FicWad

This is dedicated to my mom. For telling me to write about something I've experienced.

...which I didn't do, because my second grade wedding with Frank (NOT Iero, lol. I'm not that crazy...) was nothing like this. We had an old bible, a handful of other snot-nosed kids, and the principle as a witness. The marriage forms were a bunch of napkins from the lunch line, and if I'm not mistaken, just after he married me, he also married my other friend. A threesome or something. But, really. They had sex scandals in Kindergarten if I remember correctly. So, yeah. Sorry ma. ;D

------------------------------------

His breath tickles the curve of Frank’s neck, and Gerard is caught mid-giggle, pink lips curved upwards gently as another Kodak disposable snaps from somewhere in the room. (/Paparazzi,/) Frank thinks. (/Haha, I wish./)


Frank’s really not sure what time it is, but the lights are as dim as they’ll get, lavenders and blues and yellows spinning around the floor like searchlights. Not-quite-nothings and hushed promises slip from their nervous lips, fingers and elbows brushing over tailored suit-sleeves. (Oh, um, the jackets just feel like cardboard… sorry.)
The music plays on, flowing through the auditorium, under confetti-covered tables and whisking around half-empty wine glasses. It would be dizzying, but, ha, that would a little too cliché for Frank. (Had enough of those, that’s for sure.) And he would probably pass out (catch me if you can).
Frank shifts his body against Gerard’s. He’s been self-conscious for the whole night, but it’s definitely not the ‘suddenly’ type of moment. Gerard’s feet glide as gracefully as they can in time with his, awkward to anyone else, but to Frank it’s everything. Gerard’s trying for him [left, right, back, left, onetwothree].
He can feel the smiles and he can almost hear the glistening in the eyes on him. (They’ll be talking for a while,) he thinks.
Frank can feel Gerard’s arm pressing through the fabric, brushing his back every time a step is taken in either direction, feet in unfamiliar shoes finding pattern on unfamiliar surfaces. (/Twister,/) Frank reflects vaguely, [left foot green, right hand blue, right foot re.../] but the thought is swept away. Quickly. /(What was that about… never understood that game, anyways…)


“Its almost midnight,” Gerard says, and then, finally, Frank is able to look away, glancing at the sleeping pile of children lying curled on an old fleece blanket (probably brought from someone’s car trunk), their embellished jackets and tiny pairs of glossy dress shoes retired for the night in the corner beside them.
Frank smiled shyly, caught between concluding the evening, letting the tired kids get home, back with their own sets of Spiderman sheets, Star Wars pillow cases (Gerard would be proud), and Barbie blankets, and continuing, swaying to the music all night (they’d only been dancing for, what, five minutes?) until they were forced to go home by the, well, whoever owned the place they were occupying. Gerard had taken care of that in his secluded time in their basement. Frank had had no idea. Zip.
“I love you,” from either one, and
Well, Frank tries not to acknowledge the collective ‘aw’ from the rest of the room. Tries not to acknowledge the majority of the onlookers all wondering what you’d expect in the situation: will it last? When their lips meet and he’s almost too breathless to move, if it weren’t for Gerard’s grip on his waist but- (“We’re the center of attention, my dear.”)


But, hey, it can wait. Everything can wait, all until after Frank’s finally away from the dancing, the obnoxiously patchworking slats of garage-rubber that make up the floor, and even away from the relatives. Oh, Jesus, the relatives. And he thinks he could spend years away from them, the relatives, (mostly) kind, (mostly) old, and (mostly) withering, all wishing them the best life they can possibly wish for them without giving away some of their own. He’s almost hopeful that they won’t need it, but what with the life insurance prices these days-
-Frankie.”
He’s snapped out of it again. (i really need to replace those cabinet doors…)
“Frankie,” Gerard repeats, just to make sure. (Sit, stay.)
“Sorry.”
And that’s when he realizes that the night’s gone by. (Oh, I'm late, I'm late, For a very important date, No time to say "Hello." Goodbye. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late.)
Wow, the whole night? He hadn’t been drunk. Uh, not too drunk. No, not drunk at all. Not unless he was too drunk to remember even getting drunk in the first place. No. That wasn’t right.
And judging by the grin suppressed from Gerard’s lips, he hadn’t been too bothersome that night.
“No, you were fine…” The reply to his voiced opinion.
That’s a relief…


Rose colored sheets? Frank almost snorts, but Gerard winces. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
“No, no, my… Ng… bad…” When Frank is close to interrupted, kisses pressed just at his collarbone, butterflying all the way up to the spot just below his ear.
‘Hm, he knows his man well’ -Frank can imagine his mother. Huh, where had she been all night? (/Face down in the punch bowl, for all I care. No, I didn’t mean that./ [Forgive me, father for I have…sinned?] /Oh, God/-) and (–/where is this coming from?/)


Rose colored sheets… It’s not funny anymore. Not funny at all. Especially not when Gerard’s storming from the room red-faced, furious and annoyed at Frank for even pointing out that the-
so Frank decides not to bring it up ever again. Not once. He wouldn’t risk it. (Wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?)


(Bathtubs aren’t supposed to be that shape!)
“A fucking heart?” Oops myfingermusthaveslipped. Frank freezes, realizing. “S-s…”/(orry?)/

(THE END THE END THE END)

But Gerard just grins again. It’s a goofy grin. One that says-
-It’s alright,” and then that hiccupping breath. Frank only just catches it at the end of the word. So their both laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Not dead yet.


Frank can feel Gerard’s legs under the (rose) sheets, fuzzed with light hairs and tangled warm against his own.
“So, this is it…,” Gerard whispers.
Frank’s fingers find Gerard’s. Puzzle pieces. He smiles a little at the soft clang of metal when the rings clink together (/Oh my god, that’s us, me and him, we, ours, it’s not just I anymore)/.
“Oh, wow. It’s…,” Frank says. Gerard nods. “It’s… we’re. That actually…”
“Are you… are you upset?”
Frank shakes his head. It almost feels like a hangover. Picking out the pieces you wish you could remember, what really happened and what didn’t. (What did I do last night?)
“It’s just… I mean, I said ‘I do’… I actually said it… I never thought…”
And Gerard just nods. He gets it.


Six years gone by and Frank can still remember. It’d been so strange. Surreal. (/Yeah, yeah, dizzying…/)


“Jena! Jenarae, don’t run in the house!” Gerard’s afraid for the china. The china they don’t have. (Parents…)
Uuugh, 5-year-olds can be such a hassle (/Jeez, I’m turning into a woman!)/.
Frank’s barely 30, Gerard’s barely 34. Not old. Not old yet.
Gerard’s got his arms around Frank’s waist, standing on the balcony to watch the child speed outside onto the deck.
(/He’s always been gentle/,) Frank thinks. (/Is he afraid?)/

And then, how long will it be till its Jena’s turn on the dance floor? Swept away into the arms of some man and hauled off to procreate as they saw fit? Too soon, he’s certain (/That’s my little girl)/.

He’ll wait.