When We're Both Thirty

The Beginning of the Turn: Part One

Gerard's looking around, trying to figure out who's interested in him. It's not easy. It's dark, and he's lost in thoughts about Frank which he would ideally banish to a completely different universe.

He's having trouble even trying to analyze everyone though, so he eventually just puts his head against the bar with the intent to clear his head.

It feels like he's got three million thoughts all at once, but there isn't enough space in his head for half of them. It just doesn't feel right at all. He's over processing, and sooner or later, his brain is going to short out. Probably sooner rather than later, judging by the way he can hear his blood pumping in his ears.

Mikey comes up to Gerard, who's got his head on the bar like he's about to fall asleep, but his head is pounding and he's honestly feeling like shit right now. Gerard's been sitting here for about twenty minutes just trying to collect his thoughts and figure out what it is he wants to do, but he's not having much luck.

What he wants is for Frank to not be Frank and to get into the guys pants, but he can't have that, because he'd resent himself for the rest of his life. He wants Frank to stop contradicting himself in his behavior, and either be the dick Gerard knows he is, or a more severe dick that Gerard isn't quite expecting. What he doesn't need right now is the Frank that actually listened to Gerard asking him to go away.

Gerard is just trying to figure out why it was so easy to shake Frank off earlier. Frank would never just walk away from him because Gerard asked him to. That's not the kind of guy he is. He'd pester Gerard to make this night even worse. There's no doubt in Gerard's head that Frank would do that, so why on earth isn't he?

"Gee?" Mikey asks.

"What?" Gerard replies. Not picking his head up quite yet.

"I'm going to head out, if that's okay," Mikey says, "I've been hit on by like six guys."

"Why don't I have your luck?" Gerard asks, looking up.

"Probably because when you sit like that you look extremely antisocial," Mikey responds. "Sit up, and stop looking like you've got a terminal illness."

"But I do have a terminal illness. It's called life, and right now, it's pretty shitty."

"I'm going to pretend I don't find it amusing that that rhymed, and instead I will attempt to be supportive," Mikey says, and then he generically pats Gerard on the back, "there, there."

"Get off me," Gerard says shrugging Mikey's hand away, and rolling his eyes. "You have the emotional capacity of a twig."

"Thank you," Mikey says, "but I also have a fantastic ass, and it's making guys hit on me, so I'm going to leave."

"Ugh, fine whatever," Gerard says, because, right now, he honestly just doesn't care that much. Mikey can leave, it doesn't change anything for him. He's still going to have Frank make fun of every little thing about him. Gerard's not actually sure where Frank ran off too. With Gerard's luck he's probably making out with some guy already. Maybe he snagged the fauxhawk dude.

"See you later," Mikey says, and Gerard turns his head to watch him leave, before he turns back to the bar in front of him to stare at his hands.

The thought occurs to him that he doesn't know where Frank is again, so he turns around in his seat to try to find him. Gerard's not sure why he cares. He really shouldn't care, but for some reason, he can't pretend that he doesn't. He wants to know where Frank is, if only so that he knows what area of the bar to avoid.

Frank is across the room talking to some guy, who's pretty much impossible to get a good look at when you consider how dark the room is. Probably super attractive with a fancy car and a mansion.