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Frank puts the coffee bag back on the shelf and clutches the phone tighter. "You what?"
"I burned my hand," Mikey says down the line. "Can you come home?"
"Jesus—" An old lady stops next to Frank and reaches for the coffee bags. Frank hurries away from the shelves. Fuck groceries. "I'll be there soon," he says. "Don't, like, go into shock or anything."
"It's not that bad," Mikey says. His voice sounds far-away, but that's not that unusual. He sounds like he just got up; it's only late morning. Mikey's probably just still sleepy.
"I'll be right there," Frank promises.
"Okay," Mikey says, and hangs up. Jesus fuck.
Frank pockets his phone and heads to the check-out. Fucking Mikey. It hasn't even been two weeks since they moved in together and this is like the third time Frank's left him in the apartment on his own and he goes and does this. Frank's gonna fucking kill him.
If he runs any lights on his way home then, well, no one catches him.
~
The first thing Frank notices when he gets to their apartment is the smell of smoke. Fuck. Fuck.
"Mikey?"
"Kitchen," Mikey calls, and Frank hurries in. Mikey's sitting at their small table, right arm propped on it. There's a pan on the stove, and there's still some smoke in the air.
"Mikey, what the fuck?"
Mikey shrugs one shoulder, and Frank sees his right hand is red around the palm and wrist.
"What happened?" Frank asks, looking around the kitchen. The whole place is a mess, flour on the ground and little spots of burnt grease on the cupboard next to the stove.
"I was making pancakes," Mikey says. "There was a fire."
Frank takes a deep breath, and another one. Fucking hell.
"You put it out?"
"Obviously," Mikey says.
Frank frowns and walks closer to the stove, assessing the damage. It doesn't seem too bad off. There's no way they were ever going to get back their security deposit anyway, not after Otter somehow managed to punch a hole into the wall during their housewarming party.
"I was gonna throw water on it, but then I remembered Mom once said you need to put the lid over it and it'll kill the fire. Or, like, flour, but I kind of knocked that over."
Frank inhales sharply. "Not flour. That—shit, Mikey. Baking soda or something. Flour will fuck everything up."
"Oh," Mikey says. "It's good that I didn't use that, then."
"Yeah," Frank says. "Good. Okay, yeah, you got it—good. Your hand?"
He turns back toward Mikey and steps close, reaching out but not touching. The skin looks pretty irritated. He wonders if they should go by urgent care.
"I tried to pull the pancake off the pan at first," Mikey says, and Frank wants to smack him.
"You what?"
"It wasn't on fire, it was the grease around it."
"So you wanted to save the pancake?" Frank asks, growing more exasperated.
Mikey shrugs again, looking sad. "I was hungry. I don't know."
Frank sighs and pulls Mikey to lean against his chest, and squeezes his shoulder. "Okay," he says. Mikey's fine. The kitchen's fine. No one is dead. "Okay, let me see your hand."
Mikey holds it up and Frank takes hold of his arm and inspects the burn. The skin is red and obviously damaged, but the burn doesn't look too bad.
"You run water over it?"
"Yeah," Mikey says. "I couldn't find any ice either."
Frank pauses. "Why would you need ice?"
"To put on it?"
Frank is honestly considering smacking Mikey on the head. "You don't put ice on a burn."
"But it's cold."
"That doesn't—fucking hell, Mikey."
Mikey scowls and tugs on his arm, but Frank holds on.
"How long did you keep it under water?"
"A couple of minutes. It was really cold."
Frank sighs. "You're supposed to hold it longer than that."
"I know," Mikey says. "But I got tired."
Frank frowns and pulls back to get a good look at Mikey's face. He looks tired. "How bad does it hurt?"
Mikey shrugs one shoulder, and doesn't respond.
"Okay," Frank says, and leans down to wrap his arm around Mikey's waist, pulling him up. Mikey rises without complaining, and Frank leads him over to the sink and gets the cold water running. "Ten minutes," Frank says. "Then we'll wait a bit and bandage it. Unless it hurts, like, a shit-ton. Then we should probably go to the hospital."
Mikey doesn't say anything, and Frank nudges him. "Mikey? Come on, man, how bad does it hurt?"
"Not a shit-ton," Mikey says. "Just sucks."
"Okay," Frank says, and sticks Mikey's hand under the stream. Mikey flinches, but doesn't pull away. Frank adjusts the water pressure with one hand, keeping the other around Mikey. Mikey leans on him and breathes out slowly. Frank gets the sudden urge to run his hand through Mikey's hair—he knows Mikey finds it comforting. He'll do that later, though, after he's taken care of this.
"You okay, Mikey?" Frank asks, keeping an eye on the clock. Five minutes.
He turns Mikey's hand a little and watches the water fall over the red marks. It's still the pad of his palm that's worst off—probably when he tried to grab the handle of the pan.
"Mikey?"
"Yeah," Mikey says, sounding tired.
"You gotta be more careful, dude."
"It was an accident," Mikey says, voice quiet.
"I know," Frank says. "Just—next time, just step back and, like. Don't reach for the damn pancake or whatever."
"Sure," Mikey says. "Can I take my hand away now?"
"Few minutes more."
"I don't think it's gonna get any better."
Frank sighs and rubs at Mikey's forearm. "Two minutes."
"Will two minutes make a difference?"
"Jesus, Mikey. It's just two minutes."
"Exactly," Mikey says, and tries to pull his hand away. Frank's fingers slip and he almost grazes the spot of the burn.
Frank curses and lets Mikey move back, shutting off the water. "Okay," he says. "Stay. I'll get the good towel, and some bandages. Stay."
Mikey leans against the counter and nods. Frank holds his gaze for a second, and Mikey rolls his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. Just hurry the fuck up."
Frank huffs and heads to the bathroom.
~
Getting Mikey's hand bandaged doesn't take long. He sits still, not complaining, while Frank works at it. Frank makes sure not to wrap it too tight, checking in on Mikey, who only gives him the most basic answers.
"Did you buy coffee?" Mikey asks when Frank's tying the ends of the bandage together.
"Uh," Frank says. He looks up and sees Mikey looking back, eyes wide and hopeful. Fuck. "I'll go back later."
Mikey's face falls.
"Sorry!" Frank says. "We have some, right? You called me when I was in the coffee aisle, I got distracted, man."
Mikey frowns. "I should have waited, then."
"Uh, no," Frank says. "No, dude, you definitely shouldn't have waited. Jesus Christ."
"It's not like it's that bad," Mikey says.
Frank pointedly holds Mikey's hand up at him.
"Could be worse," Mikey says.
Frank shakes his head. "Playing will be difficult for a while."
"Oh," Mikey says after a beat. "Shit. Yeah." His voice has gone all quiet.
"It'll heal fast," Frank says immediately, mentally congratulating himself for never fucking up his hands at least. "You just have to take care of it and stuff."
"Yeah," Mikey says, sounding hopeful. "It's not like I can't play. It'll just hurt. You play injured all the time."
Frank flicks him on the shoulder. Mikey pulls his hand back and looks at the bandage.
"This is pretty good."
"One of my many talents," Frank says.
Mikey cracks a smile. "One of the less fun ones?"
Frank just about manages not to choke on his own spit. Fucking Mikey. "But useful," he says, and looks away.
There's a pause and Frank's about to get up and go check out how fucked up the stove is, and maybe get them something to eat, when Mikey makes a quiet noise. Frank turns his head fast and sees Mikey poking at the bandage.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"It hurts," Mikey says.
"That's why you shouldn't poke it," Frank says, gently taking hold of Mikey's arm and inspecting the bandage itself. It doesn't seem to be sticking to the skin or anything; it really wasn't that bad. "I can get you some Advil."
"Okay," Mikey says. "Thanks."
Frank gives him a look.
Mikey shrugs. "Just. Well. Thanks, you know. I couldn't have done this myself."
"Yeah," Frank says. "But you don't have to thank me, dude, you know that."
"Thanks for not yelling too much?" Mikey asks.
Frank rolls his eyes. "Look, you didn't burn the house down. So you're fine, just don't fucking do it again."
"Gerard almost burned the house down once," Mikey says.
Frank shakes his head. Of course he did. Fucking Ways.
"We can't tell Gerard," he says, idly running his fingers over Mikey's forearm. "He'll completely freak."
"I already called him."
Frank looks up sharply, and sees Mikey looking back with a slightly pinched face. "You did?"
"Yeah, but he didn't pick up." Mikey shrugs and pulls his hand away.
Frank feels bad for him. Maybe they should call Gerard.
"You're right," Mikey says, voice quiet. "We shouldn't worry him."
Frank sighs and reaches for his phone.
~
"I'm fine," Mikey says, his voice muffled against Gerard's shoulder.
Gerard hasn't let go of Mikey since he got here ten minutes ago. He's squeezing Mikey so tight Frank's not sure how Mikey's still breathing.
"Gee," Mikey says. "Gerard, I can't breathe."
Gerard pulls back immediately, eyes wide. "Why? What's wrong?"
Frank shakes his head and turns back to cleaning the counter. He can hear Gerard chastising Mikey, his voice climbing higher and higher. Frank knew Gerard would freak but he didn't expect it to be this bad. Gerard's usually—well, he's always intense about Mikey, but Frank usually sees Gerard freak out like this about creative stuff. (Besides that one time they lost Mikey at a gas station and Gerard got it into his head that he'd been kidnapped or some shit.)
"You could have died," Gerard exclaims, and Frank rolls his eyes. Mikey might sometimes lack self-preservation, but Frank's pretty sure he would have managed to run out of a burning building. Hopefully.
"You!" Gerard says, turning on Frank. "You were supposed to watch him."
Frank blinks.
"Well?" Gerard asks.
"Well what?" Frank asks. "I just went to the fucking store, man. I didn't think you meant I had to watch him all the fucking time. He's not a fucking kid."
Gerard's face clouds over and Frank takes a step back. What the fuck, this shit isn't his fault.
"You know he spaces out sometimes," Gerard says. "I know you do, that's why I trusted you to look after him!"
"I'm still here," Mikey says.
Gerard glances at him, looking sheepish, but then he's turning his glare back on Frank.
"You promised," he says, which is super fucked up and cruel. There's something in Frank's throat. He swallows against it, and takes a step closer.
"Ow," Mikey says loudly, and they both turn to him immediately. Fuck, fuck, they should have gotten it checked out, fuck the money. It's not like Frank can tell the difference between first and second degree burns.
Frank shoulders past Gerard, rushing to see what happened. Mikey's face is weirdly pinched and he's holding his arm out at length.
"Mikey, I swear to god, if you poked it again—"
"I tried to pick up the glass," Mikey says, pointing at the water glass.
"Well, don't!" Frank says.
Mikey scowls at him, but leans in immediately when Frank reaches for his shoulder and pulls him into an awkward hug. He rests his head against Frank's chest, and Frank can feel it when he sighs. He buries his fingers in Mikey's hair, just for a moment. Mikey makes a pleased noise.
There's a loud sound of something falling over. Frank looks up to see Gerard watching them, looking sheepish and—curious? Frank always thinks he's good at reading Gerard's face, but then Gerard suddenly buries everything away and it's impossible to figure out what he's thinking. Probably only Mikey can guess that.
Gerard picks up the mug he'd accidentally knocked over. "Mikey?" he asks.
Frank looks from Gerard to Mikey. His fingers are still in Mikey's hair. He can't read Mikey's face, either.
Frank clears his throat and pulls his hand away. "Stop messing with your wound, dude," he says.
Mikey doesn't break eye contact with Gerard, but he quirks his lips up. "Says you."
"I speak from experience," Frank says. "Anyway, do you want me to get you painkillers?"
"You said you were gonna get me Advil," Mikey points out.
"Shit," Frank says. "Yeah, yeah, hold on." He hurries to the bathroom. They have some Advil left, but not much. Probably most of it got used when Frank managed to break his toes. He needs to go shopping again, soon.
He comes back to find Mikey and Gerard whispering to each other, Gerard waving his arms and looking concerned.
Mikey shakes his head and looks away, wrapping one arm around himself. He looks up and smiles when he meets Frank's eyes. Something flips over in Frank's stomach. Something familiar and warm.
Something that's been there for a while now. Frank tried to ignore it at first, but lately he's been wondering if he has to. There was that whole thing at that party at Hambone's where Frank and been super fucking drunk and he'd just gone for it and kissed Mikey and Mikey had kissed him back, he had. But the next day nothing was different. Frank isn't sure if Mikey even remembers that. He'll ask at some point. Just not now.
"Here," he says, handing Mikey the Advil and then a glass of water.
"Thanks."
"I'm gonna make coffee," Gerard says.
"We don't have a lot," Frank says. "I was gonna buy some today."
"I brought some," Gerard says.
"My hero," Mikey says. Frank scowls, then shakes his head at himself. He goes to help Gerard with the coffee maker instead.
"I can do it myself," Gerard snaps.
"Fuck you," Frank says, and stomps out into the living room. Fucking Gerard. Frank knows he's just worried about Mikey and still reeling, but seriously, what the fuck? He just wants to help.
He stands in the middle of the living room, glaring at nothing. He considers going to his room and leaving Gerard and Mikey to it, but he doesn't actually want to do that.
"Frank?" Gerard says.
Frank looks at Gerard standing in the doorway. He crosses his arms and juts his chin up.
"I'm sorry for yelling," Gerard says.
Frank scowls at him.
Gerard wrings his hands. "Come on, Frankie. I really am sorry, I just freaked. I thought—"
"I know," Frank cuts him off. "I know, you're worried. That doesn't mean you have to be a dick."
Gerard opens and closes his mouth, like a fish. "I know," he says sadly. "I really do, Frankie. It's just, I have to make sure he's okay, and I know I fuck up sometimes. And then you called and I—I thought. You know. Anything could have happened."
"He's fine," Frank says automatically. Yeah, the fire could have been worse, but it wasn't. Frank will just have to make sure that Mikey doesn't try to cook anything again. Just in case. It probably won't be too hard, Mikey's super lazy about cooking.
"Yeah," Gerard says. "I know, it's just—I worry. I didn't know what was going on, and just—it's Mikey."
"I know," Frank says. "He's important to me, too." He frowns, wondering if he should have rephrased that somehow, but it's too late now.
"I know!" Gerard says immediately, stepping close and touching Frank's shoulder. "I know, Frankie. I'm sorry."
"This is really sweet," Mikey says, and Frank jumps back from Gerard, a little startled. "But I'm fine. Can someone get me some fucking coffee now?"
Gerard narrows his eyes. "You're not fine, you can't even get your own coffee!"
Frank rolls his eyes and goes to pour them all a cup. Fucking Ways.
~
Gerard stays till it's late evening. Mikey has to promise he'll call immediately if he feels worse or anything else happens, in exchange for Gerard not telling their mom what happened. It turns out Gerard has some poster to finish by tomorrow, which is probably the only reason he's leaving in the first place. He looks wounded when Mikey tells him to go, but Mikey hugs him and promises he's fine and no, he will not do anything like that again.
"I honestly thought he was gonna sleep on the floor, right next to your bed," Frank says after Gerard's left.
Mikey shrugs and sits down next to Frank on their couch, holding his hand out for the remote. Frank lets him have it.
"He could have slept on the couch," Mikey says.
"He would have slept next to your bed. To make sure you don't get into any more trouble."
Mikey rolls his eyes.
"You would have gotten up to pee in the middle of the night and stepped on his face."
Mikey laughs and scoots closer to Frank. Frank spreads the blanket he's snuggled under over Mikey's legs as well—it gets chilly in their apartment at night.
"His poor, poor face," Frank says. "Never the same again."
Mikey almost chokes on a giggle. "Footprint on his face!"
"All five toes right there on his forehead."
Mikey tips over, he's laughing so hard. Frank wonders if it's the painkillers. Mikey didn't take that many, though, so it's probably just Mikey being Mikey.
Mikey finally stops laughing and sighs. He's switching through the channels at rapid speed, there's no way he can see what's on the screen. The flashing images are making Frank's head hurt.
"Slow down," he says, touching Mikey's wrist. He can feel Mikey drag in a sharp breath. Huh.
"There," Frank says, when Mikey stumbles on a rerun of an old episode of X-Files. He pulls his hand away; Mikey drops the remote between them and rests his head on Frank's shoulder.
"Your hand okay?" Frank asks.
"Yeah," Mikey says. "It's fine."
"Doesn't hurt?"
Mikey shrugs, his bony shoulder knocking into Frank's arm.
There's a weird feeling in Frank's belly. Familiar, though.
"It's fine," Mikey says. "Thanks."
"Don't have to thank me, man."
"Yeah," Mikey says.
They fall into a comfortable silence, watching Mulder try to convince Scully of aliens. That weird feeling in Frank's belly keeps growing, though. He considers pushing it away again, pretending like it doesn't exist, but he's getting really fucking tired of that.
He might be scared, but he's always up for taking chances. And Mikey's cool. Mikey's better than cool, but in any case, Frank's fairly certain it won't go to shit, no matter what.
Unless Gerard kills him.
"I used to be scared of this episode," Mikey says.
Frank hums noncommittally.
Mikey squirms again. "Your shoulder is too bony."
Frank raises his eyebrows. "My shoulder? You're nothing but bones, dude."
"I'm not," Mikey says. Frank shakes his head, but doesn't reply. He's working up to this, he's not gonna get distracted.
"We should have a Twilight Zone marathon," Mikey says.
"Sure."
There's silence again after that. Mikey's a comfortable weight against his side. Frank takes a deep breath.
"Hey," he says. "Remember how I kissed you that night when we were both really fucking drunk at that party?"
Mikey makes a soft noise that Frank thinks means, "Yes."
"Do you wanna do that again sometime?"
"When we're drunk?" Mikey asks.
"No," Frank says after a pause. "I mean, if you—uh. Whenever? If you want."
"Do you want to?"
"Uh," Frank says. "Yeah?"
"Like, seriously?" Mikey asks. His voice has gone quiet, intent.
Frank squirms. "Yeah? I mean, only if you want—"
"Yes," Mikey says and turns fast, getting up on his knees on the couch. He wobbles on the soft surface, reaching out for Frank.
Frank steadies Mikey, curling one hand around his elbow to hold him up. Mikey leans in and kisses Frank, sweet and insistent. It's nothing like that party weeks ago; nothing like Frank remembers, at least. This is—this has promise. Frank takes it.
Mikey moves closer till he's pretty much straddling Frank's lap. He doesn't stop kissing Frank. Frank would hit himself over the head for not asking Mikey sooner, but he's kind of busy at the moment. His hands are occupied as well, resting on Mikey's thighs, his calluses catching on the rough denim.
"Fuck," Mikey says, pulling back. His glasses are askew and his hair's sticking up all weird; Frank wants to run his hand through it. "Uh," Mikey says. "You still want to? Again."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Frank asks. "Come here."
Mikey smiles and leans back in.
Frank buries his fingers in Mikey's hair and holds tight, kissing him deeply. Mikey's a surprisingly enthusiastic kisser—that part Frank remembers. Surprising because you couldn't tell that from just looking at him, just from seeing him at a show. He's surprisingly enthusiastic about a lot of things, though. Frank likes being one of the people who knows that. Frank likes Mikey.
Frank likes Mikey a lot.
Mikey's right, too; not all of him is bony. Frank runs his hands down his sides, down to Mikey's tiny, soft belly. His t-shirt is riding up and Frank's touching bare skin, the trail of hair there. Mikey makes an extremely pleased noise against Frank's mouth, but then shifts away again.
"Hey, come on," Frank says, but then notices Mikey's face. "You okay?"
"Leaned on the hand," Mikey says, wincing, and Frank notices he's touching Frank's shoulder with his injured hand. Mikey sits back, Frank keeping a firm hold on his hips so he doesn't fall off the couch and fucking break his skull or something.
Mikey sighs sadly, staring at his hand. Frank runs his fingers over Mikey's hip, the skin that's peeking from between his jeans and t-shirt.
"Come on," Frank says. He really doesn't want to stop kissing Mikey, but— "You should rest. That's how shit heals."
Mikey gives him an unsure look.
Frank pokes him in the side, gently. He wants his lips on Mikey's, wants to kiss Mikey some more. He definitely wants to kiss Mikey in other places,too, and considering how enthusiastic Mikey was he might even be able to talk Mikey into getting fucked by Frank. If Mikey's into that. Frank's pretty sure he is—you get to know a lot about people when you're touring with them—but he'll have to make sure first, obviously. Hopefully Mikey'll be into doing it with him, if he is into it at all.
Frank's thoughts are getting away from him.
Mikey shakes his head and moves out of Frank's lap, sitting back next to him again. "Sorry," he says.
"For almost burning the house down or for getting hurt?" Frank asks.
"Both?"
Frank nods. "Well, you didn't burn the house down."
"I didn't," Mikey agrees.
"Do I apologize when I get hurt?" Frank asks.
"You should," Mikey says. "You scare the crap out of us."
"Oh." Frank pauses. "Uh. Sorry?"
Mikey bumps Frank's side. Frank grins and settles his arm over Mikey's shoulder.
"You do care," Frank says, trying for teasing. He almost manages, he thinks. Hopes.
"Whatever," Mikey says. "You were super freaked out today."
Frank squeezes his shoulder. "Maybe," he says. "Don't do that again."
"Yeah," Mikey says, and yawns. "Fuck."
"Yeah," Frank says. "We should do that."
Mikey laughs, that fucking stupid, ridiculous laugh of his. "Yeah," he says. "Later. I can't even give you a handjob right now, shit."
"You can't masturbate, either," Frank points out.
"Oh my god," Mikey says. "You have to save me."
Frank cracks up, laughing so hard he gets tears in his eyes. Fucking Mikey Way.
"Seriously," Mikey says. "Frankie, you have to promise me."
"Okay, okay, I fucking promise," Frank says. "Do you want me to get you off right now?"
Mikey pauses, like he's actually fucking considering it. "No," he says after a bit. "I'm really tired, I think."
"Yeah," Frank says. "Tomorrow, then."
"Good," Mikey says, and nestles into Frank's side, falling asleep fast. He's heavy as fuck for someone so bony; there's no way Frank's getting him to his room.
Frank's not really that tired yet. The X-Files changed to infomercials while he wasn't paying attention. On screen someone is trying to get dog hair out of their couch. Mikey snuffles, rubbing his cheek against Frank's shoulder. Frank wraps his arm more firmly around Mikey and holds on.