Sweet little Frerard song-fic based on the ultimate love song, Risque by Cute is What We Aim For.
I've got birds in my ear [my friends] telling me to call him already,
and a devil on my shoulder telling me to do the same. There's a phone
between my shoulder and my ear, and I keep trying. But...I don't know.
Everytime I hear it ring, I panic and hang up.
Needless to say, I haven't yet gotten through.
He's adorable. He's absolutely adorable. I look forward to math class
everyday, because we sit together. And everytime he smiles, my heart
just races and my breathing catches and the entire world falls away,
and the only thing I can think of is his outrageous beauty. He laughs
at my least-funny jokes, and no matter what he says, he's got me
grinning like an idiot. I'm pathetic, I know, but I'm like...obsessed.
Or, actually, a more appropriate phrase than "obsessed" would be "in
Really, what's a crush to do?
So I hang up the phone. Maybe I could e-mail him. Not at all personal,
but I somehow need to tell him how I feel and if I'm too weak to say
it aloud then I guess I'll have to type it.
Yeah, that's it. My fingers race across the keypad and release all the
words my nervousness was keeping pent-up. I talk about how I feel when
we're together, and I talk about how gorgeous I think he is, and I
talk about how I've never met anyone as amazing as him. He's my world,
my life, my sky and my water and my air.
He's my crush. And what am I to do?
I re-read that entire thing, and realize how silly it was. The
gushiest words in the world don't begin to capture his amazing
perfection. I erase it and try to type it again.
I keep imagining my own personal birds piping away in my ears: "Just
tell him!" one says. "I bet he loves you already," another agrees.
"Anybody would," raves a third.
But of course, I can't think of what to write down, to type down. I
want to tell him of how much he means to me, but there just aren't
I keep typing away. As my fingers tap-tap-tap against the little white
blocks that are the keys, I realize that my phone's ringing.
I answer it.
"Um, hey," the voice greets me, sounding nervous.
The phone is between my ear and my shoulder, but the e-mail I began is
still sitting in front of me. It's like one giant cue card, my own
personal script. It tells me what to say. My fingers know just what to
say [the second time, anyway], things my lips don't. So you can only
imagine how jealous my mouth is.
"Oh! Uh, hey!" I quickly greet him, then blush at my own pathetic excitement.
He laughed, and the sound is of bells. It shuts up those yappy birds
in my ears and brings a smile to my face.
"Um, what's up?" I inquire, nervous, waiting for the perfect time to
read the words on my screen.
"Uh..." he begins. Then, though, his nervousness apparently disappears
as he inhales deeply and says: "I need to tell you something."
"Uh-huh..." No idea what to say.
"Um...well," he starts, "I've been meaning to tell you this for a
long time, but I'm..." He sounds embarassed. And it's adorable. "I was
I can't believe how perfect his timing was. "Er...me too. I've gotta
tell you something too. But..." I inhale. "You first."
"Okay." He's silent for a moment. "Since the first day I met you, I've
known that you were different. Special. You're funny and smart and
really cool, but...I dunno, you're just not like everybody else. In a
good way. You make any boring situation fun, and you always know how
to laugh. And akindarullylieyouala." The last bit is an untelligible,
I shake my head, imagining that he'd said something I knew he couldn't
He inhales. "I...love you," he murmured, sounding regretful.
I've truly got no idea what to say. There are so many things I want to
tell him, but I don't know where to begin.
"I'm sorry, Gerard," he whispers, obviously having no idea that I feel
the same way.
"No." I shake my head vigorously. "No. It's not...Frank...I...love you too..."
What's a crush to do?