Follow Me Home (Frerard)

Gerard's POV
He was perfect. He was like the very embodiment of the word beautiful. The grin that stretched across his face when I looked up and met his hazel eyes was breathtaking and oh fuck, I sound like a girl, but he was... perfect.
And he was watching me.
"Hey." As soon as the single word left his lips, I was throwing myself off the chair and onto the floor. Literally. It was a stupid move probably, but I didn't know how to react. I panicked. I couldn't let him see me-- I knew, without a doubt, that if he saw what I actually looked like, if he knew the Gerard that hid behind the computer screen, he wouldn't want to talk to me anymore.
"Dammit, Gerard! You ugly idiot!" I hit myself in the forehead with the palm of one hand and prop myself up so my back was against the wall. At this angle, I could see the full computer screen, with minimum negativity, but the small box on the bottom right corner showed nothing but the wall behind my now empty desk chair.
I'm watching Frank Iero on Skype right now.
The thought seems insane to me. Not even twenty-four hours ago, this guy was nothing more than a one inch by one inch photo on Twitter and now I was watching him, live and in virtual person, on my computer screen.
I groan and bring my head back, allowing the back of my skull to connect with the hard wall. "You're such a fucking idiot," I curse myself. I mean, I answered the Skype call with my face for crying out loud!
"I'm going to hang up for a quick minute," Frank says suddenly. "Alright?"
I try to ignore the pang in my chest and the frown that etches itself into place. I bite down on my lip, feeling unreasonable sadness that overwhelms me. He's hanging up... "Sure," I say. The word feels forced and it actually hurts my throat to say.
"I'm going to switch over to my laptop," He explains, a smile once again gracing his lips. Fuck, those lips are gonna be the death of me... "So you'll have to answer when I call again."
The smile is probably evident in my voice when I reply. "Okay." My heartbeat involuntarily accelerates and then stops completely when Frank winks. "Don't go anywhere, hot stuff."
I feel the heat rush to my face, burning and bright red, and thank God that he can't see me. When the screen goes black, I let out a heavy breath. "Holy fucking fuck suckers!" I yell. My inner fangirl is set loose and I grin, burying my face in both of my hands and laughing. He's calling back. Frank is going to call me back. And talk to me. Like a normal human being. Because he wants to.
Or he feels bad for me. Maybe he just feels bad for me. I've admitted before that I'm a loner; He probably feels bad that I don't have any friends. He's just being nice...
I swallow down every negative voice that fills my head and close my eyes. I breathe in deeply when a small ringing sound fills the room. I look back to the screen and see a small black box against a white screen. I climb forward on my hands and knees to get a better look. Three buttons shimmer against the black; Answer Call. Answer With Video. Ignore Call.
I purse my lips, studying each of the choices. What do I do!? I move my finger across the small mouse pad, the arrow appearing over the second button and, hesitantly, I push down. A second later, Frank's face flashes across the screen again and my heart stops. His face is only slightly out of focus, lagging a bit with the slow wifi, but still just as perfect. His black hair is messy, looking strangely sexy on him. It gives him a rugged, punk-rocker look that seems to fit him just right. I find myself glancing back and forth between the rings that pierce his mouth and nose. The way his tongue pokes at the hoop on the left side of his lip, even when I don't think he realizes he's doing it. His now dry eyes are rimmed with red, making it look like he's been crying, but I figured it would be rude to ask why. Though the thought of this beautiful man crying makes my chest ache.
This time around, however, I have something new that has caught my attention; His shirt has somehow disappeared, but I am most certainly not complaining. I can only see the top of his chest, but what is visible is adorned with tattoos. It's intriguing and I find myself captivated by the staining ink. I can't make out any details, but I wonder what could possibly mean so much to him that he would get it permanently etched onto his skin. Of course, my extreme fear of needles means that I have a small bias when it comes to tattoos. I couldn't see myself with any, but that didn't mean I wasn't enticed by his.
The screen shakes and I cock an eyebrow, watching him as he shifts uncomfortably. "Do you have to pee?" I wonder, chuckling.
"No, I'm just..." He trails off looking awkward suddenly. He's cute when he's awkward. As opposed to myself. When I'm awkward, it's just... awkward. "Trying to get comfy, while waiting on you to get up from the floor and show yourself--" Oh, nobody wants that, I think silently. "Or at least just get up from the floor. It's unsettling, you know." He laughs hesitantly and I look down at my hands, embarrassed. Great, the guy can't even see me and I'm acting shy!
I shake my head, knowing damn well he can't see me, and my eyebrows furrow. "I kind of like it down here," I lie. My ass is falling asleep and the wall against my back is going to have me slumping for the next week. "Can't I just, you know, stay here?"
"POR QUE?!" He yells and I jump at the sudden change in volume. Looking back to the computer screen, Frank is flailing around in a humorous way, his arms going everywhere. When the screen tips and nearly falls out of his lap, he grabs onto the computer and I'm met again with those bright hazel eyes.
I bite down on my lip and suck in a sharp breathe, my amusement instantly gone. "Because..." I say in a low voice, not really intending for him to hear. "My face. That's why."
However, he does hear and his eyebrows crease. "Why? I like your face. What's wrong with it?"
I swallow hard, prepared to make up some excuse for why I don't want to show my face, but before even two words leave my mouth, the door across from me swings open and Bob is standing in the doorway. He grins and looks between myself and the computer screen, Frank still awaiting a response on the other side.
It's only when Bob yells, "I fucking told you he wouldn't be freaked out, Gerard!" that I feel my eyes widen. Oh shit. If Bob ruins this for me, I am going to smother him in his sleep. Bob, oblivious to my silent threats, just smirks, looking proud. "You can thank me at your wedding."
"Dude, how the hell did you find me on Skype!?" Frank suddenly demands. Bob and I both shift our gaze to the laptop, Bob looking as surprised as I feel. While this sudden rage from Frank is random, I understand completely why he's freaking out. "Are you some kind of obsessive stalker or something?! Don't ever talk to me again, you creep!"
I feel my heart sink as the screen goes black, leaving nothing but the look of pure animosity on Frank's face floating through my mind. I grind my teeth together and push myself off of the floor. I only focus on Bob, his mouth open in shock.
"Dammit, Bob!" I yell, moving across the room and shoving my roommate back so he stumbles backwards out of the room. "Now look at what you've done! You fucking scared him away!"
Bob shakes his head, but I feel nothing but the pain that swells up inside of me, turning into anger when it reaches the top and comes fizzling out of my mouth. "Do me a favor," I say, my voice lowering when Bob is standing in the hallway. "And stop trying to help."
I slam the door and go back to my laptop, shutting it quickly. I didn't want to stare at a black screen and think about what just happened. Still, when I fall onto my bed and bury my face in the pillow, I can't help the thoughts that swarm my head.
I met Frank Iero. Not in person, because he still lives in Florida, but I saw his face. I saw his vibrant eyes and smooth skin and, sure it was blurred with the bad camera or the slow internet, but it was him. And he was more amazing than his pictures ever showed.
But then he realized that I was probably a freak and decided, just like that, he was done. As quickly as our friendship had started, it was over.
I fall asleep wallowing in my self pity-- little known fact; Self pity is very comfortable.-- and, luckily, don't awake until around two AM. By this point, Bob is either asleep or out with his new girlfriend and I have the apartment to myself. So I take off my pants and wander into the kitchen. My head still feels thick with sleep, but I don't feel like wearing pants, and having the dorm to myself means I do what I want.
First, I rummage through the fridge for food. When I finally find a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, I pull it out, ignoring the way Bob's name is scribbled on the top, jumping up onto the counter and digging in. If he can ruin the one friendship I had managed to build, I was allowed to eat his ice cream. That's like basic roommate agreement.
When I'm finished, I leave the empty container on the counter just to piss him off, and make myself comfortable on the couch. After only a few minutes of sketching, I find myself tearing out the unfinished drawing and crumpling the sheet into a ball, throwing it onto the floor. I can't get my mind off of Frank. I can't stop thinking about the way he looked so angry when he flipped shit and called me a creep...
I was a creep. I was sitting here in my underwear thinking about someone I had never even met in person. That was fucking creepy.
I push myself off of the couch and make my way back to my bedroom, falling onto the mattress and looking around the room. Sighing, my eyes land on my laptop. Frank was ignoring me, sure, but that didn't mean I had to avoid everyone. Checking Twitter wasn't going to hurt anything. I sit up and lean across the small gap between my bed and desk, reaching for the computer. When I have it safely in my grasp, I open it and realize it's still running. Closing Skype, I pull up Twitter instead. Of course, it was just my luck to get new messages from Frank...
I stare at the unopened messages, biting my lip. He's probably just messaging me to call me an asshole on yet another social media site. I should delete them and give him exactly what he wants; For me to never speak to him again. But a small part of my brain is telling me to at least check them and see what he says. I hesitate, my fingers hovering above the keyboard, as I contemplate what to do.
Delete.
Or read...
I click out of the page, leaving the messages unopened and unread, and pull up my mentions instead. I scroll through the tweets directed toward me, seemingly all focused on the recent photo of myself, Gabriel, and Shaun posted. There were conspiracy tweets trying to decide who I was, tweets that flat out insulted me, and others that were in a different language. I ignored the foreign ones, not wanting a repeat of my previous incident. I tried to focus on the messages centered around my art, what my Twitter was initially all about, but my eyes kept coming back to the ones about the one photo of me.
Biting down on my lip, I went into my settings. Without hesitation, I moved the mouse to hover directly above the small link at the bottom of the screen. I felt a rush of various emotions coursing through me, mumbling to myself and pressing down on the button.
"Yes, I am sure I would like to deactivate my account..."

Notes