DRABBLES (frerard oneshots)

smoke clouds and coke

Anger streamed out of the speakers in the pub. Almost incomprehensible words tumbled out of the vocalist's mouth, crawling out between his lips, webbed floods, abstruse as the lyrics itself, while the band played like there was no tomorrow. The spectators that night threw and tossed themselves around, and those who knew some of the morbid lyrics, screamed it somewhat together with the small, hotheaded man behind the microphone on the stage.

Honestly, it wasn't anything big, not like a huge concert where people had spent all their savings for a lousy spot in the back of a football arena in hope of spotting their favorite band. It was just a small, half-suspicious club, but in that exact moment, it was the entire world for everyone present, even though they knew they wouldn't remember much in the morning. It didn't matter though. They could all die at any moment. A huge, blazing comet that the scientists, or whatever those who stare at stars all day are called (who cares?), didn't notice could crash right into this exact club. Who would give a shit then about the two guys blowing each other in the farthest bathroom stall in the back of the club?

The singer had a rumor for being violent on stage, well, violent in general, most people meant it was because of all the adrenaline, while others meant that he had some serious anger issues, because t wasn't really just rumors that that flew here and there that he had as a habit to pick up fights and knock out the first tooth he saw. Like, it has happened like twice, at least.

But nobody complained, either because they were too frightened and would in no way have anything to do with it, or because they saw how it worked as therapy for everyone present. Regarding the violent act on stage part, not the knocking out innocent people's teeth part.

When the song and whole gig was over, Frank breathed heavily into the mic, thanked everyone for coming and giving him the best night of his life, before the band scrambled exhausted off the stage, ready to drink their mind and senses away, for then to wake up in an unknown house in an unknown bed together with an unknown person. But not Frank, never Frank. He wasn't one of those "I'm not like other girls!!" kind of people, mostly because he was a most definitely a guy, and he did plan to get so fucking wasted, but when Bob offered him some strange pills, it wasn't exactly something Frank offered no to. All he had to was to find some dude called Mikeyway-something-something, help him out, and the stash would be his.

"Mikey is a kiss ass," Bob had said, "but he is a kiss ass with contacts and some really damn good stuff, so be careful. You'll find him somewhere around here."

Frank had just nodded before making his way to the bar. Bob was a good, old friend of him, from the moment Frank cut off his ponytail in kindergarten and they both tried to glue it back together, they had been inseparable.

Music from a fancy stereo had started playing loud in the background. There was sweat, warm bodies from all sides, but after some time Frank plumped exhausted down on a stool by the counter, the only other there a strange man with a glass of what looked like coke in front of him. Frank found this weird, when you're first out on a club, you simply don't order soda, he meant. After ordering a glass of beer ("without ice"), the stranger opened it's mouth.

"Your band up there?" The man had hair to below his ears that curled into long locks over his face and down the neck. It honestly looked like a crow had inhabited his hair, a black mess. Everything else was hard to judge, due to the lighting, so it was just a dark painting of red and blue.

Frank grinned hugely to the attractive – he was in no doubt attractive, he had to admit that- stranger, "Yeah! You liked it?" It wasn't exactly a secret that he was proud of his band, and the still un-introduced hummed almost sarcastically to himself.

"No."

Frank almost stuck the drink in his throat. Everybody liked his band, and the band was his life, so he defended it like it was the only thing he held dear. Something most people would say was.

"Excuse me? How come?" He was starting to get mad, nobody dissed his band, especially not people who usually belonged to this crowd. The man shrugged, "it doesn't tell me anything. I don't feel anything when I hear you guys play. I mean, you're all great individually, I can tell that much, but nothing makes sense together. Furthermore, what you do can hardly count as singing." The more the man talked, the more Frank wanted to dump the stupid man's stupid fucking coke over his pretty face, but all he did was roll his eyes and rise from his chair to walk away before he did anything he would regret, while Douchebag just smiled smugly.

"Yeah, okay, go to hell." Frank refused to show Douchebag that he had severely hurt him, but it showed itself difficult. He hadn't expected Douchebag to follow him outside of the club, and he also had not expected him to offer his lighter when Frank had troubles lighting his own.

"Why are you following me?" he asked when his cigarette was lighted. Douchebag was quiet for a while, before he said something that almost made Frank choke on something again.

"You're interesting."

Frank managed to keep his cool, and raised an eyebrow, "what has hit you as interesting so far?" He couldn't help but think how cliché this whole situation was.

"Well the first thing I thought when I saw you was "how can a so tiny guy make so much noise?""

Frank had to laugh at that one, even if it wasn't exactly something he wasn't used to hear, "A lot of buried anger and a lot of elemental influence." He said after taking it all in.

"Doesn't sound healthy." Douchebag lighted his own smoke.

"Guess I'm not a healthy person then." Frank answered.

They stood there smoking in tranquility, but it wasn't awkward. They just stood there looking at the lights illuminating the street and over the Jersey night skyline while mixing their smoke clouds together, almost poetically, but that thought made Frank cringe. He also took time to check out Douchebag a lot better now. He was wearing all black, too tight clothes, which looked really uncomfortable by the way. He was quite pale, and his skin reminded of thin origami paper. From this side his nose was sharp, which contrasted with his round jaw line and otherwise smooth features. In addition he had the ugliest sideburns Frank had ever seen.

He almost forgot Asskissermikeyway, and when Gerard – that's what Douchebag said his name was- offered Frank to come home with him, Mikey was the last thought in Frank's mind.

a/n

um yah. P sure I wont continue this, its just something I wrote for Norwegian class. "write the first chapter to a romance novel". So yes. I wrote frerard for school. And I got an A. suck it.

and i just came up with a title in the rush. cya.

its unedited enjoy

Pece out -zoo