When We're Both Thirty

Shitdick and Fuckhead

Gerard grimaces, remembering said incident. "I don't regret stealing your gym clothes in tenth grade."

"You asshole," Frank says, giving Gerard a look of pure venom, "I got detention for a week because of that."

"My locker smelled like shit for three months because of you."

"I hate you," Frank says menacingly.

"I hate you more," Gerard says through gritted teeth, and he's pretty sure he's almost got the door open enough for him to get inside, but Frank's leg is in the way. It's in the position that if Gerard were to try to leap into the apartment, he'd probably get kneed in the balls.

"Ugh, you fuckhead, this is serious," Gerard says, "Our mothers called each other."

"So what!"

Gerard rolls his eyes, and tells Frank what his mother had told him, "Well your mom found this thing in a box of your old stuff. It was this, contract that had been hanging in your room."

"What contract? Why the fuck does it concern you?" Frank asks.

Gerard practically growls, feeling his fingers start to become numb from the pain of keeping the door open. They'll hurt a lot more if his hand slips and Frank is able to crush them as well as his toes in his front door.

"It was a contract," Gerard says, trying to breathe even though he's panting slightly from the exertion, "said that you and I were going to get fucking married!"

"You're lying," Frank says.

"I wish I was."

"Why would I marry you?"

"We apparently used to be best friends," Gerard says.

"Yeah I remember," Frank replies.

"Wait, you do?" Gerard asks, almost losing the door in his surprise.

"Of course," Frank says, "I'm not an idiot. You and I were friends. Everyone thought I was gay."

"You are gay," Gerard states as a fact.

"So are you!"

"That's not the point," Gerard says, "The contract says that we would get married if neither of us was married by the time we were thirty."

"You must be shitting me," Frank says, "it's a piece of paper, I'm not going to take that seriously, even if it is real."

"Yes, but both of our moms are disappointed in us for being major fuckups!"

"How'd you know that?" Frank asks, and finally, the door fight is lost. Gerard wins? He's not sure, he just knows that Frank stops trying to close the door on him, because he looks like he's wheezing a little bit. It's good to know Gerard's not the only one who is terribly out of shape.

"Because we're both fuckups, fuckhead," Gerard says, "and the word 'both' entails two parties."

"You're a fuckup too?" Frank asks, "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Speak for yourself," Gerard says, "I should've known you'd end up an unemployed loser like me."

"Oh I'm not unemployed," Frank says defensively, and he turns around to walk back into his apartment. He doesn't really say if he wants Gerard to come in or not, so Gerard stands in the entrance, just sort of watching Frank.

His apartment is not too shabby, but it's not five star living either. It's more impressive than Gerard's at the very least. He's got a relatively open floor plan. There's a couch pointed at a four or five year old TV to Gerard's right. On the left side is a fairly nice looking kitchen with dark appliances. It's also alarmingly clean, but Gerard does recall something about Frank being a neat freak. Emphasis on the freak.