Work Text:
Gerard sorts through the stack of mail that was crammed into his box as he trudges up the six floors to his closet-sized studio apartment. The only thing that really sucks about his place is the steep and narrow stairwell. After years of living in the city, the walk up part doesn't even bother him anymore. He unlocks both deadbolts and goes inside, adding most of the mail to the towering stack on the table by his futon. The envelope with the return address from the Christopher Street Gallery gets set on the futon with his laptop bag.
He changes out of his work clothes into pajama pants and an old Iron Maiden t-shirt, then pokes around in the cupboards in the tiny kitchenette for dinner. The results are less than appetizing, so he calls the Chinese restaurant on the corner for chicken lo mein and some egg rolls. While he waits for his food, he picks up the envelope again and weighs it in his hands, contemplates opening it. Instead, he sets it back down and gets his laptop out. He checks his email and dicks around on the internet until he hears the buzz on his intercom. He pays the delivery guy, then sits back down on the futon to eat, twirling noodles around the chopsticks and trying not to make a mess.
After he puts away the leftovers, Gerard stares at the envelope some more. He slides his finger under the corner, ready to rip it open, then chickens out and calls Mikey instead.
“What?” Mikey asks, by way of greeting.
Gerard sighs at him. “Nothing.”
Of course, Mikey knows him better than that. “What are you putting off this time?”
Gerard sighs again and listens to Mikey breathing in his ear for a few more minutes before he gives in. “I got a letter from a gallery.”
Mikey says, “Cool. What’d they say?”, around a mouthful of something crunchy.
“I don’t know, I haven’t read it yet,” Gerard replies. “What are you eating?”
“Funyuns. Read the letter, Gee.”
Gerard wants to keep stalling, but this is why he called Mikey in the first place. He sticks his thumb under the edge of the envelope flap and rips it open. There’s only one sheet of paper inside. He takes it out and unfolds it. He only reads the first sentence, which begins Thank you for your submission; however, we regret to inform you.... He folds the letter back up, sticks it in the envelope, and sets it on the leaning tower of junk mail, and watches as the extra weight causes it to slowly list and then spill all over the floor.
“I didn’t get it,” he says to Mikey.
“You’ll get the next one,” Mikey manages to articulate around his mouthful of chips. Mikey always has more faith in Gerard than Gerard has in himself.
“You always say that,” Gerard replies, careful to not sound ungrateful for the support.
“Well, someone has to believe in you. There are more galleries, and you’ll make more awesome art,” Mikey reasons.
“And in the meantime, I’ll have my soul sucked out by an evil corporation,” Gerard bemoans.
“Stop reading so many comics and start writing and drawing your own. Okay, Gee, I gotta go pick up Alicia from work. Later,” Mikey says all in a rush, then hangs up before Gerard can even respond. Mikey is insanely adorable about his girlfriend. They met on the only tour Mikey was a tour manager on, a job the indie label he works for quickly realized he was extremely terrible at. He puts his phone down, then flops back on the futon, his arms stretched out over his head.
Gerard knows Mikey is right, that he can do this, but he just feels more and more discouraged every day. He’s been at this for years since graduating, trying to get his name and his art out in the world. And all he has to show for it is a battered portfolio case and a stack of rejection letters a mile high. At least he’s not actually a starving artist. He has a job; he hates it, but he has it. Designing logos and letterheads and other corporate bullshit for a property management company isn’t what he thought he’d be doing after art school, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make his internship for DC turn into a paying job, and there really isn’t a high demand for illustrators.
The closest he came was The Breakfast Monkey, a cartoon he and his friend Joe from SVA almost sold to The Cartoon Network. For a few months he had a great job, and it felt so real, working on the development, like it was going to happen. Then they dropped the contract and Gerard was left to scramble for something else. He got lucky and family connections helped him get the job he has now. But he can’t help thinking if that was his only shot, and he missed it.
He falls asleep like that, with the lights on, thinking about working for money but not passion, Mikey’s advice, an idea for a painting he came up with on the subway last week. He dreams in abstracts, without any idea that the ashes of his rejection still hold a spark.
***
The graffiti on the wall of the smoker’s alley at work is old, the tag faded, but Gerard can still make out the crossed out eye and stitched up smile. The artist calls himself Fun Ghoul, but no one knows who he really is. Gerard only knows the artist is a ‘he’ because of an interview he read once. The fact that this Fun Ghoul guy even gets interviews and no one actually knows who he is annoys Gerard slightly.
What really pisses him off is that the guy has shows booked. From that stupid interview he read, Gerard knows that Fun Ghoul has no training, no history of slogging through the world with his portfolio banging against his leg and nearly being ripped from his hands by the wind. All he did was get a can of spray paint and doodle on some walls. In another mood, Gerard would probably appreciate the anarchy of Fun Ghoul’s work, but with his boss breathing down the neck of his stupidly stiff shirt collar about kerning on the latest company newsletter, it just makes him mad.
He stubs out his cigarette on the wall, right in the eye without the ‘x’, then heads back inside to finish up some work before the weekend. He’s walking home from the subway later when his cell phone rings. He’s expecting it to be Mikey again, but it’s actually Joe.
“Hey man, what’s up?” he answers.
“Not much, are you busy tonight?” Joe asks.
Gerard thinks about the quiet evening in, drawing and watching porn, that he had been planning. “Not really,” he says. “Why, what do you have in mind?”
“A couple of us are going to the Chris Street opening tonight, you wanna come with?”
The Christopher Street Gallery, of course that’s what Joe wants to do. Gerard has tried not to think about it being the first Friday of the month, about the rejection letter from a few weeks ago. About the fact that he found out Fun Ghoul is showing there.
He must be silent for a while, because Joe breaks his mental downward spiral with, “Hello? Gee?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.” Gerard takes a breath and thinks, fuck it. “Yeah, sure. Should I meet you there?”
“Yeah, we’ll be there at eight. See you then!”
“See you,” Gerard says, then hangs up.
When he gets home he changes into tight black jeans, black boots and throws on a ripped up t-shirt he’d been painting in last night. On second thought, he takes it off, turns it inside out, then puts it back on. He grabs his leather jacket then heads right back out. He grabs a quick slice at his favorite pizza place, then heads over to the comic book store. It’s in the Village, not far from the gallery, so he figures he might as well hang for a while until it’s time to meet up with Joe and the others.
He’s flipping through the stacks of Batman back issues when he feels someone looking at him. He glances up and meets a really pretty pair of hazel eyes on the opposite side of the table. The guy they belong to has a really nice face, his dark, soft-looking hair is about chin length and slightly wavy. He quirks one side of his nicely full lips in a half smile, gives Gerard a very pointed once-over with those gorgeous eyes, then turns his gaze back down to the row his tattooed fingers are on.
Gerard is still staring because, wow. He knows he can be interesting to look at, but he’s not really used to guys this hot looking at him like that when he’s not expecting it. The guy moves down the aisle a little, and Gerard gets a better look at him. He’s wearing a battered jean jacket, khakis and a Misfits t-shirt. He should look ridiculous, but he just looks good. Gerard’s about to move toward him, try to start some kind of conversation, but the guy looks at his watch, then shoots Gerard one last little smile, shrugs his shoulders up and shuffles toward the front of the store and out the door. Of fucking course.
***
It’s a few minutes past eight when Gerard gets to the gallery. Joe and his girlfriend and roommate are standing outside waiting for him. He sucks in one last drag of his cigarette, then puts it out, exhaling out of the side of his mouth.
“Hey, sorry, got caught up at the comic store,” he says as he walks up to them.
“It’s cool,” Joe replies. “You remember Amy and Chris, right?”
Gerard nods that he does and says hello to them both.
As they’re walking inside, Amy says, “This should be really cool, I’m so interested to see what he’s done for the gallery as opposed to what he does with his street pieces.”
Joe and Amy start talking about their favorite pieces of Fun Ghoul’s street art as they all make their way past the show in the front part of the gallery and toward the back where Fun Ghoul’s exhibit is taking place. The gallery is packed full of people, making it difficult to move around and get a good view of the art. Gerard loses track of the others pretty quickly, but he’s okay with that; he likes to take in the first viewing of something new on his own most of the time.
He finally edges around a group of girls in skinny jeans, sparkly tops, and fake over-sized glasses, and finds himself in front of a large canvas with what would otherwise be a really basic painting of a desert sunset, without the large, block lettering that spells “CONTAMINATED”. As much as he hates to admit it, even to just himself, it’s not as bad as he expected. It’s really good, actually. Gerard methodically takes in each piece on the wall, reading the blurb if there is one (there usually isn’t, most of them just have numbers instead of titles), and eventually he meets back up with Joe, Amy, and Chris.
The piece they’re in front of is a canvas that depicts a bombed out landscape. The sky is a patchwork of blue and pink and purple, with smoke filled clouds. The faint lines of luxury brand logos float in the clouds. There’s block lettering stenciled on this one too, reading “YOUNG AND LOADED”.
“I really love what he did with the scene here. It has a lot of depth, and his use of light and shadow is really incredible for someone untrained,” Joe says.
Gerard snorts. “Okay, his technique is good, but ‘young and loaded’ with Louis Vuitton logos? Could it be more over-the-top and pretentious?”.
“Well, I think the artist is trying to make a point of tying the extreme wealth that drives the military industrial complex with the young people sent into harm’s way to fight wars that are more about money than politics,” says a voice to Gerard’s left. He turns to look, and it’s the hot guy from the comic store. Gerard just sort of gapes at him, then smiles back when the guy grins.
“But I agree with you, it’s kind of over-the-top and pretentious. I’m Frank, by the way,” he says, sticking his hand out toward Gerard.
Gerard takes his hand, noting the firm grip. “I’m Gerard.”
He stands there, smiling and staring, until Frank says, “It’s nice to meet you. Gonna need my hand back, though.”
“Oh!” Gerard lets go of Frank’s hand and wipes both of his own on his jeans. “Sorry, I was just-”
“It’s fine, seriously,” Frank says. He’s still smiling and looking at Gerard with interest, so Gerard figures he didn’t weird him out too much.
“So, you’re not a fan?” Frank asks, gesturing to the painting on the wall.
Gerard finds himself at a loss for words. Before actually taking in the show, he would have said no, but now. Now, Fun Ghoul has some substance that Gerard took for granted. A bitter pill to swallow when he lost out on this opening to the guy, but he clearly deserved it. Eventually, he manages to say, “I’m conflicted.”
Surprisingly, Frank barks out a laugh. “I think that’s probably what he’s going for, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Gerard says.
They drop into silence as they make their way around the rest of the room together, studying the art and each other. But it’s not awkward. Gerard feels that thrill of attraction settle and he really wants to hang out with Frank, find out more about him. He should let his friends know, so he looks back over to where Joe had been standing last, but finds the spot occupied by a different group of people. He finally spots him across the room, and Gerard gives Joe a little wave, which Joe answers with a nod and a thumbs up.
He turns back to Frank and asks, “Do you wanna go get coffee or something?”
Frank smiles. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
They walk a few blocks to a diner, and slide into a cracked vinyl booth near the back. They’re slowly sipping from their mugs when Frank sighs and says, “I appreciate that I don’t have to walk more than a few blocks to get coffee at all hours in the city, but this place has nothing on the coffee in a Jersey diner.”
Gerard swallows his too hot mouthful too quickly, and has to chase it down with a sip of water before he can ask, “You’re from Jersey?”
“Born and raised. What about you?”
“Me too. I grew up in Belleville.”
“Shut the front door, are you serious? I refuse to believe we’re from the same town and we’ve never met before. Where’d you go to school?”
“Belleville High, both my brother Mikey and I went there.”
Frank nods. “Well that explains it. I was rotting away in slacks and a tie at Queen of Peace.”
“Probably better than the shit I got at public school. Middle school was the worst though. In high school, they mostly left me alone. I was just the weird kid drawing comics in the corner of the cafeteria.”
“Nah man, private school was its own special hell, trust me. I’ve seen the inside of one too many lockers.” Frank shudders, takes another sip of coffee. “So, you draw comics?”
“Well, sort of, yeah. I mean, that’s what I’d like to be doing. Writing and drawing them, actually. It’s what I went to school for.”
“Oh yeah? So, if you’re not writing and drawing comics, what do you do?” Frank asks.
“Corporate graphics for a property management company,” Gerard answers in a dead sounding monotone.
“Wow, that sounds... exhilarating,” Frank says, sounding sympathetic.
Gerard shrugs. “Yeah, I mean. I don’t know. It’s a job, right?” Gerard sighs. “What do you do?”
Frank fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie. “I do a lot of things. Wait tables, sit behind the counter at a book store, play guitar, take the train back to Jersey sometimes to help my grandfather at his refrigeration business. I guess you could say I’m a Frank of all trades.”
“A Frank of all trades, huh?” Gerard says with a smirk.
Frank smiles. “Yeah. So, you’re an artist. What did you think of the show tonight? You said you were conflicted.”
Gerard spends a few seconds chewing on his cuticles before answering. “Okay here’s the thing. I went into it sort of pre-disposed to hate it, because I submitted my work to be in the show and I didn’t get it. So, you know, there was that whole, I’m not good enough but this graffiti artist is, and I went to school for this and I’ve been busting my ass for years trying to, I don’t even know anymore, just fucking make it or something, and I can’t do it, but this guy with a spray paint can do it before me, you know? But seeing the show tonight, he’s really fucking good, and his point of view, I totally get it, right? And Fun Ghoul’s not really the problem, anyway. It’s me, and I just, I don’t know, I guess I’m just sort of drifting now. I’m not sure what the next step is, but I feel like I need to do something different, I guess.”
He looks up from where he’s been pushing sugar around on the table to see Frank with his chin resting on his hand, looking at him with an amused but sort of admiring expression. Gerard’s not sure what to make of it, but he feels his stupid cheeks heat up anyway.
“I get it, man. It’s hard to know what you’re supposed to do. But I think you’ll figure it out. You probably already have and you just don’t know it yet. And you’re talented, so you’ve already got the first part down.”
“How do you know I’m talented?” Gerard scoffs. “You’ve never seen my work.”
Frank shrugs. “You got through school and you’re still out there, submitting your work. Either you’re talented or you’re fucking crazy. And you don’t seem that crazy to me. Also, you just made a masterpiece out of sugar over there,” Frank says, gesturing to the mess at Gerard’s fingertips.
Gerard laughs. They go through two more cups of coffee, a smoke break outside, and a plate of disco fries before Gerard notices the time.
“Shit, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. I didn’t mean to keep you all night,” he says.
Frank smiles at him. “I didn’t mind, seriously. I don’t have anywhere I need to be. You want to show me some of your work for real?” The look Frank gives him from underneath his eyelashes is full of put-on innocence.
Gerard grins at him. “Nice line. You use that on all the guys you pick up at gallery openings?”
Frank giggles. “Nah, just the really cute ones.”
Gerard blushes again.
***
They go back to Gerard’s place and end up spending the rest of the night talking. Gerard shows Frank his sketchbook, they talk about politics, their families, movies, and comics, and it’s the kind of instant connection, already finishing each others' sentences conversation that always seems to happen to other people. Gerard’s not sure what he was expecting when they left the diner, but the closest they get physically is snuggling under the same blanket on Gerard’s futon. Around four in the morning, Gerard finally talks himself out and falls asleep. He’s woken up in too few hours by Frank kissing his cheek. Gerard fights his eyes open and sees Frank standing next to the futon with his jacket on.
“I have to go to work,” Frank tells him in a low voice. “And after that, I’m gonna take a nap, and then I’m gonna call you.”
“Kay,” Gerard says around a yawn. “I’ll see you later.” He hears Frank leave, knows he should get up, lock the door behind him, make coffee, do something productive, but he just snuggles back under the blanket that still smells a little like Frank, and sleeps some more.
***
True to his word, Frank calls Gerard that afternoon. They meet for dinner at a sushi place Gerard has never been to before, but Frank raves about, and he wasn’t joking, it’s amazing.
“I’m pretty sure that’s my new favorite sushi place,” Gerard tells Frank as they walk down the sidewalk.
“Damn right,” Frank says, then he lights a cigarette, hands it to Gerard and lights one for himself.
They go to a tiny bar where a friend of Frank’s is playing an acoustic show. He’s really good, and Gerard’s really enjoying sitting at a table with Frank’s hand resting on his thigh, just above the knee. There’s some talk after of going to another club, but Gerard just looks at Frank and doesn’t even need to say anything, and they’re saying their goodbyes and heading back to Gerard’s place.
When they get there, Gerard feels that nervous thrill of the first time hit him full force as he takes off his jacket, and watches as Frank removes his. They haven’t even kissed yet, but the feeling is there between them, like the building was struck by lightning and the room charged with electricity.
Gerard lays the futon down, then crawls onto it, kicking off his shoes as he goes. “C’mere,” he says to Frank once he’s settled.
Frank toes off his own shoes before joining Gerard on the futon. He moves over Gerard, holding himself up on his hands and knees above him.
Gerard tangles his fingers in Frank’s hair and pulls him closer. Frank’s eyes slide shut and he chokes off a groan. “Okay, I really have to kiss you now,” Gerard says, pulling Frank the rest of the way down.
The kiss is soft at first, just a gentle press of their lips. Then Frank sucks on Gerard’s bottom lip, runs his tongue between them, and Gerard opens his mouth slightly, letting Frank’s tongue slip inside, letting him deepen the kiss. Frank’s body settles on top of Gerard’s, and he spreads his legs, letting Frank press even closer to him. Frank breaks away from Gerard’s mouth and sucks kisses down the side of Gerard’s neck. Gerard shivers and rolls his hips up against Frank’s. Frank sucks harder in response and presses his hips down. Gerard can feel Frank getting hard, his own cock making his jeans tighter by the second.
It feels so good, rocking his hips against Frank’s, rubbing off on each other like teenagers, kissing so much they’re barely breathing. Frank presses his forehead against Gerard’s to catch his breath, hips still moving in tiny thrusts. “Fuck, I really want to fuck you right now,” he pants.
Gerard feels another shiver rock through him at the thought. “So fuck me,” he says.
Frank stops moving and pulls back a little to look Gerard in the eyes. “Are you sure?”
Gerard may be super picky about who he sleeps with, but once he decides he likes someone, he doesn’t see the point in beating around the bush, as it were. “Yes, I’m sure. I want you to fuck me.”
Frank groans and opts for more kissing, before sitting up and saying, “Shit, I don’t have any condoms with me!”
“Asshole,” Gerard says, shoving him off and rolling over to dig around in his nightstand drawer, coming back with a condom and lube. “I fucking have condoms.”
“Oh right! You’re so awesome,” Frank says, pulling Gerard back to him.
After that, it’s a blur of kissing and touching each new bit of skin as they get their clothes off. And then Frank is slicking his fingers and pressing one, then two into Gerard. Gerard moans and pulls his knees back further, opening himself up as much as he can. Frank’s gaze is hungry, and he leans over Gerard so they can kiss while he fingers him.
When it’s enough, Gerard wraps his hand around Frank’s wrist to stop him, and says, “Come on, I want you now.”
Frank pulls his fingers out, then puts the condom on and slicks his cock with more lube. He kneels between Gerard’s legs, and positions his cock at Gerard’s entrance, then slowly pushes forward, sinking in slowly, all the way inside. Gerard loves the too full, stretched feeling, and once he’s adjusted, he tilts his hips back, encouraging Frank to fuck him. “Yeah, that’s it, fuck me.”
Frank drops down on his elbows so he can keep kissing Gerard as he fucks him, hard and steady. Gerard’s cock is trapped between their bodies, rubbing against Frank’s stomach as he moves. It feels really fucking good, and Gerard reaches down and grabs Frank’s ass, pulling him in harder, faster.
The futon is making creaking noises but Gerard doesn’t even care. Frank slows things down again, rocking in as deep as he can, but Gerard wants more. He runs his hands up Frank’s back, sliding his fingers into Frank’s soft hair and says, “Pull out a sec, let me roll over.”
Frank gently pulls out and backs up on his knees so Gerard has room to move. He looks a little dazed, so Gerard kisses him before he gets on his hands and knees, looking back over his shoulder at Frank. “You coming?”
Frank scoots back up behind Gerard, lines himself up, and pushes in again, this time hard and fast and so fucking deep. Gerard rocks forward with the force of it, and then pushes back, hard. “Fuck yeah, like that Frankie.”
“Fuck, Gee, you’re so fucking hot, taking my cock like this,” Frank babbles as he slams into Gerard over and over again.
Gerard wraps a hand around his cock, stroking it hard and fast in time with Frank’s thrusts, and it’s not much longer until he’s crying out, his free hand gripping the sheet as he comes. He collapses forward on Frank’s next thrust, and Frank follows, fucking him fast, rhythm lost as he clings to Gerard and bites his shoulder as he shakes and comes.
They lie there panting, Frank’s hand reaching out to loosen Gerard’s death grip on the bedding and hold it. Eventually, Frank pulls out and stumbles toward the bathroom. Gerard rolls over onto his back and smiles dreamily at the ceiling. Frank comes back from the bathroom, and Gerard knows he should go clean up properly, but he’s too tired and fucked out to care. The only nod he gives to taking care of the mess is to ball up the sheet he came all over and drop it on the floor before he pulls Frank closer to him, then passes the fuck out.
In the morning, Frank doesn’t make any moves to leave, and Gerard doesn’t encourage him to. They spend most of the day watching Robot Chicken on Gerard’s laptop. They take a break in the afternoon to fuck again, Gerard on his side with Frank spooned up behind him. Later that evening when Frank says he has to go, he whispers in Gerard’s ear, “I really fucking like you.”
Gerard says, “I really fucking like you too.” He sends Frank off with a kiss, and a promise to see him again soon.
***
Gerard always takes the same route to work (unless there’s something wrong with the train, and in that case, he always takes the same back up route), but today, there’s something different. Fun Ghoul must have been busy last night, because Gerard keeps seeing the same stencil with his funny mask all over the place. He stands in front of one, sipping his coffee slowly. Seeing Fun Ghoul’s tag reminds him of Frank and the amazing weekend they just had. He’s pulling out his cell phone and dialing Frank’s number before he can think about it much.
Frank doesn’t answer, though, so Gerard leaves a message.
“Hey, it’s Gerard. I just saw some new Fun Ghoul work and thought of you. I hope you have a good day. Talk to you later, bye.”
He takes another sip, then continues on his way to work, mulling over the message as he walks. Art is the weapon.
***
For the next few weeks, Gerard’s life is the opposite of stagnant corporate suckitude. He still has his job, but his day tends to be filled with texts and emails to and from Frank in addition to bullshit corporate design. And there’s the sex. Really great sex. One of the few times Frank stays over, he rides Gerard slowly, letting the tension build until Gerard’s toes are curling and he has to grab Frank’s hips and thrust up into him over and over again until Frank loses it and comes all over Gerard’s stomach, and Gerard pulls him down and muffles his own shout in Frank’s neck.
As they regain their breath, Frank rolls over and off, looking at Gerard with glassy eyes and saying, “That was fucking awesome.” Then he sneezes, coughs, and sneezes again, adding, “I don’t feel very good.” The cold hits him faster than Gerard’s ever seen anyone get sick before, but luckily he has some TheraFlu in the bathroom cabinet. He fixes a mug for Frank and makes him drink all of it before tucking him in the blankets and snuggling up to him. Gerard’s pretty sure that’s when he starts falling in love with him.
It’s more than great sex though, which is a relief for Gerard after going so long without feeling a real connection to someone, just finding people who were fun to sleep with and not much more. Frank is just incredibly easy to talk to. So easy that Gerard sort of feels like he’s known him for years, not just weeks, cliche as that is. Frank definitely has a lot of opinions about art, music, politics, the internet, and he shares them with Gerard enthusiastically. But not many people are gabbier than Gerard, and there are often times when Gerard will zone back in from the tangent he’s gone off on to find Frank staring at him with that look of fond amusement from that first night in the diner.
They talk about art a lot, too. There’s something about Frank and the way he speaks so passionately that gives Gerard ideas, makes him start carrying his sketchbook at all times again. They’re taking a smoke walk one day when they pass one of Fun Ghoul’s tags, and Gerard remembers that he was going to ask Frank about it, but never got around to it at the time. By now, “art is the weapon” has been followed up with “the future is bulletproof” and “the aftermath is secondary”, and this one, which reads “keep running”.
“Hey, I meant to ask you about those,” Gerard says, gesturing at the tag. “What do you think he’s trying to say?”
Frank stops in front of the tag, taking a long drag off his cigarette before he answers. “I think what he’s saying is that we have to create in order to defeat destruction, to keep going no matter what bullshit gets thrown our way. To use whatever we can in order to make something. And that it doesn’t matter if we fail in the long run, because what we create can’t really be destroyed.”
He turns to look at Gerard, his face full of intensity, and Gerard just has to kiss him, he looks so beautiful.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were him,” Gerard says when he pulls back. “Oh hey-”
“Gee, I-”
They both stop talking, then Frank says, “You first.”
Gerard smiles, ducks in for one more kiss, then starts walking again. “Sorry. Just, what you said about doing whatever we can to make something, it reminded me that I wanted to tell you about the new comic I’m working on. Well, it’s not exactly new, I’ve been thinking about some of the characters for years, but I think I finally figured out what they’re supposed to be. What were you gonna say?”
“Nothing. Tell me about the comic.”
“Well, it’s about this family of superheroes. Except they’re a really dysfunctional adopted family, and the patriarch is actually an alien, but they don’t know that. There’s seven of them, the adopted kids. They each have a superpower and they were brought up to save the world, basically. But Hargreeves, that’s the patriarch, is a really shitty father figure, and so the kids grow up completely messed up, and by the time they’re adults, half of them aren’t speaking to each other anymore. And then they meet again at Hargreeves’ funeral.”
Frank smiles at him, and Gerard outlines the back story for each member of The Umbrella Academy all the way back to his apartment.
Later that night, Gerard’s sitting on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette, thinking about the characters in his head, about Frank, about art, about what Fun Ghoul might be doing. Frank left a few hours ago, but Gerard couldn’t go back to sleep, so he got out his sketchbook again, going over the details he had bounced off of Frank earlier, the quick sketches he made while they talked. Frank is an amazing sounding board, his point of view sharp and precise. Like how he is with his staggeringly well-worded critiques of Fun Ghoul’s work.
Gerard thinks back to their walk earlier, and remembers that Frank was about to tell him something while they were talking about Fun Ghoul but didn’t, then he let Gerard ramble about Spaceboy and The Seance and the others until he shut him up with a kiss. Gerard wonders if Frank knows more about Fun Ghoul than he’s said. It’s possible, Frank was at the gallery opening, and Fun Ghoul has to have an outside contact in order to do interviews and sell paintings. He takes a last drag from his cigarette, then climbs back under the covers. As he drifts to sleep, he tries to remember he should ask Frank about it tomorrow.
***
In the morning, Gerard’s on his usual route to work when he sees it. He has no idea how Fun Ghoul evening managed to do something this huge without being caught, but it’s stunning. There are a few dozen people actually stopped on the sidewalk staring at it, taking pictures, pointing.
The huge retaining walls that block the construction taking place on the National Bank Building have been transformed. The first panel has been sprayed bright red with “ART IS THE WEAPON” in block lettering in the center. The next two follow in the same style, blue with “THE FUTURE IS BULLETPROOF” and green with “THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY”. The final panel is the true work of art. There are B-2 bombers flying over the top, but instead of dropping bombs, they’re dropping ink. The word “BOOM” has been formed from the ink puddle, which drips down and onto the sidewalk below.
After Gerard finally snaps out of it enough to move his feet again, he realizes he’s not continuing his walk to work, he’s heading in the direction of Frank’s place. They never hang out there, but he’s been there once and knows where it is. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find, he just knows he needs to see Frank.
He has to wait a few minutes for Frank to open the door, and when he does it’s clear that Gerard woke him up. Frank’s hair is messed up and he’s rubbing his eyes.
“Gee?” he asks, in a confused voice. “What’s going on?”
Gerard doesn’t answer, though, because he can see past Frank into the living room, see the giant stencils leaning against the wall, the messenger bag with spray paint cans sticking out of the top. When he looks more closely, he can see the paint under Frank’s fingernails.
“Frank of all trades, huh?” His voice sounds cold even to his own ears.
Frank flinches, but doesn’t move otherwise. “Are you mad?”
“I’m mad that you didn’t fucking tell me, Frank. Fuck, this is what you do, who you are, and I guess I wasn’t important enough to be let in on your little secret.”
That’s enough to get Frank moving, reaching out for Gerard. “Gee, that’s not-”
But Gerard steps back into the hall, out of reach, cuts him off. “No. I just... I need to be alone for a while.”
He turns and walks back out of the building, into the relentless morning sunlight.
***
Gerard calls in sick to work and spends the rest of the morning walking. His phone rings a half dozen times, all calls from Frank, but he doesn’t answer. After another beep letting him know he has a voice mail, he turns his phone off.
After a few hours of aimless wandering, he’s starving so he buys himself a hot dog and a lemonade. He’s not far from the library, so he walks in that direction and gets lucky when he finds an unoccupied cafe table outside. He finishes his lunch, then pulls out his sketchbook. He flips to the last drawing he was working on. The Rumor, he’s calling her. The lies she tells become the truth. He gets his pens out and goes back to work on her logo, the R turning into a question mark.
He works until it’s too dark to see his page, then he packs up and makes the trek across the city and back home. He has his head down, watching the sidewalk under his feet, so it’s a shock when he looks up and sees Frank sitting on the steps.
“Hey,” Frank says.
“Hey,” Gerard replies. He tries to determine if he’s still pissed off, but finds that he’s mostly just tired and relieved to see Frank’s stupid face.
“Can I come up?” Frank asks.
“Yeah, sure,” Gerard answers, stepping around Frank to unlock the building. They trudge up the stairs and into Gerard’s apartment. Gerard dumps his bag next to the futon, then goes into the kitchenette and pours himself a glass of water. “Do you want one?” he asks Frank, holding up the glass.
“Yeah, that would be great.”
Gerard pours another glass, hands it to Frank, then goes to sit on the futon. Frank hovers awkwardly in the middle of the room. They drink in silence, and for the first time, it’s awkward. Which Gerard fucking hates, but he waits it out because Frank needs to start this conversation. Frank eventually sits down next to Gerard, sets his glass down and turns to face him.
“Gee, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Gerard makes himself take one more sip, then turns to face Frank as well. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry I made you wait all day to apologize.”
A ghost of a smile appears on Frank’s face. “Well, I fucking deserved it.”
“You kinda did. Why didn’t you just tell me? I mean, fuck, I practically accused you of being Fun Ghoul. You could have just said something.”
“I know! And I feel like such an asshole. But, it’s just... Gee, I don’t tell anyone about it. And I didn’t know that this would happen when we first met, and then I wanted to tell you but I didn’t know how, and then it just became this awkward thing.”
Gerard sighs. “I get that.” Then he goes back over what Frank said. “Wait, you didn’t know what would happen when we met?”
Frank blushes a little, but he answers. “That I’d fall in love with you.”
They haven’t said it before, but Gerard’s known how he feels for a while now. It’s... well, it’s pretty fucking amazing to know that Frank feels the same way.
“You’re in love with me?” he asks with a smile.
“Yes, I’m in love with you. Do you want me to stencil it on the Empire State Building? I’d try.”
Gerard laughs. “I know you would.”
He takes a long enough pause that Frank pokes him in the shoulder and says, “Well?”
“Oh! I love you, too.”
Frank’s grin could light the island of Manhattan for days. He leans forward and captures Gerard’s lips in a lingering kiss, his hands gentle as they cup Gerard’s face, like he’s precious and Frank is afraid he’ll break.
When Frank’s lips release Gerard’s, he asks, “So are you upset that it’s me?”
Gerard shakes his head. “No. I’m actually really fucking impressed, to be honest. I was just upset that you kept it from me.”
“I can promise you two things. It’s the only thing about myself I kept from you, and I’ll never do it again.”
Gerard leans back in for another kiss before he answers. “I believe you.”
***
Four months later
Gerard sorts through the mail in the ancient, scary elevator on his way up to the apartment. He sets the junk mail on the pile on the side table just inside the door.
“Hey!” he calls out.
“In the studio!” is the reply he gets.
Gerard walks down the hall to the room at the end, and finds Frank throwing paint at a canvas. He stops long enough to give Gerard a kiss and ask how his day was.
“Good. I got a letter.”
Frank stops painting again. “Oh yeah? From who?”
“Whom,” Gerard automatically corrects, then ducks as Frank threatens him with a paintbrush. “Sorry!” he laughs.
“Okay, from whom is your letter, Gee?”
“Dark Horse Comics.”
Frank makes excited eyes at him. “What are you waiting for, open it!”
Gerard tears open the envelope and unfolds the single sheet inside. The letter begins with the usual thank you, but then it says, We are happy to inform you that we would like to discuss publishing your work.
“Oh my god!”
“What what!” Frank says, grabbing the letter from Gerard so he can read it. “Oh my god! They’re gonna publish you! Fuck, baby, I’m so happy for you!”
Frank launches himself at Gerard. Gerard’s too stunned to remember why he should stop him, so his work clothes end up splotched with paint. Then he decides he doesn’t fucking care, he just sold his comic.
“Thank you,” he whispers in Frank’s ear.
“You did it, not me,” Frank whispers back.
Gerard pulls him even closer. “Your work inspired me, and you believed in me. You were the spark.”