Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frank Iero was a fucking legend.  

At least in his own eyes, he was.   

He frowned when his spray can hissed, but not a spritz of paint came out.   

He groaned in frustration, chucking the empty can into a nearby bush and digging another colour out of his bag.   

Yellow?  

He could work with yellow.  

His signature colours were quite simple. Matte black, outlined with red, highlighted with white.   

Sometimes if he felt a little different, he would outline with other colours.   

Today, he chose yellow.   

He shook the can briefly before beginning his linework.   

He's never used yellow. It was too vibrant for him, as a person. He didn't even wear anything that was lighter then dark grey.   

But tonight, he didn't really have a choice.   

He sighed as he realised he'd need to pop down to the graffiti shop tommorow.   

The second time this week.   

And it was Wednesday.   

Frank stepped back from the wall where he'd sprayed a mural of his tag artfully.  
The infamous, colourful  "Veins" stood out next to the other half-assed murals on the wall next to it.  

Maybe he should try vibrant colours more often?   

The yellow really had an unexpected, eye-catching effect.   

Frank pulled his damp black bandana down from his face and around his neck to take a deep breath of the crisp late night air.   

It was particularly frosty that night, sending a lingering chill down his spine.   

He could feel his fingertips slowly start to grow numb almost the minute he walked out the door.  
Frank pulled his bag up and over his shoulder in preparation to leave, but he had stopped himself to glance back at the mural one more time. He couldn't help but slip his phone out of his pocket and click a photo of his work.  

It was so different from what he usually did. It was unique. It was art.   

He pulled the mask up and left with a smile on his face.   

 
"Yeah, dude! I like, ran out of red, so I pulled out a random can, and it was yellow!" Frank explained excitedly as he dropped himself into his seat next to his best friend.  
"Dude, you've like... never used yellow." Ray replied, clearly stunned at the use of the bright colour.  

"I fuckin know! But it worked! I have a picture... hold on." Frank pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked into his gallery, then turned the phone so Ray could see.  

"Dude... that's sick." Ray confirmed after giving it a little look-over.   

"I know, right? New signature colour? Mayhaps?"   

Ray snickered at that.   

"...did you just say mayhaps?"   

"Yeah?" Frank glanced up at Ray, who seemed to be holding back a laugh.   

Frank frowned.  

"What?"   

"Nobody says 'mayhaps', dude."   

"Well..." Frank pointed to his phone "...I think I'm gonna start trying new things. Maybe it'll catch on?"  

Ray laughed a bit too dramatically for Frank's liking.   

"I promise, it won't."   

"Whatever. How do you feel about going to the graffiti shop later?"   

Ray smiled. He's never done graffiti in his life, but he's always gone wherever Frank went. The two were inseparable for almost ten years now. "Of course-"   

"Mr Iero, will you put your phone away?"   

The teachers suddenly stern presence was made clear when she bellowed towards the two.   

"Sorry, ma'am." Frank shoved his phone back into his pocket "won't happen again."   

"Mhm," she drew out sarcastically. "That's what you said last time. And the time before that."   

Frank slumped back into his chair and crossed his arms unhappily as a few of his peers chuckled at the teacher's easy response.   

"Whatever." He muttered.   

This was going to be a long day.   

 
"Frank! What's been happening, dude?" The graffiti store attendant had never been in a bad mood in his life.  

Frank had always wondered if he ate ecstasy for breakfast every morning or something, because there was no way a human being could always have this WIDE of a smile plastered onto their face.   

"Oh, same old. Same old. How bout you?"   

“Not a lot myself. You here for the usual three?" The attendant asked.   

"Yeah." He said. Then paused.   

"Well, not really. Can I switch out the usual red for a more bright yellow?"   

The attendant froze. His usual heavy smile dropped.   

Frank had never seen him NOT smile. Made him wonder Iif he said something wrong.   

"Yellow? Are... are you sure?" He asked.   

Frank shrugged.   

"Yeah. Decided to try something new."   

"It doesn't look half-bad, actually." Ray chimed in from next to Frank.   

"I'm sure it doesn't." The attendant didn't sound too convinced, but he reached for the requested cans anyway.   

After paying and walking out, Frank offered to take Ray to the spot where he'd tagged the previous night.   

"It looks even better in real life, I promise." Frank assured Ray excitedly as he pulled him towards the train station.   

It wasn't really an offer if it came to Ray. He was easily redirected. He was the type to just 'go with the crowd'.  

"I don't have train money." Ray complained.   

"Ray, look at me." Frank stopped and turned to face his friend with an easy, sly grin.  
"When have you ever seen me pay for the train?" 

 
After narrowly avoiding the ticket inspector twice and having to hide away in the train's bathroom for longer then either of them were comfortable with, the two jumped off the train at their stop and headed for the small, secluded path that leaded them under the bridge.  

"Its just right around here!" Frank called excitedly.   

But as he rounded the corner and looked at the wall that he tagged the night before, his face was instantly painted with 100 shades of anger.   

Sprayed clumsily across his beautiful mural was another tag.   

One colour. One word.   

"Blood".  

That was ironic, because now Frank's blood was boiling to an impossible extent.  

"What the fuck!" He yelled, going to inspect it.   

The paint wasn't even matte. It was a glossy dark red.   

"T-that's my colour! That's the colour I usually use! But... in gloss!" He snarled the last word like it was a slur.   

This felt like a personal attack on Frank.   

No, this felt like a challenge.  

"Jeez, don't get too worked up. You can go over it, no?" Ray offered.  

"You can't do matte over gloss!" He yelled angrily. "It'll leave a visable mark though the paint! He fucking ruined my mural!" Frank ran his hand through his hair angrily, silently deciding what he should do now.  

"Here, why don't you do a new one under the other bridge? You know, the one down next to the next train station over?" Ray always tried his best to be helpful. It was sweet, actually.  

But Frank couldn't acknowledge that, no, he didn't WANT to acknowledge that when all the gratitude he would have felt was overshadowed with a tsunami of anger, quickly drowning him in the emotion.  

"No." Frank muttered, already turning on his heel to stomp away angrily.  

"This is a war that this stupid motherfucker asked for."  

 
That night, Frank decided to ditch his paint and just take one of his mops to go for a walk around the area.  

He had his dark red mop in his hand and was walking past one of his old marker-tags when he was stopped dead in his tracks.  

He had tagged with black ink that day, despite usually using a dark red.  
Well wouldn't you know it, the same, taunting word was scribbled over his tag in that same dark red he usually used was staring straight back at him.  

"Blood".  

There was no doubt that Frank was going to make that motherfucker draw blood once he caught him.  

Frank crouched down and ran his finger over the now definitely rival tag.  

He flinched back when he realised that the ink was still fresh, a red, wet smudge of paint on his finger subsequently.  

"This couldn't have been more then two minutes ago..." Frank whispered to himself as he stood up. He rubbed the ink between his fingers as he quickly continued to walk down that road.  

Maybe if he was fast enough, he could catch up to whoever this was and confront them?  

Obvious doubts flashed across Frank's mind. What if this was some big, older kid who could beat his ass? What if he had a knife?  

What about a gun?  

But all of these almost risky doubts were clouded over by the part of his brain that decided that he was going to kill this guy, regardless of his age, size or what weapon he happened to have on him.  

Frank found himself walking so fast, it could almost be considered running. He glanced at every pole and electricity box that he knew he tagged and breathed a sigh of relief whenever he saw that his tag wasn't covered up or gone over.  
But he further sped up when he realised that further down the road, all of them were covered up.  

Every. Single. One.  

Not even the one he managed to do really high up with Ray's help.  

Not one was spared.  

Frank was running now. All of the gym classes he skipped were really catching up to him, because shortly after he began, he was already panting for air and found himself slowing down.  

He stopped right next to a streetlight that he knew he tagged before.  

He didn't dare look up at the metal, knowing what fate had met it. Just like the rest around it.  

Frank caught his breath quickly but he was still absolutely fuming at the thought of that little fucker getting away with this.  

Not for fucking long.  

Chapter Text

Frank squeezed his eyes shut, pretending he couldn’t hear his teacher's drone of a speech as she mumbled on and on about yet another subject that nobody in the class had any interest in. She spoke in that same uninteresting, monotone voice that you'd hear from a night shift fast food employee. 

God, ever since yesterday, he felt as if he was permanently angry. 

He basically stayed up all night brainstorming about how he would kill the fucker that’s been tagging over him. He went as far as writing a detailed plan of how to get away with it and get rid of the body without raising any suspicion. 

He wasn’t crazy. He was passionate. 

Graffiti was all he knew. He took an impressive amount of pride in his murals, fonts, throw-ups, etc. He would spend hours bent over his sketch book, cross-legged on his bed, sketching out new ideas and writing out names of places that he wanted to tag.

It wasn’t fair that something he was so invested in and that he worked so hard on was just being slapped away from him so heartlessly. 

Frank raked his brain for anyone he knew that would do something like this. Anyone who didn’t like him. 

He gave up. There was too much for him to count. 

“…And I’m done making exceptions, guys. If you have enough time to play games instead of doing your homework, you have enough time to sit through a Friday detention.” 

The teacher was having another borderline mental breakdown. Frank was convinced that she wasn’t fit to take care of, let alone teach a class of immature 16-year-olds.  She was old and her way of teaching and communicating was outdated. No wonder nobody listened to her. 

“Dismissed!” Frank’s head shot up at the word. Finally, this fuckass class was over. 

“Hey Ray?” Frank asked as he packed his copy into his school bag. 

“Yeah?” Ray stood up and pulled his bag onto his shoulder. 

“I need you to help convince me not to kill someone. Remind me-”

“30 years to life without the possibility of parole.” Ray cut him off quickly. 

Frank groaned. 

Ray never failed to help Frank out of a bad situation. Or a bad mindset. 

Scrap that. He helped with everything. He was a fucking saint. 

If Frank would be religious, he would pray for Ray to be blessed with riches and good luck every morning before breakfast and every evening before crawling into his bed. 

“Is thirty years really that bad?” Frank tried to reason as they walked out. 

“Yeah. Look at what 30 years of teaching did to Ms Buttress.” Ray gestured back towards their class where their teacher was sitting at her desk with her head in her hands. 

“Imagine what 30 years of prison would do to a person.” Ray explained. 

“You’re right” Frank popped a chewing gum into his mouth and chewed it out obnoxiously “I’m too pretty for prison.” 

“You’re too cocky for prison.” Ray corrected. 

“Yeah? And you’re talking too much for my liking.” Frank bit back. 

“And you’re acting a little too tall for my liking. You’re two apples tall. Act like it.” 

Frank crossed his arms and pouted like an upset child. 

“Whatever.” He grumbled. 

“Awh. No smart-ass comeback this time?” Ray teased. 

“I’ll punch you in the throat if you really want me to.” Frank deadpanned. 

Ray looked up as if he was in consideration, then shrugged dramatically. 

“I think I'll pass. Thanks, though.” 

Frank pulled his mask over his face and his bag onto his back. Somewhere in the asscrack of his room, he managed to find a half-empty can of glossy black spray paint. He left his house with the intention of fixing his mural that night. 

Frank strolled down the street towards the bridge. He felt his shoulders tense up every time he caught another glimpse of that same taunting tag. 

Frank found his way to the unlit path and used his phone's flash light to navigate all the way under the bridge. 

Frank’s heart jumped straight into his throat once he rounded the corner. 

There he was. The guy that he spent all those hours thinking about killing. 

The sight was enough to make Frank snarl with rage, almost like a wild animal. 

He was going a step further then just ruining Frank’s mural by tagging over him now. Instead, he was now just fully spraying as much as he could over the mural. 

Frank couldn’t hold it back anymore. 

He lunged at him. He grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around so he was facing Frank. He further attempted to intimidate him by grabbing him by the collar and pushing him up against the wall behind him. 

Finally, Frank pulled his switchblade out of his pocket, clicked it open, and pressed the cold metal right to his throat. 

The other had dropped the spray can and put his hands up instinctively. 

But the boy seemed anything but intimidated. His eyes beamed with confidence and the way his lips curled up in the corners hinted at... amusement?

That made Frank all the more angry. 

The boy was almost a foot taller then Frank. He wore a black hoodie and ripped black jeans. 

He had shoulder-length, raven black hair that curled around the curve of his ear. 

And these Hazel eyes that Frank couldn’t help but compare to his own…

“Whoa, whoa, a knife? Seriously?” He sounded just as amused as he looked as a smile played upon his lips. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” Frank yelled from behind his mask. He did not in fact find this situation amusing. 

 “Well… my name is Gerard, for starters.” he shrugged. 

Frank didn’t appreciate his smug response. He pointed to the now ruined mural behind Gerard with the point of his knife. 

“I’m guessing ‘blood’ is your tag?” Frank tried to sound threatening, but it was really working against him. 

Because, well, he wasn’t very intimidating. 

“Bingo. I’m guessing you're ‘veins’?” 

“You bet your petty ass I am. Why're you going around tagging over me? Do I fuckin know you?” He questioned. 

“Nope.” Gerard popped the ‘p’ as he spoke. 

“Then what the fuck?” 

“Had to go over someone. I see your shit everywhere. Thought I might as well.” 

Oh. Oh that pissed Frank off so bad. 

“Listen here, pansy.” Frank snarled “I catch you going over me again, and the police will be pulling this knife out of your throat.”  Frank dangled the switchblade in front of Gerard’s face. 

“I’m shaking.” Gerard yawned dramatically to emphasise the thickness of his sarcasm. 

“I don’t ever wanna see you again, Gerald. I mean it.” Frank let go of his collar. “Ever.” 

“It’s Gerard. Get it right.” He corrected. 

“Get out of here before I use your blood as ink for my old mop.” He threatened. 

“Super scared! Seriously! I’m practically gonna piss myself over here!” Gerard called back while picking up his can and walking away. 

Frank even heard him whistling as he walked further away. 

What a fucking dick.

Chapter Text

Frank stepped into the classroom, eyes scanning the room for where to sit.   

He had spent yet another night awake, thinking about that tagger. Gerard. God, even the name sounded ugly. Fuck him.  

How could someone be such an asshole? Tagging over people with no reason other than “had to go over someone”.  

Frank should have killed him while he had the chance.   

Despite his lack of sleep, he quickly spotted Ray down in the back corner. Score!  

Just as he started to step over, he noticed he was chatting to someone.  

A skinny little kid at the desk in front of Ray. He had a pair of thin rimmed glasses, with hair in a side-swept bang that very slightly covered them. He was wearing a t-shirt with the word “ANTHRAX” plastered on in bright yellow letters on a sick ass graphic tee, along with a pair of blue jeans.  

Was he new? Frank had never seen him before.  

Frank slumped down in the seat next to Ray, glancing at him before looking at the other kid.  

“Hey, Frank!” Ray greeted. “This is Michael!” He gestured to the kid.  

“You can call me Mikey. Nice to meet you, Frank.” He gave him a nod and a polite smile.  

“Hey, Mikey.” Frank nodded in return with a grin.  

Before Mikey could reply, Ray butted in.  

“He’s the new kid. You like Anthrax, don’t you Frank? So does Mikey! He likes a lot of the same music as us. And get this—he’s a bassist!”  

Frank stared at Ray, then at Mikey. Mikey nodded with a tight smile, as if he wanted to say it himself but couldn’t.  

“Let Mikey speak for himself, Ray.” Frank sighed like a worn-out mother.  

“Oh, sorry! You go on.” Ray put his hands up as he leaned back.  

“Well, that’s it. I like metal, I’m a bassist, and-“  

Mikey was cut off by the sound of their teacher barging into the classroom.  

“Good morning class!” She tried to greet, but the students at the back remained far too loud for anyone to hear her.   

“I said GOOD MORNING, CLASS!” She roared, shutting everyone up.  

“There we are!” She scanned the room, as if searching for someone, before her eyes landed on Mikey.  

“Class, we have a new student joining us today!” She pointed a pale, skeletal finger towards the boy.   

“Introduce yourself!” She said with an enthusiasm that the rest of the class could clearly see as false. The joy in her voice didn’t match her dead eyes. But she was trying to make a good first impression and hey, Frank respected that.  

Mikey stood up reluctantly, his chair making a painful scraping noise on the floor.  

“Hi. My name’s Michael, but you can call me Mikey. I play bass. And uh.. I like music.” He introduced rather awkwardly.  

The class froze in a terrible silence before Ms Buttress felt bad for the kid and clapped her hands. The class broke out in a polite, broken applause.  

“Thank you, Mikey. My name is Ms Buttress, and-“  

Mikey looked like he was holding back the hardest laugh of his life.  

“.. I’m sorry, is something funny?” The teacher asked in suspicion, obviously knowing exactly what Mikey was laughing about. Come on, she’s teaching childish teenagers. Her name didn’t help her case.  

“No- ahem. No, Ms. I apologise.” Mikey tried, voice quivering with suppressed laughter.   

“Sit down.” She commanded, that tired tone the class knew all too well returning.  

Mikey sat down, finally allowing himself to erupt in silent giggles, rattling his frame.  

Childish humour. Frank noted that mentally.  

After a long morning plagued with zoning out and thinking of ways to get away with murder—once again—it was finally lunchtime.  

Ray and Frank sat down at their usual spot in the cafeteria after gathering the best of the soggy cafeteria food, where everyone else knew not to sit. It was their table.  

Frank slumped down across from Ray, letting out a rather dramatic sigh.  

“Okay, drama queen.” Ray scoffed. “Is this still about that dumbass tagger? What was his name—Jordan?”  

“Gerard. And obviously, this is fucking about him! You know how pissed off I am about this!”  

“It’s not that deep, Frank.”   

“But it is! Do you know how infuriating it is to have something of yours completely ruined, and it was all for someone else’s entertainment? I have all the right to be mad about this.” Frank argued, throwing his hands up dramatically.  

“Yeah, yeah. I know how worked up you get.” Ray sighed, taking a bite of his sandwich. Made by love with his mother, as was stated in the note on the lunch bag—which Ray kindly crumpled up and threw in the bin.  

“Ughh. I should have killed him.” Frank growled.   

“30 years, Frank.”  

“It’s worth it!”  

Ray tried to argue against Frank’s ideas, as he usually did, but Frank wasn’t listening. He spotted that kid Mikey across the hall, looking for somewhere to sit.  

“Hey!” Frank shouted, waving Mikey over.  

He spotted Frank, a soft grin crossing his face as he stepped over to their table.  

“Hey, guys.” He greeted, holding his lunch tray in both hands.  

“Come sit with us!” Ray said, looking at Frank who gave an approving nod.  

Mikey should take this as a huge compliment. No one sits at their table.  

“Alright.” Mikey said, trying to sound less excited than he looked. He seemed to be very happy to have found friends, especially on his first day. He plopped himself down beside Ray.  

“Hey—we’ve got a bassist! Maybe we can get that band going! My cousin Bob said he could be the drummer, but now we just need a singer..” He trailed off, thinking of someone for the role.  

“That sounds cool!” Mikey said as he stuck his straw into his milk carton.  

Frank shrugged. He’d love to start a band, but they couldn’t seem to find the right people. They all sucked or had sucky personalities.  

“Well, we’ll keep that in our back pocket.” Ray nodded.  

“Mayhaps.” Frank said casually.  

The conversation skidded to a halt as Mikey stared at Frank.  

“….. Mayhaps?”   

“Yeah..?”  

“Mayhaps?” Mikey asked again incredulously, a humoured smile playing on his lips.  

“Yeah?!”  

“Mayhaps isn’t a word.”  

“… It could be.”  

“No, it couldn’t. It’s either maybe or perhaps. Not.. mayhaps.” Mikey stated through a chuckle.  

“Well, it’s my word now!” Frank exclaimed. “It might catch on!”  

Mikey shook his head in a silent defiance and scoffed lightheartedly. “We’ll see.”  

“Get used to that.” Ray laughed, “He says it way too much and way too confidently.”  

Frank grunted and crossed his arms. It would catch on! Come on, it was funny!  

The three made more idle conversation—nothing really interesting. Even if it was, Frank couldn’t pay attention. God, he needed to sleep.  

“-My brother said that he could get some for us!” Ray said. Or rather, that was all that Frank heard. He didn’t know what Ray’s brother was getting for them, but Frank nodded anyway.  

“I think my brother could get some too.” Mikey said.  

“Oh yeah? You have a brother?” Ray inquired further.  

“Yeah. He joined the school along with me. He’s in the year above us so you probably wouldn’t have seen him. Hey, he might be here somewhere. Look out for a guy with jet black hair. Shoulder length. Usually greasy. You can't miss him.”  

…   

Jet black hair?  

Surely not.  

Frank was suddenly wide awake. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the said brother.  

“Hey, there he is!”  

Mikey pointed at someone across the cafeteria.   

Frank stared at the back of the person’s head. He knew exactly who it was, even though his back was turned.  

As if to confirm Frank's spiralling suspicion, he turned around right on queue.  

It was Gerard.  

Oh, fuck me.  

Chapter Text

The stinging, acid-like feeling in Frank's chest as Mikey called Gerard over was indescribable. He clenched teeth together so tight, he was afraid they'd shatter under the pressure. 

"This is Gerard!" Mikey introduced as the black-haired boy sat next to Frank. 

Oh, that fucker was doing it on purpose. 

"Hey, that's funny, that's the same name-" 

Frank kicked Ray under the table to shut him up thoroughly. 

"Nice to meet you." Ray corrected himself after clearing his throat. 

"I'm Ray, this is Frank." Ray pointed. 

"Yeah, hey." Frank added. 

In the corner of his eye, Frank saw that Gerard flinched at the sound of his voice and looked straight at him. 

And even though he wasn't looking, Frank could FEEL the smirk on Gerard's face. 

"Hey. Mikey has friends already? That's a shock." 

Frank grinded his teeth together at the sound of his voice. 

Ray was looking at Frank with a confused expression. 

"Shut up." Mikey frowned. "I'm very likeable." 

"Sure you are." Gerard laughed. 

"Hey, guys, maybe you wanna come over to our place after school?" Mikey asked with a small smile on his face. "I can show you guys my bass, oh! And I have this sick CD collection!" He offered excitedly. 

Ray. Stupid, sweet, caring Ray nodded his head excitedly. 

"We'd love to! Right, Frank?" He beamed. 

No, no, no, God! What was he doing?

Well, great. 

Now Frank couldn't say no because he'd look like a fucking dick. 

"Sure! Yeah, we can go." He said rather unenthusiastically. 

"Great! Can't wait to see you there." Gerard smiled and wrapped an arm around Frank's shoulders, slamming his palm down with a scarily strong grip. 

Frank tensed beneath the suddenly firm grasp around him. 

Oh. Oh, this fucker was doing everything to piss him off.

Frank couldn't stand this. He couldn't sit here and listen to his stupid voice and stare at his stupid smile for one more second. 

"We have to go. Ray and I have a... thing. Ray?" Frank shot his friend a pleading look. 

"Uh... yeah. Totally forgot. Sorry." But instead of getting up, Ray pulled a pen out of his pocket and scribbled his number down onto a thin napkin on the table. 

"Text us." He slid the napkin over to Mikey, who smiled thankfully and waved them goodbye. 

Frank practically dragged Ray into the nearest boys bathroom. 

He kicked the door of every stall open, then breathed a sigh of relief after seeing they were all empty. 

"Is that-" 

"It's him!" Frank interrupted, answering Ray's question. 

A brief pause. 

"Dude...."

"Oh my godddd" Frank groaned in frustration, holding his head in his hands dramatically. 

"I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have said yes if I'd known-"

"Ray. I swear to fucking God. I might actually be behind bars by the time tommorow rolls around." He sounded dead serious. 

And Ray didn't doubt that he was. 

"Dont worry,” he smiled. "I'll be there to snatch the knife away from you before you manage to shove it between his teeth."

Frank was uncomfortable with how well Ray knew him sometimes. 

How did he know that that was his plan?

"Don't know what I'd do without you, Toro." Frank thanked. 

Ray just shrugged. 

"Let's be honest. You'd probably be dead." 

Frank chewed on his lip ring nervously as Ray reached over and rang the doorbell. 

They were in the nice part of town. 

Because of course they were. 

The houses were nothing like the almost cardboard boxes labelled "apartments" that Frank and Ray lived in. 

On the other side of town. 

The bad side. 

The side that had been long swallowed by urban decay and was now just a memory of the bright, new area that it used to be. 

Just like the area that they were in now. 

Pretentious, unnecessarily expensive, competitive, you name it. 

"Hey guys!" Frank almost flinched at the cheerful, warm tone that greeted him from the now open door. 

"Come in! It's freezing." Mikey moved aside to let the two walk past him, adjusting his glasses to sit higher on the bridge of his nose.

Frank took one look around and decided that he was jealous. 

For starters, the house smelled like cinnamon and happy memories. 

The interior wasn't bland and hospital-like, the way that a lot of expensive houses were. It was warm and maximalistic. Little nick nacks and unnecessary decorations dotted the walls from floor to ceiling. The area was very open-concept and spacious. The kind of place where you'd expect your voice to echo back if you spoke loud enough. 

It didn't feel like a house. It felt like a home. 

"Wow, you've really got a nice house, dude." Ray pointed out. 

"Thanks!" Mikey smiled proudly. "Wanna go see my room?"

"Uh, yeah? Duh." Ray smiled. 

Frank wanted to enjoy himself. 

He really, really did. 

But he wouldn't be happy until he saw that boy in a coffin. 

Or an urn.

Or whatever, you get the memo. 

Dead. 

Mikey led the way to his room, but he turned around to face the two before they even got to his door. 

"Fair warning, it might be a little messy." He warned. 

"Not like we care much. Right, Frank?" Ray nudged Frank with his elbow. 

"What? Oh- uh... yeah. No, same." Frank said absently. 

"Dont mind him." Ray re-assured. "He's mad at the world, like, 90 percent of the time." 

"And the other 10 percent?" Mikey said as he reached for his door handle. 

"Hes making up stupid new words like 'mayhaps' and gaslighting himself into thinking they'll 'catch on'." Ray huffed a chuckle.

Frank elbowed Ray in the ribs but instead if getting the satisfaction of hurting him, he got dissapointment as Ray just laughed harder. 

Mikey chuckled to himself as he opened his door. 

His room didn't look like the rest if the house. It was different in an almost pleasant way. 

For starters, the rest of the house was illuminated in a bright, warm light, while Mikey’s room had a dimmer, less harsh one. The red curtains were shut—permanently so, as it seemed—bringing a cozy vibe to the room.

There was a desk against the wall across from the bed. Indeed, it was messy. There were papers scattered in piles everywhere. They seemed to be either writing of bass tabs or lyrics. Somewhere buried in the chaos was a laptop, a few pens and pencils, as well as some random out of place items.

On the desk chair lay a shit ton of clothes, piled on top of each other. Frank spotted mostly band shirts in there, along with a grey beanie right at the top.

The bed was made—though messily. Rocket ship bedsheets. Frank couldn’t help but snicker at that.

On the walls were nothing but posters. Any type of alternative bands you can think of? Mikey probably had a poster for them on there. There were a couple of shelves too; one dedicated to Lego figurines, another to things for his bass. Beside that shelf, Mikey’s glorious bass was hung up on the wall proudly, next to a large amplifier.

Frank's eyes landed on a shelf that was lined with the spines of what he could only guess was a thousand CDs staring back at him. 

He shuffled over to the shelf and skimmed over the names and titles on the spines. 

His eyes landed on a very specific CD. 

Americana by The Offspring.

He pulled it out of the shelf to make sure he wasn't dreaming. 

He double checked. 

He clicked it open and made sure the CD was inside. 

Triple checked. 

"No way!" He spoke enthusiastically "you have Americana on CD?" 

Mikey's smile almost had a hint of relief on it as he noticed how much Frank's mood had shifted. 

"Yeah! You a fan?" He asked. 

"Am I a fan? Is the pope still Catholic?" Frank answered. 

"D'you wanna play it now? The CD player's over there." Mikey pointed at the corner of his desk. 

Frank popped the CD out of the flimsy plastic case and slid it into the CD player. 

"Just not too loud. Gerard gets all pissy if he can hear my music through the walls." 

Frank tensed at the mention of the other boy. 

Still, he turned around to face Mikey and Ray, who had mounted themselves on Mikeys bed comfortably. 

"No problem." Frank said with a plastic smile. 

The conversation between the three didn't falter for what felt like hours. 

Well, mostly Ray and Mikey speaking, and Frank chiming in to complain or disagree with someone once in a while. 

Suddenly, Mikey’s phone buzzed.

He turned it upwards to check. A little smile crossed his lips as he sent a quick reply and put it down again. Frank didn’t comment. They continued talking. 

Mikey’s phone buzzed again. He didn’t reply this time, but still smiled at the notification.

“Who keeps texting you, dude?” Ray asked.

“Pete.” Mikey stated blankly, as if it explained everything. 

Ray and Frank exchanged a confused glance. Who the hell is Pete?

After a moment of awkward silence and looks of anticipation from Frank and Ray, Mikey finally explained.

“He’s my friend.” He said with a smile that hid many words.

“Oh, cool.” Ray acknowledged, seemingly not realising the same thing as Frank.

After a minute, the conversation quickly and easily flowed back, from music, to school, to love, to psychology for some reason, and back to music again. 

Frank was actually smiling too. 

Sometimes. 

All seemed well until there was a knock on the door. 

Then it opened. 

Of course it was him. Because the universe hated Frank. 

The universe hated when Frank was happy. 

"Mom said to bring this up." He held out two bright red pizza boxes. 

If Frank wasn't so hungry, he would have politely told Gerard to go fuck himself. 

But he really was hungry. 

And the smell that smothered the room was far too good to ignore. 

"Yeah, you can leave it on my desk. Thanks, Gee." Mikey smiled. 

"Yeah, no problem." As Gerard turned around to leave, his eyes caught Frank's. 

In a split second, Frank watched Gerard's face curl into a sickeningly coy smile before disappearing behind the door. 

Breathe. 

He had to breathe. 

"I can't do it!" Frank cried and groaned dramatically when he played the wrong note for maybe the hundredth time in the past 30 seconds. 

Mikey had been kind enough to offer to teach him how to play on a bass guitar, but Frank quickly decided that he didn't like it.

And he was very firm on his decision. 

"The neck is too long for my hands." He complained. 

He was used to his electric guitar. The guitar that he didn't have to worry about not being able to reach the first fret on.

"I think your hands are the problem. If you grew just a little-" 

"I swear, I'll turn this bass into a murder weapon if I have to." Frank interrupted Ray angrily. 

"Hey, then at least you'd be able to use it right." Ray bit back without missing a single beat. 

Mikey choked out a laugh that he quickly swallowed down once he saw how angry Frank looked. 

"Is he on his period or something?" Mikey asked Ray, who just gave him an amused shrug. 

"I think he works like a chihuahua. You know, the really small dogs that are always pissed off?" 

The two burst into a fit of laughter as Frank sat there with an unamused look on his face.

"Hey Mikey? Where's your bathroom at?" Frank asked once he handed the bass back to him. 

"Eh, down the hall to the left." Mikey pointed, animating what he was saying with his hands. 

"Thanks." He nodded as he got up and left.

Frank didn't really need to use the bathroom. He just kind of needed to collect his thoughts. 

He leaned up on the marble sink top and stared at himself in the mirror.

He looked like a ghost. He really needed that sleep. 

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom swung open and a confident Gerard strolled inside and stood next to Frank, fixing his hair in that same mirror. 

"Can I help you?" Frank grumbled. 

"Just fixing my makeup." Gerard pulled an eyeliner pencil out of his pocket and popped the cap off. 

"You just burst in here. I could have been pissing-" 

"But you weren't." Gerard pulled down his waterline and drew a line of black across it. 

"But I could have been-"

"You werent." He cut him off again. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. He was riling him up. 

Frank's eyes landed on a cup that sat politely on the sink top. 

In it were two toothbrushes, and a pair of hair scissors. 

His eyes lingered on the scissors for a good minute. He could reach over, he could do it. Nobody was here to stop him. 

Gerard had been watching him through the mirror. But deep down, he knew Frank wasn't capable of actually hurting him.

And maybe it was a bold move, but Gerard reached over, grabbed the scissors and held them out to Frank. 

"Go on." He encouraged. 

"Huh-?" 

"Use them. I've seen the way you look at me. If you really want to hurt me, I'm giving you an opportunity. Here." He gestured at the scissors. 

Frank took them into his hands, but found himself stupidly unable to do anything with them. He just stood there, scissors in hand. Holding them so hard that his knuckles were white with strain. 

Gerard finished doing his makeup and turned around to fully face Frank. 

"Do it." He challenged, an infuriatingly cocky expression on his face. 

Frank tried to move his hand forward. He tried to reach up and shove those scissors right where they should be. He tried to get the satisfaction of finally getting what he'd wanted. 

But he stayed still. 

"That's what I thought." Gerard smirked and blew him an undoubtedly taunting kiss as he strolled back out of the bathroom. 

What the hell just happened?

Chapter Text

Frank was sitting in bed, mindlessy strumming some new songs he’d come up with on guitar.

Mikey had invited him to his house, but he didn’t know if he could emotionally handle seeing his asshole brother again.

He genuinely thought he’d walk out with blood on his hands this time.

As he was writing a thought into his notebook, his phone lit up with a notification. It was from the group chat he, Mikey and Ray had.

R: Soz Mikey, can’t come to urs. Mom’s making me go to our dumbass cousin’s house.

M: :(

M: frank? u coming?

Frank took a second to think about it.

F: Is ur brother home?

M: not yet

F: I’ll b there in 20

M: 👍

As Frank quickly gathered his things—phone, keys, jacket—he spotted his paint marker. He grabbed it to do some quick tags on the way to Mikey’s.

Even though he knew their prematurely sealed fate, he’ll be damned if he’ll let anything stop him from pursuing his passion.

Frank shoved his finger into the doorbell, more excited to be here than he was last time.

The door opened after a few seconds, but instead of seeing the friendly face he expected, who the fuck else would it be to meet him but Gerard?

“Came to finish the job, have you?” Gerard said cockily, that familiar, infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

Frank clenched his fists tightly, taking a deep breath. Just as he was about to burst into complaints, he heard loud, rushed footsteps down the stairs.

“GERARD! I said I’d get the door!” He shouted, quickly getting to the door and slamming his fist into the black haired boy’s arm angrily. 

“Owwww it huuurts.” Gerard moaned sarcastically, dramatically clutching his arm.

“Hi, Frank. Come up before he tries anything.” Mikey said breathlessly, giving his brother a dirty look.

Gerard childishly stuck his tongue out at Mikey who returned the favour in the same way. 

Frank rolled his eyes, giving Gerard a stern glare before following Mikey up the stairs.

“Sorry about him. He got home right before you came.” Mikey apologised, adjusting his hair under his beanie.

“It’s fine.” Frank said mindlessly, eyes following Gerard as he strutted down the hallway with that same, annoying, obnoxious confidence. 

It wasn’t fine. It took everything Frank had in him to not rip that greasy black hair right out of that guy’s undoubtedly empty head. 

A borderline argument about music (that somehow ended peacefully) and another unsuccessful bass lesson later, that same hidden smile from the other day appeared on Mikey’s lips as he answered a text from.. ‘Sweet Little Dude’?

...

Really?

That had to be an inside joke because.. what the fuck.

“Is that your.. friend again?” Frank put emphasis on the word friend, because he highly doubted the nature of their relationship.

“Yeah.” Mikey hummed, finishing off a message before putting his phone away.

“Are you sure you guys aren’t booyyfriends?” Frank teased like a little kid, nudging Mikey a little.

“No.. but I wish.” He frowned, picking at his fingers.

“Wait.. really?! You’re gay?!” Frank blurted out, sounding slightly more disrespectful then he intended. 

“Um.. Bi, more like. But.. yeah, sure.” Mikey shrugged as if it was the easiest thing in the world to tell.

“That’s pretty gay.” Frank snickered as if it was funny.

“I thought you were gay too.” Mikey said suspiciously.

Oh my God.

Seriously?!

Frank?! Gay?!?

“Fuck no! That’s so—gay..!” Frank said a little too defensively.

Mikey chuckled, “Bordering on the offensive there, buddy.” He didn’t look bothered, but if Frank kept it up, he’d probably get pretty pissed off.

“No- I didn’t mean it like that.” Frank mumbled. “I just.. haven’t really thought about that before.”

“I see.” Mikey hummed.

“How did.. you know you were gay?” 

Real subtle, Frank.

“Uh- I dunno. I always just kinda knew. Men? Hot. Women? Hot.” Mikey shrugged once more.

“Oh.” Frank thought about that.

Had he found women attractive before? Yeah. Had he found men attractive before?

…

Oh, shit.

Yeah, he had.

Apparently, the realisation was obvious on his face, because a laugh from Mikey broke him out of his freight train of thoughts.

“That’s an epiphany if I’ve ever seen one.” He chuckled.

“I’m not gay.” Frank mumbled, not sure if he was trying to convince Mikey or himself. 

“Aaaalright, buddy. You know what they say? Stage one: Denial.” He snickered in reply.

“Whatever.” Frank decided he had to change the conversation. He needed to process this.

“Tell me more about this guy then. What’s his name again?”

“Pete. He’s in my music and art classes, and.. I dunno. We just kinda hit it off this summer.” Mikey told.

“Go on.”

“We were just friends before. Best friends, really. But one day we went to the beach and.. maybe it was how he looked in the light but.. something clicked. And.. yeah.”

“Why don’t you do something about it?”

“If he doesn’t feel the same way when I confess, he’ll hate me and I’ll ruin the best friendship I’ve ever had.”

“Mm.. fair. But if you really like him, and you think he likes you even a little, go for it, dude.” Frank advised.

He didn’t know exactly why he was giving advice. It’s not like he was ever in a relationship that lasted over a month. 

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I’ll think on it.” Mikey nodded.

Hours passed by in what seemed like seconds as Mikey and Frank talked about everything and nothing. 

Because of Mikey’s curtains, Frank didn’t even realise that it got late until it was pitch black outside. 

“Ohhhhh shit.” Frank moaned as he looked out from behind the curtain.

“Fuck. Uh- I could walk you home. I don’t think my mom would mind. Or maybe my brother c-“

“You.” Frank cut off. No way was he going to walk with him.

“Oh, okay. You know—Gerard’s not as bad as he seems. He’s just mean to me cause he’s my brother.” Mikey tried, pulling a leather jacket on top of his hoodie.

“Yeah. Sure.” Frank scoffed as he patted his pockets to make sure he had everything.

Mikey didn’t say anything. Only gave Frank a look.

They stepped out of the house, cold air instantly biting the boys’ faces. Mikey shoved his hands in his pockets, Frank followed suit. 

They made usual conversation, Frank pausing from time to time to scribble ‘Veins’ anywhere he could with his marker.

“I like your tag, by the way.” Mikey commented as he watched Frank tag a light post. 

“Oh, thanks.” Frank nodded.

Mikey then saw the dark red tag of ‘Blood’ plastered on the wall next to them.

“Hey, that’s my brother’s tag.” He added.

He then saw what the writing was drawn over.

‘Veins’ in yellow.

Oh.

Everything clicked together in the span of mere seconds in Mikey's brain. You could practically see his train of thought purely through his facial expressions.

“Oh, dude.” Mikey said, mouth agape.

“Is this why you hate him so much?!”

Frank just nodded.

“This makes so much sense.” Mikey put a hand to his forehead, acting as if he just discovered the secrets of Area 51.

“Yeah..”

The subject didn't linger. Frank didn't tell, and Mikey didn't push. 

The conversation went back to the usual subjects until the two reached Frank’s house.

Mikey seemed surprised by how beat up the neighbourhood was. It was new to him. Not bad, just unfamiliar. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Mikey waved Frank goodbye.

He couldn't respond. He couldn't think. He got dressed into his pijamas and got ready for bed in almost an oblivious state. He felt like a child who just discovered what death was. 

He couldn't be. 

Could he?

Frank finally slept—though after a disturbingly long time of lying on his bed, wide-eyed and confused, thinking about who he really was.

And who he wanted to be. 

Chapter Text

Mikey went straight to Gerard's room after getting home. 

He bolted up the stairs and practically kicked his brother's door open in anger. 

Gerard flinched away from the drawing he was working on at his desk and looked up. He slid his black headphones off, turning to face Mikey.

"What do you want? I'm busy-" 

"One time! This is the one time I have more friends than you! Why do you feel the need to fuck me over all the time?" 

Gerard blinked. Was he being serious?

"What-" 

"Stop trying to chase my friends away! Mind your own business for once!" Mikey looked like an angry child. His hands folded in front of his chest tightly. His face screwed up in anger. 

"I'm not trying to-" 

"Stop tagging over Frank. I mean it. If he stops being my friend, I'm blaming you." Mikey said coldly, jabbing a furious finger in Gerard’s direction before turning around and leaving. 

He made a point of slamming his door as he left. 

Gerard didn't know what to say. He wasn't doing it to piss Mikey off. He did it solely to rile Frank up and hopefully get a reaction out of him. Not his brother. 

God. Why did everything had to complicate itself? Why couldn't he just have his cookie and eat it too? 

Frank had probably the most choppy, constantly interrupted sleep that he's ever endured. His whole body was sore when he stretched and everything down to the temperature in the room ticked him off. 

He shot a quick text to Ray. 

F: Not coming 2 skl td. 

He got an almost immediate response. 

R: Uhhhh fuck yoouuuu whyyyy

F: Identity crisis

R: B there in 20. 

Frank blinked at the message. Then blinked again. 

Knowing Ray, if he asked why, he probably would get a response. Wonderful. 

Frank got up and dragged his feet as he walked to his bathroom. Looking into the mirror was a whole jumpscare. He had eye bags of a concerningly dark colour. His hair looked like he'd been struck by lightning. He was missing a sock somehow.

Instead of fixing any of this, he left the bathroom and strolled into his kitchen instead. 

Yeah, he looked and felt like shit, but above all, he was hungry. 

Unfortunately for him, he was also hungry the day before and had eaten all the good food. He scouted out a single slice of bread (the ass part that's like 90% crust) and a jar of peanut butter. 

Ray was coming over. Ray was allergic to peanut butter. 

Settling on the fact that he didn't really want to kill his friend, he sat in his kitchen and ate the single slice of dry, stale bread sadly. 

A few minutes went by and Frank heard his door open and close quietly. Ray walked into his kitchen and practically jumped when he saw him. 

"Jesus. The morgue called. They want their corpse back." he joked lightly. 

Frank wasn't exactly amused, and that was obvious in his expression. 

"How d'you get in?" Frank asked, knowing for a fact that he'd locked his door last night. 

"Spare key under the mat." Ray slapped the key onto his kitchen counter triumphantly. 

"Anyway, what's this identity crisis about?" Ray searched Frank's kitchen cabinets hungrily. As if there was any food.

"I don't know. I think I'm gay." Frank deadpanned. 

Ray turned to face him ever so slowly. 

"For Gerard?" He asked excitedly. "I knew it! I've seen the way you look at him-!" 

"Ray! What the fuck? No!" Frank retorted quickly. 

Ray blinked. 

"Are... are you sure?" 

"Yes!" Frank yelled, "I'm fairly sure I don't like the guy who I planned on killing yesterday!" 

"...but you're not planning on killing him today?" 

"Ray!" Frank hoped that being loud would snap Ray out of it. Frank wasn't even fully sure if he was gay. He was like... 98.. 99 percent sure. That's less than 100. 

"Sorry, sorry! God!" Ray threw his hands up defensively. 

"So what does this mean?" Frank asked. 

"Huh?" 

"Like, me being gay. You know? I mean, I've literally seen your dick. On multiple occasions." Frank sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. 

Ray shrugged. "Yeah, but that was in like... a bro way." 

Frank actually laughed at that. 

"Yeah, dude. In a bro way. That makes it straighter right?" Ray asked. 

"I dunno. Prolly not." 

There was a brief pause. 

"No homo?" Ray tried. 

"Yeah, that works. No homo."

A few hours after school, Frank and Rays' phones chimed simultaneously with a text from Mikey.

M: any1 coming over tn?

He got a quick response from Ray. 

R: How soon can we be over? 

M: idk like right now?

R: ...

R: B there in 10. 

"I don't want to go! Why'd you say we can go? I don't wanna!" Frank exaggerated with the petulant attitude of a child. As usual. 

"Get up, you big baby. It's the least we can do after skipping today without him. Come on." Ray had to practically drag him out of bed and force him to get changed. Now trapped, Frank was reluctant, but agreed nonetheless. 

Frank was still sulking as they walked up to Mikey's house. Ray tried to nudge him with his elbow as discreetly as possible as the door opened to get him to knock it off. 

Again, Gerard answered the door. Because why wouldn't he?

"My favourite people! Come in, please." He smiled that awful smile and shuffled out of the way so the two could walk in. 

"Eat a dick." Frank mumbled as he pushed past Gerard. 

"Sorry about him" Ray—in typical Ray fashion—stopped to apologise. "He's had a... bad day."

Ray was acting like Frank’s fucking mother. Along with that, Frank was acting like Ray’s son. Standing there with an angry pout like a kid who wasn’t allowed to get a lollipop while Ray tried to excuse his behavior to others.

"Oh, I don't take it to heart, don't worry." Gerard smiled. 

"Thanks." Ray smiled back and had to practically run up the stairs to catch up to Frank, who was already headed towards Mikey's room. 

Upon the two walking into his room, Mikey looked up from his phone all confused. Frank ignored the faint smell of weed in the room, and it seemed that Ray did the same.

"How'd you guys get in here?" He asked. 

"Your bitchass-" 

"Your brother let us in!" Ray cut Frank's rude statement off with a warning glare. 

"God, I've told him to stop getting the door for me. He never listens." Mikey complained.

"You can say that again." Frank mumbled. 

Mikey chose to ignore it, figuring that he couldn't argue because he'd just said the exact same thing. 

Mikey seemed.. off. Very subtly so, but it was noticeable. At least by Frank it was.

Ray was very keen on learning how to play bass, in contrast to Frank's hatred of it. Mikey helped Ray through learning root notes while Frank bathed in the envy of his friend catching into something so quickly. 

Frank instead busied himself with choosing a CD to play from Mikey's vast collection. 

While choosing there was a ring at the front door. 

"Ah! That's the pizza. Frank, go get it?" 

Frank patted his pockets after getting up and realised he didn't have his wallet on him. 

"Do you have any change for a tip?" 

"Nope." Mikey grinned devilishly. 

Great. Now Frank had to be the dick that doesn't tip. 

He hurried down the stairs and answered the door for the pizza man. 

He chose not to engage in small talk because... Well, he didn't have a tip. 

Upon closing the door and turning around, he was met with an amused looking Gerard. 

"No tip? Jeez. That's rough." 

"Ok. You know what? I'm sick of this. I'm sick of you." Frank said angrily. "You covered my tag for no reason other then 'you felt like it'. You're an emotional terrorist." Frank stepped closer in a hopefully intimidating way. "You're always so fucking cocky. And the worst part is you know it. You taunt me to evoke a reaction because you know that one is coming-" 

"Oh, please, you love it." He said with a grin. 

"See! There it is again!" Frank yelled, stepping even closer. Impossibly closer.

 Too close.  

"You're doing this for a reaction." Frank stated, almost growling with the way he spoke. 

"And you're eating right out the palm of my hand." Gerard pointed out.

This was it. 

Frank was going to kill him. 

The pressure was bubbling over right this second. Frank grinded his teeth together so hard that he almost grimaced at the noise they made. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He was ready. He was ready to swing-

"I'm so sorry about him." Ray grabbed Frank by the arm and pulled him away in one swift movement. 

Frank held eye contact with Gerard until Ray dragged him around the corner. 

"Hey! I'm not bailing you out of jail, man. Snap out of it." Ray sounded mad for maybe the first time since he and Frank met. 

And that got Frank thinking about if maybe all those people were right. Maybe he did have issues. 

...

Nah. He was acting completely rational. 

"This is becoming irrational." 

OK. Wow. 

"Then why don't you tell Gerard to stop-" 

"God, tell him yourself! Maybe if you two stopped eye-fucking each other and had a normal conversation then you'd work it out!" 

Eye-fucking?

Really?

"Were not... 'eye fucking'... gross." 

Ray rolled his eyes. 

Stage two: anger.

Chapter Text

After another outburst between him and his brother straight after school, Mikey slumped down on his bed and sighed heavily.

It's so like Gerard to just ruin everything for him. Mikey couldn't even tell if it was intentional or not anymore. The one time he gets real friends who get him, Gerard goes and fucks it up.

His friends didn't even come into school today. He was positive it was Gerard's fault.

They were close when they were kids. Their mother would always speak of how they used to go out and play together, how they were joined at the hip. The change between then and now almost gave Mikey whiplash.

He rolled onto his side, going to pick up his phone from the bedside table when he spotted the bottom drawer.

Hm...

He checked that his door was closed before opening it up quietly.

Inside lay a small plastic bag with some grass, along with papers and filters.

It's been a while since he's gotten high. He sat with his legs crossed, opening up the bag with a quiet pop of the seal.

As he carefully rolled two or three joints for himself, his head would look up to check the door from time to time. He was paranoid every time to smoked in his room. Well--he was while he was briefly sober.

He pulled out his bright red lighter from nearby and pushed his finger down a few times until the flame successfully came alight. He held the spliff between his lips and lit it up quickly before tossing the lighter to the side, taking in a deep puff.

He closed his eyes as he leaned his head back and slowly exhaled the smoke, the corners of his lips cracking upwards as he did so. God, he missed weed.

Mikey didn't know how high he was yet, but around the middle of his second joint, his phone buzzed. 

Through half lidded eyes, he looked at his screen.

A text from Pete.

He shoved the joint between his lips, letting it rest there as he picked up his phone to look at the message.

P: wyd? :)

Mikey replied instantly.

M: smokin

P: cigs?

M: ... not exactly

P: oh.

Mikey paused. Just as he was typing some dumb excuse, another message came through.

P: can i b there in 15? i want sum.

M: ofc

For once, Mikey let Gerard answer the door in his place. No way was he going downstairs in that state.

Soon after he heard the doorbell, his doorhandle was pressed down and that familiar black side part poked itself into the room.

"Hey!" Pete greeted, closing the door behind him before turning to look at Mikey. His eyes widened as he met the grinning, red eyed boy staring back up at him from the bed.

"Holy fuck. It reeks in here. How have your parents not said anything?"

Mikey looked at the window, suddenly realising that it was closed. He then looked back at Pete.

"I dunno dude, all I know is that I love hotboxing." Mikey sat up at the head of the bed, patting the space in front of him for Pete to sit down.

Pete instantly hopped up onto the bed in front of Mikey, looking at the bag of weed, then back up at him.

"D'you know how to roll?" Mikey asked, nudging the bag towards Pete.

"Come on, you think that low of me?" The other boy grinned, grabbing the bag before spotting the papers and filters by the pillow behind Mikey.

"Well, I had to do yours for you last time." Mikey chuckled.

Instead of asking for a paper and filter, he leaned over and grabbed one of each himself, his face coming a little too close to Mikey's.

Mikey, being both an awkward person and high, stiffened up like a plank as his eyes darted between Pete's eyes and lips. Pete only gave him a glance and a hidden smile before leaning back and sitting in his original position.

Mikey blinked a few times before loosening up and taking another puff of the joint between his middle and index fingers. He tried to ignore the way his heart was racing. Was it from the weed? Or Pete? He didn't know. He didn't want to know.

Carefully and meticulously, Pete rolled his spliff and Mikey tried--unsuccessfully--not to stare at Pete's lips and tongue as he licked the paper.

"Got a light?" Pete asked, holding a hand out.

Mikey reached over to the nightstand to grab the lighter, feeling Pete's eyes on him all the while. He then handed him the lighter, a subsequent thankful smile and nod coming from Pete.

Mikey's eyes flicked over Pete's features as he lit up the joint, cupping his hands around the flame. The warm light of the flame gave Pete's face such a beautiful glow. Mikey noticed the way his eyelashes stood out against his black eyeliner as his eyelids drooped to look down at the fire. Mikey noticed how his lips curved against the cylindrical shape of the spliff. Those soft, supple lips.

The world seemed to pause in that moment. Time stood still.

Oh.

Oh.

That image would remain in Mikey's mind forever, he was sure.

As if God had pressed the play button on Mikey's life, Pete took his thumb off the lighter and took a deep drag of the weed, bringing a hand up to hold it between his fingers the same as Mikey was.

Pete's eyes finally met Mikey's. He quickly raised an eyebrow.

"What?" He asked, a puff of smoke escaping his lips along with the word. Pete exhaled the rest of the smoke a moment later before smiling softly.

"Oh- nothing." Mikey replied quickly, looking away as he took one of the final drags of his own joint.

How many had he smoked so far? 3? 4? He didn't know.

All he knew was.. Wow.

Wow.

After a long time of chatting, laughing, and watching each other get progressively more inebriated, the two had somehow ended up laying beside each other on the bed face to face.

Even through the black eyeliner and captivating brown irises, Mikey noticed how red Pete's eyes were.

The conversation had gone through countless topics. School drama, childhood stories, music, all of those types of things. Somehow though, it landed on reminiscing over summer.

"Do you remember the first time we went to the beach?" Pete asked as Mikey rolled on his back to light up another joint.

"Ohhhh yeah." Mikey mumbled through the weed between his lips before taking a drag as Pete went on.

"Even though it was like- a million degrees, you still found it cold."

"Hey, cut me some slack. I'm basically just skin and bone." Mikey chuckled.

Pete laughed along, "That's true. Remember I splashed you just a little then you tried to tackle me into the water?"

"Hey, what do you mean tried to? I successfully tackled you!" Mikey huffed defensively.

"Nooo, you didn't. I barely even fell." Pete said confidently. "You just knocked me to my knees. And that was me trying to fall to make you feel better."

"Aaaalright. Fuck you, dude." Mikey rolled his eyes playfully and grinned, turning his head to the side to give Pete a look for just a moment. He lingered his gaze for longer than intended.

Pete's smile softened, and that was all Mikey managed to catch before he forced himself to look away again.

He took another deep drag of his spliff, holding it in his lungs briefly before closing his eyes and exhaling slowly.

He could feel Pete staring. He could feel those chocolate eyes scanning his face. He didn't need to see them to know that's what they were doing.

"And then we went to that waterpark too, remember?" Pete said, softer this time. Like the memory was so precious and delicate that if the words were to loud, they would make it fade away.

Mikey nodded subtly as he thought.

"We went to the bridge at sunset after spending hours in the water trying out all the slides." Pete continued, "It was all orange and pink above us."

"It was beautiful." Mikey mumbled through the memory in his mind.

"Mm." Pete hummed.

Mikey opened his eyes, looking to Pete quickly before turning to lay on his side again.

Pete moved up, propping himself up with his elbow to look down at Mikey.

Mikey took in a drag of weed, and found Pete moving in closer to his face.

The two both slightly parted their lips. Once they were a mere inch or two away from each other, Mikey exhaled the smoke slowly into Pete's mouth.

Once it was fully inhaled by Pete, he held it in for a second before exhaling it out onto Mikey's face. His breath was warm against his lips.

Pete didn't move away, even after the fact. Neither did Mikey.

Pete was moving in. Pete was closing his eyes. Mikey panicked. He'd never kissed anyone before. What--what was he meant to do?!

His breath hitched in his throat before he uttered a single word; "Pete-"

Pete froze. Their lips were half an inch away. Mikey felt the subtle blow of Pete's breath against his lips. His eyes flew open, and he stared at Mikey.

"I-" Mikey stuttered, whispering. "I'm sor-"

"Don't." Pete said as he moved away, his expression unreadable.

It's not that Mikey didn't want to kiss Pete. Quite the opposite. He really, really wanted to. He couldn't think of a time he didn't want to. He just panicked.

"Wait, just-"

"No. It's fine." Pete said as he sat up and got off the bed. 

Fuck. Fuck, he was getting the wrong message. This was all wrong.

"Pete, please j-"

"Stop it." Pete snapped, giving Mikey a glance over the shoulder. He then closed his eyes and shook his head before turning, grabbing his jacket, and stepping out of the door.

Mikey soon heard the front door open and close.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Mikey stared at the door, a hand outstretched as if trying to pull Pete back by sheer will.

He felt tears bite at his eyes. Maybe it was the weed amplifying his emotions. Maybe it was the gnawing feeling of dread as he realised he'd ruined everything, as his worst fear was just realised.

His hand finally fell down in front of him as he stared at the floor, running everything through his mind.

What could he do? Should he--should he text him? Call him? Beg him to come back and finish what he was too scared to? To apologise for messing up something that they both obviously wanted?

Instead, he just froze. Like in a dream, when there's something chasing you, but for some reason no matter how hard you try you can't seem to run away. He felt stuck.

He laid down on his back, stubbing his joint out on his bedside table before chucking it across the room in anger. He did the same thing with his glasses.

He slammed his hands on his face, palms pressing on his eyes as he sniffed.

A good long while of overthinking, sulking and countless suppressed tears later, he decided to send an invite to Frank and Ray. He needed to get his mind off of this, and what better way to do that than completely ignore it and hang out with his friends?

He picked up his phone, ignoring the way it opened on his and Pete's chats, quickly sending a message to the group chat.

M: any1 coming over tn?

He got a quick response from Ray. 

R: How soon can we be over? 

M: idk like right now?

R: ...

R: B there in 10. 

Thank God. He didn't want to be alone.

Not now.

Chapter Text

A 6pm Friday evening combined with shame, guilt and regret is one of the most excruciating things a person can handle. 

Mikey was one of these people. 

He tried to distract himself from the gnawing guilt of basically rejecting Pete by doing practically anything. He even tried to write a song about it. 

He got two lines in and started crying. Scrap that. 

He tried just practicing on his bass. Just songs he was familiar with. Nope. He missed every second note and grew increasingly impatient with every mistake. 

Then, the obvious distractions. Doom scrolling, watching T.V, annoying his brother, etc. 

Hell, he even cooked dinner. He NEVER cooked dinner. 

And yeah, he burnt the pasta real bad somehow, but at least he tried. 

So that lead to this. He was sitting on his bed, clutching his phone, wondering if he should call. If he should apologise. If he should convince him to come over again. 

So he sent a text. 

Not to Pete though. 

To Ray and Frank. 

M: guyssss come over i’m so coookkkeddd

R: What the hell did you do 

M: it's not what, it’s who. and it's not who i did, it’s who i DIDNT DO. 

F: ...

F: B there in 20. Food requests? 

M: you're a saint. mc donald's? i’m not picky. 

R: B there in 10. No food though. 

Frank walked into Mikeys house clutching a damp paper takeaway bag. He slid his shoes off and went upstairs to find Mikey with red and teary eyes and Ray looking extremely confused. 

"Jeez, what the hell happened?" Frank asked and placed the bag down next to Mikey, who lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. 

"Its about Pete, I think." Ray shrugged. 

"Yeah." Mikey sniffled, "I messed up." 

That's what people say after they kill someone. Neat. 

"Is everyone still alive?" Frank sort of blurted out. 

"Alive, but dying inside." Mikey clutched his heart dramatically. 

"Alright, alright. So what happened?" Ray asked. 

"Me and Pete smoked some grass together..." 

Frank was about to say 'why couldn't I have some?' but Ray apparently could sense it coming, and shot Frank a warning look. 

"...and we shotgunned the fuckin joint. And then he leaned in to kiss me! To KISS me!" Mikey clutched his head in his hands. 

"Ok... isn't that good?" Frank asked. 

"No! I panicked! I pulled away and he left when I tried to apologise!" 

Ray sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. 

"That's rough, dude. Has he said anything?" 

Mikey shook his head. 

"I mean, at least you know he likes you? Gives you more confidence to make a move." Frank offered. 

"I'd rather kill myself then make a move now." Mikey deadpanned.  

Frank chewed on his lip ring while trying to think of what to say. What advice to give. Are gay relationships the same as straight ones? Can they just figure it out with some good old fashioned fucking? 

Now that he thought about it, there was a clear reason why he couldn't make them stay. 

"I... here." Ray reached for Mikey's phone from the bedside table next to them. 

"I can help you shoot a text to Pete? You can explain how it was just something new to you that you weren't prepared for?" Ray slid the phone over to Mikey, who seemed quite keen on the idea. 

"Yea, ok." Mikey wiped his nose on his sleeve and picked his phone up. 

"And Frank? Can you maybe get Mikey a glass of water? You know where the kitchen is." 

Frank nodded his head eagerly and stepped out to get the water. 

Upon entering the hallway, Frank was stopped dead in his tracks as he heard a familiar song playing from the room next to Mikey's. 

The door was slightly cracked, and Frank couldn't help but have a look. 

It was Gerard’s room.

Upon peeking inside and seeing that the room was vacant, he creaked the door open and stepped inside. 

The room was every nerd's wet dream. Sci-fi movie posters lined the walls next to the shelves that displayed hundreds of figurines. One full shelf was just full of paperback book spines, that Upon closer examination, turned out to be countless comic books. 

They were surprisingly sorted by series in alphabetical order. Wow. Impressive. 

On his black wooden desk was a PC monitor that displayed the Spotify home page and a couple of open notebooks, stray paper and a lot of misplaced art supplies. 

A small, leather book caught Frank's attention. It looked to be the most used of all. Band stickers lined the cover to the point where the leather was barley visable. 

It was also the only book that was closed. 

Frank's curiosity got the best of him. He took the book and sat on Gerard's bed to flick through it. 

Opening it was a whole jumpscare. The first few pages were detailed sketches of beautiful murals and fonts for tags. Frank hated Gerard, but he had to admit that he was good with colour schemes. 

There were a couple of pages that only had rough pencil sketches of people. Even as quite obviously rushed sketches, the attention to detail was incredible. 

There was even a drawing of Mikey at some point. He even managed to get his weird face structure right. 

Then Frank stumbled into something he probably shouldn't have. Diary entries. 

Should he look? 

In what universe would he not? 

The first entry was from a few days ago. 

Oh my god I almost died today. Guy I've been tagging over found me and pulled a knife. I think I pissed him off even more by not being terrified, but that somehow managed to not get me killed. 

The next entry was straight up rude. 

His names Frank. He's Mikey's friend. And he's a total hothead. Literally anything I do pisses him off. I can breathe in the wrong direction and he'll go off on me. Gonna use this to my advantage. 

Frank frowned. He flicked to the next page to find an entry that was just put in yesterday. 

 It's just getting better. He argued with me and stepped closer and closer to get all in my face and try scare me. If only I had the confidence to lean down-

"What the fuck are you doing?" A sudden voice caused Frank's head to snap up and stop reading. 

"Give me that!" Gerard grabbed the book from him and tossed it across his room angrily. 

"You're a fucking shithead. Get the fuck out, right now!" He pointed at the door.

Frank had never seen Gerard so angry and intimidating. He got up and walked out the door as quickly as his legs would take him. 

He went back to Mikey's room with a facial expression that read 'scared shitless'. 

"What took you so long? Where's the water?" Ray asked suspiciously as Frank sat down on the floor. 

"Had a run-in with Gerard." He answered absently. 

Ray responded to that, but Frank couldn't hear him. He was deep in thought. 

Confident enough to lean down and do... what?

Chapter Text

"Come on dude, just text him. What could go wrong?" Ray said to Mikey encouragingly while Frank was out to get water.

"Oh, let's see. I couulldddd die of embarrassment?!" Mikey retorted dramatically, leaning back and groaning after the fact.

"Okay, that won't happen." Ray tried to put some logic into Mikey. He was clearly irrational. I mean.. so would he if he was in this disaster of a situation.

"It could! You have no idea what that was like!" The devastated boy exclaimed, pulling his beanie down over his eyes--successfully knocking his glasses down into his lap while doing so.

"You're right, I don't. But come on. I say just text him. Double fucked is just fucked, right?" Ray shrugged.

Mikey stayed silent a moment, peaking at Ray from under the grey material of his beanie.

"You're suggesting to dig myself out of a hole?" He asked as he readjusted his hat and hair under it before putting his glasses back on.

"Well.. yeah. Seems like a fine option."

Mikey took a moment to consider. Could he do this? Did he have the balls? Was he confident enough that he wouldn't fuck everything up again?

Well.. as Ray said.. double fucked is just fucked..

"Maybe. Maybe." Mikey sighed, staring at his phone.

Ray was about to chime in with another piece of advice when Frank came into his room looking like he'd seen a ghost.

"What took you so long? Where's the water?" Ray asked suspiciously as Frank sat down on the floor. 

"Had a run-in with Gerard." He answered absently.

Oh, well fuck. Mikey knew the two weren't exactly best friends. Fuck you, Gerard.

"Are you kidding me? Will you ever stop acting like a petty 5 year old and get over him?" Ray asked with a frown, but Frank didn't answer. Seemed like he wasn't listening at all.

The fuck was that run-in about?

--------------------------------------

Mikey kept thinking about contacting Pete. Saying something. Anything. Especially after Ray's encouragement on the subject.

He found himself jumping at every text, thinking it was Pete, only to disappoint himself in finding it was anyone but.

One Saturday morning, he woke up finding himself laying in bed in the same position he was in when he was with Pete. Laying on his side, though this time, he saw his wall instead of the face he'd been craving for so long.

He sighed and rolled over, rubbing his eyes which were heavy with sleep. He immediately picked up his phone, finding no messages from Pete.

Fuck it.

Maybe it was the grogginess of sleep clouding his logic, but he opened up his chats with Pete.

The last message was 'omw' from Pete when he had come over earlier that week.

He typed in something simple. Embarrassingly so, really.

M: hey

Hey? Really?

He tossed his phone to the side, huffing. No going back now.

His phone immediately buzzed. His eyes widened and he practically leapt up into a sitting position as he grabbed his phone.

...

It was a notification from a shitty guitar game he had on his phone.

Oh, fuck you.

Mikey heard a loud groan escape his lips as he fell to lay down on his back once more.

What an idiot.

----------------------------------------------

Mikey grumbled and opened his eyes again. Apparently, he'd fallen back asleep.

Pete.

He checked his phone and scrolled quickly through the useless notifications.

And there it was. A message from 13 minutes ago. Maybe like--20 minutes after he'd fallen asleep again? 25?

P: hi

HE GOT A HI! He practically jumped for joy at that.

M: i'm sry about the other day

Pete probably wouldn't text back for a while. He should go eat breakfast. What time is it? Oh god, it's 12 PM. Why did-

P: its ok

He replied.

He replied.

Okay, calm down. Don't fuck it up again. Be cool.

He typed up a message, then deleted it before he could send it. Then thought of another, and deleted it too. That went on for a long time before he finally came up with something.

M: i want things back how they were

Pete read the message instantly. He didn't reply for what felt like hours, when really it was just a minute. But he was online. He was in the chat. Was he thinking of something to say?

P: me 2

Mikey breathed a sigh of relief. He was expecting a 'no, fuck you'.

As Mikey was thinking of something to say, Pete started typing again.

P: friends again?

Friends. Friends. That dreaded, awful word. Friends. A cruel reminder that he ruined what they could have been, and were now diminished to friends. That word was like a knife to the heart.

And yet, Mikey couldn't bring himself to say that. He couldn't say he wanted to be more. What if Pete lost feelings? He stuck with the safe option.

M: yeah

P: :)

Mikey smiled at that. He then pulled a move that he considered bold.

M: hangout 2day?

P: sure

M: how ab the beach? like old times

P: its cold, mika

Aw, fuck. He'd already done something wrong. ... Pete called him Mika. Just like he did when they were friends. Thank God. Quick, propose something else, Mikey. He typed managed out, 'ok how about' before he saw Pete send another message.

P: thats not a no

He knew him so well. Mikey grinned, and hoped Pete was doing the same behind his screen. He could only hope.

M: kool. we can take the train there @ 3?

P: sounds g. see u then. :)

M: :)

Mikey turned off his phone and tossed it to the side. He did it. He did it! Maybe now he could feel things out, see if he can fix it.

He scoffed at the thought. As if he had the confidence for that.

Once again, he could only hope.

------------------------------------------------

Pete woke up on a bright Saturday morning, feeling like dog piss.

God, the other day was beyond embarrassing. He'd finally gotten the confidence to make a move on Mikey. He was so sure that he'd felt the same. He knew Mikey was too awkward to do something himself.

He had no idea how wrong he really was.

He was so close. He could feel the essence of Mikey's lips radiating onto his own. He felt that subtle smell that he could only describe as Mikey's smell mixed with soft hints of laundry detergent and men's deodorant. He wanted to bury himself in that scent forever.

And yet, he was turned down. Just as he was about to get everything he'd wanted since he'd laid eyes on that stupid hazel eyed boy, every hope was crushed.

He didn't even know how long he'd spent sulking when he'd gotten home. All he knew was that he completely ignored all questions from family members, locked himself in his room and burst into tears.

Now, it was a few days later, and the pain didn't seem to subdue.

He checked his phone, feeling hopeless, when he saw it.

A message from Mikey.

M: hey

Hey? Really?

Nonetheless, Pete replied.

P: hi

He didn't get a reply instantly, so Pete went to go freshen up. Maybe explain to his parents why he hadn't been out of his room in like--a full day.

As he was finishing up brushing his teeth, he heard a ping from his phone.

... That could be him.

He immediately rushed back to his bed, picking up his phone.

M: i'm sry about the other day

Pete entered the chat instantly. 

What was Mikey doing? Was he trying to salvage their friendship, or their relationship? Pete couldn't tell anymore.

P: its ok

He replied instantly. Mikey was still online too. He'd been typing for a painfully long time.

M: i want things back how they were

Pete stared at the message. What the fuck did that mean? Back how they were when they were friends, or back how they were last night? Curse you, you awkward fool. Be clearer! Either way, Pete replied.

P: me 2

Mikey didn't reply after that. He was online, but he wasn't typing. Pete took it into his own hands to figure this shit out.

P: friends again?

He asked, hoping that Mikey would ask for more. Well--not as much hoping as praying and begging to God.

M: yeah

Well, fuck. That's every hope out the window. Pete felt the familiar blur of tears in his eyes. And yet, he still maintained his composure over text. He sent a smiley face.

Pete was prepared to give up. To leave it at that. At awkward interactions forever. But then, another text came through.

M: hangout 2day?

Pete grinned and wiped the single hopeful tear that had fallen down his cheek. Maybe things weren't hopeless after all.

They planned to go to the beach, and Pete genuinely couldn't be happier.

He could admire from afar. He could handle not being with Mikey. Just as long as he got to see his face. Watch him from a distance.

He could live with that.

------------------------------------------------

Mikey was standing awkwardly at the train station, waiting for Pete to arrive. He was late. As usual. Actually.. he can't say shit. He's usually late too. But not when there's a train to catch.

He looked up to find Pete walking towards him, wearing that big grin he always had when they met up like nothing happened.

He was wearing a shirt and tie but somehow made it look casual. The eyeliner and jumper even made it look emo. Damn you, Pete Wentz. Mikey could never pull that off. He was wearing his usual jumper layered with a leather jacket. It really was cold.

"Hey!" Pete greeted as he approached.

"Hey." Mikey said back with a smile and a nod.

"What happened to your glasses?" Pete frowned, looking at them.

Usually, Pete would have examined them by touching them. But he didn't do that this time. Mikey definitely noticed that change.

Indeed, Mikey's glasses were broken. Apparently, the crookedness was more obvious than it had looked in the mirror that morning.

"Oh, they just broke. A screw fell out or something. I'll need new ones." Mikey shrugged.

Pete didn't need know that screw fell out because Mikey threw them at the wall in frustration over their.. encounter. Not yet, anyway.

"Awh, I liked these ones." Pete pouted lightheartedly before looking towards the train platform. Mikey cracked a smile and turned around to look at the little screen that showed the train times as well.

"We have like.. 5 minutes." Mikey mumbled, half to himself.

"Let's get a coffee for the road from that little cafe there." Pete pointed to a cafe a few steps away.

Mikey nodded in agreement, following beside the other towards the cafe.

He stole a glance of Pete. Just one. But that was all he needed.

He looked as if he hadn't memorised the lines of his face long ago. The bridge of his nose. The way his lips stuck out of his side profile ever so slightly. The way his eyelashes framed the brown irises that sparkled in the sunlight.

They stepped into the cafe with a comforting jingle of a bell overhead. They waited in the line in silence, though it wasn't as awkward as Mikey was expecting. It was abnormal for them, but it wasn't horrendous either. Nothing more than.. a change.

Pete went first. He ordered a mocha. His usual drink.

Mikey ordered an Americano after Pete had paid, grabbing two small packs of sugar to put in. Also his usual drink.

---------------------------------------------

After a train ride and short walk filled with nothing more than silence and some idle chatter, they arrived at the beach.

It was a different sight than it was in the summer. It was secluded and cold, the sky taking on an almost grey hue. The people that had once covered the sand were long gone, replaced with creatures that reclaimed their land until next summer.

They stepped across the sand. No more than a few paces in, Pete stopped. He was taking off his shoes and socks.

"No way you're going in the water." Mikey said incredulously.

"Oh, come on! It can't be that cold." Pete rolled his eyes with a smile as he rolled his skinny jeans up to just under his knee.

"Alright, don't come crying to me when your toes turn purple." Mikey joked as the two kept walking, Pete carrying his shoes in one hand with the socks shoved into them.

"Ok, weirdo." Pete chuckled, kicking some sand in Mikey's direction playfully.

The tension was seeming to melt. They were slowly returning to their old selves.

Pete started to jog towards the water, Mikey following him in a fast paced walk.

Once Pete hit the edge, almost touching the water, he became more cautious. He stepped slowly until his feet finally met the ice cold water.

“AGH-“ Pete hissed, “It’s cold!”

“Yeah, no shit!” Mikey called out from a few steps away.

Ah, fuck it. Mikey took off his shoes and socks too, tossing them to the side before rolling up his jeans.

Pete threw his own shoes in the same direction as Mikey’s before walking backwards further into the water. His shoulders were tight as he flinched from the constant waves of cold hitting his ankles.

Mikey eventually stepped into the water, yelping.

“I hate this.” Mikey complained as he walked closer to Pete.

“Nobody‘s forcing you to get into the water.” Pete held his hands out in a shrug. “This was your decision.”

“I was peer pressured!” Mikey tried.

“Oh yeah? By what? My screams of how cold it is?” Pete chuckled, wearing that goofy grin that Mikey admired so much.

“..Yeah!” Mikey said after a pause, knowing well it was a shitty excuse.

Laughter rippled between the two as all resentment fell away.

“Well, if I’m so awful, you should go away!” Pete said dramatically. On the word ‘away’, he kicked the water, sending small icy droplets onto Mikey’s legs, clothes, and most importantly, his cheek.

“Oh, you have no idea what you’ve just started.” Mikey said with an evil chuckle.

He held his leg up in a kicking position, ready to attack.

Pete held his hands out defensively. “Please. Spare me.”

“Mm. Could I? Should I?” Mikey’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes.”

“… Nah. I don’t think I will.”

Suddenly, Mikey kicked the water’s surface with much more force than Pete had. In the span of one second, the bottom halves of Pete’s pant legs were drenched, not to mention a few large splatters on his beautiful shirt.

Pete borderline screamed, gasping with the cold. Mikey slammed his hands over his mouth. He didn’t mean to kick that hard.

“Shiiiit! I’m sorry, dude!” Mikey laughed incredulously.

“Sure you are, you dick!” Pete shouted, sending another kick of water in Mikey’s direction.

——————————————————

After a good long while of kicking water at each other, it was safe to say that the two were soaked. Mikey would be surprised if they didn’t get frostbite.

The two finally decided on a truce, shaking on it with ice cold hands. 

They waddled off to the wall surrounding the beach, shivering with their shoes in hand.

Pete hopped up on the wall, Mikey doing the same.

The two could hear each other’s teeth chatter, and realising this, laughed softly.

After a moment, Pete scooted closer.

“We’ll be warmer if we huddle together.” Pete explained, as if Mikey would ever oppose.

Mikey nodded in agreement as he also scooted in closer.

Their arms and legs were pressed up against each other. Mikey could feel his heart racing in his chest. 

Maybe the other night didn’t make Pete lose feelings? But Pete has always been a physically affectionate person. Was that because he liked him all along or was that just how he was as a friend?

He decided to play it cool and stay in the moment. He wasn’t about to fuck things up twice in one week.

They watched as the blue sky was slowly painted all different shades of orange, red and pink. It was reminiscent of the summer, for sure. He’d never forget that moment. He was totally back in love.

Mikey, occupied with the view and memories, barely noticed Pete rest his head on his shoulder.

Once he did realise, he stopped breathing for a second.

A thousand thoughts shot through his mind, but he wiped them away as quickly as possible. No. He’d stay in the moment.

He smiled softly, resting his head on Pete’s.

The two stayed there, watching as the sun dissapeared behind the horizon, only leaving when the sky had turned a dark blue.

This was a day that he’d come to cherish forever. Same as the ones from before the fuck up. Even if they couldn’t be lovers, best friends would have to do.

Chapter Text

 "And it wasn't awkward at all! It felt so..." 

"Easy?" Ray helped 

"Yeah. Easy." Mikey smiled. 

"Dude, that's amazing. Seriously. But... what now? Are you gonna stay friends? Take it further?" Frank asked between a mouthful of pizza. 

"Oh... I wouldn't really... take it further. I don't think he likes me like that anymore." Mikey looked at his hands and nervously twisted his fingers together. 

"No?" Ray swallowed a bite of his pizza "Didn't he lean in to kiss YOU? Feelings don't evaporate within a few days, you know." 

Mikey groaned and slapped his slice of pizza back into the box in frustration. 

"Why are boys so complicated?" Mikey half-cried. 

"You can say that again." Frank said without really thinking. 

When he looked up from his half-eaten slice, he was met with two confused-looking faces staring at him like he's just admitted to murder of the first degree. 

"Since when are you gay?" Mikey giggled. 

Even Ray hissed through his teeth at the timing of the question. 

"Since... no... time! I'm not... gay!" He whisper-shouted the last word as if it were a slur. 

Mikey concealed his chuckle from behind his slice. Ray wasn't so discreet about it. 

"What's so funny?" Frank folded his arms across his chest tightly. 

"Nothing, man, nothing. Movie night tonight?" Ray changed the subject. 

"Yeah man, just got Life of Brain on DVD. I'll grab my laptop." Mikey hopped up from the floor where the three were seated and dug beneath the piles of paper that scattered his desk until he pulled out an ancient-looking laptop. 

"Jeeeeesus. What century is that from, the stone age?" Frank laughed. 

"Excuse you, its vintage." Mikey corrected, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. 

The three sat on Mikey's bed to watch the movie, not caring about the mess they were making with the snacks that were somehow running out faster then ever. 

"Frank, you biggie, stop inhaling the food like a vacuum. Were not even halfway through the movie." Mikey complained. 

"Its not me! Ray's probably putting it in his pockets to save for later." Frank defended. 

"Hey! Am not." Ray shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled the material inside out, showing that he did not in fact have the food. 

"God forbid I'm hungry." Frank mumbled. 

"Yeah well, congrats, your hungry ass ate all the snacks." Ray held up the empty bowl with a frown.

"Yeah, go grab some more from the kitchen, it's the second cabinet from the right-" 

"Absoloutley not." Frank shook his head frantically. "Every time I leave this room, I somehow end up talking to your bitchass brother. Not happening." 

"Good. Then maybe you can talk it out. Or fuck it out, for all I care." Ray shrugged. 

"We're not gonna-" 

"Frank, food! Go!" 

Frank trudged down the steps quietly. With every step, he subconsciously took a deep breath and reminded himself to stay calm.

The last step in the staircase felt like a death sentence. He stepped onto the cold floor and instantly felt the atmosphere thicken. Maybe that was his imagination, or maybe that was Gerard's showerless musk. 

Who knows. 

He dragged his feet all the way across the ground floor until he reached the kitchen door; a pretentiously large wood door, painted tragically with hospital-like white paint. 

He pushed it open with a mental prayer and a truckload of hope. 

He looked around. Left. Right. Left again. Right again. 

Empty. 

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and strolled into the kitchen in a far more relaxed manner. Maybe Gerard was out somewhere? 

OK. Focus. Second cabinet from the right. Or was it left...

"Well, look who's here." A sudden mocking voice behind him. 

"Eat my dick." Frank didn't bother to turn and look. Instead he searched through the compartments in front of him, hoping to stumble upon the right one. 

"Gladly." Gerard retorted smugly, also heading for a cabinet. 

The second cabinet from the left. 

Gerard swung the cabinet open and reached up to a high shelf, pulling out a bag of some chips that Frank couldn't see the name of. 

"Hey, Mikey wanted that-" 

"Well then he'll have to come and ask me for them. For now, this is mine." Gerard shrugged. 

Frank huffed angrily. Who the fuck did this dick think he was? What gave him the right to be this confident? How can anyone put up with him? How has nobody killed him yet? 

Gerard looked nothing but amused as he opened the bag of chips, leaned back on the counter behind him and popped a chip in his mouth. 

"Or..." he continued "...you can take them from me. Come on, I don't bite." He shook the bag of chips in his hand. 

How did all of their conversations bubble down to Frank having to hold back from committing actual homocide? 

"You're a dick." Frank mumbled. 

"I take pride in it." Gerard beamed. 

"You know..." Gerard spoke again, clearly trying to drive Frank to insanity "...I've always wondered how you can get your tag so high up? Like- that bridge off the main road, down south. Your tags like 7 feet up." He crunched on another chip loudly. 

Frank could feel actual sweat forming on the back of his neck from how insanley hard he needed to hold back. He needed Ray to come back and save him again. Where was his guardian angel when he needed him? 

"My point is, there's no way you reached that high." Gerard emphasised what he was getting at. 

"Did you get your tall friend to help you? The one with the big hair." He spoke around a mouthful of chips. 

"No. I can reach to seven feet with like... a rock, dickhead." Frank glanced around the kitchen subconsciously. 

He knew that plates were in the high cabinet. Glass cups were in the one on the right. The snack cabinet was left open, probably just to annoy him. 

The row of shiny, sharp kitchen knives aligned on a magnetic holder above the counter caught his eye. Frank could almost hear then singing his name and beckoning him to come closer. 

30 years. Come on. 30 years. 

"Doubt it." Gerard snorted. 

If he kept that up, those knives would come in handy more soon then he expected. 

Gerard abandoned the bag if chips on the counter and stepped closer to Frank. 

"Also, your design work? Impressive. I'd never be able to tell that you threw most of your designs up." 

There was an insult coming. Frank knew there was. 

"I mean... there's just no way that you're the one drawing that up. You've gotta be paying someone." 

Yep. There it was. 

"They're my own designs." Frank defended. 

"Sure they are." 

"Hey man, I put a lot of work into my art. It's kind of bitchy of you to fuckin spray all over it-" 

"You mean someone else's art." Gerard corrected with a grin. 

That fucker knew so well what he was doing. 

And Frank was eating it up like a four course meal. 

A single second later, Frank lunged towards the knives and grabbed the thinnest, sharpest looking one. Easiest looking one to use. 

When he spun around to see Gerard, he was holding his hands up. 

"Woah there. Those aren't toys, honey." He joked. 

But Frank wasnt joking. He adjusted his grip on the knife and lifted it above his head, then attempted to bring it back down straight to Gerard's throat. 

The other caught on and managed to move out of the way before the blade came plunging down. 

"Frank, what the fuck-" 

"You're dead, Way!" Frank swung again, this time managing to just barley graze Gerard's jaw with the tip of the blade before he moved aside. 

He took a few large steps back. 

"Frank. Stop." He held out his hand cautiously. "Give me the knife."

"Fuck you!" Frank raised his hand and practically threw himself at the other, in a weak attempt to even injure him just a bit. Instead, Gerard caught Frank's wrist in the air and pinned it to the nearest wall violently enough to bruise. With his unoccupied hand, he took a fistful of Frank's t-shirt collar and pushed him flush against the wall by his chest. 

"Drop the knife." Gerard spoke calmly, but he looked absoutley terrified. 

"Let fuc- let go, dickhead!" Frank used his free hand to claw at the hand on his chest in a weak attempt to get free. No use, obviously. 

Gerard's grip tightened on the struggling boy as he considered his options. If he let go, even with one hand, he didn't doubt that he'd be stabbed. He could already feel a warm bead of blood trailing down his neck below where he'd been nicked. 

He looked at Frank. The boy looked to be swallowed by nothing but rage in that moment. Every inch of his body was twitching and struggling. His face was thoroughly screwed up in anger. His breath, stuttered and uneven. 

"Frank, I'm not joking. Drop the knife." Gerard warned. 

"Then let me go!" 

"No. You'll try kill me again." He deadpanned. 

"Just-" 

"Are you really thinking this through? You'll kill me, then what?" 

"Let- go!" Frank tried twisting his wrist away from the wall. No use. 

"Calm down." Frank twisted his wrist again. More violently this time. 

"Calm down, Frank." He was scratching at Gerard's hand with the little nails he had left. 

Yeah, Frank had every intention to kill Gerard that very second. Gerard was not going to stand here for potential hours until Frank ran out of energy and eventually stopped thrashing around like a fish out of water. 

So, Gerard did what anyone would do in this situation. 

He sighed before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Frank's. 

The boy stopped moving at once. Every twitching limb, every ragged breath, every annoyed noise just... stopped. 

Gerard expected fireworks. He expected some cheesy, romantic music to play in the background. He expected Frank to kiss back. 

But he didn't. 

Gerard pulled away, inspecting Frank's expression for fear or hesitation. Maybe even disgust. 

The boy looked every shade of absolutely dumbstruck. 

"What-" Frank took a deep breath "-what the fuck are you-" 

Gerard brought his lips to Frank's again to swallow his words before they got the chance to come out. Partially because he just wanted to kiss Frank again. 

Without breaking the kiss, Gerard cautiously let go of Frank's wrist and slid his hand up to wrap his fingers around the plastic handle of the knife. 

He tugged it out of Frank's hand gently, smiling when he gave it up without putting up a fight. 

Gerard reached back and slid the knife into the ass pocket of his jeans. 

The kiss didn't deepen. It didn't get a chance to. Once Gerard knew that the knife was out of Frank's reach, he slowly pulled away and opened his eyes. 

Frank's pupils were blown wider then Gerard though was possible. His spit-slick lips were parted in shock. There was no rise and fall in his shoulders or chest. He just forgot how to breathe. 

Gerard let go of his shirt cautiously, inspecting his body language. 

"I uhm-" Frank cleared his throat "I'm sorry." 

Gerard really didn't know how to reply. He's never really been in a situation where he had to kiss someone to prevent them from killing him. It was quite new for the both of them. 

But before Gerard got the chance to answer, Frank smoothed his wrinkled t-shirt down and mumbled a second apology before walking quickly back towards the stairs. 

Gerard followed him with his eyes, not once looking away until he dissapeared up the stairs. 

What a strange encounter. 

Ray and Mikey were complaining about how long Frank was taking when the boy suddenly pushed the door open with way too much force and stumbled into the room. His face was flushed pink and his movements were erratic and unplanned. He grabbed his phone off Mikey's floor and mumbled a quick excuse about having to leave before practically running back out the door. 

Mikey blinked. 

"I think they actually fucked it out." Ray said. 

"Sure looks like they did." 

There was a brief pause. Mikey frowned. 

"Man, he forgot the chips." 

Chapter Text

Frank avoided the Way brothers like the plague for a few long days.

He needed time to process what the fuck that was.

Gerard.. kissed him?

And he kissed him... as Frank was about to kill him?

What kind of fucked up person does that?

And what’s worse was… he didn’t hate it.

Why the fuck didn’t he hate it?

Gerard was his sworn enemy. The one person he’d sworn he would kill for an incredible stretch of time. Not to mention that he was absolutely insufferable. That ridiculously perfect eyeliner—messy, but a calculated messy.

Those cocky retorts.

What an asshole.

The kiss could have easily just been a tactic for Frank not to kill him. That would make more sense, because there was no way Gerard actually thought of kissing Frank. No one can be that big of a dick to someone they're planning to kiss. 

So why the hell did Frank want to do it again?

Why was it the only thing on his mind?

He got an unexpected notification on his phone.

He glanced into the corner of his screen and gasped when he saw that it was already 5pm. 

Did he zone out for the entirety of a school day?

R: U could have given me a warning that u werent coming to skl

R: I’m at Mikey’s. U wanna come?

F: No

R: Oh come on

R: What the fuck happened that day dude?

Frank stared at the screen.

R: Ik ur online

R: Frank

R: Fraaaaaank

R: Get over here u asshole

F: I dont want to

R: Can u stop acting like a toddler for 2 seconds? Get over here and tell us wtf happened

R: U cant just avoid ur friends dude. Ur only friends really

That was a low blow. Frank has friends! There’s uhm.. Uuhh.. Oh shut up, Ray!

R: Fine if u don’t wanna come js tell us

R: What happened?

Frank paused for a long moment. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he hesitantly typed out the message. 

A death sentence, if you ask him. 

F: I almost killed him

R: Oh ffs. What did you do? Bite at his ankles?

Fuck you, Ray.

F: I pulled a knife on him in the kitchen

R: …

F: Then he kinda kissed me

M: he WHAT?! and u did WHAT?! 

Oh, nice timing Mikey. Jesus.

F: Yh 

R: Fuck’s sake, Frank

Frank turned off his phone, tossing it to the foot of his bed and ignoring a few more notifications from the group chat.

He groaned into his pillow as he flopped down on his stomach.

He’s never leaving his room.

He’d rather let himself rot in that bed than face Gerard Way ever again.

“There’s no way.” Ray whispered down at the texts on his screen.

“I can’t believe this. They’re literally a pair of psychos.” Mikey said with disbelief, jaw practically on the floor.

Right on queue, the door opened, and Gerard’s head poked in.

“Hey.” He chirped at the two as if nothing had happened. His eyes scanned the room, as if he was looking for someone.

“Just you two? Mom wants to order piz-“

“Fuck off.” Mikey snapped. 

Gerard stared at him, blowing out a confused chuckle.

“Dude, I just-“

“Just what? Just constantly piss off one of the only friends I have to the point where he almost kills you? And then KISS HIM? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mikey stood up from his bed and marched towards Gerard.

Gerard’s face dropped. Frank tattled? Not cool, come on man. 

“The fact that he pulled a knife of me wasn’t my fault.”

“YES IT WAS!” Mikey shouted. “I told you to back off! And you didn’t! You just had to mess with him!”

“I didn’t even do that much, he’s the one that blew up on me!”

“I’m sure even a slight thing could set him off after the amount of bullshit you put him through! I told you he has a short fuse, and you saw it for yourself too. And for some reason, you couldn’t just fuck off. Now I lost another friend because of you.”

Ray was trying to blend in with the wall, spectating the scene. This was better than the movie they were watching. All he needed was some popcorn. 

… Another friend? What friend?

Something unreadable flashed in Gerard’s eyes before he put on a partially amused, partially annoyed smirk. He opened his mouth to quip some unhelpful remark but Mikey interrupted.

“Stop smiling. Do you find this FUNNY? I’ll give you something to fucking smile about!” Mikey screamed, cocking his fist up.

Before Gerard could take a step back, Mikey’s fist smashed into the side of Gerard’s face. 

He staggered back, holding the area which  burst into an immediately deep pain.

The brothers would get into fights, of course. It was normal. But not like this. They’d never physically hurt one another. 

Gerard stared at Mikey, blinking in disbelief.

Mikey was flushed a bright red like a cartoon character. His eyes were glassy with anger, and his breathing was ragged. His fists were clenched at his sides, as if waiting to defend a retaliation.

Gerard would have fought back if it was anyone else. But this was his kid brother. And he’d never pissed him off so bad before. Not to the point of physical aggression.

So, Gerard backed down. He released a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, and stepped into his room with the soft click of the door shutting behind him.

Mikey remained paralysed at his door, shoulders rising and falling with laboured breaths.

“…Mikey?” Ray tried, finally speaking up.

Mikey very slowly stepped back, closing his door before walking to the bed.

He sat down heavily beside Ray, staring at the door.

“What the fuck just happened?” Mikey asked with wide eyes.

“Dude, you flipped the fuck out.” Ray sat up and cautiously placed a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.

Mikey took a few deep breaths, his face returning to a normal shade of pink.

He brought his thumb and pointer finger under his glasses, rubbing his eyes with a groan.

“I need to talk to Frank.”

After a painfully long phone call of begging from Ray, Frank found himself at the door of Mikey’s house.

He barely got to knock before the door opened to Mikey’s face.

He looked distressed. Confused. 

Mikey opened the door a little more to let Frank in.

Frank stepped in, immediately going up the stairs into Mikey’s room. The two didn’t exchange a word until they went inside and sat beside Ray.

“You-“

“Why the fuck did you pull a knife on him? That’s the ONE THING I told you NOT TO DO.” Ray interrupted Mikey.

“He pissed me off.” Frank mumbled. 

“Oh, he pissed you off? You couldn’t have, oh I don’t know, NOT TRIED TO KILL HIM? What’s wrong with you?!”

“Look, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that.” Frank apologised, looking down at his hands. His eyes were distant. Like he was lost in a world of his own thoughts. 

“Yeah, good. At least you apologised. Jesus, is it really that complicated? Why can’t you guys just figure it out without violence and—kissing, apparently? What the hell’s up with that, anyway?” Ray asked, Mikey nodding with the same question.

“I don’t know.” Frank said honestly.

“Well, was it a real kiss?” Ray asked.

“NO!” Frank snapped defensively. “He probably just did it so I wouldn’t... like... slit his throat.”

“Ehh, that does sound like Gerard..” Mikey mumbled, shrugging.

“I don’t know, dude. There’s some kind of tension here. It’s suspicious.” Ray’s eyes narrowed.

Mikey didn’t seem thrilled with that. But it was better than them hating each other, he supposed.

Frank didn’t seem thrilled with it either. He was staring at Ray like he was about to slit his throat this time.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Its not like you're gonna kill me." 

“How can you be so sure?” Frank crossed his arms.

“I wouldn’t kiss you. I’d beat the shit out of you.” Ray grinned.

“Oh, would you now?” Frank sat up.

“Yeah.” Before anyone could react, Ray lunged forward and knocked Frank on his back, pinning him down.

The two ended up brawling like a couple of 8 year olds with Mikey watching them like a dissapointed mother. 

Goddamn kids.

Mikey stewed in his bedroom with guilt for an hour after Ray and Frank left.

He didn’t mean to punch Gerard. He just.. flipped out. He’d been so stressed witth his new friends, and Pete, and school all on top of each other.

Ugh, Pete. They had a new normal. Awkward with sudden bursts of happiness and subtle tension. They’d gone out a few times after the beach with the same atmosphere. Better than nothing, he supposed.

They had an outing planned for tomorrow, actually. He’ll see how that goes.

Mikey stepped out of his room, slowly trodding down the stairs into the kitchen.

At the table was his dad, Donald, reading a newspaper with a cup of tea. He’d come home from work about half an hour ago, and this was his routine. He’d step in the door and immediately put the kettle on. 

“Hey, dad.” Mikey greeted.

“Heya, Mikey.” He returned, giving him a nod without looking up from the sports article.

Mikey moved over to the fridge, opening the door to the freezer before taking out a bag of frozen peas.

“What, you making peas for dinner? I’d say let me or your mother make them, seeing as you burned the pasta into a lump last time.” 

“It’s not for me.” Mikey let out a scoff of a chuckle, pulling out a chair and sitting across from his dad. He plopped the peas down beside him on the table.

“Who’s it for then?” Mikey’s father asked, closing over the newspaper and setting it to the side temporarily.

“Gerard. I… punched him.”

Donald’s eyes widened.

“You punched him? God, at least tell me it was an accident.”

The kid looked down at his hands on the table in shame.

“Michael. This isn’t like you. What happened?”

“He almost made me lose a friend.” Mikey pouted like a kid.

“Oh come on, Mikey. You’re old enough to hold your own friendships now!”

“Apparently, I’m not. Because before Ray practically forced him, Frank refused to come to my house for I don’t even know how many days. And it’s because of him.”

Donald paused, then let out a sigh. “You boys..”

“If you can’t resolve this, I will go talk to your brother, alright? But for now, just try to talk to him. Bring him those.” He nodded to the peas.

“Yeah. Okay, thanks, Dad.” Mikey gave his father a smile as he got up, grabbing the bag of greens before going back upstairs.

Gerard was sat criss cross on his bed, listening to music quietly on his speaker and sketching into the journal on his lap after scribbling down the events of today.

Mikey found out about the kiss, because of course he did. I don’t know why I thought I could hide this from him. Frank is HIS friend, for fuck’s sake! And I had to go and ruin it. Well, I hope I didn’t. I think I heard Frank’s voice from Mikey’s room a while ago. I didn’t want to ruin a friendship for Mikey. Not again. I just wanted Frank for myself. 

Mikey punched me. It was the last thing I was expecting of him. He’s never hurt me more than an accidental scratch, but now I feel a bruise forming on my blown up face. It hurts. I suppose I deserve it. I could’ve handled the situation better somehow, I guess.

He ended off there for now, going on to sketch. Who would he be drawing other than Frank? A part of him hated himself for it. But he was so beautiful.

Gerard focused on individual features first, before focusing on a full face portrait.

The pencil scratched out pieces of Frank on the page as if it had a life of its own. His nose; the way the tip stuck out in such a particular way. His lips, which he paid significant attention to. He tried oh so hard to capture how soft they were. The way the cupid’s bow curved.

He then sketched out Frank’s eyes. He could never forget them. Though he drew them frowning in anger, because, well.. that’s all he’s really seen them do. At least in his direction.

But he couldn’t seem to capture the essence of Frank. Maybe it wasn’t a problem of Gerard’s skill. It was that nothing could capture the beauty they encompassed other than his eyes themselves.

Just as he was sketching out a circle for the portrait, he heard three soft knocks on his door.

His head shot up as he slowly closed over his journal.

“Come in.” He called out, watching the handle as it was pressed down from the other side.

Mikey’s head appeared as he stepped into the room, carrying.. a bag of frozen peas.

Oh.

Gerard’s expression softened as Mikey stepped in front of him. He stayed there awkwardly for a second before handing him the bag like a peace offering.

Without Mikey ever meeting his eyes, Gerard reached out and took the cold peas, pressing them to the bruise on his face with a soft sigh of relief. Damn, that felt good.

When he didn’t meet any requests to leave, Mikey hesitantly sat down beside his brother on the bed.

“Thank you.” Gerard nodded, giving Mikey a side glance.

The poor kid didn’t dare look up from his hands as they fidgeted with each other on his lap. You could feel the guilt radiating off of him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

Gerard stared at him for a moment before leaning his side on Mikey’s.

“I’m the one that should be apologising.” Gerard admitted, finally finding Mikey’s eyes.

He looked shocked. Like Gerard would never apologise.

Gerard took some offense to that. He could apologise! Maybe.. once in a blue moon..!

“I should’ve fucked off earlier.” He added, sighing as he looked away.

“I appreciate that.” Mikey said honestly, leaning on Gerard in return. “How’s your face?”

“Oh, it’s fine now. The peas helped.”

“Good.”

The two sat in silence for a minute, the only noises being Gerard’s quiet music and a few idle sniffs from Mikey. 

Suddenly. Gerard saw a hand shoot out from behind his back, grabbing his journal from his side. 

“HEY!” He yelped as he tried to grab it back, but was too slow.

Mikey leaped out of the bed, grinning as he started opening the journal.

No. NO.

Gerard almost fell over with how fast he dashed at Mikey. He practically tackled him.

Mikey’s grin was now gone. What was Gerard hiding?

The journal had been flung across the room. Mikey managed to stretch out and grab it, even as he was pinned down from under Gerard. 

“MIKEY! Don’t read that!” Gerard yelled, trying to grab the journal from his grasp.

“WHY?!” Mikey asked, pulling the elastic strap to open the journal.

He was flailing the book around to prevent Gerard from grabbing it. Because of this, a mass of loose pages spilled out from the journal.

Gerard safely snatched the journal and chucked it across the room while Mikey was distracted by the pages.

Before he could take the papers away, Mikey picked them up and scrambled to his feet while Gerard was off guard.

Because the world is completely on Gerard’s side, Mikey picked up sketches he’d done of Frank when they first met.

Gerard gave up trying to take them. He just watched as Mikey’s eyes widened and his mouth fell agape.

“You drew him?” Mikey asked softly as his eyes scanned the other pages—littered with drawings of everyone in Gerard’s life: Mikey, their parents, Gerard’s friends, even Ray was in there.

“Yeah.” Gerard shrugged. “You know I draw everyone.”

“There’s a lot of detail in this one.” Mikey commented, seeming to notice that the most detailed features were Frank’s eyes and lips.

“Yeah. I draw with detail. No shit.” Gerard chuckled, deflecting.

Mikey threw him a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes.

Something was up. 

Maybe Ray was right.

There was tension.

Chapter Text

The walk to the lake was nothing short of exhausting. 

Seriously. Their lack of participation in P.E. was showing now more than ever.

Frank had thrown a temper tantrum about wanting to see Mikey and Ray but refused to go over to the Ways’ house (for obvious reasons).

So Ray offered a solution that managed to work with everyone. The lake. 

The lake that was a fucking hour and a half walk away. 

Ray being a fucking Saint offered to carry all three of the bags because of Mikey and Frank's restless complaints. 

The weather wasn't spectacular. The crunching leaves beneath their feet stopped feeling satisfying about an hour ago. The old, dry trees around them creaked with threats of breaking at every slightly stronger breeze. 

"Ray, can you pass me a cookie?" Frank asked for the umpteenth time. 

"Dude, you finished MY the cookies about 15 minutes ago." Ray reminded, irritated.

"Oh." There was a brief pause. "What else do we have?" 

"Do you mind not eating all of our food before we even get to the lake?” Mikey complained. "I'm hungry too, you know." 

"Then eat something." 

"Unlike you, I can wait." Mikey snapped back. 

"Look!" Frank pointed ahead suddenly.

The two followed his finger. 

Confirming their suspicions, the glossy blue lake came into vision from behind a couple of trees. Finally. 

"Now can I eat something?" Frank asked excitedly as Ray put the bags down onto the ground. 

"Seeing as you drained the supply of my favourite cookies, no." Ray held up the empty plastic container. "Go put this in the bin." 

Frank snatched the container from Ray and mumbled a quick insult before walking off.

"You brought beer? Why didn't you say earlier?" Mikey asked as Frank patted down his pockets for a bottle opener. 

"Didn't want anyone to drink it all before I got to it." Frank shrugged. 

"Like you did with my cookies." Ray mumbled sarcastically.

"You're still on about that?" Frank laughed. "That was like- 20 minutes ago." 

Frank gave up on looking for a bottle opener and opted for biting down on the metal lid and prying it open with his teeth. 

"Jesus, you know that fucks up your teeth, right?" Ray pulled out a carton of cigarettes and placed one between his lips. 

Frank looked at the cigarette, then back up at Ray. 

"You can't be serious." 

"Want one?" Ray offered. 

"Hell yeah, I want one!" Frank tried to grab at the carton. 

He frowned when Ray pulled it back with a smirk. 

"Trade. Beer for cig." 

Frank didn't even need to think about it. He reached into his bag and pulled out a brown glass bottle, throwing it to Ray. 

"Cheers. Here." Ray threw the box to him. 

"So am I just gonna watch you two poison yourselves or do I get to join in?" Mikey asked. 

"Yeah, here. Sorry." Frank reached into his bag and pulled out a third beer. 

"Punk... IPA? What is this?" Mikey read the label on the bottle. 

"Only the best fuckin beer this world has to offer. You need me to open it?" 

"With your teeth? No, thanks." Mikey produced an opener from his pocket and clicked the lid off. 

"You should have told me that you had an opener before I chewed my cap off." 

"You should have asked." Mikey took a fat swig of the beer. 

"You like it?" 

Mikey let the taste linger on his tounge before answering. 

"Better than buzzbalz, man." 

Six drunk rants and another beer each later, Mikey was looking at the lake's surface like the Pope to a cross. 

"You with us, man?" Ray asked, nudging Mikey with the toe of his boot. 

"Anyone else wanna go for a swim?" Mikey asked almost too quickly. 

Frank blinked. 

"Hell fucking yes I want go for a swim!" He stood up quickly. 

Ray shook his head. Jesus Christ. 

"No, Frank. Come on, you don't wanna swim in 15 degree weather." He pulled Frank back down by the sleeve. 

"But Mikey wants to. Right?" Frank smiled up at Mikey. 

"I even brought a towel." Mikey said proudly. 

What was with Mikey and being actually prepared?

"See, Frank? He even brought a towel. You didn't." 

Frank stood up and peeled his jumper off. 

"Dont care. I can handle the cold." He looked to the water in an almost challenging way. 

"You're going swimming in your jeans and t-shirt?" Mikey asked as he peeled his shirt off. 

"Mhm." Frank said proudly. 

"Good thing I brought swimming trunks." Mikey mumbled. 

Frank rolled his eyes. Mr Always-prepared over here. 

"Frank, you're gonna get a cold. Seriously. Put your jumper on-" 

"I'm f-fine!" Frank was sitting trembling with his arms crossed, pretending not to be absolutely freezing his balls off. 

Ray and Mikey were right. But there was no way that Frank was about to admit that. Swimming in a cold lake in even colder weather at almost midnight was definitely not a good idea on his part.

He looked at Mikey with pure jealousy. Wrapped in a warm, fluffy-looking towel with a pile of dry clothes ready to be put on again sitting next to him. 

"It's 11pm, dude. Put a jumper on." Ray shoved the jumper into Frank's hands. 

"And take those soaked jeans off." He continued. 

"No!" Frank protested. 

But a beat later, he was stripping his shirt off and pulling the warm, dry jumper over his bare skin. Frank hated to admit it, but it was a relief. 

"Hey, does anyone actually feel like walking home?" Mikey asked while pulling his shirt on. 

"No way in hell am I walking all of that again." Ray said dramatically. 

"Agreed." 

"I have an idea then. Frank's not gonna like it, though."

It was almost midnight. Gerard was brewing another coffee. Why, you may ask? Because he doesn't give a flying fuck, that's why. 

As he watched the machine whirr and click to life, he was startled by his phone suddenly vibrating in his pocket. 

He almost laughed when he saw that his brother was calling. He needed a ride. He knew it. 

"Hello?" Gerard said quietly. 

"Hey, Gee. I'm at the lake, you know the one." His words weren't put together very well. Slurred, almost. 

He was drunk. 

"Mhm. And what does that have to do with me?" 

"I... I kinda need a ride. And so does Ray. And, uh... Frank." He said the last name quickly, as if hoping that Gerard would miss it. 

"I can be there in 10 if you want." 

"Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Mikey squeeled before hanging up. 

This was a side quest that Gerard wasn't expecting. 

"Thanks, Gee. Really, I can't thank you enough." Mikey said as he slipped into the front seat.

Ray also thanked him as he and Frank crawled into the backseat. Frank obviously stayed silent. 

"Its no problem. How much did you drink?" Gerard asked easily. 

Mikey's eyes widened at the question. 

"That obvious?" He asked. 

"Mhm. That obvious." 

Mikey didn't answer. The car fell silent besides the sound of the engines hum and Frank's teeth chattering together. 

The volume of tension in that car was a whole different story. 

Frank didn't even know when, but suddenly he was sprawled out on Mikey's couch with probably the softest blanket he's ever felt draped over him. 

Oh and his jumper was missing. 

His jumper was missing?! 

Frank sat up quickly and patted his thighs, sighing with fast relief when he did in fact still have his jeans on. 

Gerard was sat down on the same couch at his feet. Remote in hand, flicking through whatever the late night TV had to offer. 

"Hey." Gerard yawned. 

"I'm shirtless." Frank frowned, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. 

"You are." Gerard acknowledged. 

"And you're in here." Frank continued. 

"I am." 

"Where's Ray?" 

"Dropped him off before I drove here." 

Frank looked over to the T.V. to find some overly-energetic commercial about some price drop in a local market. 

"I'm cold." Frank complained. 

"Not surprised. You went swimming in your jeans." Gerard pointed to Frank's legs. 

There was a brief pause. 

"Gerard, I'm sorta asking you to get me a fresh fuckin pair of jeans." Frank mumbled. 

"My jeans?" Gerard pointed at himself in mock confusion. "I don't think they'd fit." 

"You're very funny. And I'm very cold. Jeans." 

"Right. Jeans." Gerard got up and strolled away from the couch. 

"And a shirt!" Frank called after him, although he doubted he heard him. 

Frank stretched awake with a groan. Not only was his head absoloutley fucking killing him, but he was unbelievably cold. 

He looked over at the coffee table next to him and was pleasantly surprised to find a stack of folded clothes. 

A cup sat idle next to the stack. Judging by the bitter-sour smell, it was coffee. 

After pulling the clothes on and realising that yes, they are way too big, he sat up and took a too-quick sip of the coffee. Incredibly bitter, obviously. 

He internally thanked Gerard for not being a dick and actually getting him a shirt. A worn-out Jeff Buckley t-shirt.

God knows Frank likes his coffee sweet. I mean, he even winced as he swallowed the next sip. He stood up and trudged to the kitchen in search of sugar. 

"Good morning." Gerard snorted from behind his coffee cup when he saw Frank in his clothes. 

"Sugar?" Frank held up the coffee cup and pointed at it. 

"Yeah, the cabinet over there." Gerard pointed to the second cabinet from the left. 

The second cabinet from the left. 

Frank pulled it open and scanned it. No sugar. 

"It's not here." Frank complained. 

"Then drink it bitter. Don't be a fag." He laughed.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. 

"Says the one who kissed me." It came out before he could even think. 

Gerard gave him an unreadable stare. Then a simple sentence. He spoke it like a quote. 

"And I'd do it again." 

Frank froze everything. His breathing, his shuffling, everything stopped. 

After a thick swallow in which he could quite literally taste his consideration, he replied. 

"Then do it." 

Frank placed his coffee cup on the counter next to him. Gerard did the same. 

In an unexpected motion, Gerard went straight up to Frank and backhanded him across the face. 

Frank clutched his face and looked back to his face, blinking stupidly. 

"Wha-" 

"That's for trying to fucking kill me." 

And finally, he grabbed the back of Frank's neck and pulled him towards himself. 

Frank stumbled into the kiss with a gasp. This time he had enough time and brain capacity to kiss back. 

He took a fistful of Gerard's t-shirt to pull him as close as physics would let them. He clutched him as if he was afraid that he'd cut it off as abruptly as he did the first time. 

Which the fucker did do. He pulled away from Frank to catch a breath and finally slur out;

"And that's to make sure it won't happen again."

Chapter Text

Mikey slid out of bed with the usual protesting groan. He rubbed his eyes groggily before picking up his glasses and sliding them onto the bridge of his nose.

He winced, slamming a hand over his head. He’s hungover? Did he really drink that much yesterday?

He needed breakfast more than anything. 

With the soft squeak of his bedroom door opening and the creak of the wooden stairs beneath him, Mikey made his way down to the kitchen.

He stepped inside, but found himself freezing in place.

He blinked up at the scene in front of him.

Was he still asleep? Was this a dream? More like a nightmare.

Gerard and Frank were kissing in his kitchen.

Gerard and Frank were kissing in his kitchen. 

“And that’s to make sure it won’t happen again.” Gerard said after they pulled away.

What the fuck did that mean?

After just a second of Frank staring up at Gerard, Mikey interrupted before they could keep up this freak show.

“So, is this porno still going on or can I get some breakfast?” 

Frank and Gerard’s heads snapped in Mikey's direction in perfect synchronisation, Franks hand moving from gripping the collar of Gerard’s shirt to push him away by the chest.

“He kissed me!” Frank exclaimed defensively, pointing an accusatory finger at Gerard.

Gerard looked at Frank with narrow eyes before looking at Mikey again.

“Yeah. Just about finished here.” Gerard gave Frank a disgustingly lustful look—Mikey couldn’t tell if it was to piss off Frank or Mikey himself—before stepping out of the kitchen with his coffee mug in hand.

Mikey gave Gerard a suspicious and annoyed look as he walked away with that smug expression on his face.

His eyes then flicked back to Frank. He looked like he’d been caught murdering Mikey’s whole family, childhood dog included. 

Mikey stepped to the fridge to take out the carton of milk, placing it on the counter beside him before speaking.

“Ray was right then, wasn’t he?”

Frank stayed silent for a beat as Mikey pulled a bowl from the cupboard.

“No. No, he wasn’t. That meant nothing.”

Mikey gave him a glance. Frank looked determined in his belief that it didn’t mean anything, but Mikey sensed a bit of doubt. Maybe that was just his imagination.

“I don’t care, anyway. You guys can kiss all you want. Fuck, for all I care. Gerard makes his own decisions, and so do you.”

That was true… except for Mikey not caring. He kind of did. He’d lose Frank if Gerard hurt him. And he’d be damned if he’d let that happen.

“We’re not gonna fuck! Jesus Christ!” Frank sounded disgusted, but then stayed silent and was staring at an unknown point on the wall by the time Mikey had poured himself some cereal and milk. Cheerios, of course.

Frank snapped out of whatever thoughts he was having with the loud clatter that Mikey made with his spoon in the bowl—exactly his intention.

He looked Frank up and down. Gerard’s jeans and Jeff Buckley shirt. God, maybe they'd already fucked.

Frank apparently sensed the eyes on his clothing, as he quickly scrambled to justify himself.

“My clothes were still wet from the lake. He let me borrow these.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Mikey said, though it was unclear if he meant it or not.

“Uhm.. can I have some cereal?” Frank asked hesitantly.

“Fatass.”

After the unexpected breakfast with Frank and a last minute Mario Kart game (which Frank lost miserably at—Mikey’s the king of Mario Kart), Mikey shut the front door after saying goodbye to Frank.

He let out a sigh. That was a strange morning. Even through the joy that is Mario Kart, there was tension between Mikey and Frank. 

Mikey walked back up to his room, though stopped in the doorway when he saw Gerard’s door open.

Gerard never left his door open.

Out of pure curiosity, Mikey poked his head in his brother’s room with a confused expression.

Gerard looked up from his journal and grinned at his brother. 

“What’s up, Mikey?”

“Uhm.. your door’s open.”

“Yeah, well, I knew you’d inevitably come up rambling about me and Frank, so I thought I’d leave it open for convenience.”

Mikey stared at Gerard for a second.

“I don’t care what you do. You’re literally older than me. You have free will, do you not?” 

Gerard looked like he wasn’t expecting that. His eyebrows raised and his head tilted subtly.

“I do. But I didn’t expect you to acknowledge that. Especially not after your reaction last time.”

Mikey shrugged, still slightly guilty. That was probably the reason he could control himself so well now.

After a few seconds of awkward staring, Mikey walked back to his room.

Of course Mikey knew Gerard had free will. But did he really have to use it like this? This is worse than the last time Gerard messed about with his friends.

However, he had other things on his mind. 

Yesterday, he and Pete planned for a hangout at Pete’s.

He had no idea how he had the guts to agree to that. But.. it was happening.

And even the thought of it was scaring the living crap out of him.

Mikey shouted a goodbye to whoever was home before stepping out of his house.

He adjusted his hair under his beanie as he began to walk the way to Pete’s house. He didn’t live too far away.

His hands stuck themselves in the pockets of his sweater as his eyes scanned around the streets idly.

Eventually, he arrived at the familiar Wentz residence. It didn’t seem to ever fill him with the dread he felt in that moment before.

He took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell.

A moment later, Pete opened the door.

“Hey, Mika! Come in!” He said with the same enthusiasm as always.

Mikey smiled up at him before stepping inside.

He glanced about the home. It hadn’t changed much from the last time he was there. It was still as clean and organised as he remembered it. 

Though, judging by his memory of Pete’s room, it was the parents who kept it that way. Not unlike his own home.

Pete went into the living room, Mikey following suit.

“I made some popcorn, and I got us some beers.”

Mikey gave Pete a look.

“My parents won’t be home till late. We’re good.”

God, stop reading my mind, Pete. Fuck.

Mikey sat down beside the other as he cracked the bottles open with his bottle opener. It was pretty cool looking. Black with some designs engraved in it.

Mikey took a swig before asking, “What movie did you say you wanted to watch again?”

“Spirited Away. I’ve heard good things.”

“Oh, right.”

Pete immediately grabbed the remote and clicked on Netflix. His profile picture was the basic smiley face thing. Come on now, Pete. Switch it up.

The movie started as Mikey leaned over to grab some popcorn from the coffee table. He shoved a whole handful in his mouth before the starting credits even finished.

As the movie went on, Mikey had mindlessly moved the bowl over in between the two on the sofa, taking idle bites from time to time while Pete did the same.

The two would make soft jokes and comments from time to time, though these came less often as they got more engrossed in the story.

Sometime near the middle of the movie, his hand as well as Pete’s reached for the popcorn at the same time, causing their them to bump up against each other.

Classic, right?

Mikey, now hopelessly distracted from the movie, looked at Pete out of reflex. Pete did the same, giving him a grin and a soft, “Sorry.”

Mikey smiled in return and pulled his hand back to let Pete get some first, before going in and grabbing some for himself after.

After 5 minutes, Mikey finally stopped thinking about the way his hand felt against Pete’s and watched the movie like normal.

Maybe half an hour before the movie finished, Pete let out a yawn, which Mikey didn’t even register. He then looked at Mikey for a long stretch, which Mikey also didn’t register until Pete started moving.

Pete laid across the sofa, head in Mikey’s lap.

…

Oh.

Mikey looked down at him, hoping his face wasn’t as red as he felt it burning. Pete smiled up at him before shuffling on his side towards the T.V.

Mikey’s whole body froze like a deer who heard rustling in bushes nearby.

His breathing hitched in his throat as he tried to calm down. God, pull it together Mikey.

After what felt like hours, Mikey relaxed—mostly. He didn’t even move to grab popcorn after that, unlike Pete who kept popping them in. He knew that because he could feel Pete’s jaw chewing against his lap.

How the fuck could he concentrate on a movie when all he could seem to focus was the feeling of Pete’s cheek against his thigh?

Somehow, he caught what happened in the end. The credits started rolling, and Pete reached out for the remote, turning off the T.V.

“So, what did you think?” Pete asked as he shifted over onto his back to look up at Mikey.

“I liked it.” Mikey nodded, looking down at Pete.

“I’m glad. Me too.” Pete confirmed with a nod.

His hand then reached over to grab another piece of popcorn.

“Open.”

… What?

“Come on, do you not remember Snack Battle? You’re winning, and I’m not happy about it.”

Oh. Thank God.

Snack Battle was this shitty ass game they’d made up where they throw snacks into each others’ mouths from a distance and keep score of every time they would manage to get them in. Mikey had better aim.

Mikey opened his mouth with the confirmation.

Pete squinted his eyes and prepared for a second before throwing the popcorn.

It flew straight into Mikey’s nose, making him flinch.

The two burst out laughing, “Come on, lemme try again. That was shit.” Pete reached out and grabbed another piece, throwing it after Mikey opened his mouth.

Score!

Pete cheered like a crowd of people after a goal in a football stadium while Mikey laughed through his chewing.

“That’s one more for you. Still not enough to beat me, though.” Mikey stated cockily.

“We’ll see about that.” Pete gave him a jokingly annoyed look.

Mikey didn’t take his eyes off Pete, and he didn’t either.

Fuck it. He’s gonna do it. … No, no it’s too risky. Come on, he laid his head in your lap, for fuck’s sake! Do it!

“Pete?” Mikey started, looking down at him.

Apparently, his expression was sadder than he thought it was, because Pete looked worried, of all things. He sat up, sitting criss cross to face Mikey on the sofa.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

Mikey also turned to face him, hesitating a moment before starting to speak.

“I- I’m sorry. For everything.”

“For what?” Pete asked, taking one of Mikey’s hands, only encouraging him to go on.

Mikey couldn’t meet his eyes. As he spoke, he looked around the room. Anywhere but those beautiful brown eyes.

“For- for not.. for not kissing you. And for not saying anything about it before. I just- I panicked, and that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to- that I didn’t want us to-“

Mikey winced subtly at his own ranting. Pete softly whispered his name, but Mikey kept going.

“It’s not that I don’t want you. I do. I defintely do. I just- I’ve never done this before and- I fucked it up.”

Mikey felt his eyes burning with tears. Fuck.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t feel the same. I-“

Mikey was interrupted by Pete speaking his name louder, and finally looked at him. He realised that he was smiling. 

“Why are you-“

Pete immediately rushed in and pressed his lips up against Mikey’s.

Mikey froze for a split moment before remembering to reciprocate, feeling Pete’s hand slide up to cup his jaw.

After lingering for a long few seconds, they pulled away slowly, their lips making a beautiful, soft smacking sound.

Pete opened his eyes as Mikey did the same, the two starting to laugh simultaneously.

Mikey grinned. He actually grinned for the first time in weeks.

Without waiting for another word from Pete, Mikey leaned in and kissed Pete again. His hand slid up to the side of Pete’s neck, the other residing on his waist.

Mikey felt both of Pete’s hands now on either side of his face.

For a first kiss, Mikey caught on pretty quickly. He followed the lead of Pete, eventually getting the hang of it until Pete slipped him tongue. He got used to that after a good few minutes too.

Before he knew it, he was pulling Pete’s waist up onto him. Pete straddled his lap, never ripping contact with Mikey’s lips.

One of Mikey’s hands slowly trailed up Pete’s thigh, the other sneaking up his shirt to rest on the small of his back.

Pete hissed at Mikey’s cold hand, whispering something about it through kisses, which went into Mikey ear and out the other. He’s gone.

After an amount of time that Mikey couldn’t track if his life depended on it, Pete pulled away.

Mikey almost leaned in to chase his lips, but instead opened his eyes to actually listen to what Pete had to say. His lips had turned a perfect shade of pink from the contact. His eyes sparkled with passion.

“Do you wanna.. take this upstairs?”

Oh, fuck yes.

Mikey grinned up at Pete in confirmation.

Pete pressed another short kiss to Mikey’s lips before getting off his lap. 

He took his hand and led him all the way up the stairs in a hurry.

Once they reached the door to Pete’s room, he leaned in and kissed Mikey again.

One arm wrapped around Mikey’s waist, pressing his body against his own as the other opened the door from the handle.

Without breaking contact for even a moment, Pete opened the door by pushing it with his back, Mikey’s hands running up his chest until his arms wrapped around his neck.

The new couple stepped in, Mikey closing the door with a slam using his foot.

Let’s just say.. Mikey didn’t exactly make it home that night.

Chapter Text

Hey gang. Due to the very fortunate circumstances of me and gabironiandcheese getting together in early August we have been quite... BUSY... and uh we forgot about this fic low key. Might update in the next year, might not. Who knows it's a gamble.