Staring through the demons (unholyverse )

21

After Frank fell asleep, Mikey slipped out of the room and back down the stairs. The TV was on, but Ray switched it off as soon as Mikey came in.

"He's asleep," Mikey said.

"We didn't know," Bob said, still looking at the TV even though it was off. "About him and Gerard."

"It wasn't like that," Mikey said. "Nothing happened."

"But we were with them all the time." Brian shook his head slowly. "How did we not know?"

Mikey just shrugged. He'd honestly thought everyone knew about Frank; it had been so obvious, it had been shining out of him since the day he and Gerard met. He thought they just weren't talking about it because there was nothing they could do. "Gerard said they trained him. In the seminary...I don't know, how to not let it show, I guess."

"But Frank," Brian started, only to be interrupted by Ray.

"If I had feelings for someone," he said carefully, not looking at anyone. "Someone I knew I could never have...I'd feel stupid. I wouldn't want anyone to know."

Bob stood up suddenly. "I yelled at him," he said, wiping his hands nervously against his jeans. "I said all those things."

Brian touched his arm. "You didn't know," he said, but Bob's expression didn't change.

"He could probably use someone there when he wakes up," Mikey suggested.

Bob nodded jerkily and headed for the stairs. Brian said, "Wait, I'll go with you," and followed him.

There was a low shelf running the length of one of the living room walls, lined from end to end with weird little knick-knacks, figurines made out of twisted pieces of scrap metal, each playing a different musical instrument. The one in the very centre, a violinist wearing a broken top hat, had been turned to face the wall.

Mikey went over and turned it around the right way, then stayed there for a while, turning the figures this way and that, watching his hands. After a while, he felt Ray come up behind him. He turned around. Ray's face looked tender, and he was red around the eyes.

Mikey said, "I don't feel like it's real. Do you feel like it's real?"

Ray pressed his palms together. He looked down at his hands. "I don't want it to be."

"I don't feel like it's real," Mikey said again. "I don't feel much of anything, actually."

"Mikey," said Ray.

"Is it cold in here?" Mikey asked him. He put his hand on Ray's arm. It felt warm. "You're warm."

"Mikey," Ray said again, and pulled Mikey into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around Mikey's back and hugged him, squeezing. He kissed Mikey's cheek. Mikey turned his head, and Ray kissed his mouth.

"What you asked me for," he said urgently, holding Mikey tight. "You know that I would if I could."

"I know," said Mikey. He kissed Ray again, just to feel it. They both kept their eyes open. "I shouldn't have asked."

"I would do it," Ray said. He kissed Mikey once more. This time Mikey noticed that Ray closed his eyes. When the kiss broke, Ray whispered, "I would do it for you."

Afterwards, Mikey did not remember much of it. There were moments, like photographs or something; Ray's hands cupped around his face, the third step creaking as they climbed the stairs, the sound the bedroom door made when Mikey closed it. Ray's heart beating so hard Mikey could feel it against his own chest, the way they fumbled for each other underneath the covers. How quiet it was when they'd finished.

Ray's hair on the pillow. He was looking at the ceiling, not at Mikey. They lay apart, not touching.

Mikey said, "I'm going to take a shower."

Ray said, "Yeah."

Mikey went to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. He stepped in the shower and turned it on. He stood under the spray and watched the water swirling around his feet.

When he went back into the bedroom, Ray was gone. Mikey crawled back into the bed without bothering to dry off properly, and curled up under the covers where it was still warm. He put out his hand and touched the pillow on Ray's side of the bed.

After a while, Ray came back in. He was holding a cup, which he set down on the nightstand by Mikey.

Mikey sat up against the headboard and took the cup. It was warm in his hands. He blew away the steam and sipped slowly, watching Ray. Ray had sat down on the bed, but he wasn't looking at Mikey. He was dressed.

The tea was hot and good and tasted like clear honey. "Did you make this?" Mikey asked. He took another sip. "Is it magic?"

Ray smiled a little, and shook his head. "I did make it. But it's just tea."

Mikey sipped again. He could feel it warming him, all through his chest and belly. He said, "Why would you think you can't have me?"

Ray looked at him, finally. "Can I?"

Mikey didn't know what to say. He couldn't imagine it; being someone's. He couldn't imagine anything. He sipped and sipped at the tea until it was all gone. He put the empty cup back on the nightstand.

Ray picked it up. "Try to get some sleep," he said, and closed the door on his way out.