"If you still care, don't ever let me know." As soon as Pete said the words, Mikey exploded into motion.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mikey shoved him hard and Pete stumbled against the counter, banging his hip. It was probably going to leave a bruise and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He liked the idea of being marked, but Mikey wasn't his anymore. He wanted to press against the tender flesh, suck in his breath at the sharp ache—"You're such a motherfucking idiot." Mikey's voice was a rough growl.
"No, seriously, Mikey. I just don't want to know. It's too—" He started to wave his arms around, but Mikey grabbed his arms and flung him back into the fridge. "Oooof." He'd never seen Mikey so mad before. Ever.
Mikey wrapped his hand around Pete's throat, pinning him in place. "Too fucking bad."
Pete struggled under Mikey's hand for a moment, gasping a little, before giving up and going limp. He didn't want to look at Mikey, didn't want to see the pity in his eyes, but Mikey just waited. He'd always had more patience than Pete.
"Just because we're not fucking anymore doesn't mean I don't love you," Mikey hissed, eyes strangely naked without his glasses. "Marriage, divorce, babies, new albums, new bands, none of it changes the fact that I love you." His fingers tightened a little. "Understand me, Pete?"
Swallowing hard, Pete nodded. "It's easier not knowing."
"Life's not about easy," Mikey said, pulling Pete into his arms and squeezing hard. "Life's about living."
"It hurts," he whispered against Mikey's neck.
"I know. But that's how you know you're still alive."
Pete let himself clutch at Mikey, taking comfort where he could.