Another Way | Adopted by Gerard Way (Book Three)

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Pink and purple were beginning to creep into the cloudless sky as Harley walked home, the light breeze doing nothing to brush the smell of burnt cookies off her. It was probably good for her lungs, though, after the smoke inhalation and all.

She couldn't help the sheepish smile from spreading on her face as she entered the living room, immediately telling Gerard and Lindsey that something had happened. They shifted out of their cuddling position on the couch and paused Breaking Bad on the TV.

"What did you do?" Gerard asked, skipping the greeting.

Harley walked towards him and held out her arm. "Smell my hoodie," she said.

He and Lindsey breathed in and furrowed their eyebrows.

"What did you burn down?" Lindsey asked as Harley sat on an unoccupied seat. She was careful not to settle into the cushions too much, not wanting to share the smell of smoke with any furniture; she knew it'd take more than an air freshener to remove it.

"Harley, what did I tell you about committing arson?" Gerard asked, shaking his head.

"Uh," she said slowly, pretending to think, "not unless I have a getaway car?"

"That's good," Gerard laughed. "But seriously, what happened? Weren't you at Remi's?" There was a twinge of concern poking up in his voice under the laughter.

"Yeah, I was, and it's Ryan now. We wanted to make cookies and it did not go as planned."

"Oh, no, how bad was it?" Lindsey asked, unfazed by the name change and rather concerned about the cookies.

"Okay, listen, nothing was actually on fire," Harley said, raising her hands as she attempted to salvage what was left of her and Ryan's dignity and trust in the kitchen. "But if you ever need a recipe for lumps of coal to give to kids on Christmas, hit me up."

"I don't know if Ryan's parents are gonna want their kitchen turning into Santa's workshop," Gerard said, easily transitioning into Ryan's new name. "Maybe we should get you one of those Easy-Bake Ovens. Do you think you two could handle that?"

"Do they even still make those?" Lindsey asked, tilting her head at Gerard.

"I don't even know," Harley responded for him, standing up from her seat, "but I have to go shower before the smoke smell literally embeds itself into my skin forever."

"Like a scratch-and-sniff tattoo," she heard Gerard say as she left the living room.

She kept her eyes tightly shut for most of her shower, not wanting to look down at her body while it wasn't hidden in the folds of oversized clothing. The body wash she used smelled of vanilla and lavender and had Shea butter in it, whatever that was. The bottle had swirling, purple script that rattled off the benefits of its all-natural ingredients. As good as this soap smelled, Harley still couldn't help but linger her eyes on the bottles with names like 'Black Wood,' 'Glacier Freeze,' and 'Timber Wolf' while she was at the store, wondering what made those ones for men and all the pink and purple bottles for women.

Afterwards, sunken in her freshly washed bed sheets, she looked at her phone for the first time since she'd left Mason with that message she knew he wouldn't like: I gotta go, ttyl.

She could confidently say, upon scrolling for only a few seconds, this was the most notifications she'd ever gotten from a single person in one day. They were also the angriest she'd ever seen, until they turned apologetic, then concerned, then annoyed, then circled back to being angry.

Harley had to take a few deep breaths before opening her text conversation with Mason, wracking her brain for any way to calm him down after all the: 'I wasn't done, you can't just leave,' 'Ffs Harley,' 'How hard is it to answer your phone,' 'Okay, sorry I'm coming off strong, I just want to talk,' 'Where are you? It's been hours, please just let me know you're alive,' 'Alright Harley, this is getting stupid,' and 'How fucking petty do you have to be to ignore me for a whole fucking day? '