Diluted ☻ FRERARD ONE-SHOTS

Minors! At The Disco

High-school sophomore Frank Iero isn't a party animal. He's done pretty well for himself in the absence of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll until the night he meets Gerard, the intimidatingly beautiful older boy who's out to have a good time no matter who gets hurt.

WARNING: Mentions of dubious consent with someone under the age of 18.

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I'm not a party animal.

"They're probably kidding you on," I point out when my best (and only) friend Ray tells me he's been invited to a senior 'friendly get-together' tonight. Why would they invite him? He may be popular but he's never hung out with them before.

We live in a lonely town a few miles from the southern border of Canada in Montana. The buskers are unpaid, the dogs are quiet, the howls of wolves are common. The houses barely reach three floors but we manage to conjure up parties in the small cabins on the outskirts usually reserved for tourists.

Ray shoots me a funny look in between fixing a tie and tugging at his crumpled collar. He's wearing shoes that make it seem like funerals are cool. "They weren't laughing, Frankie."

He knows how much I hate that nickname. "It's Frank, Ray," I remind him for the millionth time with a sigh. "And it's obvious that this isn't a small event so I just think—" I stop myself before I go off into a full-blown rant. He knows how I feel about danger and the risky things that people our age get involved with - drugs, drinking, all of that. I pity that crowd.

"What?" He pushes me to finish my sentence.

"I don't want you to face public embarrassment and get your stomach pumped in the same night," I admit, knowing well it's possible even if he claims he's 'done it a thousand times before'. "Everyone in senior year will be there and if you're rejected at the front door—"

"I won't be. We won't be." He grins almost evilly.

"'We'?" I splutter, folding my arms. "There's no way I'm going with you. I have homework—"

"Oh, shut up. You and I both know you won't even do it and you'll spend all night watching 'Gossip Girl'." He rolls his eyes.

"I'm at an interesting bit," I defend myself. I've nearly completed season five and the show is addictive.

"You're going, Frankie. You need to live it up a little for once."

Even though the seniors are notorious for turning down those younger than them, nothing stops Ray from getting out and having fun. And maybe he's right - maybe it'll do me good for once.

That pretty much sums that up.

We take a cab because Ray's scared we'll 'lose' his precious Mustang (how is beyond me in a town of this small size) and the sight that greets me is exactly what I expected: upturned furniture litters the front yard; dozens of drunk teenagers laugh and dance and run around, carrying their shoes; loud, over-bearing music hits me in waves from the house itself. The coolness of the air is refreshing but you can smell the craze laced within it.

August tenth, ten forty-nine p.m., and I set my eyes on the most terrifyingly beautiful boy I've ever seen.

With unruly dyed-blood-red hair pushed back by a bandana, all-black clothes and a cigarette lit between his teeth, I know he's more than a force to be reckoned with. He stands amongst others on the cabin deck, toeing the dark wood with dirty black Vans. Maybe he plays the electric guitar in some punk-rock band or manages an international drug trading organisation. He looks like one of those guys, the ones who mean nothing more than trouble and a regretful one-night-stand, the ones I promise myself every day I won't have anything to do with. He probably came here on a motorcycle.