Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Hello You.
Disclaimer:None of this ever happened, or ever will. Forever and ever amen happily ever after. I don't own MCR, and you don't either. Enjoy :]
Remember when we met? You strode into the crowded Starbucks like you owned the place. You practically did, you bought so much coffee. It was your T-shirt that caught my eye. I don't think I've ever seen someone wear a "Scooby Doo Meets Batman" T-shirt so proudly. I giggled into my Frappacino. Very manly, I know. I guess I'd finally fulfilled my life-long quest to find a guy who wasn't a fucking phonie, and didn't pretend to be "cool" all the time, whatever the fuck "cool" is. God, I hate that word.
I stopped writing in my journal to study you more closely, taking in and storing in my memory your not-too-long, not-too-short black hair, and your pretty round-shaped face. I'd see the colour of your eyes on rotting leaves in Fall. They were the prettiest eyes I had ever seen attached to a boy's head.
I watched you standing in the line, inhaling the all-too familiar aromas of the coffee house, then looking around as you realised there were no tables left. The only empty seats were beside an old, withered looking woman who was muttering wildly into her coffee, and opposite lonely old me. Your pretty boy eyes darted from her to me, as if deciding between the weirdo old woman, or the faggy-looking student wearing a woollen skull cap in April. I buried my head in my journal again incase you'd seen me staring.
"Is this seat taken?" Your voice was prettier than your eyes. I guess you'd gone with the lesser of two evils. I met your hazels with my muddier orbs.
"Uh no," I muttered, trying my best to be polite. "Go ahead."
You sat down, and I watched out of the corner of my eye as you shuffled around, and pulled something out of a plastic bag. I saw your eyes fixed to your lap as what sounded like paper rustled. My first thought was "PORN." My perfect-pretty-gay-boy fantasy went up in smoke, to reveal some horny jerk who gets off in public. I'm naturally nosey, so to confirm my porn suspicions, I "dropped" my pen (yes, THAT old trick) and glanced at the front cover.
"Ultimate X-Men #83"
A fucking comic book. I sighed in relief and continued to store every detail of you in my journal. You were so engrossed in it, I felt bad for disturbing you when I finally thought of something to say.
"I liked the episode with the Joker." I murmured almost inaudibly.
"Sorry?"
"Um, I liked the episode with the Joker." I repeated, gesturing to your T-shirt.
"Haha, really? Yeah, me too. Old corny cartoons crack me up. Especially when they're mixed with other corny 60's cartoons," you smiled. "Like Spiderman. The old TV series was just dodgy!"
I launched into a rendition of the classic Spiderman theme tune, while falling apart laughing and snorting when you joined in.
"You too, huh?"
"Yeah," I replied, "I'm a sucker for cheesy theme tunes!"
It may sound like something out of one of the many cheesy romantic novels that lined my shelves unread, but not only was my Prettyboy, well...pretty, you were the nicest person I had met in a long, long time.
"D'you like comics?" You asked cautiously, not wanting to sound like a freak.
"I would be lying if I said I didn't." I smiled. "I'm Frank, by the way." I said, wanting to know my PrettyBoy's name before I called you PrettyBoy to your face.
"Gerard Way." You replied. You lifted up the comic you were so engrossed in, and explained that it had just set you back $80. "I could've got wasted at least four times with that!" You joked.
We discussed the pros and cons of Wolverine, music, and loads of other stuff that I can't remember. It's written somewhere in one of my old journals.
"Are you in a band?" You asked.
"Yup. My newest one's Pencey Prep," I smiled. "I play guitar. And whine lead vocals." I giggled whilst wiping away my frosty moustache from the fourth Frappy I'd had.
You snorted loudly. I think the caffeine was starting to take effect now. "Whine?"
"Yup. Believe me, when I sing properly, I sound like Johnny Cash on crack! But I couldn't do anything else. So...you in a band?"
"First show tonight. Fucking shitting myself! We're My Chemical Romance."
"Awesome name! Irvine Welsh, right?"
"Yeah, my brother Mikey's sort of a genius at names."
Mikey Way...It rang a bell...
"Mikey? Mikey Way? Went to Belleville High? Had the glasses way down here?"
I pointed to the end of my nose.
"Yeah! you know him?"
"Not well, I just knew of him. He was in my Math class in high school. He saved me from a pretty nasty locker incident too...So what do you play in your very nicely named band?"
"I sing. And write lyrics from a warped little place in my brain. Hey, you should come tonight! For moral support of course."
Oh. My God.
"Sure! Time, place...?"
You wrote all the details on my hand. I nearly shivered at your touched, you were that cold. Vampire, I thought. You reminded me of when I first saw the Freddie movies when I was eight. you made me feel scared, but excited at the same time. But you were no way as ugly as Freddie Kreuger.
We talked about nothing in particular until I needed to go to work. I stack shelves in Walmart, glamorous, I know, but it keeps me occupied. I'm dangerous when I get bored.
Remember when we met? You strode into the crowded Starbucks like you owned the place. You practically did, you bought so much coffee. It was your T-shirt that caught my eye. I don't think I've ever seen someone wear a "Scooby Doo Meets Batman" T-shirt so proudly. I giggled into my Frappacino. Very manly, I know. I guess I'd finally fulfilled my life-long quest to find a guy who wasn't a fucking phonie, and didn't pretend to be "cool" all the time, whatever the fuck "cool" is. God, I hate that word.
I stopped writing in my journal to study you more closely, taking in and storing in my memory your not-too-long, not-too-short black hair, and your pretty round-shaped face. I'd see the colour of your eyes on rotting leaves in Fall. They were the prettiest eyes I had ever seen attached to a boy's head.
I watched you standing in the line, inhaling the all-too familiar aromas of the coffee house, then looking around as you realised there were no tables left. The only empty seats were beside an old, withered looking woman who was muttering wildly into her coffee, and opposite lonely old me. Your pretty boy eyes darted from her to me, as if deciding between the weirdo old woman, or the faggy-looking student wearing a woollen skull cap in April. I buried my head in my journal again incase you'd seen me staring.
"Is this seat taken?" Your voice was prettier than your eyes. I guess you'd gone with the lesser of two evils. I met your hazels with my muddier orbs.
"Uh no," I muttered, trying my best to be polite. "Go ahead."
You sat down, and I watched out of the corner of my eye as you shuffled around, and pulled something out of a plastic bag. I saw your eyes fixed to your lap as what sounded like paper rustled. My first thought was "PORN." My perfect-pretty-gay-boy fantasy went up in smoke, to reveal some horny jerk who gets off in public. I'm naturally nosey, so to confirm my porn suspicions, I "dropped" my pen (yes, THAT old trick) and glanced at the front cover.
"Ultimate X-Men #83"
A fucking comic book. I sighed in relief and continued to store every detail of you in my journal. You were so engrossed in it, I felt bad for disturbing you when I finally thought of something to say.
"I liked the episode with the Joker." I murmured almost inaudibly.
"Sorry?"
"Um, I liked the episode with the Joker." I repeated, gesturing to your T-shirt.
"Haha, really? Yeah, me too. Old corny cartoons crack me up. Especially when they're mixed with other corny 60's cartoons," you smiled. "Like Spiderman. The old TV series was just dodgy!"
I launched into a rendition of the classic Spiderman theme tune, while falling apart laughing and snorting when you joined in.
"You too, huh?"
"Yeah," I replied, "I'm a sucker for cheesy theme tunes!"
It may sound like something out of one of the many cheesy romantic novels that lined my shelves unread, but not only was my Prettyboy, well...pretty, you were the nicest person I had met in a long, long time.
"D'you like comics?" You asked cautiously, not wanting to sound like a freak.
"I would be lying if I said I didn't." I smiled. "I'm Frank, by the way." I said, wanting to know my PrettyBoy's name before I called you PrettyBoy to your face.
"Gerard Way." You replied. You lifted up the comic you were so engrossed in, and explained that it had just set you back $80. "I could've got wasted at least four times with that!" You joked.
We discussed the pros and cons of Wolverine, music, and loads of other stuff that I can't remember. It's written somewhere in one of my old journals.
"Are you in a band?" You asked.
"Yup. My newest one's Pencey Prep," I smiled. "I play guitar. And whine lead vocals." I giggled whilst wiping away my frosty moustache from the fourth Frappy I'd had.
You snorted loudly. I think the caffeine was starting to take effect now. "Whine?"
"Yup. Believe me, when I sing properly, I sound like Johnny Cash on crack! But I couldn't do anything else. So...you in a band?"
"First show tonight. Fucking shitting myself! We're My Chemical Romance."
"Awesome name! Irvine Welsh, right?"
"Yeah, my brother Mikey's sort of a genius at names."
Mikey Way...It rang a bell...
"Mikey? Mikey Way? Went to Belleville High? Had the glasses way down here?"
I pointed to the end of my nose.
"Yeah! you know him?"
"Not well, I just knew of him. He was in my Math class in high school. He saved me from a pretty nasty locker incident too...So what do you play in your very nicely named band?"
"I sing. And write lyrics from a warped little place in my brain. Hey, you should come tonight! For moral support of course."
Oh. My God.
"Sure! Time, place...?"
You wrote all the details on my hand. I nearly shivered at your touched, you were that cold. Vampire, I thought. You reminded me of when I first saw the Freddie movies when I was eight. you made me feel scared, but excited at the same time. But you were no way as ugly as Freddie Kreuger.
We talked about nothing in particular until I needed to go to work. I stack shelves in Walmart, glamorous, I know, but it keeps me occupied. I'm dangerous when I get bored.
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