*Frerard angsty one-shot drabbly sort of thing* Frankie is in trouble, and all Gerard can hear are echoes.
As the wind whips through his hair, his feet flying, propelling himself forward, he can feel it—the steady pounding of his heart in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he can feel it, and he blinks a tear from his eye. The numbness is gone, replaced by a torrent of emotion that has him bolting down streets like he can’t feel a thing. Street lamps turn to blurs. The moon becomes a guide. The city, to lights and buzz, as a million thoughts buzz in his mind all centered around the same thing.
The name pangs his heart, brings a crease to his brow in total concentration. He closes his eyes. It’s getting harder for him to breathe, but Gerard doesn’t care. He only pushes himself further, running as fast as he can as memory begins to replace reality behind closed eyes. All of a sudden, Gerard is no longer bolting down the streets he has for years called his home. He’s back in his room, reliving that last call that drove him to pack his bag and run.
“Hey Frankie,” Gerard says, with that playfully quiet tone of voice only Frank gets to hear. He smiles into the receiver. “What’s crackalackin’?”
A chokes up sigh meets his dorky sentiment, followed by a crackling of noise. It sounds like crying.
“Frank, are you okay?”
After the words have fallen from his mouth, Gerard realizes what a stupid thing that was to say. His friend hasn’t even spoken yet and he can tell something’s wrong. The fact that he hasn’t spoken is an indication in itself, considering how hard it is to get the guy to shut up sometimes. Gerard bites his lip. His mind is already babbling uncontrollably, worrying, assuming the worst possible situation, and it refuses to slow down. Frank sighs, or exhales, or something—it’s that familiar crackling sound again—then goes silent. Gerard holds his breath.
“No,” Frank says. “I’m not.”
And that was that. Gerard comes back to the lights and buzz.
The streets disappear beneath his feet as he runs and runs and runs. Frank needs him now more than ever. This he knows. With a bag packed in less time than it took to finish the song he’d heard too many times, the boy was out the door and down the street before his parents calls could even reach his ears—all he heard were the echoes. And all he hears are echoes, all around him. The echo of cars on the street, the echo of wind through the trees—the echo of Frank’s voice, and how it had sounded nothing like the boy he’s come to love. Just the memory makes Gerard’s heart split in two. Frank needs him, he thinks, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. He remembers the longing to reach out and touch, to hold the boy close. It’s the three thousand miles between him and where he wants to be that serves as a reminder—Someday can’t outrun Reality. No matter how many times you cheer its name, Reality always wins.
The wins whips through his hair as his feet pound against the sidewalk. Now that he’s out, nothing can stop him.
Gerard keeps running.
All he hears are echoes.