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Small would be the word Mike would use to describe Billie's house.
In his opinion, there were far too many people trying to live under one roof -- 7 to be exact. Since Mike had recently moved away from his mother, he brought that number up to a rotating group of 8 different people living under one roof. Of course, with Billie being the baby of the family, that made his sibling quite older than him, but that still didn't stop the house from feeling overcrowded. The kids had to come back to the nest at some point.
Mike liked living in the Armstrong house anyway. It could have had a thousand people living there, and he would have still been happy. Anything was better than living at home at this point. The fact that his adoptive mother was moving to Louisiana without him just made the whole thing easier.
Billie's house sounded like music, 24/7, 365 days a year. They were a musical family, so it was of no surprise. It got a little quieter after Billie's father passed away, though.
Mike never knew Billie's father very well, after all, they had only met like two-weeks prior, but it was a very odd roller-coaster of emotions for everyone involved. Mike didn't want to see his new friend in such pain, and the loss hit Billie so incredibly hard, but grief was a difficult word for Mike.
Grief didn't exist much in Mike's vocabulary. He wondered at times if it was some factory default in him that made it that way. Maybe not having real parents does that to you.
His adoptive mother was practically bi-polar. At times, she would be so protective of him, keeping his step-father's punishments far away from him and defending him the best she could; but then again, she left a 16 year old to fend for himself in California while she ran off to Louisiana without even looking back.
He wouldn't be lying if he said it hurt.
So when Billie wouldn't leave his room for the weeks following his death, no matter how many rocks Mike threw at his windows, how many notes he put under his door when Ollie would let him in to see if he could lure Billie out of his room, or even the hours spent just waiting outside for Billie to come out to play, he wondered if he felt the same way Billie did all the way back then.
Probably not, because Mike only cried once when it happened, Billie cried a lot.
The first night in the Armstrong house after his mom left, he hid himself in the back of Billie's closet -- the one Billie had cleared a whole side in excitement for his new roommate, only for him to have enough clothes to use maybe 8 hangers. It took Billie the whole night for him to finally get Mike to stop sobbing and lay down in his bed, only lying next to him because Mike would cry harder when he would attempt to fix a bed for himself on the floor.
His body physically cringed when that night replayed in his head on his walk home from school. He would normally talk to Billie about stupid things that happened during the school day, or their favorite topic, music, when they walked home from school, but Billie barely went to school these days.
Getting Billie to go to school was like trying to cut off your hand, painful. There was no convincing him of any uses of the education system, so he would stay home, writing music in his room to share with Mike when he would come home. He fought constantly with his mother on the topic, but the current answer to his desire to drop out entirely was a resounding no. Mike didn't want to go either, but he felt he owed it to Mrs. Armstrong since she was letting him live in her house for free.
The house was oddly quiet for a change. After school, normally everyone was at work anyway, often until the early hours of the morning; but even then, Mike was shocked to not hear Billie practicing somewhere in the house.
Turning down the hallway connected to the living room where Mike kicked off his shoes, he could also see Billie's room had its door completely shut. Curiosity spiked every one of Mike's senses.
Putting his ear up to the door, and upon hearing nothing, Mike assumed Billie had just left the door shut and had probably left the house to hangout with some girl he was interested in. However, the shock hit when he opened the door and he saw Billie kneeling in front of the long wall mirror that connected to his bedroom floor.
Billie was currently just inches away from the mirror, doing what appeared to be his lipstick. He seemed to have completely finished the rest of his makeup and was just putting on the final touches. His eyeliner was well put together, not smuggled in the slightest, unlike any time Mike had seen him wear it in the past. What made the look so different was the pink glittery eyeshadow that covered his entire eyelid. Mike would also put money on the fact he was wearing foundation and blush. What made his heart stop was the pretty pink lipstick that covered the singer's soft pouty lips.
Letting his eyes wander only slightly down, Mike's breath stuttered for a second. Billie was wearing this little white dress, slip style, made of the most gentle and soft fabric. Mike was sure that Billie was also wearing a bra, but the lacy lining made it a bit difficult to tell. Mike wanted to say that he found all of it in one of his older sisters' rooms, but he couldn't be sure which of his siblings would wear something like this.
Billie panicked upon hearing the creaking of his door, stumbling to stand, but instead of running, he stood shyly with his hands clasped behind him. He looked like a puppy that got caught doing something it was told repeatedly not to do.
"Hi Mike.”
"Hey Billie, what's uh-- whatcha doin'?"
Billie stuttered quite a few times before giving up and giving a half-hearted shrug. He couldn't talk his way out of this one if he wanted to.
Mike, sensing Billie's fear, opted to speak first. "You look nice." Both got a laugh out of it, but tried to hide their blushing cheeks from the other.
"Thanks."
They stood in painfully awkward silence after that, tension so thick, it nearly suffocated both of them.
"Do you wanna try?”
Mike coughed a little in surprise, tearing his eyes away from the patch of carpet he had chosen to stare at by Billie's feet instead of making awkward eye contact, eyes moving to look at the other man.
"Umm-- I guess." Mike's response even surprised him, more than Billie, who even dropped his jaw in shock. Mike had never ever put on makeup in his life, so why had he said yes on instinct? Maybe it was because he could never say no to Billie, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to.
Billie walked over, dress swaying like trees in the breeze as he walked, and grabbed Mike's clammy hand. Neither of them made any eye contact, basically staring in opposite directions as Billie led him to sit on the floor, leaning up against the bedframe.
Billie busied himself with different tubes of makeup that Mike wasn't sure he knew the names to. They were light and skin colored, but that's all he noticed. Billie would hold the tubes up to his face before deciding on a color Mike thought was a few shades too light for his skin tone.
"Is it supposed to be that light?" The application stick began to paint his face, surprising him that the liquid happened to be warm.
"Yeah, so, it's called concealer. It's lighter so that it hides your darker features, like dark circles or even acne." Billie giggled a bit on his final word. Mike had always struggled badly with acne. Learning there was something that could hide it unlocked a whole new world for him.
Once Billie deemed there was enough product on his face, he smudged it around with a feather light touch. Mike's heart fluttered, feeling his friend's fingers lightly graze his face. He allowed himself to close his eyes and relax into it before the touch suddenly turned into a soft slapping against his face, surprising him.
Mike broke into startled laughter, "What is that?"
"It blends the product into your face, so it's called a blender." Billie stated everything like a teenage girl, like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. "Okay, I didn't put foundation on you because you're pretty enough without it, plus the eye stuff is more fun."
Mike wouldn't need blush with how red his face was. Being called pretty certainly was a first, but was definitely welcomed. He watched Billie get up from his kneeling position beside him, mind turning to lovey mush from just looking at him.
"You look beautiful.”
Mike didn't mean to say that outloud, wishing that had stayed an inside thought. However, Billie seemed to love his compliment, hiding a stupid blushing smile by turning away from Mike to look for shadow, only for Mike to see it in the reflection of the mirror. No response was ever given to the complement, both opting to ignore it for the time being.
When Billie seemed to be content with the materials he found to use on Mike, he returned to his spot beside the sitting bassist. However, he seemed to be struggling with something, looking back and forth to Mike and the makeup on the ground, hands not moving with certainty. Mike almost asked him what was wrong before Billie swung his leg over his lap.
Mike swore he almost died when Billie's weight hovered above him, legs splayed on either side, dress covering them in an intimate way. Billie was so close, he could probably feel Mike's stuttering heart beat through his chest, or even his uneven breaths.
"Close your eyes.”
Billie's voice was all the way down to a breathy whisper. Mike obeyed and was quickly met with Billie's careful touch fluttering on his eyelids. He was practically white knuckleing the carpet, hands itching to grab at Billie's waist, push his weight further down onto his lap. He hated the fact Billie was being cautious, like he was scared to hurt Mike with his weight.
So when Mike grabbed him by the waist and sat him down firmly, it was like fireworks went off in his brain.
He was sure he would never feel this good again.
Mike couldn't see the reaction from Billie, as he still continued to have his eyes closed as previously ordered. He wondered if Billie's mind also felt like it was spinning in circles. From the way Billie grabbed his slightly stubblely jaw, he was sure that Billie's head was spinning just like his.
"Open your eyes, Mikey.”
Mike was immediately met with a mascara wand straight to the eye. He flinched away and tried to distance himself the best he could from the odd tool. He trusted Billie with his life, but not with that weird little devil tool.
"You gotta keep your eyes open." Billie said with a laugh. Mike was trying his hardest, but he hated the sensation with his whole heart. His eyes watered and soon the tears started to fall.
Billie slowly talked him through it, giving him plenty of brakes, as not to overwhelm him. His voice was soft, just like the fabric of the dress Mike was gripping far too hard, bunching it up just at the hips, which also outlined Billie's smaller figure. When he finally finished Mike's least favorite part, he copied his other hand by cupping Mike's face on both sides, gently swiping the tears away.
Billie's face couldn't be more than a few inches away from Mike's. He could tell because the pair were practically breathing into each other's mouths. Both knew they were caught in an awkward position, waiting for the other to make the first move to either move towards or away from the situation.
"You need lipstick."
"I want yours."
Mike had found some nerve today. He had never been this empowered in his whole life. Maybe having to start almost a whole new life at 16 causes you to lose your fears a little bit. The worst that could happen was to lose Billie as a friend, and that would be a fate worse than death. What else did he have to lose?
Mike's arm moved from waist to the back of his friend's head, fingers weaving into the brown long curly hair, pushing it just around his ear and pulling them so their lips just barely touched.
Their moment was interrupted by the rumbling of some car in the street pulling to a stop in front of the Armstrong house. Both boys snapped away from each other to look out the open window. The car was not just any car.
"Shit, my brother's home!"
The two scrambled off of each other, suddenly very aware of what they looked like and what they almost did. Billie dashed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, the sound of rushing water from the shower quickly following.
Mike scoured the floor for one of those makeup remover wipe things he'd seen Billie's sisters' use before. He was grateful that Billie had shut the door to his bedroom in his rush to the bathroom, because once Mike found the wipe, he rubbed it all over his face like a mad man.
Once the wipe had turned a variation of many different colors, and his face no longer looked all that feminine, he allowed himself to sigh a breath of relief.
Mike couldn't get the image of Billie out of his head. Situated nicely on his lap, hair hitting his shoulders just right and framing his face perfectly, and the makeup that highlighted every gorgeous feature about him.
Billie looked like a girl.
And Mike desperately wanted Billie to be his girl.
He would run away with her. Take her far away from this shitty town, just like his mother did. He would buy her everything she ever wanted, just to see her smile that crooked smile.
He would work himself to the bone so that she never had to worry. She could focus on music, and most importantly, playing music with him.
They could grow old together, and talk about stupid memories like this with anybody who wanted to listen. Talk about their first almost kiss when they were scared teenagers.
Mike hoped the glimmer of fear he felt when Billie's lips grazed his would never hit him again, especially the fear of getting caught.
The thought hit his mind and really sunk in now he was alone.
He was in love with Billie Joe.