Dancing Bruises.
Magnetic Pulls.
Frankie went home alone that night. And he's on the verge of tearing apart his last working nerve.
"I'm going to leave you for now." Pete whispers to the calm dancing bruise that had his inked arms over Pete's neck; the frozen safety rope dangling in the depths of their own darkened hell; their signature pose.
And Frankie's eyes go wide-open and his creeping fingers stop, "Why?"
"'Cause there's not gonna be a second one of these if we keep going," he answers, moving his hands over the flashes of Frankie's hips.
"You mean a date?" His eyes are still wide, looking more like a broken lightbulb by the second. Flickering back and forth hoping for a middle ground.
"You know it's not a date by now, Frankie." Then he left with his sharpened browns and goodbyes unsaid, leaving Frankie a stringy heap of wet veins and tangled thoughts thinking but you still didn't get your present yet.
Naive baby-voiced Santa Clause.
This was too much like the first night now.
And Frankie's head about to explode now.
He's on fire; why won't this one be just happy?
Why won't he just take what's thrown at him like any good boy would?
It just would go pass his common sense; why wouldn't he just take him?
*
He's onstage now and he's sweating his eyeballs off. Frankie's thrashing around and gasping and doing everything all at once. He's scraping at the floors, clawing at the metallic strings, shrieking off his vocal chords and it still wasn't enough for him. It never was enough. Just like the leech he was he always wanted more. He wanted to absorb the lights, the sweat, the blood and the emotion; all of it. He wanted the world to be a sepia heaven while he was the God with the bursting colors streaking his body and fancy fancy clothes.
But right now all he was thinking about is that failure: the boy with the retreating browns.
He ran away. He ran away before Frankie could make him happy. And that's all what was filling Frankie's skull at this moment.
Was he losing his touch?
Hell no; this boy just needed a new type of arm-twisting. Frankie didn't stop thinking for a fraction of a second as more lights pounded his irises.
Oh fuck. What if he's in the crowd?
That's when he forgot the next chord.
Frankie's looking through his sweat like a maniac at the crowd, ignoring the burn in his eyes.
That's how he ignored the rest of the song.
Then he saw the smile that strived to mimic his own on their date.
That's why he lost control and danced into the crowd. Just for hero Pete's eyes.
"I'm going to leave you for now." Pete whispers to the calm dancing bruise that had his inked arms over Pete's neck; the frozen safety rope dangling in the depths of their own darkened hell; their signature pose.
And Frankie's eyes go wide-open and his creeping fingers stop, "Why?"
"'Cause there's not gonna be a second one of these if we keep going," he answers, moving his hands over the flashes of Frankie's hips.
"You mean a date?" His eyes are still wide, looking more like a broken lightbulb by the second. Flickering back and forth hoping for a middle ground.
"You know it's not a date by now, Frankie." Then he left with his sharpened browns and goodbyes unsaid, leaving Frankie a stringy heap of wet veins and tangled thoughts thinking but you still didn't get your present yet.
Naive baby-voiced Santa Clause.
This was too much like the first night now.
And Frankie's head about to explode now.
He's on fire; why won't this one be just happy?
Why won't he just take what's thrown at him like any good boy would?
It just would go pass his common sense; why wouldn't he just take him?
*
He's onstage now and he's sweating his eyeballs off. Frankie's thrashing around and gasping and doing everything all at once. He's scraping at the floors, clawing at the metallic strings, shrieking off his vocal chords and it still wasn't enough for him. It never was enough. Just like the leech he was he always wanted more. He wanted to absorb the lights, the sweat, the blood and the emotion; all of it. He wanted the world to be a sepia heaven while he was the God with the bursting colors streaking his body and fancy fancy clothes.
But right now all he was thinking about is that failure: the boy with the retreating browns.
He ran away. He ran away before Frankie could make him happy. And that's all what was filling Frankie's skull at this moment.
Was he losing his touch?
Hell no; this boy just needed a new type of arm-twisting. Frankie didn't stop thinking for a fraction of a second as more lights pounded his irises.
Oh fuck. What if he's in the crowd?
That's when he forgot the next chord.
Frankie's looking through his sweat like a maniac at the crowd, ignoring the burn in his eyes.
That's how he ignored the rest of the song.
Then he saw the smile that strived to mimic his own on their date.
That's why he lost control and danced into the crowd. Just for hero Pete's eyes.
♠ ♠ ♠
I lost some of this chapter, so there was supposed to be a bit of dialouge between Frankie and Hazel Eyes (in the first part) but I just can't remember it ;-; It was about the show (in the second part of the chapter) hence I felt that I needed to mention this to clarify the change in the scenery; it wasn't a significant part of the chapter so I left it out. >_>Also, I'm not satisfied with this chapter at all. The next one is much better and a favorite of mine :cute:
Thank you for all your lovely feedback :arms: I appreciate it and you taking the time to read this pointless mess of a story. <3
Another note: the title might seem irrelevant but it refers to the second part. 'Cause I noticed that whenever Frankie and Pete are around each other something invisible seems to pull them towards the other >_>