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Ben's Note: Be honest; who hates us? Come on. I don't blame you. This took a ridiculous amount of time to put together. GAAAAAAH-
Nate's Note: Sorry about the wait. ^^' Ben was in an accident, and I had some weird flu, but we're both okay now. Well, Ben's still in the hospital, but you know what I mean. Yay! Story time! Gather around, kiddies. The title comes from a band called 'Get Scared'. Welcome to chapter three.

-GERARD-

The rain sliced into my skin, cold and vicious despite the warm weather this morning. What was with this place? One minute it's hot enough to fry an egg on the principal's forehead, the next I'm drowning on the sidewalk. It's like The Big Man up there is throwing everything he has at my gorgeous body, trying to weaken me. Huh. God must be jealous.

I trudged home, the water making my clothes heavy and uncomfortable against my skin. My jeans became contricting, the denim squeezing and scraping my legs until walking was a desperate struggle. I was dimly aware of the cars honking beside me. What the hell was so important for these people that they need to smash my eardrums? It's called patience, douchebags. Learn to have some.

My house wasn't too far from the school; only just far enough to keep me nice and dying on the way to and from the paradise that was Belleville High. My father had refused to buy me a car when I was sixteen, and my ever-so-helpful mother had decided that I 'needed the excercise'. I'm pretty sure that was just her way of calling me fat. Thanks, mom. I guess I can't complain too much, though; between her and dear old Daddykins, I got the motivation I needed to drop the extra pounds. The ladies should've been all over me, what with my looks and talent. But no, the 'popular' crowd treated me like a bug splattered on their diamond windshield.

Idiots. They'll see. I might be stuck on this sidewalk, swimming in my clothes and freezing my ass off, but one day I'll be ruling the world. They'll wish they'd been smart enough to be nice to me. Why? Because I'll be the one writing the songs that ruined their plastic lives. I'll be up on stage, leading people everywhere toward a better world. When the cheerleaders are pregnant with unwanted children, when the jocks are living in cardboard boxes in puke-smeared alleyways, I'll be laughing in my mansion. Underdogs will be rolemodels, and it'll all be because of my songs. My ultimate revenge.

I sighed, spotting the front of my house. Mud was running down the pale brown panneling like dirty rivers, actually managing to clean what I thought was a permanent dirt coating. The grass was creeping over the stone path again. Mikey would have to mow the lawn later, before Dad could get angry about it. Sure I wasn't friends with the kid, but that didn't mean I liked to hear the old man shout at him. It was pitiful to see my brother, the gangly nerd who likes to blend into walls, get dragged screaming down to his room.

Don't get me wrong; my Dad's not abusive, or anything. He just... looses his temper sometimes. Once, when I was eight, I accidentally dropped his favourite coffee mug. Yeah, there was some yelling, a little spanking, but he'd had that mug since he graduated from high school. I deserved it, honestly. And doesn't every little kid get spanked? Dad was just doing what fathers are supposed to do. That's it.

Mom is a completely different story. She likes to pretend nothing happened. If I get a bad grade, she lets Dad deal with it. Mikey breaks something? Dad deals with it. Mom is strictly there to make sure that we're fed and ready for school every morning. The only time she ever gets mad is when she and Dad get into a fight, and that's usually after Mikey and I have retreated into our rooms for the night. But every married couple have their fights, right? It's a part of life.

I made my way up the path to our front door, whipping out my key and casting a glance around the street. Where was Mikey, anyway? I shrugged, deciding that it didn't really matter. the kid probably got held up at school by a teacher or something. They were always talking to him about how well he was doing, or how quiet he is in class, or about how polite he is, and all that shit. I'm just the rude goth kid that gives them nightmares. With a little giggle that was, as always, incredibly manly, I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Silence greeted me. Mom worked late at the hair salon, and Dad practically lived at his used car lot. Why spend time with your sons when you can rip people off by selling them shitty cars that won't make it three miles down the highway?

No. No, I shouldn't say that. Dad works very hard to keep a roof over my head. He just wants to make me happy.

"Don't disrespect me, Gerard."

"Sorry, Dad, I-"

"Shut up and come here!"

"But Dad-"

"DON'T DISOBEY ME! IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT I NEED TO WORK SO HARD IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

My fault.

I shut the door behind me, blinking away the memory as I wandered down the hallway. Mom needed to sweep the floors. Maybe Mikey won't be getting yelled at alone. My fingers dragged along the faded wallpaper, the rough material making a soft whoosing noise as my skin rubbed against it. It was a comforting sound, something I always did when I got home. Like my own little way of saying "Welcome home!" to myself.

God, I'm pathetic.

I rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, swinging my bookbag onto a chait with a satisfying 'thump'. I hummed to myself, opening the fridge with a lazy movement and leaning into it to hunt for some food. Come on, Mom, really? When's the last time you went shopping? Jesus. I sighed, grabbing a tube of yogurt and kicking the fridge door shut. After snatching up my bag and ripping the yogurt open with my teeth, I descended into my lair.

... Alright, so my 'lair' is a basement. Sue me. It's a pretty sweet set-up, though; band posters plastered on every wall (at least, the finished walls), an iPod dock for my baby, a nice collection of books and video games. I even managed to buy a laptop for myself last fall, which was carefully set up by the only window in the room. Said window was half-buried, giving me the perfect view of my neighbour's herb garden as well as the occasional snake.

Yep. Paradise.

I threw myself onto my bed, nearly choking on my yogurt tube, and stared at the half-finished ceiling. Once upon a time, my bedroom was supposed to be an office for my Dad to work in when he was an author. He actually managed to crank out a book or two, but they didn't sell very well and he was forced to move on. So, as the only kid old enough to sleep in a bedroom without his parents, I was moved into the basement. The heater kind of scared me at first, but after Dad built a wall to cover up the machines most people had in their basements, it became easy for me to ignore.

Now, onto serious business. It was time to solve the case of Sexy McSexerton. I mean, Frank.

I sucked some yogurt into my mouth, almost having it come up my nose as my clever brain managed to make a kid's snack into something dirty. I wonder if Frank eats yogurt out of tubes...

Off topic. Focus. That's right, Gee. Good boy.

Okay, so obviously McSex- FRANK knows me and my brother. Alright, good for him. Nice to see he's not alone, that people are talking to him-

Hold on.

EVERYONE was talking to him. Even...

Oh HELL no!

I rolled onto my stomach, grabbing my bag from the floor and ripping the zipper of the front pocket open. After much swearing as I was stabbed by my army of pencils, I managed to find my cellphone. That kid had better have a damn good reason for this!

I punched in a number, fury making me mess up twice before I was able to hit 'connect'.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"GOD DAMMIT, KI-"

"... Hello?"

I froze, the curse dying on my lips as Ben's quiet greeting reached my ear. Oh God. I knew that voice. That was his 'after-grown-up-time' voice. Well, this was awkward.

"Gerard?"

Shit. He knows it'm me. Okay, don't panic. If he's talking, that means he's either alone or Bob is taking him home again.

Oh wait. That just brought me right back to the reason I called him in the first place. Trying to ignore the images of an after-sexy-times Ben, I growled into the phone. "How do you know McSexerton?!"

"Who?"

Brilliant, Gee-baby. Absolutely gorgeous. I groaned, rubbing my temples with my free hand as I tried to calm down. "Frank," I said. "You were talking to him."

"Oh!" There was a shuffling on the other end, followed by a faint "It's just Gerard, Bob."

Just Gerard? Since when am I JUST Gerard?!

"Frank's my cousin."

"WHAT?!" My voice came out as a squeak, like someone had just stepped on a piglet in a pair of soccer cleats. A very sexy piglet. With very sexy black hair. And eyeliner. I closed my eyes, taking even breaths to calm myself down. "Frank's your... cousin?"

"Yep," Ben chirped, and I heard him stifle a yawn. "His mom is my mother's sister. We used to play together when we were kids."

Come to think of it, I could see the similarities. Tiny, green eyes-

"What's Frank's natural hair colour?"

"Brown."

Okay. Maybe they were related. "Alright..."

There was another yawn, followed by Bob's muffled voice telling Ben that they were almost to Ben's house. "Listen, Gee. I gotta go."

I frowned. Did this mean I wouldn't get to hear more about McSexerton? Shame. "Alright, Ben. See you tomorrow."

After I hung up, I turned onto my back and frowned up at the ceiling. Did I remember Frank from when I was little? I didn't think so. Mikey was the one that hung out with the snot-nosed kids at the playground, not me. I was above that. But Frank knew who I was, so that means we must have met, right? Unless he'd been stalking me. Not that I'd mind, of course-

A door shut upstairs, making me jump. If anyone asked, I'd say there were ten highly-trained ninja spiders on my ceiling. That's why I screamed. Poisonous spiders, too, with little samurai swords that played the Spiderman theme song when they hit something. Yeah. That'll convince them. I slowly crawled off my bed, careful not to trip over the dirty laundry, and made my way upstairs.

Mikey bounced into the kitchen, looking much happier than he'd been lately. Maybe he'd just won nerd of the year, and now he was leaving to accept his award from the cast of Star Wars. Not, of course, that I'd be jealous. Those were stupid movies. Really. Stupid.

... Okay, maybe the Princess was hot, but that's the only reason I watched them!

"Hey, Gee!" Mikey said, grinning widely enough to scare the Joker away.

I squinted at him. "Are you on drugs, or did that unicorn pillow of yours finally agree to marry you?"

He frowned a little, looking faintly hurt. I ignored it. The kid should be used to me by now. "No, Gerard," Mikey said, the grin returning to maximum power. "I just got some good news!"

"Sparkles is pregnant?"

"I am NOT fucking my pillow!"

I held my hands up, smirking as his face went red. He was just so easy to mess with. After a little cough and a few seconds of fixing the glasses perched on his nose, Mikey continued to tell me about the happiest moment of his socially-awkward life.

"You remember Frankie, right?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes..." Where was he going with this?

"Well, he moved back, and I-"

"Hey, Mikey? Where do I put my shoes?"

I could feel my jaw dropping. Shock and fear traveled through my veins, feezing my limbs. It was like someone had thrown me back into the table at the cafeteria, only thirty times harder.

Frank Motherfucking Iero rounded the corner, completely oblivious to the fact that I was in desperate need of a brown paper bag. "I just tossed my sneakers into the closet. That okay?" he asked, and I could definitely see the resemblance to Ben in the shape of his jaw.

Mikey nodded, looking as if he'd just won the lottery. "That's fine. You remember Gee, right? The kid who drew the monsters on your shoes when we were little?

Frank looked at me, a tiny smirk curving the corners of his lips. "We met earlier today, actually," he said, and I remembered the stare he'd given me at lunch. Right now his eyes seemed to be looking right through me, as if my body was made of glass and my soul was something visible.

But I couldn't concentrate on that. Fuck, no.

Mikey had said that I was the one that drew monsters on Frank's shoes when we were little.

I did draw monsters on a kid's shoes, because that kid was my brother's best friend. I had thought he was pretty cool, for a little guy. I drew a few vampires, some bats, even a cute little zombie smiley face.

Because he was pretty cool, for a little guy.

Seven years ago, he was a little guy. Four years younger than my eleven-year-old self.

My brain scrambled, the stress making such a simple equation something nearly impossible to figure out. When I finally reached an answer, I almost passed out. Oh God, I was such a sick bastard. The fantasy with the yogurt-

Oh God.

Frank's grin still remained, taunting me.

Sexy McSexerton was only fourteen.