XOXO// Frank Iero

Eleven

(Still) Sunday

Kit

I sat in Tim's basement, my legs crossed and my hands on my lap. It was noticeable that I was trying to take up as little space as possible, subconsciously that is. The boys themselves didn't make me uncomfortable, but the concept of me showing up uninvited and Frank awkwardly introducing me to these guys who shook my hand and made me repeat my name four times kind of ruined the mood.

Neil was a second guitar player. He wore a black button up shirt with the top two buttons undone. Despite his greasy appearance, he smelled strongly of something that would be baking in a Grandmother's oven. Apple, cinnamonish, and quite comforting.

Tim played drums and manspread, a smirk plastered on his face. He was the first to say hi, and made some kind of joke to Frank about him being a "Lucky guy", to which Frank did not respond, or even blink differently.

John was the bass player, and Frank had told me on the bus that he was a good, old friend of his. He seemed to be the quiet one of the bunch, a trait that seemed to be common among bass players. He awkwardly shook my hand, quite limp for someone who should have strong hands, but then said my name was cool.

"Alright, lets do 19, from the top."  Frank sounds annoyed, I imagined it was because he left his precious guitar at home and had to play Tim's squier. He wasn't impressed. I found humour in that, though.

I received very little to no acknowledgment throughout the practice session, I kind of just sat there and examined every small detail of everything about the boys. The way Neil made a face every time one of the other boys made a mistake, and the way they all shouted at Tim for playing while they were tuning. Frank seemed to have some sort of leader role, as the frontman and the guy who started the band in the first place.

"We'll do Yesterday, hmm? Do you know the words, Kit?" Frank addressed me for the first time.

I didn't know the words. I knew a few lines here and there, but nothing worth cheering about, so I shook my head.

Frank rolled his eyes and sighed, exaggerating to get a laugh off of me. I laughed, covering my mouth with my hand. I felt like we were in tune, like we were communicating without saying much, and the other guys had no idea. That thought made my smile stick to my face for the rest of rehearsal, which continued on for another twenty minutes or so.

After the last song, Frank put down the borrowed guitar with a look of mild disdain and came over to where I was sitting. "You okay?" he asked softly, his annoyance from earlier fading as he focused on me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, standing up and stretching my legs. "You guys sounded great."

"Thanks," he said, a genuine smile breaking through. "Sorry if it was a bit awkward. They're good guys, just...you know, not used to having an audience."

"I get it," I said, shrugging. "I didn't mind."

Tim, who had been packing up his drumsticks, called over to Frank. "Hey man, we're grabbing some food after this. You guys wanna join?"

Frank looked at me, raising an eyebrow in question. I nodded, feeling a bit more at ease now. "Sure," Frank answered Tim. "We'll come."

We all left the basement together, the awkwardness of the earlier introductions fading as the conversation turned to lighter topics. Frank and I walked side by side, occasionally sharing a glance that made my stomach flip in a way I couldn't quite decipher.

As we reached a nearby diner, I realized that, despite the earlier discomfort, I was actually looking forward to spending more time with Frank and his friends. There was something about being part of his world, even in a small way, that made me feel connected.

We slid into a booth, and the conversation continued, easier now, filled with laughter and teasing. Frank sat next to me, his arm occasionally brushing against mine, sending little sparks of electricity through me. Despite my earlier denial, I couldn't help but acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, I did have a bit of a crush on Frank.