Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars by alpheratz (Explicit)

[turlough]

Fandom: BANDOM
Pairing: Mikey/Frank, Gerard/Ray
Length: 38,240 words
Author on LJ/DW: alpheratz / alpheratz
Author on AO3: alpheratz

Why this must be read: This is an absolutely fantastic story where Gerard and Mikey moved to France in the mid-20s. When the story starts it's 1930 and Mikey's an airmail pilot and Gerard an artist.

I love the way both Mikey and Gerard are written - particularly the way their very different personalities are expressed in their developing relationships with Frank and Ray. And the way their soulbond was written was lovely.

I also loved the quiet, almost lyrical writing and atmosphere. Something about the clear and understated language and the way settings and character interactions were written made it feel like reading a story from the period.

Excerpt from the story:

Gerard grinned at the back of Mikey’s head. Mikey was still wearing his helmet and jacket, and his goggles were around his neck. It made him look anachronistic in the kitchen where two of the walls were centuries-old exposed stone, but it also made the kitchen look the way Gerard liked it. "I want to see if they published my cartoon."

Mikey smiled and sat in the chair nearest Gerard's. "Is that what you were so excited about yesterday? "

"The editor called yesterday morning after you left. He said there might not be space for it, but he was interested." Gerard rustled through the pages from the back until reaching the local news.

Mikey leaned over. "Oh! That one is yours, isn't it?"

“Yeah,” said Gerard, tracing the lines of the drawing. Mikey rested his chin on Gerard's shoulder, and Gerard put the paper down and leaned into him. "I like it when my stuff gets attention," he said. It was hard not to preen when it was there in thick black lines and his signature in the corner. "It makes me feel like I'm not wasting my time here."

Mikey hummed into Gerard's hair. "You're not. We're not."

"I suppose so. You certainly aren't, and I like it here well enough."

Mikey ruffled Gerard's hair and then smoothed it down with a laugh when Gerard scrunched up his face and twisted away. His bedhead didn't need any help. "Good. I don't suppose there's breakfast?"

"There's milk," offered Gerard. "Eggs and bread, too."

"That'll work," said Mikey, and he settled in more comfortably in the chair, leaning his head against the wall and studying Gerard through drooping eyelids. He looked tired. Gerard watched him drink his coffee, clutching his mug like it was the only thing holding him up. In the past few years, Gerard got used to waking up to Mikey's alarm or the telephone ringing in the middle of the night and Mikey stumbling out the door and coming back exhausted the next morning, nine thousand kilometers later. It wasn't what Gerard had expected when he told Mikey he'd be moving to France, and Mikey announced he would come with him. Gerard didn’t like Mikey leaving, but he did like the mornings when he returned.

Mikey raised an eyebrow and pushed a little through the link, and Gerard shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. Pain perdu okay?"

Mikey nodded. Gerard got up to make toast for both of them, flicking Mikey on the head on the way to the stove. "You're still wearing your helmet." Mikey scrambled to unbuckle and take it off, sighing in satisfaction.

"I did take it off when we got in, so Frank wouldn't make fun of me, but I got tired of carrying it walking home."

Gerard snorted. "Yeah. How was your flight, anyway?"

"Almost perfect. We barely ran into any weather. There were some clouds crossing into Spain, but we just curved around them, and it was all clear and smooth from there," said Mikey. Through the tiredness, contentedness radiated out from him in waves.

Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars