Gerard really started to show at twenty weeks, no longer having to strain to see his bump. He had started to wear looser fitting t shirts to try and hide the bump.
“Apparently I’m going to be gaining, like, a pound a week at this stage,” Gerard said on night, flicking through a book while his head lay on Frank’s lap, his knees perpendicular to the couch and bent upwards.
“I like you with a little junk in the trunk,” Frank commented, trying to get a hand on Gerard’s ass.
Gerard tutted and hit his upper arm, “As soon as this baby comes out of me, I’m literally going to have to eat nothing for a month.”
“That’s such a lie,” Frank murmured, kissing his forehead, “You look so beautiful. I’ve been trying to fatten you up for years now. You look so healthy and happy. Gorgeous. Gorgeous.”
“Shut up, Frank,” Gerard mumbled, his cheeks tinged pink, burying his head into Frank’s neck.
“You are,” Frank insisted, kissing down his neck, “When you wake up in the morning in your baggy t shirt that falls over your shoulder, and you get up with your hair everywhere and you stretch and I can see your bump, our child, and you smile at me with your dimples and you look so content and happy and Christ, you are so out of my league.”
Gerard gulped and abandoned his parenting book, wrapping his arms around Frank’s neck and surging up to kiss him.
“I love you,” Gerard whispered, his eyes suddenly filling up with tears.
“Are you okay?” Frank asked, concerning tinging his voice. Gerard shook his head and wiped his eyes.
“Hormones. Just kiss me again, I should be done crying in a few minutes,” Gerard said dismissively, kissing Frank again.
Baby shops, Frank decided, were the fucking weirdest things ever. Bright colours and sickeningly sweet sounds. Weird. Gerard had spent hours fawning over onepieces and carriers and cots and fucking wallpapers.
“Look at that pushchair!” He exclaimed, steering Frank towards a massively elaborate chair made of metal and painted in a soft pastel blue shade.
“How can we navigate that round New York?” Frank asked incredulously. Gerard shrugged and typed the product number into his phone. Frank rolled his eyes and kissed him on the cheek.
Frank decided to look at the children’s toys, wondering what he should get his son. Educational things? Boy things? What were ‘boy things’? Did boys play with action figures? Frank sighed and busied himself with an elaborate doll house. He wished he had a daughter just so he could buy it; it was a massive victorian townhouse with proper tiny china sets inside and a teeny-tiny grand piano.
“Hey, Frankie,” Gerard greeted him from behind. Frank smiled, “I’ve got some stuff that I need your opinion on before we buy it. With your card.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Frank teased, letting Gerard drag him off to look at cribs. He pulled him to a wooden crib, painted in the same sort of soft shade as the pram, with carved bars on the side. Gerard waited for Frank to say something first.
“It’s perfect,” Frank said at last. Gerard smiled to himself, reaching for Frank’s hand and squeezing it.
“There are some matching onepieces too,” Gerard said excitedly, dragging Frank to another corner of the shop, “And we could get matching paint for the walls! This is going to be brilliant, Frank!”
They chose to have all the stuff delivered to them, because there was no way Frank was going to let Gerard carry four flatpack boxes to their apartment, and there was no way he was going to be able to carry the rest anyway. They spent the rest of the afternoon clearing out the guest room, getting rid of the bed and the beside table and replacing it with a crib and a changing station.
“We’re having a baby,” Frank stated, looking at all the furniture as they finished, leaning against Gerard. Gerard placed a hand on his stomach and rubbed it.
“In four months we’re going to spending the majority of our lives in here,” Gerard whispered in awe, staring at the ceiling, “I’m so excited.”
“You’re not going to start crying again, are you?” Frank asked warily. He loved Gerard, but the mood swings and the hormones freaked him out form time to time. He never quite knew where he stood, whether he’d done something well (“Frank! You bought me me bread? Oh, you shouldn’t have!”) or done something wrong (“Frank! You bought me white bread? How could you!”).
“Of course not,” Gerard said, bumping Frank’s shoulder before shuddering and clutching his stomach. “Oh!”
“What?” Frank asked, instantly whipping round, “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
Gerard was frowning and holding his stomach in both hands, “I think he just kicked, Frankie.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Frank had knelt by his stomach and was framing his stomach with his hands.
“It feels like butterflies, but it was definitely something - did you feel that? He moved!” Gerard exclaimed. Frank nodded eagerly.
“He’s moving. He’s there. Hello, Baby,” Frank crooned to Gerard’s stomach ridiculously. Gerard took a few deep breaths before he was crying again, full, blown out, chest-racking sobs. Frank looked up, slightly alarmed.
“Hey, hey, Gee,” He said, cradling Gerard into his chest.
“I’m happy,” Gerard sobbed, “Oh my God. Frank. It’s our son.”
“I know, Baby,” Frank whispered, kissing Gerard with everything he had.