Disclaimer: I don't own the people or places. I made up the dialog and experiences. Sorry if it's crappy, but I love it more than anything. ^_^

P.O.V. will change frequently from Frank to Gerard, so I used a little border(~+~+~) to help out. OH YEAH, for the fans of 'Obstacle One' I've gotten a couple of e-mails recently about updating. It's in the works. when I'm done writing it, I'll totally post it on up here. Sorry about the long wait. Thanks!

***

"I'll be leaving now."

She turned to me and looked down. I was crumpled, lying on the ground.

"Jaime, I'll do anything to make you stay."

I've told her this millions of times already. She knelt down next to me.

"That's just the point. You can't do anything to make me stay."

She stood up and gripped her suitcases.

"I loved you once and you also loved me Frank."

"I still love you," I whispered behind my hands.

She slowly shook her head. I gulped hard.

"I don't love you anymore Frank. If you love me, then forget all about me. Buy something nice with our rings or something. Cross me out of your heart."

"But I-"

"No...no Frank. Not ever again. I'm leaving now."

And with that, my technicolor dream escaped through my door. Color drained from the world and my face. I couldn't even lift a hand to wipe the tears cascading down my jawline. I let them fall down. I bowed my head to mourn the loss of my life, my love, my wife.

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I stubbed my cigarette out hard.

"Bullshit."

Mikey told me the news of Frank. Apparently, ever since his wife walked out, he's been holed up in his apartment. I can just picture his face now; hair grown in where the shaved sides used to be, eyes red, puffy, and droopy. His clothes would be unwashed, and his breath would reek of alcohol. If I'm lucky, he won't die. The concept of Frank dying caused me immense stress, and I lit up another cigarette. There were only a few people who I would ever concern myself with. Frank definitely ranked up there. He was a different story altogether.

I had come to terms with my sexuality early on in art school. I was both gay and straight. Most people called it being bisexual. Mikey called it being "fucking sexual."

I can admit to myself that I have always had feelings for Frank. These things are best kept hidden sometimes. I mean, it wouldn't make for good memories if I told him that I cried at his wedding for all the wrong reasons.

No, what Frank needs now is his best friend, and since one of them just walked out, it looks like I'll have to step up. I'll get Frank out of his apartment, it I have to put hooks in his ankles, and drag him out. I'll get my Frankie back.

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My calendar is wrong. I haven't changed the date since she left. The room is dark and, my only company was my collection of empty liquor bottles. I haven't really gotten up from the floor in the last two days. Everything was silent, save the whirring of my ceiling fan. Numbness has eaten my insides out. I am just a husk now, blowing in the wind. I'd figured that if I lied here long enough, I would die.

I burned her remaining belongings the night she left. The smell of her burning perfume made me vomit. Our pictures were torn down and set aflame. Then I drank...and drank...and drank...and drank. When I couldn't drink anymore, I'd puke, and then drink some more.

On this not so particular day, a random screwdriver was looking mighty lovely. If I could just jam it through my chest... it would hurt, but it would at least be something. I picked it up and toyed with my lip ring mercilessly. It would be slow, and quite painful, but then... sweet release. It would be just like all those songs Gerard sings. Gerard...I wonder what he would think of all this. I closed my eyes and positioned the screwdriver over my heart.

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I walked up to Frank's duplex apartment, and rang the bell. No answer. I rang again, but there was still no answer. I pounded on the door hard. "Frankie!"

Jiggling the knob, I pounded harder still.

"Frankie open the fucking door! It's me Gerard!"

I knew it would have came to this. Frank never made anything easy. Lucky for me, I knew this already. Lowering my small pack to the floor, I removed my lock picking kit. I still couldn't believe that they sold this stuff in retail. I picked his knob lock ,and noticed his chain lock above it. I had a small set of cutters that easily took care of that. The hard part was the scene in front of me.

The room was dark, smelt of alcohol and vomit. A tiny shaft of light fell through one of the bottles, casting a bluish bar across Frank's eyes. He looked like a corpse, adorned with a thousand liquor bottles. He had a pointed object in his hands. A screwdriver? Oh man, this was worse than I thought. "Frank."

It was more of a statement, a warning. Frank opened his eyes and looked at me. "What are you doing?" I folded my arms in a father-like fashion.

"Some repair work."

"A screwdriver? You couldn't even get up for a knife?"

Frank cracked a smile and tossed his tool away. Then, he faded again. I've never seen him this bad. Hell, I've never been this bad. I've never resorted to a screwdriver anyway.

Moving some bottles, I sat down next to his head, and peered down.

"Frank, talk to me."

"She...left me Gee."

"I know Frankie, I know."

"Why?"

I was at a loss of words. There was such a hollow sound in that child-like question. Something about the sound made me want to curl up and die beside him. Instead, I spoke my mind, and hoped he would understand.

"Well, you see, love is like a compost heap. It always starts out as something beautiful, but then age and bacteria get in there. Eventually it breaks down, until it's just soil."

Frank opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"It's the richest soil though, and sometimes you can plant new stuff in it. Those always come out as bigger, more beautiful flowers. Right?"

Frank sniffed and nodded. He rolled over into my lap, and cried, and cried.

We stayed like that for a long time after that. His sobs subsided, but I still knew he was hollow inside. Now that the damage is done, it's time to recover. I suppose that cleaning the apartment would be a great start. I looked down at Frank as he slept on my lap. He looked so small, not at all like the bratty man-child I've come to love. He was all tattered, like his shoes. I didn't have the heart to wake him, and even though I am somewhat girlie, I'm still strong. Well, maybe he's just light. God, he's lost so much weight. I carried Frank like a dead bride across his threshold. His bed was of black cotton; dark, yet airy, much like himself. I laid him down and skittered off to clean. ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~