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Mikey Way is afraid of a lot of things. Notably, even as a (kind of bad) musician, he is afraid of crowds. Normally, he’d drink his way out of it. Choke down those scary feelings for the sake of performing and deal with the headaches and even worse feelings in the morning.
How silly he was for thinking they’d have spare cash for some cheap booze.
Mikey Way is afraid and has no way to cope with it tonight. He was going to let everyone down, that’s for sure.
His ears were ringing. One of the backstage coordinators had to snap their fingers in his face and whistle to get his attention. All he got out of it was something about ‘being on in ten’ and that ‘they don’t have time for him to be sitting around and daydreaming.’
He wasn’t ‘sitting around and daydreaming.’ In fact, he was ‘sitting around and feeling impending doom come closer and closer.’
That feeling was gnawing at his stomach. He always got nervous before shows, so this was normal. It was normal, right? There probably wasn’t even that many people there.
Mikey Way is wrong about a lot of things. Especially that stupid ass comment.
He made a mistake. What mistake did he make? Peaking at the crowd from the backstage door.
That venue couldn’t have fit more people if it tried.
Mikey Way loved making music. He loved his band, loved Bullets, loved Revenge.
Scratch that.
He kind of hated Revenge at the moment. They were too popular for him to be comfortable with anymore.
Before he knew it, they were on in five and he wished lightning would strike through the roof and hit him so he wouldn’t have to go.
He clutched the neck of his bass so hard, he almost thought he’d snap it in half.
Mikey came to terms with the fact that he’d have to perform tonight. He may as well warm up so that his shitty playing doesn’t sound so shitty.
He spaced out while playing in some corner backstage, so much so he didn’t realize a certain tattooed figure in front of him until he heard a loud twang and felt vibrations through his arms.
He snapped his strings.
Mikey jumped, almost squealing as the poor strings dangled off of the body of his bass.
”-ikey? -kes?” There was a voice. “-arth to Mikes?” Mikes. That’s his name. Who was talking to him again?
Frank was frantically waving a hand in front of his face when Mikey finally focused out of whatever state he was in.
”Is somethin’ goin’ on with you? What happened?” Frank mumbled, looking not frustrated but almost annoyed. “You snapped your strings and we’re on like..” He looked down at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Now..”
Mikey stood there like an idiot, left hand still clutching the neck of his bass while his right thumb and index squeezed his pick. He couldn’t answer even if he tried.
Frank waited (impatiently) for Mikey to give him something to work with. Things didn’t click until he spotted the way his shoulders shook and his posture shrunk in.
”It’s the crowd, isn’t it? Too much for you?”
Mikey offered a timid nod, feeling his breath pick up at the sheer thought of that damn crowd.
”Yeah, figured.”
He felt the bass lifted out of his grip, the strap coming off his shoulders as Frank carried it to the nearest stand. He felt something else too. A hand in his, leading him somewhere.
Before he realized, they were sitting on the bottom level of metal stairs that connected backstage to the roof. He smelled cigarette smoke and cologne. Frank was next to him.
”I know it’s hard, all those people starin’ and yellin’.”
Mikey softly nodded, ignoring the way his chest kept tightening as each breath became shorter. He bit his lip hard, likely adding a new scar or bruise to them.
“Hey. Don’t think too hard about it, pretend those assholes aren’t even there.”
”..Y-You make it sound easy.” Mikey choked out, bringing his arms around his knees.
”It’s not easy, but you can make it through. Mikey Fuckin’ Way can’t quit on us now!” Frank grinned at him, lip ring tugging upwards.
”..I can’t. I-I..really can’t.” Mikey quickly shook his head, tears betraying him as they fell from his eyes.
He was even more of a mess in an instant.
Mikey was shaking and crying and too deep in his own thoughts. He wished he was anyone else, someone who could handle this better.
Normally, anyone being close to him would feel like radio static. He wondered why Frank’s arms around him felt so nice.
He cried into Frank’s collarbone without even thinking about it, feeling a thumb trace circles into the small or his back while another hand coiled around his waist.
“Should I go grab Gee?” Frank whispered, removing his hand from Mikey’s waist to tilt his head up and take his glasses off.
Mikey frantically shook his head. “I’m already..m-making us late. Already enough trouble.” He mumbled, shaky hands squeezing the fabric of Frank’s shirt. “Don’t go.” He wondered when he had gotten so demanding.
”’M not goin’ anywhere.” Frank shifted, pulling Mikey in to lean against his chest as he leaned back against the railing of the stairs. “Don’t worry ‘bout us goin’ on late, doesn’t matter.”
“It totally does matter..” Mikey sighed, closing his eyes and curling in on himself against Frank. “..You guys should find someone else to play bass..”
”Out of the question.” Frank firmly shook his head, idly combing a hand through Mikey’s hair. “All of us share that sentiment, don’t you know that? We wouldn’t be the same if some nobody chum was playing bass instead of Mikey Fuckin’ Way.”
Mikey felt himself chuckle a little, smiling against Frank’s shirt. “I think some ‘nobody chum’ that’s actually good at bass would be alright..”
”Not an option, Mikeyway.”
“Whatever.”
Frank smoked another cigarette and kept Mikey close, eventually settling on humming to him.
”Thanks..”
Frank glanced down at Mikey’s head, feeling a smile play at his lips. “For?”
”This. Everything.”
”You know I’d do anythin’ to help you, right?”
”Yeah, still polite to thank you.”
Mikey tilted his head up, meeting Frank’s gaze.
“Are you okay to go out there? If you need more time, I have time to give.”
”Y’know, I think..I’ll try.”
Frank liked that answer. He shifted to stand, helping Mikey up and climbing up the stairs to go back inside.
Were they around an hour late? Yeah. Did Mikey realize that? Of course, he can read a clock. Does he feel bad about it? Surprisingly, no.
They walked backstage, Frank sitting on the floor in the corner Mikey was practicing in earlier to quickly replace his bass strings. Mikey’s hands were too shaky to do it himself.
Mikey was startled by a familiar voice and dark hair.
”Mikey! Lord, where have you been? Frank too, we’ve been searchin’ for you guys everywhere-“
Gerard appeared behind him, exasperated and out of breath. Until he saw Mikey’s expression, that is. Furrowed brows and tear stained cheeks.
“Freaked out. Sorry.” Mikey mumbled.
”Should’ve expected that..Don’t be sorry, Mikes. Not on you.”
He felt his brother’s arms around him. He hugged them back.
”Do you think everyone’s, yknow, mad?”
“Doesn’t matter, you bein’ up to playin’ is my top priority.”
”..Promise?”
”I wouldn’t lie ‘bout somethin’ like this, Mikey. Don’t stress it, we’re ready when you are.”
Ray appeared next to Gee, guitar strap around his torso and a grin on his face.
”Found the elusive Mikeyway finally? Ready?”
Frank strolled back up, Pansy’s strap around his shoulder and Mikey’s bass, new strings and all, in his hand.
“I think I am.”
They all played like their lives depended on it, as per usual. Did Mikey keep his eyes on his bass (and Frank) the whole time? Of course. Did he survive the performance because of it? Yes, and that’s all that matters.
Gerard and Ray wanted to stay out after the show, and usually Mikey wouldn’t mind. He minded tonight. He wanted to go back to the hotel.
To his utter shock, Frank stayed with him. Frank, who would usually use any chance to go out, wanted to stay in with him for the night.
Instead of drinking and eating greasy bar food, Frank and Mikey spent the night watching movies in their cramped hotel room bed.
Mikey wouldn’t have it any other way.