The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-6-

The barracks are incredibly small and reek of old sweat and humanity.  If someone hadn't have cracked a window, I probably would have choked to death on my own gags.  It smells absolutely putrid.  Did something die in here?

Well, unless you count the hopes and dreams of young men.  Mine died as soon as I stepped off that godforsaken bus.

All we have to ourselves is a tiny bed and a minuscule chest to keep any belongings in.  Everything else has to be shared.  There is no sense of personal space whatsoever in here, and I'm already feeling claustrophobic.  How am I ever going to last more than a few nights in here?  Here's hoping our new roommates are friendly, though.  Maybe that'll help a small amount.

Mikey and I claim two beds on the far side of the room, but does it really matter?  All the beds are the same.  All the chests are the same.  There's nothing original in here at all except the different people.  Maybe we'll all have a chance to chat and get to know each other before lights out.  I could go for some cordial socialization, much like our chat with Pete on the bus.  He should be around here somewhere.

On the opposite end of the room, Brendon is already chatting up as many people as he can.  He tries to talk to the freakishly tall man--Dallon, I think--first, but when the only response he gets is a frown, he moves onto his next target, which I'm pretty sure is that shy Ryan kid.  He can't be much older than twenty.  Hell, he might still even be a teenager.  However old he is, he looks far too young and innocent to be thrust into something like this.  I feel for the kid.

Finally, I spot Pete across the way, his fingernails between his teeth as he chats with Patrick and Spencer.  At least, I'm pretty sure it's those two.  I'm not great at putting names to faces.

When Pete sees me, though, a smile lights up his face, and he offers me a friendly wave.  I'm tempted to go over and join their conversation, or would that seem too rude and bold?  I barely know the guy.  We only talked to him for a short time on the bus, but I suppose that's how you make friends around here.  You actually have to socialize.

I take a deep breath, ready to make new friends and ease my distress, but someone else has already walked up to me.

"This spot taken?"

The first thing that catches my attention is the striking hazel eyes.  Then it's the sleek ebony hair, and the way those lips curl up into the slightest of smirks, just to make you believe there's something crossing through his mind.  He has a small bag on the empty bed next to mine, and I realize he's asking me a question.  I have a horrible habit of spacing out when people ask me things, and all the stress I've been under doesn't help in the slightest.  I need to stop.

"No, not at all,"  I respond, as nonchalantly as possible.  I feel like I remember this guy from the line.  Something about him just feels familiar.  "Hey, you're...."

"Frank Iero,"  he replies with a sly half-smile.  "The discount version of Sergeant Dickhead.  The midget.  However else you feel like remembering me.  And you?"

All ability to fabricate proper sentences has evaded me yet again.  I'm usually not this terrible at socializing.  I don't know what's gotten into me.  "Gerard Way.  The palest of the pale.  Scaredy-cat, too, I guess."

"Oh, right, you were the last one to get screamed at,"  Frank says, unzipping his bag and fishing out a framed photo, but from where I'm standing, I can't see what the picture is.  "Is that your brother, then?"  He nods to Mikey, who's made himself right at home on top of the hard mattress.  "Michael, right?"

I nod.  "Yeah, but we've always called him Mikey.  It's easier that way."

"Got it."  Frank flashes me another warm smile, but there's a glimmer behind his eyes that just screams impish.  There's something cunning, maybe even surreptitious, about him, and I can't lie and say I'm not intrigued.  "So tell me, Gerard, where are you and Mikey from?  Did you have to travel far?"