In The Case Of Gerard Way (Frerard)

Chapter Eight- Move Along

It takes three weeks for Vic to finally call me and tell me he's opening the shop again. Three weeks of hanging around at the Jukebox a lot with Ray, going to different cities to watch Sleeping With Sirens, housing Jamia for the night more than once, and drinking more beer than I should. Not once during those three weeks did I see Gerard. I got no calls from Nicks, no word from Jamia, not a glimpse of the greasy black hair and sunglasses I secretly longed to see but never wanted to see again. Somehow, his words hurt me more deeply than they should have.

Jamia noticed something was wrong. Whenever she stayed the night, she said I looked worse each time. Thinner, paler, smoking more, drinking more, not eating as much, not smiling as much. I told her I was just feeling down.

Today however, I need to go back to work. So for the first time in three weeks, I pull on my coffee stained shirt and black jeans and begin the walk to work, picking up a quick salad on the way. I reach the building in seemingly no time at all, the bells above the door jingling when I open it. All the regulars are back with a fervor, smiling and laughing and happy. I put on a smile and head into the back, pulling on my apron.

I see Vic in the corner and approach him. He folds me in a big hug.

"You've been such a huge help," he says. "Thank you. I came back expecting the place as I left it, dirty and in bad need of cleaning up. But since I told you to put up the sign, I can only assume you cleaned up. It must've taken forever. Thank you, really." He presses a fifty dollar bill into my hand, and I shake my head.

"Vic, I can't take your money," I say.

"Please, keep it," he begs. "You've been such a huge help, I don't know what I would've done without you."

I give him a smile, my first really genuine smile in weeks. "Thank you, Vic." I pocket the bill and smile at him.

"Now get to work," he says teasingly. "Lots of regulars are back and they want their coffee."

I give a small laugh and walk back into the restaurant. I gaze around, noticing that Patrick has just walked in. I go over to his booth, dangerously close to Gerard's empty one, and smile at him.

"Hi Patrick," I greet him with a cheek aching smile. "Long time no see."

He smiles, adjusting his fedora and glasses. "Truly. I've missed my hot chocolates. I can get some at other places but it just doesn't taste the same."

I laugh a little. "I suppose you're right. One hot chocolate, I suppose?"

"Yes please," he laughs. "I'd appreciate it a lot."

"You've got-" I start, and cut myself off when the bell above the door jingles. And in walks the one person I haven't seen but have wanted to in three weeks.

Gerard. Looking worse than ever.

His hair looks like it hasn't been washed in days, his clothes wrinkled and stained. His sunglasses are slipping off his greasy skin, and he's even paler than before. Even from here, I can smell the reek of alcohol off his clothes.

"I-I I'll be back," I stumble out, practically running and hiding behind the counter.

Jamia gives me a weird look. "What's up with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I just shake and shiver, muttering, "I though it was earlier."

"It's six thirty," she replies. "Oh and look at that, Gerard's here. Do you wanna come say hi?"

I vigorously shake my head. "No!" I squeak.

"Why not?" she asks, looking confused. "I thought you were interested in talking to him."