boredom in the morning
lame
by Charli J.
"Pete says that--" Mikey starts, looking at the screen of his phone, and it throws Bob off for a second until he remembers, oh, yeah, Pete Wentz. Mikey must be checking his email or something. "He says that you two could be the spokespeople for crippled bad asses everywhere between your hand and his ankle. He thinks you two could start a gang."
"Doesn't he have better things to do?" Bob asks instead of asking Mikey why he's talking to Pete Wentz about Bob and Bob's unfortunate injuries. He might be a little sore about the fact that it's hardly been a year, and he's dealing with yet another physical issue. "And I'm not crippled, I'm just -- "
"Temporarily out-of-service," Gerard supplies, and then he pauses to drink from his can of soda. Gerard's helpful like that.
"Yeah," Bob says, and Mikey's typing on his keypad, concentrated on the task. They're all used to his darker hair by now and don't really look up and expect to see the glasses, but sometimes Bob's still caught by how much more stern Mikey's expressions can come across.
When he gives them his attention again, Mikey says, "He has -- his words, man, not mine -- he has more things to do than you, since you aren't even playing shows. He says join his gang, because it can -- oh."
Mikey's phone has started ringing then, so he presses a button and puts it to his ear. Answering the call, he says, "Hey? Hey, yeah, I was just reading it to him -- No, he's right here... Okay. Okay, yeah, hold on."
"Uh," Bob says when Mikey hold out the cell in the next instant and shakes his arm a little, indicating that he's trying to make a pass. "Dude, I don't want to -- "
"Humor him," Gerard says. He tips his can of soda all the way up as he takes one last drink and then exhales dramatically once he's finished. He coves his mouth with his sleeve and burps, laughing into the fabric a little at his own display. "There's no shame in fragile men commiserating together."
Gerard has officially stopped being helpful. Bob takes the phone from Mikey's hand just as he says, "That sounds like you're suggesting a support group, and I don't need my support being Pe-- hey."
"Bob!" Pete says, dragging the name out in an exaggerated greeting. "Patrick told me, man, about your similar state of fucked up. Sorry to hear it."
"Yeah," Bob says. "What's yours again? I think Mikey mentioned your foot or something. You might be a little worse off in the mobility department."
Pete says, "And yet we didn't cancel any shows."
"That's a cheap shot," Bob says. Both Mikey and Gerard are looking at him casually, following his end of the conversation. It starts to weird Bob out after a minute, having their eyes trained on him while he talks to Pete, so he looks down at his lap. "You don't play bass with your foot."
"It's on my To-Do list for 2008, once I've been out of this boot for a while."
Bob can hear random murmurs in the background on his end occasionally. There's the sound of a tinny explosion, and Bob figures he must be watching a movie. He wonders which one.
"You're touring the States now, right? How's clubbing around in a bus?"
"It fucking sucks," Pete says with emphasis on the last word the way he often repeated, "Mikey, come on," throughout a summer two years ago and again the few time Bob saw Pete last year.
It's kind of funny that that's Bob's immediate association with them, as if Pete had spent the past two years trying to convince Mikey of things and persuading him to participate in one crazy situation or another. And it wasn't that Pete hadn't done that, but Mikey did his share of it, too. Off the record, Bob thinks it's been something like two years since they've dated, but that didn't stop Frank from making badly-timed Brokeback Mountain jokes. He spent a good three days talking about how Pete couldn't quit Mikey last year, and it was funny until it seemed like Pete and Mikey really weren't speaking for a while there.
Mikey's accepting emails from Pete about Bob's wrist though now, so apparently they're all good again.
"Although," Pete adds, and there's a break in his words as it sounds like he shuffles around. "I have figured out how to work the perks."
Bob laughs. "Like what?"
"Oh, dude, don't tell me you're not making people do things for you left and right?"
"Yeah, right. It's different for me; I can still walk around easily this time," Bob says. He crosses his ankles in front of him, punctuating the statement even though Pete can't see it.
"Are you kidding me? I could work that wrist thing in so many -- dude, just -- hold on -- Joe!"
He shouts, but Pete's voice gets farther away as he does. Bob gives a pre-emptive chuckle, and shortly after Pete calls Joe again, Bob can hear another voice in the background.
Closer to the phone, Pete says, "Hey, I just -- can't find the remote, and it's a hassle to actually get up, you know?"
Bob hears someone -- Joe -- say, "Pete, the. Dude, the remote's by your foot. You don't even have to get out of bed, you just have to sit --"
"Ahh, Joe, my leg," Pete interrupts, hissing, and Bob laughs openly on his end of the line. "I think -- I don't know, but I think I have a broken fibula --"
"Okay, okay," Joe says, giving into Pete's bad manipulation. Things go a little quieter as Pete thanks Joe and there's more shuffling. Bob chuckles, and when he looks up Gerard is smiling at him faintly.
On the phone, Bob can hear Joe murmur something, and then Pete echos, "Oh, my coffee? No, no, I don't think I'm out yet. Thanks, man. Hey, send my dog in here? Please? Thanks. You're a winner, dude; stay with me forever." After a couple moments of silence, Pete's voice sounds a lot closer when he says, "Tadah. See, Bryar? Perks."
"You make your band help you change the channel?"
Pete says, "Look, it's a slow hour. This morning, Patrick and Joe brought me food and caffeine."
Bob's wrist itches, but he can't really scratch it with the brace and wrap covering it. He rubs his arm against he thigh, and says, "Sounds good."
"Sounds perfect," Pete corrects. He breaks off into laughter, and Bob hears the bark of a dog -- Pete's dog. "Alright, man, my date just got here, and he's high-maintenance, so I'm gonna leave you alone."
"Okay, Pete," Bob says. "Um, thanks? I guess. For calling. Get better."
"Thank you, hey, you, too." Pete takes a moment to mutter something to his dog, and then, for Bob, adds, "And, yo, get one of those guys over there to give you a hand massage or something. You fucking deserve it."
Bob laughs. "Thanks for the reminder."
"No problem, man. Alright, I'm going, I'm going," Pete says. "But rememeber: don't settle for less than the best during your time of need, Bob. It's a motto I live by right now."
"I hear you loud and clear."
"Okay, I'll stop fucking with you, dude. Tell Mikey I'll talk to him later or something," Pete says. "Later, Bob."
Bob says goodbye and ends the call, immediately passing the phone off to Mikey again. As he does, Bob says, "Your friend..." and trails off, because there's no shortage of ways that sentence could end.
Mikey simply shrugs.
"What'd he say?" Gerard asks, and Bob shakes his head, smirking.
"He said you should be pampering me," Bob says, and then he looks down at his hand and tries to will away the itch with the power of his mind. It doesn't work.
"Yeah?" Gerard asks, and his mouth quirks as if he's about to laugh.
Bob says, "Yeah," considering the conversations he's just had, and then asks, "And you know what -- Where's Frank? Frank! Stop trying to Google bio-bubbles and come in here and help me with something..."
by Charli J.
"Pete says that--" Mikey starts, looking at the screen of his phone, and it throws Bob off for a second until he remembers, oh, yeah, Pete Wentz. Mikey must be checking his email or something. "He says that you two could be the spokespeople for crippled bad asses everywhere between your hand and his ankle. He thinks you two could start a gang."
"Doesn't he have better things to do?" Bob asks instead of asking Mikey why he's talking to Pete Wentz about Bob and Bob's unfortunate injuries. He might be a little sore about the fact that it's hardly been a year, and he's dealing with yet another physical issue. "And I'm not crippled, I'm just -- "
"Temporarily out-of-service," Gerard supplies, and then he pauses to drink from his can of soda. Gerard's helpful like that.
"Yeah," Bob says, and Mikey's typing on his keypad, concentrated on the task. They're all used to his darker hair by now and don't really look up and expect to see the glasses, but sometimes Bob's still caught by how much more stern Mikey's expressions can come across.
When he gives them his attention again, Mikey says, "He has -- his words, man, not mine -- he has more things to do than you, since you aren't even playing shows. He says join his gang, because it can -- oh."
Mikey's phone has started ringing then, so he presses a button and puts it to his ear. Answering the call, he says, "Hey? Hey, yeah, I was just reading it to him -- No, he's right here... Okay. Okay, yeah, hold on."
"Uh," Bob says when Mikey hold out the cell in the next instant and shakes his arm a little, indicating that he's trying to make a pass. "Dude, I don't want to -- "
"Humor him," Gerard says. He tips his can of soda all the way up as he takes one last drink and then exhales dramatically once he's finished. He coves his mouth with his sleeve and burps, laughing into the fabric a little at his own display. "There's no shame in fragile men commiserating together."
Gerard has officially stopped being helpful. Bob takes the phone from Mikey's hand just as he says, "That sounds like you're suggesting a support group, and I don't need my support being Pe-- hey."
"Bob!" Pete says, dragging the name out in an exaggerated greeting. "Patrick told me, man, about your similar state of fucked up. Sorry to hear it."
"Yeah," Bob says. "What's yours again? I think Mikey mentioned your foot or something. You might be a little worse off in the mobility department."
Pete says, "And yet we didn't cancel any shows."
"That's a cheap shot," Bob says. Both Mikey and Gerard are looking at him casually, following his end of the conversation. It starts to weird Bob out after a minute, having their eyes trained on him while he talks to Pete, so he looks down at his lap. "You don't play bass with your foot."
"It's on my To-Do list for 2008, once I've been out of this boot for a while."
Bob can hear random murmurs in the background on his end occasionally. There's the sound of a tinny explosion, and Bob figures he must be watching a movie. He wonders which one.
"You're touring the States now, right? How's clubbing around in a bus?"
"It fucking sucks," Pete says with emphasis on the last word the way he often repeated, "Mikey, come on," throughout a summer two years ago and again the few time Bob saw Pete last year.
It's kind of funny that that's Bob's immediate association with them, as if Pete had spent the past two years trying to convince Mikey of things and persuading him to participate in one crazy situation or another. And it wasn't that Pete hadn't done that, but Mikey did his share of it, too. Off the record, Bob thinks it's been something like two years since they've dated, but that didn't stop Frank from making badly-timed Brokeback Mountain jokes. He spent a good three days talking about how Pete couldn't quit Mikey last year, and it was funny until it seemed like Pete and Mikey really weren't speaking for a while there.
Mikey's accepting emails from Pete about Bob's wrist though now, so apparently they're all good again.
"Although," Pete adds, and there's a break in his words as it sounds like he shuffles around. "I have figured out how to work the perks."
Bob laughs. "Like what?"
"Oh, dude, don't tell me you're not making people do things for you left and right?"
"Yeah, right. It's different for me; I can still walk around easily this time," Bob says. He crosses his ankles in front of him, punctuating the statement even though Pete can't see it.
"Are you kidding me? I could work that wrist thing in so many -- dude, just -- hold on -- Joe!"
He shouts, but Pete's voice gets farther away as he does. Bob gives a pre-emptive chuckle, and shortly after Pete calls Joe again, Bob can hear another voice in the background.
Closer to the phone, Pete says, "Hey, I just -- can't find the remote, and it's a hassle to actually get up, you know?"
Bob hears someone -- Joe -- say, "Pete, the. Dude, the remote's by your foot. You don't even have to get out of bed, you just have to sit --"
"Ahh, Joe, my leg," Pete interrupts, hissing, and Bob laughs openly on his end of the line. "I think -- I don't know, but I think I have a broken fibula --"
"Okay, okay," Joe says, giving into Pete's bad manipulation. Things go a little quieter as Pete thanks Joe and there's more shuffling. Bob chuckles, and when he looks up Gerard is smiling at him faintly.
On the phone, Bob can hear Joe murmur something, and then Pete echos, "Oh, my coffee? No, no, I don't think I'm out yet. Thanks, man. Hey, send my dog in here? Please? Thanks. You're a winner, dude; stay with me forever." After a couple moments of silence, Pete's voice sounds a lot closer when he says, "Tadah. See, Bryar? Perks."
"You make your band help you change the channel?"
Pete says, "Look, it's a slow hour. This morning, Patrick and Joe brought me food and caffeine."
Bob's wrist itches, but he can't really scratch it with the brace and wrap covering it. He rubs his arm against he thigh, and says, "Sounds good."
"Sounds perfect," Pete corrects. He breaks off into laughter, and Bob hears the bark of a dog -- Pete's dog. "Alright, man, my date just got here, and he's high-maintenance, so I'm gonna leave you alone."
"Okay, Pete," Bob says. "Um, thanks? I guess. For calling. Get better."
"Thank you, hey, you, too." Pete takes a moment to mutter something to his dog, and then, for Bob, adds, "And, yo, get one of those guys over there to give you a hand massage or something. You fucking deserve it."
Bob laughs. "Thanks for the reminder."
"No problem, man. Alright, I'm going, I'm going," Pete says. "But rememeber: don't settle for less than the best during your time of need, Bob. It's a motto I live by right now."
"I hear you loud and clear."
"Okay, I'll stop fucking with you, dude. Tell Mikey I'll talk to him later or something," Pete says. "Later, Bob."
Bob says goodbye and ends the call, immediately passing the phone off to Mikey again. As he does, Bob says, "Your friend..." and trails off, because there's no shortage of ways that sentence could end.
Mikey simply shrugs.
"What'd he say?" Gerard asks, and Bob shakes his head, smirking.
"He said you should be pampering me," Bob says, and then he looks down at his hand and tries to will away the itch with the power of his mind. It doesn't work.
"Yeah?" Gerard asks, and his mouth quirks as if he's about to laugh.
Bob says, "Yeah," considering the conversations he's just had, and then asks, "And you know what -- Where's Frank? Frank! Stop trying to Google bio-bubbles and come in here and help me with something..."