Come Out With Me

"I only reveal the truth to you beloved MoFos," Mike smirked. "They should know about your... Issues," he added.

"I don;t have fucking issues. And no one needs to know about any even if I had any. Thats my fucking private life and I don't need to you reveal it to the entire world." John growled, his hand clenching a beer can.

"Why not? Why shouldn't your fans know the real you? The one who hides behind alcohol and partying and his wanna be bitchy ass girlfriend because he has a past that he doesn't want to come to terms with. You're, what, thirty-one? It's time to grow up, John. You're not twenty-one." Mike said, opening his laptop.

John didn't say anything to that. He just looked down at his beer can, not really knowing what to say. Because Mike was right. John had issues. He had dark, and deep issues. But John, being how he was, pushed it down. "You don't know shit about my past." He said quietly and sipped his drink.

"I never said I knew anything about your past," Mike pointed out. He understood having a past you wanted to hide from. More than anyone. But it wasn't healthy.

"Just... leave me alone. Please." John said quietly, laying down and not caring that there was still bottles of alcohol on his bed He set his empty glass aside and reached under his bed, grabbing a bottle of wine.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Pussy," he grumbled, laying down and relaxing his body, trying to calm himself down.

John ignored Mike and sipped his wine. He didn't care anymore. Hell he didn't even care if he died from alcohol poisoning.

Mike sighed as he started to drift off. He felt kind of bad for what he did. But if John was going to make his life Hell, he was going to make John's life Hell.

John set his bottle aside and buried his face in his pillow, silently letting out tears he'd been holding in for a while. He was just... so emotionally stressed. ANd Melina didn't help. He was tired. He was unhappy. He was every bad emotion you could possibly thin of. He was just a mess.

Mike turned over and looked at John. He honestly felt bed for hurting the man. Which was weird for him. He didn't usually feel guilt. "John?" he called softly.

John couldn't answer. If he answered, it would give away that he had been crying and he didn't need Mike's comment about how he was a pussy or whatever. Granted, John was a bitch to Mike. He'd admit it. But Mike took it too far in his opinion.

Mike sighed when John didn't reply. "I'm sorry," he said softly, looking at the back of John's head. And he meant it. He was sorry.

John laid on his side and wiped his eyes, doing his damnedest to stay quiet. "I-It's fine..." he said quietly, cursing this stuffed nose front he crying so he sounded all stuffed up.

Mike felt something break in him when he heard how bad John sounded. That just made him feel worse. "If I could take it back, I would," he said.

John sat up and looked at Mike, revealing how bad he looked. But he didn't care. "Well y-you can't Michael. The internet isn't written in pencil, its written in ink. And you told millions upon millions of people that I cried during a thunderstorm. And you posted private pictures of me at my worse. You embarrassed and humiliated me. So I hope you feel big and strong, Mike. You win the war. So Congratulations. I officially give up." He said, tears running down his cheeks against his will.

Mike's heart broke. He hadn't meant to hurt John so much...

Okay, maybe he had. But he didn't know he would feel so bad about it. He didn't know the guilt would consume him like it did.

"I really am sorry. I... I don't know what I was thinking," he said, looking down ashamedly.

John shook his head. "You weren't thinking. That's the problem. He said lowly before sinking down in his bed and drinking his alcohol, not even caring which bottle he was drinking from.

Mike sighed softly and got up, clearing away the bottles and glasses. All the alcohol left over he dumped down the drain in the bathroom and he threw the bottles and glasses into the trash. He may have cause this, but he wasn't going to let it continue.

John frowned at him, too drunk to get up and stop him though. "Why the hell did you do that?" He asked, wanting his alcohol back. Even if it rarely helped, he always tried to drink away the pain. Drink to the point where he passed out so he couldn't feel anymore. That was his goal when he drank.

"Because alcohol is bad for you and you should not use it as a crutch," Mike said softly, taking the alcohol John had away from him and getting rid of it as well. "I hurt you, but now I wanna help you," he said softly.

John frowned and looked up at Mike, his eyes misty. "I... you can't help me. No one can. I'm permanently damaged." He whispered, looking down at his lap. He'd given up a long time ago. He had accepted the fact that he couldn't be changed. He couldn't be helped. He accepted the fact he had lost this war with himself.

Mike put his fingers under John's chin and forced the brunette to look at him. "You can be helped. You just have to want it, John," he said softly, running the back of his hand gently down the side of John's face.

John looked down as he though. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, loving the Mike's touch. He look dup at him. "You know I'm gay. I don't even know why I try to hide it anyway. I know, I even look like a fag... So if you hate me.. then so be it. Because I can't care anymore. I don't have the energy." He sighed quietly, playing the edge of the comforter as he looked down.

"John, I don't hate you," Mike said, keeping back a sigh as he felt John's velvety soft skin. It felt good to touch John. It felt right. "I could never sate you," he added in a softer, quieter tone.