The Wrong Way - Part IV
Part III
Being arrested wasn't like it was in the movies. Frank wasn't put in a cell with a biker who gave him lewd looks. Instead he had to sit around in a waiting room for ages after he'd failed to produce an ID. Not knowing Gerard's phone number (not that he would've wanted the police to call Gerard) and forgetting the goddamn address of the apartment hadn't improved matters for Frank.
He slouched a little lower in the hard plastic chair, guitar between his legs, and watched the policewoman behind the desk arguing with someone on the phone. What were they going to do with him anyway? No identification, no person to contact. It really made it look like he was a homeless person. All of Frank's papers had supposedly been taken care of, but he was still scared what the police were going to find if they looked too closely at his records. Although, if he thought about his current situation, being deported wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
Frank pulled his hood up over his head and tried to get comfortable. This was almost like waiting at a doctor's office or the hospital. That at least Frank knew how to do.
One of the policemen from earlier came back out through one of the doors labelled 'PRIVATE.' Frank remained slouched in his seat. He'd been treated nicely so far, but life-long ingrained attitudes didn't disappear that quickly. The police were always the enemy.
"Mister Iero, we really don't know what to do with you." The man had a thick accent and Frank had a hard time understanding him. "Are you sure you don't have any person to contact? Otherwise we'll have to keep you for the night until we get your records."
Well, fuck. A night in prison, just what Frank had dreamed of all his life. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around nervously.
"No, um, I mean I could show you where I live."
"I'm afraid you're not allowed to leave the station, Mister Iero."
Fucking bastards. Of course they were going to make this as complicated for him as possible. This was exactly the reason why you should never, ever trust policemen. It just proved that Ray being nice was just a fucking façade.
Oh.
Ray.
"Do you know a Ray?" Frank asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He didn't know Ray's last name and chances were that there were hundreds of people named Ray, so there was no telling if the guy even knew the right one.
"A Ray?"
"Yes. A . . . a friend of mine! Yes! A friend of mine. His name is Ray and he's a policeman," Frank explained, almost vibrating in his chair. This was his only chance to get out of here. "Tall dude." Everyone was tall compared to Frank. "Oh, I know! He has crazy hair!" Frank waved his hands around his head. "Like, a lot of curls." Damn, was there a word for this?
Frank's wild description of Ray's fro apparently clued the officer in and he nodded. "You mean Ray Toro?"
"Yes! That's the one!" Frank had no idea if he was the right one, but here was to hoping.
"All right." The man looked doubtful. "I'll try calling Officer Toro."
Frank was left alone again for over half an hour. He considered sneaking out, but the woman behind the desk looked vicious.
Eventually the door opened and a frazzled looking Ray came into view, pulling his beanie off his head and releasing a mop of curly hair, encouraged by static. He looked around hectically and almost stormed over to Frank when he spotted him. Frank considered the possibility of using his guitar as a weapon.
"Frank, hey, are you okay?" Ray dropped down in the chair next to Frank, breathing rapidly as if he'd been running.
"I'm fine. I just don't understand why I'm here," Frank pointed out petulantly, not willing to admit just how relieved he was to see Ray.
"Kevin said you were begging at an underground station and not carrying ID." Ray had obviously taking classes with Frank's mother on how to do the 'is this true? Why did you do it? I'm so disappointed' look.
"I wasn't begging," Frank protested, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Begging, seriously, what bullshit. "I was just playing guitar and some people gave me money for it. That's not begging."
Ray looked like he was ready to protest, but in the end he just sighed (apparently he had learned the sigh from Frank's mother too) and shook his head. "And you had no ID?"
"No," Frank mumbled, poking at the hole that had formed in the knee of his jeans. Not carrying ID was fucking stupid and he knew it, but he'd just forgotten to take it, too busy sneaking the guitar out of the apartment.
"And you don't know Gerard's number, or your address?"
Did Ray have to make this so fucking embarrassing?
"Well why do you think you are here?" Frank snapped, unable to keep a hold of himself. "Besides, I don't exactly want Gerard to know about this," he added, glaring intently at Ray and hoping that the man understood that he was not to tell Gerard.
"I think he'd like to know that his husband spends his time begging for money in underground stations."
"It's not BEGGING!" Frank threw his arms up in exasperation and then frantically grabbed his guitar, trying to keep it from falling.
"Let's agree to disagree."
Why was Ray so fucking nice and logical all the time? It was super annoying.
"I'll talk to Kevin." Ray got up with a sigh and disappeared through the 'PRIVATE' door.
Frank huffed and slumped back down in his chair. Fuck everyone. He wasn't begging and why was everyone so stuck up about him playing a few songs in an underground station?
Stupid fucking Americans.
~
"They let you off with a warning this time, so just don't do this again, okay?"
"Okay," Frank grumped, dragging his feet along. They'd finally let him go and now Ray insisted on bringing him home. It was ridiculous.
"Why were you doing that anyway?" Ray glanced sideways at Frank, the top of his hair hidden under the beanie again, gloved hands in the pockets of his coat.
"No reason." Frank shrugged. "Just wanted to play again. And thought I could make some extra money." Ray had bailed him out, so Frank felt like he should at least be honest with him.
"Right. You ever thought of getting, like, a job?"
There went the friendship-like feelings Frank had started to feel for Ray.
"Yes," he hissed, barely biting back on adding 'asshole'. "You ever considered my visa situation and shit?"
"Oh." Ray scratched the bridge of his nose. "I can look into that for you?"
Okay, maybe a few of the friendship-y feelings were back.
"That'd be great." Frank was aware that his muttered answer didn't sound too enthusiastic, but he couldn't help being grumpy right now.
"Have you talked about this with Gerard?"
"No, and I don't want to, okay?"
"Why not? I'm sure he'd-"
"Understand? Yeah of course he would." Frank didn't even doubt that. Gerard was awfully nice that way. "He's letting me stay with him already and, like, gives me money to buy stuff I need. I don't want to annoy him with my problems." Frank shrugged and sniffed, then rubbed his nose. He really wanted a cigarette.
"That's a nice thought, Frank." Somehow it sounded like Ray had said 'You're an idiot, Frank.' "But I think he'd want to know about this. And how you feel. It's, like, not his fault he's in this situation, but neither is it yours. So you should ask for help if you need it."
Was Ray trying to win the police Nobel prize?
"I guess." Frank tried to sound convinced.
"You know what's not going to help him though?" Something in Ray's voice changed and it caused Frank's stomach to flutter nervously. "Making out with his brother behind his back."
Fuck. Of fucking course Ray had to poke his fingers into that sore wound. Frank hummed in reply and pulled his shoulders up further.
"I'm serious. Whatever this thing between you and Mikey is-" Ray was waving his hands at that. "-end it. Right now. It's not fair to Gerard."
Frank wanted to laugh. Not fair to Gerard? As if Gerard fucking cared.
"There's nothing between me and Mikey." That, at least, was the truth, even if a treacherous voice in the back of Frank's mind whispered 'But you wish there was.'
"Really?"
"Really. Was just a drunk mistake."
"Okay. All right then," Ray sounded doubtful. "I just don't want any of you guys to get hurt."
It was too late for that, Frank thought. Thankfully Ray let it go after that, and asked about the guitar instead; the rest of the trip was spent discussing music. As it turned out Ray was a music geek and played guitar. Frank suddenly liked him a lot more.
By the time they reached the apartment Frank was actually laughing, feeling a lot more comfortable in the other man's company. His grandfather was probably turning in his grave, knowing that Frank was 'associating' with the police now.
Frank walked into the apartment, animatedly talking about his favourite Bouncing Souls record, then stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Gerard in the living room. He was suddenly very aware of the guitar in his hands. The damn thing was too big to hide behind his back.
"Gee, hi." Ray stepped forward, oblivious to Frank's dilemma.
"Hey guys." Gerard got up from the couch, cup of coffee clutched to his chest. "Everything all right?" He looked worriedly between them.
"What? Oh yeah, sure. I just ran into Frank earlier, and you know." Ray waved his hand around vaguely and Frank nodded with a little too much enthusiasm.
"Cool," Gerard grinned. Then his eyes strayed to the guitar in Frank's hands. "Hey, since when do you have a guitar? I didn't know you could play."
"Oh . . . ahm . . ." Frank stuttered, thoughts racing as he tried to come up with a believable story that wasn't 'I kind of stole your money'.
"It's mine!" Ray jumped in. "I mean, I gave it to Frank. He told me he played guitar and I got a new one, so this one was just collecting dust in my apartment, so, I, like, gave it to Frankie." Ray patted Frank's shoulder. There were definitely lots of friendship-like feelings now.
"Awesome." Gerard was positively beaming and wow, Frank hadn't expected that. "You should've told me earlier, we would've gotten you one. You gotta play something for me."
"Uh . . . si. Of course."
That had gone over far better than Frank would've expected. He put the guitar down and peeled out of his jacket, sending a grateful smile Ray's way. Seemed like Frank would have to change his opinion about policemen.
~
After what Frank had started to call the 'Not Begging' incident things got a little better. Ray had left that night with a promise to look into Frank's visa and possible jobs. Frank didn't have to hide his guitar anymore and he and Gerard were having actual conversations. They'd started out talking about music, but Frank soon found out that Gerard was prone to random topic jumps. He didn't mind. They were talking and Gerard wasn't treating him like a ticking bomb.
Life could've been fantastic, but Mikey was still not coming by the apartment and Frank was irrationally angry about it. He had dropped by once to bring Gerard something, but had barely looked at Frank, much less said a word to him. It was frustrating, especially since Frank didn't want to care. What was Mikey Way to him? Nothing. He shouldn't matter.
Except for how he did.
A few days later Frank was distracted from the lack of Mikey by someone almost knocking down the apartment door. Gerard was in his studio, as always, and Frank had just been messing around on his guitar when the knocking started. He almost fell off the couch, starting to flail as his heartbeat increased rapidly. Motherfucking fuck, this was it. That was probably the CIA out there, ready to arrest Frank. Ray had told his bosses about Frank after all and they had decided to end this charade and send him back.
Frank swallowed hard and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he got up and slowly walked over to the door. His hands shook as he reached for the chain, sliding it out of its hook. The knocking stopped and the silence was almost worse than the onslaught of noise. Frank exhaled sharply and then pushed the handle of the door down.
"Motherfucker!"
Instead of getting handcuffed, Frank was tackled to the ground. The air was knocked out of him as he landed hard, another person on top of him.
"What . . . the . . . fuck?" Frank managed to wheeze, blinking his eyes open after he'd squeezed them shut. A guy with dark hair and too much eyeliner was staring down at him.
"You're not Gerard."
"No, I'm not," Frank replied slowly. The guy's teeth were fucking scary, too white and somehow too big.
"But this is Gerard's apartment?"
"Yeah."
"Then what are you doing here?"
Frank narrowed his eyes at the intruder and tried to push him away and sit up. "I'm his husband. Who the fuck are you?"
"His . . . oh." The guy seemed torn between amusement and horror. "I'm Pete. Gerard's boyfriend."
~
Pete was real. Gerard's boyfriend Pete was real. Frank felt like laughing hysterically, but he had a feeling that it'd freak the old lady sitting next to him on the underground out. He pressed his lips together and stared out the window until his stop was announced.
The zoo had become Frank's safe place. There was something calming about watching the animals. They were simpler than humans.
Frank bought his entrance ticket and went to see the red pandas. He kept his eyes trained on the dirty path, not paying any attention to the people around him.
"Frank! Hey, Frank."
Someone touched Frank's shoulder and he whipped around with a yelp. Being attacked by a stranger once a day was enough, thank you very much. This time it wasn't a stranger cunningly attacking him though. It was Bob.
"Hey, thought it was you," Bob said, his breathing coming hard like he'd been running.
"Hello," Frank replied, smiling slightly. He pushed his hands into his pockets and bounced a little on the balls of his feet.
"You here on your own?" Bob asked, pushing wayward strands of hair away from his forehead.
"Si." Frank briefly considered if he should tell Bob about what had happened or not. "Gerard's got someone over."
Bob raised an eyebrow. "Got someone over? Like, a friend or what?"
"No," Frank replied slowly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "His boyfriend."
"His . . . his boyfriend?"
No matter how grumpy Frank felt about this, Bob's reaction made him giggle. Bob looked like he'd been shown a three-headed elephant.
"Si. Pete. He is real after all."
"Gerard's fictional boyfriend Pete? He . . . he showed up?" Bob asked, having obvious trouble imagining it.
"Si. Yes."
"Are you sure it's not just some guy Gerard paid? Okay, no, fuck, that's mean but . . . are you sure?"
"Judging by the way they were sticking their tongues down each other's throat when I left, yes, definitely." Frank nodded.
"Fuck, man. I'm . . . sorry?" Bob offered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"No." Frank waved a hand dismissively. "It's all right." It kind of was. At least it meant Gerard had had a reason for dodging all of Frank's attempts to get close. Frank had started to think that he was completely disgusting.
"Wow. I still can't believe it. Pete is real." Bob shook his head. He sounded more amused than horrified. "I have to call Mikey."
Of course Bob had to get Mikey involved. Frank sighed, his good mood already gone again. "I'll go see the pandas." Frank mumbled, only eliciting a grunt from Bob, who was already busy pressing buttons on his phone.
Frank watched the pandas for the better part of an hour, ignoring the flocks of people passing, and holding out his hand, attempting to get the pandas to come closer. He was just having a serious conversation with Deedee (at least Frank liked to think it was Deedee, they were kind of hard to tell apart) when somebody leaned against the fence next to him. Frank didn't think anything of it at first and only glanced over briefly before he resumed his staring contest with the panda. Five seconds later he turned again, staring at Mikey.
"Hi." Frank hadn't known that one syllable could come out sounding so wrong.
"Hey," Mikey replied, giving Frank a small twitch of lips that might have been a smile. Frank felt like he hadn't seen Mikey in ages and damn, why did the man have to look so good? Had he spontaneously gotten even more handsome just to annoy Frank?
"So," Mikey started, looking from Frank to the pandas. "Bob called me."
"Mh." Frank looked back to the pandas as well. Deedee was looking for a good spot to sleep. Frank wished he could join her.
"Is it true? This guy showed up?"
"Yes. Turns out you didn't have to worry about Gerard getting laid." Frank failed in his attempt to keeping his voice neutral.
"Who would've thought," Mikey mumbled. Frank scoffed. Yeah, who would've thought? "So, you just gonna hang out around here?"
Frank shrugged. Not like he wanted to go back to the apartment. Even if he put headphones in, there would be no denying what was going on. Sitting around and pretending to watch TV while his husband was having hot sex in the next room wasn't Frank's idea of a good day.
"You can come hang out at my place, if you want."
Frank glanced sideways at Mikey, not sure how to answer. He couldn't hang out at the zoo all day, as much as he wanted to, but going back to Mikey's had the potential for much awkwardness. Frank sighed. He'd just watched his husband getting jumped by a complete stranger, how much more awkward could it possibly get?
Frank found out that it could get a lot more awkward. Mikey and he spent most of the way to Mikey's in uncomfortable silence, Frank pretending to study the posters on the underground and trying not to glance at Mikey. Mikey was just being Mikey, but he fidgeted a little more than usual, and his phone didn't come out of his pocket as many times as it usually did.
Frank had never been to Mikey's place before. The building was much the same as the one Gerard's apartment was located in, but when Mikey unlocked and opened the door, Frank barely managed not to gape. Mikey apparently earned a lot. The apartment was huge, especially for one person. Everything looked sleek and modern and there were three coffee machines in the kitchen. Three.
"Sorry, didn't really clean since I didn't expect to have anyone over," Mikey mumbled, kicking a pile of dirty clothes away from the couch. "Want something to drink?"
"I'm good," Frank replied, tearing his eyes away from Mikey's DVD collection and sitting down on the couch. And there it was again - the dreaded silence. Frank pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands.
"Gerard's boyfriend is real after all, huh?"
"Yes. Could've saved your money." Frank still didn't understand why everyone seemed so surprised. Gerard was a nice dude, why wouldn't he have a boyfriend?
"What's he look like?" Mikey asked, ignoring the second half of Frank's answer.
"You know." Frank shrugged and waved his hand dismissively. "Not too bad, actually. Black hair. Tanned. Lots of tattoos. Kind of weirdly big teeth."
The guy's teeth had seriously been scary, but Frank couldn't pinpoint why. They were white and very straight, but just a little too wide, maybe. A bit too perfect.
"Wait. You said his name was Pete?" Mikey asked and frowned. When Frank nodded he got his phone out of his pocket.
"Gerard?" Mikey got up from his spot on the couch. "I don't care if I just interrupted your private times. Which, by the way, is totally gross." Mikey huffed and started pacing the room.
"Frank told me your boyfriend came to visit." Mikey paused again, looking long-suffering at whatever Gerard said in return. Frank's bets were on 'I told you so'.
"So this Pete. He doesn't happen to be Pete Wentz? From Chicago? Bassist of Arma Angelus? My ex?"
Frank's mouth did fall open after all. He could hear Gerard starting to talk on the other end, but couldn't understand what he said. Judging by how quickly Gerard was talking, he was anxious about Mikey's reaction.
"Right." Mikey's voice on the other hand was completely calm, even as he tried to interrupt his brother. "It's fi- . . . Gerard. Hey. It's fine, all right? No, listen, Gee. It's fine." Apparently that wasn't enough because Gerard kept talking.
"No, it's fine. You just should've told me, is all." Mikey pushed his glasses up his nose. "No. You have fun. Pete's a good guy. And hey, fair's fair. I'll just go make out with your husband instead. Bye, Gee." Mikey ended the call before Gerard had a chance to reply. He looked at his phone for a minute and rubbed the display with the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Pete is your ex?" Frank finally blurted out.
"Yeah. That was years ago, though," Mikey admitted, looking just a little shy about it. He sat down on the couch next to Frank again.
"Did you mean it?" They could talk about Pete later. Other things were more important to Frank right now.
"Mean what?" Mikey glanced at Frank.
"Making out." What else could be important?
"Oh."
Frank narrowed his eyes. Was there more colour in Mikey's cheeks all of a sudden?
"Yeah, I kinda did."
"Awesome!" Frank's face split into a grin and within ten seconds he had manoeuvred himself into Mikey's lap.
If Gerard got to cheat on him then Frank totally got to make out with Mikey.
Epilogue