It's Like I'm Sleepwalking [Frerard/Jalex] [on hold, major editing]

7: My World's On Fire. How 'Bout Yours?

Alex's POV
They were supposed to be back by now.
They were always back by now.
Frank said it himself that he'd never be out past dusk.
I just thought they'd have a brief burial for Mikey, and then Gerard would come back and stop feeling sorry for himself and stop dragging us into his own problems and Frank would stop feeling sorry for him and I wouldn't have to run so many errands every day, risking getting my ass beat every single night, and I could have my best friend back, and the world would move on.

I was already pacing around the entirety of the house, opening and closing the fridge over and over again, lowering my standards each time, and trying my hardest to drown out my nerves in some cold pizza that was probably freezer burned.
I could feel my ears getting hot, my anger filtering out my fear. Once I couldn't eat away my feelings any longer, I pull Frank's grey hoodie over my head along with a matching beanie. Double knotting my boots, unlocking the door, and taking my first breath of air since the beginning of my breakdown.

I guessed it was about 3am, not because we had any working clocks yet, because we didn't. I really only knew because the sun went down 7 hours ago, about the same time the guys left. Basically a set up for disaster before they even left camp.
I rooted down the backway to keep an eye out for Frank. And once I find him, I'm putting that kid on a fucking leash. Seriously. Then again, he probably wants to do the same for me. I have to be baby-sat because I do stupid shit and he has to baby-sat because he says stupid shit and we both dig ourselves into deep shit and that's just the way things are.

I assumed he was at the cemetery about a mile from here, but not even I dared to venture that far. That was Death Valley territory.
Hell, I didn't even think cemeteries lived up to their name anymore, really, anywhere you fall becomes your tomb. No one has the time to bury you, for a ceremony, to build a headstone, to bring flowers for you every time they visited..if they even visited you again.
And even then, the flowers set in those little plastic baskets next to you would die, and there would be no one to replace them. Eventually, the name on your gravestone would fade out and no longer be legible, and you would rot away, and the world would probably keep spinning.
But it really doesn't feel as simple as that.

There were a collection of stores coming up ahead, I had checked them all out on separate occasions, but I knew which one would be the best distraction. opening the steel door to my favorite antique shop, The Black Cat.

just the setup of the store started to relax me. A strange arrangement of lava lamps and cat knick knacks, collecting dust on the top shelves. Everything you'd expect from the store owner, who was in the back, yelling at some tall lanky guy with a white streak in his hair, trying to negotiate a price for something golden in his hand. I didn't even hear the doorbell ring as I walked in, that's how loud they were going at it.

A meer 10 minutes pass before they acknowledged me, not that I minded, I was ecstatic about the new stock. Everything from bobble heads to burning sage to ward off evil spirits were awaiting me around every corner. It was a brief shield from the world now, it was store-bought nostalgia of what the world used to be. The little people in the snowglobes-
"Alex?" I hear a holler from across the store,
"Yeah, Jenna?" The blonde came out of the shadows, an unamused sneer slipped past her lips. You'd expect her to be out prowling with the rest of her pack, as she was a Panther, but ever so willingly took over her mothers store. But she still lived up to her faction, who favored setting traps, waiting around for their prey. As she over-priced items, awaiting employees who had to work for her after they fall in debt with her and couldn't pay back.
It wasn't my ideal lifestyle, but she seemed to be pretty successful at it.

"My shift is almost over, I'm irritable, and you still owe me for the discount on that beanie. This customer has a huge list of shit to find, could you help him out? You know the store well enough, right?"

I nodded in assurance.
"I'll take care of it."
She sent a brief smile in my direction before slamming her office door behind her, the echo spilling into the slightly unnerving silence that 2 even more awkward strangers were forced to share.
I take my nose out of the new shipment of vinyls and meet the eye of the stranger in front of me, who was avoiding eye contact like his life depended on it and awkwardly playing for his coat pockets.
"Alright, what's first on the list?"
A sweaty hand shot out of his side pocket and in my vision.
I skimmed the list, which must have been about 2 miles long, grabbing a basket from behind Jenna's desk. My face scrunching up as I tried to make out his scrawny handwriting.
I had never even heard of half the stuff on this list. This guy was obviously from the east coast, meaning he had traveled a long way to get here.
I head to the other side of the store, to find him browsing aimlessly through the aisles, also digging through the late 90's EPs I had been ravaging through earlier. Obviously no one could play them, but they were nice to look at. A nice conversation starter. I glanced over his shoulder, to find him reading a tracklist with sloppily painted smiley face with pink and green running down the sides in the background.
"Blink?"
He jumped a bit from my voice, cowering away from me, holding his arms in front of his face like I was about to hit him. I didn't think I was that scary.
But answered me none the less. "Sorry...It's a reflex." He cleared his throat. I pretended I hadn't seen it.
"Yeah..they were my favorite band. Before they..you know.."

"Pulled a Panic! At The Disco?"
"Yeah.."

"I haven't heard this baby in ages." I looked down and smiled at the cover art. I noticed there was a record player nearby, as sometimes Jenna would let me blare old music and just reminisce. "Do you mind?" I took a seat on the check out cointer and popped the record in, waiting for the cue to set the needle down.

"Hit it."