Home Is Where the Heart Is

Gerard had been travelling for over 6 hours in total, catching multiple busses and a train, to at long last, New York. He had totally under estimated his lengthy trip-with the traffic and the waiting times for the buses-but he managed, and he was finally in New York. Realistically, using car and train rather than bus and train it would’ve taken half the time, but Gerard didn’t have a car, nor the knowledge on how to actually drive, so he just tried to disregard the ‘if I was on time I wouldn’t have to deal with all these people’, with that last lingering thought, when arriving during rush hour and a wave of regret and doubt engulfed him.

Somehow, blaming it on something that you could do nothing about made it feel better, it made him feel like it wasn’t his slow pace that ended him in a nerving, shambolic, anxiety-ridden situation, it wasn’t his fault so, like, he could deal with it because it was the inevitable, so he told himself. People have to deal with the inevitable, and knowing they couldn’t do anything to prevent it makes it somewhat more bearable, so Gerard did just that to get through the big crowds that gathered. It wasn’t his fault he was late, no, it was the fact he didn’t have a car- yeah, sure. It gave him the restored hope that was crushed when he thought, ‘oh shit, I really didn’t consider all these people, and the fact I’m open to the public every second of my life, there is literally no shelter from the people oh my god what am I doing wow you are so stupid Gerard, there are so many people, oh god, people, people, people-’. Basically, if he told himself it wasn’t his fault, he wouldn’t regret started this prodigiously ridiculous trip, and that way he could get through all this, and just play his music.

He was overwhelmed, to put it shortly, huge hoards of people gathered, crowding in on him when he tried to push through to the exit of the station where he had terminated the once serene train. It felt like a huge weight had suddenly descended from the skies at an excessive, cumulative force, empowering its velocity with every gradual step of progression further to earth, only to land right on top of Gerard with the restrictive, crushing reality-he was so small, so alone, so scared and vulnerable, in a city so huge and powering.

Did he ever stand a chance? No, not really, this was probably pushing first place on the list of ‘Gerard’s many imprudent decisions that he never should’ve gone along with but did anyway’, including that time he decided to test how long it takes for a slice of toast to literally set alight, with real flames, and real danger, to the point it was completely incinerated- or that time he told mikey to take the portable radiator into the shower when the boiler wasn’t working, and the insulation cavity walls were knocked down because of the refurbishment next door were undertaking, and everywhere was absolutely freezing. It’s not that Gerard was stupid, or dumb, no, he was in fact quite the opposite, he just didn’t think until later.

So, after having a mini mental meltdown in the centre of a busy, diligent train station at rush hour, he took a deep breath and pulled the sinking guitar case strap back up onto his shoulder, pushed his hair out of his eyes and he smiled to himself, despite his inner apprehension fighting to break free, in an attempt to keep at it and not let his doubts consume him- sure, Gerard was often unenlightened, ignorant and borderline naïve, but not now, he wouldn’t let a huge dream like this be something he was wrong about. He was positive he would love this, no; he knew for certain he was going to love this trip, and it’d be everything he’d expected- but maybe that was just a prime example of his naïve adolescence.

Upon departing the hectic train station, his mind instantaneously programmed to coffee, because he absolutely adored the beverage, it was sort of cold, being the early hours of the morning-seven am-and a warm, caffeinated drink would be practically glorified in that moment of desperation, cold hands and sore throat, sleep-ridden state and a current monotonous, bland flavour on his tongue. He needed coffee, it wasn’t just something he desired in the moment; it was a necessity to life.

With that in mind, and the itching on his dry tongue, he set out to find a Starbucks, because he was basic as fuck, but still grunge and alternative on the fashion front- totally for the aesthetics of the green logo that would absolutely blend with his green parka coat and just complement his whole image-thick messy black hair, hella tight jeans, doc martens and his plaid scarf hanging around his neck- he needed this Starbucks, it was like a calling from some god, summoning him to the illuminated logo that would easily catch his eye no matter where.

Although Gerard had a decent amount of money, he was the sort of spender to only buy when it was long term- or it involved coffee. Like, he doubted he’d spend much money on a hotel room, this was New York after all, hotels were pricey and shit, he already knew he’d probably just crash out on a bench or something, and then get round to finding an apartment he could maybe rent out with someone- okay, he really hadn’t thought this through, and the brutality of realism was suddenly dawning on him when he contemplated what the fuck he was going to do when it came to night.
But he pushed that thought away when entering the Starbucks, the thick aroma of pungent coffee beans and milk drifted up his nose and emptied his mind of all the bad things in life-that’s what coffee does, for the moment you’re drinking it, it’s like it filters out all negativity, so that you can enjoy it to the fullest extent.

The queue was pretty big, it was almost to the door with impatient people waiting behind one another for their drink to kick-start the day. If Gerard wasn’t quite so content with the fact he was finally getting some coffee, and he had finally made it to New York by himself after all these years, he may have felt some what insecure and intimidated to be amongst the large hustle of students, and people who lived here and was used to it all, upper-class business men and women, up in the early hours of the morning, all dressed up in designer wear and fancy suits, with their compact, classy leather cases and laptop bags, whilst Gerard’s huge ass hard-cased guitar took up about 4 spaces in the queue behind him. And people looked at him, they noticed his presence, but Gerard was just one of everyone else in New York-he felt like he belonged here and this was really it for him, it was the right place for him, and his fingers itched to play his guitar and be someone who played their music on the streets, be someone whom he looked up to only yesterday, because they had the courage and what it takes to actually do what he had wanted to his whole life.

Gerard stumbled over his words when he turned to find the till manager looking over him with expectant eyes, barely able to form a coherent sentence as he pathetically tried to politely ask for coffee, whilst in apology for holding up the queue.
“Uh yeah, just a coffee, please-“
The mans’ tight expression seemed to uplift with Gerard’s attention, like he was snapped back into reality too, back to work and the moving day.
“Large?” he asked, not even bothering to attempt using the traditional ‘Italian’ words for the sizes- which are in fact not even that Italian, and a mix of incorrectly used English, Spanish, French, Portuguese with like two words of actual Italian, and even so, they have the wrong definitions, like according to Starbucks ‘Grande’ means medium, when in fact it means large in at least four languages, including the linguistics the founders were fluent in - but anyway, Gerard just nodded because like, he wasn’t going to go into detail of the terrible use of the term ‘venti’ for large. So he psychologically thanked the barista for their use of large, not ‘venti’, which would’ve got Gerard eager to obstruct.

“You play guitar then?” the man asked, meanwhile starting on Gerard’s coffee. Gerard hadn’t even realised he had passed his money over, he was in a daze, his mind was ranting about the bad size terminology with such specifics he forgot to pay attention to what he was really doing.

“Oh erm, yeah I guess I do.” He smiled coyly at the man, trying to talk over the hissing of the machines and maintain the conversation. A blush spread over his cheeks because he wasn’t used to someone paying any sort of attention to him, or even bother attempting discussion with him any time, never mind just a quick stop at the coffee shop.
“Do you busk, or do you go to some music college around here?” The man asked, barely taking his eyes off Gerard in order to sustain his manners in the polite discussion, occasionally doing so to make sure he hadn’t missed the cup when pouring the coffee.
“Yeah, busking, it’s my first time in New York, though.”
The man shook his head, whilst securing the lid for Gerard. “Good luck, honestly, just be careful, keep all your belongings with you and stuff, and like, if I was you, I wouldn’t start until at least 9 am.”

He passed over the drink and smiled warmly at Gerard, almost empathetically because he knew Gerard was way out of his depth here, he could tell by his inability to make eye contact and refrain from blushing, Gerard just looked really young and innocent, shy, even.
“Erm, yeah, thanks I guess.” He replied, taking the steaming cup between his hollowed palms and grinning before taking off with a wave.

Now, Gerard wasn’t entirely sure what exactly he was going to do, as advised by the man earlier, he shouldn’t start until at least nine, which he already knew, after researching it at home ages ago. Apparently people don’t appreciate their morning power routines being interrupted or disturbed, along with their sleeping. Not that anyone would hear him anyway if they were asleep somewhere, it’s just another stupid rule, like the fact some places need permits to be allowed to ride a god damned skate board- it’s ridiculous but it’s just something you have to follow. Also, the factor that it’ll still be rush hour, and you’d probably be getting in the way when people just need to get places.

So he decided to just walk, explore the city, because he wasn’t just here to play music, he wanted to be part of the city, fit in with the people here, appreciate it but also know where the hell he was. That would be a good place to start.

-

For someone who was studying law, on their way to becoming an actual solicitor, or a lawyer, what ever he fuck frank iero was doing with his life, he sure gave little to zero fucks about the law on a daily basis. With his skateboard under his feet and a large hoodie thrown over the top of his shirt and tie, paired with black skinny jeans he really wasn’t aloud to actually wear at his high end state-law school, and a crumpled blazer squashed into his backpack, no one would really be able to tell this was the same Frank Iero who was all A's and bright futures.

If it weren’t already obvious, frank iero really wanted nothing to do with his studies under the degree of law, in fact, he was tempted to do something really, really, against the law, just so he didn’t have to attend that school and study the ridiculous, numbing subject- fuck, he’d rather actually be in prison at this rate, which is pretty ironic considering the circumstances.

His own dad was a policeman, like an actual policeman and detective, who fought crime on a daily basis, and would totally snap the board beneath franks feet within an instance if he caught someone like frank riding that damned thing around the stations of the subway, in fact, probably cremate it, along with all their belongings and their chances of ever getting a job, maybe even their home too. Because franks dad was that kind of guy, that fucking person who abides by the law like stepping one foot out of line was literally a life sentence, when in reality it was just queue jumping one person, or something equally as pathetic that has no real effect or provocative outcome, say, skateboarding in the subway station.

Obviously, he had no idea who frank really was, what he actually did, especially the times he’d be buzzed down a back alley instead of reciting the shit he’d been meant to revise for years to get his degree in Law.

It wasn’t his dad who actually made him go to that dreaded place, no, it was his mother, who decided living vicariously through her son was so much more important than letting him enjoy himself and be happy- hey, maybe frank would actually abide by the law if he wasn’t so big on irony and pissing his parents off.
So really, it’s their fault frank will end up with a criminal record.

Considering he was nineteen and still an absolute little shit who hadn’t grown up even in the slightest since he was about ten years old, it wasn’t surprising he still lived with his parents, as much as he would kill to have his own apartment-which by the way he actually would probably go ahead with if house rental worked that way- he only had a part time job, and the money earned from it was deposited into ‘frank stuff’, like new skateboards, and cool piercing and tattoos, and video games, and just the shit frank didn’t need, but he prioritised over freedom and his own potential apartment.

But what ever, he had a roof over his head, he didn’t have to pay for electricity bills, he got free food which was always a bonus, he was aloud to play drums until 10 pm, which wasn’t ideal, but he’d sacrifice the extra few hypothetical hours in order to still live with his parents. It wasn’t that he enjoyed their company, not at all; he just despised silence-and really enjoyed the benefits of a full fridge minus the responsibilities that came tied when you were on your own and had to actually go out to the shop to buy the food.

In fact, his parents were terrible company-the worst if he was being honest. They’d occasionally sit down for dinner, and his dad would give a mind-numbing summary of how many people he managed to fine for staying a minute over the allotted parking time, or the substantial quantities of people he was able to call out on. Then he’d rant about how annoying these stupid buskers who’d always get in the way were, how it was ridiculous it was even legal, how he hated how they could just make noise where they wanted, how they could be so inconsiderate.

And frank loved irony, he really did, but his father’s oblivion to his own use of it made frank so mad he would probably combust one day.

Then his mother, she’d agree and laugh at how stupid the concept was, because it wasn’t a real job, fuck it wasn’t even a hobby as far as she was concerned, it was just stupid, and irritating, and the buskers would gain nothing but ‘false ammunition and a bad reputation in the real world’, according to her.
Then if frank wasn’t even annoyed enough, his mother would laugh and say something along the lines of ‘not everyone can study law, though’ or ‘at least we know our son isn’t wasting his life’, or the worst one, ‘I’m glad we raised our son to be one of the better people in this world’.

Then if frank hadn’t actually already lit himself on fire in honest ferocity and rage towards his parents ignorance, his father would even push it to the ‘I can’t wait until he finally gives up on those damn drums’ or ‘it won’t be long until you realise how pointless it is wasting your life on those drums of yours.’

But he still stayed, because frank enjoyed the free food and not having a real job.

He could’ve stayed at the school, or college-what ever it was, he didn’t even really know, despite his high grades he somehow achieved-he could’ve lived there, but no, they wouldn’t let him bring his drums, he wasn’t aloud out school nights after like 10 pm, anything even remotely frowned upon his parents would be instantly informed. That meant no skateboarding, no getting buzzed at night, no concerts, no drumming, no being him, and all just stupid school. So, he’d much rather deal with his parents rather than be allowed to do absolutely nothing.
Not that his parents let him out after school times unless he had a reason, like, ‘I’m picking up this study book I ordered’, more like, I’m picking up some cocaine, but they didn’t know that, so it was fine until they did. And sometimes, if frank was lucky, they’d be out, his mother would go on business trips quite often, and his father always seemed to have so much to do, it was as if he actually enjoyed his role in making everyone’s day absolutely shit, so he’d do night shifts for double pay and double ‘fun’. Sure frank didn’t think his job was completely pointless, he didn’t fancy getting stabbed to death when he walked down to the corner shop to purchase a can of soda. Some people just took everything too seriously, and his dad was one of those people.
Then, in those circumstances, he’d just go out and meet up with his few friends, who seemed really intimidating but were actually pretty decent human beings, or he’d invite them around to his place and they’d just order pizza, and chat, and watch movies, maybe get a bit high.

Another thing his parents magically, surprising disagreed on, because they certainly weren’t opinionated people in the slightest, was franks sexuality. Of course, he was gay-he wasn’t actually quite sure and it was all sort of a blur, which he wasn’t too keen on labelling at this point, but he knew he liked sucking dick, and he liked guys, like a lot. He was really good at giving hand jobs too, and masturbating, because frank was like hench as fuck, he played drums and could hit it hard, he was loud as hell, and he knew how to pleasure. He had really good rhythm and he was pretty strong, so even though he was sort of short, what he lacked in height, he certainly made up for in bed. It had been a while since he had an actual relationship, but the few one night stands he had been way too desperate to miss out on, he was dominant as fuck and could pin anyone up against the wall when he wanted to.

Another downer on staying at the school, is like, when would he be able to fuck? Hypothetically, he had a relationship; he’d be way too loud it’d be so hard to get away with it all the time. And then, what about his roommate-that is if they weren’t fucking each other, that was always a possibility, slim but still one- he could refuse to leave so frank could fuck in peace. Then, if his hypothetical boyfriend lived in town, not on campus, he wouldn’t be aloud out to see them. See, another reason he just had to stay with his parents.
So here frank was, an hour late almost, speeding through the subway station to catch the sub, to school so he could get an ‘education’ or what ever his parents wanted to call it, either way he wasn’t interested.

Frank really loved music himself, he was always at least a bit intrigued when people were busking, even if they were sort of shit and were only really out to promote, he still appreciated how they could get up and do what he’d love to be able to do rather than be stuck studying the law he didn’t even fucking abide to. Though as always, there were those people who had genuine talent, and even got crowds sometimes, those people who were really out there to make music, not to earn in return.

So as he sped through the station on his way to catch the next train with little than thirty seconds until its estimated arrival, he happened to come across a busker, up this early, which wasn’t very normal because people usually didn’t bother during the rush hours, even though frank was definitely on the later side of the rush hours, it was still pretty damn early to be up at this time, and actually be doing something productive when the person could’ve stayed in bed for several hours longer.
He turned the corner, already contemplating sticking around because that way he could watch, and then also do some really neat procrastinating so that he missed all of first lesson that morning. Not to mention, even from quite a distance, this person sounded pretty damn good. But frank knew he couldn’t be any later, he couldn’t postpone school, because he was already really, really close to the school calling up his parents again, and the consequences really wouldn’t be worth it, after his experience the last time he parents received a negative call from school.

But there was absolutely no way frank could’ve truly expected what he got in return, it was as if his ears were actually being blessed and his eyes were actually upon some like real life god, because this busker could sing, like really well, and this busker was exceptional at what he was doing, with his guitar, and stuff, and just, everything.

Gerard had already been playing for like, twenty minutes now, and he just had that buzz, just that rush of excitement and joy, his mind was internally screaming just absolutely fuck it, because he loved music, he fucking loved it so much and it gave him such a rush of unexplainable feelings, he loved the feeling of his lungs filling up with air, and how he could just loose himself with the beat. He’d occasionally let go of his guitar to do some hand gesture, or push his hair out of his eyes, and the only noise would be his voice ringing out and the echoes of the last chords played would hang in the air, or he’d stop and thank someone, someone who stopped to watch or donate some money-or something, he didn’t even care to be honest, everyone was just invisible to him in this moment, because he was singing, and playing his guitar, and he was just so happy to be alive right then and there.

It was like that feeling when you listened to a song and the singer would reach an absolutely amazing high note, or the lead guitarist was at the peak of their solo, and they were like fucking shredding or some shit, and it was those goose bumps and that adrenaline rush that almost through you off edge, it was the exasperating feeling that wouldn’t stop, that was what Gerard felt singing, because he had passion.

At first he was sort of shy, well shy was an understatement- but he started playing a few chords, and then after a good minute, he couldn’t help but sing along to the rhythm, and then, before the apprehension and doubts could consume him, he got carried away with the jovial chords and the up beat rhythm, and it was as if no one else existed. It came natural to him, sure he had practice in his hometown, and he was no where near this confident when he first started, but it was like he was made for this, he felt like this was the only thing he knew how to do. He almost felt like crying, or tearing his hair out, or punching a wall- it was an odd sensation, but an amazing one nonetheless. He liked to change the lyrics up sometimes, or tap a rhythm out on his guitar whilst playing the chords when things got really intense, he just loved it, and there was no other explanation.

And frank sort of just stared at this honest replica of an actual angel; he stopped on his skateboard and waited to just appreciate it all, even though the sub was literally there, like he could see it, and it was about to leave any second, so he really needed to go, and as much as he wished he could stay, he’d probably see them another time- or something, hopefully. Well, that was what frank was truly relying on when he just managed to catch the tube.

Notes

this took absolutely ages and it's relatively short which is really annoying but I've been super busy bc halloween, then i had loads of home work which thinking about i have loads due tomorrow so I'm going to go like throw myself under a bus or something in a minute because its midnight and i really like bed and i really hate responsibilities, but anyway as i was saying, i wanted to make this better but i also wanted to upload and I'm going to a concert tomorrow night so i wouldn't be able to update then- okay what ever here you go i hope you like this I'm really excited for this fic nice nice

yeah so please leave comments and vote and subscribe and stuff, or don't just read this and like mentally vote i don't really care what ever i just hope y'all enjoy this fic because hell it means a lot if u do already.

ahhh and also thank you bc like the amount of subs only on my first chapter is hella, like wow thank you everyone!!

OOOh and i also did the cover thing for it and the drawings are pretty bad but I'm gonna work on them because they were really rushed bc i decided to do them whilst actually in the middle of something i later realised had to be finished and i just like gave up so kind of ignore them bc i swear they will be so much better when i can be bothered ad i have time