When We're Both Thirty

After seven hours of scrambling to find someone who is halfway decent and also available, Gerard finally finds someone that might be able to put up with Frank. It’s hard finding people who are as attractive as him though, because it’s not like Gerard has Joseph Gordon-Levitt on speed dial. He wishes, but unfortunately no such luck.

So the evening comes and then it goes. Frank sends him a text saying that this potential was about as interesting as a thumb tack and that he needs to try harder. Gerard calls him some creative insult which Frank than combats, and it’s all very regular.

Wednesday turns into Thursday. Thursday turns into Friday, and an ever deepening dread fills his gut when he realizes that they only have twenty six more days. He’s so exhausted with this whole ordeal though, and Gerard just really wants to go out and get himself laid. That’s what he wants. That’s it.

He’s not asking for much. All he requests is some disposable guy to fuck to take his mind off of Frank. Or maybe he can find a really hot guy who ends up falling in love with him and all this shit can be put into his rearview mirror. That would be nice.

He really needs a break. He needs a break from the insults and the deprivation. He needs a break from Frank, and from his joblessness. He just needs to take a vacation from his life.

“Mikey,” Gerard groans when he refuses to go with him. Something about not needing to have the visual of his brother trying to seduce anything with a pulse. To be fair, he does have a point.

“Go away,” Mikey says, shooing him out of his apartment.

“Why?” Gerard asks, “You’re not doing anything tonight!”

“I don’t want you to think I’m just always free on a Friday night to hang out with you. I have a life too!”

“No you don’t! Since when?”

“Just get out,” Mikey replies, about as whiney in tone as Gerard.

“What if I give you incentive?” Gerard asks.

“What kind of incentive?” Mikey asks, which is his way of saying ‘I’m listening.’

“I don’t know. What do you want?” Gerard asks, “A pony, a dinosaur, a Charizard, a yellow submarine?”

“Gerard, you don’t even have enough money to print out a piece of paper with those four things written on it.”

“Ugh, well what do you want then?” Gerard implores.

“Well,” Mikey says in a tone that scares the shit out of Gerard over what he’s about to say next. “You know Frank?”

“Oh god, what is about to come out of your mouth?” Gerard asks, looking panicked.

“If you let me invite him, then I will come along.”

“Mikey!” Gerard says obnoxiously, “you can’t be serious. You know I hate him. Why would I want to spend any time at all with him?”

“Well, my reasoning is that you totally have the hots for him, right? So my guess is that if you two spend enough time with each other, one of you is going to make a move, and then some shit happens, and I get to be best man at your wedding!”

“You have got to be kidding. I hate him. No, I loathe him. You hear me, Mikes? I loathe him. Like, whenever I see him I just wanna, like, rip-”

“His clothes off?” Mikey suggests, and Gerard hits him in the arm.

“No! Not rip his clothes off. I was going to say I want to rip his heart out and throw it against a wall.”

“Yeah whatever, so do we have a deal or not?”

“Ugh, Mikey! I just want to go out and have sex. It’s a Friday night, I feel like I deserve to just go crazy for a night. The last thing I need is for Frank to be on my shoulder badmouthing me to everyone I meet,” Gerard says. He really doesn’t know how to tell Mikey that he’s not dicking around here, and honestly just wants a day off. There’s no way to translate his thoughts into words. He wants to just be someone else for just tonight, and that’s all he’s asking for. That’s it. Mikey can’t understand him unless they’re conversation is filled with sarcasm though.

“Gerard, how about you not tell me about your sexual promiscuity and I promise not to tell you about mine. Okay? Okay. Why do you need me to tag along?”

He’s not sure how to say that he doesn’t trust himself in a bar alone while he’s feeling all moody. That’s only going to make Mikey worry about him, and that’s only going to make him more annoyed and desperate. Gerard thinks quickly and tries to come up with anything else to deflect the real answer to Mikey’s question.

“Do you know how sad it is to go to a bar all alone?”

“Very, evidently,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes.

“Just please come with me?”

“Like I said, only if you let me invite Frank,” Mikey says, crossing his arms obdurately.

“Jeez, I hate you. Fine. Invite him, what do I care,” Gerard says, raising his hands up, as if in defeat. It shouldn’t be too bad having Frank there though. At least he can have the chance to prove that he’s not totally undesirable. He can be alluring. Kind of. Well, he’ll try his best. This is one time where he really can’t fuck things up, though. He will never hear the end of it. Frank will literally haunt him in the afterlife just to make fun of him, assuming that Gerard kills him because of that very thing.

Mikey ends up calling Frank, Gerard just scowling the whole time, and he honestly doesn’t know how his plans got practically derailed so quickly. Mikey’s just a prick. Gerard decided that much twenty years ago, but it’s even more relevant now.

“Yep, he’s free,” Mikey says, “He doesn’t think you can score, and he wants to see you wash out.”

“You gave him details?”

“Yep. I told Frank that you were massively in love with him and that you wanted to get laid to take your mind off of the soul eating truth of how much you want him. He said ‘I know.’”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Well now that we’ve settled that,” Gerard says, making his way for the door.

A cab ride, several dozen insults, and a far too deep conversation about the science of the Death Star later, they end up in front of their destination.

“Oh come on! You never told me we were going to a gay bar!” Mikey says. “Gerard!”

“What? Where did you expect us to go? I am gay, dumbass. I gay regularly. Or, no, that’s not what I mean. Oh it doesn’t matter. We’re here now, it’s too late to turn back.”

“No it’s not,” Mikey tries to turn away but Gerard grabs him by the hood of his sweatshirt, almost choking him on the fabric. “Come on! Fuck you, Way.”

“Okay, considering you and I have the same name, Mikey, that insult was not very well thought out.”

“Fuck you and your grammar policing. Let go of my sweatshirt.”

“Fine,” Gerard says, and he lets go, making Mikey almost trip backwards, but he steadies himself and then rolls his eyes at Gerard. That’s something he’s very good at. Mikey has mastered the art of the eye roll.

“We’re going in?” Mikey asks.

“No, we’re just going to stand outside all night and be creepy,” Gerard answers sarcastically.

“A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed.”

Gerard just pulls Mikey into the building, because the wind is starting to pick up and he isn’t wearing a jacket.

There’s something really familiar about every single bar in New York City, and they’re very bland. Basically, each one is the same. There’s nothing all that interesting about them. The lighting is too dark, it’s often tinted to a different color. There’s a smell of beer and testosterone in the air, and the music is playing either way too loudly, or from a shitty PA system. It’s always techno music too, which is weird, because no one likes techno music. Well, robots maybe, but no one actually likes techno music.

“When is Frank getting here then?” Gerard asks.

“Like five minutes ago, what took you so long?” someone says behind them, and Gerard almost jumps up in shock.

“Gross,” Gerard says.

“Well thanks a lot, Gee.”

“It’s Gerard, fuckhead. I know it’s tricky, having that extra second syllable and all, but I figured you could at least get a hang of that much,” He responds.

“Oh the sweet smell of unadulterated hatred,” Mikey says. “There really is nothing like it in the world.”

“Go away,” Gerard says, slumping off to the other side of the room.

Gerard hears Mikey quietly say to Frank just before they’re out of ear shot, “how much do you wanna bet that he’ll strike out?”

Gerard flips him off behind his back, and makes a plan to get himself a coke or something. He’s not sure why though, but any form of soda you buy at a bar or a restaurant is always infinitely more disgusting than the shit lying in your refrigerator. It’s really flat and watered down, even if you literally get it from a can. There’s probably some science behind that, or maybe it’s in his head, but seriously, it gets annoying really quickly.

Gerard is in the middle of figuring out whether or not he’s attracted to this one guy with a fauxhawk who’s trying to flirt with him when Frank comes up behind him and decides to sabotage whatever the hell connection he’s trying to make.

“Hi Gerard!” Frank says in a chipper tone that is ill-suited for whatever he’s come over here to say, and Gerard makes a loud screeching sound when he hears Frank’s voice.

“What the fuck do you want?” Gerard asks.

“Who is this?” the fauxhawk asks.

“Oh, Gerard didn’t mention me?” Frank asks, “I’m his betrothed.”

“Fuck off, Frank!” Gerard says loudly.

“You’re engaged?” the fauxhawk questions further.

“No!” Gerard assures.

“Oh don’t be silly, Gerard. You’ve been engaged for nearly twenty five years, you’d think it would have sunk in by now.”

“Frank, get the fuck away from me,” Gerard says, shrugging Frank’s hand off of his arm where he’d just put it.

“Wait how old are you?” the fauxhawk asks, which is a valid question considering Frank’s words, but seriously, how can the fauxhawk be stupid enough to think that Frank in anyway shape or form is with him.

“He’s a vampire, that’s why he’s so pale. I think he lost track of his age a few millennia ago.”

“Seriously, Frank? I will feed your rotting carcass to an alligator if you don’t shut up and get out of my face.”

“I’m just going to leave you two alone then,” the fauxhawk says, and Gerard turns practically purple in the face with anger at Frank. He spins himself around to look at Frank who is devastatingly short compared to everyone around him.

“That was a real dick move, Frank,” Gerard spits at him.

“Oh no, are we having our first fight as a couple?” Frank says stalely.

“Frank, our first fight was in third grade when you put paint in my hat,” Gerard says.

“Okay, first of all, that was second grade, not third grade. Second of all, I never put glue in your hat,” Frank replies.

“Oh yeah right, stick to that story,” Gerard says, rolling his eyes.

Frank shrugs, like he’s giving up trying to defend himself, while Gerard asks a bartender for another coke.

“Wow, seriously? What sort of guy goes out with the intention to get laid and still manages to be a buzzkill?”

“The sort of guy who’s been sober for two years, but I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Gerard says, completely fed up with how much Frank misjudges him. Seriously, he knows they hate each other, and he knows Frank is an asshole, but he’s honestly starting to get sick of him being right there all the time. It’s only been a week! It’s been a week. They’ve been in contact for the first time after over ten years, and already Frank is undermining him. He’s already getting on his nerves to the most absurd caliber, and Gerard just wants a break from this.

He wants a break of Frank’s little voice constantly inside his head whispering insults at him, and he’s sick of the pressure on his shoulders like he’s Atlas holding the world up.

All Gerard is asking for is to have this night to himself, to pretend that he’s not attracted to Frank, to pretend that his life is normal, and to pretend, even if only for a little while, that not everyone is disappointed in him. He knows they are, of course he does, because Gerard isn’t blind. Everyone thinks he’s a failure, and while he can put up with that to some degree, it’s still suffocating him. Even Mikey is looking down on him, and he’s sick of it. He expects that from Frank, but for god sake, even his brother, his best friend, thinks he’s washed up.

He just needs a fucking break, but no, Mikey just had to go and make it so that Frank tagged along. Just had to make sure that the one night he tries to let himself just be himself also has fucking Frank right there whispering those insults in his ear like that’s all he lives for.

“Could you just... like leave me alone for five minutes?” Gerard asks pleadingly, not looking at Frank but rather at the bar counter in front of him.

There’s a long moment where Frank doesn’t say anything and Gerard doesn’t turn to look at him, while he patiently awaits Frank to say something rude and make the night even more of a failure than he’d previously anticipated. Gerard knows it’s coming. He knows that Frank doesn’t actually have enough human decency to give him a few minutes to breathe, but still he hopes, somewhere deep in the bowels of his brain, that maybe there’s some part of him that’s human. It’s like communicating with a zombie though, Frank doesn’t actually give a shit. All he likes is to make Gerard miserable, and he’s succeeding.

Just like all of high school, middle school, and elementary school, Frank will still manage to find a way to make everything worse. He’s still making Gerard miserable, this many years later. He’s still that bully that never lets him live his life.

“Uh, yeah,” Frank says, and he mumbles something quietly as he turns around, which, Gerard thinks for a moment, sounds strikingly like ‘sorry.’

Gerard shakes his head, because he must have misheard him. The last thing Frank would ever say to him is sorry. That’s just completely out of the question.