Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

19: Sex Ed With Brendon Urie

Frank was fucked up and more than a little wasted as he slammed his fist against the front door of Pete Wentz's house: he was desperate and pathetic, and reckoned he'd probably end up sleeping with someone by the ending of the night, but really, he didn't care.

That was what he was good for anyway, wasn't it?

All he was good for, anyway.

And he repeated that fact to himself several times over as the front door finally opened and Frank's intoxicated form feel straight into Pete's questionably sober one, and well, Frank hadn't expected this kind of sobriety from the friend who was fucking renowned for getting drunk, but whatever.

"Are you dying or just drunk?" Pete asked, holding Frank's limp body kind of awkwardly, and only for the sake of ensuring that his friend didn't instantly fall to the floor and die, because that was about where Pete drew the line with friendship and emotional attachments.

"Both." Frank mumbled into Pete's shoulder, leaving the 'gang leader' to let out a mildly frustrated sigh as he locked the front door behind them and attempted to drag Frank into the living room, pushing him down onto the sofa and just praying that he didn't do a Mikey Way and puke all over his carpet, because seriously, that was a nice carpet, and it had been through more than it had ever deserved.

"Right, okay, is there any sort of explanation to this?" Pete asked, putting on his best Lindsey voice as he made his way into the kitchen, looking for some like fucking herbal tea bullshit or even just some water to calm Frank the fuck down, however, he ended up settling for an orange Capri Sun, and well, needless to say, Pete got one for himself too.

"Is that a fucking Capri Sun?" Frank groaned, having buried his face into Pete's sofa, and well, with the likelihood that he would vomit at any moment, that was not exactly something Pete was comfortable with.

"Yes. Don't be a fucking asshole about it or I'm going to just kick you the fuck out." Pete rolled his eyes, handing Frank the Capri sun, and at that moment, Frank did indeed decide that it would be probably best if he just shut the fuck up and let Pete waffle on about whatever bullshit he desired.

It wasn't like Frank's life could get any worse now, was it?

Well, technically, it could, of course, but Frank was trying his best not to fucking jinx his luck or something, because okay, he wasn't really in the mood right now at all.

"So why are you drunk and dead inside and dangerously close to puking all over my sofa?" Pete wasn't nearly as good as the whole advice and comforting bullshit as Lindsey was, but Frank was really good in bed, so yeah, he was going to try.

"Gerard." Frank groaned against the sofa, and Pete couldn't help but raise his eyebrows, because the guy was a gentle fucking flower, and most certainly not somehow capable of reducing someone like Frank Iero to tears.

"What the fuck did he do?" Pete exclaimed, tone exaggerated, but Frank didn't really seem to care or even notice for that matter.

"Left me, or something like that- fuck, I don't know anymore, I'm really kind of drunk, but like we had that argument and then Lindsey gave me advice, and I like I fucking bought him fucking flowers- I was going to be all bullshit and sappy and romantic about it for him, but he's not there when I'm back, and then some fucking guy: Bert is all up in my ass about the fact that he fucked Gerard, and I'm like fuck off, but he's like oh yeah Gerard just walked off with another guy, but like no, he wouldn't fucking do that? My head fucking hurts and I want this to be a dream, and I want to wake up right the fuck now."

"So gentle flower Gerard cheated on you?" Pete was in a state of fucking disbelief. "Gerardo? My buddy pal- ridiculous, actually are you sure you're not just excessively drunk because I'm having a serious problem believing this?"