Home Alone

"Hello?"

"So I've been thinking about it, and I think what you did yesterday was, like, way outta line."

"Frank? How did you get this number?"

"Your mom left it on the emergency numbers list. And stop avoiding the topic."

"I'm not avoiding it, I was genuinely curious."

"No, see, by saying that, you're avoiding it."

"Well I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Avoiding the subject."

"No! Stop! Okay, what the hell, man? What happened?"

Gerard makes a frustrated noise and is quiet for a few seconds, before saying, "I dunno, man. It's, like, you know. It's obvious what's wrong, isn't it? Do I have to say it?"

"I'd kinda like to hear you say it, yeah," Frank smirks, sitting in the recliner next to the couch.

"Fuck you. I'm just really messed up, okay?"

Frank scoffs. "Yeah, I could'a told ya that."

"Shut up, idiot. You know what I mean."

Frank moves his mouth around a little and plays with the maroon fabric of the chair's arm. He's just waiting for Gerard to say something else, because, no, I don't know what you mean. Not really.

Eventually, Gerard goes, "Okay, I'm sorry I kicked you out, okay? I just. I'm uncomfortable with it."

"With being gay?" Frank asks, picking at a loose thread in the fabric.

"No. With other people knowing I am."

"Oh," is all Frank can say. Because, he would love to say, 'yeah, I know what you mean,' but he doesn't. Frank's never been uncomfortable with other people knowing. Frank doesn't really care. But he knows not every one is like him.

"No one else really knows," Gerard kind of whispers.

Frank's eyebrows raise and he stops playing with the thread. "So, like. I'm the first one?"

"Well, yeah," Gerard says. It sounds like he closes a drawer, or maybe his door, Frank isn't sure. Then he continues, "So, that's the thing. It's not like I have, like, experience with coming out to people."

Frank giggles just a little, and says, "Well, I know you don't really like me, but don't you think I'd be the best person to tell?"

"You never really told me you were gay," Gerard says, like it's so obvious, and Frank should have known. But Frank thought it was so obvious that he is, that he wouldn't have to tell him.

"I'm sorry. I thought I made it pretty clear."

"You could just be, a, a very flamboyant young man! It's not like I knew you even two weeks ago. You just kind of dropped little hints, then next thing I know, there's gay porn outside my window. I mean, yeah. I don't know. And I don't.. not, like you, Frank."

"I thought you didn't hate me, but still didn't like me?"

"I changed my mind."

"Oh! Well, then! Are we biffs now?"

"Don't push it," Gerard mumbles, and it sounds like he's cleaning or something. Or maybe just fidgeting with things, who knows.

"Alright, well. You wanna chill?"

"I guess," Gerard says, with a great lack of enthusiasm.

"Woah! Calm down! Your excitement is killing me."

Gerard snickers, then says, "Bye," and hangs up before Frank can answer. He guesses Gerard is coming over now, and looks down at what he's wearing. His eyes widen, and he sprints up the stairs and into his bedroom. He starts picking up shirts off the floor and smelling them, looking for one that won't kill them both. He finds one that smells okay, but he doesn't really like the way this one looks on him, so he throws it aside, too. He pulls open all his drawers, hoping to find his favorite shirt instead. Instead of organizing his clothes, and keeping shirts with shirts and pants with pants, Frank just throws all his clothes into whatever drawer is closest at that time. This is why there is a mixture of most of his shirts, half of his pants, and random socks laying all over his room by the time he finds his favorite shirt. He rips off the white shirt he was wearing and pulls the black material over his head. He pulls on the shirt where it covers his stomach to loosen it just a little. He'd rather not cut off the circulation of blood in his body. There's a pair of jeans he really likes laying across his desk on the other side of the room. He climbs over the mountain of clothes and pulls them on, jumping up and down to get them up all the way. He decides no belt is needed, and runs into the bathroom. His hair looks like it's going crazy, but he think it might just work. He takes some of his mom's hair wax, what ever the hell that is, and uses it to get his hair to stick up in the right places, and down in the others. He's spraying just a little cologne on himself when the doorbell rings. He runs out of the bathroom and sprints back down the stairs, skipping every other step, and opens the door, out of breath.

"Oh, did I catch you at a bad time?" Gerard repeats Frank's words from the day before in a mocking way.

"Nah, I was working out," Frank says, trying to make his voice deeper like Gerard's. They both laugh, and Gerard goes to step inside, when Frank sees Billy, aka The Brat, across the street in his lawn. He's playing with a soccer ball by himself. Frank thinks it's kind of strange, but he wouldn't know, because he doesn't play soccer no matter how many people are with him.

Instead of letting Gerard inside, Frank grabs his wrist and walks quickly towards Billy, causing Gerard to spin around and almost fall. Why does he drag Gerard with him? Protection, of course.

"Jesus!" he says, picking up his pace to keep up with Frank. Not that he could fall that far behind; Frank is still holding on tight to his wrist. "What the hell are you doing?"

Frank doesn't answer, instead he yells over to the house across the street, "Hey! Brat! Yeah you. What's your name?"

It takes The Brat a while to answer, before he says cautiously, "Damion," while slowly picking up his soccer ball.

Dammit. Wasn't even close. "I think I'm gonna call you Billy, okay?" Frank asks, looking at the kid expectantly.

Damion nods, then turns around and runs back into his house with his soccer ball clutched to his chest.

"Billy?" Gerard asks, dragging Frank back into the house.

"It's a long story."

"I don't wanna know anyway."

Frank huffs and throws Gerard's arm away from himself, which really does nothing at all, but he felt like being a little more violent than just letting go of his wrist. "Well, anyway, what do you wanna do?"

Gerard shrugs and looks around. "Movie?"

"Wow. We are extremely boring and predictable people."

"Well, I am. I wouldn't call you a person."

Frank flips him off and walks into his living room, Gerard following closely behind him. Frank sits on the couch and motions to the DVDs, implying that Gerard should pick one. Gerard walks over and flips through a couple of them, then takes one out and puts it in without telling Frank what it is. He sits on the couch next to Frank, and Frank notes that he could have sat in the recliner, or on the other side of the couch, but no, he sits next to Frank. This makes Frank smile just a little.

The DVD menu comes up, and Frank laughs. "Lion King?"

"It's a classic!" Gerard defends, using the remote to press play.

Frank rolls his eyes, but giggles and leans back against the couch. It isn't until now that he realizes how he freaked out about how he looked when Gerard said he was coming over.

Why did I do that?

He kind of knows. But he'd rather not answer himself.

****

It's now 11 at night. Frank doesn't want to go to sleep, but he knows he should. He's tired.

Gerard had left a little while after the movie had ended. He had wanted to see Frank's bedroom, since Frank has seen his but he's never even been on the second floor of Frank's house.

"Uhh, no," Frank had said, blocking the stairs.

Gerard had raised an eyebrow and asked, "And why not, exactly?"

"It kind of looks like World War three in there. Smells like it to."

"What would World War three smell like?"

Frank had paused. "Bad."

Gerard rolled his eyes, because, yeah, he probably could have guessed that. "Well why do you even care?"

Frank had not liked this question, because he was trying so hard to not answer questions like these to himself. If he didn't want to answer himself, how could he answer Gerard? I can't. Right. So, instead, he said, "I care about your well-being. I don't know if you would come out alive."

Gerard had rolled his eyes, but smiled and said, "Fine, then. I'm gonna go home. Dinner."

Frank had nodded and seen him out. They wrestled over the door for a whole minute; locking it and then unlocking it, pushing each other out of the way, and laughing like lunatics. Then, eventually, Frank had realized, Duh. He's gonna leave, I'll still be in here. He had stepped back and put his hands up in mock-surrender. Gerard had nodded once, locking the door and shutting it tight, thinking he had one. Frank had then unlocked the door, and yelled, "Ha!"

He's pretty sure he heard a quiet, "Damn it!" from the other side in response.

Once Gerard was gone, Frank decided to clean up World War three and sort all his clothes while listening to music. This only took him four hours; including breaks for dinner, the bathroom, and air guitar.

Now it's 11, and Frank keeps smelling the air in his room. He can't remember it ever smelling this nice. All his dirty clothes are in his hamper, all the clean ones are organized in his drawers, and he's wear a clean pair of pajama pants with a clean t-shirt. This almost never happens.

Rubbing his eyes, he gets under the covers in his bed. He's glad Gerard doesn't hate, or even dis-like him, anymore. They went the whole day without fighting. Unless you call the door-wrestling a fight. Which it kind of was.

But Frank isn't gonna count it as one.