MJ's Not the Only One With a Man In the Mirror, Part 2
Part 1
Gerard looked down at his paltry paycheck, desperately trying to do the math. Not that it mattered, really. It was perfectly clear that it wouldn’t be enough. There were eight days of pay on there, but each day was only six hours, and the wages for working the counter at a comic book shop were nowhere near the wages of even a low-ranking artist at Cartoon Network.
He’d been extremely lucky, he knew, to have landed this job just two days after leaving his old one. He’d been looking for solace in heroes and villains, and had unexpectedly come across a Help Wanted sign in the window of his favorite store. The manager knew him as a regular customer, and knew him to be knowledgeable from the few conversations they’d had over the register, and had responded to Gerard’s inquiry with enthusiasm. He’d found himself on the clock that very evening, relieved to have some money coming in while Bert was out spending it in Philly.
But while his first check would help cover expenses until the end of the month, his next one wasn’t going to be enough for rent, let alone gas and electric. Which meant that Gerard was going to have to get a second job. He absolutely abhorred the thought, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Bert needed so much flexibility in scheduling, most jobs were almost immediately out of the question. Besides, the shop was giving Gerard six days at six hours, always in the evening. He should be able to find some daytime work to fill in the gaps. He’d done the early morning thing before, he could do it again.
He logged on to Craig’s List the next morning while Bert was still dead to the world. He copied down the details of some of the more promising - and less skeezy-looking - ads, then replied to the ones with email responses required. The rest seemed to be asking for personal appearances to obtain applications, and he just stared at them for a while before actually making himself get up and dress and prepare for pounding the pavement.
By three o’clock he’d filled out seven applications, been turned down five times, and had walked out of one store when he’d heard the manager and clerk make lewd comments about a girl sifting through the racks of shirts. His feet hurt, he was starving, and he didn’t want to have to be doing this anyway.
He had to quit for the day as it was, because his shift at the shop was starting in an hour, and he was definitely going to need food before then. He was planning on just hitting up the McDonald’s he knew to be about a block over, when a familiar storefront caught his eye. Large dark windows, gold lettering, and advertisements for beers on tap. He didn’t have a lot of money to spend, but he decided he could risk it, and anyway he owed Greta a huge thank you.
He crossed the street and entered, sliding into the same booth as before, hoping it would still be assigned to the tiny blonde waitress. He was rewarded with her presence just a minute or so later, and she grinned blindingly, pointing her finger at him. “Coke only, buddy. I’m afraid we’ve run clean out of alcohol today.”
He laughed. “That works for me actually. As long as you still have food.”
“We do,” she exclaimed, before trotting off and coming back with a soda and a menu. “How’ve you been?”
“Okay, actually. I went to that meeting, which really helped. I’m still looking for some extra work, but I’m, you know. Coping.”
“Glad to hear it. The bad day you had; that was job related?”
Gerard nodded. “Yeah. I got fired for taking a long lunch to go to a meeting. Well, and because my boss was a dick. But yeah. I’ve got one part-time job in the evenings, but I need something else to make rent, you know?” He glanced over the menu, which seemed to be mostly sandwiches, burgers, and heart attack-inducing sides and appetizers.
“Corporate tools, all of ‘em,” Greta exclaimed, even though she couldn’t possibly have known where Gerard had been fired from.
“Tell me about it,” he agreed, then ordered a roast beef sandwich and fries to go with his Coke.
Greta smiled and moved away to place the order, but she was back not five minutes later, once again sliding into the booth across from him. “So, okay. I don’t know how you’d feel about this, since this is a bar and all, but we have a position open during the lunch shift here. Nothing glamorous, just delivering food and helping with clean up, maybe taking some orders if we’re slammed. It’d just be from ten to three, but it pays nine-fifty an hour, plus a small share in the tips and one meal per shift.”
Gerard stared at her, stunned not only by her offer, but also by her generosity and caring. “Really? I could- I mean. I’ve never worked in a restaurant before. I don’t have experience.”
She waved him off, unconcerned. “It’s not like it’s hard. You drop plates off, clean them up, maybe do some mopping and stuff. We’d wait till you’re trained up before making you take any orders or anything. But you would have to drop some drinks off to the tables too. If you can handle that.”
Gerard pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over his fingers, clenching his hands into the fabric. “I can handle it.” If it meant a job with the right hours and decent pay, Gerard could handle anything. “Can you get me an application?”
Greta smiled and shook her head. “Not gonna need one. Let me talk to Darren, my manager. I play this right, you’ll be hired before you finish eating.” And just like that she was gone again, darting into the back rooms, out of Gerard’s sight.
She wasn’t wrong. Darren delivered Gerard’s sandwich himself, and lightly grilled Gerard about things like work ethic and honesty. Then he gently checked that working around alcohol wasn’t going to be a problem for Gerard, before offering the job with a grin and a handshake. Gerard left with food in his stomach, a smile on his face, and a massive hug from Greta.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, hon,” she said, before lightly swatting him on his way out the door.
Gerard sat on Mikey’s couch, flipping through the latest copy of The Village Voice and trying to keep himself from running his fingers through his super-short, super-bleached, fierce blond hair. Even after a week he couldn’t get used to the feeling of nothing past the tops of his ears. He was still surprised every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, but then he’d grin before making a stern face and then grinning again. He actually kind of loved it.
“Mikey, I swear,” he said, violently turning the page and scanning the text. “I’m over him.”
Mikey’s fingers didn’t even pause as he typed a message out on his phone and one eyebrow raised up, making Gerard huff.
“No, really. I am. I mean, obviously he’s a complete asshole, right?”
Mikey’s second eyebrow joined the first and his phone vibrated in his hands.
“Shit, he hasn’t even called, to see if I’m okay, to admit he’s a complete dickface. ‘Hello, Gee, it’s Bert, I’m sorry was a complete dickface, please come home,’ all that bullshit. I don’t even care. I don’t. Fuck him. I’m done with him.”
“Oh?” Mikey asked, his fingers flying again.
“Yes.” Gerard turned another page, and it ripped a little in the center fold. “He can go fuck himself on a giant rusty nail for all I care.”
“So all this moping you’ve been doing this past week-”
“Ten days, Mikey,” Gerard corrected.
“Ten days then,” Mikey amended with an eye-roll. “This ten day moping streak you’ve had, hanging around, looking like suicide on a stick, that’s what? You being over him?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Gee.”
“Shut up,” Gerard muttered. “I don’t know why you don’t believe me.”
Mikey checked his screen one last time, then finally reached to put his phone away in his pocket before piercing Gerard with a knowing gaze. “First off, you’re counting the time you’ve been broken up in days - and probably hours and minutes. The second way: I know you’re practicing your I Don’t Care face every morning, and then you check in with your reflection to see how you’re doing. But the big, flashing, neon sign that says you’re not over him?” Mikey nodded down at the publication in Gerard’s hands, his expression wry. “You’re still reading the concert listings to see if he’s going to be playing any night this week.”
Gerard immediately closed the paper up and tossed it in the general direction of Mikey’s face. “Shut up, I am not. I was just looking to see if anyone good was playing.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mikey flipped the pages open again and started at the back. “So I guess we can go to Thrash House on Sunday and you can tell him you’re over him and that he can go fuck himself.”
“They’re playing?”
“Yeah. With complete no-names, if that makes you feel any better. But it doesn’t say anything about rusty nails.”
“Shut up, Mikey.”
There was a sudden knock on the door then, and Gerard startled, his heart pounding, mouth dry; his mind racing with the possibilities. Did he hope it was Bert or pray that it wasn’t? He wasn’t sure, couldn’t decide. But who else would it be, right? Not like Mikey was expecting anyone, and Alicia was at work. He poked Mikey’s thigh with his toes. “Mikes, get the door.”
“You get it. I’m busy.” He was looking at his phone again, rolling his eyes either at the message or at Gerard. It wasn’t really clear.
“Mikey, I can’t,” Gerard wailed. “I don’t want to seem all eager. Come on, you have to get it for me.”
Mikey said nothing and another knock sounded.
“Mikey! Please? It won’t be him anyway.”
“So what’s the big deal?”
Gerard huffed and stood up, knowing he’d lost. Fuck him, he told himself as he stomped over to the door. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him, he repeated, mentally preparing for the sight of scraggly dark hair, unkempt scruff, and apologetic eyes.
Which meant he was completely unprepared for the lack of height, blinding grin, and sea of ink he was faced with instead. “Um. Frank?”
“Whoa. Dude. That is. Whoa.”
Gerard’s hand reached up to run over his short hair. “Uh. Yeah. Needed a change.”
“That is fucking fierce, dude. Awesome.”
Gerard couldn’t have stopped the grin from appearing on his face if he’d tried. “What- How did you find me?”
“Clearly you were staying with Mikey Way, so I asked Bob to ask Patrick to ask Pete where Mikey Way lives.” He smiled and waved over Gerard’s shoulder. “Hi, Mikey!”
Mikey lifted a hand in return from the couch, and Gerard looked back to Frank, nonplused. “How do you know Mikey anyway?”
“Uh. I don’t? Not, like, officially. But we know the same people and shit, so. And sometimes I record for Eyeball. It’s actually a pretty small community, once you get down to it. Anyway, I heard from Bob who heard from Jepha that there’s all sorts of shit going down within The Used, and I thought, fuck, you know, they all have each other, but that maybe you could use an extra friend, so here I am. Wanna go get some food with me? There’s a place with great vegan grilled cheese not too far from here.”
Gerard had to work to sort out all the words. He was pretty distracted by Frank’s bouncing and smile. “Um. I’m not a vegan.”
“No, but I am. Don’t worry, they have real food too. Come on. It’ll be fun. Don’t make me eat alone, Gerard Way. That’s just sad and pathetic, and never a good time.”
Gerard wondered how many people could actually say no to Frank when he made that face. Whatever their number, Gerard apparently wasn’t counted among them. “Sure. I guess. Let me grab my jacket.”
The tiny diner Frank took him too did, indeed have real food, and the notion of grilled cheese had settled so firmly in Gerard’s mind, he ordered it too. The regular version, not vegan. Extra gooey. But when it arrived, he found all he could really do was pick at it.
“Dude, come on. Pretty cows gave up their milk for that sandwich,” Frank coaxed with a smile.
Gerard poked at his sandwich with a fry. “I’m sorry,” he said, rolling his shoulders and feeling uncomfortable. This felt suspiciously like a date, and Gerard knew that no matter how over Bert he was (Shut up, Mikey, he totally was!) he wasn’t ready to actually date again yet. Over three and a half years of his life couldn’t be erased that quickly. “I’m not . . . I don’t think I’m being fair. I mean, with a little more time, maybe. You’re really nice and everything. I think Mikey thinks you’re cute-”
“Hey, whoa, hang on a second. You think Mikey thinks I’m cute? You think Mikey thinks I’m cute? Well, shit!” Frank scrambled for the menu card on the table and scanned the list, running his fingers along the prices. “I just blew seven fucking bucks on the wrong Way!”
Gerard laughed and threw a fry at Frank.
“Look, Gerard, I’m not trying to pick you up, okay? I mean, yeah, that day on the subway? Totally would have asked you out if you hadn’t told me about Bert. But you did. And then the shittiest of all shitty things happened to you, and I’m not about to make your life harder right now. Sometimes you’re just sort of dropped into people’s lives when they need some cheering up and support and stuff, you know? And for some reason it turns out to be your job. So. That’s all I’m doing. The fact that I think you’re kinda hot just makes the job easier for me, okay? I promise I have no intention of trying to get you in my bed. Swear. I’m a nice guy. You can trust me. So, hey, do you prefer cotton sheets or satin?” Frank asked, finishing up with a shit-eating grin and making Gerard laugh again.
“Kind of hot?” he asked.
Frank giggled. “Ha. I thought you might catch that. But you know, lose the sad eyes, the droopy mouth, I could get you an upgrade.”
Gerard nervously reached a hand up to flatten his short hair and Frank shot him another grin.
“Yeah, and keep the hair. It looks good. So now that we got that out of the way, what are you doing two weeks from Saturday?”
“Probably killing myself,” Gerard said, with all the drama he could muster.
“Yeah? Cool. What time does that finish? Do you like Burton?”
Gerard tried a grin and found it came fairly easily. “Yeah. I really do.”
Gerard pushed his hair back behind his ears, making sure it wasn’t sticking out crazily in all directions or hanging over his eyes. Darren generally didn’t mind Gerard having longish hair as long as it was clean and under control. Gerard was just grateful he didn’t have to wear a hairnet or something. The shit he would have taken from Bert and his friends would have made the job so not worth it.
He dropped some food off to a table full of businessmen and asked if there was anything else they needed. At their negative responses, he turned and cleared the dishes from the deserted booth behind them, his back protesting as he stretched to reach a glass on the far side.
He’d been working this crazy schedule for well over a week now, though it felt much longer. Probably because he hadn’t had a full day off, and he wouldn’t have one for quite some time. Five days a week he was pulling twelve hour days, and working five or six hours on the other two days. At least the comic book store was relatively easy. When he wasn’t moving boxes around for stocking and inventory, he was usually just hanging out behind the counter, graphic novel in hand.
Which was great, because when he finished there, he usually went home to find Bert either passed out or high as a kite, some half-finished household task left for Gerard to deal with. He knew Bert was trying to help, but Gerard would rather have a dirty apartment than have to deal with a wet floor or an apartment that stifled with bleach fumes. Or, like the night previous, when he’d discovered Bert had started to clean the bedroom and do laundry, with all the shit off the floor piled onto the bed, which hadn’t had any sheets. Grumbling, Gerard had had to trek down to the basement laundry room to transfer a load of sheets and shirts into the dryer, then stay awake until they were done. No way could he have just left them there overnight.
Gerard took the dirty dishes back to the kitchen and was snagged by Greta to go deliver some drinks to one of her tables. The girls were clearly getting an early start, and as he set the drinks on the table, Gerard held his breath to ward off the aromatic fumes of Crown Royal, Malibu Rum, Apple Pucker Schnapps. He tucked the tray under his arm, smiled as best he could at the ladies, then shuffled off back to the kitchen, a wave of giggles breaking in his wake.
Several minutes later, after Gerard had mopped up a spill behind the bar, changed the toilet paper rolls in both bathrooms, and sweated behind the industrial sanitizer, Greta shoved a tray full of food at him. “Table twelve, by request,” she said, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow at her, but she just smiled her innocent smile.
Which meant something was up. Fuck. But he couldn’t exactly argue, so he took the tray out to the dining room and winced internally as he oriented himself and found table twelve. The girls were already looking his way and giggling, and Gerard shifted his hands on the tray to subtly flip Greta off. She just laughed and went to take another table’s orders, the bitch.
Steeling himself, he moved forward to do his job, making sure each girl got her correct order, even as they flirtatiously tried to engage him in conversation. He tried to find a balance between friendly and polite but aloof - professional - which was never easy. Especially since his natural tendency with people he didn’t know was to be quiet and distant, and he found himself overcompensating a lot on the friendly side. He just never knew where that line was.
Apparently he’d crossed it again, because one of the girls batted her lashes at him and asked what he was doing when he got off work. Gerard, tired and cranky and pissed off at his boyfriend, was really not in the mood to be flirted with by a trio of drunken girls. Especially not when he actually thought about what all he still had left to do in his day.
“Well, let’s see,” he said, raising one eyebrow at the brazen girl. “After I get off here I go straight to my second job, where I’ll be on duty until ten. After that, I’m expected to go help out some friends’ band, selling merch or breaking down and hauling equipment, and they’ll probably all get shit drunk, leaving the driving and most of the heavy unloading to me. Then I’ll go home and try to ignore how completely trashed both my apartment and my boyfriend are, and he’ll bug me for sex until I finally shut him up with a blowjob. You want some ketchup with that?” He nodded down at the burger on her plate while the girls all stared up at him, slack-jawed.
And that was pretty much how his night actually went, right down to giving Bert head at the end of it. Bert was asleep approximately two-point-five seconds after shoving his dick down Gerard’s throat one last time to come, which was fine with Gerard, because he was too tired to get it up anyway. Grateful that the bed was clear - if still without sheets - he just collapsed onto it, pulling the blanket over them both before succumbing to his exhaustion.
The next night when Gerard got home, the sheets were in place, and he crawled into bed gratefully. “Dude,” he said, surprised by the fresh-from-the-dryer smell surrounding him. “Did you wash the sheets again?”
Bert grunted and rolled over to face Gerard. “What?”
“The sheets. You washed them twice.” He’d never known Bert to be so industrious.
“Oh. Yeah. I puked on them.”
Gerard sighed. He wasn’t sure which was worse, that explanation, or the one he’d invented in his head.
Mikey dropped a couple bags at Gerard’s feet on the bed. “Pretty sure that’s it,” he said as he flopped to lie down next to his brother. “You officially don’t live there anymore.”
“Thanks, Mikes,” Gerard said quietly.
Mikey shifted and put his head on Gerard’s shoulder. “He wasn’t there,” he said, answering the question Gerard didn’t have the guts to ask. “And I don’t think Quinn’s moved in or anything.”
“Whatever,” Gerard muttered. He wasn’t supposed to care, right? He ran a hand over his short hair, reminding himself. Fierce.
His phone rang and he dug it out of his back pocket, his heart racing. Maybe Bert had gotten home and noticed Gerard’s missing stuff. Maybe he was sorry and wanted Gerard to come back. Maybe he was going to get sober.
Gerard looked at the display, not sure how to feel about the name he saw there. He glanced at Mikey, who nudged him with a bony elbow. “Answer it,” Mikey commanded. Gerard did.
“Hey,” Frank said, his voice bubbly and enthusiastic. “I don’t want to interrupt what I’m sure is a supreme and dramatically beautiful wallow, but some friends and I are going to go hassle Bob at the bar tonight. You want to come along?”
Gerard hesitated. He’d never been great in group settings, not even at his best, which certainly wasn’t the case now. The last thing he needed was to be somewhere where he knew only Frank, but where Frank knew everybody else. He felt a flare of pointed pain between his ribs and he squirmed away from Mikey’s finger. He threw a glare at his brother, which was difficult, since Mikey’s head was right next to Gerard’s, his ear pressed as close to the phone as he could get it.
“Go,” Mikey mouthed, but still Gerard paused.
“Can Mikey come?” he asked when he finally got his mouth to work.
“Sure. The more the merrier. Look, I have to go. But we’ll be there at eight, okay? And no punking out. I’ll come bang down your door if I have to.”
Gerard promised to show and hung up, staring at the phone in bewilderment. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. Mikey was utterly unsympathetic, the set of his mouth and eyebrows telegraphing extreme amusement at Gerard’s predicament, and Gerard kicked him in the shins for good measure.
It didn’t work. Mikey was still amused that night, blatantly laughing at Gerard in that way he had, as Gerard fidgeted nervously and kept running his hand over his hair.
“Shut up,” Gerard said as Mikey pulled the door open. He pushed past him into the bar and forced himself to drop his hand back to his side as he looked around the room. It was pretty busy, with small groups and pairs scattered throughout the room, and one large group congregated at one end of the bar. Gerard didn’t see Frank at first, but the mass at the bar shifted, and Frank emerged, beaming as he bounced his way over to Gerard and Mikey.
“You came! And I didn’t have to break down any doors!”
“That’s good, because I think the door would have broken you,” Mikey said, his voice flat.
“Yeah, like breaking wind too hard wouldn’t snap you in half, skinny,” Frank shot back.
“Oh my God, you two are ridiculous,” Gerard said after taking half a beat to realize they weren’t really sniping at each other.
“Ridiculously awesome,” Frank corrected. “How is it we’ve never chilled before, Mikey Way?”
Mikey shrugged as they all moved across the floor, closing in on Frank’s friends, a lot of whom seemed to know Mikey and have not-real names, like Otter or Hambone. There was also a Tim, a James, a Cortez, and a Shaun, who laughed good-naturedly when Gerard couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You’ve got red on you.”
“Spelled the same way too,” he supplied easily, and Gerard liked him right away.
Bob appeared with a Coke and poured another for Mikey when asked. That Otter guy snorted at them in clear disdain as he threw back a shot of something - tequila, by the smell of it - and Frank flipped him off, even though Otter had already turned his back. “Don’t mind him. He only tagged along because of James and Cortez, who are actually really cool people, despite the company they keep.”
“It’s fine,” Gerard assured him, even though it kind of wasn’t. It was at least something he was used to. At that moment, he was mostly just trying to remember who was who, let alone which two were awesome despite Otter.
“Gee!”
Gerard’s attention went to the back corridor, and the curly haired man standing in its frame. “Ray! You’re here!” He immediately moved to meet his friend in the middle, each grabbing the other in a tight hug.
“I couldn’t believe it when Bob said you’d been in,” Ray said as they let go, both of them grinning. “But then he said you had a coffee maker with you, so I knew it had to be you. Not that I would have recognized you,” he added with a glance at Gerard’s hair. “Looks good.”
Gerard laughed as he nervously ran a hand over the cut. “Thanks. Anyway, the coffee maker was, like, the most important thing to grab.” Or at least the only thing his messed up brain could think of at the time.
“Yeah. Sorry to hear about Bert and all.”
Gerard ducked his head a little and shrugged. He couldn’t say it was all right, because it wasn’t. But he didn’t want to talk about it, and no one needed to hear it, so he accepted Ray’s hand on his shoulder as it was meant, and nodded in gratitude. “You joining the party, or are you officially working?”
“Working. But you know I’ll be around.”
And Ray was around, as was Mikey. And when either of them weren’t with Gerard, Frank was, and very occasionally Bob, who had a wicked sense of humor hiding behind those calm eyes. Gerard found himself enjoying the little party much more than he’d thought he would, and it wasn’t until people started to leave and the bar began to empty out that he realized hours had passed.
“I guess we should head out too. I really need to start job hunting tomorrow.” He had money still, from his last days at Cartoon Network and his severance, and Mikey was letting him stay pretty much for free (he asked only that Gerard help keep the pantry stocked with caffeine and sugar, and the fridge with milk or cream) but that didn’t mean he could afford to be unemployed for much longer. Besides, he didn’t exactly like the idea of mooching off his little brother.
“What kind of job you looking for?” Frank asked as he slid his glass over to Bob for a refill.
Gerard watched as Bob used the soda hose to fill Frank’s glass, and Gerard wondered if he’d missed something important all night, or if Frank had just recently slowed it down. “Anything that will pay me to be artistic, I guess,” he said, not sure himself what he wanted to do.
“Yeah? Care to narrow that down some?”
Gerard shrugged. “There aren’t actually all that many places looking to hire artists. Not unless it’s all computer graphics stuff, which isn’t my thing. So whatever pays, really. Advertising, maybe, or as a colorist or inker for graphic novels, if I’m really lucky.” Which he wouldn’t be. He’d applied for those jobs in the past, after school, and hadn’t gotten anywhere.
“That’d be cool. Then you could sign my issues of whatever you worked on.”
“Or,” Mikey said, looking meaningfully at Gerard over the top of his glasses, “he could sign your premier issue of his own comic.”
“What?” Frank asked, spitting his straw out into his glass. “You have your own comic?”
Gerard shook his head. “No. Not really. Just. It’s just this idea I had when I was younger. I have some sketches and basic stories outlined. But it’s not- It’s nothing special.”
“Bullshit,” Mikey said. “It’s fucking awesome. I don’t know why you let it die.”
Gerard shrugged and Frank tugged on Gerard’s sleeve, his eyes big as he said, “Gee. Why’d you let it die, Gee? Why?”
Gerard shrugged again, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “I wasn’t somewhere I could finish it,” he finally said. “Mentally.”
Frank let go of his sleeve and nodded. “Okay. But have you tried lately? You’re in a whole new place now, you know?”
“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled. Though the more he thought about it, the more the images and ideas he’d had came tumbling back to him, eager for his attention. He could remember it all so vividly, which said a lot.
“He used to write lyrics too,” Mikey volunteered, and Gerard shot him a look that clearly asked why his brother hated him so.
“Jesus, did you really?” Frank laughed. “Good ones?”
“They were really good,” Mikey said, again before Gerard could answer for himself. “Better than most of the shit you hear on the radio these days. But he didn’t know how to write music well enough and he didn’t want to sing, so he just left them in his notebooks.”
“You could always sell them,” Frank said. “A good lyricist is worth his weight in hundred dollar bills.”
Gerard shook his head. Selling off those pieces of himself didn’t feel right. “They’re not that good. I don’t think half of them actually make any sense.”
“Yeah, but with the right music and singer, they wouldn’t really have to.” Frank slurped up the last of his soda. “Mikey could probably set it up.”
Gerard shook his head again. “No. They’re not- That’s not what they’re for.”
Frank shrugged. “Okay. But you could be sitting on a goldmine for all you know. Either the comic or the lyrics could prove to be it for you, you know? The thing you were meant to do. But if you don’t put them out there you’ll never know. And that would totally suck for me and Mikey, because we could have been all, ‘Oh, yeah, that guy? I totally know him.’”
Gerard managed a weak grin at that, but stayed quiet.
“Come on, give it a try. Just sit at home and draw and write a little, see what it gets you. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I could fail miserably and go back to the bottle.” Which was the harsh truth, even if it sounded melodramatic.
“Dude. You just survived the crappiest day most people will ever have times two. I don’t think not selling a song or a graphic novel’s going to do you in. Besides, wouldn’t you be doing it more for yourself?”
Frank had a point, and Gerard reminded himself of it as he entered the art store the next day, as he paid for new brushes, ink, pencils, and sketchpads. He repeated it silently to himself as he stopped in at an office supply store and bought a couple of fresh notebooks - It’s just for me. It’s for me. He reminded himself of it as Mikey quirked an eyebrow at him when he set up camp by the window in the living room, his old drawings scattered around him as he started over.
“Shut up, Mikey. This is just for me. It doesn’t have anything to do with . . . anybody else.”
“If you say so, Gee.”
“Sorry, dude, he’s not here,” Jepha said, his voice tinny through the crap speakers on Gerard’s phone. “Try Quinn’s.”
Gerard ran his hand through his already tangled black hair and tried not to snap at his friend. It wasn’t Jepha’s fault Bert was out doing fuck knew what and not answering his phone. “I did. He’s not answering either.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, man. Maybe they’re at a movie or something. Look, whatever, they’re probably together, right? And Quinn won’t let him wander off any docks or subway platforms, okay? He’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” Gerard wished he could be as sure as Jepha was that Bert was with Quinn. He was just too afraid of the other possibilities. It wasn’t like Bert hadn’t ever disappeared on a bender before. Gerard was tired, and worried, and the thought of Bert out there, out of his mind on coke or anything else he might come across, just scared Gerard to death. “Look, if you hear from him or something, let me know?”
“Yeah, of course. But, hey, Gerard, listen. He’s fine, okay?”
Gerard paused at the certainty in Jepha’s tone. It almost sounded like he knew, like he knew without a doubt, that Bert was fine. But that raised more questions than it answered, and did nothing to put Gerard’s mind at ease. “Okay,” he finally breathed. “Okay. Thanks, Jeph.”
He thumbed the “end call” button, but couldn’t make himself actually let go of the phone. He thought about going out to look for Bert, but the guy had about fifteen “favorite” bars, and the truth was that it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet. Gerard had been home for about half an hour, and really didn’t have a right to be freaking out as much as he was. But he was more than a little worried about Bert spending money they didn’t really have. Also, something inside him demanded to know where Bert was, and he could only play so much of that off as concern over finances or even paranoia brought about by exhaustion.
Gerard did his best to tell himself that Bert was fine, that nothing was wrong. He distracted himself with the TV, the phone beside him on the couch, its ringer set to full volume, just in case.
It never rang.
Bert came home just after midnight, and Gerard was shocked to see him standing upright, not tripping over his own feet, and to not hear a hint of slur in his speech. Which made him feel a little better about the money spending, way better about Bert’s safety, and not at all better about the unnamed knot he could feel tightening in his stomach. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“Jeph’s,” Bert said as he threw himself onto the couch next to Gerard. “Just hanging.”
Gerard took a moment to digest the fact that he was being lied to, staring at the TV rather than look at Bert. “I called Jepha. You weren’t there.”
“Aw, Gee-rard-y, honey, you checking up on me?” Bert asked, and Gerard felt his face flush at the mocking tone. “Dude, no big. I shuffled over to Quinn’s a couple hours ago. He had some new music written, wanted my opinion.”
“Oh.” That would explain why no one had picked up. If Gerard had called at the wrong time, they might not have heard it over the music. He watched as Buffy roughed Spike up a bit, his eyes tracking the peroxide hue of the vampire’s hair. “Okay. I just wondered.” But why hadn’t Jepha mentioned that Bert had been there earlier? And sober at that?
Bert’s phone rang and he answered, his amplified phone-voice loud in Gerard’s ear. “Yeah, no, dude. Fuck you.” He laughed and slapped Gerard’s knee before getting up and moving to the bedroom, his words trailing behind him. “Fuck, no. ‘Preciate that man, but you’re too late. It’s cool though. We’re good.”
The door to the bedroom swung shut, and Gerard could still hear Bert talking, muffled now, through the wall, just a few snatches here and there. Bert laughing, Gerard’s own name, Quinn’s name. Something about time.
Gerard turned up the volume on the television, told himself to stop listening. It didn’t matter anyway. Bert was home. Bert was safe. Bert hadn’t gone out and wasted money on shots of booze or baggies of drugs. And that was all Gerard had been worried about, right?
When Bert moved from the bedroom to the bathroom and the water turned on in the shower, Gerard turned off the TV and hauled himself off the couch. He was fucking tired as hell; he might as well try to get some sleep. When he got to the bed, he hesitated, looking down at Bert’s phone, haphazardly thrown against the pillows. It wasn’t his business. He knew that. Nothing he’d overheard in that phone conversation had even been all that suspicious. He just . . . He just couldn’t ignore the knot in his stomach.
He picked up the phone, quickly scrolling to Last Call.
Jepha.
So. Okay. Bert’s friend had called him. Big fucking deal, right? It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and it wasn’t as though Gerard wouldn’t have appreciated Jepha trying to track Bert down for Gerard. It didn’t mean anything. None of it. Not the fact that Jepha forgot to mention Bert had been there. Not the fact that Jepha called him and Bert said he was “too late.” Not the fact that Bert was taking a shower at midnight when he usually crumpled into bed smelling way worse than he did now. Gerard was just letting his imagination run away with him. That was all.
That was all.
The Tim Burton movie-thon turned out to be at a small art-house theater not too far from Mikey’s apartment. Which meant it was also something Mikey and Alicia had already planned on going to, which was fine because, as Gerard kept telling Mikey, he and Frank weren’t on a date or anything. They weren’t. Frank was just nice, okay? It wasn’t like that at all, so shut up, Mikey.
Still, he felt a slight ease in his chest and he finally stopped running a hand over his short, white hair when they got to the theater and he saw Frank there, surrounded by Bob, Ray, and that Cortez guy. Definitely not a date then. Fine. Good, even. Gerard wasn’t ready to date. He was still on the fucking rebound and shit, and Frank was too good a person to be anybody’s rebound guy.
Gerard kept telling himself that all throughout “Edward Scissorhands,” when he sat next to Frank, their knees occasionally knocking together. He reminded himself of it when Frank bought a giant bag of popcorn before “Ed Wood” and proclaimed it to be for him and Gerard alone, and no Bob couldn’t have any, Bob was man enough to buy his own popcorn. (“And I’m not?” Gerard asked, mildly affronted even through his grin. “Gee, you’re totally man enough to buy your own popcorn. You’re also pretty enough to make me want to buy it for you. Also, you’re unemployed.” Gerard hadn’t had the heart to lecture Frank about girls being perfectly capable of buying their own popcorn after that.) He reminded himself of it as his stupid heart picked up every time he reached for a bite of the popcorn, like he was back in high school and wondering if maybe, possibly, this time their hands might accidentally brush. He kept the word “rebound” in his head all through “Sleepy Hollow,” practically screaming it at himself whenever Frank reached over to take one of the Red Vines Gerard had bought for the two of them to share.
He was nearly shaking with restraint as they walked out of the theater, their hands brushing every time the group mass shifted around them. But it wasn’t a date. It wasn’t, because Gerard wasn’t ready, and because Frank was respectful like that, and anyway, who brings their brother or their roommate or their friends on dates? Junior high kids, maybe. Not adults.
“Jesus, Frank, get off,” Bob bitched as Frank scaled him like a tree.
“Never,” Frank exclaimed grandly as he settled himself on Bob’s shoulders. “I’m wired from sitting through three movies and ingesting large amounts of sugar.”
“So get down and walk, fucker,” Bob said around his cigarette. “How are you going to waste any energy riding around on my shoulders?”
Gerard too was lighting up, enjoying the first hit of nicotine in several hours, even as his hands shook from the cold. When he looked up from pocketing his lighter, Frank was right there and taking the cigarette from Gerard’s mouth.
“Good point,” Frank said to Bob, though he was still looking more at Gerard. “Want to take a walk with me?”
The question had been directed at Gerard, who had to take a moment to realize that, then another to not swallow his tongue and formulate an answer. “Sure.”
He firmly ignored all of Mikey’s and Alicia’s meaningful looks at both him and each other and lit up another cigarette for himself as he and Frank separated themselves from the group. He watched his smoke disappear into the night air as they rounded the corner, shoved his non-cigarette hand into his pocket, and cast about desperately for something to say.
“I used to have the hugest crush on Christina Ricci,” he finally said, and immediately wanted to shrink down to nothing and crawl into a sidewalk crack.
Frank gave an understanding little laugh. “Mine’s Maggie Gyllenhaal.”
Gerard grinned and risked a glance at Frank. “Yeah? She’s pretty.”
“And totally my type,” Frank added, and Gerard had to not think about how dark hair and kind of a pointy nose might be Frank’s type. And then he remembered he didn’t have dark hair anymore and he reached up to remind himself, to smooth it forward in its short cut. “She’s about twice as tall as me though,” Frank added, and Gerard had to laugh. “I mean, I’m all for equal opportunity in dating, boys and girls and tall and short and whatever. But I don’t like to be loomed over, you know?”
“Yeah,” Gerard said, his shoulders hunching in. “I get that. So you date girls too?” Oh, fuck, seriously, why couldn’t he just disappear right now?
Frank shrugged. “Yeah, sometimes. Depends on the person, really. You?”
Gerard shook his head. “Well. I agree with you in theory, but I’ve never . . . Girls aren’t my strong suit. Or my preferred gender, I guess. I had one girlfriend in college, mostly because I liked the idea of being able to not care, like you do. But that was pretty much a disaster. Anyway, I kind of suck at dating. Bert was my best relationship, and I was a mess throughout most of it. And apparently cheated on throughout the rest. So, you know. I’m not really Mr. Relationship over here.”
“Hey, that wasn’t your fault. He’s just an ass who can’t keep it in his pants.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Gerard dropped his cigarette in front of him and stomped it out as they walked. “Mikey’s probably right. I should have dumped him a while ago. When I got sober and he didn’t. But . . .”
“But you loved him,” Frank supplied.
“Yeah.” He had. Through everything, with everything, and in spite of everything. It wasn’t easy to admit when love was dying, poisoned by addiction and weakened by time. “Hey, let’s go in here,” Gerard said, pointing toward the entrance to his favorite park. It was his place to go on nice days, to sit and draw a little, just sketch the trees and the buildings and the people walking by. It wasn’t a big park, and certainly not fancy like Central Park or The Battery, but it was clean and well-tended and usually pretty deserted at night.
Frank nodded, so Gerard led the way, walking automatically to his favorite bench. He sat, his eyes going up to the lights that made the skyline, and especially the hole in the sky that still felt so foreign.
“I saw it, you know,” Gerard said quietly, his gaze focused on the gap. “I was living in Jersey then, and taking the ferry in. And it was just . . . I could feel it. In my stomach. In my chest. The horror, the fear. The way nothing would be the same. And I wanted to do something big. Something with my life that meant I wasn’t wasting it. But I didn’t know what and I didn’t know how and I didn’t have the guts to try. And that’s when I really started drinking. Ironic right? The revelation that I wanted to really live led me into slowly killing myself. And now I’m better, but I still don’t know if I have the guts.”
“Gerard.”
His name was a whisper, seeking, almost reverent, and he looked down and shifted to face Frank, who was looking at him with kind eyes, who was reaching for Gerard, sliding along the bench and leaning in. Gerard shivered, his heated blood at war with the cold weather.
“Frank. Oh, God, Frank, don’t,” he pleaded, his eyes sliding shut as his whole body begged him to reconsider. But he wasn’t strong enough to resist if Frank pressed, and he needed to resist. He had to. He had to be fair to Frank.
“I’m sorry,” Gerard said as Frank pulled back a bit, honoring the request. “I know this is pretty much the perfect kind of kissing moment. You know, night, moon, city skyline. Confessions in the dark. And I’m not feeling like it couldn’t be- I like you. A lot. But I’m still totally on the rebound and- Fuck, I hate that word. But I am. And I can’t just do that to you, you know?”
Frank, still close, touched Gerard’s cheek briefly, his fingers cold on Gerard’s over-heated skin. “I get it,” Frank said gently. “I do. And the last thing I want to be to you is some rebound fuck. But you know, you’ll get over this. Over him. Everyone’s been where you are. There’s always someone you think you’ll never be able to get over, but you will. We all do.”
“Yeah?” Gerard looked at Frank, hopeful. If Frank had been through it - been through it and come out the other side in tact - then maybe Gerard could too. “Who was yours?”
“Jamia. My whole life pivots around me and her breaking up. We were engaged and everything.”
“Oh my God, Frankie. I’m so sorry.” Gerard felt terrible for asking, for bringing up unhappy memories for Frank. “When- How long ago was that?”
“Nineteen eighty-nine,” Frank said with a grin. “We were eight. I fucking loved that woman!” he exclaimed as Gerard punched him in the arm and started laughing. “I bought her a Ring Pop and everything! Cherry, her favorite flavor. Then one day, poof, gone, left me for somebody else!”
“Who?” Gerard asked, despite himself.
“Debbie Gibson! Can you believe that? I mean, all my friends were being left for Uncle Jesse or the youngest New Kid on the Block or that punk guy on Head of the Class. I could have come to terms with that, eventually. But Debbie Gibson! She wanted to shake that love, oh yeah.” Gerard’s laughter came harder at that, but Frank just kept on talking. “I didn’t even know what gay was, so I totally didn’t understand why she had all these posters of this girl up in her room, and I just completely fell apart.”
Suddenly Gerard wasn’t laughing anymore, because his lips were attached to Frank’s, his body having decided without him that that was the thing to do. Frank’s lips were cold, and slightly chapped, but when Frank opened his mouth against Gerard’s and pressed forward, all Gerard could think was, Perfect.
“So, I, um,” Frank said, still trying to finish his thought even as Gerard pulled away.
“I kissed you,” Gerard said, ducking his head. And seriously, why wasn’t the ground swallowing him up right now?
“Yeah, I noticed that. Um. Weren’t you going to not do that or something?”
“Did you not want me to?” Because he was pretty sure he’d been reading the signs right, but if he’d been wrong then he was going to just slink off to die of mortification.
“Did I- Jesus, Gee! Of course I want you to. But only if you want to.”
Gerard glanced up, just for a moment, his cheeks burning. “I don’t know,” he said, examining his thumbnail. “I don’t . . . I’m confused.”
“That makes two of us,” Frank said, not unkindly. “Look, Gee, I’m not trying to confuse you. I don’t want to rush you, or ask for things you’re not ready for. But do me a favor? Don’t take so much time that you stick me in the Friend Box, okay? I mean, I want to be your friend and all, but I really think this could be something great, you know? So just. Don’t rule it out. Don’t start seeing me as this awesome friend you can’t touch, and don’t ever think that I don’t want you. Okay? Because I do.”
And that was it. That right there was all Gerard could be expected to fucking handle. He closed the distance between them and kissed Frank and this time Frank’s lips weren’t cold because Gerard was licking over them with his tongue, warming them. Frank then found Gerard’s tongue with his own, put his hands on Gerard’s waist and pulled him in further, moaning a little wordless sound into Gerard’s mouth. Gerard groaned back, and that seemed to just kickstart a delicious cycle of want and need until they were both breathless and panting into the cool night air.
“Home?” Frank asked, his voice a little small in the largess of the moment.
“Fuck, yes,” Gerard breathed, and grinned when Frank smiled at him, eyes alight.
“Bert. Bert. Fucking, fuck, wake up. Bert!”
“What?” Bert grumbled, barely intelligible through the sleep and the drugs in his system.
“There are people I don’t know in the living room,” Gerard said, irritated and tired as all fuck. “Sleeping on our couch and our floor and eating our food.” Food they couldn’t afford to give away. Also, Gerard really hoped the ones lying down were actually sleeping. He would not be able to handle someone dying in his apartment.
“My friends,” Bert mumbled, turning his face away from Gerard, who very much doubted Bert knew any of them well.
“Yeah, well, they have to go.”
“Don’ be such a downer, Gee. Jus’ having a good time.”
“Bert. I am tired. I worked all day, and I just bought groceries yesterday. I can’t afford to feed every junkie you fucking bring home. Did you call that guy today? With the email for that guy he knows at Epitaph?”
“Leave me alone.” Bert’s arm came up off the bed and swatted ineffectually at the air. Gerard knew it meant Bert hadn’t done a goddamn thing. Last time it had been an indie producer he’d blown off, and the time before that a contact for cheap merch.
Gerard reached down and pulled the blanket off Bert. “Go kick people out. I’m going to sleep.” He wrapped the comforter around himself like a cocoon, and lay on the bed, ignoring Bert’s bitching. If he wasn’t completely incapacitated, he’d get up and do it, just to have some of the blanket back. If he was . . . Well, Gerard didn’t want to think about that possibility.
A minute later, Bert stumbled up and out of the room, and Gerard heard voices and noises, then many sets of footsteps, until finally the front door slammed shut and Bert shuffled back in. “Fucking happy now, asshole?”
“No.” But he unwrapped himself from the blanket and tossed half of it over Bert. The fight wasn’t worth having if Gerard would be the only one to remember it tomorrow.
Mikey’s was closest, and they ended up there, quietly moving through the empty living room and into Gerard’s room, where Gerard fumbled in the still-unfamiliar darkness to turn on the bedside lamp. Frank seemed to hesitate by the closed door, so Gerard reached for him and Frank came to him with a grin, kicking off his shoes along the way.
He pressed himself up fully against Gerard, stretching to kiss him heatedly, and Gerard wrapped his arms around the small of Frank’s back, holding him up, holding him close. Eventually close wasn’t close enough, and his fingers worked their way underneath first Frank’s jacket, then his shirt. Frank pulled back enough to struggle with his jacket, and Gerard did his best to help, but Frank’s teeth on his neck were distracting him terribly. Frank seemed to manage on his own just fine though, and was even somehow able to have taken Gerard’s jacket off without Gerard really noticing.
And then. And then off came Frank’s shirt, the fabric going up over Frank’s head and separating the two of them for what should have been only a few seconds, but turned out to be much longer as Gerard sucked in a breath, his eyes skimming over Frank’s form. His heart stuttered in his chest and he dropped to his knees, his fingers outstretched and tracing the lines of one of Frank’s birds. “Fuck. Frankie.”
Gerard couldn’t look away. There was so much to see, so much beauty and art to look at, both inked and natural. He cupped his palms around warm skin and ran his hands up Frank’s sides, taking it all in. “Look at you,” he breathed.
“Gee.” Frank’s voice sounded wrecked already, and when Gerard looked up, he saw nothing but utter need in Frank’s eyes.
Gerard licked his lips and nodded, then set his eyes forward, his fingers skimming back down to carefully unbuckle the belt at Frank’s hips, his movements slow and measured. By the time he got Frank’s pants open, Frank was breathing harshly from anticipation alone, and his hand was cupped around Gerard’s head, back behind his ear. Gerard very carefully guided everything cloth away from Frank’s hips, pulling it all down, until Frank was finally fully revealed, hard and flushed, wanting.
Gerard couldn’t help but release a heated breath, and Frank shivered, his eyes dark as he looked down at Gerard. Gerard glanced up, grinned somewhat wickedly at Frank, and then leaned in, taking the head of Frank into his mouth. Frank moaned above him, and Gerard grinned around the tip, his tongue already working up underneath the ridge of the head. He took Frank deeper then, his hands tight around his hips, sucking as he began to bob his head.
Frank’s other hand flew up, landing on Gerard’s head, his fingers scrabbling for purchase. For the second time that night Gerard regretted cutting his hair so short, but then Frank’s fingers curled around the back of Gerard’s ear instead, pressing against the thin skin there, and suddenly Gerard didn’t mind at all. Not if it meant Frank kept pressing right there. Gerard moaned around his mouthful, and Frank bucked a little in Gerard’s hands, his mouth falling open like he was trying to drink the air. Gerard hummed, deliberately this time, and ran his hands back around to Frank’s ass, gripping and encouraging Frank to move a little.
“Gee,” Frank whispered, his hips making tiny thrusting motions as Gerard ran his stiffened tongue up along the underside of Frank’s erection. “Fuck, you are really fucking good at this.”
Gerard smiled as best he could up at Frank, mostly relying on his eyes to carry the message. It must have gotten through because Frank smiled back down at him, his hand trailing from Gerard’s ear and neck to his jaw, his thumb sweeping at one corner of Gerard’s stretched mouth.
It was new, for Gerard, this quiet intimacy. Painful. Bert had never just been calm and appreciative while Gerard worked, and lately there had always been a clear sense of just who it was for. More a matter of Bert getting, or even taking, than of Gerard giving. But it seemed as though Frank understood what Gerard was gifting him with, and he appreciated every small movement Gerard made, returning the favors with small gestures of his own.
Gerard had to close his eyes against it all, tilting his head back down under the guise of more eagerly attending to his task. Not that that was a difficult thing to do. Not at all. Frank couldn’t seem to hold back small gasps and groans every now and then, though he was obviously doing his best to be quiet, and one hand slid back to Gerard’s neck, not directing, but gripping lightly, holding himself steady against Gerard’s onslaught.
Eventually Frank’s voice started in, saying Gerard’s name over and over, “Gee” and “Gerard” interspersed with “Fuck, oh fuck,” and Gerard gave in to his urge to look, to see. He moaned as he took in the arch of Frank’s back, the way the smaller man’s head tilted back, exposing his throat, the way his fingers gripped, white, at the blanket on the bed next to them. Frank actually went up on his toes once, then came back down, head forward now and eyes open, watching, watching Gerard, and their gazes caught and held for one eternal moment.
“Gerard. I’m gonna-”
Gerard just tilted his chin up a little, letting Frank slide further back; he swallowed around him and kept watching as Frank’s face - his whole body - seized up with pleasure and went still even as he let go into Gerard’s throat, a wordless cry ripped from his own.
Gerard coaxed him down through the other side of it, through the aftershocks, only letting him go once it seemed like Frank’s knees were going to go out from under him. He stood then, and pressed his body into Frank’s, turning and guiding him to the bed. Frank went easily, his hand fisted in Gerard’s shirt and his eyes finally opening once he was laid out on the bed, his legs hanging off the side, and he smiled up at Gerard who smiled back before leaning in to set kisses to Frank’s neck and jaw.
“Jesus,” Frank breathed, and then Gerard felt fingers under his chin, prodding gently, and he moved up, their lips meeting and tongues melding, bitter and sharp, but so fucking sweet. “Your turn,” Frank said next, after several happy minutes, and he rolled them over, encouraging Gerard to scoot more fully onto the bed.
Gerard did, knowing that reciprocity was normal, often expected. He’d just learned not to expect much of anything lately, which he knew was sad and said a lot about both his relationship with Bert and himself as a person. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be slowly undressed, to be kissed and explored before his pants were even off. He hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to come in Frank’s mouth though, his fingers clenched in Frank’s hair, his eyes locked on Frank’s, and his spine arched as Frank drummed his fingers lightly at its base, encouraging.
Because that feeling was something totally, utterly, and gloriously new.
Part 3