The Chasing of Moons

Normally, Frank would make an exasperated show of how slow time passes when you are anticipating something. Time just grogs so slowly that you can actually feel yourself screaming out in agony. On the other side of the coin however, when you never want something to arrive, time seems to speed up. The days slip past so quickly that you can actually see the earth turning below your feet with the velocity of it.

The odd spot in between is what Frank is now currently in, but the thing is that time is not moving at a regular pace, as one would guess. It’s switching off and on between fast and slow.

At one second, Frank is waiting for the days to fly past him, and they’re so slow that he’s sure that a grandma could lap his rotation around the earth. At other times, the minutes are slipping off the clock so fast that surely he’s accidentally left the fast forward button on.

He thinks that the strange mix of the two is because of the strange mix of the two emotions he has about the concert intertwine in his gut. He has at once both anxiety and pure excitement. He’s petrified and bone-chillingly terrified, while also adrenaline filled and pumped. Everything is all tied together to make for the weirdest couple of weeks that Frank has ever experienced.

True to his word, Frank does manage to prevent Mikey from going to school on earth day, as he suddenly comes down with a horrible case of the stomach flu that he miraculously heals from a day later. Mikey’s eyebrows stay intact though, and really, that’s all that matters.

The day with Mikey gone is the only one where anything seems different to the days surrounding it. The variation is mostly at lunch with Pete’s smile not stretching to his eyes as much as it has been recently. It’s quick, and also agonizingly long. After a hellish series of miserable days, the two weeks that he awaits end up neither flying past, nor lurching slowly along, but at the same time, they do both.

When finally Friday comes, Frank’s internal emotions are so mangled that he’s barely even able to comprehend that the concert that he’s been dreading and anticipating for nearly three weeks is tonight. Frank’s math isn’t fantastic, but when he calculates everything together with what he’s learned from Gee, he’s pretty sure that he and Gerard are meant to get together sometime in the next month. It could be any day now, for all he knows. Frank’s supposed to take him to prom so it’s got to be sometime before the middle of May. That doesn’t give Frank a lot of time to enjoy the bachelor life, but he’s honestly kind of sick of being single. He doesn’t care about his independence anymore, really he wants to be with Gerard, and that’s the end of that story.

Gerard’s birthday is next Tuesday, Frank’s written that everywhere he can think of in order to remember it. It’s next Tuesday. He needs to get Gerard something that he can present the guy with on his actual birthday. Yes, the concert is one thing, but he needs to have something to give him on the actual day of it so that Gerard knows that Frank really cares. He doesn’t know what to get him. He’s refused Mikey’s help on this one, because he wants it to be from him. He wants to be the one who both comes up with and gives Gerard the best present of his life. But what to get him is the problem.

Frank’s gone through every possibility. He’s coming up short. Every present that could ever be done has been done before and Gerard doesn’t deserve some canned present that you read about in a buzzfeed article, he deserves something that no one’s ever given anyone before, and he deserves the world but Frank has four dollars and thirty six sense to his name, so Gerard is not going to get the luxury that Frank wants to give him. He’ll be lucky to get a cookie that says happy birthday on it.

He knows he’s running out of time to come up with something, but that’s not what’s important now. What he can’t get his head around is the fact that the concert is tonight, and he doesn’t know what to wear.

That is what brings him to the situation that he now finds himself in.

“So, why are we here?” Brendon asks, as Frank sits him, Pete, and Mikey down on his bed. He turns to the three of them, the panic in his eyes guised by a very unconvincing mock-cool expression.

“I need a homosexual’s opinion on what to wear tonight, but unfortunately, I do not have that.”

“So why are we here?” Brendon repeats.

“Because,” Frank says, “Pete, you are the closest insight I have to a full on stereotypical teen movie homosexual. Brendon, you’re the closest insight I have to a fashionista, you’re basically a metrosexual is at is. And Mikey, you’re the closest insight I have into what Gerard is attracted to.”

“All of that... is true information,” Pete says.

“So let’s get started!” Frank says.

“Well first things first,” Brendon says, with the tone of extreme importance, “there are two, or if you want to get technical, three areas you want to embellish.”

“Oh, let me guess!” Pete says, “Uh, butt.”

“Correct,” Brendon says.

“And, um, lemme think.”

“Junk,” Mikey pitches in.

“Also correct,” Brendon says.

“Hey no fair, I was guessing!” Pete groans.

“Sorry Pete,” Mikey replies. If it were anyone but Pete and Mikey, he doubts that either of them would be so courteous to each other over something even as minimal as that. If it had been Frank who’d interrupted him, Pete would have thrown Frank’s pillow at him.

“It’s okay,” Pete replies.

“So what’s the last one?” Mikey asks Brendon.

“It’s-”

“Hey!” Pete interrupts him.

“Right, fine, sorry, Pete go ahead.”

“Is it hips?” Pete asks.

“It is not, but I like the way you think, hips are also imperative.”

“It’s collar bones,” Frank says with certainty.

“Frank is absolutely right,” Brendon says. “Gold star.”

“Thanks,” Frank says, “I mean I have been gay for a while now, like my whole life or whatever, I know what’s the most important thing in a guy.”

“So do you have a plunging V-neck?” Brendon asks.

“Okay so maybe I’m awful at being gay, I don’t even know what that is,” Frank says. “I’m never going to win Project Runway.”

Brendon rolls his eyes, “it’s the kind of shirt where the collar makes a V.”

“Oh, see now that makes sense,” Pete says, “because like, the word actually describes what it is. I love it when things do that, describe themselves in the title. Like peanut butter. You know precisely what it is because it describes itself in the name. It’s a butter like spread made out of peanuts! Isn’t that just hella nifty?”

“You’re so stupid,” Brendon shakes his head, and then stands up and walks over to Frank’s closet.

“Gerard’s just like any other guy in the world though,” Mikey says, “like wear something that looks fine and he’ll be into it. I mean, especially if you have a band shirt. Oh, do you have a band shirt?”

“He’s got an okay-ish Ramones shirt,” Brendon says, and Frank turns to him, a little creeped out with the fact that Brendon is evaluating every item of clothing he owns so scrupulously.

“Gerard’s not a huge Ramones fan,” Mikey replies.

“Okay, well what else do we have here,” Brendon says to himself, “uh, okay, so Rolling Stones, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins-”

“Oh yeah, that one!” Mikey says, “Go for that one, Gerard’s a huge fan of them. Unless you have a David Bowie shirt.”

“I do, but it’s not clean,” Frank says.

“Smashing Pumpkins it is then,” Brendon says, throwing a shirt over his shoulder at Frank who barely catches it. “Now to find the skinniest jeans you have.”

“Do you have eyeliner?” Mikey asks. “Gerard would never admit this to anyone, but he digs guys in eyeliner.”

“Of course I don’t have eyeliner!” Frank says emphatically, “What year do you think this is? 2007?”

“I have eyeliner,” Pete says, before he’s picking up his backpack from the floor and searching through the small pocket on the front.

“Why do you have...?” Frank asks when Pete hands him the small little stick that is almost completely foreign to Frank’s hand. “And why do you bring it with you!”

“You never know when you’ll have an eyeliner emergency,” Pete says.

“Yeah,” Brendon says rolling his eyes, “because you do often have to think quickly on your feet to infiltrate a family of raccoons.”

“I don’t even know how to put this shit on!” Frank says exasperatedly when he uncaps it and finds a pointy nub looking at him that he doesn’t want anywhere near his eyeball.

“Not a problem,” Pete says, “I’ll do it for you.”

“I didn’t need to know that Pete knew how to apply eyeliner,” Brendon says. “Why couldn’t I have been saved from that information?”

“I think Pete would look kind of good with some eyeliner,” Mikey says, and that makes both of them turn scarlet. Frank rolls his eyes and tries to change the subject.

“You’re lucky Earl is gone,” Pete says, “or we’d have to do some serious work on your face.”

“Who’s Earl?” Mikey asks.

“Earl was Frank’s pimple. Sadly, Earl has passed away.”

“Sadly?” Frank asks him.

“Well, it was tragic for those of us who knew him well,” Pete says.

“Why don’t you have any jeans that cut off the circulation of your blood?” Brendon shouts with annoyance from behind them.

“Do you really have to ask that question?” Frank asks him.

“Ugh, we’re going to have to do some work,” he says snatching what he’s decided are the tightest pants Frank owns, “we need some safety pins, a needle, and some thread.”

“You are not sewing me into my own pants,” Frank tells him, “they’ll have to do as is.”

“Fine,” he says, but Frank can tell that Brendon is not happy about it. “Just go put these on,” Brendon stuffs the pants into Frank’s hands. “We’ll deal with hair and makeup later.”

“I feel like you’re preparing me for a Broadway show,” Frank says, taking the clothes, and walking over to the bathroom. He doesn’t think that the three of them really need to see him undressing.

“Wait!” Mikey says, standing up, hurrying over to Frank’s closet and grabbing at socks and, to Frank’s mild embarrassment, boxers. “You need to be clean and not smell like feet!”

“I should never have asked any of you here,” Frank says, escaping to the bathroom before they can do anything else. As soon as Frank changes, he walks back in and dumps his dirty clothes in the pile by the door. Considering that Frank is a teenage boy, he actually keeps a fairly tidy room. He does have a gigantic pile of dirty laundry, but at least it’s all in a pile rather than strewn across the entire room.

“Let’s do something about that hair then,” Mikey says.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Frank asks.

“What isn’t wrong with your hair,” Mikey says, grabbing Frank by the elbow and pulling him back into the bathroom in the hall that he was just in.

Frank feels like someone’s basically trying to pull his hair out for about ten minutes, with Brendon and Pete making notes of Mikey’s work, and he feels very much like an object, wincing at every careless tug and coughing as he’s bombarded with dry hair shampoo and hairspray. His mom is not going to be entirely happy if she finds out how much of that shit Mikey is using on him, and he doesn’t want to think about how awful and crunchy his hair is going to feel later from all those chemicals.

When Mikey announces that he is done, Frank looks in the mirror and his hair literally looks no different from the way it usually looks. He decides not to comment on it and instead allows Brendon to grab his arm and steer him away from the bathroom and back into his room.

“Where does your mom keep her makeup?” Brendon asks.

“You’re not going to-”

“Yes I abso-fucking-lutely am,” he replies, and orders Frank to go grab it. He thinks it’s not a good idea and insists that she is going to notice and not be very happy about it, but Frank is helpless under Brendon’s orders.

Eventually, Frank does give in and he goes to retrieve his mother’s makeup bag, feeling like an utter tool for being forced to wear makeup. It’s not that he frowns upon makeup he just doesn’t want to be wearing someone else’s face when he sees Gerard. Also that gunk gets in his pores and makes his face all oily. Not that he’s speaking from experience or anything.

“Eyeliner first!” Pete insists, “It’s the easiest thing to mess up and the hardest thing to redo.”

“Are you sure you know how to do this?” Frank asks nervously as Pete brandishes the pencil at him menacingly. He doesn’t want anything that pointy anywhere near his eyes.

“Yes, now close your eyes and stay still.”

“And pray to whoever you need to that he doesn’t poke your eye out,” Brendon says.

“Oh fuck,” Frank says, closing his eyes tightly. Pete then scolds him because apparently he can’t put it on when Frank has his eyes so tight which forces Frank to make a squeaking sound, and oblige to Pete’s orders. This leads into five minutes of painfully anxious silence as everyone waits for Pete to finish.

“Perfect,” he says when he finishes.

“I have to say,” Brendon says, analyzing Frank too closely for his liking, “Pete, the eyeliner doesn’t look half bad.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Pete says, pretending to tear up.

“Eyebrow time,” Brendon says.

“What time?” Frank asks, completely taken off guard as he’s struck with fear.

“Eyebrow time,” Brendon repeats, and Frank can actually feel the fear in his gut at the prospect of Brendon with tweezers anywhere near him.

“Don’t tear up too much though, or I’ll have to do it all over again,” Pete says, stepping back and making Frank fear for his life.

They basically have to hold Frank down to get him to let Brendon anywhere near him with a pair of tweezers and after they decide his eyebrows look good enough, he has to be convinced very thoroughly for him to allow Brendon to put cover-up anywhere near him. When Frank was trying to hide his pimple, it had been a different story, and also, he doesn’t think he trusts Brendon enough.

All in all, it takes them about half an hour of covering his face with various different goops for them to decide that he is presentable. Frank, after looking in a mirror, decides that they literally did almost nothing because he looks almost exactly the same, but his eyebrows are actually looking fairly nice. Also eyeliner isn’t a bad look for him. He does however firmly decide that he is never going to let them make him over ever again.

“He looks perfect,” Pete says, “we did a fantastic job.”

“I’ve gotta agree,” Mikey nods. “The only thing left to do is-”

“Oh no,” Frank groans.

“Relax,” Mikey says, shaking his head, “we just need to make sure you smell nice.” Mikey finds a vanilla scented hand sanitizer that Frank was unaware existed, let alone something that he possessed, and he forces Frank to apply it like perfume, on his neck and wrists.

“I should turn you in as my art project,” Pete announces.

“You all are incredibly creepy,” Frank says, “now, I have a date to get to, so you guys need to get the hell out of my house.”

“Ah, party pooper,” Brendon groans.

“Why the hell do you think I asked you guys here? It was so that you could help me get ready! I am now ready, so you can piss off.”

Frank shoves them all downstairs after returning his mother’s makeup to her room and desperately hoping she doesn’t notice that it ever moved anywhere.

“I feel very used,” Mikey groans as they’re brought outside with Frank locking the door behind him.

“Good,” he says. “Now shoo. Disperse. Leave. Whatever.”

“Fine,” Brendon says, grabbing his keys from his pocket, and preparing to drive the other two home, or, more likely, drive Pete and Mikey somewhere to be alone while he gags about it until tomorrow.

“You have to tell me how it goes though!” Mikey says as they walk away.

“Why can’t you ask Gerard?” Frank asks him.

“I need both perspectives,” Mikey says.

“I do to!” Pete announces, “but I can just get Gerard’s perspective from Mikey later, but you’ve gotta tell me how it goes to my face, or text me.”

“You guys are so infuriating,” Frank shakes his head, following them down the driveway to get into his own car. “Fine then. I’ll call you guys tomorrow with the story.”

“You’d better add me to the mailing list,” Brendon warns him, “I spent too much time on that face to go without a summary.”

Frank just groans, and opens his car door to escape them.

“I’m taking that as a yes!” Brendon shouts before Frank can close the door. He could still probably hear Brendon with the door closed, but he has every intention to blare his music as loudly as he can for the express purpose of being unable to hear any of them as he drives away.

For the first time in several weeks, he finally feels like time is moving at it’s normal pace. It’s allowing him the time to feel his heart beating at an unnaturally high speed. It’s kind of scary how nervous he feels. He can feel every single part of his body clam up with something similar to fear, but not quite.

Every scenario flashes through his brain at this point. Maybe he got the date of the concert wrong, he might’ve gotten the wrong address to Gerard’s house, or the wrong address to the venue. Maybe the tickets he bought won’t work, or they’ll get stolen. Maybe the band had to cancel last minute and this will all have been a bust. Maybe his car is going to break down before he gets there, or he’ll get so caught up in traffic that they’ll miss the concert. Maybe Gerard will completely ignore him the whole night and Frank will just be the weird guy clinging to his side who paid for the tickets. Maybe they’ll get really bad spots and Gerard will be mad at him for them not getting there earlier.

Every possibility of what could go wrong has crossed Frank’s mind in under a few seconds as he starts the car’s engine. He’s quietly relieved at the sound of the car’s rumbling and he takes a deep breath in as he pulls his car out of the driveway.

Frank tries to ignore the way that the three of them stand there waving at him widely in the most obnoxious way possible, but it’s hard to miss the way that Pete is waving like Mia Thermopilis in the Princess Diaries. At least, Frank thinks, he’s soon going to have his first ever opportunity to be alone with Gerard. That information is enough for Frank to muster up the energy to wave back.