Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
A Lifetime
2 reviewsONESHOT. Frank & Gerard are destined to be together and Gerard knows this but things never turn out exactly how you plan them to, do they?
0Unrated
A/N - So I was listening to The Maine the other day and Right Girl (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uh4AUlv3Xko) comes on and then boom, I start writing this. I wouldn't say it's based on the song, more inspired by. I think I kinda got a little carried away so :L Anyway, hope you guys enjoy. Any form of feedback is much obliged c:
*
When we met I was twenty-five and he was twenty-one. I’d decided to call it a night, having been out drinking for hours. I had pissed away almost all of my wages and knew I needed to stop before it was all gone. Despite how much I’d had to drink though, I didn’t feel that bad. I was drunk, yes, but not as much as an average person would’ve been if they’d drank what I had. He had seen me go to unlock my car and knew that, slightly drunk or completely hammered, I wasn’t going to be able to get myself home safely. So, he called me over and offered to share a cab with me. I’d smiled and agreed, thinking that I could come back to fetch my car tomorrow morning. He’d smiled back then flagged down the cab coming our way.
When in the back seats, he introduced himself. “Iero,” he had said, “Frank Iero.” He was good looking and a true gentlemen; the kind of guy every girl wanted. After I’d also introduced myself the conversation just seemed to flow effortlessly.
He’d told me about his family, how they were Catholic and how he’d always kind of rejected the religion. He acted as his parents expected him to because he didn’t want to disappoint them but last year he had finally decided that he’d had enough and moved out. He was renting a small flat but had dreams of moving out of the city altogether. He wanted to go somewhere like Michigan or Illinois. He was still living off his parents’ money though, having not had a massive fall out when he decided to leave, but he wanted to change that too. He wanted his own life, instead of having to live the one his mother and father had planned out for him.
In return I told him about my family and childhood, which was a lot more chilled out compared to Frank’s and I’d always thought I’d had it tough. We carried on swapping stories until the cab stopped. I looked out of the window and saw that we were outside my apartment building. Not willing to say goodbye to Frank so soon I invited him in. He took a little bit of convincing but eventually accepted my offer. I paid the cab driver then led him up to my apartment.
We continued talking and sharing pieces of our lives and then, during one of Frank’s tales, it happened. He was talking about an old family pet, a dog, and I was just sitting listening and watching him speak. I was genuinely interested in the story but the way his lips moved together stirred something in me and I leant forward, closing the gap between us and pressing our lips together. He pulled back instantly, making me groan inside. He looked at me, shocked. Then, just as I opened my mouth to apologise his lips were back on mine and he’d snaked his tongue into my mouth. My hands went to his hair and I raked my fingers through the silky strands as he placed his hands on my hips and slid his fingers over the soft skin there.
Eventually, we pulled away to catch our breath and as we did I looked into his eyes, took in how beautiful they were. They were a mixture of green and hazel and seemed to shine even in the dim light of my living room. The pupils were blown wide and full of a little bit of love and a whole lot of lust. He was breathing heavily.
“Are we gonna do this?” He’d asked. His hands were still under my shirt but all movement had stopped. I nodded, running my hands through his hair again as if to more solidly confirm that this was what I wanted. I never asked if this was what he wanted. In my drunken state I never even thought to ask. Looking back on it now I probably should have. I doubt it would have changed the course of events but there was always that chance that it could have. Frank just nodded at me though, never showing any signs of unwillingness. It might have been there but my ability to pay attention to detail had been swallowed along with all that Vodka. So I took his hand and led him into my bedroom.
*
I’d woken up the next morning with a throbbing headache, the heavy rain hitting against the window not helping at all. I lay for a while recollecting last night. I got drunk, shared a cab – you need to fetch your car – with a man named Frank Iero, talked about your life with aforementioned Frank Iero, listened to Frank talk about his life, kissed Frank, had se- FUCK, you had sex with him! I sat up quickly and turned my head to the right. He was gone. On the pillow was a folded up piece of paper. With a sigh I picked it up and unfolded it. I know it off by heart now. It read:
Last night shouldn’t have happened.
You were drunk and I took advantage of that.
I’m sorry.
Iero. Frank Iero. XO
Frank felt like the bad guy but I was the bad guy. Even though I was drunk I knew we had some sort of connection and shouldn’t have let it turn out as just a one night stand. You here about that ‘connection’ sort of thing in movies and books but you never really believe it until you feel it. That was when I started to believe.
I read the note another couple of times then threw it across the room in frustration and anger. Being paper though it didn’t even reach the end of the bed but it was supposed to go flying across the room. Maybe it would’ve helped if I’d screwed it into ball. I slid back down the bed and threw my head against the pillow.
Fuck sake Gerard, you did the wrong thing to the right guy.
*
I didn’t see Frank for a while after that. Guys came and went (occasionally a few girls too) but I never felt with any of them how I had felt with Frank. One relationship had lasted for a few months and I was amazed at how we had managed it. It all came crashing down though when I accidently screamed Frank’s name during sex. The guy thought I was cheating and left immediately. I never tried to explain. Shit happens. After that it was just one night stands and small flings. Every time I always wanted them to be Frank.
People always say to never regret anything you do because in the end your mistakes make you person that you are but fuck, I regretted going in for that kiss so badly now. This guy had all but fucked up my life and at the same time as providing it, took away any possibility I had of happiness.
I saw him again though. We exchanged phone numbers and Skype names and stayed in touch. He spoke of a boyfriend. A couple of years down the line he spoke of a fiancé. Another couple of years and Frank was happily married and living out in Illinois, just like he’d always wanted. I pretended to be happy for him and in a way I was. He had everything he’d ever wanted and was happy. I wanted him to have that but I wanted him to have that with me. If he was the only person I could be happy with then I wanted to be the only person he was happy with.
I needed to see him. I needed to be with him.
Please, please, baby, come back.
*
He came back. The door had knocked at around one in the morning. I remember being hesitant to answer because seriously, who would need me at that hour of the day? But the thought that maybe it was Mikey and something had happened to him made me take the chain off and unbolt the door. Never did it once cross my mind that it could’ve been Frank. He was off in Illinois living the life he’d always wanted. At this point, he had been married just over a year and a half.
He stood there with a suitcase at his side and a tear in his eye. I could hardly tell it was the same man. No more was the punk kid hair and the dark clothes, the piercings were gone and so were the ear stretchers. He had gained a lot of tattoos though and was now almost covered. My Frank had grown up. The hardest part was knowing that it hadn’t been me by his side watching him. I’d skirted along the sideboards.
I’d let him in and led him to the sofa. He sat down and I sat down next to him. He laid his head on my shoulder and I felt him begin to cry. “I thought I had it all planned out,” he’d said, wiping away his tears. I never said anything; I didn’t feel that I needed to. I believed that just being there was enough for Frank, and for me, too.
I never asked what happened between Frank and his husband and to this day, I still don’t know. I didn’t need to know. All I needed at that moment in time was to hold Frank in my arms as he cried himself to sleep.
*
The divorce was quick and simple. Frank had bought the house with his own money and it was in his name, so he got that. He went on to sell it for a staggering amount of money and moved back home, buying a new house in a nicer part of town. He owned his own car and his ex-husband owned his own too so that wasn’t a problem.
After everything was finalised, me and Frank started to hang out a lot more. There were times when I’d stay over at his house for days on end, strictly as close friends. We’d cuddle and fall asleep on each other but never anything more than that. But things started to progress and I fell for him all over again and then, eight months after he had turned up on my doorstep, on his 28th birthday, he said something that temporarily stopped my heart.
The day was over and we were on our way back to Frank’s house. I couldn’t stay tonight though; I had work in the morning. He’d taken my hand in his and was swinging it lightly between us as we walked. We were silent, but it was comfortable. When we reached his doorstep he turned and faced me, taking hold of my other hand too. He’d smiled at me and I’d smiled back.
“Gerard,” he’d whispered, squeezing lightly on my hands. I squeezed his back, still smiling.
“Gerard, I love you.”
My smile faltered and I let my hands fall to my sides. Suddenly, my mouth had dried up and there was a lump stopping me from speaking. Frank was staring at me, looking scared. All other noises had been blocked out, the only thing I could hear being the deep thud-thud of my heart ringing in my ears.
“Gerard?” His hand went to my shoulder and squeezed gently.
I made the smile re-surface and swallowed the lump. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”
Frank smiled, relieved. “A long time.”
“6 years, Frank. 6 years, 10 months and 2 weeks.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, then pulled me into his arms.
We kissed for the first time in over half a decade.
*
After that, we were inseparable. Mostly. Fast forward a couple of months down the line and I’ve moved out of my apartment and into the house with Frank. He talks of getting a dog so we do that. He names it Pepper and never lets it out of his sight. Many times I’ve sat watching him play with her thinking ‘fucking hell, he loves that dog more than he loves me’. I knew that wasn’t true though. Even when we fought (and trust me, we had enough fights to last me a lifetime, maybe even two) I knew he still loved me, and would eventually come crawling back with his tale between his legs. Sometimes it would be me doing the crawling but it was usually Frank, being the more argumentative and opinionated person.
A few years later and Frank starts to drop hints about marriage. I say ‘starts to drop hints’ but Frank was never a very subtle person though and all but tells me to propose. I leave it a few months, just to wind him up, and to also maybe make him forget about it so that when I do ask, it’s a surprise. But Frank doesn’t forget and when I present him with the ring he smirks at me and says “I knew you were going to ask tonight. You, Gerard, are way too predictable and also underestimate my memory.”
Our marriage isn’t perfect, but then whose is? The arguments get more heated and more frequent, eventually forcing Frank to kick me out. I stay away, knowing that Frank needs his space, but when I can’t stop drinking and even a few drugs are thrown into the mix, Frank finds me and saves me.
We never had any children. Even though it’s what people would, and did, say was the next step in our relationship, we didn’t want to take it. We were happy as we were, just with each other. And that damned dog, of course.
I stayed with him, right to the end. It was hard when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It killed me every day to watch him deteriorate. He forgot where he was, forgot who I was, forgot who he was.
He came back to me though. In the last minute of his life, he came back. He took hold of my hand, the light in his eyes suddenly turned back on, and whispered to me. “If ever you get that drunk again, make sure you get a cab home, and even share if you have to, but just don’t drive.”
*
As I lie here now in the bed that we shared for many years, all the memories we could capture in pictures and put down on paper scattered around me, I know that it’s my time to go now too. I don’t know how I know, I just do. Ally, the dog we got after Pepper passed, is lying at the bottom of the bed. Her brown eyes are sad. She knows.
But I’m not sad. I’m actually quite happy to go. I’ve lead a full life, done the things I’ve wanted to do and with the people I’ve wanted to do them with. I had a loving family and loyal friends. I wonder how many people can say that? I suspect not many.
Taking one last look at my favourite photo of Frank, I smile and close my eyes, knowing that they’re never going to be opened again. But that’s okay. Frank’s waiting for me. I try to hang on a little longer, just to give him a taste of his own medicine (over 6 years you made me wait, Frank, over 6 fucking years) but he’s getting impatient and I’m getting tired.
So I let go and just float and float and float...
*
*
When we met I was twenty-five and he was twenty-one. I’d decided to call it a night, having been out drinking for hours. I had pissed away almost all of my wages and knew I needed to stop before it was all gone. Despite how much I’d had to drink though, I didn’t feel that bad. I was drunk, yes, but not as much as an average person would’ve been if they’d drank what I had. He had seen me go to unlock my car and knew that, slightly drunk or completely hammered, I wasn’t going to be able to get myself home safely. So, he called me over and offered to share a cab with me. I’d smiled and agreed, thinking that I could come back to fetch my car tomorrow morning. He’d smiled back then flagged down the cab coming our way.
When in the back seats, he introduced himself. “Iero,” he had said, “Frank Iero.” He was good looking and a true gentlemen; the kind of guy every girl wanted. After I’d also introduced myself the conversation just seemed to flow effortlessly.
He’d told me about his family, how they were Catholic and how he’d always kind of rejected the religion. He acted as his parents expected him to because he didn’t want to disappoint them but last year he had finally decided that he’d had enough and moved out. He was renting a small flat but had dreams of moving out of the city altogether. He wanted to go somewhere like Michigan or Illinois. He was still living off his parents’ money though, having not had a massive fall out when he decided to leave, but he wanted to change that too. He wanted his own life, instead of having to live the one his mother and father had planned out for him.
In return I told him about my family and childhood, which was a lot more chilled out compared to Frank’s and I’d always thought I’d had it tough. We carried on swapping stories until the cab stopped. I looked out of the window and saw that we were outside my apartment building. Not willing to say goodbye to Frank so soon I invited him in. He took a little bit of convincing but eventually accepted my offer. I paid the cab driver then led him up to my apartment.
We continued talking and sharing pieces of our lives and then, during one of Frank’s tales, it happened. He was talking about an old family pet, a dog, and I was just sitting listening and watching him speak. I was genuinely interested in the story but the way his lips moved together stirred something in me and I leant forward, closing the gap between us and pressing our lips together. He pulled back instantly, making me groan inside. He looked at me, shocked. Then, just as I opened my mouth to apologise his lips were back on mine and he’d snaked his tongue into my mouth. My hands went to his hair and I raked my fingers through the silky strands as he placed his hands on my hips and slid his fingers over the soft skin there.
Eventually, we pulled away to catch our breath and as we did I looked into his eyes, took in how beautiful they were. They were a mixture of green and hazel and seemed to shine even in the dim light of my living room. The pupils were blown wide and full of a little bit of love and a whole lot of lust. He was breathing heavily.
“Are we gonna do this?” He’d asked. His hands were still under my shirt but all movement had stopped. I nodded, running my hands through his hair again as if to more solidly confirm that this was what I wanted. I never asked if this was what he wanted. In my drunken state I never even thought to ask. Looking back on it now I probably should have. I doubt it would have changed the course of events but there was always that chance that it could have. Frank just nodded at me though, never showing any signs of unwillingness. It might have been there but my ability to pay attention to detail had been swallowed along with all that Vodka. So I took his hand and led him into my bedroom.
*
I’d woken up the next morning with a throbbing headache, the heavy rain hitting against the window not helping at all. I lay for a while recollecting last night. I got drunk, shared a cab – you need to fetch your car – with a man named Frank Iero, talked about your life with aforementioned Frank Iero, listened to Frank talk about his life, kissed Frank, had se- FUCK, you had sex with him! I sat up quickly and turned my head to the right. He was gone. On the pillow was a folded up piece of paper. With a sigh I picked it up and unfolded it. I know it off by heart now. It read:
Last night shouldn’t have happened.
You were drunk and I took advantage of that.
I’m sorry.
Iero. Frank Iero. XO
Frank felt like the bad guy but I was the bad guy. Even though I was drunk I knew we had some sort of connection and shouldn’t have let it turn out as just a one night stand. You here about that ‘connection’ sort of thing in movies and books but you never really believe it until you feel it. That was when I started to believe.
I read the note another couple of times then threw it across the room in frustration and anger. Being paper though it didn’t even reach the end of the bed but it was supposed to go flying across the room. Maybe it would’ve helped if I’d screwed it into ball. I slid back down the bed and threw my head against the pillow.
Fuck sake Gerard, you did the wrong thing to the right guy.
*
I didn’t see Frank for a while after that. Guys came and went (occasionally a few girls too) but I never felt with any of them how I had felt with Frank. One relationship had lasted for a few months and I was amazed at how we had managed it. It all came crashing down though when I accidently screamed Frank’s name during sex. The guy thought I was cheating and left immediately. I never tried to explain. Shit happens. After that it was just one night stands and small flings. Every time I always wanted them to be Frank.
People always say to never regret anything you do because in the end your mistakes make you person that you are but fuck, I regretted going in for that kiss so badly now. This guy had all but fucked up my life and at the same time as providing it, took away any possibility I had of happiness.
I saw him again though. We exchanged phone numbers and Skype names and stayed in touch. He spoke of a boyfriend. A couple of years down the line he spoke of a fiancé. Another couple of years and Frank was happily married and living out in Illinois, just like he’d always wanted. I pretended to be happy for him and in a way I was. He had everything he’d ever wanted and was happy. I wanted him to have that but I wanted him to have that with me. If he was the only person I could be happy with then I wanted to be the only person he was happy with.
I needed to see him. I needed to be with him.
Please, please, baby, come back.
*
He came back. The door had knocked at around one in the morning. I remember being hesitant to answer because seriously, who would need me at that hour of the day? But the thought that maybe it was Mikey and something had happened to him made me take the chain off and unbolt the door. Never did it once cross my mind that it could’ve been Frank. He was off in Illinois living the life he’d always wanted. At this point, he had been married just over a year and a half.
He stood there with a suitcase at his side and a tear in his eye. I could hardly tell it was the same man. No more was the punk kid hair and the dark clothes, the piercings were gone and so were the ear stretchers. He had gained a lot of tattoos though and was now almost covered. My Frank had grown up. The hardest part was knowing that it hadn’t been me by his side watching him. I’d skirted along the sideboards.
I’d let him in and led him to the sofa. He sat down and I sat down next to him. He laid his head on my shoulder and I felt him begin to cry. “I thought I had it all planned out,” he’d said, wiping away his tears. I never said anything; I didn’t feel that I needed to. I believed that just being there was enough for Frank, and for me, too.
I never asked what happened between Frank and his husband and to this day, I still don’t know. I didn’t need to know. All I needed at that moment in time was to hold Frank in my arms as he cried himself to sleep.
*
The divorce was quick and simple. Frank had bought the house with his own money and it was in his name, so he got that. He went on to sell it for a staggering amount of money and moved back home, buying a new house in a nicer part of town. He owned his own car and his ex-husband owned his own too so that wasn’t a problem.
After everything was finalised, me and Frank started to hang out a lot more. There were times when I’d stay over at his house for days on end, strictly as close friends. We’d cuddle and fall asleep on each other but never anything more than that. But things started to progress and I fell for him all over again and then, eight months after he had turned up on my doorstep, on his 28th birthday, he said something that temporarily stopped my heart.
The day was over and we were on our way back to Frank’s house. I couldn’t stay tonight though; I had work in the morning. He’d taken my hand in his and was swinging it lightly between us as we walked. We were silent, but it was comfortable. When we reached his doorstep he turned and faced me, taking hold of my other hand too. He’d smiled at me and I’d smiled back.
“Gerard,” he’d whispered, squeezing lightly on my hands. I squeezed his back, still smiling.
“Gerard, I love you.”
My smile faltered and I let my hands fall to my sides. Suddenly, my mouth had dried up and there was a lump stopping me from speaking. Frank was staring at me, looking scared. All other noises had been blocked out, the only thing I could hear being the deep thud-thud of my heart ringing in my ears.
“Gerard?” His hand went to my shoulder and squeezed gently.
I made the smile re-surface and swallowed the lump. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”
Frank smiled, relieved. “A long time.”
“6 years, Frank. 6 years, 10 months and 2 weeks.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, then pulled me into his arms.
We kissed for the first time in over half a decade.
*
After that, we were inseparable. Mostly. Fast forward a couple of months down the line and I’ve moved out of my apartment and into the house with Frank. He talks of getting a dog so we do that. He names it Pepper and never lets it out of his sight. Many times I’ve sat watching him play with her thinking ‘fucking hell, he loves that dog more than he loves me’. I knew that wasn’t true though. Even when we fought (and trust me, we had enough fights to last me a lifetime, maybe even two) I knew he still loved me, and would eventually come crawling back with his tale between his legs. Sometimes it would be me doing the crawling but it was usually Frank, being the more argumentative and opinionated person.
A few years later and Frank starts to drop hints about marriage. I say ‘starts to drop hints’ but Frank was never a very subtle person though and all but tells me to propose. I leave it a few months, just to wind him up, and to also maybe make him forget about it so that when I do ask, it’s a surprise. But Frank doesn’t forget and when I present him with the ring he smirks at me and says “I knew you were going to ask tonight. You, Gerard, are way too predictable and also underestimate my memory.”
Our marriage isn’t perfect, but then whose is? The arguments get more heated and more frequent, eventually forcing Frank to kick me out. I stay away, knowing that Frank needs his space, but when I can’t stop drinking and even a few drugs are thrown into the mix, Frank finds me and saves me.
We never had any children. Even though it’s what people would, and did, say was the next step in our relationship, we didn’t want to take it. We were happy as we were, just with each other. And that damned dog, of course.
I stayed with him, right to the end. It was hard when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It killed me every day to watch him deteriorate. He forgot where he was, forgot who I was, forgot who he was.
He came back to me though. In the last minute of his life, he came back. He took hold of my hand, the light in his eyes suddenly turned back on, and whispered to me. “If ever you get that drunk again, make sure you get a cab home, and even share if you have to, but just don’t drive.”
*
As I lie here now in the bed that we shared for many years, all the memories we could capture in pictures and put down on paper scattered around me, I know that it’s my time to go now too. I don’t know how I know, I just do. Ally, the dog we got after Pepper passed, is lying at the bottom of the bed. Her brown eyes are sad. She knows.
But I’m not sad. I’m actually quite happy to go. I’ve lead a full life, done the things I’ve wanted to do and with the people I’ve wanted to do them with. I had a loving family and loyal friends. I wonder how many people can say that? I suspect not many.
Taking one last look at my favourite photo of Frank, I smile and close my eyes, knowing that they’re never going to be opened again. But that’s okay. Frank’s waiting for me. I try to hang on a little longer, just to give him a taste of his own medicine (over 6 years you made me wait, Frank, over 6 fucking years) but he’s getting impatient and I’m getting tired.
So I let go and just float and float and float...
*
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