The Elite Club Of People Who've Seen Gerard Way Naked.

8: The Story Of How Gerard Way Died

If Gerard knew anything, it was that he most certainly wasn't doing the washing up again, and perhaps even this was a better alternative.

And this was making conversation with Mikey about something they vowed that they'd never mention, because these were the stupid feelings that plagued their hearts and minds and meant everything but nothing at all, and regardless of their significance or otherwise, where just absolutely impossible to ignore.

Because whatever this was with Frank, because it was something, because it had lasted long than a week, it had nothing to do with Bert McCracken, and still Gerard was interested, and that was absolutely out of the ordinary for him. Sure, it didn't sound like anything much, but Gerard was pretty damn special and perhaps not in the best way.

And of course, it wasn't like Mikey was particularly happy to admit the way he felt about Pete either, and they were both very much in the same boat here, but of course, always just as reluctant to admit it, or even to admit to anything at all.

The two were sat at the kitchen table, meeting one another's gaze in a pathetic attempt to ignore the pile of washing up they'd been tasked with sorting out, because they were going to be realistic here and admit that the likelihood of the washing up actually getting done was just about as likely as either brother getting himself together enough to sort out the feud between his head and his heart.

But dancing in thought around the notion was most definitely an easy alternative with which to waste away time totally not thinking any homosexual thoughts at all, because, of course, no homo was the motto that the Way brothers lived by everyday of their lives.

The two jumped a little as the screen of Gerard's cellphone, laid on the table in front of him, lit up, displaying a text message, and of course not just a text message.

It was the first text message in weeks now, and from one single glance at the contact name, Mikey already knew what this was.

And Gerard did too, even if he was just a little more reluctant to admit it.

The contact name in question, being, of course, 'Bert'.

The message was illuminated on the screen for a painful thirty seconds, before the screen faded to black, and Mikey turned to face his brother with a raise of his eyebrows. "Don't you fucking dare fuck up your life again, you hear me?"

"M-Mikey..." Gerard stumbled out, perhaps even just a little taken aback at the fact that Mikey had even spoken up, having anticipated a prolonged silence, lasting perhaps even as long as it would take Mrs Way to come home and shout at them about the washing up still remaining untouched, but perhaps Mikey was just a little saner than Gerard thought he was.

"Don't reply to that douchebag, and don't you fucking dare get back with him." Mikey snapped, gesturing to Gerard's phone as he spoke, and of course meaning Bert, and not the phone itself, because that would be pretty damn ridiculous indeed.

"I'm not- I..." Gerard let out a sigh, grabbing his phone from where it lay, and turned the screen on, letting his eyes glance over the message, before putting it back down again, because he reckoned Mikey might fucking smash it if he didn't.

'I miss you. I'm sorry. I love you.'

And more kisses than Gerard deserved, but just enough to sink his heart right back down into the depths of the motherfucking ocean, because he was getting okay again, but now Bert was back, and now everything was back, and his head was fucking on fire.

"I'd rather you fucked Frank than ever talked to him again." And Gerard didn't doubt that Mikey meant that one little bit.

"I'm not going to reply." Gerard added, blushing a little, not quite wanting to meet Mikey's gaze.