Inseparable

The silver light of the moon creeps into Frank's room, illuminating the walls with a greyish white light. Two boys are sharing a bed, one laying on his back, arms folded over his chest, eyes open and staring at the ceiling, the other on his stomach with his face buried in the pillow.

Kellin had decided he didn't want to sleep on the floor of Frank's room tonight, and after much teasing about Kellin's secret desire for Frank's body and a rather violent pillow fight, Frank had scooted over and given Kellin half of the bed. Kellin had hit Frank over the head once more with his pillow before finally curling up and going to sleep.

Kellin's breathing is steady, the fabric of the blanket and his clothes moving in a gentle rhythm that Frank can track easily. It delivers some form of comfort to him, having another person lay next to him. Frank has once more been plagued with a minor bout of insomnia - some nights he can just go to sleep, and then some nights he lays awake for hours before he actually feels tired.

Tonight is one of the latter nights.

Frank sighs heavily and once more tries to memorize the patterns on his ceiling. It isn't long before he releases a distressed groan and covers his face with his arm.

He won't be sleeping tonight. Frank figures he’ll probably be able to catch a quick nap during his English class, and that will probably be enough sleep to keep him sane until he finally crashes in one or two days.

Across the city, alone in a dark house, another boy sits in front of a window, the same pale moonlight that is keeping Frank company shedding a dim light on his sketchbook.

This boy is awake by his own choice, choosing not to sleep, choosing to push his body to the brink of exhaustion, waiting for his little brother to come home, or call, or something.

He presses the pencil harder against the paper, making broad, rough strokes. He isn't quite sure what he’s drawing yet, sometimes he’ll just move the pencil and let the picture create itself. This is how he loses himself. He can forget that the world is a cruel and torturous place full of rape and murder and crying mothers over the dead bodies of their children. This way, he can escape. He’s safe in this world, the world of paint and charcoal and graphite.

His pencil pauses when the door downstairs opens, the usual creak resounding loud in the otherwise empty house.

"Gee?" A voice calls, weighed with concern and panic. Gerard’s heart races.

He shoves the sketchbook and the pencil off his lap and to the side. Bolting downstairs, he nearly passes out when he sees the scene in front of him.

Andy is standing in the foyer, his blue eyes conveying an emotion of nothing but sorrow and pain. He’s holding a bruised and bloody body, an arm of the person slung around Andy's shoulder, Andy's free arm wrapped around their waist.

"Mikey...... Oh my god," Gerard says, rushing forward and taking his brother from his friend's arms.

"Fuck, we need to clean you up. What even happened?" Gerard says in a rush as he helps his moaning brother stumble to the cabinet of a bathroom they had on the first floor. Andy leans against the door frame of the bathroom and heaves a sigh.

Gerard places his hands on his brother's hips and gently lifts him onto the counter, and then begins scavenging through the cabinets, pulling out various ointments and bottles. He pushes past Andy and goes back into the kitchen, retrieving two cold water bottles and a pencil.

"Oh Mikey," Gerard whispers, lovingly stroking his brother's bruised and slightly swollen face.

"Motherfucker, if you don't have a decent explanation for this I'm going to kick your sorry little ass,” Gerard growls as he stabs a hole in the lid of one of the water bottles with the pencil.

Andy heaves yet another sigh. "Well..."

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Kellin is whimpering by Frank's side. His face is contorted in pain, his legs thrashing out, small mutters of the word 'no' just barely escaping his lips.

For a moment, Frank simply watches, wondering if the nightmare will pass or if it will blossom into something more. When Kellin begins moving his torso and the cries of 'no 'become more audible, Frank simply begins to rub his friend's shoulder, pressing his chest to Kellin's side, attempting to remind his subconscious that he isn't alone in the room.

Kellin releases one more whimper and then all movement ceases. A calm sigh shudders through his body, and Frank doesn't move at all until he’s sure that Kellin has fallen back into an easy sleep.

After all, if someone can sleep, it needs to be restful. Frank lays back down, turning away slightly from Kellin. He can feel something swelling up in his chest, an emotion, and he isn't sure what it is. It isn't love, he'd felt that once and this emotion is a lot less definitive, but it’s.... similar. The same attachment, the same constant need to have the other person within eyesight, if not by your side.

Frank allows his confused thoughts to flood his mind and control him for a while, until he suddenly finds his vision drifting in and out of focus and his eyelids becoming heavier.

Note to self, he thinks, think about emotions to get tired.

With that, Frank feels the dark wave that is sleep slide over him and pull him deep down under its dark current.

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Mikey groans again and grips Andy's wrist tightly, digging his fingernails into the skin.

"Hold still, Mikes, this will hurt a hell of a lot more if you don't stop moving," Gerard says as he guides the needle threaded with dental floss through the open wound that is currently oozing dark, crimson blood at a steady rate down Mikey's chest and Gerard's hand. Mikey digs his nails deeper into Andy's skin and grits his teeth, trying not to concentrate on the pain.

"Andy, can you call Vic and Oli? I think we need to...discuss... some things about some people," Gerard says as he ties up the dental floss and rubs a water-soaked cloth gently over the deeper of the many wounds on Mikey's chest.

Mikey winces once more and slowly releases his grip on Andy, who then shoves his hand in his pants pocket and fights his phone free, walking out of the small bathroom, already talking to one of the aforementioned boys.

It takes every ounce of willpower Gerard has in his body to not punch a wall right now. Mikey is hurt, and hurt bad. All because of him and his stupid decisions and his stupid friends and God he is just so stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Gee," Mikey croaks. "You shouldn't blame yourself for this, okay? This is nobody's fault but the people that did this, and we both know that Oli and Andy won’t stand for this. There's always going to be another gang, another robbery, and someone taking your guy's talents too seriously and trying to upstage you and getting pissed when they fail. Nobody needs to die. I'm okay, Gee. Pinky promise."

Gerard clenches and unclenches his fists, and then looks up at his brother. "You are still my little brother and my decisions still played a part in you getting hurt. I don't care how much you try to talk me out of this, we are still fucking a bitch up," He says as he walks out of the bathroom.

Mikey shakes his head and looks at his hands. He hopes that the people that jumped him have said their prayers, because they’re going to be nothing but dead bodies come sunrise.

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An hour later, five boys sit in a circle in the middle of Gerard's living room floor. All of the boys, except for one, have black hoodies on and bandannas in their laps.

Andy taps his pencil against the notebook in his lap.

“Will you stop that?” Vic asks. Andy glares at him, but relents, opting to chew on the eraser of his pencil.

"So it sounds like you were jumped by the gang that tried to burn that one billboard to upstage our little Walmart robbery hostage thing a few weeks back. Vic, where are they at now?" Andy asks, removing the pencil from his mouth.

"Last I heard, their base was on the southeastern corner of Hazel Street. Behind a small, quiet neighborhood," Vic says. Andy nods and scribbles it down in his notebook.

"I vote we go in with war cries and firing guns like we never run out of ammo," Oli says.

"I second that," Gerard agrees, a definitive fight ablaze in his eyes.

"Unless you would like to land all our asses in prison, do not fire your damn gun until someone shoots at you first," Andy says. Oli pouts for a second and crosses his arms.

"Somebody Google Map this place so I can get a good idea of the area we'll be working in," Andy says. Gerard leans over and pulls out his laptop, turning it on and pulling up the website. Gerard plugs in the needed coordinates, and the image that appears on the screen clears after a moment.

The five boys all crowd around the computer screen, scrutinizing every small detail about the location. Andy makes notes as they go along, scribbling things in the margins and filling the page with every single aspect of the area available.

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An hour and a half later, four boys are walking down a dimly lit street. Bandannas are covering their faces and guns are hidden on their persons, in two of their cases, multiple guns.

Heavy breathing and nearly silent footsteps, twitchy and anticipating. The adrenaline rush of the oncoming fight is coursing through all of their veins, but the fight is closer upon them than they think.

Out of nowhere, gunfire hails upon them. Immediately the four boys jump into action, drawing their weapons and returning equally violent gunfire to their so far hidden opponent.

“Shit! The people in these houses! Fuck, fuck fuck they’re gonna get caught in the crossfire!” Andy shouts, pulling the second gun from his pocket. He starts shooting them both in the direction the gunfire had originated from, shifting closer to the other boys in his group.

As Andy had predicted, a bullet from the opposing gang flies through a second-story window of a house nearby, and Andy swears loudly.

“Gerard, go and check, see that no one got hurt,” Andy shouts above the gunfire.

Gerard nods and tosses his gun to Vic and then runs across the street, smiling a little to himself when he hears Oli calling the other gang names, distracting them from Gerard as he breaks away from the other boys.

He kicks the lock of the door to the house with all his might and the door swings free.

“Second story. I hope it isn’t a little kid’s room,” Gerard mutters as he bolts up the staircase.

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Frank wakes up when there are loud popping noises outside his house. There’s a loud crash, and suddenly there is a hole in his window and a bullet lodged in his wall, not too far away from the door.

Kellin’s eyes fly open. “Frank…. What?” he says, rubbing his eyes. “What’s that popping?”

“Gunfire. There’s a gang that has a base in one of the abandoned houses down the road. It’s probably just a gang fight, stay calm.”

“Stay calm? What the fuck man, how does anybody stay clam during a situation like this? How the hell are you calm?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve woken up to gangs shooting at each other’s stupid faces. Seriously though, if you’re so concerned, you can go in the bathroom. There’s only one really small, high-placed window in there.”

“And what about you?” Kellin asks. Frank shrugs.

“I’ll stay here. Like I said, it’s nothing new to me,” Kellin shakes his head and stands up, grabbing a pillow and a blanket.

“You’re fucking crazy. Whatever, I’m sleeping in the damn bathtub,” Kellin says as he drags his stuff to the bathroom.

Frank begins to memorize the patterns on the ceiling once more, letting the popping sort of lull him into a trance like state, which is abruptly shattered when a person opens his door abruptly.

Frank jumps up onto his feet, searching for any sort of weapon he may have near his bed, his fingers settling and latching onto a letter opener.

The person pulled down the bandanna and pushed back the hood, holding their hands up so Frank can see that he’s unarmed. “Whoa there, it’s okay. I just wanted to check to see if anybody got hurt.”

He is really, really attractive, Frank decides. His hair is so blonde it’s almost white, and all Frank wants to do is thread his fingers through it. No matter how attractive the boy is, however, that doesn’t stop the fact that Kellin is sleeping in the bathtub and there’s shards of glass spread across the floor.

“You’re lucky, motherfucker. Everything’s good, except, you know, there’s a bullet in the wall,” Frank says, gesturing to just beside the boy. “Care to explain?”

Gerard is in awe. This boy in front of him... dear God. He wants so, so badly to kiss this guy, fuck, he has a lip ring and based on minor experience Gerard knows that those feel fucking fantastic when kissing.

“Are you going to stand there looking like a fish out of water or are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Gerard is snapped back to reality rather quickly after that.

“Uh, so, um...” Gerard starts. He has no idea how to tell this guy it’s a gang fight and not have him jump up and call the police.

“Dude, don’t bullshit me. You’re in a gang. I know. Just explain the basics and you can go back out there and kick some ass.”

Gerard breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah so I’m in a gang, and a rival gang jumped my brother and naturally I’m pissed. So we decided to kill a bitch,” He explains quickly.

Frank nods. “Is your brother okay?”

He watches Gerard breathe deep, his chest shaking and shoulders quivering. Frank knows that Gerard is fighting down tears. Whether the tears are out of rage or sadness, Frank isn’t sure.

“He’s... okay. He’s alive. But I feel like this is my fault, you know?”

Frank starts to walk across the room slowly. He wraps his arms around Gerard’s waist and nuzzles into his neck, his lips hardly ghosting the area just beside his ear.

“Tell me now if you aren’t into this shit because you’re really fucking hot and I really wanna kiss you,” Frank whispers.

Gerard’s heart is trying to break free of his ribcage. He tilts Frank’s chin upwards with a few of his fingers. “How about one kiss for good luck?” He breathes.

Frank cracks a small smile and leans up to press his lips to Gerard’s.

Pure ecstasy mixes itself with the already pumping adrenaline in Gerard’s veins. The boy’s lips are soft, and the cool metal of the lip ring is all too enticing. He sucks on it lightly, dragging a small moan out of the shorter boy’s mouth. The boy reaches his fingers up and tangles them in Gerard’s hair, causing Gerard to squeeze the other boy’s hips in appreciation.

When they finally separate, Gerard is the one to break the silence. “Fuck,” He says, the word hardly audible.

“You’re telling me. And I don’t even know your name,” Frank smirks, letting his hands drop from Gerard’s hair to around his neck.

Gerard smiles. “My name is Gerard.”

“Well hello Gerard. I’m Frank. Now get your cute ass back out there and kill a bitch.”

Gerard smiles and pulls his hood and bandanna back up.

“See you again… maybe,” Gerard says as he runs out of the bedroom door and out of the house, back into the street alongside his companions.

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Three corpses. None belonging to his friends. That is all that matters to Gerard when he catches up with the rest of the boys, still slightly frazzled from Frank’s kiss.

Vic tosses Gerard’s gun back to him. “Stats?” Gerard shouts above the gunfire.

“Approximately seven total, three dead or fatally injured. Trying to corner them into the empty parking lot away from the houses,” Oli shouts back.

“Sounds good. Let’s get moving then,” Gerard says as he advances directly into the hail of bullets.

Slightly taken aback by their friend’s sudden burst of courage, the other boys follow his lead after a very brief moment of hesitation.

It takes Andy less than a minute to devise a plan. “Cease fire. Bolt like a fourteen year old caught with his dick in the pastor’s daughter to the parking lot. On three... One... Two... THREE! CEASE FIRE! GO, GO, GO!”

All four boys run as fast as they can to the parking lot, confused shouts from the rival gang echoing behind them and increasing in volume as their opponents start following them.

Diving for cover behind dumpsters and abandoned vehicles, the boys wait until the gang catches up with them. Shouts of ‘where did they go’ and ‘come out, come out, you scared little shits’ echoing across the parking lot.

Oli looks over at Andy. “How many should we leave standing?” He mouths.

Andy appears to ponder the question for a moment before he raises three fingers in response. Slowly, all the boys begin to emerge from their hiding spots, firearms reloaded and ready.

Before the other gang even has a chance to react, two bullets have already imbedded themselves in two different skulls, a third making its home in a rib. The last one finds its destination in the soft fleshy skin of a neck, and the remaining people standing have lowered their weapons in fear.

“Run,” Andy growls, deep and menacing. “Run fast and don’t ever mess with Mikey Way again.”

The remaining gang members run in a scurried, disorganized panic out and away from the parking lot.

With a pleased sigh, Andy unloads and tucks away his guns, the rest of the boys following suit.

“What about the bodies?” Vic asks. Andy shrugs.

“Let them bury their own dead. It’s not any of our business.”

Once more, there are sirens growing in the distance, and all of the boys are still absorbed in that post-adrenaline rush haze. When their senses finally kick back in, they start to run home with whoops and hollers and shouts of ‘Fuck yeah!’ echoing deep into the night, the sirens growing farther and farther away from them the faster they run.

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