Early Sunsets Over Monroeville

"Gee?" I called into the darkness, rolling over and finding myself on the tour bus floor, hitting my elbow. Ow. Where was Gee's bunk? It had to be somewhere near here...

"Frankie?" his voice called – my breath caught in my throat for a second, his voice was so sweet – and I turned toward the sound.

"Gee? Where are you?" I asked him, my voice embarrassingly eager. I was always eager where he was concerned, but he didn't seem to notice. That could have been a very, very bad thing or a very, very good thing. I think it was more the latter, as much as it pained me to say it.

"I'm in my bed, silly," he giggled, and I heard the sheets crumple beneath him as he turned, searching for me in the dark.

"I know that," I emphasised, "but where is your bed, exactly?"

"Oh!" he realised. "Well, um...wait, let me come get you."

I heard him roll over again, and then there were two thuds on the floor – his feet. Then he seemed to trip – it sounded like it, anyway – and I squealed like a little girl when something came into contact with my bare foot. Then I worked out it was Gerard's hand. He was touching me...

Snap out of it, Frank, I told myself. Onstage...it was just an act. He didn't feel the same way about me as I felt about him. Why would he?

"I think I've found you," he whispered hoarsely – God, his voice was amazing! – into the dark. "I've found somebody's foot, at the very least."

This made me stifle a laugh, as I'm sure it was intended to. I crawled toward the hand invoking an electric current to rush through me and ended up, somehow, sat in Gerard's lap. Not that I objected.

"How come you're awake, anyway?" Gee asked me, when we both found our beds again. I was back under the duvet, sat up, and he was positioned on the end of my bunk, right by my feet. We passed a torch to each other, back and forth, like we were telling ghost stories, ten again.

"I...uh...I just couldn't sleep." Actually, I'd had a nightmare, but that was too childish to tell him. And if I did tell him, he'd want to know what it was about. I could never, ever, ever tell him what happened in the continuing nightmare. I had the same dream every night, and the worst part was that when I woke up, the nightmare didn't end. I lived it, breathed it, smelled it, saw it, heard it, felt it. It was tangible in the air.

I'd been having the same dream for weeks now; five, to be exact. Thirty-four days ago, Gerard had announced the engagement. I'd never cried more in my life than I did that night. To anyone else, the dream wouldn't be scary. But to me, it was the most unfortunate, depressing, disturbing, terrifying thing I could just about imagine.

My nightmare was about a beautiful young woman. Her name was Lindsey Ann Ballato. She was a very lovely person: in real life and in the dream. And she was beautiful. She was always polite to me, and friendly, but I hated her regardless. Why?

She'd stolen him. She was going to marry my Gee.

Tears were pouring down my face now, pitifully. "Why not?" Gerard asked, voice sounding sympathetic. If only he knew.

"Dunno," I replied briefly, trying not to let on I was sobbing so hard it hurt my chest. But it was no good: my voice broke in a strange cracking way, making it obvious I was weeping like a baby.

"Frank?" Gee called, sounding anxious and a little bemused. "Are you...crying?"

"No!" I insisted, making it even more obvious when I failed to contain a sob. But instead of laughing at me like he should have done, he crawled up and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, hugging me tight. Cascades of salty water, like the sea, were now pooling in my eyes, making the purple-y midnight dark blurry. But suddenly something appeared underneath my chin – Gerard's face, as he moved to grasp me.

"Hey," he whispered softly. "Hey, Frank, don't cry. Please don't cry." He started rubbing small circles on my back, and kept silent until I calmed down more, his soft breathing and my quiet howling the only noises around. He smelled good. Like...coffee or musky or sleep or something sweet. I didn't know what it was, but it was beautiful. Of course, it only made sense he smelled perfect. Everything else about him was flawless. But I had to stop thinking like that. He didn't like me, end of. I should stop hoping he did.

When I stopped crying as much, he asked me a question I really didn't want to – couldn't – answer. "What's wrong?"

It was only two small words, but they held the key to something big and warped and twisted and complicated, something he could never understand, and would never want to hear. So I would make sure he never heard it.

"Nothing," I defended uselessly, my tone sharper than I'd intended. It couldn't have been more obvious that there was something wrong, because I wasn't the kind of guy to just burst into tears spontaneously, for no reason. In fact, I don't think Gee had ever seen me cry – at least not properly – ever before.

"You can tell me, y'know, Frankie," he promised, though he didn't know what he was getting himself into. When I still remained absolutely silent, he added, "You're my best friend, y'know? My..." he trailed off, and my heart stopped beating for a while, I'm sure, as I wondered what he might have been about to add. His what? What was I to him?

It was pointless me getting excited. He loved Lyn-Z. They were engaged. She was his goddamn fiancée. Of course he loved her – was in love with her. Not me. Never me.

"Frank?" he prompted gently, nudging my shoulder with his. His skin was so warm, and when he leaned forward, his hair brushed my cheek. Again, my breath caught in my throat.

"It's nothing," I repeated, working hard to keep my voice a steady, emotionless monotone. It came out like a bark.

But it wasn't nothing. When Gerard sighed, chucked a box of tissues at me sadly and climbed back into his own bed, muttering he was determined to find out what was wrong eventually, I laid down and covered my entire body with the duvet, smothering my face in the pillow. How had I ended up like this?

When I first met Gee, I knew there was something about him, something special, that I'd never seen in another person before. I've never seen it since. Slowly, I fell for him, though I don't know how – and how clichéd that sounds! But it's true, and I hated it. I loved him, but I hated this. It was masochistic, really, to be with him so often as this, and to let him kiss me onstage when it meant absolutely nothing to him, just another way to make the fans cheer, and piss of the homophobes, but I tried to make the best of my time with him. It was like drinking lethal poison, but the poison was delicious. So I drank more and more until the pain was so bad I just wanted to die. That's why I could never tell Gee how I felt. I'd sooner die than face rejection from him.

He had a fiancée. He didn't want me. I was his friend. Nothing more. Nothing more than a friend. I wanted to be more than that, much more. I wanted to be his everything. But he had Lindsey for that. What was I for? Jamming and advice about girls – he didn't know I didn't like them – and a guinea pig for tattoos he drew but daren't get himself. His friend. Not his lover.

Never his lover.