Reckless Harmony

Man of Few Words

Mickey sits slumped against the headboard of the run-down motel bed, Max and Eddie snoring softly in their beds beside him. It's been a crazy fucking night, and they're all drunk as hell, utterly exhausted.

The gig had gone well overall. Mickey had enjoyed himself, and the adrenaline rush from performing is still coursing through his veins. Sure, he'd messed up a bit during the second-to-last song, but it was no big deal; he doesn't think anyone in the crowd noticed. And surprisingly, no one had mentioned anything about the whole "gay thing" or the pictures that had been posted online. He's fucking relieved about that, to say the least.

As he exhales deeply, Mickey can't help but let his mind wander back to Ian. Thoughts of Ian had been haunting him throughout the night, a constant presence in the back of his mind despite the chaos and noise of the gig.

Their next stop is South Dakota. Mickey notes with mild interest that the state boasts mountains, deserts, etc. It's a cool change of scenery, something different to explore in his free time. Or, the very short free time they're given before they're supposed to be at the scene, setting shit up, sound checking and all that. It's a hassle for most of the time.

Mickey misses Chicago. It's his home. It's where he feels like he belongs, where everything just clicks for him. And he misses a certain redhead. He misses his laugh, his smile, his kisses, his hugs, his hair, his hands... the fucking godsent rod between his legs.

"Mmm..." Eddie stirs in his sleep, then sits up with a groan. "Yo, you still up?"

Mickey looks over. "Yeah."

"Can't catch any Z's?"

"Nah."

Eddie lets out a tired sigh, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. "What's keeping you awake?"

"Not sure," Mickey replies, observing as Eddie walks over to the sink and pours himself a glass of water.

Eddie takes a long sip of water, leaning against the sink for a moment before turning back to Mickey. "You know what I miss about home? The pizza. Can't find a decent slice anywhere on this tour."

Mickey chuckles. "So, pizza's the only thing you miss?"

Eddie grins, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm really missing Bernie, my dog," Eddie admits with a smile. "He's chilling with my sister while we're on the road. I always fall asleep with that big cuddly furball hogging the bed. He's a Bernese mountain dog, so basically, he thinks he's a giant lap dog."

Mickey chuckles, thinking back to when he met Bernie, visiting Eddie's house. But the dog was just a little ball of playfulness with small razor-sharp teeth and a high-pitched yap back then, a pupper.

"You miss anyone back in Chicago?" Eddie asks casually.

Mickey pauses, mulling over his thoughts before eventually nodding. "Miss Ian."

"Gotcha," Eddie acknowledges with a nod. "Is he asleep?"

"Yeah," Mickey confirms.

"You guys chat a ton, even before gigs," Eddie remarks.

"Sure do," Mickey replies with a hint of fondness in his voice.

A quiet lull fills the dimly lit motel room as Eddie finishes his glass of water and settles back into bed, pulling the covers over himself. "You're a man of few words, Mikhailo," he teases lightly.

Mickey chuckles softly. "Goodnight, Eduardo."