Winter Screams and Starbucks - littleblackghost

Part 7

When Gerard reached the club, his heart was pounding. It had been so long since he'd been out, to a gig, to a bar. Mikey's birthday couldn't really count, considering he'd spent half the night helping Ray wash vomit off his little brother's shoes.

He joined the queue, keeping his head down, before he felt a hand on his back.
"Gerard, right?"
He looked up to see Brian, who he now assumed for the band's manager, and gave a small nod.

"You're on the list dude, just go up front," Brian smiled, before he pushed a flyer into his hand.
Gerard mumbled a thanks, feeling guilty as he skipped ahead, giving his name at the door.

Once he was inside the club, he couldn't help but feel just a little insecure. He pulled at the cuffs of his denim jacket, and debated on whether his black pants were a little too tight in the crotch.

Just as he was managing to work himself into a panic over what the fuck he was even doing here he felt someone clap his back again.
He turned to see the smiling face of James Dewees.
"Glad you could make it dude," he yelled into Gerard's ear as the first support act came on stage. "Frank was worried you wouldn't come."

Gerard tried to ignore the little burning sensation in his stomach, and gave Dewees a smile. "No problem man, good to finally see you guys live."

Dewees hi-fived him, before he made his way back stage as more people poured into the small room.

As Gerard found his way to the bar, he wondered why the Hell the band were even playing here - they were big enough to play bigger venues and still sell out.

"Uh, Gee?"
Gerard turned to see Mikey standing behind him, a worried look on his face.
"Sup Mikes?" Gerard asked, as he handed over a bill to the barman, accepting the tumbler he handed over.

Mikey's eyes were on the glass in Gerard's hand, making Gerard sigh, and push it under his brother's nose.
"Diet soda, Mikey," he muttered. "Four years, dude. I'm not gonna fuck up."

Mikey seemed to let out a breath he was holding, and gave Gerard an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Gee...I just...knew you were nervous..."
Gerard punched his shoulder playfully, before they went to watch the band on stage.

By the time LeATHERMOUTH were ready to climb on stage, Mikey had disappeared off to the back of the venue, scoping out one of the support acts he had his eye on.

LeATHERMOUTH climbed onto the stage to cries and screams, Gerard could feel his heart racing.
Frank took centre stage, a microphone in his hand, cable wrapped around a tattooed arm. The whole band were dressed in dirty white t-shirts and pants, white plimsolls that reminded Gerard of hospitals.

Frank's face looked impassive as he looked around the crowd, taking in the screams and yells as the band behind his adjusted their instruments.

Gerard pushed himself to the side of the stage, trying to get out of sight when Frank spotted him. The smirk that creeped onto Frank's face was enough to freeze Gerard on the spot.

As the band launched into 5th Period Massacre Gerard was mesmerised. For the next hour and a half, Gerard couldn't take his eyes off the small, sweating front man, throwing himself around on the stage with such energy Gerard was half convinced he was possessed.

Frank was throwing himself against his band mates, against speakers and amps, against the walls, the crowd, the floor. His lip was bleeding from hitting himself in the face with his microphone, and Gerard could not take his eyes off that bloody mouth. He was pretty glad no one was standing too close to him, as he cursed himself for wearing his pants so tight.

At one point, a drunken call from the crowd called Frank a 'fag', to which point Gerard was sure he was about to take a heart attack. He knew exactly what happened when that happened at LeATHERMOUTH shows, and he was pretty sure most people only done it, because they knew Frank would jump straight into the crowd, and make out with the closest guy that was being abusive.

Gerard really did not want to witness Frank Iero making out with some random dude in front of him. No. No thank you.

So when Frank walked to the front of the stage, sweat and blood dripping down his chin, Gerard was about to try and make a quick exit, when Frank spoke into the microphone.

"I'm a fag? Yeah, what of it?"

Gerard paused, eyes back on Frank as the smaller man stared back defiantly into the crowd. There were yells and shouts of encouragement, before Frank looked in Gerard direction, that fucking smirk on his face again.

"Sorry boys," he laughed into the microphone. "I'm saving myself for later!"

At that, he launched into This Song Is About Being Attacked By Monsters, and Gerard was pretty sure he was having a stroke.