When Frank comes out, his parents kick him out and, devestated, he leaves Gerard. Can Gerard ever get him to come back? Oneshot.
Those were the words that broke my heart. The seriousness, the enormity, the finality with which you spoke them, made it clear that you were really, truly going.
"They love you", I'd said, only to hear a "no, Gerard".
"Nobody judges you," I'd said, only to hear a "/no/, Gerard".
"I love you!" I'd finally exclaimed in desperation...only to get a silence far more heartbreaking than any words could ever be.
"...Please stay, Frankie, I'd begged, only to get that final, broken, "no, Gerard" before you walked away.
I could have chased you. I know that now, looking back. I should have chased you. But would it have made a difference, really? Three weeks before, after two years of us being together, you finally had to tell your parents of your sexuality. And they didn't take it well- at all. They called you "fag" and "queer" and "sinner". They told you God hated you and, worst of all, that you were never welcome in their house again. And after that, you were never the same. I promised you that they were liars, that they'd get over it eventually, and you'd just nod your head in silence. I swore that I would love you, no matter what. And for the first while, that was enough. But soon, it became too much for you to bear. You said that my love was what made you bad, was what made God hate you and, what's more, your parents hate you. You said you had to leave, because the only person who would ever care about you [me] was the one person you weren't allowed to love back.
And then you just packed and left.
It's been three months since that day, and I still haven't forgotten you. I never will- ever. You mean more to me that life itself. And as I sit here thinking about this, a letter to nobody, a diary entry in my head, if you will, an attempt to come to terms with the most awful thing that's ever happened to me-
The doorbell rings.
I have to wipe my face of tears before I can answer it, because reliving the worst day of my life is making me even more miserable than I expected. I should be puzzled, because I'm not expecting anybody today- my friends and Mikey, by my request, are leaving my alone for a while-, but I'm too depressed to think clearly. So I open the door, half expecting it to reveal somebody with a gun, prepared to shoot me.
Instead, however, it reveals black Converse sneakers and tight black jeans. It reveals an oversized black hoodie advertising for a band. It reveals shaggy dark hair covering stunning brown eyes and a beautiful but sad face staring up at me. Opening the front door to my house on this grey, cool New Jersey day reveals the most spectacularly beautiful creature upon whom I have ever laid eyes.
You don't say anything for a moment, you just give me that worried, almost frightened look you always wear when unhappy and hide behind your hair. After a second of staring at each other, you looking miserable and me feeling a mixture of shocked, anxious, confused and exuberantly happy to see you again, you ask quietly in that voice that makes my hands tingle: "Can we talk?"
It's so simple, so casual, and yet it almost knocks me off my feet. "Um, yeah, sure," I reply quickly, after recovering from my momentary shock. I step aside so that you may pass through. You step in nervously, as though we're strangers. I follow you in and shut the door and, noting your discomfort, I offer, "You can sit down."
You try to smile, and, probably without meaning to, sit down in your favorite chair, the one that has remained untouched since your departure, the one you always used to sit in. When you lived here. When you were happy. When you loved me.
I sit down too, in my usual chair, and we sit in miserably akward silence for a second. Finally, just to break the tension, I ask, "So...what's up?"
Your head snaps up to look at me, as though you're surprised by the sound of my voice. You begin: "Um."
Clearly, you are at a loss for words.
You cough, and try again. "I came...to apologize," you reply quietly, with a remorseful tone that is more fitting for a confession than an apology.
"You have nothing to apologize for" I almost say, but bite my tongue. So after another tormentous moment of silence, "...Oh" is all I can come up with.
"I know...I know I messed up," you continue, looking heartbroken. There is nothing I want more in the world than to take you in my arms and never let you go. Anything to keep that sadness off your beautiful face. But before I have the chance, you add: "I was stupid. I was selfish. I didn't..." You look away, appearing embarassed. "I didn't think about you."
I'm shocked. Never did I expect this. In an attempt to console you, I give a weak, "Frankie, I...?" But what do I say? I forgive you? I love you? Come back to me? All these things seem perfect, but I don't think you came back for that.
"And..." You bite your lip. "...I love you."
My mouth drops open.
"I'm sorry," you rush to say, and I can hear tears in your voice. "I know this is totally wrong. I know I can't just leave and then barge in months later, expecting you to just take me back." Staring deep into my eyes, you add, "I know what an awful position this puts you in. And again, I'm sorry. A million times, I'm sorry. I just want you to know that I'll never forget you. I don't care what my parents say anymore. I love you. But I could never expect you to forgive me." You look at me for one more moment, and I know you want me to say I'll take you back. And I want to. Oh, how I want to. But for some reason, whether out of joy or shock, I am without words.
So you sniff, stand up, and say, "Well...I guess I'll be leaving then."
But just as you turn to leave:
You turn back to me, and in your eyes is the unmistakable look of hope. Nervously, you ask, "Y-yes?"
I inhale deeply before rushing over to you and letting out every word that has been pent up inside my head and behind my lips for the past months, the words I've been so desperate to say, in response to the words you just said; the words I've been so desperate to hear. "Frank, I was never mad at you," I begin. "Ever. I never moved on, and never did a day go by when I didn't think about you. I know it must've been awful to hear your parents say that- my parents were horrified when I came out, too!" I'm sure my face is desperate and imploring as I whisper, "I love you, Frankie. Please come back to me."
You stare at me in shock for a moment, as though you didn't at all expect me to say that. But instead of responding, you, in a burst of impulsive Frankieness, grab my face and give me the sweetest, most beautiful kiss I have ever received. When we're done, I pull you closer to me, and you bury your head in my shoulder whispering, "I'm so sorry".
"Sssh," I reply, as you begin to cry softly. "There's no reason to cry, my angel. I love you so much."
You nod against me, and, eventually, the crying stops. And soon we're lying on the couch, cuddling and kissing, just the way we used to, before all the drama began. And after what seems like a blissful eternity of this, I whisper to you, "You won't ever leave me again, will you, Frankie?"
You stare up at me, your face looking as though you can't believe I just said that. "No, Gerard," you reply, an obvious "of course not" in your voice, before kissing me again.
"No, Gerard". The words that once broke me apart are now the words making me feel whole once again.