The Healing Powers of Loud Music and Frank

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"There are a lot of things we try to hide

But you are drowning, it's in your eyes,"

--Tigers Jaw, Divide

Gerard ends up waking up before noon the following day, just barely. He knows he cannot get hammered, and the thought keeps him muttering in bed for a good twenty minutes before he musters the strength to face the day without liquor.

By three o'clock, he ends up filling the required paperwork in the gun shop, putting a downpayment, and shaking the man's hand who said they'll call him in three business day if he was approved or not by the government. Basically, he'd had to wait the weekend and a few more days. The thought pissed him off, and on the way home, he stopped to buy a bottle of Jack Daniels.

He parked his van on the driveway, and wondered vaguely what'd happen to his possesions after he got a hold of that gun. Would his family keep it? All his old drawings and paintings, he wondered what they'd do with it. He hoped they'd burn it, he wouldn't want it to be collecting dust and mold in an old, secluded storage room and he wouldn't want them to hang it around. He didn't want them to cry for him, he just wanted to not exist, to not be.

However, he hoped Mikey got the van. Mikey deserved it and hell, it could serve to make ammends after he'd gone. A gift, it didn't matter. Gerard had been such a bad brother, Mikey deserved more than a rusted old van but that was all Gerard could offer, it was all he had his to give.

When he opened the door, he hears music coming from the basement. He wouldn't even be a good brother, then. He'd rudely kick Mikey out and end up getting drunk and passing out on his bed in the corner. The basement was his, and he made his way to do just that with the brown bag in his arms.

"Mike, I told you, get the fuck out of the basement," he said loudly, and opened the door down to the basement. The lights were turned on, bright. Gerard blinked and went down the steps. Two pair of hazel eyes greeted him, the music stopped at once. "Uh huh, you too, kid. Get out."

"But, Gee, we just got here, man," Mikey whined, and Frank was already unplugging the small amp from the wall outlet. "Frankie, no, man. Stay, come on, Gerard. Can't you drink in the kitchen and let us jam the fuck out for a few?"

"And have Donna throw a fit when I'm passed out? No fucking way, Mike. Beat it," Gerard remarked.

Frank finds himself invisible as the two brothers bicker, unsure if he was to stay or leave until he says, "What if all three of us stay?"

Neither Gerard nor Mikey thought of it, mostly because the two figures were hell-bent on their way. Mike clasped his hands together as if that had been the most genius idea Frank had ever had. As if.

"I drink alone. No offense, kid," Gerard cut the idea down quicker than Frank had ever thought possible. What a prick, Frank was trying to be nice.

"So much for misery liking company," Frank remarked, not liking this Gerard guy one fucking bit. He seemed like a total sadist; a bully, someone who would kick you after you're down. "Look,

Gee. I don't know what your problen is. Frankly, I don't care too much about it. The basement was empty when we came in. And quit calling me a 'kid'. You're a kid yourself."

"Where'd you get this asshole, Mike?" Gerard remarked, crossing his arms across his chest. "You think you're so tough, kid? You've hardly been to the other side of Newark."

"I might be a total asshole but at least I don't have to drown my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle-"

"Guys, come on," Mike cut in with his passive and quiet voice like a blade, precise. "We'll try not to be too loud. Gerard, come on. Don't make us leave."

It was the closest thing to begging Gerard had seen coming from Mikey, which meant that Mike really wanted this kid to stay. Arching an eyebrow, Gerard shrugged, making his way to sit in the small brown sofa in front of tiny television screen that was turned off.

Soon, I'll be out of his hair, Gerard mused as he uncapped the bottle. Pretty soon. Just another week and Mike would get the basement for him and his little boy-friend and Gerard would be gone.

At some point, Mikey leaves to fetch his bass. Frank had already shown off and feels his heart swell when Mikey looks at him with his glasses at the tip of his nose and a crooked grin, brushing Frank's shoulder with his.

The music stops once the door shuts, Frank's fingertips are red and slightly swollen but playing for Mike makes him feel like he has a purpose, he has someone to play for and hell, if Mike flirts, who is he to not flirt back?

Gerard notices, he'd have to be blind to not notice the puppy love between his brother and the other Frank-boy. He might be partially drunk but he's got 20/20 vision.

"So, you and my brother?" he asked, head turned, bottle in between his legs, fingertips on the neck of the bottle.

"What?" Frank feigned ignorance, eyes averted the taller figure that sat in the couch.

"You and my brother...you guys are a thing, right?"

"Ahem," Frank cleared his throat and a slight blush crept up from his neck and to his cheek. "We're not anything, really."

"Oh, oh. You're not gay?" Gerard asked, eyebrows raised, oblivious.

"I hardly see how that's your business, if-"

"Actually, it is. I mean, it's my brother, you're talking about-"

"He's only mentioned you twice since I've known him, like I said, it's not really your business."

Gerard frowns, thin lips frail. "Only twice? Well, I guess it'd be pretty hard for him to talk about anything when he's got your dick in his mouth."

"Oh, God," Frank covers his face with his hands in embarassment. "We haven't even done anything."

"Yes, well, obviously."

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Mike looks at the mirror in the bedroom, flatening his already straight hair with his palm, making sure his dark eyeliner wasn't smeared, bitting his lips in utter nervousness and anticipation. He grabs his Fender and quickly makes way to meet Frank.

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