band oneshots ✧ boy x boy

Lonely Eyes-Frerard

A/N: This is inspired by the album "I Hate My Friends" by The Front Bottoms(great band btw). I might turn this into a full length book if you guys are interested so comment if you are. Just a little note that this has a trigger waring towards the end. I tried a different writing style in this one so tell me what you think^-^

A/U: "this is me officially giving up on you"

Frank's POV:

You were seven, I was six, we were in those school uniforms that you hated so much. It was just a school bus, just a boy who wanted to talk to another boy oh so desperately. I told you I wanted to be your friend. You told me you wanted to be my friend back. We were best friends.

You were ten and I was nine; you were tall, but not too tall to be in the fourth grade. We were neighbors, you played with your brother Mikey quite a lot. You would giggle when I talked; that adorable smile of your's plastered on your face.

You would always say how, "these school uniforms would make a joke out of me and you", when I would invite you to play. No one knew what he meant, I didn't even know what he meant but I guess that's what made you more interesting. You told me I was your best friend the same day.

When I was twelve and you were thirteen, I remember asking you to play video games at my house with me. A hopeful facial expression lit up your face only to be dulled. You simply told me, "it's wrong, Frankie, don't you know?"

I guess twelve year-old Frank didn't understand what the amazing, Gerard Way, meant when he would decline at every invite. But now I understand. You stopped talking to me after that.

When you were fourteen and I was thirteen; you were shoveling snow with Mikey in the New Jersey cold taking slight glances at my bedroom window ever so often. You looked stressed, drowning in thoughts you couldn't piece together.

When I would look at you, my stomach would set off fireworks, I didn't know what they meant at first, but now I do. I know why you said it was wrong.

You were fifteen and I was fourteen; who had a date was the school's hype. The girl's were all over you, no one knew why you would brush them off. Any boy would kill for that attention but you didn't care.

You were sixteen and I was fifteen; it was the first time you hit me, but not the last. I heard you talking to your friends. You walked over to me and punched me right in the nose, you broke it. I hate your friends and their influence.

You came over to my house that night. Told me you were sorry and whispered, "I'm going crazy and I've lost my mind...sorry for playing the Dickhead role."

The next morning I saw you around school, that miserable mask of emotion covering your face. You looked at me with those eyes, I'm so pathetic I wouldn't move to save my life. Then aiming them towards the floor, again, walking around all day wearing those lonely eyes.

You were seventeen and I was sixteen; you were on the football team playing with the older kids. That's when I found you choking down pills in the boys' bathroom. You told me, "I'm gonna get on my knees, would you kick me in the face please? It'll make whatever I say sound like poetry." You left after that pretending nothing happened.

You were eighteen and I was seventeen; you were graduating high school and I was stuck there for another year. You take drugs now.

The day after graduation I found you lying on the curb crying. You turned to me and said, "the days keep going by and they're not getting any better. I could be threatening to jump and my friends would just let me."

"Take a look around here, no ones happy, either." I guess tears began to fall because you made me promise you I would never cry because of you. So I did.

School ended and ever so often you would come by and confess your emotions to me, only to pretend it never happened the next day. If you didn't feel like talking we would sit and enjoy each other's company.

Later that summer, mid-July, you tried to drown yourself. You told me there was comfort in the bottom of a swimming pool. My heart sank when you told me, just like your body did when you gave up.

You were nineteen and I was eighteen; you were finishing up your first year in college. You decided to attend art school in Manhattan. I haven't seen you since the occasional visit on breaks.

You came back for spring break. We sat together on your front lawn talking about nothing in particular. You asked me how high school went and I asked you how college went. You told me it was worse than high school. I told you I didn't need to know that.

You looked down at me with those lonely eyes and confessed, "I'm scared because you will never know all the reasons I'm about to cry, the way I feel inside." With that you shattered and tears flowed down your face.

"You're so beautiful to everyone around you, why do you feel you aren't?" I wanted to cry as well but I promised you years ago that I wouldn't.

"I'm drowning in the fear of rejection, you wouldn't understand. No one does." That's when you broke, you didn't believe in yourself.

I asked why I wouldn't understand and you were hesitant to answer so you didn't. You just kissed me and said how you're the only kid from high school that's still in love with me.

You told me how you beat me up everyday because you couldn't accept your feelings. You told me how you told your parents you had a crush on me in elementary school and they told you that it was disgusting.

You told me how you couldn't get any better friends and they were your last option. You told me how you made a list of friends you never wanted to see again and their names were written all over it. You told me how you beat yourself everyday because you wanted to be 'normal'. You told me how you think of how happy you could of been if people would of accepted you.

I guess you thought I didn't feel the same way back when you got up and walked away. I stopped you but you told me to stop, you wanted to go home because it doesn't even matter.

I took you by surprise when I kissed you back and mumbled against your lips how all you needed was a hand to hold. You looked down at me with an astonished facial expression unable to comprehend what just happened.

You were twenty-one and I was twenty; it was the last time I saw you when you stopped by my door one night with tears in your eyes. I asked you if you were okay. You told me no and walked away. I never saw you again and you never spoke to me after that.

You were twenty-three and I was twenty-two; I haven't seen you since the night you stopped by my house. You never visited home. Mikey said you changed your number. This is me officially giving up on you so I never made an attempt to find you even though I know I should of.

This is a sad ending to a sad story on a Monday afternoon when Mikey came to tell me you killed yourself. He told me you were swallowing pills one night and slit your wrists. I promised you I wouldn't cry so I didn't.

You were gone and I was twenty-four; that's exactly what I said to you as you spoke nothing in response. I stood at your grave desperately hoping this was all a terrible nightmare saying three more words and walking away for good. This is me officially giving up on you.