the lights are always off

Ⅲ

GERARD'S P.O.V.

I wake up when I hear my door open, followed by Mikey's soft voice.

"Hey, Gee," says Mikey, tapping on my door lightly.

"What's up, kiddo?" I ask him, sitting up and leaning on the wall adjacent to my bed.

"Well, uh, something came in the mail for you yesterday." His voice is soft, but I guess he sees the immediate worry in my expression because his tone changes drastically when he says, "No, no! It isn't bad news or anything!"

"Oh, thank God," I mutter, feeling my bed dip under Mikey's weight and his fingers touch my knee. We're both quiet for a moment before I ask him what it is.

He slips a small, flat package into my hands. "Open it." His voice is small and sweet.

I do as I'm told, tearing the thick paper wrapping in places. My hands wrap around the flimsy rectanglular object, and I feel small bumps under my fingertips.

"Is it a book?" I ask Mikey, who stutters a little when he answers.

"Well, yeah, it is, I mean — well, I know you're... you're blind now. And I know you don't know Braille yet, but, uh, when you do... this is for when you do." He pauses. "It's the new Batman comic, and I — it's specially made. Just for you."

I take a moment to let this sink in. I would never ask Mikey to spend his money on me — I wonder what Mikey had to do, who he had to contact, to get this book made for me? God, he must've spent his entire pay on this thing.

"Mikey, I —" I run my fingers through my hair. "You really didn't have to do this for me. I, well, don't get me wrong, I love it, I love you, but I can only imagine the trouble you went through to get this," I lay my hand flat against the bumpy cover of the comic in my lap. "It means a lot."

"It's okay, Gerard! Really, it wasn't that hard." I don't believe a word he says, though. "I contacted the DC people the day after you got home from the hospital."

I desperately want to ask Mikey how much this gift costed him, but I refrain. Instead, I reach out and touch his shoulders, pulling him into a warm hug. "Thank you," I whisper, pulling away slowly, but Mikey's fingers are clutching my shirt tightly and his head is tucked firmly in the crook of my neck.

His tears soak into my skin and he hiccups quietly. "I'm sorry," Mikey mumbles into my shoulder, his voice muffled. I wrap my arms around his thin frame, unsure why he's crying but attempting to soothe him anyway. "I wish it was different."

I think I know what he means; I'm blind. I lost my vision two months ago and I went into the operating room with a lasting image of my mother and sibling burned into the back of my eyelids. I hate that I can't see Mikey — I'll never see him again. It kills me to know that I can't watch my little brother grow up, but it's nothing that I can change. I feel a sharp pang in my chest and I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Hey," I mumble. "Chin up, buddy, we'll get through it."

"Yeah, it's cool," Mikey sighs, pulling back. "I'll be okay." He slips off my bed and leaves me alone. "I love you." His voice is tiny and suddenly I feel like we're back in elementary school, when he'd greet me every day after classes were over with those bright hazel eyes of his and fling his arms around me.