C11 - TUESDAY, STILL NIGHT

The Pontiac pulled up to the sidewalk outside the terminal. "Hey, Pe'ah.", Davy greeted their companion less enthusiastically than he otherwise would have.

An oblivious Peter called back. "Hi, Davy! Hi, guys!"

The others stayed quiet. Micky's gaze sort of drifted to the side towards him and then returned forward again. Davy wasn't even sure Micky was all that aware of what was going on around them.

But Peter hadn't noticed, what with being caught up in the excitement of coming home from his trip, picking up his suitcase and placing it in the roomy rear seat, and having been addressed right away by Davy who moved over to the opposite center seat to make room for him.

"How was your holiday?", Davy asked.

All smiles, he had bounded over the closed door into the newly vacated seat. "It was wicked great!", he announed, a touch of New Englandness having tagged along with him to the west coast. Much like Micky had acted in Mike's recent memory, Peter was positively jubilant. "Everyone got together, and Grams cooked the best meal. It even snowed a little!" Nodding to Mike and Davy, he continued, "And I got you both birthday gifts, but I promise to wait until tomorrow to give them to you." He then ceased his stream-of-thought chatter and settled down, slowly picking up on the up-tight atmosphere. "What did I miss?"

Micky couldn't find the words to reply. He hadn't moved a muscle in ages, it seemed; his whole upper body felt uncomfortably stiff.

Davy cautioned a glance around at Mike in the seat in front of him when he didn't answer either.

Met with silence, a quickly dispiriting Peter made the obvious assumption. "You had bad Christmases?"

"No, no.", Davy said. "Christmas was good. For all of us, I think." From the visual he was treated to earlier, he made the reasonable deduction that both Mike and Micky had had an especially pleasant time without their other two roommates around.

Peter ruminated for a few seconds about why the mood could be so down. "David, is Mr. Babbitt raising the rent?" He put a contemplative hand to his chin. "Did Mrs. Weefers find a nicer house to clean?" He gasped softly. "Did I accidentally leave my shoes in the sink again? You can lay it on me.", he said with an affirming nod, already on the brink of tearing up at the series of upsetting thoughts.

Davy found it in him to pat his friend gently on the shoulder. "No, all of that's fine.", he said after a second. "And your shoes are on your feet, Pe'ah.", he supplied helpfully, trying for a moment not to laugh at the combined absurdity of the situation.

"Oh, neato." The blond looked down at his feet and visibly relaxed with a small smile that, after awhile, returned to a worried look. He then took particular note of his uncharacteristically mute and zoned-out-looking friend in the seat in front of him. He moved forward, head curved around for a better view, and tried poking him in the left arm but received no response. "Hey, guys? I think Micky is broken." Peter blinked in confusion at him before looking over to Mike and then Davy for input on this strange development. "Did he get fed and watered while we were gone?"

Given the lack of conversation from their front-row agitator, Davy had pulled a face as almost half a minute ticked by. So Mike was indeed going to leave it to him after he had specifically requested not to have to be the one to spell it out to Peter. "The lads had a bit of a row. But they're going to be fine because Mike is going to stop being a duckarse and fix this. Isn't that right?", he called in a no-nonsense inflection, raising his voice as he went along with raising an eyebrow at Mike in a challenge to follow through.

Mike briefly glanced up at Davy via the rear-view mirror and then back to the road. Despite the decently long drive to the airport, he hadn't been able to come up with explanatory words he was willing to share, nor any better solution to the quandry.

Peter pouted and shifted his gaze between his two friends up front. "Please don't fight.", he lamented, albeit colored with optimism, especially given Davy's assurance that all would be well. "I love you guys and want you to be happy."

Oh, Peter., thought Mike. The innocent sincerity of what should be an easy, straightforward request took the most determined wind out of Mike's sails.

"And it's the time of year everyone should be happy anyway.", Peter added.

Having rolled his eyes with exaggeration and sighed making the assumption that Peter was wasting his breath, Davy decided he should level with him about what had gone down, spelling out the extent of the problem. "Mike didn't get to go to his family's; he stayed here because he missed his flight, and he and Micky got together — romantically", he added in case Peter didn't quite catch on to what he meant, "— while you and I were out of town. Then, for some extraordinary reason unknown to me, Mike went mental and decided to dump Micky. Or the band. Or both, I suppose." He crossed his arms for the second time that evening. "I'm not exactly sure on that point because Mike has lost any. and all. ability. to communicate." Davy might be the youngest of the bunch, but today, it felt to him like he was the only one fully dialed in to some semblance of reality. If only it were girls or music or horses or running around on the beach, but no, it was a full-on attempt at modeling actual adult behavior since the moment he woke up from his outrageously short kip, and he was out of his comfort zone in being the one to take charge of their group. He wanted this mess to fix itself, and the sooner, the better. He was a second away from going on about how Mike was being a stubborn, callous idiot, when Peter spoke back up.

"Oh.", he commmented, having absorbed and processed the news. "I'm sorry you missed seeing your family, Michael. But that isn't Micky's fault, right?", is what he mostly backwards took away from the rundown, skipping right over what to Mike was the massive elephant in the room. Peter continued, "And, well, you still have to open your birthday presents tomorrow, so you couldn't leave yet anyway." He seemed pleased with his definitive-sounding pronouncement, but an awkward silence lingered until another thought occurred to the young bassist. "Doughnuts would help. We should get doughnuts. Oh, look — there's a Winchell's at this exit!", he pointed with glee.

The back of Davy's head thunked against the seat behind him at the thought of dragging this nonsense out even further. Micky's earlier suggestion of tying Mike down at home with rope until he saw reason seemed to him like an idea increasingly worthy of serious consideration.

The Texan gritted his teeth. He did not want to drag this out either; it had already gone on too long. But he also wasn't keen on making every last one of the four of them miserable today, so as to keep the peace and Peter's good spirits, at least for a short while, he pulled off the highway and into the lot of the requested and luckily 24-hour establishment. It would give him a little extra time to think some more, at any rate, for all the good it would do.

Once parked, Peter and Davy got out, but Davy stayed by the car a second, silently holding out the palm of his hand to Mike who cottoned on that he was after what amounted to babysitting money. He fished in his pocket for some change and handed him what came up which was a quarter, a dime, and a nickel. Once inside, Davy stewed while he and Peter waited in line, and his disposition caused Peter to start to wonder again. "Everything will be okay, right?"

Exasperated from dealing with the drama, he rubbed his forehead. "Sure, Pe'ah.", he ground out. "One way or another." Now that it was out of his mouth, he hoped it wouldn't once again be up to him to make good on it.

"Okay.", he shrugged it off, excited to focus on the sugary goodness ahead of them. They love each other too much to leave anyway., he reassured himself.

-—-—-

Over the last hour, a terrifying thought had been worming its way into Micky's mind and expanding: What if Mike's only been humoring me and doesn't want me but doesn't know how to say no to a relationship with me? His stomach had sunk further as this turned into, What if he was just drunk and lonely and curious and wanted a kiss that night, and I dragged him into this whole situation with no easy way out? He wouldn't put it past Mike to go along with something that Micky wanted, with Mike not wanting to make him feel badly about it by saying no, although this would really take the cake. But so much uncertainty was swirling within him.

Every interaction in the past few days played through Micky's head, making him question everything: Mike may have made the first move when he was drinking and wasn't uptight about it happening then, but the next kiss was mine. I suggested we do what we did that night. When they had woken up the next morning, Micky wondered if he'd pressured Mike into that too. Maybe I did. I thought he wanted it, wanted me. But maybe I did pressure him. Then on the drive over to his mom's house, he wondered if Mike felt like he had to force a friendly reaction to him. And once they got there, Mike made a clear point of letting him know he didn't want his mother finding out, and when Micky looked at him a minute later, Mike averted his gaze pretty quickly. That night in his sister's bed, Mike sounded hardly enthusiastic, having had to be talked into a kiss. I thought he was just nervous. And then Micky was all over Mike each time they'd get home. Had he been into that? Had he even been into that? God, what if he didn't want any of it and was just going along? I take him for granted so much already. This would be unconscionable...

In the meantime, Mike had hoped Micky would have exited the car and gone inside the building with Davy and Peter. Sitting in the driver's seat obtusely trying to pretend to be interested in the dials in front of him on the dash, Mike had no intention to talk. For one, he didn't know what else he could say that would make this any easier for Micky. For two, he didn't want to accidentally say something that would make it worse. And for three, he didn't want to accidentally say something that would make it better and for Micky to then try to talk him out of it, since he wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't cave. So it was best for him to say nothing at all.

Micky, however, was coming close to his breaking point and couldn't take much more of the oppressive silence and frigidness from Mike who had, until so many hours ago seemed (albeit maybe only so in Micky's head) to be an exquisite source of warmth. Micky was in mental knots over this but didn't know how to come out and address it. So he opted for something of a generic-sounding apology to feel out where Mike might be at, to see if what he was thinking might actually be the truth and if Mike would even want an apology to address the serious line Micky might have crossed. "If it's something I said, or something I did, I'm sorry." There was the smallest catch of air. "Please tell me.", the last words were squeaked out, apprehensive Mike might lash out again.

The self-doubt had really settled in deep by now, and Micky felt like no shower would wash away the dirt. Did Mike ever even once..., he wondered. A cold fear had since gripped his insides like a vice as he kept turning the situation over. Did Mike ever initiate anything besides our first kiss? Micky once again went over every moment they'd spent together since, and although he swore Mike had participated, he hadn't initiated, and could he truly, honestly say that Mike had wanted any of it? He thought there might have been times, but maybe not? He second-guessed himself into gaslit oblivion. They had so far only fooled around in bed, Micky not wanting to spook him with anything too heavy so soon into their relationship. But it appeared to Micky that Mike had most definitely been spooked anyway, and if it turned out that it wasn't so much a relationship as an accosting... How could I not have noticed? How could I be so stupid and so selfish and put him through this? And on top of it, I'm probably clingy and suffocating too. Jeez... He legitimately thought he might be sick.

His apology rung around in Mike's head. Micky apologizing for something he did? He didn't do he anything besides just be himself. I'm the one who took advantage of 'im when I'm supposed ta be lookin' out for 'im! Mike closed his eyes, angry at himself and pained to hear Micky talk in such a demure, sad, self-defeating way. He finally turned to him to assure him that— Damn it to hell., he thought, seeing that the closest friend he had ever had was not only still staring out the windshield at nothing in particular but was also closed-mouthed and wide-eyed with a silent tear falling down his cheek. That was not at all what Mike wanted to see happen. He had only wanted a clean break and Micky to go on with his life and forget about him. The last thing he'd ever, ever intended was to make Micky miserable. He was torn between throwing himself at Micky in an unyielding embrace or hurling himself the other direction out of the car before he himself broke down. Feeling he needed to reassure Micky somehow that everything would be okay, he settled for a middle route of shyly latching on to Micky's left hand with his right and finding it unexpectedly limp and clammy to the touch.

Micky's anxiety kicked up another notch when Mike took his hand. He's still trying to be nice about it. He blinked hard, another tear escaping. But I've got to forget about me. For the sake of the three of them, I have to try and salvage this. Assuming it won't embarrass him more... "If you can stand to be around me, I promise I won't tell you... that ever again. I'll switch rooms. I won't even look at you again if it makes you uncomfortable." And true to that, he hadn't looked at Mike in a long while, afraid now that if he moved at all it would make Mike flee faster than he was already trying to. "Please, don't take it out on Davy and Peter." He thought it might be a whole lot to ask, more than he should rightfully ask for.

"Oh, Mick." The stabbing sensation in his chest was too much, and he couldn't leave the both of them sitting there alone and wrecked like that. This was wholly his fault, not Micky's. Davy was right; he simply had to fix it. But how. But he was fresh out of ideas. So, just like every other time in the past few days, he couldn't stop himself from being helplessly drawn to the other man; he released his friend's hand and shifted the distance between them to pull him into a tight hug. The difference now was that he had to push past the cold, novel feeling of stiffness as he tried to comfort him, the feeling that, for the first time since they met, the affection was not returned.

-—-—-

"One vanilla with sprinkles.", Peter requested of the older clerk behind the counter. "For Micky.", he added for the Englishman's benefit who stood there with a frown, working himself up. "Mike would like a cinnamon bun, wouldn't he?"

"Mike would like a kick up the arse.", he muttered under his breath, softly enough so that it sounded like an unintelligible grumble to the salesman.

Peter paid no mind. "He probably would want a cinnamon bun. One cinnamon bun, please.", he added on to his order. "What do you want, Davy?"

But Davy wasn't focused on the same goal at the moment. "To knock some bloody sense into 'im. This is mental!" His response was louder this time.

"He'll take a long john, and I'd like a maple iced, please."

-—-—-

Micky squashed the urge to latch on to Mike, remaining as detached as he could because he couldn't bear to make things weirder. Additionally, with his extremities being somewhat numb, the most Micky found himself able to do was to merely sag some into him.

For his part, Mike could feel the drummer lightly shaking and having trouble taking in air properly, and he mentally kicked himself for being so dense about his own handling of this. His own vision was already blurry, and he had the suspicion that were he able to take his plan to its conclusion, he'd end up the very same hot mess as Micky by night's end, the main distinction being he would most likely be a hot mess on the side of the road somewhere alone, spectacularly failing to deal with it. "You haven't done anything wrong at all.", Mike tried to comfort him, holding him even closer, finding it harder to breathe himself. "This is all on me. I never meant for this to happen." He clamped his eyes shut and tears of his own pressed out. After a moment, he whispered a contrition, continuing to hold on to him, not yet letting go. "I never shoulda kissed you." With his face close by Micky's cheek, he was so temped to give in. But no, he told himself he must stand firm in this, and it didn't matter if it broke both their hearts in the process.

He never wanted me. He never wanted us to happen. He never wanted... what we did. He shuddered in revulsion at himself. And now I've told him how I've felt about him and really ruined everything. Dismayed by Mike's admissions, he shuddered again, a fresh batch of saline falling down from both eyes, one making use of the previous track. And what if I've really messed him up? He opened his mouth to speak but failed to get anything but a puff of air out on the first attempt, pressed against Mike as he was, so it all came out in a whoosh on the second try. "I get that it was way, way too soon; I shouldn't've taken you to bed that night. I shouldn't've pr—" he shuddered once more, out of breath, unable to find enough air to take in despite the windows being down and a cool breeze blowing through.

"Shhh. Don't think I regret it for a minute. Any of it.", a tearful Mike interrupted his sporadically-breathed explanation to clarify before pulling away just enough to take in his boy's... take in Micky's devastated, damp face and eyes that lacked any confidence to meet his but that nevertheless shifted somewhat his way in confusion. It was so wrong not to see Micky boldly, unreasonably happy and effervescent. Worse, the one and only time he had seen him cry before was when he got the call from his mother that his father had passed away abruptly. It broke Mike's heart all over again to know that this time around, he himself had been the cause of enough pain to make it happen. "My only regret's that I've hurt you." He repeated in his head that he would do anything for Micky's benefit, and this distancing was part of it, even if it felt less than grand in the here-and-now.

Micky's ears had been throbbing with the sound of his pulse, his head was spinning, and the muscles under his skin were starting to spasm here and there from a lack of oxygen. Though Mike had been replying, he hadn't really heard any of his words.

"It's okay, Mick. It's gonna be okay." Mike tried to console him, but for his part, he was getting very concerned. He'd never seen Micky like this, and he wasn't looking good and seemed to be spacing out. "You need to breathe.", he instructed. "Micky. Focus on something. Here, look at me." He took one hand and guided Micky's chin up towards where their eyes would meet, placing his other hand on the side of his head against his soft curls. He had to take a second to steady himself so as not to crumble, making this all for naught. He was so close to his own breaking point. "Breathe."

The younger man heard those last words and delicately jerked his head as if he'd forgotten how to hold up his neck. But he found it in him to make bleary eye contact, worried what aloof indifference or disdain he would find when their eyes met. Taking a breath felt to him like being a fish stuck on land gasping for water, but he did so, and took a few more under Mike's supervision. Micky felt so childlike and pointless and small.

For Mike, what had been his best Christmas ever was shaping up to be his worst birthday ever, and he didn't know if he'd be able to forgive himself for what it was doing to Micky. He just prayed that, sooner rather than later, Micky could appreciate why he had to leave and would be able to forgive him.

-—-—-

"Wot's the point, even; Mike's probably bounced 'im and driven off without us anyway."

"Well that couldn't be true.", Peter commented softly, leaning around to peer through the window and check. "Mike wouldn't do that to any of us."

Davy as well as the clerk behind the counter followed his line of sight, spotting two young men hugging intimately in the car. Before the clerk could make a comment, Davy perceived what he might possibly be thinking and covered for them. "Death in the family."

The man blinked, then nodded once. "Ah, I see. Which one?"

Peter looked perplexed. "It's hard to say; we're all family, really."

Thrown by that explanation and not interested in pursuing a deep conversation about it at this time of night, he shrugged. "I'm sorry to hear it. In that case, there's a doughnut in there on me. That'll be twenty-seven cents."

"Thanks, mister!", Peter radiated enthusiasm, handing over the requested change and getting their sack of goods in return.

Davy's attitude had softened somewhat with seeing them apparently working it out from afar, and he shook his head. "I don't know how we ended up in a band with those two." The comment was more warmly dismissive than purely accusatory, and he moved some hair out of his eyes. "Should we give them another minute?"

Peter nodded an affirmative because he couldn't verbally answer with half his pastry already embedded in his mouth.