And He Is. Beckoning. (1/2)
Title: And He Is.
Rating: PG-13 (and only for language, ikr?)
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Disclaimer: Really? Hell no. Not real.
Warning: Schmoop. Ripped off music videos. Really. Badly. Reasearched. French. No lies.
Summary: Gerard loves France. It's his kind of city. He's enjoying letting things be easy for a while.
A/N: This is based off of A-Ha's "Take On Me". You knoooow. You've all heard it. (I'm sorry?) Well, I've been wanting AU based off the end of it for the LONGEST time. No one gave me any ): So here you go. About the French-- read the warning. Seriously. It was like, four in the morning when I wrote this and the extent of my reseach was google translate. If my French bothers you, then maybe you wanna take a step back. (and you see-- this is where the pun about pardonmyfrench comes in.)
France was... kind of Gerard's favorite place ever.
It wasn't Jersey, of course. It didn't have Mikey in it, or the little bruised comic shop on the corner of Fifth and Shoenher, or Ray's hair, or Bob's attitude. It didn't have his mom's triple X killyoudead black coffee or his grandma's big purple couch. It wasn't Jersey. But it was good for now.
Gerard wanted to do art. Art brought him to France. Gerard liked France a lot.
The apartment that he rented was exactly what he wanted-- dirt cheap and filthy. He felt so chic. And he didn't care how shitty the real-estate agent said the view was-- France was a fuckin view. Even that back alleys, as far as Gerard was concerned.
France had coffee and sweet things and cafes that didn't care if he stayed all night and ordered both of those things or neither and just let him sit there.
Gerard liked figuring out the things about France that were different from the movies and all the things that were exactly the same.
It seemed, no matter the place, time, accent-- people were people. People watching was just more interesting here, because Gerard's French still wasn't top notch and he kind of really liked reading between the lines.
After a while Gerard had made his own little routine out of it. And he was... really happy with it.
Most nights brought him to the little inside cafe not far from his apartment. He could cut through two alleys to get there and he didn't think that getting lost had ever benefited him so well before.
Gerard sat in the cafe and he scribbled on napkins and watched the street and the old couple at the table outside, both fussing over something with smiles on their faces. Gerard grinned at his little napkin scribble. He really fucking liked France. There was a really pleasant lack of angst here.
He wasn't really sure what he was drawing; there was a hand reaching out to touch some rippling water when he lifted his pen. Gerard gave half a grin and huffed a laugh. Hadn't even thought about it.
"Puis-je voir que, s'il vous plaît?" there was a small voice. And turning his head, there was a small boy to match the small voice. Arms crossed on the table, he was resting his chin on his arms and so close Gerard felt his huffing breath, sweet with fruity pastries.
"You wanna see this?" Gerard asked, because he wasn't sure. Really, his French wasn't top notch. Or. Y'know. Existent.
The boy lifted his head and reached out a hand with small, sticky fingers and made a little grabby hand at the napkin, "S'il vous plaît?" he said again. And Gerard smiled and pushed over the napkin.
The boy grinned, attention on the drawing, and it was a happy warming thing. His nose scrunched up and he bounced just a little. "Puis-je avoir maintenant?"
Gerard thought maybe he understood that. "You can have it. It's alright." and watched as the boy flashed him teeth again and ran off to, Gerard guessed, wherever his mother was. Fuckin France, man.
A moment later, the boy and an older woman passed his table. He and the boy shared a small grin as they passed and then the mother stepped off to greet someone at the bar.
With a small glance back at his mother, the boy stepped to Gerard's table again and pushed some creased paper at him. "Vous pouvez avoir cela, si vous voulez." He said shyly. And Gerard grinned back, no clue-- no clue at all what the kid said, but he took the small bunch of paper and said "Merci." just as the mother took her son's hand again and they left.
The boys papers were a comic, Gerard saw. It was in French, but, what the hell wasn't in France? The comic was more crumpled than Gerard had ever let his get when he was a kid-- but then, he had never tried to give his away to strangers either.
Gerard flipped to the first page and huffed in an amused little way at the finger shaped jelly smudges. He read.
Really, Gerard had no clue what was going on. He was PRETTY sure the comic was called "Et il est", but he couldn't answer why. Again-- his French went about as far as 'please', 'thank you', and 'can I go to the bathroom?'. And maybe he could count to seven.
The art though-- it was really good. Gerard was a fan of the good old comics. The big badass ones with lots of color and a jajillion different shades and ones that said KAPOW with a big blast around the word-- but he liked this. Because behind that there was always this-- the smooth stroke. The outline that made the comic something you could recognize.
The comic was in black and white. Just outlines and shades. Gerard was kind of in love with it.
Just the first few pages had Gerard stuck in the premise of the story-- French or not. He loved the expressions on the people’s faces and the way they crumpled in emotion. He wished he could do that and draw somebody in like that-- not even knowing what was going on.
It wasn't until a good bit it that he stopped on a picture of a boy’s face. New character. Well. It was the beginning-- they were ALL new characters. But this one had a face that Gerard just knew made him the star of the show.
And he was kind of fucking adorable. Something about his eyes and even though they weren't in color. Gerard realized that maybe the artist had never even thought about what color he wanted the eyes to be. Gerard thought something dark, but warm. Beneath the eyes was the beginning of a slope to a nose and above them was the curve of eyebrows.
It was a taunt. Gerard thought, resting his head in his palm. He licked his bottom lip and reached for his cup-- which was, well, it was almost empty, but Gerard felt like he was wasting time asking for a refill when he could be reading this comic.
And he glanced back down at the boy with the taunting look and though, that's flirting.
A corner of Gerard's mouth curved up and he drained the rest of his coffee.
And then the crumpled paper with the boy and his eyes did this-- shimmery thing and Gerard cocked an eyebrow and used one hand to smooth it out some, flipped the page. As it flipped, Gerard saw it again.
The next page was the boy. More of his face. More mouth to go with that grin in his eyes. Lips that cocked into some pretty half grin and Gerard saw that the boy had a little lip ring that tugged the smile just a bit.
And the boy winked.
Gerard grinned absently at the paper for a moment. He looked up and out to the street and he laughed. Looked back at the paper and how the boys head was tilted just. so. Smiling just. so. And Gerard said "I'm really tired." to no one.
He should get more coffee.
Shifting in his chair, Gerard glanced at the front counter uselessly, and back at the comic, where the boy was flashing teeth, nose scrunching just barely. Looking so pleased.
Gerard blinked at it for a moment before he leaned in just slightly and whispered to the paper "I watch sci-fi. This isn't that weird." Except for how it was.
And then the boy on the paper was smiling now, no restraint and it was bright, and it was pretty and Gerard was grinning one right back before he even thought to.
The paper was moving, or-- the boy on the paper was moving, not just waiting until Gerard wasn't looking. He took a step back and he lifted out his arms beside him.
The boy was very pretty. All messy hair and swamped in a dark leather jacket. Gerard blinked again; the boy put his hand forward.
Gerard pressed his lips together.
The boy's mouth curled up to the side again, and his eyes looked taunting, again, and his hand was... beckoning.
Gerard opened his mouth, the boy jerked his head to the side. Beckoning.
And so the boy stepped forward just another step and reached out again. Gerard tentatively put out a hand, forgot to feel silly for doing it. And then there was the boys had, reaching from the paper and looking real enough to grab and so Gerard did.
The hand was smooth, and it was warm, and it had weight to it. And it felt real and imaginary in a way that Gerard couldn't really describe, but he thought he should just accept was because he was crazy.
Inside, Gerard thought, was very much like outside. Nothing had color, but it was still very pretty. The boy was still very pretty.
The boy was still. Looking at him.
The first thing that came to Gerard's mind was not what he thought it probably should have been-- which was ask why and what. He'd rather know the boy's name.
"What's your name?" Gerard asked.
The boy smiled the smile that flashed his teeth again briefly and jerked his head again; he took a step backwards, and a few more when he realized Gerard took steps to cancel that distance. But it didn't seem like he was trying to get away. He was doing that thing again. Beckoning.
"Who are you?" Gerard said again lightly, and the boy closed his eyes briefly and said gently, "Frank." and then "You would have known that in a few more pages."
Gerard blinked. And then he said the next thing that came to his mind. It was still not why or what. "This book is in French."
"Mm." Frank hummed. He took more steps backwards and his eyes did not leave Gerard's. "It is."
"You're not speaking French."
"You’re not speaking French."
They looked at each other for a long moment before Gerard cracked a grin that barely even touched Frank's, and Frank said. "Come with me." Grabbed Gerard's wrist.
Frank ran fast.
Gerard ran fast enough, and he wasn't dying, yet.
The thing that Gerard noticed about this 'world' in the comic, was that movement was the color of it. The shading was first-class, exactly what shading was supposed to be and everything he was ever taught, but movement was what made it.
And yeah. First glance said boring and still-- until Frank yanked Gerard to a stop and Gerard was forced still himself and he could see how everything was shimmering and moving. And it was crazy.
There was a song playing-- to make everything dance like that, Gerard was sure, he just didn't hear it.
"Where are we going?" He whispered to Frank. Because... Frank had pulled him in here. There must have been a point. Must've been, because Frank looked all set on something.
Frank ignored Gerard's question, looking around them. He was still wearing that flirty, devious smile. And then he tilted his head at Gerard. "What's your name?"
With a blink, Gerard murmured "Gerard", just to be tugged into movement again.
"It's here... it's. Somewhere." Frank said under his breath.
"What."
"Just." Frank said. "So you can see."
With a little raise of his eyebrows, Gerard chuckled and he didn't ask any more questions until he heard Frank sigh happily and say, "Here! See?"
Through all the movement and the not-color, there was a large rectangular mirror suspened. Just. Suspened..
"Mirror." He said, and Frank was releasing his hand and bouncing away to ducking behind it.
Gerard let himself gasp.
He did not think or ask why and what.
Frank's eyes were this kind of brown that was soaked in green. And the light tanned slope of his nose what just exactly what Gerard had imagined. The mouth was light pink and shining when Frank's dark red tongue poked out to wet it. And that small silver hoop hooked at the corner.
Through the mirror Gerard saw Frank in perfect color. Nothing was moving on his side of it-- but Gerard saw the black leather jacket was cracked and used and looked comfortable.
Frank twitched his head to the side when a bit of dark brown hair fell in his face.
"You." Gerard said.
"I'm Frank." Frank informed him again. "And now we've both seen each other."
Gerard couldn't hope to keep up with Frank's grin. He still tried
"Why am I here?" He asked finally.
Frank shrugged and gracefully, he plopped to the floor. Gerard got down and he crossed his legs and he played along.
"I dunno. I saw you out there. You looked happy." Frank told him.
Gerard lifted a shoulder. "Well, yeah, sure."
"You liked the outside of the book, I thought I'd let you in." Frank mimicked his shrug..
"I like it." Gerard laughed and rubbed at his eyes, "But it might give me a seizure."
Another giggle and Frank was leaning forward to call him a pussy.
"What do you do here, Frank?" Gerard asked and touched the floor under him with his palms.Under his hands, the ground felt solid, but in his head, when his eyes were closed, Gerard just felt paper.
"I do what the story says." Frank waved his hand around.
"Did the story tell you to pull me in?" Gerard raised an eyebrow. And he got that mischievous smile back from Frank.
"Same thing. I'm here to cause trouble." He smirked and then loud echoing footsteps caused him to snicker and put a finger over his lips. Gerard got the idea to be quiet.
Gerard heard big, gruff voices and more thundering footsteps. After a minute of it, and a minute of Frank grinning happily, and a minute of it getting louder, Gerard whispered. "What. Is that."
And Frank flickered his eyes away from Gerard for just a second, then leaped up and threw himself at the mirror, letting it shatter to let him through to Gerard's side.
Gerard gaped and grasped at Frank's hand, but Frank was not bleeding, he was not cut, and he was laughing. And Gerard got the feeling that whatever the loud noises were, they were trying to find Frank, and that was the lead they needed.
Frank grabbed Gerard's hand just in time for Gerard to look over his shoulder and see two large, beefy men skidding around a shimmering, flickering wall. They shouted when they saw Frank. And Frank laughed.
Gerard wasn't sure if it was real danger or not.
Frank didn't seem to think so.
"What the HELL." Gerard panted when Frank pulled them around another wall and pushed Gerard into it, grinning, letting Gerard get his breath back.
"Jack and Jill like the chase." He told Gerard. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes from Gerard's pocket, took one, pushed it between Gerard's lips.
"Oh," Gerard huffed and weezed, "That's gonna help me out here." Frank laughed, "I don't even have my lighter." He told Frank. Frank just shrugged.
"Then don't light it."
Gerard shifted the cigarette in his mouth and raised an eyebrow again. "Are we gonna have to run again?"
Frank giggled again and, after a brief pause, leaned forward to press his forehead to Gerard's for just a moment before he pulled back and said "They like the chase!" again.
It was true. The large buff dudes caught up to them quickly and then Frank had them running off again, through a different hallway of dancing walls, of squiggles and shapes.
"Don't worry." Frank told him cheerfully. "I always get away. That's how the story goes!"
Gerard would laugh at him if his lungs we're screaming from running. He gripped Frank's hand, fondly.
Gerard didn't think Frank knew the mess of hallways he tugged them down any better than Gerard did. But Frank didn't seem to care, and Gerard found it hard to.
Frank didn't look over his shoulder, like Gerard did (frequently), but he did look over at Gerard. And Gerard saw that slope of his nose, in clear black and white, and the curve of his eyebrows above his eyes. And Frank's eyes may not have had color, but they were still anything but dull. Gerard still kind of wished he could see them in color again.
There was a dead end at the end of a hall they turned into.
Neither of them skidded to a stop until they were within touching distance.
Gerard thought it was because the dancing shadows tricked him into thinking it wasn't real. He thought maybe Frank knew, it was just too late to change their direction. Too late to choose another path or do anything but get caught.
Gerard spun to Frank, caught him blinking at the shimmering, but solid wall.
"Frank."
Frank looked up at him. "I--"
There were the loud voices of men still right behind them. Right. There. And Gerard almost felt their footfall.
"I've." Frank says. "I've never been caught before--"
Gerard flashed a glance at the corner that their persuers were surely gonna turn any moment now.
"What will they do?"
Frank opened his mouth and shook his head. "I've never been caught." He said again. And the two big ugly men were thundering in and approaching them.
The men-- they looked like they were fifty times the weight of Frank and Gerard put together. And they were carrying things. They were carrying a heavy wrench and a crowbar.
"Frank." Gerard said and spun, saw Frank pressing his hands to the wall. He was pushing and pushing and then he was clawing. "Frank?"
Frank was tearing into the wall and Gerard heard a long rip, saw Frank pulling down a strip of it. A strip of wall paper-- a strip of the fucking wall-- Gerard didn't know. But it's black behind-- it's empty space behind.
Frank didn't look at him when he pushed Gerard though.