You really are one crazy bitch.
Hey, I wrote this a year ago and forgot about this account :/
Guns and murder in this
Gerard hadn't known what was going to happen. All he did was light a cigarette in the dead of night.
Oh, how quiet that night was. Usually the metro station is packed and endless chatter is heard from miles away— but not tonight. It's always just Gerard at three in the morning.
Sometimes there's a couple or something that get stuck in something and have to come to the station around this time, but it was a very rare occasion. Maybe that's why Gerard was a little shocked when a handsome stranger sat on the other end of the waiting bench that Gerard sat upon.
"What are you doing here at a time like this? You're askin' to get murdered," the stranger said. His voice was a roughly smooth kind of deep that made Gerard look up at him.
"I could ask you the same question."
The stranger met eyes with Gerard with a hint of a smile on his lips.
Black hair that's a few inches shorter than Gerard's- since Gerard had his hair nearly to his shoulders- brilliant emerald green eyes, a lip and nose ring, and tattoos littering every bit of skin that was on show, besides his face. The whole 'rocker bad boy' look put Gerard at ease with the tension he didn't realize he was holding in his jaw and shoulders.
The stranger saw Gerard visibly relax and cocked an eyebrow up. "You're chill? Seriously? You're not worried I'll pull a gun on you? Because I have one."
Gerard shook his head and sat up. "I like your tattoos. Did they hurt?" He asked while he grabbed his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Fag?"
The stranger shook his head at Gerard and grabbed the gun from his combat boot. "Why aren't you scared?" He wasn't pointing it at Gerard, just holding it nonchalantly.
Gerard shrugged and lit a cigarette. "I eat fear for breakfast, baby," he smirked a bit at the stranger, "and if you're gonna shoot me, at least buy me dinner first."
"You really are one crazy bitch," the stranger mused and stood in front of Gerard. "You really don't think I'll hurt you?" He hummed for a second before pressing the gun against Gerard's forehead.
To the stranger's surprise, Gerard put the cigarette between his lips and cocked the gun for him. "Fuckin' do it, I dare you."
Of course, the stranger took a step back and put the gun back in his boot after putting it on safety. "You must be super fucked up," he sighed before sitting next to Gerard. "I'm Frank. Frank Iero. What's your name, gorgeous?"
Gerard studied Frank's tattooed fingers and hummed. "Maybe I'll tell you after that dinner."
Frank smiled a bit. "You're really serious about this, huh? I don't have any money, but I cooked before I came here. Wanna come over to my place?"
"An invitation to an attractive almost-murderer's house? I'll take it. Taxi or metro?" Gerard stood up with a faint hint of a grin.
"I have a motorcycle. C'mon, pretty boy," Frank chuckled and took Gerard's hand as they started walking.
The ride to Franks apartment was short yet exciting. The wind pushing against the two as Gerard held onto Frank tightly, taking in his warmth and the smell of his cologne on his leather jacket.
The two made it into Frank's small and tidy apartment and headed to the kitchen. Everything was clean and kept in order, which was something Gerard hadn't expected from a punk dude. He sat down and watched Frank. "What went through your mind when you invited me over?"
