Elmo's World

*laughs* This is some form of an epilogue, I guess.
Sarcasm is not appreciated though everything else is. Flames are not taken kindly too.
It’s only a story. I understand you might be angry and stuff, but chill. It’s pixels. Reality comes first, after all.

As some form of an apology, I have the final chapter HERE to wrap things up.

Now THIS, my dear reader, IS final. No character death or anything. Just an ending. Thank you, twilighted-beauty, for being so encouraging.

And Screw the hate mail, I say – take your problems somewhere else. I write to please myself. We spend time and effort to put this on here, if someone flames you, you’d be hurt too, right!?

(First Person POV, Frank, one week later)

Things have been going on a lot recently, I don’t know what to think anymore. I mean – yeah, Ilike him and all, but coming out? Sure, I know a lot of people who are gay, and bisexual. But really – it was difficult for them to be open about it.

Hell, I don’t know who I can trust anymore.

My train of thought should hit a cow sometimes. It’ll do my sanity much good. Should I, or should I not – that is the question. See? Now I’m taking leaves out of Shakespeare’s books. How pathetic can I get?

But it’s good, I suppose, that we remain friends.

“Oi, Frank,” Gerard’s crackling, annoyed voice drifted over the phone, breaking the thought sequence. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Ah!?” I coughed, embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

“Good grief,” he exhaled, eliciting a buzz of static. “The band’s having a meeting, under the cover of a party at Ray’s house.”

“Good. Take what you can. Leave no prisoners.”

“What, is this World War Three?”

I chuckled. “By the time that comes, the human race would’ve collapsed on itself and we’d be throwing rocks at each other.”

“That reminds me of Rome, you know,” Gerard said.

“You remember?” I replied flatly, concealing the (mild) amazement at his memory span.

“Of course. So, will ya be there?”

“Huh, time and place?”

“Six-thirty PM, this Saturday, Ray’s house, bring yourself. Be there, and that’s an order, you hear?”

“Hey!” I snapped. “Wait -”

But that idiot had already slammed the phone down on me, without ceremony.

I sighed, dragging a lazy hand through matted locks of hair, casting a suspicious glance at the calendar taped to the wall beside the phone. So, Saturday was tomorrow, eh? Well, damn that Gerard Way. He was going to get it. I kinda pity poor Ray now, his house’s gonna be in such a mess.

We’d socialized a little bit more with our classes, and I wonder...did Gerard invite everyone!?

“God damn.”

But I couldn’t stop smirking.

(Saturday)

Doomsday was nigh as I approached Ray’s house. The friggin’ lights could be seen all the way from here – a good three streets away. Thank Heavens the five of us – namely My Chemical Romance – lived so near each other.

I nearly choked when my cell-phone belted out its broken-sounding ringtone, perforating what little silence there was left like a gunshot at midnight. You know, vibrating objects in your very tight jeans did not bode well for your nerves. Take my advice and keep your phones somewhere else...see, I’m such a humanitarian.

“’Lo?” I yelled, straight into the little device once I flipped it open.

“FRANK! You’re don’t have to yell!”

“What, aren’t you yelling as well!?”

I swear, the noise blaring from Gerard’s end of the line could compensate for any ‘speaker modes’ my phone might have.

“It’s loud here, idiot.”

“Damn, what’s the point of this!?”

“Hurry up, you’re late!”

“WHAT!?” I shot a hasty glance at my wristwatch. Seven!? So fast? Shit! “Okay, you’re right, my bad, blahblah. Coming!”

Without waiting for a reply, I sped down the street, rubber soles pounding on concrete, heading towards the distant orange glow.

= = = = =

“You’re...”

“So...”

“Freaking...”

“Late!”

And for every spoken word, I received a very nasty thump on the back. But it was all a form of endearment, really.

“Sorry, sorry,” I couldn’t stop apologising, though I didn’t mean a word of it.

“Sorry is two syllables, and you say it so much until it’s as meaningless as ‘fuck’,” Mikey spoke up, matter-of-fact. But hey, he was right.

“Aww, fuck.”

“See?”

Everyone else laughed. The front lawn was blissfully crowded, and so was Ray’s living room. The sound of hard rock tore through the ight air, disturbing the neighbours. Drunken brawls sparked here and there, but were usually calmed down by Bob storming in single-handedly and dispatching both leaders. All hail the mighty one, then.

Ray kept the living room in order, with special instructions like:

“Don’t mess up the china!”

“Oi, that’s fucking glass!”

And...

“DAMMIT, I will not permit you to view anything above NC-17!”

Apparently, his mum would end up murdering him if she found out. Oh, what fearsome powers mothers hold.

“Truth or Dare!” someone yelled from the living room, over by the couch-area. “Who wants to play?”

“Me!” vaulting neatly over the couch, I landed on the soft material, springs creaking under the sudden weight.

“Hey, Frank?” Gerard peeked over the edge of the piece of furniture. “What about MCR?”

“Will wait,” I replied, hastily waiting for the game to start, as many more were already joining in. “I’ll help sort out the band business later, okay?”

“Ah,” his face clouded over in annoyance, then relaxed. “Fine. I’m joining in then.”

“Yo, Frank!”

I raised an eyebrow, turning around just as Gerard seated himself on the couch beside me. “Hey, Fang!”

She smirked. “Nice meeting you here.”

“Same.”

So we were still on friendly-enough speaking terms? Well, good.

“Psst, Frank,” Gerard elbowed me in the ribs, slouching backwards. “Game’s started, better pay attention.”

Basically, someone would spin a bottle. But unlike the actual game with people eating each other’s faces, the lucky person whom the bottle lands on gets to pick ‘Truth or Dare’. Quite simple, really.

“Ouch,” Gerard winced, tone mock-sympathetic. “You suck at gambling, dude.”

“What?” I looked down. Oh shit? I was the first lucky contestant, it seemed. “Ah, hell.”

“Truth or Dare?” Fang spoke up, voice dripping with acidic malice. She’s evil, I tell you. Absolutely evil!

“Dare!” I shot back, challenging – I wasn’t going to back down on this one! She, however, had been waiting for this.

“SUPER!” she gave me a very enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I will now rope someone into this, what say you, Gerard Way?”

“Geeeehhh!?”

My dear friend had just probably received the greatest shock of his life.

“Frank, I dare you to kiss Gerard.”

Enter the collective intake of breath. I think the two of us were stunned speechless. Then a voice rose up, a light among the darkness...

“Come on, the two of you, kiss!”

...Fat lot of hope that was.

The word ‘kiss’ had been adapted into the new mantra for today. Out with the National Anthem – this is modern world society, my men!

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

The collective chant was both nerve-wrecking and abnormally annoying, it seemed.

“Damn, fine,” I muttered. “Bear with it.”

“Someone, dial an ambulance.”

“Oh, very nice,” I remarked sarcastically, leaning in and making no move. I narrowed my eyes down to silts as Gerard gulped, uneasy.

“Let’s get this over with,” he whispered.

I felt his musty breath on my face. “My pleasure.”

Oh, and that was intended sarcasm.

Out lips met for a split second – and only for a split second. Not much – there was no breathtakingly hot make-out session. Yet the connection was just there for the both of us.

He ran his moist tongue across my lower lip, and I smirked. Not that easy, not that hard either. I merely smashed my lips further into his, simultaneously increasing my territory of the couch. I could feel him shuffling backwards under me, both hands already wrapped around my neck and much smaller frame. My hands were left to wander – from supporting myself to all over the front of his shirt, fiddling playfully with the various buttons.

The noises of all members of the audience had already faded to black.

“Oi, Frank, what the...”

“Shut up.”

And in that small retort, I accidently bit down on his lip.

“Godammit!” he yelped, pulling back. “That friggin’ hurt! I’ll sue...whoa!”

I cackled sardonically, peeking over the edge of the couch, from which Gerard had fallen over. Served the asshole right.

“So this was your ulterior motive!” he pointed a finger at me, accusing.

“What?” I shrugged, gleeful. “Of course not.”

“Right,” he still sounded suspicious. “What was that about, then?”

“Ah?” I really didn’t have an answer. But I still liked him. But...maybe ‘just friends’ wasn’t so bad after all...

“I can expect more, eh?”

I blinked. “What?”

“I mean...” he averted his gaze. “You know.”

“Ah,” I replied vaguely.

“Look, Frank...”

“Shhh,” I admonished his protests with a wave of my hand. “I get it.”

I grinned. Yup, I was really happy with this situation.

It was an official declaration, after all.

“So, next time?”

“Great. Next Saturday, your house.”

“Fine.”

It WAS official. God, I just couldn’t believe this sort of strange luck.

Maybe I didn’t want to, but hell. I was the luckiest man on Earth right now.

I smiled, teasing. “Wonderful.”

A brief silence, then...

The room erupted in shrieks, cheers, and all sorts of congratulations. Oh, what the fuck?

Fangirls, the lot of them. But still – I was happy.
I caught sight of Fang, smiling contentedly amongst the crowd.

Damn, girl...

I caught her eye, just as my smaller hand was wrapped in Gerard’s own.

...Thanks.

She looked up, and waved, just before the two of us were taken crowd surfing by everyone else.

Friends.

They were all our friends and supporters, people who would be there for us all.

Maybe all this...maybe our relationship would work out after all.

END.