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Mikey picked at his fingernails, uprooting the sides of his cuticles. He knew what Pete was going to say, what he’d prepared to ask them. He’d heard whispers of it, him and Frank late at night in the lounge at the back of the bus. He glanced at Frank, then at Ray. They looked just as anxious as he felt.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t into it. He was more than happy about it, excited, even. He knew how good it was with each of them individually, having fucked all of them on seperate occasions, some of them more than once. He knew that it would be better with all of them. He knew how Ray would look on his knees, how Pete"s mouth would taste. He knew how Frank’s hands would feel, cold at the touch but with only warm intentions.
He knew he’d say yes.
So when Pete asked, Mikey barely thought about it. He let everyone answer first, Ray first, then Frank. When he said his bit, it was with a bit of apprehension, but visible interest.
No one had to be convinced. They were all on the same page about their desires, and now that everything was out in the open, they just had to wait for a time to execute the plan.
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Today was the day. He was thinking of the impending hotel night, the bright lights of the city shining through the windows, flickers of color bouncing off his lovers’ skin. He was thinking, and he needed to stop.
He needed a distraction from the nerves, and he found it in his bass. Endless songs, anything. The day went by slowly, constant redirection from his lustful thoughts becoming tiring. So he let them in, the dreams of their hands on him, the ideas he’d had from the get go.
So when he was jarred out of his thoughts by Pete leaning over his shoulder, fingering at his instrument, completely ruining the song, he melted into the touch. His back sagged against Pete’s chest. He should have been mad, maybe.
“Hey,” Pete murmured into Mikey’s ear. Pete’s lips were dangerously close to his neck, and Mikey never wanted them anywhere else, ever.
“Hi, Pete,” Mikey said, setting down his bass on the floor.
“Hotel night tonight,” Pete informed him. He knew what that meant. They both did. Pete stepped into his view, nudging Mikey’s bass with his foot. He made his way onto Mikey’s lap, the way he had so many times before.
“Yeah,” Mikey said. The weight of Pete’s body on his, ever so familiar, soothed him. He leaned upwards, kissing Pete gently. Pete’s hands burrowed in Mikey’s hair, ruffling it even though it was already messy. When Mikey pulled away, Pete smiled.
“Excited?” He asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“Yeah, very” said Mikey. He didn’t say that he’d been thinking about it all fucking day, that he could almost burst with all the things he was feeling. He kept it between his tongue and his teeth, knowing it wouldn’t come out right anyway.
“Mikeyway,” Pete started. “I-.” He hummed, cutting himself off. Mikey waited, curling a piece of Pete"s hair in between his fingers, weaving it back and forth.
“What?” asked Mikey, after a beat of silence. Pete leaned closer, mouth almost right up against his ear.
“I want it to be good, Mikes. I want- I want you and I want them. Please promise me it won’t change anything, at least not forever,” said Pete, only to Mikey. He knew that no one could hear them, that Frank and Ray were out talking to fans, and he knew that Pete knew this too. Sometimes, even in the company of only Mikey, he needed to make sure that it was just them, that Mikey and him could share something that wasn’t corrupted by a conversational tone or a shout across a room. It was his own confessional, his solace. He may have been close with all of them, but they both knew that if they needed anything, a soft word or a moment to process, the other was there. Mikey exhaled, hot breath on Pete’s shoulder.
“It won’t. We’ll be okay, okay?” Mikey said. He’d lost track of if he was talking about the band’s relationship or his and Pete’s, but he didn’t think it mattered.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Pete, slumping his head down into the crook of Mikey’s neck.
“When are we driving there?” asked Mikey, remembering what time it was.
“Seven-thirty,” Pete said, muffled by Mikey’s skin. The sound vibrated in his neck, making Mikey shiver. Pete wrapped his arms around Mikey, sitting back up.
“It’s seven,” Mikey reminded him, not ready to move from their spot, but knowing that the schedule was non negotiable.
“I know,” said Pete, hugging him a little tighter before releasing him. Pete got up, adjusting his shirt and running a hand through his hair. Mikey stared at him, taking him in like he never had before. He wanted a memory, something to look back on if it all went to shit, like he’d just assured Pete that it wouldn’t.
So he latched onto Pete’s band shirts, the way his hair swept across his forehead, how he knew nothing of personal space. His quirks and off putting traits.
And he let him go.
Once he was out of the bus, Mikey stood up. He packed away his instrument. He sat down, then stood up, then sat down once more. Then, Frank came in, Ray trailing behind him.
“How was it? Sign anything interesting?” Asked Mikey.
“Got 3 inhalers. I think they thought you were going to be there,” Frank said, nudging his shoulder on the way to the refrigerator.
“Kid made me sign his forehead,” Ray laughed. Mikey appreciated that they were trying to make it normal, but wasn’t sure if he had the energy to do the same.
“Nice,” Mikey managed. Ray came to stand in front of him. Mikey looked up at him, being reminded of all the times he’d been at this angle.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Ray asked, staring at Frank from the other side of the bus instead of making eye contact with Mikey.
“Absolutely,” Mikey said, smiling faintly. It was the truth. His amount of anxiety was greatly outweighed by how much he wanted this. He knew it would be good. His only fear was what would come after. He wasn’t ready to think about that.
“Okay,” Ray said, sitting on the ground by the couch that Mikey was sitting on. “And Frank, this is alright? You’re still okay with this?” Ray asked.
“Hell yeah,” Frank grinned, grabbing a bottle of water, closing the fridge and sitting next to Mikey on the couch.
“Did you get a read on Pete? Do you think he’s ready?” Ray asked Mikey.
“Yeah, definitely. He’s a little nervous. But definitely,” answered Mikey. He felt Frank tap on his shoulder, and he turned around immediately. Frank caught him in a kiss, one with tongue and teeth and everything good in the world. He never wanted it to end, and it didn’t for a long time. A period of time long enough for Frank to get his hand into Mikey’s pants, palming him roughly through his boxers. Mikey groaned into the kiss, one hand in Frank’s hair and one behind his back, propping him up. When Frank finally pulled away from the kiss and his hand was out of Mikey’s pants, he was semi hard and aching for more.
“Shit, Frank,” said Mikey, adjusting his pants so that his boner was less obvious.
When he gathered himself enough to look at Ray, it was clear that he’d been enjoying it just as much as, if not more than Mikey and Frank.
“I’m gonna go find Pete,” announced Frank, leaping up and kissing Ray’s cheek on the way out. That"s how Frank’s been. Sex seemed to mean very little to him, and that was okay, but when Mikey put so much weight on getting things right, it could be a little disconcerting.
The door swung shut behind him, leaving him and Ray alone on the bus. Ray stood up, sitting in Frank’s spot. Things with Ray were always gentle, and Mikey never felt like he had to perform as someone he wasn’t. Ray took him for who he was, nothing more and nothing less. So when Ray took his hand in his, he wasn’t surprised like he’d been by Frank’s kiss. Both approaches had their merits, and Mikey was excited to see how they’d interact together later that night. He leaned against Ray’s side. Being around Ray was always calming. He had a soft demenor that couldn"t be taught.
Mikey reached out, touching Ray’s cock through his jeans. Judging by how hard he felt against Mikey’s hand, and the sharp inhale he’d made when he brushed against him, Mikey knew that this was what he needed. Just when his breathy sighs turned into whiny, desperate noises, Mikey pulled his hand away.
Then, the door to the bus was swinging open and the driver ushered in Frank and Pete, both of them sweaty. The summer heat swept through the bus, penetrating the chill of the A/C and warming Mikey’s blood. Their driver informed them that they were leaving, and exited into the front of the bus, sitting in the driver’s seat.
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The sheets were soft beneath him, bunched up in his hands. Mikey sat, shirtless, as Pete and Frank kissed. Ray was next to him, still clothed, waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next, even though they both knew exactly what would transpire. Frank fell to his knees, his greedy hands fumbling with Pete’s fly. Mikey watched all of it, the slide of Frank’s hand against Pete’s cock, Pete’s thrown back head. He drank it in, pushing down all emotion until all that remained was instinct.
He walked over slowly so as to not disturb Frank, who was now using his mouth. He got behind Pete, much like Pete had gotten behind him just an hour ago. Mikey placed his chin on Pete’s shoulder, staring down at Frank.
“Fuck,” breathed Pete. Frank kept working up and down his dick, using his tongue strategically on the underside. Mikey mouthed at Pete"s neck, using only the slightest graze of teeth. Pete leaned into the touch of Mikey"s lips, feather light and spit covered.
Ray took it all in for a while before joining in cautiously. He kneeled next to Frank, not trying to steal the show, but desperately wanting to be useful.
Mikey watched them, envy bubbling in his stomach. He swallowed it down when it rose up his throat, putting his qualms aside. There was no space for worry between their bodies, not enough room for it to occupy or enough air for it to breathe.
Eventually, Frank nudged Ray, signaling for him to stop. They both let up at almost the same time, leaving Pete whining for more.
Frank kissed Ray, hands roaming his body. Pete watched intently for a moment, pants at his ankles and head in the clouds. Mikey grabbed his hand, trying to center him. Pete tended to float off when he was focused and sometimes needed Mikey to bring him back, to tether him.
Pete spun around, grabbing Mikey"s hand and leading him to the bed. Mikey wasn"t sure what they were going to do, and he didn"t want to fuck it up. Ray and Frank weren"t far behind, and they all converged on the bed, Pete and Mikey on the far side and Frank and Ray on the side closest to the door. For a second they were all still, before Pete sat down, swinging his legs up onto the bed. Ray followed, sitting on the edge and kicking off his pants and taking off his shirt. His hair was a mess from Pete running his hands through it, and his back was scratched. Mikey remembered the night it had happened, his fingers leaving Ray"s back so red and raw that they had had to use aloe.
Frank was eager, too wired from whatever was going on in his body to pay much attention to anything other than what he wanted. He crawled on top of the bed, hands and knees making him sink into the plushness of the mattress.
Mikey was the only one not on the bed, and Frank had noticed. He made his way over to him, kneeling as the mattress caved under him. Mikey leaned down and Frank craned his neck upwards, meeting Mikey for a kiss. Frank clearly wanted something more, but Mikey intended to make him wait. It was more fun that way, drawing out the eventual ending.
So they continued, Mikey controlling the kiss, tugging on his lip ring with his teeth when the spirit moved him.
Frank pulled away first, reaching to grab Mikey"s hand and pull him onto the bed with the rest of them. Mikey complied, slumping down against the headboard, back halfway against it and halfway on the bed and head pressed against the top.
Pete took advantage of his position, straddling him. Frank copied Mikey"s posture for the most part, the only deviation was that his head was on a pillow. Ray took interest, turning onto his side next to Frank. He didn"t take time to observe what they were doing. He didn"t want to focus on anything other than Pete"s touch.
Pete supported himself with his hands on Mikey"s shoulders as he leaned over him, effectively pinning him down. He got closer to his face until they were almost nose to nose, but he didn"t seem to be making any attempt to kiss him. Instead, he veered off course to his temple. He could feel Pete snake one of his hands from his chest to his cock, fingertips sliding across the material of his pants, just barely touching him.
"Okay?" Pete asked, turning his head from Mikey"s temple to his ear.
"More than," Mikey confirmed, hips jerking upwards to meet Pete"s hand. Pete slipped his hand under Mikey"s waistband, into his boxers, just as Frank had done. Before they could really get going, there was a rustling of the sheets next to them and Frank was groaning, audibly shifting around. They both looked over, pausing their movements to marvel at the picture before them.
Ray had moved to the bottom edge of the bed, feet hanging off, on his stomach. Frank was fucking up into Ray"s mouth, pushing his hips off the bed as he chased his orgasm, knowing it was in vain. Ray may have been gentler and more giving in bed than most, but Mikey knew from experience that he would want to fuck him before letting him cum.
After watching for a second, Pete returned to what he was doing. Mikey, however, wanted to keep watching. He wanted to see how Frank"s face contorted, he wanted to see Ray"s hair pulled and the way it would make him whine around Frank"s cock. His dick was hard as a rock, and the pornographic scene before him and Pete"s skilled hand were almost too much. He wanted Pete"s cock before he came, and he knew that if Pete kept going much longer he wouldn"t last.
When he finally tore his gaze away from Frank and Ray, he looked at Pete. Pete had been staring at him, eyes bouncing from his lips to his eyes and back to his lips. When Pete noticed that Mikey was looking at him, he intentionally sped up his strokes on Mikey’s cock.
"Pete, Pete," he repeated like a mantra, forgetting what he was going to say. "Please-," He gasped as Pete flicked his thumb over the head of his dick. Pete seemed to understand, shifting the hand that he was using to support himself to rub Mikey"s shoulder softly. His unrelenting pace on his cock didn’t change, though, which was making Mikey make the most embarrassing noises.
Ray whispered something unintelligible to Pete, making him turn to face him. Pete said something back, something that made Frank laugh, but Mikey couldn’t hear them over the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears.
Pete let go of Mikey’s dick, partially a relief because it meant that he was going to fuck him, and also the worst feeling in the world.
Then, Pete was gone, moved over to Frank. It burned, and it stung, and it hurt. He knew that was the nature of these things, that he shouldn’t take it personally.
He and Pete weren’t more than he was with anyone else in the band, and he needed to remind himself of that. He pushed Pete’s departure to the back of his mind, focusing on Ray as best he could
It wasn’t that he didn’t think that Ray was a good fuck, quite the oposite. Ray and Pete were just different. His feelings were muddled, and his cock was hard, and he just wanted someone to fuck him.
Ray tugged on Mikey’s pants needily, and Mikey lifted his ass off the bed so that Ray could pull them down. His underwear came with them, and his cock was hard and leaking precum on his stomach. Ray gently pushed his legs apart and Mikey opened them, his desire quickly overriding the humiliation that came with his current position. Ray reached for the lube that he’d set on the nightstand before this all started. He uncapped the bottle, spread a generous dab on his fingers, and passed it to Pete within what felt like a matter of milliseconds. Everything was moving too fast and not fast enough and Mikey loved every second of it.
Ray spread the lube on his fingers slowly, remembering to warm it with his body heat before trying to stretch Mikey. Mikey had told him months ago that he hated the feeling of someone pressing into him with cold lube on their fingers. It was always small things that Ray remembered, Mikey’s preferred brand of toothpaste or his favorite restaurant in a certain city. Mikey loved that about him, his attention to detail and commitment to making things good.
When Mikey felt Ray’s fingers press against his hole, he tried to relax. He uncoiled the knot in his stomach that had been there from the beginning and undid the shackle around his heart that had formed when Pete left him. He breathed through the uncomfortableness, taking Ray’s fingers, two, then three. He desperately wanted Ray to just fuck him instead of taking his time getting him ready, but he knew that it was in his best interest to wait.
There was a shuffling in the sheets, and Mikey could feel the presence next to him change. He looked over at the spot next to him.
There was Pete, being pulled by the hips down the bed and then gasping when Frank put a slick finger in him. And fuck, Mikey felt something. Something like jealousy, burning up his shoulder blades and into his mouth. He clamped it shut. He once again pushed it down, until it was a smoldering, sparking lump in his stomach.
He was making these fucking noises, breathless ones, ones that Mikey wished he was responsible for. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to punch something. He wanted someone to rail him into the next week so he could forget about how awful this felt.
He was torn from his thoughts when he felt a new pressure at his hole. He looked down, watching Ray line his hips up with his ass.
"Ready?" asked Ray, putting a hand on Mikey"s chest to steady himself.
"Yeah," said Mikey, "fuck yeah."
Ray pushed his cock inside of Mikey, both of them groaning. He could feel Frank and Pete"s eyes on him, and he didn"t care. He didn"t look at them. He affixed his eyes to Ray, paying them no mind.
Ray angled himself a few different ways before finding the way that Mikey always liked the best, the one that had him crying out Ray"s name and getting his hand around his dick.
"God, Mi-" Ray was cut off by Pete"s loud moan, whoreish and fucking unfair. Mikey had no choice but to turn his head, needing to know what was happening.
There he was, getting fucked by someone that wasn"t Mikey. Frank pounded into him wildly, much faster and harder than he probably should have been given how tight Pete always was in the beginning. Pete"s cock was hard, his tip a flushed red. Everything was sending different signals, and Mikey didn"t know how to respond.
Pete didn"t like fast, usually. He didn"t want it until the very end. Or at least he didn"t like it with Mikey. But Pete"s arousal was hard to miss, unmistakable. He didn"t know why Frank was better than him, and he didn"t want to know. He couldn"t help but take it out on Frank in his mind, bringing every flaw his friend possessed to the forefront of his head.
And then Ray was hitting his prostate, and no matter how angry he was, he had to admit that it felt amazing. So he made noise, partially to try to trigger the same reaction in Pete, the anger and frustration, and partially because Ray"s dick felt fucking good. His hands wandered to Ray"s back, intending to scrape him up even more.
Something slapped his side. He opened his eyes, not even realizing that he"d closed them in the first place. He focused his eyes, realizing what it was. Pete"s hand reaching out for his. Mikey obliged, interlacing their fingers in between them. It still hurt, but at least he had a piece of Pete to hang onto. They held hands for a moment, their bodies shaking in tandem. Mikey worked up the guts to look at Frank and Pete a couple times, each time wishing he hadn’t.
Pete detached their hands, breaking Mikey’s heart into fifty million small, sharp pieces, then mending it by putting it on his dick. Mikey whimpered, sensations ringing through his body.
Ray was close, and Mikey could feel it. His pace was becoming increasingly chaotic as he teetered on the edge.
“Mikes, Mikey, fuck-” groaned Ray, his voice intermingling with the sounds that everyone else was making. He sounded desperate, and Mikey took pride in the fact that he was the reason that the beautiful man before him was falling apart.
"Gonna cum? Gonna cum for me? Fuckin" slut," Frank moaned, "gonna have to shut you up, you"re so goddamn loud." Frank pressed a hand to Pete"s mouth. Mikey stared at them, feeling the paces at which Pete was stroking him and Ray was fucking him picking up. He couldn"t bring himself to get upset, not when Ray"s hips stuttered, not when he was getting pumped full of his cum.
Ray made ethereal noises when he came, and Mikey reveled in them. He wasn"t far behind him, but then Pete"s fucking hand was gone and he was crying out, hips bucking into nothing but air. He"d moved his hand from Mikey"s cock to his own, furiously jerking off. Ray"s hand soon replaced Pete"s, just barely moving his dick inside of Mikey, just enough for Mikey"s prostate to be hit but not enough to overstimulate himself. Ray was jerking him hard and fast with the hand he"d used to prep him, so it was slick and wet and just what he needed.
Mikey came with a yell, screwing his eyes shut and squeezing around Ray"s softening cock, the pearlescent droplets of cum landing on his stomach and Ray"s chest. Ray pulled out of him and kissed him, slow and dirty. It took Mikey a moment to come back to Earth, during which he had no choice but to listen to Pete and Frank.
Frank"s pace seemed to have slowed down marginally, and he knew that that wouldn"t fly for long with how close Pete looked. "Fuck, harder. Please, Frankie, I"m gonna cum, please!" keened Pete, grabbing Mikey"s hand again. Mikey was limp and fucked out, so he just put his hand on top of Pete"s, not bothering to intertwine their fingers. When Mikey finally had the energy to open his eyes, he first looked at Ray, who had laid down next to him on his side. Mikey wanted to kiss him again, wanted to hold him until everything felt okay again.
He did neither of those things. He knew that looking at Pete would just make things worse, but it felt like he had to. He had to know what was happening in order to make his peace with it, even if it hurt to watch.
And it did. It made his chest heavy and his heart race, it burnt in his gut and up his spine. Now, without the distraction of his own arousal, he was forced to face his emotions head on.
Pete’s body rocked in time with Frank’s thrusts, legs at his shoulders, Frank holding his shins. He fucked him mercilesly, having picked up his speed at Pete’s request.
Then, with two slow rolls of his hips, Frank came. He batted Pete’s hand away from his own cock, riding out his own orgasm as he touched him.
He wanted to rip them apart. He wanted to never look at Pete again.
He watched as Pete came, watched it shoot out of his dick, knowing he had had almost no part in making him feel the way he did. It was crushing, laying there next to him, having to even be in the same room as him.
Frank had rolled over on to his back, taking a moment to regulate his breathing before standing up and turning toward the bathroom.
“Ray, you gonna clean him or are you just gonna lay there and look stupid?” Frank poked him, earning a smack to his naked ass. He yelped, then went on his way. Mikey heard water running, a towel being pulled from the rack and then the squeak of a faucet being turned off. Then, Frank was rounding the corner and coming back to the bed. He handed the towel to Pete, and he quickly wiped himself off. Pete flipped over, ass in the air. Frank wiped away the remainers of the lube and cum.
Ray, for his part, had buried his face in Mikey’s hair, taking deep breaths as he tried to reacclimate to the world. It was a tender moment, and it should have been perfect after what they’d just done. It would have been, under any other circumstance.
Eventually, Ray got up and cleaned himself and Mikey off. Pete was the first one to fall asleep, evidently exhausted. Then Ray, then Frank.
Mikey had been pretending to be asleep since Ray dozed off. He waited, minutes, hours, milenia. He waited for them to all be asleep, for Frank to start sleep-mumbling and Ray to start softly snoring.
He squirmed out of bed, trying not to wake anyone. He did accidently slap Pete in the face while trying to sit up, but Pete had just rolled over and put one of the pillows over his head.
He tiptoed through piles of clothes torn off in the heat of the moment. He inspected them to find his pants, recognizing them by the frayed holes in the knees. He grabbed them, holding them by the waist and walked into the bathroom, closing the door. He leaned against the sink, back to the mirror, not wanting to see himself. He felt inadequate and cheap, like an off brand plastic barbie gifted to a toddler. He felt used, like his second hand Joy Division shirt. He felt-
No, fuck what he felt. There were no amount of similes in the English language to make this sound poetic. He wanted to crawl out of the hotel, out of his skin and into a new vessel. He wanted Pete to care for him a fraction of as much as he cared for him.
He couldn’t imagine a world where things would ever be normal again. He knew he had fucked up.
Mikey didn’t want to cry.
There was a soft knock at the door, almost imperceptible. Mikey opened it a crack, straightening his mouth into a hard line and wiping all emotion from his eyes. Pete was there, because of course the universe would send Pete to check on him when Mikey’s main fucking problem was Pete.
“You okay?” asked Pete quietly. He was still naked, only a strip of flesh visible due to the way Mikey was holding the door. Mikey stared at him, because he knew Pete knew that he wasn’t. He knew that the pain was emanating off of him, palpable.
“No,” said Mikey. It wasn’t worth lying. He had nothing to lose, since it seemed to him like he’d already lost Pete. He tucked his hands into his pockets to keep himself from slamming the door on Pete and never leaving the tiled room.
“What’s going on? Did something happen? Did you hate it? Oh god Mikes, please tell me you didn’t hate it,” Pete said, stepping closer. Mikey didn’t open the door any more, even though he knew that it was what Pete wanted.
He couldn’t even say that he hated it. His feelings were too jumbled, and all he could produce outwardly was annoyance.
“No, I didn’t fucking hate it,” he said, bitterly. Pete stepped backwards, hand resting on the door frame. He looked like a disapproving mother. He knew he wasn’t going about this the right way, but everything was moving so fast that he felt out of control. “You know what I do hate, Pete? I hate it when you fuck with me. I hate it when you pretend that we’re something for your own gain. You only ever want me when it"s convenient to you. And then you wake up one morning and you’re like ‘hey, why don’t we have a fucking foursome’ and I’m supposed to just lay there while you let Frank dick you down. And what the fuck was up with you trying to hold my hand? Did you seriously think to yourself ‘hmm, I’ve got Frank’s dick in my ass, and Mikey looks like he’s on the verge of tears, so let me hold his hand’? I’m so done-,” Mikey said, voice escalating slowly and wavering towards the end. He didn’t even know he’d felt half the things he’d said. He felt selfish and mean and fucking pathetic. He felt like a spinning top, out of control, falling off a table.
Pete looked shell shocked. He looked like hell. He looked like a son of a bitch and a liar. Then, the anger came.
“If you didn’t want to fucking do it, why would you say yes? And by the way, you definitely didn’t look like you were on the verge of tears while Ray was fucking you, you looked like you were on fucking cloud nine,” Pete hissed, quieter than Mikey, trying not to wake the others up. “Fuck you, Mikeyway. Fuck you and your superior bullshit, and fuck you for questioning how much I love you.”
He slammed the door from the outside. Mikey could hear his breath hitch and a choked noise escape him. He could hear him getting dressed, could hear him grab his duffle bag and leave the room, door clicking behind him.
He didn’t know how to reconcile this, and he didn’t know if he even wanted to. Mikey’s breaths were shallow now, panicky. His eyes welled up with tears, streaming down his face freely every time he blinked. A sob was rising in his throat, burrowing through his chest and out into the wall, past the brick and insulation and out into the tepid night air. It would never be the same.