Thin Ice (Bitter Kiss)

Their hands search each other and their lips dance as the fans scream the words of a punk song, to the beat of the pounding speakers on the stage.
But their minds hear only the thump of their own hearts as their bodies come closer, begging to be pressed together again.
The song ends slowly, fading away, and so does their kiss, in a sour attempt to make the moment last.
It never lasts long enough, but it's too much already.

The two men backstage pull away and look painfully into hazel eyes, holding the face dearest to them between shaking fingers.

“We'll make it work, we'll make it work...” Gerard promises, stroking a warm cheek urgently.

“You're such a fucking coward!” Frank spits, hurt evident in his eyes. “You're never gonna tell her, are you?”

“I can't, babe...” the red-haired man tries achingly, struggling to burn the tears that threaten to fall on his skin.

“You're just too much of a pussy to admit who you really are to your fans and the press,” the guitarist states for the last time, meaningless as he knows he can't keep fighting this battle already lost. “You think you can play with me like this? Gerard, do you think I like being nothing more than your dirty little secret? Oh, forget it. I don't know why I thought we could make it.”

He pushes off his lover and rips away from his embrace, heading to the changing rooms with a hope-drained sigh.

“Frank!” a voice cries out desperately, and Frank turns in anger.

“What? What is it?!” he yells, the sound half-covered by the next song Blink-182 starts playing.

Frantic, like a man trying to defuse a bomb seconds away from blowing, Gerard searches in vain for the words that could make him stay, that could stop him from walking away again.

“I'm sorry,” he apologizes finally, even though what he truly wants to say is the stupid, small sentence that would ruin them both. I love you...
Frank scoffs, shaking his head disappointingly as he steps toward the black door. His body leads the singer running to his love, whom he tries to pull in a final kiss that could show him just how much he cares. But before their lips touch and push Frank under a control he knows he is defenseless against, a hand rises to Gerard's face in a loud smacking noise that destroys the man's heart. He drops to his knees, in shock.

“Don't touch me, Gerard!” he hears, but doesn't dare look up. “Don't you get it? Every time I feel you, it just gets worse! Shit, I can't do this anymore. If I can't have you, Gerard, then I don't fucking want you.”
A door slams, and soon a chair in the changing room breaks under furious kicks.

“Frank...” a weak voice croaks out, as hands pull violently at Gerard's hair.

I'm such a fucking coward, he tells himself, feeling wet trails being traced deep on his cheeks. The water rolls down until he is dry, completely dry.

Onstage, Mark thanks the crowd for being there and making this an amazing show, while behind the curtains, hazel eyes meet again from afar. Frank throws his bag over his shoulder as he shuts the black door, staring in pain at the pitiful figure on the ground. He leaves without a second glance.

Gerard's wife comes in from the lounge room, a beer in hand. He gets on his feet and wipes his face, faking a good mood the best he can manage.

“Hey honey,” she greets him, smiling. It's too dark for her to notice the bloodshot eyes and broken heart that hide behind the empty cheerful mask. “You guys played an amazing show! Sorry I didn't tell you where I was hanging out... Were you waiting for me here?”

“Yeah,” he lies, wrapping his arms loosely around her.

“You're such a wonderful husband,” she whispers, kissing the side of his neck.

Such a fucking coward, such a fucking coward... the words repeat in his mind, taunting and torturing him without mercy. Such a fucking coward...

He knows he has to do it. He can't let it end that way. He just can't let them end.
He pulls away and takes a breath, knowing he is about to change his life, for the better and the worse.

“I'm gay.”