Random Frerard Fluff [ONE SHOTS] [COMPLETED]

Pizza Boy

AU FIC

To put it simply: Gerard didn't believe in love - not one tiny little bit.

He didn't believe in any manifestation of the so-called emotion, even in a world where it was so constantly laid before him by society and the media - blatant like the stench of a dead cat in a perfume shop - and maybe that's what made the whole thing so sad.

Gerard didn't believe in love because he had given himself no good reason to.

And Gerard had given himself no good reason to believe in love because, well, nothing in his life had ever convinced him to think otherwise. After all, the closest Gerard had ever been to love was watching a homeless man with the green left sock (crazyunknown666) on the bus that one time.

He just looked so peaceful, Gerard had recalled late in the night. Like nothing in the world could touch him. For an hour he was invincible, locked away in his own little bubble.

But even though he did have a strong disbelief for something he'd never experienced, which seemed quite ridiculous to the odd outsider, Gerard knew that if there was one thing he did believe in, it was most definitely pizza.

"Yes, er, a large pepperoni with a can of Coke for Gerard, thanks," he found himself ordering one very boring Friday night, after a particularly long day of work, all thoughts on love pushed back to the furthest corner of his mind. "Delivery, please."

"Okay sir, your total comes to thirteen dollars and seventy-five cents, but there is an extra delivery fee of two dollars-fifty. Will you be paying over the phone?"

"No thanks."

"Your number please?"

After relaying his mobile number to the lady on the phone, Gerard clicked the 'End Call' button with a somewhat sense of finality, and really didn't expect the device in his hand to start ringing again after not even a minute.

"Hello? Is, er, anyone there? Hello?" spoke the person on the other line, a little gruffly, in a New Jersey accent that stood out in sturdy contrast to the Californian twang Gerard had become accustomed to since he moved there a few months previous.

"Hi, um, who is this exactly?" the twenty-five-year-old asked uncertainly, having not looked at the number on the screen before picking up.

"Oh, sorry!" the man chuckled. "This is Frank from Giovanni's Pizzeria, calling because there was an error with your order. It seems that Sally, the last receptionist you spoke to, forgot to ask for your address. This is Gerard, right?"

"Yeah, it is. It's okay, I just didn't recognise your voice."

But that was a half-subconscious lie on Gerard's part, because he could have sworn something twinged in his memory when the man on the phone - Frank - had greeted him. "Forty-four Princeton Court."

He hurried a goodbye, setting his phone on the kitchen bench and striding into the adjacent living room to wait for his dinner to arrive.

---

As it turned out, waiting got very boring very soon. There was nothing on TV; well, nothing worth watching, anyway. Gerard had switched through each individual channel in vain, and he'd even attempted taking up his old sketchbook to draw something of his interest, but nothing of his imagination caught his fancy (and he didn't really want to do the work he'd brought home, either).

Gerard finally decided, without much regret, that he may as well jerk off. Working at home as a successful comic book writer wasn't exactly stressful, but it did take up a lot of his alone time, between everything else he had on his plate.