I woke up from my usual daydreaming with the sound of my cellphone ringing. I hesitated for a moment, but reached for it and answered as soon as I recognized the number.

"Hi Mikes. What's up?" I greeted, still shaken up from my trance.

"Uhm...Well, it's him. Again. Can you come over?" The voice responded quietly. It didn't take much to make up my mind, I hung up the phone and went in my room to change. Pijamas weren't a really good fashion choice for going out, right?

I quickly put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and went out, almost forgetting to lock the door.
I took the shortest route to Mikey's house, not because it was an emergency, but because I would get to pass through this beautiful park on my way. I took a moment to breath some New Jersey air, watching the birds preparing to leave the city in a few weeks. Maybe days. Maybe that bird in the tree above me is leaving right now. All I know for sure is that, it's always coming back. It returns every year and makes its nest in that tree, in the exact same spot, like a pattern. Like we humans like to travel, but we always have that special place we come back to when we need warmth, and protection. Mikey's place wasn't that kind of home all the time.

It always smelled like cigarettes in there, which were everywhere in the house, unlit, along with a couple of freshly-drank beer bottles. Some of them were just broken glass, smashed on the cold floor. I know it's cold. I've spend nights on that floor. I would fall asleep there, listening to those mentioned beer bottles being smashed in the tiny kitchen, listening to two very familiar voices shouting, and would wake up in a bed, covered in soft blankets and hearing the stroke of a pen scratching paper. It came from the desk next to the window, the soft light of the morning making that artist's jet black hair shine, making his silhouette even slimmer than it already was. I knew he wasn't eating much. I knew he was disgusted by his own figure.
Truth be told, I was too, disgusted. Disgusted that he wouldn't believe me when I told him he was beautiful. He would look away and change the subject, or simply look at me dead in the eyes, seeming hopeless. I was horrified by those moments, when realization came to me. But that's what makes us human, right? Our flaws. And god, we have a lot of flaws. We even produce drugs to get rid of them. How silly and destructive we are to ourselves!

I knocked at the door, even though I knew it was unlocked, and Mikey showed up in front of me and invited me inside, leading me to the living room. None of us could say anything, but we would send worried looks to each other from time to time, until I decided I should say something.

"The bird in the park is leaving" I said, sipping coffee from my mug. It wasn't exactly my mug. It tasted like nicotine, and pencil lead, and alcohol.

"You're really attached to that bird, I see." Mikey answered with seriousness.

"I am. Do you... do you think it's gonna make it? It'll be alright there, wherever it's going this year?"

"I don't know. I hope so."

"Do you think it'll be alright?" I asked again, sipping again from my nicotine-stained mug.

"I told you, I don't know. It seems too cold."

"It's not the bird I'm talking about" Mikey gave me an aware look.

"He's locked himself in the basement again and bought 5 cups of Starbucks coffee." I nodded. "I'm tired. Of the situation. Tired to see him like that. I might move out."

"You know you can't do that. He's your brother, after all." I said, watching him get up, leave the house and smack the door, leaving it unlocked as usual.

I made my way to the basement door, and knocked shyly. This one was certainly locked. No answer. I knocked again, more demandingly. I could hear footsteps, and then a hand reaching for the doorlock, the door opening loose, the first thing I could see being the jet black strands of his hair, covering his eyes,and then the footsteps gone away again. I entered the dark room and closed the door without making a sound, then sat myself on his bed, next to him. I was afraid to look him in the eyes. I was afraid of that dead look I knew I'd get. But I still had to.

"Gerard" I said, locking eyes with him. He looked scared, so I gave him a sympathetic look. He didn't say anything, just hugged me tightly and let some tears fall down from his eyes, down on his cheeks and on the back of my T-shirt. I didn't mind. It was actually conforting. Made me think he was still human, not a drug-powered machine.

I don't think those antidepressants he took worked. But I didn't work properly either. Despite my own drugs working, I was as broken as he was, and that made us best friends in the first place.
His place didn't feel like home, but more like a refugee. I would go there to escape the coldness, and so did my bird.

Notes

This is my first time writing a story.
I got this idea from a dream I had a few nights ago, and I decided I have to do something with it. I don't always remember my dreams. I wish I did.
I don't know if I should keep writing or not. I want to, though. So I will.