Frerard Oneshots

Hotel California

Hello, I really like this one :) I am also practically begging you to read this with Hotel California playing because it just makes it 20x better. Enjoy!

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Frank's eyelids were heavy, his feet heavier. Every step felt like a journey of a thousand miles -- completely, utterly drained, feeling the weight of every time his shoes scuffed the desert road beneath him. It was dark. That was for sure. It was lulling, Frank's eyes aching, begging for relief. To be put out of their misery, to be allowed to give in for the night, to cease their traveling.

Frank knew he couldn't stop, though. It was almost engraved into his skin, buzzing -- a hardwired circuit in his brain telling him that it was forbidden. He wasn't allowed to stop. He didn't want to find out what would happen if he did. So, he walked. He walked, and he walked, and he walked. The wind was in his hair. Lapping, kissing, tangling the dark curls throwing back behind him in the breeze. It was almost gentle. Soothing, blowing grains of sand along the highway he followed. He was unsure of where he'd come from, or where he was going. All he knew was that he had to keep walking. He had to.

He couldn't remember anything. Nothing more, nothing less than where he was right now. He knew he'd been walking, for as long as he could remember. He'd been walking for a long time. His memory was inky, faded around the edges -- growing bleary as he did. It stretched just as far back as to when the morning sun had first started peeking across the horizon just earlier that day. Even then, he'd been walking. Walking, walking, walking. A never-ending cycle, throwing Frank back in over, and over, and over again.

It was well past nightfall now. That, Frank knew. The sun had long since melted behind the absolute barrenness of the landscape once more, another day saying farewell as the dark settled over Frank like an inky veil. There was nothing but paved road going on for as long as Frank could see. Sand everywhere. All Frank had to keep him company was himself. He, himself, and his thoughts.

He hadn't even known how he'd gotten here. He'd be damned if he remembered anything other than walking. There was a warmth pooling into his belly -- an intoxicating smell wafting in from the distance. Frank managed to glance up -- still, with nothing in sight. He could smell it, though. It was a welcoming aroma. Warm, full, hearty, and homey. Frank could only imagine how nice it would feel to get a meal in his belly right now. It was nothing more than a dream, though. A longing that he kept locked away. Nothing more than a scent -- a brief flickering of heritage, and perhaps a past unremembered, as he kept on trudging...

Frank's head had grown heavy. As if his neck were supporting the weight of a bowling ball, rather than his own skull. His flesh felt foreign. Tainted, dirty, and aching. Tired, just wishing for an end to this madness. His sight had fallen dim, blinking -- knuckles coming to rub blearily at the messy edges of his vision. There was a shimmering light in the distance, and Frank was sure that he had to be seeing things.

He was drawn, almost like a moth to a flame. It was like it was embedded deep into his veins -- an instinctual fire in the gaping chasm of his belly daring him to pursue his calling. It was loud, and Frank knew it was what he had to do. Just as walking was his purpose, he knew that he had no other choice than to approach the light. It was his calling. He didn't dare go against it.

Everything seemed to approach far too quickly. It was like Frank's mind was set on one track, racing until he seemed as if he was blipped there in a matter of moments. In front of him, was a hotel. He was sure he'd arrived there faster than his feet had been moving. It was tall, beckoning, enveloping all around him -- the pressure almost suffocating, feeling as if he was being dragged beneath the undertow, feet pushed forward until he finally reached his destination.