Damn Saturdays.

They were so, so long for me…I guess time goes incredibly slow for those who are in love and away of their loved one. I was in such a deep love it wasn't even funny anymore. My whole day was brightened up when I was close to the guy who stole my heart since the first moment I saw him blushing and going all awkward because he had been heading towards a classroom while I was going the opposite direction, before destiny made us walk against each other.

He was incredibly shy. I simply loved the way he looked up at me the day we accidentally crashed softly with his sparkling eyes, a mixture of a wonderful wood brown and emerald green, with a hint of warmth but still a lot of shyness which hid the sweetness of this guy's inside. I loved the way his cheeks turned red as if they were the sky in the moment the sun goes down, before staring down and apologize quietly.

When he walked past me, everything I wanted to do was to hold his wrist and make him turn around again, look directly to his bottomless, sparkling eyes and ask him if he was a fallen angel or just an illusion, because he was too stunning to be a normal student around. He simply was special, and I barely knew the guy.

I did everything I could to be his friend. I simply sat with him during lunch time as soon as I found him sitting all alone at a table, listening to some music from his iPod. He was so shy he didn't really talk much to me that once, but I guessed it was only a matter of wining slowly his trust. I talked with him, I told him my name, he told me his, he told me his age, I told him mine.

I was only a year older, but he was still the most adorable, cutest guy I had ever seen. He was so cute it wasn't fair for girls. I was bisexual, but for him I could be completely gay. I wouldn't even like guys, I would only be able to have eyes for him and only him. I wouldn't be straight nor bisexual nor gay…I'd be Mikey-xual. If you…if you get me. That was awkward, but it's true. My eyes were simply glued to that guy every time he was around.

His name was Michael James Way, but I already had a friend I called Jimmy, and Mike didn't fit him…it didn't sound as cute as he looked. So I decided to call him Mikey instead, just to know some seconds later that his friends called him exactly that. Sadly, I didn't get to make him laugh or something during the first talk we had during that lunch time just for how shy he was…at least until I threw a piece of my food to a friend but it ended up landing on someone else's hair.

That was when he giggled. As soon as the girly, small laugh left his lips, my eyes widened almost by their own and my cheeks adopted a terribly hard rose tone, with my lips separating lightly from one another as I turned to look at him, with a huge sparkle reflecting on my eyes with my pupils dilating; that had to be the cutest, most adorable thing I've ever seen and heard, Mikey Way giggling.

As he giggled, time moved slower for me. He was seriously cute. The most adorable person ever, with the cutest laugh ever known by humankind, with the most perfect features ever known by the universe, everything about him was simply awesome. If he only weren't so shy…I mean, I had always liked shy guys, but he was too shy for his own good.

Of course there was a reason, he wasn't born with his shyness. He was the typical, dorky-looking guy everyone simply decided to pick on for not a reason at all since he was only around twelve years old. Of course I knew about it some time after we met, not immediately. I couldn't have his trust, and after knowing why, I was alright by knowing the guy needed his time to be my friend.

Since they started bullying him, they didn't stop. They took his happiness away by smashing who he used to be with words and fists, insults and fights, fights he used to lose because his heart was so tender it told his brain fists were used for violence, and violence was something no human deserved. The problem was that Mikey didn't defend himself, he simply couldn't use a fist or at least push the bullies off.

He always ended up hurt. Even since young teenagers, practically still kids. It was usual for him being taken by his hair and make him get down on his knees as other guys spat at him, sometimes literally, some other time insults right to his face. It wasn't weird that he was pushed down to the floor and kicked until he wouldn't be able to feel his lungs anymore and would either faint or feel as dizzy and lost as a drunk man.

People, when he was a bit older, sometimes went too far for the simple fact that they wanted to feel alive by making of his life a living hell. They were so pathetic that they made him feel pathetic with every word they gave to him, with every injured eye or bleeding lip they would leave on him, but sometimes they really crossed the line; smash him hardly against walls and tell him he was simply useless and worthless was a hard kick for his inside.

Smash him against the floor and tell him he was a freak and that nobody loved him could be even worse, for getting both a bleeding forehead and a kicked heart…because he truly felt unloved. His dad didn't really like him, and Mikey doubted he would miss his youngest son if he ever died, for the simple fact that little Mikey turned out to be gay and his dad a homophobe.

His mother was a bit too rough with her youngest son as well, never letting him go out, never letting him have some stuff, not really cooking for him and barely paying attention to him even if her son arrived home too late, crying his eyes out, bleeding from his soul or his face, or beaten up to the point he couldn't walk properly or even had a broken rib and didn't really know.

And his brother, well, he started drinking. And he didn't stop.

Mixing all of that, with all the people around him hurting him both inside and outside to the point his heart had a missing part which turned into ashes after being hardly beaten by everyone, making his heart impossible to be the same again even if Mikey tried to place all of its pieces back to their place, and with his brother, the closest person he had, ignoring him and getting hurt by his own, of course made him a depressed boy.

A depressed boy with the thought that no one loved him and no one would ever do, with the thought that told him he wasn't blessed with beauty, not able to look at any mirror without wanting to smash it but getting no strength to do it, a boy who felt tiny inside…and alone. And of course, someone shy, as if hiding his words would be a way of hiding his pain, or if not talking to anyone wouldn't give them a reason to hurt him.

All of that was heard by my ears and felt by my heart the day I won most of his trust. I was simply walking out of school with the intention of leaving to my house and forget the funny feeling inside that stopped being funny after a while of having it, a feeling that only came when it was Friday…because I felt that I wouldn't see Mikey during that afternoon, the following day and the following day, also because his mother, once she knew Mikey was in the house, didn't let him go out for some odd reason.

I stopped in my way when three senior guys got in my way, passing in front of me as if I hadn't been there, all of them my height or a bit taller, being two years older than me. They were laughing and saying how much of a loser someone was, congratulating someone for the way he smashed the beaten up guy to a wall and took his wallet at the same time. What made my heart flinch and my eyes widen a bit is that, when they were a bit away, I heard his name.

Of course I feared they had hurt him, because I never thought before that Mikey could be a bullied guy. It was pretty obvious, for his shyness, his look, and mainly the sadness his eyes reflected. I simply stayed in silence as, quietly, I headed another way than before, going to the back part of the school instead of crossing the street to go to my house.

And there he was. I simply felt my muscles relaxing in sadness for him, and a 'No' was exhaled quietly from my mouth when my eyes saw him hugging his knees with his face buried in his arms, looking smaller than when he sat normally, shaking and sobbing.

Leaving my backpack at a side once I was at some steps from him, I sat down at his side as close as I could, managing to scare him a bit at first, noticing it when he jumped a bit in his place and moved his head up to see who was the stranger that came to sit at his side as if he weren't really there.

His tears broke my heart. His face was too beautiful to deserve the pain jailed in those small drops of sorrow which fell from his eyes, the beautiful eyes I loved since the first time I saw them, when he was a freshman and I was a sophomore, certainly just some weeks before. His cheeks were completely soaked by his tears, and their upper parts were already red for all his cries.

He hid his face again with a flinch when I moved an arm up, as if believing I was to hurt him when seconds later I wrapped my right arm around his shaking shoulders. He looked bad. In the moment he looked up, there weren't only tears but also an injured eye surrounded by a dark purple colour, bleeding lips to the point that if he opened his mouth, a cascade of blood would pour down to his chin and later to his neck.

There was a cut on his forehead as well, and if that was his face, I didn't want to know how injured he was all over the rest of his body. He was so injured I started wondering how there could be humans wanting to destroy his perfection, wondering how there could be someone capable of hurting the sweetest, most adorable guy ever. How there could be someone…destroying the innocence drowning his gaze, innocence that came from the faith he had that not everything was so bad in the world.

Pulling him close and whispering to him I wouldn't hurt him, he rested his head against my shoulder, to cry and tell to me all of what was going on in his life, not because I asked him to, but because he needed to. He needed to tell anyone in that moment, a tramp man, an unknown person, whoever…but if he didn't, his pain would only lead him to the only things he had tried to avoid for years; pain. Pain caused for himself.

Pain for dragging a razor blade on his wrists, and for the fear of meeting the unknown death represented, mainly caused by suicide.

It hurt seeing him in such a terrible state, but I had to stand having him so close to me bleeding outside, broken inside. After all, he needed attention to heal his injuries. He needed of that moment when I took him to my house, because I knew that in his house he would have to do it all by his own, something he maybe wouldn't have been able to do.

I didn't really mind when he threw up, because it wasn't his fault. He didn't want to, but my stomach would have given up as well if I had been emotionally dead, drained in the moment, with depression mixing with fear and tasting blood since long minutes before, with pain piercing every inch of his body. I simply let him throw up outside my house, at its side, and helped him to clean his mouth after he was done.

Since my mom saw me arriving with him, injured and barely being able to stand up, she helped me to, certainly, help him. She was like a second mother to him; giving him food when I took him every day after school to my house, being nice with him if I ever got the chance to have him in my house, and taking care of him in the way of helping him if he ever got beaten up again, carried to her by me. She was like a second-mother-personal-doctor for Mikey, and that seemed to cheer him up at least a tiny bit.

I guess that was why, whenever he had the chance, he would come at my house for as much time as he could, because he knew I wouldn't harm him like the rest of the people, because he knew my mother cared for him, because he knew I was a true friend for him, because he knew I would never let anything happen to him…he simple felt safe close to me, close to my house. He felt…loved.

Some years passed by, and I was still in love with him. I never could get over him, and as time passed, I simply fell for the guy. He was too perfect not to love, he was the best thing that ever happened in my life. I even turned eighteen and I still didn't have him in arms, just for fear. I don't think it was fear of getting a 'No' for answer, even though that still scared me a bit.

It was more like fear of hurting him, even if I knew that wasn't possible for confessing love for him. It simply couldn't hurt him…but every time somebody hit him, or every time I found him crying he looked so fragile I really didn't want to touch him. I always did, to comfort him, as a hug or carrying him in arms if I knew he felt too weak to walk…but it hurt for me seeing him so fragile.

I felt that even just throwing a glance at him would break the rest of him that didn't seem to be shattered like glass. I felt that if I breathed close to him, he would break down in more pieces…and it only made it harder for me trying to be closer to him than I already was. Every time I saw him so, so fragile I feared I would harm him with even a small touch, that I never found guts enough to ask him to be mine…if it has sense for you.

There was something about him that made him…breakable. And something that…made me want to protect him.

Especially when I looked directly to his eyes. Every time I did, I couldn't help it but look to another side, or to his forehead or nose, whatever as long as my gaze wouldn't be locked with his. I couldn't stand his eyes when they were directly connected to mine; they reflected so much sadness that it made me wonder how such a fragile human being could still be alive, they showed so much innocence that it made me wonder why people simply didn't let him be happy.

But that changed the Saturday I decided to finally hold him close to my protective chest and don't let anything happen to him, finally letting my mouth say to him just how special he was, and how crazy he had me for him. I was thrown on the floor of my bedroom staring up at the ceiling listening to music to see if the lyrics and the loud guitars and drums could drown out the picture of Mikey, and how much I missed him.

I simply felt that something was wrong with the guy. I felt that somebody had hurt him, or that an accident had happened to him. That was when my young-adult mind started going paranoid, like it used to when it was about him; what if a car had hit him? Or what if he had crashed? Or what if some drunk, psycho dude stabbed his frail heart with a knife?

Before I knew it, I was up on my feet heading downstairs, stopping half second when I noticed I wasn't on the floor anymore but running to my living room. Crossing it and its silence for having the house all alone at my exception, I headed hurriedly towards the door, sure that something had happened to him and he was injured somewhere out in the ugly world.

I opened the door…and I stopped, with my nose meeting his forehead. I stayed there frozen, before I took a step back and looked down, seeing as he looked up at me with a small, shy smile.
"Hi" he greeted before he took the last stair of my house's porch up. Now he wasn't way shorter than me, just that small inch which separated his forehead from mine.

Before I could greet him, an adorable voice interrupted us. A meow. I stared down to his chest, seeing as he carried a tiny kitten in arms like it was a newborn, the tiny creature's big eyes staring up at Mikey, before it used its tiny paws to scratch a little its face. It sneezed, making me smile widely and say 'Aw' loudly.
"I didn't know you had a kitty" I told him with a corny voice at how adorable the pet was, moving a hand up to use a finger to scratch the kitten's small head, seeing as it closed its eyes, before meowing cutely.

"Well, a friend gave it to me for my birthday, even though it's in three weeks" Mikey replied a bit lowly, result of his shyness even though after all those years I already had his trust. He moved the kitten up a bit in arms, enough to see as it tried to climb up his shoulder, with its small nose smelling Mikey's chin. "But um, mom doesn't let me keep it"

"Oh" was everything that my mouth replied, with a hand caressing lightly the kitten's body as it moved up to start licking Mikey's chin, with the teenager hugging his pet tenderly.
"Yeah…" Mikey replied, staring down, receiving another kiss from the kitten which started purring once it left Mikey's chin alone. "But I don't want to leave it in the streets or something…and I know you like kittens, s-so I thought…you know, if that's ok, and if your mom is alright about it, I-I mean…"

As he talked, I just stared at him. He was seriously adorable. The way he stuttered when he wanted to ask for something, being a result of being mistreated, the way he held the little kitten in arms, like a mother with a newborn, the way he blushed softly, everything about him made me just want to take him close to me and never let him go, stay with him for the rest of my life.

I just heard as he still tried to ask me to keep the kitten, blushing lightly for all his cuteness and how much I'd kept my mouth closed about my feelings for him. I wanted to stop all the tears that used to leave his eyes so normally like it was breathing. I wanted to be the one whose shoulder or chest would be the most comfortable place to rest his head on for a nap, or to cry if he needed to. I wanted to be the guy whose arms would hold him close every time I could. I wanted to make him feel like the bruises covering his body didn't make him ugly, that he was just as beautiful as sweet.

I wanted to be his, and I wanted him to be mine.

Without hesitating, and as he still stuttered a bit while talking, I leaned closer, tilting my head lightly at a side until our lips met, his rose-like lips staying frozen while mine stayed pressed softy against them, fearing I'd hurt him during my innocent peck to his beautiful mouth. The kitten purred while I still stayed where I was, my eyes closed, my lips connected to his, and my heart beating loudly but softly at the same time.

I got away softly, staring into his eyes finally with the strength I didn't have before, facing everything his eyes reflected with no fear. I smiled sweetly to him, seeing as he smiled shyly and blushed, trying to say something but not being able to. After some long seconds, he final talked.
"I wanted to know…if you want to keep it" Mikey told me with his smile widening, staring at me with warmth.

"Of course I will" I said softly, seeing as he held the kitten with only an arm against his chest, moving his other hand up, which had a bandage for the day before when somebody beat him up and stepped on his hand hardly, to place it softly against my neck, moving up lightly to press his lips against mine one more time, catching my lower lip between his, moving them slowly but sweetly, leaving in me the sensation of having eaten the sweetest strawberries ever.

As I wrapped my arms around his skinny waist, and he had a hand against one of my cheeks, with the other holding the now sleeping kitten against his collarbone, I took a decision, with our lips still caressing each other, loving one another through kisses.

I would look after his kitten for him.

And I would take care of him, of my sweet little Mikey, until the end of the world.