Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Gerard notices after he walks into the classroom is that Theo isn’t sitting at the piano. The second is that Ray is there instead, which in and of itself must mean bad news since the headmaster usually avoids venturing into the drama class like his life would be endangered if he did. The third thing is the expression Ray is wearing, and that seals the deal. Something happened, and whatever it is, he won’t like it. Typical goddamn Tuesday.

“Gee, hey.”

“Don’t tell me,” Gerard lifts his hand, putting on the most overexaggerated pondering face he can muster. He doesn’t teach drama for nothing. “Funding got cut again? No, wait, that happened last month. The stage company canceled our deal? Kids don’t want to do this anymore? Parents are angry at me for another bullshit reason that we will prove to be incorrect, but it won’t change shit because the kids will already have missed multiple classes, and by the time they are back, they will be so behind that–”

“Theo had a heart attack–”

“Oh.”

“– you total asshole.”

“Wow. Wow, okay, I deserved that. Umm… what happened? Is he okay?”

“The ambulance picked him up last night. He will most likely be alright, but it’s too early to say. He’s under observation at the moment.”

“So he’s fine.”

“He will be fine,” Ray enunciates. “But as of this moment, he is on sick leave and will most likely remain on sick leave for at least the next two months.”

“Two months.”

“At least.”

“Fuck.”

“Language, Gerard. How many times are we going to have that conversation?”

See, here’s the thing. Gerard is not particularly fond of Theo and his snarky comments, but he would never wish him any harm. Definitely not a heart attack. God knows he’s seen the effects of that take over his grandfather, and it wasn’t pretty. He’s learned to deal with Theo’s stuck-up opinions over the past few years, and the reason for it was that Theo has been (and still is) the only piano player who is comfortable with earning minimum wage and doing insane hours. Sure, he isn’t the most outstanding piano player Gerard has ever seen, not even close, but he can play, and he would probably do a lot better in some private school. Why he decided to stay here is a mystery Gerard isn’t willing to uncover, but the fact remains that he has been here. Exclusively. Available whenever Gerard needed him. 

And now he isn’t.

Since it’s Tuesday, that means Gerard has - wait, he’s a theatre teacher, not a math teacher, he needs a moment to count here - twenty-three working days before the play his class is to perform to celebrate the winter break happens. Thirty-one if he counts Saturdays and Sundays, but it’s highly doubtful parents will be willing to bring their children to school on weekends, and even more doubtful the children themselves will be willing to spend their days off with Gerard, regardless of how much they like him. That means he has twenty-three working days to find a replacement for Theo, make them acquainted with all the instrumental accompaniment piano pieces for the play, give them time to learn to play them, and then rehearse with the kids singing along.

That means that Gerard is - excuse his language - fucked.

“Are you sure he can’t be back next month?”

If looks could kill, all of Gerard’s problems would go away with how Ray glares at him.

“He had a heart attack, man. Have some goddamn compassion.”

“I have compassion. Lots of it, actually, only maybe not for Theo? But, like, we’ve worked so hard,” he looks around at the currently empty classroom that will soon fill in with kids, excited and eager to get on stage and rehearse for their big moment. “They will be crushed if I tell them the play’s not happening.”

“Oh, no, the play is happening.”

“I don’t have the pianist.”

“Gee, I begged on my knees to get you funding for this thing,” Ray sighs. “I had to crawl so far up the Board’s ass that I came out the other side. If we pull out now, you are never getting any money for the future projects.”

“I don’t have the fu–freaking pianist!”

“Then you better find one or learn how to play yourself because we are not pulling out.”

“Okay, alright,” Gerard rubs his temples slowly, trying to force back the incoming headache. It’s a struggle, but he can make it work. “How much can I offer someone? What’s the salary range?”

“There is no range. The money we had for the pianist will still be given to Theo, given all the work he’s done so far.”

“You are not–”

“He had a heart attack!” Ray yells. He throws his arms up, too, for emphasis, so Gerard decides to shut up. “I’m not gonna leave the guy with no income now. Jesus, Gee.”

Which - fair. Absolutely fair. However…

“So you’re telling me that I have to find someone who will be willing to learn the songs and play the piano for free.”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Gerard groans. It doesn’t skip his attention how Ray’s death glare turns apologetic. “Yeah, no. Totally. Okay. I can do it.”

“Sorry, Gee. You know I’d give you unlimited funds if I could.”

“I know, I know, it’s just,” Gerard throws his head back, sighing. “Ugh.”

Ray stands up and pats his shoulder. “You can do it.”

Gerard can’t do it, but he knows someone who can. Potentially. It will cost him a few minutes of listening to mockery - well-deserved - and the even worse price of family dinner that he has been avoiding for literal months. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so feeling a little like he’s a prisoner being led to the gallows, he pulls out his phone. He waits until he’s sure Ray is out the door so he doesn’t have to witness the conversation, then takes a deep breath and calls his brother.

“Yeah?”

“Mikeeeey,” Gerard sing-songs. “Mikeyway, how are you? How’s life treating you?”

There is a beat of silence, and Gerard can very well imagine the face Mikey must be making.

“Who died?”

“No one died. Not yet, at least, but Ray will kill me if you don’t help me out, so still, treat it as a life-or-death situation.”

“No, Gerard. You can’t bring children over to the studio again to record Christmas carols for free so they can give the CDs to their parents.”

“That happened once, and it was fu-freaking amazing.”

“Ray’s ready to tear you a new one for swearing again?”

“Only on the school grounds. He swears more than me after hours,” Gerard rolls his eyes. It’s true, too. Ray is like an old, experienced sailor every time they go out for coffee after work. “So, Mikey.”

“Gerard.”

“I need a pianist.”

“Sucks to be you, then.”

“Mikey.”

“Fine,” Mikey relents, surprisingly quickly for his standards. “What am I working with here?”

“I need someone available to work from like four till seven on weekdays, who will learn twelve carols and a few other pieces in three weeks, who has Friday the twenty-second of December off so they can be here for the show, and who will do all of that for free. I know you love challenges.”

“That’s not a challenge, dude. That’s a miracle.”

“Christmas miracle?”

“No.”

“Mikey, come on, man. You must know someone. Don’t you think I’m desperate if I’m calling you?”

“Oh, I know you are because if I do that for you, you will be the one entertaining Mom and Dad for Christmas this year.”

“No,” Gerard groans. “No, Mikey. Absolutely not.”

“They’re staying at my house. The least you can do is take mom shopping for once in your life.”

“Have you seen the way she shops?”

“You know, funny story. I have, actually. Four years in a row, in fact.”

Gerard bites his lip and thinks about it. Really thinks about it. Yes, shopping with Donna is kind of like shopping with Satan, only Satan probably wouldn’t be close to fainting when glancing at literally the most disgusting pair of shoes Gerard has ever seen in his life, but then again, he really does need that pianist. A few hours in hell versus fifteen happy children. Tough choice.

“Deal.”

“Shopping centers with mom and holiday market with dad.”

“God, I hate you. Sure.”

“Hate?” Mikey clicks his tongue. “’Tis the season to be jolly, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.”

Gerard hangs up on him.

Then promptly picks up when Mikey calls him back because he does need that goddamn pianist like he needs air. The cool thing about Mikey is that even though it’s clear he knows he won, he won’t be smug about it, and it’s tolerable. At least to Gerard, who had forty-three years to get used to Mikey’s character. Yes, Mikey was already annoying when he was a newborn.

“So, pianist.”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll ask around. I know a few guys who can play, but I doubt they’ll be available.”

“I don’t need a piano virtuoso, by the way. Just someone who can read music sheets and distinguish naturals from black keys.”

“You can do both of these.”

“Fuck you,” Gerard groans. He knows Mikey is smirking on the other end of the line. “Okay, so I do need a piano virtuoso. Whatever. Just– find me someone, okay?”

“I’ll text you details.”

“I owe you, little bro,” Gerard says, knowing damn well that he will most likely regret it.

He doesn’t do well in social situations, regardless of the fact that he’s a teacher. That’s probably why he’s an art and drama teacher because awkwardness kind of goes along with the job description. He’s not exactly encouraged, but it is socially acceptable that sometimes he will be late, and sometimes he will say something he really shouldn’t be saying around elementary school children - like swearing - or that he will come in with his hair looking precisely how hair should look after not being washed in a week. He will make an effort to look presentable for whoever Mikey manages to find, of course, but his personality won’t change. He can only hope that Mikey will put in a good word for him beforehand so when he comes barging into someone’s workplace, they will know what to expect.

He leans against the currently unoccupied piano and watches how the door opens and a swarm of screaming children runs in. He is struck by how little they still are - the oldest one playing Scrooge is barely nine - and as they file in, he realizes that he would not be able to tell them the play is canceled. He simply wouldn’t. They are loud, obnoxious, annoying, and everything else kids this age are, but Gerard loves those little assholes like they are his own. He smiles when Minnie breaks into a grin and waves as soon as she sees him and then gasps when Timmy collides painfully with his side.

“Mr. Way, Mr. Way!” he yells, pulling at the hem of Gerard’s jacket. He’s a small kid, even for his age - the Ghost of the Past from the show - and Gerard is pretty sure he’s only in the drama class because his mom needs a place for him to blow off some steam so he doesn’t tear the house apart. “Mr. Way, have you heard?!”

“What, Timmy?” Gerard asks. This is why he never irons his clothes. What’s the point if they’ll end up all wrinkled up by tiny grabby hands, anyway?

“My dad, Mr. Way! He will be at the show!”

Timmy’s dad, who, as far as Gerard understands, works for the army and is home for the entirety of one month during the whole year, leaving the kid’s upbringing to his wife. Gerard has never met the man due to precisely these circumstances, but he’s spent enough time with Timmy to know how badly he misses his father.

“Oh yeah? What a great timing, then!”

“No, no, he asked to leave ’cause he wanted to see me be the ghost. He said he wouldn’t miss it, and his boss said he could come. I must be the ghost, Mr. Way. My daddy’s coming to see me be the ghost. I’m still the ghost, right?”

Something hot, heavy, and unpleasant settles in Gerard’s stomach. Something that feels a lot like guilt, even though Gerard has nothing to be guilty about, and a little bit like anxiety.

“You’re still the ghost,” he confirms, reaching over to ruffle Timmy’s hair.

“And daddy can see me perform, right?”

“Absolutely. We’ll make sure he gets front row.”

“That’s awesome,” Timmy grins. His right top incisor had just fallen out a week ago - a rather spectacular occurrence, with the tooth flying across the stage and making Sophia so scared that she cried - so he’s now sporting a huge gap right in front of his mouth that he is incredibly proud of. “You’re the best, Mr. Way!”

Gerard still doesn’t have a clue how he’ll tell the kids if the play ends up getting canceled. The only thing he knows is that he will not be considered the best anymore if he lets that happen.

So, with all due respect to Ray: fuck.

*

The address Mikey texts him leads Gerard to the very center of East Village, which subsequently tells him two things. First, that Mikey’s stern tone of voice when he said the guy was a friend and Gerard needed to be careful (“The only one that even considered talking to you, so don’t fuck it up”) was probably not there for nothing since whoever the man is, he must be loaded and important enough to be able to afford to live here. Second, that since the guy is loaded and important enough to be able to afford to live in East Village, he probably won’t be interested in doing charity work for some highly unimportant elementary school in the Bronx, regardless of what he told Mikey.

That’s bad news on top of bad news since Gerard is in dire need of a pianist, and he’s also an awkward fucker who will most likely offend Mikey’s important friend in the first minute of the conversation. He goes through a bit of a panic attack when he realizes he doesn’t have a clue how to ring a doorbell (one would think Gerard had gained the ability to operate around New York City after living there for a better portion of twenty years, but no. Gerard is fully comfortable in his neighborhood, but this? This is way out of his league), then gets saved by a literal guardian angel of a woman who decides to walk out of the building at that exact moment.

He sends her his best smile when he catches the door and does an awful job pretending he belongs here. He definitely doesn’t, not in his worn-out jacket, but she doesn’t seem suspicious. Maybe Mikey’s friend has a lot of weird visitors. Maybe Mr. F. Iero is used to receiving strangely dressed, paint-covered men in his apartment on the top floor of this particular townhouse. Is he assuming stuff? Yes, he definitely is. He shakes his head at himself and starts to climb up the rickety stairs, cursing under his breath at the bright red sign informing everyone that the elevator is broken. Typical. As if it wasn’t enough that he was already all sweaty from taking a walk down New York streets.

When he gets to the top floor, he feels positively exhausted and ready to bail. Then he remembers Timmy’s excited smile, and he mentally scolds himself. He’s there for the kids, not for himself. He lifts his hand and knocks before he can talk himself out of it, only to come face to face with a pretty, short brunette a few seconds later.

“Yes?”

“Hi!” Gerard says a lot too excitedly. “I’m– uhh. I’m here to see–”

“Frank?”

“Frank,” Gerard confirms. F. Iero. It fits. “Yes.”

“Come on in, I’ll get him for you. I’m Jenna, by the way. Lovely to meet you…?”

“Gerard. Hi.”

She whirls around, holding the door open for him, and he shuffles awkwardly inside. He expected to enter a workplace, and he finds himself in a cluttered living room of what he imagines most East Village apartments look like. It’s not exactly posh, but it’s definitely stylish - in a messy way. Gerard would feel at home with all the scattered vinyl records and books if he was allowed to add a few tubes of paint on top of it. Jenna pats the back of the couch, sending him a sweet smile before disappearing behind the corner, but Gerard doesn’t take her up on the offer. He doesn’t feel like sitting down. He feels more like jumping out the window. He hates social interactions, and what he hates even more is imposing on someone’s life in the privacy of their own home.

The curiosity wins, though, and he has his hands on the first book he can find in less than a minute. He hears the door at the end of the hallway opening and Jenna’s voice calling Frank’s name, then another voice - male, low - joining as who Gerard assumes must be Mr. F. Iero replies that he’ll be right there. His fingers brush over the cover of the book as he waits, feeling slightly bad about the greasy fingertip marks he’s leaving all over it. It’s called The Resurrectionist, and Gerard is wildly fascinated by the skeleton drawing on the cover. It appears to have wings.

“Harpy Erinyes.”

Gerard barely manages to keep himself from dropping the book. He looks over his shoulder and finds a man standing behind him, wearing a polite smile.

“Huh?”

“That thing you’re looking at. The winged creature. It’s Harpy Erinyes, according to the author,” The guy extends his hand. “You must be Mikey’s brother.”

“Gerard.”

“Nice to meet you, Gerard. I’m Frank,” his smile gets a tiny bit wider when they shake hands. Gerard can’t help but notice how every inch of Frank’s skin that he can see is covered in tattoos, but the handshake is too brief for him to read what they say. “It’s an interesting read if you’re into mythical creatures. You should check it out.”

Gerard flips the book open, eyes roaming over the description on the cover.

“The legacy of a madman,” he reads.

“It’s an interesting read, not a sane one,” Frank explains. Gerard would love to have a conversation about winged creatures with basically anyone, but he closes the book and places it carefully back on the table. That sets the mood back to why he’s here, and Frank immediately picks up on it. “So, Gerard. Mikey told me you’re looking for a pianist.”

“He told me I’m looking for a miracle.”

“Might as well be,” Frank laughs. It’s a strangely pleasant sound despite it being more of a giggle. “Come on, let’s go to my studio so we can talk. You want something to drink?”

Gerard asks for tea. He usually wouldn’t, or he would at least go for coffee if he were already forcing someone to make him drinks, but Frank’s apartment is a lot warmer than the weather outside was, and now that he’s here, he’s shivering. He didn’t realize how cold he was before, and a cup of steaming, hot tea sounds like a dream now. Frank doesn’t seem at all inconvenienced by it - probably because he asks Jenna to make it after establishing that Gerard will be alright with green tea - and mentions that he should follow down the hallway where Gerard assumes his studio is. 

Gerard honestly doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t what he ended up seeing. Frank’s studio is filled with instruments. Not just the grand piano, even though it takes up most of the space (Gerard cannot imagine how it got brought into that apartment. It would definitely not fit through the door, and it doesn’t seem like it would fit through the window, either), but also various other things - a few guitars, both electric and acoustic, a bass, a cello, a violin, what looks like a whole set of harmonicas on a shelf, and some drums in the corner. There are a few mic stands shoved near the bookshelf that is filled with what Gerard recognizes to be musical sheets and notebooks, and he nearly trips over one of the countless cords running on the ground.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself and just stands there awkwardly for a moment as Frank rearranges the papers on the piano’s music rack. Jenna saves the day, coming in with tea a moment later, and Gerard is very grateful when she directs him to an armchair he hasn’t even noticed standing behind a tall plant. Frank’s whole apartment seems to be filled with plants. It’s pretty.

“Sorry for the mess,” Frank says. He places a pencil behind his ear, puts aside a half-filled stave sheet, and plumps down on the bench. “So.”

“So?”

“Mikey didn’t actually give me any details. Just said you needed someone to play some things.”

“Oh,” Goddamn Mikey. Fuck. “Oh, of course. I mean, he’s right. I do need someone to play stuff, but not right now. I’m a teacher,” Gerard explains. “My drama class has this play they’re performing before Christmas, and unfortunately, our pianist has fallen sick, so I’m looking for a replacement. It’s kind of last minute.”

“The replacement to play at the show?”

“That, too. But I need someone for the remaining rehearsals as well.”

“Oh, man,” Frank sighs, and even before he looks over at him, Gerard knows what the answer will be. “I’m sorry, but I’m kinda busy nowadays. I don’t think I can help you full-time.”

“I understand,” Gerard says. His stomach ties itself into a knot, and he feels like he may just throw up right onto that lovely navy blue rug that Frank has on the floor in front of the armchair. He knew it was too good to be true, but he still had hope. He recalls what the acceptable response to a refusal is and forces himself to smile. “I appreciate you taking the time to hear me out.”

“Hey, no, hold on,” Frank waves his hand when Gerard attempts to stand up. He plumps down onto the seat before he can stop himself, and he must look as hopeful as he thinks because Frank laughs. “Your classes are when?”

“Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, at four.”

“Which school?”

Gerard gives him the address, and Frank hums when he thinks.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, but I can’t. Too far for me to make it on time,” Frank looks actually apologetic, which is nice. Not ideal, but at least he’s not an asshole about it. He lifts his hand to stop Gerard from getting up again. “But maybe I can record them for you? At least that’s something to work with during rehearsals, and it gives you more time to find someone.”

Again - not ideal, but…

“That would be very helpful. Thank you,” Gerard nods. He takes a sip of his tea and mentally prepares himself for another rejection. “I can’t pay you a lot. I mean, we used up pretty much all of the funding we got, but I’m, of course, willing to pay you out of my own pocket. I just don’t know your rates, so–”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I want to–”

“I owe Mikey a favor,” Frank sends him a warm smile. “If we can agree that this is paying him back, then we’re even.”

Gerard absolutely cannot speak for Mikey, so obviously, he does anyway.

“Deal.”

“Great. You have the sheets for whatever you need?” Frank asks. Gerard rummages through his bag and hands the notations to him, feeling a little like an asshole for how wrinkled they are. Frank doesn’t seem to mind. He flips through them, humming as he does. “Okay. You can stay if you promise to be very quiet. These mics pick up pretty much every little noise.”

“Wait,” Gerard frowns. “You’re doing it now?”

“Yeah?”

“Just like that? You’ll just… look at it and play it?”

“I had a lot of Prima Vista playing in my life, I know most of these, and they’re the easy versions. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Gerard is impressed. When Mikey texted him that he found him a pianist, he expected some grumpy old guy who would need at least two weeks to consider Gerard’s request and then another two to deliver the songs. Frank is neither old nor grumpy, and he’s obviously talented. Gerard can tell even before Frank adjusts himself on the bench and stretches, placing his fingers on the keys. There is just something about how comfortable and confident he looks behind the piano that tells Gerard there’s a natural talent in the guy, not just what he’s gained through practice.

And then Frank starts playing Silent Night, and Gerard’s jaw drops to the ground.

Yes, it’s not the most complicated melody to play. Frank was right about that, but given that he had never seen the sheet before, the things his fingers do on the keys are absolutely magical. He plays the way Theo would if he had a few months to practice. It’s effortless, smooth, and there is not even a pinch of hesitation in it. He hits every note perfectly, and it takes Gerard a few moments to realize that Frank’s eyes are closed, which only adds to his amazement. He’s not even reading it. Somehow, after looking at the notes once, Frank is able to bring them to life from memory. He must be a magician or perhaps a genius, and Gerard is sold.

He can’t stop himself from - very quietly - leaning forward in his seat to watch Frank’s hands moving over the keyboard. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone play as fluidly as Frank does. He could watch it for hours and he wouldn’t get bored, and the way Frank delivers the melody makes it double as good. Gerard is an artist, so he is susceptible to pretty things, but it’s been a while since he got goosebumps just listening to someone play. No one he’s ever heard in Mikey’s recording studio has done what Frank is doing.

It’s simply stunning.

He’s still staring when Frank pulls his hands back and turns to gaze at him, and for what feels like ages, he’s unable to say anything. He’s been stunned into silence, it would seem, and Frank’s inviting smile doesn’t help things. In the end, the only thing that comes to his mind is:

“Wow.”

“Acceptable?” Frank asks. He flexes his fingers, rubs his hands on his jeans, and cracks his neck. “I can redo it if you want.”

“Are you joking? No, that was… amazing, honestly.”

“It was okay,” Frank shrugs. Gerard cannot do with modesty, real or fake, so he rolls his eyes. It makes Frank laugh. “Seriously, man, it could’ve been better, but you’re the customer. If you’re satisfied, then so am I.”

“Oh, I’m satisfied, alright. You’re very talented.”

No wonder he’s busy. Gerard can only imagine how many gigs a guy who can play like that must be getting. Mikey is not really forthcoming when it comes to his job, but Gerard has heard stories about how often he struggles with mediocre musicians so very set on making it in the harsh environment that is the music world of New York City, and a guy like Frank? A guy like Frank should play in the biggest orchestras. A guy like Frank should be famous, his face on billboards all around the world. If Mikey promoted him, Frank could easily earn him a living.

Gerard would be taking opportunities away from him if he imprisoned him in an elementary school for a few weeks, and that’s the truth. As sad as it is, he can’t even be mad about it.

“Thanks,” Frank nods. His posture relaxes, and Gerard sinks further into his seat as Frank sips his tea. It seems like he won’t be going anywhere for a while, and he’s perfectly fine with that. “Another one, then?”

Gerard smiles.

“Please.”

Chapter Text

Wednesdays are the worst days in Gerard’s entire week. One would think children would be more insufferable on Fridays with the prospect of having two days off to play, but for some reason, Wednesdays are the toughest. Maybe because it’s the middle of the week - if Gerard were running for President, he would make everyone a promise that Wednesday would be a day off because who the hell doesn’t need a break in the middle of the week? He sure does - or maybe it’s because of the classes the kids have before the drama one. Grades one and two come to his classroom directly after doing math, so Gerard can’t blame them for being bored and exhausted. Grade three is Modern American History - better, but, in his humble opinion, still dull as hell. Grade four is Science, which is equally bad as Math is, if not worse, and grade five is Social Studies.

Honestly, Gerard would rather shoot himself than go through any of those again, but shush, don’t let the younglings hear that.

This Wednesday is even worse than the other ones, and that’s because Gerard is already frustrated by the time the children barge in. Highly frustrated. So frustrated, in fact, that he needs to turn around and take a few deeper breaths to stop himself from screaming. It’s all because of those goddamn speakers, too, and the longer Gerard stares at them, the more hateful he becomes. He is definitely not a technology kind of guy, but it doesn’t take an IT specialist to understand that there is absolutely no way in hell he can connect them to his laptop or connect the USB stick he keeps safely in his pocket to them, which in turn means that: there is no way for him to play the recordings Frank has prepared for him.

And that’s not even the worst of it.

The worst is that as soon as he realized it, he ran straight out of the classroom, down the hall, and into Ray’s office and requested that - since he couldn’t legally hire anyone because they were still paying Theo (who was doing much better, was what Ray said, but who would definitely be gone for those two months that had previously been mentioned), then he at least needed to get a proper sound system to utilize the recordings, or they were screwed. Ray looked at him from behind his desk, twiddling his thumbs, opening and closing his mouth a few times, and then told him - like it was a perfectly harmless thing to do - that Gerard had to do with what he had because more funding wouldn’t have even been a Christmas miracle at that point, it would’ve been divine intervention, and Ray would like to remind Gerard that he was an atheist.

So here he is - with a few useless speakers, an even more useless USB stick full of Frank’s beautiful playing, and his laptop propped up on top of the piano, seemingly laughing at his misery. Oh, and a group of children divided into two separate parts - the overenergized one and the extremely cranky one. Could things get any worse?

Yes. Things, as far as Gerard understands, can always get worse. The moment you think you’ve reached rock bottom, something else happens that makes you think - damn, that hadn’t been so bad. That’s exactly the thought that crosses his mind when Patricia approaches him, and he can tell she’s going to cry even before she opens her mouth. She’s holding Minnie’s hand, and boy, oh boy, does that mean trouble.

“Mr. Way?”

“Yeah?”

Patricia looks over her shoulder at Minnie, then leans in so they can whisper between themselves. Gerard patiently waits, mentally ripping out the remaining of his hair. The majority of it has been metaphorically torn out over the speakers and the USB before. When Patricia straightens up, the tears become very real.

“I don’t want to be Tiny Tim anymore.”

She doesn’t seem to remember that they’ve had that conversation before. Twice. First, when she was assigned the role - she didn’t want to play a boy, and Gerard had to explain to her that they could totally change it to Tiny Tina if she wanted to because it wasn’t like the gender of the child mattered. That resulted in him having to explain what gender was, and it was a whole mess that included Ray intervening, something Gerard doesn’t really want to recall. The second was when she learned that she would have to play dead for a while, and it took nearly half an hour for Gerard to explain to her that it was temporary and she wouldn’t actually die. He has managed to convince her then, with Minnie’s tremendous help, but clearly, neither of them has done a particularly great job at it.

“Oh, love, why not?” Gerard crouches in front of her, sending Minnie a questioning look. She avoids his gaze and starts chewing on her thumb, staring at the floor. “What happened?”

“Minnie said,” Patricia sniffles, rubbing her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Gerard forces himself to stay calm. “That she is de– dewormed.”

“Deformed,” Minnie hisses.

“Deformed,” Patricia confirms. “I don’t– I don’t want to be deformed, Mr. Way.”

And then she starts crying for real, and Gerard loses every last bit of his sanity.

He is a great teacher, however, so instead of blowing up in the girl’s face and screaming at the top of his lungs, he simply shakes his head and puts on a calm, open, friendly expression. He reaches for Patricia’s free hand and clasps it gently between his.

“Hey, hey, no need to cry, hey,” he says quietly. “We don’t know anything about Tiny Tim’s disease, Pat. Minnie, where did you hear about this?”

“Daddy told me,” Minnie says resolutely. She’s a very smart girl, one of the smartest Gerard has ever seen, which can be a pain in the ass. “He said he must have had a… TB of the spine. That’s what he said!”

“I don’t want to have a TB of the spine!” Patricia wails. For such a small child, she has a surprisingly firm grip that is currently hurting Gerard’s fingers. “Mr. Way! I don’t want to be a deformed child!”

“Okay, first of all, we really don’t know what the disease was. Second of all, this is all pretend, remember? We are just playing, and for a few minutes, you just pretend to be Tiny Tim, and then you are back to being Pat, yeah?”

Patricia’s squints, then sniffles. “I guess. But I don’t want to be ugly.”

“Alright,” Gerard nods. “But even if the disease were real - which it isn’t in your case - then it wouldn’t make you ugly.”

“No?”

“No, love. Everyone is beautiful in their own way,” Gerard nods, smiling. “Weaknesses can be beautiful, too, sometimes even more than strengths, and sometimes, weaknesses can become strengths.”

Patricia seems to consider it for a moment. The tears stop for the time being, but her eyes are all puffy and red, and her lower lip is still quivering. Gerard squeezes her tiny hand a little harder just to remind her that he’s there in case she needs more support. Minnie looks awfully guilty, so Gerard tries to remember that she’s there, too, and sends her an encouraging smile. He will have to have a chat with her father as soon as he sees him, but the kids don’t need to know about any of it. He gives Pat a few more seconds before he speaks again.

“You’re a strong girl, aren’t you?” he asks. She frowns, surprised, and he lifts their clasped hands so she can look at them. “I can tell that you are.”

“Mommy says so.”

“And so do I. That’s why I asked you to play Tiny Tim.”

“Really?”

“Really, really,” Gerard smiles. He reaches over and brushes the remnants of Patricia’s tears away from her cheeks. “So, what do you say? Are you up for the challenge?”

He gives her time to consult with Minnie - best friends forever, and whatnot - then gratefully accepts Pat’s nod as a response.

“Okay then,” he stands up, placing his hands on top of Patricia’s and Minnie’s heads. They start giggling as soon as he does, and he nudges them playfully behind their ears. “Go on, then, Tiny Tim and his loyal companion. We’ll be starting the rehearsal soon. You better get ready.”

“Thanks, Mr. Way!” Pat yells.

“Thanks, Mr. Way!” Minnie joins her.

They run away from him, still giggling and talking excitedly, and Gerard finds himself still smiling as he watches them.

When he had first accepted the offer to become an elementary school teacher, he hated the thought of it. His plans were much bigger than that. Broadway, he believed, owning the stage with all those lead roles he’d be getting, and then, as the world progressed, maybe even TV shows or big screen productions. He saw himself moving out of his Bronx apartment that he had inherited from his grandmother and into a five hundred square feet house in sunny Hollywood. He saw himself in the spotlight, being loved by millions. When Mikey offered him a job in his studio, he declined, saying that he was still waiting for his big moment, so damn convinced it was just around the corner. Only that moment never came, and eventually, Gerard’s parents got tired of financially supporting him, and he was forced to face the reality - that he was never going to be famous and that the dream of being a well-known artist was always going to be just that - a dream.

He never thought he would be happy being a teacher, but as he looks over at the children running around the tiny stage in a tiny, poor school, he knows he wouldn’t give it up for anything. He belongs here, and maybe it took him forty-six years to realize it, but this is where he can actually do some good. He has these children’s lives in his hands, and he can form them into adults who will believe deformities can be strengths and who won’t be ashamed of who they are. A part of him - the part that had been buried for all these years when his dreams were too big for him - is proud of it.

It’s Timmy grinning at him that makes him realize he’s still smiling. He gives the boy a little wave and laughs when Timmy immediately runs across the room to hug him. Affectionate little creature, and isn’t a child’s honest hug so much better than a crowd screaming his name?

“Hey, buddy.”

“Hiiiii,” Timmy chirps. “What’s that?”

Gerard’s gaze follows his finger when Timmy points at something over his shoulder.

“Oh, that’s my laptop. We’ll be playing some music today.”

“Is Mr. Evans still not back?”

“No, sorry, I’m afraid it will be a while,” Gerard explains and gently flicks Timmy’s cheek when he pouts. “Hey, no sad faces! We still have music to help you guys sing.”

“Will you play?”

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t want to hear that,” Gerard laughs. “But a very talented friend of mine was kind enough to record the songs for us.”

“Who is your friend, Mr. Way?”

“He’s a pianist. His name is Frank.”

Timmy’s pout turns into a deep concentration. Gerard will never not find it endearing when kids look like they are contemplating the meaning of life.

“Why won’t Mr. Frank come play, then?”

“Frank has already promised someone else that he would play for them, but we’ll do just fine with this.”

“But Mr. Way! We can’t sing to songs played from a laptop on Christmas Eve! My mom has a laptop, and she sometimes plays that song that she likes on it, and it sounds so bad! I want to sing to a real piano when my daddy is here!”

Oh, jeez, Gerard thinks. Oh, jeez, this is a disaster, and the one thing he should never do is give his students false hope. He should not be promising something that he may not be able to deliver because that’s teaching them that they don’t have to keep their word. He really should tell Timmy that–

“We will have the real piano for the show.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes,” Fuck! “I promise.”

“Ah, Mr. Way, you really are the best!” Timmy yells. He hugs him again, his tiny arms coming around Gerard’s thighs and squeezing, and then he’s running back to his friends, ranting about how they are getting someone to play the piano even though Theo - oops, sorry, Mr. Evans - is still unavailable. The feeling of guilt and anxiety returns in full force, but Gerard forces it to the back of his mind when he straightens up and claps his hands, calling the kids over to him to get the rehearsals started.

In the worst-case scenario - which is where he currently is, but he will think about it after he’s out of school - he will learn how to play the piano in three weeks.

No big deal.

*

When calling Mikey once doesn’t yield satisfactory results, the obvious step number two is: calling Mikey again. Not to ask for his help this time but to complain, hoping that it will instigate enough mental anguish that Mikey will remember he and his brother share the same blood, will grow a conscience, and will make a miracle happen. Or at least that’s what Gerard hopes for when he scrolls down the contact list on his phone on a Thursday morning to find his brother’s number.

He can’t really blame Mikey for rejecting the call. See, Mikey is smart. He knows exactly what Gerard wants from him, the proof of which comes after Gerard sends a very distressed text, and Mikey texts back with “OK.” Not a very talkative guy (never was), but at least he doesn’t tell Gerard to go to hell, which is already a success in and of itself. Gerard decides that he will let Mikey sit on the idea for a while and spends the entire day being so distracted that even the kids notice. His art classes go spectacularly bad - although he does manage to stop Minnie from eating chalk (“but it looks so much like candies, Mr. Way!”) - and his mind constantly drifts to the drama classroom and his new archnemesis. He even braces himself for a sneak attack when he finally lets the kids go at quarter to four, fully certain that he can counterattack, but it’s a forlorn hope.

The piano is where he left it yesterday, quiet and menacing. It mocks him when Gerard gets on stage, eyeing it suspiciously, then lets out a bone-chilling shriek when he puts his fingers on the keys and presses down. He could swear it sounds exactly like the triumphant laughter of literally every evil stepmother in Disney movies. Gerard’s not a fan of those. He much prefers the sidekicks (duh! What a fantastic personality the horse from Tangled was!)

It’s not that he doesn’t know how to play because he sort of does. As Mikey pointed out before, he can read music sheets, and he knows which key corresponds with which note on the stave. The problem is following both the right-hand melodic line and the left-hand chords and somehow coordinating them so they don’t clash. If he had a year, he could learn those twelve songs and maybe even get pretty good at playing them. In three weeks? He’s doubtful, to say the least. He tries See Amid the Winter’s Snow first, and it goes so terribly wrong that he immediately decides to leave it for last and moves on to Silent Night . That’s a little better, but after Gerard manages to get his right hand to more or less cooperate, his left forgets what it was supposed to be doing, and he creates a cacophony so painful it downright makes him cringe.

“Jesus,” he whispers to himself, staring at the keyboard like it has personally offended him. It kind of did, actually, so he sighs in defeat. “That’s bad.”

“Self-awareness is the first step to improvement.”

Gerard flinches. Is it the piano talking to him? Is he losing his mind? He wouldn’t put it past himself with the number of nights he’s spent painting instead of sleeping, but still, hallucinations? Although, again, stress can probably cause them, too, so… but no. He looks up, and although the lights on stage are on, which makes it hard to see who’s standing between the rows of chairs, it takes Gerard surprisingly little time to recognize him. In his defense, he only knows one man as short as this. Oops, is that rude? Probably.

“Frank?”

“Man,” Frank says, and it becomes abundantly clear that it wasn’t the piano that was laughing at Gerard. It was him. “You’re having a rough time.”

“What the f–” Gerard looks around and checks three times if they are really alone before continuing. “–uhh… are you doing here?”

“You know, it’s funny,” Frank says cheerfully. He walks up to the stage and comes closer, leaning against the piano. He’s still dressed in his outdoor clothes, the jacket zipped up to his chin, and Gerard notices a guitar case hanging from his shoulder. When he gazes down, his watch informs him that it’s almost five. Frank must have come directly after whatever job it is he does. “Remember how I told you that I owed Mikey a favor? Well, the tables have turned.”

“He called you.”

“He texted me.”

“Do I wanna know what he said?”

“Probably not,” Frank smiles. He drags the guitar case strap over his head and puts it carefully down, then starts peeling his jacket off. The whole time it’s happening, Gerard can’t find anything suitable to say. Even when the jacket lands on top of the piano and Frank rolls up the sleeves of his jumper, revealing forearms full of tattoos, Gerard is still unable to speak. “Scoot.”

“Huh?”

“Scoot over,” Frank pushes a finger into his arm. Gerard obediently does, staring as Frank sits next to him. “Alright, what are we doing? Ah, Silent Night. Good choice.”

“Wait, sorry, hold on,” Gerard raises his hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what is happening?”

If he expected Frank to be offended, he was severely mistaken. Frank still looks mostly amused when he looks at him, and Gerard kind of hates him when he runs his fingers over the keyboard, flawlessly executing a lovely-sounding scale - first up, then down. It’s clear that he’s showing off, but Gerard is in no position to be calling him out on it. That hope that had been smothered before is slowly reawakening.

“Amongst many things that you don’t wanna know, Mikey also said that you were… can I swear here?”

“If Ray… the headmaster, I mean, and the kids aren’t here.”

“Okay. Then Mikey said that you were absolutely fucked.”

“Great.”

“He said that the recordings weren’t going to work and that you were now attempting to play the piano yourself. He also said that you weren’t going to succeed.”

“Double great.”

“Luckily for you,” Frank nudges him with his shoulder, and God, Gerard wishes he had something clever to say to wipe that smug smile from Frank’s face. “Mikey also presented me with a very valuable offer in exchange for me coming over here and teaching you how to play.”

“If you can teach me how to play twelve songs in three weeks, then I will personally deliver the fucking moon and stars to your doorstep.”

“I’m not saying that you’re gonna win the International Chopin Piano Competition, but it’s worth a try.”

“After what you’ve heard?”

He appreciates that Frank doesn’t immediately start laughing. It’s very sweet of him to at least pretend that the poor attempts he’s heard weren’t absolutely hilarious to him, but it doesn’t skip Gerard’s attention how he bites his lower lip and how he squints. Oh, he’s trying so hard not to burst out laughing, the poor guy may just end up choking on it. Gerard shakes his head and sighs, and Frank cracks up almost immediately.

“I don’t know,” he giggles as he rubs at his eyes. “It was pretty bad.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Gerard smiles back. He knows he must be blushing, but who wouldn’t? If he had known that he had an audience, he would’ve acted differently. “Fuck, it really was.”

“It really fucking was,” Frank agrees. He rolls his shoulders, trying to school his posture back to the correct I-will-play-the-piano one, and inhales deeply. “Alright, but what do you need? I think chords alone should be alright if you’re supposed to just accompany the kids’ singing.”

“If this was middle school or high school, then maybe, but they kinda follow the melodic line when they sing. They’ll be hopeless without it.”

“So you can do just the melodic line, then.”

“In the worst-case scenario,” Gerard agrees. He hates the thought of it. The songs sound flat when he does only that, and all the beauty the harmonics give them is gone, but if there is no other way, he will have to accept it. He knows the kids won’t care much - they are still too young to understand it fully - and he knows that for the parents in the audience, the piano won’t matter nearly as much as their children performing for them. For him, though, it matters. For him, the show must be as perfect as possible.

“Try it,” Frank encourages him. He has to see the frown forming on Gerard’s face when he grabs his wrist and moves it, curling his fingers more until his hand is positioned the way it should be, but he doesn’t comment on it. Gerard’s fingertips brush over the smooth keys. “Go on.”

“God, this is embarrassing,” Gerard huffs. From the corner of his eye, he can see Frank’s eyebrows raising. “It’s embarrassing when you’re here to see it.”

“How else are you supposed to learn?”

He’s right, of course, but it doesn’t make Gerard any less ashamed. He runs through the melody as well as he can muster, only missing the right key once and going a lot slower than he should, but he gets from the first “silent night” to the last “at Thy birth” with his dignity relatively intact.

“Not bad,” Frank comments as soon as Gerard drops his hands back onto his lap. “You could move a little closer to the front of the bench for more support, but it wasn’t a tragedy.”

Gerard groans and leans forward, his face hitting the keys. He’s grateful for the noise his forehead creates against them because it almost drowns out Frank’s giggling. Almost.

“This is never going to work.”

“Not with that attitude, that’s for sure.”

He drags himself back up with a sigh. “You’ve got your hands away from the keys?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I’m shutting the fallboard,” he says grimly. “That’s about as much humiliation as I can handle for now.”

Frank laughs again, but he doesn’t try to force him to continue. He slides off the bench, making space for Gerard to get up, and Gerard busies himself with gathering his own outdoor clothes and his bag when Frank gets dressed, too. He doesn’t want to think about it, and he definitely doesn’t want Frank to talk about it. He knows how bad his playing is, and it makes his insides shrink from anxiety when he realizes he will have to perform in front of all those parents, giving them this exact level of skills. He curses Theo for having a heart attack at such an inconvenient moment (then immediately apologizes to the guy in his head because seriously? Come on, Gerard), he curses himself for never learning how to play any instruments, and he curses Mikey for sending Frank over to witness this disaster. He curses Frank, too, for being so nice about it.

“Don’t give up,” he says when Gerard flicks the lights in the classroom off, gesturing for Frank to leave first. “I know you don’t have much time, but you can do it.”

“Let me walk you out,” is what Gerard chooses to reply. He feels tired now, and all he wants to do is get back home, crawl under the blanket, and wallow in self-pity. He’s not completely impolite, though, so he adds. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Anything for that deal Mikey offered,” Frank says with a smile. He nudges him on the shoulder again, so Gerard forces himself to smile back. Honestly, Frank isn’t a bad guy. Gerard kind of likes him, even, despite barely knowing him. “Oh, hey. Is that one of yours?”

And - yes. When Gerard looks up, following Frank’s extended arm, he sees a small body curled next to a wall at the very end of the hallway. He seems engrossed in whatever it is he’s reading, so he doesn’t look up at their voices echoing through the corridor, but Gerard knows that mop of blonde hair and thick glasses. The way a pencil is sliding easily in and out of the hole where the tooth used to be is another dead giveaway.

“Shit,” Gerard mutters. He rechecks the time, and after confirming that it is, in fact, twenty-past-five, he turns to Frank. “Sorry, you can go on. You must be tired. I gotta–” He motions with his hand toward where Timmy is sitting. “Sorry.”

“I can wait, it’s fine.”

But Gerard isn’t listening to Frank anymore. He’s vaguely aware that Frank follows him when he gets closer to the boy and that he looms over him when Gerard crouches, tapping his fingers against the edge of Timmy’s comic book. Timmy seems surprised at first, then breaks into a grin.

“Hi, Mr. Way!”

“Hi, little dude,” Gerard smiles back. “What are you still doing here?”

“Mommy’s working late again,” Timmy wrinkles his nose as he says it. Gerard is very grateful for the current times that allow kids to have smartphones. As much as he hates how much time they spend on them, at least it enables parents to take away some of the children’s anxiety of realizing that mommy isn’t waiting in front of the school for them. Gerard remembers the feeling all too well from when he was a child. He looks over his shoulder at Frank, but all he gets in return is a minuscule shrug. He shrugs back and turns around, sliding down the wall next to Timmy.

“You mind if I wait with you?”

“Or we,” Frank interjects. Timmy frowns when he realizes Gerard isn’t alone, but Frank’s grin is contagious. He points at the wall on the other side of the boy, and after receiving a confirming nod from Gerard, Timmy reluctantly agrees.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Frank,” Frank says. He extends his hand, and Timmy seems satisfied with the very “manly” and “grown-up” greeting. “I’m Gerard’s… I mean, Mr. Way’s friend.”

“You’re the pianist,” Timmy notices. Frank’s eyes flick up to Gerard, questioning, but Gerard doesn’t have anything to tell him. Timmy saves the day once again when his mouth falls open, his eyes turning comically wide behind his glasses. He’s staring openly at Frank’s palms. “Wooooow.”

“That’s me,” Frank confirms. “Do you like my tattoos?”

“Are they real?”

“Very.”

“Wow,” Timmy repeats. “Did they hurt?”

“A lot,” Frank says seriously. It’s sweet how hard he’s trying not to crack up again, and Gerard has to cover his mouth to stop himself from chuckling when Timmy huffs.

“I had a tattoo,” he declares proudly. “Mr. Way brought in a whole pack once. I had a dolphin on my arm, and it didn’t hurt at all!”

Frank whistles, impressed. “You’re a lot braver than I am.”

“Do you know that each dolphin has a special whistle? They come up with it when they’re born, and then the rest of the dolphins can recognize them by that whistle.”

“Cool.”

“You have a lot of tattoos,” Timmy points out. “Do you have the dolphin tattoo?”

“No, buddy, but I think I should get one now,” Frank nods. “What did yours look like?”

“It was a happy dolphin. And it had glitter in it. But you can’t get the same one because then you will be as cool as I am, and you can’t be. Only I can be that cool.”

That finally makes Frank lose it. He’s been holding back for a while, but now he leans his head back against the wall and starts laughing, closing his eyes in the process. Gerard has to actively fight with himself not to join him - he’s pretty sure Timmy would feel lost and offended if he had two adults laughing at something he doesn’t understand is funny, so Gerard bites his lip and takes a few deeper breaths before he decides to speak. It’s tough because Frank is still giggling, and his laughter is as contagious as his smile is.

“I think we can give Mr. Frank a pass, what do you say?” he asks. “He recorded all these songs for us, remember?”

“Oh!” Timmy’s head snaps up. “Oh, I forgot. In that case, yes, Mr. Frank, you can get a cool dolphin tattoo.”

“Thanks,” Frank grins at the boy.

“Mommy would kill me if I got so many,” Timmy says quietly. He’s still looking, and Gerard can’t really blame him. He’s sort of fascinated by all of the ink on Frank’s skin himself. “Isn’t your mommy angry?”

“She used to be.”

“Speaking of your mommy,” Gerard interrupts quickly. Something about the way Frank said it doesn’t sit right with him, and he knows how kids can be. Intrusive, with no filter to what they say, harming and hurting without meaning to. He’s made his peace with it and doesn’t let it get to him, but for someone unaccustomed, it may be a lot. The last thing he needs is for Frank to get hurt by one of his kids after he’s already gone out of his way for them. “Did she say when she’s gonna pick you up?”

“She said five-thirty,” Timmy says. “It’s soon, right?”

“Very soon. You’ll be home in no time.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Daddy’s flying in on Christmas Eve, and we talked to him yesterday on mommy’s laptop, and he said he will be… tr– trafn–”

“Transferred?”

“Yes, transferred. And he will only be an hour away after that, and he will be home on Thursdays and Fridays so he will be picking me up!” Timmy’s smile, so genuinely happy, pulls at Gerard’s heartstrings. “He told me that he decided after he heard about our Christmas play, Mr. Way. He wants to see the one we will do at the end of the year, too.”

Gerard loves Timmy. He truly does. Sometimes, though, that kid knows exactly what to say to make him feel like jumping from a bridge is potentially the best solution to his problems.

“That’s awesome, buddy.”

“My daddy’s in the army,” Timmy explains to Frank. “I told him I’m a ghost in the play, and that I will sing, and that Mr. Way promised that he will find someone to play the piano now that Mr. Evans is sick, and daddy was so excited!”

Nope, Gerard doesn’t see the look Frank gives him. He totally doesn’t. And even if he does, he can always choose to ignore it, which is what he promptly does.

“I bet he is,” Frank replies easily. “A ghost, huh? Wow. So you’re double cool.”

“I totally am,” Timmy grins, displaying his toothless smile. “Oh! Look!”

Gerard looks, and the door opens at the exact moment he does. Timmy’s mom - Lisa, or Lucy, Gerard wishes he remembered - runs in, looking exactly how a mother running late to pick up her son from a deserted school would look, and her worried face immediately softens when she sees the three of them sitting there. Or two, now that Timmy has sprung to his feet and carelessly shoved the comic book into his backpack, leaving it unzipped as he runs to hug her. Endearing. Again. Gerard sighs and accepts Frank’s extended hand after he manages to stand up first.

“Mr. Way, thank God,” Lisa - or Lucy - says as they approach her. “I’m so sorry that you had to stay behind.”

“It was my pleasure,” Gerard smiles at her. “Timmy told us all about dolphins.”

“That kid will end up working in an aquarium, I swear,” she shakes her head, then turns to Frank. “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? Lucy Carter, Timmy’s mom.”

So it is Lucy. Good. Now remember that Gerard, for future reference.

“Frank Iero. I’m Gerard’s friend,” Frank introduces himself politely. “I’m afraid I may have turned your child onto tattoos. If I did, and he shows up at home with a dolphin on his forearm on his eighteenth birthday, you can totally sue me.”

“Mr. Iero, my husband’s military,” Lucy smiles. “If anyone ends up turning Tim onto tattoos, I assure you, it won’t be you. As soon as the policy was relaxed last year, he went nuts– hey! Timmy, come on, put that comic book away!”

“We’ll let you get home,” Gerard lightly touches her elbow to get her attention. “It was lovely seeing you, Mrs. Carter.”

“Likewise, Mr. Way. Mr. Iero,” she nods. “Sorry, but he is– Timmy!”

Timmy is already running out of the building, the comic book still in his tiny hand, and Gerard reminds himself that he is fortunate to only have to deal with kids for a few hours a day. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he still does a little as soon as he’s sure Mrs. Carter won’t hear him. If he isn’t mistaken, Frank is chuckling to himself, too, as they both follow after the mom and son.

“You were great with him,” Frank comments when they leave the building. Gerard pulls out his cigarettes and offers him one, which Frank gratefully accepts. “He seems to really like you.”

“I guess he does. I’m one of those teachers that won’t give you homework and not because they don’t want to but because they’ll forget,” Gerard laughs at himself. They get to the parking lot, and Gerard swiftly hides the lit cigarette behind his back when he waves to Timmy as their car drives by. Apart from two cars - his own and what he assumes is Frank’s, there seems to be no one else around. Janitor Peter lives close enough that driving is pointless. “Besides, my classes are pretty chill. It’s not like you can fail art or drama.”

“I’m sure a lot of art and drama teachers would disagree with you.”

“Maybe,” Gerard shrugs. “But I want them to express themselves however they like, not follow a rulebook on what should or shouldn’t be done. This is art. There are no rules.”

“You are a pretty extraordinary teacher,” Frank smiles. He finishes his cigarette, hides the butt in his pocket, and reaches out a hand. “See you around?”

“Well, you’ve gotta teach me how to play,” Gerard laughs nervously when he shakes Frank’s hand. “So apparently, yeah.”

“Get home safe, Gee,” Frank says, and oh, wow, okay! They’re doing nicknames now! Alright!

“You too.”

And honestly, Gerard thinks it all went pretty well, all things considered, and as he watches Frank drive off and then gets into his own car, he categorizes the day as more than acceptable. Not incredible, either, but he’s had worse, and even the fiasco of being caught absolutely butchering Silent Night can’t ruin it for him. He doesn’t think it can get any worse or better, either - unless his car breaks down (it doesn’t, thank God) - but when he finally does get home and climbs up the stairs to his apartment, his phone buzzes, and Gerard’s day, surprisingly, does end up being incredible.

There is a new text on his phone from a number that Gerard doesn’t recognize, and when he opens it, it reads:

Hi, it’s Frank. Mikey gave me your number. I’ve made some minor adjustments to my schedule, and I think I can make it to your school every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday at 4. You still need that pianist, right?

If Gerard does a small victory dance in his hallway with his jacket and boots still on - that’s his business. Don’t ask. He makes a mental note to call Mikey immediately after and thank him for being an actual saint of a brother, then fires a text back to Frank.

I desperately need that pianist, it says. You’re saving my life.

And Frank - because he apparently needs to have the last word in every conversation and because he’s obviously a lot more comfortable with texting Gerard after just one text - replies again in a tone a lot different than the previous message.

cu tmrw g, xofrnk

Gerard saves his number as Frankie . They really are doing nicknames now. 

Huh. Interesting.

Chapter Text

“That’s your solution to the problem?”

Gerard doesn’t look up at Ray. They started in a completely different setting, with Ray sitting behind his desk and Gerard anxiously gazing out the door, but three minutes to four, Ray decided to join him. Now they are both leaning against the doorframe - Ray casually and Gerard doing his goddamn best to appear casual, even though the constant gazing down at his watch probably gives him away. It’s not that Frank is late. He’s just about as punctual as anyone could be, and Gerard felt a little nauseous for the past four minutes and seventeen seconds. He did explain to Ray that Frank had other obligations and it was possible he could be late, and Ray accepted it with a nod, but still. He is kind of grateful that Frank does, in fact, run through the door at the end of the hallway precisely forty-three seconds before four.

Actually runs, too. In full speed. He lost his jacket somewhere between the school’s main entrance and the second floor where Ray’s office is located, his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat that’s gathered under the hat he’s holding in his hand along with his jacket, and he’s panting. But! He isn’t late. Thank God for small mercies.

“If you give me bullshit about tattoos in a workplace after you told me I couldn’t pay him even a buck for his work,” Gerard hisses at Ray while simultaneously sending his brightest smile to Frank, who’s running toward them, waving. “Then I will tell the kids that the headmaster is a fucking dickhead, and you can be the one explaining it to their parents.”

“Fair,” Ray hums. He smiles, too, now that Frank approaches them and turns fully into a professional employer. “Hi.”

“Hey! F– Damn, I’m sorry, am I late?”

Frank’s hair is getting into his eyes now. He has enough brainpower to push it back with his left hand while he extends his right to Ray.

“Perfectly on time,” Gerard comments.

“And “damn” isn’t really cool with us here, either,” Ray chastises. Which, Gerard would like to point out, is total bullshit. “You must be Mr. Iero.”

“Frank, please. Mr. Iero is my father,” Frank smiles, although it’s less joyful and more embarrassed this time. He shakes Ray’s hand, then reaches over to pat Gerard’s shoulder. Apparently, after spending half the day texting, they don’t need to say hello to each other explicitly. Gerard is okay with that. “And I apologize. No more swearing.”

“As long as you keep such language away from the kids, you’re good,” Ray shrugs. “Come on in. I hope you understand why we need to do this?”

Gerard doesn’t fucking understand, but it’s not like he has a say in this. He lets Ray know - again - what he thinks about it by shuffling his feet into his office and putting on the most disappointed expression he can muster, but surprisingly, Frank doesn’t seem to mind - goddamn saint.

“Absolutely,” he says, following Gerard in.

“Come on, give me that,” Gerard nudges him in the hand. Frank gratefully deposits both his jacket and his hat in Gerard’s arms. “Ray won’t let you sit down. He likes the power imbalance.”

“Hey!”

“You do,” Gerard rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have to suffer through Ray’s investigation, so he sends Frank a sympathetic look and sits down in the chair in the corner. He knows he would be all anxious if he were forced to stand in front of the headmaster’s desk - it doesn’t matter that he’s forty-six, he still gets nervous in every situation that looks like he’s about to get scolded - but Frank seems unbothered. He doesn’t tense up, doesn’t blush. He smiles at Ray and urges him to talk when Ray takes his spot, leaning his elbows on the desk.

“I’m not interrogating you,” Ray explains patiently. “But just to be safe, I will need to key you in as a volunteer, and since you’ll be in my books, I need to do some screening. This is just a conversation,” Ray gestures between them. “But I reserve myself the right to officially check who you are. Agreed?”

“Sure.”

“So, Frank Iero,” Ray smiles. “Anything I need to know?”

“The usual, then?” Frank smiles back. He curtsies, too, for good measure, and Ray nods. “Alright. Frank Iero, a standby musician with his own band and some experience teaching teenagers how to play instruments. Freshly forty-two.”

(What? The little demon in Gerard’s mind asks just as Gerard lets himself rake his eyes down from the back of Frank’s neck to his thighs and back. Where?)

“You have experience teaching?”

“No one as young as your kids here, but yes. I give private piano, guitar, and drums lessons every week.”

“Parents don’t mind your tattoos?”

(Goddamn it, the demon groans. Gerard agrees and starts plotting against Ray, wondering if he can manipulate his students into hating him. He quickly changes his mind because that would be rude, but he’s still pissed off about it).

“No.”

(Simple. Easy. Excellent, Gerard’s little demon says and starts to clap slowly, full of respect).

“Okay,” Ray accepts it. “Anything I will find if I request your file?”

“Nothing outrageous, I guess. Some petty theft when I was fourteen and one parking lot fistfight in my twenties.”

“Fistfight?”

“In my defense, I was protecting a friend from having some really disgusting homophobic slurs thrown at him, so I think I’m justified.”

(Social justice warrior who doesn’t like homophobic assholes, then. The little demon in Gerard’s mind stretches like a cat and starts purring, demanding belly rubs).

“That’s fair,” Ray agrees. “We are an open-minded school. We don’t like slurs here any more than we like swearing. I would appreciate it if you didn’t punch anyone in the face, though.”

“I’m much calmer now,” Frank smiles with a shrug. “I found other ways to get the anger out.”

(Gerard can imagine multiple ways in which he would let Frank let the anger out with his help. Not that he’s thinking about it, but he isn’t blind. He can appreciate what Frank looks like and what kind of a man he seems to be. Gerard’s little demon starts moaning. Gerard grabs it by the neck and - ignoring the hissing and scratching - throws it out the door).

“You’re cheeky,” Ray points out when he leans back in his chair. “Here, it’s a good thing. Children can be exhausting, and I think you’ll do just fine with Gee’s bunch. You have any kids yourself?”

“No. Not that I don’t like them. Wanted them for some time, but,” Frank shrugs. “Many things happened, and I never got around to it. Now it seems like I’m too old.”

(Which, in Gerard’s personal opinion, is bullshit and also very shocking. He’s seen how good Frank was with Timmy, so he automatically assumed Frank had children at home. He looks at the gold band around Frank’s finger - one of many rings he seems to wear all the time apart from when he plays - and wonders what stopped him and Jenna from having offspring.

From outside the door comes a muffled sound of whining. The demon is trying to tell Gerard that Frank seems like a great partner and that he’d be an even better father. Gerard covers his ears with his hands and starts singing “La, la, la” very loudly so he doesn’t hear it.)

“It’s never too old,” Ray says. He stretches and sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Alright, Frank. I think that’s everything I need to know for now.”

“Did I pass?”

“With flying colors.”

“Rad.”

“Gee, you can take your pianist to the kids now,” Ray nods at them. “They’ll be worse than me.”

“No, they won’t be,” Gerard lies through his teeth. He stands up, giving Frank his jacket and hat back, and gestures at him to follow. “They’re great, polite, and well-behaved children.”

“Sure they are,” Frank laughs. He closes the door to Ray’s office and stays quiet for a few moments until he’s sure Ray can no longer hear them before he speaks again. “Dude. He’s scary.”

“He’s a teddy bear, to be honest. He has to act stern, but he’s harmless.”

“I respect that,” Frank agrees. “He works with kids. It’s important that he makes sure he’s not gonna have some creep playing the piano for them.”

“I told him you weren’t.”

“Well, you don’t really know me.”

And damn, that’s true. Gerard has no fucking idea who Frank is, but he trusts his brother’s judgment. If Mikey thought Frank was a good choice to be a pianist in an elementary school, that means he is, and that’s the end of the discussion. Besides, Gerard’s instincts tell him that Frank is alright. It’s not usually enough to convince Ray, and it shouldn’t be, but Gerard started trusting Frank almost immediately, and he hasn’t stopped since. He just seems like a good guy. Shifting his schedule to help some poor Bronx elementary school with their Christmas play is not something everyone does, especially not for free, and Gerard is simply grateful. It doesn’t matter what that little demon currently banging at the firmly closed door in Gerard’s mind is saying. Frank’s face, body, and tattoos have nothing to do with it.

It’s hard to ignore the demonic asshole’s existence, however, so Gerard says:

“I hope to get to know you better.”

He is saved from rejection by no other than Timmy. Damn. Gerard needs to get him some sweets for all the hard work that guy has been doing lately.

“Mr. Frank!”

Penny, the English-teaching sweetheart who agreed to look after the kids when Gerard was busy at Ray’s office, looks panicked. She’s standing in the doorway to his classroom and seems to be trying to control both the swarm of screaming children on stage and Timmy running past her and down the hall. She’s not doing the best job at either, but it’s understandable. The kind of children that attend drama class are usually the ones who have trouble sitting in one place for longer than a minute, and they know - perfectly well - that Gerard will let them do whatever the hell they want. Penny isn’t used to it. Gerard smiles, waving at her, and tries not to feel betrayed when Timmy ignores him completely, throwing himself at Frank.

Frank huffs at the impact, but he’s quick to react. He drops his jacket, but he does get his hands under Timmy’s arms just in time to lift him from the ground. It’s fucking adorable when Timmy’s short arms wrap around Frank’s neck. Gerard’s mind demon may be an asshole, but it has a point sometimes.

“Woah,” Frank grunts. “Hi, cool kid.”

“Mr. Frank, you’re back!” Timmy shrieks. Literally shrieks, too - Gerard can see Frank flinching at the volume of it. “Holy schnitzel, you came back!”

Frank sends him the look Gerard recognizes immediately. It says: “Holy schnitzel? What?” and Gerard can only reply with a similar look that he hopes Frank will understand means: “It’s a thing. From a movie. Ignore it.”

“Of course,” Frank says to Timmy. “You did say yourself that Mr. Way promised he’d find a pianist, right?”

“Awesome,” Timmy grins when Frank puts him down on the floor. He doesn’t go far; he grabs Frank’s hand almost immediately, and Frank’s eyes look panicked when Timmy pulls him in the direction of the classroom. “Come on, Mr. Frank, I need to introduce you to everyone!”

Gerard chuckles at the look Frank sends him but doesn’t interfere. He was planning something less shock-inducing for Frank’s first day, but hey, who is he to argue with the Ghost of the Past? He leans down, picking up Frank’s jacket and folding it neatly over his forearm, and laughs when Penny follows the scene with her gaze. She doesn’t look like she’s struggling anymore. Now she’s chuckling, and Gerard joins her in the doorway to the classroom, watching how Frank stumbles over his own feet as Timmy pulls him toward the stage.

“That’s your pianist?”

“Yep,” Gerard grins. “Introductions will have to be postponed, I’m afraid.”

“You better make it happen, Way,” Penny points her finger at him. “I watched the kids for you. Now I wanna meet the hottie.”

Gerard grimaces. “Don’t call him that.”

“Why? Are you jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, come on, but we shouldn’t use language like that when the kids are here.”

“I think you’re jealous,” Penny decides. Gerard would argue, but the demon has managed to squeeze itself under the door and slither back to the front of his mind. It is currently pressing its slimy hands all over Gerard’s mouth to shut him up. He can still roll his eyes, though, so he at least does that. “No worries, sweetie. If you call dibs on him now, I promise not to flirt.”

“I’m pretty sure his wife has called dibs on him a long time ago.”

“Ah, married,” Penny hums, nodding. “You really love self-sabotaging, don’t you?”

“I needed someone willing to help who knew how to play the piano,” Gerard scoffs. “He plays the piano, and he’s willing to help. That’s it.”

Penny doesn’t look convinced, but that’s probably mostly because she tries to marry him off to every single guy she sees him with (which ended up as a fucking disaster when she met Mikey for the first time. Gerard was quick to explain, but to this day he’s not sure which one of the three of them wanted to die more). Gerard doesn’t necessarily flaunt his sexuality everywhere he goes, but he’s open about it. He thinks it’s generally nobody’s business what he finds attractive and who he sleeps with, but Ray disagrees, and Gerard has decided a long time ago that he will not hide. Some parents and teachers have a problem with that. Most don’t. Penny definitely doesn’t.

“You may wanna go save him,” she says, pointing at where Timmy is currently showing Frank off like a new toy. Even from a distance, it’s clear that the looks Frank is throwing their way scream, “Help me.” “He looks distressed.”

“You may wanna go home,” Gerard counters. “Thanks, by the way. I know they can be a handful.”

“Anything for that tattooed beauty.”

Gerard leans in to whisper into her ear. “Fuck off.”

But, yes, Frank definitely needs help. When Gerard leaves Penny to tend to herself and hopefully leave him the hell alone, he finds out that Frank has already made the most important introductions. Or, well, that Timmy made them for him. As he approaches, Frank has an ever-growing circle of children around him, and they are all looking at him like he is an alien who has just landed on their stage and announced he’s there to take them on a space trip. Minnie is repeatedly poking his forearm, and what she seems to be mumbling under her breath is, “This is gross, this is so gross,” while she touches his Our Lady of Sorrows tattoo and the skulls underneath it. Adam, the Ghost of the Future, is mainly fascinated by Frank’s fingers. He’s pulling at them like he’s trying to dislodge them - which would be some awful news for Gerard and the play - and he keeps asking why Frank has Halloween tattooed across his knuckles. The speed with which he’s talking makes it impossible for Frank to answer, so it seems like he is trying to focus primarily on what Timmy is saying.

And that, when Gerard finally gets on stage, is:

“– likes dolphins, he told me himself, right, Mr. Frank? He will get a tattoo of a dolphin because I told him about their whistling, and he thinks I’m cool. You think that, right? Mr. Frank, you still think I’m cool, right?”

“I–”

“And he will get the glitter one, too, because I had the glitter one!”

“Guys,” Gerard interrupts. He doesn’t even try to pretend that this isn’t absolutely hilarious, so he laughs openly as he grabs Frank’s shoulder over the heads of the fascinated children and gently pulls him back. “You may wanna try not to suffocate our new pianist during his first day with us.”

“But Mr. Way!” Patricia whines. “Mr. Frank was just telling us about the tattoos on his hands!”

“Was he? All I heard was dolphin talk.”

“Because Timmy just won’t shut up!” Patricia yells. Timmy sticks his tongue out at her, but since Gerard doesn’t notice any malicious intent, he lets it slide. Just this once. “I want to know what it says!”

“Hopeless romantic,” Frank interjects. His voice sounds small like he’s seconds away from bolting out of here and never coming back. Gerard squeezes his shoulder a little harder to remind him that this option is currently off the table.

“What does it mean?”

“For me?” Frank sighs, thinking. “I guess it’s just that I believe love is stronger than anything else. If you love someone very, very much, you will do anything and everything to be with that person, and nothing will ever win with that feeling. Does that make sense?”

“Aaaah,” Patricia hums. “So, like Ariel.”

“No!” that’s Minnie’s voice. “Like Aurora!”

“Like Snow White!”

“Like Anna!”

“Guys!” Gerard hollers. The girls’ heads turn to him, and he has to really focus to stop himself from snorting. God, they’re cute, and Frank’s blush is even cuter (shut up, demon). “Guys. I know Frank’s tattoos are cool, but do you think we should maybe get to work?”

“But–”

“We can talk about them more the next time Frank is here. But we need to show him what we do here so he can play for us, right?”

“I’m Tiny Tim,” Patricia declares proudly. Her curtsy is a lot better than Frank’s was. “And Minnie here is my brother Peter.”

“Great to meet you,” Frank says softly.

“Timmy plays the Past Ghost, and Adam plays the Future Ghost. There is also the Present Ghost, and that’s Steve.”

“Who plays Scrooge?”

“Oooh, that’s Erica because she’s the oldest. You need to be old to be Scrooge.”

“That is not true,” Gerard debunks it immediately. “Neither of you just wanted to be a grumpy old man, that’s all.”

“We told Mr. Way that he should be Scrooge, but he said no,” Timmy points out. Now it’s Gerard’s turn to blush when Frank’s gaze finds him, and it’s no longer scared but amused again. “He’d make an awesome Scrooge.”

“Oh, he so would,” Frank grins. “You should’ve said yes, Gee.”

God, how badly does Gerard wish he could swear in front of the children and tell Frank to fuck off. Or at least flip him off, which is probably also forbidden, although Ray has never specifically said anything about it. He chooses to glare instead, but Frank starts laughing, so he ends up smiling in the next three seconds, anyway.

“Alright, little ones,” he says, turning around. “Everyone get in positions, please. I will talk to Mr. Frank for a moment, and then we’ll start.”

The children scatter, screaming among themselves and laughing, on their way to find their props behind the curtain. A few minutes of peace is all Gerard is given, so he follows the still-laughing Frank to the piano and leans against it when Frank sits down. He looks good there, Gerard decides. Like he belongs. His moves are sure when he opens the fallboard, and Gerard slides the music sheets over to him, grateful that he can hand them over to someone a lot more competent than he is. He didn’t even realize he was still holding onto Frank’s jacket, so he carefully places it on top of the piano and smiles.

“So, first impression?” he asks when Frank starts stretching, cracking his fingers and warming them up. It’s hypnotizing, and when his rings come off - along with the gold band - Gerard’s heart does a little somersault.

“Overwhelming,” Frank says. “But in a good way, I guess. I’ve never dealt with so many kids at once, but they’re all great. I just need to learn to pick up on who’s talking to me at the moment, and I’ll be good.”

“They won’t leave you alone now that you’ve shown interest,” Gerard informs him. “Prepare to have at least fourteen little feet following you everywhere from now on.”

“Oh God,” Frank pales a little. “Really?”

It’s endearing, and Gerard decides that enough’s enough. As soon as he’s home, he’s getting a crate, and his little demon (he thinks he’ll name it George - after George Lucas because he’s a nerd) will be staying home for the rest of these rehearsals. Potentially even outside of them, too. He leans in and taps his hand on top of the piano a few times, sending Frank a warm smile.

“What can I say,” he tilts his head, winking. “Welcome to the family, Frank.”

*

Two and a half weeks in, every single kid in Gerard’s class is head over heels in love with Frank. It changes the dynamic of the rehearsals so much that, at first, Gerard actually feels lost. The little ones still run into his classroom at precisely four, the way they’ve always done it, but the direction in which they run differs. They no longer aim for the middle of the stage where Gerard usually is. Now they run left toward the piano, and the most he gets is a short “hi, Mr. Way!” yelled over their shoulders as they throw themselves at Frank. They do it with such vigor that Gerard was forced to rearrange the classroom, fearing for their safety. The aisle between chairs that has previously run from the door to the middle of the room now breaks off in the middle and leads to the side steps to the stage.

Gerard would be a gross liar if he said he’s okay with it. He would, however, be a gross liar if he said it bothers him, too.

Damn, he gets it, alright? He does. George’s crate didn’t hold him (it’s a demon, of course, it’ll be a man. Gerard respects women too much to portray them as evil), so he’s become a permanent resident in Gerard’s mind, and he’s an annoying one. He keeps saying things when Gerard is near Frank, and the things he says aren’t even safe for work, not to mention an elementary school. For the record, Gerard didn’t ask for Frank’s help because he found him attractive. He asked because Mikey had given him the number, and Frank was apparently the only guy who was willing to listen to Gerard rambling about school plays and Christmas carols. The problem that he’s facing now, however, is that his initial reasons don’t seem to matter.

Frank is a sweet guy, and he’s hot. And Gerard - unfortunate for him, but what can he do - is gay.

Does he think developing a crush on a married guy in under three weeks is stupid? Absolutely. Is he aware that it will end tragically if he lets the crush develop further? Yes, of course. Is it stopping him from doing it anyway?

Well…

“Mr. Way!”

“I know,” Gerard shakes his head and looks down at his watch for the hundredth time today. Not much has changed. It has been thirteen seconds since the last time he looked, and it is still seven minutes past four at the moment. On a Tuesday. He knows that because he checked that, too, but no, he didn’t mix up the days (it happened before. He showed up at school on a Sunday once and interrupted Ray’s church service to yell at him that it was closed.)

“Mr. Waaaay!”

“Timmy, yes, I know,” he repeats. No, it is not politically correct to yell at a child, but he entertains the idea for a while. He’s got enough anxiety going on as is, and for once, Timmy isn’t helping. “He’ll be here.”

“How do you know?”

“I just–” Gerard runs a hand up his hair and takes a deep breath. The kids are gathered around him, sitting cross-legged on the ground or splayed on the chairs, and Gerard feels a little bad lying to them so bluntly. “I just do.”

“My mommy always knows when dad is coming home,” Adam says resolutely. “Is it like that, Mr. Way?”

“That’s stupid,” Minnie wrinkles her nose. “Mr. Way and Mr. Frank are not mommy and daddy.”

“You don’t have to be mommy and daddy to know these things,” Patricia rolls her eyes. “My aunt doesn’t have any children, but she and uncle know everything about each other, too.”

“Are they married?”

“No. Jack isn’t really my uncle,” Patricia says slowly. “But he almost is because he’s my aunt’s boyfriend.”

“Mr. Way,” Timmy looks up at him, and Gerard knows what he’s going to say before he does. “Is Mr. Frank your boyfriend?”

Knowing doesn’t make the shock any less significant. He doesn’t gasp, but it’s a close thing, and this time, he’s grateful that looks cannot, in fact, kill anybody. He isn’t particularly fond of the idea of going to prison for killing a six-year-old.

“No,” he says as steadily as he can. “He isn’t.”

“Why not?”

God, he hates kids. He hates kids.

“That’s stupid, Timmy,” Minnie says. It’s her new favorite saying. Everything has been stupid for the past week. “They are both boys!”

“Mommy says boys can be boyfriends and girls can be girlfriends,” Patricia counters. If Gerard didn’t know any better, he’d say their friendship is endangered. They seem to have been disagreeing on everything lately (ever since that stupid-phrase started for Minnie), and they fight constantly, giving him the headache of a century every time they do. “It doesn’t matter that Mr. Way and Mr. Frank are both boys. They can still be boyfriends.”

Gerard sighs. “Actually–”

“They wouldn’t be boyfriends,” Minnie huffs. “That’s stupid. They’re grown-ups!”

“Boyfriends is what some grown-ups call each other,” Gerard interjects before Patricia can even inhale to respond. “Others say partners.”

“Partners,” Minnie echoes. “That’s stupid.”

“Partners,” Patricia says, too.

“Your mom is right,” Gerard nods at her. Fuck, when he walked in here today, he didn’t think he’d be delivering a speech about sexual orientation equality, but alright. He’s a gay teacher. He can do this. “Many people will try to tell you differently, but there is nothing wrong with two men or two women loving each other so much that they want to be boyfriends, girlfriends, or partners. As long as they are both adults and are sure that they want to be together.”

“But they can’t get married.”

“They can get married in some places,” Gerard explains patiently. “But they don’t always want to. They can still like each other very much without being married.”

“Or without having children?”

Does Gerard want to explain adoptions or surrogacy? He could, but these kids are, after all, in an elementary school. They’ll have time to learn about it later on.

“Or that, yes.”

“Mr. Way,” Patricia pouts. Actually pouts, full-on puppy eyes, and quivering lower lip. “Does it mean you don’t like Mr. Frank?”

“What? No, I like him,” Gerard says. It’s a miracle he doesn’t groan.

“But not enough!”

“I– Well, no, I like Mr. Frank very much, but it’s different when you like somebody and when you love somebody.”

“So you don’t love Mr. Frank?”

“No.”

Gerard should have seen this coming. He should’ve. Patricia’s lower lip quivers even harder, and Minnie looks like she may just straight up get up and leave. Sorry, Gerard thinks, for not completing weird children’s fantasies about their art teacher and their accompanying pianist falling in love. Gerard would adore for that to happen, but as it is, Frank has already done that part a while ago and is now happily married to a woman, which he is not ready to explain to the kids. He sighs, almost prepared to apologize - even though he really shouldn’t - when Timmy’s head snaps up so hard Gerard can hear the bones shifting.

“Mr. Way!” he yells at the volume Gerard would not expect a six-year-old to be capable of. “Your boyfr– Partner! Is here!”

Followed closely by Minnie saying: “That’s stupid.”

Please, Gerard thinks as he slowly turns to look behind him. Please, let Frank be far away to ensure he hasn’t heard it. But, of course, nope - here he is. The children were distracted enough to ignore him coming in, and Gerard was too deep in his head to hear him, so now he’s standing basically directly behind him, wearing a sheepish yet amused expression on his face. Gerard’s first thought definitely shouldn’t be, “Oh, he’s cute,” but here he is, thinking precisely that. In his defense, Frank has swapped his usual beanie hat for an earflap one, and it has a little dog’s face embroidered on the front.

If that’s not the definition of cute, then Gerard doesn’t know what is.

“Hi,” Frank says just as literally all of Gerard’s students spring to their feet at once. Valid reaction, if you ask him. If he were twenty years younger, he would, too. “I’m sorry I’m late, there was–”

“Mr. Frank!”

And then, before Frank can explain what happened, he has an armful of children, and Gerard just has to smile. He may be embarrassed, but it hasn’t rendered him dead yet, so his heart speeds up when Frank tries to catch Minnie, Adam, Timmy, and Patricia at the same time when they climb him like a tree. Not a very tall tree, Gerard would like to point out. More like a sapling.

“Oof,” Frank gasps. His eyes are wide, and he starts sweating immediately when he tries to straighten up. It’s a tricky thing to do now that he has the girls wrapped around his arms, hanging down like they’re monkeys, Adam climbing his back, and Timmy hugging his front. He looks like he’s struggling, which Gerard finds hilarious. “Holy– guys. Guys, I kinda can’t breathe?”

He has that pleading look. Gerard is not as strong as he thinks he is because he gives in to it almost instantly and sighs, dragging himself up from the ground.

“Alright, everyone, let him go.”

“But–”

“We need to rehearse, and Frank won’t be able to play anything if you don’t let him take his jacket off. Come on, chop chop,” They look at him like he’s a traitor, so he sighs again and snaps his fingers. “I’m serious. Let Frank go and go get ready.”

They do, albeit reluctantly. If Gerard’s not wrong, Timmy gives Frank’s legs one more forceful squeeze before he moves away, too, like a promise that he’ll be back. Gerard reaches to ruffle his hair when Timmy runs past him, and as soon as he’s gone, he remembers that he is potentially in trouble. Now that the children are racing around the stage, getting ready to perform, he is brutally reminded that Frank is still staring at him like he’s grown a pair of horns.

“Don’t even say anything,” he says quickly. Frank’s grin is slightly evil when he starts peeling off the layers from his body, starting with his hat (it really is cute, goddamn it). “I’m so serious right now, Frank. Don’t–”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Frank rolls his eyes. He gestures at Gerard to follow him when he goes to the piano. “Or shall I say partner?”

“Dude.”

“Seriously, what the hell did you tell them?”

He doesn’t sound angry. He still looks like the idea mostly entertains him, so Gerard decides things could definitely be worse. Of course, Frank has fought some homophobic asshole in his twenties, so it’s not like he’ll be hateful toward Gerard’s orientation, but still. Gerard has known people who were very supportive yet still panicked when they realized they might have potentially been flirted with. Not that Gerard has done that. Or is doing that. Or will do that. No, he hasn’t, isn’t, and won’t. He respects Frank’s marriage, even if he fucking hates it.

“Nothing,” he replies. He takes his usual position next to the piano, leaning over it. “They came to this conclusion on their own. Just how badly does it bother you, on a scale from one to ten?”

“Zero.”

“Really?”

“I don’t care,” Frank shrugs. He’s taken his jacket and cardigan off now and has started working on his rings. “Children say a lot of things.”

“Yes, I mean, that’s true, but does it bother you that– I mean, not that I would. I mean, no, I totally would, but obviously I won’t, but, like– I wouldn’t mind, per se? A boyfriend, that is, not you. Or a partner. Or–”

“Gerard.”

Frank’s hand lands squarely on top of his, effectively stopping the frantic monologue. Gerard tries his goddamn best not to focus on the fact that it’s his ring hand, the golden band still cold from the outside air, feeling like an ice cube where it’s pressed to Gerard’s fingers. He doesn’t look down at it, even though every inch of him is telling him to, and he ignores George growling as he slowly wakes up at the very back of Gerard’s mind.

“Huh?”

“It’s cool if you like men.”

Right. Of course.

“I know that,” Gerard says slowly. “I just thought…”

“I like men,” Frank says, and wow. Okay! What?! “And women,” Oh. Yeah, that. That’s fair. “I have a preference, obviously,” Obviously. “But I’m a lot more open-minded than you give me credit for, so like… don’t panic?”

“I’m not panicking.”

“It feels like you’re panicking,” Frank smiles. He finally takes his hand away, and Gerard feels cold immediately after he does.

“Nope. Totally not panicking,” Gerard shakes his head. “See? I’m cool. No panic here.”

“You stupid fuck, stop panicking!”

“Frank!” Gerard hisses. “Swearing!”

“Oops.”

Oh, he’s proud of himself - Gerard sees it all over his face. His smile is more of a shit-eating grin, and he has that glimmer of confidence in his eyes when he sits down, stretching his fingers and opening the fallboard. To be fair, he did make Gerard stop panicking - shh, he doesn’t need to know that - so points for that, which doesn’t mean Gerard isn’t still a little shaken. Frank likes men. What the fuck does he mean that he likes men? And yes, it’s a rhetorical question because Gerard completely and totally understands the concept of bisexuality, and he isn’t one of those idiots who think that it is automatically erased the moment a guy marries a girl or a girl marries a guy, but still. Now he’s thinking about it, or more specifically, he’s thinking about how Frank knows that he likes men.

George, ever the asshole, possesses him for a second and makes him blurt out: “How did you realize?”

Frank looks around the piano to check on the children. Timmy is currently fighting Adam for the only available sheet that is used to indicate someone’s a ghost, so after establishing they are definitely not listening in on their conversation, he leans back and looks at Gerard.

“You want my coming out story?”

“Not necessarily, just… I’m surprised, that’s all. I’ve worked here for a while and before that, in other places, and I was always the only queer employee. Surprisingly.”

“Technically, I’m a volunteer, not an employee,” Frank smiles, winking. “But man, I don’t know, it just sort of happened. Had a few girlfriends first, then went to college, met that one guy, we… effed,” Frank laughs at himself, shaking his head, and Gerard joins him quickly. Effed. “Or well, not really, but we did stuff. Then I did stuff with other women and other men. I liked all of those, so, yeah. Guess it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“Sorry, I’m digging into your life,” Gerard winces. “You could’ve told me to drop it.”

“Could’ve,” Frank nods. “But haven’t, so, there you go. You?”

“Me?”

“What is your poison,” Frank asks. “Just men? Both? Everything?”

“Oh, man,” Gerard sighs dreamily. He looks at the children again, makes damn sure they aren’t anywhere near them, then leans close to whisper. “I’m so gay.”

Frank cracks up, and Gerard’s facade falls pretty quickly, too. They end up laughing together at how ridiculous that was, and Gerard tries to ignore George throwing a fit in his mind. He wants Gerard to focus on the crow’s feet around Frank’s eyes, on how he squints when he laughs, on that distinctive way he pulls his head back, the smile lines on his face, the scrunching of Frank’s little nose, and the sound of his giggling. He wants Gerard to notice the little scar between Frank’s eyebrows and the one under his lip where the piercing once was (which Gerard can’t even begin to think about because he’ll combust). He wants him to focus on Frank’s lips in general.

Gerard just mostly wants that demon to fuck off.

But George is a stubborn fucker, so he doesn’t. He creates a sort of earworm situation for him, only instead of a song, it’s a high-definition collection of pictures, sounds, and smells that are aimed to make Gerard lose his mind. See, Frank is a pianist and a guitarist. His hands are nice, and his fingers are even nicer. His mouth, already discussed, is pretty. Gerard doesn’t want to think about other things, but he’s sure they’re nice, too.

Frank did “stuff” with men, and all Gerard wants to know is: giving or receiving? He’s open to both if he’s honest, and he’s definitely open to both with Frank. He feels like the biggest piece of shit ever to be having these thoughts in a classroom of an elementary school, but he can’t help it. He wants Frank to bend him over and give it to him, and he wants to bend Frank over and do the same. He wants seventeen other scenarios to happen, too, and fuck, he must be blushing.

Timmy - fuck, Timmy! The savior! - comes running just as Gerard is opening his mouth to actually ask Frank if he tops or bottoms. The boy is small enough that he can walk under the piano, so he just pops up next to them all of a sudden with the biggest smile on his face.

“Mr. Way,” he says. “Can we start now? I got the sheet, but Adam said that if we don’t start in the next minute, then he wants it back.”

“We can absolutely start now,” Oh, sweet, sweet relief. “But you have to share, guys, okay? We will get you costumes for the show, but for now, you have to share the sheet.”

“Alright, Mr. Way!”

“Go, I’ll be there in a second,” Gerard pushes him lightly toward the middle of the stage. He gives Frank one more careful look. “Are we good?”

“I think we’re on more friendly terms than we were ten minutes ago,” Frank smiles at him. “We know so much about each other now. We should braid each other’s hair next. What do you say?”

“Eff off,” Gerard mumbles. Frank giggles - here comes the nose scrunch again, it’s so sweet, oh God - and Gerard rolls his eyes at him. “Alright, start them off, okay?”

“God Rest You Merry?”

“Please.”

Frank’s fingers touch the keys and then press. Gerard’s skin breaks out in goosebumps.

“Everyone!” he yells, turning away from Frank. He never stops playing, not even when Gerard gets to the middle of the stage and claps his hands to get the kids’ attention, and it’s beautiful. Even amidst all the buzz of talking and excited commentary, it’s stunning. “Alrighty, let’s do this, shall we? Erica, please, if you would. Scene one, and… Action!”

Chapter Text

As soon as Gerard wakes up, he knows he’s absolutely, utterly fucked.

See, he has a vivid imagination. Clearly. He would be a pretty terrible artist and theatre teacher if he didn’t, and most of the time, it’s really nice to be able to visualize things. Sometimes, however, his mind plays tricks on him, and he doesn’t really appreciate it. He blames George for it - because, duh, he’s a demon! If anyone’s putting these images in Gerard’s mind, it’s got to be him - but finding the culprit doesn’t change anything. He’s still in bed, staring at the ceiling of his apartment at a way too early hour on a Saturday, and he can still remember and feel everything that his brain has just conjured up. And boy, was it something.

He survived three rehearsals with Frank without anything happening, but now his brain has apparently had enough. Gerard takes a deep breath, closes his eyes again, and tells himself he won’t dwell on it. Yes, it’s Saturday, so he could technically stay in bed for a little longer - he still has at least two hours before he needs to leave and pick his parents up from Mikey’s - but he is totally going to get up from bed now, and he won’t do anything that he will later regret.

He rolls onto his stomach to stretch, and he moans so loud his neighbors undoubtedly hear him through the walls.

Oh, well. He tried.

Gerard squeezes his eyes shut so hard it hurts, but he can’t will his dick to calm down no matter what he does. Fuck, it was just so good. He remembers acutely well how Frank’s back looked, splashed with colorful tattoos and covered in sweat. He remembers how the flesh above his hips gave under the pressure of Gerard’s hands, how he moved with him when Gerard pulled him up onto his knees. He remembers the sound of Frank’s harsh breathing, the sight of his mouth falling open in pure ecstasy as Gerard pushed his cock inside him. Frank was so tight around him, so hot, so wet from Gerard drooling all over his ass beforehand, and his moans were so sweet as he trembled in Gerard’s arms.

Gerard’s mind is filled with the sounds of Frank’s voice begging him for it. “Deeper, fuck, Gee, faster, please– fuck–.” He remembers how Frank’s fingers - those fucking fingers - tried to find purchase against the wall when Gerard pressed them both to the headboard to fuck him harder and how they failed. 

He remembers his own fingers, too. How they slid over Frank’s sweat-covered chest and throat, how he pushed them into his mouth, how Frank groaned around them and sucked. How Gerard stretched his lips with them. How Frank tried to bite him but only managed to scrape his teeth across the skin.

His hips roll before he can stop them, and the next sound that leaves him is a pathetic sort of whimper. He can’t be doing this, he tells himself. He needs to get up, take a cold shower, and forget about it. Frank is married. Frank works with him, and he’s married to a lovely girl called Jenna, and Gerard should not be doing this, but fuck. His cock is so hard, and he’s so desperate for it he could die, so he reaches over to grab the headboard - different from the one in his dream, less fancy, no bars on that one - and rocks his dick against the bed.

“Oh, Jesus.”

Ah, fuck it. It’s not like anyone will know, right? Right.

So he does what he shouldn’t be doing and gets himself off in record time. With his eyes closed and his hands curled around the headboard, imagining Frank lying beneath him is the easiest thing in the world. Gerard’s thrusts are messy, his sleeping shorts are soaking now from how much his dick is leaking, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck about any of it. Frank would look so fucking gorgeous splayed on Gerard’s bed. He’d throw his head back, moaning Gerard’s name. His nails would rake down Gerard’s back, leaving angry red marks all over his skin, and his hands would slide down to his ass and squeeze, pulling him in, pulling him in deeper–

“Fuck,” Gerard groans as he shudders. “Oh… oh fuck–”

He comes thinking of Frank’s eyelids fluttering and his mouth opening out of pleasure. His hips stutter, and he lets himself fall, grimacing at the wetness that he feels spreading beneath him. The pleasure is short - as it always is nowadays, long gone are the days of Gerard actually basking in the afterglow - but his head is still spinning slightly when he lets his hands drop to the bed. Now he mostly feels, go figure, guilty. Wincing, he forces himself to roll onto his side and wrinkles his nose when he feels how the fabric of his shorts clings to his skin.

Now, he could fall back asleep. Now, if he closed his eyes and ignored the stickiness inevitably turning into itching, he could–

He could pick up the phone that starts ringing next to his ear. That’s what he could do.

“Hello?”

“Hey, so I was thinking about I Saw Three Ships, right? And I think it could use some drums along with the piano. Like, one drum, maybe,” Frank says without further ado. Gerard is so surprised to hear his voice that it almost gives him a backlash. “Obviously, I can’t play both, but the rhythm is pretty easy, so I think you could do it if I showed you how. I have some goblet drums in here. I could bring one of them over on Tuesday, or you could come here over the weekend.”

“Frank,” Gerard says slowly. He is acutely aware that his dick isn’t even fully soft yet, and now that Frank is actually speaking to him, it’s bound to take a turn in the opposite direction. Unbelievable. Gerard is forty-six, for God’s sake. He should not be able to get hard again after not even a full minute. “Hold on a second. What?”

“Oh,” Frank laughs. “Oh, shit. It’s seven.”

“It is seven,” Gerard agrees.

“Shit. I woke you up, didn’t I?”

Gerard grabs the hem of his bedsheets and lifts them, staring down at the slowly regrowing tent in his shorts.

“You could say that.”

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that I have plans today, and I woke up early, and– damn, Gee. Seriously, my bad. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Gerard yawns as he says it. He ignores his boner - hardest thing he’s ever done, pun intended - and gets up with the phone still pressed to his ear. “You said drums?”

“A drum. The one you can play with your hands. It would sound fucking amazing.”

“And you want me to play it.”

“I mean, I can try with my feet,” Frank jokes. Gerard ignores the butterflies waking up in his belly at the sound of the giggling and shuffles his way toward the bathroom, grabbing a fresh pair of boxer briefs on his way. It must be a violation of some friendship code to be on the phone with a guy you have a crush on while your shorts are stained with come. “It’s really easy, though. I’ll show you.”

“You want me to come over?”

“If you can,” Frank offers. “I’ll be out for the majority of the day, but if the afternoon works… I should be free from like four. I’ll text you.”

Horrible, terrible idea. The worst idea Gerard has ever heard in his entire goddamn life. Spending time with Frank after rubbing one off is already problematic, but doing it in his house where Jenna is? Hands down, the worst thing that could ever happen to him. What is he supposed to say, though? No? He’s told Frank that his parents are in town and that he will need to spend some time with them on the weekend, but he knows he’ll be done by four, and as Penny mentioned - he loves a good, old self-sabotage.

“Sure,” he says. “Just let me know when you get back, and I’ll be there.”

“Or I can come over to yours,” Frank offers. “Whichever works best.”

“No, no, it’s– no,” Gerard looks around his small, lifeless apartment and cringes at the mere thought of Frank, who lives in East Village, ever seeing it. “It’s fine. I should be around anyway, and there’s no point in you carrying the drum over here.”

“Suit yourself,” Frank’s voice is light. “Alright, I actually need to go, but I’ll see you later then.”

“Bye.”

It’s lame. He’s fucking lame. Frank hangs up, the sound of his giggling still echoing in Gerard’s mind when he puts the phone down, and he regrets ever picking up the call in the first place. God, Frank’s just… he’s great, and Gerard’s so screwed. He’s too old for crushes, the same way he’s too old for boyfriends. He’s forty-six, and he’s a single gay teacher living in a shitty neighborhood. He has absolutely no doubt that the days of casually flirting with hot men are in the past, and if he’s hooking up with anyone, it certainly won’t be his married coworker. Relationships? That’s so over that it’s not even funny. Yes, he’s pretty much made his peace with the fact that he will die alone in the same apartment he’s spent his entire life in, but it doesn’t make these feelings any easier.

The last time it happened was so long ago that Gerard hardly even remembers what the guy looked like. He made damn sure that he would not let himself fall for anyone anymore, so what the hell is he so giddy about? Why is Frank, out of all people, affecting him like this?

Because he’s perfect for you, George decides to say. Gerard is well-behaved, so he says hello to him and wishes him a good day as he throws him back into his crate. George isn’t happy and forces an image to the front of Gerard’s mind as payback - an image that has Gerard dropping his soaked shorts at the speed of light and jumping into a shower with a hand already curled around his dick.

His age apparently doesn’t matter, as far as coming twice in a row goes, when he’s thinking about Frank’s lips stretched around his cock and all the gagging noises he’d make. Point for George.

It feels downright wrong to still hold that image in his mind when he leaves the apartment and goes to pick up his parents, but Gerard does it anyway. What he wouldn’t give to get a glimpse of Frank like that, on his knees to please him. What he wouldn’t give to be on his knees himself with Frank’s hands buried in his hair. He’s bound to become a sex addict (or a masturbating addict, at this point, since he very much doubts any actual sex is happening) if he continues like that, so he shakes his head and plays the music in the car exceptionally loud. He goes for Christmas carols, too, hoping it’ll help shift the mood.

It doesn’t.

His mother, however, is an entirely different story. Gerard is more or less prepared for what to expect from her, but as soon as he parks the car in front of Mikey’s house and sees the front door opening, he knows he was very, very wrong. He loves his parents, don’t get him wrong. He just doesn’t particularly like them.

“Gerard!”

Meh, George huffs in his brain. We could be daydreaming about Frank instead of doing this. Let’s go back home, how about that?

Gerard gets out of the car just in time to open his arms. His mom likes cuddles, and Gerard is never strong enough to refuse her, especially after he hasn’t seen her in months. It’s not his fault, by the way. He invited Donna and Donald over multiple times, and it’s totally a coincidence that he did so when he knew they were both busy and couldn’t make it. In his defense, his mother always has something horribly insensitive to say about either him, his apartment, or all of these grandchildren he’s not giving her. Gerard always counters it by saying that Mikey has already managed to get two kids, so it’s not like he needs to pick up any slack, but it never seems to resonate.

“Hi, Mom. Dad.”

Donald is bearable. He’s usually so quiet Gerard can almost forget he’s there, and he only gets excited when he walks through a Christmas market and buys trinkets no one needs. Donna hates them and makes sure her husband is fully aware of how much she disagrees with his purchases. Gerard, being a messed-up weird artist, fucking loves those things. His dad has a unique talent for finding the most deranged Christmas tree ornaments in existence, and Gerard often offers to buy them from him. It makes him smile when he sees them being presents afterward, carelessly wrapped under Mikey’s tree.

“Thank God you’re here. I was so sure you weren’t coming,” Donna chastises him while simultaneously squeezing the life out of him. “Mikey said he’s too busy today to take me shopping. Can you believe it?”

“I actually can, Mom,” Gerard winces. He pushes her away as gently as he can without offending her feelings and pats his dad’s shoulder. They exchange silent welcomes in the form of head nods. “He’s got a company to look after.”

“Well, he has a mother, too. But now you’re here, so we can go.”

“I actually wanted to grab a coffee first if–”

“I was thinking… 5th Avenue, what do you think? There’s bound to be something there worth my time.”

“Absolutely, Mom.”

5th Avenue works, as long as Gerard is not getting his addresses all mixed up. He knows for a fact that there is a Christmas market close by that he wants to show his dad, and he thinks they can both escape Satan shopping for shoes and disappear between the colorful stands. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really know where his mother takes the money for all the clothes and accessories she buys. Both of his parents are retired, and, yes, Mikey sends them money every month - a pretty substantial sum, too, given that he’s fucking loaded - but still. Regardless, there is no way he’s doing any shopping with anyone unless he gets a coffee and lunch beforehand, so he walks around the car to open the door for Donna and sends her the brightest smile he can conjure.

“Allow me to treat you to a brunch in New York City first, though,” he offers, knowing that’ll work a lot better than saying he needs his caffeine like he needs air. Especially after the morning he’s had. “There’s this place, Angelina. It’s French.”

“Posh?”

“Very,” he smiles wider. He gets behind the wheel and grins at his dad, who rolls his eyes at him from the backseat. Yeah, the majority of Gerard’s genes come from Donald. There is no doubt about that. He winks at him when he makes sure Donna isn’t looking. “The prices are ridiculous, but they’re worth it.”

“I wouldn’t accuse you of enjoying French tearooms,” Donna clicks her tongue. God, Gerard really loves her. He laughs, shaking his head.

“Mom, I’m gay. By definition, I love everything French.”

“That’s true,” she agrees. Gerard pulls out into traffic, surprisingly heavy this early on a Saturday morning, and doesn’t miss Mikey’s grinning face peeking through his kitchen window. Little fucker knows he’s won this year, and Gerard makes a mental note to throw in some coal with the rest of his gifts. “Speaking of love, how’s that working out for you?”

“Mom.”

“Don’t you “Mom” me, son. I see you twice a year, and you never call. Your brother and his wife have weekly video calls with me. I am your mother, and if I want to talk about your love life, I will.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Gerard rolls his eyes. He gazes at his dad again. “Back me up here?”

“Sorry, buddy,” Donald speaks for the first time since he got into the car. “You’re on your own.”

“Mikey mentioned you’ve met someone recently.”

Of course, he would. Gerard scoffs. George starts clapping his hands like an excited child, although his laughter is anything but. It’s downright sinister.

“Did he happen to mention that the guy I met is married?”

“Oh, so you are interested.”

“It doesn’t matter if I am or if I’m not. He’s a great guy, and I’m sure his wife would agree with me,” Gerard says. “I don’t think you’d support me destroying someone’s relationship, huh?”

“No, of course not. But… you know. Things happen.”

“Mom!”

“I’m just saying, honey,” Donna shrugs. “Marriages fall apart.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a rebound, either. I’m too old for that. Besides, I’m perfectly comfortable on my own, thank you very much. I don’t need a man in my life to be content.”

“How’s the play going?” Donald asks, and damn. Gerard loves him a little more for changing the subject.

“It’s going. Had some issues with the piano part, as I’m sure Mikey already told you,” Gerard throws his mom a glance. “But it’s all solved now. The kids are excited.”

“What are you doing this year?”

“A Christmas Carol. Overrated, I know, but at least it’s educational.”

“And you have the pianist now.”

“Yeah, Frank,” Gerard nods. The name sounds wrong when it rolls off his tongue, like a bitter, forbidden fruit. He laughs it off. “He wants me to play a drum in one of the songs. It’ll be a disaster. I’m actually supposed to meet him later today so he can show me how,” he points out, hoping that his mother will take the hint. He’s taking her shopping, but he can’t spend the entire day with her because he has responsibilities. Because he’s an adult. With responsibilities. Yes.

“Is he the married one?”

For fucks sake.

“Mom, if you don’t drop the guy subject, I will kick you out of the car on Kennedy’s bridge, and you can walk the rest of the way.”

“You wouldn’t do that to your mother.”

“Yeah, I totally would,” Gerard smiles. He reaches over to pat her hand. “So, truce? I drive you, you leave men in my life alone?”

Donna purses her lips and looks out the window where the first snowflakes of this year are shyly falling from the sky. She seems to consider it, but since she doesn’t know New York even half as well as Gerard does (which is saying something because he honestly has no clue where he is and where he’s supposed to go - thank you, GPS), she can’t really estimate if the walk would kill her or not.

“Fine,” she decides at last. She shakes his hand when he extends it and huffs. “God, Gerard, how did you turn out like this?”

Gerard meets his dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror again and grins.

“I take after Dad,” he says. When he reaches back, Donald gives him a high five. “Welcome to New York City, guys.”

*

They don’t manage to escape Donna for a lot longer than Gerard anticipated. He forces one additional break in the midst of her shopping spree, mostly so he can finally sit down and give his dad a chance to rest his feet, but it’s a short one. They eat something after the cold has made them hungry, and they are back to browsing New York stores immediately after. By the time Donna is finally satisfied with the number of purchases, it’s after three in the afternoon, and Gerard’s arms are full of shopping bags. As far as he can tell, he’s carrying three pairs of winter boots, one pair of high heels he thinks would look great burning in a fireplace on Christmas day (they are hideous. Hideous. He isn’t one to judge, but they really are the ugliest high heels he’s ever seen), seven bags of jackets, blouses, and pants, and one very flashy and very indiscreet bag of underwear.

Of course, it is him who has to carry them. Donna is his mom, and, despite the popular belief, he hasn’t been raised to be an asshole, and his dad has arthritis in his wrists. Being a good son, Gerard lugs the shopping bags when they finally enter the Christmas market and accepts the weird looks people give him when they notice the glitter logo of a thong on the underwear bag.

He doesn’t give a shit. He’s old now, but back when he was young and pretty, he wasn’t a stranger to wearing women’s underwear. If he dug through his closet, he’s sure he would find all the panties and garter belts he used to wear for his temporary (very temporary) partners to fulfill their fantasies. That’s one more reason why he thinks he’s fully allowed to judge his mother’s taste in high heels. He wore high heels, for fuck’s sake; he is allowed to believe that this particular pair is abominable.

Despite the snow now falling steadily to the ground, dad finally seems to brighten up when Gerard leads them into Bryant Park. He has to give it to New Yorkers; they know how to make a place look magical. As far as he can see in the incoming darkness of the winter afternoon, the alleyways of the park are filled with little stands. Christmas lights are hanging here and there, but the stands are illuminated mainly by artificial candles, which makes them look like little lighthouses. Gerard - being an artist and whatnot - feels his heart seize.

“Oh, this is pretty,” Donna says quietly. She looks over at him, and Gerard immediately forgets about the high heels and the exhaustion. Now she’s just his mom, the same one who hugged him when he told her he was gay at the age of fifteen, the same one that baked cookies every time he got his heart broken, and the same one that spent hours listening to him when he was trying to make his dreams come true.

“Right?” he smiles. He sends his dad an encouraging look. “Go on, Dad. Let’s find the most appalling ornaments.”

“You boys will be the death of me,” his mom sighs, but she gratefully takes her husband’s arm so he can lead her further between the stands. 

Gerard stays behind, watching them. He fires a text to Mikey to let him know they’ll still be a while, then lets him know that yes, they are at the Christmas market now, and yes, dad is going wild. Mikey sends him question marks, so Gerard takes a picture of Donald holding a figurine of Santa Claus trying to squeeze himself through the chimney, clearly stuck. Mikey doesn’t reply to that, but Gerard can imagine him snickering and showing Kristin precisely what they should expect to get under the Christmas tree.

It takes him about fifteen to twenty minutes to realize that his hands will freeze to death if he doesn’t get something hot to drink. The weather is really getting ridiculous now that the evening is approaching, and Gerard is positively shivering.

“Hey, Mom, you got your phone? I’m gonna get us some hot chocolate. I’ll find you in a second.”

“Now you know how to call,” Donna rolls her eyes. “Yeah, go on. We’ll probably still be here,” she points at Donald. He had let go of Santa Claus but found a series of angel figurines instead and is carefully inspecting each and every one of them. Gerard grins.

“Sure.”

The plan, in itself, is brilliant. Gerard maneuvers through the crowd, apologizing profusely every time he knocks against someone’s shoulder, but the prospect of hot chocolate gets him going. He even finds the stand relatively fast and orders three cups with the brightly smiling vendor (who, Gerard would like to point out, looks adorable in the reindeer hat. If he was fifteen years older, or Gerard was fifteen years younger, maybe he’d try to get a phone number along with that chocolate). The problem, however, is that as soon as he has to pay for it, he realizes that his hands are a little busy. He struggles, panting and swearing as he puts his mother’s bags down, and probably blushes bright red when he realizes the underwear one is still dangling from his wrist when he hands a few bills to the cute guy.

Then, he has a cup holder with three hot chocolates and absolutely no free hand to pick the bags back up.

Gerard may not be the sharpest tool in the shed.

“You need help with that?”

Lord Almighty, have mercy on him. Gerard freezes, still staring at the bags standing on the ground between his feet, and finds a hand creeping in to wrap around the handles. It’s mostly covered in a grey wool glove, but since the glove appears to be fingerless, Gerard is greeted with very familiar tattoos that form the word bookworm. He swallows hard and looks up, coming face to face with an equally familiar smile.

“Frank?”

“Hi.”

God, he’s cute. Gerard’s stomach churns, and George starts laughing like he’s just heard the best joke in the world. Fucking asshole of a demon. Gerard mentally kicks him in the shin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Apparently carrying… what even is this?” Frank asks, peeking into one of the bags he’s holding. “Fur? I’ll let you know that I’m against animal cruelty, so if this is real–”

“Frankie,” Gerard coughs. “I meant in general.”

“Oh, here?” Frank smiles wider. “Helping the damsel in distress.”

Gerard can feel his face scrunching into confusion. “Why?”

“You tell me, buddy. Your brother told me to come here. He said it was an emergency.”

Screw George. Compared to Mikey, that small demon is a goddamn saint.

“I– I didn’t ask him to do that. Actually, can you hold the chocolates, too, for a moment? I think I need to call him and tell that little fucker that–”

“Tell me what?”

No, George isn’t even a saint. George, when standing next to Mikey, is a literal angel. Mikey may be adopted, now that Gerard thinks about it, and is potentially the spawn of Satan, currently breathing down his neck. Literally. Gerard is the drama teacher, after all, so he turns around in slow motion and puts on the most pissed-off expression that he can muster, which isn’t really that hard. Fuck, he’s angry.

Mikey, in turn, seems to be in an excellent mood.

“Brother, I know you saved my ass many times,” Gerard hisses. “But you better tell me what the fuck is happening here, or I swear…”

“Nothing’s happening,” Mikey shrugs. He leans to the side to look over his shoulder and smiles. Mikey never fucking smiles. “Hiya, Frank.”

“Hey, Mikes.”

“Mikey.”

“Sorry, yes, you wanted an explanation,” Mikey yawns. “I’m here to pick up Mom and Dad. We have this thing we need to do, so I thought I would spare you the need to drive all the way back to mine.”

“Your place is on the way to my place.”

“Is it?”

“Mikey!”

“Repeating my name won’t change anything,” Mikey has the audacity to wink. Gerard doesn’t even want to turn around and look at what Frank’s face must look like. If he wasn’t in on it, he must be as shocked as him. Gerard feels a strange need to defend Frank’s honor (and his own), but just as he opens his mouth to tell Mikey where to shove it, Mikey’s smile gets brighter. “Hi, Mom!”

“Honey, you made it!”

“Sure did. You guys ready to go?”

“Dad is still looking, but we can get him on the way. Where did you park?”

“Out by the Eastern gate. Kristin and the girls are keeping the car running.”

“Then yes, we definitely must go,” Donna nods. Gerard’s back to wishing looks could kill because he knows his mother well enough to understand that even if Frank wasn’t in on the plan, she definitely was. “Gee, baby, thank you for the chocolate, but we’re good now. Here, let me take these off your hands,” she pulls the remaining bags from Gerard’s hands, then turns to Frank. This is disastrous. “Oh!”

“Mom,” Gerard grits through his teeth when Mikey, the dickhead, doesn’t even attempt to introduce them. “This is Frank. Frank, meet my mother.”

“Uhh– hi.”

“Oh, sweetie, you’re carrying my shopping bags, good God,” Donna shakes her head. “Here, I’ll take them. Mikey, grab a few, would you? The boots ones, they’re heavy. Yes, these. Thank you, love.”

“You’re… welcome?” Frank says weakly.

“And I’ll take this, too,” Mikey grins. He eases one of the hot chocolate cups out of Gerard’s holder and shakes it lightly. “For the girls. They shouldn’t have sweets, but they can share one cup.”

“I–”

“I’ll call you later,” Donna says. “Thanks for today!”

“Later, Gee,” Mikey adds.

And then they’re gone, just like that, and Gerard has never felt more like a movie star in his entire life. Only it’s a comedy, and he’s the idiot who’s left standing in the middle of an alleyway with two cups of hot chocolate that he does not need anymore, a small bag of erotic women’s underwear still dangling from his wrist, and a married guy he’s falling for.

Great.

“What the fuck,” Frank says behind him. Gerard still doesn’t feel strong enough to look at him. “No, seriously, man. What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispers. “They can be… I mean, you know Mikey, and he takes after my mom. Clearly. I’m really sorry.”

“Are you kidding?”

The amused tone of his voice makes Gerard turn, and he finds Frank standing there with a wide smile. Gerard didn’t expect that. He cocks an eyebrow at him, surprised.

“You’re not pissed?”

“What? No, that was hilarious,” Frank laughs. “You should’ve seen your face. How old are you that your mother can still embarrass you?”

“Forty-six,” Gerard deadpans. “And I don’t think you can ever be too old for your parents to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“Friends, huh?”

“I mean… we are, right?”

“Sure, hon,” Frank wriggles his eyebrows. He reaches over, his hand curling around one of the cups Gerard is still holding. “You mind, now that you have nothing to do with it? Nice underwear, by the way.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Frank lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a sip, his eyes never leaving Gerard’s face. He looks about as sweet as the chocolate probably is, so Gerard can’t stay mad at him for long. He shrugs, grabs the second cup, and takes a drink himself. He can now confirm that Frank is definitely sweeter.

“Well, buddy, since your plans were so rudely interrupted and Mikey apparently ditched me,” Frank prompts. “Do you wanna walk around with me?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be busy today?”

Wrong question. Very wrong question. It brings Gerard back to this morning and Frank telling him that he had plans and that immediately transports him back to his dream. His stomach drops so fast that it’s downright painful, and he has to drag his gaze away from Frank’s face and focus on his hands curled around the cup instead. Only that doesn’t help at all because now he’s thinking about his fingers and what they could do to him. Jesus Christ.

“I was busy. I told you I’d be free from four. And it is, go figure, quarter past.”

“You said you’d text me.”

“I did.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I can see that your hands were busy with something else,” Frank nods. Fuck, Gerard would love for his hands to be busy with something else. Preferably Frank’s dick, if he gets to choose. “Seriously, though. Do you mind? Cause we can totally head back to my apartment to work on that drum, but this place is charming.”

“No, it’s fine. We can– yeah. We can walk around.”

“I didn’t even know they had a market here,” Frank hums. He gestures at Gerard to follow him, and they start their slow walk back through the masses to where the stands are. “God, what even are all those things?”

“Space-takers,” Gerard informs him casually. “Things you definitely don’t need but will buy anyway because they are just so ugly that you gotta have them. You’ll find everything here. Hats and gloves next to porcelain figurines and jewelry.”

“Oh, we need to find a jewelry stand,” Frank’s eyes widen in excitement. “I was wondering what I’d get Jenna for Christmas. She loves all those little,” he motions with his free hand, which tells Gerard absolutely nothing. “These things. Like tiny pendants and earrings and shit, the uglier, the better. Especially the Christmas ones. Drives me fucking mad with her Christmas t-shirts, too.”

“They have those,” Gerard says softly. He tries his hardest to ignore how his heart aches at the mention of Frank’s wife. God, he hates Mikey. He doesn’t have a clue why he would do something like that, but he knows he’ll be heading straight to his house when he and Frank are done here and potentially punching him in the face. He knows that Mikey can be an asshole, but he never suspected he would actually aim to hurt him. Given the looks he shared with mom, he must know that Gerard likes Frank. Given the long-term friendship between him and Frank, he must know that Frank has a wife. This is just cruel.

“Really? Oh, shit, then a t-shirt, too,” Frank nods. “One with a cat on it. She likes cats. Her only flaw.”

“I fucking like cats,” Gerard grumbles.

“Then it’s your only flaw, too.”

He’s sweet. God, he’s sweet. Gerard can deal with an unrequited crush, but he absolutely cannot deal with falling in love.

“Dog people are weird,” he comments, then yelps when he nearly crashes into Frank’s back when he stops abruptly. The goddamn t-shirt stand is here, and Frank’s eyes shine like two stars when he takes in the ridiculously cheesy designs of cats in Santa hats stretching near Christmas trees. “It always seems like they are so lonely that they need to make their dog their friend.”

“Well, it’s better than inviting an enemy into your house,” Frank grins at him, then directs his attention to the vendor. “Hi! Yeah, that one, it’s fucking awesome, man. Size eight, please. Thanks!”

“Cats are not your enemies. They’re just independent.”

“And then when you die, they eat you,” Frank scrunches his nose. He pulls out his wallet and passes a few bills to the vendor, receiving a brightly red bag in return. He’s still smiling. “That’s creepy, dude. I don’t wanna be eaten.”

We’d eat you, George whimpers in Gerard’s mind. We’d eat you out so good you wouldn’t remember your own name.

“I don’t want my pet to starve to death. What difference does it make to me if I’m already dead?”

“I guess that’s true. Still, fucking creepy.”

“What exactly did Mikey tell you?”

“Huh?”

“Mikey. When he texted you that it was an emergency,” Gerard explains. “What did he tell you?”

“Literally just this. Come to Bryant Park ASAP, it’s an emergency.”

“And you just… did?”

“Mikey promised me a really fucking cool contract with that one band that I’ve been obsessed with,” Frank explains. He tugs at Gerard’s arm, dragging him to another stand. This one has hats, and although Frank never mentioned having to buy one, he still stops and lets his fingers run over the fabric. “I thought it was something related to that, so yeah, I ran.”

“Sorry for the disappointment.”

“No, no,” Frank’s smile is bright when he looks at him. “This is better.”

Is he…? No, it’s impossible. Of course, Gerard is familiar with the idea of swingers and open relationships; he does use social media sometimes, but still. Frank can’t possibly be flirting with him. No, he’s just being nice because he doesn’t want to hurt Gerard’s feelings. Because he’s a good guy. A nice guy. A lovely, adorable, kind guy with a perfect face and perfect body and the personality of a - slightly cynical - angel. Fuck, Gerard is so very screwed.

“You’re awfully nice.”

“Oh, yeah, 'cause I want to bleed your mind dry,” Frank grins at him. He points at the next stand - the jewelry one, goddamn it, Gerard’s stomach tightens again - before continuing. “I need an artist’s opinion.”

Seriously? George grumbles. We’re helping him choose a Christmas gift for his wife now? Our life is a joke, Gerard. Gerard full-heartedly agrees with the demon for once.

“This is probably a good moment to tell you that when I make art, it ends up being really fucked up. Like, bloody type of fucked up. Really fucking weird.”

“Perfect, then.”

“Jenna likes cats and bloody things?” Gerard’s eyebrows raise. “Damn.”

“Regretting that you’re gay?” Frank chuckles. He leans heavily into Gerard’s side when they are in front of the stand and pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Gerard wants to drag it out with his own. “Okay. So you have the basic info you need. What would you get her?”

Gerard lets himself look. He can’t exactly tell Frank to fuck off, so he plays along. The cases displayed in front of them have about twenty-three thousand different earrings, rings, pendants, brooches, and cufflinks, each of them absolutely unique. He’s going to end up with a headache, he can already tell, but Frank’s body is warm next to his, and his fingers digging into Gerard’s shoulder when he holds onto him for balance to lean closer send sparks down Gerard’s spine. Right. Focus on the task at hand. If he was a beautiful married man, what would he buy for his clearly eccentric wife?

“This,” he presses his finger to the glass display after a few moments. Frank’s gaze follows, and a lazy, bright smile spreads on his face.

“Oh, so when you said deranged…”

Gerard shrugs. “Take it or leave it, Iero.”

Frank takes it. He waves at the vendor and asks for the necklace that Gerard chose - a cartoonish-looking cat with red eyes and a Santa hat stabbing an actual Santa in the stomach with a lovely description of “Meow Christmas, motherfucker.” Gerard feels like his duty is done, and he’s more than ready to walk away and spare himself the pain of watching Frank pocket the gift, but a hand on his shoulder tightens before he can do as much as breathe.

“Alright, choose,” Frank says.

“Choose what?”

It’s Frank’s turn to point at something. When Gerard squints, he sees a row of kids’ rings in the very far corner of the display, every one of them looking ridiculously cheesy and cheap. They have everything - more Santas, some snowmen, Christmas stockings, Christmas trees, snowflakes. For a split moment, Gerard thinks that Frank must have lied to Ray, and he actually does have a kid at home. It hurts him even more than the thought of Jenna does, but he tells his heart to calm down. Frank wouldn’t lie. Maybe it’s for a niece of a nephew.

“I like the gingerbread man. And the Christmas tree.”

“Me too,” Frank smiles. “Okay, Christmas tree it is. Will you have fifteen?”

“Should,” the vendor nods. He’s an older man with a warm smile. “You a teacher?”

“This one is,” Frank tilts his head, glancing at Gerard. “Oh! And two with the gingerbread man, please. You don’t have to pack those.”

Frank’s a little too short to get the small bags from the guy, so Gerard leans over and grabs them for him after Frank pays. They thank the man, and although Gerard’s heart feels like it’s splitting in two, he can’t even pretend that he doesn’t find it absolutely adorable that Frank bought rings for his students. They were cheap as chips, to be fair, but the thought behind it is there, and he doesn’t have any idea how to thank Frank for considering the little ones. He deposits the gingerbread man rings directly onto Frank’s extended hand and smiles when they leave the stand.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, playing with the cover of his cup. “They’re gonna hate them.”

“I know, it’s gonna be awesome,” Frank grins. He pockets his necklace along with the Christmas tree rings, then nudges Gerard’s shoulder. “Alright, give it here.”

Gerard’s heart skips a beat. “Give what where?”

“Your hand, dumbass,” Frank rolls his eyes. When Gerard doesn’t immediately react, Frank sighs and does it for him, grabbing Gerard’s left wrist. Gerard’s heart is no longer skipping any beats. Now, it’s racing in his chest, and George is its coach, whistling loudly to make it go faster. Frank looks at him briefly with a gentle smile, then back down to slide one of the gingerbread man rings onto Gerard’s ring finger. Thankfully, it’s one of the adjustable ones; otherwise, it wouldn’t fit. Frank manages to slide it all the way down and then grins, satisfied. “Fucking rad, Gee. Look, we’re gonna match.”

He puts the other one on, and it ends up next to Frank’s wedding ring. Gerard is going to be sick.

“Looks good, Frankie,” he says quietly.

“Come on, it’s freezing,” Frank shivers. “You’re still up for learning how to play that drum today? We kinda only have a week left, so…”

The only thing Gerard is up for is crying. Fuck his life, fuck Frank, fuck Mikey, and fuck crushes turning into something more in the span of three weeks. He smiles, brushing his hair away from his forehead, and flexes his hand. He can’t let Frank know that something is wrong.

“Sure,” he says. For the kids. He’s doing it all for the kids. “Lead the way, Mr. Gingerbread.”

Chapter Text

Gerard doesn’t get to Mikey on Saturday. The drum-playing lessons with Frank take a lot longer than he anticipated, and after discovering that Jenna apparently isn’t home, he lets his anger simmer low under the surface but pushes it aside for the time being. He is exactly the kind of idiot to appreciate the time he can spend alone with his crush, in his crush’s house, without anyone interrupting. By the time he leaves, it’s almost nine, and he knows Mikey’s daughters are already asleep. He’s angry at their dad, not them, so he decides he will not make a scene now and leave it for tomorrow.

He doesn’t make it on Sunday, either. Why? He has no clue. He intends to, but the snow and the wind have picked up overnight, and when he drags himself out of bed at ten - after yet another round of jerking off to the thought of Frank’s fingers - he just doesn’t have it in him to go anywhere. Mikey tries calling him three times during the day, but Gerard doesn’t pick up. He sends one text - “leave me alone” - and Mikey doesn’t try again. It doesn’t mean Gerard has forgiven him. He just thinks that Sundays are family days, and his parents are staying with Mikey, and he doesn’t want his entire family to hear how fucking tragic his life has become.

Because it has really become a disaster. Don’t get him wrong - he still wants Frank to rearrange his guts - but now he’s thinking of other things, too. Mostly Frank’s smile and the sound of his giggling. Or his hair getting all messy when it’s windy outside, a few short strands peeking out from beneath his beanie. Or Frank’s voice, low and so goddamn comforting, calling him “hon.” Basically, he’s thinking about Frank the same way he thought about that one guy nearly twelve years ago. The guy’s name was Adam, and Gerard was obsessively, pathetically, unequivocally in love with him. Only Adam wasn’t married.

When Monday comes, Gerard is no longer angry. He’s fucking sad now, so much so that the children notice his mood during art classes and offer to just draw in silence for an hour. He’s grateful and accepts their offer, sitting behind the desk and doodling mindlessly while they work. What he ends up with is a sketch of a heart getting stabbed with a knife, and he knows he didn’t come up with that design on his own. He crumbles the paper into a ball and throws it out, earning himself a few surprised looks. He doesn’t have it in him to explain.

When he gets to Mikey’s, it’s his mom that opens the door for him. Knowing that she helped Mikey with the whole thing, Gerard brushes past her without a word and kicks his shoes off, surrounded by awkward silence. She can read his moods better than anyone. She simply moves aside when he drags himself into the living room and doesn’t try to stop him when he throws himself face-first onto the couch.

“Coffee?” is all she asks.

“Yeah.”

The one person Gerard is not currently ready to abandon for the rest of his life for being an asshole is Kristin. He feels the couch dipping when she sits next to him, and her hand is gentle and comforting when she places it on the side of his head.

“What happened?”

“Your husband is a dick,” Gerard grumbles. He turns his head on the cushion to crack one of his eyes open and look at her. “My deepest condolences.”

“You have it worse, he’s blood. I can always divorce him if he becomes unbearable,” Kristin smiles at him.

“Point.”

“What did he do this time?”

“Made me realize something I didn’t want to realize.”

“Bullshit,” that’s Mikey’s voice. Gerard abandons the idea of looking at anything or anyone and buries his head back into the cushion. He doesn’t want to see that traitor’s face. “Seriously, what is your problem? Not picking up your phone, ignoring me, now this? What are you moping about?”

“I expected a lot from you, Mikeyway, but not this.”

“Not what? Gerard, seriously, what are you–?”

“Why the fuck,” Gerard sits up so fast his head begins to spin. Now, the anger is back. “Would you do this to me? Knowing everything you do, knowing how I get, how could you just…? What did you think would happen?”

Gerard hardly sees Donna walking into the room and placing a cup of coffee on the table. He’s so angry now that he’s vibrating with it, and Mikey’s innocent-looking, confused face doesn’t help at all.

“I genuinely have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Gerard’s hand hits the table, and the coffee mugs rattle.

“You made me fall in love with him!”

Now that gets a reaction. Primarily out of his mom, who jumps, surprised, and out of Kristin, who narrows her eyes when she gazes at Mikey, but that’s something. Mikey - because he’s fucking Mikey - still looks impassive. He has the audacity to take a sip of his own coffee before he even opens his mouth to speak, and that pisses Gerard off even more.

“I didn’t do shit,” he says calmly. “You fell for him the moment you met him.”

Kristin nudges Donna’s shoulder. Gerard isn’t really focusing on them, busy making sure his eyes are throwing daggers at Mikey, but he’s sure he hears the whispering:

“Who?”

“Frank. The pianist.”

“Maybe I did, but you don’t have to fucking rub it in,” Gerard hisses. “What is this, some payback for whatever shit I did when we were teenagers? Is this your way of saying - look, Gerard, I have shit under control even though I’m younger, and you had to go and fall for a guy you can never have?”

“Who said you can’t have him?” Mikey lifts one eyebrow in that silently judging way. Gerard seriously, honestly, genuinely fucking hates his brother at the moment.

“If you give me the same bullshit speech Mom did, I swear I will murder you both.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, but I haven’t actually tapped your car, so I don’t know what speech Mom gave you,” Mikey sighs. He sits down on the edge of the couch, close to Gerard’s feet. Risky move, in Gerard’s opinion. He could easily kick him in the face now if he wanted to. Mikey lifts his hand when he opens his mouth, silencing him. “But you’re right. I do know how you get, which is exactly why I decided to help. You’d be dancing around it for months if I haven’t.”

“Congratulations, then,” Gerard says quietly. The adrenaline surge dies out, and now he’s exhausted again, ready to crawl into the nearest hole and die there for all he cares. “You did it. Now, I just need to mend my broken heart. I’m sure that won’t take months.”

“Or you could, oh, I don’t know, grow a pair and do something about it.”

“Even if it’s okay with them, I don’t want us to just sleep together and then forget about it.”

“Them?”

“I’m all in, Mikes,” Gerard sighs. He grabs that coffee now, just to do something with his hands that’s not twisting them to the point of pain, and burns his throat a little at how fast he gulps down the liquid. “Being attracted to him, that I could’ve dealt with, but after Saturday… I want more than that. And I can’t have more if I can even have that in the first place.”

“Gerard, what did you mean by them?”

“Frank, obviously,” he says. “And Jenna.”

“Jenna?”

“Yeah, motherfucker,” Gerard winces. “Jenna.”

“Why the fuck would Jenna need to be okay with you and Frank being together?”

“Sleeping together,” Gerard corrects. “And fuck, I don’t know, it seems fucking important to have her approval, don’t you think?”

“Not really.”

“What?” Gerard frowns. He looks between the people gathered around him, but he sees no understanding on any of their faces. He waves his hand at Kristin. “So, what, you would be cool if Kristin just… did whatever behind your back with someone? And you,” he points his finger at Kristin. “Would be totally cool if Mikey slept with a coworker without telling you?”

“That’s a little different, Gee.”

“For the sake of the argument, imagine that you’re in an open marriage.”

He expected Kristin to wince, so there are no surprises there. He did not, however, expect Mikey to start laughing. The guy hardly ever laughs, and definitely not as hysterically as he is doing now. When Gerard drags his gaze back to him, he finds Mikey giggling into his cup of coffee like Gerard has just told him the funniest thing in the world, and wow. He already knew that his brother was an asshole, he’s established that at the Christmas market, but damn. He clearly underestimated just how big of an asshole he was. He gives Mikey a questioning look and gets an amused, slightly condescending look back.

“You fucking idiot,” Mikey says. “Oh my God, you’re dumber than I thought. Holy shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Who do you think Jenna is?”

“Frank’s wife?”

“No.”

No. Just like that. Gerard feels like he’s been slapped in the face, and he must look comical when his jaw drops, but he sort of doesn’t care. He squints because there is no way in hell that he will trust Mikey now, but he doesn’t seem to be joking.

“No?”

“No.”

“You mind… elaborating?”

“Jenna is, in fact, married,” Mikey informs him casually. Gerard’s stomach has already been fighting for its life down there, and that one additional anxious drop may have just ended it. “To that one guy, Will, who’s a guitar tech. He and Frank are buddies.”

“But,” Gerard starts, then stops. He frowns, puts his coffee down, scratches his head, then picks the coffee back up. “No. She– wait. No. She was at Frank’s house. He wears the ring. He was buying her Christmas gifts!”

“Man, you’re gonna feel like such an idiot,” Mikey rolls his eyes. “Jenna is Frank’s agent. He technically has his band, but he plays with so many other people that he’d get his schedule all mixed up if he didn’t have someone doing it for him, and Jenna’s his go-to. She books gigs for him and makes sure they don’t overlap, takes care of his gear, stuff like that. She wasn’t at Frank’s house. She was at Frank’s studio, which accidentally happens to be in his house.”

“What the fuck?”

“Frank wears a lot of rings,” Mikey continues unphased. “He likes that gold band ’cause it scares people away after shows, but he isn’t married. And gifts, fuck, I don’t know. You buy gifts for us, but we sure as fuck aren’t married.”

To say that Gerard is having his mind blown would be an understatement. He is even temporarily worried about George’s well-being, given that he lives up there and all, but the demon seems to be doing more than fine. He’s laughing again, his sinister little giggling strangely fitting all of a sudden, and he seems happier than Gerard has ever seen him. He’s grinning, too. Goddamn it.

“He’s not married.”

“No, you total moron,” Mikey sighs. “But, okay. Given that you thought so, I guess you had every right to be pissed off at me.”

“You think?” Gerard groans. “Jesus, Mikes.”

“You could’ve asked me.”

“How?”

“I told you, it was pretty obvious that you were into him from the start. I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

“And you!” Gerard whirls around, pointing an accusatory finger at his mother. “You knew, and you still went with the whole “marriages fall apart” bullshit?”

“You said that?” Mikey’s eyes open wider.

“I said that,” Donna nods. “In my defense, I didn’t connect the dots in time. Mikey told me about your little crush only when we were already at the market, and I was just trying to make you feel better.”

“Not all marriages fall apart,” Kristin adds. “Right?”

“No.”

“Guys,” Gerard snaps his fingers to get their attention again. “Can we focus on the issue at hand?”

“You still have an issue?” Mikey rolls his eyes. “He’s single. You’re single. You like him. He likes you. Seems easy.”

“The fact that he’s single does not mean he likes me.”

“But he does.”

“You don’t fucking know that.”

“Okay, call it a gut feeling, then,” Mikey shrugs. “Nice ring, by the way.”

Guilty as charged. Gerard is still wearing that stupid gingerbread man ring on his finger, and if he’s honest, he hasn’t taken it off since Frank put it on him. This thing is scratchy as hell, and he could point out at least seven different places on his body where he accidentally scratched himself with it, but he does not care. It feels wrong to take it off, and the one time he tried before taking a shower yesterday evening, he felt a loss so profound that he jumped out of the shower all wet to slide it back on.

Mikey, however, has no right to know where Gerard got the ring unless he’s seen Frank between Saturday and today, and Frank told him. Which would mean that they talked about Gerard, and that’s anxiety-inducing.

“Did Frank tell you?”

“About the ring? No. But he dropped by the studio today, and he was wearing the same one.”

“No, he fucking wasn’t.”

“Honey,” his mom interjects. She leans in and places a hand on his knee, squeezing lightly. “That boy was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world. Pretty much the same way you were looking at him. The same way Mikey looks at Kristin and Kristin at Mikey. The same way your dad looks at me sometimes.”

“Mom, don’t–”

“He canceled the shows for you.”

Gerard’s head snaps up. Mikey’s eyebrows are arched.

“Huh?”

“That band he has, Pencey Prep,” Mikey explains steadily. “They were booked to fly to California to play some pre-Christmas shows. He canceled that.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t tell me everything. Just said that he saw you with one of your students and couldn’t handle thinking of your disappointment if the play didn’t happen.”

“Oh, he’s sweet,” his mom throws in.

“He canceled– holy shit. Jesus, I need to apologize to him.”

“What you need to do is act normal and let the situation unfold,” Kristin says quietly. “They’re right. It’s clear that he likes you, but you need to take it easy. The show is this Friday, right? Focus on that for now and see where things go with Frank.”

“He’s so not lasting until Christmas Eve,” Mikey snorts. “He’s gonna make an idiot out of himself, like, tomorrow.”

“Won’t.”

“You so will.”

“Fucking ask him on Wednesday if I did or didn’t,” Gerard grits his teeth. “I can wait until Christmas Eve, fuck you.”

But, fuck, Mikey may just be right. Christmas Eve is just around the corner, that’s true, but Gerard is not a patient man. Perks (or disadvantages, depending on who you ask) of being an artist. He doesn’t quite know how to describe what he’s feeling - relief, perhaps, or anticipation - but it’s messing him up even more than thinking Frank was married did. Because Frank isn’t married. Frank, who laughed when the children called him Gerard’s partner, who called him at seven in the morning because he had a cool idea, who bought him a stupid, childish ring, isn’t married. Frank, who canceled his band’s massive plans for him, is single. Frank, who called him Gee, smiled at him, touched his hands, is available, and if Gerard is to believe his family, is interested in him.

The dreams Gerard has been having - Frank fucking him, him fucking Frank, their hands and their lips all over each other, could actually be coming true. Gerard’s poor stomach will undoubtedly need to be replaced. He’s pretty sure he has a butterfly infestation in there.

He flinches when someone touches his hand, and when he looks up, he finds Kristin smiling down at him.

“Do get it sorted out before our Christmas day dinner, though,” she says softly. “I’d love to have Frank over for that.”

“This is the weirdest shit that has ever happened to me,” Mikey grumbles. He stretches, puts his legs on the coffee table, and relaxes against the sofa. That means he considers the conversation officially over, which Gerard is more than okay with. “My friend and my brother at my dinner table as a couple. How did I end up here?”

“You gave me his address,” Gerard mumbles. “You only have yourself to blame.”

“Guess I do,” Mikey agrees. He shrugs, apparently no longer bothered, and sighs. “Damn, man. Don’t ever accuse me of purposefully trying to hurt you again. I don’t want to know about anything you and Frank do together, but I do support you, and I would never do that to you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven, but I want cool gifts for this.”

“If - and that’s a big if - I get together with Frank, I promise we’ll buy you the ugliest rings we can find.”

Mikey groans, covering his face.

“I hate you,” he says without really meaning it. “I hate you so much.”

Gerard takes a sip of his coffee and smiles. “Love you too, little brother.”

*

As it turns out, Gerard doesn’t have time to worry about whether he and Frank will work out or not. From the moment he sets foot inside the school on Tuesday morning, everything is so hectic that he barely remembers his own name. First, because Ray is in a state of money-induced panic, and Gerard has to remind him that they do have a little of the funding left for the costumes. Then, because Ray apparently doesn’t trust himself to collect the order Gerard has already placed with Party City, so Gerard has to ask Penny to cover for him during two full periods of his art classes because he gets stuck in traffic near the zoo and nearly rips his hair out. And eventually, after all that is said and done, because Gerard himself realizes they only have two more rehearsals before the play on Friday and gets so anxious he nearly throws up.

Frank is there to talk him through it, patiently reminding Gerard that the children know the play by heart already and that they will be totally fine, but that’s simply nice. Gerard is too busy focusing all of his attention on not puking on Frank’s boots to think about where he wants to stick his dick or where he wants Frank to stick his. Between this and the kids running around, still fighting for costumes and being about as stressed out as Gerard is, if not more, the only thing on Gerard’s mind is - please, let this end.

By Thursday, he’s a fucking mess. The rehearsal is flawless, if he’s honest. Frank’s playing always is, but surprisingly enough, the children feel the pressure of performing in front of their parents the next day, and they really try this time, too. There is not even one slip-up as far as the songs go, every line is delivered perfectly, no one forgets where they are supposed to go, and even he remembers what Frank had taught him and gets the drum beat all correct for I Saw Three Ships. The costumes fit, the lights work, the piano doesn’t break, the drum doesn’t break, and no one breaks any bones, either. It’s perfect.

And yet, when Gerard closes the classroom door after the last girl gets picked up by her parents, he leans his forehead against it and feels - for the first time in a very, very long time - that he could use a drink.

Which scares the living shit out of him.

“Hey, you good?”

Frank’s hand is warm and heavy on his back but brings Gerard around to reality. He shakes his head as he exhales slowly, telling himself that this isn’t the end of the world. He will not get drunk over a school play. He’s faced more significant problems before and never relapsed, so he can totally do this, too.

“Kinda,” he replies after a moment. “This is a lot.”

“It’ll go great,” Frank says softly. He rubs between Gerard’s shoulder blades. “Seriously, we have this, Gee. Even if someone fucks up, it’s not like this is Broadway.”

“It is to me.”

“I know, but they know what they’re doing. You know what you’re doing. I definitely know what I’m doing,” Gerard can hear the smile in Frank’s voice. “This can’t be the first play you’ve ever directed here, right?”

It isn’t, but it’s the most important one up to date. Not just because Frank is there, and Gerard desperately wants to impress him, even though that’s definitely a factor. The circumstances are just different this time. Timmy’s dad is going against the entire US Army administration to change where he works so he can see his son on stage, for fuck’s sake. There is a lot at stake, and it’s all on Gerard.

“No, but it means more,” Gerard sighs again, pushing himself away from the door. Frank’s hand slides lower but never leaves his back when Gerard turns sideways to look at him. “It’s giving me thoughts that I should not be having. Lots of,” he tilts his head and mimics pouring liquid down his throat, observing how understanding makes its way to Frank’s face. “So, yeah. There’s that.”

“How long?”

“Long,” Gerard shrugs. “I stopped counting, really, but around thirteen years.”

“That’s impressive.”

“It won’t be if I fuck it up over an elementary school play tonight,” Gerard winces. Frank tilts his head and says nothing, and he suddenly feels like the biggest piece of shit ever. Frank has done so much for him already. So, so much. “Sorry, this is a me problem. I just need to not stop in a store on my way home, and I’ll be golden.”

“It’s an us problem,” Frank says firmly. “Now, it’s as much my play as it is yours, and believe it or not, I don’t particularly appreciate the thought of you struggling.”

Hmm. Maybe Mikey did have a point.

“I’ll be fine, Frankie. Really.”

“I’m sure you will. And it’s not that I don’t trust you, ’cause I do, but do you want me to, figuratively, walk you home tonight?”

“In your car?”

“I can follow you. Put some pressure on you to prevent you from stopping at any stores,” Frank smiles lightly. “What do you say?”

No is what Gerard should be saying because it is totally not Frank’s responsibility to do this for him, and honestly, Gerard is a big boy. He is almost a hundred percent sure that he will not stop anywhere and that his head will clear as soon as he’s out of the building. He’s tired, and he does want to get home as quickly as possible, and it’s freezing outside. He’s not fond of the idea of getting out of his car. He can’t pretend that it isn’t a nice thing that Frank is offering, though. He does trust him because Gerard is sure that if he told him “no, thank you,” Frank would nod and drive straight back to East Village. He just wants to help, and it has been a long fucking time since Gerard had someone other than his family wanting to do something like this for him.

“You totally don’t have to do this,” he says slowly, then adds before Frank can protest. “But I would appreciate it if you did.”

“You’ve got it.”

“And I can’t exactly invite you in for an alcoholic drink,” he smiles. “But I do have tea.”

“I can do tea.”

“Can you do small, old, messy Bronx apartments?”

“I lived in a small, old, messy Bronx apartment like two years ago,” Frank rolls his eyes. He puts more pressure on Gerard’s back for a moment, then pulls his hand back. “Come on, big day tomorrow. Let’s get out of here and make sure you get enough rest.”

They walk out of the school arm in arm, and Gerard feels strangely unsteady when Frank leaves him by his car, getting into his own. He doesn’t know if it’s bad memories telling him that Frank will surely turn left after Gerard turns right and will drive home instead of following him, but he finds himself surprised when Frank’s headlights blind him whenever he looks into the rearview mirror. The only other person he knows who would do this for him is Mikey, and he can’t wrap his head around Frank caring enough to do it, too.

Unless Mikey put him up to it, George hisses somewhere from the depths of Gerard’s mind. Maybe that’s how he’s paying for that show he wants to play that Mikey promised him.

Maybe. Gerard grits his teeth and drags his eyes away from the mirror. It would be just his luck. It serves the purpose, of course, since he drives past a few liquor stores and doesn’t even consider slowing down, not to mention stopping, but he would prefer if George didn’t put doubt in his mind. He was so ready to invite Frank over upstairs and kiss him the second they got in, throwing caution out the window, but now… Now, he’s not sure if he should have Frank in his apartment to begin with. Even worse than falling in love with him would be to become dependent on him only to see him disappear as soon as they are done with the play tomorrow.

It would break Gerard’s heart further than Adam had.

Frank doesn’t seem to want to disappear just yet. He parks his car by the curb behind Gerard’s and spends a few seconds fumbling with whatever it is he has on his seats. When Gerard gets out, Frank is already standing there, smiling.

“Is that it?” he asks, pointing at the building. Gerard’s anxiety spikes when he nods. “Damn, and you said old.”

“It is old.”

“Not as old as I expected. Honestly, Gee, you need to stop worrying,” Frank smiles at him. He shuffles from one foot to the other and bites his lip. “So, tea?”

Tea, it is because Gerard is exactly stupid enough not to utilize a perfect opportunity to send Frank home. They walk up the stairs in semi-darkness - the lightbulb has been burned out for weeks - with Frank following closely behind him. Gerard is a gentleman, so he pushes his squeaky door open for him and lets him in first, doing an immediate mental inventory of just how messy his apartment is. It’s better than he remembers. Sure, there are his clothes thrown everywhere (no underwear, thank you, God) and his art supplies scattered on every flat surface, but at least nothing is incriminating enough to make him blush.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he turns on the lights. He gestures toward the tiny island in the middle of his kitchen. “Make yourself at home, I’ll just– I’ll gather everything. Hold on.”

“I can put the water on if that helps.”

“Please. I’ll just be a moment.”

He runs around like a madman after that, feeling Frank’s eyes following him. He doesn’t bother with folding clothes; he just pushes them roughly into his closet and forms a pretty spectacular tower made out of paint tubes and canvases in the corner of the desk just as he hears the water start boiling. He runs back, thrusts two mugs into Frank’s hands - making him laugh, too, which is goddamn sweet again - and goes back to cleaning as Frank takes care of tea. Does it make him a bad host? Probably, but it doesn’t seem like his guest minds much, and Gerard is living for seeing Frank moving around his kitchen.

We could get used to it, George whispers.

He’s out of breath and sweating when he’s done, and only when Frank crooks his eyebrow at him does he realize he’s still wearing his jacket. And his hat. He shrugs them off, throwing them haphazardly on the table. There goes tidying up.

“Here,” Frank pushes the cup closer to him when Gerard leans over the table with a sigh. Frank’s close to him. Close enough that Gerard can once again feel his body heat radiating from him when Frank knocks his elbow into his forearm. “Good job. It looks very presentable.”

“Shut up,” Gerard mumbles. He curls his fingers around the mug to stop himself from grabbing Frank’s hands. “Sorry. I never really expect guests.”

“I seriously don’t mind the mess. You didn’t have to do all that,” Frank hums. He stretches, pushing his chest out, and Gerard gulps. “So. How do you feel? Any cravings?”

God. So, so many, and none of them are alcohol-related.

“I think I’ll be okay. I’m sorry for that, too. You didn’t need to see that.”

“Gee, we’re friends. I’m not judging, and you don’t have to be embarrassed by it. Or by the state of your house.”

“You’re nice,” Gerard shrugs. “Not everyone always is.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m a nice guy,” Frank grins. He wiggles his eyebrows when Gerard looks over, and that makes him chuckle. Damn. He’s good. “Seriously. This is a nice place, and drinking, well. It happens. You managed to get through it, and that’s what matters.”

“This play… God. I don’t know why I’m this stressed,” Gerard lies. He knows perfectly well. “It was never like this.”

“Important day. Timmy’s dad showing up probably isn’t helping. But really, Gee. You’ve got this. You’re great at it.”

“I never wanted to be,” Gerard sighs. He looks over at Frank and finds him listening attentively, like he’s genuinely interested. It blows Gerard’s mind once again, and he’s telling him more before he can even think about it. “I wanted to be many things, but elementary school teacher wasn’t one of them.”

“What things?”

“Comic book artist first, then musician for a while. Being an actor was always there, though. I wanted to be on stage so badly,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Classics were boring, but I saw myself in some extravagant, shocking new plays. As shocking as plays were twenty-five years ago.”

“I think they were already pretty shocking,” Frank grins. “Why didn’t you pursue it?”

“Oh, I did. It just didn’t work out.”

He sees Frank wincing and has an overwhelming need to wrap his arms around him. He doesn’t.

“Sorry,” Frank says. “Insensitive question.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I like my life now. Maybe I’d like being a cinema star and being rich more, but I don’t know. I like the kids, and they like me. Most of the parents like me, too. My dreams didn’t come true, but I’m comfortable with where I am. If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Frank nods, then laughs, shaking his head. “I wanted to be a rock star. Like, a proper one. Huge stadiums all around the world, thousands of people watching me.”

“A long line of groupies?”

“Obviously,” Frank snorts. “Sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. The only thing I got from that package deal were the drugs and some mediocre sex.”

Jesus, Gerard thinks, pressing his fingers to his temple. Jesus, don’t talk about sex now.

“Mikey said you have a band.”

“Eh, I do, and I don’t. We play here and there, mostly in local venues. I think the furthest we’ve ever been was Pennsylvania,” Frank says. It hits Gerard right in the heart, and the pressure of his fingers intensifies around his head. California. Frank was supposed to play in California, and he threw it away. “It isn’t a full-time job, but I don’t think I actually have a full-time job. I just grab whatever gig I can find.”

“You live in a nice apartment. I think it’s working out pretty great for you.”

“Oh, no, that place belonged to my dad’s family. I didn’t spend a dollar on it.”

“Oh.”

“But what I was trying to say was - drugs,” Frank looks at him pointedly. “I’ve done a lot of them when I was younger, so you really don’t need to blush every time you mention drinking. We all have our demons.”

George bats his eyelashes and sends Frank a flirtatious kiss. Gerard growls at him, and the little shit flees back to his crate with an angry hiss. Jealous fucker.

“Point taken,” Gerard nods. “No more blushing.”

 “Not for these reasons, at least.”

Gerard freezes. He searches Frank’s face for an answer to what he meant by it, but he finds nothing. Frank is staring at him with an open expression and the same soft smile that Gerard has seen a thousand times before, and there is nothing there to indicate whether he was trying to flirt with him or not. Gerard’s gaze drops down to their hands nearly touching on the countertop, and the pull in his chest becomes painful. 

He wants to touch him. It would take nothing, just one muscle twitch, and he could curl his pinky over Frank’s. It would take a little more to actually hold hands, but he wants to do that, too. A vein jumps under Frank’s skin, right in the center of his palm, and Gerard swallows hard. He can’t do it. 

“You’re still wearing it,” Frank says quietly. He must have been watching Gerard’s gaze and reading him like an open book because he crosses his arms on the counter and places his left hand squarely on top of Gerard’s, shifting until their matching rings are perfectly aligned. Gerard’s breath hitches in his throat. “It’s scratchy as fuck, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Listen, Frank–”

“I swear, I have those red marks everywhere. I look like an angry squirrel, or something has mauled me. Look,” he says, turning fully sideways, his hand still on Gerard’s. “I managed to get myself here,” he points to his nose with his free hand, and when Gerard squints, he can see a faint line on the side of it. “Gingerbread man will probably end up poking my eye out one night.”

“Frank,” Gerard whispers. He has to close his eyes for a moment because Frank is too close. Their feet are touching, and every time he inhales, he gets a subtle whift of Frank’s scent - something fresh but strong, like pine tree. The butterflies in his stomach are going wild, and his head is spinning. Frank’s hand tightens around his.

“Yeah?”

“Every time I get like this,” Gerard says. “I mean, when I feel like drinking. I either drink or do something else that’s not good for me. Either way, I always regret it.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t want to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Please,” he says, eyes snapping open, settling firmly on Frank’s lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

He shouldn’t - fuck, he shouldn’t - but he does. He leans in before Frank can pull back and slap him across the face for even thinking about it; he shifts his body until they’re even closer, slides his hand over the counter, and catches Frank’s lips with his own on the next shaky exhale.

And then he kisses him. Really kisses him, slow but hungry because he’s been starving for it for what feels like years. Frank’s lips are chapped but warm from the tea, the taste of it still lingering, and Gerard sighs into it like it’s his last dying breath. Frank’s hand flexes on top of his, but Gerard doesn’t even try to dislodge it. He has another one, and he has his fingers brushing over Frank’s neck in no time, sliding up to his jaw and his cheek, cupping his face to hold him. He needs Frank to stay there. He needs him to because he can feel how absolutely still Frank is, how frozen in place, how unresponsive, and he just… he needs to convince him that it’s right, that Gerard isn’t going through some breakdown, that he wants this and wants him.

“Frankie,” he mumbles when he pulls back. “Fra–”

A hand in the middle of his chest stops him from stealing more of Frank’s air. It doesn’t push him back, but it holds him in place, away from Frank’s lips, away from his body. He’s so scared to open his eyes that, for the longest time, he doesn’t, and when he finally finds the courage, Frank has already taken a step back. Gerard’s arm falls to his side, useless.

“I–” Frank starts, then stops himself. He frowns like he’s in pain, tongue coming out to lick his lips, already wet from Gerard’s. The tilt of his head and the deep, shaky inhale come next. He looks like he’s fighting a headache. “It’s been a long day. You should get some rest before tomorrow.”

“You should stay.”

Bold, George hums in his mind. Bold but necessary. Gerard needs him to stay. He has never needed anything more than for Frank to smile and promise that he’ll stay.

“Go to bed, Gee,” Frank whispers. He has his fingers pressed to his lips now like he can’t quite believe that he has just been kissed. Like he hasn’t expected it. Like he didn’t want it. Gerard’s stomach sinks painfully in shame and regret. “Just… Go to bed, please.”

“Frank.”

“No,” Frank shakes his head. He turns around, stops, looks down at himself like he’s just realized that he has a body that he needs to somehow transport out of Gerard’s kitchen and out of his apartment. “I’ll see myself out. Finish your tea and go rest.”

Fight for him! George screams. He’s kicking and scratching, nearly tearing Gerard’s head apart with how viciously he’s trying to force him to react. Do something, do something! You kissed him, and he’s leaving! Fucking do something!

“Okay.”

Frank’s shoulders slump, and he doesn’t even try to look over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Gee.”

And just like that, he’s gone. He rounds the corner, disappearing into Gerard’s hallway. There is the sound of his car keys clicking in the pocket of his jacket, then a louder noise of steps when he puts his boots back on and walks to the door. Then the door itself, opening and closing, and then - nothing. Silence.

Gerard closes his eyes. 

He needs a fucking drink.

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

Chapter Text

Gerard’s head is pounding steadily, and he’s going to be late. Not because he drank last night and not because he cried, because he didn’t do either. He barely slept, though, and after he finally managed to fall asleep in the early morning, he was woken up by his alarm barely two hours later. Showering didn’t help. Coffee didn’t help. Now, he still has two hours before he really needs to be at school, but the headache is killing him, and on top of that, he can’t find his car keys anywhere. He could swear that he put them on the table next to the door last night, but they’re not there. Apparently, more than one thing went wrong yesterday.

Gerard’s eyes water. He wipes them angrily with the back of his hand and pulls his phone out to call Mikey. His brother is likely to kill him for fucking things up with Frank - because that’s what he did, he fucked it up, and now he has a play in three hours and no pianist - but if he doesn’t drive him to work, then Gerard will fuck up even more. He can explain things to him. Or he can’t. He’s at a point where he truly doesn’t care anymore.

Not even about the play, if he’s honest. All he cares about at the moment is that he loves someone who doesn’t love him back. But, since he still has fifteen other people who count on him to be there for them, he needs to put it aside. There will be time to cry over it later.

“Mikey,” he croaks out when Mikey picks up. He waits for his brother to say something but is greeted with silence. Again, George whispers. Gerard can’t even be angry at him. That fucking demon held him for the entire night, petting his hair and telling him that he’ll always be there for him. That’s more than Gerard expected from anyone. “I’m sorry to call so early, but I have a favor to ask.”

“I know,” Mikey says. His voice is quiet and empty, unlike the Mikey he knows. “I’m two minutes out.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll be right there. Get downstairs.”

Gerard doesn’t get to ask him how he knew. Maybe it’s the brotherly bond, or maybe he texted Mikey at night and doesn’t remember doing it. Either way, he puts his jacket on, drags the boots onto his feet, and thanks God that he at least still has his house keys. The staircase is darker than he remembers it being, and when he gets outside, the sky is grey, and the snow is falling heavily. Fitting. Fucking doom and gloom everywhere. But at least he didn’t relapse. Small mercies.

Mikey wasn’t lying. He’s already parked in front of the building when Gerard walks out, and he’s keeping the car running. Gerard’s stomach tightens when he realizes he isn’t looking at him, and when he opens the door, the mood only gets darker. Mikey’s eyes are set on the road in front of him when he pulls away from the curb, and since the radio is off, for a moment, they just sit in complete silence. Gerard’s anxiety is going through the roof, but he can’t find anything to say to his brother. It seems like he knows. Somehow - he knows.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Mikey shakes his head. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel tighter, and he sighs when he points at the glove compartment. “Open it.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to,” Mikey says. “And because I have something of yours.”

Gerard opens it. The glove compartment is basically empty, sans a few kids’ drawings and some Happy Meal toys, and in the middle of it all, right on top, are Gerard’s car keys. 

Gerard is going to be sick.

“What–”

“He came over last night,” Mikey interjects. He still hasn’t looked at him, but his face has softened into compassion. He doesn’t have to tell Gerard who he’s talking about. “Dropped these off. Told me that I’d have to pick you up in the morning.”

“I don’t understand.”

“‘Course not,” Mikey rolls his eyes. He finally - finally - gazes over for a moment. “He was worried about you. He told me that he had made a mistake and that he was worried it would cost you your sobriety, so he snatched these on his way out. Asked me to give them back to you.”

A mistake. The word rings in Gerard’s head like a bell. A mistake. Mistake, mistake, mistake. Frank thinks their kiss was a mistake. He feels that Gerard kissing him was wrong. Gerard curls in on himself in Mikey’s passenger seat, hoping the fabric will swallow him whole. It doesn’t, but at least his jacket’s collar hides his face. It does nothing to stop his heart from racing in his chest and his stomach churning with pain.

A mistake.

“Thank you,” Gerard says quietly. “Do you think I should have them back?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not gonna drink, so.”

“Then take them,” Mikey waves his hand. Gerard grabs the keys like they could burn him and hides them in his pocket. He can’t fucking look at them. Frank was worried about him to the point of stealing his fucking car keys so he couldn’t drive anywhere. So he couldn’t go to a liquor store. But he still found kissing Gerard to be a mistake. Jesus. “What happened?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No. It was late, and he looked exhausted. I didn’t exactly drill him with questions.”

“But you’re drilling me.”

“You’re my brother. Yes, I’m drilling you. Tell me.”

Gerard shrugs. “I almost relapsed.”

“Over him?”

“No, no, he could never… No. Over the play. It’s taking a toll on me. I’ve done it a thousand times before, but ever since we lost Theo, it’s been a disaster. No, I exaggerate. It was going to go well. I just blew things out of proportion.”

“Was going to?”

“I don’t know how I’m going to do it now,” Gerard laughs. It sounds hysterical, and he has to force himself to breathe in deeply. He can’t start panicking now. “I don’t– I don’t have the pianist again. I don’t have the recordings. I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

“What do you mean you don’t have the pianist?”

“He’s not gonna show.”

Mikey’s eyebrows lift. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because I kissed him.”

“And?”

“And?” Gerard snorts. “And he apparently thinks it was a mistake. I mean, Jesus, of course he does. I don’t know why the fuck I believed you when you said he could want something from me.”

“’Cause he does,” Mikey says. It’s driving Gerard absolutely fucking mad that there are still no emotions in his voice. It’s like he’s talking about the weather while Gerard is falling apart next to him. “What did you tell him?”

“When?”

“You tend to say the dumbest shit to the people you love,” Mikey hums. “So I’m guessing you said something to Frank, too, that made him call it a mistake. What was it?”

“I didn’t tell him any dumb shit. Just that I do regretful things when I’m in a bad headspace. I asked him not to make me regret kissing him,” Gerard shakes his head. “And he did. He made me regret it.”

“As your brother,” Mikey sighs again, more heavily this time. “And Frank’s friend, I will tell you something now, and you are going to listen to me. Then, we will stop at Starbucks, grab a coffee, and you will go help the kids impress their parents.”

Gerard swallows hard. “Okay.”

“I think - and you will have to take it up with him because I can’t speak for him - but I think the only thing Frank saw as a mistake was kissing you when you were in a bad headspace, not kissing you in general. He cares about you,” Mikey reaches over, dragging Gerard’s hands back into his lap. He didn’t even realize he lifted them, ready to bite at his nails. Old, nervous habit. “He wouldn’t be taking your keys if he didn’t, and he will be there today to play the piano for the show. If you think he would skip it, then you clearly don’t know him at all.”

“No, I know he wouldn’t, but–”

“Shut the fuck up, Gerard.”

“Sorry.”

“As I was saying,” Mikey emphasizes each word. “He will be there. You need to speak to him. Not before the play - don’t you fucking dare talk to him before the play, you will end up crying, and it will be a tragedy. But ask to talk to him after and sort this shit out. Because the way I see it, he’s in love with you, and I don’t want you hurting my best fucking friend.”

“Why would he run, then?” Gerard asks. “I kissed him, for fuck’s sake. If he’s in love with me, why would he push me away and leave?”

“Because you told him that you were seconds away from a relapse and that you were gonna do something regretful. If he told you that and then tried to kiss you, how would you feel? Loved or used?”

Loved, Gerard thinks. Used, George prompts. And damn it, he’s right. Gerard bites his lip so hard it hurts, and a new emotion floods his chest. It’s not regret anymore - it’s shame.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Mikey hums next to him. “Fuck, Mikes. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. But it’s not me who needs to know it.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?”

Mikey looks at him and smiles. “The truth.”

Which tells Gerard exactly nothing, but he can’t expect more. He presses himself further into the seat, sliding his hand into the pocket to grab the car keys. Believing Mikey is hard, but what other choice does Gerard have? If Frank shows up, then he will at least have a chance to explain himself or apologize. If he doesn’t, then that means Mikey was wrong, and the situation is as clear as day. Gerard never wanted his brother to be right more in his life. He sighs and avoids Mikey’s gaze all the way to the school, getting out of his car without saying a word. He will tell him that he’s grateful later. Mikey gets it.

But things don’t get any less overwhelming when he goes in. He isn’t late - thank you, Mikey - but a few kids are already gathered in front of the classroom when he gets there, surrounded by their parents, and Gerard suddenly remembers that he’s totally fucked if Frank doesn’t come. How does one jeopardize so much with one simple kiss?

“Mr. Way!”

“Hi, Timmy,” Gerard forces himself to smile. God, what a sweet kid. He can’t believe he will potentially disappoint him in less than an hour, along with his mom, who follows closely after when Timmy runs in to hug him. “Ready for the big day?”

“More than,” Mrs. Carter says. She smiles back at him when they shake hands. “He spent half of the night awake.”

“I was awake because I was waiting for Daddy,” Timmy explains. “He’s still not here, but he promised he would be.”

“I’m sure he’s coming soon,” Gerard nods. He pushes the classroom door open and steps to the side. “Get inside, guys. Mrs. Carter, if you could hold a spot for your husband in the front row?”

“He gets front row?”

“I promised your son that he would.”

“You’re a good man, Mr. Way,” Mrs. Carter says. Gerard wishes it were true. “I’ll get out of your hair for now. I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

Gerard does and doesn’t. He got Penny (bribed her, really) to handle the costumes for him since he knew he wouldn’t be in the right mindset to handle needles and try to pin the fabric on the children’s bodies, so all he really needs to do is stand there. So he does. He leans against the piano, his chest tightening when he looks at the empty bench and the closed fallboard. He tries to remember where he put the USB stick that Frank had given him. He doesn’t have his laptop, but he’s sure he could grab one from Ray’s office should things go sideways. Timmy will cry, he’s fully aware of it. Timmy will cry, and so will Patricia, most likely, and Erica will throw a fit. They look so fucking happy now, murmuring between themselves behind the makeshift curtain on stage, with Penny scolding them now and then to stay still as she puts the costumes on them, and Gerard’s heart breaks again.

He loves them. Screw big dreams, screw his own love life and his future. He just wants these kids to have the time of their lives today and to smile at their parents, feeling proud of themselves. He just wants Timmy’s father to see his son singing from behind his white ghost sheet and clap as loud as an army officer can.

Penny touches his shoulder, and he flinches. He has zoned out again, and he has to blink a few times to remember where he is.

“You okay?”

“Ha,” Gerard says. He lowers his voice to make sure the children won’t hear him. “No, not really.”

“We’re almost ready over here,” Penny whispers, then gives him a stern, questioning look. “Where’s Frank?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gerard.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Gerard shakes his head. He takes a peek from behind the curtain and sees more parents sitting in the chairs than previously. It looks almost like a whole room, except– “Where’s Timmy’s dad?”

He looks at Mrs. Carter, raising his eyebrows, but her face is anxious. She looks over her shoulder at the empty doorway, then back at him, and shrugs. Shit. Shit.

“We’ll have to start soon. Where is our pianist, Gee?”

“I have no idea. I don’t think he’s coming.”

“What have you done?”

“Something that’s considered a mistake, apparently,” Gerard winces. He leans back, looking over at the stage. The kids are gathered in the center, all in their outfits, staring at him with big, expectant eyes. He sighs, closing his eyes. He rubs his temple and tells himself that everything will be alright, that they know the songs. They can do it without the piano, too. He has no fucking idea how he’s going to stop the breakdown that Timmy will have as soon as the curtain is lifted, but he’ll deal with that later.

“Gee.”

“Okay,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Okay. Alright. I’ll– Jesus. I need to run to Ray’s office and magically conjure up the USB with Frank’s playing while I’m at it, and then we can–”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Gerard’s stomach doesn’t even fall - it tumbles at the speed of light, hitting the floor with a dull thump. He’s sure that he could give Timmy a run for his money with how he can feel the blood draining from his face, and although he tells himself he really shouldn’t turn around because it’ll make it worse - he does exactly that. And, fuck.

Fuck.

“You’re here.”

“Yes,” Frank says steadily. He doesn’t smile the way he usually would, and when Gerard looks at him more closely, he can see the bags under Frank’s eyes. It seems like he hardly got any sleep, too. He opens his mouth to say something - what, he has no idea - but Frank’s gaze traps the words in his throat. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for them,” Frank points at the kids, now gathered close to the piano. They look awfully fucking happy to see Frank, and Gerard can’t blame them. He is, too, despite his heart going a thousand miles per hour.

“Of course,” he manages to choke out. He has to actively fight with himself not to look down when Frank licks his lips. Fuck. Gerard kissed him. He fucking kissed him, and he wants to kiss him again. Jesus. He’s in love with him.

“Timmy,” Frank looks over Gerard’s shoulder while he pushes his jacket down his arms, and there it is - the smile. He’s beautiful. “I found someone on my way here.”

“Who?” Timmy’s eyes grow wide.

“I think you know him,” Frank hums, squinting. “He said his plane was delayed and that he almost didn’t make it, so I showed him where the classroom was. He was wearing that wicked military uniform, too.”

Timmy’s lower lip trembles. “Dad?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Frank grins. He leans back, peeking behind the curtain. “Yep, right there, front row. Next to your mom. Wanna go see him now, or would you prefer to show him how great of an actor you are first?”

“Can I, Mr. Way?” Timmy’s head snaps up to look at him. “I’ll just say hello, okay? Please?”

“Absolutely,” Gerard whispers. He’s not even done talking when Timmy is running past Frank and down the stairs. “Caref– ah, whatever.”

He’s acutely aware that when he moves the curtain to watch Timmy, Frank gets close to him. It suddenly feels like everything he’s doing is too much - even breathing - and the air leaves him in shallow pants when Frank’s body heat reaches him. George whines in his mind, quiet and pathetic. Gerard can relate. The only thing he can think of is - touch me, touch me, touch me. He forces it back, smiling when he sees the little white ghost colliding with the military man. He gets lifted from the ground with a happy shriek, and the room erupts in applause, drowning out the kids cheering for Timmy, too. Next to his ear, he feels a soft, warm exhale.

“What a great kid,” Frank says, seemingly to no one in particular. Gerard is too scared to look, but he’s sure Frank is watching the reunion scene, too. He hears a sigh next, and Frank leans back. “Gonna miss him.”

Jesus. Gerard grips the edge of his jacket so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

Jesus.

“Frank–”

“Not now,” Frank shakes his head when Gerard looks at him. He’s sitting behind the piano now, and the fallboard is open. Gerard zeroes in on his fingers, running soundlessly over the keys, and his anxiety spikes even higher. Frank isn’t wearing the gold band on his finger today. To be honest, he’s hardly wearing any rings, but the familiar, colorful gingerbread man is still there. Gerard’s own ring starts weighing him down. He still didn’t take it off, but he doesn’t understand why Frank didn’t, either. Didn’t he tell Mikey that their kiss was a mistake?

“After the show,” Gerard agrees. Frank gives him a short look, and Gerard sighs. “Please?”

“I won’t have much time.”

“I don’t have a lot to say, to be honest. Three minutes.”

“Alright,” Frank nods. George awakens again and starts cheering, jumping around. It would be a lot better if Frank smiled at him, but Gerard will take what he can get. At least he’s talking to him.

“Thanks,” Gerard rubs the back of his neck.

“Guys. Are we starting?” Penny’s voice reaches him, high and nervous. “I have classes in an hour.”

Fuck. Of course. Gerard whirls around and nods, aware that Frank’s eyes follow him when he walks across the stage and waves at Timmy to come back.

“Sure, sorry, yes,” he stutters. He can worry about Frank later for the entirety of three minutes. He makes sure the kids are all gathered where they should be, then nods at them and Frank. “Let’s go, guys. Let’s give your parents a show.”

Frank’s fingers touch the keys and press, the first notes of Silent Night echoing through the room. Gerard yanks the curtain open, and the applause starts again when Penny - operating the lights, too - makes sure Erica is right in the spotlight. Gerard’s heart seizes, then jumps when Erica follows through, her voice harmonizing perfectly with Frank’s playing.

It’s his little slice of Broadway - and despite everything, it’s beautiful.

*

It goes well. Of course, it does. Not perfect - Minnie forgets that Patricia is playing a boy and calls her by her real name. Adam forgets a line altogether and needs Gerard to lean in and remind him what it is, and Erica trips - but in the end, the play is a success. Every time Gerard gazes at the gathered parents, all he sees is awe. Someone’s mom cries, and a gathering of a few dads in the back is cheering so loudly they drown out not only the kids’ singing but also Frank’s playing. He’s so overwhelmed by everything that Penny has to kick him in the ankle to remind him that he needs to play the drum for I Saw Three Ships. That’s the most challenging part of the whole day, and Gerard feels equally proud of himself and devastated by how well he and Frank coordinate their instruments, giving the children a proper accompaniment. Frank was right - it sounds fucking amazing, and by the time it’s all said and done, Gerard’s heart swells with delight.

He pushes the kids to the front of the stage as soon as they’re done. Minnie is grinning at him when he pats the top of her head, and as her dad whistles on his fingers, she starts laughing like she’s never been happier.

“Go on,” Gerard urges her along with the other kids. “You did so great, guys, wow! You need to go bow now, like proper performers. Just like we practiced, okay?”

“But you have to go with us,” Minnie replies as she grabs his sleeve.

“No, no. It was your show.”

“That’s stupid. You played the drum,” she stomps her foot, annoyed now, and Gerard grins back at her. He lets himself be led from the side stage to the center and feels his cheeks growing hot when he finds himself in front of the gathered crowd. To think he wanted to be an actor is funny to him now. He can hardly handle all the attention, even though he’s perfectly aware that he’s not in the center of it. He crouches, putting his arms around the nearest few of the kids, waiting for the rest to stand in a straight line for the bow.

A hand landing on his shoulder is heavy. Gerard flinches, head snapping up, and Frank looks down at him with a smile as embarrassed as his own. A smile. Gerard is close to gasping, but before he can deliver it, Timmy squeezes himself between him and Frank, his hand still clasped tightly around Frank’s wrist.

“Right here,” he announces firmly when he apparently puts Frank where he wants him. It pushes Frank into Gerard’s side, his knee digging into his ribs. Ow. “You need to stay here, Mr. Frank.”

“I don’t know, Timmy, I don’t–”

“You’re the pianist,” Timmy interjects. He’s awfully stern for a kid, and it makes Gerard chuckle when he sends Frank a look that could easily make the strongest men crumble. “You’ll bow with us.”

Frank lifts his hands, surrendering. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Good.”

Frank’s face screams bloody murder, and Gerard cracks up, forgetting that they are still on very unsteady ground. He nudges Frank’s calf, forcing him down to kneel next to him, and Frank goes easily, even though he still looks absolutely morose.

“You have a band,” Gerard whispers to him, tightening his arms around the kids. “You should be used to this.”

“I can usually swear a lot more than I can now,” Frank hisses back. He’s blushing now, and it’s fucking cute. George starts purring again, and Gerard doesn’t even try to stop him this time because he gets it. He smiles at Frank, hoping it will ease the tension between them, and finds it to be a lot more sincere than everything he’s done since yesterday.

“Bummer.”

“Shut up.”

Minnie turns, squinting at them. “Shh!”

Gerard bites his lip to stop himself from laughing. He looks around to check if everyone is in position, then taps Minnie’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “Okay, on three, alright? One… two… three.”

The children bow together - or, well, more or less together, but it’s a lot better than Gerard expected it to be. He bows along with them, lowering his head and sneaking a glance at Frank doing the same. They aren’t okay, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he thinks they can maybe get through this. If Gerard apologizes and promises never to try anything with him, then perhaps they can stay in touch. If he stifles the love that’s blooming in him, he may at least keep a friend that he can talk to sometimes or ask for his assistance if he ever needs another pianist again. It’ll hurt to let him go, to have tasted his lips and know he will never be allowed to do it again, but he wants Frank in his life. If he can’t have him in any other form, he will settle for what he can get.

They part ways again when the curtain closes. Gerard is temporarily occupied with taking the pins and needles out of the costumes since Penny wishes him good luck and runs to take care of her classes, and Frank is gathering his things from around the piano. Gerard keeps watching him, and the longer it takes to fold the ghost sheets, the more anxious he becomes. Three minutes. That’s what he promised him, and he assumed the children would want to hug him goodbye, but he sort of didn’t anticipate their parents wanting to talk to him. They all come over to shake his hand and thank him, and Timmy’s dad takes a long, long time to tell him how grateful he is that Gerard has taken over the fatherly role when he was away. He promises him that he’ll be around from now on, and Gerard has to actively stop himself from bursting into tears. Timmy clings to his father, a lone white thread from his costume stuck to the sleeve of his sweater, and Gerard is happy. Simple as that. He’s fucking glad to be witnessing it.

And then he isn’t anymore. He says goodbye to the kids, says goodbye to the parents, walks them all to the door, and lets them out, still smiling and laughing, but then the door closes, and his heart stops in its tracks.

Behind him, on the now empty stage, a pair of feet shuffles next to the piano.

“So.”

Gerard swallows hard and turns around. Frank’s jacket is still unzipped, but he’s put it on already, and he’s holding his hat, prepared to put it on. Gazing down at his watch, Gerard confirms that it is now past eleven and that he has probably used up those three minutes Frank generously offered to spare for him. Still, he can’t just let him walk out of here like this. He sets his jaw and storms back to the stage, determined to at least apologize. He pushes past Frank, coming over to the piano and the closed fallboard, and raps his fingers over the black wood a few times.

“Damn it,” he mutters, shaking his head at himself. “I should’ve thought about what I was going to say.”

“Gerard,” Frank sighs. “I really need to go.”

“I know, I know, just– Thank you for coming today,” he utters. He turns, meeting Frank’s surprised gaze. “The kids appreciated it, and so did I. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’m sorry,” Gerard stops him before Frank can continue. “For yesterday. I know it was shitty, and I know that I shouldn’t have done it. I just,” he shrugs, dragging a hand up his hair. Frank is observing him with a face that tells Gerard absolutely nothing about what’s going on in his head. “I don’t have the explanation, really. I just wanted to do it, so I did.”

“You can’t always just do things because you want to.”

“I know,” Gerard winces. He rubs his eyes and tells himself that things could be worse; Frank could be yelling at him. “Why did you take my keys?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Yes,” Gerard nods. “It confuses the fuck out of me.”

“I took the keys,” Frank starts slowly, turning fully to face him. Now he looks determined like he’s holding himself back from groaning in frustration, and Gerard’s stomach shrinks. It’s not that he looks dangerous. He just looks like he’ll storm out at any moment. “Because you were in a vulnerable place, you sought comfort in me, and I didn’t give it to you. I was worried where you’d go look for it next.”

“You thought I’d drink.”

“If it’ll make you feel better when I admit it straight on, then, yes, Gerard. I thought you’d drink.”

“And you thought you were… what? Entitled to stop me?”

Frank’s eyelid twitches. Shit. It’s the wrong thing to say, and Gerard realizes it the moment the words are out of his mouth. He’s not trying to be rude. It’s just coming out this way for reasons he can’t name.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Frank hisses. “Is it normal for people to try to protect their friends’ thirteen-years-long sobriety, or was I acting like a privileged asshole? You tell me.”

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“What?”

“Seeking comfort,” Gerard clarifies. Frank’s eyebrows lift like he doesn’t believe him. “I mean, sort of? But not because, I don’t know, I was replacing one bad habit with another, or anything like that.”

“That’s what you told me.”

“I know.”

“And you chose a really bad fucking moment for it, too. Kinda looks like you were trying to–”

“I would’ve done something ages ago,” Gerard interjects. He’s getting sick of it. Sick of Frank looking at him like he’s ashamed to be standing there with him, sick of his own brain not providing adequate words, sick of George suddenly deciding he won’t be interfering. “But I thought–”

Frank’s phone rings. Gerard’s mouth snaps shut so roughly his teeth clink together, and Frank finally does let out that frustrated groan he must’ve been sitting on for a while, yanking the phone out of his pocket. He takes one look at it, one at Gerard, and then back before he picks it up.

“Five more minutes,” he says to whoever is on the other side. “I get it, asshole, I’m literally on my way out as we speak, alright? Be there in five.”

Gerard gulps. That doesn’t sound good.

“Frank?”

“This was Shaun,” Frank informs him. “From my band. I gotta go. Whatever you wanna tell me - keep it for later.”

“Fucking– wait! I thought Mikey put you up to this.”

That resonates. Hard. Frank literally hovers on the edge of the stage like he can’t quite decide if he wants to fall down the stairs or try to save himself by taking a step back toward Gerard for what feels like a solid few seconds. He chooses the latter, but he doesn’t entirely turn. He just looks over his shoulder like Gerard’s the devil himself, standing there and telling him that he came to collect his soul or something equally ridiculous. Gerard lifts his hands, ready to argue with him, then lets them drop when Frank’s eyebrow arches again.

“What?”

“Mikey,” Gerard repeats slowly. “You said that he promised you something, and I thought,” he gestures, and when that doesn’t yield any results, scoffs. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“You thought I was flirting with you because your brother told me to?”

“You were flirting with me?”

“From like, day one,” Frank glares at him. “How the fuck did you not realize?”

“Your ring,” Gerard admits.

“What about my ring?”

“I mean, Jesus, Frank,” he sighs. “When I first came to see you, Jenna opened the door for me. It was your home, and a woman opened a door for me, and she was wearing sweatpants. And you had the ring on. And you always had it on every time I saw you. And then you said you were looking for a Christmas gift for her–”

“I bought you a ring,” Frank’s eyes open wider. “I put it on your finger, you idiot. And you thought that, what? I was married?”

Gerard shrugs. “Basically.”

“What kind of a married man puts a ring on another guy’s finger?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Gerard groans. “A nice one?”

“You are… astronomically stupid,” Frank throws his head back. George silently agrees with him in Gerard’s head, staring at him like he’s the biggest dumbass in the universe. Gerard tells him to fuck off. “And you thought I would do all that to, what? Get a contract from Mikey?”

“Yeah? I mean, Christ,” Gerard waves his hands again. “You pushed me away. I kissed you, and you pushed me away.”

Frank’s face screws into a pained expression. His phone starts ringing again, and he ignores it, pulling it out only to reject the call. Gerard doesn’t even want to gaze at his watch. He knows that if Frank was supposed to leave at eleven, he’s already running late, and it’s all because of him. A cherry on top of Gerard’s massive cake of regret.

“I pushed you away because you told me you always do something that’s not good for you right before you kissed me,” Frank explains. He seems impatient, and his phone keeps buzzing. Gerard can see it even from where he’s pressing himself into the piano, praying it’ll swallow him whole. Frank looks downright miserable when he speaks next. “I didn’t want to be someone who’d be bad for you.”

“You’re not,” Gerard shakes his head firmly. “You aren’t, Frankie. You could never be.”

“You sure made it sound like it.”

“I… it was a wrong place and wrong time,” Gerard agrees. “And you did make me regret it, but not for reasons you probably think of. I just wanted to kiss you because I wanted to kiss you. There’s nothing more to it. No hidden agenda, no trying to dig myself out of a depression hole. I’m just–” In love with you. “I just like you.”

For a few excruciatingly long moments, Frank doesn’t say anything. He just stares at him, a frown forming between his eyebrows like he’s getting a headache, and Gerard almost wants to take it all back. He remembers Mikey’s voice telling him that Frank thought it had all been a mistake, and his heart breaks a little in his chest. What if it is? What if baring his soul in front of Frank won’t change anything, and he’s still after the contract, saying all those things to make Gerard drop his guard? It must show on his face - the insecurity, the fear of being wrong - because Frank’s shoulders drop, and he finally turns fully back, dropping his bag onto the piano bench. He holds Gerard’s gaze when he opens it and continues to hold it when he returns with a piece of paper, thrusting it into Gerard’s hands.

“Here,” he says. “Read it.”

Gerard reads it. He doesn’t understand much - there’s a lot of legal talk on that page, something he always has Mikey understand for him whenever he needs to sign something - but the essential bits are clear as day. Frank’s name is there, along with the name of what Gerard assumes is a band (Future Violents, it says. Fucking incredible name, if he’s honest, even though he’s never heard of them before). At the bottom of the second page, there is a list of shows that they’re supposed to play together - dates and locations. The contract holds a few signatures, and amongst them, Gerard recognizes Frank’s scribbling and his own brother’s name.

“Is that…?”

“It is,” Frank nods. He pulls the contract out of Gerard’s hands like it’s a baby, carefully and gently, and holds it between their bodies. “Mikey got it for me. Do you know what this means to me?”

“A lot.”

“A fucking lot,” Frank nods. “I wanted to play with these guys for years. Years, Gee. Pencey is fun, but this band actually has something to offer. If they like what I do, I could tour Europe with them. I could tour fucking Australia with them,” Frank shakes his head and barks out a strained laugh. “I’m forty-two. If I am to make something of myself, this is my chance. Remember when I told you I wanted to be a rock star?”

Gerard nods. His hands tremble, and he feels himself sweating nervously. He doesn’t know where this is going, but the intensity of Frank’s eyes is enough to tell him that it’s a do-or-die situation.

“This,” Frank taps his fingers lightly over the paper. “This is it. This is my dream finally coming true.”

“I’m happy for you,” Gerard says quietly. “You deserve it.”

“I’m not done,” Frank stops him. “I really need to go now, or Shaun will literally kill me, but I need you to promise me something.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to come see me on Sunday. Mikey knows where I’ll be. I want you to come see me play, and then I want us to talk more.”

George starts sobbing, and Gerard is seconds away from joining him. He nods.

“I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Frank sighs. “And, Gee? One more thing.”

Gerard wants to ask him - what is it? - but Frank is quicker. There isn’t much more to do than watch, and even though Gerard hears a strangled gasp that falls from his lips, he’s not fast enough to stop him. The paper tears when Frank pulls, and Gerard’s gaze follows two parts of Frank’s contract falling out of his hands and slowly sinking to the floor.

“Why the fuck would you do this?” he whispers when his head snaps up to meet Frank’s eyes.

“Because,” Frank replies. “If that’s what puts barriers between us, I don’t want it.”

And then Gerard can’t ask him more, either, because Frank is suddenly in his space, Gerard’s back is pressed to the piano, and Frank is kissing him. It’s nothing like what Gerard attempted yesterday - a delicate, tentative brush of lips, so unsure of whether he was allowed it. No. Frank is pushing against him like he’s dying, his lips parted and his hands gripping Gerard’s hips so hard it hurts, and Gerard can only huff and let Frank push him back and up. He lets out a scared yelp when he loses balance, but the piano is right there, and Frank sits him up on the lowered fallboard like he’s been planning it from the start.

And maybe he was. Gerard moans when Frank’s hands slide lower, hiking his thighs up around himself, then cries out when Frank’s teeth sink into his lower lip and pull. He’s shaking all over now, and he barely manages to slip his hands under Frank’s jacket before Frank takes another step forward and presses their bodies together.

“Fuck.”

“Not now,” Frank mumbles against his lips. Gerard’s mind short-circuits when he feels Frank’s tongue running over the bite he just left. “And not here. Come see me on Sunday.”

“Fuck Sunday,” Gerard groans. He has leverage now, so he squeezes Frank’s hips with his thighs and bucks up, a bolt of pleasure running from his nape down to his toes. Frank counters it, thrusting forward, and Gerard’s eyes roll back when it makes their dicks rub together through their pants. “God, please–”

“I have to go,” Frank murmurs. He leans in and presses a kiss - so gentle compared to everything - to Gerard’s jawline. “But I promise we’ll talk on Sunday, okay?”

“Frankie,” Gerard digs his fingers into Frank’s sides. He doesn’t know what he wants to say or do, but apparently, Frank does. He kisses him again, hard and desperate, then carefully helps him stand back up.

“Sunday,” he whispers against his lips. “See me Sunday.”

“Frank!”

Frank steps back and grins at him, his lower lip trapped between his teeth. He doesn’t look like he wants to go, but Gerard knows he has to. He snatches his bag, winks, and then Gerard’s watching his back when he flies through the room and out the door like he was never there.

Gerard lifts his hand and touches his mouth gingerly. He knows he’s imagining it, but he can swear he still feels the imprint of Frank’s teeth on his lower lip and the sting of the bite. In his mind, George curls up into a ball and goes to sleep for the first time since he showed up, apparently satisfied with the job well done.

“Holy shit,” Gerard whispers to himself. His classroom echoes it, and a smile creeps up on his face when he presses a hand to his chest. He realizes a few things at once - that he will need to carry Frank’s drum because he didn’t take it with him, that outside the door, there’s still a school in full swing with multiple kids and teachers running around, that it’s barely eleven and he has two days to waste before he can see Frank again, and that he has no way to get home. All of it - absolutely all of it - means nothing compared to the fact that Frank grabbed him and kissed him like he wanted him as badly as Gerard wants him.

“Holy shit,” he repeats. There are things to do, and Gerard is an art teacher with another classroom full of art supplies for a reason. He gathers his things and leaves the drama class behind, two parts of Frank’s contract safely in his hands.

He has adhesive tape somewhere, for sure, and he can go home a little later today. He doesn’t mind at all.

Chapter Text

“Tell me again.”

Gerard groans, sliding a hand down his face. Kristin is close enough that the gesture makes his elbow knock into her arm, and that’s a lot closer than he’s comfortable with.

“I’m forty-six, not sixteen,” he reminds her, but even covering his mouth doesn’t hide that he’s smiling, and she knows it. Plus, even if Gerard didn’t want to talk about it constantly, her puppy eyes are really goddamn compelling. “Alright, alright. Which part?”

“Everything.”

“For the record,” Mikey grumbles. “I don’t want to hear it again. Just so we’re clear.”

“You should’ve stayed home, then.”

They’re huddled in the corner of a tiny New York City club that Gerard had never heard of before Mikey dragged him out here. At least it’s dark, which Gerard is grateful for because he knows he must be blushing. He’s alright with Kristin being aware of it, but Mikey’s cold demeanor makes him feel awkward about it. Not that he blames him - he’s not particularly interested in his brother’s love life, either, at least as far as public display of affection goes. He thinks he and Kristin are absolutely adorable together, and it still warms his heart when he sees them hug or peck each other’s lips, but he would be against hearing about their make-out sessions, too. Kristin, apparently, doesn’t have such reservations. She’s not blood, after all, and she looks awfully excited to hear about Gerard’s escapades. Or the escapade. Singular.

The butterflies in his stomach that he gets every time he as much as thinks about it agree with her, and so does George. He’s been strolling around with his head high and chest pushed out, like a proud king gazing at his kingdom, and honestly, it’s beginning to be annoying. Gerard doesn’t really have a need for him anymore, but he can’t kick him out. As much as it pains him, he has to admit that they’ve bonded.

“We explained things to each other,” Gerard says, then bites his lower lip to stop himself from grinning. The butterflies awaken again, and his stomach swoops. Maybe he’s not sixteen, but he sure must look like a sixteen-year-old girl talking about her crush. No, scratch that - like a sixteen-year-old girl online talking about her crush. With all due respect.

“And?”

“And he said he had to go, but before he did, he kissed me.”

“He didn’t just kiss you, come on,” Kristin squints. “You told me once. You can tell me again.”

“Fine. He pushed me against the piano and made out with me,” Gerard sighs. He gets an encouraging smile in return (and Mikey pretending to be throwing up on the other side of him). “He, like, grabbed my hips first to hoist me onto the fallboard, then my thighs. It was hot.”

“It sounds hot,” Kristin agrees, leaning over to look at her husband. “Why do you never hoist me onto a piano?”

“Because we don’t own a piano, and neither of us can play it even if we did,” Mikey grunts. He seems highly interested in the state of his nails with how intensively he’s staring at them.

“Neither can Gerard,” Kristin points out, and honestly? Point. She turns back to him, clearly fed up with Mikey’s lack of enthusiasm. “And then what happened?”

“Then he stuck his tongue down my throat.”

“Yep,” she nods. “Hot.”

“Gross,” Mikey counters.

“Sorry, baby bro,” Gerard smiles, nudging Mikey’s shoulder. “It was very hot. So hot, in fact, that even though I’m forty-six, he made me hard in–”

“I don’t want to know!”

Gerard laughs, leaning back. Mikey looks genuinely worried that he will get more details, so he gives him a break for now. He did, after all, tell Gerard where Frank’s show was happening, and if Gerard is not mistaken, it should start any moment, anyway.

“You keep rubbing your jaw,” Kristin points out, touching a finger to the back of Gerard’s hand. It’s currently curled around the side of his face as he rubs a thumb over his skin. “Did he kiss you here, too?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I think he did. He’s got a beard. Not like the Santa Claus one, clearly, but there’s some scruff there, and it tickles.”

“It tickles.”

“Yep,” Gerard grins wider. “I wouldn’t mind if it tickled more than just my jaw.”

“Oh my God, you know what? I’m gonna find someone else to talk to,” Mikey complains. He looks around, lost, and then his eyes settle on someone he apparently knows. He seems relieved. “Oh, there. That’s Pete. I’ll just,” he gestures with his hands. “Yeah. You can gossip all you want.”

“But Mikey!”

“He’ll live,” Gerard puts a hand on Kristin’s shoulder. They laugh together at how determined Mikey is to get away from them, then lean back against the wall, their eyes back on the narrow stage at the end of the room. The club isn’t overcrowded, but there are quite a few people around, making their spot in the corner very comfortable. Kristin leans into him, and Gerard wraps an arm around her. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Listening to me,” he shrugs. “Coming out here with me. Taking care of this moron,” he nods toward where Mikey is talking to Pete. Gerard vaguely remembers the guy from when they were young, so he knows he’s one of Mikey’s old friends. “He can be hopeless.”

“He just needs a strong, independent woman to look after him,” Kristin chuckles. “And you need a strong, independent man to look after you. Things are going great for you, Way brothers.”

“You think I need a man to care for me?” Gerard’s eyebrows raise. “Seriously?”

“Not really,” Kristin smiles. She reaches over and grabs his chin, fingers digging in, turning his head to where the spotlight is hitting the stage. “But, judging by the description you just gave me, I think that man is here now, anyway.”

Gerard has seen Frank barely two days before - kissed him barely two days before - but the reaction he gets when he spots him on stage is like he hasn’t seen him in years. His stomach plunges, and for a moment, he actually thinks he may faint. Frank looks… well, like Frank. The long sleeve he’s wearing hugs his body in all the right places, and his smile is as bright as always, but what’s different this time is that there’s an electric guitar hanging from a strap around his shoulder, and he’s heading straight for the mic in the center of the stage.

Gerard whimpers and Kristin starts laughing.

“Shut up,” he presses his back further into the wall. “Don’t say anything.”

“Well, damn. Consider me surprised,” Kristin hums, even though it’s clear that she’s still laughing at him.

“Why?”

“You look like someone who’d be into twinks,” she shrugs. “I expected a twink.”

“How the fuck do you even know what a twink is?”

“I use social media, sweetie. I know stuff.”

“I told you he lifted me onto the piano!”

“Fair.”

“Besides, I’m not into twinks. I’m into men. It doesn’t matter to me whether they’re skinny men or buff men, as long as they’re–”

“Hey, everyone!”

Actually, never mind. Gerard can explain it all to Kristin some other time. Preferably after his heart stops threatening to jump out of his chest and when his hands don’t shake from something as simple as hearing Frank’s voice echoing through the club. He’s grateful the crowd cheers as loudly as it does, effectively drowning out whatever embarrassing sound he makes next. Jesus. It was painfully evident that he was gone for Frank, but this is positively ludicrous. He’s not even aware that he’s subconsciously arching his back and standing up straighter until he sees Kristin’s arm shoot up. She starts waving, and Frank’s head snaps to the side. He’s too far away, but Gerard could swear his smile widens.

“Hi,” he repeats, and yes, now he’s definitely staring at them. Or, more specifically, at him. Gerard is about to combust spontaneously. “We’re Pencey Prep, and we have a few holiday songs for you. Anyone here in a festive mood?”

The crowd cheers again. Frank’s eyes don’t leave Gerard when he grins, adjusting the mic stand.

“Cool, cool. Let’s warm you up a little with a classic, then.”

And then he goes straight into a rough, fucking awesome-sounding cover of Misfits’ Halloween, and Gerard loses his mind.

He can see Kristin snickering at the choice of the song, can see the people in the crowd being confused at first, only to scream the lyrics at the top of their lungs a moment later, but he can’t focus on the comedic aspect of playing a Halloween song on the Christmas Eve. What he pays attention to is that Frank’s good.

No, he’s not just good. He’s wonderful. Based purely on the fact that he had so many different instruments at home, Gerard had already assumed that he would know how to play guitar, but what Frank gives on stage, along with the rest of his band, exceeds his wildest expectations. He’s loud, and he’s energetic. He plays the way he kisses - throwing his whole body into it, fingers running over the strings and mouth pressed firmly to the mic when he sings - and Gerard’s collar seems to be tightening around his neck with each chord Frank hits. It’s so different from his methodical, careful way of playing the piano that Gerard can’t quite wrap his head around how one man can be so versatile. He remembers the ease and confidence Frank exuded, but what he’s seeing isn’t it. This is a pure, wild spirit, like Frank is trying to expel rage out of his body. It’s uncoordinated, not exactly perfect, and it works like nothing Gerard has ever seen before.

His jaw is still on the ground when Frank delivers the last drawn-out “Halloween” and laughter that sounds very close to the original song. He doesn’t think he’s picking it up any time soon if he’s honest. Kristin is staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t know if he has any. He’s sort of frozen in place, eyes wide and hands still shaking, and he’s sure that he is now completely, entirely made out of nothing but unadulterated want. Frank pushing his hair back again and winking at him, clearly proud of himself, doesn’t help at all.

Gerard is so fucked it’s not even funny anymore.

The mood doesn’t change for the rest of Pencey’s set. They do finally play covers of a few Christmas songs, although the twist to each of them is that the soft, romantic lyrics become severely deranged and that the singing turns into more of a scream in each of them, which no one seems to have a problem with. Frank thrashes around on stage, his drummer looks like he’s been doused with how hard he’s sweating, and the crowd is going wild for them. As it turns out, Pencey isn’t the only band that’s playing tonight, though. With the last scream informing everyone to “Jingle his bells” (Gerard nearly has a heart attack during that song, and Kristin is probably having a little too much fun with how hard she’s nudging him in the ribs), Frank swings his guitar over his body and sends the crowd a kiss, running off stage.

“Aren’t you going after him?” Gerard hears Kristin ask. He finds it hard to drag his eyes away from the now empty stage.

“I don’t think I can move.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Well, good thing his legs still move, then.”

“What?”

“He’s coming over here.”

He really is, too. When Gerard turns around, he finds a panting, sweaty Frank pushing through the crowd, stopping now and then to shake hands with someone or receive a pat on the back, but it’s pretty clear where he’s headed. Gerard’s stomach falls so hard that he almost groans again and throws Kristin a panicked look.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re gonna be sick,” she decides. “But also kinda like you wanna blow him.”

“Jesus, Kristin, you can’t just say that!”

“Say what?”

Okay. She was right about one thing - Gerard will definitely be sick. He gives himself two full seconds to breathe in deeply, then lifts his head and catches Frank’s gaze. Up close like that, he can see how the long sleeve is clinging to Frank’s skin, soaked with sweat, and his brain short-circuits when he realizes he can see the black of Frank’s tattoos peeking out from beneath the fabric. He swallows hard, letting himself openly ogle Frank’s chest and his thighs, and then drags his eyes back to his face.

“Hi,” he says, his voice shaking a little. Frank’s smile turns sweet.

“Hi, Gee.”

“I– oh, that’s Kristin. Mikey’s wife.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Kristin, being a lot more composed than Gerard is, leans over him to shake Frank’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Good things, I hope?”

“Things you probably wouldn’t want me to know if you knew that I know them,” Kristin grins. Frank’s gaze jumps between her and Gerard a few times, his smile turning embarrassed, and Gerard hides his face in his hands. Sometimes, he really, really hates Kristin. “Alrighty, guys. Gonna go find Mikey. You’re okay with getting back to yours, Gee?”

“I can catch a taxi.”

“He’ll be fine,” Frank interjects. Gerard’s stomach flips again. “It was great meeting you. Please tell Mikey I said hi.”

“Will do. Bye, Frank! Bye, Gee!”

Gerard gives her a half-hearted wave. He isn’t sure if he can talk now with how Frank is gazing at him, and the sweat still pouring down his body is making him want to cry. Even if Gerard weren’t absolutely head over heels in love with this man, he would still be drooling all over himself at the sight of him. He’s itching to reach out and touch him, to place a hand in the middle of Frank’s chest and feel the moisture of his shirt and his muscles moving underneath. He reaches into his pocket instead and pulls out a contract he oh so carefully taped together yesterday morning.

“You were great there,” he says quietly, hoping Frank can at least read the words from his lips if he can’t hear them. Some other band got on stage already, and they’re playing, the music deafening in the tiny club. It makes Frank take a minuscule step forward to get closer to him, and Gerard’s breath gets stuck in his throat. He thrusts the contract into Frank’s hands. “Now I’m sure that you deserve to have this back.”

Frank’s fingers run over the paper before he looks up. He seems grateful and surprised at once.

“You taped it?”

“I did. Or, well, I tried.”

“How do I interpret it?” Frank tilts his head. “‘Cause I wanted to ask you to take a walk with me now, but if you’re not interested…”

“No, no, I am. Trust me, I am. Just,” Gerard sighs, waving his hand. “You’re a fucking fantastic musician, Frankie, and I want your dreams to come true.”

“For now, my dreams involve asking you out,” Frank says. Gerard’s heart downright stops beating for a moment when he smiles, folding the contract like it means absolutely nothing to him and shoving it into his pocket. “Say yes?”

“Yes.”

“Rad,” Frank smiles. He sways on his feet like he wants to push himself against Gerard’s body, then steps back before he does. George rolls his eyes and calls him a coward. Gerard tells him to shut the fuck up. “Give me five, alright? Gotta grab a jacket, and then we can go.”

“Don’t you need to, I don’t know, help with the instruments?”

“I owe Shaun like a monthly supply of coffee, but he’s gonna haul my shit today. Be right back,” Frank says. He doesn’t move, though, and just as Gerard is about to tell him that he should probably get to it, Frank rocks into him again. Gerard’s grateful for the wall still behind his back as his knees wobble when Frank’s lips brush against his cheek in a gentle kiss. “Wait for me outside.”

“You can’t just do that,” Gerard tells him when Frank steps back. He gets a wink in response, and his hand flies up to touch where his skin seems to be tingling. “Frankie!”

“Five! Wait outside!”

What else is there to do but comply? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, especially given the fact that Gerard is sort of feeling like he might be falling apart. He finds his jacket, which takes him a while because he has apparently migrated away from his initial spot and locates it shoved under the wall a few feet away, then pushes through the crowd toward the exit. He walks past Kristin and Mikey, but they are both giving him looks that he has no interest in dealing with - one excited and one clearly indicating that his brother wants nothing to do with whatever Gerard has planned. 

The outside is fucking cold, too, making him shiver. His hands are trembling when he reaches for his cigarettes, grateful for the distraction, but he doesn’t need it for long. Before he can even put the lighter back in his pocket, there is a body pressed to his side, and a man is leaning in, the tip of his cigarette pressed to Gerard’s. There is a joke about tips in here somewhere, but Gerard’s too focused on Frank’s face to figure out what it is.

“Hi.”

“You’re not wearing a scarf.”

Frank’s eyebrow quirks as he inhales. Fuck, he looks good like this, all hollowed cheeks and smoke curling around his mouth.

“Should I?”

Gerard is already uncurling his own from around his neck when he glares at him. It’s obvious that Frank is now doing it on purpose, but Gerard couldn’t give two fucks about it. He got a cheek kiss, for fuck’s sake; he thinks he’s allowed to do what he does next.

“I could wring out the sweat from your shirt, and I’d probably get like half a cup,” Gerard scolds him in his sternest teacher voice. “And it’s fucking cold. Yes, you should be wearing a scarf.”

He makes a feeble attempt to throw the scarf over Frank’s head while still holding onto both ends of it and gets the fabric stuck on the back of Frank’s beanie. He pouts, ready to slam his face into the nearest wall - Frank had kissed his cheek literally three minutes ago and asked him out before that, and Gerard is now doing his absolute best to make him regret both of those things - but Frank only laughs. His giggle is precious, and he takes a step closer to him, his boots pressing to Gerard’s. It dislodges both the scarf and the last bits of Gerard’s sanity.

“Thanks.”

“Honestly, you’re gonna catch a cold. I should just take you home.”

“That’s a little forward, don’t you think?” Frank grins.

“Oh,” Gerard utters. He must be blushing again because Frank’s laughter gets louder, and for some reason, that gives him courage. “Oh, fuck you.”

“You’re offering?”

Gerard’s stomach kicks up in excitement. “Frankie.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m being mean,” Frank bites his lip and, if Gerard’s not mistaken, bats his eyelashes at him. Cute motherfucker. Gerard wants to eat him whole. “Alright, I actually do have a plan for that date I asked you out on, though. So unless you wanna fuck in the bathroom…?”

“Stop talking about sex,” Gerard groans, hiding his face in his hands. Frank laughs again. “Just stop. Not another word. Date. We’re going now.”

“Yeah, I think you’re gonna love it, actually,” Frank nods. He offers his arm like he’s a gentleman and Gerard’s some Victorian lady, and Gerard decides not to point out how Frank is shorter than him. He gives his stomach another moment to stop doing backflips and slides a hand into the crook of Frank’s elbow. “I’ll admit, though, you did most of the hard work for me with this one, so don’t, like, get too excited.”

“You could take me to a cemetery, and I’d be excited,” Gerard admits. Frank eyes shine when he looks at him. “Sorry. I just– I’m glad we’re doing this. Together.”

“Me too,” Frank says quietly. He reaches over his body and squeezes Gerard’s hand with his. It’s fleeting, but it sends chills down Gerard’s spine. “And a cemetery date would be a great fucking idea.”

Gerard thinks about it for a moment, then smiles back at him.

“You’re right. It would be.”

*

Gerard always loves New York City, but he especially loves it during wintertime, with Christmas just around the corner. Especially if it’s late and the usual crowd of people has already dispersed, hiding in their homes, afraid of the cold. Especially if he’s walking through a park with Christmas lights everywhere and snow lying on the ground. Now he has another thing to add to that list, and it is - especially if he’s walking through a park holding the hand of a guy he’s in love with.

He isn’t completely surprised that Frank took him back to the market, but he has to admit, it’s a nice touch, and the circumstances are a lot better. Without his mother embarrassing him with her underwear shopping and Mikey grinning like the devil over Frank’s shoulder, Gerard appreciates the market a lot more than he did the last time. Most of the stands are already dark, the vendors having gone home, too, but it’s strangely magical this way. It’s just him and Frank, snow creaking under their boots and their hands clasped tightly together, with Frank’s thumb running over his knuckles. Gerard would like to point out that he hates holding hands - they always get too sweaty and too cold (or hot) - but it’s different with Frank. Their palms still get all clammy, and the skin on top gets whipped by the freezing wind, but it’s Frank. Gerard would be ready to endure a lot more discomfort for him than that.

Given that he was sure Frank would be out of his life at that point, Gerard can’t quite understand how they got here. They don’t even talk anymore. They did - covering up the basic things, like Frank’s favorite color (green. Used to hate it, now he loves it), his relationship with his parents (great with his dad, a little worse with his mom, but he thinks both of his parents are amazing and he loves them very much), and his favorite drink (green tea. Green. How fucking sweet is that?) - but then the conversation died out. Neither of them seems to want to pick it up again. There is no need. Gerard can’t remember the last time silence has been this comfortable, and the glances they steal at each other’s faces are enough. Which still doesn’t tell him why Frank chose the park and the market. He did say he wanted to take a walk, but he looks a little too determined for this to be just a stroll.

“Frankie,” Gerard says quietly, squeezing his hand. “What are we doing here?”

“Wh– oh. For now, we have a business to attend to,” Frank smiles. Or so Gerard thinks - he can hardly see his lips from behind the scarf he finally wrapped properly around Frank’s neck a few minutes ago. “And then I hope I can treat you to a cup of hot chocolate.”

“What business?”

“A business transaction,” Frank wriggles his eyebrows. He pulls Gerard into one of the side alleys, and the path is familiar. He’s been here before - he’s been here before with Frank. He feels his stomach shrinking again when they come up to the stand where they got their rings and find it still open, even though most of the displays have already been hidden for the night. Frank’s fingers tap against the window, and the vendor Gerard remembers from last time turns around.

“Sorry, we’re kind of closed already,” he says. He looks terribly broken up about it. “But if you come… wait. I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

“You sure have,” Frank grins. He pushes the scarf under his chin to uncover his face.

“Ah, yes! Christmas tree rings!”

“And gingerbread men,” Frank gently pulls his hand out of Gerard’s grip and flips it over to proudly present his ring. The vendor’s eyes jump between his hand, Gerard’s face, and back to Frank. “We’re not here for these, though. I was wondering if you could take something off my hands?”

“Depends. I don’t do returns.”

“What? Oh, no, I’m not returning those,” Frank shakes his head so solemnly it’s a miracle he doesn’t get a headache. “But I have something I need to get rid of, and I figured it was better to give it to you than to throw it out.”

Gerard hopelessly watches how Frank removes the gingerbread man ring from his finger, putting it carefully in his pocket before clasping the gold band and sliding it off, too. He presents it to the vendor on his palm with a persuasive smile. Hell, Gerard would say yes without even looking at what Frank was holding, but it gives him a weird feeling to see this. It seems wrong, and his hand curls around Frank’s elbow before he can stop himself.

“What are you doing?”

Frank tilts his head to look at him. “Getting rid of it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need it anymore. Come on,” he directs his attention back to the old man. “It’s probably worth something. It is actually gold. I don’t have, like, a certificate to prove it or whatever, but I’m sure you can check it somehow.”

“And what do you want in return?” the vendor asks, leaning closer.

“Nothing. Just wanna get this thing away from me.”

“Frank–”

“No, let me do it.”

“I’ll take it,” the vendor says. Gerard watches how Frank turns his palm, depositing the ring into the guy’s hand. “But you can choose whatever from the display, and it’s yours. Fair is fair.”

Frank looks over his shoulder at him. “What do you say? Should we get a summer edition?”

“What?”

“God, Gee, you suck at making decisions,” he laughs, turning back to the stand. He rakes his gaze over the displays that are still there, completely ignoring all of the elegant collection and sliding right up to the children’s rings. “Okay. Two cats, then.”

“They have Santa Claus hats,” the man laughs. “Not very summer-like.”

“Fuck, I know, but do we care?”

“I don’t think you do. Here, let me pack them for you.”

In under two minutes, Frank’s wedding-like band is gone, and they’re walking away from the stand after wishing the vendor Merry Christmas with Frank’s palm still open. Two rings with pink cat faces wearing Santa Claus’ hats are lying there, and Frank repeatedly touches them with his fingertips. He looks excited, like an actual child, and Gerard can’t stop himself from grinning. It’s endearing. He’s still smiling when Frank finds a bench in literally the darkest part of the park and pulls them down to sit. He’s pretty sure their pants will get wet from the snow residue in no time, but he can’t care about it when Frank pulls his feet up on the seat and presses close to his side, sneaking under Gerard’s arm.

With all the jackets, hoodies, scarves, and hats between them, they must look like one big bundle of fabric, but it’s worth it. He pulls Frank even closer, assuming that he’s allowed to do that, and feels his stomach flip when Frank leans his head over his shoulder. When he still doesn’t say anything, playing with the rings in his hand, Gerard takes a deep breath and decides it’s probably his turn.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Not much,” Frank shrugs. “Gonna see my parents on Tuesday, but as far as tomorrow goes, I don’t really have plans.”

“You’re spending Christmas alone?”

“I mean, Jenna may pop up for coffee.”

“No,” Gerard squeezes Frank’s arm. “I mean, yes, absolutely, please see Jenna for coffee. But I… well. You can say no, obviously, since I don’t really know what the fuck this is,” he gestures between them with his free hand, making Frank giggle. “But I’m going to Mikey’s for dinner, and I think you should go with me.”

“Damn,” Frank whistles. “There go our rings. You know that the second Mikey’s daughters see those, they’re gone.”

“Is that a yes?”

“If you want it to be,” Frank nods. He snuggles even closer, and George nudges Gerard’s arm to move. It drops to Frank’s waist, tucking him in until Frank’s half lying on his chest. “As far as this goes, fuck, I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you about it, but now I feel like an asshole for planning on spoiling our date.”

“We need to,” Gerard sighs. “So if you have something to say, just say it.”

Frank worries his lip between his teeth for a moment, considering, then tilts his head to look at him. His eyes are wide and dark, and Gerard immediately starts expecting the worst. He squeezes Frank harder, anticipating him standing up and leaving him there in the snowed-in park in the center of New York, but Frank apparently has other plans. He pockets their rings and reaches for Gerard’s hand until their fingers are interlocked.

“I like you,” he says, plain and simple. Gerard’s heart seizes. “A lot, if I’m honest. But I am forty-two, and I’ve had my fair share of no strings attached. I don’t wanna do that anymore.”

“I’m older than you, asshole.”

“What you do and how you do it is your business. Just letting you know that if you wanna fuck a few times and then dip, then I’m not a guy for that.”

“I do wanna fuck,” Gerard admits shamelessly. Frank squints, so he smiles at him. “Preferably more than just a few times, though, and I’m not dipping. If we reach an agreement here, you’re pretty much stuck with me. I don’t know if you want that.”

“I put a fucking ring on you,” Frank reminds him as his shoulders relax under Gerard’s arm. “We’ve known each other for a month, so it’s maybe a tad early to propose, but I can’t get any more transparent than this.”

“Boyfriends, then?” Gerard risks asking. He’s certain he’s reading it all right, but there is always that element of uncertainty. Frank very effectively obliterates it by smiling wider, arching his body until he can press another kiss to Gerard’s jaw. Fuck, that one will itch too.

“Partners?”

“A sacred union of two gingerbread men?”

“You’re pushing it,” Frank laughs, nuzzling his neck. Gerard has never been happier to have given his scarf to someone else. His skin is exposed, and Frank’s breath is hot when he starts kissing it, sending chills down his spine. “And you may regret it.”

“Do you snore?”

“Sometimes.”

“Fuck.”

“I mostly meant that I’m never home, though,” Frank sighs. “I travel a lot to get gigs. That contract you so carefully taped for me will take me on the road for like a month.”

“But then you’ll be back.”

“For a while, yeah. I don’t know what will happen. This may help Pencey get more shows, or if everything goes according to plan, I may be asked to stay with Violents permanently. That would mean I’d travel even more.”

“But you’d come back every time.”

“Jesus, Gee, aren’t you worried?” Frank asks.

“About what?”

“The same thing literally every person I’ve ever been with worried about? How I’ll be away, surrounded by other people, and how I surely won’t be able to keep it in my pants?”

“You just told me that you don’t wanna do no strings attached anymore, and I also trust you. Why would I be worried about it?”

For a moment, Frank just stares at him. When he surges up, Gerard is still unprepared for him and ends up gasping into his mouth when Frank kisses him. Frank presses into him so hard he loses his balance, too. He squeaks - high and panicked, he’s not proud of himself - and his arms flail helplessly when he tilts to the side and the bench is suddenly no longer there. 

He hits the ground with a pained grunt, then whines when Frank lands squarely in the center of his chest, knocking the breath out of him. His ears ring for a few seconds, and he’s sure he must be having a concussion before he realizes that the ringing is Frank’s giggling. Motherfucker thinks it’s funny. Okay - it is, but Gerard also has some rock digging into his shoulder blade that he feels even through the thick fabric of his jacket, and Frank is kind of crushing his balls with his knee. So maybe half-funny?

“Ow?” he groans when he manages to get a hold of Frank’s hips and push him lower. His balls thank him, even though they’re still throbbing and not from excitement. “Ow, fuck–”

“Holy shit,” Frank laughs. He has his forehead leaned on Gerard’s chest now, and his shoulders are shaking from how hard he’s laughing. “Holy fuck, Gee, are you okay?”

“Ow,” Gerard repeats. He’s sort of laughing, too. “Jesus, I don’t think I’m ever having kids.”

Frank snorts. He moves, and now his chin is propped up on one of his forearms as he makes himself awfully fucking comfortable on top of him. Gerard would tell him to fuck off, but he has to admit that Frank’s weight pressing him down into the ground is nice, even with all the snow around them and the aching balls.

“Do you want them?” Frank asks with an innocent smile. It’s clear he’s trying very hard not to crack up again. “Cause this may be a deal breaker. Sorry to break it to you, but I can’t get pregnant.”

“Shit, really? Get off of me, then. I’m going home.”

Frank punches him in the arm but does roll to the side, pushing another grunt from Gerard’s throat when his lungs can suddenly accommodate air again. Gerard is definitely not going anywhere. Frank looks almost angelic sprawled in the snow like this, and Gerard sort of wants to ask him to come back. Or maybe assume Frank’s previous position and climb on top of him.

“Seriously, though, you good?” Frank asks when he closes his eyes. His lips are curled into a smile. “Do we need to call an ambulance?”

“No, but I may actually need to go home. These jeans were not made for lying in the snow.”

“Aww, baby, are you getting wet?”

Gerard’s heart skips a beat at the pet name. In his mind, George growls at the connotation of Frank’s words and lies down in a way that Gerard doesn’t even want to describe. He gets him, though. He’s pretty ready for Frank to make him wet, too.

“I’m getting cold,” he complains. “Someone promised me a hot chocolate if I remember correctly.”

“See, here’s the thing,” Frank turns his head, and his smile is dark. George moans. Gerard sort of does, too. “I have hot chocolate at home, too.”

Does it make him easy to agree to go home with someone on, technically, their first date? Probably, but he doesn’t care. If it makes him a hoe, then so be it; he is one. Frank is sweet, and Gerard wants to spend Christmas with him, but he also really, desperately needs Frank to rearrange his guts. He inhales shakily when he sits up and double check if his balls are still attached. They are, so he heaves himself up with a grunt and holds a hand to Frank.

“That’s a little forward, don’t you think?” he mocks when he pulls Frank to his feet. It pushes them close, and he lets out a gasp when Frank grabs his hips. “You know what? I like forward. I’m all in for forward.”

“That’s what I thought,” Frank grins. He climbs to his toes to press his mouth next to Gerard’s ear. “And I promise I’ll make you all the hot chocolate you want… right after I suck your dick.”

Christ. Gerard shudders, grabbing Frank’s shoulders to hold himself upright, and his goddamn knees wobble. Frank laughs and scrapes his teeth over Gerard’s earlobe.

“Fuck, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Gerard pushes him away just far enough to stare him straight in the eyes.

“Take me home.”

Chapter Text

“Jenna may be in.”

Gerard doesn’t give a fuck. He presses himself closer to Frank’s back, mouth insistent as he licks his neck. The scarf got unwound the second they stepped into the elevator in Frank’s building and is now hanging on by a thread as Gerard does his best to get his mouth under the collar of Frank’s shirt. The keys jingle with another attempt to open the door, and Gerard’s hips rock along with the sound.

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, sneaking an arm around Frank’s middle to pull him closer. At the rate this is going, he’s about to risk getting convicted for indecent exposure in the middle of an apartment building hallway. He was hard pretty much from the moment they exited the park, and the taxi ride didn’t help. Frank’s hand had been firmly placed on his thigh, fingers digging into the fabric of his jeans so high that he’s sure it could technically be considered groping if he weren’t so eager to continue. Now they’re almost in Frank’s apartment - as long as Frank manages to open the door - and Gerard is no longer in any position to be holding back.

“She might care,” Frank groans. “Jesus, can you stop for a moment? If I don’t get that fucking door open in the next five seconds, I’ll scream.”

“Eager?” Gerard murmurs. He pulls away from Frank’s neck because he wants the door open, too, but he can’t quite force himself to let go of his hips. They’re nice hips. He wouldn’t mind feeling those hip bones shoved against his ass.

“You’re the one pushing your boner into my thigh,” Frank laughs. It turns into a muffled triumphant yelp when he finally finds the right key and manages to push it into the lock. The sound of it opening is the most satisfying thing Gerard has ever heard. “Fuck yeah, finally. Fucking–” he manages to turn in Gerard’s arms, fisting a hand into the front of his jacket. “Get inside.”

They stumble in, Frank walking backwards and Gerard following. George is yelling at him in his mind to lean forward and kiss Frank again, but the logistics of it seem complicated. Gerard’s good as he is. Frank is arching into him, their bodies crammed tightly together, and they’re sweating in their clothes now that they’re inside, and it’s perfect. Or almost perfect, because Frank trips over something in the dark and nearly sends them sprawling to the ground again.

“Once again - ow.”

“Lights are out,” Frank grins. “She went home already.”

“And that means– fucking ow!”

Frank’s hand pushes him in the chest so hard that his back is what gets the door closed. His head hits the wood, teeth rattling, and, fuck, now he actually may have that goddamn concussion, but Frank follows him and Gerard can totally worry about health issues some other time. Much, much later, when Frank isn’t slotting their hips together and doesn’t have a tongue inside Gerard’s mouth. A whine escapes him, either from the pulsing pain in his head or the fact that Frank is now really going at it, rocking into him like he actually wants Gerard to get his pants wet, and he blindly searches for Frank’s shoulders in the dark.

“Bedroom,” he manages to moan when Frank starts pushing at his jacket. He succeeds, and Gerard rolls his shoulder to make it fall to the ground. “Frank, bedroom. Now.”

“God, yes. Down the hall and through my studio, come on.”

Gerard really wants to get to that bedroom. Really. It still takes them abnormally long to walk down the hall with their hands gripping each other’s bodies, with Frank still trying to shrug his jacket, scarf, and hat off, and by the time they stumble into Frank’s studio, the frustration is running too high for Gerard to think. He decides to sacrifice kissing in favor of actually setting the scene to get dicked down, but Frank has other plans. He swirls them both around, and Gerard’s lower back ends up hitting the grand piano.

Fuck. He’ll have so many bruises, and he doesn’t care at all. Not when Frank reaches over his body and turns on the little lamp he has attached to the music rack. Not when he gives Gerard a cheeky grin and falls to his knees in front of him.

Fuck.

“What–”

“Gonna blow you,” Frank all but purrs, gripping his thighs. “Wanted to do this on Friday.”

“At school?!”

“That’s what stopped me,” Frank nods. He leans in, pressing his cheek to his leg and sighing. Gerard’s cock goes from hard to pleasesaveme. “That and Shaun calling me, but fuck, Gee. You looked so good pressed to that piano.”

“Well, I’m here,” Gerard pants. Frank turns his head, his mouth running over the fabric of his jeans now, and Gerard can’t even pretend he’s not enjoying it. When he manages to guide his eyes down, the bulge in his pants is obvious, and with Frank’s lips barely inches away from it, it seems to be getting bigger. “Christ, Frank, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Can’t die on me yet,” Frank whispers. He forces his knees further to the sides and slides his hands up to his hips, gripping tight. Gerard moans. “Still gotta come down my throat. I still gotta fuck you after that.”

“But I can die after th– ah.”

Frank looks up, eyes wide and amused, as he traces the outline of Gerard’s cock with his lips. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, which is a fucking pity because the button of Gerard’s jeans is about to burst any second. 

His hand finds the back of Frank’s head and grips the short hair he finds there, trying to keep himself upright. Frank knows exactly what he’s doing. He runs his mouth over his cock through his jeans a few times, eyelids fluttering like it’s fucking good for him, too, and just as Gerard thinks he’s about to lose it right there and then, he pulls back. He doesn’t go far - his hands find the zipper, lower it, and part it.

“You’re so big,” Frank says, voice full of awe. Color makes its way to Gerard’s cheeks when Frank rocks forward again, slotting his mouth right into the opening in his jeans. Through the thin fabric of his underwear, Frank’s lips feel warmer, and Gerard’s entire body shudders. “Mm. I’m gonna enjoy this.”

“Can you, like, get to it, then?” Gerard gasps. He flexes his fingers in Frank’s hair, trying to urge him on. “’Cause I’m gonna lose it any moment now.”

Frank laughs, finally undoing the button, too. The fabric slides to the ground and Gerard angrily kicks it away along with his boots just as Frank’s fingers sneak under the edge of his boxers.

“Eager?”

“Fucking please.”

“Shh, I’m working on it,” Frank murmurs. Gerard shivers when he presses a kiss to his skin right above the waistband, lowering it a few inches to slide his mouth over the junction between his thigh and hip. He’s panting by the time Frank goes back to his cock, and he’s sure Frank must be tasting the precome through the fabric when he finds the head and sucks. It sends a spark of pleasure down to his goddamn toes, and he slumps against the piano, his hand sliding over the keys. Jesus.

“Nice one,” Frank chuckles. The sound dies in his throat almost immediately when he finally drags Gerard’s underwear down, then turns into a prolonged whine. “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.”

“Jesus, Frank, you look–”

“I look like I’m gonna choke on it,” Frank’s eyes flick up to his face. He looks determined again when he curls his hand around the base of Gerard’s cock. “You better choke me with it, motherfucker.”

“You can’t just– say things like this to me.”

“Shut me up, then.”

Frank’s mouth falls open, like an invitation, and he wiggles his eyebrows at him, and oh. Oh, Gerard expected a spectacular blowjob, but this is so much better. He’s grateful that Frank is still holding his cock, because he can’t force his fingers to uncurl from around the piano and Frank’s hair, and even more grateful when Frank guides it to his lips. He holds eye contact with him when he starts sinking down on it, and Gerard’s toes curl against the floor.

It’s tight, and hot, and so fucking wet. Frank’s hands find Gerard’s thighs, and he rocks forward, supporting himself against them as he lets Gerard’s cock stretch his mouth and go down, and down, and down, until the head meets resistance and breeches it. Frank’s eyes shut, and the gagging noise he lets out when Gerard’s dick slips into his throat is the most beautiful melody Gerard’s ever heard.

His hips snap - deeper, he needs to go deeper - and Frank’s moan vibrates around his length. When he yanks him back by the hair, already too damn close, he finds Frank’s eyes shining with tears. His mouth overflows and Frank doesn’t try to stop it. Gerard can feel it sliding down to his balls.

“Holy fuck, Frank.”

“Fuck my mouth,” Frank rasps out. His voice is already wrecked, and he digs his fingers into Gerard’s thighs. “Wanna make you come. Need to taste you, fuck.”

“Can I?” Gerard whispers. He doesn’t really wait for the reply because he simply can’t, and he slides the head of his dick between Frank’s lips again. Frank gives him a firm nod, curling his tongue around him. “Fuck, okay. Shit. Yeah.”

And then he shoves back into his mouth because it’s fucking perfect, and his thighs start shaking when he braces himself against the piano and goes for it. Somewhere between his mind screaming fuck fuck fuck and his moaning, he realizes that Frank is really fucking good at it. He keeps his teeth out of the way and hums when Gerard pulls back, only to choke and swallow repeatedly when he slides back in. He has a firm hold on Gerard’s hips, guiding him and tilting his head back to get him in deeper, and he’s drooling so much that everything’s soaked before Gerard even gets close to coming.

Then he does, though, and oh, God. His stomach flips, his abdomen tightens, and so do his hands in Frank’s hair. He pulls him back, waits for Frank to open his eyes and look up at him, then swallows hard and nods.

“Gonna–”

Frank moans like he’s been punched and dives back down, swallowing his cock in one swift move. His tight throat, the sounds he’s letting out, his fingers grabbing Gerard’s ass and holding him in place, it’s too much. Gerard’s head falls back, and he has just enough brain cells left to dislodge Frank a little before he’s coming all over his tongue. He jerks himself off through it, Frank’s lips sucking at the head and milking him until it downright hurts. He collapses against the piano with a groan, and Frank rocks back on his knees with a wide smile.

He looks fucking amazing with Gerard’s come running down his chin, and Gerard has already established that two orgasms in a row are achievable when Frank is involved. His cock twitches, and he flinches when more spit slides from the base to his balls.

“Fucking– yeah,” Frank whispers. The tip of his tongue comes out to lick at his lips, catching as much of Gerard’s come as he can. “God, good. So good.”

Gerard looks down and finds Frank’s hand pressed to his own cock, hips rolling into it. It feels like a kick to his already overused stomach and he bites back a moan when he realizes what’s next.

“Fuck me,” he whispers when Frank grunts and gets back to his feet. Yeah, he was right - Frank’s jeans look about as uncomfortably tight as his were before, and he’s rubbing himself through the fabric. His fingers twitch and tighten around the outline at Gerard’s words, and he looks up to meet Gerard’s gaze. Gerard holds it. “Bedroom, Frank. Fuck me.”

“I don’t have–” Frank gestures wildly with one hand. “It’s been a while, and, you know.”

“I don’t care.”

“Gee.”

“I don’t care,” Gerard hisses. He feels like a fucking idiot in just his t-shirt now, so he yanks it over his head and tries not to feel too self-conscious about standing there fully naked when Frank’s still fully dressed. He kind of likes it, actually, so he steps forward and catches Frank’s chin between his fingers, kissing him as hard as he can. Frank moans when he clings to him, and Gerard bats his hand away, replacing it with his own. Frank shudders. “Need this inside me right now.”

“Fuck,” Frank whispers. He rolls his hips into Gerard’s hand, and his mouth falls open when he sighs. “Fuck, okay. Okay. Bedroom.”

He shakes his head and pushes at Gerard’s shoulders until they finally get where they were headed from the start. The room is dark, but the light from the piano still reaches the bed and that’s enough for Gerard’s heart to speed up again. He’s still coming down from Frank blowing him, but he’s right back in the game when Frank pushes him down onto the mattress and groans. 

“God, Gee, look at you. Gonna fuck you so good.”

“Take your clothes off,” Gerard begs. He splays his legs wide, forgetting that he was supposed to be embarrassed, and Frank’s hands tremble where he’s holding onto the hem of his shirt. “Fuck, I dreamed about this.”

“What?”

“I– uh.”

“Really now,” Frank’s grin shows up when the shirt slides over his head. 

He looks awfully proud of himself, and Gerard would probably bark back if he weren’t busy literally drooling at seeing Frank half-naked. He knew he would be stunning with the clothes off, but it’s so much better than whatever his imagination could conjure up. Yes, he’s still short, there’s nothing Gerard can say that would make it better, but in his humble opinion, his body is to die for. His shoulders are broad and so is his chest. The love handles are there and Gerard wants nothing but to dig his fingers into them and squeeze. His thighs literally make him whine, and when Frank holds his gaze and drops his underwear, Gerard’s cock twitches again.

“Turn around,” Gerard asks. He rolls on the bed, almost desperately flipping the light switch until the bedside table lamp lights up. “Fuck, turn around. I gotta see you.”

Frank does, and Gerard’s only thought is - tattoos. Miles and miles of tattoos all over Frank’s body. Even on his ass, which he didn’t anticipate and would usually make him laugh if it weren’t for the fact that he can see Frank’s arm moving as he slowly jerks himself off. It makes him whine, and Frank apparently decides the ogling is done. He whips around, and, oh, yeah. That’s his dick in his hand, and it’s hard. And there are two swallows on his hips that Gerard wants to sink his teeth into.

“Jesus.”

Frank smiles.

“Turn over, baby. Knees and hands.”

Gerard didn’t think his body was still capable of moving that fast. He flips onto his stomach and drags himself up to his knees just as the bed dips when Frank gets behind him. All reservations about being naked are out the window, and he spreads his legs when he feels Frank touching his lower back. His hands are warm, and his calloused fingers feel fucking amazing. He’s opening his mouth to tell Frank to please put them inside him, but it comes out as a shocked moan when, instead of them, he feels Frank’s mouth pressing to his cheek.

“God, you– really?”

“You mind?” Frank chuckles. His teeth scrape over his ass and Gerard’s skin breaks out in goosebumps. “No lube. I promise I’ll get some for next time.”

“Next time will be like in the morning,” Gerard gasps. Hands and knees aren’t going to work - his elbows are already shaking, and Frank barely even touched him - so he curls forward and listens to his tendons singing as his chest touches the bed. “You better get that fucking delivered.”

“Or we can just do this,” Frank says, then leans in and presses his tongue to Gerard’s balls, dragging it up. Gerard’s spine arches, hips pressing into the bed. Fuck, he’s missed this. “I take it you approve?”

“Yes,” Gerard grits out. “Please, fuck, this felt so good.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Gonna get you so wet,” Frank whispers. God fucking damn it, Gerard’s not going to last. He fists his hands into the bedsheets and groans when Frank’s tongue swirls around his hole. 

He really drools a lot, and before Gerard knows it, his whole ass is dripping with it. He can barely hold himself upright, too, and when Frank actually pushes his tongue inside him and starts thrusting slowly, he nearly tips over the edge. His teeth are sunk in one of Frank’s pillows, and he’s rocking back against his face, relishing in how Frank’s scruff scrapes against his skin. He’s going to have beard burns on his ass, and he wants them so badly he could cry.

“Frank, Frankie, fuck, stop, I’m gonna– fuck, stop, stop, seriously–”

“Mm,” Frank hums behind him. He pulls back, but not without slapping Gerard’s cheek, which only makes him whine louder. “Oh. Really?”

“Shut up,” Gerard whispers. Frank does it again, and his hips roll back, pressing into it. “Shut–”

“Gonna remember that,” Frank laughs. His hand stays where it is, but he grabs a fistful of Gerard’s ass and squeezes. It hurts in the best way possible so he groans, arching his back even more. He hears Frank sighing behind him. “So pretty. You’re perfect, Gee.”

“Fuck me,” Gerard drawls out. It probably sounds pathetic and desperate.

“You need prep?”

Maybe, Gerard thinks, but Frank ate him out like a pro, and he really, really wants to feel it. He shakes his head, then turns it to press his cheek to the bed. Like this, he can catch a glimpse of Frank looming over him, and the air gets stuck in his throat.

“No,” he rasps out. “Fuck me.”

“If it hurts…”

“I’ll tell you. Please, for fuck’s sake, Frank.”

There is a sound of Frank spitting, and then Gerard feels the first blissful press of his dick against his ass. He shudders and rolls his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

“Relax,” Frank murmurs. One of his hands travels down the entire length of Gerard’s spine until it rests on his cheek, pulling it to the side and opening him up even more. He’s as exposed as he can be - ass up, legs spread, his cock already half-hard - but he tries. He exhales slowly just as Frank starts pushing harder against him, and has to force his body to stop trying to fight it. “Shh, relax, baby.”

“Trying,” Gerard grunts.

“You’re doing so well,” Frank says and - oh, he’s good. Praise always works, and Gerard feels his muscles give in, immediately clenching again when the head of Frank’s cock pops inside him. There is a hiss and Frank’s fingers tighten around his ass. “Oh, you’re gonna be– so fucking tight.”

“Been a while for me, too,” Gerard admits.

“More than a year?”

“More than four.”

“Wow.”

“I mean, you know, I have– ugh,” he’s cut midword when Frank spits again, and he feels it slipping down his crack to where they’re connected. Then Frank pushes in again, and Gerard’s mouth falls open. “Fuck, forget it. Just– go on.”

He feels good. He feels so goddamn good Gerard would purr too if he had any brain cells left. It really has been a while, and even though Gerard does have toys, they never feel like this. Frank is going slowly but steadily, and Gerard feels every last inch of him slipping inside him. The stretch burns a little, and he’s so fucking full, and it’s absolutely perfect. Even better when, after a series of gentle back and forth, both of Frank’s hands fall to his hips and he drags him back as he rocks forward, sinking in all the way.

Gerard cries out. Frank moans.

“Please, please tell me you like it rough,” Frank grunts. Gerard can feel him shaking and wonders if it’s because it feels that good or if he’s strung up too high from holding back. “I swear, Gee, if you don’t–”

“Oh, I do,” Gerard can’t help it - he smiles. He blows away the hair that’s fallen over his eyes and blinks, catching Frank’s gaze. “You know, you already made me come. It’s only fair that you now use me however you want.”

Frank trembles and shoves against him. There isn’t anywhere else he can go, but the roll of his hips and his cock pressed to his prostate makes Gerard see stars.

“Fucking thank you,” he moans. Gerard would laugh at how grateful he sounds, but Frank already pulls back and thrusts back in so hard it knocks the breath out of him, so he settles for mewling. “Oh, fuck yeah. Let me hear you, sweetheart. Perfect.”

He gives him a few slow, deep thrusts, and then he does what Gerard’s been dying for him to do - he actually fucks him. His body presses Gerard into the mattress until his knees give out, and he sprawls on his front. The arm he sneaked under Gerard’s chest is making it hard to breathe, but Gerard doesn’t need air. All he needs is Frank’s cock filling him to the brim as he snaps his hips and the sound of his grunts in his ear.

As requested, he gets vocal himself. He can’t help it - it fucking hurts, and it’s amazing with pleasure swirling all through his body, and by the time Frank lifts himself onto his knees to get even deeper, Gerard’s crying. In bliss, in pain, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’ll come again the second one of them touches his dick that’s leaking between his legs.

Then Frank does just that. He pulls out with a groan, hooks his hand into Gerard’s hip and quite literally throws him around until Gerard finds himself on his back with his legs in the air.

“What–”

“Gonna come,” Frank gasps. He’s a fucking sight to see - sweat pouring out of him, tattoos dark and prominent under his glistening skin, his hair plastered to his forehead, his lips all red from how hard he’s been biting them. He digs his hand into Gerard’s left thigh and opens him up roughly, cock slipping back inside him. Gerard bares his throat, arching into him, and Frank swears. “Fuck, gonna come inside you, Jesus–”

“Please.”

Frank’s fingers curl around his cock and stroke - up, down, up, and that’s it. Gerard clenches around him when his second orgasm hits and he rocks up so high he nearly knocks Frank off of him. He doesn’t, though. Frank is relatively quiet, but his eyes roll back, and his cock throbs when he comes. He rides it out - slowly, carefully, sliding all the way out and slipping back in, and Gerard has to fight the tears at how much it is.

When Frank finally collapses on the bed next to him, Gerard rolls up next to him almost immediately. Two strong arms wrap around him, pulling him more firmly into an equally buff chest, and Gerard sighs happily as he rearranges his limbs on the bed.

“Fucking… wow,” Frank whispers. He curls his body in so he can grab Gerard’s chin and tilt his head, kissing him deep and slow. Gerard melts into him. He doesn’t have any energy left to kiss him back properly, but he hums into it and lets Frank take whatever he wants, basking in the feeling of his tongue sliding across his lips. He finds Frank smiling when they pull apart. “You, sir, are amazing.”

“Duh,” Gerard rolls his eyes. “Did you doubt that?”

“No,” Frank grins. “But you exceeded my wildest expectations.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Gerard smiles back. He taps a rhythm against Frank’s ribcage and feels Frank’s heart respond with a similar one. “So, Frankie. Where’s that hot chocolate of mine?”

Frank laughs and kisses him again. Gerard decides he can live without hot chocolate for a little longer, after all.

*

After they get cleaned up - or Frank gets himself, and then Gerard cleaned up because he apparently really is an angel - he actually does make Gerard his hot chocolate. They’re both still stark naked when Frank brings it back to the bedroom, and Gerard sips it slowly while watching Frank’s body sprawled on the bed. They talk, and then it’s just Gerard talking while Frank dozes off, barely smiling when he finds some of Gerard’s stories funny or endearing.

The hardest part of the evening is keeping his hands to himself. Frank doesn’t seem to mind that Gerard keeps touching him, so he gets a whole mental map of Frank’s tattoos memorized before he even takes the last sip of that chocolate. He admires the back piece, laughs at the faces on Frank’s ass, and then goes right back to admiring all the little things running down his legs. He tells Frank that he should get something on his dick, and Frank snorts and punches him in the thigh but doesn’t necessarily say no.

Gerard’s mouth is what wakes Frank back up at some point. He’s still on his stomach, but he arches into Gerard’s touch and lets out a pleased hum when Gerard’s lips map out his back the same way his hands did. He doesn’t try to stop him when Gerard spreads his cheeks, either, and when Gerard looks down, he sees his cock half-hard. Neither of them was brave enough to go out and get that lube, so Gerard eats him out until he has Frank writhing on the bed, then makes his dream come true when he drags him up to his knees and presses him against the headboard.

It’s better than the dream. After he comes deep inside of Frank and has him clenching around him, with his head thrown back onto Gerard’s shoulder and his hand working himself over the edge, he lays him back down and buries himself in Frank’s arms. He realizes he may be more in love than he was before, but with Frank stroking his hair and humming to him as they fall asleep, he’s pretty sure at least the feeling is mutual.

The morning after is weird. It must be late when Gerard finally wakes up, and it takes him a while to realize where he is. Lazily, blinking his eyes open, he slides his hand over the bed but doesn’t find Frank there. A short, painful bolt of fear travels through his body before he catches the sound coming from outside the door. It’s gentle and quiet, but someone is undoubtedly playing the piano. The next shock is not of fear but of pure adoration, and Gerard smiles to himself when he rolls onto his back and simply listens. He’s heard Silent Night enough times by now to recognize it even with his mind still half-asleep.

When he finally crawls out of the bedroom, he does so wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and a shirt. He would have gone out there naked, but as Jenna’s whereabouts are currently unknown, he’d rather not give her a heart attack first thing in the morning. Or himself, really. He thinks he’d have a better chance of dying if that woman saw him naked than her.

Frank doesn’t see him at first. His eyes are closed as he runs his fingers over the keys, head swinging from side to side along with the melody. He’s wearing about as much as Gerard is, and Gerard is transfixed by how absolutely stunning Frank is. Now, on a surprisingly sunny winter morning, with the light coming in through the windows and showing Frank in all his glory, Gerard can safely say that he has never seen a man more beautiful than him. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans over the doorframe, smiling.

“Morning.”

Frank flinches, but his fingers don’t miss a beat. He looks up and smiles back at Gerard. It’s as bright as ever, and George stretches in Gerard’s mind and officially announces his departure. He says he’ll visit from time to time, obviously, but it’s time to move out now that Gerard is happily with Frank. Gerard wishes him farewell and moves across the room just as the door (to hell, probably?) closes behind that little demon.

Frank leans back on the bench. “Hi, pretty boy who just walked out of my bedroom.”

“Good thing to see in the morning?” Gerard asks. He squeezes himself between the piano and the bench, and Frank’s hands immediately find the sides of his thigh, squeezing. Mentally wincing at his morning breath, Gerard lets himself be pulled down until one of his knees is on the bench next to Frank’s hip, and he’s getting the air kissed out of him. Now Gerard can actually confirm - yes, Frank kisses and fucks the same way he plays, giving it his all.

“The best,” Frank murmurs against his lips when they pull back. His gaze flicks down, and the soft smile turns into a smirk. “Even better when he welcomes me like this.”

“You ruined pianos for me,” Gerard complains. He bats Frank’s hands away when he tries to reach for his dick and pulls him into a hug instead. The speed with which Frank melts into him makes him want to weep. “I’ll be popping a boner every time I see one now.”

“Horrible news for your drama teacher career.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Frank’s lips find the side of his neck and leave a kiss there - soft, fleeting, right under the swell of his earlobe.

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

Too early? Fuck, definitely too early. Gerard freezes, shocked by his brain’s boldness, but Frank only laughs. He squeezes around his middle and pulls back to kiss him properly again, forcing it until Gerard relaxes and kisses him back. Their tongues slide together for a few moments, Frank’s hands rubbing his skin under the shirt until Gerard moans into it.

“You don’t beat around the bush, huh?” Frank grins when he pulls back. He gently moves him aside until Gerard can sit down next to him but pulls his legs over his lap. His hand is heavy and warm when he cradles him closer, and his eyes are kind when they gaze at each other.

“Sorry,” Gerard whispers. He must be red all over, and it’s taking a lot to hold Frank’s gaze.

“I told you it was too early to propose, not to say that you love me.”

“Still. After one month?”

Frank shrugs. “I’m easily lovable.”

“You’re a little shit, that’s what you are.”

“Come here,” Frank sighs. He maneuvers them until he can easily reach the keys again and glances at Gerard. “You can sing, right?”

“I think so?”

“Then I’m gonna play, and you’re gonna sing.”

“Frankie–”

But Frank is already playing, and Gerard would recognize it anywhere. He screws his face into a frown, and Frank laughs when he nudges him in the shoulder.

“Come on! Live a little.”

And so Gerard sings. His voice wobbles at first, but Frank hits the chords along with his singing, giving him time to adjust, and by the time he gets to I just want you for my own, it’s actually working. He blushes even harder but gives the fucking best impression of Mariah Carey he can muster, and Frank’s smile is bright and happy when he leans over his body and slams the keys just before the first verse. He’s fucking good - of course - and Gerard finds it easy to sing along with him. Halfway through the song, he’s actually having fun, too, and he steals Frank’s clip-on light to make a mic out of it. 

Frank laughs, eyes shining when Gerard jumps off of the bench and arches against the piano at the end. He remembers, for a few short minutes, what it’s like to be a performer. He plays a role, and it’s the most fun he’s had with acting in a very, very long time. He exaggerates every move, every note, and ends the song half lying on top of the piano with his leg bent and thrown out like he’s just moved the crowds on Time Square with his singing.

He’s also forty-six, though, so he’s panting. Frank abandons the piano to stand before him and curls Gerard’s leg around his hip. He’s grinning so wide Gerard’s worried about the corners of his lips for a moment, but then Frank giggles, leans in, and kisses him - short and hard.

“In case me choosing that song didn’t make it abundantly clear,” he says. “All I wanted for Christmas was you.”

Gerard rolls his eyes at him. “And I thought I was being cheesy with the love confession.”

“Hey, you know my tattoos. The hopeless romantic one commits me to be the cheesiest motherfucker out there.”

“True.”

“And, in case everything I just said still didn’t make it clear,” Frank bites his lower lip for a moment. “I love you, too.”

It’s Gerard’s turn to kiss him now, and Frank smiles into it. His eyelids flutter, and for a short moment, Gerard gets an almost out-of-body experience as he watches them standing there pressed to the piano, kissing, with the snow falling steadily outside the window and the notes of Mariah Carey’s song playing in the background. If he were a movie director, he’d swoon.

Frank doesn’t go anywhere when the kiss breaks. He brings Gerard into his arms and kisses the side of his head.

“Merry Christmas, my Christmas Miracle.”

*

“Really, Mr. Way, it was amazing,” Mr. Carter says for probably the hundredth time. He’s still shaking Gerard’s hand, too, and hasn’t stopped for a while, ever since they exited the school after the summer play was done. “You bring out some real talent in that little beast.”

“Thank you,” Gerard says - again. He reaches down to run his fingers through Timmy’s hair with a smile. “Mowgli was great.”

“Mowgli was awesome,” Timmy grins. The hole between his teeth is gone now, replaced with a tooth that he’s very proud of, just as he was of missing it. “Mr. Way, can we– oh! Doggy!”

Doggy? Gerard frowns, finally pulling his hand out of Mr. Carter’s hold, and turns around. Timmy is already on his knees and can hardly be seen from behind the fur of, indeed, a dog that’s wagging its tail and staring straight at Gerard. This is understandable because it’s Gerard’s goddamn dog, and as far as Gerard is concerned, it should be in the apartment, waiting for him to come home. He frowns even further, reaching down to pet George’s head, and gets a lick across his palm as he follows the path from George’s collar to the hand holding the leash.

He zeroes in on the little gingerbread man ring on the tattooed finger, and he’s clearly not fast enough. Timmy loses interest in George pretty damn quickly and springs back to his feet.

“Mr. Fraaaaank!”

Gerard’s heart skips a beat. He drags his eyes further up and finds Frank grinning at him. He’s forced to let go of the leash in order to catch Timmy when he jumps on him, and Gerard manages to curl his fingers over George’s collar at the last moment before he goes running around, licking people.

“Hi, buddy! Wow, you’ve grown!”

“All one and a half inches!”

“That’s a lot,” Frank nods. “You’ll be taller than me in no time.”

“Everyone’s taller than you, Mr. Frank.”

“Ouch,” Frank laughs. He puts Timmy down after he crushes him in one more hug, then refocuses on Gerard. His smile turns from wicked to soft. “Hi.”

“You’re back.”

“I’m back,” Frank nods. His hair is longer than Gerard remembers, his beard is more unkept, and he’s lost some weight, but it’s definitely him, standing there with a big smile. “George was walking in circles in front of the door when I got home, so I figured we could go on a walk and pick you up.”

“You’re back.”

Frank bites his lip. “Surprise?”

Gerard probably shouldn’t be kissing Frank in front of all his students and their parents, but he figures they can all go fuck themselves if they have a problem with it. Frank’s been gone for almost a month with his band, and Gerard almost died from how much he missed him. He tightens his hold on George’s leash and has Frank’s body next to him in no time, hand gentle on his lower back but his lips insistent, kissing him hard and deep. Cheering breaks out all around them, and when Gerard pulls back, Frank’s cheeks are all pink. 

Cute.

“Holy s– hell,” he corrects himself just in time. His face hurts from how wide he’s smiling. “Oh, God. I missed you.”

“Mr. Way! I thought you weren’t boyfriends!”

Frank hides his giggles in Gerard’s shoulder. Unhelpful, but Gerard sighs and turns to look at Timmy, who’s pointing an accusatory finger at them. He’s the teacher, after all, so he figures it’s his role to explain, even though it’s really hard to do with George pulling at the leash and Frank snickering into his t-shirt.

“We weren’t,” he says carefully. “But we are now.”

“Boyfriends or partners?” Timmy’s eyes widen.

“Neither,” Frank interjects. He leans over Gerard’s shoulder and shows Timmy his hand. “We have a sacred union of two gingerbread men. See? We even have rings.”

Minnie is there too, now, and wrinkles her nose. “It’s May.”

“We don’t care,” Frank laughs. He leans in and presses a kiss to Gerard’s cheek. “Ready to go home, love?”

Gerard blushes, but the warm smiles of the parents gathered around him make him feel better about the entire thing. His partner is back, and honestly, Gerard wants nothing more than to go back home with him. He adjusts his grip on George’s leash and knocks his head over Frank’s.

“If the council lets me go,” he gazes at the kids. “What do you think, guys? Can we go home?”

“I guess,” Timmy murmurs.

“Yes!” Patricia screams. “Partners!”

“Gingerbread men in May,” Minnie frowns, then adds. “That’s stupid.”

Gerard smiles, nodding at them, then turns around and finds Frank’s hand.

“Let’s go home.”