Folie a Deux

Hey everyone! So, I wrote 16 pages (in my word document) in 8 days, and I'm really super proud of myself haha. I've also already started writing for chapter 28, so expect to see that hopefully soon!

Anyway, not much to say here, except to remind everyone that I made an ask.fm (ask.fm/frerardadeux) account for Frank and Gerard and everything you ask there will be answered in character. (If you want to send asks to me haha, my ask is ask.fm/capillarystatic.)

Also, I changed my personal twitter username to youhitlikeagxrl (same as my tumblr URL,) and my poetry account is still forjamia.

Well, that's it for this author's note, other than please PLEASE excuse and typos in this chapter haha. I wrote the whole thing on my iPod and I've just been so excited to share it with you guys that I couldn't even bring myself to waste time with editing and such. This thing is probably filled with typos, so if you see one, please let me know so I can fix it!

Thanks everyone! I hope you enjoy!

---

"Cigarette?" I offered.

Pete shook his head, leaning against the front door. I noted that he was still not wearing a shirt, which pissed me off. He was in better shape than me and I felt like he was fucking flaunting that in my face. "No thanks. Frank wants one, though."

"He's up?" I asked stiffly, passing a cigarette for Frank to Pete.

He nodded. "He doesn't really seem to remember most of last night."

I nodded, too.

"I'm sorry," Pete said softly, looking at the cigarette in his fingers. "I'm sorry I kissed him."

I looked at my feet. "It's not your fault, Pete."

"Yeah it is," he sighed. "I just should've kept my mouth shut."

"If I hadn't told him to talk to you that day," I said. "He wouldn't have said anything and stuff would still be normal."

Pete frowned. "You told him to talk to me?"

I nodded, sighing. "It was stupid of me. I was just teasing him about it, I didn't expect- I didn't expect for you two to actually go anywhere with it."

"We haven't gone anywhere," he insisted. "We're just friends, Gerard."

"But you love him."

The cigarette between my lips suddenly was not enough to keep me calm.

"He doesn't love me, though," Pete said. "Not like he loves you."

"His stupid song metaphor didn't make any sense."

"It did..."

I glanced at him. I was normally really good with metaphors, so what was it that Pete could see in Frank's method of thinking that I couldn't?

"Think about it, like, if we were the solar system, okay?" Pete said. "I know that sounds super dumb but let me explain."

I just looked at him.

"You know how Frank said that I'm 'far away' but you're 'close?' I think what Frank was trying to say, is that- if, like, let's say he's just a regular person, right? Living on his planet, minding his own business. And instead of other people on his planet, there's all these stars at night, right? And it's always night there, and it's cold. And then suddenly, it's day. There's a sun, out of fucking nowhere, and it's warm and amazing and Frank starts to depend on the sun, he loves the sun, he needs it... And his life goes on like that, he adjusts to it being day, he loves the sun and he knows it there and he gets used to it. He knows all of the stars in the sky, they're kind of distant and dull, but then one day- just like how the sun appeared, all of a sudden, there's this other star. Not as bright as the sun, but brighter than the rest of the stars. But it's still kind of far off, and it's pretty and new to him, so Frank likes to think about the star sometimes, but- but the sun, is like, his life force, now. He needs the sun, thrives off of it. It's far prettier to him than that star could be, even though he likes to think about both sometimes."

I blinked. "What are you trying to say, Pete?"

Pete looked away. "You're his sun, and I'm just another star in the sky to him. To him I might be a little brighter than the rest, but I'm still just like all the others. The only thing he really needs to survive is the sun; The only thing he really needs to survive is you."

I could've hugged Pete right then, I could've fucking kissed him for explaining that to me.

"Thank you," I said softly. "Thank you for explaining that."

He just shrugged, looking away. "No problem. I just... I just want him to be happy, yknow?"

I nodded. I knew.

"He's so fragile," Pete sighed. "I feel like every time I touch him he's gonna' fucking shatter beneath my fingers."

"I've gotten used to it," I said, soft. "I've gotten used to treating him like glass. He's... He's like a time bomb, sometimes, with the anger and paranoia and depression and stuff. Most of the time he's okay, and then- just, just little things set him off."

"You must really love him," Pete said, "If you know that about him and still put up with it. There's so many people who would just give up on him and walk away."

I closed my eyes, taking a slow, long drag from my cigarette. Pete made it sound like it was easy for me; like holding Frank when he cried didn't make me want to break down in tears, like calming him down wasn't the hardest thing in the world.

"The other day," I said softly. "He got angry at me, for practically no reason. I put his cigarette out too soon, not knowing that he wasn't done with it. He snapped, said 'Fuck you,' and started to walk away."

Pete didn't say anything.

"Has someone you love ever said something like that to you?" I asked. My fingers were trembling, my cigarette shaking. I pressed it against my lips harshly. "Shoved you away like that?"

"Yeah," Pete sighed.

I nodded. "You know what it's like, then. The sense of betrayal. Like, what did I do to him? I love him and he shoves me away. It hurts. I don't understand what I did wrong.

"He loves you," Pete promise me.

I nodded. "I know."

We were silent for a second and then Pete made a small, annoyed sound.

"I need to tell you something that you probably won't like."

I glanced at him, and then back at my cigarette. "I don't think the last twenty-four hours could possibly get much shittier."

"Last night when you came out here for a smoke, Frank asked me to kiss him. He said he wanted it, he said he wanted me to want it."

I felt every fucking muscle in my body tense up.

"I didn't do it," Pete said, slowly. "I told him that he belongs with you."

"Pete," I said, looking everywhere but him. "I think you should leave."

"Gerard, look, I'm sorry, but-"

"Pete," I said again, meeting his eyes this time. "I think you should leave."

He looked at me, sighing softly. "I didn't kiss him, Gerard."

"But he-" My hands were shaking; I dropped the cigarette and smushed it out with my shoe. "He wanted you to. Stay the fuck away from him Pete."

He didn't say anything and I was taking deep breaths. I didn't fucking like being violent but there was part of me that was plotting where to hide Pete's body after the murder.

"I thought you wanted him to be happy,"

Pete said softly. "I want him to be happy and being with you is what's doing that for him, but if being with you doesn't make him happy, don't you think you should let him move on?"

"What are you saying?" I snapped. "Let him leave me so he can date you?"

"No, Gerard, I just-"

"Want him to be happy. I know fucking know that, Pete, don't you think I fucking know that?"

He got quiet. "I'm sorry."

I was running through every calming method I could think of. Count forwards, count backwards. Up seventeen, down eight, up seventeen, down eight. Up to four down to three, up to four down to two, up to four down to one.

It worked, eventually.

"I don't want him to be happy," I said finally.

Pete looked at me, frowning. "What?"

"I want to be happy. I mean... I mean, of course I want him to be happy, but- fuck."

He just kept looking at me, so confused.

"I want him to be happy but I'm human, I have human instincts. You understand that much, right?"

Pete nodded.

"I'm human and that means that I want to be happy," I said, slowly. "If leaving me for you would make Frank happy, I want him to do that, but deep down inside that fucking kills me, because he makes me happy and I don't want to let him go. I'm selfish."
Pete frowned, looking at me. "Everyone is selfish," he said, trying to comfort me.

I dropped my cigarette and squished it out with my shoe. "Not as selfish as me," I said, softly. I nodded to the door. "Come on, Frank is probably waiting on that cigarette."

We went back inside; a very sleepy looking Frank was sitting at the kitchen table, poking at pancakes with a fork. I pulled one of the kitchen chairs right next to his, sitting down so our legs were touching. Pete sat on the other side of the table, handing Frank his cigarette.

"Hey, kid," I said softly, sweeping the hair carefully away from Frank's face, kissing his forehead and passing him my lighter. "How are you feeling?"

"My head is pounding," he muttered, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. "And I smell like puke."

"You don't smell like puke," I assured him.

He rested his head on my shoulder, letting out an agonized sounding groan. "I hate my life."

I sort of chuckled at him, kissing the top of his head. "It's just the hangover talking, sweetheart."

He sighed, glancing at Pete across the table. "I'm sorry about anything I said last night," Frank murmured, holding the cigarette between two fingers.

"It's okay," Pete said, glancing at me. "Do you, uhm- how much do you remember?"

Frankie shrugged lightly, turning his head so his forehead was smushed against my shoulder. "Can we do this later?"

I nodded, glancing back at Pete. "Yeah." I smoothed Frank's hair down softly. "Take as long as you need, we'll be here."

---

It took Frank quite a while to get over his hangover, but when he had, he still seemed reluctant to talk about the night before. Pete was sitting in the living room with Mikey- they were watching something on TV and had been talking about some band and I'd never heard of when I left the room, and Frank was curled up in my bed.

"You feel any better?" I asked from where I sat at my desk, hearing him stir.

"Sort of," he said, sitting up. He ran a hand through his hair, yawning cutely. "What'cha doing over there?"

"Drawing you," I said. I picked up my sketchbook and a pencil and walked over to the bed, sitting on my knees in front of him.

I propped the sketchbook up in my lap, pointing with the eraser of my pencil. The page was covered in small sketches of Frank doing random stuff, mundane activities and habits of his that I found endearing.

"This is you when you first wake up," I told him.

He kind of giggled at me, blushing a bit. "My hair sticks up like that?" He reached a self-conscious hand up to smooth his hair down but I caught his wrist, bringing his hand close to my face and kissing his fingers.

"Yes," I said. "And it's adorable."

He pointed to one of the little miniature Franks on the page. "I like how you draw cigarette smoke."

"I'm glad," I said. "I like drawing you smoking."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Really? Why?"

"Well, I like watching you smoke, so I guess it's the same reasoning."

He just smiled at me, stretching up to press a soft kiss against my lips.

"I love you," he told me.

"I love you too."

He grinned crookedly, one side of his smile stretching slightly higher than the other. I made a mental note to draw him like that later. "I love it when you say that."

"Well, I love saying it."

He kissed me again, even softer this time, and slower; "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"It's okay," I promised him. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I asked Pete to kiss me," he said flatly.

I looked down at my sketchbook, flipping it closed. I suddenly needed a distraction.

"You remember that?" I asked, moving away from the bed and back to my desk.

He stood up and followed me, nodding. "Yeah."

"Do you know why you said it?" I asked, keeping my back turned to him, moving things around on my desk.

"I was drunk, Gerard," he said, soft, his fingers brushing my shoulder. "I was drunk and I was being foolish."

I sighed. I knew I should forgive him, because he really did have a point- he had been drunk.

"I don't want Pete," Frank said. "I want you, Gerard." He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his forehead on my back. "I'm sorry if there's been any confusion there."

"It took you so long," I said, soft, "to be willing to kiss me. You let Pete kiss you so quick, Frank, I-"

"That's because the same emotions weren't involved."

I turned to face him and he pressed his face into my shoulder, hugging me tightly.

"Then what were the emotions?"

"Imagine that when you were young," Frank said. "You were in love with this girl. And then she kills herself. And without her, you don't want to live. You think about killing yourself; you even try it."

I rested my chin on top of his head.

"But then later in life you meet this boy," Frank murmured. "And- and he doesn't talk to you often, you're not friends or anything, but you've talked before and you start to fall for him. You love him from afar for a couple of years; he starts to be the only reason you bother waking up, because you're hoping you have a chance with him. And then suddenly, one day, he hangs out with you at lunch. You get so excited, you think this is your chance... But then, oh. He has a boyfriend."

Frank said 'He has a boyfriend,' so flatly that it sort of stung, but I knew he was talking about all of this from Pete's perspective, and I could see what he meant. That would crush me, if it had been me in Pete's place.

"But you and- and this boy," Frank said, continuing. He tilted his head slightly to look up at me. "You get along really well, yknow? And you know he doesn't love you, not in the romantic sense. You know he'll never see you as anything more than friends. But you have to- you have to try, don't you? Wouldn't you try?"

I nodded, softly. I probably would've tried anyway, too.

"Yeah," Frank sighed. "And this boy, he- he keeps staying 'just friends' with you. And you realize, eventually, that you won't get him. You're not going to win this. He's very, extremely happy with his boyfriend, and to him, you're just a friend. But you, you're still very much in love with him, y'know? Wouldn't you want to kiss him?"

I saw Frank's logic. I didn't want to admit it, but fuck, he had a good point.

If I were Pete one little kiss would mean the world to me.

"I didn't kiss him because of any romantic feelings," Frank said. One of his hands found mind and he held my fingers, bringing my hand close to his face. He used his hand to close my fingers softly, brushing his lips against my knuckles. "I kissed him because I felt like I owed him at least that much."

I sighed. He'd told me all this before but I guess I'd been too upset to listen.

"You promise?" I asked, softly, looking at his hand holding mine. "You promise that's the only reason?"

He nodded. "I promise, Gerard."

"Does Pete know?" In was a dumb question because I'd just talked to Pete about this; I knew he knew that Frank didn't love him in the same way Frank loved me. I think I just needed to hear it confirmed again.

Frank nodded. "He understands, I think."

I nodded, too. "He and Mikey are still in the living room," I told him.

"Pete stayed?"

I nodded.

"That's nice of him."

I nodded again, bringing my hands up to press my palms against Frank's cheeks. "I love you," I said, soft.

He smiled, kissing me. "I love you, too."

We walked to the living room together- Pete and Mikey sitting on opposite ends of the couch but facing each other, talking about something and making it sound insanely important.

"What's happening?" Frank asked, glancing around.

"Pete thinks punk rock is better than classic rock," Mikey said stubbornly.

Frank stood behind the couch and patted Mikey on the head. "That's because it is, kiddo."

I frowned. "Ah, actually, I'm gonna' have to go with Mikes on this one. Classic rock always wins."

Pete rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Whatever, man. Frankie and I know where it's at."

Frank grinned at this, bumping his hip lightly against mine. "We're winners," he said. "One point for Frank and Pete, no points for the Way brothers."

"Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes at him.

We were all quiet for a second, and then Pete said; "You guys should come swimming at my place again," he suggested.

Mikey's face lit up. "That'd be nice. Last time was really fun, Pete."

Pete grinned. "I'm glad. Now that it's getting way warmer we'll have to do that more often for sure."

"I really fucking don't want to go to school tomorrow," Frank sighed.

"Isn't your last day soon?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, it's-" he glanced at Pete, raising his eyebrows. "Wednesday, right? Only three more days in hell until summer?"

Pete nodded. "Only three more days."

---

The first day of their last three days passed awkwardly- Frank reluctantly left for school in the morning, and my mom was off at a job interview somewhere (something involving "we need more money" and "hairdressing,") so Mikey and I were left at home.

I sat behind my piano; I hadn't practiced in a while. I'd been writing this piece that I wanted to play for Frank, in exchange for him sharing a bit of his own music with me. I was considering using my piano to bribe him into playing guitar for me.

I also had a fair amount of art stacked up to use for a similar sort of blackmail- Frank had mentioned photography once, way back when we first met, but he still hadn't bothered to share any of that with me.

Mikey walked in about half-way through the song, so he sat on the floor outside in the hall, knowing not to interrupt.

He waited politely until I finished the last few notes, and then said, "That was really nice, Gerard."

"Thanks," I said stiffly. I hated people hearing me play. If I had remembered he was in the house I would've waited for one of the few moments that I'm completely alone.

I thought it was amusing how every waking moment I had alone in the house was spent on my piano or spent humming some random tune while I made myself a cup of coffee. What did most people do home alone? Probably stuff involving porn, which I found weird because I'd never really been one to watch porn.

I had no idea where the world's fascination with touching yourself when you're completely alone while watching two other people fuck came from, but I didn't understand it.

Music is where life is at. Self expression. Every minute I had alone was spent testing some outwardly creative idea that I was too shy to even show to Frank.

I started to press my fingers against the keys again, but Mikey stopped me.

"Gerard?"

I paused, blinking at my fingers hovering above the keys. I really just wanted to play my fucking piano, I had been neglecting it for so long, trying to hide the song from Frank until I got it perfect.

"Yeah?"

"Gerard, uhm- Can I get your advice on something?"

I stood up immediately. I had no second guesses when it came to Mikey and giving advice; he hadn't asked me for help in so long I almost sort of missed it.

Sitting next to Mikey in the hall, both of us holding coffee cups, the memory of my piano's notes still hanging in the air, everything felt nostalgic.

It was weird- the house hadn't been so quiet in so long, it hadn't been just me and my little brother since I started dating Frank.

I kind of missed this.

I wondered for a fleeting moment about what if I had never met Frank? Would things be like they are now, all the time? Mikey and I talking on the hallway floor and Frank and Pete hanging out together at school?

"I don't know what to do," Mikey admitted softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I've just felt so... Off."

I frowned. "Off? Are you getting sick?"

"No, I- well. I don't know."

He got quiet again and I kept frowning at him. "Mikey, you can tell me anything," I told him. "You know that."

He just stayed silent.

I sipped at my coffee. I didn't want to push this but I felt like he was keeping something from me.

"I feel so numb," Mikey said suddenly. "All the time. What is that?"

"Numb?"

"I don't get anxious anymore," he said. "I don't get scared of things, I don't get sad like I should. But I don't get that happy, either. It's all just one big meaningless blob."

I stared at my little brother. "That lack of feeling," I said. "It's the anxiety. And the paranoia. And the depression. It's all of the shit in life that bothers you. It hasn't gone away, it's just all happening to you at once."

"And so it just feels... Numb?"

"I call it the 'blur,'" I said softly. "The numbness is the blur, when everything is evening itself out, when the feelings seem so meaningless that you feel them all at once at even ratios... That's the blur, and whatever comes after is gray."

"Why gray?"

I looked at my hands. "That's how it feels. Depression? It's gray. Dark gray. It's like you're constantly trapped between two extremes- on bad days, everything goes completely dark and you just want to end everything. On good days, it's bright and you want to live forever. But most days it's just gray. You're not happy and you know that at any moment you could tip completely into the dark, and it takes a lot for stuff to get bright again."

Mikey was staring into his coffee cup. "So this feeling of- of not feeling anything. Of having lost interest in everything... That's what comes next? The gray?"

I nodded slowly, sighing. This wasn't the conversation I had been expecting to have. "Unless you have a way to stop yourself before you get that low."

"Well, how do you stop?"

"Do everything I didn't. Don't drink. Don't smoke. Go to therapy, take your pills. Don't help your mom buy a gun, don't learn to shoot the gun. Don't think about shooting the gun straight through your head. It sounds like lame advice but honestly, Mikey, I don't ever want you to get as bad as I am. Fucking find yourself a therapist you like, if you think this is going to be a serious issue, and stick with the sessions. Get better and take your meds."

"There's no other way around it? You know I hate medication. It's so... Artificial feeling."

"Find something that's not artificial, then," I told him. "Find a natural happiness. Something that keeps you out of the gray and something that shoves the numb out of you and replaces it with good things."

He didn't answer for a moment, just looking still into his coffee cup. "I like Pete," he said finally.

I blinked at him. "What?"

His cheeks were kind of flushed, his fingers fidgeted around the handle of his mug. "I like Pete," he said again.

I blinked a few more times. I didn't even know Mikey was into guys. "He's not exactly the same age as you, Mikey," I said, having absolutely no other response.

He sighed. "You think I haven't noticed that? He's just-" He took a deep breath of air. "He's attractive, okay? And he's nice to me."

"He's nice to everyone," I said, coming across a little too cold.

"He's so sweet," Mikey insisted, his eyes desperate, trying to sell me to this concept. "When we were talking in the living room, Gerard- he's so funny and sweet. That day when he invited us to the pool was the best thing to happen to me all year." His cheeks were the color of a tomato. "But he's- he's so in love with Frank..."

"He doesn't have a chance with Frank," I said sharply.

Mikey nodded. "Yeah, yeah, but- But he's so head over heels for him, he would never... He could never like me."

I suddenly realized how fucking lonely my brother must be.

He didn't go to regular school, he didn't exactly go to parties or hang out at the mall much. And I've been a total asshole of a brother lately, leaving him behind so I could hang out with Frank. The only social life the kid really had was hanging out at the comic book store with the same few people every once in a while; Pete suddenly being here was the only exciting thing to happen to Mikey in a while.

"Do you, uhm-" Mikey cleared his throat. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

I probably would've just choked if I had been eating something. "You think- you're- you love Pete?"

Mikey shrugged, blushing harshly, looking away. "I sound so stupid," he said, soft. "I'm young, I know, but..."

"Age doesn't change love," I said. "But Mikey... You barely know Pete. You've only ever met him two or three, maybe four times."

Mikey glanced at me and then at the wall across from him. "I have no chance, anyway. He's seventeen. I'm- I'm not even out of middle school, Gerard... He's in love with Frank."

I just kept looking at him. I'd never seen him look so fucking depressed, and it was breaking my heart. "Are you- are you sure it's love?"

Mikey closed his eyes shut, tight. "Other emotions don't hurt like this," he said, sounding terrified. "When he looks at Frank like that, it- it fucking tears me to shreds... When he's in the room I can barely talk sometimes, I just fumble like an idiot because there's so much I want to say that I don't know how to. When we do talk, though, it's amazing. It's the perfect conversation. When he invited us all over to go swimming? That was the best offer I've ever received. My entire heart felt like it was going to explode from excitement. I want to have more conversations with him and I want to go on dates with him and I want to be happy with him. But I want him to be happy, too..."

He looked so scared.

I sighed, pulling him gently into a hug, and we both say our coffee mugs on the ground so he could hug me back.

"I know it hurts," I said softly, letting him go. "I wish you didn't have to suffer like this."

He didn't say anything for a long minute, and then, looking down- "W- why does Frank keep the metal parts of pencil sharpeners?"

I felt every muscle beneath my skin tense up. How did he even know about that? "Mikey, I don't think-"

"Does it help?"

"It doesn't, Mikey, I-"

"Then why do you do it, too? But- but you use a paperclip, right?"

I stared at him.

"Because I'm an idiot," I said, shakily. How did he fucking know about this? "Pete isn't fucking worth hurting yourself over, Mikey, don't even consider it. No one is worth that."

He nodded, looking away. "Sorry, I was just-" He sighed, pulling his legs in, resting his chin on his knees. "I feel so young and foolish," he whispered.

He was certainly being a little foolish over this, but I wouldn't say he was acting young.

"I hate how he's the only thing that makes me feel something anymore. I'm-" He pressed his face into his hands, leaning his head against the wall. "I'm so sad, Gerard," he confessed, quietly. "I'm either numb or I'm sad and thinking about Pete is the only thing that makes me happy anymore."

"Mikey..."

He sighed again, dropping his hands into his lap, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for."

"I'm so stupid," he sighed. "Pete is just... He's just a guy, it's not fucking like I have a chance with him anyway. But I've never fucking- I've never fallen for someone this fast or this hard and it hurts when he looks at Frank like that because I know he'll never see me the same way."

"I'm sorry, Mikey..."

"I don't even- I don't even know how to talk around him."

"Just be brave," I said. "Just be yourself around him and be brave."

He glanced at me. "Be brave?"

"Sometimes that's all it takes," I said honestly.

---

I ended up doing the stupidest fucking thing I could've done. I called Pete again and invited him to dinner at the diner that Wednesday night. I said it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing but really it was just so Mikey could see him again.

"Hi Pete," was all Mikey said when we first got there.

Pete smiled, polite as always. "Hi Mikey."

Mikey smiled back, timidly. I hadn't told him that Pete would be there.

Frank and Pete had walked there together; they both look so relieved to be out of school- so they were already sitting by the time Mikey and I got there, on opposite sides of the table. I sat next to Frank and Mikey gave me this terrified glance, his only option being to sit next to Pete. I just blinked at him before turning to Frank. I tried to communicate with him by glancing and nodding slightly.

Be brave, Mikey. You just have to stay brave. First loves can be terribly painful things and you have to fight through them.

"So," I said, looking at Frank and Pete. "How does it feel to know you're officially out of school for summer?"

"Awesome," Frank said. "I feel free."

Pete glanced at Mikey, who didn't seem to know what to do with himself. "I know Gerard does the homeschooling thing," Pete said. "Do you guys both do that?"

Mikey nodded. "Uhm- yeah."

Pete nodded and I had a feeling that this would be the single most awkward fucking dinner of my life.

Conversation went on like that for a while, Mikey giving two word answers to any questions or comments that went his way, looking way too nervous for this. I think now that he'd realized his feelings for Pete out loud, he was scared to deal with it.

Frank sent me a glance with one eyebrow raised; he realized that something with Mikey was off but I don't think he could place it.

By the time we had gotten our food I was surprised Mikey was even still breathing. I felt bad for doing this- I forgot how nervous Mikey could get sometimes.

I turned to Frank to say something, but then I heard- "Shit, oh, shit, I'm- I'm sorry, I-"

Mikey had tipped Pete's drink over by accident, right in Pete's lap.

Pete just kept saying, "Hey, it's okay, no problem, Mikey, I'm fine, really," trying to calm him down, but my brother had pretty much lost it, his cheeks redder than I'd ever seen them. He was standing up, looking terrified; he looked close to tears.

"I'm sorry," he just kept saying. "I'm sorry, Pete. I ruin everything, oh god, I'm so sorry-"

Pete just looked at him, still speaking softly, trying to calm him, but he made the mistake of moving a hand slightly in Mikey's direction, a completely normal sign of 'Hey, calm down please," but Mikey completely lost it. He was walking towards the bathroom so he could hide from the situation so fast I didn't even realize what was happening until he was there.

Pete just faltered a bit, glancing at me and at Frank. "I'm- I'll go-" He stood up, grabbing a napkin and attempting to dab the spilled drink off of his legs. "I'll go get him," he said softly.

Frank glanced at me as Pete walked away.

"What's wrong with Mikey?"

I scratched the back of my head. I felt like an asshole. I hadn't expected this to happen. "He has... He has a bit of a crush on Pete."

Frank just looked at me. "Mikey is into... Pete?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Like, completely head over heels for him. He's convinced he's in love."

Frank let out a soft sound, of surprise and what I guess was slight confusion. "What do you think?"

"What do you mean, what do I think?"

"Do you think- do you think Mikey is actually in love with Pete?"

I shrugged, dipping a fry into one of those little dumb ketchup cups. "From the way he described how it felt, yeah, I think he is."

Frank was frowning and I couldn't figure out why. "Do you think Pete likes him back?"

"I don't think so," I said quietly. "They barely know each other, yknow?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah..."

"Why do you look so worried?"

"I'm not worried," he said, blinking at me.

"I know that look," I sighed. "Something's bothering you, what is it?"

He shrugged, looking down. He'd been keeping his hair just long enough to be unruly, it was shaping itself perfectly into black curls. It was highly distracting. "It's- It's probably nothing."

"Frank..."

He just shook his head, stabbing at his salad with his fork. "Just... Leave it, Gerard. Don't push it."

"I'm not... I'm not pushing anything." I felt my eyebrows pull together in slight confusion. "I'm just-"

"You are pushing," he snapped. "Just fucking stop trying."

"I just want to help," I said, soft, feeling unwanted. "You just- you looked so worried, Frank..."

He just shook his head. "Whatever. I don't want to talk about it right now."

I nodded, slightly. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

We went silent and I couldn't stop wondering what I'd done to piss him off so badly. I felt hurt, unwanted; like he suddenly hated me for doing something I had no memory of doing. I felt the need to start counting something. Something, anything to calm me down- I settled on the number of people at a table across the restaurant. There were four of them.

One, two, three, four. Four, three, two, one.

The number didn't change at all but I kept counting them until I'd forgotten why I'd even been upset in the first place.

Mikey was suddenly crossing the restaurant, wide-eyed and pale.

I stood up; he looked like he was going to pass out. "Mikey? You okay?"

He looked at me, nudging his glasses up on his nose.

I touched his shoulder, confused and concerned. "Mikey?"

"I kissed him," he said. He looked fucking terrified, frozen like a deer in headlights.

"You what?"

"He- he came into the bathroom," he said softly. "And he was trying to calm me down, and- and you said to be brave, Gerard, so I- I just-"

"You kissed him?"

Mikey nodded, and suddenly he seemed to realize the full capacity of what had just happened.

He'd just had his first kiss, with a boy he loved that didn't love him back; with a boy that loved his older brother's boyfriend.

I wanted to hug him but he didn't let me.

He was walking away, shaking his head. "I'll be outside."

I looked down at where Frank was still sitting. He looked just as freaked out as Mikey did.

"Pete and Mikey kissed?"

I nodded, slowly.

Frank looked like he was going to throw up and the only thought that came to my mind was why the hell did he care so much who Pete Wentz had kissed?

Pete came walking out of the bathroom a few seconds later, blinking.

Frank stood up and I sighed. I had a feeling we might as well just leave, so while Frank talked to Pete I put money on the table for the little food that we had eaten and nodded for them to follow me out.

"What happened in there?" Frank asked before we left the building.

Pete just blinked. "He kissed me."

I just sighed and walked out to where Mikey was standing, leaning against the brick wall. I started walking towards Mikey but Pete beat me there; he was standing in front of my little brother, hands on his shoulders, talking quietly.

Mikey glanced up at him. He looked like a child being scolded.

Frank and I were barely close enough to hear but I could hear Pete comforting my brother. Mikey just kept apologizing.

"It's okay," Pete said. "It's okay, Mikey. Wanna know a funny story? I did the exact same fucking thing as you just did only I kissed Frank."

That had Mikey pausing. He wasn't aware that Frank and Pete had kissed.

"What?" he said.

"I made the exact same mistake you did," Pete said, soft. His voice was slow and even and Mikey was looking at him like his eyes were the answer to life. "I know how hard it is to- to see someone you love be in love with someone else. To know that you won't have a relationship with them." He pulled Mikey softly into a hug and I watched my brother sob into this boy's arms; this boy who I'd been so distrusting towards, so suspicious of, so angry about. I admired how Pete had so subtly both comforted Mikey and confirmed that his feelings towards him did not reach beyond that of friendship.

Pete was a good person, I knew that. I guess I'd just denied it because I didn't want to admit he was better than me.

If we'd been in reverse positions I'd have done so many things differently. I'd have the boy I wanted no matter what it costs the other person, if some random kid kissed me I'd fucking throw a fit about it.

But Pete was perfectly calm. He was hugging Mikey, Mikey's face pressed snuggly against Pete's shoulder.

"You're so brave," Pete told him. "You're so brave, Mikey."

And I guess at the end of the day, that was the only thing that really mattered.

---

That night, laying in bed with Frank, I finally got the courage to ask; "What happened back at the dinner?"

"What do you mean?"

I swallowed a shaky breath of air. "When you realized that Mikey and Pete kissed you started acting weird."

I knew he was looking at me, his face scrunched up in confusion.

"Are you in love with him?" I asked quietly.

"With who?"

"Pete."

"Gerard, I-"

"It's a yes or no question," I said softly, looking at him.

His fingers brushed the hair away from my face. "I love you," he told me. "You, Gerard. We went over this this morning."

I sighed, rolling onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "But do you love him too, Frank?"

"I love him as a friend," Frank said. "I told you that this morning, It's not like- Gerard, there's nothing tying me to him. It's not the same as loving you."

I closed my eyes as tight as I could, letting out a shaky breath. "It shouldn't be this hard to trust you," I said, my voice uneven.

"I love you," he said, softly. I felt a weight press my body down against the mattress; I opened my eyes and he was sitting on me, straddling my hips, kissing me, his hand roaming softly across my torso.

"I love you too," I told him, looking him in the eye.

His fingers danced down my shoulders, his palms resting flat against my chest.

"Why did you sound so scared the first few times you said that?"

I sighed.

Looking at him now, seeing him as just an outline in the dark of my bedroom, feelings his fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, desperate and close and beautiful, and feeling his body weight on mine, I didn't have an answer. How had I been so scared of falling in love with such a beautiful boy?

"I didn't want to admit it," I said, soft. He was kissing my collarbone and it was terribly distracting. "I always fall in love too fast and end up screwing things up, I end up getting hurt. I wanted to do it right, this time."

He kissed me, soft, his fingers on my face, his palms pressed warmly against my cheeks. He was so warm, so close.

I had my hands on his hips, working my fingers beneath his shirt, pressing softly against his spine, trying to drag him closer against me. I wasn't trying to make it any more sexual than it had to be but with his hips moving like that against mine it was impossible to ignore how turned on I was by his closeness.

I sighed, my mouth slipping left of his, his lips leaving a soft trail down my jaw, down my neck. His breath was warm against my collarbone, his skin was burning beneath my fingers.

"You're so cold," he breathed out, nose pressed against the hollow of my neck, his lips pressed against my skin.

"And you're warm," I informed him, holding him closer, tighter, as close as I could get him to be.

He just sat there for a silent minute, his cheek on my chest, his fingers resting against my shoulders; my hands beneath his shirt, on his back.

"Are we ever going to have sex?" he asked suddenly, quietly. "I know that's random, I'm sorry, I just-" His lips were on my collarbone, soft, slow, gentle.

I let my eyes close, thinking about his question. It wasn't something I hadn't thought about before, but with him here, my hands on the bare skin of his back, his mouth working it's way across my neck, I'd never had a more perfect picture of what I wanted losing my virginity to be like.

I felt lame, realizing that I was eighteen years old and had never had sex before, but I was glad that I was lucky enough to at least be able to save it for someone I loved.

"But do you think it'll happen?" he continued. "I mean-" Even in the dark, I knew he was blushing. "Do you think we will?"

I didn't answer for seventeen seconds exactly, my fingers slipping higher on Frank's back. I said back, keeping my voice as quiet as his: "I'd like for it to happen."

From the angle I was looking at him from, I was pretty positive his eyes were closed.

"I'd like for it to happen, too," he murmured, his fingers running up and across my shoulder. I moved one hand away from his back, finding his hand with mine and holding his fingers softly between mine. My other hand was still beneath his shirt, resting on his shoulder blade.

"Uhm-" His hand disappeared from mine, he was peeling his shirt off, softly, and my fingers were helping him.

"Frank," I whispered, looking at him, studying his chin and cheeks and lips and eyes. "What are you doing?"

His fingers were nudging the fabric of my shirt up, his eyes fixed on mine. "Is this okay?" he asked, soft.

I let him slip my shirt off, I let him run his fingers down my chest, down my ribs, down my stomach- but I grabbed his wrists softly when his fingers neared too close to the waistline of my pajama pants. "Not tonight," I murmured. "Not now."

He just looked at me.

I glanced down at his hands, pressed flat against my hips.

"What are we waiting for?" Frank asked, softly.

It was a good question, and honestly, I didn't have an answer.

"Frank, I- I've never..."

"I haven't either," he murmured, pressing a kiss softly against my lips. "You know that. Why are you so scared?"

"I don't know," I said, looking at him.

He had his hands on my face, looking at me, chewing his bottom lip softly. "I love you," he told me. "You love me. We've- we've been over this before. We want a future together, we know that, we want to have sex, we know that. So- so why not now?"

I shook my head, looking away. I was just so nervous. What if I screwed this up? What if he left, like he did after our first kiss? What if I did something stupid or said the wrong thing? "I don't know. I'm being dumb, I'm sorry."

He looked at me for twenty-nine seconds, his fingers on my hips, now, curling slightly beneath the top fabric of my pants. His skin slipping so low against mine made me take a sharp breath, my fingers tightening on his shoulders.

"Frank," I said, feeling like I was choking. I couldn't. I was going to fuck this up, I knew it. I couldn't ruin what I had with Frank, I couldn't, I just couldn't. "Frank, I-"

His hand were gone from my hips suddenly, on my face, and he was kissing my cheeks, listening to me panic softly beneath him; I was pleading him not to, saying how sorry I was for not being ready.

"Shh, sh," he whispered, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, quickly against my lips. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. Calm down."

I was shaking my head and he was wiping tears I didn't even know I had been crying off of my face.

He was suddenly sitting lightly instead of laying, removing as much as his body weight from me as he could, one knee on either side of my hips, kissing me softly, whispering quietly.

"It's okay, Gerard," he insisted. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, we don't have to do this tonight if you don't want to."

I shook my head, my breathing too heavy. "No, no," I murmured. "I'm sorry, it's-"

"It's okay," he insisted again. "I shouldn't have pushed you like that, if you don't want to I should've listened. It's my fault."

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.

"It's not your fault," I said. I'd finally stopped crying. "I'm just- I'm being ridiculous."

"No you're not." He was framing my face with his hand, palms softly against my cheeks. "We can wait, it's okay."

I shook my head, because I could look at him and tell he was disappointed.

I just couldn't shut my brain up, I couldn't fucking do this right now- I had so many questions.

"Can we-" I covered his hands with mine, holding his fingers soft against my face. "Can we talk about this first?" I asked, softly.

He nodded, kissing me chastely. "We can talk."

I moved my hands to his hips. I didn't want him to move.

"Why, uhm-" I faltered, looking at him. "Why do you want to do this?"

Frank blinked at me. "I love you," he said, obviously. "It's- I mean- how do you even explain something like that?"

"No, I mean- it took so long for you to even be willing to kiss me, Frank. So why this, so soon?"

He kissed me again, soft and barely there. "I waited to kiss you because I was scared," he confessed, mouth still so close to mine. "I didn't want to get hurt." His fingers were in my hair. "But I know that this is what I want. I want you."

"You want me?"

"All of you." He was kissing me again. "I want every single part of you and I want it as mine."

"I want you too," I murmured. "But I'm just- you have to understand, Frankie." I let out a soft sigh. "I love you too, you know that, right?"

He nodded.

"But I'm just- There's so many things that I'm so unsure about."

Frank pushed my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead gently. "Talk to me," he said softly. "We haven't just talked in a while. Tell me what's on that pretty little mind of yours."

"I'm nervous," I said, slowly. "For starters."

"I am, too," he said, smiling shakily.

"I'm scared that you'll think I'm fat," I confessed quietly. "Once you- once there's no way left for me to hide myself. I'm scared I won't be good enough. I'm scared that I'll disappoint you, I'm scared that I'll screw this up."

"I don't think you're fat," he promised me. "I think you're the most beautiful boy in the whole wide world. And trust me, you will be the best in the world, Gerard." He kissed me shortly. "I fucking swear to you," he whispered, his hands on my hips again. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I want this to be the best fucking moment of your life, Gerard Way, even if we have to wait a while to make it happen."

I studied his face, knowing he was being honest about this.

"I love you," I said, slipping my fingers up his sides, up to his shoulders. I sighed. "I couldn't ask for a better boy to be in love with."

He leaned into my arms, kissing me, his fingers tangled softly in my hair. "I love you, too," he breathed out.

"We can try this again," I said, my hands in his hair. "I want to."

He just looked at me for a few seconds. "You're sure? I don't want to pressure you to do anything you don't want to."

"I want to," I assured him. "Just promise not to leave? Promise to still be here when I wake up? Promise to not be just a really great dream?"

"I promise you. I'm very real and I'm not leaving."

He was kissing me again, and I closed my eyes. We just kissed for a minute, gentle and slow and sweet. He tasted like nicotine and bliss.

Then I felt his fingers slip down my chest, soft and steady, feeling his way across my skin. I let out a soft breath, shivering at the sensation of his fingers dragging carefully down my stomach, curling against my hip bones.

I started counting how long he just touched me like that- just moving his hands gently over my skin, feeling, breathing me in, kissing me like I was all he needed to survive. I got to one-hundred and eighty-four before I was too distracted to keep track any more.

I pressed my hands gently against his hips, feeling him move against me.

"I love you," he said.

I kissed him, his bottom lip smooth between both of mine. He moved his hips gently against mine and my lips parted at the friction, a silent plead for something more.

"I love you too," I said, my breathing low and uneven.

His hands rested on my hips, his fingers curling around the waistband of my pajama pants again, like they had before.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded, eyes closed. My breathing was unsteady, but it wasn't the nerves this time; it was the craving, the want, the need that he was creating deep in my chest. "I'm okay."

His fingers inched down my skin- before I was sure of what he was doing, his hand was a lot lower than anywhere else he'd ever touched me, his fingers warm and gentle and so fucking careful, curving perfectly around my skin.

"Fuck," I breathed out, softly. He kissed me, his wrist moving, his hand shifting. "I love you," I said against his lips, already so desperate.

"I love you too."

I curled my fingers into his hair, holding him close, kissing him, sloppy and needy.

"Have I ever expressed how much I love your hands?" I asked, rolling my hips slightly forward, trying so hard to feel more, to shift his hand just a little bit faster. "You and- and your fucking hands, Frankie..."

He kind of laughed at me, silencing me with a kiss. "That was a nice way of me telling you to shut up and enjoy it," he grinned.

I nodded, my lips parting- I sighed, shaky. "While this is nice and all," I said, closing my eyes again, letting his hand do the work, resisting the urge to move my hips too much, feeling his mouth on my neck. "Are you gonna fuck me, Frank, or is this all I get?"

He just giggled at me again and pressed his lips against mine.