ஜ Capricious & Evanescent ஜ Assorted and Mainly Frerard One-Shots ஜ

I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To

Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows)//Fall Out Boy

tw//alcohol, throwing up

(yikes this whole thing feels so insipid but oh well)

I traced the blocks of light on His skin from the city window. Morning was breaking, creating a sort of blocky modern art on the bed and our bodies. His mouth was open and His breathing was soft and even. It was kind of cute. He looked so relaxed.

"Hey..." I whispered. No response. I smiled. "Wake up you stupid piece of crap." He grunted slightly and pulled His eyebrows together, turning his head against his pillow. "Baaaaabe." A louder groan. I slipped my hand into His hair and gently scratched His scalp. At that He hummed pleasantly. "Wake up." He whined and rolled onto His back, causing me to retract my hand. With a grin at His suddenly exposed frontside, I straddled His waist and lowered my lips to his. I felt His fingernails against my back, and they gently inched up my spine, sending shivers all over and finally stopping once they slipped into my hair, scratching my scalp luxuriously.

"If you get up I'll shower with you." I murmured.

I'd never seen someone sit up that quickly in my life.

"Wash my hair?" He asked sweetly.

"Didn't you wash it yesterday?" I sighed. He whined and buried His head into my shoulder. I gave in.

***

"Frank?" I looked up at Jamia, slowly falling out of the memory.

"Mm?" My eyes fell from her face and once again I glimpsed that flash of red hair across the the room, that siren, that warning. She was going on about something, maybe the fact that I really needed to get into a relationship, or maybe she was talking about her own love life, I was too preoccupied to understand.

Preoccupied because of the fucking firetruck mop across the club. I could spot the new red hair from a mile away, even without the boring monochrome office setting. Perhaps, it was even more upsetting. Even through the knitting of colorful clothing and people at this club Jamia had dragged me to (with my own car mind you), even through the haze of alcohol and drugs and grime here I could see Him, and Jamia knew I could see Him because she was purposefully trying to steer me away from Him. I couldn't help it though—I had a lot of memories with Him. But I didn't have any memories with the red, only the ebony. This new personality, marked by his red hair, happened after everything fell to shit between us, but it was so enticing, so striking. I was still boring, black, faded against the shadows and dark lights in the club. I wasn't going to try and see Him. I just wanted to ignore Him more than anything, really.

That is, until Lindsey came along. After only half listening to Jamia for about ten minutes she left me, the scorpion tattoo we shared with each other flashing against her white skin as she sauntered away to find someone else. And then I was alone. And then Lindsey was here.

Lindsey knew. And Lindsey had different opinions than Jamia on my interaction with Him, because for some reason she just didn't want us to deal with the loneliness, accept it, she wanted to force it out. As if our relationship was any of her business. I was in the middle of a crowd of people I didn't know, and all of a sudden I'd found myself in an awkward stalemate with a seriously hammered bassist.

"Frank!" I turned towards her, my reaction slow and poor in timing.

"Lindsey..." Her pigtails were all messy and her clothes screamed 'I'm a hot mess' at me, all fishnet and leather and barely existent. I didn't really care, if she wanted to look like she just walked out of a goth porno that was her choice, I supported her. What I did care about was what she was saying, but her words were just confusing and garbled. She was slurring something about feminist punk that I couldn't really understand over the incessant beat and noise of the people around me.