A Revolution On Canvas (Frerard)

34: #Megchael

Max had been doing okay, but only okay, and then, the word 'okay' was still used rather loosely, and in all of that, Frank really couldn't help but feel sorry for him - maybe not guilty, maybe not anymore, but sorry, because Max's mental health had never been his fault, it was just what he did, because there was a line, and despite his mental health, he still had to take responsibility for his actions, and he was just like everyone else. Frank really only found himself seeing that after having spent a while away from him, because there was really quite the contrast when it came to living with Gerard and comparing it to living with Max.

Gerard's house was all clutter, but clutter that was organised: somehow meaningful clutter, like a photograph he'd printed out and taped to the fireplace because it reminded him of a place he'd been one winter and wanted to remember that every time he sat there: in that odd kind of contemplative state he got himself into at times. Gerard's house was comfortable, not just in the furnishing or the decor, but the place itself: the atmosphere - it spoke of a man who was comfortable with himself, and radiated that out throughout the place: it felt safe, it felt warm, even when the fire wasn't on. And the thing that really meant the most, was the fact that the place was as much of Gerard's house as it was Frank's, even though he hadn't been living there particularly long, he was living there, not just staying for an extended period of time, which was rather what it had felt like with Max.

Because with Max that had been this ever present sense of non-permanence, even from the start, even if only at the back of his mind, there were always the signs that this just wouldn't last, and of course, Frank had done his best to ignore them, and his best to fake comfort in his own home, which was never something he should have found himself doing, but he found himself doing it for Max, who lost control sometimes, and ended up losing control too much, and left Frank stepping cautiously around the house as if with one misguided step he might land upon a landmine and blow everything to smithereens. And the thing was that he'd just let it get to the point where he found himself used to it, because before, it had never been like that - things had been good, Frank was sure of that, but Frank was also sure that things with Gerard were a million times better, and wondered if when he'd agreed to move in with Max he simply had no idea what happiness really meant.

Gerard had wanted Max completely out of Frank's life once he'd moved in, but Frank knew that wasn't practical, and Gerard knew that Frank did know Max more than he did, and Gerard had done this wonderful, yet so simple act of just putting his trust in him, and trusting that he'd talk to Max again but not get himself dragged into anything he didn't want to be in. Frank knew Gerard had this blow out of proportion image of Max in his mind: painting him as the bad guy, as the villain in all of this, but truthfully, in real life, there were no villains and heroes, there were just people, and their decisions, and indeed the consequences of those decisions.

Frank hadn't entirely wanted to go and speak to Max face to face, and if he was going to do such a thing, he knew that Gerard would definitely insist upon tagging on, and Frank wouldn't find himself nearly as opposed to that idea as he perhaps should be, and let him do so, and that would leave nothing more than a fight and an argument, and that was really the last thing anyone needed now, so he'd opted to speak to him on the phone, and let him talk him through his life and how he was doing, because the one good thing that Frank and Max would always have was the ability to understand each other's mental health and issues with ease; Frank would always be able to figure where Max was coming from. and that was why he needed to speak to him; he just needed someone that would understand, and someone who saw that there was little use in patronising him.

Frank curled up on the sofa, having grabbed the cup of coffee Gerard had made for him before disappearing upstairs to finish an art project of his while Frank spoke to Max, because he knew it would be hard for him to overhear the conversation and not having a somewhat volatile and typically Gerard kind of reaction, which wasn't necessarily bad, but simply not appropriate for the situation, and of course, Frank didn't deem it likely that Max would be all that inclined for Gerard to know every detail of his life and his every thought.