Gerard decides him and Frank aren't working out, so he ends it. Then, as he finds a bag, he realizes he made a mistake.
When Gerard decided to watch a Leathermouth show from the sidestage a few days ago, he was dumbfounded at how much screaming and work Frank let out of him. The rage, the terror, the confusion, all the emotions were pouring out of the man. And after each song, he joked and smiled like he normally would when around his friends.
This scared Gerard a lot. He changed since him and Frank got together, and he was pretty sure it was time to start something new. Something with a fresh feeling, and wouldn’t leave him listening to Frank clicking the mouse button at 3am instead of something of his, if you know what this author is getting at here.
Gerard thought it over and over, him breaking up with the shorter male, if he should cry or not, make a good laugh of it, or be serious and hug the man and kiss him goodbye. Would the band fail? He was sure it wouldn’t. Frank was too enthusiastic about his job for that to happen.
So, when Gerard felt it was right, and he plainly kinda wanted it just over already, he pulled Frank aside one day and gave it to him. As he was talking about them growing apart, Frank nodded along, not following. His heart fell to his stomach, but he wouldn’t beg Gerard to keep him. No matter how many shards of his heart there were floating about in his ribcage.
After a quick hug and a ‘it’s ok’ Frank made his way to his bunk to lay down. He had to scoot his new messenger bag over to fit. It was most definitely his new favorite thing. It was all black, adjustable at the strap, and had shiny, silver lining to it. It had dozens of pockets inside of it, and a few on the outside of it. It had a clip for it when it closed, and it felt like a bottomless pit when he crammed so much of his favorite material goods into it.
But as Frank’s appreciation for this bag dwindled down, he started leaving it about. He usually remembered to put it back into his bunk, but he was wiped out from the venue so he went straight to it, and put himself to sleep, missing his good night kiss from Gerard.
Gerard, by being oh-so-observant, found the bag sitting propped against the couch's arm as he sat. He never had seen the bag, being his oh-so-observant self as I explained before, so it was his duty as the band's vocalist... to go through it and figure out whose it was, of course. Why was there a woman on the bus anyway?
First, he noticed how nice it was. Definitely not a twenty dollar bag from a convenience store, or even a Walmart bag. It wasn’t one off the racks in a low-class hot topic, either. And that surprised him considering his fans usually where the ones with green and brown mohawks and black bras under soaked white t-shirts... That bothered him because they were 14. .
When he finally got brave enough to open the bag, because yeah he felt guilty, he looked first for any indication the owner was someone he knew. He found nothing, and assumed this girl left her lady products somewhere else.
Then he found CD’s. He went through them hoping to find a name scrawled onto it with a sharpie but none delivered that message. Most of them where jazz music, one was a rap album that he thought looked like Mikey’s, and three or four were old punk albums. Who listens to punk and jazz?
As he dug deeper, he founds assortments of different kinds of packaged candy. Most were open, leaving melted and gooey chocolate at the bottom of the bag. He decided to just look through the pockets.
God there where so many. But, when he pulled out what was the first one he knew exactly who’s condoms these ones where. His. These were his condoms. And then that must mean this was Frank’s bag.
And when he searched more and more, he kept finding assortments of his favorite things. Little reminders of who he was, who Frank was, who they where before he became so selfish. When he sat there, rummaging through the last couple pockets, Frank had walked in, not able to sleep.
“What the fuck are you doing, Gerard?” He asked, no anger in his voice. When Frank said a curse word, it usually mean nothing. The short man rubbed his eyes, and made sure he saw what he thought he saw. The singer indeed going through his belongings, and leaving them strewn across the couch and table.
“Frank, I’m sorry,” the man said, not knowing if he was sorry for him calling the relationship off, or going through Frank’s personal belongings. Frank nodded.
“Just put the shit away, Gerard, please,” he sighed, going to the kitchen. Or what they called one, anyway. Gerard shuffled in behind him and set his chin on Frank’s shoulder as Frank poured coffee.
“What do you want, Gee?” Frank said, putting the coffee pot down. Gerard let his arms wrap Frank in a backwards hug, and Frank’s heart that had recently been stitched up by a teddy bear and chocolate (hence the mess in the bag) broke again.
“I want... I’m sorry for leaving, Frank. I miss you.” And as dumb as going back to someone who hurt him before, and someone who was a suspect for stealing Frank’s shit, Frank nodded at him, smiling.
“I missed you too.”
They shared that warm cup of coffee that night, giggling at all stupid Gerard was. And Gerard gave Frank the sweetest goodnight kiss he could muster up, and Frank had only one thing to say to him as he walked back to his bunk.
“Clean up the mess you made, Gerard. And make sure that chocolate that you spilled in my favorite bag is cleaned up.”