Follow Me Home (Frerard)

Gerard's POV
The distinct sound of a giggle sounds from outside of my door the next morning, followed a second later by what sounds like someone falling against the wall. I groan, sitting up and glaring at the door, like somehow my x-ray vision will kick in and I'll be able to see who on the other side is making all that noise. Another giggle sounds before I sigh, throwing my blankets off and standing up. Bob might be the one behind the other noises but no way in hell does he giggle. When I pull the door open, I'm faced with quite a sight. Bob is right outside of my bedroom, pinning some girl against the wall, sticking his tongue down her throat. I grimace and roll my eyes. Can't they take this elsewhere? Like, I don't know, a bedroom? This is a hallway for fuck's sake. Not the right place for making out. When the girl giggles again, Bob's hand trailing up her side, I groan. "Okay, eww."
The pair automatically jump apart. Bob sighs irritably while the girl looks down, blushing. With them separated, I can see the girl more. She's probably around my age, if not a little younger, and her small frame is clothed-- barely-- in a tight black skirt and revealing red top. Fishnets cling to her legs and black heels are lying next to her.
"Gee, I didn't know you were home," Bob says.
"Do I ever leave?" I ask. It's a rhetorical question, but Bob shrugs.
"You go to class."
I raise an eyebrow. "Bob, it's Sunday. There is no class on Sunday."
His only response is a nod before he says, "Can I talk to you for a second?" But I don't have the chance to reply. He grabs onto my arm and pulls me down the hall into the kitchen. He leans closer, lowering his voice. "I'm getting laid," He states, though I already figured with the whole make-out session in the hallway. "Can you... I don't know... Leave?"
I purse my lips, contemplating. After a few seconds, I nod. It's not for Bob's sake, but more because I really don't want to hear what's about to go down. "Give me ten minutes. I need to get dressed and grab my laptop. Then I'm gone." Bob nods enthusiastically, grinning a silent thanks, and turns to go back to his date, but I grab his arm. "Wait," I say, my own voice lowering this time. "Is she a hooker?"
Bob doesn't reply, but the way his blue eyes sparkle and the small smile that falls on his lips is enough of an answer.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm claiming an abandoned table in the corner of the local coffee shop. I set my laptop up, powering it on, and sip at my coffee. This place is known to the local college students for free wifi and low priced caffeine, so I figure it's a perfect place to set up for a little while. Until Bob is done with his... date.
The first thing I do is log onto Twitter. The second thing I do is choke on my coffee. My mentions are blowing up in response to the picture I posted yesterday from the comic shop. A few of them are congratulating me on getting published, four are from kids who actually bought it, and the rest are all demanding to know the same thing; Am I in the picture? I scan through the mentions, seeing that people are actually guessing which person I am.
"the dude on the left is Gabriel, i see him all the time when i'm in there."
"Kid in the middle looks like a fag. You, I assume?"
"Вы хотели пенис?"
Well, I don't actually speak Russian, but I assume they're asking which person I am.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Making a mental note to wash it soon, I start replying. To the first kid stating that he knows who Gabriel is, I type back "Yes. Gabriel is a very close friend of mine. I'm glad you know who he is."
I ignore the person who calls me a fag, and move on to the Russian message. I don't really know what to say, so I just figure what the hell and respond with a "Sure, totally."
A few people simply ask me to tell them which person I am. After a few minutes of contemplation, I settle on replying with, "Who says I'm even in the photo?"
When I'm satisfied there, I turn my attention to my newest private messages. Surprise, there's one awaiting from Frank.
"Hey...Uh... I'm sorry if my previous message creeped you out. I was drunk and my dick tends to take over when I drink. But thanks for keeping a good sense of humor ;) because it's funny that you think you're right ;)"
CALLED IT. I fight the urge to fist-pump, but allow myself to grin like an idiot at the computer screen. When he first messaged me, I figured he was just another drunk frat guy. Then, as the realization sunk in that I was right, my grin turned into a frown. The first cute guy I start talking to and he was an alcoholic. An arrogant alcoholic at that. I reread the second half of the message. "Because it's funny that you think your right ;)"
Well, I could challenge him. I could reply with the same thing he told me about my height; Prove it. Of course, that would only go to prove that I was gay and wanted pictures of his junk. Though that may or may not be true, I couldn't say that.
So I settle with saying, "Not creeped out. A little surprised you're boasting about your dick since you came off as straight, but I'll take your word for it, Frankie ;)"
Just as I hit send, my phone starts buzzing across the table. I pick it up, hoping it's Bob telling me that I can come home now, but when I put it to my ear, it's my brother's voice that greets me. After talking for a few minutes, he informs me that he found a couple of my old comic drawings when he was going through my stuff. My first instinct is to tell him to stay out of my shit, but he hurries on saying, "No, I was going to send it to you."
"Okay, well what did you find?" I ask.
"There's some weird dude on one," He tells me. "Like, he's all brown and lumpy."
"What, like Clayface or something?"
Mikey snorts. "No, this isn't fucking Batman, Gee."
After a few more attempts to explain just what he found, Mikey sighs, exasperated. "This would be a hell of a lot easier if we weren't on the phone," He says.
"Well, what do you want me to do about that?" I wonder. "I won't see you until Graduation."
Mikey's silent for a few moments before he yells, "Skype!"
I can feel my forehead knit with confusion. "Umm... Bless you?"
I can imagine perfectly the vision of Mikey rolling his eyes. "No, dumbass. Skype. It's a video caller. You won't be able to figure it out on your own. Have Bob help you make an account and then text me your username."
"Okay...?" I know my voice sounds unsure, but I figure that if Mikey thinks this will work, it's worth a try. So I pack up my laptop, downing the rest of my coffee, and head back to the dorm

Notes