City Lights

A whispering flutter of wind combed its fingers into his hair and tangled the strands over his sunken eyes as he stood on the concrete steps of Frank's stoop, taking conflicting and unsure steps back and forth from the doorbell system. His fingertip continually touched the plastic button and traced over the printed letters of Frank's name and apartment number, too scared to press down, yet feeling stupid for feeling scared. He yanked on the side of his lip with his teeth and drummed his fingers on his thigh as a nervous tic, before he began to murmur to himself softly, scripting out what he wanted to say, only slightly aware that he might look delusional.

"It's a shitty idea' isn't it?" Gerard finally spoke aloud, looking down at the German shepherd that had taken comfortable refuge on Frank's stoop by then, like a quiet, wise door guard. The dog blinked at Gerard and whapped its tail against the cement calmly in response, and there was something recognizably warm about the dog that reminded Gerard so much of Frank's smile that he finally pushed himself forward to ring the bell.

In his head, Gerard imagined Frank rejecting his idea; Frank's face twisting into an uncomfortable awkwardness, unsure of how to respond. But on the other hand Gerard could see Frank agreeing to Gerard's plan in a heartbeat, simply because he was Frank. All the same, Gerard still chewed his lip and the insides of his cheeks in nervousness.

A sudden static burst through the tiny speaker made Gerard jump somewhat, before a muffled, broken version of Frank's voice came through.

"Yeah?" was all Gerard heard him say, simple and Frank-like.

"Frank, it's me," Gerard said instinctively, habitually into the small microphone while pressing the button, before having a sudden twist of inexplicable guilt in his stomach, thinking Frank wouldn't be able to tell it was him. He opened his mouth quickly again to reiterate his name before Frank cut him off.

"And?" Frank's voice crackled back, as if Gerard was supposed to have brought further information or news. Gerard's mouth shut quietly as he stared blankly, confusedly at the mic before taking a step back on the stoop to twist his neck back, staring up at what he could see of Frank's apartment bay window.

"What's the secret password?" Frank continued again after a period of silence. Gerard's head lowered again to stare at the door, seriously?

"Uh..." Gerard muttered pressing his finger back down on the button slowly, feeling stupid and lost. "...Seriously?" he muttered into the mic. A tone of darkness and droning irritation crept into his voice and onto his face, that had become normal for him in the past couple of years. A bitter wind scraped his bare cheeks, turning his nose red and making him bury himself further into his coat, hiding behind his crow's nest of hair.

"Can't just let anyone come waltzing in," Frank responded, and the nonchalance and cheeriness of his voice naturally made Gerard momentarily, selfishly, hate him for keeping him out in the cold.

"I don't - you never...shit," Gerard murmured, turning his head from side to side, feeling the sudden need to look around and see if people were staring at him. "...I don't know...are you even serious - Frank, it's Gerard-"

A small, gritty buzzing noise cut Gerard off, signaling that the front door was opened. Gerard huffed and sniffled grabbing the door as quickly as he could to let himself inside. Climbing the the three sets of stairs, he coughed occasionally while stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, awkwardly hopping up each set of steps. When he made it to Frank's front door, he suddenly stopped, feeling a burst of nervousness again that, in the back of his mind, made him feel pathetic.

Before he had the opportunity to script out more of what he wanted to say, Frank's doorknob turned by itself and the door creaked open to the length of the chain lock keeping it closed. Gerard found himself staring blankly at the small space between the door and the door frame, before Frank's face materialized, fading into view, as if he was rising headfirst from underwater. Frank pressed his face forward until the edges of the space stopped him, suddenly reminding Gerard of his younger brother as an eight-year-old, lodging his head between two stairway railing bars, and needing their father to saw off the bars to free him from the vice.

Gerard stepped forward a bit as if to kiss Frank through the small space, but instead he just stood there, blankly confused as to why Frank wouldn't just open the door.

"The password is 'bacon' for future reference," Frank stated, and Gerard could vaguely see him struggling to keep a straight face.

"Why bacon?" Gerard questioned, his eyes shifting awkwardly, staying bent over as if they were discussing a top secret, governmental matter. He felt like he was ten years old again, making forts and clubs with secret passwords and membership rules.

"Because, who would think of bacon?" Frank's face responded, suddenly disappearing from the space in the doorway, before being replaced by his hands. The chain lock jiggled as Frank unlocked it, swinging it open.

"That makes sense I guess--oh, Jesus--"

Frank's arm lunging forward and grabbing a hold of the collar of Gerard's coat caught Gerard off guard, as Frank dragged Gerard inside with a strength Gerard didn't know he was capable of. Once Gerard entered into that warm atmosphere, the scent of pot and air freshener welcoming him in, he was pushed against the door as it was closed, Frank's short body attaching to his like an invisible magnet force.

Frank's hands found the sides of Gerard's head, his fingers combing into Gerard's hair as he suddenly kissed Gerard in a shockingly tender and much softer way. Gerard still felt jumpy by Frank's roughness but calmed down instantly when Frank's hands slid slowly down his neck to rest on his chest. When he pulled away from the kiss, he kept his face close to Gerard's, their noses pressing together.

"Nice to see you too," Gerard said raspy and weak, not knowing how else to respond. He saw Frank's eyes close while a sly smirk crept onto his lips.

"I thought you'd like a proper greeting," Frank said, dropping his hands to his sides lazily whole stepping backward. He rotated his body and slapped a hand to the wall, lightly running his fingers over it for direction, making it into the small kitchenette.

"Sorry my place is such a dump," Frank yelled from the kitchen, as pouring and clinking sounds began to echo out. Gerard shifted his weight from foot to foot, kicking lightly at a random Transformers action figure left on the floor. Gerard almost laughed aloud, but stopped himself, chuckling inwardly instead as he thought of his own shithole he called an apartment.

"I keep wanting to clean, but Carlos keeps distracting me," Frank finished. He came through into the living room again, holding two mugs of coffee, offering one to Gerard. Gerard took the mug and muttered a thank you, even if he would have secretly preferred a shot of liquor at that moment. He brought the mug up to his lips but stopped himself once it occurred to him in his head that he had no idea what Frank was talking about.

"Carlos?" Gerard questioned, watching Frank sit down on his couch next to an acoustic guitar, and lazily drink his coffee in a slumped position Gerard didn't think Frank would ever be in. Something about Frank looking abnormally, randomly tired, only made Gerard's stomach twist even more, thinking maybe he would be asking too much of Frank at that point, even if he had no idea what was making Frank appear so lethargic.

"Oh, yeah, the dog's name is Carlos," Frank smiled lightly as he leaned forward to set his cup down on the coffee table. He reached lazily towards the guitar next to him and adjusted it down on his lap, his fingers running over the neck, the pegs, the strings. Gerard thought that he might start to just play, and felt a weird sense of excitement, but he began to tune it instead, light plucking noises with no tune or melody sounding from beneath his fingers.

"Or, well, I figured he needed a name," Frank added, his features contorting into odd and twisted expressions of concentration, as he listened carefully to each string. Gerard watched him like this for a short while, oddly mesmerized by Frank's ability to tune his instrument, so precise and effortless. He found himself smiling when Frank concluded his tuning with a quick couple of chords, pitching out a brief melody that might have been Jefferson Airplane.

"Did you wanna go to the movies, or something?" Frank asked, lightly playing some improvised tune as he spoke, too lightly for it to impede the sounds of their voices.

"Oh, um..." Gerard suddenly shuffled his feet, nervously aware now that he would have to get to the point. Suddenly he felt stupid, pointless just standing there. "Actually, I wanted to...ask you something, like a favor, but...well not really a favor, but..."

Gerard looked everywhere around the room other than where Frank sat, as if it were possible for him and Frank to actually make real eye contact. When he finally looked back over at Frank, he saw Frank rotate his head to the side, looking in Gerard's direction with an unsure, somewhat confused expression. Suddenly he smirked, and Gerard could sense already that he was about to get teased.

"Look, Frank, I..." Gerard stopped himself, feeling stupid again for being so nervous. In the back of his mind, his idea didn't even seem like a big deal, but he had been chronic worrier his entire life, exaggerating expectations, always counting on the worst to happen.

"Are you trying to ask me to go to Prom with you, Gee?" Frank asked teasingly, sarcastically. Gerard looked at him blankly, only paying attention to the fact that he couldn't remember anyone calling him 'Gee' in years. Gerard blinked, and looked at Frank, poker-faced, but feeling stupid for always somehow stepping into Franks traps.

"No...Sorry," Gerard responded lowly, as he usually did to Frank playing with him. Frank just continued to smirk, while going back to his guitar. Gerard lowered his head to scuff his feet on the ground, going over words in his head.

"Are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?" Gerard finally asked, quickly, shyly, lifting up his head.

Frank raised his head from his guitar with an arched eyebrow, his fingers slowing down, in thought.

"Well..." Frank started, making a slight shrugging motion. "I might be, I mean..."

Gerard's shoulders began to sink, knowing already that he would have to go alone before Frank even finished his sentence.

"I might have to go out to dinner with all these people just lining up to see me," Frank said, beginning to smile smugly' before letting out a soft scuff. "You know, all these other boyfriends and friends I have. I probably never told you, but I’m pretty popular on this side of town."

Gerard's mind began to change as he could sense the obvious sarcasm in Frank's voice. At the same time, he was almost surprised at hearing Frank be so self-deprecating.

Frank chuckled almost silently before suddenly swatting the cushion next to him.

"Come sit down, I wanna kiss you," Frank said, placing his guitar on the floor underneath the coffee table. Gerard stuffed his hands I to his pockets and made his way over to the couch, falling down onto it tiredly, as Frank moved inward to kiss his cheek.

"Why do you ask?" Frank questioned, and the warmness in his voice at least helped ease Gerard a little bit.

"I'm just asking because I want you to spend Thanksgiving with me...?" Gerard finally stated, almost feeling a weight come off his chest. Instantly he could hear his own words rewind and replay in his head, and he overanalyzed everything, worrying that he spoke too fast, or sounded stupid. "In New Jersey," he added awkwardly.

Gerard felt Frank's lips disconnect and fall back, and before he even looked at Frank, he could sense that uncomfortable stare. A silence suddenly draped over both of them, settling down in a way Gerard thought he could feel on his skin.

"I know we haven't known each other for that long...god, that sounds so cliché, I know." Gerard found himself burying his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair, hating himself. From behind his palms, which had become sweaty, he listened for a response, a laugh, or maybe even an exclamation, but he heard nothing.

"I'm sorry," Gerard spoke up, lifting his face from his hands. He listened to a second of silence before he realized all the mistakes he thought he made, all the things he didn't think through. He opened his mouth to start babbling away excuses to then leave before Frank cut him off before he could even open his mouth.

"There you go again, apologizing," Frank said. Gerard could hear a smile in his voice. Gerard placed his hands on his thighs, and stared down at them, finding the burn mark on his palm once again. Instinctually, he almost opened his mouth to apologize, before he realized the irony of it, apologizing for apologizing.

"I just...thought maybe I could use some company...?" Gerard said lightly. "I mean, I'd totally understand if you said no, I mean-"

Gerard cut himself off at the feeling of Frank's finger suddenly on his lips, effortlessly silencing him. His eyes traveled over to Frank, who had a small smirk on his lips.

"Stop," Frank said simply, unusually soft, before, "When do we leave?"

Gerard blinked, thinking for a moment that Frank somehow misunderstood him, that this was too easy and he was supposed to walk out of Frank's apartment disappointed and alone. Most of his inner battles were not this quick or successful. Something felt out of place or pattern, missing.

"Wait, you..." Gerard started, his voice trailing off, unsure, after Frank finally put down his finger. "No, I don't think you get-"

"No, I want to," Frank asserted, pausing. "Go with you to Jersey, I mean," he finished. "I get it."

Gerard felt a sensation of odd excitement in his stomach, like a small child hearing his parents agreeing to buy him a puppy.

"I...okay," Gerard said almost speechless. All the scenarios Gerard planned in his head of Frank rejecting him, even becoming paranoid that Gerard was too clingy, planning ahead in their relationship so much that Frank would be suspicious of Gerard being a stalker or a serial killer; every worry he had somehow washed away in that moment, and Gerard was once again reminded of how accepting Frank was, and how he didn't think he would ever meet somebody quite as open-minded for the rest of his life.

"When do we leave?" Frank repeated himself, sitting back on the couch and curling his knees to his chest, taking his coffee cup and sipping it quietly, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Uh..." Gerard murmured, suddenly filling with dread again. "Today...?"

He looked at Frank sipping his coffee, and freezing mid-sip, his head almost jerking back, caught off guard by the suddenness of it all.

"I-" Gerard began again, thinking Frank would start to change his mind now, complain that Gerard didn't give him enough time in advance to pack, to plan. "I...should...explain something."

Frank fell into a silence as Gerard suddenly stopped himself. An abrupt series of memories blinked in his mind, the phone call, his father's voice, and a random image of his mother's face in a bathroom mirror, her thin hand rubbing a strip of fog away, to reveal Gerard standing behind her.

It suddenly occurred to him how secret this all was, how quick it had all happened and how nobody other than Bob knew about it yet. He assumed, of course, that his brother knew; he was probably also at the funeral, unlike Gerard. Frank, however, wasn't family. He would be completely oblivious to the entire situation, and Gerard instantly worried if it would be too disturbing, too open and gushing to just tell Frank the truth. Gerard opened and closed his mouth several times, thinking he should have just kept his mouth shut, made the entire situation out to be like a normal invitation. Maybe Frank would have never figured it out, never realized that Gerard's entire small family was in the midst of their mother's death. But even that seemed highly unlikely. Her funeral had only occurred just hours before, Gerard thought of, in an afterthought.

"You want to leave like, now? Like, right now?" Frank said, sounding more flabbergasted that Gerard thought he would ever be.

"Well, no, it's not like that," Gerard said, trying to find the words to explain. "I just..."

"Are you trying to like, run from the cops or something?" Frank asked jokingly, slight laughter coming through in his voice. Gerard continued to stumble around, looking for words in his mind, while he made flailing, stupid motions with his hands as if to say 'No, just hold on a minute'.

"Why?" Frank interjected. Gerard listened for hints of annoyance in his voice, but only found mere astonishment and some confusion. The lack of negativity with Frank did make Gerard feel somewhat more comfortable, thinking then that maybe Frank would be accepting, even wanting to help, if he only knew what the real situation was.

Gerard stopped himself trailing off into silence before letting out a sigh.

"I haven't spoken to my dad in four years," Gerard admitted suddenly, simply, lightly, but solemnly.

When both he and Frank fell into a silence, Gerard found himself staring hard at the coffee table, an invisible weight suddenly draping over his entire body. Instantly he regretted saying anything, regretted even coming over, suddenly thinking of every embarrassing thing he'd ever done. He wished he had the courage to get up and leave right then, get on the road, drive to Jersey and deal with it all alone. But a weight kept him down, staring at his hands, feeling embarrassed, as if he had confessed his love to somebody who didn't at all love him back.

"And my mom just died."

The silence that came from Frank seemed almost supernatural compared to his normal liveliness, and it sent a chill up Gerard's spine. As soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed to feel empty, numb, before a sensation of weight, of coldness, ran through him. His stomach seemed to lurch while his wrists felt lifeless, and he imagined the blood in his veins draining out and drying up.

The word dead fell into his mind like a rusted nail dropping to the floor, a hot-white sharpness against a feeling of rust and dead, grinding metal. It seemed to repeat in his head as an unconscious echo, making his skin feel tighter, heavier with every repetition. It didn't feel real to him, just then, but felt like something distant and fictional; on a television screen but not actually happening. It couldn't have been real. In his mind he could only remember his mother alive, an empty, solemn woman's face always staring down at him, a bony but warm hand tucking his hair behind his ear for him. He felt if he couldn't picture her like anything else other than alive, than it was impossible for her to actually be dead.

"Oh," Frank's voice punctured the atmosphere finally, but with a surprisingly soft tone.

She was dead; Gerard seemed to realize only on some sort of superficial, unreal level. He couldn't seem to accept it fully, register it into his brain, but he repeated the phrase in his head anyway, unable to stop his own disturbed thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank's hand appeared and in an afterthought, it occurred to Gerard how unsettling this must have been for Frank.

"I'm sorry," he muttered again, yet there was more of a genuine, deeply hurting guilt apparent in his voice, rather than empty embarrassment. He looked at Frank, who had seemed to be staring at the coffee table as well, his lips transfixed into a silent mid-sentence position. Gerard saw his eyes begin to slide in his direction, as he stayed silent, even against one of Gerard's constant droning apologies.

"I'm sorry I just...dumped all that on you," Gerard said lowly, wanting to bury his face in his hands and die. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, already making the motions to stand up and go. "I'll just...go now."

Upon standing up, he felt his legs tingle, numb enough for him to have to force himself to move forward. But before he could take his first step, he felt Frank's hand shoot up, palm whatever it touched first, then grab a more distinct grip on Gerard's belt buckle, keeping him firmly in place.

"Stop," Frank affirmed, his head staying strangely lowered. Gerard froze, caught off guard by the serious, firm tone, almost stumbling from Frank's leash-grip on his belt.

Slowly turning his head down to Frank, Gerard felt almost afraid, waiting obediently for another command.

"Just stay," Frank finally said lowly, lightly, tugging softly at his belt to get Gerard to sit back down. Taking his seat back on the couch, Gerard felt himself squirm, unsure of what to do with himself.

For a moment that seemed to stretch into hours in Gerard's brain, he sat with Frank like that, Frank's hand still gripping the back of his pants. Gerard found Frank's eyes with his own and was unable to look away, seeing so much unspoken words in his small, unseeing gaze. As Gerard tried to decipher this look in his mind, tried to put sense to it, he felt Frank's grip finally release, as his warm palm found the top of Gerard's hand. Gripping Gerard's fingers, Frank eventually interlaced his fingers with Gerard's, allowing them to sit there in a silence with a gesture that spoke to Gerard exactly how much Frank cared, without ever opening his mouth. Whenever Gerard felt the subtle squeeze of his hand in Frank's, he made a point to squeeze back, as they spoke only through their fingers.

"Your dad is in...Jersey?" Frank responded slowly, soothingly breaking their silence.

"Yeah," Gerard said lowly. "We..."

"Don't talk," Frank calmly finished his sentence for him.

"I just thought maybe I could use this Thanksgiving as a chance to...I don't know..." Gerard searched his brain for a sort of phrase to use, something that felt fitting until he realized maybe his reasoning wasn't exactly cut and dried.

"...Just see them again?" he finally decided was maybe the best fit, however unsophisticated and simple it was.

Frank's lips curved into what could have been a smirk, as he slightly nodded his head in understanding, and Gerard felt like he could grab Frank and kiss him right then and there. Instead he did as he usually did and just smiled internally to himself.

"Well," Frank started, lowly, a small smirk sliding onto his lips. His hand disconnected from Gerard's finally to settle on the cushion by his sides, as he prepared to stand up. "Sounds like we need to go to Jersey."

A real, wide grin appeared on Gerard's face as Frank rose from the couch to stand directly in front of Gerard's knees. Gerard looked up at him for a quiet moment before he suddenly leaned down to plant a slow kiss on Gerard's forehead. A warmth ran through Gerard, rekindling his muscles, his arms, filling him with a certain joy that felt vaguely like love.

Outside of Frank's apartment, Gerard stood at the trunk of his sad-looking car, bringing his bags and clothes from the backseat into it. He watched his breath come out in tufts of clouds quickly fading into the air, as the sound of Frank's apartment front door slamming came a small distance away.

Leaning over and gripping the edge of his trunk for support, Gerard struggled for breath after lugging everything inside and maneuvering it all to fit. As he strained his neck leaning over, the back of his neck became exposed from underneath his black collar, and soft but freezing snowflakes pricked his skin. Slapping a hand to the back of his neck, he rubbed at his neck to warm it or dry it, as Frank suddenly materialized next to him, a duffel bag strapped over his shoulder, and a guitar case held in one of his hands. Gerard found himself staring down at the guitar, almost asking why he was bringing it, before he remembered the all-encompassing answer to everything: It was Frank.

"Music?" Gerard said, not sure what else to say. "I mean, you're bringing that with you?"

"Always," Frank answered like it was so routine and absolutely necessary. The guitar case knocked softly against his leg as he stood there, his shoulders lopsided by the uneven weight on both of his sides.

"Okay," Gerard said after a beat of silence, shrugging his shoulders and deciding not to question it.

"Can't go anywhere without it," Frank chimed, expertly lifting it and holding it out in Gerard's direction for Gerard to put it away. Gerard watched as Frank scraped his cane along the edge of the sidewalk, effortlessly finding the door handle and jumping inside. As soon as Gerard locked himself inside, he made habitual movements to adjust himself, his mirrors, before finally looking over at Frank who had already been sitting cross-legged, contently drumming his fingers on his knees to a constant tune that played in only his head.

Seeing Frank's apartment come into focus behind Frank's head, Gerard noticed the dog still sitting on Frank's stoop in the distance, it's head now perked up, staring back at Gerard with a disturbingly human expression. As soon as Gerard noticed this, he felt a hint of sadness towards the animal, knowing how much it seemed to love Frank, and now had to watch Frank drive away, unaware that Frank would eventually return. For a moment, the dog stayed like this, and very slowly, it brought back an image of himself, of something else, something long gone--

A small, young boy standing on the steps to the porch of his childhood home, holding his even younger brother's toddler hand. They watched with sadness, an older man, a man the boy was inexplicably terrified of, taking his mother's hand and leading her into the back of a taxi cab waiting on the curb, closing her door and ushering her away. The man would walk back up the sidewalk leading to their front door and place his chubby, wrinkled hands on each boy's shoulder, his small glasses slipping to the end of his nose.

"Your mother just needs some rest, that's all. She's going to a special hospital and before you know it, she'll be home and better again. She'll miss you both very much, but she won't be gone forever."

And the boy kept a stern frown on his face, refusing to look the man in the eye, squeezing his brother's hand as the taxi became a yellow, disappearing dot in a sea of trees and suburbia.

Blinking, Gerard's eyes found the profile of Frank's face again, a silhouette against the white of the silent snow, reminding Gerard of an antique Victorian portrait, and he watched as Frank's head slowly turned in Gerard's direction.

"You okay?" Frank asked lowly. The tone of his voice was oddly comforting, like a long time friend who knew him so well he could always read his mind and feelings without effort.

When Gerard glimpsed back at the stoop, he saw it was now empty, Carlos having disappeared, perhaps, Gerard thought, to a second home on a different stoop.

"What about your dog?" Gerard said lightly, irrelevantly, feeling somewhat dazed.

For a moment Frank stayed still, looking almost confused, before briefly turning his head over to the now empty staircase, slowly understanding.

"Oh, he'll be okay," Frank said calmly. "He knows I'm there for him."

Something about Frank's wording warmed a part of Gerard's heart, reminding him of a good, trusting father. He let a small smile form, before turning back to the front of the car, finally jangling his car keys into the ignition.

"Okay," Gerard said, talking to himself.

"Let's do this shit," Frank added, perking up in his seat, nearly slapping his palms to his knees.

Gerard heard himself chuckle silently, before sighing to himself.

"Let's do this shit," he concurred lowly, starting up his car and leading them away.

Gerard wasn't sure how to describe what he felt as he passed by several buildings he already recognized, leaving his neighborhood for the first time in many long years. A dismal array of vacant, emptied stores, dusty and airless through the dirty display windows, old restaurants, run down apartments, the occasional glow of a television through a window, slumped figures leaning over balcony railings to smoke--everything covered in an invisible sense of gray, everything seemingly silenced and tamed by the winter wind. Making his way onto the highway, he could see a tiny Statue of Liberty jutting out of the ocean, a chessboard set of skyscrapers piled together on the tail end of Manhattan. Looking at it from just a glimpse gave him an odd feeling of sadness, having not seen New York from that much of a distance in a long time.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Frank relaxed back, his head turned at just the right angle so that it seemed they were both seeing the same thing, Manhattan, the ocean, ferries, and skyscrapers all shrinking into the distance as Gerard made his way closer to what he used to consider home. Seeing it like that made Gerard's heart warm somewhat, as he imagined maybe Frank was in the same world, trapped in the city, in the people, towered over by encasing skyscrapers, hidden from the reality of the world by his blindness. He imagined them both now, riding into some kind of horizon or world of melancholic freedom. Speeding on the highway, the 'Leaving Brooklyn: Fuhgeddaboudit' sign flashed past his vision, before disappearing behind them, then disappearing completely.

Driving past other cars, passing through other boroughs, they drove in silence, Gerard paying quiet attention to everything around him, feeling as if he really had not seen it all in years. Maybe he really even hadn't. It seemed hard to tell if all the years he lived in that small apartment, seemed to melt into each other after too long; a gray-white, marbled existence. He drove and drove and drove.

"Do you ever feel like you don't exist?"

Gerard's eyes found the gas meter, and he wondered if he should at one point stop for gas when Frank's voice appeared beside him. Around him, a light snow was beginning to fall, coating already white branches and tree tops around the area he had gotten to outside of the city. He could somehow remember this was the same route he took going to the city when he had moved there for art school; just him and his bags and supplies, driving alone to the first apartment he would ever have of his own. Gerard quickly turned his head to Frank and back to the road, thinking Frank didn't even have a clue.

"How so?" Gerard decided to answer it with another question, taking a hand off the steering wheel to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Just in any way," Frank said, lightly, pulling the headphones he had been using down to his neck and shoulders.

Gerard blinked, still not sure how to answer. He knew the answer was yes, but he couldn't find a way to put it into words. He thought back to his apartment, his cigarettes, Bob's unhappy reflection in mirrors oddly resembling his own. He remembered dismal moments, sitting at his drawing board, pencil in hand, a lone light shining down on his paper in the corner of his dark studio in the middle of the night; drawing, erasing, a cigarette drooping between his lips, flipping through coffee ring-stained pages of the comic book script that he was meant to bring to life.

"Sometimes," Gerard answered lowly, almost flatly, glancing over at Frank again. "Sometimes it feels like that, yeah."

"Hm," was Frank's only response, making a simple, thoughtful noise, scratching absentmindedly at his face.

Gerard looked back at the road, before glancing at his gas again. It didn't occur to him how strange such question was, coming from Frank, until a moment later, and instantly he began to worry that something was wrong.

"I feel like that sometimes," Frank said, his head turned in the direction of the window, his face hidden from Gerard's view. Gerard found himself glancing over at Frank more frequently. The sound of his voice was low but calm, casual, and Gerard wondered if this was just another moment of Frank's sudden, inexplicable curiosity.

Frank kept his head turned for a moment longer before finally swooping back over to Gerard, a sudden, strange but relieving and livening smirk on his face.

"Just thought I'd break the silence, is all," he said, his mood coming back to the usual contentment.

Gerard glanced at Frank once more, a feeling in his heart spark, feeling better.

"Oh," he murmured simply, catching himself chuckle. When he looked back at the road and saw small buildings, lights, civilization, he made the decision to stop for gas.

Pulling into a gas station parking lot, surrounded by fast food joints and outlet malls, everything a strange shade of beige--the color of modern demise, Gerard thought, irrelevantly-- Frank hopped out of the car smoothly, quickly, looking excited, grabbing his cane and smacking it to the ground.

"Gotta pee," Frank stated, shooting Gerard a quick smile, before making his way over to the Quick Stop.

Gerard stood in the parking lot, leaning tiredly, blank-faced, against his car door, listening to the sound of gasoline flowing through the pump into his tank. He took occasional glances towards the station, trying to see if Frank was on his way out, before standing up straight to walk around aimlessly, while his mind reeled.

As soon as Frank had disappeared into the station, Gerard had reached inside of his pocket for his wallet, but felt the soft, small bag of coke instead, sitting silently underneath his fingertips. He froze when he felt it, having almost completely forgotten he had brought it in all of his nervousness. The feeling of it gave him a recognized feeling of comfort, the way he felt whenever Bob handed him a new bag for free, when he finally had it in his grasp.

However, the thought of remembering it was there, knowing he had it with him, gave him a sudden electric volt of guilt. Taking another quick glance over at the station and convenience store inside, it hadn't occurred to him right up until that moment that if he was going to snort it would be around Frank. He wasn't even sure how Frank felt about anything like that, and Gerard felt strangely guilty carrying drugs around him. For a minute, he even wondered what had made him bring it in the first place, if he was thinking straight, if he was still high. When he remembered back to that morning, he suddenly remembered the call again, his father's voice, that loneliness. Looking up at the highway he had pulled off to get gas, he suddenly felt extremely alone in the world, surrounded by cars flying by, blinking neon commerce and strangers.

In that moment, the reality of what he was doing finally set in, as if he suddenly remembered something awful,l bone-chilling. A hand of wind gripped his hair once more and strew it across his paled face, but he stood, frozen in the cold parking lot, suddenly full of dread, terror, too much to pull it away.

Right up until that moment he had been caught up in the excitement, the anger he brought upon himself, the anxiousness to set things right, that he had completely overlooked, ignored, how terrified he was of actually seeing them all again.

A glimpse of the last time he saw his father flared in his mind like a small flame on the tip of a match igniting but quickly dying soon afterward--standing in a doorway, almost a silhouette, watching Gerard silently as he dragged a suitcase out the front door; his father watching him, wordlessly, grimly, almost angrily, before turning around without a goodbye just as Gerard entered the door frame, then left the house for the last time, without a sound. Before that, bits and flecks of screaming, arguments, things Gerard had since pushed to the very back of his mind, covered with a sheet sewn of vodka and cigarettes.

Instantly, he Felt like he might vomit, and an electric shock ran through his legs that made him want to just stand up and run away.

The sound of one of his car doors opening suddenly came up behind him and he spun around to see Frank placing his hand on the roof of the car to find his way inside.

"Got you chips," Frank said dully, before disappearing beneath the roof and into the passenger seat, so casual, oblivious. Gerard blinked and in an after thought, remembered he was getting gas, and that he could no longer hear the gas running. Replacing the pump back, he took one last look around at the urban sprawl, breathing in deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself.

"Alright, vamanos," Frank said, sounding chipper, as soon as he'd settled into his seat.

Gerard sat silently in his seat, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel. He wanted to change his mind, turn around, go back to being alone in his apartment, living in a city of millions, but still just a ghost, to return to the life he built inside of his box, alone with his thoughts. Suddenly the bag in his coat pocket felt heavy, as if the powder had morphed into a hunk of granite, a constant reminder of what he wanted, what he was. He felt unable to move, his skin grown heavier, suffocating his entire body, keeping him down. He thought of his father once more, and his brother as well. He remembered, inexplicably, a flicker of a moment--sitting on the bathroom floor, underneath the porcelain sink, hands clutched to his ears, eyes squeezed shut, a yelling voice puncturing through the locked door, the doorknob juggling, banging on the walls, demanding for him to come out.

"Gerard?"

The touch of a hand on Gerard's thigh seem to fill him with at least a spark of life again, as Gerard's eyes found Frank's hand on his leg, sitting soft and calming.

Instantly a rush of the sounds around them entered back into his mind, as he blinked and turned to Frank who sat silent but wordlessly concerned, quietly caring.

"You don't...have to do this, you know," Frank told him lowly. Gerard could feel Frank's hand on his thigh, the softest squeeze of reassurance, the light tracing of his thumb rubbing against his jeans. It felt unfamiliar, the touch, like he had never had any human contact, any passion, had never been caressed. He knew this wasn't true, but it still felt distant, some sort of small light of happiness flickering before burning out into some small, lost piece of the past.

"I don't talk to my folks either, I mean, I haven't either, for a while, I mean, I get it, I know it's hard and you can just go home..." Frank began to ramble but kept his voice at the low pitch that made Gerard want to hold Frank to his heart.

"We're not that far from New York, I don't think, we can still go back," Frank continued, keeping his hand on Gerard's leg, which Gerard was growing increasingly thankful for with each passing second. Gerard almost felt a relief at Frank's words, but almost instantly he remembered everything that flew through his brain that morning, everything that drove him out of his cave.

Stop it he thought to himself. This is the last fucking time. Don't be such a pussy, just go. You can't go back. Just go.

"No," Gerard finally found a voice inside of himself, that struggled to reach the surface. He shook his head, swallowing his worry and doubt with all of his will power. "No, I..."

His voice trailed off as he struggled to find his words. Frank kept an unusual silence that felt to Gerard to be out of some sort of respect, while he moved his hand up to Gerard's shoulder.

"No, I have to do this," Gerard finally spoke, weakly, gazing down at Frank's fingers holding warmly onto his arm.

"If you're...sure," Frank said quietly, slowly lifting his hand from Gerard's shoulder.

"No, I just...have to, something has...something has to happen." He could hear an echo of himself back in his apartment with the small kitten next to him, his palm burning from his own stupidity.

Turning his head up finally, to look at Frank, he could see Frank's expression stay calm yet solemn, stern almost, an unusual difference from what Gerard was used to seeing.

"Okay," was all Frank responded with, quietly, but with a sound of understanding. Soon a smile appeared on his lips, as he nodded his head with a certain sureness and what almost felt like, to Gerard, excitement.

For a moment there was a comfortable silence between them, Gerard silently trying to breathe right. He turned his head to look at Frank, absentmindedly, but was stopped by the sudden blur of just plain Frank coming towards him. He almost flinched and involuntarily tried to move back, but the touch of Frank's hands on his cheeks, pulling his head in, and Frank's lips suddenly on his own, familiar, hot, alluring, pinned him down to his seat, filling up with that peculiar warmth again that Frank seemed to carry inside of him no matter where he went. Gerard's eyes fell shut as his eyebrows raised by Frank's sudden, inexplicable desire to kiss, and he fell into a brief moment of slumber, where he felt as if the only things that existed in that moment were just Frank, himself, and the touch of their lips together. He could vaguely hear Frank's breathing and could subtly feel Frank's fingers raking through his hair, as he kissed Gerard slowly, skillfully, beautifully; but most of his surroundings seemed to turn into an unfocused blur lost in the background, whenever Frank kissed him. When Frank finally disconnected, Gerard's eyes found his just an inch away, their noses pressing together while their lips stayed in a slow quiver, both of them stuck in a split second, unspoken moment of not knowing if they would continue kissing or not.

"...Wow," Gerard nearly whispered, feebly and softly. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Frank's hands clasp his ears before he planted another kiss on Gerard's cheek. He could see Frank grin, out of the corner of his eye, suddenly dipping his head down as he did.

When Frank let go of Gerard's head, he swiftly fell back into the passenger side seat, still grinning, curling his lips inward. Gerard found himself staring blankly at him, blinking, feeling dazed, now by a much better feeling of intimacy.

"...Okay," Gerard said slowly, confused yet oddly content.

"What?" Frank asked, sounding lightheartedly defensive.

The more Gerard looked at Frank's grin, the more it seemed contagious, spreading onto his own lips, creating a small, slow-curling smile, filling him with a certain feeling of companionship or trust.

"You just amaze me," Frank said calmly, making a fleeting 'so what?' motion with the whole upper half of his body. "That's all."

Gerard just grinned, suddenly finding the strength in him again to put the keys into the ignition and start up again. He took a hold of the steering wheel, taking several small glimpses at Frank, feeling as if it were somewhat magical how Frank seemed to come upon things so dirty, so lowly, so pathetic as the city, a homeless dog, and Gerard himself, and think of them as something beautiful, intricate, full of a light only he could see.

And for a single, fleeting moment, before pushing it to the back of his mind, starting up the engine and finding his way back to the highway, Gerard, wondered what Frank would really see if Gerard's face wasn't hidden from him.

Zooming down the highway, Gerard found himself recognizing more and more, yet still felt like it was all so far away from him. The sense of feeling like he hadn't been there since he was a child, seemed to amplify, the more he recognized his surroundings. It felt like trying to remember a lost friend from his childhood whom he could remember the face of, but completely forgotten the name, and now wondered as an adult what the friend had done with his life.

"Where do you live anyway?" Frank eventually asked a light, curious tone, tapping his knuckles silently against the window.

"Uh," Gerard paused, looking around as if to make out some sort of monument off the highway that would clue him into the name of the town they were passing through, before suddenly realizing, in an afterthought, he wasn't even thinking of the answer.

"Belleville," Gerard answered finally, almost feeling embarrassed, for no particular reason.

"Hmm," Frank hummed lightly, wonderingly, as his head tilted up, the back of his skull resting on the back of the chair, in thought. He began to make odd, quiet sound effects with his lips, and Gerard realized he was soundlessly singing some sort of improvised song.

"So," Frank began, smirking. "The childhood of Gerard Way..." His voice trailed off as he turned his head in Gerard's direction, smiling humorously, and Gerard was lost for words.

"A young lad running around the forest, barefoot, fishing out of the stream, shooting at birds with his homemade slingshot," Frank grinned and chuckled silently to himself. "Long hair billowing in the wind?"

Gerard blinked before his expression twisted into something in between confusion, a suppressed laugh, and utter disbelief.

"Uh..." Gerard murmured, tapping his fingers in the steering wheel before finally noticing the right exit to get off at. He lost track of Frank's words, as he finally made his way off the highway, a mixed feeling of strange excitement and terror flitting like hummingbird through his chest.

"Am I right?" Frank said, smiling, jokingly, tilting his head to the side.

"Uh..." Gerard responded again, mindlessly, but a short laugh coming through him then. "Not exactly."

Frank chuckled silently to himself, turning his head back to the window.

As Gerard finally made the turn on the street that entered into his old neighborhood, he suddenly, unconsciously slowed down before coming to a complete stop, right in the street. The roads before him and behind him seem to be mostly emptied, only some cars slowly churning through the cold on different streets. He sat there in the silence of the winter, just Frank beside him, as a soft snowfall began around them, miniscule snowflakes gliding downward onto his windshield and melting into small droplets before trickling away. He couldn't seem to move or force himself to go any further, as the image of the dark boxes of neighboring houses that lay behind ragged bunches of dead trees covered in a frosting-like layer of snow sent a haunting feel through his bones. He could see only occasional bits and flecks of contrast--red mailbox flags, green front doors. But anything that even remotely resembled life, appeared to be too overwhelmed by the dull cloud winter covered it all with, as if the color had been sucked out of the air, leaving nothing but the brown, gray, rusted remains.

Gerard found himself staring down the street, somehow managing to picture flashing glimpses of people who once walked down it--Parents picking up their children at the bus stop, silent wandering homeless men, Gerard himself, walking home from high school. Now in the winter, after what felt like a century, the street seemed to be devoid of humanity, the only signs of it being the cars parked parallel to the sidewalk, covered in layers of snow and ice, yellow New Jersey and the occasional blue and white New York plates frosted over.

"Are we...here?" Frank eventually asked, his abnormally quiet voice rippling through the silence. Gerard blinked, Frank's voice tugging him back to reality, and he glanced over at Frank, feeling nether of them belonged there. The neighborhood itself, right up before that very moment, seemed to only exist in Gerard's mind, in his memories. He felt as if Frank and himself actually being there, inhabiting that very place, made him feel as if they didn't belong, as if it were impossible or unacceptable for him to return.

"Yeah," Gerard answered quietly, feeling like his voice belonged to something else, like it were being controlled by a totally different entity. With a feeling of numbness coming through his arms and legs, Gerard found himself pushing back on the accelerator, driving forward, the black boxes of houses rushing past his peripheral vision, rushing back into his mind like a very unwanted, previously repressed memory of something embarrassing or hurtful from his childhood. With every house he passed, he felt a sense of cold water filling his lungs and stomach, making him want to vomit or even, spontaneously, cry. He stayed still, however, driving forward until he braked again, finally pulling over and turning the car off.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard could see Frank's head turning towards him, as he just now noticed the eerie silence that came from Frank's drumming fingers finally resting. Gerard stared ahead, seeing down the rest of the street, watching the road become smaller and smaller until it forged into a vanishing point, the houses and cars also turning into tinier, distant versions of themselves. Turning his eye ever so slightly, the mailbox came into view, a dulled, chipped, once-golden 69 screwed into the metal.

When Gerard finally turned his head to glance at Frank, the house came into view, and for the first time in five years, Gerard found himself, staring at the same front door, the same brick walls. When Gerard scanned the entire from of the house, feeling as if it were no longer his, as if an entirely different family had taken his place, he glimpsed back at the window just in time to eventually see the same face, peering out through the darkness within the house, through the slit of curtain pushed to the side, glasses sitting on the end of its nose, staring back with an expression much darker, more hateful, than the excited, loving one Gerard remembered waiting for him at the window every day as a child.