Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

17: This Is The Best Plot I've Ever Come Up With & I Pulled It Right Out My Ass

Frank had never been any good when it came to apologies: after all, apologetic blowjobs were far more his style, as opposed to sentimental speeches and carefully chosen bouquets of flowers, but still, he found himself trying.

Even if trying had resulted in him getting on his knees anyway, because to hell with it, Frank kind of liked it like that, and this was just a small kind of thing: just something that'd give him the cash to get the kind of alcohol that could possibly give him the balls to actually go through with this.

Frank liked to think he was gutsy, but really, he was a coward as soon as he stepped out the bedroom and his ego began to fade away: he cared an awful lot about his ego, it being his pride and joy, but Gerard was his boyfriend, or at least had been, and somehow Frank had gotten to the stage of character development where that actually began to mean something to him at all.

He knew he shouldn't have freaked out like he had, and he knew that this was all his own fault, but still, he couldn't help but find himself sat with a cigarette on the balcony of another man's apartment as he came to reconsider every decision he'd ever made in his life: regardless if they involved Gerard or not.

Frank didn't even know what had been there with Gerard that just hadn't been with the hundreds of other people Frank had slept with, but the thoughts of self discovery that didn't involve getting his dick out made Frank's head ache like fuck, and he decided that staring out at the skyline and the grey clouds covering the bright oranges of sunset - possibility, chance, hope, and then reality pulling it back into the shades of grey, and really, there had to be at least fifty of them in the sky.

Frank couldn't help but think of himself as the grey, and of Gerard as the bright orange: the one there was hope for - the talented, the artist, the one who could get out of this hellhole of a town, and Frank, the grey, not Gandalf the grey, but as the lowlife not quite boyfriend holding him back.

Frank wondered just what this cigarette had been spiked with to cause him to view everything as fucking metaphor: now he was acting like an English teacher or an overrated teen novel about kids with cancer, or perhaps both, or perhaps neither and Frank was just actually going crazy here.

"You alright there? You want a drink or something- no offense, but you look like you need a drink." This wasn't a regular client of Frank's, but he was soon proving to be an awfully nice guy, and Frank was almost honoured to have sucked his dick, because well... Frank met a lot of assholes around here.

"You're right." Frank let out a sigh, pealing his gaze away from the sunset and sitting back in the chair to the left side of the balcony.

The client that Frank hadn't quite caught the name of passed him a can of beer as he took the chair on the right side of the balcony, and since the balcony itself was no bigger than a couple of metres across, they could quite easily converse from the chairs at either side.

"I never caught your name." Frank added, cracking open the can and taking a swig that Pete Wentz himself would be proud of.

"Brendon." The guy, Brendon, answered him with little hesitation, and making it evident that he was in fact the nicest guy in this whole town by the fact that he was more than happy to converse with a prostitute like they were just a normal person. "I'm assuming Iero isn't your first name."

"Frank." He put the can of beer down at his feet, and took another drag of his cigarette. "Frank Iero. You know, this whole conversation thing isn't something that usually happens with clients."

"What? Do you want me to pay you to talk to me-" 

"God, no- I..." Frank trailed off, exhaling just a little too loudly. "I'm pleasantly surprised, and I'm being to think that you are in fact the nicest person I've ever met."