Glitter In the Air
Title: Glitter In the Air
Author : heathermouth aka slashxyouxup
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG13
Summary: Maybe it was this and more which led him to what he thinks may have been the worst decision of his adult life.
Warnings: language.
Disclaimer: Writer’s lie - just like your parents.
Written for challenge 03 at picturethis_mcr.
Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone
Glitter in the air
Gerard remembers the lights from the disco ball reflecting in Frank’s eyes, blending around the hazel flecks which surround his pupils. His whole face seemed to glow. Maybe it was this and more which led him to what he thinks may have been the worst decision of his adult life. Maybe it was the beer, all eleven of the cool and tangy little fuckers.
He’s known Frank for not too long, a year if not a little more, though the way they talk it feels like forever. His inner fag will tell you he’s been head over heals for the five foot wonder pretty much since the first time he laid eyes on him, but he told Frank it was when his grandmother died, and Frank held him close all night as he shook with sorrow.
Frank never said much before that, just laughed and told Gerard to go get some coffee, but Gerard pressed right up to the other, told him he dreamt of him constantly, thought about him daily and yearned for just one date, one chance to show that he’s not just a drunk screw up. “You can pick the place,” Gerard had said, like it was the deciding factor, “just please, call me sometime and let me know.” He lost track of Frank after that, disappearing in to the living room of Ray’s house warming party. Gerard finished the last of beer number eleven and went to pass out in the back of Mikey’s car.
Sober and awake now he doesn’t know what to do. A part of him wants to call Frank, apologise and tell him it was nothing - but it wasn’t ‘nothing’. They both know that, Gerard’s sure of it. Even if he does, or even if Frank decides against it, this is going to hang in the air between them like a rotting stench only they can smell. That is, if Frank ever wants to see him again. Gerard can’t be to sure about that, and it scares him. God damn Dutch courage, this is the last time he’ll wear his heart on his sleeve. He nods, sat in his ratty armchair (which he’ll pretend isn’t pointing in the direction of the phone), for good measure. To hell with love, to hell with dating, to hell with feelings and to hell with everything else.
He’s just about to get up, just about to go to the fridge to root for that last bottle of Bud he knows is hiding in there somewhere, when the phone rings. He freezes; both hands white knuckling the arm rests of his chair. The ringing is loud and piercing and it takes Gerard a few moments before he realises he has to actually answer it. It’s going to be Mikey. It’s always Mikey.
“Hello,” he says, calm and quiet.
“It’s me,” Frank. Gerard closes his eyes, breath held not wanting to taste the stench.
“Oh. Hi,” he’s desperately trying to think of some more words, another sentence that won’t come out as a stammer. He knows from experience, a lot of it in fact, in situations such as these he turns in to a stuttering idiot.
“I was thinking,” Frank begins and Gerard’s mind immediately starts spinning. He imagines the possible endings to that sentence - all of them not even remotely close to what he gets. “Johnny’s Pizzeria at 8? You’re paying.” Gerard lets out his held breath in relief. He breathes in again, slow, and smiles.
Tastes like glitter.
fin
Author : heathermouth aka slashxyouxup
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG13
Summary: Maybe it was this and more which led him to what he thinks may have been the worst decision of his adult life.
Warnings: language.
Disclaimer: Writer’s lie - just like your parents.
Written for challenge 03 at picturethis_mcr.
Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone
Glitter in the air
Gerard remembers the lights from the disco ball reflecting in Frank’s eyes, blending around the hazel flecks which surround his pupils. His whole face seemed to glow. Maybe it was this and more which led him to what he thinks may have been the worst decision of his adult life. Maybe it was the beer, all eleven of the cool and tangy little fuckers.
He’s known Frank for not too long, a year if not a little more, though the way they talk it feels like forever. His inner fag will tell you he’s been head over heals for the five foot wonder pretty much since the first time he laid eyes on him, but he told Frank it was when his grandmother died, and Frank held him close all night as he shook with sorrow.
Frank never said much before that, just laughed and told Gerard to go get some coffee, but Gerard pressed right up to the other, told him he dreamt of him constantly, thought about him daily and yearned for just one date, one chance to show that he’s not just a drunk screw up. “You can pick the place,” Gerard had said, like it was the deciding factor, “just please, call me sometime and let me know.” He lost track of Frank after that, disappearing in to the living room of Ray’s house warming party. Gerard finished the last of beer number eleven and went to pass out in the back of Mikey’s car.
Sober and awake now he doesn’t know what to do. A part of him wants to call Frank, apologise and tell him it was nothing - but it wasn’t ‘nothing’. They both know that, Gerard’s sure of it. Even if he does, or even if Frank decides against it, this is going to hang in the air between them like a rotting stench only they can smell. That is, if Frank ever wants to see him again. Gerard can’t be to sure about that, and it scares him. God damn Dutch courage, this is the last time he’ll wear his heart on his sleeve. He nods, sat in his ratty armchair (which he’ll pretend isn’t pointing in the direction of the phone), for good measure. To hell with love, to hell with dating, to hell with feelings and to hell with everything else.
He’s just about to get up, just about to go to the fridge to root for that last bottle of Bud he knows is hiding in there somewhere, when the phone rings. He freezes; both hands white knuckling the arm rests of his chair. The ringing is loud and piercing and it takes Gerard a few moments before he realises he has to actually answer it. It’s going to be Mikey. It’s always Mikey.
“Hello,” he says, calm and quiet.
“It’s me,” Frank. Gerard closes his eyes, breath held not wanting to taste the stench.
“Oh. Hi,” he’s desperately trying to think of some more words, another sentence that won’t come out as a stammer. He knows from experience, a lot of it in fact, in situations such as these he turns in to a stuttering idiot.
“I was thinking,” Frank begins and Gerard’s mind immediately starts spinning. He imagines the possible endings to that sentence - all of them not even remotely close to what he gets. “Johnny’s Pizzeria at 8? You’re paying.” Gerard lets out his held breath in relief. He breathes in again, slow, and smiles.
Tastes like glitter.
fin