one more troubled soul » petekey

Four

Pete's breath hitched.

He looked away as quickly as he could, averting his gaze to his empty notebook. Those eyes terrified him. Mikey's. They were so dangerously deep, enough to get lost in and regret ever looking. They were sharp enough to cut something open, to cut Pete open. Not to mention, they were quite pretty.

"What is the notebook for?" Mikey asked, sitting up. He was sitting close to Pete. The fabric of their shirts rubbed against each other, but Pete wanted to feel Mikey's skin. Mikey was so cold. Pete had felt it when he grabbed his hand, his thin fingers dancing on his hand for an escape. Every touch was a gentle frostbite. Pete was always so sweaty with adventure and anxiety, and so he loved the chill.

"So I can document the trip. Write about every day. Day one is officially over, and it's sort of day two... so..." Pete opened the notebook, a blank page sitting in front of him. There were thousands, millions, of words Pete could write. If only he could think of one. Mikey scooted closer, glancing at the page. He looked at Pete expectantly, then watched him quietly as he fished a pen from his pocket. Pete could feel Mikey's breath, warmer than he was, on his cheek. He turned his head away sharply, taking in the scent and taste of clean, pure air; not touched by Mikey. But it wasn't as sweet.

"Are you going to write about me?" Mikey asked, the question dripping with innocent inquisitiveness. Pete ignored him, pushing the pen to the page, a blot of ink exploding on the page. He chuckled and began to write a few numbers, and Mikey opened his mouth to ask why.

"Today's date first. Then maybe, a sentence for you. If you're lucky." Pete joked, and then placed his pen down. His hand stayed steady for a long time, the stars and Mikey waiting in anticipation. He couldn't write about Mikey with him breathing down his neck, those sharp eyes tearing apart every word for more meaning. Pete finally turned his entire body. He shoved the back of his notebook in Mikey's face. "You can't look!"

"Well, write about me! And... and be honest," Mikey said, pulling his legs back up on to the roof and hugging them to his chest. He offered a crooked grin and sniffled, rubbing his nose with his his gloved knuckles. His fingerless gloves were coming apart at the seams, Pete noticed. They were stringy and worn.

"Honest?" Pete replied, smirking. "Well..." He began to write furiously, moving his notebook away from Mikey every time he tried to grab at it or look at it. He was writing in all different positions, writing upside down, and just trying to not fall off the roof whilst moving away from a very determined and curious Mikey. The end product of his writing was an absolute mess. Words were crossed out, rewritten and crossed out again. The page was covered in ink blots and his handwriting went from messy, to messier, to almost illegible. But it was all about Mikey, and it was all honest. "Done!" Pete exclaimed, dotting the page for good measure. He held the notebook tightly to his chest and grinned at Mikey. "All honest."

"Lemme read," Mikey whined, his voice twisting into a delicious octave. Pete found himself hearing that whine in other situations, and then he found himself shaking his head viciously. There was no reason to think about that. But Pete was lonely. He stopped thinking before his own brain, or absence of one, made everything worse.

"I'll read it to you," Pete argued, pushing Mikey's hands away. He held on to them tightly for good measure, looking directly into those eyes. He had to stop being so scared of them. They were too beautiful. "Anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?"

"Maybe," Mikey replied back sharply, narrowing his eyes. He didn't pull his hands away this time, in fact, it felt like he was squeezing back. "But I, am not a cat." Then his cold hands were gone and placed in his lap gently. "Read."

Pete cleared his throat, drowning in their eye contact until he couldn't take it anymore. Finally, and reluctantly, he looked away and down at the page. "Mikey Way," he started. "Mikey Way is the single worst human being I have ever met, which is saying a lot. I have met plenty of people in my time, and none of them have been as unpleasant as Mikey Way." He stopped, looking up at Mikey. His grin was breaking and his eyes were glossy, the stars shining in his dark pools. His jaw was tightening. Pete only hoped he could tell it was all a joke. But he pressed on. "He is unacceptably tall, and his knees are awkward and embarrassing. I walked into a rest stop with him today and thought I might melt from the embarrassment. Good God, don't get me started on that hair. Unruly, greasy, and downright disgusting. The minute he hopped into my car, I regretted it. In fact, I wanted to push him out, and perhaps hit him, bec-"