Phobia | Frerard

Chiraptophobia

chi.rap.to.pho.bia

Noun

The phobia or irrational fear of being touched.

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It had been awhile since Gerard had left the house with Frank and all Mikey had to occupy himself with was Pete Wentz. Pete showed up right after dinner and invited Mikey to play outside but Mikey admitted to being lazy as fuck and asked Pete to come inside.

The boys bored themselves quickly and ended up sitting cross-legged across from one another on the hardwood floor of Mikey's bedroom. They didn't necessarily get along most times, today just happened to be one of those lucky days where they didn't fight over dumb things. For example, there was time where Pete tried to convince Mikey that glass was in fact edible and they could feed it to Gerard's cat without harming it.

That didn't go down well with Donna when she had to pay a 200 dollar vet bill.

"So," Pete began as he picked a discarded Rubik's Cube off the floor, "I have this theory."

Mikey huffed and pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, "What's your theory this time?"

"Okay, listen up, Mikey Way."

"I'm listening."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Pete."

Pete squinted his eyes at Mikey and placed the Rubik's Cube down with mock caution, "My theory is that Brendon Urie has some serious daddy issues."

Mikey sighed, "You're kidding me."

"Nope, Mikey Way I am not kidding you." Pete replied, shaking his head, "I mean, have you seen that guy's dad? He looks like he's on a never ending meth trip. Why else would Brendon practically rip little kid's dicks off?"

"His dad is like, fifty years old. Old people don't usually look like they aren't medicated." Mikey pointed out and nudged Pete's knee with his sock-covered foot.

"That's true. Your dad looks like he's on acid 24/7."

"But my dad isn't old." Mikey snapped, raising a thick eyebrow.

"Exactly." Pete laughed and sharply pulled on Mikey's tie, just to be extra annoying.
Laughing at Mikey's irritated expression, Pete raised to his feet and flopped himself onto Mikey's bed, staring up at the blank ceiling, "Where's your brother? I want him to draw me again."

Mikey shrugged, "He says you're weird."

"Ironic. The Diff says I'm weird."

"Oh please," Mikey hissed, "I'm surprised you're not a Diff."

"Wow, Mikey Way, I'm so very offended."

"Shut up. I'm worried about my brother and I really don't need you making pathetic jokes about him. It's lame, Pete. And low. He's a nice person." Mikey seethed.

"I never said he wasn't nice, Michael." Pete mumbled.

Mikey ran his boney fingers through his silky hair, "Whatever."

Pete frowned and sat up, dangling his legs over the edge of the bed, "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends if it's worth my time or not." The Way brother retorted, brushing dust off of his khaki colored pants.

"Is your brother friends with Frank Iero? People have been talking around in school, someone even called Frank a faggot." Pete stated nonchalantly, picking at his nails.