Chance

“Stop peaking!” Gerard insists, squirming a little at the thought of Frank looking at him like that.

“I’m not!” Frank says. He’s lying. Like he’s actually going to miss out on the chance to look at Gerard with minimal clothes on, he’s not an idiot.

“You are,” Gerard says, because he’s not an idiot. Even if he weren’t trying, this is a dressing room with mirrors on every wall but the door. There’s nowhere for Frank to look, at aside from the insides of his own eyelids, that doesn’t have Gerard’s image plastered onto it.

“Well if I am then I can tell you that you look really great and I’m trying super hard not to jump your bones right now,” Frank says. “But since I’m not looking, I’m still trying really hard not to jump your bones.”

“I’ve never understood that phrase, ‘jump your bones.’ Sounds like something Sally would say to Jack after hitting the absinth a little too hard.”

“I don’t even want to know why you were considering that so complexly,” Frank says, shaking his head, and just sighing. He looks at Gerard’s reflection in the mirror, a new, dry shirt on, which makes him look far less uncomfortable, but still, he could shake his hair out like a dog and create his own waterpark.

“Your turn,” Gerard says, when he decides that the shirt looks fine. Frank is aware that they could have changed at the same time, but he didn’t want to miss out on this golden opportunity. It’s cramped in here, they might have bumped elbows, it just made more sense to go one at a time. Or at least, that’s the lie he told Gerard to convince him to go first.

Really though, Gerard gets the better end of this deal. Seeing Frank shirtless is a whole lot more interesting than Gerard. Gerard is just a pale, pudgy nerd. Frank is a tattooed sex god.

Frank would argue that it’s the other way around, but he’s not in the business of arguing with people who are half naked because, really that’s not a situation in which you want to have a debate. Because if someone is half naked in front of you, you should either be really turned on or really fucking uncomfortable. Sometimes both.

In any case, Gerard has to stop himself from drooling when Frank takes off his shirt which is still dripping wet and sticking to his skin. If they weren’t in the dressing room of a small boutique at two in the morning, Gerard would do terribly obscene things to Frank right about now.

“What are you staring at?” Frank asks when Gerard finally gets a full glimpse of his chest piece in all of it’s glory. Gerard doubts that there’s an inch of him unmarked, and this is leading to him being very, very, very excited. He couldn’t even name the number of things he’s excited about, it’s too long of a list. Mostly he’s just excited that this guy actually agreed to kiss him, and seems to enjoy it.

“You,” Gerard says, mouth open and gaping.

“You act like you’ve never seen a tattoo before,” Frank says.

“Well I’ve never seen yours,” Gerard replies, and although every single instinct in his body is saying not to, Gerard just has to touch. He’s just got to. He’s got to trace his hands over anything he can get his fucking hands on.

“No, go ahead,” Frank says, sarcastically after Gerard starts to trace alone his chest.

“Oh sorry,” Gerard says, trying to take his hand back, but Frank grabs it and puts it on the space where his shoulder and neck meet.

“I didn’t ask you to stop,” Frank says, at which point, Gerard turns to a syrupy puddle on the ground.

“Well fuck,” Gerard whispers before attacking Frank’s mouth with his own.

It’s a small dressing room, not really made for two people, so it’s no surprise when Gerard winds up pinned to the wall with Frank’s tongue down his throat, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s an experience Gerard will enjoy reminiscing about. It makes it all the better that Frank is not wearing a shirt. This is a teenage girl’s diary entry if there ever was one.

Gerard’s hands are frantic on Frank, trying to touch every bit of skin he can get his hands on, his chest, shoulders, back, sides, arms, really just anything exposed. He’s so warm, his skin like warmth incarnate under Gerard’s fingertips. Like a hearth, almost, cozy and comforting.

Frank chuckles a little when Gerard starts whining, making these little wounded puppy noises deep in the back of his throat.

“This is great and all, Gerard,” Frank says, “but there’s two sales ladies like five feet outside this door.”

“Fucking hell,” Gerard groans.

“We should really just get changed and leave,” Frank says, though he looks sad about it. If they weren’t at least a couple of miles away from his apartment, Gerard would drag him there half naked right now, but at this distance it would be considered exercise and Gerard is just not about that life.

“You’re right,” Gerard sighs.

“Let me get my shirt on,” Frank says, grabbing the dark grey T-shirt he found on the sales rack. Nothing glamorous, but he wasn’t searching for glamor, he just didn’t want to be so wet.

Frank makes a point to stick his ass out in front of Gerard’s eyes when he peels off his wet jeans as well. He’s intentionally taunting Gerard. Showing him every bit of him that Gerard would really like to have right about now. Gerard hadn’t been that vindictive, he’d just cowered in the corner, changed his pants really quick and blushed for five minutes. He’s thanking the heavens that he wasn’t wearing his Star Wars boxers because that’s a side of him that Frank doesn’t need to see right now.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Gerard says.

“Why thank you,” Frank says, grinning back at him with this smile that Gerard swears could be confused with the sun.

Frank pulls on the dry pants quickly, feeling immediately relieved at the sense of warmth that they instill. He’s going to get a cold for sure, he knows it, but it doesn’t matter. He’s enjoyed this night more than any other night of his life, if a cold is his payment for that, than a cold it is.

“Are you ready to get going?” Frank asks, when Gerard can’t stop staring at him. Gerard might as well be drooling, he’s that glossed over with Frank’s everything all at once.

“What? Oh, yeah,” Gerard says, nodding. Frank just grins, and nods at him. He opens the door to the dressing room, and takes Gerard’s hand before they leave, not wanting to let him go for even a second. He’s sure that he’s going to have Gerard’s hand in his for the rest of his life, one way or another.

The store is small, but the warmth of it is immediately evident when the two of them step foot back on the street. It’s still a nicer neighborhood, one where, if you get mugged, the police might actually read the report, rather than just throw your case in the trash can the first chance they get.

“It smells like rain,” Gerard says, taking in a big, deep breath at the intoxicating scent.

“One of my favorite smells,” Frank says, not mentioning that his new favorite smell is Gerard. Gerard smells feminine, which Frank had thought would be off putting, but it’s not. It’s a crisp smell, like some fruit or another, but Frank couldn’t say which. He thinks that his strongest memory of Gerard is already the way he smells, and he doesn’t know why. There’s just something about his scent that is more prominent than anything else, and that’s including his smile, eyes, and even his laugh. Though if Frank is being completely honest, Gerard’s laugh is probably his favorite thing, not only about Gerard, but about the entire world.

“I hope it doesn’t rain again,” Gerard says, frowning, because this outfit, while not going into the record books, is one that he doesn’t want to get wet. He didn’t buy this for it to get wet again in five minutes.

“Well, we’ve got an umbrella now,” Frank says, holding up the bag from the boutique.

“Yeah,” Gerard nods. His shoes and socks are still wet, which is uncomfortable, but he’s not going to buy a brand new pair of shoes just because they’re wet. They’ll dry off soon enough, though it might take a day or two, given the awkward shape.

The small plastic big in his hands with his wet clothes in it weighs what feels like several tons, and he knows he’s going to get tired far quicker with this in his hands. As it is, he already feels like he’s tiring out from carrying it, so he looks around until he spots a bench not too far from where they are.

“Can we…?” Gerard starts, pointing to the bench.

“Yeah, probably should,” Frank says, because they’ve barely had a chance to sit down all night.

The two of them walk over to the bench, covered in small little droplets of rain, but it’s not that bad, it’s stiller drier than the grass beneath their feet.

“Just give me a few minutes to sit down,” Gerard says when they reach it, “I’m so old now, fuck, my legs hurt when I stand for too long.”

“I’m old too then,” Frank says, laughing as he sits beside Gerard on the bench, looking at him so adoringly you wouldn’t believe that they only met a few hours ago. “Dude, you know when you grow up and then all family dinners become a competition to see who’s had the most surgeries, or who has the most pain in insert body part here?”

“The truth is that those conversations happen at all family gatherings throughout your life, but you don’t notice them when you’re a kid because your weird uncle Sal is pulling a nickel out of your ear.”

“You have a weird uncle Sal too?”

“Dude, I’m Italian,” Gerard replies, as a response.

“Touché,” Frank nods. It is a given that every Italian person has a weird uncle Sal. Also, anyone from Long Island.

“God my ass is gonna get wet,” Frank groans when he moves a little to feel the bench still coated in rain.

“Suck it up, man,” Gerard says, shrugging. He doesn’t mind it so much, Gerard doesn’t mind being wet, he’s never particularly bothered by the rain, because he’s got one hell of an immune system and has only ever had like three colds throughout his entire life. Frank is not so lucky, because he gets a cold from opening the refrigerator door for too long.

“Well, if the fact that I’m irrevocably in love with you doesn’t make me remember this night, the pneumonia I’m going to get sure will,” Frank states.

Gerard rolls his eyes at him, but smiles anyway and wraps Frank in his arms. Gerard will fight off the fucking germs with his bare hands if it means protecting Frank. God, he cannot believe he cares so much about this short little asshole with tattoos, but he can’t deny it to himself.

Frank settles into Gerard’s embrace, perfectly content to let Gerard’s warmth radiate into him, because Frank is a firm believer that there is no such thing as a bad cuddle. He’s also always freezing, so he could really use the heat.

Gerard’s just so warm though. And Frank fits in with him like something else. Frank’s back is against Gerard’s chest, Gerard’s legs wrapped around him at an awkward looking angle that somehow feels right, and it’s just exactly that. Right. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, there’s no weird pressure, no limbs are falling asleep or any bones jamming into any body parts, which are easily the two most common issues with spooning. Neither of those are a problem though, this is just an entirely new feeling, one where nothing at all is wrong, and somehow the fact that nothing feels weird or awkward is a milestone

“My brother is going to give me so much grief for tonight,” Gerard days, shaking his head.

“Fuck dude, I mean Ray is going to have some serious ammunition to make fun of me, but like, I wouldn’t take any of this back. Not a second of it. Not even the measliest detail. Everything about this has been perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Don’t we just sound like the best rom com of the year?” Gerard asks, laughing. “Oh my god, I can see the movie trailer.”

Frank laughs and then gets all excited, talks more with his hands than his mouth, saying, “starring Ryan Reynolds and Channing Tatum.”

“Fuck, I would watch the heck out of that movie,” Gerard laughs, because honestly, that’s all his dreams come true. Every last one of them. One of the first things on his list of wishes is to see Ryan Reynolds kiss a dude, and Deadpool 2 is going to take a few years so a cheesy rom com could really satiate that need until then.

“Probably be my second favorite movie,” Frank says, and when Gerard gives him a questioning look he adds, “after that Dylan O’Brien movie.”

“Oh yes,” Gerard nods, “because it’s a gay movie, which can only mean one thing.”

“Dead gays,” Frank nods somberly.

“Which of them do you think it would be?” Gerard asks.

“Both,” Frank says, “because, the problem is that they’d have far too much chemistry. Unlike all the indie films with gays that can’t act, this would be Channing fucking Tatum, and Ryan goddamn Reynolds, they’d make homophobe’s jealous, and when you’ve got all that talent, I mean, you gotta kill them. Gays can’t have happy endings in Hollywood, you know that.”

“A shame, really,” Gerard says, because he’s secretly wrought with self-hatred and feelings of depreciation that there is not a single good, solid Hollywood relationship that he can identify with that doesn’t end in tragedy. But focusing on that only ever ends him in a depressing spiral of contempt so he chooses to look past that and instead remember that at least Cophine is canon and neither of them are dead.

“God, I just depressed myself,” Frank says, “kiss me, that always seems to make things better.”

Gerard grins and does as he’s asked, and learns that he too is immediately cured of all pain, grief, depression and illness, just by kissing Frank. He could probably live to be immortal if he kissed Frank long enough, and he’s starting to think that just one life with Frank won’t even be enough. He’s already wasted so much of this one not knowing Frank.

Frank sighs contentedly when he breaks away, and settles back into the grooves and curves of Gerard’s body again, letting his head rest on his shoulder. Gerard hums with satisfaction, because this is just too good.

He can’t wait to take Frank home. Not in a sexual way, he just can’t wait to be at home, with Frank there. He can’t wait to show him off to everybody, his brother, Hayley, the mailman, passing birds. He can’t wait to have a movie marathon in their pajamas when it’s raining on a Friday night. He can’t wait to make pancakes and try to flip them only to end up with no pancakes and a very messy ceiling. He can’t wait to cuddle Frank in bed instead of on a park bench, and just have him there, beautiful and perfect, soft and sweet, everything Gerard didn’t know he needed until now.

Frank closes his eyes, thinking about all of the same things. He craves domesticity like nothing in the world. He can’t think of anything that he wants more, honestly. Yeah, it would be great to be rich and famous, be in the best fucking band on the planet, or live in a mansion, but what is it worth compared to genuinely enjoying the company of someone you love? What is that life when compared to having a house, a very own structure all to you and the person you love, one that has that individual house smell, as unique as a fingerprint, and it’s yours to share with the person who you’d do anything for. Frank can’t imagine a simpler or more idealistic dream if he tried.

“We’re not going to end up tragically though,” Frank says, softly, almost reassuring himself of something more than he’s trying to reassure Gerard.

“No,” Gerard replies, resting his cheek on the top of Frank’s head, finding that his hair isn’t itchy or tickling him, to his own astonishment.

“We’ll live happily ever after,” Frank says, and Gerard tangles his fingers with Frank’s at the sound of that, just to see how it looks. He likes the way that his fingers intertwine with Frank’s. They’re so different, it will never stop amazing him. Frank’s got these manly, inked, strong, tanned hands, and Gerard’s got these delicate, pale, intricate ones. It’s like two completely opposite parts that come together to make one complete and proper whole.

“Happily ever after,” Gerard repeats, tasting the words on his tongue, an unfamiliar feeling that gives him a sense of calmness to think about.

Gerard can’t help himself from closing his own eyes, thinking about all the things that his life is going to have now that he has Frank. His life is about to become drastically different. He’s going to have a completely new life, one with Frank, one with a new job, one where he’s going to devote so much time to Frank rather than the immaterial time fillers that plague him now. He’ll get the chance to introduce people to his boyfriend and he won’t have to feel weird about saying it, like he always has before. Things are going to be so different for him. Everything is going to be better.

Gerard doesn’t feel the tiredness that’s engulfing him. His mind is too awake to alert him to the absolute exhaustion throughout his body. He’s been so distracted by Frank that it didn’t occur to him that he’d ever be tired again. But here, now, he’s almost asleep and he isn’t even aware of it.

Gerard makes a note to tell Frank he loves him. Just a simple ‘I love you’ that he can give him, so that Frank knows that all the things he feels are reciprocated. He means to say it, he honestly does, but he’s so tired that his brain allows him the naïve notion that he can wait a minute. He can say it in a minute, just like you tell yourself when you’re too lazy to stand up to pee. He can tell Frank in a minute. Tell him he loves him. Just a minute. He’ll tell him.

But Gerard is asleep before he can find the drive to say anything.