All We Need Is Daylight

Frank is very warm. That’s the first thing he notices. He’s very warm, and comfortable. He’s in a very nice bed. A lot nicer than he remembers his bed being, but maybe he was just really tired last night and that’s what makes it feel so great now.

He opens his eyes the slightest amount, not quite enough to wake himself up but enough to see what time it is. He notices the sun peaking through into the room, but his vision is too blurry for him to see anything else.

He yawns, with his whole body, stretching out his limbs around him to wake his muscles up a little bit. “Ow!” He hits something soft and then Frank, alarmed, looks over to see Gerard, looking very surprised to be awake, and Frank is suddenly aware that he just totally punched Gerard in the face.

“Fuck, sorry!” Frank says, looking apologetic, as Gerard rubs at his nose, blinking and groaning with clear annoyance. His immediate reaction is followed by the stark disbelief that he’s lying next to Gerard. That makes this comfy as hell bed Gerard’s bed, in this much nicer room than his dorm room, despite all the clothes and various clutter on the ground. Gerard’s dark grey covers with the soft blanket that he uses instead of a top sheet.

The night before rushes into him and he is scarce to believe it’s real. He can’t have actually kissed Gerard last night. But he did? Because here he is in his bed, feeling like he’s floating on a very warm cloud, Gerard beside him.

“You fucking hit me in the face?” Gerard says, confusedly, not quite sitting up but glaring over at Frank. It doesn’t entirely process for him either what it means for Frank to have fallen asleep right beside him.

Frank suppresses a smile at the way Gerard looks with his hair, which is definitely longer than would be ideal, literally everywhere. He’s got the soft face of a person who just woke up and he looks very much rattled at being awoken like this.

“I didn’t know you were there,” Frank says, now unable to stop himself from laughing at Gerard. “I’m sorry!”

“Asshole,” Gerard replies, apparently not seeing the humor. Frank just snorts, and rolls over, loving how comfortable he is. He’s in Gerard’s fucking bed. Fully clothed, which he’s not going to deny is both a relief and a letdown. He’s very warm, Gerard’s body heat running through him. Gerard’s mattress, while maybe not amazing, is not a dorm mattress made of bricks, so it is a very grand mattress in comparison.

“I didn’t think last night was actually real,” Frank says. “I thought I maybe dreamt it. Until I hit you in the face.” Frank keeps laughing and Gerard narrows his eyes, though he has to suppress a smile. But suppress it he does, because he wants to milk Frank hitting him in the face for a little bit longer to see what he can get out of it.

“Next time I’ll wake you up by throwing cold water in your face,” Gerard says.

“Next time?”

“Fuck off.” Please let there be a next time.

Frank grins. He leans over to Gerard, still completely horizontal, because neither of them is willing to lift their heads up more than just to look at each other. He’s so pretty. This is how Frank has always wanted to see him. Completely innocent, not made up at all. Unfiltered Gerard with hair everywhere, and barely-there stubble that makes him look like a real adult except for his babyish face.

He decides to test the waters by leaning over to kiss Gerard. If last night wasn’t a dream, then he’s going to kiss Gerard now, and then again, and then some more, and then never stop. Gerard lets him. His lips are so soft. And a little chapped. But Frank likes it.

“Oh fuck,” Frank says, pulling away quickly. “Your breath fucking reeks.”

Gerard, caught off guard because a second ago he was kissing Frank and it was really nice, now flails for the words he wants to say, but can’t find them. “Wh-what do you expect? It’s the fucking morning, I have morning breath.”

“I mean, yeah, but it’s really bad,” Frank replies.

“I also didn’t have the chance to brush my teeth last night because like, you were here.”

“Could’ve brushed your teeth, I wouldn’t have judged you,” Frank grins back at him. Gerard grabs the pillow from underneath his head and hits Frank with it. He just laughs so Gerard gives him a couple of extra whacks to be sure. He messes Frank’s hair up a bit by repeatedly hitting him with a pillow, but it somehow makes him looks sexier.

“You were too cute to let go of even for like a second, you little shit,” Gerard says when he finally puts the pillow down.

Frank keeps laughing at him but grabs Gerard’s arm and pulls him in to kiss him again, because apparently now he doesn’t mind Gerard’s breath. He laughs into the kiss a little, but Gerard kind of likes it. That’s not entirely true. Gerard really likes it. Also, Frank’s breath smells bad too. Vindication.

“God, you’re real, aren’t you?” Frank asks. Gerard smiles. Is this real? Is Frank really here? Kissing him? Him? He prayed for this for so long and it’s finally happening? Frank. Right here.

“I fucking hope so or I gotta call my mom.”

Frank doesn’t stop kissing him. For like a really long time they lie there. Frank holding onto Gerard for dear life and Gerard pinching himself to make sure he really is here. Frank bringing it up reminds him that this seems fake. Like it doesn’t seem like a real thing. He runs his hands all through Frank’s hair, the softness of him making it better. Soft lips, soft hair, soft skin.

When Gerard first saw Frank, this cute little thing, walk into his ice rink, it was instantly clear that he was beautiful. Gerard’s not one to shy away from recognizing that people are pretty, but there’s something unique about the way Frank looks. He was the same Frank then as he is now. But he was inside of himself. Like a butterfly in a cocoon and this is the real Frank. Ready to take on the world. Frank who wants to kiss him and let himself be vulnerable in Gerard’s arms.

Shitty things have happened to him. Gerard knows he can’t cure Frank of that. Knows that he can tell Frank he loves him a thousand times for a thousand years and it won’t ever make things go away or change history. It’s hard accepting that. Because he wishes so much that he could be a cure. He wishes he could feel the pain for him instead of forcing Frank to go through it. If he could erase what happened he would. He can’t, and that sucks.

Despite that, though, Gerard knows he can still bring something. He can make Frank smile and make him laugh. He can hold Frank when he’s hurt or beat a guy up who tries to hurt him. He can make Frank dinner when he’s too sick to move, albeit not very good dinner, but he’ll do it anyway.

Gerard isn’t a cure. But this is the happiest he’s seen Frank since before. Frank smiling, giggling, just because Gerard is beside him. Frank kissing him like he needs it, this is how Gerard wants him to always be. And it’s because of him. Gerard makes Frank feel this way. How could it be him? He doesn’t know if it really matters. It just is.

“I love you, Frank,” Gerard mumbles. It feels good to be able to say that, finally. All the times he’s thought it while looking at Frank, and he couldn’t even kiss him. Now he can do both.

He’d never said ‘I love you’ to anyone besides family before. It feels too soon to have said it to Frank, or at least, it would’ve felt that way if this weren’t Frank and it weren’t Gerard. It would have been stupid not to have said it.

“I know,” Frank responds, and Gerard punches him lightly.

“Think you’re fucking Han Solo,” Gerard says, pushing Frank off of him while Frank starts to laugh at him again. Gerard secretly likes it when Frank laughs at him. At him. Not at his joke. He likes it when Frank laughs at him.

“Too gay to be Han Solo.”

Gerard narrows his eyes at him, “Skywalker.”

Frank puts his hands up as if to say, ‘you got me,’ and Gerard rolls his eyes at him before he pulls himself up, facing away from Frank so that he can compose himself for a second. Breathing in a few times he tells himself to accept this as reality. Not a dream, a real thing.

It’s a very hard decision to make when Gerard pulls himself out of bed. He has to grapple with the pros and cons for about a minute before he’s even able to. He doesn’t want to get out of bed when his bed has a playful Frank in it who wants to kiss him, but he also needs to pee really bad.

“Noo,” Frank groans, why would Gerard take his warm, soft self away from him? How could he? What kind of a monster?

Gerard thinks of things that might appease him, because he agrees, standing up is not fair. It’s a cruel fact that anyone should ever have to get out of bed. “I have frozen waffles,” Gerard says finally.

“Shit, lead with that next time.” Frank is out of the bed before Gerard is. The both of them are still fully clothed, except Frank’s shirt looks slept in, but his ass still looks great in his jeans, so no one would really notice. Gerard is always unkempt so not much has changed.

Frank is already out the bedroom door by the time Gerard even stands up. Gerard watches him go, picturing what it would be like to propose to him, but that’s a worry for another day. But it would be a lot of fun. Frank’s so pretty.

He’s in a reverie, and only breaks out of it when he hears Frank say, “cool if I eat all of these? Yeah? Sounds good? Okay.”

“I- at least save me one, I paid for them!” Gerard responds.

“Sorry, can’t hear you,” Frank says back. Gerard wants to be this domestic every fucking day ever.

Gerard takes a minute to go to the bathroom, brushing his teeth for good measure, and then back into the living space which is the majority of his apartment. He’s always considered the kitchen and living room to be the same room. Frank is sitting on one of the tall chairs Gerard bought to put against the counter to make it a “breakfast bar” but which have rarely ever been sat at. All of his meals are eaten on the couch or in the rink, there is no other spot.

Gerard owns three plates. He owns two forks, two spoons, and a block of knives that his father gave him as a house warming present which have never been used for any reason other than to open plastic bags. Instead, Gerard uses paper plates and plastic cutlery because he hates the environment and also hates doing the dishes. Maybe more the latter. Frank understands this on a telepathic level, as the waffles are all layered on two paper plates. The plate in front of Frank has more waffles on it than the other. Gerard wants to marry him.

“So, I was thinking about it, and like, I’m really more of a Leia. I’m a space princess who don’t need no man. Also, I’m smarter than everyone else I know and enjoy flipping people off.” It feels like the day when Gerard took Frank out to breakfast a few months ago when he first got here. Frank is so normal. He’s so mellow right now. Gerard never wants that to change. For a while, it’s like Frank’s forgotten. He doesn’t remember it. Or at least, it’s not as important right now. He wishes he could bottle this moment and keep it with him. Make it so that Frank never has to drain down emotionally ever again. Because Gerard knows he will, and that’s not his fault.

Gerard has seen Frank’s highs and lows more than anyone else. Sometimes, Frank is his normal self, if a little bit less excitable. But this is the Frank that he watched comic book shows with and who got his first tattoo on Halloween and was so happy about it. Frank when all the guys go out for dinner after winning a game. Face on a cereal box Frank.

He doesn’t want to pity Frank, because he knows that’s the last thing that he wants from him. He doesn’t think it even is pity. Because he doesn’t think Frank is helpless. He definitely doesn’t think that. Frank isn’t helpless. He’s strong and resourceful, and so what if there have been bumps, he’s doing a good job dealing with everything that’s happened. No, Gerard doesn’t pity him, that’s not the word for it. He empathizes, or at least, picks up how Frank feels, to a much smaller degree, but he understands it. Frank’s emotions are always clear. You can never tell what he’s thinking, but you can always tell how he feels about it.

Frank tears apart the waffle in his hand like it’s candy. Gerard thinks it’s adorable. He doesn’t even care that he’s eating a waffle with his hands, because honestly, that’s how waffles are meant to be enjoyed these days.

Gerard runs through Star Wars characters in his mind, trying to think of who he really connects with. He’s not cool enough to be any of the main characters. “Listen, I’m a Porg, and I own it.”

Frank stops eating suddenly, turns to look at him and says, “Gerard, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.”

“What?” he asks, actually confused.

“It’s all well and good that you’re gorgeous and sweet, but you pointing out that you have the lovable cuddliness of a Porg is one step too far. You can’t be perfect and then add more on, that’s not how these things work. Sometimes I wish you were an asshole.”

“You need glasses, but I’ll accept the compliment.”

Gerard looks at Frank for several minutes as the apartment fills with natural silence. Frank is on his second to last waffle, out of how many, Gerard is afraid to ask. It feels like his entire life for the past few months has been leading up to this. Frank, in his apartment, being adorable and happy even if it’s just for a second. The sunlight streaming in through the thin curtains that don’t do much to contain it certainly helps. It’s harder to be sad in the sun.

However fleeting it feels, Gerard is happy and so is Frank. He knows that this isn’t going to last forever, that inevitably, what Frank’s gone through is going to catch up to him again and will continue to do so. That’s not to say Frank can’t be happy, it’s just going to be harder for him to maintain it, but Gerard will do anything to help him out. All he asks is for Frank to let him in.

He wishes this hadn’t all happened at the same time. Gerard wishes that he’d told Frank sooner, or told him at all, really. Maybe if they were together it never would have happened. Gerard could have been there and stopped it. Or at least maybe Frank wouldn’t have had to start going through this alone.

There’s nothing he hates more than the fact that he can’t make what happened go away. That he can’t suck the sadness out of Frank. All Gerard wants is for Frank to be happy, and right now it’s all he can see himself ever wanting.

“Why did this…” he stops to consider his words. He doesn’t know exactly what he wants to ask. “Why did this take so long? Like, why is this, why is this only now happening?”

The question sits in the air for a while before Frank responds to it, thinking over the many different reasons for why and not being able to put all of them into words. “It’s hard being gay in hockey.”

It does seem stupid now to know that Gerard has liked him this entire time and neither of them ever knew. It always felt like it might be a possibility in the back of his mind, but Frank is so used to having his hopes fall apart that he didn’t dare dream something might change. Not with something as huge and wonderful as this. Good things like love don’t happen to gay hockey players.

“I hate that. I hate it as an explanation, and it’s not like you’re wrong. I hate that it’s true.”

Frank sighs, looks at Gerard and he feels validation just with the sight of him. It’s so hard to forget why both of these things matter to him sometimes. He loves hockey so much, so goddamn much, how could anything else matter? But when Gerard smiles, what makes anything besides that important? Honestly, this is it. These are the two things he loves with all of him. Frank likes horror movies, and he likes punk music, but they don’t fill him up inside with the warmth Gerard brings. With the joy of hockey.

“I don’t want the world to be the way it is. Does anybody? I’ve spent a really long time feeling like a victim,” he says, feeling a lump in his throat. “And I am. I just am, I can’t deny it. Shit has happened to me. Being gay makes everything harder. But I want you to know that the stigma or the shit people would think, it doesn’t matter to me. Like, being with you for the twelve some hours I have, I know this is what I want. I want you. I want hockey. I don’t care if people don’t think you can do both. Because I want both.”

“This is going to be really hard, Frank,” Gerard says, and not in a sinister way, but as a warning. “Like, we can’t tell anyone really. We can’t be, we can’t be a public couple. Not if you still want to play hockey. Or at least not now.”

“I know, I’ve kept it a secret for as long as I’ve known myself. I don’t really plan on coming out, which I think is something a lot of people would tell me is wrong, but they have no idea what it’s like being in hockey at the same time. It won’t be hard keeping it a secret. I’ve hardly told anyone at all, and not until I came to college. Only like four people know. Nothing will change except I’ll be happier, because I’m with you now.”

He’s surprised to hear that Frank has told so many people, actually. Gerard isn’t even an active hockey player and he hasn’t told anyone. He doesn’t know how to. “Only Mikey knows,” Gerard says. “Oh, and Mikey knows that I like you.”

Frank thinks about it for a second and wonders if Gerard even had to tell him or if Mikey read his mind. “I trust Mikey. He’s your brother after all, and my friend, and teammate. And he’s also just a good person. But I don’t want to tell anyone right now, not even Mikey. Not while we’re like still two deers in the headlights.”

“How do you actually do it, Frank? Knowing what you know about the sport, probably about some of our teammates. They hate us. Or maybe hate is the wrong word but they don’t respect us. How do you still get on the ice with all that baggage?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Gerard swallows a lump in his throat, then whispers, “why do you think I quit hockey?”

“Oh god, Gerard,” Frank groans. The possibility had never occurred to him, but now that he hears it his heart falls. Gerard did the unthinkable, he quit hockey, and it was because he’s gay? He scoots his chair closer to Gerard’s, and puts his arm around him, which would feel like a reprise of being in bed this morning, except now it’s out of pity.

“I was just scared,” Gerard admits. The pain has dulled a lot in the past few years. He’s never admitted to anyone the real reason he left before. Gerard was never the greatest hockey player in the world. But he was good. He was really fucking good. And maybe the Green Knights did suck back then, so it was an okay excuse for leaving the team. But leaving the team, abandoning hockey because of fear has weighed on him since before he did it.

Truth be told there was one person in particular that scared him enough to quit, and Gerard gags just thinking about who that person is. His evil glare was strong even back then before he had his little posse. Back when Gerard still had reason to be scared of bullies. The person who almost ruined Gerard’s life, the same person who’s attempting to run Frank’s.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Frank says. Gerard feels the words rumble against his shoulder where Frank’s put his head. Gerard will never get used to Frank putting his head against him, how intimate it feels for them to be so close.

“It didn’t really feel like a choice at the time. It felt like a last resort.”

He had played hockey since he could remember. Gerard was too young to remember when he even got his first skates. He does recall when they put a three-year-old Mikey on the ice and he tried to chase Gerard around. Hockey, much like it is for Frank, was a second nature. It was like writing. He learned hockey the same way kids learn shapes. For his entire life, it was what he was.

“I think I knew before I started college,” Gerard says, “that I was different. But I didn’t want to be.” There was one weekend where he watched Ocean’s Eleven about four times in a row, and he wasn’t entirely sure why, but at the same time he just knew he wanted to keep looking at Brad Pitt and Matt Damon for as long as he possibly could. It wasn’t so much a sad realization as it was a disappointing one.

All of his heroes were straight, muscular badasses. Wayne Gretzky, possibly the second greatest hockey player of all time, after Frank. Scott Stevens, one of the most violent players on the ice, unfathomable to imagine him or anyone else being gay. So how could Gerard have ever be ranked among them? As what he is.

“It’s never too late, Gerard, you could find a team, a minor team, you could-”

“I actually am happy as a coach, Frank,” Gerard says. “In a lot of ways, as hard a decision as it was to make, I think it was the right decision. Being a coach has maybe respect the sport in a new way. I like understanding everything, every side, every perspective.”

“Times are changing,” Frank says. “There was that gay football player a few years back. Maybe someday…”

“I made my decision. I want you to play hockey forever, as long as it still makes you happy. Be less of a coward than I was. Hockey comes naturally to you, it’s part of you in a way it never was part of me.”

“I wish you never had to make a decision like that, though.” Frank has thought about it a few times, especially lately. But as time has proven, he can’t step away from hockey. He has hockey withdrawal symptoms from not playing it in weeks. Frank misses hockey in the way he had wanted to be with Gerard, fully, like a stake in his heart.

“It’s okay. It’s all for the best.” It might not be entirely the truth, but he doesn’t want Frank to pity him too hard. No matter what role he plays, hockey is always going to be one of his priorities. As a coach, he still loves the game the way he did when he played. He’s always going to love it.

Frank kisses Gerard’s jaw, pulling him closer to his body. The closeness has never felt more right. Gerard can’t wait for nights spent cuddling watching TV. He can’t wait for spooning in bed or kissing him like he’ll die without it.

It should be uncomfortable since they’re on two different chairs sat at his breakfast bar, leaning together in an awkward configuration. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable when it’s Frank though. He could stay like this for years, and he certainly would for an hour or two if Frank’s phone didn’t ring at that exact moment.

He sighs, then pulls away, to reach across the counter where he set his phone down. Gerard grins at the ringtone, which is a guitar riff from some heavy rock song that he doesn’t immediately recognize. It feels very on brand for Frank, though.

“Oh, shit that’s my mom,” he says when he looks at the phone screen. “I should probably take this.”

“Yeah, you probably should.”

Frank pulls himself out of the chair, which is too far off the ground for his feet to touch, so he has to hop down which is too cute for Gerard’s heart to bear. “Hey, ma,” he says as he walks over and takes a seat on Gerard’s couch. It’s not so much for privacy as it is because Frank knows conversations with his mother are usually between forty minutes to several hours and he’d like to be comfortable.

“Oh hey baby, how are you?” she asks in a tone like she hadn’t expected him to actually answer the phone. Frank has never not picked up the phone when his mother had called, he would never.

“I’m fine, thanks, uh, how are you?”

“I’m doing great, Frankie. Listen, the reason I’m calling is because I had Hayley over here last night, and she taught me how to put your games on the TV.” Frank is already dreading where this is going. If she watched that means she knows he wasn’t there. “Anyway, I was really surprised when I didn’t see you out there? Are you sick, honey?”

“Oh that’s cool that she did that?” Frank starts, because he’s not good at lying to his mother and he needs to work up to that. “I didn’t even know you could get my games since you’re like an hour and a half away.”

“Well, she had to find it on the internet, and I don’t really understand it, but she’s gonna come back next week to walk me through it again, because I’m getting old and don’t really understand these things, Frankie. But more importantly, are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just, uh, I’ve had like a bad stomach for the past few days and I really didn’t want to risk playing hockey and, uh, puking or anything like that. Would’ve been really bad if I had yacked all over the ice while you were watching, huh?”

“Oh, no Frankie!” she says, and it’s the tone that he knows means she believes him, but that brings on the obvious fear of her now being the overbearing mother who would slap a virus in the face if she could see it step close to her son. She’s not only got a bad case of the empty nest syndrome, she’s also the mother of an only child which makes it a whole lot worse. “I’m so sorry to hear that, you should’ve called me, I would’ve come down to take care of you, or maybe you should come back here for a few days-”

“Ma, I’m fine, really.”

“How bad is it? Have you thrown up at all, and how many times? Have you been to a doctor yet? You know the stomach flu is starting to make its rounds, you should definitely go see a doctor, have you gotten your flu shot? Or what if it’s more serious? It could even be a tape worm, you know Diane from my gardening club got a tape worm last year, and she was sick for weeks before she got it checked out-”

“I think it’s just bad food, Ma,” Frank says. He looks over at Gerard who’s looking down at his own phone, thumbs messing around so he’s either texting many people all at once, or more likely, playing one of those goddamn dragon games.

“What are they feeding you down there? Certainly not as good as my food, I’d never let you get sick.”

“I eat a lot of salad, maybe just dirty lettuce, I honestly don’t know, it’s not that big of a deal. I was feeling kind of bad, but now I feel like, a whole lot better, a whole lot. I have a friend of mine helping me out, he’s definitely making me feel better.” Frank looks again at Gerard whose face has shot up at his words. Frank smiles at him while Gerard blushes.

“Frankie, you know, it’s a weekend, I could just drive down there and-”

“You really don’t have to.”

“But it’s been so long since I last saw you! And I know you can’t come home because of all your practice, which I wish wasn’t the case. I could just stop by tonight and I can just cook you dinner! Just make you real food for a change.”

“I’ve got plans tonight, I’m watching movies with some friends,” Frank replies, remembering the horror movie marathon Pete invited him to. Gerard had said he’d only go if Frank went with. Now he understands why.

“Then how about tomorrow night?”

“I don’t even have a kitchen,” Frank says, “you couldn’t even cook.”

Frank watches as Gerard looks around his apartment, particularly at his own kitchen and then points to it, as Frank looks back at him. Frank puts his hand over the speaker of the phone as his mom talks, and mouths words at him. Gerard mouths a few words back. It’s not quite an argument but the gist of it is:

“I have a kitchen.”

“My mom is just being crazy.”

“Yeah, but I have a kitchen.”

“She wants to cook me ‘real food.’”

“Well, I have a kitchen.”

Frank hears her explaining more things about how she doesn’t like not being able to cook for him anymore, and how he doesn’t call enough, and how it feels like he’s drifting away from her as they speak.

“—and you know Julietta’s son hasn’t even called her since he started, can you believe that? She has to be the one to call him. We don’t speak enough either, Frankie, I wish you called me more, but at least you do still call me, even if it’s because you don’t know how to file your financial aid—”

“Ma, I’ve got a friend who’s got a kitchen,” Frank interjects.

“What!” her lecture stops immediately at those words.

“He’s, I mean he said it was okay, he’s here with me.” Gerard nods encouragingly at him, then points to himself, and mouths something about wanting food. “As long as you make him food.”

“Frank Iero, I can’t believe you think you even need to ask, what kind of a mother do you think I am? What does your friend like to eat? Is he a vegetarian like you?”

“No, no he’s not,” Frank says.

“What would he want then? Frankie, give the phone to him, I need to talk to him.”

“I- ma, is that entirely necessary?”

“I want to make sure I make something he’ll like, it’ll only take a second,” she says. Frank just sighs, because he knows his mom well enough to know she’s not going to take no for an answer.

“She wants to talk to you,” Frank says, holding the phone out to Gerard. Gerard looks around him at the empty apartment looking for someone else that Frank could be talking to. He then points to himself, with the question on his face, and Frank just nods.

Gerard walks over from his spot in the kitchen and accepts the phone from him. “Hi, Ms. Iero.”

Frank can only hear the one side of the conversation, but he’s pretty sure he knows what she’s asking. First, she asks him his name. Then she asks him how he’s doing. No, he’s not still in school otherwise he would tell her how his classes are going.

“I’ll eat just about anything.” There’s a pause. “Yeah, I like pie… I’m Italian… I did know Frank was Italian… Yes, Frank is really special… Probably my best friend.” Gerard is on the phone with her for a solid ten minutes. At some point Frank is pretty sure she adopts him. His mom is the purest, most amazing person to have ever stepped foot on this planet and he would die for her. She also has a habit of making other people wish she was their mom. She adopted Hayley a long time ago as well.

Eventually, Gerard gives the phone back to Frank, whose sitting, very bored, on the couch, without his phone so he can’t play any of those goddamn dragon games. Instead he looks at the clutter on the coffee table, with mug circles all over it from where Gerard should have used a coaster.

“Gerard is a very nice boy, Frankie.”

“Yes, he is,” Frank says, blushing, because she doesn’t know the half of it.

“So, I’ll come down tomorrow in the late afternoon, okay Frankie? I’ll see if Hayley wants to come with too, she really misses you, not as much as I do, but that’s not possible.”

“I miss you too,” he says, which is the truest thing he’s ever said. He doesn’t necessarily want her to have to make the trip, but he also really wants to see her. Even if he can’t tell her everything, Frank has never gone through anything this traumatic, and has certainly never gone through anything and not immediately went to his mother for support. Being an adult is hard.

“Love you too, ma,” he says, after the five minutes it takes to get his mom off the phone, though truth be told he’s not complaining. She sounds like an angel. “See you tomorrow.” Frank finally hangs up the phone and makes a long, exasperated sound then looks over the back of the couch to where Gerard is sitting, blinking at him with his big round eyes which Frank could melt into.

“I love your mom,” Gerard says.

“Join the club,” Frank says.