ghosts and cigarettes ; frerard

all the angels

it was still the middle of the night and frank was in his boxers and a thin shirt he threw over his bare torso as he left his house. it was freezing- the moon shone cold blue light onto the dips and curves of frank's collarbones that showed above the collar of his t-shirt, and illuminated his pale skin so it shone a white-blue color. frank breathed out a puff of breath, jogging down the road with urgency in his steps. his breath showed up white against the frigid air.

frank kept jogging until he reached the familiar house- "way" was written across the mailbox in carefully painted letters, white against the dark metal. gravel crunched beneath frank's bare feet as he slowed to a walk. the house felt strange, different, somehow- he stood up on the front step and rang the doorbell, arms wrapped around his own shivering frame. when there was no answer, he pressed his finger against the doorbell again, rapping the knuckles on his other hand against the door.

the house was still quiet and frank frowned, pulling his cellphone out of the waistband of his boxers where he had tucked it before leaving the house. he quickly unlocked it and dialed gerard. he held the phone to his ear, shuddering against the cold of the screen.

it went straight to voicemail and frank bit his lip, looking back up at the house. he looked back down at his phone and dialed gerard's mom, who he rarely spoke to.

"hello?" the shaky voice of donna way answered the line.

frank furrowed his brow and wet his lips with his tongue. "donna? hi, it's frank. do you know where gerard is?"

the other line was silent. "he's with me."

"where are you?"

"frank-"

"can i speak to gerard?"

"he's not-"

"donna, where are you."

there was a static-filled sigh. "the bridge. the turnpike bridge."

frank's lips parted and he fell silent. "thank you, donna."

"frank, i-"

frank hung up the phone and turned away from the dark house, feet numb against the cold gravel. he carefully stepped down the driveway and once he got to the street, he started running again, back home, to take brian's car to the belleville turnpike bridge. it was about a 20 minute run to gerard's house, but now that frank was really worried, it took only fifteen to get back to the coffee shop- his lungs were screaming and bile began to rise in his throat, but he continued at the same pace, taking the car keys from the kitchen and going out the back door to brian's shitty honda.

the drive was short to the turnpike bridge. the drive should have been about thirty minutes, actually, as the speed limit was only thirty miles per hour, but when frank's driving and the roads are empty and there's somewhere he needs to be, he can half the time easily.

he got worried once he saw police cars behind him.

at first thought, the police were after him- he was thirty miles per hour over the speed limit in a small town, where kids played in the streets day round, but the cars raced past him, going faster than his 65mph speed.

and that's when he really got worried. his grip on the steering wheel got tighter, stretching the skin on his knuckles so they turned white with the pressure. he bit his lip and pressed his foot down farther on the gas pedal, following the police cars at 75mph on a 35mph speed limit road.

and he was scared.

so scared. So many things felt wrong, so many things could have gone wrong- gerard had looked like he had seen a ghost and that's what worries frank the most, really. gerard was never scared, and here he was.

the police cars stopped at the mouth of the turnpike bridge, frank skidding to a halt behind them. he turned off the car and pulled the emergency brake, racing to leave the car. he left the door flung open and ran past the police cars, eyes frantically searching for gerard.

"hey! are you allowed to be here?" a policeman called, jogging to approach frank, who was running past the perimeter of cars and crime scene tape.

when he saw the mop of black hair by the edge, dimly lit by the sickly yellow light of the bridge, he ran again, running to the huddled shape by the barrier between the road and the water below. he was crouching on the floor, face pressed into his forearms, back pressed against the fence. frank hesitated, slowing to a stop two feet away from gerard's hunched frame.

"gerard?" frank's voice wavered, and the voices of donna way and the police quieted to silence.

gerard looked up and frank's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

his face was red and tear streaked, eyes glinting with collected water. his lower lip trembled as he made eye contact with the shorter man.

"frank," he said, and burst into a fresh set of tears.

frank rushed forward and knelt next to gerard, who leaned into frank's frame, face pressed into his shoulder. his tears soaked through the thin material of frank's shirt.

"gerard, baby, shh..." frank cooed, speaking softly into gerard's hair, who only cried harder, sobs escaping his chest. "what's the matter, sugar?"

"i'm- frank-" gerard gasped, holding back another sob. he bit frank's shoulder gently in attempt to stay quiet but the sobs wracked his body all the same.

"mikey- fuck, frank, mikey is dead."

--

(( EDITED [for once] ))

:-0

so that happened

wow i'm updating these books like every month wyd @ me get ur shit together

please appreciate this book i love it so much

ily !!

-mikey