Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Vampires Will Never Hurt You
Hands And Faces
3 reviewsPete acts out of character. Frank starts to accept his sexuality. Gerard shops for his 'date' with Frank, with a little-scratch that, a lot- of help from Mikey.
3Funny
Chapter 9
Frank’s POV
First, second, and third period go by in the blink of one of my scarlet eyeliner-rimmed eyes. I can’t focus on my work. All I can think about is the fact that I’m going to Gerard’s house after school. What will we talk about?? Will he bring up that random hug I gave him in the hospital? What if it’s so awkward that we never talk again afterwards? My nails are chewed down to stubs by the time lunch rolls around. I’m incredibly excited to hang out with Gerard, yet I’m so nervous that I want to throw up. I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.
As I sit down at the usual lunch table, my friends give me strange looks. Pete doesn’t look at me. “Hey, guys,” I say awkwardly, setting my tray down. I take a swig of water, avoiding eye contact with them.
“So, you’re gay?” Ray blurts.
“Don’t worry, man. We totally support you.” Bob adds.
I choke on my water. “W-What??!” I splutter. Pete hits me on the back, making water squirt out of my nose. I cough violently as water splatters onto my Black Flag hoodie.
“Come on, dude. Yesterday you said-” Bob begins.
“That I don’t like girls, I know.” I sigh, wiping water off my face. Next to me, Pete snickers quietly.
“What?” I ask, irritated. Why does everyone think I’m gay?? I’m not! Well, actually… I really don’t know. It feels weird to admit it to myself.
“Come outside with me,” Pete replies, standing up. I frown in confusion, but I get up and follow him anyways. We weave through the commons and out the front doors.
“Smoke?” Pete offers, fishing a pack out of his pocket.
“Thanks.” I take a cigarette and light it with my Zippo. “So, why did you drag me outside?”
Pete takes a deep drag on his cigarette, lips curved into a small smile around it. He seems to have cheered up a lot since this morning. “No particular reason.” he says vaguely.
“Fucking tell me!” I whine. Pete’s never like this. We’ve been friends for years. Pete trusts me, and he tells me everything.
“I’m just…” Pete looks down at his beat-up Converse. “I’m just really happy you’re gay.”
I begin to cough violently again, just like I did with the water. I can practically feel cigarette smoke coming out of my nose. “What do y-you m-mean?” I choke, my eyes watering and voice raspy from inhaling too much smoke.
Pete laughs and shakes his head. “You’re so fucking weird sometimes.”
I punch his arm playfully. “Shut up.” Inside, my head is spinning. He’s happy that I’m gay? But why??
Wait… I just admitted to myself that I’m gay. My stomach tingles a little at the thought. I’m… I’m gay.
“So, er, why does that make you happy?” I ask.
Pete responds by leaning close and placing his cigarette to my lips. I widen my eyes in surprise, but I take a drag from his cigarette anyways. Pete watches me with half-lidded, seductive eyes. And… oh god. His hand is on my hip. What the hell???
“Because I like boys, too.” he whispers. Then he pulls away and walks off, leaving me confused as hell with my best friend’s cigarette dangling from my lips.
--
Gerard’s POV
“We need po ‘di latte, e pane, e coca…” Mikey mutters under his breath as he tosses random food items into the shopping cart. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. I hate this place. It smells like merda, there’s way too many people, and the lighting is harsh and makes my skin prickle uncomfortably. Artificial light isn’t a danger to me, but it makes me feel vulnerable and exposed.
“Do we really need all this food?” I groan, wanting to get out of this place.
“We need to appear as human as possible.” Mikey replies, turning the cart into the next aisle. He grabs several packages of toilet paper and adds them to the cart.
I grab a box of condoms. “These are pretty human,” I snicker, tossing the box into the cart.
“Nizza.” Mikey laughs. In the next aisle, he fills the cart with an overwhelming amount of food.
“I don’t think Frank’s going to look through our pantry.” I say, my stomach clenching when I say his name aloud.
“Probably not… but you’re going to make him dinner, so we need food.” Mikey carelessly tosses a can of salsa into the cart. It lands on top of a carton of eggs.
“Gesù! Those will break.” I pick the can up and set it back on the shelf. Mikey promptly tosses it back in, landing on the bread this time. I pinch the bridge of my nose in exasperation. “We can’t cook.” I sigh.
“Who’s we?” Mikey laughs. “I said you are going to cook. You love cooking.”
“Yeah, a century and a half ago!”
“I’m sure you can come up with something.”
“Mikey, the thought of even touching human food makes me want to throw up.”
“You can’t throw up.”
“Oh, pensi de essere intelligente…”
“Um, excuse me.”
Mikey and I turn to see a woman and her young daughter awkwardly standing in front of our cart, looking pale and uncomfortable.
“Scusa…” I pull the cart closer to the shelves so they can pass. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. The mother puts her hand on her daughter’s back and quickly ushers her down the aisle, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“I think she heard our conversation.” Mikey says, examining the back of a cereal box. “26 grams of sugar per serving? Why do humans treat their stomachs like garbage disposals?”
We spend the next half hour shopping. Well, more like Mikey filling the cart with useless items and me dragging my feet and groaning. Everyone in the store gives us strange looks. I don’t blame them. It’s kind of odd to see two abnormally pale guys wearing matching all-black attire walking around a supermarket together.
When the cashier rings up our items, my jaw drops open. We’ve racked up over 800 dollars worth of food and random household objects.
“Find everything okay?” the bored-looking cashier asks in a monotone.
“Yep!” Mikey says cheerfully, swiping his credit card. I cringe. I shouldn’t worry, really. We have plenty of money from auctioning Italian antiques and selling my art. I just don’t like spending large amounts of money. Except, of course, when it comes to Armani suits and silk button-down shirts.
God, I’m so Italian.
--
Frank’s POV
I spend the rest of the day in total and utter confusion. I can’t get the image of Pete out of my head. His lust-filled brown eyes locked with mine, watching me intently as I take a shaky drag from his cigarette. His words still swim through my mind. “I’m just really happy you’re gay.” What the hell does that mean? And that weird, sad hug in the hallway… Either this is all just one big, fucked-up dream, or I’m tripping.
After sixth period, I trudge to my locker to collect my things and catch the bus. I just want to go home, wrap my aching leg, and sleep. Maybe play some video games. Today’s been a confusing day, and I have a throbbing headache.
All thoughts of going home are completely wiped out when I reach my locker. A handsome, raven-haired boy is leaning against the cold metal, hands in his pockets, hips tilted slightly forward in a casual pose. It’s such an incredibly sexy sight that I want to jump on him right then and there and snog his face off.
“G-Gerard!” I beam at the sex god in front of me. Oh god, how could I have forgotten that he was going to pick me up after school? My palms begin to sweat and heat threatens to creep up my neck. Don’t… blush…
“Ready to go?” he asks, smiling and holding out his hand.
I freeze. Is… is he asking to hold my hand?? OHMYGOD. My heart swells, does the cha-cha, and does a 360. I discreetly wipe my palm on my jeans and place it in his.
Gerard looks shocked for a moment. Then he bursts into laughter. “I was offering to take your bag.”
My heart deflates. “Oh. No, that’s okay. I can carry it.” I mumble. But Gerard snatches my backpack right off my back and slings it over his shoulder anyways.
“You’re injured,” he says.
“My leg is burned, not my arm.” I laugh.
“I’m aware,” Gerard replies. “Now let’s go.”
On our way to his car, he grabs my hand and our fingers lace together.
---
TRANSLATIONS
Gesù- Jesus
po ‘di latte, e pane, e coca- Milk, and bread, and Coke (as in Coca Cola)
Frank’s POV
First, second, and third period go by in the blink of one of my scarlet eyeliner-rimmed eyes. I can’t focus on my work. All I can think about is the fact that I’m going to Gerard’s house after school. What will we talk about?? Will he bring up that random hug I gave him in the hospital? What if it’s so awkward that we never talk again afterwards? My nails are chewed down to stubs by the time lunch rolls around. I’m incredibly excited to hang out with Gerard, yet I’m so nervous that I want to throw up. I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.
As I sit down at the usual lunch table, my friends give me strange looks. Pete doesn’t look at me. “Hey, guys,” I say awkwardly, setting my tray down. I take a swig of water, avoiding eye contact with them.
“So, you’re gay?” Ray blurts.
“Don’t worry, man. We totally support you.” Bob adds.
I choke on my water. “W-What??!” I splutter. Pete hits me on the back, making water squirt out of my nose. I cough violently as water splatters onto my Black Flag hoodie.
“Come on, dude. Yesterday you said-” Bob begins.
“That I don’t like girls, I know.” I sigh, wiping water off my face. Next to me, Pete snickers quietly.
“What?” I ask, irritated. Why does everyone think I’m gay?? I’m not! Well, actually… I really don’t know. It feels weird to admit it to myself.
“Come outside with me,” Pete replies, standing up. I frown in confusion, but I get up and follow him anyways. We weave through the commons and out the front doors.
“Smoke?” Pete offers, fishing a pack out of his pocket.
“Thanks.” I take a cigarette and light it with my Zippo. “So, why did you drag me outside?”
Pete takes a deep drag on his cigarette, lips curved into a small smile around it. He seems to have cheered up a lot since this morning. “No particular reason.” he says vaguely.
“Fucking tell me!” I whine. Pete’s never like this. We’ve been friends for years. Pete trusts me, and he tells me everything.
“I’m just…” Pete looks down at his beat-up Converse. “I’m just really happy you’re gay.”
I begin to cough violently again, just like I did with the water. I can practically feel cigarette smoke coming out of my nose. “What do y-you m-mean?” I choke, my eyes watering and voice raspy from inhaling too much smoke.
Pete laughs and shakes his head. “You’re so fucking weird sometimes.”
I punch his arm playfully. “Shut up.” Inside, my head is spinning. He’s happy that I’m gay? But why??
Wait… I just admitted to myself that I’m gay. My stomach tingles a little at the thought. I’m… I’m gay.
“So, er, why does that make you happy?” I ask.
Pete responds by leaning close and placing his cigarette to my lips. I widen my eyes in surprise, but I take a drag from his cigarette anyways. Pete watches me with half-lidded, seductive eyes. And… oh god. His hand is on my hip. What the hell???
“Because I like boys, too.” he whispers. Then he pulls away and walks off, leaving me confused as hell with my best friend’s cigarette dangling from my lips.
--
Gerard’s POV
“We need po ‘di latte, e pane, e coca…” Mikey mutters under his breath as he tosses random food items into the shopping cart. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. I hate this place. It smells like merda, there’s way too many people, and the lighting is harsh and makes my skin prickle uncomfortably. Artificial light isn’t a danger to me, but it makes me feel vulnerable and exposed.
“Do we really need all this food?” I groan, wanting to get out of this place.
“We need to appear as human as possible.” Mikey replies, turning the cart into the next aisle. He grabs several packages of toilet paper and adds them to the cart.
I grab a box of condoms. “These are pretty human,” I snicker, tossing the box into the cart.
“Nizza.” Mikey laughs. In the next aisle, he fills the cart with an overwhelming amount of food.
“I don’t think Frank’s going to look through our pantry.” I say, my stomach clenching when I say his name aloud.
“Probably not… but you’re going to make him dinner, so we need food.” Mikey carelessly tosses a can of salsa into the cart. It lands on top of a carton of eggs.
“Gesù! Those will break.” I pick the can up and set it back on the shelf. Mikey promptly tosses it back in, landing on the bread this time. I pinch the bridge of my nose in exasperation. “We can’t cook.” I sigh.
“Who’s we?” Mikey laughs. “I said you are going to cook. You love cooking.”
“Yeah, a century and a half ago!”
“I’m sure you can come up with something.”
“Mikey, the thought of even touching human food makes me want to throw up.”
“You can’t throw up.”
“Oh, pensi de essere intelligente…”
“Um, excuse me.”
Mikey and I turn to see a woman and her young daughter awkwardly standing in front of our cart, looking pale and uncomfortable.
“Scusa…” I pull the cart closer to the shelves so they can pass. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. The mother puts her hand on her daughter’s back and quickly ushers her down the aisle, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“I think she heard our conversation.” Mikey says, examining the back of a cereal box. “26 grams of sugar per serving? Why do humans treat their stomachs like garbage disposals?”
We spend the next half hour shopping. Well, more like Mikey filling the cart with useless items and me dragging my feet and groaning. Everyone in the store gives us strange looks. I don’t blame them. It’s kind of odd to see two abnormally pale guys wearing matching all-black attire walking around a supermarket together.
When the cashier rings up our items, my jaw drops open. We’ve racked up over 800 dollars worth of food and random household objects.
“Find everything okay?” the bored-looking cashier asks in a monotone.
“Yep!” Mikey says cheerfully, swiping his credit card. I cringe. I shouldn’t worry, really. We have plenty of money from auctioning Italian antiques and selling my art. I just don’t like spending large amounts of money. Except, of course, when it comes to Armani suits and silk button-down shirts.
God, I’m so Italian.
--
Frank’s POV
I spend the rest of the day in total and utter confusion. I can’t get the image of Pete out of my head. His lust-filled brown eyes locked with mine, watching me intently as I take a shaky drag from his cigarette. His words still swim through my mind. “I’m just really happy you’re gay.” What the hell does that mean? And that weird, sad hug in the hallway… Either this is all just one big, fucked-up dream, or I’m tripping.
After sixth period, I trudge to my locker to collect my things and catch the bus. I just want to go home, wrap my aching leg, and sleep. Maybe play some video games. Today’s been a confusing day, and I have a throbbing headache.
All thoughts of going home are completely wiped out when I reach my locker. A handsome, raven-haired boy is leaning against the cold metal, hands in his pockets, hips tilted slightly forward in a casual pose. It’s such an incredibly sexy sight that I want to jump on him right then and there and snog his face off.
“G-Gerard!” I beam at the sex god in front of me. Oh god, how could I have forgotten that he was going to pick me up after school? My palms begin to sweat and heat threatens to creep up my neck. Don’t… blush…
“Ready to go?” he asks, smiling and holding out his hand.
I freeze. Is… is he asking to hold my hand?? OHMYGOD. My heart swells, does the cha-cha, and does a 360. I discreetly wipe my palm on my jeans and place it in his.
Gerard looks shocked for a moment. Then he bursts into laughter. “I was offering to take your bag.”
My heart deflates. “Oh. No, that’s okay. I can carry it.” I mumble. But Gerard snatches my backpack right off my back and slings it over his shoulder anyways.
“You’re injured,” he says.
“My leg is burned, not my arm.” I laugh.
“I’m aware,” Gerard replies. “Now let’s go.”
On our way to his car, he grabs my hand and our fingers lace together.
---
TRANSLATIONS
Gesù- Jesus
po ‘di latte, e pane, e coca- Milk, and bread, and Coke (as in Coca Cola)
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