Stomachaches (Frerard Fanfiction)

Chapter One

Frank's POV

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump!

"Mm.." Frank made a small noise before pulling the sheets over his head, ignoring the loud thumps. He was half asleep and not motivated whatsoever to leave his warm and comfy bed. He was tangled up in the blanket and sheets a little. It was comfortable and he thought it was as if his bed was keeping him there, refusing to let him break free.

Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump!

"Son of a bitch" He hissed before angrily ripping the sheets off of himself and hopping out of bed. If his bed could talk, it'd probably be screaming at him to get back in bed. Whoever the hell is knocking on my door better have a damn good reason why they are here Frank thought to himself. Not wanting to answer the door in only his boxers, he grabbed his plaid pajama bottoms that lay on the ground and slipped them on real quick before making a dash to the front door.

Frank had swung the front door open, looking grumpily at the man standing in front of him. The man standing in front of him so happened to be his landlord. His mood instantly changed. Frank was smiling nervously while the landlord had folded his arms across his chest and looked at Frank impatiently. "I'm just reminding you that later on this evening I will be stopping by again to collect your rent money" He said in a strict tone. Frank mentally cussed at himself, completely forgetting about his rent that was due today.

"Well.. Uh, I'll have it for you then sir, no worries, just stop by around five o' clock"

"Good, I hope so, because may I remind you that the past three months you paid me late.. you need to pay me on time, you hear?."

Frank nodded "I apologize, I'll try not to have that happen again" He was speaking quietly now.

The man with grey hair nodded, looking Frank up and down with a disgusted look on his stupid wrinkly face. That's right, buddy.. take it all in. Judge me for all I care Frank mentally snarled at the old landlord.

"I'll be on my way then" He said before turning around and marching off of the concrete porch. Frank slammed the door shut once the guy got into his fancy dumb car. He sighed and ran his fingers through his insane bed-head before walking into the kitchen. Since he's already awake and there is probably no chance he'd be able to go back to sleep now, so he might as well make himself a pot of coffee.

His head was spinning. He hoped that he had enough money to pay the rent. He didn't really have a job.

Every other Tuesday or Friday he'll preform at local bars. If that's considered a job? Frank doesn't play the same old songs of course. He writes new songs almost every day. Frank plays guitar and bass too so he's not just singing up on stage while standing there alone all awkward. He doesn't know where exactly he is going in life but it's something he sort of enjoys doing at the moment.

Occasionally it gets boring and a pain in the ass to be truthful. He sees the same old faces in the bars and feels like he's just singing to a wall most of the time, which makes it a little easier for him to preform.

Sometimes, if he's lucky enough, a fight or two would happen in the bar every now and then which is very entertaining. He also gets payed for doing what he does on stage, but it's not shit ton. He's not complaining though because its enough for him to put food on the table and keep a roof over his head.

Frank grabbed a mug from the cupboard and picked up the pot of coffee. He poured the coffee into the blue mug and added a little creamer. He leaned his back against the counter and sipped on his coffee, staring out of the large kitchen window. The sun was trying to peak out through the thick gray clouds. He was hoping for a thunderstorm maybe later on that day. Summer thunderstorms are the greatest. He likes it when it rains, even though the thunder will occasionally make him jump and nearly shit a brick. Other than that, he doesn't seem to mind it at all.

His eyes wandered over to the clock that hung on my wall. It was a little past three o' clock. Frank gulped down the rest of his coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his tattooed hand carelessly. He left the now empty mug on the counter by the sink and nearly bolted upstairs. He needed to start practicing before tonight's show.

~
A/N: This is my first Frerard fanfic so I'm sorry if it's not all that great. It's in 3rd person and I'm probably overusing the words he, him, and his oops. ~carmella G xo