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More your fucking mics away from your amps! It's making everything screech."
Frank tried to hide his huff of frustration as he quieted his guitar, stomping off his distortion to try and save a little volume. Sound guys were usually ok – in the laziest way one could be – but this one was something else. Frank wondered why this sound guy couldn't just yell at them, then grab a sandwich and go watch some porn; it's what everyone else did!
But no, this one was persistent. He was snarky and rude, and Frank was almost considering buying the guy a drink just so he'd back off. They'd be running sound check for almost an hour, which was insane considering the gig they were playing. Ten fucking people trapped in a sweaty bar weren't going to give a rats ass about how loud the guitars were, or how quiet the bass was. No one could hear anything, anyway.
"Say something," The sound guy shouted, and Frank rolled his eyes, sidling up to the microphone. It was bent at an awkward weird angle to the side, to hide how short he actually kept the stand. It wasn't his fault he played guitar! Looking down and singing made the mic lower; Frank wasn't short. "Check, check. It's hot in here."
The sound guy snorted. "Is that how loud you're gonna fuckin' sing?"
Ray yawned, noodling shit on his guitar while it was on standby. "Tell him yes, Frankie. Spare us the yowling."
"Stop making noise," Frank hissed, before leaning back into the mic. "Uh, turn it down a little. Yeah, yeah, that's good. I'll be kind of screaming, so –"
"He sounds like a dying ostrich," Bob added helpfully, and Frank threw a pick at him. "I sound better than you!" Frank called.
The sound guy shook his head from his place on the side of the stage. He looked fairly young, but Frank couldn't really get a good look in the dark lighting and hood over the dude's face. "I told you to move your fucking mic," Sound guy complained, walking over and holding out his arms. "May I?"
Frank finally got a chance to look at the guy, and he was hot. Not jaw-dropping or anything, but he was getting a solid eight out of ten. Like, there was physically-attracted-oh-fuck hot, and then there was mental-breakdown-I'm-going-to-die hot. This dude was somewhere in between, but it was enough to catch Frank off guard. "Uh, yeah."
The dude grabbed Frank's mic, walking it a few feet to the right. He then frowned at its weird side-stand, but said nothing, to Frank's relief and walked back to his weird hermit-hole of sound tech. "Lead guitar, I want to hear you again. I think you've gotten too loud."
Bob, who had nothing to do since he wasn't being mic-ed tonight, came over to lounge by Frank. "Dude's a fucking prick," He muttered, adjusting his pants. "I hope he gets his smoke break soon; he needs it."
"You think he smokes?" Frank asked. It was a dumb question – of course this dude smoked, but Frank wanted to keep the topic of conversation here as long as possible. It didn't work quite as he'd planned though, and Bob raised a brow.
"Shit, Frankie." Bob shook his head. "Jesus fucking Christ. I'm not trying to be homophobic, but that dude is definitely not gay, and I don't think he'd like you making advances."
Frank could have kicked him out of the band right then. "First of all," Frank snapped, laughing a little. It was only slightly funny, but he was mainly upset. "I did not say I was into him; you know I date chicks and stuff! Secondly, what fucking 'advances?' That's fucking weird, man."
"Jesus, sorry!" Bob grinned, backing off. "I didn't mean it like that, I just –"
Not wanting him to overhear their conversation, Bob and Frank both stopped abruptly as the sound guy came over, hood still pulled over his dark hair. Frank looked at Bob pointedly, for no reason in particular.
"Am I interrupting something?" The sound dude sort of joked, as the stage was now quiet. Frank shook his head no, and Bob snorted. "Are you gay?" Bob asked, and Frank might have gone into cardiac arrest if it weren't for the expensive guitar on his stomach that he did not want to break.
"Dudes are just fine," The sound guy answered casually, going back to readjusting Frank's pedalboard. With anyone else, he would have told them to get away, but not this guy. Frank was pretty sure he stopped breathing when the dude touched the middle of his back, where his guitar strap rested. "It's twisted," The dude explained, and Frank nodded awkwardly and fixed it. Had Bob really just asked this dude if he was gay? And had this guy said yes?
"Also," The sound guy continued, tapping the headphones around his neck. "Your mics are always on in here. I heard you talking about me."
Frank froze, embarrassed, and Bob coughed uncomfortably. "Sorry."
The dude shrugged, extending a fist to Frank and completely ignoring Bob. "I'm Gerard," He said, as they tapped hands. "Find me after the show if you still want to make those gay advances."
And then he walked away, and Frank was kind of unsure about what to do, and Bob was laughing. He supposed he had to have a great show now, since he had plans after.