What's My Age Again

Ryan has been at work for approximately eight minutes when the bell above the door jingles and Brendon walks in, looking unusually chipper and friendly today. Ryan would stop to ogle him as he walks towards him - whether Ryan is pissed at him or not, he's still annoyingly beautiful and that's undeniable - but it's just gone four o' clock, peak customer time, and Pete and Patrick need all the help they can get. The ice cream parlour is overrun with snivelling toddlers, overexcited teenagers and adults who are getting way too happy over a little bowl of ice cream.

Ryan really doesn't want to be here, but he has missed enough of his shifts already, mostly because of Brendon, and he's at risk of losing his job if he takes any more time off. He knows Pete doesn't want to fire him, but they need as much help as they can get and Pete and Patrick can't afford to pay someone who misses shifts for no reason other than not wanting to. Besides, Ryan is still pissed at Brendon, and if he wants to keep his job he doesn't have time to talk to the man for whatever reason.

"Hey Babe," Brendon says easily when he's close enough to Ryan not to be mistaken as talking to the eighty-something year old woman sitting alone in a four person booth. Not that Brendon has anything against Dorris; they spoke occasionaly whenever Brendon visited Ryan at work and Dorris was there too, but it always seemed to end in Dorris coming onto Brendon and Brendon having to spend the rest of his visit in the back room so as not to get jumped by an OAP.

"Can I help you?" Ryan replies in a clipped, over polite way. Ryan knows Brendon knows he's pissed at him, because he sees the man's Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows nervously, but he doesn't comment on Ryan's coldness, and this only serves to irritate the boy more. Brendon has always been one to avoid confrontation rather than face it head on, but acting as if the sort-of-arguement never actually happened pisses Ryan off to extreme levels; so much so that he is sure he can't even hold a tray of orders any more for fear of throwing them at Brendon's head in a fit of rage.

"I just wanted to see you," Brendon says in that special voice of his that would usually have Ryan melting. "And to see if you were doing anything after work today— y'know, in case you wanted to come over? Gee's going out. We'd have the house to ourselves…"

Ryan doesn't know exactly what is going through Brendon's head - he's pretty sure there is nothing in his face that reads "you yelled at me and treated me like a child but I'm still down to fuck" - but he's sure as hell going to crush this idea before his boyfriend can seduce him into forgiving him.

"Well actually, I do have plans for after work. And they don't involve you, so if you're not going to order anything I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Brendon swallows again and reaches up to run a hand through his hair, a nervous trait Ryan finds completely adorable. Ryan can see his boyfriend struggling to formulate a response to this that does not involve actually acknowledging the problem between them, but he's obviously failing and so the man is forced to actively talk about it.

"Look, I'm really sorry about the other day, Ry. I was so stressed about Gerard and getting frustrated because you just wouldn't do what I asked and—"

"I wouldn't do what you asked?!" Ryan quotes incredulously - outragedly - interrupting Brendon's makeshift apology. "What am I, your fucking kid?"

"No, no, no!" Brendon says hurriedly. "That's not what I meant; I just meant that I was frustrated and stressed and I snapped at you and you didn't deserve it and I'm sorry."

Brendon was staring at Ryan imploringly, his eyes wide with sincerity, and Ryan's features softened. He was just on the verge of forgiving Brendon - the kind of dramatic reunion that only happens in movies, where one character runs into the others arms and they share a passionate kiss in the rain - but of course Brendon has to go and fuck that up. Completely.

"How was that?" He asks suddenly - too suddenly - looking excited and even a little bit proud— a huge difference to how he looked just a few seconds ago. That was acting, Ryan realises with a painful jolt, and his mouth falls open.

"I mean, the apology?" Brendon clarifies unnecessarily. "Did I do good?"

At first, all Ryan can do I see stare at him in disbelief. Then, calmly, very calmly, he turns and picks up the tray of coffee and ice cream Patrick just placed on the counter, walks towards a family's sitting in a booth next to the door and slams it down hard enough that the majority of the mother's cappuccino spills onto the table. They all glare at him accusingly and stare pointedly at the mess until he hands them a container of tissues. They then take them without even a thank you, like they think they're the only people on the planet that have problems.

Ryan has many problems, and one of them is standing behind him right now.

"No, Brendon. You know what? You did not do good. First of all you yell at me for simply inquiring after a friend - because Gerard is actually my fucking friend too! - since he was freaking out. You invited me over to your apartment in the first place and then told me to get out, fucking yelled at me in fact! Then you come in here acting as if nothing even happened and when I fucking force you - because I actually had to fucking force you! - to talk about what happened, you make up some bullshit excuse about how you got frustrated that I wouldn't do what you told me to! I'm not your fucking kid, Brendon, and I don't have to listen and do everything you fucking tell me to! Okay?! So I'll say it again: if you're not going to order anything, I'm going to have to ask you to leave!"

Ryan took a massive, gulping breath. He hadn't realised he was yelling until he turned around and saw every single person in the parlour was staring at him. Pete had even ventured out of the office to stand behind Patrick, both staring at him with wide eyes. Ryan suddenly feels very uncomfortable with all the pairs of eyes trained on him. He coughs.

"Okay." He hears Brendon say in a small voice, and when he looks at him he feels awful. Brendon is staring at him as though Ryan just ripped out his heart, stomped on it, stuck it in raspberry vanilla ice cream and stuck it back in his chest. Maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh…

"Okay." Brendon says again, sounding resigned this time. When he turns and leaves the parlour, Ryan doesn't try to stop him.

"Ryan," Pete calls in a clipped, over polite voice specifically designed for employees who are about to get sacked. "Can I speak to you in my office please?"

***

"Brendon, would you stop whining about it and get the fuck up? You owe me a couch and this warehouse has furniture discounts today!" Gerard is getting ready for the trip of a lifetime— and by that he means the trip in which he will buy a new, uncontaminated couch. Adding a bit of eyeliner, he asseses his image. Perfect, he thinks.

Brendon is still suffering from Ryan's indifference, and consequent screaming-fest, but he has to make peace with his best friend first. He feels like he's in a reality TV show trial: like he's going to get kicked out of the studio house any moment. So, if he wants to have a place to live tonight, he better do whatever the hell Gerard wants him to do.

When they arrive at the warehouse, there are so many old, fat housewives wearing ugly yellow dresses that are definitely not the correct size. Gerard wonders if they think they still look somewhat decent, and then decides it doesn't matter. Individuality was fought for in this country, and if those women want to wear ugly yellow dresses then they should. Or something like that.

The place has lots of yellow price tags showing the discounts of all the products. Almsot all of them are pure crap covered in black or cream coloured leather, but, Gerard considers, when it's reduced from two hundred dollars to ten, you think that maybe you do need a new bath towel, or some bath bombs for the bathtub that you don't have.

The idea was simple: go to the furniture section and buy a couch, preferably with a large discount. But somehow, Brendon and Gerard end up in different parts of the store. They're examining the most useless items they can possibly think of to examine, like fancy chandeliers, all manner of knoves and forks that nobody knows the actual use for, bunk beds and chairs that double as a back massager.

"Hey Gee!" Brendon enthuses, his earlier moroseness seemingly forgotten. "This place is awesome! We should get under the bed and scare the hell out of everyone!"

Brendon is not the best at thinking of the consequences of his actions, but Gerard is not one to dissuade him from his idiotic adventures.

"Like the girl from The Sixth Sense? I'm all in, man!" He replies.

Brendon drops to the floor and wriggles around until he is very definitely hidden under the plush, king sized bed and Gerard follows fairly easily. Brendon starts to touch the feet of the people passing by, revelling in the terrified little shrieks of surprise people are making. Gerard is enjoying just sitting back and letting Brendon scare people that until one particular little girl starts screaming, he doesn't realise how creepy what they're doing actually is.

Brendon screams in response and yanks his hand back, cradling it to his chest as though it had just been stepped on. The little girl is yelling something incomprehensible about two monsters under the bed: one with a huge forehead with horns and an evil grin and the other with hellish red hair, but it doesn't seem like a good idea to stop and listen. Or at least, it didn't seem like that to Gerard. Brendon must have had other ideas, since before Gerard could stop him he was standing still, trying desperately to apologise to the Mother of the kid.

It must have looked incredibly comical, Gerard reasons, when the woman started to hit Brendon repeatedly with her purse. He would have stopped to enjoy the moment for a little longer if she hadn't then turned her attention on him, and he was forced to run again; this time with Brendon running next to him.

By the time they have taken the stairs - two at a time, of course - up to the next floor, the angry woman and her child are both gone, replaced by something Gerard has dreamt about for the majority of his teenage years.

"Holy shit." He breathes, his eyes showing the same loving look he wears every morning at his local coffee shop when Lindsey brings him his morning coffee and hot cakes: exactly the way he likes.

"What?" Brendon asks, doubling over and panting— the short run up fifteen stairs was obviously too much for him. When he sees what Gerard is staring lovingly at, he groans in despair (this is a fight he has already lost.) He tries to stop him, he really does, but it's too late and by the time Brendon has even opened his mouth to say, "no fucking way," Gerard has already sprinted towards the water mattress and dived head first into it. It sinks under his weight.

He giggles insanely and shrieks when, as he tries to get up to speak to Brendon, the mattress wobbles dangerously. He loses his balance immediately and flops back onto the bed; after a few more tries at getting up and failing, his cries of joy and happiness have turned into whimpers of fear.

"Oh my God!" Gerard wails miserably, unable to prop himself up on his elbows to see Brendon.

"You know how they say you should never meet your idols, because they'll always disappoint you?"

Brendon made an affirmative noise.

"I always dreamed about this day, but now this… this thing is swallowing me! I can't get up, shit! Help me!"

Brendon contemplates abandoning him here in the furniture warehouse; just leaving him to be brutally murdered by the water mattress, but then he decides that it's unlikely that Gerard would die. After all, he is talking about Gerard Way. Gerard could probably be hit by a truck and still survive - and he probably wouldn't even notice anything out of the ordinary had happened - so, with a grudging sigh, he puts aside his reservations and goes to help his best friend.

Brendon hurries round to the side of the bed and leans over, holding his hand out for Gerard to grab onto, in an attempt to pull the man up; unfortunately it has the opposite effect. Gerard ends up pulling Brendon over so that he lands on top of him, and now they are both flailing around desperately, at risk of being devoured by the water mattress.

"Oh for fucks sake," Gerard whines quietly before adding on, in a louder voice, "You're so fucking useless, Brendon." Gee tries to move, the aim to roll around like a fish out of water until he rolls off the edge of the bed, but the added weight of Brendon pushes them both to the centre of the mattress, causing their foreheads to smack together with a sickening thwack.

"What the hell, Brendon?! You want to give me a fucking concussion with your gigantic forehead?!"

"Hey!" Brendon replies indignantly. "Let's not forget that you are the one who got us trapped in the first place! It wasn't me that - holy shit, how do people fuck on this thing?! - that wanted to get on this thing in the first place!"

"Don't try and blame me for this! And would you please not talk fucking! I'm still traumatised by the couch incident which, let's not forget, is why we're even here in the first place!"

"Right." Brendon breathes in and out slowly. "Arguing isn't helping; let's just think about this rationally. You roll to that side and I'll roll to the other."

They try to balance the mattress, but the thing must have a mind of its own because they ended up being crushed together again, this time with Brendon on top of Gerard. Gerard screeches and hits his fists into Brendon's chest in a weak attempt to get his friend off of him.

"Get away from me, you pervert!" He yells, and honestly, it's a miracle they haven't been found by a store attendant or kicked out by a security guard already.

"I'm trying to! You don't touch me; I have a boyfriend!"

Gerard, with a scream of frustration, shoves as hard as he can manage at Brendon. He doesn't, however, remind Brendon that he spent most of the morning whining about how he probably doesn't have a boyfriend anymore: pervert or not, that would just be plain mean.

As they were both fighting - and screaming and yelling and attracting a whole lot of unwanted attention - they didn't notice at first that the water mattress was slowly starting to deflate underneath them, the water gushing out of a puncture, most likely caused by the spikes on Gerard's belt (he was trying to be punk), and flooding the second floor.

They slowly turned to look at each other, dread evident in their expressions.

"Please tell me that isn't what I think it is." Brendon pleads, but Gerard just shakes his head.

"Run?" He asks, and Brendon nods, so they run.

After a couple of minutes, and several old ladies complaining about being pushed aside by two rude kids, they ended up in the wooden furniture section— with a security guard close behind them. Before Gerard could process what was happening, he was being shoved into a hot, dark, cramped closet: no veneer, naturally.

"And I thought that we got out of the closet long ago," Gerard jokes, struggling to turn around without elbowing Brendon in the face. "What the fuck are we doing in here?"

"Well we needed a place to hide, didn't we? And I didn't see you coming up with any bright ideas so stop complaining asshole." Brendon replies in a whisper.

Just as Gerard is compiling a letter of complaint to send to the warehouse owners in his head, Brendon's stomach starts growling.

"Oh no…" Brendon gulps audibly and Gerard can sense him turn around. "I'm so sorry Gee."

"Sorry for what" Gerard asks confusedly, and then, as realisation dawns on him he continues,"…Wait, what's that smell? Brendon, you didn't, right?! Oh my god! You disgusting piece of shit, are you trying to kill me?!"

"It was your fault!" Brendon argues back weakly— totally holding in his laughter. "You were the one that left that burrito in the apartment when you know it's one of my weaknesses!"

"I can't believe you are doing this to me! Get poisoned with your own farts, I'm out of here!"

Gerard tries to pull a sassy pose as he flings open the closet door and walks out, but he ends up bashing his hand against a set of drawers nearby and hasn't to walk away with as much dignity as he has left, cradling his hand to his chest.

There was a shout from the other side of the room - a distant, faraway "there they are!" - and then there are guards running towards Gerard and the closet. After a short moment of blinding panic, he decides the only thing to do is make a run for it and hope that he doesn't no get arrested. Without regard for Brendon or what will happen to him once he makes his way out of the closet to find three angry security guards, Gerard runs in the direction of the stairs.

Once on the first floor again, Gerard spots a large potted plant just metres away from the large, glass doors, and it's like a lightbulb turns on over his head. It smells like plastic and has empty Coke cans thrown into it, but it's big enough for Gerard to hide behind as one of the aforementioned angry store workers rushes past looking for him. A crackling static noise bursts from the woman's walkie talkie attached to her belt, and Gerard can just about make out a voice saying that the "trouble maker from floor three" had "ridiculous red hair".

He was about to yell that his hair wasn't ridiculous at all - it was a statement of his spontaneity and youth! - when there was a small voice to his left.

"Can I have your KitKat?" Gerard spins around in surprise, ready to dash again, when he sees the person who spoke was, in fact, a little girl wearing an Elsa costume and wig. She is looking at him hopefully and pointing to the chocolate bar that is hanging out of his pocket that Gerard had all but forgotten about, and just like that a plan begins to form in his mind.

Gerard doesn't want to give up his sweet, he loves those things, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Gerard would rather spend the evening with Frank at a concert rather than in a prison cell.

"Can I have your wig?" He asks her, and surprisingly the girl accepts the deal (it's a good deal, especially for Gerard.)

He hands the girl her KitKat and turns on his heel, speed walking in the direction of the exit. He is almost there - so, so close! - when he hears a voice behind him saying, "Excuse me!"

Gerard twists his head back to see another goddamned security guard jogging towards him and 'oh my god this is it, I'm going to jail, I'm going to send the rest of my life behind bars my life is over!' he can't help but think, but then the guard smiles easily and slows to a walk, strolling up happily so he is standing beside Gerard. He can't help but gawk at the guy, because holy shit, he is one good looking guy.

"Sorry to bother you sir, but I couldn't help notice that… well, to be frank, you look amazing." the guard says to him - Gerard has to look around to check it is him the man is speaking to and not the guy behind him - and it's all he can do to stand there in silence, eyes wide, mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water. Changing Tatum doppelgänger (Gerard had to give him a name) smirks as though he knows exactly what Gerard is thinking.

"I… are you, I mean— wow… are you going to take your pants off like Magic Mike or something?" He blurts out, because he has absolutely no brain-to-mouth filter. "Because I would love to see that." What the hell was he doing, he asks himself. Flirting?

"Oh boy, I don't mind at all." CTD grins, showing all his teeth. He takes his phone from his pocket and steps forward so that he is very, very close to Gerard.

"I don't think there's anything hotter then a hot guy in uniform." And yep, Gerard needs to shut the fuck up right about now, he's just digging himself into a hole here.

"I can give you a private show if you want, if you give me your number?"

"Definitely!" Gee enthuses, taking the man's phone from his hands. When he saw the time, though, he remembered where he was and where he should be instead and who he should be with.

"Oh shit…" he gasped, shoving the phone back into CTD's chest hurriedly. "Fuck, no I can't, crap, I forgot I have a boyfriend!"

"You forgot?" The guard repeats, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows.

"I mean it's not official yet… but definitely soon. Oh shit he's gonna kill me if I'm late, gotta go, bye!" Gerard says in one big rush before sprinting out of the building and back towards his car.

***

Ryan doesn't know what to expect every time he gets a text from Frank claiming that he has a "code red" emergency. It could range from a life and death situation to the meaning of one emoji. So, as it is, he is calmly walking to Frank's house when a car stops besides him and, of course, who should be in the driver's seat but Mikey Way. He pulls over and parks in a vacant space before getting out and shutting the door behind him. He hurries forward and falls into step beside Frank.

"Hey Ryan, what's up?" he says flippantly, stuffing his car keys into his pocket.

"Only disaster I'm afraid." Ryan replies. "I fought with Brendon after the day you guys brought Gerard home crying and I'm pretty sure I've lost my job now too. How is he, by the way?"

"Yeah, he's fine now thanks. Actually he's with Brendon right now buying a new couch." (Ryan blushes. Mikey continues regardless.) "I'm sorry you two fought, by the way. It's just that the whole situation was complicated and none of us we're thinking straight. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, no I get it. But, um, he appeared today at the ice cream parlour like nothing even happened. He can't just yell at me and then act like nothing's going on, right? He needs to learn that I deserve respect, I'm his boyfriend, y'know, not his pet."

"You're right," Mikey agrees, nodding his head, and they walk in silence for a little while before he goes on. "We're both going to Frank's right? That's where you're going too? He sent me a message about a "code red situation"… any idea what's going on?"

"Usually it's nonsense, but if he's texted both of us…" Ryan trails off uncertainly and glances around the street. A large mop of hair catches his eye and he swallows. Ray Toro. "Okay, maybe this is something important; he wouldn't text all three of us for no good reason."

They run the last block and practically push each other inside the Iero's house - that conveniently had the door wide open, slightly worryingly. When they reach Frank's bedroom, Mikey steps forward, looking back at the other two anxiously before opening the door.

The boy was examining himself in the mirror with a worried expression, and with two t-shirts held in each of his hands.

"It's about time you got here!" He huffs, turning to look at them face on and holding up alternating shirts. "Okay, which one looks the best on me? Which one compliments my eyes or makes me look fat or whatever?"

"You called us all the way over here just to pick a t-shirt?" Mikey growls incredulously whilst Ryan glares at him with a murderous expression. Ray, used to Frank's antics by now, just makes his way over to the bed and flops down on it melodramatically.

"It's my date with Gerard!" Frank defends himself weakly, starting to comb his hair. "I don't know what to do! I just took a shower and I'm already sweating; I don't know what the hell to do with my hair and I have this fucking pimple on my forehead! I'm doomed! You guys have to help me."

"Calm the fuck down!" Mikey commands, taking a seat on Frank’s bed next to Ray and preparing to give a long speech entirely on his brother and the guy's preferences. He so can't believe he's doing this.

"First of all, Gee is already into you so don't worry about the hair. but you should cover that pimple. Definitely. Secondly, you just have to be yourself, Frankie, because that's all you can be. Unless you can be David Bowie; in which case then always be Bowie. The guy is a ledgend, not to mention Gerard worships that man."

"Who doesn't?" Ryan adds deamily, standing beside Mikey with a cup of tea. His phone rings unexpectedly and he swears, spilling his tea over Mikey's lap. Setting the mug down on Frank's bedside table, he pulls out his phone out and frowns at the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?" He asks.

"Hey, Ryan?" Replies a familiar voice.

"Brendon? What're you—"

"Before you say anything… I'm so sorry about the other day. I was a dickhead and I treated you badly and I shouldn't have and I'm so sorry but I love you dammit, I am so in love with you and I really don't want to lose you."

Ryan is speechless for a few seconds, waiting for Brendon do add in a "how did I do?" to the end of his tirade, but he doesn't. He isn't genuine, and Ryan loves him for it. He opens his mouth to tell him that, to tell him that he loves him too, but Brendon beats him to it.

"And I really need your help. You see… I may or may not be in jail."

In any other situation, Ryan would probably start getting angry or suspicious about how that whole 'I love you" thing was just a ploy to get him to go and bail Brendon out of jail, but right here, right now, Ryan felt a great sense of peace. He knew he loved the guy now, and even if it had been a ploy and that Brendon didn't love him, then Ryan would still go and bail him out. What were boyfriends for, after all?

"You don't even have to say anything, Babe, I'm on my way." Ryan replies, then heads for the door. Before he leaves, he turns to Frank and says, "When Gerard gets here, tell him I'm glad he's better and that he's in for a whole load of shit when he gets home."

***

Gerard had expected Frank to look good on their date. It was Frank, after all, and Frank always looks good, but he hadn't expected anything like this.

Frank was wearing a skin tight pair of neon pink Lycra trousers, a yellow tank top embroidered with sequins, and his hair had been motherfucking backcombed! But all of that was nothing compared to the blue lightning bolt he had painted across his face in true Bowie fashion.
Gerard almost fainted at the sight.

"Is it too much?" Frank asked nervously, chewing his bottom lip, his hand poised halfway to his face with a makeup brush in his grasp. "They said you liked Bowie and I didn't know if I should go all out or—"

"Frank," Gerard interrupts breathlessly, because wow, Frankie looks amazing. "What did you do to your face?!"

He reaches out, because he just has to touch, just a little bit, and strokes the side of Frank's face gently, careful not to smudge the lightning bolt. He lets his hands wander to Frank's forehead and then nose and then he's all out, unashamedly fondling the boy's face.

"I told you he'd like it." A smug looking Mikey whispers in Frank's ear, but Gerard is too blown away to care right now. He's never had anyone make so much of an effort to please him on a date before, and here is this seventeen year old pick-up line fanatic with a tendency to care a little too little about what the right kind of people think, doing his very best to ensure Gerard is happy. And Gerard is happy.

"Anyway," Mikey continues, "you kids go have fun, and Ray and I will stay here and eat all your food Frank. See you!" Frank and Gerard are propelled towards the door and down the corridor, pausing only to allow Frank to grab his jacket - it doesn't go with his outfit, but Gerard thinks he looks amazing all the same.

"So, I assume you'll be driving?" Frank smiles and reaches out to take Gerard's hand.

***

The venue is packed full, the coloured lights are flashing and Gerard grips Frank's hand harder, because he knows it would just be typical if they lost each other in the crowd. Frank responds by squeezing Gee's hand and leaning his body into his for a second before continuing to push through the throng.

It takes them a good ten minutes to get even remotely near the front - and they've severely pissed off a lot of other people - but it's worth it because from here they have a killer view of the stage and when the band enters they can look directly at them.

"This is so cool!" Frank yells, (they have to yell to be heard) and Gerard has to agree with him. He's been to many concerts in his time, many concerts with better venues and better bands playing and a better atmosphere, but he's here's with Frank now so this concert is automatically forwarded to his favourite.

"Do you want a drink?" Gerard shouts back, because he knows Frank knows he agrees with him. He points to the bar a few metres off to their right serving alcohol, and when he looks back at Frank the boy's nose is scrunched up - adorably - with confusion.

"I thought this was a "no alcohol concert"— that's what it said outside; that's why they were letting minors in!" Frank has to stand very, very close to Gerard, so close he's pressed up against him completely whispering in his ear, so the older man can hear him. Frank's breath tickles his ear and makes him shiver.

"Yeah," Gerard leans in towards Frank to return the favour, "but what the police don't know won't hurt them, right? Besides, there's no such thing as as a 'no alcohol concert'!"

Frank shrugs and Gerard takes this as an invitation to go and buy two beers; he doesn't know what Frank likes so he buys two different kinds and figures his date can drink whichever he prefers. Gerard is so gone for Frank, he's even letting the kid drink his beer.

When Gerard gets back, Frank is exactly where he left him, leaping up and down and thrashing his head in time with the beat. The band are good— they have an awesome lead guitarist and the drummer really adds energy to the performance. The singer is a little squeaky at points, but Gerard assumes that's mainly because the guy is tweaked out and not an accurate assessment of his ability. Frank seems to be enjoying it though, and that's the main thing. Everything is going perfect; smooth and calm like Gerard has never seen it before, so of course something has to go wrong.

It's during the band's fourth song that things go downhill. It's barely noticeable at first; the repeated tinkle of the bell over the door signifying a lot of people coming in is barely audible over the punk-rock music on stage. The dark colours of a police uniform blends in completely in the dark, crowded room. No one even notices the place has been invaded by the cops until the amps are turned off suddenly and unexpectedly and the only noise is the low thrum of a hundred confused show-goers.

And then one person, who is obviously fond of pointing out the obvious, clambers up onto a bar stool and yells, "Everybody run! The cops are here!"

After that it's chaos. There's a mad rush for the doors leading onto the street outside and it's impossible to be hear do over the screaming. It's even louder than when the band was actually playing, and Gerard loses Frank for a few minutes; he starts panicking when a hand claps down on his shoulder from behind him. He turns around ready to punch whoever touched him in the nose, but relaxes when he sees Frank standing there with wide eyes, looking terrified.

That snaps him back into action and he takes ahold of Frank's hand - trying to be gentle so as not to hurt him but firm enough so as not to lose him - and start some running towards the stage. Most people are running to the back door, in the opposite direction, so they have to go against the flow for a while, but when they get to the stage it's easy enough to hop onto it and push past the curtains to the left. Now that they're backstage, it's pretty much clear save for a few panicking music techs (do they run and lose their jobs or stay and risk being arrested?) so Gerard tugs Frankie towards a fire escape that leads out onto a dark backalley behind the club.
There's a flickering streetlamp casting an eerie, orange glow around them that somehow makes the setting seem sinister and romantic at the same time. They can breathe again, knowing they're safely out of the way of the police— unless a stray officer decides to check round the back, but Gerard figures that's unlikely.

He realises that he's still holding Frank's hand - unnecessarily now, since they're out of danger - but he doesn't let go and Frank doesn't move away. He's watching Gerard with a strange expression on his face, but not saying anything. It makes Gerard vaguely uncomfortable; in a good way.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks self consciously, tucking a strand of bright red hair behind his ear.

"Nothing," Frank says immediately in that knee jerk reaction that someone who has been caught staring has, but he doesn't look away. "It's just," he continues, "I never thought I'd actually get this, y'know?"

"Get what?"

"This. You. I never thought you would actually like me back. So this all feels a little like a dream. You know that feeling?" Frank speaks quickly, as though he's afraid the words will stick in his throat.

Gerard blinks. And then smiles. And then starts laughing, because this whole situation is ridiculous and hilarious and surreal. He's on a date in a gross backalley behind a supposed "crime scene" with a guy dressed as Bowie, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, he's falling in love. Frank has seen his scary past, knows his darkest secrets, and hasn't no run away yet. Gerard doesn't think Frank is going to run away.

"Frankie." He says, just so he can say the name out loud. "I more than like you."

He takes Frank's face in his hands, not caring now whether he smudges the lightning bolt because it's already half gone, and leans down so that their lips meet. Frank isn't a good kisser— better than he expected, but he supposes that just means he's had a lot of experience. Gerard kisses him harder at the thought.

Frank kisses back needily, hungrily, like maybe Gerard will disappear if he's not careful. He opens his mouth almost immidiately and moans as Gerard wraps his tongue around Frank's. Pretty soon, Gerard takes initiative and walks forward, backing Frank up against the brick wall. He knows it must be unpleasantly scratchy and cold, but Frank breaks away from the kiss, leaning his head back against the wall to pant for air, and Gerard doesn't think he minds that much.

He takes the opportunity to lean down and start sucking at the pale skin of Frank's throat and collarbones, biting down gently before dragging his tongue back and forth over the same patch of skin. Frankie is making these delicious, high pitches whimpering noises that have Gerard groaning loudly and moving his knee to inbetween Frank's thighs.

They're both beginning to lose control; of themselves and of their desires, and Gerard is this close to throwing Frank into the backseat of his car and having his way with the boy, so he supposes in some aspects it's a good thing that they're interrupted. What's not good is who interrupts them.

"Hey!" Their heads jerk round to look at the end of the alley that leads onto the Main Street. The light from the faulty streetlamp is being obscured by the shape of an angry looking police officer. He must have snuck outside to check round the back, Gerard guesses, and boy did he find them in a compromising position.

"You two! Get over here, now!" The officer roar, already advancing on them. Gerard just about has time to think, "oh shit," before frank grabs his hand and pulls him in the opposite direction. Gerard smiles and thinks, 'I save you, you save me, right?' He doesn't say it out loud though, because it's cheesy and corny and he has to focus on breathing as they run away.

Gerard isn't exactly sure why Frank is running with him towards a wall - he figured maybe it's an oversight in Frank's plan - but then the boy yells, "this way!" and heads towards a platform of wooden crates that must have been chucked out here by the cluh manager. Frank jumps onto the one closest to him and ascends the next box; it shakes under his weight but thankfully holds. When he's close enough to the wall he glances over his shoulder at Gerard, who is watching him carefully ready to catch him should he fall, and jumps.

Time slows down a little as Frank flies through the air, arms outstretched and a slightly frightened expression on his face. He slams into the wall at full speed and throws his arms over the top, his feet scrabbling at the bricks as he heaves himself up enough to stand.

"Come on Gee!" Frank calls, beckoning wildly for Gerard to join him. "Your turn!"

Gerard tries to mimic Frank's exact steps, but he's bigger than Frank and the crates wobble violently underneath him. He sees Frank wince and his heart flutters because Frank is worried about him! That gives him the incentive to try harder, walk faster, jump higher, and pretty soon he isn't flying through the air too in an almost perfect imitation of Frank a few minutes earlier. Frank is reaching out to grab his hands, and the gesture would be sweet if it worked out.

Unfortunately, what actually happens is that Gerard slams into Frank headfirst, knocking him off the wall and then falling down after him so he lands on top of him.

Frank groans, propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing the back of his head. Gerard rolls off him and winces in pain, turning on his side to rub at the back of Frank's head as well. Their eyes meet and Frankie smiles, just a little, enough to let Gerard know that he isn't seriously hurt. He has twisted his ankle though, as it turns out, and with the additional pressure of a cop trying to follow them over the wall, Gerard decides it's too risky to let frank hobble along slowly.
Naturally, the only thing left to do is sweep him off his feet— literally.

He carries Frank bridal style: Frank's arms thrown around his neck and Gerard's hands under the bend in Frank's knee and under his back. He isn't all that heavy and Gerard, what with landing on a human shield, isn't the badly injured from the fall, so it's quite easy to get to the more populated area of town. Gerard sets Frank down and pulls up his hood to hide his hair (the most noticeable thing about him, regrettably.) They wait for a while but the cop is nowhere to be seen - they must have lost him - so they feel safe enough to hold hands and walk down the street in the direction of Gerard's parked car.

"Frankie?" Gerard asks suddenly, breaking the silence between them. "I have to ask you something; something important.

Frank looks at him worriedly, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth pulled down at the corners.

He doesn't say anything, but waits for Gerard to continue.

After a long pause, long enough to let the tension rise, Gerard says, "I've been in relationships in the past, y'know? Lots of them actually. But never… never for as long as this. This has been going on for too long. So I guess what I'm asking you is… will you help me re-dye my hair?"

"…What?!" Frank cries, feeling a little hysterical at the day's events.

"The relationship with my hair, get it? I've never had any one hair colour for this long since I was, like, fourteen. I've had red hair for too long, and recently I've noticed having bright red hair is like a beacon, which really sucks if you're trying to hide in a mall behind a potted plant— will you help me re-dye it?"

Frank is a little amused and a lot confused, but he's mostly just sleepy and sated and he wants to go home with Gerard— not like that. He's far too tired for that right now, but he wants to go home and sleep and he doesn't want to leave Gerard, so it would make sense to go home with Gerard. Frank's sure Gee wouldn't expect anything from him, and wouldn't feel annoyed if he didn't get it.

So, with a resigned, happy sigh, Frank replies with, "yeah, Gee, I'd love to help you dye your hair."

Gerard beams as though someone just told him the best news in the world, and takes Frankie's hand in his own again and brings it up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle delicately and giving Frank a nice squishy feeling in his stomach.

Gerard smiles as Frank asks him what colour he'd like to dye his hair next, and kisses him quickly on the mouth because Frank is actually taking an interest in his hair. And then he kisses him again, and again, and again because Frank is amazing and adorable and Gerard is most definitely falling in love, and judging by the way Frank smiles into the kisses, he feels the same way.

Notes

So, so, SO sorry it's taken so long to write and edit and post! Here it is finally, the LAST chapter of What's My Age Again. We hope you all enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed writing it!
Edhell (Leviathan25) and I (FantasySwap) are writing another fic together at the moment which we are very excited about, and if you'd like to read it when it's posted we'd be very happy.
Merry Christmas everyone! (And if you're reading this in the future then merry whatever-day-it-is-today!)
Enjoy! <3