Seasoned and New

“Okay, so why?” Gerard mumbles into his cup.

“Why what?” I’m stalling. So what? You would too.

“Why would you have a fucking Sunday dinner?” Ray’s worried, the fro is worried, and I’m chickening out.

“I’m gonna check on the pies.” Gerard says, but he’s gonna snoop. He’s already thinking of places I’d hide things.
Gerard: Bathroom. Car. Sock. Oooo! Sock drawer!
I also see the realization on his face as he stands and is soon yanked down into Ray’s lap.

“Nuh-uh.” Ray chides “I’ll check them.”

“No!” I see the surprise on their faces from my sudden out burst. “You guys are guests. I’ll check.” I leave out the bit about the alcoholic content of the mentioned pies. Well, singular pie, actually.
Pie no.1: ordinary strawberry cream pie
Pie no.2: strawberry cream pie with an unheavenly ratio of tequila to actual pie

If they take the whole your-good-friend-who’s-known-you-for-more-than-half-of-your-life-has-been-freely-exercising-the-ability-to-read-your-mind-and-by-the-way-that-orgy-was-a-great-idea-so-we-should-totally-do-that-and-as-much-as-now-would-be-great-it’d-be-best-if-you-kinda-process-all-this thing poorly the get pie no.2.
I take a quick trip to the kitchen and instead of checking the pies I check myself. Deep breaths. Mental pep talks. This could work out. Where the hell is Mikey?

“The pie’s setting up nice, so don’t ruin my dinnery thing by repeatedly asking.” I go for upset, but I can’t be mad. Nope, not at all because, as bad as this could go, I just want the weight off my shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah.” Gerard huffs and I think I was just completely ignored due to whatever Ray whispered being “more important”. Due to my shutting their thoughts out, I have no idea what could possibly be deemed “more important”.

“Heyo!” Mikey helps a very intoxicated Pete hobble through the door, across the foyer, and also into Ray’s lap. Since he’s not complaining, I decide not to intervene.

The brisk and warm hug from Mikey is followed by his calculating, soul evaluating, eye contact and that doesn’t last long either because he’s grinning like there’s been announced Christmas for every season, but I can’t breathe because holy shit I’m telling my band, my family, and possibly a drunk Pete Wentz I know what they’re thinking. That may not sound big, but wait til it happens to you. Fuckin wait.

“Mikey?” Ray asks on the verge of whining.

“Yeah?” He twists to look at Ray’s ordeal. Ray’s got both Gerard and Pete on his lap, legs on the couch and everything.

“Why’d you bring Pete?” Definitely whining.
Okay. Now I intervene. I scoop up the vaguely aware Pete and relieve previously mentioned Toro of the added weight. Gerard wont budge and I’m to lazy to put forth real effort, so I leave him be. Shortly thereafter, Mikey takes up the freed up space and I’m very much worried. Everyone’s having such a good time- and good times are good just not when you’re about to possibly ruin the best thing that ever happened to you. EVER.

I check the food, so we can eat already.
“Would anyone be willing to help me set the table?”
step 1: ask for volunteers

“No one?”
step 2: call people out

“Gerard?”
“Uh-uh.” Sounds like no.

“Ray?”
“He’s not available at the moment.” Mikey tosses in oh-so-helpfully.

“Well, not Pete and I get that Mikey should relax after having to handle Wentzy.”
Step 3: guilt trip

“I’ll tell you guys when I’m done…” I sulk to the kitchen door, but not dramatically… and I listen, well, read.

Ray: I feel bad now.
Mikey: I should probably help.
Gerard: He already had to cook for hours and now he’s setting the table? By himself?

Ray “Get up.”
Mikey “Already up.”
Gerard “Bet you a shiny penny he’s sulking in the kitchen.”
Mikey and Ray “No.” I imagine the incredulous faces they’re giving him right now.

They bust through the door and I stop reading then because you don’t always want to know. So now the three of them are looking really confused and bickering about the fork arrangements, namely if the little one belongs on the outside.

“As much as it means a lot you’ve come to my rescue, it’d be the most helpful if you all just sat down.” They look to me. I see their faces and oh my god was that too harsh? “I’m not upset or anything. It’s just too many chiefs. You know?”
I count three noncommittal nods. Good.
I have the table set, practically within the minute. Oh, I’m good… scary good. Might’ve beaten my record.

“Hey, Frankie?” I glance up at them all looking like wounded dogs.

“Yes, Mikey?”

“I wanna eat.”

“We’re getting there.”

“It has to be pie.”

“Eat real food first, then pie.”

“Pie! Pie! Pie!” Okay, so they’re chanting pie at me. Can’t say it’s say it’s new as much as I’d love to.

“Nope.”

“But pie is real food!”

“Nope.”
So Gerard and Ray just start eating.

“Oi, Toro! Grace first!”
I’m a still good Catholic boy… on Sundays. Well, some Sundays.

Notes

This'll be in Frank's POV unless otherwise described.
I should also mention the smut occurring in the next chapter.