A Revolution On Canvas (Frerard)

9: Frank And Gerard's Incredibly 'Platonic' Relationship

It was at the back of his mind: a whisper, constant and with no foreseeable end, but easily ignored with a little effort, Frank just wasn't sure what to make of it, of course. The whisper in question was an echo of Gerard's words to him, and what they meant, and what sense they had behind them, and how Frank could possibly look Max in the eye anymore, but he shut it down, because the first thing he'd heard when he'd gotten in that night was an 'I love you', as the taller man pulled him into a kiss, and muttered something about a surprise, to make it up to him that Frank hadn't given much attention.

The shorter man only cared for the hug and the closeness and the way it made his heart flutter: he focused on that, determined in the fact that Gerard was long, and simply resorted to smiling like an idiot as he focused on drowning out the whispers from the back of his mind that argued otherwise, letting Max lead him out the house and into his car and drive him down through the night: highways he didn't recognise and a destination Frank didn't care for.

His head was in the hum of the vehicle and the way for once Max hadn't put on the radio to fill the silence, because there was none; he was all words, and all happy ones, and Frank wasn't much listening, and could make little sense of what was leaving his boyfriend's mouth, but they were happy kinds of sounds, and Frank reckoned that right then, right there, in the passenger seat, everything might be alright.

Within time, not too long, fifteen minutes perhaps, the two found themselves in a car park in a place that Frank didn't recognise, and he only seemed to come to grips with reality as Max urged him to get out of the car, placing a hand on his shoulder, and asking with sincerity as to whether the boy beside him was alright.

Frank was stumped in regards to his answer, because he was alright, he was so fucking destined to be alright: it was his one goal in life, the one thing that had to be, so Gerard could be wrong and everything could be alright, but Frank was absolutely by no means happy. And happy and alright were indeed similar words, but they most certainly didn't mean the same thing.

"I'm alright." And Frank managed it without a lie, sitting up straight in his seat and meeting his reflection in the front mirror: sleepy eyes and skin too pale, and a smile on Max's face beside him, and he knew right then that he didn't want to be here, to be out, but Max wanted that more than anything, and there was this obligation to keep him happy, to prove a point, to keep everything okay, to prove Gerard wrong, to ensure that nothing of the like would happen again.

"You look a little weirded out, Frank." Max noted, his eyes all sincere and his words stern as he met the younger man's gaze.

"I'm tired." Frank admitted, and it wasn't far off the truth anyway.

"You'll be fine after a couple of drinks, and I think you'll really like this band anyway. My friend Danny got us tickets, you know Danny, with the..." And that was the very point that Frank stopped listening, and nodded instead as the two got out of the car, and he let Max take his hand and lead him inside, to a venue that was immediately too dark and too loud.

The room was perhaps everything Frank despised in that moment, but he put that aside and focused on Max's hand in his and what that meant, and how he was lucky, and how he had this chance to make everything okay, because everything would be okay, and of course, with words that Frank didn't quite hear, in time, Max's hand escaped his, and he found himself pushed against the back wall of the venue, alone, and not entirely full conscious of the world around him: it was nothing physical, it was simply a matter of him being too caught up in his own head, in shutting the 'truth', Gerard's truth, out, and ensuring it'd all be okay, and Frank really couldn't breathe, and he really needed a smoke, and he wasn't at all sure as to how on earth the two were supposed to go together, but he pushed such thoughts aside and made his way for the backdoor and an alleyway illuminated by streetlamps and a half opened door.