Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mikey doesn't like to think that he's avoiding his brother, but when it comes down to it, that's exactly what he's doing. Gerard is completely sober, more than 100 percent, if that's possible, so the last thing Mikey wants to do is be around him like this, fucked up and buzzing on something someone gave him backstage. Whatever it is, it's fucking awesome, because Mikey can feel the blood in his veins moving, chugging along at its own rhythm, and he can't help but move to it, swaying in the dark out of the range of the fire that someone has going between a couple of buses.

"Hey. Hi. It's hot, right? By the fire. Back here is much better." Mikey looks to his side and Pete Wentz is standing there. He and Pete have been hanging out since before Warped – at the House of Blues show and at Bamboozle - but Pete is Pete and he's tweaking on something hard. He's in constant motion, like he's vibrating, even when he's standing still. "Less hot. Not in the guy way, because you are very hot in the guy way. I’m Pete. We've met. In case you don't remember."

"I remember." This is Pete’s thing sometimes, like it’s all new, like Mikey might want to say something different and not hang with him at all.

"You're Mikeyway. Mikey fucking Way. I remember you. You're memorable." Pete rubs his face with one hand, moving his skin around like it's not actually connected to his body. "You want to go somewhere?"

"Where?"

"Somewhere else. There are a million stars out tonight. You can't see them, because they're behind clouds, but I will point at clouds and tell you what's behind them because I have x-ray vision."

"Do you actually know any of the constellations?"

"No, but I can make shit up better than anyone."

Mikey considers it for a minute and then gestures toward the keg. "Go get us more beer."

"I can do that too." Pete scampers off, grabbing a bunch of solo cups and filling them with beer, his probably dirty fingers in the mouth of each of them as he carries them back to Mikey. He's got three in each hand and he smiles at Mikey like he just won the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"There's a field over there. Behind some of the buses. We can go there. Lay in the field."

"There are bugs."

"Maybe. But there are bugs in the air. I have four mosquito bites just from the time I went to get the beer. We're being eaten alive like it's a horror film, only we'll live to tell the tale. C'mon." He starts off, and he has the beer, so Mikey follows him through the maze of buses to the scraggly expanse of grass Pete has deemed a field. Mikey's not sure it's not just where the asphalt gave up and let the weeds take over. Pete sits down carefully, hands still full of beer and then he sets all but two of the cups down. "C'mon. Beer."

Mikey sits cross-legged on the ground, glaring at the grass warily as he settles down next to Pete. He takes one of the cups and drinks half of it in a couple of gulps. The beer is shitty, but it rides along the buzz of the pills nicely, buffeting him with waves of warmth. Pete stretches out beside him, propped up on one elbow as he drinks. He's kind of engulfed by his hoodie, zipped all the way up with the hood over his head. Mikey can't say much, since he's almost identically dressed, though he huddles in his whereas Pete seems to stand out even when he's covered from head to toe.

"So." Mikey finishes his first beer, sets a full cup inside the empty and takes a drink from the new one. "You promised me stars."

"Oh. Yeah. Totally." Pete lies back completely, setting his half-full beer on his stomach. He points up at the cloudy sky, everything grayish-yellow in the faint light of the moon burning through. "There's Peridontics. The dentist. Right there. See? There's the little dental mirror thing?"

"Yeah." Mikey tilts his head back like he's actually looking. "And the basin to spit in."

"Totally. And there's Lucille."

"Lucille?" Mikey turns his head and looks at Pete.

"Yeah. The Queen of Hamsters. She who eats pellets." He sketches a shape in the air. "Can't you see the little wheel? Ancient lore says that when you close your eyes at night in summer, you can hear the squeak of the wheel spinning round."

Mikey closes his eyes on instinct, and maybe it's Pete or maybe it's the drugs or maybe it's something else, but he can hear the wheel spinning. "Hear it."

Pete's quiet for a moment, but Mikey can hear the telltale swallow, the slosh of beer. "And over there. That's Orion."

"He's the hunter, right?"

"That's the common misconception. Actually if you look closer, he's riding a bicycle. He's Orion, the Tour de France guy."

"Orion Armstrong."

"Exactly. If you look, you can see the three stars that make up his wristband."

Mikey snorts into his beer as he takes another drink and cuts his eyes to the side to look at Pete. He's totally serious, sipping his beer and staring up at the sky. "What else?"

"There's Lana. The surfer chick. And Bruce. He's the shark fin a few stars behind her." He points off over some of the buses. "And there's Emily. She's the goth chick. If you get really high some people say you can taste her tears."

"That's creepy."

"Astronomy is not for the weak, my friend." Pete's on his second beer now, not far behind Mikey. "There's Nietzsche."

"The philosopher dude?"

"No. The bulldog."

"Oh right. And that there. That's his leash?"

Pete grins, brighter than any star Mikey's ever seen. "Exactly."

"And there." Mikey points without looking away from Pete. "That's Maleficent, right?"

"Totally. And over there is the dragon." Pete grins even wider, if it's possible, which Mikey's pretty sure it isn't, but he sees it himself. "You're a natural, Mikeyway."

Mikey shrugs and takes another drink of his beer, draining his second glass. He's drinking them too fast, but he can feel the buzz of the pills fading. He has more in his pocket, but taking one means sharing, and he's not sure he wants to do that. Instead he picks up the third cup and sips from it. "Anything else?"

"Not this time of year. In the winter you can see Albatross the squirrel, Clyde the rabbit warrior, Herman the sock monkey, Mergatroid the iguana, and Benedict the rabid llama."

"Winter sounds pretty fucking cool."

"It really is." Pete drains his beer, and Mikey can tell his high is fading too. He yawns and lies back on the ground, eyes closed. "You're pretty fucking cool too, Mikeyway."

"Can't sleep out here. We'll get eaten alive. Bugs'll have a field day and you'll be a giant mosquito bite."

"Bugs don't like all the shit in my system. One bite and they leave me alone. They'll tell all their friends in their dying breath that I'm toxic."

Mikey lies down next to him and turns on his side, looking at Pete. "Can't go back to the bus like this. Make things harder on Gee."

"He's really sober?"

"As a priest." Mikey wrinkles his nose. "I guess priests drink wine. Soberer than that then."

"That's cool." Pete yawns again and moves closer, snuggling in against Mikey, butting his head against Mikey's shoulder. "Lie back."

Mikey does, rolling onto his back. Pete stays right against him, settling his head on Mikey's shoulder. Mikey curves his arm around him and holds him close, breathing in heat and beer and grass. His nose itches, but the rest of him feels pretty good, and Pete's warm and solid. He sniffs and rubs his nose, eyes closed, curling into Pete until he falls asleep.

When Mikey wakes up a few hours later, Pete is sitting next to him, staring at him. It's unnerving and awkward and Mikey pushes his glasses up to rub his eyes and block the sight of him. "Time's it?"

"Four-thirty. Bus call soon. I want pancakes. Doesn't that sound good?"

"It sounds mean." Mikey sits up and lets his glasses fall back to the end of his nose. "Because there are no pancakes. It's like teasing with breakfast food."

"If I was being mean, I'd have mentioned bacon. Oh, man. Now I want bacon." Pete chews on his thumbnail and then spits. Mikey doesn't blame him. They're both probably beyond filthy and covered with who knows what. "I wonder if I can bribe Patrick to get me bacon."

"What's the deal with you two?" Mikey rolls his head in a circle, feeling the bones and muscles clench and tighten but not pop. It's frustrating, because he wants the relief of it instead of the constant strain. "Like, you're all over him and shit. Is that just for show or are you a thing?"

Pete shrugs and looks decidedly uncomfortable. Mikey's tired and coming down from his high, so he doesn't look away. "We're not a thing. We're just...I don't know. Best friends. He's there for me. He puts up with me. It's hard to explain."

Mikey nods and finds his last beer cup, picking out a few dead bugs and leaves before draining the dregs of it. "Gee and I are like that. Were like that. Right now we're a little weird. With the sober thing. And the not sober thing."

"Right now Patrick thinks I'm the biggest pain in the ass he's ever met. He's probably right. But maybe you and I could hang out. You know, be each other's best friends for a while. Give them a rest."

"I'm not sure that's how it works." Mikey looks over his glasses at Pete. He's slightly fuzzy, but he looks absolutely sure of what he's saying. Mikey's been lonely since Japan, since Gerard has been someone a little different, and the thought of someone actually wanting to spend time with him, pay attention to him is almost addictive. "But yeah. Okay."

"Awesome. We're our own little gang, you and me. We need our colors. And a gang sign."

"I wear a lot of black."

"Me too. Black is awesome." Pete raises his hands over his head, stretching. His head falls back and his hoodie rides up, exposing a faded t-shirt and the hint of a dark tattoo underneath it. "We have to come up with a name too."

"I'm not really a name guy."

"Not true. I know your story. You named your band." Pete slumps back down, shoulders hunched. "Have to put your thinking cap on, Mikeyway. Next time we meet, I expect ideas."

"Ideas."

"Yeah. Gang names, colors. Community service activities." Pete smiles, and Mikey's surprised that it's just as electric as the night before. Or hours before. He's not sure anymore. "We should probably get back to the buses though. Patrick gets pissed if he has to get out of bed to find me for bus call."

Mikey nods and gets to his feet, grabbing his empty cups as well as Pete's. "Yeah. I don't know that anyone in my band would get out of bed for me. They might just leave me here."

"Dude, you've always got space on my bus." Pete gets to his feet and works his arm through Mikey's, hugging him close. "Because that's what best friends are for."

**

Mikey wakes up in Pete's bunk, Pete lying on top of him. His body's tucked into the vee of Mikey's legs, his head on Mikey's chest. He feels good, warm and solid and familiar, and Mikey curves his arm around Pete's back, keeping him close. Pete's snoring softly, a weird hitch in his breath and a sigh that seems like it goes on forever. Mikey loves the feel and sound of him, loves that Pete's relaxed with him. He strokes his hand up and down Pete's back, over his t-shirt.

Mikey's lost track of time on the tour, spending all of his free moments hanging out with Pete. They drink and they pop pills and they talk for hours about everything. Mikey's told Pete about growing up as a younger brother, about the Jersey scene, about his hopes and his fears, about the dark things that live in his head. He's told Pete the plot to all his favorite movies and inundated him with comics. Pete's talked almost as much, but it's been in small spurts, like the words get away from him and he can't control them anymore. Mikey's heard about his parents and his siblings and how much the band means to him. He's heard about Patrick and about Jeanae, lyrics fleshed out with stories and pain in Pete's voice, raw from screaming at the audiences.

He knows he still doesn't know much about Pete. Pete’s got so many guards and shields up, it's like trying to infiltrate a Death Star without Ewoks to help you take it down. He's heard stories, and he actually listens to them now, the rumors that constantly swirl around Pete like some sort of aura. He knows which ones are things Pete's perpetrated himself now at least, can tell from the way the lies sound.

Pete snorts and snuffles and then blinks at Mikey blearily. "Hey." His voice is still trashed from the night before, rough from the show and burnt from the weed they shared with Travis. "Hey."

"Hey." Mikey moves his hand up, smoothing it over Pete's hair. There's sweat and product and dirt in it, and Mikey works his fingers through it, breaking everything down so he can actually comb it with them, leaving rows in the thick strands.

Pete squirms forward so he's directly above Mikey, his feet brushing the inside of Mikey's calves. Mikey tries to ignore the pressure on both his dick and his bladder, but Pete's constantly in motion, so it's hard not to feel both. "You sleep?"

"Some. Yeah." He rubs the tip of his nose against Pete's, his lips parted in invitation. They've made out a few times, mostly drunken groping and messy, biting kisses until they've passed out, drooling on each other. They usually get kicked back to Pete's bunk to sleep it off, Joe or Patrick or Andy or Dirty forcing them out of the lounges. It's never gone past that, and Mikey wants a taste of it like this, both of them mostly sober. "Hey."

Pete licks his lips and Mikey can feel the heat of his breath in the wake of his tongue. Mikey wants this, and he senses Pete does too from the way his breathing is rough, the way he's pressed close. Pete tilts his head, and Mikey leans in, and just like that they're kissing. It's different. Better. Slow and warm and firm, and Pete's tongue slides against Mikey's. Mikey hums low in his throat, and presses his tongue to Pete's, wanting more.

It feels like hours of a slow burn, building and building until Mikey's on fire with it. His cock is hard and aching and he wraps a leg around Pete, thrusting up against him slowly. Pete kisses with the same intensity of his lyrics, exploring Mikey's mouth like he's trying to figure out all the things that make him tick. It's kind of like torture, pushing until he's at the end of his rope, ready to give in. Pete grinds down against him and Mikey groans, unable to keep the sound inside any longer.

"God, Pete. Fuck." Mikey's hands slide down Pete's back, over his ass, holding him there so Mikey can thrust up against him. "Feel so good."

"I don't...I'm not..." Pete kisses him and pulls away, sucking on Mikey's lower lip until there's too much room between them. He scrambles out of the bunk, dropping to the floor. Mikey rolls on his side and watches. Pete's face is flushed and his dick is tenting his sweat pants like it fully intends to rip the fabric apart. "I can't do that."

"Do what? That? Yes. Yes. You were doing fine." Mikey's breathing hard as well, and all of his blood is in his dick throbbing insistently, a steady beat that sounds like 'fuck Pete, fuck Pete, fuck Pete' in his head. "Good. Really good even."

"I'm not gay."

"I...what?"

"I'm not gay."

"We were just making out. We've been making out."

"Yeah, but that's above the waist. That's different."

"You're straight below the waist, is that what you're saying?" Mikey sits up, hunched over slightly to avoid the top of the bunk. Now that he doesn't have Pete pressed tight against him, his bladder is making a comeback and determined to have its way.

"Yeah. I guess."

"I need to piss." Mikey hops off the bunk and goes back to the bathroom. He's still so turned on that it takes a minute to get started, and so he's not sure what he's going to find when he's done. He looks thoroughly used in the mirror, his mouth red and bruised and swollen like he's been sucking cock for hours. His own cock gives a little jolt at that. He washes his hand and rubs cold water on his face, then takes one look at the towel and leaves with water still dripping out of his hair rather than touch it.

Pete's still standing in the hallway, staring down at his feet. His dick is still half-hard in his sweats, and Mikey feels like he's kicked a puppy. "So you don't do dick."

"No." Pete doesn't quite meet Mikey's eyes, but his gaze lifts to about the middle of Mikey's chest. "I mean, I like you. And I like kissing you. A lot. But...I've never...I'm not a big fan of dicks. Mine. Yours. Anyone's really. Even Patrick's, and you know I think he's pretty much perfect."

"Okay." Mikey sighs roughly. "Okay. So I'm not being accusatory or anything here, but maybe you should have mentioned that when we first started making out or something. Not, like, when we're in your bed and...have assumed the position."

"I know. I know." He sounds miserable, like he just kicked a puppy. "But it's weird to bring up. I mean, maybe you just like kissing me. Maybe you didn't want more. And if I bring it up, you think I want more or you think I think you want more. Or you think I'm a freak or whatever, because I love kissing you. Kissing you is great. I will kiss you a lot if you let me."

"But you don't want to fuck."

Pete's eyes are dark and sad when he finally meets Mikey's. "No. I'm sorry."

Mikey exhales and rubs his eyes under his glasses. "I need a drink."

"I have something. Hang on." Pete hurries down the aisleway, pushing aside the door that separates the lounge from the bunks. Mikey leans against wall and waits for him, taking out his phone and texting Gerard while he waits. It's their main form of communication these days, letting each other know they're fine while they're spending time with other people. Mikey's almost always with Pete, and Gerard's spending time hanging with the Andy and Patrick and their group of edge friends.

Pete comes back before Gerard replies, a bottle of cheap vodka, a packet of Kool-Aid, and two cups in his hand. "The back lounge is empty if you want to talk there."

Since the only other option is hunching together in Pete's bunk and right now Mikey's not sure he can handle being that close to him, he nods and lets Pete lead the way. They sit on the couches opposite each other, and Pete pours Kool-aid powder in each of the glasses, then fills them half full of vodka. Mikey takes his and swallows some down, shivering through the burn of it, like cheap lighter fluid assaulting his senses. "God, this is awful."

"It's all we had." Pete takes his own drink, emptying the cup in several long swallows. He pours more Kool-Aid and more vodka, and Mikey's pretty sure he could put the whole packet of the powder in and it'd still taste like shit. "I wasn't trying to lead you on or anything. I just...well, I don't think about it as an option, so I forget sometimes that people do."

Mikey takes another drink and exhales, feeling like he could set fire to his breath. "So you like making out, but you don't want to go any further than that."

"No." He looks miserable and Mikey drains his cup and takes Pete's away from him, setting it on the table. "I'm really sorry."

"Shut up." Mikey kneels betweens Pete's legs, reaching up to cup Pete's face in his hands. He looks at him for a long time then scrunches his nose, forcing his glasses up higher as he tilts his head, finding Pete's mouth with his own. He kisses him slowly, deliberately, dropping his hands to Pete's knees and digging his fingers in to keep them from straying up his thighs.

Pete sighs against his mouth and surrenders to Mikey's kiss, sliding his hands up and down Mikey's arms. Mikey presses against the couch and moves his hands back to Pete's hips, holding him as they keep kissing, deeper and deeper. Pete moans softly in Mikey's mouth and wraps his legs around him, heels digging into the back of Mikey's thighs.

"Fuck. God, yes." Mikey can't help thrusting against the couch, but his dick’s not touching Pete, so they keep kissing. Pete groans again and moves his mouth to Mikey's jaw, biting and sucking hot kisses on his skin. Mikey bites Pete's shoulder and slides his hands back to his ass, fingers digging in, holding him tight. When Pete moves to his neck, Mikey can't stop his hips jerking forward, can't stop the heat gathering and spreading through him until he comes in his jeans, the skin of his throat caught in Pete's sharp teeth. "F-f-fuck."

"Kissing." Pete pulls back and swallows, his lips red as he wets them with his tongue. "'s really good, right?"

Mikey leans in and kisses him to shut him up, and he can tell that Pete's come too by the lazy way he responds, his breath caught and tangled with Mikey's. "Yeah." Mikey snags Pete's still-full drink and takes a long swallow. His throat is dry and he's fairly certain he's never moving again. "Kissing's great."

**

Mikey's got a notebook full of Pete's thoughts, all scratched across the paper in dark ink. Pete's handwriting is just this side of legible and sometimes Mikey has to squint to make out a word. Still, it's like looking into Pete's heart and his brain, learning secrets that Pete doesn't know how to put into words. Some of them are songs that aren't ever going anywhere, words that even Patrick can't sing. Mikey runs his fingers over those when he reads them, because that's the part of Pete he doesn't show anyone else, the part that's unfiltered and unpretty, not cleaned up for public consumption.

These are the things that Pete can't tell him. The things he's sharing by giving Mikey his words. Pete puts a lot of things out there on the internet, and Mikey knows they're about him, about them, but this is the stuff that matters. The stuff that's not for anyone else. There are words in here about Mikey that no one can ever see, and words that he knows might make it out someday, Patrick's voice putting a layer of distance between what is and what was and whatever they might be then.

He keeps it in his bunk, not for any reason other than privacy, and reads it late at night when they’re on the road. Pete’s words need a rhythm to them, and the hum of the tires on the pavement works well. He reads them other times as well, but they take on different meanings, and Mikey prefers his stories to stay the same when they aren’t alternate worlds or what-if scenarios in comic books.

“Mikey.”

He doesn’t start, because he’d known Gerard was nearby. His brother has no ability to be stealthy, even now that he’s sober. He is quieter, but it’s not the same thing.

Mikey closes the book and turns away from the wall, facing Gerard. “Hey.”

Gerard takes that as an invitation and climbs into the bunk, and Mikey knows the only reason it seems strange is because it’s been so long since it’s happened. He scoots back to give Gerard room, lying on their sides facing each other. Gerard smells like cigarettes and coffee and himself, and it’s comforting. Mikey’s keenly aware of how much he misses his brother, but Gerard and he are in that space between changes where he’s not sure who Gerard is anymore, and if he can be himself with him. It’s new and scary and Mikey hates it a lot.

“So.” Gerard’s not good at subtle in any way, and Mikey braces himself instinctively. There’s a distinct older-brother tone to his voice. “You’re hanging out with Pete a lot.”

“So?”

“Well, it’s just…he’s kind of…Pete Wentz.”

Mikey’s shoulders hunch and he presses back harder against the bus wall. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you are Pete Wentz. You end up being Pete Wentz. It’s a thing.”

“Yeah, I mean, yeah. But he’s…really…”

“You don’t approve. I get it. Point taken.”

Gerard frowns and shifts on the bed, his face scrunched up because this obviously isn’t going the way he planned. “Mikes. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re…dating a guy that doesn’t date guys. He dates girls. He likes girls. I mean, Patrick and I have be-”

Mikey cuts him off. “It’s none of yours and Patrick’s business.”

“You’re my brother and Patrick is his…I’m not sure what Patrick is, but he’s like a brother. Or…a nanny, maybe.”

“Get out.”

“Mikey…”

“No. Get out.” He shakes his head, and he needs space and a drink and something to make Gerard’s words stop. “You don’t even know him. You don’t know him and you won’t take the time to get to know him because you’ve decided that he’s bad for me, that he’s…what? You think he’s the way I am the way I am, Gee? Is that what you’ve decided? You think I’m like this because he made me this way? No. No. I’m this way because it’s who I am. It’s who I’ve been, you were just too fucked up to see it before.”

“Mikey!”

“I’m with Pete because he doesn’t need me to be anyone other than who I am. We’re friends. He’s my friend who doesn’t judge me or expect anything from me.” His throat aches and he tries to swallow it down, but it sticks there, blocking his air.

Gerard’s voice is soft, almost placating, and it makes Mikey feel like he’s going to choke. “I worry about you. It’s my job.”

“No.” His voice doesn’t sound like his, doesn’t sound right. It sounds hoarse and tight and shaky. “Your job is to sing for the band.”

Gerard looks like he’s been slapped, and he practically falls out of Mikey’s bunk, managing to get his feet under him before it’s too late and he lands on his ass. “Is that what you want? That’s what you want from me?”

“I’m an adult, Gee.”

“You’re not acting like one.”

“Like you have any idea what that’s like.” Mikey grabs the curtain and jerks it shut, not wanting to see the pain on his brother’s face. He turns to face the wall, stuffing his headphones in his ears and curling in on himself, digging his phone out of his pocket. He wants to text Pete. Talk about something stupid, and not say anything about this, because he knows, somehow, that Pete’s getting it too, getting it from his side. Concern and caring and disapproval. He doesn’t text though, because what if he interrupts it and proves them right? Or what if Pete agrees with them?

“Fuck.” It hurts to breathe and think and his head is screaming at him, so he digs into his stash hidden beneath his laptop and a few porn magazines. It’s a jumble of pills, but almost anything is going to make him feel better, so he cracks one between his teeth and grinds it up, swallowing chalky white powder with a swig from a water bottle half-full of vodka. He turns his music up too loud and lies there, practicing his breathing and hoping the phone will ring.

**

The next time Mikey sees him, Pete looks sullen and dark. There are heavy purple bags under his eyes and the rest of the skin seems like it’s pulled too tight across his face. He’s wearing a hideous aqua polo shirt and someone’s taken scissors to his hair. The fact that he’s not wearing a hoodie is probably the reason he looks like he’s being flayed alive, because he doesn’t have any protection from the rest of the world around him. Mikey raises a hand in a wave and a smile ghosts over Pete’s features, fading before Mikey’s sure it’s there as Dirty guides him toward the stage.

He turns and tags along after them, not caring if he’s supposed to keep his distance or something stupid and high school like that. He’ll watch Pete play and then they’ll disappear for a while, pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Pete is in rare form on stage, slamming around and into things, whirling like a dervish. Mikey wonders how it looks from the pit when Pete looks at Patrick, if it’s the same things the pictures seem to show, that Pete thinks Patrick is the best thing ever, or if it’s the truth the way Mikey sees it right now, so much frustrated anger he looks like he might lose control and slam Patrick to the ground. Pete doesn’t even bother to scream along on Saturday, he just throws himself into the crowd and kicks off any attempts to bring him back onstage until one of the security actually overpowers him and practically throws him back out of the pit.

Pete slams past Dirty and the rest of the band, ignoring them completely. Mikey doesn’t listen to what gets shouted after them, just turns and falls into step with Pete as he walks past. He can feel the heat coming off Pete’s body, like he’s a wildfire about to catch, and it’s hard to breathe around him. His face is bright red and his hair is wild and he’s glistening with sweat and suntan lotion in the hot sun.

“Let’s run away somewhere,” Pete says.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

Mikey nods and pushes Pete toward a nearby golf cart. Pete stiffens at Mikey’s touch, like he’s going to push pack against the pressure, but then he relents and climbs in. Mikey pushes a bag of weed into the driver’s hand and gets them taken to the edge of the festival encampment where they can flag down a taxi. He gets Pete through the hole in the fence and then into a cab, rolling the window down as they go somewhere quiet in whatever town they’re in. Every town has hotels.

Mikey pays for the cab and the hotel, locking the door behind them. Pete’s stripped off his shirt and turned the air conditioning on all the way, so it’s almost cold in just a few minutes. Goosebumps rise on Pete’s bare skin, his nipples hardening, and Mikey groans under his breath.

“What?” Pete asks. He’s not quite as sullen, but there’s still so much emotion under his skin, like he might explode if something rubs him the wrong way.

“Just…nothing. This.” Mikey kisses him, wrapping his hand around the back of Pete’s head to keep him still, to keep him from trying to take everything over. Pete rises up on his toes and kisses back, arms wrapped around Mikey’s neck.

Mikey backs them up to the bed, his free hand sliding down Pete’s back, feeling the slickness of drying sweat against his fingers. Pete’s kissing him like he’s drowning and Mikey’s his only hope for air, and Mikey feels just as desperate. He lays them down, on his knees over Pete so that their lower bodies aren’t touching. Pete’s hands run up and down Mikey’s back before moving around to undo his hoodie, sliding the zipper down and pushing the material off of his shoulders. “C’mon. C’mon, Mikes.”

Mikey nods and shoves his hoodie the rest of the way off, dropping it on the bed next to them before he tugs off his t-shirt. He shivers as the cold air hits, followed by the wave of warmth from Pete as he tugs Mikey back down, kissing him hard. It’s different than all the other times, no longer sweet and soft and building. This is determined and desperate, searching for an outlet for everything inside.

Pete’s hands are rough against Mikey’s back, calluses digging into the soft skin before he rakes his fingers from Mikey’s shoulders down to his ass, leaving aching lines like temporary scars. “Mikey. Mikey. Shit.” He mutters the words between kisses, his voice breaking. “God. Kiss me. Harder. More. Just…Please. God.”

Mikey does, sucking Pete’s lower lip and biting it before kissing him again. He shifts forward, lowering himself closer to Pete, his knee dragging up between Pete’s spread legs and his knee at the base of Pete’s balls, his thigh against his cock. Pete makes a noise, low and rough, and Mikey slides a hand beneath Pete’s back before settling on top of him. “Pete.” He kisses his mouth, then his jaw, moving down to his neck. Pete tastes like sweat and heat and the way he moves under his mouth, Mikey feels like he’s a vampire, sucking it all from inside him through Pete’s throat.

Pete moans, low and desperate and hot, and Mikey can’t help but grind down against him. His whole body is alive with need, and all he wants to do is crawl inside Pete, be part of him. Mikey moves to Pete’s shoulder, to the curve of flesh covered with thorns and traces lines of ink with his tongue and his teeth. Pete arches up, the noise he makes even more primal. His thumbs dig into the small of Mikey’s back and his hands are curved over Mikey’s ass, fingers squeezing and digging in through the faded denim.

“Please.” This time it’s Mikey asking as he shifts his body to the side, giving his free hand room to skirt over Pete’s abdomen. The muscles twitch beneath his fingers and Pete closes his eyes, his body quivering under Mikey’s touch. “Just…touch.” Mikey undoes Pete’s belt, fumbling the leather free of the buckle.

Pete’s not moving away from his touch, but something’s changed in him, and Mikey looks up to see Pete staring at Mikey’s hand as he undoes the button of his fly. “Just touch,” Mikey whispers, and he’s not sure if Pete actually nods or if he just needs to think he does.

Pete’s hard against his boxer-briefs, the front molded to his cock and the wet spot a smeared outline of the tip. Mikey trails his fingers down the fabric over the shaft and Pete shudders beneath him like he’s been jolted with electricity. It’s the hottest thing Mikey’s ever seen.

“So good. So…fuck, Pete. So…” He shakes his head and does it again, increasing the pressure of his fingers just a bit so he can feel it when Pete’s hips rise up, arching into his touch. “God. Yes. Fuck. Just.” Mikey kisses Pete hard, desperate, shifting so his cock is against Pete’s thigh. “It’s good. So good.”

Pete makes a noise and kisses Mikey back, his hips rolling upward to match the rhythm Mikey wasn’t even aware he’d started. They move together and it’s good, so good, but Mikey wants more. He wants to feel Pete, wants to be surrounded by him. He undoes his jeans and shoves them down, trying to keep moving against Pete without losing a stroke. Pete gasps at Mikey’s bare skin, the sound melting into a groan as Mikey shifts and presses their cocks together.

“I…Mikey…I…” Pete head goes back a bit, throat exposed as he moves it from side to side. He’s got bruises blooming on his skin, teethmarks framing them like art. Mikey moves his head down and sucks on one of them again, gasping against Pete’s wet skin as they keep moving together.

“God, just…almost…fuck, Pete. Just…” His breath hitches in his chest and he falls apart, feeling the slide against Pete suddenly become wet and slick. Pete suddenly tenses beneath him, like his body is fighting something, and then he shudders, coming thick and hot against Mikey.

Mikey lies there without moving for a long time, just breathing against Pete’s neck until he starts to feel the air conditioning again and everything feels cold and awkward. He lifts his head and looks at Pete. His eyes are open and staring, and his head is turned away. He’s still breathing hard, and his hands have fallen away from Mikey’s back, balled into fists at his side instead.

“Pete?”

“I really need to shower, Mikey.”

“Yeah.” He rolls off carefully and sits on the edge of the bed, tugging his t-shirt over his lap. Pete looks vulnerable and shaken. “Are you…” He wants to reach out and touch him, but he’s not sure if that would be better or worse. “You’re okay?”

Pete sits up and nods, hunching his shoulders in. “I don’t…I’m not…”

“I know. I know.” Mikey reaches out, rubbing Pete’s bare shoulder. “That was me. That was you taking care of me and…thank you. I needed it. Needed you. You were…you were good, Pete. So good.”

Pete looks over at him, his brow furrowed, but his eyes are hopeful. They’re still not quite focused, like he’s still inside his head somewhere. “Yeah?”

Mikey nods. “Yeah. It was, right? Good?”

“Yeah. I don’t…I don’t want to do it again, but…yeah.” He smiles a little bit and then hurries into the bathroom, closing the door solidly behind him.

Mikey exhales and flops back on the bed. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he sees he’s got a good thirty messages, and he can only imagine how many Pete’s got. He walks to the bathroom and knocks on the door. “Hey, Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Diner?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Awesome. I’ll get us a cab.”

**

Pete’s in the back lounge on the phone with Gabe Saporta, so Mikey’s up front watching Die Hard. He keeps tapping his knee with his thumb, playing along with the bass line in the back of his head. He’s not sure where the rest of the band is, which is fine, because even though he gets along with them all, they’re sort of circling the wagons around Pete, like Mikey’s got some sort of ambush planned. He’s not sure they figure that, since he’s here and hanging out, but it’s still the feeling he gets.

Which is probably why they come on the bus en masse and say hi and settle on the couches around him. Patrick’s sitting across from him, looking at him like he can figure out what Mikey’s up to just by staring at him for a while. Mikey would be happy to tell him he’s not up to anything, but Patrick would probably believe that about as well as Gerard believes that Pete’s a good influence on Mikey.

Andy sits next to Mikey and tunes into the movie, skipping back a chapter to a good part. Joe’s next to Patrick and staring at Mikey as well. Mikey blinks at him from behind his glasses, shoving them up higher on his nose with one of his knuckles. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Joe glances back toward the bunks. “Where’s Pete?”

“In the back. Talking to Gabe.” Mikey pulls out his phone and sends a text to Frank, reminding him that they need Pop-Tarts at the next store run. Frank texts back, telling him to fuck himself and remember his own damn Pop-Tarts. Mikey knows Frank’s writing it on the list though. When he looks up, Joe’s still staring at him. “Saporta.”

“I know who Gabe is.”

“Pete’s more fragile than he looks.” Patrick’s not looking at Mikey. He’s looking at his hands, and Mikey wonders if Patrick wonders how much Mikey knows about his relationship with Pete. About what it’s like for Pete to listen to his words in Patrick’s mouth, to lay himself open and have Patrick move things around and rearrange the thoughts in Pete’s head.

“I don’t plan on hurting him.” He doesn’t know what happened the night they came home from the hotel. They’d sat in the diner eating fries and drinking milkshakes for a couple hours before someone finally came looking for them. Dirty’s jeep parked outside, and Pete giggled like they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar. He’d gotten quieter as they’d gotten closer to the buses though, more sullen. Maybe he went to Patrick that night, confessed and begged for forgiveness for what they’d done. They haven’t talked about it since, but Pete hasn’t stopped kissing him.

“No one plans on hurting him,” Patrick says, his eyes canting toward the door to the bunks.

“I’m sure you don’t.” Mikey doesn’t mean to say it, but it has to be said. Of all of the people on this bus, Patrick’s the one with the power to really hurt Pete. “But sometimes it happens. I get that. But I’m not going to hurt him.”

“Summer’s going to end. Warped is going to end.” Patrick looks at Mikey then, holding his gaze. “What then?”

“I don’t know, Patrick. We’re enjoying the moments we’ve got, not worrying about the ones that maybe we don’t. But you know, more than anything, Pete and I are friends. Maybe if you asked him, instead of just assuming you know what’s going on, you’d know that.”

“You’re not being just friends in his bunk.” Joe’s voice surprises Mikey. He’d almost forgotten he and Andy were there.

“Most of the time we are, and the times we aren’t are none of your business. He’s an adult, even if you don’t treat him like one.” Mikey stands up and looks at them. “Maybe you don’t like us being friends or something…”

“No.” Patrick stands up as well, shaking his head. “We like you. We like that Pete’s happy with you. We’re just…we’re just asking that you remember that who he is out there isn’t who he is inside.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“I just need to make sure that you care.” Patrick shrugs. “He’s our family, Mikey. We’re just trying to take care of him, because when it comes to people he likes, really likes, he’s not always good at taking care of himself.”

Pete shoves through the door from the bunks and stops at the sight of them standing and staring at each other. “Is this an intervention? Because I swear I got rid of all the videos of you singing, Patrick, just like you asked. Now I just jerk off right after the shows.”

“You are such an ass, Wentz.” Patrick flips him off and flops back onto the couch. “What are you guys up to?”

“Well, I was thinking we’d go in search of buried treasure, but then the internet told me that was, like, slang for sex with girls or rimming or something, and I got really grossed out? So I thought we’d go watch TAI’s set and then we’d sell tickets to the Bill, Tom, and Mike show.”

“Twenty bucks says Carden kills Tom by the end of the tour.” Andy waves a twenty in the air, still intent on the movie.

“I’ll take your money happily, good sir.” Pete snags the twenty and waggles his eyebrows at Mikey. “Let’s go spend this on beer.”

“I thought it was supposed to be on hookers and blow.”

Pete looks at Mikey for a moment before shaking his head slowly. “Dude, do not trust any hookers or blow you get for twenty bucks.” Mikey grins at him and Pete laughs, grabbing his hand. “C’mon. I bet we can get Beckett drunk enough to blow you with this. That’s pretty much the same thing.”

**

The sun bakes the back of Mikey’s neck as they sit away from the crowds and watch TAI perform and then a few other bands. They have a bottle of something Pete scored off of someone between them, and it feels like the day might last forever. Mikey reaches over and takes Pete’s hand, turning it so that it’s palm up.

“Should I apologize for what happened at the hotel?”

“Do you want to?” Pete watches Mikey trace the lines of his hand. Mikey doesn’t ever remember which is which, but none of them are super short, so that has to be good.

“No. I want it to be a good thing. I mean, I want it to be something that you liked and don’t look back on as a hideous event in your life.”

“It wasn’t hideous.”

“Okay, just so you know, as far as reassurances go, that sucks.”

Pete giggles and leans in, resting his head against Mikey’s shoulder. He shivers a little when Mikey’s finger scratches at his palm, his fingers curling up slightly. “I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It scared me.”

“You liked it because it scared you or it scared you that you liked it?”

“Both.”

Mikey nods and threads his fingers with Pete’s. He’s not sure who’s playing anymore, and the sun is starting to sink down behind the risers. “I liked it. A lot. In case that wasn’t clear.”

“It was really clear.”

“I like you. A lot. In case that wasn’t clear.”

He can feel Pete’s breath hitch, and the jerky movement of his nod against Mikey’s shoulder. “I love you. I mean. If you want me to.”

“That’s pretty much what I meant by the liking you a lot.”

Pete nods again, and it’s not much smoother. “Could you say it?”

“I’ve never said it.”

“Oh.” Pete picks up the bottle, trapping the neck between his hands and rubbing so that it turns and twists with the movement. It’s hypnotic, and Mikey eventually has to close his eyes. He tilts his head, resting it against Pete’s.

“I love you.”

“Oh.” This one is a shuddery sigh, something that feels like relief as Pete turns his head up and finds Mikey’s mouth. It doesn’t go deeper than a simple kiss, but it lasts a long time, and Mikey wants to find a way to keep it from ever ending. When Pete pulls back, his eyes are bright and he’s smiling, open and honest and private all at once. “Oh.”

“Sweet little dudes.”

“What?”

Mikey grins and taps Pete on the nose. “Our gang. We’re the Sweet Little Dudes.”

Pete repeats it, obviously pleased. Mikey closes his eyes and listens, smiling at how much it sounds like ‘I love you’.

**

Gerard’s sitting outside in the shade of the bus smoking a cigarette and drawing. Mikey leans against the metal and looks at the sketchpad. He recognizes some of the figures as ones Gerard’s been working on for a while, refining while he builds the story out in his head. Drawing, coffee, and cigarettes appear to be Gerard’s vices now, all of them in equal overindulgence. “Can I bum a smoke?”

Gerard looks up, startled. “Yeah. Sure. Um.” Gerard puts the sketchpad on his knees and digs in the inside pocket of his leather jacket for his cigarettes and lighter. “You don’t like my brand.”

“Better than what I’ve got.” Mikey takes a cigarette and lights up, inhaling a little bit and then blowing out smoke. He holds the cigarette lightly between his fingers and sits down on the crate next to Gerard’s folding chair. He doesn’t actually smoke that much, usually only bumming one or two when he’s drunk or stoned, but it seems like a good enough peace offering for the moment. “They’re looking good. The sketches.”

“I wish I could figure out what I want to do for this one. It’s just not quite…” Gerard shrugs and takes a long hit off his cigarette. He’s more dramatic with his smoke, tilting his head and blowing it out the side of his mouth. “We’re going to do some stuff with Fall Out Boy, did you hear?”

“Yeah.” He spends most of his time on Pete’s bus, so it actually would make more sense if he were telling Gerard rather than the other way around. He’s been filling in for Pete sometimes when he stage dives, mostly just keeping the rhythm. “Pete’s supposed to actually teach me their songs, but I don’t think he knows them.”

“Patrick’s going to drum for us. I thought that would be cool.”

“Yeah? Cool.” Mikey takes another drag and exhales. “Maybe Ray could jam with Joe or something.”

“Like combining our families. They’re like in-laws.”

Mikey giggles. “Instead of holiday meals, we share concert dates.”

“I don’t know that I ever want to eat with them. I’ve seen Joe eat. It’s not a pretty sight.” Gerard leans back in his chair and turns his head toward Mikey. “We’re okay, right?”

“If you can forgive me for being a complete dick.”

“Frank says we should talk about it. Our dysfunction.”

“Which one?”

Gerard scrunches his face up in a grin. “That’s what I said!”

He reaches out and Mikey high-fives him, then settles back on his crate, stretching his legs out in front of him. The sun touches the dirty tips of his Converse, the black fabric gray from dust and who knows what the fuck else he’s spilled on them. “I’m really glad you’re sober, Gee. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Me too. I mean, it’s the same for me. About you. And being sober. You’re so important to me, Mikes. The most important thing. You’re my family. I mean, in the Jersey way and the other way.”

“Please, Gee. No ‘way’ jokes.”

He laughs again and then takes another hit off his cigarette, sobering with the indrawn breath. When he exhales, even the smoke seems serious. “I feel like I don’t get to worry about you because I was fucked up. Like you think I’m judging you.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t mean to. I worry about you. I…I want you to be okay. I don’t want you to be the one on the hotel room floor. I don’t want you to be a phone call I get from Brian saying he was too late, it was too late.”

“I’m not like that, Gee. It’s different for me. Just some pills. Some booze. Nothing that’s a habit. Nothing serious.”

“It’s all serious, Mikey.”

“It’s not.” He shakes his head and grinds the cigarette out in the dirt. “That’s what you have to say now, because for you it is all serious. It’s all life or death. I can stop whenever I want.”

“So stop.”

“I don’t want to.”

Gerard nods and picks up his mug of coffee from the ground and swallows several sips. It’s probably cold and too sweet, since Gerard doesn’t dump coffee, doesn’t give up on it ever. “I’m going to worry.”

“About the drugs?”

“About you, Mikey. The drugs. The pills. Pete. But I’m not going to try to tell you what to do, because I know you, and you’ll just do the opposite.”

“Probably.”

“And I don’t want to feel like it’s felt lately. I need you too much for that.” He shrugs and sets the cup down. “Have you thought about what’s going to happen when the tour ends?”

“We’re going to Europe, right?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Well.” Mikey stands up, adjusting the baseball cap over his eyes. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Can or will?”

“Does it matter?” Mikey looks down at him and the corners of his mouth quirk up at Gerard’s expression. “I know it matters. It’s all I can tell you, Gee. It’s all I know so far.”

“Well, now I’m going to worry even more.”

“Really?”

“No,” He laughs. “Because I don’t know that it’s possible.”

Mikey ruffles Gerard’s hair. “That’s what I thought.”

**

“You know they’re going to be looking for us now.”

“People don’t read my blog, Mikey.” Pete tucks his towel more securely in his bag. “Well, people who have access to cars don’t.”

Mikey snorts and squeezes Pete’s hand. They’re in Dirty’s Jeep, on their way to a water park because Pete’s decided they haven’t had enough sun. Mikey’s pretty sure he’s had enough sun to last him a lifetime, but Pete slathered him up with suntan lotion and shoved him in the car, so it’s not like he’s got a choice now. Of course, he could have said no, but summer’s ending, and Mikey has no intention of disappointing Pete if he can help it.

Pete just grins at him, practically bouncing in his seat. “You should come out to LA sometime and I’ll take you to Disneyland.”

“There’s no way we’d get through Disneyland unmolested.”

“I thought you liked it when I molested you, Mikeyway. Now I’m sad.” His smile says the opposite and Mikey just rolls his eyes.

“You’re a dork.”

“You love me.”

Mikey turns his head, resting his forehead against Pete’s. “Yeah. I do.”

Pete steals a kiss and Dirty groans. “I told you. None of that making out shit in my Jeep. It’s filthy enough.”

“You’d never notice a little jizz, Dirty.” Pete lets go of Mikey’s hand and drapes himself over the back of the passenger seat. “We almost there?”

“What are you? Three? Sit the fuck back and shut up.”

“You are the meanest.” Pete slumps back in his chair then leans to the side, flopping over into Mikey’s lap. “He’s mean to me, Mikey. Why are my friends mean to me?”

“I can’t imagine.” Mikey looks down at him, his face deadpan, his voice flat. “You’re so well behaved.”

“Right? I knew you’d see my side. You’re my Duke of Handsomeness.”

“That makes you a fucking Duchess,” Dirty reminds him.

“I know. I’m the Duchess of Hot Ass.” Pete reaches up and traces Mikey’s jaw. “Pretty soon we’re going to move to our county seat in Too-Pretty-to-Live-Shire.”

Dirty laughs. “Yeah. That’s you guys all right.” He pulls to a stop and turns in his seat. “Four hours. That’s it. If you try and hide from me again when it’s time to go, I will tell Frank not to leave you alone for the rest of the tour.”

The corner of Mikey’s mouth lifts and he squints at Dirty then at Pete. “I don’t know, Pete. He looks serious.”

“That’s, like, cruel and unusual punishment though.”

“Take it up with the Supreme Court.” Dirty turns off the car and hops out. Pete manages to sit up with a gentle shove from Mikey, and he grabs their bags as he climbs out. Mikey slides out the opposite side, pulling his hood up over his baseball cap.

Pete grins at him and Mikey flips him off before coming over and falling in step beside them. Dirty’s got their money as an extra precaution that they won’t just take off. Mikey thinks that they’re overreacting, it was one time, but he and Pete agreed to the rules. They pay their way in and Dirty takes his bag from Pete before heading off.

“C’mon.” Pete grabs Mikey’s hand and drags him the opposite way, grabbing a park map from a stand as they pass. “Water slides. A floating current thing. Oooh. A waterfall. You want to go play mermaids, Mikey?”

“I want to find a tree to hide under.”

“You’re failing to capture the nuances of a water park again.”

“This place is painted in day-glo colors, Pete. There is nothing nuanced about it. It’s like a daylight acid trip.” Mikey follows him as Pete stakes out a spot. It’s early, which is why they get to do this, and it’s not too hot yet, so it’s not too crowded. Pete finds a kiddy pool that’s just knee deep warm water, and sits down next to it. Mikey settles next to him, kicking off his shoes and sliding his bare legs into the water.

“How are you so pale, Mikeyway? I know for a fact those spindly legs have been in the sunshine.”

“I use SPF-50. For delicate skin.”

Pete laughs and tugs his hoodie off, his ink standing out darker against his tan. Mikey’s not sure how that works, but it does, and he’s hit by the urge to trace all the lines that make up Pete’s skin. Maybe after, when they both taste like salt and sunshine. “You’re looking at me like I’m a piece of meat, Mikes.”

“You are. You’re dinner.”

“Gotta catch me first.” Pete jogs off to the water slides and grabs one of the inner tubes before starting up the steps to the top.

Mikey squints against the sun and watches him getting smaller and smaller. He disappears for a few moments then Mikey sees him at the top, waving his arms around and bouncing like he’s reached the top of Mt. Everest. Dork. Mikey has to smile, though. His dork.

Pete disappears again and Mikey watches the pool at the end for the telltale splash. Pete comes flying out of the slide and disappears under the water for a moment, breaking the surface with a loud laugh. He grabs the inner tube and starts up the steps again. Mikey kicks his feet and watches, knowing Pete will go for hours and never get tired.

It starts getting crowded after a while, so Mikey gets up and calls Dirty, finding out where he’s at so he can drop off their stuff. After squinting around at the crowd, he takes off his hat and hoodie and pads over the hot ground to the current stream, grabbing an inner tube of his own and settling inside it. His ass is going to be soaked, but this way he’s far less likely to get recognized than just sitting around. There’s the possibility that someone might connect the guy with glasses, a Megadeath T-shirt, and cut off black jeans serving as swim trunks with him, but there’s no way he’s taking off any more clothes. He already feels kind of exposed.

He’s on his third circuit around the park on the stream when someone brushes his feet, fingers light, but enough pressure that Mikey’s whole body spasms and he falls off his inner tube and into the water. He comes up with his hair in his face and his glasses precarious on the very tip of his nose. “You’re a dead man, Wentz.”

Pete’s grinning and holding Mikey’s inner tube. “Just trying to get your attention. You were somewhere else.”

“I was relaxing.”

“That sounds dangerously like enjoying the sunshine, Mikey. I’m pretty sure you’re going to violate your ability to be a Way if you’re not careful.”

Mikey jerks his inner tube out of Pete’s arms and tries to get back on, falling off twice before he gives up and gets out of the water to settle into it from above. “I hate you.”

“I know.” Pete’s holding the cement to keep himself from drifting as well as hanging on to Mikey’s inner tube. Once Mikey’s settled, he lets go, reaching for Mikey’s hand instead. “You and Ray should play with us tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Pete kicks his feet in the water, splashing a little. “Summer’s almost over.”

“We have almost a month.”

“Three weeks.”

“That’s almost a month.”

“Yeah.” Pete closes his eyes as they drift.

“The cool thing though is that they have these new-fangled devices called telephones. And this shit called the internet. You can, like, stay in touch with people. I mean, I’ve heard. Saw it on TV. Not sure I believe it myself.”

“It’ll just be different.”

“Not if we don’t let it be.”

“So you’ll come over to my house every day and let me lay on top of you and make out with me and then we’ll take turns jerking off in my bathroom.”

“Maybe not every day.”

“So it’ll be different.” Pete shrugs and turns his head to look at Mikey. Mikey’s floating backwards so they’re facing each other, hands keeping them together. “I don’t want it to end.”

“Me either.”

“We could make a pact. A…non-ending pact.”

“Like the Never-ending story.”

Pete grins. “You’re totally Bastian.”

“You’re Falkor.”

“I don’t know. I’m more a bad luck dragon, I think.” Pete splashes more water with his feet. “We’ll always be friends, right?”

“Best friends.” Mikey tugs Pete’s arm so he moves closer to him, alongside him. “Sweet little dudes.”

Pete leans over to kiss him and overbalances, flipping his inner tube on top of Mikey and going under the water. He comes up soaking wet, water glistening on his skin. He takes his inner tube off of Mikey and ducks under it, coming up in the middle, his arms across the yellow rubber. “I lost the romance of the moment.”

Mikey holds on to both inner tubes and angles himself so he can kiss Pete, taking his time and not caring who might be watching. “No. You didn’t.”

**

It’s the last night of the tour, so they’re all hanging out, watching each other perform. Mikey’s torn between wanting it to be over, because that means Pete will be off stage and they can be alone for a while, and wanting it to go on forever, because over means over. Pete launches himself into the crowd during “Saturday,” and one of the techs goes out to fill in for him on bass, because Mikey wants to just stand back and watch and not have to concentrate on anything but Pete.

They’re the closing band, and the crowd is wild with the same feelings that are boiling in Mikey’s chest. Mikey leans on the metal riser and rests his head on his arm, watching as Pete gets buffeted by the sea of hands and arms and heads, moving like a tide out and then back in to the stage again. Patrick holds the last note, stretching it out and up and down, bouncing around the scale as Pete gets his bass back on and hits the very last note and the stage goes from brilliant white to dark.

Patrick’s voice carries out over the darkness and the ambient light, and then Pete’s telling them that summers never end and believers never die and then it’s done. Warped is over except for the parties and the clean-up and the slow peel off of buses as people disappear into the real world. Pete gives Dirty his bass and then comes over to Mikey, pressing warm and sweaty against him. “Let’s go.”

“To a party?”

“Private party.”

Mikey nods and they slip away amid the noise and chaos of take-down, ducking behind the buses as soon as they can, out of sight of the teeming masses of fans. Pete pins him to someone’s bus and kisses him, mouth wet and slick from screaming and singing as it presses against Mikey’s. It’s hot and insistent, Pete’s tongue tracing the back of Mikey’s teeth, tickling the roof of his mouth.

“Where?” Mikey whispers against Pete’s lips, his fingers curling into Pete’s belt buckles.

“Our bus. Everyone’s going to the party. Can be alone.”

They actually spend a lot of time alone, but something in Pete’s voice promises more, and Mikey pulls him closer. They’ve gotten to the point where Pete’s okay with Mikey against him and hard, where rubbing off together is something different than sex. Pete calls it mutual masturbation by cock, and Mikey doesn’t protest, because he loves the feel of Pete rubbing up or down on him, the friction and slide of their damp underwear making it burn and ache in a way that seems fitting. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Want your waistband around your ankles like a halo in reverse.” Pete kisses him again and Mikey’s moan is caught between them. His knuckles are pressing hard against Pete’s hips and it takes everything in him to keep from thrusting right there, from pinning Pete to the bus and rutting against him until everything that’s built up between them explodes in bright lights and stars.

Pete pulls away before Mikey can do that, grabbing Mikey’s hand and tugging him along. It feels like a winding path back to Pete’s bus, but they don’t see anyone else. Even the bus drivers seem to be off partying or hiding from whatever the night’s going to bring. Pete keys the code into the door and tugs Mikey inside, nearly tripping up the stairs. He does trip on a pair of shoes in the middle of the aisle, and only Mikey keeps him from going down. “They’ve booby trapped your bus.”

“No boobies allowed on the bus.” Pete giggles and kicks the shoes aside, leading Mikey through the dark to the back lounge. Mikey’s surprised when they don’t stop at the bunks, but if no one’s coming back soon, there’s no reason they can’t have a little room.

“C’mere,” Pete says. He settles onto one of the couches, pulling Mikey down on top of him. Mikey shifts as they kiss again, lining their bodies up so he can feel the hardness of Pete’s dick against his.

After that they don’t talk. Maybe they’ve gotten to the point where they’ve said everything they need to say, or maybe they just need to feel it now, let the last heat of summer burn something into them. They kiss and touch and undress, the sounds of the parties and bonfires outside like background music. Mikey traces Pete’s tattoos with his fingers and his tongue, like he can keep them forever that way, a sense memory.

Pete whispers Mikey’s name when Mikey’s thumb brushes against the waistband of his boxer briefs, his hips coming off the couch in invitation. Mikey groans and breathes hard against Pete’s throat for a long moment. “You sure?”

He doesn’t get more than a nod for an answer, but Pete’s still holding himself up off the cushions, so Mikey hooks his thumb under the elastic and guides them down. He touches Pete’s hip and his thigh, but not his cock, not quite ready for the possibility that he might shatter this moment. Instead he pulls his hand away and tugs his own boxer briefs down and then settles back against him.

“O-oh. Oh, fuck, Pete.” Pete’s dick is hot and hard against his, silky smooth flesh that feels perfect against Mikey’s dick. He starts moving, can’t help it, reaching down to wrap a hand around them both. Pete shudders and tenses, closing his eyes for a long moment before he exhales and relaxes. “So good. God, you feel so good. Fucking perfect.” He kisses him to stop himself from talking, from pressuring Pete, from making the moment too much.

They’re both slick and sticky afterwards, breathing hard in the quiet cool air of the back lounge. Mikey doesn’t ever want to move. Pete traces Mikey’s collarbone and presses lightly at the hollow above his sternum. “You’re going to Europe.”

“Yeah.”

“That’ll be cool. Don’t, you know, freak out in a Best Buy parking lot before hand. It really pisses people off.”

“I’ve heard that.” Mikey shifts a little, lying next to Pete instead of on top of him. Pete shivers and reaches down, tugging his boxer briefs back up. Mikey settles his hand on Pete’s hip. “I wish you could come with us. You could be our roadie.”

“I make a shitty roadie. I’m an excellent groupie. You think you guys need a groupie?”

“I don’t know if the whole band does, but I totally do.”

“Be your groupie anytime, Mikeyway.” Pete closes his eyes and leans his head against Mikey’s. “What do we do now?”

“We could watch a movie. Or hit the parties if you feel like seeing everyone.”

“No. That means it’s over.” Pete sighs and points up at the ceiling. “If you look over there, you can see Gertrude, the feminist platypus.”

“And over there?” Mikey points off to the left. “Is that Andronicus the Hippo?”

“Oh. Good eye.” Pete’s voice is soft. “Most people can’t see him in this hemisphere.”

“Last summer sleepover.” Mikey nuzzles Pete’s neck, breathing in his smell. This is something else he wants to memorize. Something else that he can keep inside him forever. He doesn’t know what to call what he’s feeling. It’s not falling out of love, because Pete still stirs him up in all the same ways. Maybe it’s letting go, like the days after high school graduation, when the people you’ve known all your life suddenly become the people you used to know.

“Best friends to the end.” There’s a hitch in Pete’s breath, and Mikey wants to ignore it, because it feels too much like letting go. “I’m going to immortalize you in a song, Mikeyway. Patrick’ll have to sing it, but you’ll know it’s from me.”

“I don’t need a song.”

“I need you to have it.”

Mikey nods and pulls Pete closer, closing his eyes. It’s not a sleepover if they don’t sleep, and staying awake won’t keep it morning from coming. “I love you, sweet little dude.”

Pete kisses Mikey’s jaw, better than words, because Pete’s always got so many.

**

Pete kicks the dirt between them and looks up at Mikey. They’re mirror images – sunglasses, hoodies, tight faded jeans, dirty sneakers – and Mikey smiles. At least they’re not wearing matching hoodies. Everyone’s waiting for them, waiting for them to say goodbye. Mikey’s bus is ready to roll out as soon as he’s onboard, heading back to Jersey to dump them off to prepare for Europe, and Pete and his bus have another tour they’re hooking up with before they go back into the studio.

“I’ll watch the stars and think of you.”

Shaking his head, Pete smiles. “Can’t always see the stars.”

“You can.” Mikey swallows and leans in, pressing a kiss to Pete’s mouth. “If you look hard enough.” He steps back and points up into the sky. “See. There’s one right there. You know what that one is, don’t you?”

“Second star to the right.”

“Neverland. Never ends.” Mikey pulls him in for one more kiss, wishing it didn’t hurt to breathe. “Oh the cleverness of you, Peter Pan.”

“Kick Europe’s ass, Mikeyway.” Pete shoves him away a little, his eyes averted, but his mouth curved in the hint of a smile. “Don’t think you’re rid of me. I’m like herpes. You think I’m gone but then bam.”

“And they say romance is dead.” There’s a honk from one of the buses and Mikey looses a shaky breath. “Bye, Pete.”

Pete nods and then starts walking backwards to his bus, his hand up as he waves goodbye. The door hisses shut behind him and Mikey has to blink hard against the sharp tears stinging his eyes.

“Mikes.” Gerard’s hands are steady on his shoulders, and he turns Mikey toward him, wrapping an arm around him. Mikey stumbles as the air brakes on Pete’s bus hiss and the engine rumbles to life. Gerard keeps him walking, guiding him, which is good, because Mikey can’t see a thing. “Come on. It’s time to go.”