FicWad: fresh-picked original and fan fiction

A/N: This is about the band, LostAlone. (Check out A/N at the bottom.) I own nothing. This is all fiction, even if I would like to think it actually happened. But this didn't happen. So.)
Oh God. This is so fluffy. Beware. So fluffy. God.
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Steven woke up smiling. Life was good. Heaven was smiling upon his band, LostAlone: their 2007 debut album had been great, and it had gotten many positive reviews, but it didn't get as much attention as Steven had hoped. Of course, though, he was proud of it. He had put 200% effort into it. It's just that he wanted to reach more people and just (with no better way to put it) SPREAD THE MUSIC AND THE LOVE YOU KNOW and being on an indie label that he himself had founded hadn't helped, resource-wise. Now, they were signed on an actual U.S. label (a fact that the very British man could appreciate) and yesterday he and the rest of the band met the guy who would produce their next album. He seemed nice, like he genuinely wanted to see them fuck people's minds. So Steven was excited. Life was good.

Life was very good.

He got out of his bed and made his way to the kitchen in his apartment. Forgetting all about yesterday's coat of eyeliner, he rubbed his eyes and made himself some coffee. He wasn't much of a coffee drinker back in England, but staying in the States had changed that. Fuck you, America, Steven thought. Getting me addicted to this coffee shit. Urgh why is this so good?

Once he had his steaming coffee fix in a mug Steven walked to the couch and picked up his guitar. Before he could forget, he scribbled some lyrics down that had been floating around in his head. I can use these for the next album, he thought. Yes, I'll just add these to this song over here, it would go perfectly with that melody Alan wrote, and-

He heard a knocking on his door.

If Steven wasn't awake then, he was now.

Who in the bloody hell is visiting me, Steven kind of mentally sighed. Better not be one of those Jehovah's Witnesses that I hear about.

Steven set down the guitar and shuffled his way to the door. He was wearing his pajamas still, a black t shirt and his Union Jack pajama bottoms. Eh, what the fuck.

The door was still being incessantly knocked, as if the visitor was very excited, or overcaffeinated, or both.

It was both.

A shorter man stood in Steven's doorstep, grinning widely. He seemed a little bit older, and his body was a teensy bit full, but he was still rather handsome. He was wearing a frayed denim jacket, a dark gray button down shirt, and fitted black jeans.

For some reason he looked a little bit crazy. Like he'd gone slightly mad. Overhyper.

It's probably the bright red hair, Steven thought.

"Are you Steven Battelle? From LostAlone?" the strange man asked, his face practically glowing.

Steven looked at him warily. "Yeah... that's me. What do you wa-AAAAAAAARRGHHH GET OFF ME PSYCHOPATH!!!!"

The guy had pretty much thrown himself at Steven (not like that you sickos) and was hugging him and crying and sobbing and burying his face in Steven's chest.

Well okay you sickos have a valid point. But seriously it's not happening.

Anyway, Steven's arms were pinned beneath the crying man's, who had wrapped his own arms around Steven's body, and was currently sobbing and crying, "Oh my god, I love you so much, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!"

Okay fine you sickos. Bitches.

Steven was bewildered and shouted on instinct. "GET THE FUCK OFF ME PLEASE," because British people have good manners.

The quite neurotic stranger removed his arms, wiped his eyes, calmed himself the fuck down, and exhaled. "I'm Gerard Way," he said pleasantly, extending his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Steven."

Steven's mind consisted of, who the fuck is this man and what the fuck is happening here. Unsure of what to say, he shook the hand.

"Okay," Gerard said breathily, trying to control himself around this amazing musician. "Yesterday, I heard your demo for your upcoming album being played by a friend of mine. It's mindfuckingly awesome. I understand that your band is signed to Sire Records?

Steven nodded. Where the bloody fucking hell is this going.
Gerard continued. "Well, I have some friends on that label, I met them when my band was checking them out. You know My Chemical Romance?"

Steven nodded. "Yes, The Black Parade was quite
excellent. Great album. Why?" He was still beyond confused.

Gerard started crying tears of sunshine and rainbows. Like, OMG OMG OMG HE KNOWS MY BAND

Between tears and wracking sobs of joy, Gerard managed to get out, "OMG THAT'S MY BAND! I SING! STEVEN I LOVE Y-"

Gerard was crying on an unhealthy level now. He went over to Steven and hugged him again, crying joyfully and rather uncontrollably.

Steven was still baffled. "Okay...."

Gerard was still crying a river. "STEVEN CAN I PLEASE PRODUCE YOUR BAND'S ALBUM IT WOULD MAKE ME SO HAPPY YOU HAVE NO IDEA-" sob sob sob.

The British singer didn't know what to say. I mean, Steven admired Gerard and all, but the band already had a producer. He wasn't going to reject Jeff the Really Enthusiastic Producer that he particularly liked, not for this well-meaning yet mentally unstable man.

"Well, we kind of hired our producer yesterday...."

"What?" Gerard immediately sobered up. "Wait, what?"

He immediately pushed Steven away, holding him at arm's length, studying him with slightly narrowed eyes.

Steven's eyes were large and clearly saying, "WTF man?!"

Gerard cleared his throat and dropped his hands, looking down at the floor apologetically. "Oh... okay then. Well, can I have some coffee?"

Steven gave Gerard his coffee.

After Gerard downed it at inhuman speed, he gave Steven another hug and said, "Well, I think your band is awesome, and I'm sure that the new album will be endless mindfuckery."

Steven didn't know what to say.

So Gerard left. After closing the door behind him Steven heard some loud sniffling. Then some literal headbanging, like, against the wall, out of sadness.

Guilt weighed Steven down, but he couldn't dwell on it much. He had to get to the studio and meet up with the rest of the guys.

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A/N: So if you haven't heard of LostAlone, I suggest you check them out. What happened with me is that I found out that Gerard Way had produced an album for this band. I never really checked it out until recently, and it is beyond words. (I haven't been this addicted to an album since TBP, so.) In here Gerard's actions are based on my reaction to LostAlone's album, I'm a UFO in this City. (Also, this is a British band. So read their dialogue in British accents, and if I use any British terms incorrectly, well, please don't kill me. Oh one more thing, sorry that this is, well. Fluffy. Just thought I would share it. Peace.)

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