that joke isn't funny anymore
Gerard/Frank
Double drabble (200 words)
PG (swearing)
written March 2008.
For mcr_100 prompt 24: wedding/funeral. First place winner.
Frank can hear the laughter, but he doesn't smile. And when Gerard strolls in, wedding ring on his left hand and license clutched in his right, Frank doesn't look up.
“Where were you?”
He shrugs. Frank’s glad he's drunk; this would hurt more if he were sober.
“You missed the wedding.”
“That wasn’t a wedding,” Frank murmurs, and he can see Gerard’s expression without lifting his head. Shakily, he stands up. “It's the same old shit with you … won’t change anything, won’t make you happy.”
There’s a pause. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you won’t stop loving me.”
***
He’s lying in his bunk that night, idly playing with his own ring, when Gerard walks in. “Hey Gee. Trouble in paradise?”
“Shut the fuck up,” is the reply.
“Not quite how you imagined your wedding night, huh?”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Gerard snaps, leaning into the bunk and glaring at Frank, who stares back without flinching.
“What do you think?”
Gerard sighs and sinks onto his own bunk, head in hands. “You got married first,” he mumbles.
Part of Frank wants to hug him; the rest wants to kick his stupid ass. Instead, he sighs. “Your funeral.”
Double drabble (200 words)
PG (swearing)
written March 2008.
For mcr_100 prompt 24: wedding/funeral. First place winner.
Frank can hear the laughter, but he doesn't smile. And when Gerard strolls in, wedding ring on his left hand and license clutched in his right, Frank doesn't look up.
“Where were you?”
He shrugs. Frank’s glad he's drunk; this would hurt more if he were sober.
“You missed the wedding.”
“That wasn’t a wedding,” Frank murmurs, and he can see Gerard’s expression without lifting his head. Shakily, he stands up. “It's the same old shit with you … won’t change anything, won’t make you happy.”
There’s a pause. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you won’t stop loving me.”
***
He’s lying in his bunk that night, idly playing with his own ring, when Gerard walks in. “Hey Gee. Trouble in paradise?”
“Shut the fuck up,” is the reply.
“Not quite how you imagined your wedding night, huh?”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Gerard snaps, leaning into the bunk and glaring at Frank, who stares back without flinching.
“What do you think?”
Gerard sighs and sinks onto his own bunk, head in hands. “You got married first,” he mumbles.
Part of Frank wants to hug him; the rest wants to kick his stupid ass. Instead, he sighs. “Your funeral.”