The Aftermath is Secondary (Frerard/MCR/Frikey)

Chapter 22

"They actually locked you in a closet with him?" Gerard asked in shock.

We were sat in our place, which was the old factory. It had been deemed our place after I had sent a text to Gerard saying 'I need to talk, meet me at our place' only twenty minutes ago. Seeing as we went to the same place without it having to be specified, deemed it to be our place and our place only, we can't bring others.

"I was in there for five fucking hours," I complained. "They didn't get home until about one in the morning."

It was exactly twenty-five past one in the morning, me having texted Gerard as soon as I was released and driving straight here to the factory.

"And did you and Mikey resolve anything?" Gerard asked hopefully.

"Not really," I said. "I thought we were going well at first but then he just got really pissed at me."

"So we're basically just back at the start," Gerard grumbled, leaning back against the wall.

I sat beside him, looking at the pitiful fire he has made yet again.

"I'm sorry for calling you out so late," I apologized.

"Hey, why would I ever pass up the opportunity to see your beautiful face?" Gerard replied, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to pull me closer to his side.

I smiled up at him and his face lit up suddenly.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" He exclaimed.

His arm was removed as he grabbed his backpack to get some stuff out. Among the loose objects was spray paint, graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate.

"What's all this for?" I asked.

"The food stuff is so we can make smores and the spray paint is so we can tag the wall like everyone else does," Gerard explained.

I smiled as he stood up and held his hand out for me. We walked over to the wall opposite of us, graffiti sprawling across the grey surface. Gerard shook the dark blue can and popped off the lid, moving his arm artfully to create whatever he was making. I watched with a smile on my face as he wrote out 'GEE + FRANKIE = <3' on the wall.

"We look like a bunch of pansies compared to the other people," I remarked.

"Yeah," he agreed. "We probably shouldn't let them find out who we are, they'd most likely shank us."

"I think I can take them," I joked, holding up my fists in a fighting position.

"Yeah, Frankie, you might be able to kick them in the shins, if you can reach that high," Gerard teased.

I pushed him playfully, and he leaned down to kiss my lips.

"Nah, I'm only joking, Frankie, you're perfect," Gerard assured.

I smiled at him.

"You're turn," he said, handing me the can.

I looked down at it cautiously. "I don't know, I'm not very creative."

"Come on, you're a musician, of course you have a lot of creativity," Gerard assured me. "It doesn't even have to be about us, write one of the lyrics to one of the songs you wrote."

I thought for a moment then positioned the paint, writing 'TEENAGERS SCARE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME' on the concrete wall. The lyrics were pointed out to all the kids that make fun of me at school, and I knew Gerard knew that too from the look on his face.

"If you're troubled and hurt, what you got under your shirt, will make them pay for the things they did," Gerard said, admiring the words on the words.