InsaneJournal

FIC: Love is Like Pizza--MCR, gen, 13ish for language.
title: Love is Like Pizza
author: lisa roquin
fandom: MCR
rating: FI? (frank iero, frank's insane, fucking insane--take your pick) also 13ish for language
characters/pairing: Frank(/Jamia) & Bob
prompt: frank & bob, love is like pizza
song: ps don't write-- pencey prep




"Love is like pizza," Frank announced in a voice just above a whisper as he plunked on the couch in the lounge next to Bob.

Bob blinked. He was pretty sure he was awake. If he was dreaming shit like that, he was closer to losing his mind than he thought. While Frank having lost his mind completely and announcing shit like that at almost four in the morning probably wasn't good either, it was still more comforting. And Frank had always been a little batshit anyway so most people wouldn't notice.

His head was killing him, and Gerard's insomnia seemed to be contagious. Bob had kept Gerard company the last two nights. Tonight Gerard passed out in his bunk almost immediately upon getting on the bus, lack of sleep catching up with him and crashing. Mikey, Matt, James and Ray were all sleeping like normal people. Or at least James and Ray were. Matt probably was by now after watching a good bit of porn on his laptop with his headphones. Mikey was a toss up, in his bunk with his sidekick and his ipod, oblivious to the world one way or another.

Bob blinked at Frank again. He really shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. "Huh?" spilled out before he could stop himself.

"Love is like pizza,"

"Pizza," Bob repeated.

Frank nodded. Nodded way too fucking earnestly for--Bob looked at his watch--3:48 in the goddamned morning.

"Pizza?" Bob had to repeat again. Maybe lack of sleep was inducing hallucinations?

"Pizza. Love is like pizza." Frank seemed awfully proud of himself at having come to this conclusion.

Bob was a little scared. "Are you stoned?"

"No, asshole."

"Didn't think so, just checking," And kind of, honestly, really hoping, but didn't really think so. That Frank came up with shit like this stone cold sober wasn't a stretch. "Pizza?"

"Totally," Frank nodded.

He knew he was going to regret this. God why couldn't it be as simple as Frank smoked a bowl of good shit and was making a little less than actual sense and had the munchies? Because that he could understand, almost, maybe. But this... He was going to regret it but "How?" was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Well, pizza you've got cheese and sauce and crust."

"Yeah--cheese? You don't eat dairy."

"Work with me." Frank glared.

"Uh huh. Pizza. Cheese, sauce and crust." Bob nodded.

"See?"

"No."

"Cheesey and saucy and crusty."

"Sounds more like Matt's porn for the first part, and I don't want to know anything about crusty. That's definitely in the land of way too fucking much information even if we live on a fucking bus."

Frank stared at him a minute, his mouth opened, closed...

"Ow," Bob complained and rubbed his arm where Frank had punched it. And it honestly hurt. Frank was strong for being such a skinny little fucking midget.

"You have no fucking sense of romance at all, do you?"

Pizza was romantic? "I thought we were talking pizza."

"We're talking about love." Frank sighed.

Bob stared. "Yeah. I'm...not seeing the connection."

"Love is like pizza."

"That's pretty much the part where you lost me and has me wondering if you gave yourself a concussion on stage tonight jumping around like a lemur on crack."

Frank gave him the kicked puppy look. The really unfair one that didn't get used all that often and generally was guaranteed to make Bob feel like an ass. Bob sighed.

"I'm trying here, asshole," Frank hissed.

"Okay, go ahead. Pizza."

"Love is like pizza," Frank repeated again.

Bob nodded, resigned to the fact he was stuck listening to this batshit theory in it's entirety no doubt.

"You got cheese."

Bob nodded and refrained from mentioning again that Frank didn't eat dairy and sounded completely batshit. He knew when he was beaten, which was--pretty much always when it came to the guys. When they figured that out he was pretty well fucked, but thankfully they were usually too wrapped up in their batshit of the moment to notice that.

"Cheese is all gooey and cheesey." Frank said, all patient and still with the air of being very proud of himself for figuring this out. Whatever the hell it was.

Bob bit the inside of his cheek to keep from asking if Frank was stoned again. This would make more sense that way, or at the very least let him pretend his band really wasn't that fucking insane. Hell, it would probably make more sense if Bob was stoned.

"Gooey and Cheesey--all holding hands and fucking hallmark and shit."

And eight? Nine? Jamia Tattoos. Bob thought but managed to not say that, momentarily distracted by the slightly saner pondering of how the hell many Jamia/Jamia related tattoos Frank had now. Upwards of a half dozen, probably edging on a dozen. Bob really wasn't sure. He'd lost count. There was..

"Are you paying attention?"

So much for distracting himself. "Yeah. Holding hands and Hallmark shit." Bob nodded. God help him. Frank was not only determined to spout this insanity off, he was determined Bob listen to every bit of it.

"Then there's the sauce."

Bob nodded. He was pretty sure he was either not going to be able to even look at pizza the next time they had it. Which sucked because he liked pizza. But yeah, he was either going to be too traumatized by the time Frank got done here or he was going to be too likely to burst out laughing and end up rolling on the floor the next time they had pizza. "Sauce," Bob dutifully repeated. Then tried "You know I was watching that." He waved at the old Godzilla movie muted on the tv.

"It's a dvd and you've seen it like fifty times and don't even have the volume on." Frank dismissed that attempt without so much as a glance at the tv. "We're up to sauce now pay attention."

"Sauce." Bob agreed tiredly.

"The sauce is the passion."

"Did you actually just say that with a straight face?" Bob stared. That earned him another punch in the arm. "Ow," he complained.

"Fucking listen. This is serious."

"Uh huh. I'm listening." Bob sighed.

Frank made the worlds most put upon sound of frustration, which Bob thought he was the one who had the right to sound put upon just now.

"Okay, okay, fine." Bob rolled his eyes. "The sauce is the passion. Enlighten me how the fuck you came to that conclusion."

"You are so totally fucking hopeless."

Bob nodded. He didn't say hopeless was probably a lot better than fucking batshit insane. He tried to keep his expression as blank as he could. It was just easier that way in the face of batshit metaphorical tangents. Gerard was the one that really had the market cornered on those, but never ever discount Frank and Mikey for giving him a run for his money in that department when they set their minds too it. Obviously. He couldn't quite believe he was doing this but..."Sauce?" he prompted Better just to get this over with and he could go hide in his bunk with his ipod. That wasn't going to be any more conducive to the sleep he really wanted right now, especially not as restless as he was but it would give him some hope of avoiding Frank for a while. Maybe. If Frank wasn't done harassing him he just might crawl straight into Bob's bunk with him and continue.

"Yeah, the sauce is like passion."

Bob was very proud of himself for not telling Frank he was fucking insane. Instead he sighed, there was no escaping this. "How?"

"It's a little bit sweet but spicy..." Frank visibly struggled for words for a minute. "kinda bold and has a bit of kick maybe sometimes. Sets off and balances the cheese."

Bob nodded slowly. "Okay." Frank was kind of making sense. He was starting to worry about his own sanity, and honestly, getting a little hungry.

Frank beamed at him. "See. Pizza totally."

"No I don't see, but I'm starting to get hungry."

Frank growled and punched him in the arm again. "Fucking pay attention."

Bob nodded. "Cheese- gooey cheesey handholding hallmark, sauce is kinda spicy and bold and is the passion. I'm hearing you."

"You're totally fucking hopeless."

Bob shrugged.

"Crust. It's like the foundation. You don't have pizza without crust. It'd be a total fucking mess and never hold together."

Bob was getting really scared. Frank was making a good bit of sense-- in a Frankish batshittery sort of way way. He was really losing it.

"You've got to have a good crust or you got shitty pizza, crust totally makes the pizza even if most people don't think of that. Got to have good sauce and cheese too, but you got nothing but crap if you don't have a good crust."

"Uh huh." Bob said slowly.

"Sometimes you get shitty pizza, right?"

"Ye-eah," Bob agreed warily.

"But that doesn't stop you from trying pizza somewhere else. And there's all kinds of pizza. Ya got onions and peppers and olives and--I don't know kinky strange stuff like pineapples."

"Frank..." Bob stared.

"Work with me."

"Oh-kaay,"

"And you got the nasty bad shit that happens sometimes like fights and shit like--anchovies."

"Fights are anchovies," Bob repeated and struggled not to laugh. Frank was so fucking earnest. And just for sheer oneryness, because he was being forced to listen to this. "Some people like anchovies, Frank. And pineapples on their pizza."

"You hate anchovies. And you're so fucking vanilla sometimes it's ridiculous and you think Hawaiian pizza is freaky so that totally works and you know it."

"Uh huh." Bob just wasn't going to argue. "Kinky pineapple. Bad shit and fights are anchovies. Got it." he managed.

"Totally," Frank beamed proudly and patted Bob's knee.

Bob almost wanted to know if there was a point to all of this, because Frank had probably spent days thinking this all out. Then again, he was probably better off not knowing what the point of all this was.

"There's totally all kinds of pizza."

Bob nodded because Frank was giving him this earnest, eager odd puppy look. "All kinds of pizza," he repeated since Frank looked so expectant.

"Totally." Frank nodded. "There's pepperoni and hamburger and sausage and vegetarian and Hawaiian with pineapple and chicken and oh Mexican? Lots of kinds of pizza. All kinds of pizza and some people just don't like some kinds of pizza and some people like all kinds of pizza and that's cool."

"Uh huh." Bob managed warily.

"So you've had a lot of shitty pizza."

Bob's eyes narrowed at Frank. "Fraaankiee."

"You totally can't go the rest of your life without ever having pizza again."

"We--still on the same topic here, Frank?"

"Yes!" Frank glared.

"Just checking."

"Totally fucking hopeless." Frank sighed.

"Sorry?"

"Yeah. You are. Now fucking listen!"

Bob nodded. "I'm listening." He put on his most serious expression.

"Asshole." Frank rolled his eyes. "So last time you had really bland crappy chicken pizza with really bland tasteless sauce and rubbery fakey cheese rather than good cheese. So what. You get pizza elsewhere and maybe try something else. Ya know. Something different. Something with a lot of sauce and a good thick crust and kinda spicy like a Mexican pizza."

"Frank." Bob growled.

"No one around here gives a flying fuck what kind of pizza ya like, just, ya know, that you get a good one."

"Frank."

"Oh, I fucking give up. You're both goddamned hopeless idiots. Just think about it, okay? And no one's going to be bothered or pissed or whatever. Fucking idiots ever pull your heads outta your asses it's cool with the rest of us. I fucking give up." Frank stood and wandered back to his bunk mumbling about rocks and brick walls.

Bob thunked his head on the back of the couch and groaned. He really wasn't getting any sleep tonight as Frank's semi-sensible batshittery raced through his head.