"Way," his supervisor said, opening Gerard's office door without so much as a knock. When one's the head boss, as Sholto was, they didn't require knocking. "You're on the Pencey Corps Benefit tonight."

Gerard blinked once, twice, at his supervisor, and choked out, "Come again?"

"We need a man on the ground at the benefit, and I'm sending you," Sholto said. "Just a few interviews and mingling; nothing too big."

"Of course," Gerard said. He rubbed his thigh with the ball of his hand and nodded, swallowing. "This is gonna go up tomorrow, I imagine?"

"You imagine correct," Sholto said. "Press your shirt, brush your hair, and get ready to actually interact with people." With that, he left the office, closing the door behind him.

Gerard sighed and rested his head in his hands, trying to think clearly. The Pencey Corporation was one of the largest companies in the world, employing hundreds of thousands of people all over the globe, specializing in everything from manufacturing watches to owning television networks. Every year, the company put on a benefit for charity, inviting wealthy people from around the world to mingle and discuss whatever rich people discussed; not being one, Gerard had no clue what the subjects of those conversations would be.

It was a known fact amongst reporters such as himself that, if they were put on the Pencey Benefit, their career was headed places. About time, Gerard figured. Nearly six years here.
Another thing that Gerard considered a bonus for being put on the Benefit was the company's CEO, Francis Iero. He was a young man, the same age as Gerard, but much wealthier and much more handsome. However, another similarity between the two was that they were both openly gay; Mr. Iero seeming to prefer men and women, while Gerard was on a strict men-only regimen.

Gerard looked up from his hands and to the calendar atop his desk, that day's date circled in red marker. Two years!! was written in circle and Gerard cussed aloud, picking up his phone and dialing the familiar phone number, cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder.
"Hey, babe," the man on the other end of the line said upon answering. "Something up?"

"Hi, uh," Gerard started. "I can't make dinner tonight. I'm sorry, Bert, but I've been put on a story and I-I can't back out of it."

He heard Bert sigh, then say, "You're never around anymore, Gee. It's like you're not invested in our relationship at all."

"God, baby, I am," Gerard insisted. Not here; not now. He didn't need this drama now. "I'm trying my best, but Sholto is unstoppable and he always puts all of these stories and deadlines on me and… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Bert."

"You know, Gerard, if there's someone else, you can tell me," Bert said after a moment. "Someone you're paying more attention to, or that you're cheating on me with. If there's another man, just tell me now."

"There isn't!" Gerard cried. "Bert, you're the only man for me, I swear. I'm not seeing anyone else. I can't control what stories I get put on and—"

"What story were you put on that's more important than our anniversary?" Bert asked.

"The Pencey Corps Benefit," Gerard sighed. "As far as I know, I'm not admitted a guest. But I should be home by at least midnight. We'll still have all night to be alone, I promise."

Bert gave a small grunt of acknowledgement at Gerard's words and said, "See you at midnight, then."

Great, just what I need right now, Gerard thought once he hung up. A Cinderella curfew.

---

Frank was bored. Every year, it was the same crowd of rich socialites and the scant reporter and, nearing the fifth year of this tradition, he had made his rounds of the crowd enough times to last a lifetime. He needed new blood, and fast.

He fiddled with his watch, seeing that it was only ten-thirty, and looked around the room, biting his bottom lip in thought. There was nobody interesting in the crowd, the same people Frank met every year, and he gave a small sigh, taking a small drink of his champagne, which had fallen flat.

Then, he nearly choked on the mouthful when he saw somebody enter the room. They were new blood, certainly; if his vibrant scarlet hair wasn't an indication of that, Frank didn't know what was. He gathered as much information about the man as he could from across the room, taking note of his crisp black dress shirt and… Jeans? Was he wearing jeans? Maybe he doesn't get out much, Frank decided, doing up the button of his suit jacket. Flute of drink in hand, he made his way across the room, intent on finding out the new man's name.

Gerard, meanwhile, could tell he definitely was in the wrong crowd. He wore jeans— the only black pants he owned, barring sweatpants— as well as his favorite dress shirt and a black suit jacket, with his usual Chucks. Definitely, definitely in the wrong crowd. He straightened the lanyard around his neck, showing the logo for the Advertiser, then heard someone clear their throat behind him.

Gerard was stunned. Francis Iero stood behind him, giving him a warm smile. "Good evening," he said cordially. "I think I would remember you if we've ever met before."

"We haven't," Gerard said, then offered him his hand. "I'm Gerard Way, I'm with the Advertiser."
"Francis Iero," he introduced himself. "But you can call me Frank. Everyone else does."

Gerard smiled, if a bit uncomfortably, and Frank leaned in closer. "Are you okay?" He asked quietly, taking ahold of Gerard's wrist.

"It's…" he started in a strained voice. "It's stupid. Don't worry."

"You're my guest, I have to worry," Frank reasoned. "Tell me, what's bothering you?"

"It's just," Gerard began, and Frank noticed how shallow the man's breathing was. "I'm prone to panic attacks, among other things. I-I knew that there would be a lot of people here, but ya know, I can't exactly control what stories I'm assigned to." He laughed weakly, his features making him look as if he were about to cry.

"Oh, God," Frank said softly. "Here, let's go outside, it's much less crowded out there. Or do you need to be removed from the situation all together?"

"I think I'm just gonna leave," Gerard whispered, then, before he could even move, felt Frank's hand on his shoulder.

"Let me come with you," he requested. "At the very least, so I know you're okay."

"No, no," Gerard protested, pushing his hands in his pockets in an attempt to hide how badly they were shaking. "T-this is your benefit, don't worry about me. I just need to step outside for a moment, maybe call my boyfriend, and I'll be fine. Really."

Boyfriend. Frank had certainly heard him say boyfriend. "Gerard, please, let me do this," Frank said gently. "Just so I don't have to worry."

After a moment, Gerard gave a small nod and allowed Frank to take his hand and lead him out of the crowded room and to a different room completely, one that seemed locked, based on Frank's actions with the doorknob before opening the door.

It was a bedroom, neat and tidy, much like Gerard's at home. Frank insisted that Gerard take a seat on the edge of the bed, which he did without argument, and Frank joined him moments later. "You said you're prone to panic attacks?" Frank asked, and Gerard nodded. Each breath seemed to be a challenge, and Frank rubbed his back comfortingly, whispering small words of encouragement.

After a moment, Frank moved the hand on Gerard's back to his chest, trying to gauge his heartbeat, and Gerard choked out, "Hard to breathe." A flash of panic ran through Frank and he moved himself closer to Gerard.

"Gerard, hey, look at me," Frank told him, turning Gerard to look at him. "Put your hand on my chest and breath with me, okay? It'll be okay, you'll be okay." Gerard didn't hesitate at all, placing his hand in the middle of Frank's chest and feeling his chest rise, then fall, and he tried to copy the movements with his own breathing. "That's it, there you go," Frank whispered comfortingly, moving his hand again to Gerard's shoulder. "Just like that. Now, don't think about anything except for your boyfriend. Just calm down—"

This didn't help, as Gerard's breathing became more erratic. "Hey, hey, hey, stop," Frank said quickly. "I'm sorry. Maybe do you want to talk through it?"

Gerard nodded and whispered, "Tonight's our anniversary and, when I called him to tell him I had to come here, he got really upset. It's not the first time he's got upset about something I can't control and, and when I told him, he accused me of seeing someone else and—"

"Hey," Frank said quietly. "If you don't want to talk about any of this, you don't."

"I-I need to talk through it," Gerard said finally. "I need to. He's started drinking again and I'm getting scared of him. I love him but I don't know if he'll yell at me when I get home or not, and it's getting really pathetic. I'm getting afraid to go home."

"Does he hurt you?" Frank asked. "Like, has he hit you before?"

"He's done it before, but then he got sober, and he hasn't," Gerard said. "I'm afraid he's gonna do it again but… I, I love him. I can't lose him, ya know?"

"Oh, wow, Gerard," Frank breathed. "God, that sucks."

"Yeah," Gerard said quietly. "Can I confess something to you?" Frank nodded, and Gerard sighed. "I'm completely uncomfortable here— not here, this bedroom— but here, the benefit. A lot of people, where I don't fit in, and everybody's drinking and I'm super uncomfortable with that but—"

"Stop, it's okay," Frank interjected. "You don't need to tell me everything. It's alright."

"That wasn't the confession," Gerard said. "I'm uncomfortable here… But you make it better."

"Do I?" Frank asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You're helpful, you're kind," Gerard began. "Thank you a lot. I feel much better."

"That's good," Frank said softly. "Do you wanna go back out there, or...?"

Gerard shook his head. "I think I need to stay here or something," he said softly. "I really don't wanna get worked up again."

"I understand," Frank said softly. "So, Gerard, how long've you been with the Advertiser?"

"Right around six years," Gerard answered. He visibly became more comfortable, and he brushed his burning hair out of his eyes.

"If you don't mind my asking, how long have you been with your boyfriend?" Frank asked.

"We've been on-again, off-again since high school, so almost ten years," Gerard said. "But, I think when we break up this time, I won't go back. Bert's making my life hell, and I deserve better than that."

"Ten years," Frank sighed. "I could not imagine being with the same person for ten years."

"It's usually two-ish years, then six months off, and we get back together," Gerard said quietly. "Since we were seventeen."

"That's crazy, man," Frank said. "The longest I've ever been with someone was right around a year and a half, but then I started getting offered partnerships and I was out of the house a lot, and… It just didn't work out."

"Oh, yeah," Gerard laughed. "You're, like, this huge businessman. Mama must be proud."

"I don't know," Frank said with a laugh. "Yeah, I was adopted when I was just a little baby. But then, my adoptive family moved from New Mexico up to New Jersey and I lost touch with my birth parents. I don't think she remembers my name; she gave me one name when I was born, then, when I was adopted, they named me something else and I was young enough so that I didn't answer to Anthony yet, so…" he shrugged, finished talking. "Now I'm Francis, and my birth mom probably knows me. She just doesn't know it's me."

"My life isn't as exciting as yours," Gerard said. "I grew up in Jersey with my little brother, and my mom and my dad, and then my mom's mom moved in with us when I was twelve. We never moved around, I hadn't ever left the state until I was ten."

"Have you always wanted to be a reporter?" Frank asked. He leaned back until his back touched the mattress, and stretched like a cat.

"Not really," Gerard said. "My whole life, I was dead-set on being a graphic artist, like comic books and things like that. I even went to SVA and got a BFA in graphic design. My brother jokes that I have a degree in comic books, which, yeah, I do, sorta. But then I got out of college and nobody would hire me, so I went to the Advertiser to work in their mail room. While I was there, I kinda realized that this whole news thing was pretty rad, so I went back to college and got an actual degree that I can use, and now, five years on, I'm an on-air reporter."

"Now, see, I knew your face was familiar," Frank said, sitting up on his elbows. "You just can't forget that hair. Or those eyes. Excuse me, I'm partially drunk, and I get really gay, so…"

"It's okay," Gerard laughed. "I'm really gay all the time, so it's not an issue. Anyway, you have nice hair, too. And nice eyes."

"Thank you," Frank said. "C'mon, make yourself comfortable. You don't have to sit like that all night."

Gerard huffed out a small laugh and rolled into his stomach, moving himself up so that he was in-line with Frank. He propped his chin in the palm of his hand, and gave Frank a small smile. "Okay, you're a reporter, I want your professional opinion," Frank began. "Nine."

"He's…" Gerard began and gave a small grunt. "He's kinda bland. I mean, yeah, big superhero defending New York, that sounds right up my alley, but what are his powers exactly? He can generate fire and knock out electronics and move fast. Big whoop. What's the name Nine, anyway?"

"Strong opinion, eh?" Frank laughed. "Yeah, he's okay. But, without him, there'd be a lot of shit going on that would suck."

"True," Gerard nodded. "He's really just overhyped, though. I mean, there's no thrill anymore, especially when you're in the media. For once, I would like to see Nine wow me."

"You say that like it's a personal thing," Frank laughed.

"I'm not easily impressed," Gerard said. "So, if Nine were to impress me, he would have to do something good."

Frank made a small noise, and said, "Alright then. Twenty questions about yourself. Number one: favorite color?"

"Blue," Gerard answered. "You?"

"Red. Song?"

"God, umm… Bullets With Butterfly Wings, Smashing Pumpkins."

"Nice," Frank answered. "I Walk The Line, Johnny Cash. Not big into country music, but I like Johnny Cash."

It took the two of them a full hour to reach twenty questions, stopping every so often to give commentary about the answers. By the time they finished, it was nearing midnight, but Gerard had long since forgotten about Bert. Now, he say a mere inch away from Frank, their arms touching. Frank had been in various states of undress the whole hour, finally ending up with no shoes, no jacket and loosened tie, with Gerard missing his shoes and jacket.

"I like you," Frank decided after a comfortable silence. "You're pretty rad."

"You are too," Gerard agreed. "You're one of the coolest people I've ever met. And I have enough information to write my article. So, I got two wins."

"There you go," Frank said, turning his head to face Gerard's, inches away from his. In the soft lamplight of the room, Gerard's face was illuminated almost perfectly, making him seem almost god-like. His lips look soft, Frank thought, catching himself staring. I wonder if they are.

"I should probably get going," Gerard said, pulling Frank out of his reverie. "We'll keep in touch, yeah?"

Frank nodded and asked, "What's your number?" Gerard relayed the information to Frank, who smiled at his phone screen. "Hey, Gerard, can you promise me something?"

"Sure," Gerard said hesitantly.

"Will you try to talk to your boyfriend about everything?" Frank asked. "I'm sure he'll lay off once you explain everything. He does know about your panic attacks, right?"

"Yeah, but it usually only happens when we're fighting, so they only happen almost all the time," Gerard with a forced smile. "I'll try to talk to him, though. For you, at least."

"Thanks," Frank said quietly, watching Gerard pull on his shoes and jacket. He watched without protest as he left, closing the door behind him, allowing Frank to groan aloud. "I shoulda kissed him," he decided aloud. "I should've done it."

Notes

this starts really abruptly but i saw the batman v superman movie the other day and i got this idea while watching it and i started writing and here we are.
i might edit this first chapter later on down the line. idk
xoKristin