The house was quieter than usual.
Mikey sat curled on the edge of the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The weight of the evening lingered like smoke, clinging to the corners of the room and the back of his throat. Dani was asleep in the guest room, what passed for sleep, anyway. She hadn't said much after they got back, just offered Pete a barely-there thank you and disappeared down the hallway.
Pete hadn't returned.
That was hours ago.
The silence scratched at Mikey's nerves, more unsettling than any shouting ever had been. He didn't know what to hope for. That Pete had found Patrick? That he hadn't? That Patrick had put up a fight? That he hadn't?
The thought of Dani's face, bruised, worn thin, kept flashing behind his eyes. She hadn't cried. Not in front of them. But her voice had trembled when Mikey had gently touched her arm, and that was worse somehow.
He stood and moved to the window, peeking out through the slats.
Still no car.
Still no Pete.
He let the slats fall back into place, the plastic snapping softly, and rubbed his palms over his jeans. He'd already tried texting. Twice. He wasn't sure if it was worry or dread crawling beneath his skin, but it made him itch, made him want to pace the room or scream into the cushion of silence the house had become.
The refrigerator clicked on in the kitchen. A soft, mechanical hum. Mikey flinched at the sound.
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.
He crossed back to the couch and sank down, arms folding again like armor. Dani's presence in the guest room should have felt like a relief. Safety. But it didn't. It just made everything feel more fragile, like she might shatter in the next room if he breathed too loud.
His phone buzzed.
Mikey jolted upright, fumbling for it.
A message from Pete: Almost home.
That was it. No follow-up. No context.
He stared at the words for a long time. Then typed out Is everything okay? and hit send.
No answer.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Mikey rose again, hovered near the window, then turned away before giving in to the urge to check. He chewed on a thumbnail, pacing slow, aimless circles around the living room.
When headlights finally cut across the front window, he stilled.
The door opened without knocking.
Pete stepped in, his jaw tight, knuckles red.
Mikey's eyes fell to his hands. "What happened?"
Pete shut the door behind him, slower than usual. "We talked."
"Talked?" Mikey echoed. He took a step forward, unsure if it was toward Pete or just toward some kind of answer. "Did he... did he say anything?"
Pete didn't answer right away. His eyes swept the room, then landed on Mikey. "He knows not to come near her again."
That wasn't an answer. Not really. But Mikey let it be one.
He watched as Pete sank down into the armchair, the posture all wrong, too rigid, too restrained. His hands shook slightly when he rested them on his knees.
"Did you hit him?" Mikey asked softly.
Pete's jaw worked. "Does it matter?"
Mikey sat, but not beside him. The silence stretched again, this time thinner, taut as thread between them.
YOU ARE READING
That's What You Get
FanfictionMikey thought love was supposed to hurt. That if he just held on tightly enough, things would go back to how they used to be. But the longer he stayed, the harder it became to tell where devotion ended and survival began. Now, the silence between br...
