More Than You Could Ever Know 1/8

[moku_youbi]

It was two weeks after Christmas when Santa swung by the studio, casting disapproving looks at Frank’s uniform and the way Pete was cuddling up to Patrick when he should have been at his own job. “You know,” Santa had said, “anyone else uncomfortable living by Christmastown rules is more than welcome to leave, too.”

Frankly, two weeks was longer than Frank had thought he could manage. He’d gotten a taste of life outside in Vegas. Granted, it was just a couple days, and he hadn’t seen much outside of Ryan’s house, but it had been enough to confirm what he’d always thought. Christmastown was not the place for him.

Pete had smiled beatifically and said, “I love it here,” and Patrick had looked long-suffering in a fond way.

Frank had jumped up and said, “Shit yeah. I am so out of here.” He’d felt a little bad, because he’d miss them, and Greta, but he had a mission.

He wasn’t going to go into this all half-assed like Brendon had. He found a library in the first decent sized Canadian town he encountered. There, he’d did some research. My Chemical Romance was on tour promoting their third album, and there was no fucking way Frank was going to miss it for anything.

Maybe it wasn’t the nicest thing to do, taking all of Brendon’s DVDs and CDs, and selling them at the first pawn shop south of the Canadian border, but whatever. Brendon hadn’t come back for them and Frank couldn’t sell his *own* CDs, which he’d also brought along-some of them were really difficult to find even outside of the North Pole. And anyway, Ryan, Spencer, and Jon had a pretty impressive collection themselves, and they seemed rich. They could buy new ones.

Also, between the North Pole and arriving in America, he’d used all the special powder Santa had given him for the Brendon retrieval mission. Now he was entirely dependent on regular, human means of transportation.

Frank attended his first My Chemical Romance concert on January 11th in Seattle, Washington. Maybe it wasn’t the most glamorous of venues for his first time, but he didn’t even care. The show was everything he’d hoped for and more.

All the good seats had been sold out, but he showed up early and managed to get a fairly decently priced pit ticket from the scalpers. He would have paid a lot more. He wasn’t at the head of the line, but through a combination of being seriously tiny, possessing of sharp elbows, and being vicious as fuck, he managed to make his way to the front of the pit once inside. He planted his feet, wrapped his arms around the barrier, and fucking dared anyone to try and move him. Whether it was down to luck, or because he was just scary looking, no one really bothered him.

The opening band passed by in a blur of colour and sound. They weren’t bad. They may even have been good. But Frank was too distracted by anticipation to pay them much attention. His mind kept wandering, building scenarios, until the sound of the band just became a distant background noise.

Between the sets, the crowd grew restless. At least forty-five minutes passed between the opening set and My Chem, but Frank didn’t budge. In the dark he could see the men setting things up. The drums were assembled before his very eyes. There was Ray’s guitar, and Matt’s. Someone taped a set list in front of the microphone that Gerard Way was going to be singing into.

They came on stage at last, to roars and bright lights and Frank could only stare breathlessly. Not even the mosh pit going on rather violently behind him, feet in his ribs, people shoving, could distract him. He had to see everything.

Bob was solid and stoic and Ray was in his own zone, seemingly oblivious to the rest of his band, grinning like a madman. Mikey and Matt were engaged in some friendly, back and forth shoving and kicking, but Frank couldn’t spare much attention to any of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off Gerard, only really noticing the others when they ended up in Gerard’s space-which they inevitably did. Gerard was on fire, bouncing around the stage like a man possessed-grinding on Matt, resting his head on Mikey’s shoulder, going down on his knees at Ray’s feet.

There was a point during Cemetery Drive when Gerard got low at the edge of the stage and for a few electric, heart-stopping seconds, Gerard’s fingers touched Frank’s. Except then Gerard moved on, touching other hands, eyes far away, somewhere where the lyrics were memories.

Frank was left breathless with want-for more touch, to be a part of those memories playing through Gerard’s mind.

The band went south to Portland next, and Frank found a trucker heading that way who was nice, but not in a creepy way. The second concert was the very next night. It was general admission, and even though Frank had to fight his way there during the opening act, he ended up in the front again.

When Gerard saw him, there was recognition in his eyes and he gave Frank a bright, beautiful smile that Frank felt like a physical blow. Frank ended up with one of Matt’s picks and a drumstick, but that was more out of luck than anything else. He barely noticed the others playing.

My Chem went on to California, but Frank could only find a ride with a van-full of guys heading towards Utah, so that was where he went. From there, he found another ride to Flagstaff, and waited a few days for the band to catch up with him. In the meantime, he met a few people from the local music scene and managed to crash on their couches.

When Frank went to his fourth concert, Gerard laughed and said something about their new stalker. After that, Frank started hanging out towards the back of the venues, something heavy and sick in his stomach. Of course it was ridiculous, thinking he would be special, somehow. Instead, he was little better than some star struck teenager, writing Mrs. Frank Way on all his textbooks.

The money from Brendon’s movies ran out after a total of seven shows, ending Frank in Texas. Then it took two days, a semi, an RV of college kids and one tour bus of old ladies to get Frank to Las Vegas. Luckily, the driver of the tour was from a suburb of Vegas, and after Frank described the area where Ryan’s house was, they were able to drop him off in the neighbourhood.

It was late morning when Frank spotted the right house. He’d been on enough doggie constitutionals that he was familiar with the neighbourhood and the houses, and Ryan’s garden was different from the rest, with little eccentric touches-fancy, handmade mosaic stepping stones, and whimsical decorations.

Not to mention the faint frost that clung to only this lawn, long after the sun should have thawed it (never mind the fact that there probably shouldn’t be frost in the first place…)

Spencer answered the door wearing sweatpants and a scowl, pushing the hair back from his face. He looked as though he’d just woken up, but when he saw Frank, his eyes widened. He swung the door mostly shut and glared. “You’re not taking him back,” Spencer said fiercely.

Frank was really glad that Brendon had people who loved him so much, even if it made Frank feel a little lonely. He tried to look as unthreatening as possible, palms out at his chest. “Nope. Broke out myself. Sanctuary?”

Spencer looked suspicious, but he stepped back and opened the door wider for Frank to enter. “Well, Brendon isn’t here right now. I’m the only one.”

“Sorry I woke you,” Frank said, following Spencer down the hall.

Spencer waved a dismissive hand. “Eh, I worked a double-shift last night, but I should be up by now, anyway. Want some coffee?” He led the way through to the kitchen and started a pot before sitting at the table opposite Frank. “So, Brendon said you’ve been mailing him since he came back.”

“Yes,” Frank agreed. He gave Spencer a challenging look, tilted his chin up in that way that Pete envied, that said you gotta fucking problem? “He’s my best friend.”

The dogs came scampering in to investigate the new smell and guest and Frank got down on his knees to bury his face in Boba’s neck. “Hi guys!” he said, and giggled when Hobo painted his face in kisses.

Spencer watched them with an indulgent smile. “He didn’t say anything about you coming,” Spencer said.

Oh. Well. Maybe Frank should give the guy the benefit of the doubt. “I wanted to surprise him,” Frank said, careful to keep his lips close together against the dogs’ tongues. “You know, I never wanted to take him away from you guys. Even when Santa sent me. I missed him, sure, but I know he’s happy with you guys. We both said for years we were gonna leave and never did, and with Brendon gone, what was keeping me? So I left.”

Spencer snorted. “So you left,” he echoed. “Did you come as well-equipped for the real world as Brendon?”

Frank smirked. “I’m not dressed in my uniform and stranded in the desert, so I think I did pretty fan-fucking-tastic,” he said.

Spencer finally cracked a smile. “You’re planning on staying away for good?” Frank nodded. He patted the dogs and got to his feet, taking a seat at the table. Spencer got up to pour their coffee. “Brendon’ll be really happy,” he said.

“When’ll he be back?” Frank asked, ankle knocking rhythmically against a rung on the chair. He’d been so distracted by Gerard Way in the past week, he’d barely thought of anything else, but now all he could think about was seeing Brendon.

Spencer glanced at the clock above the stove. It was getting late in the day, the sun almost set. “We all have tonight off. He’s probably out getting something for dinner. Jon and Ryan should be getting home in an hour.”

“Aww,” Frank cooed. “Am I ruining your date night?”

Rather predictably, Spencer went pink around the ears and ducked his head. “Shut up. It’s no big deal.”

“I don’t wanna piss Ross off,” Frank said. Ryan had always been the least fond of him. “Especially if I’m going to convince you to let me stay with you guys.”

Spencer gave him a wry smile. “Not even Ryan would kick you out. It would make Brendon sad.”

“Are you saying I can stay?” Frank asked.

“We have the space,” Spencer said. “Just don’t piss Ryan off too bad.”

Frank held up his crossed fingers solemnly. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and got up from the table. “I don’t think that’s the gesture you’re looking for.” He finished his coffee in one long swig and left his cup in the sink. “I’m going to shower. If they get home before I get out, do you think you can manage to keep freezing water from coming from the pipes?"

“We’ll keep the celebrating to a minimum,” Frank said.

While Spencer was showering, Frank moved his things up to the spare bedroom. He’d bought a few outfits before leaving Canada, but he’d still need to build up a wardrobe. Maybe one of the guys could help him get a job.

Jon actually came home first, and didn’t even look very surprised to see Frank sitting on the couch when he came in. “Hey,” he said and Frank nodded at him. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a beer, and the two of them settled in to watch Animal Planet in a companionable silence.

When the garage door sounded again, Frank jumped up and ran into the hallway. Brendon and Ryan came in carrying grocery bags and arguing about beer versus wine coolers. Ryan saw Frank first and stopped talking mid-sentence, mouth snapping shut. Brendon turned to look and his smile grew larger. He dropped his bags by the door and threw himself at Frank.

There was no snow, but Brendon was still effusively excited, tackling Frank to the ground and bouncing on his lap. “What are you doing here?” he asked, tugging on Frank’s hair.

“Crashing for a while, I hope,” Frank said, with a cautious look at Ryan.

Ryan huffed a sigh and picked up Brendon’s cast-away bags. “Because we needed more inexplicable weather in our lives.”

“I’ve got that sort of thing under so much better control than Brendon,” Frank said.

Brendon nodded sadly. He got to his feet and offered Frank a hand up. “It’s true,” he said, and cuddled up between Jon and Ryan. “It’s your guys’ fault.”

Ryan shrugged him off and went into the kitchen. He didn’t exactly storm, but it was a close thing. Brendon gave Frank an apologetic look and quick hug around the neck before following. Jon gestured back to the living room. “Let them talk it out,” he advised, and Frank settled in again with him.

The discussion between Brendon and Ryan went on long enough that Spencer came down and joined in. There were some raised voices, but Frank couldn’t quite make any of it out, and eventually Jon went in for a bit, too.

In the end, they all came out to the dining room with plates of food and Brendon invited Frank to the table where Ryan, rather graciously, invited Frank to stay with them for a while.

“I don’t wanna mess with what you guys have, or fuck anything up,” Frank protested.

“Impossible,” Brendon said, and smiled an infectious smile that even had Ryan returning it, albeit small and aimed at the table. “Couldn’t happen with us.”

Frank told them his story over dinner, leaving out the parts about stalking My Chemical Romance. Well, at least until later that evening when he and Brendon were alone in Frank’s new room.

“You’re such a psycho,” Brendon told him fondly.

“It’s not like it matters,” Frank said. He was determined to be okay with it. Optimistic, even. “Like, I know I always said I was saving myself for Gerard Way, but we both know it was a joke.”

“Yeah,” Brendon said, like he didn’t believe a word of it. “But!” He perked up, bumping shoulders with Frank. “You know, now you’re surrounded by millions of possibilities. Not just the same old town of the same old people you’ve known your whole life. Look at me. I got three. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to get at least one.”

Frank punched him in the arm, hard. “Let’s just hope I don’t have the same shitty taste in lovers as I do in best friends.”

Brendon grinned winningly. “I’m gonna show you just how awesome a best friend I am. You should come to the club tomorrow night. I think the guys would like you, and there’s this bar we go to after. They have live bands sometimes, and they’re usually pretty good. Man, just wait until you see.”

Frank was pretty excited about it. After hearing Brendon go on about the club for hours on end back at the North Pole, he wanted to see if it lived up to Brendon’s description. And he knew he was being ridiculous about the whole Gerard Way thing. What were the chances of even ever meeting the guy in a real world setting? Let alone talking to him and getting to know him and convincing him they were soul mates and that they should adopt lots of dogs and maybe babies together.

“Sounds good,” he said, and Brendon sighed, like he knew Frank’s heart wasn’t in it. And even though he had three lovers waiting for him in their giant bed, he stayed with Frank, telling him all about the music Frank needed to hear, and the shows he needed to see, and how amazing it was all going to be.

Sometime well after midnight, Brendon ran out of words and Frank listened to the stillness of the house around them. “I just…I thought it would be different,” he admitted, because Brendon knew anyway, and it was stupid to pretend otherwise.

“I know Patrick’s told us the real world is nothing like movies, but I thought it would be like something from one of those lameass teenage fairytales that Pete loves. Like, he’d see me, in the middle of all the other fans, just this writhing mass of bodies and then me, there, spotlit in the middle, still and watching him, and he’d know, you know? I thought he’d touch my hand and there’d be this spark.

“Except, he touched my hand and then he grabbed a dozen other people’s hands. He probably only fucking recognised me because, I mean, the piercings and the tattoos might not stand out, but the green fauxhawk was a bit unusual even for that crowd, and all I got out of him noticing was the potential for a restraining order against me.”

Brendon laughed softly and burrowed closer under the covers. Frank had missed having his living, breathing personal heater around. He was going to have to get more blankets. And maybe convince the pets to come sleep on the bed with him from now on.

“Not everything is like it is in the movies. But I left the North Pole and I found my home. Who says you can’t have your fairytale?” Brendon said.

“I think reality and the seven concerts I went to and failed to make any progress at say I can’t,” Frank said.

“Well, Gerard Way’s a big gay idiot, then,” Brendon said decisively. “But hey, there’s this guy at the club who does Judy Garland in the show and he’s a dead ringer for Gerard, out of makeup.”

Frank punched him hard in the arm again. “You are seriously not helping. Get the fuck out. Go have weird, illicit sex with your multiple partners, or whatever, Jesus.”

Brendon kissed him sloppily on the cheek and turned off the lights on the way out, and even though he was seriously a tool, and a horrible friend, Frank still fell asleep with a smile on his face.

*

Frank seriously loved the music room. It was soundproofed and the walls were hung with some truly beautiful guitars. Spencer’s kit was pink and glittery and lit up, which was so fucking hardcore, and there was a baby grand in one corner, covered in an antique piano shawl, the back littered with sheet music in four different sets of handwriting.

The animals joined him. He chose to believe it was because he was so freakin’ cool, but he was ready to concede that the afternoon sun did a nice job of warming the room, and the cats were awfully fond of the way the light slatted through the blinds and painted the floor golden.

Ryan came home from work to find Frank on his back in the middle of an epic guitar solo and Frank froze, dropping his hips to the floor. “I love your set up,” Frank said.

He’d sort of expected Ryan to look pissed, or snap at him to get out, but Ryan just looked amused, arms crossed over his chest, posed idly in the doorframe. “Are all elves musical prodigies?” he asked.

“Nah,” Frank said, and plucked at the strings. “Just the super awesome, really fucking good-looking ones.”

Ryan snorted a laugh-it was the first Frank had ever heard from him-and came further into the room, dropping into one of the beanbags in the corner and snagging the guitar propped beside it. “What were you playing?”

“Just something that-I-” he paused, and weighed his options. He could make up something and appease Ryan, or tell the truth and potentially piss him off. Frank wasn’t the sort to lie to make people comfortable, or like him better, though. “I looked at some of your lyrics, and the notes you guys had made, and I was messing around with a few of the songs.”

Ryan blinked, Frank thought it might be in surprise, but it was difficult to tell with Ryan. “That was...you made that to go with one of our songs?”

“Well, I was just messing with the Grand Canyon one,” Frank said, sitting up and sorting through the mess of sheet music at his side. “But I was looking at some of these.” He pushed a bunch of sheets Ryan’s way, with titles like Lying, and Jon and Spencer Are Assholes. “These, where you have all these different parts, with the piano, which is really cool, but I was thinking, you could totally do with some rhythm guitar in there, too.”

Ryan looked hesitant about it, but started playing part of Lying. Frank proved his point, improvising some stuff on the spot. Ryan bit his lip. “There aren’t really enough of us,” he said. “Brendon’s doing rhythm guitar and piano, and he can’t exactly do both in the same song, not to mention the fact that he’s our lead singer.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, and lay back down, returning to what he’d been working on when Ryan came in. After a few moments, Ryan joined in, picking up at just the right place in the song, like he could image the same sound Frank had.

They messed around for a while, talking little, but finding some interesting sounds between them, as the sun made its progress across the room. Jon came home when it was almost dark and sat on the floor between Ryan’s legs. He mostly listened to them, saying what he liked and what he didn’t, but he occasionally joined in, so they could get a better idea of what the whole might sound like. Eventually they gave it up when the sun was all the way down and they were all too lazy to get up and turn on a light.

That was how Spencer found them when he got home from work. He surveyed the damage from the doorway-Bob Dylan pouring from the speakers, Frank playing along on one of Ryan’s particularly nice guitars, Hobo sleeping on his stomach. Jon and Ryan were making out lazily at his side, sheet music everywhere, including under Frank’s back, and that wasn’t very comfortable, and how had it gotten there?

“You guys are so fucking lame. We have to leave for Brendon’s thing in twenty minutes.”

“Oh shit!” Ryan said, pushing Jon off him. “I have to get changed.”

“Can I drive?” Frank wondered idly. He was sort of dying to try it out.

“No,” Spencer said decisively.

Frank pursed his lips. “I can drive a snow mobile.” In theory, he could. He’d seen it done lots of times, and it couldn’t be very different from driving a sled, right?

“I’ll take you out sometime in the desert,” Jon offered. “I’m teaching Brendon to drive that way. Nothing out there to hit but the occasional cactus.”

“It is your life, Jon Walker, you can end it however you like,” Spencer said blithely. “But could you move your ass for now?”

Jon levered himself to his feet, swinging his hips when he walked across the room, and he didn’t seem like the type to Frank, but it was sorta hot, anyway. “Baby,” he purred, leaning into Spencer’s space, “I’ll move my ass for you anytime.” He stood on his toes to press their lips together, and though Spencer shoved him away and pushed him toward the bedroom, Frank could see the smile tugging at Spencer’s lips.

Frank had spent most of his money on tickets, lodging and travel costs, but other than that and a couple outfits, he’d got new, non-Christmas themed jewellery for his piercings, and some kick ass boots. Yet somehow, the outfits he bought with My Chemical Romance concerts in mind didn’t seem like they’d fit in a drag club. Now, maybe if he was dressing up as Gerard Way, on the other hand…

Jon lent him a tight black tee-shirt with an oriental themed pattern, smoke like wisps trailing up the side in shapes of animals and Chinese characters, ending in a bright orange koi.

Ryan offered to do his makeup, and Frank didn’t usually wear any, but wasn’t opposed to it, and it was sorta nice that Ryan offered in the first place. In fact, even though he’d been around less than a day, Ryan, Spencer and Jon were all being a lot nicer than they had been before, and the attention was nice. He stuck with just eye liner and lip gloss, but Frank liked the way it made his eyes seem bigger and greener than usual.

Somehow, even with Ryan’s own make up job (which was really complex and involved at least six different shades of eye shadow in a swirling sunset, complete with sparkles along his brow like the stars coming out at night), they managed to make it out of the house in twenty minutes. Frank gave credit to Spencer’s seriously impressive scowl (though don’t think Frank didn’t see Spencer applying mascara and pink lip gloss, too).

The Mansion was set just off the main strip-close enough to the action to get a lot of traffic, but far enough away that it felt intimate and cosy. Tonight, a Friday, the club was busy, every table filled.

A place had been saved for them, towards the back but raised up so they had a good view of the stage. The booth was one big bench in a half-circle, but Frank had plenty of room to himself considering that Jon, Ryan and Spencer had no concept of personal space amongst themselves.

They had celebrity impersonators and just straight up drag performers, as Brendon told it, and the thing that made The Mansion different from other drag shows was that here, the performers actually sang, rather than lip-synching. When they came in there was a Shania Twain on the stage in leopard print bell-bottoms and midriff exposed.

Frank spent about twenty minutes at the buffet just looking at everything, but, okay, it was his first time in a restaurant. He’d heard of most of the food, but hadn’t had a lot of it before. He finally came back to the booth balancing two plates piled high with vegetarian options.

“You know you can go back for more,” Spencer told him, eyeing the plates.

“For real?” Buffets were fucking awesome. He managed to get through four plates before his stomach caught up with his mouth and he sat back, painfully full in the best way possible.

“You guys having fun yet?” Brendon asked, sliding up to the booth with a tray full of colourful cocktails. Jon got up to let him in and Brendon cosied up between him and Ryan.

“Who are you doing tonight?” Spencer asked. Brendon wasn’t dressed yet, wearing track pants and tank top, face clean, hair pushed back with a headband.

Brendon sank into Ryan’s side and Ryan pressed his face in Brendon’s throat, little kisses along his jaw. Jon had his arm around Brendon’s back, playing with the tips of Brendon’s hair and drawing his fingers over Ryan’s bare shoulder.

“Don’t you want it to be a surprise for Frank?” Brendon said. He was smirking smugly, not that Frank could blame him. If Frank had three hot boyfriends, he’d be feeling pretty smug, too.

“Should I be worried?” Frank asked, teasing.

“Ah,” Brendon tsked. “You have no faith in me at all, Frank Iero. I’m wounded.”

Frank half-heartedly threw one of his fries and it got caught in Ryan’s hair. Ryan looked mildly affronted and Spencer plucked it out and threw it back at Frank.

“Anyway,” Brendon said, eyes twinkling in a way that made Frank feel slightly uneasy. “I told the guys about my best friend moving out to Las Vegas, and they insisted on throwing you a welcoming party tonight, after. We’re all going to Eric and Sean’s.”

“Cher and Tina,” Spencer said, jerking his head toward the stage where the former was doing a nice cover of “The Shoop-Shoop Song.”

“A party?” Frank said. “Like in the movies?”

He’d always been curious about those. Even when their group of friends decided to have a ‘party’ back home, it had never been more than a half-dozen of them crowding at one of their houses with contraband booze and contraband movies, and Brendon and Greta inevitably making brownies at some point. It had always been fun, but certainly nothing like what they saw in movies.

“Totally better than in the movies,” Brendon assured him. “Especially when Sean’s involved. He makes these jello shots. And pudding shots, which are even better, oh my god, and, so, Sean does exotic dancing, too, and he has a fucking pole in their living room, to practice on, and work out and stuff, but it is so much fun to play with!

“You know,” he said, sitting up straighter and looking between his lovers, “we should get one of those, too. We could have it in the bedroom.”

Spencer flushed bright red and ducked his head. Jon just chuckled and said, “I could get behind that idea.”

“We can talk about it later,” Spencer said, and Ryan laughed and kissed him.

“Gotta get ready,” Brendon said, and wriggled out over Jon’s lap, giving him a lingering kiss on the way. “Just wanted to say hey.”

“Hey,” Jon said, and smacked him on the ass as he left.

It was one thing to know that they were all in some weird foursome, but an entirely different thing to actually see them interacting. They were cute together, and it all seemed to fit. It just seemed a little unfair that Brendon got three really hot dudes when Frank didn’t even have one.

“How do you guys even, like, work?” Frank wondered out loud. “Do you take turns…?”

“Frank, I do not believe you know us well enough to be asking a question like that,” Ryan said, feigning a scandalised look.

“Whatever,” Frank said, and rolled his eyes. “You know, I can just ask Brendon later and he’ll give me all the details.”

“Well,” Ryan conceded, “then I won’t have to be around to hear it.”

“Ryan likes to operate under a special kind of delusion, where if he isn’t around to hear a conversation, it never took place,” Spencer explained. Ryan pretended, rather convincingly, not to hear him.

Frank laughed. “Okay. So at least tell me how you three all managed to hook up.”

It was, surprisingly enough, Jon who blushed at the question. Spencer and Ryan looked at each other and did the whole communication through facial expression alone sort of deal that Frank had thought was unique to him and Brendon. Then Ryan shrugged and began to tell the story.

Ryan was a good story-teller, and it was a good story. The sort of story where being best friends was part of being in love, where everything seemed too good to be chance, and just fell into place. The sort of story that Patrick said only happened in movies. Frank and Brendon and Greta had always been too nice to point out that Patrick had that kind of story with Pete.

Ryan was just getting to the part about a trip between him, Spencer and Jon to the Grand Canyon-and yeah, more than one of their band’s weird song titles were beginning to make sense-when one performer left the stage and the lights dipped low. Ryan stopped talking and a smile lit up his face, rare and big.

Some exotic beat started up, heavy on the drums and the flute. “And now,” the announcer said, “let’s take a trip to the equator for something a little more sensual and a whole lot wilder. Please welcome the sexy and seductive Shakira!”

Frank recognised Brendon at once, but it was like seeing him through some diffuse light filter. He wasn’t as girly looking as his sister or mother, but he definitely looked softer and more feminine. It wasn’t just the long, wildly curly wig or the make-up, or even the costume-a halter top made of coins and shadowy makeup that hinted at small breasts, and a calf-length purple skirt set low on his hips. It was more in the way he held himself, as he began to dance his way onto the stage. He rolled his hips in a slow, sensual circle, each step precise but graceful.

“Dude,” Frank said, and, “I love the real world,” before getting up to go catcall by the edge of the stage with all of Brendon’s other loyal fans.

*

When they got to the party it was already in full swing. Music was pouring from the open doors and windows, and couples were dancing on the front lawn. Inside there was indeed a pole in the living room, on which a very nicely shaped woman with the most incredible legs Frank had ever seen (seriously, they might have been longer than his whole body) was twisting and writhing.

Sean, still in his Tina dress, though out of makeup and wig, greeted them as they came in, hugging everyone in turn, even Frank, though they’d never been formally introduced. “Frank,” he said, “Frank, Frank, Frank.”

“Hello,” Frank said, and took the red cup Sean gave him. It smelled really fucking strong, and that was saying something seeing as how Frank was used to drinking Pete’s homebrew.

“It’s a Long Island,” Brendon said, “It’s good.”

“Frank,” Sean said, and threw his arm over Frank’s shoulder. “Brendon can be so secretive sometimes. You’re going to tell me all about him…”

“Um,” Frank said, as Sean led him away from the others. He cast a look over his shoulder, and Brendon waved at him with a gleeful smile.

Frank liked people. They were interesting and crazy and fun. But he still wasn’t used to being around this many new people who actually wanted to know him and talk to him. He’d been around the same people all his life, and even at the concerts, no one was interested in him at all. Now people were coming up to Sean for an introduction, calling for Frank to join them and tell them all about himself.

And these people were freaking awesome. In the first twenty minutes he’d met a real life Danny Ocean card sharp, a dominatrix, what he was pretty sure was a hitman, several B-list actors, and more strippers than he could count.

After the grand tour, Frank broke off from Sean in search of the others. He found them in the backyard, all trying to fit onto one lounge chair with moderate success, though Frank was worried if one of them tried to get up, everyone else was going to end up as some tragic, cautionary tale.

“You guys, that David guy has a fucking gun, and he offered to show it to me, but frankly, I was a little concerned that he was either hitting on me or going to ‘hit’ me, if you know what I mean,” Frank told them excitedly. “Or, maybe he was trying to recruit me. Do I look badass enough? That’s seriously offensive, that he’d think I want to kill people, just ‘cause of the way I look. I’m a vegetarian!”

Ryan shrugged and Spencer hid what looked suspiciously like a smile in Jon’s shoulder. Jon said, “The tattoos and piercings are pretty badass, dude.”

“That’s! That’s!” Frank sputtered, waving his hand around searching for the right word, Long Island Tea splashing over the side of the cup and down his arm. “That’s body modificationphobiaist!” he finally declared.

Brendon giggled. “You are so fucking wasted,” he said.

“Impossible,” Frank said dismissively. “I’ve only had a bunch of these tea things. Which, seriously, do not taste anything like Greta’s iced tea.”

Spencer’s shoulders were shaking in what Frank was pretty sure was laughter, which was entirely uncalled for, because Frank was serious about this-tattoo profiling or whatever.

Ryan sighed. “Do they, like, train you guys to be completely socially retarded? Is that a class at the North Pole? ‘How to never fit in in the real world?’”

“Blow me, Ross,” Brendon said, and Ryan leered at him. Brendon rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t taste like Greta’s iced tea because it isn’t tea. It’s a bunch of different kinds of alcohol and some lemony stuff and soda.”

“Well, I guess that’s good,” Frank said, because, upon reflection, he had been feeling pretty drunk, and it was probably better that he actually was, and not hallucinating it. “Though, to be fair, they probably shouldn’t call it tea if it doesn’t have any tea in it. Very misleading title.” He shook his finger at Ryan. “Also, I think we should address Ryan’s speciest comments.”

Brendon laughed. “Not that paranoia isn’t adorable on you-and knowing how you like to channel your hardrock soulmate’s, like, political agenda when you’re drunk, or adapting your work uniform, but seriously, David isn’t a hitman. He’s a security guard at the same casino where Spence works. And I think Ryan’s made his favourable position on elves quite clear.”

“I don’t need to know anything about Ryan and his positions with you,” Frank said, eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I’m drunk enough yet to get that image out of my head, so I’m gonna go find more misleadingly named beverages to drown my trauma in.”

“I can make you go faster,” Ryan said, hand slipping down Brendon’s back toward his ass and Brendon giggled and waved Frank off.

The rest of the evening passed in a sort of blur. Frank had gotten drunk plenty of times, but he didn’t think he’d ever been so well and truly fucked up. When Eric found out that Frank hadn’t had any mixed drinks before, he took it as his personal duty to introduce him to as many as possible.

There was dancing with this tiny girl named Tasha, with hundreds of braids that whipped against Frank’s skin when she tossed her head, and dark skin that shone blue in the right light. There was Courtney, with a sharp smile and amazing hips in painted on jeans, and her skin was soft under his hands. There was Kevin with pale, pale skin and black hair falling in gentle curls over his forehead, who liked to bite, and was the first person Frank kissed who he hadn’t known his whole life.

Sometime in the early morning, he was stirred awake by a hand on his shoulder. He didn't even remembered falling asleep, but he was tucked into a pile on the couch with a few other vaguely familiar faces.

“Hey,” Spencer said, and smiled sleepily. He tucked an arm under Frank’s and helped him out to the car, and didn’t complain when Frank played with his hair the whole way, but Spencer had the softest, shiniest hair ever, and Frank couldn’t help it.

The car ride passed in the blink of an eye, Frank jammed in the back with his legs over Jon’s lap and his head on Brendon’s. Ryan, Jon, and Brendon disappeared upstairs, but Frank couldn’t get his feet to work and couldn’t stop burping and was pretty sure he was either going to pass out or throw up, and hoped it wouldn’t happen in that order.

“Fucking lightweight pussy,” Spencer said, but in an affectionate sort of way.

“You shouldn’t use a derogatory term for the female sex organ as an insult,” Frank slurred.

Spencer just rolled his eyes. He practically carried Frank into the living room and left him on the couch, only to return a moment later with a trash can, a glass of water, and a blanket.

“Drink some of this,” he said, and held out a spoon with pink liquid in it. Frank had barely swallowed before it was coming back up, and Spencer made a face, but rubbed Frank’s back through it.

“Sorry,” Frank said, eyes falling shut in exhaustion.

Spencer patted his ankle. “Not the first time it’s happened to me,” he said. He made Frank drink the entire glass of water and then refilled it.

“Besides,” Spencer said, “you elves have this way of being sincerely clueless that’s sort of ridiculously endearing.”

“I won’t be sweet talked into joining your deliciously sinful foursome, Mister Smith,” Frank told him.

“Get some sleep,” Spencer said, and pulled the blanket up over Frank’s shoulders before leaving.

*

Brendon looked at Frank over the rim of his mug and didn’t say anything. Very loudly.

“What?” Frank snapped, feeling irritable for no good reason. He wasn’t hung over, which was some sort of weird miracle he was chalking up to Spencer Smith giving him magic medicine, but he still wasn’t in a good mood. Something felt off. Had since he’d first woken up.

Brendon blew at the steam coming off his cup and took a slow sip. “You seemed like you had fun last night,” he said at last.

“Yeah?” Frank said.

“Hmm,” Brendon said. “Lots of fun. Three different sets of lips fun.”

“Seriously?” Frank said, with all the indignation he could manage. Which, given the situation, was a whole hell of a lot. “Seriously? That’s the argument you want to use? Because I’m pretty sure that since you regularly have fun with three different sets of lips you have no fucking room what to speak whatsoever.”

“I wasn’t-what about Gerard?” Brendon said.

Frank jumped to his feet, pacing as far from Brendon as the fence around the backyard would allow. “I told you the other night. It’s fucking stupid. It’s one thing to sit around doing nothing with my life in the North Pole where I don’t have any other choice and using Gerard Way as some unattainable object to make my life more bearable, or something. But this is the real world, and I’m not that fucking deluded.”

“Yeah, but,” Brendon started.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Frank shouted. “Shut the fuck up about it already.” He knew it was too harsh the moment it was past his lips, but he just crossed his arms and glared defiantly at Brendon.

Brendon was silent, lips drawn tight in anger and hurt. It was an expression Frank hated seeing on Brendon’s face. He was usually threatening violence against people who caused it, not being the cause of it himself. Brendon took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and closed it again. Then he got to his feet and went to Frank’s side.

“Look,” Brendon said, “I get it, Frank, I do. I had all these big ideas about what going into the real world would be like, and then I got here, and it was mean and inhospitable and a serious disappointment. I wanted to come home that first night, but I was stranded and didn’t know what to do. And then Jon came to my rescue and they were all awesome, and when I left Ryan wrote a letter to Santa, asking for me back as a Christmas present, okay? It doesn’t make sense. Shit like that doesn’t happen in the real world. But it did.”

“Brendon,” Frank said, and sighed.

“No, listen,” Brendon said. “I wasn’t trying to guilt you earlier. I was just saying. You had three really hot people all over you last night, and today you look miserable, like you hate yourself for it.”

Brendon looped an arm over Frank’s shoulder and Frank leaned his head against him. “Suppose you’re right,” Frank said. “How the hell do you propose I do something about it? I already tried the stalking bit.”

“I don’t know,” Brendon said, voice lightening. He shook Frank a little. “We become world famous rock stars, and then he stalks us?” He waggled his brows for effect and Frank couldn’t help but laugh.

“Brilliant plan,” he said.

*

The thing was, it wasn’t the worst plan. In his heart, Frank was a rock star already, and conveniently enough, he found himself living with a band. He just had to convince him that they needed him in their band.

*

Ryan and Jon made their own schedules, pretty much, and Brendon generally only worked in the evenings. Spencer had classes and work, but somehow he managed to be home more than any of the others.

On Sunday they were all free from the afternoon on, so they decided it was the perfect time to introduce Frank to Las Vegas properly. They took him to the Strip which was frankly stunning, even after Brendon’s club and the after party.

Christmastown was bright in its own way-the twinkle lights were left up all year round, after all, and some families, like the Uries, went overboard with their decorations. But in the near-perpetual dark of town, and with the snow, that all seemed muted. This was in-your-face bright.

It was gloriously warm in Vegas, and for the first time ever Frank was happy to shed his hoodie and bask in the sun. It didn’t even bum him out too much that there were so many hookers hanging around (not that women weren’t free to do whatever they wanted with their bodies, but it made Frank sad that so many of them had turned to the sex industry to support themselves in a phallic-centric society).

They went to the Venetian first and Ryan and Spencer just rolled their eyes when Frank asked if they could go on a gondola ride. “I asked the same thing the first time we all came together,” Brendon told him. “Apparently Jon did, too.”

Spencer procured the tickets and Frank reminded himself that he was going to have to get a job soon because things in the real world were really fucking expensive. Spencer didn’t complain, though, and none of the others seemed to think it was out of the ordinary for him to take care of.

Frank stopped counting how much he must owe after Spencer also bought him a t-shirt, paid for all their drinks at the pool, and covered lunch. By the time they got the casino proper, Frank was already overwhelmed. Then the servers just started bringing tray after tray of free drinks, and somehow Frank kept winning (even if the payout was really small).

“It’s like one big amusement park,” Frank said, half in amazement, when they found themselves on a gondola for the second time in one day. They’d opted for the outside ride this time since the sun was almost completely set, and Frank paid for it with some of his winnings.

He toed Brendon’s knee, looking for a response, but Brendon just muttered something unintelligible and burrowed further into Jon’s side. Brendon had maybe had a lot more drinks than Frank. Frank snorted and nudged him harder, just to piss him off. Brendon slapped blindly at his foot.

“Seriously, you guys grew up here?” he said to Spencer and Ryan. “Wasn’t that weird? Like sorta surreal?”

Ryan laughed a little in disbelief. “You’re asking us if where we grew up was weird?”

“Okay,” Frank said, “fair enough. But it isn’t even on the same scale. Sure where we grew up is weird because, you know, most people don’t believe it exists, or whatever. But it’s actually pretty boring. You’ll see. You’ll totally have to come visit at some point, to meet Greta and Pete and Patrick.”

“Visit,” Spencer said. “Christmastown?”

“Spencer still chooses to believe it doesn’t exist,” Jon explained patiently. Spencer punched him lightly on the arm

Frank laughed, and just to prove a point, started glowing. It was faint with all the light from the buildings, and the gondolier wasn’t paying them any attention, but Spencer sat up straight, flailing about and hissed “Stop glowing.”

“Sorry,” Brendon mumbled.

“Just saying,” Frank said. Ryan looked mildly amazed.

“I know what you’re up to,” Ryan said, at length.

“Okay,” Frank said, and dropped his arm to his side, and stopped glowing.

“Is it working?” Frank asked.

Ryan just gave him a steady look that told him nothing.

Brendon poked Ryan in the side, breaking the staring contest. “I wanna go to a show.”

“We’re not taking you to another magic show,” Ryan said sternly, though his eyes were sparkling.

“Dude, Frankie,” Brendon said excitedly, apparently gaining his second wind. He sat up, eyes wide. “There are all these charlatans going around claiming they can do magic.”

“Those assholes,” Frank said, with as much faux-outrage as he could muster. Spencer’s glare told Frank not to encourage this.

“Right,” Brendon said, “so it’s our duty to expose them for the big fakers they are.”

Frank took in Ryan’s stony expression, Jon’s deer-in-the-headlight impression and Spencer’s pissy glare and couldn’t help it. “If we don’t stand up against them, who will?” he asked.

“Frank gets it!” Brendon exclaimed happily.

“Frank is getting taken home. And so are you,” Spencer said, and all but hauled Brendon to the car when the gondola docked again.

They ended up ordering pizza and watching The X-Files until three in the morning and honestly, Frank thought that was a whole lot cooler than going to see some sparkly floorshow with a bunch of half-dressed chicks wearing feather hats.

“Now, Scully half-dressed in a feather hat, maybe I could get behind that,” Frank said appreciatively.

“Dude,” Jon said in vehement agreement, and disappeared upstairs. He reappeared shortly after with his bass and a guitar for Frank. “We should compose an ode to Scully.” Frank strummed his guitar obligingly and tried to think of words that rhymed with sceptic.

Ryan waved his beer bottle expressively. “Mulder is the real genius. I mean, Scully’s cool enough, but there wouldn’t be an X-Files without Mulder,” he droned. “And besides, Scully doesn’t even believe, even when the evidence points to aliens or whatever. Mulder deserves an ode, if anyone does.”

Brendon saw this as his cue to start singing, “David Duchovny, why won’t you love me?” Spencer laughed and joined in, the two of them crooning, “Why won’t you love me, David Duchovny.”

“Peptic,” Frank mused, “antiseptic?”

Ryan’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile and he hit Frank square in the face with a pillow. “Quit trying to make me like you,” he said.

*

Everyone in the house was pretty busy, some with school, some with work, some with both. There was usually someone home with Frank, but when there wasn’t, he found plenty of things to occupy his time. He’d gotten pretty good at making up drinks with the ingredients in the wet bar, was downright pro at easy mac, and had reorganised the pantry twice.

By midweek he’d beaten Jade Empire with both a male and female protagonist and finished the first Knights of the Old Republic. Jon had told him about a video game store a few blocks away and Spencer had given him twelve bucks to pick up the sequel like Frank was a kid with a fucking allowance, or some shit.

On Friday Brendon went in for the lunch and dinner shift and Spencer had afternoon lessons. Ryan and Jon were both at their respective jobs, and okay, Frank went out with the intention of buying KotOR II. Only then he got to the little strip mall Jon had described.

So, in Christmastown there weren’t a lot of businesses. There was the tailor, who made the same kind of outfits and uniforms for everyone. There was the baker (Brendon and Greta, who totally didn’t count), the candy shoppe, the general store, the toy shoppe…

This place was seriously epic. There were about five different restaurants, a candle shop, a movie rental place, a costume shop and a store called Wal-Mart that was at least half the size of the whole of Christmastown. And, nestled next to the game shop, there was an actual, for real pet shop.

Frank sort of forgot all about his new video game in the face of baby animals. The ferrets were fun until one tried to bite off his middle finger. The rabbits were cute but sorta boring. Even the snakes were pretty damn cool, particularly the one that liked to curl around his neck like a living, breathing accessory. Still, none of them were as awesome as the puppies.

Dozens and dozens of puppies, in every breed imaginable. Frank pressed his face close to the glass, watching a tiny terrier trip over his own feet and tumble into his water dish, spilling water everywhere. Two labs-one yellow and one chocolate were tugging playfully on each other’s ears.

The price tags were pretty ridiculous, though. Seriously, how could anyone justify charging over a thousand dollars for a little puppy? You could buy, like, five seriously decent My Chemical Romance tickets for that price.

And okay, maybe it was sort of bad, but Frank had heard about puppymills, okay, and he knew how places like this worked, so he didn’t feel too particularly bad about asking to see the seriously adorable English Pointer and waiting ‘til the guy was distracted at the front counter before sneaking out the door and running away at top speed.

He was expecting resistance in the form of Spencer and Ryan, but it didn’t work out that way. Spencer and Jon just laughed themselves sick over the whole thing while Ryan constructed a new puppy bed out of velvet and cotton stuffing from seriously god knew where. Frank named the puppy Pansy and Brendon showed up that evening after work with a bright orange collar for her, with her name bedazzled in yellow crystals.

For the first night since Frank had come to stay, they were all together to practice their music. Frank sat in one of the beanbags by the door and watched them for a while, dozing off in one of their quiet spells with Pansy and Clover in his lap and Boba lying over his feet.

“So,” Ryan Ross said, in an imperious tone of voice. Frank started awake, blinking to see Ryan towering above him. He was seriously unfairly tall.

It was nearly two, but that was one of the benefits of living in a nice house with a big yard. No one was near enough to hear and complain about band practice at weird hours.

“So,” Frank echoed, rubbing his eyes. His mouth was dry, but it seemed like an awful lot of effort to displace the animals in search of a beverage.

“My friends are coming through in a couple weeks,” Jon said. “They have a band.”

“Terrific,” Frank said.

“They’re pretty big,” Brendon said excitedly.

“The Academy Is…,” Jon said.

Frank shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be offended. I mean, unless Pete smuggles it in, new music’s pretty hard to come by.”

“You’ve heard them,” Brendon said. He began playing a familiar tune on his guitar, something Pete listened to.

“Anyway,” Ryan said and waved a hand. “They talked about us maybe opening a couple shows for them when Spence is on Spring Break.”

“Wow,” Frank said. “That sounds pretty cool.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and Spencer snorted. Frank felt like he was missing something. “Yeah,” Ryan said, and kicked Frank’s foot. “So, you gonna have all your parts finished in time?”

“Wait, what,” Frank said, and it took a minute for his sleepy brain to catch up. “Wait, seriously?” He sat up and the animals scattered grumpily. Ryan bit down on a smile. “Seriously?” Frank demanded.

“Well,” Ryan said, “it would free Brendon up for the piano, and I played some of your stuff for Spencer and we all like the sound of it, so-”

Frank flung himself at Ryan, catching him in a hug and toppling them both over. “This is so hardcore!”

Ryan shoved him off, gasping dramatically for air. “Not exactly,” he said. “Look, we’re pretty mellow.”

“No,” Frank said quickly. “No, I know, I totally get it. Seriously, you guys are fucking awesome. We’re gonna be fucking awesome.”

*

On Monday, Jon had a photoshoot in the morning and was free the rest of the afternoon. He invited Frank along, with a promise to take him out driving in the desert after.

Frank wasn’t all that into photography, but he had to admit that Jon made it look like a lot of fun. The photoshoot was for a wedding done in the theme of the Wild West. The groom, some big oil guy, had rented out a saloon that looked like something from an old Hollywood western and the wedding party was dressed up like cowboys and saloon girls.

No one seemed to mind Frank hanging around in the back, trying on the extra costumes. He thought he was a little short to pull off the cowboy look without coming across like a little kid playing dress-up, but he was actually pretty fond of the way a teal boa complimented the colour in his hair.

Rose, one of Jon’s employees, drew a beauty mark on his cheek and eyeliner that swirled out at the ends all exotic-like, and mumbled under her breath about the unfairness of pretty boys and their pretty eyes.

Jon found him posing with it in front of a mirror and snapped a picture. Frank blew him a kiss in the mirror and laughed in delight when Jon took another picture.

“This is seriously a classy affair,” Frank said. “You have to promise me when you all finally make an honest man out of my best friend, it’ll be just like this.”

“I give you my word,” Jon said, in deceptively sincere voice, “that as soon as polygamous gay marriage becomes legal in Nevada, I’ll be walking down the aisle in garters and fringe.”

“Ryan would love it,” Frank said. He assumed so, anyway, after seeing Ryan’s portion of the closet. He didn’t know anyone could own that much plaid and paisley, and the scarves, my god.

“Seriously, Frank,” Jon said, with a vaguely desperate look in his eyes, “don’t even bring it up to him. He’s already talking about stage personas and costumes, and there’s this vest of his, with roses? And my point is, I like you Frank, and I don’t want to have to murder you and deal with getting rid of the body. So don’t even bring it up to him.”

Frankly, Frank didn’t see the big deal out of Ryan’s costume ideas. Wasn’t part of the point of being a rock star the crazy outfits? But he wasn’t about to compromise his part in the band over it.

They’d messed around as a group all weekend and it was really exciting to be a part of something that had nothing to do with Christmas cheer. Spring Break was over a month away, but Ryan was very serious business about the whole thing and insisted that if Frank wanted to perform with them, they had to practice every single day, no matter what.

With all the practising Ryan had planned on a little spreadsheet tacked to the door of the music room, Frank didn’t think he should bother trying to get a real job, but Jon had said he could help out around the studio and Brendon mentioned the club needing another waiter on the busier nights, which should suit Frank just fine for the time being.

By the month marker of Frank’s arrival, they’d settled into something of a routine. Tuesdays and Wednesdays he hung out with Jon at work, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays he waited tables at The Mansion, and the rest of the time he split between hanging out with Brendon and stalking Ryan and Spencer on campus.

He was sorta fascinated by the classes and the whole college experience, one of the things he’d always been jealous of at the North Pole. Ryan got all excited about Frank’s academic interests and helped him sign up to audit a few classes-Introductory Italian, Sociology of Gender, and, because Ryan was a Lit snob and because it was one of his own classes, British Literature of the Nineteenth Century.

The truth was, while it wasn’t Frank’s choice (he was more interested in the gender stuff, which was really thought-provoking and taught him a lot about stuff he’d always taken for granted because Gerard Way Said So), he really got into Ryan’s class. Spencer and Brendon spent a lot of time at home rolling their eyes while Ryan and Frank had hour long conversations over the wallpaper in “The Story of an Hour,” fighting about who was sexier, Keats or Byron, and crowding around Ryan’s laptop to watch the BBC Bleak House.

“He appreciates literature,” Ryan said haughtily, when Brendon tried to tease Frank over it.

Frank personally felt a pretty strong connection with the tragic heroines and all their consumption and shit, but he let Ryan believe what he wanted to.

“Baby,” Spencer purred, “anytime you wanna dress up in petticoats, I’ll be happy to roleplay your Heathcliff.”

Ryan huffed. “Whatever. I bet you couldn’t even tell me who wrote the character Heathcliff. And if either of us was going to be the heroine, it would be you.” He tugged pointedly on Spencer’s long hair.

All the same, Spencer had swung Ryan over his shoulder and taken him upstairs and Brendon and Jon had raided Jon’s costume trunk. Frank wasn’t going to lay any bets on who actually ended up in the petticoats, because he didn’t like to think that much about what went on behind that particular bedroom door, but he privately agreed with Ryan on the whole thing. Spencer Smith was such a pretty girl.

*

Jon’s friend Bill called a couple weeks before his anticipated visit and he sounded a lot like sex wrapped in caramel. “A five member band? Did you add to your sordid little threesome, Jon Walker?” he asked over the speakerphone.

Jon ducked his head with a sheepish smile and Spencer tried to hide his laughter by coughing.

“That is neither here nor there, William Beckett,” Ryan said primly.

There was whooping and laughter in the background on Bill’s end. “Seriously?” Bill asked, and he sounded delighted.

Another voice took over Bill’s end to shout, “You tiger you, Jonny Walker, go get ‘em boy.”

“Brendon,” Jon said, in a resigned sort of tone, “please try to wait and judge my friends when you meet them.”

“It’s okay, Brendon,” Bill said silkily, “we’re all already judging you.”

“Um,” Brendon said, with a weak smile.

“I’m not sleeping with any of them,” Frank said cheerfully.

“Oh, no,” said the second voice, “that ruins the whole aesthetic. Either the whole band’s sleeping together, or none of you are and it’s all about the tension.”

“Well,” Ryan said blandly, “I hate to disappoint you, Tom, but we’re not having sex with Frank just to appease your artistic vision.”

“Thank you,” Frank said, with dignity. Ryan patted his hand.

“See, Ryan, this is why we are destined to forever be at odds with one another,” Bill said. Frank got the impression the guy was kind of a drama queen. “You aren’t willing to sacrifice for your art.”

“Was there a point to this call?” Jon interrupted.

There was the sound of a scuffle on the other end of the line and then a deep, relatively monotone voice took over. “We got approached about doing a summer tour-sorta like Warped, you know, but more ambitious. The line up is seriously all over the place. We mentioned your name and they’re interested. They said they’d send out one of their guys to the March 26th show. Not to freak you out too much, or anything.”

“We…” Ryan blinked a few times and looked back and forth between everyone. “We don’t even have a CD or anything. We haven’t ever played a show.”

“No big deal,” Tom cut back in. “They’re just coming to listen. And if they like you guys, well, it’s a good place to start. You’d probably be playing during the day on one of the side stages, and the tour doesn’t start until June. Plenty of time to get a demo put together for fans.”

“Would it really be a sacrifice to sleep with me?” Frank wondered out loud, and the rest of the band ignored him.
Next