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

9: Memes And Emotional Trauma

Come something like two in the morning, and Frank was something like asleep and Gerard was something like drunk, and something like something had happened between the two of them mere hours before.

Explaining to his mother and brother just what Frank Iero was doing in his bed was a hurdle Gerard had settled upon facing in the morning, and two am Gerard knew himself well enough to know that nine am Gerard would hate him for a decision like that.

Two am Gerard was stupid, stupid enough to think that Frank was actually asleep and that he could get away like this, just stopping himself, time and time again, because Gerard had laughed at Frank for calling him 'daddy', okay, perhaps it was a joke, perhaps it wasn't, but Gerard had laughed, and Frank had lost all confidence and they'd ended up sitting there fully clothed and kissing perhaps once or twice as Star Wars played on in the background.

"Fuck..." Gerard muttered aloud, leaning back against the wall of his bedroom as he brought the can of beer to his lips, and Frank pretended to be too out of it to hear, but with Gerard so close and so beautiful, he couldn't be anything but wide fucking awake in that moment.

Gerard needed some consolation, something, anything more than shitty cheap alcohol and the mind numbing solitude of late night/early morning thoughts in a far from empty mind, and that was how his hand reached to the bedside table, and his cellphone was unplugged, and the little screen illuminated his face in a way that Frank pretended not to notice.

Gerard had forgotten, both all about the texts, and all about the promise he'd made to Mikey, because as he opened his messages app: intent on texting someone who could get him something more hard hitting than alcohol at two in the morning, he found himself letting out a sigh as his gaze fell upon Bert's contact name.

And then, like he hadn't already had enough of a heart attack, his phone vibrated in his hands: another message, and just what Gerard needed, and just enough to fuck everything up completely.

'Please be awake. I'm sorry. I love you.'

And Gerard knew better than to reply to it, but he glanced at his shaking fingertips, and then Frank's 'sleeping' form, and the Star Wars DVD case next to the TV in the corner of his room, and Gerard didn't know better at all.

And Gerard made mistakes and sinned like it was all he had ever been made to, because when Gerard fucked up, he fucked up spectacularly, and when he took Bert McCracken back, it was always late at night, without the aid of sanity.

And he was well aware of the grave he was digging himself, but he dug it with disregard and in fact enough vigour for him to be dressing himself for his own funeral in that very moment.

'Hey'.

Gerard's reply was innocent at first, and somewhat tentative, but Bert had seen it within seconds, and the nineteen year old's whole body shook in response, because he was scared, and he wasn't ready, and he was glancing across at Frank, but Frank was still 'asleep' and Frank didn't look up.

'I love you.'

Bert was drunk, and Gerard knew that he was in too deep already when he could sense the intoxication within eight fucking letters, but of course, they were eight slightly important letters, and still, despite his state, Gerard didn't once doubt that Bert might not mean them.

'It's late.'

Gerard had opted for a neutral response, glancing up at Frank once more: part of him just begging him not to get himself into this mess again, and just curl up next to boy and let things sort themselves out until morning, and then maybe they'd try again another night, and maybe they'd get to more than just kissing, and maybe, just once, just maybe, Gerard could admit to himself that this thing with Frank was more than just a fuck.