Disclaimer: the only things true in this fiction are the names; even them, I'm not sure if I have had all down right ;-)

A/N: sorry, this is not an actual chapter, just a filler or sth. But had to be done, so I could show where Mige and Ville's relationship is standing. Please cope with it till the next chapter; thanks. Reviews will be appreciated; please don't be stingy with feedbacks!

My Dear Soot, hope you're still enjoying this fic.

Chapter 3: My Heart Aches for Your Love

Mige sighed heavily and took another sip from his almost-finished Jack Daniels. The living room of the house they had rented for their three-week stay in New York was empty, with Linde going out to buy some stuff and Burton and Gas going for a short drive around the countryside, which they were supposed to be back half an hour ago. Mige had refused to go out with them, saying he had a mild headache and wanted to take a nap, but in truth he just wanted to drink himself into a stupor. But what kind of a stupor it was if he could remember the reason for his drinking still?

He remembered the first day he had laid eyes on those beautiful, feline green eyes of Ville in Pop and Jazz school of Helsinki. Ville was only nine years old with slightly curly, brown hair and huge, green eyes and a pair of full lips that was just too perfect to be masculine, or even human for that matter. He had a shy smile that made a huge contrast with his too black clothes and seductive looks and had asked Mige if he could help him find his class; to which Mige had just stuttered an intangible reply, too transfixed by the surreal beauty of the young boy before him, but thankfully had managed to lead him to his destination. Mige was two years older than him and didn't share any classes with the beautiful boy but he didn't let that problem stand in his way to Ville. He was a big kid, and knew how to send a punch that would knock the other out for hours and Ville was very slender and fragile for his age and too damn pretty for his own good and avoided violence at all costs, so it just felt natural for Mige to protect his angelic friend from any harm and let the fate do her job in making Ville the most precious person in Mige's life.

He also remembered the day Ville announced he wanted to form a rock band. He was only fifteen at the time but he was talented in more ways than one; he had a voice as captivating as a siren's, even though he wasn't aware of the fact, and it was only Mige and Linde's insistence and the lack of a vocalist that Ville finally accepted to sing for the band. With the band having been formed, Mige and Ville became even closer, sharing dark, embarrassing secrets and growing so comfortable around each other that holding hands, hugging in public, kissing on the cheeks or even falling asleep in each other's arms were like a second-nature to them.

And Mige remembered the day he suddenly found out he was not as comfortable around Ville as he used to be; it was Ville's 19th birthday and there was this huge party at his rented apartment. Ville was looking specially radiating that night; curly, silky hair long enough to cover his pierced ears and brush his slender, exposed shoulders through the wide-collared loose jumper he was wearing, green eyes clear and vibrating, their beauty magnified by the dark line rimming them, and his lips were slightly glossed, which glistened softly as the light reflected on them. He was in all black, as usual, and the contrast between his pale complexion and his dark clothing was simply breathtaking. Everyone was having a great time and Ville allowed himself the luxury of drinking himself into oblivion, knowing there would be someone, more likely Mige, to carry his drunken ass upstairs to his bed when the party finished. But something went wrong and Ville had an asthma attack; he had stopped his medication for some weeks and the stress and the pressure of making their new album, as well as his new addiction to cigarettes had triggered the attack. As Ville's beautiful face went paler than normal and he started wheezing and gasping for breath while in Mige's arms, something just broke inside Mige's chest as Ville gasped 'I can't breathe'. And the thought of losing Ville was so poisonous Mige knew he would simply kill himself if Ville died. Bringing his face closer to Ville's pallid one, Mige did what his instinct told him to do; he attached his lips to those blue ones of Ville's and breathed precious air into his pleading mouth. After doing that for some minutes, Ville started breathing on his own and Mige broke the contact, only to make sure Ville was all right. There was this tired, yet gorgeous smile on those tempting lips and Ville was looking at him with hooded eyes. Then he leaned in to close the gap between them and placed a soft, grateful kiss on Mige's suddenly numb lips. 'Thank you' was all he said before passing out and leaving Mige with a burning sensation he could not find a name for.

But as the years passed and the strange, burning sensation intensified, Mige realized what it was he felt whenever he was around Ville; desire. Pure, blinding desire that grabbed his throat and restricted his airways and wouldn't let go until he could make at least the slightest contact with Ville's skin. Ville didn't mind his physical affection, he was one hell of a cuddly man himself, but the problem was that even when he could feel Ville's soft skin under his worshiping touch, he still burned from inside. He desired his friend, his best friend who was like a very dear brother to him, and he could not live with himself for having these sinful feelings for the gorgeous singer.

It wasn't that Ville was not gay; because with Ville these things never mattered. He was affectionate and quite sexual with the dirty jokes he made and the way he laughed or dressed or even talked…they all screamed seduction. He flirted with men, maybe in a little more subtle way than with women, but it was still flirtation and God was he damn good at it. He had even kissed Mige on several occasions, two of which while completely sober but ridiculously teasing. He had no idea what he did to Mige with that simple, silky touch of his lips; he never felt curious enough to run his hand downwards to feel Mige's arousal through the fabric of his pants. He never stayed awake long enough to hear Mige moaning his name as he jerked off in the bed next to his, thinking about him, dreaming about him, yearning for him.

And Mige just kept on burning inside. He knew his heart was now just a pile of ashes of a once great fire of desire. But the ashes were still scorching hot and slowly but surely killing him with their unbearable heat. He had stopped denying his love for the green-eyed singer long time ago; he didn't even go for pretending that he didn't care anymore…that he had forgotten how his ashen heart ached for the dark seducer that slept in a bed only some feet away from him, with nothing to cover the sacred temple of his body up but a white sheet that would get tangled around his slim hips during his peaceful sleep. And he would never know, the oblivious beauty that he was, that when he slept so angelic and devilish looking at the same time, his best friend, his supposed brother, his trusted band mate, would spend hours awake just gazing at his surreal, moonlit face.

And not jerking off to that face anymore; not lusting and drooling all over himself like he used to do; not getting a hard-on every 5 minutes after each mind-blowing orgasm; no, he just watched him sleep and let some stray tears spill from his eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to think either; because he knew if he ever did, there would be no coming back to the same, old safe track again.

But there were times his silent, confined love for the younger man just wanted to break free and scream his name in desperation and plea. Like when Ville oh-so-casually wounded his arms around his neck and leaned heavily against his chest, sometimes crying, sometimes chuckling as innocently as a kid, but most of the time just closing his eyes and drifting off. And when Mige breathed in Ville's intoxicating scent, when he got drunk on the silky feeling of his skin, when he felt his rhythmic heartbeats beneath his touch and his head went dizzy with an overwhelming desire…he knew he was dying a slow, agonizing death. Dying from love, and God how fucking much it hurt.

At first, the mere reason for his silent agony was that he was scared to lose Ville altogether if he confessed to his unusual, sinful love. He had seen what happened to long-time friends when one of them fell for the other and let them know of their love. He had been a victim to this cruelty when he was 13, falling in love with his classmate, a pretty girl he had grown up with. But she had rejected him, accusing him of having dirty thoughts about her while all she ever wanted to see in him was loyalty and a platonic love. And then she left him, because every kiss on the cheek, every touch on the skin, every dirty joke they shared now meant something else. So Mige hid his love for Ville, refusing to let fate play her cruel game with him again, and just let his love for the younger man grow deeper and deeper in his heart.

So deep that one day he snapped. He couldn't stand the pain any more. He couldn't keep on living with this burning desire inside. So he thought, even if his declaration meant losing Ville forever, so be it; at least he had set this hidden agony free. At least, he knew where he stood in this pain-stricken world. At least, he wouldn't be lying to Ville any more. But as if fate was indeed against him, the night Mige had decided to come clean with his feelings for the sinfully beautiful man, Ville had been quicker, launching himself into his paralyzed arms, sobbing his heart out, wetting his shirt with his crystalline tears and whimpering how madly in love he was with his friend and how fucking blind he was to his love and how cruelly he had told him that he was getting married to a girl. Yes, he was talking about Bam; Bam fucking Margera. That idiot. That fucking, stupid American man who had someone as precious as Ville in love with him and didn't give a damn. Mige had broken down with him at that night, clinching to Ville and crying for both Ville and himself, knowing how painful heartbreak felt and how many years it needed to grow numb again.

But these memories, as painful and torturous as they were, were still memories and should not have mattered; they all belonged to the past and should have stayed there as well. What mattered now was that Mige had lost his chance with Ville, Ville seemed to be over his unrequited love for Bam, and Bam was happily and obliviously married to his beloved girl. They were all friends still, even after what each of them were through and that was what mattered.

Mige kept telling himself this as he took his last sip at the can. His eyes stung for a moment and he blamed the burning taste of the drink; even though deep down he knew what, or rather who, was the one to blame; and it wasn't the alcohol, or even himself. Mige turned his blurred eyes to his wrist watch and noticed he had still half an hour left to go upstairs to wake Ville up. But he didn't have anything else to do other than drinking to the point of forgetting his own name as he wallowed in self-pity and regret, so with a deep sigh he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and spared a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror hung above the fireplace, ignoring the haggard face starring back, and heading upstairs…to wake up the reason for his heart agony.

~TBC~