What's My Age Again

I can notbelieve it! - well, I sort of can, but the injustice is scrambling my brain and making it hard to concentrate. The insensitive fucker used my couch to do fulfil his sexual desires; I throw up in my mouth a little at the thought and the memory. And to think that I thought that Robert - Roger? Rick? - was a good kid! Whatever his name is.

I walk into the kitchen - peering round the door, spy style, to make sure the pair aren't contaminating this room as well, because for all I know Rodrick could have stayed overnight - before sneaking in and looking for something to distract me from the traumatising event I witnessed the day before. I find a bottle of vodka and grab it, taking it back into the living room.

I flop down onto the couch before remembering what happened there just a day ago and I jump back up again, quickly. Probably too quickly, as the vodka sloshes over the rim of the bottle and splashes my fingers, making me drop the drink in surprise. It hits the couch cushion and I watch as the liquid spills. The fabric goes dark as the vodka stains it and the air smells overpoweringly of alcohol.

Great, that's just fucking great, I think to myself as I right the bottle and place it on the coffee table, wishing I could just reverse time to where I was blissfully unaware of the gross shit Brendon and Ralph get up to whilst I'm away. The smell is obvious, and if Brendon figures out I've been hiding drinks from him in the cupboard under the sink, he'll tell Mikey who will yell at me for hours about the dangers of drinking whilst on medication. That happened once before, and I a mother in no rush to have it happen again.

I brainstorm ways that I could get the smell the disappear - or just mask it with a stronger, possibly worse, smell. After opening the window or spraying deodorant - as my deodorant ran out two days ago and I keep forgetting to buy more - are ruled out, I settle for lighting the incense I know Brendon keeps in the plantpot on the windowsill. I fumble with the packet for a few seconds before getting out a box of matches and attempting to light one. Once the wooden stick is lit, I wave it around violently - again, too violently since the next thing I know is tripping over the leg of the coffee table and dropping the burning stick.

Right onto the couch that is soaked in alcohol. Shit.

I can do nothin good but watch in horror as the tiny flame becomes a bigger flame, and keeps growing until the whole sofa is engulfed in flames. Take three or four big steps back, I look around in a panic for the fire extinguisher but of course, I can't remember where we keep ours. If we have one at all.

"What's that smell?" Brendon asks groggily as he strolls into the living room, obviously having been woken by the stench of smoke quickly filling the room, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He's obviously just got out of the shower, and he's soon followed by Rodrigo, also only wearing a towel. I would sneer at them in disgust if the small matter of the couch being on fire wasn't more pressing at the moment.

"Gerard, what the hell is going on?!" Brendon yells, seemingly more awake now he's spotted the rather large fire in the middle of his shared living room.

"Oh, the couch is on fire." I say slowly, backing away from it a little more as if to assert my innocence. Although I highly doubt he's going to believe a burglar broke into our apartment, set the couch on fire and left without taking anything.

"Yes, I can see that!" He screams in frustration before running out of the room and coming back a few seconds later with a fire extinguisher. I'm tempted to ask him how the towel stayed up, but I don't think I want to know. He proceeds to spray the couch until the fire has been completely extinguished.

"You idiot!" I cry, outraged by Brendon's blatant stupidity. "What did you do?!"

"I just saved this apartment from your pyromaniac ass!" He yells in reply and from the corner of my eye I notice Roberto slipping away into the bedroom. Smart move.

"Yeah, but you used a Type C fire extinguisher! On a couch!"

"It's just a fire extinguisher!"

"You know why they have different classes?" I ask patronisingly, knowing I'm setting myself up for an Angry Mikey, but there's something about Brendon that just brings out the antagonist in me.

"Who the fuck cares about that?! What I care about is the fact that you set our couch on fire!"

"Type C it's for flammable gases, like methane, propane, butane, etcetera, etcetera. This is - was - a couch, an A type would do. And it would have been a lot less expensive. Just so you know."

"Since when did you become an expert on fire extinguishers?"

I bite my bottom lip.

"I may have had to take classes on risk prevention at school... when I set my locker on fire."

"How did you... you know what? Never mind, I don't want to know. But why did you set the
couch on fire!?"

Brendon looks me, his mouth gaping and eyes wide with confusion. It would probably be intimidating if it weren't for the fact that he was only wearing a tiny, white, fluffy towel and his hair was still wet and sticking up everywhere like someone had been running their fingers through it. Gerard shuddered at the thought and the memories that surfaced because of it.

"Because you contaminated my couch, you disgusting piece of shit!"

"It's our couch! This is my apartment too!" He argues, flapping his arms up and down similar to a distressed seagull. He looks almost comical, except, of course, that white, fluffy towel that he still hasn't fucking changed out of!

"I was here first! I'm the alpha owner!"

"What the heck are you talking about? You're anything but an alpha." He raises an eyebrow tauntingly before I reply with gritted teeth.

"I am! This couch belong to me! It's mine!"

"Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do? Piss around it to mark your territory?" He challenges; at least, it sounds like a challenge to me...

"What makes you think I haven't done that already, hmm?" I smirk as his eyes go wide. Yep, I knew that would be the way to get to him.

"Oh my fucking god! You're the disgusting one, you creep!"

"Who's disgusting?" A loud voice comes from behind me and I squeal - in what is probably a very unattractive manor - as I jump out of my skin. I'm glad I haven't got anything more to drop, because it would most definitely be on the floor by now.

He takes one look at the blackened, charred remains of our beautiful sofa and exclaims,

"Whoa, what happened to the couch?"

"Gerard set the couch on fire!" Brendon squeaks indignantly, jabbing a finger at me as though there were any doubt as to which Gerard he was talking about. "And he just admitted he pissed on it!"

Mikey wrinkles his nose up in disgust and opens his mouth to say something. I feel distinctly like a child in high school again, waiting to be reprimanded by a teacher for my behaviour. This time though, I'm not going down without making my side of the story heard.

"He and his very underage boyfriend were having sex on it! I had to do something!"

"You didn't have to set it on fire." Mikey points out in a monotone, rolling his eyes, whilst Brendon quietly freaks out next to them.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! Ew, ew, ew! I was fucking Ryan on a couch full of Gerard's urine!" (Gerard couldn't help but snicker at that one, and he noticed Mikey holding back his giggles as well, so he can't have been that mad.)

"The couch was what?" Ryan gasps, reentering the living room looking very dressed (in
Brendon's clothes) and very, very scared.

***

It's around midday when Gee comes in again, and Frank is overjoyed to see him so soon. He peers over Gerard's shoulder to see if he could spot a meddling, peroxide-blonde younger brother following him in but he appears to be alone, which, of course, is another's plus.

He smiles when he sees Frank. At first Frank doesn't think anything of it; he knows Gee probably doesn't remember him at all and he's just smiling because he's nice and polite and perfect, but then he walks up to the counter and leans over, resting his elbows on the tabletop and his chin in his hands. His grin, if possible, seems to stretch even wider across his face.

"Hey there, Frankie." He greets Frank loudly, and the younger boy's heart just about stops inside hos chest because Gerard remembered Frank's motherfucking name! Frank momentarily forget how to breathe as the gorgeous man in front of him holds out his hand for Frank to shake - a gesture which he finds a little odd seeing as they've sort of met two or three times before without him feeling the need to shake Frank's hand, but he's not complaining. He'll take any opportunity he can get to just touch Gerard... even just his hands.

"Your usual?" Frank asks breathlessly as he places his hand in Gerard's watching as he has to initiate the shaking motion - Frank's hand has gone kind of limp in his due to shock.
Frank expects him to withdraw his hand as soon as possible, but to the boy's surprise he doesn't. Gerard just keeps their hands touching, never breaking eye contact with Frank, so Frank takes this opportunity to pay attention to his future husband's hands. They're soft, unlike Frank's. He obviously doesn't play guitar; his fingertips are too smooth as they glide across Frank's knuckles to have been plucking the tough strings on a regular bas - holy shit his fingertips are brushing over Frank's knuckles! He's pretty certain that's not how a normal handshake is supposed to be.

Frank lets his eyes drift down to their hands and now intertwined fingers, observing the tiny little birthmarks and scratches on Gee's hands, the remnants of a doodle on his fingers. His hands are perfect, just like his face, and Frank can only imagine - no, fantasise - about how perfect the rest of his body is...

Before Frank can blurt out something he'll most definitely regret later - something that would quite probably ruin all of his chances with Gerard forever - the bell above the door jingles and a tall man with dark hair and beady eyes is walking in, his gaze instantly being drawn to the beautiful man hunched over the counter whose eyes have not left Frank's since the moment he walked in. Frank didn't want to look away from Gerard's mesmerising eyes but he was sure ignoring customers was the best way to get fired.

"Hi! How can I -" he's in the middle of asking how he can help when the cruel looking man covers the last distance between Gerard and himself, and grabs onto Gee's hips.

"I should've known a bitchy like you would move on quickly." He hisses, sneering at Gerard who has gone very, very pale. All traces of flirty amusement is gone replaced by sheer terror that makes Frank start panicking. It's all he can do just to stare at the asshole who just came in, open mouthed and disbelieving. Did he really just say that to shy, clueless, adorable Gerard?

"And you changed your hair too Babe! What happened, did you fuck Ronald McDonald or something? How did you get that freakish hair colour?"

The colour is now rushing back to Gerard's face and he begins to blush the same colour as his hair. He's opening and closing his mouth, his eyes wide and frightened, and Frank physically can't just stand by and let this asshole berate his Gerard into stunned silence!

"Hey, what the fuck's your problem, man?" Frank asks accusingly, raising his eyebrows. Asshole just looks at him, folding his arms over his chest confrontationingly, and sneering.
"Shut it, you fucking Oompa Loompa. Go make ice cream or whatever you actually do here. If you do anything at all."

Gerard makes a small, strangled noise that Frank would probably find arousing if it weren't for the circumstances. This guy actually just said that! - and Frank isn't going to stand for that. He hasn't let anyone push him around since tenth grade and he sure as hell isnt going to start now - not to appease some narcissistic, asshole customer.

"Hey! If you have an attitude problem and all you're gonna do is insult my customers then you can get the fuck out of here! Alright?!"

Frank didn't notice until now, but Gerard is actually crying. Tears are streaming down his face and his shoulders are shaking; he's quiet but hysterical and Frank can't stand it.

"Hey, c'mon man. I was just having some fun with Gee here!" Asshole argues, seeing how mad he's made Frank with his passing insult and backpeddling so he doesn't end up with the police on is ass. If Frank could have his way he'd have more than just a fine for verbal harassment, but Frank isn't the police and he isn't going to take the law into his own hands any time soon.

Asshole reaches out a hand and places it on Gerard's shoulder, making him shriek and turn his whole body away as though to protect himself from oncoming blows. Frank wants to know just who the fuck this guy is and why Gerard is so afraid of him.

"Don't touch him," Frank snaps agressivly, advancing on Asshole who backs away. "Don't touch him or I'll rip your fucking balls off and make you eat them!" At that, Asshole's eyes widen and he darts for the door, sticking his middle finger up at them in parting and he exits the building.

It's not very busy in the parlour at the moment, but the customers that are there are all watching with interest at the screaming match. Parents with young children are glaring disapprovingly at Frank right now and if he weren't so mad right now he might feel guilty. Now though, now he can't bring himself to give a fuck.

Frank sighs loudly as he watches the man retreat, wishing he could go after him. He really wants to, but he doesn't want to leave Gerard alone and he knows he'd be fired on the spot if he left the front of the shop unsupervised. Slowly, he walks towards the sobbing man who has gradually slid down the counter to sit on the floor. His back is against the hard plastic counter and his knees are drawn up to his chest.

"Hey Gee," Frank says softly, crouching down warily in front of Gerard. He doesn't want to move too quickly and scare the man, but he can't just leave him to sit on floor in the front of Pete and Patrick's shop, weeping pathetically. Not only would it be cruel to let him stay down there but he's scaring the other customers, and Frank doesn't want reprimanded for allowing them to be disturbed.

Gee doesn't reply, instead he sobs harder and seems to shy away from the sound of Frank's voice. That upsets Frank. He doesn't want Gerard to be afraid of him or associate him with any bad memories, but surely he wouldn't be scared of Frank if Frank helped him, right? It would be kinder to bring him into the back room to spare him the humiliation of crying his eyes out in front of a cafe full of people.

"Gee?" Frank asks again, this time reaching out and placing a hand on Gerard's shoulder. He expected the man to look up and face him, possibly try to swallow back his tears and claim he was "okay". He did not expect him to scream and flail his arms about in a weak attempt to swat Frank's hands away from him. Gerard acted as if Frank was the one that had upset him - hell, he acted as if Frank had just fucking murdered someone in front of him! - when Frank was only trying to help? What the hell is going on? is all Frank can think at the moment.

Some insensitive fucker must have complained to Pete about the noise because the next thing Frank knows is he's being grabbed by his arm and dragged away from Gerard by a Very Angry Pete Wentz who looks intent on ripping Frank to shreds slowly and painfully and then force feeding his own limbs to himself. Frank is honestly very afraid. He risks a look back at his future husband and sees that Patrick is now kneeling on the ground and actually seems to be successfully comforting Gee.

Frank would be lying if he said he wasn't incredibly jealous. What does Patrick have to offer that Frank doesn't, huh?

"What the hell was that?!" Pete yells as soon as he's dragged Frank into the back office and shut the door firmly behind them. "I just got a customer complaint that a member of my staff was verbally abusing and threatening another man and had reduced a customer to tears on the shop floor! So do you wanna tell me what the fuck happened because I am this close from firing your ass!"

All Frank can do it stammer out some excuse about Asshole coming in and saying mean shit to Gerard who then freaked out and started crying, but of course that doesn't explain why the customer complained about Frank, or why Gerard was unwilling to let Frank anywhere near him but Patrick was fine. They were both mysteries to Frank - although the customer complaint was probably because he told Asshole he would rip off and force feed his own balls to him, but he doesn't want Pete to know about that if he doesn't already.

"God Frank," Pete sighs heavily, massaging his temples with his index and middle finger. Frank wants to feel guilty, but he just can't; all he feels isn't resentment towards Pete for not cutting him some slack, hatred for Asshole who thought it was okay to bully Gerard, and confusion towards Gee for his behaviour after the whole event.

"Look, I'm really sorry Frank." Pete says, finally showing some kind of remorse. "I can't keep you on after an incident like this. I just... can't. I'm sorry."
Frank stares at Pete, devastated. He worked so hard for this job! He woke up at fucking five in the morning and left at closing time for some shifts! He gave up a social life and time with his friends and family for this stupid fucking job, only to lose it now because of one slip up! Frank wants to find whoever made that complaint and fucking break them!

"Pete, please -" Frank says, preparing himself to beg and grovel at Pete's feet if that what he needs to do, but he's interrupted by a knock on the door and then almost immediately afterwards a part time employee named Marge enters, looking very discheveled and very in need of assistance.

"Mr Wentz, Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt but there's a man at table seven that insists he didn't order the chocolate banana split - but I swear he didn't - and he wants to speak to you. He says he should get a discount but he did order the fu- excuse me, the flipping chocolate banana split!"
Pete groans and leaves the office without a backwards glance at Frank, looking like a pitiful kicked dog, and Frank has no other choice than to follow after him and leave through the front door, just like Asshole did about twenty minutes earlier. This time though, Frank feels no elation or satisfaction as he walks through the door.

As he peers over his own shoulder to see Pete arguing with table seven he takes his eyes off his path and his shoulder slams into someone else almost immediately. He jerks around to see who he just shoulder barged. He begins to think his luck is changing when he sees Mikey Way standing there - maybe Mikey can help him with the Gerard situation? - but then reevaluates that thought when he sees the murderous expression on his face.

"Mikey -" is all Frank manages to say before Mikey places a hand flush against his chest and shoves him, hard, backwards. Frank stumbles but manages to catch himself before he falls over; there's another guy behind Mikey, with dark hair and nerdy glasses on that looks just as aggressive as Mikey does right now.

"If you ever, ever hurt my brother again, I will murder you, do you understand?! I don't know what the fuck you did but stay away from Gerard!"

With that said, he barges past Frank and enteres the ice cream parlour. Frank didn't realise Gerard was still there, but, Frank supposes, it doesn't matter.

Notes