Disclaimer: (My writing, my sick situations... not my characters. Love these boys, but I don't own them... They own me. Thoughts on Frankie and Gee? Dead sexy. I don't really believe that they have, or ever had, a romantic relationship with each other, but that's a personal opinion.

Feedback to xxnewjerseyboys@hotmail.com please.

***

"G-gerard?"

"Yeah, Frankie?"

"You know I love you no matter what happens, right?"

Frankie sounded anxious, and I reached reluctantly forward for the remote to turn off his living room television, shifting my position on the couch so that I was fully facing him to show that he had my complete attention. "Of course I do, baby."

He looked down at his lap and nodded silently, taking a deep breath. His soft pink lips quivered slightly as though they were trying to form words, but then went still without success. There was no sound in the room except for the barely perceptible hum of the lights and the soft rhythm of our breathing, his seemingly louder than mind, as if it took more effort to fill his small lungs.

Realizing that something was out of place, I stayed silent and studied him for a moment, noticing for the first time how pale he had been looking lately. There were dark circles under his beautiful eyes, and his hands, now nervously toying with the cuff of one jean jacket sleeve, were shaking slightly.

He looked sick, and I frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Frankie's pupils darted nervously upwards and he shook his head, too many times to convince me that he meant it. "I'm... I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well."

I knew that he hadn't been sleeping well, because I'd been receiving voicemail messages on my cellphone from him at almost the exact same time every night; two o'clock in the fucking morning. He always sounded exhausted and miserable, his voice thin and often shaky, but he never told me what was wrong. The messages were always similar too; "Just wanted to say hi" or "I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd call," but they never explained the haunted note in his hellos, or why the fuck he was always up at such an unholy hour. However, I also knew him too well to believe that lack of sleep was the only cause for his nerves, and as he started to get to his feet, one hand already in his pocket for his cigarettes, I reached for his arm. "Wait, Frank-"

"What?" His voice had a hint of defensiveness in it as he sat back down with a soft thump.

"I'm worried about you."

"Well, you don't have to be," he snapped, staring towards the dirty linoleum. "I'm fine."

I couldn't stand arguing, so I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before reaching for him. "Come here, babe."

He melted obediently into my arms with a little shiver, and I shifted his warm body so that he was lying in my lap, bending over and bringing my lips to his, as gently as I thought I could handle without torturing myself.

He whimpered. "Gee, I love you."

I began to kiss him harder, pulling his body snugly to my chest and holding him close as I felt his lips part slightly, allowing me to slip my tongue into his mouth.

He moaned slightly, but I noticed he was breathing harder than normal, and something told me that I just wasn't that exciting...

I put a hand to his chest so that I could feel his heart thudding almost wildly somewhere beneath his collarbone. "Are you okay, Frankie?" I whispered.

He nodded, lips pressed up against mine, and I took it as my permission to slip one hand up beneath his t-shirt, slowly tugging at the collar of his jean jacket with the other.

He wriggled out of it with some difficulty and gave me a weak smile, resting his head against my chest for a moment before stretching his neck to kiss me again.

I caught Frankie's head with one hand as it fell back slightly and tried to look him in the eyes, concerned. He seemed so much weaker than usual.

Obviously uncomfortable, he glanced quickly away, mumbling "C'mon, Gerard," and sounding almost annoyed as he refused to look at me.

I tried to turn his head back so that I could see his expression, but he wouldn't let me, closing his eyes tightly, and I sighed, settling for pulling his t-shirt up over his head and running my hands lightly down the smooth skin of his back. "Baby..."

He moaned as my lips moved up his neck, from the distinct hollow where the halves of his collarbone met along the line of his trachea, stopping just beneath his chin, making him squirm. "Umm..."

I removed my lips from his skin with one final kiss on the mouth, letting a hand trail down the center of his chest and over his navel to the button of his jeans.

He moaned again, but otherwise barely responded. It looked like he had made a slight effort to lift his head and kiss me, but he seemed to change his mind, and lay still again.

I had my hand on his zipper when the sound of the front door swinging open with a bang made my head snap up.

I think Frankie choked on a scream, but all I could do was stare.

Ohmygod. Ohmyfuckinggod.

Frank's father, eyes badly bloodshot, dilated pupils filled with indescribable rage, stared back for a single instant- just one instant, but time seemed to have frozen- and then staggered forward drunkenly, grabbing Frankie's forearm tightly and dragging him off the couch, head snapping backwards like a broken ragdoll, even before I could react. He twisted Frankie's arm behind his back, pinning him in place as he whimpered with pain, two terrified wide eyes locking on mine.

After all that time of running from it, dreading it, this was finally happening.

"Frankie-" I had barely gasped out his son's name when Frank's father spoke.

"Getout." The words were slurred together, but I could hear the hatred and venom both for me and for Frankie as clearly as that in the man's hard eyes.

"N-no, Frankie-"

"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now."

I glanced panickedly up at Frankie. His tortured eyes were silently pleading with me to do something... But what the fuck did he want me to do?

"G-go..." he whispered brokenly, a stifled sob caught in his throat.

I couldn't leave him now.

"You'regonnabesofuckingsorry..." Frank's father spat poisonously, sending a frightened chill down my spine. He took a step closer to me, and I nearly choked on the smell of stale alcohol and something like urine rising off his body and clothing. "YouknowwhatIdotofaggots?" he leered thickly. "Ifuckingkillthem."

Frankie did sob at that, trembling in his father's iron grip and gasping hoarsely as the arm caught behind him bore the force of every painful breath he took.

There was a taut silence. Everyone stood perfectly motionless, and all I could hear were Frankie's whimpering breaths. A single tear spilled over his long eyelashes and trailed down his bloodless cheek, reaching his jawbone and pausing one second before it fell. I watched it splash against the linoleum as though in slow motion.

But the quiet really only lasted one broken heartbeat.

Frank's father lunged at me with a growl of rage, dragging his helpless son with him as he went.

"Go now!" Frankie yelled at me, choking on the words and breaking off into rattling coughs. His father's arm was around his throat now, pressing painfully against his windpipe and cutting off air.

With no better plan, I bolted frantically for the front door, trying to catch Frankie's gaze over my shoulder. His father followed me to the doorway with a deadly warning in his eyes, which, I noticed with an uncomfortable suffocating feeling, were the same green-grey as his son's. Oh god. The gorgeous eyes I loved so much were Frankie's strongest tie to the man he hated and feared beyond anything, and they were much more permanent than any cut or bruise. And Frankie knew it. My throat tightened, and I stared face to face with Anthony Iero for another tense second before spinning around, one hand on the doorframe.

Behind me, I could hear Frankie struggling to get free, but his father was a lot stronger than he was, and there was nothing he could do to fight back. He whimpered as I stumbled outside, unforgiving hysteria in his voice. "Gerard, wait-!"

I spun sharply at his words and reached back desperately for his outstretched fingers, wanting- needing- just to touch him, but his father jerked him roughly back inside the house even as our hands met, slamming the wooden door and cutting off Frankie's hysterical cries.

I stared at the house for another panicked moment, then left the porch, nearly tripping on the uneven sidewalk. Sick and shaky, I barely trusted myself to drive, nonetheless climbing unsteadily into my car. Stomach acid was rising in my throat as I stared numbly at Frankie's front door from the street and tried not to think about what was going on behind it.

This was my fault.

Frankie had told me to leave... but then had screamed so desperately for me to wait. What had he really wanted from me?

My stomach hurt. I didn't know what to do next. I couldn't call the police, because Frankie didn't want to be saved like that, but oh god, what if his father fucking killed him?! I would have to live without him, and with the awful guilt of letting him die, for the rest of my life. After all, hadn't I been as much a disaster as he was when we'd first met? Frankie- broken and hurting as he was- was the only thing holding my world together. Why the fuck hadn't I taken him back to my house instead? How the hell had I let this happen? We had slipped into a sense of false security together, and I hadn't protected him like I'd promised I always would. Frank's father wasn't home, so we were safe. Yeah fucking right.

I started the ignition in a blind panic; my imagination was sending a poison seeping slowly into my thoughts, spreading like tendrils, and I thought that I could hear tortured screams echoing from Frankie's house. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Even if someone was screaming, there was no way I would be able to hear it from my car, all the way across the street. Still, every time I blinked, I thought I heard another hysterical cry. I pressed the accelerator and shot down the street, trying to escape my haunting thoughts, hands shaking on the steering wheel. My thoughts were spinning sickeningly. I tried to steel myself for what to expect the next time I saw Frankie, but I was feeling acutely nauseous just thinking about it, and it sure as hell didn't make me feel any better. His father was going to beat him. I knew that. But how badly? How would Frankie take it? What was going to happen to us?

I pulled to a jerky stop, tires squealing in protest, in front of the first dirty bar I saw, roughly fifteen minutes away from Frankie's house. It wasn't nearly far enough. Chills ran through me as I got out of the car, flashbacks from another bar, where I had done much darker things, flickering across my memory like cut scenes from a bad movie. I had hurt Frankie so deeply that I had almost lost him, but he had pulled himself back from the edge to save at least one, if not both of our lives. Would he be able to do the same thing now? I shuddered. Not after I had ruined him once. If Frank Iero couldn't recover again from abuse, it was my fault.

I must have been a mess when I walked in the door, because the bartender kept shooting me anxious glances, like he was afraid I was going to pull a gun on someone, or else put it to my own head, and the other customers kept their distance as I slumped down at the bar, with every intention to drink until my thoughts fell silent, and asked for a beer. And another. And... another...

Soon, I could feel the familiar waves of dizziness and nausea start to pass through me, accompanied by a nasty case of the chills. My hands were shaking so hard that beer from the bottle I was holding sloshed up over the sides. I was far more wasted than I had been in a long while, but the sensations were still almost comfortingly familiar.

The fucking room is moving, damn them, it's their fault. Why am I- Shit, Frankie. Something about Frankie... And Anthony Iero... Hey, Frank's middle name is... Oh, god, what am I fucking doing here? Hell, I am so smashed. Great, now all I need is some heroin and a back room and I'll be dead within the hour...

My thoughts following no coherent pattern, I managed to dig two crumpled twenties out of my pocket with a slurred "Keepthefuckingchange." I got unsteadily up off the barstool, head spinning sickeningly as I teetered precariously. My stomach began rotations to match as I staggered towards the clearly marked men's bathroom.

"Watch where you're going, you faggot," someone muttered as I tripped over their feet, their slur not nearly as pronounced as mine, but I barely even heard them, and I was in no shape to find any kind of response.

The instant I reached a bathroom stall, and very nearly before, I was vomiting, my body trying to purge itself of the poison that was making my vision double and blur nauseatingly. I gripped the rim of the toilet tightly with both hands, knuckles going white, barely caring, if at all, how unsanitary that was. My stomach hurt like hell, and I could really only wait for it all to be over.

When the waves of illness started coming less frequently, when my body couldn't stand any more abuse, when I didn't have the energy left to throw up, I staggered from the toilet, turning but tripping on my own feet, sprawling helplessly across the dirty tile floor. My vision swam and flickered slowly to nothing, and I managed a moan of relief as my mind began a total shutdown, leaving me floating in blissful nothingness.

***
My consciousness came back far slower than it had faded, and after some time, I was aware of every ache and pain in my whole body, lying motionless on some hard surface, the smell of alcohol heavy on my breath. Where the fuck was I?

When I opened my eyes, I instantly regretted the motion. Splitting pain shot through my skull and along my spine, reverberating down the length of my entire body. I moaned hoarsely, trying to roll over, but I hit something hard and stopped dead, trying to focus my bleary eyesight on whatever it was that I had run into. I realized that the object resting just under my ribs was actually the steel toe of a boot, and I glanced up to find that someone was standing above me. I tried to croak out a confused question, but my vocal chords wouldn't work. I grit my teeth against the intense pounding beneath my skull, trying hard to concentrate, and turned my head with difficulty to the other side.

I realized with an unpleasant shiver that there were actually multiple people standing in a semi-circle around me. Oh shit. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

A hand grabbed me by the front of my t-shirt and dragged me to my feet, shoving me roughly back against the tiled wall of the bathroom. The air rushed out of my lungs; I squeaked helplessly.

The man holding me against the wall laughed coldly. I could focus my vision well enough to realize that there were four of them, although they all looked similar through my blurry eyes. I was starting to panic. What had I done to provoke this? I could remember where I was, the grungy bathroom of some low-class bar, but I couldn't remember how the hell I had ended up there.

I must've looked unsure, because the man sneered at me. The hardness in his piercing blue eyes brought a flash of deja vu, but I couldn't place where I knew a similarly cold, just as unforgiving stare from. "Something wrong, faggot?"

Something sparked inside me, and I realized that it was fear. What were they going to do to me? I was barely conscious, and I knew I couldn't protect myself. "W-what do you want?" I coughed.

Another sneer was all I got in response. "Where's your boyfriend, faggot?"

Did I fucking know these people? I didn't recognize them... Then how the hell did they know I was gay? Had Frankie been here with me? Oh, hell, Frankie... All of a sudden, the events of the day came crashing down on me like an avalanche, threatening to suffocate me and bury me alive. I remembered everything, from the feeling of Frankie's body in my lap to the terrified look in his eyes when his father had opened the door...

The blue-eyed man's words echoed in my mind. "Something wrong, faggot?" I choked back a bitter laugh. If only you knew...

One of the other men stepped forward, pushing me roughly so that my back hit the wall again. "You pathetic son of a bitch."

I shivered. The look in his dead eyes and the needle tracks up the inside of his wrists told the story. Heroin. Jesus fucking Christ. How was I going to get out of this one?

"We're gonna teach you a lesson, pussy. Be careful where you pass out, or you're gonna get it later." The man who had spoken gave a hollow laugh.

"Look, I'll give you whatever you want, just... just let me get out of here, okay? I... I won't tell anyone you're doing this, I won't-"

"You think you're in a position to bargain with us, faggot?" my captor snickered, but I thought I saw a flicker of consideration in his blue eyes.

They want more drugs... need more drugs, I thought, taking a deep breath. If I could just keep calm and play to their weakness... I tried to reach for my wallet, but one of them sunk a fist into my stomach, causing me to double over in pain, spitting.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Look," I wheezed. "Let me get my wallet. I have money. I'll give you everything I've got on me. Just let me get out of here."

Blue-Eyes looked at his friends, obviously also his fellow junkies. They were all rail-thin from substance abuse, and I briefly wondered whether I might be able to take them if they decided not to go for my bribe, but the punch that one of them had given me made me think twice. They might have been impossibly skinny, but they were strong, and all were wearing steel-toed combat boots which I was loathe to find connecting with my skin.

"How much do you have?"

Relief washed over me, but I knew I wasn't past the danger yet. Slowly, so as not to alarm anyone, I pulled out my wallet and opened it, with Blue-Eyes staring greedily as I lifted out a wad of folded bills. It was a lot of money, and I wasn't really enjoying giving it away to a load of heroin addicts, but if I could save my ass and get back to Frankie...

The man who had punched me grabbed the money with dirty fingers, putting it up close to his face. For a minute, I thought he was sniffing the bills, but I quickly realized that he was trying to focus blurry, near-sighted eyes on the numbers so that he could count them. When he was finished, he seemed satisfied, and he gave a guttural growl to Blue-Eyes, who grudgingly let my shoulders go.

Still unsteady on my legs, I slid down the wall to the hard floor, from where I could just see a line of combat boots as the men passed me by. When they were finally all gone, I shoved my wallet, now empty of everything but for driver's license and credit card and some crumpled receipts, back into my pocket and staggered awkwardly upright, my head swimming. Fuck.

After taking some deep breaths, I managed to make my legs function, and I went over to the sink, splashing cold water on my face and rinsing my mouth out thoroughly. After a while, I began to feel slightly better, and I was happy to find that my breath no longer smelled like a mixture of vomit and alcohol. I found my way out of the bathroom and back into the bar, relieved to see that it was now crowded, and that the junkies were nowhere in sight. Still disoriented, I tapped the first sober man I saw on the shoulder. "Excuse me... do you know what time it is?"

The man gave me a look over with raised eyebrows before he answered with as few words as necessary. "Nine o'clock at night."

I barely managed to mutter a thank you before running for the exit. Nine o'clock... I had been at the bar for hours, and I had no idea what had happened to Frankie in that space of time. My head still pounding, I got quickly into my car, pausing only to run my fingers through my messy hair and brush off my clothes, trying to look more presentable. Once I was satisfied with my appearance, I started the ignition and left the parking lot. The short drive back to Frankie's house felt like torture. By the time I turned on to his street, my hands were shaking almost as badly as when I had left earlier.

What was I going to find?

Anxiously, I looked to see if his father's rusty pick-up truck was in the driveway, and when I didn't see it, I parked hurriedly and got out of the car. The house glared down at me as I approached the door, trembling nervously. Unsure, I knocked lightly, but there was no answer, so I pushed it open slowly and stepped into the living room.

I had been expecting to see something terrible, but the room was empty, actually almost undisturbed. A stack of magazines from the small end-table beside the couch had been knocked over and scattered across the floor with their pages crumpled and bent, and a lamp had been knocked over, the bulb shattered on the carpet, but the rest of the room looked untouched.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor with a growing sense of apprehension. Why the fuck was everything so quiet? The sound of a radio or the television would have made everything seem so much more ordinary, but the eerie silence was playing games with my head and my taut nerves. I hardly dared to breathe as I stood in the upstairs hallway, suffocatingly scared to go any further. I wasn't sure what I was going to find. "...Frankie?"

There was no audible answer from down the hall, and the rest of the house remained just as silent, so I continued towards his room, feeling a weakness in my knees that I couldn't attribute to my hangover. The door was partially shut so that I couldn't see in from the angle where I stood, but my stomach still turned. Without any visible proof, I knew he was there. This was it.

My heart nearly all the way in my mouth, I took one shuddering breath to steady myself, then pushed the door open and stepped into Frankie's bedroom.

He was crumpled in the far corner, his small frame curled up into a tight ball. His head was down, and I couldn't see his face from where I was standing, but the blood spattered across his dark jeans was luridly obvious.

My god... what had I done?

The soft sound of my shoes on the carpet made him flinch violently, but he seemed to know that it wasn't his father returning, and he raised his head slowly, as though it took all the effort in his whole frame. I froze. I almost couldn't recognize him. It was like staring at a zombie.

"K-kill me," the zombie mumbled hoarsely, blood spilling down its face from between chapped, painfully split lips.

I was shaking so hard that I could barely stand, and it didn't even occur to me to respond. I just couldn't stop staring at the bloody mess Mr. Iero had made of his son.

Frankie was ghostly pale, and although I could see dark bruises beginning to form on his throat, face, and still-bare shoulders, they weren't nearly as pronounced as they would be the next day. What was really shocking was the blood covering his face, smeared all over his mouth and chin; some obviously from a nosebleed, but why was his fucking mouth bleeding like that?

"Just kill me..." he moaned again. He wasn't crying any longer, but the hoarse sound in his voice suggested that he had already more than exhausted himself sobbing.

How the hell could his father get away with this?

"Kill me..."

What he was saying finally sunk in. Kill him- what the fuck was that? An overwhelming sense of dread washed over me. What his father had done this time wasn't just affecting Frankie physically... Something was really wrong, and I didn't know if I could come close to fixing it.

Anger and fear knotted my stomach. "This is why!" I wanted to yell. "This is why I said we wouldn't make it! Don't you see?! Don't you see that there's no future for us?! Why did you have to make it all so hard?" I fought back the rage rising inside me. It was too late to change the past, and I had to try and save Frankie now, no matter how fucking hopeless it seemed. "Sweetheart... I'm so sorry," I whispered, almost afraid to hear the response.

Frankie just stared at me, almost through me. I couldn't be sure exactly where his bloodshot eyes were focused. I realized that no reply was worse than anything he could have done, beginning to doubt he even knew that I was in the room. Instead of answering, he just gurgled, blood trickling from the corner of his slightly parted lips again.

I shuddered. Seeing him like this was terrifying, at his worst and most vulnerable... And I couldn't do a single thing to make it better.

His pathetic whimper startled me. "I'm s-such shit..."

"What?"

"S-shit..."

"What-"

"He said it, he s-said it..."

Anger seared me again. "Don't you dare listen to that son of a bitch!" How do you convince someone that the one person who is supposed to protect them and care for them, that they have little choice but to obey, is dead fucking wrong?

"I'm sick. God, I'm s-so sick..."

I took a step closer. "Baby-"

"Don't touch me!" he yelled hysterically, stumbling to his feet and trying to shrink even further into the corner, back pressed against the wall.

I stopped dead. Something under my ribs felt as though it was being ripped into shreds through metal teeth. After all the cliches about heartbreak, who knew that it was physical pain? If ever saw Anthony Iero again, I was going to kill him. I was going to kill him for taking away the one person that I loved beyond anything else. My Frankie.

Those green eyes were still staring at me, filled with nothing but blind fear. The terror was almost animal, as though it was more instinctive than anything, and aside from it, his eyes were dull and dead, truly zombie-like.

I was shaking so hard I thought I might be sick. Frankie couldn't be all gone. He couldn't. I stared right back at him, desperately hoping to see some shred of lucidity in those scared eyes, rimmed with smudged mascara and eyeliner and... cuts. There were bruises and cuts decorating Frankie's eye sockets and lower lids; it looked like someone's fingernails and maybe another sharp object had left their mark. I frowned, my blood running cold. That was too delicate for his father to have done. Which meant that...

Oh my god.

"Frankie... Your eyes..." I felt acutely sick, one hand at my own throat. "You didn't try to..."

He wouldn't even look at me.

I shook my head panickedly, trying to disbelieve what I was seeing. "No... baby..."

"I hate him!" he screamed hysterically, whirling to face me completely. "I fucking hate him!"

"I know... I kn-"

"No you don't! I want him to die! I want him to die! I want- I want to die! I wish I was dead! I was I was a f-fucking ghost! I wish I was-"

"Frankie-" My guts were twisted uncomfortably into what felt like corkscrews.

"N-no, no; I wish I were a-" He choked and broke down sobbing, staggering sideways and collapsing onto the floor, curling up tightly in the corner where I had found him and crying hard into his arms.

I dropped to my knees and crawled carefully into the space next to him. "He's a sick bastard, Frankie... He's sick."

"D-don't you get it?" Frankie sobbed hoarsely through clenched teeth. "I am him!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm just like him; I'm just like him, I f-fucking am him! That's m-me!"

"I don't know what you're saying," I told him tensely, starting to get more frightened.

"When I look at him... I see myself," Frankie whispered.

There was a shaky silence, broken only by Frankie's shuddering breaths. I was scared. I had no idea how to help him see that he was not his father; that he was gorgeous... God, I'd tried to make him feel beautiful, but this had destroyed any feelings of self-worth he had.

"Frankie..."

He wouldn't answer me.

I scooted closer to him and tentatively put a hand on his arm, making him flinch so badly that I pulled away as though I had burned myself. "You're nothing like him; why can't you see that? You would never hurt anybody like this..." I ran my fingers lightly over his bruised skin, tracing my way from his bicep down to his wrist.

"I m-may," he whimpered.

I didn't have a response for that. I knew that my sweet, gentle little Frankie would never do to anyone what his father had done to him, but I had no way of proving it or convincing him to believe me.

"I'd b-be better off dead," he whispered.

"That's not true! That's not true, Frankie!" My heart hurt.

He just whimpered.

Impulsively, I reached for his face to kiss him, but he jerked back as though I'd administered an electric shock.

"I'm n-not a faggot, Gee!"

The slightly hysterical words were the first clue that he even knew who I was, but any relief I felt was overshadowed by pain. Whatever Anthony Iero had done to his son had more than convinced him that everything he was- and everything we'd had- was wrong. I knew it wasn't Frankie's fault, but I couldn't help thinking how quickly he had given me up.

With anger and desperation welling up inside me again like a choking poison, I got to my feet, shaking now with rage and hatred for the bastard who had done this to us, to me. Almost blinded by the hate and hurt, I reached for the first thing I saw, an empty glass bottle lying on its side on the floor, and threw it as hard as I could at the far wall, hot tears suddenly running in rivulets down my cheeks.

Frankie gave a harrowed gasp as the bottle impacted and shattered against the wall with an earsplitting crash, scattering shards of dark amber glass across the carpet. He stared at me, stunned, as I crumpled to the floor, sobbing so hard that my ribcage hurt.

I just buried my face in my hands and cried. By this point, I honestly didn't care what happened to me any longer. I had never been through anything that hurt this fucking much, and I suddenly understood why Frankie had been begging me just to kill him. If Frank's father had come home at that moment, I would have done exactly the same, and meant it. Just kill me...

Something brushed my shoulder and I jumped, looking up to see Frankie on hands and knees beside me. His haunting, haunted eyes were wider now, and meeting them uncertainly with mine, I thought I saw a spark of pain in them, something more human than before. "P-please don't cry..." he mumbled quietly.

I swallowed against the tears.

"D'you remember the day we went to see that movie?"

A thrill of hope ripped through me suddenly, almost violently. I nodded, hardly daring to breathe.

"Then we got ice cream the next day... Chocolate. With sprinkles, 'member?"

"I remember," I whispered.

"That was the best d-day of my life; I... I don't wanna believe that it was wrong, Gee... I don't! B-but my father said..."

There was no logical way to explain why Frankie believed the sick opinions of a man who would hurt him so badly and not bat a fucking eyelash, and I had no idea how to compete with something so utterly irrational. "Frankie..." I began, then stopped, unsure where to go next. "Look... don't listen to that bullshit... you don't have to be like your fucking father... You can... you can have your own opinions..."

"I am him."

"You don't have to be!"

Frankie scooted closer, exhaustion written all over his blood-smeared face, then curled up on the carpet beside me without another word. He just closed his eyes tightly and snuggled against my body.

I watched him until his breathing deepened and his tense frame finally went limp, and then lifted him into my arms and placed him on the mattress of his bed.

I couldn't leave him there alone. With a tired sigh, I lay down next to him on the small bed, breathing in the scent of his hair, marred by blood and sweat but still distinguishable, as I slipped slowly into a very uneasy sleep, afraid of how I would find him when I woke up.

***
He wasn't next to me any longer when I opened my eyes, and a jolt of adrenaline and fear shot instantly through my veins. An uncomfortable feeling of deja vu settled over me as I remembered that morning at the motel where I'd realized he was missing. The circumstances were much different now, though, and a lot darker.

I got up immediately, rubbing my eyes as I started for the stairs. "Frankie?" There was no answer, and I ran down them two at a time, nearly tripping, eyes taking in the empty living room, where the hell-

I stopped dead upon entering the kitchen, relief washing over me in waves, leaving me weak and breathing heavily.

Frankie was sitting at a chair by the window, just staring outside into the darkness. His shoulders were shaking, fingers gripping the windowsill tightly enough that his knuckles were white. He turned slowly as I stood there staring, still dizzy with the aftermath of my unfounded fear. He was still unnaturally pale, the bruises showing up much more clearly already on his face, chest, and arms. He had cleaned up the blood from his nose and mouth, but his lips were still scarlet, bruised and somewhat swollen.

"I know it's not morning," he muttered tiredly, motioning towards two glasses of orange juice on the kitchen table. "I just thought you might like s-something..."

My heartbeat was slowing down, and I let a tired smile creep onto my face. It was the best I could do. "Frankie, you didn't have to-"

"I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry," Frankie interrupted in a whisper. "I didn't mean to act like that... I honestly didn't... I'm f-fucked up... it's the drugs, Gerard..."

I had a sickening vision of a battered and bloody Frankie crawling across the room to reach his cocaine once his father left. "G-god..."

"D-did I throw that bottle?"

"No," I responded flatly, surprised to find that I wasn't all that sorry. "That was me."

"I know I said some terrible shit..." Frankie was uncomfortable. "I'm sorry..."

I glanced back up at him from the kitchen tile where my eyes had been focused, finally thinking to ask "Are... are you okay now?"

"D-don't know..." He tried to bite his cracked and bruised bottom lip gently. "Everything f-fucking hurts."

"I know, baby," I told him softly, taking a step forward and somehow meeting him halfway around the table, holding him as tightly as I dared. "I know."

"Why didn't you leave me? I know I was horrible to you..."

"I couldn't. I love you. And Frankie... all this was my fault. We never should have stayed at your house... I should have kept you safe."

Tears were beginning to brim in his eyes, and he blinked them back, flinching suddenly. "F-fuck... It hurts to cry now."

I held his face still with one hand so that I could look at what he had done to the area around his eyes. It was mostly cuts and small bluish bruises, serious enough, but he certainly hadn't come close to achieving what he had intended to do, thank fucking god, although I could easily see how much pain it was causing him. I leaned in and kissed both his eyes gently, feeling his eyelashes brush against my cheeks. "Why, Frankie?" I asked him, heartbreak in my voice. He had to have been so desperate to do something like this...

"I just wanted to make them go away," he mumbled, the exhaustion of his ordeal in his voice.

"I love your eyes, Frankie... They belong to you, not to that bastard. I think they're fucking beautiful. ...Keep them for me, okay?"

He smiled weakly. "Otay."

I sat down at the table and lifted my glass of orange juice to my lips, and he did the same, wincing as the acidity of it stung the cuts on his lips.

Once we had both finished our glasses and I had declined his offer of more, I looked at Frankie seriously. "You can't stay here any longer."

"Yes I can." His answer was so abrupt that I almost hadn't finished my sentence, and I felt myself getting tense again.

"After what he did to you, you want to stay here?! He knows, Frankie, he knows about us!"

"I don't have anywhere else to go..." He continued hurriedly as I opened my mouth to argue. "And no, I can't stay with you! You know it wouldn't work, Gerard! Your fucking parents-"

"-would be happy to let you stay for a little while. They're never home anyways... there's plenty of parties for pot smokers out there. We'll just tell them your family is in trouble, and they'll be so strung out that they probably won't even notice you're there half the time. Besides, it will only be for a little while, just until you find an apartment or something-"

"Wake up, Gerard! I'm not finding a better job or a fucking apartment, okay? It's fun to joke about, ha ha, but it's never going to fucking happen!"

I just stared at him, then, spitting "Fine," I turned abruptly for the door.

He let me leave.

He let me go.

***
"Is everything okay?" Mikey asked me the next morning, watching me with raised eyebrows as I threw the fridge open angrily and grabbed two beers from the top shelf for a somewhat unconventional breakfast, with no intention to give one to him.

"Yeah, sure," I snapped, twisting the top of the first bottle off.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"Passed out on the bathroom floor of some bar..."

He frowned. "Gerard-"

My throat tightened suddenly, and before he could start scolding, without planning on it, I found myself spilling my guts to Mikey. I told him everything that had happened the day before, including the argument Frankie and I had gotten into before I left, ending with "...and I just want everything to be the fuck okay again."

"Have you ever heard of the police, Gerard?" he responded, making me glance up quickly from my beer. "Frankie's not a kid anymore. Social Services can't get involved, and his father will get in trouble for sure, because he's abusing a legal adult, not some defenseless four-year-old."

"I'm not calling the police, Mikey!" My argument had been on the tip of my tongue since he had first opened his mouth. "Frankie would have done that already if he wanted them involved... Trust me, he mother-fucking doesn't."

"Why not?"

I frowned. I didn't really know why Frankie was so against getting his father punished. "I... I can't fucking read his mind."

"Consider talking to him about it," Mikey sighed as I reached the bottom of my first beer and put the bottle down with a thunk. He knew I wasn't planning to take his advice. "Gerard... Maybe being in love isn't just doing what he wants all the time. Maybe it's just doing what's best for him."

"Fuck off, Mikey! I want to know how to fix this for the moment, not forever! I just want him to be fucking happy again!"

"He's your boyfriend, Gerard! Don't you make him happy?"

Mikey's words made me put down the second beer too, although it wasn't nearly empty yet. Did I make Frankie happy? It seemed like I'd used to; he'd even said it that night at the motel, but now I wasn't sure. It had been a while since I had really made him laugh. The last time we'd had sex, I didn't think he'd even so much as smiled.

"Gerard..?" Mikey questioned gently.

"No, I don't think I do," I said, almost dazed by the realization. It dawned on me that he wasn't really making me all that happy either, however guilty I felt thinking that. Lately, it had been all stress and tears between the two of us. Oh god. "Mikey... Mikey, how do I get him back?!"

"You haven't lost him," Mikey told me, almost sounding confused.

I realized that he couldn't hear my thoughts. "It... it just feels like it..." I muttered. "It's all hurt and tears now... If life suddenly got better, we'd have nothing!"

"Well, do something for him, Gerard. Have dinner. Buy some candles. Don't look at me; use your imagination. Just make him feel loved."

"Yeah, and how do we explain to mom and dad why I'm fucking another guy in the upstairs bathroom after dinner by candlelight?" I muttered darkly, making Mikey flinch. I realized that he probably wasn't comfortable with me being quite that descriptive just yet.

"Didn't mom tell you they're leaving this weekend?"

I snorted. "She doesn't talk to me, Mikey. I'm just the depressed psycho. You're the golden child."

Mikey laughed. "Yeah, right. That's me. Well, they're leaving for some party that mom's friend is throwing. They'll be gone all weekend at least, maybe longer if you're lucky and they get really wasted."

It was my turn to laugh. "Well, at least they have good timing."

He nodded. "So try and make it count."

"But what should I do, Mikey? I don't want to take him out anywhere..."

"I don't know, Gerard," Mikey said, finally starting to sound annoyed with me. "Make him a fucking bubble bath or something."

***
Waiting for Frankie to call was like tempting the devil. I had tried it once before, when we had been on more friendly terms, and it had been hard on me even then. Now, it was a lot like torture. I was worried sick about him, although I refused to admit it, to myself or to Mikey, who obviously saw right through me. I wasn't all that discreet; I was racing to the phone every time it rang, even though none of the calls turned out to be for me, and I spent a lot of time sitting and staring at the receiver like an idiot, daring Frankie to call. He never did, and after a day and a half of miserable waiting, I realized that if I wanted to apologize for arguing, I would have to take the first step.

I dialed his number anxiously, listening to the rings with growing trepidation and white knuckles on the phone. One... two... three...

Someone finally picked up, and relief washed over me. "Frankie?"

"Gerard."

"Yeah... So, um, how are you?"

Frankie's voice was low, filled with pain and bitterness. "You ever b-been hit with a belt?"

My stomach somersaulted. What kind of question was that? "Well... only once, when I was a kid..."

"You remember how much it hurts?"

"Yeah..?"

"That's how I feel."

"Figuratively, or..."

"Literally."

My heart leapt to my throat. "Oh god, Frankie-!"

"D-don't. Don't say anything."

I couldn't play by his rules. "Are you alright, though?" I asked, scared for him after what I'd seen his father do before.

"I guess," he muttered quietly.

I had so many questions to ask him, but suddenly they felt too personal, and I couldn't make myself say the words. I wanted to know why his father had hurt him again, and how badly, and where, and-

"Gee..." Frankie whimpered suddenly, sounding pathetically lonely. "I'm sick of fighting with you..."

His voice mirrored how I felt. "Me too, baby," I answered quietly. After a brief pause, I made myself continue. "Look... I wanted to ask you if you were free tomorrow, because my parents are going out of town for the weekend, and Mikey will make himself scarce, and I thought that maybe we could... y'know... just spend some time together."

It took him a long moment to respond, and I was suddenly afraid that he was going to refuse.

"I... I'd like that, Gee."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

His voice shook. "Thank you."

"Sure, Frankie... I thought you could spend the night if you wanted, and... y'know... you can have Mikey's room..."

He laughed at the memory of our joke, but I thought he sounded close to tears. Remembering how everything had once been so perfect was probably just as painful for him as it was for me. "Gee... I've been thinking a lot," he murmured, and I started feeling immediately anxious. "Just... d-do... do you really hate me for letting him hurt me?"

I froze, stomach sinking. What was I supposed to reply to that? I could never hate Frankie, but I knew that I'd said those words to him before, and now that the damage was done, it would be hard to convince him otherwise. "No... no, I don't hate you... I know what I said, but baby, I don't!"

"Okay..." I could tell that Frankie didn't believe me, and why the hell should he? That was the most pathetic assurance that I'd ever heard.

"Listen... I do wish you wouldn't get hurt. And... I don't understand why you let him; you're old enough to live on your own now... If you called the police..."

"No!" Frankie's voice was suddenly ragged. "No police!"

"Why not?" I asked quietly.

"Gee, just drop it-"

"I can't Frankie! Tell me why not." I hated pressuring him, but I had to know why he refused to be helped.

"I'm scared! I'm fucking scared! When my... when my mom d-died... At the hospital, she made me promise to just stand there and take it, n-never to tell anyone..." He paused and exhaled shakily. "I m-mean... I told you... b-but I needed help..."

"I know," I said softly. "Frankie... how old were you?"

"I was eight. She made me p-promise not to turn him in. And he was standing right there behind me with his hand on my goddamn shoulder, Gerard! I say one word and he'll kill me if it's the last fucking thing he does before they put him in jail, or... or he'll kill you, now that he knows that I love you... He always wants to t-take away what I love most, and taking you away... that's a hell of a lot different than breaking my guitar or burning my f-fucking notebooks, okay?! Gee, I can't let that happen!"

How could I argue with that? Frankie was afraid, and he had every right to be. Even though he was a legal adult, where his father was concerned, he might as well have been that powerless four-year-old that Mikey had been talking about. And the last incident with Anthony Iero had already proved that I couldn't protect him.

"Okay, sweetheart," I said quietly. "It's all going to be okay."

Empty words.

Frankie didn't even respond to them. "Gerard, I'm nervous."

"About what?"

"Tomorrow night." He gave a short, uncomfortable laugh.

"It'll be fun," I tried to reassure him, although my stomach was starting to cramp just thinking about it. I was a nervous wreck, and I knew it. "I promise."

I had no right to be promising him anything. What a liar.

***
The next day, I spent the morning running around like crazy, trying to make sure there was food in the house and that my room was at least mostly tidy. I had come up with a vague plan for the evening, but in all honesty, Mikey's suggestion of a bubble bath was starting to look pretty good. It had given me an idea, at least...

Still, I was nervous as hell that something would go wrong. What if we ended up arguing again?

When I had finally finished getting everything ready and eating a quick microwave dinner, I was left with about fifteen nerve-wracking minutes while I waited for Frank to arrive. Mikey wasn't much help. He was taking his girlfriend Alicia out on a date for their anniversary, and he was suddenly more preoccupied with his own plans than with mine.

Finally, the doorbell rang.

Frankie was standing outside with a bag in one hand, blinking innocently in the glare of the porch light. Damn. He looked... Well, he looked gorgeous. Drop dead fucking gorgeous. He was wearing a black hoodie with green writing which really set off the color of his eyes, and I wondered briefly if he had chosen it on purpose. With a painfully shy smile as greeting, he stepped in the house and handed me the gift bag. "Just a little something."

I opened the bag to find a bottle of wine, and looked up at him, surprised. "Baby-"

"As long as you share it," he teased softly.

I smiled. "Alright."

Just then, Mikey came down the stairs, dressed far less casually than usual in a suit and tie. "Oh, hey, Frank."

"Hi," he answered shyly.

"Mikey's got a hot date tonight," I explained, grinning at my brother.

"Well, so do you," Mikey replied smoothly, giving Frankie a gently teasing wink.

He smiled. "Have fun."

"Thanks," Mikey said, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him, leaving Frankie and me alone in the entrance to the house.

I looked at him and motioned towards the living room. "If you want to sit down..."

He nodded quietly and took a seat on the living room couch.

I joined him in a few minutes, precariously balancing two wine glasses.

Frankie took his cautiously and gave me an encouraging smile.

No major disasters yet.

We finished our glasses in relative silence, and I got up to put them back in the kitchen before I was tempted to offer him more and run the risk of drinking too much myself. I didn't want to ruin tonight.

"Well," I said, returning and sitting down beside him, "Mikey got fed up with all my anxious ideas and helpfully suggested I run you a bubble bath, but I told him we'd already done the shower thing, so..."

Frankie laughed quietly. "Hey, I like bubbles," he said, the hint of a grin on his lips.

"Is that so?" I murmured, smiling devilishly.

He nodded, his eyes then widening at the look on my face. "You didn't really... Gerard!"

I leaned forward and pulled his body in close to me so that he was nearly sitting in my lap. "I love you so much, Frankie... I do. Please trust me, sugar."

His eyes locked on mine, and he nodded again, more slowly this time. "I trust you. I- I wish I could show it more... I'm just such a f-fucking pansy."

"Well, you're my pansy," I murmured, wrapping an arm tightly around his perfect waist and resting my other hand just under his jawbone. The look of contentment in his usually so haunted eyes was more than enough to make me happy, and I pressed my lips gently against his for one instant.

He locked his hands behind my neck and kissed me back, harder and more urgently now.

I unzipped his hoodie, letting him slip it off before I tugged his t-shirt up over his head, prompting a startled gasp as the fabric clung slightly to his back. Suddenly, I remembered what he had said over the phone. "Frankie, stand up," I said, a strangled note in my voice.

He knew exactly what I what talking about, and he shuddered, but reluctantly got up from the couch and turned around.

Oh, fuck.

My heart skipped at least a beat and an intense wave of nausea washed over me. Frankie's back was covered in angry scarlet welts, at least five or six diagonal stripes obviously made with the edge of a belt. The cuts weren't deep enough to be still bleeding, but I knew how much they must have hurt, and how much they obviously still did. It was painful just thinking about Frankie's father, with a belt... No, I couldn't even call the image to mind. "Holy fucking shit, Frankie," I whispered when I regained my voice, a sinking feeling in my stomach. Was this it, where the evening went wrong?

"P-please, Gee... Don't ask me why he did it." Something in Frankie's voice was begging just the opposite.

"It wasn't me, was it?"

He turned around to face me again, sitting back down on the couch close to me. "It's my fault. I t-tried to piss him off," he mumbled. "I'm s-stupid, I know, but I just couldn't take it anymore... He m-made one too many little comments, and I started yelling... t-talking about you. About us. T-trying to make him snap. I don't know what I thought he'd d-do... I just didn't expect... this." He took a shaky breath. "I f-feel bad, like I was using you... s-sorry..."

I put a hand over one of his. "It's okay, Frankie... Don't say sorry. I just wish you wouldn't get hurt."

"I know, Gee. M-me too."

I snaked a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him again, parting my lips when I felt the tip of his tongue brush them. God, this boy was the most amazing kisser, and to think he didn't even know it...

With a gentle smile that I had to partially force, still thinking about his father, I lifted Frankie carefully into my arms. I was always surprised to find how light he was, but this time he seemed to weigh even less. He was thin but not skinny, yet somehow managed to be underweight, although he didn't look it.

He couldn't help grinning as I carried him down the hall to the bathroom, setting him down on the edge of the counter so that his legs dangled off, next to a bottle of pink bubble bath that I'd found in the cabinet beneath the sink.

I turned the bathtub faucet on before walking back over to Frankie as the tub filled up.

He was grinning widely now, as though he barely believe that I was doing this. "Wow, Gee, this is... You're... Fuck, I love you."

"I love you too, baby," I replied gently, pouring some of the bubble bath under the running water. When I put the bottle back on the counter next to Frankie, it was almost half empty, and he giggled.

"I think you used too much."

I checked the bathtub, which was nearly overflowing with pink-tinted suds. "Oops. Oh well." I turned the water off, and Frankie slid off the counter and came to stand beside me. I unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his feet, scooting his boxers down next. He had barely stepped out of them when I swung him into my arms again, lowering him gently into the soapy bath water.

He winced as the bubble bath stung the cuts on his back, and I kept a comforting hand on his shoulder until he slowly began to relax.

"Aww, fuck, you're all covered in bubbles," I complained, and he grinned again.

"That's what you get. It's PG- rated."

I pouted, and he just laughed at me.

"What? All you're gonna do is laugh? When you pout, I always give in."

"Tough love," Frankie smirked.

"Don't make me strip."

"Actually, that doesn't sound so bad," he grinned. "Possibly I could be convinced to get out and take a hot shower instead."

"Or you can just stay there until the bubbles disappear and the rating goes up to R, baby, I'll wait."

He laughed. Seeing that smile made the entire world suddenly seem worthwhile.

Frankie reached out a hand and I leaned in close enough to feel the warmth rising from the bubbly water. He pulled my shirt off and I knelt beside the bathtub to kiss him, not even feeling the hard tile beneath my knees as we made out.

It was love.

***
Eventually the water was getting slightly cool and the bubbles were starting to disappear, and Frankie stood up, the hint of a pout on his lips. "How come I'm always naked and wet, and you're always at least half-dressed?" he muttered.

"Because that's the way it works?" I offered, getting a splash of sudsy water in response. "Heyy..."

Frankie only smiled. "Where's that striptease you promised?"

"Let's skip that part, mmkay?" I suggested, unceremoniously unbuttoning my pants. It seemed like forever since Frankie and I had fucked; we'd been fooling around a lot since those couple of days at the motel, but then his father had walked in on us, and everything had been a mess since then...

The sound of draining water startled me out of my thoughts. Frankie had unplugged the drain, and as the water level receded to nothing, I stepped into the bathtub so that I could reach him, sliding my hands around his waist and holding him close for a minute before we started kissing again.

"Mmm, Gee..." Frankie moaned, tugging the shower curtain over, breathing hard against the skin of my neck as I fumbled behind me for the shower handle. I turned it on, sending a spray of water running down our faces.

"I love you," Frankie told me again, spitting out water which had gotten into his mouth.

I just kissed him harder in reply, and he wrapped both arms tightly around the back of my neck again. I was circling my hands around his lower back, trying to avoid accidentally reminding him of the cuts his father had inflicted, when he suddenly pulled away.

It took him an unsteady moment to find the words. "Gee... can we turn the lights off?"

"Frankie... In the shower? We'll drown!"

He didn't laugh. "Please."

"Why, Frankie?" Concern found its way into my voice.

Frankie looked down towards the bottom of the bathtub, staring at his feet. "I... I'm ugly, Gee... I'm f-fucking ugly; and I'm all cuts and bruises, and scars, and-"

"Ugly?! Frankie, you're not ugly!"

He wouldn't meet my eyes. It struck me how sad and uncomfortable he looked, awkward in his own skin, and a lump rose in my throat. What the fuck had Anthony Iero done to his son? I hoped this was just a passing concern, but I couldn't stand seeing Frankie so shy and scared. "Of course we can turn the lights off, sweetheart... Anything." I pushed the shower curtain to one side and leaned out to reach the light switch. When I flicked it downwards, the lights went off, leaving us in total darkness. I managed to pull the curtain back over, then turned to the blackness where I knew Frankie was standing. "Babe..?"

"Yeah, Gee?"

My eyes were beginning to adjust, and I could see the vague outline of his body in front of me. "I love everything about you. Every fucking thing."

I heard him sniffle quietly. "You don't mind having the lights off, do you?" he asked, sounding anxious.

"I think I'm okay," I answered, starting to grin. "I still know what goes where."

The hiccupy giggle I got from Frankie made me smile more widely. I stepped forward and our bodies found each other, Frankie's arms around me again as I rubbed the small of his back comfortingly.

Eventually, I risked breaking the contact of our skin to turn him around, and he didn't resist, moaning quietly as I traced the evident line of vertebrae down the center of his back, trying to skip an inch or so every time I thought I was approaching a cut. When my fingers finally slipped past his waist and over the curve of his tailbone, he tensed slightly, prompting me to bring my other hand around his waist to his abdomen, where his fingers found mine and gripped them tightly as his body shook a little.

"You okay?" I whispered hoarsely, my heartbeat quickening rapidly. I could feel him nod, and I thrust my hips quickly, provoking a strangled moan.

"Gerard-"

I tried to be gentle so he could talk, although I couldn't resist sliding my hand lower from his abdomen, getting a gratifying gasp in response. "Yeah, babe?"

"D-do you lie to me?" His voice shook as my fingers moved slightly along his length, but he was perfectly serious.

The question was so entirely unexpected that it took me a minute to answer. "I... I don't think so..."

"I'm not beautiful, Gee."

"I think you're beautiful; I'm not fucking lying to you!" I swallowed. "You want me to prove it?"

"Uh..." Frankie sounded unsure, but I didn't wait for a complete answer.

I thrust harder, suddenly speeding up in rhythm and intensity.

Frankie couldn't help moaning, one hand outstretched to the slick shower wall to steady himself. He let out a seductive breath which sent a thrilling shiver down my back, allowing his head to fall backwards against my chest. Forming words was obviously difficult. "God, Gerard-"

I felt my muscles start to tighten involuntarily, but I didn't slow. My thoughts were beginning to race in time with my pounding heart. How the hell could Frankie believe that he was ugly with a body like this? My mind wandered along with my unoccupied hand. Hips, ribs; god, he was skinny; sternum-

A powerful shudder running through my frame cut off my thoughts abruptly, and I could hear a familiar whimper escape Frankie's lips as his body got closer to climax.

The next time our bodies collided, he gave a choking gasp for air and started to scream my name.

I loved the sound of his voice admitting how much he wanted this, how much he needed me, and the shudders that had passed through my body returned with much greater frequency. I gripped Frankie's shoulders tightly, trying to keep my fingernails from digging into his smooth skin, glowing bluish in the nearly pitch-dark room. My body suddenly climaxed, sending my mind hurtling into oblivion as all of my senses exploded simultaneously. My eyes rolled backwards, but not before I caught a glimpse of Frankie, head tilted back so that I could see the expression on his face, sending another chill through me. His eyes were open wide, staring into some void that I couldn't see, gorgeous green irises focused on the ceiling yet seeming to stare through it, but even better was the smile quivering on his perfect lips.

Another spasm shook me. "Frankie, Frankie, oh-" I closed my eyes and held him tightly to me, letting the fire surging through my veins fade to a burning sensation and die, leaving me gasping for air in the warm spray from the showerhead.

Frankie's eyes were shut now, and he was supporting himself with two hands on the wall of the shower. "Jesus f-fucking Christ."

I realized with amusement that this might have been the first time I'd ever heard him say that.

"You're gorgeous," I murmured, lips pressed against the back of his neck.

Whatever his reply was, it came out as a mumbled moan.

"You're fucking gorgeous, and I fucking love you." It wasn't really fair to talk to him when he was too drained from ecstasy to speak, let alone argue, but I couldn't resist rubbing in the fact that as far as I was concerned, I had more than proved how beautiful he was and how much I cared.

I buried my face in the space between his neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of him, bubble bath and sweaty skin and that sex smell he always had. Gently, I kissed his neck, my breathing slowly returning to normal as I reached around him to turn the water off.

He shivered with sudden cold and leaned backwards so that my arms were practically the only thing supporting him, and I helped him step shakily out of the bathtub, turning the lights back on as I did so, where he stumbled to the toilet and plunked down on the closed seat.

I grinned, stepping out myself and pulling two towels off of a towel bar. I draped one around his shoulders and began to towel myself off with the other, but he made no move to do the same, just sitting there dripping with innocent wide eyes staring up at me. The only hint of mischief was the smile playing at the corner of his lips.

I tied my towel around my waist and walked over to him, picking his up from his shoulders. "You want me to do all your dirty work for you, huh?"

He smiled demurely. "The dirtier the better."

Gently, I started drying his back off, being as careful as I could around the welts. I still couldn't believe that his father was getting away with all of this, but I forced myself to turn my thoughts to another subject before I did something stupid. Frankie was already biting his bottom lip hard as I patted the injured skin dry.

"I wanna tell you something, Frankie," I murmured gently as I continued down his back. "You are beautiful."

Now he could argue. "Gee-"

"Shh... You're beautiful, baby." I ran my hands- and the towel- lightly down his chest.

He stood up so I could keep toweling him dry, his arms, ribs, abdomen, and then down both of his legs.

"All of you."

He smiled shyly as I stood back up to meet him. "You know... That was... that was amazing. I... I really did feel worth it. I did feel beautiful, Gee."

"I love you so incredibly much, Frankie." I wrapped the towel around his waist.

He smiled again, bending to pick up his jeans and boxers from the tile floor, then shedding the towel to pull them on.

I reached around to button them for him, realizing again that he seemed thinner, but the thought faded as he turned and kissed me spontaneously. A grin spread across my face as I went to look for my own jeans. When I didn't see them, I looked back up at Frankie, suppressing laughter as I realized what had happened. "You're in my pants."

"I know, I mean we should do this more-" He stopped and looked at me, beginning to giggle. "Oh." He blinked. "No I'm not!" His hands felt for his hips and he paused as it sunk in. "Oops. Oh well, we can trade!"

I picked up my boxers and his jeans, feeling doubtful. "I can't wear your pants... They probably won't fit."

"Sure they will! They might be a little tight... they're tight on me too, though. It's fucking sexy!"

I sighed, tugging on Frankie's jeans as he stood and watched me, giggling happily. They turned out to be tight, as predicted, but they actually fit, and Frankie gave me a knowing smile.

"You should keep those. They look good on you."

I snorted. "Hell no."

He pouted, but I just leaned in and brought my lips to his, forcing him to kiss me back. When I pulled away, the pout had turned into a reluctant smile.

He followed me out of the bathroom and down the hall, where we cuddled up on the couch together. Frankie's hoodie and t-shirt were lying on the armrest, but I hadn't bothered to dress completely, and neither did he.

"So where'd your brother go on his date?" Frankie asked.

"Some Italian restaurant... pretty fancy place, from what he told me."

He grinned. "Italian is good."

I had to smile too. "Yeah. I would've taken you out, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about... y'know."

"Yeah... you're right, Gee. After everything with my dad, I'm not sure I could handle it if some tight-ass made a comment... I'm glad we stayed here." After a minute, his grin returned. "After all, otherwise, you never would've ended up... er..." He gave my lap a glance, giggling. "In my pants..."

I smirked at the terrible play-on-words and held him even more closely. "What would I do without you?"

"I expect you wouldn't wear tight pants," Frankie responded with just the hint of a smile.

"No shit Sherlock," I muttered, causing him to stick his tongue out at me.

"Ooh, I want that," I told him, smirking and grabbing for him.

He pulled away and scrambled to his feet. "Nuh-uh, I'm hungry."

He'd won; he knew I couldn't afford to be inhospitable. I stood too. "Alright, you little bastard, what do you want?"

"Marshmallows."

I rolled my eyes, and he elbowed me in the side before trailing me into the kitchen. As soon as I had taken the bag of jumbo Jiffy marshmallows out of the cupboard, Frankie grabbed them and ran up the stairs, making me chase him. "Come back here, you little fucker!"

"Nuh-uh, I wanna eat them in bed!"

I followed him up the stairs to my room, and by the time I got there he had already shed his- my- jeans and was snuggled under the comforter with the bag of marshmallows, wearing only his boxers.

"If that's how it's gonna be..." I peeled off Frankie's pants; thank god they were stretchy, and climbed into the bed next to him, nearly lying on top of him on the small mattress.

He tore open the marshmallows and stuffed three of them into his mouth.

"For such a little guy, you sure don't go easy on the sugar."

"Shut up," Frankie mumbled through a mouthful of sticky white fluff. "And would you mind moving over?" he complained as I reached for the marshmallows myself.

"This is just a fucking twin bed-" I started.

"What're you trying to do, have marshmallow sex?"

"Sounds good..." Before he could react, I'd grabbed a handful of marshmallows and stuffed them down the front of his boxers.

"You son of a bitch-" Frankie stuck a hand down his waistband in search of the marshmallows.

"Wow, that looks erotic. Just stay there while I get a camera," I told him, laughing so hard at my own words and the look on his face that I almost fell off the bed.

"I'm gonna get you," Frankie threatened, throwing a couple of the marshmallows back at me.

I took one and held it up. "Dare me?" Without waiting for a response, I stuffed it in my mouth.

"I see you'll suck anything that's been down my pants," Frankie smirked, another marshmallow in his hand. He reached for me and I flopped down onto my stomach protectively so that he couldn't retaliate. It didn't stop him, because the next thing I knew, his hand was down the back of my boxers instead.

I stared at him. "If that gets shoved in any inconvenient places..."

Frankie snorted. "I'm not that bad."

I reached a hand reluctantly back to remove the marshmallow, making him smile triumphantly. I knew what was coming.

"Hold still and I'll get a video recorder."

"In your dreams," I muttered, chucking the marshmallow across the room.

"Hey, we should do that next time!"

"Do... what?"

"Videotape it."

"What?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

Frankie was laughing so hard at my expression that he really did fall off the bed.

I crawled over and looked down to see him sprawled on the hardwood beside my crumpled jeans, pouting.

"Gimmie the fucking marshmallows."

I held the bag above my head. "Sorry, sugar, no can do."

"You're a whore," he muttered, peeling himself off his back.

I grinned.

"You fucking marshmallow whore-" He jumped at me, knocking us both off the opposite side of the bed, his body landing right on top of mine.

"Oomph."

"Haha. Now give me those."

"Sorry." I took three and put them in my mouth, throwing the bag with the rest far across the room. "Fetch."

Frankie seemed to be debating whether to go for it or not, and eventually decided to steal from me instead. "Open up."

"Nuh-uh," I managed around the marshmallows.

He gave up on trying to pry my mouth open and instead kissed me hard on the lips.

There was no way I could resist it. I parted my lips so his tongue could slip in.

"You taste like marshmallows," Frankie murmured.

"You do too. Wonder why."

"Marshmallow sex!" Frankie yelled triumphantly, getting up off me and diving for the bag I had thrown, then flopping back down on the mattress, all smiles. "We should do it. Where haven't we fucked yet? The kitchen?"

"Not on your life."

His eyes lit up. "Mikey's room!"

"No!"

He began pouting. "Your parents' room."

"Are you fucking kidding?! Frankie, my parents' room means that they have-"

"We don't have to use the bed, we can use the floor!"

I groaned, an arm over my eyes to block out unpleasant thoughts. "I was going to say that means they have to sleep there, but sure, that works too."

He wasn't fazed. "So can we?"

"No!"

"Don't be so grumpy." Frankie got off the bed and plopped down square in the center of my chest.

"Umphgg."

He giggled. "The front lawn?"

"Frankie!"

"Don't tell me, I've scandalized you."

"Those are marshmallows, not mushrooms, aren't they?" I muttered.

"Hehe, you never know- oomph."

I pushed him off me with difficulty, then picked him up and tossed him on the mattress.

He looked up at me innocently again, not bothering to push his bangs from his eyes. "I love you!"

I sighed. "I love you too."

"So can we fuck outside?"

"Not if you fucking paid me!"

"Hehe, then you'd be a hooker." He pouted suddenly. "You're not allowed to be a hooker. You're mine."

"Aw, damn, I was really planning on it," I answered sarcastically.

He grinned like the Cheshire cat. He was so irresistible. I bent over and kissed him.

"I could give you a marshmallow blow-job."

"Not outside, you can't."

"No, right here. Honest." He yawned.

"Pfft. You can't give a blowjob if you're yawning."

He looked dejected. "Good point." He yawned again.

"I'm taking a raincheck."

"Kay." He curled up tightly as I pulled the covers up over him. "Just want a short nap..." He yawned a final time and began drifting quickly off into sleep.

I crawled in next to him, though I didn't feel all that tired. There was still a marshmallow tangled in the sheets, and I stuffed it carefully down the sleeping Frankie's boxers with a very satisfied smirk.

***
"Gerard... Gerard. Gerard! Sleeping Beauty, get the fuck up!"

I opened my eyes to find Frankie leaning over me, bouncing up and down and rocking the whole mattress. "Fucking christ..." I muttered. It was bright in the room because we had left the lights on, but there was no sun filtering through the window from under the blinds and I was sure that I had just fallen asleep not all that long ago. "What time is it?"

"Umm... It's twelve forty-five," Frankie answered, leaning even further over me so that he could read the time on the night table clock.

"What?! Fucking A, Frankie, why the hell are you even awake?"

He smiled widely. "I got bored."

I groaned and sat up. "Couldn't you have just... amused yourself?" I saw the smile beginning to edge onto his lips and rolled my eyes exasperatedly. "No, please don't take that the wrong way..." It was hopeless, and I stopped with a sigh as he laughed at me.

"Heyy... There's something down my-" Frankie wrinkled his nose, reaching down his boxers and finding the marshmallow that I had planted. He looked back up at me. "You little-"

I couldn't help grinning. "Don't get mad. I love you."

"If I didn't need you so bad, I'd fucking kill you," he muttered, nonetheless flinging himself into my arms, knocking me back down flat on the bed with his body on top of me.

I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly, breathing in the scent of his dark hair, still slightly damp from the shower. The sensation of his warm weight on my thighs sent a triple load of adrenaline shooting through my system, but I told myself this wasn't the time. Frankie hadn't been looking so good lately, and even if he was running off of a sugar high now, some sleep would probably do him good.

He shifted position slightly, and the friction between our hips forced me to choke back a strangled gasp.

God, any more of this and my resolve was going to fail me. "Frankie-"

"Mmm?" He moved again, and I grit my teeth hard, trying to control my rioting senses. God, this boy was something else.

"Frankie, s-stop fucking moving, you're-"

He raised his head to look at me, causing his hips to press even more firmly down on mine, and my words were interrupted by a shaky string of profanities.

"Oops," Frankie said with a gentle giggle, realizing what I'd been trying to tell him.

It was kind of late to turn back now.

"Fucking hell," I moaned. "You just don't listen, do you?"

"I'm incorrigible," Frankie whispered with a grin, bringing his lips down to mine.

"Jesus, Frankie..." I squirmed helplessly, but it only increased the friction of our thighs, and my moans were getting louder as I kissed him back, breathing hot and heavy.

I could see the satisfaction in Frankie's eyes that for once, he was actually the one making the moves, turning me on, making me beg.

Yeah, I bet you're proud of yourself, I thought, but I couldn't be too hard on him; after all, if he could make me feel like this...

I suddenly felt Frankie's hand at my crotch, sending uncontrollable tremors through me.

Almost before I could blink, he was tugging my boxers down around my ankles. "Sit up, Gee."

I groaned. "I'm fucking tired."

"I'm not sucking you off lying down!"

Muttering something about needing sleep and him being a total whore, I pulled myself upright to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "Better?"

Frankie smirked. "Much better." He knelt in front of me, and then all of a sudden leaned forwards, taking me instantly into his mouth.

Okay, so sitting up had been worth it.

I moaned shakily, and Frankie must have smiled, because I could feel the shape of his mouth change and the slight scrape of his teeth.

Muscles that I didn't know I had were beginning to convulse, and I shuddered involuntarily. I didn't want this to end. "Frankie," I barely managed between moans, "Slow the fuck down..."

He honestly didn't listen to me, and though he was in no position to say sorry anyway, I doubted that he was in the least apologetic.

My hips bucked slightly as Frankie's lips slid further up, then trailed slowly back down. I let my head fall back, staring towards the ceiling through half-closed lids, each breath becoming a shaky moan as I exhaled. I realized that I could no longer form words with my trembling lips.

Frankie moaned against me, sending vibrations running up through my entire body. Oh, hell-

I was screaming before I realized what was happening, losing all knowledge of where Frankie's mouth was exactly as my entire body flooded with intense sensation. Suddenly my lips functioned again, but my mind had gone blank, and the only thing I could get out was his name.

Breathing hard, I let my sweaty body flop backwards onto the mattress, eyes closed. I was exhausted, but my veins were still tingling with excitement. My god, Frankie was so amazing... so perfect... I fucking loved him.

"You don't deserve him." It was as if a cold voice had whispered the disturbing, recurrent thought in my ear, but I pushed it away with difficulty, just letting the ebbing waves of sensation wash over me.

Frankie crawled up onto the bed next to me, his body warm and comforting in the slightly cool room. "I love you," he murmured, slowly placing his mouth on mine.

I could taste myself on his lips, and I shivered.

"You cold?" Without waiting for an answer, he tugged my boxers back up to my waist, then pulled the comforter over us both. "Goodnight," he whispered, snuggling up close.

I sighed as I reached for the light switch, breathing still heavier than normal. "Goodnight, babe."

"Mmph."

I was still awake even after Frankie had drifted to sleep, and as I rolled over, shifting sides uncomfortably, and lay there staring at the dark ceiling, I realized that I could still feel Frankie's satisfying weight positioned over my hips. Oh, fuck that beautiful boy. I wasn't going to get any sleep at all. But what had I really expected?

Finally, despite my expectations, I slipped into an uneasy slumber.

It didn't last long. And although I had been tossing and turning in my sleep, it wasn't any kind of dream that woke me.

Somebody was screaming.

***
I bolted upright, my heart pounding in my throat. At first, I couldn't see anything in the dark, disoriented and terrified, but my eyes adjusted quickly, and I was able to make out the form of Frankie lying next to me, face wet with tears. He was sobbing in his sleep, punctuating unintelligible whimpers with tortured screams that sent a cold ache through me. I had never seen anyone in such agony over a nightmare, and for a moment, all I could do was stare numbly.

I snapped out of it when Frankie wildly flung his body over, pressing his face hard into the pillow, still screaming and choking on tears. I couldn't make out any of the words, but I was almost certain they had something to do with either me, or his father. "Frankie," I hissed anxiously, but got no response. As gently as I could, I took hold of his shaking shoulders, easing him into my arms. "Baby... baby, it's okay..."

Still half-asleep, he struggled against my grip. "No, it's not, no it's not..."

How the fuck could I argue with that?

"Frank... You're safe, sweetheart. No one can hurt you now. Wake up, baby..."

Desperate, I was just reaching for the light switch when he gave a shaky gasp and opened his eyes, his hands catching mine and squeezing them tightly. He took a shaky breath and stared up at me in the dark room, what little moonlight there was filtering through the blinds reflecting off of the tears in his eyes and clinging to the soft skin of his cheeks. He was trembling, and although it looked as though he wanted to say something, it seemed like he had no words left.

"I've got you, baby," I said gently, trying to sound composed, despite my jolted nerves. He had scared the shit out of me, and my heartbeat was only beginning to return to normal, but even worse was the feeling that all of the fun we had been having was over now, and that this was the return of torture and tears. I knew how selfish I was being, but I didn't even try to convince myself to be optimistic instead. Why the hell did this have to happen tonight?

"Gerard..." Frankie's voice was barely a whisper. "N-now I've gone and ruined everything. Just like always."

I shook my head, a rush of something bittersweet invading my veins. How could I blame my Frankie when he was already blaming himself enough for both of us? "It's not your fault." I brought of one his hands to my mouth and kissed the fingers slowly. "It's never been your fault."

He sniffled. "We can't just keep on blaming my father for all of this. I'm a fucking disaster too."

"You're my beautiful disaster, baby. You're the only reason I'm not passed out on my living room floor for the good part of every day... Believe me, Mikey is so grateful, he doesn't know where to start thanking you."

Frankie smiled weakly.

"Lie back down, baby. I won't let you have any more bad dreams."

"I don't want to go back to sleep. I- I'm scared."

"Lie down at least, and tell me about it."

It was obvious from the look in his shadowy eyes that he didn't believe my promises. We both knew I couldn't protect him from nightmares.

Way to go, Gerard. Lying again.

Nonetheless, Frankie nodded silently and curled back up on the mattress, still gripping one of my hands tightly.

I lay back down too, gently kissing his neck as I settled in comfortably behind him.

He shivered. "It was just a stupid dream, Gee."

"Yeah?"

"It's stupid." He wasn't going to tell me.

"Frankie... Anything that could make you scream like that can't be all that stupid," I said gently, and I could feel his shoulders tense.

"I was... f-fucking screaming?"

I didn't have to answer, because I could almost see him remembering and slowly realizing exactly what he had been doing in his interrupted sleep.

"G-god..."

"You know you can tell me anything, Frankie."

He shook his head miserably. "I'm okay now."

"But-"

"I don't want to repeat it... I don't want to go through it again! I just want to go b-back to sleep!"

I sighed, rubbing his shoulders comfortingly. "Okay. Alright."

He took a deep breath with only the hint of a catch in it, then snuggled further into the mattress, pulling part of the comforter to his chest. He must have heard my soft laugh, because he looked over his shoulder at me, smiling almost sheepishly as best he could through the tears left in his eyes. "G-guess I can't sleep without hugging something."

I grinned. "Roll over, baby."

He switched sides as I did, wrapping his arms tightly around me from behind. "Mmm, you're like a teddy bear," he murmured, quiet laughter in his voice.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Gee."

I think I fell asleep before him, because that was the last thing I heard.

***
After such an eventful night, I woke up later than usual. The night table clock read 10:48, and I was glad that Frankie was still sleeping on the bed behind me, one arm still lying over my shoulder, his face pressed against the back of my neck. I extricated myself from his arms and got out of bed, opening the blinds and pulling on my own pants before crossing the hall to the bathroom to wash up.

When I was finished, I went back to my room. Frankie was still asleep, mumbling unintelligible words in his sleep as he rolled over, as if unconsciously searching for my body. When he didn't find it, he hugged the comforter again, bringing a smile to my face. In no hurry to wake him up, I just stood and watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed. God, he was gorgeous. And he was mine.

He eventually yawned, wrinkling his nose adorably and opening his eyes to the light from the window. "Mmm... What time is it?"

"Almost eleven, sweetie."

He pulled himself lazily out of bed, stretching and yawning again.

'There's a bathroom up here too," I told him. "It's right across the hall."

He nodded, picking his pants up, then frowning and looking at my legs. "Heyy... you stole those!"

I smirked. "They were mine in the first place."

He sighed and pouted, but nonetheless pulled on his own jeans and crossed the hall with a small smile to me.

By the time he got back, I had already made the bed, and he followed me downstairs to the living room.

He stopped by the front window, brushing some of his hair from his forehead, and I just watched him for a minute. What a beautiful boy. The stripes on his back couldn't detract from the seductive curve of his spine or the smooth porcelain sheen of his skin. He turned back to face me, the hint of a smile appearing on his lips as he caught me watching him.

I realized I should say something. "What do you want for breakfast?"

He shrugged uncomfortably, one hand on his stomach. "I'm not really hungry, Gee. But thank you..."

"That's fine... We can eat later."

"Gee-"

"I'm not eating if you're not."

"That's stupid!"

"Look... We had marshmallows late last night anyway. WE can just have a really late breakfast."

Frankie sighed. "Okay."

I looked him over from the front now; pale and skinny and still tired-looking, and frowned. "You sure you're not hungry?"

"Yes, Gerard, I'm sure! I just-"

The sound of the telephone cut him off abruptly, and I went into the kitchen to answer it, slightly annoyed as I picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

It was Mikey. "Hey, Gerard. Um... I... I spent the night at... at Alicia's, and-"

"Ooo, Mikey-"

"Gerard, all I said was-"

"You're not going to deny it, are you?" "Gerard... Look. Don't-" "Mikey got LAID!" I shouted through the kitchen doorway to Frank, who stared at me for a second before starting to laugh. "Jesus Christ," my brother started, "don't you have any decency-"

"Don't be so grumpy, Mikey... You'll have to get laid again!"

"Look! What I wanted to ask was if I can come home now or not. You aren't getting laid yourself, are you?"

"Oh yeah I am, right now as I'm talking to you. Unhh... Ohhh-"

Mikey choked and started coughing, and I was laughing so hard that I almost dropped the phone. For a minute, I thought he might have fainted, but he did reply.

"I'll take that as a no, you asshole." He hung up with a beep, but I had heard the reluctant amusement in his voice.

Frankie gave me a lopsided grin as I walked back into the living room. "You're such a bitch."

"He loves it, Frankie. You love it too."

He stuck his tongue out again, and this time, when I leaned in for a kiss, he didn't bother playing hard to get.

"He coming home now?" Frankie murmured breathlessly against my lips, and I managed a nod, hands already sliding up his chest. "Well... maybe we should get the rest of our clothes on?"

"You mean our shirts? Pfft, who needs 'em?" I muttered, reluctantly pulling away and starting reluctantly towards the bathroom where I remembered leaving my t-shirt.

Frankie was dressed by the time I got back, and not that much time later, the doorbell rang.

"Hey Mikey..." I said, a grin playing at the corner of my mouth.

"I hate you," he muttered, but I knew he didn't mean it, and just smiled more widely.

He pushed past me towards the kitchen, pausing to politely greet Frankie.

"Oh, so he gets a hello and I don't?"

Mikey ignored me as I followed him into the kitchen, watching as he poured himself a bowl of cereal and set the coffee-maker.

I sat down at the table, and Frankie did the same. "Heard you went to an Italian restaurant last night?" he said to Mikey. He was so much nicer than I was, and I smirked.

Mikey nodded.

"Was it nice?"

"Yeah, it really was. I think Alicia liked it."

I cut in. "Well, obviously she liked it, if you got-"

"You're an ass," Mikey said to me, grinning nonetheless. "Yes, I got laid, alright?"

"There. He fucking admits it! My little brother is growing up."

Frankie smiled. "You really are an ass," he teased.

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then Mikey finished his cereal and stood to put the box away. "Either of you want some?"

I glanced at Frankie, who looked guilty because I hadn't eaten yet.

"I'll have a bowl," he said. He looked awfully uncomfortable, but I barely noticed.

I gave him a small smile and poured two more bowls of cereal, adding milk and putting one at his place.

Mikey sat back down with a mug of coffee, and we ate in relative quiet until all of a sudden, Frankie dropped his spoon with a clatter and bolted to his feet, knocking over his chair, which hit the linoleum floor with a loud crack.

I jumped. "Goddamnit-"

Frankie shot me an unreadable look, then wrapped both arms around his stomach and ran for the bathroom, leaving me staring.

Mikey got up to right the fallen chair, motioning me towards the bathroom too, and I finally thought to follow Frankie.

He was bent over the toilet, trembling and sweaty, and he threw up a second time as I crossed to him, putting a hand on his shoulder only to have him jerk away.

"D-don't touch me."

He had only ever said that once before.

"I t-told you. I told you I wasn't f-fucking hungry, and you couldn't just accept it; you have to go and be all f-fucking stupid, try and find some way to make me eat... Maybe I didn't want to spend another half-hour puking my fucking guts, okay?! B-but it always has to be your way, doesn't it?"

I opened my mouth, but he wasn't finished.

"Doesn't it, you selfish son of a bitch, d-don't deny it!"

"Look, Frankie, I was fucking worried about you, if you couldn't tell. I'm not used to seeing your ribs practically poking through your skin. I actually have reasons for what I do too, and if you weren't so busy playing the victim, maybe you'd see that!"

"I-"

"Besides, did you tell me you were sick? No, you said that you weren't hungry. You had no trouble eating half a bag of marshmallows, not to mention something else, last night, did you? Next time, don't lie to me, and maybe the results will be more to your liking!"

Frankie just focused on my earlier words. "I'm p-playing the victim? I d-don't see your father-" He broke off sobbing, forcing the rest out through his tears. "N-never mind. Never mind; I know you'll never understand! Everything we have is just one big fucking lie, isn't it? That's all I am to you. P-playing the victim. F-fine. Just fine." He flushed the toilet and looked up at me angrily, pale and shaking.

I couldn't even answer him. Anger and hate and fear and hurt and so many other emotions were building up inside me that I didn't know what to let out. I stared straight back at him for a tense moment, then whirled around and stalked back to the kitchen, slumping down in my chair and folding my arms across my chest, refusing to look at my brother, who I knew had heard everything.

Frankie took a few minutes longer, but he eventually came back to the kitchen too, sitting down rigidly at his place.

I realized that Mikey had already rinsed out the unwanted cereal bowl, but the gesture didn't strike me as thoughtful. My stomach muscles clenched. He had better not be taking sides. I stared angrily at the faded wallpaper, and after a while, I was beginning to wonder why exactly I was so upset. Even Frankie hardly had a reason to be so mad, although I did remember him telling me on the day we'd first met how much he hated throwing up. I had to be fair; he had more of a reason to be pissed off than I did. I still didn't want to apologize, but Frankie was almost always the one saying sorry, and I knew that waiting for him to break every single time wasn't the right thing to do.

I snuck a glance at him. He was looking down, long eyelashes casting spiky shadows on his perfect, just slightly flushed porcelain cheeks. I took a deep breath. "Frankie..."

His eyes darted upwards to my face, almost hopefully.

"Frankie, I'm sorry. I should have listened to you; I know that. And I shouldn't have yelled..."

"I don't know why I got so pissed, Gee," he murmured, grateful wide eyes clearly saying 'apology accepted.' "Must be mood swings." He gave me a shy smile.

I sighed deeply, then let a grin creep onto my face.

Mikey looked relieved now that we were no longer fighting. I could practically hear him wondering if it was always like this between us. It didn't used to be... "So... can we have wild make-up sex now?" Frankie asked eagerly with a straight face, causing Mikey to choke violently on the coffee he was drinking.

I was fighting laughter at the look of shock on my brother's face, as though he wasn't sure how to react to the bluntly-phrased idea of Frankie and me doing anything other than holding hands, let alone something 'wild,' and he glared half-heartedly at me as I snickered into my cereal.

I just shook my head with an unapologetic smile, looking back over at Frankie, who was adorably trying to keep himself from grinning like an idiot at his own joke.

The doorbell rang again, and the three of us froze.

"Shit, don't tell me they're back already," Mikey muttered, giving me a nervous glance.

I shrugged uneasily. "Oh well... It's time I introduced Frankie anyway..."

Mikey got up to answer the door, and my mother walked into the kitchen moments later.

"Uh... where's dad?" Mikey was asking as he followed her in and sat back down at the table.

"He's still staying with our friends. I'm driving back up there as soon as I pack... I didn't bring enough for a whole week."

Mikey caught my gaze and rolled his eyes.

"She's a lunatic," I mouthed, and he laughed.

"Maybe."

"Hey mom..." I said, since it didn't look like she was going to talk to me. "This is my friend Frank. He... he's staying over today. Frank, this is my mother..."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Way," Frankie said politely, doing a good job disguising the fact that he had been throwing up and in tears not too long ago.

"Nice to meet you too," my mother replied. It didn't sound like she meant it, and I shrugged apologetically when she turned away.

"Probably hungover," I whispered.

Frankie gave me a small smile as if to tell me that compared to his father, anything was preferable.

"Can I get you boys anything to drink?" my mother asked grudgingly, as though because there was actually company in the house, she felt that she was forced to be hospitable.

"May I have M'n'Ms?" Frankie asked excitedly, suddenly sitting bolt upright in his chair.

My mother frowned again. "I don't think we have-"

"He was just kidding," I said hurriedly, catching Frankie's gaze with an unspoken warning.

He looked down at his lap.

My mother shook her head with exasperation and left the kitchen, lips pressed together tightly.

Frankie slumped down at the table again, pouting miserably. "I don't think she likes me," he mumbled into his arms to the table's plastic surface.

"No, I don't think she does," I muttered, annoyed by his poutiness over something so pathetically unimportant. "After all, she offered you something to drink, and you asked her for goddamn kid's candy."

Frankie stood up abruptly as a reaction to my words, noisily pushing in his chair. "Well I wanted fucking M'n'Ms!" he yelled hoarsely, the tears brimming in his eyes putting a whimper into his voice, turning sharply and running for the hallway.

I got to my feet as he bolted, and I could hear the bathroom door slam shut behind him at the end of the hall.

Mikey sighed. "Maybe you should go make sure he's okay... He seems pretty upset."

"Because he didn't get his fucking Skittles?'' I spat angrily, sneering.

"M'n'Ms," my brother corrected quietly.

I shot him a venomous glance, which was the best I could do other than hit him, but I still headed down the hallway to the bathroom after Frankie.

Standing outside the door, I could hear crying coming from inside, and my stomach twisted uncomfortably. Even my Frankie, with all his ups and downs, wouldn't be crying over a bag of brightly-colored candy-coated chocolate buttons. What the hell was going on?

Anxiously, I pushed open the unlocked door to find Frankie sitting on the bathroom rug, small body compacted as though he was trying to disappear entirely. Both his arms were wrapped tightly around his legs, and the knees of his jeans, tucked up to his chest, were damp with the same tears which were streaking his cheeks.

I closed the door quietly behind me, my heart beginning to ache. "Frankie..."

"S-sorry...'' he whimpered, sending more tears spilling over his long eyelashes.

"What's going on, baby?" I murmured gently.

"I d-don't know," he stammered, fear in his voice. "I d-didn't think that it would be like this; everything upsets me, I just c-can't-"

"Didn't think what would be like this, Frankie?"

He looked down. "Nothing."

"Baby-"

"I s-said sorry already, what the f-fuck more do you want?!" His hands were shaking.

"I want you to tell me why you're crying! Tell me what's wrong!"

"I d-don't need your help, Gerard. Not this time, okay?! I'm gonna be fine, just leave me alone, p-please!" Frankie stared up at me, wide grey-green eyes begging me not to press the issue.

I wanted to argue, to force out whatever was making him act this way, but there wasn't anything I could do that wouldn't make him cry again, and I was so fucking tired of hurting him, even without trying to.

I gave in, even though it wasn't the right thing to do. ''Frankie... If you change your mind, I'm always here for you..."

He nodded silently and I left the bathroom, closing the door over behind me.

Mikey was waiting for me in the kitchen. "Any luck?"

I sighed, feeling tightness in my chest, and flopped tiredly down in a chair. "No. He won't fucking tell me anything."

Mikey nodded sympathetically. "Well... here," he said, handing me a small package.

I looked down, then back up at him, surprised.

M'n'Ms.

"Wh-"

My brother shook his head to deter my questions. "Just see if you can cheer him up."

It was hard to smile past the lump in my throat. "Thanks."

"No problem." Mikey smiled gently, then turned to leave the kitchen, pausing at the doorway as I took a deep breath and buried my head in my arms. "He'll be okay, Gerard, you'll see."

"I fucking hope so."

***
Frankie was still in the bathroom after about half an hour, and I nervously went back to check on him, knocking quietly on the closed door.

"Come in," Frankie mumbled, and I stepped into the small room to find him still a mess on the floor, wedged into the space between the toilet and the bathtub. His thin shoulders were shaking violently.

"How b-bad is it?" he whispered, staring up at me with dilated pupils.

I wasn't sure how to answer him. In my eyes, Frankie was a fucking mess, a beautiful mess, but still a disaster, and it truly scared me. He was pale and sweaty, dark mascara-and-eyeliner eyes and slightly chapped red lips standing out unnaturally against his skin. The bruises and cuts his father had inflicted were still there but fainter now, although there seemed to be some fresher marks beneath his jawbone and up his arms. He looked sick, and even though I couldn't see any symptoms besides his appearance and the earlier vomiting, my lungs suddenly felt like lead.

What if he was sick? Really sick... My imagination ran through the increasingly horrible possibilities; flu, cancer, AIDS... I nearly choked while inhaling. Oh god. AIDS. It couldn't be...

Frankie whimpered when I didn't answer his question, and I knelt slowly down beside him on the bathroom tile, my hands trembling almost as hard as his were.

"Mikey managed to find some of these for you," I told him quietly, taking one of his cold hands in mine and wrapping his thin fingers around the package of M'n'Ms.

He stared at it for a second when I took my hand away, then gave a convulsive sob, tears pooling in his eyes and spilling almost instantly down his porcelain cheeks.

Confused, all I could do was watch helplessly as he cried. "Frankie..?"

He raised his head to look at me, barely able to speak between uncontrollable gasping sobs. "T-tell him I said thank you... T-thank you... God, Gee, I love you..."

I pulled him close as he reached out towards me, holding his sweaty, shuddering form tightly to my chest and letting him cry.

Once his tears subsided somewhat, he pulled back from me and tore the M'n'Ms open with shaking fingers, putting the package on the floor and silently offering them to me.

I picked up a small handful and glanced over at him. "What color is your favorite?"

He sniffled and swallowed. "O-orange.''

I smiled weakly and held the two orange M'n'Ms I had picked up out to him.

He sniffed again, one finger pressed under his nose, as he took them and carefully put them in his mouth, one at a time.

I was reaching over to get the facial tissues off of the counter for him when I heard a whimper of panic and whirled back to see blood staining Frankie's face from another nosebleed, running over his lips and dripping to the tile floor.

"N-not again," he managed to moan.

Startled by the blood, I practically threw the tissue box into his lap.

He pulled some out and pressed them to his nose, sniffling helplessly.

I sat back down beside him, and he leaned his head tiredly against me as we waited for the bleeding to stop.

When it eventually did, Frankie threw the tissues out and wiped up the blood on the floor before sighing shakily. "S-sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for that," I said quietly, handing him another orange M'n'M.

He smiled weakly as he took it. "Gee... I love you s-so much."

"I love you too, babe... I just hate seeing you hurting like this and not even knowing why..."

He nodded, teeth catching his bottom lip with a soft click as they brushed his lip ring. "I want to tell you, Gee... I do. I just... I can't right now."

"Frankie-"

"I'm sorry; I can't!"

I stood up angrily, and he followed, leaning on the counter for support. "Look," I spat, "I'm scared! That you're... sick or... d-dying, Frankie! I'm scared that you have f-fucking... fucking AIDS, or something, okay?! You have no idea what you're fucking doing to me!"

Frankie's eyes were wide with surprise. "AIDS... Gerard, no! I'm not sick; it's just... it's something else, okay?"

''No, Frankie, it's not okay!" I couldn't stand my own tense nerves any longer. "I'm scared to death, because you're acting strangely as hell, and you won't fucking tell me what's going on, you selfish son of a bitch!"

Tears filled Frankie's eyes, but he choked them back, staring downwards to the tile.

I knew I had hurt him, but I didn't apologize.

"Gee..." he whispered, a whimper in my name. "I didn't want to tell you until I knew that I could do it!"

Uncomprehending, I waited for him to continue.

''C-cocaine..."

"What..?"

"I'm trying to quit, Gee.''

I stared.

''B-but I can't."

"Frankie-"

He couldn't keep the tears back anymore. ''I t-tried to quit so hard... S-so, so hard... I m-made myself sick, I have the worst n-nightmares... M-motherfucking mood swings... I still can't stop... I can't stop. I'm still a f-fucking coke whore.''

''Why didn't you say something? I could've helped you!"

"I k-know...'' he sobbed. "It's too late now, d-don't ask me to try again, it hurt too much..."

I pulled him close and wrapped my arms tightly around his shaking shoulders. ''Shh... No one's asking you to try again."

"B-but I wanted to do it for you s-so bad..."

"Sweetie..."

"I'm c-cold, Gee."

I could feel him shivering against me, although his skin felt warm. "Do you have a fever?"

He whimpered. "N-no."

I put a hand to his sweaty forehead, pushing his damp bangs to the side. His skin was hot to the touch, and I frowned. "You sure?"

"Yes I'm sure! Gerard-"

"Alright! It's okay... Do you want to borrow a sweatshirt?" I asked reluctantly.

He nodded weakly. "P-please.''

***
We were sitting in the kitchen when Mikey walked in, Frankie gripping a mug of hot Chai tea tightly with both hands, his small body nearly lost in an oversized red sweatshirt belonging to my father. The remaining M'n'Ms were scattered on the table between us.

"You okay?" Mikey asked Frank, pulling up a seat at the table.

Frankie nodded. "Oh, um, thank you for the-"

"Don't mention it." Mikey picked up an M'n'M and put it in his mouth.

I never actually asked him where he got them.

"F-fuck..." Frankie moaned abruptly, putting down his tea with a thunk and getting shakily to his feet. ''I'm g-gonna be sick..."

I stood up immediately. "Okay, let's go...''

''Do you want me to help him?'' Mikey asked quietly.

I hesitated. "Um...''

Frankie's voice had a hysterical edge. "C-can somebody please just-''

"Here, I'll help you," Mikey said, getting to his feet and guiding Frankie back towards the bathroom.

I went into the living room and collapsed tiredly on the couch, not even bothering to turn the television on. I flipped half-heartedly through a battered magazine from the pile on the coffee table, but I had just lost interest and put it back when my mother came down the stairs with her suitcase.

"Where's your friend?" she asked on her way through the living room, as though she was hoping I would say that he'd tragically passed away.

''He's in the bathroom," I answered, skirting the fact that he had actually spent a good deal of the day there, usually crying.

"Make sure someone washes this mug," she called from the kitchen, on her way out of the house.

"Sure."

***
It took almost twenty minutes for Frankie and Mikey to reappear, maybe longer, and I had been starting to get nervous by the time they finally walked into the living room.

Frankie was still pale, but he looked more composed, and my brother just looked relieved.

'I think I should go home now," Frankie said softly. "I'm going to take a taxi."

"No!" I couldn't stop myself. I was scared for him, and I wanted him nearby, where I could make sure it was all okay. If I let him leave, how would I know that he was safe?

"Gerard... I don't want to be any more trouble."

"My mom's gone already, she-"

"I meant for you, Gee." He swallowed. "Look... I had the most amazing time of my life; honestly, I did. It's... it's just time to go back to real life now. I'll call you tonight. Maybe we can go out to a bar or something."

I looked at Mikey, silently begging him to say something that would convince Frankie to stay here, to stay safe.

"Gerard... Let go," he whispered, so quietly that realized he might have just mouthed the words over Frankie's head.

Let go? Let Frankie go home to his private hell, to his father, the fear, and all of the memories? What I couldn't understand was why the hell he even wanted to. I felt cold and empty already. "Why?" I whispered.

"Gee... It can't possibly ever be perfect." Quiet sadness for what we couldn't ever have in his emerald eyes, Frankie bent and kissed me quickly on the lips.

I reached for his body to pull him close for more, but he was already gone, leaving me sitting, staring hopelessly at the doorway, hurting.

"Gerard?" Mikey questioned softly.

I could have sworn that I'd seen his breath in the room, that was how cold I felt.

My god, I'm going insane.

Without answering, I got up off the couch and went down the hall to the bathroom so that I could be alone. I was lonely, confused, and tired too, but not from lack of sleep. I sat down on the closed toilet and put my head in my hands, doing my best to pretend that everything was okay.

***
Frankie had promised to call me that night, and almost as soon as the phone rang, I was standing in the kitchen with me ear pressed against the receiver, chills of relief running down my spine when I heard his voice.

"Hey, Gee."

"Frankie, you okay?" I asked breathlessly.

"I'm fine, Gee..." He knew where my concern was coming from. "My dad hasn't been home all day."

"Okay. Okay, good."

"So I thought we could go to a bar tonight, or something?"

"That sounds great, Frankie... You want me to pick you up?"

"Um, yeah..." He sounded embarrassed. "My father has the truck, and you know I don't have my own car... So could you please? If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind, baby."

I arrived at his house not too much later, after making sure I was satisfied with the way I looked, and he gave me the directions to a bar near his house. The drive there passed mostly in silence, but I felt that there was something I had to say.

"Baby... I just wanted to thank you. For trying to quit. I know that it didn't work, but I think it's amazing that you tried, even with everything you had to go through..."

"Yeah, you must've thought I was PMSing," Frankie sighed, glancing up at me and starting to giggle at the look on my face.

I kissed him quietly on the cheek and he leaned his head on my arm.

After a few minutes, I turned into a parking lot, and relief washed over me again when I realized that it wasn't the same bar I had passed out at the day Frank's father had caught us.

Once we got in, both of us sat down at the bar and ordered drinks. I was determined not to overdo it, and it looked like Frankie was thinking along the same lines.

"You feeling better?" I asked him quietly.

"Now that I've started shoving coke up my nose again," he replied bitterly, now showing a different side of his attitude towards quitting.

Trying not to attract any unwanted attention, I slipped my hand surreptitiously into his beneath the edge of the bar.

Unfortunately, the man to Frankie's right, only a few bar stools away, noticed as he was leaving, and snarled a nasty remark as he passed behind us. It was more directed at Frankie than at me for whatever reason, and I only caught the very end of it, but I distinctly heard the words "disgusting," "faggot," and "whore," and Frankie's green eyes got suddenly icy. It surprised and almost frightened me, because I'd never seen that kind of venom in them before.

The man who had made the comment was still standing behind us, as if waiting for a reaction.

Frankie started to turn, and I grabbed his arm, bringing my lips to his ear and hissing "Just ignore him, baby... I bet he's one of those motherfucking assholes who run around with 'Thank God for AIDS' signs. Just-"

Before I could finish, Frankie had jerked out of my grip and gotten up to face the man who had spoken.

I stared. This was nothing like Frankie. Whatever that bastard had said, it must have been a lot worse than just what I had heard.

"You fucking son of a bitch..." Frankie was shaking, glaring angrily at the man with every intention to fight despite the fact that his adversary was a good six inches taller than he was and built like a tank... a lot like Frankie's father.

God.

"What's wrong, fag-"

Frankie jumped at the man before he could finish his sneering question, throwing all his weight forward and knocking both himself and his enemy to the ground, where he slammed a fist into the man's nose, sending blood spurting. The man gave a muffled cry but rolled over roughly, dragging Frankie underneath him and pinning him to the ground with one hand around his throat and one holding his arm to the floor. Frank gasped for air, choking, but managed to free his wrist from the man's grip and punch him in the nose a second time, provoking a louder shout of pain but only spurring him to fight back harder.

The bartender was yelling, and I suddenly realized that I had just been watching the fight in a shocked, semi-detached fashion, along with the rest of the bar... oh shit.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you," I herd the man growl, and I looked back from the crowd to the fight to see him jerk a knife from his pocket.

Oh my god.

Frankie whimpered as it flashed by his face, but spat back defiantly "You c-can't hurt me. You can't hurt me after what I've b-been through, you fucking asshole..."

The man's fist connected with his mouth, drawing blood from a split lip. Frankie's nose was already bleeding badly, and one of his arms was pinned underneath him. The man hit him again as he tried to free his arm, the metal edge of the knife all of a sudden biting into his neck, eliciting a frightened whimper of pain.

Realizing that this had gone way too far, I got up from the barstool, barely feeling the floor underneath my feet. I grabbed the man's shoulders, hauling him off Frankie with the strength of anger or fear or both as the knife glinted in the dim room. I let him collapse in a heap on the hardwood, ignoring his angry curses as he struggled back to his feet and picking Frankie up in the same way, dragging him upright.

"Get out, all of you," the bartender said angrily. "Or I'll have you thrown out."

"It's not his fault," I defended Frankie loudly over the other man's angry yelling. "This bastard was picking a fight!"

"I don't care," the bartender answered. "I want you all to leave."

"Look, I'm sorry," Frankie spoke up, spitting blood. He didn't sound sorry. He didn't even sound anything like himself. It was... scary. "That man just happened to say something that I can't f-fucking stand hearing, and I guess I lost it."

The bartender scowled, but looked at the other man, who had obvious caused similar trouble before. "You were leaving anyways, Phil, so why don't you just go, and we'll leave it at that."

The man tried to protest, but eventually turned and left the bar angrily, swearing loudly as he let the door slam behind him.

The bartender shot Frankie an angry glance, but he wasn't looking. He had slumped back down on a stool and downed the remainder of his drink so quickly that I thought he might choke on it, and was now staring poisonously down at the faux-mahogany surface of the bar. There were cuts and nicks on his arms and a deeper cut across his neck, and blood was trickling slowly from his nose, but he made no motion to wipe it away.

I started to bring a hand towards his shoulder but thought better of it, afraid to make him flinch. "Are... are you okay?"

"You think this is anything, anything compared to what he's done to me?" The acidic bitterness was still in his voice. I'd never heard him sound like that before.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't read the look in Frankie's eyes, and I wasn't sure what he was thinking, so I just nodded silently.

The minutes passed slowly. Eventually most of the bar returned to their own business, and Frankie and I were spared too many more stares from other customers. After some time, though, a man melted smoothly out of the woodwork and slipped onto the barstool beside Frankie, motioning to the bartender for 'the usual.'

"That was impressive, kid," the man said with a small sarcastic smile. His accent made me think of New York.

"Leave him the fuck alone," I muttered protectively, but Frankie shook his head.

"It's okay."

I frowned. "You know him?"

He nodded emotionlessly.

"Another beer for the kid, on my bill," the newcomer called to the bartender, but I spoke up.

"Actually, that'll be on me..."

A frosty smirk flitted across his face, as though it amused him. "Of course," he said easily, graciously waving to the bartender the change in his order.

I appraised the man coldly, wondering who he was and why I didn't remember Frankie ever mentioning him. He had the palest blue-grey eyes that I had ever seen, and his hair was an intensely unnatural chestnut red, cut sharply so that one long bang fell over part of his face. I guessed that his age was somewhere between mine and Frankie's, but it was impossible to place. He was slim yet muscular, figure accentuated by a tight fishnet-sleeved top, making him look young, but his eyes were just slightly sunken in his gaunt face, and if you stared long enough, he looked almost tired, as if he'd seen too much too soon. But there was none of that hollowness in his self-assured smirk as he put a hand on Frankie's bare forearm. I eyed his fingers with distaste.

"You wanna talk, kid?"

In that instant, the same haunted, tired look flashed across Frankie's face, giving me the chills. He nodded slowly and looked at me as he got up, nothing in his eyes. "I'll be back soon."

I watched him follow the man towards the back exit, wiping blood from his face. I was confused as hell. What the fuck was going on? Why was my boyfriend being so distant? Where was my Frankie?

I refused the bartender's offer of another drink and sighed deeply. I never should have tried to hold Frankie's hand... What the hell had I been thinking? Now I'd gotten him hurt, physically and worse, mentally too. A small part of me, however, was saying that this time, it wasn't really my fault. Frankie was acting nothing like himself tonight.

Waiting for Frankie to reappear was torture. After nearly twenty minutes, I had managed to work myself into a nervous wreck. What if there was something wrong; what if he got hurt? I couldn't live with myself. I sat for another minute, desperately trying to decide what I should do.

Finally, I set down the money for Frankie's and my drinks, even slapping down a reluctant couple of bills down for the man who had joined us, glad that I'd thought to refill my wallet after my unpleasant encounter with the junkies, and left the bar, heading towards the back exit.

I pushed the door open and stepped outside into the cold air of another autumn evening, glancing around for Frankie.

When my eyes finally found him, I was almost sure my heartbeat had instantly flatlined. I couldn't hear anything any longer, not even the mournful howl of the wind or the muted hum of noise from inside the bar. All I could do was stare, because Frankie- I couldn't even pretend that it was somebody else- was pressed up against the brick alley wall by the man we'd just met, who was holding his waist with thin fingers. His alabaster-pale cheeks were colored with smeared blood from his nose or mouth, giving him the odd appearance of a painted china doll, and the man with him lifted one hand and trailed it slowly down his smooth skin, smirking cynically. As I watched, frozen in shock, their mouths came together. The bastard was fucking kissing him. A tongue bridged the minute gap between their lips, though I couldn't tell whose it was.

A wave of numbness and nausea broke over me. I couldn't move, and I couldn't speak. No, my mind said defensively. No, no, no. I'm drunk, or maybe high. This isn't happening.

It was.

Frankie whimpered and then moaned seductively as the man's fingers danced down the length of his spine.

I would have vomited, but my throat was tightly closed. I was sure that both my air supply and my circulation had been cut off. I almost turned around and left him there with that perfect son of a bitch, who was obviously everything that I couldn't be, but intense anger was also welling up inside me, rooting me to the spot. I had never felt this kind of hate for Frankie before, not even that night at the motel when I had told him that everything was his fault. Any rage that had poisoned my veins then paled greatly in comparison to what I felt now.

Frank-fucking-Iero, you really are a lying little whore. "This is s-so wrong," Frankie stammered quietly, and the other man laughed. I realized that he was holding a small baggie of what was unmistakably cocaine powder in one hand, which would have surprised me if I could've felt anything but hate for them both.

"You can't afford it... but you'll die if you don't get it. You need more. You'll do anything to get more. You've got the mores, kid."

Frankie shivered, but he didn't resist as the man's lips met his again, even more forcefully now, and kissed back with the same intensity, another moan escaping his lips as he slid one of his hands slowly up the man's back, beneath the fabric of his fishnet shirt.

The man moaned low in his throat in response and smirked dangerously, pressing the baggie into Frankie's free hand.

I suddenly understood. This was Frankie's drug dealer. And a lot more than substance abuse was going on. So much was building up inside me that I could hardly even breathe. I stared one more minute at my boyfriend willingly making out with someone else for a plastic Ziploc bag of cocaine powder which was already in his hands, and then I started to laugh.

They broke apart instantly at the sound, spinning to face me. The look of sickening horror in Frankie's eyes probably mirrored that in mine when I had first walked outside; that awful, suffocating feeling of being found out, or finding out that your entire world is made of lies and is collapsing around you.

"Gerard..." Never had my name had so much fear and tragedy in the syllables.

I only laughed harder. I had never been this hysterical before in my life, but I honestly couldn't do anything to stop myself, doubled over and snickering like a lunatic. I could feel raindrops on my face, steadily getting harder. Soon, it would be pouring.

Frankie was staring at me fearfully, as though wondering what the hell he had done, and meanwhile, I was wondering the exact same thing.

The drug dealer seemed almost unaffected, watching the two of us with an uncaring smirk on his thin face. He had lit himself a slim cigarette, and it was dangling from his bottom lip.

I wanted to kill him.

"G-gerard..?" Frankie murmured nervously, making it more of a question this time.

It seemed to snap me out of myself, because I abruptly stopped laughing and looked him in the eyes, making him flinch. I took a couple steps forwards and pushed him back into the wall. "I'll deal with you next." I turned on the drug dealer, white-hot loathing such as I hadn't felt for anyone but maybe Anthony Iero running through my body.

He took one involuntary step backwards, but then stood his ground, eyeing me confidently. Coolly, he took the cigarette from his mouth and stuck it between Frankie's lips.

Oh, you son of a bitch.

I continued forward, and he backed up one more step, then waited, still smirking. I walked very slowly, matching the speed of my deliberate words. "I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never..." I didn't even bother to finish my sentence, just grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall of the alley, knocking the wind out of him. I repeated the motion as I spoke. "You-" Thud. "Leave-" Thud. "His sorry ass-" Thud. "The fuck-" Thud. "Alone, do you understand me?" I didn't get an answer, so I slammed a fist into the side of his face.

He finally nodded, trying to struggle out of my grip.

I let him go, more interested in Frankie anyway.

He stopped a few feet from me, the cocky sneer returning to his face despite the raw red mark I'd let on his cheek. "You can try to keep him safe from me, but the real danger is himself, and you can never keep him safe from that. He'll always continue crawling back to his pathetic little addiction." He kept his head still, but his eyes flickered to Frankie, who was standing against the wall, huddled slightly against the wind and the despair. "And you, kid... That little baggie won't last you forever. You'll need more soon, and trying to quit won't help you. No one ever really quits, kid. I advise you to find some way to keep paying your debts to me... Wouldn't want your next buy to be laced with paint thinner or drain decongestant, would you? Die before you get high? I know you want better than that, kiddo." With that, he disappeared down the alley into the dark.

I watched him go, still seething but calmer outwardly now that the hysteria was gone, then turned to face Frankie, who looked terrified of me. With one shaking hand, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it to the ground.

You should be scared, "kid." You fucking should be.

"Well," I said softly, stepping closer to him. "I see you aren't just a coke whore. You're a whore all the way."

He shook his head helplessly. "Gee, p-please-"

"You never told me you had a boyfriend. I-" "He's not my boyfriend!" Frankie was trembling, rain water running down his face from his wet hair. "He's j-just my drug dealer; I don't know how this started... I don't have the money to pay him, I have to do something! Don't look at me like that, Gerard, please!"

"Shut up. Shut up, you little slut."

"Gerard-"

I slapped him. Tears welled up in his eyes, one side of his face reddening rudely. He wrapped both arms tightly around his stomach, still trying to apologize. "I'm s-sorry-"

I couldn't stand the sound of his voice. I tensed up and slammed my fist into his face.

One of his hands flying up to the spot where my knuckles had connected, he slid slowly down the wall to collapse in a heap on the slick, dirty pavement, crying hard and choked with tears now. "P-please-"

"Shut up," I hissed again, kicking him hard under the ribs.

He cried out in pain, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. I guessed that he had bitten his tongue. Still, he didn't give up. "I l-love y-"

It was the worst possible thing he could have said, and I snapped completely. I kicked him again, harder, and again, and again and again. I didn't stop until he was a bloody mess, sobbing into his bruised hands, soaking wet and cold as I was on the inside on the unforgiving asphalt.

I saw his body tense as though he was trying to stand, and I stepped back, still shaking with the betrayal and rage that had made me hurt him in the first place.

He dragged himself with what must have been superhuman effort, the fingernails of one hand digging into the rough brick of the wall to keep himself upright. Tortured eyes met mine for one instant, but I did nothing. I was sure that no emotion showed in my face. With a sob, Frankie forced himself to take one step, and then another. I watched him struggle, feeling nothing but emptiness. Finally, he disappeared into the night too.

I stood there one more moment, sickening by the second, and then all of a sudden found that I couldn't take the abrupt impact of loneliness and hollowness anymore. I dropped roughly to my knees on the wet pavement, scraping the cigarette that Frankie had discarded out of the dirty gravel and putting it to my wet lips, imagining that he was still there with me as raindrops ran down my face, mixing with my tears.

it could have been a minute that I knelt there, helpless and hopeless and wishing for all the world that I was stone dead and couldn't feel the ache of loss and betrayal. It could have been an hour. I could've screamed, or I might have stayed perfectly silent. All I knew was that everything we'd had was over. And it hurt.

***
Eventually, I staggered to my feet, the full impact of what I had done washing over me in sickening waves. I wasn't sure whose fault this was, but even if I had found the heart to blame it all on Frankie, it wouldn't have made me feel any better. I was alone. Oh, I was so alone.

I found my way around the front of the building and then to my car, wet and cold, though it took me a trembling minute or two resting my head against the dashboard and taking deep breaths before I could compose myself enough to drive home. It felt like a long drive despite the short distance between the bar and my house, but it still wasn't long enough for me to feel better.

When I walked in the door, Mikey took one look at me and went to get a towel, which I numbly let him wrap around my shoulders, slumping down on the living room couch and shivering as water dripped from my hair.

Mikey sat silently down across from me, waiting to see if I wanted to talk, I guess.

Eventually, I managed force out "It's over."

At that, he got up and switched seats, settling back down beside me and putting a gentle hand on my arm. "Are you okay?"

Still numb, I shook my head.

He nodded and sighed softly. "Is he?"

I thought of what I had done. "Probably not."

"I'm sorry, Gerard," he said quietly, and I looked down.

We sat there in silence for at least an hour. Mikey didn't ask me what had happened; somehow I don't think he ever would have, but eventually I couldn't keep it inside any longer, and I told him the story of the whole disastrous evening from start to finish.

He didn't judge me or Frankie, just listened until I was finished and then sighed again, more deeply this time. His eyes were serious and sad. "You are never going to be able to forget that boy."

Mike