Folie a Deux

Hey everyone, Eve here! So I know it's been forever since the last Folie update, but holidays and friends, yknow?

Anyway! Not much to say in this author's note, besides I hope you guys really enjoy this chapter, because I know I enjoyed writing it. I think it's my favorite chapter from Frank's point of view so far. You might notice that some of the scenes kind of leave some stuff that isn't fully explained / I could've explored further, but trust me, once you start reading, you'll know why, hopefully, and just no that (most) everything will be cleared up in the next chapter...

Anyway, sorry for the choppy / shitty editing on this haha.

Enjoy!

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I sat on the counter in the bathroom, half-turned, looking at myself in the mirror. I kept replaying the sound of his voice in my head; 'I love you.'

Why did he sound so fucking terrified?

I stared at my reflection. I looked like a wreck; my hair was unruly as hell and my eyes were tired, dull, not fully there. I was pale and looked sort of like a ghost. I looked depressed and tired and- and I looked like Gerard did when he was having an off day. I smelt like smoke and I was cold and I was tired and I felt like killing myself.

"Fuck," I said, pressing my hands over my face. We were both in such shitty shape. How does a couple consisting of two depressed, suicidal teenagers even happen? How the fuck was this working? It's hard to make someone happy when you feel like putting a gun to your own head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I muttered, glaring at my reflection. I wanted to throw up. Gerard deserved so much fucking better than me. He deserved someone who could make him happy, someone who wouldn't fucking force him into saying things he obviously didn't want to say. Someone who wasn't so angry all the damn time and someone who didn't hate himself and someone who wasn't fat and ugly and selfish and stupid and suicidal. He deserved so much better.

There was a light knock on the door. "Frank?"

My fingers faltered as I ran them through my hair.

"Mikey?"

"Yeah. Hey, you okay?"

"I'm-" I had started to say 'I'm fine,' but I didn't want to lie to the kid. "I don't know."

"Ma said dinner is ready."

"Okay." I stood up and glanced at myself in the mirror one last time, wondering if anyone else noticed how dead I looked.

Mikey was standing right outside when I opened the door.

"Gerard is outside smoking," Mikey informed me.

"Okay."

"He's already on his second cigarette. He burns through them fast when he's upset."

I stuck my hands in my front pockets, curling them into fists. "Everything okay?" I asked him, staring.

"He loves you," Mikey told me. "He really fucking loves you, okay?"

I blinked. "I- I know. He just told me."

Mikey nodded. "I know, he told me what happened. But, he's- there's something wrong, I think."

"Yeah," I said quietly, nodding. "I think so too." The problem wasn't with Gerard, though. He'd been nothing but nice and patient and tolerant and considerate. Hell, I kissed another boy and he didn't even get angry. The problem here was me.

"Just, remember, though, okay? No matter what my brother says or does, he loves you with every ounce of his stupid non-existent heart. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, understanding. I ruffled Mikey's hair with one hand. "Thanks, kid."

He looked at his shoes. "I'm not a kid anymore, Frank."

I sighed and pulled him into a quick hug and he flinched a bit, surprised. "You're the most grown-up one of us all," I informed him before I turned and left the hall for the kitchen. He followed a few moments later, looking at me like I was insane, so I just stared at the table as I sat down.

"What's for dinner?" Mikey asked, quietly, sitting across from me.

"You requested cheeseburgers," Mama Way said. "So we're having cheeseburgers and mac and cheese, and I made a veggie burger extra special just for Frank.

"Thank you," I said, smiling as she distributed the plates. We had a fairly organized seating pattern- the table was round, so I sat across from Mikey and Gerard sat on my right side as close as he could get without being too obvious. (He liked to be just close enough to occasionally rest his hand on my knee, but far enough away that to his mother, it still seemed like he was respecting my personal space,) and Mama Way sat at an equal distance between Mikey and I. It kind of changed, sometimes, like if Gerard was mad at me he would sit slightly closer to Mikey, and if Mikey wasn't feeling well or was annoyed with his brother, he'd sit slightly closer to his mother.

"Is Gerard still outside?" I asked, frowning.

Mama Way nodded. "Yeah... I'll go call him in-"

"I'll go," I told her, standing. "He's, uh, kind of grumpy today."

Mama Way nodded, sitting down in her regular spot. "Thank you."

"No problem."

When I walked outside, I paused next to Gerard, looking at him from the side. He was on the phone- something rare and weird for him.

He had a cigarette dangling between two fingers, the cellphone in his right hand. His cigarette hand raised to his forehead and I watched him scratch at his head with his thumb, nodding to whatever the person on the phone was saying. "Uh, yeah, sure," he said, placing the cigarette between his lips and breathing it in deep. "Tomorrow would be great, if that works for you," he said, letting the smoke out as he spoke. He didn't even seem to notice me standing there. "Sorry this is so last minute and sudden and whatever. It's sort of spur of the moment."

I reached over to Gerard's waist and slipped my fingers into his pocket, taking his pack of cigarettes. His eyes flickered down to my hand but otherwise he still didn't seem to notice me, not even when I had my hand in his back pocket, extracting his lighter.

"It's okay," Gerard said as I lit my cigarette. I watched him talk, raising an eyebrow. "Well, it's not, really, but we talked about it. I know what happened and I understand the logic behind it. I was just thinking it would be good for all three of us to sit down and talk about it, y'know?"

I placed the cigarette between my lips, fiddling with Gerard's lighter, turning it on and off and back on again. Gerard sounded really adult, right then, and he looked the part too. He looked like a businessman on the weekend, talking with a client about something important.

"He's standing right here, if- Yeah, that works..." There was a short pause. Gerard moved his cigarette away from his lips and leaned towards me suddenly, pressing his lips against the side of my head as he listened to whatever it was the person on the other end of the phone call was saying. I turned, wanting to catch his lips with mine, but he was already leaning away, saying, "Okay," into the phone. "We'll see you tomorrow, then. Bye."

He hung up the phone and put it in his back pocket, bringing his cigarette back to his lips.

"Who was that?"

"Just someone I know," Gerard said. "We're having company tomorrow."

I frowned. "Oh. Okay."

"They said to tell you that they're sorry."

I felt both my eyebrows raise. "Sorry? For what? Who was that?"

"They didn't specify for what and you can find out tomorrow for yourself if you really want to know."

I sighed, glaring everywhere but at him. "Fine. Whatever."

"Don't be so angry," he said, frowning slightly. "Why are you always so angry?"

"I don't know," I said. "I didn't used to be like this. I used to just be scared of everything, all the time."

"Are you not still scared of things?"

"I am," I said, looking at my cigarette instead of at him. "I just do a better job at hiding my paranoia now."

"Oh." He dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his shoe. "I'm assuming dinner is ready?"

"Yeah."

He stole my cigarette from between my fingers and dropped it, crushing it with his shoe like he had done to his.

"I wasn't fucking done with that," I said.

"You are now." He reached for my hand but I pulled it away before he could touch it. "What? What's wrong?"

"I wasn't done with that cigarette," I repeated.

"It's just a smoke, Frank," he said, looking at me. "And dinner is ready. We should be eating."

"You had no fucking right to take the cigarette-"

"It's my cigarette in the first place," he snapped back at me. "What the fuck is your problem, Frank?"

I just glared at him, because I had no idea. I just needed that cigarette so badly. And who had he been talking to on the phone? Since when have we been keeping secrets from each other? "Whatever," I sighed, turning sharply to walk back inside. "Forget I said anything. Fuck you."

His hand caught my arm and jerked me to a stop. "'Fuck you,' Frank?" He sounded so hurt. "Really?"

I faltered, eyes wide as I realized what I'd just said. "Oh- Oh, I didn't mean- Gerard, I'm sorry, I-"

His fingers slipped off my my arm. "It's okay," he said, softly. "It's- just. Let's just forget about it, okay?"

"I'm sorry," I said again, anyway, looking at him. "I don't know what- I mean-"

He just started walking inside, ignoring me. I followed him, feeling ashamed. I hadn't meant to snap like that, I was just- I was just so angry. About everything. All the time. Angry and sad and upset.

I faltered as I sat down, realizing that the words "Maybe I need medication," had crossed my mind.
Did I need medication?

To make me happy, to control the anger and paranoia?

I glanced at Gerard out of the corner of my eye- he was talking to his mom, robotically, almost. He was upset and I was the only one who knew why, or even realized that he was upset.

Who the hell says 'fuck you' to their boyfriend? What type of person does that make me?

"Hey Frank," Mikey said, softly. "Your- your hands-"

My fingers were shaking so hard my fork was clanking against my plate.

"I'm sorry," I said, standing, dropping the fork. Since when did my fingers tremble this bad when I'm upset? I'd only ever seen that happen to Gerard. "I'm sorry."

"Frank-"

I was already walking out of the room, back to the front door, outside. Gerard was behind me, his fingers were on my arm, my shoulders, my cheeks- I was crying.

"Hey, calm down." His voice was soft and calm and scared, I was pushing him away, shaking my head.

What was wrong with me? Why was everything suddenly so... So fucking terrible?

"Did you mean it?" I asked, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hands, shoving the hair out of my face, staring at the ground. Everything was blurry and my head hurts and Gerard's fingers touching my arm felt like pure pain. "Gerard, did you mean it?"

He didn't answer and I didn't need one, anyway. Of course he didn't. That's why he had sounded so scared. Of course not, of course, fuck him, fuck me, oh, god-

"I love you."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck him, he was lying again. He was just trying to calm me down. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck-

"Please don't make me say it again, Frank," he said, softly. "It scares me so much to say that."

I made a point not to look at him. "I love you too," I said, my voice shaking almost as much as my fingers.

He was hugging me and I sighed- it was hot outside and he was too warm and the tears on my face were too cold and it was all just too much. He was too warm and I was too warm and everything hurt. His fingers pressed against the base of my spine was so familiar it stung.

"Now tell me what's wrong," he requested, softly.

"I don't know." I was hugging him so tight I was scared he would break. "I'm just so- I don't know. So much is wrong, Gerard, I just don't know-"

His fingers were everywhere that made sense, everywhere that made me feel a bit okay- stroking down my back and touching my wrists and against my cheek and pressed softly into my hair.

"Let's go back inside," he said, quietly. "Take dinner to my room, and sit around and talk. Okay? We don't have to do anything else for the rest of the night."

"Okay," I agreed softly.

He wiped my cheek with his fingers, kissing me softly. "You go straight back to my room, okay? I'll bring our plates back."

"Okay," I said again.

Gerard kissed me again, just barely, and I followed him back inside, heading straight to his room.

I needed a moment to think.

What the fuck was wrong with me, lately?

I was... Scared. Scared of the future, of now, of how things would work out.

I love Gerard, I know that much- and he loves me back. But why does he sound so scared when he says it back?

And Pete. I didn't understand what was happening with Pete.

I sat on Gerard's bed, my back against the wall, my legs pulled up to my chest, my chin resting on my knees.

I barely knew Pete. I mean, we'd known each other for a few years, but we hadn't become friends until just recently... And everything was moving so fast, everything with Pete was so exciting and strange and- and so normal. That's what teenagers did, what we had done; they kissed too soon and for too long and they had confused feelings and nothing made sense except the feeling of being attracted to someone. It was so normal, the weird type of friendship I had with Pete. It was almost like the average, cliche teenage romance I'd been missing out on all these years, but with a lot less romance and a lot more confused emotions.

Gerard and I, we'd taken everything so slow. Because I'd made him take it slow. Because that's what I wanted, wasn't it? To make sure he was someone I truly cared about, to make sure he truly cared about me. I wanted security, safety. Trust and love and caring and understanding.

And I had those things. I felt safe with Gerard, I trusted him, I loved him and wanted him in my life.

But why did he sound so scared, when he said "I love you," back? I couldn't shake the paranoia. Was I doing something wrong? Did he not trust me? I felt so betrayed. He'd been the one to preach to me about love and trust and about going with your heart, he'd been the one to want to kiss too quick and too long and too hard.

And now that I was ready for all of those things, he suddenly seemed even more scared than me.

Gerard came into the room, handing me my plate, sitting down in the center of his bed with his plate in his lap.

"Are you okay?"

I shook my head, slightly, poking at my mac and cheese with my fork. I didn't even care at this point, I wasn't even hungry.

"The person I was talking to," Gerard said, quietly. "On the phone, earlier? I just texted that person and they're going to come over tonight instead. The three of us need to talk about some things, work some stuff out."

I shrugged indifferently, sitting my plate back down on Gerard's bed. I wasn't in the mood for this, for his soft voice and the way he could calm me down so easily.

My head was fuzzy, I was so scared, so confused- "I want beer," I said, quietly.

Gerard stared at me. "What?"

I cleared my throat, slightly. "Alcohol," I said, a bit louder. "It helps- helps with the pain, right? The hurt? It'll- it'll help me forget why I'm sad?"

Gerard faltered, frowning, looking so unsure. "It does do those things, yeah, but Frank, I've been there, trust me- you don't want to start using that as an escape."

"Just once," I pleaded. "Gerard, just- just once. Please. I probably won't even like it. I just- I have to try, something, anything to deal with this..."

He sighed. "Frank, I really shouldn't-"

"I know your mom always keeps beer in the house," I said quietly. Mrs. Way wasn't a heavy drinker, not at all; I'd never seen her drunk, but on occasion she had a drink or two just as a recreational thing. "Please, Gerard. Just let me do it this once."

He sighed. "One beer. That's it."

"One beer," I promised.

He leaned over, kissing my forehead softly. "I shouldn't be encouraging this," he said, touching my cheek with the back of his fingers. "But I've been there before, Frankie, and sometimes the alcohol really is the only thing that'll help."

I sighed.

Gerard left the room and I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling. I'd never wanted to get drunk before, but I wanted to do that so badly right now. I wanted to forget about how unsure Gerard seems about loving me and I wanted to forget about how scared I always am and I wanted to forget about my mom and about the kids at school who beat me up sometimes and I wanted to forget about Pete and about how he loved me and wasn't fucking afraid to say it and I wanted to forget about how sweet he was to me. I wanted to forget about the scars on my legs and about how I wanted more.

Gerard came back with a six-pack of beer.

"I though you said just one?" I pointed out, shifting my legs until I was sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce, like an elementary school student. Gerard sat the drinks on the bed between us, mirroring my sitting position.

"I wanted one too, okay?"

I looked at him. "Gerard, you shouldn't-"

"I just want one," he promised. He ran and hand through his hair, the dark locks tangled and unruly and absolutely beautiful. "I'm so over using alcohol to block out pain, I just want one. That'll- It'll barely do anything, trust me. It takes a lot to get me drunk."

I nodded. Gerard popped the top off of one of the drinks, handing me the bottle.

"Take it slow, okay?"

I was already cringing from the taste of it before he'd even spoken but I forced myself to drink it, ignoring how absolutely disgusting it was.

Gerard was just sipping at his, raising his eyebrows slightly at me.

"So? First thoughts on your first beer?"

"Disgusting," I said, raising it to my lips again.

Gerard just kind of chuckled at me, shaking his head. "And yet you keep drinking?"

"I want to get drunk," I told him. "How much 'til that happens?"

"You said you only wanted one, Frank, not-"

"Two," I said, taking a slow sip from my drink. "I'll stop after two."

He sighed. "Two, okay. Two."

There was a faint calling of, "Gerard?" from the living room.

Gerard sighed again. "I'll be right back, okay? Don't do anything dumb while I'm gone."

I rolled my eyes as he walked away.

I wasn't going to do anything dumb.

I tipped the drink back and drank as much of it as I could in one go.

I was being irrational and immature, maybe, but not dumb.

I wanted to forget everything. Even the good stuff. I wanted to forget the way Gerard's hair felt when it brushed against my cheeks, soft and lovely and dear. I wanted to forget about how warm it was to sleep next to him at night, all curled up with his knees pressed against the backs of mine. I wanted to forget how kissing Pete felt, flat on my back, cemetery grass brushing my arms, his fingers warm against my skin. I wanted to forget how honest he was when he said he loved me, how I had somehow saved the boy with the black and red hair who I barely even knew. I wanted to forget about how quickly Gerard had forgiven me, I wanted to forget about how quickly he had taken me back, how soft my apology felt brushing across his lips.

It felt like Gerard took forever doing whatever it was that he had been called to do in the living room. I was already three-fourths of the way done with my second drink by the time he walked back in.

"Slow down, kiddo," he said, sitting back down on the bed. He was only, like, halfway done with his first drink, still.

"You were gone forever," I informed him, tilting my head and the drink back and draining the second bottle. "Like, an entire twenty minutes. My head feels buzzy. What were you doing?"

"Mom made me help with the dishes."

I frowned, pointing vaguely at his hand, fingers wrapped around his drink. "You drank beer in front of your mom?"

He shrugged. "My alcohol issues in the past were never exactly a secret. She talked to me about it, she knows I'm just having one."

I glanced at the now empty, second bottle in my hand, feeling sort of defeated.

Did it really just end here? I felt weird and happy and buzzy, but I hadn't forgotten anything. I could still remember Pete's lips against mine and the way he looked at me right before he kissed me, and I could still remember Gerard's fear when he said he loved me.

I pointed at the remaining drinks. "Third?"

Gerard shook his head. "You said two, Frank. This stops at two."

"But, Gerard," I said, whining slightly. "Gerard, I'm not- I'm not forgetting anything yet. It still hurts."

I already had the third in my hand before he could argue, so he just rolled his eyes and took the bottle from me, opening it and handing it reluctantly back.

There was a knock at Gerard's bedroom door and I frowned, taking a small sip of my drink. I still wasn't fucking used to the flavor.

"I'll get it," I told him, standing and nodding. "I've got it." Walking felt... Weird. Kind of unsteady. I paused a few feet away from the door and blinked a lot, feeling dazed.

"Who is it?"

"Pete."

I stared at the closed bedroom door. Pete?

I opened the door, and yeah, there was Pete.

"Hi Pete," I said happily, taking a sip from my beer. I waved with my other hand. "I'm getting drunk."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Hi Frank. You smell like alcohol and you're talking way too loud."

"Thank you," I said, not having any other response. I felt... Weird. Buzzy. Fumbly. Kind of like laughing at everything.

"Hey, Pete," Gerard said from where he sat on his bed. "Sorry you had to come tonight instead."

"It's okay," he said slowly, glancing at me. "I'm glad you texted, though, I can see why-"

I reached over and flicked his hair.

"What the fuck, Frankie?" he said, leaning away.

"Your hair," I said, moving it more, flicking it as carefully as I could. "Your hair is all... All in your face. I can't see your face."

"Well it's not in my face now that you've moved it."

I frowned. "Let me fix it, I didn't fix it."

He rolled his eyes and let me move his hair around.

"You're annoying when you're drunk," he informed me.

I took another sip from my beer. "I'm not drunk yet. This is only my- third. I think. Only my third."

"Yeah, and I'm guessing it's also your first time drinking?"

I nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Yeah, it's- It's pretty rad. Pretty coolio. It's chill."

"Yeah," Pete said, flatly. "You're already drunk."

Pete pointed to the drinks, there were two left. "Can I have one?"

Gerard nodded, handing Pete a drink.

"Thanks," he said, going over to Gerard's desk and sitting on the chair there. He nodded to me, but looked at Gerard. "Does he know why I'm here?"

"He didn't even know that you were coming. I didn't expect him to get drunk, though, so that might complicate things..."

"It won't be complicated," I insisted. "I'm not complicated. I'm sober. I'm- I'm fully sober." I nodded, holding out a hand, giving a thumbs up. "See? Sober."

"A thumbs up is your judge of whether or not you're sober?" Gerard mused.

I stuck my tonuge out at him. "Fuck off, Gee Gee."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say, Gee Gee," I said again, grinning.
Pete kind of laughed at me as I sat on the floor next to Gerard's bed, tilting my head back and swallowing a sip of beer. "Alcohol stings," I announced, closing my eyes. "It's hot in here."

"No it's not," Gerard assured me. "You're just drunk. Liquid warmth, and all that jazz."

"Frank I'm here because Gerard wanted the three of us to talk about something important," Pete said, looking at me.

Was he talking to me? He said my name.

"Who, me?"

"Yeah," Pete said. "You."

"I'm important?"

Pete glanced at Gerard. "Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah, Frank, you're important. And I'm here so we can talk about important things."

"Important things? Like... Like money important?"

Gerard sighed. "It's like talking to a child," he said to someone who wasn't me.

Pete came to sit next to me on the floor, sitting on his knees in front of me.

"I kissed you today," Pete said, looking at me. "Do you remember that?"

I nodded, bringing my drink up to my lips. I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to remember that. "Yes."

"I'm here so we can talk about that."

I frowned. "Kissing is important?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah, Frankie, yeah it is."

I nodded, too, sighing. Fuck him. He interrupted my forgetting. "Okay. Kissing is important."

"So," Pete said, carefully. "Gerard called me earlier, and we both came up with a question for you."

"Question?" I said, glancing to where Gerard was, still sitting on his bed. "Can we make this a game?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "Sure. You answer the question, you get another beer. You don't answer the question, we cut you off."

"I'll answer," I said almost immediately. More alcohol, more forgetting. It was basic math.

"Okay," Gerard said, speaking up. He moved to sit with us on the floor, too. "Frank- I need to know. I'm going to make this as simple as possible, since you're drunk and basically in the mental state of a fucking third grader. Do you like Pete?"

"Of course I like Pete," I said, taking a sip from my drink. They glanced at each other so I glanced back and forth between them. "Pete is my friend, of course I like him." I took another sip of beer. "Okay, I answered, I win the game-"

"Not yet," Pete said. "There's- there's more questions."

I frowned. "You lied?"

"No," Gerard said. "He didn't lie, it's just, we have more questions than we thought we did."

I sighed. "Fine. Fine, more questions."

Everything got silent for a second and I realized that I was sitting here with two extremely attractive boys- two really, really attractive boys. I took a long gulp from my beer. This wasn't fair. Why did they both have to be so attractive? It was making my insides all achy.

"Do you like me as more than a friend?" Pete said, suddenly.

I frowned. "More than- more than a friend?"

"Yeah, like- do you like me in the romantic sense, Frankie?"

I frowned. I liked Pete in a lot of senses. "Define romantic."

Gerard sighed. "Of relating to, or involving love between two people. Making someone think of love. Suitable for romance. Thinking about love and doing and saying things to show that you love someone."

I frowned at him. "I forgot that you're a human dictionary, Gee Gee."

"Just answer the question, Frank," he said, softly.

"I like Pete," I said slowly, not quite knowing what the answer was. "I like talking to Pete. I like Pete's hair. I like it when Pete compliments me. I liked kissing Pete."

Gerard just looked at me.

"But you used the word love a lot in your definition," I said, frowning, my eyebrows and nose all scrunching up and pulling together as I thought about it. "Like- which type of love are we talking?"

"There's only one type of love," Gerard said.

"No," Pete said, glancing at Gerard. "There's not."

Gerard blinked at him.

"There's- there's all different types. There's the love you feel when you hug your mom and there's the love you feel when you eat your favorite food, and those aren't the same things, are they?"

Gerard faltered. "I guess not."

"It's song love," I decided.

They both looked at me. "What?" Pete said.

"I song-love love you," I told him, nodding. "Like, you know the feeling you get when you listen to your favorite song live? At, like, a concert? It's- it's all warm and happy, and it makes you all excited and floaty? And- and you just wanna', like, sing to it and jump with the crowd." I sort of bounced my hand up and down for effect. "And it makes you happy but it's over too- way too fast?"

Pete nodded, slowly.

"I song-love you," I told him. "Like that. Warm and happy and excited and floaty, except, you're not ending too soon, or anything- because you're not actually a song. You're just... Far away."

"Far away...?"

I nodded. "Mhm."

He just looked at me, lips parted in surprise. I glanced at Gerard; he looked like someone just punched him.

"But I love-love you," I said to Gerard. "Which is different. That's- it hurts sometimes. But-" I took a long sip from my drink. I didn't like talking about this. "I love you," I said again. "You make me feel safe, and you make me happy, and floaty, and warm and excited- like Pete. But, you're close."

"I don't understand," he said, quietly.

I sighed, leaning back against the bed, resting my head there. "Pete is far away and you're close," I said.

Neither of them spoke, and then Pete said, softly, "Maybe we should do this when you're sober."

I shook my head. "No, no- Just. Give me a second. Let me think."

They sighed and Gerard stood up. "I'll be back.'

I frowned at him. "Where are you going?"

"Outside. To smoke."

"Can I, too? I don't- I don't want to move, though..."

Gerard just sighed and before I even realized it, he was handing me a lit cigarette.

"Thank you," I said, placing it between my lips.

He just nodded, and left the room.

I looked over at Pete, moving the cigarette away from my mouth.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, quietly.

"No. You haven't done anything wrong."

I frowned, holding the cigarette back between my lips, sitting my beer bottle on the ground next to me, standing up and stretching my back.

I stood there for a minute, just smoking. "You look super short since you're sitting down," I informed Pete.

"Yeah, well, you look super tall."

I turned in a circle, tripping slightly over my own feet, until I saw the ashtray next on Gerard's nightstand. I smushed it out there, not knowing what to do with myself then.

"Hey, Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I- Can I play with your hair again?"

He looked at me for a second and then stood up, moving closer, so I could reach his hair. "Sure."

I ran my fingers through his hair, lingering on the red streaks. "I like your hair," I informed him. I felt sort of... Dizzy. Dizzy and warm and floaty, and- and fuck. Pete was very attractive.

Pete pressed his lips sloppily against my cheek and I wrinkled my nose. I didn't like when he did that.

Well, I did, actually, and that was the problem- it made my insides feel weird. It made me want a lot more than just a kiss on the cheek.

"Stop doing that," I muttered, sighing. I'd come to terms with the fact that I was, in fact, drunk.

"I'll stop doing that when you stop being a cute little shit," Pete said.

His words were slurred and he smelt like beer but so did I- I was too fucking drunk for this. Too fucking drunk for self control, I just barely understood that much. Pete's lips on my cheek felt nice. I sort of stumbled, trying to walk across the room- where were the cigarettes? I needed cigarettes. Another one. My mouth was sticky and I wanted to burn the taste of alcohol away.

I pointed to the last beer. "You promised me I could have another."

Pete sighed and opened it. "You're already really drunk," he told me, handing me the beer.

"But I haven't forgotten yet," I mumbled, taking a long sip. I winced; it stung.

I wanted to lose that one last little bit of me that still understood that Gerard would be upset if I kissed Pete again, because fuck, I really wanted to kiss Pete again.

Maybe I was just trying to use being drunk as an excuse, maybe I was too under the influence to understand, I don't know, and honestly, for some reason, I didn't care.

I just really wanted to kiss Pete again.

I took another long, burning sip from my beer, and then started walking. I don't know where I was walking, but suddenly, it wasn't easy.

"You smell like beer," I mumbled to Pete, shoving him away when he tried to help me regain my balance. I wiped my mouth on my shirt, sniffing curiously. I smelt like peanut butter which was fucking funny as shit because I hadn't had any peanut butter in, like, a week.

"That's funny," Pete said. "Because I'm not drunk."

"Or not?" I said.

"What?"

"You're," I sighed, looking at him. "I think I meant 'you're.' Not- not you're. Or."

"I'm not drunk," Pete said again. "You're drunk, but I'm not."

I stumbled, crashing against Pete. I was horny and drunk and wanted to kiss someone, anyone. I wanted to kiss Pete again. Was I drunk enough to use it as an excuse for kissing him? I guessed it was. "Kiss me," I requested. "On the lips."

"You're drunk," he said. "I shouldn't."

He put his hands lightly on my shoulders and led me to Gerard's, sitting down. I sat, too, ending up mostly on top of him.

He rolled his eyes. "I meant for you to sit next to me, dork."

"Kiss me," I repeated. "I want you to."

He sighed. "You're drunk."

I leaned closer to him in an act of defiance. "I want you to want to. Do you want to?"

He sighed again. "Trust me. I want to."

"Then do it already."

"No way," he said, softly. "You belong with Gerard, Frankie. You love him. I'm just a song, remember?"

I pressed my mouth sloppily to Pete's cheek, as close to his lips as I would let myself get. "I'm sleepy," I announced, collapsing against him. I felt like a little kid, curled up in his lap, his arms around me. "I love you, Pete," I told him, warmly, my cheek smushed against his.

"I love you too, Frankie."

"I'm tired," I said, quietly.

He shifted around until I was laying next to him instead of on him. My back was curved sharply against the mattress. Everything was blurry, my limbs ached, my head was pounding. He was getting further away. "Pete, please-" I sighed. "Don't go. Don't leave," I begged. "Pete, don't leave. I don't like being alone."

I think I fell asleep, after that.

---

My head was pounding.

I walked into the Way family kitchen to see a very shirtless, very sleepy looking Pete Wentz making pancakes.

"What the fuck?"

He glanced up and gave me a small smile. "Oh, Frankie. Hi."

"What the fuck?" I said again.

"You look hungover. Pancakes?"

I just kind of looked around, scrunching up my nose. "Why are you shirtless in Gerard's house and why do I feel like someone hit me in the head with a hammer?"

"You got drunk last night, declared that you song-love me, tried to kiss me, and then passed out in Gerard bed."

I blinked rapidly, shakily making my way to the table, sitting down. "Talk quieter," I said. "And start from the beginning."

"Last night, I came over and when I got here, you were on your third beer. Gerard and I questioned you about your feelings towards me, and you said that you 'song-love' me. Gerard left for a cigarette, you tried to kiss me, and then you passed out in bed. You asked me not to leave, so I sat there until Gerard came back, and he said I could stay the night if I wanted to so I slept on the couch."

I blinked at the table. "Oh."

"I'm sorry last night was so rough," Pete said, sliding pancakes onto my plate. He patted my hair softly. "You're not very good at holding your drinks, are you?"

"Did I puke?" I asked, winkling my nose, poking at the pancakes with a fork.

"Yeah," he said. "You woke up after about thirty minutes, threw up twice, and then went back to bed. But you also said a bunch of really dumb stuff after, like, three drinks."

"Dumb stuff...?"

Pete nodded, sitting in the seat next to me. "Yeah. A ton of dumb stuff."
"Where's, uh- where's Gerard?"

"Outside."

"Smoking?"

"Yeah."

I sat my fork down, standing up. "I'm gonna go- oh fuck." I sat back down instantly. My head felt like someone hit it with a hammer. "I want a cigarette," I said, closing my eyes. "But I don't want to go outside."

Pete stood up and patted the top of my head lightly again. "I'll go get you one."