superhuman

SEVEN

Mikey makes his life living hell.

He can't even walk right anymore; Mikey, who lingers in the shadows out of habit, constantly snaps his fingers and changes reality up for Pete whenever he least expects it.
Sometimes there's a randomly appearing staircase; other times the floor is ablaze and singes his feet and clothes.

He's a nervous wreck.

-

"Dallon, I think Mikey hates me."

Dallon's camly reading what looks like a George Orwell novel when Pete bursts into the shared study/office space, eyes wide.

"You wouldn't be the first." He doesn't even look up from his book when he replies "He tends to do that to most new recruits. Is that all or can I keep reading?" His voice is flat monotone and he sounds incredibly pissed.

"Roll back the attitude Dal," He rolls his eyes. "He's messing with my head, and I can't do anything.
"
"So do something." He replies, glancing up to stare at him with piercing ice blue eyes. "You're the telepath. Unless you want me to set him on fire or something, then I'm afraid I am not of assistance." His voice sounds tight and taunt.

"I'm gonna kick his ass..?" Pete sounds halfway sure, but he raises the end of his sentance into a question.

Dallon cracks a smile, nodding. "You certainly are."
-

It's a few days before he confronts Mikey.

"I'm sick of you." He blurts out as the brown-haired boy comes into sight, a smirk across his lips and a cocky stride.
"Petey, long time no see!" He coos. It's only been about a day but Pete's too angry to point it out.
"No more mind games, Mikey. Either fight me like a real man or get the fuck out of my head."

Mikey pretends to think before shrugging. "How about... Neither!" He looks delighted, grinning. He's not entirely 'all there' behind the eyes, and Pete feels a shiver physically slide down his spine at the deranged look.

"Listen, Petey..." He strolls nonchalantly towards him, lips curling into a mixtue of a wicked smirk and a snarl, "I like you. I really do. But you didn't take my warning into your stride.." He sighs melodramatically, "You ignored me! And that really hurt my feelings, you know.." He grabs at his throat, and Pete winces out of pain. His pale, slender fingers are a bony vice around his throat and he panics as he realizes he can't breathe.
Gasping and choking, he flails desperately, scratching and clawing at Mikey's arms. He just smiles darkly in retern, squeezing harder before releasing as he notices Pete's face starting to go blueish.

His fist collides with the side of Pete's jaw, hard; it practically explodes with pain and in his already numbed state his head burns.

He hits him again and he tastes blood, thick metallic blood - some of it splattering out from his lips, contrasting with the stone grey of the concrete floor as it drips.
He grabs his head, his skeletal fingers digging into Pete's scalp, and lifts him until he's dangling on the tips of his toes. He slams his hand into Pete's ribs and he lets out a keening screech of pain as a hard fist meets with his ribs. He locks eyes with the reality manipilator, whiskey meeting hazel, and jabs his palm under his chin. He reels back, releasing his grip.
He's tall and strong but Pete's shorter and faster; ducking between his legs, he swiftly punches him as hard as he can in the back of the knees (shaky hands and all) before literally biting him, sharp incisors digging through even the layer of denim. Mikey lets out a yell, but he just bites harder, until he feels the skin break and blood flood from his lower thigh. Mikey swats at him, right in the ear, and in return Pete grabs three fingers, tugging them back until he feels something snap.
Mikey yowls in pain, bony knees hitting him in the temple. He groans as the dizziness returns; squinting, he stares up at Mikey through watery eyes. He watches Mikey's expression soften, and he kneels down beside him, Pete's grip relinquishing as he faces him.
He leans in close, breath skirting against Pete's lips. He has, obviously, every intention of kissing him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find Mikey slightly attractive; he had that bad boy charm about him.
But he just wasn't Patrick.

Pete leans in too, Mikey's lips parted slightly. He does look nice, he has to admit, even all battered and bruised.

He headbuts him hard into the nose, and smirks as he passes out, right there.