dressed to kill ; mcr oneshots

Eight Grade

Frank's POV - short oneshot

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I've loved him since I was thirteen.

We were childhood friends, only growing more and more inseparable as time passed. We met when we were six years old.

We had so much fun together. We understood each other. We were comfortable with each other.

At first, I thought it was normal. Everybody thought things that I did about their best friend. Everybody looked over at their best friend while they were sleeping, and thought; 'Wow, he looks like an Angel.'

Everybody cherished every moment they had with their best friend like a piece of fine china, and laughed at all of their jokes, even though some weren't funny. Everybody blushed when their best friend walked into the room. Everybody lay in their bed at night, thinking about them. Right?

Apparently not.

I was thirteen when I knew. I was in too deep, and I could never get myself out. I thought he was perfect. He was everything to me.
He was the most precious and gorgeous thing I had ever been given the fortune of knowing.

I couldn't be around him for more than ten minutes before my hands were shaking, my face was red, and my heart was thumping wildly in my chest, threatening to burst out of it from all of the overwhelming happiness I felt whenever I was around him.

My best friend.

I wanted something more. Something so, so much more. I wanted to be able to hold his hand, I wanted to kiss him whenever I pleased, I wanted to hold him close and whisper sweet things to him. I wanted to make him feel special.. like he was the only boy in the world.

But I never told him. I pushed the feelings away for years. As I grew older, I got boyfriend after boyfriend and girlfriend after girlfriend, but none of them lasted. Most were purely driven out of lust and loneliness, either way. I could never love anybody else.

But one day, everything changed. For both of us.

It was my seventeenth birthday, and we were both at his house. It wasn't a rare thing for us to cuddle, but this time it was just.. different. I was far more affectionate than I usually was. He wasn't feeling too well. All I wanted was for him to be happy.

He kissed me.

I don't know why he did, but he kissed me. Something inside me snapped and I immediately responded to the gesture. The both of us reacted in exactly the same way. Needily.

Things got heated, and we let our bodies control us, making us do something we definitely shouldn't have.

I loved every second of it, but not the aftermath. We hadn't even expressed any feelings for each other.

We ended up doing the same thing much, much more.

One day, his dad kicked him out, and he called me, begging me to come over. I did.
We hadn't done anything intimate in around two months and hadn't seen each other in two weeks. I helped him pack his things, and it all started up again.

Except that this time I wasn't thinking straight.

I was extremely tired after, and while we were cuddling, I told him. 'I love you,' I whispered under my breath. It was only after he commented on it, that I realized what I had said.

He threw his arms around me, holding me tight and telling me everything would be alright. He called me baby. That only happened in my dreams, I thought.

I was seventeen when he told me he loved me.

I was seventeen when we became official lovers.

I was seventeen, when he left me for somebody else, throwing away everything we had. Leaving me to wonder what I had done wrong and drown in my own self-hatred, with nobody to tell me they loved me, nobody to hold me through the rough nights when I felt like nothing.

And yet, I still loved him with my entire being, even though he never loved me back, and never would.