Mikey came over, and sat in Frank's windowseat with him, drinking Frank's coffee and smoking Frank's cigarettes. Mikey didn't really smoke, but if Frank was smoking roll-ups, Mikey liked to share.
"Why don't you wanna come with us?" he asked, blowing a thin stream of smoke against the glass of Frank's window.
Frank shrugged and wet the edge of the paper with his tongue. "Because I don't wanna take another turn as Satan's pincushion, I guess."
"He wasn't Satan," Mikey scoffed.
Frank lit his smoke and tossed the lighter to Mikey, because the dude couldn't keep a roll-up alight for more than two seconds at a time. "Whatever."
They smoked in silence for a little while; it was raining and Frank traced the patterns of the raindrops in the condensation.
"Are you scared?" Mikey wanted to know.
Frank thought about it. It wasn't that he didn't know the answer; yeah, he was scared, he was fucking terrified, of going through that again, or worse, seeing one of the other guys go through it. Of leaving the shop, his apartment, the city he'd lived in all his life. Of fucking up, being useless, being nervous about tattoos instead of excited. Of the secrecy, of dying, and his Mom having no body to bury.
In the end he just said, "Yeah."
Mikey nodded. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Me too."
Frank tucked his hands under his knees and put his head down. He was getting another hole in the seam of his jeans; he'd have to sew it up or he'd end up with the leg flapping open everywhere again.
"The most scared I've ever been was the day Gee was ordained," Mikey said. Frank looked up sharply at that, but Mikey was looking out of the window, his jaw set in the way that meant he wouldn't say anything else about it, no matter how much Frank asked.
Mikey went on, "I don't wanna go without you. I will. But I don't want to."
Frank put his head down again. He could feel his thoughts rolling around in his head like marbles, or like those little ball bearings you had to get to sit in the dents. He tilted his head this way and that, letting them move around and settle, and once they had, he took a shaky breath.
"Oh," he said, when he was sure. "Oh, fuck you, Mikeyway."
He felt Mikey rest his toes on top of Frank's, and press, twice, through their shoes. Frank pressed back. The first little tendrils of excitement started moving inside him, and Frank tried to concentrate on those, tried to breathe in a way that would make them weave into something solid.
"We're gonna need a van," Mikey said.
Frank laughed, and sat up. He rubbed the side of his face and wrinkled his nose at Mikey, who was smiling back without moving his mouth. "We're gonna need a shitload of miracles."
Mikey's cigarette had gone out; he lit up again. "Yep. Those too."
