band oneshots ✧ boy x boy

Melrose Diner - Frerard

A/U: Based of the song "Melrose Diner" by The Wonder Years!
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The red solo cup I held unnecessarily-hard contorted under my harsh grip as the snarl on my face made an appearance at the sight of him. Frank fucking Iero.

"I hate your bad tattoos." I mumbled into my screwed up cup filled half-way with shitty beer.

Fuck, I hate the way they're littered across his pale skin - and I hate how everyone seems to think he's the coolest motherfucker at Belleville High because of them - and I especially hate how damn attractive they make him fucking look, goddamnit. Newsflash, asshole, your shitty tattoos aren't scoring you a job better than Walmart.

I scoffed and took another swing of my beer as I heard a glimpse of his conversation, "-and your second-hand stories."

Of-fucking-course he's talking about that one time he got immensely fucked up at homecoming and made out with Mr. Urie. All while managing to not score detention or a beating from the football captain, Ryan Ross, who is hopelessly in love with Mr. Urie.

Those anecdotes that grew old last month. Is his life so utterly boring and pathetic that he has to talk about the same damn thing at every party he attends?

Thank whatever God is above that he bailed on that tragic conversation. My ears were practically bleeding at the mention of him kissing Mr. Urie, again. Not that I care who he's kissing or anything. Fuck him. Metaphorically, obviously, he's too much of a dick to let near my dick.

I'm starting to regret being thankful that he managed to shut his mouth because now he's too-fucking-wasted and sporting that damn perfect smile as he makes his way to the makeshift dance floor.

I hate the way you move when you're drunk and try dancing. It's not sexy.

The moment he realizes that he's not going to score any bodies tonight if he continues his vaguely-sexual take on Just Dance will be a night for the books.

Maybe it is kind of sexy, his soft grinding, the sway of each hip, the half-hearted smirk he flashes me on the couch when he catches me staring. God, don't get me fucking started on the way he tugs slightly at his lip ring innocently, I swear that'll be the death of me. Asshole.

But that's only if you ignore his horrid personality. Which proves its difficulty quite easily, to be honest. I mean, c'mon, his personality is pretty bad, right? You can see from across town that he is the type of guy who'll write shitty punk songs about you on his shitty guitar, and take you on midnight drives while playing the shitty mix he made you consisting of shitty emo songs. Overall a shitty guy, if you ask me.

And I really fucking wish Ray Toro wasn't making his way over to me right this very moment. It's not that Ray is a bad guy or anything, he's actually pretty cool, however, I'm just not fond of anyone that's got anything to do with us.

I awkwardly scooted myself over and leaned against the armrest of the old couch I happened to be perched upon. I was perfectly content wallowing in my self-pity alone, but I assume Ray took the couch's vacancy as an opportunity to spark a conversation about some comic book that was recently released.

Ray must have noticed I wasn't paying an awful lot of attention to his rambling because he began to wave his hand in front of my face. "Gerard? Gerard... are you even listening? I said we should get the band back together, I miss how things use to be and-"