Oreos | Frerard [Completed]

10-Thursday

~time skip one week~

Gerard's POV

My head bobs in time with the music blasting through my headphones as I sketch the familiar lines of a familiar face.

Suddenly the music stops as the headphones get yanked off my head. I look up, quickly closing my sketchbook, to see a frustrated-looking Mikey frowning at me.

"What?" I say cautiously after a few moments.

"I've been calling you for like five minutes!" Mikey's scrawny arms start flailing around as he starts to yell at me. "Can't you turn down that music just a bit so you can actually hear when you're being called? Do you seriously need to be that oblivious to the world?"

"Yeah," I mumble to myself. Mikey doesn't notice and continues his rant. I usually just wait him out but today I'm feeling extra cranky and decide I can't deal with it.

"Mikey!" I jump up and grab his shoulders, trying to get him to stop. "What's up? What did you need?" I say in the calmest voice I can muster.

"Oh, right, that," he shakes his head, as if trying to snap out of a trance. "Frank texted."

At those two words, I loosen my grip on my brothers shoulders and fight back a smile.

"Oh?" I say as calmly as I can, "what'd he say?"

"He misses you, but he didn't want me to say that." Mikey smiles before continuing, "he keeps asking when you'll get a phone."

"Huh," still trying to keep a nonchalant exterior, I shrug, "is that all? He didn't have anything to say to me?"

"Not really. Just thought I should tell you that."

"'Kay," I flop back down on my bed.

Mikey spins on his heel and starts to walk away, but as he reaches the door frame he turns back around.

"Gee, who is this guy? You talk about him so much and you two seem to be friends, yet he doesn't even know who are..." Mikey bites his lip and combs his fingers through his hair. "You seem to like him. Who is he, really?"

I sigh, not knowing exactly how to answer.

"He's just a guy. A pretty great one, actually."

Mikey sighs in return before closing the door and walking out and up the stairs, away from the dark basement.

I grab my headphones and put them back on, the music filling my ears. Then, I reach beside me and put my sketchbook in my lap, opening it to the page with the almost-finished drawing. I stare at the face, tracing the lines of the jaw, lips, and eyes with my eyes. All the distinctive features of the man I can't seem to get out of my head:

Frank.