I Can't Help It [standalone]
Title: I Can't Help It
Author: fueledbybri
Rating: PG
Pairing: Frerard (Frank Iero/Gerard Way)
POV: First, Frank centric
Summary: Frank hasn't always been that sure of what he feels.
Disclaimer: Definitely not real; I don't own these boys.
Word Count:~1000
Author's Notes: This is just something short that I needed to get out of my head. Flashbacks are in purple italics. Constructive criticism is always wonderful!
I never thought it would be me. Love-obsessed me. Scared of what I don't know. Scared of you, because you can make me feel something that I can't control. The only thing I can't cope with. The rush and hopelessness of romance. The desperate way we try not to remember; to forget what is imprinted so deeply in our memories. I still feel the press of your lips on mine, the warmth of your hands on my sides. These are constant reminders of what I ran way from; itching at my brain with every day we're not together.
We started innocently enough. I remember that class as well as the ones I went to today, even though that class was over nine months ago. We were in gym, and while I goofed off with one of my friends, you sat in the corner. You sat in the dusty corner by the yoga mats with your sketch pad and drawing utensil. Most days, you drew with a pencil or a pen, but the days I stared were the days you brought charcoal. The fluid movements of your hands over the paper; the sweeping strokes of black, painted across the path the charcoal seemed to follow, like the roles were reversed.
For two months, I watched you as you drew or read your comics. I don't think I did anything but watch you that whole semester. I failed that class. But for a long time, I got to watch you. Inspiration for my thoughts drove me to talk to you. I wanted to know what you sounded like. I wondered if you were smart or just artsy. I wished for nothing more than to pick your brain to see if you were alright. I imagined you as somebody who wrote about the aesthetics of life. I wanted you to be exactly what you looked like.
I got something better.
Frank walked over to Gerard's spot in the corner. Gerard noticed the blinding white-blond of the sides of Frank's hair, while Frank noticed the charcoal marks on Gerard's forearms. Neither of them wore the required gym uniform. Gerard opted for a striped shirt and tight jeans, paired with large boots with straps and buckles all along the sides. Frank knew he should've, but he sat down next to the artist and poked him in the side. Gerard continued sketching. Frank wouldn't have it. The smaller boy poked his with more forced, directly in the ribs that caged Gerard's heart. Frank's persistence worked well.
"Ow. What?" Gerard asked, turning his head to face the impolite boy. "Oh, it's you. What do you want, stalker?"
"You've noticed, huh?" Frank blushed a deep pink, but made eye contact with the other boy.
"When you're being obvious enough to blatantly stare at me, I would say so. Why do you, anyway? Stare at me, like I'm a mutant," Gerard questioned as he continued his masterpiece.
"I think you might be. You show an awful lot of interest in the X-Men to be a human. It's like you're studying their behavior. Comparing it to your own, perhaps?" Frank smiled as he regained his confidence. He knew he could win over the comic lover with his observations. And he knew he had done well when Gerard smiled at him.
"I'm Gerard Way," the boy, informed, smiling wide.
"Frank Iero."
You were perfection. Dorky and smart, but gorgeous. You'd never admit it, but you were beautiful. Not in a conventional way, but you caught my eye. The darkness of your hair compared to the eerie paleness of your face grabbed me and pulled me in. And by November of that same year, you were my best friend. A best friend that I was irrationally in love with. Something I promised myself would never happen had become a reality. And I was more than okay with it, because it was you. And you made things okay.
I spent the majority of the next few months smiling at your jokes and enjoying your company, but full of angst, because I didn't have you. I wanted you. More than anything, I wanted you to be mine. I wanted you to tell me that you loved me and to hold my hand. I thought about you, constantly. I thought about why you didn't love me back. About why you could love somebody, as I was sure you had, but not love me. I wondered what was so wrong with me that my love would become unrequited.
It was February when you asked me to be your boyfriend.
I accepted.
I finally had what I needed. I could pull you close and hold you for hours, like I had dreamed of doing for so long. The feeling was incomparable. It was like nothing I had ever known, or been prepared for. And something was wrong. Or rather, something was much too right. I didn't know what to do when you kissed me. When I felt the fiery slide of your hand on my back, the rest of me froze, leaving that one place on my body to heat the rest. It was all too much.
We were dating for two months when I broke up with you.
The semester had already ended, and your sightings became few. When I saw you in the hall, you gave me a pained look and turned away. I changed the way I went to class, so I didn't have to see that look. You had given me everything, and I in return, had given you a broken heart that matched my own. I chose not to wear my heart on my sleeve, and I suppose that's what made people think I was okay. But without you, I was not okay.
It took me another two months to get a hold of myself and realize what needed to be done. I realized why I ran away from you, and I devised a plan. My hour of weakness and ignorance would be dealt with, and I would have you back. I needed you back.
It was in early June that finally, I got you back.
Now, I can't say that loving you is the same as it was the first time. It's different now. We're both a little more guarded, but only for our own good. You and I both know that there will never be a lapse of judgement like that again. Because you've showed me that it's okay to love. You've showed me that it's okay to take sick satisfaction in seeing you smile. It's okay for love to not necessarily be a fairytale. I know it's okay to love you, because loving you could never be wrong.
Which is really good, because I can't help loving you.
Author: fueledbybri
Rating: PG
Pairing: Frerard (Frank Iero/Gerard Way)
POV: First, Frank centric
Summary: Frank hasn't always been that sure of what he feels.
Disclaimer: Definitely not real; I don't own these boys.
Word Count:~1000
Author's Notes: This is just something short that I needed to get out of my head. Flashbacks are in purple italics. Constructive criticism is always wonderful!
I never thought it would be me. Love-obsessed me. Scared of what I don't know. Scared of you, because you can make me feel something that I can't control. The only thing I can't cope with. The rush and hopelessness of romance. The desperate way we try not to remember; to forget what is imprinted so deeply in our memories. I still feel the press of your lips on mine, the warmth of your hands on my sides. These are constant reminders of what I ran way from; itching at my brain with every day we're not together.
We started innocently enough. I remember that class as well as the ones I went to today, even though that class was over nine months ago. We were in gym, and while I goofed off with one of my friends, you sat in the corner. You sat in the dusty corner by the yoga mats with your sketch pad and drawing utensil. Most days, you drew with a pencil or a pen, but the days I stared were the days you brought charcoal. The fluid movements of your hands over the paper; the sweeping strokes of black, painted across the path the charcoal seemed to follow, like the roles were reversed.
For two months, I watched you as you drew or read your comics. I don't think I did anything but watch you that whole semester. I failed that class. But for a long time, I got to watch you. Inspiration for my thoughts drove me to talk to you. I wanted to know what you sounded like. I wondered if you were smart or just artsy. I wished for nothing more than to pick your brain to see if you were alright. I imagined you as somebody who wrote about the aesthetics of life. I wanted you to be exactly what you looked like.
I got something better.
Frank walked over to Gerard's spot in the corner. Gerard noticed the blinding white-blond of the sides of Frank's hair, while Frank noticed the charcoal marks on Gerard's forearms. Neither of them wore the required gym uniform. Gerard opted for a striped shirt and tight jeans, paired with large boots with straps and buckles all along the sides. Frank knew he should've, but he sat down next to the artist and poked him in the side. Gerard continued sketching. Frank wouldn't have it. The smaller boy poked his with more forced, directly in the ribs that caged Gerard's heart. Frank's persistence worked well.
"Ow. What?" Gerard asked, turning his head to face the impolite boy. "Oh, it's you. What do you want, stalker?"
"You've noticed, huh?" Frank blushed a deep pink, but made eye contact with the other boy.
"When you're being obvious enough to blatantly stare at me, I would say so. Why do you, anyway? Stare at me, like I'm a mutant," Gerard questioned as he continued his masterpiece.
"I think you might be. You show an awful lot of interest in the X-Men to be a human. It's like you're studying their behavior. Comparing it to your own, perhaps?" Frank smiled as he regained his confidence. He knew he could win over the comic lover with his observations. And he knew he had done well when Gerard smiled at him.
"I'm Gerard Way," the boy, informed, smiling wide.
"Frank Iero."
You were perfection. Dorky and smart, but gorgeous. You'd never admit it, but you were beautiful. Not in a conventional way, but you caught my eye. The darkness of your hair compared to the eerie paleness of your face grabbed me and pulled me in. And by November of that same year, you were my best friend. A best friend that I was irrationally in love with. Something I promised myself would never happen had become a reality. And I was more than okay with it, because it was you. And you made things okay.
I spent the majority of the next few months smiling at your jokes and enjoying your company, but full of angst, because I didn't have you. I wanted you. More than anything, I wanted you to be mine. I wanted you to tell me that you loved me and to hold my hand. I thought about you, constantly. I thought about why you didn't love me back. About why you could love somebody, as I was sure you had, but not love me. I wondered what was so wrong with me that my love would become unrequited.
It was February when you asked me to be your boyfriend.
I accepted.
I finally had what I needed. I could pull you close and hold you for hours, like I had dreamed of doing for so long. The feeling was incomparable. It was like nothing I had ever known, or been prepared for. And something was wrong. Or rather, something was much too right. I didn't know what to do when you kissed me. When I felt the fiery slide of your hand on my back, the rest of me froze, leaving that one place on my body to heat the rest. It was all too much.
We were dating for two months when I broke up with you.
The semester had already ended, and your sightings became few. When I saw you in the hall, you gave me a pained look and turned away. I changed the way I went to class, so I didn't have to see that look. You had given me everything, and I in return, had given you a broken heart that matched my own. I chose not to wear my heart on my sleeve, and I suppose that's what made people think I was okay. But without you, I was not okay.
It took me another two months to get a hold of myself and realize what needed to be done. I realized why I ran away from you, and I devised a plan. My hour of weakness and ignorance would be dealt with, and I would have you back. I needed you back.
It was in early June that finally, I got you back.
Now, I can't say that loving you is the same as it was the first time. It's different now. We're both a little more guarded, but only for our own good. You and I both know that there will never be a lapse of judgement like that again. Because you've showed me that it's okay to love. You've showed me that it's okay to take sick satisfaction in seeing you smile. It's okay for love to not necessarily be a fairytale. I know it's okay to love you, because loving you could never be wrong.
Which is really good, because I can't help loving you.