Acknowledged Him a Man (Frerard)

Chapter 7 - The End.

Springs dug into their lower back as Gerard awoke in Frank's dorm.

Perhaps it had all been a dream?

That was the most likely scenario.

Frank's arm draped around their waist, his head rested on their chest, crammed on his single bed; he was practically laying on top of them—not that they were complaining.

Still, had the possibility of being a dream.

Gerard reached into their trench coat pocket and checked their phone.

Fifty-three missed calls. All from Mikey. Fuck.

Right, they were evicted, and they were supposed to move into their grandma's house last night. Mikey was moving their possessions—not that they had many boxes. Though Mikey surely would understand, they ditched him to obtain a boyfriend.

Their first boyfriend.

Or their mind played tricks and they were still pining over a straight boy.

A pair of lips pressed again their cheeks. Gerard turned, their lips colliding—it was Frank's.

"Good morning, Gee," said Frank.

Frank shuffled and kissed their lips, dropping their phone in the space between his bed and the wall.

Gerard mumbled, "You really are my boyfriend..."

Frank beamed, "And you love me."

Frank sat on their waist, pinning them to the bed, his hands exploring their chest. He wore the same clothes from last night—all leather. God, Frank looked hot in leather—they could suggest to him never take it off as they were dating now, they could do things like that.

Frank's hand travelled under their t-shirt.

Holy shit, were they about to fuck Frank? OR was Frank going to fuck him?

Gerard was panicking as a recluse virgin gay how the fuck were they meant to have the gay sex. For all their homosexual talk, their only gay experiences were kissing a boy at a party who proceeded to run away from them, installing Grindr, then crying as repressed homos fem shamed them, not to mention the countless unrequired love they had for so-called straight boys.

And now Frank.

The door slammed open, Ray walked in, rummaging in his desk draw, "No fucking in the morning, okay? I live here too."

Frank said, "Um, Ray... I can explain..."

"No need, Frank," Ray searched through his stacks of paper. "I get it, you two dating."

"What?"

"I'm cool with it, don't worry," Ray flicked through pages in a textbook. "But I don't fucking care if Gerard might think your ass looks hot in those jeans like fucking ask them. I'm not Gerard!"

Frank blushed, looked down at Gerard's stomach. "Wait, how long did you think we have been dating?"

Ray snapped the textbook closed, "About six or so months."

"We started dating five hours ago?"

Ray placed the text on his desk, "Then what the fuck have you been doing for the last nine months? Actually, I'm sure you will tell me later."

Gerard wished they had been dating for the last six months, what the fuck had they been doing? Longing gazing into each other's homosexual eyes.

Gerard reached for Frank's hand, "You care about how I thought your ass looked?"

"Oh boy, what have, I done." Ray snatched a piece of paper, placing it under his armpit. "Gerard, no offence, but I don't care about your boyfriend's ass or your ass for that matter."

"None taken."

"Now I'm off, you can fuck all you want. I'll be back here around one pm, so try not to schedule a fucking section around then." Ray strode towards the door. "Before I forget, Gerard, your brother was looking for you, he said he would be here—"

"Gerard!?" Mikey pushed past Ray, he had a stern expression, sweat dripping from his forehead. Fuck, that was their fault.

"Speak of the devil," mumbled Ray. "Now, I'm off to see a man about a tree." Ray wandered into the hallway.

Mikey jolted back as he noticed Frank on Gerard's stomach, "You two are...?"

"He's my boyfriend, Mikey."

Mikey crossed his arms, "Is that why you burn them all?"

Frank glared at them, "Burn, what?"

Oh fuck, why did Frank have to find out like this? How did Mikey find out? They didn't burn them in their apartment.

"Their paintings of you, Frank."

Gerard sighed, closing their eyes. There was no going back now. "Frankie, I murdered you."

Frank said, "What?"

"I burnt all my paintings of you—in flames to ash. Gone,"

Frank gasped, "You did murder me."

"I know I'm a fucking murderer, Frankie."

"Except that one in the gallery so jokes on you, I'm still alive."

"No one is a bloody murderer," Mikey rolled his eyes. "It's just oil paint."

The paintings were more than just oil paint. They contained in each stroke their love of Frank, in each subject matter their memories of Frank, in each composition the essence of Frank. They were all Frank.

Gerard destroyed them, burnt them—gasoline and matches— in the middle of the forest, where no one could find them. And there was no way to undo that.

In retrospect, it was absurd as Frank was not straight and now dating them. Burning achieved nothing.

"Why?" asked Frank.

"Because I thought burning it stop me loving you."

"We're boyfriends now."

"I was pretty dumb, Frankie, but I thought you were straight."

"You told me I look gay."

"You keep declaring your heterosexuality. After we kiss you said, and I quote I'm not gay."

"I told you that is my trans het brain!"

"You don't have a trans het brain because you're not a het."

"My fake trans het brain then."

"You only have a trans gay brain."

"Why would you say that, Gee? My brain wants to tell you I am very straight and have fuck a lot a of bitches."

"Says the boy pinning me to the bed right now."

Frank placed his finger over their lips, "Let me be a repressed homo."

Gerard licked his finger.

Mikey cleared his throat, "As much as I love listening to your love quarrel—or whatever the bloody fuck that was—I'm going to wait in the car to drive to grandma's."

Mikey scurried out the room, down the hall.

Gerard squeezed Frank's hand, "Do you want to meet my grandma?"

Frank placed his finger on their chin as if deep in thought, "On one condition."

"Anything."

Frank leaned in and kissed them, "You have to paint me again."

Gerard giggled, kissing him, "I'll paint you every day of my life until I die."