Refugee (a Petekey story)

Chapter one

He didn't ask for this. But then again, no one really did. You would have to be an idiot to want something like this life. If you could even call it life, that is.

"Hello?" He called out, a stupid thing to do. It was raining, and the streets were completely empty- a cliche sign of true loss. Alone, in the rain, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a small backpack with nothing but another change of clothes. Everything he had time to pack before he was forced to leave. Everything he now owned. His bass was at home, another taunting reminder of everything he had lost with that one stupid idea. That one stupid mistake. 

The rain was soaking through his jeans now, the low roof of the deserted apartment building not quite enough to block out the torrential northern downpour. It was dark, nearly 2 am, and he was exhausted. Tired of looking around for a place to be, tired of dealing with the guilt in the pit of his stomach. Just... tired.

"You're going to catch a cold." The disembodied voice appeared out of nowhere, young and dull. Turning around quickly, he struggled to find where this mysterious person was.

Not quite abandoned then, the apartment building. A boy- no, a man- stood in the doorway of the building, watching with careful eyes. Glasses covered more than half his face, his hair helping with this coverage. He couldn't be older than twenty, and yet he had the authority of someone twice that age. Another person that had passed him by with the idea of ignoring the lonely boy on the side of the building. But, somehow, despite everything he was thinking, had called out to him.

"Are you going to invite me in then?" His attempt at sounding tough ended with a sniffle from the cold, and all pretense of age was lost. He was standing in the rain with nowhere to go, sniffling from the cold and shivering from the rain. Any attempt to sound like he knew what he was doing was gone before it had begun.

"Come on, then." A command, not a question. A simple statement of "I can help you." Maybe the other boy didn't mean it intentionally, but he was completely used to the idea of seeing the unseen. Hearing the unheard.

He prided himself in this.

"I'm Mikey." A name to a face. A childish name for the not- quite young man, but a name nonetheless. They stepped into the small elevator together, the cramped space giving him a sense of warmth despite all the water in his clothes.

"Pete. Where are we going?" He was full of questions, trying to find answers. This boy, Mikey, was going to be confusing, Pete could tell. He just didn't understand.

"Up. I'm on the top floor." The tone in Mikey's voice made him retrace his steps. "No questions," the voice seemed to say. "No answers."

The apartment was on the top floor indeed, high enough that Pete could hear every single pit pat of the rain above. There was even a ladder, leading up to an enclosed circle that he assumed was the path to the roof. A perfect home, it seemed.

A perfect place to hide.

But Mikey didn't live alone, no, he was too powerful to live alone. He had the aura of someone who was used to taking care of others, which sent Pete's mind on another hunt to figure out exactly who this mysterious person was.

"Whose this?" Another boy, this one significantly younger. He had a wide forehead, big lips and red glasses that seemed too small for his face. He was sitting at a small round table, next to an even younger boy, who was slightly chubbier, with another pair glasses obscuring his face once more.

"Pete." A short, curt answer that the other boy and his companion seemed use to. Another stray in their house, it seemed. Another lost soul.

"I'm Brendon Ur-." With a sharp look from Mikey, the younger boy quickly shut his mouth. Pete didn't understand the need to keep things quiet. They were the only ones in this apartment it seemed. The only ones in this entire building.

"And the boy next to him is Patrick." Mikey was doing the introductions now, clearly not trusting Brendon with any information. The boy seemed excited, almost hyper. Too hyper for this early in the morning. Or late at night. It depended on how you looked at it.

"Lindsey is sleeping," he continued. He seemed bothered by the fact that Pete was here in his house, doing things that his people normally did. It was his haven, and there was interruption.

Mikey didn't like that. And everyone seated at the small dinner table could tell.

"Why are you here?" Now there were questions. Only this time, Mikey wasn't instructed to answer them. This time, they were for the new comer. The intruder.

"I got disowned." With another sharp look from the boy in charge of the household, he elaborated. "For wanting to pursue music. My parents didn't think I'd get very far, and they didn't want to be associated with a failure." It seemed like a legit excuse, but it really wasn't. His parents didn't like musicians. They didn't like the fact that he spent all his time in his room practicing, trying to become big.

They didn't like that he impregnated the only chance he had at a normal life, causing her to leave him and take their unborn baby with her.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mikey's reply sounded forced, like he was used to consoling people that had gotten kicked out of their house for something that wasn't their fault. Like he was used to lying.

"So how old are you, then?" A simple question, and Brendon (who had been attentively listening to the conversation) did not receive a glare for this enquiry. It seemed that the same question had been on the tip of Mikey's tongue, ready to be released.

"Seventeen."

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, seeing as Mikey's eyes widened, Brendon's mouth dropped, and Patrick sat up straighter (he had been resting his head on Brendon's shoulder during the entire conversation.)

"You're almost an adult and you can't take care of yourself." This one wasn't a question, it was a guess. An accusation. A fact.

Even the seemingly happy- go- lucky Brendon seemed shocked by the news. His mouth had closed, but his eyes were still narrowed in a glare of anger. Almost hatred.

"I've never been on my own before." A pathetic attempt to recover, and all three of the other boys could see it. They could see how unsure Pete was, how he had relied for so long on other people that he no longer knew how to do anything on his own.

"You can share a room with Brendon and Patrick then." Another command, another statement, spoken in a voice that seemed to be tired of everything. This was not a question, though. Pete would be staying the night with the two of the boys in this house that seemed to hate him more than anything else on earth.

"Bathroom is down the hall." Mikey wasn't done talking, and when he talked you listened. He was completely in charge when it came to this apartment, and they all knew it.

"Go take a shower. Or do you need help with that too?" Another jab at the fact that Pete could not take care of himself, and he was done. He was tired, he didn't ask for a sassy, sarcastic tour guide to take care of him.

"Yeah? You saying that you weren't as pathetic on your own at seventeen?" Another attempt to recover. An attempt to fire back, set aflame the already burning fire. An assumption that this... this caretaker was so infuriating that he also was alone before he should have been.

Mikey laughed a snide, sarcastic laugh. A laugh that didn't portray anything. Neither humor, nor anger. No emotion at all.

"I don't think I will be." He said, eyes glinting in the awful lighting. "Considering how well off I am now."

This stumped Pete for a moment. This boy who looked to be an adult was younger than him? This boy who assumed authority- and got it- had spent less time on this cruel world than he had? That wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair.

"So how old are you then?" All four of them could hear the desperation in his tone, and Pete internally cringed at the sound of it. But this question deserved an answer, one answer to the one question the he reserved the right to ask.

"Fifteen. There's a towel and a change of clothes under the sink." Mikey walking away symbolized the end of that conversation, and Pete couldn't help but feel a little bit relieved.