Thin Line(a Gerard Way/Frerard fanfiction)

Nothing Gay About A Couple Of Blowjobs

"Can you kiss Frank like you did on stage the other show?"

"Oh hell no." I chuckle, and the small crowd erupts with a bundle of laughter. I smirked to myself, grabbing the microphone running my hands through my tangled locks. Brian booked us for a short Q and A session right before our show in Jersey, for 'VIP's only' which doesn't make sense, because everyone is important, right? Brian doesn't think so. "That ain't-- that ain't a command thing, it has to just happen." I explain, chewing on a piece of gum and smiling.

"That was kind of the elephant in the room, we didn't want to point it out..." The interview mutters light heartedly. "Can you tell us what happened when you kissed Frank on stage?" He asks, and I think to myself, why not?

"Magic," I half joke, licking my lips. "Fireworks..." I hum, leaning daintily on on the mic stand. Whoops and hollers emerge from the crowd and I think back to that night when we kissed in front of everyone. "I was just gettin' even with him, you know."

"I don't think we wanna know what he did to you," The interviewer jokes, and I grin, looking over to Frank who tunes his guitar on the side. His cheeks flush a bright red, embarrassed, a wild grin on his face. "Are you in a relationship with Frank? Are you... uh, gay?"

I lock with Frank and bite my lip. "Nothing gay about a couple of blowjobs."
***
The roar of the crowd gives me heartache to sing. Seeing everyone from my hometown, everyone that supported me, bullied me, loved me, hated me, is in the audience right now. My classmates and teachers from high school that made those four years a living hell. Me and Mikey's childhood friends we've lost contact with until now. Friends of my dad's whose daughters begged for tickets. We've become a local New Jersey legend. A story for people to hold on. Everyone is counting on us to succeed. Put Belleville on the map. Make something of where we were born and raised. I'm doing my best to not let them down.

Despite the fatigue that clings to me, it's one of the best shows I've played in a while. It feels like a victory lap. We, My Chemical Romance, have worked our asses off to get to this point. Tonight's our night, to show off to everyone, from the kids that shoved us in lockers, to producers that told us we wouldn't make it.

Every inch of my body is pulsing with adrenaline(and lots of booze), my sweat slicked skin burning underneath my getup that has me resembling a drunk and glittery vampire. The word, 'faggot,' I've inked on my neck shines in the spotlight. If only the lady back at the hotel in Chicago could see me now. I'm sure Brian is in a puddle of dismay.

I dawdle around on stage, touching myself and moaning into the mic. I give every ounce of energy into each song, I want to make this show memorable. I do my best to interact with the crowd as much as I can, even though I know we don't have all the time in the world.

"New Jersey!" I scream into the mic, right after we finish The Jetset Life. "Ah, New Jersey, you've been a lovely crowd, we've got one more song for you tonight..." I hum, my voice slurring into my Jersey accent that occasionally thickens with the help of some beer. "But before we leave I've got something to say--" I inhale deeply. "If you are fucking depressed, I need you to go home right after this show and fucking talk to someone! I don't fucking care if it's your mom, a friend, a teacher, you need to get help because living life as a suicidal is not the way to live. And I know that every single one of you out there is fucking strong as hell, and YOU CAN GET THROUGH IT!" I scream with all of my heart into the microphone, and the cheers that emerge almost cause me to go deaf. I inhale a ragged breath, my lungs craving some rest. "Because nothing is worth hurting yourself over-- nothing is worth taking your life over, do you understand?" I shout with confidence and demand.

The crowd goes wild. All I can do is pray that my words are enough to save somebody's life tonight.

I regain myself and purse my lips. "This song's called I'm Not Okay, and it goes out to every fucking kid out there who listens to our music to stay alive." I say firmly, standing poised in the center of the stage, taking in the sight of thirty thousand people scream for me and my band. "If you know the words... sing along."
***
Two hours later I'm high off my ass, stumbling blindly backstage, absentmindedly hooting out slurs to passersby like, 'hey let's get fucked up later,' and 'you got any booze?' Press from a variety of magazines and shows are buzzing around, along with producers, crew members, and some family and friends. I'm sure my parents aren't too keen on seeing me and Mikey wasted, but nevertheless, they are ecstatic, congratulating us over and over again while they drink some fancy champagne Brian ordered for the party.