Cinderella, she seems so easy ~waycest~

no one is reading this fic :>

A/N

I bet no one is reading this shit

but yeah

here it is

chapter...I forgot what number...

3??

I need a life

anyways...

Words: 436

~ENJOY~

//I bet no one is reading this fic

***

Apart for his recent purchase, Mikey does not own women's clothes, because Mikey is not, in fact, a woman.

Then again, the point is not to look like a woman (Mikey very much doubts Gerard would do anything except laugh himself sick if he showed up in a wig and fake boobs). The point is...

Well.

Mikey drops onto his bed, scattering clothes everywhere. He's not quite sure what it had been about his outfit the other night that had made Gerard's eyes darken, had unexpectedly broken through the walls Mikey hadn't even known were there.

He grabs the shirt from the floor, runs the material through his hands. It feels like an ordinary shirt; looks like one too. In the end he shrugs out of his tee and puts the button-down back on, standing in front of the mirror and regarding himself critically.

Everything is a little too long and narrow to be considered attractive: his face, his legs, even his tangled hair, flopping gracelessly over his forehead. The shirt does him no huge favours, accentuating his skinny torso and arms. His collarbones peek sharply through the thin material, a stripe of white stomach framed by bone and belt.

The shirt makes him seem... vulnerable. Unsure. Like he doesn't quite fit in his own skin.

Mikey cocks his head contemplatively. He fits his thumb in the soft indentation of bellybutton, letting the rest of his hand dangle down, fingertips brushing the worn denim. He closes his eyes, trying to recapture the feeling of that night; the sleepy tiredness in his limbs, the sudden heat of Gerard's gaze on his skin, how shaky it had left him.

When Mikey opens his eyes again, he can barely recognise the person in the mirror. He looks desperate and frayed around the edges, all his good intentions unravelling like careless knots. His pupils are blown wide and black, there's blood on his mouth where he's bitten through his lip without realising it.

Mikey stares at his reflection for a long time, the taste of copper sitting bright and heavy on his tongue.

In the end he just grabs his keys and wallet from the dresser and walks out of the house.

After all, it's less about what he's wearing than how he's wearing it.

***

A/N

I hate myself for writing this...

...nvm I hate myself for everything. :>

brb KMS

XOXO