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Frank is making eyes at Gerard once again. He tried not to, but it was mostly involuntary. Some primal instinct, maybe, like a baby fake crying to get attention.
Mikey wasn’t impressed, as usual, looking intently at Frank like he’s psychic or something. He asked again and again and Frank promised again and again that he wouldn’t make things weird and, again and again, he failed to do so. The thing is, you’re not supposed to take seriously anything Gerard says or does when he’s drunk – that’s a lesson all of them learned in the worst way possible. But Gerard had kissed him the night before and also had promised it wasn’t a blackout drunk thing and that they were definitely talking about that in the morning. And Frank believed it.
You know, like an idiot.
He was talking now, mostly blabbering about whatever stupid nerdy thing he was obsessed now and Frank found that just so fucking attractive he almost didn’t care about the broken promise from yesterday. Gerard had this thing, almost a superpower, that made him never really get hungover; he was fully awake and enthusiastically engaging an exhausted Ray in a conversation about Tyrion Lannister’s real parentage – Gerard had really strong opinions about it. – while everyone else kind of died over whatever soggy McDonald’s meal Gerard bought for them. Honestly, Mikey should be happy Frank was only looking weird at Gerard, and not awake enough to actually get up and make a scene in the fucking parking lot. It wouldn’t be a first for him.
“There must be a song about that.” Mikey declares like he just realized something groundbreaking. “Isn’t there?”
Frank didn’t really understand what he was talking about. “About blackout drunk make-out sections?”
“About pining over someone completely oblivious to your advances.” He answered, fishing fries out of his tray. “Something from Radiohead.”
“I mean, aren’t most love songs about pining?” Frank slapped Mikey’s fingers out of his breakfast. “I’m not pining, anyways. It’s something else.”
Mikey looks at him weirdly, like he’s constipated. Frank wrinkled his nose in response, then went back to his fries and the very weird boy he was starting to think he was in love with. Gerard was using one of those dumb sunglasses that looked like bug eyes and only middle-aged woman and fucking Gerard Way would ever use and his mouth did a small twitch to the side when he spoke and it took all of Frank’s self-control to don’t jump on the table and scream in agony. It wasn’t pining, it was worse.
He wanted to slam his face on the tray of fries in front of him and stay there forever. Next time they drink together, he’ll make sure to stay as far away from Gerard and his cracked lips as possible. He’ll fucking get married if that’s what it takes to keep the boy away. He’ll marry fucking Mikey Way and live a miserable life with his over judgmental best friend if this is what it takes to never feel this way again.
Like he reads minds or something, Mikey kicks him under the table, and it hurts like hell. “We’re going, shithead.” He says, almost smugly. “Stop pining for a second and get up.”
Frank just sat there for a few more moments, contemplating murder, before getting up and following the others inside the restaurant to dispose of his tray. “I wasn’t pining,” Frank mumbles, feeling his head spin from the sudden movement. “And I’m never drinking again.”
Mikey laughs. “Whatever you say, Frankie.”
They wait in the sun while Ray turns the car, and Frank honestly envies Gerard's ugly sunglasses and his dumb never-getting-hungover superpower, and his cute small fingers that can touch his pink mouth whenever they want. It’s so dumb how much a kiss can change how you look at someone. Frank hates it.
He tries not to look, turns his eyes to his shoes, and concentrates as hard as he can on turning the little loose rocks on the pavement with the tip of his toes. He feels so stupid to be so overwhelmed by all those vague feelings and wants he doesn’t understand when he should’ve just been looking from afar and never getting himself on this kind of mess with his best friend’s older brother. Frank tries to rationalize it. He tries not to look. But, ultimately, he fails.
And when he looks back, Gerard’s sunglasses are in his head, pushing his dyed black hair back in a way that makes Franks's heart skip a beat. And he’s looking at Frank, with the same desperation in his eyes, and his cheeks turn pink when Frank catches him looking, and he knows Gerard is also thinking about what happened last night.
And for a moment, everything feels alright. Because Gerard Way is making eyes at him too.