The shore at night

"Hey now, wait a sec. I'm only saying that maybe you're just over protective. You're not doing a favor to anyone when you do that. Not for him, nor to you. I can't judge on how you're taking care of this guy... but do you honestly believe you can tag along with him for the rest of his days? Let's be serious here. There's no chance someone can only have the purpose of supporting someone else for a living. I have no doubt that you take good care of him," Frank ended, coating an arm around his back while kneeling at his side.

Not even remotely knowing what he was cooing about, Frank carried on. "Aww, don't say that. I'm sure he likes what you did for him. I'm not sure he couldn't have gotten this far without you. You just need to teach him... to, huh... fly with his own wings, y'know. You can still be by his side, just... not all the time."

Rewind, please. I'm on a desert island comforting a dude that just popped out of the jungle.

Frank smiled, crow's-feet at the corner of his eyes. Just like any other time he had to cheer someone else, he felt awkward at just how smaller he was than the other.

"He'll be fine," he repeated.

Frank paused, a chunk in his throat. We're they even alive?

"I'm looking for," he cleared his voice. "...For my band mates."

The last thing he needed was too cry out again. "But... They were all in the same section of the plane as I was and..." it was painful to explain, or maybe it was just painful to really consider this possibility. "...and the part of the plane we were in crashed in open water... I was... lucky enough to float back here on a piece of plane, but I'm not sure they had the same... luck..."

Frank bit his bottom lip. Hard. And he stared straight ahead, not at anyone, especially not Mikey. He had just found another reason to hate water.

Frank nodded quickly with a clenched jaw. Even if he had just barely met this guy, he liked having him around a lot. If it was lack of company or simply the fact that he was able to talk to him freely, he couldn't tell, but it just felt right around him. Without much of a second thought, he rested his head on Mikey's shoulder.

And from afar, someone must have thought him crazy to let his mind so carefree after what happened to him. Yet, to him it just seemed like a normal thing to do.

Frank leaned into his touch. "Wha... me? I'm... a... well, y'know."

He scratched the back of his head. Above the fact that no one ever really bothered to ask such a question, he never even dug into it more. "Well, I'm quite a normal dude, to tell the truth," he replied with a small laugh. He wished he had more original come backs.

"I don't know. We've been touring for quite a while now. If it's anything you want to know, I hate the fact that you can't settle down on one spot for more than two days. But I still love the shows, so hey." He paused.

"What do you want to know?"

"Oh... huh, well I'm a fan for horror movies. And I like super hero cartoons, but I don't draw..." a flash of Gerard bent over is work table with a pencil in hand, sketching his new cartoon character seizes him and he quickly changes the subject. "I like sundays!" he says in a highpitched voice, probably confusing the shit out of Mikey.

"No," he said. "I won't cry. I can't cry, I..." And by the time he's saying this, he turns around to hug Mikey in a tight, desperate embrace. This just crosses the line, and Frank knows just how weird things are getting, but it could never be worse than the simple thought of not seeing his band mates again.

He couldn't settle with the last word he had said to each. He was angry at Mikey for eating the last chip bag, he hadn't really spoken to Gerard since he was always with his fiancée and he couldn't even recall the last time he had sit down around the same table as Ray and Bob.

Clawing at the other's shirt, he found himself looking at the sea and immediately wanted everything to just go the fuck away. He screwed his eyes shut, a tear squeezing past his eyelids.

"God I'm so sorry," he sobbed, but holding on even closer.

He took some time to gain back some composure, equalizing his breathing as well. After a while he had loosen up his death grip on the other man, but with a strange fascination he preffered staying in his lap. He just needed to get it out of his system, and he'd probably make it through better afterwards.

"I don't do that. Usually," Frank explained, not daring to move.

"Remember to come in Chicago," he blurped out unintentionally.

This time he backed a bit, still sitting bluntly in Mikey's lap. "You know, you're really something," he sniffed. "I would never have done that with Pete or even Gerard."

Frank playfully pressed his right palm on Mikey's cheek, his thumb landing on his nose. He couldn't care less about what non-sense he was acting out; none of what happened for the previous hours had made any sense at all anyway. He just sat there, his face uncounsciously close to Mikey's, and his fingers tracing his features gently.

In a daze, he added. "I like your eyes."

He believed that the only person he had ever told that to was Gerard, but he was drunk and he had faked forgetting everything about it the next morning when Gerard had asked him.

Sighing, Frank looked down and withdrew his hands. He felt as if he kept staring, he'd do something very stupid. He couldn't be thinking about that in the situation he was in, it was innappropriate, knowing how he'd hold a grudge against himself for having the thought cross his mind.

"I just hope help'll come soon," he whispered in a breath.

"Yeah... I don't know if fame can accentuate tracking devices anyway," he replied.

There was a pause where none of them talked.

"...you really don't mind me being in your lap and all?" Frank asked with a crooked grin.