Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Face It
Face It
“Face it, Way, Fall Out Boy is way better than MCR.”
I let out a snort of incredulous laughter at the short bassist, a cocky little guy named Pete Wentz, as I nonchalantly throw my cigarette to the ground next to aforementioned bassist’s tour bus.
“How d’ya figure that one out?” I drone back, eyebrows raised in acceptance of the little challenge that’s about to go ahead.
Pete looks around the lot, sunshine glinting off of the sunglasses that he has resting uselessly on his forehead, and a cheeky smirk paints itself onto his tanned face. Everything about him, from the way his jeans ride on his hips to reveal the top of his boxers to the way that he always assumes that everyone wants to hear what’s going on in his head, exudes the kind of arrogance that I honestly can’t stand in a person. But I have to stand it; this guy is Mikey’s best friend and it’s the least I can do for the kid to try and get along with the guy who can make him laugh when I think he’s about to cry.
“We have Peterick.” He replies, voice dripping with self-assured smugness. “Fans dig it.”
Okay, he definitely has a point there; I know from experience how much fans can get into pairing us off with one another. Not that we really do anything to stop it all that much.
“Yeah, well, we have Frerard.” I shoot proudly, my own cocky little grin dancing onto my face at the memories of my onstage antics with the adorably sinful little guitarist. “It’s a phenomenon.”
His smile falters, but comes nowhere near dropping off his lips at my sure statement of pure fact. He nods in acknowledgement of something that even his crazy imagination can’t deny and then closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he tries to come up with a way to counter my argument. Normally this sort of thing would bug me, maybe make me a little angry, but I can’t help but enjoy this; it’s finally my chance to take Wentz down a peg or two.
“We have two seriously awesome guitarists; Joe Trohman and Patrick Stump.” He says with an air of finality, unmistakable pride in his voice at his two best friends who are undeniably good at what they do.
But so are my best friends. Incredibly good at shredding it up like every time they play will be their last.
“Toro and Iero.” I snap back, looking up to the sky to see that the sun is finally starting to set in the crimson sky, meaning that it’ll soon be time to get ready to perform to our loyal legions of fans.
Again, Wentz nods but his smile doesn’t give way to a look of defeat; only mild acknowledgement.
“Touché.” He mumbles, lighting up another cigarette to combat his pre-show nerves that I only know about because Mikes gives that as his reason for coming to the Fall Out Boy bus every night before shows, always says it’s to help Pete work through the stage fright that I would never put with his mannerisms. “But we have the greatest fans.”
I almost choke on my breath in incredulous disbelief. Pete Wentz is like a dog with a bone when he gets into an argument, no matter how friendly the argument may be, he just won’t drop it or accept the defeat that he must surely know is swiftly heading his way.
“That’s stupid, Wentz. We have the MCRmy.” I chuckle at the thought of all of those kids wanting nothing more than to just belong, finding refuge inside of our music making me feel like a proud father on prom night. “Besides, most of your fans are our fans too and vice versa. That was a weak point to make and you know it.” I roll my eyes exasperatedly as he crosses his arms like a temper-tantrumming toddler, eyes daring me to make a point for him to pick apart. And there’s one that immediately springs to the front of my mind. “We have Mikey.”
When I turn to face Pete after a few seconds of silence I see that his smirk has vanished, being replaced with a huge beam that can only be described as wistful. The kind of wistful that makes his cheeks burn red and his eyes glisten in adulation. Almost as though thinking of Mikey is the best thing in the world.
Hang on. That’s the same kind of look Mikey gets whenever someone brings up Pete, especially when they bring up the amount of time my brother spends with ball of energy that is Pete Wentz. Especially when people ask him what the hell he does when he sleeps over on the Fall Out Boy bus that makes him late for breakfast every morning.
They’re not…
No. They can’t be. Not sweet little Mikey and arrogant asshole Pete.
Nah. No way.
“I’ll give you that one, Way. You definitely have the sexiest bassist. He’s the best kisser too.”
A/N: This has been kicking around in my head for a while, I hope that you like it! This is my first attempt at trying to do something vaguely humorous, so sorry if it was the epitome of epic failure. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
“Face it, Way, Fall Out Boy is way better than MCR.”
I let out a snort of incredulous laughter at the short bassist, a cocky little guy named Pete Wentz, as I nonchalantly throw my cigarette to the ground next to aforementioned bassist’s tour bus.
“How d’ya figure that one out?” I drone back, eyebrows raised in acceptance of the little challenge that’s about to go ahead.
Pete looks around the lot, sunshine glinting off of the sunglasses that he has resting uselessly on his forehead, and a cheeky smirk paints itself onto his tanned face. Everything about him, from the way his jeans ride on his hips to reveal the top of his boxers to the way that he always assumes that everyone wants to hear what’s going on in his head, exudes the kind of arrogance that I honestly can’t stand in a person. But I have to stand it; this guy is Mikey’s best friend and it’s the least I can do for the kid to try and get along with the guy who can make him laugh when I think he’s about to cry.
“We have Peterick.” He replies, voice dripping with self-assured smugness. “Fans dig it.”
Okay, he definitely has a point there; I know from experience how much fans can get into pairing us off with one another. Not that we really do anything to stop it all that much.
“Yeah, well, we have Frerard.” I shoot proudly, my own cocky little grin dancing onto my face at the memories of my onstage antics with the adorably sinful little guitarist. “It’s a phenomenon.”
His smile falters, but comes nowhere near dropping off his lips at my sure statement of pure fact. He nods in acknowledgement of something that even his crazy imagination can’t deny and then closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he tries to come up with a way to counter my argument. Normally this sort of thing would bug me, maybe make me a little angry, but I can’t help but enjoy this; it’s finally my chance to take Wentz down a peg or two.
“We have two seriously awesome guitarists; Joe Trohman and Patrick Stump.” He says with an air of finality, unmistakable pride in his voice at his two best friends who are undeniably good at what they do.
But so are my best friends. Incredibly good at shredding it up like every time they play will be their last.
“Toro and Iero.” I snap back, looking up to the sky to see that the sun is finally starting to set in the crimson sky, meaning that it’ll soon be time to get ready to perform to our loyal legions of fans.
Again, Wentz nods but his smile doesn’t give way to a look of defeat; only mild acknowledgement.
“Touché.” He mumbles, lighting up another cigarette to combat his pre-show nerves that I only know about because Mikes gives that as his reason for coming to the Fall Out Boy bus every night before shows, always says it’s to help Pete work through the stage fright that I would never put with his mannerisms. “But we have the greatest fans.”
I almost choke on my breath in incredulous disbelief. Pete Wentz is like a dog with a bone when he gets into an argument, no matter how friendly the argument may be, he just won’t drop it or accept the defeat that he must surely know is swiftly heading his way.
“That’s stupid, Wentz. We have the MCRmy.” I chuckle at the thought of all of those kids wanting nothing more than to just belong, finding refuge inside of our music making me feel like a proud father on prom night. “Besides, most of your fans are our fans too and vice versa. That was a weak point to make and you know it.” I roll my eyes exasperatedly as he crosses his arms like a temper-tantrumming toddler, eyes daring me to make a point for him to pick apart. And there’s one that immediately springs to the front of my mind. “We have Mikey.”
When I turn to face Pete after a few seconds of silence I see that his smirk has vanished, being replaced with a huge beam that can only be described as wistful. The kind of wistful that makes his cheeks burn red and his eyes glisten in adulation. Almost as though thinking of Mikey is the best thing in the world.
Hang on. That’s the same kind of look Mikey gets whenever someone brings up Pete, especially when they bring up the amount of time my brother spends with ball of energy that is Pete Wentz. Especially when people ask him what the hell he does when he sleeps over on the Fall Out Boy bus that makes him late for breakfast every morning.
They’re not…
No. They can’t be. Not sweet little Mikey and arrogant asshole Pete.
Nah. No way.
“I’ll give you that one, Way. You definitely have the sexiest bassist. He’s the best kisser too.”
A/N: This has been kicking around in my head for a while, I hope that you like it! This is my first attempt at trying to do something vaguely humorous, so sorry if it was the epitome of epic failure. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
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