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Gerard doesn’t try anymore.
Before, it was something he had to do, a necessity when it came to keeping his sanity. He had to at least try to stay away from the pills, the booze, the razors, or he would’ve lost himself completely. He toed the edge for a while, sure, but somehow he never fell over it, never lost his grip on reality.
Then came Frank.
With his own faded scars and fresh memories, he knocked Gerard off his feet, but unlike everyone else before him, he caught Gerard before he could hit the ground. And when he didn’t manage that, he was there to pull him back up.
In fact, he’s always there. When all Gerard wants to do is to go search for the key to the liquor cabinet, Frank wraps his inked arms around his chest and pulls him back to bed, kissing him until he forgets about forgetting. He can find Gerard in the bathroom, wrists dripping crimson into the dirty sink, and he won’t speak, won’t say a single thing except to tell him how the peroxide is going to sting, although Gerard already knows. They’ve done it so many times; Frank has done it so many times – picked up the pieces when the pressure gets too much and Gerard shatters, unintentionally but remorsefully.
Gerard wants to thank him. He knows he doesn’t have to – Frank has told him so on several occasions – but he wants to, feels like he should. But he has yet to figure out how to do that, so he settles with letting Frank peel off his clothes with the lights still on, on top of the covers. He’s gotten better at suppressing the urge to cover himself up, but the tightness in his chest is still there, reminding him over every scar and stretch mark and how they’re all there on display, out in the open for Frank to see.
It’s fucking terrifying, being scrutinized like that, and Gerard still can’t help but wonder if Frank is ever going to realize his mistake, if he’ll ever see Gerard for the fuck-up he is.
“You know I won’t.”
They’re at the pool, perched on the edge with their legs resting against the concrete side, spray paint probably rubbing off on Frank’s gray sweatpants and Gerard’s black jeans.
The place is deserted except for a few crumpled beer cans and stepped-on cigarette butts at the bottom of the pool. Frank’s skateboard is there too, over by the steps, upside down from where he tried to do an ollie but instead almost cracked his skull open.
“You’re worthless at skateboarding,” Gerard says, taking another drag on his cigarette, squinting at the dark sea through the smoke and the chain-link fence surrounding the pool. He doesn’t know why he feels like he needs to change the subject. A hard habit to break, he supposes.
Frank laughs, loud and happy, shoulders shaking beside Gerard’s. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he says, taking Gerard’s cigarette from between his lips. He drops his hand into Gerard’s lap, careful not to hold the cherry too close to the fabric of his jeans as his other hand moves up to tilt Gerard’s jaw, calloused fingers rough on the soft skin there.
Gerard hums happily into the kiss, smiling against Frank’s lips. He can’t help himself – he doesn’t know what, but there’s something about Frank that makes the corners of his mouth pull up whenever he sees him, even if it’s just from across the room when he looks up from a sketch, or with his eyes blinking open in the middle of the night, catching muddy glimpses of Frank’s sleeping face beside him.
Bringing a smile to Gerard’s lips hasn’t been the easiest thing to do for the past year, but somehow Frank manages to, and he doesn’t even do anything. He’s just there, warm and soft and high on life, all smiles and shining eyes, fingers intertwined with Gerard’s as they roam the aisles of the supermarket at 2 AM in search of Lucky Charms, or with his chin hooked over Gerard’s shoulder as he does the dishes, inked arms wrapped around his waist.
“I love you.”
Gerard says it pretty much as soon as he realizes, a quiet mumble against Frank’s lips. How he hasn’t figured it out until now is beyond him, but now that he has, none of that matters. Only Frank matters.
Pulling back slightly, Frank searches Gerard’s eyes for any indication of what he just said being untrue, a lie, somehow, although he knows Gerard would never joke about something like this. But he can’t help doubting himself – Frank’s self-esteem isn’t much better than Gerard’s, it’s just that he’s better at hiding it. He’s done it all his life – hidden things, behind witty comments and quick fists, delivering a retort or a right hook before people can get too close. Except with Gerard.
Frank never tried to hide anything from him, not even in the beginning. It just never felt necessary, like letting Gerard get close, letting him in, wouldn’t ever be something for Frank to regret. And it hasn’t, because Gerard understands. He won’t shout at Frank if he comes home with bruises and bloody knuckles, he’ll just go grab the gauze and peroxide from under the sink, just like Frank does whenever he finds Gerard in the bathroom with a razor clenched in his fist. He’ll kiss the bruises and brush his fingertips over the scars, and he’ll let Frank do the same to him.
So obviously, Frank doesn’t find anything but honesty in Gerard’s eyes. Huge and greenish hazel, all they say is exactly the same as what just passed his lips – he loves Frank. It’s displayed all over his face, from the lopsided smile to the warm eyes – he loves Frank, so fucking much, and he just has to tell him.
Gerard wouldn’t say it’s now or never, but he’s scatterbrained enough as it is, and this is important. Frank needs to know, and Gerard needs the confirmation that he isn’t alone in feeling this way. And just as every time before, Frank gives Gerard exactly what he needs.
“I love you, too,” he whispers, pecking carefully at Gerard’s lips, tasting smoke and coffee, and something sweeter beneath that, something that’s just Gerard. Curling a hand around the back of his neck, Frank tangles his fingers in Gerard’s hair, burying them in the greasy strands and tugging only a little.
Gerard finds himself grinning – he finally has someone he can tell everything, show everything, even the ugly parts. Everything he’s always kept secret, always hidden; he can show Frank that. Frank won’t laugh or cry or scream. He’ll just nod and kiss him, and that’s all Gerard wants. Someone he can tell everything, but who won’t judge him or make him feel bad. He’s had enough of that for a lifetime.
“You look happy,” Frank notes, Gerard’s cigarette hanging from between his smiling lips, muffling his words.
“I am happy,” Gerard says, crooked smile growing even bigger.
“Yeah?” Frank asks, peeking up at Gerard from under the hood of his sweatshirt.
Gerard almost melts, Frank’s eyes radiating heat like nothing else. He smiles again. “Yeah.”