---

---

and brother if you have the chance to pick me up?

---

---

Mikey doesn’t text. Not even when he moves in, or his birthday the day after. Gerard doesn’t even see him in the residence hall lounge or anything. He doesn’t go out much though. He staggers to class most days but a few he can’t even give enough of a damn to get out of bed.
The day after Mikey’s birthday, Ray tells him this is the worst he’s ever seen him and Gerard shakes his head and feels a little sorry for Ray because he still feels like he’s only standing on the precipice of the pit.
Gerard usually looks forward to Bad Poet. Not because it’s Pete’s thing, and not because of the crowd but because it makes him write, or be exposed to writing at least, and he feels like that’s probably the most important part of being creative.
(Gerard really wants to start being creative again; Mikey’s comment still chimes hollow inside him.)
He can’t help resenting the idea of going, though.
“I’m not going,” he’s growling at Ray, pouring himself a cup of coffee and grabbing a beer out of the fridge in the same go. He ignores Ray’s disapproving stare from the couch. Ray is fully dressed and has already been to his morning class, he has his hair back in a ponytail and an uncapped highlighter in one hand and Gerard kind of hates how put together he looks. He downs half his coffee and pulls at the sleeves of his old sweater, stretched at the shoulder and stained at the hem. He’s wearing that and boxers and black socks and he’s got last night’s eyeliner on his face and he looks and feels disgusting but he doesn’t really give a shit about changing it right now. His insides feel a little too hollow.
“You’re coming with me, I don’t care what you fucking say, Gerard,” Ray’s insisting, even though it’s a losing battle and some part of Gerard just wants to scream at him but there’s no fucking point because Ray would only look at him with that fucking concern behind his eyes and shut his mouth and nod and look down and that would be that. Sometimes Gerard hates his best friend. (But he’ll thank him for it later.)
Gerard lights a cigarette and holds it with his coffee, plunking the beer down on the coffee table. Ray carefully lays his fingers on the rim of the can and slides it to the opposite edge of the table from Gerard. He opens the tab without looking at it and takes a sip, then sets the can back down on the opposing corner.
Gerard knows full well what he’s saying, but he just stands and walks to the fridge.
“If you wanted one you could have said so,” he mutters.
“Gerard,” Ray says. He says it in The Voice(™), which isn’t a thing he does often, because The Voice(™) for Gerard and The Voice(™) for Ray signal two very different things, and Ray knows this. He uses The Voice(™) only when he absolutely needs Gerard to listen. Gerard freezes, and he sits, and he looks at Ray and hates himself a little inside but he just angrily drags on his cigarette and stays put.
“You’re going to come with me to Bad Poet tonight. You’re not going to drink anything.”
And so it is.

---

For once in his life, Gerard is early to Bad Poet. He intentionally avoids Pete by making a beeline for the bar-and-snacks-room and not even saying hello to Andy at the door. He mixes himself a drink under the only somewhat false pretense of pouring himself coffee (considering he’s drinking liquor in his coffee) and drops his satchel and looks around for Jon.
Because seeing the dealer always comes before poetry and art.
He tracks Jon down out in the corner of the larger room talking to Andy at the door and Gerard groans, leaning against the wall with his coffee and blowing a few solemn skulls in impatience before pulling out his phone to text Lindsey and complain at her for having to work.
Mikey’s texted. Gerard swallows his emotional response at first, because his insides might flutter out of him and that would probably manifest in puking and just because Mikey’s better at it, it doesn’t mean Gerard can’t look calm in a crisis. Sometimes.
Then Max backhands him gently in the arm to get his attention, and grins at him. Gerard nearly jumps out of his skin and drops his phone back into the back pocket of his bag.
“Hey, you buying?”
Gerard raises an eyebrow. “What you got?” He watches Jon cross the room and start talking to Pete and groans inwardly.
“Kitty, xanax, a couple other benzos,” Max says it, he keeps his eyes on Pete (he’s angry, a little, deep down. Gerard can’t put his finger on why.) Gerard shoots Pete his first death glare of the night. Gerard concedes to buying and they’re only just finishing up when a walking homosexual Christmas tree literally fucking adorned in roses walks through the door.
Okay, so maybe he’s not a Christmas tree, (Gerard has a flair for the dramatic, he might not even be gay) but he is literally adorned in roses. He’s got a vest with them coming up the front and some sort of black-and-red design all over his face and Gerard thinks he looks, firstly, very flimsy, and secondly, really, really incapable of even trying to throw a punch. For that, Gerard likes him immediately. He’s not enjoying this ‘punch hot guys in the face-get kicked in the shin thing’ he’d rather start keeping punching entirely out of his interactions with hot guys. (In the subsequent hours he will learn how ironic this first impression is.)
Gerard lets his eyes flick down so the guy doesn’t realize he’s being watched and blows a few steam skulls before considering stepping out for a cigarette. Max picking up the new kid in his pre-poetry music venture and Pete joining in makes Gerard decide that he definitely needs a smoke.
He stands with Andy, thinking idly that he’s about fifty percent sure what he was just sold probably wasn’t kitty, and how the filter of his cigarette is just a little damp and about how it looks like it’s about to rain. (And then it starts raining.)
By the time Pete’s started, Gerard knows he, firstly, hasn’t slept in the past few days, and secondly, he’s been crying consistently for most of them. He can see those things in Pete. He used to care. Now he’s just a degree of separation beyond giving a damn. He watches Pete dull and empty, (as he fails to mention Gerard, even though Gerard’s technically got stake in this complex and he helped manifest this shit for Pete), and looks back when he hears Lindsey’s voice shooting Jimmy down. Goddamnit. She’s supposed to be at work.
Why didn’t she tell him?
(Gerard’s starting to think he might be losing her.)
She catches his eye from the back and gives him this helpless little shrug.
Gerard tunes Brendon out, moving back to sit on the other side of Lindsey and waving quietly to Jimmy, who’s glaring at Max and Craig in the front row, but pauses long enough to give Gerard a huge grin (and a whispered “you skinny motherfucking bitch” in greeting) and Gerard just lays his head on Lindsey’s shoulder because he’s tired and half-drunk and lonely and his insides feel like a blown egg crumbling under the pressure of the outside air.
When Gerard takes the stage, he makes sure to make a quick pass by Will, who’s sitting on the end of one row, and lean down to his ear to whisper into it.
“How’s the sex tape thing going?” he murmurs, and Will goes pale, and Gerard keeps walking, smirking and throwing a glance back because Will’s look of terror is probably one of the most hilarious things he’s ever seen. It actually kind of gives him the courage to get up on stage. He doesn’t even bother prefacing his poem anymore.
“Been weeks I been living,” Gerard’s saying before he’s even really taken a breath, “and your smiles are giving all sorts of treble. Weak knees I been given, and those nights are making me star-struck and metal.”
Lindsey holds his eyes while he reads because she knows he needs it. He clutches his coffee cup because he didn’t think about setting it down and now he feels fucking stupid, but he holds steady.
He has to.
“Stay free, don’t go, cuz we don’t need no… we don’t need no,” Gerard stutters, repeats, glosses over it with that artsy poet breath that catches the meaning up in emotion and drowns the words themselves, “Try to be living as your vice, can you be my type? Cuz we need to be given a good life, can I be your type of metal?”
When Gerard finishes the poem, he does so with shaking, rattling breath. Because he didn’t realize he wrote it about Him (™ that is; Mikey, not the big guy in the sky.) until now. He has to stop himself from crying as Sidney Sierota takes the stage (they’ve all got the same heartbeat but hers is falling behind) from him, and he buries his face in Lindsey’s shoulder and she pets his hair, gentle, and Gerard wishes desperately that he and her were different people. He wishes they could have made whatever they had work, he wishes she wasn’t like this and he wasn’t either and he. His heart stutters in his chest, and then Ray’s on stage, and Ray’s poetry always shuts him up.
Ray’s good people.
(Gerard really loves Ray.)
He’s getting a little more drunk.
“There’s always so much mystery in other people,” Pete is saying then and he’s looking straight at Gerard and Gerard fucking breaks. (Some year and a half prior, Gerard had leaned against a railing at Cobra house and a broken, bag-eyed kid had bummed a cigarette from him and without warning, Gerard had just said ‘there’s always so much mystery in people you don’t know’ and it was a fucking pick up line. It was a fucking pick up line and Pete’s put it in his poem and--)
“They did a study,” Pete looks like he’s almost struggling for air, Gerard watches his eyes flick to Andy, “and found that countless men would choose gambling over love if given the chance, even more would choose pornography over love if given the chance.”
“We’re cavemen, it seems like that will never change. I wonder if the men they studied have ever really been in love? For whatever reason it seems like we’re against love,” Pete shrugs a little, curling down around the mic like he does, “Everyone equates it to gullibility or dirties it up, makes it cheap with lingerie shows and boxed candy, I’m writing Her from a Super 8 because I can’t go home.”
Gerard’s blood stills for a second. It’s been a hot minute since Gerard’s heard Pete write about Her; the girl he got pregnant late this summer, the girl no one at Bad Poet has knowingly met. The girl who may or may not exist but who’s caused Pete existential pain. Gerard knows talking about her here means Pete’s slipping again. (They all are.)
“It depresses me to think about. Sometimes love is just cheap, when given the chance, many people choose cocaine over love.” There’s a pointed barb in those words, Gerard knows it because he and Pete make eye contact and Pete just looks on solemn, with that burning anger behind his eyes.
(Gerard wonders what he does to get people so angry at him in this way. They won’t scream at him, they won’t fucking try to kill him or beat him to shit, maybe that would be cathartic, but no, it’s always the blank stare laced with rage behind the eyes. It hurts. It makes Gerard feel hollow.)
Gerard takes a long, pointed swig of coffee. Pete drops his eyes from Gerard’s, and continues softer.
“I wouldn’t say that’s a bad choice,” he’s almost whispering into the mic, and he glances at Gerard one last time before continuing to the end.
Pete’s followed by Victoria, then Tyler, then Vic (who Gerard hasn’t seen in weeks), and Volpe (who Gerard’s been avoiding since early last summer), and then the night wraps up and there’s a little more music and Gerard’s slipping out, standing under the tiny awning and lighting a cigarette and bumming one to Lindsey.
“It’s raining,” he says helpfully, watching his community slowly filter out and then he does what his lungs probably meant as a gasp but comes out as a wheeze and scrambles to dig his phone out of his bag.
“What?’ Lindsey’s asking with concern as Ray sidles over.
Gerard stares blankly at the texts from Mikey.
(at four.)
I’m dating Frankie.
(at four-thirty.)
I don’t know what to think anymore. I’ve lost you, haven’t I? Do you care?
(at five-forty-five)
How bad of an idea would it be to tell mom? Your mom. Our mom.
(at six)
I don’t want to hold onto this anymore. I’m not what you want me to be.
(at six o-five.)
Call me, please.
Gerard isn’t sure if something should be breaking inside him. He feels like it should. That’s probably what he’d tell someone if they asked if he’s okay. But really he just feels numb. When he reads them the first time, there’s a vague, distant, dull crunch in his chest, but beyond that, he just feels tepid and still and his bones ache a little.
“Are you okay?” Lindsey asks at the same time Ray does.
“It feels like something’s breaking.”

---

Gerard makes himself wait to contact Mikey until he and Ray are home, and Lindsey’s sitting on their couch and Gerard’s pacing a strip in the carpet.
“What does that even fucking mean? I’m not what you want me to be? Of course he’s fucking not! I just want him around!” Gerard’s almost-screaming. (He was screaming a few minutes ago, but the RA for their floor, Pierre, dropped in and told him to shut the hell up.)
“Do you, though?” Ray asks, level, he doesn’t look up from his homework or beer. Ray knows too much, and Gerard knows he does and the way he says it fucking breaks Gerard and.
“Huh?” Lindsey’s murmuring and Gerard goes to the fridge and gets himself a beer and slams half in his first go.
“Okay,” Gerard mutters, he stares blankly at the fridge. There’s a scrawl of sharpie in the corner from James which is probably six months old now. (Somehow they’ve hid it for every room inspection that’s happened in the past six months, which, luckily, have been few and far between.)
“Okay,” Gerard repeats before slamming the second half and making the basket in the recycling bin, “Okay I’m doing this.”
“Wanna get high first?” Lindsey asks, because she knows the veneer of determination and bravery Gerard is putting up is paper thin, but Gerard shakes his head, and goes for another beer as he dials, clicking the tab and starting at it as soon as the dial-tone sounds.
He puts his phone to his ear and gives Lindsey and Ray an apologetic look before retreating to his room with his phone and his beer.
It’s raining again but it’s stopped smelling like rain and Gerard opens his window as he sits on his bed, lights a cigarette and stares out the window at the rain dashing leaves from the trees to the ground with a sense of hollow disappointment, the trees are bending under the weight of the wind out there. The line is busy, so Gerard calls back and his fingertips are starting to buzz with anxiety so he finishes his beer before he does and he might be just a bit buzzed himself by the time Mikey’s picking up on the sixth ring.
“Gerard?” Mikey’s murmuring into the phone and Gerard knows he’s drunk and he knows nothing good’s going to come out of this but he doesn’t have the judgement to hang up now.
“Fuck you, Mikey,” Gerard breathes. He’s trying not to let the fact he’s already fucking tearing up get to his voice.
“What the fuck?”
“Fuck you,” Gerard repeats.
“Seriously? You’re the one who fucking left. You’re the one who fucking ignored me when I visited. You’re the one who can’t remember jack shit when I try,” Mikey’s faltering, takes a drink, Gerard can hear his throat work over the line (counting down the days to go, it just ain’t living), “When I try to fix things. So just. Fuck off.”
“Why’d you tell me you’re fucking dating Frank? And when the fuck have you ever tried to fix anything? You're the one who fuckin broke it.”
“Because I wanted to know what you fucking think,” Mikey slurs it, putting as much aggression behind his voice as he can and Gerard feels the dull crunch again, he takes another step back from his emotions. He tries to cut whatever ties he has. “I…” he’s somewhere close to yelling but he loses steam by the end, “I wanted you to be fucking jealous. Or happy. Or something.” Something stirs in Gerard. Faint embers of hope. He douses them.
“Big brother,” Mikey’s murmuring then, “Things won’t ever be the same, will they?”
Gerard wants to scream that maybe he doesn’t want them to be. He wants to curse Mikey out for ever wanting things to be like they used to. He doesn’t even think how the truth will sting more than saying either of those things. (But he’s always told Mikey the truth and he doesn’t feel like now’s a time to quit.)
“Nothing’s ever gonna be the same as it was, that’s fucking life, Mikey. Grow the fuck up,” Gerard spits into the receiver, and he’s crying and he’s trying to sound angry to cover it because fuck if he doesn’t want Mikey to think he’s not crying over him.
A car alarm goes off in the dorm parking lot. Gerard tries not to feel anything when he hears the little gasp and sniffle which means Mikey’s started crying too. He realizes with a distanced ache that he can hear the car alarm on the other line, too, with a half second delay. (So close yet so far.)
“You grow the fuck up,” he’s saying, trying to keep his voice steady so Gerard doesn’t know he’s crying (too late.)
The rain goes on outside. It doesn’t care. He hears giggling from a girl floors down outside the window and flicks his butt out the window, he hopes it hits her a little. It’s not fucking fair the world gets to keep going when the expatriate empire in his chest is collapsing in on itself.
“Gerard, are you even fucking listening?” Mikey’s asking, and no, Gerard’s not, any more, because that feeling’s back, in the back of his head. The whisper in the back of his head that he’s been fighting off for months is returning.
“It’s coming back,” Gerard says, and even though his voice cracks from the tears, he doesn’t know how he keeps his voice so level. Panic starts gnawing at his stomach and he lets his hand fall to his wrist, lets his nails dig into the top layer of his skin, then further, then pulls, because what else is he supposed to do to keep himself aware and awake?
“Gerard?” Mikey’s asking and Gerard’s head is swimming and then it happens. (It’s so much shorter than he always thinks it’s going to be before it happens, but he’s still not prepared for it. And of course there will be pulses. They always come in pulses.)
His vision goes white, like he’s been hit too hard over the back of the head and his brain behind his forehead and his eyes goes white hot and he’s dizzy and pitching forward trying to fight back the blotches in his vision and there’s a girl, a woman, twenty-something, a screech of tires, everything is bright hot, drenched in light and rain and there are tears in his eyes (it’s that feeling, that feeling of knowing you’re going to die, it’s hard not to cry when it’s so sudden) and the girl he’s standing next to bends in two over the hood of the car and thank gods he doesn’t recognize her because he can detail how each bone breaks in her face and the vision snuffs out when her life does and Gerard’s breathing hard and he throws his head out the window, and the girl sitting innocent with her (presumed) boyfriend is giggling again below the window, they’ve got their hands together swinging and she’s the one. Gerard wants to tell her how she’ll die but it’s so soon and he can’t take it and he can’t breathe, his lungs don’t want air in them and even if he could breathe well enough to speak he doesn’t know if she’d want to know. That’s always the issue, isn’t it?
“Gerard? Are you okay?” Mikey’s asking again and Gerard starts crying harder (he’s forcing himself still so he doesn’t start rocking back and forth now) because he can’t fucking handle this all right now and then it’s happening again and he can’t handle this either because she’s standing in front of him.
Lindsey’s fucking standing in front of him, her hands on a bathroom sink he doesn’t recognize, her hair’s longer, and her face marked with the beginning of age and she’s too young, too young, and Gerard’s world is pitching and oxygen-deficient. She’s got this look of calm on her and the panic of knowing she’s about to die, that’s so much quieter in her (it’s there, though, it’s always there, even Lindsey, the most fearless person Gerard has ever known is terrified of the huge question mark after death, because nothing is certain, no matter how much she tries to convince herself it is) and Gerard wants to wipe away the eyeliner tracks down her cheeks, but he can’t. He can’t do anything and he’s frozen watching her slowly lower to her knees. Her knuckles are white on the sink. She’s so careful as she lets herself fall to the floor. She knows. She knows how long it’ll take.
It’s only when she’s laying down that the fear takes her and it crashes over Gerard’s head like a car accident and the shrapnel will be there for days and he’s fighting not to puke and he just wants it to be over but it’s not, it’s not, she’s grasping at the bath rug, she’s twining her fingers with it trying to soothe herself but Gerard can feel the fucking terror and the pain and it won’t stop. It drags on. Her breath starts catching in her lungs after a minute and thirty seconds which feels like a century and a half, millennia spill over the bath tile before the pain hits in waves, and it brings more fear with it and that’s almost worse. Her breath leaves her chest seventy-two times before it starts draining away. She’s terrified for every second of it.
“Gerard?” Mikey’s asking again and it’s finally letting Gerard go and his head feels like he’s being held with fishhooks to something he doesn’t want to ever see again. It tries to reel him in again.
“You’re not seeing,” Mikey stops, full stop, “Why do you see them but I don’t?”
Gerard literally screams. It’s rough, some mix of frustration and anguish and fear and the trembling feeling which seeing Lindsey dying put at his very core. He doesn’t have even the remotest of footings anymore and he knows he’s coming unhinged.
“Fuck you! Fuck you for wanting this, fuck you for this at all, it’s your fucking fault,” Gerard can’t hide how hard he’s crying now and he looks down and notes with a cold uncaring awareness that his forearms are criss crossed in red scratches. A scratch on the left drips once, he can feel the blood slide over his skin, the pain is some low, dull burn in the back of his head. It feels like it’s a world away.
Mikey’s quiet.
“Yeah,” he says and his voice is so small, “Yeah. It’s my fault. Sorry.”
Click.
(The next pulse is Ray. Gerard’s lived Ray’s death with him twice before. This is the third time. It’s not any easier to see his breath rattling cold machines. It’s not any easier to observe the sunlight hit the EKG screen just as it goes dead.)

---

The next thing Gerard remembers is a warm body beside him and the damp ground under him, the scorching feeling of letting his cigarette burn too far, the acrid smell.
Then the world is spinning under three inches of water and his memory blurs again.
The massive homo from Bad Poet is asking Ray if he’s a regular user. Then if he can walk. Gerard can walk. He knows he can walk.
His awareness drowns out again. Everything is warm and empty and then it’s morning, and everything is still warm and empty, and the ground is solid underneath him which is a welcome change. He wants to be included in the conversation which is being held by the rose vest guy and his friend next to him but he can only manage a half-assed joke before he feels like throwing up for opening his mouth. The rose vested guy soothes him and he’s slipping again.

---

---

every night there's a chance we can walk away (so hold on tight)

---

---

Gerard comes to fully when they’re gone and sunlight is haloing Ray’s head and Ray’s shoving coffee into his hands.
“You have class,” Ray is saying, but it’s distorted.
“No,” Gerard murmurs, it’s not his usual defiant tone. He doesn’t know if he can get up, let alone go to class. Ray sighs, nods, and sits next to him. He wraps an arm around Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard doesn’t realize he feels so fragile until that’s happening, like Ray pulling him too tight or too hard will splinter him into a million pieces. Like moving too much will reduce him to dust. He dreamed about Ray dying again and again last night, having him solid makes being awake feel real. It’s nice. Ray doesn’t pull too tight or too hard. He just wraps his arms around Gerard and holds on.
“This has to stop, Gerard,” he’s murmuring, and his eyes are on the fingernail marks down his arms but he says nothing about them, Gerard doesn’t either.
“The booze?”
“The everything,” Ray’s saying it so quiet, so firm, Gerard can’t help but let himself try to take the stability of it into his chest a little. (It doesn’t work.)
“I can’t,” Gerard mumbles, because he’s always been honest with Ray and he doesn’t feel like stopping now.
“You don’t have to do it alone.”
“Yes I do,” Gerard’s eyes find Ray’s straight on, “I’m the only one who can sabotage me, I’m the one who fucked me up, no one else can fix that.”
“You’re right.” Ray’s face is unreadable. The concern behind his eyes burns on. “But you won’t be alone.”
“What does it fucking matter?” Gerard tries to put the venom in it he usually does, but he can’t find it. He sets his coffee on the table and buries his face in his hands. Ray grabs his wrist without thinking and withdraws his hand like he’s touched a hot stovetop when Gerard flinches at his fingernails against the scratches.
“I’m not saying it needs to happen absolutely, one hundred percent, cold turkey, right now.”
“Why?”
Ray sighs. “This isn’t going to go anywhere. You’re going to go right back out there and drink and fuck and smoke yourself to death, huh?” The concern is slowly rolling over into frustration now, the same way it did with Mikey. The same way it always does. Soon it’ll be resentment, and then contempt.
“Yeah, probably,” Gerard says, and he’s staring straight forward. Trying to make himself numb.
“Not gonna fucking let that happen,” Ray says, and Gerard turns empty eyes on him.
“Which is what Mikey said. No one can stop me except me. And I’m obviously not that fucking good of a person.”
“Gerard, fucking stop with the pity party,” Ray’s saying it firm. “Go fucking talk to Mikey if that’s the real fucking issue here.”
Gerard feels the sting of Ray’s words in a vague, far-off way, somewhere under his ribs.
It’s threatening to rain again outside the window.
“Gerard, I’m serious.”
“I don’t want to call him again,” Gerard says before he can stop himself, he doesn’t know it’s true til he says it. He doesn’t want to talk to Mikey like this.
“Then go up to his dorm, he’s got a single on the fifth floor. He’s actually in your old single, I think. Lindsey has his room number.”
“Why?”
“She called him after you went missing to see if he knew where you were.”
“No,” Gerard shakes his head, “Why should I go talk to him?”
“Because he’s the root of this, isn’t he?”
Gerard looks at the opposing wall, because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know when things started getting bad again. When he first got to GotGI, the parties were just parties, the flings were just flings. He hadn’t gotten into fist fights over nothing or gotten kids high on ketamine-laced-something back then. He hadn’t touched coke since 2003.
But he doesn’t know if it was losing Mikey. He feels, vaguely, in the swirling, drowning pit of memory which makes up whatever part of history that was, that he lost Mikey because he got bad again. He can’t remember what the last string snapping was. He can’t remember what severed their final ties. It feels a little like they’ve been like this forever. If Gerard didn’t know better he’d say he and Mikey had never really, truly, genuinely been okay with one another. But he does know better.
Because past all that shit, there’s Gerard noticing when Mikey is four that he loves it when Gerard blows little skulls off of hot drinks, or when he makes the bubbles in the sink make little bone shapes. (The smile on his face back then is still fresh in his memory, just the smile.) There’s Mikey’s first pair of glasses and the little “holy shit” that followed and the look of absolute terror at the concept that Gerard might tell their mother that he swore, there’s the promises. The promises that Gerard wouldn’t tell their mother. The promises of forevers and promises of rewards for good things and promises of being alive together. The promises that death will never catch them, because they’re the princes of the empire at the end of the world. They’re living on the brink and the only people who will ever understand that.
Because past all that shit, Gerard feels like the only person who will ever understand that is slipping through his fingers like grave dirt.
And even though all of that is distant, and all of it’s falling away with every night spent forgetting him (that’s what he’s doing, isn’t it?), and maybe Gerard has a chance of forgetting him forever, maybe if he pops more pills and downs more booze he can manage to wipe Mikey Way clean from his life, even though that might be an option…
Gerard can’t walk away from his little brother.
Which is why he nods at Ray, sighs, “Okay. Okay, yeah. I need to talk to him.”
And that’s that. He texts Lindsey to get Mikey’s dorm number (it actually, is, by some coincidence, Gerard’s old room) and puts on real pants for the first time in days. His head is ringing, his body aches, but brushing his teeth kind of feels amazing, and standing on the ground, straight up, without wobbling or staggering is kind of nice. His lungs rattle like he’s been chain smoking for days (he has), and taking a deep breath he kind of feels like he’s stitched himself together with dental floss as he’s looking in the mirror on his way out the door, but some part of him, deep down, which has been flipped off for so long Gerard forgot what it felt like to have it flipped on, has decided to start waking up. He’s starting to feel vaguely alive again.

---

Gerard manages to get up to Mikey’s door (506) without his emotions flooding him. Whatever downpour he was able to hold back until then immediately crashes over Gerard at the door, though, because he freezes there, anxiety and adrenaline pounding through every inch of him, coagulating at his fingertips as he curls them into a fist, takes a deep breath, goes in to knock, and stops himself. He’s dropping his hand, he’s going to walk away, when the door swings open and Mikey’s obviously got the momentum to keep going but he stops with his toes just touching Gerard’s.
His eyes are devoid of emotion. They don’t tip Gerard off to how he feels, or what’s going on, or anything. Somewhere behind the wall, he can only make out a flicker of surprise. And that might just be the light casting odd shadows on Mikey’s face.
They just kind of stare at each other until the footsteps behind Mikey bring the little coffee shit into view from behind Mikey, and he’s grinning, laughing, mid-sentence, but he cuts himself off when he sees the stare-down which is commencing in the hall. His eyes flick to Mikey for guidance, but Mikey’s too busy looking at Gerard.
Gerard’s eyebrows knit. He tilts his chin toward Frank in the tiniest, imperceptible-to-anyone-except-Mikey-Way way.
(This says ‘What’s the deal with him?’)
Mikey’s eyebrows raise a tiny bit, the corner of his mouth quirks and then returns to neutral. He gives a miniscule nod.
(This says ‘Exactly what you think.’)
To be sure, Gerard keeps staring at him.
(‘He stayed the night?’)
Mikey gives another imperceptible-to-anyone-except-Gerard-Way nod.
And because there’s no actual Brother Code for residence hall rules, Gerard finally speaks,
“You know you can’t have him stay more than four nights a month, right? And I think you need to get a signed permission slip from the parent of a minor if they’re sticking around for the night. And there’s a sign-in for overnight visitors.”
Mikey’s face relaxes a little, like he was expecting being yelled at.
“Are you seriously telling me to follow the rules?” Mikey’s smirking, the wall is lowered, a little.
“I’m telling you what they are so you can know you’re breaking them,” Gerard corrects, “What you do with that information is your decision.” He feels like he’s walking on eggshells now, but Mikey doesn’t seem upset. (Sex will do that to a person, some evil little part of Gerard says and he tries to quiet it but he can’t help but see the hickey purple and warm against Mikey’s jaw. Whatever bigger part of Gerard is jealous of Frank has to be quieted too.)
“We were going to go hang out on the front lawn, want to come?” Mikey says, and both Frank and Gerard look at each other, confused, because this was obviously not part of either of their plans. Gerard figures himself out first.
“You can’t smoke pot on the front lawn, Mikey,” he says, and Mikey stares at him, flat.
“Why do you assume that’s what we were going to do?” Mikey asks and Gerard has to scramble for an actual reason behind the assumption beyond ‘trust me I tried to do the same thing and got yelled at by RAs and I’m guessing genetics have enough of a pull to make you do the same’, he points at Frank. Frank’s eyes go wide.
“People who aren’t about to go get high don’t carry around paraphernalia,” he says, and it’s somewhere between a shot in the dark kind of guess and a joke, but Frank looks literally fucking terrified.
“Is he psychic?” Frank’s saying, but Mikey just rolls his eyes.
“Either he saw the pipe in your pocket or he’s guessing, don’t freak Frankie, he can’t read your mind.”
“Wanna bet?’ Gerard says, with a tiny little grin. And something occurs to him, in the back of his mind, that this is what feels right.
“Yes, I do,” Mikey says, and before Gerard has a chance to snark back he shoots another sarcastic comment Gerard’s way [hehe Way], “So, incredibly intelligent and apparently knowledgeable on local smoke-spots big brother, tell me where we should go.”
“You two seriously…” Gerard looks at both of them and shakes his head, “We’re right next to fucking Garden of the Gods. That’s all the discreet wilderness you could ask for. And campus police won’t fuck your day up if you’re not on campus.”
“Point taken,” Frank says and he ducks his head and finally steps up next to Mikey.
“I uh,” he says, “I’m Frank.”
“Frankie,” Mikey corrects, smiling at Gerard more than Frank. Gerard feels a little bad about not wanting this atmosphere between them all to disappear. He feels that pull of jealousy at his gut again.
“I’m Gerard, I’m sure you know that. Are we gonna go be hoodlums or what?”
“Hell motherfucking yes!” Frank grins and Gerard’s finding it harder and harder to hate him because he’s just too happy and full of life and he smells a little like dog and weed and tobacco when he leans in closer to Gerard to peer into the hall.
“Okay, but we gotta stop at the bulletin for this floor and see if the RA’s the same as when I was up here. We’ve got unfinished business,” Gerard’s saying without even thinking and he’s realizing his fingers don’t feel cold and full of death for the first time in what feels like years. (He’s thinking ‘nothing can change if I don’t change it’ and it’s sparking something in him, but Mikey’s not angry, he can tell that. Something changed overnight, for both of them, and that’s the important thing. They’re coming to the table with new hands, freshly dealt. He’ll have to thank Ray later for giving him this Talk.)
“You and Frankie go ahead, I’m going to grab something, I’ll meet you at the bulletin board,” Mikey says and he gives Gerard a look.
(The look says ‘Be friendly.’)
Gerard nods, and looks at Frank, who looks right back and gives him a thumbs up and then he undoes the skateboard from his back without even really thinking and drops it. Had anyone else done it with the finesse Frank uses, they probably would have been down the hall in two seconds, and in most cases Gerard has the feeling Frank would be, too, but instead Frank drops the board on his foot and yelps, practically kicking the thing halfway down the hall, and it just keeps rolling and Gerard has to cover his mouth before he busts something laughing.
Mikey watches him, and he’s just staring, and then he’s smiling and Gerard can’t help it when Mikey starts laughing too to just grab him and pull him into the tightest hug he’s hugged in a while.
Mikey kind of starts clinging and buries his face in Gerard’s shoulder and they’re both laughing and Gerard ends up kind of jumping his shoulder into Mikey’s glasses and grinding them against his nose but Mikey doesn’t seem to mind. Gerard turns his head to talk into Mikey’s ear.
“Just because it happens around you doesn’t mean it’s your fault. Sorry.”
Mikey shakes his head.
“Don’t, Gee, it’s okay.”
“Okay,” Gerard says, and it kind of is all of a sudden. He doesn’t know what changed. Maybe nothing did. Maybe they’ve got a century’s worth of awkward, important, serious conversations to have in the future. But that’s a problem for the Future Ways. Right now they’re just brothers. They’re just Mikey-and-Gee(-and-Frankie).
“Okay,” Mikey returns, then as Frank comes plodding back, a little less spring in his step, he gestures minisculely to him, “Make friends with him, please?”
“I can make friends on my own, you know,” Frank says, eyebrows up, he’s fidgeting with his lip piercing, he’s more nervous than either of them, but he’s hiding it well. If it weren’t the Ways he’s dealing with he’d probably totally pass as calm.
“He’s not telling me to be your friend for you,” Gerard says, smiling warm at Frankie because, yeah, it’s kind of impossible to hate the guy, “He’s telling me to be nice and not get overprotective on you. He’s telling me not to pull out the usual ‘my little brother just got a boyfriend’ interrogation. And he knows I’m totally gonna do it anyway, but I’ll be nice doing it, don’t worry. You’re cute.”
Gerard actually feels talkative, it’s been weeks, and he can’t help but gesticulate and smile and look at Mikey for affirmation and then Mikey’s telling them to go check the bulletin and Gerard’s still laughing (and Frank’s still blushing a little) by the time they’re halfway down the hall.
“So what’s this unfinished RA business?” Frank asks, then, “What’s an RA?”
“Resident assistant, they’re usually Satan’s assistants, though,” Gerard says with a snicker, “They’re students who live here and sold their souls for some money off their tuition package. They do room checks and, like, everything, I guess. Our floor’s got a really great guy and some girl, I’m not sure who the girl is, but Pierre’s pretty sweet. He doesn’t seem to really care about me smoking in our room or anything.”
“You didn’t tell me what business you’ve got with the RA on Mikey’s floor.,” Frank says when they stop at the bulletin board at the end of the hall.
“Used to be my floor. And that, my friend, is a story for another day. Suffice to say we’ve got something of a war going on, ayup, anonymous,” Gerard points at the corner of the board, where they’ve got a sheet up detailing the staff for that floor, and the whited-out name at the end of the list with ‘anonymous’ scribbled over it. Gerard smirks, using a pen hanging from the board to scribble under ‘anonymous’, ‘This isn’t over, motherfucker. -G’.
(There’s something about the childish glee of it.)
Frank snorts, but he’s grinning this wide grin, his piercing tight against his taut lower lip. Gerard takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
“Gimme the pen,” Frank says, and he takes it before Gerard actually hands it over, and underneath Gerard’s response he writes ‘frnkie was here’ and he doodles a little skull and crossbones. Gerard swipes the pen back, both of them snickering at this point, and Gerard starts to doodle a little dog chewing on one of the crossbones when they both freeze at Mikey’s approach.
“Stop it,” they hear him say it before they see him walking up, and they both snap to attention because he’s using The Voice(™), and Gerard drops the pen, they turn their heads to Mikey almost in unison. (It should be noted that, at present, Gerard can presume Mikey isn’t yet aware of the full connotation of The Voice(™) for Gerard.)
“Oh, hey,” Mikey’s saying with a smile, then, “Nifty trick.”

---

Gerard leads the boys to a perch up on the hill in the park, looking out over Colorado Springs sprawled and spread eagle beneath them. The city is an open book, they’re smoking cigarettes and ignoring the words on the page. They’re young and have that privilege. The leaves are starting to change for good.
Mikey brings a sketchbook, and leaves it in Gerard’s hands while they smoke. Gerard doesn’t think when he starts drawing Frankie and Mikey. It just kind of happens. Frank is friendly, leans on Gerard and watches him draw.
(Gerard learns Frankie is half telchine, he wants to study jewelry design, and he’s head over heels for Mikey Way.)
Gerard’s considering laying down on the flat rock they’ve put themselves on, enjoying the sun seeping across their faces, when the thought touches his mind again. He’s settling back on his arms, Frank poised to plop his head down right on Gerard’s ribs (Gerard’s already braced for it) when he speaks, turning to Mikey.
“Mikey,” he says, because he needs to know, “Are things okay?”
Mikey looks up at him. He seems to think for a moment. Somewhere far behind his flat eyes, cogs turn, quiet.
“Yeah. I think so. I’m not angry anymore. Maybe disappointed? Concerned,” he says, finally.
“I want to get sober,” Gerard says, threading a hand through Frank’s hair. Frank’s watching them both, expressing the anxiety which they should probably both be feeling but which neither of them are again.
“Okay,” Mikey says, and Gerard knows he doesn’t believe him so Gerard looks at him dead-on, his hand pausing in Frank’s hair.
“I’m serious. I don’t know if I can make it happen all at once. I don’t know if I can get off weed and alcohol completely. I just. The coke and pills and cat valium need to stop.”
“Wait, you’re on coke?” Frank’s eyebrows fly up, and then together. His head lifts so he can look at Gerard better.
“Not right now, no.” Gerard tries to press Frank’s head back down but Frank’s already sitting up, pulling Gerard’s sleeves up to look at his inner elbows, but he stops when he’s got them up because the red vertical lines across Gerard’s forearms are in view and Gerard winces, shoots Mikey a Look.
(The look says ‘sorry.’)
“Yeah, I don’t IV,” Gerard says before Frank has a chance, “I don’t do needles.” Frank keeps his eyes steady on Gerard’s. Mikey watches both.
“What are those?” Frank asks like someone who knows, “Why?”
“Unintentional,” Gerard says, gesturing to his nails, “Side effect of being a kid of death. Guess I get to see other peoples’ deaths when I’m around that asshole over there. Other gods set it off sometimes too. It’s pretty terrifying.”
Mikey sticks his tongue out at being called an asshole.
“Have you s--”
“No,” Gerard cuts Frank off, “I don’t know how Mikey dies,” he pauses (that’s a lie), “And I don’t know how you die.” (That’s the truth.)
Frank drops the subject and lays his head back down on Gerard’s stomach. Gerard’s starting to nod off when Mikey breaks the quiet.
“If you get clean, I’ll get clean,” Mikey says, like it’s still just a thought which is forming.
“Okay,” Gerard says, running his fingernails gentle against Frank’s scalp. Frank’s cheek against his chest is warm. The sun is warmer. He feels like he’s butter melting at the edges.
Everything is solid and warm and his head’s somewhere far off but his heart still beats right there and something nudges the top of his head and Gerard picks his head up off his arms to look at Mikey, who’s laid down right above Gerard. Gerard moves his arms and lays his head on Mikey’s stomach. They settle again. Gerard watches Mikey and Frank’s hands tangle.
“I’m jealous,” Gerard says before he knows what he’s saying and Frank gives him a confused look, but Mikey looks down at him like he knows every bit that makes Gerard up and every second leading up to this even though Gerard’s only just realized what he’s saying is true. (Gerard is convinced Mikey knows him better than he does himself.)
Gerard takes a drag on his cigarette, blows a smoke skull into Mikey’s face, and shakes his head.
“That’s okay,” Mikey says, finally.
Gerard’s not sure if that helps or hurts but he just shrugs and says, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Mikey says back, smiling, and their fingertips meet each others in Frank’s hair before Mikey withdraws his and starts petting Gerard’s hair instead. Gerard lets himself melt.
“Careful, Frank,” Gerard murmurs, a half-thought on his mind.
“Why?” Frank mumbles right back. Mikey sniggers, trying to hide how high he is. (Gerard will always know.)
“Mikey is an awful lay don’t let him fool you.” Then, because he realizes he can totally smooth over his previous comment about jealousy, “My dorm’s always open to you. And I share cigarettes. Mikey just bum’s ‘em.”
“Gerard,” Mikey says, mock-stern, “No stealing my boyfriend.”
“He’s not an awful lay,” Frank grumbles, turning his face to take a mouth full of Gerard’s rib-skin (and t-shirt) and bite down on it hard enough to make Gerard yipe and start forward.
“He totally is,” Gerard argues, after Frank’s let his skin go, he lets his hand fall out of Frank’s hair to rub the spot.
“He’s not.”
“Totally awful,” Gerard insists.
“Only one of you has the experience to speak on that,” Mikey points out, fighting back the amused smirk on his face. Frank looks at Gerard with wide eyes. Gerard looks right back, eyebrows raised. (Months later, Gerard will be told that Frank and Mikey have not, in fact, slept together at this point; Frank is under the impression Gerard is the one with experience here.)
They’re all quiet for a moment. Somewhere far off, a car alarm, a chickadee.
“I should get us computer set-ups if I get that extra job,” Gerard says, eyes closed. The sun is burning orange and blue into the back of his eyelids.
“Extra job?” Mikey asks.
“I applied for a design job with a gaming company. Grant,” Gerard looks at Frank, “Grant is this guy who was a senior here in my gap years when I hung out on campus some, he’s amazing,” he says by way of explanation, “Grant invited me to apply to his call for a design partner for this new MMO.”
“What about comics?” Mikey asks, propping himself up a little and making Gerard readjust his head.
Gerard closes his eyes and fucking smirks, “If I get in he wants to do comics to go with it.”
“Holy shit,” Mikey says.
“So if I get the job I should get us workable set-ups,” Gerard looks at Frank to show he’s included in this plan, but Frank’s eyes are closed while he listens, “So I can make you guys play. If that’s how it stacks up.”
Mikey sighs, and Gerard can hear the smile before he cranes his neck to see. Frankie’s breath is warm against his diaphragm and Mikey’s hand solid in his hair and Gerard can fool himself into thinking that everything is already perfect.

---

---

:epilogue:

just keep me breathing

---

---

april 2008There’s something in the fighting spirit of claiming you will never die that implies stupidity, reckless abandon, and youth. Gerard never understood that; the youth, yes, reckless abandon, perhaps, but stupidity? Never. He will live forever, it’s a fiery testament which lives in his soul. He will live forever because They will live forever. Death will never stop them, that’s been a constant since the second Ray, Frank, Mikey, and Gerard sat down together in the same room in late October of 2007.The semester after the Ways get clean(er) isn’t as wildly fun as they thought it would be, but it isn’t bad, and it isn’t dull. Gerard gives his stash of pills away to Andy, because he figures they’ll either end up in Pete’s hands or down the drain, and ends up flushing his powders himself, the withdrawal isn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. It’s a road bump.
The alcohol is harder; he can’t cut it out, not with it being an axis of social interactions, so he has to learn to pace himself. Kick the thrusters down, more regular hours at work help with that, help him find his limits. Mikey does, too. Mikey doesn’t so much ‘get clean’ in the way Gerard does as stop drinking entirely for a little while and slowly eases himself back into it. He learns to trust himself around it again and things pan out alright. By Christmas they’re functioning alcoholics at least.
Frank is a more welcome addition at Christmas in the residence hall than Gerard thought he’d be, Frank is more welcome in general than he thought he’d be. He’s warm, full of too much energy, too many smiles. He’s harder to read than Mikey sometimes, and more ineffable by far. But Gerard starts learning him, and they hit the ground running. They’re best friends by the second time they hang out with each other properly, and pulling shit over on Mikey and Ray by the third. Frank’s seventeenth can’t come quick enough, and as soon as he gets there he puts in applications for loans and for the college and the residence hall and somehow he has it all done within a week of his birthday and Gerard is thoroughly impressed because both he and Mikey took gap years almost entirely because they were too fucking lazy to get their shit enough together to apply.
For the most part, they stay out of trouble. The Cherry Bomb Incident goes unspoken about by most people, and their little clique keep it that way. The fireworks? That wasn’t them; definitely wasn’t them. The next Cobra party Gerard shows up to, he doesn’t punch a guy, nor does he puke in the potted plants. (Although that’s something he’ll never hear the end of from Alex for.)
Even when Gerard gets sent, for the first time, to the Disciplinary Dean, he can’t help but feel like he’s doing better than he would have if Mikey didn’t show up.
Lindsey and Jamia are dating by January, in that ‘unserious’ way that other people are apparently allowed to but Gerard has never explored. Gerard is still, technically, single. He’s mostly okay with that. It hasn’t been a big deal. They’ve been doing everything as a group, sprawled out in Gerard and Ray’s living room (the single dorms don’t have living rooms or kitchens or anything useful, all of that’s communal for upper floors and despite the RAs repeated attempts, Mikey can’t be assed to actually interact with his floormates enough to spend any time in the communal lounge area upstairs.) doing homework (there’s so much of it) or ignoring homework as the case may be, with Frank bouncing around ignoring his own Catholic school homework which apparently has a lot of God and not a lot of science and pisses Frank off to the point of ripping it up a couple times.
By March, Frank’s stopped caring about his homework because he’s been accepted to enroll in GotGI next year anyway. He hangs out with Jamia at school and they walk over to the campus as soon as their last class ends. Sometimes before. Gerard and Mikey take turns buying Frank packs of reds and Jamia packs of 27s. Everything’s fitting together. It’s them against the world, together, and they’re winning.
It’s April, Ray has all of the windows in their dorm thrown open in some desperate attempt to pretend it’s warm enough to do that, and the sunlight’s filtering through the winter’s dust motes, bringing with it the smell of fresh melt and new air. The year is immortal. It keeps turning around and around like ice spinning in a glass. Gerard has his feet planted firmly on the floor, his back on the wall. They’ve moved the chair from beside the window in an attempt to get him to stop smoking inside, it hasn’t worked. He’s just gotten home from a shift at the coffee shop. He’s still wearing his brown apron, and his fingers are jumping with excited energy as he checks his email on his phone.
Mikey, as it turns out, is also on his phone, with his head simultaneously in the refrigerator digging around for orange juice apparently, although he seems more engrossed by texting than actually getting the juice of orange he said he was getting up to get.
“Screwdrivers?” Mikey says distantly as he pulls the gallon of orange juice out of the fridge. Somehow Ray always manages to keep that around, even with all the shuffling to make beer and real food fit in their tiny unit.
“Hell fucking yes,” Gerard says, and Frank says it at the same time from the doorway (which Ray has also flung open in a desperate, denial-stuffed wish for winter to just be over and for real spring to start happening, Gerard’s pretty sure Ray gets the worst cabin fever of any of them.)
Frank tosses his backpack in the corner and Jamia follows his lead from behind him, looking around.
“Lindsey’s in class, she’ll be here in like, five,” Gerard says, to quell Jamia’s obvious curiosity. (Because now, Jamia and Lindsey are at that stage where it’s not so unserious anymore.)
“We’re gonna get milkshakes after she gets out, do you guys wanna come?” Jamia asks, looking pointedly at Frank, who’s the most likely to actually say ‘yes I want to come with you on your thing which is obviously supposed to be a date.’
Frank blanches and pipes out a quick ‘no thanks!’ like he’s supposed to and Gerard chuckles.
“I seriously need to actually do some homework,” he says.
“Mm-hm. Homework for me, too,” Mikey says with a little less conviction as he finally puts his phone down to rummage in the freezer for their vodka.
“Oi, move over,” Ray says, and Frank and Jamia both move from the tiny entryhall to take a seat on the couch and let Ray into the room. He’s got both his arms full of (and is practically dragging) what appears to be the largest non-industrial coffee machine Gerard has ever seen. (The behemoth will later be named Steve. After a friend of Gerard’s who falls in love with the thing the first thing he sees it and has what Gerard can only assume is something akin to an objectumsexual relationship with it in the coming months. He’s not sure if it’s played for laughs or if Steve is serious, but it definitely makes it way more hilarious when Steve is talking to a coffee machine which is also named Steve.)
Mikey’s eyes light up as soon as Ray puts it down on the counter.
“You are Jesus,” he says.
“Actually, Mikey,” Gerard says, “You’re the closest thing to Jesus in this room, being a minor god and all.”
“Shut up, Gerard.”
“Mmhm,” Gerard says, finishing his cigarette and tossing it in the coffee can which is holding the bottom half of the window open.
“It’s from Andy, I guess he’s gearing up to move downstairs.”
“Seriously?” Gerard asks, except he’s not actually that excited.
It’s not long before Mikey’s mixed morning (afternoon, but Mikey’s only been up an hour and Frank’s had his brain off for school all day and Ray’s only awake right now because he had to go pick up the machine.) drinks and passed them out and they’re all standing (and sitting) around the living room drinking out of old jelly jars and mason jars and the like, one, actual, for real rocks glass that they own. (Gerard’s pretty sure it belongs to Ray but Jamia gets it because she’s here least often so she’s the guest.)
“How do you guys not get caught by campus security for giving minors booze?” Lindsey says as she walks through the door and immediately walks over to Gerard to steal his drink. She’s been capitalizing on him getting sober by taking advantage of the fact he’ll willingly give her whatever alcohol she physically takes out of his hands because it teaches him to think about it more. He ‘pshhh’-es at her. Lindsey slams the drink, even though the rest of them are content to sip at theirs. She probably needs it, she’s just been in Psych 101 and they’re gearing up for their gross, terrible exams.
“I don’t think campus security actually does jack shit,” Mikey points out as he curls his fingers into Frank’s. Gerard watches Frank’s mouth fall slowly to Mikey’s jaw to kiss there while they keep their eyes on Lindsey.
“Okay. Touche,” she says, and then she looks at Jamia, “Hey, you’re beautiful.”
“Hey I’m all conform-y and wearing a Catholic schoolgirl uniform,” Jamia counters, standing and handing her drink off to Gerard while she looks around to make sure she’s not leaving anything in her seat.
“Which some,” Frankie shoots back, “would argue is exactly what makes you beautiful.”
“Or kinky,” Mikey contributes.
“Or kinky,” Gerard confirms.
“Ugh,” Lindsey groans at them, and kisses Jamia before dragging her toward the door, “Bye nerds.”
“Bye, Lyns,” Gerard calls after them. They slam the door on their way out and then it’s just the four of them again and Gerard sips at Jamia’s screwdriver and smiles as he sits down on the other side of Mikey from Frank.
He pulls a sketchpad from the table into his lap and commences continuing the sketch already on the paper. Mikey’s hand sneaks across the inch of couch between them and Gerard freezes full stop when it finds his, laces their fingers.
He turns wide eyes on Mikey, who’s watching as his phone slowly scrolls down the page of whatever he’s reading there.
“So I got the job,” Frank says, out of nowhere.
“Me too,” Gerard says, because he’d kind of forgotten he had the news to share in the little convergence. Mikey’s thumb rubs against the base of his own.
“You both applied to PetCo? Gerard, I thought you loved coffee, don’t tell me you’re having an affair without telling her,” Ray quips from the armchair. He actually has homework in his lap now.
“No,” Gerard says, shaking his head, “I got in with Grant, I’m going to be his partner in concept for this new video game he’s working on. I’m going to fucking help with the comics.” His voice starts brimming with excitement about halfway through because he hasn’t gotten a chance to get excited about it yet.
“Holy shit,” Frank and Ray say, more or less synced.
“Yeah, wow,” Mikey says, smiling, “Does this mean we get computers to play your game?”
“Theoretically, fuck yes,” Gerard says, then he turns to Frank, “When do you start at PetCo?”
“Friday, I think. So I won’t be coming over here til late.” He gives Mikey a tiny look. (Gerard’s pretty sure it’s a ‘sorry’ look, left unsaid for Gerard’s benefit.)
“It’s okay, I’ll entertain myself with these nerds,” Mikey says, and then his hand’s dropping to Gerard’s thigh, his fingertips are solid and heavy and unmistakable and Gerard shifts, trying to write it off as soon as it’s happening. He can feel his pulse pounding against Mikey’s touch, like that’s what woke up his breathing.
Gerard’s about to say something when Mikey’s hand slides unmistakably upward and his fingers find the inseam of his jeans, toy with it gently in the red-zone. Gerard has to hold his breath to keep himself from making a sudden, unwanted noise.
“Mikey, Frank, can you not?” Ray says, raising an eyebrow from the other couch as he catches sight of Mikey’s hand. Gerard feels dread knot in his stomach because Ray sees. Ray is watching his roommate’s little brother feel his roommate up. Gerard’s eyes snap to Frank, who he discovers is kissing the dip under Mikey’s jaw. Mikey catches his eye, then, with a burning conviction behind the flat mask he wears, his lips form a little smirk.
Gerard swallows hard.
“I’m gonna keep doing it,” Mikey says, half to Ray, half to Gerard. Frank’s eyes slide open, slip over Mikey’s shoulder and down his arm to where his hand rests on Gerard’s thigh, and Gerard loses his breath a little while he watches Frank’s eyes slide closed again, nip at Mikey’s neck. Mikey’s nails dig into Gerard thighs momentarily and Gerard nods.
Ray groans in frustration, slamming his book closed and giving Gerard a pointed look. (Not one which says ‘I’m disgusted’, one which says ‘We had a rule about getting friendly in the living room, didn’t we?’, much to Gerard’s relief.) He stands and takes his flock of paper and books to his room, pointedly closing and locking the door.
Mikey fucking grins, a grin that says everything. Frank looks up at Gerard, and he grins too, in that Frankie way that says everything is okay and everything will be as long as they’re alive. And they’re alive. Death will never take that from them.

Notes