Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

24: i have no words i would apologise but im not sorry im dead (like frank)

Gerard was seven when he'd met his uncle for the first time.

It was some sort of grandiose occasion that his mother had hyped up to an extreme, and he hated the itchy suit he'd been made to wear.

It was ridiculous; he was seven, but still it was important and he couldn't quite figure out why.

He'd sat there colouring in with red and green crayons that he'd found on the coffee table, paying little attention to the speech his mother was making, and Mikey, a few years younger than Gerard, was crying somewhere in the corner, only to be taken into the kitchen by a cousin Gerard didn't quite know the name of.

As his mother finished talking and sat back down and the family began to eat, the aforementioned uncle came and sat down beside Gerard; he was a tall, skinny man with lanky limbs, and Mikey had ended up looking an awful lot like him, but that was besides the point, and it was the glimmer in green eyes that had really had captured Gerard's attention.

He'd asked Gerard why he was colouring when his mother was speaking; he'd spoken to Gerard like it was a genuine question and like he was an equal adult and not a slightly rude seven year old.

Gerard had told him that he was drawing because he didn't know what was going on. Gerard had told his uncle about the words that he didn't know the meaning of and the itchy suits and the dinner with no meaning and the way Mikey wouldn't stop crying.

And Gerard's uncle had smiled a little at him before explaining that a cousin that Gerard still hadn't heard of was getting married, and Gerard had nodded whilst the uncle sat there for a while, watching as Gerard continued to draw.

Eventually, the uncle had asked Gerard why he didn't ask what was going on if he didn't understand, and why he'd simply just chosen to distance himself from matters, of course, that wasn't exactly how he'd phrased it for a seven year old, but it was along those lines.

Gerard had stopped colouring at that point, sitting up straighter in his chair and turning to face his uncle with a perplexed look on his face, and explained that if he didn't know what to do he would find things out for himself.

Of course, slightly amused by the answer he'd received, Gerard's uncle pursued in his search for answer, and Gerard had explained that he didn't trust adults because if he couldn't understand what they were saying, how could he possibly understand or trust their explanation.

Gerard's uncle had sat there for a moment, bewildered, before telling seven year old Gerard Way that he had a point, but had reassured him that one day, years in the future he would indeed understand adults and the way they thought and why they did things, and that he would in fact be of a similar mindset himself.

Gerard had been repulsed by the idea and told his uncle that he never would understand, but his uncle just smiled in that way adults do when kids saying something cute and vaguely amusing.

However, come twenty one whole years later, Gerard still didn't understand a thing; he'd simply gone from holding a crayon in his hands, to squeezing his index finger around the trigger of a gun - ignoring his mother, shooting his ex-boyfriend; they were all the same thing, after all, weren't they?

They weren't, because he was supposed to have grown up by now, but Gerard was still scared and trembling, feeling twenty one years younger than he really was, because he'd gone past the point where a sorry could quite cut it.

Pete's eyes grew wide as he grabbed Frank, and leaned his weight upon him; the two stumbling back out the front door as Pete shot Gerard the worst glare he'd ever witnessed, and the two people remaining in the living room didn't utter another word until Pete's car set off out of the driveway.