FicWad

AHHHH, I'M SO HAPPYYYY!
Well not really, but I just saw something that made my day.
I made a LJ like two weeks ago (Defiant2thexEnd incase any of you who have an account want to add me as a friend) and I have begun to post this story on there.
I have been re-reading through each chapter and fixing/adding things as needed.
Anyway, there's this blog I'm sure many of you have heard of: 'Frerard For The Masses', and someone recommended my story on there :D
I know that may not seem like such a big deal, but it is to me. I've been following that blog for a while and love it to pieces. The fact that someone liked my story enough to submit it made me so happy.
It's inspired me to start updating this more frequently and work extra hard to make each chapter enjoyable.
So here's a long ass chapter to match the long ass A/N ~
Hope you all like it!

-ASMx3



Frank's POV


If there's one thing I find a great deal of release in, and enjoy to no end, it's getting a new tattoo. Some might say I've become addicted to it, considering I have almost ten and I'm not even eighteen yet. By the time I hit my twenties I'll have at least one sleeve completely filled, but that's not a problem in my book. Sure, it's going to be hell finding a steady job if this band endeavor doesn't work out, but it's not like I want some office job anyway. Fuck society and it's image; I love getting my skin permanently inked and I'm not going to stop just because some douche bag in a suit and tie doesn't approve.


As soon as I heard about this tattoo parlor from a customer at the music store, I knew I had to come and check it out. Now that I have some hard earned cash to blow, both from my part time job and gigs I've played with the band, I thought I'd come and add to my collection of body art. My birthday isn't for another three days, but it's also a perfect gift to myself.


I had planned on coming here and spending the rest of the day alone. It's nothing against the guys, I just haven't had any time to myself to reflect on the past few weeks and try to sort some thoughts out that have been running wild through my head as of late. But of course, things didn't go as planned.


I had just finished getting ready, hair still damp from the quick shower I took, and was about to make my ninja-esq escape from the apartment. Everyone was still asleep, worn out from the band practice we had the night before. I myself had noticeable bags under my eyes, but a bit of lost sleep is worth sacrificing if it means having peace and quiet for the rest of the day.


I had just begun to unlock the front door when I heard a cheerful greeting from behind me.


"'Morning, babe."


The universe must have some kind of grudge against me. I send a pissy fuck you to which ever force of nature causes encounters such as these and wonder what I ever did to deserve the crappy luck that I have. Sighing in defeat, I turn around to be met with the one face I was hoping I wouldn't see today. 


"Hey, Pete."


Pete walks over to where I'm stood and plants a brief kiss on my lips. 


"Where are you off to so early?" 


I consider making up a lame lie and running off before Pete can react, but I know him all too well. The fucker would surely follow me.


"I'm uh, gonna go get a new tat done at that parlor everyone's been on about. I'll probably be gone for most of the day, these things take time. So um, later!"


Just when I thought I was home free, the door half way opened, Pete laughs and shuts it with his foot.


"You know I'd be happy to go with you baby cakes," -have I ever mentioned that I hate, no despise the stupid nicknames Pete calls me? Because I really fucking do, "just give me a minute to get ready."


"You really don't have to, Pete. Seriously. I wouldn't want to bother you or anything…I'll be fine on my own."


"I insist" he says, flashing that grin that makes my stomach churn, and not in the good kind of way. "I'll be right back."


Apparently some people don't know how to take a hint. Then again, I doubt he picks up on anything with that huge ego in the way.


So that's how I ended up here, sat in a red cushioned chair, waiting for the tattoo artist to finish cleaning up her equipment while Pete blows kisses and winks at me from across the room.


It's ironic that the cause of one of the stresses, or the main one if I'm being completely honest, I was hoping to relieve during the process of getting this tattoo done decided to tag along. Pete is defeating the purpose of all this and he doesn't even realize it. And why is that? Because I'm too much of a pussy to speak my mind and tell Pete to just back off already. Instead, I've just been playing along thus far, doing nothing but digging myself into an even deeper hole. Pretty soon I'll be in so deep there won't be any way out.


I almost rub my hands across my face in frustration until I remember that I was instructed by Rebecca, the tattoo artist, to keep my hands as still as possible. After a brief explanation of what I wanted done, Rebecca had sketched out the outline on my knuckles. The word "Halloween" is now written across them in the font of my choice, waiting to be inked permanently. I've wanted to do this ever since I was a little kid and my mother wrote it for me in washable Crayola marker one year on the corresponding holiday.


I'm sure she didn't mean it as a future tattoo idea, it was simply done in a spontaneous attempt to cheer me up. I had developed a nasty case of bronchitis that year and was under strict orders from my pediatrician not to step a single foot out into the cold, October air. I was only six years old at the time, so that didn't sit very well with me. All I wanted was to go out in my Batman costume and trick-or-treat with the other neighborhood kids, but no matter how much I whined and pleaded, my mother wouldn't budge.


Instead, we spent the night watching my favorite movies, feasting on popcorn and various sugary sweets, and making Halloween themed arts and crafts. By the end of the night, I was actually glad I couldn't go out trick-or-treating, because I had more fun at home with my mom than I ever could have had with any snot-nosed brat on a sugar high.


"So," a voice says from right behind me, breath hot on my neck, making me jump a foot in the air in surprise, "what's with the tat?"


Pete. Of course. I almost forgot he was here.


I make sure to give him an annoyed glare at almost scaring me to death before answering.


"Halloween." I say, holding my fists next to each other so the word is completely spelled out, "It's my favorite holiday and just so happens to be my birthday, too."


"Really?" Pete exclaims, seeming equally shocked and impressed, "Dude, that's Friday! Were you planning on just keeping it a secret from all of us?"


"I don't know." I hadn't consciously made an effort to with-hold the information from everyone, I just hadn't been thinking about it all that much and didn't see the point in telling anyone. "What's the big deal? It's just my birthday."


"Just your birthday?" he says incredulously, like I just claimed that two plus two equals chicken, "Birthdays are important and should be boasted about shamelessly to family, friends, and acquaintances. Especially a birthday that's on halloween. That's gotta be the coolest thing I've ever heard! We've gotta throw you a huge party. Everyone'll have to wear costumes, and we'll buy sweet halloween decorations, and I'll-"


Pete suddenly stops talking, his eyes go wide, and his mouth drops open, resembling a cartoon character that is about to be squished like a pancake by a falling anvil.


"Fuck! We have a show on Friday!"


I was already aware of this, I always count down the days until our next show. I don't think I'll ever get sick of the feeling of being on stage, even if it's only in front of fifty people at most so far. I have no problem with having to play a show on my birthday. It's not work to me whatsoever, it's actually the best way I could imagine spending my eighteenth birthday. Pete, however, seems to think other wise.


"So?" I say, not seeing the big tragedy Pete is making this out to be, "I don't mind."


"But it's your birthday!"


Seriously, the way Pete's looking at me, you'd think I've sprouted a second head or something.


"Don't worry, boo" again with the irritating pet names, "We'll figure something out. We can always just throw the party after the show. It's gonna be insane."


I really wish Pete would just see that I don't want an 'insane' party, but Wentz isn't one to ever see things clearly. The fact that he's leaning over to kiss me while I scoot as far back into the chair as I can in an attempt to escape his slobbery lips is proof enough.


Luckily, you can practically taste my sarcasm, can't you?, Rebecca chooses that exact moment to finally emerge from the back room and catch Pete and I mid-lip lock. That's another person I can jot down on my mental list of People-Who-Think-Pete-And-I-Are-Dating.


Once Pete decides to return my lips and sees Rebecca hovering around, ready to begin the tattooing process, he gets up and begins to head back to the waiting area at the front of the shop.


"Wait," Rebecca says, addressing Pete, "you can stay with your boyfriend if you want. I'm not supposed to let anyone else back here, but the shops pretty empty right now, and you guys make such a cute couple, I can make an exception."


I am about to correct the young girl that Pete is in fact not my boyfriend, (okay, maybe not, but the thought was there, alright?) but Pete answers first.


"Cool." he simply says, pulling the chair he was sat in a minute ago closer to my own and planting a kiss on my cheek, "Thanks."


Sure, I could sit here and metaphorically shoot daggers through my eyes at Pete until he literally chokes on his own blood. I could start yet another mental war inside my already troubled mind and finally drive myself to the point of insanity. I could punch Pete in the balls for being such a prick and claiming things we have never even come close to discussing, piss him off, and get thrown out of the band and my home. There's a lot of things I could do, but I decide to choose 'none of the above' for once and store this new boyfriend ordeal into a safe place where I can deal with it later.


I'm not going to let Pete ruin this for me. This is the first tattoo I'm getting as a free soul. A special gift to myself for making it this far through my father's abuse. A salute to the bright future that I know waits before me. An unforgettable childhood memory that is tied in with my deceased mother.


As Rebecca starts on the tattoo, I make sure to close my eyes and focus on nothing else but the sound of the buzzing needle and the sweet pain it causes as it breaks through my skin.


Gerard's POV


I'm flying. No, not flying, soaring. Flying takes too much effort, at least in my opinion. I don't exactly have a set of wings, so I wouldn't be able to say from personal experience, but watching birds insistently flap theirs seems like a lot of work. What I'm feeling right now is so effortless and blissful that there's no other word to describe it but soaring.


Soaring like an eagle in an endless expanse of clear blue without a care in the world. I don't know which way is up or down, left or right, but some how that doesn't worry me at all. As long as this feeling stays lodged in my system, I won't have the need to worry about anything ever again.


What have I been doing wasting my time and cash on silly little pills? This heavenly white substance makes them look like cheap candy in comparison. 


I am still vaguely aware of the fact that I'm sat on Bert's couch, Bert himself sat in the cushion next to me. He promised he'd keep me company the first few times I snorted the drug, in order to try to prevent any 'bad trips', as he called it. He said he wishes someone had been there for him his first time. He wouldn't go into detail, but he assured me that it was a fairly grim experience. It suddenly hits me just how thoughtful of him that was. 


Apparently my mouth has no filter when intoxicated because I immediately voice my thoughts to Bert.


"You're a really sweet dude, Bert. Y'know that?"


Bert's response is to laugh lightly and pat me on the back.


"Thanks, man."


"No, I'm serious" I argue, sensing that Bert isn't taking me serious just because I'm a little high, "Your ass is pretty nice, too."


Okay, maybe I'm more than just a little high, but whatever. I know Bert's a compliment whore, anyway. He won't complain.


Bert just shakes his head in amusement and gets himself situated more comfortably on the couch, resting his legs on my lap as he stretches out and lays his head on the arm rest on the other side. I continue to make random conversation, all of which even I can tell doesn't make any sense. I keep going off on tangents and moving on to other thoughts in the middle of a sentence. I'm too wired too even be embarrassed about it, but at least Bert seems to be amused, nodding every now and then to show he's listening to my mindless banter.


Unfortunately, I apparently say everything that runs through my mind when I'm high on coke. Words spill out of my mouth before my brain even gets the chance to process their meanings. This isn't a problem until I run into more personal topics I shouldn't be touching on while in the presence of a friend.


Bert has begun to drift asleep at this point, eyelids almost completely closed as he slowly loses consciousness. I observe with newly found interest that Bert's mid-drift is almost completely on display where his shirt has ridden up. The exposed skin triggers something in me and turns me on in mere seconds. 


What the fuck is wrong with me? Bert's my friend, I'm not attracted to him in any way, shape, or form. Our constant friendly flirting is just a run on joke we having going on, nothing more. But if that really is true, I think to myself, then why am I currently positioning myself on top of him, trying to expose even more hot flesh.


Bert fully awakens once he feels my body weight on him, pinning him to the couch. 


"Gerard? What are-"


I know he's going to stop this before it even gets started, so I shut him up with a quick, aggressive kiss. It's not the best kiss I've ever had, I'm too twitchy and distracted to focus on it, but I need to feel some skin on mine, some kind of closeness, before I lose my mind. 


Some how Bert over comes my animalistic pounce and grabs my wrists in both of his hands, holding me still.


"Dude, you've gotta calm down" easy for him to say, he doesn't have his heart trying to beat out of his chest right now and his groin burning for attention.


"I am calm," I lie, "I just need to.." 


I try to throw myself on Bert again, but he's more prepared this time and holds me back before I can make contact with his lips.


"You don't want this, Gerard. It's just the cocaine making you horny."


Okay, now that explains a lot. It doesn't change the fact that I'm still really turned on, but it does force me to focus more on reality instead of the fuzzed up world my mind is creating right now. Embarrassment follows shortly after I realize that I just literally threw myself at one of my closest friends. I groan and bury my face in my hands, mumbling miserably from behind them when I finally speak.


"I'm so sorry, I'm such a fucking pathetic idiot."


Bert immediately scoots over to my side of the couch and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. 


"No you're not," he argues, eye brows knitted together in concern "It's just one of those things that happens when you let the drugs take over your control. I've done way more embarrassing things while high, trust me."


I know Bert is capable of making a fool out of himself, but I doubt anything is more embarrassing than what I just did. It tops falling on your face in front of your crush and getting caught watching gay porn by your mother, both of which I have unfortunately experienced in my life time.


"Once, I was so fucked up that I thought Jeph was an alien." 


I immediately burst into laughter and Bert just smiles, recounting the rest of the story.


"I locked him inside a closet and tried to convince Quinn that we had to find a way to get him back to the mother ship before he kidnapped us both and used us for his weird alien experiments. Quinn says he kept trying to explain to me that I was just hallucinating, but I wouldn't listen."


"This continued until I managed to convince myself that Quinn was an alien too. I started calling up random friends of mine and knocking on neighbors' doors, warning them of the upcoming alien invasion."


At this point I'm laughing so hard that I have to clench my stomach due to how much it's aching. I'm going to have a six pack after this if I don't stop laughing soon. Bert scowls at me, but I can tell he's amused as well.


"Shut up, asshole" he says, shoving me and rolling his eyes.


My eyes are watering when I finally manage to get a hold of myself. Bert's story has made me feel a little better about the whole embarrassment issue, but now the coke has begun to wear off and I have a completely different issue on my hands.


I can feel the meek shadow of depression fogging my drug induced, gitty mood. I try to hold on to any positive thoughts I can conjure up to keep the over whelming feeling of sadness and hopelessness at bay, but I can't seem to find any. That in itself is a depressing realization.


I can't let this feeling slip away. I need some comfort, something that will mask my true emotions to the point where I can fool myself into thinking that I'm happy. 


"I need more" I whisper under my breath, looking over at Bert helplessly.


"What, more embarrassing stories? Sure, I've got plenty. So this one time, I bet Quinn that I could pick up this guy at a bar while wearing a pink tutu. It was puffy as hell and itched but-"


"No, no. That's not what I meant." I say, cutting Bert off, "I need more coke."


"No way, man. You've already had more than enough for your second time."


"But-"


"No buts" Bert says, sounding like a strict mother, "You should try getting some sleep."


The fact that Bert believes there's any chance I'll be able to sleep through the ramblings of my mind is almost amusing. But once I see him yawn, I figure I'll play along, at least for his sake. He's been up almost the entire night, keeping an eye on me until my high burned out. 


"Sure" I say, and walk to the hall in the closet in search of a blanket.


By the time I find one and get a glass of water from the kitchen, Bert is fast asleep on the couch. I try softly shaking him awake, but it's no use. He's out like a light. I figure I'll just take the floor for the night, not wanting to use the bed in Bert's room without permission. Besides, I think Jeph's already taken over it.


I go in search of another blanket and drape it over Bert's sleeping form. He shifts in his sleep, causing his cell phone, house keys, and what seems to be a folded up flyer to some upcoming show at the club we've gone to a couple of times, to fall out of his back pocket. I catch it all before it hits the floor and set it on the coffee table behind me.


I click a button on the side of Bert's phone in order to illuminate the screen, curious as to what time (or hell, even what day) it is. Ever since I've been on this constant loop of intoxication the days have seemed to merely morph into one another. My sleeping schedule is all fucked up and I'm usually not sober for a long enough period of time to care about what day of the week it is. With no job or responsibilities, every day feels like a Friday night.


I had begun to wonder how Bert keeps up with rent and other expenses that come with living on his own with no source of income. After voicing my curiosity to Quinn, he informed me that Bert survives off a bank account his father opened up for him when he was born. His father owns his own company that is very successful according to Quinn, so the money in the account is enough to tide him over for years to come. 


Figures that Bert's a trust-fund baby. I never would have guessed after taking a look at his apartment and appearance, but it makes sense once you match it with his personality. Bert doesn't care about where he lives or what he's wearing, as long as he has a drink in his hand and a pocket full of drugs. So, naturally, that's where all his money goes.


The display on Bert's phone shows that it's 4:45 a.m. on October 29th. The fact that halloween is two days away makes my already dark mood plummet into complete and utter abyss. Halloween has always been Mikey and I's favorite holiday, being the horror movie addicts that we are. We've spent every halloween since Mikey was born together. Once I got into high school, Bob and Ray began to join us on our yearly escapades. This is going to be the first halloween that Mikey and I are apart.


I get the sudden urge to call my little brother and book the first flight available back to New Jersey. But of course I can't, that's insane. I've made this decision and I'm going to stick with it. I don't think Mikey would want me back, anyway. His life must be so much smoother without his addict brother weighing down his skinny shoulders. Although the thought makes my chest tighten and my eyes sting, it helps in getting my head on straight enough to focus on the reason I'm here in the first place.


I curl up in my blanket on the carpet next to the couch, sleep suddenly seeming like a great idea. Half of me is hoping that I die in my sleep and just get it over with, while the other half hopes that I wake up in my own bed back home, realizing that this whole thing was just a horrible nightmare.



F.Y.I for anyone who was wondering, the story Bert tells Gerard about hallucinating that Jeph was an alien is based on an actual trip I once had.
Before you get all preachy, yes I do drugs, yes I know they're bad, but I still manage to make extremely high grades while taking college classes in high school and I don't usually get into much trouble, so leave me alone and let me have my fun.
But yeah, I was tripping on hash brownies and started hallucinating that one of my close guy friends was a legit alien.
It was terrifying at the time, but makes for a fucking hilarious story to tell xD
Oh, and incase you missed the subtle hints I hid in this chapter, I think you're all gonna really like the next chapter ;)
Please R&R!