The week of preparing, practicing and anticipation hadn't really been enough to keep Frank occupied from what he could only describe as the most confusing job dismissal ever. It felt, to him, vaguely like a heartbreak, but he didn't ever say that out loud, and tried to drown it out the way he would with any intrusive thought: he ignored it.
Supposedly, Frank thought, the best way to get over a burning rejection was to avoid talking or thinking about it at all costs, but it seemed, recently, that Father Way was all his friends could talk about. They spoke of how generous he was, how kind, how selfless, and all Frank could think of was the way his eyes seemed to project the galaxies onto the Church floor, or the psalms that Frank was sure were etched along every orifice in his mouth, so when he spoke, it was soft and true and infallibly pure.
It wasn't even enough that the band wouldn't shut up about him. Being in a small town as he was, Frank was familiar with the seismic tremors that spread through the community whenever something of interest occurred – and Father Way endorsing a punk concert in his Church was certainly something of interest.
Being the centre of that interest, Frank had to talk about Gerard a lot – which didn't help at all with the whole 'ignoring him' situation.
"So like, did you guys ask for the gig?"
Asked Tammy – a fairly well-meaning girl in Frank's English class. The group were sitting together at lunch, and she had actually walked across the cafeteria to ask them.
This town really was stupidly small.
"Nope, he called my Dad and offered it to us," Mia said proudly, for maybe the thousandth time. Tammy smiled – this clearly confirming the scandalous story she'd already heard.
"Wow. That's so generous. He seems so nice," she said almost dreamily. There was something in her tone that didn't sit right with Frank. Maybe it was the last straw, but he could almost feel himself snap.
"He's not nice, he's an asshole. He didn't give us the gig to be kind, he did it to fix his stupid window, because he's a selfish, lying, inconsiderate asshole," he hissed, fingers gripping the table.
Tammy, and all of Frank's friends, had expressions that varied between concern and pure horror.
"Dude. You can't talk about a Priest like that. That's not right," Damien mumbled, glancing up. Frank's cheeks flushed and, before anyone could say another word, he rose to his feet and rushed out of the cafeteria.
Luckily, he was collected enough to know where he was going, and found himself moments later pressed up against the brick wall of the school, looking out at the smoking area. Most of the students and staff were inside having lunch, so Frank was one of maybe six people in the area. He shakily reached into his jacket, fumbling with the pack in his pocket.
"Hey, I agree that you fucked up, but no need to gag on smoke, Iero,"
came Mia's familiar voice from beside him. He let his eyes slide shut as he slid a cigarette between his lips.
"How bad is it?"
"The rumours have already started. My favourite is that you caught him fucking your Mom," she said. The solemn way in which she said it only made it more amusing, and if Frank had been in any position to, he'd probably have laughed.
"Do I have to explain myself?" he asked softly, taking a deep pull, still not looking at her. Mia sighed gently.
"You know you don't ever have to, with me. But am I curious to know why my best friend hates the local Priest so much? You bet I am," she said gently. Frank knew she meant it, too. Mia had never been one to pressure him into anything – that was probably why he told her so much. He did it because he wanted to, not because he felt like he had to.
"Um. I love him," he said gently. He was surprised by the ease with which the words slid from his lips, considering he'd never said them before – not even to himself. Afterwards, he often thought that it was in that moment, smoking outside the school with his best friend, that he really realised it. Now that he didn't have the option of seeing the kind face, the warm eyes, he realised how much he needed to.
Mia, unsurprisingly, was only vaguely phased.
"You love him? I didn't realise you even knew him," she said gently. Mia was good at getting people to talk – she always had been. She handled information like a baby bird; delicately, but with a firm deliberance. It's why she always knew so much.
"After I broke his window, we arranged that I'd go to the Church every Sunday and help him out with jobs. And...and Mia, he's so nice. I've never known anyone so genuine. And he's funny, too, and he's actually into some cool stuff. I mean, I even find him attractive now. He's this...greying old Priest, with one leg and a cane, and I still think the Sun shines out of his ass. Jesus... Jesus, Mia. I love him," he said, his hands beginning to tremble by the end. The look on Mia's face was one of genuine pity, and something else Frank couldn't quite place – fondness, perhaps.
"That's...so sweet, Frankie. I'm happy for you. But uh, if he's so wonderful, why is he a selfish asshole?" she asked softly, her fingertips dancing gently against the brick wall. Frank let out a harsh laugh, biting his lip.
"I went over there on Sunday, like I was supposed to, and he basically told me to fuck off. He told me that he gave us this gig so he could make enough money to fix the window, and that he didn't need me anymore. He didn't...want me anymore," Frank mumbled. He wrapped his free arm around himself; a weak attempt at comforting himself. Mia made a noise similar to one you'd make if you saw someone who'd tried to cut off their own finger and failed – a sort of hiss of acknowledging pain, and confusion.
"Well, there goes my thinking that we were actually good enough to get a gig," she muttered to herself. Frank actually smiled at that, shaking his head.
"We are good enough, Mia. Fuck him, okay? Let's just forget all about him. He's a manipulative asshole. He wants a punk show? We'll give that son of a bitch a punk show," he grinned. Mia smiled, leaning against him with a content sigh.
"You're not bad, Iero," she mumbled. It was a favourite phrase of hers, and pretty much the only verbal affection she gave. Frank ruffled her hair, giving a soft, but genuine smile.
"Thanks, Princess. You're alright too," he said, winking at her.
The two stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Mia occasionally taking pulls of the next two cigarettes Frank lit, just to pass the time.
The smoking area soon flooded with people who'd finished their lunch, and Mia made the declaration that they should go find their group.
As they walked back inside, though, Mia put a hand on Frank's arm.
"Frankie. You're good enough too, okay?" she said gently.
Frank knew better than to reply, lest he face a dead arm and a nasty bruise, but he gave her a fond smile nonetheless.
Frank thought he'd be ready for Saturday. He'd spent all of Friday night with Mia, practicing how he'd talk, how he'd move, how disconnected and cold he'd be. He was going to make Gerard regret ever rejecting him. He was going to make the older man want him – but he couldn't have him. Not anymore. Frank was over him, with his chubby stomach and coffee-breath and grey-streaked hair. He was boring and old, and Frank didn't need him.
That was his mantra that morning as he walked to the Church, his guitar slung over his back. He looked good and he knew it – his hair gently spiked, eyeliner around his eyes, a loose Danzig shirt hanging from his thin form. He looked amazing. He actually strutted to the Church in time to his music. He was fire. Nobody could touch him.
That was until he actually got to the Church.
He saw his friends in a group outside and, to his dismay, Gerard was standing there, talking animatedly and excitedly to them.
It was fine, though. He could do this. He didn't need him.
He walked towards them, a bright smile on his face and a voice in his head screaming 'don't look at him.'
And he didn't. He greeted his friends cheerfully, and almost pointedly said nothing to Gerard.
The older man, though, just seemed amused. He cleared his throat and smiled.
"Hello, Frank. It's good to see you," he said fondly. Frank felt a shiver run down his back. He knew he couldn't just ignore him. That would be rude. He turned around and offered a weak smile. The man still looked old and overweight, and Frank desperately tried to remind himself of that. Even as he felt the warmth spreading through his chest.
He tried to remain cool, though.
"Oh. Hi Father," he said, his tone dull and blasé. Gerard bit his lip to hide a smile, his eyes glimmering with amusement.
"Are you excited for this evening?" Gerard asked, as if nothing was going on. The only thing that gave him away was the mischievous look in his eyes. Frank shrugged, running a hand through his hair.
"Yeah, I mean. Sure. It'll be fine," he sighed. Gerard rolled his eyes, still chuckling softly. He looked him over.
"You look real good,"
There it was. That yanked Frank out of his façade faster than he thought possible. His eyes widened as he stared up at him.
"Y-you think so?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest. Gerard was –albeit intentionally- looking at Frank like a piece of meat, and nothing had ever aroused him more. Frank strategically shifted his shirt a little lower, just in case.
"I do," Gerard purred. Then, all at once, he stepped back and smiled at the rest of the group. "So I've got you guys set up inside, if you wanna come check it out. Let me know what you think," he said, his tone once again light and friendly. Frank just stared, his eyes wide, until Mia grabbed his sleeve and tugged him in behind her.
"Did you see that?" he hissed. Mia looked back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"See what?"
A couple hours, two tubes of eyeliner and half a can of hairspray later, the band waited behind the curtain to their makeshift stage. The gentle murmurs of the crowd filling the Church reverberated off the walls, and did nothing at all to soothe Frank's nerves. His guitar felt too heavy as it rested around his shoulders, his hands shaking so much that he wasn't even certain if he could play.
"Frankie. Calm," Mia murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. He didn't miss, though, that she was trembling too.
"I'm not nervous. It's fine," he muttered, turning his attention to making sure that his guitar was correctly tuned. To his dismay, it was, and he lost the opportunity for a distraction.
"You are. Is it about the show, or is it about-" she glanced over to Gerard. The Priest was still wearing his normal uniform, but it seemed more relaxed somehow. Maybe it was the fact that he was just leaning against the wall, his hand lightly twirling his cane on the floor. Frank sighed.
"Neither. Both? I don't know," he admitted. She smiled fondly and squeezed his hand. She checked her watch and moved back.
"It's time to go on, sport," she said simply, moving towards the rest of the band to get them ready. Frank sighed, dropping his eyes to the floor. He didn't want to do this. Not here, not with-
"Hey, cheer up," Gerard said gently from behind him. He placed a warm hand on the younger man's shoulder. Frank glanced around, willing himself not to look into his eyes.
"I'm fine," he said simply. Gerard didn't move his hand, but he did gently rub his thumb along Frank's shoulder.
"You don't look it,"
"I thought I looked good?" he asked mockingly, a bitter edge to his tone. Gerard blushed softly, a smirk crossing his face.
"You do," he murmured. Frank faltered for a moment, but nodded, turning towards the stage.
"Okay. Well. Thanks," he mumbled. He tried desperately to remember that he was angry at the older man. Gerard was silent for a moment, before taking an uneasy step towards Frank.
"Hey, Frankie?" he called. Frank half turned towards him, but didn't respond. "Um. Good luck."
The show was wonderful. There was no denying that. Each part worked perfectly, the music was tight and well-done. Sure, it wasn't like Queen were playing in the Church Hall, and the acoustics weren't amazing, but the teenagers did what they could with what they were given, and what they did was great. Most of the band looked out and saw their friends, families and neighbours looking happily surprised, bobbing along to the swell of the music. Only one member of the band disconnected entirely from the experience, and that was Frank. He knew that if he tried to look up, all he'd do was make eye contact with the Holy hypocrite that wavered in the corner of his vision. And fuck, if he did that, he'd probably miss a note or break a string or something. He couldn't handle that, so he just kept playing, his eyes on the hands that fell like broken twigs upon his telephone-wire guitar strings. He couldn't even hear the sounds he was producing. He felt them, though. He felt it like a hurricane brewing in the pit of his stomach – and that's how he knew he was good. He didn't need to look up, at his parents, or his friends, or that damn Priest. He knew he was killing it. He always did. He didn't know how to be anything other than perfect.
Then, all at once, it fell apart. He looked up for a split second and – oh. Gerard was there, in the front row, and he was staring at him with eyes that shone like a rising sun, a vaguely awed smile on his face.
Frank swore as his fingers slipped a little, missing half a note. He recovered. Gerard tilted his head slightly, noticing the mistake, or maybe the change in Frank's form, and the younger man's fingers slid again, this time making a squeak against the metal cord which was, thankfully, masked by the bass.
He physically turned his body away from Gerard, panting as he focused on playing the right notes. He was mostly successful, even if he could feel the other man's eyes on him.
"Well done, guys. You raised... a lot of money. Enough to fix the window," Gerard beamed, looking down at the bucket in front of him, a calculator cast to the side.
"And enough for you all to have a share, too," he murmured. They were sitting in his living room, each of them with a cup of coffee between their hands, which they all sipped gently. Frank, by some awful accident (Mia's design), was next to the older man, and was the only one who looked entirely at ease. It was ironic, though. He felt awful
"Well, that's good. Now you don't have to waste your time trying to make up the money for it," Frank sniffed, taking a sip of his drink. Mia kicked him hard under the table, glaring softly. The other band members were oblivious to the sharp nature of the comment. Gerard, however, wasn't. He glanced up, his eyes hard and with a coldness in them that surprised everyone.
"Frank, can I have a word?" he asked sharply. Without waiting for an answer, he rose to his feet and walked briskly out to the kitchen. Frank exchanged nervous glances with his bandmates, set his coffee down, and followed him out, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. God, he hadn't meant to actually offend or upset him. He was just...making a point. That was all. He swallowed hard as he walked in, instinctively closing the door behind him.
Gerard was facing away from him, leaning heavily on the sink. Frank cleared his throat.
"Um. Father, I-
"Frank. Do you have a problem with me?" he asked, turning around suddenly. He looked furious. Frank had only seen him look so angry a couple times before, but this was different. This was really his own fault. Not only that, but beneath the anger there was...actual pain. He'd never meant to hurt him.
"No. I mean...I'm just...sad," he admitted, rocking gently on his feet. Gerard looked genuinely taken aback.
"Sad?" he asked. He clearly hadn't been expecting that response. Frank nodded slowly.
"You...y'know, you hurt me, when you said that you didn't want me anymore. It...felt a lot like a rejection. And I know that's stupid, y'know? Because it wasn't. And I get it. But I just...can't help but feel like I've ruined something that could have been amazing," he murmured softly, biting harder on his lip.
Gerard could be seen to visibly stiffen, his eyes becoming guarded, his jaw clenching.
"Referring to...our friendship?" he asked uncertainly. Frank swallowed hard. This was a time for honesty, and he knew it.
"If you say so," he breathed. Gerard made a frustrated noise, holding his hands against his eyes. Frank watched nervously.
"You could have lied," Gerard muttered. Frank swallowed hard, glancing down.
"No I couldn't have. I couldn't have, Gerard," he said. Hesitantly, he moved forward and took his hands, tugging them away from his face. Gerard was frowning, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked unwillingly up at Frank.
"You should have lied. My goodness, Frank..." he shook his head, pressing his lips together. There was no going back from this. Both of them knew it. Gerard's hands were trembling a little, and there was genuine fear in his eyes as a battle raged. He had no idea what the outcome would be. Not yet.
"I can't lie, Gerard. What else do I have to lose? You don't want anything to do with me. You're wonderful to me for weeks, and then you just throw me away. What else can I do but be honest?" he demanded. Gerard sucked in a deep, shaking breath. He looked up at Frank with almost terrifying calmness.
"Have you considered what I have to lose?" he hissed. That genuinely shocked Frank. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at him.
"What? What do you have to-
He was cut off, very suddenly, by the older man grabbing his arms and tugging him close, crashing their lips together hard.
Frank couldn't think, couldn't even begin to react. He just let it happen, not even able to kiss back. His mind was a hurricane of white noise as his senses failed to process exactly what was happening. At some point, his body was shoved back into the counter, and that's what really woke him up. He moaned softly, wrapping his arms around the Priest's neck, drawing him closer as he kissed him back. This was better than he could have dreamed of. The priest was, surprisingly, a very good kisser, even despite his awkward, unco-ordinated lips, or the way his teeth occasionally scraped Frank's bottom lip. He couldn't complain.
Too soon, Gerard pulled back, stumbling a few steps. He grabbed the wall for support, looking darkly at Frank, panting softly. Frank swallowed, nervously wiping his lips.
"F-Father...Gerard, I-
"Get out," Gerard whispered, his voice shaking. He seemed to be trying not to cry.
"Please, Gerard, can we just-
"No. Get out. Get the Hell away from me," he sobbed. Frank knew that if he didn't leave, this would be ruined forever. He nodded, holding his hands up in surrender as he left the kitchen. His friends, thankfully, had already departed, so there was nothing stopping Frank from running out of the front door, his heart slamming in his ears.