Grey Crimson Skies 3/5

[turps]

A door slams but Bob doesn't turn around. He's sitting next to the unicorn and smoke from his cigarette floats past the balloon before being absorbed into the night air. The moon is out now, casting silvery light across the garden and Bob's enjoying the solitude after the crowd inside the house.

Brian sits next to Bob, his knees bent and back against the wall. "Hand over a smoke you fucking tight-ass."

"You've got your own," Bob points out, but is already taking out a cigarette, lighting it off his own. "Here you are you whiny pussy."

Taking a long drag, Brian lets the smoke escape from his mouth. "Whiny? I've been a fucking saint today. Between the striped lawns and nurse sitting duties I should get a medal."

"Tell it to someone that didn't see you sitting talking music with Mikey for an hour," Bob says, remembering finding Brian sitting on the end of the couch, scowling as he held out a glass of juice and telling Mikey he'd better drink or else.

Brian shrugs, says, "The kid's got decent taste in music. He said he'll introduce me around the scene, put the feelers out for a job."

"And here I thought gardening was your vocation," Bob says, banging his elbow against the unicorn when he jerks away from Brian's retaliatory punch.

"It's a job and I'll never forget Ray helping out, not many would," Brian says. He takes another drag of his cigarette and tilts his head, blowing smoke rings that float toward the dark sky.

"About that," Bob says, because somehow this moment is right for this question at last, when it's still and quiet and the air is full of the scent of summer.

"I've been waiting for you to ask," Brian says, sounding resigned, he tucks his legs up further, worrying at a thread hanging from a hole in the knee of his jeans. "Short story is I relapsed. Two years clean and I woke up in the drunk tank. Long story, I got into a bad relationship, he drank heavily and I thought I was strong enough to deal. Turns out I couldn't."

"You should have called me," Bob says, his stomach aching that in keeping one friend afloat he'd lost track of another.

"Yeah well, you had your new life and the more you talked about things here, the harder it got to admit I'd screwed up. Anyway, I know your pussy pansy ass, if I'd told you you'd have come back and I needed to hit rock bottom on my own. When I did that I sold all of my shit, used the money for rehab and then here I am."

"You still should have called."

"And said what?" Brian looks at Bob, and the end of his cigarette cuts glowing lines in the air as he moves his hand. "I've fucked up again, come watch as I throw my life away. Fuck that shit."

"I could have done something," Bob says. "I would have traveled back in an instant."

"Which is why I didn't call." Brian taps the cigarette, making ash fall to the ground. "I'm not your mom, you don't have to give up everything for me."

Bob clenches his hands, the wall that pushes back his anger crumbling. "I didn't give up everything for her."

"You know you did," Brian says, and doesn't look away, even when Bob tenses, wanting to fight. "You can get angry but you know I'm right, it's why I wasn't about to fuck you up more. You've a good thing going on here, even if you're a pussy and not telling Gerard."

"Because there's nothing to tell," Bob says, taking deep breaths until the anger begins to fade, because he knows that any issues he's holding onto have nothing to do with Brian. "I don't even think of him like that."

"You watch him all the time, you take any excuse to be with him. You're at home in his house as you are your own. Face it, you're interested, even if you're not admitting it to yourself."

"He's a friend, nothing more," Bob says, and begins to build another wall, this one pushing back the way he feels when Gerard is near. "Nothing's going to happen."

Brian shakes his head. "You're a fucking moron."



~*~*~*~

"You can't go to work yet, you're still not well," Gerard says, and stands in front of the door, as if he can physically stop Mikey from leaving.

"I've got no choice, we need the money," Mikey says flatly, and tugs up his pants that have slid down at the front.

"What if you get really sick again, or have a coughing fit and choke on your tongue? Or cough so much your lungs seize up." Picturing each instance, Gerard's heart is racing and his chest feels tight. "You need to stop here."

"No, I need to go to work." Mikey steps forward and reaches for Gerard, pulling him close, holding onto his arms as he rests his forehead against Gerard's. "I'll be fine, Gee. Promise. I told them I can't go to the clubs yet, but I have to go now."

"Frank's meeting you from work still?" Gerard says, feeling pathetic and helpless, like he needs Mikey to hold him up when he knows it should be the other way around. "And you're coming straight home."

"I am, and when I do you're going to tell me all about your appointment. No more secrets."

"No more secrets," Gerard repeats, and promises himself that he'll try.

"Good." Mikey pulls back then and picks up his bag, slinging it across his shoulder. "Tell the office that I'll drop in a check next week, and if they suggest a change in meds, take them, even if they do cost more. I'll find the money somehow."

A fleeting smile and Mikey's gone, leaving Gerard alone. It's the first time he's been perfectly alone in almost a week and the silence tugs at him, whispers about how easy it'll be to sleep, to slip downstairs and rediscover a place where he feels hidden. Fighting against that urge Gerard goes into the living room; where he doesn't have to see the stairs. There are still pillows piles on the couch and the humidifier has been pushed to one side, the Ewok hot water bottle lying on the floor.

The silver balloon floats half deflated in a corner and on the table in front of the couch are a selection of plates and mugs, books and comics and surprisingly, a sheet of paper left on top of them all. Moving closer Gerard sees it's a drawing, one of Mikey's, technically not good but easily recognizable as the unicorn from outside. Its tail colored blue and its horn yellow, while its hair is patches of color, everything from orange to pink. Its also carrying a bloodied zombie in its mouth, a thought bubble over its back. You'll be fine today, the unicorn protects you. Mikey xoxo

"Unicorn power, right," Gerard says, but still goes outside, acting on a hunch, where he finds a unicorn pin resting on the plaster unicorn's back. Picking it up, Gerard goes back inside, pinning it to the lapel of his jacket, and maybe it doesn't mean anything special, but it feels like it does, and Gerard will take anything that helps him get through the day.

~~~~~

Gerard presses his fingers against the unicorn pin as he sits at the kitchen table, looking at the bag of new medication. His therapist has given him enough samples to last a few weeks but after that they'll have to pay, along with the extra sessions it's been recommended that Gerard attends. Personally he can't see the point, an extra hour talking won't help him get better and he considers not telling Mikey what she said -- except, he made the promise of no more lies, Gerard's got no choice but to tell.

Upending the bag, Gerard spreads out the blister packs across the table, lines of small pills and he's hanging his life on each one. They have to help, because if they don't Gerard's got nothing, he's tried everything, done everything people say, and none of it works. He flicks at one of the packets, sending it spinning to the floor. Tempted to leave it there, he reaches down, and from under the table sees the door open, a pair of gum boots painted with sunflowers appearing in his line of vision.

"Are you trying to hide? Because I have to tell you, you're not doing very well," Frank says, and even though Gerard can't see Frank's face he knows he's smiling.

Gerard sits up and drops the pills on the table, looking across at Mikey and Frank. They're holding hands and Frank slows his pace as he walks across the kitchen and pulls out a chair, saying to Mikey, "Sit down."

"Are you okay?" Gerard asks. Mikey looks okay, tired, which is a constant lately, but Frank's fussing, only letting go of Mikey's hand so he can take off his bag before going to fill a glass with water.

"He went back to work too soon." Frank hands the water to Mikey. "He was sitting on the steps when I met him from work."

"I always sit on the steps," Mikey protests, taking a drink. He sets the glass on the table and takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "How did your appointment go?"

Gerard lets the distraction go for now, knowing Frank won't let Mikey do too much. "It went okay, Jemma wasn't happy I didn't tell her about the other shit, but we talked and I've got new meds."

"Good," Mikey says, looking relieved. He puts back his glasses and reaches for the packs on the table, turning one around to read. "She gave you samples?"

"Enough for a few weeks." Gerard hesitates, seeing how Mikey's frowning as he reads. "She recommended I go for extra sessions, just while I'm changing meds."

"That makes sense," Mikey says, but Gerard can tell he's already mentally calculating costs, because even if they do pay on a sliding scale, it still adds up.

"I can say no," Gerard says, and isn't surprised when Mikey immediately shakes his head.

"If she thinks you should go you're going, I'll work it out somehow."

Gerard sits back in his chair, the hard back digging into his side as he turns, says, "You shouldn't have to."

"Maybe," Mikey says, and he pushes the pills to the middle of the table. "I don't mind."

But you should," Gerard protests, and he doesn't even know why he's doing this, just it's been a long day and the residual guilt about Mikey is clinging and all Gerard wants is to be a good big brother but each time he tries he fails. "You should be at school, not working and looking after me."

"I like my job, and you're my brother, I'd never not look after you," Mikey says, looking frustrated.

Gerard tries to stop talking, aware of how uncomfortable Frank looks as he hovers close to Mikey, but Gerard can't seem to stop the words spewing out. "Looking after me made you sick. If it wasn't for me you'd be happy somewhere."

"I'm happy now," Mikey says, and he's got his hands pressed against the table, his fingers white. "I always will when I've got you and Frank."

"No." Gerard shakes his head, because Mikey doesn't understand. He thinks he's happy, but he's not, he can't be when he's struggling to keep a roof over their head and having to deal with Gerard. "You can't be, not when I'm such a burden."

"Don't say that." Mikey moves closer to Gerard, reaching out for him. "You've never been a burden."

"I spend most of my time in the basement, I don't cook for you or clean house or do anything normal people are supposed to do. I can't even look after myself never mind you." Heart racing, Gerard runs his hands through his hair, guilt-ridden and so fucking scared all he wants to do is curl up in a ball.

Mikey slips to the floor then, kneeling as he wraps his arms around Gerard, his head against Gerard's chest. "You don't need to look after me, I can look after myself, and normal is fucking over-rated."

Gerard clings to the words and the feel of Mikey holding him close, light against the dark that's pulling him down. "You could look after yourself better if I wasn't here, you and Frank could have this place, you wouldn't miss me."

Gerard isn't really thinking about what he's saying, the words tumbling out, but he feels the way Mikey tenses before scrambling back, sending a chair clattering to the floor as he gets to his feet.

"Don't you say that. Don't you ever fucking say that!" Mikey yells, his anger sudden and unexpected. When Frank moves in close, trying to touch, Mikey flinches away, attention solely on Gerard, and Gerard doesn't understand why Mikey looks so stricken, like Gerard's said something terrible.

"I don't...."

"Don't say you can't remember, I know you remember." Mikey has his hands clenched as he takes another step back, as if he can't bear to be close. "Just because we don't talk about it doesn't mean it didn't happen."

Gerard grips hold of the table as the memories push forward, fear and self-hate, the burn of alcohol and the glint of the razor against his skin -- a night when he reached his limit and tumbled right over. It's a night they haven't mentioned since, immediate pain lost in the darkness and then time. "I'm sorry."

"You don't even know what you're sorry about," Mikey yells, and Mikey doesn't shout -- ever, all Gerard wants to do is grab hold and keep saying sorry, but he knows it won't help. He sits frozen, trying to breathe as Mikey keeps yelling. "You say I wouldn't miss you, and that you shouldn't be here, but I would. Just thinking about you not being here carves out my fucking heart, that night was the worst one of my life, Gee, nothing since has come close. And you know the funny part? When I came back and found you'd moved out of bed I was pleased, I thought you were feeling better."

Gerard swallows hard. He doesn't want to remember this, confused memories of cold and utter despair as he lay on the bathroom floor, his arms tucked against his chest and wanting to die.

Mikey keeps talking, his expression set. "We never talk about it, but I can remember everything. How I went in the bathroom and you were lying on the floor and there was a razor in the tub, just lying there in the blood. I thought you were dead." Frank steps forward again, wrapping his arms around Mikey, holding on as Mikey lowers his voice and takes frequent shuddering gasps for air. "I thought I'd lost you, I thought you'd gone too and I pushed my way into the room and touched your neck, like I knew what I was fucking feeling for, and you were hardly breathing. You just lay there, and I shouted for you, I shouted for you not to leave me, and you just lay there and then you moved." Nauseous, Gerard puts his hand against his mouth, he can't see the faint scars that run across his arm, but he knows they're there, he can feel them itch under his skin. "I kicked away the empty vodka bottle and wrapped towels around your arms, and ran next door for help."

"Mikey," Frank starts to say, but Mikey shakes his head and pulls away, only looking at Gerard.

"You know what else I remember? How they looked at me when they arrived, the pity in their eyes as they helped me get you into their car and the silence as we drove to the clinic, and you never woke up. Not once." Mikey takes another shuddering breath and wraps his arms across his chest. "Sometimes...sometimes I wonder if I should have told them the truth and not some bullshit excuse about you falling on glass. Maybe you would have got help sooner then, but I didn't, just stood there and watched them stitch you up."

"No," Gerard says, hating how Mikey sounds so guilty. "You did what you had to do."

"I brought you back, convinced them that I'd look after you," Mikey says, and Gerard has vague memories of being helped inside, Mikey's haunted expression as he followed holding an armful of bloody towels. "We got you into bed, and I sent them home and went to the bathroom to clean up. It was so hot and I was so tired and all I wanted was to sleep but I couldn't, I scrubbed the blood out of the tub and threw away the razor and washed the mat where you'd pissed yourself."

"I'm sorry," Gerard says again and Mikey nods abruptly.

"I know, you're always sorry, Gee, I know that, but don't ever say I wouldn't miss you, because that's not true, it'll be never be true, no matter what you do," Mikey says, his eyes wet. "You're my big brother and I love you and I don't know what to do, I'm trying so hard and if I could I'd take it on for you but I can't. So let me look after you the way I can."

"Okay," Gerard says, his head swimming from the effort of staying upright. "I wish, I wish I could be different."

"I don't want you to be different," Mikey says quietly, and starts to back toward the door. "I want you to be you, but happy. I miss you."

He turns then, almost running, and Gerard hears the door slam from in the kitchen. Expecting Frank to follow, Gerard's surprised when instead he moves close and holds out his hand.

"Come on."

"What?" Gerard says, and his head feels like it's stuffed with cotton.

"We're going after him," Frank says, and Gerard notices that he's varnished his nails rainbow colors, his thumb nail decorated with a happy-faced sun.

"You can move faster yourself," Gerard says, and tucks his hands under his armpits, trying to hide how he's shaking.

Frank crouches down, looking serious. "I don't know much about this, just it fucking sucks, for both of you and you're feeling terrible right now, but Mikey's just ran out of the house and he needs you."

Gerard tucks his chin close to his chest, letting his hair fall into his eyes. "He doesn't need me."

"Bullshit," Frank says. "I know I should be all sympathetic and shit but he worships the ground you walk on and you're sitting here when he's out there. You need to go after him, I'll be with you."

Gerard tries to think of how to explain that it's not that easy. He's been out once today and he doesn't know if he can manage it again, but Frank's not moving, just remains still, watching and looking so young. Unlike Mikey, who despite being that little bit older looks like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Gerard rests his hands on his pin as he gathers energy and abruptly stands. "Let's go."

"Great." Frank says, staying close to Gerard as they leave the house, grabbing Mikey's jacket from the hook on the wall. It's cooler outside, the sun starting to set and Gerard looks both ways, hoping he'll see Mikey.

"I don't know where he's gone," Gerard says, looking back at the house.

"Yeah you do." Frank moves so he's in front of Gerard, walking backwards. "You know him better than anyone. Where would he go?"

Clutching Mikey's jacket, Gerard looks around, thinking of the places Mikey used to hide. There's not many, as soon as he was old enough Mikey moved to hanging out at the clubs, but there is a small playground, in the park a few blocks away. It's where they used to go when they were kids, on the days their mom actually let them out alone. "The playground."

"Of course," Frank says, and something flashes across his face, an expression so satisfied that Gerard doesn't ask how Frank knew it was there. They begin to walk, side by side usually, but Frank repeatedly darts forward so he can look in the gardens they pass on the way. Once he stops, plucking a flower from a bush, threading it through the buckle of his overalls. Ducking his head, he smells the flower. "It's a violet satin hibiscus, they need to feed it more, though. It's not as healthy as it should be."

"You should put one of Ray's cards through the door," Gerard says, surprised when Frank pushes his hand in his pocket and pulls out a plain white business card, Ray's Gardening Firm and contact details printed on the front.

"I keep telling him to get new ones, these are boring." Frank frowns, and then runs up to the mail box, dropping the card inside. "They should be flowers on it at least, lots of them."

"Not too many," Gerard says, and keeps walking, needing to get to the park. "It would get cluttered and lose the text. He needs something simple and stylish."

"What he needs is an artist," Frank says, increasing his pace. "Shame we don't know one."

Gerard pushes his hands in his pocket, he knows what Frank's hinting, but Gerard can't draw right now, even if he does owe Ray so much, not when everything is so flat. He looks up, sees that they're approaching the iron gates into the park, and hopes desperately that they'll find Mikey inside. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He knows that," Frank says, going with the subject change. "He's just....shit, I'm not telling any secrets, but it's been hard for him lately. Being sick was the last straw."

"I know," Gerard says, and he does, he's seen how Mikey's struggled and he hates himself for being unable to help.

"Did Mikey go to his prom?" It's an abrupt change in conversation and for a moment Gerard doesn't reply, just looks at Frank who seems anxious as he worries at his lip-ring.

"It's not really his thing," Gerard says, and Frank should know this, Gerard's got no idea why he's asking. "He got asked I think, but he said no."

Frank doesn't look surprised and he taps his fingers against his mouth, his forehead furrowed. "I thought so." He drops his hand then, opening the gate and taking the path that leads through the small corpse of trees, past the graffiti covered bandstand to the swings and small metal climbing frame that's supposed to count as a kid's play-park.

"I think. There he is." Relief hits hard and Gerard falters a little as Frank steps close. "I don't know what to say, how to make this right."

"He won't expect you to put things right," Frank says, and he stops walking next to a wooden bench that's missing two of its slats in the seat. "Go and see him."

"You're staying here?" Gerard asks, but he's already moving forward, because even if he doesn't know what to say this is Mikey, and seeing him sitting on a swing, shoulders hunched and head down is breaking Gerard's heart.

Frank tucks up his legs, his heels pressed against one of the slats. "I'll be there in a little while."

"Okay," Gerard says, and keeps walking. Past the flowerbeds filled with roses, the petals already littering the ground and plastic wrapped around their stems, over the grass which is more brown than green, and finally into the little play-park, the swings surrounded by benches and overflowing garbage cans.

Mikey's pushing himself on the swing, swaying back and forth, his hands wrapped around the chains. He looks up when Gerard gets close, says, "I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for." Sitting on a red plastic swing, Mikey's jacket on his lap, Gerard digs his toes in the ground and starts to swing.

"I shouldn't have said all that shit," Mikey says. He's resting his head against his arm and the chain is throwing a shadow across his face, links crossing his mouth and eye. "I was just tired, and it came out."

Gerard stretches out his leg so he can touch Mikey's ankle with the toe of his sneaker. "Didn't we agree no secrets?"

"You're applying that retroactively?" Mikey says. "That's a little unfair."

"Welcome to life," Gerard says, and rests his head against the chain. "I never meant to hurt you like that."

"I know, and I'm sorry for running off." Mikey stops swinging, planting his feet against the ground. "It was a little melodramatic."

Gerard forces a smile. "Well, you learned from the best." He stands then, says, "You ready to go home?"

"More than ready," Mikey admits, and he pulls on his jacket when Gerard hands it over. "We're going to be okay?"

There's a lot Gerard could reply to the question, and that's if he takes it to mean only one thing, but the problem is, most of those questions Gerard can't answer, except for one, and he hopes that's what Mikey's asking. He straightens Mikey's collar and pulls him into a quick hug. "We'll always be fine."

Mikey smiles, says, "Good."

~*~*~*~

"There they are," Ray says, and pulls the van up to the curb. Lowering the window, Bob watches Gerard approach. He's walking between Mikey and Frank, looking closed-off and nervous, his steps slow as Frank chatters about something that makes Mikey nearly smile. When they get close, Bob opens the door of the van, about to step outside, then hesitates when Ray speaks. "I was thinking, if you dropped us off at my place you could take the van."

One foot on the sidewalk, Bob turns in his seat so he can see Ray, who looks grimy, tired but perfectly cheerful as he leans back in his seat. "And I'd need the van, why?"

"I was thinking you could take Gerard out for a drive," Ray says, and starts flicking through the radio stations, looking for a song he enjoys.

Suspicious, Bob pokes Brian hard in the side. "Have you been talking to Ray?"

Brian scowls. "I always talk to Ray, he's my boss, he's teaching me how to make fucking lawn stripes."

"I don't mean that kind of talking," Bob says, but he doesn't get to say what kind he does mean because Gerard, Mikey and Frank have arrived at the van, and are standing looking inside.

"Have you fitted us with tracking chips?" Mikey asks, looking interested.

"Damn, you've caught me," Bob says, and steps fully outside, meeting Mikey's look. "I implanted them while you were sick."

Mikey scratches at the back of his neck, and Frank laughs, says, "I phoned them." Bob braces himself then, seeing that Frank's about to pounce, which he does, charging past Mikey and Gerard before jumping at Bob. "And now you're here, like a conquering hero."

Standing still until Frank has scrambled around to his back, Bob holds securely onto Frank's legs. "I guess that makes you the maiden, then."

"I could be a maiden," Frank says, leaning forward and tucking his chin against Bob's shoulder. "Not a virginal one, though."

"Don't you fucking dare." When Bob looks to the side all he sees is a shock of scarlet hair and Frank's wide grin as he giggles in Bob's ear. "One word about your sex life and I'm going to drop you on your head."

"You know you love hearing about it." Frank tightens his hold, clinging on as Bob tries to dump him to the ground. "I haven't said anything about how chocolate rubbers taste rank or how we went shopping for toys last week."

"Seriously, on your head," Bob says, and pointedly turns away when he sees Brian's moved into the window seat, and is looking outside, laughing at Bob and Frank.

"You love me, you know you do," Frank says, and presses a sloppy kiss against Bob's cheek before sliding down so he can stand next to Mikey. "I'm going to take my hot boyfriend and make him some soup."

Still peering out of the open window, Brian grins, says, "Is that what they'll calling it now?"

"Don't encourage him," Bob says, and tries to bite back his own laughter when he catches sight of Gerard's reaction.

"I don't..." Worrying at the hem of his shirt, Gerard looks between Frank and Mikey. "I don't think you should do that. Not yet. It's too much exertion and....."

"Don't worry," Mikey interrupts, taking pity on Gerard. "I'm going home for a nap."

"And some soup," Frank says, and while he's not holding hands or doing anything overt like he would at home, he is standing close, his hand brushing against Mikey's.

"In that case, I'm taking Gerard for a drive," Bob says and hopes that Gerard will actually say yes.

A sweep of his hands, and Gerard indicates his ragged jeans and damp shirt, says, "I'm not dressed to go anywhere."

"We'll match then," Bob says, having no intention of changing his own outfit, because shorts and a t-shirt are fine to hit a drive-through and a little dirt never hurt anyone. Opening the van door, almost making Brian fall out in the process, Bob steps aside, knowing Gerard has to make this choice on his own. "We'll have to drop off Brian and Ray first, but after that I'm yours."

For a long moment Gerard hesitates, then Mikey steps forward and whispers something in his ear. Bob isn't sure what, but it's enough to get Gerard moving, and he gets into the van, shutting the door.

"We'll be a few hours," Bob says, and then climbs into the back of the van, sharing space with a giant yucca plant and three bags of compost, which aren't the comfiest of seats, but as Bob sits forward and steadies himself, Bob finds he doesn't mind at all.

~~~~

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Brian says, he standing on the sidewalk outside of Ray's house, grinning wide as Bob tries to stretch the kinks out of his back.

"We're going to McDonalds," Bob says, straightening up and kicking out at Brian's leg.

Brian jumps back, easily keeping out of the way. "Admittedly McDonalds isn't my choice for a hot date, but whatever turns you on."

"It's not a date," Bob hisses, checking to make sure Gerard can't hear. "I'm just taking him out of the house for a while, he's had a hard day."

"Maybe," Brian concedes. "But admit it, you like getting him alone."

Bob's not about to admit any such thing, even if it is true -- which it's not. He turns back to the van and smiles reassuringly at Gerard, who's looking out of the window, his mouth curved down and hair hanging into his eyes, then back to Brian. "At least I'm not spending the evening going over tax returns."

"That shit's important," Brian says, always serious about figures. "And it's not like I've any other options, considering you're abandoning me again."

Bob can't help feeling guilty, with staying at Gerard and Mikey's for almost a week he's never had a chance to spend one-on-one time with Brian lately, they're either working or hanging with the others. "You can come if you want, I'll even spring for a burger."

"Sure, that won't be awkward," Brian says, looking at Bob as if he's some kind of idiot. "No, you go and play your game of mis-placed denial, I'm going to stay here and eat pizza and explain the fine points of e-filing for self-employed business owners."

"Sounds fascinating," Bob says, and the thing is, he knows to Brian it is fascinating, much more so than the growing cycle of plants or the correct pruning technique for rose bushes.

Brian pushes his hand through his hair, teasing it back up into untidy spikes as he looks over at Ray, who's leaning against the wall with one hand as he takes off his boots. "It is, now go, start your non-date. You can tell me all about staring at each other and pretending you don't want to jump each other's bones when you get back."

"I hate you," Bob says, and on principle tries to kick Brian again, the toe of his boot scraping past denim as Brian hurries away with a last grin. Flipping him off, Bob gets into the van, adjusting the seat before twisting around and pushing at the Yucca so its leaves aren't brushing against his neck. "McDonald's okay? I'm fucking starving."

"That's fine." Gerard's clinging onto his seat-belt, and his fingernails are bitten short, the edges ragged.

Checking the mirror, Bob pulls out onto the road, he's got the radio turned low and the early evening sun has turned everything golden, the breeze that comes through the window carrying the scent of the multiple kinds of flowers that Ray's planted along the verges of his house. It leaves Bob feeling calm, but Gerard's obviously not, just bites at the edge of his thumb nail as he stares outside.

"Mikey looks better," Bob says, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Gerard tense. He's also not replying and Bob's trying to work out what's wrong from the things that Frank said and Gerard's reaction. It's obviously something to do with Mikey, but that still leaves thousands of possibilities. "How did his first day back go?"

"He went back too early," Gerard says, and while Bob agrees, he doesn't say that out loud. He knows they're hurting financially, and how Mikey's been battling to get Gerard onto disability. Going back to work was the only choice Mikey had.

"But he's okay?" Bob asks. He thinks Mikey looks okay, still too pale and thin but if he wasn't okay he doubts Gerard and Frank would have let him out of the house once he was home. Still, it never hurts to check.

"Apart from having me as a brother, you mean?" Gerard says flatly, cluing Bob into that this isn't anything to do with Mikey, but everything about Gerard. Considering his options, he keeps driving toward McDonalds, thankful it's only a short drive. Gerard needs to talk, and sometimes the best way to do that isn't face to face.

"Brian ran over a stone tortoise with the mower, today," Bob says, keeping things light for now. "The blades took off its head and sent it flying. We found it in the next door's garden."

"Mmmm," Gerard says, and Bob keeps talking.

"Brian got so mad he kicked the tortoise and snapped off a leg. Ray had to go buy a new one and said he'd take the cost out of Brian's pay, but that's not going to happen. He's too much of a soft touch." Which is something Bob knows all too well and he can't help smiling as he thinks of Ray, who within a year has become one of Bob's best friends. "Brian's helping with the books tonight; supposedly." Personally Bob thinks they'll end up watching TV and discussing music, and while he'd never admit it to Brian, he's glad, they both deserve an evening of just kicking back.

Seeing the giant yellow M, Bob pulls into the lane to get to McDonalds. It's the same one where he met Ray and Frank the day he was taken on in his job and in a way it feels like yesterday while being a lifetime before. Driving past the outside tables with their red umbrellas he remembers waiting and hoping he'd get the job, with no idea how his life was about to change. Briefly considering stopping and eating at the tables, Bob dismisses the idea as too public and keeps driving, asks, "What do you want to eat?"

"I've got no money." Gerard ducks his head and Bob fights against the urge to tuck his fingers under Gerard's chin and make him stop hiding.

"You don't need any, I'm paying," Bob says, heading for the drive-through. It's hours since he ate his sandwiches at lunch and his stomach growls at the smell of grease and cooked meat. Slowing down, he approaches the first window, where a young girl is waiting. She's wearing a cap, her dark hair spilling out at the back and she's got a blue band-aid wrapped around her finger, visible when she opens the window when the van approaches. She pulls on a smile when Bob stops.

"Can I take your order, please?"

"Grilled Chicken Classic Sandwich meal with diet coke, please." Bob turns to Gerard, says, "Do you want the same?" Gerard nods, and Bob turns back to the girl. "Make that two."

"That'll be twelve dollars", the girl says, and hands Bob a bag containing napkins and two straws. Taking them, he places them on the dash and digs out his wallet, handing over the money before driving on to the next window where a man is already waiting, a bag of food and a holder containing two drinks standing on the counter. Picking them up, the man hands them over.

"Thanks," Bob says, and passes the food and drinks to Gerard, who balances them both on his knee, his hands fisted around the top of the bag.

Pulling away from the drive-through, Bob considers where to stop, but hunger makes his choice for him and he pulls up at the very edge of the parking lot, away from any other cars and overlooking the road the heads back into the center of town. He parks up and turns off the engine, then unfastens his seat-belt before taking the bag of food. Picking out a burger and fries he sets them on the dash before giving the bag back to Gerard.

"You should eat before they get cold." Opening the box of his burger, Bob picks it up and takes a bite, chewing as Gerard pulls out a fry, putting it in his mouth and eating so slowly that by the time Bob's finished his sandwich Gerard's still only managed a handful of fries. "Not hungry?"

Gerard drops the fry he's holding back into the bag, says, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Bob says, and eats some of his fries, enjoying the salty taste, then says, "You want to tell me about today?"

The bag crumples under Gerard's fingers. "Not really."

Bob keeps looking forward and sucks his fingers which are greasy and covered with salt. "Think it would help if you told me?"

"I don't know," Gerard says, sounding so defeated that all Bob wants to do is turn around and take him home where he feels safe. But if Bob's learned anything it's that sometimes you have to push, and he doesn't want this to be yet another thing that Gerard's keeping inside. It's something Bob discovered at his lowest, when he was so full of rage and helplessness that it felt like he could burst.

"I've never told you about my mom." It's not what Bob intended to say, but it feels right, like this is the time to share. Pushing away the box of half-eaten fries he turns in his seat so he can see Gerard. "She was depressed too, not officially, not at first. She never stopped functioning and she always tried her hardest to get things done, but sometimes that wasn't enough." Bob stomach lurches as he remembers coming home from school and having to make his own dinner when his dad was at work and his mom lying in bed, the covers pulled up so all he could see was her hair and eyes. "It kept getting worse and dad needed to work, so I looked after her. When I got home from school and most weekends."

"That must have been hard," Gerard says, his voice soft.

"It was," Bob admits. "She was my mom and was supposed to be looking after me, but at her worst I was having to make sure she ate and look after the house. I loved her, but I was so angry, at her and the doctors who said nothing was wrong. She was spending whole days crying and they said she was down and dad should take her on vacation." Anger flairs, bright and sudden as Bob remembers those words. He breaths in deep, pushing the past back where it belongs. "My point is, I hit my own bad times back then, when I was furious at the world, but what helped was Brian making me talk."

"He was your sponsor?" Gerard asks, and Bob remembers telling him about meeting Brian at group.

Bob shakes his head, picturing the first time he saw Brian, sitting on the steps outside the community hall, scowling at the ground, a lit cigarette in his mouth and his jeans holed, exposing his bony knee. "He'd instigated a bar brawl, the anger management course was a condition of his probation. I joined on his fifth week."

"And you became friends?"

"Not then, I wasn't ready to be anyone's friend. All I wanted was to hit out at the world and keep hitting." Bob looks off into the distance, remembering how Brian latched on and wouldn't leave, until all Bob wanted to do was punch him in the face. "Then one week mom was finally diagnosed and I was so relieved when he said hello I said hi back. It went from there."

"You call her now, right?" Gerard says, and Bob knows what he's asking.

"Every night," Bob says. "She was lucky and found a doctor and a combination of medication that helped, she's happy now, the real kind of happy, not the kind where you pretend."

"Sometimes I pretend to be happy," Gerard says, so quietly that Bob can barely hear. "But it's hard, because I can't remember how, not exactly."

Despite suspecting he knows the answer, Bob asks, "Does it help?"

"It feels like I'm living in 2D, smiles painted on with nothing behind." Gerard bites at the side of his thumb, licking at a droplet of blood, and his expression is schooled, giving nothing away. "Mikey told me something today. About when he found me in the bathroom and I'd cut my arms with a razor. We never talk about it and sometimes I think it's just another bad dream because I wouldn't, I'd never leave Mikey, but I did, I tried. My parents were gone and I was so sad and I couldn't breathe."

"If you'd tried for real you'd be dead now," Bob says, and rests his hand on Gerard's arm, fingertips on the tiny silvery scars. "A cry for help doesn't mean you wanted to die."

Gerard pulls his arm away. "No, it means I was self-centered and selfish."

"Or it means you're strong," Bob says, meeting Gerard's disbelieving look. "You're still going, you're still living and that means you're fucking strong, no matter what you think."

"I think you've got more faith in me than I have in myself," Gerard says, and leans forward, his head in his hands. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You don't have a choice." Moving across the seats, Bob puts his arm around Gerard's back, feeling the way he's breathing hard and the way the material of his shirt is clinging with sweat. "Don't give up, not now."

Gerard looks up and it's like every shield he hides behind has been stripped back, leaving him looking exposed that Bob's heart lurches with the knowledge he'd do anything to protect him. "I'll try."

Bob pulls Gerard into a fierce hug, says, "Good."

~*~*~*~

Gerard lies on his bed, a comic open on his chest. He's been trying to read but doesn't have the concentration, his eyes skipping over words until he eventually gives up and lies still, listening to the sound of Mikey moving around upstairs. Gerard isn't sure what he's doing, but whatever it is it involves a lot of pacing. From living room to kitchen, and Gerard tries to count each step, numbers slipping from his mind as he drifts into sleep.

He wakes when he hears someone knock at the door, Gerard isn't sure when, time means nothing right now and despite his promise to Bob, Gerard hopes nobody comes downstairs, not yet, when Gerard's head aches and his skin feels too tight and the world keeps shrinking as he falls.

Knees tucked up, hands under his cheeks, Gerard looks at the world through the veil of his hair, his breathing shallow as shadows moves, creeping across the wall. It's only when he smells the paint that Gerard moves, the scent calling him like a memory of happier times. Gathering energy, he rolls on his side and leavers himself off the bed, heading for the stairs. Holding onto the banister he hauls himself up, his footsteps heavy, but when he reaches the kitchen he finds it's empty. Frank's jacket lying on the back of the chair, Ray's keys on the counter. Pulling on his resolve, Gerard goes to the next step of stairs and keeps climbing, and he can hear Bob talking, the sound of Frank laughing, and all the time, the smell of paint.

"Gerard, hi." Ray looks out of Gerard's parent’s old room. His hair is pulled back and there's a streak of white paint from his ear to the back of his head, he's also got paint on his nose, and wipes at it ineffectively as Gerard looks into the room as Ray says, "We thought we'd get the base coat done at least."

Inside the room is ordered chaos. Frank standing on top of a ladder, holding a paint tray and roller, his face and arms speckled with white. Close by, Brian's sitting on the floor, painting above the baseboards, his tongue sticking out as he carefully cuts in. Bob seems to be painting the middle, wielding a large brush while Mikey's sitting on the sheet-covered bed, looking disgruntled.

"They wouldn't let me paint," Mikey says, and shifts over slightly as he looks at Gerard.

"Good." Gerard walks into the room and sits down, tucking up his legs when Ray walks by and picks up a big pot of paint. "You're supposed to be resting."

Frank turns on the ladder, wobbling dangerously and a dollop of paint lands on Brian's head. "That's what I said. He needs to sit there and do nothing."

"And I am," Mikey says, and he leans against Gerard. "I like decorating."

"I know you do," Gerard says, patting Mikey's arm. "But you need to rest."

"Resting sucks." Mikey sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose and says quietly, so only Gerard can hear. "I know you wanted to do this, but they wanted to help."

"It's okay," Gerard says, reassuring Mikey. "I'll do the details, the vampires and shit. That's the best part."

"It is," Mikey agrees. "You'll make them look awesome."

Gerard tries to imagine vampires painted on the walls, bloody fangs and dark red skies, but each time he tries the images are lost in the fog -- Gerard pushes his hands under his thighs and tries to stop shaking.


~*~*~*~

"Mikey never went to his prom," Frank says. He's sitting on the side of the pond, his boots off and feet in the water. One of his pants legs has rolled down and the fabric is changing color, denim going from light to dark blue.

Busy installing a recessed light to the gaudy gold carp in the middle of the fountain, Bob screws on the protective cover, water lapping around his knees as he moves. "You've stopped working to tell me that?"

"No," Frank says, and kicks his legs, making waves roll towards Bob. "I stopped work because I need a favor."

A last turn to secure the light, and Bob straightens so he can look at Frank. "You're not using my place again."

"I told you, that was an accident, we meant to clean up." Frank waves his hand dismissively, but instead of his usual laughter he looks perfectly serious, and Bob suspects this favor is something that means a lot.

Picking his tools out of the carp's mouth, Bob carefully moves back to the side of the pond and sits, his toes curled against the slime-filmed liner at the bottom. "What kind of favor?"

Frank hesitates, and he's picking at the grass they're sitting on, letting the blades fall to the ground like green rain. "Setting stuff up, like lights and shit."

Confused, Bob thinks back on their conversation, seeing if there's something he's missed. "Lights for where?"

"For Mikey's prom." Frank looks defiantly at Bob. "I know you'll think it's a stupid idea because it's not his thing, and I know that, I do. But he's never had one and it'll be our anniversary soon and someone should do something special just for him."

"And what anniversary's that? Ten months and seven days," Bob says unable to resist teasing. He grins when Frank scowls. "I know, it'll be a year, but why a prom? You could take him out for dinner or a show, that's more his speed, yours too."

"It's stupid." Frank's looking down at his lap, and Bob's hardly seen him like this, unsure about the things he's saying. It's a vivid reminder that no matter how confident Frank appears, he is younger and Bob kicks at his foot underwater, making water slop onto the grass.

"You tell me stupid things all the time, spill."

"I tell you awesome things," Frank corrects, worrying at the ragged hem of his t-shirt. "It's just. He does all these things, working and looking after Gee and worrying about money. I thought, if he could have one night of doing something like normal kids do. Get dressed up and have stupid pictures taken and go dancing." Frank groans, putting his head in his hands. "It's a stupid idea."

"It's a little out of left field," Bob admits, and he can't imagine Mikey dressed up in a tux to attend the usual kind of high-school prom, but he can't imagine that Frank would ever want to organize the usual high school prom and at heart it comes down to Bob would do anything to make them happy. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Frank looks up then, his mouth curling into a smile. "I was thinking about having it in the garden, we could string lights and put up a gazebo and have music and food."

"You want to have this thing in the Way's garden?" If Bob was smart he'd be saying how it's an crazy idea, that the garden is too small and too public and Frank's insane for ever thinking Mikey would ever go. What Bob is thinking is how the garden center has gazebos he could borrow and how it would be possible to install lights and speakers. "When's your anniversary?"

"Next weekend," Frank says. "I know it's not much time, but things have been busy and then Mikey got sick and...."

"I'll do it," Bob interrupts, which is a fatal mistake, because seconds later Frank's grinning as he pounces, and with a huge splash, they both fall in the pond -- again.

~~~~~

"If we install the gazebo in this back corner it'll be more private, and I was thinking we need to put up screens along the front wall to block off the road." Ray points at his hand-drawn plan of the Way's garden, brows pulled together as he marks on the screens. "If we use lattice we can add lights and flowers. It shouldn't cost that much."

"It'll cost enough," Brian says. He's got a pencil behind one ear, a note book open in front of him as he notes down figures. "You're never going to run this business to a profit."

Ray shrugs, says, "As long as I can pay wages."

"You can," Brian says, "but you could be investing or saving this money."

"I could be doing lots of things," Ray says, and gets up from the sofa, wandering into the kitchen with his empty coffee mug. "Helping Frank is top of that list."

"And you really think Mikey's going to go for this?" Brian asks, sounding unsure. "I've only known the kid a few weeks, but he doesn't strike me as the prom type."

"He's not," Bob says. "Neither's Frank."

Brian looks puzzled. "So why do it?"

"Because he asked." Bob leans forward and picks up his mug, taking a drink. It's the same mug he uses every time he's at Ray's, a picture of Garfield eating lasagna printed on the sides, and Bob likes that it's always here, ready for when he comes over. "And because Mikey'll love it."

"Fair enough." Brian slides forward so he's sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning over as he looks at the plans and lists of figures. "Is it possible to hire lattice screens? It'll cut down the outlay."

"Not normally," Bob says, and grins down at his coffee. "But I can make a call and arrange something I'm sure."

"You slept with him, didn't you?" Ray's carrying his mug in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other. Setting them down on the table he takes his seat on the sofa and fixes Bob with a look. "The garden center manager, it's the only thing that fits."

"Credit me with some taste," Bob protests, and flips open the box, grabbing a chocolate-topped doughnut. He takes a big bite, ignoring the way Ray's watching and waiting.

"So what is it, then?!" Ray picks up his own doughnut and pink sprinkles fall to the ground when he points at Bob. "You've got something on him."

"I'm a good customer is all," Bob says, licking chocolate frosting with the corner of his mouth. He looks at the plans again, picturing the Way's garden. "We should light up the dragon bird bath."

"And the unicorn," Brian adds, and scowls when both Bob and Ray look his way. "What? I've got eyes, I know it's a big deal for them. Why they're gone over a fucking ugly stone unicorn I don't know, but they are."

"It's a good idea," Bob says, wondering at the logistics at lighting up its horn. "They think it's magic and we can make it look magic."

Brian grins wide, elbowing Bob hard in the side. "Magic, you've gone fucking soft, Bryar."

Bob elbows him right back. "Tell me you're not working out a play-list."

Brian takes a bite of his doughnut in reply.

~*~*~*~

Carefully, Gerard pours a cupful of water onto the plant on the kitchen windowsill. Setting down the cup he presses his fingers against the soil in the pot, assessing the wetness. It feels right, not too sodden and he crosses that job off his mental list as he leans against the kitchen counter and thinks what else needs to be done. There's a lot, laundry especially, but even though he feels better today, the thought of gathering dirty clothes and actually getting them washed is exhausting.

Breathing in deep, Gerard pushes himself upright. One load of laundry and he'll have achieved something today, that's something to strive for. Going down to the basement he keeps one hand against the wall, his fingers slithering against the bare plaster, and deliberately keeps turned away from the mess in the basement, knowing if he sees that he'll be bogged down in yet another wave of 'shoulds' -- he should change the bedding, should pick up the garbage on the floor -- but shoulds are no good for Gerard right now, all he has to concentrate on is picking up an armful of dirty clothes, dropping them into the washer. A capful of detergent and he sets it away, the dial clicking as Gerard turns it to the right setting and then makes for his bed, dropping onto the messy pile of sheets to the sound of water filling the drum.

Lying still, Gerard looks up at the ceiling, filling his lungs with air. He's relieved the black is fading, but he can still feel it, lingering with faint tendrils that itch against his face and try to wrap around his chest. Sometimes they succeed, but mostly Gerard can breathe, which right now is enough, at least Gerard can fumble his way through the day.

~~~~

"Gerard? Gerard!"

Gerard scrubs at his face and rolls onto his side as he peers toward the stairs. He thinks he can hear Frank, but he doesn't tend to come over alone, and Gerard can't help feeling worried as he sits, swaying a little as he keeps himself upright by bracing his hand against the mattress.

"Gerard?"

"Down here," Gerard says, and he sees Frank take the stairs two at a time. He's wearing long shorts today -- jeans that have been cut off at the knee -- and bright yellow socks that peer over the top of his flower-painted boots, a match to his t-shirt with smiley-faced sunflower printed in the middle. The only thing that doesn't match is his hair, which has a white blond streak instead of bright yellow.

"Hey." Frank looks uncertain as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Usually he doesn't come down here at all, tending to stay in Mikey's bedroom or in the kitchen and living room. If he's honest Gerard wishes he was up there now, Frank looks too clean and bright to be in this dark cluttered space, but Gerard needs to know what's wrong and it's quicker for Frank to come down then Gerard to get out of bed and up.

"Is there something wrong with Mikey?" Gerard asks, fear tightening his chest.

"No," Frank says, looking apologetic. "He's fine, I just needed to talk to you alone."

Relieved, Gerard sinks back so he's leaning against the headboard. "Thank fuck, I thought, well, I don't know what I thought but it wasn't good."

"Sorry, I should have thought." Frank moves closer, picking his way through the mess on the floor. "I needed to talk to you about Mikey. Did Bob tell you what I wanted to do?"

"About the garden prom?" Gerard tucks up his legs, indicating that Frank should sit down. "I think it's a great idea."

Frank sits on the very edge of the bed, turning so he can see Gerard, but instead of talking he's worrying at his lip-ring, pushing at it with his tongue.

"Frank?"

"This is stupid," Frank says, more to himself than Gerard, then takes a deep breath, letting it out slowing before looking directly at Gerard. "I'm going to ask Mikey to go steady."

Gerard's confused, as far as he's concerned they've been going steady for almost a year, he doesn't understand why Frank's saying this now. "I, I guess. That's good."

"It is," Frank says decisively. "I know it sounds redundant, but I wanted to make it official, so I got him this." Taking a small box out of his pocket, Frank opens it, displaying a silver chain complete with a unicorn pendant. "I'm going to give it to him at the prom, but I wanted to tell you first."

"It's beautiful," Gerard says, but he still can't work out why Frank's here, taking time away from class to show Gerard something he's bound to see later. "I just. Why are you showing me now?"

"Because it matters." Frank takes the necklace out of the box, draping it over his fingers. "Because you're the most important person in his life and I want you to know how much I love him, and that I'll look after him always."

Gerard watches the unicorn, seeing how its horn catches the light, and can't help think Frank's making promises too big for two teenaged boys, but at the same time, Gerard thinks if anyone will try their hardest it'll be Frank. Impulsively he reaches out, pulling Frank into a hug.

"He'll love it."

Frank says nothing, just holds on.

Next

Comments

[turlough]

"Short story is I relapsed. Two years clean and I woke up in the drunk tank. Long story, I got into a bad relationship, he drank heavily and I thought I was strong enough to deal. Turns out I couldn't."

Poor Brian! But it makes me giggle that the only difference between the short and the long versions is one added clause - laconic Brian is laconic :-)

"He's a friend, nothing more," Bob says, and begins to build another wall, this one pushing back the way he feels when Gerard is near.

Oh Bob! Repression really isn't the cure-all you think it is.

he finds a unicorn pin resting on the plaster unicorn's back. Picking it up, Gerard goes back inside, pinning it to the lapel of his jacket, and maybe it doesn't mean anything special, but it feels like it does

*squishes them both*

"I know, you're always sorry, Gee, I know that, but don't ever say I wouldn't miss you, because that's not true, it'll be never be true, no matter what you do," Mikey says, his eyes wet. "You're my big brother and I love you and I don't know what to do, I'm trying so hard and if I could I'd take it on for you but I can't. So let me look after you the way I can."

This whole scene was so painful. Not only Gerard's suicide attempt but also the way their guilt feeds off each other's creating this vicious circle.

"No, you go and play your game of mis-placed denial, I'm going to stay here and eat pizza and explain the fine points of e-filing for self-employed business owners."

*giggle* Your Brian is awesome. And Bob totally needs someone who tells him how it is.

on principal tries to kick Brian

Eeep! One of my pet peeves has managed to slink through the beta net.

"She was lucky and found a doctor and a combination of medication that helped, she's happy now, the real kind of happy, not the kind where you pretend."

*hugs Bob*

Gerard looks up and it's like every shield he hides behind has been stripped back, leaving him looking exposed that Bob's heart lurches with the knowledge he'd do anything to protect him.

Wibble!


He's sitting on the side of the pond, his boots off and feet in the water. One of his pants legs has rolled down and the fabric is changing color, denim going from light to dark blue.

I love the way you put in these little details, they make the story so vivid.

"It's just. He does all these things, working and looking after Gee and worrying about money. I thought, if he could have one night of doing something like normal kids do. Get dressed up and have stupid pictures taken and go dancing."

Frank is so adorable! And so very young still. A prom! *shakes head in wonder*

Ray shrugs, says, "As long as I can pay wages."

Ray is adorable too in his own way. (And he reminds me of Denise in that entry she wrote about their vision for Dreamwidth. Ray would love DW I'm sure :-)

Impulsively he reaches out, pulling Frank into a hug.

There was so many difficult bits in this part but this makes up for them all. Gerard hugged someone other than Mikey!

[turps33.livejournal.com]

Poor Brian! But it makes me giggle that the only difference between the short and the long versions is one added clause - laconic Brian is laconic :-)

What can I say? Brian says what's he wants. I have to admit, I had a lot of fun writing him. In my mind he's a tiny, angry man with a foul mouth, and that makes for good lines.

Oh Bob! Repression really isn't the cure-all you think it is.

I suspect at this point Bob would disagree.

This whole scene was so painful. Not only Gerard's suicide attempt but also the way their guilt feeds off each other's creating this vicious circle.

Yeah, when I was planning this I had two clear scenes, this one mentioning the suicide attempt and the prom. So different in so many ways, tone, emotion, time. But they're the ones that took root.

on principal tries to kick Brian

Is it principle? I guess it would be looking at it here. I'll change it.

Frank is so adorable! And so very young still. A prom! *shakes head in wonder*

He is. He's trying his hardest to understand what's going on and tries to help the best he can, and in this case it's giving Mikey the things he's missed out on, even if neither one of them would have gone to a prom anyway. He's weird like that.

Ray is adorable too in his own way. (And he reminds me of Denise in that entry she wrote about their vision for Dreamwidth. Ray would love DW I'm sure :-)

He would. He just wants to do good in the world. I love that about him.

Yep, Gerard's branching out at last :D

[turlough]

Is it principle?

Yup. Principal is a headmaster/mistress and I doubt that's what Bob's talking about ;-)