I'm Not Angry Anymore [Frerard One-Shot]

A/N: The single lines between paragraphs are the lyrics to Interlude: I'm Not Angry Anymore by Paramore.

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"The body of 25-year-old Gerard way was found today on a highway near the outskirts of Belleville, New Jersey, it's been reported by multiple witnesses that he had fallen or jumped from a bridge crossing over it. Our condolences are sent out to his family and friends-" click.

I'm not angry anymore.

Tattooed hands ran through black hair, gripping the soft strands as the short man sat on his couch with his eyes clenched shut. He breathed heavily, his chest heaving with light sobs that slowly grew.

Well, sometimes I am.

The hands were wrenched away from his hair, slamming into his couch. His legs pushed him up and moved him towards the photo of him and another, taller, paler man on a table. The hands swung and the picture flew, glass shattering and the frame breaking. His sobs that had become a yell of rage slowed down.

I don't think badly of you.

The man crouched next to the broken frame, looking at the picture. The hands picked it up and brushed away glass. Soft, hazel eyes rimmed with red examined the photo, and a heart ached for the other man in it. Slowly, the sobs returned in a more enraged form.

Well, sometimes I do.

The hands gripped the photo in the center and tore it straight down the middle, the men separated now. Sharp syllables were screamed from a raw throat as his hands swung again and hit a wall, followed by a body and a forehead. A fist bumped the wall repeatedly, sobs racking the small frame of the man in the house.

It depends on the day, the extent of all my worthless rage.

Slowly the man turned around, back pressed against the wall which now bore an ugly dent. Legs crumpled and the man fell to the floor, curling inward until his body was as small as possible. The furious sobs overtook the body again.

I'm not angry anymore.

Short legs pushed him up again, propelling him to the bathroom down the hall, where they stood him in front of the sink and the soft eyes examined the man in the mirror. His eyes were rimmed with a striking red color, tears welling near the bottom edge.

I'm not bitter anymore, I'm syrupy sweet.

His mind was cleared enough now that the man thought of the hands that had broken glass and were dripping blood down fingertips to the floor. He muttered a curse and the hands were painfully lifted to turn the water on.

I rot your teeth down to their core, if I'm really happy.

Piece by piece, glass was picked out of the hands and dropped into the sink. Small clinks resonated over the sound of the running water as the pieces were swept down the drain with the off-red mixture of blood and water.

Depends on the day, if I wake up in a giddy haze.

The hands shook, making the tattoos blur together. Eyes looked back up at the mirror, darting all over a pale face and taking in the flushes of red here and there. His mind was getting clouded again by anger when he saw a mark on his neck, a small bruise- a hickey- near his jawline. As if the fucker hadn't left his mark enough on the tattooed man emotionally, he had to leave something physical too.

Well, I'm not angry.

The sad face in the mirror contorted with anger, the hands rising again to punch the glass and rid of the reflection that was hurting him so. Shards of the mirror shot back at the man, sticking into his clothes and ripping fabric. His hands ached, but nothing was worse than the ache in his heart.

I'm not totally angry.

The ache that that asshole had given him, leaving nothing but a note to tell his so-called best friend what he'd been holding in for so long. To tell his friend what he was going to do, what he had done. To finally admit his feelings were more than a drunk haze.

I'm not all that angry anymore.

The man slumped down with his back against the bathtub, letting small pools of blood form around his hands. "I loved you too, idiot." His head fell forward into his hands when they upturned, smearing blood on his cheeks as he sobbed into them.