So Long, Not Goodnight

Chapter Thirty-Four

After almost wrestling Gerard into his pajamas, he pulled them on himself and Frank redressed himself as well. They held hands back down the stairs to the kitchen, where Frank pulled a chair out for Gerard to sit and tucked him back under the table. Frank filled the kettle with tap and replaced it back on the burner, twisting the knob to the highest setting, igniting beneath the metal. He collected two fresh mugs from the cupboard and sat them next to the stove. One had thick, black letters spelling out New Jersey Department of Corrections on a plain white backing and the other had a red graffiti text spelling out D.A.R.E. against it's black base. Frank snickered silently at the remembrance of being in middle school at assemblies that preached the latter. The kettle began to hiss and whistle and then subsided as Frank turned off the burner and removed it from it's perch. One of the clay containers on the counter housed stray single serve teabags. "Are you in the mood for chamomile or passionfruit?" Frank spoke over his shoulder.

"Chamomile, please," Gerard was laying on his forearms on the table, tracing invisible letters on it's surface. 

"You read my mind," Frank tore two pouches open and set each mug with a bag, pulling the string and paper tip over each rim before pouring steaming water to their fill.

"Sugar, sugar?" Frank smirked.

"No." Gerard smiled faintly.

"Cream?" Frank already knew the answer before it was spoken.

"You can't be serious," Gerard perked up. "In chamomile?"

"I was kidding," Frank spun around, a mug in each hand, before depositing one in front of Gerard.

"I never know with you." Gerard took the mug offered gratefully, blowing a cloud of steam into the room, his lips pouting seductively. 

Frank squeezed his thighs together as he watched Gerard try to cool down his tea. "Will you fetch a saucer from the cupboard for the bags?" Gerard pointed at the adjacent cabinet to where the mugs were housed.

"Fetch you a saucer?" Frank scooted his chair backwards and rose, making his way to where Gerard was pointing. "The fuck are you? The queen of fucking England?"

Gerard half rolled his eyes, shaking his head side to side as he dunked the teabag up from his mug, placing it's sopping remains on the small dish that Frank placed between them. "It barely steeped, babe," Frank sat back down.

"I don't like my tea too strong," Gerard pulled in a mouthful.

"It's fucking chamomile," Frank stifled a laugh.

Taking another gulp, feeling the warmth slide down his throat and thrum in his belly satisfactorily, Gerard eyed Frank again. "So are we gonna talk about what she said or not?"

"There isn't much to say that you don't already know," Frank sighed, playing with the handle of his mug. "She didn't remember his name or anyone else's for that matter. She said he was a senior and that they were dating and that night she had snuck out to be with him and that he drugged her and... Well, you know the rest."

"Well," Gerard looked around at the ceiling. "That's... Something, right? We know now that he went to our school. All this time I thought he was in college... The ring and the jacket..."

"She isn't mad at you, Gee," Frank broke off their tangent. "She never meant to hurt you or make you feel any pain... She admires you for what you did."

Gerard's eyes fell to his hands as he tucked the warm cup up against his chest, pulling his legs up in his chair. "She... She said that?"

"Well, the whole not being mad and not wanting you to hurt or feel pain, yeah..." Frank looked him up and down. "The admiration... You could tell by the way she spoke about you and the... The look in her eyes."