I'll be Home for Christmas (A Frerard Story)

Chapter Two: Frank's Strategy (Part 2)

 Gerard hesitantly stabbed the egg yolk with his fork and watched it run all over the plate. A million questions were running through my head but there were three main ones I was contemplating at the moment. Did I put too much salt and pepper on his eggs? Was I being kind of OCD by salt and peppering his food and pouring sauce on his plate when he probably didn't want any? What kind of a freak eats their eggs with steak sauce? Ha, only in New Jersey...

Gerard set his fork down and looked at me for a second.

"What?"

"Could you not like, stare at me while I'm eating?"

I rapidly blinked and leaned away from the table, which I was apparently leaning towards.

"Sorry, was I staring?"

"Yeah."

Gerard picked up some of the egg with his fork and dipped in the steak sauce but didn't bring it off his plate or open his mouth. Instead, he looked at me again.

"What is it this time?"

"Nothing, I just um, so does it actually taste good with A1?"

"Yeah. You should try it."

He furrowed his brow and crinkled his nose a little. It wasn't until he looked at my arms when I realized I was leaning towards the table again, this time with my head resting on my hands, transfixed on Gerard.

"Sorry, I dunno what I was doing."

"No it's fine."

He still didn't eat anything yet.

"Is there a problem or something?"

"No, I just don't really like to eat in front of people."

"Oh, sorry. I can like, look away or something."

"No, that'd just make it more awkward."

"Um ya know, I'm just gonna go to my room for a few minutes." I nervously pointed behind me and my voice went high at the end of my sentence.

"Um, okay?"

Gerard seemed to know that something was up but instead of looking back at him, I ran into my room. I gently closed the door behind me and leaned back against it for a second to catch my breath.

Fuck. I softly muttered to myself.

Just by coming into my house, sitting down, and having a glass of fucking orange juice, he'd managed to almost work up a panic attack. I felt my forehead, which was drenched in sweat, and walked into the bathroom to wipe it off. I looked like shit. I mean, not the greasy emo trash I normally looked like, but close. I'd spent the whole morning getting my hair and clothes just right and they were all now ruined by Gerard, who didn't even lay a finger on me. My pits were starting to sweat, which was very notable in the long red sleeved shirt I had on. That was now of course wrinkled. At least my tie was okay. Honestly, the only reason I dressed up so fancy was because I thought Ray and Mikey could make it today and along with Gerard we could all be matching. Like a reverse version of the black suits and red ties we wore for the press but more, ya know, Chistmasy.

I tried to sweep my hair behind my ear and wiped my palms dry with a towel. Hopefully I could make myself look more presentable. I took off my shirt and changed into something a little more relaxed: ripped jeans, a shirt, and normal shoes instead of the fancy dress ones I was wearing.