24 Frames Per Second - The Belleville Fright Night Experiment - 2

[lea_ndra]

2.

“I can't believe he's gone,” Mikey said for what seemed like the 30th time that day. Ever since this morning, when Gerard had told Mikey the news over breakfast, Mikey had muttered the words in the same, toneless voice he always used for anything (except maybe when he talked about Jaws, because if there was one thing that got Mikey really excited it was killer sharks.) Gerard could tell Mikey was upset, though; he knew his brother, could read even his most inflection-less sounds.

“I can't believe he died,” Mikey murmured again, looking up at the marquee that proclaimed the screening of “The Bounty” and “Brother from An0ther Planet” They had been standing outside the cinema for the last five minutes, hesitant to walk through the door. Gerard was on his second cigarette, smoking furtively, because it gave him something to do.

Usually, they would come here on Fridays right after school ended, but this time, Gerard had stalled in the school parking lot, actually cleaning the backseat of his orange 1972 Ford Escort, tossing out the candy wrappers, the flattened coke cans and half-empty bags of stale Doritos.

Gerard didn't know what he would do if the cinema was closing. He would probably have a crying fit. A breakdown, maybe.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open from the inside, and Bob craned his head out, a look of exasperation on his face. “Oh for fuck's sake!” he said in case of a greeting, “Come on in, you idiots. Everyone else is already here.”

Gerard shared a look with Mikey, who shrugged, then followed his brother inside. It was true - the others were already in the lounge, Ray on his favorite barstool, Lindsey with her ass perched on a tabletop, Frank, who had turned around a chair and was sitting facing the others, arms folded over the backrest.

“Finally,” Ray said, barely looking up from the Rubik’s Cube he was fiddling with. “I've never before seen Gerard take so much time cleaning the backseat of his car.” Ever since he had stopped smoking, Ray had developed a - in Gerard's eyes - rather unhealthy fascination with Rubik's cubes. He was getting pretty good at solving them, too.

“I've never before seen Gerard take any time at all to clean his car,” Lindsey observed, arching one perfectly trimmed eyebrow. Her red-rimmed, swollen eyes belied the teasing quality of her voice. You could tell that she hadn't slept much last night either.

Gerard was too anxious to play their usual game of sharp-witted bickering, so he just glared at her and dropped down on the bench next to the table she was sitting on.

He caught Frank's eye, but looked away quickly when Frank gave him a sympathetic smile. His face was heating up again, remembering once more how Frank had had his arms wrapped around him the night before. He had barely been able to sleep last night, tossing and turning in his too-hot sheets, his head equally filled with questions as to what was going to happen now and the embarrassment he felt whenever he remembered Frank comforting him the way he had done.

“So... I talked to Brian a couple of hours ago,” Bob said, and just like that, all eyes were on him, Ray dropping the Rubik’s cube in his lap, unfinished, to give Bob all of his attention.

“Predictably, he's pretty upset. I mean, he and Hank weren't that tight over the last couple of years, but still - Hank's his uncle after all. He won't be able to make it to the funeral, though. He's on tour in Europe with Adrenaline O.D. and he can't make it here, not for the next 6 or 7 weeks. He asked me to arrange the funeral for him.”

Lindsey made a disgusted sound, muttering something under her breath.

Bob paused, his hands clasped tightly together in front of his chest. Gerard could practically sense the collective anticipation vibrating in the air, the tension that emanated from every single one of them. He could see it in the anxious set of Lindsey's shoulders, the way Frank's teeth dug hard into his bottom lip, Ray's fingers gripping the Rubik’s Cube in a tight-knuckled grip, Mikey's stoic face belying his feelings. Something painful tightened in Gerard's stomach. He already knew what Bob would say, it was clear from his pause, from the exhausted look on his face, the dark smudges on his pale skin, but they all needed to hear it spoken out loud.

“Bob,” Ray said, and his voice held a hint of impatience. “What about the movie theater?”

Bob exhaled slowly, then unclasped his hands, letting them hang by his sides, looking defeated. “Once his tour is finished, Brian will come here and take care of everything. Which pretty much means that we're closing. He's too caught up in his music job.”

The collective sound of dismay as Lindsey, Ray and Mikey all protested loudly was drowned out by the white noise swooshing in Gerard's ears. He felt sick. His legs were numb, but his fingers shook were they rested on the bench next to his thigh. It was one thing expecting the theater to close, but hearing it from Bob’s mouth made it painfully real.

“Jesus, get a grip, guys,” Bob said, exasperated, raising a hand, until they shut up. He sighed and threaded a hand through his short blond hair, tugging. “I'm sorry, but that's how it is: Brian told me to close shop immediately. I am to send back the distribution copies and pay you your wages up till now. He said he's sorry about your jobs, but he sees no other solution.”

“Fuck,” Lindsey said tonelessly. “Fuck.” Then, with a bit more of verve, “Fuck Brian.” She slid from the table onto her feet, her face angry, her eyes blazing. “Fuck Brian,” she repeated, looking at each of them as if she wanted to make sure she had all their attention. “Who is he that he can just decide what happens with this place!” she said, enraged. “He hasn't been around in months, he doesn't give a fuck. He doesn't even give enough of a fuck to come to Hank's funeral.”

Gerard looked at her, really looked at her, her clenched fists, the stance of her feet, her wild eyes, and he probably adored her more at that moment than he had ever adored another human being.

“Lyn-Z, come on,” Bob said, his voice patient, meant to calm her down, “cut Brian some slack. He's really sorry he can't make it and he knows how much we all love the theater, but seriously, would you want to change your whole life just because you inherit a business you really don't want to own?”

“Yeah, so fucking what. Brian doesn't know shit. Hank loved it - he slaved all his life to keep it.” Lindsey's face was pretty red by now and Gerard wasn't sure whether she was just so angry or if she was about to start crying. He wasn't sure if he could stand to see her cry.

“Fuck this shit,” she cursed again, stomping her feet, and it almost had something comical - “I don't fucking care if Brian pays me or not, I'm gonna go and start the popcorn machine.”

For a moment they all watched her speechlessly as she made her way over towards the food counter - Mikey's mouth was practically hanging open -, and Gerard was almost about to start laughing. It was so bizarre. They’d closed the movie theater and Lindsey insisted on making popcorn.

“I haven't been working here for long,” Frank suddenly said, sounding thoughtful, “but I saw my first movie here, The Jungle Book. I was four. I loved it. It left such an impression. I really wanted to be Mowgli. For weeks after the movie my mother had to force me back into my clothes - I kept undressing and leaving them all over the place.” He paused and scowled, as if he was thinking hard. “You know, I spent a lot of afternoons here as a kid. I had some fucking special moments here. I really don’t want it to close down.”

He shifted on his chair, leaning his arms on the top of the backrest, chin propped up on his forearms. “I mean, it's a bit crappy and a bit seedy and run-down. But you just kind of feel welcome. Comfortable. At home. You know what I fucking mean.”

Gerard felt himself nod along to everything he said. He was pretty sure they’d all had had such moments Frank described. Fucking special moments.

The screeching sound of a stool sliding over the tiled floor made Gerard look over to the counter, where Ray had just gotten up from his barstool. He gave them a meaningful look, then said, “If we hurry, I can set up everything in time for the 5 p.m. screening.”

“Guys...” Bob started, and he sounded pained, hand coming up to rub his forehead. “Guys...,” he repeated, voice a bit more forceful, “I can't fucking pay you. I have my orders. You should all just go the fuck home.” His protestation lacked conviction though, and they all caught on to it. If there was one person whose future was on the line here, it was Bob. He had been working at the movie theater since he was fifteen and he maybe loved it more than everyone else.

“I don't care,” Ray said. “I really don't. I've been working here for more than two years. If Brian is on the road right now and we have a couple more weeks, I want to do this. I want to be here until the very last minute. I love this fucking place.”

“I'm gonna restock the programs for the ticket booth,” Mikey said from where he was leaning against the counter. “You wanna help, Frank?”

Gerard watched as Frank nodded and got up, trailing after Mikey, tossing a brief glance over his shoulder at Bob, who looked like he was actually contemplating their crazy notion. He certainly had stopped protesting and was looking thoughtful instead.

Gerard got up from his seat slowly, feeling the painful tightness in his stomach and the numbness in his legs dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of purpose. He strode over to where Bob was standing near the bar and stopped in front of him.

“Guess you're outnumbered,” he said, and Bob groaned a bit, even though he looked secretly relieved.

“Not you too,” he moaned half-heartedly. He was really bad at protesting their revolt, clearly caught between his responsibility as Brian’s employee and interim theater manager and his personal wants.

“I guess it's pretty clear that nobody cares if you pay us.” Gerard shrugged. “We've all been working here whether we've been paid or not in the past. If Brian wants to close it down, it's gonna happen early enough. Meanwhile, we're gonna keep this place running, right?”

When Bob didn't answer, just gave him a weak smile, Gerard knew that they had won for now. He took a look over his shoulder at Ray, who gave him a brief nod. If they were really quick, the 5 p.m. screening would go just as planned.

*-*

Despite their best efforts, things were different with Hank not around, even though Bob stepped in to fill his shoes as best as he could, making up for his earlier hesitation by accepting the challenge with an enthusiasm and energy that boggled everyone who was used to Bob's normally rather subdued and laid back personality.

Still, there was something missing, and there was no use in denying that it was Hank's vision for the place. They realized very quickly that without Hank it seemed pretty pointless to keep on going, because even though his managerial duties had sometimes been seriously lacking, Hank had been the heart and soul of the Belleville Film Palace. None of them wanted to admit that they were just attempting CPR.

It was noticeable right from the very start. That night, after they had collectively overruled Bob in the lounge, Gerard sat in his projector booth, looking down through the observation window into Cinema 2, counting the taken seats. It struck him how sad it was - a Saturday night at 9 p.m., and only a handful of people in the audience. He had never thought about it that much, but now, with Hank not here, somehow it seemed more important than usual.

They next three days passed in their usual routine, but their erstwhile enthusiasm was dwindling fast. Gerard suspected it also had something to do with the fact that they were on borrowed time and they all knew it. The first person to crack, strangely enough, was Lindsey. On the fourth evening, after a particularly frustrating screening with only 2 attendees, she broke down, spilled a cup of coke on her shirt and started to sob.

“I hate this fucking shit,” she cried, then stormed out, leaving a puzzled Ray, Mikey and Gerard behind.

“What the fuck?” Gerard asked, exchanging a confused glance with his brother.

“I'm going after her,” Ray said, tossing his Rubik’s cube on a bench.

He returned after 10 minutes without Lindsey, looking worried. “I sent her home. She's really... she says she's not sure where the point is doing this without Hank.”

“This fucking sucks,” Mikey groaned, dropping his head down on the sticky tabletop in front of him.

Gerard agreed, but he didn't want to give up. Not yet.

*-*

One week had passed since Hank's death, but it seemed as if he had been gone forever. They dutifully carried out their tasks, but the drive and enthusiasm they had displayed on that first day had faded way too quickly. Still, none of them wanted to give up, wanting to prove to themselves and Bob that they would stick to their word and continue screening until Brian finally showed up.

Hank's funeral had been the day before. Bob had arranged a quiet, low-key service. Ray had played the guitar, doing acoustic versions of a couple of classic movie melodies. Gerard was surprised how many people had turned up - a lot of them former movie theater employees, but he also had spotted a couple of regular moviegoers among the pretty decent crowd. Bob had seemed to know a lot of them, shaking hands left and right and taking condolences. They all had looked stiff and strange in their dark, somber clothing. Gerard had been in the suit he had last worn at his grandmother's funeral 8 months ago and wearing the stiff fabric was bringing back memories he had rather wanted suppressed.

Gerard was in projector booth #2, cleaning the projector parts with a brush, when he was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door.

He looked up from his task, frowning, wondering if maybe he had heard another noise and misinterpreted it. Nobody ever knocked on his booth, because nobody ever came to visit. They knew better.

Another knock left no room for misinterpretation.

“What?” he called, hearing the exasperated annoyance in his voice.

“It's Frank,” Frank's voice came muffled from outside the door. “I just wanted to know how you were.”

Frank. Fuck. Gerard still felt embarrassed for the night of Hank's death and had been avoiding being alone with Frank ever since. If he really thought about it, this had been his tactic ever since Frank had started to work here, for one reason or another. It was fine when they were together with the others, but he was still getting uncomfortable whenever they were the only people in the room. And now Frank had come looking for him in his booth of all place. “I'm fine. Go away!” he called.

There was a moment of silence and Gerard waited for the sound of Frank's retreating footsteps, but Frank didn't leave. “Are you sure?” he asked instead.

“Yes!” Gerard growled. Why could Frank not leave him alone? He was working. He was fine. “Read the fucking sign on the fucking door! What does it say?”

“Projectionists only,” Frank dutifully read out loud. “Intruders will die a gruesome death.”

“Exactly!”

“I particularly like your drawing of the movie monster munching on the intruder's brains below.”

Sighing, Gerard put the brush down and walked over to the door. He pulled the door open a crack, staring into Frank's hopeful face.

“Hey!” Frank said, holding out a cup of something steaming with a disarming smile. “I have coffee.”

Gerard felt himself falter, even though one moment ago he had wanted to forcefully make Frank leave him alone. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed another sigh. Coffee. Frank had coffee. If there was one weakness Gerard had, it was his caffeine addiction. Trust Frank to sniff that out.

“For fuck's sake. Come on in, then.”

Frank's grin widened even more, and he pressed the cup of coffee he was holding into Gerard's hands. “Awesome,” he said, stepping over the threshold and looking around with curious eyes.

“Damn, I always forget how small it is in here,” Frank said with awe, stepping carefully around the narrow, tidy workbench. “Bob said the whole booth is clad with metal, so fires can be contained. You’re like sardines in a tin can. Fried sardines in a tin can.”

“It’s my tin can,” Gerard protested. Frank smiled.

“Don't touch anything. And look out for the film. If you mess something up, I will end you,” Gerard advised him, and took his cup over to the projector he had been cleaning, picking up the brush once more. Fortunately, because the booth was so small, there was barely a chance of Frank messing with anything. Frank could just stand there for a while and get bored, and then Gerard would toss him out on his tiny, slightly annoying ass. Gerard took a sip from the coffee, suppressing a small moan of delight (just the way he liked it, hot and sugary, with lots of milk, for sure, somebody had tipped Frank off, but right now, he didn't care), then put the coffee down on the top of a small cupboard.

“Is this a toothbrush?” Frank asked curiously, looking over Gerard's shoulder.

“Yeah. For cleaning the sprockets.”

“Seriously?”

“All these tiny parts collect dust - if you don't remove it, it will transfer onto the film. Dust on film equals damage,” Gerard explained.

“How often do you do this?” Frank asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Every day.”

“Wow. Now I know why Lyn-Z called you guys anal.”

“It's not like it's my favorite occupation,” Gerard protested, moving the brush over the sound pick-up maybe a bit more forcefully than strictly necessary.

Frank leaned against the wall next to him, crossing his arms in front of his chest, eyes traveling up and down Gerard's body in a kind of intense way.

“What?” Gerard asked, feeling unnerved by the way Frank's eyes lingered on him.

“Don't take this the wrong way - but you aren’t the neatest guy ever. I mean, your jeans look like you've been wearing them for months and your hair...,” Frank waved his hand and made a face, “ - and hey, your leather jacket is practically duct-taped together! I just can't get over the fact that it's spotless in here.”

“I thought you said I didn't smell bad!”

“... much,” Frank corrected, teasing.

“Fuck you,” Gerard said, and Frank giggled, and Gerard had to smile as well. He looked over at Frank, rolling his eyes and Frank giggled again.

There was something glinting in Frank's left earlobe, and Gerard took a step back, hissing a bit as realization hit.

“Is that a fucking needle in your ear?” he asked, shuddering.

Frank bit his lip, his eyes twinkling mischievously, and he reached up, playing a bit with the metal in his earlobe. “A safety pin, actually.”

“Oh God, please don't tell me you stuck a safety pin through your ear!” Gerard groaned, feeling himself get a bit weak in the knees. He hated needles. And he certainly couldn't comprehend how anyone could stick a fucking needle through their fucking ear. Frank's earlobe looked pretty red and sore, too, swollen, where the pin was piercing the skin... God, he had to look the fuck away or he'll get sick.

“Yep. I did! You just gotta ice the earlobe - it doesn't hurt. Much,” Frank said proudly, reaching up and fiddling with the pin hanging from his lobe. “Goodbye, catholic school!”

“Next thing you're gonna stick something through your nose, too,” Gerard complained, and Frank laughed at the whiny tone of his voice.

“I don't know - seems maybe a bit intense. But I wanna get tattoos. I already got it figured out. My birthday’s coming up soon, and then I'm gonna run to the tattoo parlor and-”

“- Fuck, just shut up!” Gerard interrupted him, wiping a hand over his eyes.

Frank cackled, clearly amused that Gerard was such a sissy.

“If you must come in here and distract me, just please, talk about something other than your perverse obsession with attacking your skin with needles.”

Smirking, Frank pushed himself off the wall.

“I actually wanted to ask if you could draw me something.”

Gerard stopped the movement of the brush and dropped it before turning to face Frank. “Say what?” he asked, his voice coming out a bit weak and breathy. He wasn't sure he had correctly understood what Frank had just said.

“For my arm?” Frank suggested, and when Gerard didn't immediately react, just stared in dawning comprehension, he pushed up the sleeve of his shirt - revealing a fist-sized hole just underneath his armpit in the process - and tapped his fingers on his left upper arm. His skin was tanned all over, not like Gerard's deathly pale complexion. “I was thinking here. Like a monster, or something.”

Wow. Nobody had ever asked Gerard to draw anything for them, except of course Mikey. And certainly nobody had ever wanted Gerard's art on their body. Permanently. Etched in with... ow, fuck, needles. Forever.

“Dude, say something. You're kind of scaring me here,” Frank said, when Gerard still hadn't brought out a single word.

Gerard took a deep breath and blinked. His art. On somebody's body. On Frank's body. “- I - Any ideas for the design?” he croaked out, his mouth dry. He licked his lips, trying to get used to the idea. Was he really contemplating this?

Something like relief washed over Frank's face and he dropped his fingers from his arm, his shirt sleeve falling back into place. “Some,” Frank said, quirking his lips. “Dude, I'm so glad you're not put off by the idea.”

Gerard blushed and hastily turned away, picking up the discarded toothbrush and walking over to the workbench, where he stowed it away in one of the plastic boxes that held soft rags and cleaning tissues.

Frank followed him and stopped behind his back. “We should get together sometime and talk about it,” he suggested, and Gerard was physically aware of how close he was standing.

“Yeah,” he breathed, then stepped aside and around Frank. “Not now, though,” he added, picking up the first reel from the film for the 5 p.m. showing and walked over to the projector. Frank followed him again - like a puppy, Gerard thought, with pretty, begging puppy dog eyes - watching with interest as Gerard fitted the feed reel, then pulled down the film strip and started to thread it through the projector.

“Wow. That was awfully quick,” Frank said, once Gerard had looped the strip on the take up reel.

Gerard decided not to comment, but started to prepare the second projector, Frank still hovering in the background.

“Do you mind if I stay during the showing? I want to know what it looks like from up here,” Frank asked.

Gerard looked over his shoulder at Frank and he heard himself say, “Sure. Although it’s not very exciting - you can only watch the movie through this small shutter here,” even before his brain kicked in. Fuck.

“Awesome,” Frank breathed gleefully, bouncing a bit up and down in place.

*-*

After that, it started to become a regular thing. Maybe more than just regular. A daily thing. In-between selling tickets, Frank would come and visit Gerard in his booth, always bringing coffee, and they would talk about a million different things - often about movies or comics, because Frank liked those, too. It was scary how much they actually had in common and Gerard sometimes found Frank finishing Gerard’s sentences or him saying something Gerard had just been thinking about. Frank would shoot the shit about the movies they screened, and Gerard had to admit that it was fun having him around. Amazingly enough, sometime between Hank's death and now, Gerard had stopped finding Frank so ... exhausting. Annoying. Distracting. He didn't even know.

If they weren’t crammed in-between the projectors, watching the screen through the small windows, they sat in the back on the leather clad bench, talking.

It was Wednesday night, and Hank's screening plan which they had been following diligently prescribed another screening of “The Bostonians”.

Frank, who actually had a day off - if they still followed the duty roster -, was sitting on the bench, leafing through the Batman Special #1.

He heaved a sudden sigh, tossing the comic on the workbench behind him. “Bostonians. Again,” he said, sounding resigned.

Gerard, who was cleaning the rewinding machine with a soft rag, looked up and couldn't help but grin at the expression on Frank's face. “It's not like you have to be here.”

Frank shrugged his shoulders, then slid off the bench. “I really don't give a fuck about Victorian dramas. Not even ones with lesbians.”

Gerard finished wiping down the machine and pushed the rag into the back of his jeans pockets. “And I thought you were in it for the lesbians.”

“They don't even do anything!” Frank protested. “They just stare meaningfully at each other and there's some half-assed cuddling. It's sexually frustrating just watching them!”

Gerard snorted and watched as Frank dramatically slumped back against the projector's lamphouse with a sigh. “Seriously, G,” he whined, looking at Gerard pleadingly from under his lashes, “I can't watch this fucking movie again!”

When Gerard didn't immediately answer, Frank pushed himself off and walked over to where Gerard was still standing next to the film rewinder. He stopped in front of Gerard and gripped his arms, his fingers pressing, shaking him. “Come on! It's Wednesday afternoon! You know how it is on Wednesday!”

There was a slightly insane quality to the mischievous glint in Frank's eyes, something that Gerard already recognized as a predecessor to one of Frank's crazy ideas, which he seemed to have in abundance, whether it meant he was going to exchange the sugar in the shakers for salt or TP the car of a jock who had complained loudly about the state of the theater when he had paid his ticket.

“G!” Frank said, and yes, he was energized with whatever idiotic plan had hatched in his head, “on Wednesdays, there's only ever old Mrs. Hemsmith, who's blind as a fucking bat and pretty deaf, too.”

Gerard had an inkling of an idea where this would be going, but Frank was still exuberant with excitement. “And who fucking cares about the teenagers in the back playing tonsil hockey? They wouldn't know what fucking movie we played - they just want to get off! Can't we just put something else on? Something worth watching. Like... a horror movie?”

For a moment, Gerard wanted to protest, push away Frank's insane idea. Then again - it wasn't so insane. Maybe it was even more insane still following Hank's schedule, even though Hank wasn't around anymore to enforce and appreciate it.

“I finished repairing the 1954 Godzilla movie Hank wanted done...” Gerard heard himself say.

“Oh fuck, that would be fucking awesome!” Frank crowed, finally letting go of Gerard's arms. He would have fucking bruises, Frank had been gripping him so hard.

“Go get it! What are you waiting for!” Frank urged him now, grin as wide as his face.

Yeah. Yeah. This could be fun. They could watch the original Gojira on the big screen. Frank's enthusiasm was damn infectious, and there was just something about his face right now that Gerard couldn't say no to. He was pretty sure it would physically harm him to deny Frank anything, not when he was so animated, so excited.

“Only if you help me carry the cans, you fucker,” Gerard said, and Frank bounced with a whoop of joy, throwing his arms around his neck and hanging on, knocking Gerard back. They stumbled a couple of steps until they both found their footing, and Frank pulled back, his face flushed, eyes shining. There was something in the way Frank was looking at him that made Gerard embarrassed, like maybe Frank really liked him, as if he were fond of him in some way. He cleared his throat and stepped away, Frank's arms sliding from around his neck.

“Alright. Let's do this then.”

*-*

They found the Godzilla film cans immediately, after all Gerard had just put them back into storage two days ago, neatly stacking the 6 reels in 2 piles. He had also relabeled the cans before stowing them away, following Hank’s labeling scheme. If the man’s office had been that organized, some things maybe would have worked differently around here.

“Wow,” Frank said, taking a look around the room, eyes traveling over the shelves full of film cans. “I didn't know Hank had an archive.”

Gerard nodded and lifted the topmost can of Gojira from the shelf, putting it in Frank's arms. “A pretty good one, too. There are two more rooms through that door, by the way. I mean, Hank certainly wasn't the best cinema manager and he really didn't spend lots of money on new projectors, because he claimed that the old ones did their job just as well, but he loved film. And he knew a lot about it.”

Frank bent his knees and put the Gojira can on the floor, then walked up the aisle between the rows of shelves, occasionally glancing at the labeling of a can. “How come there's so much of it? Aren't you supposed to send the copies back to the distributors? Isn’t this shit illegal?”

“Technically yes,” Gerard huffed, taking down another can. “But some of this material is pretty old - sometimes, distributors just told the cinemas to destroy the copies - and some obviously didn't. Hank’s father sure as hell didn’t.”

Gerard took a break and leaned against the shelf, wiping a hand over his sweaty forehead before continuing to explain. “As far as I know Hank has acquired some kind of film archive license in the 60s - he has contacts at the university. There’s a reason everything is so tidy down here, Bob told me there are all kind of requirements. We’re supposed to screen a certain amount of those old movies from time to time. We’re also allowed to take film donations from studios and copyright holders.”

“Does that actually happen? Do they send a copy for us to keep?” Frank asked doubtfully.

Gerard nodded. “Yeah, actually, that happens more and more. They are just distributing copies - if one archive goes up in flames, you can find a copy somewhere else. And if we screen it, they still get the money. We gotta fill out some paperwork and register the showing, pay a copyright fee or something.” He made a face. “… Whatever.”

“Hmmm. Sounds pretty complicated,” Frank said, returning to were Gerard was lifting down the last can. “It's cold in here,” he observed, rubbing his bare arms, where goose bumps had broken out.

“Yeah, we're in the cellar.”

“No, duh,” Frank replied, rolling his eyes.

Gerard smirked. “Should be just under 50 degrees. It's the temperature film likes best. It doesn't degenerate that easily. Seriously, Hank was pretty proud of his archive and he cared a lot about it - made sure it never got damp down here, either. There are films from 4 or 5 decades stored here.”

“I wouldn't have expected that,” Frank said, then smiled. “You crazy film nuts,” he said fondly.

“Shut up.”

Cackling, Frank helped Gerard with the cans - they could just lift two each -, and they made their way up the stairs.

In the lounge, on their way to the back staircase, they ran into Mikey, who raised both eyebrows when he saw them coming.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, looking from Gerard to Frank and back, then down at the film cans in their arms.

“Godzilla!” Frank said happily, “we're gonna screen Godzilla!”

Mikey's nose twitched and he lifted his hand to push his glasses back up his nose. “I just sold four tickets for Bostonians.”

“Mrs. Hemsmith?” Frank asked knowingly, and snorted when Mikey nodded.

“We're still gonna screen Godzilla. It's not like anyone will care,” Frank explained, then readjusted his grip on the cans.

“Are you sure?” Mikey asked, his eyes resting on Gerard, gaze a bit reproachful, as if he dared him to go along with what was obviously Frank's idiotic plan.

“Fucking sure! Go help us get the other reels, fuckface!” Frank answered instead of Gerard.

“I dunno.” Mikey sounded hesitant, eyes still on Gerard, as if he wanted him to protest. Gerard decided to keep silent.

“What's goin' on, guys?” Ray said, stepping out of Hank's office. He looked curiously at the film cans in their arms.

“We're going to screen Gojira, from 1954,” Gerard said, and Frank nodded frantically, still all keyed up despite Mikey’s protest.

“Seriously?” Ray asked, but he seemed to like the idea, because his voice held a note of delight.

“Mikey sold only 4 tickets for Bostonians,” Gerard explained.

“4 fucking people, you guys. 4! If one of them complains about us showing Godzilla, I will personally pay them back AND invite them for popcorn on my pay,” Frank said, and Gerard was pretty sure that Frank would do just that.

“I saw Mr. Winter paying for a ticket. He always falls asleep, the old drunk.” Ray looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know what? I love it. Let's watch Godzilla!”

“Mikey Fucking Way: Overruled!” Frank crowed, sticking out his tongue at Mikey and blowing him a raspberry.

*-*

“Mikey always knows the most interesting people. I really don't get how he does it. I mean, Gerard, are you sure he's not adopted?” Ray asked teasingly, looking from where Mikey was sitting at the bar in a discussion with two pretty girls, to Gerard.

Gerard gave him the finger and Ray tossed his head back and laughed. “It's true, though. He throws the best parties. And he knows absolutely everyone.”

“That's because he got all the social skills in the family. There's only a certain amount of social skills distributed among siblings. Looks like Mikey got all of it,” Bob said, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Lay it the fuck off,” Gerard growled, and both Ray and Bob snickered at the stormy look on his face.

Bob nodded his head at where Mikey was sitting. “You'd think he's gonna score?”

“Bryar! That's my baby brother you're fucking talking about. Jeez.”

Ray clapped a hand on Gerard's shoulder, pressing briefly. “You have to admit, Alicia's really the type of girl you wish your brother could score. Hot, but not a skank, clever, but not boring, just the right amount of geeky.”

Gerard sighed, but had to admit Ray was right. He reached for his can of beer and took a swig. He wasn't drinking fast enough, the beer was already lukewarm.

For a spontaneous party, this was pretty good, though. It had been Mikey's idea. He had actually wanted to go to a party at someone’s house after work, but the parents that should have been out hadn't left for their weekend break. Mikey had solved the problem instantly, inviting the party guests over to the cinema. It certainly helped in raising his rather low social standing in the Belleville party scene.

“Man,” Bob said, glancing over the top of his beer can at two kids practically tearing at each other's clothes behind the food counter, “I hope they are older than they look. I hate being the only grown up around.”

“You call 20 grown up?” Ray asked, waggling his eyebrows. “You aren't even legally allowed to buy beer.”

Snorting, Gerard glanced over at the kissing couple as well, his eyes sliding over a table near the exit, where Frank and Lindsey were both sitting cross-legged on the table top, facing each other. Frank’s scraped knees poked out from the holes in his jeans - Gerard wondered how he had even bruised them. They were laughing. Lindsey had a bag of popcorn in her lap, and occasionally reached inside, carelessly aiming for Frank, who was twisting around, trying to catch the popcorn with his mouth. He leaned back so far that he nearly toppled off the table. Lindsey's high-pitched giggle could be heard even over the loud music coming from the speakers.

Gerard couldn't help but stare, something twisting in his stomach. He wanted to be over there, tossing popcorn at Frank and laughing so easily. Frank hadn't really talked to him at all today, except for a quick “hello” when he had come in earlier - it was his day off, but Mikey had called him and told him to come over for the party. That “hello” had been addressing the room at large, so it didn't even count as talking.

With narrowed eyes, Gerard watched as Lindsey tried to place a piece of popcorn on Frank's upturned nose, before giving up and just mashing a whole hand of popcorn in his face, making him splutter and curse.

“Gerard, are you listening?” Ray asked, jostling his shoulder.

“-what?” He turned, suppressing the blush at being caught staring. Ray was glancing at him, a strange look on his face.

“I said, will you screen more movies from Hank's archives? I really loved watching the horror movie that last time.”

Across the table, Bob, who as the meanwhile cinema manager should have had protested the hijacking of Bostonians in favor of a 1954 horror trash classic, nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, me too. Really, Hank has tons of cool stuff down there in the cellar.”

“Man, think of all those movies down there. As if they are sleeping, Cinderella waiting to be wakened from her cursed slumber or something.” Ray sighed, putting his chin in his hands, his eyes getting that glazed over look Gerard recognized as Ray drifting off into daydreaming.

“I dunno. Do you think we should screen some more movies from the archives?” Gerard said around another swig from his beer can. The can was almost empty by now and he glanced at the remaining liquid sloshing around in the can through the little hole, before raising it to his lips and draining it. He shot a glance at Bob, who after all was the only real employee around here.

Bob took a last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on their table. He blew out a long line of smoke, taking his time, before answering.

“Why not?” he finally said. “It actually looks good on our yearly evaluation - the more movies we screen from the archives, the better. So, green light from me. Also, it's not like we're doing something that Hank would frown upon - he thought about it himself.”

Gerard nodded, remembering the conversation in which Hank had revealed his plans about digging out more original movies. “True. He said something to me about how he was contemplating showing more of what we have in the archive. How it kind of sets us apart from the multiplexes.”

“Think about that: Every night, horror movie night,” Ray said dreamily.

“Dawn of the Dead. Rosemary's Baby. The Mummy. The Curse of Frankenstein. The Cabinet of Caligari,” Gerard suggested.

He looked up and saw Bob grinning. “We should do that,” he said. “Have themed evenings. Show some of those movies. We could combine them with movies that have been coming out lately.”

“So, you're good with us doing this then?” Ray asked Bob, then punched the air happily when Bob nodded.

“Yes! I will -” Ray started, but then interrupted himself with a hoarse cry of triumph. “Holy fucking shit! He scores!” he yelled, almost jumping up from his seat, pointing with his finger towards the counter, where Mikey and Alicia were suddenly sucking face.

“Go, MikeyWay!” Ray hollered, and Bob whistled, both of which didn't disturb Mikey and Alicia at all; they were too caught up in each other.

Gerard averted his eyes (because, ewww!), his gaze landing once more on Frank and Lindsey. Lindsey was sitting close next to Frank, sewing a Black Flag patch onto the front pocket of his jeans jacket. They were still talking quietly and seemed to not have any need to involve someone else in their conversation.

Great, Gerard thought bitterly. Everybody seemed to find a girl, except him. The trouble was - he guessed he was a bit picky when it came to girls. There were rarely any he really liked, and the ones he liked, he didn't want to get with. He probably could have had Lindsey. Come on, it was Lindsey. They had been friends for 2 years. She was fucking pretty, too. But it was, after all, Lindsey.

At 17, he had never been in a relationship, and had ever only kissed two girls. It hadn't been that great either. His first kiss had happened when he was 14, fucking ages ago, in the cupboard at Lisa Rutrow's birthday party. The girl had been Suzie Swan, and they had been shoved into Lisa's older brother's cupboard for 7 minutes in Heaven. It had fucking reeked, like the inside of a gym locker, dirty clothes and cheap aftershave. They had sat there for all of five minutes in silence, before Suzie had leaned over and pecked him on the lips. It was a bit wet and confusing and certainly not how Gerard had wanted his first kiss to go. He had been fucking terrified.

His second kiss had been 4 months ago, another party, drunk off his ass. The girl in question whose name he couldn't remember had been equally drunk and they had made out in the corner for a while. She had been all over him, shoving her tongue into his mouth, pushing against his teeth and the roof of his mouth. He had been distracted by the smell of her flowery perfume and the clanging of the metal bangles on her arms. He couldn't even remember if she had been pretty. He couldn't remember feeling anything but indifference. Certainly not the fireworks other guys talked about. He hadn't even been really hard. Maybe that had been the alcohol, though.

Gerard stubbed out his cigarette, watching darkly as Frank leaned forward after Lindsey had finished, pressing a kiss to her cheek. They both giggled, Lindsey ducking her head, and then Frank fingered the front of his jacket, admiring her handiwork.

“I gotta get some fresh air,” Gerard said, feeling disgusted. He pushed himself up from the bench, not glancing back at Bob and Ray who he so hastily left behind. He just needed to get out.

*-*

The roof was fucking perfect after the smoke-filled lounge. Gerard sometimes came up here in-between reels to smoke a cigarette. Hardly anyone else ever did, so he had his solitude. He could see well enough in the darkness, the light of the moon and from the streetlamp across the street were plenty to find his way. He sat down with his back to the surrounding brick wall, listening to the sound from the street below. It was after midnight; not many cars were passing.

Sometimes he wished he could be more like Mikey. Things seemed to come to Mikey much more easily than they did to Gerard.

He had had two beers tonight, not enough to get him drunk, not even enough to really get a buzz going. He supposed he could have taken another can of beer upstairs with him, but drinking all by himself didn't seem particularly exciting. He didn't even know what his problem was. Both Frank and Lindsey were his friends; they deserved to be happy and in love. Just maybe not where Gerard could see them.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, looking up, gazing at the star filled sky. It was a clear night and still relatively warm, even thought it was the end of September. Gerard wondered what would happen when Brian showed up. He couldn't imagine not working at the Belleville Film Palace. What the hell had he ever done with his spare time before he had started working here? He couldn't remember. Maybe it was this that made him feel so discontent.

He dropped his gaze when he heard the heavy door at the top of the staircase open and fall shut again. In the dim light he could just make out a small shadow against the reflecting metal of the door. It was Frank.

“Hey,” he called and waved, then made his way quickly over to Gerard, dropping unasked on the floor next to him, so close their shoulders and hips were touching.

“I wanted to come over and show you that Black Flag patch Lyn-Z sewed on my jacket, but you were gone! Ray said you might have gone up here,” Frank explained himself, pulling a bit at his jacket and leaning even closer so Gerard could take a look, a tuft of his hair brushing against Gerard's chin. He smelled nice, sweet like shampoo and a bit spicy, like fresh sweat.

Gerard cleared his throat. “Great handiwork,” he admitted grudgingly. He felt resentment. Frank had all but ignored him all evening long. Why had he followed him now when Gerard wanted to be alone? Fuck, always with the intrusion - fucking Frank had a fucking sixth sense for it.

“You don't seem to be in the best of moods,” Frank observed cautiously, gently bumping Gerard's shoulder.

“No.”

“I got something that might totally cheer you up,” Frank said happily, then moved around some more, searching through his pockets, his elbow hitting Gerard's side twice more. Gerard resisted the impulse to move away and instead waited for Frank to settle again.

“Tada!” Frank announced, turning sideways, so that his naked, bruised knee was resting over Gerard's thigh, his hand held in front of Gerard's face, palm up. There, in the middle of his palm lay a tiny, evenly rolled joint. “I saved it especially to smoke with you.”

Gerard raised his eyebrows, trying to make out the expression on Frank's face in the dim light - half of his face was in shadows. “Where did you get it?” he finally asked, picking the joint out of Frank's hand and twisting it between his fingers, examining it.

“My cousin got the weed from Joey.”

“Joey Bongiovi?” Gerard asked, whistling. If there was one guy you could trust with weed, it was Joey.

“That one. Knew he has a brother who's in a hard rock band? They are starting out right now. Guys from New Jersey. Fuck,” Frank said, then took the joint back.

“Guys from New Jersey never make it.”

Frank shrugged, already getting a lighter out of the front pocket of his jacket. “Don't know if they're any good, to be honest. Never heard them. Hair metal - ugh. You wanna?” he asked, waving the joint in Gerard's face.

“Yeah.” Gerard felt a bit confused. It had seemed to go well between Frank and Lindsey, so why was Frank here, showing him his patch and sharing his weed with him?

Frank lifted the joint to his lips and lit it, taking a deep hit, before slowly releasing the smoke, a moan accompanying it. “Good shit,” he said hoarsely, and grinned, offering the roach to Gerard, who took it carefully to make sure he didn’t drop it. With a sigh, Gerard took a hit himself. The smoke was sharp and sweet on his tongue, and he held it as long as he could, his eyes dropping shut.

When he opened them again, Frank was grinning at him. “Good?” he asked, taking the joint from Gerard's hands again.

Gerard nodded, exhaling the smoke slowly through his nose.

“You look like a dragon with steam coming from your nostrils,” Frank giggled, then inhaled once more, before passing the joint over. Gerard looked sideways, snorting a bit at the way Frank's body seemed to have relaxed over the last minute. Every muscle in his body seemed loose, his eyes were drooping, the corners of his mouth tucked upwards.

“You look nice,” he heard himself say. “Nice and relaxed.”

Frank cackled. “Are you already toasted?” he asked.

Gerard shook his head, taking another hit. At least he thought he wasn't, but then he had had beer before.

“The guys said they wanted more horror movie screenings. Bob is in on it. Guess it's finally goodbye, Bostonians,” Gerard said.

“Goodbye, Bostonians,” Frank echoed, and they both giggled even though it wasn't funny. Frank's laugh, usually very stoner-like when he was sober, was even funnier and even more infectious when he was a bit baked.

They passed the joint between them, occasionally looking at each other and laughing. Frank, Gerard thought, had a funny little nose. And there was a tiny pock mark on his forehead. He also had the most ridiculous perfectly shaped eyebrows. For a guy. He wondered if he trimmed them. The thought made him giggle some more.

Frank held the roach up in front of Gerard's face. “There's just one hit left,” he said. “You wanna shotgun?”

“I-” Gerard started, not really comprehending what Frank was suggesting. Before he could wrap his fuzzy brain around Frank's question, Frank was sucking on the joint again and leaned in, pressing his mouth on Gerard's, hard. For a moment, Gerard was shocked into complete stillness, then there was something pressing against his lips - holy shit, Frank's tongue - forcing them open. Smoke flooded Gerard's mouth and he sucked it in because he had no other chance and it hit him so hard that he felt like fainting. His hands flailed and he reached for the first thing he could, which were Frank's arms, his fingers finding purchase in Frank's denim jacket.

The smoke released slowly through his nostrils and the corner of his mouth, Frank's lips still hovering over his. Frank pulled back all of a sudden, and Gerard sucked in a harsh breath.

He wanted to say “-the fuck!” or “What they hell do you think you're doing”, but he was robbed of any coherent thought. Frank was still close, so close his panting breath hit Gerard's face. His eyes were huge, his lips looked fucking soft. Had they really just… kissed?

“- you -” Gerard finally croaked out, but at that moment Frank surged forward again, launching himself at him and knocking him over sideways, following him down and in the process pressing all the air from his lungs, attacking his mouth.

Gerard sucked in another startled breath, and Frank pushed forward, teeth closing on his bottom lip. From somewhere inside him, a moan Gerard didn't know he had in him wrenched itself from his lips. His mouth fell open, and Frank immediately took advantage, kissing him more deeply. Kissing. Frank was kissing him.

If somebody had told him that this would happen, Gerard would have freaked out. As it was, in this moment, stoned and taken by surprise, Gerard could only do one thing - kiss back. Later, he would tell himself it was the most logical course of action. But fuck, Frank apparently knew what the hell he was doing, contrary to Gerard or either of the two girls he had ever kissed, because the way he used his mouth and his teeth and his tongue made pleasure course all through Gerard's body. His tongue was lazily rubbing against Gerard's, nothing hesitant, nothing hasty about it, and it made Gerard's fucking toes curl.

“Fuck,” Frank breathed, drawing back. “Fuck.” His eyes looked blown, his chest rising fast as he sucked in air forcefully.

Gerard could have pushed him away then, but he didn't. He didn't, because he couldn't think past how he just wanted to kiss Frank again, to bite at his swollen lips and lick into his warm mouth. He lifted his hands from Frank's arms, threading the fingers of his right hand through the short hair at the back of Frank's neck, tugging forcefully, until Frank sank down again. With a groan, Gerard pushed their mouths back together, sucking Frank's bottom lip into his mouth. He felt Frank shudder against him, hips pressing down, searching for friction.

Frank struggled for a moment, pulling back again, and reluctantly, Gerard let him up. “Wait, wait,” Frank murmured, then shrugged off his jacket, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. He dove back down, hands sliding under Gerard's ridden up shirt, pushing it up, up, up until it pooled against his neck. The cool night air hit Gerard's naked skin, tightening his nipples.

“Oh, fuck,” Frank groaned and smashed his face down against Gerard's chest, rubbing his cheek and mouth against Gerard's side and over his belly, as if he was scratching an itch. “You smell good,” he moaned, then licked a path up along Gerard's sternum towards his nipple.

Gerard wanted to laugh - because hadn't they established that he smelled somewhat rank? - but the sound coming over his lips was another helpless groan. Everything was happening so fast, fuck. When Frank's mouth closed around his nipple, biting down, Gerard's foot kicked in reflex, and he arched his back, fingers once more searching for purchase somewhere on Frank's body. He managed to dig them into the waistband of Frank's jeans and he hauled him up, bringing their faces back together.

They kissed again, Frank's body sliding against him, their hips undulating, and Gerard suddenly noticed that he was rock hard, throbbing, and Frank wasn't any better, the hard line of his cock pressing through his pants against Gerard's hip. The thrill it gave him was equally one of terror and excitement. Gerard moved his hands down over Frank’s back, then pulled him closer, trying to get more friction. He sucked on Frank's lower lip, worrying it with his teeth, before deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping past Frank's lips, licking at the soft inside of Frank's warm mouth.

“Dude, your fucking belt buckle is digging into my dick,” Frank whined against his lips, and then Frank's hands were suddenly down at his middle, pulling at his belt, getting it open faster than Gerard would have thought possible. He wanted to protest, but Frank just ripped the front of his jeans open, the buttons sliding through the worn and loose holes with one tug, and it was just such a relief, the pressure taken from his cock. He forgot that he had skipped on the underwear this morning in his haste to get to school until the cool night air hit his dick.

Frank was breathing harshly above him, mouth open, looking stunned as he stared down at him. All of a sudden, he was galvanized into motion, dropping his hands to the fastenings of his own jeans to fumble with his zipper. He pushed them down over his thighs with his underwear so quickly that Gerard couldn't even utter a word of protest. Fuck. Gerard couldn't comprehend how fifteen minutes ago, he had been moping about how everyone got some except for him, and now he was staring at Frank's naked dick. Not to mention the other way around. “Fuck,” he said, then howled in surprise when Frank pressed himself against him once more, naked, hot skin sliding over his hip and belly.

Gerard dipped his head back, eyes open and looking up at the night sky, Frank's wet breath puffing against his neck where he had pressed his face into his hair. He couldn't understand how this was happening. He was panting so hard, it bordered on hyperventilating.

Frank was pushing down with his hips now, and Gerard's body picked up the rhythm unconsciously, shoving back. He couldn’t think. His brain wasn’t working. His body had taken over. His eyes fell shut and he lifted his arms, hands falling onto Frank's hips, holding on. Against him, Frank felt warm and so good.

It seemed only seconds later that the pleasure in his body mounted, concentrating in a white-hot flash in his middle, his toes curling, legs jerking, fingers digging hard into Frank's hips and holding him in place.

“Oh God, G,” Frank moaned against his ear, before pulling back, and propping himself up on his hands. “That's fucking hot.”

His eyes were shining, and Gerard could only watch in fascination as they fluttered shut again, Frank's upper body arching, as he pressed his dick down, sliding through the slick on Gerard's belly. Frank's teeth came down on his bottom lip and he bit down hard, his eyebrows knit tightly together as he shook, making small ah-ah sounds. It took him only 2 more strokes against Gerard's belly to come, spilling messily on Gerard's chest with a long-drawn moan, mouth parted. He held himself up for one more moment, before collapsing down on Gerard, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, eyes closed.

... there was come on his chin. It was the first thing Gerard realized when he came down again. There was fucking come on his chin. How the hell had that happened? How the hell had this whole thing happened? When he came here up on the roof, he certainly hadn't had any intention of finding himself sprawled on the cracked cement floor, half-naked and come-smeared, and certainly not with Frank lying on top of him. The whole thing had taken maybe 5 embarrassingly short minutes. What the hell? What the fucking hell?

Gerard pushed himself up so fast he was feeling dizzy, dislodging Frank in the process, his hand coming up to wipe at the underside of his chin.

“Gerard?” Frank asked carefully.

“Jesus,” Gerard forced out, wincing when his shirt fell back down his chest, sticking to the mess they had made. He grimaced, his clean hand reaching up to thread through his bangs, pushing them back. “Motherfucking fuck.”

“Uhm,” Frank said, blinking slowly, obviously taken aback by the look on Gerard's face, then sat back down on his knees. This was weird, he was still naked, and Gerard looked over his shoulder, because he sure as hell didn't want to see Frank's spent dick.

“What ... Why...” Gerard started, but then didn't know what to say. He reached for his pants with shaky fingers instead, still avoiding glancing in Frank's direction, threading the buttons closed as fast as he could. Once finished, he jumped to his feet, busying himself with fastening his belt buckle. Next to him, Frank had gotten up as well, yanking his jeans back up.

“I don't do that,” he finally said, hearing the terror in his own voice. He was practically hiccupping, he sounded so terrified. Jesus. Jesus. Fuck. Calm down. Calm down, Gerard.

He dropped his shaking hands from his belt buckle, daring to look at Frank, who was glancing back at him, his flushed face taking on a worried expression.

“I don't do that,” Gerard repeated, hating that his voice still wobbled.

“You...” Frank cleared his throat, “uhm... you just did.” He sounded pretty meek, certainly not a tone Gerard had ever before heard from Frank. Confident, cocky, insane, yes, all qualities Gerard attributed to Frank. Meek wasn't one of them.

He had to get out of here. He wanted to go home, take a shower, burn that fucking ruined shirt. He felt fucking confused.

“I gotta go,” he said hastily with one last look at Frank's worried face, then headed for the door at the other side of the roof. He expected Frank to follow him, but he didn't.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything!” Frank called after him.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

What the hell had he been thinking?

*-*

>>3