Friday I'm In Love

△ 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 △

Gerard wasn't at Z's; neither was Frank, to be fair. He'd wrangled himself free of his best friend's death-grip and began running. His lungs burned with hellfire as Gerard frantically struggled to breathe through the city's noise. The noise - the frantic bustle of the cars and the kids and the people on their phones - could in no way be heard over the racing of Gerard's heart as he stumbled into a corner store. 

The shopkeeper knew him well, eyeing Gerard with a sigh he'd grown accustomed to. "Morning Gerard." he called, receiving his usual reply of silence. His sneakers squeaked across the cheap tiles as Gerard wandered over to the alcohol isle. His fingers curled around a bottle of Jack Daniels greedily, not caring enough to spare a glance at the price tag before he set it down in front of Mr. Morrison. 

"And... and I can I have a packet of Marlboro's please?" Gerard croaked, his head hung low, as the shopkeeper reached for the bottle hesitantly. 

"How's your brother doing?" the man asked kindly, "He hasn't dropped by in a while."

"Mikey's fine. He's been busy with school and stuff. I'll tell him you said hello."  

Gerard wandered out the store and moved towards the darkness. The corners where the women lurked, the alleys that moms would usher their children away with gentle hands, the towers of used needles lining the crumbling red bricks. It welcomed him with open arms. Open arms and questioning glances as he shoved the bottle of vodka down the side of his pants and dragged a rusty ladder down from an overhead apartment. He was in the wrong place - the wrong neighborhood by blocks - but nevertheless, he began climbing. 

Then again, Gerard had never been good at making smart decisions. 

And he wasn't going to start now. 

△△△

Mikey dropped onto his sofa like a dead body being hastily dumped into a ocean. He'd stood Ray up, missed dinner with Bert, and had done a shit job at reassuring a flustered Frank who had insisted on calling him after Gerard had slipped through his fingers like a greased pig. He looked around with a frown, running his hands through his hair before settling them on his face. 

Guilt danced across his skin as Mikey's mind drifted to an image of Ray. The image seemed tangible as his eyelids shut; the way Ray had grinned at him, hands on the body of his Fender like they were one, as Mikey sang along to Saturday Night with flushed cheeks and swinging legs. 

He was still in the dress Ray lent him, after making a few alterations earlier in the day. It smelled nice; like Ray's house, like mint tea and a brush of an intoxicating perfume Mikey couldn't name for the life of him. There was Gerard, complicit in ruining the rest of his life with his shenanigans. When he wasn't? He was  either throwing up in a toilet bowl or making empty promises. 

A knock at the door tore him from his thoughts. His eyes snapped open, legs swinging off the sofa as the world spun for a few short moments. Mikey took a deep breath and opened the door to find Gerard -  soaking wet and swaying like a foul smelling windchime. 

"Do you hate me Mikes?" he croaked, eyes wide and bleary as he burst into tears on the welcome mat. 

Mikey shook his head, pulling Gerard into a hug as he made a sound like a dog's chew toy. Gerard sobbed into his chest, his arms flailing to move around his brother's back as the ground shook beneath his feet. Both men sank to their knees, Mikey's hand stroking his brother's greasy hair as the older man struggled to breathe. 

He sat Gerard down on the sofa, flinging the clothes from this morning out the way and passing him a cushion. Gerard looked up wordlessly, his eyes red and blotchy and his hands trembling.

"Are you... wearing a dress?"

"I really don't think that's our biggest problem right now," Mikey smiled, waving him off as a faint pastel blush crawled up his neck. and he gathered his hands in his lap. "what happened?"

"Frank's mad. He has every right to be- I just... I didn't know I hurt him so bad Mikes."

"Gerard, you hurt pretty much everyone before and after you left college."

"Are we going to talk about the dress?"

△△△

Frank opened the door to cold, dead, silence. The apartment drenched in the night's cape, and swaying slightly from the couple of beers he had. A chill danced down his spine as Frank kicked his shoes off and hung his jacket on the pegs beside the door. He crept across the squeaky floorboards, minding the bitch of a table that Pete lovingly restored, and nudged the door open with his hip. 

There Pete lay, wound tightly in the blankets and fast asleep. Frank smiled, removing the rest of his clothes before climbing into his cold side of the bed. Pete mumbled faintly, reaching out towards him. 

"Tried to stay up for you." Pete yawned as he moved onto his side. 

"I know."

"What time is it, Frankie?"

"I'm sorry—"

"It's okay, just... sleep okay." 

Frank nodded, guilt rising up his throat as Pete gave him a small smile. He reached for Pete's hand, threading their fingers together. "I love you."