(BandomBigBang) Cypress Grove~Frank/Gerard

[slashxyouxup]

Title: Cypress Grove
Author : slashxyouxup
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: NC17
Summary:My Chemical Romance fight off a town of sperm hoarding, men hating, PMSing maniac women in order to save themselves from certain doom! Also, Frank and Gerard get closer than close while pretending to not be completely in love with each other. Mikeyway is not amused. 24k+
Warnings: Language, sex, unimportant character death and minor description of scientific experiments.
Disclaimer: Writer’s lie - just like your parents.

Amazing art by villiagegreen and mix by takethispike! Thank you both completely, full thank yous, art and mix can be found here.

ART WARNING!: Graphic imagery that some viewers may find uneasing. Possible spoiler alert. Perhaps read the story first?

Beta'd by the wonderful, the beautiful and oh so amazing xoxxblitz7, who also listened to my complaining/moaning/bitching and held my hand throug out this whole thing. A shout out to mcrnut also for cheer leading :) Love you all ♥



The van starts to hum as Ray Toro pulls it left on to another dirt track. It’s been making these strange noises for days now, and because all four of the van’s occupants have a strong urge to eat sometime soon, and perhaps often, the quirky engine must stay quirky until they can find a mechanic who doesn’t mind being paid in sweaty band shirts and old packets of Doritos. The AC’s temperamental, the radio’s possessed and the windows stick. It’s safe to say this piece of crap has been running on love and weed fumes alone for quite some time now, getting them from show A to show B for more than a year. It’s run down, crappy and a definite health hazard; but My Chemical Romance loves it. This van has seen and heard it all, from groans of hunger to sleep masturbating - and everything else four twenty-something year old musicians get up to when they’re crammed in to a tin box in some of the most ridiculous temperatures ever.

“Fuck!” Gerard curses as he kicks at the dashboard with a worn out black boot. “It’s so damn hot.”

Ray leans an arm out of the open window and smiles a little. “I kind of like it,” he replies even though Gerard’s not listening.

“Hey, Dracula,” Frank pipes up from the seat behind, tugging at the loose threads of Gerard’s brown leather jacket, “why don’t you try losing a few layers?”

Gerard twists his head to his shoulder until he can just see Frank’s shit eating grin. He pokes at Gerard’s sweaty cheek. “Careful, I bite.” Frank sucks on his bottom lip and makes a Mmm sound for only the two of them to hear. Gerard turns back around and brings his foot back up to the dashboard as he tries to not replay the sound in his head over and over again until he has to jerk off at the next rest stop. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, maybe Frank could help. Oh great, now he has to try and not think about that.

“Ok,” Mikey starts, leaning his face forward between Ray and his brother “so I hate to be the voice of reason and logic again but, does anyone actually know where the hell we are?”

“Sure we do,” replies Gerard before squinting at the slowly approaching black and white sign. “We’re at ‘Careful, Badger’s crossing for five miles’.”

“Really? And how far is ‘Careful, Badger’s crossing for five miles’ from where we’re suppose to be?” Mikey says sarcastically.

“Uh,” Gerard trails while looking over at the map sprawled out next to him, “very?”

Mikey shoves himself back against his seat, hard. “That’s it. Pull the fuck over.”

“What for?” says Ray, looking back through the rear view mirror.

“So I can have a mental break down and a piss. Plus I need a break from being between the stench of Gerard’s hair and Frank’s pits.” Frank protests and Gerard says nothing.

Ray shakes his head. “Look, there’s a gas station just up there. You can piss and pull yourself together while I get gas and try to figure out where we are, ok?” Mikey grumbles a response and folds his arms.

The van pulls in to the station next to a rusty looking pump that looks like it hasn’t seen service in a good ten years or so. Mikey and Frank spring out of the back, the younger Way running in the direction of the restrooms and Frank inside the station. Gerard follows Frank, not surprising to Ray, and leaving him to try and work out how to use these ancient looking things. He turns off the engine and sighs.

Frank bounds through the door and sings “Ding!” along with the door bell before heading for the fridges. He stops just in front of them and stares disapprovingly at the contents. There are a few smashed glass bottles, two or three plastic coloured bottles and several questionable milk cartons. The rest of the fridges are empty, and the glass screen from the one at the far end is missing. The milk smells rotten and the edges of the shelves are browning under the eerie blue-green light.

“Wow,” Gerard says while trailing a finger through the thick layer of dust on one of the shelves. “This place looks like it should come with its own zombie apocalypse warning.”

Frank shudders. “Dude, don’t say things like that.” Gerard smirks and creeps behind him, sneaking his arm around Frank’s small waist.

“Are ya’ scared?” he whispers against the shell of Frank’s ear. He turns his face to slide his nose against Gerard’s cheek as Gerard rakes his fingers along the skin under Frank’s t-shirt. Gerard sucks in a long, deep breath sending cool air whooshing across Frank’s ear and neck. He presses himself against Gerard and tilts his head to whisper something.

“Jesus!” The pair of them jump quickly apart as Mikey comes storming through the door. “My guess is the last thing that restroom saw was hepatitis.” He stops to look around the abandoned, dusty station. “Whoa,” is his only comment before Ray enters, looking hot and frustrated as he shuffles across the dingy cracked blue and white tiles.

“There’s no gas in any of the pumps,” he huffs, “not one single drop.”

“There’s no anything, anywhere,” says Frank. “I think they just, went out of business or something.”

“But nothing’s boarded up or locked,” Mikey points out, “there’s even still food on the shelves. Probably not very consumable, but still it’s there.”

Ray quirks an eyebrow and then strides over to the counter and then behind it. He presses a few buttons on the cash register and the draw comes shooting out with a dull ding. He pulls out a few crumpled old looking bills. “There’s still cash in here, guys. Who shuts down business without taking stock or cash?”

“Someone who wants to leave quickly?” Gerard interjects, causing all four men to look uneasily at one and other.

Ray’s about to come up with something logical to explain all this creepary when his hand brushes against something thick at the back of the register. He pulls it out. It looks like a map or leaflet of some kind. He unfolds it out on to the counter top as the other three gather around it. There’s a picture of a town, small and bright with quirky little shops and happy children on bicycles. “Cypress Grove,” Ray reads aloud, “the town of plenty. Ten miles east from Judd’s Station.”

“Where’s Judd’s Station?” Mikey asks just as his eyes drift up to the large wooden sign above the counter. Judd’s Station. “Oh.”

“I think it’s the next town,” says Ray, “maybe they have a working gas pump and someone who can read a map,” he finishes, glaring at Gerard who shrugs and folds the picture back up before stuffing it in to his pocket.

“Ok then,” he says, “to Cypress Grove.”

***

The sight of Cypress Grove is a welcomed change from what they’ve been staring at for the better part of three days. The van rolls slowly up from the vastness of heat waves, dirt roads and tumbleweeds to the enticing bright green and blue billboard of Cypress Grove - the town of plenty.

“What the…” Ray trails as they drive down a long empty tarmac road (the first real road they’ve seen in days), towards the swarm of white and beige buildings. “This place looks straight from the 60’s or something.” Gerard watches the town approach them through the windshield as Mikey sticks his head out of the window, eyes closed as the breeze pricks at his cheeks in cold chills. He’s not sure where this cold wind has come from, the sun is still bright, high and round as it hangs above them, but he’s not complaining. He hasn’t felt so refreshed since his last shower, and God only knows when that was. Frank rests his hand on the shoulder of Gerard’s seat for comfort, though he’s not quite sure why he feels he needs it, and squeezes the hot itching fabric with sweat slick fingers.

The people of the town don’t seem to be bothered by the heat, or the beat up van covered in dirt and graffiti that’s currently rolling quietly down their empty perfect roads. And it’s not just the roads that are perfect, wide and smooth and free from potholes and oil stains, but the whole damn town seems to be built with a postcard kind of perfection. It’s almost as if this whole place were painted with fresh bright colours and an optimistic artist before coming to life in the middle of no where, standing proud and vivid like a dream or mirage. There are not that many people out, it seems, but the ones that are look strangely familiar from one to the next, as perfect as the town itself like they’ve all been made from the finest clay and a keen eye. The women stroll down the streets on high heels and slender long legs, chatting to whomever with wide painted smiles as children play in front of them. The girls skip in blue or green summer dresses, white socks, doll shoes and sunshine hair. They all move past almost in slow motion, their laughs echoing like a clever trailer for some gruesomely predictable horror flick.

“This place is creepy,” Frank whispers as his eyes follow the people that pass them as though they’re invisible, “really fuckin’ creepy.”

“Yeah, they look like those Freddy Krueger kids,” says Gerard and Mikey reaches across to shove at his shoulder.

“Shut up. It’s civilisation, that’s all I care about,” he states while crossing his arms over his chest and falling back against his seat.

“I see a sign for a gas station,” Ray points out and someone in the back comments ‘hallelujah’, “and a B&B.”

“Really?” Frank leans forward quickly. “Do they have showers?”

And that’s what decides it. They stop outside of what looks like Cypress Grove’s only B&B, conveniently across the road from a gas station and garage which strangely all share the same name - Rosemary Hayes. All four of them step out of the van simultaneously, surveying their surroundings cautiously. This part of town seems to be quieter and maybe a little darker, as though the sunlight won’t reach these corners of Cypress Grove.

Ray pulls out a black messenger bag from under his seat and unzips one of the pockets, reaching in to it before pulling out a few notes from their emergency funds. He hands them to Mikey. “You guys go get us some rooms for tonight, I’m gonna take the van over to that garage and hope they still charge at 60’s rates.”

They pull their bags from the back and lug them in to the reception area of the Rosemary Hayes B&B. It’s small, dark burgundy and quirky. Frank and Gerard collapse in to two wood and yellow fabric chairs while Mikey heads over to the empty desk and hits the bell. A middle aged looking women comes out through an empty doorframe, fading brown hair and thin wide circled black glasses. She smiles at them, tongue sticking against the back of perfect white teeth. “Hello, gentlemen,” she says kindly, “how may I help you?”

Mikey arches an eyebrow. “Uh, two rooms please. One night.”

“Just passing through?” she asks while taking out a large opened guestbook from beneath the counter.

“Yeah, our van needs looking at. Our friend’s across the road now.”

She looks up from the book and smiles again, a little too happy for someone who sits at an empty desk in what appears to be an empty B&B all day - Mikey notes. “I’m sure we’ll have you on your way soon. Sign here, please.” Mikey signs and hands over the money before Mrs. Way-Too-Happy hands him their room keys. He looks down at them oddly.

“Number one and number two?”

“We don’t get much tourist business here,” she explains, “a little too far away from anything to be a tourist town. I’m Julia, by the way.”

“Mikey,” he nods politely before gesturing to the other two, “that’s Frank and my brother, Gerard. Ray is at the garage,” he says before the door opens and Ray comes striding in.

“You’re never going to-” he starts just as Julia cuts him off.

“You must be Ray,” and then he snaps his head up abruptly. “Your friend, Mikey, here was just telling me about your van troubles. Can we get you all fixed up?”

“Uh,” Ray trails as he steps slowly closer towards them, “yeah, actually.”

“Wonderful!” Julia beams, slapping her hand against the counter which makes Gerard jolt in his seat. “Do you need a hand with your things?”

“No,” Mikey answers, “it’s ok, we can manage.” With that Frank and Gerard stand, handing Ray his bags and heading towards the three red carpeted steps leading to the rooms. Mikey smiles and waves as he follows them, receiving the same from Julia who watches as they all disappear down to the far end of the corridor. When she can no longer hear their voices or the wheels of their cases she picks up the phone behind her and presses speed dial one, playing with the white chord as she waits for an answer.

“Hi, it’s Julia. You’re never going to believe this,” she starts, turning her back towards the corridor, “but today is our lucky day…”

***

“I’m telling you,” Ray says as they turn the corner on to the second corridor, “that’s what they said. They’ll fix it for free but it’s going to take a few days to order the parts in.”

“But why would they do it for free?” says Mikey as he tugs his rucksack further up his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “they said they’ve had a good year and they can spare the cash.” They look at each other, momentarily sharing the same moment of terrified doubt before shrugging it off. Ray hands one of the keys to Gerard. “You and Mikey bunking together?”

“Hell no,” Mikey interrupts as he snatches the other key from Ray’s hand, “I am not staying in the same room as his stench and his snoring - again.”

“Fine,” Ray drawls, rolling his eyes, “Frank can bunk with Gerard.” The side of Frank’s mouth quirks in to a smile and everyone else pretends not to notice.

“Oh he must be all torn up inside, I’m sure,” Mikey says sarcastically as he unlocks the door to his room and shoves his and Ray’s things inside. Then the door is closed and Frank and Gerard are left standing alone. Gerard bobs his eyebrows and grins before opening up their room and pulling his case in to the center of the sickly brown carpet. He pushes it down on to its back, as Frank closes the door behind them, and flops down on to the double bed, kicking his shoes off as he goes down.

“Ahh,” he sighs, closing his eyes and running his hands across the pale yellow sheets. “Mm, bed. Mm, pillows. Mm, comfort.”

“Uh, sorry to interrupt your little ‘moment’ but, have you noticed there’s only one bed?” says Frank, dropping his bags next to the drawers and walking to the foot of the bed.

Gerard opens his eyes to quirk an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”

“I don’t know,” Frank smirks, “should I be?” Gerard’s eyes roll off in to another direction as his expression turns thoughtful for a moment or so, until he suddenly grabs at Frank’s sides and pulls him down and on top of him. Frank flails with a squeak and put his hands out to save himself, ending up sprawled over Gerard who beams up at him triumphantly. His fingers skate across the sides of Frank’s ribs, moving down to slip around the edges of the hem of Frank’s t-shirt. Frank rests on his elbows, arms at either side of Gerard’s head, and leans down to lick at Gerard’s lips until he gives in and kisses him.

There’s a knock at the door, two knocks to be precise, followed by, “Hey, ladies. Open up.”

“Sometimes, I really hate your brother,” Frank states with his eyes fixed on the door. Gerard sighs and pushes Frank off of him and on to the mattress before hauling himself over to the door. He opens it. Mikey slinks his skinny body inside and Ray stays stood in the hall.

“We’re going in to town,” Mikey says. “I’m on the search for food and Ray is trying to get the garage to take some money.”

“What. Why?” Frank complains, rolling on to his from on the bed. He can only see half of Ray, even when he tilts his head to the side.

“Because it’s weird,” says Ray. “They should want money. I don’t want to feel like we owe them anything.”

Frank shrugs. “Give them a free t-shirt.” Gerard snorts and Mikey glares.

“We’ll check out what else the Rosemary Hayes B&B has to offer,” he says to his brother who narrows his eyes at him a little before slipping back out of the room without so much as a goodbye. Ray waves and then Gerard shuts the door. Alone again. He presses his back against the door and stares at Frank thoughtfully for several moments. Frank’s still on his stomach, hands folded beneath his chin and he’s watching Gerard stare at him with an all too knowing smile.

“Are we really going to check out the rest of this place?” Frank asks. Gerard shakes his head and says “No,” drawing out the word lowly, somewhere between mouthing and a whisper. “Well, what are we going to do?” the tip of Frank’s tongue has a habit of poking out between his teeth as he smiles mischievously, and that’s exactly what it’s doing right now. Gerard saunters back over to the bed and sits down next to Frank, who twists and wriggles until his head’s in Gerard’s lap. “Hi,” he beams up at Gerard. He replies with a smile, placing his hand on the side of Frank’s face and caressing his warm pink cheek. Frank nuzzles in to the touch, closing his eyes and sighing.

“You tired?” Gerard asks, to which Frank opens his eyes and nods slowly.

“A little,” he says in a low whisper. “You?”

“I could go for some shut eye,” Gerard replies, only to have Frank push himself up and away from the comforts of Gerard’s lap. He sits on the edge of the bed next to Gerard, popping the buttons on his jeans before shucking them off and kicking them aside, his blue and black sneakers going with them. He turns to Gerard next, tugging at his fly as it jolts unsteadily down the zip. He grabs them at the thighs and pulls them down with little effort; Gerard’s got a nasty habit of buying clothes a couple sizes too big.

Frank’s good at this, Gerard notes. He always has had his own little expert way of getting Gerard out of clothing and in to bed, whether it be literal or metaphorical. Maybe it’s the fact that Gerard trusts him so completely and stupidly, with his life and everything that comes with it. He confides in Frank, more so than he has ever done with anyone (even Mikey), and he listens to everything Gerard says like its all valuable information. He makes Gerard feel better about himself, whether he’s having an off show or an off week; he’s always there with eager lips and words. It’s been a little over two months since Gerard made the final decision to ask Matt to leave the band, and even when they’re begging Brian (their manager) for extra funds to get someone out to play with them Frank still looks at him and nods, silently telling him he made the right decision. Frank’s comforting, soothing and always just right there, anytime and any day. He’s got small warm fingers and a comforting grip that Gerard finds hard not to sink in to. He’s that little piece of sanity that Gerard likes to cling to with everything he’s got, even in the blistering heat.

Gerard chooses to keep his shirt on, even as Frank pulls back the bedding and crawls beneath them, clad only in red and white boxers as he sighs beneath the cold yellow sheets. He nuzzles his head against the pillow before opening his eyes again and using them to beckon Gerard next to him. He complies almost immediately, scrambling in beneath the welcomed coolness. Frank’s hands are already cold from being pressed against the sheets, and he applies them to Gerard’s bare chest as he slips them beneath his black t-shirt. Gerard gasps and grabs Frank’s wrists, pulling the cold hands from his skin and pressing them against Frank’s own chest. They laugh, the sound bouncing from the crumpling white flower patterned wallpaper and back to them until it’s silent, all except for the sound of their smiles.

***

Mikey enters the grocery store through the automatic double doors. Ding he hears, and then all of a sudden it seems as though the entire place pauses and turns towards him. He freezes in the doorway, nervous and maybe a little scared as he feels dozens of pairs of eyes pinned to him. He feels like he’s a little lost lamb and he’s just stumbled stupidly in to a lion’s den. Then, after a few tense moments, the place goes back to normal. The people continue about their day as if nothing ever happened and Mikey’s very bones are left shivering. He takes one slow step in to the store, testing almost, and looks cautiously behind him before he sighs snap out of it and continues down aisle one - confectionary.

It’s relatively busy for a weekday, Mikey thinks. Then again he doesn’t suppose there’s much else to do in a town like this. It looks like any other grocery store, cracked white tiles and eerie blue green lighting, but this place just feels different. The aisles are short and close together, claustrophobic to even the most secluded of people, and the large bold red isle numbers hang almost menacingly on thin wire cables in even rows. It’s oddly quiet, just the humming of fridges and freezers and light monotonous music, like elevator music or the music you hear on Mario games when you’re waiting for a new level to load. People pass him, their trolleys wheeling silently past as they now pay no attention to him what so over, just lean passed him for cans of pork and beans as if he were a ghost. Housewives who look more like Stepford Wives, shiny long ribbon tied hair and matching shoes and purses. Even those dressed in casuals make Mikey feel and look like a hobo in his torn jeans and unwashed Smiths t-shirt. He thinks its probably a good job he came shopping instead of Gerard, there would definitely have been more staring with Gerard. (There’s always more staring with Gerard)

He’d grabbed a basket on entering the store, but now he wishes he’d pulled over a trolley as the basket overflows with chips, candy and apples. Gerard’s got a weird thing about apples. Ray’s going to groan when he sees the amount of junk food, so maybe he’ll grab some packet soup and noodles as an excuse of proper food. He takes a swift stop down the magazine isle and frowns as he scans each cover. Apart from the Cypress Grove Weekly the only other thing to read is women’s magazines, tonnes of women’s magazines. From pregnancy to dressing past middle aged there must be over fifty different kinds of them at least. Mikey cautiously steps away, a little frightened, and heads for the fridges.

“Clean up on aisle four,” a dull female, almost robotic, voice announces and moments later a young man passes Mikey, dragging a yellow bucket and grey handled mop behind him. He looks around the same age as Mikey, maybe a few years older, and his dirty blonde hair is cut short and tight around his head, hung low. His eyes look sunken and almost lifeless as he starts to clean away the puddle of red juice from the floor. He holds the mop handle tightly in his pale hands and moves almost mechanically as he cleans back and forth, back and forth. He looks up when he feels Mikey’s eyes prying curiously in to him and steps back suddenly, startled it seems, and begins to hurriedly drag his mop and bucket to the bottom of the isle and around to the next one, never taking his eyes from Mikey’s until he’s disappeared. Mikey looks on after him for a handful of moments, before shaking it off and reaching for one of the fridge doors. He pulls it open and empties out two or three bottles of Coca Cola, he’s not exactly sure because his mind’s still on that mysterious cleaning man and his sunken, bored eyes. He closes the fridge door again, too far gone with thought to even revel momentarily in the cool gust of cold air it brings when being pulled open and slammed shut. He makes his way to the check out, picking up those soups and noodles on his way before landing his basket next to the till.

“Is that everything?” the check-out girl asks, brown hair tied up in tight neat pony tail, the tip of which is slung over her shoulder on to her red and white checked uniform, just beside he clean white badge. Ruthie. Mikey looks up behind her to the case of cigarettes and tobacco. If he doesn’t return with some form of nicotine Frank and Gerard will kill him, slowly.

“Twenty Marlboro’s, please,” he says, reaching in to his back pocket for the money and his ID - which he’s usually already been asked for at this point due to the half size bottle of Jack nestled snugly between a bottle of Coca Cola and chicken flavoured noodles. She pulls down the cigarettes without so much as a glance backwards and scans them.

“Twenty-eight forty-seven,” she says, and Mikey hands her the money slowly, ready for her to realise the obvious mistake and ask for the correct amount. She doesn’t say anything. She bags everything up, hands him his change and receipt and gives him a small smile. With large confused eyes Mikey leaves the store.

Outside he stops to pull the receipt from his pocket while mumbling “No fuckin’ way, man,” and when he unfolds the receipt with his thumb to do his own pathetic excuse for an attempt at maths he’s met with just four bold words - Have A Nice Day

***

Frank and Gerard have been drifting in and out of sleep for the better part of half an hour, quietly spooning and snoozing contently. Gerard’s the big spoon, Gerard’s always the big spoon, and Frank’s back is pressed flat against his t-shirt covered chest. The room is cool and silent and they’re both more comfortable than they ever thought possible on an old hotel bed. Although the room and everything in it looks some thirty years old, the mattress is surprisingly soft and sheets freshly washed. Gerard’s arms feel lighter that Frank thought they would around his waist, though usually when they’re lay like this they’re both so drunk or hung over that the air feels heavy on their skin. But today they’re light but still secure, somehow, holding Frank in place and peaceful bliss. Gerard’s fingers tickle as they trace the skin on Frank’s hip and stomach but he doesn’t move to push them away, doesn’t move at all even, just lets himself be touched and cuddled and taken care of.

There’s a bang on the door, the sound of a fist pounding hard, once against the wood that makes them both almost jump out of their skins. “My room now or no food, ladies,” the voice of Mikeyway drifts through the spaces between the hinges. Gerard groans and presses his face against the pillow.

“Seriously, hate your brother,” Frank mumbles. Gerard laughs and then relaxes back in to the quiet comfort for a further few moments until his stomach growls at his laziness. He sighs and throws the covers aside, ignoring Frank’s whine of protest and pulls his jeans back on. The carpet is oddly warm beneath his bare feet, so socks or shoes won’t be necessary, he’s sure.

Frank pokes his head out from the cocoon he’s quickly made himself from Gerard’s abandoned covers and huffs. “I suppose I am a little peckish.” Gerard laughs and tosses him his pants and t-shirt. He waits by the door for Frank to pull on his clothes and opens it just as he’s buttoning up his jeans.

Mikey pulls open the door just as Gerard’s going in for the fourth knock and he looks at them with narrowed disapproving eyes. “Finally,” he says, turning away from them and leaving them in the doorway. They step inside as Mikey starts rummaging through one of the white plastic bags on one of the two single beds, same pale yellowing bedding. Ray’s on the chair, bare feet propped up on the small desk and he’s reading the same book he’s always reading whenever he gets a quiet moment. It’s old and yellowing and the covers are blank, but he buries himself within its pages every time he opens it.

“Any luck at the garage?” Gerard asks and Ray looks up from the warn pages to frown.

“No, not really,” he says.

Mikey smirks and throws a hand on his hip in a sort of feminine way. “It wasn’t all bad now was it, Toro?”

Ray rolls his eyes. “Ok, so maybe she let me buy her an ice cream.”

“An ice cream?” Frank laughs. “What is she, twelve?”

Ray brings his feet down from the desk and huffs. “I was stuck. It was the only other thing I could think of, ok? And the only thing that she would agree to. I had to do something.”

“Hey,” Gerard interrupts, looking up from the packet of Twizzlers he’s currently holding, “it’s a girl working in the garage?”

Ray nods slowly. “Yeah, she’s really nice too. And strangely happy, it’s a little creepy actually.”

“I know what you mean,” says Mikey, sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking off his sneakers, “the girl in the grocery store was a little too happy for a check out worker. And fuck, they have the weirdest receipts.”

“And Julia, from downstairs,” Ray adds, “she was creepily smiley when I came in.”

Frank leans back against the white patterned walls, head turned towards the conversation with a sceptical eyebrow. “Hold up, has anyone actually seen a guy since we got here?”

They all look at each other with that same dumb astonishment as before for a few quiet moments before Mikey pushes himself back on the bed and announces, “I have.”

“Really?” says Gerard, Twizzler in hand, “where?”

“In the grocery store. He was mopping. Looked kind of young and, I don’t know, sad. Seemed really shocked to see me as well, he took off after he noticed I was there.”

“Weird,” Ray mumbles with an odd look of fear before he shrugs it off. “There’s got to be more guys here, maybe they all work out of town or something.”

“Doing what?” Frank scoffs, “Tumbleweed farming? There’s sweet F.A. for at least twenty miles in every direction. Well, except Judd’s Station, of course, but look how well that turned out.”

“Maybe they live out of town during the week,” Mikey suggests. “I wouldn’t blame them; these women are creepy as hell.”

“Creepy because they’re nice?” Gerard asks, pointing a half eaten Twizzler towards him. “Maybe we’re just not used to such welcoming hospitality.”

Frank shrugs. “Maybe. We are from Jersey, after all,” he says while making his way over to the bed and sneaking a few Twizzlers from the now ripped packet as the others look at each other, shrug and then nod. That must be it.

It doesn’t take long for them to work their way through the majority of the food bought and for Ray to get incredibly pissed off at them. The three of them sit through a five minute lecture from Ray, looking like scolded children as he takes the rest of the food and hides it away in his suitcase. Apparently he’ll be in charge of all food giving now, and candy will be rationed. Frank tries to protest, but all attempts are futile once Ray has made up his mind, and they all know it. Frank and Gerard shuffle back off to their own room, sugared up and defeated.

Once they’re back in there they shuck off their jeans and climb back in to bed. The sugar’s wearing thin and the heat of evening is making their minds sticky and tired. Frank pulls off his t-shirt and throws it in any direction. The sheets aren’t cold like before, just thin and still warm, grasping to the beads of sweat on his side as he rolls over to face Gerard. “Aren’t you hot in that shirt?” he asks, pulling at the hem with one hand. Gerard doesn’t even attempt to bat it away.

“A little,” he answers and Frank manages to pull it up all the way to his chin before Gerard finally gives up and shrugs his head and shoulders out of it. Frank grins triumphantly and throws it to the floor. He scoots across the warm sheets to lay his head on Gerard’s chest, throwing an arm over his stomach as he gets there. “I thought you were too hot,” says Gerard.

Frank wrinkles his nose. “You’re always cooler than everyone else and besides, you’re comfy. Now shut up.” Gerard’s arm, which was originally splayed out over Frank’s abandoned pillow, curls up around Frank’s shoulder, fingers resting on the warm tanned skin. With nothing else to do he shuts up, and allows the soft rise and fall of Frank’s breathing to lull him to sleep.

“Hey, Gerard,” Frank whispers hoarsely, shoving at Gerard’s shoulder. He groans, refusing to slip in to consciousness. Frank leans up on his elbows and tries again. “Psst, Gerard, you awake?”

“I am now,” he mumbles, words muffled by a mouth full of white and yellow pillow. When it’s very clear Frank’s not going to leave him alone until he cooperates, he opens one eye. “What’s up?” he asks, his one open eye struggling to stay fully open, lid drooping until Frank becomes a squint.

“I heard something,” he whispers, like whatever he heard might still be there and perhaps sound activated. “And I think I saw our door open.” Gerard turns he head towards the dark closed door. He turns back.

“Just a dream, Frank.”

Frank shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I heard something moving outside the door, I swear. Then the door creaked open and closed again.”

“Maybe it was Mikey,” Gerard tries to reason, too tired for the whole bogey man under the bed thing. Mikey grew out of that much later than Gerard would have liked him to.

“He doesn’t have a key,” Frank glares. “Plus, I made sure I locked the door when we came back in. I’m telling you, Gerard, someone was out there.”

Gerard huffs and pushes the covers aside. “Fine, fine,” he says before swinging his legs over the bed and standing on the cold carpet. He hears Frank scramble up behind him as he makes his way over to the door, he follows Gerard, creeping behind with his hands tucked close to his chest. When he reaches out and grabs the door handle Gerard actually feels a little nervous. It’s dark and strangely cold for somewhere that’s hazardously hot during the day time. He holds his breath as he hears Frank gasp and unlocks and pulls open the door quickly. It squeaks open, eerie and loud and scrapes across the carpet. Gerard and Frank both poke their heads out and peer down at the dark and abandoned corridor. Nothing. There’s nothing. Not even the sound of wind whirling from the slightly open window at the far end of the corridor. “See,” says Gerard, “nothing,” before backing up in to the room again and closing and locking the door. “Satisfied?” he says, turning to Frank who’s still looking sheepish and unsure. He nods slowly without a word and shuffles back to bed. It’s not the first time Gerard’s been exploring dark hotels at ridiculous hours because Frank’s heard something strange. He’s got an overactive imagination, that’s all. He tries telling this to Frank, they all do, but he never listens. Frank never listens. He curls up under the covers, rubbing his frozen toes against the sheets as he waits for Gerard to get back in to bed. When he finally does, he doesn’t curl up close to Gerard like Gerard expects him to, like he always does, he stays on his half of the bed, head lay on a curled arm as he watches Gerard get comfortable again.

“I really did hear something,” Frank whispers. Gerard wants to sigh, wants to huff and tell Frank to go back to sleep and perhaps not eat so much sugar before bed time. But there’s something in his face, something that looks a lot like fear pinned in to his eyes. He looks childlike and genuinely unnerved, so Gerard rolls over and pulls Frank in to a hug. Frank responds almost instantly, allowing himself to be easily slid across the sheets until he’s in Gerard’s embrace.

“I know you did,” Gerard offers sympathetically. “It’s ok though,” he soothes, “it’s gone now.” Frank sighs and nods against Gerard’s shoulder, feeling safe but not quite as content as he’d like to be. He presses himself against Gerard, tenses his back up and slips his hand down to the small of Gerard’s back where he starts to slowly trace invisible shapes. He can feel the short hairs there and the cool sweat as he outlines a triangle with his fingertips. Gerard’s muscles move beneath the skin, and although Frank’s staring at Gerard’s collar bone he can see the muscles moving. He traces another triangle, joined with a rectangle and then another triangle. Gerard sighs and buries his mouth in Frank’s hair, pressing his lips down on Frank’s scalp and humming. Frank draws a spiral next, starts at the center and winds his way out, round and round and round, spiralling outwards until he reaches the dip of Gerard’s ass. He slips his middle finger down, hard and shallow until Gerard gasps. Frank’s fingers are warm, and the skin beneath his boxers warmer. Frank scratches at the skin with blunt nails and Gerard gasps again. Frank moves his face up to catch Gerard lips with his own, soft and wet across Gerard’s dry mouth. Gerard opens up in to the kiss, opens his eyes just to see Frank’s closed ones and presses his fingertips to Frank’s cheek. Gerard’s got a weakness in his knees for these kisses, slow and secretive in the dead of night. They seem to be Frank’s favourite kisses too, because he likes to do this often. Likes to hold Gerard down under the weight of seduction, flick his tongue and fingertips until he gets what he wants, what they both want.

Tonight doesn’t appear to be any different from all those others, but Gerard still can’t forget the childish fear in Frank’s eyes. Frank seems to be all for forgetting though, as he pushes Gerard on to his back and climbs atop of him, straddling his hips. As soon as he’s missing Frank’s lips on his he’s quickly occupied with them on his throat. He grips the sheets and squirms beneath Frank’s body and hard on, which he can now clearly feel through his boxers. He plants his hands firmly on Gerard’s shoulders and rolls his hips down while giving a spit shined purple finish to the bruise on the base of Gerard’s throat. Gerard pushes his fingers against Frank’s ribs and groans. Frank licks at Gerard’s chin, the thin layer of stubble there scratches at his tongue and makes Gerard feel like he’s being kissed by a cat. Frank slips one hand down and inside of Gerard’s boxers, grabbing at his half hard self and pulsing his fist once or twice. Definitely not a cat. From that point on Gerard’s putty in Frank’s hands and Frank knows it. He knows just what to do, just where to touch, where to scratch and where to lick to get Gerard all to himself, until they’re both selfish and needy. Gerard grabs at the back of Frank’s neck and forces their mouths back together, urging to chew on Frank’s lip and suck on his tongue until Frank tastes like him and he of Frank.

“Frank,” Gerard growls in to Frank’s mouth as his wrist flicks and fingers curl, “yeah, just like that,” he mutters in a mess of tongues and saliva, “just like that.” Frank knows to keep the pace steady, but firm. Knows to squeeze every now and then, knows to bite Gerard whenever and wherever possible. He knows that he’s the best, and he grins when Gerard confirms this in a breathless babbling pant as he looses all self control. He holds Gerard down and makes him lose his mind, loosening the knots in his body and melting them away with just a few more pulls. Gerard’s hips start to jolt, up and down, fast and hard as he whines “Almost, almost,” like he’s commanding himself. He comes some long hard strokes later, his body jittering away from Frank’s touch as he becomes empty, spent and sensitive. He closes his eyes and breathes hard, falling back down to earth and the mattress. His chest heaves and he can almost taste himself on the air that he’s breathing so harshly in.

While sitting on top of him and waiting, Frank smiles and slides down to Gerard’s side just as he opens his eyes again. “Hello,” whispers Frank and Gerard turns to smile sheepishly and really, after all this time you’d think he’d have gotten over that embarrassed stage.

“Hey,” Gerard croaks back, before adding, “thanks. You uh, didn’t have to. But, I’m glad you did.”

“Well,” Frank grins, “according to someone, I’m the best, ever.” Gerard blushes and before he can say something that makes Frank love him even more, Frank pulls him in for another slow, lazy kiss. Gerard surrenders immediately. He’s quick to start fumbling at Frank, grabbing at his stomach and lower. He pushes his palm against Frank’s hard on and presses his whole body against him. Frank groans, tilts his head back, opens his mouth and lets out a laboured, “Yeah.” Gerard gets back some of his earlier confidence as he gets his own control so easily over Frank. He leans in to his ear and bites the lobe.

“Wanna fuck you after this,” he says, “gonna make you come, again.” Frank moans, opens his eyes and Gerard watches them spark and flare. He rides against Gerard’s palm, pushing and gasping as Gerard grabs at him some more.

“Yeah,” Frank gasps, taking hold of Gerard’s wrist and shoving his whole hand in to his boxers. “Fuck, me,” he says with hot low breath as Gerard starts to stroke. He’s sweat slick and leaking with pre come from watching Gerard writhe and orgasm just minutes before. Gerard’s fingers slip easily around the warm skin and Frank wastes no time, grabbing his shoulder with one hand and bucking in to the tight hot pressure. Frank whispers dirty little encouragements that shiver down Gerard’s spine, he curses as he thrust and makes Gerard feel like a king, tall and powerful. He pulls and fists and strokes until Frank’s nails are digging hard in to his shoulder, leaving little crescent indents, and he’s cursing, long and low. Gerard licks at Frank’s neck and that’s more than he can take. He shudders and comes as Gerard watches the muscles in his neck move, making the sweat on his skin gleam. His legs shake and he clings to Gerard, sucking in the moist air in little strangles gulps.

“You ok?” Gerard whispers some thirty seconds later, pulling away a little when Frank looks up with a satisfied smirk.

“Better than ok,” says Frank, grabbing his hand and cleaning it off himself. Gerard watches with tired aroused eyes as Frank licks his fingers one by one, letting go of each one with an audible pop. He then cleans himself up, taking off the soaking underwear and coaxing Gerard out of his own. He does what he can to wipe up what he can, and throws them in the direction of their cases after. “Thank you, I feel much better now,” he says after dropping Gerard’s hand. He arranges the pillows beneath his head and nuzzles the side of his face in to it, as if ready for sleep. Gerard does almost the same, a little surprised and some what disappointed when Frank doesn’t curl up to him. Frank does though; he slides over the sticky sheets and hooks a bare leg around Gerard’s. He places a warm palm on Gerard’s chest and leans in closer. “So,” he says, “about that fuck-” before he can continue anymore there comes a loud bang outside their room, perhaps just down the hall a little, a heavy thump like someone knocking over a bookcase or two. They jerk around instantly, heads and eyes fixed in the direction of the door and frozen there. Gerard hadn’t noticed when he’d started panting, but he can hear his breath and heart beat in his ears as they watch the door in the darkness, waiting for something else. In a way Gerard wants another noise, another bang, another something because this suspense is killing him, quickly. But nothing more does come, just a blacker darkness as they’re pulled deeper and deeper in to night.

“Gerard,” Frank whispers, and it takes Gerard a good few seconds before he can function enough to turn towards him. “What was that?” he asks, leant up on his elbows and heart still visibly pounding.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Gerard whispers back, laying back down completely and staring at the ceiling. “Probably nothing.”

“Nothing?” Frank hisses like a tea kettle. “You can’t tell me that was nothing.”

“I don’t know, maybe someone fell or something.” Frank can see clearly that Gerard’s in denial - he’s sure of it. They both heard that bang and for those few moments they were both utterly terrified. “We should get some sleep,” Gerard says calmly.

Frank frowns. “You can sleep after what we just heard?” Gerard sighs and rolls on to his side.

“I told you, it was nothing. Something probably fell over; this is an old place, Frank. I bet it happens all the time.” Gerard almost manages to convince himself, but Frank’s not going to let himself be so easily fooled by blissful ignorance. He narrows his eyes at Gerard, displeased, before lying down next to him.

“Yeah, well when some Night of the Living Dead shit happens up in here, don’t come crying to me because all I’m going to tell you is I fucking told you so.”

Gerard smiles a little, or at least his lips quirk in to what they can manage to be a smile. He reaches out and lets Frank move closer, resting his arm across his abdomen. He tickles at the skin a little. “Goodnight, Frank,” Gerard whispers.

“Sweet dreams,” Frank replies, though as they both picture whatever it was out in the hall, moving through the darkness closer and closer towards their hotel room door they know that neither of them will be having sweet dreams tonight, or any night soon.

***

Julia Brown wakes up at six thirty sharp every morning. She washes her face, brushes her teeth and makes her bed to perfection - everything exactly where it should be. There are five pillows on her double metal framed bed, four are matching with the bed sheets, a smoky blue sort of colour, and one is white. The white pillow sits in the center of the four other pillows, placed how maybe a child would their favourite doll or teddy bear. There’s blue lace around the edges and her first name carefully embroidered in the same colour. Her grandmother made this for her when she was born, and its taken pride of place on every bed she’s had ever since. She takes it in her hands before putting it in its place and runs a flat palm over the still soft and worn fabric. She smiles fondly, remembering the woman she praised and admired more than anyone else. When the bed is complete she takes to the kitchen. She makes herself a pot of tea in the same plain grey teapot she’s had for twenty years now, and fills her cup up with mostly milk. She likes this time of morning because it’s always cool and quiet before the rest of the town wakes up. There’s not much reason for early mornings in a place like this. The town is still sleeping, gathering its rest for when its moment finally does once again come. She sips her tea and watches the colours in the sky change, getting lighter and lighter until daylight consumes the entire town, swallowing it whole in a bright promise of heat and light.

When the cup is almost empty she taps her nails against it before getting up and walking over to the freezer box. She pulls out two loaves of bread, setting them aside to defrost a little, just enough to be toasted easily. Out of the fridge she collects bacon and eggs, settling them next to the bread before picking up a gallon of orange juice from beside it. She’ll half cook what she can, get some beans from the cupboard and makes her new residents a hearty breakfast. The sugar and junk she saw the skinny one bring back yesterday can’t be keeping their strength up, and she needs these boys fit and healthy. They won’t be up for another few hours yet, that’s for sure. She’ll cook the rest when they emerge, usher them all in to the homely kitchen, ensure everything is to their liking and keep them as happy as possible until told otherwise. Sometimes she thinks it’s such a shame, but then she remembers she should know better. It’s the right thing to do, she tells herself, though she not quite sure if that’s her own voice echoing those words off in her head.

***

Frank’s nostrils flair as his nose latches on to the scent of something wonderful. It sniffs once, twice, and sends a signal to the brain. On receiving the message, Hey, something sure smells good, Frank groans a little, rolls over and finally blinks in to daylight. The sun is shining in an annoyingly glorious fashion, bright over his still tired eyes. He turns his head away from it and towards Gerard, who’s still slumbering peacefully. He looks content, like he’s smiling, almost. Frank smiles just seeing him, feels safe next to him and good about himself just looking at him. He feels like for once, he’s finally got something right. He gets that smell again, it’s fresh and warm and inviting, just like - eggs and toast. Yeah, that’s what it is. He swings his feet on to the carpet, it’s still early enough for the floor to be cold but he doesn’t feel the need to put on more than underwear, sweats and a clean but ratty hoodie. Gerard mumbles and gropes for the empty space where Frank used to be, he frowns when his hands can’t find him and then sighs before drifting off completely, again. Frank slips his bare feet in to his vans and grabs Gerard’s cigarettes and lighter before opening the door, all fear and question from the previous night apparently forgotten. The smell is stronger out in the corridor, and it’s coming from the direction of the reception. The carpet feels different out here, even with his shoes on, it’s softer with a bit more of a spring to it. He lets his nose lead the way, past Mikey and Ray’s room, down the corridor, around the turn, past reception, down another slim wooden walled hallway (with various landscape photographs hanging in black frames) and in to a large kitchen. Julia is there, hands holding the rim of a silver sink as she looks out across the town. She looks younger in this light, and Frank hadn’t before realised how tall she was. She looks thoughtful, peaceful, sort of like Gerard did when Frank first woke. Frank coughs to make his presence known. Julia turns, not even startled, and smiles sweetly.

“Good morning,” she breezes, “it’s Frank, right?”

Frank nods. “Yeah. Morning, Julia.”

“I suppose it was the smell of breakfast that loured you here?” she grins and waits for Frank’s sheepish smile. “I was going to leave it out for you boys, I didn’t know what time you’d be up. Would you like some scrambled eggs?” Frank’s stomach answers for him, rumbling loudly in the gap of quiet between them. Julia laughs, “I’ll take that as a yes. Take a seat and I’ll get you some coffee.” Frank sits down at the large circle table, covered in a white and red checked cloth like something straight out of a fairytale. “Did you sleep ok?” she asks as she places an empty dark green mug in front of Frank and fills it with fresh black coffee. And with those four little words the entire of last night comes rushing back to him. The noise, the door, Gerard, kissing, touching and then the bang. He wraps a hand around his mug and stares in to the coffee.

“I did,” he says and then gulps. “The bed is really comfy.”

“I know,” she says as she potters from the cooker to the units opposite. “I’ve had those beds for ten years at least, and you’d still think they were brand new.” Back at the cooker she busies herself with the eggs, pushing the toast down in to the huge eight slice toaster as the eggs bubble in the pan. “There’s a woman on the other side of town and she keeps her own chickens, names them all too, got one called Mary I think. Anyway, she sells their eggs and honestly, they’re the best eggs I’ve ever tasted,” she explains, back to Frank as she slings the words over her shoulder. He sips his coffee and listens to her as though it were his mother rambling on about something to do with the neighbours. He misses her. “-Maureen,” Julia is saying when Frank zones back in, only now she’s facing him with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in her hands.

“Huh?” Frank says without realizing, even though his mother would tell him that was incredibly impolite of him. “Sorry, what did you say?” he corrects himself. His mother would be proud.

“Maureen,” says Julia again, “I think another one of the chickens is called Maureen.”

“Oh,” Frank trails as she places the plate in front of him. “Thanks, this looks great.” And he smiles, genuinely grateful. He can’t remember the last time he had something which resembled a decent meal.

She places the salt and pepper shakers, small and white, in front of him. “No problem,” she says before putting another red plastic bowl on the side next to the stove. “I’m just going to go through the books, I’ve made up the base from some more scrambled eggs. Tell the boys to help themselves to anything in the kitchen. There’s bacon just over there next to the bread. If you need me, just call.”

“I will,” Frank nods, “thank you, Julia.” As she’s walking past runs a hand through his messy, unwashed hair. She smiles, all kind and motherly, and exits the kitchen leaving Frank to enjoy the rest of his breakfast alone.

Throughout the course of the next hour the rest of the boys come in, one by one. Mikey is first. Like Frank he’d followed his nose, and tumbles in when Frank’s just cleared his plate. His hair’s stuck up in all directions and his glasses crooked on his face. He yawns, scratches his chest and wanders over to the coffee makes, mumbling a morning to Frank as he passes. He pours himself a generous mug of black coffee and sits opposite Frank, yawning again. Frank smiles. He can’t help but be reminded of Gerard by his little brother’s morning antics, as the older Way is exactly the same, if not a little more groggy. Ray’s next. He’s a little more vocal than Mikey, but not by much. He pours himself a cup of coffee and over milks it, as usual, before making himself two sliced of toast as he chats to Frank and Mikey falls back asleep with his head laid against his arms.

“Did you hear those noises last night?” Ray asks and Frank’s head shoots up from looking at his coffee to Ray, who’s stood at the unit munching on his second piece of toast.

“You, you heard them too?” Frank says, the back of his neck suddenly cold and prickled with hairs.

Ray takes another bite of toast and talks through it. “Of course, I do share a room with it.”

“Huh?” Frank’s eyebrows furrow.

“Mikey,” Ray says, “his snoring. Like a fucking fog horn, man.”

“Ohh,” trails Frank, pulling his now cold cup closer to his chest. “Yeah, total hazard.”

“I can hear you,” Mikey mumbles from the depths of torn shirt and flesh. “It’s not polite to talk about people,” he says, raising his head from his arms.

Ray snorts. “By those sounds you make, believe me, you are not people.” Mikey lets his head hit the table, giving Ray the finger in the process.

Gerard’s the last to wake up, though he looks far from awake when he wanders in to the kitchen, all dishevelled and dressed in one of Frank’s army t-shirts and a pair of hole ridden sweat pants. He collapses in a pile of tired clothing and skin next to Frank, leaning his head on Frank’s shoulder. “Coffee,” he yawns, “I need coffee.” Frank shrugs his shoulder, peering down at Gerard and grinning.

“You need to move off of me if you want coffee,” he says. Gerard grumbles and snuggles his face against Frank’s shoulder some more.

“Coffee in a minute then,” he says.

“Fuck sake,” Ray sighs, tipping the rest of his coffee down the sink and refilling it with the fresh, black hot liquid. He places it in front of Gerard who sniffs, eyes still closed. “You’re lucky you’ve got Frank to protect your ass.”

Frank and Gerard both grin, the same sick reply crossing their minds. Mikey points at them, head still in his arms. “Don’t even say it, you sick minded people.”

“Homophobe,” Gerard grumps. Mikey snorts. After Gerard drinks his usual two cups of coffee he’s able to face food and so is Mikey. Ray huffs and tantrums for a few minutes about feeling like a mother hen, before caving when no one pays attention and making bacon and eggs. They eat breakfast together. Frank never mentions the noises and Gerard looks as though he doesn’t even remember. Frank’s sure he remembers. How could he not? Gerard keeps a reassuring hand on Frank’s leg, even though Frank’s not sure if it’s meant to be reassuring, or he’s just being affectionate. Then again, Gerard’s never affectionate for no reason. Frank sips his coffee and tries to forget too.

Frank leaves the rest of his band to eat more toast and drink more coffee. He himself is dying for a cigarette, as he always is after every meal, and has been ever since he woke. And so, after touching the small of Gerard’s back affectionately, he heads towards reception. When he gets there Julia is sat at the counter, muttering under her breath as she works a pencil furiously across what looks to be a finance book. Her glasses are slipping down her nose and when she stops to prop them back up, she sees Frank. She sits up immediately, downing the pencil and smiling brightly. “Hello there,” she says, breezy and pleasant as always. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Frank smiles, uneasy, and shakes his head. “No, thank you. I was just going out for a smoke,” and he holds up the packet of cigarettes as proof.

“You can smoke in here, you know?” she says, leaning over the book, elbows against the pages.

“I know,” he nods, “I just, uh, fancied some fresh air.” He heads for the door as she smiles him a goodbye. When he pulls it open, a ginger tabby cat scatters inside. Frank jumps back a little as the small creature leaps from the lobby chair to the desk. It purrs as Julia acknowledges it’s presence by tickling under its chin.

“Mrs. Molly,” she tutts, “been out all night again, have we?” The cat purrs in response. Frank edges his way closer to the counter, letting go of the door and letting it slip closed. “She’s friendly,” says Julia, “go ahead, stroke her.” Frank holds out a hand, the cat turns her head and watches him come closer. She doesn’t move. Frank’s never really been a cat person, dogs were always more his thing. He always though their eyes were creepy and there was just something a little too mysterious about them. But, as he tickles behind her ear and she pushes up against the touch, he thinks that maybe they’re not so bad. She purrs and walks on shaky legs towards him, meows and presses her tattered whiskers against his hand. “She’s old, now,” Julia starts, “I took her in quite a few years ago, so I’ve never known her real age. But, she’s friendly and it’s nice to have company from time to time.” Frank thinks about last night, not about the noise for once but about their discovery that this town appears to have just the one male resident.

“No, no husband?” Frank knows he’s poking in to something he probably doesn’t want to know about, but curiosity always manages to get the better of him. Always.

Julia laughs. “No, God no. There hasn’t been a man in my life since I was just a girl.”

“Oh, really?” Frank says, keeping his eyes glued to the cat who’s currently yawning, bearing yellowish sharp teeth. He’s desperate to just ask the obvious question, but instead insists on polite conversation as a disguise. She smiles warmly and nods.

“There was one, once. But I soon saw sense, he was no good for me.” Frank expects that to be the end of it, doesn’t actually want to probe any further because she seems to now be going off in some sort of day dream as she lazily tickles at Mrs Molly’s side. “You see, Frank,” she says, just as Frank’s about to turn and leave, “the thing about men is they never stay. You and your friends have probably noticed that, by now.” He nods slowly. “Well, I suppose war took a fair few and after that - we just learnt to live without them. When women found out they could survive without a husband the world changed, Frank. We soon realized men, all men, are in fact bad for us, for our growth mentally and physically. They hold us back, they take, take, take and then disappear. Men, Frank, are only good for one thing.” Frank hadn’t realized
exactly when he’d started to recline back, but suddenly he finds himself leaning away from Julia’s out of the blue man hating outburst. He’s not sure if he’s more unnerved by how out of character it was, or by how she’s now smiling again and stroking the cat like she’d never said a damn word. His feet start to move before his brain does, and soon finds himself walking backwards towards the door.

“Uh, cigarette,” he mumbles, “just, uh, gonna have a cigarette.” Julia picks up Molly and drops her on the other side of the desk.

“See you later, dear.” Frank’s gone before he can hear it.

Part Two.