There hadn't been anything memorable about Micky's dream last night, so much so that when he awoke, Micky wondered if he had dreamt at all. Weak sunlight poured in from the window, the blinds only half shut. The rays made the room feel cozy, if not a little cold. Bringing a hand up to run through his hair, Micky glanced next to him. Mike, fully dressed and hair looking an absolute mess, was sprawled out next to him, snoring softly. He'd stayed the whole night. Micky felt a pang of love, or perhaps it was adoration, for the lanky guitarist. He really had stayed with him the whole night. Micky hadn't expected that. Memories of last night floated inside of his head and there was the gnawing feeling of guilt still inside of him. But for a moment, lying there next to Mike, Micky felt that he could pretend that it all was okay. Lying there, looking at Mike, Micky felt as if nothing could hurt him. He was an impenetrable fortress, protected by such a valiant knight. Everything could be okay, in this moment, if he just stayed there. If he never moved.
For a long while, probably around thirty minutes, Micky just looked between the ceiling and Mike's sleeping form. No thoughts ran through his head, he just laid there, soaking in this quiet moment. God knew what the rest of the day held, especially in regards to Davy's homecoming. Micky would have to tell Davy today, if he seemed alright enough. If Davy seemed too broken up about his grandfather's passing, Micky would just have to wait a day or so, but he hoped Davy was alright enough for Micky to tell him. Micky wanted to get this over with. He still had to figure out when to tell Peter. And his sister. And his family. The thought of telling Peter was unbearable. The thought of telling anyone was unbearable. And the worst part was that Micky almost felt the urge to scream this news at the top of his lungs, for everyone to hear. Why should it matter if he had it now? He was bound to get it anyways, one way or another. So no one should be surprised or upset. Why should he hide this? He could tell Peter today even. But… no, no that's not what Micky wanted. He had to go about this the right way, for his own sanity at the very least.
Micky sighed. There was no use in thinking such things anyways. His fingers absentmindedly twirled strands of his hair, his mind wandering to nothing in particular. Eventually, Mike stirred next to him. The Texan sat up, arms stretching high above his head as he yawned. Micky froze, waiting to see what Mike said or did. The guitarist rolled off the bed and began undressing himself. He didn't seem to notice that Micky was awake. Quietly rolling onto his side, Micky watched as Mike got dressed, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a flannel that Peter had given him four birthdays ago. As Micky watched Mike pulling on the jeans, slipping his arms through the sleeves of the flannel, he realized something. Why was he so hung up about the future? He should be enjoying the time he had now, time he could spend with Peter. Mike. Davy. With all three of them. Who knew how much time he had left with them, especially Peter, so why should he spend that time hung up about anything at this point? He could worry about the future, or the lack thereof, later. When the first infection came. When he couldn't hide anything anymore. It didn't matter when he decided to worry about the future. All that mattered right now, in this moment, was enjoying the present. This thought overtook him with a feeling of calm, a feeling of power almost. He couldn't help but smile. He felt control of his life, which was a marked improvement over how he had felt about things last night.
"Nice ass," Micky smirked.
It was not the time to mope around, to feel sorry for himself. Now was the time to live. He'd tell Davy, his family, Peter. But he wouldn't let any of them think he'd be slowing down. Micky wouldn't let this change him like… like Peter. The thought sent a stab of guilt through Micky's chest. How could he have thought such a thing. But there it was. Already thought. He didn't want to end up like Peter. It was time to stop thinking that. Micky didn't need to think about that right now. It made him too uncomfortable.
"What?" Mike's frowned response cut through Micky's thoughts.
He had turned around to face Micky, hands absently buttoning up the flannel and his brows furrowed together. Micky sat up in bed, scooching towards the edge so that his feet were dangling an inch or so off the ground.
"I said," Micky tried to keep his face straight, although he was pretty sure that his efforts were in vain, all bad thoughts expelled from his mind. "Nice ass you got there, Nesmith."
A pink flush crept high into Mike's cheeks, betraying his cool exterior. He stumbled on the last button on the flannel. It struck Micky as really adorable.
"Why are you so shocked?" Micky chuckled, clambering off the bed so that he was standing.
He stretched his arms a little, wondering if maybe he'd gone too far with such a comment. Perhaps it was too soon for Mike. Maybe this was the last sort of thing Mike wanted to hear. But it didn't make any sense, did it. Micky had said crazier things in the past, even during Mike's heavily closeted period. Hadn't he? Micky couldn't entirely remember but anyways, Mike had never had a huge issue with those comments before. Maybe Mike wasn't out enough for Micky to talk about his ass this casually. Maybe it was because Micky was positive.
"I…," Micky observed how Mike clenched his jaw, how there was a flicker of some undetermined emotion behind Mike's eyes.
His shoulders slumped a little, fingers deftly buttoning up the last of the buttons, as if he had just given up on trying to figure out what he wanted to say or had forgotten something he was going to say. For a moment, the guitarist seemed tense but he quickly relaxed.
"Nothing, you're just a big goof," Mike shrugged halfheartedly, flashing Micky a smile.
The smile at least seemed genuine. Micky bounced out of bed and grabbed onto Mike's shoulders, pressing their lips together in a soft embrace. Even though he hadn't washed up from last night, Mike still smelled strongly of ivory soap and that awful aftershave he used. Micky couldn't quite remember what it was called, but a friend of Davy's had given it to Davy two Christmas's ago and Davy had never used it so Mike, being the one never to want anything to go to waste, 'borrowed' it once and hadn't stop using it since. In this brief moment though, Micky thought it was probably the best smelling aftershave he had ever smelt, despite that not really being true. They parted only a moment later, each making their way out of the bedroom, one after the other. Mike beelined for the bathroom while Micky started the coffee. The morning was spent chatting aimlessly while drinking coffee. At one point, Mike made toast for the both of them. Raspberry jelly for Micky and marmalade for Mike. Two pieces each. Micky's was slightly burnt, Mike doing this on purpose because Micky had a weird liking for burnt toast. It'd been a habit of his since childhood, something he had never quite grown out of. After toast and coffee, Mike cleaned up while Micky raced upstairs to get dressed into some proper clothes. He wouldn't want to go to the hospital dressed in PJs, even though technically his PJs right now were actually yesterday's clothes.
The drive to the hospital was, at this point, so familiar that Micky felt as if he could drive the route with his eyes closed. Maybe he could even bet some money on it. Around five dollars maybe. Maybe a little less. After all, he wasn't made out of money. Plus he could always crash. Micky was confident, but not entirely. Mike had the radio cranked up the whole time, both front windows rolled down so that Micky's curls whipped his face. It was beautiful out today. It almost made Micky sad because they couldn't check Peter out of the hospital right then and there. There were still two more days to wait. But he'd be out soon enough, Micky reminded himself. And soon enough was better than never. Micky noted that it was quiet at the hospital that morning. He and Mike walked to Peter's room, hand in hand, without passing by anyone else. When they got there, they found Peter asleep. For about half an hour, all Peter did was sleep. Mike and Micky talked about nothing in particular, with a little bit of the conversation trained on when they'd swing by the airport to pick Davy up. Then a nurse named Jolene came in, her face brightening up when she saw Mike and Micky. Although they had become friendly with several staff here at the hospital, there were only a few nurses that Micky could remember the names of. Jolene was one of them because Micky saw a lot of himself in her. Or at least that's what he told himself. She was a very nice older woman, with an kind bedside manner.
"Howdy, fellas," she grinned, coming in and checking Peter's chart.
"Morning, Jolene," Mike replied.
"How're the rounds?" Micky piped up.
"Alright," Jolene answered, "Though they'll be better when this one's out of here. All he does is talk my ear off about when he'll be let out."
She jabbed a painstakingly painted finger at Peter. Micky noted the dark shades of her fingernails, wondering if she had had them done professionally or had just done them herself. If she had done them herself, Micky wondered how she ever ended up being a nurse. There was a hidden talent in her. Then again, he added, his sister had the voice of an angel and yet she had decided to abandon a music career in favor of a career in medicine.
"We're as eager as he is to get him home," Mike said, his face crinkled into a smile.
"You're a saint, Jolene, for putting up with our little princess," Micky cooed.
"Flattery will get you nowhere in life," Jolene deadpanned before flashing the duo a quick smile as she disappeared into the hallway with a drifting goodbye.
A few minutes later, Peter stirred from his sleep. He sat up in bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the palms of his hands. Micky thought he looked particularly adorable this morning. He fought the urge to get up and kiss him. Instead, he plastered on a smile.
"Morning, sunshine," he said.
"What time is it?" Peter frowned.
"Almost 11:40," Mike answered without missing a beat.
How'd he know that so quickly, Micky wondered. He glanced around to see if there was a clock and realized that there was an alarm clock right there on the bedside table. Micky felt a little stupid.
"Well then," Peter smirked, eying Micky, "It's really good almost afternoon."
"If you're trying to make me feel small, you needn't try," Micky huffed in good humor.
Mike gave him a light hearted punch on the shoulder, causing Peter to giggle. Micky beamed. It was good to hear Peter laugh. He couldn't wait to hear Peter laugh in his own home. The pad seemed far too empty without Peter. It was worse without Davy. They needed to stick together, like a family. Micky's mind wandered until Mike nudged him in the ribs with his elbow.
"What?" Micky asked, not having heard anything Mike had been saying.
"What time was Davy's plane again?" Mike repeated.
"Oh," Micky searched his memory for the time, "Around one."
"So you can stay here for another hour," Peter cheered, grinning broadly.
"Yup," Micky nodded his agreement.
There was a brief moment of silence, Peter gazing down at the blankets of the hospital bed. Micky wondered if they were very comfortable. Peter had never complained but they could still be uncomfortable. Why would they be uncomfortable though? Then Peter spoke.
"Do you guys know how the funeral went?" he asked.
"Davy said it was good," Mike replied.
Mike had been the one to answer the phone yesterday afternoon, when Davy had called to uptake them on what was happening. Micky had felt a little cheated, since he hadn't had a chance to speak to Davy. But perhaps that was for the best. Micky wasn't sure if he could have kept it together over the phone.
"What'd he say?" Peter pressed.
"Well," Mike shifted in his seat, "He said it was good. It was a little sad at the actual funeral but when he and his cousins went back to his grandpa's house, they held a birthday party."
"A birthday party?" Micky frowned, having not heard this information before.
Why would they hold a birthday party after a funeral? That didn't make much sense, at least it didn't make much sense to Micky.
"Yup," Mike nodded, "It's what was dictated in his grandpa's will. He wanted them to celebrate his death as if it were a birthday party. Davy said it was pretty nice, a nice break."
Micky was torn between feeling uncomfortable about the subject of death and finding the whole idea funny. It was a different sort of funeral, nothing like what Micky had been expecting. Probably not was Davy had been expecting either. But it seemed like something Davy's grandpa probably would have done.
"I like that," Peter grinned and Micky saw the light in his eyes brighten up his face, "You guys could do that for me."
"Do what?" Mike frowned, seemingly confused as to what Peter was referring to.
Or maybe he did know but didn't want to know. Micky knew what Peter was referring to. And Micky didn't necessarily want to acknowledge it himself. He wanted to live in ignorance for now, with no thought to the future save a day or two. He couldn't blame Mike if he knew, but didn't want to know. Wish he didn't know. Like Micky did. The subject of death should be avoided after all.
"Have a party after my funeral," Peter replied without much hesitation, a broad smile dominating his face. "After you get back here to L.A. of course."
Micky could tell that the idea excited Peter. The way his eyes were sparkling, his whole body buzzing with energy. A stab of something, perhaps grief or longing for what was, spread its way through Micky's chest. Seeing Peter like this, excited as a puppy presented with its first snow, reminded Micky of how he got when he had a new song in his head. That was how Peter looked right now and Micky almost couldn't stand it. How was he ever supposed to tell Peter that he'd given Micky AIDS? How was he supposed to cope with watching Peter slowly drift away? Panic began to consume Micky but the rational voice in the back of his head forced him to take a deep breath. Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Repeat. It wouldn't help to worry about the future, a future that Micky had no way to predict. It was better to stay in the moment. And at this very moment, Peter was excited and happy. So Micky might as well be the same, or at least some variation of it. Micky's thoughts returned back to the present just in time to for Peter to continue.
"You could have music and balloons, oh, and cake! An ice cream cake, because that's my favorite. And you could invite my sister and her family, I'd want someone to give the kids gifts, and you could invite Coco and Beth. Maybe some of our friends, too. Like Donny. Or Jacob and Jordan, they could come," the gaze in Peter's eyes had shifted slightly so his gaze looked starry-eyed and far off.
It reminded Micky of how Davy looked when he was really hung up on a chick or some guy. Why it reminded him of that, Micky wasn't entirely sure, but what did it matter in the end.
"Shit man, you'll have to write this all down sometime, but sure, we can throw you a big bash," Micky grinned.
Peter looked absolutely delighted. It gave Micky a warm feeling that spread throughout his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. But Micky was also aware of the concerned glare Mike was giving him. The topic of such a happy celebration for such a depressing occasion probably was not sitting well with Mike. It was barely sitting well with Micky.
"Yeah, we sure can," Mike agreed, despite the look and slightly pained tone of voice.
"Could we have a clown?" Peter smirked, one eyebrow arched.
Mike was in the process of replying with an affirmative when Micky realized what Peter was up to and quickly interrupted the guitarist. Peter hated clowns. So did Micky.
"Now that's where I try the line, young man," Micky huffed, his chest puffed out and his voice in a comically low tone, the lowest possible tone he could get his voice to manage. "After all, clowns are the number one party offenders in this here grand ole country of ours, the US of A."
This caused Peter to burst into a fit of laughter. Mike's brows furrowed together once more, this time his confusion caused by Micky's response. Of course, Mike wouldn't understand it. Micky was playing a character, a police office aptly named Officer Man. Officer Man was a no sense, American loving slave to the law and only ever came out to strut his stuff when Micky was quite high and horny. Obviously, Micky was neither high nor horny, but at this point, Micky would do anything for Peter. Even pull out Officer Man in a situation when he typically wouldn't.
"What's so funny?" Mike asked.
This made Peter laugh even harder and Micky's face flushed a deep red. He quickly had to explain to Mike the background of Officer Man. In a turn of events that Micky hadn't expected, Mike pretended to be quite upset that Micky had never shown him his Officer Man act, which only served to keep Peter in hysterics. The rest of the hour Mike and Micky spent at the hospital was filled with chatter. Micky was relieved to see Peter so full of energy. It might have been his imagination but Micky felt as if Peter seemed better than he had during his good weeks prior to this hospitalization. Maybe he was going to beat this thing after all. Eventually, Mike and Micky said goodbye to Peter, promising to come see him later that evening. Peter waved goodbye and then the duo drove to the airport. They waited for about half an hour until Davy's plane finally landed and the short singer appeared in the crowd with his carry-on luggage. Micky waved Davy down and then the three of them embraced, all at once. It felt good not to care if anyone gave them weird looks. It was too good to see Davy again to care about looks.
"It feels like it's been forever since we saw you last," Micky commented as Mike pulled away from the airport, heading back to the pad.
He was sat in the back of the car, while Davy was in the passenger's side and Mike in the driver's seat.
"It's only been two days, not even really that," Davy threw Micky a skeptical look from over his shoulder.
Micky leaned forward so that his face was right between Mike and Davy. The joy of seeing Davy again was still filling him with excitement. The fear and dread of having to tell Davy about his diagnosis was almost all but forgotten. For this car ride, at any rate.
"Well, I know that, but I just missed you so much," Micky said.
"Yeah, it's been weird not having you around," Mike agreed.
"I'm glad to be home," Davy grinned, turning Micky's head just slightly so that he could kiss him. "I missed you lot while I was gone. Far too much, I'm thinking. Anyways, I'll be relieved to see Peter."
Micky caught Mike giving him a weird glance in the rearview mirror. It caused his smile to falter slightly, but only slightly. Micky felt too good to let a weird look from Mike to bring him down. But he understand what the look was for and, unfortunatley, Micky also knew that it was time to start implementing
"Mike and I, we were thinking that he could stay at the hospital tonight, with Peter, while I help you get settled in back home," Micky did his best to speak clearly.
It felt too weird to ask Davy to stay home tonight. To prevent him from going to see Peter today. But Mike had convinced Micky that it was probably the best way. If Micky delivered the news to Davy before he went to see Peter, Davy might rat Micky out. And if Micky didn't tell Davy soon, he knew he'd lose the nerve to do so.
"With you gone, me and Micky have been talking his ear off. He's quite tired today and we both decided it might be best for him if he has a quiet night tonight," Mike added, almost as if to assure Davy that this plan was legitimate, "If you go see him later on, all he'll want to do is ask you about everything that happened."
Micky couldn't see Davy's face very well, so he wasn't entirely sure what the little man was thinking. There was a ball of anxiety slowly starting to grow inside of Micky's guts.
"Alright," Davy finally said, "You're probably right. But, first thing in the morning I'm going to be off to see him. And I'll willingly tell him every detail of my trip."
"He'll like that very much, I'm expecting," Mike nodded.
The rest of the drive back to the pad was done so in relative silence. By the time they got home, Micky was starving. He made lunch while Davy unpacked his carry-on bag and Mike took a shower. They ate in front of the TV, even though there wasn't anything really on save a couple of kids cartoons. Still, it was entertaining enough and, besides, anything to keep Micky's mind off of what was about to happen was a godsend. After they were all finished eating, Micky cleaned up the dishes, with a little bit of help from Davy. Then Mike suggested they go for a walk on the beach. Davy was overjoyed at this suggestion and so the three of them made their way down to the beach below their house. The sun, despite slowly beginning to sink below the horizon, shone brightly down upon the earth, making the sand fairly hot. No one was really on the beach at this hour, save a couple of families and a man playing fetch with his border collie. Micky decided to sit on the sand, right where the waves could lap at his feet. Meanwhile, Davy and Mike walked down the beach. It was nice to steal a moment for himself, and only himself. The setting sun looked so beautiful as it seemed to sink behind the vast ocean. Micky wished he had brought his camera with him so he could take a picture. He'd been compiling another photo album, a lot of the pictures being that of Mike and Davy, along with quite a few pictures of Peter in the hospital. It was really coming together but flipping through some of the pages made Micky's insides squirm. Why was he taking pictures of Peter like that?
The answer, of course, was relatively simple. To remember this time. Micky didn't want to forget a single thing that happened to him, and that included the things that happened to his partners. Because there would probably come a day when Micky wouldn't be able to ask one of them what happened on this or that day. He'd have to remember himself and having the photographic proof made things easier for him to remember. Perhaps Peter would beat AIDS after all. Maybe they'd get a miracle. And then Peter could flip through the albums Micky had compiled and see how far he had come. They could laugh about it a little, maybe. Micky buried his feet into the soft, wet sand and wriggled them, allowing for the sand to fall between his toes. Maybe they'd have to take a trip to Europe sometime soon. Wasn't that where everyone always wanted to go? It would be a chance for Micky, Mike, and Peter to meet some of Davy's family, if they started or ended in England. Peter would probably like France. Or they could go to Greece. Or maybe some tropical island. Micky wondered where Peter would like to travel. One more big adventure before the biggest adventure of his life. It could be nice, to go on a romantic getaway with his three lovers. It could be the honeymoon after their very unofficial marriage. Micky laid himself down on the sand and closed his eyes, letting his mind drum up images of this traveling daydream.
He must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing he knew, Davy was prodding him awake. It was dusk, the darkness quickly encompassing the world. Mike helped Micky to his feet, dusting the sand off his back for him. They went back up to the pad and Davy heated up some soup as Micky took a shower. It felt good to clean himself, taking extra time to shampoo his hair thoroughly. Dinner was eaten at the table, Mike and Davy recounting the beach walk Micky had sat out on. They had seen a lot of pelicans and possibly a dolphin, but the verdict on that sighting was still out there. Micky cleaned up the dishes again, this time on his own. Davy got into the shower and Mike left to go spend the night with Peter at the hospital. Micky knew this was it. Just as he had discussed with Mike. The house was just his and Davy's tonight. It was the perfect time for Micky to tell Davy. He put away the clean dishes, making sure that everything went back in its proper spot. He heard the bathroom door open and close, and watched Davy enter the downstairs bedroom out of the corner of his eye. Now would be the time. Micky had to do it now. Or else he'd lose his nerve. He couldn't chicken out of this. Taking a deep breath, Micky went over to the bedroom door. The wood felt like thin air as he knocked. Almost as if it weren't there at all.
"Yeah?" Davy's voice.
He had to do it. It had to be done. Davy could be at risk. Micky had to do it. Mike already knew. Davy had to know too. He had a right. It had to be done.
"Can I come in?" Micky asked, hearting pounding in his chest.
"Of course," Davy replied.
Micky opened the door, hoping he didn't look as nervous as he felt. He shut the door behind him. Why he did so was beyond him. The house was empty. It was just the two of them. But Micky felt safer with the door closed. Davy was sat on his bed, a blanket covering his legs. Micky sat down next to him, scooting all the way back so that he could rest his head against the wall that Davy's bed was pushed against. Davy was looking expectantly at Micky and the blood in his ears began to roar. Just like the ocean.
"I, uh, gotta tell you something, Davy," Micky began, seeing that Davy wasn't going to initiate this conversation.
"What is it?" Davy frowned.
Micky looked at Davy's small frame. He was beautiful. Wonderful. Smart. Talented. Amazing. He was everything that Micky was not. Micky's guts were twisting and tightening, leaving him with a sick feeling just like they had when Micky had told Mike yesterday. It would be worse when he told Peter. When he told Coco and his parents. But it had to be done. Who cared if he had AIDS? It didn't matter. None of it mattered.
"I…," Micky felt as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs, "I-my tests results came back positive."
There. There it was out. He'd said it. Maybe not really, but it was there. Davy could figure it out. The ocean was roaring in Micky's ears, the waves crashing against his ear canals. The bed was falling from beneath him, Micky himself was falling now. He couldn't look at Davy. He could only focus straight ahead. Then, "You have AIDS?"
"N-no, I, um, I'm just HIV positive. My count's 329," Micky said, wondering how exactly Davy wanted him to answer.
Had he answered correctly? Should Micky look at Davy? Was Davy upset? A thousand and one questions began to come into Micky's head right then and he could hardly answer all of them at once. That was impossible. Micky wanted to disappear. Had it been this bad for Peter? Had Peter felt like this when he'd told Micky? It made Micky want to cry. He didn't want anyone to feel this helpless and horrible.
"Fuck," Davy said.
He didn't sound angry or too upset. He just sounded… disappointed, almost. Disappointed and helpless. Micky decided to tough it out and look at Davy. He looked over at the smaller man to see him staring straight ahead. The look on his face mirrored how he had sounded.
"I… Mike was negative. But… he'll, you know, eventually, probably... I don't know, I..." Micky wasn't entirely sure how to continue.
He hadn't expected that sort of reaction from Davy. It was throwing him off. Then, something even more unexpected happened. Davy began to laugh. A deep rumble spilled from Davy's chest, his head tilting back just slightly. Then the laughter turned into a gut wrenching sob, before subsiding through a very deep and shaky breath.
"Are you okay?!" Micky asked, eyes wide with worry. This was all too unexpected.
"Am I okay?" Davy repeated, one of his perfect eyebrows arched, "Am I okay? I should be asking you that. Who gives a fuck if I'm okay."
"Davy, I… I'm fine, I care more if you're okay," Micky felt as if he was missing something about this conversation, "I-I'm sorry. I… thought you should know as soon as possible. I know, I know it must be tough, with your grandpa just dying and all-"
"Micky, don't be sorry for that," Davy interrupted him, "This was bound to happen sooner or later."
Micky felt out of his depth. He felt weird and a little bit uncomfortable and he was so very concerned about Davy. This was not at all how he had imagined this going. Davy started to laugh a little again and then he finally turned to face Micky.
"Do you wanna get high with me tonight?" he asked.
"What?" Micky frowned.
It was the only thing he could think to do. Had Davy been replaced by an alien? He was taking this a lot better than Micky had anticipated he would. Maybe he had been. Maybe this wasn't actually Davy Jones. It was some other person, a person that Micky didn't know. But that was ridiculous. Davy reached over and pulled opened the bedside table's top drawer. His hand rummaged around in there for a moment.
"Do you wanna get high with me? Mike's gone and I won't tattle on you," Davy assured him, pulling out two of the joints and handing them over to Micky.
Micky took them and watched as Davy returned the rest back to the drawer, emerging this time with a lighter. Davy waggled the lighter in front of Micky's face.
"What do you say?" Davy asked.
What the hell was this? Micky was relieved that Davy seemed to be taking this so well but he was worried at the same time. Perhaps the knowledge of Micky's diagnosis on top of the death of his grandfather had pushed Davy over the edge. Maybe he was having a mental breakdown as Micky watched.
"You aren't upset?" Micky frowned, wanting to know the truth before anything else happened.
He had to make sure that Davy was alright. This didn't seem like 'alright' behaviour. Davy placed a hand upon Micky's knee, squeezing gently.
"I'm upset, yeah, but not at you. I'm upset that this is happening. That Peter got infected, and now you, and probably Mike, too. That's what I'm upset about. I just… I really am fine, Micky. I just want to get high with you tonight, like we used to," Davy answered, "Forget it's all happening, just for a couple of minutes."
He offered Micky a small smile and Micky felt the worry begin to ebb away. Davy looked tired and scared. He looked upset. But mostly, he looked like Davy Jones. Micky believed now that Davy was alright. As alright that he was ever going to be, knowing that two of his lovers had AIDS. Or would have AIDS. Having just buried his grandfather. Davy wanted what Micky was trying to achieve. He wanted to be in the moment rather than in the future. Micky returned Davy's smile with a smile of his own. So, feeling only a little uneasy, Micky glanced at the rolled papers in his hands. He handed one back to Davy.
"I'm digging it, man," Micky said, saying the first thing that really came to his mind.
It didn't exactly make sense but relief spread across Davy's face nonetheless and he lit the two joints. For what seemed like ages, they just sat there on Davy's bed, smoking in silence. Then they began to talk. Davy talked about the funeral, about the party they held afterwards. Micky told Davy about Peter's hankering for a similar event after his own funeral. Davy talked about how messed up everything was and his yearning for things to go back to how they used to be. Micky talked about how he couldn't understand why any of this was happening. They talked well into the night, eventually just fooling around after conversation ceased to feel important. The comfort of words morphed into the comfort of touch. Both of them didn't fall asleep until well after two in the morning.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: My apologies for such a late posting! I got sick and was unable to do any editing. But here is finally chapter 14! But you all liked it and enjoyed it. Again, please feel free to research the 1980s AIDS epidemic on your own as this fic is a work of fiction and does not mean to make light of this very serious historical event. I, the author, have tried to be as accurate as I can but I am not a historian, did not live through the 80s, and am not a medical doctor. I am only a gay high school student with too much time and information on his hands. I urge and encourage any of you to look into other places of information such as a google search or if you want to read a book, Randy Shilts And the Band Played On. Any reviews / favorites are very much appreciated. :)