Welcome to the Pride Parade [Frerard AU]

Part III: Chapter 13

          

CHAPTER 13 – MY SONGS KNOW WHAT YOU DID AT THE PARK

Ray told everyone in the group chat what happened that day. He assured us upfront that he was safe now, that his parents were only glad that he'd gone somewhere they knew where to find him. I was still in shock about the idea that someone I knew so well actually faced abuse at home. Something like abuse, though everyone tells you it affects so many people, was never something I expected to involve me directly at all. I was raised in a relatively loving home, and though I'd gone through my Nobody Understands Me And It's Not A Phase phase, I never once considered myself abused. It was more real than ever now.

In the week following, Frank seemed to be even more supportive than I was. It was his thing, really; he knew how to say the right things. He kept telling Ray to go into a separate texting conversation so they could discuss things privately, and I was glad he was able to do what the rest of us couldn't, even if there wasn't much to be done. The more we thought about what to do, however, the more futile it seemed. He couldn't go anywhere until college. He couldn't exactly get away, and his parents certainly weren't going anywhere.

In one instance where Frank asked to talk to Ray alone, I too received a message.

From Frank Iero: I want to see you in person again. Can we go out this week?

From Gerard Way: Yeah, sure. Something wrong?

From Frank Iero: Just wanting to be with you doesn't always mean something is wrong ;)

From Gerard Way: You make a good point. I'm available all day tomorrow.

From Frank Iero: I'll see you tomorrow then!

***

Wandering around the park where we'd all met up earlier in the summer was nice. The place was peaceful; dead, but beautiful in spite of it. The sound of cars rolling by the intersection nearby was muffled by the trees.

Frank and I walked hand in hand, taking in the fresh air, making small talk to fill the silence. He admitted he hadn't given much of an excuse for leaving, only that he wanted to get out of the house today.

"I come here a lot," he told me, "to help clear my head. My therapist says it's a good thing and that my parents should never bar me from it."

"It seems like your kind of place," I replied.

"It really is a wonderful place to get my thoughts straight," he said. Then he chuckled softly, like some kind of joke just passed through his head.

"What?"

"Nothing about me is straight."

I laughed along with him, and he squeezed my hand. "We're both much too queer to have any kind of straight thoughts."

"I can't think straight around you, either."

"My parking is straighter than I am."

"What a queer thing to say."

Once we'd exhausted our jokes, we let our laughter fetter out until it was quiet again.

"In all seriousness," he sighed, "thanks for being here with me."

"You don't have to thank me," I nudged him. "We're dating; it's not like I'm doing you a favor."

"You are, though. This place gets lonely sometimes. Sure, being alone with your thoughts can be wonderful, but sometimes I wish I had someone else to tell them to. Does that make sense?"