MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE ONESHOTS

basement boys

(trigger warning for violence/gore, mentions of brain damage, implied neglectful parenting)

(i swear it's adorable)

(a poem i wrote but in frerard oneshot form. check out the poem if you'd like in my v dope poem book)

When the bell clanged obnoxiously for the last time that afternoon, he stumbled out of the building with a split lip and dried blood in a line down from his left nostril to his upper lip. I ran to him, shaking his shoulders and beating him up verbally with questions like, "Who did this to you?" and "Should we get the nurse?"

He just grinned sleepily and shook his head. Too stubborn to admit his immense pain that he later described as a "pounding bruise inside his face."

"I'm okay," he claimed. "It was jus' some jerks from, uh, prolly the football team or the glee club or some'n."

Yeah, he definitely wasn't okay. I slung my arm over his shoulder and he limped away with my support.

Teenagers were truly scary, scary things.

When we arrived in my home, I dragged him by the wrist into my basement and he crashed on a lame, saggy bean bag. My mouth contorted into a lopsided grin as I remembered the time he accidentally stabbed the bean bag with scissors — hence the ugly plaid patch on the side.

I dashed up the stairs, into my bedroom and then into my bathroom. I flung open the medicine cabinet and snatched a box of bandaids.

When I got back, Frank was still staring up the ceiling, probably too lazy to get up or even look at me. When I walked on my knees over to him and stuck a bandaid to his bleeding forehead, he finally reacted.

"I didn't even notice that was there," he mumbled, trying to force a laidback smile back onto his face but grimacing as I handled the damage. His voice was less slurred now. I guess the injuries were less fresh by now.

"Your hair's just so thick you couldn't even feel it?" I jested.

"Something like that," he replied dumbly.

I squinted at him when I was done playing medic. "Did they give you brain damage or something?"

Frank folded his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles, closing his eyes casually. Or, well, he tried to make it look casual. He really just looked like he had an insane headache and was squinting his eyes shut in an attempt to relieve some of the pain. "Maybe."

I flipped onto my back and copied his pose onto the floor. The bandaids were left sat on the floor near my feet.

After a moment or two of silence — what for, I'm not sure. Perhaps for Frank's shiner he'd probably develop on his right eye — Frank spoke up: "My dad's gonna be so mad at me if I go home. He'll see my cuts and bruises and just... go completely wacko."

"I'll tell my mom we're having a sleepover," I proclaimed, "and you won't have to go home."

Frank scoffed. "Well, I know for sure my dad'll be fine with it," he joked. His face was sad, though. I turned my head to look up at him from the floor. I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Frank," I replied, "don't say stuff like that."

"But it's true, isn't it?" he asked rowdily. "My dad doesn't like me, and he's made that incredibly clear. He won't mind if I spend a few days here, even if it's so that he won't know that I've been beat up like the loser I am. He wouldn't mind I spent months here." His voice rose in volume as he spoke until he was exploding angrily.

I wanted to slap him to get him to snap out of it, to stop talking about himself like that, to stop making me feel so horribly sympathetic. Instead, I kissed his cheek quickly.

"You have us, though. So screw your family, whatever, I know they suck. You have me," I blurted.

Frank visibly calmed and took a deep inhale. He exhaled, corners of his mouth pointing up just slightly. "Okay."

I stood up. "So we're gonna stop moping about our lameness now," I declared, "we're gonna get some leftover cake from my birthday from the fridge, and we're gonna jam out to our favorite songs on the guitar. Yeah?"

Frank hesitated, but then stood up weakly. He tried to make himself look tough, tried to make himself bold, pasting on a similar expression to one of pride and courage, but it missed his eyes. It didn't fill up to there. I'd provide that part, hopefully.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'm okay."

(short but sweet, just like me 😎)