All We Need Is Daylight

Frank has separation anxiety. He feels his heart ache being away from hockey for too long. He once broke his wrist and it was the worst six weeks of his life. It’s only been two weeks since he last played hockey, but it feels like two years. He doesn’t have daily practice so now he has too many hours in the day. But Morgan will be there. Frank can’t go to practice if Morgan is there. But Gerard is also there. And Pete, and Ray. Mikey, Travie, Brendon. And they’re all counting on Frank. But where is Frank? Just wallowing away in his room watching YouTube videos, which do not fill the void in his heart thank you very much.

Hockey makes him whole. It makes his life rounder. It makes sense. And being without it, even though he has every right to leave indefinitely because of what he’s gone through, it’s hard. It’s almost harder than it would be to see Morgan every day.

It never occurred to Frank just how difficult this was. He’s a boy, and never thought it would happen to him. But they say that most people know their attacker. So, if you know your attacker, how is it possible that they wake up every morning and see them? There’s so many people out there who look their attacker in their eyes daily. But no one ever thinks about that.

Inevitably, Frank is going to go back to hockey. At this point, it’s a certainty. He knows he’ll go back, and he thinks it’s going to be sooner rather than later. Maybe even tomorrow, which is when they have their next practice. But there’s a game tonight, and Frank feels like he has to go. It’s not even a debate on whether he will or won’t, he just knows he’s going to. It’s an absolute, like a doctor’s appointment.

He’s terrified of what that will mean for him. The one time he went back into the rink was with Gerard, and it didn’t seem so scary with Gerard there with him. It felt normal, being at the rink in the middle of the night, and with Gerard of all people. It’s familiar. He’s also very familiar with being in the rink with a couple hundred people watching him, but for some reason, he fears that now. Maybe it’s because Morgan will be among them.

Time seems to go by too quickly. Because time always moves quickly when you dread something. Just like it drags on when you can’t wait for something. Frank dawns a school baseball cap, because these things grow on trees. He doesn’t even recall buying it, one day it just appeared. Everyone has at least seven, one for each day of the week. Apart from Ray, whose hair doesn’t fit.

Frank thinks the hat will disguise him, and maybe it makes his face a little harder to make out, but a disguise it is not.

Nevertheless, Frank manages to go unnoticed when he sneaks into the hockey rink twenty minutes before the game. This is because a few dozen other people are standing around in the lobby, waiting for the game to start. There almost all college students, most of whom Frank doesn’t know, but he thinks he recognizes some of their faces. The Green Knights rarely ever pull a big crowd, so Frank has managed to memorize a few of the faces of their regulars. They must be die hard hockey fans to waste their Friday nights at this place. If Frank weren’t on this team, he’d be one of the people watching them every week.

He sees the door to the locker room and his heart practically sinks. He knows who’s in there. He knows what happened in there. His stomach turns over, and the bowl of pasta he had for dinner squirms inside of him.

But then he sees Gerard walk out of his shared office, and Frank’s heart lightens considerably. He walks the short distance between the office to the heavy locker room door, not looking around in the lobby, so he doesn’t see Frank standing there. Frank puts his head down anyway.

He’s not sure why he’s hiding from Gerard. He’s hiding from everyone else because he doesn’t want them to know he’s watching the game instead of playing it. He doesn’t want them to know that he’s physically alright, because if he had a broken toe or something they’d probably understand why he’s missed so much practice, but the fact that what ails him is invisible is what makes him hide his face.

But Gerard, Gerard knows. He knows what happened, and he would probably be happy to see Frank here, though he’d likely be the only one. Frank thinks it might have something to do with the fact that it is Gerard. Pete would be happy to see him he supposes, but Frank wouldn’t try to hide from him. Because Pete’s not Gerard.

Frank relaxes his posture, puts his head down, and tries to look casual as he walks through a couple huddles of people in conversation, and down towards the seats. He walks around the rink for a little while until he finds a position that’s nowhere near the box, so none of his teammates are likely to see him watching. He doesn’t choose a spot in the back though, because there’s not enough people to be justify sitting in the back. Everyone else crams themselves into the front few rows, so Frank takes a spot in the third row. Just an ordinary guy, out on a Saturday night seeing a really shitty hockey team. Nothing abnormal about him.

Frank doesn’t actually know what team they’re playing. He’s sure they’re a better team. Whether they’re a good team or not, they’re certain to be better. Because the Green Knights fucking suck, and not to toot his own horn or anything, but he makes them not suck as much. It kills him to even think it, but Morgan is probably the best player on the team without him, so it’s all pretty much riding on him.

Why is life like that? It’s always like that. The one good thing in Frank’s life: hockey. Ruined for him. By who? The only guy on the team who could parallel his own skill. Fate is cruel, and it’s shitty, and if there is some God up there who weaves these plans all high and mighty, Frank is going to kick his fucking ass. He didn’t need to do this to Frank. Frank is a good person. Sure he’s gay, but he’s never murdered anybody. Frank’s not sure where he stands on this line, but he does know one thing; if there is a God, he abandoned Frank.

Frank looks down at his phone. He still has a while until the game starts, and he’s starting to feel uncomfortable being here. He shouldn’t be in the seats. This is weird. He doesn’t belong here. He belongs on the ice. On his ice. That’s where his heart is anyway.

“You look weird,” A familiar voice says, and Frank looks up suddenly to see Patrick. “You don’t belong out here.”

“I-I know that.”

“But you’re out here,” Patrick says, and he takes a seat next to Frank, pulling his backpack onto his lap.

“I am.”

Frank hasn’t seen Patrick in two weeks and he forgot how much he likes to see him. Patrick has an angelic, and boyish face. He’s the only person Frank knows who doesn’t have acne and looks as though he never has. He’s so damn short, shorter than Frank, which is an achievement. And he’s got a personality like a bedtime story. Calming, soothing, sweet. Patrick is the boy you’d want to take home to your mother. Pete’s a really lucky person. It’s not that Frank is attracted to Patrick, but he can see how a life with Patrick would be something someone would want.

Comparing Patrick to Gerard is like comparing here to there. They’re totally opposite. Patrick is calm, soft spoken, wise, a genius. Gerard is erratic, vibrant and wild, smart but not in your face about it. Patrick is green and blue. Gerard is red and yellow.

Patrick doesn’t say much of anything to him, which is comforting to Frank. Patrick is the last person in the world to try to pry information from you. Patrick knows what boundaries are. In a way, he and Pete fit each other because of the fact that they’re so different. Patrick keeps Pete sane. Patrick’s life is full of excitement when Pete is around.

“You know that the Jersey Devil’s suck?” Patrick asks, which seems like a weird way to start a conversation, but Frank is okay with weird.

“I do know that,” Frank replies. If Patrick is about to tell him that the Blackhawks are better he’s going to bop him on the head. With a cleaver.

“They won’t suck so much when you join the team.”

“When I what?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know that’s going to happen.”

“But-”

“Okay, I concede. It might not be the devils. Possibly the Capitals.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Frank says. “I could never play with Ovechkin, I’d probably just end up groveling at his feet.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Patrick nods, “he’s your favorite, isn’t he?”

“I guess so,” Frank nods.

“You’re one of my favorites, you know,” Patrick says, and Frank rolls his eyes while scoffing. “No, I’m serious. Like, you’re amazing to watch. You are completely your own. Like, everyone else looks like a noodle when you’re out there, Frank, and yes, I fully understand my boyfriend is out there at the same time as you, but you’re still the best. When I was a kid, I found my dads hockey card collection, which is a weird collection I know. Most people collect baseball cards, but he collected hockey cards. Really old ones, probably worth money now, Stan Mikita, Brad Park, like just your run of the mill collection, but when you’re a kid, that is the coolest thing in the world for your dad to have. A big ass booklet, like one of those old Pokémon card holders, but with hockey cards. And someday, some kid is going to pick up his dad’s hockey card collection and he’s going to find Frank Iero.”

“I’m not quitting hockey, Patrick,” Frank says, because he thinks it needs to be said. “I just… I needed a little space. Life has gotten in the way.”

“Life does that,” he nods, “It’s always getting in the way. But that’s what life is. And it will always continue on, Frank.”

“And on, and on.”

Frank is surprised when he sees movement in the corner of his eyes and sees two teams piling out of the locker rooms on either side of the rink. He sees his team. His jersey, his friends, hopping over the box and out onto the ice to cordially meet the opposing team at the center of the ice. Frank respects this tradition. Even if he wants to win so much his heart could beat out of his chest, he also respects that everyone else wants that too, even the people on the other team. Now, Frank is aware that he is better than most everyone else, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to rub that in their faces.

Frank doesn’t mean to, but his eyes can’t help but to search for the one name his brain is most set on. Wentz – McCoy – Way – there. Fahey.

Frank’s stomach turns, in a way that makes him clutch at it, as if this will stop him from puking. But he doesn’t puke, he gags a little bit, and Patrick looks at him funny, but he holds himself together, kind of.

“Is it hard?” Patrick asks, not really registering the entirety of Frank’s response to seeing the team piling out. “Being back, after so long?”

“Yeah… yeah, it is,” Frank says, his eyes trained on Fahey, and only on him. His jersey seems to be a brighter green than anyone else’s. Frank can’t make out the face, and he’s thankful of that. He doesn’t want to see Morgan’s face. Even his jersey is too much for Frank.

How is he going to play on the same team with him? Frank knows it’s inevitable, that he will at some point have to go back out there. And be on the same ice as Morgan. Be in the same locker room as Morgan. He’s always going to see those ghosts though. Even next year, when Morgan graduates and hopefully dies in a horrible accident, those memories will still be there.

The game starts. It’s like the world doesn’t care that Frank is hurting. The game starts without him. How can it even be a game if he’s not there? Frank sees Travie, left wing. Travie races up and down the ice, chasing the puck, but he can’t get it. The other two guys aren’t much of a help. Brendon is a good defenseman, that’s not up for debate. But he’s not Superman. He’s trying to be in four places all at once, but the other team is skating circles around them.

Frank’s only thought is what he would be doing differently. No, Travie, don’t fall for that. The forward on the other team feigns in one direction and sweeps off in another. Travie falls for it. Frank watches as he goes chasing after him. Ray, the amazing Goaltender the he is, manages to fend off the attack from the puck, but it won’t be long before he has to stop another. And another. And more after that. Ray isn’t Superman either.

Frank can envision the puck going into the other team’s net. He’d pass it to Pete now, and they’d hurtle down the rink. Pete shoots it around the corner to Frank’s awaiting stick. Frank sends it Morgan’s way. Morgan’s way. But Morgan sinks it into the net. It would be perfect. If Frank were on the ice right now, it would work. They’d have the goal. Or at least, they’d definitely take a shot, since Frank doesn’t know how good the opposing team’s goalie is.

A minute later, there’s a line change. Mikey. Mikey along with one of Morgan’s goons. Garret, who’s the size of a mountain with brains that don’t even compare to an actual mountain. He’d follow Genghis Khan into war if you bribed him with a corndog. Frank often wonders how a mass that large manages to stay balanced on his skates. His momentum is against him whenever he’s on the ice. He might be a good player, if you squint hard enough, but he doesn’t have control of his skates very well. Most of the guys are good skaters who lack in a strategic mind. Garret has a strategic mind but he’s shit on skates.

Frank almost puts his hands over his eyes, because watching this game playout is too hard. He should be out there. He should be pummeling that team into the ground, and he would, because they’re not that good. Frank would make everyone in this audience understand why they came here tonight. Because they’d win. Fuck, they would win hard. Frank would serve them on a tray.

Frank sees the moment where things might turn around for them. Line change. Pete kicks himself over the side of the wall, and behind comes Morgan, and the guy Frank supposes is filling in for him, Trystan. This is the best line, and everyone on the team knows that. Pete, and Morgan, two of the strongest players. And Frank, if he were there, the strongest player of them all.

Frank watches the game play out, and it feels like it’s slow motion.

Pete intercepts the puck almost immediately. He passes it to Morgan, Morgan to Trystan, back to Morgan. They’re so close to the goal. The other team’s defensemen sneaks it away from Morgan. The puck is gone in a flash, but Morgan checks the guy. A whistle. Morgan shouldn’t have done that. Penalty.

Frank sits back and shakes his head.

“It’ll be hard to write an optimistic article about this one. How is ‘Participation trophies are cheap at the dollar store’ for a headline?”

“I should be out there,” Frank says, and Patrick nods, because Frank is stating the obvious. “We should’ve gotten a goal already. This team is pathetic.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Wheels start spinning in Frank’s head. His gear is all in his locker. He could just go down there. Just throw on all of his stuff, and book it onto the ice.

Coach would never let him though. And Gerard might not either. Gerard worries too much, but he also knows what’s best for the team, so he might not let Frank play, both for his own sake and for the teams.

Frank hasn’t practiced with the team in weeks. He hasn’t even really played at all in just as long. No one in their right mind would let someone out of practice and out of sync onto the ice during a game. That would be suicide.

But Frank knows he could do better. He can see it all, like math in his brain. He sees the angles, the shots, the moves, the blocks. He sees it all. He should be out there with his team, but he’s here, in the bleachers. This is stupid.

Frank doesn’t say a word, he just darts out of his seat, past Patrick. Quick feet make pattering sounds on the metal before his feet hit solid concrete and he ascends the steps, in a bit of a speed walk. What made him think they could do this without him?

Frank is alone in the lobby of the rink, because everyone else is watching, or playing. He sees the grey elementary school carpet under foot and walks towards the locker room door, like a man on a mission.

He doesn’t even think, he just throws the door open, and then he stops. The cold grey floor. The white tiled walls. The stink of it.

This is where it happened. In this room. Frank can’t even see through to the locker room, because it bends before opening into the main part of the room, but he might as well be lying on the ground where he was that night. He might as well be under that shower head clawing away at his own skin. He might as well be mopping his own blood off the floor with his dirty clothes.

It happened in here. With Frank. With Morgan. With silence.

Frank stands in the doorway, but lets the door go, stepping back a few inches. He can’t go in there. He can’t go in alone. He might not be able to step foot in there at all.

Frank backs up slowly and looks around. How could he be so stupid? He’s not ready for this. Not now at least. Morgan is out there. Frank needs to prepare himself to face that man, and now is not the time for that.

He doesn’t want to go back to his seat. He doesn’t even want to see the game. He knows how it will go. He knows what will happen. They’re going to lose just like they always do. Frank doesn’t want to be here for that. If he’s going to lose, he wants it to be on his own terms. But he can’t go out there himself. He just can’t.

Frank walks away from the door. Away from the opening that leads into the audience. He walks towards the front door.

He doesn’t run. Running is not what he does. He just sort of stumbles, ambles along down the sidewalk, through light snow. He has no direction. He just knows away. His feet are wet underneath him, and he looks down to see little mounds of snow layering the sidewalk. When had it started snowing? Had it been snowing earlier? He can’t recall, but it does look fresh. Frank doesn’t want to be caught in the snow. He doesn’t really want to be outside of it either. He doesn’t know where to go.

Frank looks around the city streets, which are far from deserted. It’s a Friday night in a college town, they couldn’t be more alive. Frank sees laughing faces, mostly of college students, but the odd couple in their forties, and an elderly man walking one way. They’re smiling. All of them. Having a good time. Friday night. Life is good, spirits are high. Freedom feels like it’s on your fingertips. But Frank is lost, aimless, and desperate for escape.

Frank knows there’s a bar across the street from where he is, and that’s where a good amount of sound is coming from. He becomes almost envious of the people in there, drinking away their thoughts and feelings for the night. If only he could forget that easily. Frank doubts liquor would take the pain away.

It’s a sudden panic that chills him more than the snow ever could.

He’s all alone. There are people all around him. And he doesn’t have anywhere to go, except for his room, but for some reason that prospect scares him. All alone in an almost entirely empty dorm, with god knows what kind of people out on the town. Today is when bad things happen. Friday night, people are drunk, people walk the streets alone. People hide away searching for… for victims. Frank is just a statistic. It’ll happen again. Tonight. To someone. Somewhere.

Frank can’t stand it. He’s terrified. He doesn’t know where to go.

He makes towards Lancaster hall anyway, because at least there he can lock the door and push his desk against it. Frank runs. He shouldn’t, because snow is lacing the ground, but he runs anyway. A few people stare at him, running so fast like he’s running from something. He doesn’t know if he’s running away from anything. He just knows he can’t be out here. He’s going to start crying soon he can feel it. Then it’ll only get worse.

Frank sees his dorm, covering the distance in a few strides. He rummages in his pocket for his key card. Where is his key card? Goddammit! Frank’s shaking fingers fumble through one pocket, then another. Where’s his key card? The panic is setting in. He can feel himself about to collapse. Not in his jacket pocket. Not in his pants pocket. Where did the fucking thing go? His key card and dorm key are both on that lanyard, but for Christ’s sake he can’t find it.

Frank starts to whimper, slams his head against the wall a few times. He’s locked out. He can’t even go inside. He’s all alone, vulnerable.

He turns around swiftly, staring out into the night, trying to see if there’s anyone there. It feels like there are eyes on him. Like there’s murderous eyes watching his every move.

He can’t breathe. Frank makes a choked sound in his throat, as he pats at his pockets again. Where is it? It was right here. He must have had it before, he must have. He went to dinner, he swiped it there. He hasn’t been back to his room since. Where is it?

As much as it should be a relief when Frank feels the keycard in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, it doesn’t. It’s not a relief. He swipes himself in, and there is a bit of relief from the cold, but he’s still alone. And now that he’s inside, he sees the walls, and it’s like they’re closing in around him. Like the trash compactor in Star Wars, ready to crush him. Everything’s not out to get him, but it is.

Frank doesn’t run down the hall, because the RA’s are kind of shitty in this building, but he walks swiftly and with intent. He finds his door, and scrabbles at his keys again, which are still in his hand but now he can’t find the right one. His house key, the key to the safe his mom keeps his birth certificate in, a key that he doesn’t even know what it unlocks, an ornate key he once found on the floor of his high school that clearly doesn’t go anywhere he just thought it looked cool. He finally finds the boring gold key and tries to get it in the lock. First, he tries to put it upside down, then once he corrects himself, he turns it the wrong way. It takes way longer than it should for him to get the key to unlock the door, but it finally gives in and he throws himself inside, locking the door behind him and then falling down against it.

The tears are already there. They erupt from him without warning, and the air is sucked out of the room. He doesn’t even remember how to breathe. His throat makes strangled sounds mixed with sobs, as he buries his face into his hands.

The worst part is that Frank doesn’t know what went wrong. He had been fine. Everything was fine. He was sitting next to Patrick, and sure he was depressed but he felt okay in comparison to how he usually feels.

But now this. Sitting here, on the floor. It feels all too familiar. He thought he was getting better. He hasn’t cried himself to sleep in at least three or four days. Sure, he’s in pain, but it’s been more or less manageable. But now it feels like he’s suffocating.

He can see it happening. All over again in his mind. He sees the locker room floor. He feels his head hitting the ground. He feels the cold floor.

He remembers it all. Like an engraving in his brain, ridged into his present and not just his past.

Why did this happen? Why to him? Why to anyone?

Frank cries and he cries and he cries. And he doesn’t have tears left to shed, his body too devoid of water to produce more tears, but he whimpers to himself. Waterless tears ripping through his body.

The pain is worse than it had ever been. So much worse. That pain had been easy compared to this. He wants to cry until he is nothing. He wants his pain to dig a tunnel. He wants his screams to make the clouds disperse. Frank wants it to mean something. Because it is everything. His pain is important. If his body were the world it would be a hurricane. But the world remains still and moves on despite him.

It’s not fair. Nothing is ever fair. People always say it and you never realize how true it is until something happens. Life isn’t fair, and we try and we try but still it is always unfair. Good things happen to bad people. And bad things happen to good.

They say breaking your bones makes them grow back stronger. But Frank’s bones are brittle and deteriorating. He doesn’t feel like they’ll ever even heal.

Frank looks around at his surroundings, only now considering the fact that he hadn’t turned the light on, so the only light coming in comes from an alarm clock on Ray’s desk and the slightest sliver of light from underneath the curtains. Frank prefers it that way. He doesn’t want to see the world. Because then he’ll have to make sense of it.

There’s no sense to anything anymore. Things were never explainable, but at least Frank understood why he was doing them. Go to college to get a job, get a job to make money, make money to have a house, have a house to raise a family, raise a family to have them surround and love you. Or at least, that was the plan Frank had sort of mapped out. A little bit. His plan was more like go to school to be noticed by recruiters, join the NHL, become a huge celebrity, retire in twenty years, become an NHL coach, have a secret husband in the meantime, adopt four kids, name one of them after Wayne Gretzky.

But now, it feels staged and ridiculous. Why should he do any of that? Why can’t Frank just go find a cave and wallow in it?

Frank still wants the same things, they just feel devoid of the same colors they used to have. He still wants hockey, but it will forever be changed for him. He still wants Gerard, but he feels like there is a separation, a wall, that will be in place with anyone he ever likes. And his kids, well maybe they won’t be named after Gretzky because Wayne is kind of a dumb name.

The present is what hurts the most. Frank knows that eventually he will live through this, that he will rise above what’s happened, and he’s never going to defeat Goliath, he knows that, but he’ll put a few dinks in the armor and that’s what counts.

Frank just feels alone. Scared, huddled in the corner of his room, crying tears that won’t come to his eyes, it feels like he’s stranded. Like he’s in a big mansion by himself. The world is too big and he is so small.

Frank craves company. He craves attention and he craves comfort. Frank wouldn’t play hockey if he didn’t want attention, at least a little bit. He wouldn’t have done that damn interview for Patrick if he didn’t. But now, that’s not the kind of attention he needs. He needs it from any one person who will give it to him. Preferably, Gerard, but for Christ’s sake he just needs someone to hold him.

Frank misses his mom. He misses her like he’s never felt anything before. She is so warm and welcoming. The woman is shorter than him but with a personality ten times bigger than his. She will let him be vulnerable without any judgment. Because she loves him, unconditionally. And if Frank told her he was gay, she might love him more for it.

God does he miss her. He misses her cooking. He misses how she’d force him away from his room to help him cook it. “No son of mine is going to move out of this house without knowing how to feed an army.” He misses how they’d watch movies together that they’d already seen a dozen times before. But it was never about the movie so much as it was about spending time with each other. Frank’s seen Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets so many times he could quote the script. And he does quote the script. But watching it with his mom was worth it. He misses how they would do things on weekends, even dumb, tiny things. They’d walk around the local mall together and wouldn’t even go into any of the stores. They’d find a coupon for mini-golf and play more competitively than either of them would ever admit to. He misses her so goddamn much.

But she can’t know. And it’s not because Frank doesn’t think she’d understand, because she would. But she’d start a fucking war. She’d burn everyone to the ground, and Frank would be out of this school so fast he wouldn’t be able to pack his things. And she’d mean the best. But she’d ruin everything. And Frank loves that she cares that much about him. That she would without a doubt slit Morgan’s throat if she knew. Frank doesn’t want that kind of attention though. He doesn’t want that reaction. Hell hath no fury like an Italian mother scorned.

Frank just misses the simplicity of High School, with all it’s flaws. Sure, he didn’t have any friends, but he had comfort. He had familiarity. High School wasn’t his life. He didn’t go to sleep every night in his High School. He didn’t live with his classmates. He didn’t eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with his classmates. He didn’t have phone calls with his mom to tell her he missed her. He didn’t have to be an adult. He didn’t need to worry about anything real.

He was in his hometown and he always wanted to leave until he left and he realized how much he loved it. He had real fucking pizza, and he knew where to get Chinese takeout, and he knew what channel Jeopardy was on. He went to bed in the room he grew up in with old toys shoved into his closet that he didn’t want to pull a Toy Story 3 on. Because really, you can pry Beary the aptly named bear from his cold dead fingers.

Frank misses home like nothing in the world. Because this place will never feel like home. If it might have, that was ripped from him. His own ice rink, taken away from him.

Frank thinks about that locker room door again. And his mind conjures the door with wicked light and steam coming through under the cracks. It’s scary and unforgiving. It’s stupid. It’s a boy’s locker room. It smells like body odor and ass. Occasionally it smells like that god-awful Shampoo-Conditioner two in one shit that all boys seem to use, and axe body spray, or Kenneth Cole for the fancier of the sleezeballs in the world. There shouldn’t be anything scary about a room like that. But Frank’s bones go cold at the thought of it.

Frank shivers and realizes that his body is cold too. The dorm is warm, the heating cranked up already to embrace the oncoming winter, but Frank feels none of it. He feels like his lips are blue, and toes frozen. He doesn’t want to stand up, but he does. Frank pulls the comforter from his bed, reaching up and tugging it out, which he’ll regret later because he had it perfectly set up so that it didn’t get pulled out from under the mattress in the middle of the night. He drags the comforter to him, messing up the blanket and sheets he had underneath as well. Even more work for later.

Frank doesn’t care. He burritos himself on the ground again and pulls his head down into the warmth. He stays like that, his own atmosphere, his own world. For a few minutes it’s okay. For a few minutes, the world can’t break through his barrier. But eventually, the air he breathes becomes that warm and unbreathable stale that forces you to pull your head out from the covers to refill your plasticized lungs.

The world creeps back in, and so do its monsters. Alone. In a dark room. Cold. Broken. Frank is growing too familiar with this. He’s sick of it.

Frank needs warm colors. He needs red and yellow. He needs warmth. He needs brightness and rooms with big personalities. All of these things end up pointing in one specific direction.

He is realizing more and more as the days go on that he can’t do this alone anymore. Frank has been by himself for pretty much all of his life. His mom has been there, and Hayley has been there, but they don’t have the closeness Frank needs. Frank needs a best friend. A friend who you shed your skin and bones for. Maybe more than a friend. But anyone Frank falls in love with had damn well better be his best friend as well.

Brendon understands what Frank has gone through. But Brendon doesn’t understand Frank.

Patrick is the nicest son of a bitch the world has ever churned out. But he’s the wrong shade of comfort.

Pete is brilliant and veracious, but he’s so relentlessly, disgustingly Pete. Being Pete isn’t a bad thing, but it’s not something Frank can cling to without feeling himself slipping.

Gerard.

Gerard, with his stupid stubbly neck beard. Gerard, with his dumb unwashed hair rampant with split ends screaming for a haircut. Gerard, with his sprinkler of a mouth spewing unrelenting comic book knowledge. Gerard, whose goddamn skinny jeans have holes in the worst goddamn places. Gerard, who actually has a pretty nice ass for a guy, considering Frank’s is as flat as a North Dakota highway.

Gerard, who makes Frank smile from every corner of his mouth. Gerard, who thinks no one is interested in what he has to say but Frank could soak up his every word. Gerard, who thinks no one knows that he wears jackets to hide his muffin top even though Frank would fucking worship it if he got the chance. Gerard, whose voice sounds like no one else’s in the world, but he still thinks it annoys people when he couldn’t be more wrong.

Gerard.

Red and yellow.

Gerard

Apartment full of comics and knick knacks and framed posters.

Gerard.

Frank realizes that this room is not where he needs to be. He needs to be with Gerard. Frank checks his watch. It’s only 9:00. The game could still go on a little while longer. Who is Frank kidding? The Green Knights suck, if they make it into overtime Frank will eat his own foot.

He grabs a jacket from the floor. He’s not positive it’s even his jacket. Phone, keys, wallet. Egg. Egg backup. He has everything. Frank steps out of his room, locking the door behind him. There’s a shirtless man walking out of the shower. There are two types of shirtless men. Those you want to see shirtless, and those you don’t. This guy is the former. Frank looks at him a moment, remembers to rub at his eyes to either disguise the redness in them or seek out the eye boogers that nestled themselves in there. He’s sure he looks a mess either way, but this pretty shirtless man doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Frank finds his way out of the dorm. It seems like somewhat of a maze. Down one hall, cut through another, down a very long hall, down some steps, one hallway, turn, another hallway, choose your door: look at some vending machines or be shoved immediately out onto a corner of the world that somehow gets more snow than any other place immediately surrounding it. Frank walks past the vending machines, but it doesn’t save him from stepping out into a sheen of snow. He should have worn boots. Too late now, he’s on a mission.

He feels like shit. Frank relearns this every step he takes. Foot up: I feel pretty shitty but it could be worse. Foot suspended: at least I’m going somewhere rather than standing still. Foot down: I crave death.

Frank feels the length of the walk more now than he usually does. Did Gerard’s apartment get further away? Are his lungs burning more than they usually do? Is he dying of the death?

Past a gas station. That’s where he’d go if he needed to buy some weed. Past that side street that he and Gerard had ducked into to hide from Frank’s birthday party. A little bench next to a bus stop with an ad for a realtor on it who’s face probably doesn’t actually have an all-black mustache on it, or huge dark spots where missing teeth once resided. Down a main street Frank sees Ihop, and that local pizza place that everyone swears is the best in the world but is merely a Ritz cracker covered in ketchup and Cheez-Whiz compared to your pizza shop. Three bars which are doing fantastic business tonight, and only one vomit stain on the sidewalk so far.

Eventually, Frank sees the unintimidating building which has it’s own Wikipedia page because it’s a historical building, but the rent is probably cheap because it still has popcorn ceiling and smells like wet carpet. Frank loves it. Frank enters the punch code because Gerard gave that number to him a long time ago, and then pushes himself inside to take advantage of the buildings’ lack of air conditioner.

Frank welcomes it. He welcomes the tacky carpet which only covers the ground floor and not the upper floors, which makes no sense because it’s ugly ass carpet which is not how you want to welcome people into any building. Frank makes the three-staircase hike which is made more arduous by the fact that there’s isn’t even an option to take an elevator.

There. Gerard’s door. His ugly ass green chipped door with the welcome mat in front of it that he didn’t pay more than six dollars for. Frank wishes he were bringing suitcases with him.

Frank rattles on the door rapidly and waits. And he waits. He waits.

Gerard isn’t there.

The game might not be over yet. Maybe they won, and he’s celebrating. Maybe they lost and he’s drowning his sorrows. Maybe he has somewhere better to be.

Frank puts his back to the door and sinks. The second door he’s sunk against in the last two hours. He brings his knees to his chest, and he feels his emotions fall. What little adrenaline he gained from the walk dissipates.

He cries again, softly to himself, and is surprised when tears fall. He thought he’d been too dehydrated to form tears, but there they go. Down his cheek, onto his pants, leaving a wet spot on his lower thigh.

Frank wants to just go to sleep. He wants to die for a few hours. Wake up again when the sun is out again. When his problems don’t seem as bad as they do now. Frank wants for everything to change. He wants for another world, for an escape. He longs for Hogwarts and Middle Earth. He wants Mars or the moon. Frank wants distance from himself.

“Frank?”

His head darts up at the sound of his name. The one face that could possibly make Frank feel a little less awful than he does now.

His face is pale as ever. His hair is messy as hell. His everything is gorgeous as sin.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Frank says and it’s enough.

Gerard’s face falls and he throws the bag on his shoulder around to his back, before he pulls Frank up to his feet, which is easier said than done. Frank doesn’t know how he’s so quick to unlock the door, but as soon as he straightens himself, the door is being swung open for him. Gerard throws the light on, which is a relief for Frank in so many ways.

The door latches shut behind him, and Frank looks around the room which he’s grown to love as much as he loves Gerard.

Gerard doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t think he needs to, and Frank realizes that he can communicate perfectly to Gerard everything that could be said.

Frank turns to stare at Gerard who’s looking back at him, concern the only expression Gerard’s face has ever known. There is a moment where Frank just stares. Where he just looks at Gerard.

Frank feels his tired, swollen eyes, which must be hideous and bloodshot by now. He feels weariness in his fingertips. He feels like a decayed flower sucking the last drop of it’s short life out of a water filled vase.

And then Frank falls into him. God, does he fall into him. Frank wishes he could melt. He wishes he could bottle this moment, of Gerard holding him. It’s the safest he’s ever felt. In Gerard’s apartment, late at night, snow falling down outside the windows. The streets are alive and the buildings along with them, but here, it’s soft and calm.

And it’s just him, and it’s just Gerard. It’s them and no one else. Gerard’s arms around Frank; he’s so warm. It feels like second nature to Gerard, to be holding Frank. And he’s done it only a few times, but it feels so safe. To be vulnerable. He just hopes that Frank feels the same safety in him.

Gerard keeps Frank sane. He holds the pieces of him together. Frank can’t explain it. He can’t fathom it. Gerard is everything to him. He wants nothing but Gerard, and he’s struggling to determine why.

What is it that made him fall in love? Gerard’s not the prettiest guy in the world. He’s not even the prettiest guy Frank knows. But Frank wants no one else. Not anyone. Not Idris Elba, not Jeff Goldblum circa Jurassic Park who was his sexual awakening. Just Gerard. And only ever Gerard.

Minutes pass. Possibly hours. Frank says nothing. Neither does Gerard. It’s simple. Frank cries into Gerard’s shoulder for a little while, and then steadily stops. But Gerard doesn’t let go when the tears stop coming. Frank feels a calmness in his own despair. It’s still inside of him, but it’s not a stabbing pain.

Frank breathes the smell of Gerard in. He doesn’t smell that great. He’s been sweating. But he still smells like his same old self. Feminine, and tangy hidden underneath boy smell. Frank isn’t even surprised by the fact that he doesn’t hate it.

Gerard’s closeness makes Frank feel like the world isn’t ending. It doesn’t stop him from feeling shitty, but Frank sees a future.

Gerard closes his eyes and wishes he could bottle this moment. He feels selfish for wanting it, because Frank is hurting, but Gerard loves that he’s holding Frank. He couldn’t be more honored that Gerard is who Frank came to. Who Frank comes to. Frank trusts him. Gerard is who Frank trusts most in this whole damn city. Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here.

Gerard thinks it’s discreet but he takes in Frank’s smell the same way Frank had. Frank blanches, did Gerard Way just smell him?

Frank doesn’t think too deeply about it. He shouldn’t. It’ll make him sad.

Then again, this is the same mushy and feely Gerard who tells Frank he’s sweet, and the best hockey player in the world. Supportive old Gerard who lets Frank cry on his shoulder and supports Frank’s decision to leave Armstrong if it’s what he really wants to so. Understanding Gerard who wants to rip Morgan’s head off but respects Frank asking him not to.

Gerard who… asked Frank if he had a girlfriend almost right after they met. Gerard who got miffed when Ray thought Frank had a girlfriend. Gerard who definitely did not like Hayley for some unknown reason. Gerard who would only go to Pete’s horror movie thing if Frank went too.

Frank doesn’t know anymore. Gerard just doesn’t… he doesn’t seem straight to Frank. Or at least, not anymore. He used to. Frank used to be sure of it. But that’s because he doesn’t really know any other gays. He’s really only ever had himself. He never would have guessed when it came to Pete, maybe he doesn’t have that sixth sense. He’s just no good. But Gerard doesn’t really have that vibe to him, and Frank suspects he never has. That maybe Gerard has always been that way but Frank was too blind to see it.

And Frank slept in Gerard’s bed. Gerard let him sleep in his bed. To be fair, Gerard slept on the couch, but he let Frank sleep in his own fucking bed so that he’d be more comfortable. Do straight guys do that? Even the nicest ones in the world, do they do that?

Frank looks up at him, pulling his face away from Gerard’s. Would a straight guy hold Frank like this? Would he let Frank just cry into his shoulder? For like twenty minutes? Frank knows mostly straight guys and he doubts any of them would.

Gerard’s eyes are looking back at Frank’s. Two different shades of brown. Chestnut meets hazel. His face is so soft. He has the softest, palest skin. Frank can’t imagine anything more perfect. Like porcelain. Only with some acne scars, which Frank thinks are cute. Gerard is everything. He’s warm, he’s funny, he’s passionate, and safe. He’s protective, strong-willed, intelligent, chivalrous.

Frank’s eyes linger over his lips for a moment. They’re perfect. Frank’s never kissed anyone before. But if he could kiss anyone, it would be Gerard. He’d kiss Gerard in a heartbeat. His is the only mouth he longs for. His is the only hair he wants to run his hands through. His are the only hands he wants to hold.

There’s a split second where Gerard’s eyes move lower, and Frank feels knowledge come over him without any real shock, or bang. It’s nothing more than knowing, and he’s stupid, because he should’ve known along. He might actually have known all along. Gerard’s eyes dart down to his lips than back up to Frank’s eyes, and that’s when he knows. When he knows.

He doesn’t overthink it. He doesn’t think he needs to. Frank leans forward, and he has to get on his tip toes a little too, but he doesn’t care. There’s a moment where both of them realize what’s about to happen, and then it’s happening. Frank puts his lips to Gerard’s. His eyes close, and he loses himself. It’s nothing like he had ever expected. It’s like electricity.

Frank’s heart is racing through him, beating faster than he can remember it beating. This is it. This is literally the moment he’s been waiting for. For all of this time. He’s finally kissing Gerard. And Gerard is kissing him back.

It’s not one of those peck on the lips Disney Channel kisses, but it’s not much higher a caliber than that either. Frank doesn’t know what he’s doing. Lips against Gerard’s. Hand on the small of Gerard’s neck. Can’t really breathe. Breathe out your nose a little bit. No, that’s weird, don’t do that.

Frank’s heart has never, in it’s nineteen years of use, beat this fast. Instead of individual heartbeats, it would just sound like one long pronounced beat of its own.

Gerard opens his mouth a little, and Frank guesses he should too, and then he understands. Yeah, that feels better. This seems like a real kiss. Like the ones in those romantic movies where the two people finally realize they like each other and kiss for the first time, and Frank feels like his life has turned into one of those movies only way more depressing and no one would pay to see it.

Frank could cry. And he has cried a lot in the past few weeks. But this would be a different type of crying altogether. This is the crying you do at the end of Lilo & Stitch when Stitch says that Lilo and Nani are his family.

Gerard resists a whimper, and it’s not a sexual one in the slightest. It’s that feeling you get at two in the morning when you realize you miss something that you don’t have anymore. Only the thing that he misses is Frank, and Frank is right here. But it feels like Frank is so far away. He’s wanted this for so long and he can’t fathom that’s it’s actually happening.

Breathlessly, and barely as a separate entity to the kiss, Gerard asks, “How long, Frank?” It’s not a complete question but he hopes that Frank gets the message.

“Since I met you,” Frank says, and it’s close enough to the truth, that Frank doesn’t think it’s a lie. It did take him a few days to warm up to Gerard, who smelled bad and was greasy, and he still often smells bad and is greasy, but he’s not greasy as often so that has probably helped. Though, to be fair, Frank would love this boy if he lived in a landfill.

“Fucking hell,” Gerard says, and he dives right into Frank, because he has been waiting for this moment for what feels like years and he does not want it to stop. He might die of asphyxiation but god would it be worth it.

Frank has never kissed anyone before. Ever. Gerard would be his first. But he thinks he’s got the hang of it, because it’s not entirely difficult. Just stick his tongue up in there and hope for the best, and if he’s not doing it right, well than neither is Gerard.

As much as Gerard loves the moment, because he does, a creeping fear runs through him when he realizes that he shouldn’t be doing this. Frank had the unspeakable happen to him only two weeks ago and now Gerard is kissing him. It’s wrong. He’s taking advantage of Frank, there’s no way not to see that. Frank is sensitive right now.

“Frank, I shouldn’t-” Gerard says, very suddenly, as he pulls away from Frank, who at first doesn’t realize he’s trying to stop it and tries to chase his lips.

“What?” Frank asks, looking confused and more than a little dejected.

“I feel like it’s just too soon, Frank.”

“But-” Frank starts, tentatively and then he realizes he probably shouldn’t, because he has never wanted anything more than he’s wanted Gerard apart from joining the NHL, so goddammit, he is not going to let this boy get away that easily. “Fuck, Gerard, I’ve been waiting to kiss you for months, please don’t tell me any excuses why we can’t continue to do that, because like, all I want right now is you. Like, period.”

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” Gerard says, and Frank sighs, because of fucking course Gerard’s going to be a good person about it. He’s caring empathetic, sweet, kindhearted, and more than just a decent human being and here Frank is wanting nothing more than to jump his bones. Stupid Gerard, being so perfect and beautiful. What a dick.

“Gerard, I kissed you.”

“I know that! Frank, I know, I’m just, I don’t want you to regret kissing me, and I don’t want you to do it just because you’re hurt inside, like I-”

“This isn’t new, Gerard,” Frank says, “my wanting to kiss you is far from new. The opposite. For fucks sake, I go to bed at night and dream about you holding me. I am miserable right now, Gerard, don’t get me wrong. Every second is suffering, and I feel like my feet are stuck in mud all the time, because like, just existing is hard. But a minute ago? When I was kissing you? That was the greatest I’ve felt in fucking years.”

Gerard doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know how to react in the slightest. Because this feels like it’s all happening too fast. Like he’s collided with a train.

Five minutes ago, Gerard was pining after Frank, sure that he was straight. Well, maybe not sure, but sure that he had no interest in Gerard at least. Because even if Frank is gay, or bi, or whatever, there’s no reason for why it should be him that Frank is attracted to. Like, of all the people. Frank’s seen Travie, right? Like he has eyes, which have seen Travie? And he’s aware of Pete too. And Patrick. Hell, Gerard doesn’t see it, but even Mikey is probably cute. But Gerard? Gerard is chubby, and greasy, and talks too much about comics, and he’s annoying, and people tend to get bored of his company pretty quickly.

The whole idea that all this time, Frank could have liked him back? That this entire time, Gerard’s been pining over a boy he was sure would never look twice at him, and now he finds out Frank felt the same way? They could’ve been together all this time and they wasted so many months just holding it in. But now Frank is in a precarious state, and Gerard doesn’t want to hurt him in anyway, because fuck if he doesn’t love this boy.

“I just, I feel like now isn’t the time. Not until you’re, you’re…” but he doesn’t know. Gerard doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to hurt Frank, because as it is, Frank is probably more likely to make mistakes, or do things that he’ll come to regret, and if Gerard hurts him… he couldn’t live with himself.

“Gerard,” Frank says, looking annoyed, because he is. He can absolutely guarantee Gerard that he’s never going to regret kissing him, that it’s not just because he’s been hurt recently. And even if things don’t work out between them, Frank wants to kiss him now. He’s not going to regret whatever they have. The bottom line is that he’s not looking for something just because of what happened to him. He’s wanted Gerard since before everything. And that is not going to change. “For fucks sake, Gerard, I’m in love with you.”

Gerard, looking down, is caught off guard by this, as anyone would be when someone who they thought didn’t like them at all only five minutes ago then declares they love them. He blinks at Frank, and he’s so pretty, he’s so nice to look at and did he just say what Gerard thinks he just said? Really? Him? Gerard? Frank loves him?

“You love me?”

“How can you not tell?” Frank exasperates. “Every time I see you, I feel like, I feel like this sort of desperation, because I can never be as close to you as I want to be. I can’t even begin to say it, like I miss you when I’m with you. I feel you when you’re nowhere near me. Like I’m fucking crazy for you, and I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t mean it. You’re my best friend, Gerard. And I’m in love with you. I never meant to fall in love with you, but your personality is fucking perfect and I hate you for it, but I also love you for it. You drive me wild.”

Gerard feels his eyes watering up, and he hates the melodrama. This isn’t supposed to be like this. He and Frank are supposed to ride off into the sunset, but things have gotten in the way. Things are permanently in the way. But it’s Frank. At the end of the day, it’s Frank. Gerard would do anything for Frank. And Frank loves him.

He’s shaking his head, and Frank doesn’t know what that means. Is it a good thing? What’s he shaking his head for? He whispers to himself, but Frank catches the words “this whole time.”

Yeah, this whole time. Frank has liked this boy the whole goddamn time, and Gerard seems like he might have also. The whole time. And they spent these months pining away after each other. Not kissing, not holding each other. Frank has spent so many days in this apartment watching TV and movies with Gerard and he could have been cuddling this boy while they did it, but they fucking didn’t. Frank feels like he’s missed out. He’s going to have to make up on lost time.

Gerard’s voice surprises himself, but he can’t hold it in. He doesn’t have it in him to keep Frank’s confession hanging when it’s so obvious Gerard loves him back. “I love you too, Frank. From day one. Indefinitely. I love you.”

“Then will you kiss me?” Frank says, practically pleads, “because, Gerard, I don’t want to be without you. I have waited for so long to so much as tell you I like you. But if you love me back, I can’t… I just can’t not without losing my sanity. And I’m barely sane as it is.”

Gerard doesn’t respond. He simply bites his lip, takes a step forward, and grabs the side of Frank’s face. And it’s perfect. Like he ever thought it could be anything else.

Gerard has kissed two people ever, one of which was a mistake, and one which was okay at the time, but was never going to pan out in the long run. But Frank is the first person he’s ever kissed who he can ever imagine being with. Like not, high school couple where all you do is hold hands and go to the movies. Not college couples who study together and watch Netflix on their laptops with one ear bud in because their roommate is sleeping. No, Gerard can imagine going into a department store, and picking out cookware with Frank. Like, getting matching cookware. The fancy shit that Rachael Ray sells. And going to Bed, Bath & Beyond to pick out bedding. And stopping at a flea market on the side of the road to buy a chair.

That’s what Frank is to him, even if, right now, he’s just the boy who wants to kiss him back. Frank is someone that Gerard spends time with and he feels himself growing younger. Frank’s company breathes life into him. He could just about fly.

“You’re sure?” Gerard mumbles against Frank’s lips. Because he still feels like maybe he’s doing something wrong.

“Positive.”

And maybe Gerard shouldn’t be this quick to jump into things. There’s a possibility that this isn’t going to end well. But he does believe Frank likes him back. No matter the events that have brought them both here, Frank does like him. So maybe Gerard should let things cool off for a little while. But Frank loves him. And Gerard loves Frank. And it’s so hard not to kiss him. It is so hard to stay away from him. And now that he knows he can have Frank, he doesn’t want to say no. Because this is Frank. His Frank. Perfect, wonderful, beautiful Frank.

If Frank honestly, truly wants Gerard in the same way Gerard wants him? Gerard will never be able to pull himself away.

And he’ll never have to.