That's What You Get

Chapter Nineteen: The Fragile Quiet

Time passed with ease for Pete and Mikey. They had been good. Things were looking better. There was a silence in the house that was unfamiliar to both of them. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

The morning light filtered through the kitchen blinds, soft and golden, casting thin stripes across the table where Mikey stood buttering toast. Pete was behind him, arms draped lazily around Mikey's waist, chin resting on his shoulder, like it belonged there.

"You always make the best toast," Pete mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

"It's toast," Mikey said, amused.

"Yeah, but it's your toast."

Mikey smiled despite himself. He leaned into the touch, let himself believe this was safe. Comfortable. Almost domestic.

Pete reached past him to steal a slice, dragging it through the jar of jam Mikey had just opened. Crumbs fell to the floor, but he didn't care. Neither of them did.

The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional chirp of birds outside. Mikey breathed it in. The calm, the illusion.

They moved around each other in perfect rhythm. Pete cleaned the dishes without being asked. Mikey folded the laundry that had sat on the couch for two days. They laughed at a dumb video on Pete's phone. For a few hours, it felt like something close to normal. Like something they could hold onto.

Pete made lunch. Mikey played music low in the background. There were no harsh words. No flinches.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part.

Because Mikey could almost forget how fast things could turn.

Pete kissed his temple when he passed. Called him babe like he always used to. Said I love you with too-easy warmth that made something twist in Mikey's chest.

Because he wanted to believe it.

Because part of him did.

But somewhere, tucked behind the smile, Mikey still remembered the storms. The sudden, violent shifts. The way Pete's hands would grab his arms too hard. The way Mikey's face would lose its color. The way Pete would leave bruises in all the right places, so no one would ask questions. The fear that had flickered between them like a snapped wire.

But today, there was no storm.

Just coffee, and toast, and a softness that felt almost real.

Pete dried his hands on a dish towel and tossed it onto the counter with a little grin. "We're kind of domestic, huh?"

Mikey gave a quiet laugh, setting down his mug. "Don't get ahead of yourself. You still leave socks on the couch."

Pete walked over and bumped his shoulder against Mikey's. "Yeah, but you still pick them up. That's love, right?"

Mikey didn't answer right away. His smile faltered just a little, barely enough to be noticed. But Pete noticed.

"You okay?" Pete asked.

"Yeah," Mikey said too fast. "Just tired."

Pete didn't push. He just stood there a beat longer, watching Mikey with something unreadable in his eyes. Then, like he'd flipped a switch, he brightened.

"You know what we should do? Movie night. Like old times. Blankets, snacks, something stupid and funny."

"Sure," Mikey said, voice soft.

Pete leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering a moment longer than necessary. Mikey didn't move. Didn't pull away. But he didn't lean in either.

Later, as they curled up on the couch, a movie droning in the background, Pete rested his head in Mikey's lap and closed his eyes.

"This is good," he murmured. "This is better. Don't you think?"

Mikey hesitated, his hand resting lightly on Pete's shoulder. "It's quiet," he said.

Pete chuckled. "I'll take it."

But Mikey wasn't sure. The quiet felt stretched too thin. Like a balloon waiting to pop.

Halfway through the movie, Pete reached for Mikey's hand, threading their fingers together. His thumb brushed over Mikey's knuckles in lazy circles.

"Hey," Pete said, voice low, "you know I'm trying, right?"

Mikey looked down at him. The room was dim, shadows cast across Pete's face, softening the sharp lines that usually gave him away.

"Yeah," Mikey said. And he meant it.

But there was something behind Pete's words. A weight. A warning.

Like a man reminding the house not to settle too loud.

Like a question with only one right answer.

Mikey squeezed his hand in return. Not too hard. Just enough to respond.

And still, the silence stretched.

Outside, wind started to tap against the windows. A breeze picking up. A storm rolling in.

They didn't talk much after that.

The movie played on, something light and stupid, the kind of humor Mikey used to laugh at without thinking. Now it just washed over him, sound and color with no real weight. Pete's fingers stayed laced with his, warm and still. Every so often, he'd squeeze, like a reassurance, or a check-in.

Mikey never pulled away. He didn't know if he could.

By the time the credits rolled, the rain had started outside, soft at first, then steady, the kind that turned everything gray and still. Pete sat up and stretched with a yawn.

"You hungry?"

Mikey shook his head. "Not really."

Pete stood anyway and wandered into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets like he'd lived there forever. He called over his shoulder, "You need to eat more. You've lost weight."

Mikey didn't answer. It wasn't worth pointing out that Pete's cooking had replaced his appetite with something else, something tight in his chest, knotted up under his ribs. A kind of full that had nothing to do with food.

Pete returned with a plate of crackers and cheese, placing it in front of Mikey like a peace offering. Mikey took one to make him feel better.

They sat there like that for a while, side by side on the couch, the storm outside beginning to swell. Thunder rolled in the distance, low and rumbling.

Pete broke the silence. "I've been thinking about getting us a dog."

Mikey blinked. "A dog?"

"Yeah. Something small. Something that makes us get out of the apartment." He paused. "Something to take care of. Together."

Together.

Mikey looked at him then. Pete's face was soft, open. His voice was calm. Sincere.

It should have felt safe.

But something about it made Mikey's chest tighten. He couldn't put his finger on why. Just that the word "together" didn't land the way it used to. It pressed against something fragile in him.

"I don't know," Mikey said quietly. "I don't think I'm ready."

Pete was quiet for a beat too long. "Okay," he said finally. "That's okay."

But his hand let go of Mikey's.

It wasn't rough. It wasn't cold.

It was just... gone.

And somehow, that felt worse.