He was on the phone.

Laughter erupted from the room adjacent to Frank's, where the small boy laid staring blankly at the ceiling. He was on the floor, threads of the new wool carpet stuck into his back, itching and poking. Tomorrow, he told himself, I'll return it. Or throw it away. Save anyone else from enduring such pain.

He was on the phone. Gerard, that is — with his grandma. They'd been talking for hours now. The sudden joyful outburst surprised Frank. Up until that moment, it had seemed like a very serious and morbid conversation. Not that he was listening in.

With his feet crossed against the wall and his fingers laced behind his head, he was actually really comfortable, although hungry. His stomach lurched, sending a wave of shudders throughout his body; a familiar feelings that had come and gone in the time he'd lain there. He'd learned to ignore from childhood, but it was now growing more and more disturbing. With an audible and dramatic groan that came from the deepest part of his diaphragm, he dropped his legs and clambered to his feet. Standing on the tips of his toes and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, he stretched his arms as far as they would go, arched his back, and curled his toes in the carpet (although he instantly regretted that as the scratchy material irritated the skin), causing a loud crack to be heard.

The sun loomed at the top of the sky, sending blinding rays of light in every direction. Once he had reached the kitchen, he bent down to inspect the contents of the fridge. A wave of cold air wafted over him, going straight for his face.

"Could you toss me a coke?" Gerard's voice came from behind him, startling the shorter of the two. Six words. Six consecutive words. The most he had said at once in three days. Frank turned to see Gerard's familiar red-orange hair, but he was now sporting a shorter cut. Combed down on the sides and puffing up in small curls on the top, he looked somehow older. More refined. "Coke, Frank," his voice came again, snapping Frank out of the hair-induced trance. His hand was extended and open, palm up, and he wiggled his fingers, impatient. He wore a white dress shirt, unbuttoned and displaying his stomach for all to see if not for the counter that stood flush against him. Frank could only see the upper third of his torso. He wasn't an extremely fit person, but had a good body all the same. Around his neck hung an untied red tie, the colour matching his hair almost exactly. His chest puffed up and down, shifting the tie. "Oh my god, eyes up, weirdo." Fourteen words.

"Right, yeah, sorry." He shook his head and returned to the open fridge, pulling out a six pack of soda cans. "What's with the tie?"

"Job interview," he responded between sighs. Frank nodded, scrunching up his face as he feebly yanked the cans apart and tossed one to Gerard. In almost perfect harmony, they clicked them open and gulped some of the fizzy drink down.

Frank looked into the small hole on the top of the aluminum can, wondering what would happen to it once it was thrown away. The dark liquid swished around, creating perfect circles of small ripples. "Oh, cool." Gerard nodded. "Wait, don't you work at Ma's diner?"

"Well, yeah. But I wanted something more." He shrugged, taking another sip. Not just words — a conversation.

Frank hummed a "yeah" and pulled out a cigarette. As he slipped it between his lips and rummaged through his pockets for a lighter, Gerard eyed it with a sort of hunger. "Want one?" He asked, cupping his hand around the end of the cigarette and lighting it, the flame hot against his exposed palm.

Gerard opened and closed his mouth, deciding, before finally settling on an answer: "Nah. Thanks."

"'Aight."

Gerard's fingers tapped the countertop absentmindedly, followed closely by Frank's tired eyes. He hadn't slept nearly all night, and the dark circles below them were adequate proof of that. He took a long drag of the cigarette, blowing smoke into the air. It travelled into Gerard's face, invisible to the eye but not to the nose. He swatted away nothing, leaning back and earning a laugh from Frank. Gerard shot him a glare, which did the job of shutting him up very well. Hands raised in mock-surrender, Frank stepped back and wiggled the cigarette between his fingers, trails of smoke swirling into the air.

With a sigh, Gerard shook his head disapprovingly and checked his watch: pristine, newly-bought, and tied around his wrist with a leather strap. He glanced up at Frank who looked at him curiously and said "I'm out. See ya."

"Buh-bye. Good luck!" Frank replied between puffs of smoke. He had lowered his arms and tucked the empty hand under the other elbow, supporting the hand that held the death-stick up to his lips. Gerard buttoned up his shirt and grabbed a blue blazer on his way out. It swung beside his equally-blue dress pants.

The door shut with a slam and Frank was left alone, his only company being the cigarette between his nicotine-stained fingers.

~~~

The rhythmic ticking of a clock. The quick clacking of nimble fingers hitting keys on a keyboard. They drove him crazy.

The otherwise empty and quiet waiting room was dull and lifeless, the walls stripped down and barren. Not even a clock could be seen.

"Gerard Way."

Gerard's head perked up at the call of his name. "Yes?" He was a bit confused at the woman having to ask for him, as if there were someone else in the room apart from him and the secretary behind the desk.

"Come with me please." The woman's dark blue dress fit snugly against her body, hugging and accentuating her curves perfectly and seductively as she walked, rocking her hips.

They arrived in front of a large door. It was the only one in that hallway that didn't have windows surrounding it so you could peer into each person's office. Some people sat still, clicking away in front of their computers, some propped their feet up on their cluttered desks to draw in a sketchbook or on a tablet, some tossed small basketballs into mini-sized hoops on the walls or door, a few were in meetings. Gerard imagined how his office would look and what he would spend his time doing in it when the thought dawned on him: being stuck at a desk in an office, frankly, would suck. He looked to his feet and saw the skinny tips of his shoes. Oh, those expensive shoes. And for what?

The door clicked open, pulling him from his thoughts and acting as a motivator for him to focus on what was happening. If he got this job, it would be nothing short of amazing. His dream.

"Gerard! Hello, hello, come on in!" The man threw his arms in the air and wrapped one around Gerard's shoulder, pulling him into the room. There were framed art pieces and magazine clippings on the walls, and awards and trophies for various things scattered in shelves or on his desk. Pushed to one side of his desk sat an endless mound of papers. "Ah, how are you?" Gerard stopped in front of the desk and the man moved to the other side, unbuttoning his blazer to reveal a white shirt and plopping down on the large leather seat. It sunk a bit under his weight.

"I'm doing alright, thanks. How about you?"

"Bah! I'm good, I'm good." He leaned forward, intertwining his fingers. "Now, you, sir, have a very nice resume. And your portfolio! Oh! Amazing! Marvellous! Stunning! Exquisite!" His arms flailed in the air as if to add emphasis to the words. "So tell me, why would you want to work here?"

The question baffled Gerard. Why did he want to work here? Well, "it's always been my dream, ah, sir, to work in the art industry. When I saw your opening, well, I was ecstatic, to say the least. I've always loved your comics; they're actually how I first got into art. And, uh—"

The man — W. Halls, by the engraved gilt stand on his desk — started laughing, slamming his hands down on the desk. "Oh, Gerard. That's all really lovely, it is. Look, I'm gonna be honest with you — I don't really care. Now listen, you're good, don't get me wrong, but I have a hundred other 'good' artists." Gerard's face fell. "But, I'm gonna give you a chance. Monday morning — tomorrow — be here. I want you on your best. We'll see what happens, Okay?"

"I- yes, wow, um, thank you. Thank you, sir." They shook hands and Gerard left, escorted by the same woman from earlier. His smile reached his ears.

Oh, he just had to tell his grandma.

1506 words

October 5, 2019