Wintertime (Frerard, Sequel to Summertime)

11: In Which Frank Offers To Whore Himself Out For Coffee

"But we have to find out-"

"But how?" Brendon let out an exhausted kind of sigh as he leaned back against the sofa. "We don't really have any better ideas than just talking to him, and like hell that's going to work."

"It might." Ryan added, narrowing his eyes a little.

"It won't." Brendon shook his head: far too certain of himself for Ryan's liking.

"Whatever you say, Bren-"

"Are you seriously just going to storm into his apartment and look him dead in the eyes and yell some questions at him and expect some form of response, because knowing Frank he's not even going to be out of bed yet, and there's just no fucking chance whatsoever that he's going to be at all inclined to tell you, you realise that, don't you?"

"Of course I realise it, but that doesn't mean I can't try, does it? Like hell, Bren, what are you going to say to me if I go ask him and he just explains in some deep heart to heart- fuck!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes suddenly growing unnervingly wide.

"What?" Brendon paused, looking at his boyfriend with a certain confusion.

"We have to get him drunk: it's obvious, people spit all sorts of shit out when they're drunk, don't they? So we'll just get him drunk, but not too drunk, but drunk enough and then casually start asking him shit, and then maybe we'll have some success-"

"Ryan, I don't mean to piss you off but that's an awful lot like drugging him, not going to lie." Brendon smiled at his boyfriend, shaking his head a little, "but fucking go for it, you do, because there's no way in hell that I'm letting you drag me into this mess-"

"It's Frank's mess, it's our mess - it's a shared mess, you have no choice, Brendon, hey, you know what? I'm going to go over to his now and prove you the fuck wrong."

Brendon chuckled a little, raising his eyebrows as his boyfriend got to his feet. "Hey, if you get anything of value out of him, I'll suck your dick."

Ryan smirked, "that's a fucking deal, Urie," because there was no way he was leaving Frank's apartment without something now.

-

Frank was at the point where it's almost normal, despite it being the weirdest damn thing on this planet, but of course, to him, Gerard is so much more important than the whole damn universe, and perhaps that means something: the kind of something that keeps the two together, maybe this is special, or maybe it's just luck, maybe it's just chance, maybe this is all destined to fade away, perhaps this is temporary, and perhaps one day Frank will wake up alone, and then things will stay that way forever, even without a goodbye.

And Frank can't imagine that, because Gerard looked absolutely beautiful in the sheets next to him, and he can't motivate himself to get out of bed, and leave him alone, let alone, let Gerard leave him alone forever, because this matters: they matter, and he wants Gerard to kiss him again, but Frank was far too scared to ask.

He knew Gerard wasn't asleep; he might be pretending, but not really, but still, he couldn't quite ready himself for the eye contact and the conversation and of course what could possibly stem from there, because Frank wasn't ready; this was all he wanted, but still, he reckoned he couldn't quite accept it yet.

That hurt a lot, it really did, and perhaps Gerard more than Frank; the Gerard that lay awake and aware too, the Gerard that lay waiting, the Gerard that lay scared too, the Gerard that was perhaps worthy of Frank ten years ago, but was nothing now.

Because for Frank Iero, Gerard reckoned he wouldn't mind being thirty three, forty three, even, fucking a hundred and three; he'd do it all, all too much for one beautiful boy who was smiling at him like he hadn't noticed.