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Silly Office Romance Thing
Author: [personal profile] xojemmaxo 
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Rating: R
Wordcount: 5576
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Mikey's wasting away his life working a humdrum office job that was only meant to be temporary. Now he's stuck in a rut and he can't seem to find a good time to quit. Maybe Frank, the tiny tattooed receptionist who blows in, can finally put a stop to Mikey's excuses.

Influenced a fair bit by the British version of 'The Office'.

Mikey is quitting his job. He's been working this boring, unfulfilling office chore for seven years now - seven years! - and now, at twnety nine, Mikey's finally going to leave. He's going to get a real job; a career. 

But of course, work’s pretty hard to find in these parts these days. Mikey doesn’t want to get caught in the no money vacuum between jobs. He’d lose his apartment if he couldn't afford to pay the rent. And honestly, he's hardly qualified to do anything but Accounting at Smith and Co.’s Paper Bag Suppliers. 

Maybe he'll quit next week instead. 


Although in a confined office space gossip tends to spread like a super zombie virus, Mikey doesn't hear about the new guy until Brian, the office manager, brings him in one morning.

"People, people! Over here, office meeting." There's a collective groaning of swivel chairs as the entire office rises and the workers shuffle over to where Brain is standing with his arms crossed outside his office door. Next to him stands a short guy in regulation office uniform - white shirt and tie, dress pants. His expression, lips pressed together in a smile that makes him look like he knows the punchline to a secret joke, is strangely at odds with the starched shirt and shiny shoes. 

"Okay." Brian claps his hands together once everyone's gathered in a loose, whispering audience and the muttering dies down. Mikey, stuck behind the fat guy from Processing, eases between Joe from Accounting and Elizabeth from Higher Ups to get a better view. He watches the new guy as Brian speaks, only vaguely listening to his welcome speech. 

"Hired a few days ago and he'll be filling the reception vacancy..." The guy is bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning, moving his hands from behind his back to his pockets, then crossing them over his chest. He looks nervous and jittery. 
"...six months at the most..."
So he won't be staying long. It's probably for the better, Mikey thinks, as he glances at the tattoos on Frank’s neck. It's obvious he doesn't belong in a regular nine to five.  

Mikey snaps to attention when the new guy starts to speak. "Hey, uh. I'm Frank. Iero." His voice is deep and he raises a palm in greeting before tucking it behind his back again. The knowing smile never leaves his face. 


Brian puts Iero in the little receptionist desk near the entrance of the office. If Mikey leans back in his chair and cranes his neck, he can just see him moving stationary and piles of paper around through the partitions and potted plants. 

Iero is different. He has this energy that people working in the office have had sucked out of them by now. He almost looks like he wants to be there, which for Mikey is such an alien thought that he can’t quite comprehend it. 


Mikey usually eats his lunch in the dreary little cafeteria downstairs, but today he heads over to the arrangement of low, businesslike couches a little way in front of the reception desk. He unpacks his Thursday rice and chicken and a fork and starts to eat carefully, avoiding dropping any on his suit. 

Hefeels creepy as he watches new guy from the corner of his eye. Iero knows he's there, he must, so Mikey's not stalking him or anything, he's just - curious. No one else in the office has tattoos that Mikey knows of, and Iero’s rolled up his sleeves so he can see that both his arms are covered in ink. He's idly wondering where else Iero might have tattoos when Fat Guy from Processing creaks onto the couch beside Mikey and starts unwrapping his focaccia. 

Oh no. Mikey can never remember Fat Guy from Processing’s name and aside from that, he's even worse at conversation than Mikey is. 

"Hello, Michael." And he calls Mikey by his full name, which - Mikey stopped asking him not to call him that years ago. He's given up. 


 Mikey doesn't know what to say, but Fat Guy from Processing’s already wolfing down his focaccia so it looks like he doesn't need to. 

He goes back to observing the new guy. He looks like he's getting ready for his lunch break, standing and shoving his sleeves back up past his elbows. 

-"Your birthday next month?" Fat guy is asking, a curly strand of alfalfa bobbing from the side of his mouth as he speaks. 

"Huh?" asks Mikey. New guy looks like he might be heading over to the cafeteria. 

"What are you doing for your birthday next month?" 

"Oh, uh," says Mikey.  New guy is coming towards them with a container of food. He sits down across from them just as Mikey says, "I dunno, probably I'll just get takeout, jerk off and fall asleep watching the late news."

Fat Guy from Processing’s mouth drops open but Iero laughs, a giggle that sounds like a total pot laugh. Mikey thinks he's probably laughing at Fat Guy from Processing’s mortified expression. 

"Sounds great," says Iero cheerfully. He takes the lid off his container and picks up his fork. 

"Yeah, well," Mikey mumbles. He picks at his rice. There's an awkward silence. "I'm Mikey Way."

"Hey, Mikey Way," says Iero easily. He shoves a massive forkful of food into his mouth and adds, still chewing, "So whaddya do for fun around here?"

'Fun' and 'work' aren't two words associated in Mikey’s mind. "You're kidding, right?”

Iero laughs. “From experience offices aren’t the most exciting place to work.”

Right?” Mikey says, because in all his years working here, no one’s ever actually dared to voice aloud the mind-numbing, dreary humdrum of the office. Iero laughs again and Mikey ducks his head.

“I won’t be working here much longer, though,” he says optimistically. Then pessimistically adds, “Hopefully, anyway.”

“You quitting, then?” Iero says. He drops a bit of his food onto the table and glances around before grabbing it between his fingers and sucking it into his mouth. “Seems like a smart move, man. I haven’t been here long but I don’t want to end up being a soul-sucking businessman.”

Fat guy from Processing frowns at Iero, but Mikey finds himself smiling. “Yeah. I don’t either. I was gonna hand in my resignation yesterday, but... you know.”

Iero nods. “Life gets in the way.”



“I like your hair.” Frank’s standing at Mikey’s desk, one hand hooked in his rumpled dress pants pocket, the other making like he’s going to actually touch Mikey’s hair. Which, okay, is a bit strange. Mikey moves his head away, and Frank lets his hand drop. “How does a soulless office worker like you get cool hair like this?”

Mikey shrugs, and stares just to the left of Frank’s face. He runs a hand through his hair - short and brown on the sides, long and blonde on the top. “I dunno, it’s kinda - I saw it somewhere and liked it, you know?”

Frank grins and runs his palm over his own buzzed hair. “I used to have hair sort of like that. It was like a faux hawk. Bleached on the sides, though.”

Before Mikey can respond, Frank’s saying, “Pretty badass, man,” and wandering back over to the reception desk.


It turns out Frank is only taking this job to save up for his next tour, because of course, Frank is in a band.

“Like, a band band?” asks Mikey keenly a couple weeks after Frank’s arrival. He’s eating with Frank outside the office, which he’s never thought to do before, on a park bench the street opposite the office so Frank can smoke. It’s sunny today and the rays peer through the New York smog, warming Mikey’s back through his suit jacket.

Frank takes a deep drag of his smoke, eyelids fluttering. He swipes the cigarette away from his mouth and shrugs. “Yeah. We tour and shit. Not very often, but when we do, we just...” He sweeps his arm across the horizon. “Just get out there, you know? Across the country in a shitty van, no showers, no houses, no beds most of the time. No material comforts.” He grins. “It’s disgusting. But then you’re out there onstage in fucking, like, fucking Arizona or Nevada or wherever, and maybe there’s three hundred people in the crowd or maybe there’s five, but it’s the best feeling in the world.”

Mikey gets it - that image was so powerful he’s half a mind to call up Gerard and start up Raygun Jones again.

“I’d love to do that,” he says. “Be in a band.”

“It’s great.” Frank shakes his head. “I can’t even describe it, really.”

“So what do you sound like?” asks Mikey. He’s into music, and he likes to think he’s got a pretty varied musical taste.

Frank thinks for a minute and takes another drag on his smoke.

“I guess sort of punk, sort of metal? Leaning towards punk, though. I like to think we kinda sound like - do you know who Blag Flag are?”

“Dude,” says Mikey. “I grew up in New Jersey in the eighties. I know who Blag Flag are.”

“You’re from Jersey too?” asks Frank. He’s grinning again.

“Yeah, Belleville.”

“Oh man, we practically grew up in the same town!” crows Frank. “This is so awesome!”

He shows Mikey the NJ tattoo inked into his left bicep and they talk about a large shopping mall located between both their towns which they both visited frequently in their teenage years. Apparently Frank got arrested twice there for shoplifting. They talk about home until lunch break was over five minutes ago, and then head back into the office together.


Frank spends so much time hanging around Mikey’s work area instead of at the reception desk that Mikey wonders how he doesn’t lose his job. Once, Frank gets so involved in telling Mikey about the time he and his bandmates all got food poisoning and had to get their parents to pick them up from Wisconsin because none of them could drive that he didn’t see the Head of Department waiting at the reception desk.

He managed to charm her anyway and lead her into Brian’s office without a problem, and Mikey looked on with interest.


“So, uh.” Frank’s sitting on Mikey’s desk - more precisely on some paperwork he needs to file - “When are you quitting again?”

He puts it delicately, like he’s afraid to ask. Mikey cringes and remembers that he told Frank he was going to quit - again - over a week ago.

“I... don’t really know,” he says, putting down his pen and swiveling a little to face Frank. Frank looks like he’s thinking that he knew Mikey would say that, and it makes Mikey feel inadequate. “Just - I don’t have another job lined up. I wouldn’t have any money coming in, and -”

“Nah, man. I get it.” Frank’s smiling but his eyes aren’t. “Next time.”

“Yeah.” Mikey grabs onto it, relieved, and turns back to his paperwork.


“My brother Gerard writes comics,” says Mikey. “That’s kind of the most exciting thing about me.”

Frank makes an absurd scoffing noise. “You can’t be that boring, office worker. Come on, man! what’s one thing you like to do.”

Mikey hesitates.

“One thing! Don’t tell me you don’t have any hobbies. Fucking - knitting? Music? I know you like music, man.”

“I like music,” Mikey mumbles. He picks at a spot on his dress pants where Frank’s accidentally dropped his ash. “But that’s all I talk about.”

Frank twists his mouth to the side. "Well... Tell me about your brother."

Mikey does, gladly. Gerard's so interesting. He's always moving around, mainly LA and other major cities, promoting his comics and meeting up with artists and directors and designers and other writers. He goes to all the best comic cons. Last year he took Mikey to the San Diego Con and Mikey tells Frank all about it even though Frank isn't as into comics as Mikey is.

Gerard's written a lot of comics already, with more always in the works, and he's co-written a bunch too, including a special of the Batman comic - which Mikey likes to boast about.

"Your brother sounds pretty cool," says Frank, cutting Mikey off halfway through a detailed outline of Gerard's comic The Umbrella Academy. He checks his watch then lights another smoke. "But I like you better."

Mikey goes quiet, coughing a little as he fiddles with the sleeve of his suit jacket. He doesn't know what to say and Frank’s words are making his stomach flutter uneasily.

Frank smokes, watching Mikey fidget. Eventually he stubs the cigarette out on the bench and says, "We should get back. Lunch break was over ten minutes ago."


“So it’s your birthday today,” Frank says. Obviously he’s spotted the dorky ‘I LOVE BASEBALL’ cap Mikey’s wearing today - his mum sent it in the mail.

“It sure is,” says Mikey. It doesn’t feel like it’s his birthday; he doesn’t feel thirty. But at the same time there’s that familiar edge of dread in his stomach heralding another year closer to old age and death. “‘M turning thirty.”

Frank makes a face. “Aw, sucks, man,” he says. “I got that next year.”

“I’m practically middle aged,” laments Mikey. He tilts back in his swivel chair. Frank’s playing with the shit on his desk, moving the stapler around and poking at a pile of Post-it notes like a kid.

“Thirty isn’t middle aged!” Frank retorts.

“Feels like it,” says Mikey morosely.

“Come on,” says Frank. He bats at the cap. “You’re not old! Sometimes you act like it-”


“But you’re still young. You should come to a show with me tonight.”

Mikey gapes at him. “With you?”

“Beats hanging out at home and jerking off to the late night news, doesn’t it?” Frank asks. “Or was it jerking off then falling asleep to the late news? Fuck.”

“Jerking off then falling asleep to the late news,” Mikey says automatically. Then, fuck it. “Okay, I’ll go to the show. I haven’t been to any shows in ages, like, years. That sorta thing just gets away from you, huh.”

“Fuck yeah, man,” Frank says emphatically, so loud that Rupert from the desk over glares at them. “It’s gonna be awesome.”


It is pretty awesome. Mikey has a brief moment before he leaves where he doesn't know what to wear, like he's spent so long changing from a suit directly into pajamas every night that he doesn't actually own any casual clothes. He rattles up a pair of skinny jeans he can't remember buying and an ancient Empire Strikes Back shirt. When he meets Frank outside the tiny venue, Frank’s in a red shirt, his full sleeves of ink kind of mesmerising.

“Hey,” he greets Mikey. He nods at the small crowd gathering around the doors. “Good turnout tonight. I know some of the openers.”

“That’s, uh.” Mikey feels so ridiculously out of place here in Frank’s world. “Good?”

Frank laughs, but in the warm way that Mikey’s learnt means he’s not laughing at him.

“You’re a funny guy, Mikey Way.”


“I’m glad you came!” Frank hollers later over the throbbing bass and screaming guitars. They’re crushed together in the pit, the crowd around them jostling them around violently. Mikey’s grinning wide and going with it, letting himself be pushed around and pushing back. Frank gets shoved against him and he puts his mouth close to Mikey’s ear, his breath puffing against his skin. “It’s great to see you finally relax outside of that office!”

Mikey smiles at him, wide. “I haven’t felt like this in years,” he yells.

Frank laughs, muted underneath the music, and the next time they crash together, his lips press hard against the corner of Mikey’s mouth, and he laughs manic and happy and spins away again.

Mikey wants to think about it, what Frank meant by it, but the blaring sound and crush of bodies pushes all the thoughts out of his head until all he can do is go with it, mindless.


Frak doesn’t mention the kiss after the show. When they leave the venue he says, “Fuckin’ amazing, man, shit. I need a smoke.” They stand out on a street corner and Mikey watches him, thinking in circles, heart still hammering with adrenaline.

Frank’s talking about the openers that he knows, and shows that are on next weekend. Mikey half listens and thinks, and then Frank’s huffing a soft laugh and kissing Mikey again.

It’s enough of a shock that Mikey stands stock still for a moment. Then he lets Frank lick into his mouth, flick his tongue against his teeth.

Frank pulls away, grinning.

“So now you know.”

“Know what?” Mikey asks dumbly. He wants to touch his mouth, but he doesn’t.

Frank shrugs. “I like you.”

They go back to Frank’s apartment.


It’s a well-kept secret that Mikey is terrible at sex. He maintains that it’s because he never has any sex, but he suspects it’s just not something he’ll ever really excel at.

He’s awkward as he watches Frank take his clothes off. Frank twists out of his shirt and wriggles out of his pants and underwear while Mikey’s still hovering, twisting his hands in the hem of his own shirt.

“Never seen a dick before?” asks Frank cheerfully. Mikey realises he was staring at the hard jut of Frank’s cock between his thighs and snaps his eyes back up to Frank’s face with a start. “Come on, lemme help.”

Mikey feels vaguely humiliated - but mostly relieved - as Frank bats his hands away and gently tugs his shirt up over his head. Mikey knows he's pale and unattractive under there and he crosses his arms over his chest, looking at Franks tan and the tattoos all over his body.

"Hey, speak to me, man," Frank says. He moves in closer, their bellies brushing and his dick pressing lightly against Mikey's jeans. His hands settle on Mikey's hips, thumbs stroking just above the waist of his pants. "You're not nervous, are you?"

"No," Mikey says too quickly. Frank laughs.

"Don’t be," he says, and then they're kissing, Frank licking Mikey's mouth open and Mikey struggling to keep up, Frank’s warm hands skimming up and down his sides. Panicking, Mikey flicks through memories of kissing to remember how to do it - he hasn't kissed anyone since Alicia, and that was a year ago.

After a while he stops thinking too hard and goes with it, wondering at how good Frank’s tongue feels swiping against his own, groping between them for Frank’s dick. He fumbles with it, trying to recalibrate his hand to fit a dick other than his own, and then he jerks it in a way that he thinks usually feels okay for him.

Frank moves his hips a lot, fucking up into Mikey’s fist. He’s not very vocal but his breathing is harsh against Mikey’s ear, sending thrills of pleasure to his gut. They end up on Frank’s bed, Mikey’s jeans halfway down his calves and immobilising him in the best kind of way. They rut against each other without any kind of finesse or technique and it feels so fucking good Mikey thinks he might cry. It’s been so long.

“Why are your fucking jeans so tight,” mutters Frank, as they struggle together to pull them off Mikey’s pale legs. They’re stuck on his ankles. “They’re fucking tiny, when did you buy them?”

“Dunno,” says Mikey. “When I was a teenager, I think.”

Frank stops tugging at the jeans and looks at him. “That’s sorta hot,” he says, diving back in and kissing Mikey again, his hand strong and firm on Mikey’s cock. Mikey’s breath hitches and he cranes his neck up off the pillow to watch Frank move down -

“Oh, fuck.” Mikey’s head drops back down when he feels Frank’s wet, fucking velvet mouth sink down around his dick. His hips jump reflexively but Frank just takes it, fucking swallowing Mikey’s cock down like he’s a pro.

Mikey lies as still as he possibly can in case Frank stops blowing him. He doesn’t want to disturb him, or distract him, by moving. Frank’s got some zen thing going on - his eyes are shut and his face looks kind of peaceful, like he really likes sucking dick. Mikey focuses on the way his dick is in Frank’s mouth and has time to think that he’s too old to still find novelty in this idea before he’s coming hard.

He’s mortified. He can’t believe he just blew his load that quickly.

“Um,” he says, after Frank’s pulled off and wiped his red, slick mouth. “I’m not usually that fast?”

Frank laughs, bright and happy. “I’ll take it as a compliment,” he says. Then he’s pressing close again, head of his cock drawing slick spirals on Mikey’s thigh and his face against Mikey’s neck. “Suck me off?”

Sticky heat pulses through Mikey, quickly followed by a prickle of fear. Fuck. He’s only done this a couple times, mostly when he was in college, and he was never really good at it. He thinks of his disastrous attempts to go down on Alicia and recalls the heavy waves of shame and inadequacy when he hadn’t been able to make her come.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, because it’s probably rude to refuse now that Frank’s already blown him.

“Awesome,” says Frank as he settles onto his back, fingers laced behind his head. Mikey glances down at Frank’s thick cock, squares his shoulders and gets down there, never mind the cold dread curling in his stomach. How bad can it be, right?

Spectacularly bad, apparently. Mikey actually fucking chokes and has to pull off abruptly when he stupidly attempts to deepthroat because he’s coughing and blinking tears out of his eyes.

“You okay?” Frank’s asking, when Mikey starts retching. Good god, that’s not sexy. “Hey, fuck, Mikey, you alright?”

“Fucking - hell,” Mikey chokes. Frank pounds him on the back until he can breathe again, and then he adds, “Sorry. Wow, I am so fucking sorry.”

“Nah, man, if anything it’s my fault. My dick’s fault, I mean.” Frank’s smiling, kind of mockingly, but kind of fondly. “I’m sorry my dick’s so huge you choked on it.”

Blinking, Mikey says, “It’s not that. I just haven’t done this in awhile.”

Frank wilts comically at the dick remark. “How long is a while?”

“Maybe college?”

“Wow. First guy in a long time, huh.” Frank sounds absurdly proud. He’s rubbing absentmindedly at Mikey’s back, his hand warm and big and soothing.


“Bet it’s intimidating.”

Mikey smiles at him. “Yeah, a bit. But I want to.”

He tries again, and this time he doesn’t cough or choke, and even tries out  some things with his tongue that Frank seems to like, if the little breathy grunts are any indication. When Frank comes, it’s bitter and overwhelming on Mikey’s tongue but he’s swallowed it before he can even really think about it.

“Was it okay?” he asks anxiously, when he pulls off, and Frank pants and nods and pulls Mikey down and kisses him raw, licking the taste of himself out of Mikey’s mouth.

“Every blowjob’s a good blowjob,” says Frank sagely after a moment, and Mikey cracks up.


“I think you should quit tomorrow,” Frank says, just when Mikey’s settling into a doze. A cold stab of fear touches Mikey’s spine at the words, familiar only in his own head.

“What? Why?”

Frank laughs a bit. His voice is fucked out and gorgeous when he continues. “You’ve been talking about it since I started working at the office,” he says. “And I bet a long time before that.”

Mikey’s quiet for a moment, then he admits, “Almost the whole time I’ve been working there.”

Frank whistles. “Seven years, huh?”

Mikey nods self deprecatingly. “It never really seemed that long,” he mumbles, and tucks his arm closer to Frank’s. “I always meant to quit, I just-”

“Never got around to it,” Frank says. For a moment he sucks on his shiny bottom lip and taps his fingers idly against Mikey’s chest. “If I told you I could pull some strings, get you a job as, say, an assistant tour manager, maybe, or something like that. Would you do it?”

Mikey has no fucking idea. “I’d need to think about it,” he decides. “I don’t think I’d be good at being a tour manager.”

“Doesn’t have to be a tour manager,” says Frank. “I know a lot of people.” He smiles, just one corner of his mouth hooking up. “It’d be pretty sweet if you could come on tour with me in a few months.”

Fuck. Mikey had completely forgotten that Frank only had a temporary job at the office.

“You’re leaving.”

Frank’s quiet for so long that Mikey thinks he might have fallen asleep. He turns his head to check, but Frank’s looking right at him, his face as neutral as he’s ever seen it.

“Not if you come with me.”

“I have to think about it,” Mikey says again. They’re quiet, then, until they fall asleep.


Mikey’s greeted the next morning by Frank’s morning wood, which Frank is enthusiastically rutting against his leg. He rolls over to offer him a hand, but Frank’s holding him where he is, harder now that he’s started to wake up, and Mikey feels ridiculous sprawled half on his side and on his stomach but all he does is crane his neck down to kiss Frank and his stinky morning breath until Frank comes, panting, “We should definitely call in sick today.”

“Um.” Mikey hasn’t called in sick in around three years, and that was when he was actually seriously sick, and he felt guilty as fuck anyway.

“Come on,” Frank says. “Seriously? What would you pick? Work or sex all day?”

“Okay,” says Mikey. “But we have to make it believable.”

He’s not sure how believable his call is, with Frank in the background yelling “Dick! Fuck! Balls! Balls!” When Mikey hangs up, seething, Frank says innocently that he thought it’d help Mikey get fired, if he wasn’t going to quit on his own.

They stay in bed all morning fucking lazily. When they finally tear themselves away from the warm skin and soft sheets for coffee and toast and eggs - for Mikey, anyway, Frank’s a vegan - Frank pulls on Mikey’s white button down, the one he wears to work, which is hanging over the edge of his dresser. It looks ridiculous on him, too loose and too long, and it hangs somewhere around mid thigh. He has to roll the sleeves up so they don’t hang in his coffee. He doesn’t bother with underwear and Mikey takes pleasure in slipping his hands up under the shirt.


Over the next two weeks, Mikey feels like Frank’s boyfriend. They fuck a lot, but their conversations change subtly, becoming more intimate and less platonic. Mikey hopes they’re not turning into one of those couples who whisper schmoop into each other’s ears. He thinks they’re a safe distance away from that, anyway.

They fuck a lot. It’s almost exhausting, going from no sex to sex all the time, but like he’s going to turn it down. He stays at Frank’s a lot, and Frank stays at his, and they go to a couple more shows and get takeout and go see movies at the cinema like teenagers, and neither of them remember the plot after.

Frank leaves lame little cards on Mikey’s desk a handful of times, probably out of pure boredom, with stupid little stick figures and hearts interspersed with pornographic images drawn with office supplies. They never have anything written on them, but the pictures say a lot.

Mikey meets a bunch of Frank’s friends at a house party, and Frank even meets Gerard - accidentally, Gerard happened to be over at Mikey’s when Frank dropped in unexpectedly - and he’s charming and witty and Mikey doesn’t know yet, not really, but something in his chest clenches whenever he sees Frank and it feels pretty serious.


Two weeks before Frank’s tour is scheduled to start, he calls Mikey while Mikey’s looking up some band Frank was talking about on the internet.


“Hey, hey, Mikey, hi,” says Frank. He sounds excited and happy, and that’s when he says it. “I’ve got you a job. On the tour. The assistant manager thing? You can have it. I asked James and he said it’s all okay, so all you have to do -”

“Wait,” Mikey says. Frank trips over his own words before cutting himself off. “What? I - Frank, I didn’t say I wanted to quit yet.” He knows he’s scared, scared of trying something new and failing.

“You don’t wanna quit?” Mikey cringes at the anger in Frank’s voice. “Mikey, you said it yourself. You’ve been trying to quit since you started, jesus. You need to man the fuck up,” he snaps.

“But what if -”

“What if what? What could go wrong? You’re changing jobs, Mikey, people do it all the time. You’ve got money saved up, if you go a few weeks unemployed - which you won’t ‘cause I’ve fucking lined it up - what’s it matter?”

“Um. Well.” Mikey struggles to think of something, anything, a logical excuse for his fear. He can’t.

“Nothing. That’s what. Come on, Mikey.” Mikey can hear the exasperation in Frank’s voice. “I know you can fucking do it. You just gotta walk into work tomorrow and hand in your resignation.”

He’s already hung up by the time Mikey can think of an excuse.


Mikey comes into work the next day with plans to quit, he really does. He meets Frank at the reception desk, who looks kind of pissed before Mikey quickly kisses him hello over the front of the desk.

“So are you gonna do it?” Frank asks immediately after Mikey pulls away. “Today? You gonna quit?” He’s trying to egg Mikey on, and it’s working - Mikey’s heart’s hammering and his palms are sweaty.

“I thought maybe I’d do it next week when -”

“No.” Frank looks him in the eye. “You have to do it today.”

Mikey opens and closes his mouth like a fish. Then he thinks, finally, fuck it. He says, “Okay.”

His resignation letter has been in the bottom drawer of his desk for the past six years. It’s buried under a pile of papers that Mikey hasn’t touched in forever, and it takes him a while to find it. When he does, he hesitates, but then Frank’s pushing him towards Brian’s office, knocking on the door and hiding at his reception desk.

“Come in.” Brian sounds tired and he looks tired when Mikey opens the door, with dark shadows under his eyes and face devoid of colour. He smiles anyway. “Hey, Mikey.” Brian’s pretty cool, and he’s on first-name basis with most of the office workers.

“Hi.” Mikey comes in and closes the door and sits down in the little chair in front of Brian’s desk. The letter is sweaty in his hand and he swallows. “I’ve, uh.”

Brian sits back in his chair and patiently waits for Mikey to continue, even though he’s probably got emails to send and meetings to be at.

“I’ve come to quit.” There, it’s out there. Mikey can’t take it back and this is going to end badly, he knows it.

“Okay.” Brian nods contemplatively. “I’m glad.”

What? “You’re glad?” Mikey’s fingers feel numb and he’s finding it a little hard to breathe.

“Yeah.” Brian’s smiling. “It would have been a shame if you’d kept working here forever.”

“Oh.” Mikey hands over the letter and Brian looks it over. “I’m sorry if it’s a bad time to quit, I mean, you’ll have to hire someone else and -” he takes a breath. “I’m sorry if it stresses you out.”

“It stressed me out more thinking that you were never gonna get your ass into gear and do something with your life,” says Brian. “Got another job lined up?”

“Uh, Yeah. Assistant tour manager,” says Mikey.

“Fuck. I would’ve loved to do something like that,” says Brian wistfully.

“Maybe you still could,” says Mikey.


He walks out of Brian’s office ten minutes later with the last paperwork he’ll ever have to do for Smith and Co.’s Paper Bag Suppliers.

“I have to keep coming to work for another week,” he tells Frank. “But after that I’m free, I guess.”

Frank grins and hugs him in front of the whole office. Mikey’s half expecting a round of applause, but he’s pretty sure no one actually notices.


When he gets home after work that day, Mikey calls Gerard and tells him he quit. Gerard comes over immediately with the entire Batman collection on DVD and all the Starwars movies for good measure and they and Frank celebrate over geekiness and pizza and alcohol.


Mikey takes the assistant tour manager job and heads out to tour with Frank the following month. Frank’s band is among a bunch of openers for a bigger, headlining band, but they still get plenty of stage time and things look really promising.
As it turns out, Mikey isn’t very qualified for the job but he tries his best and gets the hang of it after a while, and soon it’s second nature and he actually enjoys his job for the first time in his life.

He’s so fucking glad he quit.

Date: 2012-12-09 09:39 pm (UTC)
lucifuge5: (Frank and Mikeyway Tongue Out)
From: [personal profile] lucifuge5
Even though I've never watched the show (UK or US version), I liked this fic a lot.

I really dug how Mikeyway's life was so divergent from canon. It was awesome to see him getting swept away by Frank's enthusiasm and being a total failboat in love. ^_^

Date: 2012-12-12 05:22 pm (UTC)
cybercandy: (frank)
From: [personal profile] cybercandy
It’s a well-kept secret that Mikey is terrible at sex.

I actually went "awwwwwwww" in front of my computer.

Lovely fic, so happy that Frank managed to get Mikey out of his office worker misery!

Date: 2012-12-15 06:13 pm (UTC)
turps: (b&w mikey/frank (turloughishere))
From: [personal profile] turps
I have to agree, it was cool to see this version of Mikey. How he could have so easily ended up in a job like that and been stuck there for life.

Thank goodness for Frank.


xojemmaxo: (Default)

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