24 Frames Per Second - The Belleville Fright Night Experiment - 6

[lea_ndra]

6.

Gerard carefully let the last of the film strip go through the rewinder, before dismounting the reel and carefully placing it back in the can. He couldn't help but feel sorry about how this was probably the last film he would work on for quite some time. Certainly the last time in Hank's workroom. Sighing, he closed the film can, then started to stow away the equipment - splicer, cotton swabs, scissors, A-D strips, tape, - putting it back in the labeled boxes. He took a last look around the small, tidy room and killed the light.

In Hank's office, Bob was sitting behind the desk, sorting through some papers. He looked up when Gerard stepped into the room and smiled reluctantly.

“Hey, Gerard,” he greeted him. He was looking a bit tired, the last weeks of hard work finally catching up with him. And nobody had worked as hard as Bob. Gerard couldn’t remember a day when Bob hadn’t been in here long before everyone else and every Friday, like clockwork, Bob had presented them with a screening schedule for the week ahead. On top of his regular work and all the repair work he did on movies, he had had to fill in for Hank as well, making calls to distributors and copyright holders, paying bills, arranging for films that were about to be collected, taking over food deliveries and organizing for the cleaning company to come in three times a week.

“It's good that you're here,” Bob continued, pushing himself up from Hank’s creaky leather chair. “I found something I oughta give you.”

Curiously, Gerard watched him rummage around on his desk, until he had apparently found what he was looking for.

“Here,” Bob finally said, pushing a colorful brochure into Gerard's free hand.

“What is it?” Gerard asked automatically, staring down at the brochure and the post-it stuck on it. The post-it note had a name and telephone number written on it in Hank's old-fashioned and barely legible handwriting.

“I don't think Hank ever had the chance to talk to you about it, but I'm sure he wanted you to have Professor Benson's contact,” Bob said, pointing at the papers Gerard was holding.

Gerard shook his head, confused. “Who's Professor Benson?” he asked. He had never before in his life heard the name.

“Benson used to consult Hank - they are old friends. I talked to him at the funeral. He's a professor at TISCH,” Bob explained. “He teaches classes on film preservation. Hank thought you should give him a call. Apply for school there. I found this folder in a pile on Hank's desk when I was going through it earlier and I remembered that he mentioned it to me a while ago. He asked my opinion. I said I thought this might be right up your alley.”

Gerard opened the folder, skimming over its contents briefly. “Cinema studies?” he finally asked, looking up at Bob, who nodded.

“Yeah, but not only theory; they have practical courses on film preservation, film storage, museum studies, all that shit. They work together with several archives and you have the possibility to intern in some fields.”

Gerard stared down at the brochure in his hands. “Thank you,” he said, stunned. His throat was closing up; he didn’t know what to say. That Hank had given so much thought to Gerard’s future floored him.

When he finally looked up, tearing his eyes away, Bob had retreated behind his desk, his hands resting on the cracked wooden surface as if he was still making up his mind whether to keep standing or sit down again.

“What about you?” Gerard asked. “What will you do?”

Bob shrugged. “College is not for me,” he admitted. “I guess I'm just gonna find another job as a projectionist in the area.” He grimaced. “Even if that means working in a soulless multiplex running from one platter to the next.”

“I hope you find something more interesting than that,” Gerard offered, but Bob just shrugged again. “One thing or another will work out,” he said, sounding nonchalant. Gerard didn't really buy the indifference Bob displayed, but he didn't want to call him on it. If Bob wanted him to think he didn't care, Gerard wasn't going to make him uncomfortable by indicating that he knew it wasn't so.

Bob seemed to sense Gerard's skepticism about his words and changed the subject, pointedly looking at the can Gerard was carrying. “Is this the rest of the Peanut movie?”

When Gerard nodded, Bob pointed at the desk. “Leave it here - I'll take it back into storage later.”

Gerard deposited the can carefully on the edge of Hank's desk. “Thanks for giving me the brochure and Professor Benson's number.”

“It's really no problem,” Bob said, sitting down again. “I have to admit, I would have totally forgotten about it if I hadn't found it earlier by accident. You should definitely give Benson a call. I'm pretty sure Hank already talked to him about you.”

“Hank talked to Benson about me?!” Gerard asked, feeling totally thrown for a moment.

Bob smirked. “Gerard,” he said, “Hank really thought highly of you. He wouldn't have given you film preservation work otherwise. You really think he's been handing over precious films to just anyone, especially a 17-year-old? Fuck, but you're an idiot.”

He laughed, and Gerard's face burnt with both confusion and pride. He felt overwhelmed. Wow. Just wow.

“Anyway,” Bob said, his hilarity ebbing away slowly, his eyes still amused, “call him.”

“I will,” Gerard promised. He excused himself then, having to take a deep breath and sit down somewhere, leaving Bob alone to sort through the rest of the papers he had been going through.

He stepped out into the lounge and dropped into the first booth, kind of exhausted. The brochure in his jeans pocket dug painfully into his hip. He took out his pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his leather jacket - it really was starting to disintegrate in some places, because the pocket had a hole that was almost big enough for the cigarettes to drop through - and lit a cigarette, while looking around the room.

In a booth across the lounge, Brian was sitting bent over a colorful array of folders that held their accounting information. Occasionally, he typed something into a huge calculator, before making a face and burying in the accounts again.

Gerard slid deeper into the red leather booth, blowing the smoke slowly up towards the ceiling. He fantasized about what school could be like, the kind of school Bob had described, where you learnt all kinds of cool stuff about movies. He could drive to New York every day or live on campus, and he imagined sitting in a large auditorium with other students, listening to something he was really interested in. There would be a library and a huge film archive, and he could watch all the movies he wanted. He thought about all the different kinds of equipment he could learn to work with, from ancient projectors to state-of-the-art. He would be taught the newest laboratory technology to preserve film. Maybe he could learn everything necessary to work for an archive. Or the Museum of the Moving Image. God, he would love to work for the Museum of the Moving Image.

He was ripped from his daydream by Lindsey, who flopped down in the booth across from him.

“Way,” she said, snatching his pack of cigarettes from the table and lighting one, “we gotta talk.”

This didn't bode well. He hated it when Lindsey wanted “to talk”. It usually meant she had something to discuss with him that he didn't want to talk about.

“I was just in such a good mood for the first time in what feels like weeks,” Gerard complained. “Why must you come and ruin it?”

“Because,” she said, blowing out a perfect row of smoke rings, making Gerard wonder where the hell she had learned that, “I'm your conscience.”

She ignored the way he rolled his eyes, and took another drag of her cigarette. “And as your conscience, I have to interfere to stop a ghastly crime on humanity.”

“You're being a bit overly dramatic, don't you think?”

She grinned and pulled her legs up, wrapping an arm around her knees. “I've spent over an hour today trying to talk Frank out of getting the most horrible tattoo anyone has ever designed. I'm allowed to be dramatic.”

“And this is my fault why?” Gerard asked, not attempting to hide the annoyance in his voice.

“Because I've told him to come to you and have you design something for him, so he won’t look like he’s done hard time or joined the Merchant Marine. And you know what?” She leaned forward, practically spitting the last words into his face. “He said he doesn't want to bother you.”

Gerard tried to keep his face neutral when he replied. “So what? Maybe he doesn't like my drawings?”

The look Lindsey gave him would have stopped his heart if she had had any magical powers.

“Please,” she snorted. “G, I know there's something fishy going on between you, but he's determined to go get his fucking tattoo on his 18th birthday, and we just can't let that happen. You should have seen the designs he brought. He didn't like a single one of them, but he's just a stubborn little bitch.”

She paused to take a drag from her cigarette, before letting her voice drop, only to say in an exaggerated imitation of Frank's most whiny tone, “But I've wanted one ever since I was fifteen.”

Gerard, who had been biting his lips hard through her little speech and reenactment, dropped his half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray. “Why should I care if he gets an awful tattoo?” he asked petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She gave him another hard look, her eyebrows raised as if she wanted to tell him, You figure it out.

“No! What?” Gerard spluttered at the implication, but Lindsay just smirked and slowly got up from the table.

“You're going to draw him something, GWay,” she said, making it sound like an order he couldn't refuse. “Left upper arm, here.” She indicated the area on her own arm, then patted his shoulder and left.

*-*

Gerard hadn't stopped thinking about what would happen to Hank's film collection. If Brian sold the building, the chance that anyone would reopen it as a movie theater seemed relatively small. Gerard thought that Mikey might not be too far off with the fear that the Belleville Film Palace might turn into a nightclub - the surrounding area had kind of gone downhill for the last couple of years.

He remembered how Hank had called the archive his “treasure” when he had first shown it to him. To Gerard, walking downstairs and seeing the stacks and stacks of cans in neat rows, each extensively labeled, had been one of the most interesting experiences of his life. Who would have thought that behind the shabby exterior the cellar of the Belleville Film Theater would hold such cultural wealth?

He was sure that most collections weren't as neatly organized as Hank's, whose labeling system was a complicated language of its own. Each can was marked with title, year (if known), approximate length, reel number and reel total, film material and a system that indicated the condition the movie was in. For all the chaos in Hank's office, you would have thought the collection had been organized by another person. You couldn't let it go to waste.

Gerard wasn't sure if Brian knew how important Hank's collection was, but he was determined to ensure that Brian did the right thing with it. He was convinced that the right thing would be to hand over the collection to an archive with better conservation and restoration equipment. Some of the cans held films from the early 40s and these especially had to be taken care of.

When he finally made up his mind to talk to Brian in private and went to Hank’s office to get his worries off his chest, he found that someone else had beaten him to the game.

“I'm really not sure you understand the potential you have at hand here,” Gerard heard Bob say, his voice coming loud and clear through the half-cracked door to the office.

“I've seen the books - just because you've had a couple of semi-good weeks doesn't mean it's going to pay off in the long term,” Brian answered.

They sounded so serious that Gerard stopped outside the door, hesitating to knock. He wasn't sure if he should interrupt them right now.

“Look,” Bob said and rustled with some papers, “if small movie theaters want to survive nowadays, they need another concept. We just can't keep up with the multiplexes. Maybe it's actually a good thing that we can't.”

Brian heaved a sigh and Bob hastened to add, “I truly believe that small movie theaters should specialize. This spontaneous idea - screening horror movies - look how it turned out? It was just a little thing born out of boredom, but it really hit a nerve. We have 40 years worth of horror and sci-fi in our collection, and there's a lot of new sci-fi and horror movies coming out every year. This could actually be a thing - there's an audience for these kind of movies and you can reach them easily. We kind of expand the experience, you know? The first and only Sci-Fi and Horror Movie Theater.”

“It really sounds nice on paper, Bob,” Brian said when Bob had finished rambling, “but you would actually have to update the equipment. Those new movies you're talking about, most of them already use THX.”

Gerard huffed a quiet sigh, his hand still extended towards the doorknob. He didn't want to interrupt, but he didn't want to leave either, so he stayed where he was, feeling a bit uncomfortable eavesdropping on what was obviously a very important conversation.

Bob was silent for a bit, rustling with more paper. “Eventually, yes,” he admitted, “but you know, your uncle was always reluctant about certain things. Take movie advertisement for example. We both know it was just because he was fucking stubborn. It's a wonder he made it this far and didn't have to close.”

“So movie advertisement and... sponsors?” Brian asked.

“You are a tour manager, you know how tours only work with sponsoring these days? Theaters have private sponsors, why not movie theaters?”

“You really thought a lot about this,” Brian admitted, sounding reluctantly impressed, leafing nosily through some papers.

Inside the room, it was silent for a while and Gerard waited with bated breath, still standing outside the door, hoping that no one would pass by right now, because it was so obvious he was listening in to a conversation he had no right to hear.

“This sounds really good, Bob,” Brian said after a while, “but you got to understand me, too - 9 years ago when my father died, I painfully detached myself from this place here. Hank wanted me as a junior partner to fill my father's shoes. I couldn't, I had my reasons. We had a huge fight and I left and I promised myself that I would never come back. - I can't betray myself. Can you understand that?”

“Yeah, but-”

“I appreciate how you've been giving this so much thought, but I can't -”

“Can't or won't?” Bob interrupted him, his tone sharp all of a sudden.

“Bob-”

“You won't even think about it! You have your preconceived notions about how you would be untrue to your younger self and-”

“I really think you're getting a bit emotional now!”

“I think it's you who's being emotional, still hanging on to your teenage rebellion!”

“This is business. I'm just being realistic!”

“You're being stubborn, just like Hank!”

Their voices had grown louder and louder and Gerard was still standing outside the door, wincing when he heard that the conversation was getting out of hand.

“This is pointless,” Brian’s voice boomed, “I don't wanna discuss it anymore. We're closing and I'm selling it.”

“Well, good fucking luck then finding someone who's going to take the place off your hands!” Bob growled, and then the door flew open, and Gerard jumped back, hastily getting out of Bob's way. Bob didn't even see him, he was so furious.

“Bob, listen-” Brian nearly ran into Gerard as he stepped out of the office, then stopped helplessly, looking after Bob who stormed off without turning around even once.

Brian heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his tussled hair, before turning to regard Gerard.

“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

Gerard swallowed reflexively and considered telling him he had just been walking by when Bob stormed out, but Brian was looking at him with narrowed eyes and he really, really would have felt bad lying.

“I actually came to talk to you about the film collection, but-”

Brian's jaw worked comically from left to right, and the look he gave Gerard shut him up.

“Everybody's an expert these days,” Brian said dryly, then pushed the door open, indicating Gerard to step into the office ahead of him. Behind them, Brian closed the door before flopping down in the soft, stained armchair, not offering Gerard a seat.

“Spill,” he said impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest and looking up at Gerard.

Nervously, Gerard looked around, wondering if he should sit down as well or just stay where he was, standing in the middle of the room.

“Uh - I was thinking, if you're going to sell the movie theater, you should consider giving the film collection to an archive that can take good care of it. There's amazing films down there, amazing, really!” Gerard said, gesturing with his hands for emphasis.

Brian just stared at him blankly, but didn't reply immediately, looking thoughtful.

“It should really go to someone who knows what to do with it. Maybe the A/V center of the Library of Congress? Just saying, if you sell the Belleville. Which, uhm, of course you shouldn't do - sell it, you know?”

“Have you been listening earlier when I talked to Bob?”

Gerard blushed, but didn't see any reason in denying his eavesdropping, so he nodded.

Brian snorted a laugh and ran another hand through his disheveled hair. “Dude, you kids, seriously.”

“I think Bob's idea is fucking great,” Gerard said, emboldened by Brian's amusement. When Brian didn't answer, just looked at him, he continued, “He has been working his fucking ass off ever since your uncle died. You know he did a fucking good job, don't you? You should give him a fucking chance.”

Brian sighed and dropped his head back against the backrest, looking up the ceiling. “I can't, Gerard. I have a fucking life out there. I love touring, I love my job. I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. I certainly won't trade it for this.” He made a gesture, encompassing the whole room. “I’d go nuts staying in one place after 9 years on the road.”

“Who said you had to stay? It was going pretty great without you around for the last couple of weeks. Just leave it to Bob.” The words came out of nowhere, a bit impertinent, and Gerard bit his tongue, wondering what had given him the courage to spell it out like that, but Brian didn't berate him, just contemplated him, a tiny crease forming between his brows.

“Thanks for your suggestion about the archive,” Brian finally said, seemingly changing the subject back to where they had begun. “Don’t worry. I will look into it, all right?”

Gerard nodded, fidgeting in his spot on the carpet. He felt like he was being dismissed, but there was one more thing on his mind.

“Why did you leave after your father died? Did you really hate it so much here?” He wasn't sure how you could hate the Belleville Film Palace - how was it possible for someone to hate it when Gerard loved it so much?

Brian, who had gotten up from his armchair, turned back to Gerard, a look of mild surprise on his face.

“You've really been listening,” he said with a small smirk. He was silent for a short while, staring at a magazine lying open on the desk, before raising his eyes to Gerard's face. “Because I couldn't stand this town anymore, Gerard. That's the truth. It wasn't Hank, it wasn't the movie theater, it was this small fucking town. I spent my childhood here and I took the first chance to get out of Jersey.”

Brian turned around, leaning his hip against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “I felt like I had to get out of here, find a place that was less judgmental, less threatening, you know? I couldn't imagine living my life here, feeling repressed and having to be someone I’m not.”

“... Did you find it?” Gerard asked.

Brian shrugged. “Not really.” He looked curiously at Gerard, then grinned. “You'll find jerks everywhere. It's like they say - High School never really fucking ends. But things get easier to deal with. You grow balls.”

“That's good to know,” Gerard said, biting his lip, still contemplating Brian.

“Yeah,” Brian said softly, still smiling. “Now get out of here. I got tons of things to do and you people making pleading cases for the movie theater isn’t really helping!”

He waved his hands as if he wanted to shush Gerard out of the room, and reluctantly, Gerard complied.

*-*

“He's miserable.”

Gerard looked up from his poster, poising his brush in mid-air. “Hmm?”

Mikey lifted his chin vaguely in the direction to the far right of Gerard.

“Frank,” Mikey said pointedly, “he's miserable.”

Gerard wondered if he could pretend that he hadn't heard Mikey over the loud music that was playing. He knew Frank was there. He knew Frank was sitting in the far corner of a booth as far away as possible from where Mikey and Gerard were hand-coloring the posters Gerard had created for the window displays, cleaning the marquee letters with soapy water and an old dishrag. He could feel him as if he was standing right behind him.

He decided not to say anything to Mikey's observation, but yes, Frank wasn't his usual cheerful, crazy self, but much more subdued, less energized, maybe even a bit mopey. Certainly not how Gerard himself got mopey, because hey, Gerard was the master of moping - nobody sang the blues like Gerard - but it was noticeable. Gerard chanced a look over his shoulder, watching Frank listlessly rub at the grime that had eaten into the plastic letters over the last couple of weeks. Bob had demanded the letters to be cleaned for the great finale on Wednesday.

Gerard turned back towards the table and dipped his brush once more into the watercolors, ignoring the way Mikey looked at him like he thought he was a fucking big idiot.

He colored in the last letter, then carefully lifted the poster and set it aside to dry before reaching for the next one. When he glanced over at Mikey, his brother was still watching him, eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Seriously, Gerard, he misses you. Remember when I told you he couldn't shut up about you? Now he rarely mentions you and when I say something, he has this sad look on his face. I mean, what really happened? You were joined at the hip and now it's just complete -” Mikey paused and waved his hand, obviously searching for the right words, “radio silence.”

When Gerard still didn't say anything, Mikey fixed him with a glare. “You're really bad at pretending you don't care.”

“I'm not - I - I do care,” Gerard defended himself, frustrated.

“What is it then? Are you afraid he will tell you to fuck off?”

Gerard glanced briefly at Frank, concerned that Mikey's words would travel over the sound of The Cure, but Frank had just finished cleaning the letters and was placing them back into their cardboard box and not looking in their direction.

“I was a jerk to him, okay? I don't know how to apologize,” he said, hushed.

“But you were talking the other night! He slept in your fucking bed! You should have just told him you're sorry and then had your way with him,” Mikey said, not bothering to lower his voice, “It's really not that fucking difficult. You tell him you're sorry, he's going to -” He interrupted himself as Frank walked past them, only to continue just as loudly once he deemed Frank far enough away, “- he's going to accept your apology and then you're gonna make up and make out. The End.”

Gerard groaned and pushed his hands into his hair, tugging on the strands. “You make it sound so fucking easy!”

“Because it is.” Mikey picked up his own brush again, carelessly dipping it first in the glass of mud-colored water, then into his set of watercolors. He swirled the brush around almost violently, dipping it consecutively into three different shades of blue.

“You don't understand. If I do this, nothing's ever gonna be the same again! My life's not going to be the same again!”

“Just because you say you're sorry?” Mikey said doubtfully. Blue color was dropping from his brush onto the paper, but Gerard was too agitated to point it out.

“It's not about saying sorry. I guess he knows I'm sorry.” Gerard threw his hands up in frustration. “I can't go back to being friends with him, because I guess we never were. And if I go ahead, I have to do it right, okay? I can't do this to him again. If I go ahead, then I'll have a fucking boyfriend and - and - ... that's a big thing, Mikey!”

“Yeah, so what, you'll come out in 2 or 3 years eventually. You think you can just make the gay go away?”

Gerard snorted and looked at Mikey incredulously. Make the gay go away? Only Mikey would say such shit.

“You will always feel sorry, idiot,” Mikey said dryly. “You'll always say 'Oh shit, why didn't I date that Frank guy. He was great. Oh, right, I remember, it was because I was too much of a fucking pansy.'”

“I know!” Gerard groaned and sat down heavily on one of the bar stools. He turned his head and looked out the window, where a ladder leaned against the window front. Frank stepped up to it, his letter box in hand. He looked up to where Bob was standing on the ladder, then laughed and bent down, putting the box on the ground, searching through it. He pulled out an M, then lifted his arm and held it up for Bob to take. He was so small, he had to raise himself on his tip toes and stretch hard, and his ratty hoodie rode up in the front, revealing a strip of skin, summer tan already beginning to fade.

“God, he's fucking hot,” Gerard muttered.

“I guess,” Mikey allowed a bit reluctantly.

Gerard ignored him. “Why is he so hot? And awesome. And fucking funny. He's... adorable. Have I mentioned smart? He listens to the right kind of music and he likes horror movies and comic books and he doesn't care what people think. He thinks Star Wars is the best shit, ever! And he's gutsy. He sticks needles through his ear. By himself.”

“Yeah, you're a goner.” Mikey sighed, then stepped around the table and patted Gerard on the back. “You should stop staring now. It's getting creepy.”

“Fuck off,” Gerard moaned, shaking Mikey off.

“Just saying, we have five more posters to color, and we have to finish this before I have to be behind the concession stand. Besides, we have to clean it away before people arrive here.”

“All right, all right,” Gerard agreed, getting up from his seat with a last glance outside the window at where Frank was still talking to Bob, his head craned back, squinting into the late October sun.

He tore his eyes away, stepped up to the table and picked up the brush again. He thought about what Mikey had said while he was filling in the lines of the poster with watercolors. He knew Mikey was right. He didn't want Frank to be the one that he had let slip away. He wasn't so sure anymore if he cared that Frank was a guy, that being with him made him essentially gay. Maybe not being with him didn't change anything about the fact that Gerard was gay.

He had been thinking about what would happen if they were together, too. He had been thinking about it all the time. Whether it would be nice, as Frank had said.

He guessed it would be.

*-*

Gerard found Frank's house again easily. He parked down the road, sitting in the car for 5 minutes, smoking a cigarette, before he had the guts to get out. His fingers clenched tightly around his drawing folder as he walked up the cemented path through the overgrown garden towards Frank's door.

A small, pretty woman with dark-brown hair and very pale skin opened the door, looking at him curiously.

“Uhm... hello, uhmm... Mrs. Iero? - Is... is Frank here?” he stammered.

She tilted her head, giving him a long look from head to toe, before nodding. “Black clothes, handsome. You must be Gerard,” she said not unkindly, smirking a bit when he blushed. She had the same grin as Frank and it transformed her face, making her look about 25 and mischievous. “Come on in.”

She stepped aside, letting him in. The narrow hallway was cluttered with shoes and bags lying haphazardly in the way. Gerard looked around curiously, his eyes flittering over the family pictures in the hallway, some in black and white with funny looking people in strange, stiff clothes, some more recent ones. He recognized Frank's mother in one, together with a man who was probably Frank's father.

“Frank!” she called, turning towards the stairs. “Frank, you have a visitor!”

A door was pushed open in the hallway upstairs, and a second later Frank appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Oh,” he said when he spotted Gerard and he froze, eyes wide.

Gerard felt Frank's Mom look between them, and he pushed himself into motion, bounding up the stairs.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly, when he was standing in front of Frank.

“Hi,” Frank echoed, then, with a look down the stairs, “uhm, come on.” He jerked his head at an open door on the right and led the way. Gerard felt foolish for sprinting up the stairs, maybe Frank hadn't wanted to invite him in.

In front of him, Frank was busy kicking aside clothes and books, his face flushed, embarrassed for once. “Sorry about the mess,” he said, picking up a pair of jeans from the floor and flinging them over the back of a chair.

Gerard shrugged and looked around, while Frank went to close the door.

The walls were full of horror film and music posters, reflecting Frank’s taste. In-between the posters, the rest of a faded Winnie the Pooh wallpaper poked out. Two bookshelves were crammed with paperbacks, several book stacks were distributed over the floor like an obstacle course. Frank had a lot of sci-fi books, Gerard noted, as well as a couple of Stephen King novels. One large shelf held a record player and a good-sized vinyl collection. A white electric guitar with a Dead Kennedys sticker leant against a Marshall amp. On a shelf were several toys - a Transformer, a Millennium Falcon as well as some Star Wars action figures (a Chewbacca, a Han Solo, an R2D2) and a couple of Lego Technic vehicles. A rather lopsided blue toy puppy with large ears and incredibly sad eyes sat in the middle of the bed.

When Gerard turned around to face Frank again, Frank was still standing by the door, fidgeting.

“You could have told me you wanted to stop by,” he said accusingly.

“Sorry,” Gerard said, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the bed. “I brought you something. It couldn't wait.”

Frank's anxious expression melted off his face and he stepped away from the door, crossed the room and sat down next to Gerard on the bed, looking at him expectantly.

Gerard opened his folder on his knees, taking out the Frankenstein drawing and taking a last, calculating look at it, before placing it in Frank's lap. “You were asking me once whether I would draw you a tattoo. And I know you wanted to get one done on your birthday, so...,” he said. His voice was shaking, he was so nervous.

Frank was silent for a long while, staring down at Gerard's drawing, his finger following the inked lines, tracing it. Gerard bit his lip, watching the side of Frank's face, trying to catch his expression despite the hair hanging into Frank's eyes.

He shouldn't have worried, because Frank looked up, smiling.

“Best thing ever,” he said, sounding touched, and Gerard found himself in a hug, his face pressed into Frank's shoulder, Frank's arms on his back.

“Thank you,” Frank whispered into his neck before drawing back.

“This will look fucking great on my arm,” he said, looking at Gerard in a way that made him wonder if Frank was going to hug him again. He was a bit red in the face, his eyes sparkling.

Gerard felt like telling him that everything would look fucking good on him, but he held his tongue, basking in Frank's joy.

“Will you go with me, tomorrow, when I have it done?” Frank asked. “Hold my hand, or something?” He laughed, sounding a bit abashed.

Gerard swallowed. “Uhm... do you think it would help you if I waited outside?”

“Are you going to faint when you see needles?” Frank asked, teasing him, and laughed when Gerard grimaced.

They fell silent, Gerard staring down at his hands, Frank studying the drawing some more. Gerard took a deep breath. If he was ever going to say anything, he should do it now.

“I'm sorry I freaked out at you that day when Ray walked in on us. I'm sorry about what I said,” Gerard finally said, looking up.

Frank glanced up again, his gaze steady, looking a bit surprised. He took a deep breath, before letting it out slowly, audibly. “Gerard - , “ he started, then trailed off again. “Gerard. I understand, really, I do. I wish you'd think differently, but ... I feel like I should respect that you don't want this. If you don't feel the way I do, that's fine. I'll just have to accept that. I'm sorry I misunderstood your friendship for something else. I won't be throwing myself at you anymore, I promise. And I really feel bad for yelling at you.”

He had gotten louder and his face was pretty red, but he looked kind of sad. He was apologizing, and it totally threw Gerard off, because it was him who ought to be apologizing for stringing Frank along and pushing him away and being overall a pain in the ass.

While Gerard was still trying to catch on and find appropriate words, Frank kept on talking.

“I just couldn't help it - I really thought you felt the same. I mean, I totally had a crush on you from the very first moment on.” Frank shrugged, embarrassed.

Wait. Frank had liked him from the first time they had met?

“This is awkward, right?” Frank asked, looking at Gerard, his face flushed, the tips of his ears red. “Seriously, I just want us to stay friends, because, I really, really like you and I would hate it if we didn't talk anymore just because I ruined it with-”

He made a hmph sound when Gerard leaned forward and kissed him.

It didn't last long, because Frank grabbed both his arms, shoving him back forcefully and holding him at arm's length. “What the hell?” he asked, his eyes a bit wide. “Are you fucking with me?” His voice broke, then rose in cadence. “Do you get off on fucking with my fucking head? Because that shit's not cool!”

“I don't wanna be friends,” Gerard heard himself say, and yeah. No. He really, really didn't.

Frank was staring at him as if he had grown a second head. And tentacles.

“Fuck, Gerard, you really got to make up your mind, because I don't want to do this again. It's messing me up. Because seriously, I'd rather we'd stop doing that shit and I can go on with my life, you know?” He was agitated now, had moved back, his hands flailing as he talked.

Gerard winced. “I know, I know. I'm sorry.” He reached out, hand landing on Frank's knee. Frank lowered his gaze, staring to where Gerard's fingers were resting on his leg.

“Will you give me another chance? To do it right, I mean,” he asked, and Frank looked up again and huffed a sigh, sounding partly annoyed, partly frustrated.

“What do you mean, right?” he asked cautiously.

Gerard shrugged, embarrassed. “For example, if we could go back to that night on the roof and I don't freak out and storm off afterwards. You took me by surprise,” he admitted. “I didn't even realize I wanted that, okay?”

Frank bit his lip as if he was considering Gerard’s words, before he suddenly giggled, high and unprovoked, as if something had just occurred to him. “Yeah, you kind of wanted to get out of there so bad, you totally stormed off with my come on your face, loser.”

Gerard made a face, but smiled. “Shut up.”

“It was hot. Apart from the storming off part,” Frank offered, still grinning.

“I was baked,” Gerard explained, feeling his spirits lift. Frank’s earlier exasperated outburst was over - he suddenly seemed to be in a teasing mood. Gerard didn’t want to risk destroying that, so he played along. “Baked and confused.”

“Dazed and confused,” Frank said smartly, causing Gerard to roll his eyes. “What? There's a Led Zep song for every occasion.”

“You defiled me and found it funny, too,” Gerard mock-pouted, and Frank cackled.

“If you had stayed, I would have cleaned you up. With my tongue,” Frank said, sticking out his tongue at Gerard as if to prove a point.

Oh. Oh. Gerard felt his body turn from hot to cold and back to hot all over in a matter of seconds.

“It's your own fault, storming off like that,” Frank continued, apparently not yet realizing that Gerard’s mind was going places.

“With your tongue? Seriously? With your tongue?” Gerard asked like a broken record, and Frank raised his eyebrows, his face splitting into a grin.

“Ohhh...,” he said teasingly and a bit breathlessly, “you'd like that, yes?”

Gerard, whose body was having its very own ideas about the matter, said bravely, “You should stop talking and put that tongue to better use.”

Frank seemed to consider this for moment, before he pushed hard, making Gerard fall back over onto the bed, Gerard's drawing that had still been in Frank's lap, fluttering to the floor.

“Ooph,” Gerard protested as the wind was knocked out of him.

“I take well to challenges,” Frank murmured as he followed Gerard down, straddling him.

“I figured,” Gerard panted, then couldn't say anything more, because Frank was kissing him, pushing his tongue past his lips.

*-*

Later, they were lying on top of Frank's rumpled Batman and Robin sheets, the late October sunlight warming their skin.

“Hey, you haven't run away,” Frank said from somewhere below Gerard's armpit, huffing wetly against his skin. It tickled, but Gerard didn’t squirm away. “Mhmm, and you smell like sex,” Frank moaned happily, before reappearing, his cheek pressed against Gerard's chest. He looked flushed, his hair plastered to his head with sweat.

“Even if I wanted to, your clinging would make that impossible,” Gerard said dryly, referring to Frank's leg lying across his hip, the soft hair on Frank's thighs tickling his skin.

“Tsk,” Frank chided him, his fingers trailing down the thin hair of Gerard's less than impressive happy trail, tugging.

“It's nice having you in my bed,” Frank continued, his fingers trailing back up and toying with one of Gerard's nipples. “You look nice in my bed. I want to keep you here.”

When Frank finally dropped onto his back with a contented sigh, Gerard turned onto his side, supporting his head with his arm. Frank's eyes were closed, the expression on his face utterly relaxed.

Gerard looked at him, his eyes tracing the contours of his face, the small smile tugging at his lips - a bit smug, a lot content - his small nose, the fine lines of his eyebrows, darks lashes resting on his cheeks. He felt a surge of affection and bit his lip hard lest he said something he wasn't ready to admit yet. He remembered Frank's words from earlier, about how he had liked Gerard from “the first moment” and it made him smile.

He skimmed the fingers of his left hand slowly over Frank's naked shoulder where his tattoo was going to be tomorrow, then trailed them over Frank's pectorals, his index finger circling a nipple. He followed a path down the middle of Frank's chest before flattening his hand over Frank's stomach. He loved the way Frank's belly felt under his touch, the contrast of tight muscles and soft, soft skin.

Watching Frank's face, he started to move his flattened palm, stroking softly. Frank's skin was like velvet and the touch was addictive. He was encouraged by the happy noises Frank was making, sighs that turned into small moans the longer Gerard continued. He was amazed that he had this effect on Frank - it felt empowering, and he grew bolder, sliding his fingers lower, down to where he found even softer skin and the beginning of coarse hair.

Frank shuddered happily, then half-opened his eyes, glancing up at Gerard with a lazy grin.

“You're kind of driving me fucking crazy here,” he said a bit breathlessly, looking pointedly down, as if Gerard hadn't noticed his erection bumping against his fingers.

Gerard grinned back, then lowered his head to press a kiss onto Frank's neck. Frank sighed and tilted his head, allowing Gerard better access. He took advantage, gently biting at Frank's warm, slightly sweaty skin, inhaling his scent and lapping underneath his ear, before pressing his tongue against Frank's pulse point, following it downwards.

He painted a path towards Frank's collarbone, then over his chest, bypassing a nipple with a quick bite that had Frank snort out a surprised laugh. Frank's laughter trailed off as Gerard pushed himself lower, licking gently into the dip of Frank's stomach, a bitter, salty taste on his tongue where they had both spilled themselves earlier when they had rubbed off together.

“G, oh God,” Frank whimpered, his stomach hitching underneath the curl of Gerard's tongue. His voice had lost any trace of amusement, hoarse now with anticipation. Gerard wasn't about to disappoint him, but he took his time, tasting and nudging Frank's belly, before finally shifting lower, skimming his hands over Frank's hips. He remembered how Frank had done it to him, twice now, once in the theater, another time in the car before he had driven him home. It had been pleasantly dark every time, but in here, in Frank's room, in the middle of the afternoon, it was bright, so bright he could see the thin, blonde hair on Frank's upper thighs.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eyes - Frank's hand sliding over his sheets, before gripping tightly - and Gerard took this as final encouragement, ducking his head, his hand wrapping around the root of Frank's cock. He licked experimentally, feeling absolutely stupid sitting between Frank's thighs with his head bent over his cock. The little breathless sound that escaped Frank made it all worthwhile, though, and Gerard refused to be embarrassed anymore and slid his mouth over Frank, trying to mimic what Frank had done to him.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Frank hissed, his hips hitching. With his free hand, Gerard pinned him down and Frank moaned, only half-protesting, as if he actually liked being restrained. It was a weird thing to do, sucking someone's cock, and it was messy, so much messier than he had remembered, but oh the noises Frank made! It turned Gerard on so much, the soft groans and whimpers, his occasional curses, and he had every intention to learn quickly what kind of touch or lick elicited what kind of reaction from Frank. Frank's right hand was lying next to his hip, fingers twitching, digging into the sheets, and Gerard reached for it, placing it in his hair, remembering the feel of Frank's soft strands beneath his fingers.

He hadn't expected that he would like it so much, all of it, having Frank's cock in his mouth, feeling the pressure of Frank's hips pressing upward and trying to break free from his grip, Frank's fingers tightening in his hair. He had been hard ever since he had started to trail his fingers over Frank, but now he was aching, and he slid down a bit more, until he could move his hips against the bed, his legs hanging over the end of the bed, grinding his cock into the mattress.

“Fuck, yes. So fucking good,” Frank gasped, and he was laughing, and then, Gerard must have done something spectacular, because Frank cried out, ripping harshly at Gerard's hair, his hips rising up so hard Gerard couldn't restrain him. Moaning, Gerard just allowed Frank to let go and lose it above him, trying to breathe through his nose, catching the worst of Frank's thrusting hips with his arm. He wanted to look up and watch his face as he came, but he was trying to keep up a rhythm and not gag at the same time.

Frank let out a string of curses and encouragements, before his hips came off the bed, his body trembling. He cried out again as he came, something unintelligible, spilling warmly into Gerard's mouth. Frank had swallowed, both times when he had done it to Gerard, so he did too, swallowing reflexively. The taste wasn't really pleasant, a bit like bitter sweat, just a lot like Frank, but Gerard didn’t have the opportunity to think about it, because Frank was hauling him upwards, one hand still tangled in his hair, pressing their mouths together, reaching for his cock.

Gerard's lips parted as he groaned and Frank plundered his mouth, apparently not minding that he must be tasting himself on Gerard's tongue, stroking and tugging at him roughly. It took just a couple of strokes before he too came, his arms giving way as he crashed down hard on Frank's body.

He breathed harshly with his face pressed into Frank's neck, trying his damnedest to catch his breath. When his head had finally stopped spinning, he carefully pushed himself up, looking down at Frank, whose eyes were closed, a toothy grin on his face.

“Hey,” he said, “hey, Frankie.”

Frank lazily opened one eye. “Hnnn?” he said questioningly. He was smiling so hard he looked a bit deranged.

“Are you alright?”

Frank snorted, his laugh vibrating through his body and kind of going over into Gerard's. Wow. Just wow. “Yeah?” he said, and he sounded amused. “Except maybe that you're getting kind of heavy.”

“I'm not heavy,” Gerard protested, but he started to pull away. They both winced a bit, and Gerard flopped down on the thoroughly disgusting sheets.

“And I'm hungry,” Frank added almost as an afterthought. “Hungry and fucked out.”

He looked completely comfortable lying there, his body laid out and naked and fucking sexy. Gerard never wanted to look away. He felt possessive. Frank's body was so totally his. And he was allowed to touch him. Whenever.

“Mhmmm. Food.” Gerard looked at his wristwatch, seeing that it was almost 6. They were both off the duty roster today, but it was the day before Halloween and Gerard wouldn’t want to miss the last days of the Belleville Film Palace. They should definitely get food before going in, or it would be a popcorn-and-coke menu.

“We could ask my Mom to make us an egg-and-avocado sandwich,” Frank suggested lazily, stretching slowly, raising his arms over his head.

“I don't think I could stand to face your Mom right now. She'd totally know,” Gerard said, knowing he sounded panicked.

Frank huffed a laugh and turned his head to look at Gerard, still that crazy, wide, toothy grin on his face. “You really think she doesn't know? You're so cute.”

“Oh my God!” Gerard moaned, pressing his face into the pillow.

“My Mom's not that stupid! She totally sees through that shit.”

“Shut up!” Gerard howled, taking the pillow and hitting Frank square in the face, making him giggle and flail.

*-*

Frank's Mom did indeed make them a sandwich - eggs and avocado for Frank and just eggs for Gerard - and Gerard suffered through the most awkward 20 minutes of his life. They had cleaned up and had gotten dressed, and then they sat at the counter in the Iero kitchen and Gerard stared down at his plate and pretended to be busy with his food, while Frank and his Mom talked about the movie theater and Frank's birthday cake, like nothing at all had happened. At least Gerard now knew where Frank was getting his stoicism from.

It was awful. Even a blind person would have probably guessed what had happened - Frank was practically glowing and in too much of good mood. He had “fucked” written all over his face. Gerard thought that you could probably tell from his own face as well - only his spelled out “fucking mortified”.

He was so fucking glad when they left and eager to get away, that he nearly took out the Ieros' mailbox as he backed out of the driveway, making Frank give him a speculative, amused glance.

“Does sex make you stupid?” Frank asked teasingly, and Gerard flipped him the finger.

They managed to get to the cinema in one piece because Gerard really tried to concentrate on the road, even though it pained him to look ahead when all he wanted to do was grin goofily at Frank in the passenger seat. And maybe feel a bit smug about the kind of contented lolling about Frank was doing, like his body was all loose and comfortable and he didn't have a care in the world.

Gerard parked in his usual spot in the parking lot. They sat there for a moment, listening to the car tick as it cooled down, before Gerard finally pulled out the key. He glanced over at Frank who was looking right back at him, a peculiar expression on his face - Gerard couldn't read him.

“Yeah, so…” Frank started, biting his lip. “Are we … good?”

“Sure,” Gerard said without giving himself a second for hesitation. They hadn’t really talked about how they would go on now. Gerard had thought about it, though, extensively, ever since that night in his basement. It didn’t matter that he was scared as fuck - if he wanted Frank, he would have to deal with all the consequences their relationship brought with it. He was determined to take on a lot of people. There would be times when people would ask him to bring his girlfriend and he would have to stand up and correct them. He would get verbal and maybe physical abuse solely based on his orientation. People would discriminate against him without even wanting to, but because they didn’t know better. It was enormous, but so was his dismay at the thought of being without Frank.

When he turned his head to look over at Frank, he saw Frank smile, a tentative, cautious thing of a smile, and Gerard knew this had been the right answer.

Frank nodded slowly, hesitating a bit. He finally pushed open the car door and got out and Gerard followed. Frank waited by the passenger side until Gerard stepped up to him. Gerard felt like he should say something else, anything, but he didn't know what. Maybe sex did make him stupid, because all he could think about was how damn hot Frank was and how he still looked a bit rumpled, his hair all over the place. He thought about how his fingerprints were all over Frank's body beneath his clothes. How he wanted nothing more than to do it all over again. Fucking hell.

He wasn't sure if his expression changed, but Frank smirked and narrowed his eyes, giving him a heated look before leading the way to the movie theater's front doors.

Gerard fell in step behind him, trying to catch up - Frank was walking fast. He finally managed to catch Frank's hand, and Frank stopped and turned, looking curiously at him, then down at their joined hands, then back at Gerard. He rubbed a finger gently over the back of Gerard's hand, studying his face carefully.

Gerard swallowed, then tightened his grip, and Frank gave him a brilliant smile that was worth every thing. Biting his lip, Gerard took a step forward, then another one, not letting go of Frank's hand, tugging him along. It was a bit strange walking hand in hand with a boy, and Gerard expected any moment now for someone to jump out from behind a corner and start yelling, but nothing of the sort happened. Maybe he was being ridiculous. Maybe he would get used to it.

When they reached the doors, Frank started to loosen his grip, not really pulling away but obviously giving Gerard the option to drop his hand.

Defiantly, Gerard held on more tightly.

*-*

>>7