...So, unless you want everyone to know who your crush is, make it anonymous.”

Gerard’s POV

I glance over to Frank once again and our eyes meet for a second before Diego roughly nudges my ribs with his elbow, forcing me to turn my attention to him.

“You gonna send anyone notes?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” I reply indifferently. “Are you?”

“Yes, and I even know who,”

I don’t really care about what he wants to do, so I just hum in reply, but it seems like he wants me to ask him questions.

“It’s actually a love note,” he adds after a pause.

“Really?” I say, looking down at the ground and playing with my thumbs. I literally could not care less about who he wants to send the damned note to.

“Yeah, I’ll make it anonymous,” he says.

“Wise,” I reply. When will he get the hint that I really don’t give a fuck?

“Oh my goood,” Diego groans, rubbing his hands on his face. “Don’t you wanna know who it’s for?!”

“No, not really,” I reply truthfully and he turns away from me, probably pissed.

***

Ballash said that he had to do something super important back in the hotel, and now we are all, once again, completely under Frank’s control, running around the field. But this isn’t just games in the field anymore- this is literally shooting from bows with real sharp arrows. Fucking archery. And if you consider the IQ of the people of my age you’ll automatically understand that they should never be left like this under Frank’s not-giving-too-much-shit wing.

Somehow he manages to get everyone seated on the grass and stands in front of the crowd, proudly looking over us. The targets are right behind him.

“So, archery,” he says with a pause. Nobody says anything, and you can practically hear the grass tremble under the wind. “Pretty cool, huh?” Frank continues hesitantly.

Oh Frank, please, just shut up.

“This is so fucking boring,” Tom whispers into my ear, leaning in slightly. He’s a nice guy and easy to talk to, we have some similar interests. For one, both of our biggest passions are basketball.

Because I totally know how to play basketball, yeah. You know, traveling with the high school basketball team every month and stuff, I’m a pro. Ball for life man, ball for life.

I just hope that Tom isn’t going to ask me to play with him, because that would be a huge fucking disaster after which I probably wouldn’t be able to go on with life. I’d just lock myself in the basement and rot in embarrassment.

“Okay, I need a volunteer who has done archery before to do a quick demonstration,” Frank says, folding his tattooed arms on his chest. I look around. Nobody moves a muscle.

Oh for fucks sake.

I slowly raise my hand, cautiously looking around in case someone else wants to have the pleasure of demonstrating their absolutely magnificent archery skills. Once in a lifetime opportunity, gotta take your chances.

Frank’s lips part in a wide smile. He enthusiastically waves for me to come closer. and my stomach flutters in a mix of fear and excitement. I push myself off the ground and take several hesitant steps towards him, wondering if I’ve done the right thing by volunteering, because I have no fucking idea how to shoot, and I don't think I have a natural talent.

Everyone’s indifferent gazes pierce into me, and I suddenly feel extremely self conscious. I automatically look down to make sure my T-shirt isn't too tight so that nobody can see my body shape and a small flap of my stomach. I nervously tug at the hem, shrugging.

Who the fuck am I trying to fool, they’ve all seen me practically naked by the pool. Literally no matter what I do now won’t make any difference to their opinion. I can be wrapped in a carpet and still everyone would know exactly what my body looks like.

It's funny how I care so much about how my stomach looks and my couple kilograms of extra weight, but I still wear the skinniest jeans I could find in H&M.

“Frank, there’s a problem, last time I did archery I was 13 and it was a disaster,” I whisper when I’m close enough to Frank for him to hear me and he grins even wider, his lip ring reflecting the bright sunlight.

“Oh please, I’ve never done archery before in my whole life, and now look at me- I’m literally conducting an archery lesson! Ha!” he laughs, patting me on the shoulder and slightly pushing me towards the targets. He is way too cheerful about this.

He turns back to the crowd, straightening his back.

“Alright, I guess everyone will just have to follow Gerard’s lead since no one else knows how to shoot,” he says and I turn over my shoulder to look at him, raising my eyebrows in a "the fuck did you just say" way.

This wasn’t the fucking deal Frank, I don’t know how to shoot either!

“Hey Frank, I don’t know how to-” I try to protest.

“C’mon, of course you do! Now go, teach us,” he interrupts and shoves a bow and an arrow into my hand. I clasp my fingers around the weapons and notice Angelina nodding reassuringly at me.

The bitch.

***

I ended up completely missing the targets all seven times that I tried to shoot, so we ended up just sitting on the grass and chilling until Ballash came to pick us up in two hours. Frank was lying on his back somewhere in the distance, earphones plugged in and sunglasses on, picking up his phone from time to time to skip a song. Ballash, to put it softly, expressed a mere disappointment in Frank, and I think he finally realised that Frank is literally the last person you should ask for favours, especially if they include doing anything even remotely active.

Back in the hotel, we were given five minutes to change into fresh clothes. I figured that since I didn’t do anything I didn’t have such an urgent need to change, so I decided to just rest.

I slump back onto the bed and close my eyes, feeling exhausted for no apparent reason. If I had about 10 minutes, I’d probably be sleeping.

I hear some shuffling and open my eyes, seeing Diego pace nervously back and forth, his eyes darting from corner to corner.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for paper to write an anonymous note,”

“Ohhh,” I coo. “I actually have some paper. Do you need a pen?” I ask, sitting up slightly.

“Yes, thank you so much!”

I dig through my suitcase and pick out the materials, tossing them onto Diego’s mattress.

“Arigato,” he smiles, picking up the pen in between his fingers.

“What?”

“That’s ‘thank you’ in japanese,”

“The more you know,” I say, falling back into the pillows again.

***

I walk over towards our table and sit down next to Tom, who is too busy picking on his nails to acknowledge me. Diego stayed behind to slip the note into the mailbox, so I keep him a spot to my right. I glance around the dining, looking for Frank. For some reason his absence makes me nervous, and double check that he’s not there before finally giving up. I haven’t seen him since Ballash practically dragged him away by the ear just as we passed the door, and I can’t help but wonder if Frank is currently at the hospital with several knife wounds in his back.

Ballash really seems over-protective over us, I wonder if he’s a teacher when the camp closes.

Diego heavily plumps down on the chair next to me, folding his long tanned arms on the table.

“Did you write the note?” I ask, somehow intrigued.

“Yeah,” he replies shortly.

Suddenly the door flies open and wide-eyed Frank marches in, unconsciously slamming it behind him. I immediately notice that he’s taken his lip and nose rings out, and that he looks extremely nervous and fussy. He scans the room with his eyes until they meet mine, and his chest rises in a breath. The corner of his lip twitches, acknowledging me, and he hurriedly pulls out his chair and sits with his back to me. I sigh, feeling light and easy.

***

“Alright, I’ll wait for you outside the store. When you are standing in the check-out line send Gerard ahead so that I have enough time to get the backpack ready. Just don’t get too many things, or it will be suspicious,” Frank instructs, gathering me, Diego, Drake and Adham in a circle outside the hotel. We all nod in understanding.

Yes, Frank is, after all, helping us smuggle food into our room. I already have a short plan, and it involves two medium-sized Nutellas and at least three packs of gummy worms. Maybe a coke, too, but I’m not sure about that.

“How much money do you think we’ll need?” Drake asks Frank in a whisper, cautiously looking around in case Ballash suddenly leaps out of the bushes, which, to be honest, wouldn’t even be that surprising.

“I’d take about 15 euros, but that depends on how much you’re gonna buy,”

“We’re gonna buy a lot,” I quickly reply, pulling out of the circle. Frank nods thoughtfully.

“I’m gonna go tell Ballash that we’re going to the store,’ he declares and sprints up the stairs, roughly pushing the door open with his shoulder and practically falls into the hotel.

Notes

Sorry, I know this chapter is kind of boring and it took me a long time to write, but I promise next one is going to be more interesting.
I saw Gerard in Prague on January 28th, and it was most defiantly the best night of my whole life.
Gerard is never overestimated. He really is an amazing human being, and his aura is practically soaked in kindness- you can literally feel it from the crowd. The way he moves around the stage, you can see how much he's enjoying it and how much it means to him. The music seems to possess him. At some points he kind of tilted his head to the side and stared into the distance, and at those moments he looked so demonic it was actually scary, in a way, but mesmerising. He talked about transgenders, mental illnesses and how important it is to have someone to talk to when you're feeling down. I was really close to the stage, but I'm sure that it doesn't really affect how you feel about the show. It always feels very special, as if he's singing just for you, or maybe two or three more people. And his voice was just plan amazing- better than any studio record.

So, the reason I wasn't really trying my best at writing is because I was (and still am) in a shcok that I actually saw him.

Check out my new oneshot aka the only story with an actually good ending that I've ever written:
http://www.mychemicalromancefanfiction.com/Story/66381/But-his-heart-doesnt-beat-like-ours/