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Gerard held a hand up, offering the badly rolled joint to Frank. The edges of the room seemed to soften around them. He could feel the warmth of his boyfriend’s thighs through the ripped holes in his jeans as he lay there, head resting comfortably in Frank’s lap. It was comfortable. It was familiar. Fingernails, painted badly with perpetually chipped black polish, dragged gently through his hair. Frank had a habit of picking at the polish when he was bored or nervous.
Gerard’s bedroom reeked of weed, deodorant, and teenage existential dread. Every inch of wall space was covered in his art. The bed squeaked quietly beneath them as Frank leaned forward, prying the joint from Gerard’s fingers. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as Frank took a drag, his hazel eyes never leaving Gerard.
There was something achingly soft in his expression—alive with a kind of vulnerability Gerard recognized instantly. Usually, there was mischief there, a restless energy that never seemed to fade. Frank was chaos personified: loud, impulsive, reckless. He cracked dumb jokes like his life depended on it, played guitar like someone was about to take music away from him, and carried himself with a confidence so bright most people bought it without question.
They were all idiots.
Or maybe Gerard was just broken enough to recognize that same ache in someone else—even if that someone was exceptionally good at hiding it behind a grin.
“Do you ever get that feeling,” Gerard murmured, his voice muffled against Frank’s thigh as he curled in closer, “like you could just… disappear? Like tomorrow you could...just...be gone, and the world would just… keep spinning?”
In 1998, before social media was a thing, a seventeen-year-old Gerard Way had the luxury of not realizing he sounded like every other emo kid alive.
“I think you need to get back on your Prozac, Gee…”
Gerard could hear the smile in Frank’s voice. He let out an offended huff and tilted his head back to fix him with a pointed stare.
“I asked you a question, Frankie. Don’t play psychiatrist—just answer it.”
Frank took another drag before passing the joint back. He chewed absently on his lip ring, eyes drifting for a moment before settling on Gerard again.
“I don’t know… I think I just avoid thinking about tomorrow at all…”
Frank let out a quiet laugh, but it was missing all its usual bravado. It sounded thin. It sounded like Gerard had finally scratched at something that had been buried inside of him for too long.
“I mean… college, jobs… it all feels too big for me to handle? so I just- I don’t.” He paused, jaw shifting slightly. He was picking at the nailpolish. Gerard didn't even see, but he just knew that he was. “Or the fact I’m failing physics ‘cause I can’t focus for shit. I just—”
He shrugged.
Without the noise, without the constant movement and humor filling the space around him, Frank suddenly looked smaller. Younger. All five-foot-six and sixteen years of him.
“I just show up. Do my thing. Hope I’m not doomed to be a loser forever.” A beat. Another less-than-convincing huff of laughter. “Even though I’m pretty sure I am.”
Gerard frowned, slowly pushing himself up from Frank’s lap. The bed creaked softly as he shifted, turning to sit in front of him instead. For a second, he just looked at him—gaze softening at the now glaringly visible crack in the person he loved the most. The person that always acted like he was invincible.
Then he reached out, cupping Frank’s face in both hands.
“You’re not a loser,” Gerard said, firm and certain.
Frank blinked, a small, surprised smile pulling at his mouth. It was softer this time. Real.
“No?”
Gerard shook his head fiercely, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheeks.
“No. So what you’re failing physics? Mrs. Smith’s a joke anyway.” He shook his head again, softer this time, a small smile on his lips. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. You’re okay as you are.”
Frank’s eyes flickered between Gerard’s, like he was having trouble believing that.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A quiet pause settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable.
“Gee?” Frank murmured, voice thick and eyes suspiciously shiny.
“Yeah?”
Frank leaned forward slightly, his hands coming up to rest loosely on Gerard’s wrists, like he needed to anchor him there.
“You can’t just disappear.”
It almost sounded desperate.
Gerard’s expression softened.
“No?”
Frank shook his head, just a little.
“No.”
His grip tightened.
“I’d miss you too much.”