Archive of Our Own

Frank sleeps on the train from Grand Central to New Haven.

In his defense, Gerard made them take the earliest possible train, and he kept Frank up late last night because he decided it was the perfect night to tie Frank to the headboard for the first time, so Frank is wiped. 

He’d probably be wiped anyway. The last month and a half has been insane. Gerard went to every Black Parade show for the first two weeks of the run, while Frank tied loose ends at his job before his last day. Then, in mid-March, he officially moved to SoHo. Gerard worked with Geoff to get Frank on Killjoys as a writer and work out the details of his contract while Frank worked on the apartment, physically merging their lives together. 

They were happy to be together, but March wasn’t their favorite month. Everyone agreed that Frank really couldn’t be the one trying to negotiate his own contract - he was an unknown writer and Gerard had the pull with Paramount. But that meant Gerard had to be on the phone with lawyers and executives with very little help from Frank, and Frank was unemployed and cooking his rich boyfriend dinner and trying very hard not to feel like a kept boy.  

The contract was hammered out surprisingly quickly, probably because no one wanted the negotiations to last any longer than they needed to. Then came two weeks of winding down from the play and getting used to living with each other for real, which was harder than Frank expected. Moving in, physically being together all the time, being in each other’s space, that part was easy. But creating a shared life with his boyfriend meant having a lot of conversations that were sort of uncomfortable. Gerard’s idea of taking care of Frank was paying for everything, the mortgage and utilities and groceries and literally anything else Frank wanted, and Frank had to explain more than once that they needed to come up with a different system so he didn’t feel like a toy. Frank’s idea of taking care of Gerard was forcing him to eat and shower and at least lay down at night if he wasn’t going to sleep. That was met with a shocking amount of resistance, and Frank learned that Gerard wasn’t happy if he wasn’t at least a little bit feral.

Eventually, they settled into a good rhythm. After Gerard’s birthday, they finally felt like they could come up for air. Gerard immediately rented a house in Waterbury for a month, told Geoff that he and Frank were going to be radio silent for a while, and told Frank to pack a suitcase. 

So, it’s been a lot. It’s not his fault he’s tired. Plus, he should be able to sleep whenever he wants. This is a vacation. 

Based on how grumpy Gerard looks when he shakes Frank awake to get off the train, Gerard doesn’t agree.

“You could have woken me up at any time,” Frank points out as they walk through the New Haven station on their way to the train to Waterbury. “Don’t act like you didn’t love spending an hour and a half reading and looking out the window without anyone annoying you.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “At this point, I’m so used to you annoying me that it’s uncomfortable being left alone.”

“Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend? On our first vacation together?” Frank asks as he slides into a chair on the train. Gerard huffs and rolls his eyes again, but he leans his head on Frank’s shoulder when he sits down.

“Why didn’t you want to stay in New Haven?” Frank asks. “Seems like there’s a lot going on.”

“Exactly,” Gerard answers. “I want to go somewhere where there’s not a lot going on. Plus, come on. Yale drama students would be foaming at the mouth if they saw me out.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to spend a month fighting 20 year olds off,” Frank says solemnly. “I know younger guys really do it for you.”

“Oh my god, Frank, can you not?”

“Not what? Tell the truth? Sorry, baby, no can do.”

Gerard huffs, but he cuddles more into Frank’s side. Frank grins. Gerard hates the age jokes less and less as time goes on.

They’re mostly silent on the train ride to Waterbury, dozing off and on for the hour-long trip. When they get to the station, they make their way to the car waiting to bring them to the house. Frank still has a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that this is how Gerard lives, that he can just walk out of a train station and know a Town Car is waiting to pick him up. And now Frank lives like this, too. It’s a life of ease that Frank knows is going to take a really long time for him to get used to.

He slides into the back seat and Gerard slides in after him, taking his hand automatically after he closes the door. Their entwined hands rest in the center seat, normal as anything. Since they got back together, Gerard practically requires that he be touching Frank at all times, which Frank didn’t expect. But he’s not complaining. 

They look out the window on the way to the house. Waterbury doesn’t look that much different than New Jersey, honestly. Maybe a little more nature, a little less graffiti. But for the most part,  the bones are the same. Brick buildings that used to be factories, squat and tired-looking, housing empty storefronts and family businesses. There’s a stretch of road with three different pizza places within two blocks of each other and a nail salon wedged between them. He counts six Dunkin Donuts locations in about three minutes.

Teenagers wander around, hang out on corners with their hands shoved in the pockets of their hoodies. Beautiful old buildings have been converted into shitty Mexican restaurants. It’s… pretty regular. Certainly not the Gilmore Girls fever dream Frank had imagined, but there’s a charm here. He thinks he’s going to have a fun month.

“Waterbury kind of rocks,” he says.

Gerard laughs. “Yeah, there’s something familiar about it.”

Which is a good word for it.

As they drive farther from the city center, things start to thin out. The buildings get shorter, then rarer. The roads widen, the traffic lightens. Storefronts give way to gas stations, then to stretches of road where there’s nothing but trees and the occasional house set way back from the street, half-hidden behind stone walls and overgrown hedges. Suddenly, Frank notices the landscape soften, the hard angles of the town giving way to something greener, quieter. The air feels different, even through the closed windows. Cleaner somehow, sharper. The trees cluster thickly together, branches clawing at the sky, the ground beneath them uneven and wild and oddly inviting..

The road starts to wind. Hills roll out in front of them, gentle but persistent, the houses growing fewer and farther between. When they do appear, they look like they belong here. Old farmhouses, weathered barns leaning at odd angles, mailboxes perched at the end of long gravel driveways. Frank imagines what it must be like to grow up somewhere like this, where your backyard just… keeps going. 

“This feels a little like cheating,” Gerard says.

“What?”

Gerard shrugs. “Like we got on a train and then slipped out of the real world.”

Frank hums. He gets that. Everything out here seems private and untouched. Like they’re hiding. Like they’re letting themselves get lost.

They turn onto a narrower road, then another, then finally onto a long, winding driveway that disappears into the trees. The car crunches over gravel, the sound loud in the quiet. Frank twists in his seat, trying to see how far back it goes, but the trees swallow everything. The world feels very small out here, reduced to just the road ahead of them and the stretch of woods pressing in close on either side.

The car eventually stops at a house on top of the hill. There aren’t any other houses around, which Frank assumes is exactly what Gerard was looking for. It’s a colonial, white clapboard, black shutters, black roof. Simple and a little worn, like it’s been here for a long time. It’s completely surrounded by trees. Thick woods stretch out in every direction, branches arching overhead like a protective canopy. There’s no road noise, no people. Just the quiet, broken only by the distant sound of wind moving through the branches.

It feels like a secret. Frank imagines mornings here: coffee in the backyard, nights where the sky is full of stars instead of light pollution. A month of this, away from obligations and stress and everyone else’s opinions, is an absolute gift.

He gets out of the car and stands there for a second, just breathing it in. The air smells like damp earth. He hears some kind of bird call, reminding him he’s not in a city.

He grins, wide and unguarded. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. I’m into it.”

Gerard laughs softly, coming to stand beside him. “Welcome home. For a little while, at least.”

Frank leans into Gerard and looks around. He notices an SUV parked in the driveway.

“Whose car is that?” Frank asks, pointing to it.

“Ours,” Gerard answers easily. “I don’t think this is the kind of pace that’s crawling with Ubers, so I had Geoff arrange a rental for us for the month.”

“Someone dropped this off? We don’t have to go pick it up?”

“No,” Gerard shrugs. “Keys should be under the mat by the back door.”

“Jesus,” Frank says. “I’m not going to be able to travel with anyone else after this.”

“Good,” Gerard replies happily. “Just wait till we have to fly somewhere.”

The inside of the house is just as dated and cute as the outside. It’s got this New England charm, with fireplaces and radiators and hideous wallpaper in the dining room. There are dark wood accents everywhere. Frank doesn’t have time to take in too much of it before Gerard is dragging him by the hand through the hallway, opening every door he passes. He finally finds the bedroom and mutters, “Finally. Nap time.”

He closes the door, tugs at his and Frank’s clothes until they’re both down to their boxers, and pulls them both into the four-poster bed at the center of the room. Gerard curls into himself and Frank takes his cue to be the big spoon, pulling the sheets over them and pressing his face into Gerard’s back.

“If you were so tired, we didn’t have to take the first fucking train,” Frank says.

“Honestly, I was ready to get out of the city,” Gerard says through a yawn. Which is fair.

Frank’s not sure if he can get over how quiet it is here. It’s so much quieter than in the city, making it easy to pretend they’re the only two people in the world. The thought makes it very easy for Frank to drop into sleep.

They wake up in the afternoon and don’t leave bed for a solid hour. They don’t talk, just cuddle and breathe each other in and make out until they realize that they haven’t eaten anything all day and there’s no food in the house. They very reluctantly get back into their clothes and climb in the SUV. Gerard drives while Frank gives directions to the nearest grocery store.

Frank’s vibrating in the passenger seat by the time Gerard swings into the parking lot. “You are never allowed to drive again,” he says, trying not to think about how many stop signs Gerard just ran (three) or how high over the speed limit he was going (at least ten miles per hour the whole trip).

“Aw, come on,” Gerard whines. “I like driving.”

“You’re a hazard to yourself and everyone around you.”

“God, you’re dramatic,” Gerard complains as he gets out of the car. Frank can’t tell if he knows how terrible a driver he is. He decides that they can never live anywhere that doesn’t have public transportation.

One grocery store trip and one terrifying drive back to the house later, they decide to shower. Mostly they just want to see what the water pressure in the en suite is like. It’s perfect, and the water gets very hot, and the way the steam clings to Gerard’s skin while Frank blows him is perfect. 

After, Gerard says he thinks cooking together could be romantic. Frank is along for the ride here, so he decides not to mention that any time they “cook together” at home, it’s just Frank cooking while Gerard chats with him from the kitchen table, sketching and sipping diet coke. When Gerard pulls a knife out of a drawer and an onion out of the fridge, Frank realizes this is the most he’s ever seen Gerard actually contribute to a meal.

The kitchen here is small in a way that feels intentional, like whoever built it wanted people to bump into each other. One narrow counter, one sink, a stove that looks older than either of them. There’s a window over the sink that looks out into nothing but trees, and the light coming through it is all gold and dust and early evening. Frank leans his hip against the counter and thinks about how insane this feels. He’s in a random town in Connecticut with his boyfriend. Who he loves, and who loves him back.

And who is currently standing at the counter with the onion and the knife and the expression of someone about to defuse a bomb.

“Okay,” Gerard says, squinting at it. “So. You just… cut it.”

Frank snorts. “You should peel it first. When was the last time you cut an onion?”

“I don’t like them,” Gerard answers defensively. “They make you cry.”

“That’s kind of their thing.”

“Thank you, I know,” Gerard says, and then presses the knife down way too hard on the unpeeled onion and immediately yelps when it slips. “Oh my god.”

Frank is at his side in half a second, hands coming up automatically. “Hey. Okay. Stop. You’re gonna lose a finger before dinner.”

Gerard looks at him, sheepish. “I told you I’m bad at this.”

“Well, yeah, but I thought you were bad at, like, seasoning,” Frank says. “Not basic knife safety.”

“Wow,” Gerard says. “Uncalled for.”

“But true.” Frank laughs and reaches around him, guiding Gerard’s hands away from the knife. The contact feels easy, natural, like he’s been moving around Gerard for years instead of months. “Move over. I’ll show you.”

They switch places, but the counter is so small that Gerard doesn’t really move away. He stays pressed close, chest to Frank’s back, chin hovering near Frank’s shoulder as Frank unpeels the onion and puts it back on the cutting board.

“Okay,” Frank says. “This is the important part. You keep your fingers curled like this, so you don’t -”

Gerard sniffles. “It’s already happening.”

“I haven’t even cut it yet.”

“I’m sensitive.”

Frank glances back at him, smiling. “And I’m dramatic?”

Gerard makes a wounded noise and then actually laughs, forehead dropping briefly against Frank’s shoulder. The sound goes straight through Frank, settles somewhere warm in his chest. He finishes chopping the onion quickly, efficient muscle memory kicking in, and slides it into a pot.

“There,” he says. “No casualties.”

Gerard blinks rapidly. “I think I’m crying.”

“I can’t wait to tell Mikey you made yourself cry because I cut an onion.”

Gerard’s face immediately changes. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would and you know it. Now do you want me to cut the rest of the stuff, or do you want to attempt the garlic and risk your life again?”

“I can do the garlic,” Gerard says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m not useless.”

“You can just do what we do at home. I don’t have a problem cooking if you just want to hang out.”

“Frankie, we’re on vacation. I have to live a little. Plus, I know how to cut garlic.”

“If you say so.” Frank steps aside but stays close, hands hovering near Gerard’s wrists just in case. Watching him concentrate this hard on something so small feels… surreal. This is the same guy who commands rooms full of people without even trying. And here he is, carefully peeling garlic, looking like a kid.

“You know,” Frank says as he starts sauteeing the onions, “if you stab yourself, I’m absolutely calling TMZ.”

Gerard laughs, knife pausing. “You’re mean. But cutting garlic is, uh, actually pretty hard.”

“Come over here,” Frank says, pouring tomato paste into the pot and handing a spoon to Gerard. “You can stir.”

They fall into an easy rhythm after that. Gerard stirs the sauce, occasionally adding things when Frank instructs him to, while Frank handles all sharp objects. Music plays softly from Gerard’s phone, something old and familiar. Every now and then Gerard bumps into Frank on purpose, or steals a taste of the sauce.

“This is good,” Gerard says once the sauce is finished, sounding surprised.

Frank raises an eyebrow. “What? You know I can cook.”

“I know,” Gerard says. “I didn’t mean the sauce. I meant… I don’t know. This.”

Frank knows what he means. He feels it too. No one needs anything from them here. No schedules, no expectations, no eyes. Just dinner and trees and the person he loves standing too close in a kitchen that smells like onions and garlic.

While Frank boils the pasta, Gerard sets the table in the dining room with mismatched plates and real candles. Frank brings the pot into the dining room and they tuck in. Gerard keeps making little pleased noises with each bite. Frank keeps stealing glances at him, shoulders down, eyes soft. His favorite version of Gerard, all for himself, like a secret he’s been trusted with. Outside, it’s quiet in that deep, middle-of-nowhere way. No sirens. No neighbors. Just trees and the soft thud of their own footsteps on old floorboards.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Frank says suddenly.

Gerard looks at him, fork halfway to his mouth. “What part?”

“All of it,” Frank says. “You. Me. This. I feel like if I blink too hard, I’m gonna wake up back in Jersey.”

Gerard smiles. “You keep acting like you’re the lucky one, but I hit the jackpot,” he says. Frank beams.

They don’t rush to clean up after dinner. Gerard insists dishes can wait. They end up on the couch instead, legs tangled, Frank’s feet tucked under Gerard’s thigh for warmth. There’s a throw blanket that smells faintly like dust. Gerard pulls it over them both and turns on the television.

“I like this,” Frank says softly.

Gerard presses a kiss to his hair. “Me too.”

Frank smiles into Gerard’s hoodie, feeling insulated from the world, like nothing can reach them out here.

*

They don’t really leave the house the first week. Not that they don’t want to. They didn’t plan on holing up in the house all month, they do want to get out and see what’s up in scenic Waterbury. But they can’t keep their hands off each other long enough to go anywhere. 

It’s probably because the honeymoon phase hasn’t really worn off. It actually feels like it started over again on opening night, like the few months before that were a test run and their relationship actually started in February. And they’re really letting themselves indulge, hiding themselves away for a month like they’re on an actual honeymoon.

Not that Frank’s complaining. Gerard can be reclusive and shy and deeply resentful of having to talk to basically anyone when he doesn’t want to, but when he’s comfortable, he’s not timid and he’s not docile. Especially in bed. The longer they’re together, the more obvious it is.

It’s not surprising in theory. It’s clear that Gerard loves being in control in every part of his life, so watching him take the lead during sex isn’t shocking. But he’s still constantly surprised at how fucking good Gerard is at it, how much he wants to reduce Frank to a pleading mess. And he’s surprised at how into being a pleading mess he is. He’s never explored this dynamic with any of his previous partners, and he truly can’t get enough. He’ll do whatever Gerard tells him to.

He’s currently telling Gerard that. Well, not “telling” so much as “whining.” He’s on his knees on the bed, his wrists tied to the four-poster with Gerard’s belt, babbling nonsense while Gerard buries three fingers into him, rhythmic and demanding. They’ve been at this for at least twenty minutes, and Frank thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t come soon.

“Anything you want,” he groans, pushing back on Gerard’s hand. “I’ll do anything you want, fuck, just… more.”

“I know, sugar,” Gerard coos, running the fingers of one hand through Frank’s hair while he fucks hard into him with the other. “You’re such a good boy for me. You really would let me do anything, wouldn't you? Could I leave you just like this all day, tied up and dripping? Leave you to wait for me to come back and finish what I started?”

Before Frank can say anything, Gerard hooks his fingers, dragging them against that bundle of nerves, ripping a guttural moan out of Frank's throat. His cock is leaking, heavy and throbbing, slamming against his own stomach with every relentless thrust of Gerard's hand, but he can't reach it. He’s so close to the edge he can feel the phantom sparks of a climax already misfiring in his brain.

“Please,” Frank whines, his hips stuttering. “Please let me come.”

“Oh, you can come whenever you want, Frankie.”

“Please,” Frank repeats, beyond desperate. He wants to cry, he wants to get a hand on his dick, he wants this feeling to last forever. “I need to touch it.”

“Oh, sugar, you don’t need your hands,” Gerard whispers, his breath hot and damp against Frank's ear. “You’re going to come for me just like this. I’m going to milk it out of you until you can’t remember your own name.”

“Jesus.” Is Frank sobbing now? He can’t fucking tell. All he can feel is Gerard’s fingers inside him, merciless and delicious, and he’s so close but he needs just a little bit more.

Gerard hums and speeds up. It’s not a gentle massage anymore, it’s a focused, deliberate assault. Every time he moves his fingers, Frank sees flashes of white light. The sensation is overwhelming, bordering on painful, but it’s so good, making his entire lower half feel like it’s made of liquid fire.

“That’s it,” Gerard groans, his voice dropping an octave. “Take it. Look at how much you want it. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Gerard shifts his weight, leaning his chest against Frank's back, pinning him forward while his fingers continue their relentless, hooking rhythm. “You’ll take anything I give you, right? Well, this is what I’m giving you. Come on, sugar, you’re so fucking gorgeous when you come. And you’re fucking gorgeous when you beg. God, I want you begging all the time. I want to keep you here all day, plug you up for hours. You want that, Frankie? You wanna fucking beg for it?”

And Gerard presses down hard, and Frank sees stars, and he’s coming so hard he forgets to breathe, rope after rope of heat shooting over his thighs and the bed. He cries out, his body convulsing so hard the belt groans against the bedpost, and he just keeps coming while Gerard milks him dry, whispering “Oh god, Frankie, you’re so good, that was so hot, I can’t get enough of you.”

As soon as Frank is done, Gerard unties him and hauls him so he’s laying down on the bed. He cleans Frank off with a towel he’d brought in from the bathroom and then strips down to his boxers to curl up next to him. “I love you so much,” he says. “You’re so beautiful and so good for me.”

Frank burrows into Gerard’s hold. He loves everything they do, but he really loves the aftercare. “I love you, baby,” he says. “Thank you. I loved that.”

“I did, too,” Gerard murmurs, peppering Frank’s face with kisses. “Do you need anything? A snack or a nap or something?” 

“Nah, this is good.” Frank keeps getting closer, wrapping himself around Gerard like a sloth. Gerard hums happily and runs his fingers through Frank’s hair. Frank’s been growing it out. He likes when Gerard plays with it. 

They’re quiet for a little while, letting their breathing even out. Frank wonders if Gerard has fallen asleep, but eventually his voice rings through the quiet room. “Are you happy?”

Frank uses every ounce of strength left in his body to lift up on his elbows and look at Gerard. “That’s ominous.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I know you’re happy. I’m happy. I guess I meant… are you happy with this? Are you okay with this?”

For a second, Frank doesn’t get it. Then it dawns on him. “With the sex?”

Gerard blushes hard. It’s adorable. “Yes, Frank. With the sex.”

Frank kisses Gerard’s forehead, his cheek. “I am extremely okay with the sex. What’s going on here?”

Gerard sighs heavily and covers his eyes with his forearm. Frank lets him, settling back on his chest. He knows that sometimes the only way Gerard will open up is if he knows no one is looking at him.

“I know you like it. Obviously, I can tell. But I keep thinking about your birthday and Christmas and all the times you’ve told me you don’t like feeling like there’s an imbalance here. I know you don’t like to be… controlled, or told what to do -”

“I don’t think you’re controlling me,” Frank assures him immediately. “Believe me, if I did, you’d know.”

That makes Gerard laugh a little. He takes his arm off of his face to look down at Frank. “I know. You’re just not a submissive person, and I don’t want you to be. I don’t want you to make yourself small for me or get taken down a peg. What we do in bed is just… fun. But I’m afraid I’m blurring lines or something, or that you’re going along with it because you love me.”

Frank blinks at him for a few seconds, then he rolls his eyes. “Man, you really don’t know how to just enjoy things, huh?”

Gerard looks up at the ceiling, a smile forming on his lips. “Frankie,” he groans. Frank laughs.

“Come on, I’m just teasing. Mostly,” he says, lifting up to place a soft kiss on Gerard’s mouth. “I do love you, but I’m not just going along with anything. I don’t feel small, I don’t feel like you’re punishing me or anything. I like it. I like being submissive here.”

“Yeah?” Gerard’s eyes are wide and earnest. Frank is so stupidly in love he doesn’t know what to do.

“Yeah,” he says, more seriously now. “For a long time, I managed tours and schedules and people. And even though it’s not my job anymore, I still manage you. Which I’m happy to do, by the way. But yeah, it feels good to give up a little control sometimes. Especially with someone I love, someone I trust. And I know you need to feel in control sometimes, and I like giving you that. I know what I’m doing, baby. I know what I like.”

Gerard holds tighter onto Frank’s waist. “For real?”

“For real. Plus, there’s the added benefit of it being extremely fucking hot.”

Gerard rolls his eyes and kisses Frank, all warmth and tenderness, and Frank gives it right back. 

“Thank you,” Frank says when they pull apart. “It means a lot to me that you care about making sure I’m comfortable.”

“You’re welcome,” Gerard says. “I just love you, you know?”

“I know. I love you too.”

*

The second week, they finally make it out of the house. They say it’s because they’re making good on their promise to see Waterbury, but Frank thinks it’s probably because they’ve finished fucking on every available surface in the house and they need something else to do. Plus, he’s not an idiot. Gerard is great about keeping up with him, but he’s 46 years old now. Frank knows he needs a break.

They passed by a mall on the way into town, and they decide to spend an afternoon there. It feels nostalgic. Frank and Gerard both spent hours in New Jersey malls growing up, and it seems like fun to go to this one together.

The second they step inside (Frank still nauseous from nerves because Gerard insisted he drive and then proceeded to get distracted by the car radio and run two red lights), they realize it’s dead. It’s Saturday afternoon and no one is around, and half of the storefronts are closed, littered with FOR LEASE signs that have probably been up for a year. The food court has two open kiosks: a pretzel place and a Burger King, neither of which looks appetizing in any way. The escalators look worn, like they would combust if someone actually tried to use them. Frank is immediately enamored.

“Oh, this is great,” Gerard says, echoing Frank’s thoughts. “Do you think it’s haunted?” 

Frank thinks he’s probably found his soulmate.

“I don’t know,” he replies. His hand finds Gerard’s easily as they begin to walk. “Who would the ghosts be? 2000s teens?”

“Probably. I bet they’d be the worst fucking ghosts,” Gerard says. “They’d be so annoying about, like, their calls not going through.”

Frank laughs. “There’s your next play.”

“God, no work talk. I was serious about taking a break. I want to spend at least a year and a half doing nothing but walking around dead malls with you.”

“Sounds perfect,” Frank sighs.

“I don’t expect you not to work, just so you know,” Gerard says, squeezing Frank’s hand. “I could support both of us, and I would if that’s what you wanted. But I know it’s not, and I love that about you. After we finish Killjoys, you can do whatever you want. Be a barista, write more, whatever.”

“I know,” Frank says. He does know, but he’s thankful whenever Gerard says it. Gerard has written and directed three broadway shows in five years, and he’s about to write a screenplay. He probably needs a break, and he deserves it. But in those five years, Frank has… not done much of anything, really. Co-writing Killjoys is an insane gift, and he’s not going to waste it by immediately becoming a sugar baby once it’s finished. Gerard’s never seemed like the type of person that wants that kind of relationship, and Frank is grateful for all the reminders.

They wander around slowly, because there’s no reason not to. They don’t have anywhere to be. Just right here, hands linked, boots echoing faintly on tile floors that have seen better - years? decades? They make a game out of guessing what the empty storefronts used to be. Some of them are easy, like the gaudy Hollister roof and the fake industrial Hot Topic facade. Most of them are harder, and they make up little stories about what store could have existed there based on the size of the store and whatever they can see when they look inside the windows. 

They dip into whatever stores are open, just to laugh at the junk they’re selling. Frank catches their reflection in a mirror: Gerard in his oversized coat (because it’s April but somehow the high is only in the fucking 40s), hair doing whatever it wants, Frank leaning into him without thinking, eyes bright. He feels a swell in his chest, familiar but still surprising. Like happiness can still sneak up on him, can still knock him out.

They don’t separate their hands. Not surprising, because Frank and Gerard hate not touching each other. But it still feels so good to hold hands in a mall in Connecticut, not even worried about it, not giving a shit who will see. Frank keeps swinging their hands between them like a kid. He doesn’t even register he’s doing it until Gerard laughs softly.

“You’re really happy,” Gerard says.

Frank grimaces. “Yeah. I know. It’s embarrassing.”

“No,” Gerard says. “It’s nice.”

After hours wandering around, they sit on a bench near a fountain that isn’t on. Frank leans back, stretching his legs out, and Gerard immediately leans his head on Frank’s shoulder, draping his hand lazily across Frank’s thigh. Frank presses a kiss into Gerard’s hair without thinking about it. 

It feels easy. Everything feels easy. “This is really good,” Frank murmurs. “Right now, I mean.”

“I know,” Gerard says. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Same,” Frank admits. “But maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe it won’t.”

Gerard tilts his head to look up at him. “You feel okay?” he asks. “Being here with me? Being together, in public like this?”

Frank smiles, soft and honest. “I feel really okay,” he says. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I feel like I can breathe.”

Frank cups his jaw, thumb warm against Gerard’s cheek. “I’m happy with you,” he says, because it feels important. “I’m really, really happy.”

Gerard kisses him, brief and sweet and a little shy, even here in the dead mall with no one watching. Frank laughs against his mouth before pulling away.

“When you were fantasizing about running off to Waterbury, did you ever think you’d be doing it with a 24 year old punk?”

“No,” Gerard says. “In my wildest dreams I did not think I’d be running away with a 24 year old twink.”

Frank gasps dramatically. “A twink?”

Gerard grins, all mock-seriousness. “Yeah, you know. You’re small and you have that hair -”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“- and those slutty lower back tattoos -”

“They are not slutty!”

“- plus you’re, like, the bottom of all bottoms.”

“Oh my god!” Frank practically shouts, trying not to laugh. “I liked you better when you were shy and awkward and hid in your office. Where’s that guy?”

“You’re never gonna see him again, unfortunately,” Gerard replies, standing up and taking Frank’s hand. “I don’t think you even really want to.”

“I don’t,” Frank confirms. “Let’s go home, my feet are killing me. I can’t imagine how bad your knees hurt.”

“Frank -”

“Get it? Because you’re old?”

Gerard groans loudly. “I guess I deserved that one.”

*

One evening later that week, Gerard declares that he is tired of pasta.

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Frank says from his position on the couch, under a throw blanket. Seriously, how is it so cold here in the spring? “Also, you’ve barely graduated from peeling garlic, so I don’t think we should do anything more advanced.”

“Come on! What about… Impossible burgers? Those have to be easy, and I know you’ve made them a million times.”

Frank squints at Gerard. “Is this your roundabout way of asking me to make you burgers?”

Gerard shrugs, but his grin says it all.

“We don’t have the stuff,” Frank points out.

“The store is, like, five minutes away. Come on.”

“No,” Frank whines. “I’m cold and you drive like you want to kill me. Let’s just order in or something.”

“No way,” Gerard says, standing up from the couch. “I like cooking with you, it’s a cozy domestic fever dream. I’m not giving that up for Doordash. Not till we’re back in New York. Groceries. Now.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny that Gerard always knows what to say. 

It’s not too late, but they’d both rather be at home, so they split up in the store. Frank handles the produce. He absentmindedly squeezes a tomato while he watches Gerard in the bakery section, looking for fancy hamburger buns. He’s in a hoodie and jeans, and he looks so soft like this, in a grocery store where no one gives a shit who he is. Frank makes a pact with himself that he’s really going to make a go of writing. Maybe he’ll make really good money and they can buy a house out here. Maybe even the house they’re staying in. A little escape for them -

“You look like you’re trying to kill that tomato,” a voice says pleasantly next to him, snapping him out of his fantasy.

“Oh.” He looks down and sees that he does have the tomato in a death grip. Then he looks up and sees a guy next to him, maybe early twenties, floppy hair, wearing a UCONN hoodie. He’s cute, in that vague New England way. Frank smiles. “I guess I need to buy this one, then. To make up for torturing it.”

The guy grins. “Yeah, gotta be nice to the tomatoes. I’m trying to find a good avocado, but I can never figure out how to pick one.”

“I’ve heard that you have to find one that feels like someone’s cheek.”

The guy laughs, his eyes sparkling green. “That sounds kind of gross.”

“Yeah, it does. I don’t think it works, either. I always pick the bad ones.”

“Do you?” the guy asks. Something in his voice has shifted, and suddenly Frank realizes how close this guy is standing. Shit.

“Yeah,” he replies brightly, angling away just a little.

“You live near here?” The guy’s tone isn’t salacious, but Frank can tell what he’s really asking. And he’s flattered, but he’s not even a little bit interested.

“No, actually,” he replies. “I’m here on vacation.”

“Here? On vacation? There’s, like, nothing to do here. Some breweries, maybe.”

Bingo. “Oh, I’m not really into breweries, my boyfriend doesn’t drink.”

The guy’s face falls just a little, just for a second. “Your -”

“Frank?”

Gerard’s voice cuts in gently but unmistakably. Frank turns and sees him behind them, carrying brioche buns.

“Hey baby,” Frank says. “This is, uh.” He turns back to the guy. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Frank, this is Gerard.”

“Evan,” the guy says, smiling brightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, bother you or anything.”

Gerard doesn’t say anything, just smiles as his hand settles at Frank’s lower back. Evan blinks.

“No worries at all,” Frank says. “Good luck with the avocados.”

Evan laughs. “Yeah, thanks.” He gives a little wave and turns in the direction of the avocados, an aisle over.

Frank exhales, still smiling, and turns back to Gerard. “Got some buns?”

Gerard nods. “Yeah.”

Frank notices a shift in Gerard immediately. His shoulders are hunched, and his smile is tight. He looks stressed out.

“You okay?” Frank asks softly.

“Yeah,” Gerard says. “I’m fine.”

The rest of the trip is… weird. Gerard answers questions, but briefly. He doesn’t make jokes. He doesn’t lean into Frank like he usually does, doesn’t comment on cereal mascots or argue about brands. In the car, the silence stretches uncomfortably, and Gerard actually obeys the laws of traffic. Frank would kind of rather fear for his life.

He lets it sit for five minutes after they get home. He takes the groceries in from the car and finds a skillet, Gerard following him the whole time but not saying anything. And finally Frank can’t take it. He turns around and leans on the counter. “Okay, what’s up?”

Gerard looks shocked. “Nothing.”

“Gee, you’re retreating into yourself so hard I’m surprised you can even hear me.”

Gerard looks at the ceiling, exhales through his nose. He looks incredibly similar to the way he looked their first night together, when Frank pulled Gerard’s shirt off and he immediately started shutting down. Frank does the same thing he did that night. He puts a hand on Gerard’s chest and uses the other to force Gerard to look at him. “Did I do something?” he asks quietly.

There’s a pause. Gerard’s shoulders rise and fall as he hesitates, then he just comes out with it. “The guy flirting with you,” Gerard says. “Evan.”

Frank blinks. “Gee, you know I -”

“Yes, absolutely,” Gerard says immediately. “I know you weren’t flirting, I know it didn’t mean anything to you. I’m not… accusing you of anything. It just - it just hit me all at once.”

“What hit you?”

Gerard’s hands find Frank’s hips. “That this is what I’m signing up for. People are always going to flirt with you. You’re beautiful and fun and you make everyone feel special. People are drawn to you, and I’m just a reclusive writer that got lucky.”

“Whoa, baby, no,” Frank whispers, moving the hand on Gerard’s neck to cup his cheek. “I don’t think that way about you at all.”

“I know that. I just see you moving through the world with so much confidence and ease, and it feels like people can’t even imagine that you would be with me. Like people think I’m some kind of placeholder.”

“Gee.”

“I know. I know it’s just my own shit. But I saw him smile at you, and I saw you smile back, and I know you could have anyone, and I hate the idea of losing you.”

Frank presses his forehead to Gerard’s. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here.”

“I don’t mean to be possessive. I don’t think I’m explaining myself very well.”

“I know what you mean. I promise I’m not shopping around or waiting for something better. I want you, I want this. You’re beautiful and you’re fun and I love you. Just you. Just as you are.”

Gerard looks into Frank’s eyes, squeezing his hips. “I love you, too.”

“I mean it,” Frank says, because he can tell Gerard needs a little more reassurance, and he’s happy to give it. “I don’t have eyes for anyone else. It didn’t even occur to me to consider whether that guy was into me. I was too busy swooning over how fucking meticulous you are about buying bread.”

That gets a laugh out of Gerard, a real one. “You’re pushing it.”

“I’m serious! You’re hot and smart and funny and you care way too much about the buns we’re going to use for my shitty homemade burgers. I’m so in love with you it makes me crazy. And you think I give a shit about whether some Waterbury guy wants to sleep with me? You’re it for me. I promise.”

Gerard smiles and kisses Frank, and Frank knows he feels better. They “cook together,” which consists of Frank actually cooking and Gerard taking fifteen minutes to slice the tomato, and they eat, and Frank burrows under a bunch of blankets while they watch television. It’s the same routine they’ve had most nights over the past week and a half, but something feels off. Frank feels off. He can’t believe that Gerard still feels this way, still thinks of their relationship as something fragile. 

They go through the rest of their nightly routine, brushing their teeth and pulling on their pajamas, cuddling in the middle of the bed. Gerard turns the bedside light off and kisses Frank’s hair. But Frank can’t let it go.

“Baby,” he says. “You know I wasn’t with anyone else after we’d broken up, right?”

Gerard stiffens for half a second, then relaxes. Frank understands. Neither of them like talking about that month that they weren’t together. But it seems important right now.

“Okay,” Gerard whispers. “Me either.” 

“I didn’t want to be with anyone else. I never want to be with anyone else, okay?”

Gerard doesn’t answer for a minute. Frank lets him process, even though every second Gerard is silent makes him more anxious. Finally, Gerard whispers, “Why?”

Frank pushes himself up so his hands cage Gerard’s face. Even in the dark, Frank can see him - the sparkling hazel of his eyes, the sharp curve of his upturned nose, the softness of his jawline, every inch of him beautiful. He’s so fucking beautiful here, in this house surrounded by nothing but trees and hills, completely unburdened by all of the work and expectation waiting for him in SoHo. Frank is gone for Gerard. He wants nothing more than to spend every day learning about him, laughing with him, doing right by him. He doesn’t believe in soulmates, but he believes that Gerard is as perfect for him as a person can get.

He doesn’t say all that. He doesn’t know how. Instead, he just says, “I love you. I can’t describe how much I love you, it’s too big. But I do.”

Gerard wraps his arms around Frank’s waist. “I love you too. It… hurts, sometimes. It’s like I’m letting you walk around with my heart in your hands, and you can do whatever you want with it. And I just have to trust that you’ll take care of it. I’ve never done that with anyone before, and it’s so fucking scary.”

Frank crushes their mouths together. He can’t not, not after that. “You know you have my heart, too,” he says against Gerard’s lips.

“I know.”

“You trust me, right? To take care of it? Of you?”

“Yes,” Gerard says, and it comes out like a moan. The sound goes straight down Frank’s spine to his dick, and he grinds down without meaning to. He kisses at Gerard’s face and neck and feels Gerard grip his waist, pulling him down again. The air suddenly feels thick, heavy. The sheer weight of Gerard’s devotion makes Frank’s head swim. He wants to devour this man. He wants to prove, through every inch of skin, that there’s nowhere safer for Gerard’s heart than Frank's hands.

Frank breaks the kiss, but only to trail his mouth down Gerard’s throat, tasting the salt of his skin and the frantic pulse at the base of his neck. He pulls away just long enough to pull his own shirt off, watching hungrily as Gerard follows his lead. His mouth finds Gerard’s collarbone as quickly as possible. He feels Gerard’s fingers tangle in his hair, a silent plea, to stay or move further Frank can’t tell. So he chooses further.

He slides down Gerard's body, his chest dragging against Gerard’s as he moves. He stops at Gerard’s midsection, the part Gerard had been so quick to cover their first night together. Frank doesn't need to see the softness Gerard hates. He’s seen it countless times, and here, in the dark of the house, he can feel it. It feels like a privilege to feel it, to get to touch him here. Frank presses a slow, lingering kiss to the center of Gerard’s stomach, then drags Gerard’s pajama pants down to press another to the curve of his hip.

“You’re perfect,” Frank whispers against his skin, his voice muffled. “Every fucking inch of you. You know that?”

He feels Gerard’s stomach muscles flutter under his lips, a sharp intake of breath echoing in the quiet room. Frank continues his descent, pulling Gerard’s pajamas down little by little. His mouth finds Gerard’s thigh, his kneecap, his shin. Suddenly, Gerard is completely naked under him, his cock hard and flushed dark. This doesn’t happen often, Frank clothed on top of him, setting the pace, but he really feels like Gerard needs this right now. Or maybe Frank needs it, needs to take care of Gerard.

He settles on his knees, hands sliding down to grip Gerard’s thighs, pulling them wide. He feels like he’s kneeling at an altar. He’s worshipping this man. He wants to, wants to make Gerard understand that he worships him every second of every day. 

He reaches out, his hands roaming upward to find Gerard’s again, lacing their fingers together and pinning Gerard's hands to the mattress by his shoulders. He wants Gerard open, he wants Gerard to know he’s allowed to be exposed, that he’ll always be taken care of.

“Frankie,” Gerard whispers, and it’s a beautiful sound. 

When Frank finally takes him into his mouth, he does it with a slow, deliberate reverence that makes Gerard let out a broken, high-pitched moan. Frank isn't in a rush. He wants to taste every part of him, to feel the way Gerard pulses against his tongue, to hear the way his breath hitches and breaks. He uses his tongue to trace the length, the underside, the head, so fucking slow, and then he takes him to the root. 

“Frank,” Gerard gasps, his voice a ragged sob. “Oh god, please.”

Frank only hums against him. He sucks deep, swirling his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in the heat and the scent of him. He can feel Gerard’s hips beginning to buck, a desperate, uncoordinated search for friction, but Frank keeps his grip firm on Gerard’s hands, keeping him anchored to the bed. He wants Gerard to feel nothing but his absolute, unwavering devotion. He wants Gerard to know that there could never be anyone else, that Frank could never want anything other than this.

He picks up the pace slightly, in tune with the symphony of sounds Gerard is making. His movements are based off the whimpers, the choked-off curses, the way Gerard says his name. He knows what Gerard wants, what he needs, and it’s a rush. It feels so fucking good and so fucking right.

As Gerard gets closer, his body tension reaches a fever pitch. His thighs are trembling against Frank’s ears, and his fingers are crushing Frank's in a white-knuckled grip. Frank doesn't let go. He drinks him in, meeting every frantic thrust of Gerard’s hips with a deeper, more demanding hold.

When Gerard finally breaks, it’s a total collapse. He cries out, his body arching off the bed as he comes, and Frank stays right there, taking every drop, refusing to pull away until the very last aftershock has rippled through Gerard’s frame.

Frank eventually crawls back up the bed, sliding back into the space beside Gerard. He pulls a shivering, sweat-slicked Gerard into his arms, tucking Gerard's head under his chin. The silence of the Waterbury woods settles over them again, but it feels different now. Fuller.

“I’ve got you,” Frank whispers into the dark, pressing a kiss to Gerard’s damp forehead. “I’ve always got you.”

“Frankie, that was -” Gerard takes a breath, his exhale warm on Frank’s skin. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Frank says. “Forever, okay?”

“Okay.”

*

There’s no coffee machine in the house. Instead, there’s a grinder and a french press. It makes really good coffee, and Gerard loves it, but Frank thinks the whole process is way too long to do more than once a day. He starts going to a cafe a few minutes away to pick up coffee for himself and Gerard in the afternoons, when all Gerard wants to do is smoke and draw in the backyard. Frank loves doing it. It reminds him of when he started bringing coffee to Gerard’s, before they were ever together, but there’s a new domesticity to it. When he hands Gerard his coffee - always hot with one ice cube - Gerard hums without looking at him, but it doesn’t feel rude. It just feels routine, like Gerard doesn’t need to look up to know Frank has brought him something, and Frank doesn’t need Gerard to look at him to know he’s grateful. 

And it’s also nice to drive the car himself and know he’s not in danger of getting in a massive wreck.

A couple of weeks into their trip, the baristas know him by name. They see him and immediately start making the Americano because Gerard’s order never changes. They have to wait for Frank to order, though, because he gets something different every day.

“Hey Frank,” Hayley says brightly when he comes in. “What’ll it be today?”

“Let’s do this honey lavender thing,” Frank replies. “Iced. With almond milk.”

“Coming up.” Hayley rings him up and starts making the drinks. “Any big plans for the weekend?”

“Not really,” Frank says. “We’re leaving next weekend. We meant to do more stuff, but we just haven’t wanted to leave the house.”

“Mm,” Hayley says. “Fucking too much?”

“Jesus, Hayles, no,” Frank laughs. He realizes he’s pretty sore, he’s been sore since the day after they got here. “Well, maybe.”

“That’s what vacation is for,” Hayley says sagely.

“You know what, you’re right. Do you have any big plans?”

“Nothing big. My friends and I might go to Holy Land.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s this old abandoned Jesus theme park. Have you not heard of it?”

“No.”

“It’s cool. Easy to break into. You definitely have to go before you leave. It’s, like, the only thing to do in Waterbury.”

“Well, there’s the mall. My boyfriend and I have gone a couple of times, we end up walking around for hours.”

Hayley makes a face. “I haven’t spent hours in that mall since I was, like, nine.”

It takes Frank all of three minutes to convince Gerard to go to Holy Land. He doesn’t even seem especially concerned that it’s technically not open to the public. “There’s so much I could draw here,” he says later that night, looking at photos on his phone. “I’ve broken into worse places to draw.”

They go the next day. They basically walk right in. The park is big and there’s no security anywhere. There’s a big HOLY LAND USA sign, and a giant cross that looks like it lights up, and an old miniature version of Bethlehem that you can walk through. Except for the cross, everything looks handmade and haphazard. It’s spooky, like it used to be hallowed ground but then it was abandoned. It’s cool. Frank would like it better if it were warmer.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t bring a coat,” Gerard says when Frank complains about the weather for the fifth time.

“How was I supposed to know it would be freezing all month?” Frank whines, shoving his hands in the pockets of Gerard’s hoodie, which he’s wearing over his own hoodie. He’s still fucking cold.

“Frankie, it’s 50 degrees.”

“I’m suffering.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Pretty sure you can’t use the Lord’s name in vain here.”

Gerard rolls his eyes as they walk up to some broken fake headstones for Jesus and Mary. “These are fucking weird,” Gerard comments.

“Yeah, I don’t really get this place. Clearly whoever built it was not Catholic, this feels like heresy.”

Gerard laughs and sits down in the grass, pulling his art supplies out of his bag. Frank lays down next to him, staring up at an aggressively blue sky, praying the sun will warm him like a lizard. He lets Gerard sketch for a bit in silence, alternating between looking at the sky and looking at his boyfriend deep in concentration. He loves watching Gerard work. He always has, even when he couldn’t admit that he was infatuated. Back when Frank first started, he’d let himself get so sucked in at the workshops, watching the way Gerard’s brow furrowed or how his lips moved when he talked to himself. It’s always been clear that Gerard is most confident in creative mode. Even now, sitting on dead grass sketching these weird headstones, he looks like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

“So you grew up Catholic?” Gerard says absently. “I remember you telling me you went to Catholic school.”

Frank smiles. He must have mentioned Catholic school months ago, and it was just a throwaway comment. He can’t believe Gerard doesn’t remember what time his meetings are, but he remembers that. “Yeah, my mom is super Catholic so I was, like, altar boy adjacent. Mass every Sunday, fish on Fridays during Lent, the whole nine yards. You?”

“Well, not that bad,” Gerard replies, grinning but not looking up from his sketch, “but yeah, we were a very Catholic family. Mikey and I didn’t really get it. It mostly seemed like a bunch of stupid rules. Thankfully, my parents didn’t push it too hard. I think they just wanted us to have structure, but it didn’t stick.”

“Shame,” Frank says. “You really do need some structure in your life.”

“Well, that’s what I have you for.” Gerard winks. 

Frank smiles wide and rolls onto his side to watch Gerard better. They’re quiet for a minute, listening to the scratch of Gerard’s pencil across the paper. Then Frank says, without really knowing why, “It was kind of weird, being Catholic and then finding out I liked guys. Like, I grew up with this whole framework for the world and then I realized I don’t exist in that framework at all.”

“It was hard, for sure,” Gerard replies. “The church is so welcoming and then suddenly you’re the problem, and they don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Is that why you stopped, like, going to church?” 

“Kind of. Like I said, religion just felt like a bunch of rules, and I never really understood where we were getting the rules from. The bible? The priests? Like, who’s making these decisions? When I realized I was gay, I knew I was breaking a major rule. And it was hard enough to be gay, I didn’t need to spend my life feeling like I was breaking rules by being alive.”

“Yes! Exactly,” Frank says. “I don’t think I even realized how much I’d internalized that stuff until way later. Like, I stopped believing in God way before I stopped feeling guilty about everything.”

Gerard glances over at him. “Do you miss it? Believing?”

Frank considers that. The wind cuts through Gerard’s hoodie and he shivers. Gerard reaches out and rubs his palm up Frank’s side.

“Sometimes,” Frank says. “Not the rules or the guilt. But the idea that there was some bigger plan. That things happen for a reason. It’s comforting, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says quietly. “I get that.”

“Do you believe in God?”

Gerard just looks at Frank for a beat, but eventually he nods. “I do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Like I said, not religion. That’s bullshit. But… this is going to sound really fucked up and pretentious. But I feel like I have an insane talent. Writing, connecting with people through art, that’s some next-level shit. I feel like it’s God-given, like it’s a gift. And I’m here so it doesn’t get wasted.” Gerard pauses, and then huffs an uncomfortable laugh. “Does that sound so stupid?”

“No,” Frank says, and he means it. 

Gerard smiles, squeezes Frank’s hip, and goes back to drawing. They sit in silence for a bit, broken only by the scratch of Gerard’s pencil and the distant sound of traffic from somewhere below the hill. Frank watches Gerard’s hands, the way his fingers smudge graphite without him even noticing.

“It’s kind of funny,” Gerard says suddenly. “How much we don’t know about each other.”

Frank blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Gerard shrugs. “For the first two months we knew each other, we only really talked about work. And we know each other now, but there are still, like… gaps.”

Frank grins. “You saying you’re gonna get sick of me once you learn everything about my childhood?”

“Of course not.” Gerard shoves Frank’s thigh with his toes. “It’s just strange, and kind of amazing, that I feel this sure about us even though there’s still stuff I don’t know.”

Frank hums. “I don’t think I could learn anything about you that would make me love you less.”

“Same here.”

Frank stares up at the big cross on the hill. “Sometimes I think about how easily we could’ve never met. Do you think about that? Like, if I hadn’t asked Geoff for that interview. If you hadn’t needed an assistant. If I’d slept in that day. Any tiny thing, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

Gerard pauses his drawing. “I don’t know,” he says. “I kind of think we would’ve found each other anyway.”

Frank laughs. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I’m serious,” Gerard insists, glancing at him. “It feels inevitable. Like it was supposed to be this way.”

Frank chews on that. “So you believe in fate?”

Gerard hesitates. “I don’t know if I believe in fate or soulmates or anything like that. I haven’t thought about it a whole lot.” He looks back down at his sketchbook, then reaches for Frank’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “But I really believe I was meant to be with you. However that works.”

Frank’s throat goes tight. He squeezes Gerard’s hand. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

The sun dips behind a cloud, and Frank shivers again.

“Okay,” he groans. “We need to move before I freeze to death on cursed Christian property.”

Gerard laughs, closing his sketchbook. “I don’t think that’ll get you to martyrdom.”

“If I die of hypothermia out here, I will absolutely haunt you until you make sure I get sainthood.”

“Frank Iero, Patron Saint of Whiners.”

They wander up to the giant cross, which seems to be the popular spot here. A couple groups are milling around, taking pictures. Gerard and Frank lean under a tree and pull out cigarettes, just watching the crowd. They love to people watch, they do it all the time. They pass hours in the cafe by their apartment or Grand Central late at night, making up stories about the people they see. It feels good to do that here, too. It feels good to have something that’s so completely theirs. 

After a minute, Frank notices a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen with a shock of teal hair, sort of staring at them. She keeps looking at her phone and then at them, not subtle at all. Gerard doesn’t seem to notice. At first Frank feels defensive about it, wondering if she’s staring at them because of their age difference or the fact that it’s two guys, but then he realizes she’s not looking at them. She’s looking at Gerard.

Frank nudges Gerard gently with his elbow, interrupting the story he’s making up about a bald guy who’s yelling on his phone. “Hey,” he murmurs. “I think you’ve got a fan.”

Gerard frowns. “What?”

Frank tilts his head just enough. The kid notices. She freezes then commits, walking over to them tentatively.

“Sorry,” she says. “I just, uh, are you Gerard Way?”

Gerard’s eyes go a little wide, but he smiles, dropping his cigarette. “I am,” he says. “Hi.”

“Wow, holy shit,” the girl giggles. “I mean, hi. My name is Eleanor, I love your work. I don’t want to be weird or anything. I saw Three Cheers on Broadway and it, like, changed my life. It made me want to be a writer.”

Frank feels pride and awe hit him all at once. He’s never seen this happen before, and seeing a teenager gushing over Gerard's work, saying it inspired them, makes him feel honored to be able to breathe the same air. He watches Gerard listen, nodding, eyes soft, like this conversation really matters to him.

“Thank you,” Gerard says, genuinely. “That means a lot.”

Eleanor swallows. “Could I maybe get an autograph? If that’s okay?”

Gerard laughs a little. “Yeah, of course. Do you have something?”

“Um, actually…” she rummages through her giant purse and pulls out a copy of Killjoys. “I just got this the other day,” she says, blushing.

“Cool,” Gerard replies, looking delighted. He takes the book and turns to Frank. “Got a pen?”

Frank grins so hard his face might crack. Gerard has pens, he has all his art stuff with him. But the question is automatic at this point. So is Frank’s answer. “Always,” he says, pulling one out of his back pocket.

Gerard shoots him an amused look and signs the first page of the book. “We’re turning this one into a movie,” he says as he hands Eleanor the book back. “Me and Frank.”

Eleanor’s eyes flick to Frank like she just noticed he existed. “Oh, are you Frank? Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything.”

“You didn’t,” Frank says pleasantly. “I am Frank, though. Nice to meet you.”

“Frank’s my boyfriend,” Gerard offers. “And my writing partner.”

He says it so easily, like it’s a basic boring fact. It makes Frank insanely giddy. His smile gets impossibly wider.

“Nice to meet you,” Eleanor says. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. I just can’t believe I met Gerard Way. Thank you so much.”

Gerard nods at her, still grinning. She gives them both a little wave and wanders off.

“Does that happen a lot?” Frank asks.

“Once or twice,” Gerard answers. The grin has not left his face.

Frank elbows him. “You like that.”

Gerard shrugs, but he giggles a little. “I would hate it if it happened all the time. But… I don’t know, it’s nice to see that I’ve had an effect on people.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Frank says. 

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Frankie.”

“I am! You’ve worked so hard, and you’ve inspired so many people, and I’m so lucky that I get to be around to watch it happen. I’m proud of you. And I love you. So. Deal with it.”

Gerard kisses Frank’s cheek. “Thank you, sugar. Should we start heading home?”

“Let’s get coffee on the way. Something hot, so I can warm up before I get frostbite or something.”

“Frank Iero, Patron Saint of the Overdramatic.”

It’s Frank’s turn to kiss Gerard on the cheek. “No, baby. That’s you.”

*

The last week in Connecticut stretches out in front of them. It feels bittersweet. On one hand, Frank is ready to get back to New York. He’d barely settled in by the time they left, and as April turns into May, Frank knows they only have a few weeks before they really have to start working on the screenplay. He wants to get comfortable in this new life before he starts writing. 

On the other hand, this month has been something out of a dream. Quiet in a way Frank has literally never experienced. It’s easy to think they’re in their own little world, and it’s warm and comfortable and basically perfect. They made so many memories here, and he’s sad that they’re going to have to leave.

The last Monday of their trip, Frank’s in the living room on his phone trying to find something for them to do when he hears Gerard call his name from the kitchen.

“Yeah?” he calls back.

“Can you come in here?” Gerard sounds timid, scared. Frank hauls himself up, wondering if Gerard broke something.

When he gets in the kitchen, Gerard is looking at his phone, coffee forgotten on the counter. He’s paler than usual.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

Gerard closes his eyes and sighs. “If I ask you something, can you promise not to make a joke about it?”

“Depends on the question.”

Gerard looks at him then, deadly serious. “Please.”

Frank frowns. “Okay.”

“Did I… have I ever done something… have you ever felt pressured?”

Frank blinks. “What are you talking about?”

“Back then. At that gala, or before. Did I ever… pressure you into something, or -”

“Gerard. What’s going on?”

Gerard winces, then slides his phone to Frank. It’s open on a Reddit page, some bullshit New York gossip subreddit. The top post is a picture of… them. They’re holding hands at the mall, Frank leaned into Gerard’s side, grinning like idiots. The headline is almost nasty in its simplicity.

Playwright Gerard Way (46) seen out with former assistant (24).

Frank’s heart stutters, but he’s not freaking out yet. They knew this would happen eventually. Sure, it bothers him that he’s referred to as a “former assistant,” that his name isn’t even in the headline, but whatever. He clicks on the post, scrolls past the short caption, and reads through a few of the most upvoted comments. That’s when his stomach drops.

I always got a bad vibe from him… makes sense

One day that kid is going to realize he was manipulated

This is basically grooming

Sorry but if the assistant was a girl everyone would be screaming

That age gap is not okay idc

He was his assistant. That’s a power imbalance, full stop.

Frank’s throat tightens. He reads faster, like if he gets through them all he’ll be immune. Like ripping off a bandage, except the bandage is his skin. Gerard gives him time, staring into his coffee mug while Frank tortures himself.

Belatedly, he realizes he didn’t actually answer Gerard’s question. “None of this is true,” he says. “I never felt pressured. I made my own choices.”

Gerard looks pained when he finally looks at Frank. “But I kissed you.”

“Yeah, and then you told me in the elevator that we didn’t have to do anything, and I dragged you into your apartment and begged you to fuck me. This isn’t hard to figure out. I want to be here.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gerard blurts. “I never - I didn’t think -”

“Gee.” Frank reaches across the counter, covering Gerard’s hand with his own. “Hey. Stop.”

Gerard laughs weakly. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Frank squeezes his fingers. He really, really wishes Gerard knew how to stop. He feels like a rug has been pulled out from under him, like he’s missed a step or two on a staircase. He can’t believe this is how people think of him, as a nobody who could get sucked into someone’s web. He wants to panic, wants to scream. But he can’t do that right now, not with Gerard this torn up. “These people don’t know anything about us,” he says, as much to himself as to Gerard.

“I know that,” Gerard says. “But what if - what if there’s something I didn’t see? What if I - God, Frank, what if I took advantage of you without realizing it?”

“I would have realized it. I’m not an idiot.” It’s a little sharper than he intends, and he can see discomfort flash across Gerard’s face. He takes a breath and readjusts his focus. Okay. He just needs to get Gerard to stop spiraling. “How did you find this?” he asks, his tone softer.

“Geoff,” Gerard scoffs. “He wanted to make sure I knew because of how much traction it was getting, what they were saying.”

“Okay. Is he monitoring it?”

“Yeah. He says no one’s picked it up. Thank god I’m not, like, actually famous. But he’s going to let me know if it gets farther than this.”

“That’s good. I’ll call him later, talk to him about maybe giving Paramount a heads up. If he thinks we need to, then I can write them an email or schedule a call -”

“Frank.” Gerard’s eyes are wide and a little glassy, and he’s got this urgent kind of look that makes Frank shut up immediately. “Thank you for trying to figure this out, but you’re not my assistant, okay? I don’t need an assistant right now. I need my boyfriend.”

There’s a fear in Gerard’s eyes that softens all the sharpness Frank feels. He steps forward and wraps Gerard in his arms, letting him collapse a little bit into his arms. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says. He doesn’t know if he believes it.

He gets Gerard on the couch and gets the coffee in his hands. He puts both of their phones in the bedroom and finds a shitty horror movie on Netflix. He curls into Gerard’s side and waits.

About 45 minutes into the movie, Gerard finally talks. “I can’t stop thinking about those first few months. Everything I said to you, everything I felt. I keep wondering if -”

“If I’m some kind of idiot baby who can’t make his own decisions?” Frank finishes.

“That’s not what I meant, sugar.”

“I’m sorry, I know,” Frank sighs. “But that’s what they’re saying. I was manipulated, I didn’t know what I was doing. That I couldn’t possibly want you without being tricked.”

Gerard flinches. “I don’t think that.”

“But you’re worried it might be true anyway?” Frank asks quietly. Gerard doesn’t answer. 

Frank exhales slowly. He turns to grab Gerard’s jaw. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Look at me.”

Gerard does.

“I was never pressured,” Frank says, steady and firm and so, so sure. “You never crossed a line I didn’t ask you to cross. You told me yourself, you tried to keep your distance. I’m a big boy, okay? I’m an adult. I wanted you. I love you.”

Gerard’s eyes slide closed. “I know, Frankie. I know.”

“So don’t rewrite our history because of fucking… Reddit. Don’t let anyone try and convince you that this was ever wrong. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“Frankie,” Gerard chokes out, leaning forward to press his forehead onto Frank’s thigh. He’s quiet for a minute, but his shoulders are tense, and Frank suddenly realizes that Gerard is about to cry. 

Frank’s never seen Gerard cry before. Not even in the worst of the Black Parade prep, not even when he got overwhelmed with Paramount. His usual MO is to snap, to get angry instead of sad. It doesn’t freak Frank out, exactly. But it is scary to find something that will break Gerard down this much. 

“It’s alright,” he whispers, running his fingers through Gerard’s hair. It’s not, really. Frank is pissed and more than a little bit hurt. He feels a physical ache behind his ribs from holding back all the ranting and yelling he wants to do about these strangers’ perception of him as a weak child. He doesn’t have a firm grasp on how famous Gerard actually is - he’s massively popular and influential in theater circles and the New York scene, but Frank is still new enough to those worlds to not know how far that popularity extends - so he doesn’t really know how much this will spread. He assumes people they know, people they work with, will see this, will see what everyone is saying about them. He knows Gerard is thinking about that, too.

He swallows and turns the volume up on the television. Only one of them needs to spiral at a time, and he knows it can’t be him right now. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s taking care of Gerard Way.

They don’t leave the house for three days. They barely leave the couch. Frank slips into caretaker mode immediately, making Gerard coffee in the morning and forcing him to at least eat lunch. He puts on dumb movies and talks over them, filling the space so Gerard doesn’t have to sit with his thoughts. He holds Gerard’s hand all day and wraps his arms around his waist every night. 

Gerard doesn’t talk a whole lot. He hums at Frank’s jokes and grumbles when Frank forces him to put on different clothes. Frank gives him the space to process. He ignores his own feelings about the post, ignores his simmering resentment about the fact that Gerard can’t just get it together enough for Frank to hurt, too.

They both monitor the post. They know they shouldn’t, but they can’t stop themselves, let alone each other. They spend a lot of time on their phones, watching the engagement tick higher every day, reading comments they should not be reading. There are a lot of arguments about grooming, inappropriate age gaps, whatever. It’s like these random people are using this relationship, which happens to be the happiest and best one Frank’s ever been in, as an avenue to yell about opinions that have nothing to do with Frank or Gerard. Like they’ve forgotten that Frank and Gerard are people, like they only see them as a concept. 

He reads the same words over and over: kid. manipulated. former assistant. Idiot. As if any of these people know anything about him, about his heart.

Gerard has to stop him from replying to comments at least once a day. “People are not going to read your anti-Reddit manifestos,” he says. “Especially when you’re calling them -” he looks over Frank’s shoulder and reads - “‘screen addicted neanderthals’.”

“But they are!” Frank whines. 

“But you’re not,” Gerard says simply. “Just leave it.”

Frank does. But he still reads the comments. They both do.

On Thursday, they’re watching Blair With Project (which is an especially creepy experience in a semi-secluded house in the woods of Connecticut) when Gerard says out of nowhere, “I guess we should have been less concerned about the optics of this and more concerned about the ethics of it.”

Frank doesn’t know why that’s the comment that makes him snap, but it is. He pauses the movie. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Gerard just blinks at him.

“Do you hear yourself? Like, do you actually fucking hear yourself? Five days ago this was the best thing that had ever happened to either of us, and now it’s a fucking moral dilemma?”

“That’s not -”

“Is that how you see me?” Frank demands. “As a problem? As something you need to justify?”

Gerard’s face crumples. “Of course not.”

“Well that’s what it sounds like,” Frank says. His hands are shaking now. “It sounds like all of a sudden you think I’m some stupid kid who got dazzled by a famous guy with a nice apartment.”

“I don’t think that,” Gerard says desperately.

“Then why does it matter so much that strangers on the internet do?” Frank’s voice cracks. “Do you agree with them?”

It’s like the air in the house stops moving. Frank can see the realization wash over Gerard’s face. He grabs both of Frank’s hands in his. “Of course not,” he says, sounding more like himself than he has since the weekend. “No, sugar. Never.”

“I hate this,” Frank says. “I hate that everyone sees me as your assistant, your charity case, as a naive kid who can’t keep it in his pants when he sees money. I hate your fucking money!”

“I know you do,” Gerard says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“And I love that I get to work with you, that I get to write, but I… I don’t love that it fell into my lap, that you gave me the opportunity after we got together. And now - Jesus.” He clears his throat to try and stop the tears from falling, but it doesn’t work. “Now everyone is going to think that I fucked my way into this job. I could win a fucking Oscar and I’d still be the guy whose first writing job was handed to him by his famous boyfriend.”

“It didn’t fall into your lap, Frankie. The Black Parade rewrites -”

“Yeah, like, five people in the world know that I helped with that. Which has always been fine, but…” Frank groans. “The fact is that I was a broke, half-assed tour manager in Jersey and then you pulled me into a life I never even dreamed about having. And now everyone knows, and everyone thinks I’m a naive little punk. You know the post doesn’t have my name? None of the comments? I’m just ‘former assistant.’”

“Not to me,” Gerard says, so quiet and so earnest it brings the tears back. Frank collapses into Gerard, his head on Gerard’s shoulder.

“I know this is, like, your worst nightmare, Gee,” he sobs. “But it’s mine too.”

“Oh, sugar,” Gerard soothes, wrapping Frank in his arms and running his palm up and down his back. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say?”

“You needed me to be stronger.”

“No. Jesus, no. I told you, that’s not what I want from you anymore, okay? You’re not my assistant. You’re my boyfriend. The person I love. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to make my life easier. I want to be able to help you, you just have to let me. You have to tell me how you feel.”

Frank is sobbing now. It feels less like anger and more like relief. He didn’t realize how much he needed Gerard to say that to him, how much he needed permission to just be himself. “You’re the love of my life,” he says. It may be overdramatic, but it’s true. It’s how he feels.

Gerard holds him a little tighter. “You’re the love of mine.” 

They stay on the couch a little longer, cuddling silently until the sun goes down. It feels a little like they’re finding their rhythm again, letting the internet thing roll off their shoulders for the first time in days. 

Eventually, Gerard kisses the top of Frank’s head. “Wanna go to bed?” he asks. 

Frank nods and lets Gerard pull him to the bedroom. They strip down to boxers and tee shirts and get under the covers. Gerard presses his chest to Frank’s back. And suddenly, Frank is so turned on he can’t think.

They haven’t so much as touched each other since Monday, which is probably the longest they’ve held off since they got back together. And Frank is suddenly feeling it. He feels so unburdened, so held, weirdly energetic. He wants to fuck the love of his life until the sun comes up.

Gerard seems to feel the same way, grinding slowly into Frank’s ass. “Sugar,” he breathes into Frank’s hair. “Sugar, you know it’s only you.”

“I know,” Frank says, shaking a little as Gerard’s hand slips under his shirt, dragging his nails up his stomach. “Yeah.”

“I love touching you. Love how loud you are, how bad you want me.”

Frank can feel how hard Gerard is against his ass. He turns to face Gerard and grabs him through his boxers.  “You wanna fuck me?” he breathes. He knows the answer already.

“Mhm,” Gerard answers, already looking fucked out. They tear their clothes off and Gerard is on top of him in an instant, rolling his hips into Frank’s and licking at the tattoos on his neck.

“Oh god,” Frank whines, already so fucking hard. It’s so dark here it feels like being blindfolded. Frank can feel Gerard’s body so intensely, and he wants it so much he could cry again.

Gerard moves to pull the lube off of the nightstand, and then he rolls Frank back onto his side. He settles behind him, drags Frank’s leg up so his knee is touching his chest, and presses two fingers in, stretching him slowly, deliberately. Frank whimpers.

“God,” Gerard groans, pressing his forehead into the back of Frank’s neck. “You always feel so fucking good, I can’t get enough of you.”

“Gee.” Frank is shaking, already so desperate, but he needs something else right now. He thinks they both do. “Can we - I want to make this last. I need to feel you.” He’s babbling, not even sure what he’s asking for. 

Gerard slows his fingers and kisses Frank’s shoulder. He doesn’t move his mouth away from Frank’s skin when he asks, “Have you ever tried cockwarming?”

Frank shivers hard. “No,” he squeaks. “Have you?”

“A long time ago,” Gerard says, kissing along Frank’s shoulder and up his neck as he answers. “It’s really good, though. It’s slow, I just stay inside you. I don’t move much, just… let us both feel it. See how long we can hold out before we get really desperate.”

“That,” Frank groans, pushing his hips back. “Please.”

Gerard pulls his fingers out, guides himself to Frank’s entrance, and pushes in slowly. Not the usual frantic movement, just a slow, heavy sinking. Intense and desperate in a completely different way than Frank is used to. It’s fucking delicious.

Frank’s eyes roll back in his head as he feels Gerard fill him, the heat and the fullness of it making his breath catch. Gerard doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep, his pubic bone grinding softly against Frank’s ass.

“Oh shit,” Frank groans, tipping his head back against Gerard’s collarbone. He’s already fucking sweating.

“Yeah,” Gerard replies. He wraps his hand around the base of Frank’s cock. Frank hisses at the contact. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” Frank forces out. He feels anchored, so close to the person he loves. He’s burning with it, the stretch and the desire and the devotion. He turns his head to push his mouth against Gerard’s temple. Not kissing, really, just getting another point of contact.

“I’ve got you,” Gerard whispers, his voice thick with a strange mix of adoration and grit. “You feel so perfect, Frankie. So tight and warm.”

Gerard makes these minute, agonizingly slow circles with his hips, just enough to keep the sensation alive without pushing either of them over the edge. Frank moans, and then he can’t stop moaning, can’t stop falling into how good this feels. Gerard is so controlled with his movements, and Frank is leaking all over Gerard’s hand, and he never wants to stop feeling this way. He can feel Gerard straining, his muscles taut and vibrating against Frank’s back. “Just breathe,” he whispers. “You’re right where you belong, sugar. Just breathe for me.”

Frank does, taking huge, gulping breaths as he tries to relax into Gerard’s hold. Gerard stops moving, just letting Frank get used to the feeling. It feels so good in such a strange way, like a low hum of static instead of a series of explosions. He whimpers every time he feels Gerard twitch inside of him. “You feel so good like this, I can’t think straight,” he sighs.

“Frankie,” Gerard murmurs, dragging his nose up and down Frank’s neck. “You’re all I want.”

“Say my name again.” It sounds so good coming from Gerard’s mouth, especially when he’s buried in Frank, one hand on his dick and one hand around his torso, playing idly with his nipple.

“Frankie,” Gerard repeats, nibbling at the skin he can reach with his mouth. “Frankie, Frankie.”

He keeps repeating Frank’s name, so quiet it’s almost a whisper, running his hands and mouth across Frank’s skin. It’s almost too much. It’s a new kind of overstimulation, and it’s addicting. He feels stretched, played with, but not used. Gerard starts moving his hips again, just a little, and Frank slams his head back against Gerard’s shoulder. “Yes,” he groans. “God, it’s perfect, it’s fucking incredible.”

After a minute, Gerard’s pace picks up just a fraction. Frank gasps against his temple. “Not yet, please, baby. Just stay.”

“I’m trying,” Gerard groans. Frank has never heard him sound like this, so gone and reverent, barely in control. “Fuck, I’m trying. You’re making it so hard, you’re so fucking beautiful and you’re holding me so well.”

Frank closes his eyes, surrendering to the sensation. In the pitch black, he can imagine Gerard’s face. The glazed-over look in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Frank reaches out, his hands wandering blindly over Gerard’s hair, his neck. He can feel Gerard sweating, hear his breathing get more labored. 

“I love you,” Frank murmurs, the words a soft prayer against Gerard’s skin. “I love how you feel inside me. I love that you’re doing this for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Gerard pants. Every time he shifts, Frank feels the friction deep in his gut, a slow-burn pleasure building a mountain of tension he doesn’t want to release yet. He can feel Gerard’s cock pulsing inside him, hard and demanding. Frank thinks if there’s a heaven, it’s this.

They stay like that for a long time, Gerard moving gently when he needs to, Frank falling apart slowly, both of them running their mouths. And then, almost without realizing it, Frank pushes into the circle of Gerard’s hand, chasing friction, totally unable to hold off. 

Gerard laughs behind him. “You need more, sugar?”

“God, I don’t - I don’t know,” Frank whines. At least half his brain isn’t working. “I want this to last longer, but I - I can’t…”

“All you have to do is ask,” Gerard groans. His hips have stopped moving, and his cock is pulsing and huge inside of Frank, and all Frank wants to do is roll onto his stomach and let Gerard take what he fucking wants.

His skin feels too tight for his body, every inch of him screaming for release. “Gerard. Okay, move, please.”

Gerard lets out a barely human sound, a low, feral growl that vibrates against Frank’s back. “You sure, sugar?” he rasps, but he’s already pushing Frank over, face-first into the mattress. “Once I start, I’m not stopping.”

“Don’t,” Frank begs, shifting so his knees are tucked under him. The change in angle feels so good his vision whites out for a second. “Don’t make me wait, don’t stop, just please fuck me.”

Gerard doesn’t ease into it. He digs his fingers into Frank’s shoulders and slams forward, his hips hitting Frank’s ass with a force that knocks the air out of Frank’s lungs. The minute, careful circles are replaced by a frantic pace, and Frank can feel every inch of him, every vein, every hard thrust hitting his prostate with ridiculous accuracy, making him shout into the pillows.

“Jesus Christ, Gee,” Frank sobs, and he realizes he’s crying, and it doesn’t even matter because this feels so fucking good he feels like he’s on another planet.

Gerard is incoherent, his control completely gone. He leans all his weight into Frank, pinning him down as he drives into him with no rhythm at all, just deep and hard. He grips the headboard with one hand, the wood creaking under the strain, and speeds up, drawing another sob from Frank.

“You’re so… fucking… tight,” Gerard grunts, each word punctuated by a wet, heavy thud of their bodies colliding. “Taking all of it. So fucking good like this, Frankie.”

“Fuck, touch me, please,” Frank shouts, past the point of being able to regulate any part of himself, his desire overriding everything else.

“I’ve got you,” Gerard bites out, stroking Frank completely out of time with his thrusts. It’s too fast and a little too tight and Frank comes almost immediately, yelling, blacking out as his body buckles.

Gerard fucks him through it, panting hard as Frank tightens around him, and then pulls out, stroking himself quickly and finishing on Frank’s back and ass. “Oh fuck,” he breathes as he comes. “Oh fuck, I love you.”

“Fucking love you,” Frank replies, his mouth dry. He feels Gerard collapse next to him and kiss his shoulder. 

“I’ll clean up in a second,” Gerard promises. “I just need to make sure I’m not having a heart attack.” 

Frank laughs. “Not a bad way to go.”

Gerard kisses Frank’s shoulder again, then nuzzles it. “I guess not.”

*

The next day, after breakfast, Gerard says, “Let’s go to the mall.”

Frank grimaces. “The mall? I feel like I got ripped in half last night and you want me to walk around all day?”

“We gotta get out of here,” Gerard reasons. “Stop wallowing. Plus we’re leaving day after tomorrow. Don’t you want to go one more time?”

Frank groans, but he can’t argue with the logic. “Fine,” he says. “But I get to whine the entire time we’re there.”

“Frankie, my love,” Gerard says as he kisses Frank’s forehead. “I would expect nothing less.”

An hour later, they’re walking hand in hand through the quiet corridors, past closed storefronts and flickering lights. As usual, no one is around. It’s weirdly peaceful.

“I knew this would happen,” Gerard says softly. “I just didn’t expect it to fuck us up so much.”

“Yeah,” Frank agrees. “Same.”

They don’t talk for a minute. Frank lets his thumb rub absentminded circles into Gerard’s knuckles. Gerard’s hands are warm, a little clammy. He keeps pushing his hair behind his ears.

“You okay?” Frank asks.

“Yeah, I’m just. You know. Thinking about it.”

Frank nods.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Gerard continues.

“Of course,” Frank replies, a little surprised. That's not the tone he expected this conversation to take.

“Like, I think you’re smart and strong. And I love that you don’t take shit from anyone. And I love your lack of filter. And I wish you were more confident, but I love that I get to be the person to remind you how brilliant you are.”

Frank hums, a little overwhelmed.

“And none of that has to do with how we met or how old you are. I would love all of those things no matter what. It’s… hard for me to get over some of the circumstances. But I never want you to think that means I don’t love you.”

Frank stops to look in Gerard’s eyes. He loves what he sees there, the intensity and honesty and anxiety that he has always loved. He was a goner the second he met Gerard. 

“Thank you for saying that,” Frank says sincerely.

“Does it bother you to be here with me now? Like, have things changed?”

Frank doesn’t hesitate. “No. I mean, yeah, the comments suck. Some of them are honestly impressive in how wrong they are. But being with you in public is not the problem. Never has been, never will be.”

Gerard exhales, relief palpable. “Good. Same here.”

“Well, I do remember a time you may have had a problem being with me in public…”

“Oh my god, now is not the time.”

Frank laughs, and Gerard does too. They stop in front of an empty window, their reflections faint in the glass. Frank leans into Gerard’s side.

“We’ll get thicker skins,” Frank says. “Eventually.”

Gerard smiles, tired but sincere. “Yeah.”

“It’s worth it,” Frank adds.

“So worth it.”

*

A driver picks them up and brings them to the train station Sunday morning. Thank god, because Frank has had enough of Gerard’s driving. 

“I’m gonna miss Connecticut,” Gerard says when they get on the train.

“We’ll come back, I’m sure,” Frank says. Then, needing to know the answer but nervous to hear it, he asks, “Did it live up to the fantasy?”

The answer feels immensely important. Frank knows the idea of Waterbury, Connecticut has pulled Gerard through basically the last twenty years of his life. He needs to know if the reality was as good as the daydream, if Frank made it better or worse.

Gerard smiles. “Oh yeah,” he says. “But, I don’t know, my fantasies are different now.”

“How so?”

“Well, the whole point of the fantasy was always that I could get away, be alone. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. All my fantasies revolve around being with you.”

“You never were very interested in being alone.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t care that much about it until I met you.”

Frank smiles and rests his head on Gerard’s shoulder. He’s asleep before the train starts moving.

They transfer at New Haven, and as much as Frank loved his month away, he feels a pull in his chest as soon as he gets on the train. He wants to be in New York with Gerard. His life doesn’t feel like something he needs to escape. It’s somewhere he needs to be.

For a while, Gerard sketches and Frank scrolls through his phone, deliberately avoiding Reddit. He still has the insane urge to fight with every commenter on that post, and he doesn’t want Gerard to have to hold him off or confiscate his phone or something.

“Wanna go to the Strand tomorrow? Gerard asks after a while. “I have to stop by the office for a few things before we start writing, I figured we could go look at some records.”

“Sounds good,” Frank replies. “We can go to your stationary store, too. I need a new notebook.”

Gerard frowns. “You do?”

Frank shrugs. “I don’t know what happened to the one you got me for my birthday. I was going back and forth so much, and then we took that break -”

“It’s in the apartment,” Gerard says.

Frank blinks. “You kept it?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I kept all your stuff. The notebook is in the home office.”

Frank smiles. “What, you knew I’d come back?”

Gerard blushes. “I mean, if you didn’t, I’d have mailed it to you or something. I hoped you’d write no matter what happened with us. But… I had a feeling. Like I said, whether it’s fate or destiny or whatever, I figured it was always gonna be you.”

“I think you’re right,” Frank says. He leans back in the seat as they pull into Harlem. “Jesus, I can’t wait to be home.”

Gerard fucking beams, looking all of twenty one despite his smile lines and crows feet. “Yeah,” he breathes, taking Frank’s hand. “Home.”