"We are all in the gutter,
but some of us
are looking at the stars."
- Oscar Wilde
Pete made an effort to look at the stars as much as he could. The nighttime sky taught him so many things. It taught him truly how small he was, and that in a universe with black holes, exploding supernovas and more stars than the human mind could fathom, his mistakes were nothing. His choices were nothing. He was absolutely nothing. How wonderful it was to be so.
It taught him that no one was ever truly alone, even if they wanted to be. Everyone lived beneath the same sky and looked up at the same moon, every night. It was terrifying and incredible all at once, and Pete was okay with that.
And so only a mere five minutes after speeding away from the rest stop, Pete pulled the car over and grabbed his coffee, still hot, and a notebook and crawled on to the roof of his truck. He pulled his knees to his chest and settled his chin on one knee, glancing up at the sky with his dark eyes and taking a deep breath. The air felt fresh and sweet, and it smelled like the forest he could see in the distance. The night was beautiful, clear after the thunderstorm. Pete loved how that all worked. Such a huge storm, beautiful in its own twisted way, leaving behind something beautiful in every way. Pete thought it would be fair to enjoy every moment the universe provided, as long as he didn't have to get rained on. So admiring the stars, that was something he could deal with. It was something he could enjoy completely.
He had always done it alone, however. His parents were always too exhausted or already asleep to crawl with him on the roof, as young as ten years old. His siblings didn't see the appeal, and would turn back to their own affairs. Sometimes the family dog would join him, little claws skidding on the balcony and his whines sounding as he watched Pete climb carefully up sloped roof. More than once, Pete lost his footing and slid slightly down, scraping his knees and his face. But he would hold his little hands over his bloody knees until the sun would begin to rise or the clouds would begin to form. And then he'd carefully make his way down and scratch behind his dog's ears and sneak back into the house. The first couple times he was caught sliding back in, his parents wearily holding coffee mugs, they yelled at him. Yelled at him for crawling on to the roof, taking the dog, and not going to bed. But the more he persisted, the less they cared. His mom would sometimes buy packs of Bandaids and leave them on his nightstand.
But other than his dog, who was long gone now, Pete had never stargazed with anyone else. But he lifted his chin from his knee as he heard a door open and slam beneath him. "Pete?" a groggy voice whispered. Mikey. Pete leaned his upper body over the edge, their heads smacking into each other. "Ah!" Mikey exclaimed, backing up and rubbing his head.
Pete laughed, their little noises filling the empty night with glee instead of gloom. He rubbed his own head, shaking off the pain to look at his sort of friend. Mikey had the palm of his hand pushed on his forehead, his entire face scrunched up in pain. Finally, he pulled it away and looked up at Pete, titling his head. "What are you doing up there?"
"What are you doing down there?" Pete replied quickly, smirking. He held a hand out and Mikey eyed it suspiciously, then back at him. Pete didn't want him to look so scared anymore. "Come on. A little stargazing never hurt anyone."
"You don't know that," Mikey retorted, but it was clear he didn't care as he grabbed Pete's wrist, climbing up on to the roof of the truck and settling awkwardly beside him. He was all long legs and knees, and his lanky arms with those pale hands were trying to figure out where to go. He finally spread his legs over the edge and leaned on to his back, settling his hands on his stomach. Pete watched him for far too long. He watched his face twitch and his eyes blink slowly, so that his eyelashes brushed his cheeks delicately. He watched his hands rise and fall on his stomach as he took deep breaths. And then he watched as his dark, big eyes met his.
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-"
"Pete!" Mikey yelled, his voice cracking. If echoed. Nothing had echoed so much before. It echoed through the night and in Pete's empty shell of a human, shaking him from inside out. It was making Pete feel sick to his stomach and he slammed the notebook shut, reaching forward to comfort Mikey.
Mikey flinched and leaned away from his touch. Pete nodded in understanding, sliding his hand into this pocket. "It was just a joke, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"Gotchya!" Mikey exclaimed, cutting him off and leaning forward excitedly, his face in Pete's like a puppy. And finally that big dopey smile, teeth and all, finally returned. Pete had been waiting for it ever since he had first seen it during their first perfect moment together. He had written about it in his notebook. He had spent multiple sentences on it, making sure to get his point across. Pete did not know much about Mikey Way, but he sure as hell adored his smile. And it was inches away from his face now, in all its pearly white glory. "I knew it was a joke all along," Mikey bragged, his nose in the air. He was so high and mighty, sitting on his own throne, sculpted from his awareness.
"Yeah? And the tears in your eyes? Totally fake," Pete snapped back, moving his face forward threateningly. He wasn't quite sure exactly what he was threatening, but he was doing it nonetheless. "I got you, Mikey Way."
"Did not. I'm a great actor. You have no idea, Pete... Pete..." Mikey's smile crumbled and the glimmer in his eyes faded, as he leaned away from Pete. Pete missed the warm breath on his face. "Pete what?"
Pete felt himself getting nervous and sweaty again, he felt the air around him becoming thick with anticipation. He felt like it was choking him. He didn't want to tell Mikey anything else. They were supposed to be perfect strangers, so poetically anonymous. It was one of the reasons Pete was so infatuated with him anyway, and if Mikey was anything like him, a last name would ruin it. But Mikey wasn't like Pete. No, he liked to ask innocent questions that made Pete's entire being fizzle and stir, with the pressure of the questions and the way his voice inclined. He liked to df deep with his eyes, like ruthless shovels. He poured himself out by turning up radios and sticking his head out the window, becoming real and alive. He was nothing and everything like Pete all at once. It seemed like every bit of Pete's life was like that. Yes and no, good and bad, nothing and everything. In between. Maybe.
He felt himself shudder a few times before finally speaking. "Wentz," he said. "Pete Wentz. That's... me." He offered a nervous smile before scooting closer to Mikey. "So, how about those stars?" He wanted to change the subject, and fast. He laid himself down on to his back, his arms folded behind his head.
Mikey copied his position, yawning. "Are you ever going to tell me what you actually wrote in that notebook, Pete Wentz?" He looked up at the sky, sighing contently.
"Perhaps one day." Pete fell into his own comfortable silence, his tiny, meaningless thoughts echoing in his own head. "For now, we can just... enjoy this, right?"
"Right." Mikey whispered. And then there they sat, for a very long time, staring up at the star filled sky above them. Pete hoped they would be in New York City by tomorrow, but he also feared The Big Apple, for he knew the stars didn't shine there. There were too many on the ground and in people's eyes that there wasn't any left for the sky. So he cherished what he could with the moment now.
The stars were so beautiful. Pete drew shapes and wrote names in them in his mind, and he tried to count them until he got confused, and then try again. They were so interactive, despite being so far away. They had always been calling to him, ever since he was young. He watched them until he heard Mikey's breaths become steady, sleep like. Pete turned on his side, seeing Mikey's eyes closed, wisps of hair blowing in the gentle breeze. He looked so incredibly peaceful, the most peaceful Pete had seen him. He didn't look scared, or lost, in fact, he slept like a baby, completely in the care of Pete. It seemed like Pete was doing a swell job of taking care of him, judging by the tiny smile on his thin lips.
Pete tried to turn away. He shouldn't be watching someone sleep, it was just creepy. But he couldn't stop. Mikey was all cheekbones and legs and elbows and pale skin, nothing to extravagant. But yet every fiber of his being begged to be looked at, and loved. Not necessarily by Pete, of course, Mikey had made it clear that they'd never work out. It wasn't like Pete wanted to love him either, he just wanted to look and enjoy. His subconscious must of known that when he let him jump in the car in the first place. Screw all that romantic reasoning, his poetic needs and shit, he really just thought Mikey was cute, and it was a disgustingly large reason as to why he was still here. Pete had to admit, he wasn't that much of a nuisance, but he wasn't awfully interesting either, so his beauty was keeping him around.
Pete knew how superficial it all was, and he hated it.
But he still watched him rest, the stars and moon lighting and shading his face beautiful. He looked too surreal in the dim light, all his deep crevices dark and mysterious and everything else glowing softly, like he was radiating it instead of absorbing it. Pete sat up, leaning down close to Mikey. Pete could reach out and touch him, feel his idea of perfection in a new intimate way, but Mikey looked far too fragile. He might shatter from a breath, too strong.
"Mikey?" Pete whispered, his lips close to Mikey's. He wouldn't dare try anything. Mikey knew too much to be a sort of twisted one night stand, and he meant too much to Pete already.
"Hmm," Mikey whined, twisting his body position to his side. He dug his face into Pete's arm, and stretched sleepily, then went quiet and limp again. He was so wonderful.
"You asleep?" Pete asked. It was a dumb question, but he had to be sure. When he received no reply, he carefully opened his notebook. He stared down at the page, messy and honest. "Today," he started, quietly. He was speaking to nothing, but he knew out there, someone else sat under the stars. Perhaps another pair, snuggled together or sat in the grass, looked up at the stars elsewhere. And maybe their ears were ringing, and they heard Pete's voice, everyone connected by the sky. "Today while driving through a terrible storm, the first of many on this trip, I assume, I almost hit and killed some idiot standing in the middle of the road." He looked down at Mikey, still snuggled up against Pete's and blissfully oblivious. "They tried to run away, but something tugged me toward them; call it fate or stupidity. I rolled down my window and saw a man. Lost, sort of like me," he said, his voice quieting. He brushed his fingers along the next sentence, and then down Mikey's arm gently. "He was beautiful." Mikey shifted in his sleep, making a tiny, distressed noise in the back of his throat. Pete ripped his hand away and clenched his notebook nervously. But the other man stayed asleep, lost in his own darkness. "I shouldn't of let him in, because mother said to never talk to strangers, let alone give them a ride across the country." Pete laughed quietly at his own writing and his own self, realizing how weird he truly was being. He wondered what kind of person he would be by the end of his trip. He was already so different after one day. If he thought he didn't know himself now, he was terrified for the adventure's end result.
Pete looked back down at his notebook, continuing cautiously. "But I did. And he sat down in my passenger seat, wet knees pushed up against the dashboard and a blanket wrapped around his wide shoulders. I had never been so happy in my life to see someone so helpless. I felt high and mighty, like a sort of savior. I put myself on a pedestal that really should of been reserved for him. He became my savior." He sighed and glanced up at the stars, sending a quick thanks to whatever divinity was out there. Pete had never been religious, but he knew something out there was making the crazy universe make a little bit of sense, by sending dark eyed boys and starry nights. "His name is Michael, but he prefers Mikey. Mikey Way. He's got a brother, Gerard, who is a sort of successful and okay comic book artist. But none of that is really important. What's important is that Mikey likes classic rock, and can head bang and play a mean air guitar. He likes to stick his head out windows and he has the world's most wonderful smile. And that is not an opinion, no, not at all. It is a fact."
Pete paused, letting the universe take in his words. It was the only thing really listening. "It his big and crooked, white and shiny. He's got these eyes that crinkle when he smiles, and these dimples that pop and a nose he constantly has in the air. He loves to ask questions and I really hate answering them, but I quite like him. When I told him I was writing about him, he asked for something honest. I don't think I've ever been more honest about something in my life, I've always been too scared. But he gave me permission to not be scared. He has given me permission to smile, and drive him crazy and around the country. I couldn't be more honest about how insanely incredible he is. I could've written about him for hours, could've filled this entire notebook with just him. And maybe I will end up doing that, but I don't want my nose in a notebook too much. I might miss one of his silly grins or the fire in his eyes ignite. So," he paused once again. "Day one. I've already found the most wonderful I will on this trip, and I'm taking him with me." Pete closed his notebook hard, the slam startling Mikey awake. "Honest."
"Wha...? Pete?" Mikey pushed himself up, blinking rapidly and stretching his long fingers. "Oh God, I passed out, didn't I?"
"It's alright." Pete promised, smiling. "Why don't you finish resting in the backseat, I'll nap in the front. I'm a little guy." He chuckled and hopped off the roof, kicking up dirt clouds into the night. Mikey looked down and nervously slid off, landing a bit more gracefully than Pete did. He smiled sheepishly at Pete and then swung open the door, shoving things on to the floor to spread across the seats.
Pete jumped into the passenger's seat, leaning it back as far as he could without crushing Mikey. He twisted in the seat and grinned at his friend (it felt weird to think that). "Night, Mikey."
"It's almost five in the morning, Pete," Mikey said, giggling lightly.
"Then a very good morning to you. Sleep tight." Pete turned on the car for a quick moment, rolling down a window slightly to let in the fresh dawn air. Then, he cuddled into the seat as much as he could, hearing a small voice from the back.
"You too, Pete. Sweet dreams."
And Pete had the sweetest dreams he'd had in years.