lifeboat

43.

dear pete,

mikey stopped and leaned back in his desk chair, chewing on the end of his pen. fuck everything, he couldn't sleep at all, and now it was four-thirty in the morning and he was trying to dump his feelings into a letter.

you're stupid.

there. that should be good. that generalized everything mikey wanted to say, but it didn't feel like enough.

you should've talked to someone - hell, you should've talked to me. i know how to deal with somebody in the same situation that you're in.

i don't want you to get hurt and i don't want you to die. i never did. had you ever considered that? aren't we friends? and if you really were staying alive for me, didn't you care about how i would feel?

i'm here to help you. i know you're in a really bad place and i want to help you make it out of there. no matter what you may think, i really do care and i wasn't faking anything when i kissed you. i really do like you, pete.

i hope you're okay. i'm here for you and i'll never leave.

xo mikey

he put his pen down. it still seemed lacking; he didn't know how to explain the rest of what he felt. it was far too complex to express with words.

after staring at the paper for at least five more minutes, mikey decided to attempt to get some sleep and explain the rest when he went to see pete at the hospital during visiting hours later that day if he hadn't already checked out by then. maybe it'd be easier once they were face to face.

mikey took a deep breath. everything was finally slowing down - he was suddenly aware of the ink smudges on his hands and the insects chirping outside and the heavy post-storm clouds slowly edging away in the distance. the night was over.

maybe everything would be better once the sun rose and he went to see pete.

--
i'm kinda sad because this is almost over lmao i've gotten so attached (and i sTILL haven't figured out how i'm gonna end this help)