FicWad

AN: You guys are too awesome! Because I love you but hate this chapter, double post!

In his motel room on the other side of town, Frank really was dying. His bruises seemed to have spread to every inch of his skin, so even just sitting on his bed was torture. He thought longingly of Gerard's soft mattress, the quietness of his room, the thick blanket, and, most importantly, the slow, even breaths that Gerard took as he slept.

Frank shook his head furiously, making his hair flop over his eyes. He brushed them to the side impatiently. 

"Stop thinking about that," Frank muttered. "You left. It's done. Don't go crawling back."

But he wanted to. He wanted to ditch this motel room and his 'job' to go live with Gerard. He wanted to wake up in clothes that didn't pinch his balls. He wanted to eat breakfast every morning and talk to Gerard without being worried about the danger he was putting himself in everytime he went out.

Frank screamed in frustration and flung himself back on the bed. This was followed by a hiss of pain and a collection of curses as his skin throbbed.

'Face it,' he thought, blinking away tears. 'You made a mistake.'

Frustrated with himself, Frank gingerly pulled his wool blanket over his body. The lights were still on, but he was too sore and too tired to get back up and turn them off.

The last thing Frank thought of before he fell asleep was a pair of large, dark, greenish-hazel eyes.

The next morning dawned cloudy-gray, which did not add to Frank's mood. The threat of rain was in the air today, and Frank wondered if he would ever see the sun again.

'Probably not,' he thought bitterly.  'Not if I die today.' He was still sore from his encounter with Peter, and had never truely noticed how thin his mattress was before last night.

With a pang, he found himself thinking once again about Gerard's bed, Gerard's blanket, Gerard's laugh, Gerard's eyes...

"Screw it," Frank said finally. "I'm going back."

He was halfway through packing up some of his clothes in a Sobeys bag when he remembered that it was Monday.

'Damn it! Gerard'll be in class all day! Maybe I'll-'

Frank's thoughts were cut off by a sudden realization. Horror swept through him, and he felt himself go cold. 

'What if,' he thought. 'What if Gerard doesn't want me?'

It would make sense. He'd show up at Gerard's door with his pathetic bag of clothes, and Gerard would turn him away like a stray mutt. Already Frank could see the disgust in those beautiful eyes. He could hear Gerard say: "Why would I want to live with a faggot prostitute? Did you really think I liked you?!"

Frank was crushed. What if Gerard had only pretended to want him to stay? Now that he thought about it, Frank saw how stupid he'd been. No one as good as Gerard Way would want to love-

Again, Frank stopped himself. Love? Was that it? Was he in love  with Gerard? But he only met him a day ago!

'Yes,' said a small voice. 'But you know that's how long it takes for love to begin; one day.'

A hysterical giggle escaped Frank's lips. So that's how it was. He was in love with someone that couldn't possibly love him back. Let's give a hand to life, shall we? For being the most fucked-up thing ever created.

Abandoning the bag of clothes, Frank dug around in his dresser. He pulled out his tightest pair of black skinny jeans and a tight black v-neck t-shirt. 'Well,' he thought, putting them on. 'Guess I'd better go to work.'

Frank applied his make-up, combed his hair, and went out to fuck-up his life even more.

-

Gerard dragged himself through his appartment door at 5:00 that night, cursing Mondays everywhere. The twenty-year-old had rolled out of bed that morning just to find that he was already late for class. After a hasty breakfast of uncooked poptarts, he dashed out to his car and drove to the college at an alarming speed.

Gerard ruffled his long black hair and yawned, flicking on the kitchen light as he did so. He started up his coffee machine with a practiced ease. It happened completely by accident, but his eyes flicked up to the window that looked out onto a Starbucks and a filthy motel.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment his vision was dominated by the red light of the motel's neon sign.

There was a car in the parking lot.

'Frank could be in there.' The thought screamed in his mind, like a song he never wanted to hear but couldn't get out of his head. 'He could be in there, right now, with some random guy that he met on the street.'

Gerard heard the beeping of his coffee machine, but it seemed distant.

'Frank is in there fucking that guy and you're in here, doing nothing about it.'

"No," Gerard moaned. "It's not him. Frank wouldn't-"

'Frank did. He does. He doesn't give a damn what you feel. He's just a dirty slutty WHORE!'

'Frank's not like that!' Gerard howled inside his head. 'He's not!'

'Poor pathetic Gerard! Can't even get laid by a PROSTITUTE!' the voice roared, competing with Gerard's mental screams of protest. 'Frank doesn't love you! Why do you think he left?! He's out there right now, probably laughing at you while he puts his slutty little hands on some guy's-'

BEEP!

The coffee machine broke Gerard out of his inner battle with the voice. He gratefully poured his coffee into a large blue mug. Without even adding milk or sugar, he swallowed a mouthful and scalded his tongue. His eyes watered, but he had a feeling it had less to do with his burning mouth and more to do with what the voice had said.

'No,' thought Gerard firmly. 'The outside world can make fun of me, but I'll be damned if I let it get to my head.'

Truly despising whatever part of his brain had conjured the voice, Gerard took another burning sip of coffee. 

At least this pain would eventually disappear.

:::::::::: Demolition Lovers ::::::::::