Chapter Text
Frank’s ears are ringing. It’s dim here, most of the arena lights obstructed by the platform. Up above, he can hear voices, droning and indistinct. A few times he thinks shouts cut through the buzz, someone calling his name, but he doesn’t recognize the voices. The sounds are distant but encompassing, sort of hovering around him, both here and not. It’s a bit like when you’re between a waking and sleeping state and people are talking right by your bedside. Maybe he is asleep. Maybe he died.
No, he refuses to believe that – the air is rattling too loudly in his ribcage for him to be dead. Besides, he’s not the first person to have fallen here, and all but one of his predecessors survived. He is the first to be buried beneath fucking steel rods and nets, however. The net is the biggest problem, tangled in his legs and weighing down his head. The rod across his shins is kinda heavy, but not so much he can’t kick it off once he regains his energy. The protective mat he landed on cushioned his fall but isn’t exactly cloud-soft; the impact knocked the lungs out of his chest and left his body throbbing. At least nothing seems broken. He’ll be getting up in a moment, after he’s gotten his breath back.
“Fun Ghoul?”
The voices are closer now. They’ve come to get him. Frank tries to reply, but all that emerges is a wheeze. Moving his arms to wave doesn’t work either, the net too heavy and him too banged up.
“Fun Ghoul?”
“Can you see him?”
Guess he’ll just have to wait for them to find him. He closes his eyes and wheezes some more.
“No. He should’ve landed- wait …”
“Anything?”
“I think … Yes! There, I see him!”
“Fuck, the net … We need to cut it-”
“I have pliers-”
“Is he conscious?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re gonna be in so much shit if he dies too.”
The net jiggles on top of him, then drags across him. Finally, he’s free, but makes no effort to move yet. His body feels like one giant bruise.
“Fun Ghoul?”
Frank opens his eyes. Ray is above him, expression pinched. He’s backlit by flashlights, his hair forming a curly halo.
“He’s breathing!” Ray opens the mouth panel for him. The air is cold on his lips; he gulps it. “Hey, buddy, can you hear me? Can you talk?”
Frank makes a strangled noise, then coughs quietly. “I … Yeah. ‘M fine, Toro.”
Ray exhales in relief. “Thank God! Lie still, we’ll take care of everything.”
He begins to nod, only for Ray to seize his head and tell him to “lie still, damnit!”. In lieu of flipping him off, Frank sticks out his tongue at him. Minimal movement and all that. People scurry around him, moving nets and rods, whispering to each other and talking into radios. Above, the audience chatter is subsiding further, like they’re leaving. Seems like the match is over. Frank sighs. This is so fucking typical. Right at the end when it was getting exciting. He and Jamia so would’ve won if-
Shit.
Jamia.
“Hey! Hey, Ray!” he shouts. Ray kneels by him again. “Where’s Jam- ugh, where’s Silk?”
“She’s fine, still upstairs.”
“I gotta-”
“You gotta stay there,” Ray says, planting one firm hand on Frank’s chest and another on his forehead. “You might’ve broken something.”
“Didn’t we go through this already? I’d fucking know if I fucking broke something!”
“Yeah, well, guess I still don’t trust your sense of self-preservation. You’re getting a neck brace-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake …!”
“-and a stretcher so we can take you to the hospital.”
“Silk needs to know I’m okay!”
“I’ll-”
“Fucking now!”
Sighing, Ray reaches for the radio clipped to his belt. “This is Toro. Yeah, can someone tell Silk her partner is alive and cussing me out? Thank you.”
Frank gives Ray a break after that, accepting the neck brace without complaint and saying “Thank you!” like four times when Ray decides to leave the helmet on, opting to let the paramedics remove it later. It takes an eternity for the stretcher to arrive. Once it does, he gets strapped to it and is at last carried out of GridSlam hell. A huge elevator Frank didn’t know existed before now (according to Ray, it’s used for maintenance work) takes them back up. On the way, he asks what all the fuss is about; he’s pretty sure they’ve never ended a match because of this. Ray shrugs, saying the protocols changed after last year’s incident.
Upon leaving the elevator, they step into a commotion. There are people everywhere. Frank didn’t realize this many people worked here. He bets some of them were off the clock and rushed here, whether they were needed or not. Some of them attempt to talk to him, but are politely turned away by Ray, except for the reporter and camera crew – those he yells at. The reporter shouts questions while being removed, but Frank ignores it. There is one and only one person he’s focused on finding.
Jamia stands crying in the middle of it all. People are giving her a wide berth, most having their backs to her and fidgeting uncomfortably. The only one not acting like she’s got the plague is Gerard. He’s so white he looks anemic and has a thousand-yard stare, but he still hugs her tight and mumbles softly into her helmet. She clings to him, tears running past her mouth as she heaves so violently she looks close to throwing up. When the stretcher rolls past, she howls. Frank calls her name and she leaps at him.
“I’m fine, Silk. I’m fine, I promise. This is just procedure, but I’m all fine,” he says, like an eternal echo until he’s sure she’s heard and understood. Still bawling, she takes his strapped down hand and doesn’t let go until the ambulance reaches the hospital and he’s rolled away for examination.
—•—
For the next season, Frank thinks he’ll suggest they implement a swear jar. Except instead of swearing, Ray will have to put money in the jar every time he believes Frank has suffered a terrible injury only to end up being a-okay. Frank is going to invite Ray out for a beer once the jar is full, which should take approximately a week and a half.
Frank’s room isn’t unlike the one he was trapped in for weeks last year. The biggest difference is there’s more noise outside, and the walls are yellower. Oh, and he’ll be able to leave tonight. The x-rays and numerous tests say he’s sustained no damage – physical or neurological – but the hospital staff wants to keep him for a few hours’ observation regardless. He can deal with that, especially once Jamia is let inside to keep him company.
She pulls a chair to the bed and plants her elbows on the mattress. Her face is washed clean of tears and she’s changed into real clothes, and although her hair is longer and darker now the flashbacks to last July are so strong Frank needs to double-check his new bruises to assure himself his entire GridSlam career wasn’t a fever dream.
“I called your parents,” she says. “They were terrified but I managed to convince them you’re still alive. They’ll come in as soon as they can.”
“Cool.” Frank stretches, and winces. Jamia makes a sympathetic noise.
“You okay?”
“Yeah … just really fucking sore. But never mind that: what happened? With the match, I mean.”
Jamia sighs. “Throwback won by walk-over.”
“Okay … so,” Frank does some quick, approximate math in his head, “we’re back at the number two spot?”
“Yes, but-”
“All right, okay,” Frank mutters and nods to himself. “We’ll work with that. The points should be close enough for us to still have a good chance at winning.”
“Frankie,” Jamia whines and buries her face in her hands. “I don’t think I can …” She looks at him, and her face is drawn, the big eyes wet and her lip quivering. Oh, of course. He gets it. Smiling gently, Frank leans forward to tuck the hair behind her ear.
“What? Go through with it?” he asks and chuckles kindly. “Jamia. Both your partners falling off the platform was an unfortunate coincidence. It was happenstance. But it won’t happen again – that’d be ridiculous. We’re gonna show up at the finale, and we’re gonna win. You hear me? This is our dream. We’ll win, and we’ll go to the playoffs, and then we’ll win the playoffs, too. Okay? We’re gonna do it. Me, you,” he takes her hand and puts it on his chest, “and Evan.”
Jamia flexes her fingers against the hospital shirt, sniffling. She smiles at him.
“And after we win,” he continues, “I’m gonna take my half of the prize money and hire you the best therapist in the country.”
She gasps, appalled, affronted, amused. “Frankie!”
Laughing, Frank cups her face and lovingly butts his forehead against hers. “We’ll make it. Yeah?”
She rolls her eyes and giggles. “Yeah.”
They sit like that long enough for his battered back to ache. He doesn’t want to move, pain be damned. It takes a sudden knock for them to part, turning toward the door as it cracks open and – Frank’s heart jumps into his mouth – Gerard peeks inside.
“Hi …” he says timidly. “Can I come in …? Am I interrupting a moment?”
They gape at him. Or at least Frank does; he’s not sure what Jamia is doing, because looking at her would mean tearing his eyes off Gerard. Which is impossible. Gerard bites his lip and clears his throat, hand coming up to rub at his neck.
“Because if not … I’d like to talk to Frank?”
Frank’s breathing stutters. Not only is Gerard here, but he knows Frank’s name? How? And since when? And does it mean …
Jamia turns to Frank with what can only be described as an expression. She slowly and questioningly pushes her chair out. It screeches on the floor. At Frank’s nod, she gets up. As she passes Gerard, she pauses to scrutinize him; he squirms as if expecting violence. But Jamia leaves without a word, and Gerard shuffles inside. He prepares to speak. Frank beats him to it.
“H-how … How did you know my name?” he asks and, fuck, is he trembling? He fists the blanket to steady himself.
“Um, you told me?” Gerard says. “Twice.”
“Twice?”
“Y-you know, that time in the corridor at the Arena-”
“You remember that?”
Gerard groans. “How could I forget it? Believe it or not, but I don’t make an absolute fuckass of myself in front of hot guys every day … ” His eyes widen comically when hearing himself. Frank might be an asshole, because he grins. Gerard looks ready to flee, so Frank pats the spot next to him on the mattress; Gerard sinks onto it. “Umm, anyway. I wanted to see if you’re okay?”
“I am. You’ll see us at the state finals, so don’t get comfortable,” Frank says, forcing a laugh. He needs to inject some levity in this situation or he might defenestrate himself. Gerard doesn’t get the memo; his expression remains grave.
“I was afraid you …” He closes his eyes; shakes his head. “It was so scary.”
“I’m fine, really. Just got the breath knocked outta me. This whole thing is only routine. I’d walk out right now otherwise.”
Despite nodding, Gerard doesn’t seem totally convinced, his jaw set tight and his eyebrows knitting a crease between them. His hand steals from his lap and across the mattress, coming to hover over Frank’s hand. Frank turns it around, curving his fingers so they brush Gerard’s. Gerard draws a sharp breath which he exhales through a relieved sigh. He moves his hand, skimming past Frank’s palm and his wrist, then along his arm, across his collarbone, barely touching the hollow of his throat, and finally down to settle over his heart. He presses firmly against Frank’s chest, cheeks pink. Smiling, Frank presses back. To make itself known, his heart speeds up, just for Gerard.
“So,” he whispers, as if Gerard is a rare bird and any unexpected movements or sounds will scare him off. “You know everything. About me and Fun Ghoul.”
Gerard nods, gaze fixed on his splayed fingers. “I think so.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since our match. Afterward, you pulled down your collar and I saw your scorpion.” He laughs, the lines around his eyes and mouth too stiff to be genuine. “Boy, did I feel stupid! I thought you didn’t recognize me at the park but-”
Frank flushes with mortification. “Fuck, Gerard …”
“-but you knew the whole damn time, and that explains so much!”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Gerard blinks at him. “Why?”
“I didn’t mean to make a fool out of you. Like, the park just sorta happened. First the sketchbook, and you were sad … I wanted to make it better. And then, I was just happy Fun Ghoul and Party Poison were friends. I never wanted to deceive you …”
Frank trails off when Gerard smiles, as kind and affectionate as always.
“It’s okay. Hiding who you are is the whole point. I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize, but …”
“I wanted to tell!” Frank hurries to say. “Honestly. But I wasn’t sure if I should or could, and once I decided I didn’t care if I was allowed there was no opportunity. Like, I waited too long and telling you only would’ve messed up our friendship. It was so fucking difficult.”
“I understand. I’m not happy, but I understand. Now we both know that we know, which is … good.”
“Yeah.”
Frank reclines with a smile. If you asked him to predict how the night would end, he never would’ve guessed this. It’s perfect, actually all he ever wanted: Gerard here, knowing who he is and not being angry about it. All of his problems haven’t been flushed away, not even close, but right now it feels like it. He’ll be able to talk to Gerard now, about anything! He won’t have to weigh his words or spin white lies at a moment’s notice. What else does he need but this warm fuzziness, this cozy contentment over being laid bare and being accepted regardless? If he’d only known, he’d have told the truth ages ago.
Next to him, Gerard appears slightly less fulfilled. He keeps wringing his hands in his lap and his leg jumps restlessly. Occasionally he’ll open his mouth, but closes it immediately. He wants to say something.
“How did you get in?” Frank asks, making small-talk until Gerard is ready. “I thought only relatives were allowed at this time of night.”
“Uh, yeah. Well.” Gerard giggles. “Turns out the receptionist is a huge Venom fan.”
Frank laughs. “Oh, man. They’ll be so disappointed when we beat your asses this weekend.”
“So, you’ll be cleared to play?”
“I fucking better. Jam- I mean Silk- Ah, fuck it, her name’s Jamia, okay? Don’t tell anyone.”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Jamia is not missing out again. I’ll play that match even if I’m stuck in a fucking wheelchair.”
“Okay,” Gerard says. “It’ll work out. So … how’s Soup?”
Frank arches a brow at the sudden change of topic. That’s what he was hemming and hawing over? He’s so fucking cute. “She’s fine. She’ll be fully grown in a month or two.”
“Nice, nice.” Gerard nods faster than a bobblehead, nervously licking his lips and wiping his palms. “Speaking of … would you like to hang out more? Not with Soup, or maybe with Soup, but I mean, you know, like at the park? Like, we could-”
He shuts up, cringing at himself. Frank giggles.
“Sure.”
“You- Really? That’s great, I’m- But, um, it’s only if you want to. I understand if you don’t-”
“No, Gerard, really – I want to hang out with you,” Frank says, narrowing his eyes and pinning Gerard to the spot when it seems like the latter will assure him again that he doesn’t have to.
Shrinking, Gerard utters a feeble “Okay, great!” while smiling at the bedding and blushing like he’s a schoolboy who just asked his crush to prom and wow, Frank really is the biggest idiot in the world, isn’t he?
The past months flash before his eyes. Every moment, starting in the Arena corridor and ending here, has spoken volumes that he’s utterly refused to listen to. Well, no more of that. He scoots forward on the bed, into Gerard’s space. Gerard blinks at him, bewildered. When Frank cradles his cheek, his breath hitches and his mouth drops open.
“I like spending time with you,” Frank says, stroking his thumb along Gerard’s cheekbone. Gerard has gone from rosy to ruby, even his ears shining red. Frank smiles. “I like you.”
He leans in, getting one last view of Gerard’s beautiful, blurry face before closing his eyes. Their lips meet, and then nothing is but Gerard. It’s Gerard sighing into Frank’s mouth, it’s his hair tickling Frank’s forehead, his pulse thrumming under Frank’s palm. He’s one second into stretching his tongue past Frank’s lips when he gasps and recoils.
“Wait!” he says in a hoarse squeak that has no business sounding as attractive as it does. “Should we- um, I mean, here?”
Frank frowns. “What?”
“This is a hospital! You’re injured. We shouldn’t-”
Frank grabs his face, squishing his cheeks so he can’t talk. “Stop. I told you I’m fine. I just got the breath knocked outta me.” He smiles slyly and removes his hand, leaning in to bump their noses together. “And if you don’t want me to be breathless, you’ll have to leave the room altogether.”
Gerard snorts. “That was fucking awful. You’re such a shit.”
“I know,” Frank says and licks Gerard’s bottom lip.
Gerard makes a noise, throaty and primal, before surging forward and knocking Frank back against the pillow. He scrambles until he’s half on top of Frank, hands roaming between Frank’s hair and shoulders and arms, chest pressed against Frank’s surgical scar. Frank, apart from lazily caressing Gerard’s thighs, does little beyond leaning back and letting himself be kissed. He’ll never admit it – especially not now – but the fall did leave him rather sore. Gerard doesn’t seem to mind doing most of the work, though; the kissing doesn't cease until Jamia returns and cheerfully but firmly demands to know exactly what she’s missed.
(And then it continues after she kindly leaves the room again. Frank truly couldn’t have asked for a better partner.)
—•—
Frank rolls his shoulders and loosens his limbs, then jumps on the spot while shaking every shakable bit of himself. Upstairs, the crowd is getting antsy. Everything is proceeding as usual, no delays to speak of, but there’s been an anxiety in Jersey’s entire GridSlam community since his fall. The anxiety only got worse when they announced the last match of the season would be postponed a week, both to reattach the safety measures and to let Fun Ghoul recuperate. The last part wasn’t originally part of the plan: the organizers wanted to cancel the last match and declare Team Venom the champions, but Team Venom refused and threatened to pull out. Unwilling to send no one to the playoffs a second year in a row, the organizers caved and agreed to wait. It’s not like there’s a problem – the playoffs are held in July and several other states still haven’t had their last matches. It was just the people in charge who wanted to be assholes, as they are wont to be. Mikey and Gerard wouldn’t let them, though, for which Frank and Jamia rewarded them with homemade dinner and puppy-cuddles.
“That’s pointless, you know.”
“Oh, yeah?” Frank turns without interrupting his little warm-up dance.
“Yeah,” Gerard says, wearing a smug smile Frank would do anything to kiss off. He’s hot tonight, hair slicked back and a dusting of stubble on his cheeks. Cocking his hip, he rests his helmet there while his eyes roam Frank’s body. Frank returns the favor; whoever designed Venom’s gear to be this tight should be made President. It hugs every inch of him, showing off what only Frank is allowed to touch. “You won’t win anyway, so why waste time stretching?”
“I am going to win. I’ll beat you, just like last time. Remember that?”
Gerard scoffs. “That was luck. That’s all you are: fluke and flash and flavorlessness.”
“Asshole,” Frank says, stepping close until their chests almost brush. “I could bend you in half and make you beg for mercy.”
“I’ve been in this for years. I’ve got experience you would beg for.”
“All I hear is you telling on yourself, old man,” Frank says, pausing when Mikey shoulders between them, muttering about how he preferred it when they hated each other. He walks to Jamia by the stairs, who opens her mouth panel for no other purpose than to mime vomiting. They’re just jealous. “As if I’d ask has-beens for advice.”
Gerard clicks his tongue. “The ability to learn from the past is essential to reach greatness. It’s clear this arrogance of yours is what’ll keep you as a never-was.” He closes the gap between them again; as he inclines his head to keep their eye contact, a red wisp falls into his face. Frank brushes it back, tugging at it while he does. Gerard sighs, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s cheating. You know it’s my weak spot,” he mumbles.
Frank hums. “Is that why you wear the helmet? Can’t be for your head since there’s nothing in it-” Gerard giggles, and Frank knows he’s won, “-which is why Ghost will go to the playoffs this year.”
Gerard, who must have the last word even when he loses, says, “We’ll see.”
With five minutes to spare, they’re alone, Jamia and Mikey having given them as much privacy as possible by trekking up the stairs. It’s getting louder up there, the audience already stomping their feet and chanting their names.
“Will this be the last match?” Frank asks. Gerard sighs, eyes flickering to the floor.
“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”
“You should do it soon. Give Mikey time to find someone else.” He reaches out to caress Gerard’s cheek; Gerard leans into Frank’s palm. “Whatever you want is right, okay?”
“Yeah, I know.” Gerard’s gaze darts up to meet Frank’s. “If you win … what’ll you do after the playoffs?”
He chews on the inside of his cheek; Frank feels his jaw work. He’s got no idea why Gerard is sounding so nervous.
“Not sure. I figured we’ll decide once I’m back in New Jersey.”
Gerard smiles. “Sounds good.”
“I mean, I guess I’ve been thinking about getting Soup a sibling? Did you ever look into those shelter cats?”
“I-” Gerard snorts and scrubs his face with his hand. “We’re not adopting a pet together. It’s too soon.”
Frank nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I should get your name tattooed first.”
Gerard’s helmet clatters on the floor. The next thing Frank knows, he’s buried in Gerard’s firm chest and has a pair of muscular arms wrapped around him. They sway back and forth as Gerard laughs, the vibrations penetrating Frank’s skull and sending currents of dopamine through him.
“I am,” Gerard says, angling Frank’s head up to peck him on the lips, “so in love with you.”
Frank grins, pulling Gerard back in for another peck. “Good. Me too.”
Gerard giggles, bright and exuberant and just plain fucking in love, as he thumps his head against Frank’s. They can’t kiss properly with his helmet on, and he can’t take it off out in the open. But that’s fine. Holding Gerard and being held by him, breathing his scent and hearing his voice, is enough. Frank pushes further into the embrace, emitting a low purring-noise he would’ve been embarrassed to let anyone else hear. In a minute they’ll be forced to let go and head upstairs, but for now they might as well be frozen in time; forever interlocked, their smiles reflecting each other and their hearts beating in sync.