The Last Laugh Track

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"One last desperate plea. One last verse to sing.

One last laugh track to accompany the comedy,"

--La Dispute, a Broken Jar

By the following week, Gerard is handed his gun in a navy blue box that reminds him of the suitcase that Donna gave him before he went to artschool. He shaked the man's hand, and left quickly. If the man knew what he was going to use it for, he wouldn't have sold it to Gerard, or maybe so, business is business, after all.

Frank and Mikey's looks had become longer and unfaltering, as if the two understood what laid in their hands and neither of them shunned it. Frank had gone over to Mikey's house practically every day, first, under the pretense of practicing to have Mikey join in one of his bands, but after the fourth day, his guitar wasn't brought nor was Mikey's bass played.

In a few occasions where the topic of music was discussed, the conversation died out due to their distinct music tastes; Mikey liked metal and Frank liked punk. In those few seconds where silence hung in the air, silence that Frank hated for his life, Mike would press his lips against Frank's, quick and ephemeral, only to break away and rub the back of Frank's neck. The door was almost always locked, in fear of Mikey dreading having to explain as to why he and Frank were lying in bed, staring up at the posters in the ceiling, and well, kissing.

Everything was innocent, more or less. There were a few times where Mikey found himself straddling Frank, pinning him down on the bed and making out with the other boy until the two are red in their faces. Frank lets Mikey take the majority of the initiative. It was just so like the other boy, the quiet and endearing one to start and finish everything while Frank just let himself be kissed and touched, reciprocating only when he was absolutely certain that he wouldn't make a total fool of himself.

Gerard didn't absolutely detest the Frank kid, but he still felt slight unease. The way Mikey followed him around like a lost puppy, it just completely took him off guard how easily he could be replaced by some stranger. Growing up, Mikey followed Gerard around. He would lean over Gerard's shoulder and look at the older boy's sketchbook, and say in a high pitch, "Cool superhero, Gee!"

Gerard would touch Mikey's head affectionately, fingers digging to the scalp of the younger's boy and scratching his head. Mikey would obediently sit next to Gerard, and listen for hours at a time as to why said superhero used said colour.

Now, Gerard was a leech, using up the family basement, taking up food, water, electricity, fucking unemployed. He couldn't be an artist, it was the only thing he wanted in his life as a kid, but once the filters of what it truly meant to be someone where removed, Gerard wanted to be nothing. He had to be nothing, it beat being a disgrace that he was, a swine.

Somehow, the gun sits untouched under Gerard's bed, cold and sterile. He knows he has only one chance to do this, and if he's found before he has the chance to, he's fucked. Piling up a few canvases and tubes of paint and paintbrushes under his bed, he methodically comes up with a plan as to how to effectively pull off his death. Until then, he decides to keep up appearances and fetches a six pack of beer.

---

[A/N- The next one's a big one.]

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