sin ; frerard

V

It had been three days since Frank's car had broken down.

He'd tried again and again to call someone, text, DM, anything - but nothing worked. He'd even gone outside, tried going back to his car, even tried turning on his hotspot. Nothing worked.

He had no idea what he was going to do.

Living with Gerard wasn't the worst thing ever. Sure, there was the obvious lack of internet, but Frank kind of liked the simplicity of it. Oh, and not working. He just prayed he wouldn't get fired.

His only option was to walk back, which was not a great idea, considering he could get lost or mauled by a bear.

After almost an hour of just staring at his (turned off) phone like he wanted to set it on fire, Frank decided he had better things to do and went to go downstairs.

Besides WiFi and junk food, Frank was missing his guitar. His trusty old guitar, which he'd hit several friends and even more enemies with. His beloved guitar, which he'd been close to breaking thirteen times.

But there was something in the house he could make music with.

It wouldn't be the same as shredding, but it might be better than nothing.

Frank crept down the stairs and to the door hidden behind the lamp, which he decided to actually turn on. He made sure Gerard wasn't inside, left the door open to let a little light in. Then figured he could tug the lamp inside too.

Finally, Frank sat down in front of the piano, cracked his knuckles, and...

...played a chord that sounded like utter hell.

He winced at the sound, hoping Gerard hasn't heard. He hadn't played in years and was obviously a little rusty.

He tried something he was confident he could do - a simple C note.

He played the C scale, slowly. Getting bolder, he tried a C chord, then a G chord. The latter of the two didn't sound quite right...

"Frank?" Frank went rigid at the sound of Gerard's soft voice. "Are you in here? Oh, it's bright in here."

"Bright?" Frank twisted around and scoffed, "Your house is dark as hell."

"Actually," Gerard said matter-of-factually, "I think hell would be bright, what with all the fire."

"Whatever, smartass."

Gerard wandered over, placing one delicate, pale hand on the piano. "I wasn't aware you played."

"I don't," admitted Frank sheepishly. "Not anymore."

"No?" Gerard tapped his fingers on the smooth lid of the piano. "Would you like me to help you?"

"How so?"

Gerard leaned over Frank's shoulder and put his pale hands over Frank's tattooed ones, then gently moved his fingers into the right position and pressed down, playing the G chord correctly. His hands were impossibly cold, Frank noticed. "Just like that."

Frank nodded, trying to ignore the shivers travelling up and down his spine. "Oh."

Gerard didn't seem to notice how flustered Frank was, and moved his hands into another position, playing an F chord. "Is this alright?"

"Yeah. Yes. Keep going." Frank considered asking what else Gerard could do with his hands, but decided against it.

"If you say so."

Frank - well, Gerard did the work - played a simple progression (Am, G, F) and a few notes before Frank pulled his hands away, tucking them into the crooks of his now-folded arms.

"What's wrong?" asked Gerard, his own hands still hovering over the keys.

"Nothing. Just..." Frank didn't really know how to explain it. "Your hands are really cold."

"Oh."

An awkward silence settled over them like a heavy blanket.

Frank stood up, stretched a bit, and backed away. "Uh - I'm gonna take a nap, if that's alright."

"Go ahead," said Gerard dismissively, gazing forlornly at the piano.

As he left the room, Frank couldn't help but think he'd done something wrong. But he couldn't figure out what.