Stay

Pete knew he shouldn't have, but his conscious thoughts had left him, five shots of Jack Daniel's ago. The backlight on his cell phone had become the messiah, and sliced through the mostly dark room Pete inhabited. He squinted as he hit the one number in his speed dial. "Um... Mikey? Yeah... it's uhh... It's Pete. Um. Don't... worry about me. I'm fine. Why would you worry about me though, right? Hah... Okay. Uhh... I- Mikey? I- I miss-.... N... Never mind." 

"I- I miss-... N... Never mind." Mikey replayed the message a seventh time. He was drunk. Obviously. He hadn't slept in a couple days. Mikey kicked himself mentally. Of course he hadn't slept, he was an insomniac. Mikey knew exactly what Pete had done after he'd hung up. He had thrown his cell phone across his dimly lit room, but he was drunk, so it missed the wall and went skittering across the floor instead. He'd yell at himself for being stupid until the person in the neighboring apartment banged on their wall for him to shut up, and that's when he would fall on his mattress and sleep as soon as his head hit the pillows. In the morning, Pete would have a killer hangover and the only thing he would do would desperately search for his phone and try to confirm that the message he'd left Mikey had been part of a bad dream. When it hadn't been, he'd go retch in the toilet before downing aspirin and leaving his apartment to god knows where. He'd go on a drive, or walk around a lake, stand in a puddle until he complained to himself about his wet feet because Mikey wasn't there to complain to. Mikey wasn't there. But something definitely was.

Pete's shoes were still damp when he got back to his apartment, where he made himself a pot of coffee and stared at his cell phone. He held the cell phone to his forehead in frustration, before tossing it across the room. He couldn't even throw it with force when he was sober. It bounced across the floor like a rock on the lake surface. Pete stared after it, willing his tears away. He loves Mikey. No, he loved Mikey. He was in love. Love is for children. Pete let out a frustrated yell. 

That was it. Mikey had worried himself to the point where his chewed-off nails bled and his scalp was sore from his tugging on his hair. He grabbed his phone from the couch, where he'd left it when he went pacing, and dialed the only number in his speed dial.

Pete picked up. He sounded disorented. ".... Hello?" He asked, as if not believing the caller ID.

"Pete."

Silence.

"Pete? You okay?"

"Fuck no."

Silence.

"Why did you call me?"

"I... I don't know. How are you?"

Bitter laughter. Mikey sighed. That was Pete for you.

"Terrible. I haven't slept."

"I can tell."

"I've... been drinking."

"Can tell that too."

Silence.

"... Mikey, I'm..."

Silence.

"I'm sorry."

"No, shut up."

"You shut up."

Pete always teased him. It put Mikey's heart in a little more comfort.

"You don't have to be sorry."

"No, I was wrong. I need..."

Silence. Mikey chewed his fingers again.

"I need you, Mikey."

Silence.

"Fucking say something!"

Silence.

"Mikey? I'm sorry. I..." Pete blew air out of his mouth in exasperation with himself.

"I need you too."

"What?"

"Fuck you, you heard me." Mikey smiled to himself. He could see Pete's grin clearly in his mind.

"I wanted to hear you say it again."

"I need you too, Pete."

Silence.

"How..." Mikey started. "How fast can you get to my place?"

There was a knock on the door. Mikey beamed.