(no subject)
Title: Now I Buy My Stamps In Bulk
Fandom: Bandom
Pairings: Mikey/Frank, background Bob/Ray
Word count: 10472
Warnings: Alcoholism, angst.
Summary: Frank never intended to send a fan letter to his favourite comic book artist, and he certainly didn't expect to get a reply. He could never have predicted what actually happened next
Author's Notes: Written for bandomreversebb. Thanks to the mods, for running such a fun challenge. Thanks to girlmarauders for betaing this.
This fic was inspired by ina_pok's lovely art, which drew me in because it was so emotive and contained so many possibilities. I had a great time writing this, so thanks ina_pok for giving me such wonderful inspiration.
Dear Mr Way,
My name’s Frank Iero and I’m from Belleville, NJ. I’ve been a huge fan of your comics ever since the Umbrella Academy. I’ve always thought about writing to you, but I’m not much of a letter writer and didn’t really know what to say. But I loved Danger Days so much that I had to try to tell you what it meant to me.
I wish there had been a comic like that around when I was a kid, because I think staying in the closet so long really messed with me in a lot of ways, and I think it might have helped to read about characters who were going through the same thing. There wasn’t anything like that around when I grew up.
I loved the way you wrote Kobra Kid, how he only did what he wanted and what felt right to him, but he still managed to get this message out about who he was and what that meant. Like he understood that in his world, just being himself was enough to mess with the status quo. It helped me feel a lot better about myself and my life, like it’s nothing special but I’m doing okay, you know? I wanted to say thanks for helping me see that.
Anyway, I’m really excited about the next issue, I bet you’re really busy with that right now. I don’t suppose you’d give me a hint about what’s going to happen?
Thanks for being awesome,
Frank.
He never intended to send the letter. He’d just finished reading the comic and was full of enthusiasm and no small amount of beer. He had the envelope stamped and addressed and everything before he settled down and realised that Gerard Way probably had no interest in reading his ramblings, which were probably wildly off-base anyway. He put the letter on his desk and forgot about it. He didn’t do what he should have done, which was throw the damn thing away.
So, when his friends, his stupid, interfering friends, came around one night, they did what they always did. Ray, who was bossy and meddlesome, and Bob, who was an annoying shit-stirrer, went snooping around and found the letter, and then mailed it. They protested their innocence, of course. ‘Oh, Frank, we had no idea, we were just trying to help’, but Frank had no doubt they had known exactly what they were doing.
He was ticked off, but tried to see it as a positive thing. He’d sent a fan letter to Gerard Way. He might get one back. Gerard might send him a signed photograph, or something. That would be cool.
He didn’t share his thoughts on the power of positive thinking with Ray and Bob. He planned to guilt trip them as much as he could. (It wasn’t very much. Ray and Bob were infuriatingly shameless.) Frank jumped on Bob and demanded piggyback rides for the rest of the week, but he did this every second or third day, so as far as revenge went it lacked a certain something.
It was a typical day at work, which meant that Bob burned the fries and compensated by adding more salt. Frank liked the fries salty and slightly overcooked, so he was happy. Ray got his hair caught in the cash register for the second time that week, and wouldn’t let anyone cut the knots out, so he was stuck working the till for two and a half hours while he untangled himself between customers. Frank went home at the end of the day smelling faintly of salad dressing.
The letter which arrived just three days later came as a big surprise. Frank had barely let himself imagine that Gerard would reply; at best he’d expected to wait at least a month.
He opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, letting himself sink onto the couch as he began to read.
Dear Reader
Thank you for your interest in my graphic novels. It is always a great pleasure to hear from my readers.
Currently I have two completed series, The Umbrella Academy and The Black Parade, as well as five stand-alone graphic novels; Cemetery Drive, House of Wolves, The Ghost of You, Helena and Teenagers (Are Not Ok). My series Danger Days is still ongoing with a new issue to be released this summer.
You can read about upcoming releases and other exciting news at www.g-waygraphicnovels.com. Thanks again for your support, and I hope that you continue to enjoy my work.
Yours sincerely,
Gerard Way
It was a form letter. A form letter. Okay, so that was Gerard Way’s actual signature on it, that was cool, but it was still a form letter. It didn’t even read like Gerard had written it. Frank had seen interviews with Gerard Way and read his comics, and he couldn’t imagine the same guy who had written those writing something as sterile and boring as this. Why was this form letter telling him the names of all Gerard’s novels when he’d obviously already read them?
Frank put the letter down on his desk, because he was disappointed, sure, but that was still Gerard Way’s signature at the bottom of the page. He went to make dinner and watch some television and forget all about the other stuff.
The next day, Frank overslept and got to work fifteen minutes late, with his hair still dripping and a cardboard cup of bitter coffee clasped in one hand. Ray glared at him as he walked behind the counter, but his hair was even more messed up than usual, and Bob’s shirt was buttoned unevenly, so Frank didn’t think either of them really minded. He went into the kitchen and got to work making sandwiches.
They got busy around lunchtime and the rush didn’t ease until half past two. Frank took his lunch break then, made himself a sandwich and sat to eat it in a corner where he could still annoy Ray and Bob if they got close enough.
“Make me a coffee, Ray?” he whined. Ray glanced his way and pursed his lips.
“You want me to make it? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a coffee from your local gas station?”
“Nooo!” said Frank. “Your coffee is better. Please?”
Ray hmmed and pulled down a mug, but Bob looked over from where he was counting out change and said, “No, Ray, make him work for it.”
“Bob Bryar, you are a scoundrel and I am aghast at your impertinence.” Frank put his sandwich down, all set to go climb up and sit on Bob’s shoulders as punishment, but Bob grabbed a tray and started collecting dishes, keeping tables between them the whole time. Frank sat back down but kept a glare trained on Bob to make sure he knew he wasn’t forgiven.
Ray did make him coffee, one of those flavoured things with soy milk that Frank would usually screw his nose up at, except that Ray made the best fucking coffee in the world. He put the mug in front of Frank and said, “Get anything back from Gerard Way yet?”
Ray and Bob read his comics too, mostly because Frank had nagged and nagged until they gave in. Perhaps that had had something to do with their recent ‘helpfulness’. Frank smiled weakly and said, “I got a letter back, a form letter with a list of all his comics and his website address, like I wouldn’t know that stuff already.” He shrugged a bit and tried to laugh like he didn’t care, but he knew it came out sounding hollow.
“Ah, that sucks, man,” Ray said sympathetically.
“It’s got his signature on it, though, in ink and everything.”
“Well, that’s cool.”
That night Frank went home and stuck the letter in a drawer, because he didn’t know what else to do with it. He had more or less forgotten all about it when he got another letter a few days later.
Hi Frank,
I hope you don’t mind me writing to you like this. My name is Mikey Way, Gerard Way is my brother. Right now he’s busy with work stuff, with a new issue due for release soon there’s a lot of work involved. So he’s not really reading any fan letters at the moment, although he usually loves to do that sort of thing. I thought that was a shame, because in your letter you said a lot of things that Gerard would have been thrilled by, so I passed along some of what you said. I hope you don’t mind. I’m guessing you wouldn’t, or you wouldn’t have written it.
Anyway. Your letter - I liked what you said about Kobra Kid, about how you can’t live your life to make a statement but sometimes just living is the statement, you know? Gerard talks about it sometimes, but I’m not sure if you know... he based some of Kobra’s story on some things I went through, and I found what you said to be really insightful. I wanted to write back, because you sounded like you got it, and not just in the abstract.
Gerard is all about reaching out to his fans and helping people accept themselves and positive messages and stuff. And of course, he can’t do all that right now, because of his work, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still worth doing. So, I guess maybe this isn’t the reply you were hoping to get, but I like to think I can make a difference to people too. And so can you.
Mikey
Frank wasn’t sure what to make of the letter. It was good, but unexpected. He’d already known Gerard Way had a brother; he’d read interviews and Gerard talked about him all the time. They were close.
He wasn’t going to reply at first, but the envelope had a return address label on it, different to the one Frank had found on the publisher’s website. And he had taken the trouble to write to Frank, just because Frank had said something in his letter that made his brother happy. Frank grabbed his notepad again, and started a letter.
Mikey,
I hope it’s not weird that I’m writing back to you. Is it? I think it’s probably weird. And still, here I am, writing away.
It was really cool of you to write to me, and I wanted to say thanks. I know Gerard’s probably really busy and all, but I bet you’re pretty busy too. So. Thanks.
It’s a shame that all the pressure to meet deadlines stops Gerard from reaching out to people like he wants to, that’s got to be tough for you guys. I guess even if you’re rich and famous, there’s never enough time for everything you want to do, huh?
Thanks for letting me know I wasn’t totally off the mark with what I said about Kobra Kid. I mean, I’d hate to be one of those people who assumes they ‘know’ someone because they read about them or whatever. I remember when I was growing up, there were people everywhere who thought they knew what you should be doing and were happy to tell you about it. No one accepted that you might have your own ideas about what was right or what mattered, or that those ideas might be worth anything. So, I don’t know, I love reading about a character who doesn’t put up with that sort of bullshit.
Anyway, I don’t want to take up more of your time. I hope everything goes smoothly with the next issue.
Frank
Frank debated for nearly a week over posting the letter, and he finally did just because he got tired of the stupid thing sitting on his desk looking reproachful. He figured that would be the end of it.
Frank had no intention of telling Ray and Bob about Mikey’s letter, not until he knew what he would say about it. He wasn’t expecting it to be easy, because his two friends were nosy and loved to mind other people’s business, especially Frank’s. When he arrived at the cafe, however, it was clear that Events had Transpired while he was absent.
Opening the front door allowed a faint cloud of smoke to escape. Frank waved it away and stepped inside, recognising the smell of burning coming from the kitchen. Bob was in there, trying to fan the smoke out the window with a towel while Ray retrieved something charred and unidentifiable from the deep fryer. More alarmingly, the wall behind the deep fryer was actually scorched, and the fryer itself, while still apparently whole, was definitely blackened and still covered with foam from the fire extinguisher.
“What the hell happened?”
“What does it look like?” Bob asked. “The stupid fucking deep fryer caught fire. Some kind of fault, I don’t know. We’ve never had trouble with it before.”
“It’s under warranty still,” said Ray. “I’m going to call the company in a minute to see when they can fix it.”
“So I guess we’re not doing anything fried today, then?”
Ray looked pained. “Can you go out and sort out the menu?” he asked. “What a pain in the ass.”
The drama of the faulty deep fryer created enough excitement that not only were Ray and Bob completely distracted from any letters Frank may or may not have written, Frank himself forgot about it as well. He forgot about it until he got home one day and brought in the mail.
Hey Frank,
I had to reply, because of what you said about people thinking they know better than you. I can relate to that so much. I used to have another job, before I started working with Gerard, I was working at Eyeball Records. I liked that job a lot and I guess it was all working out pretty well, but I knew that what Gerard was trying to do could turn out to be this huge thing. I decided I wanted to be a part of it, but so many people thought I was being an idiot, no matter what I said. People said that I shouldn’t give up on my own dreams for my brother, but it was my dream too, you know? I don’t think it was a mistake, I still don’t think that.
I guess I’m still kind of mad about that. I feel pretty bad, writing this rant about my life when we barely know each other. What do you do, Frank? Do you like your job? I figure if I get to whine about stuff it’s only fair that you get a chance to do the same.
I mean, if you want to. I think I’m starting to get kind of nosy. If you’d rather not tell me about yourself, that’s fine too.
Mikey
Without even stopping to think about the rationality of exchanging letters with a total stranger for no particular reason, Frank sat down and started to write.
Mikey,
So you asked about my job. Guess what I did today? At the diner where I work, the cook went to start the fries and the deep fryer just went up in flames. Just like that! I wasn’t there, but apparently there was even a tiny mushroom cloud. (Not sure whether to believe or not.) Have you ever tried to think of cold alternatives for all your favourite cooked foods? Carrot sticks instead of french fries. Ice cream sundaes instead of donuts. It gets even better, because Ray called the company, and they can’t send anyone out until Monday...
********
After that, it was easy to just keep writing. Frank found himself opening up about things he usually didn’t talk about, like his slight lingering disappointment that the music thing had never worked out and his suspicion that his mother still hoped he would bring home a nice girl one of these days. He felt honoured when Mikey did the same in return, revealing that sometimes he did feel overlooked next to his brother’s success, but he loved Gerard and was happy for him, so he didn’t mind too much.
Frank received three letters from Mikey in as many weeks, and with each one he seemed to become more and more stressed. It started to worry Frank.
Is everything okay Mikey? It sounds like you’re pretty stressed out. I’m sorry things aren’t going so great right now. It sucks that Gerard missed that deadline. I hope your publishers weren’t too pissed.
If it helps cheer you up, today a customer came in and asked for directions to Disneyland. Disneyland! We’re in fucking New Jersey. I said, go to the highway and head west, you can’t miss it. I might be a bit of an asshole.
I’ve got to go now, Ray and Bob are coming around to play Halo and I promised to make nachos. Let me know how you’re going, though.
Frank
That night, Ray commented that Frank seemed ‘pensive’, and Bob said that Ray shouldn’t describe Frank with words that were bigger than he was. Frank considered completely annihilating their Halo characters to be punishment enough.
********
Frank,
I’m okay. I mean, I’m holding up okay. I didn’t mean to make you worry or anything.
Gee missing a deadline wouldn’t be so bad, if that was all it was. He’s missed the last three, and I could deal with that. I could. It’s watching his back, keeping all his secrets because he’s too messed up to do that for himself anymore. It’s more than I can handle, so I’m going to tell you, okay? I’ll tell you, and then you’ll know, and you won’t be someone else I’ve got to pretend for.
The problem is Gerard’s drinking. He’s always done it, but not this much. It never used to interfere with his work, but now it’s just a fucking mess.
We’re lucky that Gerard’s editor, Pete, is a really great person who knows what’s going on and has kept it to himself. It’s worked okay for a while, but I don’t know how much longer Gerard can keep going like this.
I know it’s not Gerard’s fault, so I feel guilty for being angry at him. I feel like I should be doing something to help him and that I’m a lousy brother because I can’t make anything better. But I know I can’t really do anything to fix this, only Gerard can, and then I resent him for making me feel guilty and get angry with him for not trying, and that brings me right around to being guilty again.
The truth is, Gee used to reply to fan letters all the time. He used to love it. But he just can’t do that sort of thing anymore. I like to read the letters because sometimes they say things that make Gee happy, and that’s how I saw yours. I don’t know why I wrote to you, but I’m glad I did.
Frank decided to be thirty minutes late for work so that he could reply straight away.
Mikey,
I had no idea that you were dealing with all that. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do. It must be really difficult, having Gerard lean on you so much. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I can tell you it’s not your fault, and it’s not up to you to make everything better. That’s on Gerard.
You might want to ignore this, and if you do that’s fine, but this is my cell number: 1-908-356-3383. Just in case it might help to talk to someone.
********
“Hello?”
“Um, hi? Frank? It’s Mikey.”
“Mikey? Oh, wow, you called.”
“Yeah, uh, I hope it’s okay...”
“Yeah, of course. I was hoping you would, but I wasn’t sure. It’s really good to talk to you.”
“Yeah, um. Yeah, this is good.”
“So...” said Frank after a minute had passed, “How are you holding up with everything?”
“Good.” Mikey chuckled tiredly. “Pretty good. Today was okay. Better.”
“That’s good then, right?”
“Yeah.” Mikey didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just that, I know tomorrow’s going to be worse. Or if it’s not, the next day will be. You know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Eh. Can’t be helped.” Mikey sighed. “Yeah, I don’t really want to talk about that shit. I mean, when I called I thought maybe it would be good to talk about with someone, but I’m tired of thinking about it. So, how’s the cafe? Did they deliver the right deep fryer?”
“Yesterday. They’re trying to charge for the replacement, though. I think Ray’s nearly ready to strangle someone.”
“God,” Mikey laughed. “That’s unbelievable. Why do they want him to pay?”
“Because according to them, Bob was using the wrong brand of oil.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“How is one brand of oil any different from any other brand of oil?”
“I don’t know, man. Ray went through the deep fryer manual to see if there was anything in there about using a certain type of oil, and there wasn’t, and the company said that the manual was out of date.”
“Assholes.”
“Yeah. So Ray asked what difference it made if it was the same deep fryer, and they didn’t say. It’s been ridiculous.”
Mikey laughed even louder, and when he’d finally stopped, he said in a soft voice, “Thanks, Frank.”
“Thanks for what?”
“For... I don’t know. It’s nice to have one part of my life that’s not falling apart around me.”
“God, Mikey. You don’t have to thank me for that.”
********
Bob had a trick which was rotten and sneaky, and which got Frank every time.
“Good night?” he asked as Frank walked into the cafe.
“Awesome.”
“Did you see the new Doctor Who?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah!”
“Record it?”
“Of course!”
“Don’t forget to wipe the tables.”
“I won’t.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mikey.”
Frank looked around in the sudden silence to see Ray and Bob watching him intently. “I mean. What?” he tried.
“Mikey,” said Ray, like he was trying the name out to see how it fitted. “Hmmm.”
“Oh my God,” said Frank. “You said you were going to stop doing that!” he snapped at Bob. Bob just raised an eyebrow at him and looked unimpressed.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’d started seeing someone?”
“I’m not!”
“Then who’s this Mikey person?”
“He’s no one. I mean, he’s not no one. He’s someone, but he’s not someone I’m dating. He’s just, like, a friend.”
“Hmmm.” Ray looked sceptical. “I have lots of friends, but they don’t make me smile like that.”
“That’s right,” said Bob, moving to stand behind Ray. “Only I can do that.”
“Ugh, stop that! People come in here to eat, you know!”
“Frank, we’re happy for you,” said Ray, grabbing Bob’s hands and holding them still. “But why haven’t you brought him around to meet us, or even just told us about him?” The corners of Ray’s mouth turned down, which was just wrong, and Frank realised he’d better talk fast to ease some hurt feelings.
“It’s not like that, I swear,” he insisted. “Listen...” He sighed and accepted that the full truth would be the only way of getting out of this. “Remember when I wrote that letter to Gerard Way, and then you posted it?”
“Of course,” said Bob at once. “That was hilarious.”
“Of course it was,” said Frank sarcastically. “Jerks. Anyway, I did get a reply back after all.”
“Really, Gerard wrote to you?” Ray perked up.
“No, not from Gerard. It was from Mikey, his brother?”
“You got a letter from Gerard Way’s brother?”
“Yeah, and since then, we’ve been sort of... exchanging letters. We’re like pen pals.”
“Pen pals. That is so cute.” Ray grinned happily, and Frank rolled his eyes.
“But you like this guy, right?” Bob asked. Frank reluctantly nodded. “Do you even know what he looks like? He could have a hunchback, or a unibrow or something.”
“That is so shallow, Bob Bryar.”
“Whatever. I’m dating a sex god, I can say what I like.”
Ray grinned some more and Frank clapped his hands over his ears. “For God’s sake! Please stop telling me about your sex life, I don’t want to know.”
Ray cleared his throat. “Frank, I think what Bob is attempting to say, is that we’d hate to see you hurt.”
“It’s true,” Bob confirmed. “That was totally my point.”
“And we worry about you, because you’re getting all these... feelings, but there’s still a lot you don’t know.”
“So, what’s your point?” Frank asked stubbornly. He wasn’t going to stop writing to Mikey. Maybe he was deluding himself, but he felt like he was helping Mikey, and that Mikey needed some help. He wouldn’t go into that with Ray and Bob. For all they were great friends, Mikey’s secrets were not his to tell.
“So nothing,” said Ray. “I guess, just... we’re here, if you need to talk.”
“Oh,” said Frank, the last traces of his annoyance vanishing. “Well, thanks.”
Having people to talk to was important.
********
Hey Frank,
It’s been a better week. Gerard finally got the last few panels done, so now he’s just got to do revisions and then the publishers can take over. But the even better news is that me and Pete talked to him and he’s going to try to cut down on his drinking. We’re going to try to get him to an AA meeting next week.
I feel really hopeful about it because he’s never taken it this seriously before. He’s never really admitted that his drinking was a problem, he’s always said things like “Sure I’ll cut back, don’t worry so much.” He really listened this time. I think he scared himself a bit. I don’t want to get too hopeful about what will happen, but this is more than we’ve ever managed before.
So anyway, once we had the big talk, we started clearing up some empty bottles and shit, and I found a whole box of stuff on one of the bookshelves that we haven’t opened in God knows how long. I went through it all and I found this photo:
It’s a few years old now. That’s Gee on the left and me on the right.
Mikey
********
“He’s hot!”
Ray and Bob looked up from their work, regarding Frank with expressions of resigned confusion.
“Who’s hot?” Ray asked. “Aside from Bob.”
“Mikey. Mikey Way is totally hot. He sent me a photo.”
“Now who’s shallow?”
“Shut up Bob.”
“That’s good, Frank,” said Ray supportively.
“Does this mean I have to send a photo back? It does, doesn’t it? I should reciprocate. Oh no, what if he thinks I’m ugly?”
“He’s not gonna think you’re ugly.”
“I’ll have to find one that doesn’t make me look stupid. I can find a photo that doesn’t make me look stupid, right?”
“Of course you can, Frank.”
********
Hey Mikey,
I’m really glad that things with Gerard are starting to work out. I know it’s not like I know him or anything, but I’ve been worrying, and I hope he can keep this up. Not just for your sake, and not just because I like his comics. But because I think, if he has someone as great as you care so much about him, he must be a pretty special person himself, and it would suck for him to screw up his life.
Anyway, that’s enough seriousness for today. I have something for you. You sent a photo of you and Gerard, so I went through all my photos and sent you a copy of the least stupid one I could find:
This picture was taken last month, and not when I was twelve, as Bob so annoyingly asked me when he saw it. This is also not my superhero identity, and my superhero name is not Cut the Frank. My friends are kind of strange.
Anyway, I might end the letter here, now that my humiliation is complete. I anticipate your swift and cutting sarcasm.
Frank
********
“My life is the worst.”
“Sure, Frank. How do you spell ‘lamentable’?”
“With spell-check. I could have just taken a photo. A nice, normal, photo of myself where I wasn’t wearing a cheese hat. That’s what an intelligent person would have done, right?”
“I guess. What about ‘deplorable’?” Ray put his pen down and tried to push his hair out of the way. His hair resisted mightily.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sending off a complaint letter. This will be the complaint to end all complaints. It will be the complaint from which all other complaints derive their.... their...”
“Complaininess?”
“I don’t think that’s a word.”
“Well, sure, not if you insist on living in reality land.”
“Why are you bothering me?”
Frank looked at Ray blankly. “Did you forget who I am?”
“Just... go and bus some tables or something? We are still attempting to run a cafe, you know.”
“Fine.”
“Wait. Wait a second.” Ray paused while Frank waited in the doorway, his expression thoughtful. “Did you say you sent the cheese hat photo to Mikey?”
Frank glared. “I hate you.”
Ray began to laugh. “Oh, no Frankie. I love you. You brighten my day so much.”
“You suck!”
********
Hey Frank,
I see you wear the cheese, it does not wear you. I approve of your headwear choices.
We took Gee to an AA meeting on Friday, and he hasn’t had a drink in five days now. He’s pretty miserable and pissed off at the moment, it’s been a bit rough but I’m hoping the worst part will be over soon. This won’t be a long letter, I’m really busy and tired but I didn’t want you to think I’d fallen off the planet or anything.
I thought we should swap email addresses, it will make it easier to keep in touch. Mine is mway@gmail.com. If you have chat, we could do that too.
I’ve got to go get some sleep, sorry I don’t really have much to say today.
Mikey
********
“He’s a Buffy fan, that makes him pretty much perfect, right?”
“Frank, if you want to go out with this guy, you might have to do something like ask him out.”
“He lives in California. My life sucks.”
“Being charged for replacing a deep fryer that you didn’t break, that sucks. What you have is high school angst without the high school. It’s sort of pathetic.”
“C’mon, Ray. What happened to being my supportive friend?”
“He went to prison for murdering his irritating employee?”
“You’re a jerk.”
********
To: mway@gmail.com
From: theghoul@hotmail.com
Hi Mikey, how are things going? I hope Gerard is still doing well and that things are starting to settle down for you.
Ray finally got his money back for that deep fryer. He’s decided that we need to celebrate so I’m supposed to go to his and Bob’s apartment tonight to eat crappy food we didn’t make and play Xbox. I’m supposed to bring dessert. Every time we do this there’s a big discussion about whether it’s okay for me to expect them to eat whatever ‘unholy tofu and soy milk creation’ I decide to force upon them (totally) or whether I have to abandon my vegan ideals and buy the donuts and ice-cream they like. (totally not) I think this time, I might get something with seaweed. It’s not my favourite or anything, but when I try to make Bob eat seaweed this vein in his forehead starts to throb.
Anyway, I won’t bore you with details of my slightly petty revenge plot. Call me, I haven’t heard your voice in too long. I’ll leave you with this picture of my stupid friends, Ray and Bob, comparing the number of orgasms they’ve had while another person was present.
Frank
********
“Hey, Frank.”
“Mikey! Hey, it’s good to hear from you.”
“Yeah, well. It seems like we’ve both got good news, so I wanted to call.”
“You’ve got good news? Is it Gerard? I was wondering how he was doing.”
“Gee’s been great. He’s still struggling and it’s been really difficult, but he’s been so determined. It’s like I’ve got back this brother, my real brother, the one I forgot was there underneath all the booze.”
Over the course of several phone calls, Frank had learned to decipher the slight variations in mood revealed by Mikey’s fairly monotone voice, but anyone would have been able to hear his happiness at that moment. Frank smiled into the receiver. “I’m really glad for you guys.”
“Yeah.” Mikey sighed. “We got the comic sent off to the publishers, and they seemed happy with it. I think it’s helping that some of the work pressure is off now.”
“That’s good.”
“When we were kids, you know, there was this thing we used to do. We’d buy this popsicles, you know, the kind that have the round stick? And once we’d eaten them, Gee would dry out the sticks and draw on them with markers, cover them with these amazing designs. I still have a heap of them. I always liked that he did that, because they were one of the ways Gee saw so creatively, did these amazing things that no one else would think of.
“We stopped doing that when he went to art school, and I think he thought he was beyond that or something, like, beyond having fun? But the other day... we’ve been going through so much crap food, you know, popsicles and chips and donuts, anything to keep Gee’s mind off craving alcohol... but he gave me a new one. I didn’t really think we’d get to do stuff like that anymore.”
“That’s great, Mikey,” said Frank, enormously touched.
“It is, isn’t it? I’ve tried to be careful, you know, I didn’t want to start to think things were going to be better and then be wrong, but I think they are, now. I think we’re going to be okay.”
Part 2
Fandom: Bandom
Pairings: Mikey/Frank, background Bob/Ray
Word count: 10472
Warnings: Alcoholism, angst.
Summary: Frank never intended to send a fan letter to his favourite comic book artist, and he certainly didn't expect to get a reply. He could never have predicted what actually happened next
Author's Notes: Written for bandomreversebb. Thanks to the mods, for running such a fun challenge. Thanks to girlmarauders for betaing this.
This fic was inspired by ina_pok's lovely art, which drew me in because it was so emotive and contained so many possibilities. I had a great time writing this, so thanks ina_pok for giving me such wonderful inspiration.
Dear Mr Way,
My name’s Frank Iero and I’m from Belleville, NJ. I’ve been a huge fan of your comics ever since the Umbrella Academy. I’ve always thought about writing to you, but I’m not much of a letter writer and didn’t really know what to say. But I loved Danger Days so much that I had to try to tell you what it meant to me.
I wish there had been a comic like that around when I was a kid, because I think staying in the closet so long really messed with me in a lot of ways, and I think it might have helped to read about characters who were going through the same thing. There wasn’t anything like that around when I grew up.
I loved the way you wrote Kobra Kid, how he only did what he wanted and what felt right to him, but he still managed to get this message out about who he was and what that meant. Like he understood that in his world, just being himself was enough to mess with the status quo. It helped me feel a lot better about myself and my life, like it’s nothing special but I’m doing okay, you know? I wanted to say thanks for helping me see that.
Anyway, I’m really excited about the next issue, I bet you’re really busy with that right now. I don’t suppose you’d give me a hint about what’s going to happen?
Thanks for being awesome,
Frank.
He never intended to send the letter. He’d just finished reading the comic and was full of enthusiasm and no small amount of beer. He had the envelope stamped and addressed and everything before he settled down and realised that Gerard Way probably had no interest in reading his ramblings, which were probably wildly off-base anyway. He put the letter on his desk and forgot about it. He didn’t do what he should have done, which was throw the damn thing away.
So, when his friends, his stupid, interfering friends, came around one night, they did what they always did. Ray, who was bossy and meddlesome, and Bob, who was an annoying shit-stirrer, went snooping around and found the letter, and then mailed it. They protested their innocence, of course. ‘Oh, Frank, we had no idea, we were just trying to help’, but Frank had no doubt they had known exactly what they were doing.
He was ticked off, but tried to see it as a positive thing. He’d sent a fan letter to Gerard Way. He might get one back. Gerard might send him a signed photograph, or something. That would be cool.
He didn’t share his thoughts on the power of positive thinking with Ray and Bob. He planned to guilt trip them as much as he could. (It wasn’t very much. Ray and Bob were infuriatingly shameless.) Frank jumped on Bob and demanded piggyback rides for the rest of the week, but he did this every second or third day, so as far as revenge went it lacked a certain something.
It was a typical day at work, which meant that Bob burned the fries and compensated by adding more salt. Frank liked the fries salty and slightly overcooked, so he was happy. Ray got his hair caught in the cash register for the second time that week, and wouldn’t let anyone cut the knots out, so he was stuck working the till for two and a half hours while he untangled himself between customers. Frank went home at the end of the day smelling faintly of salad dressing.
The letter which arrived just three days later came as a big surprise. Frank had barely let himself imagine that Gerard would reply; at best he’d expected to wait at least a month.
He opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, letting himself sink onto the couch as he began to read.
Dear Reader
Thank you for your interest in my graphic novels. It is always a great pleasure to hear from my readers.
Currently I have two completed series, The Umbrella Academy and The Black Parade, as well as five stand-alone graphic novels; Cemetery Drive, House of Wolves, The Ghost of You, Helena and Teenagers (Are Not Ok). My series Danger Days is still ongoing with a new issue to be released this summer.
You can read about upcoming releases and other exciting news at www.g-waygraphicnovels.com. Thanks again for your support, and I hope that you continue to enjoy my work.
Yours sincerely,
Gerard Way
It was a form letter. A form letter. Okay, so that was Gerard Way’s actual signature on it, that was cool, but it was still a form letter. It didn’t even read like Gerard had written it. Frank had seen interviews with Gerard Way and read his comics, and he couldn’t imagine the same guy who had written those writing something as sterile and boring as this. Why was this form letter telling him the names of all Gerard’s novels when he’d obviously already read them?
Frank put the letter down on his desk, because he was disappointed, sure, but that was still Gerard Way’s signature at the bottom of the page. He went to make dinner and watch some television and forget all about the other stuff.
The next day, Frank overslept and got to work fifteen minutes late, with his hair still dripping and a cardboard cup of bitter coffee clasped in one hand. Ray glared at him as he walked behind the counter, but his hair was even more messed up than usual, and Bob’s shirt was buttoned unevenly, so Frank didn’t think either of them really minded. He went into the kitchen and got to work making sandwiches.
They got busy around lunchtime and the rush didn’t ease until half past two. Frank took his lunch break then, made himself a sandwich and sat to eat it in a corner where he could still annoy Ray and Bob if they got close enough.
“Make me a coffee, Ray?” he whined. Ray glanced his way and pursed his lips.
“You want me to make it? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a coffee from your local gas station?”
“Nooo!” said Frank. “Your coffee is better. Please?”
Ray hmmed and pulled down a mug, but Bob looked over from where he was counting out change and said, “No, Ray, make him work for it.”
“Bob Bryar, you are a scoundrel and I am aghast at your impertinence.” Frank put his sandwich down, all set to go climb up and sit on Bob’s shoulders as punishment, but Bob grabbed a tray and started collecting dishes, keeping tables between them the whole time. Frank sat back down but kept a glare trained on Bob to make sure he knew he wasn’t forgiven.
Ray did make him coffee, one of those flavoured things with soy milk that Frank would usually screw his nose up at, except that Ray made the best fucking coffee in the world. He put the mug in front of Frank and said, “Get anything back from Gerard Way yet?”
Ray and Bob read his comics too, mostly because Frank had nagged and nagged until they gave in. Perhaps that had had something to do with their recent ‘helpfulness’. Frank smiled weakly and said, “I got a letter back, a form letter with a list of all his comics and his website address, like I wouldn’t know that stuff already.” He shrugged a bit and tried to laugh like he didn’t care, but he knew it came out sounding hollow.
“Ah, that sucks, man,” Ray said sympathetically.
“It’s got his signature on it, though, in ink and everything.”
“Well, that’s cool.”
That night Frank went home and stuck the letter in a drawer, because he didn’t know what else to do with it. He had more or less forgotten all about it when he got another letter a few days later.
Hi Frank,
I hope you don’t mind me writing to you like this. My name is Mikey Way, Gerard Way is my brother. Right now he’s busy with work stuff, with a new issue due for release soon there’s a lot of work involved. So he’s not really reading any fan letters at the moment, although he usually loves to do that sort of thing. I thought that was a shame, because in your letter you said a lot of things that Gerard would have been thrilled by, so I passed along some of what you said. I hope you don’t mind. I’m guessing you wouldn’t, or you wouldn’t have written it.
Anyway. Your letter - I liked what you said about Kobra Kid, about how you can’t live your life to make a statement but sometimes just living is the statement, you know? Gerard talks about it sometimes, but I’m not sure if you know... he based some of Kobra’s story on some things I went through, and I found what you said to be really insightful. I wanted to write back, because you sounded like you got it, and not just in the abstract.
Gerard is all about reaching out to his fans and helping people accept themselves and positive messages and stuff. And of course, he can’t do all that right now, because of his work, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still worth doing. So, I guess maybe this isn’t the reply you were hoping to get, but I like to think I can make a difference to people too. And so can you.
Mikey
Frank wasn’t sure what to make of the letter. It was good, but unexpected. He’d already known Gerard Way had a brother; he’d read interviews and Gerard talked about him all the time. They were close.
He wasn’t going to reply at first, but the envelope had a return address label on it, different to the one Frank had found on the publisher’s website. And he had taken the trouble to write to Frank, just because Frank had said something in his letter that made his brother happy. Frank grabbed his notepad again, and started a letter.
Mikey,
I hope it’s not weird that I’m writing back to you. Is it? I think it’s probably weird. And still, here I am, writing away.
It was really cool of you to write to me, and I wanted to say thanks. I know Gerard’s probably really busy and all, but I bet you’re pretty busy too. So. Thanks.
It’s a shame that all the pressure to meet deadlines stops Gerard from reaching out to people like he wants to, that’s got to be tough for you guys. I guess even if you’re rich and famous, there’s never enough time for everything you want to do, huh?
Thanks for letting me know I wasn’t totally off the mark with what I said about Kobra Kid. I mean, I’d hate to be one of those people who assumes they ‘know’ someone because they read about them or whatever. I remember when I was growing up, there were people everywhere who thought they knew what you should be doing and were happy to tell you about it. No one accepted that you might have your own ideas about what was right or what mattered, or that those ideas might be worth anything. So, I don’t know, I love reading about a character who doesn’t put up with that sort of bullshit.
Anyway, I don’t want to take up more of your time. I hope everything goes smoothly with the next issue.
Frank
Frank debated for nearly a week over posting the letter, and he finally did just because he got tired of the stupid thing sitting on his desk looking reproachful. He figured that would be the end of it.
Frank had no intention of telling Ray and Bob about Mikey’s letter, not until he knew what he would say about it. He wasn’t expecting it to be easy, because his two friends were nosy and loved to mind other people’s business, especially Frank’s. When he arrived at the cafe, however, it was clear that Events had Transpired while he was absent.
Opening the front door allowed a faint cloud of smoke to escape. Frank waved it away and stepped inside, recognising the smell of burning coming from the kitchen. Bob was in there, trying to fan the smoke out the window with a towel while Ray retrieved something charred and unidentifiable from the deep fryer. More alarmingly, the wall behind the deep fryer was actually scorched, and the fryer itself, while still apparently whole, was definitely blackened and still covered with foam from the fire extinguisher.
“What the hell happened?”
“What does it look like?” Bob asked. “The stupid fucking deep fryer caught fire. Some kind of fault, I don’t know. We’ve never had trouble with it before.”
“It’s under warranty still,” said Ray. “I’m going to call the company in a minute to see when they can fix it.”
“So I guess we’re not doing anything fried today, then?”
Ray looked pained. “Can you go out and sort out the menu?” he asked. “What a pain in the ass.”
The drama of the faulty deep fryer created enough excitement that not only were Ray and Bob completely distracted from any letters Frank may or may not have written, Frank himself forgot about it as well. He forgot about it until he got home one day and brought in the mail.
Hey Frank,
I had to reply, because of what you said about people thinking they know better than you. I can relate to that so much. I used to have another job, before I started working with Gerard, I was working at Eyeball Records. I liked that job a lot and I guess it was all working out pretty well, but I knew that what Gerard was trying to do could turn out to be this huge thing. I decided I wanted to be a part of it, but so many people thought I was being an idiot, no matter what I said. People said that I shouldn’t give up on my own dreams for my brother, but it was my dream too, you know? I don’t think it was a mistake, I still don’t think that.
I guess I’m still kind of mad about that. I feel pretty bad, writing this rant about my life when we barely know each other. What do you do, Frank? Do you like your job? I figure if I get to whine about stuff it’s only fair that you get a chance to do the same.
I mean, if you want to. I think I’m starting to get kind of nosy. If you’d rather not tell me about yourself, that’s fine too.
Mikey
Without even stopping to think about the rationality of exchanging letters with a total stranger for no particular reason, Frank sat down and started to write.
Mikey,
So you asked about my job. Guess what I did today? At the diner where I work, the cook went to start the fries and the deep fryer just went up in flames. Just like that! I wasn’t there, but apparently there was even a tiny mushroom cloud. (Not sure whether to believe or not.) Have you ever tried to think of cold alternatives for all your favourite cooked foods? Carrot sticks instead of french fries. Ice cream sundaes instead of donuts. It gets even better, because Ray called the company, and they can’t send anyone out until Monday...
********
After that, it was easy to just keep writing. Frank found himself opening up about things he usually didn’t talk about, like his slight lingering disappointment that the music thing had never worked out and his suspicion that his mother still hoped he would bring home a nice girl one of these days. He felt honoured when Mikey did the same in return, revealing that sometimes he did feel overlooked next to his brother’s success, but he loved Gerard and was happy for him, so he didn’t mind too much.
Frank received three letters from Mikey in as many weeks, and with each one he seemed to become more and more stressed. It started to worry Frank.
Is everything okay Mikey? It sounds like you’re pretty stressed out. I’m sorry things aren’t going so great right now. It sucks that Gerard missed that deadline. I hope your publishers weren’t too pissed.
If it helps cheer you up, today a customer came in and asked for directions to Disneyland. Disneyland! We’re in fucking New Jersey. I said, go to the highway and head west, you can’t miss it. I might be a bit of an asshole.
I’ve got to go now, Ray and Bob are coming around to play Halo and I promised to make nachos. Let me know how you’re going, though.
Frank
That night, Ray commented that Frank seemed ‘pensive’, and Bob said that Ray shouldn’t describe Frank with words that were bigger than he was. Frank considered completely annihilating their Halo characters to be punishment enough.
********
Frank,
I’m okay. I mean, I’m holding up okay. I didn’t mean to make you worry or anything.
Gee missing a deadline wouldn’t be so bad, if that was all it was. He’s missed the last three, and I could deal with that. I could. It’s watching his back, keeping all his secrets because he’s too messed up to do that for himself anymore. It’s more than I can handle, so I’m going to tell you, okay? I’ll tell you, and then you’ll know, and you won’t be someone else I’ve got to pretend for.
The problem is Gerard’s drinking. He’s always done it, but not this much. It never used to interfere with his work, but now it’s just a fucking mess.
We’re lucky that Gerard’s editor, Pete, is a really great person who knows what’s going on and has kept it to himself. It’s worked okay for a while, but I don’t know how much longer Gerard can keep going like this.
I know it’s not Gerard’s fault, so I feel guilty for being angry at him. I feel like I should be doing something to help him and that I’m a lousy brother because I can’t make anything better. But I know I can’t really do anything to fix this, only Gerard can, and then I resent him for making me feel guilty and get angry with him for not trying, and that brings me right around to being guilty again.
The truth is, Gee used to reply to fan letters all the time. He used to love it. But he just can’t do that sort of thing anymore. I like to read the letters because sometimes they say things that make Gee happy, and that’s how I saw yours. I don’t know why I wrote to you, but I’m glad I did.
Frank decided to be thirty minutes late for work so that he could reply straight away.
Mikey,
I had no idea that you were dealing with all that. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do. It must be really difficult, having Gerard lean on you so much. I’m sorry you’re going through this. I can tell you it’s not your fault, and it’s not up to you to make everything better. That’s on Gerard.
You might want to ignore this, and if you do that’s fine, but this is my cell number: 1-908-356-3383. Just in case it might help to talk to someone.
********
“Hello?”
“Um, hi? Frank? It’s Mikey.”
“Mikey? Oh, wow, you called.”
“Yeah, uh, I hope it’s okay...”
“Yeah, of course. I was hoping you would, but I wasn’t sure. It’s really good to talk to you.”
“Yeah, um. Yeah, this is good.”
“So...” said Frank after a minute had passed, “How are you holding up with everything?”
“Good.” Mikey chuckled tiredly. “Pretty good. Today was okay. Better.”
“That’s good then, right?”
“Yeah.” Mikey didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just that, I know tomorrow’s going to be worse. Or if it’s not, the next day will be. You know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Eh. Can’t be helped.” Mikey sighed. “Yeah, I don’t really want to talk about that shit. I mean, when I called I thought maybe it would be good to talk about with someone, but I’m tired of thinking about it. So, how’s the cafe? Did they deliver the right deep fryer?”
“Yesterday. They’re trying to charge for the replacement, though. I think Ray’s nearly ready to strangle someone.”
“God,” Mikey laughed. “That’s unbelievable. Why do they want him to pay?”
“Because according to them, Bob was using the wrong brand of oil.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“How is one brand of oil any different from any other brand of oil?”
“I don’t know, man. Ray went through the deep fryer manual to see if there was anything in there about using a certain type of oil, and there wasn’t, and the company said that the manual was out of date.”
“Assholes.”
“Yeah. So Ray asked what difference it made if it was the same deep fryer, and they didn’t say. It’s been ridiculous.”
Mikey laughed even louder, and when he’d finally stopped, he said in a soft voice, “Thanks, Frank.”
“Thanks for what?”
“For... I don’t know. It’s nice to have one part of my life that’s not falling apart around me.”
“God, Mikey. You don’t have to thank me for that.”
********
Bob had a trick which was rotten and sneaky, and which got Frank every time.
“Good night?” he asked as Frank walked into the cafe.
“Awesome.”
“Did you see the new Doctor Who?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah!”
“Record it?”
“Of course!”
“Don’t forget to wipe the tables.”
“I won’t.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mikey.”
Frank looked around in the sudden silence to see Ray and Bob watching him intently. “I mean. What?” he tried.
“Mikey,” said Ray, like he was trying the name out to see how it fitted. “Hmmm.”
“Oh my God,” said Frank. “You said you were going to stop doing that!” he snapped at Bob. Bob just raised an eyebrow at him and looked unimpressed.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’d started seeing someone?”
“I’m not!”
“Then who’s this Mikey person?”
“He’s no one. I mean, he’s not no one. He’s someone, but he’s not someone I’m dating. He’s just, like, a friend.”
“Hmmm.” Ray looked sceptical. “I have lots of friends, but they don’t make me smile like that.”
“That’s right,” said Bob, moving to stand behind Ray. “Only I can do that.”
“Ugh, stop that! People come in here to eat, you know!”
“Frank, we’re happy for you,” said Ray, grabbing Bob’s hands and holding them still. “But why haven’t you brought him around to meet us, or even just told us about him?” The corners of Ray’s mouth turned down, which was just wrong, and Frank realised he’d better talk fast to ease some hurt feelings.
“It’s not like that, I swear,” he insisted. “Listen...” He sighed and accepted that the full truth would be the only way of getting out of this. “Remember when I wrote that letter to Gerard Way, and then you posted it?”
“Of course,” said Bob at once. “That was hilarious.”
“Of course it was,” said Frank sarcastically. “Jerks. Anyway, I did get a reply back after all.”
“Really, Gerard wrote to you?” Ray perked up.
“No, not from Gerard. It was from Mikey, his brother?”
“You got a letter from Gerard Way’s brother?”
“Yeah, and since then, we’ve been sort of... exchanging letters. We’re like pen pals.”
“Pen pals. That is so cute.” Ray grinned happily, and Frank rolled his eyes.
“But you like this guy, right?” Bob asked. Frank reluctantly nodded. “Do you even know what he looks like? He could have a hunchback, or a unibrow or something.”
“That is so shallow, Bob Bryar.”
“Whatever. I’m dating a sex god, I can say what I like.”
Ray grinned some more and Frank clapped his hands over his ears. “For God’s sake! Please stop telling me about your sex life, I don’t want to know.”
Ray cleared his throat. “Frank, I think what Bob is attempting to say, is that we’d hate to see you hurt.”
“It’s true,” Bob confirmed. “That was totally my point.”
“And we worry about you, because you’re getting all these... feelings, but there’s still a lot you don’t know.”
“So, what’s your point?” Frank asked stubbornly. He wasn’t going to stop writing to Mikey. Maybe he was deluding himself, but he felt like he was helping Mikey, and that Mikey needed some help. He wouldn’t go into that with Ray and Bob. For all they were great friends, Mikey’s secrets were not his to tell.
“So nothing,” said Ray. “I guess, just... we’re here, if you need to talk.”
“Oh,” said Frank, the last traces of his annoyance vanishing. “Well, thanks.”
Having people to talk to was important.
********
Hey Frank,
It’s been a better week. Gerard finally got the last few panels done, so now he’s just got to do revisions and then the publishers can take over. But the even better news is that me and Pete talked to him and he’s going to try to cut down on his drinking. We’re going to try to get him to an AA meeting next week.
I feel really hopeful about it because he’s never taken it this seriously before. He’s never really admitted that his drinking was a problem, he’s always said things like “Sure I’ll cut back, don’t worry so much.” He really listened this time. I think he scared himself a bit. I don’t want to get too hopeful about what will happen, but this is more than we’ve ever managed before.
So anyway, once we had the big talk, we started clearing up some empty bottles and shit, and I found a whole box of stuff on one of the bookshelves that we haven’t opened in God knows how long. I went through it all and I found this photo:
It’s a few years old now. That’s Gee on the left and me on the right.
Mikey
********
“He’s hot!”
Ray and Bob looked up from their work, regarding Frank with expressions of resigned confusion.
“Who’s hot?” Ray asked. “Aside from Bob.”
“Mikey. Mikey Way is totally hot. He sent me a photo.”
“Now who’s shallow?”
“Shut up Bob.”
“That’s good, Frank,” said Ray supportively.
“Does this mean I have to send a photo back? It does, doesn’t it? I should reciprocate. Oh no, what if he thinks I’m ugly?”
“He’s not gonna think you’re ugly.”
“I’ll have to find one that doesn’t make me look stupid. I can find a photo that doesn’t make me look stupid, right?”
“Of course you can, Frank.”
********
Hey Mikey,
I’m really glad that things with Gerard are starting to work out. I know it’s not like I know him or anything, but I’ve been worrying, and I hope he can keep this up. Not just for your sake, and not just because I like his comics. But because I think, if he has someone as great as you care so much about him, he must be a pretty special person himself, and it would suck for him to screw up his life.
Anyway, that’s enough seriousness for today. I have something for you. You sent a photo of you and Gerard, so I went through all my photos and sent you a copy of the least stupid one I could find:
This picture was taken last month, and not when I was twelve, as Bob so annoyingly asked me when he saw it. This is also not my superhero identity, and my superhero name is not Cut the Frank. My friends are kind of strange.
Anyway, I might end the letter here, now that my humiliation is complete. I anticipate your swift and cutting sarcasm.
Frank
********
“My life is the worst.”
“Sure, Frank. How do you spell ‘lamentable’?”
“With spell-check. I could have just taken a photo. A nice, normal, photo of myself where I wasn’t wearing a cheese hat. That’s what an intelligent person would have done, right?”
“I guess. What about ‘deplorable’?” Ray put his pen down and tried to push his hair out of the way. His hair resisted mightily.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sending off a complaint letter. This will be the complaint to end all complaints. It will be the complaint from which all other complaints derive their.... their...”
“Complaininess?”
“I don’t think that’s a word.”
“Well, sure, not if you insist on living in reality land.”
“Why are you bothering me?”
Frank looked at Ray blankly. “Did you forget who I am?”
“Just... go and bus some tables or something? We are still attempting to run a cafe, you know.”
“Fine.”
“Wait. Wait a second.” Ray paused while Frank waited in the doorway, his expression thoughtful. “Did you say you sent the cheese hat photo to Mikey?”
Frank glared. “I hate you.”
Ray began to laugh. “Oh, no Frankie. I love you. You brighten my day so much.”
“You suck!”
********
Hey Frank,
I see you wear the cheese, it does not wear you. I approve of your headwear choices.
We took Gee to an AA meeting on Friday, and he hasn’t had a drink in five days now. He’s pretty miserable and pissed off at the moment, it’s been a bit rough but I’m hoping the worst part will be over soon. This won’t be a long letter, I’m really busy and tired but I didn’t want you to think I’d fallen off the planet or anything.
I thought we should swap email addresses, it will make it easier to keep in touch. Mine is mway@gmail.com. If you have chat, we could do that too.
I’ve got to go get some sleep, sorry I don’t really have much to say today.
Mikey
********
“He’s a Buffy fan, that makes him pretty much perfect, right?”
“Frank, if you want to go out with this guy, you might have to do something like ask him out.”
“He lives in California. My life sucks.”
“Being charged for replacing a deep fryer that you didn’t break, that sucks. What you have is high school angst without the high school. It’s sort of pathetic.”
“C’mon, Ray. What happened to being my supportive friend?”
“He went to prison for murdering his irritating employee?”
“You’re a jerk.”
********
To: mway@gmail.com
From: theghoul@hotmail.com
Hi Mikey, how are things going? I hope Gerard is still doing well and that things are starting to settle down for you.
Ray finally got his money back for that deep fryer. He’s decided that we need to celebrate so I’m supposed to go to his and Bob’s apartment tonight to eat crappy food we didn’t make and play Xbox. I’m supposed to bring dessert. Every time we do this there’s a big discussion about whether it’s okay for me to expect them to eat whatever ‘unholy tofu and soy milk creation’ I decide to force upon them (totally) or whether I have to abandon my vegan ideals and buy the donuts and ice-cream they like. (totally not) I think this time, I might get something with seaweed. It’s not my favourite or anything, but when I try to make Bob eat seaweed this vein in his forehead starts to throb.
Anyway, I won’t bore you with details of my slightly petty revenge plot. Call me, I haven’t heard your voice in too long. I’ll leave you with this picture of my stupid friends, Ray and Bob, comparing the number of orgasms they’ve had while another person was present.
Frank
********
“Hey, Frank.”
“Mikey! Hey, it’s good to hear from you.”
“Yeah, well. It seems like we’ve both got good news, so I wanted to call.”
“You’ve got good news? Is it Gerard? I was wondering how he was doing.”
“Gee’s been great. He’s still struggling and it’s been really difficult, but he’s been so determined. It’s like I’ve got back this brother, my real brother, the one I forgot was there underneath all the booze.”
Over the course of several phone calls, Frank had learned to decipher the slight variations in mood revealed by Mikey’s fairly monotone voice, but anyone would have been able to hear his happiness at that moment. Frank smiled into the receiver. “I’m really glad for you guys.”
“Yeah.” Mikey sighed. “We got the comic sent off to the publishers, and they seemed happy with it. I think it’s helping that some of the work pressure is off now.”
“That’s good.”
“When we were kids, you know, there was this thing we used to do. We’d buy this popsicles, you know, the kind that have the round stick? And once we’d eaten them, Gee would dry out the sticks and draw on them with markers, cover them with these amazing designs. I still have a heap of them. I always liked that he did that, because they were one of the ways Gee saw so creatively, did these amazing things that no one else would think of.
“We stopped doing that when he went to art school, and I think he thought he was beyond that or something, like, beyond having fun? But the other day... we’ve been going through so much crap food, you know, popsicles and chips and donuts, anything to keep Gee’s mind off craving alcohol... but he gave me a new one. I didn’t really think we’d get to do stuff like that anymore.”
“That’s great, Mikey,” said Frank, enormously touched.
“It is, isn’t it? I’ve tried to be careful, you know, I didn’t want to start to think things were going to be better and then be wrong, but I think they are, now. I think we’re going to be okay.”
Part 2