Echoes of Our Rebellious Youth (All Time Low fanfiction | Alex Gaskarth)

Chapter 6: Just One Question to Ask

Alex's POV:

If the Ravens are playing, there's nothing for us to do but go all out. Especially when we're back home surrounded by all of our hometown friends. It means we have to throw some kind of event for us all to watch. Since Rian and I are roommates, our place is the perfect spot for everybody to come together.

The living room is filled with around twenty people, everybody wearing the colours of the Ravens. Well, everybody except for Mickey. She looks lost amongst the hustle and bustle of us excited fans. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her body and she doesn't engage with any of the conversation.

It's when she flinches at somebody cracking open a can of beer nearby that I realise this might not be the best environment for her. I had asked whether she felt up for it, and she said it was okay. It completely slipped my mind that she might have just said that to please me.

Her eyes flicker towards the new six-pack of beer on the kitchen counter, and she shakes her head out of a trance before turning and walking away. My immediate instinct is to leave behind the conversation I'm having. It takes me a while to push through all the people wanting to chat with me, but eventually I go downstairs to Mickey's room.

"Mickey?" I quietly call out as I peek into the room. I find her sitting on her bed with her knees up, a sketchbook against her thighs.

She looks up at my voice and quickly moves her sketchbook to the side. "I'm sorry, I'll be back up soon."

The movement, although so small, starts a tear in my heart. She plays it off well, as if she's simply putting it down to give me her full attention. But it's all learned behaviour. She's figured out how to make things look inconspicuous. And I hate it. That guy has fundamentally changed the way she goes through life.

"Okay," I nod, deciding I won't tell her what to do, and walk into the room.

The sound of people reacting to the game upstairs quiets down when I close the door behind myself and take a seat on the foot-end of her bed. She watches me as if trying to survey any sudden manoeuvre I might make. I'm not here to do anything, though, and it hurts to know there is some deep ingrained fear within her.

"What are you working on?" I ask, hoping to put her at ease.

She searches my face before hesitating and opening up her sketchbook again. A pencil is stuck between the pages, letting her easily find where she left off. My eyes are already on her drawing as she turns the book towards me and gently hands it over. On the right page is a sketch of a frog and on the left some scribbled down calculations for God-knows-what.

And I realise I have no idea what exactly she's been working on. Maybe it was a multitasking situation. Back in Texas, she told us that she dropped out because it was too difficult for her. But it just doesn't make sense. If there was one thing she was freakishly good at, it was math – and making me happy.

A chorus of screams and swears come from upstairs, making every muscle in Mickey's body tense up. As much as I hate to miss out on the action, the reaction she has worries me more. I want to reach out and trail my hands over her, relaxing all the knots as I move along. But I know it's not the right move. Not when she's so on edge.

"Sorry," she sighs again and gives me a forced smile when she notices that I've started to decipher her body language.

"It's okay," I whisper back and glance back at the door. "They're a bit loud up there, aren't they?"

"A bit," she agrees.

I bite the inside of my lip as I consider my next options. In the end, I point beside her and ask, "mind if I join you?"