#17 - Brown
#17 - Brown
#17; Brown
It couldn't be that hard. He'd seen his mom do it plenty of times, and she was hardly the world's greatest cook. Chef. Cheffette? Whatever.
"What the fuck?" Ray spluttered, walking into the kitchen. Frank scowled.
"It's a welcoming present," he explained.
"It's not very welcoming, dying of food poisoning," Ray hummed, sticking his finger in the gooey chocolate sauce and licking it. "This is a waste of good icing," he told Frank, jabbing his finger at the bowl.
"You're a waste of oxygen," Frank retorted, bustling around the kitchen in search of a whisk. He knew he had a whisk somewhere, goddammit, but where?
"It's in the bottom left drawer," Bob said in a bored voice.
"Fuck you," Frank said for no good reason, since Bob had just used his immense psychic powers to help him, and plugged it in. He pressed a button and it started whirring immediately, spinning violently in the air and abusing his eardrums. Wrong button.
"Jesus Christ!" Ray shouted over the noise, as Frank tried to turn it off. "This is why you shouldn't cook!"
"He isn't cooking," Bob pointed out, just as Frank found the right button to turn it off. "He's baking."
"That involves ovens at hot temperatures," Ray said. "That's even worse."
"Good point," Bob conceded. "I'm outta here."
"Fuck you," Frank said again. "I am perfectly capable of baking a decent chocolate cake as a housewarming present to my new roommate." Both Ray and Bob snorted, Bob's a little muffled as he was seated on Frank's sofa watching Frank's TV.
"Yeah," Ray said, hopping on the counter and munching on a biscuit that he'd stolen from Frank's biscuit-hoard. "Not too sure about that." Frank frowned, pouring the flour half into the bowl and half onto the scales. Goddammit.
"What d'you mean?" he asked edgily, breaking two eggs and adding them to the goopy mixture. He hadn't even met the guy who was moving in. All he knew was it was Mikey's brother, he was called Gerard, he was an artist and he was some kind of weird, introverted hermit. The whole thing hadn't really been planned - he'd needed a lodger, and Gerard'd needed a place. Mikey was the common denominator.
"Well," Ray shrugged, helping himself to another biscuit. "He doesn't really...interact with people. He's not good in social situations."
"I'm hardly a social situation," Frank scoffed, pouring in what was probably far too much sugar. "I'm one person." Ray raised his eyebrows.
"You're like, several irritating people rolled into one," he said around a mouthful of chocolate biscuit, flapping his hands in Frank'a general direction as if he thought that would emphasise his point.
"I hate you," Frank told him, taking the cookie jar off him. "This friendship is over."
"Baby, don't be like that," Ray leered, and oh God, he just looked so ridiculous Frank couldn't help but giggle.
"Idiot," he said fondly."Pass the milk," he then instructed Ray bossily. If Ray was eating his food supplies, he could do something in return. Even if it was just walking to the fridge, opening the door and finding something. Ray rolled his eyes and huffed, but complied, and Frank splashed a tiny bit of milk in like he'd seen his mom do when she was baking cakes.
"There," Frank said. "Now I whisk."
"Oh God," Ray muttered, bolting out of the kitchen.
"I hate you both!" Frank called, turning on the whisk so Bob's sarcastic reply would be drowned out.
-
"Jesus, Frank, your cake'll be fine," Ray said, rolling his eyes.
"I don't want it to burn," Frank protested, cupping his hands around his eyes in order to see into the oven for what was the fourth time in the past five minutes. "Is it done yet?"
"Take a fork and stick it in - if there's mixture on the fork, it's not ready yet," Bob said. Both Frank and Ray stared at him in surprise. "What?" he said defensively. "Is it wrong for a man to cook?"
-
Frank had taken to asking Bob questions about his culininary life and advice whilst they were waiting for Frank's cake to not-burn.
"I didn't know," Frank said for the seventhy-eighth time. Bob rolled his eyes.
"You do now," he said, exasperated.
"Is there a proportion of eggs to flour?" Frank wanted to know. Bob rolled his eyes again - seriously, if he kept rolling them like that he was going to strain them - but before he could throw back a sarcastic answer, Frank asked another question or seven.
"How long will the cake have to cool before I can put the icing on? Why do you put icing on a cake? What's in icing? Isn't it just, like, pure sugar? But there's sugar already in the cake, why add more? Is that what adds so many calories? Do you like carrots?" he demanded. Bob stared back at him.
"Carrots?" he asked in disbelief, just as the oven dinged. Frank fell over his own feet sprinting to the kitchen.
-
"Get away from me," Frank said irritably, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he iced the chocolate cake with the melt-in-your-mouth chocolate icing.
"I'm the master chef, remember," Bob said mildly, peering over Frank's shoulder to see how he was getting on. "Stop applying so much pressure, your icing will be uneven."
"You're leaning on my arm," Frank pointed out, and Bob stepped back apologetically.
"You're still applying too much pressure," he said, and Frank had the self-control of a goddamned zen master, okay, because he didn't even throw anything at Bob.
"Hey, your throwing-shit-around issues are improving!" Ray said, entering the kitchen.
He didn't throw anything at Bob, but Ray was another matter.
-
"Guys, can you get out of my house please?" Frank said, ushering Ray and Bob to the door. Bob frowned at him.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because Gerard is moving in," Frank said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, because let's face it, it was.
"Why can't we be here?" Ray whined, although he was already slipping on his shoes. "I know Gerard."
"Because," Frank said, and that was a perfectly valid reason, no matter what Bob's raised eyebrow said. "Fuck you," he added as an afterthought, shoving them both out of the door and slamming it before they could think of a witty reply.
"Hey, Gerard!" he heard Ray yell, and holy shit, holy shit why hadn't he got rid of Bob and Ray earlier? He wrenched the door back open, and saw a what probably was once crimson car pulling up in his driveway.
"Hey," he heard a faint voice yell back. Ray bounded up to the car like an overexcited puppy.
"You need help moving that stuff in?" Bob asked, and whilst Frank was angry at him, he was thankful too - he was slight, okay, his frame couldn't hold much weight.
"Uh," Gerard said. "Yeah, thanks." He got out of the car with his back to Frank, and walked to the boot, slamming the door behind him with such force the whole car trembled.
"Be careful with your ancient wreck," Ray snorted, voicing Frank's thoughts exactly, and Gerard must've flipped him off, because Ray swore right back at him. Bob made his way to the back of the car, and the car shook again as stuff was unloaded onto the pavement.
"So, I never had the chance to ask - what's this Frank guy like?" Gerard's voice floated over. Ray shot Frank an amused look, and Frank shook his head. He didn't want Gerard to know he was there just yet.
"A dick," Bob supplied helpfully, and what the fuck, just because he had a dick, unlike Bob.
"Terrible," Ray agreed. "No sense of humour, hogs the TV..."
"Can't bake cakes," Bob said, and Frank scowled.
"I hate you both," he said, and a head which he presumed belonged to Gerard popped up over the back of the car. When he saw Frank leaning on the doorframe, he flushed.
"O-oh," he stuttered. "S-sorry. Hi." Bob snorted, and Ray laughed his high-pitched-little-girl's laugh. Gerard shook his raven hair into his eyes to hide some of his embarrassment, biting his lip in what Frank thought absent-mindedly was a rather adorable way.
"'Sup," Frank said, hopping down the step and ambling over to the boot. "Want any help?"
"Uh-" Gerard said, about to refuse, but Bob jumped in.
"You might as well," he said. "You'll get all your pillows moved."
"Fuck you," Frank said, stepping on Bob's feet, because he lifted stuff that was heavier than a pillow, fuck you very much.
"I'd rather not," Bob remarked dryly, hauling a cardbox box stuffed full of...stuff, really, into the house. Frank shot Gerard a smile - he didn't want Gerard to think he was an asshole, seriously - before picking up what looked to be the lightest object in his vicinity and dragging it inside.
-
Three hours and two Ray if you don't leave my property right now I am calling Mikey to get yous later, Gerard and Frank were settled with some coffee at the kitchen.
"So," Frank said awkwardly. Gerard was focusing all his attention on his coffee, nursing it as if it were the life force that fed his soul. Which, if Ray was to be believed, it was. "You draw?"
"Yeah," Gerard mumbled absently.
"Cool," Frank said, searching for another topic of conversation. He rememberedthe cake.
"D'you...would you like some cake?" he asked.
"Uh...sure," Gerard said, still not looking up from his nearly-empty coffee. Frank scraped his chair back and went to cut himself and Gerard a sizeable amount each.
"Here," he said, placing the slice in front of Gerard. Gerard smiled weakly at Frank.
"T-thanks?" he said, as if he were unsure of how to be grateful for some cake. Frank shrugged.
"It's nothing," he said, shovelling his first mouthful in to stop the awkward small talk. The cake was pretty good, if he said so himself. It was moist and fluffy, with the icing adding just the right amount of chocolatey sweetness.
"Fuck Bob, I'm a fucking amazing baker," he said through his mouthful of cake, already picking up the next bit.
"Mmm," Gerard agreed.
"You can help yourself, you know," Frank said. Gerard looked up at him through his bangs, and smiled a shy but genuine smile. He was really fucking pretty when he smiled, Frank noticed. It lit up his eyes, gave them life.
"Thanks," Gerard said sincerely.
-
When Frank got up the next morning, half the cake was gone. There was a piece of paper on the remaining half.
Sorry about the cake, it said at the top accompanied by a drawing of a fat, bloated vampire making an apologetic face. There was a small 'P.T.O' in the bottom right of the scrap of paper, and when Frank flipped it over, he saw the same vampire making a lunge for a beautifully drawn cake.
I hope there's more on the way it said.
Frank grinned, pocketing the note and heading upstairs. He got a bit of Blu-Tack and pinned it to the wall, right next to his Black Flag poster.
He felt it deserved its place.
-
Living with Gerard was much like living alone, Frank had come to realise over the past fornight. He kept himself to himself, only ever coming out of his room to go to the toilet. He didn't even seem to eat, which worried Frank, so he'd taken to cooking a portion of every meal for Gerard and leaving it outside his door. He got notes accompanying every empty dish outside the door, drawings of the same vampire he'd drawn on the first night he'd been there, only the vampire was starting to look more and more like Frank. He had so far gained a lip ring, black hair, a broad smile and a short figure.
You don't have to be so nice to me, this note said. The Frank-vampire (Frampire?) was looking up with a worried smile at Frank. I don't want to be a burden. Frank hammered on Gerard's door.
"What?" Gerard asked, sounding surprised, unused to being disturbed.
"Come here," Frank said, beckoning, although Gerard couldn't see him because Gerard and he were seperated by an opaque object, namely a door. There was a slight scuffle of noise inside, as if Gerard was attempting to tidy some of his...art stuff, and then his face appeared, looking at Frank through a crack in the door.
"Hey," he said, sounding tired, and Frank frowned.
"You're not a burden," he said, and Gerard ducked his head. "No, seriously," he protested. "Why would you be a burden?"
"You're always cooking for me," Gerard said. "And I never do anything in return." Frank thought about how he'd taken down his Black Flag poster in favour of Gerard's drawings.
"Your drawings," he shrugged. "That's plenty." Gerard blushed.
"They're nothing," he said, and Frank glared at him, which was kind of useless because Gerard was still focused on the floor.
"Just- don't feel like you have to like, hide. You're not a burden. I wish you were more of one," Frank shrugged. Gerard looked up at him (or rather, down at him, because Frank was not a tall person) and smiled.
"Thanks," he said.
-
Over the next few weeks, Frank still didn't see Gerard a lot, but his presence became more prominent. More drawings were left when the fridge was emptied of food, and when all the hot water was used up in the shower (the first shower he'd heard him take in all the weeks he'd been living there).
Can I make a request? the Frampire said. Can you make some more of that chocolate cake?
Frank grinned widely, setting off to the kitchen, and firing off a text to Mikey to explain his absence at work that day.
jesus, he got almost immediately. dont u get a crush on him. Frank scowled. How could he have a crush on someone he'd seen twice, like, ever?
i wont he shot back at Mikey, grabbing some ingredients.
-
I think I made a good choice of roommate, said the note, with the Frampire smiling shyly up at Frank.
The note stayed in Frank's pocket for a week, transferred from trouser to trouser.
Frank pretended he didn't notice the effort he put into keeping it.
-
One day, Frank came home from a tiresome day of arguing with Gerard's smartass brother, to find Gerard sprawled on the couch watching TV.
"Gerard!" he said with surprise. "You're...here!" Gerard smiled lazily at him.
"Yeah," he said. "I am." Frank stood in the doorway for a moment, before composing himself and sitting down on the chair. "Gilmore Girls," he said in disbelief. "Gilmore Girls."
"I like it," Gerard protested. Frank rolled his eyes fondly.
"Gilmore Girls," he said again, sttling back to watch it.
-
The next night, Frank woke to a hacking cough from the room next to him shaking the walls. He woke up (sort of) and padded outside groggily, rubbing his eyes and knocking on Gerard's door. When Gerard didn't answer, Frank pushed it open, trying to ignore the overwhelming stench that wafted to greet him.
"Gerard?" he asked sleepily. "Wha's wrong?"
"'m fine," Gerard mumbled, muffled because the duvet was over his head. Frank walked over to him, uncovering his head. Gerard was pale, peaky, reminding Frank a lot of what he looked like whenever he had the flu. Which was a lot.
"Come on," Frank said, shaking Gerard gently. "I'll make you some tea." Gerard grunted in response, which Frank took as a thank you, oh wonderous flatmate of mine. He wandered downstairs and set the water to boil, spending the time it took to boil searching for a suitable teabag. He was sure he had one left over from his annual bout of pneumonia...ah, there it was. Just as the water boiled, as well. Co-ordination was not usually one of Frank's most recognised skills.
He traipsed back upstairs and set the tea on Gerard's bedside table, clearing a lot of half-completed drawings onto the floor.
"Sleep," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Gerard's temple for no good reason at all, which scared him slightly. Gerard mumbled something incoherent in response, and Frank headed back to his own room, wondering what had caused that.
-
The next morning, Gerard was still ill. Frank made him drag himself to the couch and played the mother hen, giving him blankets and ginger biscuits and tea and lots of medicines.
"Gerard!" Frank scolded. "You have to drink your tea." Gerard looked up at Frank, snuffling his blanket, only his eyes and nose visible. He was achingly adorable.
"Sorry," Gerard mumbled. Frank sighed,
"Come on, Gee," he said, sitting down next to Gerard. "Drink your tea and I'll make you a chocolate cake."
Gerard gulped down his tea, and Frank yelped.
"You'll burn your tongue!" he said.
"Bake me a cake," Gerard demanded, smiling sweetly.
-
"Frank," Gerard said, hooking his head over Frank's shoulder. Frank passed it off as being a handsy sick-person.
"What?" he asked, putting the chocolate icing on the cake carefully, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.
"Hmm," Gerard said, nuzzling Frank's neck. "You smell nice."
"Because I shower," Frank said pointedly.
"Fuck you, I shower," Gerard frowned. Frank tipped his head back to raise his eyebrow at him, and Gerard opened his mouth to retort, but Frank tripped and Gerard slipped and suddenly their mouths were together, soft lips against soft lips, and what the fuck? Frank was sure it wasn't supposed to be this enjoyable.
"Um-" Gerard said, scrambling away. His hair was all over the place.
"Come here," Frank said softly. Gerard approached him apprehensively, and Frank reached up to rearrange his hair.
"Can I...?" Frank asked, and Gerard nodded mutely. Frank fit his lips against Gerard's again, standing on his tiptoes to reach. It wasn't the best kiss of his life - the kitchen counter was digging into his back, and he was going to trip any moment and they'd both tumble to the ground, but it was the best kiss of his life.
"God," Gerard said.
"Why did you have to wait until you ewere ill?" Frank said.
"Are you going to move so I can get to the cake?" Gerard asked hopefully. Frank snorted.
"You're unbelievable," he said, but he moved out of the way.
-
"So...is this a thing now?" Frank asked.
"If you keep baking me chocolate cakes, it fucking is," Gerard said through a mouthful.
It couldn't be that hard. He'd seen his mom do it plenty of times, and she was hardly the world's greatest cook. Chef. Cheffette? Whatever.
"What the fuck?" Ray spluttered, walking into the kitchen. Frank scowled.
"It's a welcoming present," he explained.
"It's not very welcoming, dying of food poisoning," Ray hummed, sticking his finger in the gooey chocolate sauce and licking it. "This is a waste of good icing," he told Frank, jabbing his finger at the bowl.
"You're a waste of oxygen," Frank retorted, bustling around the kitchen in search of a whisk. He knew he had a whisk somewhere, goddammit, but where?
"It's in the bottom left drawer," Bob said in a bored voice.
"Fuck you," Frank said for no good reason, since Bob had just used his immense psychic powers to help him, and plugged it in. He pressed a button and it started whirring immediately, spinning violently in the air and abusing his eardrums. Wrong button.
"Jesus Christ!" Ray shouted over the noise, as Frank tried to turn it off. "This is why you shouldn't cook!"
"He isn't cooking," Bob pointed out, just as Frank found the right button to turn it off. "He's baking."
"That involves ovens at hot temperatures," Ray said. "That's even worse."
"Good point," Bob conceded. "I'm outta here."
"Fuck you," Frank said again. "I am perfectly capable of baking a decent chocolate cake as a housewarming present to my new roommate." Both Ray and Bob snorted, Bob's a little muffled as he was seated on Frank's sofa watching Frank's TV.
"Yeah," Ray said, hopping on the counter and munching on a biscuit that he'd stolen from Frank's biscuit-hoard. "Not too sure about that." Frank frowned, pouring the flour half into the bowl and half onto the scales. Goddammit.
"What d'you mean?" he asked edgily, breaking two eggs and adding them to the goopy mixture. He hadn't even met the guy who was moving in. All he knew was it was Mikey's brother, he was called Gerard, he was an artist and he was some kind of weird, introverted hermit. The whole thing hadn't really been planned - he'd needed a lodger, and Gerard'd needed a place. Mikey was the common denominator.
"Well," Ray shrugged, helping himself to another biscuit. "He doesn't really...interact with people. He's not good in social situations."
"I'm hardly a social situation," Frank scoffed, pouring in what was probably far too much sugar. "I'm one person." Ray raised his eyebrows.
"You're like, several irritating people rolled into one," he said around a mouthful of chocolate biscuit, flapping his hands in Frank'a general direction as if he thought that would emphasise his point.
"I hate you," Frank told him, taking the cookie jar off him. "This friendship is over."
"Baby, don't be like that," Ray leered, and oh God, he just looked so ridiculous Frank couldn't help but giggle.
"Idiot," he said fondly."Pass the milk," he then instructed Ray bossily. If Ray was eating his food supplies, he could do something in return. Even if it was just walking to the fridge, opening the door and finding something. Ray rolled his eyes and huffed, but complied, and Frank splashed a tiny bit of milk in like he'd seen his mom do when she was baking cakes.
"There," Frank said. "Now I whisk."
"Oh God," Ray muttered, bolting out of the kitchen.
"I hate you both!" Frank called, turning on the whisk so Bob's sarcastic reply would be drowned out.
-
"Jesus, Frank, your cake'll be fine," Ray said, rolling his eyes.
"I don't want it to burn," Frank protested, cupping his hands around his eyes in order to see into the oven for what was the fourth time in the past five minutes. "Is it done yet?"
"Take a fork and stick it in - if there's mixture on the fork, it's not ready yet," Bob said. Both Frank and Ray stared at him in surprise. "What?" he said defensively. "Is it wrong for a man to cook?"
-
Frank had taken to asking Bob questions about his culininary life and advice whilst they were waiting for Frank's cake to not-burn.
"I didn't know," Frank said for the seventhy-eighth time. Bob rolled his eyes.
"You do now," he said, exasperated.
"Is there a proportion of eggs to flour?" Frank wanted to know. Bob rolled his eyes again - seriously, if he kept rolling them like that he was going to strain them - but before he could throw back a sarcastic answer, Frank asked another question or seven.
"How long will the cake have to cool before I can put the icing on? Why do you put icing on a cake? What's in icing? Isn't it just, like, pure sugar? But there's sugar already in the cake, why add more? Is that what adds so many calories? Do you like carrots?" he demanded. Bob stared back at him.
"Carrots?" he asked in disbelief, just as the oven dinged. Frank fell over his own feet sprinting to the kitchen.
-
"Get away from me," Frank said irritably, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he iced the chocolate cake with the melt-in-your-mouth chocolate icing.
"I'm the master chef, remember," Bob said mildly, peering over Frank's shoulder to see how he was getting on. "Stop applying so much pressure, your icing will be uneven."
"You're leaning on my arm," Frank pointed out, and Bob stepped back apologetically.
"You're still applying too much pressure," he said, and Frank had the self-control of a goddamned zen master, okay, because he didn't even throw anything at Bob.
"Hey, your throwing-shit-around issues are improving!" Ray said, entering the kitchen.
He didn't throw anything at Bob, but Ray was another matter.
-
"Guys, can you get out of my house please?" Frank said, ushering Ray and Bob to the door. Bob frowned at him.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because Gerard is moving in," Frank said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, because let's face it, it was.
"Why can't we be here?" Ray whined, although he was already slipping on his shoes. "I know Gerard."
"Because," Frank said, and that was a perfectly valid reason, no matter what Bob's raised eyebrow said. "Fuck you," he added as an afterthought, shoving them both out of the door and slamming it before they could think of a witty reply.
"Hey, Gerard!" he heard Ray yell, and holy shit, holy shit why hadn't he got rid of Bob and Ray earlier? He wrenched the door back open, and saw a what probably was once crimson car pulling up in his driveway.
"Hey," he heard a faint voice yell back. Ray bounded up to the car like an overexcited puppy.
"You need help moving that stuff in?" Bob asked, and whilst Frank was angry at him, he was thankful too - he was slight, okay, his frame couldn't hold much weight.
"Uh," Gerard said. "Yeah, thanks." He got out of the car with his back to Frank, and walked to the boot, slamming the door behind him with such force the whole car trembled.
"Be careful with your ancient wreck," Ray snorted, voicing Frank's thoughts exactly, and Gerard must've flipped him off, because Ray swore right back at him. Bob made his way to the back of the car, and the car shook again as stuff was unloaded onto the pavement.
"So, I never had the chance to ask - what's this Frank guy like?" Gerard's voice floated over. Ray shot Frank an amused look, and Frank shook his head. He didn't want Gerard to know he was there just yet.
"A dick," Bob supplied helpfully, and what the fuck, just because he had a dick, unlike Bob.
"Terrible," Ray agreed. "No sense of humour, hogs the TV..."
"Can't bake cakes," Bob said, and Frank scowled.
"I hate you both," he said, and a head which he presumed belonged to Gerard popped up over the back of the car. When he saw Frank leaning on the doorframe, he flushed.
"O-oh," he stuttered. "S-sorry. Hi." Bob snorted, and Ray laughed his high-pitched-little-girl's laugh. Gerard shook his raven hair into his eyes to hide some of his embarrassment, biting his lip in what Frank thought absent-mindedly was a rather adorable way.
"'Sup," Frank said, hopping down the step and ambling over to the boot. "Want any help?"
"Uh-" Gerard said, about to refuse, but Bob jumped in.
"You might as well," he said. "You'll get all your pillows moved."
"Fuck you," Frank said, stepping on Bob's feet, because he lifted stuff that was heavier than a pillow, fuck you very much.
"I'd rather not," Bob remarked dryly, hauling a cardbox box stuffed full of...stuff, really, into the house. Frank shot Gerard a smile - he didn't want Gerard to think he was an asshole, seriously - before picking up what looked to be the lightest object in his vicinity and dragging it inside.
-
Three hours and two Ray if you don't leave my property right now I am calling Mikey to get yous later, Gerard and Frank were settled with some coffee at the kitchen.
"So," Frank said awkwardly. Gerard was focusing all his attention on his coffee, nursing it as if it were the life force that fed his soul. Which, if Ray was to be believed, it was. "You draw?"
"Yeah," Gerard mumbled absently.
"Cool," Frank said, searching for another topic of conversation. He rememberedthe cake.
"D'you...would you like some cake?" he asked.
"Uh...sure," Gerard said, still not looking up from his nearly-empty coffee. Frank scraped his chair back and went to cut himself and Gerard a sizeable amount each.
"Here," he said, placing the slice in front of Gerard. Gerard smiled weakly at Frank.
"T-thanks?" he said, as if he were unsure of how to be grateful for some cake. Frank shrugged.
"It's nothing," he said, shovelling his first mouthful in to stop the awkward small talk. The cake was pretty good, if he said so himself. It was moist and fluffy, with the icing adding just the right amount of chocolatey sweetness.
"Fuck Bob, I'm a fucking amazing baker," he said through his mouthful of cake, already picking up the next bit.
"Mmm," Gerard agreed.
"You can help yourself, you know," Frank said. Gerard looked up at him through his bangs, and smiled a shy but genuine smile. He was really fucking pretty when he smiled, Frank noticed. It lit up his eyes, gave them life.
"Thanks," Gerard said sincerely.
-
When Frank got up the next morning, half the cake was gone. There was a piece of paper on the remaining half.
Sorry about the cake, it said at the top accompanied by a drawing of a fat, bloated vampire making an apologetic face. There was a small 'P.T.O' in the bottom right of the scrap of paper, and when Frank flipped it over, he saw the same vampire making a lunge for a beautifully drawn cake.
I hope there's more on the way it said.
Frank grinned, pocketing the note and heading upstairs. He got a bit of Blu-Tack and pinned it to the wall, right next to his Black Flag poster.
He felt it deserved its place.
-
Living with Gerard was much like living alone, Frank had come to realise over the past fornight. He kept himself to himself, only ever coming out of his room to go to the toilet. He didn't even seem to eat, which worried Frank, so he'd taken to cooking a portion of every meal for Gerard and leaving it outside his door. He got notes accompanying every empty dish outside the door, drawings of the same vampire he'd drawn on the first night he'd been there, only the vampire was starting to look more and more like Frank. He had so far gained a lip ring, black hair, a broad smile and a short figure.
You don't have to be so nice to me, this note said. The Frank-vampire (Frampire?) was looking up with a worried smile at Frank. I don't want to be a burden. Frank hammered on Gerard's door.
"What?" Gerard asked, sounding surprised, unused to being disturbed.
"Come here," Frank said, beckoning, although Gerard couldn't see him because Gerard and he were seperated by an opaque object, namely a door. There was a slight scuffle of noise inside, as if Gerard was attempting to tidy some of his...art stuff, and then his face appeared, looking at Frank through a crack in the door.
"Hey," he said, sounding tired, and Frank frowned.
"You're not a burden," he said, and Gerard ducked his head. "No, seriously," he protested. "Why would you be a burden?"
"You're always cooking for me," Gerard said. "And I never do anything in return." Frank thought about how he'd taken down his Black Flag poster in favour of Gerard's drawings.
"Your drawings," he shrugged. "That's plenty." Gerard blushed.
"They're nothing," he said, and Frank glared at him, which was kind of useless because Gerard was still focused on the floor.
"Just- don't feel like you have to like, hide. You're not a burden. I wish you were more of one," Frank shrugged. Gerard looked up at him (or rather, down at him, because Frank was not a tall person) and smiled.
"Thanks," he said.
-
Over the next few weeks, Frank still didn't see Gerard a lot, but his presence became more prominent. More drawings were left when the fridge was emptied of food, and when all the hot water was used up in the shower (the first shower he'd heard him take in all the weeks he'd been living there).
Can I make a request? the Frampire said. Can you make some more of that chocolate cake?
Frank grinned widely, setting off to the kitchen, and firing off a text to Mikey to explain his absence at work that day.
jesus, he got almost immediately. dont u get a crush on him. Frank scowled. How could he have a crush on someone he'd seen twice, like, ever?
i wont he shot back at Mikey, grabbing some ingredients.
-
I think I made a good choice of roommate, said the note, with the Frampire smiling shyly up at Frank.
The note stayed in Frank's pocket for a week, transferred from trouser to trouser.
Frank pretended he didn't notice the effort he put into keeping it.
-
One day, Frank came home from a tiresome day of arguing with Gerard's smartass brother, to find Gerard sprawled on the couch watching TV.
"Gerard!" he said with surprise. "You're...here!" Gerard smiled lazily at him.
"Yeah," he said. "I am." Frank stood in the doorway for a moment, before composing himself and sitting down on the chair. "Gilmore Girls," he said in disbelief. "Gilmore Girls."
"I like it," Gerard protested. Frank rolled his eyes fondly.
"Gilmore Girls," he said again, sttling back to watch it.
-
The next night, Frank woke to a hacking cough from the room next to him shaking the walls. He woke up (sort of) and padded outside groggily, rubbing his eyes and knocking on Gerard's door. When Gerard didn't answer, Frank pushed it open, trying to ignore the overwhelming stench that wafted to greet him.
"Gerard?" he asked sleepily. "Wha's wrong?"
"'m fine," Gerard mumbled, muffled because the duvet was over his head. Frank walked over to him, uncovering his head. Gerard was pale, peaky, reminding Frank a lot of what he looked like whenever he had the flu. Which was a lot.
"Come on," Frank said, shaking Gerard gently. "I'll make you some tea." Gerard grunted in response, which Frank took as a thank you, oh wonderous flatmate of mine. He wandered downstairs and set the water to boil, spending the time it took to boil searching for a suitable teabag. He was sure he had one left over from his annual bout of pneumonia...ah, there it was. Just as the water boiled, as well. Co-ordination was not usually one of Frank's most recognised skills.
He traipsed back upstairs and set the tea on Gerard's bedside table, clearing a lot of half-completed drawings onto the floor.
"Sleep," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Gerard's temple for no good reason at all, which scared him slightly. Gerard mumbled something incoherent in response, and Frank headed back to his own room, wondering what had caused that.
-
The next morning, Gerard was still ill. Frank made him drag himself to the couch and played the mother hen, giving him blankets and ginger biscuits and tea and lots of medicines.
"Gerard!" Frank scolded. "You have to drink your tea." Gerard looked up at Frank, snuffling his blanket, only his eyes and nose visible. He was achingly adorable.
"Sorry," Gerard mumbled. Frank sighed,
"Come on, Gee," he said, sitting down next to Gerard. "Drink your tea and I'll make you a chocolate cake."
Gerard gulped down his tea, and Frank yelped.
"You'll burn your tongue!" he said.
"Bake me a cake," Gerard demanded, smiling sweetly.
-
"Frank," Gerard said, hooking his head over Frank's shoulder. Frank passed it off as being a handsy sick-person.
"What?" he asked, putting the chocolate icing on the cake carefully, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.
"Hmm," Gerard said, nuzzling Frank's neck. "You smell nice."
"Because I shower," Frank said pointedly.
"Fuck you, I shower," Gerard frowned. Frank tipped his head back to raise his eyebrow at him, and Gerard opened his mouth to retort, but Frank tripped and Gerard slipped and suddenly their mouths were together, soft lips against soft lips, and what the fuck? Frank was sure it wasn't supposed to be this enjoyable.
"Um-" Gerard said, scrambling away. His hair was all over the place.
"Come here," Frank said softly. Gerard approached him apprehensively, and Frank reached up to rearrange his hair.
"Can I...?" Frank asked, and Gerard nodded mutely. Frank fit his lips against Gerard's again, standing on his tiptoes to reach. It wasn't the best kiss of his life - the kitchen counter was digging into his back, and he was going to trip any moment and they'd both tumble to the ground, but it was the best kiss of his life.
"God," Gerard said.
"Why did you have to wait until you ewere ill?" Frank said.
"Are you going to move so I can get to the cake?" Gerard asked hopefully. Frank snorted.
"You're unbelievable," he said, but he moved out of the way.
-
"So...is this a thing now?" Frank asked.
"If you keep baking me chocolate cakes, it fucking is," Gerard said through a mouthful.