Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Tales of the Untrue
... It's been a while. But anyway, here's the second chapter. My friend was really high at lunch yesterday, so I had to write something because that's just what I do, I guess. It took me a while to type it because I AM A FECKING LAZY ARSE. Don't be bothered by it. This story is for when my other stories are pissing me the fuck off. Which they are.
Mikey has only been moved into his shabby apartment for a day when he starts working. It was one of the reasons he moved, besides to be rid of that fake family. Close to his work, cheap. What else could he ask for? Gerard, maybe. His stupid older brother.
It’s a simple enough job he has, and it takes him about an hour to have most everything down for his training. Easy job, low income, really just something until he can do better. He’s not entirely sure he can do better than Starbucks, though. He gets to fucking work with coffee, something that he loves no matter if his brother was an addict as well. Fucking Gerard.
All Mikey has to do is not look like he’s about to kill someone, take orders and mix blends of pre-decided recipes. He’s thankful for the training, though. He’s always liked straight black coffee, but now if he wants to switch it up he isn’t condemned.
Nonetheless useful and uneventful, his first day was somewhat exhausting. Not the work, but dealing with his co-workers and fighting off paranoia every time a dark head of hair would duck into the store. He’s not stupid, but he still can’t help but imagine… He can’t help but illusion himself into thinking that a pale, dark haired man will walk back into his life and try to kill him. He can’t help but wander his thoughts down all the stupid possibilities, even if it’ll never happen.
A knock at what’s quite possibly his front door and Mikey is snapped from his thoughts, and he sighs, picking up his cooling mug of dark and delicious as he makes his way to the door, dragging his tired feet.
He opens the door slowly, still tired, his eyes travelling up the frame of a rather short man holding a pan filled with some sort of mysterious substance until he reaches a smiling face.
“Um…” Mikey says, no exactly knowing what to do.
“Hi, I’m Frank, your neighbor,” The man, Frank, says, still smiling kindly. “I live in apartment 121, just down the hall. Gee and I heard we had a newbie in here, so we thought we’d make you a hot meal. You don’t have to worry, though. I did the cooking. Gee can’t cook worth a shit. It’s veggie lasagna, which around here I’m somewhat famous for, but if you have any allergies I can tell you if it’ll be a problem.”
“I’m not allergic to anything,” Mikey says, shaking his head, still not really very sure of the situation. He has to struggle not to drop his coffee as the warm, but thankfully not hot, tray is shoved into his hands. “I’m Mikey,”
Frank’s smile widens just a bit. It’s almost creepy. “I’ll see you around, then. Return the pan whenever. Maybe we can go for a drink sometimes, my treat. It’ll be fun if the shirt you’re wearing is any indication,”
“Um… Okay.” Mikey uncertainly agrees, still off balance from the whole attack. Before anything else gets the chance to be said, Frank’s disappeared down the dimly-lit hallway.
That wasn’t the strangest, or oddest, introduction Mikey’s ever had, especially considering his time in the asylum, but it certainly wasn’t the most typical, either. And his Black Flag T-shirt got mentioned. The friendliness his neighbor displayed… how queer.
Maybe it’s normal. Mikey might just be out of touch with reality.
-- RUBBERDUCKIES --
Frank sighs, closing he apartment door behind him as he closes his eyes to the unpacked boxes from the old apartment.
“How is he?” His boyfriend rushes up to him, eager for information on their new neighbor.
“Tired. Said he’d get a drink with us. Had a cup of coffee, guess he takes after someone I could mention in that aspect. Honestly, Gerard. I don’t know why you’re so excited about a new neighbor. We’re new in this area as well.”
Gerard laughs. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Frank studies him for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “Friend from work?”
He gets a chuckle. “I write comic books. I don’t have any friends from work. “
Frank rolls his eyes, swatting his boyfriend’s shoulder. “And I’m actually a musician. You know what I mean.”
Gerard shrugs. “You do play the guitar very well.”
“You’re avoiding the subject.”
The taller of the two is silent for a moment. “Yeah. You could say he’s a friend from work. It’s something like that.”
Leave me some sugar? Please? It's like... the first thing I've posted since I started high school.
Mikey has only been moved into his shabby apartment for a day when he starts working. It was one of the reasons he moved, besides to be rid of that fake family. Close to his work, cheap. What else could he ask for? Gerard, maybe. His stupid older brother.
It’s a simple enough job he has, and it takes him about an hour to have most everything down for his training. Easy job, low income, really just something until he can do better. He’s not entirely sure he can do better than Starbucks, though. He gets to fucking work with coffee, something that he loves no matter if his brother was an addict as well. Fucking Gerard.
All Mikey has to do is not look like he’s about to kill someone, take orders and mix blends of pre-decided recipes. He’s thankful for the training, though. He’s always liked straight black coffee, but now if he wants to switch it up he isn’t condemned.
Nonetheless useful and uneventful, his first day was somewhat exhausting. Not the work, but dealing with his co-workers and fighting off paranoia every time a dark head of hair would duck into the store. He’s not stupid, but he still can’t help but imagine… He can’t help but illusion himself into thinking that a pale, dark haired man will walk back into his life and try to kill him. He can’t help but wander his thoughts down all the stupid possibilities, even if it’ll never happen.
A knock at what’s quite possibly his front door and Mikey is snapped from his thoughts, and he sighs, picking up his cooling mug of dark and delicious as he makes his way to the door, dragging his tired feet.
He opens the door slowly, still tired, his eyes travelling up the frame of a rather short man holding a pan filled with some sort of mysterious substance until he reaches a smiling face.
“Um…” Mikey says, no exactly knowing what to do.
“Hi, I’m Frank, your neighbor,” The man, Frank, says, still smiling kindly. “I live in apartment 121, just down the hall. Gee and I heard we had a newbie in here, so we thought we’d make you a hot meal. You don’t have to worry, though. I did the cooking. Gee can’t cook worth a shit. It’s veggie lasagna, which around here I’m somewhat famous for, but if you have any allergies I can tell you if it’ll be a problem.”
“I’m not allergic to anything,” Mikey says, shaking his head, still not really very sure of the situation. He has to struggle not to drop his coffee as the warm, but thankfully not hot, tray is shoved into his hands. “I’m Mikey,”
Frank’s smile widens just a bit. It’s almost creepy. “I’ll see you around, then. Return the pan whenever. Maybe we can go for a drink sometimes, my treat. It’ll be fun if the shirt you’re wearing is any indication,”
“Um… Okay.” Mikey uncertainly agrees, still off balance from the whole attack. Before anything else gets the chance to be said, Frank’s disappeared down the dimly-lit hallway.
That wasn’t the strangest, or oddest, introduction Mikey’s ever had, especially considering his time in the asylum, but it certainly wasn’t the most typical, either. And his Black Flag T-shirt got mentioned. The friendliness his neighbor displayed… how queer.
Maybe it’s normal. Mikey might just be out of touch with reality.
-- RUBBERDUCKIES --
Frank sighs, closing he apartment door behind him as he closes his eyes to the unpacked boxes from the old apartment.
“How is he?” His boyfriend rushes up to him, eager for information on their new neighbor.
“Tired. Said he’d get a drink with us. Had a cup of coffee, guess he takes after someone I could mention in that aspect. Honestly, Gerard. I don’t know why you’re so excited about a new neighbor. We’re new in this area as well.”
Gerard laughs. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Frank studies him for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “Friend from work?”
He gets a chuckle. “I write comic books. I don’t have any friends from work. “
Frank rolls his eyes, swatting his boyfriend’s shoulder. “And I’m actually a musician. You know what I mean.”
Gerard shrugs. “You do play the guitar very well.”
“You’re avoiding the subject.”
The taller of the two is silent for a moment. “Yeah. You could say he’s a friend from work. It’s something like that.”
Leave me some sugar? Please? It's like... the first thing I've posted since I started high school.
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