinely loved.