Frerard OneShots (finished)

XLV - You'll Pay

[tw for panic attacks in this one, stay safe y'all]

Frank stood in his kitchen, singing along to whatever song was on the radio while he cooked his dinner. It was late, he had just gotten home from work, and he had honestly had better days.

First, his girlfriend broke up with him, then his boss denied him a raise, and last but definitely not least, one of his coworkers accidentally spilled coffee all over him so he had to change into the only pair of pants that was available and conveniently way too big for him.

So there's that.

And when he got home, he didn't only find almost all of his money gone, but his roommate, Pete, had also left; leaving only a note saying 'I needed the money, I'll pay you back, brb'.

So there's that.

In the middle of his pouting and grumbling and trying not to let the bad mood get the best of him, he didn't hear the car door outside get thrown shut.

Three guys in leather jackets and sunglasses got out of the van parked outside. One had fiery, red hair and a sledgehammer in hand.

A guy with curly brown hair got out of the passenger's seat. "And you're sure this is the right place?" The third guy with blond hair was the last one to get out of the car and he locked it with the keys in his hand.

"Yep," Gerard, the redhaired, said, swinging the sledgehammer casually against the mailbox as he made his way to the apartment building. He had a cigarette between his lips, letting out a puff of smoke from time to time. "That's where he lives, I'm sure."

Frank flinched at the sound from outside and temporarily stopped chopping onions. The song on the radio now seemed secondary.

"Come on, pretty boy!" Gerard shouted, swinging the hammer against the front door. He created a hole just large enough for all three of them to fit and stepped through. "Where's our money, Wentz?"

"Yeah," Mikey, the blond guy, swung his baseball bat at the window in the door, then followed his brother. "Where's the money, Wentz?" He said, his voice loud and mocking.

"Shit," Frank said and he scrambled for his phone when he heard hollering and yelling.

A second later, one of the guys kicked his door down.

In an instant, they were in his living room, shouting and smashing things, standing on the table and shattering everything they could get their hands on.

Frank fell back and onto his butt, hiding behind the counter while his breath picked up.

One of the guys seemed to get his hands on the radio and conveniently, a rock song started to play, pumping the three guys just up even more.

Mikey, who stood on the table, yelled a bit more, then hit something with his bat that Ray had thrown. Meanwhile, Gerard was hammering at the walls, yelling about the money.

Frank's chest stuttered as he took shaky breaths and clawed at his hair. His phone had fallen out of his grasp a while ago but he was too focused on not to fucking suffocate to care; because at this rate, he swore he was going to choke up and die.

Ray and Mikey kept their throwing-things-and-hitting-them-stuff up, laughing at everything that shattered into a million pieces, while Gerard set his sledge hammer down and looked around the room. The music was loud, blasting right into his ears; he had never felt more at peace.

"Where are you, Wentz?" He asked again, loudly, so he was heard over the music. "We're not fucking around anymore," standing up straight, he took the cigarette from between his lips and burnt a hole into the couch, "we want our money and we want it now, Pete. Do you get that?" Slowly, he took a few steps through the room, then halted in the entrance to the kitchen.