R U Mine?

When Frank's car pulls up on the street corner next to Gerard's house, they both feel kind of nostalgic.

“Dad called the other day,” Gerard says as Frank stops the car. “She didn’t mention it to me, but I could tell because of the screaming… they’re not exactly friends.”

Frank’s face scrunches up a bit, as if he’s wondering what he should say, but he settles with nothing except for grabbing Gerard’s hand.

“I suppose that’s why I’ve been so bummed out lately. He…” he trails off, sighing quietly. “He wants me to go back to his, finish high school there and go to college there. The art school is better than SVA, he said.”

Frank’s upper gut clenches a bit, but he tries not to let it show. “How do you feel about all that?”

Gerard still doesn’t look at Frank. Probably because he doesn’t want to know if this is hurting him or not, since the truth would be much more final than what Gerard has to say right now. Assumptions are much easier to handle and Gerard can deal with that, he can, because it’s not something that’s necessarily real and there and important. “I don’t know. I suppose he only wants what’s best for me, but I’m not sure if I want what’s best for me. Frank, do I do what I want, or what’s best for me?”

And Frank’s conflicted because it’s not his choice to make, because he’s just as conflicted as him- maybe even more because Frank’s the one who will hate himself if he ends up regretting something. And it’s really shitty how he still feels like he owes something to Gerard; helpfulness, comfort, a choice- but he can’t give him one since he’s too selfish to even think about letting him go. Because Frank needs him, more than he’d ever admit out loud, and it scares him more than anything else ever has.

“I can’t tell you that,” he chokes out, “I shouldn’t. I’ll hate myself if I do that.”

And Gerard suddenly has tears in his eyes, because this is all just so fucked up. Because he still wants that small apartment on the zillionth floor of a really gloomy skyscraper, with band posters all around the walls and bed sheets that are never completely clean. He wants three plants that they’ll always forget to water, he wants a coffeemaker that won’t work properly and that will drive him crazy every single morning. He wants to go to work each day not knowing whose clothes he’s wearing, his or Frank’s. He wants to make out with him in their kitchen while dinner is cooking, he wants to marathon shitty sci-fi movies every Saturday evening as they’re binging on popcorn and Chinese food. He even wants to say ‘I do’ in a church whose God he doesn’t even believe in, and to have a wedding band wrapped around his ring finger until the day he dies- even if it means he’ll have to live with a last name that has way too many syllables in it and which nobody will ever know how to pronounce right at first.
And it’s stupid and scary and reckless, and, oh God, Gerard is way too young to think about that, but he’d do it tomorrow without hesitation if he knew everything would be okay later.

So he says nothing, because no words will make this easier, no words will take the tears from his eyes away. Frank pulls him to his chest and lets him ruin his shirt- he’d cry, too, but he won’t because if he does he’ll just add a dose of finality to all of this. And as Gerard fists his hands into the fabric, tightly, Frank’s fingers run up and down his back and his mouth utters words of comfort that that not even he, himself, believes. But it doesn’t matter; nothing matters when Gerard is in pain.

When the sobs turn into hiccups and the hiccups turn into whimpers, Frank tilts Gerard’s head up and wipes the tears off of his cheeks with his glove-clad palm. And Gerard smiles, sadly, catching air and sniffling ungracefully.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I go full-emo way too quickly sometimes.”

“It’s fine, baby,” Frank smiles. “You still want to go home?”

Gerard huffs, “More like ‘have to’. Mikey texted me this morning, telling me Brendon is extremely pissed at me for not attending his party the other night.”

Frank breathes a laugh, “You’re so dead.”

Gerard giggles, and fucking hell, it’s really concerning how Frank feels calmer just from feeling the small sound and the puff of breath backfire against his skin. “I am,” he smiles, and sniffles a little more. “Shit is fucked up, Frank. And I don’t know if I can take it.”

Frank brings his hand up to Gerard’s cheek one more time, crossing his thumb against one damp spot he missed earlier. Gerard’s eyes are all puffy and red, the capillary around them burst and purple against the light tone of his skin. He looks so wrecked, but it’s still kind of beautiful, and Frank doesn’t really want to acknowledge this to himself because he’s afraid he might out-gay himself even more than he already has.

“We’ll get by, somehow,” Frank says quietly, uncertain.

Gerard doesn’t look disappointed, just kind of sad, and he sniffles again before mumbling, “I think I better go now,” he tries to smile, but the corners of his mouth falter and he just ends up looking even more miserable than earlier. Frank appreciates the sentiment, though, and he kisses him slowly. “Off to my doom.”

Gerard kisses him again, and grips into the hug once more, before climbing off of Frank’s lap and waving goodbye.
Frank doesn’t watch him leave, and when he’s sure Gerard is nowhere close- he bangs his head against the wheel and whimpers out, “God-fucking-damn it.”

Thank fucking God he doesn’t cry.

*

And Gerard’s right, Brendon does shriek at him while Ryan is sighing and trying not to have his eyes fall out from rolling them too much. Patrick doesn’t really care, he just hugs Gerard and tells him he’s an idiot who never remembers to text his friends when he knows they’d be worried. Pete isn’t even there, he’s at his grandma’s over the holidays or something, but Gerard doesn’t mind much- he’s pretty sure Pete is the only one from the crowd that understands Gerard’s need to be alone sometimes. It’s nothing severe, really, he adores his friends- it’s just that Gerard fucking hates being the killjoy and he’ll do anything to avoid it, even if it means completely deleting his presence from the place they’re hanging out at.

Mikey’s the first one to notice Gerard’s absent-mindedness but he doesn’t voice it. He just lets Gerard knows he’s realized, that it’s okay, and Gerard doesn’t even fucking know how. Brother telepathy, or something, it doesn’t even matter- the important part of it all is that he’s offered to take them all out for ice-skating so they can “leave Gerard alone to rest, he hasn’t been getting all that much sleep lately, if you know what I mean.”

And Gerard doesn’t even care about the suggestive remark even though he’d usually elbow Mikey in the side for it, or the jokes Brendon makes as he kisses his cheek and strolls out of the door- he only wants to sleep. Preferably for the rest of his life, with Frank’s arm slung around his waist.

But dreams obviously don’t come true outside of TV screens, do they?

Notes

brought to you by a giant headache, sore fingers [playing the guitar is fucking science, man] and 'the power of failing' by mineral, which may or may not be my favorite record in the whole wide world at the moment.

i know it's short, and really shit, but i'm still suffering from writer's block & all i actually wanted was to update so you don't think i fell into a crack in the sidewalk or something.

life update: i dyed my hair black ... that's basically it, i don't really do anything interesting w/ my free time.

oh, also- shameless self-promo time: i have a new fic [which i also haven't updated in nine days, mind you. the already mentioned writer's block struck me hard on that one as well- i feel like stabbing myself tbh] & i like it a lot so far & you should check it out.

the kiss of vanity blessed me with a spiritual murder [i am so gr8 at insightful titles, i know right]

until, like, christmas

xomls