The Artist (Frerard)

Chapter 9

But over all that, before I was a soppy depressed emotional drunk, I was a happy, friendly idiot, because I did very stupid things, an amazing example being what had happened only a week earlier in Vegas. When I was drunk I didn't really pay much attention to what went on around me, hence why I forgot it so easily, why I woke up to people in my bed who got pissed off when I asked what their names were, or what had happened. Although that could be taken advantage of by other people, because honestly they could do whatever the fuck they wanted to me and I probably wouldn't even notice let alone give a monkeys ass.

Standing up, I stared at my jacket on the floor, confusing myself with why it was there as I hadn't remembered leaving it on the floor, I just left it there, looking at Gerard rather confused. "You okay?" Gerard asking clearly struggling not to laugh, clearly asking genuinely, but finding the extent of my drunkness rather amusing.

"Yeah!" I exclaimed nodding and stumbling over to him, holding my hand up in the air in truimph and smiling at him, he smiled back, a cheeky smirk proving that he was trying not to laugh. Just as I reached him, I tripped over my foot, falling straight into him, glad that it was him and not the wall, as that probably would have meant a broken nose. Much to my relief and surprise, he wrapped his arm around me, catching me before I could knock him over or fall to the floor and pulling me back onto my feet. "There's a Gerard there." I slurred poking his chest and chuckling to myself.

"Yes honey, there is." He laughed, keeping me still by holding my shoulders firmly.

"Good guy Gerard." I nodded, trying to stay steady on my feet, but failling, virtually falling into Gerard again, "I like him," I whispered into his ear, a little too drunk to realize I was actually talking to Gerard, "Friends." I said throwing my arms around his neck, using him to keep me up on my feet so I didn't fall over, he just smiled awkwardly, supporting me with his hands on my waist so I didn't fall over. "You know G-Gerard?" I asked, not paying enough attention, or thinking at all, it by-passing my brain that he was in fact Gerard, of course he knew himself.

"Yes sweetheart, I do." He laughed trying to get me into a steady position on my feet.

"Me and him should hook up." I grinned, if I had been any more drunk, I think I would have passed out, I was definitely way past realizing that that was something I didn't even want to admit to myself let alone out loud. "He's fucking g-good-loo-looking." I laughed resting my forehead on his shoulder, managing to stay on my feet and keep my eyes open, but only just.

"Y-you think?" I nodded and he blushed a bright shade of red, as red as his hair, before sitting me down on the couch and letting his hair fall over his face as he walked to his bedroom door, "I-I uh, F-Frankie, I'm going t-to bed and...yeah." He mumbled awkwardly pushing his door open and disappearing awkwardly, looking back once wakwardly, and for a second, before disappearing into the room, leaving me confused.

Staring blankly at the door he had disappeared through, I just sat, thinking about moving and then being drawn of by silly little things, stupid things wich side-tracked my mind. Like how many mugs he had, because in the kitchen he had this like hook thing, almost like a coat hook which the mugs hung on, he had like fifty mugs, it was crazy the hook thing went across the entire back wall, how could one man need so many mugs. He also had an incredibly tidy living room, but then that was probably because he was never in it, he was always in his office or room. I had seen his room too, that was good too, well better than mine, it was messier than the living room, it wasn't the tidiest thing in the world, but it wasn't too messy, that impressed me. But he had time, like he could afford to spend time keeping things perfect, I spent most of my time at work, I would love to work less, I would work less, but in order to go away all the time I couldn't.