Wintertime (Frerard, Sequel to Summertime)

1: Brendon Urie Is My Spirit Animal

Twenty eight year old Frank Iero walked into a Starbucks on his way to work.

The actual act of doing so was rather insignificant and especially in the moment: after all, Frank liked coffee, Frank liked Starbucks and the barista was kind of cute, so needless to say, he frequented the place on his commute to work.

Work being some dull office building that he didn't even care too know the name of: Frank was a secretary - he worked for a company, he was the guy that ensured the guy with a five figure salary kept his life on track, and Frank was surprisingly okay with that.

Frank had grown accustomed to the mundane and the boring, though: he relished every single moment of being normal he'd managed to treasure over the past three years; Frank had been twenty five when he'd gotten out of the mental hospital he'd spent entirely too long in.

But by now, he'd gotten pretty used to just blocking that part of his life out: he didn’t even think about the mess he'd been in throughout his early twenties, and he most certainly didn't think about the boy he'd meet when he was seventeen: the boy that had caused all of this mess.

That part of Frank's life was so fucked up that he could about convince himself that it was nothing more than a dream. He didn't need to though, because Frank was fine and fucking normal now: sure he was on medication - a twice daily reminder that he would never be as normal as he could dream of being, but besides that, he was content in the fact that he was absolutely nothing more than just a normal guy with a normal job.

Frank lived in New York now: he'd forced himself to get away from Jersey as soon as he'd gotten out, and well, nobody had blamed him, and three years ago he'd started a new life here, and not once had he ever looked back.

His apartment wasn't anything special, but it wasn’t shitty, and his life wasn't anywhere near as bad as he'd always reckoned it would be. He was bitterly single right now: his ex-boyfriend had been an ass, and well, that was something Frank didn't particularly want to think about in excess either, but he didn't talk to the guy anymore, and he found himself much preferring the company of his dogs when he curled up on his sofa after work to watch the same shitty horror movie for the twentieth time.

Frank smiled at the barista as he made his way inside: he knew the guy, this was his favourite barista - Brendon, and Frank even gave the guy the luxury of taking out his headphones as he walked in, offering Brendon Urie the gift of his conversation.

Frank found himself cringing just a little at the music playing throughout the building from the radio: sure, Frank was a Taylor Swift fan, because who wasn't? But Welcome To New York? He found himself scoffing as he compared the ridiculous metaphors in the lyrics to the world around him.

"If you're hating on the queen then I'm going to have to call that treason and kick you out." Brendon's tone was casual, unprofessional even, but Frank and Brendon knew one another well enough to even consider a use of the term 'friends'. Anyway, they were the only people in the building right now, it being six in the morning on a Tuesday and still dark outside: a fault of the wintertime, but at least in winter Frank could wear his favourite leather jacket without sweating his tits off.

"The queen?" Frank's eyes widened a little at that, leaving Brendon to shake his head at the twenty eight year old: disappointed in Frank's lack of knowledge slang terms used to refer to female pop artists - he was awfully straight for a gay guy.

"Taylor." Brendon deadpanned, and Frank found himself biting back a smile, because it was six in the morning and Brendon Urie would not hesitate to slap him straight across the face for even considering to insult Taylor Swift.

"I'm not hating, just don't particularly like this song. Blank Space is amazing." Frank pleaded his case, and wondered just when Brendon would remember what he was actually being paid to do here and serve him some fucking coffee instead of insulting his music taste.