Micky first thought he was depressed or traumatized, they all did so he began to do everything he could to try and make Peter laugh or even smile. When that failed, he simply tried to let Peter know that he was loved and taken care of and the response was always the same.
Peter would look at him blankly, head cocked slightly to the side as he studied his face closely before nodding slowly.
"That's nice," he always said before walking away or moving onto the next thing.
It broke Micky's heart, seeing Peter act like this, and it was hard not to get upset or hurt by it. It wasn't Peter's fault, he knew that. But it was still hard.
One of the first nights since Peter came home, Micky broke down. It had just been too much and though he knew that Peter wasn't the same person anymore, it was still devastating to see.
Peter came down the stairs for a cup of water and saw Micky curled up on the couch and just stared at him.
Finally, Micky noticed someone was watching him and looked up, wiping his face. The two stared at each other for a moment before Peter turned into the kitchen to grab his cup of water and didn't do anything other than simply watch as Micky let out another sob and broke down again.
He was trying his best to hold it together, trying to not allow himself to get too hurt by anything Peter said or did. He knew it was hard to, but that didn't stop him from still trying to reach out.
It was a miracle Peter was even alive, everyone had been saying that. This was a good thing, but it didn't feel good. Micky was glad that his friend was alive, he just missed the way he used to be. When he came downstairs, he saw Peter sitting cross legged on the floor, playing his banjo.
"Hey, Pete," Micky said with a sad smile. "How are you?"
Peter looked up from the instrument, staring up at him, a look of concentration on his face. Micky's smile fell when he saw the emptiness in his expression, even when a fake smile grew on Peter's face.
"Fine," he said quietly, going back to playing his banjo. Micky let out a sigh as he sat down beside him on the floor.
They both sat there as Peter continued to play a melody Micky had never heard before.
"That's pretty," he said after a moment. "Did you write it?"
Peter nodded slightly, keeping his focus down on what he was playing. Micky let out a sigh, not knowing what else to do at that moment.
"I missed hearing you play," he said, looking down.
"Am I annoying you?" He asked and Micky frowned, shaking his head.
"No, of course not," he said, slightly hurt by the comment. "I like it when you play…"
Peter frowned and finally looked up, brow furrowed as he studied Micky's face closely.
"If I'm not annoying you, then why are you acting like that?"
Micky sighed and looked down.
"I'm sorry," he said under his breath. Peter shrugged and went back to playing banjo.
"You're not," he muttered. "And that's fine."
Micky's eyes widened with worry as he looked over at him.
"Are you okay?" He asked, placing his hand on the blonde's shoulder, who stood and shrugged.
"I'm fine," he sighed, setting his banjo down onto its stand and sitting back down, deep in thought.
"Peter?" Micky asked and Peter looked up at him.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Of course you didn't," Micky said, wrapping an arm around him. Peter frowned but leaned into Micky.
"Then why do you hate me?" He asked.
"I don't," Micky said softly, rubbing his shoulder.
"Then why are you acting like you do?"
He didn't hate Peter, and there was a part of him that wished he did. It would be simpler that way. Micky had become almost frightened by Peter, who never slept and instead lingered around in the dark, watching when any of them cried or laughed with a blank stare. It was freaky and it was hard to have to remind himself that it wasn't Peter's fault he was like this.
"I don't," he repeated and Peter stared at him, not believing it. Eventually, he got up and let out a sigh.
"Whatever," he muttered under his breath as he made his way out onto the patio.