Status: In Progress

All We Need Is Daylight

The Art of Being

Water drips down his face as he stands hunched over the sink. The droplets plop into the basin with faint sounds, which can’t be heard over the sound of his heavy breath.

He can’t rationalize anything. He looks at his face in the mirror and he sees fury, anger, murderous rage in the eyes that look back to him. It’s not just on his face. It’s in his heart. He’s never been so angry, so furious, so bloodthirsty in his life.

Gerard wants nothing more than to viciously murder whoever hurt Frank.

And he knows who did it.

Gerard makes eye contact with himself, seeing red eyes, and damp, shiny black hair which he can’t keep out of his face. All he can think about are various ways he could go about killing him. Sneak into his dorm, wouldn’t be that hard, Pete lives down the hall, he’d just ask to be invited over. He could creep up on him during practice, and cut his throat from behind. Gerard could even intercept him on his way to class. He could strangle the guy, beat him to death, stab him, bludgeon him, push him off a high structure, shoot him in the face, drown him, set him on fire… he’d be glad to do any or all of the above.

Whatever the means, Gerard has so much access to Morgan. Morgan’s life is nothing but putty for Gerard to control, he has absolute power over the boy. In all fairness, he has absolute power over most of the people he knows, he’s just not dumb enough to use it. He wouldn’t want to. There’s no one Gerard hates so much as to kill them. Sure, he’s not overly fond of his old chemistry professor or of that one lady who didn’t hold the door for him last week when he held the door for her, but he’s not about to kill either of them.

Morgan however, is a different story.

Morgan hurt Frank, he hurt Frank in a way that no one should ever be allowed to, and surely no one should be allowed to continue living on after committing such a terrible act, and for that there is no doubt in Gerard’s mind that he deserves to die. Morgan should be six feet under, down much further than even that, and he should be made to suffer. Maybe he should be buried alive so he has time to think about what he did as his death grows imminent.

Gerard wants to make him suffer so much, and for Frank, he wouldn’t fucking care that he’d be spending likely the rest of his life in jail for first degree murder. Morgan would deserve it. And it would be worth it.

There’s no doubt in Gerard’s mind that he would kill Morgan if Frank asked. He wouldn’t question it, and honestly, he wouldn’t need Frank to even ask him to do it. Gerard would do it for his own sake. He’d put a bullet in that boy’s brain because it would please him. There wouldn’t an ounce of doubt or of regret.

But the fact of the matter is that Frank didn’t ask him to kill the guy. Quite the opposite in fact. Frank begged Gerard not to hurt him, withheld his name so that Gerard wouldn’t go after him.

Frank has his reasons, though Gerard doesn’t necessarily like them. He does understand them. Frank is embarrassed, and that’s fair, for someone in his position. Gerard doesn’t think that Frank should feel the need to be, because he didn’t do anything wrong, but there’s nothing he could say that would actually take Frank’s feelings away.

He doesn’t want anyone else to know. That, Gerard does get. Frank doesn’t even want Gerard to know, and he’s probably not comfortable with the fact that Gerard does. Gerard doesn’t like that Frank is embarrassed about it, but he does get why he would want to keep it a secret. It’s not something you want the whole world to know about you. Perhaps because people will pity you. It’s fair. Gerard doesn’t like it, but it’s fair.

In any case, whether Gerard likes it or not, Frank asked him not to. Frank begged and pleaded not to make a big deal out of it, not to go after who did it. That is something that surpasses all other reasons. Frank asking Gerard not to is what he needs to stop himself from doing what he sorely wants to do. Gerard can’t kill Morgan, Frank asked him not to. He will do as Frank asks.

That’s the thing about people asking you to do something, or opposingly, to ask you not to do something. You kind of have to do as they ask or otherwise you’re an asshole. Otherwise you’re someone like Morgan.

Gerard gazes at himself in the mirror, hating himself for feeling shitty, because he doesn’t know what shitty feels like. He doesn’t want to know. But he would take it any day if it meant sparing Frank of this.

When Gerard was a little kid, he was petrified of getting flu shots. They scared him shitless. Any type of needle scared the fuck out of him. They still do. He cried, kicked, screamed, threw the temper tantrum to end all, and he’d have to get the shot in the end. But his mom would hold his hand, keep him in her lap, pet his hair, and tell him with the utmost sincerity that she wished she could get the shot for him. She told him so many times how she would do anything for him to not have to be in pain, even for the few seconds the flu shot would take.

Gerard gets it. He understands what she means. He doesn’t want to experience what Frank went through by any means. Not for a second does he want to know. But he would take that bullet for Frank if it meant sparing him.

It’s hard to say why that is. Gerard’s known Frank for around two months now, but he’s the best goddamn friend he’s ever had. He’s also the love of his life which plays a huge role in things.

Gerard would do anything for Frank not to have experienced what he did, and if that meant going through it on his behalf, he would gladly do so. He would gladly endure that pain.

Sick of seeing his own reflection, Gerard turns away, walks out of the bathroom and into the tiny space of his living room. The air outside of the bathroom is fresh, cold, entirely different from the muggy, after shower air of the bathroom. It’s like an awakening, stepping back out into the world after being outside of it for so long.

Gerard paces the small space of his living room, walking from one end of the couch and then the other, which is essentially the width of the entire room. He can’t get Frank out of his mind, and for once, it’s not in the way that he would want it to be. It almost sickens him to think of Frank the way he usually would, because it’s just not the time, and it’s certainly not his place.

Frank is something else, he’s this ethereal sort of life force. He’s unstoppable, he’s lightning, and thunder, and rain. He’s the moon and the earth, but mainly the sun, because Gerard knows that everything revolves around him, not least of all him.

He does something to Gerard. He makes him weak, makes his bones fragile, makes his heart beat at a dangerous rate. He doesn’t know how Frank does what he does. Frank is superhuman, alluring, and magical.

It’s cliché and it’s been said before, but love songs never had this much clarity before now. Gerard always thought people were overhyping the realism in a love song, that there was no way all these beautiful similes and phases could ever be anything but glorified oversimplifications. But fucking hell if he doesn’t know what Ed Sheeran’s talking about now.

Why does the best person in the world have to endure the worst thing you can possibly go through? What trick of fate is it that someone as pure as Frank has to go through this? Why, of all people, did it have to be Frank?

Life isn’t fair, people always say this. Life will never be fair. Why can’t it be kind though? Life doesn’t have to be fair, but does it have to be cruel? Is there no other alternative to this? Life kicks, bites, punches, scratches, and now it has to ruin too. What does one have to do to at least be treated politely?

Gerard’s head darts up when there’s an echoing sound of knocking coming from his front door. It’s vigorous and heavy, then it stops like someone was in a hurry, and then just gave up. Gerard walks towards the door, feeling wary, because he’s not in a very personable mood. He peers through the peephole to see probably the only person in the world who he would want to see on the other side.

Gerard opens the door to Frank, who’s a little wet, but not overly so, indicating to Gerard that it must be raining, but not particularly hard, since it’s about a mile walk from Gerard’s apartment to Frank’s dorm. Gerard isn’t certain on the time, but it’s got to be past eleven at the very least, which is a few hours past appropriate for people to go knocking on your door. Unless of course you’re Frank, in which case, you’re always allowed to come knocking on Gerard’s door.

Frank is shivering from the rain, he’s only got a light sweatshirt on, which is damp, probably making him even colder than he would be without it. The cold cases him in, embraces and strangles him. Gerard wants to banish that, to give Frank his own warmth.

“Frank,” Gerard says, worried, because whatever Frank has come here for past eleven at night can’t be good.

“Hi,” Frank says sheepishly, and he then looks down at the door frame below him, unwilling to make eye contact with Gerard for some reason.

“Frank, are you okay?” Gerard asks. He knows the answer. How can Frank be okay?

Franks shrugs, and he looks up with trepidation. His hair has a gleam of rainwater to it, but it looks to be dry, for the most part. Gerard wants to run his hands through it, wants to pull Frank closer to him. He wants to get Frank into some dryer clothes and he wants to hold him closely until Frank falls asleep. He wants to help Frank, wants to give Frank his everything.

Frank looks back down before he speaks and the cracking of his voice indicates that Frank is struggling to hold back tears, which only makes Gerard feel miserable. “I didn’t know where to go.” If Gerard feels miserable just looking at him, he can’t even fathom how miserable Frank must be.

“My door is always open for you,” Gerard says, and he stands back, beckoning Frank in so that they’re not standing in the hallway any longer where anyone can peer out. The majority of the people living in this apartment are college students, and Frank would probably dissolve into the floorboards if someone were to see him right now.

Frank walks in, looking relieved, but the relief doesn’t outweigh the look of pain on his face, and it’s not fair. Gerard hates it, he hates that Frank is sad, it pisses him off like nothing else has ever pissed him off because the thing is, Frank should never be depressed. Frank should never be sad. Frank should be happy, and Gerard wishes he had the power to make that happen.

Gerard wishes that he was the cure. Gerard wishes that he could take it all away. He wishes that he could be the cure for Frank. He wants Frank to smile every time he sees Gerard. If it were possible, he wishes he could pull the curtains up, reveal the sunlight to him, and to wash that pain away.

Gerard isn’t that. Gerard loves Frank, he loves him with all of his heart, but he’s not a cure to anything. He doesn’t think there is a cure to Frank feeling this way, but surely if there was, he would find it, scour the earth for it, fight tooth or nail for Frank. And he wouldn’t need a thank you from him. But there is no cure to Frank feeling this way. Frank is sad. Frank is depressed. Frank needs love and support and he just needs someone to be there for him, and if Gerard is just someone to be there for him, then he’ll be here. For all of it. For everything. Even if Gerard doesn’t have a cure, he’ll do his best to make the pain lesser.

So what if Frank never loves him back? At least he gets to be close to Frank. At least he gets to experience Frank. If he never loves him back that would suck, but it’s not the end of the world. Gerard will devote his heart to Frank and it’ll kill him not for Frank to love him back, but killing him is better than killing Frank.

Frank stands in the middle of Gerard’s living room. He doesn’t do anything, and from what Gerard sees, he doesn’t look at anything. He just stands. He’s nothing. He looks a lot like he had when Gerard had come to his dorm yesterday. To be fair, Gerard hadn’t really seen much of him, as Frank was lying in his bed, shrouded in blankets, but from what he did see, Frank was just as vacant. Frank looks like he’s not there, and it’s hard to watch.

It’s almost like it’s too hard for Frank to be conscious. Like he’s vacated himself entirely to spare himself the pain of having to be present. The mind is a bit of an escape to reality, but there’s a certain chasm in it as well. You can only escape for so long before everything else tries to chase you down. Frank might be at the risk of that, or maybe that’s exactly what’s going on in his brain right now. He’s gone from reality only to be wrapped in the clutches of something far worse: his own mind.

“Frank, I-” Gerard starts, but Frank interrupts him, not with a sound, but just by collapsing into him. It doesn’t seem to happen in a moment, or in anything else for that matter either. It just is. It’s a thing that isn’t, and then it’s a thing that is. Frank is in his arms, and Gerard is holding him up, as if letting go will drop him down an abyss he’s been hanging off of for ages.

Gerard is a rock. Frank is an ocean. Gerard may hold him back, but it can only be for so long. He will die sturdy, though. He will face the oncoming wave. He will let Frank destroy him.

Frank makes these rather unattractive sniffling sounds. He rubs his forehead against Gerard’s shoulder. He nudges it a few times, as if he needs to remind himself that Gerard is still there. That the person holding him is in fact a physical presence.

Gerard doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know where to put them, because he doesn’t know how not to scare Frank. He’s acutely aware of the fact that Frank is vulnerable, that this is a precarious edge on which he now stands. There’s a lot of moves he can make which would be entirely wrong. He could put his hand somewhere completely innocent, like his shoulder bone or the middle of his spine. But what if Morgan touched him there? What if something he thinks is purely innocent is anything but? Frank is a delicate piece of china which Gerard’s afraid of handling, for fear he’ll break.

Gerard settles with putting his hands on the small of Frank’s back. He feels Frank squeezing himself tighter to Gerard, trying to pull relief from Gerard’s body into his. It might work because Frank’s breathing grows just a touch steadier, though his crying doesn’t subside.

“I don’t- I don’t know what… what to do?” Frank says, but he also asks it, like he needs a response, but it’s clear he doesn’t expect one.

“You move on.”

“How can I move on?” Frank asks. “Where is there to go?”

“That’s something you need to ask yourself,” Gerard says, “I know it sounds cliché. But what is there that I can tell you to do? What is it I could say that would help you decide who you need to be? It’s not up to me, Frank. It’s your choice, and only you will know the answer.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know that there is anything,” Frank says, his words mumbled into Gerard’s shoulder, not really coming through, but Gerard knows them, like they’re his own.

“What is it that you know you want?” Gerard asks. “You want hockey, right? You want that, but what else do you want?”

“I don’t…” Frank shakes his head, as he removes it from Gerard’s shoulder, and then he begins to inch away, and Gerard lets go of him instinctively. He can’t get too clingy, even though he doesn’t want to let Frank go. He definitely can’t put Frank in a situation where he feels trapped, because it would probably be the worst thing he could ever do to him. “I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m doing at all. I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore, Gerard.”

“You’re Frank,” Gerard says, confused. Who else could he be? He may not be the Frank Gerard initially fell in love with, but he’s the Frank that Gerard continues to be in love with.

“I’m not! I’m not, like… I’m not Frank. I’m just, like I’m something that was left behind of Frank. I’m like those tea leaves that get stuck at the bottom of the teacup after all the rest is gone. I’m just, like, I’m this sort of sludgy mess. I don’t know who I am anymore, if who I was is still buried deep down inside of me somewhere or if that person is gone. I just don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know.”

“You want to play hockey, right?” Gerard asks. “Tell me if you don’t, because that’s fine, it’s like totally fine, if you can’t, or if you don’t want to-”

“I want to Gerard, that’s the thing. I want to more than anything, I want hockey. Because like, throughout all my life, whenever things have been shitty, or whenever I’ve thought life was going to beat me down, I just, I wouldn’t let it, because I’ve had hockey. I’ve had skating. Like, skating, it’s everything, it’s more, it’s who I am. Gerard, skating is like my DNA. I always skate, it’s like, it’s always been my solution to everything. I remember being just, like, so fucking miserable in middle school. I was this sort of… I wasn’t a bullied kid or anything. No one hated me. I just wasn’t… I wasn’t there. Like it’s not even that I was invisible either, because people saw me, I mean, I was a pretty smart kid and I was already pretty good at hockey and everyone knew it, but they just, didn’t care? And it continued throughout high school. I just was this sort of like, I was this thing. I was just there? I mean, and people acknowledged me, they even seemed to like me the few times I talked to people, but like, no one cared enough to actually know me. And it’s not like I wasn’t trying. But I was just, I was no one. The people who were maybe nicer to me, sort of just walked away from me if I ever tried to be… to just, to be.

“Can you, like, can you just imagine being lonely all the time. No one really liking you, no one really even thinking twice about you at all. I just, I was nothing to no one. And because I didn’t have any friends, I had to, I had to find something else. And that was skating. And I guess you already know that I’m a figure skater, though I don’t know how the fuck you found out, but it’s me, it’s me about as much as hockey is. It’s skating. Skating his me. And this guy he’s just like, he’s tried to take that away from me. He’s tried to amputate me. And why? Like, because I pissed him off, and he’s just… he’s just taken a knife and he’s pulled out all my insides because I guess he doesn’t want me to have happiness. But skating is me. Skating is me. You can’t take that away. Like, you could get the sharpest tool, you could scrape everything in me away, but like, you can’t take away skating. It would be like trying to take away my skin.”

“Frank, when I look at you, I don’t see only hockey. I know what you want me to say is that hockey is who you are, and in part, yeah, it’s a huge part of who you are. But it’s not all you are,” Gerard says. “You’re… you’re an epic in the first few chapters, something Homer started jotting down somewhere, and you’ve not even begun your adventures. You’re a symphony. You’re an enormous world, full of a lot of amazing things, and hockey has always been at the forefront. Skating has always been your go to, but that doesn’t mean it makes you. You make you. Above all, you’re you, and you are the best at it no matter what path you choose to take. You might be a hockey player, but you’re also funny, and you’re caring, and you’re passionate – compassionate. You’re just, you’re so many things, and hockey is only one of the things. Skating is only a piece of you. It’s not all of you.”

“What if I want it to be?” Frank asks.

“Hockey is good. Don’t let yourself think I don’t believe that. Hockey is amazing and wonderful. But it’s not all there is. If you continue to play hockey, great, the world is given one of the greatest players it’ll ever see. If not, the world will see one of the greatest lawyers, or accountants, or chefs, or musicians, or actors, or whatever it is you chose to be, it’ll see the greatest of those too. You’re Frank. You’re not hockey. You’re Frank. Let yourself be whoever you need to be, no matter what it is you choose to do.”

It’s a little baffling how Gerard manages to put emotion into his words in a way that effects Frank the way it does. It’s definitely a sign that Gerard is his soulmate and one true love. Frank can’t believe he still has the capacity to think that way, but that’s something you really can’t take away from him. No matter the circumstances, no matter what Morgan might have done, there’s one thing he hasn’t managed to do. He hasn’t taken away Frank’s hunger for affection. He’s changed the game a little bit, that’s true, because now it’s quite a bit scarier, now it’s going to be a slower process, a more difficult one, but he hasn’t managed to take that away from him. Morgan did a lot of things, took a lot of him away, but he didn’t take away the way Frank feels about Gerard. He’s changed the chemistry of it, but he hasn’t taken it away.

Of course, Gerard’s got a point, like he always does. Gerard’s not just here for his looks. Gerard’s also kind of the only person in the world that Frank feels comfortable talking to right now at all. Gerard’s smart. That’s one thing you may not notice until you get to know him, but Gerard is one of the wisest people Frank’s ever met. He’s also overly empathetic, and it reads in his face. Gerard has the ability to feel what others feel, though he definitely can’t fathom the expanse of Frank’s pain, but he definitely sees it, he’s aware of it. Gerard looks into you.

Frank hasn’t said anything to Ray yet, he doesn’t know how to. He hasn’t spoken with Pete, Mikey, Travie, Patrick. No one. The only people Frank’s had verbal contact with are Brendon and Gerard. Brendon’s just not the same. It’s not like Frank doesn’t trust him, but Frank doesn’t want to hug Brendon. He doesn’t want Brendon to give him life advice or to tell him that it’ll be alright. Even though the two of them went through the same thing, Gerard is the only person he has an emotional connection to who can actually make him feel better.

But in the end, Gerard isn’t the answer. He doesn’t have all the answers either. He’s just Gerard. He’s sweet, kind, and he’s warm, but he doesn’t hold the answers Frank needs. Nor does Gerard miraculously make him better either. It’s not untrue to say that Frank feels less shitty with Gerard around, merely having company is a relief in his state, but that doesn’t mean Gerard can take it all away. They both know this.

Frank has never considered that he might be someone else underneath the hockey, or that he might have something more. He’s used to it being his thing. It always has been. He’s got hockey, and he’s got figure skating. He’s caught between two opposing worlds, and now he’s been thrown out of one. But it’s not a matter of picking sides. It’s one or both. Frank loves both, not because it’s what he’s good at, because it makes him happy. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

But there has to be something more to him than just that, and he supposes he should know those lines, and be able to find them.

Frank really likes punk music, he could see himself rocking out, managing bands, running a club. He also really likes cop shows, he could see himself solving mysteries, studying crime scenes, analyzing evidence. He really likes horror movies, he could see himself directing them, writing the scripts, designing the sets. He really likes animals, he could see himself rescuing them, caring for them, treating them. He likes kids, he could see himself teaching, counseling, protecting. He likes helping people, he could see himself advising, treating, giving people a chance. Frank likes the environment, he could see himself raising awareness, fighting, finding solutions.

Frank loves figure skating. He can see himself competing. He loves hockey. He can see himself playing.

“I choose hockey,” Frank says, breaking the long silence at last. “I want hockey. It’s what I want, and not because it’s what I know, but because it’s what I love. I love hockey. To my grave I’ll love it. Nobody, nothing, never will I ever let that be taken from me.”

“Then choose it, Frank,” Gerard says.

“I’m going to need a little time to get back on my feet, though,” Frank says, turning away from Gerard because he doesn’t want to look Gerard in the eyes and say that to him, not considering how much it must suck for Gerard not to have his star player on the team. “And I need help. I can barely fucking breathe when people so much as touch me. How do I go about playing a contact sport like hockey?”

“I’ll do my best to help you,” Gerard says, “Don’t worry about how long it takes. Worry about recovering well, not recovering quickly.”

Frank turns back to look at Gerard, and it’s like seeing an angel. He’s got heavenly light coming off of him. How does he do that?

Frank doesn’t care. Gerard’s not like anyone else. That’s clear for everyone to see. Gerard’s special.

Frank realizes all of a sudden how much he wants Gerard. His bones become sore, and his head starts to pound with the ache of longing. It makes him gasp in pain which can be accredited to the fact that Frank is already in pain.

Frank closes the space between them again, wrapping his arms around Gerard and burying his head in Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard is warm, soft, sturdy. He’s what Frank needs. Frank presses tears he’s trying to suppress into the sleeves of Gerard’s shirt, mumbling something unintelligible that Gerard can’t make out.

What Frank mumbles is “I love you.”

The equally indecipherable response he gets back is “I love you too.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I know it's been a while, my life has become a busy one. I'm glad for everyones continued support of this fic. I genuinely thank you all so much.