C13 - STILL TUESDAY, STILL NIGHT

Peter placed the sack containing the two remaining pastries on the end table and lugged his suitcase into the downstairs bedroom before going to the restroom to get ready for bed. During that time, Micky had silently headed upstairs with haste, chased by his own humiliation. Davy had been next in the door, and Mike was the last, having stayed in the GTO a moment after the rest of them had exited to have a chance to take a full breath and collect himself in preparation for what was to come.

The shortest member of the household turned and shoved a peeved, cautionary finger up into Mike's face once he had entered. "I'm going back to sleep. Now piss off and make up." Mike understood Davy was just serious enough. "And don't you dare keep me awake with ...that, either.", he motioned upwards with a sweep of his wrist, not yet able to get his head around his two friends being engaged in certain activities. With no interest in waiting for a response, Davy retired into his and Peter's bedroom. He had thrown off his bedcovers earlier in his haste to get upstairs, so he kicked off his shoes and flopped face-down onto his bed still in his day clothes, beyond ready for some much-needed shuteye.

Mike was mortified by the impropriety of the idea that Davy or Peter might hear anything like that at all, ever, from him upstairs. Moreover, in fact, he found his ever-expanding worrying over the entire situation had morphed from fear into wholesale embarrassment. But far worse, he had botched things royally and still didn't know how to face Micky; all he knew was he had to, and sooner rather than later because waiting would surely cause even more of a strain. With apprehension, he looked up to find that the young man in question had disappeared into their own bedroom.

He faintly bit the inside of his mouth and went up the stairs and past the open door which he then closed behind him for privacy. Having been let down by the hope he'd be swallowed into the ground by now, he removed his hat and scratched the back of his head with the same hand. The bedroom's seemingly glaring ceiling light was on, probably not having been turned off since before they left for the airport, and despite Micky facing away from him, he felt like he was drowning under a spotlight. "I'm so sorry.", he spoke with significant chagrin, unable to keep the heat from surfacing on his cheeks.

Functionally paralyzed, Micky had stood in the middle of their room, trapped in his own head. He was disturbed to no end about having exploited his best friend — former best friend, his mind corrected — and was distractedly trying without success to order in his mind all his more important belongings around the house before he would actually pack them up as quickly as possible and move out so that Mike wouldn't have to be the one to go. He wondered how he would explain this whole fiasco to his mother, that just a few days ago he was as carefree as she had seen him in over a year, bringing Mike over and having a great time, and tonight his life was so topsy-turvy that he would need to crash on his childhood couch for at least a few nights until he could get it together enough to find a hole to crawl into alone. He couldn't see himself ever telling her the miserable why of it, that he'd used Mike in the worst way.

Micky had finally accepted the reality that their normally even-keeled leader could only put up with so much before losing it as he had. Yet Mike was incomprehensibly willing to take the extra time and effort to talk to him about it now. Micky's fear remained that, after they talked here, if Micky could even think of words beyond basic apologies to say and then cough them up, that Mike wouldn't budge from his plan to get his things and split. Micky had to face the dire possibility that he might not ever hear from Mike again, that after what he'd done, Mike couldn't possibly ever want to hear from him again either. Wiping a couple of extra, stray tears away, he could imagine chances were pretty good that Mike would probably prefer to forget he even existed. And if splitting and never speaking again was truly what Mike wanted, Micky wouldn't stand in his way. He just didn't know if he'd be able to come to terms with the fact it was his own boorish feelings and actions that irrevocably drove Mike away.

The object of his thoughts spoke back up behind him, and it was now enough to break Micky's concentration, such as it was. "I really am sorry. I don't think I can say it enough."

He blinked but otherwise remained immobile. Why is he so sorry? He keeps saying that. I'm the one... And why do I sense a 'but' coming? That was one count Micky wasn't wrong on.

"But Micky, bein' with me, you've got ta understand what you would be puttin' yourself through. What you'd be givin' up. We couldn' do a thing in public or when there's someone over. Not a thing."

Wait. What? He turned around slowly. He was sure his brain had melted at some point in the past couple of hours, so he scrunched his glassy eyes closed and shook his head in an effort to clear it. It's one thing for Mike to try to brush it off like that by making up excuses in front of the others once they found out, but he's still using the same basic excuse with me in private? I don't get it.

Mike, wounded all over again from seeing Micky as hurt as he was, took Micky's turning to him in silence as a request to continue talking. "Much as I want to be with you, I know I'm hardly a catch, an' you got everything goin' for ya, so I don't get why you'd want ta be with me.", he babbled diffidently. In a haze of thought before reining himself in, he questioned if his attempt to salvage this was as much self-interest as it was allowing Micky to make up his own mind. "But if for some odd reason you did decide you really dig me, you gotta realize you'd be missin' out on a lot of groovy stuff. A whole lot." Mike had thought the repercussions through to an extent; he was nothing if not a future planner, part of why they'd found him a great choice to lead both their household and their band.

The thing was, Micky was already beyond sure he really did dig Mike. Forget about all the many passing thoughts of attraction he'd had about Mike long before; it hadn't taken more than two minutes for him to make up his mind about him on Christmas Eve, and every last second of those two minutes were devoted not to deciding but to pinching himself into believing that Mike's advances were really and truly happening. But that memory barely entered his mind now, he was so focused on understanding why Mike seemed to be on a whole different topical track than him. Missing out on stuff by deciding I dig him? Him wanting to be with me? He raised his hands up between them to slow the onslaught of his confusion. "Hold on. You... Are you just saying that?" He stared Mike down, eyes wide.

Mike worried the rim of his pliable hat between his fingers, unable to suss out what part of what he had said Micky was asking about. "No? I'm bein' serious."

"You're serious." As disoriented as he was, none of what Mike had just said sounded like he wasn't willing. Fingertips finding their way to massaging his temples, he started putting the leftover pieces of this contorted puzzle together. "You're saying that you are into me? But you'd— you'd up and ditch me, ditch us, all without a word just so you could... play white knight?!" His voice had risen to match his heightening incredulity.

Mike cringed, clutching his hat, and was ashamed enough to hang his head. "W'll, when ya put it that way..."

"You're SERIOUS." It came out half whimper, half shriek. Maddened to the point of screaming, his fists clenched, then unclenched, then clenched again as his thoughts whirled. "MIKE. YOU HAVE NO IDEA how— how RELIEVED I am and— HOW MUCH I want to PUNCH THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF YOU right now."

The Texan leaned back a bit, stunned by the intensity of Micky's sudden outburst but not altogether taken by surprise at receiving a rebuke. He had expected one to some degree eventually. Well, maybe more from Davy, but even so. The part about Micky being "relieved" had him momentarily wondering, but he didn't dwell on it because it didn't matter; he didn't believe he deserved to talk his way out of this, and with that conviction, he settled for another apology so that he wouldn't go down in Micky's history books as someone to be loathed. "I'm sor—"

"You broke my HEART, man!"

Mike flinched. The raw, wailed-out confession and the significance behind it hit Mike like a baseball bat. He'd had a feeling that might have been the case. And he'd simultaneously experienced what his own heart breaking was like to boot. But hearing Micky confirm out loud what he — selfishly, if he were now honest — had done? That what they'd had between them didn't seem to be just a flight of fancy to the other man? He closed his eyes, stricken, reliving Micky's despair back in the car. "Mick.", his voice cracked. "I'm so sorry. I didn' mean t' do that to ya—"

"You made me think I'D FORCED YOU INTO A RELATIONSHIP! You made me," he was forced to spontaneously swallow the chafing dryness in his throat just then, "think I— I..." Flopping his arms, he trailed off, unable now to willingly be more specific.

Mike's head popped back up, and he blinked in bewilderment, just as totally derailed as Micky had been a minute ago as to what in the heck was going on. "What now?" The question came out of his mouth before he could think, but had he waited to think, he wouldn't know how to change the wording of his question any.

Micky had more than half a mind to continue telling him off, but it seemed so bizarre to do so — this was Mike he was yelling at, after all — and he just couldn't. Choosing to bury his face in his hands in frustration instead, he dragged them down to where his fingers dramatically pulled down on his not-entirely-dried-out lower lids. "UGGGGGH!" He really didn't want to be mad at Mike. But he needed to release emotions all the same.

"Mick?" For a second he had trouble finding words to make sense of it all. "You think I could be forced into a relationship?"

Micky brought his hands down further and buoyed them palms-up to help explain, his voice starting off a few steps higher than normal before coming back down, leveling off, and slowing down. "You can be a pushover sometimes when it comes to the rest of us. When it comes to me. And, you know, you like me alright", he commented shyly, "— I mean, yeah, you kissed me once, and you...", he swallowed again quickly, "went through with stuff, but we're good friends — and even if you didn't want it, you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings?" Then he made a face at either himself or nothing in particular. "But I guess not..."

Mike's shoulders went from stiff to sagging. Having been fully pent up with anxiety until then, something in Mike unwound to where he came close to laughing at how ridiculous this was turning out. "Micky, I more than like you.", he enunciated as his lips tugged into an awkward smile and his nose twitched to the side to hold in his amusement.

Though very glad to hear that, Micky was so strung out and upside down that he couldn't form a reply to it right away.

Then Mike's smile faded as it hit him that maybe his reticence from intending to cut things off over the course of the past few days had shown through this whole time, making Micky second-guess the feelings he'd been trying to hide from him. Or maybe it could have been some of himself showing through because he didn't have a good grasp on how to be in a relationship; it wasn't exactly like he had an abundance of personal experience to go on there. But either way, and especially because of this unveiled mistake, he knew he had to come clean to Micky about what had been going on in his head.

He unconsciously gravitated a step towards the inch-shorter man, once again lowering his eyes, and picked at perhaps imaginary lint on his hat with his fingers. "I more'n like you, Micky. But every day since Christmas, I meant to break us off because a' all those reasons I said before. I started ta try a few times, but I jus' couldn't find it in myself t' get the words out." He looked him in the eyes then, finding a measure of compassion there. "What we had was too good. I kept tellin' myself it wouldn't hurt so much if I could end it right away, before we got in too deep." I shoulda known I was already in too deep from our first kiss. But he brushed the thought aside with a defeated sigh. "I had every opportunity, and I— I couldn't. I kept stallin'. And then, when...", he kind of vaguely motioned downstairs with a grimace. "Other people knowin'. And I panicked. Full-on panicked, Mick."

It was hard to keep eye contact just then, so his vision took to gazing at the ceiling as if he expected better answers to be found there. "That's when I thought I'd messed things up so bad that runnin' away was the only right way out." He huffed an unimpressed laugh at himself. "I didn' ask you what you wanted. Or them, for that matter. An' that wudn' nice." Taking a breath, he looked him again, begging him to pick up what he was laying down. "It was all wrong an' all my fault. But Micky, I swear I never meant ta hurt you." 'Or make ya think I didn't want you.', he wanted to say. But the way he'd acted tonight, he couldn't admit that was the truth, no doubt subconsciously believing it to be easier if Micky thought he didn't want him.

For Micky's part, he stood there as calmly as he was able, listening to Mike talk more than he'd ever heard him talk in one go in his life. And as hard as it was to hear where Mike was coming from, he of course seemed sincere, so Micky couldn't knock him for that. Before tonight, he was sure Mike was only shy about being in a relationship and the intimate acts it entailed because such a thing didn't come naturally to him, that he merely needed time to process it all and become comfortable. Micky had been convinced that's what he had been picking up on since Christmas Eve. But apparently he'd missed an external layer to it, one with edges that were destined to cut as they moved forward.

Mike pulled in and chewed on his lip before finally deciding to give in for good, or for at least as long as Micky would want him around, which might equal about another ten seconds at most if he got what he deserved. With an unsatisfied shake of his head, he elaborated. "If you could still want me after...", the corner of his mouth pulled downward, "— an' believe me, I get why you wouldn' — the consequences ain't trivial. I don't want t' keep you from livin' your life or be the cause of your life bein' ruined." He exhaled a good portion of a pent-up ache that had situated itself between his ribs.

And to that, Micky abruptly head-butted Mike's chest with a groan, his arms loosely dangling straight down underneath him. I'm in love with this idiot, he does want me, and he would stay with me if I asked him to. He so, so wished Mike's honest explanation of what was stressing him out could have been a discussion item literally any other day before today so they could have avoided this level of turmoil. In one night, in a matter of hours, he had felt like he'd had his heart torn and mangled and then molded right back into its original form, though with some light bruising.

Mike stayed upright from the thump. He didn't know if he had the right to touch Micky anymore, so he just stood there, chest supporting the fluffy crown of Micky's head. "I'm sorry.", he repeated with a low face, mentally shaking his head at himself. I'm such a fool. I couldn't'a handled this worse.

The continuing explanation-apology notwithstanding, Micky was still almost as annoyed as he was allayed. He hated conflict. Though this was the only significant interpersonal hiccup they'd ever had in the course of knowing one another, Mike never having pulled anything like this before, it bothered Micky. He was willing to give Mike the benefit of the doubt, but he had no interest in monumental breakdowns in communication becoming a normal occurrence. In order to better think, he lifted his head, turned to the side, and ran his hands through his hair while avoiding eye contact.

Mike's mind was already set on going out of his way to never instigate such an epic misunderstanding again, no matter where he ended up sleeping tonight or any other night. If he were allowed to stay, Micky was too precious to him, and neither him nor Peter nor Davy deserved the treatment they'd put up with tonight, so he was intent on not putting them through that again. "Whatever you decide, whether you still even want me in the house or in the band or not," he looked down once more, unable to meet the brown eyes that had tracked back to his, "I hope you can forgive me.", he murmured, not sure he could be willing to forgive himself so easily. With his heart in his throat, he didn't exactly know how to live down or make up for his behavior and the hurt and confusion it had caused.

Micky had turned back to him by then. He took a deep breath, hands now at his sides, fingers fumbling around restlessly. "Look, Mike, I get that this," he flipped his palm up and moved it between them and clarified, "a relationship with me, would make you uncomfortable around other people. It is complicated, and it is risky. So I get why you're nervous, I absolutely do. Because what you said earlier is all the truth. And I'm not saying I'm not nervous too because I am. But man, you have to talk to me. You can't let it overwhelm you."

Mike wasn't sure if he heard the last of his words properly — because Micky not being regularly overwhelmed? — so his brain repeated them to him. Only superficially was he under the impression it might be the beginning of forgiveness.

But Micky knew they weren't out of the woods quite yet. Tamping down the desire to lose all self-restraint and jump back into this head first, he had to talk it through completely to be sure he could trust Mike going forward. "You can't flip out on us like this again. I need to know I can count on you not to." I need to know I can trust my heart to you.

The other man, having cleared his head so as to focus on listening better, was able to follow along in real time and nodded soberly in agreement.

"And if you do panic about something, from now on... if you think something's wrong, you'll find a way to talk to me about it before you make any rash decisions?"

Intellectually he felt about seven years old. He almost couldn't get the words out his throat felt so constricted. "I will." Micky was for once being the calm, cool, collected, and rational one; and he was right besides. He appreciated all of that and was irritated with himself all over again for not implicitly trusting Micky to keep it together.

"You won't burn rubber on us for no good reason?"

He winced. "I promise I won't."

"Never do this to me again, okay?"

He shook his head. "Never ever. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Micky clenched his teeth with an anguished look and vibrated his head back and forth. "Don't do that to me either."

"I'll try not to." Mike wanted to chuckle, but his stomach was still too tied up in knots.

"Don't think I'm not still upset with you."

"You 'n' me both."

Micky crossed his arms over his chest and deadpanned, acting as though he were really considering an alternative by drawing out a faked thought process which ended with a challenge question. "Say it again?"

He looked down at the floor like a seven-year-old one more time, altogether contrite. "I'm sorry."

Micky believed he was remorseful, certainly — Mike wouldn't have gone to the trouble of sticking around and apologizing and explaining himself as thoroughly as he had, nor would he be standing here acquiescing like he was — but further remorse wasn't what Micky was after now. A smart-ass by nature, he couldn't help but grin a bit. "That's nice, and very much appreciated, but I meant I want to hear again what you said to me in the car."

Mike looked up, and his forehead creased as he racked his brain. "I said an awful lot in the car."

Only he would think he talked too much., Micky thought to himself, his small grin turning lopsided. "What you said to me — about how you felt about me — right before Pete interrupted us." I need to hear it again for it to be real. I need it to be real.