Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Just GO for it, Already!

You're the luckiest guy in the world

by GerardWayisSex 2 reviews

Frank's finally broken Gerard enough so that Finch is gonna have to break HIM.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Humor,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Published: 2008-02-23 - Updated: 2008-02-24 - 3208 words

“God /damn it/, Finch! The Cobra Commander’s G.I. Joe- not /Transformers!/”

Finch rolled her eyes in his direction and pulled her face into a half-smirk, one eyebrow raised as she scoffed. She tried to maintain a serious expression but her lips were parting into a smile despite her brain’s commands.

“Oh, yeah, right/,” she retorted, adjusting her heavy backpack on her shoulder. The accessory looked so large and bulky in comparison to her diminutive size. “Cobra Commander’s like…part of the evil group of Transformers. The good robots are like…” She squinted and looked off sideways to the wall in concentration, as if he answer might be lurking somewhere over in that general direction. “…Megatron, Optimus Prime and like, Dead Fetus-tron or something.” Gerard brought his hand to his mouth as a giggle escaped. It was a nervous habit. The one that compulsively hid the /freakishly small teeth he was still ashamed of. He vaguely and uninterestedly wondered if the habit would ever break.

The laughter felt like a high. Not the kind he inhaled or swallowed, but the kind that relieved the pressure in his brain. It felt so needed and welcome, as if someone had placed a nozzle on the back of his head and was slowly draining the ugly, viscous discomfort. As he giggled, he accidentally nudged Finch with his shoulder, nearly toppling over with the inability to cope with the chemicals in his head and the need to walk. She faux-snarled at him, playfully grimacing, and pushed him away. The hallway was congested, the students packed together like ants in a colony, and the two of them were forced to push and shove in order to get to the cafeteria door. Finch slammed into a boy with her shoulder and the two of them exchanged angry glances and expletives as if they were currency. Gerard stayed behind her and tried to avoid his eyes when he passed, smiling awkwardly and shrugging his shoulders as if to say, “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

They entered in through the doors closest to their table in the back of the room. Finch more or less threw her books and backpack onto the table, allowing them to slide a few feet, before plopping down onto the seat. Gerard set his things down gingerly- his art supplies were in his backpack and he might just have a mental breakdown if his brushes got all the hairs smashed- and joined her. She drummed her fingers on the table and smirked at him.

“You’re still wrong,” she said as if teasing him. “Cobra Commander is not G.I. Joe.”

“WRONG FINCH,” he stated firmly, pointing an effeminate, spidery finger at her and putting on his most serious face. “I would know these things. You epically /FAIL./” Finch put on a stern face and looked him straight in the eye.

“You know what?” She asked rhetorically. She imitated his pose and pointed a finger at him, narrowing her eyes. She paused and obviously had not thought of the rest of her sentence. She swallowed. “Life is like…a box of corndogs. “ He snorted at her. “Shut the fuck up, Gerard.”

Gerard felt a pleasant sort of emptiness inside of him as the both of them exploded into hysterical laughter. It was deep inside somewhere, somewhere intangible and remote. The emptiness was only welcome because what had been there before was so painful. But the day- this day- had emptied him of those negative feelings. Chemicals swished in his head until he felt nothing but good, felt nothing but the need to laugh. He placed his head down on the table, the corners of his mouth hurting from smiling. But after a minute he realized something. It was quiet.

Finch wasn’t laughing anymore.

Gerard sat up, still smiling, still feeling light, and looked at her. She had an odd look on her face. Her head was cocked to the side slightly, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth slightly open. It was a look caught between confused, angry and possibly even slight amused. Her eyebrows furrowed. Gerard blinked and realized the she was looking passed him and vaguely recalled that this never lead to anything good. But he didn’t stop smiling. He held onto the delicate happiness inside him as if it was his lifeline.

“What?” he asked, still leaning on the table, looking up so his dark hair fell in little wisps over his eyes. He saw Finch close her mouth and swallow. Gerard sat up at turned around. “What-?”

Gerard’s heart did a sort of flip-flop. Frank was standing a few yards away and when Gerard saw him, his insides jumped and swelled with excitement. He started to grin, to raise his hand to wave at his friend. But he stopped. Frank wasn’t looking at him. Every now and lean he would glance in his direction, but he was just standing awkwardly in the middle of the cafeteria. Frank turned away and looked at another table, just glancing at it quickly like he had done with Gerard’s table. He was standing between their table…and the ‘Scene kids’ table. Gerard spun around and looked at Finch desperately.

“What is he doing?/” she asked to no one in a long, high voice. She stood up and waved at Frank when he looked back at them. “Is he trying to decide where to- /FRANK! WE’RE OVER HERE, HON!” She waved her arm frantically and crinkled her nose in concentration. Frank looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth slightly, glanced down at Gerard and looked away quickly. Gerard watched him turn away and his throat seemed to close. He happiness he had just experience seemed to dissipate, the uncomfortable pressure returning to his brain. The shadow of joy still remained. It still lay like a thin blanket over his insides, still gave him a light, comfortable optimism.

The kids at the other table didn’t seem to notice Frank’s indecision. They were enveloped in a serious conversation, leaning in close to each other and looking nowhere outside their table. If they looked up for even a moment, they would invite him to sit. Gerard heard Finch make a scoffing sound and sit down.

“What the fuck is his problem?!” she cried. “I mean, I know he’s friends with some of them for some odd reason but really, /what the fuck?/”

“He got in a fight with Emmie this morning,” Gerard croaked out quietly. His voice didn’t seem to want to leave his throat. It wanted to stay warm and safe inside him. “They were just…bitching at each and he was just saying all this stuff to her.” Gerard felt some sort of weakness begin to engulf him. “So what the hell is he /doing?/”

“They got in a fight? When? After I left? About what? What happened?”

Gerard didn’t pay attention to her questions. He didn’t feel like explaining, he didn’t feel like talking. To her, at least. He wanted to talk to Frank. He wanted to go back to the beginning of the day when they were close enough to kiss. Gerard bit his lip. His legs stood him up before his brain could give it consent. He stepped over his seat.

“Gee- are you going to talk to him?” Finch called as he started to walk towards Frank, his heart sent into a spasm as he realized what he was doing. “Tell him to get his ass over here!” Gerard swallowed heavily and felt his throat almost clench shut when Frank turned to him as Gerard approached him. He stopped next to him.

“Hey,” he said. Frank looked at the floor, around the room, at anything else but Gerard for a moment before looking up at him. Frank brought his hand to his mouth and bit at his fingernails. Gerard could have watched that all day.

“Hey,” Frank replied softly. Gerard scratched the back of his head nervously and shuffled his feet.

“So…are you gonna sit with us or-?”

“Why did you lie to me?” Frank interrupted. Gerard froze. He felt as if every single one of his internal organs had lodged themselves in his throat. His first instinct was to search his brain for any potential lies. He went through every day they spent together. Nothing, he couldn’t think of anything.

“…What?” He managed to croak out. Frank bit down on his nail again and Gerard thought that they might begin to bleed. “Frank, I didn’t-”

“You said you didn’t do anything with Finch,” he snapped. Gerard saw him glance in her direction almost disdainfully. It was almost…/envious./ Gerard sputtered.

“I-I didn’t!” he protested, trying not to speak so loud that everyone could hear. Humiliation and fear were twisting around inside him like a pair of angry snakes. He could feel his legs beginning to tremble. “Frank, I promise you, I haven’t done anything with her- with /anyone!/” Gerard could feel that he was probably giving out more information than was needed, but hell, if that’s what it took then he’d say anything.

Frank gave a sort of half-scoff. “ ‘s not what I heard.” Gerard couldn’t help himself, he grabbed Frank’s arm, his voice becoming high as he pleaded.

“Then whoever told you that is lying! I haven’t...what did they tell you, anyway?” he asked, his hand still grapping Frank’s arm. Frank turned to face him, but their eyes still didn’t meet. Frank didn’t say anything. “…Frankie?”

“Just that you guys /fucked!/” he spat loudly and several people turned. Gerard felt his bottom lip begin to tremble and his bit down on it. He let go of Frank’s arm. He tried to compose himself, to gain back the control that would prevent him from breaking down. He felt like he was made out of glass, like he was about to shatter if Frank said anything else.

”I didn’t…” he replied in a small voice. That tiny squeak was the loudest he could manage. ”We’ve never done…” He looked up at him and clenched his teeth, building up strength before he could speak again. ”Frankie, I’m gay. We’ve never done anything.”

When Frank swallowed, Gerard saw the tattoo on his neck move and he wondered if Frank had ever noticed him staring. He wondered if Frank ever stared at him. But right now Frank was taking turns between staring at the ground and glancing at Gerard. He put his gloved hands in his pockets.

“I just can’t trust anyone,” Frank said in a low voice. The voice sounded so strong, so masculine in his tiny form and Gerard, who still felt like curling into an embarrassed ball and melting into the dirty floor, was more attracted to him at this moment- this confused, angry, dejected moment- than he had ever been before.

“You can trust /me,/” Gerard almost whimpered. He put his hand on his chest in a gesture to himself, then began to play with the collar of his black T-shirt. In an weird silent moment, the abstract question of why he wore so much black struck him and he wondered if Frank liked it, if he noticed it, if he stored it away inside his head the way Gerard was always storing little things about Frank away. He tugged gently at the fabric with his fingers, trying to distract himself from Frank’s silence.

“I want to trust you,” Frank said finally. “I /want to/. But sometimes it’s just…” He ran a hand through his newly-colored hair. “…I just /can’t./”

“But you’re trusting whoever told you that,” Gerard replied bitterly. He felt the beginnings of anger in his stomach. He was angry at everyone: Frank, Emmie, whoever told him those things, the people listening on their conversation, school, life, Finch, himself. He just wanted to slash and rip and everything because someone out there just couldn’t let him be happy, couldn’t let him have just a few fucking seconds that didn’t hurt. “You’d trust me if they hadn’t lied to you. I’ve never done anything with anyone.” Frank sighed deeply. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Hey, Frankie!”

They both turned to see the cat-like girl waving in their direction. She was of course ignoring Gerard, the greeting meant for Frank. Gerard hated to hear her say his name like that. She made it sound cheap.

“Come sit over here!” She called. Frank looked back and Gerard almost sadly.

“I’m gonna go sit down,” he said. He was quiet for a few seconds. Gerard wanted to grab him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The odd thing was, when Frank walked away Gerard didn’t want to do anything to stop him. He didn’t want to pull him away anymore or call out to him. The only thing he wanted to do was say in a quiet voice, just loud enough so only Frank could hear, ”I love you.” But he didn’t. He sat back down. And Finch didn’t have any more questions for him.


Frank expected a phone call that day. He expected it from Gerard. What he was not expecting was a phone call from Finch. He felt the phone buzz in his back pocket, felt a sudden burst of nervousness, then looked at the caller ID to find it was not a number he recognized. He sighed with relief and leaned back comfortably on his bed. Talking to Gerard earlier that day had run his emotions dry and doing it again might just kill him. He flipped open the phone.


“/Heeeeyyy theeeerrreee!/” The tone was high and playful. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Hello …Finch?” he asked. The voice was familiar but over the phone sounded different, almost older. There was a playful laugh on the other end.

“Yeah,” she replied simply and quickly. There was something about her tone. He didn’t know what it was. A sharpness, a quickness.

“Oh, hey,” he said. His voice had an edge of confusion to it. “Um…what’s up?” He heard her laugh again, this time it was low and through her nose.

“Nothing much.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Say, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Now he knew where this was going. Why he didn’t assume this in the first place, he was unsure. Gerard’s best friend- whom he had accused him of having sex with- calls him up on the same day he verbally pummels Gerard. He wanted to not feel guilty, but the more he thought about it, the less legitimate he reasons became. She was playing with him. Her sweet voice was like bait, but he could almost see the vicious teeth, sharp and white, behind her lips. He swallowed and decided to run with a lie.


“Oh, no reason…” Finch teased. “…Just that you accused my gay best friend of having sex with me with absolutely no proof whatsoever, and I’m just a little bit curious about that.” Frank went silent. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make matters worse. He searched his brain for someone to blame, someone to take the attention off of himself.

“Someone told me that,” he said, and the image of the Cat-girl immediately appeared in his head. He hated how stupid and quickly it came out. Finch gave a sarcastic sounding chuckle into the phone and he could almost predict her next questions.

“Really? Who?” Part of him was irritated that she was teasing him like this, taunting him in that high, playful voice. Part of him was slightly scared, intimidated by the ferociousness of her voice. There was almost a hunger lingering behind it. He imaged her like an enormous snake, lapping a long, thin, forked tongue at a mouse.

“No one- I can’t tell you.”

“So no one told you this bull shit and no one made you convinced that two of your friends are sleeping together?” Sharp, sharp. Every word was so God damn sharp. Frank felt as though he had been backed into a corner. He didn’t say anything because she was speaking again. “I like you, Frankie. You’re cool and you have good taste in music and clothes. But that does not negate the fact that you believed…some…/no one/ over Gerard! You have no idea how much he likes you, how he would never lie to you.”

Frank sat up straight. “What do you mean by /’likes’?/” he asked in a firm voice.

“That’s not important-”

“No, really,” he interrupted. For a moment he regretted it because on the other line he heard a low, aggravated growl, but his heart was pounding with curiosity. “What do you mean /’likes’?/”

Finch was silent for a moment, but made a sound as if puffing out air through her nose. He didn’t know if she didn’t have an answer or she didn’t want to give up an answer she did have. She finally replied in a calmer, steadier tone. It sounded radically different from the almost unstable, playing tease of her voice only moments ago. “He…/respects you/ a lot. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was quick and sharp again. “The point is…you can’t believe everything you hear. So I suggest you call up a certain upset boy and apologize.”

Frank had half a mind to ask her ”What do you mean by ‘like’? again, but decided to keep his mouth shut, although the curiosity gnawed at his insides like a ravenous animal. There was silence between the both of them and he could tell Finch was waiting for an answer, could hear it in the silence and the odd thought that you could hear more in silence than it actual words (/It’s not what you say but how you say it, right?/) at times struck him quickly, like striking a match. Strike. Heat. Flame. Gone. He rubbed the side of his hand against his eyelid.

“Yeah,” he replied coolly, firmly. The word felt fresh and clean and he felt some of the tension dissipate. “Yeah, I will.” He could almost hear her smirk.

“You’d better,” she said and he could tell she was at least somewhat smiling, forgiving, although there was still a certain underlying level of contempt in her voice. She was quiet before she added. “But he does like you. And for that you’re the luckiest guy in the world.” Frank didn’t answer at first. You’re the luckiest guy in the world. When he did reply to her, he felt as if he had to tear out the words from somewhere inside them, had the rip them from the flesh and the blood and the tendons holding them in place. And when he finally did reply, he meant it.

“I know.”
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