Emo Trinity x Reader (Book 2)

Mikey Way x Reader - Whatever Was Before...

Neither of you had been happy about having been assigned to the same room, but you both knew better than to protest and argue with the manager. And both of you knew better than to argue if one of you should sleep on the floor. You both remembered the days in which seats in vans and narrow beds, that needed to be shared, had been the greatest luxury, so a big, soft bed was something neither of you would be willing to give up on, and somehow you both had silently agreed to argue over anything but the bed.

That had not stopped Mikey from sending one poke after the next your way, until eventually, much later than he had expected, even you had run out of patience, and got loud as well. Somehow it felt good to have you shout at him, rather than take his insults silently. It started with him saying you were always interfering, continued with you calling him ungrateful, went over him randomly insulting your music, to you screaming in his face that you hated him, and ended with the bathroom door slammed into his face.

He had not protested, and instead used the small sink next to the bathroom door to refresh himself, and brush his teeth, even though he had been so enraged that he felt like running ten miles. You had stayed locked in the bathroom for a whole while, the water of the shower still running as Mikey eventually decided to go to bed.

He had left on the ceiling lights, pulled the blanket over himself, and listened to you eventually turning off the shower. After that you had taken another half an hour in the bath. Mikey had tried to fall asleep, but been too distracted by the cluttering in the bathroom. Were you brushing your teeth right now? Applying lotion to your face, or doing whatever night routine you had?

A few times he had heard something that almost sounded like a sniffle, as if you were crying, and each time it had taken all his self-restraint to not jump out of the bed, bang against the door, and beg you to let him in so he could take care of you. But each time his pride had won, and he had stayed in bed. When you eventually had stepped out of the bath, he had pretended to be asleep. The scent of your body wash had streamed in waves from the bathroom. It was the same scent that always clung to your hair and clothes, the same scent that made Mikey's heart beat a little faster, that threatened to drive a blush into his cheeks. All the reason to hate you even more, for making him feel like a lovesick teenager. But the way you had quietly been moving around the room, assuming he was asleep, and trying not to wake him made it hard. Not even an hour ago you had screamed at him about how much you hated him, and now you had been trying not to disturb his sleep. After every little noise you had made, you had paused, listening whether you had woken him, before eventually crawling into bed next to him.

He had felt the mattress dip with your weight, and heard the ruffling of the blanket. Then you had turned off the light. At that he almost would have spoken up, would have asked you to keep it turned on, or at least turn on the lamp above the bed, but he would rather lie awake in the dark than let you know he had not yet fallen asleep.

It had been a few hours since then. Your breath had evened out quickly, signalling him that you had fallen asleep, and for hours he lay awake, listening to your breathing and the rustling of the bedsheets when you moved in your sleep. Again and again he tried to close his eyes, but each time he did, he had to think of you, screaming about how you hated him before slamming the bathroom door closed, shutting him out. Maybe that was what he actually feared most: that one day you just shut him out.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden change in your breathing. Before it had been even, rhythmic, but now it was hasty, erratic, panicked. He had heard similar changes often enough when he had slept in Gerard's room, and his brother had had a nightmare. And as if to confirm Mikey's suspicion, you began twitching and shaking your head, mumbling unintelligible words. His heart twisted painfully, wishing he could somehow help you, but if he woke you up, who knew how you were to react. And it really was not his problem if you had nightmares, right? You were an adult; you could deal with that yourself. Normally he would not even notice because he was asleep himself.