Text Me. (Frerard- Discontinued)

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iMessage
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Frank stared at the display for a seconds as he felt his dignity drop along with his jaw, resulting in him sassily shoving his phone into Mel's face, who narrowed her eyes onto the display and leaned back a bit.

Mel let out a muffled laugh as she just stared at the display that Frank was too persistent on shoving into her face even though she could practically count all the pixels from being this close.

"Okay, seriously, get your fucking phone out of my face, you're gonna give me a headache.", Mel said, shoving the phone back towards Frank.

"Ugh, I was just rejected.", Frank scoffed, feeling slightly embarrassed, eyeing the phone once more before locking it and dropping it onto his lap.

"Don't act so surprised, sweets, this is like, what, your 40...what was it...40...hmm...50? No, no, 40...43! Yeah, like, isn't this your 43rd time being rejected?", she laughed, as Frank's jaw dropped.

"First.", he sneered, clenching his teeth.

"Chill, Frankie. I was just joking. Oh my lord, I'm screaming right now, you look so pissed. Are you pissed that you got rejected or are you pissed that this is your 43rd time being rejected?", she laughed again.

It was at that point, where Frank basically just flicked the lonely piece of pasta that still lay beside him at Mel, as she somehow managed to deflect it and made it hit Frank's eye.

"OW!", Frank yelled, slapping his hand over his eye, as Mel masked her laugh by coughing.

"Oh shit, Frank! Are you okay?", she asked, not really being serious, sounding just a bit like she was faking it.

"Ugh, fuck you Martinez, fuck you."

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Just about a couple moments later, Frank decided it would be best to send a message back to the rejector.

Him being the rejectee and all, didn't exactly make him too happy, and he began to wonder if he could ever possibly have the rejector take the rejectee back, as stupid as it sounded.

And then he'd just drop him of course, because the rejector was a fucking dick.

"Hey Mel, what should I say back to them?", Frank asked, looking over to Mel who was currently fixing the role of tape from her shoe that had apparently been a bit messed up.

Mel turned towards Frank, confusion flickering over her face, but it disappeared quickly as she realized what Frank was talking about.

"Hm...honestly, I don't have a fucking clue. However, I'd like to know how they got such a sick number.", she said, tapping the side of her head slowly with her finger, as her perfectly polished nails glistened in the glow of the TV.

"Actually, same. Let me ask them quickly", Frank nodded.

He pulled his messages app back up and began to type the question.

647-768-3421: first off, fucking r00d. second, how the f U C K did you get such a fucking awesome number. shit bro, hope you're not going to discriminate me bc i'm a satanist. jUST kiddING i'M nOT a satANIST.

647-666-0603: o

647-768-3421: heLLO. whERE tHe fucK diD yOU gEt tHaT numBER. did you fucking sell your soul to satan m8 like how tf