"Vampire Boy!" Mikey hollered through the closed door, only a little bit afraid of what he might find when the door opened. "You gotta pitch today!"

The door instantly flew open to reveal a fully dressed Gerard. Gone were the ratty pajama pants, replaced by a pair of black jeans. The dirty black t-shirt had disappeared, a clean, white, button-down taking its place. Over the shirt was a black vest, paired with a red tie. "I'm aware," Gerard said after a moment, already bored of his brother's gawking.

At a loss for words, the only thing that came out of Mikey's mouth was "Wow. You look..." He trailed off and tried to swallow his awkwardness. "Good."

"Thank you for that," Gerard said, sitting on the edge of his bed to shove his black Converse onto his feet.

"I didn't know that you knew how to tie a tie," Mikey commented, shoving his hair out of his eyes.

"Me neither," Gerard said. "I just... Did it. I was really surprised when I did, though."

"You look really put together," Mikey observed. Usually, his brother was the old-t-shirt, dirty-jeans, black-hoodie type of person, but seeing his older brother in what was, albeit barely, an attempt at a suit threw Mikey for a loop. He realized that Gerard was serious about Breakfast Monkey; Mikey knew this previously, but he knew it like you know who the Indo-Europeans are— that they're important and did something that changed something else.

To put it another way, it was information wedged into the back of Mikey's mind that he never acknowledged, until it roundhouse kicked him in the nuts.

"Again, I have to go with 'thank you for that'," Gerard said, glancing up at his baby brother. He stood up from his place and grabbed his bags, never taking his eyes off of his brother.

"What?" Mikey asked finally. "Is there something... Wrong?"
Gerard shook his head, shaking himself out of a trance.

"Nothing," he said. "Just... Went off somewhere."

"Okay," Mikey said slowly. "What time is the pitch again?"

"9:30," Gerard said, glancing at the clock that displayed the time 7:14. "It should be over at maybe 11:00, at the latest."

"Wanna go to lunch or something? I only have a psych class at 8:00 today," Mikey offered, grateful for his Friday class schedule being as limited as it was. "You can tell me all about the pitch."

"Sounds good," Gerard agreed. "I'll just pick you up."

The day was uneventful. The city was overcast, which made Gerard's day seem even darker than it had already become.

"Alright, what happened at the pitch?" Mikey asked as the two claimed a seat on the subway later that day. "I need to know. Give me details."

"Not much to tell," Gerard shrugged. He repositioned the bag on his shoulder, weighed down with all the supplies from his small office. "Got fired."

"Fired?" Mikey repeated, practically hitting the ceiling. Gerard couldn't be fired; how the hell did this happen?

"They downsized," Gerard said. He didn't sound all that broken up about it. "I knew they were gonna do it, and I was expecting to be one of the ones let go."

"Who else did they let go? Do you know?" Mikey asked.

"Not really," Gerard admitted. "This girl named Lindsey. She was cool."

"God, Gee, I'm so sorry," Mikey said, leaning his head against his brother's shoulder.

Gerard shrugged. "It's not a big thing, Mikes," he insisted. "People get fired all the time. And anyway, Breakfast Monkey was about a Scandinavian monkey who's obsessed with breakfast. That was the whole show. It would have been a miracle if C.N let it on."

"Oh," Mikey said quietly. "Anyway, what do you want for lunch?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Gerard answered. "You choose."

"Our usual place?"


"Sure."

Soon, the brothers were seated at a small pizza place in the city. It was where they usually are when they had lunch together, and they came just about once every week.

"I wonder who that is," Mikey says, pointing to the chalkboard on the other side of the room. The place always had a live performer on slow days, and the chalkboard read ".frnk.".

Gerard jolted at the name, a memory boiling up in his head. It was the night that he and Frank had almost slept together, but had talked all night instead.

Frank had his head on Gerard's chest, his warm skin making it complicated for Gerard to think straight. "I sometimes write and stuff," Frank had said. "I don't publish it under my name, though."

"You publish your writing?" Gerard had asked.
Frank blushed and said "Yeah, I do. Just, like, in the school newspaper. Nothing too big. But I use the name .frnk. instead of my real name."

"Can I read some of your stuff?" Gerard asked, looking down at the man laying on top of him.

"'Carving. Playful. Unnerving. Posture.
Blissful. Bounding. Boastful. Instigator.
Am i not the earnest bystander forgotten by time?
...And space?
Living. Loving. Loafing. Gloss.
Kissing. Cussing. Stressful. Cousins.
Your playful nature can’t hide you for long. Now go and forever delete this minute and a half.
Pose and release. forgive without forget.
prose and regret. Silently swallow it all down.
I've been better, but I’ve also been worse.
Smile or die.
We can live with or without the —fantastically, desperate— game of chance'," Frank recited almost immediately, the words effortlessly rolling off of his tongue. He blushed and looked down at his bedsheets, suddenly embarrassed that he had said it so easily.

Gerard was brought back to the present by a swift punch in his shoulder by his brother. "What the hell?" Gerard asked and Mikey pointed to across the room, where a man was sitting on the raised stage, an acoustic guitar resting on his leg.

"Hi everyone," Frank Iero said into the microphone, talking as he tuned his guitar. "I'm, uh... I'm .frnk."— he pronounced it like his actual name— "and I..." He started and looked up to scan the room.

His eyes locked on a certain couple closer to the back of the room. He recognized the first one right off— hell, he had gotten himself off to that face the night before. His black hair was slightly fluffy, most likely from the humidity of the damp day outside. Frank was stunned at the button-down, tie, and waistcoat that Gerard had on, and he was suddenly very glad that the guitar shielded his crotch. The man sitting across the table from Gerard was staring at Frank intently, as if he was trying to see the scar above Frank's nose from across the room.

Gerard flashed Frank a small smile and gave him a thumbs up, as if to say "You can do this." Frank nods and says "I'm .frnk. and this is a song I've been working on. It's about... Umm... Well, it's about someone really special." He cleared his throat and started to play, fast, strong chords spilling out of the guitar.

"I'm not sure what they said
But if it's true I'll bet
It's just one more thing I'll regret
I hate my weaknesses
They made me who I am.
"Yeah, it's cool, I'll be okay"
As I felt your pain wash over me
So I dry your eyes and hide my shakes
Cause I hate the look that's on your face
These things inside my head
They never make much sense
So I wouldn't hold my breath...
I hope I die before they save my soul
"Yeah, it's cool, I'll be okay"
As I felt your pain wash over me
So I dry your eyes and hide my shakes
Cause I hate the look that's on your face
Don't hang up
Because I don't have anyone left here
Don't give up
Don't hang on to anything I've said
I hate my weaknesses
They made me who I am
It makes no difference
I'm insignificant
"Yeah, it's cool, I'll be okay"
As I felt your pain wash over me
So I dry your eyes and hide my shakes
Cause I hate the look that's on your face
"Yeah, it's cool, I'll be okay"
As I felt your pain wash over me
So I dry your eyes and hide my shakes
Cause I hate the look that's on your face
And this is not the end for us." With a flourish of chords, Frank finished, and the everyone clapped for him.

One hour and $23 dollars in tips later, Frank's show was finished. His heart started to beat quicker when he saw Gerard making his way over to him, and his breath caught in his throat. "Hey," Gerard said. His voice was like silk and Frank suppressed a whimper. "That was really good."

"Oh, thanks," Frank said, laying his arms in the side of the guitar and resting his head on his arms. "What're you and Mikey doing here?"

"Getting lunch," Gerard answered. "He only had one class today, and I... Got off work early, so we decided to meet up." A dark cloud passed over his face when he mentioned work, and Frank immediately knew that something was up.

"What's wrong?" Frank asked. "You seem down."

Gerard pressed his lips together in thought and Frank made the bold decision to remove the guitar. Thankfully, he didn't need it anymore, and he made his way off the stage to Gerard. "Do you wanna go outside?" Frank asked. "It just seems a bit more ... Private, I guess."

Gerard looked down to where Frank's hands were resting on his hips, determine whether or not to take the chance. Finally, he reaches out and takes one of Frank's hands in his own. "Sure," Gerard said. "We can go outside."

---

---

"So, you saw Frank today," Ray said. The phone warped his voice, making him sound like Gerard was hearing him from the other side of a tunnel.

"How did you—"

"Mikey told me," Ray answered. "He also said that you're going out with him tonight."

"Yeah, but we're not going out-going out. We're just meeting up for coffee," Gerard said.

"Ooh, coffee," Ray teased, receiving a few choice words from Gerard. "Okay, yeah, sorry, but it's just coffee?" Ray asked after Gerard was finished.

"Just coffee," Gerard said. "As far as I know."

"As far as you know," Ray scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

"And what are you doing tonight?" Gerard asked, smirking.

After a few seconds, Ray said "Point taken. So, what time is your 'just coffee' date?"

"We said 6:00-ish," Gerard said.

"Where?"

"The Starbucks on Raymond. Why?"

"Dude, you're getting boned tonight."

"What makes you say that?"

Gerard could hear Ray's eyes roll into his head and Ray sighed. "Raymond is, like, 10 minutes away from Rutgers. And 6:00-ish? Just enough time to have some nice, hot sex and get you home before midnight. Frank is a certified genius."

"God, we're not gonna sleep together!" Gerard cried, frustrated, yet thankful that he was down in the safe confines of the basement. It made for horrible cell service, but at least he could talk about things like this without his mother overhearing.

"Keep telling yourself that," Ray said. "Alright, you have three hours. Don't fuck this up."

"Wait, I have one more question," Gerard said. "Why did you say I was gonna get boned?"

Ray laughed into the phone, one loud, honking fit of laughter. "Dude," he said, immediately becoming serious. "You're a bottom."

"I am not," Gerard said, furrowing his eyebrows together. "What makes you say that?"

"Gotta go," Ray said quickly and hung up, effectively avoiding confrontation. Jesus fuck, Gerard thought, snapping his phone closed and tossing it beside him. He fell backwards into his bed, settling himself among his multitude of pillows and blankets.

"I'm not a bottom," he said aloud, reassuring himself. "I'm..." He thought for a second before saying "Yeah, no, I'm a top."

"Keep telling yourself that," A voice drifted from the open bedroom door and Gerard squeaked, bolting up.

"Michael James!" Gerard yelled. His anger was only met with his brother's giggles which, admittedly, made Gerard giggle too. When Mikey Way giggled, it was hard not to giggle with him. "Remind me to throttle you later," Gerard called, knowing Mikey was already halfway up the stairs.

"Alright," Mikey said flippantly, his mind obviously somewhere other than if his brother topped or bottomed. In his honest opinion— when forced to think about it— Gerard was a bottom. That wasn't something he liked to think about, though, and he repressed that thought as much as he could.

Notes

Hell-oh my deers.

'Tis the season to get spooky, get sick, and get stressed about all the goddamn projects you have looming over your head. But I'm pushing aside my research paper on the Standord Prison Experiment and essay on hospital medical assistants (whatever the fuck that is anyway), as well as my head cold, to update my gay fanfiction.

Ah, the age old debate: who bottoms? One of my friends (let's call her Kitty and, fun fact, she sneezes like a kitten, hence her nickname) says Frank tops, and that's why it's Frerard and not Gerank, but another one of my friends (who looks disturbingly like Ray and Gerard's lovechild, earning him the nickname Geray) argues that Frank is a natural bottom and just yeah wow.

In in other news I CUT OFF SEVEN INCHES OF MY GODDAMN HAIR. It's gone, in some trashbin somewhere, never to be seen again. Now, Geray (you know what, that's a weird name, let me call him... Cherry) says I look like LynZ and I purposely wear my hair in pigtails now.

That's enough of my ramblings for tonight.

xoøli

p.s (does anyone really care about this shit happening in my life right now? No. Does that mean I'm gonna stop telling people about the shit in my life? Not really.)
okay, I'll shut up now.