Despite the fact that he's been holding a nine-to five job for over two years now, Gerard rarely goes to bed before three or four in the morning. He isn't an insomniac - he's just a night owl, and at it's the quietest time of day, the time when he can pretend he isn't selling his soul to Cartoon Network, can pretend he's still an artist. And just because he has an entire wall of records and CDs doesn't mean he doesn't like to listen to the radio in the middle of the night. It's better than shuffle in iTunes, really.
Plus, there's this really awesome guy who DJs from one am til five. Gerard doesn't always last through the whole shift, but he likes the sound of the guy's voice and his laugh when he tells a joke that he finds hilarious. Gerard tries to imagine what face goes with the voice and the name, sometimes. All the Franks he knows have mustaches, except for his eight year-old cousin, but somehow that doesn't really fit with what he hears every night as he draws.
Then there's that weird thing when he does fall asleep with the radio on, and right at that point before he's really asleep, whatever Frank is talking about seems to work its way into his head and he'll drift for a while, thinking about stomping spiders or climbing a mountain and putting a giant black flag at the top. More often than not, Frank himself is in the dreams, but Gerard never actually sees him. He's always standing just behind Gerard's shoulder, or else he's up ahead of him, blurry and indistinct.
The morning after one of those dreams - Gerard was in a rowboat, trying to rescue Frank from a lake that turned out to be made of grape jelly - he's driving around with Mikey. They always do Ma's errands, even though Mikey moved out two years ago, and Mikey always drags Gerard along. It's the wrong time of day and it isn't even the right station, but Gerard leans back in his seat as Mikey cruises down the street, listening to the radio hosts talk about the weather and the traffic.
"Do you ever try to picture what these people look like? Is she blonde, is he tall, are they both secretly forty?"
Mikey just shrugs. "Well I didn't before, but now I'm gonna have to check the radio's website when I get home."
"Oh." It's such a simple solution, but it feels like cheating, it's so easy. He changes the subject to keep from thinking about it. "Are you bringing Alicia to Thanksgiving?"
Gerard is up late a couple of nights later, despite the fact that his ferry leaves in four hours, when Frank's voice cuts in on the narration of the comic book he's reading.
"-on the off chance that any of you are actually awake out there, I'm opening the board up to requests, so give us a call at 1-888-955-WSJX. Talk to me, people. Person. Somnambulists."
Gerard doesn't know what he's thinking when he picks up his cell phone and punches in the number. Hell, he doesn't even know what he's going to request.
It's too late for him to hang up though, because whoever answers the phone patches him straight through to Frank.
"We've got a live one ladies and gentlemen! Hey there, loyal listener, it's Frank, what the hell are you doing up this late?" He actually sounds excited, although it's probably just at the chance to have someone new to talk to.
"Reading comic books," Gerard says. He immediately wishes he hadn't. He could've said something cooler, like 'masturbating'. Which, okay, isn't actually cool, but is possibly less pathetic.
"Oh yeah? Which ones? Don't tell me it's Superman, that guy is a goody two shoes loser. You always know what's going to happen." It sounds like an old argument, an opinion he's been sharing for years, but it's still enthused, even if it is ass o'clock in the morning.
Gerard stares at the phone for a second, "Uh, Doom Patrol."
"That's by, oh what's his name-"
"Grant Morrison," Gerard supplies automatically.
