Wishing You Were a Ghost

Waste of Paint

Frank isn't expecting to spend the holidays with Mikey, but everyone is out of state for Christmas with other family members, and he isn't feeling particularly in the mood for travel.

He doesn't mind it so much. He helps Mikey with his Christmas tree, and there's not really any sort of urgency to any of it, not like there is with his mom every year. Mikey isn't worried about being punctual, or picture perfect, and he doesn't want to watch White Christmas while they put the angel (it's a glittery Death Star) on the top branches.

It's an easy holiday, which is great, because he could use something easy again.

The break-up doesn't leave him wrecked, but he's still a little sad, so it's nice to have company while he wraps gifts for his parents, and for Aspen. He gives Mikey his early because Frank forgets to hide it properly, and "well, I already saw it Frank, what's the point?" is the argument used (and rightly so).

All in all, it's nice, even Christmas eve. When Ray comes over and it leaves Frank feeling like a third wheel until Gerard comes over and then Frank just feels... weird. On a lot of levels.

Gerard's hair is orange. It's not neon - like that one pair of fluorescent wheels Aspen has for their quads that glow under blacklight - but it's certainly not red, and it is a far fucking cry from the blonde he's been sporting for the last- Jesus, what? Three years now? Nearly four? Maybe if he were a hair stylist he would call it 'ginger', or 'copper', but he's not a hair stylist, and he's not his ex-partner with their color stories every season, so he's calling it like it is.

It's orange.

It looks great, too. Not that it's surprising, because it's Gerard, but it works well with the pale skin-tone, and it's peppered with snowflakes. It's short still, but the front is a little longer, he's got a nice little fringe going, and it's sticking up a little over his forehead, probably because he hasn't brushed in it god only knows how long. His cheeks are flushed from the cold outside, and Frank is made aware that he's staring, because Mikey nudges him hard in the side, causing the smaller man to look back down at his phone to hide the color in his own cheeks. He doesn't have the excuse of 'I was out in the snow' to fall back on.

"Merry Christmas!" Gerard exclaims, locking the door behind him and setting down a large bag so he can get out of his snow boots. "Sorry I'm late. Some idiot didn't have chains on, and I'm pretty sure they didn't even have snow tires? I watched them slide in slush for like half a block before they hit a snow plow of all fucking things, so it caused a jam."

"No worries," Mikey calls from his place on the couch. "We're not doing anything fancy, you know that by now. I'm not Mom."

Gerard rolls his eyes, "I know you're not, but still. I don't like being late to things."

"I think the point he's making is that there's nothing to be late to," Ray says. He's sitting on the floor in front of the couch eating popcorn out of one of those holiday tins. Lois, who Mikey let Frank bring along with him, is laying next to him on his other side with her head resting against his knee, and every now and again, Ray will reach over and give her a gentle pet on the head with his non-popcorn hand.

"That's exactly the point I'm making," Mikey confirms, leaning to place a kiss into Ray's curls. He gets lost in them for a second, and Frank's chest aches a little when he thinks about getting lost into kinky curls that smell like patchouli, so he looks over at Gerard instead, and offers a nod.

That doesn't fucking help the ache, so he opts to lean down for a handful of caramelcorn to sooth his troubled soul. (That doesn't help either, but he's out of options unless he wants to go back home, and he doesn't, so he's just going to have to deal.)