I'm A Fool To Want You

None but the Lonely heart

A few notes before I begin. This is not supposed to be too accurate with dates, ages, or the way they'd talk.
It is set in 1950's mid-western USA. In real life, this was the decade Sinatra came to Vegas after releasing his first album in 1946.
By the 50's his career had stalled, and so he looked to Sin City to try to reignite the flame that would burn even to this day, his extrordinary talent never forgotten.

In real life Frank was about 45 by this time. I'm just gonna scootch that down to 23 for the sake of, well - not writing sexy scenes about a middle aged man.

Beeb, well I've changed him a little too. He's about 18.
Young, rebellious - mostly the same. He still has strict Mormon parents, older siblings, loves to sing and play instruments.
He also sings for tips at a diner, not a Smoothie Hut.

And this is the story of Frank's rise to fame and legend, how they meet, Brendon achieving his dreams, love, sex; and a whole lotta gay.
Enjoy friends

"And I say-", Brendon hiccuped; probably due to the half bottle of tequila he'd already downed. And it was only half past two. New record.

"- Fuck you, Sir." The words slurred out his mouth towards the increasingly furious man stood before him.
"I beg your pardon, young man! There are ladies present."

"Really? I thought they were bar stools. Hey, if I drink a little bit more... They could be.."
Brendon flashed the man - now a bright shade of red and rather resembling a tomato with his round, squished face - a smug grin. He looked ready to explode, so of course, Brendon decided to push it.
Taking a final swig of his drink before shoving his glass close to the stranger's face.

"Want some, honey? It's reeaal good.
I'd know - I swiped a few from the liquor store a few days - Oh... you run that dump, don't you?"

The man balked. He was indeed the owner of the store.

"Get out! Get out of this bar before I-I throw you out! You disgusting little faggot! Scoundrel! Thief!"

These were a few among many insults hollered after Brendon as he woozily made his way out, paying no more heed to the man.

He never got bored of ruffling the townfolk's feathers, as they were just so deliciously easy. His family, however, were even easier.

He started his stagger back home, bottle forgotten yet still hanging loosely in one hand, and thought back to a Thanksgiving a few years prior.

Everything was laid out beautifully. Figures that had been lovingly hand carved of Jesus and his desciples had been given pride of place as centrepiece atop the dining table. It looked so perfect. Screw it, he had to wreck it somehow. Jesus wouldn't care, he's got enough on his mind.

Only after around two hours of plotting, sneaking and careful work was he finally satisfied.

Dinner time came. The turkey was laid out alongside various accompaniments, sauces and relishes.

It's time.

He was the best actor in his drama class before he dropped it. time to use his skill.

A few lines into the Thanksgiving prayer, he abruptly began violently twisting and turning his limbs into strange positions whilst shaking "uncontrollably".

Under the table, he slid in black contact lenses he had found in his high school dressing rooms. Once he was sure they were in right, he shut his eyes and went limp. When he opened his eyes again, they were pure black.