Wishing You Were a Ghost

False Advertising

"When are you going to talk to me about it?"

"I'm not."

"Frank, I'm your best friend-"

"Yeah, Mikey, you are. And he's your brother, so I'm not talking about it."

They've been going around in circles about the break-up for days now. Frank is fairly certain Gerard had to have said something for Mikey to be this persistent, but then again, sometimes Mikey just does shit like this because he feels like he needs to know everything and if he doesn't he'll go crazy.

He's driving Frank crazy as is.

"Listen, I can be objective, you know this. I was objective about John-"

Frank cuts his friend off again by holding one hand in the air. "John was a dude we were friends with in high school, and I ghosted him because I moved, and you weren't fucking objective about it, you chewed my ass out for being a dick. Which is fine because you should have, but I'm not interested in your brand of 'objectivity' today," he says, making air quotes.

He hunkers down further into his couch, beneath his favorite blanket (the fleece one with the skeleton and bone pattern on it that Gerard gave him for Christmas two years ago), and pulls his favorite pillow (the little one with a TIE fighter and an X-wing delicately embroidered on the front that Gerard got him for their first Christmas together) into his lap.

Frank had offered to give them to him. Gerard had declined.

Frank has spent the last week and a half sleeping on the couch because he can't bear the thought of parting with either of the items, but he also can't fucking stand the idea of having them in his bed (the one that still smells like Gerard's cologne and shampoo because Frank can't bring himself to take the sheets off and wash away the last traces of him).

"Okay, yeah, but like you said," Mikey sighs, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. (Frank debates kicking him off of the cushion and onto the floor, but refrains.) "That was high school," the blonde continues, running a hand through his hair. "I've leveled out since then. We both have."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Frank fights off a groan and rubs at his face tiredly. Sleeping on the couch has really been a lot more tossing and turning and a lot less sleeping. It's catching up to him at this point, which is not making this particular conversation any easier.

"So you're telling me that if I said I hope he eats shit on the sidewalk and dies, that you would be objective about that?"

"Wha- No!" Mikey turns to glare at him.

"Because he's your fucking brother," Frank says, glaring right back. "Which is why-"

"That's not why!" Mikey reaches over suddenly to snatch the pillow from Frank's hands and hit him over the head with it. "I wouldn't be objective about that because it's not true and we both fucking know it."

Frank stares at him for a long few moments, chewing the inside scar where his lip ring used to sit.

"I feel like that's gotta be bad for you somehow," Gerard remarked over the edge of his coffee cup.

He got back a shrug in response. "I'm not biting myself until I bleed," Frank said easily, "I don't see the harm. At least I'm not tearing the fucking skin off of my cuticles unlike some people, Mister I can't stop ripping my fingers apart."

Gerard rolled his eyes, even going as far as to wrinkle his nose and stick his tongue out. "I bet if you stopped, that sore spot in your cheek would go away."