And He Is.

Gerard was thrashing on a cold tile floor. And the first he thing he saw was all the color and none of the movement.

The first thing he thought of was Frank.

The comic was clutched tight to his chest and Gerard jerked around to see who was watching.

The man who worked at the front counter of the cafe passed by him. Stopped, did a double take.

Gerard blinked around him and recognized the cafe, behind the counter, the cashier glaring at him.

"Vous! Que faites-vous? Êtes-vous l'homme qui n'a pas payé?" The man said angrily at him, shook a paper in his face, Gerard tried to focus on it.

Gerard tightened his grip on the comic pressed against his chest. It was his check.

"Qui pensez-vous que vous êtes? Vous ne pouvez pas sauter sur l'onglet." the man shook the check at him some more.

"I--I--" Gerard stuttered, and struggled to his feet. The comic crinkled under his hands and he pulled some bills out of his pocket, pushed them into the man's hands. He hoped it was enough. Hoped it was even the right kind of cash. Didn't really care.

Gerard pushed past him and rushed right by the rest of the eyes in the café that were set on him. He might have to find somewhere new after tonight.

It was dark now and rushing through the alleys back to his place, Gerard felt the burning from running around Frank’s little black and white fluttering world. His legs were shaky.

He tried to run home, but it was much slower without Frank tugging him along.

When Gerard was inside his shitty little apartment, he absently shrugged off his jacket at the door, letting it hit the ground, not getting to his room fast enough. It occurred to him and an offhanded, back-of-his-head kind of way that the hallway was a burgundy brown color and that had never mattered to Gerard either way before. Now he thought about how they did not move. They were so still.

Gerard flipped the light on to his room quickly, frantically pushed the comic onto his drafting desk-- smoothed it out best he could, and pushed many pages in, until he could see Frank.

Nothing was moving.

In one panel, Frank was crowded against a wall. He looked fierce.

There was a dangerous look in his black and white eyes that Gerard knew it would do no good against a wrench and a crowbar.

"Frank." he murmured, because his eyes skipped ahead a few panels, and Frank was out. He was on the ground and there was black trickling from his mouth. Gerard knew it would still be black if he were with Frank now-- but it was still blood. "Frank."

There was thump in the hallway that Gerard barely registered. And then the next was too loud for Gerard to ignore. He spun at it.

"Gerard." Frank grunted.

Frank was in the hall. He looked feverish-- sweaty and pale and hands bracing the walls. He swayed forward before groaning and falling against the wall.

"Frank!"

Frank groaned, half the noise sounding like frustration. He slammed his shoulder against the wall, hard. "Not how the story goes--" He said, pained. He was shimmering-- like the walls had in that other world. His big, cracked leather jacket slipped down his shoulders with the violent slamming, caught on his arms until he flung it away from him. And he slammed his other shoulder into the opposite wall-- threw himself against it, pushed it hard, uselessly. Frank's eyes caught blankly on Gerard's for just a short second. He dragged his nails down the wall and then he slammed against it harder. Frank was flickering-- black and white to the warm colors. He was all momentum-- more desperate sounds were coming from his throat and he shoved, eyes closed tight.

Gerard didn't know he was crying until he tried to say Frank's name again and it came out a snotty rasp in his throat. His hands were tugging at his hair uselessly.

Frank slammed violently once more and fell to the ground.

Gerard was on the ground in front of him in just a minute. He didn't know where to touch-- if he should. God, he wanted to. "Frank--"

Slowly, Frank panted, lifted his head.

He was a sweaty mess-- hair plastered to his face and chest heaving, but his eyes were that mossy green and they were calm. He didn’t flicker anymore and the shadows of his face didn’t dance. And his lips quirked up into a smile. “Pounded it out of me.” Frank told him breathlessly.

Gerard reached insistently to pull Frank into him, hand at the back of Frank's neck so that he could press his face in the curve under Frank's jaw. The skin was damp and solid and smelled like salt and Frank's heart beat pounded under it. His fingers fluttered at the back of Gerard's head. Frank’s voice was all breath. "Gerard."