You're a Hot Mess (Peterick)

Chapter Eight - Hotel Keys

*I've figured out the plot now, which is what took me so long to update, because I had to think about if this chapter would fit. I'm sorry. After this chapter there are only 12 left.*

"Pete, hey, I don't suppose you could go grab Frank for me, could you?" One of the guitar techs, I've remembered to be called Ray, grabs my arm as I walk past him. "There's a problem with one of his guitars, I need him to pick another one for tonight."

I like Ray. Ray is drama-free, chill, and a 'literally will make friends with everyone and anyone' guy. He's nice to have around, which is good because he's always around. He doesn't always seem like it, but the dude's a complete socialite, always talking.

"Sure thing, where is he?"

Ray scratches his head for a moment, his fingers being swallowed up by the dark curls there, "I think he's supposed to be in the venue's lounge, or around there at least."

Someone calls Ray's name and he turns around immediately, "Okay, I've gotta go deal with this, thanks for this Pete. I'd do it myself but..." He looks over his shoulder at the impatient caller, "I need to deal with this. Thanks again!" He ruffles my hair and backs away to whatever problem he's got.

I turn the opposite way and head for the lounge.

The venue's big and all the walls are the same colour and I've never been here before so in short, I don't really know where I'm going.

My fingers scale patterns on the wall as I walk past them, skimming signs and maps that try and direct me where to go. I'm not very good with directions.

Finally I hear murmurs to my right as I reach the edge of the wall I've been following for the best of five minutes.

"No, not yet. I don't wanna end this." It's Frank's voice, sounding hushed and desperate. I didn't know Frank was seeing someone. I guess that's what what he was aiming for by the sounds of it.

"Frank, people are suspecting us. You know what they'll think." Gerard- is that Gerard's voice? Him and Frank?!

Oh my God.

"What will they think? Because I think you're getting that mixed up with your own paranoia." Frank's voice is stern, stumbling onto heated. I get closer to the door to see in.

"I wanna be with you Frankie, I don't have a doubt about that." Gerard touches Frank's arm, his tone gentle and caring. "But it'll get difficult. Your band isn't exactly small and-"

Frank grabs onto the hand on his arm and squeezes, adesperate, but reassuring "Fuck the band, it doesn't matter I'd fucking quit for you, you know I would. But I don't need to, because they won't care." Exits his mouth, his face hidden from my sight but his back in clear view. I can see the muscles in it full of tension.

"But-"

"No. There's no problem here." He interrupts, as if it's the end of the conversation. Gerard's face flickers between uncertainty and shock.

"I've gotta sort out some things." He brushes Frank's grip away and walks towards the door and I launch backwards, flat against the wall, trying to look casual.

Gerard walks straight past me, muttering something incoherent.

No wonder people are suspicious.

I count to ten in my head before I enter the room to see Frank staring off into the distance like he's thinking hard. I don't think he's even noticed me.

"Uh... Frank?" I ask uncertainly resulting in his eyes snapping to me immediately. He flattens his hair as if he'd just ran his fingers through them. "Hi, hey. How long have you been standing there?" Frank asks, partially surprised to see me in front of him.