Chapter Text
Chicago was cold in a way that seeped through Gerard’s jacket and straight into his bones. It didn’t matter that the venue was packed, or that the crowd screamed every lyric back at him like a promise — the second the lights went down and the amps cut out, everything inside him went quiet.
Too quiet.
He stepped offstage with sweaty hands and shaky legs, mumbling a breathless “good show” to whoever was near enough to hear it. Mikey fist-bumped him. Ray pulled him into a quick hug. Gerard smiled, nodded, kept moving. Frank watched him weave effortlessly through the chaos like he didn’t even notice anyone was talking to him. He didn’t look angry. Didn’t even look sad. He just looked… gone.
Someone shoved a bottle of water into his hand. Gerard took it, didn’t drink. Frank didn’t say anything at first. He stayed by the side of the stage, letting the crew pass by — guitars lifted overhead, pedal boards wheeled across cracked concrete floors. He scanned the crowd of people until he caught sight of a familiar figure in the back hallway.
Gerard, pressed against the wall near a stack of road cases, shoulders tight and eyes fixed on the far end of the corridor.
Frank tilted his head, lip between his teeth. He wasn’t even sure Gerard noticed his own feet had stopped moving.
Quietly, Frank weaved through the maze of cables and bodies until he was standing just a few feet away. “Hey,” he said softly, voice rough from screaming through the set.
Gerard blinked like he’d only just realized someone else was there. He hesitated, then managed a half-smile. “Hey.”
“You good?” Frank asked. Gerard’s smile stayed in place — but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just… tired.” — Frank didn’t buy it. He could practically see Gerard vibrating under his skin, fingers flexing and unflexing around the water bottle like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.
“You killed it out there,” Frank said. “Crowd went insane.” “Yeah,” Gerard murmured. His gaze flickered away again, like he was listening to something none of them could hear. Frank stepped a little closer, lowering his voice so no one else would catch it.
“You look like you’re somewhere else right now.” Gerard let out a soft, humorless breath. “Maybe I am.”
For a moment, the hallway buzzed with muffled voices and the distant hum of amps being shut down. Frank didn’t touch him — not yet — but he stayed right there, an anchor in the middle of the noise.
“You don’t have to go somewhere else,” he said gently. “You’re right here with me.”
Gerard’s eyes snapped back to his, and something in his chest seemed to loosen just slightly. The tension in his shoulders didn’t disappear, but it eased. Just enough to breathe. Frank offered the smallest nod, like a silent promise.
Gerard looked down, exhaled, then finally took a sip of the water he’d been holding for five whole minutes.
“Thanks frankie,” he said, voice low and almost shaky. Frank stayed near him until the crew started calling the band to the van. He didn’t say anything else — didn’t need to. And Gerard, without thinking, followed right beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The next few days blurred into a familiar rhythm: venue, soundcheck, interview, show, van, repeat. The kind of schedule that didn’t let anyone think too hard unless you were Gerard Way. Frank started paying attention to the little tells.
The way Gerard would stand outside the venue long after everyone else went inside, inhaling cigarette smoke like it might fill up something hollow in his chest.
The way he’d zone out during load-in, eyes fixed on the floor until Mikey nudged him and the mask fell back into place.
On the third night, they were in Cleveland. Small backstage room, shitty fluorescent lights, empty pizza boxes stacked in the corner. Ray was tuning his guitar. Mikey was scrolling through a dog-eared notebook of setlist notes. Gerard sat on the cracked couch, shoulders hunched, thumb running along the frayed edge of his sleeve.
Frank lingered near the door, arms crossed, watching. “You ready?” Ray asked, strumming a chord to test his pedal. Gerard looked up like he hadn’t heard the question. He blinked twice, then nodded. “Yeah. `m ready.” He wasn’t.
Frank could see it in the slight tremor in his hands, the way he swallowed too hard when he stood. They walked toward the stage together, lights already dimming and the crowd chanting the band’s name. Frank brushed his shoulder against Gerard’s just before they stepped into the hallway. “You got this,” he murmured.
Gerard didn’t say anything—but he looked at Frank for one, solid second and breathed in like it actually mattered.
The show itself was brutal and perfect. Gerard threw himself into every scream, every lyric.
By the encore, his voice was cracked and raw and beautiful.
But afterward, it hit him even harder.
Back in the green room, Gerard collapsed into the same couch. He wrapped his arms around his own torso, tapping his finger against his knee in a frantic rhythm. Frank kept hovering near the door, waiting for everyone else to leave. Mikey tossed a towel over Gerard’s shoulder, gave Frank a quiet look that said take care of him, and headed out.
A minute later it was just the two of them. Frank crossed the room, soft steps and careful eyes.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Talk to me.”
Gerard didn’t look up. He just kept staring at the floor, breathing too fast. Frank crouched in front of him—and this time, he placed one hand gently on Gerard’s knee.
The moment skin touched skin, Gerard shivered. His gaze flicked up, wide and unguarded.
“Just breathe,” Frank whispered.
Gerard swallowed, chest rising and falling unevenly, but he listened. In. Out. Again.
“There you go,” Frank murmured, thumbing a slow circle over his knee. “That’s it.”
Gerard’s hands relaxed a little. His heartbeat stopped hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. For the first time all night, he looked like he was actually there. “I’m okay,” he said softly, almost like he was trying to convince himself. Frank gave the smallest smile. “Told you. You’ve got this.”
Gerard exhaled, shaky but calmer. And he stayed right there—grounded by Frank’s hand, not moving until he was ready.
Frank didn’t pull away once.
The venue in Detroit was bigger, louder, the kind of space where the roar of the crowd could swallow everything else. But backstage, it was quieter, more intimate, and Gerard felt it—every heartbeat echoing off the walls, every shadow looming longer than it should.
Frank found him in the corner again, just inside the green room. Gerard was leaning against the wall, knees bent, arms wrapped around himself, staring at the floor like he could will it to open up.
“You’ve been doing that thing again,” Frank said softly, moving closer. “The curling into yourself thing.”
Gerard didn’t respond. He just let the silence stretch. Frank crouched down in front of him, careful not to crowd, not yet. “Hey… it’s just us right now,” he murmured. “No one else matters for a second.” Something in Gerard’s posture shifted—tense, fragile, like a blade pressing against a soft surface. And then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned just a little closer to Frank. Not enough to touch, not yet, but close enough that the warmth radiating from Frank’s jacket brushed against his own.
“You don’t have to fight it alone,” Frank said, one hand hovering over Gerard’s knee. “Not tonight.”
Gerard swallowed, eyes flicking up for a fraction of a second. He wanted to argue, to say he could handle it himself, but the raw honesty in Frank’s gaze stopped the words in his throat.
A quiet exhale escaped him. And then he leaned further, letting his shoulder graze Frank’s arm. A simple, small connection, but it made Gerard’s chest unclench just a little. “You… you always know,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper. “Even when I try to hide it.” Frank smiled, slow and careful, like he was threading trust into the air. “Not always. But I notice when it matters.”
They stayed like that for a moment—silent, tethered by the faint brush of skin and the unspoken promise that Gerard wasn’t alone. The room around them hummed with the energy of the crew setting up, but in that corner, everything else faded.
Then the soundcheck started. Lights flickered, amps buzzed, and Gerard’s instincts kicked in. He straightened, mask slipping back into place, but the weight on his chest felt lighter because Frank didn’t move away.
“You ready for them?” Frank asked quietly. Gerard gave a small, tight nod “Yeah.” Frank’s hand brushed his shoulder as they headed toward the stage—a subtle, grounding gesture that wasn’t for the crowd, wasn’t for anyone but Gerard. And for once, Gerard let himself rely on it. Let himself lean just enough to know he wasn’t alone.
Because sometimes, trust wasn’t about words. It was about staying close.