A/N: i don't know... this was an idea in my head since Thursday but it didn't really turn out as wonderfully tear-jerking as it was meant to be. I might take this down, it depends on what people think, so let me know. I hope you like it more than I do! xoxo meadow
Black was the way everything felt to Frank before he met Gerard, the off-centered, dark haired nerd. Black because each night, every day, they all bled together like someone had given a toddler finger pants and let him paint endlessly on white canvas until the whole entire square was a solid midnight color. He never slept, but he never felt awake. He wasn’t playing guitar anymore, wasn’t going to local shows, his band mates had kicked him out – thrown him to the curb. He was a hermit in layman’s terms. But he did think a lot. What it would feel like to be hugged kissed or loved. He played games with himself by pretending to talk to a significant other that he was almost positive he would never have. He couldn’t see himself as a lovable figure. And during this time in his life, Frank even stopped getting tattoos and began to regret the ones he had. Were they the reason he didn’t feel loved? Did people really find them that much of a turn off?
Black was the way he felt when his two friends that hadn’t pushed him face down into the sand dragged him along to an old friend’s house. He just wanted to be left alone, although he did perk up when they had beer and weed to spare with him. That’s when Frank saw him. It was a like a big shift in his attitude, who he was altogether. The next day, Frank went and got a new tattoo. A simple word with a flame above it;
Hope.
He remembers the flirtation period Gerard and himself shared as the color pink. Dim romance – confusion, questions. He remembers the tiny little things, like shared playing with his fingertips as they sat down together. Or Gerard grabbing his waist to find his way through a crowded show, Gerard asking – no, begging – Frank to join his band. Frank remembers the pink of Gerard’s lips when he smiled or laughed, and the pink in his perfect cheeks when he was embarrassed. He remembers how soft and wet Gerard’s lips were when they first kissed, off-stage after a show. It was sweet and soft, almost innocent in its nature. And when they pulled away, all Frank knew was that he needed more.
Red was undoubtedly the way they loved for those years. He remembered their fist on stage kiss, their lips connecting so hard – it almost hurt. How he wanted to kiss Gerard like that on stage every night of tour – or every night after the set. Red was how passionate it was. Like the first time they had sex. They hadn’t even expected it to happen. They were on warped, it was hot and everyone’s tempers were running a little wild – so Frank was basically a little fire ball waiting to explode. And when Gerard walked out of the shower assuming that nobody else was on the bus, towel draped dangerous low over his hips, Frank knew he had to have Gerard – right then and there. It was sweaty and passionate and sort of gross but amazing all at the same time. They stayed in Gerard’s bunk together all night, feet entangled and Frank’s head resting on Gerard’s bare chest – feeling his heartbeat. It lulled him to sleep like the sound of Gerard’s singing sometimes did. Even though things were this way for a few years, it just seems that the time went by so quickly.
And red changed to an orange – slowly fading away.
Gerard got married. He got married to some girl – who was gorgeous and nice enough – but Gerard wasn’t hers, god dammit. Gerard was Frank’s. And of course, Frank knew Gerard and this girl had a ‘thing’ but that’s all that it was supposed to be. Just like Frank and Jamia had a ‘thing.’ He loved the girl, but not the same way he loved Gerard. He thought that’s what Gerard thought about LynZ. He never could have been so wrong.
Frank showed his grief and anger in little ways. Ways he imagined only Gerard would pick up on. The way he stopped flinging himself about the stage, stopped screaming along every word of every song – the way he didn’t try and turn Gerard on during their set anymore – how he only sang his harmonies or when needed. And of course, Gerard noticed- trying to comfort Frank while he could. But sometimes, surprisingly, Frank shoved him off. But what made Frank so angry was how Gerard acted like it was no big deal. This wasn’t some fling to protect their secret – this was marriage.
“I love you!” He screamed at Gerard, crying so hard tears soaked his face in a sheet of salty water. His voice was pained, tired and raspy. He was so hurt and so fucking angry at Gerard for not understanding where it came from. Didn’t they love each other? Did it even matter anymore? They’d gone through hell together, Frank’s depression, Gerard’s addiction and the way Frank picked him back up every single fucking time he fell to the pavement. Every single time he gave in to temptation, every single time Gerard was puking into the bus toilet – Frank was there, holding back the hair and telling Gerrard that he loved him. Gerard blinked back at him, expressionless. But he was hurting too, he never wanted to hurt Frank, in fact, he stepped up to him and cupped his face in his hands, pushing away the tears and kissing him gently.
“I love you too.” His whispered, his voice finally giving in to the guilt – cracking as he began to cry. And they made love for the last time.
Everything was black again, for Frank. He knew Gerard was happy with LynZ and Bandit and going solo, he knew that should at least mean something, but it didn’t. Frank as well, had children. 3 of them, 3 of his own short little rebels that he loved to death, and Jamia, too. Everyone meant so much to him, that he meant nothing at all to himself. He still thought about Gerard, what his lips might feel like now, if their love would still hold the same passion as it had. He felt black for the way he felt like he’d hurt Jamia, even though she’d known from the beginning. Which is why it came as such a surprise to her when Frank proposed, she was so sure that this was some dumb prank the guys were pulling on her, that she turned him down at first. Which hurt Frank beyond words. But in the end, she realized how badly Frank just needed somebody. Not to say that he was desperate, but desperate for a savior.
He was sometimes so depressed he wouldn’t talk to her for days, only speaking if Lily or Cherry came in to show him a drawing, or if Miles toddled in on unsteady legs- looking for a cuddle from his Daddy. He thought it was funny how much his son adored him. He couldn’t imagine what was so great about him, he wasn’t like – father of the year or some shit. Maybe inked father of the year – if that was a title, Frank would probably own it every year.
Maybe the only thing that kept him hanging on was the way Jamia let him lock himself away and write, or play music for however long he needed, and then when he shared his finished work – she always loved it. He wasn’t afraid to do anything in the areas of sharing his work with the world – but honestly, he just hoped it was good enough for Gerard to have on his phone, or something that Gerard would at least like to listen to or read. He really hoped Gerard did, read or listen to his work. God knows Frank studied everything new Gerard would draw, bought all the Killjoy comics – though he lived out the story already.
He found slivers of hope in the sporadic texts he received from Gerard about such things as if Frank had any plans for a new album, or if Frank was doing okay. Which he wasn’t, but he always said he was anyway.
He tried to be happy, he really wanted to be happy. But he missed Gerard almost as much as the fans missed My Chemical Romance. And he would lay awake in his bed, Jamia sound asleep beside him and remember some of his fondest memories of being with Gerard. When he was drunk, he often texted him – I Miss You- and most of the time he wouldn’t get a response, but last time he did.
I Miss You Too, Frankie.
