#19 - White
#19 - White
#19; White
"It's a good idea!" Ray protested. Gerard turned to Frank.
"Do you think it's a good idea?" he asked. Frank nodded his head enthusiastically.
"Fuck yeah!" he said.
"Then it's obviously not a good idea," Mikey said lazily, sipping his coffee.
"Fuck you, it's a perfectly valid idea," Gerard said.
"Valid, yes. Good? No," Mikey said.
"Why?" Ray demanded, hands on his hips. "Why not?"
"Because of the fans."
"What about them?" Gerard asked.
"Y'know," Mikey shrugged. "Stuff."
"How specific," Gerard said sarcastically. Mikey shrugged again, getting up from the couch.
"You'll regret it," he said. "Mark my words."
"It's not the fucking apocalypse, Jesus," Frank called to his retreating figure.
"Might as well be," Mikey said, and Ray shook his head.
"Melodramatic as fuck," Gerard said.
-
"This is a terrible idea," Frank moaned, holding his head in his hands. Gerard frowned.
"No backing out now," he said. Frank wandered off down the aisle, muttering about how they should have listened to Mikey.
"What's the difference between 'Ice White and Snow White?" Gerard called after him, looking at the two paint cans he was holding that seemed to be exactly the same colour.
"One was a prostitute for midgets, one's a nonexistant colour," Frank shouted back. Gerard wrinkled his nose, placing both cans back on the shelf.
"What the fuck is Charcoal White?" Frank demanded. "How is that even possible?"
"How can there be so many shades of white?" Gerard moaned. "It's not even a fucking colour."
"Dirty White," Frank said. "Who the fuck wants their walls painted in Dirty fucking White?"
"Crystallised Snowdrops?" Gerard asked in disbelief. "What the fuck is a snowdrop, let alone a crystallised one?"
"Can we just paint it like, red?" Frank asked, ambling back up the aisle to rest his head on Gerard's shoulder.
"If they have this many shades of white, imagine how bad actual colours are going to be," Gerard pointed out. Frank groaned.
"Pick a shade of white, buy twenty cans and let that be the end of it," he said. "I'm glad we got an apartment rather than a house."
-
"Gerard," Mikey said, and Gerard could hear Ray convulsing with laughter in the background. "Gee, you...have you seen the news?"
"No?" Gerard asked, motioning for Frank to put the paint on the wall, not on himself. "What is it?"
"Go look," Mikey said, and Gerard obediently hung up and traipsed to the bedroom which held his personal shit, rummaging around for his laptop. He flipped it open, and-
It was on the front page of the news.
'Frontman and guitarist move in together!' the headline screamed. 'Is their relationship more than just a friendly one?' Underneath was a videoclip. He clicked play, drumming his fingers on the keyboard impatiently as he waited for it to load. When it finally loaded, all that could be heard was a lot of static, but you could clearly see Frank and Gerard puzzling over the shades of white. Suddenly the sound cut back in, with a girl's high-pitched giggle as the camera moved closer.
"...glad we got an apartment rather than a house," Frank was saying, and Gerard was nodding fervently. Then the video cut out.
Shit.
-
"Frank," Gerard moaned, manouvering his way through all the boxes of Frank and Gerard's stuff. "Frankie."
"What?" Frank turned from where he was supposedly painting the wall, but more painting everything but the wall. His face was splattered with streaks of white, and he looked like a skunk with a white stripe in his hair where he'd obviously run his hand through it. He smiled brilliantly at Gerard, with the excitement of a young child opening their presents at Christmas. Gerard didn't really want to ruin his good mood - God knows Frank deserved his happiness.
"It's on the news."
"What's on the news?" Frank asked, throwing down his paintbrush and bounding over.
"Us. Moving in. Together." Gerard flailed a little. Flailing usually helped. Frank frowned.
"How?"
"Some fan filmed us, I don't know..." Gerard shrugged. Frank considered this for a moment, then shrugged right back at him.
"Is it a problem?" he asked.
"I just thought-" Gerard started.
"Is it embarrassing?" Frank asked in an injured tone, and Gerard shook his head fervently.
"No!" he said. "No, Frankie, you know it's not like that. I just thought, you know. They might get the wrong idea and. Well. You know."
"You're starting to sound like Billie Joe, the amount of times you say 'y'know'," Frank told him, shifting a box so he could move to pick up another can of paint. "Does it really bother you that much, people thinking we're gay? It's not like they don't think it alread- goddammit, fucking shit balls cocksucking fuck," he hissed, jumping around and clutching his toe. Gerard guessed he stubbed it.
"I'm not gay though," Gerard said once Frank had stopped his string of profanities, and Frank shrugged, walking back over to the wall with the paint.
"I am," he said, and Gerard gaped.
"Wait," he said. "Wait. Frank. You? You're- you?" Frank turned to him and rolled his eyes, hands on hips like a diva. That was Gerard's role.
"Yes," he said shortly. "Problem?"
Gerard opened his mouth, wanting to say no, who the fuck do you take me for?, but no sound came out, because Frank was gay.
"I see," Frank said, turning back to the wall and painting far more viciously than he had been before.
-
Holy shit. Frank was gay. Gay. Gerard had been kissing him onstage for years now, and Frank had never thought of telling him that?
It wasn't that he was homophobic - far from it. Sometimes, just sometimes, the kisses planted a little seed of doubt in his mind, and- no, no they didn't. He wasn't gay.
Gerard had just moved in with his best friend, bandmate and homosexual. Who he'd kissed. On stage. In front of thousands of people.
Well fucking done.
-
franks gay?? - g
did u not no? - m
no!!!! y did no 1 tell me? - g
evn RAY new, blindingly obvs w/the pink belt, grooming routine n the fact he kisses u onstage?? - m
dude thats just stage - g
4 u mayb - m
wat do u mean?? - g
mikey?? - g
fine fuck u mom nevr wanted u - g
no she told me 1ce that i ws planned cuz they didnt want u 2 b a loser...didnt rly work - m
im not a loser!! - g
gerard ur fat tht automaticly makes u a loser - m
wat abt frnk he was fat n ppl still liked him - g
ur only friends r me ray n frnk u read comics aged 27 u havent had a relationship in 4yrs and u only hav 6 contacts on ur fone face it ur a loser - m
i h8 u - g
-
"Frank," Gerard mumbled, seating himself at the counter. Frank turned his back on him. Gerard frowned. "Frank," he repeated, "Frankie." Frank continued to ignore Gerard, flitting around emptying cardboard boxes of crockery into the cupboards, piling everything high and neat.
"Frank?" Gerard said, louder this time. Frank turned to look at him.
"What?" he asked, exasperated.
"I just-" Gerard said, shrinking away. "Never mind."
"Surprised you'd condescend to talking to the faggot," Frank said snottily, and before Gerard's brain could think of a valid reply, he'd flounced out of the room.
-
"Frank," Gerard said the next day. "I think it was a mistake-"
"What was a mistake? Moving in together? I can move right back out. Don't want to live with a gay man?" Frank said, picking up his comic and making to leave the room.
"No!" Gerard spluttered. "What you thought I meant by-"
"Forget it," Frank said, voice harsh although his features had softened at Gerard's 'No!'.
-
he h8s me - g
pretty sure he dsnt - m
i pissd hm off - g
watd u do? - m
he tld me he ws gay, n i didnt say nythin - g
u dick - m
i wnted 2! my mouth wudnt work! - g
watevr ill talk 2 him - m
my savyr - g
-
The boxes were piled so high outside Gerard's bedroom that if he were a decade or two younger he'd be making cardboard fortresses out of them. He was slightly disappointed he was deemed 'too old' for that.
"We need to make a start on the boxes," Frank said, three days after the holy shit you're gay incident. Gerard nodded, internally breathing a sigh of relief, glad Frank was finally talking to him properly again. Mikey was a saviour.
"I think I'll, um, start. Now," Gerard clarified, grabbing the nearest box and holding it awkardly, not realising it was marked 'Iero'. Frank tutted and walked over to him, taking the box off him. In doing so, his hands covered Gerard's, and Gerard jumped, flinched away like he'd been shocked. Frank's hazel eyes grew cold.
"You can't catch 'faggot'," he said icily, stalking off in the direction of his room. By the time Gerard's brain had processed this, Frank's door had slammed shut and Black Flag were leaking out from his room. Gerard groaned, banging his head on the doorframe.
He was such a dick.
-
Gerard picked up the next thing from the fifth cardboard box half-heartedly. Wonderful. His childhood button collection. That could go. He tossed it in the 'Shit I Will Never Need Again' pile, and picked something else up. An armless Yoda figurine. Same pile.
The Misfits blasted out of his own stereo in order to drown out Frank's Black Flag, but Gerard wasn't in the mood for either. He wanted to mooch about not doing anything and wallow for a while, formulate decent apologies to Frank. What if he- oh God, what if he left the band? They wouldn't be able to function without him. Gerard wouldn't be able to face losing him as a friend either - or in fact, losing him in any way at all.
He stood up abruptly, ignoring everything that fell to the floor from his lap, and wrenched open the door, slithering through the maze of boxes to Frank's room (how did anyone own this much stuff, okay?). He had to talk to Frank, sort it out.
"Frank," he said, knocking on the door. Black Flag were silenced, and Gerard heard Frank's heavy breathing on the other side of the door. "Frank, I'm sorry, it wasn't like that, don't leave the band or...o-or me, I can't- I can't go on without you, and I'm not a homophobe, I swear, I'll even kiss you now to prove it-" and suddenly, the door was flung open and a Frank-sized figure tumbled into Gerard's arms, warm and familiar and safe.
"I'm sorry," Gerard murmured, stroking Frank's hair. "I'm not-"
"I know," Frank mumbled into his chest, sending odd but not altogether unpleasant vibrations through his torso. "I'm sorry." Gerard closed his eyes, a fucking tidal wave of relief washing over him. Frank wasn't mad.
"Shall we- shall we, um," Gerard didn't know what to suggest. His brain was still recovering from the fact that Frank was in his arms and he was warm and heavy and soft and familiar and Gerard never wanted to let him go.
"Mhmm," Frank murmured, nosing Gerard's chest through the thin fabric of his Iron Maiden shirt (or rather, Ray's Iron Maiden shirt). "Let's just, I don't know. Watch TV." Gerard could feel Frank's lips moving as he spoke, forming the words against his skin (practically), and he shivered involuntarily. He blamed it on the cold draught that was wafting in under the door, because it was. What else could it possibly be?
"Yes," Gerard agreed fervently, not wanting to sort through another box of shit. Frank led him through to the room they'd half-heartedly constructed into a sitting room - two couches, one small, one large, facing the TV. The large one was unusable, as Gerard had one tired night decided it would be a great idea to dump more of his shit on there.
"Fuck," Frank said, pulling a face at the cluttered room. "Clear it, then watch TV?" Gerard groaned, but nodded.
"Think of the long term," Frank said, flipping open a lid on a cardboard box.
-
"Gerard."
"Yes?"
"Do you really need-"
"Yes," Gerard said, snatching his first ever gig ticket out of Frank's hands.
-
"What about-"
"Don't touch that!" Gerard yelled, launching himself across the room to get between Frank and Gerard's paints before Frank got his grubby fingers on them. Frank looked surprised.
"Jeez, okay," he breathed, taken aback, turning away as Gerard cuddled the paints close to his chest. "Freak."
"Dick."
-
"And-"
"Yes!" Gerard said exasperatedly.
"You really want to keep this?" Frank said disdainfully, pinching a rancid sock between his forefinger and thumb.
"Oh," Gerard scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um, er. No, you can, um. Throw that, um, away."
"Thought so," Frank muttered, tossing it in a bin liner.
-
Three hours later, they'd cleared all the boxes in the front room, hallway and kitchen, and Gerard was tired as shit and craving a cigarette. Fuck that, twenty cigarettes.
"Can we stop?" he complained, throwing himself onto the large couch (now cleared of Gerard's artsy shit) stroppily. "I'm exhausted."
"How much have we got left to go?" Frank hummed.
"Bathroom, spare room and our rooms," Gerard said, counting the rooms on his fingers. "Can't we do it tomorrow?" he wheedled. Frank cocked his head to the side, gazing calculatingly at Gerard.
"Hmm," he said. "I suppose it's only three rooms..." Gerard brightened. "Fine, motherfucker, fine," Frank grumbled, flopping down on the couch so close to Gerard he was practically on top of him.
"Yes!" Gerard crowed, fumbling for the TV remote which had been right in front of him about thirty seconds ago.
"Where's the-"
"Between your legs, you dick," Frank said, reaching over and plucking it out. Gerard flushed, glad Frank was too small to see, and let Frank cuddle up to him.
It was cold. That was his excuse.
-
"Why's our apartment so white?" Frank demanded suddenly, the next day, after they'd sorted the rest of the boxes. Gerard thought he deserved a break, so he was drawing, but Frank was still buzzing with energy and didn't know what to do, was jumpy as shit. When he didn't have shows to play, he seemed lost as to what to do with himself.
Gerard looked up from his painting.
"Because white is easy on the eye?" he offered. "Because we were too confused by shades of white to brave shades of actual colours?"
"It's so boring," Frank huffed, turning to the corner. "Look! Even Pansy blends in!"
"Fucking Pansy," Gerard muttered, because even though she was broken and useless Frank looked after her.
"Her name's just 'Pansy'," Frank said primly, and Gerard giggled, hastily turning it into a cough when he recieved the infamous Iero glare.
"Well, I don't see-" Gerard was cut off by his phone ringing. He paused mid-sentence, seeing Mikey's caller ID on the screen, before hitting a button and putting the phone to his ear.
"What?" he asked.
"When's your housewarming?" Mikey's tinny voice came across the speakers. Gerard groaned.
"Why would we have a housewarming?" he asked exasperatedly, and Frank sniggered in the background.
"Because you want to welcome your dearest brother and your best friend to the home you two faggots share?"
"I'm not a faggot," Gerard frowned, his voice low so Frank would concentrate on the TV instead of him.
"Yes you are," Mikey said, sounding completely uninterested. "Twenty minutes. Ray'll bring some non-alcoholic wine or something."
"I didn't say you could-" Gerard tried to protest, but the line had already gone dead.
"Fucking Mikey," he grumbled, throwing himself on the couch. Frank looked up in interest.
"You're fucking Mikey?" he said, leaning forwards slightly. "Can I watch?" Gerard pulled a face.
"Dude, that's gross. He's my brother." Frank's face fell, and he shrugged. "Anyway, if I had to do someone in the band, it definitely wouldn't be him." Gerard wrinkled his nose. It still amazed him that anyone would do Mikey.
"Who would you fuck, then?" Frank asked. Gerard shrugged. You, his brain helpfully supplied.
"What about you?" he asked. Frank frowned.
"I asked first," he said childishly. Gerard rolled his eyes.
"I'm older than you," he said, equally childishly. "Tell me."
"No," Frank pouted, and Gerard found himself zeroing in on Frank's gorgeous lips. Wait, what the fuck? No. He shook his head. No.
"Answer me," Frank whined, scooching closer to Gerard and staring at him with puppy eyes. He blinked once, and Gerard growled, because Frank knew his weaknesses. Frank's lips hitched in a slight smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously, and he clambered onto Gerard's lap, straddling him.
"I bet it would be me," he said in a low, husky voice. Gerard's eyes widened in shock. What the fuck was Frank doing?
"I-" he started, but Frank cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. He rested his forehead against Gerard's, bangs falling into his face, and smirked.
"It totally would be me," he said. "You'd do me."
"You're too small," Gerard tried to protest, but Frank shifted in his lap and no, no, that was not fair, Frank was right on top of his dick and there was friction. Gerard inhaled sharply, and Frank's eyes glittered with triumph.
"See," he said smugly. "It would be me."
"That's not fair," Gerard tried to say, but it came out garbled as Frank shifted slightly again. This wasn't happening. He was not going to get hard with his best friend on top of him. He refused to.
"Isn't it?" Frank smiled wickedly. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," Gerard blurted before he'd even had time to process it. "I mean, yes, yes, what the fuck, get off, get off." He shoved Frank, who tumbled ungracefully to the floor and sat up on his knees.
"Still want to deny your sexuality?" Mikey's amused voice sounded from the doorway, and Gerard wondered what he had ever done to piss off the world enough for Mikey to walk in at that precise moment.
"Who's denying their sexuality?" Ray asked from the hallway.
"Gerard," Frank and Mikey said at the same time, and Gerard glowered at each of them in turn, grabbing a cushion and placing it conveniently in front of his crotch. He hated his dick. Betraying him like that. He wasn't even gay.
"Is he saying he's straight again?" Ray sounded bored.
"I am," Gerard said, outraged.
"No you're not," the other three said, and Gerard flipped Mikey and Frank off. He wanted to stomp out of the room dramatically, but certain things made that impossible.
"For Christ's sake," Mikey moaned, rolling his eyes. "Just- just go deal with it, Gerard, and be fucking quick." Gerard stood up, ignoring Frank's pointed little giggle, and hurried to the bathroom, still with the cushion. Ray glanced at him in surprise as he walked past, and Gerard took the opportunity to flip him off too, the bastard.
He didn't think once about Frank when he was jerking off.
-
"You're a dick, Mikey," Gerard said through a mouthful of potato. "You- no. You can't even say that."
"I just did," Mikey pointed out, pushing his beans around his plate in an effort to get them on his fork.
"You fucked Pete Wentz, so everything you say is invalid," Gerard stated. Mikey scowled at him as Ray's face fell.
"That was before," he said, and Ray brightened again.
"I fucked you," Frank said, pointing at Mikey with his knife. Gerard stared at each of them in turn.
"Frank?" he asked in disbelief. "You fucked- what the fuck?" Mikey shrugged.
"It was back when he was in Pencey," he said dismissively, devouring a potato.
"Was that when I was fucking Bob?" Ray asked with interest.
"No, that was after," Mikey frowned calculatingly. "You were- no, you were fucking...who were you fucking?"
"I think it might have been Patrick?" Frank interjected, and Mikey's face cleared as he nodded.
"Oh yeah, Bob was after Patrick," Ray said.
"Bob was when I was fucking Patrick, I'm sure," Frank said.
"No, Bob was when you were fucking-"
"Guys," Gerard said, covering his ears. "I don't want to hear this." Frank shrugged.
"Don't listen, then," he said, and Gerard rolled his eyes, scraping his chair back and heading into his room.
"-when I was fucking Bob and Ray at the same time?" he heard Frank ask, and he growled, slamming the door and turning up his music.
He hadn't minded them discussing Ray's sex life. Mikey's had grossed him out, but he had been filled with rage, possessiveness and jealousy when Frank's was mentioned.
He wasn't gay.
He wasn't.
Maybe you're just gay for Frank, his brain said, and he put the pillow over his head, trying to drown out his own thoughts.
-
He wasn't.
-
Was he?
-
No.
-
Maybe just for- no.
-
But Frank- no, Jesus, what was wrong with him?
-
Maybe he should like, kiss Frank. Just to make sure.
-
"Gee?" he heard, as the music was shut off.
"What?" he asked grumpily, muffled by the pillow. The door clicked shut behind the person who had disturbed his sexuality crisis.
"I, um. I'm sorry," Gerard recognised Frank's deep voice. "I, er. Shouldn't have. Done it. You know?" Gerard finally sat up, pillow falling onto his lap, and raked a hand through his hair. Frank was standing by the white door, biting his lip anxiously, forehead creased in a worried frown, hazel eyes focused on Gerard. He looked utterly adorable, and Gerard wanted to kiss him, now.
No he didn't, what the fuck?
"I, um." Frank cast his eyes down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I won't do it. Again, I mean. I won't do it again."
"What?" Gerard asked, and Frank bit his lip again.
"You know," he gestured with his hand. "What I did. Earlier. With Mikey and Ray. I um. Shouldn't have. I didn't know Mikey was going to walk in though."
"Can you, um," Gerard flapped his hand in the direction of somewhere close to him on the bed. "Um." Frank seemed to understand, sitting down hesitantly, blinking owlishly at Gerard.
"Um," Frank said. Gerard took a deep breath. It was now or never.
"I'm just checking something," he mumbled, leaning forwards, and suddenly their lips were touching, sending bolts of electricity zinging across Gerard's skin. They were still, unmoving, Frank taken by surprise, but it was the best kiss of his life.
Shit.
"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, scrambling backwards. "I'm, uh. Sorry. Um. Sorry." Frank just gazed at him, lips parted slightly.
"I thought you weren't-"
"So did I," Gerard muttered, carding a hand through his hair.
He wasn't straight.
He wasn't straight.
Fuck.
"So, does that mean you're-" Frank cut himself off. "Can I-?" his question was mostly unspoken, but Gerard knew what he meant.
"Uh," he said intelligently. "Yeah. Y-yeah. But, um. It's new to me. I'm still, uh. Y'know. Getting used to it. The fact that. Y'know. I'm not, um. Straight." Saying it made it seem so much more real. Frank's face broke into a smile.
"I knew it," he murmured, tilting Gerard's head so he could fit their lips together, soft and pliant. "I knew it would be me."
"It's a good idea!" Ray protested. Gerard turned to Frank.
"Do you think it's a good idea?" he asked. Frank nodded his head enthusiastically.
"Fuck yeah!" he said.
"Then it's obviously not a good idea," Mikey said lazily, sipping his coffee.
"Fuck you, it's a perfectly valid idea," Gerard said.
"Valid, yes. Good? No," Mikey said.
"Why?" Ray demanded, hands on his hips. "Why not?"
"Because of the fans."
"What about them?" Gerard asked.
"Y'know," Mikey shrugged. "Stuff."
"How specific," Gerard said sarcastically. Mikey shrugged again, getting up from the couch.
"You'll regret it," he said. "Mark my words."
"It's not the fucking apocalypse, Jesus," Frank called to his retreating figure.
"Might as well be," Mikey said, and Ray shook his head.
"Melodramatic as fuck," Gerard said.
-
"This is a terrible idea," Frank moaned, holding his head in his hands. Gerard frowned.
"No backing out now," he said. Frank wandered off down the aisle, muttering about how they should have listened to Mikey.
"What's the difference between 'Ice White and Snow White?" Gerard called after him, looking at the two paint cans he was holding that seemed to be exactly the same colour.
"One was a prostitute for midgets, one's a nonexistant colour," Frank shouted back. Gerard wrinkled his nose, placing both cans back on the shelf.
"What the fuck is Charcoal White?" Frank demanded. "How is that even possible?"
"How can there be so many shades of white?" Gerard moaned. "It's not even a fucking colour."
"Dirty White," Frank said. "Who the fuck wants their walls painted in Dirty fucking White?"
"Crystallised Snowdrops?" Gerard asked in disbelief. "What the fuck is a snowdrop, let alone a crystallised one?"
"Can we just paint it like, red?" Frank asked, ambling back up the aisle to rest his head on Gerard's shoulder.
"If they have this many shades of white, imagine how bad actual colours are going to be," Gerard pointed out. Frank groaned.
"Pick a shade of white, buy twenty cans and let that be the end of it," he said. "I'm glad we got an apartment rather than a house."
-
"Gerard," Mikey said, and Gerard could hear Ray convulsing with laughter in the background. "Gee, you...have you seen the news?"
"No?" Gerard asked, motioning for Frank to put the paint on the wall, not on himself. "What is it?"
"Go look," Mikey said, and Gerard obediently hung up and traipsed to the bedroom which held his personal shit, rummaging around for his laptop. He flipped it open, and-
It was on the front page of the news.
'Frontman and guitarist move in together!' the headline screamed. 'Is their relationship more than just a friendly one?' Underneath was a videoclip. He clicked play, drumming his fingers on the keyboard impatiently as he waited for it to load. When it finally loaded, all that could be heard was a lot of static, but you could clearly see Frank and Gerard puzzling over the shades of white. Suddenly the sound cut back in, with a girl's high-pitched giggle as the camera moved closer.
"...glad we got an apartment rather than a house," Frank was saying, and Gerard was nodding fervently. Then the video cut out.
Shit.
-
"Frank," Gerard moaned, manouvering his way through all the boxes of Frank and Gerard's stuff. "Frankie."
"What?" Frank turned from where he was supposedly painting the wall, but more painting everything but the wall. His face was splattered with streaks of white, and he looked like a skunk with a white stripe in his hair where he'd obviously run his hand through it. He smiled brilliantly at Gerard, with the excitement of a young child opening their presents at Christmas. Gerard didn't really want to ruin his good mood - God knows Frank deserved his happiness.
"It's on the news."
"What's on the news?" Frank asked, throwing down his paintbrush and bounding over.
"Us. Moving in. Together." Gerard flailed a little. Flailing usually helped. Frank frowned.
"How?"
"Some fan filmed us, I don't know..." Gerard shrugged. Frank considered this for a moment, then shrugged right back at him.
"Is it a problem?" he asked.
"I just thought-" Gerard started.
"Is it embarrassing?" Frank asked in an injured tone, and Gerard shook his head fervently.
"No!" he said. "No, Frankie, you know it's not like that. I just thought, you know. They might get the wrong idea and. Well. You know."
"You're starting to sound like Billie Joe, the amount of times you say 'y'know'," Frank told him, shifting a box so he could move to pick up another can of paint. "Does it really bother you that much, people thinking we're gay? It's not like they don't think it alread- goddammit, fucking shit balls cocksucking fuck," he hissed, jumping around and clutching his toe. Gerard guessed he stubbed it.
"I'm not gay though," Gerard said once Frank had stopped his string of profanities, and Frank shrugged, walking back over to the wall with the paint.
"I am," he said, and Gerard gaped.
"Wait," he said. "Wait. Frank. You? You're- you?" Frank turned to him and rolled his eyes, hands on hips like a diva. That was Gerard's role.
"Yes," he said shortly. "Problem?"
Gerard opened his mouth, wanting to say no, who the fuck do you take me for?, but no sound came out, because Frank was gay.
"I see," Frank said, turning back to the wall and painting far more viciously than he had been before.
-
Holy shit. Frank was gay. Gay. Gerard had been kissing him onstage for years now, and Frank had never thought of telling him that?
It wasn't that he was homophobic - far from it. Sometimes, just sometimes, the kisses planted a little seed of doubt in his mind, and- no, no they didn't. He wasn't gay.
Gerard had just moved in with his best friend, bandmate and homosexual. Who he'd kissed. On stage. In front of thousands of people.
Well fucking done.
-
franks gay?? - g
did u not no? - m
no!!!! y did no 1 tell me? - g
evn RAY new, blindingly obvs w/the pink belt, grooming routine n the fact he kisses u onstage?? - m
dude thats just stage - g
4 u mayb - m
wat do u mean?? - g
mikey?? - g
fine fuck u mom nevr wanted u - g
no she told me 1ce that i ws planned cuz they didnt want u 2 b a loser...didnt rly work - m
im not a loser!! - g
gerard ur fat tht automaticly makes u a loser - m
wat abt frnk he was fat n ppl still liked him - g
ur only friends r me ray n frnk u read comics aged 27 u havent had a relationship in 4yrs and u only hav 6 contacts on ur fone face it ur a loser - m
i h8 u - g
-
"Frank," Gerard mumbled, seating himself at the counter. Frank turned his back on him. Gerard frowned. "Frank," he repeated, "Frankie." Frank continued to ignore Gerard, flitting around emptying cardboard boxes of crockery into the cupboards, piling everything high and neat.
"Frank?" Gerard said, louder this time. Frank turned to look at him.
"What?" he asked, exasperated.
"I just-" Gerard said, shrinking away. "Never mind."
"Surprised you'd condescend to talking to the faggot," Frank said snottily, and before Gerard's brain could think of a valid reply, he'd flounced out of the room.
-
"Frank," Gerard said the next day. "I think it was a mistake-"
"What was a mistake? Moving in together? I can move right back out. Don't want to live with a gay man?" Frank said, picking up his comic and making to leave the room.
"No!" Gerard spluttered. "What you thought I meant by-"
"Forget it," Frank said, voice harsh although his features had softened at Gerard's 'No!'.
-
he h8s me - g
pretty sure he dsnt - m
i pissd hm off - g
watd u do? - m
he tld me he ws gay, n i didnt say nythin - g
u dick - m
i wnted 2! my mouth wudnt work! - g
watevr ill talk 2 him - m
my savyr - g
-
The boxes were piled so high outside Gerard's bedroom that if he were a decade or two younger he'd be making cardboard fortresses out of them. He was slightly disappointed he was deemed 'too old' for that.
"We need to make a start on the boxes," Frank said, three days after the holy shit you're gay incident. Gerard nodded, internally breathing a sigh of relief, glad Frank was finally talking to him properly again. Mikey was a saviour.
"I think I'll, um, start. Now," Gerard clarified, grabbing the nearest box and holding it awkardly, not realising it was marked 'Iero'. Frank tutted and walked over to him, taking the box off him. In doing so, his hands covered Gerard's, and Gerard jumped, flinched away like he'd been shocked. Frank's hazel eyes grew cold.
"You can't catch 'faggot'," he said icily, stalking off in the direction of his room. By the time Gerard's brain had processed this, Frank's door had slammed shut and Black Flag were leaking out from his room. Gerard groaned, banging his head on the doorframe.
He was such a dick.
-
Gerard picked up the next thing from the fifth cardboard box half-heartedly. Wonderful. His childhood button collection. That could go. He tossed it in the 'Shit I Will Never Need Again' pile, and picked something else up. An armless Yoda figurine. Same pile.
The Misfits blasted out of his own stereo in order to drown out Frank's Black Flag, but Gerard wasn't in the mood for either. He wanted to mooch about not doing anything and wallow for a while, formulate decent apologies to Frank. What if he- oh God, what if he left the band? They wouldn't be able to function without him. Gerard wouldn't be able to face losing him as a friend either - or in fact, losing him in any way at all.
He stood up abruptly, ignoring everything that fell to the floor from his lap, and wrenched open the door, slithering through the maze of boxes to Frank's room (how did anyone own this much stuff, okay?). He had to talk to Frank, sort it out.
"Frank," he said, knocking on the door. Black Flag were silenced, and Gerard heard Frank's heavy breathing on the other side of the door. "Frank, I'm sorry, it wasn't like that, don't leave the band or...o-or me, I can't- I can't go on without you, and I'm not a homophobe, I swear, I'll even kiss you now to prove it-" and suddenly, the door was flung open and a Frank-sized figure tumbled into Gerard's arms, warm and familiar and safe.
"I'm sorry," Gerard murmured, stroking Frank's hair. "I'm not-"
"I know," Frank mumbled into his chest, sending odd but not altogether unpleasant vibrations through his torso. "I'm sorry." Gerard closed his eyes, a fucking tidal wave of relief washing over him. Frank wasn't mad.
"Shall we- shall we, um," Gerard didn't know what to suggest. His brain was still recovering from the fact that Frank was in his arms and he was warm and heavy and soft and familiar and Gerard never wanted to let him go.
"Mhmm," Frank murmured, nosing Gerard's chest through the thin fabric of his Iron Maiden shirt (or rather, Ray's Iron Maiden shirt). "Let's just, I don't know. Watch TV." Gerard could feel Frank's lips moving as he spoke, forming the words against his skin (practically), and he shivered involuntarily. He blamed it on the cold draught that was wafting in under the door, because it was. What else could it possibly be?
"Yes," Gerard agreed fervently, not wanting to sort through another box of shit. Frank led him through to the room they'd half-heartedly constructed into a sitting room - two couches, one small, one large, facing the TV. The large one was unusable, as Gerard had one tired night decided it would be a great idea to dump more of his shit on there.
"Fuck," Frank said, pulling a face at the cluttered room. "Clear it, then watch TV?" Gerard groaned, but nodded.
"Think of the long term," Frank said, flipping open a lid on a cardboard box.
-
"Gerard."
"Yes?"
"Do you really need-"
"Yes," Gerard said, snatching his first ever gig ticket out of Frank's hands.
-
"What about-"
"Don't touch that!" Gerard yelled, launching himself across the room to get between Frank and Gerard's paints before Frank got his grubby fingers on them. Frank looked surprised.
"Jeez, okay," he breathed, taken aback, turning away as Gerard cuddled the paints close to his chest. "Freak."
"Dick."
-
"And-"
"Yes!" Gerard said exasperatedly.
"You really want to keep this?" Frank said disdainfully, pinching a rancid sock between his forefinger and thumb.
"Oh," Gerard scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um, er. No, you can, um. Throw that, um, away."
"Thought so," Frank muttered, tossing it in a bin liner.
-
Three hours later, they'd cleared all the boxes in the front room, hallway and kitchen, and Gerard was tired as shit and craving a cigarette. Fuck that, twenty cigarettes.
"Can we stop?" he complained, throwing himself onto the large couch (now cleared of Gerard's artsy shit) stroppily. "I'm exhausted."
"How much have we got left to go?" Frank hummed.
"Bathroom, spare room and our rooms," Gerard said, counting the rooms on his fingers. "Can't we do it tomorrow?" he wheedled. Frank cocked his head to the side, gazing calculatingly at Gerard.
"Hmm," he said. "I suppose it's only three rooms..." Gerard brightened. "Fine, motherfucker, fine," Frank grumbled, flopping down on the couch so close to Gerard he was practically on top of him.
"Yes!" Gerard crowed, fumbling for the TV remote which had been right in front of him about thirty seconds ago.
"Where's the-"
"Between your legs, you dick," Frank said, reaching over and plucking it out. Gerard flushed, glad Frank was too small to see, and let Frank cuddle up to him.
It was cold. That was his excuse.
-
"Why's our apartment so white?" Frank demanded suddenly, the next day, after they'd sorted the rest of the boxes. Gerard thought he deserved a break, so he was drawing, but Frank was still buzzing with energy and didn't know what to do, was jumpy as shit. When he didn't have shows to play, he seemed lost as to what to do with himself.
Gerard looked up from his painting.
"Because white is easy on the eye?" he offered. "Because we were too confused by shades of white to brave shades of actual colours?"
"It's so boring," Frank huffed, turning to the corner. "Look! Even Pansy blends in!"
"Fucking Pansy," Gerard muttered, because even though she was broken and useless Frank looked after her.
"Her name's just 'Pansy'," Frank said primly, and Gerard giggled, hastily turning it into a cough when he recieved the infamous Iero glare.
"Well, I don't see-" Gerard was cut off by his phone ringing. He paused mid-sentence, seeing Mikey's caller ID on the screen, before hitting a button and putting the phone to his ear.
"What?" he asked.
"When's your housewarming?" Mikey's tinny voice came across the speakers. Gerard groaned.
"Why would we have a housewarming?" he asked exasperatedly, and Frank sniggered in the background.
"Because you want to welcome your dearest brother and your best friend to the home you two faggots share?"
"I'm not a faggot," Gerard frowned, his voice low so Frank would concentrate on the TV instead of him.
"Yes you are," Mikey said, sounding completely uninterested. "Twenty minutes. Ray'll bring some non-alcoholic wine or something."
"I didn't say you could-" Gerard tried to protest, but the line had already gone dead.
"Fucking Mikey," he grumbled, throwing himself on the couch. Frank looked up in interest.
"You're fucking Mikey?" he said, leaning forwards slightly. "Can I watch?" Gerard pulled a face.
"Dude, that's gross. He's my brother." Frank's face fell, and he shrugged. "Anyway, if I had to do someone in the band, it definitely wouldn't be him." Gerard wrinkled his nose. It still amazed him that anyone would do Mikey.
"Who would you fuck, then?" Frank asked. Gerard shrugged. You, his brain helpfully supplied.
"What about you?" he asked. Frank frowned.
"I asked first," he said childishly. Gerard rolled his eyes.
"I'm older than you," he said, equally childishly. "Tell me."
"No," Frank pouted, and Gerard found himself zeroing in on Frank's gorgeous lips. Wait, what the fuck? No. He shook his head. No.
"Answer me," Frank whined, scooching closer to Gerard and staring at him with puppy eyes. He blinked once, and Gerard growled, because Frank knew his weaknesses. Frank's lips hitched in a slight smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously, and he clambered onto Gerard's lap, straddling him.
"I bet it would be me," he said in a low, husky voice. Gerard's eyes widened in shock. What the fuck was Frank doing?
"I-" he started, but Frank cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. He rested his forehead against Gerard's, bangs falling into his face, and smirked.
"It totally would be me," he said. "You'd do me."
"You're too small," Gerard tried to protest, but Frank shifted in his lap and no, no, that was not fair, Frank was right on top of his dick and there was friction. Gerard inhaled sharply, and Frank's eyes glittered with triumph.
"See," he said smugly. "It would be me."
"That's not fair," Gerard tried to say, but it came out garbled as Frank shifted slightly again. This wasn't happening. He was not going to get hard with his best friend on top of him. He refused to.
"Isn't it?" Frank smiled wickedly. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No," Gerard blurted before he'd even had time to process it. "I mean, yes, yes, what the fuck, get off, get off." He shoved Frank, who tumbled ungracefully to the floor and sat up on his knees.
"Still want to deny your sexuality?" Mikey's amused voice sounded from the doorway, and Gerard wondered what he had ever done to piss off the world enough for Mikey to walk in at that precise moment.
"Who's denying their sexuality?" Ray asked from the hallway.
"Gerard," Frank and Mikey said at the same time, and Gerard glowered at each of them in turn, grabbing a cushion and placing it conveniently in front of his crotch. He hated his dick. Betraying him like that. He wasn't even gay.
"Is he saying he's straight again?" Ray sounded bored.
"I am," Gerard said, outraged.
"No you're not," the other three said, and Gerard flipped Mikey and Frank off. He wanted to stomp out of the room dramatically, but certain things made that impossible.
"For Christ's sake," Mikey moaned, rolling his eyes. "Just- just go deal with it, Gerard, and be fucking quick." Gerard stood up, ignoring Frank's pointed little giggle, and hurried to the bathroom, still with the cushion. Ray glanced at him in surprise as he walked past, and Gerard took the opportunity to flip him off too, the bastard.
He didn't think once about Frank when he was jerking off.
-
"You're a dick, Mikey," Gerard said through a mouthful of potato. "You- no. You can't even say that."
"I just did," Mikey pointed out, pushing his beans around his plate in an effort to get them on his fork.
"You fucked Pete Wentz, so everything you say is invalid," Gerard stated. Mikey scowled at him as Ray's face fell.
"That was before," he said, and Ray brightened again.
"I fucked you," Frank said, pointing at Mikey with his knife. Gerard stared at each of them in turn.
"Frank?" he asked in disbelief. "You fucked- what the fuck?" Mikey shrugged.
"It was back when he was in Pencey," he said dismissively, devouring a potato.
"Was that when I was fucking Bob?" Ray asked with interest.
"No, that was after," Mikey frowned calculatingly. "You were- no, you were fucking...who were you fucking?"
"I think it might have been Patrick?" Frank interjected, and Mikey's face cleared as he nodded.
"Oh yeah, Bob was after Patrick," Ray said.
"Bob was when I was fucking Patrick, I'm sure," Frank said.
"No, Bob was when you were fucking-"
"Guys," Gerard said, covering his ears. "I don't want to hear this." Frank shrugged.
"Don't listen, then," he said, and Gerard rolled his eyes, scraping his chair back and heading into his room.
"-when I was fucking Bob and Ray at the same time?" he heard Frank ask, and he growled, slamming the door and turning up his music.
He hadn't minded them discussing Ray's sex life. Mikey's had grossed him out, but he had been filled with rage, possessiveness and jealousy when Frank's was mentioned.
He wasn't gay.
He wasn't.
Maybe you're just gay for Frank, his brain said, and he put the pillow over his head, trying to drown out his own thoughts.
-
He wasn't.
-
Was he?
-
No.
-
Maybe just for- no.
-
But Frank- no, Jesus, what was wrong with him?
-
Maybe he should like, kiss Frank. Just to make sure.
-
"Gee?" he heard, as the music was shut off.
"What?" he asked grumpily, muffled by the pillow. The door clicked shut behind the person who had disturbed his sexuality crisis.
"I, um. I'm sorry," Gerard recognised Frank's deep voice. "I, er. Shouldn't have. Done it. You know?" Gerard finally sat up, pillow falling onto his lap, and raked a hand through his hair. Frank was standing by the white door, biting his lip anxiously, forehead creased in a worried frown, hazel eyes focused on Gerard. He looked utterly adorable, and Gerard wanted to kiss him, now.
No he didn't, what the fuck?
"I, um." Frank cast his eyes down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I won't do it. Again, I mean. I won't do it again."
"What?" Gerard asked, and Frank bit his lip again.
"You know," he gestured with his hand. "What I did. Earlier. With Mikey and Ray. I um. Shouldn't have. I didn't know Mikey was going to walk in though."
"Can you, um," Gerard flapped his hand in the direction of somewhere close to him on the bed. "Um." Frank seemed to understand, sitting down hesitantly, blinking owlishly at Gerard.
"Um," Frank said. Gerard took a deep breath. It was now or never.
"I'm just checking something," he mumbled, leaning forwards, and suddenly their lips were touching, sending bolts of electricity zinging across Gerard's skin. They were still, unmoving, Frank taken by surprise, but it was the best kiss of his life.
Shit.
"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, scrambling backwards. "I'm, uh. Sorry. Um. Sorry." Frank just gazed at him, lips parted slightly.
"I thought you weren't-"
"So did I," Gerard muttered, carding a hand through his hair.
He wasn't straight.
He wasn't straight.
Fuck.
"So, does that mean you're-" Frank cut himself off. "Can I-?" his question was mostly unspoken, but Gerard knew what he meant.
"Uh," he said intelligently. "Yeah. Y-yeah. But, um. It's new to me. I'm still, uh. Y'know. Getting used to it. The fact that. Y'know. I'm not, um. Straight." Saying it made it seem so much more real. Frank's face broke into a smile.
"I knew it," he murmured, tilting Gerard's head so he could fit their lips together, soft and pliant. "I knew it would be me."