Archive of Our Own

Frank finds out that he’d grossly misinterpreted all of it on a Wednesday morning. They’re half-assing breakfast in Gerard’s kitchen, and Frank is still tender from last night, and a Big Thief song is playing softly in the background. 

Frank will remember which song it is when, days after this, he will figure out this was the last time he felt normal. That this right now, making his cereal bowl while Gerard hums along, was something he would look back to for a long time, trying to keep it intact in his memories.

“We could marathon Lord of the Rings. On Saturday.” Frank says, trying to get all of the milk to fall inside his bowl. He squeezes his tongue between his teeth. “You know, for a change.”

That’s when it goes to shit.

“Oh, Saturday. I can't.” Gerard says, from where he's already sipping on his coffee, legs naked and askew where he's sitting on the counter, “I’m kind of—I have a date.”

It takes a minute to register. The soy milk spills out, and Frank almost knocks his cereal box off the counter when his elbow touches it. Well, it's not his cereal box, as Gerard bought it. But it is, because Gerard buys it for him, keeps it in his kitchen for Frank specifically. 

“What.”

“This guy asked me out? At the gig I went to with Mikey the other night?” Gerard shrugs behind his Darth Vader mug, and Frank’s stomach falls. 

Oh. Okay.

There’s an ache suddenly spreading in Frank’s stomach. He doesn’t wince, his face feels like it’s made of stone. He feels cold, all of a sudden, like he’s coming down with something. 

He puts the milk carton down, and a corner of it lands into the spilled milk. It's going to get soggy, if Frank leaves it there. The milk might also spread to the cereal box, and that would get ruined, too. He doesn't move.

“Frank?” Gerard asks, voice small. 

“Yes.” Frank’s hand moves on auto-pilot and, he's not sure why, he dumps the milk from his bowl into the sink. 

“I—That’s okay, right?”

“It’s okay.” Frank hears himself say, his heart thumping away in his ears. The ache grows bigger and pushes against his diaphragm. It cuts his breath.

Gerard’s knee is tipped open to the side, the smattering of hairs on his thighs disappearing into his gigantic t-shirt, the one with the holes around the neckline. Frank can't see him, but he's in his peripheral vision, and he's looking at him. He can feel it.

He needs to leave the kitchen. He feels his blood drain from his face. He needs to do something with his hands, needs to be away from Gerard.

But Gerard follows him into the bedroom, and Frank can hear him breathe, and he can’t think right now. He gathers up his socks, and his cardigan, and his stupid fucking sweater. There's clothes everywhere and it seems like every item is his. Fuck his layering.

“You—We aren’t—It’s not like we’re exclusive, right?” Gerad is hovering somewhere behind Frank, and Frank’s body is hurting all over. He wishes he knew how to lose consciousness on command, because he doesn’t want to be awake for this. He didn’t think he would have to go through this. But he pushes through, because he needs this moment to be over. He just fucking needs this moment to be over.

He lets out a nervous laugh, “Well, apparently.” 

“Frankie, fuck. I thought—”

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t think it was serious.”

“It’s okay.”

“Frank. Frankie.” 

Gerard’s hand is on his wrist, then, and Frank freezes. His skin is warm, and sweaty, and Frank wishes Gerard would hold on to him, he wishes he would squeeze his wrist and keep him. He wishes his fingers could leave bruises over his pulse point. He wishes for everything he knows he’s losing as he stands here, because he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve and there’s no way that either of them won’t know what this means.

He keeps his eyes trained to the ground, his heart in his throat. “I have to leave.”

“It’s not exclusive, right?” Gerard insists, “It’s not like that, right?”

So many fucking questions. Like Frank’s supposed to have all the fucking answers. He thought he did, but he didn’t.

“Not to you, Gee.”

Gerard’s hand falls, and Frank raises his gaze to look. Gerard looks like he’s been slapped just a moment ago. He looks scared. Frank doesn’t recognize the feeling inside his own chest. It’s new and enormous and it frightens him. This is Gerard.

“It’s fucking fine.” he hates how angry his voice sounds, because he’s not angry, he’s something else entirely. Something gnaws at his ribs, and he needs Gerard to know it’s not his fault. Frank is just that fucking stupid. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid of me.”

“Frank, I’m sorry. I’ve never—I don’t think I feel t—”

A weird sound leaves Frank’s throat, and it stops Gerard from finishing his sentence, and that’s good. That’s really fucking good, because the measure is full, and Frank is pretty sure he can’t take another single second of this. 

“I have to go.”

“We can—”

“No, I mean—I have,” Frank tries to swallow down whatever it is that seems to be lodged in his throat, “I have to go to work.”

Gerard doesn’t fall for it, not for a second. It’s obvious in the way he sighs. But he says nothing to stop Frank. 

“Okay. Yeah.” he says instead, and to Frank it sounds like peace has already been made. 

“I’ll see you.” he says, and he knows, right that moment, that he’s lying.

Gerard hangs his head, bites his lip. 

“Yeah. See you, bye.”

Frank is familiar with this, he’s used to this. He’s been rejected before, and he knows he’s too intense. He knows he falls hard, and hopelessly, and with no parachute. But he doesn’t remember ever feeling this hollow, this emptied out, tired. He doesn’t remember a single day through the last ten years where he didn’t hear from Gerard for more than 48 hours. And it drains him. 

It feels weird, and fucked up, and Frank picks up more shifts so he doesn’t risk spending too much time alone. He loves his job, and teaching kids to play guitar is fucking awesome, but it’s different when he realises he doesn’t know who he should text the funny things that children do while trying to learn to play Wonderwall. He will flip his phone out of his pocket and open his messages to stare at the most recent chats, and then he will remember. That Gerard doesn’t want to hear what Sammy told Frank about his mom’s soap opera. That the last time the chat with Gerard was active was a week ago, Frank letting him know that he was ten minutes away and that he was bringing groceries. The chat gets lower and lower and then it disappears under new ones — Ray, and Tucker, and his kids’ parents.

And now he has to dodge Mikey’s calls, which makes his stomach fill with acid. He doesn’t think he can deal with him, too, with the guilt that awaits him in that particular can of worms. He doesn’t want to have Mikey judging him for throwing himself in the arms of a man that made it abundantly clear he wasn’t looking for anything serious. He just—He thought that Gerard wasn’t putting their friendship at risk, when they first started sleeping together. He thought that Gerard had finally reached the place Frank had been inhabiting forever, and that that was going to be it.

He thought that he didn't have to make it clear. He really thought that when Gerard tipped forward that night, months ago, while they were rewatching The Witch, and had kissed Frank square on the mouth, it was love. It sounds stupid to his own ears, but it just sounded right, then. Because Frank had always had this little hope in his chest that maybe his best friend loved him back. That Gerard kept breaking relationship after relationship because he was gonna come around and feel what Frank felt.

He sees now, that the way Gerard had kissed him then was nothing special. He needed it and Frank was there. He was already there, always there, always so needy for Gerard. Frank had felt something sweet in their kiss, but that must've been wishful thinking. 

And all those times after the first one, the way Gerard held him close as he fucked into him, the way he writhed and whimpered under Frank’s fingers, the way he said his name. He hadn't taken into consideration, ten years of friendship in, that Gerard might’ve just wanted him for the benefit of it. That it was easy, to take what Frank had to give, and Frank had a lot to give, had been waiting for Gerard to take it for so long. 

It hadn't even crossed his mind.

Mikey’s text comes two weeks in, while Frank is teaching Daphne to hold her guitar without it slipping from her tiny, sweaty, six-years-old hands.

mikeyway: im coming over tonight

mikeyway: dont make up excuses cause im not as dumb as you are

There’s no point in avoiding this anymore. Mikey is already tangled in it but he doesn’t need to be hurt, too. Frank owes him this, at least. 

me: get off work at 7

He takes a deep breath and widens his smile for Daphne. She smiles back, and Frank manages to pushes everything else to the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry.” is the first thing Mikey says when the door closes behind him that night. He hasn’t even taken his shoes off yet, and everyone always takes their shoes off in Frank’s apartment, even—

“What?” Frank didn’t expect to hear that. 

“You heard me.” There’s a serious look on Mikey’s face, but Mikey’s face is always serious, so Frank is not really sure if it really matters. Mikey sighs. “I’m sorry. My brother’s too chickenshit for it but I’m not and I’m sorry, Frankie. I should’ve told you.”

“Told me what?”

Mikey raises one hand, moves it around in the air a little, like it means anything. “That he gets like this.”

Frank snorts a half chuckle. “You didn’t need to tell me, Mikey. I know him, and I should’ve known. I don’t know what I expected—Maybe I—” Frank scratches at his jaw, where the stubble is growing, “Maybe I thought it was different. I guess—It felt different. God, I’m such a cliché.”

“I thought that, too.” Mikey says, nodding as he walks to Frank’s couch, where he promptly plops down, making himself at home. “That it would’ve been different.”

“What do you mean?” Frank asks, still standing, still dumbfounded. 

“I guess, I don’t know.” Mikey shrugs, “It’s always been different, with you, I think. I mean, Gerard’s always been different around you. Like—I’ve never seen him so at ease, so himself.”

That does nothing to alleviate the pain in Frank’s chest. If anything, it only makes it worse. He took it away from him. Opened his stupid mouth and took their friendship away from Gerard. 

He swallows. “Is he—Okay?”

Mikey nods, unconvinced. “I’m—Keeping an eye on him.”

That sounds wrong to Frank’s ears, it takes him back to the earliest years of their friendship, when Gerard still hadn’t made it out of his parent’s basement. It takes him back to the glass bottles strewn around the floor and the bed and the furniture. It takes him back to the nights he sat on Gerard’s bathroom floor, the tiles digging into his knees as he held Gerard’s dirty hair back from his face as he puked into the toilet. He takes him back to the glances he exchanged with Mikey as they sipped on their coffees together in the kitchen, in concerned silence.

“You don’t think—” he starts.

“I don’t know.” Mikey shrugs again, looks down to his own hands, “I haven’t seen him like this in a while, I have no idea. He won’t talk to me. That’s new, too. But I won’t let him throw his efforts away, if that’s what you mean.” 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Frank nods, although he doesn’t believe that’s true. He sits on the couch, too, their knees touching. They sit in silence for a minute, before Mikey speaks again.

“Frankie, do you think you love him? Is that what it is?”

Frank laughs to himself, laughs at himself, and it doesn’t sound as bitter as it feels. It sounds wet with the tears he can’t seem to stop shedding. He was sure he’d cried himself dry in the last ten days. 

He’s just so fucking tired. 

He wants to come home and find Gerard there and put his face to his throat and breath him in. He wants Gerard to hold him and run his hand through his hair, he wants his warmth. He wants his best friend back, but, mostly, he wants his love to stop being so pointless. It’s selfish and he knows it, but he wants Gerard to love him back. It’s so trivial, and stupid, to feel like this because of unrequited love at thirty-two, but it’s just how things are. Frank loves Gerard and Gerard doesn’t love him back. He thought he’d made his peace with it, but then he had a chance to get a glimpse into an alternative reality, and now he doesn’t know how to come back from it.

“Pretty sure that’s what it is.” he says, watery.

Mikey’s inference from that is different from what he expected it would be. He looks hopeful, perks up a little where he’s sitting, his back straightens out.

“So, you’ll go back to being friends, then, right?” he says, a tiny smile on his mouth.

Frank looks away, something bitter in his mouth. “Mikey.”

“Please. You can take your time but—He needs you.”

That makes something in him itch. “And you think I don’t?”

“You know what I mean.” 

“Oh, I know what you mean.” he says, and it turns sour in his mouth. He tries not to get angry, but he’s had a long day, and it’s been a long week, and he might die alone, so. “It’s ‘cause I’m his little—Lapdog or something. He needs me ‘cause he knows it, right? He knows I would do anything for him and that I’ll always come when he calls, because I’m that fucking stupid. He knows I—He knows.”

Mikey is silent for a minute, but when he speaks again his voice is harsher. “Gerard’s not like that, Frank.”

“No, you're right.” he admits, shoulders slumping, “But I am. I am hopeless, when it comes to him. It’s true, I will do anything. You know how long I’ve been nursing this? You know how long I’ve felt like this? And I’ve pushed it down, because, fuck, I didn’t want to fuck things up.”

Mikey looks at him, mouth twisted like he’s not sure what he should be feeling right now. Gerard is his brother, but Frank is his best friend. “It’s not his fault.”

“Yeah, right. Would you fuck me if I was in love with you and you knew you didn’t love me back?”

Mikey winces at the words, Frank is not sure which one hits him the most. He knows he’s being unfair.

“So you’re mad at him. It’s normal, it’ll pass.” Mikey says.

“I’m not. I could forgive him anything.” he shrugs, he knows he isn't making much sense, “I’m just sad. And I miss him. And I don’t think—Mikey, I really don’t think I can be his friend again. Not after—I really thought,” he shakes his head, sighs, “It really felt like we were on the same page. And we’re not, and we’re never going to be on the same page, ever.”

“Frankie, you’ll get over it.”

Frank looks at him, then, and Mikey tries to hold his gaze, but it’s a quick thing. They know each other, and Mikey’s been with Frank long enough he knows it isn’t true. 

“Maybe you’ll meet someone else and get over him.” he tries instead.

“Mikey. He’s Gee. I can’t do better than that. No one could come along and be like him.”

“But someone could love you back.”

Frank laughs. “Well, ouch.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think that one through.” Mikey smiles, “My bad.”

“Now you need to buy us pizza.”

Mikey does. Frank picks a movie and Mikey doesn’t even try to protest his choice. They eat the pizza in silence, squeezed next to each other on the couch. Mikey shivers, and Frank goes to retrieve a blanket they can bury themselves under. Mikey hums and plasters himself to his side. It’s nice to be touched, Frank hadn’t really realised how little touch he gets from his friendships outside Gerard. Even before they started fucking, they had always been to physical. It had made some of Gerard’s girlfriends and boyfriends — when he was still trying to do the whole relationship thing — uncomfortable. It had made something like victory, like a purring cat, stir inside Frank’s chest. Gerard used to love to touch him. He always said that Frank ran too warm, that he had to be close to Frank at all times to absorb some of it, or the younger would combust.

“He’s going to ask me how you’re doing.” Mikey says halfway through the movie, cleaning his fingers on a paper towel.

“Oh, yeah?” Frank sees Mikey nodding minutely, “What are you going to tell him?”

“That you’re desperately in love with him and that you’re gonna have to sell the ring you bought to propose to him.”

Frank digs his foot in Mikey’s bony thigh, making him yelp. “Asshole. Tell him you couldn’t get in because I was busy fucking someone from Tinder or something.”

“Sure, now you start Tinder fucking.” Mikey rolls his eyes, but his usual teasing voice is softer than usual, more careful.

“Well, now would be the best time.” Frank points out, trying to keep it light.

Mikey snorts and shakes his head. Then, he lets it fall on Frank’s shoulder, and he positively dozes off for the rest of the movie. 

When it’s over, he drags himself up. “I should probably get going, he’s waiting up for me.”

“He’s at yours?” Frank asks.

“Yeah.”

Frank nods. “You’re taking care of him?”

“Yes, Frankie.”

Frank’s breath comes out of him shaking. “I wish I could—” he chuckles, “You know how many times I went over to his house after he got dumped, when we were younger? I wish I could do that for him now, be of comfort. But I can’t, Mikey, I really fucking can’t. I’ve been in love with him for so long.”

Mikey nods at that, doesn’t add anything. He squeezes Frank into his arms, makes him promise to text, promises back that he will let him know when he gets home.

And then, Frank is alone.

There are a lot of places where Gerard used to be and he isn’t anymore. 

On Frank’s couch, sprawled out and loose, half asleep half talking about whatever. His balcony, cigarette in hand and hair falling over his eyes, humming to himself. In his unmade bed, warm against Gerard’s body on an early morning. In his bathroom, shaving before an online meeting. At his tiny kitchen table, sketching away with that focused look that made Frank feel like he was the keeper of something precious. 

Gerard’s not there anymore. He’s still a voice inside of Frank’s head, making snarky comments and humming to himself, but he’s not there. The silence is loud, and Frank hasn’t been this alone in a long time. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with himself. He hadn’t really taken into consideration that he would have ended up alone, sooner or later. Not consciously, at least. There’s so much time on his hands, now that Gerard is not hovering all the time. And Frank could do anything at all, but he finds himself wishing for the one thing he can’t have. He wants Gerard sprawled over the couch, laughing. He wants him at the kitchen counter, wincing at Frank’s soy milk and burning his toast. He wants him smoking on the balcony, burrito-wrapped in Frank’s blanket, still shivering, still smoking. 

His absence is everywhere, sticky and overwhelming. 

Frank will get over it.

He’s thirty two, anyway, he can get over a crush he’s had, even if the crush has been there for ten years. What he’s not sure he can do, is get over his best friend. The person who knows him best, the one that always knows what to say, how to make him feel seen.

Frank will get over it.

Then, Toro’s birthday is coming up.

Frank looks at himself in the mirror and he’s—gray, for lack of a better word. His eyes look sunken and his beard is growing and he looks sick. He looks at himself and he thinks, pathetically, that it’s no wonder that Gerard couldn’t make himself fall in love with him. 

He should probably leave his house for something other than work. He should get Ray a present. Ray deserves a fucking good present.

So, naturally, he goes to the record store down the street. 

So, naturally, Gerard is there. 

His hair is dirty, like it used to be before, when Gerard rarely left the house and he didn’t have enough energy to raise his arms above his head. He’s bundled up in a scarf that’s too big for him, and it makes him look small, so small and alone in the record store and Frank feels the need to reach out and plaster himself against his side, make him warm and keep him safe. He hates to see Gerard this way, hates to think that it’s his fault, too, if Gerard’s hair is unwashed and messy and if his fingers are twitching in a way they only do when he’s anxious about something. He doesn’t want to give himself to much credit, or to think that Gerard would be this upset about his absence. But if there’s something he knows it’s that, while Gerard doesn’t love him back like that, he still cares about Frank. Frank wouldn’t doubt that. He’s never doubted that.

Gerard looks at him from over the records, and Frank can’t look away, he needs to drink him in despite the shame he feels in his throat, and his hands, and all over his body.

“Hey.” Gerard says, then swallows audibly.

“Hi.” Frank’s heart is beating so angrily he’s concerned he’s going to actually collapse on the floor of this record store. 

There’s a beat, and Gerard opens his mouth. Frank misses his voice terribly, but he doesn’t want to hear what he has to say to him anymore. Last time was kind of a disaster, and he didn’t prepare himself for another disaster when he left the house, so.

“Ray.” he says instead, stupidly, “I’m getting him something, for his birthday.”

Gerard nods, understanding in a way that Frank knows is about more than his excuse for why he’s here. “Me too. Got any advice?”

“Yes, but do you need it?” he feels a tiny smile appear on his own face, and it surprises him. Maybe he can do this, get through this conversation and come out alive. 

Gerard shakes his head and he smiles, too, and Frank’s stomach drops. He’s stunning. He’s always been so beautiful, with the way the corner of his eyes crinkle when he’s happy. Frank wants to kiss the crow’s feet there, he wants trace them with his fingers. He wants so much, he wants too much. 

“So you’re coming? To the dinner?” Gerard asks, avoiding his eyes and looking down at the vinyls.

“Sure, yeah.” he tries to sound nonchalant.

Gerard’s next breath sounds like relief, and Frank refuses to read into it. He refuses to think, or feel anything at all. He tries to. 

He says goodbye, awkward and scared of the neverending feeling inside his chest, and flees the store before he can even buy anything.

Frank finds out that it doesn’t hurt as much as he'd expected it to. 

Gerard is there, in front of him, and his smile is small, and shy, but it is genuine, and Frank can’t help but feel his spine relax. He's missed him so much.

And there’s enough people that Frank can jump from one conversation to another without ever having to look at Gerard at the other side of the table. There’s Mikey, who is so good at pretending that nothing weird is going on. There’s Bryan, who used to play with Frank and Ray when Pencey Prep still existed, and Frank hasn’t seen him in a million years, so that’s fun. There’s one of Ray’s brothers, the one they never get to hang out with, and he’s fucking hilarious.

And, Ray is literally getting married in less than eight months, and Frank is kind of vibrating with how happy he is for him, because if there’s one thing everyone knows about Frank is that he loves love. Jade is so obviously perfect for Ray that it feels like maybe she jumped out of a dream Ray had one night. Frank has always thought that everyone needs a Ray Toro in their lives, and was always sad that Ray couldn’t have his own Ray Toro. And then Jade showed up, and it all slotted into place.

So Frank is grossly fond, and grossly grateful for Jade. That is, until Ray leaves the table to go get dessert, and Jade is leaning towards Gerard, and asking:

"So, Gerard, how did the date go?"

And Gerard, who was listening to Bryan and Ray talk about this new emerging band from Pennsylvania, snaps his head towards her and looks taken aback.

"Sorry?" he asks.

Jade smiles, and she’s bright. Maybe too bright, she should tone it down a little, no? "Ray told me about that date you had, with the guy from the bar?"

Frank can feel Gerard looking at him, for a moment. It's brief and it burns and Frank hates it. He hates that Gerard has to look at him like he has to make sure that Frank is okay with it. As if. It’s not like Frank was expecting him to give up his sex life just because one of them got hurt. He looks down at his empty plate and grits his teeth, hopes it’s good enough.

"Yes, that. Fine." Gerard says with a clipped tone, 

"You're gonna see him again?” Jade asks, sounding genuinely interested, “What's his name?"

Frank tries to tune in to any other conversation happening across the table, but even when Gerard’s voice lowers into a half-whispers, Frank’s ears pick it up. 

"It's Matt. And yes."

Frank manages to stay still for a couple of minutes before he excuses himself and leaves for the bathroom. He’s sure it’s enough time not to make anyone except for Mikey and Gerard to figure it out.

It's fine, if a bit humiliating. He looks at himself in Ray's mirror and feels like punching his own reflection. 

He needs to be a good friend. Mikey's right. Gerard deserves a good friend, because Gerard is good and he cares for him, even if it's not the same way Frank does.

When he goes out to the balcony to have a smoke, he doesn’t expect the door to open again behind him. But when it does, he immediately knows it’s him.

“I’m sorry I—” Gerard stays behind him, but Frank can see the way he fidgets in his mind’s eye. “I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable. The word sits heavy on Frank’s stomach. This is the worst Gerard can fathom. That Frank is going to be uncomfortable. It's almost endearing, the way Gerard has never looked so naive to him. So far away. Frank wonders if he's never known him at all. If Gerard’s ever known him at all. 

He guesses not.

“If I can do anything to—” Gerard says, and Frank turns around. Gerard looks cold in the night, he didn’t even put his coat on. He didn’t even bring a cigarette. Frank doesn’t offer him one, he wants to make it quick.

“Gerard.”

Gerard shuts up. 

“Listen.” he sighs, long and trembling, “I know what Mikey thinks and what he wants to happen.”

Gerard’s eyes widen. “I don't—”

Frank can’t look at him.

“But I really can't do this. Not right now and not for a while, at least. You're—Very important to me, clearly. But I won't put myself through this. Not again. Not after—” Frank thinks of Gerard’s mouth on his back, of his fingers on his hips. “I think we should really take some time apart. You've got your friends and I can be on my own and get better.”

“Get better?” he asks, sounding a little lost.

“Better. Over it.” his mouth twitches, and he brings his cigarette to it to mask it the best he can, “Don't make me say it.”

“Okay, yeah.” Gerard shifts from one foot to the other, clears his throat, “Is that—”

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t shut the fuck up, ever, but the question leaves his mouth before he realises he doesn’t want to know the truth.

“Is this—is this difficult, to you? In any way?” he finds himself asking.

“Frank, of course.” his tone has changed a little, he sounds almost scared, “Of course it's difficult. It’s horrible. You're my best friend.” Gerard takes a step towards him. Just one.

Frank nods. That's not quite it, but he's going to take it. “I’m going to leave, now.”

Gerard makes this snorting sound, amused and bitter, “You're doing that a lot.”

Frank snaps his head up, finally looks at Gerard.

“Excuse me?” he bites.

“You just—” Gerard gesticulates the way he does when he’s frustrated, and he has no right to. His wrists and his fingers move in this familiar way that makes Frank ache. But then, what Gerard is saying— “You're always walking away from me and I never get a say in—”

“Get a say?” Frank can't quite believe his own ears, “What the fuck do you—How the fuck do you expect this to go? Want me to blow you for your fucking patience?”

“It's not my fault.” 

Frank scoffs. “Never said it was.”

“Then stop being so fucking angry at me.”

“Oh my—” the laugh that leaves Frank’s mouth sounds bitter and wrong, “Gerard, you don't get to decide how people are going to feel. You don't get to pick and choose the reaction others are going to have to your actions.”

“Yeah, if I could do that then I sure as hell wouldn't have picked you being in love with me.”

Ah.

Gerard’s eyes get very wide as soon as he closes his mouth, and Frank can't look away. Takes a step back, and his hands are shaking. His heart seems to have dropped lower again, and Gerard is walking towards him, his hands in the air between them like he's going to do something idiotic like touch Frank. He looks horrified, and it's simply too much. 

“Frank, fuck—I.”

Frank runs.

The club is dark. It makes Frank’s skin itch. To make it better, he drinks. So that when the first man starts grinding against him, instead of tensing up he closes his eyes and lets his head fall against this unfamiliar shoulder. 

So that he lets the guy take him home and fuck him into his mattress. So that he won't have to think of Gerard for a couple of hours.

When he wakes up, his head hurts and his mouth is dry, but something has settled. 

Gerard dreads Frank’s love. 

And Frank should just come to terms with that. He's thirty-two, and he's been stuck here for far too long.

He writes a song, and it's a bad song but it'll have to do. 

Then he goes out, and he gets groceries. He calls his mom, and they talk about her neighbors. Then he calls Tucker, and finally they plan to hang out because it's been too long. 

He throws himself into it. Not thinking about Gerard. He works, gets more teaching hours, and the kids are good at making him laugh, and making him some version of happy that’s still available, despite everything else. And he's seeing his other friends again, and Ray pretends he doesn't know, even if it's obvious he does. Even Mikey cuts him some slack, and Frank takes it with clenched teeth and a fuckton of relief.

He makes sure he doesn't hang out where Gerard could be. Adamantly avoids his neighborhood, steers clear of his favourite diners. He throws Gerard’s stuff in a box and kicks it in his closet, in case Gerard ever needs anything back. 

He tries to do as little casual sex as possible, because for some reason that just seems to make it worse, as does touching himself. But it's okay. He's so busy, his libido withers under the amount of things he's throwing himself into.

Another month passes, then two. 

Soon, it’s been four months since that morning in Gerard’s kitchen. 

Frank paints one of the walls in his living room green. He brings out Pansy and keeps her stand next to the couch for when the inspiration strikes. Tucker takes him to local shows again, and Frank had forgotten how much he’s always liked this — the music, and the bodies alight around him, and the tiredness that put him to sleep so quickly after.

And then, one day, his intercom rings, and when he opens the door, he’s there. 

“Hi.” he says, sunken eyes and dry lips. 

He’s cut his hair shorter, and he’s dyed it this weird blonde that looks blatantly good on him. Frank wasn’t hoping for him to look as bad as he’s been feeling for the past four months, but it hurts to see him look this good. It hurts to know how little he’s being affected by something that threatens to kill Frank.

He clenches his jaw and feels the need to run. He can't talk. 

“Can I come inside?” Gerard asks, his hands in the pockets of his coat.

“What are you doing here?” Frank tries to keep his voice steady, tries to control himself.

“I—” for a second, Gerard looks so fucking tired, Frank’s stomach hurts. “I just wanted to talk to you?”

“I’m not ready.” Frank bites.

Before he’s even done saying it, Gerard has already opened his mouth again, and he’s saying: “I miss you.”

“That's not—don't say that. I’m doing fine.” Frank’s voice breaks on the last syllable, betrays him.

“I know.” Gerard swallows, nods. “I can still miss you even if you don't. Let me come inside.”

Frank moves away from the door even if everything in him is screaming to close it and get on with his day.

“You—This looks good.” Gerard points at the green wall. His eyes fall to Pansy, discarded on the couch. Frank’s breakfast is still laid out on the table.

“Thanks. I don't have a lot of time. I was actually going to leave soon.”

It’s a lie and they both know it, but Gerard still nods. “I can be quick.”

But he doesn't talk. It makes Frank itch, and itching makes him push, prodding at the wounds. It always has. He walks to the table, just to put some distance between them. But then the silence is growing to big and the thing crawling in his chest crawls up and out. 

“How's it going with Matt, then?” he asks, without looking at him. 

Gerard sighs, “I’m not here to talk about Matt, Frank.”

Frank snorts. 

Gerard doesn't get angry. He just keeps looking so sad Frank wants to scream at him. He wants Gerard to hurt as much as he does. Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he wants to shoulder the hurt for both of them and he can't do that when Gerard keeps trying to make them talk. So, he bites.

“No? You found someone new?” he taunts.

“I wanted—I need to apologize. For what I said at Ray's birthday.”

“It's fine.” Frank spits, “I told you how I felt and you told me how you felt. We're even.” 

Gerard keeps standing there, his arms flat along his body. Frank needs to win this, he needs to come out of this alive.

“No.” Gerard sighs, like he’s talking to an annoying child, “I didn't mean I didn't want you to be in love with me. I meant I hated knowing I was hurting you.”

Frank shrugs, looks around. “It's been two months. It's a little too late. And semantics are not the problem. Besides, I don’t really care.”

“But I don't want you to think it was ever a burden for me.” Gerard keeps searching for Frank’s eyes, Frank can feel them all over himself, “You could never be that.”

“Okay. You cleared that up.” And he's about to tell Gerard to leave, but Gerard gets closer up into his space, and Frank steps back, once, twice, before the back of his legs hit the back of the couch. 

“Stop it.” Gerard says.

“Stop what?” Franks manages to look at him, then. The look in Gerard’s face is brand new. He looks like he’s in pain, like he’s looking at something that is horribly wrong, like he’s seeing a fucking ghost. It scares Frank, too. It scares that he doesn’t know what Gerard is feeling, that there’s something about him he can’t know.

“Stop pretending like we don't know each other. Stop it. It's—” Gerard’s chin trembles, “It's horrible.”

“But it's true.” Frank shrugs, tries to fight back, “You don't know me at all if you didn't know that I thought we were together. If you’d known me, you would’ve known I can’t do any of that without feeling like—Fuck. I don't fuck people I don't want something real with. You don’t know me if you don’t know that.”

Gerard’s shoulders slump. “I—And you should've known I'm not good at that kind of thing. I don’t do relationships.”

“Well, that confirms it then.” Frank smiles, mouth stretching all weird, “We don't know each other after all.”

Gerard’s hand hits the table, sudden and so out of character Frank finds himself startled. 

“Where the fuck are you.” Gerard grits out, too loud.

Frank frowns, opens his mouth before he can come up with another snarky reply, but Gerard is quicker.

He moves suddenly and his hands are on Frank’s face and they're kissing. Their lips press together, hard and familiar. There’s nothing Frank can do about the way his body pushes into it, there’s no way he would stop, if it depended on him. He’s weak, and so in love, and he forgets, for a second. Frank is on the verge of melting into it when Gerard moves to speak again.

“There you are.” he whispers, thumbing at his lower lip.

Frank’s heart breaks. “Get away from me.”

Gerard does, but he looks at him with a desperation that's never been there before. It's a different color in his eyes. “Frank, I need this. I need to be with you.”

“You can be with me without this.” Frank says, and he can’t cry. He can’t fucking cry.

“That's not true.” Gerard shakes his head, “You're avoiding me.”

“Because you broke my fucking heart, Gee.”

“And I'm sorry. But—”

“You can't—” Frank takes a step away, and he's so angry, he hates being angry with him. “You can't fucking have everything you want, Gerard. You get whatever’s available. I am not—I am not your toy to fuck or whatever you think I’m good for at the moment.”

“But I miss you.”

“Stop fucking saying that, you don't even know what that means. I’m the one that misses you, you're just being selfish.”

Gerard comes closer, again, and his eyes are big and green. Frank would do anything for him. It makes him so ashamed, it makes him feel so small. It makes his heart soar. And it breaks it. “Please.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asks, and it’s genuine. He tells himself not to cry, not in front of him. “It's so fucking mean. Can't you see how mean it is?”

“I don't know any other way. I can't be without you. Isn't that enough?”

“It's not. It's not, Gerard. We're—We want different versions of this.”

“I want whatever you'll give me.” Gerard murmurs, and it sounds true. It’s just that Frank doesn’t have anything to give him anymore, except for this desperation that will burn them both down.

“I have already given you everything. I'm all out.”

Gerard looks like he’s going to cry, and Frank’s stomach aches. He wants to reach out and make it better, tell him everything’s fine. He’s here. It scares him, how close he is to it.

“I don't want to go home.” Gerard says, voice small. “Don't make me go back like this. Give me something. Anything.”

Frank is selfish.

He tips forward and his mouth finds Gerard’s. 

He feels the hands on his hips, pulling him forward. And he feels Gerard’s hum against his teeth. He lets Gerard lick into his mouth, and he hears himself let out a horrible sound, like he’s dying in his hands, dying for his hands. It makes him burn with shame, but it’s so fucking good, to have Gerard like this, to have him grasp at him like his life depends on it. He lets himself believe it for a second, that Gerard is feeling the way he’s feeling, desperate and stupid for him. 

But that’s what it is. 

An illusion Frank can’t afford anymore.

He moves back and Gerard clings to his hips. He takes his wrists, and pushing them away is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. Gerard’s lips are wet with their spit, and his eyelids are heavy, like he’d already lost himself in it. 

Frank takes a step back. His chest hurts.

“Go home, Gerard.”

Gerard goes home.

Ethan is plastered all over his back, sweaty and hot, when Frank sees him through the movement of the crowd. He thought the club would be safe, because Gerard was never one to do clubs, or big crowds. So they came, and the shots he did with Ethan are warming up his blood, and the thought of this happening hadn’t even crossed his mind.

It’s a glimpse of pale skin in the sea of people, a flash of his pointy nose, and then it’s a whole person. He’s laughing, at first, and he’s got a bottle of Coke in his hand. He’s coming their way.

Frank does his best to move away. He turns a little and puts his hands on Ethan’s shoulders and pushes, but Ethan isn’t getting the message, and he pushes back, putting his open mouth to the tender spot under his ear. 

So when Gerard is close enough he finally sees Frank, too, Frank’s stomach sinks all the way down to his knees. He doesn’t know why it happens. It’s not like Gerard isn’t supposed to see this, but it feels wrong when his eyes move from Frank’s to Ethan’s tongue on his jaw.

Frank expects him to look away and disappear into the crowd again, but he stops in front of them, eerily still while everyone else convulses around them. The coloured lights glow on his face, and he looks like a work of art. Frank truly believes he is.

“Frank, hi.” Gerard just fucking—stands there. He’s got his stupid leather jacket on, and his hair is different, black again, spikes of it pointing to different directions, his arms are flat down his sides. And he just stares at Frank. Which, incidentally, means he’s also still looking at Ethan who, incidentally, is still sucking on Frank’s neck like his life depends on it. 

“Hey.” Franks hears himself say, and he thinks it’s too weak for any of them to hear over the music, but Gerard is looking at his lips, and Ethan—Well, he’s close enough to hear it.

Ethan pulls back — fucking finally — and he turns towards Gerard. Gerard doesn’t take his eyes off Frank. He realizes he probably should introduce them. He directs his thumb towards Ethan.

“This is Ethan. Ethan, this is Gerard, Mikey’s brother.”

Ethan smiles his wolfish smile, “Hi, dude.”

“You’re—” Gerard gestures vaguely towards Ethan. Frank swallows as Ethan presses that much closer to him and, at the same time, extends his hand towards Gerard. Gerard shakes his hand with a blank look on his face, and Frank’s stomach turns when he looks down at their fingers touching.

“I’m not—Frankie here won’t give it a name.” Ethan laughs, and Frank really likes his laugh, but this is not the time nor the place for him to be his funny self. 

And then, as if things couldn’t possibly be going worse, Ethan adds, voice peppy and amused in this way that’s not mean but just carefree, “He’s like that. But he’s a good fuck, so I keep him.”

His wording hits Frank in the throat, and from the looks of it, Gerard is taken aback by it, too. 

Frank knows Ethan doesn’t mean it. He knows Ethan’s definitely more into him than he’s into Ethan. He likes him, but he likes him in this casual and easy way he’s never been able to afford before. Ethan makes him laugh, and he’s not pushy, and Frank never feels that Ethan is thinking about something else when they’re together. 

Somehow, that’s enough. 

It’s not consuming, and it’s not encompassing. It doesn’t make him want to kneel and beg and tear his skin off. It doesn’t feel like he might die if Ethan walks away. It doesn’t make him write songs. And it’s good. There’s enough space in Frank’s head for other stuff and it’s healthy. 

But the way he said it, it brings a familiar pang to Frank’s guts. He wonders if those exact words would fit well in Gerard’s mouth, too, except Gerard wouldn't be joking at all. A good fuck, Frank thinks lowering his eyes, that's what he could be. 

Barely even that.

“I’m here with Ray.” Gerard adds, for no fucking reason at all. But Frank’s heart feels so much lighter when he says that, and he doesn’t want to think why that is.

“Okay. See you around, then.” He flashes Gerard a tight smile, and he hopes it conveys how much he doesn’t want to engage in small talk with him, then he turns around in Ethan’s arms and pushes, and Ethan gives, this confused look on his face. “I want to dance.” he tells him. 

Ethan smile, easy and comfortable. They dance.

He thinks he’s safe. He thinks Gerard might’ve told Ray and they might’ve left. Gerard has never liked this kind of place anyway. 

But when he raises his eyes to the bathroom mirror, half an hour later, give or take, Gerard’s there. He looks sick, his nose is red and his skin has this grey undertone that doesn’t look right. The music pumps through the door, and the walls.

“Hi.” Gerard says again, and Frank might be tired of hearing that word come out of Gerard’s mouth. 

Frank nods and goes back to washing his hands, trying his best to make it as quick as possible, his blood pumping loud in his ears. Things never go well when they end up alone in a room together.

“I thought you didn’t do sex with no serious relationship attached.” Gerard says, with this weirdly alienated voice, like he’s seen yet another ghost.

“Oh, no, Gee.” Frank feels a bitter, horrible smile grow on his face, “You thought I did. That’s where we fucked up.”

Gerard doesn’t smile. “Frank.”

There he goes. There he fucking goes all the time. Because Frank can’t have the peace of mind he’s so valiantly fought for. Gerard has to show up and tear it out of his hands. 

He tears a piece of paper from the dispenser, surprised to find it there. It sticks to his wet hands when he tries to dry them. He curses, nerves frayed.

“Frank.”

Frank whips around.

“Fucking what, Gerard?”

Gerard swallows, his hands torture each other, fidgeting. “Why won’t you?”

“Why won’t I what?”

“Why won’t you give it a name?”

Frank squints, feels venom flood his mouth. “Why the hell would you think you have a right to ask me that?”

“Because—” Gerard looks so fucking lost, so fucking young, “Because I don’t understand. When we last—You told me that you can’t fuck and not have it be more. You told me that—”

“That was fucking different.” Frank spits.

Gerard looks exasperated, and sad, and scared, all at the same time. Frank wants to kiss him, and slam him against the wall, and scream at him.

“Why? How?” Gerard asks.

“Because that was you, Gerard.”

Gerard looks the way he looked that first morning in his bedroom, after Frank had told him he hadn’t realized what they had wasn’t exclusive. And Frank hates that he keeps putting that look on his face, but Gerard won’t fucking understand. He won’t listen. And here they are, going around and around in circles and Frank’s head is spinning and he needs air. He needs to get away. 

Gerard takes a step towards him. “But I—”

The door slams open, the music bleeds in, and two men walk in laughing, shoving at each other. Frank looks at Gerard once more, and Gerard is looking at him with enormous eyes. Frank is never going to win at this. He remembers one of the sayings his grandmother used to repeat to him when he was a child, trying — and failing — to teach him something about his Italian heritage. 

In amore vince chi fugge.

He believes it would roughly translate to something like: When it comes to love, he who runs away wins.

And so he does what Gerard kept accusing him of doing, and he flees.

That night, he pushes Ethan’s hands away when he goes to open himself up and redirects his lubed up fingers to his own ass instead. Ethan mumbles something against his hip as he fingers him open and Frank doesn't listen. 

He pushes Ethan flat to the mattress and rides him fast and mean, and his knees hurt, and his hair is plastered to his forehead and neck in a way that can't be attractive. 

But who cares.

Frank closes his eyes and his ears start ringing. Wrong choice. He tries to shake himself out of it, but it's too late.

His mind conjures up a picture of him. 

It's silly, because it's not related to any of this at all. It's a flash of messy red hair on his pillow, and Gerard’s small teeth on display as he laughs at something Frank said, his hand coming up to rub at his sleep swollen eyes. It's probably a memory from before they even started hooking up, when Frank was already pretty fucking gone for him, but Gerard was his friend — just that — and things were uncomplicated. 

He can hear his laughter, happy and loud. He remembers the stupid giddiness that came from the knowledge that Frank was the one that made him laugh like that. 

He comes all over Ethan’s stomach as soon as he touches his cock.

The letter comes, a month later, in a blank envelope that only says one thing: 

Frank.

He could wonder about the sender, but he doesn't, because the writing is way too familiar to him, so there's no need to. Gerard used his usual black marker, too, unmistakable in size and texture. 

Frank,

When we talk I seem to always say the wrong thing. I am bad with words and I am worse with feelings.

I have missed you so horribly and it pains me that you think I don't. 

I just want to apologize, for everything, again. I understand now why you want me to stay away from you, so I will. Everything seems to go to shit when I try to fix it, and I hate making you unhappy with my–

There's a blob of black ink covering the next few words, the pen tore a hole in the page with Gerard’s urge to scribble them out.

I won't bother you anymore, and if I see you around I won't try to ask you any more questions. I want you to be happy and I understand you need to be without me to be happy. So I won't insist anymore. I have talked to Mikey and my therapist a lot, and they agree it's not good for you because I keep messing up. 

But please, know that I do know you. It bothers me too much to know that you think I don't. So it's true. Somewhere inside I knew you were in love with me, and it's horrible to admit that I still took what you gave me, but I didn't understand that it was wrong, at the time. It felt right and I wanted it, and I will never stop regretting it. I would take it back if it meant having you in my life again, but I can be responsible for my mistakes, and this is the biggest I’ve ever made. 

Please don't be mad at Mikey for trying to fix this, he won't do it anymore.

If there ever comes a day when you feel it's okay for us to be friends again, I’ll be here waiting. I don't care if it takes you 30 years.

Yours,

Gee.

He jolts awake, hand shooting out to reach for his phone. It's not an alarm he accidentally set, like he does sometimes when he fucks with his phone when he’s had too much beer. The red and green buttons let him know this is a call. He should also recognize the special ringtone he set for it, but he hasn’t heard it in so long — eight fucking neverending months — that his half-asleep brain doesn’t pick up on it.

He brings the phone to his ear before he can read who the caller is, his eyes still too sleepy to focus on letters.

“Yes?” he mumbles, mouth pasty with sleep. He was dreaming about something good. He was dreaming about someone sketching a vampire on his arm, the wet felt tip tickling his skin. A memory, maybe a wish. Something long gone, anyway.

There's a noise on the other side of the line, like clothes rustling. And then there's a pained sigh.

“Frankie.”

Frank freezes in his bed. Not because he recognizes the voice, but because he recognizes the slur in it. His heart skips a beat, and he feels his blood stopping in its course, cold. He's yanked out of his sleepiness, his mind clearing out in a fraction of a second, making him alert.

“Gee?” he asks, voice too low, half hoping this is just another of his many many nightmares.

“Frankie, ah—Shit. Sorry I called. It's late, right? Wanted to talk to you, been too long since I talked to you.” Gerard sniffles, and it sounds wet, “Wanted you hear your voice.”

Frank sits up, and he moves his phone away from his ear to look at its screen. It’s 3.19. He wills himself to be calm about it, but his hands are shaking.

Not this. This isn't supposed to happen.

“Gerard, where are you?” he tries to keep his voice steady, and calm. The last thing he wants to do is to spook him off, to make him feel unwanted. If Gerard ends the call and becomes unreachable, Frank doesn’t know what he would do. He feels the panic claw at his chest.

“I’m—” Gerard swallows audibly into his phone, then he exhales shakily, and the small whimper that leaves his throat makes Frank flinch. “How are you, Frankie?”

Frank sets the phone on speaker and gets up from the bed.

“I’m doing okay. We can talk, yeah?” he tries to sound convincing, nonchalant. “Just tell me where you are so I can come over.”

He throws on his jeans and a dirty sweater he finds on the chair by his desk. 

“You're mad?” the other man asks with a voice uncharacteristically thin, tinny through the phone. It makes Frank’s heart ache. He can’t get out fast enough. 

“No, Gee.” he says, making his voice warm, making Gerard a place to rest, “Not mad.” 

And he’s not. He could never be mad at him. Not for this. Not for this. 

He grabs his keys, and his jacket. 

“Then why has it been so long?” and Gerard is crying, voice wet through Frank’s speakers. Frank runs down the stairs and into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

“Gee. Hey, listen to me. I wouldn't have picked up if I was mad, right?” he reasons with him.

“Right.” but he sounds unsure. He sounds like Sammy, when he can’t get the chords right on the first, second, and third try, and his chin starts trembling and he hunches in on himself. 

“Good. So tell me where you are and I’ll come and we can chat.”

“I’m home. Frank—”

“Home.” Frank repeats, more to himself than to anyone else, “Good, that's good. Want to stay on the phone?”

“If you—Would you talk to me? Tell me about—What you've been up to?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Just gimme—” Frank turns his car on, and he waits for his phone to connect to his car’s speakers. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

Frank chuckles. “Yeah, Gee. I hear you. So—There’s this kid that’s trying to make me lose my fucking mind at work? Her name is Abbie and she has like—Four teeth.”

Frank doesn’t know how he doesn’t crash his car. Somehow, though, he’s at Gerard’s house in seventeen minutes.

Gerard buzzes him in, and Frank doesn’t even think about stopping to wait for the elevator. He runs up the stairs, chest aching with the need to breathe and the unspeakable fear that this might be his fault. Guilt fills his throat. But he knows he can't let it submerge him. Gerard needs him now, this is not about Frank’s feelings.

There’s an empty bottle of cheap white wine by the sink. And the bottle of vodka next to it can’t have more than a glass left in it. There’s a half eaten sandwich on the coffee table. There’s a whole mess of papers and pens and projects on Gerard’s table, like it hasn’t been used to properly eat in months.

Gerard is sitting on the bathroom floor, hunched on himself by the toilet, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly opened. Frank drops to his knees by his side, and Gerard slowly turns towards him. His face is plastered with spit and tears, and his eyes are bloodshot. There’s vomit on his chin, and down his hoodie.

Frank touches his cheek, then he pushes his hair back. 

“You’re here.” Gerard rasps out, his voice sounding worse than it did when they were on the phone, like his vocal cords have been scratched raw.

“Of course.” Frank manages a small smile that must be enough for Gerard, because he smiles back, crooked. “How does your tummy feel?”

“Like shit.” he groans, “But—Uh, I think I’m almost done.”

Frank wets a towel and presses it to Gerard’s face. The older man closes his eyes, sighs. Frank wipes at his chin, at his neck, cleans him up the best he can.

“Okay, we’ll wait here and then I’ll put you to bed. You need to sleep.”

When Gerard lurches forward again, Frank keeps his hair back for him and puts his other hand on his back, rubbing in circles. It's horrible, and Frank hates it for a thousand different reasons, but at least he's here. At least Gerard isn't going to fall asleep on the floor, shivering and aching.

It takes another ten minutes, and then it’s over, Gerard’s stomach is finally empty and his eyes are a little brighter, a little more focused when he looks at Frank again.

When he gets Gerard standing, though, he realises the whole vomit situation is worse than what he’d assumed at first. It probably got inside his hoodie. And definitely in his hair. 

Frank props Gerard against the wall, and then he’s peeling his hoodie, and his t-shirt, off of him.

“Shower.” he says, when Gerard shudders, cold and clammy against the tiled wall. 

“Uh?” he asks, head lolling down to Frank’s shoulder.

“I won't put you to bed like this.”

Gerard tries to put up a fight, but his eyelids are heavy and his limbs must be, too, because it takes nothing at all to manhandle him into the bathtub. It’s easier to take the rest of his clothes off, then.

Gerard sits in the bath, quiet but definitely awake, and Frank washes him. Gerard doesn't help a lot, but he still follows his indications. Frank takes maybe too long with his hair, but—he's not going to half ass it. The other man grunts when Frank massages the shampoo into his nape, and Frank can’t help but chuckle.

“That’s nice.” Gerard comments, smiling.

Frank snorts, but takes his time. Gerard is putty under his hands. The soap runs down Frank's arms and drips onto his jeans. 

“How's it going with Ethan?”

Frank had forgotten that a drunk Gerard is a chatty Gerard. That the speech function is the last thing to leave him. He swallows. Gerard’s still Gerard. “I haven't seen him in a while. Didn't really work out.”

“Oh.” Gerard is quiet for a beat. Frank runs the sponge over his shoulder, down his back, lets the shampoo sit in his hair. “That sucks. Sorry.”

“It's okay. I have a lot going on. Raise your arm, please.”

Gerard does. “You do?”

“Yeah, I’m—Uh.” he blushes, for some reason, “We're working on a new EP? I mean—Tucker and the others and I?”

“Shit, Frank. That's so cool.”

“Yeah. It's good. And the kids at work are great.”

“Of course. Little shits. How’s Daphne doing?”

He remembers. Frank swallows. Even like this, half asleep in the tub after what must’ve been a horrible night, Gerard remembers. It doesn’t mean anything, but—It doesn’t mean anything. Gerard just has a great memory like that.

“She’s good.” he clears his throat, “She’s actually learning to play Blackbird.”

“Yeah, always knew she had it in her.”

Frank chuckles softly. “Tilt your head back. If you want to get out of this with your sight intact.”

Gerard tilts his head back, exposing the column of his throat. “So you're writing again? Songs?” 

They’re all about you.

“Yes.” he says.

“You’re—Happy?”

Frank sighs. He rinses the shampoo out of Gerard’s hair. Gerard doesn’t push. Maybe he’s sobered up already. He must have, with how much he threw up. It becomes quiet again in the bathroom. 

Then he’s all done.

“I need your help, now, sweetheart.”

Gerard’s eyes snap up to his face, and Frank bites his lip. Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that. It’s just—

Gerard gets himself standing in the tub, then his hand is on Frank’s shoulder and they get him out. Frank wraps this enormous towel around him, and another around his hair, and Gerard laughs at the number of towels being used. 

“Off we go.”

Gerard manages to put on a pair of boxers on his own, and Frank manages to find a clean t-shirt in the absolute mess of Gerard’s bedroom. They’re like a very fucked up version of a dream team.

Frank makes Gerard sit on the bed and he towels his hair dry. There’s really no need to, and it’s 4 in the morning, but Frank kind of needs to. He makes him drink some water, too, even if it's definitely too late for that.

“Sleep.” he says, when he’s got Gerard lying down on what he knows to be his preferred side of the bed.

“Will you stay here?” Gerard asks, eyes big and hopeful. Frank doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, he tries his best to smile.

“Of course.” he nods, “I’ll take the couch.”

Gerard nods. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Gee.” he says, feeling the need to lean in and leave a kiss on his forehead. He reigns it in.

“Night, Frankie.”

It takes approximately half a second for him to pass out. Frank forces himself to walk out.

He works on autopilot. Shuts his brain off and pushes his sleeves above his elbows. He cleans the bathroom, and he throws Gerard’s clothes in the washing machine. Then he takes a shower. He tiptoes back into the bedroom and opens a few drawers. Sure as day, there he finds some of his own clothes. A pair of pajama pants he’d lost a year ago, and a ratty Danzig t-shirt that smells like it was washed recently. He doesn’t think about that, either. 

He doesn’t even try to sleep. 

He cleans the kitchen, he throws away the bottles. He looks for more, but he doesn’t find any. It must have come out of nowhere. Frank feels his stomach tighten, wondering what could have made Gerard feel so desperate it pushed him to break so close to his eight years anniversary.

When he texts Mikey, the living room has started to be invaded by the light of dawn.

me: hey. i’m at gerards. everything’s under control, but call me when you wake up. 

Mikey calls at eight in the morning, and Franks tells him. Mikey listens in silence, and then he’s coming over.

He lets himself in with the spare key that used to be Frank’s before it all went to shit. Like Frank, he looks like he simply threw on what was closest and ran. His hair is a mess.

“Thank you for—Coming here. You said he called you?” Mikey checks, looking around. His eyes don’t find what he’s looking for. The only thing they can linger on is the mess on the table. Frank hadn't dared touch that one, knowing it would disrupt Gerard’s counterintuitive order.

“Yeah. It’s fine.” he shrugs, because it really is no big deal at all. He would hate for Mikey to think that Frank could have done anything else. Because no matter what's going on, there's nothing that could stop Frank from caring about Gerard. “I’m glad he called. At least someone forced him to drink a bit of water.”

“Shit.” Mikey runs a hand over his face, then through his hair, “This sucks. I really thought—”

“Did something happen?” Frank asks, because he didn’t want to ask Gerard, and because he didn’t want to think about it while he was alone with him.

Mikey nods, presses his lips together, and he lowers his voice to something more than a whisper, “His project with the publishing house didn’t go through. I think it’s something about them not having the space for that kind of content right now, I don’t know. He spent the last four months working on it. And I mean—Exclusively working on it. You know how he gets.”

Frank nods. “I know.”

Mikey’s face does something weird. Frank has never seen him cry, because Mikey is like that, all private and secretive about his feelings, but he can tell he's about to. “I didn’t have the time to come over right last night. He called, but Katy was sick and I—”

“Mikey.”

“But I—”

“It’s not your fault.”

Mikey shakes his head. His chin creases, but he doesn't cry. “I could’ve been here.”

“There’s no point in thinking about that, now.”

But his mind is there, too. If he was as good a friend as Mikey had expected him to be, Gerard wouldn’t have been alone last night. If Frank was still in his life, Gerard would’ve called before he even had a chance to go out to buy the booze. If Frank was less selfish—

“Frank?”

Frank turns around. Gerard is standing against the doorframe that separates the living room and the hallway, in the unconventional pajamas Frank helped him in mere hours ago. He seems completely unsurprised by Mikey’s presence, but there must be a headache brewing begind his eyes, because he's squinting them a little. 

“Hey.” Frank says, then he clears his voice, “How’s the head?”

Gerard winces, then a frown settles on his face. He looks at Mikey with this guilty expression that makes Frank feel like scooping him up in his arms and keeping him close for a long time. 

“Coffee?” comes Mikey’s voice. Gerard nods minutely, but he stands there, and he’s looking at Frank again.

Frank can hear the apology coming from a mile away, so he shakes his head. Gerard understands. 

“Thank you.” he settles on instead. His mouth twitches. “I had a hard day.”

“It’s okay.” Frank’s mouth twitches into a smile, “Everyone has those.”

“Not everyone relapses into alcoholism.” 

“Well, not everyone can be as cool as you are, Gerard Way.” Frank bites back.

It’s dry, but Gerard is laughing, impossibly. Just like Frank knew he would, because Frank knows Gerard like the back of his hand. And, horrifyingly, it feels easy. It feels as if no months have passed. 

Frank hates that it had to happen like this, that they met again because of the worst scenario possible, but the shock of it has worn off, and now Frank is here, and he’s made Gerard laugh. Gerard maybe felt a tad bit better because of him, and that makes warmth flood all throughout his body. 

“I’m going to have to call my sponsor.” Gerard says then, walking into the living room, “And my psychiatrist.”

Mikey nods beside Frank, “Coffee first, Gee.”

Gerard nods. 

Before noon, Gerard goes back to sleep. He’s had a gallon of water and an Advil, and a lot of coffee. And Frank is alone with Mikey again. 

He wishes there was still stuff to clean.

“Frank.” Mikey says when they’ve been avoiding it for too long. They're on Gerard’s tiny balcony, the air cold but welcomed on Frank’s skin.

Frank has already had four cigarettes, and Mikey has been eyeing him the way he does for a while, now.

“Yeah?”

“I’m here, now. You can go. You look like you barely slept.”

“Jeez, you look like shit, too, Mikey.” he chuckles. “I think I’m going to stay for a while, if you think that’s okay.”

“Frank. I—I would normally think that would help,” he sighs, and Frank already knows what is coming, “But—Let’s not give him the idea that you’re here for good. That’s not—He doesn’t need false hope. I know I don’t have a say in this. But he’s—Going through a lot. And it’s not your fault, but he misses you. He called, and you came, and that’s fucking amazing of you. But I don’t want him to think this changes anything. Because it doesn’t, right?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Franks sighs, frustrated but perfectly aware that Mikey is right. “I still—I do love him, he’s the person I love the most in the entire world. I want to be here for him, and I think I want that because it puts my mind at ease, when I’m the one taking care of him, because that’s the one thing I know how to do. But you’re right. This is just—A one time thing. We’re better off apart, right now. Changing that would fuck with his head.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Mikey smiles sadly, obviously grateful that Frank didn't try to put up a fight, and then he tips forward and he’s hugging Frank, his bony body digging into his. Frank closes his eyes and hugs him back, tight and warm. “I will keep you updated, if you think that’d be good for you.”

“That’d be great, Mikey, thanks.” he disentangles himself from him, “Could I—Would it be okay, if I said goodbye?”

“Yeah, go on.”

Gerard looks small in his bed, duvet tucked under his chin, the white of it contrasting with his soft black hair. Frank’s not sure he's sleeping, but his eyes are closed and his breathing is slow. 

He sits gingerly at the edge of the bed, and Gerard’s eyes flutter open. They dart up to his face.

“Hey, Gee.”

He can’t help it. His hand brushes Gerard’s hair away from his face. They’re so soft, and long, and he thinks about getting a brush to properly disentagle it. But it’s not his place. He should leave.

“You’re leaving?” Gerard says, and his voice comes out broken. He tries to clear it by coughing a few times. 

Frank nods.

“You’re going to be okay.” he says, knowing that it’s true. Gerard has done it before, he will do it again.

“Yeah?” and Gerard looks like he will actually believe anything Frank tells him. His eyes are big, and they search for something in Frank’s.

“Yes.”

“Will you—?”

Frank shakes his head. He's not sure what Gerard was going to ask, but whatever it is, Frank knows he won't be able to give it to him. Because being here, in the morning light, Gerard tucked in warm and safe in this familiar bed, is making Frank want to take off his shoes and crawl under the covers. It makes him want to hold him close, to give up his own boundaries and let Gerard take. It makes him want to let it slot back to the way it was before, when he could pretend that the thing in Gerard’s eyes mirrored the thing Frank felt in his chest.

And he can't have that.

Being close to Gerard makes his footing uneven, it makes him want to kneel. It's not the kind of love Gerard deserves. Gerard deserves to be loved selflessly, without resentment. He deserves someone he loves, too.

And that's the one thing Frank can't give him. Because Frank isn't that. 

Gerard presses his lips together and nods. “See you around?”

“Yeah.” Frank smiles at him, “See you around.”

Ray Toro is lucky that Frank is growing old, which means that he's slowly turning into a sappy softie version of himself. Because Frank from ten years ago wouldn't have been able to not make fun of him as Ray dissolves into big, ugly tears as Jade walks down the aisle. He does hear Mikey snickering behind him, which leaves him and Gerard having to shoulder being grown ups.

And Gerard is already busy with every little task that he brought onto himself the day he said yes when Ray asked him to be his best man. Also, he's sniffling in his place behind Ray.

So Frank really really needs to be on his best behavior.

And it goes well.

The ceremony isn't as boring as Frank remembers from his altar boy days. Everyone ends up crying, and Jade laughs into their first kiss, and they hit Ray with rice, and Ray’s mom almost faints with how hard she’s sobbing. It’s such a flurry of events, and of people talking to Frank, and of things to do, that the reception is starting before Frank can even realise it’s done. 

And they’re sitting at the restaurant, this beautiful thing with enormous glass windows in the middle of a countryside Frank wasn’t ever aware existed in Jersey, and he is whisked away to a round table with Mikey and Bryan and Ray’s brothers. He’s fucking starving, but the food won’t come. This isn’t Frank’s first wedding, but it’s the first one he’s trying to take seriously, and also the first one he won’t be drunk for, because he kind of wants to remember all of it. People come up to their table, and they chat. Well, it’s mostly Mikey chatting with people while Frank smiles and nods politely. Still, at some point, he has to tell a very flirty, heavy lidded woman twice his age that it’s not like he doesn’t find her attractive, he’s simply gay, and that entertains their group for a good half hour.

Then a waiter is filling their flute glasses with champagne, and it’s time for the toast. Gerard gets up from his place at the main table, where he’s squeezed between Ray and Ray’s father. The crowd quiets down, and Gerard fidgets a little with the glass in his hands. Frank recognizes the way his chest fills with air as he takes a deep breath. He finds himself taking a similar one, as if to help him.

Gerard is breathtaking in his suit. His hair is still characteristically messy, but he fought it back into a more efficient shape for the big day. He looks good, and Frank can’t look at him without feeling like he’s about to wither away with how much he longs for him, but he looks happy. He looks happy, and healthy, and if Frank doesn’t focus on the fact that he isn’t allowing himself to witness any of it except for today, he can almost pretend his fingers aren’t itching for a smoke when Gerard clears his throat and starts talking.

"I didn't really know why Ray asked me to be his best man because I—uh. Well. I suck at this." Gerard laughs, blushing a little, and Mikey snorts, "Not just at giving speeches, but at talking, in general, and at having feelings and, oh God, at talking about my feelings."

The wording sounds familiar in a way that makes Frank’s stomach twist.

He’s been doing better. He’s been doing good. But Gerard looks so good up there, next to Ray, with his suit and tie and the face of the love of Frank’s life. Gerard might have walked out of his life, but that doesn’t change the fact that Frank’s heart still belongs to him. He knows it always will. It’s a knowledge he’s stopped fighting against. He will love other people, and he will care for other people, but this will always be it for him.

It feels serene, to finally have accepted it, but the words still ring in a place of hurt inside of him that hasn't quite died down, yet. He thinks about Gerard’s letter, about the many goodbyes he forced himself to deliver.

"But a feeling I'm sure I can put into words is the happiness I feel for the both of you. I've never seen anything so blatantly simple and so solid as what you feel for each other. I think anyone can see it, and I think you're two very lucky motherfuckers."

There’s a general hum of agreement from the crowd, and someone hollers, eliciting roaring laughter and applause. 

It’s at that moment that, for some reason, Gerard’s eyes find Frank’s. Frank stops breathing, because the way Gerard looks at him, it makes him feel terrified. Gerard is quiet for a beat too long, his face going a little blank, and as the laughter peters out, Frank's smile falters.

He sees Mikey going eerily still in his seat from the corner of his eye.

Gerard swallows, his mouth twitches. He looks away, clears his throat. “Now comes the moment when I tell you about the many times Ray Toro has embarrassed himself in front of me.”

Something is off. Something is different. Gerard looks at him again when he's done with his speech and Frank can't put his finger on what it is, but it terrifies him.

He slips out for a cigarette. The garden is absolutely beautiful, and blessedly empty. 

He knows Gerard is going to follow him outside, because he knows him, despite all the time he claimed he didn't. What he doesn't know is what's hunting Gerard’s eyes. That's unfamiliar. And he’s not sure he wants to find out. He’s not sure he wants to do this again. Because Frank has made his peace with it, and Gerard claimed he would, too, and it’s been months. They’ve been behaving, and Frank didn’t throw up over his shoes when he saw Gerard’s at Ray’s bachelor party, so he thought they were going to keep things good and easy by avoiding each other. But he can feel Gerard coming before he can hear him, and his heart is crawling up his throat.

Not again.

The sound of his feet on the gravel is unmistakable.

“There we go.” he says, only half joking, and hangs on to his cigarette for dear life. 

“No, none of that. Not this time.” Gerard says. His hands are closed into fists, and he looks like he just emerged from some sort of period drama, his hair windswept and his petticoat well fitted. “Let me speak.”

Frank’s mouth twists. He doesn't want to sound bitter, or defensive, but he feels himself getting ready to fight. He keeps losing. “I thought you said you wouldn't ask questions anymore.”

Gerard shakes his head. “I won't ask. I don't have questions, for once.”

Franks takes another drag, willing his hands not to shake, and Gerard takes that as a sign to speak. 

“I won't wait for us to go back to being friends. That's just—Fucking stupid.”

Oh. 

Okay. 

Okay. Frank swallows against his own horror. He looks down in panic, and he can't believe he let Gerard corner him again. 

“Well, fuck you.” he spits out, and drops the cigarette to the ground, crushes it under his foot. His wrists are shaking. 

“No.” Gerard takes a step forward, and Frank feels his own shoulders go stiff.

What comes next, Gerard says in a single breath.

“I won't wait because I’m in love with you. I've been in love with you and it's so stupid but I could never say it out loud and now I can. I’m in love with you.”

Frank is angry. Livid. Because of course Gerard would think that the way to get Frank’s friendship back is by lying to him, by pretending he can give him what he wants. It’s so stupid in a way that is so Gerard that Frank is almost surprised that the other has waited until now to try and pull this one.

“Repeating it won't make it true.” he grits out, “I realise you think—”

“No. Shut up. Fucking—Don't.” The shaky quality of his voice Frank was growing used to from all the times Gerard broke his heart over and over is gone. In its place, Gerard has found this steady tone, like he’s finally seized control of what always seemed to be slipping out of his grasp, “Knowing it makes it true. It's true ‘cause it's true. It's been true for a while.” 

Frank goes quiet. This wasn't—This isn't—

"Frank, I—fuck.” Gerard takes another big breath, “I love you. I'm horribly in love with you."

Frank shakes his head. He feels like he’s being torn open, because Gerard is saying all the things Frank used to dream about, but it can’t be real. Frank knows this, because he’s repeated it to himself over and over, in his bed, late at night, when Gerard’s absence cut through his chest like an infected knife.

"That's—Not true. Gee, that's—"

"It's true. I know it because I have struggled against it for the past ten fucking years and I won't anymore.” Gerard keeps looking at him even when Frank has to lower his eyes, because he can’t take the way the older man is staring at him, so raw and real in front of him, yet so fucking impossible. He keeps feeling his eyes on him as he stares down to his shiny dress shoes. 

“I know I don't deserve you to love me back, not after what I've put you through. But you deserve to know. I was stupid and an idiot but I was never not thinking of you. I pushed it down because it terrified me, but nothing has ever been as scary as being without you these past months have been. I love you, Frank. I didn't know what it was, because you were always there and I didn't—I didn't know that's what it was. Because it's so fucking easy, and I didn't know it was supposed to feel so easy."

Frank feels like he's losing his mind a little. This doesn't make any sense, and he feels like he's standing on the verge of a metaphorical cliff, except his body can't really tell the difference, so his heart is beating the way it would if he was on an actual cliff.

"Motherfucker, what?" he spits out.

Gerard looks at him, and he looks sorry. He looks heartbroken. Frank might as well have punched him. But he also looks like he was expecting rejection. He raises his hands into the air, moves them around a little. Puts them back down. Something like defeat written all over his face. "I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone, but—"

Gerard’s back hits the wall with a soft thud when Frank grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and shoves.

"Don't you fucking dare walk away.” he says to his face, “Tell me again."

Gerard doesn't look away. He maintains eye contact, and Frank knows how hard it is for him. He knows.

"I love you. I love you.” Gerard says again, and his voice doesn't waver. “I fucking hated Ethan and I wanted to punch him. And I love you, I’m sorry it took so long.”

It still sounds like Frank accidentally took some very shady drug by mistake and now he's hallucinating this conversation

“I don't understand.” he whispers.

Gerard nods, “I didn't, either. But then—But now I do. I do, Frank. Love you. So much it aches.”

Frank guesses there isn't a lot else to do except believe it. Everything in him begs him to. To accept it, to let go, to take what's being offered to him on a silver platter. But there's also this shadowed corner in his chest that keeps telling him it's not real, it can't be. Because if it was real, why would the entire last year have happened?

He leans his forehead against Gerard’s. He hasn't seen his eyes up close in a while. They're green, as they always were, and open with raw honesty. The part of Frank that wants to believe in this takes over, slowly and then all at once.

“Is it too late?” Gerard is asking.

“Gee.” Frank breathes out.

“Are you over it?”

Frank laughs against his mouth. “Over it?”

“Over me.” Gerard clarifies, serious.

“You're so stupid. So fucking stupid, Gee.”

And it's the best kiss he's ever had. Gerard whimpers against his mouth, and then he's opening up, relaxing between Frank and the wall. He touches Frank’s jaw, just above the scorpion, and his other hand touches his arm. And Gerard is here. Here for him, with him. Present, warm and solid against his body. He's letting Frank set the pace, but he's holding him close, he's keeping him flush against him, cradling him.

And it's—Real.

“Are you sure—” Frank asks, interrupting the kiss. Gerard’s eyes take a while to focus again.

“What do you need me to do for you to be sure I’m telling the truth?”

“I don't know, I don't—It's just. I don't know if I can believe this. It's too much, I’ve always—”

“Look at me.” 

And Frank looks. And here he is. The determination in Gerard’s eyes cuts his breath. He can read into them so well, all of it is laid out for him.

“Okay. Yeah. Fuck, okay.”

And they're kissing again, too deep for a public place, Gerard’s hand fisted around the lapels of Frank’s rented jacket. Gerard tastes as he did back then, sweet as fuck, like the stupid coffee he drinks and the stupid electronic cigarettes he insists on trying. Frank licks into him with abandon, because if this is a dream then he’s making the best out of it. It wouldn’t be the first time he wakes up with stains boxers because of a dream like this.

The older man breaks away to say: “There's a bathroom—”

“We can't fuck at Ray's wedding reception, Gerard.” But he feels like laughing, a smile cracking his face so open it hurts. It’s so fucking easy to slip back into it, to let Gerard make him laugh, to have him back. As his best friend, more than anything.

“Not even a blowjob?” Gerard looks genuinely crestfallen, “I can give you a blowjob. I’m good at those.”

“I'm aware. Believe me. So stop talking.” he chuckles, “You're the best man.”

“Shit.”

“We need to go back inside.”

Gerard whines, knocks his head against the wall. Frank’s eyes fall on his throat. Oh God.

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Gerard shifts his hips. 

Oh. Frank blushes.

“Think, uh—I don't know. Think about,” he smiles, “Needles.”

Gerard groans. “Fuck you.”

“Or a needle, singular. A big, long, needle—” 

Gerard pushes him away with the biggest frown on his face. “You're a pervert.”

“And you're a baby.” he bites back.

“Fair enough.” Gerard breathes. “Now what?”

Frank shrugs, but he’s suddenly nervous all over again. He tries not to show it. The night is still long. “Now we go back inside, and we behave.”

“And—After?” Gerard sounds insecure, and Frank realises there’s nothing stopping him from leaning forward and leaving a small peck on his lips. He can, so he does. Gerard sighs when Frank moves back.

“After, we go back to my place. You haven't met Axel.”

“Axel?” Gerard frowns.

“Oh, wipe that look off your face. He’s my dog.”

“Okay. Wedding, then Axel.” his mouth twitches, “No even a quick handjob?” Gerard asks, his hand gesturing toward Frank’s pants. And it's goofy, but tempting, because everything about him always is. 

Frank cocks his head to the side. “What if I tell you I think we should take it slow?”

“Oh.” Gerard’s eyebrows raise, but he schools his features quickly, “Of course. Yeah, slow. You know it's not just about the sex. It's not even about the sex at all—Hell, we don't ever have to—”

“Gee. I’m joking.” He puts his hand under Gerard’s chin, pushes it up a little until Gerard has to look down at him, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. He makes his voice as serious as he possibly can with how fucking giddy he’s feeling. “When we get home, you're going to fuck me, and then I’m going to fuck you. And then I’m giving you the headstart to get hard again and I’m—”

“Ah, here they are. The bride and groom.”

Frank freezes with a blush on his face. Gerard bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and shifts his gaze above Frank’s shoulder. Mikey’s steps on the gravel are coming towards them. 

Mikey’s got this undecipherable look Frank would be terrified by if he didn't know him so well. Mikey is ecstatic. He's jumping up and down with joy. Only, he's doing it somewhere safe inside his head. 

“You.” Mikey points to his older brother, “Toro’s looking for his best man. And you.” and he points to Frank, “I believe I’ve finally got a threatening speech to give you, right?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna—Uhm,” Gerard’s eyes fall to Frank’s mouth. Motherfucker. “I’m gonna go. See you inside?”

Mikey sighs, exaggerated and exasperated, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna kill him, Gerard. Fuck off.”

Gerard looks at Frank one last time, and then he takes off. Frank is smiling too himself, and he knows he looks fucking idiotic, but he really doesn’t care.

Frank pulls out his pack of cigarettes, and prepares to taste the best one of his life. He realises he’s still shaking. It happened so fast. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, and Frank feels like he’s living a completely different life.

Because Gerard Way just confessed to him. No, scratch that. Gerard loves him.

Mikey eyes him with an eyebrow too high for Frank’s liking. 

“So?” he says, after he’s taken his first, blessed drag. He feels like his body is suddenly made of something different from flesh. Something lighter, and much more uncomplicated. He lets himself enjoy it, knowing that his brain never lets him enjoy anything good for too long.

“So.” Mikey goes to steal Frank’s cigarette from his lips, then seems to think better of it, and retreats with a horrified look on his face. “It took him fucking long to come around.”

Frank keeps quiet, smoking his cigarette and waiting for Mikey to go on. He doesn’t look at him anymore, sensing that that might make things more difficult for him. The Ways.

“I could've—Of course I knew how he felt about you. But he didn't. And it sucked to be between the two of you. You're my best friend, and he's also my best friend. But he's also my brother. That made a difference. And—I’m sorry for that, Frank.”

“For what?”

Two little girls in frilly pink dresses run out one of the glass doors, screaming and laughing, their hands joined between them. 

Mikey shrugs. “I don't know, for taking his side?”

“You didn't do that.” Frank protests, because that’s just stupid, “There was no side to take, either.” 

“Yeah, but—I could've told you.” Mikey looks like he’s actually feeling guilty about it, so Frank  dials back the urge to make fun of him, to tease him until he snaps back. “That I knew he felt that way. But what if he never figured it out for himself? And you ended up getting even more hurt? What if I gave you false hope?”

“This isn't feeling very threatening.” Frank admits.

“I don't know how to do that. And you've already been through hell for him, so.” Mikey shrugs, “Just keep the dirty talk out of my hearing range and your kneecaps will be fine.”

“Hope that's not retroactive.”

“No. Starting from now.”

“Great.”

Mikey hums. Frank looks at him, and he takes a deep breath, because he’s still pretty sure this has to be a dream. It has to be. But he doesn’t really want to wake up. 

“I’m going to take good fucking care of him, Mikes.”

Mikey smiles. “That, I’ve always known.”

Gerard is not going to fuck it up. His hands are clammy and his heart is beating too loud but he’s not going to fuck this up. Not again. He tries not to think about the last time he was here, about the cold, distant expression on Frank’s face the last time he knocked this very same door.

As a designated driver, he had to drive a couple of tipsy friends home. But now he’s here. Buzzing with nerves in front of Frank Iero’s door. And there are so many ways this could go wrong. God, does he have a couple of tricks up his sleeve when it comes to ruining things between them. 

The door opens before him, and Frank is on the other side.

“Hello.” Frank says, and he looks as nervous as Gerard feels. It does nothing to calm Gerard’s nerves, because here Frank is, and he’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful. He's perfect. He's the hottest he's ever been and Gerard’s mouth is dry. He’s still wearing his fucking suit, and oh my God, Gerard is going to fall over and die. Because the tattoos disappearing down his neck and into his shirt make him want to hit his head on a wall. And the buzzcut, and the added fat around his middle, and the way he’s letting his stubble grow into something more definite. He knows he shouldn’t let his brain wander down that road, but Gerard is only a man, and Frank is fucking mouthwatering. Has always been, sure. But this, the change he’s put himself through while Gerard wasn’t there, it makes him feel weak at the knee. Like he’s nothing more than a teenager with a crush on someone way out of his league. 

Except he’s not a teenager, he’s thirtysix. Except this is not a crush, it’s another thing entirely. And Frank might just be within Gerard’s reach. Gerard was just fucking stupid.

“Hi.” Gerard slips in when Frank steps aside. His apartment smells a little different, looks a little different. Gerard hates that the space isn’t as familiar to him as it used to be, but he swallows it down. He’s here for a reason, and he won’t get distracted by the guilt simmering under his diaphragm.

“I’m very tired.” Frank sighs, a twinkle in his eyes that lets Gerard know he’s only half serious. Gerard is grateful for Frank’s playfulness, it works like balm on his tension. “I might be only able to do the getting fucked part.” 

“Very romantic.” Gerard nods, tight and amused. Joking comes as easy as it used to. They stand at arms length, air charged between them. That’s how it feels to Gerard, at least.

Frank raises his chin. “I am. Romantic.” 

It’s the truth.

“I know. I’ve—” Gerard wipes his sweaty palms down his thighs, and he isn’t sure why he says it out loud, “I’ve listened to the demos, you know?”

Frank goes red. “Fucking Mikey.”

Gerard wants to take his face into his hands and cool him down. He suppresses a smile, thinking about it. “Ray, actually.”

“Oh my God.” Frank groans.

“Great party.” Gerard tilts his head, and he can’t help but ask “Was it about—?”

“Gee, come on.” he looks at him, and Gerard can read his vulnerability on him, raw and open in his eyes. Gerard doesn’t know how to tell him that he doesn’t have to be embarrassed. “All of them.”

Gerard looks away, blushing. It makes his stomach feel warm, to think back to it. But it also fucks with him, knowing the extent of the hurt he caused him. They should talk about it. But he really fucking needs to see Frank smile again.

“So, Axel?” he asks.

“I was bluffing.” Frank says, biting his lip. “He’s at my mom's for tonight. I didn’t know what hour we’d be back from the wedding, so.”

Gerard frowns. “Bummer.”

“Really?” Frank raises a single eyebrow.

“No.” Gerard looks at him, hoping to convey how serious he is about this, and everything else, too, “I’ve kind of been waiting to fuck you for the last year.”

Frank brings a hand up to his heart, feigns sadness. “Poor Axel. My heart aches for him. And he kept telling me he couldn't wait to finally meet you.”

Gerard laughs, but when he’s done with it, he finds that his breath is shorter than it was a minute ago. And he says:

“Frankie.”

Frank tilts his head, and he swallows. He looks just like the Frank Gerard used to know, but he knows neither of them is the same. If anything happens, this is going to be different. This is new, and precious, and Gerard feels just as scared as Frank looks, his jaw tense even where his hazel eyes look serene.

“Tell me again.” Frank whispers.

Gerard takes a step forward, until he’s a breath away. His hands are shaking. He wants to hold him so bad he doesn’t know what to do. He’s missed him so much he was close to going crazy.

“I love you. I’ve loved you forever.” he whispers, and it fits surprisingly well in his mouth. “I can tell you how many times you need. And I can show you.” 

Frank searches for something in his eyes, and Gerard does his best to keep the contact unwavering, to let him read the truth of his words inside his irises. 

“We got it wrong so many times.” Frank says.

Gerard nods, “I know. I fucked up. I am horrible at this, but I don’t want to be stupid anymore. I don’t know how I ever thought I could have wanted anyone else. It’s you.”

Frank’s eyes fall to Gerard’s mouth, but he keeps still. He doesn’t want to do anything that will spook him away. If Frank thinks they should talk, then Gerard will stand here and talk. He doesn’t want to fuck it up again, he can’t afford it. Not now that he’s figured it out.

“Kiss me?” Frank asks, and relief floods Gerard’s chest, makes it lighter and airier. 

He tips forward and cradles Frank’s face in his hands, frames it so his thumbs can stroke along his cheekbones. He kisses his cheek, soft and chaste, and Frank closes his eyes. Gerard already misses them on him. He kisses his nose, and the corner of his mouth, and then he’s pressing against Frank, and he’s kissing him.

Frank breathes into Gerard’s mouth, and they haven’t been this close to each other in so long. And their last kiss—Gerard doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to recall how his chest split when he understood Frank was kissing him just to make him go away, to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Because Gerard being there was hurting him, and he wanted it to end. He doesn’t want to think about that kiss, so he focuses on this one.

It's slow and familiar, but it's so much more tender than anything they've ever done. It feels precious, and enormous. Frank feeds him these whimpering sound, like he’s been wounded, and Gerard wants to put his mouth everywhere on him, to taste every inch of him.

They kiss for so long, just standing there, in the middle of Frank’s green living room, that Gerard’s lips start to tingle. 

“I love you, too.” Frank says when the kiss finally breaks off, “You know—If that wasn’t clear.”

Gerard smiles, kisses him again for good measure. “It’s clear.”

“Okay. Great.” Frank chuckles. His lips are shiny pink and swollen with kisses, and he looks so bashful and happy Gerard almost believes in God for a second.

“I know we should talk, and I want to, but—” Frank goes a little pink, and it reaches his tattooed neck. “Bedroom?*

It’s fucking adorable, and Gerard has to put his hand to the side of his neck again and bring him in for another short kiss. He keeps it easy, keeps it short and dry, but he smiles into it.

“Please.” he says.

They find themselves making out on the bed, still completely clothed save for their fancy jackets, grinding into each other without much of a rush. It’s weird, because Gerard was ready to devour Frank whole, and he thought that it would go like it used to go back then — heated, and a little rough around the edges, and a whirlwind that left him feeling untethered. Instead, Gerard finds that all he wants to do is to feel Frank’s body against his, to breath in his air, to rest his hand over his heart to feel the pulse of it under his palm.

Then Frank shifts a little, and his dick is pushing into Gerard’s hip, and chivalrous romance dwindles down, because the horny monster in Gerard’s head wakes up again.

Gerard knows that Frank is probably screaming bloody murder about outside clothes in his head, but he doesn’t show it, not when Gerard sits back up, knees on each side of Frank’s hips, and looks down at him, resting on his thighs. There’s spit on Frank’s lips, and the apple of his cheeks are red.

Gerard smiles, plays with a button of Frank’s pristine white shirt. 

“Off, baby, come on.” The word slips out before he can really think about it, and Frank’s eyes widen, but he says nothing. He sits up a little and lets Gerard undo his tie, keeping his enormous eyes trained on him. Gerard feels his face heat up a little under the stare, but he manages. Unbuttons Frank’s shirt until he can take it off, and then he’s met with the sight of Frank’s bare torso.

Frank is softer than he was. His hips have widened, and his chest looks like he's been working out, and his belly is rounder. Gerard has to palm himself through his slacks, because this is the hottest Frank has ever been. Big and strong and still so pliant under Gerard’s hands.

“You're so beautiful.” he says, giving voice to the monologue in his head.

Frank doesn't say anything, or move, and Gerard looks up at him. His face is tense. Gerard stills, scared that Frank could have changed his mind. He feels like he will die if that's the case, but the least he owes him is this.

“Should we—” his mouth is a little dry, and his stomach is doing something weird, but he pushes through. “Should I stop?”

Frank shakes his head, but he won’t look at Gerard. One of his hands is on Gerard’s knee, and Gerard puts his own over it.

“No, it's just.” Frank swallows, “I always—I thought a lot about how I was never really your type. And this, this is a lot. To be here, and you—”

“My type.” Gerard repeats. 

Frank knows it’s a question, a request for clarification. He shrugs. “You were always going for blonde girls and tall hot guys and, I don't know. Ten years of it. It was—Uh. I think. I know this isn't your ideal. I’m not saying I didn’t know you were into me, before, when we—” he gestures a little between them with his free hand, “I’m just aware that it’s not what you would go for. That I’m. I’m mean, It's fine, I wish—”

Gerard’s heart breaks. “Frank.”

Frank stops his panicked rambling, looks down.

“I—I've never.” Gerard looks for the right words, fails, but he says something anyway. It’s still true, even if it isn’t as big as what he’s feeling.  “I've never had anyone as beautiful as you.”

Frank shakes his head, and his mouth is twisting, and Gerard knows the signs of a crisis incoming. “Don't s—”

“Frank, shut up.” he leans into him and puts his hand to the side of his neck, cradling him, grounding him, “You're a fucking dream. This past year, I—I.” Gerard blushes. “After I had you. I could never—I never.”

“Never what?” Frank still doesn’t look at him, but his expression changes a little, from grief to confusion.

Gerard swallows. “Haven't slept with anyone.”

Frank’s head snaps up, he looks at him like he can’t believe it. “No one? All year?”

Gerard shakes his head, takes a deep breath. He has to look away. “I tried. It was like, I don't know. My libido died. Matt really didn't appreciate that I wouldn't get it up for him. And I was always—I tried. I tried picturing you, then.”

Frank holds his breath.

“But then I felt like dying because—” he twists his mouth, and this is kind of a lot to be saying out loud, but he owes Frank this, at least. “Well, every time I realised I needed to be thinking about you, I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be with you”

Frank touches his hip. “You—You thought of me?”

“Frank.” Gerard fixes him with a serious stare. “There wasn't a single hour of this horrible fucking year were you weren't on my mind.”

“And your, ah, libido—” Frank is red again, and Gerard wants to eat him. “Are you, ah, are you feeling okay, right now?”

Gerard drops his forehead to Frank’s and just laughs. Because his dick hasn't gone down since Frank kissed him in the garden six hours ago.

“Libido is fine when you’re wearing this stupid fucking suit.” he says, and he hooks his finger inside one of his belt loops. “Wanted to get on my knees in that fucking church and—”

Frank squeals. “Gee, oh my God.”

“Sorry.” he murmurs, leaning in to nip at his shoulder, “I forget about your God boner.”

“I don’t have a God boner.” Frank protests, but he tips his head to the side to let him work on his neck when Gerard attaches himself to a spot there. “I was just—I was brought up that way.”

Gerard hums, “That’s why it’s sexy.”

Frank grabs him by the hair at the back of his head and he tugs him back, smashes their mouth together, hungry and unashamed. He licks into Gerard’s mouth, and Gerard goes weak a little, moaning into their kiss, his cock pressing against his stupid fancy slacks. He grinds down, and he’s met with the hardness of Frank’s dick. He pushes into it, their cocks rubbing against each other under the layers, and Gerard would be really upset if, after all of this, he ended up coming while dry humping Frank, still fully dressed.

They break away, and Frank looks dazed. 

“You gonna fuck me or ‘dyou wanna talk some more?” Frank slurs a little, eyes unfocused, and Gerard doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He gets Frank undressed so quick Frank looks taken aback by how sudden his nakedness is. He reaches down with his hands, as if to cover himself, and Gerard slaps them away. This side of him, shy and blushing, wasn't there the last time they fucked. Gerard finds it delicious.

He takes his sweet time familiarizing himself with the new tattoos on Frank’s body. They look so good, the black of them crisp against his milky skin, and Gerard feels the sudden urge to draw on him, to mark him up. He pushes it down before he can do something stupid like ask Frank to let him design his next tattoo for him.

He sucks a nipple into his mouth and the way Frank moans, then, so sensitive and pretty, makes him crazy.

He pushes Frank’s thighs back towards his chest, and the younger man curses. “Gee. Ouch. I’m not—You’re the one taking yoga lessons. I’m made of wood.”

“Sorry, baby.” he kisses his calf in apology. But he doesn’t really mean it, because Frank is spread out under him, a fucking feast for Gerard’s eyes.

He presses his thumb against his hole and Frank hisses. 

“Let me open you up.” he says, not really taking his eyes away from the way Frank’s hole twitches against the pad of his fingers.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, please.”

Gerard finds the lube where Frank used to keep it back then. He makes sure to put too much on his fingers, then adds more directly to Frank’s hole, which makes the younger man squirm and curse.

“Cold.” he complains, nose twitching. Gerard kisses the tip of it, fingers petting at his hole gently in apology.

“Sorry.” he murmurs against his mouth. His middle fingers dips inside, and Frank’s mouth opens, his throat clicking wetly. He doesn’t make any noise, like his breath’s been cut.

Frank isn’t as tight as Gerard recalls him being back then.

He swallows down a mouthful of suddenly bitter saliva. He tries not to think about it. Tries not to think about how Ethan was plastered all over him, sucking on his neck, groping him. Tries not to think about how Mikey refused to give more details about Frank’s life, because he thought it would do no good to Gerard’s already fragile mental health. Tries not to think about how Gerard confessed merely a handful of hours ago and sure, Frank is here with him now, and Gerard knows he’s wanted as much as he wants Frank, but. But he has no idea where Frank was last night, or last week, of the months before that. He should’ve asked, maybe.

The truth is, though, that he doesn’t have a right to think about it. Or to be jealous. But he is. He’s so jealous he leans down and bites into the meat of Frank’s thigh, too harsh and too deep, and Frank lets out this noise like he’s going to die. He curls up into himself a little, and Gerard ends up being crushed between his thighs and his stomach, which, fuck yes.

Gerard laves his tongue over the circular mark of his teeth, the bite blossoming an angry red.

“Fuck, Gee.” Frank touches the back of his head. “I don’t mind. At all. But—What the fuck was that?”

He doesn’t say, he can’t. Can’t bring up how the thought of Frank with somebody else left his chest aching when the sun went down. How it still does. 

“Sorry. I could eat you.” he says instead, which isn’t a lie.

“Well, don’t? There are children out there that need to learn how to play Sweet Home Alabama.”

Gerard shrugs, the anger receding quickly with the way Frank is smiling down at him. “They’ll survive.”

“You’re a cannibal.” Frank accuses, then promptly hisses when Gerard shoves his fingers deeper inside, his knuckles knocking against the tight ring of his rim, and he hooks them inside him. “Gee. Gerard. Just fuck me.”

Hearing his own name come out of Frank’s mouth is enough to make him want to cry again. Because he’s longed to hear it for so long, he thought he would never hear it again. He could’ve gone his whole life without holding Frank again and, instead, he’s here.

“You aren’t ready yet.” he says, kissing his knee.

Frank thumps his foot against his side, grumpy. “I like it when it hurts.”

Gerard groans into his thigh, but doesn’t give in. “I don’t.” he says, and offers no further explanation. He knows that Frank probably won’t need it, anyway. In fact, he shuts up and lets Gerard scissor his fingers inside him, whining when he touches him where it counts, where it makes him shiver, legs twitching involuntarily. 

Then he's three fingers deep, Frank grinding down on his hand, the squelch so obscene it makes his mouth water. He watches his knuckles disappear into him. Leans down to suck his balls into his mouth, because he wants to.

“Gee. Fuck, will you just—”

“Yeah.” he pants, “Okay.”

He cleans his wet hand on his own thigh, then he stills for a second, on his knees over Frank. “Condom?” he asks, trying to sound sane about it.

Frank shakes his head, “I’m clean.”

Gerard might cry. He kisses the anchor over Frank’s chest instead and positions the head of his cock against his slick hole. Frank lets out a shaky breath.

“Slow.” he says, and Frank nods, his hand on the back of Gerard’s head. He pets him there, as if sensing that Gerard needs the reassurance.

Pushing into Frank is like nothing else he’s ever felt. Not because Frank feels any different than he ever did, but because Frank is looking up at him with something that makes his eyes sparkle. Gerard looks back, and he sees it, and he knows what it is, knows what to name it.

“Thank you.” he says, kissing the dip between his collarbones, “Thank you, thank you.”

Frank shushes him, knees pushing at his sides, the hand on his nape heavy enough that it makes him feel grounded. He envelops Gerard completely, holding him close, and Gerard feels like he might drown in him.

“Muh—Move.” he says, and Gerard is quick to obey, thighs flexing as he draws back and then, ever so slowly, pushes back in. His grip on Frank’s hip grows heavier, and he pushes him deeper into the mattress so he can get more leverage. His lips close around Frank’s nipple, and he sucks there, feeling the man writhe under him, already mindless with how deep Gerard his fucking him, with how well they fit into each other. Like they were made for this, made to be with each other.

Then his lips find the anchor again, and he kisses it, over and over, hoping the touch of his mouth will travel through Frank’s skin into the pumping heart behind his ribs.

And suddenly he feels like praying, because being inside him feels like a full blown miracle, like something that needed to happen, like something Gerard hadn’t even dared to hope for, because it hurt to imagine the possibility of this never happening.

“There—There you go. That’s it. Fucking—” Frank’s voice breaks as he throws his head back, fingernails digging into Gerard’s back. “‘M not gonna—Not gonna last, Gee. Make it, make it good.”

Gerard wants to make him feel good, he wants to see his eyes roll back into his skull, he wants to see him lose it. He wants to devote himself to him, to crawl inside him and never leave him again. He wants to make up for lost time, and he wants himself to be better, the best he can be for Frank.

“Gee, baby?” Frank asks, his hand on Gerard’s face, rough with calluses and soft with his tenderness. Gerard turns a little to kiss his tattooed palm, to nuzzle it. But Frank repeats his name, adds: “What's wrong?”

And Gerard stills.

“You're crying.”

Oh. He is. 

“I’m—” he kneels back up a little, but he doesn’t stop the movement of his hips, feeling like he might die if he stops. “I’m. You feel so good. You feel so fucking good.” he punctuates his words with kisses to Frank’s chest, to his shoulders, his chin. “Missed you so much. Not just this, everything. But fuck—This.”

Frank laughs a little, watery and fond, and he brings Gerard’s face down, closer to him, until they're a breath away. “Missed you, too. Thought about you, too. Every time he—Ah.” 

Frank’s voice breaks when Gerard shoves into him, a bit mean. His face screws into something pained and fuck, Gerard fucked up. He let it get to his head.

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, that's—” Frank shakes his head, then he blinks up at Gerard with his stupidly enormous wet eyes, his mouth pink, his chin glistening with Gerard’s spit. “Fuck me like that. Take what's yours.”

Gerard does. Fucks Frank with the shameful purpose of molding him around him again. Fucks him hard and deep, one hand pressing down on his tummy. Fucks him open and loose, until he's a whimpering mess of a man, his throat sweaty and his eyes half lidded, Gerard’s name like a mantra in his mouth.

“Fucking—That's right. Say my name.”

“Gerard. Gee. Oh, f—” Frank brings a hand down to his own cock, but Gerard shoves it away, takes the matter into his own hands. Wraps his fingers around him, jerks him off fast and a little loose, and Frank is fucking drooling. “I’m so—I’m yours. Make me yours, come on.”

It shouldn't get to him the way it does, and Gerard will overthink it later, but the thought of marking Frank up, of fucking his come into him, it makes him stupidly close and, fuck, he can't be the first to come. 

He tightens his hold on Frank’s cock, thumbing at his slit with too much pressure, the way the other man likes, and he licks into his mouth, uncoordinated and sloppy. Frank moans, lets his own tongue lol out until Gerard can suck on it, and then his cock is twitching and he's coming, painting his tummy and Gerard’s hand. A sound like a pained scream leaves his throat, and he goes stiff in Gerard’s hold with a shiver. He tightens down on him, then, and Gerard is a goner.

He sheathes himself inside, as deep as he can, and he comes, the hardest he's ever come, hips flush to Frank’s ass, fingers digging into the meat of his hips. He rocks himself through it, these shallow stutters of his hips until it becomes too much, his face buried against Frank’s throat. 

Frank hisses when Gerard pulls out, and Gerard agrees. When he lets himself fall to the side, Frank is still clinging to him, so they end up a little tangled, breathless, but still facing each other.

“Fuck.” Frank says, laughing. “That was a good one, motherfucker.”

“Yeah?” Gerard can't help but preen a little.

“Mm. Didn't know we had this much vanilla in us.” he grins up at him, lazy and boyish and beautiful.

“Do you mind?”

Frank raises his eyebrows. “Do I mind that the guy I've been in love with for the past ten years just fucked me into the mattress?”

“Missionary.” Gerard adds.

“Hell yeah. Missionary is hot as fuck.” he laughs his beautiful fucking laugh, high and silly and a little goofy. Gerard falls a little harder, and he pulls him in closer. They're caked in sweat and cum but he can't bring himself to care.

“No, really.” Frank says, “If we're doing this right we should probably get started from, like, Kamasutra, position number one and, uh, work our way up from there.”

“I don't think the Kamasutra is in order of how doable the positions are.” 

“Whatever, nerd.”

The words tumble out of Gerard’s mouth before he can compute them consciously.

“Shit, you're the love of my life.”

Frank’s eyes go as big as tennis balls, and his smile dries up on his face. He goes very still. 

Gerard slaps his hand to his own mouth. It’s not like he didn’t tell him he’s in love with him hundreds of times in the last six hours, but maybe this is too much? Too cheesy? Too out there? “I didn't—I just—”

“Shut up.” Frank wraps his hand around Gerard’s wrist and yanks it away from his mouth. “Don't—Don't ruin it. Tell me again.”

Gerard can do that.

“I’m in love with you.” he says, making it a point to keep his eyes on Frank's. And then, because he’s not good with semantics, “And I love you. If those are two different things, then I'm both.”

Frank tightens his hold around on his arm and his mouth quivers. “Spend tomorrow with me? I have some stuff do to, and Axel to pick up, but if you—”

“Frank.” Gerard takes his face into his hands, “You're never getting rid of me. It's going to be a problem, I promise.”

He touches his nose to Frank’s, and the younger man breathes against his mouth. Gerard pecks his upper lip, strokes his jaw. 

Saying stuff out loud has always been a problem, always. He could never write the kind of things Frank does. He can draw, and paint, and sculpt a little, and he will try and express himself through those. But words are fucking hard, especially if he has to speak them like this, out loud and right in Frank’s face.

Words became so difficult to him he ended up not being able to pick the right ones in the privacy of his own head. Love was a particularly hard one. And yet, he’d made it his. So he wants to try and put more of what’s inside his chest into words, because Frank deserves it, and because Gerard has been stupid about this long enough.

“I want to wake up next to you.” he says, not shifting an inch, “Not just tomorrow. Frank, being without you was so fucking stupid, and horrible, and I never wanna do it again. I know it's greedy, and I know we just—If you wanna slow down, we can do it however we want. But I want you to know that I want whatever you will give me. I want everything, with you.”

Frank kisses him with a hand on Gerard’s heart, his calloused palm splayed open on his chest. Gerard feels the buzzcut at the base of Frank’s skull, holds him there. It feels like they have forever.

Frank breaks the kiss by ghosting his lips to the corner of Gerard’s mouth. “I don't wanna sleep.”

“Why?” Gerard asks, thumbing at Frank’s swollen lower lip. It looks like a petal. 

“What if I wake up and this is just a dream?” Frank closes his eyes and nuzzles his face into Gerard’s palm. “I always used to—Always dreamt about this. About you.”

Gerard’s heart won’t stop breaking. He wishes he could go back in time and have a quicker heart. He wishes he wasn’t such a mess inside. He wishes he’d figured this out sooner. Months ago, years ago. There’s so much he’s put Frank through. So much he needs to beg forgiveness for.

If he could slip through the cracks of time to hold Frank through those dreams, to wake him up with kisses to his throat, he would. He would give anything. He can’t say any of it out loud, right now. But maybe he will, one day.

They’ve had a long night.

He traces the shape of Frank’s pretty nose with a finger. Leans in to kiss the tip of it. Frank chuckles, and Gerard loves it. Loves how happy Frank can get, how cute his laughter is. Loves everything about him.

“We can stay awake a little longer.” he murmurs, “I wanna hear about your kids.”

Frank lights up. “There are new ones.”

Gerard grins, sleepiness seeping through. He tries not to show it. “Your tattoos, too.”

Frank hums, draws in a little closer, if possible.

“We should shower first.”

Gerard groans, throws his head back. It leaves the space for Frank to lean in and kiss his throat with a laugh.

“No?”

Gerard sighs, “If you let me blow you.”

Frank playfully slaps the inside of Gerard’s thigh. “Gee, who the fuck do you think I am? You're not getting another orgasm out of me tonight.”

“You don't have to come.” he shrugs, “I kinda wanna hold it in my mouth.” 

Frank rolls away from him, covering his eyes with his arm. “Oh my God.” 

When they’re showered, and another orgasm has been wrought out of Frank — his hands against the slippery shower wall, his cock rutted deep down Gerard’s throat — and the favor has been returned — a single finger hooked right inside Gerard, a humming mouth closed around his cockhead, suckling lazily — they end up on the bed again.

Frank sprawls out like a cat, heavy lidded eyes and a lazy smile on his lips, and Gerard stands there to look at him. He just looks so happily comfortable, his tattoos making him look like a priceless work of art, black ink on pale skin on his green duvet. Gerard gets the urge to draw him, but he’s tired as fuck, and the desire to simply hold him, his naked skin against his own, is greater.

He crawls into bed, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. Frank turns his head to him and he just stares. There’s so much he’s saying, and so much Gerard can only hope he’s saying back. He lays a palm on Frank’s cheek, feels his warmth there. Frank stretches his neck and Gerard meets him halfway. It’s just a peck, the brush of lips on lips. They’re both tired. 

It’s a goodnight kiss. Gerard realises this as warmth spreads through him. 

“‘S not a dream.” he says against his mouth. Frank nods. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

Frank smells like his fancy honey bodywash, clean and saccharine, and it makes Gerard want to take a bite out of him for reasons that aren’t even sexual. And Frank always runs so warm. Gerard wants to borrow as close as he possibly can. He wants Frank to keep him.

The younger man touches the shell of Gerard’s ear, rubs it carefree. He blinks slowly. Gerard finds himself hoping Frank won’t fall asleep just yet, because he kind of needs to look into the warm hazel of his eyes a little longer.

When Frank talks again, he sounds sleepy, like he’s already half gone, tongue heavy in his mouth. “We should go on a date, tomorrow.”

Gerard grins, “Sounds good.”

When Frank blinks again, his eyes stay closed for a couple of seconds before he flutters them open again. They fan out over his rosy cheek, and Gerard wants to cry with how pretty he is. 

“W’re ‘re you tak’me?” he slurs, and his hand goes still on the side of Gerard’s head. Gerard brings him a little closer, their legs slotting together. He wants to answer that he will take him wherever Frank wants, but it might be time for him to suck it up and start taking matters into his own hands. Frank has already done so much already.

“We could take Axel to the park.” he rubs Frank’s hip over his nails tattoo, a new one Frank told him about earlier, when they were helping each other getting cleaned up in the shower. “There’s this new kiosk with a mean lactose free chocolate ice cream.”

Frank clicks his tongue, and his eyes stay closed on the next blink. “How’d you kno’?”

Gerard smiles into his next answer, feeling his face go a little red with the admission. “I tried some flavors so I could recommend them to you.”

“Yeah.” Frank’s grin splits his face in two, his teeth a little crooked and adorable. “Love ‘f your life and all.”

Gerard leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. Frank can’t stop smiling, so the next kiss falls right onto his teeth. They chuckle against each other.

“You are.” he says when he manages to actually kiss Frank’s lips. Frank pushes back a little, a satisfied sound vibrates right against Gerard’s mouth. “You are.”

Frank tries to mumble something, but it’s incomprehensible. Gerard squeezes his hip, rubs their legs together.

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Frank successfully hums something that sounds affirmative, and then his face goes slack, and peaceful, and he’s asleep. 

Gerard’s fingers come up to stroke his cheek, the brush of his fingertips barely there not to disturb his sleep. He traces the shape of his cheeks, of his brow, of his pretty pretty lips. He feels something settle in his bones, he feels his heartbeat slow down. He feels, for the first time in his life, like there’s nothing to reach for. Nothing to fight for, to tear himself up over. Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, nowhere else he’s supposed to be. Because he’s going to wake up next to this, tomorrow. Because, for some miraculous turn of fate, Frank is in his arms, placid and beautiful.

“Goodnight.” he whispers, and his last peck lands on Frank’s smooth forehead. “Sleep well.”

When Gerard falls asleep, he doesn’t dream about anything at all.

Everything he used to dream about is already here, safe between his arms.