When We're Both Thirty

Impure Thoughts On High

So it's about seven in the morning when Gerard's phone starts ringing. He groans out a long, and unintelligible cuss at it, before he groggily reaches for the nightstand and tries to blink away the blurriness in his eyes long enough to read the caller ID. His body is not allowing him to do that though so he just ends up staring at a blurry, vaguely blue light for about thirty seconds before he decides it's better to answer it then to let it go to voicemail.

His voice sounds sleep-filled and hoarse when he picks up the phone, and it's more of a mumble than an actual greeting.

"Why the fuck did you blow my guy off yesterday?" is what Gerard's met with from a very angry sounding voice. Now, in the morning, Gerard is very stupid, and he is very bad at recognizing anything. Sometimes he doesn't even figure out that he's awake until an hour after he's pulled himself out of bed. Usually it takes a cup of coffee, a piss, and something to eat before he's ready to socialize with anything.

"Um?" Gerard says, because he doesn't know who the hell he's talking to, and he also doesn't remember what his own name is right now. He knows one thing and that is that he's craving caffeine.

"Gerard, you'd better give me a straight answer here. This was your fucking plan after all and here you are, completely blowing off a guy who I set you up with!"

Gerard blinks a few times with the new information. His name is Gerard. Yeah, that sounds familiar. Gerard.

He is Gerard. He's in bed. He's not wearing pants. Wait, why isn't he wearing pants?

"Oh fuck," Gerard says, and he springs up into a sitting position so fast that you'd think he's on strings. "Fucking hell. Oh fuck. Fuck!"

"What are you on about?" the person asks. Gerard now recognizes that voice to belong to Frank.

Frank is the one who.... yeah, fuck Gerard's life.

"Fuck," is all Gerard says, as he rubs the temple of his forehead, hoping that if he pretends nothing happened last night than nothing actually did.

"What's your explanation then, Gerard? Why'd you act like a jerk to the guy I set you up with? I mean, I get that you're a jerk anyhow, I've embraced that knowledge, but you could have at least been cordial about it, but no, you went and ruined it. You shot the horse before it was even out of the gate and all you have to say is 'fuck'?" Frank says.

"No, that's not it, it's-" Gerard stops himself, because he can't tell a soul what happened last night, not a single person, but if there's one person he especially can't tell, it's Frank.

"What? You going to try to defend yourself?"

"You know what, never mind. Why are you awake? It's seven in the morning?" Gerard groans as he looks at the clock across the room from him.

"I have a flexible sleeping schedule because of my band. That's not the point, why are we talking about me? You've already spoiled this date, he doesn't want to even attempt to go out with you, so great going Gerard, you fucked up."

"Ugh whatever," Gerard says. He almost said sorry until he realized that he was conversing with Frank, and he is not going to say sorry to Frank unless he's apologizing for how unfortunate it is that Frank is the owner of such a horrific face. Except it's a really nice face. A really really nice face. A face that Gerard was thinking about last night when he-

"I don't even know why I bother setting you up in the first place. I mean, only one of us needs to find someone before my birthday, and it's obviously not going to be you."

"Asshole," Gerard replies, "How many days do we have again?"

"Twenty eight," Frank says almost immediately. "You've already wasted five of them by being a lazy ass and not fucking doing anything."