Chapter Text
Having finished their dinner at the dimly-lit hotel restaurant and bar later that night, Ian, Jarrod, James, and Matt leave their table. They exchange Good nights with the Ways, whok remain at their table. Laughter erupts among the group from whatever joke Jarrod tells. For dessert, Gerard has ordered for himself and Mikey non-alcoholic piña coladas. Two tall and curved glasses are served, individually topped with a purple orchid flower and a pineapple garnish on the rim, a cherry floating within.
“To another successful day!” Gerard toasts, raising his glass.
Mikey raises his, and the glasses clink. Sipping the iced and tart pineapple, his taste buds note how the familiar sting of white rum is replaced by creamy coconut milk. Back when he was consuming rum, Lindsey's mother and sister, Pam and Amy, were backstage for one of the last tours they attended before disappearing altogether.
A staff member approaches the nearby round table where the Hormones had sat, carrying a tray to collect the leftover dishes. He turns to Mikey, who raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment, lips curling around the straw. The staff member smiles back and bows politely before retreating. Mikey sets his drink down and voices with care, “It's been years since you've seen Lindsey’s family, huh?”
Gerard nods, the straw leaving his lips. He sighs softly, “Not since I took Bandit for a visit that one time.”
When Lindsey's expected due date was given, she did not inform Pam and Amy. They were left in the dark about Bandit's birth, as well. Gerard informed Mikey that Lindsey wanted nothing to do with them anymore, because of how they sided with her former stepfather after she claimed that he had abused her as a child.
“That's disgusting,” was Mikey's reaction, shaking his head in disbelief. “They seemed so nice.”
“That's the impression I got, too.” Gerard's sadness and disappointment at the revelation were clear and mutual. “Pam was so excited at becoming a grandmother when I took B to meet her and Amy. I guess that's why they weren't invited to the wedding.”
Mikey vaguely recalled Pam saying something along the lines of, I was so scared for my girls' safety, I made sure they locked the door to their room every night! But he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to cast doubts on Lindsey's story.
The same staff member returns to the empty table. With gloved hands, he spritzes the wooden surface with a spray bottle and wipes with a disposable cloth. When the employee finishes and departs from their view, Gerard adds, “Any presents they've sent for Bandit, Lindsey just throws 'em in the garage.”
“Just like that?” Mikey questions with a snap of his fingers, to which Gerard confirms with a nod. “Why not give them away?”
“It's better if we don't interact with Pam in any way. Linds making the decisions saves us a lotta time and trouble, and I respect her for that.”
Mikey purses his lips. “I get that you respect her. But what about what happened at Madison Square Garden–one of the most important nights of our lives?”
“Yeah?” Gerard queries.
“You stayed in your dressing room while she was the one running around freely backstage. And when dad showed up, wanting to say 'hi' and congratulate us for playing in this legendary stadium, you still didn't come out.”
Regret crosses Gerard's face. “I know. I was just following orders–making sure I wouldn't step out-of-line, y'know? It's how we were raised. Remember?”
When other women–whether they were innocuous fans or professional journalists–managed to approach the singer, Lindsey would enter and make her presence known as his beloved wife. She and Gerard would automatically be very affectionate, holding hands, caressing one another's hair, and kissing in front of the women.
Mikey tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, leaning towards concern. “Of course, I do. But this isn't about feminism. There's a difference between respecting women's boundaries and letting them have the upper hand. This is sounding like our past relationships.”
The unease leaves Gerard, replaced with a grin and slight eye-roll. “You and I haven't had the best luck with women, that's for sure. But this is different. Kat and Eliza wore me out.”
“Ohh, God,” Mikey groans, rolling and shutting his eyes at the recollections. Gerard chuckles in amusement.
Gerard's complicated relationship with Kat was followed by encounters with Eliza Siep, who was gaining recognition in the music scene for her job at hairstyling. Helping the band with their hair and make-up–being the one responsible for Gerard's red dye being layered over the black, dubbing it "the blood of Christ"–Eliza found chances to flirt with the singer. She would affectionately cradle his face while applying eyeliner, ask about his love life, or compliment how good he looked. Yet, while Gerard played along, he brushed off these advances non-chalantly, avoiding her stares and giving vague responses.
Once, while straightening Mikey's hair with a flat iron, Eliza told him, smirking, “I think your brother's gay.” Mikey laughed, having heard such an assumption multiple times by then, albeit in a more derogatory manner. Through the mirror, he saw Eliza tilt her head thoughtfully. “Or maybe not. I don't know, I feel like he has a crush on me, but he's too afraid to make a move.”
Raising an eyebrow, Mikey reminded her, “In case you forgot, he's got a serious girlfriend.”
Sighing, Eliza replied dismissively, “Yeah, yeah. This mysterious Kat I've never met.”
“Trust me: she does exist.”
In the relatively quiet restaurant, Mikey gives a questioning gaze. “Looking back on it,” he says, “I wonder if Eliza really cherished our friendship. Or was she just using me to get closer to you?
“Huh,” Gerard mutters, puzzled, and draws a sip. “I never thought of it that way. I'm sorry you had to put up with that, especially since you were dealing with your own shit.” Mikey half-smiles at the acknowledgment.
Mikey and Alicia adored Eliza's talent and vibrancy through her personality and ever-changing hairstyles. He had late-night conversations with the hairstylist that allowed them to open up about their vulnerabilities. She even showed him the self-inflicted scars she hid with wristbands and bracelets. Mikey had blurred memories of stressful nights where he drank to the point of passing out; he would wake to his sleepy friend by his side, who had stayed awake, making sure he was not in a fatal condition. Their closeness culminated to Eliza moving into Mikey's apartment with Alicia.
One day, Mikey came home to his friend in high spirits. She recounted taking the next step with Gerard when a playful wrestling match ended with the two in a passionate kiss. Her smile faltered when Mikey did not share her enthusiasm. Instead, he sat her down and lectured how she could not keep up this behavior with Kat still in Gerard's life.
Eliza retaliated, “It's so obvious he doesn't really love her! Now, he's realized that I'm the one for him!”
“Eliza,” Mikey pinched his forehead, “Kat's been calling more often, all suspicious about what Gerard's been doing when he visits. I can't keep covering for you, especially now!”
“You don't fucking get it, do you?” Tears formed in Eliza's glare, mixed with determination and hurt. She and Mikey had never argued until this point. “He kissed me back. He's always liked me, and that proved it!”
Disquietly, he warned, “You'll just make things worse.”
Eliza flailed her arms in exasperation. “No, I won't, because we're meant to be!”
With Eliza refusing to listen to Mikey and holding out hope, the bond she had shared with the bassist fractured. Eventually, the singer left his longtime girlfriend for her. Mikey could see how hard this choice was for Gerard. When they filmed their music video for "I Don't Love You," the heartbreak in Gerard's eyes as he sang to the camera, awash in a grayscale palette, was visceral to the point where it felt genuine. As rocky as his on-off relationship with Kat was–arguments where her concern and brutal honesty clashed with his unpredictable behavior and lifestyle–other than having to move all of his belongings out from the apartment they shared, they had been together for six years–starting before the band even formed. He had dedicated "Demolition Lovers" to her, expressing the lengths of his devotion, going so far as to imagine themselves as infamous outlaws, Bonnie and Clyde, dying in a hail of bullets and a pool of their own blood. Gerard would put his hands around Kat's waist, bringing her in for a kiss after a concert where she was present for that particular number. And the bride and groom from Sweet Revenge's concept were named "the Demolition Lovers." In Gerard's mind, he and Kat were practically already married.
“What I do know now is that she pressured you,” Mikey says.
“And now, I'm with someone who doesn't pressure me into anything at all. She's just looking out for me. Gave me a wonderful kid.” Mikey brushes his thumb and forefinger around a petal of the orchid, its texture waxy. With an arm resting on the table, Gerard leans in, observant. “I think you're still disagreeing with me.”
Mikey scoffs. “It's just strange, y'know–how you got married the same year me and Frank did, and just after breaking up with Eliza.”
“You think I was jealous of you, or something?”
Mikey laughs. “I mean, maybe. You saw how happy Alicia and I were, and probably wanted to follow in my footsteps. That's why things moved so fast.” Gerard only chuckles.
Mikey had gotten acquainted with Alicia when she needed to hitch a ride home on the band's tour bus. The woman struck Mikey's attention with her full lips and black, smoky eye cosmetics, standing half an inch taller than him. They conversed, sharing their knowledge of and passion for metal music. By the time she reached her destination, the bassists exchanged their phone numbers, leading to Alicia joining them on their European tour. Mikey admired her wit; the fierceness she displayed when she took the stage with From First to Last. She would offer unwavering support for him during his bad days. In return, Alicia cherished Mikey's kindness and how he would surprise her by leaving gifts for her to wake to before he left their apartment. Whenever she had to be hospitalized for her kidney disease, Mikey never forgot to bring her a flower bouquet.
They believed that they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, hence their matching tattoos on each of their forearms: an inflamed heart-shaped jar with a banner around it, printed with the word, FOREVER.
As Mikey's substance use increased, what started as small arguments with his then-wife eventually escalated. Alicia would lose the last thread of her patience, face bubbling with frustration. Her hand raised in the air, and before Mikey could react, his cheek was struck.
“You fucking idiot!” she yelled. “You've been drinking again, haven't you?!”
“N-no,” Mikey slurred, rubbing where he was hit and holding back tears. “That's… You're being ridiculous.”
They had separated after six years of marriage, but carried unspoken hopes that they could work things out. In the middle of Summer, the lonely 32-year-old Mikey stumbled upon the nearly 20-year-old Sarah Cantergiani, who gained access backstage with the help of her friend. Sarah had had a rough life growing up: coming from a family of addicts, experiencing homelessness as a child, having a baby at 18, and her last boyfriend being abusive. She aspired to become a successful model with her weight-loss pills, and confided in Mikey that she had access to other such substances. “I'm gonna have another fix soon,” she told him. “And I'd hate to be alone.” With her sleek, dark hair and pronounced cheekbones, Mikey found solace with the starkly honest fan, and they arranged to meet later.
Mikey says, “I love Kristin. I'm lucky that she came into my life. But I still have my regrets over what happened after Alicia, y'know? Even if we'd agreed to go through with the divorce, her finding out about Sarah was like the nail in the coffin for us. Not to mention the fact that I wasn't in the best state of mind, that it made me overlook Sarah's age. I should've known right away how wrong it was to get interested in a fan, for God's sake.” Gerard gives a satisfactory nod for the admittance of mistakes.
The band's reaction to Mikey's new relationship at the time was mixed. Lead guitarist, Ray Toro, was indifferent, choosing to give the quiet bass player his personal space, while Frank was subtly concerned. It was Gerard who took him aside to remind him of the "no groupies" stance. Yes, he and Mikey, as well as the rest, did sleep with women early on–in Mikey's case, whether he was single or had an issue with Jeanne. He would approach whoever caught his interest and offer an invitation; his hand sliding along her thigh as a promise for what was to come. But as the band's fame grew and Gerard attempted to stop drinking, that aspect died down to maintain their good image. Gerard told him, “I mean, dating a fan versus a one-night stand? That's a huge difference.” Despite Mikey understanding Gerard's point, he craved Sarah's companionship–plus, the drugs she had to offer.
Mikey continues, “I thought that moving with her family to Oregon would've be good for me, and it fucked us up even more. I mean, we never, like, fought or anything. But we fed on each other's habits. And being in this place with not much to do definitely played a part."
Upon meeting with David after being released from the hospital, Mikey was told somberly, “You're not here to record.” In that instant, he knew where he was headed, and, rather than fear or anger, he was very grateful to have a friend tricking him like this.
“In my first week in rehab,” Mikey tells Gerard, “I called Sarah and begged her to enter, too.”
He said to her, “Believe me, I was scared when I first stepped in here. But it's been such an eye-opening and cathartic experience for me. At least think about it? Please?”
He thought back to the day he sat with Sarah before her parents, their hands clasped together while she wore an engagement ring. He had envisioned officially becoming a stepfather to her son, Joshua.
“But she refused. And I could tell that she was high.”
Sarah cried, “They're gonna stick me in a different facility, and I don't wanna be away from you!”
With a lump forming in his throat, Mikey foresaw himself not returning to her when he left the center. He hung his head, tightening his lips as his eyebrows scrunched up, tears about to fall before ending the call.
“That's why we broke up.” Mikey takes a deep breath. “I worry about her. I hope she's getting the help she needs now.”
Gerard nods in agreement. “She was lovely. Linds said she had a lot of kindness in her heart.”
Mikey withholds a scowl, along with his beliefs on Lindsey's true feelings for his ex-fiancée. He chooses a different trajectory. “Recovery isn't a straight path. You'd done a good job with staying sober for about three years. And then, after Lindsey, you started easing into drinking for special occasions. That interview you gave for Lindsey and Jessicka's art show–I could hear you slurring.” Mikey furrows his eyebrows at the memory of the clip. “I figured you must've been nervous around such an unfamiliar crowd to get to that point.” Gerard nods to Mikey's words, shifting his glass from side to side. “And Lindsey, she...just acted like everything was fine and put on a face for everyone. You said she got mad at you for almost ruining her big night–at an event where alcohol was already available. That couldn't've been easy, right?”
“It was an overwhelming experience for the both of us, and I apologized. But that wasn't the worst of it. Remember when I gave myself that awful haircut at home?”
Gerard moves on to this next story, Mikey notices, as if he does not want to dwell on who was really at fault. “Mm-hmm. You told me that Lindsey got really pissed, 'cause you were drunk with Bandit right there.”
“That's when I saw the light go out from her eyes. I mean, she was screaming at me, and I knew I'd never wanna see her like that again. That's why I was a bit on-edge at the café.” He tries to smile with a chortle, dying down as soon as it appears.
Eyeing his icy drink, Mikey examines this scenario. The reaction to the drunken haircut seemed reasonable, considering there was a child involved. As for the night of her exhibit, Lindsey could have escorted her husband home if he was unwell.
“I don't think that's right–getting mad at you just for eating some junk food the same way as for relapsing.”
“Well, I mean, she has her reasons,” Gerard acknowledges with resignation, expressively waving an open palm. “Keep in mind, she did have a drinking problem back in high school and talked about how chubby she was during those years. So, I get why she can be intense about these things.”
She should keep her nose out of your God damn business, Mikey thinks. If he says this aloud, it would upset his brother. By comparison, whenever Kristin contacts Mikey, her questions revolve around his mood or his opinion on the new adjustments to her appearance or their house.
Gerard says, “After that haircut incident, and before I started going to A.A., Aaron called when MSI was in Russia.” He briefly stuttered, “T-told me that Lindsey'd hooked up with a fan.”
Mikey gasps. “Did she, really? Or was he fucking around?” He can already imagine the snide tone coming from the technician, whenever he made a sarcastic remark meant to be funny.
Gerard darts his gaze downwards, his fingers resuming playing around with the drink, his nails whitening from the tighter hold. Mikey had experienced this–a sadness washing over, the gut feeling like it was tearing apart–from seeing his ex-wife whisper something to a roadie, smiling suggestively and touching his arm, the two laughing; or intimately kissing her female companion as "a joke."
Gerard deflects Mikey's question with, “Anyway, that's why she didn't fully approve of me going on tour. She was worried I'd slip back.” He raises his non-alcoholic beverage and the dread switches out to sudden optimism. “But I'm doing great so far.” He sips through the straw.
As uneasy as the subject change makes him, Mikey goes along with it, deciding to not push for further questions and attempt to focus on the positivity. “That's good. Yeah, I don't wanna take Electric Century on tour for those very reasons. Getting on a plane to come here and perform was one thing. It's a whole 'nother thing if I make it part of my routine again.”
Gerard reaches over and pats the back of his hand. “You'll know when you're ready.”
•••
Re-entering the hotel room, Mikey removes his jacket and places it over the top of a chair. The grimy feeling on his skin had become overwhelming over the course of the day.
He exclaims, laughing, “Okay, I'm definitely taking a shower now! Care to join me?” He is joking, but also echoing an old sentiment.
Gerard bursts into laughter, “No…! I'll wait for my turn.”
Mikey removes his spectacles and sets them on the table. Grabbing his nightwear to take into the bathroom, he begins to peel off his hoodie. He wonders if Gerard catches a glimpse of his back muscles before disappearing through the doorway; if he is looking at all.
•••
Mikey emerges in his nighttime clothes and his damp hair combed back. Gerard is sitting from across the table, one leg crossed as he holds a sketchbook and pen, drawing. Mikey sits in the chair occupied with his jacket, and that is Gerard's cue to get up. He grabs his pajamas and treads into the bathroom. Unsure of voicing what he has on his mind, Mikey is left fidgeting with his hands. Once the bathroom door closes, he decides to wait until his brother finishes his task.
Mikey rises and leans over to view the sketchbook left on the table. In the time it took for him to bathe and brush his teeth, Gerard created a new drawing on a fresh sheet of paper with pencil and ink. It is of Batman, standing atop a crumbling rooftop, his black cape billowing in the wind; the cloudy nighttime sky overhead formed in expressive strokes. He turns towards his jacket and pulls his phone out of its pocket.
•••
The door opens and Gerard observes, “You're still up? Thought you'd be in bed by now.”
Without turning from his phone screen, Mikey responds, “Ah, just waiting for you, is all.”
“For what? Are you an obedient dog, like Olivia, waiting for me to go to sleep?”
Mikey can hear the fondness in Gerard's voice as he acknowledges his pet, and he smiles faintly. He turns his phone off. “I've just been thinking.”
“About what?” Gerard asks as he reaches for his sketchbook.
Mikey taps one set of fingertips across the blank phone screen, one foot jiggling. Unable to look directly at Gerard, he casts his blue eyes to a corner of the room. “On what we had.”
Gerard snaps up at Mikey in confusion. ”What we...?” Realization dawns on him. ”Oh.” Hastily, he looks back down at his drawing, breaking into an awkward chuckle. He seats himself. “Wh-what about it, exactly?”
“No, nothing, nothing,” Mikey quickly says, shaking his head and raising a palm. His cheeks start growing hot, and Gerard can undoubtedly see it this time. Mikey focuses on his lap, where he fidgets with his mobile device. “It-it's about…what led to it in, like, a bit of a snowball effect.” He sheepishly attempts a smile at a visibly baffled Gerard. “Those were wild times, huh? You and I, nicknamed 'the Chemical Brothers,' 'cause we were attached to the hip, like partners-in-crime.”
Some would even approach the men to ask for drugs, or steer clear, thinking they were dangerous. Mikey, already known as a party animal, helped bring Gerard out of his shell, introducing him as his best friend. Said big brother, his third cup of beer in hand, would spout off Star Trek trivia to a stranger who only asked for some chips.
With the sketchbook set on Gerard's crossed knee, he acknowledges, “Yeah.” He picks at the book's spiral backing with a fingernail, making clicking noises.
“Starting up and then shutting back down.” Mikey hesitates with his next sentence. “Sometimes, I wonder if being a little too close is what led to…that night.” Gerard's body winces and freezes. Swiftly, Mikey reassures, “It wasn't your fault, remember? We were both completely shit-faced.”
Trying to regain his composure, Gerard replies with a hint of guilt and forlornness, “I know that. But part of me still blames myself for getting you into that mess.”
Mikey can still vividly recall that sinking dread he got in his stomach that morning in the bedroom. It was like an abyss that could swallow him from the inside out, upon realizing what must have happened when he and Gerard took in their half-undressed states. He caught his brother's eyes, glistening and refusing to acknowledge him, keeping his lips shut as he hastily re-dressed. Gerard disappeared into the bathroom–probably splashing water onto his face and combing his fingers through his messy hair. Just as quickly, he re-emerged to head out the door, slamming it behind him.
“I will say,” Mikey confesses, his palms growing sweatier by the minute, “it did hurt how you left without saying anything; leaving me to fend for myself. Although at the same time, I don't blame you, judging by the look I caught on your face.”
Gerard explains, his cheeks reddening, “I was very upset, because, not only did we cross a line, but I felt as if I did take advantage of you.”
“You didn't,” Mikey reaffirms, his face feeling like it is burning. “It wasn't either of our fault. We were equally confused and in shock.”
With a deep sigh, Gerard sets his book on the table. He answers patiently, “We've discussed this already, remember?”
Mikey croaks out, “Uh-huh.”
Although that discussion did not happen right away. For the next two weeks after the fact, both men would look at each other across the room a beat too long until one would dart his focus elsewhere. When giving Mikey a hug or pat on the back, Gerard immediately let go, when usually, he held on and waited for the recipient to let go. If their odd interactions were noticed among company, they figured it was typical sibling rivalry.
Before their show at iMusicast, Mikey's fiancée, Jeanne, scorned him. “First, you look at that girl,” she yanked off her ring, “now, you're downing a whole pack, just like your weird brother!” She threw the expensive jewelry to the hard surface of the floor, where it clanged metallically. Mikey swiftly dove down to retrieve it, unable to verbalize his defense. His cheeks flushed and his eyes stung, feeling the others around watching. “I don't know what to do with you anymore!” Jeanne's heels receded, leaving her now-ex slumped on the dirty backstage floor.
Closing the act that night, Mikey thumped his strings to the opening of "Vampires Will Never Hurt You"–about a man expressing his desperation to protect himself and his partner from becoming the titular undead beings with flesh-tearing fangs. Vampirism was more of a metaphor for drugs and alcohol.
He heard Gerard say into the microphone, “I want this song to go out to my kid brother, 'cause his girlfriend just left him, 'cause of this rock-and-roll bullshit!”
I'll never let them hurt you, I promise
Later, in their shared hotel room, Mikey confronted Gerard, who reclined on the bed. “You really embarrassed me out there tonight.”
Gerard's eyes were glazed, bangs of black hair draped over them and framing his round face. It gave him an almost feminine appearance. His voice rose in frustration for his brother. “It's just… Jeanne didn't give you a chance to explain. She immediately thought you wanted to fuck that girl, and never got how bad stage fright can be for us. She treated you like shit, man. Always has!” Mikey could not argue with that, and part of him was glad the engagement had ended. But the pain of the break-up was too dizzying and fresh for him to admit this. Gerard shook his head in disgust. “You didn't deserve that bitch.”
“Don't call her that.”
“Well, she was.”
Mikey scoffed and crossed his arms. “You shouldn't--” He sighed in annoyance. “You shouldn't have aired my personal business to the public like that. And, for fuck's sake,” his volume rose, “at a concert that was streamed to thousands of people?!”
Gerard's fury dimmed. “Okay. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking right.” Satisfied to a degree, Mikey was about to walk away, when his thin forearm was gripped. He turned back to his brother, now eyeing him with a longing. Laced with vulnerability, Gerard murmured, “Don't be mad. Can we cuddle? I'm feelin' lonely without Kat here.”
Mikey hesitated. Given their recent period of avoidance, he was starting to miss their closeness, and this was the most they had interacted since their mistake. He hated seeing Gerard in a low mood, no less, going to sleep angry with him. Gerard shared that sentiment–not wanting to be left alone, despite being in the same room.
Mikey muttered, “Okay,” and allowed to get pulled onto the bed. He settled into Gerard's arms, a cheek placed on his subtly moving chest, hearing a heartbeat. Mikey's stiff muscles gradually loosened as a hand rubbed his shoulder. This was Gerard's continuation of his apology. Following a moment of quiet, Gerard grumbled:
“God. I can treat you better than Jeanne ever did.” Mikey gave a small, awkward chuckle. “She and Kat are so much alike–always begging us to stop with the drinking and downers. I know it's not a problem. We can stop any time. Right?”
From the corner of his eye, Mikey saw Gerard's head tilt up. He lifted his, and their eyes met, inches apart. Gerard reached for Mikey's face, who blinked, wanting to flinch away. But he remained still as his spectacles were slowly removed and placed on the nightstand nearby.
Instead of answering Gerard's question, Mikey remarked, with a hint of humor, “Us lonely Ways, huh? Is this even a good idea, given what happened the last time we had problems with our girlfriends?” As soon as those words were spoken, Mikey regretted it. His heart sank at the sight of Gerard's face darkening with mortification. “Shit. I'm-I'm sorry.” He started to get up and remove himself from Gerard's arms. “I should--” Not too roughly, Gerard held onto him and pulled him back.
“No, stay,” Gerard pleaded. “Stay with me like this. Don't feel bad.” Mikey was now hovering over Gerard, their legs getting tangled together. “It--that wasn't…your fault.” Without the temples of Mikey's glasses to keep his hair tucked in place, lengthy brown strands draped over his eyes and nose. But he did not fail to see the remorse in Gerard's eyes as he reflected on the referenced event.
Heat flowed through Mikey's cheeks. He stumbled, “I-- It wasn't your fault, either.” Pink tinged Gerard's pale cheeks. Uncertain if he should say what he wanted to next, Mikey cautiously proceeded. “I know we were too wasted to fully understand what we were doing…but…but what if some part of us did?” Gerard's eyebrows crinkled somberly. His chest hammering, Mikey tried to find the right words. “Wha-what I mean is…before we, erm, blacked-out, I remember you'd been having problems with Kat. You told me she hurt your feelings or something, and it was giving you a headache. I'd said something like, 'She doesn't appreciate what an amazing guy you are–unlike me.' Last thing I remember, our arms were around each other, and, uh…”
With Mikey's sentence trailing off, Gerard stated, under his breath, “I…remember that, too. I needed to have somebody with me, and you happened to be the person for that.”
Mikey's eyelids snapped open, looking directly at the man below with a mix of surprise, gratitude, and relief. “Really?”
Gerard bobbed his head rapidly. “I never wanna hurt you in any way. But we definitely did cross a line. That's why I left so fast.”
Mikey hazily recollected how defeated Gerard was that night in his drunken stupor, and how he had readily given in to his brother's attention. “I don't feel like you--” The word raped got stuck in his throat, finding it too blunt. “...hurt or forced me, or anything.” Gerard's eyelids shut, his chest deflating. Mikey figured this was something on both of their minds, and his statement needed to be heard. “I mean, it was wrong, obviously, what must've happened. B-but we both wanted it, didn't we?”
The man below remained silent, leaving the question hanging. Mikey braced himself for a negate answer as Gerard appeared deep in contemplation, whose expression then softened.
“We did.” The confirmation washed Mikey over with alleviation, who dropped his head as his lungs exhaled, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. A set of fingertips raised against the bridge of Mikey's nose. He snapped to Gerard, who, shakily and gently, raked away the fringe from Mikey's forehead, getting a clearer view of him. Gerard's pink lips parted and shut. He quietly requested, “Can I kiss your forehead?”
This jarred the bassist for a second, aware that an innocuous gesture could take a wrong turn. But he was drawn to the tender touch and voice; to have someone so understanding and willing to offer him comfort. He inhaled through his nose and breathed out, “Sure.”
Gerard leaned up to do so. It was simple and chaste, the lips slightly salivated on Mikey's skin. Gerard's palm dropped and rested on Mikey's cheek, his hand surprisingly soft. Gerard tilted his head to the side of Mikey's face. He seemed to pause, waiting for Mikey to resist. When he did not, Gerard spoke in a lower, almost husky, tone, “How 'bout the cheek?”
The citrus smell of beer on Gerard's breath filled Mikey's nostrils. Mikey gulped and nodded, responding quietly, “Mm-hmm.” He wondered how loud he sounded from their closeness.
It was granted, and Gerard asked, his voice so close to his ear, “And the other one?”
There was a slight tremble to Mikey's, “Yeah.” The fingers lightly pushed his face to the other side, a thumb and index finger cradling his chin, for the lips to gain access. Mikey kept his breathing slow and regular as best he could. He was not scared of Gerard, necessarily, but of his own brewing feelings: craving his brother's affection in a way he never did before, each display now carrying a new meaning, and being aware of the consequences it could cause for them and their relationship.
Gerard eased back down. His eyelids hung half-open in examination and, quite possibly, a looming lust. With the hand lowered around Mikey's neck–over his pulse–Mikey felt a ghost of a tingling sensation left where he was touched by Gerard's hand and lips. Focusing on Gerard's mouth, he leaned in. His legs rested between Gerard's thigh, and as he edged closer, he instinctively pressed his lower half downwards. In response, Gerard arched his hips, making a sharp gasp of ecstasy. It sent Mikey the same stirring sensation he had experienced by himself and with his past partners.
They immediately pulled their waists apart and froze. The beer scent was strong with their panting mouths in close proximity, neither daring to speak or meet each other's eyes. Underneath Mikey's palm, Gerard's chest beat faster, whose hold around Mikey's neck tightened a bit. Then Gerard briefly repeated the motion. Mikey pressed back, and there it was again. Another stretch of silence passed, and they did the same movement in unison, sending a third wave of mutual sparks. Their eyes met, neither denying the connection and offering silent permission. Together, like inexperienced and hormonal teenagers, they shut their eyelids and repeated it, breathing quietly and making as minimal creaking as possible, conscious that others might hear through the walls of the accompanying rooms.
When they wrestled, Gerard teased, “Now, you gotta kiss me!” when he pinned and straddled the loser. This gave Mikey the opportunity to rise and quickly peck the winner on the perspired cheek or neck. Upon departing, the air between them as they lingered in each other's presence was a mixture of awkward and giddy. Mikey flushed from the exertion and a bubbling excitement, as though he were a child who kissed his crush.
When another one of their wrestling matches caused a bulge to push through one's jeans, there were no attempts to stop and make excuses to the bathroom. Instead, the heat swelled from two bodies being pressed together. Their skin and clothes got stickier with moisture, hotness radiating from mouth-to-skin contact, and four hands exploring more and more.
In one such post-session, the men lay side-by-side on the hotel carpet, their hair and clothes disheveled. When his heavy breathing calmed, Gerard said, gazing at Mikey with a gleam, “You know how I like to fuck around.” Mikey returned the smile with a snorting laugh, “Just wanna remind you that you can always let me know if you feel like I'm pressuring you, or anything.” He took one of Mikey's wrists and slowly brought it towards himself, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “If we still have to travel in that shitty, cramped-up van, I'd do it with you by my side. Being with you feels like we're right back home.” Warmth embodied and surrounded Mikey. In their following encounters, their lips met for the first time.
Regarding the man across the table, Gerard calmly remarks, a fond grin spreading, “It was fucked-up. But once we started, we couldn't stop. For some reason, it felt so…right.”
Mikey held their most intimate memories in his heart like trinkets: holding each other close, their affection heightened from their drunken states; sharing inside jokes or simply playing with one another's hair. It was not merely about sex, but about seeking solace, and forgetting about their worries and troubles, before another day of work. Their demeanor among unsuspecting bandmates was marked with stolen glances and small smirks.
Gerard adds, breaking Mikey from his reminiscing, “Hey, why are we talking about this? I figured we'd put it behind us once we were married. And asking me to join you in the shower earlier?” He laughs dryly, looking at the young man with concern. “What's gotten into you?”
At the 2008 San Diego Comic-Con–where Gerard had his own panel for The Umbrella Academy–the brothers were browsing the comics and figures available for purchase, while the sisters-in-law were nearby. Mikey looked over at Lindsey. She held a plushie towards Alicia, the two beaming over its cuteness. He observed his brother's jean jacket, which sported several pins on the breast pocket. Two of them were headshots of Lindsey in concert.
Mikey leaned in and addressed him in a hush, “You're really happy with her, huh?”
“Absolutely.” Gerard's small row of teeth bared with a grin. “Are you?”
“Do you mean am I happy for you, or if I'm happy in my marriage?”
Gerard paused for a second, pondering. He replied, “Both.”
Mikey had initially been wary of Gerard's whirlwind decision to marry, he and Alicia having only learned about Lindsey's personality through Gerard's phone calls during their honeymoon. Alicia was intrigued by her new in-law, which resulted in her and Lindsey becoming fast friends. Likewise, Lindsey readily welcomed Mikey as her brother-in-law, routinely greeting him with a hug and kiss on the cheek. With her confidence appearing to evoke her husband's creativity and happiness, Mikey grew to accept her in a short amount of time. Gerard's new circle of friends, particularly Jimmy and his wife, fellow singer Chantal Claret, were quite interesting additions; the pair often visited Gerard and Lindsey, sharing his love for the game, Dungeons & Dragons. “Yes, to both.”
“Good to know.” Gerard placed a hand on the man's shoulder. “I'm proud of you, Mikey.”
“You, too.”
Though neither said it then, they knew it was a sign to put the illicit aspect of their bond in the past, never to be brought up in conversation again.
With the bustling energy of the convention hall contrasting to the stillness of the present hotel room, Mikey answers Gerard's considerate question with: “I don't know. I think…” He gazes out the window, where the building lights glow in the dark. “I think it's this city. Ever since I got here yesterday, all these memories have been coming back to me.”
Gerard asks him, “Is it because of our first trip here?”
Mikey's stare at the nighttime scenery turns curious. “Hmm. Yeah, that could be it.”
Their first visit to Japan was at an increasingly bleak time. Gerard had been reeling from the loss of his and Mikey's grandmother to cancer–the first person who showed support for his art and taught him how to sing–under the pressure of making it through their performances, and deep into his routine of alcohol and drug use.
There is a house in New Orleans
And it's called the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a-poor boys
And Lord knows I'm one
Gerard opened their Chiba show by singing the first verse of "House of the Rising Sun," a haunting traditional folk song about one's life dissolving from alcoholism and gambling.
With a note he left behind, reading, Life's nothing but a bag of shit. I'm gonna go be the next Jim Morrison, Mikey and the rest figured it out: Gerard thought it would be poetic to drink himself to death at the age of 27, in a country whose culture he always admired. When the set was over, the staggering singer began vomiting his saké on the floor before running to a nearby trash can.
“You've gotta get this dude some help,” Ray said urgently to their manager, Brian Schechter. “Look at him! He's sick!” From the way his voice cracked, everyone could tell that what he meant by sick was dying.
The wobbling man collapsed, Brian being there to catch him. As the area filled with the awful stench, Mikey fought back tears. He ran one shaky hand through his hair, the other gripped hard over the steel strings of his bass, digging painfully into the skin. He recalled his phone calls with his chain-smoking mother, who begged him to help his panic-stricken brother, only for Mikey to wonder, What do they expect me to do, when I'm also drinking my ass off? On the plane ride home, Gerard doubled over in his seat. He was shivering and moaning in pain, breaking out in cold sweat. He would enter rehab shortly after.
“I see,” Gerard states now. “That's how I am every time I have to sing 'Piano Jam.'” Mikey snaps his attention from the outside to the elder, whose gaze is fixed on his Batman drawing. “Y'know, that song about…wanting to be in the ambulance with...with someone?”
“Of course,” Mikey answers, leaning forward. “When I first heard it, it was pretty much a no-brainer of…who it was about. Especially with the fact that you play 'Brother' right after.” Gerard shifts in his seat, pressing his lips together. The same gravitas he has exuded when performing "Piano Jam" is now evident. Mikey's focus goes to his own lap, and he continues, “I can tell how hard it is for you to sing it, and how 'Brother' is like taking--breathing a sigh of relief. And it's so moving, too, because you're pouring your heart out, not just to me, but to everyone else there.” He looks up to Gerard, who momentarily has his eyes shut.
Gerard swallows audibly. His voice becomes thick, on the verge of a waver. “Every time I sing it, I'm back to that week, when I wasn't sure you were gonna make it. When I couldn't sleep and my mind raced with everything I could've done for you a lot sooner.”
“Hey, don't blame yourself,” Mikey promptly responds, firmly but soothingly. “It was my own doing. Not yours, or anyone else's. I get that you wish you could've been there when the ambulance took me.” In a flash, the grim reality of the past sinks in, and he takes a steadying breath. “But I'm here now, and that's what really matters, right?”
Blinking back tears, Gerard laughs shakily. He meets his brother's eyes and says with relief, “Yeah.”
David, who was in the same town as Mikey at the time, called for a wellness check after receiving his last text: I’m sorry. I love you. The police had to barge open the unresponsive man's apartment door. Mikey was found unconscious, his breathing shallow, with blood having trickled from his mouth. This led to the police contacting the paramedics.
Mikey could hear a rhythmic beeping when he awoke, blinking at the bright, white ceiling. He tried to speak, muttering raspily through a mask pressed to half of his face. Within the next second, there were a pair of astounded voices and one set of footsteps hurrying out of the room. Someone in a blue scrub suit approached the bed he lay in, and he found his arms with what appeared to be intravenous lines attached to them–something beneficial over the illegal substances he had injected himself with.
After entering into a stabilized condition, the first visitor was his crying father, who clasped his hand, followed by his mother, unable to voice her emotions through her sobbing. When his brother entered, their foreheads and hearts were brought together. Mikey tearfully apologized for shutting out his friends and family, and the toll he had put on them. Following his recovery, the doctor had told him that, given the fatal dosage and critical state of his condition, he should have never woken up.
Mikey stays in his seat with a tight throat. He watches Gerard's reflection in the window, who collects himself as he wipes at the corners of his eyes. After a minute of quiet sniffling and calming his breath, Gerard declares, “Let's call it a night.” He grabs his sketchbook to flip it closed. The two go to their bed, throwing back the sheets. Gerard remarks, “No funny business tonight.”
Mikey chuckles, hearing the quip, but is aware it is also a serious order. Lying by the edge while Gerard continues reading his novel once more, another question presses into Mikey's mind. When the lamp is turned off, and Gerard shuffles himself into place, Mikey turns to lie on his back. He decides to break the quiet. “Hey, G.”
“Hmm?”
“This morning, why were you scratching my hair like that?”
There is a pause. Mikey watches Gerard's silhouette, whose eyelashes flicker and lips part as he prepares his response. Then, “I was reminded of how fuckin' lucky I am that you're still alive.”
Mikey cannot help it–with his breath caught in his throat, he leans over and puts an arm around his brother, snuggling into him. Gerard wraps his arms around Mikey's shoulders, giving him a squeeze. It is a lot like their nights spent at the haunted Paramour Mansion, when Mikey was so scared to sleep in his own room–startling awake to things falling at random, sensing a hand on his shoulder when there was no one there–he snuck into Gerard's through the adjoining bathroom, for the comforting knowledge that his protective brother was right next to him.