Zero Percent - Part One

[kopperblaze]

The woman in line behind Frank keeps a pointed distance, fidgeting and eyeing him from beneath her bangs. Frank's used to that kind of behavior but it still makes him pull his shoulders up higher, hunch more into himself in an attempt to hide from the stares and sneers. He feels exposed in the sterile light.

"4.85," the bored cashier drawls, snapping her gum and inspecting her nails. Frank hands over 4.90 in change and picks up the three cans of dog food. He wants to be out of here as quickly as possible. The girl drops five cents change into Frank's hand, carefully avoiding any contact.

Frank gives her a bright grin. "Fuck you very much."

He hates trips to the supermarket.

Zero is waiting outside, a scruffy little bundle of fur, lying with his head on his paws. When he spots Frank he scrambles to his feet and yaps excitedly.

"Hey, buddy," Frank smiles and leans down to scratch behind Zero's ears before he unwinds the leash from the hook in the wall. "Dinner time, c'mon." Zero prances around as they walk down the street and Frank focuses on that, because it's easier to laugh at his ridiculous dog than acknowledge the people around him.

Frank's only belongings, a ratty blanket and a plastic bottle he keeps refilling in public restrooms, are stored behind a dumpster in a back alley. Frank used to have a guitar, and he'd made some money busking in underground stations where he was protected from the weather, but some asshole dealer and his friend beat Frank up a few weeks ago and stole it, claiming he was scaring away customers. The underground station isn't safe anymore, so Frank sleeps on the streets these days, trying to find doorways or alleys that provide at least a little protection from the wind.

Spreading the blanket on the ground Frank sits down and slips the sling of the leash around his wrist as Zero squirms into his lap. Frank keeps him on the leash all the time because Zero is still a puppy with an overabundance of energy and a lacking sense of danger. He's also the only thing Frank's got left in the world and he'll be damned if he’ll lose him.

"Well, what do you want? Gravy chicken or steak?" Frank holds both cans out and Zero sniffs them, taking more interest in the right one.

"Chicken it is." Frank pulls the ring and opens the can and puts it on the floor for Zero, who scrambles out of his lap again and starts eating with gusto. Leaning back against the wall Frank watches him and ignores his own stomach cramping with hunger. Only a few more hours until the soup kitchen opens. Dorothy gives him extra portions and puts desert away for him whenever she can. Without the soup kitchen Frank is sure he would’ve starved by now.

Huddling into his clothes he prepares for another long, cold day.

~

The city is just waking up, people doing zombie dances to work as the sun comes up. It's a strange time of the day, a little like the Twilight Zone. Mikey finds it oddly comforting, the world turning into a place of order and business, dirty secrets creeping back into corners.

Today is one of the lucky days where Gerard and he get to stay in a motel. They made good money because one of the clients had special requests, earning them enough to afford a room and food, and leave some extra for other things. Gerard's already gone ahead to get them a room at the usual motel while Mikey got them McDonald's. There's nothing better than hot, greasy food early in the morning.

The paper bag crinkles when Mikey tightens his hold and walks a little faster, not wanting the food to go cold.

When he rounds a corner he stumbles over a furry something on the ground. Mikey comes to an abrupt stop and sways on his feet. The furry thing turns out to be an overly excited dog, yapping and attempting to climb Mikey's leg.

"Zero!"

A man, no a boy Mikey amends as the person gets closer, is running towards him, looking frantic. He’s bundled up in layers of clothing and despite the hood pulled up over his hair Mikey can make out pale skin, gaunt cheeks and wide eyes.

The guy stops in front of Mikey, panting, and scoops the dog up. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, not meeting Mikey's eyes. He briefly glances at the bag of food in Mikey's hand before he turns to the dog.

"You fucking scared me. Don't run away like that." He leans down and presses a kiss to the dog's head. "Thanks for, uh, stopping him. And sorry he jumped you," he says to Mikey, his stance a little more defensive, waiting for the blow. Mikey recognizes the attitude of someone damaged and down on his luck.

"No worries." His voice comes out flat and Mikey knuckles at his eyes. He's so goddamn tired. "Better keep an eye on him."

The guy nods and hunches into himself even more, protecting the dog from the wind that's picking up. Mikey stands there for a few more seconds before he waves awkwardly and continues on his way. If he's lucky the food is still going to be semi-warm.

~

Frank cradles Zero closer to his chest and rests his cheek on the dog's head. It's early, a bad time to be sitting in the streets with a battered plastic cup in front of you. Mid-morning is always better because people are in less of a hurry, more likely to give Frank spare change.

It used to be easier back when Frank still had his guitar. It felt less like begging. He made more money as well. A punk kid with a guitar is more likely to get attention than a quiet, dirty guy doing nothing. But Frank needs all the money he can get, so every day he sits down, plastic cup in front of him, and tries not to think too hard about when exactly he sold his pride for a dollar.

Frank blinks against the tiredness weighing him down. He wants to sleep. Fuck, he would sell his soul for a bed to curl up in, even if it was for just one night. He's so tired, but he can’t allow himself to fall asleep. No way.

"I'm just resting my eyes," Frank grumbles when Zero starts squirming against his chest and licking his chin. The dog's a bundle of warmth. It's a little like having a mini-radiator.

Forcing his eyes open Frank squints against the light and scratches behind Zero's ears. Two pairs of legs clad in too tight jeans stop in front of him and Frank sighs. Probably some stupid hipsters again, here to make fun of him or give him a look of pity that makes him want to smash their perfect teeth in. Zero starts squirming even more, but Frank's got a good hold on him and has his the leash wrapped around his wrist several times. There won't be a repeat of yesterday. Frank still can’t shake the nightmare visions of Zero getting run over by a car.

Frank looks up, ready to glare at whoever is standing there and judging him, but does a double take when he recognizes the guy from yesterday standing next to a man with bright red hair. He's holding onto the sleeve of the other guy's tattered leather jacket murmuring something low enough that Frank can’t hear it over the traffic noise.

The other guy frowns down at Frank and Frank glares. Redhead quirks an eyebrow and is ready to walk away, but his companion tugs on his sleeve and holds him back, lips pursed. With a sigh redhead crams a hand into the pocket of his jeans and fishes out a crumpled five-dollar note. He bends down and puts it in the plastic cup, flashing Frank an uneasy smile. Frank blinks. Five dollars? That's. That's a fucking lot.

He looks up again and the guy from yesterday is looking at him, the hints of an unsure smile in the curve of his lips. His eyes are tired and bloodshot, yesterday's eyeliner caked around them.

"Thanks," Frank croaks out, because he might be living on the streets but he's still got manners. He's rewarded with a more noticeable smile, and finds himself smiling back.

~

"You know that guy?" Gerard asks, reaching for the battered pack of cigarettes in the breast pocket of his jacket before thinking better of it. Those five dollars were their cigarette money and Gerard is far from happy that he had to part with it. But Mikey asked, and Mikey never asks for anything.

Mikey shakes his head and shrugs.

"No," he finally gives a verbal reply and scratches his neck. "But I thought. You know."

Gerard keeps looking at Mikey, prompting him to elaborate.

"I ran into him yesterday. He seemed hungry. And his dog is nice." The skin on Mikey's neck is turning red where he's still scratching. Gerard reaches out and takes his hand.

"Okay." It's a good enough reason and they can do without the five bucks. For them it's just a pack of cigarettes, but for the guy it'll be a hot meal or some other necessity. "There's a Starbucks around the corner." They've got a few hours to kill because the motel wanted a ridiculous sum for late check out that Gerard couldn't justify spending.

Mikey's hand is cold and clammy in his as they walk down the street, Mikey dragging his feet and Gerard trying to stay as far away from other pedestrians as possible.

Starbucks is busy, but most people are getting coffee to take away and they're able to get a booth in the corner.

"Be right back," Gerard mumbles and Mikey curls up in the seat closest to the wall and closes his eyes. The shadows underneath them look like bruises. Gerard forces himself not to linger on it and gets in the queue. He keeps his eyes on the floor and tries not to fidget as he waits. Gerard doesn't like being away from Mikey, even if it's just to get them drinks.

"Good morning. What can I get you?" The barista behind the counter is too enthusiastic and her smile too wide. Her nametag says 'Jane'. Gerard pushes strands of red hair away from his face and scans the menu board even though he already knows what he wants.

"A latte with two extra shots and a hot chocolate, please," he rattles off his usual order of coffee for himself and something sweet and comforting for Mikey. The sugar isn't exactly good for him, but caffeine would be even worse.

"Coming right up, honey." Jane grabs two cups and smiles at Gerard, sharpie in hand.

"What's your name?"

"James." Gerard gets a handful of coins out of his pocket and counts them while she scribbles on the cups.

"Busy day ahead, James?" Jane types his order into the register, still smiling. Gerard shifts under the attention, pushing money her way when the final sums blinks on the display.

"Kinda."

Her fingers brush against his when she takes the money and Gerard has to make a conscious effort not to grimace.

"Thanks. Here is your receipt. And here," she leans over the counter and starts to scribble numbers on the bottom of the paper, "is my number." Jane looks up at Gerard from under her lashes, smile turned coy. "Call me. We could, you know, grab some coffee together sometime or something. If you want."

Gerard forces himself to smile, but it feels like the corners of his mouth are cracking.

"Sure. If you've got two hundred bucks to spare. Time with me ain't cheap." Exhaustion and worry are taking their toll on Gerard’s nerves, making him snappy.

He grabs the receipt and moves along the counter to get his drinks, not looking back to see Jane’s reaction. It's either confusion or disgust and Gerard doesn't want to see either.

Once he's got their drinks he takes them back to table where Mikey sits, curled into himself and fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. Gerard sets the cup down in front of him and falls down in the chair, not bothering to hide a huge yawn.

Mikey cracks a small smile and reaches for his hot chocolate, taking several tiny sips in rapid succession. Gerard knows his brother’s desperate for the hot chocolate to cut through the tangy taste of cocaine that's always there, sitting at the back of your throat. Gerard absently runs his tongue over his gums out of habit. His own mouth only tastes like stale cigarettes.

Humming over his hot drink Mikey seems content for the moment. He managed to sleep for a few hours last night and a little sleepiness is still clinging to him like pillow creases, softening him around the edges. The way he's fidgeting tells Gerard that it's not a state that is going to last much longer. Sighing he leans back and sips his coffee.

~

To Frank five dollars is a lot of money and he’s unsure how to spend it. For five bucks he could get food for Zero and something for himself from the McDonald's dollar menu. Then again, in a few hours the soup kitchen opens and Frank can get food there for free. No need to waste money. But maybe, maybe he'll indulge himself and buy a Snickers.

"We gonna go get you dinner a little later, all right?" Frank asks, smiling when Zero looks up at him with wide eyes before he puts his head back down on his paws and sighs deeply. Frank laughs and pats the dog's head.

"I know, buddy. Your life, so hard."

They sit for a while, Zero dozing and Frank watching people passing by with detachment. It feels like he's separated from the world by an invisible wall. Only a few people stop to put change into Frank's cup. He doesn’t have to look to know that it’s only nickels and pennies in there.

The back of his throat keeps itching and Frank hopes against hope that it's a passing sensation. At least it makes the decision what to spend his money on easier. A cup of tea at McDonald's is cheap and will hopefully help his throat.

"All right, let's go." Frank groans as he struggles to his feet, stretching his aching limbs. Zero is already dancing around his feet, but try as he might, Frank can't share his excitement at the prospect of a walk. He just wants to sleep.

Frank winds Zero's leash around his wrist a few more times and after he's stored the blanket and water bottle away behind a dumpster he slowly walks down the street, head down and shoulders pulled up.

There're too many people in the streets, a lot of school kids that are loud and point their fingers. Frank has given up on snapping at them a long time ago. He just quickens his steps, thinking about taking his tea to a quiet place where he can enjoy its warmth of without being bothered by anyone. It'll be beautiful.

Small groups of people are huddled together outside McDonald's and Frank stops, wrinkling his nose. He doesn't want to leave Zero out here with all of them. Frank knows he's being overly paranoid, but he's not going to take any chances.

"Hi."

Frank moves his head so rapidly that he thinks he's pulled a muscle. He's not used to anyone speaking to him, unless it’s to threaten him. Or possibly rob him. But nobody is going to rob him right in front of McDonald's with a ton of people around right?

"Hey," Frank replies faintly when he recognizes the guy from this morning. He's leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of jeans so tight Frank can see the outline of his fingers. He's fidgety, eyes darting from Frank to the street corner and back to Frank.

"Getting some food?" Again, Frank adds meanly in his mind.

"Nah," the guy shakes his head. "Just waiting for someone," he shrugs and scratches the bridge of his nose. "You?"

The way he's looking at Frank is unnerving. It's like he's being dissected and he pointedly doesn’t think about the fact that he's about to spend money he only got because the guy pitied him.

"Yeah. Just. . ." He holds up Zero's leash. The dogs been sitting at his feet, watching the exchange like a tennis match. Apparently he decides that this is his cue and yaps, bouncing over to sniff the guy's boots.

"Oh." The man looks down at the dog and his eyes soften a little. "I can. . . I can watch him if you want?"

He seems sincere, but Frank's encountered enough liars in his time.

"Thanks, but I'd rather, you know." He shrugs and looks away. It's stupid, he shouldn't give a flying fuck about what this guy thinks, but somehow he does.

"Sure, I get it." He doesn't sound angry, which surprises Frank. Usually people get upset when you distrust them.

"I could go inside for you though?"

Frank dares to look at the guy again. He got the five bucks from him earlier, so it's unlikely that he's going to steal it back.

"Uh, sure. If you don't mind, ah-"

"Mikey," The guy supplies.

"Mikey," Frank nods and transfers Zero's leash to his other hand, so he can hold the right one out to Mikey. "I'm Frank."

Mikey considers his hand for a few seconds before he reaches out. As far as handshakes go it's a weak one; Mikey's palm is clammy and his grip unsure.

"And this is Zero," Frank nods at the dog who's still sniffing Mikey's boot. Mikey looks down as well and actually smiles. But his expression drops back into a blank mask so quickly that Frank isn't sure if it was a trick of his mind.

"Should I get you something then?"

Frank nods and fumbles the crumpled bill out of his pocket. "Tea, please."

Mikey takes the money and says "Good choice," before he turns and enters the restaurant.

Frank bites his bottom lip and bounces on the balls of his feet. There is no reason to be anxious, it's not like Mikey is going to run away through the back door. Yet with each passing minute he gets more restless.

In Frank’s nervous state it seems to take ages until Mikey comes back, but when he does he hands Frank a paper cup and a fistful of change.

"Uh. . . thanks." The coins are slightly warm against Frank's palm and he stuffs them into the pocket of his jeans without counting.

Mikey shrugs casually, like he's running McDonald's errands for people all the time.

Before Frank can say anything else the redhead from the morning comes up to them, slightly out of breath and glancing between Frank and Mikey suspiciously.

"Hey." It comes out more like an inquiry than a greeting.

"Hi," Frank mumbles, already taking a step back and tugging on Zero's leash, trying to keep him from sniffing the redhead's boots.

"This is Frank," Mikey says and he and the other guy do the freaky eyebrow communication again they did earlier this morning. Whatever Mikey's eyebrows say must work because the redhead's stance relaxes.

"Hey Frank," he repeats, sounding friendlier this time.

Frank's lips twitch into a brief smile and he wiggles his fingers in an awkward wave. "Thanks again, for," he lifts the cup. "I'll better get going. I'll, uh, see you around."

Before the situation can get anymore awkward Frank turns and walks away.

~

Gerard doesn't say anything but Mikey’s skin prickles under his brother’s gaze.

"He couldn't go inside with the dog," he points out sullenly. At times Gerard's overly protective.

"Sure. All comes down to the dog, huh?" Gerard sighs. Mikey ignores his comment and rolls a piece of lint from his hoodie pocket between his fingers.

"Got everything?" he asks, licking his lips and trying not to fidget.

"Yep," Gerard nods. The twist of his lips betrays his lighthearted reply. It makes Mikey feel bad, bringing back the guilt that never leaves. It isn't fair of him to put Gerard through this, but Gerard refuses to get Mikey involved. Sure, it keeps things from getting out of hand, but it doesn't mean that Mikey likes it.

"Can I. . ." he trails off and kicks a pebble out of the way. It's a miserable day, damp air crawling through layers of clothing and settling on skin.

"It's a little early," Gerard points out, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "We could go eat something first? And if you take it then, it'll last longer."

This is what it always comes down to. Their days are not measured in hours, minutes, or sunsets and sundowns, but in intervals between Mikey's next hit.

Mikey considers, squeezing the piece of lint between fingers, nail of his index finger digging into his thumb.

"Yeah. Yeah okay." He can manage. He can totally manage, it'll only be half an hour, an hour tops. The tiny smile Gerard gives him is worth feeling like shit for a little longer.

~

"Here. Thought your dog might like something to drink."

Frank looks up to see a guy with an epic fro place a bowl of water in front of Zero. He’s seen him around a few times before, but they’ve never talked.

"Thanks man, appreciate it. So does Zero," Frank grins when his dogs starts to drink the water noisily and messily. "You're Ray, right?"

"Yeah." Ray doesn't meet Frank's eyes and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "How do you know?"

"Dorothy mentioned a Ray starting a few weeks ago, so I figured it was probably you," Frank explains between two forkfuls of mushroom risotto.

"I'm Frank." It only earns him a slightly uncomfortable smile from Ray.

"You like working here?" Frank doesn't know why, but some people make him want to talk. His mom used to make fun of him for it, telling stories of Frank as a kid, chatting up people on the bus and telling them about the kind of guitar he wanted and the chords he had learnt.

"It's good, yeah. Just volunteering for a few hours a week," Ray replies, head tilted to the side as he scratches his shoulder.

"Wow, nice thing to do." Frank tries not to feel inferior. Sometimes it's difficult, talking to the people at the soup kitchen. They're nice but something always comes up that makes Frank aware that they belong to different classes. 'Noble volunteer' ranks way higher than ‘hobo’.

Ray shrugs and takes a step back. "Enjoy your meal."

"Thanks." Frank focuses on his food, looking for the secrets of life in a bowl of risotto. Of course Ray doesn’t want to hang out with someone like him; Frank needs to fucking get over himself.

Frank stays at the soup kitchen for as long as possible, basking in the warmth of the room and listening to Dorothy telling him about her son while she cleans up.

"- his dad got him a guitar for his birthday. He loves it, but I'm seriously considering investing in some ear-plugs," Dorothy laughs, drying a pan and putting it away. Frank's grin is wistful as he remembers getting his very first guitar and playing it all day long.

"He'll be a real rockstar soon."

"Oh dear, I sure hope not," Dorothy laughs, wiping down the counter. "Ray's giving him lessons. He's such a nice boy. Damian adores him as well, though they do play the most obscure songs. Something by a band called Metallic Maidens or something," she shrugs and Frank tries really hard not to crack up. "It's not my kind of music, you see, but Damian enjoys it and he's getting better, so whatever Ray does must be working."

"It's better if you start by learning songs that you like. It's more fun than just practicing random chords and all." Frank nods, ignoring the way his fingers itch. He can't feel calluses anymore when he rubs his thumb and middle-finger together.

Dorothy finishes cleaning up and tells Frank that she'll be right back, vanishing in the staff room. Frank zips his jacket back up and calls Zero over. The dog's been sleeping under one of the benches and looks less than thrilled as he trots over, glaring at Franks sleepily.

Frank coughs into his hand and tries not to shiver just thinking about the cold outside. It's going to be a long night and he can feel his nose starting to run. Maybe he'll spend another dollar on a cup of tea. Dorothy comes back winding a scarf around her neck and giving Frank a tired smile.

" Tomorrow is pizza day, you'll come and stop by, yes?"

"Wouldn't miss it for a thing," Frank smiles and takes Zero's leash, stepping outside and pulling his shoulders up higher immediately, trying to expose as little of himself to the cold as possible. Dorothy locks the front door before she turns.

"Good night, Frankie. Take care of yourself."

"Will do. See you tomorrow." Frank wiggles his fingers in a wave before he turns and walks down the street. It's fucking cold and he has no idea where to sleep tonight. It'll be freezing everywhere; hiding out in a back alley seems like the best option. At least he's going to be protected from the wind there. Zero's claws click against the pavement as he trots next to Frank. Neither of them looks up as a siren howls in the distance.

~

Gerard hates nothing more than the wait, the minutes that drag on and on until he's ready to crawl out of his skin. He always tries to score a double gig with Mikey, but it rarely works. The people who come to this part of town aren’t willing to spend a lot of money.

He also knows that Mikey is perfectly capable of looking after himself, but Gerard can't help it. He's the older brother, he's supposed to be the responsible one, the one to keep Mikey safe. Hell, back when he was five Gerard had solemnly sworn to their mom that he was going to protect Mikey, always.

It had been so much easier to protect Mikey from invisible dragons than it is protecting him from the world. Gerard has failed on all accounts. Instead of keeping Mikey safe he's landed him on the streets, hooking to finance an addiction that’s Gerard's fault in the first place. He deserves an award for shittiest brother in the universe.

The next drag of his cigarette tastes stale. The guilt is always there, but sometimes, in the lonely moments it gets overwhelming, when Gerard's got too much time to think, or when Mikey's eyes are wide with greed for another hit.

A silver Audi A3 pulls up and Gerard takes another quick drag before he flicks the cigarette butt to the ground. He's tempted to push away from the wall and stalk over, but that's not good street manners. Instead he stays rooted to the spot, his eyes glued to the car. What is it taking so long?

Eventually the door opens and Mikey stumbles out into the night, giving a quick wave to the person in the driver's seat.

They avoid eye-contact and Mikey casually walks over as the car drives away. Once it's turned a corner he leans in and presses a quick kiss to Gerard's lips as way of reassurance.

Mikey's lips are warm and Gerard doesn't think about the fact that he doesn't taste quite like Mikey.

"All right?"

Mikey nods, relaxing when Gerard wraps an arm around his waist.

"Yeah, pretty standard," Mikey mumbles. He's warm and relaxed against Gerard and just for a second Gerard wistfully thinks that he could feel the same. He could give in, let white, innocent powder take all his worries away.

Mikey is also a reminder why Gerard needs to stay sober. He’s going to be a good brother this time.

"'s late. Wanna get food?"

Mikey nods and bumps the cold tip of his nose against Gerard's neck before he pulls back.
They hold hands all the way to the diner. It's one way of finding comfort.

Inside the light is too bright and Gerard closes his eyes for a few seconds. Dawn's breaking and the diner’s empty except for a tired waitress and a girl sitting in a corner, counting money. Gerard's seen her around before; he thinks she works at the stripclub around the corner.

Gerard and Mikey slide into a corner booth, the cheap PVC rubbing against their jeans. Gerard grabs one of the sticky menus and looks through it, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Pancakes or waffles?"

Mikey shrugs. He doesn't care much for food and most days Gerard has to remind him to eat, occasionally even force him.

The waitress comes over, her steps heavy and tired. Strands of mousy-brown hair are escaping from her ponytail, falling into eyes with heavy bags underneath them. Her make-up is caked and creased in the corners of her eyes. Her smile is strained.

"Good morning. My name's Emma. What can I get you?"

"Two coffees and one breakfast special, please." Gerard closes the menu again and gives her a brief smile as she jots their order down. At her raised eyebrow he shakes his head. They'll share the food. Mikey never eats much and they don’t have money to waste on food that won’t be eaten.

"Coming right up, boys."

Gerard watches her go, trying to imagine what her story is. Maybe a single mom, working two jobs to try and cope. Or maybe once her shift is finished, she goes back to a home where husband and child are waiting for her. Or maybe she goes back to a tiny, cockroach-infested flat, haunted by the ghosts of the past. Maybe her children are grown up and gone already, calling her once in a while.

"Gerard." Mikey's voice pulls Gerard out of his musings. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Gerard looks evenly at Mikey, hoping against hope that for once the sentence doesn't carry any additional meaning. Mikey stares back at him, eyes wide. His feet are bouncing underneath the table, bumping against Gerard's every so often.

"Okay," Gerard finally replies. It comes out like a sigh. Emma has her back turned to them, pouring two cups of coffee, and the girl in the corner won't care. Gerard bends down and pretends to adjust his boots anyway, paranoia never leaving him.
The small plastic sachet molds to his palm as he curls his fingers into a fist, sitting back up.
Mikey is already half-standing, taking Gerard's hand. Gerard presses the sachet into Mikey's palm and his brother leans in for a kiss. It's a fluid, practiced transaction.

"Be right back." Mikey gives Gerard a tiny smile that Gerard forces himself to return.
He watches Mikey go, a familiar feeling of dread curling in his stomach. Emma comes back to their table and puts two steaming mugs of coffee down. "Your food's gonna be right up and you just let me know if you want a refill."

Looking up at her Gerard tries to focus on her story, tries to map out her face so he can draw it later. Anything to distract him from what's going on in the bathroom.

"Thank you." It's heartfelt when he says it and Emma's smile is less strained this time.

~

"Hey, you need a hand?"

Ray is struggling with two stuffed garbage bags, trying to heft them into the container by the side door of the soup kitchen. Putting Zero’s leash down on the ground Frank puts his foot down on it to make sure his dog doesn’t run away again. Together Frank and Ray manage to push the bags into the container.

"Thanks," Ray pants, brushing a strand of curly hair away from his forehead. He's looking a little frazzled today.

"Stressful day?"

"Kinda. Just a long shift at work."

Frank isn't sure if he's projecting something on Ray or if he really says it with condemnation, like Frank's got no idea what it means to work and choose to live on the streets because it's a fucking holiday.

"Ah. Sucks, man," Frank's trying really hard not to be bitter, but there's a slight edge to his voice. Ray seems oblivious to it and leans against the brick wall, getting a pack of cigarettes and lighter out of the pocket of his jeans. With a mechanic click the lighter flickers to life.

Frank tries not to stare as Ray takes a drag. He hasn't had a cigarette in ages.

Zero whines at the lack of attention and buts his nose against Frank's leg. Tearing his eyes away from the gleaming cigarette Frank shushes the dog, which earns him a glare before Zero walks in a circle twice and curls up with a sigh.

"You. . . want one?"

Ray's holding the pack of cigarettes out to Frank and all bitterness Frank might've felt goes flying out of the window, replaced by adoration. Ray is a saint.

"Fuck, yes. Thanks."

The tips of Frank's fingers are numb because it's fucking cold and he's only got fingerless gloves, so it takes a few attempts until he manages to pull one of the cigarettes from the pack. Putting it between his lips he leans in when Ray holds up the lighter.

The first inhale is wonderful and Frank actually moans as he exhales because fuck, this, this is so good. He doesn't even care that Ray is watching him like he's contemplating if Frank's a crazy person.

After a few seconds the silence between them starts to get uncomfortable.

"Dorothy told me you play guitar," Frank says after his next exhale, looking at Ray as he rubs Zero's leash between thumb and forefinger.

Ray nods. He still seems reluctant to share any kind of information with Frank, as if Frank is going to run with it and rob his apartment.

"Cool, me too. Well, I used to, anyway." Frank shrugs and looks down at the dirty concrete.

"I'm. . . sorry." Ray seems out of his depth, so Frank waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Never mind. What kind of stuff do you play?"

Twenty minutes later Dorothy sticks her head out of the door and Frank and Ray are still in a heated discussion about punk shows in Jersey they've both been to and the quality of the bands' guitarists.

"Boys, get inside, it's freezing," she chides, rolling her eyes. "Frank, there's a blueberry muffin with your name on it, but if you don't want it. . ."

Frank takes a last, hasty drag from the second cigarette Ray handed him without a word and flicks the butt to the ground. "I do want it!" He doesn't care what he sounds like. It's a blueberry muffin.

"Thought so. Shoo, inside with you," Dorothy waves them in and Frank shuffles through the kitchen to the dining area, picking Zero up when he gets far too interested in everything in the kitchen, straining against his leash.

"I'll bring your food right out, honey. You just go and sit down," Dorothy smiles at him and Frank's suddenly got a knot in his throat that makes swallowing difficult. He really misses his mom.

"Thanks. 't was good talking to you, Ray," he adds and walks over to an empty table, sitting down and curling his upper body over Zero, burrowing his nose in the dog's fur. Zero seems to understand Frank's need for comfort and stops squirming, snuggling into Frank’s chest.

It's ridiculous. His mom has been dead for two years and Frank is fine.

"We're just fine, right?" he mumbles and Zero licks his hand.

~

Gerard is always reluctant to let Mikey wander off on his own, but there is no way Mikey is sticking around while Gerard pervs over art supplies he can't afford. He'd rather go and perv over CDs he can't afford.

They spent all morning in Starbucks, Gerard napping while Mikey watched people passing by outside. He wasn't tired, still isn't, his mind jumping from one subject to the next, eyes latching onto colourful window displays before he's immediately distracted by something else.
It's why he stumbles, eyes focused on a flashy ad for a new musical on the side of a bus, and barely manages to regain his balance in time.

"Zero!"

Something squeezes between his feet and Mikey blinks down owlishly. The little dog from a few days before is there again, wagging his tail so it thumps against Mikey's leg and circling his feet, getting Mikey all wrapped up in the leash.

"Zero, what the fuck?"

And there is Frank again, scrambling to his feet and trying to untangle himself from a blanket. When he finally succeeds he drops the blanket to the floor with a frustrated noise before he looks up at Mikey. His eyes are bloodshot and the tip of his nose an angry red.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he says, flailing a little before he drops to his knees in front of Mikey and grabs the dog's collar, then starts untangling the leash from Mikey's legs. Mikey only feels slightly ridiculous.

"Really, I'm sorry." Frank gets back to his feet, Zero cradled in his arms. The dog is still wagging his tail happily.

"Don't worry about it," Mikey says. Usually he's annoyed when people so much as bump into him, skittish around everyone who isn't Gerard, but he isn't annoyed to see Frank. Or Zero.
Reaching out Mikey carefully scratches behind Zero's ears. The dog pushes into the touch before he squirms and licks Mikey's fingers. Mikey's lips twitch into a grin.

"He likes you," Frank says, his own smile tentative and shy.

Mikey doesn't reply, but when Zero starts squirming again he reaches out and after raising a questioning eyebrow at Frank, takes Zero. He doesn't miss the way Frank keeps a hold of the leash.

Zero smells like wet dog and tries to crawl on Mikey's shoulder, licking his ear.

"Hey you," Mikey mumbles. As a kid he always wanted a dog, but never got one because their dad was allergic. As soon as the thought crosses his mind he pushes it away because it was in another time and another place and there is no use dwelling on it.

Zero's nose is wet against Mikey's neck and when Mikey looks up Frank is watching them like he's either going to make that terrible "awwww" sound or stomp his feet in jealousy.

"Usually he doesn't take to other people like that," he explains when he catches Mikey's eye with a sheepish smile. "And. . . that's kinda an understatement. He doesn't like people. At all."
Mikey holds Zero a little tighter. He can relate.

"We're not people," he says quietly, avoiding Frank's eyes. Frank doesn't reply and Mikey pets Zero's back for a while longer before he reluctantly hands him back. It's ridiculous, but it was nice, holding a tiny, smelly bundle of warmth and Mikey already misses the weight in his arms.

"Sorry, didn't mean to hold you up." Frank takes his dog back and nudges his nose against Zero's neck.

"You didn't. I . . . I've got nowhere to be," Mikey shrugs.

"Oh." Frank bounces a little on the balls of his feet. It's freezing and Mikey jams his hands into the pockets of his worn coat.

"Where's your," Frank inclines his head.

"My what?"

"You know," Frank shrugs. "Redhead."

"Gerard? Looking at art stuff," Mikey shrugs and pulls his shoulders up a little higher.

"Nice. He an artist?" Frank is casting glances back at his crumpled blanket every now and then, like he's afraid that someone is going to steal it.

"He," the rest of the sentence dies on Mikey's lips and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "Yes." His voice comes out stronger than he wanted, like he needs to prove a point.

"Cool. What's he do? Paintings and stuff?" Frank seems genuinely interested.

"He. . . used to do lots of stuff."

"Oh. Not anymore?"

For a homeless guy Frank is kind of clueless and Mikey wonders just how new he is to still have that kind of naivety.

"Nah. Prostitution pays for lots of stuff, but not art supplies or a studio."

"Oh," Frank blinks, then his eyes widen. "Oh." Mikey's pretty sure he would've flailed if it hadn't been for Zero in his arms.

"I'm sorry."

Frank looks slightly flushed. How he could've missed it, Mikey has no idea. But maybe it's his jaded mind putting a neon sign above his head saying "Whore. Junkie. Trash." Maybe it isn't as obvious to everyone as he thinks it is. Or maybe Frank is too naïve for his own good.

"Nevermind," Mikey shrugs. He's still got some change in the pocket of his hoodie and Mikey idly wraps his fingers around the coins. If he gives them to Frank, is he going to come across like a complete asshole? He knows he wouldn't want any pity from Frank.

"Want a cigarette?" Mikey ends up asking instead, holding a battered pack out to Frank. Frank’s eyes flicker down before meeting Mikey's again.

"Sure. Thanks. Wanna sit down?" He asks in return. It does feel a little awkward, standing in the middle of the street like that, so Mikey nods and shuffles after Frank, who sits down against the wall, crosses his legs and sets Zero down in his lap. The dog seems ready to jump and run around again, but when Frank firmly puts his hand on his back Zero eventually lies down.

Frank fusses with the blanket, putting it so that Zero is warm and protected from the wind, but apparently leaving a little for Mikey as well. It's ridiculous, but also kind of nice.

Mikey sits down and hunches his shoulders up against the cold, tugging his hood up over his hair. He hands the cigarettes to Frank as he tries to arrange the blanket over his legs. Mikey has to sit close to Frank, elbows pressed against each other and legs bumping together, but the blanket is soft and worn and warm. Zero peeks out from under it at Mikey, panting happily.

"I feel so betrayed," Frank mutters, glancing down at Zero and pulling an overly dramatic face, cigarette already hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Mikey smiles and pets Zero's head while Frank lights the cigarette.

"Thanks," Frank says after he's taken a drag and hands Mikey the pack back. Mikey looks at it for a split second before he shrugs and shakes his head. "Keep it. I'll bum some off Gerard. Don't smoke much anyway."

"What? Seriously?" Frank raises his eyebrows and looks ready to protest, but then he apparently swallows down his pride and nods, putting the cigarettes and lighter into the pocket of his shabby coat.

"Thanks," it sounds defeated and Mikey can relate. He hates accepting things from other people. It always feels like charity.

They sit in silence while Frank smokes. A group of primary school kids walk by, all in pairs, holding hands and wearing bright vests and tiny backpacks. Mikey spots one with a Batman design. The children stare at them curiously while the teachers look disdainful, shuffling them along quickly, away from Mikey and Frank, who've got no places in brightly colored, child-friendly worlds.

Frank smokes the cigarette down to the filter before he stubs it out on the pavement. Gerard is going to worry and Mikey should really go and meet him at the comic book store, but he doesn't want to move. It's strangely comfortable on the ground, warm under the blanket, and Frank isn't one of the people who constantly need to fill silence with annoying ramblings.

Mikey flinches when Zero snores and Frank giggles. It's high-pitched and should be completely ridiculous.

"Your dog is ridiculous," is what Mikey says instead.

Frank grins at him, and scratches behind Zero's ears, eliciting another snore. Mikey snorts and shakes his head. Both of them are ridiculous, utterly ridiculous and Mikey shouldn't feel drawn to them.

"Watcha up to all day then?" Frank asks, head leaned back against the brick wall. No matter how hard he tries, Mikey can't find anything but curiosity in Frank's voice.

"Nothing special," he scrunches up his nose and looks up at the sky. It looks like it is going to rain. "Just trying to pass the time."

"You got no place to stay?" Frank shifts a little, trying to get more comfortable without jostling Zero.

Mikey shakes his head and picks at the skin around his thumb. It's a long story and he doesn't feel comfortable enough around Frank to tell it. "Sometimes we stay at a motel."

"Ah," Frank nods. Maybe Mikey can talk Gerard into letting Frank stay sometime. Gerard, fuck. He'll be really pissed.

"Sorry, gotta go now." Mikey untangles himself from the blanket and scrambles to his feet. Standing awkwardly he pushes strands of hair away from his forehead, looking down at Frank.

"I'll. . . see you around?"

"Sure," Frank nods and his smile only cracks a little around the edges. "You know where to find me. Thanks again for the cigarettes, and for, you know," he shrugs and scratches the bridge of his nose. "The company."

"Sure," Mikey replies before he turns and walks down the street, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, not looking back.

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