Junk

3

He couldn't breathe. He had spent what felt like hours just staring at it. At times, he was tempted to open it. But every time he did, he would imagine Mike storming into the room, telling him not to mess with his stuff. His junk. Micky traced his fingers along the cardboard sides, lifting it before setting it back down on his lap again. He couldn't bring himself to open it, but he couldn't stare at it forever either.

"Hey, Micky!"

The sound of Peter's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the box and saw Peter standing in the doorway. Peter smiled as he stepped in and sat beside him.

"What's that?" He asked, gesturing to the box.

"Oh, just...junk," Micky said through a sigh.

"Mike's things?" Peter smiled slightly, looking down at it.

"Yeah," Micky muttered, fidgeting with the cardboard sides anxiously.

Peter nodded slowly and wrapped his arm around him.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispered comfortingly. But Micky didn't hear it. Instead, he was focused on the single word written on the box. The only thing he could hear was Mike's voice saying, "don't open that. That's just junk." He could see Mike saying it to him after he had asked about it, and he could see Mike turn away and walk out of the room, never to be seen again.

"Peter?" Micky asked quietly. Peter turned to look at him.

"What do you think happened?"

Peter sighed and laid down across the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"I don't know, Micky. But I wouldn't worry about it too much."

Micky scoffed.

"'Wouldn't worry about it too much?'"

Peter nodded and smiled.

"I like to believe that he's okay. Wherever he is."

Micky frowned and laid down beside him.

"Don't say that, Peter."

"Don't say what?" Peter frowned and looked at him sadly.

Micky sighed and closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears.

"You're acting like he's gone for good."

Peter smiled slightly and turned his focus back up to the ceiling.

"He'll never be gone for good, Micky. Even if he was dead, he wouldn't stop living."

Micky started laughing at that. And Peter, confused, couldn't help but join in.

"What?"

"That makes no sense, Peter. If he dies, that means he stops living. That's the definition of dying!"

Peter shrugged and let the moment sober a little before he spoke again.

"If Mike is dead..." he said quietly as if him saying it too loudly would make it real. "He'll live on through us, through the music, through the stars, through the clouds. Just through the universe, he'll live."

Micky sighed and fiddled with the box in his hands.

"What do you think happened to him...?" He asked hesitantly, fearing what the answer might be. Peter sighed.

"I don't know," he said, standing up. "He didn't take the car, so he couldn't have left-"

"He would've told us too!" Micky interrupted. Peter nodded sadly.

"I like to think he's okay, though," he sighed, looking down. "I just get sad if I keep thinking something happened to him."

Micky didn't say anything but nodded slowly.

"I know you might not believe me, but..." Peter shifted his weight from side to side, nervously trying to think of the best way to say it. "But going through his stuff actually helped me a lot."

He offered a slight smile as Micky looked at him in disbelief.

"It was like he was right here again."

Micky nodded and let out a sigh, turning his focus back to the box in his hands.

"If you're not ready, it's fine," Peter said. "It took me quite a while before I could. Don't push yourself if you're not ready."

"Thanks," Micky whispered, tracing his fingers along the cardboard sides again. Peter smiled and nodded.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything from me, okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed. Peter nodded again and left the door open slightly as he headed downstairs. Micky watched his every move as he left. Once Peter was gone, he took several deep breaths before looking back down at the box. He stared at Mike's familiar handwriting, marking the contents as only being: "Junk".

"I'm sorry, Mike," he said sadly as he set the box beside him and pulled off the top.