Mikey Way broke his heart in one sentence every year. It stung like cold, bitter wind hitting his face in the middle of winter. Each time hurt worse than the last.
He just wanted Mikey.
He would ask him the same thing every year of high school, during the very last week: "Mikey Way, will you go on a date with me?"
And Mikey would respond with the same thing every time: "Why put a new address on the same old loneliness, Pete?" He would ask. "I'm not your rebound after Stump."
"But Patrick and I never went out!" Pete would always reply, exasperated.
"I'm not a new fixation for an old problem," Mikey would say, and then walk away.
But senior year. Senior year, God. God. Fuck.
"Mikey Way, will you go out with me?"
"You're still going with this? Even after I always say no?"
And Pete just passes him a small slip of folded notebook paper with dark blue ink scribbled on the inside.
Pete doesn't even have to peer over Mikey's shoulder to reread what the note says--he knows it by heart.
If you are the shores, I am the waves, begging for big moons.
"God," Mikey says, and gives him this look, this look, this pity-filled look, and then he opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. He closes his mouth. "God."
"I have more, if you were wondering."
"God," Mikey repeats. Pete starts to count how many times Mikey says it. "How much?"
"Since freshman year? Four folders. One for every year."
"Can I see them?"
Pete's glad he's by his locker. He puts in the combination and grabs this year's folder. He shoves the notebook towards Mikey, starting to be flustered by the fact that he's gotten this far and he doesn't even know what Mikey's about to do.
Pete has a few of the lyrics memorized. He and Patrick use them when writing songs sometimes.
Mikey reads them aloud, "I used to waste my time being alive. Now I only waste it dreaming of you."
"I want to scream, 'I love you' from the top of my lungs, but I'm afraid someone else will hear me."
"I only want what I can't have."
"I'm trying to forget everything that isn't you."
And then Mikey says, "God, you're so fucking poetic."
Four.
"There's a scribbled out one," Mikey says. "I wish I was as... It doesn't say anything from there."
"Invisible as the way you make me feel," Pete says, and it's almost automatic.
"God."
Five.
"I'm addicted to the way I feel when I think of you," Mikey reads. "God."
Six.
He really needs to stop saying that.
And then Mikey looks up from the folder that he's flipping through. "Let's go see a movie this weekend. I'll buy," Pete thinks he sees a hint of a smile on Mikey's lips, but they curl before he can truly cherish the moment.
And this time, it's Pete who says it when Mikey walks away.
He makes sure Mikey can't hear him, and he puts the folder back in his locker and says, "God."
Seven.
