hopscotch and lizards • frerard

t • texts

People just didn't care anymore. The people coming to their concerts, Frank meant, but it seemed to describe the state of the world well enough.

His bandmates didn't give much of a shit either, to say the least. They looked like they wanted it to be over already, while Frank was out there laying his goddamn soul out. It pissed him off, and he couldn't do anything about it.

It was an impossible task, and his ‘get angry and then do the opposite of what you're supposed to’ didn't work much here, because he was supposed to care about the fucking tour, and he didn't have it in him outside of nagging Shaun, who definitely just wanted to be back home already, man.

So he instead turned to Ray, who'd made the grave mistake of texting Frank in the middle of the day.

thefro: Hi. Rent's this Tuesday, you said you're out of town, I've been thinking about moving payment through to Zego. So you can just pay through your PayPal or whatever, hopefully it works since this is the first time I'm trying it out.

frnkieromustdie: someone's getting professional

thefro: Oh yeah, next I'll be denying repair calls and lobbying against the land tax! /s

frnkieromustdie: i have created a monster

frnkieromustdie: also i paid it worked out fine

thefro: Nope. You just put the nail in the mainstream economics coffin.

thefro: Also thank God, I'm just gonna start using it in general then, if it's easier.

frnkieromustdie: oh right, forgot you were a heterodox or whatever

thefro: Post-Keynesian, yeah.

frnkieromustdie: dude. obscure subgenres are annoying in music, they're insufferable in economics.

thefro: Not my fault you're listening to economical Taylor Swift ;p

frnkieromustdie: if taylor swift is a anarchist sign me tf up

frnkieromustdie: i literally don't care

thefro: Oh, my fucking God.

thefro: First off all-

Frank could just play dumb and watch as Ray got all riled up. Right?

frnkieromustdie: but like, why wouldn't they just open up more jobs

frnkieromustdie: you're literally denying supply and demand... that's sketch

thefro: That's the whole POINT, FRANK. Supply and demand is bullshit in the real world. A competitive market has no tendency towards full employment.

Turns out, Ray arguing about economics was still a lecture on economics. He should've started a debate on why Slayer is the worst big-time Thrash Metal band or something.

So he went into Gerard's messages instead, before Neil looked across from him, reading his phone. Frank put it face down on the floor with a glare, before bringing it back up to his face.

Scrolling through his Instagram in the corner it is then. He hid himself and basked in a beam of sunlight from the driver's window.

One of Gerard's Memories was titled “stupid cosplays”, all of which were at New York Comic Con. Gerard looked oddly adorable as 60s Robin. Gerard looked predictably hot as Desire of The Endless.

Gerard could commit to things in a way Frank couldn't. He got sober. He was committed to his work, committed to life. It made Frank place a stupid amount of trust in him. It made Frank want to commit to it too.

Gerard was also all over the goddamn place, like pixels on a damaged screen. It was overwhelming, too many colors and not enough sense. And Frank wanted it

He wanted the colors, he wanted to catch and record and feel and live with all of it. The more he knew, the more he could trace his fingers around the cracks, the better it got.

Gerard left a pit in Frank's stomach that he only noticed once he was gone.

And Frank couldn't look into the pit, much less step into it, because inside were all of his fears and all of his dreams, all of who he was when the lights went down. Gerard could fill all of that.

Fuck. Frank loved him. Like, actual fucking love.

Fuck. No. God. Why.

“Man, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost,” Neil said, his brows furrowed.

“Fuck,” was all Frank said, closing his phone and looking at his knees, digging his head between them.

He loved someone. Like, loved, like that. He couldn't fucking believe it, that it was staring at him the whole time, and fuck.

He fidgeted with his hands, eventually using them to emerge from the thought cocoon. He let a breath out, very slowly. He'd been holding it forever, he needed to keep holding it, it was keeping him alive.

He said, without looking at Neil, “So, that Friday. First night on tour.”

“Right...”

“Do you remember what I said? When Gerard called, I mean.”

“Oh, that's- yeah, that makes sense,” Neil said, sheepishly. “That's who you were calling.”

“So, you heard it then.”

“You did the same as always. Went all “fuck you,” said something about feeding lizards so I guess that one was new. Then you asked him to call you when he loved you back, or something dramatic like that.”

Frank choked on air. “I- what?”

“I'll probably make it into a song lyric-” Neil started, and Frank stopped paying attention.

He opened his phone again, going to his texts with Gerard, starting to scribble something, anything to get the thoughts out on whatever the fuck he'd said.

And then he saw Gerard was typing. And stopping, and starting again, and Frank freezed.

lizardman: [photo]

It was Gerard in front of Texas' habitat, with Pansy wrapped around his finger as he made a peace sign. His tongue was slightly out, but in a way like this was the first take - like he hadn't tried to take the photo a million times to see if others would like it. This wasn't a Comic Con selfie, it was one of the most confident things Frank's ever seen him do.

It looked like he'd taken it just for Frank, in their little planet. Yeah, Frank loved him.

He deleted the draft text.

frnkieromustdie: 😎

Those two conveyed the same emotions, right?

Right. Fuck.