A Revolution On Canvas (Frerard)

19: The Gerard Way Hate Club

It was simply the only thing he knew.

And this was the recovery, this was the hope of it all being okay, and this was smiles, and this was the light at the end of the tunnel, but sometimes, that light just didn't shine bright enough, because sometimes, late at night, Frank got lost in the dark, and he thought about the things Max had said, the things Max had done, and then the things he hadn't.

He thought about the end of the world and where he'd want to be when it came.

It wasn't here.

He thought about Gerard and how they didn't talk anymore.

How Gerard acted weird now.

How Lindsey avoided him also.

How he felt alone at work, how he hated it.

How he didn't know what to do.

But still he thought about where he wanted to be come the end of the world, and he thought about those nights he'd spent at Gerard's, and he thought about wearing his shirts, and that sofa and the way Gerard had looked at his tattoos.

But he thought about how Max might react to him leaving.

He thought about the impact of it all: the fallout, the end of it, so to speak, and what could become of them. He knew it would never go well, and he knew he'd be held responsible for something truly terrible: something he had nothing and yet everything to do with.

And in the late nights, in the darkness, a lamp in the corner of the room on: compromise to sleep with the light on, and Max in the bed beside him - turned over, facing away from him, snoring. Frank came to conclude that this was how it would be.

He got up.

He got out of bed and cursed the creak of the floorboards as he did so.

He shuddered a little with every step and looked himself down in the mirror: circles beneath his eyes, because he wasn't used to sleeping in this bed anymore and he was never any good at sleeping in unfamiliar places, Max's shirt, because it had been the first thing he'd come across, and hair sticking up at all angles.

He didn't know what to make of himself, what to do with himself.

Sleep was of course the obvious option, but Frank decided he wasn't an obvious person.

Because despite this all, he was happy. He was content. He was as content as he might ever be in this life, because he preferred safety over risk, a hometown over Hollywood, and breakfast in bed and a man who'd made a mistake to one that didn't speak to him anymore.

He didn't know why though, because he struggled to make sense out of his own head, out of snoring, out of the light on, out of his own bed.

Out of his cellphone: no new messages, all to Gerard, read but not replied to. Even to Lindsey. And that hurt too.

So in that, he found himself alone and seeking company, late night conversation until morning came from a certain French teacher who'd been nothing but bitter to him: 'are you awake? I need someone to talk to.'

He was.

The reply came within instants.

'You made the wrong decision.'

'What?'

'The thing with your taste in men is that they all seem to be liars. Terrible liars. But you always believe them.'

-

It had easily been the worst few days of Gerard's life, because here he found himself, getting to school early just to avoid three people now, and even finding himself doing his job properly in order to waste time and avoid the aforementioned three people, which was definitely a new low for him. Like seriously, this was this kind of school where he'd probably get fired for actually doing what he was supposed to be doing, or just be fired because everyone hated him and wanted him out, and were prepared to chase him out with pitchforks... okay, that was kind of more like a witch hunt, thinking about it.