We're Chasing The Sun (Frerard)

Chapter 5

(A/N: crappy update. In fact, this story is crappy. Why are you reading this?)

Did Gerard feel bad to pass up his friends? Yes. Would he still do it? Of course.

He texted Ray a quick excuse, omitting to explain how and where he was, and by all means, declined all his calls. Nevertheless, as soon as he closed his phone and placed it in his pocket, it buzzed again, causing him to sigh exaggeratedly, as if Ray was there to hear him.

It didn't take Gerard too long to start doubting his actions. Maybe he was being a bit imprudent. It was a bit foolish of him to accept such an offer as Frank's. For all he knew—or rather didn't know, because he basically knew nothing about Frank—the guy could very well be a serial killer, trying to lure Gerard into his hidden, underground lair. 

Though Gerard was almost definitely sure that wasn't true because, stating out the obvious; Frank didn't look like a homicidal fuck at all—he was even blushing right then. And murderers don't blush, as far as Gerard's aware.

Gerard looked around, confused. Although he'd lived quite a long time in this town, the road and the neighborhood they were walking down to wasn't stored anywhere in his recollections. It was different, compared to the rest of the town.

Fancy houses were scattered all over the place; they reminded Gerard of American dream homes that are shown in every high school drama movie. You know. The ones that give you the wrong idea about high school.

His eyes roved around in fascination. Something felt off. Something, but Gerard couldn't tell.

"I know what you're wondering. Everything looks so fake, huh?" Frank scoffed, interjecting Gerard's thinking.

"It does?" Gerard wondered aloud, referring to himself rather than Frank. He wasn't sure about his own opinion at all, to be candid. The place looked misleadingly welcoming.

"Come on, look around. Everything looks like it's made out of plastic. Manufactured, shiny, fragile plastic. God, I hate this place," Frank said, repulse evident in his tone. However, right when Gerard was about to speak, Frank's gaze that was fixed upon something in particular across the street, flicked away and his eyes grew wide.

He cleared his throat and Gerard's eyebrows met in perplexity. Well, perhaps if he had noticed the guy yelling from across the street sooner, he wouldn't be as confused. 

"Hey, Fred, it's Iero's faggot son again! Quick, come look!"

Gerard picked up on Frank's pace quickening.

He considered maybe raising a question on the ongoing occurrence, but the sound of rapid footsteps approaching and a hand reaching out to grab Frank by the shoulder silenced him. Frank turned around and Gerard copied him hesitantly.

Facing him, there was a tall, relatively slim guy with blond, mid-length hair, wearing blue ripped jeans. The wide, malicious grin on his face strongly reminded Gerard of a Disney villain. And right next to him, the dude that had grabbed Frank by the shoulder was short and had blond, spiky hair, laden with tons of gel that made it look all greasy and rough. 

They both didn't look older than seventeen.

Gerard decided he didn't like them. Both of them provided an uncommon kind of aura—the vitriolic kind that would give you headaches.

"Ah now, what do we have here? Looks like little Frankie finally brought his boyfriend over for us to meet! At last," Disney-villain-guy teased loudly. "And I thought you shut us out. You hurt my feelings, little cousin."

"Good grief," Frank muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. "Fuck off, Fred." He made an attempt to edge past them, but Fred-guy grabbed him by the elbow with a disapproving 'nuh-uh'.