Chapter Text
It took multiple weeks for Froste to finish his first work. The constant tweaking nearly drove him crazy. In that time, he managed to get an ao3 account. He debated on what to use for his username.
Froste had gone by his online name for so long that any other felt weird. But at the same time, there was no way he was using his name with what he was writing.
In the end, he decided on 'ggfrostify.' Not the most original name, but it would have to do.
Realization settled in his chest when he was filling out the form to post. Having to write in 'video blogging RPF' in the fandom column was a type of embarrassment he never thought he would feel.
When he came to the additional tags, he didn’t know what to do. What he had written was pure caffeine-induced self-insert fan-fiction, how the fuck was he supposed to tag it?
He added 'friends to lovers', then moved on.
"Work title," he murmured to himself in his dark empty room. Giving it a title seemed obvious, but Froste hadn't given it any thought up to this point.
Eventually, he typed it in. Then deleted. Retyped. Sighed. Added to it.
'Easy on the eyes, easy to love.'
So sappy. Yet it best described how he felt about Classy. He was gorgeous and so easy to fall in love with. Funny, kind. Confident. His confidence was what drew Froste in. Classy made him feel… safe. It was a weird fact he had come to terms with.
He copied his writing from the google document and pasted it into the website's small writing square. 2k words. He had written over two thousand words about his stupid crush on Classy. Jesus. What was wrong with him? No normal person with a crush would be doing this.
Unfortunately, as the years passed, his longtime crush became anything but normal.
Before he could overthink it, he clicked post and shut his laptop immediately. With sweaty hands, he reached over to his phone. He needed some kind of distraction. Anything.
Opening discord, Froste's finger hovered above Classy's. He hesitated, then pressed on George's name.
Froste 11:27 p.m
You up?
George 11:28 p.m
Yeah why
Froste 11:28 p.m
Can't sleep
George 11:28 p.m
We have a shoot tmrw yknow
Froste 11:29 p.m
I'm well aware
I still can't sleep
George 11:29 p.m
Dude what do you want me to about it
Froste 11:30 p.m
Call?
George 11:30 p.m
Fine
Their conversation lasted roughly two hours. It was silent at times, only broken occasionally by one of them spouting their thoughts out loud. As time ticked by, Froste found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open.
"So," George broke the silence yet again. "Why can't you sleep anyway?"
Froste tiredly rubbed his eyes. He wanted to forget about his problem, not talk about it. "I don't know."
His friend hummed, clearly not taking his word for it. You'd think with how many times they all play impostor that Froste would be good at lying.
"Right. Something tells me you're lying out of your ass," George said. Froste sighed in response.
"So what? You gonna arrest me?" he joked half-heartedly.
"Might," he replied, before continuing, "For real though, are you okay?"
Froste bit the inside of his cheek. He could say everything was fine and dandy but he knew George wouldn't believe that for a second. "I've been waking up in the middle of the night lately."
It was true—he had, multiple times even. Most of it brought on by anxiety that someone would find out what he was writing before he even got to post it.
Logically, he should've just deleted it and moved on from it. But Froste never did listen to logic when it came to anything Classy related.
"Shit, really?" George's response broke him out of his stupor. "Have you tried meds? I think I have some spare melatonin left."
The offer was kind, yet he doubted it would actually work. But, not wanting to worry George further, he took it. "…Could you give it to me at the studio?"
"You sure? I could go to your apartment now if you want to," he pushed instead. Work was tomorrow, which meant he would have to fall asleep without medication tonight.
"I'll be fine," he tried to ease his friends worry. "We should both be sleeping right now, I don’t want to keep you up any longer."
"Alright," he agreed, then added on, "If you ever need more, just tell me."
"I'll keep it in mind." Code for, 'not happening.' George seemed to understand and dropped it.
A yawn escaped Froste's mouth, very clearly heard through the speaker at his friend's laugh afterward. Froste was too tired to notice the warmth spreading up from his throat.
"Okay sleepyhead, time for bed," George snickered. "Don't forget your alarm."
"Fuck off," he slurred before hanging up. Hopefully he didn’t mess up George's sleep schedule too much.
George 01:14 a.m
Sleep well :)
Message me if you need me to pretend you're sick or something
Froste 01:15 a.m
Thanks
Might
He didn’t bother putting his phone back on the nightstand and instead just dropped it onto the mattress. For at least an hour, he stared up at the ceiling. He should go and delete it, before it's too late.
On the other hand, what if people read it and enjoy it?
He shoved his too warm cover aside, continuing to lie without any comforter. Eventually, as his room slowly got brighter with the sun, his eyes started to close.
No one would read it anyway. He was fine. Everything would just go back to normal after tonight.
Froste was so, so, wrong. Everything was but normal. He actively avoided his phone when he got up for the morning, not wanting to see a single email from that forsaken fanfic website.
By the time he got to the studio, he was actively ticking like a time bomb. One part of him told him to look, to get it over with—rip off the band-aid, if you will. Another part told him to shuck his phone out the window. Both options sounded horrible, but the idea of paying for a new phone did influence his decision.
As he finally turned his phone on, waiting for the crew to set things up, he was met with the sight of way too many notifications.
20 kudos, 98 hits. Usually such low numbers were disappointing, but currently, it was not. Just stress-inducing.
Ninety-eight people had read that embarrassing fic of his.
Twenty had even liked it.
He had posted it just a couple hours ago. He really hated the fact that he knew those numbers would increase by the end of the day. Maybe even double.
A hand on his shoulder caused him to shriek and almost drop his phone. Deny laughed and clapped him on the back.
"What's with your nerves today?" he asked, taking his hand away and allowing Froste to breathe properly. For a second, he had thought Deny had seen his screen.
Luck seemed to be on his side, at least for this specific moment.
"Laugh all you want. But we both know you're gonna be the loser today," Froste managed to respond with his usual sass. He pushed his racing thoughts away into the back of his mind.
"Is that so?" Deny challenged, only to be roughly grabbed by Classy.
"You're in my spot," he said calmly, eyes flicking to Froste for just a moment. He knew that Deny knew that, which made their situation even stupider.
"So? What are you gonna do about it?" Deny simply responded, getting comfortable in his seat on the couch next to Froste, resting his arms on the back. He obviously had no intention of sitting there for the actual shoot, but Deny seemed to clearly enjoy provoking Classy today.
"I'll kick you in the balls," he threw back a threat, one that neither Deny or Froste felt intimidated by. Deny was stronger than Classy—visibly so, but it didn't seem to stop his confidence.
"Jeez, man. Who put a stick up your ass?" Deny, thankfully, backed off, getting up and allowing Classy to sit down, no real offense behind his words.
"Your mom," Classy retorted, earning a clap on the shoulder from Froste. Even he had to admit that Deny walked right into that one.
A quick glance to the side, Froste noticed George staring from across the room. He was most likely trying to figure out if Froste's sleep deprivation is something to keep quiet about. His theory was confirmed with the next words that came out of George's mouth.
"Hey, Froste, can I show you something real quick?"
He nodded. There was only one thing it could be, and it slightly reassured him. While the awful sleeping schedule was a lie he told, it was still true to a certain degree. Some melatonin could seriously help.
"What about us?" Deny asked back, earning an eye roll from him. "Share with the class!"
George didn't spare him a second glance as he guided Froste to a separate room. Grabbing his bag from the corner, he searched for a few seconds before handing a bottle to him.
"It's just a few," he said as Froste stared at the medicine.
He took it with a nod in reply. George hesitated for a moment, looked at the door, then back at Froste.
"You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah… Yeah, I'm good. Thank you," he mumbled, inspecting the bottle slowly.
"…Have you told the others?" Basically, a question of, 'can I mention this to anyone or should I keep my mouth shut?'
"No," he answered. "Hopefully it'll fix itself soon."
George nodded, sharing the same sentiment. "Alright, let's hope for that then."
Froste smiled back at his friend before turning to leave. Once his hand reached the handle, George stopped him. "You know your correct dose, right?"
"It's not my first time taking melatonin," he answered, which calmed his friend down.
"Right. Just making sure, y’know?" he laughed, no humor behind it however. He saw how George was trying to make sure the conversation stayed light-hearted.
"I understand," Froste replied, hoping it was enough to ease his concern. He patted him on the shoulder and then opened the door for him. Immediately after, Julian yelled that it was time to record.
Maybe it would take Froste's mind off everything. Give him a break from his constant anxiety.
He really was a fool believing in that though.