Frank's birthday came and went- he refused to do anything special for it. In the end I finally convinced him to come to my house for the weekend and to let my mom make him a cake. He understood that I couldn't afford a present at the moment... And I understood that I would still buy him one, anyways.
"You haven't taken that thing off since I gave it to you," I observed, almost a month after his birthday. (It was late November already- we had stopped leaving the house without our jackets, and I had started drinking a peppermint mocha every day in replacement of one of my cupsof coffee in honor of the holidays. Frank was slightly more in the holiday mood than I was, though.)
He just grinned, tugging the end of the sleeve of the dark green cardigan so that it stuck out beneath his grey sweatshirt's sleeve. "I have! You know that. I washed it at your house last time I was over, remember?"
I laughed. "Frank, you complained about being cold the entire time, and then stole my favorite sweater until the cardigan was out of the dryer, and then you stole every blanket off of my bed and sat in a grumpy heap on the floor."
"And then I made you make me hot chocolate," he grinned.
I nodded. "And you also forced me to turn the heating up by like five degrees... So, yes, I do remember," I rolled my eyes, sticking my hands in my pockets as we walked.
"Speaking of which, did you want that sweater back? It's somewhere in my room but it might take a while to find it..."
I blinked at him. "Wait, you still have it? I've been looking for it all week!"
"Well, you should have just asked! Half of everything you own that goes missing is in my house, anyways."
I almost laughed, but he was right. Since we had become friends I'd lost track of what in my room belonged to him and what belonged to me, and he'd borrowed so many different pairs of clothes that half of my closet is probably missing.
I think he was wearing my jeans at this very moment, actually. I glanced down, trying to figure out if they were or not. I'd practiclly given him all of my old clothes- every pair of jeans that were too small for me that I'd been meaning to give away git him pretty well.
"Are those mine or yours?" I asked.
He shrugged, looking down, too. "I have no idea."
I laughed. "What would you do if one day you woke up and I had taken back all of the clothes that belonged to me?"
He shrugged, laughing, too. "I probably wouldn't have anything to wear. The only laundry I've done lately was washing stuff at your house when you force me to help you."
I just shook my head, not sure if it was at him or at myself. I've been seriously considering just sending a stack of clothes home with him, one day. He was constantly stealing mine- one minute he'd have his shirt on, and then I would leave the room and come back to find him wearing one of mine. He claimed that mine were softer. He also liked clothes that were too big for him, anyway, I had found. He didn't like wearing my old shirts as much as he liked the ones that fit me now.
"It's hard to believe that Thanksgiving is tomorrow," I sighed, pushing the thought away.
"Ugh, I know, right? Christmas is sneaking up too fast..."
"Christmas? I was thinking more like, 'fall is going away too fast.'"
Frank just shrugged, glancing around. "I don't know. I kind of prefer winter over fall."
"But your birthday is in fall!"
He rolled his eyes, bumping my shoulder with his. "You know I hate my birthday."
"You seem to enjoy gifts, though. That cardigan is practically your skin now."
"Yeah, because it's warm and fuzzy... Much unlike you."
I pouted at him. "Oh, what? I'm not a sufficient supply of body heat?"
"Your soul is ice, Gerard," he declared.
"Ah, yes, but that had nothing to do with body temperature."
"Well, how am I supposed to know what your body temperature is?" he said haughtily, trying to sound smart.
I threw my arms around him suddenly, making him stumble a bit.
He laughed, getting the message. "Okay, okay, you're warm, I get it." He reached up, peeling one of my arms off of himself and allowing me to leave one arm over his shoulders.
I sighed, resting my head on top of his. "It's nice having a short friend," I decided. "You make a good armrest."
He glared at me but grinned, knowing I was just teasing. He had stopped blushing quite some time ago about height, and it was getting harder and harder to make him blush.
"Hey, Frank?"
He looked up at me, eyebrows arched slightly. "Yeah?"
I quickly leaned forward before he could protest and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek, making him let out an annoyed squeaking sound. He was fifty shades of embarrassed and adorable.
"You're blushing," I sang.
"Ge-rard," he whined, dragging the individual syllables of my name out. He was wiping his cheek with his sleeve, nose scrunched up.
"Mission accomplished!"
"But-"
"Nope, as long as I keep a record of once a day, I'm succeeding, Frank. Making you blush is getting hard but it's worth it."
He just glared at me playfully again. "One day you're going to run out of things to do and the whole cheek-thing won't work anymore."
"Oh, I'll find something," I assured him. "I promise now that there won't ever be a day in your life again when you don't blush."
He sighed. "Gerard, what on earth am I going to do with you?"
I slung my other arm around him again, crossing past his chest and lacing my fingers together on the other side of his body, resting my palms against his shoulder. "Keep me around forever and continue to steal my clothes and food?" I suggested.
Frank just looked up at me, smiling. "Forever?"
"Yep."
"You know that that'll never be long enough."
I grinned and we walked on, falling into silence for seven seconds too long.
"Gerard?" Frank said seriously.
"Yeah?"
"This is nice."
I raised an eyebrow, not sure if I was understanding. "Wh-"
He was turning pink again. "Just, having a friend and all."
I grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."
It had been so long since I had had someone like Frank around me. The most social I got was hanging out with Mikey, but that was never for too long, anyways. As much as I enjoyed being around my brother, we've been slowly growing apart for years now. He's still the same kid he always has been, but I've been growing and changing and I don't think he's noticed that I'm not the same kid I was four years ago.
I'd been through a terrible bout of depression for a while, I still don't think I'm completely out of it, but things were slightly better, now. Mikey was still... Well, he was still the happy, but timid, little kid he had always been.
We walked on in silence and eventually both of my arms dropped from around Frank- to my surprise, he almost looked like he wanted to protest the lack of contact. I blinked a few times, trying to read his expression from the corner of my eye.
I stretched my fingers out, brushing the back of my his hand, and to my surprise he turned his hand around, sliding his fingers through mine.
It had been far too long since I had held someone's hand. My thumb stroked across the back of his hand, something I hadn't really meant to do, but something that Frank didn't seem to mind. He shivered slightly, pressing close against my side. "I'm cold."
"Me too. I think my mom was making soup though."
Frank licked his lips, nearly subconsciously, from the looks of it. "God, I love your mother's cooking."
I laughed. "One day I'm going to wake up and you're going to have just moved in."
"That's actually a good idea..."
I grinned, rolling my eyes. "What on earth have you been telling your mom?"
"A lot of things... On the weekdays she thinks I'm at the library doing homework, weekends she thinks I'm with my girlfriend."
"But you don't have a girlfriend."
He laughed. "That's why it called a lie, Gerard... But with the amount of attention you demand, I might as well be engaged."
"I do not demand attention," I protested.
"You do though! We can't go like five minutes without you doing something to make me look at you."
"Well, that's not because I like attention."
"Then why is it?"
I considered for a moment. "I'm not even sure. But it's not for attention. If I wanted attention I would dye my hair blue- that's why it's red right now."
"Really?"
"Yep. For attention... Just to stop being the kid in the back of the restaurant that no one ever looked at. But it's starting to wear off- no one notices because it's so familiar, now."
Frank tilted his head to the side, squeezing my hand. "Well, I notice. Isn't that enough?"
I laughed, coming across more bitter than I meant to. "I'm human, Frank. Humans are dirty creatures. We want the whole world to notice us. No matter who you are or how old you are, no matter how badly you blush when put in the spotlight, everyone secretly craves to be noticed. What would be the point in living if there was no one to put on a show for?"
He studied the side of my face for a moment. "Has anyone ever called you a genius, Gerard?"
I laughed again. "I've been called a faggot before, but I'm sure that they mean no where near the same thing."
Frank sighed, shaking his head. "I hate people who use the word. First of all, it's offensive. Second of all, you can't just tell someone's sexuality by looking at them."
I nodded, understanding what he meant. "Yeah..."
His eyebrows went up a bit. "Speaking of which..."
I rolled my eyes, chuckling slightly. Frank had been trying to pry my sexual orientation out of me ever since he found out that I wasn't 'straight.' "I'll tell you later."
"Later? As in... Later today?"
I sighed, looking at him. "Yeah. I guess. Since you're evidently never going to drop it."
He looked down. "Sorry... I'm just... Curious, you know?"
I nodded, understanding. "Yeah. I know. I'm just not really used to talking about it, I guess."
We fell into silence after that and came up to my front door. I fumbled with my key a bit, not used to opening the door with one hand, but not wanting to let go of Frank's hand.
Once I had it open he practically pulled me inside, smelling the soup my mom was making.
"Food!" Frank exclaimed instantly.
My mom laughed, looking over her shoulder at us. "Hey, boys. You're in early."
"Frank got hungry," I explained as he tugged me across the room. He looked like a puppy, our linked hands the leash, as he shuffled shamelessly around the kitchen, poking around the various things my mom had laying on the counter.
"Give me half an hour," my mom grinned.
Frank pouted. "But I'm hungry."
I just rolled my eyes, pulling Frank by the hand. "Come on, you can wait."
He sighed, but followed me. From the corner of my eye I saw a fresh pack of cigarettes open on the kitchen table as we left.
"Hey, mom, can we-"
"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot!" she exclaimed. "That's for you two."
I faltered for a second. "What?"
"The pack," she said, shrugging. "Frank is seventeen now, you boys are responsible, nearly adults. You steal half of my cigarettes, anyways..."
I just grinned, picking up the pack of cigarettes. "Thanks Ma."
Frank grinned, too. He picked up the ashtray. "Thanks Mama Way."
She just smiled, shaking her head as she went back to her cooking. "You're welcome, boys. Consider it an early Christmas present."
I practically dragged Frank back to my room, half-running. We stumbled and tripped, but laughed as I clumsily pushed more door open. "If you don't let go of my hand I can't open the cigarettes."
Frank's fingers slipped from between mine as I peeled the packaging off of the pack and opened it, sliding a cigarette out.
I felt my hand falter. Normally Frank and I shared cigarettes, when my mom was kind enough to spare one... Now that we had a whole pack...
Frank seemed to realize, too. "Oh... I... Uh..."
I blinked, not quite knowing what to do.
"We can still share, right?" he said. "It saves an entire cigarette and we won't choke on the smoke."
I nodded. "Okay... That sounds good."
I sat the pack down on my desk and fumbled with my lighter as Frank slid my window open, so that the smoke could escape.
"You know," I said quietly, lifting the cigarette to my lips. "I kind of like sharing cigarettes."
Frank nodded. We sat on my bed, like we normally do when we're bored and don't have anything to do but stare at the ceiling and smoke. I sat leaning against my headboard and pillows, and Frank sat about a foot in front of me.
"Yeah," he agreed. "There's something... Nice about it."
I passed him the cigarette.
"So," he asked, holding the stick of mass-produced suicide between two fingers, close to his mouth. "Are you going to tell me-"
"Not now."
He blinked a few times. "What?"
"Can we not talk about that right now?"
His face fell and he took a slow drag from the cigarette, looking confused. "But you promised that you would tell me..." He glanced over his shoulder. "The door is shut, your mom can't hear you, if that's-"
"My mom knows-"
"Then-"
"-but I'm not sure if I want you to know."
Everything about him was confused and angry and hurt. His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion but his finger curled in slight anger, and his hazel eyes were a thousand shades of accidental pain.
"Gerard..."
I sighed, running my hand through my hair.
I needed a cigarette.
I needed a cigarette, I needed coffee, I needed both, I just needed something physical to hold in my hands and I needed something between my lips. I was getting angry and annoyed and I needed my veins pumping with the false happiness of nicotine and caffeine. I didn't like talking about my sexual orientation. I hated it, actually. I was so used to being judged and made fun of for it that I instantly got defensive.
"I just don't see why it matters," I snapped finally. "I don't see why you should care if I like boys or girls or both or none."
"Because I'm your friend," he argued. "Gerard, I care about you, okay? I just want to be able to be there for you no matter what, and-"
"Well, what's your sexual orientation?" I said angrily. "You said that you're not gay, but are you straight?"
He faltered for a second. "Wh- what? What are you-"
"Don't talk about me, Frank. This isn't about me anymore."
I was being selfish. Just because I felt uncomfortable, I was forcing my discomfort on Frank.
I didn't regret it though. I was hurting him but it felt so much better for me.
I looked at my hands for a moment, disgusted.
I'm human.
It's in the human nature to be selfish. It's something I can't change about myself. I am alive, and therefore, I have these horrible desires and wants and needs, and when it all boils down to instincts, I don't care about anyone else. I just want myself to be happy and I want to survive and that's about it.
The human part of me didn't care about Frank's feelings. The only part that did care was the moral part, the civilized part that had been forced upon me by society. I only cared because I had to, and as much as I hated to admit it, that was the truth and it always was. Even though I wanted to care for other's emotions, when it all came down to basics, no one but me mattered.
Frank stared at me, cigarette shaking between his fingers. He noticed, too, and stared at his trembling hand for a moment before passing me the cigarette.
I took it without objection, placing it between my lips as I stared at him.
He was looking everywhere but me.
"Frank?" I said, taking an angry but much needed drag from the cigarette.
Lovely, isn't it, how society rolls suicide into a nice little package for us? They tell us not to jump off of bridges or play with guns, but the moment death is put into chemicals and smoke, and then rolled up into a nice little stick and labeled with some fancy brand name that brings in money and profit, it's all okay.
Frank wouldn't look at me.
"Oh, what, so it's okay to ask me about personal things but once it's about you it's all suddenly so-?"
"Gerard, shut up."
I just looked at him.
His eyes were starting to water. He looked up at me, holding my gaze.
"I don't know, okay?" he whispered.
I stared at him, taken aback. The human part of me had not expected that, and neither had the civilized part. Neither halves of me knew how to handle it. "What?"
"I- I don't know."
I didn't understand.
"I used t- to just like girls, b-but..."
I blinked. I didn't know what to say or do or even where to look. "Frank, are you okay?" I said finally.
He shook his head.
And then he broke.
He shattered, he broke, he shook and he trembled and everything went quaking and shaking and all of a sudden he wasn't even himself anymore, he was just this wreck of skin and bone and tears that couldn't make sense of his own emotions.
He was crying.
I had never seen Frank cry before.
I didn't like seeing Frank cry.
I put the cigarette out in the ashtray, which I now noticed Frank had sat on my bedside table, and then hugged him.
I didn't know what else to do.
The human part of me was saying to hug him and the civilized part of me was saying to tell him that it was okay, so I did both.
He was shaking, he was trembling, his eyes were watering and I just wanted to tell him that it would all be okay, that as long as I was here he'd didn't have to cry. It didn't matter that much, Frank's sexuality. You like who you like, you love who you love. Society puts too much pressure on kids to label themselves, and I had to remember that Frank was almost an entire year younger than me. A lot could change, in a year. I had had an entire year more than Frank to grow and learn and figure out life. Compared to me, Frank was still just a kid.
His eyes were closed and he pressed his face against my shoulder, still crying.
I held him tight, rubbing tiny circles on his back with my fingers, trying to sooth him. I wasn't good at these types of things. I didn't know how to comfort people, I didn't know how to make them feel better. I was only human, after all.
"Don't cry," I whispered, closing my eyes. "It's okay..."
He just trembled and shook and let out a small sound, a slight whimper that sent my stomach lurching.
"Talk to me Frank," I begged. "Talk. It'll help."
He pulled away, looking up at me with those sad eyes. He used the sleeve of his cardigan to wipe his face and I sighed, helping him wipe away the tears. I had one hand on either side of his face.
"Tell me what's wrong."
He looked down and I dropped my hands.
"I- I don't..." His breaths came out all shaky. "I don't know. I just- I don't want-"
I took a deep breath. This whole 'comforting' thing was really kind of annoying. "Okay, let's start with... With..." I just wanted to start at the root of the problem, get it all over with. "You're attracted to girls, right?" He nodded weakly, and I nodded, too. "Okay, so, we know that much... But what about... What about liking boys?"
His bottom lip trembled a bit. "That's wh- where everything gets all- it's when I get confused, I mean, when..."
"Confused how?" I touched his hand and he clung to it instantly, squishing my fingers. "What confuses you?"
He shook his head, wiping under his eyes again. "I.. I just... Well, everyone- I'm... I'm just not supposed t- to find guys attractive, I never have before, so why should I now...? But I- I am, I'm- I think I'm starting to like boys, and I- I just don't... I mean, I don't understand, Gerard!" He broke off with a slight wail in his voice and I sighed.
"Come here," I whispered, scooting back until my back was against the headboard of my bed. Frank moved to sit next to me, and I put my arm around him, not quite knowing what to say. He put his head on my shoulder, sniffling a bit. I let out a soft breath, tilting my head and resting it on top of his. "Frank, do you know what the word 'pansexual' means?"
He shook his head.
He looked so young, in that moment, so small and weak and scared.
"Pansexual... Well, it means, more or less, that you don't have a gender preference when it comes to attraction. I- I consider myself to nearly be gender-blind. I don't care if someone is a boy or girl, or even if they're transgender. If I find someone attractive, then... Well, I find them attractive. I don't set limits on who I like and who I don't like. There are several girls that I find attractive at the moment, and there's boys, too, and... And, well, that's it, really."
Frank was very quiet.
We sat in silence for a while and I felt my own words swirling through my mind, crashing through my thoughts. There are several girls that I find attractive at the moment, and there's boys, too, and...
And, what?
What had I been about to say?
I didn't know anymore. I had the thought in my head, I knew it was there, I just chose not to go searching for it because I didn't exactly want to know what it said.
"G- Gerard?"
"Yes, Frank?"
We both shifted, sitting up slightly. His fingers still clutched tight to mine, his eyes stared blankly down at our hands.
"I- I think... I know, now, I mean. I- I'm..."
I ran my thumb down the back of his hand, trying to offer some comfort.
"I think I'm gender-blind, too," he whispered. "That's a lot easier to say than- than-"
"Pansexual?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
I looked at him for a long minute. "Frank? Why... When did you figure all this out, I mean, how long...?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I've always just liked girls, I mean, it wasn't until... Well, it wasn't until I met you, I- I guess, and..."
I squeezed his fingers between mine.
His voice was so quiet that I'm not even sure if I actually heard it, or if it was just my imagination running wild. "And I guess I just- I never started doubting anything until now because I- I'm kind of- of- attracted to you, I guess..."
My body froze but my insides went into a frenzy. The human half of my brain was screaming, telling me to react, the civilized half was confused and scared. I could feel the mixing emotions in my stomach, a physical pain that twisted my insides into one giant knot and sent the confusion up my throat.
"What?"
He turned red, eyes getting watery again. "I- you- just- damn it, Gerard, I don't know what to say!"
"Then say what you said before again!"
He stared at me for a few moments. "I'm kind of attracted to you, I- I guess..."
I didn't know how to reply.
That was twice, today, that Frank had put me at a loss of words.
Gerard Way is never at a loss of words.
"It's okay though," he said quickly, pulling his hand away from mine. He looked down. "It's... It's just a stupid crush. I'm... I mean... Well..." He laughed for a second, running his fingers through his hair. His cheeks were flush with embarrassment. "I can get over it."
"Why would you want to get over it?" I said without even thinking about it.
He fell silent, but his fingers said everything as he took my hand again, his shaking slightly.
"You don't have to get over it," I whispered.
"B- but, Gerard..."
"It's a mutual attraction, Frank."
He blinked at me, processing my words. It was okay that he paused, though, because quite honestly, I needed to sort out my thoughts, too.
Had I just admitted to finding Frank attractive?
I suppose I had. I'd never looked at Frank as something to be attracted to- he was a friend, he was more than likely straight, and he most certainly didn't seem to be attracted to me.
Now that I started thinking about it, I was attracted to Frank. I was very, extremely attracted to Frank. He was small and cute and funny and nice, and he was the first person I had met in a long time that was willing to be my friend. I was human, I have to keep reminding myself. Attraction is a part of human behavior, so of course I was attracted to him. In the grand scheme of everything I was attracted to anyone human enough to fuck, and it was just the fact that I had preferences that kept me wanting certain people.
And Frank, well, he was one of those certain people.
I studied the side of his face for a second, and realized, with an overwhelming force, just how much I was attracted to him.
Frank was the most adorable fucking thing in the world, now that I was allowing myself to think that way.
"What now, then?" he asked. "Where do we go from here?"
I shrugged. "We go wherever we want to, I guess. The attraction is our starting point, let's start there and run with it."
He just nodded a little, lips parted slightly in a confused sigh.
For the first time since I met him, the words god, he's cute when he's confused, floated through my head without guilt.