[Bandslash, MCR] Every Other Morning Before (2/2)
Part 1
A few weeks later Frank realizes he's made a horrible, horrible mistake. He'd like to blame it on his schedule and a major lack of sleep with regards to it, but really, he only has himself to blame because he's an idiot.
The Hamster Room is a major undertaking, something Frank should have expected since the whole thing is Gerard's idea. He ends up at Gerard's place more often than not, staying in his spare bedroom in between band practice and work at Skeleton Crew. He knows he hasn't really been much help with the Hamster room because he's always just this side of too tired, but Gerard hasn't said anything about it.
“Morning, Frank.”
Waking up to Bob Bryar's face inches from his own isn't an experience Frank's going to recommend to, oh, anyone.
Gerard hasn't said anything about Frank freeloading off him, but it's entirely possible he talked Bob into killing him. Frank knows from years of annoying the shit out of Bob that Gerard wouldn't have to work too hard to convince Bob.
“Bob?”
Bob smiles at him. It's not a friendly kind of smile. It's not even a “happy to see you smile”, it's just. It's a little creepy, actually, and after all the time he's spent with Gerard and Mikey, Frank knows creepy.
“I got the pictures you sent,” Bob says, smile widening. “And the video you made.”
Frank's brain isn't working at full speed yet, but it doesn't need to be for Frank to know he's in trouble. He's willing to admit it might have been a bit overkill making a video set to the Hampster Dance song, but seriously, what was Frank supposed to do when faced with an opportunity like that?
“You should know Ray and Mikey helped,” Frank says. Fuck that silent, brave shit. If Frank's going to die, he's not going out alone. “Gerard painted the drum kit.”
“I figured,” Bob says, settling against the wall as if he has all the time in the world.
“Aren't you supposed to be in Chicago?” Frank's not stalling for time, he's just. Okay, no. He's stalling for time. He feels groggy, and thinking is an effort. It doesn't help that Bob's just standing there. Smiling creepily.
“Ray didn't tell you?” Bob asks, obviously enjoying himself.
Frank stares at Bob for a moment, wondering if he's going to get the chance to get back at Ray for this. “No,” he says slowly, “he didn't.”
Bob. Bob chuckles. “Get up, Sleeping Beauty,” Bob says, yanking the pillow under Frank's head away. “Time for work.”
Frank makes a grab for the pillow, but Bob takes a step back, holding it up over his head like they're a couple of kids on the playground playing keep away.
“Work?”
“Gerard's master plan to take over the world using hamsters,” Bob says, rolling his eyes like Frank's the freak in this conversation. “Come on Frank, keep up.”
Frank's starting to think he's been hanging around Gerard too much lately because that almost makes sense. “Hamsters,” he says, to make sure he heard right. “Gerard's hamsters.”
“He's got us working on the fucking Hamster Room,” Bob says, and there's something in his voice that says he's laying the blame for that squarely at Frank's feet. “So get your lazy ass out of bed and help out before someone loses an eye.”
It's not an idle threat, or whatever Bob means it to be. Frank knows his band, and as much as he likes - loves - them, he doesn't trust any of them not to seriously injure or maim themselves with tools around.
====
====
Frank isn't surprised to see Brian when he follows Bob into Bizarro World, but he is surprised to find him in some sort of staring contest.
“Brian?”
Brian doesn't look away from his opponent, not that Frank was expecting him to.
“Please tell me you aren't - “
“What the hell is going on?” Brian asks, interrupting Frank and maybe, maybe, trying to pull a Jedi mind trick of his own, which Frank gets. It's embarrassing being caught out holding a staring contest with a hamster. “Bob calls me up in the middle of the night telling me Gerard's lost his fucking mind, and then he asks me if I know a good place to hide a body.”
Ray sticks his head in the room like he was waiting for his cue. “West Hudson Park is a good place for that.”
Apparently there really isn't honor among thieves, or, well, assholes. Whichever.
“Not helping, Ray,” Brian says through clenched teeth. “Really not helping.”
Frank glares at Ray, because really. Not. Helping.
“Well?” Brian asks. He's still locked in a staring match with the pissy hamster. It should be ridiculous, and, well. It's Brian going head-to-head with his hamster counterpart, and that's fucking hilarious, but is kind of fond of living.
“I think I'm going to find Gerard,” he says, edging towards the door Ray popped out of. “Out there. Somewhere.”
Brian grumbles something, but Frank's already half-way through the door intent on finding a camera. He has some sense of self-preservation, but some things are too fucking funny not to get on tape.
====
====
By the time everyone goes home, Bob and Brian staying at Ray's while Mikey heads to his place, it's well past midnight. They didn't get much done in the Hamster Room, but watching Bob staring at the big yellow hamster like he thought it was going to eat his face more than made up for it. Much in the same way it was going to be worth whatever revenge Brian had planned for Frank after he got the tail-end of the staring match down on film.
Frank's staying the night at Gerard's again, and he can't seem to fall asleep no matter how hard he tries. The feels a bit like a creep, wandering around Gerard's place in the middle of the night while Gerard sleeps the sleep of the completely fucking insane.
Frank's wandering has led him back to the Hamster Room. He thinks when the day comes where Schechter asks him where, or maybe when, Gerard finally lost it, this would be it. Or maybe the day he stepped inside the damned pet store and saw a bunch of freaks and misfits in hamster form and decided to bring them home.
The room reeks of paint, even with the windows open to let it air out. Walking deeper into the room, Frank's careful not to disturb the chalk lines Gerard drew out sectioning the room off for the sand pit and tunnels. Over by the wall where the mural is going to be, Gerard has his sketches laid out on the floor.
The whole thing, the whole concept of building a room just for Gerard's hamsters is ridiculous. Insane, really, but that's okay. Frank's been right there with Gerard from the beginning. He doesn't see why that should change now.
====
====
Gerard waits until Bob and Brian leave town later that week to throw himself into working on the mural. Ray's busy doing whatever it is he does, although Frank's worried that means he's coming up with actual plans for the Weezer cover band of his. Mikey's working with Jamia and the others on his pet-clothing line since Frank flat-out doesn't have the time to be as hands on with that as he'd like.
He barely has time to eat or sleep, which, really, hilarious considering they're on break, but whatever. Frank catches sleep where and when he can on the rare occasions he's not at practice or working out the last details for the tour. It's just coincidence that those rare occasions are usually at Gerard's.
“Frank, hey!”
They're in the Hamster Room, where they usually end up most days. Frank can see the desert portion of the mural taking shape. He can also see the spill of paint on the floor with paw prints leading away from it into the plastic tunnels Gerard has stashed where the sand pit is going to go.
More importantly, he sees the blotches of paint on Gerard's shirt, some of it mixed into his hair because Rorschach is covered in it, happily perched on Gerard's shoulder. Frank swears it's not his imagination when Rorschach cuddles up to Gerard, smearing more paint on his neck and face. Rorschach's beady rodent eyes are on Frank as he sits up, paint-covered paws leaving perfect prints on Gerard's face while Gerard coos.
Frank remembers Gerard's story about how he came up with a name for Rorschach, how the little fucker got into his paints and made a mess. He forgot to mention that Rorschach is evil.
He's never gotten along with Rorschach, even though the one Frank likes to think of as Gerard's hamster counterpart adores him. Nite Owl's even taken to looking for Frank when he gets back from band practice or a day at the Skeleton Crew office, which. Huh.
“Hey, Frank?” Gerard seems worried now, probably because Frank is crazy.
Rorschach scurries around Gerard's shoulder to peer at Frank, something like victory in his eyes because he knows Gerard will never believe the bastard is evil.
“How's it going?” Frank asks. “With the mural, I mean.”
Gerard gathers Rorschach in his hands when the he leans out too far and almost falls. “Um. Good? I mean, I think the perspective's off a little bit in places, and I'm going to have change a few things, but it's. It's going okay.”
Frank makes an encouraging noise and settles against the doorframe, listening to Gerard with half an ear. He's thinking more about Rorschach and Gerard's hamsters, and really, it's nuts, but. Gerard did manage to find hamster versions of them, so who the hell knows? It's not outside the realm of possibility that Rorschach is jealous of him stealing the attention of his hamster love interest, and really. Frank never thought he'd ever be in that kind of situation.
“Frank?”
Gerard's giving him one of those deeply concerned looks, the kind he uses when he's really worried about someone, and really. Being jealous of a hamster is ridiculous, Frank's well aware of that fact. It'd just be easier to keep that in mind if said hamster wasn't gloating.
“Oh, hey, no,” Frank says. “I'm listening, go on.”
Gerard frowns, absently petting Rorschach, which just doesn't help Frank that much, but it's not like he can tell Gerard or anything, so.
“Seriously, Frank says. “I'm listening.”
Gerard stares at him a little longer. Frank can't help smiling because Gerard really is a mess, but he's so happy about it Frank doesn't have it in him to say anything about it.
After a moment, Gerard starts telling Frank about the mural, and how it's going to be so fucking awesome, if he what's missing. Gerard sets Rorschach down and drags Frank over to where he has the sketches taped up on the wall. He starts pointing things out from the sketches and showing Frank where he's going to place them in the mural, hands flying as he talks.
Watching him, listening to him, Frank realizes just how screwed he is if he can listen to Gerard babble on about a fucking hamster mural and think it's the most amazing thing in the world.
====
====
Mikey and Ray are no help at all when Frank mentions, casually, his suspicion about Gerard's hamsters being minions of evil. Or, really, just Rorschach.
“You're an idiot.”
Frank's not going to argue, especially when Mikey's using the hot glue gun. That shit hurts.
“Seriously, Frank.” Ray's not taking part in arts and crafts time. He's playing against the computer in a grueling game of Guitar Hero, and losing spectacularly. “I mean, seriously.”
Frank glares at the blob of popsicle sticks and glue passing for his latest work of art. . “That doesn't even make sense, Toro.”
Except for the way it does. In a way.
“No, really.” Mikey says. “You. Idiot.”
Frank has no idea how things degenerated into pick on Frank day when they should be focusing their attention on Gerard's evil hamsters. Hamster.
But then Mikey has to turn things around on him, as if he has the heart of what Frank's problem is.
“I don't - “
“Frank.”
Frank looks away, attention on the piece of crap in front of him. It really is just a pile of glue and popsicle sticks, Frank's thoughts too scattered to do much else. He can't believe he was - is - jealous of Gerard's hamster because it gets to unashamedly cuddle with Gerard, which. Fucked up and everything, but.
“Mikey,” Frank sighs, resigned because he's getting tired of feeling this damn stupid. It sucks beyond the telling realizing that he's had this thing for Gerard for years and was just too fucking dumb to realize what it was.
Worse, now that he knows, he can't do anything because it's Gerard. He doesn't have a guarantee things won't blow up in his face, that something won't happen. He's seen things like this go bad before, and for all the shit he says, gets into, he knows it's one thing he couldn't handle.
Maybe Mikey sees enough to know Frank's not budging, he's not going to change his mind. Whatever it is, all he does is hand Frank another popsicle stick. Frank knows Mikey's not finished, he's just backing down, making a peace offering.
“Hey.”
Ray slides into the seat next to Frank and pokes at the sequins. Frank doesn't know when Ray turned into a ninja, but it's kind of awesome. Especially when Ray produces a can of coke that he pushes towards Frank.
“Hey,” Mikey says, failing at casual. “Did you hear about the unicorn someone found?”
“Really?” Ray actually sounds interested.
“Oh, man, yeah,” Mikey says. “In, like, Europe or somewhere.”
Frank reaches for the can of coke as Mikey explains to them that a deer with some sort of birth defect does count as a unicorn because that's how the myths and legends started, and Frank. Frank can't stop himself from rolling his eyes because, seriously, nerds, but they're his nerds, so.
====
====
The problem is, though, Frank really is an idiot. He's been staying at Gerard's - living there - for over a month, and after a while, he forgets. He gets tired, and the tight hold he has on everything inside of him slips.
He gets used to seeing Gerard every day before he leaves and every night when he gets back. It's different, better, somehow, than being on tour and being crammed inside a bus for months at a time. They watch bad movies together with furry movie critics in plastic exercise balls offering their opinions by crashing into shit.
He gets used to Gerard pretending he can cook, and then trying his own hand at it. He gets used to so much, so many little things, and that's what trips him up.
Gerard's scheduled to make an appearance for his comic book, some kind of convention. Frank's watching him pack - or trying to pack - for the entertainment value. For all the years they've done things like this, left for tours or press gigs or whatever the hell, Gerard - and Mikey - are still kind of hopeless sometimes.
Frank's watching Gerard doing his version of packing, and there's this weird feeling in his chest. It feels a little like heartburn and a lot like heartache. The worst part is that he's going to be doing the same thing in a couple of days, after Gerard's on the other side of the country. Leathermouth is headed out on tour with Reggie.
“Hey, have you seen my shirt?”
“You have like, five,” Frank points out, because it's basically true. Life on tour means sharing clothes, which means you really only need to bring enough for the first couple of days, then it's a free-for-all. “Which one?”
Frank's wearing one of them at the moment. He knows it's the one Gerard's looking for because Gerard actually did laundry just so he could bring it with him.
Gerard turns to look at him, and Frank. Frank's an idiot. He just didn't think he was a big enough idiot to walk over to Gerard and look at him. Gerard, for his part, stares back, although it's more confusion on his face than something with way too many years of, Goddamn, I fucking love you, you fucker at its core.
“Frank?”
The kiss isn't something that was supposed to happen outside of Frank's head, but for some reason it does. For some reason Frank's hold on everything he was never supposed to let Gerard see, know about, it loosens the tiniest bit. Just enough to see.
Frank closes the barely there distance between them and reaches up, hands on either side of Gerard's face and looks. He looks, and he knows damn well Gerard sees because Gerard's eyes go wide. Startled.
Frank's an idiot, but he's not stupid. He tries for a smile, and whatever it is doesn't feel right, but it's all he can offer up at the moment. He tries, hopes it's enough, and turns his head just enough so that his lips touch the skin of Gerard's cheek.
Gerard's still, so still. Frank takes that as the answer to a question he hasn't properly asked, but didn't actually need to. Gerard's reaction is answer enough.
“Hey, so,” he says, trying for a laugh and coming up with something that sounds the same kind of wrong as the smile on his face. “Have a good trip, okay?”
He doesn't run, exactly, but he knows that's open to interpretation. His mind's full of things, excuses. Gerard needs to finish packing for his trip. Frank needs to start for the tour. Gerard needs time to himself before his trip. Frank needs time to kick his own ass, and so on and so on.
Frank doesn't answer his phone when it rings and rings and rings the moment he gets outside. He's done plenty of stupid shit in his life, but even he knows better than that.
====
====
The next few days before the tour kicks off are their own special brand of hell. He's not hiding from Gerard or the others, but he isn't making an effort to talk to them when they call.
Once they get out on the road James comes close to saying something to him about it a few times, because he, at least, isn't avoiding their phone calls. He has to know what happened, one of the others must have told him, but James isn't an asshole, unlike other people Frank could name. Instead of dragging Frank out into the open and making him talk, he lets Frank and his misery fester. in peace.
Being on tour means Frank gets the chance to go on stage and channel everything he's feeling into his songs, screaming until his voice feels raw, until that mix of heartburn and heartache isn't the only hurt he feels.
Time and distance help, but really, it's being too tired at the end of a show to have much time left to think. It's driving, and driving, and driving. It's sound check, and interviews. It's performing and singing, screaming everything that hurts, aches out for others to claim for themselves.
Things roll along fine, or well enough that it's the same thing, more or less. Gerard doesn't call him, but Frank doesn't call Gerard. It's one of the best and worst things about being tour - things like that happen. They happen and no one thinks anything of it, that it's some kind of coincidence. They just. Happen.
Frank's out on the road doing his thing, and Gerard's back home doing his. Working on his comic book or going to a convention or interview or whatever else.
Frank plays. He sings. He fucks up his wrist. He comes down with a cold or death plague or god knows what, but it has him wishing for death, especially when James feeds him whatever horrible 'surefire' cure the internet has given him on any given day.
They hit Chicago. Bob's in the audience. Bob's in the audience, and after the show he goes to see Frank. He slaps Frank on the back of his head and tells him he's the biggest fucking idiot Bob's ever known.
Frank can't say anything to that, since it happens to be true.
====
====
Not long after the Chicago show, they get a hotel night. It's nothing amazing, nothing like what My Chemical Romance would get, but it's a hotel. With real beds and hot water and showers.
Frank's been snappish all day and hides away in his room as soon as they get in. He's in the middle of checking his e-mail and other things he's let slide too long. The knock on his door doesn't register at first, but the sound of the doorknob rattling gets his attention in time to see James walk in. James waves the spare key card to Frank's room at him, talking on the phone to someone.
Frank makes a half-heated protest as James walks over and takes Frank's laptop away from him, typing something into the browser. James makes listening noises to whoever he's talking to while waiting for the page to load.
“Okay, got it,” James says, turning the laptop back around to face Frank. He pokes Frank's leg and points at the laptop, something approaching a stern look on his face as he gets up to leave.
Frank glares after James as he shuts the door. He was trying to make up for being an asshole by staying in his room and trying to get some work done.
Frank's laptop beeps at him.
Well, no. It sort of bleeps. A look at the screen shows him a YouTube page in the process of loading. He makes a face and starts to close the browser window. Frank's not in the mood to see a video someone made from the night's show, or god help him, another fan video supporting the epic love between him and Gerard.
Just. No.
“Hey, asshole,” his computer says, “Since you seem to have forgotten how the phone works, I figured this was the best way to get to you.”
Frank's computer sounds a hell of a lot like Gerard.
“Besides,” Frank's computer says, “the guys missed you.”
For a moment Frank's sure he's finally lost his shit, but no. No, it's a video of Gerard. Talking to him, which is perhaps a little less weird. Maybe. At first he thinks Gerard's talking about Mikey and Ray, but then Gerard turns the camera to show the hamsters going crazy in the Hamster Room.
The finished Hamster Room.
The mural is behind Gerard, but what really gets Frank's attention is the sand pit and the truly impressive mess of plastic tubing running along the back wall.
Gerard bends down out of camera range for a moment. When he pops back in view he's holding Rorschach and Nite Owl. “Say 'hi' to Frank, guys,” he says, holding them up to give Frank a close-up shot of their totally unimpressed faces. “Say 'hi' to Frank!”
Gerard's one step away from the weird baby talk people use when they're dealing with animals, which finally, finally breaks Frank out of his shock or whatever the hell it was that had him staring at his laptop like an idiot.
He scrabbles at the nightstand for his phone. Gerard's babbling on and on and on about the hamsters missing him, and all the things they've gotten up to since Frank went on tour. He fumbles the phone more than once, and by the time he gets a firm hold on it, he can't scroll down to Gerard's number fast enough.
“About time,” Gerard says when he picks up, like Frank hasn't completely fucked things up between them.
“Hey,” Frank doesn't know what else to say, casting around for something. His eye lands on the laptop with Gerard's face and Gerard's hamsters. “So you finished the Hamster Room?”
Gerard snorts, but lets him get away with it and starts talking about what a bitch getting all that sand in was, and how fucking confused by it the hamsters were by it.
Frank doesn't know what to say, but Gerard takes care of that problem by talking. And talking and talking, until Frank's smiling. He always knew Gerard loved to talk, but this is something else. There's a very real possibility Frank could get away with making fun of Gerard about that for the rest of his life. Assuming they'll still be talking to one another, that is.
“You set up a YouTube channel just so I'd know how the hamsters are doing?”
There's a moment of silence long enough to make Frank wonder if he said the wrong thing.
“No,” Gerard says slowly. “I made a YouTube channel just so you'd get your head out of your ass and call me.”
Oh.
“Fucking hell, Frank,” Gerard says. It almost sounds like he's smiling. “What goes on in your head? You kiss me and the next day you leave for tour?”
Okay, no. it was more like a few days later. And also, that was. It was a peck on the cheek, not an actual kiss, what the hell.
“Oh, fuck you,” Frank says, gut churning with what he hopes isn't related to his death plague. “You just stood there, what the hell was I suppose to think?” Frank really doesn't want to do this, like ever, and he really doesn't want to do it on the phone. If he's going to completely fuck his life up, he'd alt least like to do it face to face.
More silence from Gerard, which Frank learned a long time ago usually wasn't a good sign.
“Frank,” Gerard sighs, sounding tired and frustrated. “You kissed me out of nowhere, I was a little surprised, okay?”
Okay, Frank thinks, hand clenching around his phone, except for this thing that's been building between them for, god, Frank doesn't even know how long. Frank doesn't say that, though. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't trust himself not to say something dumb, stupid, like telling Gerard he's been in fucking love with him for fucking years even though that cat's long out of the bag.
“You didn't really give me a chance to react,” Gerard says, pushing through the silence. “And normally, I'd be all for a second go at the kissing thing, but the asshole who kissed me left for tour the next day.”
Oh, fuck that. Frank didn't leave on tour for at least three days.
“I mean,” Gerard goes on, sounding a little uncertain and trying to cover for it, “when I tried to call the asshole, he wouldn't answer.”
Frank's old phone might have met with technical difficulties during the early stage of the tour. Such as Frank throwing it as hard as he could against a brick wall. He likes his new phone, though, The battery holds a charge for a remarkably long time.
“I figured, okay, maybe he thought it was a mistake, or something,” Gerard pauses, like he's waiting for Frank to agree with him. “But then I got angry, you know? I mean, sure, the guy's an asshole, but he's not that kind of asshole. If he thought it was a mistake, he'd tell me, right? Because otherwise, that's just a shitty thing to do to a guy.”
This time there's a pointed pause, like Gerard's channeling Frank's mother.
“So, uh. That's pretty much it, I guess,” he says, trailing off. “I mean, I'd be on board with the kissing thing, but the asshole needs to decide what he wants to do about it.”
Frank smiles a little, because it's Gerard. “I think the asshole's pretty much on board with the kissing thing too,” Frank says, dread and fear and worry in his gut giving over to heartburn and something like heartache. “It's going to have to wait until the tour's over, though.”
He can hear Gerard's smile when he answers, telling Frank about the car he bought. Frank thinks he knows where Gerard's going with that line of thought, but, well. Frank's not just an idiot - he's an asshole too.
“Are you saying you're going to be my groupie? That would be awesome.”
Gerard laughs, that totally stupid laugh of his. “God, you're such an asshole.”
“Yeah,” Frank says, because he is. “Tour's over in a few weeks. Do you think we could try that kissing thing again?”
He says it with confidence, but for all the hope he's feeling about this, that they won't mess up - that he won't mess up, he's still scared shitless.
“I think we could give a try, yeah,” Gerard says, and the fucker's definitely smiling. “You need to get rid of whatever died on your face first, though.”
“Fuck you.” Frank says. He loves his mustache. “It's awesome.”
Gerard starts laughing and doesn't stop.
====
====
He talks to Gerard on the phone as often as they can make it work, and the miles between them don't seem so awful for a little while. The tour doesn't drag on from that point, but it still seems to last a fucking long time. Mikey comes to see them play. Ray comes to play with them. Frank gets the shit hugged out of him by both of them, along with heartfelt reassurances he's a complete moron.
When they get back in town, Frank heads straight for Gerard's place. It feels like home. He's even happy to see the stupid hamsters rolling around, bumping into walls, the furniture, and Frank's foot.
He grins when he realizes it's the yeti hamster and gives the ball a gentle nudge to get it moving in the other direction.
Setting his stuff down next to the couch, he moves deeper into the house. Gerard's in the Hamster Room watching Rorschach and the rest of the hamsters running around. They're digging in the sand and generally being happy little hamsters.
“Wow,” Frank says, looking around. It's the first time he's seen the finished room, and it's impressive. “You're kind of a freak.”
He only says that out of love, but it's true. The mural is clearly Gerard's vision of sandy desert meeting grassy steppe. Rorschach and the other hamster have company in the form of shadowy zombie hamsters poking their noses out of scrubby brush and sandy burrows.
Gerard sits up at the sound of his voice and just. He stares. He stares like he hasn't seen Frank is a long time, and okay, it's been a few weeks, but -
“Oh my god,” Gerard says, hand coming up to cover his mouth as if it will protect him from the supposed horror before him. “It's even worse in person.”
Frank would be offended, but at least he doesn't look like a fucking anime character. He flips Gerard off and settles himself on the floor beside him. “Fuck you, what happened to your hair?”
Gerard's hands go to his hair out of reflex. “Fuck you and your pornstache, Frank.”
And, hey, that's not a bad idea, really.
“Well, okay,” Frank says. “I was thinking we should probably start with that kissing thing you told me about on the phone first, though.”
The glare he gets for that makes being an asshole totally worthwhile.
“Seriously,” Gerard, sighs, “shave that dead rat off your face and we'll talk about it."
Looking at him, at the tiny smile tugging at the corner of Gerard's mouth, at the way Gerard's looking at him, Frank thinks he could be convinced to do just that. Eventually.
A few weeks later Frank realizes he's made a horrible, horrible mistake. He'd like to blame it on his schedule and a major lack of sleep with regards to it, but really, he only has himself to blame because he's an idiot.
The Hamster Room is a major undertaking, something Frank should have expected since the whole thing is Gerard's idea. He ends up at Gerard's place more often than not, staying in his spare bedroom in between band practice and work at Skeleton Crew. He knows he hasn't really been much help with the Hamster room because he's always just this side of too tired, but Gerard hasn't said anything about it.
“Morning, Frank.”
Waking up to Bob Bryar's face inches from his own isn't an experience Frank's going to recommend to, oh, anyone.
Gerard hasn't said anything about Frank freeloading off him, but it's entirely possible he talked Bob into killing him. Frank knows from years of annoying the shit out of Bob that Gerard wouldn't have to work too hard to convince Bob.
“Bob?”
Bob smiles at him. It's not a friendly kind of smile. It's not even a “happy to see you smile”, it's just. It's a little creepy, actually, and after all the time he's spent with Gerard and Mikey, Frank knows creepy.
“I got the pictures you sent,” Bob says, smile widening. “And the video you made.”
Frank's brain isn't working at full speed yet, but it doesn't need to be for Frank to know he's in trouble. He's willing to admit it might have been a bit overkill making a video set to the Hampster Dance song, but seriously, what was Frank supposed to do when faced with an opportunity like that?
“You should know Ray and Mikey helped,” Frank says. Fuck that silent, brave shit. If Frank's going to die, he's not going out alone. “Gerard painted the drum kit.”
“I figured,” Bob says, settling against the wall as if he has all the time in the world.
“Aren't you supposed to be in Chicago?” Frank's not stalling for time, he's just. Okay, no. He's stalling for time. He feels groggy, and thinking is an effort. It doesn't help that Bob's just standing there. Smiling creepily.
“Ray didn't tell you?” Bob asks, obviously enjoying himself.
Frank stares at Bob for a moment, wondering if he's going to get the chance to get back at Ray for this. “No,” he says slowly, “he didn't.”
Bob. Bob chuckles. “Get up, Sleeping Beauty,” Bob says, yanking the pillow under Frank's head away. “Time for work.”
Frank makes a grab for the pillow, but Bob takes a step back, holding it up over his head like they're a couple of kids on the playground playing keep away.
“Work?”
“Gerard's master plan to take over the world using hamsters,” Bob says, rolling his eyes like Frank's the freak in this conversation. “Come on Frank, keep up.”
Frank's starting to think he's been hanging around Gerard too much lately because that almost makes sense. “Hamsters,” he says, to make sure he heard right. “Gerard's hamsters.”
“He's got us working on the fucking Hamster Room,” Bob says, and there's something in his voice that says he's laying the blame for that squarely at Frank's feet. “So get your lazy ass out of bed and help out before someone loses an eye.”
It's not an idle threat, or whatever Bob means it to be. Frank knows his band, and as much as he likes - loves - them, he doesn't trust any of them not to seriously injure or maim themselves with tools around.
====
====
Frank isn't surprised to see Brian when he follows Bob into Bizarro World, but he is surprised to find him in some sort of staring contest.
“Brian?”
Brian doesn't look away from his opponent, not that Frank was expecting him to.
“Please tell me you aren't - “
“What the hell is going on?” Brian asks, interrupting Frank and maybe, maybe, trying to pull a Jedi mind trick of his own, which Frank gets. It's embarrassing being caught out holding a staring contest with a hamster. “Bob calls me up in the middle of the night telling me Gerard's lost his fucking mind, and then he asks me if I know a good place to hide a body.”
Ray sticks his head in the room like he was waiting for his cue. “West Hudson Park is a good place for that.”
Apparently there really isn't honor among thieves, or, well, assholes. Whichever.
“Not helping, Ray,” Brian says through clenched teeth. “Really not helping.”
Frank glares at Ray, because really. Not. Helping.
“Well?” Brian asks. He's still locked in a staring match with the pissy hamster. It should be ridiculous, and, well. It's Brian going head-to-head with his hamster counterpart, and that's fucking hilarious, but is kind of fond of living.
“I think I'm going to find Gerard,” he says, edging towards the door Ray popped out of. “Out there. Somewhere.”
Brian grumbles something, but Frank's already half-way through the door intent on finding a camera. He has some sense of self-preservation, but some things are too fucking funny not to get on tape.
====
====
By the time everyone goes home, Bob and Brian staying at Ray's while Mikey heads to his place, it's well past midnight. They didn't get much done in the Hamster Room, but watching Bob staring at the big yellow hamster like he thought it was going to eat his face more than made up for it. Much in the same way it was going to be worth whatever revenge Brian had planned for Frank after he got the tail-end of the staring match down on film.
Frank's staying the night at Gerard's again, and he can't seem to fall asleep no matter how hard he tries. The feels a bit like a creep, wandering around Gerard's place in the middle of the night while Gerard sleeps the sleep of the completely fucking insane.
Frank's wandering has led him back to the Hamster Room. He thinks when the day comes where Schechter asks him where, or maybe when, Gerard finally lost it, this would be it. Or maybe the day he stepped inside the damned pet store and saw a bunch of freaks and misfits in hamster form and decided to bring them home.
The room reeks of paint, even with the windows open to let it air out. Walking deeper into the room, Frank's careful not to disturb the chalk lines Gerard drew out sectioning the room off for the sand pit and tunnels. Over by the wall where the mural is going to be, Gerard has his sketches laid out on the floor.
The whole thing, the whole concept of building a room just for Gerard's hamsters is ridiculous. Insane, really, but that's okay. Frank's been right there with Gerard from the beginning. He doesn't see why that should change now.
====
====
Gerard waits until Bob and Brian leave town later that week to throw himself into working on the mural. Ray's busy doing whatever it is he does, although Frank's worried that means he's coming up with actual plans for the Weezer cover band of his. Mikey's working with Jamia and the others on his pet-clothing line since Frank flat-out doesn't have the time to be as hands on with that as he'd like.
He barely has time to eat or sleep, which, really, hilarious considering they're on break, but whatever. Frank catches sleep where and when he can on the rare occasions he's not at practice or working out the last details for the tour. It's just coincidence that those rare occasions are usually at Gerard's.
“Frank, hey!”
They're in the Hamster Room, where they usually end up most days. Frank can see the desert portion of the mural taking shape. He can also see the spill of paint on the floor with paw prints leading away from it into the plastic tunnels Gerard has stashed where the sand pit is going to go.
More importantly, he sees the blotches of paint on Gerard's shirt, some of it mixed into his hair because Rorschach is covered in it, happily perched on Gerard's shoulder. Frank swears it's not his imagination when Rorschach cuddles up to Gerard, smearing more paint on his neck and face. Rorschach's beady rodent eyes are on Frank as he sits up, paint-covered paws leaving perfect prints on Gerard's face while Gerard coos.
Frank remembers Gerard's story about how he came up with a name for Rorschach, how the little fucker got into his paints and made a mess. He forgot to mention that Rorschach is evil.
He's never gotten along with Rorschach, even though the one Frank likes to think of as Gerard's hamster counterpart adores him. Nite Owl's even taken to looking for Frank when he gets back from band practice or a day at the Skeleton Crew office, which. Huh.
“Hey, Frank?” Gerard seems worried now, probably because Frank is crazy.
Rorschach scurries around Gerard's shoulder to peer at Frank, something like victory in his eyes because he knows Gerard will never believe the bastard is evil.
“How's it going?” Frank asks. “With the mural, I mean.”
Gerard gathers Rorschach in his hands when the he leans out too far and almost falls. “Um. Good? I mean, I think the perspective's off a little bit in places, and I'm going to have change a few things, but it's. It's going okay.”
Frank makes an encouraging noise and settles against the doorframe, listening to Gerard with half an ear. He's thinking more about Rorschach and Gerard's hamsters, and really, it's nuts, but. Gerard did manage to find hamster versions of them, so who the hell knows? It's not outside the realm of possibility that Rorschach is jealous of him stealing the attention of his hamster love interest, and really. Frank never thought he'd ever be in that kind of situation.
“Frank?”
Gerard's giving him one of those deeply concerned looks, the kind he uses when he's really worried about someone, and really. Being jealous of a hamster is ridiculous, Frank's well aware of that fact. It'd just be easier to keep that in mind if said hamster wasn't gloating.
“Oh, hey, no,” Frank says. “I'm listening, go on.”
Gerard frowns, absently petting Rorschach, which just doesn't help Frank that much, but it's not like he can tell Gerard or anything, so.
“Seriously, Frank says. “I'm listening.”
Gerard stares at him a little longer. Frank can't help smiling because Gerard really is a mess, but he's so happy about it Frank doesn't have it in him to say anything about it.
After a moment, Gerard starts telling Frank about the mural, and how it's going to be so fucking awesome, if he what's missing. Gerard sets Rorschach down and drags Frank over to where he has the sketches taped up on the wall. He starts pointing things out from the sketches and showing Frank where he's going to place them in the mural, hands flying as he talks.
Watching him, listening to him, Frank realizes just how screwed he is if he can listen to Gerard babble on about a fucking hamster mural and think it's the most amazing thing in the world.
====
====
Mikey and Ray are no help at all when Frank mentions, casually, his suspicion about Gerard's hamsters being minions of evil. Or, really, just Rorschach.
“You're an idiot.”
Frank's not going to argue, especially when Mikey's using the hot glue gun. That shit hurts.
“Seriously, Frank.” Ray's not taking part in arts and crafts time. He's playing against the computer in a grueling game of Guitar Hero, and losing spectacularly. “I mean, seriously.”
Frank glares at the blob of popsicle sticks and glue passing for his latest work of art. . “That doesn't even make sense, Toro.”
Except for the way it does. In a way.
“No, really.” Mikey says. “You. Idiot.”
Frank has no idea how things degenerated into pick on Frank day when they should be focusing their attention on Gerard's evil hamsters. Hamster.
But then Mikey has to turn things around on him, as if he has the heart of what Frank's problem is.
“I don't - “
“Frank.”
Frank looks away, attention on the piece of crap in front of him. It really is just a pile of glue and popsicle sticks, Frank's thoughts too scattered to do much else. He can't believe he was - is - jealous of Gerard's hamster because it gets to unashamedly cuddle with Gerard, which. Fucked up and everything, but.
“Mikey,” Frank sighs, resigned because he's getting tired of feeling this damn stupid. It sucks beyond the telling realizing that he's had this thing for Gerard for years and was just too fucking dumb to realize what it was.
Worse, now that he knows, he can't do anything because it's Gerard. He doesn't have a guarantee things won't blow up in his face, that something won't happen. He's seen things like this go bad before, and for all the shit he says, gets into, he knows it's one thing he couldn't handle.
Maybe Mikey sees enough to know Frank's not budging, he's not going to change his mind. Whatever it is, all he does is hand Frank another popsicle stick. Frank knows Mikey's not finished, he's just backing down, making a peace offering.
“Hey.”
Ray slides into the seat next to Frank and pokes at the sequins. Frank doesn't know when Ray turned into a ninja, but it's kind of awesome. Especially when Ray produces a can of coke that he pushes towards Frank.
“Hey,” Mikey says, failing at casual. “Did you hear about the unicorn someone found?”
“Really?” Ray actually sounds interested.
“Oh, man, yeah,” Mikey says. “In, like, Europe or somewhere.”
Frank reaches for the can of coke as Mikey explains to them that a deer with some sort of birth defect does count as a unicorn because that's how the myths and legends started, and Frank. Frank can't stop himself from rolling his eyes because, seriously, nerds, but they're his nerds, so.
====
====
The problem is, though, Frank really is an idiot. He's been staying at Gerard's - living there - for over a month, and after a while, he forgets. He gets tired, and the tight hold he has on everything inside of him slips.
He gets used to seeing Gerard every day before he leaves and every night when he gets back. It's different, better, somehow, than being on tour and being crammed inside a bus for months at a time. They watch bad movies together with furry movie critics in plastic exercise balls offering their opinions by crashing into shit.
He gets used to Gerard pretending he can cook, and then trying his own hand at it. He gets used to so much, so many little things, and that's what trips him up.
Gerard's scheduled to make an appearance for his comic book, some kind of convention. Frank's watching him pack - or trying to pack - for the entertainment value. For all the years they've done things like this, left for tours or press gigs or whatever the hell, Gerard - and Mikey - are still kind of hopeless sometimes.
Frank's watching Gerard doing his version of packing, and there's this weird feeling in his chest. It feels a little like heartburn and a lot like heartache. The worst part is that he's going to be doing the same thing in a couple of days, after Gerard's on the other side of the country. Leathermouth is headed out on tour with Reggie.
“Hey, have you seen my shirt?”
“You have like, five,” Frank points out, because it's basically true. Life on tour means sharing clothes, which means you really only need to bring enough for the first couple of days, then it's a free-for-all. “Which one?”
Frank's wearing one of them at the moment. He knows it's the one Gerard's looking for because Gerard actually did laundry just so he could bring it with him.
Gerard turns to look at him, and Frank. Frank's an idiot. He just didn't think he was a big enough idiot to walk over to Gerard and look at him. Gerard, for his part, stares back, although it's more confusion on his face than something with way too many years of, Goddamn, I fucking love you, you fucker at its core.
“Frank?”
The kiss isn't something that was supposed to happen outside of Frank's head, but for some reason it does. For some reason Frank's hold on everything he was never supposed to let Gerard see, know about, it loosens the tiniest bit. Just enough to see.
Frank closes the barely there distance between them and reaches up, hands on either side of Gerard's face and looks. He looks, and he knows damn well Gerard sees because Gerard's eyes go wide. Startled.
Frank's an idiot, but he's not stupid. He tries for a smile, and whatever it is doesn't feel right, but it's all he can offer up at the moment. He tries, hopes it's enough, and turns his head just enough so that his lips touch the skin of Gerard's cheek.
Gerard's still, so still. Frank takes that as the answer to a question he hasn't properly asked, but didn't actually need to. Gerard's reaction is answer enough.
“Hey, so,” he says, trying for a laugh and coming up with something that sounds the same kind of wrong as the smile on his face. “Have a good trip, okay?”
He doesn't run, exactly, but he knows that's open to interpretation. His mind's full of things, excuses. Gerard needs to finish packing for his trip. Frank needs to start for the tour. Gerard needs time to himself before his trip. Frank needs time to kick his own ass, and so on and so on.
Frank doesn't answer his phone when it rings and rings and rings the moment he gets outside. He's done plenty of stupid shit in his life, but even he knows better than that.
====
====
The next few days before the tour kicks off are their own special brand of hell. He's not hiding from Gerard or the others, but he isn't making an effort to talk to them when they call.
Once they get out on the road James comes close to saying something to him about it a few times, because he, at least, isn't avoiding their phone calls. He has to know what happened, one of the others must have told him, but James isn't an asshole, unlike other people Frank could name. Instead of dragging Frank out into the open and making him talk, he lets Frank and his misery fester. in peace.
Being on tour means Frank gets the chance to go on stage and channel everything he's feeling into his songs, screaming until his voice feels raw, until that mix of heartburn and heartache isn't the only hurt he feels.
Time and distance help, but really, it's being too tired at the end of a show to have much time left to think. It's driving, and driving, and driving. It's sound check, and interviews. It's performing and singing, screaming everything that hurts, aches out for others to claim for themselves.
Things roll along fine, or well enough that it's the same thing, more or less. Gerard doesn't call him, but Frank doesn't call Gerard. It's one of the best and worst things about being tour - things like that happen. They happen and no one thinks anything of it, that it's some kind of coincidence. They just. Happen.
Frank's out on the road doing his thing, and Gerard's back home doing his. Working on his comic book or going to a convention or interview or whatever else.
Frank plays. He sings. He fucks up his wrist. He comes down with a cold or death plague or god knows what, but it has him wishing for death, especially when James feeds him whatever horrible 'surefire' cure the internet has given him on any given day.
They hit Chicago. Bob's in the audience. Bob's in the audience, and after the show he goes to see Frank. He slaps Frank on the back of his head and tells him he's the biggest fucking idiot Bob's ever known.
Frank can't say anything to that, since it happens to be true.
====
====
Not long after the Chicago show, they get a hotel night. It's nothing amazing, nothing like what My Chemical Romance would get, but it's a hotel. With real beds and hot water and showers.
Frank's been snappish all day and hides away in his room as soon as they get in. He's in the middle of checking his e-mail and other things he's let slide too long. The knock on his door doesn't register at first, but the sound of the doorknob rattling gets his attention in time to see James walk in. James waves the spare key card to Frank's room at him, talking on the phone to someone.
Frank makes a half-heated protest as James walks over and takes Frank's laptop away from him, typing something into the browser. James makes listening noises to whoever he's talking to while waiting for the page to load.
“Okay, got it,” James says, turning the laptop back around to face Frank. He pokes Frank's leg and points at the laptop, something approaching a stern look on his face as he gets up to leave.
Frank glares after James as he shuts the door. He was trying to make up for being an asshole by staying in his room and trying to get some work done.
Frank's laptop beeps at him.
Well, no. It sort of bleeps. A look at the screen shows him a YouTube page in the process of loading. He makes a face and starts to close the browser window. Frank's not in the mood to see a video someone made from the night's show, or god help him, another fan video supporting the epic love between him and Gerard.
Just. No.
“Hey, asshole,” his computer says, “Since you seem to have forgotten how the phone works, I figured this was the best way to get to you.”
Frank's computer sounds a hell of a lot like Gerard.
“Besides,” Frank's computer says, “the guys missed you.”
For a moment Frank's sure he's finally lost his shit, but no. No, it's a video of Gerard. Talking to him, which is perhaps a little less weird. Maybe. At first he thinks Gerard's talking about Mikey and Ray, but then Gerard turns the camera to show the hamsters going crazy in the Hamster Room.
The finished Hamster Room.
The mural is behind Gerard, but what really gets Frank's attention is the sand pit and the truly impressive mess of plastic tubing running along the back wall.
Gerard bends down out of camera range for a moment. When he pops back in view he's holding Rorschach and Nite Owl. “Say 'hi' to Frank, guys,” he says, holding them up to give Frank a close-up shot of their totally unimpressed faces. “Say 'hi' to Frank!”
Gerard's one step away from the weird baby talk people use when they're dealing with animals, which finally, finally breaks Frank out of his shock or whatever the hell it was that had him staring at his laptop like an idiot.
He scrabbles at the nightstand for his phone. Gerard's babbling on and on and on about the hamsters missing him, and all the things they've gotten up to since Frank went on tour. He fumbles the phone more than once, and by the time he gets a firm hold on it, he can't scroll down to Gerard's number fast enough.
“About time,” Gerard says when he picks up, like Frank hasn't completely fucked things up between them.
“Hey,” Frank doesn't know what else to say, casting around for something. His eye lands on the laptop with Gerard's face and Gerard's hamsters. “So you finished the Hamster Room?”
Gerard snorts, but lets him get away with it and starts talking about what a bitch getting all that sand in was, and how fucking confused by it the hamsters were by it.
Frank doesn't know what to say, but Gerard takes care of that problem by talking. And talking and talking, until Frank's smiling. He always knew Gerard loved to talk, but this is something else. There's a very real possibility Frank could get away with making fun of Gerard about that for the rest of his life. Assuming they'll still be talking to one another, that is.
“You set up a YouTube channel just so I'd know how the hamsters are doing?”
There's a moment of silence long enough to make Frank wonder if he said the wrong thing.
“No,” Gerard says slowly. “I made a YouTube channel just so you'd get your head out of your ass and call me.”
Oh.
“Fucking hell, Frank,” Gerard says. It almost sounds like he's smiling. “What goes on in your head? You kiss me and the next day you leave for tour?”
Okay, no. it was more like a few days later. And also, that was. It was a peck on the cheek, not an actual kiss, what the hell.
“Oh, fuck you,” Frank says, gut churning with what he hopes isn't related to his death plague. “You just stood there, what the hell was I suppose to think?” Frank really doesn't want to do this, like ever, and he really doesn't want to do it on the phone. If he's going to completely fuck his life up, he'd alt least like to do it face to face.
More silence from Gerard, which Frank learned a long time ago usually wasn't a good sign.
“Frank,” Gerard sighs, sounding tired and frustrated. “You kissed me out of nowhere, I was a little surprised, okay?”
Okay, Frank thinks, hand clenching around his phone, except for this thing that's been building between them for, god, Frank doesn't even know how long. Frank doesn't say that, though. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't trust himself not to say something dumb, stupid, like telling Gerard he's been in fucking love with him for fucking years even though that cat's long out of the bag.
“You didn't really give me a chance to react,” Gerard says, pushing through the silence. “And normally, I'd be all for a second go at the kissing thing, but the asshole who kissed me left for tour the next day.”
Oh, fuck that. Frank didn't leave on tour for at least three days.
“I mean,” Gerard goes on, sounding a little uncertain and trying to cover for it, “when I tried to call the asshole, he wouldn't answer.”
Frank's old phone might have met with technical difficulties during the early stage of the tour. Such as Frank throwing it as hard as he could against a brick wall. He likes his new phone, though, The battery holds a charge for a remarkably long time.
“I figured, okay, maybe he thought it was a mistake, or something,” Gerard pauses, like he's waiting for Frank to agree with him. “But then I got angry, you know? I mean, sure, the guy's an asshole, but he's not that kind of asshole. If he thought it was a mistake, he'd tell me, right? Because otherwise, that's just a shitty thing to do to a guy.”
This time there's a pointed pause, like Gerard's channeling Frank's mother.
“So, uh. That's pretty much it, I guess,” he says, trailing off. “I mean, I'd be on board with the kissing thing, but the asshole needs to decide what he wants to do about it.”
Frank smiles a little, because it's Gerard. “I think the asshole's pretty much on board with the kissing thing too,” Frank says, dread and fear and worry in his gut giving over to heartburn and something like heartache. “It's going to have to wait until the tour's over, though.”
He can hear Gerard's smile when he answers, telling Frank about the car he bought. Frank thinks he knows where Gerard's going with that line of thought, but, well. Frank's not just an idiot - he's an asshole too.
“Are you saying you're going to be my groupie? That would be awesome.”
Gerard laughs, that totally stupid laugh of his. “God, you're such an asshole.”
“Yeah,” Frank says, because he is. “Tour's over in a few weeks. Do you think we could try that kissing thing again?”
He says it with confidence, but for all the hope he's feeling about this, that they won't mess up - that he won't mess up, he's still scared shitless.
“I think we could give a try, yeah,” Gerard says, and the fucker's definitely smiling. “You need to get rid of whatever died on your face first, though.”
“Fuck you.” Frank says. He loves his mustache. “It's awesome.”
Gerard starts laughing and doesn't stop.
====
====
He talks to Gerard on the phone as often as they can make it work, and the miles between them don't seem so awful for a little while. The tour doesn't drag on from that point, but it still seems to last a fucking long time. Mikey comes to see them play. Ray comes to play with them. Frank gets the shit hugged out of him by both of them, along with heartfelt reassurances he's a complete moron.
When they get back in town, Frank heads straight for Gerard's place. It feels like home. He's even happy to see the stupid hamsters rolling around, bumping into walls, the furniture, and Frank's foot.
He grins when he realizes it's the yeti hamster and gives the ball a gentle nudge to get it moving in the other direction.
Setting his stuff down next to the couch, he moves deeper into the house. Gerard's in the Hamster Room watching Rorschach and the rest of the hamsters running around. They're digging in the sand and generally being happy little hamsters.
“Wow,” Frank says, looking around. It's the first time he's seen the finished room, and it's impressive. “You're kind of a freak.”
He only says that out of love, but it's true. The mural is clearly Gerard's vision of sandy desert meeting grassy steppe. Rorschach and the other hamster have company in the form of shadowy zombie hamsters poking their noses out of scrubby brush and sandy burrows.
Gerard sits up at the sound of his voice and just. He stares. He stares like he hasn't seen Frank is a long time, and okay, it's been a few weeks, but -
“Oh my god,” Gerard says, hand coming up to cover his mouth as if it will protect him from the supposed horror before him. “It's even worse in person.”
Frank would be offended, but at least he doesn't look like a fucking anime character. He flips Gerard off and settles himself on the floor beside him. “Fuck you, what happened to your hair?”
Gerard's hands go to his hair out of reflex. “Fuck you and your pornstache, Frank.”
And, hey, that's not a bad idea, really.
“Well, okay,” Frank says. “I was thinking we should probably start with that kissing thing you told me about on the phone first, though.”
The glare he gets for that makes being an asshole totally worthwhile.
“Seriously,” Gerard, sighs, “shave that dead rat off your face and we'll talk about it."
Looking at him, at the tiny smile tugging at the corner of Gerard's mouth, at the way Gerard's looking at him, Frank thinks he could be convinced to do just that. Eventually.