Not My Type (frerard)

a silly little chatfic i wrote on wattpad in 2017; in which gerard and frank work out their problems from the past while pete and mikey sit back in harmony. TWs for attempted suicide, mentions of child abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, self harm, and implied sexual content. the cover here is not my image; nor is it the original cover, for that would not fit the cover dimensions for movellas. this story contains crude humor that may not be suitable for all audiences. some photos may be missing from this story; in that case, i have tried my best to write around those parts or describe the photos to the best of my ability. for the best reading experience available, i suggest reading this story on wattpad instead. the themes written here do not reflect my own personal thoughts, opinions, and experiences. any similarities to real occurrences and real people (besides the people the characters are based off of, of course) are unintentional. all rights reserved.

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29. 29

Months passed. Almost a year.

 

Gerard walks into the kitchen one morning to find Pete and Mikey sitting at the dining room table, listening to some shitty-sounding punk music playing from Pete's laptop.

 

"The hell are you listening to?" Gerard asked as he entered, stretching and accidentally hitting the top of a doorframe in the process.

 

"Did you just wake up?" Donna asked from the living room.

 

"Yeah, Ma."

 

"Pencey Prep," Mikey replied.

 

"Who the fuck is that?"

 

Pete gave him an odd look. "Seriously?"

 

"What?"

 

"You don't know?"

 

"Don't know what?" Gerard was getting frustrated. He didn't know why this shitty punk band and Pete Wentz were working him up this early.

 

"Dude, this is Frank's band." Mikey said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Gerard almost fucking stumbled when he registered what the fuck Mikey was saying.

 

Frank actually managed to achieve something he'd talk to Gerard for hours about; making music.
And now that he actually sat down next to Mikey and listened to the music, it sounded pretty decent.

 

"He made a whole album, huh." Gerard stared at the song list, amazed.
After a long while, he said, "I'm proud of him."

 

"They've got a gig tomorrow night, at that shitty bar down a few blocks." Mikey said. "I, uh... I'm going, with Pete."

 

"That's cool," Gerard sighed, standing up.

 

"Wanna come with?" Pete asked suddenly.

 

Gerard paused, looking at Pete. "Frank hates me. I'd rather not ruin his night."

 

"Just come with us," Mikey said. "You won't regret it."

 

Gerard heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes briefly as he thought about it.

 

"Fine."

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