Me & You Are A Summer Song (Petekey)

1: My Chem, Gods of Good Music

We're going down, down in an earlier round
And sugar, we're goin down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it...

And the crowd cheered, and I just watched as they jumped up and down, screaming the words 'Fall Out Boy!' To be honest, if I was in that crowd, I would too. Because damn, Fall Out Boy is a great fucking band. But there I was, watching from the side with the biggest grin on my face, silently cheering them on in my head.

And as the guys came off the stage, making their way over to where I was, I clapped.

"Well done, boys," I beamed, hugging each of them as they passed. "I've always liked that song. You guys were great, by the way."

"Thanks," Patrick smiled, taking a sip of the water he pulled out, making his way over to a chair to sit, and wiping his sweaty face with a towel. Playing on stage takes a lot out of you - I would know. "My vocal cords hurt already and the tour barely fucking started."

And that's what this was. A tour. But not just any tour. This was Warped Tour, 2005. Summertime. Yay.

Oh yeah, maybe I should've introduced myself. I'm an idiot. Anyway, my name's Mikey Way, I'm the bass player in my brother's band, My Chemical Romance, along with my brother, of course, and some good friends.

You know, I actually came up with the band name when I worked as a sales assistant at Barnes & Nobel. There was this book I discovered... The Acid House: Three Tales Of Chemical Romance by Irvine Welsh. And yeah... Enough about that.

"Well, Patrick," I began, getting ready to climb on stage and jam out with the rest of my band, "I don't know what to tell you besides stop drinking alcohol before you go on stage. Wait till after."

"And what's that got to do with anything?" He asked, taking another sip and throwing out the empty bottle. "Maybe I-"

"-should stop talking so much?" Frank, my band mate, interrupted with a smirk plastered on his face.

You see, Frank was a prankster, and sometimes just an asshole, and mostly just Frank. Himself. There's not really a great way to describe him.

Patrick rolled his eyes, picking up the empty water bottle out of the trash and chucking it in Frank's direction, only for Frank to just dodge it and stick his tongue out at Patrick, who was now a little annoyed with the 5 ft 6 tattooed emo trash standing before him. Patrick was probably just jealous that Frank was taller than him.

And out comes the rest of my band; Ray with his guitar, Bob with his drumsticks and Gerard with a cup of coffee. To say my brother was addicted to coffee would be an understatement. Gerard was more than addicted to coffee. I swear, if he could marry it, he would. I like coffee too, but not as much as my brother, who sassily struts around wearing his bulletproof vest in a manner that is so not gay. Because - no homo, of course. Or so Gerard claims. It's not like he's incapable of lying, you know.

Maybe he's gay for Frank.

Ew.

"You better get out there, guys," Pete said, poking me in the arm and sitting down. "Go on, My Chem, gods of good music."