Buy Handmade, part 2
Part 1
Frank thinks about it that night in bed. It was all so much like sex even though they hadn't touched; his bare skin, Gerard’s breath so close, the brush of Gerard’s hair on his shoulder, like he’d been leaning down to kiss his neck. Even talking about Grey Award, how intense his confession of it had been, talking about his obsession, how Gerard had seemed to understand all of it like Frank always knew he would, how focused he’d been on Frank as he talked, how his mouth had looked, slack and waiting to be kissed. Frank wants more, wants to talk more, wants to touch Gerard, wants to write to Grey Award and tell him about this awesome guy he’s met who’s an artist, too. He presses his face to his pillow and just breathes, letting the night play itself over and over again in his head. Art and meaning and inspiration and Gerard so close that Frank’s whole body was aching from holding back.
Mikey does, as Frank expects, totally avoid answering his question about what he and Gerard were fighting about the night before.
"It’s not about you, Frank, I’m serious," Mikey says, and Frank hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d been worried it was. "I’m glad my brother likes you." Frank likes how simple Mikey makes it sound, and he stops himself from saying something stupid like, "I’m glad your brother likes me, too."
Instead, he tries again to figure out what’s going on. "So, what’s - "
But Frank’s never been sneaky and Mikey’s too fast. "He’s just being an older brother. You want to come over Saturday?"
Of course Frank does, driving over right after he leaves the bakery. He hands Mikey a dozen éclairs he just made. Mikey takes two out on a paper towel and Frank pours himself coffee so fresh the pot is still steaming and rumbling with coffee maker noises.
"You didn’t just get up, did you?" Frank asks, as he pours milk into his cup.
"It’s two in the afternoon." Mikey says in protest. "Gee’s been up since 5, I think. Drank the whole first pot."
Frank’s been up since five, too, earlier in fact, and he downs half the cup of coffee in one swallow. He realizes he hasn’t seen Gerard at all, and he looks around for the other freak who gets up before dawn on Saturday mornings.
"Upstairs," Mikey says. He gestures with his shoulder, a Mikey shrug that means Frank’s welcome to go get him as long as he doesn’t expect Mikey to do it. Frank goes up the stairs, sees Gerard’s door is closed, and comes back downstairs.
He leans in the doorway of the living room, and Mikey eyes him. "He didn’t throw you out, did he?" he says, his eyes wide.
"His door was closed."
"Did you fucking knock?" Mikey says, licking the chocolate stripe on the éclair.
"Uh, no?" Frank says, and knows it’s the wrong answer because Mikey’s already shaking his head.
"Want to play Atari?" Mikey says, and Frank sits down beside him on the floor and takes the control.
Three games later, Gerard comes running down the stairs. "Mikey, Mikey, how’s your morning, I’m sorry I left you all alone, are you even here? I heard something a little while ago and so I thought you were here but maybe you left, and I’m sorry I drank all the coffee and didn’t make another pot and...." Gerard comes into the living room and stops when he sees Mikey and Frank. "Hi," he says, eyes bright.
"Hey," Frank says. Gerard is covered in smears of paint. Not splatters, from energetic painting, but finger-sized smears, like he was finger painting and either forgot that he had paint on his fingers when he brushed his hair out of his face or he forgot which was his face and which was the canvas. He looks at Gerard and away from the TV long enough that Mikey blows him up.
"Sorry!" Gerard says when he sees the explosion and Frank swears and laughs as Mikey gets up and does a silly victory dance that mostly involves stomping on the floor and smacking the back of Frank’s head.
Frank insists on a rematch, but Mikey beats him again, even without the Gerard distraction, and Frank goes into the kitchen to see Gerard scrubbing at his hands. There are trails of green paint circling around the drain, and Gerard has a nail brush that he’s pretty viciously attacking his knuckles with. "Wasn’t really paying attention," Gerard says, and then gives Frank a huge grin which is even sillier because there’s paint on his lips.
"I brought some éclairs," Frank says, and moves the box closer to Gerard, who immediately grabs the kitchen towel to wipe his hands, despite the fact that he hasn’t washed off all the paint.
"Oh my god," Gerard says, and takes the box, stares into it, and then carefully takes out an éclair and takes a bite. Frank busies himself pouring more coffee because Gerard reverently eating a baked good and making pleased hums is a little too much for Frank, and makes him think extremely dirty thoughts that he should really be completely ashamed of, but then he looks back at Gerard, who is beaming at him, and Frank just hands him the cup of coffee he’s made. Their fingers touch, and Gerard’s eyes sparkle, and Frank thinks that it’s a good thing Mikey is in the next room, because otherwise he might actually be on his knees right now, unzipping Gerard’s paint-streaked jeans.
Because suddenly, all Frank can think about is Gerard. Every morning in the shower before the bakery, when he’s barely awake enough to remember if he’s washed his hair or not, at the bakery talking to Ray about the latest wonderful thing Gerard has said or done, when he’s thinking about his wild, complicated day dream where he makes things to send to people on Etsy and he bakes bread for Gerard and he lets Gerard paint his skin. There is something else, something special about Gerard, something about the way Frank just can’t stop looking at him when he is in the room, something about the way that Gerard seems all bundled up and open at the same time, like a puzzle with no solution, like linked rings, or boxes inside of boxes.
Frank feels like he knows Gerard without really being able to say what it is he really knows about him. But there’s something that’s holding Frank back. Not about Gerard, just about everything. He feels like he’s at stuck in between something, like a part of him is still paused, waiting for something that hasn’t happened yet. He hasn’t quit his tech support job, he’s still just an unpaid trainee at the bakery, and he can’t stop worrying about forcing something, about channeling into Gerard all of his uncertainty, and Frank thinks that maybe he’s been waiting for so long that it doesn’t hurt to wait just a little longer, to be sure. Like at some point, he’ll just know; at some point, everything that has been hanging on will just fall into place. So he keeps waiting.
Mikey quits on a Tuesday, politely submits his letter of resignation and walks right out the door at 9:30 AM. Frank shakes his hand but he’s on the phone with a customer and Mikey waves, the "I’ll talk to you later" gesture Frank’s so familiar with, Mikey’s unconcerned, quiet way. If it’s worry Frank feels, it’s a Mikey Way kind of worry-- quiet, in the background, a distant sort of question: will he still actually see Mikey now that he’s not at work? He didn’t realize that by having a Mikey Way type of worry he would get a Gerard Way type of answer. But Gerard calls him at 5:05, so soon after work that Frank is still putting his coat on and about to step into the elevator.
"He quit!" is the first thing Gerard says, and then, "Why didn’t you call to tell me?"
"I’m sorry?" Frank says, because he’s not sure how to answer that question, or why Gerard might have expected him to call. "I figured you knew."
"Yeah, well, that’s Mikey. There are things you know and things you think you know and he says he doesn’t know what he’s going to do and that I should stop badgering him. He actually used that word, badgering!"
"He’s right," Frank says, and there’s silence on the other end and then he thinks, Fuck.
"No, you’re right, Frankie, you’re right, I’m being a pestering older brother. Listen, do you have plans tonight? Wanna come over?"
Frank doesn’t even bother going home first. Gerard calls him after work the next two days in a row. They don’t even talk about Mikey, just Gerard’s voice on the line as Frank drives over. Frank doesn’t know if Gerard, too, is trying to establish a routine for them now that Mikey and Frank no longer share the same office or if Gerard’s just super-worried about Mikey, but then Thursday of that week, Frank shows up and Mikey’s out, and he thinks maybe this hasn’t been about Mikey at all, for either of them.
Gerard shows him this yarn that he's bought and Frank just can't contain how happy he is that Gerard is this excited about this fucking yarn and so he reaches out for Gerard's face, can't even stop himself from touching his cheek with his fingers, and it's so warm, warmer when Gerard flushes and meets Frank's eyes. Gerard tosses the yarn in a big arc onto his bed and turns and leans his face into Frank's hand, kissing his palm and murmuring, "You're amazing, Frankie," and Gerard's breathe tickles Frank's hand and then Gerard licks his palm, and he hopes Gerard will forgive him later because Frank fucking whimpers. Gerard takes Frank's hand in his, still murmuring against his skin, "Frank, Frankie," kissing the back of his hand, curling his tongue against the inside of his wrist. Frank can't breathe, and Gerard is pushing up Frank's sleeve up and licking right down the inside of his arm and Frank can't take it. He pulls Gerard's face up to his and kisses him, sucking hard on Gerard's bottom lip. Gerard's hands are in Frank's hair, and Frank wouldn't have guessed from the gentle, teasing way Gerard's tongue danced across his skin, but Jesus Christ, Gerard kisses dirty, sloppy and wide open, pressing up against Frank and bending him almost backward.
The door slams downstairs, and Frank and Gerard break apart, eyes wide and staring at each other. Mikey bounds up the stairs, and says, "Frank staying for dinner?" before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door.
Gerard looks at Frank, and then touches his fingers to his lips. "Yeah, are you staying for dinner?" he says evenly and Frank’s voice is gone and so he just nods, and Gerard smiles.
Frank’s mind is buzzing when he leaves for the bakery the next morning, Gerard, Gerard, Gerard, that kiss, the way Gerard’s fingers kept brushing his at dinner, the way it seemed impossible to leave that night. He’s distracted, thinking about the yarn, the feel of Gerard’s hands in his hair, the way Gerard’s voice sounded when he said Frank’s name.
Frank is so distracted that he doesn’t notice that he’s the first one in to work until he realizes the door’s locked and all the lights are off, He fumbles in the cold for his keys, flicks on all the lights, gets all the ovens going, starts with his normal tasks-- flour, yeast, sugar, baking rack, parchment paper, all of it in a rhythm-- until it’s twenty past and he’s not so worried that Ray isn’t here because Ray has this amazing capacity to sleep through his alarm and still make it here in enough time. But by half past, he’s freaking out, because Bob’s not there and that doesn’t make any sense, and so Frank checks his phone, dials Ray, no answer. Dials Bob (though he’d really, really rather not). No answer. Frank swallows hard and tells himself not to panic and tries to remember everything that needs to get done before the shop opens.
His mind becomes a blur of one thing after another, his chest hurts from nervousness and hurrying, he’s worried about what happened to Ray and Bob, he’s terrified Bob’s going to show up and start screaming at him, that this is some nightmare, that the shop’s really supposed to be closed, and there’s something at the back of his mind that says something’s not right. But then the muffin timer is going off, a loaf falls behind the grate and he has to fish it out before it chars and sets the smoke alarm off, and he’s just putting out raisin bread for the guy in the mad bomber who comes in first thing on Wednesdays when the back door opens, and Bob and Ray come in, and Bob’s eyes are darting around and Ray is smiling.
"You passed," Bob says, and Frank stops dead.
"This was a fucking test? Jesus Christ, I thought you two were fucking dead on the highway somewhere. Fuck, give a guy a fucking nervous breakdown."
"There’s gonna be some morning when I am dead on the highway," Bob says, and Ray laughs, "And I’ll still expect you to open the shop. Mr. Mad Bomber wants his raisin bread whether I’m dead or not."
"I didn’t even get the blueberry muffins done or any of the baguettes." Frank says, but Bob’s writing out the muffin of the day on the chalkboard sign.
"It wasn’t about getting everything done," Ray says.
"There’s a reason there are three people who work there." Bob says.
Frank says weakly, "Three?" He can’t help grinning, looking back and forth between Ray and Bob.
Bob nods. "I’m ready to hire you as soon as you’re ready to quit your fucking useless piece of shit computer job."
Frank laughs. "Ok," he says.
"Now get your ass on the tiramisu," Bob says. "You know some crazy fuck is gonna want a piece for breakfast."
Frank calls in sick to tech support, because if there was ever a day he wants to be free from his cubicle, it’s today.
He thinks he really ought to call first before showing up at the Way house, which is the only thing he wants to do, since Mikey isn’t necessarily awake now that he’s not headed for his cubicle any longer either. "So when are you quitting?" Mikey says, when Frank tells him the news.
"Tomorrow," Frank says, deciding it at that moment. "I’m quitting tomorrow."
"I’m going out to talk to this guy who has a server he wants to sell, and Gerard’s out buying canvas, I think. I’ll leave the door unlocked."
Frank starts to protest that he doesn’t have to come over, but Mikey just laughs. "Gerard will be back. Seriously." And he hangs up before Frank can argue.
Frank calls his mother on the drive over, leaves a message on her answering machine, thanking her for helping him get here, feels terribly sappy doing it and doesn’t care. The sun is melting away all the frost and making the wet pavement sparkle, the windows of houses as he drives by reflecting the morning blindingly.
The door is unlocked as Mikey said, the driveway empty of cars, the house so quiet Frank can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the metallic click of the clock in the kitchen. Frank leans on the counter, composing his resignation letter in his head, trying to imagine spending the whole day at the bakery with Ray and Bob and not just the morning, trying not to admit to himself that he’s as terrified as he is excited. He wanders through the living room, up the stairs, lingers at the door of Gerard’s bedroom but doesn’t go in, as much as he wants to see what it would feel like to lie on Gerard’s bed.
He walks through the whole house, and it should be odd being in Gerard and Mikey’s house without them, but it isn’t. Frank feels like he might even belong here. It’s what makes him decide to cook lunch. He opens the cabinets, unearths the spices, a few shriveled carrots in the back of the refrigerator, a surprising number of healthy looking potatoes from a cabinet, even an onion.
It’s starting to look like he could make a pretty hearty vegetable soup, maybe even with a little rice if he can find some, and it’ll only involve one pot. He thinks at least he shouldn’t use every dish in the house, even if he’s using all their food.
He’s just bringing it all down to simmer when hears keys jangle in the door, Gerard calls out, "Mikey, hey!"
"It’s Frank," Frank shouts, "Mikey’s gone out. Said he’d be back in a little bit. Hope you don’t mind that I stayed."
"Hey," Frank says with a smile when Gerard appears at the door of the kitchen.
"Are you cooking?" Gerard says, his face a mix of surprise, shock, befuddlement.
"I made lunch," Frank says a little feebly. "I hope it’s ok. Mikey left and I was bored and - "
And then Gerard is kissing him, pressing his hips back against the kitchen counter. Gerard’s face and hands are still cold from the outside but Gerard’s mouth is searing hot and he slides his tongue against Frank’s teeth, against Frank’s tongue, licking the corners of his mouth and then kissing deeper. Gerard’s chest is rising and falling sharply and he presses closer to Frank, his hands on Frank’s shoulders, sliding up the nape of his neck, stroking fingers across Frank’s throat.
Frank distantly hears the front door open, and Mikey comes into the kitchen. "Jesus Christ, you guys," he says. Gerard breaks away, breathless, hand hands still on Frank’s hips.
"Frankie cooked," Gerard says to his brother, and Frank rubs nervously at his swollen lips and smiles at Mikey.
"Uh huh," Mikey says, giving them both a once over and walking away. "I’ll be back down in just a minute," he says, a warning in his voice, and Frank and Gerard lock eyes and kiss again, quickly, before Mikey returns.
It’s possibly the best day of Frank’s life, serving soup and slicing bread and sneaking looks at Gerard, who rests his hand on Frank’s knee under the table.
But then something changes in the air when Mikey’s talking about the guy whose server was a piece of shit and he was asking too much money for it. It’s only a look that passes between Gerard and Mikey but it makes Gerard tense and Mikey withdraw into himself and Gerard gets half a question out about whether Mikey has or hasn’t done something, Frank can’t understand the rest because Mikey says, "Not in front of Frank, asshole," and it’s a joke and not a joke. Frank stands up quickly, the words that he really ought to get going tumbling out of his mouth. Mikey waves and disappears up the stairs with his bowl of soup.
"You don’t really have to go," Gerard says, his hands on Frank’s shoulders, stroking under his collar.
"It’s ok," Frank says, "You and Mikey need to talk."
Gerard just shakes his head, like he’s not really sure, but says, "Thanks, Frankie," against the corner of his mouth, and then kisses him again, Gerard’s hand at the back of Frank’s neck like he’s still trying to stop him from leaving.
"I’ll come by tomorrow, after I quit," Frank says, and disappears out the door before his desire to press Gerard up against the door and shove his hands underneath Gerard’s shirt overwhelms him.
Quitting his job is easy, and Frank shouldn’t be surprised that his bosses are used to the high turnover of this place. They wish him luck, Frank goes into the elegant bathroom one last time, and he walks out relieved that he’ll never have to go back to the office again. That and the ecstatic look on Bob’s face when Frank told him today was his last day as a tech support slave and tomorrow would be his first full day at the bakery was enough to assure him he really was doing the right thing.
At home, there’s a package waiting for him from Grey Award, and Frank tears it open. It’s a felted, hand-sewn loaf of bread the size of his thumb, with shifty embroidered eyes and a crooked smile, sent overnight mail. Frank’s heart stops.
He barely gets his coat on before he’s out the door, driving without even the radio on. He thinks maybe he should call before busting down Gerard and Mikey’s door, but he can’t seem to manage to get his phone from his pocket. His fingers are tight on the steering wheel and he’s driving as though it were out of his control, inexorably forward to Gerard and Mikey’s. To Gerard.
It has to be him. Frank doesn’t know how, doesn’t know how the weird forces of the universe can have brought him here, but no one else could have sent him something so perfect, at the perfect time. It’s what he’s been waiting for, and the timing, the fact that it’s happening now, at the same time that he’s about to become a baker, that he’s about to overturn what feels like his entire life and finally have a purpose, it has to mean something that this is happening right now. This whole time, talking to Grey Award and sharing his art has been about someone seeing inside of Frank, someone knowing him. It was about Frank being a part of something special. It was a part of his complicated day dream, where now, instead of being an artist on Etsy, he had this amazing connection with someone doing even better things than he could imagine. That it could have been Gerard the whole time, it’s too much for Frank to handle. The idea that it’s not some random person out there who saw into Frank’s heart and understood, that Gerard knows him, already, that the rush of connection they felt when they first met at Mikey’s party wasn’t wrong, that Frank hasn’t been waiting in vain.
He can’t even formulate the question, he just has to see Gerard, thinks maybe if he looks into his eyes, he’ll know the answer. He thinks just opening the door, and seeing Gerard there will be his answer, the thing he’s been waiting for. It’s crazy, it’s beyond crazy, but it also has to be true.
He parks badly, crooked against the curb, and there is frozen grass and dry crunchy leaves under his feet as he walks fast across their lawn. He sees the house for a moment framed perfectly between two winter trees and it tugs at his heart, the familiarity, this home. He raps on the door, Mikey answers, nods, and steps back to let him in. But before Frank is even all the way in, his heart falls onto the hard, frosted ground.
Gerard is standing in the living room with his arms around Bob Bryar, his forehead resting on Bob’s shoulder as Bob strokes Gerard’s back.
Frank freezes as both Bob and Gerard look up at him. Gerard’s expression is completely horrified as he seems to understand the conclusion Frank’s come to, and he pulls back from Bob quickly. Mikey is still holding the door open, and the moment Frank turns and practically runs, everyone is talking at once, Bob shouting something low and rumbling, Gerard calling out, "Frankie, wait, wait," in this awful, pained voice, Mikey, even, swearing, but Frank slides down the lawn on his heels, makes it to the safety of his car and slams the door, and as he’s pulling away, he sees in the rearview mirror the line of Gerard, Mikey, and Bob standing on the lawn, watching him drive away.
His phone rings and he ignores it. He’s still driving, half an hour later, down the New Jersey Turnpike, watching the overcast sky and the traffic and he feels weary, exhausted, shaking with the effort of not thinking. Every few seconds, his mind replays the scene, the hope, the disaster, everything falling out from inside of him. The two things in the world that were his. The bakery, and Gerard, his hope tied up in both of them canceling one another out.
It’s a dangerous thought, that Gerard was ever his, but the thing is, Frank felt it, and that’s worse than just thinking or wishing it, because he believes what he feels in his hands. He thinks of the way Gerard’s jaw felt under his fingers, the way they’d kissed in his bedroom, just a few days ago. What would have happened if Mikey hadn’t come home for a little while longer. If Gerard and Bob were - Frank couldn’t even think it - if Frank had misread the entire situation, he had misread everything.
Frank drives to his mother’s house because he can’t bear to go home. She isn’t home, and he uses his key, feeling both familiar and way too grown up to be inside the house he grew up in. He turns on the lights in the kitchen, makes a pot of coffee, and starts opening up the cabinets, making dinner.
Frank makes a lasagna, and his mother comes home when he’s putting on the top later of noodles, and she doesn’t even say hello, just comes up behind him, kisses his cheek and says, "Let me finish that, honey, and tell me what’s happened."
Frank offers to do the dishes but his mother shoots him a baleful look, and says that if he really wants to do something for her, he can haul out the box of decorations in the basement, and so Frank does, dusting off the box, and when he comes upstairs, his mom is hurriedly hanging up the phone and he realizes what has just happened.
"Who did you call?" Frank demands, and his mother lies through her teeth when she says no one. But it’s clear who she called in half an hour, when Ray Toro shows up at the door. His mother pretends it’s a big shock but Ray doesn’t bother, grabbing Frank’s elbow and hauling him outside
"What the fuck happened?" Ray says, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and leaning forward in the cold.
"Want a cigarette?" Frank asks, angry with Ray, too, certain that he has to be in on it somehow. Had he known? How could Ray not have told him, all the times he talked about Gerard?
"Fuck you, Iero, I’ve got your mother calling my mother who calls me because something happened with Frankie’s new boyfriend and - "
"Gerard’s not my boyfriend." Frank says, and it’s terribly petulant, and Ray just glares at him and goes on.
"And I’ve got Bob calling me - Bob fucking Bryar, calling me at nine at night and the bakery’s not on fire, so why the fuck is Bob calling me? He tells me something’s wrong with Frank, and he’s worried."
This shuts Frank up. Bob, calling Ray, worried. Ray arches his eyebrows and Frank gets it. Ray is almost as surprised as he is.
"So, tell me this, Iero. Why does Bob know that something is wrong with you and Gerard?"
Frank stubs out his cigarette, half-done, and sits down on the stairs outside, and tells Ray about the afternoon, the Etsy package, how he had thought it was Gerard, how when he went over - about Bob and Gerard, and Mikey, and -
"And it never occurred to you Bob and Gerard might know each other? Frank, the town’s not that big. Hell, the state isn’t that big."
"It wasn’t just that they knew each other. They were - "
He wanted to tell Ray, wanted Ray to understand what it meant. Why it made everything fall apart. Why it was worse that it was Bob, not any guy, but Bob, and that both he and Gerard had kept it a secret. No, it wasn’t even that. It means the bakery is tainted with jealousy, with betrayal, and that everything he hoped - the promise of something that meant something more - it means he was wrong about what he had with Gerard, and he was wrong about what the bakery might mean for a new start to his, and he was wrong about the connection he had with Grey Award, and he had spent all this time fooling himself into believing otherwise.
Ray gives him a look, then puts up his hands, holding off anything else Frank might say. "I need to do some research," he says, and gets up to go. "Bob says take the morning off."
And Frank’s even less sure what to do with that information. He watches his breath in the cold air, watches the stars come out. And then he goes back inside, hugs his mother, and drives home, the heat on full blast for the whole drive. There are five messages on his phone, all from Gerard. Frank can’t listen to them. To his credit, there isn’t a single one from Mikey. Frank tries to interpret this one way or another, decides he’s too tired to do anything, and climbs into bed.
The problem with getting up every morning at 3 AM is that your internal clock learns to think that’s morning, and no matter how many times Frank tosses and turns, he’s awake, and gets up, turns on the TV. Looks at Etsy. Waits for the sunrise.
Frank goes out for a walk, even though his neighborhood isn’t the kind of place where people without dogs go out for walks, but Frank feels trapped inside his apartment and the cold air stings his face but he can actually feel the sun, warm and new. He keeps hoping the further he walks, that something will eventually break and make sense, but every thought he tries to settle on escapes him, it’s all one big jumble of the bakery and quitting tech support hell and Gerard and the mystery artist and how fucking much he had hoped it was Gerard, and how pathetic it was that the whole thing was just in his head. He’d strung together this story that he told himself over and over every day, hoping it was true, and now all the gaps were clear, all the blank spaces, and now he just felt hollow, like all the power had gone out, like someone had taken away all his secrets.
He can still see his breath in the air when he walks back toward his apartment but the whole sky is blue and bright, and the day has begun for everyone else. He hears doors opening, cars starting up, people on their way to wherever they go on Sunday morning, church and to visit their grandmothers and to the bakery for donuts. He wonders how busy it is, if they’ve already sold out of chocolate glazed, which always goes first.
Ray and Mikey are sitting on Frank’s front steps, and when Frank walks up, Ray says, "You went for a fucking walk? Jesus Christ." He hands Frank a coffee and a bag of chocolate glazed donuts, and Mikey links his arm in Frank’s and pulls him toward the car.
"Where are we going?" Frank says, as Mikey shoves him toward the front seat of Ray’s car and Mikey gets into the back. Neither of them answers, but in a few minutes they’re on the turnpike and Frank relaxes, because at least they are going in the opposite direction of Mikey and Gerard’s.
Frank eats a donut and watches the road, the blur of cars on top of cars, brown leaves and bare trees and black bird silhouettes against the sky.
Mikey is busy texting in the back, or playing a game, Frank can’t tell without dislocating his shoulder looking behind him, and Ray’s been watching the road, driving safe and sound. Frank finishes his coffee and sets it down in Ray’s cup holder and decides to risk asking the same question twice. "Where are we going?"
Again, neither of them answer, but barely a minute later, Ray says, "Bob’s not gay." He looks at Frank for a long moment before turning his eyes back to the road. "I had to fucking ask him," Ray says. "Imagine that. Asking Bob Bryar if he likes to fuck men, while he’s got two twenty-pound bags of flour lifted over his head."
Frank shifts nervously in his seat. Mikey’s put his Sidekick away, and is sipping slowly at his own coffee, which he’d been holding between his knees.
"My brother likes you," Mikey says, and it sounds exactly the same way it did the first time Mikey said it, on their cigarette break from work, strange, exhilarating, confusing.
Frank presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, and says, "Listen, I really appreciate you guys - "
Ray slams on the horn as a car tries to cut them off and Frank shuts up.
"Do you know what I did after I survived asking Bob the Baker about his sexual orientation? I called Gerard Fucking Way."
Mikey laughs. "They were on the phone for two hours."
"Little shit picked up the receiver about fifteen minutes in, heard the whole thing. I like him." Ray says, casting a look behind him. Mikey clasps Ray’s shoulder like they’d been friends for years. "I’ll give you the short version of what Gerard had to say," Ray says, and Mikey laughs again. "Gerard and Bob went to high school together. Their families know each other, like yours and mine, Iero, got it?"
Frank nods, his hands gripping his knees. He’s nervous, about what’s coming, about being stuck in the car with Ray and Mikey, about not knowing where they’re going and about what Ray’s going to say next.
"Gerard admires Bob’s work ethic, and what he’s done with the bakery. And so when he thought his little brother was in trouble, needed some advice about making career decisions, Gerard called Bob to come over and talk to him about following his dreams."
"Bob’s a riot," Mikey says.
"So that’s what you fucking saw when you burst in - "
"I saw them touching - "
"You saw," Ray says slowly, "a very emotional man embracing someone in gratitude who he thought had done a huge favor for his little brother."
Mikey says, "Gerard really fucking likes you, Frankie."
Frank swears and slams his palms against his thighs. "He thinks I’m a fucking nutcase now," Frank says.
"We all do," Ray says, splaying a hand fondly over Frank’s face, which Frank bats away. "Even Bob."
Frank swears again, but this time he’s laughing, and so are Ray and Mikey.
"So we’re going to a craft fair," Ray says, as though Frank hadn’t asked the question over an hour ago. "Thought it would make you feel better."
The idea of a craft fair does make Frank feel better, because there’s a chance Grey Award will be there. He tries not to think about it, tries to let it just float in the back of his mind, the possibility that some things will still work out. He may have fucked up with Gerard, may have freaked out and shown his true unstable colors, may have looked like a complete fool in front of his new boss, a guy he really respects, but Frank presses his forehead against the cool glass of the car window and watches everything speed past and just lets himself be hopeful, to consider, cautiously, to dream what might be waiting for him.
There’s a fee at the door, and to Frank’s amazement, Ray pays for all three of them. Mikey bounds up next to Ray, says, "Thanks," and then, "I’ll buy lunch" and then disappears off into the rows of tables.
"Seriously, that kid is awesome," Ray says. Frank is scanning the guide they’ve been given with a map of who’s showing and where to find their tables. Every rectangle is numbered and Frank flips to the back to the list of names. He’s nervous now, tense and unsettled and unable to stand still.
"Is your guy here?" Ray says, just as Frank finds the listing for, "Grey Award Designs."
"Yeah," Frank says, "Yeah, he is," and feels the fog lift a little, the confusion of a day that’s seemed like a week fade a little. He remembers the art made for him, the way Grey Award had seen into him, and Frank needs that right now, more than he has ever needed anything. He needs someone to see what he can’t.
He and Ray walk, counting the tables, watching the displays, and Frank wants to thank Ray for bringing him here, wants to ask what the fuck Gerard said for two hours, but he can’t right now. Right now he has to meet the artist who has obsessed him for months.
They’re in the right row. Frank’s counting, and he looks up from the sheet and from the numbers on the floor and at the signs instead. He thinks he sees it, rushes down the aisle, and sees Mikey leaning over one of the tables. It takes him longer than it should to realize why. Sitting behind a table stacked with art cards, prints, and little grey First Place ribbons is Gerard Way.
Frank feels Mikey and Ray step back, but his eyes are locked on Gerard, who is smiling nervously, all teeth and wrinkles around his eyes and he says, standing up from his folding chair, "Hi Frankie."
"It was you," Frank says, feeling his heart pounding so hard he’s sure Gerard can hear it. He hears his words echo in his head. It was you. It was you.
Gerard only nods.
"It was - then - why didn’t you say something!" Frank stumbles out, and Gerard ducks his eyes and brushes his fingers through his hair.
He finally looks back at Frank and says, very quietly, "I was waiting for you to figure it out. It was stupid, but it really mattered, that you figured it out, without me telling you. That you knew it was me. That you could tell - that you could see me." Gerard looks away, and then back at Frank again.
"He wanted to make sure you understood the power of art," Mikey says, and Gerard goes a little red and tries to smack Mikey, but the table between them is too wide and Gerard just ends up knocking over a stuffed elephant wearing a tattered top hat.
"I knew it was you," Frank says, because now he has to convince Gerard that he does understand, that he can see Gerard for who he really is, that he was just stupid and jealous and scared. "Yesterday, when I came over. I got the package and knew it was you. I mean, I hoped, but I knew, and then when I saw you with Bob…."
"Oh, Frankie," Gerard says, and his face is so open, so frighteningly open and Frank knows once and for all there’s nothing going on with Bob, there never was.
"I was an idiot," Frank says. "I wanted so much for it to have been you all along, and so I kind of completely freaked out when…..but it wasn’t - " They look at each other for a long time, people jostling by behind Frank, someone even stopping to lift one of Gerard’s prints up and look at it. Frank can hardly think, there’s just Gerard, looking back at him. "Thanks for the bread creature," he finally says, and Gerard grins and reaches across the table and grabs Frank’s hand, and squeezes it hard.
"So," Ray says from behind Frank, and Mikey snorts loudly.
Gerard grins up at Ray, and then at his brother, and then back at Frank, who is still gripping Gerard’s hand.
"Do you want to stay?" Gerard says, his eyes wide. The moment is long, still, quiet, and then Gerard gets nervous and his eyes flash from Frank to Ray to Mikey. "I mean, do you all want to stay? Maybe you want to look around at the other artists and there are some snacks over on the other end and - "
Ray shoves Frank’s shoulder, but Frank was going anyway, around to the other side of the table, pulling up a folding chair and sitting so close to Gerard that Frank’s knees are pressed against Gerard’s thigh
There isn’t a trace of ink, paint, anything anywhere on Gerard, in his hair, in his fingers, his clothes.
"I didn’t think you owned anything this clean," Frank says.
"Those are mine," Mikey says, pointing at Gerard’s pants.
"I try to clean up for fairs," Gerard says. "Little old ladies buying stuffed vampire creatures like a cleaned up boy."
"I want to suck on your fingers, they look so clean. I want to see if they taste like soap," Frank leans in and whispers so only Gerard can hear, but Gerard goes completely red and Ray coughs.
"So I think Mikey and I are gonna go," Ray says. "Huh, kid?" He says, and Mikey nods.
"See you at home," Mikey says to Gerard, but then he also looks at Frank and nods again.
"Don’t be late tomorrow, Iero," Ray says, already turning to walk off.
The thought of the bakery makes Frank feel dizzy with happiness, and he unconsciously grabs Gerard’s knee. He only notices when Gerard’s hand covers his. Frank looks and Gerard is smiling, titled-head and lopsided smile.
Frank and Gerard sit in silence as customers come by. Frank watches Gerard be utterly charming to customers, enthusiastic, engaging, and he keeps considering it, like a sunrise he can’t stop looking at because he can’t quite believe it’s happening, even though the sky keeps growing brighter. It was Gerard all along.
"How did you - " Frank says, as lines of people pass by. He can’t finish the sentence, isn’t really sure how to ask anyway.
"How did I know it was you?" Gerard smiles, warm and open. "I know you, Frankie," Gerard says softly, and Frank feels heat rush up his spine, spread over his chest. "Plus, I had Mikey check your address."
Gerard bends forward and kisses Frank’s jaw, soft and light, just below his ear, and then gets up and goes to talk to the woman beading at the table to their left.
"So if anyone is looking for me, just give them my card and tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t stay." Frank hears it distantly, sees the woman give Gerard a winning smile, nod and shake his hand, and then Gerard is back over behind their table, saying to Frank, "Let me just pack up and we’ll go." Gerard fixes Frank with a serious, fiery look, and then leans closer and whispers, "We’re going home." Frank feels the spark at the back of his neck, spreading out everywhere.
Inside the house, the door is barely closed behind Frank when Gerard grabs his shoulders and kisses him. Their coats rustle together, Gerard’s nose icy cold where it bumps Frank’s cheek, Frank’s fingers burning as they warm up against Gerard’s skin.
"Should we - is Mikey -" Frank says, breaking away from Gerard’s mouth to kiss his neck.
"I don’t care," Gerard says and kisses Frank hard, a hand at the back of his neck, but then he steps back, takes off his jacket. Frank struggles to get his off, rushing and getting his elbow caught, and Gerard takes them both and drapes them across the kitchen chair. Gerard reaches for Frank and kisses him again, then heads toward the stairs, stopping for a moment to look back into the kitchen, pulling Frank close, to whisper, "Coffee?" against his ear. When Frank shakes his head no, shuddering, laughing, Gerard whispers, "No coffee, ok," and Frank thinks he possibly looks a little sad and so Frank takes Gerard’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing Gerard’s knuckles and then sucking two fingers into his mouth.
Frank thinks of the first time he was here for dinner, the silver dollar pancake, the taste of Gerard’s skin. Gerard’s eyes go hugely wide and then his head tilts back, against the wall of the hallway, his eyes falling closed.
"Frankie," Gerard murmurs, and Frank kisses his palm, kisses across the back of his hand and then he’s the one leading them up the stairs.
"I should have come up here the first time, at Mikey’s party," Frank says, though he’s not sure Gerard will even understand. "You were so...."
"Yes," Gerard hisses. "I wanted you to, so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you."
Gerard tugs at Frank’s neck and pulls him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Gerard’s hands settle on Frank’s hips and then he looks up, licking his bottom lip where Frank’s teeth just were. Gerard takes a few steps back and sits down on the bed, and then very slowly leans back, eyes locked on Frank. Frank can hardly contain himself, he’s ready to jump on top of Gerard, rip his clothes off, feel Gerard’s skin against his, but watching Gerard is better, watching him invite Frank to do all of that, watching him tug his shirt up inch by inch, bending his knees and slowly spreading them wide undoes Frank.
"Jesus Christ," he says, because now Gerard’s shirt is pushed up so high Frank can see his ribs, his pale, perfect skin. Gerard is still watching Frank, waiting. He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his pants and then Frank climbs on top of him, clumsy and urgent.
Frank unbuttons Gerard’s pants for him, sliding them off first and then lifting Gerard’s shirt over his head. Gerard’s hands are all over him, tugging at his clothes, and Gerard bites his neck and his earlobe and licks his jaw, sliding his hands down Frank’s back, up his bare thighs. Then Frank is flipped on his back and Gerard is the one on top, looking down at him with dark eyes, smiling just before he rocks his hips slowly against Frank’s and kisses him, sloppy and hard.
"I haven’t been able to stop thinking about these," Gerard says, tracing the tattoos on Frank’s neck, his shoulders with light touches, making Frank squirm and buck up against him.
"Fuck, Gerard, Jesus Christ," Frank cries out as Gerard bends and licks, bites, drags his mouth across the designs on Frank's chest.
"There’s art all over your body," Gerard murmurs into Frank’s collarbone. "What am I supposed to do?" And he leans over to press his mouth to Frank’s bicep and the inside of his elbow, across his fingers and then over his stomach.
"This," Frank says breathily, digging his fingers into Gerard’s shoulders and arching his back as Gerard’s mouth passes over his hipbone. "This is good."
"What about this?" Gerard whispers, pressing his palm over Frank’s cock.
"Yes," Frank groans. "Oh god, please."
"What about this?" Gerard whispers against Frank’s ear. He slides his cock against the crook of Frank’s hip as wraps his fingers tightly around Frank’s cock. "Is this good, Frankie?" Gerard’s voice is low, his breathing uneven, and he kisses Frank’s temple, open-mouthed and wet. "Do you want me to fuck you?"
Frank’s cock jerks in Gerard’s hand and Frank pulls Gerard close for a messy, needy kiss. "Yes, yes," Frank says brokenly against Gerard’s mouth. Frank bucks up as Gerard’s fingers brush over the head of his cock as Gerard shifts and reaches for something in the nightstand.
"Are you going to be noisy, Frankie?" Gerard spreads Frank’s legs apart, his fingers splayed across the inside of Frank’s thighs and stroking the curve of his ass. "Because I’ve been hoping you’re really noisy," Gerard says just before he licks the underside of Frank’s cock and presses a finger very slowly inside him.
Frank moans loudly.
"Yes," Gerard laughs richly, "Yes, just like that." Frank moans even louder when Gerard moves two fingers inside, deliberately slow. "You’re gorgeous, Frankie, you’re so fucking gorgeous." When Frank opens his eyes, Gerard is leaning back on heels, watching him. Their eyes lock and Gerard’s fingers curl inside Frank and Frank throws his head back, shouts Gerard’s name.
"Yes," Gerard says again, and then he’s sliding his fingers out, shifting above Frank, settling his hips between Frank’s legs, pressing his cock to Frank’s opening. Frank grabs at Gerard, one hand tight in his hair and one hand on Gerard’s ass, pulling him closer. "Fuck, Frankie," Gerard groans as he pushes in. He pulls back slowly and then slams forward, kisses Frank hard, and then does it again. Frank sucks at Gerard’s neck so hard he’s sure he’s going to leave a trail of bruises, and the idea of the purple marks against Gerard’s pale skin makes Frank groan and suck harder.
"Frankie," Gerard whispers. It sounds desperate and Frank looks up and brushes his fingers across Gerard’s cheek.
"Gee," Frank says, lifting his hips up to meet Gerard’s thrusts, his fingers trembling as he runs them over Gerard’s eyebrows.
"Frankie, I think I love you," Gerard says, and then squeezes his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip. Gerard’s hips rock faster, and he digs his fingers hard into Frank’s shoulders.
"Oh, god, Gee," Frank gasps, "Look at me. Gerard, look at me." Gerard opens his eyes, and he looks down at Frank, wild and panicky. "Jesus Christ, Gee, I love you, too." Frank’s heart is pounding so hard and he can’t think, can’t even breathe, and he pulls Gerard’s mouth down to his and kisses him and Gerard kisses him back, hard and dirty. And then feels Gerard’s smile against his lips.
Gerard reaches between them and wraps his fingers around Frank’s cock and tries to time the strokes with his thrusts, mostly gets it right, but Frank doesn’t care, it all feels so good, Gerard’s hips slamming hard against his, Gerard’s perfect fingers, lips pressed to Frank’s forehead. Frank feels it building forever, in his spine, in his fingertips and it’s only when Gerard starts to cry out Frank’s name with each short, uneven thrust that Frank spills over the edge, coming against Gerard’s stomach. He feels Gerard tense and shudder and collapse heavy against Frank’s chest just as Frank’s eyes fall closed and before he can stop it, he’s asleep.
Frank wakes to Gerard shaking his shoulder. "Frank. Frankie!" Frank pushes the blankets out of his face and rolls over, squinting at Gerard.
"I’m right here, Gee, what is it?" Gerard is still shaking his shoulder, and Frank half-heartedly swats him away.
"You need to get up," Gerard says urgently. "The bakery!"
Frank sits bolt upright in bed. "Jesus Christ," he says, fumbling around the floor for his clothes. "What time is it? Do I have time to - " But Gerard is already out of bed, pushing Frank towards the bathroom, opening the linen closet and shoving a clean towel into Frank’s hand, turning on the shower.
Frank looks at Gerard, completely naked, pale and shivering, digging his toes into the bathmat. "Are you taking a shower with me?"
Gerard grins, and then leans forward and kisses Frank’s neck. "Not if you’re going to get to work on time." And then he all but lifts Frank into the shower.
When he steps out, toweling off hurriedly, he sees one of Gerard’s clean t-shirts on top of Frank’s questionably dirty jeans. When Frank peeks into the bedroom, Gerard is asleep, but downstairs, there’s fresh coffee brewed and a box of cereal and a bowl set out for him, with a note under the coffee cup. "Please bring back a loaf of raisin bread," in a speech bubble coming from a drawing of a pile of blankets on the bed.
There’s been a frost overnight and the grass crunches under Frank’s feet as he cuts across the lawn. Frank doesn’t even let his car warm up and the engine complains all the way there. He holds his hands over the heaters, alternately blowing on them, running a few red lights because he knows it’s too early for anyone to really be on the road. He’s somehow, miraculously on time, and catches the door just behind Ray. Ray looks him over, and Frank feels his eyes linger over the t-shirt, which is covered in old paint.
"Everything all right, Frank?" Bob says, coming out of the refrigerator. Bob’s face is neutral, but it’s clear what’s hanging on Frank’s answer.
Frank nods, and says, "Yeah, Bob, everything’s fine. Thanks," he adds, quickly, and Bob actually laughs, and then Ray says, "So how was your night, Iero?" and Frank flips him off.
Frank brings back a loaf of raisin bread as requested, and a box of cookies which Ray insists he bring for Mikey, and Bob just sort of nods at him on his way out and tells him he’ll see him tomorrow, like it’s a command, not a friendly goodbye.
Frank knocks and Mikey opens the door and immediately spots the box. "Are those cookies?" Frank hands the box to him and Mikey has already shoved two into his mouth before Frank is even all the way in the house. "Tell Ray thanks," Mikey says, taking the box with him back over in front of the computer, where Mikey is typing furiously.
Frank sets the raisin bread on the counter, pours himself a coffee, and sits down at the table. Gerard comes down the stairs a moment later, his hair wet and messy, his face pink from the shower. "Is that raisin bread?" Gerard says in the exact, ecstatic tone as Mikey upon seeing the cookies, and Frank cracks up.
"You did ask me to bring some back," Frank says, and then he really looks at Gerard, who is looking back at him in what Frank is pretty sure is wonder.
"I did," Gerard says softly, and leans down and kisses Frank, his wet hair tickling Frank’s face. He then pulls away and pulls out the cutting block and the bread knife, slicing off three pieces of the raisin bread, popping a stray bit of crust into his mouth. Gerard hands a slice to Frank, walks over to bring a slice to Mikey, and then takes a huge bite of his own. "That’s it, Mikey," Gerard says around a mouthful of bread. "We’re never buying bread from a grocery store again. We’re only eating bread from Frankie’s bakery."
"Right," Mikey says, turning over his shoulder to grin at Frank for a second before turning back to his computer.
"Right," Gerard says, coming back over and standing behind Frank, first with his hands on Frank’s shoulders, and then his arms around Frank, then his lips against Frank’s cheek.
Frank takes a bite of his own bread, chews, swallows, and says, "Yeah, I like the sound of that."
Frank thinks about it that night in bed. It was all so much like sex even though they hadn't touched; his bare skin, Gerard’s breath so close, the brush of Gerard’s hair on his shoulder, like he’d been leaning down to kiss his neck. Even talking about Grey Award, how intense his confession of it had been, talking about his obsession, how Gerard had seemed to understand all of it like Frank always knew he would, how focused he’d been on Frank as he talked, how his mouth had looked, slack and waiting to be kissed. Frank wants more, wants to talk more, wants to touch Gerard, wants to write to Grey Award and tell him about this awesome guy he’s met who’s an artist, too. He presses his face to his pillow and just breathes, letting the night play itself over and over again in his head. Art and meaning and inspiration and Gerard so close that Frank’s whole body was aching from holding back.
Mikey does, as Frank expects, totally avoid answering his question about what he and Gerard were fighting about the night before.
"It’s not about you, Frank, I’m serious," Mikey says, and Frank hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d been worried it was. "I’m glad my brother likes you." Frank likes how simple Mikey makes it sound, and he stops himself from saying something stupid like, "I’m glad your brother likes me, too."
Instead, he tries again to figure out what’s going on. "So, what’s - "
But Frank’s never been sneaky and Mikey’s too fast. "He’s just being an older brother. You want to come over Saturday?"
Of course Frank does, driving over right after he leaves the bakery. He hands Mikey a dozen éclairs he just made. Mikey takes two out on a paper towel and Frank pours himself coffee so fresh the pot is still steaming and rumbling with coffee maker noises.
"You didn’t just get up, did you?" Frank asks, as he pours milk into his cup.
"It’s two in the afternoon." Mikey says in protest. "Gee’s been up since 5, I think. Drank the whole first pot."
Frank’s been up since five, too, earlier in fact, and he downs half the cup of coffee in one swallow. He realizes he hasn’t seen Gerard at all, and he looks around for the other freak who gets up before dawn on Saturday mornings.
"Upstairs," Mikey says. He gestures with his shoulder, a Mikey shrug that means Frank’s welcome to go get him as long as he doesn’t expect Mikey to do it. Frank goes up the stairs, sees Gerard’s door is closed, and comes back downstairs.
He leans in the doorway of the living room, and Mikey eyes him. "He didn’t throw you out, did he?" he says, his eyes wide.
"His door was closed."
"Did you fucking knock?" Mikey says, licking the chocolate stripe on the éclair.
"Uh, no?" Frank says, and knows it’s the wrong answer because Mikey’s already shaking his head.
"Want to play Atari?" Mikey says, and Frank sits down beside him on the floor and takes the control.
Three games later, Gerard comes running down the stairs. "Mikey, Mikey, how’s your morning, I’m sorry I left you all alone, are you even here? I heard something a little while ago and so I thought you were here but maybe you left, and I’m sorry I drank all the coffee and didn’t make another pot and...." Gerard comes into the living room and stops when he sees Mikey and Frank. "Hi," he says, eyes bright.
"Hey," Frank says. Gerard is covered in smears of paint. Not splatters, from energetic painting, but finger-sized smears, like he was finger painting and either forgot that he had paint on his fingers when he brushed his hair out of his face or he forgot which was his face and which was the canvas. He looks at Gerard and away from the TV long enough that Mikey blows him up.
"Sorry!" Gerard says when he sees the explosion and Frank swears and laughs as Mikey gets up and does a silly victory dance that mostly involves stomping on the floor and smacking the back of Frank’s head.
Frank insists on a rematch, but Mikey beats him again, even without the Gerard distraction, and Frank goes into the kitchen to see Gerard scrubbing at his hands. There are trails of green paint circling around the drain, and Gerard has a nail brush that he’s pretty viciously attacking his knuckles with. "Wasn’t really paying attention," Gerard says, and then gives Frank a huge grin which is even sillier because there’s paint on his lips.
"I brought some éclairs," Frank says, and moves the box closer to Gerard, who immediately grabs the kitchen towel to wipe his hands, despite the fact that he hasn’t washed off all the paint.
"Oh my god," Gerard says, and takes the box, stares into it, and then carefully takes out an éclair and takes a bite. Frank busies himself pouring more coffee because Gerard reverently eating a baked good and making pleased hums is a little too much for Frank, and makes him think extremely dirty thoughts that he should really be completely ashamed of, but then he looks back at Gerard, who is beaming at him, and Frank just hands him the cup of coffee he’s made. Their fingers touch, and Gerard’s eyes sparkle, and Frank thinks that it’s a good thing Mikey is in the next room, because otherwise he might actually be on his knees right now, unzipping Gerard’s paint-streaked jeans.
Because suddenly, all Frank can think about is Gerard. Every morning in the shower before the bakery, when he’s barely awake enough to remember if he’s washed his hair or not, at the bakery talking to Ray about the latest wonderful thing Gerard has said or done, when he’s thinking about his wild, complicated day dream where he makes things to send to people on Etsy and he bakes bread for Gerard and he lets Gerard paint his skin. There is something else, something special about Gerard, something about the way Frank just can’t stop looking at him when he is in the room, something about the way that Gerard seems all bundled up and open at the same time, like a puzzle with no solution, like linked rings, or boxes inside of boxes.
Frank feels like he knows Gerard without really being able to say what it is he really knows about him. But there’s something that’s holding Frank back. Not about Gerard, just about everything. He feels like he’s at stuck in between something, like a part of him is still paused, waiting for something that hasn’t happened yet. He hasn’t quit his tech support job, he’s still just an unpaid trainee at the bakery, and he can’t stop worrying about forcing something, about channeling into Gerard all of his uncertainty, and Frank thinks that maybe he’s been waiting for so long that it doesn’t hurt to wait just a little longer, to be sure. Like at some point, he’ll just know; at some point, everything that has been hanging on will just fall into place. So he keeps waiting.
Mikey quits on a Tuesday, politely submits his letter of resignation and walks right out the door at 9:30 AM. Frank shakes his hand but he’s on the phone with a customer and Mikey waves, the "I’ll talk to you later" gesture Frank’s so familiar with, Mikey’s unconcerned, quiet way. If it’s worry Frank feels, it’s a Mikey Way kind of worry-- quiet, in the background, a distant sort of question: will he still actually see Mikey now that he’s not at work? He didn’t realize that by having a Mikey Way type of worry he would get a Gerard Way type of answer. But Gerard calls him at 5:05, so soon after work that Frank is still putting his coat on and about to step into the elevator.
"He quit!" is the first thing Gerard says, and then, "Why didn’t you call to tell me?"
"I’m sorry?" Frank says, because he’s not sure how to answer that question, or why Gerard might have expected him to call. "I figured you knew."
"Yeah, well, that’s Mikey. There are things you know and things you think you know and he says he doesn’t know what he’s going to do and that I should stop badgering him. He actually used that word, badgering!"
"He’s right," Frank says, and there’s silence on the other end and then he thinks, Fuck.
"No, you’re right, Frankie, you’re right, I’m being a pestering older brother. Listen, do you have plans tonight? Wanna come over?"
Frank doesn’t even bother going home first. Gerard calls him after work the next two days in a row. They don’t even talk about Mikey, just Gerard’s voice on the line as Frank drives over. Frank doesn’t know if Gerard, too, is trying to establish a routine for them now that Mikey and Frank no longer share the same office or if Gerard’s just super-worried about Mikey, but then Thursday of that week, Frank shows up and Mikey’s out, and he thinks maybe this hasn’t been about Mikey at all, for either of them.
Gerard shows him this yarn that he's bought and Frank just can't contain how happy he is that Gerard is this excited about this fucking yarn and so he reaches out for Gerard's face, can't even stop himself from touching his cheek with his fingers, and it's so warm, warmer when Gerard flushes and meets Frank's eyes. Gerard tosses the yarn in a big arc onto his bed and turns and leans his face into Frank's hand, kissing his palm and murmuring, "You're amazing, Frankie," and Gerard's breathe tickles Frank's hand and then Gerard licks his palm, and he hopes Gerard will forgive him later because Frank fucking whimpers. Gerard takes Frank's hand in his, still murmuring against his skin, "Frank, Frankie," kissing the back of his hand, curling his tongue against the inside of his wrist. Frank can't breathe, and Gerard is pushing up Frank's sleeve up and licking right down the inside of his arm and Frank can't take it. He pulls Gerard's face up to his and kisses him, sucking hard on Gerard's bottom lip. Gerard's hands are in Frank's hair, and Frank wouldn't have guessed from the gentle, teasing way Gerard's tongue danced across his skin, but Jesus Christ, Gerard kisses dirty, sloppy and wide open, pressing up against Frank and bending him almost backward.
The door slams downstairs, and Frank and Gerard break apart, eyes wide and staring at each other. Mikey bounds up the stairs, and says, "Frank staying for dinner?" before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door.
Gerard looks at Frank, and then touches his fingers to his lips. "Yeah, are you staying for dinner?" he says evenly and Frank’s voice is gone and so he just nods, and Gerard smiles.
Frank’s mind is buzzing when he leaves for the bakery the next morning, Gerard, Gerard, Gerard, that kiss, the way Gerard’s fingers kept brushing his at dinner, the way it seemed impossible to leave that night. He’s distracted, thinking about the yarn, the feel of Gerard’s hands in his hair, the way Gerard’s voice sounded when he said Frank’s name.
Frank is so distracted that he doesn’t notice that he’s the first one in to work until he realizes the door’s locked and all the lights are off, He fumbles in the cold for his keys, flicks on all the lights, gets all the ovens going, starts with his normal tasks-- flour, yeast, sugar, baking rack, parchment paper, all of it in a rhythm-- until it’s twenty past and he’s not so worried that Ray isn’t here because Ray has this amazing capacity to sleep through his alarm and still make it here in enough time. But by half past, he’s freaking out, because Bob’s not there and that doesn’t make any sense, and so Frank checks his phone, dials Ray, no answer. Dials Bob (though he’d really, really rather not). No answer. Frank swallows hard and tells himself not to panic and tries to remember everything that needs to get done before the shop opens.
His mind becomes a blur of one thing after another, his chest hurts from nervousness and hurrying, he’s worried about what happened to Ray and Bob, he’s terrified Bob’s going to show up and start screaming at him, that this is some nightmare, that the shop’s really supposed to be closed, and there’s something at the back of his mind that says something’s not right. But then the muffin timer is going off, a loaf falls behind the grate and he has to fish it out before it chars and sets the smoke alarm off, and he’s just putting out raisin bread for the guy in the mad bomber who comes in first thing on Wednesdays when the back door opens, and Bob and Ray come in, and Bob’s eyes are darting around and Ray is smiling.
"You passed," Bob says, and Frank stops dead.
"This was a fucking test? Jesus Christ, I thought you two were fucking dead on the highway somewhere. Fuck, give a guy a fucking nervous breakdown."
"There’s gonna be some morning when I am dead on the highway," Bob says, and Ray laughs, "And I’ll still expect you to open the shop. Mr. Mad Bomber wants his raisin bread whether I’m dead or not."
"I didn’t even get the blueberry muffins done or any of the baguettes." Frank says, but Bob’s writing out the muffin of the day on the chalkboard sign.
"It wasn’t about getting everything done," Ray says.
"There’s a reason there are three people who work there." Bob says.
Frank says weakly, "Three?" He can’t help grinning, looking back and forth between Ray and Bob.
Bob nods. "I’m ready to hire you as soon as you’re ready to quit your fucking useless piece of shit computer job."
Frank laughs. "Ok," he says.
"Now get your ass on the tiramisu," Bob says. "You know some crazy fuck is gonna want a piece for breakfast."
Frank calls in sick to tech support, because if there was ever a day he wants to be free from his cubicle, it’s today.
He thinks he really ought to call first before showing up at the Way house, which is the only thing he wants to do, since Mikey isn’t necessarily awake now that he’s not headed for his cubicle any longer either. "So when are you quitting?" Mikey says, when Frank tells him the news.
"Tomorrow," Frank says, deciding it at that moment. "I’m quitting tomorrow."
"I’m going out to talk to this guy who has a server he wants to sell, and Gerard’s out buying canvas, I think. I’ll leave the door unlocked."
Frank starts to protest that he doesn’t have to come over, but Mikey just laughs. "Gerard will be back. Seriously." And he hangs up before Frank can argue.
Frank calls his mother on the drive over, leaves a message on her answering machine, thanking her for helping him get here, feels terribly sappy doing it and doesn’t care. The sun is melting away all the frost and making the wet pavement sparkle, the windows of houses as he drives by reflecting the morning blindingly.
The door is unlocked as Mikey said, the driveway empty of cars, the house so quiet Frank can hear the hum of the refrigerator and the metallic click of the clock in the kitchen. Frank leans on the counter, composing his resignation letter in his head, trying to imagine spending the whole day at the bakery with Ray and Bob and not just the morning, trying not to admit to himself that he’s as terrified as he is excited. He wanders through the living room, up the stairs, lingers at the door of Gerard’s bedroom but doesn’t go in, as much as he wants to see what it would feel like to lie on Gerard’s bed.
He walks through the whole house, and it should be odd being in Gerard and Mikey’s house without them, but it isn’t. Frank feels like he might even belong here. It’s what makes him decide to cook lunch. He opens the cabinets, unearths the spices, a few shriveled carrots in the back of the refrigerator, a surprising number of healthy looking potatoes from a cabinet, even an onion.
It’s starting to look like he could make a pretty hearty vegetable soup, maybe even with a little rice if he can find some, and it’ll only involve one pot. He thinks at least he shouldn’t use every dish in the house, even if he’s using all their food.
He’s just bringing it all down to simmer when hears keys jangle in the door, Gerard calls out, "Mikey, hey!"
"It’s Frank," Frank shouts, "Mikey’s gone out. Said he’d be back in a little bit. Hope you don’t mind that I stayed."
"Hey," Frank says with a smile when Gerard appears at the door of the kitchen.
"Are you cooking?" Gerard says, his face a mix of surprise, shock, befuddlement.
"I made lunch," Frank says a little feebly. "I hope it’s ok. Mikey left and I was bored and - "
And then Gerard is kissing him, pressing his hips back against the kitchen counter. Gerard’s face and hands are still cold from the outside but Gerard’s mouth is searing hot and he slides his tongue against Frank’s teeth, against Frank’s tongue, licking the corners of his mouth and then kissing deeper. Gerard’s chest is rising and falling sharply and he presses closer to Frank, his hands on Frank’s shoulders, sliding up the nape of his neck, stroking fingers across Frank’s throat.
Frank distantly hears the front door open, and Mikey comes into the kitchen. "Jesus Christ, you guys," he says. Gerard breaks away, breathless, hand hands still on Frank’s hips.
"Frankie cooked," Gerard says to his brother, and Frank rubs nervously at his swollen lips and smiles at Mikey.
"Uh huh," Mikey says, giving them both a once over and walking away. "I’ll be back down in just a minute," he says, a warning in his voice, and Frank and Gerard lock eyes and kiss again, quickly, before Mikey returns.
It’s possibly the best day of Frank’s life, serving soup and slicing bread and sneaking looks at Gerard, who rests his hand on Frank’s knee under the table.
But then something changes in the air when Mikey’s talking about the guy whose server was a piece of shit and he was asking too much money for it. It’s only a look that passes between Gerard and Mikey but it makes Gerard tense and Mikey withdraw into himself and Gerard gets half a question out about whether Mikey has or hasn’t done something, Frank can’t understand the rest because Mikey says, "Not in front of Frank, asshole," and it’s a joke and not a joke. Frank stands up quickly, the words that he really ought to get going tumbling out of his mouth. Mikey waves and disappears up the stairs with his bowl of soup.
"You don’t really have to go," Gerard says, his hands on Frank’s shoulders, stroking under his collar.
"It’s ok," Frank says, "You and Mikey need to talk."
Gerard just shakes his head, like he’s not really sure, but says, "Thanks, Frankie," against the corner of his mouth, and then kisses him again, Gerard’s hand at the back of Frank’s neck like he’s still trying to stop him from leaving.
"I’ll come by tomorrow, after I quit," Frank says, and disappears out the door before his desire to press Gerard up against the door and shove his hands underneath Gerard’s shirt overwhelms him.
Quitting his job is easy, and Frank shouldn’t be surprised that his bosses are used to the high turnover of this place. They wish him luck, Frank goes into the elegant bathroom one last time, and he walks out relieved that he’ll never have to go back to the office again. That and the ecstatic look on Bob’s face when Frank told him today was his last day as a tech support slave and tomorrow would be his first full day at the bakery was enough to assure him he really was doing the right thing.
At home, there’s a package waiting for him from Grey Award, and Frank tears it open. It’s a felted, hand-sewn loaf of bread the size of his thumb, with shifty embroidered eyes and a crooked smile, sent overnight mail. Frank’s heart stops.
He barely gets his coat on before he’s out the door, driving without even the radio on. He thinks maybe he should call before busting down Gerard and Mikey’s door, but he can’t seem to manage to get his phone from his pocket. His fingers are tight on the steering wheel and he’s driving as though it were out of his control, inexorably forward to Gerard and Mikey’s. To Gerard.
It has to be him. Frank doesn’t know how, doesn’t know how the weird forces of the universe can have brought him here, but no one else could have sent him something so perfect, at the perfect time. It’s what he’s been waiting for, and the timing, the fact that it’s happening now, at the same time that he’s about to become a baker, that he’s about to overturn what feels like his entire life and finally have a purpose, it has to mean something that this is happening right now. This whole time, talking to Grey Award and sharing his art has been about someone seeing inside of Frank, someone knowing him. It was about Frank being a part of something special. It was a part of his complicated day dream, where now, instead of being an artist on Etsy, he had this amazing connection with someone doing even better things than he could imagine. That it could have been Gerard the whole time, it’s too much for Frank to handle. The idea that it’s not some random person out there who saw into Frank’s heart and understood, that Gerard knows him, already, that the rush of connection they felt when they first met at Mikey’s party wasn’t wrong, that Frank hasn’t been waiting in vain.
He can’t even formulate the question, he just has to see Gerard, thinks maybe if he looks into his eyes, he’ll know the answer. He thinks just opening the door, and seeing Gerard there will be his answer, the thing he’s been waiting for. It’s crazy, it’s beyond crazy, but it also has to be true.
He parks badly, crooked against the curb, and there is frozen grass and dry crunchy leaves under his feet as he walks fast across their lawn. He sees the house for a moment framed perfectly between two winter trees and it tugs at his heart, the familiarity, this home. He raps on the door, Mikey answers, nods, and steps back to let him in. But before Frank is even all the way in, his heart falls onto the hard, frosted ground.
Gerard is standing in the living room with his arms around Bob Bryar, his forehead resting on Bob’s shoulder as Bob strokes Gerard’s back.
Frank freezes as both Bob and Gerard look up at him. Gerard’s expression is completely horrified as he seems to understand the conclusion Frank’s come to, and he pulls back from Bob quickly. Mikey is still holding the door open, and the moment Frank turns and practically runs, everyone is talking at once, Bob shouting something low and rumbling, Gerard calling out, "Frankie, wait, wait," in this awful, pained voice, Mikey, even, swearing, but Frank slides down the lawn on his heels, makes it to the safety of his car and slams the door, and as he’s pulling away, he sees in the rearview mirror the line of Gerard, Mikey, and Bob standing on the lawn, watching him drive away.
His phone rings and he ignores it. He’s still driving, half an hour later, down the New Jersey Turnpike, watching the overcast sky and the traffic and he feels weary, exhausted, shaking with the effort of not thinking. Every few seconds, his mind replays the scene, the hope, the disaster, everything falling out from inside of him. The two things in the world that were his. The bakery, and Gerard, his hope tied up in both of them canceling one another out.
It’s a dangerous thought, that Gerard was ever his, but the thing is, Frank felt it, and that’s worse than just thinking or wishing it, because he believes what he feels in his hands. He thinks of the way Gerard’s jaw felt under his fingers, the way they’d kissed in his bedroom, just a few days ago. What would have happened if Mikey hadn’t come home for a little while longer. If Gerard and Bob were - Frank couldn’t even think it - if Frank had misread the entire situation, he had misread everything.
Frank drives to his mother’s house because he can’t bear to go home. She isn’t home, and he uses his key, feeling both familiar and way too grown up to be inside the house he grew up in. He turns on the lights in the kitchen, makes a pot of coffee, and starts opening up the cabinets, making dinner.
Frank makes a lasagna, and his mother comes home when he’s putting on the top later of noodles, and she doesn’t even say hello, just comes up behind him, kisses his cheek and says, "Let me finish that, honey, and tell me what’s happened."
Frank offers to do the dishes but his mother shoots him a baleful look, and says that if he really wants to do something for her, he can haul out the box of decorations in the basement, and so Frank does, dusting off the box, and when he comes upstairs, his mom is hurriedly hanging up the phone and he realizes what has just happened.
"Who did you call?" Frank demands, and his mother lies through her teeth when she says no one. But it’s clear who she called in half an hour, when Ray Toro shows up at the door. His mother pretends it’s a big shock but Ray doesn’t bother, grabbing Frank’s elbow and hauling him outside
"What the fuck happened?" Ray says, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and leaning forward in the cold.
"Want a cigarette?" Frank asks, angry with Ray, too, certain that he has to be in on it somehow. Had he known? How could Ray not have told him, all the times he talked about Gerard?
"Fuck you, Iero, I’ve got your mother calling my mother who calls me because something happened with Frankie’s new boyfriend and - "
"Gerard’s not my boyfriend." Frank says, and it’s terribly petulant, and Ray just glares at him and goes on.
"And I’ve got Bob calling me - Bob fucking Bryar, calling me at nine at night and the bakery’s not on fire, so why the fuck is Bob calling me? He tells me something’s wrong with Frank, and he’s worried."
This shuts Frank up. Bob, calling Ray, worried. Ray arches his eyebrows and Frank gets it. Ray is almost as surprised as he is.
"So, tell me this, Iero. Why does Bob know that something is wrong with you and Gerard?"
Frank stubs out his cigarette, half-done, and sits down on the stairs outside, and tells Ray about the afternoon, the Etsy package, how he had thought it was Gerard, how when he went over - about Bob and Gerard, and Mikey, and -
"And it never occurred to you Bob and Gerard might know each other? Frank, the town’s not that big. Hell, the state isn’t that big."
"It wasn’t just that they knew each other. They were - "
He wanted to tell Ray, wanted Ray to understand what it meant. Why it made everything fall apart. Why it was worse that it was Bob, not any guy, but Bob, and that both he and Gerard had kept it a secret. No, it wasn’t even that. It means the bakery is tainted with jealousy, with betrayal, and that everything he hoped - the promise of something that meant something more - it means he was wrong about what he had with Gerard, and he was wrong about what the bakery might mean for a new start to his, and he was wrong about the connection he had with Grey Award, and he had spent all this time fooling himself into believing otherwise.
Ray gives him a look, then puts up his hands, holding off anything else Frank might say. "I need to do some research," he says, and gets up to go. "Bob says take the morning off."
And Frank’s even less sure what to do with that information. He watches his breath in the cold air, watches the stars come out. And then he goes back inside, hugs his mother, and drives home, the heat on full blast for the whole drive. There are five messages on his phone, all from Gerard. Frank can’t listen to them. To his credit, there isn’t a single one from Mikey. Frank tries to interpret this one way or another, decides he’s too tired to do anything, and climbs into bed.
The problem with getting up every morning at 3 AM is that your internal clock learns to think that’s morning, and no matter how many times Frank tosses and turns, he’s awake, and gets up, turns on the TV. Looks at Etsy. Waits for the sunrise.
Frank goes out for a walk, even though his neighborhood isn’t the kind of place where people without dogs go out for walks, but Frank feels trapped inside his apartment and the cold air stings his face but he can actually feel the sun, warm and new. He keeps hoping the further he walks, that something will eventually break and make sense, but every thought he tries to settle on escapes him, it’s all one big jumble of the bakery and quitting tech support hell and Gerard and the mystery artist and how fucking much he had hoped it was Gerard, and how pathetic it was that the whole thing was just in his head. He’d strung together this story that he told himself over and over every day, hoping it was true, and now all the gaps were clear, all the blank spaces, and now he just felt hollow, like all the power had gone out, like someone had taken away all his secrets.
He can still see his breath in the air when he walks back toward his apartment but the whole sky is blue and bright, and the day has begun for everyone else. He hears doors opening, cars starting up, people on their way to wherever they go on Sunday morning, church and to visit their grandmothers and to the bakery for donuts. He wonders how busy it is, if they’ve already sold out of chocolate glazed, which always goes first.
Ray and Mikey are sitting on Frank’s front steps, and when Frank walks up, Ray says, "You went for a fucking walk? Jesus Christ." He hands Frank a coffee and a bag of chocolate glazed donuts, and Mikey links his arm in Frank’s and pulls him toward the car.
"Where are we going?" Frank says, as Mikey shoves him toward the front seat of Ray’s car and Mikey gets into the back. Neither of them answers, but in a few minutes they’re on the turnpike and Frank relaxes, because at least they are going in the opposite direction of Mikey and Gerard’s.
Frank eats a donut and watches the road, the blur of cars on top of cars, brown leaves and bare trees and black bird silhouettes against the sky.
Mikey is busy texting in the back, or playing a game, Frank can’t tell without dislocating his shoulder looking behind him, and Ray’s been watching the road, driving safe and sound. Frank finishes his coffee and sets it down in Ray’s cup holder and decides to risk asking the same question twice. "Where are we going?"
Again, neither of them answer, but barely a minute later, Ray says, "Bob’s not gay." He looks at Frank for a long moment before turning his eyes back to the road. "I had to fucking ask him," Ray says. "Imagine that. Asking Bob Bryar if he likes to fuck men, while he’s got two twenty-pound bags of flour lifted over his head."
Frank shifts nervously in his seat. Mikey’s put his Sidekick away, and is sipping slowly at his own coffee, which he’d been holding between his knees.
"My brother likes you," Mikey says, and it sounds exactly the same way it did the first time Mikey said it, on their cigarette break from work, strange, exhilarating, confusing.
Frank presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, and says, "Listen, I really appreciate you guys - "
Ray slams on the horn as a car tries to cut them off and Frank shuts up.
"Do you know what I did after I survived asking Bob the Baker about his sexual orientation? I called Gerard Fucking Way."
Mikey laughs. "They were on the phone for two hours."
"Little shit picked up the receiver about fifteen minutes in, heard the whole thing. I like him." Ray says, casting a look behind him. Mikey clasps Ray’s shoulder like they’d been friends for years. "I’ll give you the short version of what Gerard had to say," Ray says, and Mikey laughs again. "Gerard and Bob went to high school together. Their families know each other, like yours and mine, Iero, got it?"
Frank nods, his hands gripping his knees. He’s nervous, about what’s coming, about being stuck in the car with Ray and Mikey, about not knowing where they’re going and about what Ray’s going to say next.
"Gerard admires Bob’s work ethic, and what he’s done with the bakery. And so when he thought his little brother was in trouble, needed some advice about making career decisions, Gerard called Bob to come over and talk to him about following his dreams."
"Bob’s a riot," Mikey says.
"So that’s what you fucking saw when you burst in - "
"I saw them touching - "
"You saw," Ray says slowly, "a very emotional man embracing someone in gratitude who he thought had done a huge favor for his little brother."
Mikey says, "Gerard really fucking likes you, Frankie."
Frank swears and slams his palms against his thighs. "He thinks I’m a fucking nutcase now," Frank says.
"We all do," Ray says, splaying a hand fondly over Frank’s face, which Frank bats away. "Even Bob."
Frank swears again, but this time he’s laughing, and so are Ray and Mikey.
"So we’re going to a craft fair," Ray says, as though Frank hadn’t asked the question over an hour ago. "Thought it would make you feel better."
The idea of a craft fair does make Frank feel better, because there’s a chance Grey Award will be there. He tries not to think about it, tries to let it just float in the back of his mind, the possibility that some things will still work out. He may have fucked up with Gerard, may have freaked out and shown his true unstable colors, may have looked like a complete fool in front of his new boss, a guy he really respects, but Frank presses his forehead against the cool glass of the car window and watches everything speed past and just lets himself be hopeful, to consider, cautiously, to dream what might be waiting for him.
There’s a fee at the door, and to Frank’s amazement, Ray pays for all three of them. Mikey bounds up next to Ray, says, "Thanks," and then, "I’ll buy lunch" and then disappears off into the rows of tables.
"Seriously, that kid is awesome," Ray says. Frank is scanning the guide they’ve been given with a map of who’s showing and where to find their tables. Every rectangle is numbered and Frank flips to the back to the list of names. He’s nervous now, tense and unsettled and unable to stand still.
"Is your guy here?" Ray says, just as Frank finds the listing for, "Grey Award Designs."
"Yeah," Frank says, "Yeah, he is," and feels the fog lift a little, the confusion of a day that’s seemed like a week fade a little. He remembers the art made for him, the way Grey Award had seen into him, and Frank needs that right now, more than he has ever needed anything. He needs someone to see what he can’t.
He and Ray walk, counting the tables, watching the displays, and Frank wants to thank Ray for bringing him here, wants to ask what the fuck Gerard said for two hours, but he can’t right now. Right now he has to meet the artist who has obsessed him for months.
They’re in the right row. Frank’s counting, and he looks up from the sheet and from the numbers on the floor and at the signs instead. He thinks he sees it, rushes down the aisle, and sees Mikey leaning over one of the tables. It takes him longer than it should to realize why. Sitting behind a table stacked with art cards, prints, and little grey First Place ribbons is Gerard Way.
Frank feels Mikey and Ray step back, but his eyes are locked on Gerard, who is smiling nervously, all teeth and wrinkles around his eyes and he says, standing up from his folding chair, "Hi Frankie."
"It was you," Frank says, feeling his heart pounding so hard he’s sure Gerard can hear it. He hears his words echo in his head. It was you. It was you.
Gerard only nods.
"It was - then - why didn’t you say something!" Frank stumbles out, and Gerard ducks his eyes and brushes his fingers through his hair.
He finally looks back at Frank and says, very quietly, "I was waiting for you to figure it out. It was stupid, but it really mattered, that you figured it out, without me telling you. That you knew it was me. That you could tell - that you could see me." Gerard looks away, and then back at Frank again.
"He wanted to make sure you understood the power of art," Mikey says, and Gerard goes a little red and tries to smack Mikey, but the table between them is too wide and Gerard just ends up knocking over a stuffed elephant wearing a tattered top hat.
"I knew it was you," Frank says, because now he has to convince Gerard that he does understand, that he can see Gerard for who he really is, that he was just stupid and jealous and scared. "Yesterday, when I came over. I got the package and knew it was you. I mean, I hoped, but I knew, and then when I saw you with Bob…."
"Oh, Frankie," Gerard says, and his face is so open, so frighteningly open and Frank knows once and for all there’s nothing going on with Bob, there never was.
"I was an idiot," Frank says. "I wanted so much for it to have been you all along, and so I kind of completely freaked out when…..but it wasn’t - " They look at each other for a long time, people jostling by behind Frank, someone even stopping to lift one of Gerard’s prints up and look at it. Frank can hardly think, there’s just Gerard, looking back at him. "Thanks for the bread creature," he finally says, and Gerard grins and reaches across the table and grabs Frank’s hand, and squeezes it hard.
"So," Ray says from behind Frank, and Mikey snorts loudly.
Gerard grins up at Ray, and then at his brother, and then back at Frank, who is still gripping Gerard’s hand.
"Do you want to stay?" Gerard says, his eyes wide. The moment is long, still, quiet, and then Gerard gets nervous and his eyes flash from Frank to Ray to Mikey. "I mean, do you all want to stay? Maybe you want to look around at the other artists and there are some snacks over on the other end and - "
Ray shoves Frank’s shoulder, but Frank was going anyway, around to the other side of the table, pulling up a folding chair and sitting so close to Gerard that Frank’s knees are pressed against Gerard’s thigh
There isn’t a trace of ink, paint, anything anywhere on Gerard, in his hair, in his fingers, his clothes.
"I didn’t think you owned anything this clean," Frank says.
"Those are mine," Mikey says, pointing at Gerard’s pants.
"I try to clean up for fairs," Gerard says. "Little old ladies buying stuffed vampire creatures like a cleaned up boy."
"I want to suck on your fingers, they look so clean. I want to see if they taste like soap," Frank leans in and whispers so only Gerard can hear, but Gerard goes completely red and Ray coughs.
"So I think Mikey and I are gonna go," Ray says. "Huh, kid?" He says, and Mikey nods.
"See you at home," Mikey says to Gerard, but then he also looks at Frank and nods again.
"Don’t be late tomorrow, Iero," Ray says, already turning to walk off.
The thought of the bakery makes Frank feel dizzy with happiness, and he unconsciously grabs Gerard’s knee. He only notices when Gerard’s hand covers his. Frank looks and Gerard is smiling, titled-head and lopsided smile.
Frank and Gerard sit in silence as customers come by. Frank watches Gerard be utterly charming to customers, enthusiastic, engaging, and he keeps considering it, like a sunrise he can’t stop looking at because he can’t quite believe it’s happening, even though the sky keeps growing brighter. It was Gerard all along.
"How did you - " Frank says, as lines of people pass by. He can’t finish the sentence, isn’t really sure how to ask anyway.
"How did I know it was you?" Gerard smiles, warm and open. "I know you, Frankie," Gerard says softly, and Frank feels heat rush up his spine, spread over his chest. "Plus, I had Mikey check your address."
Gerard bends forward and kisses Frank’s jaw, soft and light, just below his ear, and then gets up and goes to talk to the woman beading at the table to their left.
"So if anyone is looking for me, just give them my card and tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t stay." Frank hears it distantly, sees the woman give Gerard a winning smile, nod and shake his hand, and then Gerard is back over behind their table, saying to Frank, "Let me just pack up and we’ll go." Gerard fixes Frank with a serious, fiery look, and then leans closer and whispers, "We’re going home." Frank feels the spark at the back of his neck, spreading out everywhere.
Inside the house, the door is barely closed behind Frank when Gerard grabs his shoulders and kisses him. Their coats rustle together, Gerard’s nose icy cold where it bumps Frank’s cheek, Frank’s fingers burning as they warm up against Gerard’s skin.
"Should we - is Mikey -" Frank says, breaking away from Gerard’s mouth to kiss his neck.
"I don’t care," Gerard says and kisses Frank hard, a hand at the back of his neck, but then he steps back, takes off his jacket. Frank struggles to get his off, rushing and getting his elbow caught, and Gerard takes them both and drapes them across the kitchen chair. Gerard reaches for Frank and kisses him again, then heads toward the stairs, stopping for a moment to look back into the kitchen, pulling Frank close, to whisper, "Coffee?" against his ear. When Frank shakes his head no, shuddering, laughing, Gerard whispers, "No coffee, ok," and Frank thinks he possibly looks a little sad and so Frank takes Gerard’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing Gerard’s knuckles and then sucking two fingers into his mouth.
Frank thinks of the first time he was here for dinner, the silver dollar pancake, the taste of Gerard’s skin. Gerard’s eyes go hugely wide and then his head tilts back, against the wall of the hallway, his eyes falling closed.
"Frankie," Gerard murmurs, and Frank kisses his palm, kisses across the back of his hand and then he’s the one leading them up the stairs.
"I should have come up here the first time, at Mikey’s party," Frank says, though he’s not sure Gerard will even understand. "You were so...."
"Yes," Gerard hisses. "I wanted you to, so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you."
Gerard tugs at Frank’s neck and pulls him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Gerard’s hands settle on Frank’s hips and then he looks up, licking his bottom lip where Frank’s teeth just were. Gerard takes a few steps back and sits down on the bed, and then very slowly leans back, eyes locked on Frank. Frank can hardly contain himself, he’s ready to jump on top of Gerard, rip his clothes off, feel Gerard’s skin against his, but watching Gerard is better, watching him invite Frank to do all of that, watching him tug his shirt up inch by inch, bending his knees and slowly spreading them wide undoes Frank.
"Jesus Christ," he says, because now Gerard’s shirt is pushed up so high Frank can see his ribs, his pale, perfect skin. Gerard is still watching Frank, waiting. He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his pants and then Frank climbs on top of him, clumsy and urgent.
Frank unbuttons Gerard’s pants for him, sliding them off first and then lifting Gerard’s shirt over his head. Gerard’s hands are all over him, tugging at his clothes, and Gerard bites his neck and his earlobe and licks his jaw, sliding his hands down Frank’s back, up his bare thighs. Then Frank is flipped on his back and Gerard is the one on top, looking down at him with dark eyes, smiling just before he rocks his hips slowly against Frank’s and kisses him, sloppy and hard.
"I haven’t been able to stop thinking about these," Gerard says, tracing the tattoos on Frank’s neck, his shoulders with light touches, making Frank squirm and buck up against him.
"Fuck, Gerard, Jesus Christ," Frank cries out as Gerard bends and licks, bites, drags his mouth across the designs on Frank's chest.
"There’s art all over your body," Gerard murmurs into Frank’s collarbone. "What am I supposed to do?" And he leans over to press his mouth to Frank’s bicep and the inside of his elbow, across his fingers and then over his stomach.
"This," Frank says breathily, digging his fingers into Gerard’s shoulders and arching his back as Gerard’s mouth passes over his hipbone. "This is good."
"What about this?" Gerard whispers, pressing his palm over Frank’s cock.
"Yes," Frank groans. "Oh god, please."
"What about this?" Gerard whispers against Frank’s ear. He slides his cock against the crook of Frank’s hip as wraps his fingers tightly around Frank’s cock. "Is this good, Frankie?" Gerard’s voice is low, his breathing uneven, and he kisses Frank’s temple, open-mouthed and wet. "Do you want me to fuck you?"
Frank’s cock jerks in Gerard’s hand and Frank pulls Gerard close for a messy, needy kiss. "Yes, yes," Frank says brokenly against Gerard’s mouth. Frank bucks up as Gerard’s fingers brush over the head of his cock as Gerard shifts and reaches for something in the nightstand.
"Are you going to be noisy, Frankie?" Gerard spreads Frank’s legs apart, his fingers splayed across the inside of Frank’s thighs and stroking the curve of his ass. "Because I’ve been hoping you’re really noisy," Gerard says just before he licks the underside of Frank’s cock and presses a finger very slowly inside him.
Frank moans loudly.
"Yes," Gerard laughs richly, "Yes, just like that." Frank moans even louder when Gerard moves two fingers inside, deliberately slow. "You’re gorgeous, Frankie, you’re so fucking gorgeous." When Frank opens his eyes, Gerard is leaning back on heels, watching him. Their eyes lock and Gerard’s fingers curl inside Frank and Frank throws his head back, shouts Gerard’s name.
"Yes," Gerard says again, and then he’s sliding his fingers out, shifting above Frank, settling his hips between Frank’s legs, pressing his cock to Frank’s opening. Frank grabs at Gerard, one hand tight in his hair and one hand on Gerard’s ass, pulling him closer. "Fuck, Frankie," Gerard groans as he pushes in. He pulls back slowly and then slams forward, kisses Frank hard, and then does it again. Frank sucks at Gerard’s neck so hard he’s sure he’s going to leave a trail of bruises, and the idea of the purple marks against Gerard’s pale skin makes Frank groan and suck harder.
"Frankie," Gerard whispers. It sounds desperate and Frank looks up and brushes his fingers across Gerard’s cheek.
"Gee," Frank says, lifting his hips up to meet Gerard’s thrusts, his fingers trembling as he runs them over Gerard’s eyebrows.
"Frankie, I think I love you," Gerard says, and then squeezes his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip. Gerard’s hips rock faster, and he digs his fingers hard into Frank’s shoulders.
"Oh, god, Gee," Frank gasps, "Look at me. Gerard, look at me." Gerard opens his eyes, and he looks down at Frank, wild and panicky. "Jesus Christ, Gee, I love you, too." Frank’s heart is pounding so hard and he can’t think, can’t even breathe, and he pulls Gerard’s mouth down to his and kisses him and Gerard kisses him back, hard and dirty. And then feels Gerard’s smile against his lips.
Gerard reaches between them and wraps his fingers around Frank’s cock and tries to time the strokes with his thrusts, mostly gets it right, but Frank doesn’t care, it all feels so good, Gerard’s hips slamming hard against his, Gerard’s perfect fingers, lips pressed to Frank’s forehead. Frank feels it building forever, in his spine, in his fingertips and it’s only when Gerard starts to cry out Frank’s name with each short, uneven thrust that Frank spills over the edge, coming against Gerard’s stomach. He feels Gerard tense and shudder and collapse heavy against Frank’s chest just as Frank’s eyes fall closed and before he can stop it, he’s asleep.
Frank wakes to Gerard shaking his shoulder. "Frank. Frankie!" Frank pushes the blankets out of his face and rolls over, squinting at Gerard.
"I’m right here, Gee, what is it?" Gerard is still shaking his shoulder, and Frank half-heartedly swats him away.
"You need to get up," Gerard says urgently. "The bakery!"
Frank sits bolt upright in bed. "Jesus Christ," he says, fumbling around the floor for his clothes. "What time is it? Do I have time to - " But Gerard is already out of bed, pushing Frank towards the bathroom, opening the linen closet and shoving a clean towel into Frank’s hand, turning on the shower.
Frank looks at Gerard, completely naked, pale and shivering, digging his toes into the bathmat. "Are you taking a shower with me?"
Gerard grins, and then leans forward and kisses Frank’s neck. "Not if you’re going to get to work on time." And then he all but lifts Frank into the shower.
When he steps out, toweling off hurriedly, he sees one of Gerard’s clean t-shirts on top of Frank’s questionably dirty jeans. When Frank peeks into the bedroom, Gerard is asleep, but downstairs, there’s fresh coffee brewed and a box of cereal and a bowl set out for him, with a note under the coffee cup. "Please bring back a loaf of raisin bread," in a speech bubble coming from a drawing of a pile of blankets on the bed.
There’s been a frost overnight and the grass crunches under Frank’s feet as he cuts across the lawn. Frank doesn’t even let his car warm up and the engine complains all the way there. He holds his hands over the heaters, alternately blowing on them, running a few red lights because he knows it’s too early for anyone to really be on the road. He’s somehow, miraculously on time, and catches the door just behind Ray. Ray looks him over, and Frank feels his eyes linger over the t-shirt, which is covered in old paint.
"Everything all right, Frank?" Bob says, coming out of the refrigerator. Bob’s face is neutral, but it’s clear what’s hanging on Frank’s answer.
Frank nods, and says, "Yeah, Bob, everything’s fine. Thanks," he adds, quickly, and Bob actually laughs, and then Ray says, "So how was your night, Iero?" and Frank flips him off.
Frank brings back a loaf of raisin bread as requested, and a box of cookies which Ray insists he bring for Mikey, and Bob just sort of nods at him on his way out and tells him he’ll see him tomorrow, like it’s a command, not a friendly goodbye.
Frank knocks and Mikey opens the door and immediately spots the box. "Are those cookies?" Frank hands the box to him and Mikey has already shoved two into his mouth before Frank is even all the way in the house. "Tell Ray thanks," Mikey says, taking the box with him back over in front of the computer, where Mikey is typing furiously.
Frank sets the raisin bread on the counter, pours himself a coffee, and sits down at the table. Gerard comes down the stairs a moment later, his hair wet and messy, his face pink from the shower. "Is that raisin bread?" Gerard says in the exact, ecstatic tone as Mikey upon seeing the cookies, and Frank cracks up.
"You did ask me to bring some back," Frank says, and then he really looks at Gerard, who is looking back at him in what Frank is pretty sure is wonder.
"I did," Gerard says softly, and leans down and kisses Frank, his wet hair tickling Frank’s face. He then pulls away and pulls out the cutting block and the bread knife, slicing off three pieces of the raisin bread, popping a stray bit of crust into his mouth. Gerard hands a slice to Frank, walks over to bring a slice to Mikey, and then takes a huge bite of his own. "That’s it, Mikey," Gerard says around a mouthful of bread. "We’re never buying bread from a grocery store again. We’re only eating bread from Frankie’s bakery."
"Right," Mikey says, turning over his shoulder to grin at Frank for a second before turning back to his computer.
"Right," Gerard says, coming back over and standing behind Frank, first with his hands on Frank’s shoulders, and then his arms around Frank, then his lips against Frank’s cheek.
Frank takes a bite of his own bread, chews, swallows, and says, "Yeah, I like the sound of that."