Archive of Our Own

Well, leave it up to me to forget my credit card at my brother's place, seriously. Leave it up to me to lose and forget stuff at least once a week. I have changed the locks to my apartment twice already, and I've only lived there for two years.

It's a sunny, warm day in the northern part of New Jersey and I run the short distance from the bus stop to Gerard's apartment complex. My sorry excuse of a car is in the shop, again, and I'm going to be so, so gloriously late. Again. I jump up six flights of stairs, opening my mouth wide to catch a breath.

Nobody told me getting a grip will be so difficult. I'm struggling.

Luckily, the key to Gerard's apartment is present, safely tucked to my key ring. The place is most likely empty, since it's 11 AM on a Tuesday. I unlock the door and head straight for the living room, the sun pouring in through the panoramic window, shedding light at the pieces of modern art hanging up on the walls. I can't find my card on the coffee table nor the couch, so I drop to my knees to scan the carpet.

There are jeans lying on the floor right next to a pair of white Converse. I shake my head, smiling - how did that happen? My brother was always messy and not very concerned with personal hygiene, yes, but ever since he was living with Dallon, a neat freak, his habits have changed dramatically. Dallon was a kind of guy to give you a silent treatment for putting an item of clothing in the wrong laundry basket. Gerard had a hard time adjusting, but he knew that it was good for him in the long run.

The entire relationship was good for him. I managed to believe my brother is not a lost cause anyway.

I find my card under the couch and I really want to just stand up and get going, because I'm late and Frank and Ray are going to kill me, like, three times, but then two things happen at once.

I notice another item of clothing on the floor and it's a t-shirt. Just a plain, white t-shirt, something my brother would never be caught wearing, and probably something that wouldn't fit Dallon, who's tall as a tree. Also, one of my earbuds slips out and I hear distinct, unambiguous noises coming from the bedroom.

This is not my business. It's not, I'm telling myself, standing up and heading for the door. Maybe they ditched work to have a quickie, who knows, it might be a thing people in long-term relationships do. I wouldn't know. I don't even want to know, until a sparkling, melodic, high-pitched laughter comes from the bedroom - it's not Dallon's and it's definitely not Gerard's.

Now, I definitely don't want to know. It's still not my business.

I'm reaching for the doorknob when a laughing, naked boy strolls out of the bedroom, followed closely by Dallon. The boy has huge lips, innocent eyes, dark hair and some tattoos. He looks even younger than me. His mouth makes a hilarious 'o' shape when he notices me.

Dallon's hair is ruffled, his cheeks flushed. At least he's wearing boxers.

"Mikey? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was looking for my credit card." Fuck, I really liked Dallon. He's a reasonable guy. Gentle. Soft-spoken. Also very funny.

"Did you find it?"

I show him the card I'm still clutching in my left hand. He's completely expressionless. His naked lover retreats back to the bedroom.

"Please don't tell Gerard. I'm gonna do it myself."

I really want to believe him. Why should I be the one who has to break my brother's heart?

"Okay, but you have two weeks or I'm telling him."

Dallon nods solemnly, sparing one short look at the gorgeous boy leaning on the doorframe of my brother's bedroom. Now that they've got nothing to lose, I bet they're ready for round two. Or three. Or who knows.

"You suck, Dallon. You really, really suck. Also fuck you."

I don't look at him anymore when I finally close the door behind me and run down the stairs to catch the bus.

*

Mikey is late, again, and I know we'll be forced to cut the rehearsal short so that I can make it for my afternoon shift at the bookstore. When he runs in, sweaty and a little wind-wrecked, I am ready to open my mouth and yell at him, but he mutters a quick "Sorry guys, I'm really sorry", and his hands are shaking when he picks up the bass.

"Something wrong, Mikey?" I ask him.

Most people would say Mikey's face looks as dead as always, but he's been my friend forever and I can tell he's not alright. His eyes are wide, like he saw something he didn't want to see and how he's scarred for life.

"No, it's fine. Just start playing; we don't have that much time."

"Yeah, Frank, you still have to make your two o'clock, right?" asks Ray, and I nod.

"Okay, let's start with Stage 4".

We play and for a moment it all makes sense. This is what I do, I play guitar in a band and I even sing, although it took the guys a long while to convince me I don't suck at singing. Ray helps me out a lot, our new drummer Matt is pretty decent, and Mikey is always great, except he's late a lot. When we play, I feel like maybe things will work out somehow, we'll make some real money and I'll be able to quit another of my shitty jobs I take just to support what I really want to do, which is Cellabration, our band. Ray has a quite successful Internet sale business, Mikey works part-time at a local venue where we often play, and Matt goes to community college. We juggle our lives to make time for rehearsals, but when we finally manage to meet and play for a while, I know we're killing it.

Somebody at a record company just has to listen to our demo.

Afterwards I'm driving to the mall where I work in a bookstore, flicking ash from my cigarette through the window. I'm giving Mikey a ride home on my way.

"Gerard told me about a friend of his who works at Eyeball Records."

"Oh, did he?" How surprising. Mikey's older brother is a successful comic book artist, who makes good money doing something that's actually fun. Every now and then Mikey would casually drop some info about Gerard's awesome life.

"Yeah. He promised to put in a good word for us if we get him two backstage passes for the Saturday show."

"He has fucking conditions? Seriously?"

"Come on, Frank, that was a joke. He's gonna recommend us anyway," says Mikey, irritated a little that I'm being an asshole. But he knows the real reason behind my behavior is the giant crush on Gerard Way I've had for as long as I've known Mikey.

We don't talk about the elephant in the room. I drop Mikey off at his place and drive to work just in time to have one more smoke before I have to go in and change into my work uniform. Books+ : more than books, it says at the back of my black t-shirt. We also sell magazines, CDs, games and various crap that passes as gifts these days. Hayley greets me with a wink and a wave, always full of energy, and I grab a box of books I have to distribute on the shelves in Romance section.

My mind drifts off pretty quickly and, which is not surprising after my conversation with Mikey, I think about Gerard Way. I think about this guy who went to art school in New York and looked gradually more handsome each and every time I saw him. I think about his nerdy laugh and how he blushed when we talked backstage. I think about how I was as forward as possible, trying to convey the message that I like him. I think about the gorgeous people he has dated ever since he knew about my feelings: Bert, a vocalist for The Used who are gaining popularity with lightning speed now (Bert was bad for him, Mikey says, dragged him into alcohol and drugs and some pretty dark times, but he got over that); Lindsey, a blond artist with rocking thighs and perfect red lips (she moved to Paris, Mikey says, and Gerard wasn't ready for such a commitment); and finally his current boyfriend Dallon, probably twice my height, a sharp, unstoppable lawyer with great taste in furniture. I think about how all these people had their chance, some of them blew it and how I'd never blow mine.

It's stupid to hang onto a feeling for someone who will never feel for you. It's stupid to look for Gerard's traits in every guy I pick up at bars and sleep with.

It's stupid, because it makes me hate myself even more.

*

Two weeks pass in a blink of an eye and I know Dallon didn't keep his promise. I know that for a fact because Gerard calls me when I'm taking a walk back from work. He's not even trying to hide the excitement in his voice.

"I know you wanted to check out this new Japanese place. Dallon made reservations! We'll pick you up at seven, okay?"

Well, no. I'd rather not eat delicious sushi than sit through dinner with my beloved, oblivious brother and his cheating boyfriend.

"Are you sure you want me on your date?"

Again? Because Gerard has been taking me out plenty of times when he was doing something interesting with a person he was currently dating. Just making sure to keep his younger brother entertained. What else would I do anyway? Beside the band, I have no life.

"Of course I do, I've just offered you that myself. So, seven?"

I can still say no. I can still refuse to sit through the most awkward dinner in the history of everything and have a quiet evening at home or maybe go out with Frank. I can, but I won't, because I'm an extreme doormat.

"Seven sounds fine."

"Great! See you then."

I do groceries on my way home. Picking up a can of Dr. Pepper, I think about Dallon again – it's his favorite beverage. I'm wondering if tonight's dinner is some twisted idea of a confrontation. He must be aware of the two weeks mark passing today. He's challenging me, I realize, standing in the middle of an aisle with a can of sugary drink. Go ahead, Mikey, tell Gerard everything. Do it, if you have the guts.

I don't have the guts and he knows that. After tonight, he'll be sure I'll never say a word.

I put Dr. Pepper back on the shelf and pick up a bottle of water.

*

When both Ray and William turn me down for tonight, I call Mikey. He doesn't like hanging in bars that much, but I manage to drag him out once in a while. All things aside, he's actually the best wingman a guy can have.

"Sorry, man. I'm going out with Gerard in an hour. The new Japanese place."

Mikey is a sucker for all things Japanese, so at least it's an honorable loss.

"Boys' night out with bro Way, nice. Give him my regards."

"I always do." Mikey laughs. "Although maybe not tonight. Dallon might not appreciate."

Dallon? "What, you're thirdwheeling again? Come on, Mikes, you're better than that."

"It's different today, really."

"Yeah, because today it's sushi!" I tease him.

"No, not that. I'll tell you some other time, alright? Gotta find clean clothes."

"Sure, have fun on your almost-double-date."

"Fuck you, Iero."

"Love you too!"

He hangs up. Guess I'm going alone tonight anyway.

*

Dallon dries another glass of wine with a smug expression.

"What do you think of the place, Mikey?" he asked me earlier, challenging me with a glare.

I knew it.

The place is definitely lovely, conveying Japanese vibe without being tacky and cheap, but I don't really notice that. I can only pay attention to the loving glances my brother keeps throwing at his boyfriend and to Dallon basking in the halo of his own glory. It's strange that I've just started noticing all of his flaws. It's strange how he never used to piss me off before.

He kisses Gerard's cheek and they're holding hands while ordering the food. The waitress casts me a confused look - what are you even doing here?
I wish I knew, lady.

At least I can order anything I find tempting and then hide behind my tall glass of water while Dallon tells a story of another case where he played the role of a much-needed hero who saved the day. He sees himself as a world savior. You're just a corporate lawyer, man, stop gloating.

I'm thinking about the young guy he was fucking in Gerard's bedroom. An intern? Junior associate? His favorite Starbucks barista? Blind rage feels hot underneath my eyelids.

The starters arrive and we start eating, so there's no immediate need for conversation. Gerard describes his another comic book idea, probably the brightest and lightest I've ever heard from him. Almost child-appropriate. We make a toast with water and Dallon's wine.

"How's your band, Mikey? Is everybody okay?"

I almost choke on food hearing a question directed at me.

"Yeah, why wouldn't they be? We're practicing almost every day before Saturday; it's going to be our biggest show to date."

"That's so cool", joins Dallon. "Did you get us those backstage passes?"

I did, asshole. But I don't want you to go.

"Yeah, all access."

The waitress arrives with our dinner. She puts an extra napkin next to my plate and when I unfold it, there's her name - Anya - and a telephone number. I make sure not to look her way, because I'm not interested.

We eat in relative silence, broken only by Gerard and Dallon whispering to each other and sharing comments about our food. I'm not even halfway through my plate when Gerard raises his head and asks me, "Do you like it, Mikes?"

I take a sip of water and notice that Dallon didn't drop the challenging stare. It's yet another case he's going to win.

"Yeah, it's delicious. Dallon is cheating on you."

Gerard raises his eyebrows, comically surprised, and stutters out, "What?"

Dallon is as expressionless as when I caught him.

"I went to your place to look for my credit card and I found him fucking some guy. At 11 AM on a Tuesday. He can confirm."

Gerard turns to Dallon with a look that breaks my heart. In the end, I had to deliver the bad news. Nothing sucks as much as this.

"Please tell me this is some sick joke, Dal."

Dallon shrugs and drinks some more wine. "I was meaning to tell you myself. Sorry. But I don't want to break up with you!"

"Well, you just did." There's cold fury behind the pain on Gerard's face and I'm thinking maybe he's going to be okay. He stands up and practically runs out of the restaurant.

I won this case, Dallon, but it's a bittersweet victory.

I find Gerard outside, waiting for a cab. He surrounded himself with his own arms, so I add my arms to the equation. I feel my brother's tears in the crook of my neck.

"Are you going home?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna throw this fucker's stuff out before he shows up for it. I don't want to look at him."

"Do you want me to help you?"

He looks me in the eyes. I've probably never felt as sad as he looks.

"No, I want to be alone. I'll call you, okay?"

"Just promise me you'd stay home and don't do anything stupid." I'm not sure I can trust him with this, but I have to. He's an adult.

"Can I burn Dallon's favorite shirt though?"

"If you want to deal with the fire department, then go ahead."

I almost make him smile through the tears and that's a big win. The cab pulls up and takes Gerard away. I enter the restaurant again just to see Dallon frozen in place with another glass of wine. What the hell?

I sit down and finish my sushi. It's definitely one of the best I've ever tasted. I throw some money on the table afterwards and leave Dallon there, without a word.

*

New Jersey decides to surprise me with rain while I'm walking to the bar from where the cab dropped me. It's not a long walk, but the rain makes sure I look like a wet dog before I'm hidden safely under a roof.

The place is packed. It's a gay-friendly rock bar with a small dancefloor, amazing drinks and a casual atmosphere. Low lights make me feel comfortable.

See, I wasn't always like this. I used to believe in love and beautiful things. Maybe I still believe in them, because I know they are real, maybe just not for me.

So scratch that, I was always like this. Nothing traumatic ever happened to me, this is just the way I grew up.

I'm drinking my third drink and having a heated conversation about Star Wars with a young college professor that I'm not really into when a familiar person drunkenly sways into the bar and drops into an empty chair by the bar right next to me. I wait for the drink to start shaking in my hand, but nothing happens. Oh right, I'm drunk. That definitely makes it easier.

He's wearing a white shirt and a black suit jacket, but no tie. The last time I saw him, he had long hair with streaks of red in it, like an anime character - now his hair is shorter, messier and jet black. He orders a glass of whiskey, downs it in two gulps and I can't stop staring at the soft flesh of his throat revealed by the open collar.

"Hey, Gerard." Wow. My liquid confidence tonight is probably a one-time thing. I have to take advantage of it.

Gerard tries to focus his eyes on me. He looks like he's been crying, but I might be wrong. I know he's trying to match a name to the face before he exclaims, "Frankie!" and throws his arms around my neck.

I freeze. He's hugging me like life itself depends on it and I awkwardly pat his back, a million thoughts running through my head. Why is he here? Has he really been crying? Why is he drunk, isn't he a sober alcoholic? Most importantly, what the hell is going on?

"Drink with me, Frank, will you? Two whiskey, double, no rocks," he tells the bartender.

I will never wash the smell of his cologne off me.

"Mikey said you guys went to get sushi tonight," I say before I can stop myself. Our drinks are ready and he points at mine suggestively, raising his own to his lips. I drink too, although whiskey is not my favorite. The bitter taste leaves a burn in my throat.

"We went alright, and now I'm here."

I know I should call Mikey and ask him what the fuck is going on, but Gerard orders us another drink. I know I should do the right thing, but I drank too much too fast and Gerard drags me to the dancefloor.

I don't know anything anymore except how he's holding me around the waist and how we sway, hips brushing each other.

He's taller than me, but just the right amount. He traces the outline of the tattoo on my neck with his fingertips and it's like all the galaxies materialized right in front of me, flooding me with their warmth, dragging me in.

"You're so fucking hot, Frankie."

Wait, is he for real?

"You don't even know how many times I've watched your band perform, and I was always drawn to you, so much. Or when we talked after the show and I wanted to shut your beautiful mouth with mine, Jesus Christ."

"Why did you never do that then?"

I'm not sure I want the answer. Gerard's body is all flush against mine in a mass of people who move faster than we do. His breath is warm in my ear, his hand slides underneath my t-shirt.

"I was always dating someone else, I couldn't."

"What about now?"

"Now I don't care."

I can almost believe he's sober the way he looks at me, but I know I'm just lying to myself. I move my face an inch forward and he finally does what he claims he wanted to for a while: he kisses me. I open my mouth, fast, let our tongues slide together, and nothing seems real anymore.

It's not a spark. It's an entire thunder.

Gerard is not holding back, he's giving me everything he's got, dragging me closer, somehow keeping our balance. I tangle my hands in his amazing hair and moan shamelessly, because nobody is going to hear me anyway. This is my once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm milking it dry. He tastes like all the booze in the world but that's okay, it's not like I'm any different. His palm brushes the top of my hand and I want to cry when the kiss breaks and he whispers, "Let's go out."

He takes my hand and maneuvers through the crowd. Everything happens much too fast for me and in a daze. I follow him outside, he smiles crookedly and I just have to push him against the wall, cool air wrapping around our tongues when we kiss greedily until some passers-by start to whistle.

"Your place?" he asks, and it's too late to say no, because an empty cab is waiting for us.

I just let him stare at me as we ride in the backseat. I stare back, smile like it's the best day of my life, and hold his soft hand in my calloused fingers. My mind runs through all the possible scenarios of an ending to this night.

He might collapse on my couch and fall asleep before I take off my shoes. He might sit down and demand coffee, sober up and we will end up talking until sunrise. Maybe I might even manage to control my boner somehow. Or maybe we will just make out some more.

"Are we gonna fuck?" asks Gerard, vocalizing my thoughts. I'm not sure if I should be giving myself mental fistbumps or facepalms.

"I don't know, what do you think?"

"I think we are," he murmurs, caressing my naked arm up and down. "I think we won't even make it to the bed. Not the couch, even."

"My place is small, you know," I tell him, or maybe I try to and don't. My throat is squeezed tight and I can hardly breathe. The cab stops. I want to pay, but Gerard stops me, and leaves the cabbie a generous tip. This is alright, considering he had to listen to our conversation about fucking.

We run upstairs, tripping over our own shoes. My thoughts are too big for my head, way over the speed limit. Gerard is wrinkling his suit jacket in his arms while I unlock the door, inserting the key into a lock on the third try.

"Welcome to my kingdom," I tell him, but Gerard is already taking off his shoes and the pristine white shirt and dropping it on my floor.

"It's not very clean here, are you sure..."

"Shut up, okay?" Gerard snaps, approaching me, suddenly very sober, and tears off my t-shirt violently. My lip ring gets stuck in a loose thread and Gerard pulls too hard. I wince. He untangles me carefully and kisses gently, like he's trying to make the pain go away.

This, I didn't expect. I guide him to my claustrophobic bedroom in my cheap, messy, claustrophobic apartment; he's melting into my kisses and my skin burns everywhere he touches. Gerard Way spends some time admiring my tattoos in the light of a bedside lamp, and then devotes an equal amount of time to my rock hard penis.

"Why are you so quiet, Frank?"

"I'm thinking about all the ways I'm going to make you moan, Gerard."

"You're all talk and no action."

When I take off his boxers and take him in my mouth, deep and wet, he moans for the first time.

When I scratch his back, just a little bit too hard, making sure I leave a mark, he moans for the second time.

"Why didn't I sleep with you earlier?" I ask him, not expecting an answer, grabbing his firm, round ass, dropping kisses to his neck. Gerard's forehead glistens with drops of sweat, hair is falling into his eyes. Sparks are jumping between us like the Apocalypse is real. He's a lover I never expected to have and I can tell he's in over his head too.

I will remember everything in the morning. Every little detail.

When he comes deep inside me, he moans for the third time.

*

I wake up with a terrible headache, painfully reminiscing of my darker times. I have to run to the bathroom, which is also reminiscent of the days I'd rather forget, and I throw up for fifteen minutes.

Afterwards, sitting weakly on my bed with medication, I make a decision to go to work after all. It's just shopping for the venue, a few hours, I can handle it. I can throw up in the meantime, right? There's also band practice in the evening.

I swallow through the terrible taste in my mouth. I can't believe I got food poisoning from the best sushi in town.

*

My entire place smells like Gerard Way. The sheets, my clothes, his clothes, my hair, everything. He's still asleep, unconcerned pose, legs open wide, mouth closed. We fell asleep next to each other, but not cuddling - you don't cuddle with a casual fuck. You don't get that intimate with a one night stand.

It's still very early, but I have to get ready for work. During a quick shower, I'm waiting for the regret to kick in. I remind myself that Gerard has a boyfriend, a long-term boyfriend to be precise, and he was cheating on him with me. I should regret that. I really should.

Maybe that wasn't the best fuck of my life. It was great, yes, and we were very compatible, reading each other's needs in a blink of an eye. There were sparks. There was thunder.

Okay, it was definitely the best fuck of my life. I can't force myself to regret it, I conclude while making coffee, jumping an inch off the ground when naked arms surround my waist and a chin rests on my shoulder.

"The smell lured me in." Gerard pecks me somewhere beneath the ear. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just turn around, cling to him, kiss good morning, don’t think about the consequences. So that's just what I do.

We are like two lonely icebergs colliding in the middle of my kitchen.

"Why are you up so early, Frankie? Don't you wanna lie in with me?"

Fuck, this is too tempting.

"Sorry, gotta go to work. But we can have coffee."

"I never say no to coffee."

We talk, seamlessly, about our jobs, music and my band. I meet the man behind the mask he never even wore and I like every inch I see.

When we leave my building together and say goodbye, I watch him disappear in a cab before I enter my own car and smash my head against the dashboard.

*

The nausea passes and I'm top of my game at tonight's practice. Ray gives me his brilliant smile and thumbs up when I manage to pull off a difficult riff I've been struggling with. Frank, on the other hand, is distracted. He's doing everything correctly when it comes to the music, but each time somebody tries to talk to him, he asks, "What?"

If he has some problems at work, we're screwed.

"Frank, you're operating on a whole different astral plane tonight," says Matt. Things like that are easy to notice even from behind the drum set.

"I - I couldn't sleep. Shall we?" he makes a wide gesture, suggesting we should get back to playing. We do Joyriding and the rehearsal is over.

"I think we're ready, guys," grins Ray. Frank bends over his guitar, fixing the tuning, but he nods.

"We're gonna kill it."

Is this the right time to tell them? Now or never, right?

"Somebody from Eyeball is gonna be there." The guys are all staring at me, jaws dropping, eyebrows rising. "They've listened to our demo and now they want to see us play live."

"Did Gerard do it?" asks Ray carefully. Frank just looks at me like I've commited a crime.

"I'd rather think we're good enough to achieve it ourselves. But yeah, he recommended us and they liked it."

Frank and I get coffee together, although it's 9 PM and too late for coffee. It's beautiful outside and the May air brings a nice chill. We sit on a park bench, accompanied by highschoolers groping each other and homeless people with their entire life packed in plastic bags, all of them occupying benches or sitting in the grass.

Frank takes an unusually deep breath. "How was sushi last night?"

"The best I've ever eaten. Also made me sick this morning."

"Really?" Frank laughs. "Maybe you're just pregnant."

"I told my brother that Dallon is cheating on him." I can't look at Frank if I'm going to tell the whole story, so I play with the lid of my coffee cup. "I caught him with some guy two weeks ago. And I just... I couldn't."

"You couldn't what?" Frank's voice seems to be coming from very far away.

"I couldn't stand staring at his stupid, smug face. So I told Gerard everything."

"And then what?"

"What do you mean what?"

Frank suddenly looks very uncomfortable. He props his feet up, surrounding his knees with his arms. I remember the crush on Gerard he used to have and I wonder if this ever stopped. I should've known that. Why am I such a lousy friend?

"Like, did Gerard freak out? Did he throw a drink at the cheating bastard? Anything?"

"He stormed off and went home to get rid of Dallon's stuff."

"Oh."

Something is off about Frank and I should ask. This is what friends do, right? They show support.

"Are you okay?"

Frank takes a sip of his coffee and looks at me from underneath his long lashes.

"I'm fine. Just tired. And nervous about Saturday."

"Don't be. We're ready."

The coffee turns cold and disgusting before I manage to drink it all. At night, I can't fall asleep, my guts crawling with anticipation.

Something is going to happen.

*

Jesus. I hardly manage not to crash my car into my neigbour's brand new Toyota, parked properly in a spot next to mine. I try to calm myself down with a few deep breaths, but it's useless, my heart is racing. I slam the door of my car and run upstairs.

The paint on my door is peeling off. When will I ever have time to take care of that?

The air still smells faintly of Gerard, but now it only pisses me off. I open all the windows.

So he didn't tell me the truth. Big deal. I never asked, right? I was vaguely okay with him cheating on his boyfriend with me, why should I be not okay with being a rebound? But I had to refrain from screaming when talking to Mikey today. I had a hundred questions, so I bit my tongue and didn't ask any of them. I don't deserve to know, right? I am just a guy Gerard fucked while drunk and desperate. I've been there; I know how you feel about those people. Being Gerard Way's disposable toy is the last thing I need.

I'm reheating frozen pizza when the doorbell rings. I want to slam the door before I even open it.

He's wearing his most gorgeous smile and a leather jacket it's too warm for today.

"Hey Frank."

I don't move an inch. Any false movement might suggest an invitation in, and I want to avoid that. I have to.

"Hey. What's up? Did you forget something in the morning?"

Gerard is thrown off his game. He looks stone cold sober tonight, why would he even bother coming here?

"I didn't. Thought you might wanna hang out."

"Well, I don't, so there."

"Seemed like we both had fun last night."

He really doesn't understand, does he?

"That was yesterday. I didn't know the deal yesterday."

"What deal, Frank? What the hell are you talking about?"

We're still at my threshold and I'm blocking the entrance with my entire body.

"Mikey told me you broke up with your boyfriend last night. And Mikey doesn't lie, right? I'm not into being a fucking rebound, Gerard."

He drags his hand all over his face and then hair, like he's very tired. Then he reaches out and tries to grab my hand. I move away.

"Frank..."

"No. Goodbye, Gerard."

I shut the door in front of his shocked, beautiful face. My place smells like something burning.

The frozen pizza lands in the trash.

*

The Eyeball rep is waiting for us backstage after our set is over. She's 25 at most, petite with long, brown hair. Ray and Matt can't take their eyes off her when she offers to sign us.

The light in Frank's eyes that went off for a mysterious reason when we finished playing turns back on. It was definitely our best show ever and we deserve our record deal like never before. Frank should know that, he's the architect of our success. Now, he can stop worrying. I just wish Gerard was here to see us kill it.

The venue is still packed when we celebrate with drinks and a cake the Eyeball girl brought randomly. I've never seen the guys so happy before. I send Gerard a quick text, informing him about our big win, and return to celebrating.

Of course for me, it's just virgin mojitos or 7 UP. I get bored with sweet drinks pretty soon, so I head for the bar again. Some people pat me on the back and congratulate for a great show. I stop by to talk to them and it takes a good 15 minutes to get to the bar.

I order carbonated water in the tallest glass there is and turn on my heels, but I fail to realize somebody is standing right behind me. I spill my drink all over a guy in a sleeveless Metallica t-shirt.

I know I should apologize, say anything at all, but the words get stuck in my throat forever. The guy has raven black, spiky hair, coffee-colored complexion and smile lines right next to his eyes.

"What did you have in there?" he asks, voice charged with laughter, pointing at the empty glass in my hand.

"Just water," I manage to stutter out. The guy is stunning for some reason I can't pinpoint. His t-shirt is very wet.

"No problem then, bassist. Also the show tonight? Fuck, man, you are all amazing. It's the third time I've seen you guys play. I'm Pete, by the way," he extends a hand, warm and a little bit wet from my water. His arms are covered in tattoos.

"Mikey. Mikey Way."

"How long have you guys played together? Because you sound great. I'm surprised you don't have a record deal by now."

"We've just signed one tonight," I say with an honest smile and I don't even notice when I'm sitting with Pete by the bar. He orders a beer for himself and another water for me.

"You totally deserve that. Can't wait for the album to come out!"

"Yeah, we've played for two years. It took a lot to get there."

"I feel you, I played a little myself, but it didn't work out."

"What happened?"

Pete seems to be a person with his personality all over the place, but I like that. I've just met him and I don't feel uncomfortable talking to him. I'm mesmerized by the lines around his eyes and mouth when he smiles. He seems to be doing that a lot.

"The other guys didn't really try hard enough, you know? I tried the hardest, but I had no musical talent. Had to move on to other things."

"What did you play?"

"Bass."

He's smiling at me yet again, not even drinking his beer.

"Wow." The little word just slips out before I can stop it.

"Uncanny, right?"

I'm not even sure how much time passes, but when Matt shows up, he says they've been looking for me forever and tries to drag me away from Pete.

"I gotta go. Do you want to, maybe..." I try to say in a desperate burst of confidence. Matt is still pulling my sleeve.

"I'll find you on Facebook, now go, celebrate, Mikey Way," laughs Pete, and fades out somewhere in a mass of people.

Before I go to sleep at 4:30 AM, I accept a friend request from Pete Wentz.

*

The 10 o'clock shift right after the show is not ideal, but not the worst either. I can sleep after work, I still need the money - I have to keep this job for at least three more months, until we go into the studio.

In the warehouse, I meet my favorite coworker William, arranging delivery boxes, sighing deeply. He's like an open book and I can tell we're reading one of the sad chapters today. Bill met his partner, Gabe, at a punk-rock gig. It was one of those weird, world-stopping moments, when the vocalist noticed a fan among the crowd and bam, lightning struck, love at first sight. William was still in high school in Chicago then. Now, Gabe and his band are touring Europe as a support act, and William works his shitty bookstore job because "he doesn't want to be a trophy wife."

When Gabe is away, William is apathetic, miserable and ready to party almost every night. When Gabe is around, William is energetic, unable to concentrate at his job and also ready to party, but only with Gabe at his side.

He's in mourning today. He arranges the boxes meticulously, taking notes, and whines, "Hello Frank."

"Hey babe, what's crackin'? How'd you like us yesterday?"

"Frank, seriously. I've been drinking with you, remember? Eating this stupid cake, too. Congratulated on the signing?"

"You never said how you liked the show though."

"I fucking loved it. How are you? Take these, alright?" he says, handing me a box of photo frames to unpack.

"I'm okay. Psyched about the deal."

William returns to his sulking. Gabe is probably somewhere in France, as far as I know. Sometimes I wish I could miss someone that much. Sometimes, but not very often.

Something inside me is crying very loudly. Although it's metaphorical, I'm afraid William might hear it anyway.

"Hey William?"

"Yeah?" William turns to me from the books he's cataloguing.

Everything I want to say, everything I'm hiding is on the tip of my tongue. William would be the best person to talk to about it.

"When is Gabe coming back?"

*

"Mikey! Mikey, brother, come on! Get up and let me in! Mikey!"

Maybe the yelling and banging on the door is just in my dream and will go away if I close my eyes tight enough.

"Mikey, what the fuck, are you dead? Should I call 911?"

My phone starts ringing to accompany the banging and I know I'm not asleep anymore, but I'm also not ready to get up.

"Hello?"

"Will you let me in? Are you even in there?" asks Gerard from a thousand miles away.

"I just thought I had a nightmare that included a lot of noise."

"Open up."

"Yeah. Hang on."

Gerard looks surprisingly well for the early hour. He must've had a lot of coffee, because he's buzzing with energy.

"What time is it, Gee?"

"It's nine, seriously, you idiot, you look like something ran you over," he says, hugging me tightly without any warning whatsoever. "Congrats. I knew you guys would make it. I'm so proud of you."

"You helped. So you can get backstage passes anytime, you don't even have to ask."

"I'm counting on it!"

Gerard, being the best big brother I could ask for, makes me coffee. I gradually wake up, briefing him about last night. He wants to know every little detail.

"Why didn't you come to see it for yourself, then? Did you really feel that bad?"

"Yes, like I told you. But there's also something else."

Please, Gerard, consider whether you absolutely have to tell me that. He's looking at me like yeah, he has to, so I wait.

"I slept with Frank."

A beat. I wait for the dramatic music to start playing. Any minute now.

"Frank? As in Frank Iero? My high school friend? From my band?"

He doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at me. It's like when I caught him jerking off when we were teenagers.

"I didn't even get to the awkward part yet."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Gee! When? When did that even happen?"

"After the break-up. I got drunk and met him at some bar. You know how it goes."

"Well, no, I don't! You were drunk? You're drinking again?"

"I was, once. I don't drink, Mikey, chill, okay? Will you let me tell you the story?"

I knew I should have gone home with him after the Dallon massacre. I've made a terrible mistake I won't be able to fix.

"Just spare me the details, please," I say, defeated.

"Fine. So I was drunk, but just a little, I was in this confident I can do whatever the fuck I want state", he draws quotation marks in the air. "He was drinking too, so we drank together, and then we danced, and went home."

"Your place or his?" I don't even know why I'm asking.

"His. And, just to spare you the details, it was great. So I went back to his place the next day."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, Mikey, you would too. And this time I was completely sober, I swear. But then it got awkward."

"How so?"

"He shut the door in my face. Said something about not wanting to be a fucking rebound, because you told him I broke up with Dallon, and just, shut the door in my face. So I didn't show up at your gig. I didn't want to annoy him."

This is probably the weirdest, most twisted story I have heard recently, and that includes Matt's tales of community college.

"What do you expect of me here, Gee?"

"I don't know, maybe you could just tell me what the hell I am supposed to do now."

"How would I know what to do in a situation like that? You can ask anyone, like, literally anyone would give you better advice than me."

"But Frank is your friend. How do I make this right with him? How do I make him like me again?"

For the first time in our lives, it's Gerard who doesn't know how to deal with a situation. I should feel empowered by this, but somehow I don't. If anything, I'm tired.

"But do you want him to forgive you or do you want him to like you? Because I feel like I'm missing something. Do you, possibly maybe, have feelings for Frank?"

Gerard's face is redder than the hair he used to wear a few years ago.

"Possibly maybe."

"Jesus Christ. You just broke up with somebody, come on."

"I didn't choose this for myself, okay? I just... I know I won't stand him hating me. I want to make his right. Be a good brother, Mikes, and help a man out."

I take a deep breath and words come to me by themselves.

"Frank is... Do you remember he used to have a crush on you? I think he even asked you out once and you rejected," Gerard nods. "So be careful with him. Explain your motives. Show interest in the human being, okay? Talk to him, don't force yourself on him. But, most importantly, don't hurt him. He's my friend and I need him to be alright."

"Okay. I'll be extra careful. After Dallon, I just - I didn't want to be alone, but when I was not alone with him - it felt different, you know? It felt better than not being alone with somebody else."

"I have no idea what you mean. Can I get back to sleep now? I have to work in the evening."

"Sure, I'll go. Sorry I woke you up."

I walk Gerard to my door and think about the melancholy of his smile. Maybe he should've realized Frank is right for him earlier and avoid the pain he's going through now. I just hope he doesn't go back to drinking, because that's a one-way street.

I'm trying to get back to sleep after my brother leaves, but the coffee I've drunk starts flowing in my veins and my brain's working a little bit too fast to allow me to drift off.

So this is what life is really like when you're clean. Life is going to dates with your brother's loved ones. Life is trying every sushi in town because you have nothing else to do. Life is worrying about your friends' mental state and celebrating their successes, not really your own. Life is, most of all, a little bit boring.

Maybe I can still turn it around. Make it mine.

I don't want to overthink it, so I write Pete on Facebook before I manage to talk myself out of it.

Mikey Way: Hey Pete :-) Wanna meet up and talk some more?

Pete Wentz: Mikeyway! Sure, free tonight? :-)

Mikey Way: No, work. Tomorrow? Starbucks at Main St? 6 pm?

Pete Wentz: The one by the bus stop?

Mikey Way: yeah

Pete Wentz : Ok, be there 6 pm sharp, see you tomorrow :-)

Mikey Way: See you!

My heart is pounding much too fast, so I make myself another cup of coffee. What doesn't kill you...

I decide to do something I didn't do before: I thoroughly examine Pete's Facebook profile. It's full of music, shared by him and his friends, old rock classics among songs by brand new, yet undiscovered bands. I even find a live video of Cellabration's Blood Infections with Pete's comment, "Check out these guys live, they slay." I realize we share interest in the same kind of music, but that was no secret before. Pete's Literature and Movies sections are also filled to the brim. Most of the photos in his galleries are from gigs or parties, but there's also one with him wearing a suit and holding some prize I don't recognize.

I find out he's from Chicago and a year older than me. The last thing I do, although I feel a bit like a stalker, is check his profile for signs of a significant other. Pete is tagged on a lot of photos with a good-looking, fedora-wearing guy named Patrick. They seem to be very close, often hugging, partying together. But when I look at Patrick's profile, I find out he's in a relationship with a person named Elisa.

Okay then.

Pete is also tagged on two photos together with Gabe Saporta. Small world, right?

I close Facebook and my heart doesn't seem to be slowing down.

*

It's Tuesday and the evening feels like the worst kind of déjà vu. Not only is it late, warm and I'm terribly tired, every joint and muscle aching, but also there's a familiar figure waiting for me by my car.

"What are you doing here?"

Gerard is holding up a bottle of wine in a gesture of innocence. The streetlight falls on his leather jacket and a faded red t-shirt he's wearing underneath.

"I just wanted to talk. Don't shoot."

I don't believe in his humble motives, but whatever, if he doesn't try anything shady I might as well give him a chance.

"Okay, get in."

"We can go to my place. Northeast Plaza, you know the way, right?"

He gets in the passenger's seat while I turn on the music. It's the first LP by Midtown.

"Midtown, nice," he says, banging a rhythm on my dashboard.

"You know them?" Should I even be surprised? He uncovers a new piece of himself every time we talk.

"Sure, who doesn't?"

"I'm actually friends with them," I tell him. "The singer is my coworker's boyfriend."

"I met them a few times too, but that was a while ago."

Of course, lately you've been busy with tall, handsome lawyers and chic New York life.

Gabe's voice flows in the air between us as I park on the street in front of Gerard's apartment complex. It's the more expensive part of town with marble flower pots and lamps that are not broken. He lives on the fourth floor in an apartment with panoramic windows and modern art on the walls.

"Nice place." I really mean it. It's simple, but a little bit pretentious. It's punk rock, but peppered with art. "It's just like you."

"Thanks. I like it here too. Trying not to hold on to bad memories, you know?" he pours us both wine. It's white; the bottle looks expensive.

"Can we order pizza or something? I just went off my shift and I'm starving. But maybe pizza doesn't go with your wine," I tease. He sticks his tongue out and picks up a phone. "Vegetarian for me."

Before our pizza arrives, the wine bottle is halfway empty and I'm sitting cross-legged on Gerard Way's floor, white noise in my head, laughing like I mean it.

"You really don't remember this guy? His hair was like, this big," he makes a gesture suggesting this guy's hair was the size of his living room. "We went to Bio together and I couldn't see the board with him in front of me."

"No, but the way you're describing him I wish I remembered him. I remember Mikey's Sharon Stone hair though."

Gerard's face suddenly goes dead serious. "Don't mention it to him, ever. Promise me."

"Okay, okay, promise."

We laugh like we've been friends forever. Everything but him fades away, although I know I can't let myself fall into that. We're shocked into silence by the arrival of pizza, which we devour between laughs and split seconds wasted on making our wine glasses dry. When the bottle is empty, another one mysteriously appears.

"What the hell, Gerard. I thought you were a sober alcoholic."

Confusion runs through his face, but fades away very quickly.

"Well, I'm not so sober anymore, so drink with me and don't say anything about it."

"No way. You can't do that to yourself just because of some asshole who doesn't deserve you."

I sit on the couch next to him, noticing my personal boundaries have moved, because I have no difficulty patting him sympathetically on the knee. Gerard, on the other hand, drinks a few big gulps straight from the bottle.

"It's just fucking wine, Frankie, Jesus."

"It wasn't just wine when we were at the bar that night. I tell you what," my hand moves from his knee to his lower back. The faded red t-shirt doesn't separate me from the heat of his skin. I remember that heat almost too well. "Tonight we drink, but tomorrow? It's over. Alright? You have a life to live, don't need to waste it on that crap."

"I'm sorry you thought you were a rebound."

"I was. There's nothing you can do about it now. No hard feelings, okay? You don't have to feel bad anymore. I didn't ask, so it's not just your fault."

"No, Frank, you don't get it," he sounds like he might be close to crying, and indeed, his eyes are welling up. He's holding my hand and I'm not trying to escape. All my strength abandoned me.

"Why? What am I not getting?"

He doesn't tell me. He doesn't tell me anything. He drags me closer by the lapels of my hoodie and kisses me, without asking for permission.

I try to jerk away, but he takes it as an invitation or a challenge, so he holds onto my lower lip with his teeth. Drops of metallic blood are dripping down our chins, but we don't see it. I let my tongue explore every inch of his mouth, because I have given up, my body and mind have surrendered to the feeling of Gerard. And he is everywhere. He is every second, every thought, every little brush of fingers through my hair. He is every painful memory twisted and turned up to eleven, exploding in my body right now.

"Gerard."

"Yes?" he breathes out, sucking on my neck. I can hardly breathe. I can't move.

"Stop it."

"I can't."

I feel his fingers messing with my belt and that's it. The white noise in my poor, tortured head is roaring when I push him off with the last of my strength and scramble off the couch. Gerard is a complete mess: there's blood at the corner of his mouth, a storm on his head, panic in his eyes and traces of my fingernails all over his arms. The fact that I could single-handedly destroy somebody like that scares me. My own feelings scare me even more.

"I have to go."

"No, Frankie, please don't. I'm sorry. Please don't."

"Bye." I run out before I can change my mind. Luckily, he doesn't go after me. When I get in my car and start the engine, that's when I realize I'm in no shape to drive.

Fuck this shit.

I call William, praying he will pick up. It's after 2 AM.

"Bill? Please save me."