Fic: Let's Keep The Sounds From Running Out
let's keep the sounds from running out
frank/gerard
1,497 words
do not own
beta'd by whisperingtome, everything i could ask for in a friend!
lots of you have already read it, so don't even worry about it.
written for the nightmare_xmas challenge, for greenjelloforst and the 100_situations prompt 079: winter.
Frank stands, stretches, runs a hand through his just-out-of-bed hair. He shakes out the crumpled heap of clothes and pulls on his navy blue sweatpants, the material feeling soft against his skin. His jaw cracks as he yawns widely and, in the bed he’s just vacated, Gerard stirs quietly, twisting himself up further in the bedclothes and sliding a hand to the cold underside of the pillow.
‘Coffee?’ Frank asks as he bends down and frees a t-shirt from the pile of clothes too. In theory it belongs to Gerard, but clothes-sharing (or more, Frank wearing Gerard’s clothes and Gerard just having to buy new ones) had become an unwritten practice a long time ago.
Gerard squints at his watch through the layer of sleep that had gathered on his eyelashes during the night. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too,’ he says, his words working their way around the small smile on his face. He rubs one eye with the heel of his hand. ‘And yeah, I’d like some coffee.’
Frank nods and pads across the wooden floor. Before he leaves the bedroom he says, ‘Oh, sure,’ and hangs his head a fraction lower. ‘Merry Christmas.’
As he reaches the kitchen, he groans at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and toes open the fridge door: nothing save for a couple of slices of processed cheese and half a bottle of soy milk. He nudges it closed again with his hip and flicks the switch on the kettle.
Standing in front of the window, Frank spoons two heaps of coffee granules into each cup and the steam from the boiling kettle condenses on the glass. There is a thin layer of frost on the ground outside and it’s drizzling bleakly. So much for a white Christmas. The kettle clicks off and Frank fills up the mugs, splashing tiny droplets of hot water onto the countertop.
He adds one spoonful of sugar to his coffee, but leaves Gerard’s as it is. ‘That’s right.’ Gerard's voice startles him in the relative silence of the kitchen. ‘I don’t need sugar ‘cause -’
‘ - you’re sweet enough,’ Frank finishes with a faint smile. ‘I know, I know.’ He loops his fingers around the handle of each mug and turns around, holding Gerard’s out towards him. Gerard comes closer, smiles, wraps his hands around the steaming cup and kisses Frank. It’s warm and sweet and a little minty. Still, after nearly three years together, one and a half of which have been spent living in the same house, Gerard continues to insist on sliding out of bed every morning to brush his teeth before he will kiss Frank.
‘Morning mouth is not attractive,’ he had said once, and Frank had looked a little hurt. It was a couple of months after Frank had started spending most nights in Gerard’s apartment, before their lives were like this. There was still some kind of uncertainty between them back then. ‘I mean,’ Gerard had blushed and stuttered. ‘I mean my morning mouth isn’t attractive. I like yours just fine.’
‘Anything for breakfast?’ Gerard asks, and takes a sip of his coffee. Frank’s skin prickles at the concept of such normalcy on a day like today, but he thinks it feels okay to play along for a little while.
‘Not unless you want a cheese smoothie, or cheese dipped in milk, or scrambled cheese with milk, or -’
‘Okay, okay,’ Gerard says, holding one hand up in mock surrender. ‘I'm guessing there’s no food in the house. Although, we should probably try a cheese smoothie at some point.’
He lowers his hand and his eyes flicker to each corner of the room. ‘We didn’t make it very festive in here,’ he says, and Frank knows they are done pretending now.
‘I guess not,’ Frank replies and turns back towards the window. The drizzle is heavier; real rain drops slip down the glass, and puddles are gathering on the concrete landscape that surrounds their building.
‘Mikey’s coming over later.’ Gerard closes the distance between them, resting his chin in the curve of Frank’s neck. ‘I don’t think he wants to be alone.’
‘No,’ Frank shakes his head, ‘I don’t suppose he does.’
‘He said the bedclothes still smell like her. He said the book she was reading is still open face-down on the nightstand. I don’t even think he can comprehend that it’s been a year.’ Gerard’s voice is small and sad. ‘I’m not sure I can either.’
They are silent for a moment, and it all feels like a distant memory; the screech of tyres on asphalt, the tangle of broken bones and blood, the wreck of the buses covered in a thin layer of snow. Frank recalls the tacky Christmas decorations that had been spread sparsely through the hospital when he’d woken up with a pounding head and a broken ankle, and how he had torn the tinsel from the end of his bed as soon as he was able to move. He is glad they hadn’t decorated this year.
‘Brian rang too,’ Gerard says, and his fingers encircle Frank’s wrist, not wanting him to close off or shut down. ‘He asked how you were.’
It had been a surprise to them both when they had returned home to their silent apartment after the accident, the realisation that Gerard wasn’t the one breaking down. It was Frank who couldn’t deal with the fact that the place was exactly how they had left it, as if they could come back here and pretend their lives hadn’t been torn apart in front of their eyes. There had been arguments, fights of frustration, sleepless nights in separate rooms.
‘I told him you were doing okay,’ Gerard continues, ‘considering.’ He presses his lips softly to the scorpion on Frank’s neck and closes his eyes. He's lost count of the times he’s wished he could open them and everything would be back to normal. But he has needed to be strong this year, and he doesn’t let himself think about what would have happened if he hadn’t held it together.
Frank lets out this half-kiss sort of noise, like he was going to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he twists around, dislodging Gerard’s chin and warm hands, until they’re facing each other.
‘Hey,’ Gerard says.
‘I still have trouble believing it.’ Frank's eyes are fixed on a point somewhere over Gerard’s shoulder, and he knows he has to carry on however he might end up sounding. ‘That they’re gone, y’know. I miss everything about how life was when they were here, and I’m so fucking scared to move on because I can’t handle the thought that I could ever forget them. But I know, oh fuck, I know I need to try and live now. For us as well as them.’ It sounds strange out in the open, as if those were just thoughts he should keep inside his head.
Gerard doesn’t speak. He wasn’t expecting this, and he can feel a lump rising in his throat. He swallows a couple of times and takes a few steps back, nodding at Frank, trying to reassure him. He turns to the shelves behind him.
He shuffles through different sheets of paper; bills, letters, torn scraps. Finally, he plucks a white piece of card from a pile and says, ‘I know we weren’t going to get each other presents this year,’ more to the drawing that he’s holding, than to Frank, ‘but I’ve been working on this.’
He turns again now and passes it to Frank. He wrings his empty hands together, waiting, nervous. ‘I thought it could be your next tattoo. I know it’s not one hundred percent finished, and you don’t have to get it done if you don’t want, honestly. I'll understand. I just wanted you to have some way to -’ He stops talking, aware of how manic his voice sounds against the dull hum of the fridge and Frank’s shallow breathing.
‘It’s perfect,’ Frank says, his voice strained and buried in the fabric of his threadbare t-shirt. ‘I mean I - thank you.’
Relief sweeps over Gerard and he can finally see some sort of light at the end of this darkness.
‘No.’ He hooks one finger in the waistband of Frank’s sweatpants and pulls him closer. ‘Thank you.’
Embracing - their limbs pressing together - they fit as if this is what their bodies were made for. ‘I love you,’ Frank breathes against Gerard’s warm skin, ‘I love you.’
And the paper, the white card with lines of black ink intertwining and spelling out the first initial of each person they lost, it floats to the floor. Frank will pick it up later, he’ll have the three letters inked onto his skin forever, and next year, god knows, they might even buy a Christmas tree.
R, B and A.
out of sight, not out of mind.
frank/gerard
1,497 words
do not own
beta'd by whisperingtome, everything i could ask for in a friend!
lots of you have already read it, so don't even worry about it.
written for the nightmare_xmas challenge, for greenjelloforst and the 100_situations prompt 079: winter.
Frank stands, stretches, runs a hand through his just-out-of-bed hair. He shakes out the crumpled heap of clothes and pulls on his navy blue sweatpants, the material feeling soft against his skin. His jaw cracks as he yawns widely and, in the bed he’s just vacated, Gerard stirs quietly, twisting himself up further in the bedclothes and sliding a hand to the cold underside of the pillow.
‘Coffee?’ Frank asks as he bends down and frees a t-shirt from the pile of clothes too. In theory it belongs to Gerard, but clothes-sharing (or more, Frank wearing Gerard’s clothes and Gerard just having to buy new ones) had become an unwritten practice a long time ago.
Gerard squints at his watch through the layer of sleep that had gathered on his eyelashes during the night. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too,’ he says, his words working their way around the small smile on his face. He rubs one eye with the heel of his hand. ‘And yeah, I’d like some coffee.’
Frank nods and pads across the wooden floor. Before he leaves the bedroom he says, ‘Oh, sure,’ and hangs his head a fraction lower. ‘Merry Christmas.’
As he reaches the kitchen, he groans at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and toes open the fridge door: nothing save for a couple of slices of processed cheese and half a bottle of soy milk. He nudges it closed again with his hip and flicks the switch on the kettle.
Standing in front of the window, Frank spoons two heaps of coffee granules into each cup and the steam from the boiling kettle condenses on the glass. There is a thin layer of frost on the ground outside and it’s drizzling bleakly. So much for a white Christmas. The kettle clicks off and Frank fills up the mugs, splashing tiny droplets of hot water onto the countertop.
He adds one spoonful of sugar to his coffee, but leaves Gerard’s as it is. ‘That’s right.’ Gerard's voice startles him in the relative silence of the kitchen. ‘I don’t need sugar ‘cause -’
‘ - you’re sweet enough,’ Frank finishes with a faint smile. ‘I know, I know.’ He loops his fingers around the handle of each mug and turns around, holding Gerard’s out towards him. Gerard comes closer, smiles, wraps his hands around the steaming cup and kisses Frank. It’s warm and sweet and a little minty. Still, after nearly three years together, one and a half of which have been spent living in the same house, Gerard continues to insist on sliding out of bed every morning to brush his teeth before he will kiss Frank.
‘Morning mouth is not attractive,’ he had said once, and Frank had looked a little hurt. It was a couple of months after Frank had started spending most nights in Gerard’s apartment, before their lives were like this. There was still some kind of uncertainty between them back then. ‘I mean,’ Gerard had blushed and stuttered. ‘I mean my morning mouth isn’t attractive. I like yours just fine.’
‘Anything for breakfast?’ Gerard asks, and takes a sip of his coffee. Frank’s skin prickles at the concept of such normalcy on a day like today, but he thinks it feels okay to play along for a little while.
‘Not unless you want a cheese smoothie, or cheese dipped in milk, or scrambled cheese with milk, or -’
‘Okay, okay,’ Gerard says, holding one hand up in mock surrender. ‘I'm guessing there’s no food in the house. Although, we should probably try a cheese smoothie at some point.’
He lowers his hand and his eyes flicker to each corner of the room. ‘We didn’t make it very festive in here,’ he says, and Frank knows they are done pretending now.
‘I guess not,’ Frank replies and turns back towards the window. The drizzle is heavier; real rain drops slip down the glass, and puddles are gathering on the concrete landscape that surrounds their building.
‘Mikey’s coming over later.’ Gerard closes the distance between them, resting his chin in the curve of Frank’s neck. ‘I don’t think he wants to be alone.’
‘No,’ Frank shakes his head, ‘I don’t suppose he does.’
‘He said the bedclothes still smell like her. He said the book she was reading is still open face-down on the nightstand. I don’t even think he can comprehend that it’s been a year.’ Gerard’s voice is small and sad. ‘I’m not sure I can either.’
They are silent for a moment, and it all feels like a distant memory; the screech of tyres on asphalt, the tangle of broken bones and blood, the wreck of the buses covered in a thin layer of snow. Frank recalls the tacky Christmas decorations that had been spread sparsely through the hospital when he’d woken up with a pounding head and a broken ankle, and how he had torn the tinsel from the end of his bed as soon as he was able to move. He is glad they hadn’t decorated this year.
‘Brian rang too,’ Gerard says, and his fingers encircle Frank’s wrist, not wanting him to close off or shut down. ‘He asked how you were.’
It had been a surprise to them both when they had returned home to their silent apartment after the accident, the realisation that Gerard wasn’t the one breaking down. It was Frank who couldn’t deal with the fact that the place was exactly how they had left it, as if they could come back here and pretend their lives hadn’t been torn apart in front of their eyes. There had been arguments, fights of frustration, sleepless nights in separate rooms.
‘I told him you were doing okay,’ Gerard continues, ‘considering.’ He presses his lips softly to the scorpion on Frank’s neck and closes his eyes. He's lost count of the times he’s wished he could open them and everything would be back to normal. But he has needed to be strong this year, and he doesn’t let himself think about what would have happened if he hadn’t held it together.
Frank lets out this half-kiss sort of noise, like he was going to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he twists around, dislodging Gerard’s chin and warm hands, until they’re facing each other.
‘Hey,’ Gerard says.
‘I still have trouble believing it.’ Frank's eyes are fixed on a point somewhere over Gerard’s shoulder, and he knows he has to carry on however he might end up sounding. ‘That they’re gone, y’know. I miss everything about how life was when they were here, and I’m so fucking scared to move on because I can’t handle the thought that I could ever forget them. But I know, oh fuck, I know I need to try and live now. For us as well as them.’ It sounds strange out in the open, as if those were just thoughts he should keep inside his head.
Gerard doesn’t speak. He wasn’t expecting this, and he can feel a lump rising in his throat. He swallows a couple of times and takes a few steps back, nodding at Frank, trying to reassure him. He turns to the shelves behind him.
He shuffles through different sheets of paper; bills, letters, torn scraps. Finally, he plucks a white piece of card from a pile and says, ‘I know we weren’t going to get each other presents this year,’ more to the drawing that he’s holding, than to Frank, ‘but I’ve been working on this.’
He turns again now and passes it to Frank. He wrings his empty hands together, waiting, nervous. ‘I thought it could be your next tattoo. I know it’s not one hundred percent finished, and you don’t have to get it done if you don’t want, honestly. I'll understand. I just wanted you to have some way to -’ He stops talking, aware of how manic his voice sounds against the dull hum of the fridge and Frank’s shallow breathing.
‘It’s perfect,’ Frank says, his voice strained and buried in the fabric of his threadbare t-shirt. ‘I mean I - thank you.’
Relief sweeps over Gerard and he can finally see some sort of light at the end of this darkness.
‘No.’ He hooks one finger in the waistband of Frank’s sweatpants and pulls him closer. ‘Thank you.’
Embracing - their limbs pressing together - they fit as if this is what their bodies were made for. ‘I love you,’ Frank breathes against Gerard’s warm skin, ‘I love you.’
And the paper, the white card with lines of black ink intertwining and spelling out the first initial of each person they lost, it floats to the floor. Frank will pick it up later, he’ll have the three letters inked onto his skin forever, and next year, god knows, they might even buy a Christmas tree.
R, B and A.
out of sight, not out of mind.