Playground [Frerard AU]

EIGHT

     "I don't like you going out for so long every day," my grandma told me worriedly. We were sat at the dining table with dinner in front of us, the cat pawing at each of us every so often. "You live in New Jersey, Frank, not blooming Disneyland."

      She never swore, my grandma. It was probably her age. Old people find words like 'bloody' to be shocking, which I personally almost laugh at but understand because of the way times change. It's odd to think about, really. Languages have evolved so marginally yet so greatly over, maybe, only 40 years that kids these days say 'damn' without consequences when they would have been punished severely back then. Or perhaps I am merely overthinking my grandmother's refusal to ever let me say 'damn' in her house.

     I shrugged in response to what she said, stabbing vacantly at a roast potato. I knew that what I was doing could easily be called stupid, but I'd been doing it for, what, a week? Two weeks? And nothing bad had happened to me. Nothing bad had happened to Gerard either, and he had been visiting that park for much longer than I had.

     Gerard. I hadn't seen him in almost two days. But was that to be expected? I mean, our relationship only stretched to acquaintances at most. 

     "Frank?" She was suddenly concerned, placing her hand slowly and gently on top of mine where it sat beside my plate. I looked up to see her frowning at me. "Frank, honey, are you okay?"

     I forced a smile. "Of course," I answered, trying to forget about Gerard Way. I tried to forget his voice, and his hair, and his face. I desperately pushed away the memory of him drunk and therefore oddly depressing. His whole presence the other day had depressed me, and for some reason the feeling kept creeping back.

     When I finally felt like I had gotten enough of him off my mind, I came to my senses to see that my grandma had both cleared the table and left the room. She knew when I wanted to be alone.

     The cat, funnily enough, didn't take the hint and pounced on my lap as soon as I sat on my bed. I hadn't even seen him follow me upstairs, let alone come into my room so I jumped when I felt the weight of him on my thighs. He was a pretty fat cat, and oddly clingy for a feline. Usually cats are quite... Cat-like, but old Hercules wasn't. A stupid name for such a lazy, cuddly creature who looked like a marshmallow but my grandma had picked it for him years ago.

     Hercules pushed his face almost aggressively at my hand and I petted him absently, staring at the pillow on my bed.

     I found it odd how much I had become invested in the awkward artist I had come across at a park. Perhaps seeing him drunk and indirectly vulnerable had sparked some sort of maternal instinct in me. That was certainly a very... Curious thought.

    Perhaps I could become a guidance counsellor.

     I laughed at the thought.

-

    I received a small text from my cousin Ray at around ten that night, simply asking how I was doing. Ray was a few years older than me and was in college as far as I knew, studying something technical. He was a cool guy; another guitarist. But he was more into Metallica than Misfits.

     What really surprised me, however, was what I found in my contact list after I sent my reply. A number that I hadn't added myself, under the name of "Grrarsxoxp". A drunkenly typed "Gerard xoxo" I realised after several minutes deciphering it.

     The sincerity of his number being given to me was questionable. People do stupid things when they're drunk.

     Should I text him?

     Should I call him?

     No, we weren't even friends.

     Yes, I wanted to know if he was okay.

     No.

     Yes.

     No.

     Yes.

     No.

     I pressed call.

     I waited. Then I heard his voice. He apologised boredly and I was confused for a few seconds before I realised that it was his voicemail. I sighed and hung up.

     My ringtone played several minutes later.

-
This is a very meh filler. My apologies.