Gerard's a lonely art graduate, living alone in a small apartment, surviving on booze and drugs. Frank's his concerned best friend.
Exasperated, he threw his pencil down on the desk, 'Fuck it...' He thought, as he stood up and headed down the hallway to the fridge in the corner of the kitchen. Leaning down he opened the stained white door and pulled out a Budweiser, opening it with the bottle opener on the kitchen counter, he let the cool, crisp, liquid glide down his throat. It was like a wave of fresh air, like a light in the dark. People didn't understand why he drank so much, and he couldn't explain it to them, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away until he'd had a drink, the trembling in his hands that only stopped when the vodka, or cider, or whiskey or beer, whatever poison of choice was in the bottle that day, passed through his lips and into his bloodstream.
It relaxed him, and helped him battle through the long days and sleep through the lonely nights, it gave him the confidence to speak his mind when needed, or the ability to just completely switch off the world around him. He felt like a superhero when he was drunk, like he could do whatever, say whatever. He felt like Gerard Way, the man he was supposed to be, when he was drunk, instead of the introverted, quiet man he actually was.
He sat down on the kitchen floor, next to the fridge, so he could reach for another drink when needed. On the counter above him was a notepad and pen, lazily he reached for them and started doodling.
Once he'd finished his third beer, he opened the fridge again and reached for the bottle of Jack. That was the thing, once he started drinking he couldn't stop, he'd reach a certain point and part of him would just say 'Fuck it, you're already drunk, might as well drink some more...' He hadn't hit that stage yet, with just three beers, but he knew that now he'd started the Jack Daniels, that stage wasn't far off.
Another hour passed and he was slouched in the corner of the kitchen, the notepad filled with madcap scribbling. His legs felt as though they were made of lead, and his head lulled to one side. His stomach was churning, and his vision was blurred, he contemplated sleeping on the kitchen floor simply because he could not get up. A few more minutes passed and he heard a knocking on the front door, coming from down the hallway.
"It's open!" He slurred, loudly.
Had it not been for the fact that only one person ever called round anymore, he'd have probably ignored it, but since Frank was the only one who seemed to want to talk to Gerard nowadays, he might as well make the effort to talk back.
"Where are you, Gee?" The small man called from the hallway.
"I'll g-give you three guesses..." Gerard giggled, as Frank's head popped around the door-frame.
Frank gave a tired sigh,
"S'not my fault, just kinda happened y'know..." Replied Gerard, from the kitchen floor.
Frank rolled his eyes, "C'mon, let's get you to bed man." He said, reaching down for the drunk mans arms.
"Nonono, don't move mee..." Stuttered Gerard.
"Why the fuck not? You can't stay here all night?" Retorted Frank.
"I feel sickk, I'm gonna be sick..." He choked, pale on the floor.
Frank reached for the bin in the opposite corner of the small kitchen, he'd be more worried if he weren't so used to this by now. Placing the metal tin under his friends face, he patted him on the back while Gerard retched and shook under Frank's watchful eye. Frank had only come over to ask if Gerard wanted to catch a film, instead it looked like he'd be spending the night on the kitchen floor with the mess he called his best friend.
When he'd finished emptying his stomach, Gerard looked up to Frank with sad, watery eyes.
"I'm sorry..." He slurred.
"S'okay, don't worry about it." Frank said, sliding down to sit on the floor, next to Gerard.
Gerard sighed and rested his heavy head on Franks shoulder, there were soft tears coming from the corners of his eyes, and Frank wasn't sure if it was due to Gerard's inability to keep the alcohol in him that caused his eyes to water, or if he genuinely was sorry. Either way, he didn't mention it, and just let the drunk man rest on his shoulder until he finally passed out, from exhaustion, alcohol, or maybe a bit of both.
After Gerard passed out on his shoulder, Frank sat there for another half an hour, until his leg started to go dead. Gently, and quietly he stood up, slowly guiding Gerard's limp form onto the kitchen floor, where he placed him on his side, and put the bin near his head, just in case.
He walked through to the living room, and grabbed a cushion from the small, dirty sofa, and then through to the little study in the corner of the apartment, a single lamp was lit in the corner of the dingy room, and the place stank of cigarettes and beer...And something else, weed, probably.
He walked up to the desk in the corner, and looked at the drawings on the desk, he picked them up and surveyed each of them individually, they were amazing, beautiful in fact. Gerard had drawn a face, the same face, over and over, some had been furiously scribbled out, others meticulously erased in frustration, but the result was a series of incredibly detailed drawings of Frank himself. It was like looking into a mirror, it was breathtaking. He became aware of all the blood rushing to his cheeks, as he grinned like a Cheshire Cat, placing the pictures back on the desk the way he found them, he noticed a little graphite mark on the top drawing, perhaps where a pencil had been thrown down in a rush, or anger. He ignored it, and returned through to the kitchen, where Gerard was laying exactly where he'd been left.
Carefully, Frank lifted the other man's head, and placed the cushion underneath. He placed his face next to Gerard's, just to check he was breathing, he told himself. He was, luckily.
Lifting himself from the kitchen floor, Frank opened the fridge, narrowly missing hitting Gerard's head with the door. He reached in and pulled out a beer, then took himself through to the living room. He felt almost guilty, drinking while his friend was passed out drunk on the floor in the next room. But it helped him sleep, and right now that was exactly what he needed.
He finished the beer, and lay down on the sofa, and within the hour he'd fallen into the world of his subconscious, to a time where he and Gee could just hang out together, no drugs, no drink, just the two of them, like it used to be.