When We're Both Thirty

Gerard ends up in front of an apartment in a fairly swanky building which he resents. In his own apartment, Gerard is constantly having to wipe dust off his furniture from the Subway disrupting the unstable roof above him, and Frank has an apartment that doesn’t smell like the guy across the halls dirty socks.

He doesn’t live in an overly fancy place, but anything is better than where Gerard lives.

Gerard has to literally slap himself to come to the grips that he is literally standing in front of this of all doors. His least favorite person in the world, besides of course from various dictators, is standing behind that door somewhere. Maybe. He might not even be home. Gerard almost hopes that’s the truth.

He exhales, realizing that he forgot to breathe out of the revulsion of who might be on the other side.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself before knocking on the door. The moment his knuckles hit the wood he regrets it. He really wants to just run away and pretend this never happened, but he hears someone fucking walking around on the other side.

Gerard can feel his heart rate increasing and it’s scaring the shit out of him that someone is stepping closer to the door.

Gerard really hopes Frank is ugly. He really hopes that Frank has a giant mole or botched plastic surgery.

When the door opens in front of him though, Gerard’s hope that Frank became ugly is squashed. He got hotter. Like, way hotter. Like, if this weren’t his least favorite person he’s ever met, than he would totally want to get into this guy’s pants.

Fucking hell, Gerard wanted to make this quick and tell the guy that he hates him, but now he’s practically drooling over a guy he wants to chop the appendages off of.

“Yes?” the guy who Gerard is hoping isn’t Frank, because he’s way too attractive and that would be way too depressing if Frank got that hot.

“Are you Frank Iero?” Gerard asks, staggering slightly on the words. That’s Frank’s voice he’s sure of it. He hasn’t forgotten that voice in the slightest.

“Who’s asking?” Frank replies, and then evaluates Gerard, “you don’t live here, how’d you get in?”

“I grabbed the door while someone was leaving,” Gerard replies.

“So much for safety if people can just come in and out as they please. Tell me who the hell you are then.”

“I’m Gerard. Gerard Way.”

Frank looks confused for a moment before a flash of understanding fills his eyes and he tries to slam the door as fast as he can. Gerard puts his foot out to stop himself from being blocked off, and he’s fairly sure his toes are screaming out in agony. This doesn’t look so painful when people do it in movies, but god damn, it’s like his foot is being sawed off.

“Get out of my apartment, you son of a bitch!” Frank shrieks at him.

“We have to talk about things, fuckhead,” Gerard says, using his old pet name for Frank.

“Calling me that isn’t going to make me open the door on you,” Frank says, still struggling for power in the war to get the door slammed in Gerard’s face.

“It’s about our moms, asshole!”

“I am not interested!” Frank says.

“This isn’t high school you nimrod, we can be adults about this!” Gerard says. Frank pauses for a moment, not letting out on the door, just blanking his expression for a moment.

Gerard has a glimmer of hope that maybe that got through to him but then Frank spits, “you’re a dick. I don’t regret putting that cow shit in your locker.”

Gerard grimaces, remembering said incident. “I don’t regret stealing your gym clothes in tenth grade.”

“You asshole,” Frank says, giving Gerard a look of pure venom, “I got detention for a week because of that.”

“My locker smelled like shit for three months because of you.”

“I hate you,” Frank says menacingly.

“I hate you more,” Gerard says through gritted teeth, and he’s pretty sure he’s almost got the door open enough for him to get inside, but Frank’s leg is in the way. It’s in the position that if Gerard were to try to leap into the apartment, he’d probably get kneed in the balls.

“Ugh, you fuckhead, this is serious,” Gerard says, “Our mothers called each other.”

“So what!”

Gerard rolls his eyes, and tells Frank what his mother had told him, “Well your mom found this thing in a box of your old stuff. It was this, contract that had been hanging in your room.”

“What contract? Why the fuck does it concern you?” Frank asks.

Gerard practically growls, feeling his fingers start to become numb from the pain of keeping the door open. They’ll hurt a lot more if his hand slips and Frank is able to crush them as well as his toes in his front door.

“It was a contract,” Gerard says, trying to breathe even though he’s panting slightly from the exertion, “said that you and I were going to get fucking married!”

“You’re lying,” Frank says.

“I wish I was.”

“Why would I marry you?”

“We apparently used to be best friends,” Gerard says.

“Yeah I remember,” Frank replies.

“Wait, you do?” Gerard asks, almost losing the door in his surprise.

“Of course,” Frank says, “I’m not an idiot. You and I were friends. Everyone thought I was gay.”

“You are gay,” Gerard states as a fact.

“So are you!”

“That’s not the point,” Gerard says, “The contract says that we would get married if neither of us was married by the time we were thirty.”

“You must be shitting me,” Frank says, “it’s a piece of paper, I’m not going to take that seriously, even if it is real.”

“Yes, but both of our moms are disappointed in us for being major fuckups!”

“How’d you know that?” Frank asks, and finally, the door fight is lost. Gerard wins? He’s not sure, he just knows that Frank stops trying to close the door on him, because he looks like he’s wheezing a little bit. It’s good to know Gerard’s not the only one who is terribly out of shape.

“Because we’re both fuckups, fuckhead,” Gerard says, “and the word ‘both’ entails two parties.”

“You’re a fuckup too?” Frank asks, “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Speak for yourself,” Gerard says, “I should’ve known you’d end up an unemployed loser like me.”

“Oh I’m not unemployed,” Frank says defensively, and he turns around to walk back into his apartment. He doesn’t really say if he wants Gerard to come in or not, so Gerard stands in the entrance, just sort of watching Frank.

His apartment is not too shabby, but it’s not five star living either. It’s more impressive than Gerard’s at the very least. He’s got a relatively open floor plan. There’s a couch pointed at a four or five year old TV to Gerard’s right. On the left side is a fairly nice looking kitchen with dark appliances. It’s also alarmingly clean, but Gerard does recall something about Frank being a neat freak. Emphasis on the freak.

“Then why are you home in the middle of the day?” Gerard asks.

“I don’t work these hours,” Frank says. “Close the fucking door shitdick, before some other nightmare from my past comes waltzing in.”

Gerard rolls his eyes at his own nickname. No one has called him shitdick in twelve years, and those twelve years were blissful because of that. Not actually, the last twelve years of his life have been hell. In and out of depression, alcohol dependency, and screwing up his entire life only to end up a reluctantly sober artist without a job nor money. So maybe life after high school hasn’t been too kind.

It’s been even worse than high school actually. All he had to worry about there was name calling, shit stuffed into his locker, and tests. Now he has to worry about the inevitability that he’s going to be kicked out of his apartment, and the disappointment from his mother. The stress isn’t as bad and at least he doesn’t have the urge to shoot himself as often, but it’s not much better.

“So what hours do you work?” Gerard questions, “hang on are you a stripper?”

Frank turns and looks at him with such a judgmental glare that Gerard almost feels it ripping apart his insides. Frank’s eyebrows raise and he looks at Gerard like he’s grown a second head.

“Strippers aren’t the only people who work late hour’s, shitdick,” Frank says, “but I’m flattered that you think I’m attractive enough.”

“You look like the aliens from Independence Day to me,” Gerard says, and then frowns, “actually no. That’s offensive to the aliens from Independence Day. You’d be lucky to look like them.”

“I hate you so much that right now I’m fantasizing about wrapping millions of rubber bands around your head until the tension builds up so much that your skull explodes,” Frank says with the most sugared down tone anyone could ever imagine.

“I want you to fall out of a window but survive, and then I want you to crawl down the street looking for help when a car comes by and you get stuck under it, causing you to be dragged down several city blocks until you finally fall off in a construction zone where builders pour boiling tar over your face, burying you into the concrete.”

Frank’s making a face, and Gerard’s aware that he’s standing a little too close for comfort. The kind of close that means he’s either ready to take a swing at Gerard, or he’s about to make out with him. It’s obvious which is more likely given the fact that Frank could literally turn a lesser soul into stone with that glare of his.

“You’re psychotic.”

“You’re disgusting,” Gerard counteracts.

“I wouldn’t marry you if you and I were the last two people on earth.”

“Oh how cliché.”

“Fine! I wouldn’t marry you if we were the last three living things on the planet, the third being Jabba the fucking Hutt. If I had to choose between marrying you and being mauled alive by a dozen lions, I would choose the lions and laugh while they killed me.”

“You love me that much?” Gerard says, “Because that sounds like heaven compared to being married to you.”

“So there then,” Frank says, “We’re not going to get married.”

“Fine!” Gerard says.

“So why are you here then?”

“Because... I don’t fucking know, I hate being a fucking failure all the time and my mom wanted me to meet with you. She thought it was possible for us to find some common ground or something, which is laughable, because I hate you more than words can ever describe.”

“Yeah,” Frank nods, “so you’re jobless then? I always knew you’d be a failure.”

“Well if your mom is all shitty about being a failure too than that must mean you’re not much better than I am. So what is it then? How’d you disappoint her?”

“None of your business.”

“Then I’ll just have to assume you’re a stripper.”

“I am not a-” Frank starts, fuming, and then he sticks his tongue out at Gerard. “Go to hell.”

“I’m already there. It’s called your apartment.”

“So why don’t you just leave then?”

“I should!” Gerard says, stomping his foot resolutely.

“Then go,” Frank says, pointing to the door, “I don’t fucking want you here. I’m not going to marry you, you’re not going to marry me, it’s been settled.”

“Fine,” Gerard says, turning around and grabbing the doorknob. He’s ready to just leave and never look at Frank ever again except for in his dreams where he cuts the guy’s head off. Frank stops him before he goes though, by calling out his name.

“What do you want?” Gerard whines, turning to look at Frank again.

“What exactly do our parents want us to do?” Frank asks.

“Why are you asking me?” Gerard asks.

“Because, I’ve been avoiding my mom calling for like three weeks, but you seem to have all the answers,” Frank says.

“Three weeks? Damn, I only left my mom on the hook for a few days. You’re a heartless monster alright. I don’t want to play this game of telephone with you, I just know that my mom wants me to be in a relationship, and she thinks that you and I would be good together because we were twenty five years ago.”

“Twenty five years is a long time to change,” Frank says.

“Well I know that, and you know that, but our mothers still think we’re little kids. They still think deep down inside that we care for one another.”

“So what’s that mean then? If neither of us are in a relationship before I’m thirty than they expect us to get married?” Frank asks, looking dumbfounded at such a prospect.

“Well, not exactly. I think ultimately that’s what they want, but if we fail than they’re just going to be even more disappointed than they are now.”

“Well that fucking sucks, because my mom already looks at me like I’m a convicted criminal during Christmas,” Frank says.

Gerard rolls his eyes, “so what? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Poor little Fwankie makes his mommy sad one day of the year.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

“You disgust me,” Frank says.

“Back at ya,” Gerard says.

“So... ugh, I can’t even look at you without wanting to break my fist on your face,” Frank says, “So what do we, uh, do?”

“About what?”

“Well, we’ve established that both of our moms are disappointed in us, and we know what they want from us.”

“But we’re not going to give them that,” Gerard says.

“No, of course not!”

“But...?”

“But,” Frank says, “maybe we could actually like, make an effort to find other people to prove them wrong.”

Gerard gives him a face, “what?”

“Well, maybe, we could like, I don’t fucking know do I? Like, we have a month right? A month before they start treating us worse than they do now, we could try to actually find people in that time!”

“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing the past ten years?” Gerard asks.

“Probably being an idiot,” Frank replies.

“Could you, just, for like a minute,” Gerard says, “just for a minute, let’s be cordial?”

“Alright shitdick,” Frank says, “starting now.”

“No. Fuckhead. Starting now.”

“Alright so, what I’m saying is that we should actually buckle down and fucking go out there and find boyfriends, because the last thing I want is to have my own mother ask me about you,” Frank says.

“Wait, you’re being serious? You really think we can both just somehow find the love of our lives in thirty three days?”

“Well I don’t see why we should just sit on our asses and do nothing about this!”

“But I, I mean, I don’t even know any single guys I’m even kind of attracted to,” Gerard says.

“Well, I know some guys,” Frank says.

“Are you literally saying you’ll try to set me up?” Gerard asks, “Knowing you, you’d probably try to set me up with your pet gecko.”

“If I had a pet gecko, it would be too good for you.”

“Well all my friends are too good for you!” Gerard says, “Even the guy who was sent to prison for vehicular manslaughter.”

“Oh please,” Frank says, “do you really want your pride to get in the way of having your mom make sideways remarks about you for the rest of your life?”

Gerard considers this for a second and rolls his eyes when he sees that Frank has a point. He doesn’t want that, no. He also doesn’t want to be forced to find someone because Frank made him agree to marry him twenty five years ago, but that’s his life right now. He doesn’t actually know who propositioned the stupid-ass contract, but he’s going to blame it on Frank.

“Okay, so maybe I know a few people who aren’t exactly my type, but that you might like, if that’s what you’re asking,” Gerard says.

“I hate this.”

“I hate you.”

“Same,” Frank scowls.