"Closer"

Kirsty smoothed down her make-up in the bathroom mirror before throwing all of her things carelessly into her bag. She smiled as she noticed the glimmering text on her phone: One new message from Gee. Flicking it open, her smile soon faded.

Hey sugar. Listen, I'm going to have to nix on our get together tonight. The Enemy is up to something and I'm conferencing with the boys. I'm really sorry baby, but I'll make it up to you as soon as I can. Please forgive me! I love you. xo

"Forgive you? You fucking prat." Kirsty thought out loud. She looked back at the mirror and frowned. Here she was, looking delicious as always, and her boyfriend was willingly effing off on her to discuss how to prolong a silly feud with his schoolfriends.

Sometimes she wondered if he was worth all this. Sure, he was a fine looking young man, earnest, passionate, thoughtful and sweet. [And a demon in the sack, but that's besides the point.] But the amount of times she could take a letdown in a week was one thing. Kirsty was 17 years old, she was beyond caring about all the nonsense that kept Gerard and his friends locked in this pathetic playfight. OK, playfight was the wrong word. There was serious bad feeling between the two groups of friends that ran exceptionally deep and had led to the infliction of many longstanding wounds. But still, she didn't understand why Gerard, or indeed any of the two gangs, allowed their lives to be so dictated by this ill will. It was a large nasty world out there, they'd be better off making friends instead of enemies.

Kirsty sighed and wrote a quick, not-quite-unintentionally bitchy reply, and checked her timetable. Drama was next. Marvellous. She was certainly in the mood for it.

Slinging her bag onto her shoulder, she ran her fingers through her long caramel hair and turned to leave with a heavy sigh. Ach, what could she do? Love was unconditional. And he'd given her too many wonderful moments and memories for her to turn her back on him over one recurrent glimpse of immaturity...hell, he was a boy. He wouldn't be mature until the age of 40.

If she was lucky.

Suddenly, just as Kirsty reached for the door handle, it crashed open practically in her face. She jumped back, startled, but her pretty face adopted a profound frown when she saw who had walked in.

Val.

That inane cow.

She bloody hated her. And not just cos she was the rudest, most uncouth and unpleasant, ill-bred, poorly brought up example of bovine bitchiness that Kirsty had ever had the misfortune of coming across in her life, but because Val KNEW that, and did her best to live up to it.

Which included trying to flatten her against the wall in the already cramped, narrow girl's bathroom. Kirsty shot her an unappreciative glance and went to pull open the door again, but Val slammed it shut with one hand.

"So, Stone, I've noticed your putrid face is looking worse than usual."

"Perhaps that's because you're looking in a mirror and don't realise it."

"Ouch. Was that an attempt at bitchiness?"

"You would know."

"Funny. So tell me, what's that wussy ass boyfriend of yours got planned for this evening?"

"And I would tell you that because...?"

"It's in your best interests."

"Eh?"

"I appreciate your inherent blondeness, but really Stone, you're not doing yourself any favours."

"OK, listen here Val, I know you were deprived of oxygen in the womb and all that, and your twin sister tried her best but failed to consume you at the foetal stage, but even you shouldn't be this dense."

"Dense?"

"Precisely. I'm not going to tell you what Gerard's doing, mainly because I don't know myself, and if this is some pathetic half-assed attempt to figure out what your own boyfriend is doing when he's skiving off your dates, it ain't going to work. Now if you'll excuse me..."

The door was tugged open and snapped shut again.

"You're not going anywhere, Stone."

"I have a first name."

"I think Stone is more effective."

"Why?"

"More to the point."

"And you wonder why people think you only have one brain cell."

Val grabbed Kirsty and flattened her out against the wall.

"Do not push me, Kirsty."

"See, that can't have been that hard."

Kirsty grabbed Val's hand and ripped it away from her throat.

"And it would do you well to realise that physical violence won't get you anywhere. Just cos your fella is into brawls, doesn't mean you should be. Especially considering how painfully you're going to lose."

Kirsty made for the door again, but Val grabbed her and pulled her back.

"I'm not done with you yet."

"I have Drama to attend."

"There'll be enough of that here for you, trust me."

"Val, please move? I will happily kick your ass after school. But I actually like this class."

"Don't go getting all condescending and English on me."

"I am English you great buffoon."

For some reason, that remark prompted Val to punch Kirsty. The latter dropped her books and stumbled backwards, gripping her lip, which now oozed scarlet liquid. She turned quickly to the mirror, emitting a shriek of disgust at the disarming sight of blood trickling freely down her chin. Damn. Val may be a midget, but she had a mean right hook.

Not that Kirsty herself didn't.

Kirsty turned back to her adversary and scrunched up her face in revulsion. Ripping off her bag and throwing it aside, she launched herself at her.

The two girls fell to the ground and commenced the screaming, kicking, punching, and hair-pulling that were par for the course in a bitchfight. This wasn't the first time they'd come to arms. As the First Ladies (if you will) of the relevant gangs, they were practically obliged to hate one another. It was just that Val always wanted to get physical, whereas Kirsty (who was more of a lady) preferred the old-fashioned war of words. That said, it should be noted that Kirsty was used to being mauled by her older brother, and something of a ladette at heart, so while she refused to throw the first punch, she was one menacing, pseudo-rabid vixen when provoked.

Into the midst of this scene of carnage-a rather perplexing sight too, given how tiny the bathrooms were-stepped Lycia, after about 5 minutes had elapsed. For 5 minutes, read: enough time for some bruises to have been conceived and hair to have been tugged loose of any stylised constraints. Lycia, ever the cool customer (and for the record, on Kirsty's side of this feud), merely peered over the top of her sunglasses and stepped into a cubicle with a dry shake of her head. Emerging a few moments later, she washed her hands and flicked the water over the two girls, wrestling completely obliviously on the ground.

"Eh?"

"LYCIA! STAY OUT OF THIS!"

She raised one eyebrow to a perfect pointed arc and wondered why on earth Kirsty thought she would get involved.

"Will I still be seeing you after school?"

"MAYBE!" was the breathless reply.

"DON'T YOU GO ANYWHERE EITHER!" Val cried threateningly. "I'LL GET TO YOU AFTER I'M DONE WITH HER!"

"Oh please." Lycia rolled her eyes, cast a quick look in the mirror, and left again.

The gust of wind precipitated by Lycia's swift exit seemed to unnerve the two girls, as both shrieked momentarily. Kirsty seized her opportunity and shoved some toilet paper into Val's mouth, causing her to grimace and drop her guard. She then proceeded to finish on a girly note, i.e. a particularly stinging slap across the face. Val emitted a muffled cry of pain, but stayed on the ground. Kirsty stood up, straightened up her skirt, and, tutting at her appearance, quickly reapplied her lippy.

"Same time next week?" she said icily, before turning on her heel and leaving with a precocious flick of her hair.

Well, Gerard Way wouldn't date just anyone.

* ~ *

Gerard felt a lump rise in his throat as he hit "send" on his mobile phone. He hated blowing Kirsty off like this. It wasn't fair on her, just because A7X were such a bunch of assholes. But he couldn't afford to let his guard down. It had been his fault that the last prank had worked, because he was too busy trying to catch Shads off guard, and Zacky wormed his way into the open hole. He flipped the phone shut and picked up his backpack, dodging the CCTV camera on the wall and ducking out the door to head towards the Treehouse. The treehouse was anything but; a hollowed sandpit just beyond the school bounds, but it was underneath a sturdy and suitably atmospheric-looking oak tree, so the boys had decided to name it thus. It was where the good souls of MCR ["My Chemical Romance", a name they chose for their little gang to reflect a book blurb] came together to plot strategies and offensives against the Enemy.

Gerard reflected as he walked briskly across the grass, trying to look inconspicuous, and failing miserably given his appearance. Edward Scissorhands lived on, except with proper limbs and ever-so-slightly-less messy hair. He sighed as he wondered how it had all come to this. It sounded utterly, utterly ridiculous to the neutral outsider, that he, a 17-year-old senior in high school, and his friends should be so completely engrossed in a childish feud with another group of guys in their year. There comes a point when people have to grow up, they say. When the shackles of immaturity and childhood loosen and are shaken vigorously off. When one takes their first step into the sun, not as a dependent, but as a man. Someone with a clear and focused mind, determination and pride. Someone who knew where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do.

SPLAT.

Gee winced and stumbled a little as he felt something heavy and wet smack him hard on the back. He grimaced as he put his hand around to see what had hit him, and instantly wished he hadn't.

"Ewwwwwwwww!" he exclaimed girlishly, dropping the gooey green substance to the ground. He hurriedly ran over to the wall, leapt over and ducked behind it, pulling out his phone and calling Bob.

"Yo." Bob's responses were legendary for their gruffness and brevity.

"I'm camped behind the south wall. They used a dirty bomb on me again."

"Gerard, do you actually know what a dirty bomb is?"

Gerard was too busy raising himself up far enough, and carefully enough, to see over the top of the wall. He peered around cautiously and, out of the corner of his eye, spied a familiar face in the trees directly across the field to the right.

"DAMN! Bob, it was Johnny. He's up in the tree again."

"I thought Toro cut down that branch?"

"He refused to. Said an innocent tree shouldn't suffer cos of a silly feud."

"Hmm."

Another loud splat and some airborne ooze indicated the enemy was still firing on Gerard.

"SHIT! Bob, we gotta move. Positions for combat!"

"..."

"Where are you guys?"

"...sheesh."

SPLAT.

"BOB!!!"

"I can see you from here."

Gerard turned to see Bob, his brother Mikey, and Frank standing under a tree nearby. In the treehouse.

...well, duh. You big eejit.

Gerard snapped his phone shut and dramatically scrambled across the ground to them. Bob helped him get up and he brushed off his clothes. "Where to next?"

"I need some Starbucks."

Gerard just blinked at him.

"...fair enough. Me too."

The group shrugged and took off down the road, a sodden black heap of fascination.

Acting like a child is too damn infectious sometimes.