Bellville, New Jersey 2007

Gerard hated this school. People sucked. There were too many cliques to count, and he just couldn't figure out who he was.

And then there was this; He looked like a girl. You looked like a boy. In fact, he thought you were a boy for the longest time, until the first time he had actually met you. The punk anarchist of the school. You had slunk around the bleachers just a few weeks after his transfer, with a calm, teasing and almost mocking tone, saying something about, "Careful, this place will devour a pretty boy like you." The only thing that gave you being a female away was your voice.

He had always thought you were a pretty boy, making him question his sexuality. In his eyes, you were the type of boy Justin Beiber wanted to be. Baby faced, slim in all the right places, cocky and dangerous. But he was more than okay with you being a girl who looked like a boy. The best of both worlds, right?

Gerard didn't have a date to homecoming. And apparently, neither did you, according to Frank, who had convinced him to be himself and wear this pretty vintage thrifted dress. It had a faded brown skirt and a black top, with cut-out shoulders. Frank had even helped Gerard with his makeup before leaving to go terrorize his parents in response to grounding him and preventing him from going to the party with Gerard.

And Gerard looked beautiful.

But homecoming was shitty.

His brother Mikey went out of town, so his band wasn't able to crash the party without their bassist or their guitarist. He figured prom would work for that plan, though.

So, he sat on some dingy old couch in someone's basement, neon lights flashing and music blaring. He ignored the weird looks he got from people, clutching his beer tighter in his hand. Why did he let Frank convince him to wear this stupid dress that made him feel so much like himself? Everyone else here was normal.

At least he thought until he saw you in all your pop punk glory. Baggy black jeans, a matching wife beater, studded belts, bracelets, and a red tie. The most half assed, formal punk outfit he had ever seen. He blinked a few times as he watched you bite the air at a few of the prep girls, your own friends making obscene gestures. Gerard looked down at his lap, shaking his hair over his face.

God, he wanted to leave the goddamn homecoming party and go sit in a graveyard somewhere. He wanted to just leave and go listen to actually decent music and be back in his comfy, regular, normal clothes. He felt confused. So fucking confused. So he liked a girl who looked and acted like a fuckboy, and here he was wearing a dress and makeup. What the hell did that even mean?