Wintertime (Frerard, Sequel to Summertime)

10: And Frank Looked At Gerard Like He Was On 'The Office'

Frank had told Ray that everything was okay, and perhaps it wasn't such a lie, and perhaps he was indeed fine, but perhaps he really shouldn't measure his emotional wellbeing on whether when he lied he caught a glimpse of a smirk of a redhead figure's lips in the corner of his eye.

Christa had at least been persuasive and had urged Ray to just let Frank go in a manner that would leave Frank suspecting that she really didn't want him in her home at all, and Frank couldn't fucking imagine why, because it wasn't like he was insane was it?

Frank had let Ray practically force-feed him some breakfast, before making his way to the spare room, and trying to avoid staring at the walls, and catching sight of any of those rampantly insane thoughts that had bothered him many hours ago, but that was all it was: hours.

And Frank had something close to a headache as he grabbed the packet of cigarettes from the bedside table, and contemplated just what the fuck he was doing with his life: whether he was making the right decision, that kind of nonsense, but of course, in reality, there was really little such thing as the 'right' decision, just a few that didn't entirely fuck you over.

But still, Frank reckoned that every choice open to him right now was destined to little more than absolutely fuck his life to shreds, and still, Frank pulled on a hoodie, and met his reflection in the mirror and regretted it instantly.

"Fuck." He sighed allowed, shaking his head in synchronisation with the man behind the glass, who indeed looked like him, but wasn't really him at all: for a start, the figure on the other side of the mirror was missing the asshole with the scarlet red hair beside him, who flickered in the light and barely looked real at all.

Frank shuddered, taking Gerard's hand and pulling him closer. The 'younger' man raised his eyebrows at that, following Frank's gaze back to the mirror, where suddenly, a flicker of Gerard's reflection began to materialise.

"How the fuck does that work?" Frank snapped, somewhat in awe as he glanced between 'real' Gerard, and what he could see of mirror Gerard.

Gerard shrugged it off, not entirely sure himself, but he really reckoned that Frank was in anything but the state to just take an 'I don't know' for an answer. "I guess it's something to do with the fact that the closer I am to you, the more 'real' I get, well, I get closer to your dimension of existence, like I'm floating away a little, all the time, but when you hold my hand, it sort of grounds me a little: not entirely, but a little."

"I don't think I could ever let go of your hand again now." Frank muttered, and perhaps he wasn't even exaggerating, because the prospect of Gerard just 'floating away' seemed little short of a fucking nightmare, but if that was a nightmare, what could Frank possibly call his life?

"It's fine, I'm gonna stay here with you, Frankie, you know that, now come on, we've gotta go home, haven't we?" Gerard paused, turning to meet Frank's reflection, "Christa's starting to notice, you know?"

"Fuck." Frank shuddered at that, shaking his head a little, because he was so fucking fucked, and he so just couldn't deal with that at all, but as with everything, he found he had little choice.

"Yeah, come on, baby, let's just go-"

"Baby." Frank repeated, shaking his head in the silence for a moment, as Gerard almost seemed to grind to a halt, and Frank's heart practically pounded right out of his chest. "Baby..." He repeated once more, looking up to meet Gerard's gaze. "W- Why... why are you still calling me that?"

"Because you're my baby." And Gerard said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, his voice perhaps little more than a whisper, but the words meaning the absolute world.