When We're Both Thirty

He's Got a Thing For Band Members

"I got a text from Frank last night."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. At four in the morning. While I was trying to sleep."

"Okay?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah, he said, and I quote, 'just wanted to text you to let you know that you're an asshole and that I hope you die in a freak accident.'" Gerard says.

"So you two haven't changed much then."

"No, we have. He's gotten worse. I hate him even more now."

"So, what are you going to do then?" Mikey asks.

"Well, we're trying to set each other up to get our moms off of our backs."

"Wait, you're literally helping each other? Like actually. You're not helping each other by giving the other a hand to jump off a cliff or something?" Mikey questions.

"If I knew where to find a cliff, I would surely help him off of it. Then again, there are a lot of skyscrapers in this city..."

"Gerard!" Mikey reprimands.

"Sorry. I'll plot his murder another day."

"How about not at all?"

"He texted me at four in the morning and woke me up!" Gerard says.

"Why was he awake that late? Or early?"

"I don't know, I've decided that he's a stripper," Gerard shrugs.

"Really? That's what you're going with? Frank the stripper? Magic Frank?"

"Yeah, well or maybe he's a porn star," Gerard says.

"Frank A. Nal?"

Gerard snorts, "You got any other names?"

"Uh, Frank Cox? Frank S. Gaye? Frank Cumming," Mikey suggests.

"Gross, Mikes. You're just a weirdo," Gerard says, shaking his head and laughing. He messes with the sleeve of his shirt absentmindedly and tries to figure out how to take the topic off of Frank. He's not sure he wants to though. He hates the guy, but now that he's reentered Gerard's life, he can't help himself from thinking about him. All he wants to say about Frank is that he's awful, but he's at the top of his brain now.

It's almost like when he was in high school and he used to bitch about Frank at the dinner table. He would always rant on and on about how dumb he was, how much he hated Frank, how he couldn't believe Frank lived only next door. It got to be so bad that people couldn't bear to hang out with Gerard because all he would do was complain. Gerard worries now, that that might be happening again.

It doesn't worry him enough to stop bitching about Frank though. There's a lot of things to complain about. It's like a buffet of insults, and Gerard gets to mix and match all the different ones he wants. That's Frank's fault for being so grotesque and easily offended.

"You asked," Mikey shrugs.

"Since when do you have a plethora of porn star names at your disposal anyway, Mikes?" Gerard asks.

"Sometimes it's better for something's to be left unsaid. But if you must know, I have some strange coworkers. Did you know the guy who delivers our mail owns a pet hedgehog."

"Why would anyone want a pet hedgehog?"

"Why wouldn't you want a pet hedgehog? I guess everyone knows what you'd name it though," Mikey says.

"Knuckles."

"Knuckles isn't even a fucking hedgehog, you nimrod."

"Well forgive me for being a thirty year old man who probably shouldn't even know who Knuckles is in the first place," Gerard replies.