one more troubled soul » petekey

Six

"Hm?" Mikey looked away from him as they started to walk, face even redder than it was before. He was insane if he thought a sunburn could hide his blush.

"Your hands," Pete said, carefully. "They're soft." He brushed his thumb over his knuckles, enjoying every little bit of skin for all that it was. Delicate, sensitive. The most beautiful skin Pete had ever seen or touched. He wanted all of it to be his, and only his, for the rest of his adventure and his life. But right now, having his hand was just fine, and he squeezed it.

"Oh, thank you," Mikey mumbled, looking bashful but giggling, too. He started to swing their arms back and forth, and Pete gladly obliged. He didn't need to look up any pizza places on his phone. There were plenty in New York, and they'd be able to find one just by walking. And that was definitely okay with Pete, who would across the entire world if he could hold hands with Mikey. "Sorry for almost tipping us over... you know, in the boat."

Pete glanced at him. Was he really that guilty? There was no reason to be. They had never actually tipped over and the adrenaline rushes had been fun, made Pete feel alive and excited and aware. But Mikey looked extremely sullen, his head hanging almost so heavily that his chin touch his chest. "It's fine, Mikey, really. You're... you're okay." He bit his lip. "You're okay, right?"

"Me?" Mikey said, as if there was anyone else Pete would ever even want to talk to. He nodded, and Mikey didn't answer. He looked anywhere but at Pete, his eyes frantically looking for a way out. His walls were slowly being built again and even though Pete thought he wanted that, he really didn't. He wanted to screw the idea of anonymity and lifeless people. He wanted to know what was in Mikey's head and heart and soul and he wanted to know all of it. "I'm just... I don't know, I feel like I've only been trouble since you picked me up. And you can be honest. I have, haven't I?" He stopped swinging their arms and walking, yanking Pete almost roughly to look at him.

And Pete did. He looked at his watering eyes and his messy bangs, his glasses that were slightly crooked now that Pete really looked and they were dirty with fingerprints and a bit of pollen from earlier. He had thin, pretty lips that were parted again, like he was going to kiss Pete. Pete wanted to kiss him. But he couldn't do that, because Mikey, despite looking absolutely beautiful, also looked scared. He looked alone despite being amongst millions of people in the city, and his eyes were dark even in the sunlight. Pete wondered what kind of troubled soul looked like that, and how it all managed to happen. He took his hand away from Mikey's and rest both of them on his shoulders, then slowly made his way down his arms, and then up again, rubbing them comfortingly. Lovingly. (Liking-ly). He did that for a little while, wanting to feel the skin beneath his sweatshirt. He wanted to stir chills or heat or anything within Mikey; wanted to make him feel something so they could feel together. "You're not any trouble, Mikey."

"Liar," Mikey snapped, immediately, tensing beneath Pete's hold. "I am. I'm nothing but it." There was so much sadness in his voice that Pete couldn't doubt how much he believed it. His wonderful wanderer, his sort of stranger, who was everything good, was so unaware. Unaware of the way his smile shone and unaware of the way his words healed. It was hard to understand and take in. Pete knew he himself was nothing special, so it was okay for him to feel wrong or troublesome or anything. But it was almost unacceptable for Mikey. Anything but utter joy was unacceptable for Mikey. "And I'm sorry I ever got in your car, or your boat or your life-"

"Mikey," Pete said, calmly. It shut him up miraculously. "We're going to get pizza. And eat it while the sun sets, and I'm going to tell you how pretty it looks in your eyes and how your smile puts it to shame." Pete slid one hand up his arm and cupped his chin, craning his neck a bit. Mikey was quite tall. "And then I'm going to take your hand again and tell you how much better you've made this trip. Not worse. Better."