A Lonely Avenue

[zmphony]

Title:A Lonely Avenue (part eight)
Author: zmphony
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating/Warning: R, Frerard vampire AU.
Disclaimer:I lost my underwear.
Summary: "You need a priest, man."

part one | part two | part three | part four |
part five | part six | part seven |

"Dude I can't believe you're gonna ditch on the show tonight," Came the scratchy, static voice of Hambone from the end of the line, "It's gonna be crazy."

"Yeah I know," Frank said, one hand clutching the phone and the other clutching his pillow as if it was life support, "I think someone spiked my drink or some shit like that, cuz' i've been having these head aches, y'know?"

His mom thought he was sick too. Frank had managed to get her to believe him as well, which would usually be a miracle, but with Frank's face still the same shade of sickly pale that he'd had when he left the Wild Cat the previous night and staggered home like the drunk that he was, he was pretty sure he could pull off about two hundred sick days from school, if he wanted to. His mom seemed that convinced, anyways, when she walked into his room this morning to see him shriveled up under his sheets like a leper, curled and clinging to his pillow with a sweat cold enough to make the windows perspire.

Of course, Frank wasn't trying to play hookey from school. He wasn't trying to play hookey from Hambone, either. He would have gladly gone with Hambone to see The Strokes tonight, if it wasn't for the fat chance of last night repeating all over again, except maybe with this time Frank not making it back alive. If it wasn't for that, Frank probably would've been at school right now, instead of hiding in his room like a little girl with his windows locked shut, his walls decorated with crosses and rosaries and even a few sharpened pieces of wood hidden under his blankets, along with the classic links of garlic hung up over his windows and doors, making his room smell like an italian pizza kitchen. Not that it bothered him. He loved pizza, anyways.

"Take some advil then." Hambone said, apathetically.

"I already did, genious," Frank said, glaring at the phone. Hambone sighed, the disappointment etching every bit of his tone.

"You need a priest, man," He said, and Frank rolled his eyes, even though he knew Hambone couldn't see this gesture, "Later."

"Later." He signed off, his head falling back against his pillow when he heard the click sound that meant he'd hung up. He wasn't lying to Hambone, necessarily. He was pretty sick, just not legitally sick. Like, not the kind of sick that you could cure with medication.

His head was swimming by the time he woke up this morning, all the moments from last night making it feel like a catastrophic goldfish bowl. He was traumatized. He hadn't taken a step out of his room that whole day (except to get the rosary from his mom's room--she was a ex-nun.

He thought it would be useful, even though he didn't know how to use it at all). It was now three o' clock, and even though it was broad daylight out, he just couldn't bring himself to step outside for a second. He kept remembering everything from the night before, from the moment Gerard's hat fell to the ground to when he winked and than disappeared. His mind was blown out of sanity, and the fear that kept him strapped to his sheets felt like a straight jacket. He felt like a mouse, huddled up in his little mouse hole as if it was a bomb shelter, like the sheets that concealed him were a sheild to the house next to his own, and to the man who dwelled in it.

The sun took it's time as it crawled beneath the horizon, and Frank watched from where he lay in his bed as the night came.

He didn't dare to go to his window and check if Gerard was going out tonight-in fact, he didn't even want to know if he was, so he simply shut the curtains and went to bed instead, clutching his guitar and his sharpest stake like a child with a teddy bear as he fell asleep.

But he couldn't even sleep without the vampire charming his slumber, gracing him with dreams that felt like flash backs to last night. His mind seemed reel back in the memory of the vampire's breath on his neck, the fingers glazing over his trembling lips, the wink that he gave him before he rushed off into the night, and the words that crashed like waves into his ears, the ones that he let seep into his brain so they could take root and grow to bloom in his mind like a flower garden, and although he kept telling himself that Gerard only said what he did so he could have access to his neck, he couldn't help but think about how those words made him feel, how those beautiful words made his whole body quiver with fear--but not with fear of the creature that gripped him, but fear of how even if he could break away from the creature's grip, he wouldn't want to. It like every second in Gerard's arms was heaven, a guilty, shameful, wrong--but right kind of heaven. It scared him.

How could he make heaven feel so wrong? He couldn't help thinking.

He woke up many times in the middle of the night, and ended up being wide awake just as dawn was cracking, before his mom even came home from work, tormented by that night with the vampire. The next morning he decided to do something. He decided that he couldn't stay cowering in his room any longer, surviving on order-in pizza and coke while watching the sun rise and fall for entertainment. He needed to take some action. But what could he do?

He looked over at the clock. He had three hours before sunset, but he didn't know who could go to for help. Well really, who would believe him? None the less, he kept thinking, then suddenly, his brain kind of snapped with the answer.

"...You need a priest, man..."

Which is exactly how Frank found himself in the second confessional's booth in the St. Matthew's catholic church, on the corner of 1st and Maple Avenue.
His mom used to take him there when he was little, but when his dad left they stopped coming. Him and Hambone and the rest of the band would come here sometmes too, mainly just to hassle the priests in the confession booths, cracking jokes about how the altar boys were last night and things like that. The priest--Father Adrian, he believed it was, had just stepped in, breaking the stone cold silence that Frank had been sitting in for the past fifteen minutes.

"What has brought you here today, child?" A voice came from the other side of screen that divided the booth in two.

Frank cleared his throat before speaking, not really knowing what exactly to say, but he tried anyways.

"Well," He started, awkwardly, "I. Uh. I kinda sinned."

"Uh-huh," The priest said, drawing out the words skeptically, "And when was your last confession?"

"Um. Never?"

The priest made a disapproving noise, like kind Frank's doctor makes when he figures out that it was all the twizzlers he ate that made him puke last night.

"So for what reason have you come to me, child?"

"I," Frank scratched the back of his neck shyly, "Well it's uh, it's actually this thing with my new neighbor. . ."

The priest was quite, expectant, but when Frank didn't continue, he asked, "And do you have feelings of the flesh for this neighbor?"

"Well no--I mean yes," Frank said, ignoring the blush that was creeping up his back and cheeks,
"But that's not what's bothering me about him."

"About him?"

"Y-yeah," He explained, knowing fully what he was questioning, "I'm uh, I'm gay. But that's not the problem."

"It isn't?"

Frank rolled his eyes, thankful the priest couldn't see, "No, it's not. But that's not why I came here."

The priest made a sort of 'hmph' noise, then said, "Well what did you come here for then?"

"I. . .well I don't know exactly how to say this," He began, clearing his throat again, for lack of words, then said, "But my neighbor is a vampire."

It was quiet, only the sound of Frank's soft breathing. The priest was frowning, as if someone had put a bad taste in his mouth.

"You mean, in spiritual ways?" He asked, the heavy wrinkles hanging lazily on his brow now furrowing into deep lines on his forehead.

"No, I mean literally." Frank replied, his tone serious. This time the priest cleared his throat.

"Child," He said, leaning forward on his seat, "You mean to say that your neighbor is under a demonic possession, of some sort?"

"Yeah-well, yes and no," Frank said, thoughtfully, "Like, he sucks people's blood. That kind of demonic possession, or whatever."

The priest was silent again, and in all his 72 years of living, 50 of those as a priest, he'd thought he'd heard it all. It came to be he was sorely mistaken.

"Is your er, neighbor, insane?" He asked, trying hard to keep his composure.

Frank opened his mouth to say something first, angrily, then he thought about the question.
"I don't know..." He ended up saying.

"Then there's your problem."

"Yeah but, but that's not why I came here." Frank said, weakly, looking down.

"Well for pity's sake child, why did you come here?" The priest asked, frustrated but not angry. It took Frank a few seconds to respond, in a quite, shy tone.

"I think. . .I think I'm falling for him."

The priest sat in his seat, his mouth in a flat line as he let the booths fill with silence.
Cuz' really, where can God step into this picture?

"I know it's crazy, but I, I don't know what it is," Frank went on, nervously, "The other night--he found me at the club me and my friends went to, and I just, I haven't been the same since. I haven't left my room for two days, and I've barely slept. I can't stop thinking about him, Father."

"And what happened at this, er, club?" The priest asked, for lack of better questions.

"Well," He said, his tone kind of breezy in the recollection of that night, "He...he kind of..."

". . .yes?" The priest asked, kind of impatiently, but at the same time not patient enough to actually want to hear what the kid had to say.

"He. . ." Frank spoke slowly, as if he was telling the priest a secret, ". . .He said he wanted me."

Silence. Then the priest coughed, as if he was allergic to the awkward atmosphere,
"He, er. Wanted, you?"

"Well he said so," Frank said, his mind falling away from the memory and falling back into reality,
"But I couldn't tell if he really meant it, y'know?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Pschfft, c'mon Father, he's a vampire." Frank retorted, but then his tone got soft again, "But...I dunno, sometimes it just seems like he did."

"Did what?"

Frank looked down, "You know, want me. Like, not for my blood, though. I dunno. He just made it seem like he kinda does. Like me, I mean."

"Like you?"

"Yeah," He said, twiddling with the stray threads hanging around the holes in his jeans, "Like me."

"And do you," The priest said, slowly, "have feelings for this man--"he quickly corrected himself "-vampire, as well?"

Frank stared at the floor, thinking back to those glinting amber eyes, and whether he was under a spell or not, it didn't stop him from saying, "Yeah."

The priest made another 'hmph' noise, more of a declaritive one though, as if he'd found the sin that Frank had been hiding all along.

"I know it's wrong, a-and weird and creepy but I, I don't know what to do," Frank said, his voice slightly panicked, "I mean, I don't know if it's like, some sort of spell or if he's hypnotized me or something really crazy like that, but, he. . .he's all I can think about."

The priest adjusted himself on his seat, feeling very out of place during this time. If was in any priestly state of mind, he would've ended up stopping the boy when he said he was gay and condemned him with a penance of 200 hail mary's and then thrown him out of his church. But he had no power to judge, he only had the power to redeem. Judging was God's job, anyways.

"So," He said, oddly, "You're saying you have feelings for a member of the undead?"

"Yeah," Frank replied, then quickly added, "I think."

"And you say that you think that this creature might have generated feelings for you as well?"

"Yeah, I think."

"Impossible."

"What?" Frank asked, his eyes shooting up to the screen.

"Vampires are cursed beings possessed by demonic spirits," The priest explained, "They have no soul. They only feel the lust for blood."

"They don't have a soul?" Frank asked, dumbly, even though he already knew this, everyone did.

"No," The priest said, flatly, "They are demons, lying with every word that slips their snake-tongues."

Frank looked down again, and he tried to ignore the way his heart just kinda fell then crashed and burned at Father Adrian's words.

"The devil sends out these spirits everyday, child, " The priest went on, "They are nothing but demons reanimating the corpses of the dead, seeking to drain you of your life, your blood, and they will say anything to have it done."

"Oh," Frank said, blankly. He was quiet for a few seconds more, then, he asked, "Is there any way to, like, change them?"

"They are dead," The priest said bluntly, a little loudly, "They have lived their lives and served their gods, whether it be a just one or a evil one, and where their mistakes have landed them in their afterlife is nothing we amongst the living can change, only avoid."

This silenced Frank completely.Then, he suddenly noticed the sun peeking through the low windows of the church, and he glanced over at the clock. Five thirty.

"Shit," He said, completely forgetting his surroundings, "Sorry Father, I gotta go."

"May the Lord be with you, kid." The priest said, as Frank rushed out of the booth, speeding out of the church, then straddling his bike and racing against the sun, as it seemed only a touching distance away from the horizon, and he was still on the other side of town.

By the time his bike skidded onto his front lawn the it was fifteen past six, and he didn't even bother putting it back in the garage before he locked himself in his room again. He looked out the window, at the house next to his. The room he could see into, where he'd witnessed his neighbor's first kill, was much fuller now. With furniture and stuff, he meant. The walls had more canvases and framed paintings hung up, and he squinted to see them. Most of them were sunsets, vibrant, hazy dusks filled with warm colors and lazy moods coming off them. Some had sun rises, too, with the sun staring down at the earth through the bloated clouds, and one had rain pouring down from the clouds, but the sun was still out, shining vividly. Another one had a wedding on it, in a big, cathedral-like church with the sun's rays beaming through the tainted glass windows, filling the aisles and pews with warm glow. One other was a picture of two skeletons, tangled in bed together with the curtains to their window wide open, the morning sun pouring in on the two.

Frank looked up at the sky above the house, only to see that the only thing left of the sun was the pink and orange glaze that melted over the horizon.

*

Something tapped at the window. Frank ignored it the first few times, and just rolled over on his pillow instead, but then the tapping noise striked again.

He sat up, looking around his room strangely. He'd left the tv on, and now some low-budget horror program was playing; the nasally, static sounds of little screams of terror and roars and gurgles from bones snapping and cheap blood pouring filling up his room. He groaned, then got up and turned it off.

The front yard looked exactly as he'd left it, when he looked out the window. His bike was still sprawled out on the grass, a thin trail of dirt raking the green where it skidded to a halt, and hey, he was still in his jeans and shirt, as he'd noticed. Other than that though, nothing was out of place.
The moon was full, and it had a little ring around it (moondodgers, is what his mom called them), which meant it was probably gonna rain tomorrow.

He groaned at that too, before falling into bed again. Then, a few seconds later, something tapped at his window again. This time he went and opened up his window, the little click! sound going off as he unlocked it and yanked it open like a cranky old lady. But nothing was on the lawn, or around it, or anywhere near it. Atleast, not anything living, anyways. He leaned his head out more, looking around the sides of the house, but then, suddenly, something grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him upwards.

He screamed, but then his mouth snapped shut with a grunt when his bottom hit the rough exterior of his roof. His face scrunched up cuz' when his mouth slammed closed his teeth kinda clashed together it felt a little weird.

"You're really tense," A voice said next to him, "Was it always that way, or just when I moved in?"

Frank looked beside him to see none other than the Mr. Way sitting next to him, a cigarette being held tightly between his flushed lips as he spoke. Frank shoved his hand into his pocket feverishly, and pulled out a small aluminum cross, pointing it at the man as if he couldn't speak. Gerard blinked at him.

". . .It's only a roll," He said, cocking an eyebrow at Frank, "You want one?"

He held a small box of cigarettes up to the kid's flimsy cross, looking at him as if he was the undead one. Frank looked from him to the box skeptically, then slowly put his cross back, and gingerly took one of the rolls.

"You look like you need it," Gerard murmured, slipping the box into one of the pockets of his leather jacket and pulling out a small, disposable lighter.

Frank watched as he lit up his cig, staring as the tiny flame made his dark eyes light up like two hazelnut candles. He held out the lighter to Frank when he was done, who leaned into the flame while still staring at him, scared that if he looked anywhere else for a second his neck would be ripped out.

"What are you doing?" He asked, exhaling barely a puff of smoke that he was able to breath in.

"Smoking."

"I know that," Frank said, rolling his eyes, "I meant what are you doing with me on my roof?"

"Talking," He said, breathing out a little fog of nicotine dust, "You've talked before, right?"

"Talking," Frank repeated, looking down at the lawn from where he sat, and his legs that were dangling off the roof had suddenly felt as if butterflies had rushed into them. Frank didn't know whether to be more afraid of the vampire sitting next to him with a cigarette in his mouth or the ten to fifteen feet of air separating him from the ground. And the gravity that came with that air. He began to think of which one would be a more painful death; by heights or by vampire. Then he realized that if he were to chose between the two, in his current predicament, he'd still die, either way. There was absolutely no way of escaping Gerard or avoiding the fall from the roof that came with trying. He looked at the ground again.

He wanted off.

"So one day you want to off me, and now you just wanna talk?" Frank asked, lifting his legs up from where they hung and tucking them underneath him.

"You're interesting." He shrugged, looking strangely at how Frank was scooting away from the edge, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Frank shook his head quickly at him, not exactly sure if Gerard already knew about his fear of heights. Well. He wasn't telling him anyways.

"How come you didn't just come into my room or something?" Frank asked, to change the subject.

"Can't," He said, looking over at him, "You never invited me."

Frank's mouth went kind of ajar, "That rule actually applies?"

Gerard nodded, already almost finished with his cigarette, "Plus, your room smells like shit. You really should do something about that garlic."

"I only put it in there to keep you out," Frank mumbled.

"I'm half-italian." Gerard said, exhaling a breath of smoke and looking at him with a grin, "Garlic doesn't really help in your case."

"Oh," Frank looked down, trying to hide the red that curved at his cheeks, cuz' he kinda felt stupid about the garlic now.

"Don't worry, you're new to this.You'll get the hang of it sooner or later." The vampire said, putting out his cigarette on the roof and flicking it somewhere into the abyss below. Frank watched as it fell, the stream of smoke becoming invisible in the wind that carried it into the darkness of the ground, seeming so far away from where he sat. He began to wonder if Gerard did this on purpose.

"Did you put me up here so I wouldn't be able to run away from you?" He asked, still looking at the ground below, "To trap me?"

"You mean on the roof?" Frank nodded, and Gerard said, "No, actually. . ."

"Don't lie to me," He said, accusingly, "You knew I was afraid of heights. You put me here on purpose, so I couldn't escape."

"No, I didn't." Gerard said, looking off into the street, "Not this time."

Frank looked away, the cigarette that he'd taken out of his mouth and held between his two fingers now so neglected that it was almost fully wasted, so he smushed up the end onto the roof, where Gerard put out his, and tossed it away meekly.

"So why are you here?" He asked, his eyes fixated on him "You can't just want to talk to me."

"I like the view from up here." He said, his eyes staring at the rooftops and streetlights, "Especially at night. You can see the whole neighborhood."

Frank looked to where he was gazing out, as if to try and figure out what he was talking about. Because he saw this neighborhood everyday, and really, it didn't look any more exciting at night than it did in the daytime. But maybe it was different from the vampire's point of view.

"I used to sit on my roof almost every night when I was your age," He went on, still not looking at Frank, "Until the sun came up. I loved it."

"On the roof next door?" Frank asked, and Gerard nodded, "How?"

"I used to live there," He said, "My whole family did, I was raised in that house."

Frank blinked at him, "But I would've noticed you, i've lived here--"

"Ever since you were seven," He said, smiling, "When you were seven I was twenty two."

It was quiet for a few moments, then Frank quietly asked, "How old are you now?"

"Two hundred and fifty."

"Really?" He asked, his eyes widening.
"I was actually just kidding about that," Gerard said, looking over at him with dancing eyes, "I'm twenty seven."

Frank laughed lightly, but it was more forced than anything. He was about to ask him why he moved back, but then he talked again.

"I used to love watching the Jersey sunset from here," He said, his eyes drifting back to the street, letting the silence take over when he was done.

Frank couldn't help but stare at him as he looked off, seeming as if his eyes were taking him back to the world of light and suns and pink clouds. . .he looked mystified. His eyes twinkled so nicely under the moonlight that they seemed to outdo the stars that sparkled above him, and Frank found himself looking out to where his eyes were to see if maybe he could feel the way that Gerard was feeling right now, because for some reason, he really wanted to know.

Gerard was a stranger, when Frank thought about how well he knew him, but they way he was beginning to make Frank feel was becoming stranger.

He looked back to the vampire's face, lost and glinting under the starshine, and he wondered what it would've been like if Gerard never left his home at all.

Would they have known each other? Would he have been going over to Mr.Way's house for visits, instead of Mr.Dunkleberger's house?

"Why did you move?" He caught himself asking, suddenly wondering what made him desert his home. Gerard was quiet, and the twinkle in his eyes seemed to kind of shy away from the amber orbs, and Frank felt a sort of regret for asking when he saw how empty they looked now. He felt as if he interrupted the peace that surrounded Gerard, like an aura and he suddenly wanted to take back his question. His gaze fell away from the sight in front of him and slid over to Frank again, whose eyes were round and full, exploring Gerard's face as if it was a map. He looked from his dark, glowing eyes, to his blushing lips, and for some reason he seemed more close to Frank than he had been when he first pulled him up next to him. Frank couldn't tell if he was afraid of the close proximity, because he could feel all the nerves in his body unsettling like bubbling water, and he was shivering, and it wasn't even cold. He couldn't tell if he was ashivering because of Gerard, or the vampire sitting next to him, or maybe the fact that they were both the same being.

Gerard's eyes were boring into his, and the intense gaze coming from them felt so heavy in Frank's
eyes it made the air feel thin.

"Some decisions aren't made by ourselves," He said, his eyes not straying from Frank's for a second, "Some things we just can't control."

Frank swallowed, because as Gerard spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, he moved closer to Frank. He didn't see how. He was too busy returning the eye contact that he held onto so dearly, the contact that he had been thinking about for two whole days, even in his sleep, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Sometimes there's just nothing you can do to stop things from happening," He went on, his lips moving about three inches away, "Sometimes. . ."

The wind blew against Frank's back, and he trembled, his eyes glancing down at the lips in front of his own, then back up at his warm eyes. His heart was panicking, his mind was panicking, but each in different ways. His heart was racing, reverberating deep inside his chest, and his mind was screaming at him with all it's logic, but Frank felt that his mind could go to Hell with all it's logic if he could just satisfy his heart a little while longer.

He was scared, he could tell by the way he kept shaking, the way his breath was coming out in short bursts and he couldn't control himself.

"Sometimes. . ." Gerard whispered, his nose grazing Frank's own, and it made him shiver again, "You're just...helpless."

Frank's eyes looked up from staring at his lips, and he swallowed, and before he even blinked, Gerard's lips pressed against his own. His breath hitched, then, when he felt the soft, warm lips working slowly against his, he exhaled, his eyelids falling limply closed. Every panicking thought trafficking in his mind just kind of crashed into one another, until his brain just shut itself off. His heart felt like it was flying. Everything just felt so right then, like the world had stopped, and there were no more troubles. It was. . .perfect.
Then, everything came spinning back into reality, and he realized--Gerard was kissing him.
His eyes shot open again. All the memories of the night at the Wild Cat and the words of Father Adrian came flooding back into his mind, and suddenly his brain turned into a flashing red siren that screamed for him to get away. He broke away from the vampire in a panic, and he noticed that Gerard's eyes were closed too.

But they opened and looked at Frank, at first confused, then he saw the fear that had taken over his eyes, and his expression softened.

"Frank, I--"

"D-don't say anything," He said, his breath unstable, impulsively backing away from Gerard.

"Frank, I know what you're thinking, but I wasn't--" He tried to say, moving towards him, but it only made Frank back away even more.

"Yes you were," Frank said, his voice cracking, "You're a vampire, of course you were, that's why you came here,"

Gerard's eyes suddenly widened, "Wait, Frank, stop-"

"No," He cried, and his seventeen year old heart felt like it was about to crumble. The more Gerard moved towards him, the faster Frank scooted away, and suddenly-"Frank!"-the two hands that were dragging him away from the vampire slipped off the side of the roof, and before he could pull himself away, he was falling. A scream tore out of his throat, and he could see Gerard looking off the side of the roof after him, then, he suddenly disapppeared, and just as he felt that every bone in his spine was about to meet the cold hard ground, they instead met a pair of arms, like a safety net.

Frank unclenched the eyes that he'd squeezed shut, only to find two amber ones above him, the ones he couldn't escape from, even when he wanted to.

At first his heart began to flutter again, like it did right before Gerard kissed him, but then he remembered the fear that caused him to fall off the roof, and he scrambled out of his arms in a flurry, and ran towards the front door.

"Frank, wait," Gerard said, grabbing his wrist pleadingly. Frank shook his head frantically, not daring to look back at him, and pulled himself away from the vampire and scurried up to the front door. He stopped there though, his hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at him.

He stood in the middle of his lawn, looking after Frank, his eyes glossy and twinkling as he stared him. They looked like crystals, and it seemed like if they got any glossier than they already were so they would shatter and break. Swallowing, he turned and opened the door, running into his room and locking every door behind him. Then, he looked out the window again. Gone.

He looked away from it, and it wasn't until after he closed the window that he noticed the tear running down his cheek.

*

"What were you thinking?" Mikey asked, rubbing his temples, his voice quiet but frustrated.

"I wasn't thinking." Gerard replied, not looking at his brother, and focusing rather on the cracked kitchen tiles.

"She's gonna find out, Gee," He said, "Sooner or later, she will find out."

"I know."

"You can't keep going on like this," He went on, "You're risking that kid's life. And ours."

"I know."

"Well what are you gonna do about it?" Mikey asked, his voice sounding more like a hiss than anything. Gerard's gaze snapped over at him, his eyes dark and angry, but more afraid than anything else. Mikey knew he was afraid. Fear stood out on Gerard's face like a blemish, and he would've been sympathetic towards his brother, if he wasn't so afraid too.

"I. . .I don't know." He said, looking down again, "I can't do anything."

"Yes you can, you know you can," Mikey said, hating how he sounded, "And you know what you can do, or what you were supposed to do."

"I couldn't, Mikey," Gerard said loudly, his eyes shooting back up at him, "God knows I tried to but I just can't,"

Mikey's eyes fell to the white table cloth that he rested his elbows on, silent. Gerard swallowed, looking away.

"You think I could actually make him live in the same hell that I do?"
The younger brother looked up at him, trying to find words to say, but finding himself mute. Gerard looked over at him, his dark eyes glistening. It was quiet in the room, only the ticking of clocks that decked that halls keeping the atmosphere from simply dropping to the ground and evaporating.

The older of the two sat remembering the soft, gentle, mossy green eyes that stared into his own dark, animalistic, monster-- eyes, and the bashful pink lips that trembled at his every touch, and his smooth, immaculate skin, and how he could ever turn that innocence into the horror such as himself. He remembered listening to the boy's heart speed up and slow down whenever he moved closer to him, and his shaky, uncontrolled breath, how cruel he was for taking it away when he kissed him, or how cruel the boy was for making him be this way.

Mikey noticed his brother, noticed his eyes swell up with that hidden fear, that hidden weakness hiding behind that blank countenance, and something inside him seemed to harden and sink to his stomach. He thought about his words, and he began to feel guilty for asking his brother such a thing. But maybe he was just scared. Scared of his brother being taken away from him again, scared of losing the last special person in his life, because he knew, he had nobody else. Gerard was the only being left on this Earth that cared for him, the only friend he had left, and maybe he clung too desperately to that.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" He asked, his eyes stuck to the table cloth, only looking to up to return his brother's broken gaze.

But Gerard didn't have to tell Mikey the truth in order for him to know the answer to that. He knew, it made his heart fall like a sunken ship.

"Vampires can't love, Mikey."