Never Coming Home // Frerard

Chapter 15

You know the feeling when you miss somebody and you're left with something of theirs: maybe a shirt, a necklace, a stuffed animal, and the scent that they leave on it just feels so comforting to you? It's sort of a nostalgic feeling. You just want to hold it close and take in what's left of their scent, but at the same time, you're scared to. You feel as if that comforting scent could fade or dissapear in an instant. 

I spent a solid two weeks doing the same exact thing: go to school, come home, go to Mikey's room, and spend the rest of the day writing. A few topics became much more present in my music ever since Mikey left: death, being fucked up, and of course, Mikey. 

I walked into Mikey's room and hanged my bag on his desk chair (he hates for people to leave things on his floor) and plopped onto his bed. I reached over to his night stand and picked up my journal. I ran my hand over the cover before pulling it open and skimming over the most recent song titles.

Brother

The Ghost Of You

I'm Not Okay I Promise

I picked up my pen and added parentheses around the 'I Promise', and smiled when I saw that the whole song was finally perfect. 

"Gee?" I jumped at Frank's voice coming from the doorway. I snapped my journal closed and smiled at him. 

"Hey, Frank. When did you get here?" I asked. He walked into the room and looked around. 

"Just now," He replied, plopping onto the bed with me. "This is Mikey's room?"

"Yep. I always envied how cool it looks compared to mine. It just looks so sleek and clean, whereas mine's all cluttered in posters, empty food wrappers, half-done sketches... Mikey's always been pretty good about keeping his room clean."

"So, what's in that notebook of yours?" His eyes found my red journal, sitting on Mikey's pillow. I picked it up and looked at it.

"Songs," I laughed. "I always loved songs and poetry, but I only started writing them a few years back. I left the hobby behind for a while, but I picked it up again recently after Mikey got admitted."

"Can... can I see a few? I brought my guitar," He gestured to the case he'd left propped up against the closed bedroom door. I flipped open to one of the songs and smiled as I handed it to him. "This one's an older one, but it's one of my favorites."

"Mama..." He mumbled the song title to himself. A smile grew on his face as he read through the lyrics. He handed me the open notebook and got up to grab his guitar. He opened the case and carefully lifted it from the black box. It was a white guitar with a black trim, and it had stickers on it that spelled out 'Pansy'. He sat down and placed the guitar in between us, still smiling. "This is Pansy. She's my absolute favorite guitar." I ran a finger over the trim, admiring how nicely made it was. "Nice, right? I saved up for her for two years. I'd probably kill somebody if they got even the smallest scratch on her."

"Don't let Ray borrow her," I laughed. "He's dropped his own fucking guitar a few times."

"I wouldn't dream of it," He giggled as he sat the guitar upright in his lap. "So, this song." He picked up my journal and skimmed over the lyrics again. "It's got a pit of a polka feel, at least in the beginning, and then it should pick up at 'and when we go', and then go back to the original pace on 'Mama, we're all full of lies'." He started strumming a slower rhythm that picked up suddenly, then died down again. "You think you can sing to that? I know it's rough right now, but it'll sound better as it becomes more solid." 

"Play it from the start, and I'll try to place the lyrics," I smiled. He started the song again, and I started singing. "Mama, we all go to hell,

Mama, we all go to hell,

I'm writing this letter, and wishing you well,

Mama, we all go to hell. 

Oh, well, now,

Mama, we're all gonna die,

Mama, we're all gonna die,

Stop asking me questions, I'd hate to see you cry,

Mama, we're all gonna die." The pacing picked up, signalling the first chorus. I cleared my throat and started placing the lyrics again. "And when we go, don't blame us, yeah,

We'll let the fire just bathe us, yeah,

You made us oh, so famous,

We'll never let you go.

And when you go don't return to me my love." He quit strumming and I looked up at him expectantly. A huge grin grew across his face and he high fived me. 

"Dude, that was really good!" He smiled. "You've got a great voice. The only thing is that you really need to get into the feel of the song. It seems like a kind of messed up polka song, so you really need to play that up in your voice. Try to sound a little creepier, and raise your pitch a little bit, and you're golden." 

"Am I interrupting something?" Brendon's voice called from the (now open) doorway. We both jumped a little bit and looked at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" Frank asked.

"Long enough to hear your song," Brendon smiled. "How have you two not played together before? You sound amazing!" He enthused. I blushed a little and looked down to my notebook.

"I don't know, I guess it just never crossed our minds," I replied.

"Okay, well I just came to tell you that your mom just left as I came in. She said she has to work the night shift, so I was wondering if we could order pizza."

"Yeah, sure. I'll order in a little while," I replied.

"Cool. Also, you're out of milk." 

"Thanks," I replied as he turned around and walked out, closing the door behind him. I looked at Frank again. "So, let's try that first part again," I smiled.

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I AM SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY

I've honestly just gotten super depressed recently. I've been feeling really unwanted and unmotivated, but I'm back now. I can't promise I'll be updating daily like I used to, but I hopefully won't be leaving you guys hanging for over a month, again. 

I hope you liked the chapter :3

~XoChase