A/N: Miss me? Enjoy.
"We keep moving forward,
opening new doors,
and doing new things,
because we're curious
and curiosity keeps leading us
down new paths."
- Walt Disney
They fought their way through traffic for what seemed like an eternity, until finally they emerged on to the back roads once again, and comfort settled upon their tired shoulders. They were outsiders used to the outside, and the bustling city had been like watching a show. It had only taken a change of scene for them to be apart of it. The city was a world and a half behind them now, and Pete was both disappointed and relieved, but mostly excited. In front of him was nothing but dirt and mystery. And Pete was someone who saw mystery, not as a threat, but as an adventure. Unlike most people, he didn't quite fear the unknown. He anticipated it gleefully.
They had stopped for coffee as promised, however Mikey had managed to pull a few wet, wrinkled dollar bills out of his backpack and pay for a bagel, too. Pete glanced at him every so often, chuckling as Mikey balanced the two halves on his criss-crossed knees and tore open the cream cheese with his teeth. A piece of aluminum foil was dangling from his lips when he made fleeting eye contact with Pete. He blushed and swiped it from his mouth quickly, crumbling it and tossing it on the floor in a swift, embarrassed motion.
Pete laughed quietly. It was so strange how they had settled into their peace again. The tension seemed to be nearly lifted; no longer pressing on their shoulders but lingering above their heads, like clouds instead of weights. They had been able to drive in a comfortable silence for a while, not even the sound of a radio between them, nor the rushing air. Mikey had decided the morning wind was too cold for the windows to be rolled down, and instead he pressed himself against it and watched everything roll by. Pete was thankful nobody else was on the road, for sometimes his glances turned into staring, and he would just barely catch himself admiring his sharp jawline, his smooth thin nose and his dark sleepy eyes. He ended up on the other side of the road once. (Well, more than once, but that was hardly a fact he was willing to admit).
But the two of them were mostly wide awake now. Their silence before had been conjured from a mixture of sleepiness and maybe some unspoken sadness. However, they now had tiny smiles tugging at their lips, and the silence began to wilt; gently and calmly, like a flower.
"You laughin' at me?" Mikey asked, his cheeks filled with bagel. Pete laughed again in response, this time louder and looser. Mikey rolled his eyes, a smirk still on his face. He swallowed hard and then reached for the radio, Pete stopping him quickly. "What?" Mikey grumbled, pushing his hand away and beginning to shuffle through endless stations.
"Can't we listen to something.. good?" Pete grumbled, wincing as someone screeched through his speakers. There wasn't much Pete took pride in, but his music taste was something that he did. His ear nor heart had never been swayed by simply catchy tunes, and even the music he drunkenly danced to and got high too had to good. He needed every last note that sank into his ears to be unforgettable; even if he was bound to forget it the next morning. And as much as he despised being as pretentious as he was, he truly could barely stand the mainstream. Part of him wished he did, because being the one to change the radio station or turn off the music completely just because it didn't "mean anything" made him an even bigger douche than he already was.
Mikey glanced at him quickly, smiling softly. "Something good?" he repeated, voice tinged with excitement. Pete just nodded slowly, cautiously, taking a quick moment to glance at Mikey suspiciously. He turned back to the road, hearing Mikey unbuckle his seatbelt. Out of the corner of his eye, Pete watched as Mikey tried to crawl over the center console and into the back, scrambling for his backpack.
"What are you doing!?" Pete exclaimed, laughing. He reached back to grab Mikey and pull him back, hand smacking his ass along the way. It was the ass smack heard around the world, practically ringing through the car even louder than the bubblegum pop on the radio. Mikey jumped and went silent, the two of them holding their breath for a moment before bursting into laughter. Pete's laughter followed a moment after his, however, being one of relief and discomfort. Mikey wiped the tears from his eyes, cheeks red and smile wide. He quickly grabbed his backpack and zoomed back into the passenger's seat, plopping the bag on his lap. Pete had been swerving and dancing all over the place on the road, and finally managed to get back into a proper lane when the laughter died out. He looked over a Mikey, flushed and joyful, a still rising sun hiding behind his head and casting a halo over Pete's rugged angel. The universe knew exactly what kind of treatment Mikey deserved; however, it seemed to have fluked by placing him in Pete's passenger seat.
"This backpack," Mikey started, crushing Pete's train of thought. "Has some of my favorite albums of all time. I grabbed them when I left..." He trailed off, holding his tongue so far in his throat, Pete thought he may throw up all over the dashboard. His voice stopped so abruptly that Pete nearly slammed the breaks in response. He cast a glance to Mikey, whose smile had melted in the mid morning sun and washed away with the color in his face. The ghost began to shake, his hands noticeably trembling as he unzipped the bag.
"Mikey?" Pete finally asked, discomfort displacing the question out of his stomach and shooting it from his chapped lips. "Are you alright?" His question scared away the ghost, color filling up Mikey's face again almost immediately, like a flood. Mikey blinked rapidly and finished unzipping his bag, turning it over to spill out what seemed like thousands of CDs onto his lap. Upon further inspection, it was only a couple dozen, maybe. But probably worth thousands, judging by the way Mikey's eyes sparkled when he examined them.
"Yes, I'm fine," Mikey finally answered. "I was just thinking, sorry. But." He cheered himself up quickly, flipping a switch somewhere Pete couldn't reach. "I've been collecting these for years, I can't even remember what my first CD was..." He looked up at Pete excitedly, like a child showing their parent their latest art class work. And Pete had to honest in his admiration, and even his jealousy. Most of his music, all of which he had left behind, had come from super sales at tiny music shops in his sad suburbia. There was only so much greatness that came for three dollars, and most of it ended up breaking anyway. Pete thanked the universe for the internet, and that's forever where he got his good music. But he could never hold it in a bag and share it, but nobody truly ever wanted to him to share music. Nobody ever really wanted him.
Pete cut off his own thoughts and flashed a smile. He wanted Mikey to share with him, however. He wanted to know his favorite songs, the ones he cried to and danced wildly to, the ones he told himself he'd learn the lyrics to but always stuck to mumbling. He wanted to see what songs dilated his pupils and hitched his breath. He wanted to figure out what part of Mikey's music sent chills down his own spine, because he already knew Mikey himself could do that alone with just a look. When Pete finally managed to tune in again to what Mikey was saying, he caught the end question and was pleasantly surprised, as if his mind had been read. "So whattya wanna listen to?"
"All of it?" Pete replied, inclining his voice with anticipation. Mikey picked one from the pile without looking, handing it to Pete's outstretched palm. As Pete pushed it into the player, Mikey began to roll down his window, taking in a deep breath. Pete slowed down, letting the wind that rushed in become gentle and complement the acoustic guitar that now began to fill the car.
Mikey closed his eyes and leaned back, a few CDs tumbling off his lap and onto his feet. "All of it."
They drove and drove, through many albums and a few accidental stop signs, only stopping once every so often to use the bathroom, grab gas and mediocre snacks. The dashboard was becoming cluttered with the albums they had already gone through and bags of chips they had already sucked up, and while it was becoming harder and harder to see through the windshield, Pete was almost sure there was nothing worth seeing; not when the greatest sight was sitting beside him.
But truly, all ahead of them was back roads, and a few signs that warned of a town ahead, with a name they zoomed by too fast to read. It wasn't long however until small buildings started popping up, and they found themselves close to a town shortly after the sun had set. People were sitting on their porches and sipping lemonade eyeing Pete as he slowly drove through their neighborhoods. Dogs tugged desperately from the poles they were tied to, barking at them viciously. It woke Mikey up, and he stumbled up so quick he slammed his head on the roof. Pete couldn't stifle the laugh, choking on it loudly and smiling at him. "Where are we?" Mikey mumbled, rubbing his head. Pete just shrugged and Mikey leaned forward, raising the volume of the current song and bobbing his head in pleasure. "I love this song."
"Never heard it," Pete said, for the millionth time it seemed. Listening to Mikey's music had only made him realize how much he didn't know, and how much truly existed. If so many songs were out there, he wondered how many people were out there creating them, creating art, and all they places they had seen, all the thoughts they had thought. The world was much bigger than Pete could ever wrap his mind around, and he was starting to think that his road-trip shouldn't end in just America. He looked around and slowed down, cautious about where he was. He was so deep into a local area he almost felt out of place. Almost. With all the kids playing basketball in the streets and signs for garage sales and strawberry fields, he was still able to find himself in the graffiti that seemed to decorate everything. Dark art and words littered the streets and its houses and lights.
Mikey seemed to notice to, because his eyes had finally completely opened and squinted at every piece of art they passed. He even leaned out the window, getting as close as possible as he could. "Oryr," he mumbled. Pete raised an eyebrow and nudged him in question. "Oryr. All the graffiti is tagged with that. They're pretty talented."
"And disliked," Pete added, as they drove by a man hosing down the art furiously, a bucket of paint open beside him. He glared as they passed him, wiping sweat off his brow and following his van with a poisonous gaze. "I don't think they get many tourists here."
"Motel!" Mikey exclaimed suddenly, causing Pete to slam the brakes suddenly. A car behind him bumped into him lightly, its horn blaring angrily. Pete laughed and stuck his middle finger out the window, then looked ahead to shabby motel that seemed to blend right in. Small, run down with a twisted sense of love. A little bit like Pete. He hit the gas and turned into the motel, the parking lot empty except for a small Volkswagen covered in conservative bumper stickers. Leaning on it was a yellow bicycle, a sign reading DO NOT TOUCH. BUT IF YOU DO, BRING IT BACK. Pete chuckled and parked right beside it, ringing the bell on it as he got out of the car.
"Where the hell are we?"
Soon, Mikey was beside him, his distance noted painfully. While the day had been spent with little to no discomfort, there was still the stinging reality of what had gone down between the two of them not too long ago. If Mikey looked at him the right way, or the wrong way in this case, it could send Pete back to the blackness from last night. He knew he would always be in the wrong, and no matter how many snacks who bought or gas he wasted all for Mikey, not a single on his cold bones could be redeemed. It was tearing him apart, because the night had finally fallen, and the only thing Mikey looked better in than sunlight was starlight. He looked away.
"Hey! You guys looking for a room?"
The two of them turned to see a scrawny teenager with dirty brown hair heading towards them, a guitar case in his hands and bandana wrapped around his forehead. He was barefoot, running off a wacky lack of sleep, his eyes smudged with eyeliner and the lower part of his face concealed by the hefty floral scarf that wrapped tightly around him. "This is my dad's place. And mine, I guess." He stopped a few feet away from there, he placed his guitar case down and a loud rumble from within told Pete that there wasn't a guitar inside. "It's been a couple months since anyone's come around here. Welcome."