Mornings were never anything spectacular, but within a week or so, mornings had become Frank's whole world.
Mornings were a matter of neither darkness nor light, just something in between; mornings were a matter of neither death nor life, just something in between.
Gerard almost felt real curled up next to Frank, and the two had been sleeping closer together with every morning, and with every morning, the line between this world and Gerard's had faded a little.
It was almost like Frank was eighteen again and everything was okay, but things weren't like that, and no matter how real Gerard's body felt pressed up against Frank's, it was still always cold, and he still could never breathe.
Because Gerard lay still, and he lay too still, like he lay in his own grave, and he did, he really did, and Frank knew that; he knew that this wasn't Gerard, this was just a shadow, or perhaps a reflection: the Gerard from the other side of the mirror or something, but Frank knew that this Gerard was the absolute best he was ever going to get.
And Frank held on, startling the man in the bed next to him as he curled his fingers around his.
"Morning." Gerard mumbled, shifting in the sheets to face the shorter man.
And it was like you were at a bar or even just a friend's house, and a song comes on the radio or whatever, and it sounds familiar, and it sound so familiar: you know every chord, every line, but you don't, and you glance at the track name, and it's unfamiliar, and you come to the conclusion that you've never heard this song in your life and you don't know it at all.
That was Gerard.
Right now at least, because with the smile and the content look in those hazel eyes, Frank knew that even if this was the 'right' Gerard, he still had most definitely changed. Of course, change with time was to be expected, but Frank wasn't ready; Frank had never been ready.
And before Frank could stop himself, his head wasn't here, but ten years prior, in a bed, a bed with Gerard, but a different Gerard and a different room, a different house, a different town, a different state, and what felt like a whole different world.
They'd fucked that morning.
They'd fucked, and it was crude and it was normal, and it was ordinary, and they were ordinary, because there wasn't a single moment in which Frank could have possibly suspected that he'd go to bed that night and wake up the next morning without the red haired man by his side.
But of course, Frank didn't go to bed that night; he couldn't sleep, perhaps even for many days afterwards: things had gotten a little blurry, and perhaps for the better, not that Frank had anything close to a good grasp on better judgement, as it seemed that Frank's only life skill was limited to getting himself into bigger and bigger messes, but for sure, he was damn good at it.
"What are you thinking about?" Gerard's words were quiet and muffled: soft against the pillow that the two had shared, sort of, but not really.
Frank looked up, and into Gerard's eyes, swallowing hard, and just letting his gaze meet Gerard's, and just letting everything sink in, and fuck, Frank was crying, and Frank could do very little about it.
"Fuck, Frank- I..." Gerard exclaimed, his eyes widening a little as he placed his hand in Frank's, squeezing it a little in something like an attempt to comfort him. "Please tell me what you're thinking about?"
"Since when did you say please?" Frank scoffed, turning over onto his back, and biting his lip, willing the tears to stop, and with time, they did.
"Since I started to be sorry." Gerard added, several moments later, laying beside Frank as he did so. "Just tell me, Frankie."
"You tell me." Frank insisted, inhaling sharply as he did so.
"Tell you what?" Gerard asked, genuinely clueless, and genuinely beautiful, even for a person who'd been dead ten fucking years.
"Why you did it. Tell me what really went through your head that day, because it's always my perspective a million times over; that's all I think about, I could recite it to you, every little thought and feeling, but from you, from you there was little more than a soppily concocted paragraph, a lacklustre apology that I thought I'd never receive closure from, and I won't, but I... need to know, Gerard, tell me why."
Gerard turned away from Frank momentarily, biting his lip as he did so, because Gerard himself didn't linger too much upon this topic either. "It's... it's complicated."
"Isn't everything?" Frank snapped back instantly. "This isn't a Facebook relationship status, Gerard."
"I know." Gerard shook his head, finally turning back to Frank, but not quite meeting his gaze as he continued to speak. "I was scared: I always am, and always have been, but then it was different, because I was such a mess of teenage angst and fucked up feelings and knots that never got untied: I was all flaws with no strengths, and I was pretty, I am pretty, but that's all I have going for me, and I struggle to see how you could see anything worth dating in me, but that's a stupid question, and I... I had built up this persona, this 'Gerard', this guy that was too cool and too tough and too good for anyone, and then there was this boy called Frankie who fucked that all up."
"You hated me when we first met that day in the forest, in the summertime, didn't you?" Frank asked, exhaling sharply as he did so.
"I wanted you to think I did." Gerard shook his head once more. "That was the very day I fell for you: it was like falling, it was like I'd hit the end of the road, the end of the cliff, and you were the freefall, and it was that for so long, and I'd embraced it after all, but that day, I woke up, and everything was different, it was over: it was the bottom, and I knew it, and in a way, I think you did too. I wanted to stay, but that argument, inevitable, of course, was what sealed it, but it's okay now, we're together again now: seems like I just can't get away from you, no matter how hard I try." Gerard cracked something like a smile as he spoke.
"You know you didn't have to, Gerard." Frank continued, not as satisfied with the response he'd received as Gerard would have liked him to be. "You could have stayed alive, we could have had that argument, and you could have gone out to the forest and smoked and had some time alone, and I could go look for you and we could talk things over and we could kiss, and we'd be good and it'd be okay-"
"This is the best option, I assure you, Frankie." Gerard let out a sigh, raising his eyebrows a little as he did so. "This is keeping me to stay by your side, because with me alive, and me being me, and you being you, I can promise you that we would not have lasted ten years."
"Eleven." Frank corrected him.
"Eleven." Gerard paused. "It wouldn't have happened."
"So are you saying you didn't love me?-"
"No-"
"Then what are you saying?" Frank had quickly lost all of his patience, and Gerard was more than well aware of it.
"You wouldn't understand-"
"What because I'm just a kid- well, guess what? I'm not a kid anymore: I'm twenty eight, I'm six years older than you, and you need to accept that, and you need accept what you did instead of just rewriting it off as some poetic teen romance bullshit."
And with that, Frank found the space in the bed beside him empty.
"Fuck." Frank sat up, his eyes widening a little as he glanced around the room in panic, "come on, Gerard, I know you can hear me, I'm sorry- I... I'm sorry, I mean it, please."
And, nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing but an empty room for the man with an empty heart.
And it was deja vu: ten years ago all over again, and maybe this was a repeat, and maybe they were destined to fuck up every single chance they had, but still, but fucking still, that would never stop Frank from trying.
-
Frank Iero was someone's blog aesthetic.
And part teenage white girl in disguise, curled up against a Starbucks window with a fucking vanilla latte in hand as he looked sad and almost melancholic, of sorts; his gaze distant and fixated upon the world outside the coffee shop window.
Frank Iero was Brendon Urie's instagram theme aesthetic.
"Did you just take a fucking picture of me?" Frank exclaimed, jolting a little in his seat at the camera shutter sound.
Brendon raised his eyebrows, pulling a 'bitch I might have' face as he 'discreetly' put his iPhone back in his pocket.
"He has an instagram theme to maintain now." Ryan filled Frank in, looking just as skeptical in regards to the whole situation as Frank himself was, but of course, Ryan was far too stricken to dare voice any of his apprehensions, and especially not in Brendon's company.
"I do indeed." Brendon nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, and leaving Frank to scan the coffee shop for even the faintest glimpse of that red hair that he was pretty sure he could fucking recognise anywhere, but no, nothing.
It had been a day or so now, and Frank hated this loneliness, and he needed Gerard back, but of course he had to be such a stubborn asshole, and Frank hadn't the slightest idea as to how the fuck he was supposed to make this up to him, and it wasn't exactly as if he could just ask Brendon and Ryan for advice, was it?
"Frank, why do you always look so sad?" Brendon wasn't exactly the most discreet person, to say the least, and Frank didn't even know why he'd been at all startled as he came to process just exactly what Brendon had said.
"I... I..." Frank's eyes widened a little as he looked Brendon up and down, deciding it was better to go for a sarcastic answer here. "Why do we always sit in this Starbucks everyday?"
"Why do you always third wheel me and Ryan?" Of course, Frank hadn't accounted for just how ready Brendon was to appose every little remark Frank could pose.
"Brendon, fucking leave it, okay, he's single, so what? Just leave it-"
"But Ryan, he won't let us help him find a boyfriend, so I have the fucking right to get pissed off when he's sad-"
"But you don't have the right to assume that I'm sad because I'm single." Frank cut in, glaring right at Brendon.
"He's right, you know." Ryan added, and Frank was getting dangerously fucking close to just leaving, right then and there, and walking until he reached the end of the world, or New Jersey, or something.
Part of Frank needed to go home, and he needed to go home right now.
Part of Frank needed to be eighteen again, and he needed to be eighteen right now.
Because he'd take it; he'd take it all: all the mess and fuck ups, all of it, just for another chance with Gerard, just for a life with Gerard, one where they were both alive, and things could possibly work.
"Okay, I'm sorry, but seriously, you're always sad, and it's starting to unsettle me, and it's like, you always give me bullshit answers, and if you told us the truth then we could help you, you know?" Brendon forced his face into a smile, but still Frank wasn't anything near convinced, and quite honestly why would he be?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Of course we would, look, Frank, you can't keep this up inside you forever: it's going to drive you insane, you know?" Ryan's attempt was a little more substantial, but Frank was perhaps as stubborn as the red haired dead boyfriend who was the cause to all his problems, and his mind was already made up.
"Watch me." He got up, making his way out of the coffee shop. "Fucking watch me."
But of course, Ryan was right, and he couldn't keep it inside, not really, but still, this wasn't something he could talk to them about, and he knew it.
-
It was a texted address and badly executed excuses, and a 'fuck it' attitude that had led Frank Iero to Ray Toro's doorstep, and of course, more so, advice, and a search for it, because Ryan and Brendon had been anything but helpful as of recent.
And Frank was going just a little insane, or something along those lines.
Ray lived on the outskirts of town, in a part that Frank didn't frequent, and in fact, the twenty eight year old had gotten himself lost at least twice on the journey there.
This part of town was all tight little streets and pretty houses with hedges all in neat rows, and people that lived with too much grandeur for Frank and his tiny little apartment to comprehend imagining, and perhaps, weeks ago, Frank would have been complacent with the meaningless nature of his existence, but now, in the perfect streets, between the perfect houses, in which people lived perfect lives, he knew that he just couldn't, not anymore.
And it had been entirely Gerard's fault, as most things were, and that was just a slightly unfortunate truth that Frank had learned to accept by now.
Ray answered the door within a minute or so, and really, it had been easily the slowest and most reflective minute of Frank's life, perhaps only second to the one minute in which he'd first came across Gerard, just laying there, in that forest - motionless, and fuck, and, just-
"Frank, are you alright?" Ray's words broke Frank out of his thoughts within seconds, the shorter man jerking a little as they happened to surprise him more than he'd ever care to admit.
Frank looked Ray in the eye, meeting his gaze with a certain kind of honesty, "no, Ray, I'm quite honestly not, you know?"
"And you need my advice?" Ray guessed the second half of his sentence and as Frank nodded, he stepped aside to let him in.
Frank felt almost out of place in a house like this, because it was most definitely too fancy for him, too good, too expensive, too worth someone's time, because poor Frank Iero wasn't even worth Gerard Way's time anymore, and the red head had made that rather apparent in his continued and stubborn absence.
"Come on, I'll make some coffee." Ray gestured Frank into the kitchen like they were old friends, and Ray wasn't totally his music teacher back in high school, but of course, Frank had no queries when it came to free coffee, like any sane person, of course, because Frank was sane, after all.
"So..." Ray drew out a sigh as he put the kettle on, Frank leaning back against the wall a few metres away and watching as Ray fiddled mindlessly with various kitchen appliances. "Do go on."
Frank exhaled with entirely too much vigour, causing Ray to raise his eyebrow, but comment no further as Frank finally parted his lips and something of significance slipped out, "it's about Gerard."
And Ray almost dropped the mug right onto the kitchen floor, "oh?"
"Yeah." Frank bit down on his bottom lip, looking anywhere but Ray, because fuck, he knew what he most be thinking right now, and what this must all mean and add up to, and what a mess he must have constructed for himself, and fuck, just fuck.
"What about him?" Ray spoke up a few minutes later, and Frank kind of wished he didn't, because he found a certain comfort in silence and nothingness, and maybe he could live like that forever; he certainly could as of a few weeks ago, but ever since Gerard had become a part of his life again, he could hardly imagine it.
Gerard always had to be so fucking significant, and he hated that.
"He's... fuck... you're going to... fuck.... Ray, I..."
"Frank, come on, just spit it out." Ray turned to face Frank fully at this point, and the twenty eight year old only began to realise just how absurd it would sound aloud, and how ridiculous it would be to voice such an atrocity with such a casual demeanour.
He'd look insane, hey, maybe Frank was insane, fuck, but there was little he could do at this point, because if his life was going to fuck up, he done a brilliant job of it already.
"I keep seeing his ghost..." Frank trailed off, his gaze hitting the floor, as he prepared himself for an absolute outcry from the older man, but instead, he received little more than a simple:
"Oh..." and silence, continued silence, as Ray stood there deep in thought, and the kettle boiled, and Ray put entirely too much thought and care into making their coffee: almost if he was trying to avoid the subject of what Frank had just said, however as he poured the coffee, and handed one to Frank, he met the shorter man's gaze, and exhaled sharply, preparing himself for just about everything and anything before continuing with, "how do you know he's a ghost?"
"He told me, and he's proved it, and he... it makes sense, and it doesn't sound like it should, and he never explains not really, because it's Gerard, but... it makes sense, and it... I just know, like do you sometimes just know things, like, it may have been ten years, but I still know Gerard, you know what I mean?"
Ray didn't, but gingerly, he nodded his head regardless, because with the way Frank was looking at him, Ray knew that he needed some sort of reassurance more than Ray needed to be correct in everything he said.
"And now... well we had an argument, and he disappeared, except he's not gone, because he told me that he's sort of tied to me, like I can't see him, but he's here somewhere now, and I know that, and I've tried apologising, and I... I fucked up, again, and it's like last time; it's like that day, and the forest, and I just, fuck, I'm just so glad that he can't kill himself twice-"
"It's not your fault, Frank; it never has been, and it never will be." Frank nodded, hesitant to believe him, but Ray's gaze was somewhat intimidating and he didn't quite dare to question it.
"It feels like it, because I always start the argument, and I don't stop- I can't stop thinking about him, and-"
"Frank, I'm sorry, but are you sure he's not a figment of your imagination, I mean...."
"No, Ray, fuck, no, I'm sane, he promised me, and he meant it, and Gerard doesn't always keep promises, but he's changed and I..."
And Frank almost half expected Gerard to appear in the corner of the room, face complete with a smirk determined to prove Ray wrong, but Frank had no such luck, and found the room empty besides the two of them, and in consequence, he found himself, truly and utterly fucked.
-
hey pals how are you all doing help me because i had such a good idea for a new fic that i really want to write but i will just die i barely have enough time for what i write rn lmao fuck my life remember 2014 when i was sane and wrote like 3 fics at a time, lmao fuck my life. votes and comments would be cool so i dont die ok i love you all lots<3