500 Days

This is a story of boy meets boy.

Gerard Way, of Belleville, New Jersey, grew up believing that he’d never truly be happy until the day he met his “soulmate.”

This belief stemmed from early exposure to sad British pop music and a total misreading of the movie “The Graduate.”

The other boy, Frank Iero, of Santarose, Michigan, did not share this same belief.

Since the disintegration of his parent’s marriage, he’d only loved three things: the first, a pearl white Les Paul he’d dubbed Pansy and had owned for so long he simply didn't recall not having her.

The second was his long, unruly dark hair that his mother begged him day in and day out to maintain.

The third was how easily he could cut it off, and feel nothing.

Gerard meets Frank on January 8th in a San Francisco office building. In an instant, he knows he’s the one he’s been looking for.

Yes, this is a story of boy meets boy.

But you should know upfront:
this is not a love story.
 



Mikey has never pedaled faster in his life, he doesn’t think. His bike is squeaking in protest and Mikey hasn’t cleaned its chain in- well, he’d never actually done that- and it used to belong to Gerard, so it was at least ten years old. Nowhere near equipped to be carrying him such a distance, at such a speed.

He pushes onward anyway. Gerard’s apartment is nearly on the other side of town, but Mikey’s record is twenty minutes, though he’s trying to make it in ten tonight (or with his bike in one piece- whichever comes first, he’ll settle for either, really). He can only imagine what’s going on, what had happened this time that had fucked his brother up so badly he hadn’t even been the one to call.

Remembering the distress in Bob’s voice as he explained, “You just… You just really need to get here,” and the following sound of something presumably expensive shattering in the background almost makes Mikey consider running- but no, there’s a lot more work involved in that, and besides, if his brother’s in the process of one of his infamous nervous breakdowns, well… it’s not like Mikey showing up five minutes earlier is going to change that.

He skids to a halt in front of the complex and jumps off of his bike, racing up the steps by two with familiar precision and jabs the doorbell repeatedly.

Bob and Ray are at the door when it opens; both seem anxious and wince in unison as something else breaks loudly within the apartment.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Bob says apologetically as he locks the door behind Mikey. Mikey shrugs and unclips his helmet, roughing up his hair in case it’s gone flat.

“You did the right thing,” Mikey says. “Where is he?”

No one has to answer– Mikey turns in time to watch Gerard smash what can only be the last surviving plate in his kitchen, which is scattered with broken shards of pretty much everything breakable. He’s about to get started on the nice clean bowls in the dish rack when Mikey suddenly says, “Gerard!”

Gerard freezes, as though just realizing there were other people in the room. “Mikey? What- what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help you.”

“Help me how?”

“First, put down the bowl.”

Gerard slowly but surely obliges.

“Now come here and sit down.”

Gerard appears to have to force it, but eventually he’s seated on his sofa next to his younger brother, Bob and Ray bracketing them, still looking nervous, like they were waiting for Gerard to start breaking stuff again.

“The key is not to panic,” Mikey says gently.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Gerard admits to his knees.

“Here.” Mikey hands him a glass of what appears to be water, that Gerard can’t remember him retrieving. He gulps it down anyway, grimacing when he realizes it is, in fact, not water, but asking for more when he’s finished.

“What is that?” Ray asks.

“Vodka,” says Mikey, refilling the glass one last time.

“Does Mom know you’re here?” asks Gerard, because it must be passed ten already, but Mikey shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Start from the beginning. Tell us what happened.”

Gerard takes a deep breath.

“We spent the whole day together. We had coffee, we saw a movie… We bought music… I thought it was a great day.”

“And then what happened?”

“Um… huh. I can’t decide.”

The waitress taps her pen against her notepad impatiently, but Gerard is oblivious. “You know what,” Gerard finally says, “Let’s go crazy. I’ll have both.”

He waits until the waitress has taken their menus to grin and say, “God, I love eating pancakes at night. It’s like the greatest thing ever. How great is this?”

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Gerard sighs.

“Did he say why?” asks Bob.

“This thing. Whatever it is. You and me. Do you think this is normal?”

“I don’t fucking care,” Gerard snaps, harsher than he means to be, but he just can’t help it, all he suddenly wants to do is be really fucking mean. “Who gives a shit about normal? I’m happy. Aren’t you happy?”

“You’re… happy?”

“You’re not?”

“All we do is argue!”

“That is such a fucking lie!”

“Maybe he was just in a bad mood,” Mikey offers.

“A hormonal thing,” Bob supplies.

Mikey blinks at him. “PMS?”

Gerard blinks too, only at Mikey. “What do you know about PMS?”

“More than the three of you combined.”

“Oh my god.”

“Can you continue?” Ray says.

“This can’t be a total surprise. I mean, we’ve been like Sid and Nancy for months.”

“Frank, Sid stabbed Nancy seven times with a kitchen knife. We’ve had some disagreements, but I hardly think I’m Sid Vicious.”

“No…” Frank looks exasperated for a moment. “I’m Sid.”

The gears in Gerard’s head turn. “So… I’m Nancy?”

But then the waitress arrives with their food and the discussion is held in limbo until Frank picks up his silverware.

“Let’s just eat and we’ll talk about it after. I’m starving.”

Without another word, he digs into his pancakes, and Gerard cannot do much other than stare at him and wonder if this is a sick, sick joke the universe is playing on him.

“Mmm, you’re so right,” Frank says, eyes on his plate. “These are great.”

Gerard looks at his own in disgust. He’s pretty sure he may never eat again.

When he glances back up, Frank’s got his green eyes all big, all innocent and god, Gerard kinda sorta really just wants to hit him.

“What?” says Frank.

Gerard stands, shakes his head, turns to leave.

“Gerard, don’t-” The innocent pretense has been dropped. “Please, just come back! You’re still my best fr-”

The apartment is a ghastly sort of silent.

“Jesus,” Bob whistles.

“That’s harsh,” Ray puts in.

Gerard hangs his head. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Mikey assures him.

The silence makes another unwelcome appearance.

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“Or that,” says Ray.

Mikey fills the glass for Gerard once again.

“You’ll be okay, Gerard,” Ray tells him. “You’re the best guy I know. You’ll find someone.”

“You know what they say,” says Bob. “There’s plenty other fish in the sea.”

“No,” Gerard says firmly.

“Sure they do,” Bob furrows his brow. “They say that.”

“Well, they’re wrong. It’s not true. I’ve fished in that sea. I’ve jumped in and swam in that sea. I’m fucking Aquaman.” He fumbles with the glass for a moment before turning hopeless eyes on Mikey. “What I mean is, there are no other fish. This was my fish.”

Behind their backs, Bob and Ray exchange glances.
 



“I’m in love with Frank.”

Ray doesn’t say anything, just walks dutifully beside Gerard. He’s quiet for so long Gerard thinks he may be waiting for a punchline of some sort.

“For real?”

He doesn’t sound skeptical- he sounds oddly fascinated. Gerard heaves a content sigh. “I love his eyes,” he says, even though Ray doesn’t actually look like he wants him to. The bright green of the awning over a shop they’re passing reminds him of them, but nothing could ever really be as green as Frank’s eyes.

“I love his hair,” he continues, smiling wider at the thought of Frank constantly trying and failing to make it fall flat on his head. “I love the way he looks in my Day of the Dead t-shirt… I love his smile, his knees, even. This scar on his stomach from an operation he had when he was a kid. I love how he looks when he’s sleeping, the way he loses himself in his own little world when it comes to his music. I love the sound of his laugh.”

Gerard doesn’t even care that Ray’s giving him the strangest look, as though internally evaluating his mental health. He just stuffs his hands in his pockets and grins. “I love… how he makes me feel. Like anything’s possible. Like, I don’t know… like life is worth it.”

“You’re serious.” Ray is silent for a beat. “Oh. Shit.”
 



Gerard doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to kill himself more than at this very moment. The boardroom itself is dead- everyone is silent and half are likely also contemplating death by office supplies as Ray gives his bi-weekly presentation at the head of the table.

“And so,” he says, reaching into his briefcase. “I present to you- The Breakfast Monkey.” He holds up a posterboard that bares the friendliest looking monkey you ever did see. It’s wearing a red beret and if Gerard wasn’t so focused on getting out of there he’d have probably been interested in the head of the department’s opinion. But then again, he’d been designing Ray’s storyboards since he’d started here, and Brian has never once mentioned his drawings.

As it happens, his mind is still working out whether a six story fall out of the nearest window would be enough to kill him. Or at least make him a vegetable. That sounded infinitely more productive than whatever the hell it is he’s currently doing with his life.

“Hmmm,” says Brian from his place at the opposite end of the conference table, snapping Gerard out of his suicidal reverie. “It’s an interesting idea. A little rough, but I’d say we’ve got some potential here, Toro. Could you draw up some samples for next week’s meeting with the network?”

Gerard can’t help rolling his eyes as Ray nods and packs up his things. He loves Ray, he and Bob had been his best friends since birth- since conception, if that were possible- but the dude couldn’t draw a circle if his life depended on it.

“Excuse me, Mr. Schechter?”

Gerard glances up at the unfamiliar voice and does a double-take. There’s a man standing in the doorway, but- but Gerard knows everyone in the department. He’s never seen this face. He’d remember this face.

“There’s a call for you on line three,” he says, and it’s over. Gerard’s heart has stopped. His eyes, they were the greenest green he’d ever come across, and his face was just- god. Gerard wanted nothing more than to fill up the last remaining pages of his sketchbook with the sharp angles of his cheekbones, perfectly structured jaw, thin, pink lips… Jesus, there were sprawling lines of ink peeking out from under his long sleeves, there were even tattoos on his fingers-

“Everyone, this is Frank, my new assistant. Frank just moved here from…”

“Michigan,” Frank says, giving a shy smile to the group. Gerard clutches his chair.

“Right, Michigan,” Brian says offhandedly. “Well, Frank, everyone. Everyone, Frank. Excuse me, I have to take this.”

“Um, nice to meet you all,” Frank says, giving a little wave before following Brian out. He doesn’t notice Gerard, but Gerard notices nothing but, just stares at the door he closes behind him like he’s just seen God.
 



“What do we know about this new guy?”

Ray doesn’t look up. “Who?”

“The new guy,” Gerard says, tapping his pen against his teeth. “Frank. In Schechter’s office.”

“Dude,” says Ray solemnly, recognizing the look on Gerard’s face as he finally pays him any attention. “I heard he’s an asshole.”

Gerard visibly deflates. “Really?”

“Patel? Chick from seven? With all the tats? She tried talking to him in the copy room. He totally wasn’t having it.”

“Maybe he was in a hurry.”

“Gerard, have you seen Patel? Everyone stops for her. Everyone. He’s probably some uppity, better than everyone rich kid. Fresh out of college, working for his dad’s company even though he’s set for life.” Ray pauses, pondering. The Breakfast Monkey has almost tripled his workload recently, even with Gerard doing all of the artwork.

Gerard heaves a deep sigh. “Damn.”

Ray looked concerned for a second. “You sound disappointed,” he says.

Gerard tries his best to hide the way his face is suddenly flushed by shuffling odd papers around on his desk, which Ray probably sees right through because who the hell shuffles copy paper over and over. “Yeah, well, that pisses me off. Why is it pretty people think they can treat other people like shit and get away with it?”

“Dunno.” Ray is scribbling furiously again. Gerard slumps in his seat. “Just because he has high cheekbones… and soft skin…”

“And really good teeth,” Ray adds.

“And maybe the world’s most perfect-” Gerard catches himself, knocking over his neat stack of paper with a nervous twitch. “Just because of that stuff, he can walk around like he’s the center of the universe?”

Ray just shrugs.

“Ugh.” Gerard doesn’t want to, but it’s easier to believe Frank’s an asshole, instead of ridiculously attractive and ridiculously unattainable. “You know what?” he decides. “Screw him. We haven’t even met and I can’t stand him already.”
 



Considering all of the effort Gerard is putting into avoiding him, it’s a wonder he ends up alone with Frank in one of the seven elevators Frank could’ve chosen. He slyly taps the volume on his iPod and tries with all of his might to pay him no mind.

Frank’s head suddenly turns in his direction. His lips move, but Gerard has ignored and been ignored probably more than anyone in the building, and he pretends not to notice.

Until Frank’s pale, tattooed fingers slide over his neck and pull one headphone away from his ear. “I love The Strokes,” he beams, and Gerard nearly trips even though he isn’t actually moving. “S-sorry?” he says, swallowing against the cold fear of confrontation closing his throat.

“I said I love The Strokes,” Frank says with this suffocatingly adorable half-smile. “You have good taste in music.”

The elevator dings and he’s gone before Gerard can even process the fact that Frank has spoken to him.
 



“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday, dear Nadine…”

Gerard’s voice is drowned out as everyone mumbles unintelligently, apparently having never thought to ask the birthday girl’s name. Gerard knows, because Nadine always brings him muffins in the morning and refills his toner. She probably did nice things for other people too. Just not nice enough for them to remember her name at her office birthday party, even though it was printed clearly on the cake they were all eying.

The rest of the song is lost in translation or something along those lines, and then there are at least five hands attempting to cut a piece via various methods, considering there is exactly one knife. Gerard is sipping a paper cup filled with Kool-Aid that someone hasn’t bothered to mix properly and trying to inch his way over to Ray, who’s chatting up Patel from seven on the other side of the room.

Somehow he finds himself standing next to Frank, who’s sipping at Kool-Aid too and watching the proceedings with mild interest. He clears his throat, debates whether he can get away with ignoring him this time.

Eventually Frank bumps his elbow and gives a smile so friendly Gerard can barely handle it and kinda just wants to bolt out of the room. But that would look strange, and he’d still have to see Frank tomorrow. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he tips his cup in Frank’s direction. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Frank nods, takes a sip. It’s as silent as it’s going to get, what with their rabid co-workers reenacting the Hunger Games just a few feet away.

“So, uh… Frank…” Gerard briefly contemplates rewarding his social skills by bashing the cup against his face. Frank doesn’t call him on it, just nods again. “Gerard.”

“Um, so…” Gerard tries not to fidget. “How’s it going so far?”

“The city or being an assistant?”

“Uh, both. Either.” Throwing himself out of the window crosses his mind again, for a grand total of eleven times since Frank has started working there.

“I’m happy,” he says, shrugging as if this were just barely true. “Still getting situated. How long have you worked here?”

“Oh, y’know, four… five…” Gerard swallows. “Years.”

“Really? Jesus. Did you always want to draw children’s cartoons and let someone else take the credit while you do grunt work?”

Gerard chokes on half-stirred punch and Frank just keeps grinning, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How…” Gerard wipes his mouth and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “You noticed?”

Frank kind of rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah, I’ve been here a week, Gerard. Though it was only a theory until two seconds ago.”

Gerard chuckles into his cup. Brian has been here all of Gerard’s career and still hasn’t figured it out. The amusement dies when he realizes how much else Frank must have noticed.

“So, what is it you actually want to do?” Frank asks.

“Well, I wanted to write comic books, y’know? That’s what I went to school for in the first place.”

“Really?” Frank’s eyes are wide, genuinely fascinated. “That’s so cool. What happened?”

“Same old story,” Gerard shrugs. “Moved to the city to work for a company. Company went under. Needed a job. My friend works here, got me this.”

“And… are you any good?”

“They haven’t fired me yet, so I suppose I must be.”

Frank grins. “I meant the drawing thing.”

“Oh, well…” Gerard points across the room, where every cartoon that has ever been produced on this floor is memorialized along the opposite office wall. “I drew those, so…”

Frank stares. “All of them?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Fucking hell.” He looks at Gerard like he’s seeing him for the first time. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

Gerard rolls his shoulders. “Grunt work, apparently,” he says.

Frank shrugs. “Well, I don’t care. I’d say you’re a perfectly… adequate cartoonist.”

“Yeah, that’s what they called me in college. ‘Perfectly Adequate’ Way.”

“Yeah,” Frank grins. “They used to call me the Anal Kid.”

Gerard chokes, this time on absolutely nothing, and the faintest of blushes creeps up Frank’s neck. He picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I was very neat,” he mumbles in explanation. “Y’know. Organized.”

Gerard focuses on a paper clip that’s lying on the ground near his foot, and totally not on the visual that has embedded itself in his mind against his will.

“Anyway, I should get back,” Frank says, not looking at Gerard, or anything in particular. Gerard nods. “Okay, I’ll… see you around.”

Gerard watches him shuffle back to his cubicle at the other end of the hall, only going back to his own when Frank had disappeared from view.

He means to set out to work, but his eyes fall on his sketchbook, nearly hidden under all of the filing he’d yet to accomplish. His fingers twitch. He wants to draw, he really does, but he also wants to pay the rent this month, so he slips his headphones on with a dutiful sigh, turns the volume to full blast, and gets to work.
 



“This Friday,” Ray says as he sinks into his seat next to Gerard. “Ten bucks, all-you-can-karaoke at The Well.”

Gerard shakes his head and flips a page in his report. “No,” he says simply.

“Why not?” Ray gets the closest he’s ever gotten to pouting. “Come on, dude. Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and they got big titties!”

“Stop that,” Gerard scolds him. “Absolutely not. Besides, they’re not even going to let you back in after last time.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

Gerard flips another page and sets his chin in his hand. “Not at all. You only threw up on the stage, tried to fight the bartender, and then threatened to burn the place down, before passing out on the sidewalk. Quite a quiet night for you.”

Ray nods. “You saved my life that night,” he says reverently, laying his hand over Gerard’s free one. Gerard swats him away, trying to concentrate on the work he should’ve been doing when he was busy with half of Ray’s job.

“Look, this is a work thing, Gerard. It won’t be like that. The whole office is going.”

“I really can’t,” Gerard lies, because he honestly doesn’t feel like getting drunk and watching everyone else have fun tonight. “Even if I wanted to, there’s a lot of stuff I have to take care of.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Ray starts to grin and inclines his head. “The whole office is going.”

Gerard blinks. And then he glances over to the place at the end of the hall where he knows Frank sits. Dots are connected.

“What time did you say to be there?”

*

When Gerard walks into the crowded bar later that night, Frank is in a back booth, and Ray is on stage with the microphone, slurring the words to “Every Rose Has Its’ Thorn,” and he’s real into it, Gerard thinks. He waves to let Ray know he’s here and slides into the booth.

“Hey!” Frank chirps brightly, smiling. “They said you weren’t coming.”

“You asked if I was coming?” Gerard says, and then starts clearing his throat. “I mean… my plans got canceled.”

There’s a slightly awkward, silent beat between them, in which Gerard attempts to bore a hole through the wooden table with his gaze. Luckily it isn’t long before a drunken Ray joins them.

“Goddamn,” he whistles, “that song is brilliant. What’s up, Gerard?”

“Ooh, I’m next,” Frank says excitedly. He empties the shot glass in front of him and jumps up on stage. Gerard orders a drink and tries not to act like he’s paying too much attention.

“It’s been a while,” he says into the mic, to the inebriated cheers and whistles from their co-workers. “So no making fun of me.”

Gerard isn’t sure why anyone in their right mind would do such a thing. The opening notes of “Born to Run” ring in his ears, and he wants to chuckle, but then Frank starts singing, and Gerard can barely function. He can’t understand how it’s possible- how in the hell it’s legal to be that fucking gorgeous and sound like a motherfucking angel at the same time. There’s a nonsensical video playing in the background in time to the music (it’s something to do with an old convertible, the sunset, and a midget in a tuxedo) but Frank is all Gerard sees.

He’s getting them another round upon Ray’s insistence near the end, and Frank is in mid-conversation with him when Gerard gets back. He carefully sets the drinks on the table, knowing he was lucky to have not tripped, spilled something, or some other mundanely unfortunate happening that’d probably make him combust with embarrassment in front of Frank.

“You were great up there,” he tells him, gingerly passing out glasses and bottles of beer.

Frank shrugs, cheeks slightly pink, still smiling. He takes a swig from the bottle Gerard slides in front of him. “Can’t go wrong with The Boss.”

“I hear that.”

“You know Gerard’s from Jersey,” Ray suddenly throws in.

“Yeah?” Frank says, turning to Gerard.

Gerard wants to point out that Ray is too, but the look Ray gives him tells him there’s a fucking reason he left himself out, and Gerard should shut the fuck up and let him do his thing. He ever so slowly nods his head. “Lived there ‘til I was twelve.”

“I named my dog after Springsteen,” Frank grins.

“No kidding?” Gerard says. “What’s his name?”

Frank’s smile falters. “Bruce.”

“Ah.” Gerard and Ray nod. “That makes sense.”

Frank laughs. He’s really cute when he laughs.

“So you got a girlfriend?” Ray asks. Gerard adds ‘make damn sure Ray’s death is slow and painful’ to his mental to-do list.

“Me?” Frank says, and shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Why not?” he presses, ignoring Gerard, who’s shooting daggers at him. Frank sees nothing.

“Don’t really want one,” he says.

“How about a boyfriend?”

“Ray,” Gerard says warningly.

“It’s okay,” Frank giggles. “I did once, actually. And there was a lot of experimenting in college, if you really must know. But I’m just… not comfortable being someone’s boyfriend.”

“I don’t believe that.” Ray flicks his head back to down his shot.

“It’s true,” says Frank. “I don’t want to be anyone’s anything, you know?”

Ray shakes his head, taking Gerard’s shot too when he thinks he isn’t paying attention. “Absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It sounds selfish, I know. But I like being on my own.” When he looks up, his eyes are on Gerard. “Relationships are messy and feelings are always getting hurt. Who needs all that? We’re young. We’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.”

Ray actually snorts, but Frank pays him no mind. “I say,” he continues, “let’s have as much fun as we can afford and leave the serious shit for later.”

“But… what if you meet someone and fall in love?” Gerard asks faintly.

“Love?” Frank laughs again, leaning back in his seat. “You seriously believe in that stuff?”

“Of course I do!”

“A real romantic.” Frank inclines his beer in Gerard’s direction before taking a sip. “Interesting.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Ray says, practically bouncing. “This one? Embarrassing. There was this one girl- Oh come on,” he breaks off when Gerard starts seething, “I gotta tell this story-”

He elbows him hard in the ribs and turns back to Frank. “Hold on. You don’t… believe in love?”

“I don’t even know what that word means,” he says, staring at the table, thoughtful. “I know I’ve never felt it, whatever it is in all those songs. And I know that today most marriages end in divorce. Like my parents.”

“Well, my parents too, but-”

“And I read in Newsweek, there were these scientists who found that by stimulating a part of the brain with electrodes you can make a person fall in ‘love’ with a rock. Is that the love you’re talking about?”

Gerard tries not to look like he’s sulking as he stares at the label on his bottle, but doesn’t actually see it. “Looks like we’re gonna have to agree to disagree,” he mumbles. Frank hesitates and says carefully, “Guess so.”

Ray must sense some discontent, because he pipes up, “So, uh, who’s singing next?”

Frank’s head snaps up and his gaze falls on Gerard, and his grin is wider than it’s been all night.

“No,” he says immediately. “No fucking way. I don’t sing in public.”

“Sure you do! I see you lip-synching to your headphones every morning on your way in.”

“I don’t…”

“You really do,” Ray says.

“It’s okay,” Frank smiles. “Takes a lot of self-confidence to look ridiculous.”

“Self confidence,” Ray repeats with another snort. “Right.”

Gerard sends another elbow his way.

“Anyway, I’m not near drunk enough to sing in front of all these people.”

“Okay then. Let’s drink,” Frank declares, as though this solves every problem there is.

Gerard swallows. “It would take at least ten shots to get me to sing, Frank,” he says, hoping he’ll drop it. He does completely the opposite: Frank slams his hand down on the table, whips around and yells, “Bartender!”

Fifteen minutes later, Gerard is on stage belting out The Clash’s “Magnificent Seven,” and you wouldn’t think so, but Gerard is a goddamned rockstar up there. He’s got the motherfucking moves like Jagger, and everyone in the bar is singing along where they should be.

It’s a sight to behold, and Gerard doesn’t even think to care, because Frank is watching and smiling Gerard’s favorite smile.

*

“That’s not it.”

“What is it then?”

Gerard pauses. He doesn’t feel as on edge as he did an hour ago- though that might have something to do with the alcohol. He examines his glass, the condensation dripping down the side, and frowns. “I have no idea.”

Frank looks seriously disgruntled. “I used to watch it every week!”

“Me too! Why can’t we think of the stupid fucking A-Team song?”

“Pathetic,” Frank sighs, and drains his glass. Gerard does the same, shaking his head disappointedly. “This is gonna bother me for weeks.”

“Seriously.”

They laugh, and it gets quiet, but in the good way, Gerard thinks. His eyes go to the stage, where Ray is singing the shit out of “Proud to Be an American.” He really means it, too. Gerard’s sure he might start to cry any minute.

“And I’d proudly stand UP-” He nearly topples over, pointing an accusatory finger out into the crowd. “I said stand!”

Gerard sighs. “And here we go.”

Frank has to assist him in getting a nearly comatose Ray out the front door not too long later.

“This guy,” Ray slurs, looking as though he meant to pat Gerard but ends up just flapping his hand weakly in his general direction. “He’s- he’s the best.”

“Okay, let’s get you in a cab,” Gerard says, shooting Frank as apologetic a look as he can manage, but Ray starts trying to push them away suddenly. “No, I’m gonna- I’m gonna walk. I live right down that street. Or that one.”

Frank stifles a laugh. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Gerard assures him, successfully flagging down a cab. It takes their combined effort to get Ray safely in the backseat.

“Hey,” Ray says as Gerard takes his wallet and slips the driver a twenty, promptly tucking it into his own jacket pocket, because Ray will definitely leave it in the taxi and be pissed the fuck off tomorrow. “What’s up?”

“Not you,” Ray flaps his hand at Gerard again and turns to Frank. “You.”

“Me?” says Frank, blinking.

“Yeah. Yeah you. He likes you.”

“Okay, good night, Ray,” Gerard snaps hurriedly.

“I mean… likes you, likes you. For real. Tell him, Gerard.”

Gerard slams the door as fast as he can, and then it’s just him and Frank. And Gerard is suddenly talking a mile a minute. “Sorry you had to see that. Happens every time we come here, it’s unbelievable. Something about that guy and singing for people. I don’t know. But at least he didn’t-”

“Is that true?” Frank asks quietly.

Gerard squirms. “What?”

“You know what.” Frank’s hands are folded neatly in front of him. “Do you… like me?”

“Yeah,” he says, maybe too quickly. “Of course I like you.”

“As a friend.”

“Right. As a friend.”

“Just as a friend?”

The wheels are spinning in Gerard’s head. What in God’s name is he supposed to say here?

“Yes,” is what he settles for. “I mean… I haven’t really thought about… Yes. Why?”

“Nothing,” Frank says innocently, and then his gaze is piercing- like what the hell, Gerard can feel him looking at his soul or something. “You’re interesting. I’d like us to be friends. Is that okay?”

Gerard can’t help it- part of him had been hoping for Frank to say something else. He hides his disappointment as best as he can, just smiles. “Oh, yeah, totally. Friends. You and me. That’s… perfect.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Silence.

“Well, I’m that way,” Frank says, jabbing his thumb in the direction behind him. “Good night, Gerard.”

Gerard nods. “G’night, Frank.”

He watches him walk away for a moment, wishing he was doing anything but, and then turns in the other direction. “Friends. Awesome. That’s just great,” he mutters under his breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Well done, Gerard, you fucking idiot.”

He gets a few steps farther, and suddenly the world stops, because Frank is wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss, and Gerard can’t seem to figure out when he’d had the time to do such a thing. He’s pretty sure he’s just really, really drunk- apparently to the point of scarily realistic hallucinations- but no, his best case scenario is actually happening, and he doesn’t even have the capacity to kiss him back.

And then Frank is gone, and Gerard is watching him walk away again. And he is suddenly okay with that.
 



The next morning is seriously the greatest morning in the history of ever.

Gerard walks to work- no, that’s inaccurate. Gerard struts to work, pointing and winking at people he doesn’t know, doing a little shuffle he doesn’t have a name for. Even the slightly splitting headache he has can’t possibly rain on his parade- he walks on, the motherfucking man, and nothing can take that away from him. Absolutely nothing.

When Gerard intentionally passes Frank’s office on the way in, whistling Hall and Oates, Frank immediately lights up. But Brian pokes his head out of his corner office just then. “Frank, I need- Oh, hello, Way.”

“Hey, Mr. Schechter.”

“Yes, Mr. Schechter?” Frank says politely. And then they’re all business. But as Gerard turns to go get settled, Frank gives him a coy little smile that would be enough to make anyone’s day complete. Gerard gives him the international sign for ‘I’ll call you later’ in return, because Frank is suddenly doing things for his confidence he’s never felt before. He heads to his cubicle, still on top of the world.

*

When Gerard opens the door, it’s Bob, still in his hospital scrubs. Bob greets him as all best friends should. “You son of a bitch.”

He walks inside without an invitation. “Last night, karaoke night?” he says. Gerard locks the door and shushes him anxiously.

“The same guy you’ve been whining and crying and bitching about for weeks now?”

“I have not been-”

“The same guy you said was way out of your league and you’d have no chance with no matter what. That guy?”

“Bob, seriously-”

“Did you bang him?”

“No! What the hell-”

“Blowjob?”

“No!”

“Handjob?”

“No, Bob, no jobs,” Gerard says exasperatedly, doing his best not to hit him. “I’m- still unemployed. We… we just kissed.”

“Come on,” Bob says. “As your best friend, who tolerated a whole month of talk talk talk about this dude, nothing but Frank this, Frank that, Frank Frank Frank, I mean you were practically stalking him-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Gerard very nearly dies as Frank suddenly emerges from the bathroom, looking slightly fresher.

“Oh, fuck,” says Bob politely.

Frank shuffles a bit, smiling shyly. “Um, hi. I’m Frank.”

“Frank, wow, what an unusual name.” Gerard kicks at his shins from behind, but he ignores him. “I’m sure I’d remember that if I had heard it before. Gerard, how come you’ve never mentioned you knew such an interesting guy?”

Gerard gives him the evil eye.

“Or perhaps you have and I’ve just forgot,” Bob says in response to the look. He turns back to Frank. “I mean, with all the guys in Gerard’s life it’s hard to keep track, really…”

“Bob, please, please stop.”

He looks sheepish. “Okay, well, I was just… I’m Bob.”

Frank smiles again. “Hi, Bob.”

Bob mimics Frank’s shuffling movements. “I’m a doctor,” he says blankly. Frank smiles wider. “Nice to meet you.”

Gerard kicks at Bob’s shin again. “Anyway,” Bob says, finally taking the goddamned hint, “I’m leaving now. Pretend I was never here. Gerard, talk to you later? Oh, and if any jobs open up-”

Gerard slams the door, unable to believe the friends he’d been blessed with. He turns to Frank, scrubbing his hands over his face. “If you heard…”

“Heard what?”

He breathes slightly easier. “Excellent,” he says, and pulls the door open again. “You ready to go?”

“Totally,” Frank says. “I’m stalking- I mean, starving.”

Gerard chokes. “He- he exaggerates, okay?!”
 



“Check them out.”

Gerard points his chopsticks at another booth, where the recipients of the ‘Most Unattractive Couple in the Restaurant’ Award are feeding each other chow mein across the table.

Frank glances up. His face is blank. He goes back to his shrimpless shrimp fried rice without a word, no reaction at all.

Gerard waits a second before trying again. “That is hot,” he says sarcastically, grinning just slightly.

Frank keeps eating. It’s like Gerard isn’t even there.

“I am very turned on right now.”

“Sometimes you can be so judgmental,” Frank says suddenly.

Gerard blinks. “Huh?”

“I mean, who are you?” Frank snaps, finally looking up at him. “They’re happy. Just mind your own business.”

He goes back to his food as though nothing has even happened. Gerard doesn’t just feel like he isn’t there anymore. He really, really wishes he isn’t.
 



“Nine? Nine-point-five?”

Gerard grins as he and Frank take turns sneaking glances at the couple going at it in a corner booth of the restaurant. It’s really aggressive kissing- Gerard is sure if they don’t stop soon someone is going to get hurt.

“Too soon to say,” Frank says dismissively, grinning so hard it looks almost painful. “It’s all in the dismount.”

“If we’re lucky, there won’t be a dismount.”

Frank, his cheeks flushed already from laughing so hysterically, loses it again. “I can’t believe them! I have, like, zero patience for PDA.”

“I hear you,” Gerard nods. “If I want to watch people make out, I have big windows and binoculars at home.”

“Yeah?”

“…No. That would be wrong.”

They’re laughing again, and Gerard is just so content, so okay with this he can barely stand it. Frank is smiling that fucking smile and stirring his Coke aimlessly with his straw.

“This is fun,” he says softly. “You’re fun.”

“I try,” Gerard says coolly, but inside, he’s bouncing off metaphorical walls.

“I mean, I just want to say, up front-” Frank suddenly isn’t smiling anymore. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Gerard is slightly taken aback.

“Are you cool with that?” Frank says after a minute.

After another, Gerard forces himself to nod. “Sure,” he says, and even to his own ears, it’s unconvincing as shit.

“It just… It freaks some people out when I say that.”

“Not me,” Gerard says, still horribly confused.

“Let’s just have fun,” Frank tells him. “Let’s just… hang out. No pressure, no labels, no obligations. Okay?”

Gerard is pretty sure he’s visibly disappointed by this. He covers it up quickly. “Sure.”

There’s a beat.

“Wanna hold my hand under the table?”

Another beat.

“Yeah.”
 



“I fucking hate Frank. I hate his crooked teeth. I hate his 1950s haircut. I hate his knobby knees, his lopsided, asymmetrical, cock-eyed head. I hate that centipede-shaped scar. I hate the way he sleeps. I hate the way he laughs.”

“Son…” The bus driver clears his throat. “You’re gonna have to exit the vehicle.”
 



Gerard is at his cubicle, sketching and carefully watching over his shoulder for Brian, when the phone rings. He jumps, scratching a line through his drawing- it totally isn’t Frank, those green eyes and tattoos could belong to anyone, really- and snatching it up. “Hello?”

“I remember!” crackles Frank’s voice through the cheap plastic speaker. And then he’s humming the theme song to “The A-Team,” correctly too, and Gerard can’t contain himself. “That’s it! That’s totally fucking it!”

“Frank?” comes another voice- it sounds suspiciously like Ray, actually. The call ends, and Gerard stares at the phone for a second, before watching Ray head out of the copy room, followed by a slightly pink Frank.

“Your boyfriend’s losing it,” Ray says with a shake of his head as he reclaims his seat next to Gerard. “Oh, and Brian said he wants those samples Thursday instead of Friday. That okay?”

Gerard just nods, barely hearing him, because for the first time, he’s actually kinda okay with this job. As long as Frank is two cubes down, he’s as close to happy as he’s going to get.
 



“There’s no way.”

“Why not?” Frank says, as they wander the aisles of the Virgin Megastore.

“‘Octopus’s Garden?’ Really? You may as well just say ‘Piggies!’” Gerard says exasperatedly, because no one’s favorite Beatles’ song is “Octopus’s Garden.” No one except Frank, of course.

They keep moving, scanning the racks of DVD’s for something to entertain them for the night.

“I told you,” Frank shrugs. “I love Ringo.”

“You’re insane.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause nobody loves Ringo.”

“That’s what I love about him,” Frank beams. His eyes flicker behind Gerard and they widen. Before Gerard can turn and assess the situation for himself, Frank’s dragging him towards the curtained-off “XXX” section, where he can’t find anywhere decent in the room to focus his gaze.

Frank picks up a box and grins up at Gerard. “This got great reviews,” he says, only slightly suggestive, but it’s enough, it’s enough. Gerard can’t get them back to Frank’s apartment any faster.

Comfortable on his pull-out sofa, they both try to pretend they aren’t looking forward to this as the credits roll. Gerard can’t stand Frank sitting next to him, all vibrating with energy and arousal and breathing hard and- he loses it, turning and ferociously pinning him down, whining when Frank keeps a careful eye on the screen even when Gerard’s kissing him with all he’s got. It gets worse when Frank puts a hand on his chest and pushes him away altogether.

“That,” he says breathily, finally turning his gaze on Gerard, “looks do-able.”

It clicks, and Gerard slowly grins, before yanking him up and practically dragging him into the bedroom.
 



“So, what’s going on with you and Frank?” Bob asks bluntly. He’s only got half of his scrubs on, just the pants, and with the blonde beard he refuses to trim, Gerard thinks he looks like a scruffy doctor who’s just gotten fired and is now drinking his sorrows at the sports bar, his two best friends in tow.

Gerard shrugs, sips his beer. “I don’t know,” he says dismissively, like he doesn’t care. Because really, he doesn’t.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?” Ray says, twirling a little on his barstool.

“Like, are we ‘going steady’?” Gerard rolls his eyes at the two of them. “Come on, guys. We’re adults.”

“It’s not an unreasonable question,” Bob argues. “Watch. Ray, do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, I do not,” says Ray almost mechanically. “In fact, girls are repulsed by me. Bob, how about you?”

“Why yes, in fact, I do. Her name is Christa. See, Gerard? It’s easy.”

“It is when you’ve been with the same girl since high school,” Gerard scowls.

“You’ve been ‘seeing’ this guy, what, two months now?”

“Something like that,” says Gerard.

“And you haven’t discussed it?” Bob presses on.

“No! He’s not…” Gerard sighs. “We’re not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Normal,” Ray supplies. Gerard gives him a look. “We’ve just been… hanging out.”

“Hanging out?” Bob sounds like he wants to either laugh or pat him on the back empathetically.

“Guys, look, Frank and I… we know how we feel. We don’t need to label it. That stuff is very… juvenile.”

The group is quiet, pensive.

“You’re so gay,” Ray decides, shaking his ‘fro at him.

“Well, let me ask you this, then: Do you want him to be your boyfriend?” Bob asks. Gerard takes a second to think about it. He comes up with nothing. “I don’t know… Maybe.”

“I heard him, Gerard,” Ray says sadly. “He’s not the type. You’re gonna need to discuss it.”

“No,” Gerard says flatly. “We’re adults. It’ll be fine.”

“Have you made him a CD yet?”

“…Maybe.”

“Oh, dude.” Ray hangs his head in sympathy.
 



Gerard taps his fingers impatiently against the glass in front of the player’s bench, watching Mikey shoot around with the seventh grade field hockey team beyond it. A whistle blows, and Mikey finally returns and sits down next to him.

“You were saying?” he says, halfway breathless, removing his headgear.

“My thinking is…” Gerard presses his palms together, fans his fingers out. “Why rock the boat? Things are going well. If we start putting labels on it, that's, like, the kiss of death. Like saying ‘I love you.’”

“I know what you mean,” Mikey nods. “That’s what happened with me and Vivienne.”

Gerard stares. “Who the hell’s Vivienne?”

“My girlfriend before Evelyn.”

“How did you-? Never mind.” Gerard holds his head in his hands, feeling like he’s going to throw up. “Help me. Please. I need solid advice.”

“I’m twelve,” Mikey deadpans, and Gerard smacks him upside the head. “You know me,” he says. “This is the kinda stuff that always gets me in trouble.”

“Hmm.” Mikey pauses in thought. “So, basically, you do want to ask, you’re just afraid you’ll get an answer you don’t want and that will shatter your illusions of how good everything’s been these past few months. Is that about right?”

“Something like that,” Gerard says slowly.

“Okay, so, tell me this: is it worse to get the wrong answer now… or find out in a month when he has a date coming up with Lars from Norway?”

“Who’s Lars?”

“He’s a professional surfer with Brad Pitt’s face and Jesus’ abs.”

“That son of a bitch.”

“You see what I mean?” says Mikey. The whistle blows again, and Mikey stands up. Gerard’s stomach drops. “Later, dude.”

“Coach, no, wait! I need him!” he shouts in protest. “Mikey, what do I do?!”

“Just don’t be a pussy!” Mikey yells back right before he pulls his mask over his face, and Gerard is pretty sure it’s the most profound piece of advice he’s ever received.

*

They’re driving on the Golden Gate, and Gerard can’t decide if this is simply the right time or he’s just tired of not knowing, because every second of silence is driving him insane, and the words are sitting on his tongue just waiting for a shadow of opportunity, and Frank is sitting in the passenger seat, with absolutely no fucking idea.

Maybe he’s quiet for too long, because Frank eventually nudges him and smiles slightly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Gerard inclines his head, keeping his eyes on the road as best as he can, even though he’d be content to look at Frank for, like, ever. “Are you okay?” Frank asks carefully.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He’s not. Gerard clenches his teeth. “Frank, I’ve gotta ask you something.”

“So ask me.”

He takes the deepest of breaths. He can do this, it’s just words, he deserves to know, he deserves to-

“Wait!” Frank screeches suddenly, and then he’s turning the radio up as loud as he can without Marley’s “Waiting in Vain” drowning out the sound of his own voice. “Oh my god. We can’t talk during this song. It’s too beautiful.”

And it is.

Gerard’s hand is on the gear shift. Frank puts his own there and locks it with his. Gerard listens and watches Frank listening. There’s something about this moment, the way he sings along, the way his eyes close during certain notes, the way his smile rises and falls like he could cry at any minute from being overwhelmingly happy, or just simply overwhelmed. His mind is jammed with how completely powerless he is over whatever it is he feels for this fucking kid.

“In life, I know there’s lots of grief,
but your love is my relief.”

You know as well as he does: he will ask nothing tonight.
 



Gerard can honestly say he’s never felt jealous. Frank has never, in all the time they’ve spent together, given him a reason to even think mildly jealous thoughts. Gerard doesn’t think he ever will.

Until now. He’s watching Frank bounce from person to person at this stupid fucking party, clutching the same bottle of beer. He’s talking and laughing with them, drinking with them, and possibly flirting with many of them, and Gerard doesn’t even care who they are, he only cares that they’re not him, and they’re getting a hell of a lot more attention from Frank than Gerard is.

When Frank glances over out of the corner of his eye, Gerard smiles, like he doesn’t notice, that it doesn’t mean anything. And when Frank looks away again, Gerard slumps into a barstool and pretends he doesn’t feel that ragged ache of missing someone who’s right in front of you.
 



“‘So he broke your heart. You’ve been sad and depressed for weeks. Perhaps you’ve turned to drinking or even drugs. And nothing’s helped. Now what? Should you binge on Rocky Road and watch soaps all day?’”

Gerard hurls the stupid fucking self-help book across the room to join the others that have yet to help him one bit. He rubs a hand over his unshaven face- he’s starting to get that scruffy, unkempt look about him, but he doesn’t care. He snatches the tub of Vanilla Fudge Ripple from the nightstand, and stuffs a spoonful in his mouth.

After a minute, he gets up, scoops all of the books off of the ground, and starts over again.
 



“I just don’t get women’s fashion nowadays,” Gerard tells Frank. They’re standing by the bar, just standing and chatting, nothing very special. They’ve both had a long day, so it’s sort of nice. “Everybody with the tattoos, the giant hoop earrings, those annoying hats.” He takes a swig from his glass and gestures toward Frank. “Explain this to me.”

Frank shrugs. “People think it looks good.”

“Do you?”

“On some.”

Gerard looks him up and down. “I like how you dress.”

“Yeah?” he says, a slow grin spreading up his face. “What if I started wearing berets and got a huge butterfly tattooed on my leg?”

Gerard blanched. “Please don’t.”

There’s suddenly a shadow looming over them, and Gerard turns his head. A tall dude with those weird, no-lens hipster glasses has materialized next to them. Gerard gives him a once-over and dubs him Good-Looking Douchebag.

“Hey,” says Good-Looking Douchebag. Gerard notices how it’s directed at Frank. He tenses.

“Hey,” says Frank, barely looking up.

“How’s it going?”

“Okay.”

Gerard puts his hands in his pockets. He’s really not sure what else to do. He’s more amused than concerned, really.

“You live around here?” Douchebag asks.

Frank shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, not too far.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“You’re not too perceptive.”

“Ha.” Douchebag snorts. “That’s funny.”

Gerard smiles to himself. The guy’s a complete tool. Nothing to worry about.

“So, uh, let me buy you a drink,” the guy presses, but Frank politely shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

He gives a quick glance over to Gerard, and Douchebag finally takes notice of him, as though he hasn’t connected the two of them together before this point.

“Are you with this guy?” he asks pointedly.

Gerard realizes he sort of has to say something now. After some silence he mumbles, “Hi. I’m Gerard.”

“Whatever.” He’s back to Frank. “Come on, one drink. What are you drinking?”

“Sorry, no thank you,” Frank says again. Gerard tries not to look too pleased.

“You’re serious? This guy?”

And suddenly he’s angry.

“Hey, buddy-”

“Don’t be rude,” Frank scolds Douchebag. “I’m not interested, alright? Now why don’t you go back over there and leave us alone?”

“It’s a free country,” he growls. Frank and Gerard make eye contact, and Frank’s got an exasperated ‘now what?’ look on his face.

“So you and him, huh?” Douchebag is still there, still talking. “I can’t believe that. Is this guy really your boyfriend?”

The question hangs in the air, and Gerard is panicked. All the pent up uncertainty and confusion, coupled with the challenge to his manhood in front of Frank, all manifests in one single, solid, almost automatic fist to Good-Looking Douchebag’s face.

Which connects and sends him reeling.

There’s a beat, in which they both wince (because Gerard hasn’t hit anyone in a long time, and what the fuck, he doesn’t remember it being so painful), and then Gerard finds himself on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, having been hit so fucking hard he doesn’t even remember it.

*

“Did you see that punch?” Gerard says as they leave the bar- technically they’ve been thrown out, but they were leaving anyway, Gerard thinks, so it doesn’t matter- and he’s wiping blood on his shirt from, well, everywhere. He doesn’t even care, he feels surprisingly good about it.

“I don’t even know where it came from,” he continues. “I haven’t punched someone since Josh Greenburg in fifth grade.” He’s gazing down at himself, and he pauses. “Guess I’m gonna have to throw out this shirt.”

Frank doesn’t say anything- suddenly, he’s walking away, and for the first time, Gerard realizes how absolutely furious he is. He jogs to catch up, pulling him back with a hand around his arm. “Hey, what is it?”

“I can’t believe you,” Frank says, shaking him off, arms crossed.

“What?” Gerard says.

“You were so completely uncool in there.”

“You’re mad at me? I just got my ass kicked for you!”

Frank looks at him, but it’s the kind of look Gerard never wants to see again, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Frank so angry with him. “Oh, that was for me?” he snaps. “Next time, Gerard, don’t. I fight my own battles.”

“Come on, that guy was an asshole!”

“Well, you didn’t have to hit him! Why didn’t you just let me handle it?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard says. “He was-”

“See, this is why I don’t want a serious relationship!”

Gerard’s heart stutters. “Whoa,” he says quietly. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Frank sighs. “Look, I like you, Gerard. I like this. What we’ve been doing. But maybe it’s gone too…”

“Gone too what, Frank?”

“I told you all along what I don’t want and it’s…”

Gerard waits for more. It doesn’t come.

“I’m tired,” Frank says. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

It’s silent. Gerard doesn’t know what to think. Neither says a word as Frank gets fed up with his lack of response and starts walking again, towards his apartment. Gerard cannot fucking believe this. “I just got my ass kicked!” he shouts again as he goes, but Frank turns a corner, and Gerard is standing in front of the bar, alone.
 



Gerard’s got a bandage on his nose the next day, but he refuses to acknowledge it, no matter how many people ask about it. He’s trying not to run into Frank, and Frank is obviously trying not to run into him, but it’s inevitable, and Gerard is in the photocopy room when Frank walks in and stops short.

Gerard swallows, shuffles his copies. “Hi.”

Frank looks like he’s never wanted to be anywhere less. “Hi,” he says coldly, looking past Gerard, at anything but Gerard.

“What’s up?” Gerard says tentatively.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

Nothing else is said. Gerard clears his throat. “So, just to be clear- you’re still mad at me?”

Frank rolls his eyes, tucks his files under his arm. “Gerard…”

“Holy shit, you are. I can’t believe you!”

Frank gestures toward the machine and flaps his files at him. “Are you almost done?”

Gerard stares. Then he scoops up his things and tries not to look as murderous as he feels. “Yeah,” he says dryly, turning to leave. “I’m all done.”

Frank moves to take his place. “You know what,” Gerard suddenly says, turning back when he reaches the doorway, “Sometimes, you really don’t make any sense.”

He walks out, and when he looks back, Frank is concentrated on his copying. Gerard wishes with all his might that he would, but Frank doesn’t look up.

*

Gerard is awakened by a buzzer. He groggily slaps at the sleep button, but the sound isn’t coming from his alarm. It’s his doorbell, he realizes after at least fifteen seconds of consciousness. The clock says it’s nearly three in the morning- who the fuck goes around ringing people’s doorbells at three in the morning?

He forces himself out of bed, thinking it must be an emergency- and if it isn’t, there’s going to be some serious ass kicking going on tonight- and goes to answer it, flicking on lights as he walks through the apartment.

It’s Frank.

“Say you’re sorry,” Frank says immediately.

Gerard leans against the doorframe, not completely lucid yet. “Huh?”

“Say you’re sorry for acting like a jerk,” Frank orders, his eyes huge and pleading, but his voice hard and clipped.

“I am,” Gerard says, because he is, he really is. “I’m sorry for acting like a jerk.”

“Okay,” says Frank. “Me too.”

“Frank…” Gerard scrubs a hand over his face. “We don’t have to label what we’re doing. I just… I need-”

“I know-”

“Consistency,” Gerard insists. “I need to know you won’t wake up tomorrow and feel a different way.”

Frank’s got this soft expression, like Gerard is a small child who needs everything explained, like he fucking pities him. “I can’t promise you that,” he says gently, taking a half step toward Gerard. “Nobody can. Anyone who does is a liar.”

Silence. Gerard stares at the hallway wall over Frank’s shoulder, wishing he hadn’t gotten dragged out of bed for this shit.

“I can only tell you how I feel right now,” Frank continues, wringing his hands, before they’re on Gerard. “Or I can show you.”

He presses his mouth to Gerard’s, and Gerard groans, almost relieved, turns to press Frank’s small body against the door. His head is spinning, he can’t- he shouldn’t, they really shouldn’t-

Frank makes a small, desperate noise, tucks his hands into Gerard’s pajama pants, and it’s over. Gerard can’t fight this, and he won’t make himself try. He backs off of Frank long enough to drag him toward his bedroom, and kick the door shut behind them.

*

“So, have you ever had a real relationship?” Gerard finds the courage to ask the next morning.

Frank lifts his head from Gerard’s shoulder for just a moment. “Well…” He blinks. “Yeah.”

“More than one?”

Frank blinks again, and then he lies back down, snuggling further into Gerard, even though half the bed’s unoccupied. Gerard likes him where he is.

“A few,” Frank says carefully.

“Tell me about them.”

“No fucking way.”

“Why?” Gerard sounds more suspicious than he means to.

“‘Cause. There’s nothing to tell.”

“Please? I’m interested.”

“You really want to have the relationship history conversation?” Frank says tiredly. Gerard nods his head. “Yeah, I do.”

“You sure?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know.” He shrugs as best as he can with Frank all but on top of him. “Why not? I can take it.”

“Okay, well…” Frank sounds more tired than he did five seconds prior. “In high school, there was Jamia.”

“Jamia,” Gerard says, testing the name out on his tongue, trying to imagine Frank with such a person.

“She was captain of the cheerleading team,” Frank says.

Gerard nods. “Impressive.”

“Not exactly. I met her when I tripped and knocked down their human pyramid. She sprained her ankle and I had to help her hop to the nurse. She was hot, though.”

“Okay.” Gerard can deal with that. This isn’t as bad as he initially thought. “And then?”

“Then for a little while in college, there was Rachel.” Frank sighs a bit. “That didn’t really go anywhere. Mostly because I was fucking around with her brother whenever she went to class. And then there was my semester in Rome… Ryan. He was interesting. Can’t go wrong with foreign dudes.”

“And that’s it?”

“The ones that lasted, yeah.”

“What happened?” Gerard asks. “Why didn’t they work out?”

“Nothing happened, really,” Frank says, almost in a mumble, like he’s suddenly too exhausted to speak clearly. “It’s what always happens. Life.”

There’s a few beats of silence. Gerard isn’t so sure he wanted to hear that after all.
 



“So how long have you known Bob and Christa?”

Gerard shrugs, eying an outdoor café he used to frequent. Her name is Lindsey, and she’s wearing a leather jacket and combat boots, and her hair is black and spiky, and her lips are painted bright red, and Gerard just can’t wait for this night to end already. He shrugs halfheartedly. “Since grade school.”

“No way, really?” Lindsey says. “That’s crazy.”

Gerard doesn’t really see what’s so crazy about it. He shrugs again.

“Well, I’m glad you called. They spoke very highly of you.”

“Great.”

They find a table and inevitably eat in silence. But Lindsey doesn’t give up. “So, uh, how’s it going?” she says carefully.

Gerard pushes a meatball around his plate with his fork. “Okay.”

Lindsey hesitates. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m pretty quiet too,” Lindsey tells him. “Usually. It’s nice sometimes to be comfortable enough that you can just sit and eat and not have to say anything, y’know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to try some-”

“No thanks.”

Lindsey looks down at her food, and Gerard finally feels guilty, because it isn’t anyone’s fault he’s so fucking down, especially not this girl he’s known for exactly an hour.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, dropping his silverware and rubbing his eyes. “It’s just… There’s this guy.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking and putting her fork down too. “A guy, huh.”

“I’m not usually like this,” he explains, hoping she doesn’t think he’s an asshole, even though he kinda is. “I wasn’t before… Long story short, he wrecked me. I’m still thinking about him.”

Lindsey looks like Gerard has just run over her dog or something. “Well,” she says, disappointment dragging down the corners of her mouth, “maybe you should think about… someone else… who could cheer you up.”

“I can’t get him out of my head,” Gerard says, barely hearing her. “I see him everywhere, he’s all I think about. It’s horrible. ‘Cause I totally didn’t see it coming, y’know? I thought things were fine. So now I keep going through every day in my mind, every second, really. Wondering. What went wrong? Is it my fault? Could I have prevented it somehow? Maybe…” He chews his lip. “Maybe there were things that I could have said or done, y’know?”

Lindsey’s downing a drink he doesn’t remember her ordering, nodding when he pauses. “Christ, I don’t know, maybe he was never that interested in me to begin with.”

Lindsey flags down the waiter and asks for a refill, apparently having decided if Gerard’s going to be like this, she’s not going to be sober for it.

“Sorry,” Gerard sighs, unable to find it in him to sound sorry at all. “If I’m acting strange… that’s why.”

“It’s okay,” Lindsey says, because Gerard is paying for her drinks and she seems to care less and less. “It’s tough, getting over an ex-boyfriend.”

“Actually he was never my boyfriend.”

Now Lindsey’s really confused, but she’s got her refill, so she’s content for the moment, and Gerard starts to seriously crack up. “I just… I thought I’d have it figured out by now, y’know? My life. Where I’m going, where I want to end up, who with. All that stuff. I still don’t know anything. And the thing is… When I was with Frank, none of that mattered. I never even noticed how much of my life was missing! Isn’t that weird?”

“You were in love,” Lindsey shrugs. “That’s what it does. But now that you know where the holes are, you can start to fill them.”

Gerard drops his head in his hands. “Sure.” He’s quiet for a second. Then he collects himself. “Hey, I’ve been talking nonstop. You talk.”

“Me?” Lindsey straightens. “Well, I grew up-”

“So what do you think? Did I do something? Did I not do something? What can I do now?”

Lindsey rolls her eyes. “You wanna get out of here? I know this great-”

“Oh!” Gerard says, suddenly more excited than he’s been in a while. “I know exactly what we should do.”

Almost an hour later, Gerard is on stage singing his way through the karaoke bar’s collection of Clash songs. Well, not so much singing as having a nervous breakdown to music.

“You said you’d stand by your man! So tell me something I don’t understand. You said you loved me! And that’s a fact! And then you left me, said you felt trapped!”

Lindsey is in a booth by herself, trying to hide her face. Gerard is drunk and couldn’t give less of a fuck if he tried. “You didn’t stand by me! Not at all! You didn’t stand by me- I’m talking about you, Frank!”

It isn’t long before he slips and dive-bombs off the stage, halfway between sobbing and laughing, and Lindsey sneaks out before she’s obligated to get him home. Gerard stays on the floor as long as he can. Which, as it happens, is quite a long time.
 



Gerard looks pretty fucking good, if he does say so himself. He’s making small adjustments in the bathroom mirror, getting ready for what can only be described as a big fancy night out. He tucks his shirt into his pants, ties his tie. His teeth are brushed and- is that a grey hair? Gerard frowns, plucking it and then smoothing the rest down.

He’s satisfied.

He makes some faces in the mirror, smiling a stupidly big smile, grabs his coat, and hits the street.

San Francisco’s quiet tonight. It’s spring, and there’s the slightest chill in the air, but Gerard’s feeling good. Fuck the cold, this night was going to be fantastic, he could already feel it.

His cell phone rings halfway through his journey. He glances at the display and only smiles wider.

“Hey, it’s me,” says Frank on the other end. Gerard is pretty much skipping at this point.

“Hello me,” Gerard greets him happily. “You having a good day?”

“I am, thank you.” There’s some shuffling noises, jingling, like Frank’s just getting home. “Listen, about tonight… I think I might just stay in and go to bed early.”

Gerard halts. The world stops. The universe laughs in his face.

“What?” he says. “Why?”

“I’m just really tired, and I’ve gotta go in early tomorrow,” Frank explains, and he doesn’t sound like he’s lying, but Gerard is still vibrating with silent exasperation. “Would you be super mad at me if we went out this weekend instead?”

“Well…” Gerard looks down at himself. He’s all gussied up- there’s no way Frank is canceling. Theyneed this night. They need this night. “You don’t want to just, maybe, go to dinner? I mean, you’ve gotta eat, right?”

“I’m not really that hungry,” he says absently. “And this place is fancy, right?”

Gerard fingers the back of his tie, trying not to punch the next person to walk passed him. “Sorta.”

“I’d rather not. Seriously, do you mind?”

“No, that’s cool,” Gerard assures him. He tries to keep his frustration from becoming audible. “Whatever you want to do.”

“Thank you,” Frank says. “So we’ll talk tomorrow, alright?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Good night, Gerard.”

“Good night.” He pauses. “Happy birthday, Frankie.”

The line has already gone dead.
 



Gerard is studying Frank carefully, the way he bounces on his toes, bites his lip as they wait in line. “You really want to see this?” he says disbelievingly.

Frank nods vigorously. “It sounds amazing.”

“It’s, like, all stabbing and shit.”

“Exactly,” Frank says, exasperation on the edge of his tone. Gerard stares. “Okay.”

“All you take me to are sappy little romances,” says Frank, clearly frustrated now, giving him a look that says ‘please just let me win this one.’ “I want to see some open wounds, dammit. I want carnage.”

“Fantastic,” Gerard says.

Suddenly, there’s something at the front of the line that catches his eye, and as if this day couldn’t get any fucking worse-

“Oh, shit.”

Frank tries to see what he sees. “What?”

And here they come, Gerard’s mom and step-dad, Donna and Martin. Gerard tries not to look so noticeably panicked.

“Hey!” his mother beams, delighted at this coincidence. She pulls Gerard into a hug and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Gerard’s looking at Frank. “Hi, Mom.”

Frank smiles. Maybe this will be okay.

“Mom, Martin- this is Frank,” he says, gesturing to each one in turn.

Donna’s beaming again. “Frank! Well hello, we’ve heard so much about you! It’s so good to finally meet you,” she gushes, and then she’s hugging Frank, who looks like he’s just been attacked. He pats her awkwardly on the back. “You too,” he says tightly. Gerard swallows against the lump in his throat.

Martin weighs in with his own hug, and Frank’s face is growing increasingly concerned. Why is he hugging me? he seems to be asking Gerard with his eyes. Gerard tries to apologize with his own.

“Is this the boyfriend?” Martin says to Gerard, who’s caught like a deer in headlights. “Well, uh, this is the boy friend I’ve told you about. I don’t know if ‘boyfriend’ is the right word…”

His mother doesn’t dwell on it. “You going to see the serial killer one?”

Frank nods. “Indeed, we are.”

“Great! Should we save you seats?”

Gerard winces, willing them to go away, wanting to scream ‘no’ in her face, tell her just what kind of fucking mess she’s making that he’s going to have to find a way to clean up later.

Frank says, “Absolutely,” because he’s polite and wonderful and is so going to throw a bitchfit as soon as the opportunity arises.

“Okay, we’ll see you inside.”

When they’re out of earshot, Gerard turns pleading eyes on Frank. “Sorry about that.”

Frank shrugs, emotionless. Looking straight ahead. Uncaring. “It’s fine.”

“You wanna go do something else?” Gerard suggests, doing his best not to sound like he’s begging, because he really is and it’s pathetic. “We can totally bolt, I don’t even care.”

“Did you tell them I was your boyfriend?” asks Frank pointedly.

“What?!” Gerard says, feigning shock. “No way! I never used that word.”

“They seemed to think…” Frank looks conflicted, bouncing on his toes for a completely different reason now. “I mean, why is your step-dad giving me a hug?”

“He’s very… loving,” Gerard argues flatly.

“Does he hug all of your friends?”

There’s that word again.

Frank finally looks at him, but it’s like he’s disappointed or even angry at him, and Gerard nearly winces again as he turns and walks ahead of him into the theatre. He forces himself to follow. Why is none of this easy anymore?

He thinks it can’t get any worse, but he’s wrong, as usual. They’re all sitting like ducks in a row- he, Frank, Donna, and Martin. Frank’s face is cold and emotionless again, focusing on the movie but not looking focused at all. Gerard tries to make eye contact, tries to get him to look, but he doesn’t, and Gerard knows if he doesn’t fucking want to look at him, he won’t. He gives up and turns to the movie, trying to get some worth out of the eleven dollar ticket he paid for.

There’s a man racing down the street, fleeing from an unseen assassin. When he turns around to see where he’s gone, bullets suddenly start flying and he’s hit repeatedly in the back, still running, still trying his damndest to get away. It reminds Gerard of Belmondo in “Breathless.” He watches blankly, as he dies an elaborate, violent, horrible on-screen death.
 



Rave music blares. Gerard stands off to the side of the club, looking miserable, and he knows it. Frank, on the other hand, is on the dance floor having the time of his life, and it’s doing nothing for Gerard. He watches Frank dance, though not with anyone in particular, but he’s dancing with everyone. Finally, he comes back, white t-shirt dripping with sweat and clearly a little high on one thing or another.

“You’re not having any fun,” he accuses. Gerard shrugs. “You’re having enough fun for both of us,” he says monotonously. He’s really not in the mood for this tonight.

“I’m dancing. I haven’t danced in ages. God.” Frank takes his wrist. “Come on.”

Gerard shakes him off. “No.”

“Come on!” Frank says again, stomping his foot. “I wanna dance with you.”

“Where were you an hour ago? I might have danced then. I’ve been here standing by myself this whole time and you didn’t look over once.”

Frank has this ‘are you kidding me?’ look on his face, and it only makes Gerard’s urge to go home even stronger. “So you’re pissed?”

“I’m not pissed. Frank…” He rubs his eyes, glancing at the ceiling. “You know I hate this shit.”

“Then why are you here?”

“This is what you wanted to do,” he says tiredly. “So we’re doing it.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t need a chaperone,” Frank snaps, almost offended. “Go home. You’re a buzzkill, standing there pouting.”

Gerard is slightly taken aback, before he narrows his eyes. “That’s real nice,” he says, deciding he’s had enough and turning for the nearest exit.

“Gerard!”

Gerard doesn’t turn back. He stands outside and smokes for a while. Just stands there, even when it starts to rain. He can still hear the music blaring from the club. Frank is in there. Gerard is alone. And he can’t fucking believe it’s come to this.
 



Most days of the year are entirely unremarkable. They begin and they end without creating a single lasting memory. Most days have no impact on the course of a life at all.

When Gerard wakes up on May 8th, he gets his bearings and starts his newly acquired routine. Ten minutes later, he’s in the kitchen making a pot of coffee and leisurely browsing the newspaper, when his phone rings.

“Gerard, man… What are you doing right now?”

“Waking up,” he says, stirring his fresh mug slowly. “Why?”

“I think you should come meet us. Like, nowish,” says Ray.

“For what?”

“Just… We’ll talk about it when you get here.”

Gerard frowns and sets the phone down, but starts pulling on his shoes and doing other leaving-the-house type things before locking the door on his way out.

May 8th is a Saturday.

When he gets to the deli, Ray and Bob are sitting at a table, an empty table. This doesn’t look good. It doesn’t look good at all.

“What’s going on?” Gerard says carefully, because they both look nervous and oh god, why does this look so not-good?

Neither answers him. They exchange a glance, and then Bob finally says, “We have news.”

“Okay?”

“It’s about him.”

Gerard grips the edge of the table. “Do I want to hear it?”

“That’s what we wanted to ask you.”

“It’s just… Lately you’ve been… better,” says Ray.

“You’ve been much, much better,” Bob agrees.

“So, maybe it’s best we don’t ever bring him up again,” Ray says.

Bob nods. “Just let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Leave those dogs alone, Gerard!”

“You guys.” Gerard rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m… I appreciate what you’re saying and, thank you, really, for putting up with me these past few months. But I’ve accepted the fact that he and I were just two very different people who wanted very different things. And I know now, he just isn’t the kind of guy who can settle with one person and be happy. The way I wanted. And he probably never will. There was nothing I could do.”

Ray and Bob just sit there, more uncomfortable then ever.

Seconds later, Gerard is charging out of the establishment.

“There’s no fucking way!” he seethes, whipping this way and that, trying to find an appropriate item to take out his rage on. He can’t believe- out of all the bombshells they could’ve dropped on him-

“Gerard-” Ray starts.

“It can’t be!” he shouts. “It’s impossible!”

“It is,” Bob says solemnly.

“H-how do you know?”

Bob and Ray exchange yet another glance.

Gerard’s anger falters. He’d- he’d been doing so good. And- And he can keep doing good. He can. This isn’t going to destroy him. He’s fine, he tells himself. He’s fucking fine. Absolutely, positively-

He’s ripping down the posters in his room. He’s taking pictures out of frames and tearing them apart. He punches every wall, so none of them feel left out. He finds the bottle of red wine he keeps in the freezer and drinks the entire thing, trying to find something to kick and failing. He throws open the doors to the balcony and flings his cell phone off of it, before finally collapsing on his bed, thoroughly defeated.
 



The half-destroyed alarm clock goes off. Gerard hits the off button.
 



Rinse and repeat.
 



Gerard has never gone to the supermarket in just his robe and boxers before. But there is certainly a first time for everything.

He only throws the essentials into his basket. Milk, OJ, cigarettes. Jack Daniels. Twinkies.

The clerk eyes him suspiciously and Gerard is just daring him to make a comment, dying for a reason to go off on someone.

The first thing he encounters on his way back down the sidewalk is a happy couple, and Gerard winces with remembered agony. There’s another entwined on a bench as he passes the park, and when another walks toward him, holding hands, he suddenly can’t contain himself and scares the shit out of them with a screeching, “Jesus fucking Christ! Get a room!”

They merely stare at the lunatic in his robe, collect themselves, and promptly step around him and continue on their way.
 



The alarm goes off. Gerard is wide awake. He’s been for a while now. He can’t tell how long exactly. He only knows being awake for any expanse of time is much, much too long.

Not having anything else to do, he actually wanders into work some time later, wearing sunglasses and not having bothered to change out of the clothes he’d slept in. He can’t find it in him to muster responses when co-workers greet him in surprise. Ray is at his desk, scribbling away busily, and it seems his drawing skills have actually gone from ‘horrendous’ to ‘nearly subpar’ in the time Gerard has been refusing to do anything, much less Ray’s job.

“Oh my god,” he says when Gerard slumps into the seat next to him.

Gerard’s forehead connects with the desk.

“I’ve been calling every five minutes!” says Ray. Gerard doesn’t say anything. His head hurts.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” He cracks one eye open. “Oh, yeah. Great.”

“Um… Do you need anything?”

“Twinkies?”

Ray sounds disheartened. “Sorry.”

“I’m out of Twinkies.”

“Sorry,” Ray says again. Gerard hears packing-up noises. “Come on, let’s go.”

He opens one eye again. “Go… where?”

Ray gives him a look. “It’s Thursday.”

“Oh.” Gerard sits bolt upright, eyes wide. “Ohshit.”

*

Gerard sits next to Ray and across from Brian when they get to the meeting. Ray brings his briefcase. Gerard brings nothing but his robe and his sour attitude. He’s in his usual boardroom position, which is to say, near comatose.

Nadine stands at the front of the room, mid-presentation, showing slides that have something to do with a cat in various poses. “Cats are more interesting than people give them credit for,” she’s explaining, “and I think we can make something wonderful with this. Like, maybe, give him an enemy, a combatant with common goals. A raccoon? A mouse maybe? The kids will go crazy for it.”

Brian starts waving his pen at her. “Yes, yes, it’s an interesting idea,” he says, which means nothing because it’s what he says about every single thing, ever, “but I believe Tom & Jerry already exists. Alright, who’s next?”

It’s quiet. Brian glances around the room. “Way?”

Gerard freezes. “What?”

“You have something to present?”

“Uh…” Gerard swallows. He’s in his bathrobe, for fuck’s sake. Does it look like he’s prepared a goddamned presentation? “No. I don’t.”

“You have nothing?” Brian raises his eyebrows.

“Well, I wouldn’t say nothing…” He twirls the robe’s strings around his thumb, letting it unfurl on its own. “Actually, that’s about right.”

Brian looks none too pleased. “Okay… We’ll come back to you. Toro-?”

“You know what?” Gerard pipes up.

Brian pauses. “Yes, Gerard?”

“It’s… It’s these fucking shows we keep making, sir. These movies, and these pop songs? It’s all bullshit!”

“Mr. Way, I understand you’re going through a difficult time, but I’d advise you to-”

“They’re responsible for all the lies, the heartache, everything! We’re responsible!”

Everyone shifts in their seats. Gerard recognizes that he’s losing his shit, he does, and he cares less and less as times goes on. He doesn’t even give a shit that he’s getting really, really off-topic, even though staying on point is probably the least he can do after verbally abusing them all.

“I think we do a bad thing here,” Gerard tells them. “People shouldn’t be made to think cats and mice can be friends, or there are monkeys out there who truly care if kids eat their goddamned Froot Loops in the morning. They should know that when it comes right down to it, no one fucking cares.”

“Gerard,” Brian says as gently as he can manage while simultaneously turning purple. “This is a children’s cartoon network.”

“Exactly! So how come we’re not telling these little fucks the truth? Why aren’t we making cartoons about shit that actually fucking happens? Why are we setting them up for failure? They should know that the world is a cruel, cruel fucking place, and there’s a good fucking chance that love doesn’t even exist. Maybe it’s not love at all. Maybe it’s… ‘galoogoo.’”

Silence. Gerard individually stares down every person in the room. “Yeah, I made it up, so what?!” he snaps. “It’s all shit. And people believe in this shit. And I just can’t do this anymore, Mr. Schechter. There’s enough bullshit in the world without my help. I quit.”

Gerard walks out of the room. He makes it through the office, and down the elevator. He even gets halfway down the block before it hits him, and when it does, it practically paralyzes him.

Holy. Fuck. Did I just do that?!
 



“There’s no fucking way!”

“Gerard,” says Ray.

“It can’t be. It’s impossible!”

“It is,” says Bob.

“How do you know?”

“We know.”

“But… it’s May! We broke up last August!”

“I know,” Bob says.

Gerard stares heatedly at the deli he’s just stormed out of. “But- you said he was single at Christmas.”

Ray gives a halfhearted shrug. “Well, he was,” he says.

“And now he’s…”

“Yeah.”

“Now he’s getting married.” He suddenly feels so empty, like everything is being drained out of him, leaving him a useless flap of skin and bones and hopelessness. “Married.”

“It’s insane,” Bob agrees.

“It’s impossible. It doesn’t make sense. Where did they meet? Is it someone we know?”

“Nope.”

“Everything he said. All that stuff about…” Gerard slams his fist into the concrete wall, and then cries out, and then does it again. “It can’t be. Not him. I know him too well. He wouldn’t do that.”

His friends say nothing.

“Fuck!”

He whips around and storms off in the direction of his complex as the universe falls apart before his eyes. He’s the only constant as the world around him is erased, as if by an unseen force, brick by brick, beam by beam, and reduced to nothing.
 



Gerard isn’t going to lie, he’d been drinking before he arrived at Mikey’s Bar Mitzvah. He didn’t know why it felt appropriate, but it was sort of like he couldn’t leave until he did. Besides, Mikey wasn’t even Jewish- their mother was doing all of this on Martin’s insistence. It probably wasn’t even valid, Gerard thinks, but he goes anyway.

He kind of shows up late but his mother hugs and kisses him anyway, and even lets him sit in a chair in the back and sulk. He alternates between watching the proceedings and slipping outside for cigarettes. At least Mikey is having fun- a circle of mostly Martin’s family and a few courageous Ways are clapping their hands, and suddenly a chair is brought to the center and Mikey is lifted high into the air by Martin and a few others. He’s laughing and clutching it and looking as though he’s never had more fun in his life.

A while later, his mother catches him trying to sneak out and coaxes him into a chair at her table, and for an hour she gives him sad, concerned looks and holds his hand, until something or other needs her attention and she promises him she’ll be back, and Gerard is alone and in desperate need of a drink.

*

“I can’t believe that,” Aunt Anita shakes her head at him. “No girlfriend?”

“Can’t believe it either,” Gerard shrugs, tossing back what’s left in his cup. Somehow he’d stumbled upon two distant aunts of his, who were sitting at a back table with flasks tucked inside their blazers, and Gerard had decided there was no time like the present to bridge the gap or whatever.

“What are you, thirty?” Aunt Liz asks. “You should be married now. With a family. What are you waiting for?”

Gerard doesn’t answer until his cup is full again. “The right person, I guess.”

“There’s girls everywhere,” Aunt Liz points out. “I bet you have to beat ‘em off with a stick.”

Gerard snorts. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“I mean, just look at you,” Aunt Anita says, actually reaching over and squeezing his cheeks, oh my god. “Are all those girls blind?”

“My friend Mimi has a granddaughter,” Aunt Liz says, waggling her eyebrows. “Yay high, great figure. Bosom out to here-”

“It’s okay, Aunt Liz,” Gerard talks over her. “I appreciate it. Lord knows I like bosoms. It’s just… I just got out of a… well, I don’t know what it was.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says Aunt Anita, sympathetically leaning over and pouring another shot into his glass. “When was that?”

“August.”

Aunt Liz raises an eyebrow. “You mean… seven months ago?”

“Was it a man?” Aunt Anita suddenly says, and Gerard chokes on his Coke, the alcohol making his throat sting, and he coughs and sputters for a few moments before he gasps out, “What?”

“She means, are you a homosexual?” Aunt Liz translates.

“Uh, no,” Gerard says, face heating up. “Where’s that coming from?”

She shrugs, sipping straight from the flask. “We just always wondered.”

Awkward.

“So,” asks Aunt Anita, “how’s work?”

*

The band is halfway through “Lady in Red” and everyone’s still on the dance floor when Frank slides into the seat next to him.

“Hi,” Gerard says, barely raising his eyes. Frank smiles slightly.

“Um…” He clears his throat. “Glad you came?”

“Of course,” Frank says softly. “Where am I, exactly?”

“Mikey’s turning thirteen,” Gerard explains. He spots Mikey in the crowd, dancing with his girlfriend, Evelyn or something. “He’s an adult or whatever in the Jewish world, I guess.”

“Wow,” Frank says. “So this is a big day in his life, huh?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

Frank hesitates. “So why aren’t you smiling?”

“Hey, Gerard, you wanna dance?” someone says suddenly, and Gerard turns to see Mikey has materialized in front of him. Mikey shoots Frank a sort of grin and drags his brother across the dance floor.

“I don’t really want to dance with you,” he admits when Frank can’t see them anymore, and Gerard snorts. “I just thought you might wanna… I don’t know. Talk or something. Because you kinda looked like you wanted to hit him.”

“I kinda do,” Gerard admits, and Mikey pats his arm. “You’re not having any fun, are you?”

“Me?” Gerard shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m good, Mikey. I’m great.”

Mikey gives him a concerned look to rival their mother’s. “I heard,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Sucks.”

“Yup.” Gerard swallows thickly. “Anyway, who cares about me? This is your day.”

Mikey shakes his head and hugs him, and Gerard sighs. He doesn’t cry, but he could.

“You know Evelyn and her friends?” Mikey says when he pulls away, grinning. “They’re all in love with you.”

Gerard cocks an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Look.” Mikey gestures over his shoulder to three thirteen year olds swooning across the dance floor at him. He starts to grin ever so slowly. “That’s nice.”

“What did I tell you? There are plenty other fish in the sea.”

“Those are guppies.”

“Who knows?” Mikey says. “Someday one might turn out to be your ‘true love.’”

“…Are you making fun of me now?”

“No, I’m serious.”

“I got news for you, Mikes,” Gerard tells him. “That true love stuff… it’s make-believe.”

“Well, that’s not very romantic.”

“It’s the new me.”

The song comes to a close, and Gerard pushes Mikey lightly. “Alright, go play with your friends,” he says.

Mikey hesitates. “You’ll be okay?”

“Sure,” he lies.

“Gerard.”

“Hmm?”

“I know you think he was the one for you…” There’s a beat, and then Mikey shrugs. “I don’t. I think you’re just remembering the good stuff. But what do I know, right? I’m thirteen.”

That’s what Mikey leaves him with, turning to catch up with the girls. Gerard watches him go and tries to muster up the will to go back to Frank. He can’t.
 



“Hey,” Gerard greets a half-asleep Frank over the phone. He’s fully dressed, sitting on his bed pulling his sneakers on.

“Hello?”

“Are you still sleeping?”

“I’m getting up,” Frank says groggily. “What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty. Are we still hanging out today?”

“Okay, sure.”

“I’ll meet you at Liberty in… twenty minutes?”

“I might need forty-five.”

They have a quiet picnic, Gerard sneaking glances every so often at Frank, who looks as though he wishes he were still in bed. “So,” he asks tentatively, “how was last night?”

“It was fine. Just a work thing.”

“Where did you guys go?”

Frank shrugs. “Some restaurant.”

“Fun?”

“Uneventful. Didn’t get home until after twelve, which is way too late for a stupid work function. How was your night?”

Gerard shrugs too. “Pretty standard.”

There isn’t exactly much more to say after that.

They wander the outdoor market next, weaving quietly between aisles. Gerard thinks how you can’t really see any trouble unless you’re looking for it. But since he is, Gerard notices how Frank lags behind him, but then he could honestly really be tired, so Gerard allows himself to brush it off.
 



Gerard is drawing on the wall with a pencil to mark for a book shelf. He’s using a ruler to make sure his marks are even, and then suddenly, he drops the ruler, and he’s sketching something. And he goes with it, overwhelmed with all of the inspiration gripping him at once, and he can’t stop until he’s exhausted it all.
 



Frank’s got a new novel today. Gerard sticks to his newspaper, scanning it closely. “It’s playing at five,” he announces to Frank when he’s found the movie he’d mentioned earlier.

Frank glances up. “You want to go?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard says. “You wanna maybe go back to your place or-”

“I want to see it. Let’s go,” Frank suddenly decides. Gerard slowly nods and folds up the newspaper. “Okay. Cool.”

“Unless you don’t want to.”

“No, I will,” Gerard says. “That’s fine.”

“Okay.”

*

In the middle of the film, without a warning of any shape or form, tears well up in Frank’s eyes, and Gerard doesn’t take notice until he’s muffling sobs in the sleeve of Gerard’s jacket. His heart aches, and he wraps an arm around him, pulls him into his chest, lets him cry there instead.

All he can remember thinking is how far the movie had been from sad.
 



The bookshelf never gets built, and Gerard finds himself spending a good amount of time on the sketches on the wall, before buying a new sketchbook altogether and even starting to scribble in tidbits of information, even background stories if it came to him. The people on the wall are still nameless faces. Not for long.
 



“Frank?”

When they walk out of the theater, it becomes clear at once that Frank is not okay. One glance at Gerard and tears are silently rolling down his face again. “I’m fine,” he mumbles thickly. His hands are out in front of him, trembling slightly, like he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

Gerard pulls him close again. “Frankie,” he says softly, “it’s just a movie, Frankie.”

“I know,” Frank mumbles into his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Gerard.”

“Is everything alright with you?”

Frank forces a smile- Gerard can tell, the difference is monumental- and attempts to pull himself together. “Yeah, I’m just… I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”

“It’s okay. Let’s… go for a walk. Get some fresh air.”

Frank nods. “O-okay.”

They end up in the record store. Frank seems much more in control now, but Gerard is still concerned, watching him carefully. As they browse the aisles, he picks one up, sighing dramatically. “It pains me we live in a world where no one’s ever heard of Spearmint.”

Frank doesn’t look up from where he’s flicking through the clearance box. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“And it’s painful,” Gerard says. “Oh, look.”

His eyes fall on the ‘Ringo Starr’ bin and picks one up, turning it for Frank to see. Frank smiles, and they continue on down the aisles. Gerard reaches for his hand, but… something happens. It could be a coincidence- no, it’s a coincidence, he’s sure of it, he’s paranoid dammit- but just as he approaches Frank moves his hand away and keeps it at his side. Gerard slowly puts his hands in his pockets, unsure if there’s something to read in that.

The sun’s nearly set when they leave, each with one bag containing exactly one record. Gerard doesn’t know what to do with himself. “So,” Frank says.

“So… now what?” Gerard says.

“Now…” Frank glances down the street. “I think I’m gonna call it a day,” he says, sounding tired again.

“Yeah?” Gerard wishes he felt differently. “You wanna maybe… get some dinner or something?”

“I’ve got pasta at home.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Ooh!” Gerard starts grinning madly, taking both of Frank’s hands. “I’ve got a great idea!”

“What?”

“Let’s get breakfast.”

Frank blinks. “Now?”

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah… okay. Pancakes.”
 



It’s kind of funny, because once Gerard gets the hang of this whole ‘keeping busy’ deal, the days seem to blur together at the edges. He sketches. He draws everything he sees and sketches everyone he meets. And one day, he shows Ray his wall of nameless faces, and something happens.

“Get me a piece of paper or something,” he says slowly. “You said you don’t have a story for them yet, right?”

And then he’s somehow twice as busy as before, and when you’ve got stuff to do, who really has time to be sad? Not Gerard, who spends the day drawing and going through Ray’s notes, calling every publisher he can find. In the evening, he listens to whatever stories Ray has come up with while at work, and they repeat this process until they end up with, wouldn’t you know it, a first issue.

It’s just barely colored in, and it’s rough and mostly in pencil, but it’s the farthest they’ve gotten, and the morning of Mikey’s championship soccer game, Gerard takes copies of it and Ray’s notes and mails them off, not having time to hope for the best because the game was at three and Gerard had promised to be early.

It isn’t long before they receive an answer, albeit a shitty one. They’re undeterred; Ray crosses it off of their list on the wall and they move on.

But bad news is something you don’t exactly want to receive over and over. And that’s what happens. A total of five times, the fifth after which Gerard nearly sets fire to his sketchbook, but instead sits on the couch with slumped shoulders. The list is getting shorter.

Then, as if to shut those thoughts out, whatever they were, he turns on the television and joylessly watches the nothingness.
 



Frank sits like an apparition on a neighboring bench. He may have just sat down; he may have been there for hours. Gerard isn’t sure if he’s real. He doesn’t quite know what to do, because he’s looking right at him and apparently waiting for him to speak.

“Hey,” Frank says finally. Gerard hasn’t heard that voice in a long time. “You look fancy.”

He must mean Gerard’s suit. His jacket is laid across his lap, but he’s still pretty dressed up, what with the tie and all. Gerard supposes it must be an odd sort of thing to wear to the park.

“Where you coming from?” he asks when Gerard still doesn’t say anything. Gerard anxiously rolls up his sleeves. “Nowhere,” he mumbles quietly. He’s just gotten back from a meeting apparently scheduled solely to inform him of all the reasons his work is useless. He doesn’t say that. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Awhile.”

Gerard finds it hard to look at him.

“How are you, Gerard?” Frank asks.

“I’m… good. Ish.”

“That’s good.”

“I quit the office,” Gerard informs him, and Frank lights up. “Really? What are you doing now?”

“Mostly… sleeping.”

Silence.

“So, who is it?”

“Who?” Frank says.

“I heard about the wedding.”

“Oh.” Frank glances down for a moment, and then Gerard says, “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Gerard…”

“No, really, I don’t.”

Frank hesitates. “Okay.”

There’s more awkward silence. This one goes on a beat longer.

“It’s amazing to me,” Gerard sighs. “I mean, you’re married.”

Frank’s reaction is a bit strange. He smiles just for a split second, squeezing his eyes shut and nodding. “I know.”

“You’re not only someone’s boyfriend, you’re someone’s husband.” Gerard sighs again, deeper this time. “I’ll never understand that.”

“Gerard-”

“What’s different now? How could things change so quickly?”

“I don’t know.” Frank shrugs. “It just happened.”

“What happened? That’s what I don’t get.”

“I… Gerard…”

“What? Tell me.”

“I just woke up one day, and I knew.”

Gerard says nothing. Frank wrings his hands in his lap. “I knew,” he continues quietly, “that I could promise to feel the same way every morning.”

There’s not much to say after that. Gerard gets up to leave. “You know what sucks?” he says. “Realizing that everything you believe in is complete bullshit.”

Frank looks taken aback. “What is?”

“Destiny, soulmates, true love,” he rattles off. “All that stuff. It’s nothing more than silly childhood fairytale nonsense, isn’t it?”

“Gerard, please,” Frank’s eyes are big and pleading. Gerard can barely stand the sight of them. They’d never look at Gerard the way he wanted again. “Don’t go.”

“I should have listened to you, Frank. You were right all along.”

Frank takes a beat, lets this hang there. “I was… right?”

And then, out of no where, he begins laughing hysterically, making Gerard jump. “What?” he says snappily. “This is funny?”

Frank visibly tries to stop but it only makes it worse.

“What are you laughing at?”

But he can’t stop, he’s totally lost control. And he doesn’t understand it one fucking bit, but somehow Gerard is holding back giggles too. “You’re a fucking psycho.”

“Gerard!” Frank cries, and he’s heaving and gasping and still trying to breathe. He stands up, walks toward Gerard, and pulls him close, as though afraid to let go. “It’s so good to see you,” he says, and Gerard wraps his arms around him and tries to memorize all the best details about him that he knows he’ll start to forget the moment he leaves.

“I should be getting back,” Frank says, and Gerard makes himself nod. “Frank, I…” Gerard hesitates. “I really hope you’re happy.”

“I know,” Frank says softly. “See you later.”

It’s not a promise. Gerard bites his tongue for wishing it were.
 



“Fucking cheers, man.” Ray clinks his glass against Gerard’s without waiting for permission. “All this time, and we actually have been doing something right.”

“You’re telling me,” Gerard says, swallowing most of his beer in one go, but he’s too giddy to care, too light to really even be affected by alcohol. Today marked the day everything really began: Gerard had found a company interested enough to invest in the first series, a full six issues, which was all they needed, really- it was six issues more than they’d ever expected to get.

“You see, things are looking up,” Ray says. “I told you. Things always get better. Always, always. It’s a motherfucking given.”

Gerard glances around the only slightly crowded bar. “Where’s Bob?”

“Off somewhere being an asshole, I suppose,” Ray says. “He sure as hell isn’t here, which he should be, since we’re celebrating only the greatest thing to have ever happened to any of us.”

“Truer words have never been spoken, my friend.” They clink glasses again and attempt to catch the bartender’s attention.

“Check it out.” Ray gestures over Gerard’s shoulder. “Long time, no see, huh?”

Gerard turns and oh, it hasn’t been that long. Frank’s here, sitting in a corner booth, quietly sipping a beer and picking his cell up every few minutes, typing, and setting it back down on the table. Gerard… Gerard is actually okay. He’s pretty sure he’s okay.

“Oh,” he says to Ray. “Look at that.”

He watches Frank empty his bottle and then makes a decision. “I’ll be back,” he tells Ray, heading up to the bar and grabbing two beers before sliding in across from Frank. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says, grinning.

Frank blinks and then breaks into a grin too. “Wow,” he says. “What’s gotten into you?”

Gerard shrugs, but he’s still grinning like a madman, so it’s not as nonchalant as he’d like. And he doesn’t care. “Ridiculously good news’ll do that to a guy. Beer?”

Frank takes it gratefully. Gerard can honestly say they’ve never had a more comfortable silence. Gerard studies Frank, taking in features he’d once had all the time in the world to admire. “So tell me, what’s this all about? Last time I saw you, you were down and out.”

Gerard immediately sets into the story, tells Frank every detail, because Frank is fascinated, absolutely genuinely interested in what Gerard tells him, and Gerard knows if he’s missed anything, it’s that. “That is so fucking amazing,” Frank says softly. “I knew you were in the wrong place when I met you. I knew it.”

“You did,” Gerard nods. “I should thank you, really. You’re essentially why it all came together.”

“I…” Frank looks down at his hands, wrapped around the bottle. Gerard watches him tap his fingers in a steady rhythm, and-

“Where’s your ring?” he asks bluntly, because both of Frank’s hands are bare, and don’t you usually get a ring at a wedding?

“Huh?” Frank blinks and then lifts his left hand. “Oh… Right. At home. It’s at home.”

“Oh.” Gerard watches him carefully, and Frank can only meet his eyes for a second before rolling them and sighing exasperatedly. “Fuck me. I can’t lie to you like this.”

“Lie to me like-”

“I’m not married, Gerard.”

“You’re not-” Gerard’s head spins on his shoulders. “What?”

“I’m not married,” he repeats, staring at his hands again.

“But… But you said-”

“I know what I said,” Frank cuts him off curtly. “And I’m telling you it was a lie. Look, I ran into Jamia around Christmas after we… after we stopped talking. And then, I don’t know. I asked her to marry me. Don’t ask me why. There is no why.

“Anyway, we broke up a month before the wedding because I’m a fucking idiot who should never have proposed in the first place. And when you asked, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t even expect you to know, and I didn’t know what you were gonna think- me leaving you because of a fear of commitment and then running off and agreeing to marry someone else, only to have it fail. I didn’t want you to know that. So I lied.”

“Frankie…” Gerard feels like he’s going to throw up, seriously. The room is motherfucking spinning.

Frank almost has a note of relief in his voice. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me Frankie,” he says quietly, chuckling lightly. “I’ve really missed you.”

“Frankie,” Gerard says again, “all those things you said- about waking up, and knowing- how could you just… change your mind?” Gerard says exasperatedly. “How can you feel something like that about a person and stop feeling it a month before your wedding?”

“Gerard!” Frank’s laughing now, face in his palms. “Oh my fucking- I was talking about you. You asked me how I felt and I had to come up with something, but you’d have seen right through me if I lied, so I just… I said how I actually felt. Only, about you.”

Gerard thinks he’s doing pretty good when it comes to processing, considering this is a lot of information to take in. “I laughed at you,” Frank says quietly, “because you said I was right. And it was so ironic it hurt, because you’re the one who’s been right all along, Gerard.”

Gerard remains silent. Processing.

“I’m sorry,” Frank tells him, looking guiltier by the second. “This is sort of a lot to hear at once. I shouldn’t have lied.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Gerard agrees. He sips his beer. “So. You’re not married.” He takes another sip. “Huh.”

Frank shakes his head. “Nope. Happily unmarried,” he confirms.

Gerard nods, and the comfortable silence comes back for a couple of beats. “I don’t suppose,” Frank says carefully, “we could pick up where we left off, could we?”

Gerard swirls around what’s left of his beer in the bottom of the bottle, thinking. “No,” he says eventually. “No, we can’t.”

“I didn’t think so,” he says sadly, but nods like he understands. “I figured you’d say that. But I had to try.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Gerard says, pointing his beer at him in an accusatory fashion. “We can’t, because… because we’re nowhere near the same people we were all those days ago. And if we tried to fit ourselves back into that life… We’d end up back where all this started.”

“You have a point,” Frank says quietly, nodding and clinking his bottle against Gerard’s. “Okay. I get it.”

Gerard glances quickly up at Ray, who catches him staring and gives him a small nod. Take your time.

He turns back to Frank. “I don’t suppose,” he starts slowly, “you’d be open to… starting over, would you?”

“Starting over?”

“Yeah. You know. Putting everything behind us. Taking our time. Hitting reset.”

“Like it’s day one again?”

“Exactly. Day one all over again.”

Frank laughs slightly. He’s really cute when he laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
 

(500)
(1)

The End.