Chapter 1) The Daily Ritual

.-.-.

"Have you seen my bag, Mikes? You know, the army green one that goes over my shoulder. It has all my new comic panels..." I yell from my studio, voice echoing throughout the penthouse.

"Your bag is on the coat rack." Mikey yells from the elevator door.

"Why the he... I mean, why is it there?" I groan, walking swiftly to the coat rack and throwing my bag over my shoulder before joining Mikey in the elevator.

"Can I press the button, please?" He asks timidly, index finger only centimeters from the down button.

"I guess so. But only since you used the magic word, my little button whore." I tell him, smiling. He presses the button and then turns to frown at me.

"Mrs. Murphy said that whore is a bad word." He says sternly.

"I really don't give a flying fu..." I tell him.

"Geeeward." Mikey groans, cutting me off. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his uniform clad chest.

"Sorry." I sigh, running my fingers through my shaggy black hair. It's in desperate need of a trim but I haven't been able to find time between drawing comics and taking care of Mikey. The elevator door opens up to the lobby, and our morning ritual begins when Mikey grabs my hand.

"Good morning Mrs. Barrett." Mikey says cheerfully as we pass the front desk.

"Good morning Michael." The elderly woman replies happily before glancing at me. "Mr. Way." She says coldly, giving me a nod. I roll my eyes and pull Mikey towards the doors.

"My name is Gerard, you crazy old woman." I murmur in annoyance. "Mr. Way is my father."

My black mustang awaits us at the edge of the sidewalk. I buckle Mikey into his car-seat and make sure everything is secure before heading towards his preschool.

"Mrs. Murphy said we're getting a new student today, Geward." Mikey says two minutes later.

"Is that so?" I reply, more interested in what radio station was on at the moment.

"Uh-huh."

"Well try to make he or she feel welcome today. It's hard being the new kid." I tell him, flinching when memories of my own childhood come to mind.

"He's a boy, and we're going to be best friends." He says.

"Did Mrs. Murphy tell you that?" I ask.

"No. I just know that kinda stuff." He replies, turning his attention back to the window.

He hums an Anthrax (the only band that he's heard and actually liked) song the rest of the drive. Mikey is one of few people that don't annoy me while in the car. He doesn't ask 'are we there yet' or 'can you turn the air conditioning down', and silence never bothers him. We have that in common.

-.-.-

"We are so fuckin' late it's not even funny." I say, mostly to myself, while pulling a shirt over my head. "Are you ready, buddy?" I say, running passed the little boy and attempting to find my shoes.

"I've been ready for a long time, daddy." He laughs, sitting his empty bowl into the sink.

"Then why the hell didn't you wake me up?" I ask him, falling against the door in the middle of tying the laces.

"You said not to interrupt your sleep again because the boogie man might decide to eat me." He shrugs, grabbing his backpack and tapping his foot impatiently.

"Oh right. Well that was the drunk, tired daddy. The sober daddy says you need to wake him up on Monday's. Let's go." I say, lifting him up with one arm and leaving our small apartment.

It takes ten minutes to walk to the bus stop, and then a fifteen minute ride to get to this new preschool. How could I afford preschool when can't even score a car, you ask? My parents are paying for his tuition as long as I keep my promise to find a job that doesn't involve playing guitar.

.-.-.

When we reach the school I hold Mikey's hand and walk him to his classroom. Neither of us bother to initiate conversation. Another part of our daily ritual. We stop outside his door and I kneel down to his level, adjust his t-shirt, and make sure both of his shoes are on the right feet. He smiles and pushes his glasses up off the edge of his nose before wiping a line of green paint off of my forehead with his thumb

"Have a good day." He tells me.

"You too, Mikes." I smile, wrapping my arms around his little form and giving him a hug.

"Can't you pick me up after school today?" He asks, hope shining in his eyes.

"You know I can't, but I'll be home for dinner." I tell him. He frowns and turns around to face the doorway.

"I love you." He says, turning his head around to look at me.

"Love you too." I tell him before he disappears into his classroom.

-.-.-

"Batman is waaaay better than Superman." I argue, giving him a piggy back ride to his classroom.

"Batman doesn't even have powers, daddy. Superman can get shot in the eye and still beat the bad guys." He replies, flicking my cheek.

"Ow, damn kid." I groan, sitting him down at the door.

I go over his appearance and make sure he isn't missing anything vital, like pants. He'd only forgotten them once, but I'll never forgive myself for not noticing until after the teacher called. Black skinny jeans (he begged to have some that matched mine), Captain America t-shirt (mine happened to be a Black Flag shirt today), and red, high top, Converse (exactly like mine). You could say we had the same style. I guess that's a good excuse considering we share some of the same DNA.

"See ya." He says, turning to walk away. I grab his backpack and turn him around.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast. I think you're forgetting something." I say, smirking. He rolls his eyes and gives me a bear hug before running into his new classroom with a mischievous grin.