Frank hadn't meant to snoop around in Gerard's backpack. Actually, that was a lie. Frank absolutely loved to snoop. It was probably his favorite hobby--guitar aside, because that was his job in a matter of speaking, and eating and sleeping were on a completely different tier. He had a list of everyone on the bus, first and last names with a star by most of them. A few were limited to descriptive nicknames, such as "fat guy with stupid newsboy hat" and "skinny guy with stupid baseball hat". This list was the first page in a 70-page spiral bound notebook, with the pages after it filled up with notes, more lists, and very heavy use of exclamation points and question marks on some pages.
The better he knew a person, the more data he compiled on them. While the bus loaders and guitar techs barely had a few sentences collectively--spare the very extensive note about the collection of wolf ashtrays Frank had found in the backpack of "Metallica t-shirt guy with porn star mustache". The makeup girls had a few pages to themselves, because girls were girls and obviously more interesting as a result. For the particularly cute redhead, Frank had managed to compile a detailed assessment of the ten different pairs of patterned panties that he had found in her Hello Kitty backpack. Even more interesting was the hair stylist, who had massive breasts but, upon further investigation of her bag, only wore the type of underwear that came in bags and rode up to one's breasts. Frank had made even further note of how her name was in all of these pairs of underwear. If he owned clothes like that, he would write someone else's name in them, just to throw the perverts like himself off of the trail. Wait. Perhaps he was onto something with that.
The secrets of half-strangers, of course, were never as interesting as the secrets of one's friends. Bryar, Toro, Way, and Way. Those were the backpacks and suitcases that Frank was interested in going through. He had succeeded in rifling through every drawer, every suitcase, backpack, and hidden backpack compartments of each and every bandmate of his...except for Way #2. More like Way #1, if one was aiming to go chronologically in terms of origin of these Ways, but....whatever. The point was, he had gone through Mikey's possessions, but not Gerard's. Gerard was next on his list, the name "Gerard Way" outlined in a large box and surrounded by stars, arrows, and exclamation points. The head of the band had to have the most potential for blackmail--in Internet uploads, e-mail attachments to be sent to parents, ex-girlfriends, thirteen year old girls, etc....as well as the ability to take incriminating photos to Kinkos to "blow that shit right up", as Gerard often said. Of course, he was referring to the pyrotechnic part of the show, but a picture of Gerard shoving something in his butt would really blow shit up. Especially if it was a firecracker in his butthole. That would totally blow shit up. Frank grinned at his own pun, double entendre, whatever it was. He was a genius.
Even though he hadn't gotten to the "number one" yet, Frank had still compiled an excellent set of "data" on his bandmates. For example, Ray Toro had the complete DVD set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (seasons 1--7) tucked under a pile of jeans in his suitcase. It wasn't so much incriminating as much as it was embarrassing, but that quickly changed when Frank opened up one of the DVD cases, finding a blank disc marked only by a "1--12" scribbled in Sharpie. The other discs had similar markings, and at first Frank wondered if Ray had somehow burned the television show from the Internet and then just shoved the pirated discs inside of legitimate cases. When Frank further investigated by playing one of the DVDs on his laptop, he discovered not a regular episode of Buffy, but rather an abridged version of the same episode featuring a Sarah Michelle Gellar lookalike getting pounded by a werewolf. In the vagina, not in a fistfight. The other discs proved to have similar material on them, but with different monsters and somewhat different plots. Frank had to give a lot of credit to whoever had taken the time to replicate every single episode of the show into pornographic format. It was a task Frank would never have the dedication to accomplish. He did have the dedication to order a life-sized cardboard cutout of Buffy and shove it inside the curtain of Toro's bunk. He also rigged a video camera to record the scream of the Toro, and the way he subsequently snapped the cutout into two halves.
Upon further reflection, Frank wondered what had happened to the halves of the cardboard cutout. There had been one "episode" of Buffy where she was split in two and then violated. It had been a shitty greenscreen effort, but Frank still worried. For all he knew, Toro could very easily be grunting and huffing over Buffy's broken cardboard body. He shuddered at the thought as he flipped to Ray's page in his notebook and added it in the margins.
Bryar had been less disturbing than Toro. In Bob's backpack, Frank had found a collection of weight loss and self-help books. At first Frank felt bad, worrying that he might have stumbled across a genuine insecurity of his friend. As he opened the books, though, he found several modifications to the recipes and suggestions. The modifications were really more criticisms than anything else, such as the sentence "cabbage is fukin nasty use lettuce or some shit" scribbled next to a recipe for low-fat sauerkraut. In every recipe for a smoothie, a pie, or anything else that called for a fruit, Bob had scratched out "peach" or "apple" or "blueberry" and instead scrawled in "BANANA" in big block letters. This was all very confusing until Frank poked further inside of Bob's backpack, finding a jam-packed five subject notebook. It turned out that Bob was creating his own weight loss manual, emphasizing a diet consisting of bananas, lettuce, and kidney beans only. It didn't make much sense, as the only bananas Frank ever saw Bob consume were in banana splits, and the only lettuce he saw Bob touch was what he picked out of taco shells. The cookbook/weight loss handbook was coming along very well, though, with a lot of thought and effort put into it. Bob was truly strange in his own way, and Frank left his things alone after that.
Mikey was a whole different tier of weird. Frank had suspected as much, having been to the residence of the Way brothers on numerous occasions and seeing all of the bizarre shit that was piled up in their house. Frank had never actually been in Mikey's bedroom, though. Only Gerard's. If Mikey's backpack was any indication of what his room was like, though, Frank was glad he had never entered it. Mikey's backpack was stuffed with anime DVDs featuring pink haired elementary-school aged girls in frilly costumes. Frank was immediately weirded out, hoping that his friend wasn't some sort of pedo or whatever. It was weirder when he took a crack at Mikey's laptop, though. There was no porn anywhere to be found, although there were tons of pictures of these anime girls in folder after folder. Even the names of the folders were in Japanese. Frank sneered. He didn't understand Moonspeak, with all those stupid tic tac toe letters and squiggles everywhere.
He lucked out with enough clicking, however, to discover Mikey's bookmarked sites. One of them was a roleplaying forum, where Mikey apparently played as "xx~sakura~onigiri~xx" and was involved in a romance with someone named "Hitoshi-San." Mikey was shy in person, but "Sakura" was outspoken, loud, and...well, the best word Frank could describe this character with was...."random." Her speech was littered with emoticons, and half of her roleplay took place either within asteriks *like this* or SHOUTING ABOUT HOW SHE WOULD AVENGE THE EARTH! Or how she was OH NO LATE FOR SCHOOL AGAIN DX. It made Frank uncomfortable, especially when he saw the art Mikey had uploaded of his character. The reason why Gerard had gone to art school and Mikey hadn't became obvious at once. The hands of his character looked like dinner rolls, and her eyes were going in two different directions. Never mind the purple and pink hair, the wings, the devil tail, and the exaggerated blush on her cheeks.
Now, if Mikey was that weird, Frank reasoned, Gerard must be even worse. After all, Gerard was the big brother. Mikey had to draw at least some influence from him. Also, being the most private person in the whole band, it could only mean that Gerard had a huge number of secrets to hide. He didn't even let anyone use the bathroom for at least twenty minutes after he had been in there. Frank knew he would be gone for the day, he and Mikey had gone into town to snoop around for new DVDs and books. Toro had accompanied them as well, and the rest of the crew was out getting lunch. It was just Frank and the bus. More specifically, Gerard's backpack. Frank rubbed his palms together, grinning widely as he yanked down the zippers.
Initially, Frank was disappointed. He had really been hoping for some bizarre sort of tentacle dildo, or even just a handful of anal beads. Something really incriminating, really embarrassing. But so far, it was all normal. Two sketchbooks, two 70-page single subject notebooks, a large case of pencils, and a laptop. Frank pulled out the laptop first, because that would have some porn on it for sure. He flipped it open and was greeted by the default blue Windows login screen. Gerard's icon was one of the default pictures that came with the computer, a really boring image of a seashell. Frank frowned. Gerard didn't even like the beach. He frowned even harder when he was faced with the challenge of deciphering Gerard's password.
Frank usually wasn't one to give up. He engaged in what he typically called his "endless perseverance"--however, it wasn't very endless at all. Frank tried about twenty different potential passwords before giving up and slamming the laptop closed. He reached for the sketchbooks next, flipping through them in search of weird anime porn, or just weird porn period. If Mikey didn't have any, maybe Gerard didn't. The sketchbooks provided nothing to Frank except all of Gerard's usual shit. Vampire shit, superhero shit, werewolf shit, bat shit. In short, a whole lot of shit that Frank just plain wasn't interested in. He checked every page, front and back, before closing the two books and putting those back, too. He pulled the notebooks out to look through those next, and paused to look through all the extra pockets in the backpack, hoping he'd at least find some flavored condoms or something. He didn't find anything but snack wrappers and more goddamn pencils.
He sighed, leaning against one of the bottom bunks and opening the more battered of the two notebooks. Written on the front was "Star Wars Notes," covered over with pen. It appeared as though Gerard had tried to cover up the title of whatever was in here. Frank looked at the first few page, initially bored. It was, as the title suggested, notes on Star Wars. It was all obscure notes on the characters that Frank really, really couldn't care less about. He didn't understand why Gerard couldn't just watch the movie and just leave it at that. All of these special details were stupid. Frank liked Star Wars, sure. Darth Vader was cool. He didn't need to know exactly how many buttons were on his goddamn suit, though. Frank turned the page, sighing again. This was really, really boring so far. Gerard was Frank's biggest disappointment.
As he continued to turn pages, Frank's eyes widened. It turned out that there had been a point to Gerard taking note of how many buttons were on Darth Vader's suit, because this page, covered in Gerard's scratchy handwriting, was detailing Princess Leia slowly unbuttoning them with her teeth. One by one. Frank grinned and sat up straighter. This was what he had been expecting from Gerard. His smile widened as the story progressed, Gerard's writing getting visibly sloppier and rushed as the scene heated up. Leia was running her hands down Vader's thighs, and he had taken off his gloves to squeeze her breasts. Frank almost choked as he remembered that Vader was actually Leia and Luke's father.
He actually choked when Leia said "Fuck me, Big Papa."
The next page was half ripped out, but fortunately he got to see that it had ended with the phrase "Darth Vader's warm cum shot into the--". Clearly, the rest was just cuddling. Frank didn't give a shit about cuddling. He did give a shit about the next page, though, which began with Han Solo cleaning out the crevices of Jabba the Hut's rolls. It led to mutual blowjobs (Frank hadn't even known that Jabba had junk), followed by some really peculiar naked activity. It involved Han Solo throwing some bounty money across the floor, and then tipping over a vat of grease/slime that had happened to be in the room. That was exactly how Gerard had written it, too. Grease/slime. It appeared as though he hadn't quite figured out the best terminology yet. Han Solo then crawled around on the floor, slipping and sliding and rolling around in the grime (Gerard at this point appeared to have figured it out).
"Jabba then groaned loudly and sank his slick phallus between the spread and ready thighs of Han Solo. Han Solo cried out as the slight acidity of Jabba's skin sizzled on his own. 'Hush, Solo.' Jabba said, stroking Han's hair. 'You want this. I can smell it on you.' Jabba reached around and slid an oozing hand between his legs, jerking him briefly before entering Han with one thrust. Han seemed to melt into Jabba, crying out in pure pleasure."
Frank chewed on his bottom lip. This was gay. Leia/Vader was one thing, but this story was an entirely new level of gay. It was also better written, Frank noted. Gerard had never talked about his exact sexuality, and his comments never indicated one thing particularly over another. He talked about men, he talked about women, he had even spoken about Animorphs at one point, talking about the merits of some kid who transformed into an otter. Or maybe it was some sort of hermaphroditic alien. Frank had no clue what it was, he tended to filter out Gerard whenever he got into one of those ranting moods. This story reflected the spirit of those rants, being definitively over-detailed and way too thought out. Frank flipped a few pages ahead in the book, assuring that this story had an end. There wasn't much left to read, so Frank sat back again and raised his eyebrows at the description of Jabba's alien sperm (or whatever the fuck) leaking out of his alien dong and "tickling" Han Solo's prostate.
Frank was in the middle of trying to figure out what a prostate was (he knew they required examination around age fifty, but Solo wasn't fifty) when he heard voices outside. "Shit!" he exclaimed to himself, hurrying to stuff the books back in Gerard's backpack. They were back. He'd have to get to finishing this stuff later. He kicked the backpack back into place and jumped up into his bunk, tugging the curtain shut. He tried to calm his breathing down enough to feign sleeping, but the chattering voices of his bandmates sufficed to drown out any breathing on his end altogether. Of course, Gerard's voice was the loudest of all, going on and on about how dense some checkout girl at the comic book store had been for not having an "extensive enough knowledge of canon." Whatever the hell that meant. Frank rolled over to stare at the blank wall of his bunk, settling for a nap when fear of confrontation with Gerard kept him from anything else.
His dreams were, as a whole, unpleasant and chock full of weird Star Wars sex.
The most unpleasant part was the fact that Frank woke up hard.
Frank scowled, filling his mind with thoughts of some hot ladies (without cinnamon roll hair) as he quickly jerked off. Right before he finished, though, Jabba's fat green body flashed before his eyes as he gasped out an orgasm into his hand. He cursed under his breath, fumbling around to wipe his hand off as he muttered a "fucking Gerard, asshole." He had never hated fucking Star Wars so much in his life.
Of course, Episode V was the first thing Frank saw playing on the television when he walked out into the main area. He yelled a "fucking Star Wars!" before stomping back to his bunk and not coming out for the rest of the night.
Frank wound up sleeping more, and of course, in the way that things always go, he wound up dreaming of him and Gerard in the fanfiction situations. He even called Gerard "Big Papa." When he woke up with yet another hard on, he didn't even bother with it. He went straight to the showers, ignoring it away. The fact that he had a "thing" for Gerard was something he'd been working on ignoring for a long time. It was the reason why he blocked out all of Gerard's rants on how hot some fucking Animorphs were, the reason he blocked out all Gerard's side commentary during the watching of movies, period. He didn't want to know about Gerard's preferences because to be perfectly honest, he didn't want to work himself up by getting hopeful. That was the same reason he had put off sniffing through Gerard's things--the potential that he could find something that kicked his hopes up. This Star Wars shit, as bizarre as it was, had done exactly that.
So, in the true spirit of Frank, he vowed to make Gerard's life a living hell so as to avenge his own disgruntled feelings.
It was a well known fact that Gerard had a large plastic container stuffed under his bunk that was full of Star Wars action figures. Nothing particularly rare or exciting--Gerard kept the really good stuff at home in Jersey. In his mother's basement, of course, the mark of a true fanboy. Half of the figures in this box were actually Burger King toys, but they would serve Frank's purposes just fine. There were a wide range of surfaces in the bus--counters, tables, etc, etc. Frank picked up handful after handful of the toys, placing them all over the bus in the best sexual positions he could manage. While this usually resulted in lying one down and placing another on top of it, a few of the figures actually had bending waists and limbs, which worked even better for Frank's purposes. There were blowjobs taking place next to the bananas, doggy style by the box of (stale) donuts, missionary by the potato chips (Frank had given up on alliteration of food/sex positions at this point), and riding by the leftover rotisserie chicken (he picked it up again here).
He made himself scarce once he was finished, going out on a walk of his own. It would serve as a great alibi, plus Frank really wanted a burrito. He spent maybe two hours in town, walking around with a hand and later a belly full of rice, beans, and salsa, even taking the extra time to grin and greet the handful of fans who spotted him out on this walk. He had deliberately gone without sunglasses, knowing that someone would see him, and this would absolutely help in his plan to burn time, to stall his eventual return to the bus. Hell, he even gave a girl his bag of leftover chips, assuring her that it was okay, it was okay as she burst into tears, clutching the bag to her chest, it was okay but he really had to get back to the bus, and he would see her at the show tonight, alright?
Frank began to stroll back to the bus, immediately noticing Bob and Ray standing outside of the bus, talking to themselves.
"Hey, what's going on?" he asked, feigning innocence and ignorance.
"Oh man, someone busted into Gerard's shit while we were out. We think it was one of the bus crew." Bob said, in between small laughs.
"Broke into his stuff? Did they steal something?"
"No, it's all there, it's just..." Ray started, sniggering.
"What, what happened?" Frank asked, knowing exactly what happened and trying to fight back a grin of his own.
"Just go inside and take a look for yourself," Bob laughed, taking a sip of his drink and nearly snorting it back out as Ray continued to laugh quietly beside him.
"B-but be careful, he's real mad!" Ray managed before nearly tumbling over, clutching his stomach in laughter.
Frank grinned at Ray and Bob, then climbed up the stairs onto the bus. The usual sound of the CD player was absent, replaced by Gerard angrily squawking at Mikey, who could be heard trying to calm Gerard down in his smaller voice.
"The hell does this! And on the toaster? What if it had been turned on?"
"No one uses that toaster, it's broken--"
"And just look at this! Right next to a puddle, these ones are! The asshole probably spilled this shitty fake milk on the counter and then put the figures here on purpose! To stain them, to, to....soil them! Shitty fucking....fucking vegan milk!"
"They probably went out against Frank, too..."
"Really? Really? I wasn't aware that my action figures were in joint custody with Frank."
"No, Gerard, because they ruined his food...."
"Well, his food isn't important like these are. He can buy new fucking food. Milk isn't even food, it's a drink. And this isn't even real fucking milk!"
"What's that? Someone got into my milk?" Frank interjected, faking surprise and anger. He had accidentally spilled it himself that morning, but that early mistake was proving to be to his benefit now.
"Yeah, yeah, but that isn't important..." Gerard growled, picking up a couple plastic toys from the counter and throwing them into the plastic bin Mikey was holding.
"Someone got into Gerard's Star Wars collection, and um...."
"They put them all over the place. They took them out and made them into some...some....sexy scavenger hunt!"
"Well, you see, they, um...."
"See for yourself!"
Frank looked at where Gerard was pointing, seeing one of his finest poses from this morning. Yoda was bent at the waist as Chewbacca stood stiffly behind him, mouth contorted in a plastic roar as he appeared to be sodomizing the smaller figure. Frank tried not to laugh, but the incredible amount of distress Gerard was in made that difficult. He could see why Bob and Ray had gone outside. He was nearly splitting a seam in his side trying to suppress his laughter.
"Wait, so..." Frank said slowly. "Someone broke in, got under your bed, and put all your toys in sex positions?"
"They're not toys, they're action figures!" Gerard snapped before Mikey could interrupt him to assure Frank that yes, that was what had happened.
"Well, at least they didn't steal your laptop or anything." Frank offered. Gerard crossed his arms tighter over his chest, a tinge of red evident on his cheeks. Frank's plan had clearly worked. Mikey may be unaware of his brother's writing (well, maybe he was), and Bob and Ray were definitely unaware, so they couldn't appreciate the true magnitude of the situation. It was a small secret that Frank had the privilege of keeping to himself, and that small secret was even more exciting when he could see how plainly embarrassed Gerard was. Maybe Gerard never popped the same boners that Frank did after their "fooling around" onstage, but Frank was almost positive that his creations of the morning had induced some sort of "southern discomfort" for Gerard. If nothing else, Gerard was at least the normal kind of uncomfortable. And that was good enough for Frank.
"You want some help picking these up, buddy?" Frank said, playing the role of perfect best friend as usual. He bit back the nagging thought of "and that's all you'll ever be" as he smiled up at Gerard. He was going to avenge his goddamn wet dreams. He was going to make Gerard pay. The best part being, of course, that Gerard would never know that the hands helping him put the offending figures away were the very hands that had put them there in the first place. Frank left out the detail that they were also the hands that had frantically jacked off over Gerard's fucking fanfiction in the first place. It wasn't as bad as Gerard writing it in the first place, he reasoned. It was nowhere near as bad.
Of course, Frank's stomach had to do that stupid little flip whenever their hands brushed together. And when the last figures were dumped into the box, and when Gerard's fingers lingered next to Frank's for just a second longer than they should've, Frank just swore inside his chest and vowed to make Gerard's life even worse. The motherfucker.
"What I don't get," Mikey said, smiling and trying to make Gerard a little less mad, "is that the guy put Solo and Jabba together! Who does that, man?" he laughed, giving Gerard a pat on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Gerard, they obviously didn't have a clue what they were doing. They were just being an asshole." Gerard laughed along, but it was his tinny, nervous laugh. Frank picked up on it immediately, and put a smile on his own face. Jerking Gerard around was going to be even easier from here on out.
Of course, again, when Frank combined "jerk" and "Gerard" inside of his head, his stomach felt all funny and he had to excuse himself to the bathroom to angrily sit on top of the toilet until he felt chaste enough to go outside again. While that time spent alone left Frank with an excellent planning block for his next form of revenge against Gerard, it also left Frank with an excellent block of time to jerk himself off, swearing angrily as he came. Fucking Gerard. Fucking. Gerard.
He'd have his revenge. He would absolutely have his revenge.
The next stage of his revenge involved Google Images, a shitty custom t-shirt website, the punching in of his credit card number, and a special note for next day shipping. He left the bus early the next morning, as soon as they pulled into town, and came back with a box of organic/vegan/fairy dust speckled bagels in one hand and an unlabeled package in the other hand. The only marking on it was "To Gerard, from a friend!" Frank had torn off the mailing label and carefully faked a girly style of handwriting on the label he replaced it with.
"Hey, Gerard?" Frank called out when he reached the bus again. "I met this weird girl when I was out getting breakfast...."
"Oh no, did you?" Gerard asked, appearing in the living room, wearing his stupid patterned pajama bottoms and holding onto that stupid fucking viking mug. It had horns on the sides. Fucking horns. Gerard took a sip, accidentally hitting himself on the cheek with one of the horns. Frank hated it, and constantly nagged Gerard about what a stupid cup it was, about how art school should've taught him something about aesthetics, about practicality in design, but Gerard always laughed at Frank, telling him he couldn't appreciate it. The worst part of the whole thing was how fucking cute Gerard looked whenever he hit himself. Which, in the constant pre-caffeine daze Gerard was a slave to, was every fucking morning. It wouldn't be so bad if Gerard didn't do that fucking nose scrunch. He was like some sort of stupid precious baby piglet.
"Yeah, they like, tried to kiss me."
"Oh no...did you...."
"I managed to fend her off. But uh, she gave me this for you. I dunno what the fuck it is." Frank said, handing Gerard the package.
"Hope it isn't something weird...."
"Or food," Frank offered. "Remember when we got that box of like, moldy brownies?"
"Don't remind me!" Gerard exclaimed, setting the cup down on the counter (Frank prayed that it would be knocked off and shattered) and carefully opening the package. He looked as if he was trying to skirt anthrax with his fingers, or itching powder at the least. With their fanbase, you never knew, and no one could ever forget the time Ray had been mailed a gallon of lube. It had a very detailed letter attached to it, but the worst thing about the whole situation was that the container had burst, and no one could walk across the kitchen of the bus without slipping and falling for a week.
"I'm gonna go tell everyone else I got breakfast, k? You be careful with that." Frank said, squeezing past Gerard to get to the bunk area. He was in the process of telling Ray about how he had managed to find cinnamon raisin bagels, just for him, when Gerard's yell interrupted Frank's sentence. Ray dashed out to the kitchen, calling out to ask if Gerard was okay, and Frank rushed afterwards. He knew exactly what was wrong, and could feign a guess that Gerard was not doing so well right now.
"This fucking fanbase! The fucking...look at this shit, Ray!" Gerard yelled, shoving a screenprinted shirt into Ray's face. The shirt itself was a tie-dyed lavender, and the chest was imprinted with a very large image of Jabba, with a shirtless, sweat Han Solo superimposed over his green rolls. It was somewhat reminiscent of the Native American wolf t-shirts that you saw a lot at truck stops. Ray burst out laughing as soon as he saw it, and Frank followed suit. He laughed even harder than Ray did, but the situation at least afforded him a good cover. Frank had hand-designed the shirt, picking out the best of the best in terms of the homoerotic Star Wars images that Google Images had to offer. Gerard may have been cursing the My Chemical Romance fanbase at that particular moment, but the Star Wars fanbase was really far worse. Gerard himself was guilty of being a contributor to that problem.
"What the fuck is that?!" Ray laughed, his voice shooting even higher than usual.
"It's not funny!" Gerard whined.
"Actually, it's very funny..." said Mikey, drawing attention to his silent entrance as he, too, snorted at the ridiculous article of clothing.
"Fuck you! If you think it's so funny, you can wear it!" he snapped, throwing it at Mikey before stomping off to his bunk, where he sulked for the rest of the day up until warmups and the show itself.
Mikey actually did wear the shirt, peeking out from under the marching band uniforms. When he used the heat as an excuse to shed the jacket obscuring it, Frank watched as Gerard nearly shat himself onstage, eyes popping with rage as he clung close to Ray for the remainder of the evening, as far away from the offending shirt as he could manage. Frank was glad he didn't have to deal with Gerard's usual fondling of him during this show, glad he didn't have to use his guitar to hide any problems. Actually, of course, that was a whole lot of bull, and Frank almost wished he hadn't bought the shirt in the first place. Making Gerard miserable almost wasn't worth sacrificing the small snatches of affection Frank tried to grab every night on stage. In the showers afterward, he didn't have any frustration to masturbate away, and he didn't even feel the urge before falling asleep. Gerard was avoiding everyone, and a night without Gerard was a night that wasn't worth staying up at all, in Frank's opinion.
So he slept. He slept without any weird dreams, and when he woke up Mikey was still wearing the shirt, and Gerard was analyzing the quality of the fanart. Things were back to normal, Frank sighed. He supposed he was obligated to find a new way to fluster Gerard. He just wished Gerard would maybe notice him enough to try and fluster him.
"Look at this, Frank! You can see the line where they shopped Han's head onto some male model!"
"Yeah, haha." Frank smiled. Things were back to normal, and he absolutely hated it.
When Frank pulled out his own laptop on the road the next day, he was careful to keep it behind the curtain of his bunk as he typed into Google Images again, then Photobucket, then DeviantArt, and finally a whole crock of weird specialized forums and blogs. He was copying images, carefully adjusting the size of them as he pasted them into Word documents. He would have time to print them soon. There was bound to be an internet cafe with a printer somewhere in the next town they stopped in. He could go on yet another of his elusive walks, and no one would be any wiser. When he typed in the name of the next town and found the exact address of the internet cafe he had been hoping on, he was on his way walking there with his laptop strapped to his back before the bus had even cooled down.
It was early in the morning, but not too early. This meant, to his advantage, that very few people were in the cafe currently. It gave Frank the perfect opportunity to connect his laptop to the wireless network, to include the printer, and finally start printing the images he had been working on finding all night. He was searching for more while the printer chugged away on the current order, but in the brief moment that he looked up and out the window, his blood ran cold and his fingers froze on the keys. Gerard and Mikey were across the street, and now they were pointing at the building he was sitting in. Frank quickly yanked up his computer, not even taking the time to shove it in before racing into the men's bathroom, climbing up to perch on the toilet. It was a single toilet room, but that fact and the lock on the door weren't comfort enough for Frank.
He could hear the printer continuing to run off the images he had sent to it (at five cents a page!), and he could hear the Way brothers talking. Their voices were faint, but he could hear them placing orders. Of course. He could rely on them to be more concerned with coffee and bagels than anything else at this time in the morning. He clutched the edges of his laptop, desperately pounding the "cancel" button for his printing demands. It wasn't working. He could hear the machine continuing to print. Normally technology puttered out on him, but today was the worst exception to this rule.
He sat in the bathroom for what felt like hours, muttering prayers under his breath, rocking on his buttocks on the grimy toilet seat and wishing the Ways would just leave already. His spit caught in his throat as he heard an angry clanking from outside and Gerard exclaim "What was that?!" It sounded as if the printer had broken. He could hear a couple staff members talking about fixing it, then crying out in disgust as they discovered what had been being printed. His hands poured out sweat as he heard them then ask about the source, wondering who had been using their resources to print such things. Frank desperately looked in the bathroom for a window, then realized his only chance was to make a run for it. There had been an "employees only" area, which must lead to the kitchen. Frank knew that was his only hope.
He burst out of the bathroom, almost slipping on an unexpected puddle in the hall it was in, and skidded on squeaky sneakers towards the door. It was mostly devoid of staff, with only one cook shouting at him as he ran through the kitchen area, dodging countertops and racks of food as he sprinted towards the back door. He kicked it open, running into the back alley behind the restaurant, and he did not stop sprinting until he was back at the bus, heaving and panting as he climbed the steps up to it, now exhausted. That plan had not gone well at all. Even worse, he realized, was that Gerard and Mikey might see what had been printed. It simply lost its purpose in that context. They would just expect some strange pervert. Gerard wouldn't know it was meant for him, that Frank had meant to paper every wall in the bus with the pictures and make Gerard even more uncomfortable in his own place of dwelling. That idea was lost.
Frank sighed, resigning himself to watching videos on Youtube for the rest of the day. The bus internet was crummy in this area, and he found himself staring at what seemed to be an endless loading screen. He finally just slept, and he wasn't woken up until the show. He was in a bad mood, and it drove everyone else away from him while getting ready for the show, and during the show itself. Gerard stayed away from Frank, refraining from touching him yet again. Frank slouched over his guitar strumming it angrily and shaking his hair in front of his face to avoid eye contact with the fans. Gerard only came over once, grabbing him by the head and whispering "cheer up, Frankie" into his ear before licking his face and shoving him off, just to stay in the spirit of the show. Frank angrily wiped Gerard's spit off of his cheek.
It was hotel night. In what he assumed was Gerard's effort to "cheer him up," Frank was to room with Gerard and enjoy what Gerard promised as a "super slasher movie marathon" with a lot of processed food. Normally, it would be one of Frank's favorite things. He couldn't enjoy it tonight, though. He was too angry at Gerard. He was sick of Gerard invading his dreams, sick of the way he was feeling on stage, and especially sick of Gerard invading his Star Wars dreams. The vivid writing of Gerard's fanfictions had been turned into vivid pictures inside of Frank's sleeping subconscious.
Frank wanted to put an end to this conflict. The best way to do this, he reasoned, was to confront Gerard head on. He was going to throw Gerard's stupid shit in his face, and finally show off what a weird, creepy dork Gerard was. It wouldn't be in front of anyone. This was between Gerard and Frank. Frank made a stop at the costume shop before the show, and throughout the whole show he bit his lip and gritted his teeth every time Gerard slid his hips around in Frank's vicinity. That asshole's time was coming. He noticed Gerard was more wound up, more "affectionate" than usual. Frank eyeballed his jeans (for research purposes) and noticed a more noticeable lump than usual. Great. Frank was so glad that the stage adrenaline got Gerard's fucking rocks off so well. Gerard grinned when he noticed Frank staring, batting his fucking eyelashes in Frank's direction, and Frank tossed his head away in the opposite direction in response. He was trying to go for "cool, flippant guitarist," but had probably wound up closer to a teenage girl pulling a "whatever, mom."
He excused himself quickly after the show. To take a shower, he said, but he really just meant to jack off in the shower. It would not be good if he actually popped up in the middle of what he was planning for tonight. There would be none of that on Frank's side, but hopefully there would be some very uncomfortable wood growing in Gerard's neck of the forest. He stood in the cramped bus shower, trying to hold back his noises. He didn't want to be that guy (even though he normally was). Besides, this was a matter of business, not pleasure. Crouching down on the tiny shower floor and trying to poke the more stubborn globs of semen down the drain certainly did not evoke must pleasure.
The bus had parked at the hotel by this point, and it was deserted. Frank took the opportunity to secretly get dressed in the costume he had purchased earlier, piling layers of his ordinary clothes on top to conceal it. When he climbed the stairs to his hotel room, he was pleased to see upon entry that Gerard was not in the room. From the sounds of it, he was in the bathroom, though. Perfect. Frank took off his pants and sweatshirt, climbing on top of one of the beds and rolling over to hide his face and expose his body. He lay there lazily at first, but as he heard the doorknob begin to rattle, he quickly straightened himself, snapping his hips into place and draping his left arm over his posed body.
He heard Gerard scream behind him, as well as a thump as Gerard dropped whatever was in his hands.
“Who…wha, who are yo—wait, wait…Frank?”
Frank sat up, flipping his hair out of his face. He hadn’t styled it to match the costume, and it was still somewhat damp. Gerard was standing there in his stupid fucking pajama pants, patterned with kittens and full of holes. That, and to top this whole situation off, a Darth Vader t-shirt. Frank grinned, thrusting out his flat chest and showing off the outfit he had picked up. It was a Slave Princess Leia costume. He was going to go for her regular outfit, but when he had seen this one at the costume store, he knew it would be even better. Luck was definitely in his favor right now.
"Come on, Big Papa. Come on and fuck me." Frank said, smiling and licking his lips. All of the color drained from Gerard's face. He stood there, staring at Frank and his skimpy costume, and then the color quickly returned, the unabashed red that indicated Gerard was really, really mad.
"It was you! It was, wasn't it? You were the one doing....doing all that shit!"
"Well, it's you who's into all that shit, aren't you?" Frank said, rolling over on his stomach and resting his head in his hands, smirking up at Gerard, who was becoming more and more visibly angry by the second.
"How the fuck would you even know? I--" Gerard paused, frowning as he tried to think. "You...you fucking went through my shit, didn't you?" Frank only smirked. "What the hell, Frank?! You don't fucking do that! Does the concept of personal privacy mean nothing to you? Well?"
"Well, don't write that shit if you don't want people to see it."
"Don't go through my shit, Frank! What concept of that do you not understand?!"
"I don't even see what the big deal is." Frank was smirking wider and wider. This was going perfectly. Gerard was finally getting what was coming to him. It served him right.
"It's private, that's what the big deal is!"
"Why? Because you don't want people to know you're into weird Star Wars shit? Or because you don't want people to know you're gay?"
The anger that had been on Gerard's face evaporated. The color went out of it again, and his shouting ceased. His face was blank, and he just stared at Frank. It was a look Frank had never seen on him before. Normally Gerard was an open book when it came to feelings, but this was just....empty.
"Get out, Frank."
"Get out of this room, go....go, get dressed, or whatever. I don't want to see you in...this. Actually, fuck you. I don't want to see you at all."
"What the hell, Ge--"
"Don't ask me 'what the hell.' You know exactly what's wrong. You think you can just invade someone's privacy, and then spend all of your free time mocking them for it, playing stupid pranks on them, doing....doing something like this, and then expect everything to be okay? No, Frank. It doesn't work like that. This isn't some...some teen comedy."
"Don't. I don't want to hear you talk. Just....just get dressed. You know what, no. Stay like that, do...do whatever you want. Go ahead and have your good laugh by yourself. I'm going. I'm not sleeping in here."
The door slamming cut off Frank's sentence, and he was left standing in the hotel room by himself. In their argument, Frank hadn't even noticed that Gerard had picked up his bags and taken them with him. He swallowed, sitting up and hunching over his knees on the bed. Looking down at himself, he noticed just how stupid he looked right now. This had been a really, really shitty idea. Looking back, the whole thing had been. He had really gotten back at Gerard for making him feel all funny inside, oh he totally had. What better way to get your best friend to fall in love with you than to throw out a mockery of their most private secret in front of them? Great going, Frank. He mentally patted himself on the back.
Once he had changed into normal pajamas, he cuddled up in one of the beds. Forming a surrogate body out of the extra pillows in the room, he curled up to it and flicked on the television, looking for something to watch. Star Wars was playing on one of the channels he flipped through. He stared at it for a few seconds, then burst out crying. As he buried his face into the pillow, wailing like a wounded animal and staining the sheets with his snot, he realized just how much he had really ruined things for himself. Gerard would never have him now. Not only had he lost the potential to have Gerard as more than a friend, he had lost Gerard as a friend, period. And it was all because of his stupid fucking snooping, and his stupid fucking need for juvenile revenge. Gerard was right. He was stupid. He was really, really fucking stupid.