The noise backstage is a constant hum a mix of lights, cables, and voices you couldn’t care less about. Mikey stands in front of you, his hands trembling, eyes glassy behind his glasses. It looks like he hasn’t slept, or maybe whatever you said last night is still eating him alive.

“Can we talk, please?” his voice cracks a little.

You barely look at him, the cigarette between your fingers burning slowly, filling the air with indifference. You didn’t mean to destroy him or maybe you did. There’s something about the way he clings to you, so clumsy, so sincere, that makes you feel powerful and disgusted at the same time.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Mikey,” you reply in that flat tone you learned to use when you didn’t want anyone getting too close.

He swallows hard, takes a step closer. “But… you said we were going to try, that”

Across the hallway, Gerard watches with an expression caught somewhere between disgust and pity. Arms crossed, jaw tight. He hates how comfortable you look while his brother is falling apart over you.