ĐɆVłⱠ ₮Ø₩₦ (devil town) • frerard

iii

"hey, frank, what happened? are you okay? i'm sorry if you – "

"shut up," frank replies. he feels the coldness gasp at his skull, "i know you're worried about me. and i'm sorry for ditching."

"why did you do it then?"

"doesn't matter," frank sniffles, taking a drag and puffing the smoke out into his car, "i'm coming over. i'm horny. and i don't want to be friends. but you're a good fuck."

"uh, okay."

"unless whoever you were fucking isn't gone."

"patrick left a few minutes ago."

"patrick?"

"yeah, he's been a sub of mine for a while. nothing more, though." gerard replies, clearing his throat as casual as it gets, "do you know how to get here?"

"yeah. bye."

frank hangs up before gerard can reply. the bar was a few hours ago. it's about eleven but he doesn't really care. he can't find the will to care about anything right now besides getting fucked. or feeling something. maybe that's an excuse for some deeper feeling inside of himself but he's always found shrinks agonizing and he's never liked being analyzed. he doesn't like the idea of someone being inside of his head, and he hates the idea of anyone caring about him enough to try. that's why gerard pissed him off so much on that one night. that's why he had screamed at him. it was unnecessary. he was a stranger, and frank was just some lousy, greasy, sub who couldn't find the will to get out of the house no matter how hard he tries. he hates that he went off on him, he does. but he was pissed. he hates people who play the sympathy card because there's nothing to be sympathetic about.

he's a middle aged white bisexual man who probably has severe depression or some shit and makes up for it through sex and cigarettes. specifically post-sex cigarettes. frank loves those the most.

he's brought back when he sees the clock strike eleven-ten and he immediately starts up his car and drives up to gerard's apartment complex. he remembers clearly that it was about three down from the entrance, ground level. a27. frank's eyes are glazed over when he approaches the white door and takes in his surroundings. there's a window, covered with black shades and the door handle is smooth and silver. there's a skull resting on a table, styrofoam but decorated realistically and he wonders why he came here. he shouldn't invest his time into someone who has another person in his life. he wonders if gerard is cheating or if the so-called 'patrick' is okay with him being with other people. frank's always been the polyamorous type, as long as he trusts everyone. but he knows that doesn't apply here and it never will. gerard isn't his dom. he's a fuck. maybe he'll come back a few more times after this, but ultimately, he'll forget. and gerard won't matter to him just like everyone else who's ever been in his life. frank hates the idea of friends. life's too fucking short for people to have unreasonable attachments to people that will ultimately end in death or a break-off. fun moments don't last, but grief does. that's something that frank will always live by. always.

gerard is nothing more than a fuck. someone to hold him down and tell him how pathetic he is because he's tired of saying it to himself.

frank knocks. he loses track of how long he stands at the door for, but when he checks his phone right after, he realizes four minutes had passed. not long, but definitely too long to hesitate at a fucking door for.

gerard answers, opens the door and smiles softly when he sees frank, "hey, good to see you."

"hi."

frank enters, gerard closes the door behind him and he says, slightly unprepared, "i wasn't sure what you wanted, rough or soft. but i thought maybe we could go a little softer this time, we had a dent in the wall last time."