Harg.
*facepalms* Like, so hard dude.
I am freaking out. Man. This is my last year of school, and even though I will only be 17 when I graduate, I have to leave, and then--*gasp* what if I can't afford the Internet wherever I go? What will happen to my writing?? Will it go away? Pft. I'm not a writer anyway, this is just a nice little past time, but I still don't want it to end.

And on that note, about that Frank/Mikey epic situation, I already have a plot. OMG. A weird plot, sort of. A Teenage Wasteland set in the deep South. And asshole!Frank to the max. And now, after I have that all planned out, I suddenly want to switch it to a Pete/Gerard! With asshole!Gerard and the amazing Peter who is an ex-soccer star. But no. Need to stick to the plan. Here's maybe a few sentences of it:

He stood on the edge, toes of his feet reaching out and over the metal frame. His fingers gripped the sides, death-grip, wanting, not willing to let himself go.

"Get the fuck down from there, what are you doing?" Frank asked, stepping behind him and slipping his fingers into the loops of his pants, jerking him back to the Earth. But he didn't want to go. He teetered on the edge, fingers slipping.

"I want to fly."

Mm. It'll be better when I'm not sick. For now, blah. I need to go puke.