So, Gerard actually has expected Walmart brownies, maybe Pepsi and popcorn if Frank’s feeling especially festive today.
What he doesn’t expect is to find Frank cursing at the oven, an apron around his waist as the kitchen looks like someone's hardcore trashed it, cleaned it thoroughly, then trashed it again.
The entire apartment is covered in Christmas lights, a fucking diminished tree in the middle of the living room and decorated with those swirly candy shits and balls that look like they’re about to lead the poor tree to its death.

He’s barely gotten out of the family Christmas dinner- thank goodness for Pete and his cousin Gabe and some party at some guy’s place and Mikey having to go- the rule is ‘if Mikey doesn’t have to, I don’t have to either’ and even grandma supported him there. His house is also all decorated [and a lot better than Frank’s at that] but fuck, nothing feels more like Christmas than this.

He creeps into the kitchen and grabs Frank’s waist, pulling him into a hug he hasn’t gotten since a few days ago. Frank’s sweater has reindeers on it and it’s typically and tackily green and red, but it’s so cute Gerard wants to die at the spot.

“I smell mac and cheese and I’ve never felt more loved in my entire life,” he nuzzles his face into Frank’s neck, smiling.

“It was supposed to be a surprise…” Frank says, biting his lip. Oh- talking about surprises- the gloves he’s bought for Frank are currently stashed deep inside his coat in the hallway. He did feel like something was missing, though, so he grabbed one of his Frankenstein & Co. sketches, drew him a flower crown and an Arctic Monkeys t-shirt and shoved it into an orange, spotty frame.
Frank is so going to hate him.

“I don’t care, I love it,” he smiles and flips him around before kissing him tenderly. “What are you doing for New Year’s, by the way?”

Frank smirks. “What we’re doing is still a secret.”

Gerard grins wide and kisses him again.

*

“If we ever get married, I’m cooking,” Gerard coughs, peeling the burnt layer of cheese off of his plate. “I don’t even care.”

The mac and cheese Frank’s made is… politely said, mildly horrifying. It doesn’t taste half as bad as it looks, though, but it looks like it was burned alive, eaten and thrown up, and then served again- so, you might as well ask yourself how bad exactly ‘half as bad’ is. And yes, you’re totally welcome for that mental image. And the mindfuck.

But like, the food is the last thing on Frank’s mind when Gerard mentions marriage, obviously; and even though it’s in a funny sense it makes his insides churn slightly. He isn’t sure if it’s in the good way but he honestly doesn’t care, because, well, yeah, you bleed [debate] just to know you’re alive.
That probably doesn’t make any sense if you don’t listen to the Goo Goo Dolls. Which Frank does. Because the name is fun to pronounce and their songs make him want to cry. [Best combo ever.]

It’s an understatement to say he sounds ‘slightly caught off guard’, “If we ever what?”

Gerard frowns. He kind of feels like he’s said something wrong but it’s not like he can take it back now. So he just goes with it. Because that’s how Gerard Way solves problems- by not solving them at all. “Get married,” he emphasizes. “I’m, like, the best housewife ever.”

“You don’t even shower when you’re supposed to.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “That has literally no connection to being a great housewife. I can cook wonders.”

Frank almost chokes on his food. He’s not sure if it’s because it’s plain hideous, or just because he’s legit cackling, though. “I’ll take you up on that one, babe.”

“You better,” Gerard scolds. He’s kind of glad this whole marriage thing is left alone, since he really has no idea why he’s said it- it’s not like he wants to get married at 18 and become a mother at 19 already. And yes, that was a joke, because Gerard is a guy and the author has no sense of humor at all. And Gerard can fucking tell you that same person totally isn’t shamelessly breaking the fourth wall as we speak. “It’s almost, like, ten o’clock and we’ve done nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean nothing.”

Frank looks down at his plate and sighs sadly. “I should never cook. Like, ever.” And then he registers what Gerard has said and grimaces at him. “No, I thought that by ‘nothing’ you meant something that’s not ‘nothing’ because that makes so much sense.”

Gerard sighs. “You lost me at ‘something’.”

Frank then looks at him and starts laughing. “I really fucking love you, you know that?”

Gerard grins wide. “I know,” he motions at his plate and cringes slightly, “but you really can’t cook.”

Frank sighs, loudly, “Okay, Delia Smith, you’re gonna bake tomorrow, then.”

Gerard eyes him suspiciously. No, you don’t bake on Christmas Day. You don’t do anything on Christmas Day. [Except for sex. He wouldn’t complain if it were sex.] “I’m not doing anything tomorrow. It’s Christmas.”

Frank sighs. “That’s what he said.”

“No, that’s what Gee said,” Gerard mumbles and every little motion Frank is making freezes. Then he slowly lifts his head upwards and fixes him with an icy glare.

“You did not just say that,” he breathes out.

“You bet I did.”

*

It’s literally five minutes to midnight and all Gerard’s gotten for Christmas so far has been a messy handjob and a cuddle while watching Barbie in the Christmas Carol. He’s spent almost half an hour making Frank watch it with him- imagine the torture. But still, it’s not like Frank can say no to him- he never can. [Gerard totally isn’t currently smirking because of that fact.]

“This song is going to haunt me forever now, even though I've heard it so many times before,” Frank grunts as the credits roll on the TV. “It's scarred me now. Stop it Eden, with your fucking Christmas tree, and its branches and all the other fucking shit.”

Gerard giggles and buries his head into Frank’s neck. “I’d tell you to fuck off, but you’re cute when you swear at things that are supposed be endearing to everyone. It’s like… pancakes. You swear at pancakes a lot.”

Frank rolls his eyes, “I swear at, like, everything.”

“Except for me.”

“That’s because I love you.”

Gerard hums, content. “I’d never tell.”

“Shut up, you love me, too.” Frank lifts his chin up so he can look at his face.

“I do,” Gerard confirms. “Now let me go, I need to go get your gift- there’s like two minutes until Christmas.”

Frank lifts up an eyebrow. “Does that mean it is… two minutes to midnight?”

Gerard smirks, “I’ve taught you well.” He kisses him quickly and clambers up onto his feet, shooting a smile Frank’s way while walking into the hallway.

Frank won’t deny the fact he stares at his ass all the way until it disappears behind the corner.

*

“I fucking hate you,” Frank glares at the frame, then the picture, then directly at the shirt Frankenstein’s monster is wearing. “I fucking hate you so much. Do you know how much I hate you?”

“Do I wanna know?” Gerard offers him such a huge shit-eating grin that his face almost falls off.

Frank just sighs. “You’re like a living, breathing pun.” [a/n: this sounds like something that could end up on badmcrfics]

“I don’t have a comeback to that, but be sure I’ll text you when I think of one,” Gerard smiles and kisses his cheek lightly. “I know you love it, though.”

Frank chuckles. “It’s kind of sad, but I fucking do.”

“Moving on. I have another thing for you,” he says as he reaches for the other thing he’s put behind his back [very creative] and throws a pair of skeleton gloves at Frank. “Catch, or something.”

“This is so amazing,” Frank’s eyes light up and he holds one up, inspecting it like he’s never seen anything more awesome in his entire life. Gerard feels so proud he might as well just blow up. “Thank you so much, I’m gonna wear these forever.” He grins, wide, and then kisses Gerard on the lips as the younger is still smiling.

“I thought you’d like them.”

“My turn,” he smiles and hops off the couch, walking across the room and vanishing into the hallway. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re brilliant because these are so fucking hard to find,” he yells from the direction of his room. “And I almost gave up, but then I remembered Mikey.”

Gerard furrows his brow. Has Frank gotten him, like, a space shuttle? Well, okay, it’s not really likely that his brother has any idea of how and where to buy a space shuttle, so he guesses it’s not that, after all. And, ew- aliens. He’s fucking watched The Fourth Kind and let him tell you- that shit’s creepy.

And as he hears something clacking he’s kind of attacked by mental images of Frank flying back into the living room in a space shuttle, but then he hears footsteps and Frank is in the room again. Without a space shuttle. [This also sounds like something that could end up on badmcrfics.] Gerard sighs in relief.

“Wonder Woman boxers are damn hard to find, babe,” Frank sighs and throws them at Gerard, aiming at head and scoring. [Badmcrfics should just post a link of this entire chapter.]

Gerard just stands there, baffled, for a moment, but then he literally jumps up and hops into Frank’s lap, kissing him like his life literally depends on it. Shit, space shuttles are so overrated- but boxers? Darn.

“You’re the lamest person in the entire current and past and future existence, but dang do I love you.”

“There’s more,” Frank says when Gerard pulls him downwards onto the couch again. His face suddenly turns a bit more serious. “But it’s not here, as in here. I..." he looks hesitant, "I have ordered you two tickets for an Arctic Monkeys concert.”

Gerard is just speechless for a moment, but then tugs him into a giant hug. This is impossible. His entire life is impossible. Fuck, everything is impossible and it's all a dream and we're all just an illusion of some chimpanzee who lived like 4 million years ago and wanted more out of their life than just eat bananas and chill on trees and fuck bitches. “You know… you’re the best, like, ever. I love you.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“I know.”

“You can take whoever you want with you, though,” he smiles, “it’s in New York, but still.”

“You’re aware of the fact that I’m going to take you and I don’t give a shit, right?” Gerard nudges him with his shoulder, a smile on his face as one creeps over Frank’s lips as well.

“Maybe,” he bites his lip, and then looks at the clock. “It’s past midnight.”

Gerard grabs the collar of his sweater, pulling him closer, “Merry Christmas, then.”

“Yeah,” Frank smiles, and kisses him gently. "Merry Shitmas."




Christmas sucks. But so does Frank Iero, and he rules at it. Gerard has said so himself.

Notes

It has been done.

I'm not as mean as you think and I totally won't make you die of cliffhangers in the last chapter.

I'm not that shitty. [But I soon will be.]
Anyway, you're all bananas and I really wanna thank y'all for sticking around. This thing has been totally fun to write even though I sometimes really wanna slap myself for making it all so peachy [I should just stop]. But yAS, there will be a sequel [not as many dick jokes, at least not in the second half- I fucking promise].

But, uh, if you want it to be the exact copy of YSD, I advise you not to read it. [?] Because I really don't want to disappoint you or something, yeah.

Anygay, it was great, now we're gonna move on and pretend I haven't made this entire thing roll around the Arctic Monkeys, puns and Gerard being an idiot. [Slow clap for My-Low Lame.]

But you really are bananas [which means 'rad and perf and iLY' - trust me, I'm a scientist.] and, well, see ya. [My current YSD-oriented schedule is like 'edit, cry because it's over, edit, cry because I need to edit, sequel, edit, cry because I need to write the sequel and it needs to be good, write, edit, cry because I hate my life'.]

Signing off,

xomilesthemoronicgardengnome

P.S.- I'll inform you when I post the first chapter of the sequel. <3