Mike was getting himself dressed and ready to say goodbye to his grandmother. He'd been out that morning to see Phyllis and his children, but now he was back at the house preparing for the funeral.
Mike seemed nothing short of in control; organised and confident, it didn't seem like he was about to attend the funeral of a close and well-loved relative. Micky had, for the most part, kept his mouth shut, deciding that today wasn't the best day to try and badger his partner into opening up. And Mike didn't actually seem like he needed to open up at all; he did actually appear to be almost completely fine.
Micky watched the Texan closely for any signs of his mask slipping. Mike was so convincing with his display of okay-ness that Micky started to wonder if, perhaps, Mike really was totally fine after all. But how could that be, Micky wondered? How could Mike possibly not be hurting deep within when somebody he loved so dearly was gone forever? Micky figured that Mike was just a better actor than he realised.
Mike was standing in front of the mirror as Micky walked into the bedroom. Micky smiled sympathetically at his partner, dressed in a black suit and tie, which Mike seemed to be having some difficulty with.
"Stupid thing." Mike muttered, cursing the tie which didn't seem to be cooperating with him.
"Here, let me do that." Micky said, walking over to the Texan.
Mike turned to Micky, allowing the slightly shorter man to adjust the tie accordingly.
"There," Micky said, taking a step back. "You look great."
Mike looked at himself in the mirror once more, straightening the tie. "Thanks."
"You've always looked good in a suit." Micky said, admiring his partner. "You sure scrub up better than I do."
Mike tutted. "Don't talk stupid." He said, flattening his hair with his hand.
Micky smiled as Mike turned to face him again. "Are you gonna be okay today?" He asked.
Mike nodded. "I'm all good, Mick." He replied.
Micky smiled sadly before wrapping his arms around Mike and pulling him into a hug. The couple embraced for a moment before Mike pulled back.
"I feel bad that you're gonna be here on your own all day." Mike sighed.
"Now who's talking stupid?" Micky asked, tilting his head to the side. "I'll be fine. Maybe I'll go for a walk or something. I'll probably just hang out in the sun."
"As long as you wear plenty of sunscreen." Mike said with a frown. "It's roastin' out there again, Mick."
Micky smiled, reaching up to brush back Mike's hair. "Always looking out for me..." He said gently.
"It's 'cause I love ya." Mike replied.
Micky stared at his partner. "Look, I know what you're gonna say, but humour me, will you?" Micky said, causing Mike to give him an uncertain look. "I'm gonna be here most of the day, and I just want you to know- well, if you need me at all, to talk or whatever, just pick up the phone. I mean, that's if you get a moment alone. I know you won't but I just- I just need you to know that I'm here if you do need me."
Mike smiled sadly, gazing at the boy in front of him. "Okay." He said.
Micky sighed, knowing full-well that Mike wouldn't call, but he accepted his answer all the same.
Mike looked at his watch. "I better get goin'." He sighed.
Micky nodded, and he brushed down Mike's jacket and straightened his tie once more. "Good luck today."
"Thanks." Mike replied.
When Mike returned home at the end of the day, Micky was waiting for him. Micky had been watching TV when he heard Mike's car outside, and he virtually leapt off the couch and turned off the TV as he waited for his partner to enter the house.
"Hey." Micky said as Mike walked in.
Mike looked tired, drained almost, as he closed the door behind him, his jacket slung over his shoulder. Mike smiled at Micky - a forced smile, clearly - and walked towards the couch as the curly haired man watched him carefully.
"How did it go?" Micky asked as the Texan sat down beside him. Mike sighed, tossing his jacket over the back of the couch before loosening his tie. "Or is that a stupid question?" Micky continued. "I mean, it was a funeral, how do I think it went? Shut up, Micky..."
Micky was anxious and uncomfortable, and he kicked himself for what he thought was a dumb question.
Mike smiled again, a more genuine smile this time. "That ain't a stupid question." He said gently. "And it went well, thank you. It was... it was nice. It was a nice send off. I think Grandma would've liked it."
Micky relaxed a little, and he hoped Mike might open up some more. "How was everyone?"
"Okay. I think we're all relieved she's at peace now." Mike replied.
"And are you okay?" Micky pressed, watching his tired-looking partner.
Mike nodded. "I'm good." He replied.
"You look tired." Micky tilted his head to the side.
"It's been a long day, but I'm fine." Mike said, running his fingers through his hair. "To be honest, I'm glad it's over so we can get back to normal."
Micky frowned. "It won't be totally normal though, not for a while anyway." He said. "I mean, you've still got to get used to your grandma not being around."
Mike shrugged as if he wasn't particularly bothered. "It ain't like I saw her often."
Micky sat back, the frown still stuck on his face. "That's not true. You spoke to her all the time." He said.
Mike stretched out, sighing deeply. "Life goes on." He said casually.
"Why are you acting like you don't care that she's gone?" Micky asked, confused by his partner's bizarre attitude.
"I'm just sayin', it ain't like I saw her every day." Mike replied, nonchalant.
Micky was not only frustrated but he was also concerned by Mike's attitude. "Mike, you wrote to her every week. Every single week without fail you sent her a letter. I'd watch you writing and I'd wonder what the hell you were saying to her that you didn't say the week before or the week before that, but you still made sure she always got a letter from you. And even when we were on tour, you sent her a postcard from every city we were in! Even though there was only ever a few days between each city, you still sent her a postcard - her mailbox would've been overflowing. So don't make out she wasn't a huge part of your life just because you weren't living in the same state anymore."
Mike stood up, ignoring what Micky had said, and Micky started to feel slightly infuriated.
"You're not fooling anyone, you know." Micky told him. "Maybe you're fooling yourself, but you're not fooling me. She meant the whole world to you, Mike."
"I don't need to listen to this." Mike said bluntly, and Micky quickly stood as Mike started to walk away.
"No, I think you do need to listen to this." Micky hit back, and Mike turned to face him. "All week you've been acting like your grandmother's death isn't a big deal, like you're not affected by it, like she was just some virtual stranger or some work colleague you only met once or twice, when in fact she was everything to you! You mentioned her all the time, you were always talking about her. You said that when you were growing up, you saw more of your grandma than your own mom, because your mom was always working so hard. So stop acting like you don't give a shit!"
"I never said I didn't give a shit!" Mike said, raising his voice. "Just because I don't deal with things like you do, it don't mean I'm wrong!"
"You don't seem to be dealing with it at all!" Micky shouted. "If I knew you were talking to your mom or someone else about this then it wouldn't be so bad, but you just clam up and say you're fine when I know damn-well that you're not!"
"Why don't you just get off my case, Micky?" Mike snapped. "I'm sick and tired of you nagging me all the time!"
"And I'm sick of you fucking patronising me, treating me like I'm stupid by telling me you're okay when I know you're not okay at all!" Micky swiped, seriously losing patience now. "Stop lying and just talk to me."
"I don't want to talk to you!" Mike blurted out. "Don't you get it? I don't want to fucking talk about anything."
"Why not?" Micky asked in dismay. "What are you so afraid of? When we first got together, you were always pushing me away and not facing up to how you felt about me. I thought that when we got together properly, we got past that. I thought you were going to start being honest with me about how you felt."
"I'm bored of this now." Mike said coldly, turning his back on Micky.
"That's tough-shit!" Micky yelled. "Because I'm not going to let you keep shutting me out! We're supposed to be a couple, a team - you're supposed to tell me everything."
"I don't want to, Micky!" Mike turned around again. "Why won't you leave me alone? I'm not like you, Micky, I don't feel the need to talk about my problems like you do, I can manage just fine on my own!"
"But you're not on your own!" Micky assured him, so frustrated he wanted to tear his hair out. "Is it pride, is that it? You're too proud to talk? You don't think real men open up about their feelings or something?"
Mike started to walk away, but Micky was hot on his heels.
"You're hurting and I want to help." Micky pleaded. "Why won't you let me in?"
Micky grabbed hold of Mike's arm. Mike shrugged Micky off of him aggressively and glared at the younger man. "Don't touch me." He said in a hard, warning tone.
Mike started to walk away again, only this time Micky didn't follow. Micky stood there hopelessly, and he felt truly at the end of his tether.
"Not talking isn't going to make your problems go away." Micky called after Mike, stopping the Texan in his tracks. "What's the matter with you? Why can't you talk to me?"
"I don't know." Mike replied, only it didn't sound like Mike. Mike's voice cracked as he spoke, and the words left his mouth in an almost pitiful fashion.
Micky froze to the spot. Mike had his back to the curly-haired man, but Micky could tell even from behind that something in Mike had changed. No longer was he standing tall and strong, but now his whole body was slumped. He looked defeated. Micky's stomach flipped and his heart started to race. Mike didn't move; he just stood there.
Micky took a couple of steps towards the Texan, and that's when he realised Mike was shaking. Micky reached out, placing his hand on Mike's shoulder, but Mike flinched as if he'd been touched by a hot iron.
"Mike?" Micky said gently, walking around the slightly taller man.
Mike's hand immediately went to his own face, shielding it from Micky's view. "Don't look at me." He whimpered.
Micky was nothing short of horrified as he tried to look at his partner's face. Mike's hand was trembling, covering his eyes so Micky couldn't see him. He was crying, and that had been obvious right away, but to see Mike like this ripped Micky up inside - he'd never seen the usually poised and strong Texan look so vulnerable.
"Mike," Micky whispered, gently taking hold of the hand in front of the Mike's face and pulling it away. Mike turned his head, and Micky's heart shattered when he saw his partner's tearful eyes, and Mike didn't even have the energy to fight anymore.
"Is-Is this wh-what you want?" Mike gasped out through the tears. "Are you hap-happy now?"
Micky shook his head slowly, and Mike put his other hand in front of his face as he broke down completely.
Micky was mortified as he watched his partner quickly unravel in front of him. Micky realised he needed to get his head together though, and he carefully wrapped his arms around the Texan, pulling him into a hug.
Mike was resistant for only a second before squeezing hold of Micky tighter than Micky had ever been held before, and he buried his face in the younger man's shoulder as he started to sob uncontrollably. Micky felt a lump rise in his own throat, just seeing the man he loved in such emotional distress was almost too much for Micky to bear. Micky rubbed Mike's back as the Texan sobbed into his shoulder, and he could feel the wetness of Mike's tears start to soak through his shirt.
"Shhh." Micky whispered, stroking Mike's hair. "It's okay... I promise, it's okay."
"I'm sorry." Mike sobbed, his words muffled by Micky's shoulder. "I'm s-so sorry."
Micky had no idea what Mike could possibly be sorry for, but it felt like the flood-gates had truly opened for Mike. Micky couldn't help but feel like there was more to this breakdown than just grief; Micky felt as if the weight of the world had been on Mike's shoulders, and finally it had all gotten too much.
Micky's shirt was fisted into tight balls by his partner, and Mike continued to sob as if he had absolutely no control over his emotions anymore. Micky was in total shock; never in his wildest dreams could he ever have imagined Mike being in such a state, and he was suddenly wracked with guilt that he'd pushed his partner too hard and too far.
"It's alright." Micky said gently, desperate to calm a devastated-Mike down. "Please... Mike, it's okay. Darling, it's okay."
Mike sniffed and spluttered, Micky's shirt getting wetter and wetter. Micky closed his eyes, willing this moment to end - it was horrendous and painful, and all Micky wanted to do was make everything bad in Mike's head go away forever. All Micky could do though, was just stand there and hug Mike until he slowly started to calm down.
A minute or two passed before Mike stopped crying. The room just sort of went quiet after what felt like an eternity of Mike's pained sobs. But now it was perfectly peaceful, and Micky felt Mike's body go from rigid to relaxed in his arms.
Mike released Micky's t-shirt from his fists, and the arms that were tightly wrapped around Micky's slim frame loosened. Micky continued to stroke the Texan's hair until Mike slowly lifted his head, pulling back from the couple's embrace. Micky allowed his arms to let go of Mike's suddenly fragile frame, and Mike stepped back, breaking their hug.
Mike's head was hung as he stepped away from Micky, and he instantly turned his back on the curly-haired man again. Micky's heart sunk, although it continued to race; he had no idea what to do or say now.
Mike cleared his throat. "I'm gonna take a shower." He said groggily.
Micky nodded, although Mike couldn't see him. "O-Okay." He said, his voice soft and high.
Mike walked into the bedroom, leaving Micky standing in the lounge in complete and utter shock. Micky looked down, taking hold of his t-shirt and stretching it out so he could see the damp marks that had been left by Mike's tears. Micky stared at the wet patch almost in disbelief; how could those tears have been Mike's? Mike didn't cry. Mike never seemed anything less than strong and assured.
Micky stared at the tear-stain as if he couldn't process what had just happened. Micky was devastated that he'd seen Mike so upset; although at the same time, buried deep within him, he felt some relief. It was twisted, Micky thought, but he couldn't help it. Ever since Micky had met the tall, dark Texan, Mike had been mysterious. And even after they had gotten together and Micky had gotten to see a softer, more vulnerable side, Micky always knew there was a lot more bubbling beneath the surface than Mike would ever let on. Even after their heart-to-hearts about their feelings for each other, and Mike's willingness to be so open about just how much he loved Micky, there was still always a tiny something that the Texan had held back, and Micky couldn't help but feel - and hope - that Mike may have finally let his guard down once and for all.
Micky waited for a few minutes after he heard Mike leave the en-suite bathroom, not wanting to pounce on his partner as soon as he emerged from the shower. Mike had been a while, and Micky had been worrying himself stupid as he tried to figure out how to approach the Texan after his breakdown about 30 minutes before.
When Micky finally plucked up the courage to enter the bedroom, he found Mike dressed for bed. Mike paused when Micky came into the room, and he stood there staring at the floor, unable to look at the curly haired man.
Micky was flawed by how sad Mike looked; it was as if a completely different person was standing in front of him. Mike looked like he'd lost all will to fight or to even pretend that he was okay anymore. He looked completely defeated.
Micky knew it wasn't just sadness that his partner was feeling, and he was desperate to reassure the Texan.
"You shouldn't feel embarrassed, you know." Micky said in a gentle but assured tone. Mike still didn't look up. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of. It's okay to cry."
Mike finally looked up so that Micky could see his face. Mike's eyes were bloodshot and puffy from where he'd been crying, and Micky almost felt sick at seeing his partner like that. Micky swallowed hard, watching Mike with kind eyes, wondering what to do next.
"Real men don't cry." Mike finally said, his voice still groggy.
Micky was stunned by that comment - that didn't sound like Mike at all. "That's not true." He said softly.
"That's what my father used to say." Mike replied. The sadness in the Texan's voice was laced with bitterness.
Micky frowned. "Your dad is wrong." He said firmly. "Why would he say that?"
Mike scratched his head, turning away. "I fell off my bike..." He mumbled, sitting down on the bed.
Micky stood there looking over Mike, a permanent frown on his face. "What... you mean he said that to you?" He asked.
Mike nodded, playing with his hands. "I was 11, and I used to stay with my dad for a couple'a weeks every summer. We used to go cycling, and one time I hit a rock in the track and came off my bike." He said slowly. "I turned my ankle. It... it really hurt. It was so painful and I started cryin', 'cause I was just a kid. And my dad grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and dragged me to my feet. He told me to quit crying, to stop acting like a baby. "Real men don't cry", he said."
Micky watched Mike as he spoke, the Texan staring ahead, not looking at anything in particular.
"It uh, it upset me, you know, 'cause I was just a boy." Mike continued. "And my foot hurt real bad, I ain't ever felt pain like it. I could hardly stand, but he made me push my bike all the way back to the house. We were about two miles away, but he just let me tag along behind, tryin'a keep up with him."
"That's horrible." Micky said quietly, his almond shaped eyes filled with sadness.
Mike sniffed hard, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, well. He ain't a very nice man." He said matter-of-factly. "His idea of bein' a real man was using his fists."
Micky's stomach flipped. "He hit you?" He questioned.
Mike nodded. "A few times; maybe three or four." He replied without hesitation. He started to look stronger again. "The first few times were when I was a bit older; I guess he thought I reached an age where I could handle it or somethin'. It seemed to be once every time I stayed with him. I started to answer back and he didn't like it. He'd hit me round the head, knock me to the floor... I'd bruise under my hair so no one could see it."
Micky walked slowly to the bed, sitting down beside his partner. Mike continued to stare straight ahead as he spoke.
"The final time was the last time I ever stayed with him." Mike continued. "I was 13 and I'd gotten real tall that summer. I mean, I weren't strong, but I was tall for my age... He didn't scare me. I weren't afraid to stand up to him. One time I pushed him too hard and he punched me right in the face. He knocked me to the ground, but I got straight back up again. I got a black eye that sure as hell couldn't be hidden. My dad told me that if my mom asked what had happened, to tell her that I'd walked into a door."
"And did you?" Micky asked slowly.
"No," Mike replied. "She never asked."
Micky frowned, confused. "She didn't ask?"
Mike shook his head. "Grandma did though. I spun her the door line, but I don't know if she believed me."
"I-I don't understand." Micky said gently. "How could your mom not ask you why you had a black eye?"
"She didn't need to." Mike replied. "It ain't like she didn't know what my father was capable of. She knew where it was at."
"Did he hit her too?" Micky questioned.
"He did at least once." Mike said. "Right before they broke up... I heard 'em rowing, and I came downstairs just in time to see my dad hit my mom. I mean, I was only four when they split. They saw me, so I quickly ran back upstairs again. It's one of the earliest things I remember. We left him just a few days later; that was when we went to live with Grandma."
"I can't believe you had to see that." Micky said, his heart breaking. "What did your mom say to you after that?"
"Nothin'." Mike replied. "She never talked to me about it. Not ever."
Micky was horrified. "What, you mean she never spoke to you about what you saw?"
Mike shook his head, finally looking at Micky. "What was the point? It weren't gonna change anything. And as soon as she knew I'd seen what was goin' on, she got us both out of there. She did what she had to do to protect me. The same as when she realised my dad had hit me; she never let me stay with him again. I mean, I don't know if he tried to get me to stay, or if she confronted him about it, but I never saw him again after the black eye. I didn't see him for years after that."
Micky rubbed his face with his hands, trying to process everything Mike had told him. Suddenly, everything was starting to make sense.
"So, what... you've never spoken to your mom about any of this?" Micky pressed gently.
"It don't change nothin'." Mike replied, looking ahead again. "Talkin' ain't gonna put everything right. It weren't gonna wipe away the bruises or stop my dad bein' an asshole."
Micky shook his head slowly in disbelief.
"It ain't a big deal." Mike said, looking at Micky once more. "I never liked my dad much anyway; I never liked stayin' with him. I'm almost glad he did what he did because it meant I didn't have to spend another borin' summer with him."
"You don't mean that." Micky whispered.
Mike looked ahead, sniffing hard again.
"I'm not saying your mom is a bad mother, but... but she should've spoken to you, Mike." Micky said gently. "I know she would've done what she thought was right, but..."
Mike looked at his partner. "She did what she needed to do to protect me." He said again. "She weren't a big talker. She never would've seen me come to any harm."
"I know, but..." Micky scratched his head. "You shouldn't have had to deal with that on your own."
"I was fine." Mike said, looking Micky straight in the eye. "I don't want you feelin' sorry for me. I didn't have some miserable, broken childhood. I was a happy kid. I don't need you pitying me."
Micky stared at Mike with sorrow in his eyes. Micky couldn't help himself; he was devastated to learn about Mike's father and his mother's inability to talk. Micky was beside himself.
"Please don't look at me like that." Mike whispered, pleading with Micky.
Micky quickly reached out, grabbing hold of Mike's hand. "This is why you don't talk about anything," He said. "Because you've never talked about anything."
"Everyone's different." Mike said, looking away.
Micky took hold of Mike's chin, turning the Texan to look at him again. "I'm not your mom." Micky whispered. "And I'm sure as hell not your dad. You don't need to pretend anymore."
Mike stared at Micky, sadness filling his dark eyes once more. His gaze fell. "Grandma talked to me... I didn't talk back, but she talked. And I always knew... I always knew that if I needed her, she'd be there to listen."
Micky squeezed Mike's hand. "You've always been so amazing with me." He begun. "When I've stressed out about Samantha and the baby, you've always been there to talk to me and listen to me and make everything okay again. I don't have to hold back with you; I know I can open my soul to you and you will be there for me. I just want to be able to do the same for you. I want to be there for you. I want to help you."
Mike gazed at Micky, and Micky could see the slightly older man was visibly drained. Mike looked exhausted, totally worn out from the days - and evenings - events.
"I'm tired." Mike whispered.
Micky nodded slowly. Mike stood up, pulling the covers back and climbing into bed. Micky was already dressed for bed; he'd showered earlier on and was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Micky quickly joined Mike in bed, turning the light off before he laid down beside his partner.
The couple laid face to face, looking at each other through the darkness. They just stared at each other in silence for several minutes, Micky himself suddenly feeling completely drained. Micky watched Mike in front of him, the Texan's eyes shining in the dim light that filled the room.
"I'm proud of you." Micky whispered.
Mike was silent for a moment, his expression unchanged. "Why?" He asked quietly.
"Because you opened up to me." Micky replied. "And I know that wasn't easy for you."
Mike blinked, watching Micky through the darkness. "Please don't feel sorry for me." He whispered.
Micky reached out, taking hold of Mike's hand and lacing their fingers together. He kissed Mike's hand firmly.
"I don't want you thinking my mom's a bad person." Mike said quietly. He almost sounded fearful.
"I don't think that, baby." Micky replied gently. "I don't think that at all."
"She only did what she thought was right." Mike said, squeezing Micky's hand.
"I know she did, Mike." Micky whispered.
The room went silent, but Micky and Mike continued to watch each other. Micky stroked Mike's hand with his thumb, wondering what the Texan was thinking about right now.
"Micky?" Mike said quietly. Micky stared at his partner. "I... I'm glad you're with me."
Micky's heart melted. "Come here." He said, opening his arms to Mike.
Mike hesitated for a moment before climbing into Micky's arms and resting his head on the curly-haired man's chest. Micky wrapped his arms around Mike, squeezing him tightly, and Mike buried his face in the crook of Micky's neck.
Micky kissed Mike's head, stroking his hair slowly as Mike suddenly seemed desperate to get as physically close as possible.
Mike moved his hand up underneath Micky's t-shirt, running his palm across Micky's skin. Mike then lifted his head, tugging at the bottom of Micky's t-shirt as if he wanted the younger man to remove it. Micky obliged, lifting himself up enough for Mike to tug the shirt up and over his head. Micky threw the unwanted piece of clothing to one side and laid back down again, Mike instantly latching onto him again.
Mike didn't want Micky to lose his shirt in a sexual way; Micky realised that Mike needed to be so close to him that he didn't even want clothing to come between them. Mike buried his face in the crook of Micky's neck once more, placing his hand flat against Micky's chest. Mike's hand glided over Micky's skin, pressed hard to the flesh as if he wanted to feel every inch of Micky. Finally Mike's hand rested on Micky's heart, and Mike entwined his legs with his partners; there was no way they could possibly be any closer to each other.
Micky bit the inside of his lip. He felt like crying, squeezing his man tightly in his arms. Never before had Micky felt so needed; Mike had often made him feel wanted, but tonight Micky realised just how much Mike needed him as well. Not for sex or laughs, and not even just for love. Mike needed Micky for comfort and understanding.
It didn't take long before Mike and Micky fell fast asleep, and the exhausted Texan and his curly-haired partner remained wrapped around each other all night until morning.