Anorex-a-Gogo

So Gerard is passed out on top of my bed, and he's drunk as hell and naked and maybe even a little bit mentally unstable. My bathroom is a total fucking wreck and I am not looking forward to cleaning it up at all. On top of that, Owen'll be home eventually, and I don't even want to think about the shit I'll get from him when he gets here.

I manage to shove Gerard's limbs under the blankets on my bed once again. Once his parts are all covered up, I'm sure I'll be able to start thinking clearly. But even when I'm sure he's all tucked in and warm and hopefully comfortable, I don't move to clean up. I stay sitting next to him on the bed, hugging one of my pillows to my chest and watching him sleep. Or remain unconscious, or whatever.

What the fuck is happening? I can't even begin to wrap my mind around this concept of Gerard and then me and then Gerard and me being a we. It's seriously some scary shit to be walking Invisible one day, and then wake up the next to realize that you'd just be happy if only a certain black-haired boy would hold your hand and your head up high. Pretty damn terrifying if you ask me.

But the weirdest thing is, it's also no big deal at all. Like a part of me knew all along that this was where my life would end up at some point. I just knew all along.

For the next couple of minutes, my mind just focuses heavily on the pure insanity of it all.

I am not falling.

Outside, the snow has started softly powdering down, swirling around in patterns I can't quite follow with my eyes. I wonder if powdering is even a word? I decide it is. I look at Gerard.

I'm not falling for him. More like powdering...

Distance is always a good thing. Mom's being annoying? Put some distance between you and her before you yell at her and get grounded. Friend's pissing you off? Put some distance between you guys before you bite her head off. Drunk naked guy making you fucking horny and confused? Put some distance, put some distance, put some distance. Like a fucking mantra.

And nothing makes someone more unattractive than having to clean up their alcoholic puke, trust me. I'm down on my knees, literally mopping up my bathroom floor tiles with an entire bottle of disinfectant that I found under my sink. Then there's the matter of his revolting clothes, which I refuse to touch. So I fish out my Mom's salad tongs from the kitchen and use them to dispose of Gerard's Vomit-soaked garments. After a second thought, I toss the tainted tongs into the garbage bin as well. I can't even remember the last time we had anything that resembled a salad in this house, so I'm counting on Mom not to miss them.

"Gerard, you disgusting fucker," I mutter to myself as I shut and lock my bedroom door again as a precaution. It would be bad enough for Owen or my mother to walk right on in and see him passed out in my bed. But could you imagine Gerard walking naked and disoriented out of my room and one of them coming home to see his pale naked ass in front of the refrigerator or something? Yeah, that's one situation I'd rather not find myself in the middle of, thanks.

Damn, it's cold, and I find myself thinking of a nice, steamy shower again. Especially since I've recently been molested by a guy reeking of liquor and then up to my elbows in his vomit.

I. Want. A. Shower. Now.

But can I trust Gerard to stay passed out for the next fifteen minutes?

I glance at Gerard. Then my bathroom. Then the clock. Then Gerard again. Whatever, I want a shower.

~ ~ ~

You know, I can't even think of what I did this time. I thought I was really very nice with handling Gerard. I cleaned up his puke. I put him to bed. Then again, I did bitch out Mr. Stokes...

Which is why Karma comes knocking on my bathroom door. Well, more like pounding actually.

"Frank, you motherfucker, open the door. I really gotta take a leak," Gerard whines from my bedroom, his fist rattling the door.

Now, I'm in the middle of some real serious business.

Translation: I may or may not be whacking off to the guy who is currently trying to break down the door.

"Fuck off!" I call back, immediately releasing myself and focusing more on shampooing my hair into an awesome mohawk. Dammit, why couldn't he have just stayed passed out like a fucking normal person?

"I'm serious, man. Either you let me in or I'm gonna piss on your door."

I think we both realize at the same time that I forgot to lock my bathroom door. Shit.

"Oh, nevermind," he says almost brightly, sounding much more sober and more like himself after his 30 minute nap. "The door's unlocked. Don't mind me, I'm just gonna pop in and pee."

My breathing ceases completely as the bathroom door opens and he steps inside. Suddenly the room feels ten sizes too small for just two people, the steam suffocating me like a heavy blanket. I'm frozen, beating myself up for not locking the damn door. For what seems like an hour but is probably only seconds, I stand under the hot spray of water and listen to Gerard take the longest piss I've ever heard.

"You sound like a fucking horse," I mumble quietly, but my voice ends up echoing and carrying off the tiled walls.

"Shut the fuck up, Frankie," he mutters back in a casual voice, then sighs in satisfaction. "Jesus, that felt good. Now, on to more important matters. Such as clothes and aspirin. Where are they?"

I am acutely aware that there is only one thick shower curtain separating me and him, and we are both completely and utterly in the nude. "Aspirin's in the cabinet over the sink,' I choke out, sounding a little bit like I'm hyperventilating. Which I probably am.

When I was about ten or eleven, I came down with severe bronchitis or some shit like that. The doctors made me use a fucking inhaler for almost three months, thinking that I had asthma. All the kids called me "Inhaler Boy," while I applauded them for being so fucking creative. Finally they figured out I didn't need an inhaler, I needed antibiotics or something. Fucking idiots, but they let me stop using it.

Right now I'm wondering if maybe I still have that inhaler somewhere.

There's the sound of pills rattling in the bottle, then the water from the sink faucet running. "Thanks a bunch. And my clothes?" he asks once he's swallowed the aspirin and put the bottle back.

I'm busy studying his shadowy silhouette, long and lean on the other side of the shower curtain. Then I realize with a start that this means he can probably see mine too, and I go into a full-on spaz attack. My arm knocks into the shampoo (sound familiar?) and sends it and the other three bottles of products crashing to the shower floor.

"You okay?" he asks tentatively, and he takes a step toward the shower.

"Fine," I gasp, fumbling to retrieve the bottles. "Um...I threw out your clothes."

Gerard is quiet for what seems like ages. Then, quietly, "If you really wanted to see me naked that badly, Frankie..." And with that, he throws back the shower curtain.

I go into cardiac arrest.

I don't even feel like I'm me anymore. I'm not me as Gerard simply stares at me, his eyes traveling up and down my body, his face nearly expressionless. I'm not me as the hot water pounds on my shoulders and back, not moving an inch. I'm not me as I blatantly stare at him naked too.

"Damn...Frankie..." he whispers under his breath, his eyes slowly making their way back up until they land on mine again. They're smoldering with....something I don't recognize at all. Like hazel fire.

And then I'm me again. And I'm mortified. This was all supposed to be a joke, I know it was. But it feels anything but funny as his hands reach out and he presses them palm-down on my wet chest.

He cracks a crooked grin, and I feel almost as if the weight of the world was just lifted off my shoulders. "Is that a mohowk?" he asks, pointing amusedly to my head.

My face goes a whole new shade of red as I remember the mohawk I'd made with my hair and the shampoo. Jesus, Frank, you're a real immature dumbfuck, you know that?

"Make me one," he softly demands, stepping under the spray of the shower nozzle. I'm completely still, my eyes wide as he steps closer to me, his pale chest glistening. And all I can think as he guides my hands into his hair with his own is, so this is what it feels like to fall...

~ ~ ~

Is it weird to say that nothing happened between us? I don't know what to think. I'm not sure, but I'm feeling more than a little grateful.

He didn't try to kiss me in the shower. Didn't try to make any sarcastic or blatantly sexual remarks. I mean, I made him a fucking soap mohawk. It was really hard to do too, because his hair is so goddamn long. But I did, and then we actually laughed as we told each other how ridiculous we looked. Just laughed. And that was it. He washed his hair. He turned off the water and threw me a towel.

I wanted to fucking hug him and cry because it was just so...normal. In a really fucked-up way. But for those simple minutes under a stream of water that had gradually turned lukewarm and made our fingers and toes look like raisins, I felt like I had not only a sort of boyfriend, but a best friend. And that meant much much more to me than soap mohawks or a kiss.

It isn't until after we're standing in front of the foggy mirror, towels wrapped around our waists and smiles still ghosting on our faces that he turns to me and kisses me. I'm liking this kiss a lot better than Drunk Gerard's kiss. This isn't really Gerard at all, this is my Gee. And his kiss is soft and sweet. Overwhelming.

"I'm so fucking sorry," he breathes against my lips.

I just press into him harder to stop him from talking. I don't want to talk, I don't want him to apologize. I just want to be us, and nothing else, because that's where I feel safest. I'm feeling so, so safe...

* * *