There’s a hand rubbing Frank’s head, and he stretches into it as he wakes up, relishing the touch and the soreness in his body.
He can hear hushed voices in the room, and for a second he’s not sure who's speaking. Is Gerard talking to himself again? Did Ray and Mikey come over? And if the guys are here, why didn’t Gee at least pull a sheet over Frank? It’s not like Mikey and Ray haven’t seen Frank’s bare ass before, but Frank’s not too happy about being passed out buck naked on the bed while they’re all having a little meeting without him. He doesn’t like being left out of things, is all.
Frank blinks his eyes open, fully prepared to bitch Gee out, but it’s not the guys Gee’s talking to, of course.
There are still four Gerards in the room, a kaleidoscope of Gerards, and Frank's annoyance turns into relief that they haven’t disappeared yet.
Young Gerard and Blond Gerard are perched on one of the chair’s armrests, whispering animatedly to each other; Tokyo Gerard is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back to the wall, watching them talk.
Gee’s the one sitting on the bed next to Frank, stroking his hair. He scratches at Frank's scalp once he notices him waking up and gives him a grin and a eyebrow raise, all can you believe this shit? Frank answers with a grin of his own before shuffling closer to Gee. He shifts until his head is on Gee's thigh, reaching for a corner of the sheet to cover himself with, turning his attention back to the conversation once he's settled to his convenience.
“Really? A marching band?” Young Gerard is saying, sounding dubious.
“A parade,” Blond Gerard corrects snottily. “It’s a concept album, alright? I've got these awesome sketches for the videos already.”
A snort comes from the Gerard sitting on the floor, and Blond Gerard turns to him in a second. “I would shut it, if I were you,” he says, cutting and haughty. “We'll see how you like writing sober. At least my concept isn't taken directly from a Garth Ennis comic.”
Frank's hand tenses on Gee's leg as he watches Tokyo Gerard's face flush, even as his jaw sets in the stubborn way that means trouble. Blond Gerard is still literally looking down at his past self, drawing his breath, doubtlessly preparing for another unpleasant remark, and Frank is reminded of how harsh this Gerard always was regarding his past, shame and self-loathing manifesting as violent denunciation.
The atmosphere is still crackling with tension and Frank's wondering whether he should intervene when Gee's voice cuts in, quiet but firm.
“Come on, guys,” he intones. “Don't make us look bad in front of the kid.”
Frank sees then how the youngest of the Gerards is looking back and forth between the two others, holding himself tense again, eyes wide and a little scared, maybe.
“Tell us about your sketches, Gerard,” Frank says then, and Blond Gerard jumps right into an animated description of his visual inspiration and how Tim Burton relates to Joan of Arc relates to Freddie Mercury, and Frank breathes a sigh of relief as the other Gerards relax into attentive postures.
“Look at that,” Gee's voice whispers in his ear, “what an arrogant little fuck I was.”
“Was?” Frank snorts, earning himself a swat on the ass, but Gee hauls him closer on the bed and snuggles behind him.
“You love me anyway,” Gee says, and Frank can't do anything but agree to that.
They both watch in amused silence as Blond Gerard and Tokyo Gerard team up to try and convince their younger self of the combined necessity and awesomeness of band uniforms.
