Pairing: Past Gerard/Frank, Mikey/Frank.
Rating: Stars off around R, leads to NC-17.
POV: Frank's and then Mikey's at the end.
Summary: Ten months is a long time, but Frank learns that twelve can fix broken things.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. This is fake. Title taken from the song 'This Is More' by Stick To Your Guns.
Author Notes: My first fic, so it may not be too great, but I worked really hard on it.
Beta: My room mate and a few friends.
Warnings: Language and drug use.
It’s a Wednesday when Mikey ends up saying this. Frank turned his head to look at him, eyes mild before they dropped to the table and he flicked a page in the book they were sharing to study while they sat on his bed.
Really, it isn’t that Frank was trying to ignore him. It’s more or less a mixture of not knowing what to say and trying to figure out what the other wants him to say. There has to be a response that Mikey was looking for, and Frank guessed that he should probably know anyway. But he didn’t, so he opted for pretending to be excessively more interested in his homework than he ever had been the entire time he’d been in school since Pre-K.
Admittedly, Frank knew that he was in trouble then. He knew that he couldn’t keep ignoring the boy next to him on the bed forever. It was easy to tell what he meant, and even easier to believe it. Of course Gerard would have found out. Since the kiss they shared, Mikey half asleep and Frank freaking out, they had spent entirely too much time continuing that than really talking about it. They kept it to a light amount in public, reserving it for hand holds or tiny pecks. No one had really caught on, as weird as that may have been for him to think about, but he was glad about it. Until now.
“I don’t what you want me to say,” Frank said, which turned out to be the wrong response. The bead let out a low groan, almost as aggravated-sounding as Frank was about the whole situation. “You don’t have to say anything, I just thought you’d want to know.” Mikey’s voice was far away and Frank turned to look, watching as he paced around the room over and over and over. It almost made him dizzy. Frank said nothing, even still, and the taller, leaner version of someone he used to know ended up leaving the room.
It was unnerving for Frank, how easy it was for the entire Way family to seemingly be so good at just walking out on people. He wanted to be mad at him. He spent an entire three days sitting with a different lab partner until it was the weekend, only then realizing that he had no one to go to. No one to talk to. Nothing. Frank knew that it was his fault – that much was painfully obvious. It was bad enough that he was scared to walk around campus at that point because of two people, but when he thought about it long enough, it was much worse that they were in the same family. So Frank decided to smoke some weed. A lot of weed actually. More than he had any time Mikey felt the need to be adventurous and couple it with beer, or tequila, or something else. He smoked when he woke up, before he went to bed; at night, in the morning; tired or awake; busy or not. It didn’t matter to him. As cliché and completely fucking ridiculous as he was being, Frank didn’t even notice, because he was high.
It was yet another Wednesday when Frank got a phone call. Wednesday being Christmas Eve, and he was high out of his mind, having forgotten to call his mom. Or anyone in his family, really. Or Mikey.
There was a series of fumbled limbs in order to grab the phone, but he managed in a flurry of flailing body parts and a slur of swear words that even he didn’t understand as they came from his own mouth. The buttons were all lit up when he finally pressed the green one to answer the call and the phone was up against his ear. Frank was on his back, throat cleared as he greeted the person on the other end, who he really did hope was Mikey so he could apologize and - he was about half way through smiling at that thought when he realized that he actually did not have a clue who was on the other end of the phone.
Honest-to-God, he almost threw up then and there.
Emotions, no matter what category or intensity or rarity or any other influential type of word to describe them could not do justice to what he felt then. It was not Mikey. That voice was definitely not Mikey, at all. The (not so) funny part was that there was obviously no reason that he could think of pertaining to why Gerard would be calling him, especially when his first glance at a clock all night told him that it was four in the morning. Four in the morning. Something about the situation seemed so familiar… Too familiar. How many times had Gerard called him at four in the morning, towards the end, to get a ride home from bumfuck nowhere or to drunk dial him or to tell him that he was a piece of shit for missing out on this ‘killer fucking party, man’. It kind of made Frank want to throw up again just to think about it, but (despite the weed) there was absolutely nothing in his stomach and there really is never a good time, or a comfortable time, to dry heave.
“Yes, it’s fucking Gerard. Do you ever look at your caller ID? Look, I need a favor.”
The words were drowned out then. A favor? Frank didn’t even what he wanted, or what he was asking, because it was so clear to him that he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to be walked all over and used and he certainly did not want to talk to his ex boyfriend when he should have been on the phone with the previously mentioned ex’s brother and –
Forty-five minutes later he found himself on the door step of someone’s house whom he did not know. Fifty minutes later he was still waiting. An hour and seven minutes later, Frank ended up in his car with Gerard riding shot gun next to him, talking some shit about some people that Frank does not know, nor does he care to know him. It’s hard for him to figure out how he got from point A to point B, or how he is somehow able then to reason with himself that it’s okay not to study up for his stupid fucking Chemistry class that started up again the next week at the beginning of January (a new year, not that he cared) because Mikey and him aren’t even talking, let alone spending Christmas together, because of the person in his passenger seat. But, as usual, Frank wasn’t even able to be mad at anyone but himself, especially because Gerard was actually talking to him. He was smiling and telling a story and asking him to, please pull over for just two seconds because he really wanted a candy bar and he swears to make it up to him.
An hour and forty-two minutes later, Frank was finding it increasingly hard to think at all. Because by that point, he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. All he did know that Gerard was yelling, faintly in the background and nothing made sense in his head except the fact that his back hurt and, distinctly, he could have sworn that the car had stopped moving even though they weren’t at a red light. But… There were red lights. There were a lot of red lights. And blue lights, and white lights, and Frank found himself wondering why there wasn’t a green one. Why couldn’t he go? Why was his foot not pressing on the gas, his hand not switching to first gear and then third once he hit the right street?
Two hours and two minutes later, Frank wasn’t aware of anything at all, though Mikey was. Because Mikey was the one sitting in the hospital room on Christmas morning, back pressed up against the hard plastic of a sterilized chair, staring at the beds that held both his brother and his best friend (boyfriend?) at approximately 6:15 in the morning. He is the one who is vaguely aware of heart monitors and the fact that, really, everything was going to be fine. That Gerard fractured his wrist and that Frank has some bruises along his chest where the seat belt held him back as well as the tiniest concussion in the world, though it wasn’t anything to worry about. Although, honestly, the thing that Mikey is the most aware of is the fact that Frank had a hickey on his neck that he certainly did not give him, and that his brother’s lips were bruised from kissing and that, even though they’re both asleep, Mikey was almost positive that wherever they are were in their minds that moment, that they were together. Riding in Frank’s car.
Laughing and smiling.
P.S. I have a new personal journal if anyone feels like adding it. Someone asked me to put it up, so I thought I might as well. chststrhdblrx :)