"Please." Frank massaged his temples and closed his eyes in irritation. "Take your things, and get out of my office. This isn't even funny." His eyes snapped open and he stood, glaring at the boys sitting with their instruments in front of his desk. "You think I run some sort of freak show? You think I sign just anyone?" The boys audibly gulped and began to shuffle towards the door. "Come back when you get some goddamn talent! And to do so, I suggest you start by laying off your crappy little singer!" They stood there, frozen. "What are you still doing here! GET OUT!" The boys scarpered. Frank sat down again and groaned, spinning in his chair and running his hands through his thick black hair. What was the music world coming to? he thought to himself. Why was there just no talent anymore? There was a knock at his door and he was about to scream at whoever it was to go away, but stopped himself when he saw Mikey's face.
"Wow, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of life, this morning. You seriously hurt those kids, Frank."
"Mikey, you're here to assist me, not tell me how to do my job."
"True, but I'm also here to be your best friend, and tell you how to treat people with respect." He walked over and placed himself on the edge of the seat before Frank's desk. "Frankie, I'm worried about you. You're acting even worse than usual. And that's saying something." Frank rolled his eyes. "Look, if something's bothering you, or someone's bothering you, tell me, and I'll fucking bother them. But please, just...cool it. I actually thought those guys were pretty good, from what I could hear."
"Pretty good isn't enough, Mikey. I need people with something...something special! Something unique and new, someone with passion for what they're doing! Not a couple of high school dropouts who think they can just take the easy route of the music industry!"
"You dropped out of high school to go into music, Frank." He ignored this.
"And when they come in here, and try to make something of themselves when they know they fucking suck? I tell them what they need to hear!" Frank breathed and sighed, and put his head on the desk. "I feel like shit."
"You should! You broke those kids hear-"
"Not about that, idiot! Shit as in ill!"
"Oh. Well. I told you yesterday you've been working yourself too hard. Even the manager of a major record label needs a holiday sometime, you know." Mikey smiled sympathetically.
"I can't afford to take breaks, Mikey. Not with all this." He motioned at the stacks of paperwork on his desk and bit his lip, hating the fact that he'd just reminded himself of it all.
"I'll do all that today. Hell, I'll even work a couple of hours extra to do it for you. I don't expect to be paid. But just...just go home, take a hot bath, and get an early night, okay? Please Frank. For the sake of all our sanity." Frank eyed Mikey wonderingly.
"Why would you do that for me?"
"Because that's what best friends do, stupid. Now go! I can do this!" Mikey began leafing through the paperwork and pulling out odd bits and bobs already. Frank sat in awe.
"Sometimes I love you so much I'm amazed I'm not homosexual." They both snorted and Mikey hugged Frank as he was leaving. "You're the best."
"I know. I rock. No need to remind me." Frank chuckled as he walked out of Skeleton Crew - the record label he himself had established and brought to fame with the band Varying Shades of Grey, who had stormed to number one in the rock charts only a few weeks after releasing their debut album. He kicked a rock on the sidewalk as he made his way home - hands shoved deep inside his pockets. The air was sharp and wintry - the first signs that winter was in fact on its way. Passing through a tunnel, a voice echoed against the rounded walls. He strained his ear and cocked his head as he walked, and the voice grew louder as he came to the tunnel exit. He rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into a street busker, standing against a wall and singing his heart out. He was...incredible. Frank watched him from the shadows for a while. His long dark hair was a little on the greasy side, and his skin was pale like a vampire. Dark eyes hid beneath brooding eyebrows, but from his mouth? The voice of an angel. He was singing a cover of Bob Dylan's 'Desolation Row', adding his own little parts in every so often - making it his own. People walked past, dropping coins into his little hat on the floor. There were no instruments, no music accompanying him. It was just him and his voice. Yet...it filled every space. Every nook and cranny in sight. He was lost in music. Frank had seen that look before. On Brendon. The lead singer of Varying Shades of Grey. This kid had talent. Major, epic talent. Not quite thinking straight, Frank started towards the boy. He dropped some coins into the hat and smiled, the boy smiling back as he sang.
"You're good. Really good," Frank said, and the boy kept singing though his even bigger smile was clear. After a while, however, he began looking nervous. Frank was just standing there watching him, until it struck him how much he must have looked like some crazy person. The song ended and the boy scooped up the hat, not looking Frank in the eye.
"Uh...thanks for what you said, you know, about me being good. But I gotta go now...so...yeah...bye." He began to walk quickly away but Frank caught up with him.
"I wasn't kidding. I know talent when I hear it. And you...wow." The kid pulled a worried smile but kept avoiding Frank's eyes. "You should do something with that voice, you know. Really."
"Honestly sir, I only do that to get extra cash so I can buy art supplies. It's not like I do it for recognition..."
"But you're so good! You're exactly what I've been looking for! New sound! Uniqueness, quality! You're perfect!" Frank flailed his arms about frantically and now the boy looked genuinely scared.
"Okay. I've seen the film 'Fame'. I know that that guy who tells Irena Cara that she's good and offers her a part in his play actually takes her to his apartment and makes her show him her tits. You may be a good guy but after seeing that I just don't trust anyone...like you... But um. Thanks. Um. I'm going now." And he bolted, just like that. Leaving Frank to hit himself on the head with his hand. He had been too forward, as usual. Argh, he just hated seeing talent go to waste! No. It wouldn't go to waste. He'd make sure that boy was a star. Even if it meant that he'd have to do anything to make that happen.

"So you're going to stalk the poor kid?" Ryan asked the following night, taking a slurp from his straw. The club music was so loud it was almost deafening. The Varying guitarist giggled.
"No, just try and talk to him again. Honestly, Rys, I haven't seen such a talent since you guys." Ryan smirked proudly and sat back in his chair, swirling his daiquiri.
"I do hope you don't plan on making him bigger than us just so you can boost you're career even higher. If so?" He picked up Frank's beer and took a deep gulp of it. "You'll be paying for your own drinks. In a sleazy bar. Alone." He winked and finished the beer, slamming the empty bottle on the table. Frank raised an eyebrow.
"You know it's not about the fame for me. I care about the talent. If it was about fame I would sign any band I could in an attempt at getting some money. It was just sheer luck that made you guys come to me to sign. You guys rose to the top? I just went along with the ride." Ryan nodded in agreement.
"I guess so. Hey, what the fuck." He looked straight past Frank and stared. Frank span around and almost choked when he saw Brendon grinding up against two chicks on the dance floor. "My god. That guy will do anything to get laid. Even make himself look like a TOTAL DOUCHEBAG to get it." He yelled 'total douchebag' loud enough so that Brendon could hear, and Brendon just winked and continued dancing like a retard. "Anyway. Back to your problems. This kid. How good are we talking ?"
"Freddie Mercury good."
"That's a bold statement, my friend. I think in some states you might just find that could be classed as illegal." Ryan sipped his drink.
"I'm just saying. I need this boy. I need his voice!"
"Alright "Ursula". Here's the dealio. You find the boy. You tell him you work for a major label. You tell him you can make his dreams come true. You bring him to your office, let him sing. He gets signed. He takes one look at fame, freaks out, runs away and then poof! Gone. We can all go back to normal. Us without fear of competition, and you back to your cynical little self who mopes around his office muttering about how shit your life is." Ryan took a breath and sat back, clearly pleased with himself. Frank stared at him, wide eyed. "I'm kidding!" he gasped finally. "Jeez Frank, if you keep staring at me like that I might have to just cover myself in fear of you mentally undressing me. Wait. That's not a bad thing, I'm fucking gorgeous. ANYWAY. Just talk to the kid and give him your card. Let him know he can give you a call when he's ready to put down the paint brush and pick up the microphone."
"I have never known anyone who is quite like you, Ryan Ross."
"That's because you strive for uniqueness, Frankie boy. And you got it! I'm as unique as they come. I mean, have you seen my dress sense? Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and just..." Frank waited on his breath for the first time Ryan would ever criticise himself. "...not want to have sex with myself." Frank cracked up, leaving Ryan confused. He had to hold himself until he could actually breathe.
"Oh my god, Ryan. How do you do it. How?"
"Whatever you're talking about? It's because I'm Ryan Ross, and anything I do is fabulous."

Frank decided for the one hundredth time in his life that he was going to give up alcohol. He woke up with a throbbing head and an alarm that buzzed telling him it was 5:30am. He punched it and groaned. Taking some pain killers from his bedside drawer, he downed them with water and began to try and peel himself from the sheets.
"Ow, my head..." he whimpered. He managed to sit up and looked to his left where a large lump lay breathing softly under the comforter. Whoever it was, he didn't really care. She had short hair which he always liked on a girl anyway. Damn, he couldn't remember anything from the night before except his little chat with Ryan and Brendon coming over with an ecstatic smile on his face, boasting about getting a blow job in the restroom. He shuffled into the bathroom and climbed under the hot water of the shower. It was a nice comfort to his pounding skull, but it still felt like it was splitting in two. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went to wake up the girl in his bed. He shook her gently and she mumbled something in a deep morning voice.
"Hey, babe I gotta go to work. I kinda need you out." She rolled over. He screamed.
"YOU'RE NOT A SHE!" His life flashed before his eyes. Everything crumbled. A chiselled, manly face was on his pillow, squinting at him.
"...Nooo...I'm a he..."
"BUT. AH. OH GOD. AH. SHIT!" No wonder his ass was burning! "THIS! NO! GET OUT! AH! NO! OUT!" The guy pulled on his pants and was gone in minutes, but Frank was shuddering. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I fucked a guy. I fucked a guy. No no no I do not sway that way! Ah! My ass!" He stroked his buttocks lovingly. "I'm so sorry babies. You weren't ready for that. I'm sorry."

At work he felt like everyone knew his secret. He snapped at everyone, which wasn't unusual for him, but when George came in asking for more staples, he got a full on speech about where the staples belonged and how far up they did too. Then it just reminded him of the terrible events of that morning and he shut himself away, trying to block out everything. There was a knock. "No you cannot have my ass!" he yelled absent-mindedly.
"Okay...well...that's my fantasies down the drain then..." Mikey laughed as he closed the door. "I was just going to tell you that your next clients are here...but...somehow I don't think anyone's getting signed today no matter how good they are...Rough night?" It was like life was mocking him everywhere he went. Fucking "rough night."
"Send them in," he moaned. A group of girls in short skirts and rolled up blouses strolled in and stood before him. Oh god,he thought.

"There are no tissues left. They used them ALL. Frank, they sang one note! One fucking note and you cast them out! What is going on?" Mikey was leaning across Frank's desk and his ears were red. Mikey didn't suit angry. He generally wasn't an angry person.
"Mikey...I..." Mikey was his best friend. Surely he'd understand? "I...I woke up with a guy next to me this morning." Mikey froze. He sat back. He stared at the floor. He stared at the ceiling. He stared at the window behind Frank. His lips curled inwards and he shuddered. Frank sighed. "Go ahead..." Mikey exploded with laughter and tears fell from his eyes.
"Of all the things I expected you to come out with...it was never that. I was waiting for you to tell me your grandma died or something. But good lord, Frank. A man? An actual man? With a penis? Would you like some ointment for your ass?" He was literally pissing himself. He had to grope the air for support. He was enjoying Frank's misery.
"Do you like your job, Michael?" The laughter stopped.
"Yes sir."
"Good. Because if you speak of this to anyone. ANYONE. You will be marching out of this company quicker than your feet can touch the ground, do I make myself clear?" Mikey recoiled.
"Okay. Frank, I wouldn't tell anyone anyway. I don't want to give them more of an excuse to mock you!" The moment the words left his lips Mikey's face dropped.
"They mock me?"
"...No..." Mikey answered in a small voice through taut lips.
"Whatever. Just...go do whatever you do. Make a phone call, print stuff. I don't know. Just...leave." And Mikey did. Sniggering.

Frank sat on the bench beside the boutique and just listened to the voice around the corner. The boy was back, and now singing a rendition of 'Life on Mars?' by Bowie. Occasionally there was the chink of someone's loose change dropping into the hat. When the song ended, Frank strolled casually around the corner and dropped a few dollar bills into the hat. The boy looked up and blinked.
"Hey kid. Just passing. Don't freak out. There's enough in there by the looks of it to buy some paints. See you round."
"Wait! I...I'm sorry I was so rude to you yesterday...I just...well...I kinda freak out when people...talk to me. I'm not a "people" person. I don't do...socialising. But what you said...and the dollars...thanks. It means a lot." On his face was a genuine grin, and Frank smiled back.
"Hey. Look. I'm not gonna force you into anything. But hear me out, okay?" The look of fear returned to the boys face. "I work for Skeleton Crew, the record label just around the corner?" At the mention of Skeleton, the boy visibly relaxed. "I like your voice. Now, you may not want to be a singer, but kiddo, if you put your mind to it? I can honestly say that you could be signed. Trust me. I know." Frank winked. "Here's my card. Give me a call. If you want." The kid took it. "What's your name?"
"Gerard, sir. Gerard Way."
"Are you related to Mikey Way?" Frank gasped.
"...Who?"
"Oh obviously not then. Anyway. Think about it, kid." He left Gerard gazing at the card in his hands and walked in the direction of home. A smile crept onto his face.

The smile didn't last for long. Gerard rang and asked for a meeting. Frank was ecstatic. Finally! Results! He sat waiting in his office until Mikey let him in. His face dropped a little, however, when a boy about Gerard's age followed him in with a guitar.
"Gerard...hi..." They shook hands. "Who's this?"
"This is Ray. He's my guitarist."
"Ha...Uh...Gerard...I only sign solo artists and bands. The Afro guy's gotta go."
"Ray is staying. You wanted me here so badly, you hear us out." Wow. Confident. Not a trait Frank had seen in Gerard before.
"Fine. But don't expect anything from this now."
"We only came here for kicks anyway. Can we just get this over with?" Frank waved his hand as a sign for them to get on with it, and Ray began to play. Frank didn't recognise the tune. Gerard began to sing. Fuck. They were both good, there was no denying it. The voice and the guitar...they just fit so wonderfully. And the song itself was amazing. It was obviously one that they'd written. He sat and gave himself over to their music. He saw Mikey's lingering shadow under the door and grinned. Even Mikey knew good music when he heard it. But there was still the big problem. He couldn't sign them. They needed to be a band. Or Gerard on his own. Guitar and vocals alone were not a strong link in the music market in the current climate. They finished playing and Frank gave them a standing ovation.
"Incredible! Guys, wow! Seriously, I'm sorry I doubted you. But...you need to be a band. For any chance at signing."
"It's okay. We didn't come here to get signed. I just wanted to prove something to myself. That I can sing, and that I'm not wasting my time busking. But thanks Mr. Iero. For the opportunity." Franks jaw just hung. He'd offered these boys a chance and they were just walking away from it. Literally. They were already opening the door.
"Wait! You can't just...leave! You have so much to give! Both of you!" He sounded so pathetically desperate. Probably because he was, but still. "What if I can find you other band members? What if I can help you?" Gerard shook his head.
"I'm an art student. I want to do art as my career."
"Art won't get you anywhere!"
"And music has more of a chance to? As I said, thanks. But...no thanks." And they left. Just like that. Frank had to cling onto Mikey, who was also in a similar state of shock.

"Fuck, Gerard. He gave us a chance to be stars! How could you just walk away?" Ray reprimanded as they walked oh onto the street.
"Because, Ray, I don't want him to find us just anyone to fill in the extra places so we can be a band. If people eventually come into our lives with the right instruments and the time, then maybe we'll go back and show him hat we've got. But as for now...I'm an artist. And I most likely always will be."
"You are a weird person, Gerard Way. You're offered so many great things, yet you turn them down. Like you're always waiting for something so good it will top all past offers you got given. Well let me tell you, too many people are in the same mindset as you, and they're the ones who fall flat on their face before everyone else who just went for it when the got given the chance." Gerard kicked a can. "Don't you want to be a singer?"
"Ever since I was a kid. You know that. But I also want to be a comic book artist. I can't have both. So I choose art."

Brendon, Ryan, Spencer, Pete and Patrick were all crowded into his living room.
"That's a bummer, man. A real bummer," Ryan drawled sarcastically after hearing about the Gerard incident. "More Cheetos?" He held the empty bowl out to Frank who stormed into the kitchen and filled it up. He was still angry at Gerard. "Why don't you join his band?" Ryan was now leaning against the counter, munching on a Pop Tart he'd stolen from Frank's cupboard.
"I promised myself I'd never be in a band again. You know that." It was true. Frank had dropped out of high school to be in his band, and they had thought they were going to be stars. He left education, left a future of possibilities to be in a punk band with his friends. They went to a label and showed them what they could do. The label told them that they were shit. Frank had been the lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist, and it had crushed him. But instead of going back to high school, he formed another band, and then another, trying desperately to get signed. No attempts worked. So, he'd started his own label. Skeleton Crew. At first, nothing happened. Then, a couple of months into the project, a band of five guys arrived in his makeshift office and shot him to fame. And that very band was in his living room at that moment. He ran Skeleton a little differently to other labels. Most labels went out to see the bands they could possibly sign. Sure, sometimes Frank did that too, but usually he waited until the bands came to him. "Again with the mindless staring at me. If you want some of this," Ryan said, grabbing his crotch, "all you gotta do is turn me gay, and then ask." Frank managed to smile.
"How do I get him to come back, Rys?"
"Like I said. Join his band. I've heard you play. You're good."
"But how do I do that? I can't just stroll up to him and say "hey I'm your new rhythm player!"" Ryan sniffed.
"Sure you can. I did. Brendon and the guys hardly knew me before Varying, but I just waltzed into their practice space and announced my place in the band, showed them what I could do and bam. Instant." Frank chuckled. He admired Ryan's attitude. Sometimes. Ryan patted his back. "You'll think of something, Frankie. You always do. Most of the time. Sometimes. Rarely, but whatever. Just do what your heart tells you. Ugh I sound like a preacher. And I would never rock the dog collar. Who am I kidding, I rock anything. But no."

"I got a job at Cartoon Network? Holy fuck shit what?" Holding the letter in shaking hands, he ran into the kitchen and slammed it on the table in front of his mom. "Look! Read this!" She stared at it, and then her face broke out into a huge smile.
"Gerard, baby! Well done!" she squealed, and kissed his cheek. "It says you start on Monday!"
"I know! Shit I have to tell Ray...and...oh. What about art school?"
"We'll tell them. I'm sure they'll be thrilled for you. Wait until you're dad gets home. My, he'll be over the moon!"

A few weeks past. Then months. Gerard never returned to the corner to sing. Frank had probably scared him away. Great. All hopes at helping that kid into the life of music were pretty much over. Jamia, his girlfriend of six months, squeezed his hand as they passed the corner one afternoon in the summer.
"Baby, it's been half a year since you saw him. I don't think he's coming back." He sighed and leant against her as they walked. She was the best thing that had happened to him since he'd opened Skeleton Crew. Maybe even better. She knew everything about him. Even the fact that he woke up next to a guy in the November of the previous year. He'd met her at a Varying party. Ryan had introduced them. She had short brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. She was stunning and kind and everything he had ever dreamed of.
"I know. I just...I hope that he did well for himself after that. You know. With art and stuff. I hope that the fact he didn't take up my offer meant he tried at art but failed." Jamia rubbed his back.
"You tried to help him. You couldn't exactly force the boy into a band. And I'm sure he's doing fine."

September rolled around. Gerard sat on the ferry, sketching an elderly couple who sat opposite him. They seemed oblivious to his constant glances. The man beside him suddenly leaned over.
"That's pretty good. You a professional?"
"Oh no, I just work for Cartoon Network. I'm an assistant. I don't draw for a living."
"That's a shame. That's some talent you've got there." The man smiled a crinkled smile. A huge boom made them jump. Everyone looked around and people darted to the windows. Gerard ran to a window and peered out. A huge billowing cloud of smoke was rising out of one of the trading towers in New York. Everyone stood in confused silence. It was then that a plane flew into the smoke and another boom rattled the boat. Suddenly, people were screaming. Everyone was screaming. Gerard dropped to his knees. What was happening? He didn't understand. Everything was fuzzy. His mind, the room, the strange scene of the towers. He could hear people crying, people screaming, people comforting others.
"My baby! My daughter was in there oh my god!" the elderly woman he'd been sketching earlier cried. Her husband held her, their tears soaking one another's clothes. It finally hit him. People were dead. After a long period of time, he sat back and wiped his sweaty forehead, and let the tears fall. People were dead. And when he thought it couldn't get worse, one of the towers just collapsed. From the ferry you got a perfect view. It went down. The sky was black with smoke. Everyone was crying. People were praying. A nun and a rabbi were holding each other, both praying together though they were of different religion. Gerard didn't know what to do. He felt so helpless. Someone had switched the news channel on the TV, but he didn't need to watch. He could see it with his own eyes. And he knew he'd never unsee it. For the rest of his life.

Frank and Mikey held each other as the news woman spoke.
"Two airplanes have hit the World Trade Centre in New York City. Fire-fighters are trying desperately to save all those they can, but people are jumping from the buildings in an attempt to end their lives before the collapse of the buildings can. It seems they know their fates are inevitable. This is probably the most shocking and devastating event to ever befall this country. And-" In the distance behind her, one of buildings disappeared. It just...dropped. The room was silent. The news was silent. Everyone watched in silence. The reporter turned back with tears streaming down her face. "Viewers, I'm so sorry." She ran off-screen, leaving just the burning buildings in view. Everyone was crying.

The following day, Frank sat in his office in silence. Mikey didn't knock all morning. He couldn't function properly. What was he doing with his life? Sure, being a manager of a major label was great, but was it really his dream? No. His dream was to be on stage. Playing his heart out. Giving a message with the music he played. That had always been his dream. It had been why he'd left high school. Why he'd tried to get so many bands to work. The phone rang. He only just managed to get his arms to work.
"Hello?" he croaked.
"Frank? This is Gerard." Frank sat up and listened harder.
"Gerard? As in, the boy who refuses to take chances?"
"That was me. But things change. Ryan, that guy from Varying Shades of Grey? He somehow got my number. He told me stuff, Frank. So right now, I need you." Frank listened to Gerard and nodded, writing notes and scribbling down an address.
"Sure. Okay. Alright, I'll be right there." He hung up. Grabbing his jacket, he opened the door and grabbed Mikey.
"Where are we going?" Mikey kept asking as Frank drove to his house.
"Go inside, grab your bass guitar and get the fuck back into this car." Soon, they had both of their instruments in the trunk and pulled up outside Gerard's house. By then Frank had filled Mikey in on everything. Gerard opened the door and smiled weakly.
"Come inside." They followed him to the garage door and walked in. Ray stood with his amp and his guitar. Some blonde dude sat at the drums. Mikey produced his bass guitar. Frank held Pansy, his rhythm guitar, and looked at Gerard.
"You ready?" Gerard asked.
"For what?" Frank replied.
"To change the world." He put his hand on Franks shoulder.
"You betcha."

The recording stopped.
"Thanks guys! This will be broadcast on Monday night. "The Beginning of My Chemical Romance'. Man, I bet it feels weird talking that deeply about how the band started. Have you ever done that before?" The interviewer smiled far too widely for Gerards taste.
"No. But it was fun," Frank grinned. Mikey nodded and leant against Bob, yawing. The interview had gone on much later than they'd expected.
"Well, good luck with the rest of the Black Parade tour, guys!" They all shook his hand and left to board their bus again. Gerard slumped against Frank when they fell onto the couch.
"You talk too much," Gerard yawned, and Frank laughed.
"Oh I talk too much, Mr. I-usually-never-shut-the-fuck-up?" Gerard giggled, pulled himself up and crawled into his bunk. Frank crawled into the one opposite.
"Are you proud of us?" Frank whispered. Gerard looked at him, his face serious.
"More proud than I ever thought I would be," Gerard smiled, rooting around in his bag and then producing something from it. He tossed it at Frank. "I got given that last night after the show."
'Dear My Chemical Romance,
I don't really know what else to say except thank you. You saved my life with your music. It helped me out of my depression. I owe you so much. So. Thank you. For everything.
Love from Molly
Xoxo'
"Short, but perfect," Gerard commented. Frank beamed. "Are you happy you gave up Skeleton?"
"I wouldn't change anything. Ryan and the guys were so good to me. They accepted my choice to leave them and found themselves signed up to Reprise instantly." Mikey, Ray and Bob dragged themselves into bed and for a while they all lay in silence.
"Thanks guys. I don't know where I'd be without you," Gerard mumbled.
"On a street corner, busking for money?" Frank laughed and as a result got a pillow thrown in his face. The bus began to move and they drove out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Towards another show. Another audience. Another night of living out their dreams, one performance at a time.
*