Fic: Five Minus One Equals Four
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Warnings: Bob Bryar is no longer in the band
Summary: This was a painful decision for all of us to make and was not taken lightly.
Author's Note: I always say fic is where we fix the world. Sadly, I can't fix this.
Five Minus One Equals Four
"Will you write it?" Gerard's voice is thick and damp. His eyes are wet.
Frank glances around the soundproof room. Mikey's staring at the floor. Ray's twisting a guitar pick in his fingers like he wants to break it.
"Can I tell the truth this time?" It's hard to speak around the lump in his throat.
The sting of the words creases Gerard's brow, a guilty hand reaching for his neck. Remembering the lies they told. How hopeful they were. Hopeful they'd never end up here.
Gerard nods shakily, his mouth compressed to a line like he doesn't trust himself to speak. Frank knows. He thought he'd shed his tears for this too.
Mikey stands suddenly, shoes scuffing on the carpet as he leaves the room swiftly, eyes downcast. Gerard hesitates, torn between the answer he needs to hear and going after his brother.
"I'll write it." Frank's voice is rough and rusty. Gerard nods again, hair sticking to his face where it's wet. He makes an abortive attempt at a smile before he goes after Mikey. The door makes a sucking noise when it closes.
Frank raises his fingers to the keyboard. This letter is well overdue.
"Do you think he's happy?" He's not sure if he's asking himself or the world, but it's Ray who answers.
"I hope so." Ray's eyes are shot, his lips chewed red. "I really hope so."
"Yeah, me too." Frank breathes, and starts to write.
***
The three day stench. People fucking with his kit. Long haul flights. Sleep deprivation.
Bob's making a list of all the things he wont miss.
"Five hour long arguments about Star Wars." Brian's voice is light and warm in his ear, the phone line only slightly crackly.
"I don't know, they were pretty hilarious." Bob counters. His coke has gone flat. He swishes it around in his glass.
"Yeah they were." Bob can hear it in Brian's voice. It's more distant, not as hard and raw as he's feeling it now, but it's there.
"Are you okay?" Brian asks, concern layered under a matter-of-fact tone.
"Is that a trick question?" Bob asks. He's rewarded with Brian's soft cackle.
"No, just an honest one."
"I don't know." Bob sighs, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. "Not yet."
"But you will be." Bob wishes he had Brian's confidence. "They will be too." Brian adds, making Bob's breath catch. He sits there awhile, phone pressed warm to his ear, heat crawling across his chest.
"Bob?" Brian asks. The concern is back.
"Interviews." Bob chokes out, voice thick but not breaking. "No more interviews."
"Or photoshoots." Brian adds, and Bob's nodding even though Brian can't see him, movements choppy and unchecked.
Brian stays on the phone for at least an hour padding out Bob's list with remembered annoyances. Bob's thankful for it.
Because it's so much easier to think about all the things he wont miss, than all the things he will.
~end
Warnings: Bob Bryar is no longer in the band
Summary: This was a painful decision for all of us to make and was not taken lightly.
Author's Note: I always say fic is where we fix the world. Sadly, I can't fix this.
Five Minus One Equals Four
"Will you write it?" Gerard's voice is thick and damp. His eyes are wet.
Frank glances around the soundproof room. Mikey's staring at the floor. Ray's twisting a guitar pick in his fingers like he wants to break it.
"Can I tell the truth this time?" It's hard to speak around the lump in his throat.
The sting of the words creases Gerard's brow, a guilty hand reaching for his neck. Remembering the lies they told. How hopeful they were. Hopeful they'd never end up here.
Gerard nods shakily, his mouth compressed to a line like he doesn't trust himself to speak. Frank knows. He thought he'd shed his tears for this too.
Mikey stands suddenly, shoes scuffing on the carpet as he leaves the room swiftly, eyes downcast. Gerard hesitates, torn between the answer he needs to hear and going after his brother.
"I'll write it." Frank's voice is rough and rusty. Gerard nods again, hair sticking to his face where it's wet. He makes an abortive attempt at a smile before he goes after Mikey. The door makes a sucking noise when it closes.
Frank raises his fingers to the keyboard. This letter is well overdue.
"Do you think he's happy?" He's not sure if he's asking himself or the world, but it's Ray who answers.
"I hope so." Ray's eyes are shot, his lips chewed red. "I really hope so."
"Yeah, me too." Frank breathes, and starts to write.
***
The three day stench. People fucking with his kit. Long haul flights. Sleep deprivation.
Bob's making a list of all the things he wont miss.
"Five hour long arguments about Star Wars." Brian's voice is light and warm in his ear, the phone line only slightly crackly.
"I don't know, they were pretty hilarious." Bob counters. His coke has gone flat. He swishes it around in his glass.
"Yeah they were." Bob can hear it in Brian's voice. It's more distant, not as hard and raw as he's feeling it now, but it's there.
"Are you okay?" Brian asks, concern layered under a matter-of-fact tone.
"Is that a trick question?" Bob asks. He's rewarded with Brian's soft cackle.
"No, just an honest one."
"I don't know." Bob sighs, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. "Not yet."
"But you will be." Bob wishes he had Brian's confidence. "They will be too." Brian adds, making Bob's breath catch. He sits there awhile, phone pressed warm to his ear, heat crawling across his chest.
"Bob?" Brian asks. The concern is back.
"Interviews." Bob chokes out, voice thick but not breaking. "No more interviews."
"Or photoshoots." Brian adds, and Bob's nodding even though Brian can't see him, movements choppy and unchecked.
Brian stays on the phone for at least an hour padding out Bob's list with remembered annoyances. Bob's thankful for it.
Because it's so much easier to think about all the things he wont miss, than all the things he will.
~end