frerard one shots | ✔️

forty-nine ~ without you (part two)

Frank's insides felt like they were wires being wound up tighter and tighter as he ran faster than the wind, keeping up with Mikey's strides, but just barely. He was eager to get back to his lover. Eager to pull himself out of the shithole that he'd dug himself into, but he was also eager to ask what the fuck Gerard was thinking when he hid such a big part of himself from Frank and why he'd lied. 

Mikey came to a slow stop, catching Frank with one of his skinny arms and pulling him to an abrupt one. "Here we are," he mumbled. 

"Yeah," Frank breathed, biting his lip. He wasn't even out of breath and they'd been running faster than a car going eighty over the limit. "After all this time."

"Be nice," Mikey whispered discreetly as they made their way up to the door. "He isn't expecting you, and you've... uh you've changed a lot."

Frank wrapped his arms around his thin body nervously, hating the way his hips stuck out the tiniest bit more than they should have and the way that his strong tattooed fingers were now bony tattooed fingers. He swallowed. 

"Alright."

Mikey raised a fist to knock on the door, ushering Frank out of the sight of an open door. Almost instantly, there was a call from the other side. 

"Go the fuck away!" 

"Gerard, it's me, Mikey," Mikey pleaded, and Frank watched as the door handle twisted and did his best to hide. 

"What's going on, Mikes?" Gerard's voice came out a little clearer and Frank ached to see the face that belonged to it. His voice was scratchier than Frank had anticipated. It was rough, but not in the way that Frank had always said that he liked. It was rough and scratchy from underuse (or overuse, Frank couldn't tell) and tired. The exhaustion dripped from his voice like molasses. 

Frank bit his lip and muffled a squeak of surprise. He'd bitten down harder than he'd wanted to, and now there was a warm, sticky substance pooling in a tiny little spot. Frank licked his ring-clad lip, getting most of the blood off and stopping the flow, but it was too late. 

"There's someone else here, Mikey. Who the fuck did you bring?"

Mikey sighed. "Your dead boyfriend."

"Frank's dead!?" Gerard cried, then, "He's not my..." He sighed and Frank heard a crack in his voice. "He's not my boyfriend anymore."

"Yeah, he's fucking dead, Gerard. You left him on his own and I was watching him, just in case something went wrong, and he didn't fucking eat, and he got so weak, and I saw him in the woods a few days ago, and he was about to fucking die from exhaustion! This is your fault, mostly."

"Fuck," Gerard croaked and Frank crossed his arms. Mikey was being a little unfair. 

"Now he's here," Mikey sighed. "I brought him here."

"You brought Frank's fucking corpse here!? Why the hell would you fucking--"

"Gerard, kindly shut the fuck up, I'm not dead," Frank said, stepping into Gerard's view and Gerard's mouth fell open. 

Frank studied his ex-boyfriend. He looked paler than usual, kind of sickly, but not underweight. He had slight stubble growing on his face and he was dressed in a baggy band tee and sweatpants. 

"Frank?" Gerard whispered, his eyes glimmering with hope. His eyes seemed to be the only thing about him that looked alive. "Oh, god, baby, you're so thin," he whispered. 

"Don't call me that," Frank snapped. 

Gerard's face fell and he nodded. "I'm sorry. Would you like to come in and explain what happened? Because you sure as hell aren't human anymore."