Mr Urie was fucking pissed off.

Mostly due to the fact that he'd had to go stand out whilst it was unpleasantly cold, and less so due to the fact that his school had been set on fire.

It was really kind of cold though, and he didn't have a coat, so he was seriously suffering as he stood there - like he didn't even have a chair as he watched the teachers who gave slightly more fucks make sure that everyone was there and not inside the building with the fire.

He bet it wasn't even a good fire. Like some tiny shit, like someone had set a pencil on fire, and now they were all stood outside as a result and it was fucking cool and Brendon really fucking hated standing up for periods of time longer than two minutes, and only then really appreciated his crappy desk chair.

He'd also been watching this really good vine compilation when the fire alarm had gone off, and he was seriously pissed about having to stop watching it and go out fucking side, and he seriously would have just stayed there and just hoped that he didn't get burned or killed or something like that and continue watching the video, but fucking Agnes had to come and yell at him that everyone needed to assemble outside, to which he'd responded that the only kid of assembling he cared about was the kid that involved Chris Hemsworth and Tom Hiddleston, which had caused Agnes to look at him oddly, once again validating that she really wasn't worth Brendon's time.

As he stood outside being particularly cold and particularly pissed off, someone had the fucking nerve to approach him and attempt conversation and oh dear god it was that fucking maths teacher with the nose that seemed to be curling back down into her face - not one of Brendon's favourite colleagues, to say the least, but it wasn't Agnes - that was something.

"Mr Urie, so the fire department have put out the fire - it was in a maths room, and it seemed to be caused purposefully. Someone made a massive ball of paper and set fire to it with a lighter or something before just throwing it onto the carpet. I think we need to launch a full on investigation to discover who the culprit of this arson is, as it's evident that it was some kind of attack and not just accidental, and I know, you as headteacher want to take this really-"

Brendon let out a sigh, rolling his eyes, thinking to himself as to just who the fuck liked setting fire to classrooms for the hell of it. "What class was it?"

"Senior year maths." She confirmed his suspicions, leaving Brendon to roll his eyes.

"Is it safe to go back inside now?" He asked, interrupting before she could open her mouth again.

"Yeah, the firefighters have just cleared the building - the fire was stopped before it got out of hand, but I don't think we can use that classroom-"

"Yeah, okay, tell everyone to go back inside, I've got some very important paperwork to do." Brendon walked off before she could argue with him, making a beeline to the staff toilets where he jacked off, because he felt like he fucking deserved it, and if he'd just came it was less likely that Ryan offering to give him a blowjob instead of doing something about this would work on him, however Brendon was making absolutely no promises as he returned to his office ten minutes later to already find Ryan sat in his chair, grinning a little, like the insanely attractive piece of shit he was.

"I should really start confiscating your fucking lighter." Brendon let out a sigh as he locked the door behind him. "I had to stand out in the fucking cold for a good twenty minutes and it was the least pleasurable experience of my entire life."

"Awh, Brenny, I'm so sorry," Ryan pouted, speaking in mock sympathy before bursting into laughter, "I did this shit for you, that bitch of a maths teacher was shit talking you - I had no choice but to set her classroom on fire, come on-"

"Did you really?" Brendon looked unconvinced but secretly appreciated the gesture.

"Yeah, and anyway, I like totally fucking climbed out the classroom window and then dropped down into Mr Way's art room it was some fucking parkour shit, I didn't even sprain my ankle, and it was seriously fucking amazing because like Mr Way and Frank looked like they were doing some sort of newly weds Q&A session in that classroom, and then I drop in and everyone's like what the fuck is going on and I'm just like there's a fire and they all fucking run out the fire exit and Megan- Megan of course appreciated my work in protecting you, and later told me that she'd knife that bitch of a maths teacher if I wanted her to but I thought you wouldn't want to deal with a stabbing and a fire on the same day, so maybe tomorrow-"

"Megan's fucking knife-" Brendon shook his head in disbelief, "can you please talk her out of bringing it to school everyday? Please? Look, if you get her to drop the knife then I won't punish you for this-"

"What if I want to be punished? I'm a bad boy, Mr Urie-"

"Ryan!" Brendon exclaimed, stepping forward behind the desk to awkwardly hide his boner, as Ryan smirked - having of course already noticed, as he just casually tended to stare at Mr Urie's dick as he talked, as you do. "So are you going to get Megan's knife or do I have to like, I don't get you detention with all your least favourite teachers?"

"Oh, you wouldn't dare-" Ryan's eyes widened in horror.

"Fucking fight me, Ryan, I fucking would." Brendon smirked a little, "so come on, get Megan to stop with the knife, and then I won't."

"Okay, but anything that happens in the process of me doing so I absolutely cannot be held responsible for-"

"Like what?" Brendon asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't know, something like Muddy being put in a wheelchair, I don't know, just some small shit like that-" He noticed Brendon's expression, "oh come on, Brendon, no one fucking likes Muddy anyway.

Brendon let out a sigh, because the thing was, he kind of had a point.

-

The thing was that at least, Max had been trying to be civil, but somehow that had just made it all worse, because perhaps it had gotten to the point where Frank was even just trying to look for a fault in him, to look for an excuse and just to end it. He knew of course that if he was in that state of mind about it as it was then he should indeed just break up with him instead of being a manipulative piece of shit about things, but truth be told, he felt guilty.

Because although Max really was far from an angel, he hadn't done anything explicitly wrong, and Frank knew Max well enough to know that if they broke up he'd overanalyse everything and look for every possible little fault he could find within himself and blow it out of proportion and perhaps even ruin his own life as he tried to fix said assumed fault. Frank hated that he knew Max so well and yet couldn't possibly blame him slightly, because the way the man was wasn't at all his own fault - sure, he was overreacting to everything and leaving Frank just that more than a little bit unhappy in his own life, but still, Max never intended for it to be so - his mind was crafted by anxiety and self-loathing, and Frank knew such demons would only prey upon him more intensely if he just left him.

Because Frank could just do that.

The reality of such a fact had only recently dawned upon him.

As beforehand he'd found himself rather accustomed to the solid fact that he and Max were going to be him and Max together and that was that - they'd already made it several years and Frank saw that that was just them, and that he'd seen all there was to Max and that he wouldn't change, and that he knew him and he knew his flaws and he accepted and began to understand them.

But the thing was, Frank had changed, and Frank's heart had started hammering in his chest whenever he found himself coming into contact with Gerard, and he knew that wasn't fair on Max, or Gerard, and to an extent, he wondered if he was really even being fair to himself.

And it wasn't like he disliked Max. That was worlds away from the truth. Sure, he knew that Gerard did, no matter what he said to contradict such a statement, but Frank and Gerard, although similar and although spending perhaps all of their time together, were two different people, and therefore it was solely Frank's decision to break up with Max, not that he could really bring himself to in the time being, but if it had been Gerard's decision, Frank and Max would have broken up months ago.

And Frank wondered if maybe that might have been better from him personally, he knew that if it had gone down as Gerard had wanted, the man who sat beside him on the sofa would either be hospitalised or six feet underground right now.

Max was never the thing Frank had a problem with. It was just Max's brain and the ways in which it worked, and the ways in which it left Frank feeling as if he was treading on broken glass around it, around Max, and he knew that he couldn't live like that.

At so0me point in all of this ordeal regarding the France trip, Frank had come to conclude that he did indeed have to live for himself and not Max, and not Gerard either, and therefore to discard everyone else's ideas about the world and his life and what he should do with it, and sit down and think to himself honestly as to just what kind of life he wanted to live.

Because right now Gerard was living his dream; he hadn't stopped smiling in days, and Frank found himself jealous of such happiness, and this had indeed led him to contemplate what made him happy and then just what took that happiness away.

Things weren't good at home.

Frank's whole mood travelled dramatically south the moment he went home, and yet it was no one's fault, and yet he just couldn't leave, because he'd maybe figured that out - that that was what he wanted to do - leave. Leave Max, but leave them as friends, leave everything being okay, and stay with Gerard, and just see how things went from there, but Frank knew that the aforementioned was indeed no short of some form of exaggerated fairy-tale happily ever after, and he had indeed considered absolutely every outcome, and the fact of the matter was that no matter how hard he tried, he simply could not construct an ending in which Max was happy.

Because Max didn't want to break up with him. Not at all. Max loved him, and Max relied on him and that was easily what made this all a million times worse, because as self-centred as it sounded, Frank was desperate not to be the bad guy.

He never wanted to wrong anyone, especially not Max, who'd been there for him for years, who'd looked after him and shown him kindness, and had made mistakes as anyone had, and yet, despite that kindness, Frank's cheeks flushed a bright pink as he even thought of Gerard Way with his dyed black hair sticking up at all angles and his unnaturally pale skin, warm, golden eyes and those eyebrows that he totally plucked, but- but that was besides the point.

It wasn't fair.

Frank wasn't being fair.

And perhaps the best outcome he had constructed in this was one in which he 'unintentionally' made Max angry and then led him to break up with him, or to give Frank a solid and explicit reason to do so. In summary, Frank sat on his sofa and wondered what it would take to get his boyfriend to hit him again.

And he wondered if he was being even less fair than the situation itself was.

And of course, two wrongs didn't make a right - two wrongs made a hell of a fucking mess to clean up. And Frank just didn't want to hurt the people he cared about, because he still cared about Max, so fucking much, he just felt empty at home, he just didn't love him anymore, as harsh as that sounded, it remained the truth.

He wondered if he'd have to talk, if he'd have to actually speak, if he'd have to actually voice these feelings and be fucking brave about it, because perhaps being brave was better than being a lying, conspiring, borderline cheating coward.

There was no denying what was going on in his heart and indeed his head anymore - it was how it was, and Frank just couldn't twist and pull at the situation until it fit nicely into his idea of how things were supposed to be: things weren't going to get any better that way, and he wasn't going to get any happier that way, and indeed, that was what he wanted to achieve from this mess.

Happiness.

Because life was not infinite: it had a definite beginning and end, and Frank was past the first quarter, or indeed into the final one, because you never did know when you were going to die. He could die tomorrow. He could die right now, in five minutes - their house could be bombed or something, although unlikely, it could happen.

And Frank didn't like the idea of dying unhappy.

And Frank was done with the idea of continuous denial, as it ceased to make him feel anything but worse.

"Are you okay, Frankie?" Max asked, having glanced over in Frank's vague direction: taking a break from the work he was doing on his laptop and instantly noticing the rather obvious dismay that remained evident upon his boyfriend's face.

Frank jumped a little, not quite registering that Max had said anything until a good ten seconds or so after. He turned to face Max and took in his appearance: the stressed look upon his face and the worry behind his eyes, and the way his lips parted slightly as words lay waiting upon the tip of his tongue, and the way in which he was indeed incredibly beautiful, but the way that meant nothing for Frank anymore as he just wasn't in love with him.

The words fell like rocks to the pit of his stomach as he finally came to admit them to himself. He felt like he was going to be sick, and all Max continued to do was look at him with such love and care and naivety in his eyes; he didn't know a thing, and Frank didn't want to tell him a thing - he wanted Max to be happy, but he wondered how happy a one sided, half hearted, bullshitted relationship could really make anyone.

Max deserved someone better than him, didn't he?

Max deserved someone who loved him.

Max deserved an apology.

And Frank just didn't know how to make this all okay. He wondered if he even could, and in turn his stomach began to twist further and further into knots.

"Frank?" Max asked again: concern ringing clearly through his voice like a bell, and it was like that that Frank realised he'd done nothing besides stare blankly at Max for what was easily the past minute and a half.

"Fuck... sorry," he blushed, pulling his gaze up to meet Max's eyes. "I'm just..." He trailed off, already feeling the words 'tired', and 'thinking about work, and 'focused on something else', and 'a bit ill', and 'daydreaming' at the tip of his tongue, and no-. No. This was where it stopped, this was where the bullshit excuses and the lying and half-hearted attempts at makeshift happiness came to a rather definite stop.

It wasn't fair on anyone anymore. It never had been.

"Just thinking about something, and..." Frank continued, inhaling steadily, "I... I'm sorry, Max, I'm really, really sorry, and this is not your fault, this is not anyone's fault, but I'm... I'm just not happy anymore. And recently I've been thinking about happiness and I want to live the best life I can, I want to be the happiest I can, and that's... that's not like this. I think you can feel it too. Things are far from perfect, aren't they? And you definitely deserve better than that - you deserve someone who loves you properly, as you deserve to be happy too-"

"You're fucking breaking up with me, Frank? After all of fucking this- I fucking can't, I-" Max stumbled over his words, his eyes widening in dismay as he struggled to process the situation at hand.

"I am." Frank pushed his words out firmly - he had to. There was no point in shying away from the truth anymore. "It's just not fair on anyone like this."

Max let out a sigh, looking away, "I fucking love you, Frankie, you fucking know that right? I've never done fucking anything have I?"

"No, you haven't - it's not your fucking fault, Max." Frank raised his voice, "it's my fault because I just don't love you like I used to anymore, and I-"

"You found someone better than me." Max swallowed hard, biting his lip as if he was about to cry and Frank began to pray to whatever kind of omniscient being that could possibly exist that it wouldn't be so.

"It's not like that, Max, I just- I'm not as happy as I could be and I-"

"Is it not?" Max stood up, narrowing his eyes in disbelief, "and what would make you happier because it seems like you've fucking got that all figured out, haven't you? And where the fuck would you go anyway, because I don't want to live with you if you're going to dump me like I'm a piece of shit under your shoe."

Frank held his breath, having expected this kind of reaction, and taking a moment to remind himself that it wasn't Max's fault, and that getting angry at him would only make things worse.

"I've got somewhere to stay." He told him calmly. "And I know that I'm not making you as happy as you could be either so-"

"And where the fuck is that?" Max exclaimed, not letting Frank finish. "Come on, fucking tell me-"

"Gerard's." Frank told him, looking away.

"I fucking knew it. It's been fucking him all along - or should I say you've been fucking him all along? I saw this coming, oh god, the way you talked about him like he's the second coming of Christ and he's just a fucking stuck up, pretentious waste of space art teacher who can never make anything of himself. Seems like a fucking perfect match for you, huh?"

"And you fucking wonder why I'm breaking up with you." Frank got up, knowing like hell he'd regret saying that later, but fuck, the only thing on his mind was getting his stuff and getting the fuck to Gerard's - he hadn't even told him he was coming, but seeing how much Gerard had always hated Max, he reckoned this'd be a nice fucking surprise for him.

-

hey guys im sorry for updates being a bit non existent over the past two days, my laptop broke and writing this chapter is the first thing i did when i got access to another laptop briefly so yeah im fucking dedicated and im sorry #praymylaptopgetsfixedokbecauseifeellikeimightdiern vote and comment pls love u