Our Foundations from Decay

Frank POV 38

"Nope. It's a bit too... soft." Ray sounded like some kind of parrot. 'Too bright. Too dangly. Too tacky. Too dull.' Agitation was starting to bite at me, tunnelling its way through me like an impatient molerat. Time ticked on as my legs kept getting number; thin pillow barely protecting me from the cheap stool's wrath.

"Does it even really matter what we look like?" I finally commented after yet another rejected outfit got flung to the side, cowboy tassels hitting the ground with a frustrated thump.

"Yeah dude," Ray responded, shrugging like it should have been obvious, "Its our entire image. We can't half-ass this."

The 4th band member joined in, dorky glasses almost looking intimidating as he glared at me. "I don't wanna be here either, but since you and Gerard apparently can't do anything by yourselves, Ray and I are stuck babysitting."

Damn kid, who gave you that attitude? Devilish visions of a freckled smirk came to mind. Ah right, he hangs out with Kristy.

Gerard grunted from his place next to me, rustling around in his backpack. With a flick of his wrist, countless sheets of paper fanned out in front of us like a pack of cards.

"I've got some ideas, but I dunno if they'll work."

Woah! I had forgotten how truly talented the boy was, characterised scribbles coming together into what seemed like concept drawings- four people lined up with creatively strewn-together outfits. Between splashes of white collars and skull faces, my eyes caught on a bloody scene; crimson ties adorning deep black suits. Ooh, how stylish.

Everyone was silent as a group of mice, awestruck by the options in front of them.

"W-we don't have to use them or anything, it's just for inspiration-" The artist stuttered, nervously fidgeting with the strap of his bag.

"They're perfect, Gerard." I ushered, fingertips drifting delicately over the papers.

"Yeah," Ray finally spoke up after a pause, grin plastered on his face. "These are radical, bro." Mikey nodded along, shuffling through he sheets with careful hands. The boy's fingernails seemed closely trimmed and neat- so very unlike his brother's... ones I had secretly spent countless hours admiring.

Gerard had finally stopped his nervous rampage, instead focusing on scrawling out some kind of diagram, a bold heading of pros and cons etched as a title. Graphite left smudged trails as he wrote, the two boys beside him adding their own opinions to the cesspool of inspiration.

"If we pick anything complicated," My boyfriend muttered, "We'd have to get something commissioned." He scribbled something else as I glanced around, taking in the peeling signage and water-damaged ceiling, racks of disorganised clothes lined up like a shootout. It was easy to feel the middle-aged worker's distrust burning into the back of our heads--and it certainly didn't help that we were throwing clothes around like it was rice at a wedding.

"This store doesn't seem like they do commission stuff." I frowned, leaning up against the only empty wall. "They can barely afford new carpet, let alone anything else."

Ray was stood in front of a mirror, pulling a worrisomely-stained jacket over his shoulders. "Second hand stores are never perfect." He grimaced at the reflection of shabby leather, immediately yanking it off again. "But they're super cheap."

"Mm." I hummed, finally lifting myself from the wall. "I'm gonna go look at the shoes, shout if you guys find anything."

I looked down at my sneakers as I walked across the room, scuffed and torn rubber following me. It's high goddamn time I replace these. With a determined nod of my head, I whipped off my own shoes, yanking on a pair of combat-like boots. Huh, I paraded backwards and forwards, admiring the flexibility of the soles-- as if they had been personally moulded for my feet. They make me look taller.