Micky woke up and saw that it was still dark outside. The light was still on, as was the television. Peter was gently snoring, pressed up against Micky, safely wrapped in his arms. How could this have happened to him, Micky thought as tears silently slid down his cheeks. In some way, Micky felt horribly guilty for not having protected Peter from this. There was an ache in his chest and his thoughts were all muddled. Had Peter given him AIDS? How were Davy and Mike going to react to Peter's news? Could Micky be there for Peter? Could he make everything alright, like he had promised?
There were so many questions that Micky was asking himself in that moment and he had no way to answer them himself. But there was at least one person in the world who might be able to help him figure this sort of stuff out. With extreme care, Micky got up off from the couch and turned off the TV. Peter was still sleeping soundly. For a moment, Micky wondered what he was dreaming about, if he was dreaming at all. A quick glance at the nearest clock let Micky know that it was 4:30 in the morning. Mike would be up soon, in another hour or so.
Micky scooped Peter up into his arms and carried him into the bedroom that he and Davy shared. Peter wasn't all that heavy but Micky wasn't all that strong, yet nonetheless, he got the job done. As Micky tucked Peter into his bed, he nearly woke up but Micky waited a moment and Peter quickly drifted back to sleep. He must be exhausted after yesterday, Micky thought. It occurred to him then, gazing down at Peter's sleeping form, that Micky probably should be more worried about whether or not Peter had given him AIDS. He knew he should be more worried, knew he should perhaps even harbor hatred towards the blonde bassist.
Yet Micky felt none of this, not even a little bit. Micky had a gut feeling that Peter had not given him AIDS and he couldn't bring himself to hate Peter for getting it. It hadn't been his fault. It was that damn asshole George's fault. Micky knew Peter had done a lot to reduce his risk of getting it and Micky loved Peter too much to hate him for anything. But there was that ache still in Micky's chest, still all of those unanswerable questions running rampant inside of Micky's head. He exited the downstairs bedroom and made his way over to the telephone that was next to the refrigerator. Picking the phone up from its cradle, Micky dialed his sister, Coco. The phone rang on the other line once, twice, four times until someone answered.
"Hello?" the groggy voice of Micky's sister came clear through from the other end of the line.
"Morning, Coco, it's me," Micky greeted.
"Micky? What's wrong? Why are you calling me so early? Do you know what time it is?" his sister responded with a string of questions.
"Yeah, I know what time it is, and I'm sorry to be waking you like this, but I gotta talk to you Coco, I just gotta," Micky informed his sister, "Can I come over?"
There was a moment of silence before Coco said, "Sure, alright. I'll see you soon."
"Thanks, sis," Micky said before he hung up.
Micky pulled on a pair of shoes without socks and grabbed the keys to the car. He went outside to the driveway where the car was parked and clambered in. Pulling out of the driveway, Micky realized he hadn't even changed his clothes from yesterday nor had he taken a shower. But it was too late to do either of those things now. As he drove to his sister's house, which wasn't all that far away from his own home, the tears that Micky hadn't exactly shed in the pad came to him. They all knew someone who had died of AIDS. Micky had attended the funerals of two friends who had died of AIDS only two months prior, with only a week separating them. And now Peter was going to die, wasn't he?
Pulling into his sister's driveway, Micky pulled himself together, wiping away the tears with the back of his hands. He scrambled out of the car and up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. Micky knew that his sister would be able to help him out, even if it was just listening to him and holding him as he cried. Micky had come out as a homosexual to his parents when he was seventeen. Although Peter did live his life as openly gay, he had never told his parents or family. Davy fell into this category as well, with Mike still being in the closest.
Yet Micky regarded his situation as uniquely groovy because four months after Micky had told his parents about his sexuality, his sister had come out as a homosexual as well. Nick, their father, had nearly hit Coco but Micky had stepped in to take the blow. It was after that, immediately after, that their father had begun to cry and had apologized profusely to Micky for hitting him. From then on, Micky and Coco's parents had done their best to accept both of their children and they were doing a pretty spectacular job considering everything. A passing car jolted Micky out of his thoughts and just in time too, because just then Coco opened the door. It was like looking into a mirror, almost. Coco had more delicate facial features then Micky did and, although Coco had short curly brown hair much like Micky did, her hair was slightly smoother.
"Hey, Micky, come on in, I poured some coffee for us and I've got scones," his sister greeted him, leading him into her home and towards the kitchen.
Coco's home always smelled of baking brownies, even when Coco wasn't baking anything at all. Micky couldn't explain why it always smelled of baking brownies, but that's what it always smelled like. And Micky wouldn't lie, he found it such a comforting smell.
"Thanks for having me over so early, Coco," Micky said as he sat down at the kitchen table.
Coco handed him a cup of coffee, black with sugar just how he liked it, and a plate with three orange scones on it. Then she sat down next to him with a cup of her own coffee and a plate of her own orange scones.
"Course, it's no trouble," Coco informed him, taking a sip of her coffee, "You sounded upset over the phone earlier, what's wrong, Mick?"
Micky gazed down into the black depths of his cup, wondering just what he should say. How he should approach this? There wouldn't be any tiptoeing around the subject. Coco would know if he told her a lie. So he'd just have to have it out there, all out and laid on the table.
"It's Peter, Coco," Micky said after a quick gulp of the scalding liquid in his cup, "He has AIDS."
The word AIDS felt heavy and awful in his mouth, like moldy bread or vomit. Tears stung Micky's eyes again, just at the confession of saying that Peter had AIDS. But he didn't cry. Not yet. There was a silence that felt tangible between him and his sister. Micky imagined that if he so desired, he could go fetch a knife from a drawer and cut the silence into slices like fresh baked cherry pie. Micky couldn't even bare to look Coco in the eyes. Instead he just stared intensely into his coffee.
"I'm so sorry, Micky," Coco finally said to him after a moment, despite the fact that the silence felt as if it had lasted for hours, "How bad is it?"
"They, um, I don't know. Peter only told me that the doc said he had AIDS. But he doesn't even seem sick at all," Micky answered, hands clutching the mug in front of him.
"He won't seem sick till he's real sick, Mick, that's just how this disease works," Coco informed him.
Coco had dropped her dream of becoming a singer like her older brother a year or so after AIDS started to spread itself to every gay man in the country in order to be trained as a nurse. She volunteered at hospitals all over Los Angeles in order to help out as many people as she could. Although Micky would never say this to her face, he admired Coco more than anyone else in the world. There was another long stretch of silence after Coco spoke. Micky just didn't know what to say.
"Have you been tested?" once again, Coco broke the silence first.
"No, not yet," Micky admitted, "I'm going to be tested today though."
"Don't tell mom and dad about Peter until you're sure you aren't positive for HIV," Coco advised him, "They're gonna freak when they hear about Peter, but they'll be more supportive if you're not infected."
Micky knew that if his parents found out that Peter gave him AIDS, they'd be likely to kill Peter for 'ruining' their son.
"I know this is going to sound stupid, Coco, but I have this gut feeling that Peter didn't pass it on to me," Micky confessed to his sister.
"That does sound stupid," Coco agreed, "But I know you got a knack for these sort of feelings. Get tested anyways, though, just to make sure."
"Yeah," Micky nodded.
He finally picked up one of the scones on his plate and took a bite. The tangy taste of orange was subtle.
"What sort of meds is Peter on?" Coco questioned.
"Nothing yet, he only just found out yesterday. Said the doc'll be calling him about medication today," Micky replied.
"They'll probably put him on AZT, that's been the best working drug on the market. It's a son of a bitch if you have the dose too high, and the dose always gets too high, but it works pretty well," Coco guessed, finishing off her second scone, "And so, how's he holding up?"
"He's taking it really hard. He cried himself to sleep last night," the tears were pricking Micky's eyes again, "Fuck, Coco, what am I supposed to do? I can't make this better. I can't make him better."
Tears brimmed from his eyes then, he couldn't stop himself.
"Shh, it's okay, Mick, shh," Coco reached a hand over to grab Micky's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, "First, you're gonna take a deep breath, alright?"
Micky nodded and did as he was told.
"Good, that's good, Micky," Coco grinned broadly, "Okay, so the next thing you're gonna do is get tested. Let's assume that your gut feeling is right, so then you're gonna tell mom and dad about Peter so that they can help you out. You're gonna clean up your house, because germs spell infection and you have to try to keep Peter as healthy as possible. Feed him even if he's not hungry or throws it up immediately after. Peter's gonna lose a lot of weight, wasting syndrome always happens. Take care of yourself and make sure you or Mike or Davy stay away from Peter if any of you guys get sick."
Micky listened patiently to Coco talk, nodding his head occasionally to indicate that he was understanding what his sister was telling him.
"But most of all," Coco continued, "You have to keep living your life, Micky, both of you. All four of you. You can't let AIDS end living, because it's already gonna be robbing Peter of a good chunk of his life. He may beat it, but if he doesn't at least try to live life while he's in the thick of it, hope's already gonna be gone. Don't lose hope."
"I won't let him," Micky promised, a sob nearly overtaking him.
Coco squeezed his hand again, offering Micky a warm smile.
"Small victories, Mick, small victories and take in one day at a time when things get too overwhelming," Coco said gently.
Micky nodded and gulped down the last of his coffee.
"I gotta get home," Micky told Coco as he sat his empty cup down onto the table, "Peter's going to be telling Davy and Mike the news this morning and I want to be there for him."
"Hold on a second, you should bring the rest of the gang some of these scones. You make sure that Peter especially eats them," Coco stood up and quickly grabbed a glass container from a cupboard.
In a matter of minutes, Micky had said goodbye to his sister and was heading back to the pad with a dozen orange scones in the passenger's seat. Everything that Coco had told him had replaced the questions but there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind. What if his gut feeling was wrong? What if Peter had given him AIDS? As Micky pulled into the driveway of the pad, he decided that it wouldn't matter either way no matter what his test result turned out to be. By the time Micky was reentering the pad, the sun had already risen into the sky and two hours had passed. Once inside, Micky found Davy cooking in the kitchen and the shower was running. Mike was in there, Micky guessed.
"Hey, Micky, where've you been?" Davy asked as he poured pancake batter into a skillet on the stove.
"Oh, I, um, I was just visiting with my sister," Micky replied as he headed for the kitchen table, placing the scones she had given him onto the wooden tabletop, "She even sent me home with some food."
"You were visiting Coco? When did you leave, like five? It's seven now, I didn't think you'd be cable of getting up so early," Davy chuckled.
"Ha, yeah," Micky tried to muster his humorous spirit but there was nothing to draw from.
"Well, we can have pancakes and scones for breakfast then," Davy grinned.
Micky glanced around the pad again, nodding absentmindedly just so that Davy knew he was still listening.
"Is Peter up yet?" he asked.
"Um, I don't think so," replied Davy, "You should go wake him up, the pancakes will be ready any minute now."
The door to the bathroom opened and Mike stepped out fully dressed, dirty PJs bundled in his arms. He headed upstairs to deposit them in a clothes basket that would be taken to the laundromat in two days time. Micky watched him go, nerves suddenly overtaking him.
"Yeah, I'll go wake up Peter," he absentmindedly agreed with Davy and then disappeared into the downstairs bedroom.
Shutting the door behind him, Micky saw that Peter was still sleeping, the covers pulled up to his chin. Micky knelt down beside his bed and shook him.
"Peter, it's time to wake up," Micky said gently.
"Hmm?" Peter cracked his eyes open.
"Morning, sleepy head," Micky offered Peter a small smile.
"Good morning," Peter said as he sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
"Davy's making pancakes and we've got some scones," Micky informed the blonde, eying him as he clambered out of bed.
He still didn't look any different, and with a good night's sleep Micky couldn't even tell he had been crying last night. He just looked like normal, everyday Peter. How could he be sick? It seemed impossible. Maybe the doctor who'd tested him yesterday was wrong. Maybe Peter wasn't sick after all.
"Oh, alright," Peter nodded and began undressing, "So him and Mike are up?"
"Yes," Micky answered.
Peter pulled on a flowy white shirt and a pair of jeans.
"I guess this is it then," Peter sighed and Micky saw the defeated look on his face. It just about broke Micky's heart.
All throughout breakfast, Peter was quiet. So was Micky. For some unknown reason, anger boiled underneath Peter's skin at the fact that Micky wasn't trying to put on a smiling face. Davy and Mike obviously noticed something was wrong and Peter couldn't help but blame Micky. It was irrational, but everything felt like it was slowly slipping away. Micky and Mike quickly did the dishes and while this was occurring, Davy cleared his throat.
"Did you guys have a fight or something, you and Micky?" he asked Peter.
A bubble of laughter rose in Peter. Why? He wasn't sure. Peter saw Micky give him a worried look, a look that Peter didn't bother to decode. He couldn't put it off for any longer.
"Yesterday I went to see my friend George and it turns out he has AIDS," Peter began, once again deciding to start from the very beginning, "I got tested."
The only thing Peter could hear after he finished speaking was the running sink water and the pounding of blood in his ears.
"I got tested," he started again, "And the results came back as positive. I…"
But the shaking in his voice cut him off. He needed to compose himself. Eyes fixed to the table in front of him, the only noise that of the sink water and pounding blood, Peter finished his sentence, "I have AIDS."
The tears came again, much like they had last night when he had told Micky. Every so often, Peter would quietly gasp for air as he was attempting to keep himself together. He heard the water shut off and Peter gripped the table. Why wasn't anyone else saying something? Why hadn't Mike or Davy made a comment? Why was it suddenly so silent?
"Fuck, Peter, I'm so sorry," Davy's soft voice finally broke the silence.
Peter felt Davy take a hold of his hands from across the table, giving them a gentle squeeze.
"Why are you sorry?" Mike demanded then, but it was in a very quiet voice.
It caused Peter to look up. Mike was still by the sink, facing the window that was above it. His back was towards Peter and Davy. Micky was giving him an odd look. Davy didn't answer, presumably because he was just as confused as Peter.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Micky asked the collective question that was running through all three Monkees' heads.
"It means Peter got what was comin' to him," Mike explained.
"What?" Peter frowned, the tears momentarily stopping due to confusion.
"I told ya, when this whole fucking thing started, that you needed to quit your fucking around!" Mike shouted then, whirling around to face Peter, "Now God's struck ya with the gay plague because you're an unfaithful faggot. You've probably given it to me and to Micky and Davy. For Christ's sake, Peter, why the fuck would you get it?"
"I didn't fucking chose to get AIDS, Michael!" Peter yelled right back, the tears starting up again at hearing such awful things from such a close friend.
"If you didn't want to get it, you woulda stopped fucking around," Mike insisted.
"Peter didn't fuck around. Shut the hell up!" Micky countered, "Davy sleeps around, too, and you're not yelling at him."
"Yeah, well Davy didn't get AIDS, now did he?" Mike snapped.
"I'm just as much at risk for AIDS as Peter is, Mike," Davy pointed out.
"Well it don't matter now, 'cause we're all going to die thanks to Peter," Mike seethed.
"I'm so sorry, fuck, I'm so sorry," Peter broke down then, the sobs doubling him over, "I never meant for this to happen, I'm so sorry."
Just as Peter glanced up, he saw Micky throw a fist aimed right at Mike's face. It hit a little off target, connecting with Mike's cheek instead of chin, and it sent Mike stumbling backwards.
"Don't you dare say something like that! Just because you're a closeted faggot gives you no right to talk to Peter like that!" Micky shouted.
"Stop it!" Davy exclaimed, quickly leaping from his seat to jam himself in between Mike and Micky just as Mike was readying himself for a counter attack, "Just stop it, both of you!"
Peter felt helpless, useless, and most of all, he felt disgusted with himself.
"Mike's right," he announced to his three friends, his voice cracking, "He's right. I didn't do enough to lower my risks. I… I'll never forgive myself if I passed anything onto any of you."
"It's alright, Peter," Micky assured him then, but it all sounded so fake, "Look, we'll all go down to the hospital and get tested today and we'll go from there."
"I'm sorry," Peter found himself saying once more. It felt as if he couldn't say he was sorry enough.
"If you gave any of us your sickness, I'll never let you live it down," Mike huffed before storming upstairs.
Peter watched Mike go and felt as if every ounce of strength left the room with the Texan. He slumped down in his chair as Micky held Davy as he cried. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? Why was this happening to him? It was all so unfair. The next hour or so felt heavy and blanketed. As if Peter were moving through time while someone else was cutting it in half. He sat in the back with Davy, who clung to Peter's hand as if his life depended on it. Micky drove the car, while Mike sat in the passenger's seat. He didn't even look at Peter, not once.
Dr. Cole and a very kind nurse tested Peter's friends. Mike left the hospital for most of the day while the tests were being ran. Micky and Davy sat in the waiting room, Micky talking on and on about nothing in an attempt to calm Davy's nerves. While all of this went on, Dr. Cole took Peter aside.
"Have you experienced anything unusual, health wise? Such as headaches, vomiting, trouble breathing," he asked.
"No," Peter replied, his whole body feeling numb.
No health troubles, he had only just ruined his friends' lives.
"Alright, well, I'm going to be putting you on AZT at the end of this week. You'll have to stop by to pick up your prescription this Friday morning and it'll be a fairly small dose to start with," Dr. Cole informed Peter.
"Will it help?" Peter asked.
"It's been doing wonders for a lot of patients, but it does have some side effects," Dr. Cole answered.
"Thank you," the word felt disgusting. Peter walked back into the waiting room and sat down next to Davy, who immediately grabbed onto Peter's hand.
By the time the test results had come back, Mike had reappeared from wherever he had gone. All of their tests came back as negative. None of them were HIV positive or diagnosed with AIDS.
"You're all clean," Dr. Cole beamed before excusing himself.
Peter felt so relieved, it was almost dizzying. He watched as Davy hugged Micky before leaping up and hugging Mike.
"Oh, thank god," Micky grinned, "I knew we'd be fine. Just like you'll be, Peter."
Peter felt Micky wrap an arm around his shoulder.
"It don't change what Peter could have done to us," Mike said, "It don't change the fact that Peter asked for this, and if y'all ain't careful, you'll get it too."
"Mike, please, don't be like this," Davy begged.
But Peter didn't blame Mike for his words. In some way, Peter agreed with Mike. He hadn't really tried to get rid of all high risk behaviors out of his life. He hadn't been satisfied with just Micky's partnership. Hell, Peter hadn't even been satisfied with Davy and Mike's partnership on top of Micky's. He had to go out and have his fun. And now here was the consequence. Maybe Peter did deserve this. He was damn lucky that he hadn't infected Micky, let alone the others. Damn lucky.
"It's fine," Peter cut in, before another fight broke out between Mike and Micky, "Mike has a point and he has a right to say whatever he wants."
For the first time since that morning, Mike looked at Peter. Peter avoided Mike's gaze.
"Look, I'll see y'all at home, I'm going out," Mike announced, tossing Micky the keys to the car.
"Where are you going?" Davy asked.
"Out," Mike simply replied before disappearing down the hospital hallway.
Peter looked down at his hands. They felt dirty and bloodied, despite the lack of actual dirt and blood. He must have gone into some sort of daze because the next moment Davy was shaking Peter gently.
"Hey, you alright?" he was asking.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I just… was thinking. I'm tired," Peter wasn't entirely sure what to say. He wasn't alright. Nothing was alright.
"I bet," Micky brushed his hand against Peter's arm, "Let's head home. Hospitals give me the creeps."
Peter nodded his agreement and stood up. Both Davy and Micky took a hold of Peter's hands. It was a gesture that Peter hadn't expected but very much appreciated. In that moment, as the three of them walked out of the hospital and towards the car in the parking lot, Peter felt as if maybe this whole situation wouldn't be the end of it all. That perhaps there was a future that he could look forward to, one that didn't involve a fast approaching death.
Mike had called up the only person he could think of who he could talk to right now on a nearby pay-phone. Besides his roommates and an odd triste at the bathhouse now and again, Mike didn't associate with any homosexual aspects of life and these were the only people who knew about Mike's preference. All except one other man. Before moving in with his friends, Mike had temporarily lived with another up and coming country singer named John Denver. He had been a very nice man and a long time ago the two of them had had one special night they called their own. The day after, Mike informed John that he wasn't gay and John had told Mike that it was just fun and there wasn't any harm in what had happened. But he'd keep the night to himself if that was what Mike wanted and of course, that's what Mike wanted.
He couldn't recall what he had said to John over the phone but ten minutes later, John was pulling up to the curb nearby the pay-phone. Mike clambered into the passenger's seat, buckled up, and John began to drive back to his home. For a little while, they just sat in silence. Mike felt so numb, so drained, he wasn't even sure if he could speak.
"What happened?" John finally broke the silence after a solid eleven minutes. He didn't take his eyes off the road.
"Everything's fallen apart, John," Mike's voice cracked as he spoke and tears stung his eyes.
John didn't reply, he merely waited for Mike to go on.
"Peter told us this morning that he has AIDS. I… I said some real nasty things to him, John, ugly things that I ain't never gonna be able to take back. Not ever. All 'cause I was damn scared we was all gonna die thanks to him spreading it to us," Mike did continue after a moment, "He's the only one who's got it though, me and Mick and Davy, we're all clean."
"Did you apologize to Peter?" John wondered. Still, he did not take his eyes off the road.
A wave of regret and embarrassment washed over Mike at that question.
"No, I didn't, but it doesn't matter whether I do or don't. He ain't ever gonna forgive me and I don't blame him one bit," Mike answered after a moment, trying to keep his voice steady but the tears began to stream down his face involuntarily, "I told him that he deserved what he got. I told him to his face that he got what was comin' to him and I ain't ever gonna be able to take that back."
Again, John did not say anything. He took a turn and Mike realized that they were only a few short minutes away from John's house. John waited for Mike to continue, much like before.
"I fucked it all up, all 'cause I was so fucking scared. Too scared to see how Pete's gotta be feeling. I messed it all up, John. Micky even hit me," Mike rested his head on his hands which were on the dashboard, silent sobs causing him to shake slightly.
John pulled into his garage and took the keys out of the ignition.
"Well, I'm certainly not going to say that what you did was in any way really justified. You did deserve a good smack," he began with such a sure voice that Mike lifted his head and wiped the tears and snot from his face, "But I also won't say that I agree with you. People make mistakes, Michael, that's just how life is. And as soon as I drive you home tomorrow, you'll apologize to Peter and I can say with confidence that he will forgive you."
Mike looked at John, trying to pull himself together, back into the stoic man he liked to play when around anyone. But no matter how hard he tried, that man was lost at the moment. Mike's shoulders slumped forward.
"C'mon then, let's go have a drink, Michael," John instructed Mike before clambering out of the car.
Mike did the same and followed John into his kitchen, where he flicked the lights on and opened a cabinet. Mike took a seat at the oak table that dominated the middle of the room and watched as John brought over a bottle of whiskey and two small glasses. Conversation topics seemed lost and, if Mike had to be honest, a pointless farce in light of the matter. John filled both of the small glasses and nudged one over to Mike.
"Thanks," Mike said before tipping the alcohol into his mouth.
It burned yet it felt good. The numbing sensation that Michael had felt since the hospital, perhaps even before then, began to ebb away as the amber liquid worked its way into his body.
"So how bad is Peter's diagnosis?" John asked after a moment as he refilled Mike's glass.
"I… I dunno. He… he doesn't seem sick, not a bit," Mike answered before taking a sip of his replenished drink.
"Michael, you gotta be there for him," John said as he nursed his own drink.
There was a flash of anger that bolted through Mike. What was John trying to get at?
"Of course I'll be there for him," Mike snapped, "I love… him."
Mike's words trailed off as he realized what he was saying. Every time he was with another man or even remotely allowed himself to entertain the idea of loving another man, there was a knee jerk reaction in which Michael scolded himself for ever allowing those sort of thoughts to enter his mind.
"I know you do, Michael, but you gotta realize that Peter can't have Michael Nesmith, southern bible preacher, screamin' in his face about how God's cutting him down for liking cock," John pointed out, "He needs Michael Nesmith, the kind and gentle man, who isn't afraid to stand by his partner proudly, without guilt or fear, 'sides the fear of his partner dying."
Mike knocked back the rest of his drink and glowered into the empty glass. Of course John was right. It wasn't as if this whole hellish ordeal was asking him to come out of the closet completely, but it was asking him to do more than repent for his sins. It was asking him to try harder to accept himself as he was, or at least that was how Mike was interpreting all of this. With a heavy sigh, Mike took the bottle of whiskey and poured himself a third glass.
"How do you do it, John?" Mike asked.
"Do what?" John frowned.
"You still dating that brunette?" Mike queried.
"Ya, but Annie and I've only seen each other twice now," answered John.
"Well… how do you do that? You've been with men before and then women, I just… Davy's the same puzzling complication too. How can anyone love men and women, let alone just loving men?" Mike hit back his third drink.
John refilled his glass, despite the fact that it wasn't all that empty.
"You worry too much about what other people think, how they view you. It don't matter what anyone else thinks, as long as you're happy," he said after a moment.
Mike rubbed his temples, shutting his eyes as tightly as he possibly could. The guilt over what he had said to Peter was gnawing happily away at him. He felt John take a firm grip on one of his hands.
"Michael, I know you're scared. But everything's going to be okay," John murmured, "You gotta believe that."
The house seemed oddly silent and Mike wondered how he was still breathing, his chest felt so constricted for no legitimate reason. He opened his eyes to look at John. A strand of his dirty brown hair was flopped in front of his face and he looked just as young as when Mike had first met him, despite the sizeable long stretch of years since their first encounter had occurred.
"How can it be okay, John? He's gonna die an' there's nothin' I can do about it," the words were uttered in barely a whisper, Mike just couldn't bring himself to speak any louder.
"Nah," John gave Mike a half smile and a shake of his head, "Peter'll be alright, you'll see. And you're gonna be there for him the whole time. You, Davy, and Micky. All four of ya will be alright."
John moved closer to Mike, placing an arm around his shoulder and leaning in close, mouth almost brushing against Mike's cheek.
"And I'll be there for you the whole way. It'll be alright, Michael, don't you worry," John told Mike firmly, "You'll see."
Mike felt his heart sped up, his pulse elevating, as John leaned in just a little more closer and pressed his lips against Mike's cheek. Turning his head a fraction of an inch, Mike kissed John back.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Again, this fic is not trying to make light of AIDS and I'd also like to say that I am by no means a historian or a doctor, so if there are any medical inaccuracies throughout this chapter and future chapters, I apologize. I did my best to be as accurate as a high school student can be. Feel free to leave a review or a favorite, both are very much appreciated. And again, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, another one is on it's way. Have a wonderful day!