Parisian Hearts // Frerard

4

The three boys fell into a routine soon enough. They'd eat breakfast in tension thicker than the cheese on their bread, Frank would march off to the barracks or the town centre, and the brothers would divide their time between the university and the house. Things almost felt normal. It wasn't a feeling they wanted to grow accustomed to.

Luckily, things had a habit of going pear-shaped whenever stability overstayed it's welcome.

It was breakfast on a crisp February morning, a mug of hot water cradled in the hands of each boy. Frank had been unusually subdued as of late, but only Gerard had seemed to notice. He'd asked his brother about about it a few days ago, but he'd thought nothing of it. Told Gerard he deserved to feel bad about himself.

Mikey was probably right. He normally was, anyway.

"They're checking for weapons today." Gerard's head shot up at the sound of Frank's voice. He looked at Mikey, who was wearing an equally surprised expression. They weren't expecting to get much by way of words out of Frank, let alone a warning about an inspection.

"I'm sorry, but what?" Mikey asked the German, taking no issue with the skepticism lacing his voice,

"I shouldn't have said anything."  Mikey shot Gerard a look over the table, willing him not to say anything to Frank. He'd come to not expect anything from the German, deciding that if he had no sort of standard it was impossible to be disappointed in anything he did. But he worried about his brother. As much as Gerard was invested in his work and how much he'd been through, he looked for the best in people. He'd deny it, but it was obvious. No amount of second chances can fix a broken conscience.

Gerard raised an eyebrow at Frank, who responded by shaking his head. Without another word, he left the breakfast table, and disappeared into the basement.

"Why did we get the nutcase?" Mikey snapped at Gerard, dragging his chair toward him so his brother could hear his hushed voice.

Gerard shrugged, at a loss as to why there was even another man living in their house. "I don't think he's a nutcase, people like Günter are the nutcases, Mikes."

Gerard was right about Günter. He was the German commanding officer, living in the old mayor's house in the town centre. He'd shoot people dead in the street if he thought they looked like they'd succumb easily to the communist agenda. 

Mikey smiled at his brother, his eyes crinkling like an old newspaper. It was a soft smile, one that Gerard didn't get to see very often nowadays, so he smiled back. "You're too good for the world, Gerard. You don't need to find a redemption arc for everybody."

"I know Mikes. I just feel like the world's already so dark, it won't miss any cynicism. Might as well try to look for good things." He stood up, stretching out his arms and neck, taking the plates and mugs to the sink. He didn't bother washing up; that could happen later. Apparently an official would be round checking the way household for any sort of guns and ammunition they certainly weren't hiding.

Frank emerged from the basement, now dressed in his uniform, minus his armband. Gerard eyed his brother, glancing at the soldier, but Mikey didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

Frank was quiet. Mikey was quiet. Gerard was in the kitchen thinking about Frank. Nothing about his behaviour added up. Hell, before he even knew Mikey he let him off for breaking curfew because he didn't care and made him a coffee, and then he was ordering him around like a housekeeper, making him sleep on the floor. He was moody and quiet and stubborn, and made life in general far harder for the way brothers than without him, but he'd throw random bits of classified information their way and act like it was nothing.