More Than You Could Ever Know 2/8
*
This news kicked Ryan into overdrive. If even one person was home with him they were to be found in the music room, perfecting every last piece of every one of their songs. Frank didn’t mind too much, because he was a perfectionist when it came to music, he found. Still, it was kinda rough to watch Ryan being a bitch toward Brendon.
The first few times, Frank just let it happen, staring hard at the floor while Ryan went off about how Brendon wasn’t hitting a note just right, or what the fuck ever, when Frank would like to see Ryan do it any better. But it wasn’t in Frank’s nature to shut up about anything, let alone one of his friends getting shit unfairly.
On Saturday, after three hours of practice, Ryan pulled the strap of his guitar over his head and flung it aside in frustration, and okay, Frank could totally understand-occasionally-the destruction of a guitar for, like, dramatic effect, or whatever. But there was a time and place for that sort of thing, and now was not it, and dude, who abused their fucking guitar like that, for serious, not even in the name of art?
“I can’t work with you if you aren’t even going to try,” Ryan snapped, and Frank just had enough.
“Look,” he said, and edged between Brendon and Ryan. It didn’t work all that well because Frank was shorter than Brendon and seriously shorter than Ryan, but whatever. “I get that you’re tense about this whole summer tour thing-we all are-but it isn’t fair taking it out on Brendon.”
Ryan gave him an icy look and it was like all these past weeks of, like, fucking friendship that they’d been working on meant nothing to Ryan at all. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“The fuck it doesn’t,” Frank said.
“Stay out of it Frank,” Brendon said quietly. Spencer tightened his grip on his drumsticks and Jon wouldn’t look at any of them, and this was just fucking ridiculous.
“No,” Frank said. He put his hands on his hips. “This is bullshit,” he said to Ryan. “It isn’t fair you using your relationship to make him feel scared of you and trying to exclude me from this because I’m not part of it, but I am part of the band, and this isn’t going to be some weird, fucked up experiment that implodes on itself because of stupid co-dependency and passive aggressiveness, or what the fuck ever.”
“And you,” he said, turning on Brendon. “Seriously, dude, where the fuck is my best friend? Why are you taking this shit?”
He set his guitar aside gently, with a pointed glare at Ryan, and stormed out because he was worried if he’d stay, he might accidentally punch someone.
When he came home that night with a runny nose and a puppy under his arm, Spencer was waiting on the front step. Frank cuddled the dog closer and said, “If you’re kicking me out, I’m taking all the shit you bought me.”
Spencer shook his head and looked a mixture of pissed off and amused. “I’m not kicking you out.”
“And I’m keeping the puppy,” Frank said. He rubbed her nose to keep it warm. “She was in a box. She was the only one left in the box and the newspaper was covered in shit and piss and no one was going to take her and I’m keeping her.”
“You shouldn’t have said that earlier,” Spencer said, and Frank tensed. Spencer sighed and shook his head again. “What I mean…you shouldn’t have had to say it. I should have, or Jon…Look, just. Would you come inside? You’re going to fucking die of one of your tragic nineteenth century diseases.”
Frank was weary. “I’m not leaving Esther.”
Spencer laughed, and it was such a relief. No one’s smile was as brilliant and happy-making as Spencer Smith’s. Well, except for Gerard Way’s, obviously. “Seriously. Come inside. Ryan wants to apologise, and that isn’t something we get to see around here too often.”
Brendon made soup and they had a band meeting with lots of tense staring and crossed arms until the animals came to investigate their new sister and not even Ryan Ross could glare in the face of Dylan giving Esther’s ear a tongue bath while Hobo batted at her tail.
They made a list and Ryan wrote it down to hang on the wall by the light switch. It was the rules for their band, and what was and was not allowed in the music room. It wasn’t, Frank explained, that he didn’t understand the creative process could get messy and mean. Their rules allowed for that. Frank would be the first to admit that every now and then a screaming match could be really productive. He just didn’t like the way Brendon was made to look small by pointless picking when Ryan demanded a sound he couldn’t even articulate.
That settled, they gave up practising for the night and went down to the living room to play video games instead. “You know,” Ryan said, cuddled into the corner of the couch under a pile of pets.
Frank was flush against his side. He and Ryan both got cold a lot and they were keeping their feet warm by tucking them under each other’s thighs. “Hmm?” Frank asked. He watched fondly as Esther yawned and flopped her head against the crook of Frank’s arm, trying to catch Ryan’s eraser in her mouth.
Spencer and Brendon were currently battling each other in Halo and Jon had fallen asleep in the armchair. Ryan was grading papers, ostensibly, but it looked more like he was decorating them.
“You can’t just keep bringing home puppies,” Ryan said, in a practical tone of voice.
*
When Frank brought home Dickens the following Wednesday, he headed off Ryan’s argument with, “He’s not a puppy, Ryan, he’s almost two! And he was a stray! They were going to put him to sleep, Ryan! They were going to kill him! And his name is Dickens. It’s fucking fate, is what it is, Ryan. Would you let them kill him?”
Jon blinked at Frank with a sort of impressed disbelief. Ryan pointed a stern finger at Frank, opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and left the room. He came back a moment later, and Frank could see the smile fighting at the corners of his mouth. Or maybe that was a grimace. It was hard to tell on Ryan. “No more animals, Frank,” he said, but no one tried to make Frank get rid of the ones he already had.
“Ryan’s just a big softy,” Brendon said confidentially to Frank later that evening, when they were hanging out in Frank’s room.
The animals tended to gather there, and Frank liked that best. Especially at bedtime when they all settled down for the evening, snuffling and grumbling and crawling over each other to try to get the last pet from Frank’s hand.
Frank had been confused by the idea of a polygamous relationship at the start, and now after living with them for a month, he was even more uncertain how it worked, what with Ryan’s mood swings and Jon’s total relaxed nature and Spencer’s no-nonsense attitude. None of it really matched with what Frank knew of Brendon. But he had to admit, when Brendon talked about them, he got this dreamy, happy look on his face, and somehow the four of them did fit.
“You make me believe there’s still a thing called love,” Frank teased.
“Just listen to the rhythm of my heart,” Spencer sang, coming into the room in heart-shaped glasses and a cowboy hat. Then there were times when Spencer showed himself for the total dork he was, and it made perfect sense that he and Brendon would fall in love.
“So, Ryan’s freaking about costumes again, and I’m not suffering alone,” Spencer told them.
Ryan dragged them to this huge consignment shop in downtown Las Vegas and set them loose. Spencer and Brendon spent an inordinate amount of time trying out different hats on a good-humoured Jon. It was fun to watch, but Frank had never really had an opportunity to go shopping for himself, aside from when he first left the North Pole, and he hadn’t had much money then.
Now, with the money he’d made in tips at The Mansion, he could go wild. He ended up with a cart full of hoodies, some seriously hardcore band shirts (like, who would throw those away), and a half-dozen pair of jeans so he didn’t have to keep borrowing Brendon’s while his one pair was getting clean. He could, arguably, fit Brendon’s jeans, but he’d never wanted that much attention drawn to his junk.
“We have the money to buy you one whole pair of jeans, rather than six…partial ones,” Ryan said snottily, holding up a couple of the jeans Frank had picked.
“They’re artfully ripped,” Frank argued, jerking them out of Ryan’s hands. “Whatever, I’d tear mine up away. This way they’re broken in from the start.”
Ryan went over Frank’s haul with a mournful expression. “Wouldn’t you be happier with some nice paisley prints?”
Brendon came up rolling his eyes and dropped a floppy, brightly-coloured jester hat on Ryan’s head. It sunk down over his eyes and Ryan scowled and pushed it off. “We can each have a different theme,” Brendon said excitedly. He wrapped an arm around Ryan’s shoulder and drew him in to smack a kiss against his temple.
“Theme?” Ryan echoed blandly. He didn’t, however, try to shove Brendon off.
“Sure,” Brendon said. “Spencer can be the cool, suave one all in black, you know, and Jon can be the laid-back one in faded jeans and plain tees and no shoes, and you can be the bohemian one and Frank will be the hardcore one.”
“And who will you be?” Ryan asked coolly, but he was starting to smile.
“I’ll sing naked. It will be scandalous. I can sit behind the piano the whole time to keep from getting arrested for being indecent,” Brendon said.
“Who’s gonna be naked?” Jon asked, coming up behind Brendon and wrapping an arm around him.
“If it’s Ryan, I would like to interject that I find nudity preferable to roses,” Spencer said, and when Ryan drew a breath to begin to protest, Spencer silenced him with a kiss.
“I really wanna see this rose vest,” Frank said sincerely.
“No,” Jon said, matching Frank’s sincerity with the gravity of his voice. “You really don’t, Frank.”
Ryan drew back from Spencer, looking well-kissed and vaguely dazed. “Wear whatever you want, Frank,” he said, in a distant sort of way, and dragged Spencer into the nearest dressing cubicle.
Jon waggled his brows at Frank and began to lead Brendon after them. Brendon gave him an apologetic look and a wave over his shoulder.
“My band sucks,” Frank said, to no one, and did not think about the logistics of four people trying to have quiet sex inside a four foot by four foot square. They were tiny people, after all. Instead, he went to find the most obscenely shredded jeans and hideous t-shirt in the store.
*
They met The Academy Is… the day of the show, at about four in the afternoon. They’d had some mechanical troubles with the bus and were running late, so things were hectic. Jon introduced everyone and then Bill was running off to warm-up and the rest of the band went in several different directions to get ready.
Jon spoke to some guy, Tony, and was told they’d go on at six-thirty, and they needed to get to sound check as soon as possible. The whole process was sort of surreal, with a bunch of tech guys shoving them around on stage, getting things set up, and pointing them to microphones.
The Butcher had made a banner for the stage, when he’d learned of their name the week before, and now it hung above Spencer’s drum kit-pale blue background with huge, intricate snowflakes in white and their name in dark blue. There had been much discussion of band names. Apparently Ryan had picked a name for the band he and Spencer had in high school, but neither of them were willing to disclose it now.
Jon had been the one to suggest they name themselves after all one of their songs-it was a favourite of all of theirs, and Jon had said, with a smile for Brendon and Frank, was a subtle nod to their origins. Brendon had grinned so hard it hurt Frank to look at him, and Ryan had tried to protest naming their band after one of their songs, but didn’t hold out long in the face of Brendon’s overwhelming joy, and so they had become Northern Downpour.
Their first concert was something of a blur in Frank’s mind. They’d practised long and hard, and they were good, but Frank was high on adrenaline and the crowd’s screams. The crowd liked them, Frank could tell that, without even knowing the songs. Frank played all over the damn stage-on his knees with Ryan’s hand in his hair, back to back with Jon, even climbing up on the stand with Spencer’s kit which earned him an indulgent smile.
He kept forcing himself not to float in his joy, but when he pressed his sweaty face into Brendon’s sweaty neck, they both flashed cold enough to turn their sweat to frost. It actually felt really nice under the lights and he and Brendon shared delighted smiles, pushing off each other to share it with the others, Brendon to Jon, Frank to Ryan.
Frank loved music, always had, but he’d never realised how much he wanted to perform it until just then. The feeling was addictive-the lights, the energy of the crowd, the vibrations beneath his feet. And his band. He’d loved Brendon for years and he’d fallen in fucking love with the rest of them for being so awesome and accepting and letting him in, but it was magnified on stage. He felt connected to them in a way he’d never felt before.
He’d worried, before, that somehow he wouldn’t work out. That the connection the rest of them shared might make things awkward on stage. He was wrong. He fit just right up against what they had, part of it, maybe, on a creative level.
They came off the stage giggling and hugging, a ball of restless energy. Brendon was glowing faintly in the dark at the side of the stage, but his lovers just covered him on all sides, dragging him off for the dressing room.
Frank made to follow, but was stopped by Mike. “Frank, right?” he said. “You’re the one not sleeping with them?” Frank nodded, prepared to be annoyed. “Hardcore dude. You rocked.”
And, well, Frank knew that, but it was still nice to hear.
They changed back into their regular clothes and hung around backstage for the other opening acts and TAI. After, Frank found himself and the rest of his band being ushered onto one of the buses.
“You’ve got my Johnny, so you get to ride in style,” Tom explained.
TAI’s bus was loud, smelly, and crowded, but awesome. Bill and Tom had fun interrogating Brendon for a while before giving him their official stamp of approval. Afterwards, they celebrated with several rounds of drinking games Frank had never heard of, which included an impromptu striptease by the Butcher and pretty much everyone making out with everyone else. Frank had to say, Bill was a fucking epic kisser.
They arrived in Los Angeles in the early afternoon and had lunch at the venue, chilling out until sound check. Everyone was pretty hung over, which meant it was low key, but Frank found himself intrigued hanging out with Bill and the Butcher, listening to them talk in a way that Frank imagined wasn’t too different from how Gerard Way might.
He knew it would be different when they were touring out of a van, but still, Frank had a feeling it wouldn’t matter. He was made for this. He couldn’t wait for the summer to come, where he’d have the chance to see all the places he’d only ever heard about from books and TV.
Ryan said, over lunch, “Mikey called; he heard about the show tonight so they might come.”
Frank didn’t really think much of it-lots of people were named Mike, right? Jon told him and Brendon, “You guys’ll like ‘em. They’re cool.”
They went on first again, and somehow some of the kids had already heard their songs and were singing along with the chorus now and then. Ryan was clearly overwhelmed by it and Frank had to cover some of his vocals for a moment.
The venue was outdoors and the sun was still pretty high in the sky while they played. By the time Northern Downpour’s set finished, the whole band was dripping with sweat, and no amount of deodorant could cover the smell. They raced back to the dressing room, shoving and arguing over who got the first shower, but it turned out to be a moot point when they saw the locker room style setup.
Thankfully, the rest of Frank’s band was not opposed to the idea of showering in their boxers, because as hot as they all were, he wasn’t sure it was the best idea for him to see all their junk.
Frank was the last to come out, towel around his hips, fauxhawk plastered to his skull, dripping down his back. “I vote we never-” What Frank had meant to say died on his lips when he saw the occupants of the room.
Gerard fucking Way was standing about ten feet away, real and beautiful in a way Frank had never imagined. “Oh, Frank,” Ryan said. “About time.”
Frank had a hard time tearing his gaze away from Gerard to stare at Ryan in slack-jawed disbelief. Brendon was standing at Ryan’s shoulder, eyes wide and urgent-looking in a way that told Frank Brendon hadn’t know about this.
Gerard took a hesitant step toward Frank, smile bright and earnest. “Hey. I’m Gerard, and this is my brother, Mikey,” he said, holding out his hand to shake. Mikey nodded his head as if to say “hey.”
“I know,” Frank said dumbly, frozen.
“Oh,” Gerard said, and dropped his hand. Frank couldn’t do anything but stare. “You were fucking awesome out there, man,” Gerard added gamely.
“Um,” Frank said brilliantly.
Gerard tipped his head to the side and sort of squinted at him. “You know,” he said, and laughed, “you kinda look familiar, like this guy who came to a bunch of our shows.”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” Frank blurted, desperate. Of course Gerard Way remembered him as the creepy stalker. “I’ve never been to one of your shows. Who are you, even? Ryan said you guys were his friends? I mean, what?”
Maybe it came out wrong, because Gerard looked kinda sad and Mikey and Ryan had matching blankly pissy expressions on their faces. Brendon let out a nervous chuckle and hurried over to Frank, grabbing him by the arm and ushering him to the furthest corner of the room, behind a rack of clothing.
“What the hell, Frank,” Brendon exclaimed. “He recognised you! That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, super awesome,” Frank said glumly. “What the fuck are they even doing here?”
Brendon shrugged helplessly and Ryan appeared at his side. “He and Mikey are friends of mine, and seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” He glared at Frank and must have seen something in his face, because he went wary. “Frank…what’s up?”
Frank buried his face in his hands and let out a pitiful moan. “It was you,” Ryan said in realisation.
“Why didn’t you say you were friends with My Chemical Romance?” Frank wailed softly.
Ryan gave him a dark look. “I don’t know. Why didn’t you ever mention your obsession with them?”
Frank opened his mouth and snapped it shut again with a scowl. “I’m not obsessed,” he said at length. “Gerard’s just…hot.”
“Oh my god,” Ryan said, and looked cruelly amused. “He’s a fucking dork, and so are you. You’d be perfect for each other.”
“Fuck you,” Frank said, but it came out more defeated than venomous. “How did you even-what are they…”
Ryan shrugged. “Gerard read some of my poetry and liked it, so he wrote me and I wrote back and we kept that up for a while. Then they came through Nevada and we hung out, and me and Mikey got along, and I don’t know…we just hang out now, whenever we’re in the same place at the same time.”
“Oh my god,” Frank said. “This isn’t my life.”
“But this is awesome, Frankie,” Brendon said. “This is what you’ve been talking about forever. Go woo him!”
“Please do,” Ryan said. “I can’t wait to watch.”
“Fuck you,” Frank snapped. It was sorta becoming a mantra.
“Hey, um,” Gerard said, coming over. His voice was high-pitched even for him-nervous, or cautious, maybe. Frank found it sickeningly endearing. Oh, he was so fucked. “I don’t mean to interrupt the, uh, band meeting, or whatever, but maybe me and Mikey should go?”
Frank did his best to look indifferent and cool, when he really wanted to grab on to Gerard’s arm and never let go. Ryan rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Gee,” Ryan said, and started leading him back to the others. “Everyone’s excited to meet you. Tom and Mike planned a party.”
They all left, probably to go watch the rest of the show, and Frank just sort of collapsed onto the sofa. “I want to go back to Christmastown,” he said.
Brendon flopped down beside him and patted his knee. “I don’t understand the problem. He’s here. He’s hot. He remembers you.”
“As his stalker,” Frank said.
“Well,” Brendon said, mouth tilted sideways. “He is Gerard Way. He’s hardcore. Maybe to him stalkers are cool and exciting.”
Frank buried his face in his hands and wished fervently that one of his stupid powers was the ability to teleport himself to the North Pole.
*
The party was, predictably, pretty cool, stretching across the parking lot between the tour buses. Partially it was to welcome Gerard and Mikey, and partially it was because of Northern Downpour’s unofficial invitation to join the festival. The representative who had come had been excited about their set even before she’d had her ear talked off by Bill and Gerard about why Northern Downpour should become a part of the tour. She’d told Ryan to expect an official invitation within the next week.
Brendon went sort of crazy about the whole thing and Spencer and Jon had dragged him off until he’d stopped glowing and floating a couple inches above ground. When Ryan had finally got over his astonishment enough to notice they were gone, he’d gone off after then, saying they had to celebrate. There had been lots of catcalls and knowing looks over that, and then Frank had been left on his own.
There were craft tables set up with food and drink, music playing from one of the buses, and lots of drunken, hilarious conversation to be had. It wasn’t as if Frank would expect anything else from one of their gatherings. Still, it had to be a little weird for Gerard, given the whole recovering addict thing.
He seemed to take it in stride-he didn’t touch any of the alcohol being generously passed around, but he didn’t seem to mind others partaking, either. Frank wanted to tell him he thought it was cool that Gerard was all sober and stuff, but that would involve getting close enough to speak to him. And. Well…
Mostly, Frank just hung around the back of TAI’s bus on a lawn chair. His stomach had been bothering him since just before the show, and it had got ten times worse once he’d seen Gerard. Now he just wanted to crawl into his bunk. He was so anxious that he was afraid he was going to make everyone fall asleep.
Jon came and sat with him, looking rumpled and very self-satisfied, and didn’t say anything for a while, which was nice. But then he gave Frank this look, like he was just waiting for an explanation, and Frank sighed. “Get Ryan to tell you,” he said. “He’ll get more pleasure out of it, anyway.”
“Hang in there, dude,” Jon said sympathetically, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Frank slumped against him, because Jon was always warm, and squishy, and smelled like home. Except right now when he sort of smelled like sex. Frank wrinkled his nose in displeasure.
Gerard came ambling around the side of the bus. He spotted them and gave Frank a sort of hesitant smile and waved at Jon. “Hey, guys.”
Jon tipped his glass at Gerard and nodded in greeting. “Gerard. How’s the record coming along?"
Gerard’s smile went from hesitant to dazzling like with a flip of a switch and immediately began babbling about the whole process, from writing to recording, and post-production and how he loved the new sound they were playing with, and how the whole band was gearing up to go on tour.
“It’ll be pretty awesome,” he said, “touring with you guys.”
“Yeah,” Frank agreed, but it felt like he was swallowing his tongue, “awesome.” It must have come out weird, because even Jon was giving him a concerned look.
Gerard looked at his feet. "What about you guys? Ryan said you were going to start recording soon?"
Jon was silent, leaving it to Frank to answer, something challenging in his gaze like maybe Ryan already explained things to him. So Frank cleared his throat and took a long swig of his drink, then felt like a complete asshole for it and dumped the rest out unceremoniously. Gerard watched him with a furrowed brow. "In about two weeks. Some of Brendon's friends know some people who know some people at this studio on the strip. Pretty nice place. Lots of big names have done some work there, Wayne Newton, Eminem, Avril. Guess it's a pretty big deal."
"That's awesome," Gerard said. He'd lost a bit of his previous enthusiasm, but still gave Frank an encouraging smile. "I can't wait to hear what it sounds like, all finished and polished."
"We're just doing a few tracks for now, something to sell, just an EP." Frank was trying to play it cool, but he sounded pretentious to his own ears.
"Still," Gerard said, "That's more than most people ever get to do."
Frank nodded and there was an awkward silence, where Jon refused to say anything, and Frank had no idea what to say. Gerard finally gave up, shrugging and giving them a wave. "Well, I'll look forward to it, then, and seeing you guys on tour."
Frank waited until he was out of sight before slumping back against Jon with a pitiful moan. Jon didn't seem all that sympathetic, but he patted Frank's hand absently in comfort.
*
Recording started out a lot like the rehearsals had, with lots of bitching from Ryan, tension from Brendon, and the clear disapproval of the producer Tom had hooked them up with. Frank was ready to quit after the first day and a half, and had to keep biting his tongue to keep from cussing Ryan out, or breaking his guitar over his head, or something.
By the end of the first week, everyone was feeling pretty much the same way, and Frank would happily go back to the days of having to quickly leave the room to avoid a free screening of an orgy if it meant none of the cold looks and stiff posture. The thing was, Frank couldn't even get on Ryan's case about it, because Ryan wasn't actively directing his complaints at Brendon. There was just a lot of passive-aggressive comments and heavy sighs and eye-rolling, and each time Brendon's shoulders got higher and his head dipped lower.
Friday night when they got home, Frank opened his laptop (which was actually Spencer's old laptop, but no one seemed to mind Frank claiming it for his own) to find an email from Gerard Way sitting in his inbox. He could only stare at it for several minutes, unable to react, wondering where the hell Gerard had even got his address. Down the hall he could hear Ryan and Spencer arguing in their bedroom and Jon and Brendon murmuring in the music room. Frank thumbed up the volume on his playlist and clicked on the message, which was without subject.
Hope this isn't too weird, it read, just emailing you out of nowhere. Ryan gave me your email. I know the recording process can get intense sometimes, but it's always worth it in the end. If you ever feel like talking about it, I'd be happy to listen.
This is Gerard by the way. Way.
Even with all the stress of the day--the week really--Frank couldn't help but smile. Gerard was probably just doing it to be nice. Maybe Ryan told him how rough things were or asked Gerard to email him to distract Frank from the slow-building rage he was feeling towards his band. Ryan in particular. Frank wasn't going to respond. He didn't want to seem that desperate. Still. He wasn't going to go deleting it, or anything.
He was still sitting there with a stupid smile on his face when Brendon came in. Frank closed the laptop and scooted over to make room on the mattress for Brendon to drop down beside him. This wasn't Frank's normal, spazzy, smiley best friend, but he wasn't as mopey as he'd been earlier, either. Frank lay his head on top of Brendon's where it rested on his shoulder. "Yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah," Brendon said. He let out a sigh and nuzzled closer. Frank looped an arm around his waist and waited. After a moment, Brendon sighed again and said, "I get it, you know? I know how important it is to him, and how much it means that he's letting me sing his lyrics. I just. I'm trying so hard, and I feel like I'm letting him down."
"Well," Frank said at length, "That's because you're a fucking moron."
Brendon scoffed. He dug his fingers into Frank's ribs right where he knew Frank was most ticklish. "Don't be an asshole. I'm trying to explain. I know you wanna, like, defend my honour or some shit, but as protective as you are of me, that's how he is about his lyrics."
"This is our band, Brendon, all of us together," Frank said. "I'm sorry you're in love with a bunch of shitheads who should be the ones defending your honour--"
There was a light rapping on the open door frame, and when Frank looked up to see Ryan, he didn't feel even remotely sorry. He jerked his chin at Ryan defiantly. "What do you want?"
"To talk to my boyfriend," Ryan said. "Fuck you."
Brendon tensed up, but Frank responded before he could. "Fuck me? Seriously? You wanna start this shit with me?"
"Guys," Brendon interrupted, putting a hand to Frank's chest. "It's cool."
"It really isn't," Frank said. "I thought we settled this ages ago, but apparently he can't even keep to the rules he helped come up with."
"I haven't said shit about Brendon's singing since we started," Ryan said.
"No," Frank agreed, "you just keep going on about how we're never gonna get things right and how we might as well give up now, after every goddamn take."
Ryan crossed his arms over his chest, curling into himself. He looked small and vulnerable, but the sharp angles of his elbows warned against touching. Brendon went to him anyway, hesitant at first, but then Ryan folded him into a hug, tight and desperate, and Frank felt like he was seeing something he wasn't supposed to. "I get it," Brendon breathed. "You need to trust us."
"I do," Ryan said, vehemence in his voice, in the way his fingers curled, one hand on Brendon's shirt, the other in his hair.
Frank balled his hands into fists and looked away. It was seriously difficult to be pissed off at Ryan when the guy came off as so fucking fragile. "You know we want this as badly as you do," he said.
"I know," Ryan agreed.
"Then maybe you could stop being such an ass and fighting us the entire fucking way, and work with us to figure it out, instead." When Frank chanced lifting his head, the look on Ryan's face suggested he'd heard this before, probably from Spencer.
Frank got it. He was a stubborn bastard in his own way, he knew, and just as emotionally fucked up as Ryan. How could he hold it against the guy? So Ryan sometimes was a douchebag to his boyfriends? At least he was nice to them a good 90% of the time, and Frank didn't doubt that Ryan loved them. Frank, meanwhile, was pretty good at convincing most of the world that he hated everyone. He was sure he'd managed to hurt Gerard's feelings entirely without meaning to, and couldn't even bring himself to apologise for it. At least Ryan was trying.
"We sound good, Ryan," Spencer said, and Frank jumped. He wondered how long he'd been standing in the dark hallway. "We're gonna get there." Then there was this seriously gay group hug going on in his doorway, because apparently Jon had been lurking out there, too, and they were all wound around Ryan who looked about ten seconds from crying.
"Jesus fuck," Frank grumbled. He levered himself to his feet, going over to them and insinuating himself into the hug. "I hate you all."
There was some wet sounding laughter, and someone licked Frank's ear--seriously, what the fuck was wrong with these people--and Jon said, "We love you, too, Frankie."
*
And it wasn't like recording got any easier after that, but Frank was a little more willing to be patient with Ryan's bullshit. Frank didn't usually worry about expressing himself and didn't care if people understood him or were offended by him, or whatever. But Ryan, for all his cool, disaffected exterior, cared a whole hell of a lot. Even after three award-winning poetry collections, speaking to thousands of eager and dedicated fans across the country, he still had this seriously wicked inferiority complex, and suddenly, instead of wanting to punch Ryan, Frank wanted to maybe shield him a little.
The others had their own ways of getting through to Ryan that tended to work pretty well, but it wasn't like they could just go down on him right there in the recording studio (their producer had the patience of a fucking saint, but Frank doubted it would stretch that far), and Spencer had rules about where and when it was acceptable to light up, and the studio was not one of those places.
After some trial and error, Frank found that, rather oddly, the best way to snap Ryan the fuck out of one of his attitudes was for Frank to be as obnoxiously loud and hyper as possible. It inevitably led to Ryan shouting and Frank shouting louder, and sometime Spencer throwing a drumstick, and then silence and lots of sideways glares and heavy breathing until Ryan would, inexplicably crack a smile, and Frank would sneer back at him, and Jon would roll his eyes, and Brendon would let out one of his little giggles, and then they were all laughing in a sweaty pile on the floor and their poor producer would put a weary hand to his weary head.
Somehow, in that fashion, they managed to record a self-titled, six song EP by the end of May. They had plenty of material for a full-length album, and the money to record it. But even Ryan agreed it was sort of pretentious, not to mention presumptuous, to record one without a label or any real fans to speak of. Northern Downpour was a pretty eclectic-sounding cd, but then again, they were a pretty eclectic band, so it worked. They'd each picked their favourite song to include, in addition to the given inclusion of Hey Moon. Brendon had picked Reinvent Love before Ryan could, so Ryan had settled on the ridiculously named (Frank had fought him on it forever) Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off, because he said Brendon sounded fucking hot singing it, and Frank had to agree. Jon had picked That Green Gentleman and Spencer But It's Better if You Do, finished off with Frank's choice of Camisado.
Their poor producer had slaved for days trying to arrange the songs in some sort of organic order before giving it up as a lost cause, and just put them in chronological order. He'd pushed pretty hard for them to reconsider the name of the album. He was rather fond of a line from That Green Gentleman, and they all had to agree that "pretty odd" did do a good job of describing them and their EP, but it felt more honest, at least for this stage of things, to stick with the self-title.
After the last day of recording, Frank took a very nervous Brendon to his very first tattoo parlour to celebrate. For Frank, it was just his way of commemorating an important moment in his life, but Brendon had been considering his own tattoo for a very long time. Ryan knew a place where he trusted the artist and Frank knew it was the right place when the guy managed to calm Brendon's nerves and help him figure out what exactly he wanted done. Frank held his hand the entire time, making sure he kept breathing when the pain got too bad. Frank's own tattoo took a lot less time in comparison--tucked between his wolf and his Frankenstein, the small, fancy font read, give me envy, give me malice, give me your attention.
They went home with pizza and beer and popped in their very own cd. It was kookie and the pacing of the whole thing was off and it wasn't the sort of music Frank had ever imagined playing or liking. But listening to it all the way through for the first time, lying together on the floor of the music room, Frank had never been more proud of anything in this life. Brendon's fingers squeezed where they were linked through Frank's, and Frank turned his head to meet Brendon's gaze. Brendon was beaming like an idiot, but Frank had a feeling his expression was pretty much the same.
"Guys," Ryan said, annoyance plain from just one syllable. He scooped up a handful of snow and blew it in their direction, but Frank just laughed out loud and it snowed harder.
*
Technically speaking, Northern Downpour wasn't supposed to have a bus. They were unsigned and unknown, and they'd never done a real show outside of the TAI one, and newbies were supposed to earn their right to a bus. But Ryan Ross was sort of a primadonna and he could afford it, and said they'd need the air-conditioning anyway since Brendon got faint in the heat, so they ended up with a bus. Frank immediately set down ground rules about where there could and could not be gay orgies. Realistically, he knew he wasn't going to stop them no matter what he said, so at least he could make sure it wouldn't be somewhere he was likely to sit.
In the end, it worked out rather well for him. They got the back lounge, but only when he wasn't on the bus, and in return he always got First Shower, and the right to the last of any food or beverage in the kitchenette, plus he got to pick his bunk first. Not that it really mattered--all the bunks were the same length and had the same flat mattresses, but it was the principle of the thing, so Frank claimed the top bunk furthest back on the right and shoved his dufflebag in the empty one beneath.
They were meeting up with the rest of the bands for the start of the tour in L.A., and Frank's stomach had been knotted pretty tightly for at least the past week. He'd never thought he was the sort to get nervous, but apparently he'd been wrong. He was fucking stoked, sure, but it would be nice if he didn't feel like he was going to barf half the time, and they weren't even at the goddamn venue yet. He had horrible visions of puking into the pit or something, and decided to swear off food for at least twenty-four hours leading up the show.
It didn't make any sense, because they'd done a few shows already, and he'd had some nerves then, but nothing like this.
"Maybe because we're not just an opening act this time?" Brendon mused, when Frank commented on it. They were lying together in Brendon's bottom bunk, Brendon with his feet tucked against the ceiling, Frank curled on his side, face buried in Brendon's neck. It was warm and comfortable, and Brendon smelled like sugar, which somehow calmed Frank's stomach. Brendon twirled a strand of Frank's newly sapphire blue hair around his finger. "Or maybe it's because you know Gerard will be there, this time."
Frank groaned, pulling the punch to Brendon's side. "God, don't remind me. You're the worst friend ever."
Like he could forget. It was pretty much all he could think about. Gerard had emailed twice more since that first time. The second one Frank wasn't even sure was meant for him, because it was a sort of rambling and incoherent dissertation on the decline of graphic novels in the 21st century. The last had only been two days before, and had simply read can't wait to see you guys :) which was generic enough that Frank rationalised Gerard must have sent it as a mass email to everyone he knew that was going to be on tour. Either way, he didn't respond to any of them.
Brendon tugged hard on Frank's hair. "Frank, you've been here for months and you haven't hooked up with anybody. And I'm shocked. And a little worried. At least five of the guys from the club are into you, and if that isn't your thing, Tara is hot. So you can say all you want that you're over him, or whatever, but I'm not buying it. You should do something about it."
"He emailed me," Frank admitted, because he could get pissy with Brendon, but they both knew he was speaking the truth.
"Oh my god, what did you say?"
Frank nosed at Brendon's hairline and mumbled, "Nothing."
Brendon was unimpressed, apparently. He shoved Frank away and rolled on his side to face him. "Dude, why are you being such a huge asshole? He's being friendly."
"Exactly," Frank said. "He's a nice guy. He probably realised what an incredible loser I am and emailed me to be nice because that's what stupidly gorgeous, famous, nice people do."
Brendon gave him a pitying look and stroked his hair. "I worry about you Frank," he said in a pompous tone that made Frank push him out of the bunk. It wasn't very satisfying; Brendon just hovered there, a few inches off the floor, smiling in a condescending sort of way. It was a sad state of affairs when Brendon was able to (fairly) give him that look.
*
Frank stepped down from the bus and was immediately hit when the scent of cheap beer so overwhelming he thought he might be able to get drunk just breathing it in. Rows of buses gleamed in the sunlight and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes. In the distance, a band was already playing on the main stage and over the music was the general chaos of the parking lot. There were techs running around everywhere, hauling equipment and arguing with headsets, vendors organising their wares, musicians in various states of undress gathered in the shade with red plastic cups.
Tom and Mike found them before they could wander very far, which was probably for the best. None of them knew what they were doing, but Frank was more than happy to figure it out through trial and error, and it would probably land them in a fair amount of trouble. Northern Downpour was set to play on side stage 2 at four. It wasn't exactly the best location or time, but it was better than some of the bands who were signed and had toured before, and Frank seriously wasn't complaining.
Jon knew his way around the backstage area and was entirely unfazed by all the famous rock stars milling about. He, along with the Butcher and Tom helped show the rest of the band around, getting their stuff unloaded and moved to stage 2. He also managed to sweet talk TAI's merch girl into handling their merch, too, which was fairly simple seeing as it consisted of two patterns of shirts, some stickers, and their cd.
Frank didn't get sick, but it was a near thing. The kids--because not a single one could have been older than twenty--were enthusiastic, dancing along and singing the choruses of their songs back at them. Frank kept looking to the side of the stage, paranoid that he'd see Gerard standing there. He refused to be disappointed when the set ended and he hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of him. He tried to be totally nonchalant when he threw a sweaty arm around Ryan and asked, "So, happen to know when the--"
"Nine-thirty, main stage," Ryan said, smiling blandly, and wow, Frank was really that pathetic.
They grabbed a quick bite to eat in the tent backstage, where Frank and Brendon commiserated over the lack of any decent vegetarian choices and ended up having muffins and oranges. The Academy Is...was performing at six, so they took the food with them and stood backstage to watch them perform. Frank had been too high on adrenaline at their first show to pay much attention, but they actually had a huge gathering of hardcore fans, holding up signs, scrambling to touch Bill's hand, screaming whenever Tom and Bill got close. Frank couldn't help but hope that Downpour would have such dedicated fans someday.
By the time TAI's set had finished, the backstage area had calmed down considerably. The side stages shut down and all the headlining bands had their own techies who handled things quickly and proficiently. William introduced them to Gabe just before Cobra Starship went on, and while they weren't his normal type of music, Frank had to appreciate the sarcasm in their lyrics and the beat that made him want to dance.
While Cobra was playing, more and more people began to flood the back stage area. Cobra, along with Taking Back Sunday and My Chem were the headliners for the show, and the ramp leading up to the main stage was over-crowded. Frank probably could have kept his space, but Ryan was clearly uncomfortable with the press of bodies on all sides, and besides, Frank didn't want to call that much attention to himself, so he convinced everyone to head out into the audience with him, lingering at the edge.
The stage was different from how it had been over the winter with the Black Parade set-up. Now it was very bare bones, straight up rock and roll. Frank figured that with as long as they'd been doing the Black Parade, they were due a break.
Matt and Mikey were the first to come out, caught in the occasional flash of the spotlight, and Frank strained forward, waiting. He was fucking lame, he knew it, because he'd seen Gerard in person now, had a chance to actually get to know him, and he'd totally fucking blown it, but he couldn't help that feeling of anticipation that rose up from his stomach as he waited for Gerard to come onto stage.
Headfirst for Halos started and the lights came up. Gerard strutted on stage in a pair of skin-tight black jeans and a fitted black tee that showed off his nicely toned, faintly tanned arms. It wasn't all that dramatic a change from his normal look, but there was something defiant and sure in his posture that made all the difference. Like he was suddenly aware of his own hotass-ness.
His hair wasn't the same shocking blond it had been, but a darker, golden colour that didn't wash him out so much, and he looked a lot slimmer, standing hips cocked at the mic as he began to sing. Then he did this thing with his hips and rolled back his shoulders, shoving his hair out of his face and...yeah. Frank was so done for.
"Ooh, Gerard," Gabe said after a minute, and tilted his head to the side, "maybe I've been spending too much time with the wrong brother."
Frank managed to tear his gaze away to see them both Gabe and William giving Gerard appreciative looks.
"Okay," Spencer said, leaning into Frank's side. "I guess you're allowed to be a little bit stupid around him."
Which? Frank already knew. And if they hadn't seen how stupidly hot Gerard was when he was all pale and dark and tragic-looking, then it was their incredible loss. But this new look really wasn't going to make things any easier...
*
Bill had taken it upon himself to make sure Northern Downpour fit in on tour. It was easy for Jon, who knew a lot of the people already. Being in with him and TAI was all it took for most of them to decide that the rest of the members of Downpour were good people. Between his post-show high and being entirely star-struck from the MCR show, the night mostly passed too quickly for Frank to really experience it. He was introduced to roughly forty people over the course of their first evening on tour. Given the alcohol he was consuming, plus the fact that he wasn't so great with names to begin with, Frank gave it up for a lost cause after the first ten.
Luckily, Gabe was happy to stick by his side after Bill had disappeared with Tom. The entirety of Cobra Starship were pretty rad, but Frank was particularly fond of Gabe. He was Frank's sort of dude--Gabe was a shameless douchebag, but fiercely loyal to his friends, and Frank totally related to that. Halfway through their fifth round of tequila shots, Frank spotted Gerard coming their way and shrank a little bit behind Gabe's impressive height.
Gabe greeted Gerard with a handshake/chest-bump thing that was sort of ridiculous. Gerard agreed, if his expression was any indication, but he went along with it. "I like the new songs," Gerard told him, with the sort of casual tone that suggested the two of them knew one another pretty well. Frank remembered reading something about Mikey and Gabe being friends, so it made sense.
"You met my boy Frankie yet?" Gabe asked, tossing an arm around Frank.
Frank ducked his head and Gerard said, "Yeah, we met a few months back."
"Sorry," Frank said, pointing somewhere over Gerard's shoulder. He really didn't trust himself not to say something really embarrassing in his current condition, and with Gerard all sweaty and bare-armed. "I gotta. Bathroom," and ducked out from under Gabe's arm, hurrying away.
Gabe found him later and Frank confessed his complete hopelessness when it came to Gerard Way, while Gabe confessed his similar hopelessness when it came to Mikey Way. Then they bonded over excessive drinking with shots on the Cobra's bus, followed by three hours of making out, followed by some very drunken soul baring, followed by some more making out.
Frank woke up in an unfamiliar bunk the next morning. He stumbled out into the front lounge where Gabe, Nate, and Vicky-T were sprawled out on the sofa watching what appeared to be a fly-fishing documentary. They mumbled greetings and scooted over to make room for him.
"What am I doing here?" Frank asked after a minute, looking around with a frown.
"Ryan said he didn't want you hurling in his bus," Vicky said.
"Like it's any worse than what they're gonna do on that bus," Frank muttered darkly. A thought occurred to him, that they'd probably engineered this situation so they could have uninterrupted sex. His frown deepened.
Gabe patted him absently on the knee. "I always say, what's a little bodily fluid between friends?"
"That's sweet, Gabe," Frank said.
It was cool and dark on the bus, and there was something vaguely hypnotic and soothing about the fly-fishing that made Frank's hangover headache recede. Gabe was a vegetarian, too, and had some awesome breakfast burritos in the mini-fridge. That, along with a Red Bull, went a long way to quell his stomach. The situation was definitely chiller than an average morning at home with Frank's band, and Frank didn't mind the chaos, he really didn't, but this was nice, too.
They were in Sacramento already, and it was close to noon, which meant that there were already bands setting up for the first set of shows. Frank sort of wanted to stay in the air-conditioning, but Ryan had mentioned going out and hanging at the merch booth to meet their fans, and obviously the heat was worth it for that.
On the way to his own bus, he saw Gerard, Ray, and Mikey standing around with another band, all laughing over something one of the dudes was doing on a skateboard. Frank ducked his head and walked past faster, but he couldn't help looking out of the corner of his eye. Gerard glanced his way, lifting his hand to wave, and Frank ducked his head disappearing between the rows of buses. Gerard didn't call out or come after him, so whatever.
*
Frank had been wrong about the demographics of his band's fans. Sure, there were a fucking ton of little teeny-bopper girls gathering around Ryan and Brendon, giggling and batting their lashes. But there were a surprising amount of older, college aged sorts hanging out, quite a few who wouldn't look out of place at a My Chem concert. Frank had a few lengthy and interesting conversations with some chicks and a dude who really knew their shit when it came to guitars and rock 'n roll.
Their crowd was nothing compared to the lines waiting for autographs at the tents for the main attractions, but it was still damn cool. They sold a shitload of cds and signed all of them, which was fucking surreal and awesome.
Brendon got asked to sign more than one set of tits; Frank could only giggle helplessly while Brendon babbled wide-eyed excuses and the rest of their band glared. Spencer's epic bitch-face was enough to scare even the most shameless of the girls off. Several of the kids kept bringing them free beer, and Frank had to eventually cut them off, as their own stage time grew closer.
When Gerard didn't show up for their second show, Frank decided he didn't give a flying fuck. He'd been right, Gerard was just being nice with the emails, and now he was busy surrounded by real rock stars and that was just fine. It made Frank's life easier. He could concentrate on crowding up behind Brendon as he sang, or biting Ryan on the neck and making him stutter mid-verse during Reinvent Love, and pressing his back to Jon's while the two of them rocked out.
And the crowd. A fair number of the fans closest to the stage were already wearing Northern Downpour shirts, singing the songs in their entirety. He couldn't help feeling a little bad about how distracted he'd been during the last show.
"It's fucking insane," Frank said, when they were headed towards their bus, too fucking hot and sore to do anything other than lounge. "They know all our goddamn lyrics already!"
"There are videos of us from the TAI concerts up online. We have a lj group about us," Ryan said, in this monotone like it didn't mean a fucking thing to him when the rest of the band knew better. Frank had to get that link and forward it to Pete so he could troll.
They rounded the building where the press had camped out and Gerard was outside, smoking a cigarette, foot braced against the wall. The gape of his shirt gave the barest glimpse of a nipple and smooth belly skin. A million scenarios ran through Frank's brain, of Frank shoving Gerard back against the wall, running a hand through his damp hair, him on his knees pushing up the shirt to taste that skin. Gerard looked like he was wilting in the sun, and Frank's hands would leave frost where there had been sweat.
Gerard blew out a stream of smoke and looked over the whole group. "Hey," he called.
Ryan cocked his head in greeting and started to make his way over, and the rest of the band followed in suit.
Frank wavered a moment. Was it worse to go over and make a total fool out of himself by drooling all over the guy, or to let Gerard go on thinking he was an anti-social asshole? In the end, it wasn't much of a choice. He flipped his hair out of his face and made sure not to let Gerard catch his eye. "I'll hook up with you guys later," Frank said over his shoulder, and legged it back to the bus.
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