Diluted ☻ FRERARD ONE-SHOTS

Birthday Recipe For Disaster

Frank Iero is finally turning twenty-one but Mikey Way has been planning the birthday night for what seems a hundred years. With the promise of a party that would put Gatsby to shame, Mikey invites his brother, a well-known entertainer of such events - and Frank swears he might just fall in love.

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"You're turning twenty-one! I can finally do this without worrying that the cops will show up."

"Michael." Frank stresses his best friend's name in exasperation, slowly losing the will to argue.

He shuts his eyes, rubbing his temples to fend off the upcoming headache, scratching a hand down his stubbly jaw then pushing his long hair back from his forehead. It's at this moment that he misses his lip ring because it gave his tongue something to fiddle with when he was stressed.

"Shove it up your hole, Anthony, I'm throwing you a party that would put goddamn Gatsby to shame and you're not going to stop me."

Frank knows it's pointless to fight with Mikey Way when he has his mind set on something, so he simply rolls his eyes and shuts up, ignoring the unnecessary use of his unfortunate middle name. Frank's birthday is on Halloween, and he would really be content to just laze around and watch 'The Nightmare Before Christmas', strumming his guitar with some vegetarian pizza and skittles, but his moron of a roommate insists on doing something more extravagant.

All Frank can ask for now is that he doesn't overdo it on the alcohol. Even though they won't be going against the law, it's nice to be able to remember your birthday, no matter how bad it turns out to be.

He's not even convinced that a lot of people will turn up, because albeit Frank is not a complete and utter friendless loser, his social circle doesn't extend far. Knowing Mikey, dozens of strangers will push their away into the already-cramped apartment in three nights time, babbling on about how they met each other at some obscure coffee shop last summer, like, 'I totally remember this man I've never met'.

Mikey is currently sprawled on their only sofa, taking up far too much room and jotting down ideas into a tattered notebook while giving no consideration to the man who stands awkwardly in the doorway, shifting his weight from leg to leg. "So the theme is obvious," he explains, "but the decor, not so much."

"Just string up some fake cobwebs and paper bats if you must," Frank sighs. How difficult can it be?

Mikey glares at him. "You're not going to be seven. Besides, Halloween is not the theme," he sing-songs.

Now Frank truly is confused. "It's October thirty-first, dimwit, what else could it—"

"The theme is 'Rated R'," Mikey cuts him off, "since you're not going to be a man-child anymore, I'm calling in all things adult. Bongs, empty beer cans, mortgage statements, anti-wrinkle face creams. Oh, we should tie up lingerie on bits of string and hang them on the walls like stockings."

"Michael," Frank whines again.

"Okay, yeah, maybe the last one is dumb. I mean, I get it - I live with a flaming homosexual. 'I'm gay and I know how to use it' and all. Should we do dildos instead? Oh yes, we could totally go into the whole 'Fifty Shades Of Gay' scene." Mikey starts scribbling words into his notebook again. "Should I replace the knocker on the door with a cock ring?"