gothicxpianist (gothicxpianist) wrote,

Cigarette Smoke and Strawberries [oneshot]

Title: Cigarette Smoke and Strawberries
Author: gothicxpianist  
Pairing(s): Frank/Gerard, Brendon/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Frank just sighs and concludes that it’s pretty much a fact: they are both retards when it comes to love.
POV: Third Person
Beta: infrontofthesea  
Disclaimer: All fake.
A/N: I wanted to write a fic where Frank gets stuffed in a locker. So I did. Enjoy!

Frank’s bored and hot and it’s getting slightly hard to breathe. And he’s almost out of paper from the random notebook he found lying by his feet.

He lays the paper he does have against the wall of the metal locker, pressing down with his finger to crease it just right. He then fiddles with it a little more before letting the perfect paper bird flutter to the floor of the locker with the other 30 he’s already managed to make in the past 2 hours.

He didn’t even do anything provocative, but he supposes being one of the few boys actually acting in the school play, which is conveniently titled Floral Fractions much to Frank’s already not-so-smooth reputation he has at the school, pretty much is like having a sticker on his head that says “Hey! I’m the gay drama geek! Stuff me in a locker please!”

Frank rolls his eyes, because that’s high school. And of course some idiot had to forget to actually lock their locker so the jocks didn’t even have to break one in.

Also, the guy who owns the locker Frank’s currently placed in doesn’t seem to have a need for it either because Frank’s been in here since 4th period. Fabulous.

Frank rips another sheet of paper out from the notebook, getting ready to start on another paper bird, when the door suddenly opens and Frank, surprised, kind of tumbles out. His paper birds scatter around him and he blinks, trying to adjust to the new brightness.

He looks up and sees a guy, tall, dressed in all black and wearing some sort of fifties style leather jacket. He has disheveled black hair that hangs in his face and when Frank stands up to brush off his pants he gets a whiff of cigarette smoke and strawberries.

The guy raises an eyebrow. “Um. Hi?”

Frank rolls his neck, feeling it crack, and then frowns and says, “Don’t you ever use your locker?”

The guy rubs the back of his neck. “Well. No, not really. But I forgot my Bio notes in here from last semester so I came back to get them.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but then stops and looks down at his paper birds. He picks one up and unfolds it, revealing sloppy handwriting and a bunch of formulas.

“Oh,” Frank says. It was dark as fuck in the locker. How was he supposed to know that the notebook was actually a notebook and not empty and unused?

The guy reaches down and picks up a bird, inspecting it. “You turned my Bio notes into origami birds.”

It sounds more like a statement than an accusation. And he doesn’t really sound angry, so Frank nods hesitantly.

“Sorry?” Frank offers, brushing some hair from his face. The guy furrows his eye brows as he brings the bird closer to his face, and for a second Frank thinks he actually is mad and is going to yell at him or something, but then the guy smiles and says,

“Huh. Cool.”

Frank gets a better look at the guys face now that he’s not sprawled on the floor. He has pale skin and long, dark eyelashes. He has a little red blemish under his eye and Frank kind of wants to touch it, to see if it’ll turn white under his touch.

The guy is strange, but really attractive and probably straight so Frank says, “So, you should probably start actually locking your locker. And sorry about your notes. Um. Bye,” and then scurries off to make the last 40 minutes of his last period.


Frank makes sure to grab a few more fliers from the drama room after seventh period ends since the jocks threw the ones he had in the can before stuffing him in that tiny metal box. He’s not ashamed of being the gay drama geek, but the whole ‘picking on him’ thing gets annoying. They never really hurt him; they shove him around, book him, stuff him in lockers, shit like that. Frank guesses it’s because if they hit him, it would feel too much like ‘hitting a girl, because, you know, he’s gay’.

He makes sure to hand them out only to people who look, well, welcoming. Or something to that extent. The fliers are purple and he grins as he hands one to a quiet freshman.

“Make sure to come see the play this Friday!” he says, and the girl smiles politely before folding it up and stuffing it in her bag, probably never to be seen again.

Frank flips through his fliers, counting how many he has left, when he feels someone tap his shoulder. He spins around and then blinks upon seeing the guy who freed him from the locker.

The guy smiles and says, “I’d like a flier, please.”

Frank eyes him, because no one ever really asks for flier, before slowly handing one to him. The guy smiles again, folding up the paper and putting it in his jacket pocket.

“I never got your name,” the guy says, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his ridiculously tight pants. Frank gets a whiff of smoke and strawberries again and he tries not to sniff to noticeably.

“I’m Frank,” he says, hugging the fliers to his chest. Seriously, this guy smells so good. Frank’s convinced it’s some sort of sex pollen or something because he can feel his mouth watering, wanting to licks the guy’s neck or something to that horny extent.

“Gerard,” the guy says, grinning, and damn, why does this dude always seem to be smiling? What the hell is he so damn happy about?

Frank hesitantly smiles back. Gerard seems so... superior to Frank. All bad ass and mysterious with his leather jacket and messy black hair and his “I-don’t-give-a-fuck-but-I’m-still-sensitive-and-sweet” aura. Why would he want to be seen - let alone actually converse - with a guy like Frank?

Gerard’s pale, slim fingers reach up to take the sunglasses off the top of his head and place them on his face. He runs a hand through his hair and quirks his lips at Frank one last time before nodding and walking out the doors of the school.

Frank tries not to stare as he leaves. He’s unsuccessful.


Ryan bites his lip as he tries not to laugh, and Frank rolls his eyes.

“Wait,” Ryan says, grinning, “So you made birds out of his Bio notes? Oh my god.”

Frank frowns and spins himself around in his computer chair. “It was dark,” he whines, crossing his arms. “I couldn’t tell that there was actually writing on them. And they weren’t just birds, asshole. They were elegant origami doves.”

Ryan shakes his head, amused, and asks, “Well, was your knight in shining armor at least attractive?”

Frank pauses and a light blush blooms across his cheeks, because yes. His knight in shining armor was actually quite attractive and totally out of Frank’s league. Ryan just smirks and flips another page in his Government book.

Frank spins again and asks hesitantly, “Do you know a kid named Gerard?”

Ryan pauses in thought, tapping his pencil against his chin. His face lights up suddenly and he says, “Yeah! Black hair, wears leather jackets all the time? He’s in my painting class.”

And Frank might or might not have swooned just a little more because Gerard’s hot and an artist. He a hot artist who’s bad ass and looks really good in leather and has really pretty eyes and long, lean legs that are constantly accentuated by his skin tight pants. Ryan gets this glint in his eyes and he says,

“I could talk to him. You know, if you want?”

And Frank flails a little in his chair because no. Ryan Ross is the most socially awkward person known to man and would probably fake tourettes or something just to burst out “Frank Iero wants your bod!” or something to that extent.

“Um. No. I’d rather you didn’t,” Frank says pointedly, and Ryan huffs.

“Whatever. But you better do something, because he isn’t going to wait around forever.”

Frank rolls his eyes and snatches a piece of paper from Ryan’s math notebook, starting on another paper bird. “Yeah, you’re one to talk. How’s your plan to woo Brendon Urie going, huh?”

Brendon Urie is the hyperactive choir kid who’s in three of Ryan’s classes, yet Ryan continues to avoid any possible conversing because he is an idiot.

Ryan blushes, looking down. “It’s going,” he mumbles.

Frank just sighs and concludes that it’s pretty much a fact: they are both retards when it comes to love.


Frank doesn’t have much time to think about Gerard for the rest of the week though, with tech week and late night rehearsals and getting ready for opening night Friday. He’s kind of relieved that he has something to distract himself from how big of a fail he is at everything except making origami birds.

Frank doesn’t usually get stage fright, mostly because of the fact that he never really plays main roles. He loves acting, but he’s pretty sure he would faint on stage if he actually had a big part. He’s not particularly the most confident kid in the bunch, and he’s 99% sure he’d forget his lines or blank out or something equally as traumatizing. He’s content where he is being the small filler roles.

This year, Frank has a little bit of a bigger part than he would normally play, so he feels for almost the first time the knot of nervousness deep in his stomach.

He’s playing the widowed Florist. Not too bad, except for the fact that the play is called “Floral Fractions” and three-fourths of the play is actually taking place in the flower shop. The drama teacher said he’d be the perfect person for the role because he fits the description so well (Frank knows that’s his way of saying that there are more then a few short jokes in the play and Frank’s the perfect height to fit them).

Feeling a sudden burst of confidence, Frank agreed to take the part. But now, as his hands are sweating while Greta does his hair backstage, he’s starting to sort of regret that decision.

“I’m going to suck,” Frank says miserably, hearing the loud chatter of incoming audience. “I’m going to forget my lines. I’m going to sweat and then I will get sweat stains. I’m going to drop a vase or something, oh my god.”

Greta runs a comb through Frank’s fringe, making it fall in his eyes before she squirts a drop of gel in her palms and styles it back again. “You’ll do great,” she says, tongue peeking out of her rosy lips as she tries to get a flyaway strand of hair to stay in place.

Frank frowns and shakes his head, and Greta flicks his forehead.

“Quit wiggling,” she orders, grabbing the hairspray behind her. Frank mutters out ‘sorry’ and huffs. Greta rolls her eyes.

“Stop fretting. You are going to be fabulous and then we are all going to go to the ice cream parlor afterwards and bask in how fabulous you did, okay?”

Frank sighs in defeat, and gives Greta a small smile as she steps back to look over her work, giving a nod of approval.

“Now, off you go. William needs you so he can get your mic on.”

Greta shoos him away so she can get started on the next person, and Frank sticks his tongue out at her briefly before making his way to William, who’s fiddling with his headset and muttering things like ‘well, fix it. We have like, 20 minutes until curtain call’ and ‘Gabe shut up, oh my god’ and blushing like a 13 year old.

William spots Frank and motions him over, immediately unbuttoning Frank’s shirt running the wire up the back, adjusting the mic to his liking. Frank feels slightly violated, and jeez William’s hands are fucking cold, but he’s used to it. People like to touch and adjust and fix in the drama department. Especially on opening night.

Frank just stands there patiently while William gets everything in place, all the while talking to other crew members over his headset and occasionally heaving out exasperated sighs whenever he hears Gabe’s loud cheerful voice over the line.

Finally William pats the front of Frank’s shirt and gives him a thumbs up, and Frank saunters away. He buttons up his plain white shirt, and then buttons up the plain brown vest over it. Frank tried to convince Ryan a while back to let him wear clothes ‘like Napoleon, or… or like that one guy we saw in the movie we watched last night!’ but Ryan rolled his eyes, flipping through his fabric catalog, and said, “This play does not take place in the Victorian-era Frank. Sorry to burst your bubble,” and Frank pouted for about five minutes before saying, “Fine! At least let me wear a vest though.”

Leave it up to Ryan to get Frank the most boring, ugly brown best there is known to man.

Frank walks into the men’s dressing room, finding Ryan doing a quick hem job of some guy’s pants. Ryan looks frustrated and Frank even sees a few beads of sweat on his brow, which is odd because Ryan Ross never sweats.

Ow,” Ryan mutters, when he pricks his finger yet again, reaching behind him for the pile of band aids he conveniently placed before he got started. “Why did you have to tell me the wrong size?”

The guy says sheepishly, “Sorry? I swear I was taller than this, man.” Ryan just rolls his eyes and clips off the end of the thread when he finishes.

“Done. No go find Greta, she’s freaking out because you haven’t got your hair done yet and curtain call is in 10.”

The guy scurries off and Ryan gets up from the floor, his knees cracking. He groans and leans against the wall, wiping his forehead. “I hate people,” he moans to Frank. Frank just nods and pats his shoulder consolingly.

Someone pops in the door and says, “Frank! William’s looking for you. Said he gave you the wrong mic or something.”

Frank sighs and waves to Ryan as he bustles off to get probed and adjusted yet again.

He’s slightly thankful for all of the distractions though, because it keeps himself from thinking the thoughts that are luring in the back of his mind like oh shit I’m going to mess up the whole play, and what if Gerard’s here? Oh god he probably is. Ohgodohgodohgod.

Frank’s mind goes blank though as the lights dim and the crowd goes silent, William giving him one last once over before pushing him onstage, the curtain the only thing shielding him from the faces in the audience.


One thing Frank loves about being on stage is the bright lights, because they make it almost impossible to see the crowd. Frank just pretends they’re just doing another rehearsal and that all of the seats are completely empty except for that one chubby kid in band who always creeps in the back.

Frank’s concluded that productions go much faster when actually acting in them. The first act seemed to breeze by, and then when the second act came around Frank’s stage fright was next to nothing and all he felt in the pit of his stomach was the rush of being in the lime light. He still faintly felt that uncomfortable nervous tug though when he thought about Gerard, out there, watching him, standing up in the back because he’s too cool for seats. Even though Frank’s not positive that Gerard’s actually here, he still can’t help but wonder.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Frank chants cheerfully, swinging his legs from his position perched on the counter in the boy’s dressing room. He still has that post-show high and his face is flushed with the warmth from the lingering stage lights.

“Oh my god, what?” Ryan says exasperatedly, but he’s smiling as he straightens out some other guy’s costume and hangs it up on the rack.

“Where do you want this?” Frank asks, tugging off the brown vest and holding it up. Ryan holds out his hand and Frank happily chucks it at his face instead. Ryan flails a little and Frank bolts out of the dressing room before he gets a hanger thrown at him.

Frank finds Greta, walking out of the girl’s dressing room with her bag of hair products and her purse. He tugs gently on her hair and says,

“Ice cream parlor?”

Greta shakes her head sadly. “Sorry, you and Ryan are going to have to go without me. I’m going out of town in the morning and need to head to bed.”

It’s a tradition after every play that Frank, Ryan, Greta, William, and a few other drama kids go to the ice cream parlor. The first play that Frank was in, him and Ryan went alone, and then it gradually grew into a thing that they did, their group growing a few people every year.

Frank sighs sadly though and yells into the boy’s dressing room, “Ross! Meet me at my car in ten minutes or I’m leaving without you!” before swinging his keys and walking out of the drama room.

The hallways are quiet and empty, and when he walks outside most of the cars are gone, everyone pretty much having gone home. Frank gets to his car and fiddles with the keys when he hears foot steps coming up behind him.

He internally freaks out for a second (oh my god I’m going to die why didn’t I get that pepper spray when my mom recommended it to me oh my god) but as soon as he smells that familiar smell, he breathes out a sigh of relief and turns around. His still internally freaking out though because hello, Gerard, but know at least he know he’s not going to die.

Frank shoves his hands in his pockets, key’s still dangling from the driver’s side door, and says, “Um.”

Seriously. Complete failure at romantic allure.

Gerard just smiles though and says, “You did awesome.”

Frank feels his face heat up and he’s really glad it’s dark out so Gerard can’t see. “Thank you,” he mumbles. He’s wearing an old pair of pajama pants and a ratty band tee shirt, since he usually just goes to the ice cream parlor after the play and then goes home and crashes, so he feels slightly unattractive in front of Gerard, who’s clad in tight jeans, combat boots, and that damn leather jacket again.

Frank crosses his arms and toes the ground, not really sure what to say. Luckily, Gerard says,

“So, you heading home?”

Frank shakes his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair now that Greta’s hair gel has lost it’s hold. “Actually, I’m going to the ice cream parlor with some friends. It’s sort of a tradition.”

Gerard nods and says sort of sheepishly, “You wouldn’t mind if I imposed, would you? I don’t really have anything else to do tonight so...”

And Frank kind of freezes because did Gerard just ask to come hang out with him? Oh my god he totally did. Frank’s brains short circuits for a moment before getting back on track, allowing him to blurt out,

“No - well I mean yes - like, no I wouldn’t mind, yes you can come. Okay. I’m going to stop talking now.”

Gerard laughs and Frank’s pretty sure it’s the greatest sound he’s ever heard.

“Cool. Would you mind if I caught a ride with you? Sorry to be so nagging or whatever, but my brother dropped me off so I don’t have the car.”

Frank’s pretty sure Gerard’s trying to give him a heart attack with all of his ‘let’s hang out’ and ‘oh, and also let me ride with you in your car’. Frank just nods though, and it’s then that he remembers Ryan and thanks the lord because that means Gerard has to sit in the back and not see his sweaty fumbling hands and beet red face.

“I’m also giving my friend Ryan a ride, too,” Frank points out. Gerard’s face lights up in remembrance.

“Oh! Ryan Ross, right? He’s in my painting class. He’s very talented.”

“Why thank you,” a voice says, and Frank sees Ryan walking towards them, messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a knowing grin on his face. “I could say the same about you.”

Gerard nods a hello to him, and Ryan says, “So, you coming with us to the ice cream parlor?”

Gerard says, “Yeah, Frank’s being a darling and giving me a ride too,” and even though Frank can tell he’s being sarcastic, he still feels his stomach flutter.

“Well, how about that,” Ryan says, grinning, and Frank kind of wants to slap him but refrains. “Why don’t you sit in the front then? I’ll make myself comfy in the back.”

Frank quickly turns around, unlocking the car and letting Ryan crawl in. Frank’s going to so get back at him for this.

The radio immediately starts blaring when he turns on the car, and Gerard and Ryan both exclaim,

“Oh my god, I love this song!” before both bursting out singing.

Frank chances a look over at Gerard, who’s grinning and even doing little hand motions to the song, and gulps when he realizes he’s falling really hard really fast.


Frank promptly bursts out laughing when he sees no other than Brendon Urie happily walking over to their table, order pad in hand.

Gerard looks at him curiously, but then he sees Ryan blushing, eyes fixed on the waiter, and smirks. Ryan’s pretty much the most obvious human being in the world next to Frank.

“Ryan, hi!” Brendon says cheerfully, once he gets to the table. He hastily throws out, “Oh, and uh, hi Frank and guy I don’t know!”

Frank rolls his eyes. Seriously. Most obvious crush ever.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Ryan says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck nervously and avoiding eye contact.

Brendon says, “Yeah! I just started a few days ago actually.”

Gerard leans over and whispers, “It’s so obvious it hurts, Frank,” into his ear, and Frank bites his lip to keep from laughing while also inside he’s trying not to puke because Gerard’s thigh is pressed flushed against his and his breath is sending tingles all through Frank’s body.

Ryan shoots them a look, and Brendon holds up his pad. “What will it be?”

Ryan quietly orders his boring vanilla milkshake while Frank sticks to his usual two scoops of cookie dough with extra whipped cream, no cherry please. Gerard order a mint chip on a sugar cone and Frank wants to face palm because Gerard licking all over his ice cream and sugar cone is definitely going to make his pants tighter before the night ends.

After Brendon walks away, Ryan looks at both Frank and Gerard and hisses out,

“Don’t even say anything.”

Frank holds up his hands in defense, and Gerard says, “I don’t think we even need to.”

Ryan glares, blushing, and Frank giggles into his hand.

Eventually though, Ryan and Gerard get into some in depth conversation about their current project in painting, and Frank sits contently, just listening.

Frank finds out that Gerard likes to talk with his hands, and despite looking like a complete bad ass, he’s actually a huge dork. For some reason, that makes Frank ten times more attracted to him.

Ryan stops in the middle of the conversation when Brendon strides over with their ice cream, handing out each of them. Brendon fiddles with his pen for a second before muttering something like, “fuck it,” and reaching out to take back Ryan’s milkshake, scribbling something on the side of the cup before setting it back down and hurrying away.

Ryan kind of freezes and tentatively picks up his cup, reading the messy hand writing. It has a phone number written, and then under it are four words that make Ryan bite his lip to keep from grinning.

you better call me

They aren’t particularly the most romantic words Ryan’s ever gotten, but that’s what makes it ten times better.

Frank catcalls, loud enough for Brendon to hear because said boy turns around briefly to grin in their direction, making Ryan blush even redder and sink lower in the booth.

“You are an asshole,” Ryan says pointedly, but Frank can tell he’s trying to hide a smile because his eyes are still fixated on his milkshake cup.

Gerard sighs dreamily, folding his hands by his heart. “Love in in the air!” he says wistfully, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Why did we bring you with us again?” he says, sipping his shake. “Frank made it sound like you were such a bad ass, but really you’re just a big loser.”

Ryan says it fondly, with a smile and no venom though, so Gerard grins before looking over at Frank.

“You said I was bad ass?” he asks happily, and Frank sort of bites his lip and goes, “um...”

Ryan just laughs and rubs his thumb over the writing on his cup again.


As they’re walking outside, Brendon sort of just appears, grabbing Ryan’s arm and saying to Frank, “Hi, I’m taking him to my car and we are going to make out. Don’t wait up!” before pulling Ryan away. Ryan turns his head briefly to Frank, and Frank gives him a thumbs up.

Ryan and Brendon head around the corner, leaving just Frank and Gerard standing in front of the now closed ice cream parlor.

Frank looks over to Gerard, who’s been oddly quiet ever since Brendon gave Ryan his number, and says, “I’m taking you home, right?”

Gerard looks up and shrugs. “If you don’t mind.”

Frank just smiles and starts walking to the car, Gerard following.

He turns the radio down to a low hum, background noise, and they drive in content silence, the streetlights whizzing by and lighting up their faces.

Frank’s kind of nervous, because Gerard’s not saying anything and from what he’s found out in the last few hours Gerard’s kind of a chatter box. The silence is weirdly disappointing.

Frank racks his brain for something he said wrong, but then it hits him.

Gerard has a crush on Ryan, and he’s all heart broken now.

Of course. Gerard and Ryan are in the same painting class. They have things in common. The whole time at the ice cream parlor, those two seemed to be the ones in deep conversation, Frank just watching like the third wheel. It’s completely obvious and Frank feels his heart twist painfully. Even though Ryan has Brendon now, which means Gerard isn’t going to get with him, it still means Gerard liked Ryan and he will never like Frank because he is just a geeky drama kid who’s too short and has no artistic skills what so ever, because Gerard’s obviously attracted to artists like Ryan.

Frank stays quiet too after his sudden revelation, and Gerard quietly gives directions while the silence still hangs heavy. Nirvana is playing on the radio, and it’s kind of sickeningly fitting.

Frank finally pulls up to Gerard’s house, puts the car into park, and folds his hands in his lap, waiting for Gerard to leave and go pine away over Ryan in his room or something equally as horrifying.

Gerard sits there for a moment before turning in his seat and saying, “I had a fun time. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Frank frowns, confused, and says slowly, “Uh, no problem?”

He looks kind of twitchy and Frank asks, “Are you okay?”

Gerard takes a deep breath and says, “I’m totally not bad ass at all. I’m really just a nerd who has trouble socializing and has a secret love for the Food channel and red wine. And I also have trouble when it comes to romantics too.”

Frank kind of stares, insanely confused at Gerard’s random outburst of information, so Gerard continues,

“I would totally copy what Brendon did, because his plan seemed to work pretty well, but you don’t have any milkshake cups in your car and I don’t have a pen handy so I’m just going to do this. Don’t hit me.”

And then Gerard leans forward, gripping Frank’s chin and kissing him softly. It’s over as soon as it started, and Frank stares, mouth a gape.

Gerard just kissed him. Holy shit.

“I...” Frank says, touching his mouth. “Ryan...”

Gerard covers his face with his hand. “Are you seriously thinking about your best friend right after I kissed you?”

Frank shakes his head quickly. “No, I mean, what about your crush on Ryan or whatever?”

Gerard freezes, lowering his hand and looking at Frank like he just sprouted another head. After a few seconds he bursts out laughing. Frank feels kind of offended.

“Oh my god, no, I don’t like Ryan, you idiot,” Gerard says, grinning and looking down. And wait, is Gerard Way blushing? “I like you.”

Frank goes, “oh,” like the awkward fuck he is, and then, “oh,” and kind of dives in for another kiss. He ends up bumping noses, and Gerard says,

“Ow ow, okay just, turn your head, hold on,” while Frank mumbles, “sorry sorry, oh my god” under his breath. Eventually Gerard just sort of pulls Frank over until he’s situated in his lap, and Frank hesitantly places his hands on Gerard’s shoulder.

The scent of cigarettes and strawberries is stronger than ever, and Frank blurts out,

“You smell so good.”

He goes red, and Gerard chuckles quietly. “Thanks,” he says, but then he cups Frank’s jaw and says, “now come here. I’ve been waiting ever since that day I found you in my locker to do this.”

And then Gerard kisses him. Like kisses him. The kind of kiss that makes Frank light in the head and hands shaky and unsteady. The kind of kiss that anchors him to the spot and makes his heart kind of bump around in his chest for a bit.

The kind of kiss that makes him think, yeah. I think I can get used to this.


Tags: brendon urie, cigarette smoke and strawberries, fanfiction, frank iero, frerard, gerard way, my chemical romance, panic! at the disco, ryan ross, ryden, slash
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