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Ray braced himself to step out of his car and into the falling snow. The winter so far had been more cold than wet, harsh winds battering Ray whenever he went outside. Each time he'd leave practice, the sweat still clinging to his skin cooled beneath his jacket and chilled him nearly to the bone. Scorching showers as soon as he got home had quickly become a habit. But today the temperature was mercifully hovering closer to freezing, rather than far below. The trade-off, it seemed, was the snow, enough of it coming down to really stick for the first time this year. Ray knew his sneakers were woefully inadequate for the conditions he was stepping into, but at least he didn't have too far to go. There was room to park on the Ways' street tonight, albeit not quite as close to their house as Ray might've liked.
As Ray shut his door, Gerard emerged from the passenger side, already scowling at the weather and muttering under his breath about the indignity of it all. His chatter drifted away in the night, dulled by the quieting effect of the snow. There was no expectation for Ray to answer, and he fell into step by Gerard's side, making their way carefully up the street.
Well, carefully on Ray's part, maybe. A little too close to the first step down to the basement door for comfort, Gerard skidded on a hidden patch of ice—not enough to lose his footing entirely, but Ray's arm still shot out instinctively to steady him. "Dude, you have to go buy salt tomorrow," Ray chided, loosening his grip on Gerard's coat sleeve.
"Yeah, I'm gonna," said Gerard absently, and Ray knew with certainty that he was not gonna. He'd forget all about it as soon as he stepped inside and moved on to the next thing. Ray still had to say it.
They made it down the steps and inside without further incident. Gerard unwound his striped scarf from his neck and dumped it in a soggy heap on the floor. "Goddamn winter." He turned to Ray looking poised to keep complaining, but amusement flashed across his face. "Your hair's all white," he observed, stepping toward Ray and reaching out for his curls with both hands.
"Yeah, so's yours." The snowflakes stood out in stark contrast to the black of Gerard's hair and his coat, glimmering faintly in the dim light of the basement for one final moment before they'd melt away forever.
"You look like Father Christmas," said Gerard, grinning. His fingers tangled with Ray's hair, shaking out the snow, ruining the effect in an instant. Ray couldn't help but return the smile, even as his damp hair hung heavily around his face.
"Does that make you my elf?" he quipped, and Gerard giggled loudly, his whole body shaking with it, so Ray could feel the vibrations where Gerard's fingertips landed on his scalp. It was such an unselfconscious sound, and it burrowed its way deep into Ray's chest and squeezed at his heart, the way it always did. Gerard delivered one final, vigorous rub to Ray's head, no doubt leaving his hair a mess. They peeled off their coats and Gerard ducked further into his living space, emerging a moment later with a rumpled sweatshirt that he tossed at Ray.
"So you can dry off," he explained. Ray eyed the sweatshirt skeptically, but he really was kind of soggy. He tried not to be too obvious about taking a deep breath and holding it in before he ran the sweatshirt over his hair. After all, there was no telling when Gerard had last washed it.
Gerard didn't notice, busy making coffee already. "Want one?"
Ray grunted a yes. He wasn't as keen on the late night caffeine hit as Gerard tended to be, but the warmth sounded nice.
He settled himself on the couch while Gerard scrounged for a couple of clean mugs. He'd been comfortable in Gerard's space for long enough now that he didn't have to think about it anymore, making himself at home. The air was chill, but the radiator had just kicked on, so they'd be warm enough soon.
He was inspecting the rental tapes he'd found on the floor in front of the TV when Gerard came over with the coffees. "Any preference?"
Ray shrugged. Both appeared to be low budget horror flicks from somewhere in the vicinity of the seventies. There was some kind of dragon-like creature on the cover of one, and a young couple cowering from a shadowy figure wielding a knife on the other. "Dealer's choice."
Gerard grinned and nodded at the one with the creature, signalling Ray to pop it into the VCR. "This is either gonna be really good, or really bad," he informed Ray gleefully. Ray just shook his head, long-suffering. Gerard's movie picks had tended toward atrocious lately—not that he really minded, when picking them apart together was half the fun.
Gerard took his seat, tugging down the ratty old throw blanket hanging over the back of the couch. He spread it out over his lap, then held a corner up in invitation as Ray sat back down on the other side of the couch. Ray gratefully accepted and covered himself with what was left of it.
They weren't sitting close enough to touch, but sharing the blanket, Ray felt warmed by their proximity all the same. They'd spent any number of nights just like this, watching bad old movies on Gerard's couch after practice and writing sessions, letting their minds relax after hours of concentrated effort. The work they did together wasn't always easy, but the places it was leading them musically made it all worth it. They were building their own language for just the two of them to speak, distinct from that secret brother language shared by the Ways, or the frequency occupied by Ray and Frank when they played together. Gerard questioned him with clumsy chords, and Ray answered in progressions that made sense of Gerard's chaos. In all his actions, Ray asked, where do you want to go? And Gerard would lead him off in some new direction, and Ray would follow. He would always follow, he'd realized early on. It felt like the kind of revelation that had some weight to it, but Ray opted not to think about it too hard for now. He was happy like this, just next to Gerard, discovering their new world together as it opened up to them.
The weather was cool and cloudy, but Ray didn't have far to go. He didn't bother putting on his jacket before he climbed out of his car and set off for that familiar front door.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he laughed softly when he grabbed it and checked the display. "I'm literally walking up your driveway, Gee."
"Well, walk faster. I'm dying here."
"Dying?"
"Literally."
"I think we're operating on two different definitions of the word 'literally,' here."
Gerard threw the front door open. "Don't be mean," he said, still speaking into the phone. "I can't even tell what this song is trying to be, anymore. It's all falling apart without you."
Ray rolled his eyes as he ended the call, but he couldn't even pretend to keep the smile off his face. Reaching the doorway, he took the phone out of Gerard's hand and slid it into their back pocket. "It's a good thing I got here when I did, then. Can't have you dying on us now." His arm was still wrapped around Gerard, and Gerard leaned into him, gripping Ray around the back of his neck and pressing their face into the side of it. Ray felt their lips ghost over his skin, just making contact, though enough of his hair was in the way for Gerard to be getting a mouthful. (Gerard never seemed to mind.)
Gerard pulled back, eyes twinkling. "C'mon, let me shut the door, it's chilly."
Ray scoffed. "You think that's cold? Wanna call Frankie and let him show you the snow outside his place?"
"Definitely, but later," said Gerard. "And I don't need to see the snow in Jersey to remember what kind of winter we're missing." He shivered as if the memory was enough to make him feel cold, and Ray laughed fondly.
They walked to Gerard's studio chatting about anything that hadn't come up in their last phone conversation, from the latest update Ray had heard from Frank about the new Dunes album, to this book Gerard wanted Ray to read, to how the last book Ray had read at Gerard's behest had quite possibly scarred him for life. Thirty years in, they never ran out of things to talk about. Whatever they said to each other, there was usually another conversation going on beneath the surface, one that only the two of them were privy to. Sometimes it was more melody than words, music that seemed to naturally ring out in the air between them, but that conveyed information, too, told them where the other's head was at. When the need arose, they could communicate quite adeptly through subtext. But most of the time, there was a steady undercurrent of caring there, words of affection they didn't need to say out loud, their ways of checking in and reassuring each other.
Strolling into the studio—a place that felt as much like home to Ray as his own house—he made a beeline for his preferred guitar from Gerard's collection, and he set about getting comfortable. Gerard was talking about the song again, the element of it eluding them that they knew Ray would be able to help them pin down. Ray plucked mindlessly at the guitar, absorbing the gist of it all. He'd grasp things fully once he heard what Gerard had so far. All he had to do was be there and listen, open himself up to the music Gerard was looking for, and it would find them both before long. Gerard, for his part, was messing around with his work station, murmuring low enough it might well have been more for his own benefit than Ray's. It was all the same to Ray; just the sound of Gerard's voice told him plenty.
"Anyway, I don't know," Gerard seemed to conclude, swiveling in their chair to face Ray with headphones in hand. "Help?" Ray nodded over at the headphones, but didn't move his hands from the guitar, so Gerard rolled his chair the short distance over to Ray to place them on his head themself. They paused to brush Ray's hair back out of the way, and just like that, they were distracted. Ray could see it on their face right away. He didn't need to ask—just to listen.
"Your hair's getting whiter," said Gerard. He was smiling lopsidedly, a smile Ray had always loved, threading his fingers through Ray's hair.
Warmth crept into Ray's cheeks. "So's yours."
"It really suits you," said Gerard, putting the headphones down somewhere beside them so they could get that hand into his hair, too. They were chewing on their bottom lip, smiling impishly down at Ray as they rubbed at his scalp. Ray felt the rumbling sound low in his chest before he knew he was making it.
"It's mostly my beard, anyway," Ray pointed out, not that he wasn't enjoying the head massage.
"I know," said Gerard, letting one hand drift down to Ray's chin and scratching at the underside. "It's so hot."
Ray huffed out a vaguely incredulous laugh at that—but he also set the guitar aside, sensing where this might be headed. "Whatever you say."
Gerard clearly took that as a win, looking satisfied as they leaned down to bring their mouths together.
They tugged on Ray's hair more gently than necessary, and they both knew it, but Ray groaned nevertheless, and Gerard greedily swallowed up the sound. This was another part of their shared language that they were both fluent in by now, after years of building a vocabulary together. Like a conversation, they called to each other and responded. They could both bring all their confusion, all their uncertainty, to their time together, and just the act of sharing it created something new, made sense of it. It was how they made music together, it was how they moved through life together, and it was how they did this, too.
Ray wasted no time parting his lips to Gerard, pulling him in ever closer. The slide of their tongues against each other, the feeling of Gerard's hand in his hair, the other in his beard—it was a heady mix of sensations that set Ray's nerves ablaze. His hand found its way up into Gerard's own gorgeously greying hair, and he tried to hold them both steady even as he was beginning to feel like they were floating somewhere off the ground.
But Gerard could never stay still for long, pulling away from Ray's mouth with a smack and brushing his lips against Ray's forehead, slowly working his way down his face. Ray just let him do as he pleased, twirling Gerard's hair around his fingers. Kisses landed on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, Gerard humming happily to themself. They made it to Ray's jaw and then their lips were parted again, mouthing at him. They definitely had a mouthful of Ray's beard now. Ray sighed, felt it turn into a giggle when he realized Gerard had begun to fully gnaw on his jawline in earnest. "Sometimes I get the feeling you'd eat me alive if you could," he breathed. He was a little sorry he'd said anything when Gerard pulled back to meet his eyes—but only a little, loving the look he found in Gerard's.
"Nah," said Gerard, beaming. "Who'd help me finish my songs?"
Ray leaned in closer to rest their heads together. They sat like that for a long moment, just breathing each other's air.
"You wanna get to work on that song, then?" Ray asked eventually.
Gerard seemed to consider it. "Soon," they answered, leaning back in to kiss Ray again.