Follow Me Home (Frerard)

Gerard's POV
"No, you're right clicking. Stop that." Bob sighs heavily, watching over my shoulder as I struggle to hit the "Create Account" button. "Use the left side of the mouse, dumb ass. You know how to use a mouse!"
I try clicking the left side of the bar at the bottom of my keyboard, seeing the little display of options come up on my laptop screen once again. "I'm trying!" I exclaim. "I think it's stuck!"
"UGH." Bob shoves my wheeling chair, with me on it, away from the desk. He then proceeds to tip the chair forward, causing me to stand up or fall onto the floor. Taking the chair, he slides it back to the desk and sits down. I straighten up and watch over his shoulder while he starts clicking about the screen. "Okay. Username?"
"I don't know," I admit. "Umm... GerardWay?"
Bob cocks an eyebrow and glances up at me. "Clever," He says dryly.
I shrug, exasperated, and shift the weight on my feet. "Well what do you suggest, Mr. Know-it-all?"
Bob purses his lips and thinks for a second before quickly tapping the keys. I read the name over his shoulder, laughing softly. "Gwhiz138?"
Bob shrugs. "Better than your suggestion," He states. "Now, password?"
I look at him doubtfully. After the whole replying to Frank while I was gone to class incident, I didn't trust him with my social networking stuff. So I shove him away a little and lean forward. Typing in the password I use for everything-- iheartmorrissey77-- and repeating it for the recheck, I pull back. "There."
"Fine," Bob says, sighing. He's clicking on the create account button when a knock sounds around the small apartment. We both look up. "It's probably Jamia," Bob says. "Can you get it? I'll finish setting up your stuff here and you'll be good to go."
I groan but reluctantly leave the room, making my way to the front door. Pulling the door open, I see a kind of familiar face. Her brown hair is pulled back, bangs falling over her dark eyes. She smiles. "Gerard, right?"
I nod. "Oh," I realize. "You're the hooker that was with Bob yesterday!" And I just said that out loud... Her eyes widen slightly and I fight the urge to punch myself in the face. "Umm.... I didn't mean that. Uh... But you... Kind of looked like..."
But the girl-- Jamia, I guess-- just laughs and shakes her head. "It was the fishnets, wasn't it?"
I allow myself to laugh cautiously and say, "Yeah. Sorry about that."
She just grins. "It's fine. Seriously, don't worry about it." We stand there for a few more awkward seconds before I realize she probably wants to be invited in. I stand aside and hold the door open for her. "Um... Bob's doing something for me real fast," I say. I clasp my hands in front of me and try not to be the awkward as fuck guy I usually come off as. "Do you want... coffee?"
Jamia nods, following me into the kitchen. I flip on the coffee pot, taking the chance to scrutinize her from the corner of my eye. She's lost the hooker heels since her visit yesterday and decided for a pair of jeans and Converse. She doesn't look like a hooker now. Maybe I was wrong.
But I haven't seen her around campus and Bob isn't exactly a social butterfly. I wonder how they met. If not by street walking, then how?
I'm just filling a mug with the black coffee when Bob comes into the room. I hand a mug to Jamia, who thanks me quietly, and begin making one for myself. "Done," Bob states before grabbing the drink out of my grasp and taking a sip. He makes a face and immediately hands it back. "Eww. It doesn't even have sugar."
I pout and set the mug down on the counter. "Well now it has your lip germs on it."
Bob shrugs. "Well those lips germs just made your Skype account, so be grateful."
I raise an eyebrow and watch him curiously. "Did you type with your mouth?" I ask.
Bob stops, realizing he just said his lips made my Skype account. He shakes his head and laughs. "Shut up. You know what I mean." He turns his attention to the girl and kisses her softly. "Hey."
And that's my cue to leave. When I get back to my room, the Skype window is minimized at the bottom of the screen, along with my Twitter and a new Notepad file. I pull up Twitter and instantly check the messages, realizing I have a new one from Frank.
"Alcohol tends to bring out the truth in people, Gee ;) Though, this is the first time I've been drunk since high school so, I guess you'd know more about that than me ;P"
I feel the blush heat up my cheeks when I read the nickname. People have called me Gee before; My brother, my mom. But no one like this. Then again, I guess I don't talk to enough people. And is he insinuating that I drink often? I laugh out loud (LOL, guys! xD) and shake my head. No way in hell. I don't drink. In my early high school years, I had started drinking. I was really depressed at that time and drinking became my go-to solution. By sophomore year, I was an alcoholic. My parents tried to get me to go to rehab, but rehab could only help when I decided I wanted to quit; I made that decision one night when I got drunk and ended up pushing Mikey down the stairs. It was a mistake-- I would never intentionally hurt my brother. He had cornered me outside the bathroom and demanded that I admit I was addicted to the drink. I got upset, told him it was none of his business, and pushed him out of the way, a little too hard, and he fell down the wooden stairs. The next day, I went into rehab.
I shake my head, trying to get the thoughts out. Trying to focus on the topic at hand, I hit the reply button. "Or maybe it just brings out the arrogance ;) and I actually don't drink. Beer pong isn't much fun when I'm the only one playing and I'm kind of a loner. Lol"
When the message sends, I notice something that catches my attention. A new tweet from Frank that has me tagged in it, though it's not directed at me. After a moment, I realize he's responding to the person who called me a fag when I posted the picture of myself, Shaun, and Gabriel from the comic shop. His response is something that makes a smile work it's way onto my features. "Just because someone is hotter and more successful than you, doesn't mean you could call them a fag. Asshole."
I want to reply, to both of them or just to Frank, but I'm not really sure what to say. Thanks for sticking up for me? But there are three people in that photo. Frank isn't even sure it's me he's standing up for. He's just being a nice guy. Still, why would he call me hot? I am far from attractive, I know that. Just being nice is one thing-- Calling someone hot? That's flirting... Isn't it?
I sigh, feeling confused and flattered; Frank called me hot. But he doesn't know that it was me he was talking about. Maybe he didn't even mean it. Still, I find myself favoriting the tweet and signing off with a smile on my face.
I exit out of Twitter and see once again the Notepad note at the bottom of the page. The beginning of the note, obviously from Bob, is my info for Skype:
"Username-- Gwhiz138
Password-- whatever the fuck you made it. You didn't tell me what it was so hopefully you don't forget."
Beneath that is something I don't recognize at first. It looks familiar and the further I read, the more red I feel my face become.
"You're such a dumbass, Gerard. Вы хотели пенис? means "You like penis?" You just openly admitted to being gay... Also, that Frank guy is cute. You didn't tell me you were talking to someone. I did you a favor and sent him something special. You can thank me later."
Oh shit. Bob is totally right. It was stupid to reply to the Russian message when I honestly had no idea what they were asking. My answer had been accurate, but still. What was I going to do if everyone on here found out I was gay?
Reading the last part of Bob's note to me, I got both worried and curious. What the hell did he send Frank that was so special? It takes me a few minutes to find what he's talking about because it wasn't sent via Twitter. Somehow, Bob managed to hack my Twitter and email, find Frank's email, which even I hadn't managed-- not that I had tried-- and send him an message that said "Hey hot stuff. Maybe we can continue our conversation face to face? ;) -xoGee" Beneath that was my new Skype name.
Oh. Shit.

Notes