MJ's Not the Only One With a Man In the Mirror, Part 5
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
“Hey,” Gerard called into the apartment as he struggled to pull his key out of the lock.
“Fuck you.” Gerard took a moment to digest the venom with which that had been said, though from the general tone and volume he could tell it hadn’t been meant for him. “It won’t be that hard to find another guitarist, you know.”
So. Quinn then. Gerard finally freed his key and kicked the door shut behind him, letting it slam.
“None of your fucking business,” drifted out from the bedroom, soon followed by, “You do and I’ll fucking- Fuck you. I’m not going anywhere.”
As curious as Gerard was, he really didn’t have time to eavesdrop. The only reason he was home between shifts at all was because he and Greta had had a massive collision earlier, and he fucking reeked of alcohol. Normally he went straight from one job to the other, but he’d already spent two hours with the smell in his nose and he really didn’t want to go another seven. So he hustled himself into the bathroom and started the water, drowning out the angry voice across the hall.
He showered quickly, thankful his hair didn’t need a wash, and when he left the bathroom, Bert was off the phone and waiting for him. “How come you’re home?”
“A spill the size of the Exxon Valdez, but with bourbon and tequila instead of oil. Was that Quinn?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s going on with you guys?” he asked as he hunted for clean clothes.
“He’s a self-righteous cunt.”
“Don’t use that word. It’s-”
“Demeaning towards women, yeah, I know. You’re the only fag I know who’s so protective of girls’ body parts.”
Gerard just shrugged, triumphantly pulling a fairly wrinkle-free shirt out of the clean laundry pile. “So what’s up with Quinn?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Is it going to affect the band?” Gerard cared what happened to The Used. Not only for Bert’s sake, but for his own. He’d put a lot of his heart into the band, not to mention money, time, and art designs, and he felt he had a vested interest in their future.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bert repeated, drawing closer and leaving a light kiss on Gerard’s lips. “So, hey,” he added as Gerard grinned and pulled the shirt on. “I got you something.”
Gerard’s hands paused on the hem of the t-shirt for a moment, then he pulled it into place. “Why?”
“That’s your question?” Bert teased. “‘Why?’ Not ‘what?’”
Gerard shrugged, looking down as he tugged some underwear on, then flung the towel onto the bed. “That too. Just. You’re buying me a lot of stuff lately. M’not sure what I’ve done to deserve it.”
“I can’t do it just because I want to?”
He did a little shimmy into his jeans, shrugging again. “You never have before,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, well, I am now. You want the damn thing or not?”
Gerard, who really didn’t have time for a fight, nodded. “Sure.” He concentrated on finding a belt and threading it through the loops while Bert retrieved whatever it was from the living room.
“Here.” Bert shoved the bag at him, and Gerard felt a little bad for maybe taking some of the joy out of the gesture. “I asked the girl at the store, so they should be the right kinds.”
Peeking inside, Gerard saw a sketchbook and a set of charcoal pencils. He pulled them out, noting that they were indeed the right kind; the right kind of paper for the charcoals and vice versa. Also the expensive kind. He cast about for something to say, an expression of gratitude or a reassurance that they were perfect. What he said was, “Are you having an affair?”
“What?”
Gerard finally tore his eyes off the sketchbook and pencils to look up at Bert. “Are you-”
“I fucking heard you. If that’s the fucking thanks I get for trying to be nice, then fuck you.”
“Bert.”
“No, seriously. What the fuck, Gerard?”
“I just. Mikey said . . .”
“Oh, well. Mikey said it, so it must fucking be! Fuck Mikey and fuck you, asshole.”
Gerard blanched. He didn’t mind being wrong. Obviously he was glad he’d been wrong. But now he had a seriously pissed off boyfriend to soothe and apologies to make. If Bert said he wasn’t cheating, then he wasn’t cheating.
Except Bert hadn’t said that, had he? Gerard looked back down at his present, his fingertips running down one edge of the sketchpad. “You didn’t answer the question,” he said quietly.
“Oh, fuck you. No. No, Gerard. I’m not fucking screwing around on you. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Yes, but he could have done without the defensive attitude. Something wasn’t adding up, but he couldn’t figure out what. He studied Bert for a long moment, trying to divine what part of the truth was missing and coming up empty. “I really shouldn’t have brought this up now. I have to go to work.”
He expected more expletives from Bert, maybe more protestations of innocence, but Bert simply nodded. “Okay. Have a good shift, okay?”
Gerard stared at Bert for another second, even more puzzled than before. But he just gave a curt nod and shouldered past his boyfriend, grabbing his shoes from the bathroom and leaving the mystery of Bert behind him.
Gerard’s feet found a subway station without his brain noticing, his subconscious put his ass on a train to Frank’s without letting him know, and it wasn’t until he was across the street from Frank’s building that he came out of his fog at all. He’d just have to ask Frank. That was all. And then Frank could tell him it was just a big misunderstanding. That he didn’t have a fiancee, that clearly Tall Singer Guy had been confused, that he would never do something like that to Gerard, especially not after what Gerard had been through with Bert. Frank wasn’t like Bert. He might act like a little punk sometimes, but he was actually a really good guy.
Cars whizzed past as Gerard slowed, and he wondered if he’d be able to jaywalk it at all, or if he should go to the corner like a good citizen. The last thing he wanted to do was get hit like Frank’s nonexistent dog. Not before Frank had the chance to tell him what a giant mistake this all was.
As he looked for a break in the traffic, a yellow cab pulled over in front of Frank’s building. Gerard could see movement in the spaces between cars and through the windows of the cab, and as it pulled away, Gerard saw Frank. Turning his head to check for cars, desperate now to cross, Gerard almost missed the dark-haired girl with Frank. About Frank’s size, with a sweet looking face, she was leaning into Frank as he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her hair.
Gerard froze, one foot in the gutter, as recognition punched him in the gut. It was the girl from the picture in Frank’s room. The one Gerard had assumed was a sister or a cousin or something. He’d assumed.
Clearly he’d assumed wrong, because Frank was pulling her into a tight embrace and laying a kiss on her lips. The tableau played out in front of Gerard like a flip book, cars flying by between them, Gerard catching stop motion frames of it all in between.
When Frank steered the girl toward the door to his building, Gerard ran.
Gerard was seven minutes late to work, but he barely noticed the glares he got from the kid he was relieving. He just tucked his hair behind his ears and took the stool behind the counter, his heels hooking on the bottom rung. There were quite a few kids in the store at first - after school on a Friday - but they emptied out eventually. Gerard might have undercharged some of them. He really didn’t care.
He was flipping through an old Doom Patrol favorite, not really seeing any of it, when the door chimed, announcing the arrival of a customer. He looked up automatically, and his eyebrows raised in surprise as he took in the figure just inside the doorway; his determined expression, the purposeful stance.
Quinn fucking Allman had come to see him.
Gerard shook his head as Quinn approached. “I’m not getting in the middle of whatever’s going on between you and Bert,” he declared. He had enough issues with Bert at the moment, without adding Quinn’s to the mix.
“What’s he told you?”
Gerard set comic down. “Nothing. Just that you’re being self-righteous about something.”
“Yeah, well. Bert doesn’t always have the best moral compass.”
Gerard grinned a little at that. “No shit.” Still, he couldn’t help but love the asshole. “So what’s up?” he asked when Quinn didn’t say anything after a moment. He didn’t want to get involved, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.
Quinn hesitated, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket for a while. “I . . .” He looked over his shoulder, into the body of the shop, which was empty. “I had chlamydia.”
“Oh.” Whatever Gerard might have been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “I’m sorry?” he offered.
Quinn nodded, his eyes focused over Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard looked, but all he saw were the usual posters for DC and Dark Horse, and one advertising the latest issue of Buffy. “It’s not hard to treat,” Quinn said and Gerard nodded. He remembered that from sex class at school. “It’s hard to diagnose though. I mean, you- someone could have it and not even know.”
Gerard nodded again, but he didn’t get what all this had to do with the band and Bert. “You’re okay though, right?”
Quinn’s eyes finally met Gerard’s, and his smile was a little sad. “Yeah. I’m fine. Got it taken care of.”
“Okay.”
“The thing is . . .” Quinn’s gaze drifted away again, but he took a breath and bought it back. “I think you should get tested.”
“I . . . Me?”
“It’s just, if I had it, there’s a good chance Bert has it. So you should get checked.”
“But Bert-” Gerard stopped talking. He suddenly understood all too well.
Gerard wiped his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie as Mikey pulled him in to lean against him. “I thought he was different,” he said, his voice muffled by his covered hand. “I just wanted to tell him the good news.”
“Yeah,” Mikey said, which wasn’t particularly helpful, but Gerard was grateful his brother wasn’t patronizing him with platitudes.
“His schedule was so full this week, but it probably wasn’t. Not really. He was probably just with her.”
“Maybe.”
“They have a dog, Mikey. They co-own a pet. They’re getting married.”
Mikey ran his fingernails through Gerard’s short hair in a sympathetic gesture.
Gerard took another swipe at his nose, not even bothering to wipe away the tears. He didn’t care if he was pathetic. He didn’t care that he’d only known Frank for a relatively short time. It hadn’t felt short at all and he’d gotten ridiculously attached. He’d started to fall and fall hard. He always fucking did.
His phone rang in his pocket and he cringed as he dug it out. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, and he didn’t want to listen to the cheerful ringtone telling him Frank was calling. Before he could silence it, Mikey grabbed it from him and answered it on speaker phone. “You’ve got fucking balls of steel, calling him now.”
“What? Ge- Mikey? What’s going on?” Frank sounded genuinely confused and Gerard covered his ears with his hands, not wanting to hear the conversation and the excuses. It didn’t really work, of course, but short of singing “la la la la,” there wasn’t much else he could do.
“Where’s Gee?”
“On the couch. Crying. Because of you.”
“What- Mikey, what did I do?”
“Like you don’t fucking know.”
“I don’t. I swear to God, Mikey, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Oh, well, let me clear it up for you. He saw you, asshole. With your fiancee. You know, the one you have a fucking dog with. What the fuck did you think you were-”
“Fuck! Mikey. It’s not- Oh my God. I’m coming over, okay? I’m just . . . Shit. I’m on my way.”
Gerard stood. If Frank was coming over, Gerard sure as fuck wasn’t going to be there. He walked straight out of the apartment and kept going.
Gerard tried to sit down, only to discover that he already was. “You and Bert?”
Quinn nodded. “I’m really sorry. It wasn’t . . . It didn’t start out- I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just. I’m sorry.”
“How long?” Gerard wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer to that, but he asked anyway.
“Um. Nine months? I think. Something like that.”
“Jesus,” Gerard breathed. “I only . . . Just this past month or two. That’s when I started to think maybe.”
“Yeah. He told me.” Quinn actually looked apologetic, which was more than Gerard could say for Bert. “I broke up with him,” Quinn added suddenly. “On the tour. When he told me . . . When he said what you did. What he let you do.”
Gerard couldn’t concentrate on any one thought long enough to figure out what Quinn was talking about. “What did I do?”
“That you . . . You guys went bareback. When he knew he might have it. He let you-”
“Yeah.” Gerard really didn’t want to hear the rest of that.
“He refuses to get tested. I’ve been after him for a while to get checked. And to tell you. I mean, I get why he wouldn’t want to, but this isn’t something you play around with. I figured you should know.”
“Yeah.” Dorothy Spinner and Crazy Jane stared up at him from the pages on the counter. “Was it just you?”
“I think so. But I don’t really know for sure, you know?”
Gerard nodded. Obviously he knew. He understood. Because he hadn’t even known about Quinn.
“I’m really sorry, Gee.”
It was the nickname that broke through the haze in Gerard’s head, a feeling surging up that Quinn had lost the right to use it. He heard the guy’s footsteps on the cheap linoleum floor, and he looked up to find Quinn by the door already. “Why?” he asked. He’d always thought of Quinn as a friend.
Quinn’s steps paused, and he took a second before he half-turned to face Gerard. “My moral compass kind of sucks too, when it comes to him.”
Gerard nodded and watched as Quinn gave a sad sort of wave and left. The door swung shut behind him, the store’s lights reflected in the rainy night beyond the windows, and Gerard, framed in the reflection, pale and betrayed, his worst suspicions confirmed.
Gerard ended up at his bench, where he’d first kissed Frank. It kind of sucked that his spot was now tainted by that, but he didn’t know where else to go. Besides, it had been his spot a lot longer than Frank had been in his life, and Gerard was kind of loyal to it, even if it was just a park bench. He looked woefully down at the wet seat, but sat anyway. He was already drenched due to the rain; a wet bench couldn’t possibly matter now.
He knew he must look kind of crazy, with his red eyes, wet clothes with no hat or umbrella, and miserable expression. At least he hadn’t bothered to put makeup on before rushing out to find Frank; no need to add black tracks on cheeks to the image he already presented. He ran his sleeve underneath his nose again, and looked up at the city’s night skyline, blinking against the rain. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not again. Frank was supposed to have been better than Bert. Frank was supposed to pull him through. Frank was supposed to have fallen in love with Gerard.
Instead, Gerard was right back where he’d started, staring at the hole in the lights and wondering what the fuck he was going to do next. He had the meeting with Dark Horse, and that was good. That was definitely good. It was a step forward. But even that didn’t make him feel much better. Besides, the meeting might be to discuss all the creative changes they wanted to make, and he’d have to tell them to fuck off. That would be just his luck, wouldn’t it? Or maybe they wouldn’t want to buy it at all, once they’d actually met its creator. That wouldn’t surprise him either.
He didn’t know how long he’d been out there, and it was pretty fucking cold. And wet, but he supposed there was only so much water his clothes could absorb. The rest was bound to roll right off. He just didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to be the fucking loser on his brother’s couch again. From his parents’ basement to his brother’s spare room. Not really an upwardly mobile move.
A giant puddle had formed along the leg of the bench, and the street lamp nearby shone down into it, creating a reflective surface. Gerard leaned over, his shock of blond hair clear in the water, even as raindrops conspired to make the image waver. “How are things on your side of the puddle?” he asked his reflection.
Reflection Gerard said nothing, just stared somberly back at him.
“Yeah. I hear you,” Gerard said with a sniffle, and sat up again. Reflection Gerard was only going to depress him more right now.
He brought his legs up, hooking the heels of his boots on the edge of the bench and resting his chin on his knees. He was really starting to consider going home when he realized he could see his breath in the air, but still he hesitated, burying his face with his arms wrapped around his knees. At least that way the tears and the rain wouldn’t fucking freeze to his cheeks.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I should have thought of this first.”
Gerard knew that voice, and he scrambled up and stepped away from the bench, ignoring the slosh of his foot hitting the puddle and barely sparing a thought for Reflection Gerard on the other side. He didn’t want to hear one fucking word of what Frank Iero had to say.
“Gerard, stop! Please. Dude, come on, I have been fucking everywhere looking for you.” Frank’s voice got closer as the sound of trotting footsteps approached. “I went to Mikey’s, and then Ray’s, and the diner with the grilled cheese. I even fucking went to that bar you like.” Frank’s hand landed on Gerard’s arm, tugging, pleading, and Gerard turned, shaking it off.
“Mikey should have told you not to bother,” he said, his heart breaking all over again just at the sight of Frank, with his bangs plastered to his forehead and water running down the bridge of his nose. “I don’t ever want to fucking see you again, okay? I thought I was done with bad luck and bad relationships for at least a year. Bert and Quinn and getting fired should have been it for me! But then you come along and make me go all stupid with your stupid grin and your stupid laugh and your stupid tattoos. I thought ‘Oh, hey, an actual nice guy who actually likes me. Who actually wants me.’ But it’s perfectly clear that I fucking made a mistake and fell for a guy who has a fucking fiancee and just wanted a goddamn gay fuck on the side!”
“Can we go back to the part where I’m a nice guy?” Frank asked, his breath streaming from his mouth. “Because you weren’t fucking wrong, Gee. I am a nice guy. You’re wrong about the fiancee. I’m not engaged. I have never been engaged, unless you actually count the Ring Pop thing when I was eight.”
“Don’t! Don’t try to be all cute and charming. You can’t fucking charm your way out of this. I saw her! It’s the same girl you have a picture of in your bedroom! It’s the girl the band guys called your fiancee! It’s the girl you kissed, okay? I fucking saw you!”
“It’s the same girl I gave that fucking piece of finger-candy to when I was a kid,” Frank shouted back, clearly also at his wits’ end. “It’s the same girl who broke my heart when I was fourteen by kissing Jessica Lowenstein behind the gym! It’s fucking Jamia, who I sometimes call my fiancee as a joke, and I called her that unthinkingly when she called about Mama. Who is the dog, by the way. The dog that we got together when I lived in her apartment - in separate bedrooms! - before her girlfriend moved in and I found a room with Bob. She’s my oldest friend and I love her dearly, but I’m not in love with her and she’s not in love with me. The kiss you saw was nothing more than a peck and you’d probably know that if you stopped fucking panicking and fucking thought about it for two fucking seconds!”
Gerard opened his mouth to yell again, but he found he didn’t know what he was going to yell about, so he closed it again and wrapped his arms around his ribs, cold and unsure. He knew Frank was right. The kiss could have been the kind between two old friends. And it wasn’t like Gerard was the best at keeping a calm and rational head. “But you said,” he argued, trying to figure everything out. “You said you liked both boys and girls, so I thought . . .”
“Jesus, Gerard. I do like both boys and girls, but I tend to only date one at a time. And before you ask, no, that doesn’t mean I’m dating other guys on the side. It means I like my relationships one-on-one, thanks, with no room for extras.”
“Oh.” Gerard watched as Frank took a couple cautious steps forward. He had to ask, he had to know. He didn’t think he’d survive it if Frank was lying to him now. “Is this the truth, Frank?”
“I swear, Gee. I fucking swear on Pansy. I swear on Mama’s broken leg.” Frank took one last step and reached out, tugging on Gerard’s arms, drawing them down from around his torso. Frank stepped into that space instead, grinning up at Gerard. “I may be only fifty percent gay, but I swear to God I am one hundred percent in love with you, you fucker. Just you.”
“Oh,” Gerard said again, but it sounded completely different this time, said through a smile of his own. “Okay then.”
“Fucking right, fucking okay then,” Frank groused, but he wrapped his arms around Gerard and Gerard laughed and wrapped his arms around Frank in return, and met him for the kiss.
Gerard was somewhat surprised he’d made it through the rest of his shift. His disbelief had shifted somewhere along the way, bypassing sadness and going straight for anger, which at least had kept him upright and functioning. It was only natural, he supposed, since some part of him had been getting ready for the news for over a month. But part of him still couldn’t believe it had been fucking Quinn, of all people. And a lot of him was pissed off that Bert had knowingly exposed him to an STD.
He slammed the door behind him as he entered the apartment, his wet shoes squeaking as he walked, causing Bert to glance over from the couch, eyebrow raised with a hint of sarcasm. “Bad day?”
“Interesting day,” Gerard corrected. He stood at the far end of the couch, arms crossed and jaw set. “Quinn stopped by for a chat.”
That certainly made Bert pause. “Gee. You can’t . . . Quinn’s just . . . Fuck.”
“Yeah. Fuck. Fuck you. I love how you told me the truth this afternoon. About how you’re not having an affair.”
“I’m not!” Bert stood then, nearly knocking the beer on the coffee table over.
“Because he fucking dumped your sorry ass weeks ago. He also told me it’s entirely possible I have chlamydia, so thanks a bunch for that.”
“Gerard.”
“What? What could you possibly say right now to make it okay? To make any of it okay? The nine months, the lying, the possible STD. I’ve been working my ass off supporting you while you fuck around with someone I thought was a friend!”
“I don’t know. I . . . I’ve been better though, right? I’ve been trying to make it up to you-”
“If you honestly think that a jacket and some art supplies make up for any of this, then you’re even dumber than I thought. We’re done, Bert. Maybe Quinn will take you back, but I sure as hell won’t.”
“Gee, please,” Bert called as Gerard turned away. “Just stay. Please. I’ll do anything you want.”
Gerard turned back. “Really? Because I’m going to go walk out the door and close it behind me, and what I want is for you not to follow. Ever.”
Bert just stared dumbly at him for a moment, so Gerard went to the door as promised. But then he doubled back, a thought striking him. He went into the kitchen, unplugged the coffee maker and tucked it under his arm before going back to the front door and out into the hallway. Mikey’s was for shit.
Gerard laughed as Frank climbed all over him, enthusiastically shouting, “Let me see, let me see!”
Gerard didn’t need his boyfriend’s contagious enthusiasm; he was already on a natural high. “Hang on, let’s go - Fuck, sorry,” he said as he bumped into someone in the crowd. Ray’s bar was packed, everybody there to see Cobra Starship, who seemed to be on the rise, and who owed Frank a favor for mistakenly telling his boyfriend that Frank was engaged. “Let’s go to the back so I can show you.”
“‘Kay! Mikey,” Frank called over the din. “Ray’s office! Gee’s got the proofs!”
Mikey nodded, weaving his way through the crowd like magic to beat them to the back corridor. He shut the door once they were all in the tiny backroom, and smiled at his brother. “Let’s see.”
Gerard grinned and unzipped his portfolio as he walked around behind Ray’s desk, pulling out the sheets. It wasn’t actually his artwork. Dark Horse had asked him to accept another artist for The Umbrella Academy, and he’d agreed after talking to the guy, once he’d been able to get a sense that they’d collaborate well together. Gabriel was an amazing artist, and his vision blended incredibly well with Gerard’s, and Gerard knew that his art was only going to make the comic better. He lay the proofs out on Ray’s desk next to the computer screen and stepped back, letting Mikey and Frank look them over.
“Oh my God. Gee. These are awesome,” Frank breathed.
“I know, right?” He couldn’t stop smiling, fucking thrilled at how everything was turning out.
“You did it,” Mikey said quietly, his finger on one corner of a page.
“You always said I could.”
“Yeah.”
“Both of you,” he added, hugging Frank from behind and kissing his scorpion.
“Because we could both see your awesomeness all the time,” Frank said with a nod.
Gerard laughed. “Yeah. Did I ever say thank you?”
“Yeah. But you could say it again.” Frank turned in Gerard’s arms, going up on his toes for a kiss.
Gerard laughed into it as he heard Mikey make a distressed noise, and when he pulled back, still holding Frank close, he could see in the reflection of the dark computer screen that Mikey had left them alone. It was just Gerard and Frank, close and smiling, and their reflection counterparts, slightly warped by the bulge of the glass.
Gerard hoped his reflection really did have a Reflection Frank. All the parallel universes should have Franks. Frank’s mere existence made the world better. Made Gerard better.
Gerard fought his way through the crowd, amazed at how many people had shown up for the official grand opening of Ray’s stage. He’d never heard of the band before, Cobra something, but one of Ray’s bartenders’ roommate knew them or something, and they were apparently getting to be a little bit of a big deal.
He hadn’t had a chance to see Ray’s place since the stage had been deemed functional. He was still juggling two jobs, despite Mikey’s protests that he didn’t have to pay rent. He didn’t really mind. The job at the comic shop allowed him to geek out and show off his knowledge, and he liked everyone down at the pub; he didn’t want to leave Greta and Darren in the lurch. Anyway, he might as well make some money, since he had absolutely nothing else going on in his life. Mikey had tried to cajole him into going to Ray’s with him on the days when he didn’t have to work his shift at the bar: Mikey and Ray and Ray’s bartender and that roommate guy had started jamming together when the bar was closed, and Mikey kept insisting they needed a singer. Gerard didn’t really see the point when they didn’t have lyrics to sing, but whenever he said that to Mikey, his brother just looked at him meaningfully. Gerard always shrugged him off. He hadn’t been in the mood to write anything for a long time.
Uncomfortable in the crowd, Gerard stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and used his elbows to fight his way through. His fingers brushed the metal of his year pin, then clasped around it, drawing strength from it as he had so many times during the past couple of months. He wasn’t really in any danger of succumbing to the lure of alcohol again, but the pin had become a talisman of sorts. His good luck charm. Or at least something to hold onto when he didn’t have anything else.
“Hey, Gee!”
Gerard’s eyes found Mikey, and he lifted a hand to show that he’d heard, taking a step forward to get to the bar. He got knocked in the ribs with someone’s elbow, and he instinctively covered his torso, wincing a little at the pain. He breathed through it for a moment, then reassessed the mass of bodies, trying to find a path to Mikey.
“Hey, you dropped this.”
Gerard turned to see a guy - short, cute, with a couple of piercings and a lot of tattoos - holding Gerard’s pin up between his fingers, on offer for Gerard to take. “Thanks,” he said, trying not to stare at the scorpion on the side of the guy’s neck.
“Sure.”
Gerard nodded once, meaning to acknowledge the favor and move on. But his feet seemed to be stuck.
“Dude, you look pretty stressed out,” the guy observed, and Gerard blushed. He knew he’d been kind of wound tight lately, and the mass of people surrounding them right now wasn’t helping.
“I don’t like crowds,” he explained. “They make me uncomfortable.” So did talking to random hot guys, but in a different way.
The guy nodded. “I get that. But hey, it could be worse, right?”
Gerard laughed a little, shrugging. “Yeah. They could all be undead and we could be in the middle of the Zombie Apocalypse.”
Hot Guy stared at him for a second before gracing him with a blinding grin and holding out his hand. “Exactly! Dude, I’m Frank.”
Gerard pocketed his pin and shook Frank’s hand with a smile, something about Frank putting him right at ease. “I’m Gerard.”
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Header Post
Mix: Leave the Bourbon on the Shelf by tygermine
Mix: Mirror Mirror by piratesunk
Mix: Eyes Fixed on the Sun by verbyna
Art by theopteryx