And All the Electric Stars Are Shining
I Just Want You To Know Who I Am
Chapter 6 - I Just Want You To Know Who I Am
---
Traffic wouldn't let up, some accident or something a mile ahead. Mike cursed and worried his bottom lip almost to the point of bleeding. At any other time he'd have been worried about who was in it, had anyone died? Now all he wanted was for it to move so he could get to his Billie.
Billie Joe is one of the most sensitive people he'd ever met. He always made sure everyone was happy and if they weren't he was quick to blame himself. This time he'd harmed Adie, the love of his life. Well, at least so Mike thought till yesterday. For all Mike knew, Billie could be having an attack and he wasn't there to stop it.
He blew his horn again, traffic finally moving a little. He slammed on the gas, narrowly missing a street sign as he drove down Billie's street.
The next thing he saw would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. His best friend, new lover crumpled in the driveway, his small hands clenching desperately around the neck of his cherished guitar. It reminded Mike of a small child clinging to a toy. He also saw a few boxes filled with clothes and mementos, tossed in as if the packer were in a hurry.
He gripped the steering wheel, parking the truck haphazardly, the bed sticking out into the street, and ran towards the crushed shadow of his best friend and held him as tightly as he could.
"Billie! Billie, are you alright? It's okay, I'm here."
He ran a soothing hand through his hair, rocking him gently. Salty tears staining his shoulder.
"Sh, it's alright. I've got you."
Billie sniffed, "I-I'm s-sorry."
The smaller man was shaking, his emotions pouring out. Mike pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "What are you apologizing for?"
"Everything? I-I've ruined everything. Adie left me. What's worse is that I totally deserved it. I d-deserve worse. Now I don't even have a home to go to."
"Billie, you're coming home with me."
"Mikey, you don't-"
"Don't you dare fight with me on this. You know you can stay with me," he said softly, brushing strands of hair away from his face so he could see those emerald eyes.
Mike continued to rock the man gently, comforting him as much as he could. His light blue eyes met teary almond ones across the yard from the window. Self-manicured nails, pushing down the blinds slightly. It wasn't a look of hatred or even jealousy but a shared look of acceptance. Billie Joe was no longer her's and as much as it pained her to let him go she knew he was already gone. He never really was her's to begin with.
As soon as he saw those blinds close he knew it was over, things were completely different now. After all this time, Billie was his. His lover, his bestfriend, his responsibility. He looked down to that mop of black hair he'd grown to adore over the years and placed a soft kis to his forehead. He was going to do absolutely everything in his power to keep from fucking things up. First, he had to make sure his lover was alright.
"Billie? Billie, please. Listen. We're going to get up, get your things and go back home. Then we're going to relax until we get our heads around this and we'll be alright."
The man in his arms finally looked up at him. He looked so scared and alone. It almost broke Mike's heart to see him in such a state.
"Baby?"
That was enough to get a reaction. Billie clutched his shoulder in an awkward embrace. Mike barely realized it was the first time he ever used a term of endearment towards the man. That thought thrilled and terrified them both. There was no coming back from this.
"It's okay. C'mon, let's go," he kissed his forehead again, lifting the man up, his small hand still clutching the beaten guitar.
After getting him inside, he lifted the small boxes and placed them in the bed of the truck. An aged picture frame caught his eyes. It must have been two decades old. It was of a man in his late thirties, handsome features for his age, a few flecks of gray throughout his brown hair making him appear distinguished. Mike paused when he realized what he was looking at. Andrew Armstrong, Billie's father. He hurriedly placed the box down, hopping out the bed and getting into the drivers seat. Of all the things she could've kept or destroyed, she gave him that picture. He reached over and held Billie's hand.
"We should be home soon," he smiled weakly.
Adrienne still loved him. After everything they did to her. That picture was proof. He bit his lip and headed down the block. He prayed that he could earn back her respect someday.
"Do we have any p-paper?" Billie asked, his voice soft yet raw from crying. Mike barely heard him over his thoughts.
"What?"
"Paper. I-uh, need to write something down."
He glanced over, Billie's fingers tapping nervously against the neck of the guitar.
"Yeah, I've got some at the house."
He nodded quickly, already lost in his own thoughts again. The first line to the song he needed to write already forming. Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Billie was so distracted by the song he barely realized they were home. As soon as the car stopped, he made his way inside, leaving everything else besides his guitar behind.
Mike watched the smaller man walk inside dazed. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and wondered if they'll ever be able to get back to normal. He got up, stacking the boxes and followed the man inside. It may take a while but he'll sure as hell try.
Billie was already strumming lightly as Mike placed the boxes down. He looked so absorbed in his music that Mike assumed he had forgotten he even needed paper. Mike paused for a moment, listening as the absent strumming turned into a light tune.
Billie was good, brilliant. He had only played guitar a handful of times for Mike and even then it was songs they knew. Mike just felt that this tune was Billie's and however simple it was the emotion behind it made it complex. Even without words, he knew the song was about the breakup.
He looked up at the smaller man, staring at a ring of condensation on the coffee table. Mike came back a few minutes later with a pen and paper from the office and placed it in Billie's line of vision, sitting beside him.
Billie stopped playing, reaching for the pen, "Thanks." He bit his lip, writing the line he thought of on the ride over and after five minutes the words spilled out across the page.
Since his early teens, Billie knew he was a songwriter. Whenever he felt emotions or opinions strongly enough he had to write it down. Over the last two decades, his songs filled four notebooks. He wrote about everything from Mike to his father to trying his first joint. Anger he could never express and love he thought he could never share. It was his own brand of self therapy and most of the time it worked. Without it, he'd have had a panic attack by now.
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life.
As the last chord dissipated, the living room immersed into silence. It was finalizing in a way, like throwing in the towel or hanging your head. His life with Adrienne was over and now that this song is finished, his life with Mike was just beginning.
---
Traffic wouldn't let up, some accident or something a mile ahead. Mike cursed and worried his bottom lip almost to the point of bleeding. At any other time he'd have been worried about who was in it, had anyone died? Now all he wanted was for it to move so he could get to his Billie.
Billie Joe is one of the most sensitive people he'd ever met. He always made sure everyone was happy and if they weren't he was quick to blame himself. This time he'd harmed Adie, the love of his life. Well, at least so Mike thought till yesterday. For all Mike knew, Billie could be having an attack and he wasn't there to stop it.
He blew his horn again, traffic finally moving a little. He slammed on the gas, narrowly missing a street sign as he drove down Billie's street.
The next thing he saw would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. His best friend, new lover crumpled in the driveway, his small hands clenching desperately around the neck of his cherished guitar. It reminded Mike of a small child clinging to a toy. He also saw a few boxes filled with clothes and mementos, tossed in as if the packer were in a hurry.
He gripped the steering wheel, parking the truck haphazardly, the bed sticking out into the street, and ran towards the crushed shadow of his best friend and held him as tightly as he could.
"Billie! Billie, are you alright? It's okay, I'm here."
He ran a soothing hand through his hair, rocking him gently. Salty tears staining his shoulder.
"Sh, it's alright. I've got you."
Billie sniffed, "I-I'm s-sorry."
The smaller man was shaking, his emotions pouring out. Mike pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "What are you apologizing for?"
"Everything? I-I've ruined everything. Adie left me. What's worse is that I totally deserved it. I d-deserve worse. Now I don't even have a home to go to."
"Billie, you're coming home with me."
"Mikey, you don't-"
"Don't you dare fight with me on this. You know you can stay with me," he said softly, brushing strands of hair away from his face so he could see those emerald eyes.
Mike continued to rock the man gently, comforting him as much as he could. His light blue eyes met teary almond ones across the yard from the window. Self-manicured nails, pushing down the blinds slightly. It wasn't a look of hatred or even jealousy but a shared look of acceptance. Billie Joe was no longer her's and as much as it pained her to let him go she knew he was already gone. He never really was her's to begin with.
As soon as he saw those blinds close he knew it was over, things were completely different now. After all this time, Billie was his. His lover, his bestfriend, his responsibility. He looked down to that mop of black hair he'd grown to adore over the years and placed a soft kis to his forehead. He was going to do absolutely everything in his power to keep from fucking things up. First, he had to make sure his lover was alright.
"Billie? Billie, please. Listen. We're going to get up, get your things and go back home. Then we're going to relax until we get our heads around this and we'll be alright."
The man in his arms finally looked up at him. He looked so scared and alone. It almost broke Mike's heart to see him in such a state.
"Baby?"
That was enough to get a reaction. Billie clutched his shoulder in an awkward embrace. Mike barely realized it was the first time he ever used a term of endearment towards the man. That thought thrilled and terrified them both. There was no coming back from this.
"It's okay. C'mon, let's go," he kissed his forehead again, lifting the man up, his small hand still clutching the beaten guitar.
After getting him inside, he lifted the small boxes and placed them in the bed of the truck. An aged picture frame caught his eyes. It must have been two decades old. It was of a man in his late thirties, handsome features for his age, a few flecks of gray throughout his brown hair making him appear distinguished. Mike paused when he realized what he was looking at. Andrew Armstrong, Billie's father. He hurriedly placed the box down, hopping out the bed and getting into the drivers seat. Of all the things she could've kept or destroyed, she gave him that picture. He reached over and held Billie's hand.
"We should be home soon," he smiled weakly.
Adrienne still loved him. After everything they did to her. That picture was proof. He bit his lip and headed down the block. He prayed that he could earn back her respect someday.
"Do we have any p-paper?" Billie asked, his voice soft yet raw from crying. Mike barely heard him over his thoughts.
"What?"
"Paper. I-uh, need to write something down."
He glanced over, Billie's fingers tapping nervously against the neck of the guitar.
"Yeah, I've got some at the house."
He nodded quickly, already lost in his own thoughts again. The first line to the song he needed to write already forming. Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
Billie was so distracted by the song he barely realized they were home. As soon as the car stopped, he made his way inside, leaving everything else besides his guitar behind.
Mike watched the smaller man walk inside dazed. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and wondered if they'll ever be able to get back to normal. He got up, stacking the boxes and followed the man inside. It may take a while but he'll sure as hell try.
Billie was already strumming lightly as Mike placed the boxes down. He looked so absorbed in his music that Mike assumed he had forgotten he even needed paper. Mike paused for a moment, listening as the absent strumming turned into a light tune.
Billie was good, brilliant. He had only played guitar a handful of times for Mike and even then it was songs they knew. Mike just felt that this tune was Billie's and however simple it was the emotion behind it made it complex. Even without words, he knew the song was about the breakup.
He looked up at the smaller man, staring at a ring of condensation on the coffee table. Mike came back a few minutes later with a pen and paper from the office and placed it in Billie's line of vision, sitting beside him.
Billie stopped playing, reaching for the pen, "Thanks." He bit his lip, writing the line he thought of on the ride over and after five minutes the words spilled out across the page.
Since his early teens, Billie knew he was a songwriter. Whenever he felt emotions or opinions strongly enough he had to write it down. Over the last two decades, his songs filled four notebooks. He wrote about everything from Mike to his father to trying his first joint. Anger he could never express and love he thought he could never share. It was his own brand of self therapy and most of the time it worked. Without it, he'd have had a panic attack by now.
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life.
As the last chord dissipated, the living room immersed into silence. It was finalizing in a way, like throwing in the towel or hanging your head. His life with Adrienne was over and now that this song is finished, his life with Mike was just beginning.