Broken glass all over the floor?




Four delinquent boys with pockets and backpacks stuffed full of cash and jewelry?


"Sykes, Fuentes, get your asses moving. Way, shoot the security cameras. I'll go get the truck and see if we can beat the cops again."

The boy barking out orders is tall and lanky, with short dark hair and insanely blue eyes, and a voice, as described by the girls that fawn relentlessly over him, like liquid butter.

"Andy, you do know you can use our names and we won't kill you, right?" one of the shorter boys says. A bandanna covers his nose and mouth, and a dark hood is pulled over his head. All that is visible of the boy is his dark brown eyes just barely peeking out over the edge of the black bandanna, along with his tan cheekbones.

"I know! Now get going, the sirens are getting closer!" the boy shouts as he rolls his eyes and jumps over the counter and out the back door of the jewelry store.

One of the boys pulls out a gun and begins to shoot every camera in his sight, while the other two produce spray paint cans and begin to draw an elaborate lotus flower in various dark blues, blacks and purples over the name of the store.

An engine roars nearby, and as it draws closer, the boys one by one jump over the counter and out the back door, making their escape just as the first boy had.


"And we are some rich motherfuckers!" Andy shouts. He has diamond earrings in his ears, paired with several expensive looking necklaces wrapped around his neck and the wads of hundred dollar bills he’s rubbing on his face.

The three other boys in his entourage chuckle, each flicking through a stack of bills they have in their hands.

"I've got $850."


"An even $2,000."

A comfortable silence falls across the room.

"So that would make the total..."

"Somewhere near $80,000 in cash and probably about $10,000 more in jewelry."

Andy looks at his group. The boys who have bound themselves together with unspoken agreements and words, who knew each other's sleep patterns and addictions, their life long dreams and goals. There’s no such thing as a secret in this group.

Of course, Andy and his best friend Oli were already up to their necks in drugs and other illegal things when they met Vic Fuentes, the short Hispanic boy with dark brown eyes whose family owned a small country store that Oli and Andy robbed. Vic had walked in on the boys mid-robbery, standing there like a deer in headlights. The three boys stood there for a second, staring at each other, before Vic spoke, slowly and shakily.

"Need any help?"

It was then that Andy and Oli decided that they wanted Vic to stick around. Upon discovery that they all attended the same school, the pair invited Vic to hang out with them, earning Vic a reputation as one of the most dangerous and badass guys in school, even though in reality he was nothing but sweet and caring.

The fourth boy of their group, however, is something of an enigma on his own.

At first glance, you could easily pass Gerard Way off as no one worth paying attention to, with his short bleached blond hair and hazel eyes, and his generally quiet and evasive manner.

But when someone broke into the school and covered every whiteboard in every classroom with very graphic yet beautiful art of zombies, vampires and other strange things, obviously the first three people under suspicion were Andy, Vic and Oli.

Vic remembered that day after school, when the trio were perched on top of the roof after Oli had discovered the door in the janitor’s closet that lead up there.

Andy was smoking, taking long pulls on the cigarette, staring far off into the distance, at nothing in particular. Oli was laying on his back, his arms crossed over his face, chest rising and falling slowly in a rhythm, attempting to sleep, while Vic just sat there, watching the white cotton-y clouds drift across the sky at a leisurely pace.

"So who do you think did the graffiti? Were they trying to upstage us?" Andy said between drags of his cigarette.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. Maybe they wanted our attention," Oli said, his accent thicker than usual, weighed down with sleep.

"Whoever they are, they've got some mad skills," Vic chimed in.

"Agreed," Andy muttered as he pushed the butt of his cigarette against the roof, putting it out. "Whoever they are, I have no idea why they aren't hanging out with us. I'd love to meet them."


No more than a week later, the three boys were sitting at the back of their biology class, the only one they shared, heckling the teacher and paying little attention to the actual lesson.

All of the teachers in the school had given up on attempting to make the trio focus, leaving them to do whatever they pleased, knowing that no matter what they tried it would fail. Andy was on his phone playing some game, while Vic and Oli slid notes back and forth to each other, ignoring the entire lesson. But that doesn't mean that the rest of the class could just slack off.

"Mr. Way," the short, pudgy man at the front of the classroom, the designated authority said. "You had best hope whatever you're finding so interesting is worth sharing with the class."

The boy's eyes blew wide. He shook his head, sliding the sketchbook that previously sat on his desk into his lap. The teacher walked up to him and held out his hand.

"Mr. Way, please give me the sketchbook."

The boy shook his head, clutching the sketchbook closely to him. The teacher thrust his hand out again, tapping his foot impatiently.

"If you don't hand over the sketchbook, I'm afraid I'll have to give you detention."

Reluctantly, the blond boy handed over the sketchbook with shaky hands.

The teacher walked it back up to the front of the classroom and flipped the sketchbook open, sliding the first piece of artwork under the projector screen.

Andy sat bolt upright, staring with wide eyes at the screen. He reached his arm around Vic to smack Oli in the back of the head, dragging the boy's attention to the screen.

"That art look familiar to you?" Andy said, gesturing to the front of the classroom.

Oli squinted at the board for a moment, taking in the artwork before them.

"Yeah," He said.

"Wait, that's the same style of art as the graffiti!" Vic said. Andy nodded in agreement.

"Whose sketchbook is that?" Oli asked. "I think it's that Way kid... uh... Jared? No...Gerard! That's it!" Vic said.

"We're gonna talk to him after class, alright?" Andy decided for the group.

The teacher continued to put Gerard's work on display for the class, and Oli and Vic muttered their agreements.


As soon as the bell rang, Gerard leaped up out of his seat, snatched his sketchbook from the teacher's desk and bolted out the door.

"Damn," Oli said, following Vic and Andy out of the classroom, "He's a fast one."

Somehow, the trio caught up with Gerard, just outside of the library.

"Hey!" Vic shouted. The boy flinched, and turned slowly to face them, eyes cast down, trembling slightly.

"Hey, no. it's okay, we just want to talk. We promise we don't want to hurt you. Were you the kid who did the graffiti on the whiteboards?" Vic asked, shifting his tone to the same one he used on his little brother when he was scared. Obviously Gerard was a little frightened, he had probably heard the wild and mostly untrue rumors about the boys.

With his eyes still cast down, Gerard nodded.

"Dude, that was amazing. You're a great artist, anyone ever tell you that?" Andy spoke up.

Gerard's eyes lit up, a small smile twitching at his lips. "Really?" He whispered, his voice shaky and hardly audible.

"Really. Would you like to sit with us at lunch?" Vic continued. Gerard's eyes flicked to Andy (whose face was expressionless) and then to Oli, who had a warm smile etched into his features.

"S-sure," Gerard said.


From there, Gerard had slid easily into their group. Since breaking into the school and covering the walls with graffiti was no problem, participating in the group's already flamboyant and slightly illegal lifestyle was no problem at all.

And they had come to agree: they’re a family, together through whatever bullshit the world throws at them.

Even now, as they sit in the living room floor of Gerard’s house and strap rubber bands around stolen wads of money, Andy can still sense that promise. He can sense it, and it feels stronger than ever.
♠ ♠ ♠
Peaches. I want peaches.