MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE ONESHOTS

alone

(trigger warning for language, possible emotional manipulation [not between the pairing], and suggestive content)

(based on the song "chick habit" by april march. it doesn't really have the same vibe as the tone of the song but the lyrics match the story)

(also in the 29th paragraph i just made up random names lol)

(requested by Blood-Soaked_Rainbow)

(update: rewriting this bc jesus does it sound like a little kid wrote this and wasn't allowed to use the word "hook-up." i was j scared of scaring readers away. there's more trigger warnings now)

"What did I tell you?" Gerard asked impatiently, tapping his foot rapidly with his hands in his worn jean pockets. His eyebrows were arched frustratedly. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and it seemed like whenever Frank made a mess of his life, Gerard was on cleaning duty. Or at least, cleaning duty felt like the least he could do. But what could he possibly owe this nimrod?

Nothing.

Huffing in a deep and aggravated inhale, Frank excused himself — "Listen, it was the last time. One teeny—" he pinched his thumb and pointer finger together— "little date."

Gerard glared.

"Okay!" Frank exclaimed. "We fucked! God! You know, sometimes it's almost like you're my mom—"

"Maybe 'cuz you're acting like a kid—"

"—always tryna keep me with you instead of letting me socialize! What was I supposed to do?"

Gerard squinted at him like his third eye had miraculously opened. He might need a third eye right now, if it would help him not be so stupidly blind. "Yeah, 'the last time,' Frank," he exclaimed cynically with some air quotes, "Which is reeeally funny, because that's exactly what you said the last time you fucked with her. And now you've hurt Jamia again. You're dangling false hope between her eyes!"

"Yeah, well who cares, huh?!" Frank snapped suddenly, raising his head up high. Gerard flinched. What was wrong with him? How could he say that? Had he no sympathy? "Who cares? I don't. I don't at all."

Then he loudly stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

Gerard grumbled, then gurgled out an angry cry and kicked the ugly ottoman beside him. He raised his hands from his pockets and pushed them into his hair, threading black, frayed strands around his tense fingers. He set his jaw and grit his teeth. Giving Frank love advice was no use. And what if Gerard asked him out? What then? Would he act as if it was a casual fling, like some immature high schooler, and then let him off the hook without knowing that the knife had only been twisted? Or would he listen and change? Why would Gerard be any different? Did he have feelings for Jamia at all? Or anyone else he'd ever asked out?

Gerard could feel a headache coming on and groaned. Existing as an adult was hard, especially when other people existed. Especially ignorant other people. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he keeled down onto the couch and jolted when he felt something under him.

Frank's phone.

He shifted his weight to one side and grabbed the device from the cushion beneath him. Frank must've forgotten it in his raging ordeal. He sighed and pinched his nose harder, willing God to send down a lightning strike before pocketing the item and walking out his apartment's door. He can't have gone far — either he'd realized something was missing or he was just in his apartment, which was in the same building as Gerard's. And when it looked like Frank wasn't about to stride up to his friend's apartment to search for his phone, Gerard just shrugged it off and took the elevator to the floor below him. He walked through the overly air-conditioned hallway and towards Frank's small dwelling. He raised a fist to knock, but found himself frozen.