Gerard nuzzled into my neck and shifted up to place a kiss on my jaw. His long black hair tickled against my shoulder and I let out a sigh.
“I wish it could stay like this,” he mumbled, his lips still hovering against my skin.
“Mhm, it can,” I said, stroking my hand up his soft back.
“Frankie?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t forget about me, O.K.?”
“What do you mean?”
He propped himself up on his elbow. His hair mussed and falling all to one side. I reached out a ran a hand through it.
“Don’t forget me, Frankie. Try not to.” He furrowed his brows and the corner of his mouth was pulling down.
“There is something about you, Gerard. I couldn’t if I tried.”
He nodded and laid his head back down onto my chest.
“Good,” he said, “good.”

I woke up slowly, stretching out and a light smile on my lips. I reached my arm out to pull Gerard to me but my bed was empty. Slowly, it came back to me and I groaned. I opened my eyes.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Pete said cheerfully, walking in from the kitchen.
I hate to say I was disappointed, but I was. Not just that Gerard wasn’t here, but that Pete was.
“Good morning,” I said, trying to keep the smile on my face.
I wanted to be alone.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I think I’m actually still a little drunk,” I said and he chuckled.
“Yeah, maybe.” He handed me a glass of water.
“Thank you,” I said.
He was wearing just his boxers. His short hair was completely in place. He rubbed the back of his neck, “so, um, about last night,” he began.
The ever unpleasant morning-after conversation.
“It was fun,” I said, unsure what he was hoping for.
“It was,” he nodded.
I could tell he wanted more. Wanted me to say what I was feeling or thinking or hoping for. I didn’t think it would be kind if I told him any of those things. I’m feeling trapped, I’m thinking I wanted to wake up next to someone else, I’m hoping you’ll leave. I wasn’t wanting to be so mean. I tried to push it down.
“So, I wouldn’t mind if it happened again,” Pete said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“This is going to sound very contradictory,” I said, “but I think I might like to slow things down.”
He nodded, thinking, and then shrugged, “whatever you want.”
“I’m sorry, I just don’t know if I’m looking for…” I looked away and my eyes caught on the piece of paper on the nightstand, “for anything.”
“It’s alright,” he said, smiling, “I don’t know what I want either. Let’s take it slow.”
I smiled up at him and leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes. My head was pounding and my stomach felt queasy.
“Bad hangover?” he said.
“It’s god awful,” I mumbled, keeping my eyes closed and taking a sip the water. “I might have to sleep this one off.”
“O.K., I should actually probably get going anyway,” he said.
I opened one eye, “yeah, alright,” I said.
“Are you still coming out to The Gimlet tonight?” he said.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
He smiled and went about collecting his clothes. He tucked in his shirt and buttoned it up, then he did his tie. Despite it being the morning after a drunken night, he looked well put together.
“I’ll see you later tonight,” he said and leaned forward. He pressed his lips, full and soft, to mine. I kissed lightly back. “Feel better,” he said.
“Thank you.”
I watched him let himself out the front door, sending me one look back before closing it behind him. I groaned and slid down into the bed. I pulled the blanket over my head and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure what was upsetting me most, my stomach, Pete, or Gerard.
I wanted to adore Pete. I’d known him for a week and a half now. We had spent quite a bit of time together. He was smart and kind, put together, an open book. He was handsome, he was a musician. I’d known him long enough to know I was not going to love him.
I wanted to hate Gerard. Maybe not even hate. I wanted to feel nothing for him. Indifferent. Instead I felt entirely obsessed with him, with seeing him again. 48 hours with him and he was able to turn my life upside down.
What the fuck.

I spent most of the day in bed, or standing at the sink nibbling bread and sipping water. But mostly in bed, and mostly sleeping. Or trying to. And if I wasn’t sleeping I was talking myself out of the mess I’d gotten myself into with Gerard and talking myself into feeling more for Pete.
I was to meet Pete at The Gimlet at 8pm. Daisy and Jay would arrive at some point I was sure, and maybe even Tom, though I hoped he wouldn’t. Around 7 I was finally able to pull myself together and get dressed. I ran my hand through my hair a few times. I was beginning to like the length of it.
The night air was warm and I was glad I opted out of wearing a jacket. Instead I just rolled the sleeves of my white shirt up, not really caring if my tattoos showed. I pushed the door open to the pie shop and saw Pete sitting in a booth.
“Hey Frank,” he smiled.
“Hi,” I said.
We walked towards the kitchen door. Richard was leaning against the wall talking with Sally.
“Good evening,” I said.
“Ah, Mr. Iero, Mr. Wentz, back for more?” Richard said.
“Well, I won’t be drinking tonight, but thought it would still be good to get out of the house,” I shrugged. Richard laughed.
“Yes, yes, go on in,” he said.
I smiled at Sally and then Pete followed me through the metal door and down the hallway. The music was already at top notch, the party in full swing. Pete let his hand brush against mine briefly, before we descended the stairs.
“Frank, darling,” Daisy said the moment we approached their table. Tom was already there, talking to another man. “So glad to see you,” she smiled. She looked striking, as usual. she wore a sparkling silver dress and a white feather in her hair.
“You look beautiful,” I said. She waved me away and blushed. “Where is Mr. Gatsby?” I asked.
“Oh, around here somewhere,” she said and looked around a little. Pete walked away to get himself a drink and I sat down at the round table. The band was playing a swing number and I was surprised Daisy wasn’t insisting someone dance with her. She looked tired and bored.

I was still not feeling myself. My head was foggy and a pained. I sat quietly as Pete came back with Jay and they sat down, continuing whatever discussion they had started at the bar. They drank their whiskey and the smell turned my stomach.
For a while no one bothered me while I people watched, which was just fine. I watched the dancers and smiled because they all seemed so happy.
“Want a bit?” Pete asked and tipped his glass towards me.
“Oh, no thank you,” I said and looked away from the drink. Pete put his hand on my knee and smiled at me. I smiled back.
There were loud shouts coming from behind me, but I didn’t turn. Another bar fight. There were usually a few every night.
“Frank?”
I looked up to see Daisy giving me a concerned expression.
“Isn’t that…” she trailed off and stared past me, pointing with a delicate finger.
“Huh?” I turned around to see where she was pointing.
A large man was breathing heavily and pinning a smaller, black haired man to the wall, his forearm against the mans throat. I stood up, knocking my chair over behind me, not letting my eyes leave Gerard, who seemed to be panicking under the bigger mans hold. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Jay. He gave me a curt shake of the head.
I watched, terrified. The man pressed his forearm into Gerard’s throat and reeled his fist back.
“Thief,” the man yelled in Gerard’s face, “dirty thief.” I recognized him as the joints bartender.
Gerard gave a sly smirk and then spit directly into the mans face.The bartender gave a loud yell and Gerard managed to wiggle out from his hold, all the while keeping his hold on a bottle of bourbon in his hand.
The bartender wheeled around and Gerard popped up behind him, serving a loud blow to the his jaw. I winced. The bartender went down hard and the whole room went quiet. The music stopped. Gerard stood over the man, who was out cold. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and then looked at the bottle of bourbon in his other hand. He let out a long, shaky breath, and then threw the bottle to the ground. In the quiet room, the shattering sound echoed. No one spoke. I felt someones hand grabbing mine and looked back to see Pete. He was slack-jawed.
Gerard glanced up and, seeming only then to be aware of the audience he had. His eyes were wide and he was still breathing heavily. His eyes fell on me, and his face softened marginally before he glanced down and saw Pete’s hand in mine. He shook his head and he turned on his heel and walked calmly up the stairs and out of sight.
I stared, stunned at what I had witnessed. The gentle Gerard of my imagination had vanished, instead replaced by the image of him standing over an unconscious man.
I felt someone nudge my arm and looked up at Jay.
“Go on,” he said.
I looked back at Pete. He was staring, stunned.
The man, the bartender, who had been knocked cold in one punch was not a man to be messed with. He was a bad man, with bad friends, and everyone knew that. By now the people were talking loudly and someone was helping the him up from the floor.
“I can’t,” I said.
Pete gave a slight tug to my hand and I squeezed lightly before pulling my hand away, all the while looking at Jay Gatsby.
Jay rolled his eyes, “yes, you can, old sport. Don’t let him get away again.” He glanced back at Daisy. She couldn’t have heard anything we said, but she nodded.
I turned suddenly to Pete, “I have to go.”
“What? Why?” Pete said.
“I just… need to go, Pete. I’m really sorry. Have a good evening.”
I looked back at Jay, who nodded and clapped me on the back, shoving me forward a little. Without a look back, I ran up the stairs and down the hall. I ran past Sally and through the pie shop.
“Woah there!” I heard Richard yell as I tore through the shop and pushed open the door to the outside. I looked both ways down the street and saw him, walking down the sidewalk a little ways down.
“Gerard,” I called. He didn’t turn, only kept walking. “Hey, asshole!” I yelled louder. He stopped but didn’t turn. I took this as a good sign. I jogged up the road until I was standing right behind him. “Turn around,” I said.
He took a deep breath and slowly turned. The street light lit him up and I saw his cheek was very red and realized the other man must have gotten a punch in first.
“Hi Frankie,” he said softly. I could have melted right into the pavement, I could have lunged at him right there, kissing him or punching him. I wasn’t sure which.
“Hey,” I said.
“Why don’t you go back inside,” he said, “your friends are probably missing you.”
“No.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He sighed and went to turn back around. I grabbed him by his arm and spun him back towards me.
“Don’t you dare,” I said.
He swayed a little bit and only now did I realize he was drunk.
“Frank.”
I sighed heavily and shook my head, “let me walk you home, you fool. Where do you live?”
He shrugged out of my grasp and began walking down the road. I followed him.
I was worried.
I was angry.
I was relieved.
Worried about him making it home alright on his own. Angry that he had been fine this whole time, that he just didn’t want to see me. Relieved that he was fine this whole time. So badly I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I wanted to demand he tell me what happened, why he left so suddenly. Why I hadn’t been good enough, but instead I just followed behind him, catching him a couple of times when he started to stumble too much.
It wasn’t too far before he stopped outside of a brick apartment building and I followed him up a few flights of stairs. It was a newer building and I admired the craftsmanship. I could already tell they were nicer than mine. He stopped outside of a door and pressed his forehead to it and let out a groan.
“Frankie,” he said. I touched his arm lightly and he leaned into me. He rolled his head over and looked at me, “who was the guy with you tonight?”
“No one,” I said, “just some one Daisy was trying to set me up with.”
He kept looking at me, his brow furrowed. I couldn’t help but think he had no right to be suspicious or upset with me.
“Let’s get inside, Gerard.”
He nodded and unlocked the door.
Under the layer of filth, I’m sure his apartment was very nice. However, empty liquor bottles littered the floor and surfaces. Paper was also everywhere. Some had drawings, others a lot of writing. Several drawings were tacked up to his walls, but it was too dark to see much.
A light was left on in another room, the door left ajar and a sliver of light leaking out. I realized it was a one bedroom apartment, as opposed to the studio I had. Gerard walked through the living room and straight to the door, pushing it open. When he opened it fully the light spilled out and I could see his living room much better. It was very handsomely decorated. Expensive furniture and a beautiful, large desk in the far corner.
In the new light I could see the drawings all over the walls, and I gasped. Pencil and charcoal sketches, a few paintings. All of me.
“Gerard,” I whispered. I approached the wall and stared at them. Me, standing in my tuxedo above him on the balcony. Me, sleeping. Me, smiling with guitar in hand. I bit my lip. Some were hyper-realistic, some looked like cartoons, but all incredibly done.
“Frank,” I heard him call from the other room. I took one more look at the artwork before turning away. I crossed the living room, watching my step, and entered the bedroom. Gerard was sitting on the window sill, staring over his shoulder at the city street below.
“Hey,” I said.
He looked at me.
I could see then that he had tears running down his cheeks. I slowly approached him. He bit his lip.
“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly.
I reached out and cupped his cheek, wiping a tear with my thumb.
“Don’t,” I said. I wasn’t angry anymore. I could hardly remember the blur of the last three weeks. I just remember him on Gatsby’s steps, on the dock of the bay, in a crowded bar watching me play my guitar, and sleeping in my arms.
“I was just scared,” he said.
“I know.”
“I didn’t want to leave.”
“I know that now,” I said.
He sighed deeply and leaned forward, crumpling into my chest, and I wrapped my arms tightly around him.
“I’m glad to see you,” he finally said.
I chuckled, “I am so glad to see you too.”
I pulled away from him and I reached out and lightly grabbed his chin with my thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up to look at me. He smiled lightly.
I leaned in slowly and stopped just short of his lips. He let out a long breath and then leaned up quickly, pressing his lips to mine. I sighed softly against his mouth and I let go of his chin, putting my hand to the back of his head and pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around me and gripped my back, digging his fingers in lightly. He ran his tongue along my bottom lip and I instantly opened my mouth for him and tangled my fingers into his wild hair and he let out a low moan from the back of his throat.
I pulled away, gasping. I leaned my forehead against his and he breathed heavily. His breath smelled like bourbon and cigarettes. I looked down at him and he was smiling.
“Finally,” I said.
He closed his eyes and leaned up again, pressing a second, softer kiss to my lips. I felt my knees give a little and I braced myself with my hand against the sill. He moved his lips slowly, and I did the same. Savoring it. I cupped his cheek with my other hand.
When we pulled away again he leaned back into my chest, his face in the crook of my neck. His breath was hot against my skin and I shivered.
“Stay with me,” he said. “Please be here when I wake up.” He sounded sad and far away. I thought it almost funny that he was asking me to be here when he woke up. ‘“I’ll be here,” I said.
“I’m so tired.” He pulled away and looked up at me. His wide eyes, dark circles beneath them.
“Let’s go to sleep,” I said.
He nodded.
I stood him up and walked him to the bed. He stood there while I pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, letting both fall to the floor. Then I unbuckled his pants and let those, too, fall to the floor. He stood there in his white tank top and boxers. He looked thinner than he had the last time I’d seen him and I wrapped my arms around him. He sighed and leaned into me.
“It’s going to be alright,” I said.
“I’m really fucked up,” he said, his voice muffled against my shoulder.
“It’s going to be alright. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
He pulled away and climbed into the bed.
“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” I said, and walked out into the living room. I walked through, and into the kitchen. It was a mess, as was the rest of the place. I was able to find a glass and I filled it up, drinking some, and then refilling it.
On my way back to the bedroom I stopped and looked at the wall again. So many versions of my face looked back at me. I felt touched, knowing he had been upset without me too. Knowing I wasn’t the only one obsessed with whatever it was that was going on between us. It made my stomach turn that I was already in so deep after such a short time. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right. But I felt comforted, looking at all of the drawings that were scattered about, that I wasn’t alone in this.
I turned away and walked back to the bedroom. He was lying on his side and had his eyes closed and I wondered if he was asleep. I put the water on the nightstand beside him and walked around to the other side of the bed. I disrobed myself, down to my tank and boxers, and climbed into the bed next to him. I scooted over until I was behind him, and then wrapped my arm around him, spooning around him. He scooted back a little so he was pressed closer to me.
I kissed his shoulder, “good night, Gee.”
“Good night, Frankie,” he said, but it came out as more of a slurred mumble, as he was already on his way to sleep.

Notes

Hey friends! Thank you for reading and your comments! I enjoy your comments so much, it really makes this more fun for me to know you're into it :)
Ya'll are the best! I thought you deserved some nice fluff at the end.

Talk to you soon!
-Me