Follow Me Home (Frerard)

Gerard's POV
Bob was nowhere to be seen when I finally arrived back at the dorm. After stopping by the comic book store, I all but ran back home to make sure Bob didn't do anything else stupid on my Twitter. The whole walk home-- speed walk, of course. Sprinting isn't really my style-- my mind is filled with dreadful thoughts. What if Bob posted something else without telling me? What if he changed my icon to that picture of me from when I played Peter Pan in the fourth grade school play!?
But when I reach the dorms, the apartment is vacant. The door is locked, both of our rooms and the bathroom clear of any sign of my roommate. However, my computer is propped up, still open and buzzing with life, on the coffee table with the recent messages lighting up the screen. I sigh, dropping my bag beside the couch and falling onto the sofa. Pulling the computer onto my lap, I scroll through the page until I find Bob's reply. If this Frank Iero person hasn't seen the message yet, I could delete the reply and save myself from the repercussions of Bob's mistake. But as my mouse hovers over the small trash bin looking button, a little blue light near the top of the screen alerts me to a new message and I realize I'm too late.
"Dude chill! I was only joking... I didn't know you had anger issues..."
I don't know why the message bothers me so much, but it does. As my eyes skim over the twelve point black words, they seem to mock me. This complete stranger probably thinks I'm an ass, all because my roommate decided to play around with my Twitter.
I immediately click reply, pushing my fingers as fast as they can move to type out an excuse, explaining that it was Bob who sent the previous message and I was sorry for his rude behavior. Before I have the chance to hit send, though, another box appears.
"Plus I'd TOTALLY like to see you try! ;)"
I hesitate. I have a reply already typed out, apologizing for Bob's message, but the second response makes me stop. It has such a different tone than the first, taking on a patronizing arrogance that reminds me of the stuck-up popular kids that always used to pick on me in high school. But the wink at the end makes him seem more facetious, almost like he's flirting.
He is not flirting with you, Gerard. I sigh internally, though I find myself erasing the typed, unsent words, and clicking on the small icon that comes up with his name.
Frank Iero...
I study the default picture; It's cropped to be just him, but I can make out the side of someone standing next to him. By the looks of it, this Frank person is rather short. Compared to the figure next to him-- I can't tell if it's a man or a woman, as I can only see some curly brown hair-- Frank comes up to only their shoulder. He's dressed in a white button up shirt, a red tie highlighting the apparel, and, as I lean closer, I see red and black outlining his bright eyes. I imagine his pink lips moving to form the words he's sent to me via Twitter. I can imagine them turning up in a cute half-smile as he winks.
Dammit, Gerard. Your gay is showing. Cover it up.
I shift on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable, and exit out of the page completely. I'm over thinking this. I'm reading too far into his words. But the challenging tone that taunts my mind has me re-opening the webpage and replying to his message.
"Hmm big talk for such a little guy. ;)"
And then, smiling to myself, I log out and turn the computer off. I lean back on the sofa, pulling my new comic from it's bag and flip it open, feeling rather proud of myself.

Notes