Hate Is A Funny Thing

At three in the morning, most people who are right in their minds are fast asleep, snuggled up to their lovers or avoiding the cold spot in their bed where a lover ought to be. They're snoring, drooling, grinding their teeth, mumbling, all those night time habits humans have. Some cars go by outside our houses, the streetlight buzzes but, in most places, life slows down.

The glowing numbers on his alarm clock have just flicked to 3:17 and Gerard Way is not asleep. He has been lying in his bed for four hours, eyes shut tightly, trying in vain to sink into the pure darkness of his room and float off into his dreams, if only for a few fucking minutes.

But no. Every time he comes close to letting his thoughts carry him away, he hears that stupid fucking annoying giggle drifting up through the vent and he's wide awake again, every thought in his brain related to how he could get away with murder.

He hates it's owner. His mother would correct him and say he disliked the owner of the giggle, but that would be telling a lie. He truly hates Pete Wentz, he hates what he's done to his little brother and he especially hates his fucking girly laugh. He hates his flat ironed hair, his tight, tight pants and his layers and layers of eyeliner that always ended up smudged a thousand ways to Sunday.

Basically, he hates every aspect of him, right down to his very existence.

Pete first started coming around only a month ago, when Mikey introduced him as "a friend of a friend of mine." With just that first glimpse, Gerard was worried. His little brother was a good kid, a little naive, but really a sweet guy. He'd had the same girlfriend since he'd entered high school (which was practically unheard of amongst today's teenagers) and he'd stayed away from the party scene.

Until Pete. Not even a week later, Gerard was summoned out of bed at an ungodly hour by a phone call from Mikey's worried girlfriend, saying that he was drunk and she didn't know what to do with him, that she was scared he was going to hurt her.

Sweet little Mikey, who bawled his eyes out when he accidentally killed his pet fish with too much food. The thought that he would hurt Alicia was just preposterous. But he did hurt her and when Gerard dragged his brother kicking and screaming out of her house, Mikey had blood dripping down his arms from where Alicia had slashed him with a knife.

It was Pete's fucking fault. He was still sitting on the couch, bottle of vodka in his hand, laughing hysterically as Mikey yelled every cuss Gerard knew, plus a few terms that were unknown to him until that point. Even as he floored his car, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the vehicle with his wasted brother, Pete chased after them, alternately sobbing and laughing.

Any images the Way family had dancing in their heads of Mikey and Alicia getting married someday were harshly torn apart when she tossed the promise ring he'd given her through his open window while he slept off his hangover. It'd once been silver and now it was black, completely scorched.

That was only the beginning. After that came the addiction to pot.

Now Gerard knows that, as a matter of science, you can't get addicted to pot, but he doesn't know any other words to describe the new phase his brother entered after the break-up with Alicia. But Pete started showing up to their house every day and almost like clockwork, as soon as the lights in their parent's room flicked out, the sweet fumes would start drifting up from the basement.

Now, Gerard doesn't hate Pete for supplying his brother with the pot. He doesn't hate him for giving him enough vodka to kill a horse. He doesn't even hate him for making Mikey and Alicia split up.

No, the main reason Gerard hates Pete is because he's turning his little brother into a carbon copy of Gerard, whether or not he knows it.

Gerard's teenage years were drug and sex filled, a mess of illegal substances, men, women, hallucinations... he can barely remember between 14 and 19, which was the age his parents shipped him off to college with the hopes he would straighten out. Surprisingly, he did and when he returned back home at 21, having dropped out of college to pursue something more meaningful, he hadn't even smoked a cigarette for a year.

Mikey had talent, he's good looking, he's a people person. He has all the makings of someone who is going to be successful, of someone who'll go places, but not if Pete keeps filling his lungs with smoke and his mind with corruption.

He hates himself for failing. He won't let Mikey fail as well.

***

He manages to catch a little bit of sleep but is woken up again at five thirty in the morning to hear more hysterical giggling coming from just down the hallway, followed by whispers and water running. Intrigued and knowing he's not going to get any more sleep, Gerard rolls out of bed and pulls a pair of ragged pajama pants on over his boxers before opening his bedroom door slowly, trying to remain undetected.

Ten seconds after that, the smoke alarm goes off. Smoke was pouring out of the kitchen in such a thick cloud that Gerard had to feel his way to the front door, where he sucked in huge gulps of air before collapsing on the steps, lungs aching.

When Gerard's mom finally got to the alarm and knocked it off the ceiling with a broom handle, she found her younger son and his friend lying on the kitchen floor, passed out, with the destroyed remains of a cell phone they'd been boiling on the stove scattered around them.

Surprisingly enough, this wasn't the event that truly drove Gerard mad. Hell, he would have done such a thing sober, just to see what happened.

No, what drove Gerard Way over the edge and finally made him confront Pete Wentz was when he walked into the bathroom to have a shower and found his brother rinsing his hair in the tap.

The ceramic sink was completely black.

***

The sun was already below the horizon and Gerard was freezing, goosebumps trailing up his arms as he leaned further back against the front door, hoping to get a little block from the cold. At any moment, Pete would be coming over, just like he did every night without fail. In his stupid little messenger bag with the buttons all over it would be a dime bag of weed and a package of papers, as well as his lime green pipe, which was the ugliest thing of all.

How the hell does he pay for all that stuff? Gerard has been wondering this since the day he peeked into Pete's bag to see the contraband. The kid would have to be completely loaded.

Speaking of the "kid," he was walking up the driveway, whistling. His stupid bag was swinging against his hip and his hands were dug deep into his lime green hoodie, probably nice and warm, unlike Gerard's.

"Mikey home?" he asks, looking up when he reaches the bottom of the step, hopeful expression on his face.

"We need to talk." Gerard doesn't feel like fucking around; it's cold, he's pissed off and most of all, he's afraid that if he doesn't immediately proceed, he's going to lose his nerve. "About my brother." Pete shrugs and sits down on the concrete step, leaning against the hard brick wall of the entryway.

"What about him?" He reaches into his bag and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offering one out. This little action alone infuriates Gerard even more. His fingers reach out and pluck the smoke and for a moment, he only stares at it, wondering what the hell just happened to the will power he'd prided himself on.

"Forget how?" His head snaps up and Pete is right fucking there, stupid grin on his face. "Let me get that." The flame of his lighter flicks, illuminating the small area and for a moment, the two of them just stare at each other, searching in their eyes for motives, for what thoughts are crossing their minds.

"We should go inside," Pete says, finally getting around to lighting Gerard's cigarette. "It's cold out here."

"Okay." Gerard's never been this close to Pete and he now sees that his eyes are... they're special. It's like they're the doorway to some other world, some world that is locked off from the majority of mankind. They're deep eyes.

What the fuck is happening to him?

He follows Pete inside to his bedroom, which strikes him as strange; has Pete ever been in his bedroom? He doesn't think so. Maybe he's peeked in it with Mikey sometime or... something like that. He's not sure that he likes where this situation is going but at the same time, he's curious.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Gerard hasn't even begun to gather his thoughts and already Pete's turned the conversation to his side. Now his mind is all scrambled and, for a few instants, even he's not sure why he hates Pete so much.

Then he remembers when he hears a thud from downstairs and is jolted back to reality.

"Have you seen what you've done to my brother? Mikey was the best kid anyone could ask for and you have absolutely ruined him. I want my brother back." Short, but he hopes it's effective and that maybe this will make the boy sitting on his bed finally fuck off and get out of their lives.

He's smiling. Pete is smiling.

"I'm not making him do anything," he shrugs, casually setting his bag on the floor. "Do you think Mikey really wanted to be like that? Do you think he wanted to be boring? It was only a matter of time before he experimented and I wanted to make sure he didn't hurt himself."

"How do you have any idea what my brother wanted? I've known him his whole life and you've been around, what? A few fucking months, at the most?" Gerard slides off his chair onto the floor, wanting so much to break Pete's fine, straight nose.

"I know what people want," Pete says, also sliding onto the floor. "I know that you want another cigarette. I know that you want Mikey to be good because he's everything you're not and everything you never will be. You're broken Gerard. So was Mikey, in his own way. He was stuck in a life he hated and I helped him get out. I fixed him." By this point, he's crossed the small room to be kneeling in front of Gerard again, hands resting on his knees.

"I can fix you too, if you want. I can rid of all those urges you still have." Now their foreheads are touching and Gerard's once again entranced by those fucking eyes.

"I can be your addiction." With that, they're kissing fiercely, bypassing the normal cutesy, introduction stuff. Gerard shoves Pete's hoodie off and runs his fingers through his hair, tugging lightly here and there because he knows he loves having that done to himself. His mind is running on two different tracks, one protesting and one screaming for more.

He listens to the latter, pushing Pete over onto his back and climbing on top of him, losing his own shirt in the process. Pete's body underneath him is warm and smooth and his hands are roaming everywhere, craving more, wanting more, needing more. He feels nails digging into his back and gasps quietly, arching up into it. He wants these marks to last, he wants to be able to look in the mirror tomorrow and see the gashes, like a tiger marking their territory.

Pete's stomach is hard as a rock, his abs well defined and toned. This is Gerard's favourite part, running his fingers along and feeling Pete bite down on his lip every time Gerard goes near his hips. There's blood trickling down his face, he can feel it, but he's proud of it.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Both of them stop and look at Gerard's doorway, where Mikey is standing looking absolutely confused and just a little bit disgusted.

"Mikey, what are you doing?" Gerard asks, climbing off Pete and frantically pulling his shirt back on, face bright red with embarrassment.

"Your door was open and I was looking for Pete." His newly black hair flops down over his face and he flicks it out again, knocking his glasses askew. His eyes turn to Pete, who is still shirtless and not seeming ashamed of the suspicious bulge in the front of his pants.

"You coming down dude?" he asks, gaze slightly off to the right, trying not to look directly at him.

"Yep, and I brought the stuff you wanted." Mikey nods and disappears oddly fast, leaving the two men in an awkward silence.

"I'll be back later, after he passes out," Pete says, finally pulling his shirt back on and snatching his bag back up. "I don't think you're quite addicted to me yet." With another heart stopping kiss, he seals the deal and vanishes, leaving a still flustered Gerard sitting on his floor, still holding the hoodie Pete left behind. He holds it to his chest and climbs up onto his bed, draping it across his stomach and pulling a pillow over his face. His sigh is loud enough to be heard out in the living room.

God, how he hates Pete Wentz.