Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> My Chemical Romance
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The Perfect Man
A/N: Okay, um......technically none of the characters in this one-shot are from MCR.
Just read and you'll see.
DISCLAIMER: This story is not approved, endorsed, or connected in any way to the members
or management of My Chemical Romance.
This story is completely fictional and does not represent the views, policies, or
practices of My Chemical Romance.
Don't own (only wish I did), didn't happen, don't sue.
We're sitting on the couch watching MTV. I'm snuggled into his chest and he has an arm
wrapped around me. The flickering lights from the TV reflect on the coffee table that separates us
from the TV-stand. It's a good thing the lights in this room are on; otherwise it would be much
darker, and seeing as I have Achluophobia ((A/N: Fear of the dark)), if the lights
were off I'd be a bit scared and be forced to snuggle into him more. The last thing I
In case I haven't made it clear, James ((A/N: James=OC=I OWN!)) is my
boyfriend. He has been, for about ten months now, and we're quite happy. Well, at least everyone
else thinks we are.
Not to say that we have a bad home-life; in fact, we have a very good one. He has never hit
me, nor I him, we rarely fight, and when we do we end up making up by the end of the night. James is
not a total pig like most men his age (24) and he doesn't drink a lot, much to my surprise. He's
actually going to Medical School, on a scholarship at that! He doesn't come home late from partying
with his friends, and never forgets a birthday or an anniversary. And when his mother and I get into
a little spat, he's no 'Momma's Boy' in that he automatically takes her side. Or anyone's side in
any argument, for that matter. No, my James will be the mediator and listen to all the facts before
he decides who is right. He doesn't sit at home watching football all day; believe it or not, we
actually breathe fresh air on a daily basis! There is never a dull moment with James,
Now you may be thinking, "James sounds too good to be true, are you sure he's not gay?"
Well, ladies, gentlemen, and hermaphrodites, if James is gay he shows no sign of it. And I know
you're next thought: "Well then he must be some fugly Mofo." And to be honest, he's not! Anybody
would find James to be quite good-looking. So, in general, I suppose you could say my boyfriend is
perfect; he's smart, he's funny, he's outgoing, he's hot, he's well-endowed (wink wink), he's great
in bed, he's actually doing something with his life. Yeah, if he was your boyfriend, you'd think he
was perfect. But to me?
He's not the perfect man.
There! I said it! And you know what? All hell didn't break loose! Get a grip! As perfect a
guy he is, he's not the perfect man. And tonight I'm going to tell him that. And his mother is going
to make a big shit about how she was right about me, but I really couldn't give less of a fuck. And
tonight James is probably going to cry, but I'm going to have to stand tall to that. I care about
James, and about myself, enough to know that I can't go on living a lie. Ready for a cliche? I love
James, but I'm not in love with him. Now that I think about it, I never was. When we first
got together ten months ago, I figured that he seemed to be the best out there so I should just grab
him, so to speak, before anyone else could, and I would learn to love him in that way. Well, here I
am, ten months later, and I still haven't fallen in love with him, so it's time to call it quits.
The problem with that? He absolutely, positively, head-over-heels in love with me. And that's gonna
make this a lot harder than it should be. But I know who the perfect man is and James is not
I pull away from him and sit, facing him, indian-style on the couch. "James?"
He looks over at me, smiles, and movies a wisp of hair out of my face. "Yeah
I sigh. Little gestures like that will be the end of me. Or rather, him. "James.....this
isn't working out."
"What isn't? The channel? I know, MTV has gone to shit. I'll change it." He moves to grab
the remote but I stop him.
"No, James, it's not the TV channel, it's.....us." I watch the confusion etch itself onto
"What?" His eyes are glazed over and I know he's holding back tears. "Why?"
"James, it's just.......you're absolutely amazing, anybody would be lucky to have you,
but.....you're just not the perfect man."
His voice is shaky. "What? Maggie, ((A/N: ::giggles::)) I don't know what to
say. I mean, I know I'm not perfect, but...."
"No James! You are perfect! Just, not by my definition." I try to make it sound as gentle
as possible. "I.....I know who the perfect man is, and......you're just not him." And I'm being
honest. Who would think, me of all people, being honest? Are we sure hell didn't break loose
James stands up, not hiding his tears now. "Then I'll fix it! Tell me what's wrong with me!
I'll do anything, I can be that perfect man! I'll do it for you! Just tell me what's wrong with me
so I can change it!"
"No, Maggie! You deserve the perfect man, and I wanna be him, just tell me what it is the
perfect man has that I don't! I'll change for you...."
"James, I don't want you to change yourself. You're perfect just the way you are,
just....not for me."
James sighs as more tears fall. "What does he have?" he pleads. "Come on, Maggie. Describe
the 'perfect man'!" He's angry now. But I can't help myself, I have to smirk a bit just
thinking the perfect man. Yes, he turns me into a 13-year-old girl again, trembling at the
knees at the thought of him. But James deserves to know what I'm giving him up for, even though I
know I'll never get it.
"Well," I begin, "First off, you're built. The perfect man has a lot less muscles than you
And so begins the long list of things that equal James not being the perfect
You're not extremely pale.
Your hair is brown instead of black.
Your hair doesn't reach your shoulders and never has.
Your eyes aren't hazel.
Your hair doesn't constantly have a messy look.
Uh....weird....you have a nice smile, your teeth don't look like a bunch of little round
pearls all lined up in your mouth.
You don't wear eyeliner.
You don't look like a vampire.
You never look like a woman in any of the pictures you take.
You hate comic books.
You aren't infatuated with boas.
Horror movies are not your obsession.
You don't wear extremely tight pants.
You don't smoke Marlboro Reds.
You hate Starbucks.
You don't tell stories slowly because you were never drunk for three years.
You don't have a blood fetish.
You hate Liza Minelli.
You don't love to dance.
You never look like you're dead.
You're not a jacket whore.
You don't nickname basically everything you see.
No one calls you Uncle Jiggy.
You're not an atheist.
You don't have little stubs for fingernails and they're never painted black.
I've never seen you wear all black.
You don't have a lot of self-hate.
Your favorite colors are not seemingly black and red.
You've never wanted to be in musicals.
You don't sing.
You actually hate singing.
You've never written a song with dark lyrics.
You never just do a silly dance for no reason.
You don't make pointless funny faces.
You can't draw for shit.
Your voice doesn't sound nasal at all.
You never look like you could start crying at any second
You hate Halloween.
You don't like wearing makeup.
You've never experimented with your hair color.
You hate wearing ties.
You don't constantly have a dazed look in your eyes.
You don't have thin pink lips.
You're 6'1"; instead of 5'9".
You don't like screaming just for the hell of screaming.
You aren't deathly allergic to cats.
You don't fancy animals.
You're not obsessed with the idea of death.
You're not deathly afraid of needles.
You don't hate getting tanned.
You don't wear skeleton pajamas.
And I continue the list on and on and on. After a while, James had stopped crying and taken
a seat on an armchair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, stroking his chin in
deep thought, as he began smoking a cigarette from the box of Newports on the coffee table. He seems
intrigued, genuinely interested in what my perfect man is like. When I stop talking, he sighs
"Well, Maggie, the perfect man sounds completely psychotic," he says, taking a long drag
and letting it out. "I'm sorry, I can't be him," there is still a hint of resentment towards this
"perfect man", whom he thinks is fictional.
I give him a sad smile. "He's not psychotic, he just.....like psychotic things." I walk
over to him and wrap my arms around his waist, sitting in his lap. "I'm so sorry, James. I still
care about you, I didn't mean to hurt you....."
He puts the cigarette in the ashtray and hugs me back. "It's fine, Maggie. I love you, you
deserve to be with the perfect man." My small smile fades as he says this, in knowing that I will
never be with the perfect man. Then I get a whiff of James' body spray. Its Axe Kilo, as
"One more thing, James. You smell like cologne or body spray all the time."
James sighs again. "And what does the perfect man smell like?"
I smile widely, although it is still a sad smile at the same time. I know the smell, but it
still kills me that I will never know it first-hand. A disappointed tear rolls down my cheek, but I
am still smiling when I say:
"The perfect man smells like coffee and cigarettes."
A/N: Yeah, kinda sad. But whatever, I hope you liked this
Oh, and self-insertion rocks!
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The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.