All We Need Is Daylight

Frank arrives to the locker room earlier than he normally does, Pete along with him, because Pete has not left his side literally all day. Frank’s grinning a little wider than he has in probably two weeks, and that’s counting the game they won yesterday, and honestly all the other games he’s played this year probably. He’s really excited about the new tattoo. He’s beyond excited. This may be the happiest he’s ever been about anything.

“Frank!” Gerard’s voice shouts, erupting from the office which he’s either rather conveniently just exiting, or which he has been perched outside of for the past twenty minutes waiting for Frank to walk past so that he could wish him a happy birthday. Gerard’s not going to admit that the second one is more accurate.

“Happy birthday, Frank!” Gerard says rushing over to him, and stopping just as he comes a foot away from him, because he realizes it’s not appropriate to hug a guy when you are another, totally heterosexual guy. It’s not like it would really threaten the already severely lacking masculinity that Gerard pretends to have, it’s just that it’s not a very straight thing to do. He definitely thinks about it some, and wishes that there was a good reason to hug Frank. If he’d just won a game it wouldn’t be weird. Gerard’s hugged him after a game before, he wishes he could do it now. Life is hard sometimes.

“Thanks,” Frank says, smiling back, his grin wider than usual and Gerard immediately takes notice, because there’s nothing, or at least, very few things, that Frank could do which he wouldn’t notice. Gerard would notice if Frank tried out a different shampoo.

“What’s up with you? What did Pete do?” Gerard asks, unable to prevent himself from smiling back, because Frank is fucking perfect and when he smiles it’s like the lights turning on in the darkness.

“I just got a tattoo!” Frank says energetically, with this vibrancy in his eyes that Gerard could only ever wish to put there.

“You got a… a tattoo?” Gerard asks, a little lost for words, because he can definitely say he hadn’t expected that. He knew Pete would do something big and glamorous, Pete’s kind of just that person, birthdays are a big fucking deal to him, but a tattoo is definitely not what Gerard had envisioned. He thought Pete might have been serious about the whole hot air balloon thing that he mentioned. Knowing Pete, it might stull fucking be on the schedule.

“Yeah!” Pete says, looking very happy, but not quite as hyper as Frank. “You got to go bungee jumping, Frank got a tattoo!”

“Well… I mean stop talking about it and let me see it!” Gerard says, sounding excited.

Gerard blushes a little bit when Frank turns around and lifts up his shirt, because Gerard is an awkward person and very much attracted to this boy. There’s some cling wrap taped to his back over a large tattoo near the top of his back, that had certainly not been there before. It’s a quite simple, but startlingly detailed jack-o’-lantern, that Gerard could only describe as being wholly and completely Frank. The whole area is red, and the little details aren’t very obvious under the cling wrap, but he’s sure that it’ll look even better in a few weeks once it heals.

Gerard just kind of looks at it and makes this meek little sound deep in his throat, that is so quiet that no one can hear it. It’s a very pained sound, pained longing, and agitation. Pete wasn’t wrong when he said boys think tattoos are hot.

Gerard can imagine so many not so family friendly things right now, and it’s not okay that he’s thinking that about Frank. He would trace that tattoo for hours on end, leave him a couple hickeys there as well for good measure. Honestly, the things Gerard would do to Frank is a list so long that it would require an entire notebook, and possibly more. He really shouldn’t be thinking things like that about anyone he knows, let alone a friend. Gerard gave up the hopes of squashing this crush long ago, he’s head over heels for Frank, and that’s just the way it is.

“Great, huh?” Frank asks, turning back around, looking even more excited still.

“Yeah,” Gerard nods, mirroring his expression. “Looks good. It’s really you. I like that it’s Halloween, it’s just really… appropriate?”

“I know!” Frank says, and Gerard’s surprised that Frank isn’t bouncing up and down. “I didn’t even know how much I wanted it until it was happening and then I’m like, fuck, man like I want to just be covered in tattoos. Not even kidding. Head to toe! When can I get another? Fuck!”

“Maybe for your twentieth,” Pete says, rolling his eyes, but in a loving sort of way.

“Wish you hadn’t done that, Pete,” Gerard shakes his head, “makes my birthday present for Frank look kind of pathetic.”

“Oh, you got me a present?” Frank asks, looking surprised, but excited. Frank isn’t quite a puppy, and Gerard wouldn’t describe him as such. Pete is a puppy, there’s no doubt about that, but Frank isn’t. Frank, if you had to describe him as anything, seems more like a bunny. He’s got that same lovable face, and cuteness flooding off of him, but he’s also very soft and somewhat hyperactive, but not in the way that Pete is.

“Yeah, I left it in the office, I can go grab it now, if you like?” Gerard says, not sure if he even wants to follow Pete after his kickass present.

Frank nods vigorously, because he’s not one for surprises or suspense, and he also really likes receiving presents. Gerard scampers off, into his office a little way down the hall, and returns shortly thereafter with a poorly wrapped present. It’s the kind of wrapping that you can tell was definitely meant to be good, but it was done by someone who doesn’t really understand the mechanics of wrapping presents, so it is very endearing. It’s a large mass of an object, wrapped carefully by what appears to be an eight-year-old, so Gerard probably did it. Frank accepts the thing from him gladly, surprised when it feels rather lighter than an object of its size probably should. There’s a familiar rattling sound from on the inside that causes Frank to immediately guess what he’s about to uncover, which gives him a grin, that makes Gerard’s heart burst, fly around the room, and then splatter into a million pieces across the floor.

“Fuck, it feels like Christmas,” Frank says eagerly, as he tears the top off of the thing, exposing a familiar movie cover which seems oddly suiting considering the date. Staring at Frank is the movie Halloween, a personal favorite of his, because Frank is a sucker for cheesy horror films; the older, and cheesier the better. It appears that the entire stack is made up of DVD’s, so Frank tears away the rest of the paper, exposing several other horror movies, almost all of which he’s seen.

“You mentioned at one point that you only owned all the classics on VCR, and you don’t even have a VCR, so I thought you might want, like, a new set, and I mean, it’s not much or anything, but yeah…” Gerard explains, feeling like an idiot, for getting Frank a bunch of movies that he’s obviously already seen, and it was stupid. He blushes to himself, thinking about how idiotic a present this clearly is while Pete’s standing there all high and mighty, having gotten Frank probably the best present Frank’s ever been given, a whole fucking tattoo, while all Gerard did was buy him a couple movies. Now to be fair, there’s thirteen movies in all, and they set him back a good hundred dollars, but he’s not going to mention that.

“Gerard, this is honestly,” Frank shakes his head, looking at the titles, one by one, as Gerard waits for the kicker that’s going to send him into a depression, “fucking awesome!”

Gerard’s ears perk up and then the blush he’d already formed, instead of going away, grows brighter and further, touching the tips of his ears, his neck, and even his fucking nose. “Really?”

“Um, yes,” Frank says, “Half of these are like my favorite movies! Mom never wanted to buy them ‘cause she doesn’t like horror. But, like, this is awesome, seriously.”

“Yeah? Good, okay. Because you could always rip them online if you really wanted, or, go out and buy a VCR-”

“Gerard, thank you a lot,” Frank says, noticing that he’s rambling and someone needs to save the boy from himself. “I really appreciate it, and I fully expect to come over sometime and have a horror movie marathon, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely,” Gerard says nodding, and smiling and just generally being adorable. The thought of spending an evening with Frank Iero watching horror movies sends chills down his spine, and it’s not the monsters, jump scares, or gore that do that to him.

Gradually, the rest of the team start to pile into the building, prompting Pete and Frank to head into the locker room to change, leaving Gerard standing there in the hallway feeling different. Frazzled would be a good word to describe Gerard right about now. Frazzled and desperate.

Mikey is one of the last to arrive, and when he walks in, he sees his brother standing against the wall with his head in his hands and he just knows. Gerard and he have a telepathy, the same kind that twins have. He can sometimes read Gerard’s mind, even from hundreds of miles away. Mikey is better at reading Gerard though, and that’s because Mikey sees, hears, and knows everything. They have been known to have silent conversations with each other, though, which is why they’re no longer allowed to be on the same team in Charades.

Sighing heavily, Mikey walks over to his brother, and Gerard looks up the second he recognizes Mikey’s feet, which come into his frame of view. Gerard’s got this pathetic look on his face which even a little kid could read. His expressions tend to be overly dramatic, you can always read what’s going on with Gerard, or at least, that’s how it seems to Mikey.

“I bet I know what this is about,” Mikey says, looking around to see if anyone can hear before whispering, “Frank?”

“He’s so fucking pretty, Mikes. His smile, and his eyes, and fuck, his eyelashes! Have you seen his eyelashes, fucking hell, it’s like looking at an angel. And he’s so cute and funny and sweet and pretty. And he just got a tattoo, Mikes. A tattoo. You know what drives me fucking crazy? Hot boys with tattoos. That was probably the only thing he could’ve done that could make him hotter and he went and fucking did it!” Gerard replies. “I can’t even describe to you how that makes me feel.”

No one else enters the locker room, and looking out the window, it doesn’t seem that anyone else is on their way. Mikey and Gerard both keep their voices down, though, because it wouldn’t do well to have anyone overhear them. The locker room door is rather heavy and basically soundproof, so it’s not like anyone in there is going to listen in.

“Okay, first of all, gross. Second of all, I still think you’ve got a shot there, Gee.”

“Will you shut up about that?” Gerard groans, “Even if I did have a shot, which I assure you I do not, things are really, ugh, you know, tense right now. It would be dangerous for the both of us. Like if anyone were to find out, he’d be done for, and I could kiss my job away too. And no one would hire a gay coach. It just won’t work.”

“Secret relationship. Chandler and Monica did it.”

“Chandler and Monica got caught.”

“But they also got married,” Mikey says, as if this is supposed to convince Gerard of something. He makes a sort of mic drop face which makes Gerard rolls his eyes as Mikey starts walking away, disappearing into the locker room, and leaving Gerard feeling very exasperated in the hallway. Gerard runs a hand through his hair, severely messing it up, but he doesn’t care because he’s internally combusting. He walks off, back to his office, hoping to try to collect himself before the evening.

Frank sees Mikey walk into the locker room, and collapse on the bench next to a very groggy and sluggish Ray. Ray’s got bags under his eyes so large that small mice could use them as hammocks, which is hard to believe because he got at least a few more hours of sleep than Frank. Mikey looks tired or fed up with something, his facial expression matches the yawn that comes from Ray not a moment later.

“What’s up? You look moody,” Pete asks, throwing something at Mikey that he catches without hesitation, which is kind of freaky but to be fair, so is Mikey.

“My brother is… being himself,” Mikey says, exasperatedly, flailing his arms about as if to express the entity that is Gerard.

“I was just talking to him, he seemed fine,” Frank says, because Gerard had seemed perfectly normal a minute ago. He was a little red, but that was obviously because he felt a little embarrassed about how much less extravagant his gift was compared to Pete’s.

Mikey suppresses his immediate instinct to reply with ‘well it’s your fault that he’s acting like he is.’ Frank gets Gerard all hot and bothered, and it’s always Mikey that’s got to help him pick up the pieces after basically every interaction the two of them have. Maybe the two of them dating isn’t such a good idea, Gerard would probably melt into a puddle and then fall between the cracks in the pavement, never to be seen or heard from again.

Mikey has come to the almost conclusive decision that Frank is gay, not really because of the way he acts, but because he looks at Gerard in a way that has no heterosexual explanation. Frank would totally be able to fly undercover if it weren’t for that tiny little detail. Frank isn’t super obvious, you wouldn’t pick up on it if you didn’t really know to look for it, but the fact that Gerard is so crazy for Frank, makes Mikey very watchful of the two of them, and the way they interact is entirely gay. Frank reciprocates the babbling, the heavy breathing, the excessive blushing, the same mannerisms that make Gerard’s crush so obvious. Mikey hadn’t been sure or even really considered it until the article came out, but now that it is out, it seems rather obvious. The article fits perfectly with Frank.

Mikey doesn’t know how or if he should bring this up with Frank, though, because there’s always a chance that he’s wrong. Mikey’s never been wrong before, about anything, but there’s a first time for everything.

It’s not like he’s going to tell anyone, Mikey likes the guy, it’s just that Gerard drives him up the wall sometimes. Mikey’s going to keep telling Gerard to go for it, and eventually he’ll either listen or kill him. He’ll keep Frank’s and Gerard’s secrets, but he’s sure eventually the two of them will crack.

“That’s Gerard for you,” Mikey eventually says.

Practice is routine, and dreadfully long. Frank is excited to get off the ice, and to get on with the rest of his birthday, because he is feeling oddly excited and energetic about the date, which is somewhat abnormal for him, given that he usually doesn’t make a big deal out of it at all.

“Alright party people,” Pete announces to a portion of the locker room once they’re all scrambling their way back in. “Hurry your asses up, it’s a very special boys very special birthday.”

“You turning eight, already, Pete?” Morgan snipes from across the room.

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know, I celebrated my eighth birthday last year. Which makes me this many,” he says, holding up nine fingers.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Morgan replies, and Frank shakes his head, because in this instance, it is obvious to see that Morgan is not going to win. When it comes to amusing, dumb, or moderately insane comebacks, Pete is the undisputed winner.

“That’s because I’m ageless, eternal youth and the works, unlike you! Oh snap! Need yourself some lotion, Morgan, it’ll really help with those frown lines.” The fact that Pete exists is a fluke of existence.

Frank turns around to look at the locker room. Brendon is changing hastily, quicker than Frank’s eyes can keep track. He’s been doing that every day for the last week. It’s quite clear that Brendon is trying to get out and away from Morgan as quickly as he possibly can, and this is a good idea, because Morgan can’t hurt him if he can’t find him.

Frank considers going over there and asking Brendon if he wants to hang out with the rest of them, because the boys been having a hard enough week, he really could use some fun. Just as he makes to do this, Pete beats him to it, walking over to his twig-like form and giving him his best, most wide, and also most terrifying smile.

“Hey Brendon, Brendo, Brendorino… I started regretting it the second I said it, I’m sorry, it’s too late, my sincerest apologies,” Pete says, and it wouldn’t be weird if he did that to someone else, but Pete hasn’t talked much with Brendon, though it’s not like it’s because of a lack of trying. Pete does an overwhelming job at trying to include everybody, and he always makes an attempt, it’s just that sometimes people don’t accept it very easily.

Brendon doesn’t pause from his swift changing, he just glances towards Pete with confusion.

“So, I was wondering if you wanted to come hang out with me and some of the other guys? It’s Frank’s birthday. We’re celebrating with age appropriate beverages and other jovial good times. Jell-O shots, which are actual Jell-O with no alcohol because that would be illegal and I’m a responsible guardian, and maybe some mechanical bull action. Oh, and glitter… lots and lots of glitter.”

“I’m not interested, sorry,” Brendon says, because he doesn’t seem to be a very warm person. It’s not that he’s mean, or even a bad person, it’s just that he doesn’t have a particularly welcoming nature about him. He’s probably a great dude once you crack that shell, but his shell is very thick, and very hard. Pete will get there eventually, might take a little pushing, but he’ll get Brendon. The key is to recruit Brendon to the light side before he makes it over to the dark. He doesn’t want any Anakin Skywalker shit going on under his nose.

“Not even for pancakes?” Pete asks, making this face like this will surely convince him to come along.

“I’m good, really,” Brendon says.

“I’ll buy your dinner?” Pete offers, making an expectant face that’s a mix between excitement and uncertainty. “Free pancakes. I won’t even put glitter on them.”

“Uh,” Brendon groans, shutting his locker and staring at it for a moment or two. “Maybe another time.”

“Okay, I guess,” Pete says, and Brendon doesn’t stop to give him a response before he starts walking out of the locker room, with purpose and speed. “Good talking to you. Let’s do it again sometime.” Pete shouts after him, even though it is clear that he has stopped listening.

“You tried, and that’s what matters,” Travie says.

“Has anyone managed to talk to him any?” Pete asks, returning to their group, and looking at the others curiously.

They all shake their head, turning to each other, and Frank is surprised to see that none of them say anything more on the topic. Brendon is as enigmatic as they come, and also as introverted with everyone as Frank had just witnessed with Pete.

“Gosh, we gotta get that guy in the squad,” Pete says, shaking his head. “Well, that’s an adventure for another day. Until then, we’ve got an appointment with pancakes. Oh, write that down, sounds like a new James Bond film.”

Pete guides the group out of the locker room. Morgan and his posse still changing, pay them little to no mind as they walk past. Gerard is waiting in the lobby, talking with Patrick who’s got his glasses pushing down the brim of his nose.

Pete stops, stares out the window and makes a squeaking sound that is indecipherable by mankind and animals alike. “Rain! On Halloween! Oh my, Satan is bringing me a message,” Pete says, running over and putting his face against the window. His breath leaves an immediate white fog of condensation across the glass, and it appears as though Pete is trying to hug the window or push himself through it.

Frank shakes his head, staring out the window and becoming quite eager to go out into the drizzle outside, hoping that it becomes more. Frank has an infatuation with the rain, whether it’s the mood in the air, or the rain itself, he doesn’t know. He just knows that he needs rain, because it makes everything just sort of calm down, and become serene and simple. The sun makes everything feel like it’s under pressure. Maybe it’s because the world slows down when it rains. People drive slower, events tend to get canceled, everyone’s first topic of conversation is the weather and it probably should get old very quickly, but it doesn’t. Rain makes everything come together.

“Frank, the weather couldn’t be more perfect. It’s like God is crying because his favorite of all creations is turning nine-fucking-teen. And when I say favorite, I am obviously excluding Beyoncé, because we all know she is the fairest of them all.”

“Pete,” Gerard says, in a certain tone of voice, as he just shakes his head. That’s how it is best to describe him. Just his name uttered in the tone you would use if someone you love has just done something entirely stupid.

Pete swivels where he stands, to look at everyone who is now staring at him like he’s a maniac, but Pete pays this no mind, whatsoever. “Is everyone here?” Pete asks, looking around at the faces, and nodding as he does a head count. “Looks like it. Onward we go! To the Ihop!” Pete says, “a pancake adventure, the best kind if you ask me.”

“Where is Ihop?” Frank asks.

“It’s like two miles away,” Gerard says.

“Fuck,” Frank says. “And no one has a car?”

“I have a car!” Travie says.

“Thank fuck.”

“But it’s parked at my house. In New York.”

“Well that’s not much of a fucking use, is it?” Frank groans. He likes the rain, and he does enjoy walking around in it, but he doesn’t like walking long distance in any weather. Frank is not a particularly lazy person, he gets all the exercise he needs through hockey, but walking gets on his nerves because it’s not nearly as fun as skating. The sensations are a world apart. Skating makes you feel alive, unstoppable, and fast. Walking makes you feel tired, slow, and bored.

“We walk!” Pete says, leading the group, marching along to his own drumbeat.

“He’s so weird,” Frank says, shaking his head.

Patrick, who he hadn’t noticed was standing right next to him, sighs lovingly and says, “yeah.” Frank follows along behind Patrick, with his own sigh, because he so wishes he fucking had that.

Frank catches the door behind Mikey who holds it for him, and then steps out into the air, which is cold for rain, but too warm for snow. He doubts that the rain is going to be turning into snow, and the rain’s going to wash away what little evidence there might have been that it’s even October.

Then Gerard comes to walk in stride with him, and Frank smiles, because it almost feels like he does have what Pete and Patrick have. It’s just not the way he wants it. Frank, ultimately, knows that he will find a way to be happy just being Gerard’s friend. It may take years, or possibly will never happen, but he supposes he’ll get over this crush he has on Gerard as well. The fact of the matter is, if he can’t have Gerard romantically, while it may suck, at least he has him as a friend. That is the second best thing.

“How’s your birthday so far?” Gerard asks.

“Good,” Frank replies, “don’t know what I’m going to tell my mom about the tattoo, though.”

“You don’t have to tell her anything,” Gerard shrugs. “What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

“I tell my mom everything, though. My mom is like the best person I’ve ever met.”

“How could that be true when I’m in your life?” Gerard says, making a face and grinning. Now, it may be true that Frank is practically in love with Gerard, but he’s not in the business of pretending that he likes him more than his mother. Frank doesn’t like himself more than he loves his mother. Gerard’s a second, he’ll give him that, just not a particularly close second.

“No, like if it were a list, my mom would be first, then Ovechkin, probably just all of Black Flag, the Cookie Monster, and then maybe a couple dozen more and then there’s you.”

Frank looks up ahead to note that he and Gerard are the furthest back in the group, the rest of them all in pairs or trios, talking with each other. Frank is content to walk with Gerard, and when they’re at the back, it almost feels like they’re alone. Only tidbits of blended conversation can be heard from the others, which Frank hears as nothing more than white noise.

“I feel loved,” Gerard says, frowning exaggeratedly. “The cookie monster, though? Really?”

“He’s just a big inspiration for me,” Frank says, nodding. “The way he just… eats those cookies. I really feel for him.”

“That’s fair,” Gerard nods. “You should go on Sesame Street and meet him in ten years when you’re a big celebrity.”

“When I’m a what?” Frank asks.

“When you’re a world-famous hockey player! We both know you’re on a straight track to the NHL,” Gerard says matter-of-factly.

“We both know that’s the goal. That doesn’t make it a certainty.”

“But how far off is it when you’re as good as you?”

Frank blushes, and then looks around, looks at the cars that drive past him, making a very distinct sound on the wet pavement that sends a spark of familiar contentedness to Frank’s heart. The headlights illuminate the wet streets below, along with the lampposts which look like beacons in the night.

“What about you?” Frank asks. “You want to coach, you want to animate, you want to write comics. But if I’m in the NHL in ten years, where are you?”

“Hopefully I’m still somewhere in your phone contacts,” Gerard responds, and Frank, who had changed the topic of conversation to avoid blushing, only blushes further.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know, though, and that’s the only answer I can offer you. I don’t know where I’m headed in life. Right now, I’m just doing what I want, and it’s just convenient that what I want happens to make sense. But maybe in the future, it won’t be so easy. We’ll see. It’s not like I need to decide right now.

“That’s what people keep telling me, and yet it feels like every day, people keep pressing harder for an answer,” Frank says.

“They never stop, really. Gosh, I feel so old sometimes,” Gerard says, making a face. He’s not that old, he’s a year out of college, and he’s got the maturity of someone half of his age, so he’s definitely not ageing any time soon.

“You’re only like four years older than me,” Frank replies. “You’re basically still a college student.”

“I still live and eat on campus,” Gerard says with a shrug. “And coach the same team I did when I was in college. But they pay me now.”

“Living the dream,” Frank smirks.

“Well maybe in ten years when you’re a famous NHL player and making appearances left and right on Sesame Street, I can write a tell-all about coaching you and ride the sales all the way to the bank.”

“You’ve strategized this already,” Frank says, looking over at Gerard with squinted eyes.

“I’m keeping my options open, and realistic.”

“That’s realistic?” Frank asks.

“Well you becoming a famous NHL player surely is, like we’ve already established. I don’t know if anyone would read a book by your assistant coach in college, but who knows, there’s a market out there for everything, isn’t there?”

“You’re so…” Frank trails off, because he’s started out that sentence with the intention of saying ‘cute’ before he realized that he’s not allowed to say that to Gerard. “Strange,” is what he ends up going with. “I just hope you paint me in a positive light in your future biography about me, that’s all I ask.”

“Hm, we’ll see, I’m still debating that one. I’d probably sell more copies if I made up flagrant lies about you. ‘I once saw Frank Iero kick a pigeon for trying to eat a slice of pizza off the ground. He then picked up the pizza and ate it himself.’”

“Fuck off,” Frank says, punching him in the arm, and shaking his head.

“What! It would sell way more copies than ‘Frank was always really nice to me, and was a great hockey player, even back then. We talked about comics and horror movies. He was a good friend.’ That version might be more truthful, but it’s not going to make it into the gossip magazines.”

“You’re so odd. Oh-so weird. Just a fucking weirdo.”

Gerard just snorts, and nods, and Frank dies a little on the inside because fucking hell, Gerard’s laugh is the cutest goddamn thing he’s ever heard in his entire life. He wants to bottle it and keep it under his bed for when the world gets dark and cold. Save these little moments he has with Gerard for a rainy day.

Their group stops at a traffic light. There’s not an extraordinarily large number of them, not that Frank has bothered to count, but their party includes all of Frank’s friends on the team, as well as Patrick who’s tagging along because everyone knows that he actually is a part of the team. Honestly, Patrick sometimes seems like more of a member than Morgan does.

“Is Pete going to make the Ihop staff sing to me?” Frank asks, suddenly realizing that that is a thing that people do on birthdays. “Because if they do, I’m buying a one-way ticket to Canada, buying a house under a rock, and never coming back.”

“’Course you’d run away to Canada,” Gerard shakes his head. “You’re a hockey brat through and through, Iero.”

“I never claimed to be anything but,” Frank says.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Gerard admits, casually.

Their party get a white walk sign, and make their way quickly across the intersection, Frank avoiding the pothole filled with rain water that Pete misses and sticks his whole foot in. Pete shakes it off, both literally and figuratively, but his foot is going to be cold as heck for the rest of the night. Not like you’ll be able to tell, Pete is the most overwhelmingly positive person you could ever hope to meet. He could find a positive spin to the zombie apocalypse. The only time Frank’s ever seen him down was when he and Patrick broke up for all of five hours.

Frank checks the street twice, not to look both ways to avoid being run over, because, as a college student, it’s Frank’s moral duty to claim he’d enjoy being run over by a car. Instead, he’s checking back alleys to see if there’s a way for him to ditch the group. Not because he doesn’t appreciate Pete’s effort in all of this, because he does, it’s just that he’s having a panic attack now just thinking about the staff singing happy birthday to him. He’s had nightmares about it. They were rough.

“Trying to find an escape route?” Gerard asks.

“No…”

“If you just ask him not to-”

“Oh, but he’ll be like ‘gotta step out of your comfort zone. You got a tattoo today, but you can’t handle a little song?’ or something equally as degrading.”

“You know Pete, he’s not like that, Pete doesn’t have a condescending bone in his body.”

“Yeah, but you know what would be easier?” Frank says as he ducks into a side street as quickly as he can, and since the two of them are at the back of the group, no one notices but Gerard.

“Frank!” Gerard groans, looks around at the others, none of whom have even noticed, being too thoroughly engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any mind, which is a surprise, because Gerard happens to know that Mikey’s ranting on about Mario Kart, because he can hear the boy complaining about him from ten feet away. Mikey and Gerard get along very well, but when they don’t get along, nine times out of ten, it is because of Mario Kart. It’s hard to believe he could be so thoroughly engaged in Mario Kart talk that he’d somehow not notice two people disappearing, because Mikey is a very observant person, who has eyes in the back of his head. It’s hard to pull one over on Mikey.

The side street that Frank has crept into is one of the ones that runs along the back of stores, the kind of place only the owners of the shops should have access to but for some reason remains a public street. He gets a good glimpse of some dumpsters and some big green electronic boxes stacked next to the big buildings which presumably look all well and great from the front, but look just like massive blocks from the back.

“Frank, come on, Pete’s going to notice when he gets to Ihop and you’re not behind him, because, I don’t know, it’s your birthday we’re celebrating.”

“Yeah, but if it’s my birthday, shouldn’t we do what I want to do?” Frank asks. “I just kind of want to lay low, and be, like, I don’t know mellow. I don’t need Pete being super ‘ahhh!’ in my face, you know? You know how Pete can be. I appreciate it, and I love the guy, but, like, I don’t need it. I’d be fine if it was just you and me at like a Wendy’s or something.”

Gerard frowns, because the only reason you ever hear about people being at Wendy’s at this time of night is if they’re high or they are about to be high. This is an obnoxious stereotype, because Gerard, as a general rule, is open to eating chicken nuggets at all times throughout the day.

“We should get back to the group,” Gerard says, and Frank just rolls his eyes.

“Oh you, always the stickler, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!” Gerard replies, “I’m like, I’m an easygoing person?”

“Are you? You’re kind of bossy.”

“Well, I’m in charge when we’re in the hockey rink,” Gerard says, defensively.

“You know I’m just teasing you, right?”

“You’re an asshole,” Gerard rolls his eyes, but he looks over at Frank anyway whose got that big grin plastered on his face and it’s impossible to be upset with him. It’s impossible to say not to him too, Frank is like a little kid asking for something, because he’s irresistible, he’s just too cute.

“As my coach, should you really be calling me that? Seems a little unprofessional,” Frank says, laughing, and Gerard pushes him into the wall next to him, which only causes Frank to start laughing, not at him exactly, just laughing. Frank is rather giggly today, perhaps because it’s his birthday, but it might also be a high he’s riding because of his tattoo which he’s so fond of.

Gerard can’t help it, he doesn’t know why, but whenever Frank laughs it’s contagious. He smiles back at him, chuckling lightly, and goes to stand next to him against the wall, where Frank is being the cutest fucking person Gerard’s ever seen and simultaneously torturing Gerard because of it.

Frank is special. Frank isn’t like anyone else. Morgan is a great hockey player, one of the best goddamn players that Gerard’s ever seen. He’s absolutely stunning, and your eyes automatically train on him when he’s out there playing. Except when Frank is out there. If Frank is on the ice, it’s impossible to look away. Even people who don’t know him can tell how good he is, how much of a force he is out there. It’s impossible not to be astounded by him. Morgan is nothing compared to Frank, which is quite the compliment, given that Morgan is a damn good hockey player.

The weird thing is, Frank is better than Morgan at the sport, but he’s also more down to earth. He’s got the better hockey skills, and he’s a better person. He’s a real person, a caring, kind, gentle person who’s funny and empathetic, but he’s also one of the most talented people Gerard knows. To make things worse, he’s also super fucking hot. It’s kind of unfair. It’s unfair that someone gets to look like that, be that talented, and is still one of the nicest people Gerard’s ever met. The fact that Frank’s not an asshole is what makes him an asshole.

Gerard leans against the wall, just staring at Frank for the longest time, and he can tell that there’s a long gap of silence that doesn’t really feel like it. Frank’s laughter dies down when he’s hit with the gravity of Gerard’s closeness. He’s unbelievably close to him, their faces only a few inches apart, Frank could easily just lean in, close the space between the two of them and that would be that. It would be so easy. It almost feels like the mood would be right for it.

Frank’s senses become a little fuzzy, and so does reality. Frank’s not entirely aware of what’s happening or if what he thinks is happening is actually happening or not. He forces his thoughts to remain as undecided as he can, because he’s certain any moment of any thought will be proven wrong and make him look and feel like an idiot.

It feels like the space between himself and Gerard shrinks. It feels like Gerard’s leaning in, and Frank is sure that he’s leaning in as well though he hadn’t planned on it initially. The world stops around him, of that much he’s certain. Noise, smell, movement, everything stops but Gerard. All Frank sees is Gerard, getting closer. All he smells is Gerard, who smells like he always does, a very distinct tangy smell, that’s almost feminine but not off-putting. The only movement in the world is his own, and possibly Gerard as inches grow smaller between the two of them. No wind, no cars, just the two of them. Frank hears nothing but silence, as if the world has become aware of how important this moment is and has decided to cut off all sounds so as to make it special.

Frank is about to kiss Gerard. It’s going to fucking happen. He’s seconds away from it. He’s going to get his first kiss, and it’ll be with Gerard. Gerard’s going to fucking kiss him.

Or at least, that is what Frank’s brain is trying to convince him is not true, because he knows with his senses that it’s not logical. It’s wishful thinking, and something deep inside of him knows that, but it’s being subverted by Frank’s scathing yearning to kiss him. He has never in his entire life wanted anything as much as he wants to kiss Gerard right now. Frank hasn’t ever had any urge stronger than this. He feels like an animal, almost, so controlled by his own instinct and want that he loses sight of his own logic.

Gerard’s just as confused by what may or may not be almost happening. He’s lost in the moment, that’s for sure, so it’s not entirely sinking in that this is not actually happening the way he thinks it is, but he’s distracted by what he wants to be true so much so that it doesn’t even really occur to him that he could be about to ruin his entire friendship with Frank.

Gerard is also aware of the fact that logic is against Frank wanting to kiss him. It’s highly unlikely, because Frank is too perfect, and even though there’s a certainty that at least one person on the hockey team is gay, he’s too confident in the fact that the world is a cruel place to believe that it’s Frank. Things would all be too good, working out far too well if Frank were the player. It wouldn’t be great for Frank’s career and life, obviously, but for Gerard, Frank being gay would be the best news in the entire world. Frank has churned desires Gerard’s never had before, for anyone, and for Frank to feel a semblance of how he feels back would be far too good a coincidence for the universe to allow it to happen. Good things like this don’t just happen. So, it’s clearly not what he thinks it is, and he is definitely about to ruin their friendship.

“Frank! Gerard!” a voice says, and it shatters everything like a rock through a window. It’s a deafening cataclysm of sound, probably the sound of both Gerard and Frank’s hearts breaking at the same time.

But the moment that they both believe to have been manufactured in their own minds is gone. It’s irreprehensible, and devastating, but it’s vanished like a puff of smoke.

Gerard suddenly realizes how close the two of them had just been, and he takes a sizable step back, which Frank does too, on instinct. There’s silence between the two of them, nothing at all, but the two of them both share looks of thunderstruck confusion.

Reality has come back to them, and Frank is honestly feeling thankful more than he is anything else. He had been almost about to kiss Gerard. If he had done, he’d probably have ruined everything he’s ever worked for in his entire life. He would’ve ruined his hockey career, would’ve ruined his school days, would’ve ruined the relationship with the friends he’s managed to make, probably would have gotten him a beating or two from Morgan. He would surely have lost Gerard. Everything would have washed down the sewers, the same ones collecting the rain water around him. His entire life would be gone, vanishing down a murky stream of water.

Frank knows it was all in his head. Their ‘moment,’ it can’t have been anything but a daydream. Frank would’ve kissed Gerard, though, and he would’ve lost the guy from his life completely, it would have been devastating, and to count it with all the other things he’d lose would be unbearable.

The fact that he was interrupted from making the biggest mistake of his life is the birthday gift he needs more than anything. Then again, the best birthday gift would have been for Gerard to have been gay, but he can’t always get what he wants in life.

Gerard feels like someone has just pushed him down a flight of stairs. The moment is lost, and even though he knows it wasn’t real, it would have been so great if it had been. He’s lost something that never really existed, but it’s a loss nevertheless. It’s like waking up from a dream and realizing that’s all it was. And in a sense, that’s all that this was. It’s just a dream.

Frank and Gerard leave the side street, abandoning the escape plan, as they return to the party of guys who find it amusing how they ran away. Both of them choose to forget what they know can’t be true, making them both feel a little bit emptier inside.