The Art of Holding Hands

Frank’s laugh was one of those sounds that made Gerard believe there was good in the world. It was high-pitched and girly and totally a stoner laugh, but it fit Frank so well that none of that really mattered except to make it infectious. Honestly, Gerard was addicted. Unfortunately, most of the time, the laugh was aimed at him after embarrassingly stupid, nonsensical sentences.

Gerard didn’t particularly find, you can tell if people are in love by the way they hold hands, stupid or nonsensical , but Frank’s giggle exploded the second he said it.

“Why is that funny?” he demanded. Well, he tried to sound demanding, at least; he couldn’t help smiling.

“We were talking about Batman, dude,” Frank said, waving a hand around as if to illustrate how spacey Gerard could be. He laughed again, lip ring glinting as his lips stretched into a grin at Gerard’s dumbfounded expression. “Alright, go on; I wanna know this.”

Gerard stared at him for a few seconds to be sure he wouldn’t be mocked endlessly. “Okay, so if people hold hands like this,” he said, putting his palms together with his fingers curling over the sides of his hands, “it means they’re just friends. Like, platonic love.”

Frank mirrored him and nodded for him to go on.

“And if people hold hands like this,” Gerard said, linking the ring and pinky fingers of his left hand with the middle and index fingers of his right hand, “it means they’re friends in love.”

Frank attempted to copy the position, but he ended up dropping his hands into his lap when he failed. “And if they’re in love?”

“Then they hold hands like this,” Gerard said. He interlocked all of his fingers and smiled over them at Frank, who sucked his lip ring into his mouth. Gerard’s face fell. “You think it’s stupid.”

“No!” Frank exclaimed, smirking. “I think it’s cute.”

“Liar. You think it’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard.”

“It is not.”

“Name one thing.”

“One thing that’s more stupid?”

“There! You admit it!” Gerard yelled, pointing at Frank accusingly. Scoffing, Frank threw his hands in the air.

“I did not!”

“You did too!” Gerard insisted, crossing his arms. Frank stared at him incredulously before practically falling out of his chair at the force of his laughter. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from joining in, Gerard stood and went back in the house. Mikey was in the living room talking to Ray, so Gerard collapsed dramatically on the couch, his face hidden in Mikey’s shoulder. Without even blinking, Mikey put an arm around him, but Ray cut off the conversation to ask, “Are you okay, Gerard?”

“Frank called me stupid,” Gerard whined.

“I did not call him stupid!” Frank called from the deck. Gerard could smell his cigarette smoke.

“Yes, you did,” Gerard argued, lifting his head to glare through the doorway at the only visible part of Frank: his shoes. “You laughed like you do every time you think I'm being an idiot.”

“I have never called you an idiot.”

“Your face has.”

“What does that even mean?” Ray interjected. Mikey shook his head with an eye roll that Gerard felt rather than saw.

“My face has never called you an idiot,” Frank amended, leaning into view with his cigarette held out so he didn’t burn himself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Two spots of pink appeared high on Gerard’s cheeks. Mikey subtly tightened his grip to keep him from getting up, most likely to punch Frank in the face.

“I am not being ridiculous.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I'm not.”

“You are!”

“I'm not!”

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Mikey said in his quiet tone. Gerard huffed and leaned back into the couch while Frank put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the arm of his chair.

“Whatever. I should get home. Dogs to feed, mothers to water,” Frank said, lifting a shoulder as if to say nothing new. “Call you tomorrow, Ray.”

Gerard continued to glare until Frank was out the front door, then buried his face in Mikey’s shirt. “I'm never leaving the basement again.”

Mikey put his chin on top of Gerard’s head briefly, petting his hair, before picking back up with Ray.

Frank’s laugh was a symbol of evil in the world. Gerard hated it with all his being. He never wanted to hear it again. He—

“Did you bring me coffee?” Gerard mumbled. Frank was smiling when Gerard poked his head out from under his pillow. He held the mug toward Gerard and waited while he extracted himself from the death grip of his bed.

“This is a peace offering,” Frank said, not letting go of the coffee once Gerard had a grip. His expression was serious, but Gerard still squinted at him skeptically. “I'm sorry I laughed at you yesterday.”

“Forgiven,” Gerard replied, staring at the mug until Frank relinquished it. He settled on the bed against the wall with his feet tucked under the messy sheets. Frank was still watching him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Frank answered quickly, turning and running out of the room. He leaned back in a second later. “Your mom made breakfast, by the way.”

Gerard didn’t leave his room until he finished his coffee; it took much more for him to be efficiently awake, but one mug was enough to get him upstairs. Mikey was at the kitchen table, head on his arms with an empty mug in front of him. Gerard ruffled his hair, getting a delayed, badly aimed swat at his arm.

“Where’s Frank?”

“Follow the sound of restless legs,” Mikey muttered to the table. He lifted his head at the sound of Gerard picking up the coffee pot. No words were exchanged; Gerard poured half the remaining coffee for himself and the rest he dumped in Mikey’s mug. Mikey hummed as happily as he ever sounded and took such a long drink Gerard was worried he’d have permanent burns.

Shuffling to the living room, Gerard wasn’t surprised to find Frank standing behind the couch as he watched Saturday morning cartoons. He was, however, surprised that it was actually morning.

Once Gerard sat down and drank two-thirds of his coffee, Frank dropped to the cushion next to him. It didn’t strike Gerard as unusual to have him so close. Even the occasional glances his way were commonplace.

“What you were saying yesterday,” Frank said out of nowhere. Gerard tore his eyes away from Sonic to meet Frank’s unexpectedly serious eyes. He was even frowning. “Do you actually believe it?”

Gerard blinked at him uncertainly. “What?”

“Do you believe that how you hold someone’s hand says how you love them?”

Lifting his shoulders, Gerard redirected his attention to the coffee table and occupied himself by drinking the rest of his coffee. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I think it makes sense,” Frank said. Gerard didn’t chance a glance in case Frank was smirking. He set his mug down, almost immediately regretting it as he found he had nothing to do with his hands.

Frank didn’t giggle like he usually did when Gerard was fidgeting; instead, he grabbed Gerard’s hand and twined their fingers together. Gerard stared at their hands and then looked up at Frank in confusion, but Frank wasn’t looking at him. He was watching TV like there was nothing different.

Gerard glanced down again. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he shifted a little closer to Frank, squeezing his hand.