Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Incendiary Heart
Chapter 1
15 ReviewsFrank is living in between his dreams and trying to put his world together, one night at a time...(the smoother side of Frerard)
This story is a complete and total work of fiction. Names and images have been used based on those of actual people for frame of imagery reference ONLY. The people these fictional characters are based upon in no way share the thoughts, views, personalities, morals, traits, agree with, or have knowledge of, any part of this story. It is a complete work of fiction stemmed from my imagination and should be treated as such. All rights are copyrighted and cannot be reproduced without the Author’s (my) permission. It is fiction and it is mine. But so long as you’re here…welcome to my world…xoxo Harley Quinn
This story was inspired by the writings of aiIenzo on here. Amazing writer who really got me going to the point I couldn’t stop. Thank you for that. I’m dedicating this story to Smooshy. My best friend and writing partner who is always a bottomless source of inspiration to me. This one is for you.
The Incendiary Heart
By: Harley Quinn
Chapter 1
There had been three pivotal moments in Frank Iero’s life…and Gerard had been there for two of them. The first was when Frank’s Father had given him his first guitar, despite a talented Family legacy of drummers. Frank had always marched to a different drum and he played that guitar hard and fast despite the fact that it was almost as tall as him when it stood on point. It had changed his life then; it still did now. The second was when Frank was given the opportunity of a lifetime to join a local band that his own dissipated band had admired. It was an honor to play with the four Jersey friends and they had taken Frank under their wing, adopting him into their tribe. That also continued to change his life for the better every single day. The third was the night Frank realized through a feverish daze what it was he wanted; who it was he needed; what about himself he had never discovered before on his own. He had more than friendly feelings for his best friend in the world; and he was not at all in control of them. This too would continue to change Frank’s life. And it was as pivotal a moment as the others that came before it.
Despite the swell of Frank’s fevered head, it had been so clear. It was the only clarity he had found that night as he lay in his bunk, his body preserving the last of his energy. His head pounded like a drum, his skull tightening around his brain like a vice as Frank closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain of creeping light through the curtain.
His bunk was a place of rest; his quiet coffin where he did not have to be alive at all. Frank lay perfectly still behind the curtain, the only stage where he did not have to be ‘on’ for everyone else. He slipped away inside his aching body, his sheets pulled close like the veil of his tomb as he waited for sleep… Death…or the dark angel who sometimes visited his mourning place.
Gerard peeked a concerned eye through the slit of the curtain, the light following into the bunk with his curiosity. “Frank? Are you awake?”
Knowing Gerard, a statement like that could mean anything. On a sunny afternoon it could be a question as to Frank’s state of mind and restful nature. At two in the morning, like that night, it could have been an inquiry into Frank’s spiritual enlightenment. With Gerard, you could just never tell until he followed it up with another question of revelation. And still you would be left with no answers.
“No,” Frank groaned, his body cursing even the movement of his lips. It hurt to speak. It ached to breathe. It destroyed him simply to be.
Gerard whispered, “But you could be. If you’re talking. If you want to.”
The randomness of Gerard’s words always left Frank spinning. His head was already spinning and the dizziness left him off balance; even lying down. “I’m awake,” he finally answered, craving the company of his friend more than the absence of pain.
Gerard drew back the curtain, slipping inside Frank’s tomb and closing the veil behind him again. He slipped down by Frank’s side, nudging him over in the small bunk for room so he would not fall back over the side. When Frank’s tired body refused to move, it was Gerard who made the room, turning on his side to face his friend as he shared his pillow and space. That little gesture was an offer, even though to anyone else it would not seem so.
“Do you think you know when you’re dreaming, Frank?” he whispered.
The chill of Gerard’s healthy whisper was cold against Frank’s burning body. He was in no condition to play Gerard’s games tonight but he had let him in, preferring to be on the sidelines if he could not be part of the game. He could root from there for both sides. Gerard always played both sides of the game. That’s why there was no use in playing. He would volley back and forth so that whichever side finally won, Gerard was always on it. Even if Frank could not win, it was still his love of the game that kept him coming back for the sport of it.
“I don’t know,” he answered softly, wishing he could respond with his mind. Gerard had an innate ability to read Frank’s mind sometimes. It was like he was always a step ahead of him and Frank was just trying to keep up; with himself; for Gerard.
Gerard absently played his fingers over the soft wisps of Frank’s hair where they stuck to the sweat of his forehead. He picked them back, strand by strand, his words blowing softly over their wake. “If you can be awake in your dreams,” he said softly, “you could control them. If you can recall those dreams when you’re awake, couldn’t you then make them come true?”
“I don’t know,” he answered lamely, his eyes too heavy to open; too afraid of facing him so closely.
Gerard’s lips pressed to Frank’s forehead, testing his temperature, challenging his will. “You’re burning alive,” he said softly.
“Makes me know I’m alive,” Frank failed to smile.
Gerard’s voice smiled just enough so Frank could hear it. “I had a dream about you,” he whispered.
Frank did not want to hear about Gerard’s dream though. It would be twisted and confusing and it would only leave him with more questions. The only thing more complex than Gerard himself, was his dreams. They were coded even more than his lyrics and Frank often wondered if Gerard understood them himself sometimes. His mind was a chasm of ideas and interpretations that had not yet been released. To see into Gerard’s unconscious mind was like standing at the precipice of Heaven and Hell combined. Gerard found it cathartic to share his dreams. Frank found it curiously unsettling. But now he did not want to hear Gerard’s dream. He wanted to sleep. And he wanted Gerard to stay while he did.
Frank did not try to stop him though. He knew it would be no use anyway. When Gerard had something to say, you were going to hear it. And you would listen, because it was not often anyone was privy to such privileged information. It was amusing to be in the presence of Gerard’s rants about comics or music or movies from his childhood. But it was an honor to be shared with when Gerard had something important to say. His gravitational pull was unending and people simply orbited around him. Frank was always around him. He was a listener as much as Gerard was a talker.
“I dreamed that you were here,” he whispered quietly, the bus rocking softly as they rode along the abandoned highway. It had become an inconsistent lullaby, both unnerving and comforting at the same time. Like Gerard. “Right here, in your bunk.”
Frank whispered, opening his eyes to the darkness as they adjusted to the tiny slant of light that stretched over him. “What was I doing?”
“Waiting,” Gerard whispered. “You were waiting.”
Frank was intrigued but he knew Gerard would not continue until he played along. Still, he stared straight ahead at the top of his bunk, the bottom of Gerard’s bunk. It did not matter that he could not see it. He just needed to know there was a limit somewhere. “Waiting for what?”
“For who.” Gerard corrected.
Frank was in the game now. “For who?” he repeated in question.
“For me,” Gerard whispered against his ear, cooling his body in a quiet rush.
Frank knew when he was being toyed with. But again he asked, “For what?”
Gerard slowly drew the sheet down Frank’s heated body, letting its folded creases pool down around his bare waist, revealing the hem of his shorts. He traced a smooth finger across Frank’s tattoos, following the lines like he was drawing them there, placing them softly into his skin. It was unnerving to be touched by someone so smooth. It was invigorating in a way Frank’s body was unprepared for. Frank tried to hold his breath. To slow his heart. To stop from giving himself away. Part of him wanted to give it all away and keep nothing for himself. There is nothing he would not deny his friend if only Gerard would ask. The comfort in knowing that, was the safety of the fact that Frank knew Gerard would never ask. It was easy to offer something of yourself when there wasn’t a taker waiting in the wings.
“You were waiting for me to watch you come to life,” Gerard said softly, his fingers tracing patterns Frank could feel as they formed into pictures he knew by heart; just like Gerard’s touch. He would lie for hours some nights, admiring Frank’s ink, worshipping his body with his mind. Gerard did not like needles but he loved Frank’s body and what they could do for it. To be the subject of Gerard’s fear-turned-fascination made Frank feel special. The touch itself was what pushed him over the edge though. The intimacy was too close; the breathing all wrong. What were they doing? What game was this now?
“I am alive,” Frank whispered, not trusting his voice any louder than that.
Gerard just smiled; tiny teeth all in a row; his smile unevenly smooth. “You are. But it was your body that came to life in my dream,” he said softly, his breath tingling the tiny hairs against Frank’s ear. “The scorpion struck,” he said, his finger touching over Frank’s neck. “The Virgin wept,” he whispered, his touch trailing down over his arm. “The sparrows took flight,” his finger traced over Frank’s stomach. “And you were blank underneath them.”
Frank was on fire from more than the fever. Gerard’s touch was soft and slow and although Frank tried so hard to focus on his dreamy words, it was his touch that pulled Frank’s attention. They had lain together a thousand times. They had rested across each other’s laps, lived in a van; shared a bed, a bunk, more than one kiss on stage. An intimate band indeed. But this was different. It was not for the survival of the band in a van. It was not to save money sharing a motel room bed. It was not for comfort or lack of space. It had nothing to do with putting on a show. The curtain was pulled this time and they were alone…with each other. And it was all unnecessary. And wonderful. And confusing.
Frank was capable of appreciating a beautiful man when he saw one. There was no doubt Gerard was beautiful and he had told him so before. Gerard had laughed, that magical giggle that left Frank in stitches; the one he could not resist. But as Gerard traced his body slowly now there was no hesitation or sweetness per say. There was a hunger behind it, a low devouring growl inside him as though he wanted to consume Frank. His fingers no longer danced across him; they stalked his body with feathered touches. They were holding back. From what, Frank did not know. But he found himself wanting to find out. He wanted to be felt and for Gerard to know he was there. He wanted Gerard to prove his existence. It made no sense in Frank’s mind but it was perfectly clear all over his body. The tingle spread from Gerard’s magic finger to Frank’s inferno of skin and rippled outward through him with fiery waves of intensity. And Frank had never wanted so badly to burn.
As soon as the whispered moan escaped his lips, Frank wished he could take it back. But Gerard’s fingers were low on his waistline, dancing the hem of his shorts, and what man on earth, straight or otherwise, would not feel the want in a touch like that? But as soon as Frank’s true feeling was released through his soft moan, Gerard’s finger stopped along with his breath. And Frank was the only one breathing in the bunk. They both froze, listening to Frank breathe as he tried not to pant in his labored condition. It was a revelation beyond Gerard’s cryptic gamble and it was out there, the only thing between them now.
“I should go,” Gerard whispered, his breath hot against Frank’s ear, its guilt seeping inside Frank.
“Don’t go,” he said, his voice coming out as his breath was pulling in, a desperate attempt not to fail…but failing just the same.
Gerard was slipping slowly away, the heat of his body abandoning Frank’s burn. “You don’t want me to stay,” he whispered. Farther and farther away. Gerard was backing out of the curtain, his eyes the only part of him left in Frank’s tomb.
“I do,” he breathed, trying not to make it sound like the plea that it was.
“No,” Gerard smiled softly.
Frank turned to face him, head-on like a deer in Gerard’s headlights. It was a dangerous position to face him like that. It threw Frank’s advantage; as though he ever had one. “Why?” he asked, needing more than he wanted to know.
Gerard slipped through the curtain, letting it fall back to a close. He was still standing on the other side. Frank could feel him through the dark cloth; could hear him breathing and proving mortal existence, even though it felt wrong coming from him. “You don’t know what you want, Frank,” came the voice behind the curtain. And then he walked away.
Frank shuddered in the sudden chill his body felt from the empty air around him. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, his mind replayed. But Frank’s whole body stood at attention. The hairs across his skin reached for what they could not grasp because the electricity they longed for had left. Why did he let Gerard do these things? Why didn’t he want him to stop?
And that was when Frank woke up. He stared dazedly around the bunk, ripping the curtain back in a feverish daze. There was no light behind it like there had been a minute ago. There were no sounds from other parts of the bus. The only sounds came from the bunks of sleeping boys around him. Frank wobbled to his feet, rising up towards the bunk above him where Gerard was soundly sleeping. He peeked through the curtain, confirming his presence, his existence, the improbability of everything he thought that had never actually happened. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, his head warned him. Frank sank back down into his bunk. What did it all mean?
Frank slipped his hand down below the hem of his shorts, the border Gerard never crossed. He felt over his hot skin in the darkness and fell back to sleep in his hold. The hold he was under depleted his energy and to his surprising disappointment, sleep was the only thing that would take him that night. He fell asleep again trying to get the dream back. But like every dream he tried to recapture, it only got further away.
Frank stirred at some hour he could not identify in the darkness of his bunk. The space felt bigger when he woke even though it had not changed. Frank had changed. Everything was different. Something had been realized but could not be reached and all he could think of was Gerard. He was Frank’s first thought upon waking and he wished he could go back to sleep. It was too heavy a thought to carry into the light. Frank lay in his bunk, reveling in the darkness of the dream that no longer clung to him, and cursing leaving the safety of the night behind. Frank could not face it. He could not face Gerard. Not when this feeling was all over his face. Gerard would see right through him. Just like he always had.
The curtain shot back and Mikey smiled in the bright light. “Breakfast?” he grinned.
Frank sighed in the light that poured over him, showing him off in an uncomfortable way as though he might really be seen. “Sure,” he sighed. Mikey scampered off to the front of the bus and Frank did not want to follow. He did not want to move. But the bus was moving on its on. And it was up to Frank to catch up.
He made his way to the front of the bus past the empty bunks of the friend that slept across from him; the protector who watched from above; the advisor who looked on from the distance; and the would-be lover who slept above him, who Frank would never be over. Frank would always be beneath him. He would just never be under him. And now he knew he wanted to be. And the day looked longer from the start.
Mikey had set a place for Frank at the table that jutted out from the wall of the bus. He slumped into the booth and smiled at the gesture. Coffee, orange juice, toast with grape jelly and an ashtray on the side. It was what had fondly become referred to as the ‘Get Better Frank’ breakfast. It was a time-honored tradition on tour and one he had come to love and expect.
“Thanks, Mikey,” he smiled as Bob sipped his coffee across from Frank, not yet awake enough for conversation.
“The Breakfast of Champions,” Mikey grinned.
Gerard moved in the front of the bus as it slowed and careened around the corner into a lot. He hung to the rail by the stairs with a smirk. “Frankie’s a champion alright,” he grinned.
Frank watched him from behind his mug, the steam wavering Gerard’s smile through it as he watched him exit and be gone. Frank felt a sense of relief to see him go. He needed time to process his thoughts and he could not do that with Gerard in close quarters. He needed him gone. And yet he could still feel him there.
“Where’s Ray?” Frank asked.
Mikey shrugged, “Where else?”
Ray was in the back, playing with sounds, mixing noise that would turn into something beautiful after crossing his path. It was an event every time Ray sat down to play. It was awe-inspiring to watch him create. But it was more than Frank could handle so he stayed at the little booth and watched Bob slowly wake.
Frank had learned early on when Bob had joined the band that the grown man did not wake well. He took his time and woke through process. Damn anyone who got in his way. But Frank had always been the type to meet a feisty challenge head on. Were there dragons in the world, Frank would be the one swinging without a shield.
“Hi Bob,” Frank grinned from ear to ear.
“Mph,” Bob muttered, looking away, trying to determine what city they were in by the color of concrete and position of the sun. It all looked the same but so did everything before he was awake.
“What did you do last night?” he smiled. Bob growled a loathsome sound in his throat and it was intended to be enough answer for Frank to back off. Of course, he didn’t.
“Were there girls?” he smiled.
Mikey’s nervous eyes darted from Bob to Frank and back again. He leaned into Frank’s side, scooting him over with his plate. “Don’t poke the bear, Frank,” he whispered. It was something Frank’s Grandfather had said when he was growing up. Frank had taught it to Mikey long ago and now they used it often; almost always referring to Bob; almost always in the morning.
Frank’s persistent smile nudged him, “Were they naked?”
Bob snarled and took his coffee to the back of the bus while Frank giggled and bit into his toast, already satisfied.
“Feel better now?” Mikey asked sarcastically.
Frank nodded, smiling as he chewed. “Much.”
He shook his head. “One of these days he’s gonna hurt you, ya know.”
Frank shrugged, “He hasn’t left a mark yet.” Mikey smiled back at him, digging into his own breakfast. “So what did you do last night?” Many a morning on tour Frank and Mikey would sit down over coffee and breakfast and share their dreams. They both had such vivid dreams it became a ritual to ask what the other had done the night before; because it always seemed as though they had lived their dreams.
Mikey sighed with a smile. “I went down this old road. Like with the cobblestones and shit? And there was a smiling panda walking beside me. He was holding my hand and swinging it and in his other hand were a bunch of red balloons. And I stopped. So he stopped. And I asked him what he was doing there. And I guess that hurt his feelings. Cause he suddenly frowned and slowly he let the balloons go. And we looked up between us as they rose up into the sky. And it was really sad. And then he looked at me and answered.”
Frank was enraptured. His eyes wide, his mouth full of jelly toast as he mumbled, “Rahd he ay?”
Mikey looked painfully disappointed. “I don’t know. He answered in bear.” Frank began to giggle until he choked on the food and Mikey had to pat his back. When Frank was in control again, he continued. “So I asked him, ‘What, Panda? I can’t understand you.’ And that seemed to make him even more sad. And then he started yelling at me,” Mikey frowned.
“In bear?” Frank asked, his eyebrows high with intrigue and fascination.
Mikey nodded. “Yeah. And I felt bad. Cause I think I was supposed to know.” They both sat quietly staring down at the booth in front of them. Finally Mikey turned to Frank. “What do you think that means?”
Frank put his hand on Mikey’s shoulder with serious concern. He nodded softly. “I think…I think it means you need to get laid and stay away from animals,” he said firmly.
Mikey pushed him off. “Fuck off,” he laughed. “Seriously. The red balloons floating away, the Panda, not being able to understand? It’s all gotta mean stuff, right?” Interpreting their dreams was another part of the tradition.
Frank shrugged, “I suppose it means there’s something you’re holding onto that you don’t really understand. But you keep holding onto it because it’s safe and comfortable and you’re not ready to let it go.”
Mikey nodded. “Yeah. That’s good.” He chewed quietly. “But what is it?”
Frank thought as he ate. “I think it’s talking about your Goonies ‘Mikey’ action figure.” Mikey’s face was horrified. “I think your subconscious is trying to tell you it’s time to grow up. You should give it to me,” he nodded.
Mikey furrowed his brow. “No way. It’s got nothing to do with that.”
“Ya huh,” Frank nodded. “The dream told you to do it so now you gotta do it,” he shrugged as though innocently helpless in the situation.
Mikey shook his head. “Nuh uh. What the hell did you do last night?” he asked. It was a challenge though, any way Frank took it.
“Um. I don’t remember.”
Mikey smiled, obviously onto something. “C’mon. I told you about my panda. Tell me about yours.”
“I didn’t have a panda,” Frank shook his head.
“What did you have?”
Frank sighed. When Mikey wanted to talk about something, it was easier to get it over with. He wouldn’t let it go any other way but through him. “I was talking with someone.”
“About?”
Frank was not really sure. “My tattoos. I think.”
“You think? What about them?” Mikey pried.
He bit his lip, undoing his hold on it by slipping a cigarette between them so it unfolded to make room. “They were…I don’t know. They were talking about a few of them. And saying how they came to life.”
“Which ones?”
“Does it matter?” Frank asked.
Mikey looked at him incredulously. “Of course it matters, Frank. Which ones?”
“The scorpion. The Virgin Mary.” Frank remembered Gerard’s fingers sliding down his chest over his lower abdomen, dancing that line. He closed his eyes as he lit up his smoke, inhaling the memory. “The sparrows.”
Mikey nodded. “What was the context?”
Frank wished he’d never started this conversation. He could have made something up if he wasn’t still tired, recovering, confused. After Mikey’s panda dream, anything would have sounded believable. Now it was too late though. The truth was already coming out.
“They said my tattoos had come to life. One after the other.”
Mikey cocked his head. “In that order?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “They said I was blank underneath without them. And then they left and I was alone.”
Mikey shook his head. “You’re skipping something. I can tell. What are you leaving out?” he pried further.
Mikey had always been too smart for Frank’s own good. “They were touching me.”
He sighed. “Frank,” he smiled. “You’re playing the pronoun game. Guy or girl?”
“Guy,” he groaned with flushed embarrassment he knew he could not blame on his broken fever.
Mikey grinned. “Anyone you know?”
“Maybe.”
He grinned wider, “Anyone we both know?”
Frank sighed, “Dream over.”
He shook his head. “Not yet. What are you leaving out?” he asked again. “What happened to make him stop touching you?”
Frank took a long drag as though the smoke he exhaled might cloud his words into code. “I breathed.”
Mikey’s grin had bloomed into a full smirk. “Breathed how, Frank?”
This was becoming more tiresome than the dream itself. “Just breathed, Mikey. Damn,” he groaned.
“Alright, alright,” Mikey let up. “So the scorpion, the Virgin and the sparrows.”
Frank repeated feeling the dream take over as he remembered. “The scorpion struck. The Virgin wept. And the sparrows took flight.”
Mikey nodded, impressed with both Frank’s honesty and the symbolism of his statement. “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He paused. “I think I got it.”
“Yeah?” Frank asked, suddenly back in the conversation.
“Yeah. The scorpion striking is someone who’s been waiting to do something to you. I don’t know if it’s bad or not. But it’s something you’ve been waiting for. You went to Catholic school. The Virgin Mary weeping has to be your childhood fighting something. Maybe you’re not sure how to react to this strike. Cause it’s against what you’ve always known and it’s conflicting with what you want to do.”
Frank was following completely so far. “And the sparrows?” he asked.
Mikey nodded. “Are what you do with it all. You can set yourself free or you can let it go. But it sounds like you’re at a point where you need to make a decision.”
“Why I am blank underneath without them?” Frank asked, knowing Mikey would have the answer. He always did. He inherited that from his brother.
He watched him closely, even though they were close enough. “Because without those guards up…you’re bare. If you go with it, you’re afraid of what people with think of you once you choose. If you don’t, you’re afraid of what you’ll think of yourself.”
Frank got the feeling Mikey knew far more about the interpretation of his dream than he was giving him credit for. “What’s the question?” he asked softly.
“More importantly…who is the question about?” Mikey asked.
Frank pushed Mikey out of the booth and poured himself another cup of coffee, the first one still unfinished but only lukewarm. If it didn’t burn, it wasn’t worth the taste. “That’s what he said,” he mumbled.
“What?”
Frank nodded. “Exactly. Who, not what. I’m still asking the wrong questions.” Frank was beginning to realize that his feelings for Gerard were not negotiable. They were there and they were demanding to be recognized. And once they were recognized, they would want to be realized. Frank did not feel gay though. He liked girls. He enjoyed them very much actually. Gerard was the only man in the world his gaze had ever lingered too long on. Was it possible to be straight for life but gay for one man? It was absurd to even think about. It hurt to even think about. But suddenly Frank wished he was having this conversation with the other brother.
He needed to see Gerard. He wanted to see how he would look at him in the waking hours that followed his dream. He needed to know how he would feel when he saw him. “I need to smoke,” Frank mumbled, heading for the door.
Mikey smiled, seeing Frank’s discomfort. “You are smoking.”
Frank looked down, extinguishing the cigarette immediately. “Then maybe I need some air.” He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door into the sunlight that burned his eyes and the wind that penetrated his body. He sighed and stepped down onto the concrete, admiring the tour bus graveyard as the other bands slept close by. Gerard was in the distance and he was not alone. He could not have seemed further at that moment.
Frank lit another cigarette, wishing he had not ashed out the first when he needed some kind of distraction. He needed to focus on the shortening of his lifespan, he decided, as he lit up a fresh cigarette. Life was too long to watch Gerard from so far, especially with someone else. It was only a fan by the fence with Gerard though. And as Gerard looked back at Frank with a curious smile he realized…he was a fan himself.
How do you guys like this story? I’m having some fun with this. The obscure definition of what Frank feels. The tortured beginnings of finding out what he wants and feeling like he’s the last to know. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know. Thanks everyone!! Xoxo Harley
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This story was inspired by the writings of aiIenzo on here. Amazing writer who really got me going to the point I couldn’t stop. Thank you for that. I’m dedicating this story to Smooshy. My best friend and writing partner who is always a bottomless source of inspiration to me. This one is for you.
The Incendiary Heart
By: Harley Quinn
Chapter 1
There had been three pivotal moments in Frank Iero’s life…and Gerard had been there for two of them. The first was when Frank’s Father had given him his first guitar, despite a talented Family legacy of drummers. Frank had always marched to a different drum and he played that guitar hard and fast despite the fact that it was almost as tall as him when it stood on point. It had changed his life then; it still did now. The second was when Frank was given the opportunity of a lifetime to join a local band that his own dissipated band had admired. It was an honor to play with the four Jersey friends and they had taken Frank under their wing, adopting him into their tribe. That also continued to change his life for the better every single day. The third was the night Frank realized through a feverish daze what it was he wanted; who it was he needed; what about himself he had never discovered before on his own. He had more than friendly feelings for his best friend in the world; and he was not at all in control of them. This too would continue to change Frank’s life. And it was as pivotal a moment as the others that came before it.
Despite the swell of Frank’s fevered head, it had been so clear. It was the only clarity he had found that night as he lay in his bunk, his body preserving the last of his energy. His head pounded like a drum, his skull tightening around his brain like a vice as Frank closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain of creeping light through the curtain.
His bunk was a place of rest; his quiet coffin where he did not have to be alive at all. Frank lay perfectly still behind the curtain, the only stage where he did not have to be ‘on’ for everyone else. He slipped away inside his aching body, his sheets pulled close like the veil of his tomb as he waited for sleep… Death…or the dark angel who sometimes visited his mourning place.
Gerard peeked a concerned eye through the slit of the curtain, the light following into the bunk with his curiosity. “Frank? Are you awake?”
Knowing Gerard, a statement like that could mean anything. On a sunny afternoon it could be a question as to Frank’s state of mind and restful nature. At two in the morning, like that night, it could have been an inquiry into Frank’s spiritual enlightenment. With Gerard, you could just never tell until he followed it up with another question of revelation. And still you would be left with no answers.
“No,” Frank groaned, his body cursing even the movement of his lips. It hurt to speak. It ached to breathe. It destroyed him simply to be.
Gerard whispered, “But you could be. If you’re talking. If you want to.”
The randomness of Gerard’s words always left Frank spinning. His head was already spinning and the dizziness left him off balance; even lying down. “I’m awake,” he finally answered, craving the company of his friend more than the absence of pain.
Gerard drew back the curtain, slipping inside Frank’s tomb and closing the veil behind him again. He slipped down by Frank’s side, nudging him over in the small bunk for room so he would not fall back over the side. When Frank’s tired body refused to move, it was Gerard who made the room, turning on his side to face his friend as he shared his pillow and space. That little gesture was an offer, even though to anyone else it would not seem so.
“Do you think you know when you’re dreaming, Frank?” he whispered.
The chill of Gerard’s healthy whisper was cold against Frank’s burning body. He was in no condition to play Gerard’s games tonight but he had let him in, preferring to be on the sidelines if he could not be part of the game. He could root from there for both sides. Gerard always played both sides of the game. That’s why there was no use in playing. He would volley back and forth so that whichever side finally won, Gerard was always on it. Even if Frank could not win, it was still his love of the game that kept him coming back for the sport of it.
“I don’t know,” he answered softly, wishing he could respond with his mind. Gerard had an innate ability to read Frank’s mind sometimes. It was like he was always a step ahead of him and Frank was just trying to keep up; with himself; for Gerard.
Gerard absently played his fingers over the soft wisps of Frank’s hair where they stuck to the sweat of his forehead. He picked them back, strand by strand, his words blowing softly over their wake. “If you can be awake in your dreams,” he said softly, “you could control them. If you can recall those dreams when you’re awake, couldn’t you then make them come true?”
“I don’t know,” he answered lamely, his eyes too heavy to open; too afraid of facing him so closely.
Gerard’s lips pressed to Frank’s forehead, testing his temperature, challenging his will. “You’re burning alive,” he said softly.
“Makes me know I’m alive,” Frank failed to smile.
Gerard’s voice smiled just enough so Frank could hear it. “I had a dream about you,” he whispered.
Frank did not want to hear about Gerard’s dream though. It would be twisted and confusing and it would only leave him with more questions. The only thing more complex than Gerard himself, was his dreams. They were coded even more than his lyrics and Frank often wondered if Gerard understood them himself sometimes. His mind was a chasm of ideas and interpretations that had not yet been released. To see into Gerard’s unconscious mind was like standing at the precipice of Heaven and Hell combined. Gerard found it cathartic to share his dreams. Frank found it curiously unsettling. But now he did not want to hear Gerard’s dream. He wanted to sleep. And he wanted Gerard to stay while he did.
Frank did not try to stop him though. He knew it would be no use anyway. When Gerard had something to say, you were going to hear it. And you would listen, because it was not often anyone was privy to such privileged information. It was amusing to be in the presence of Gerard’s rants about comics or music or movies from his childhood. But it was an honor to be shared with when Gerard had something important to say. His gravitational pull was unending and people simply orbited around him. Frank was always around him. He was a listener as much as Gerard was a talker.
“I dreamed that you were here,” he whispered quietly, the bus rocking softly as they rode along the abandoned highway. It had become an inconsistent lullaby, both unnerving and comforting at the same time. Like Gerard. “Right here, in your bunk.”
Frank whispered, opening his eyes to the darkness as they adjusted to the tiny slant of light that stretched over him. “What was I doing?”
“Waiting,” Gerard whispered. “You were waiting.”
Frank was intrigued but he knew Gerard would not continue until he played along. Still, he stared straight ahead at the top of his bunk, the bottom of Gerard’s bunk. It did not matter that he could not see it. He just needed to know there was a limit somewhere. “Waiting for what?”
“For who.” Gerard corrected.
Frank was in the game now. “For who?” he repeated in question.
“For me,” Gerard whispered against his ear, cooling his body in a quiet rush.
Frank knew when he was being toyed with. But again he asked, “For what?”
Gerard slowly drew the sheet down Frank’s heated body, letting its folded creases pool down around his bare waist, revealing the hem of his shorts. He traced a smooth finger across Frank’s tattoos, following the lines like he was drawing them there, placing them softly into his skin. It was unnerving to be touched by someone so smooth. It was invigorating in a way Frank’s body was unprepared for. Frank tried to hold his breath. To slow his heart. To stop from giving himself away. Part of him wanted to give it all away and keep nothing for himself. There is nothing he would not deny his friend if only Gerard would ask. The comfort in knowing that, was the safety of the fact that Frank knew Gerard would never ask. It was easy to offer something of yourself when there wasn’t a taker waiting in the wings.
“You were waiting for me to watch you come to life,” Gerard said softly, his fingers tracing patterns Frank could feel as they formed into pictures he knew by heart; just like Gerard’s touch. He would lie for hours some nights, admiring Frank’s ink, worshipping his body with his mind. Gerard did not like needles but he loved Frank’s body and what they could do for it. To be the subject of Gerard’s fear-turned-fascination made Frank feel special. The touch itself was what pushed him over the edge though. The intimacy was too close; the breathing all wrong. What were they doing? What game was this now?
“I am alive,” Frank whispered, not trusting his voice any louder than that.
Gerard just smiled; tiny teeth all in a row; his smile unevenly smooth. “You are. But it was your body that came to life in my dream,” he said softly, his breath tingling the tiny hairs against Frank’s ear. “The scorpion struck,” he said, his finger touching over Frank’s neck. “The Virgin wept,” he whispered, his touch trailing down over his arm. “The sparrows took flight,” his finger traced over Frank’s stomach. “And you were blank underneath them.”
Frank was on fire from more than the fever. Gerard’s touch was soft and slow and although Frank tried so hard to focus on his dreamy words, it was his touch that pulled Frank’s attention. They had lain together a thousand times. They had rested across each other’s laps, lived in a van; shared a bed, a bunk, more than one kiss on stage. An intimate band indeed. But this was different. It was not for the survival of the band in a van. It was not to save money sharing a motel room bed. It was not for comfort or lack of space. It had nothing to do with putting on a show. The curtain was pulled this time and they were alone…with each other. And it was all unnecessary. And wonderful. And confusing.
Frank was capable of appreciating a beautiful man when he saw one. There was no doubt Gerard was beautiful and he had told him so before. Gerard had laughed, that magical giggle that left Frank in stitches; the one he could not resist. But as Gerard traced his body slowly now there was no hesitation or sweetness per say. There was a hunger behind it, a low devouring growl inside him as though he wanted to consume Frank. His fingers no longer danced across him; they stalked his body with feathered touches. They were holding back. From what, Frank did not know. But he found himself wanting to find out. He wanted to be felt and for Gerard to know he was there. He wanted Gerard to prove his existence. It made no sense in Frank’s mind but it was perfectly clear all over his body. The tingle spread from Gerard’s magic finger to Frank’s inferno of skin and rippled outward through him with fiery waves of intensity. And Frank had never wanted so badly to burn.
As soon as the whispered moan escaped his lips, Frank wished he could take it back. But Gerard’s fingers were low on his waistline, dancing the hem of his shorts, and what man on earth, straight or otherwise, would not feel the want in a touch like that? But as soon as Frank’s true feeling was released through his soft moan, Gerard’s finger stopped along with his breath. And Frank was the only one breathing in the bunk. They both froze, listening to Frank breathe as he tried not to pant in his labored condition. It was a revelation beyond Gerard’s cryptic gamble and it was out there, the only thing between them now.
“I should go,” Gerard whispered, his breath hot against Frank’s ear, its guilt seeping inside Frank.
“Don’t go,” he said, his voice coming out as his breath was pulling in, a desperate attempt not to fail…but failing just the same.
Gerard was slipping slowly away, the heat of his body abandoning Frank’s burn. “You don’t want me to stay,” he whispered. Farther and farther away. Gerard was backing out of the curtain, his eyes the only part of him left in Frank’s tomb.
“I do,” he breathed, trying not to make it sound like the plea that it was.
“No,” Gerard smiled softly.
Frank turned to face him, head-on like a deer in Gerard’s headlights. It was a dangerous position to face him like that. It threw Frank’s advantage; as though he ever had one. “Why?” he asked, needing more than he wanted to know.
Gerard slipped through the curtain, letting it fall back to a close. He was still standing on the other side. Frank could feel him through the dark cloth; could hear him breathing and proving mortal existence, even though it felt wrong coming from him. “You don’t know what you want, Frank,” came the voice behind the curtain. And then he walked away.
Frank shuddered in the sudden chill his body felt from the empty air around him. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, his mind replayed. But Frank’s whole body stood at attention. The hairs across his skin reached for what they could not grasp because the electricity they longed for had left. Why did he let Gerard do these things? Why didn’t he want him to stop?
And that was when Frank woke up. He stared dazedly around the bunk, ripping the curtain back in a feverish daze. There was no light behind it like there had been a minute ago. There were no sounds from other parts of the bus. The only sounds came from the bunks of sleeping boys around him. Frank wobbled to his feet, rising up towards the bunk above him where Gerard was soundly sleeping. He peeked through the curtain, confirming his presence, his existence, the improbability of everything he thought that had never actually happened. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, his head warned him. Frank sank back down into his bunk. What did it all mean?
Frank slipped his hand down below the hem of his shorts, the border Gerard never crossed. He felt over his hot skin in the darkness and fell back to sleep in his hold. The hold he was under depleted his energy and to his surprising disappointment, sleep was the only thing that would take him that night. He fell asleep again trying to get the dream back. But like every dream he tried to recapture, it only got further away.
Frank stirred at some hour he could not identify in the darkness of his bunk. The space felt bigger when he woke even though it had not changed. Frank had changed. Everything was different. Something had been realized but could not be reached and all he could think of was Gerard. He was Frank’s first thought upon waking and he wished he could go back to sleep. It was too heavy a thought to carry into the light. Frank lay in his bunk, reveling in the darkness of the dream that no longer clung to him, and cursing leaving the safety of the night behind. Frank could not face it. He could not face Gerard. Not when this feeling was all over his face. Gerard would see right through him. Just like he always had.
The curtain shot back and Mikey smiled in the bright light. “Breakfast?” he grinned.
Frank sighed in the light that poured over him, showing him off in an uncomfortable way as though he might really be seen. “Sure,” he sighed. Mikey scampered off to the front of the bus and Frank did not want to follow. He did not want to move. But the bus was moving on its on. And it was up to Frank to catch up.
He made his way to the front of the bus past the empty bunks of the friend that slept across from him; the protector who watched from above; the advisor who looked on from the distance; and the would-be lover who slept above him, who Frank would never be over. Frank would always be beneath him. He would just never be under him. And now he knew he wanted to be. And the day looked longer from the start.
Mikey had set a place for Frank at the table that jutted out from the wall of the bus. He slumped into the booth and smiled at the gesture. Coffee, orange juice, toast with grape jelly and an ashtray on the side. It was what had fondly become referred to as the ‘Get Better Frank’ breakfast. It was a time-honored tradition on tour and one he had come to love and expect.
“Thanks, Mikey,” he smiled as Bob sipped his coffee across from Frank, not yet awake enough for conversation.
“The Breakfast of Champions,” Mikey grinned.
Gerard moved in the front of the bus as it slowed and careened around the corner into a lot. He hung to the rail by the stairs with a smirk. “Frankie’s a champion alright,” he grinned.
Frank watched him from behind his mug, the steam wavering Gerard’s smile through it as he watched him exit and be gone. Frank felt a sense of relief to see him go. He needed time to process his thoughts and he could not do that with Gerard in close quarters. He needed him gone. And yet he could still feel him there.
“Where’s Ray?” Frank asked.
Mikey shrugged, “Where else?”
Ray was in the back, playing with sounds, mixing noise that would turn into something beautiful after crossing his path. It was an event every time Ray sat down to play. It was awe-inspiring to watch him create. But it was more than Frank could handle so he stayed at the little booth and watched Bob slowly wake.
Frank had learned early on when Bob had joined the band that the grown man did not wake well. He took his time and woke through process. Damn anyone who got in his way. But Frank had always been the type to meet a feisty challenge head on. Were there dragons in the world, Frank would be the one swinging without a shield.
“Hi Bob,” Frank grinned from ear to ear.
“Mph,” Bob muttered, looking away, trying to determine what city they were in by the color of concrete and position of the sun. It all looked the same but so did everything before he was awake.
“What did you do last night?” he smiled. Bob growled a loathsome sound in his throat and it was intended to be enough answer for Frank to back off. Of course, he didn’t.
“Were there girls?” he smiled.
Mikey’s nervous eyes darted from Bob to Frank and back again. He leaned into Frank’s side, scooting him over with his plate. “Don’t poke the bear, Frank,” he whispered. It was something Frank’s Grandfather had said when he was growing up. Frank had taught it to Mikey long ago and now they used it often; almost always referring to Bob; almost always in the morning.
Frank’s persistent smile nudged him, “Were they naked?”
Bob snarled and took his coffee to the back of the bus while Frank giggled and bit into his toast, already satisfied.
“Feel better now?” Mikey asked sarcastically.
Frank nodded, smiling as he chewed. “Much.”
He shook his head. “One of these days he’s gonna hurt you, ya know.”
Frank shrugged, “He hasn’t left a mark yet.” Mikey smiled back at him, digging into his own breakfast. “So what did you do last night?” Many a morning on tour Frank and Mikey would sit down over coffee and breakfast and share their dreams. They both had such vivid dreams it became a ritual to ask what the other had done the night before; because it always seemed as though they had lived their dreams.
Mikey sighed with a smile. “I went down this old road. Like with the cobblestones and shit? And there was a smiling panda walking beside me. He was holding my hand and swinging it and in his other hand were a bunch of red balloons. And I stopped. So he stopped. And I asked him what he was doing there. And I guess that hurt his feelings. Cause he suddenly frowned and slowly he let the balloons go. And we looked up between us as they rose up into the sky. And it was really sad. And then he looked at me and answered.”
Frank was enraptured. His eyes wide, his mouth full of jelly toast as he mumbled, “Rahd he ay?”
Mikey looked painfully disappointed. “I don’t know. He answered in bear.” Frank began to giggle until he choked on the food and Mikey had to pat his back. When Frank was in control again, he continued. “So I asked him, ‘What, Panda? I can’t understand you.’ And that seemed to make him even more sad. And then he started yelling at me,” Mikey frowned.
“In bear?” Frank asked, his eyebrows high with intrigue and fascination.
Mikey nodded. “Yeah. And I felt bad. Cause I think I was supposed to know.” They both sat quietly staring down at the booth in front of them. Finally Mikey turned to Frank. “What do you think that means?”
Frank put his hand on Mikey’s shoulder with serious concern. He nodded softly. “I think…I think it means you need to get laid and stay away from animals,” he said firmly.
Mikey pushed him off. “Fuck off,” he laughed. “Seriously. The red balloons floating away, the Panda, not being able to understand? It’s all gotta mean stuff, right?” Interpreting their dreams was another part of the tradition.
Frank shrugged, “I suppose it means there’s something you’re holding onto that you don’t really understand. But you keep holding onto it because it’s safe and comfortable and you’re not ready to let it go.”
Mikey nodded. “Yeah. That’s good.” He chewed quietly. “But what is it?”
Frank thought as he ate. “I think it’s talking about your Goonies ‘Mikey’ action figure.” Mikey’s face was horrified. “I think your subconscious is trying to tell you it’s time to grow up. You should give it to me,” he nodded.
Mikey furrowed his brow. “No way. It’s got nothing to do with that.”
“Ya huh,” Frank nodded. “The dream told you to do it so now you gotta do it,” he shrugged as though innocently helpless in the situation.
Mikey shook his head. “Nuh uh. What the hell did you do last night?” he asked. It was a challenge though, any way Frank took it.
“Um. I don’t remember.”
Mikey smiled, obviously onto something. “C’mon. I told you about my panda. Tell me about yours.”
“I didn’t have a panda,” Frank shook his head.
“What did you have?”
Frank sighed. When Mikey wanted to talk about something, it was easier to get it over with. He wouldn’t let it go any other way but through him. “I was talking with someone.”
“About?”
Frank was not really sure. “My tattoos. I think.”
“You think? What about them?” Mikey pried.
He bit his lip, undoing his hold on it by slipping a cigarette between them so it unfolded to make room. “They were…I don’t know. They were talking about a few of them. And saying how they came to life.”
“Which ones?”
“Does it matter?” Frank asked.
Mikey looked at him incredulously. “Of course it matters, Frank. Which ones?”
“The scorpion. The Virgin Mary.” Frank remembered Gerard’s fingers sliding down his chest over his lower abdomen, dancing that line. He closed his eyes as he lit up his smoke, inhaling the memory. “The sparrows.”
Mikey nodded. “What was the context?”
Frank wished he’d never started this conversation. He could have made something up if he wasn’t still tired, recovering, confused. After Mikey’s panda dream, anything would have sounded believable. Now it was too late though. The truth was already coming out.
“They said my tattoos had come to life. One after the other.”
Mikey cocked his head. “In that order?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “They said I was blank underneath without them. And then they left and I was alone.”
Mikey shook his head. “You’re skipping something. I can tell. What are you leaving out?” he pried further.
Mikey had always been too smart for Frank’s own good. “They were touching me.”
He sighed. “Frank,” he smiled. “You’re playing the pronoun game. Guy or girl?”
“Guy,” he groaned with flushed embarrassment he knew he could not blame on his broken fever.
Mikey grinned. “Anyone you know?”
“Maybe.”
He grinned wider, “Anyone we both know?”
Frank sighed, “Dream over.”
He shook his head. “Not yet. What are you leaving out?” he asked again. “What happened to make him stop touching you?”
Frank took a long drag as though the smoke he exhaled might cloud his words into code. “I breathed.”
Mikey’s grin had bloomed into a full smirk. “Breathed how, Frank?”
This was becoming more tiresome than the dream itself. “Just breathed, Mikey. Damn,” he groaned.
“Alright, alright,” Mikey let up. “So the scorpion, the Virgin and the sparrows.”
Frank repeated feeling the dream take over as he remembered. “The scorpion struck. The Virgin wept. And the sparrows took flight.”
Mikey nodded, impressed with both Frank’s honesty and the symbolism of his statement. “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He paused. “I think I got it.”
“Yeah?” Frank asked, suddenly back in the conversation.
“Yeah. The scorpion striking is someone who’s been waiting to do something to you. I don’t know if it’s bad or not. But it’s something you’ve been waiting for. You went to Catholic school. The Virgin Mary weeping has to be your childhood fighting something. Maybe you’re not sure how to react to this strike. Cause it’s against what you’ve always known and it’s conflicting with what you want to do.”
Frank was following completely so far. “And the sparrows?” he asked.
Mikey nodded. “Are what you do with it all. You can set yourself free or you can let it go. But it sounds like you’re at a point where you need to make a decision.”
“Why I am blank underneath without them?” Frank asked, knowing Mikey would have the answer. He always did. He inherited that from his brother.
He watched him closely, even though they were close enough. “Because without those guards up…you’re bare. If you go with it, you’re afraid of what people with think of you once you choose. If you don’t, you’re afraid of what you’ll think of yourself.”
Frank got the feeling Mikey knew far more about the interpretation of his dream than he was giving him credit for. “What’s the question?” he asked softly.
“More importantly…who is the question about?” Mikey asked.
Frank pushed Mikey out of the booth and poured himself another cup of coffee, the first one still unfinished but only lukewarm. If it didn’t burn, it wasn’t worth the taste. “That’s what he said,” he mumbled.
“What?”
Frank nodded. “Exactly. Who, not what. I’m still asking the wrong questions.” Frank was beginning to realize that his feelings for Gerard were not negotiable. They were there and they were demanding to be recognized. And once they were recognized, they would want to be realized. Frank did not feel gay though. He liked girls. He enjoyed them very much actually. Gerard was the only man in the world his gaze had ever lingered too long on. Was it possible to be straight for life but gay for one man? It was absurd to even think about. It hurt to even think about. But suddenly Frank wished he was having this conversation with the other brother.
He needed to see Gerard. He wanted to see how he would look at him in the waking hours that followed his dream. He needed to know how he would feel when he saw him. “I need to smoke,” Frank mumbled, heading for the door.
Mikey smiled, seeing Frank’s discomfort. “You are smoking.”
Frank looked down, extinguishing the cigarette immediately. “Then maybe I need some air.” He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door into the sunlight that burned his eyes and the wind that penetrated his body. He sighed and stepped down onto the concrete, admiring the tour bus graveyard as the other bands slept close by. Gerard was in the distance and he was not alone. He could not have seemed further at that moment.
Frank lit another cigarette, wishing he had not ashed out the first when he needed some kind of distraction. He needed to focus on the shortening of his lifespan, he decided, as he lit up a fresh cigarette. Life was too long to watch Gerard from so far, especially with someone else. It was only a fan by the fence with Gerard though. And as Gerard looked back at Frank with a curious smile he realized…he was a fan himself.
How do you guys like this story? I’m having some fun with this. The obscure definition of what Frank feels. The tortured beginnings of finding out what he wants and feeling like he’s the last to know. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know. Thanks everyone!! Xoxo Harley
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