You Can't Push It Underground

Frank has seen neither Gerard nor Brendon in over a week. It’s a new record, actually. Ever since he met Brendon, he’s seen him pretty regularly. They’ve gotten into fights before, certainly, but never like this. Frank has never felt so utterly terrified of anything in his entire life, and no one seems to get that.

He is an idiot, and he knows that. It’s not a deep down sort of thing, he knows it really well, but that doesn’t change the facts. Frank has never done anything like this before, and it’s scary. It’s a big life choice, and everyone is pressuring him into making it, but he doesn’t know what choice to make. He has no fucking idea, he just knows it scares him.

Gerard is right for calling Frank out on his bullshit, but he just doesn’t know what to do. It’s strange how this all started with his neighbors, and it’s sent him into a lifestyle frenzy. Yes, Frank knows one-night stands aren’t exactly ideal, but that’s what he knows. Frank knows that, it’s familiar. It’s the safe option, taking no risks. Relationships are different, the risk is far more substantial and it’s so much bigger. If Frank messes it up, he’ll get hurt.

That’s what’s always bothered Frank about love. It’s giving someone else the power to hurt you. He already did it though. He opened up to Gerard, showed him who he was, and gave Gerard the power to hurt him. If he stays with Gerard it’ll get worse. He’ll give Gerard more power. He’ll feed Gerard like a furnace with ammo that he can use to hurt Frank.

It’s not that Frank thinks Gerard would intentionally hurt him, though he hasn’t ruled it out completely, he just doesn’t want to give the guy the opportunity. He already did somewhat and he’s now trying to pull himself away from the hurt he feels from abandoning Gerard, but it’s too late. The damage has been done, so what happens if he stays with Gerard and it gets worse.

Frank doesn’t want to be hurt. He’s seen what it does, watched his parents go through it, and he couldn’t let that happen to him. Frank doesn’t want to fall in love only to have it ripped out from under him like a carpet. He wants to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground, where no one has the power to trip him up. Yet there Gerard is, and he went and put his foot out in front of Frank’s path, so he’s already put a fumble in the steps. What if he gives Gerard more though?

The possibility that his life will get better is high, in fact that’s the most likely outcome, but what if Gerard breaks his heart? What if he falls out of love? What if Gerard gets hit by a bus? What if Frank gets hit by a bus trying to save Gerard from getting hit by a bus? There’s a good chance that Frank will be happy, but the margin of error is not small.

Frank’s been moping around his house, hardly leaving at all except to walk his dogs or get the mail. He had a few weeks of vacation time from work that he’d neglected to use up until now, so he takes them during this time.

Why is he so torn up about something that wasn’t really anything at all? Frank’s fallen into a self-induced depression, that he’s too stupid to realize that he can fix without much effort. It’s Frank’s own fault that he’s in such a rough place, but not for the reasons he thinks. It’s Frank’s fault that he isn’t seeing Gerard. He thinks that he gave too much of himself to Gerard and it’s Gerard that’s hurting him, but really, it’s Frank’s fault. Frank was the one who pushed Gerard away, not the other way around. Gerard isn’t the one keeping Gerard away, Frank is. Why he doesn’t realize that is a question without an answer.

Someone knocks on the door, and Frank groans, expecting the Sinclair’s. He walks to the door, from his spot in the living room watching some thirty hour marathon of old game shows. He’s still in his pajamas as he has been all day every day since the phone call with Gerard. He hasn’t shaved either so he’s starting to be kind of hairy in that awkward sort of way.

When Frank answers the door though it’s not the Sinclair’s, but a guy with a big head, in a completely different way.

“What are you doing here, Brendon?” Frank asks miserably.

“Oh god, you look horrendous,” Brendon says.

“Thank you for your flattery,” Frank says, walking away from the door lazily. He doesn’t bother closing it, so it’s a silent invitation for Brendon to come inside.

“Dude, have you left the house at all?”

“Not really,” Frank replies.

“Over Gerard?”

“No, over the muffins I burned last week,” Frank says sarcastically. He hears the door close, but doesn’t bother turning to see where Brendon is before he collapses back onto his couch. He takes up his sloth-like position, and hears Brendon walking around.

“Have you showered?”

“Once or twice,” Frank says.

“Yeah, I can smell you,” Brendon says, returning to the living room and then he sprays Frank with some Windex that he’d found in the hall closet.

“What’d you do that for?”

“I’d rather you smelled like ammonia than the bottom of a shoe,” Brendon says.

“Thanks for the flattery, what do you want?”

“I’m worried about you,” Brendon says, setting the Windex down. He walks around the couch that’s being inhabited by Frank and sits on the edge of the coffee table to look at his friend.

“No need to worry, I’m completely fine.”

“I can see that,” Brendon says looking at the many bags of convenience store chips, which Frank has thrown about everywhere. “You know something is wrong when a neat freak doesn’t clean up after himself.”

“Are you going to try to convince me that I’m being over dramatic? I’m fucking miserable, Brendon, and I hate it.”

“Well who do you have to blame for that one?”

“You,” Frank says.

“Me?”

“Who’s the one who made me go out with Gerard in the first place?”

“Who was the one who ditched him at a fancy restaurant, and then broke up with him over the phone?”

Frank groans, “We weren’t actually dating. It wasn’t really a date.”

“Gerard told me it was the best date he’d ever been on up until the part at the end.”

“You’re making that up,” Frank says.

“I’m really not. Frank, you’re a mess. You smell disgusting, you’re not picking up after yourself, you look like a teenager with a greasy peach fuzz Hitler stache, and you’re acting like a child. Either grow up and move on from Gerard, or kiss his fucking ass and beg for forgiveness.”

“You were the one who told me it was okay to feel awful after heartbreak,” Frank points out.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Brendon frowns, “Well as you said, you two never really dated, so it doesn’t count as heartbreak.”

“Then why does it feel like someone put a belt around my heart and then stomped on it?” Frank asks.

“Because your body is trying to tell you to get up and get with Gerard.”

Frank makes a whimpering sound, “but I don’t want him to hurt me, Brendon. I don’t want him to hurt me even more than he has now, because I don’t know how to handle it if he treats me like the piece of shit I am.”

Brendon is surprised to see Frank actually crying. He feels like he’s seeing a completely new part of Frank. It feels like he’s talking to a totally different person than his best friend.

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Yes!” Frank says exasperatedly, “what if I lose him, after giving myself away to him? Look at me right now, Brendon. It’ll be a hundred times worse if he actually likes me back, I just can’t do it!”

“You’re not supposed to give yourself away to him, you’re supposed to let him see you for who you really are, and fall in love with that part of you,” Brendon says.

“I’m an all-in or an all-out kind of person, Brendon, you know that. I’m either going to give it my all, or I’ve got to run away altogether.”

“That’s no way to think of it,” Brendon says, “take me for example, Frank. Romantically, I mean nothing to you, but you gave me the power to hurt you a long time ago.”

“That’s different though! You’re my best friend,” Frank protests.

“And that’s what you really want in a relationship. You want to find a best friend, and best friends will try never to hurt you,” Brendon says.

“But it gives someone the power to hurt you regardless of whether they decide to use that power or not,” Frank says.

“Oh god, you are so hopeless.”

“Thanks.”

“C’mon, Frank. Get up, get off your ass,” Brendon says, pulling on Frank’s arm to try to get him to stand up.

“No! Why?”

“Because you’re going to go take a shower, and then I’m going to take you out, and you’re going to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“But I don’t want to,” Frank complains.

“I’m not giving you a choice here,” Brendon warns, finally getting Frank to his feet, “go shower, shave, get dressed, and for the love of god, brush your teeth. Your breath smells like something died in there.”

“Just let me be,” Frank mopes.

“Nope. Just go fucking make yourself presentable,” Brendon says.

“Presentable to who?”

“It’s whom, you twat. Just do what I told you.”

Brendon eventually has to physically push Frank over to the stairs and it’s not an easy task. For one thing, Frank is a dead weight, and for another thing he’s a dead weight that smells like a homeless man.

“Why can’t I just go back to bed and eat a pint of ice cream?”

“Because we’re not watching Dirty Dancing nor are you menstruating,” Brendon says.

“Fine!” Frank says angrily, “I’ll shower, but I’m not putting on clean socks.”

“Why not?”

“Out of pure defiance, I will reuse a pair of socks. Just because I don’t want you to have your way entirely,” he says.

“Fine with me, just get to it,” Brendon hollers at him.