Love is the new Feel Awful
PG-13
Gerard/Frank with portions of Pete/Ryan, Bill/Travis, Brendon/Mikey, Mike/Tyson, Brendon/Gabe, and Bob/Spencer, just about in that measure.
Gerard Way, a Cartoon Network peon in possession of the world’s worst taste in men, may have finally found the perfect boyfriend. Or a serial killer. [Based on the movie Head Over Heels]
Written for the romanticbandom.

Thanks to straydogstrut for the Russian translation, languisity for the handholding (and oh, was there a lot of it.), and jezzabe, inawonderland, and sinuous_curve for working this over. <333

I would like to protest that while I love the AAR boys, MAN am I tired of Bert always being the bad guy. ilu Bert <3

ALSO. I am sorry, Ray Toro and Bob. ILU2.




Sometimes Gerard wonders what the fuck he’s doing in New York.

No, fuck that. Every time Gerard steps out of his apartment he wonders what he’s doing in New York. Then he thinks about living in his parents’ basement back in Belleville and remembers.

Besides, by the time he gets to work his venti caramel double-shot macchiato whatever has hit the bloodstream, and everything short of getting hit by a bus is a-okay with him. In fact, fuck that. For the first time in Gerard’s life, things are going a-okay. Things are going awesome – awesomely? – they’re going so great, grammar is unimportant.

Gerard Arthur Way, unfortunate owner of the world’s honest-to-God worst taste in men, has finally found a boyfriend.

It’s a bigger victory than it sounds. Gerard’s grade-school boyfriend left him for a girl – a girl Gerard was totally prettier than, for the record. Gerard’s high school boyfriend had a sexuality crisis in the middle of senior year, punched him, called him a fag, and joined the football team. (Gerard was pretty used to the middle two. The last personally affronted him.) Gerard’s college boyfriends left him for prettier, skinnier, more artistic, more butch, more outgoing, less quirky, less geeky, less addicted to caffeine. Or his roommate. Or his project partner. Or another one of his ex-boyfriends. Eight million men in New York City, a decent amount of which were out and proud, and up until this point all Gerard had managed to find were complete bastards.

“Gerard. Gee. Gee!”

Gerard swung around in his chair and scowled. “Mikey, seriously, what the fuck?”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “I brought you coffee? It’s like ten-thirty, you should be on your seventh cup by now.”

Gerard made little grabby hands. “You’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother, moron.”

“Still.”

“Flattery won’t get you more coffee, you know,” Mikey said, but he looked pleased.

Gerard took an obnoxiously loud slurp of coffee, ignoring the dirty look Vicky sent him. “Not that I’m complaining, but shouldn’t you be working?”

Mikey shrugged. “I’m on break.”

Gerard was pretty sure Mikey spent ninety-percent of his time on break. Mikey worked in IT, at least technically, but it seems like he spent most of the day loitering in Gerard’s department and drinking coffee. Not that Gerard cared, because, hello, coffee.

“Shit,” Mikey said, looking up. “Suarez is coming. Look busy!”

Gerard glared at him. “I am busy!”

“Well, help me look busy!” Mikey flung himself at the nearest computer and started typing furiously. Gerard rolled his eyes. He was probably on MySpace.

Two seconds later, Gerard’s boss Alex poked his head in the door.

“Way, are you down here?”

“Both of them,” Nate said gloomily. “Both of them.”

“And Mikey brought Gerard more coffee,” VickyT added. The traitor.

Alex stared at Mikey for a moment. Mikey stared back.

“Wasn’t me.”

Alex cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s decaf?” Mikey tried.

Alex didn’t exactly look convinced but he dropped his gaze. Even Gerard could admit Mikey had a creepy fucking stare.

“Whatever. Just don’t paint zombies on the bathroom walls this time.”

Gerard gave Alex his best dewy, wide-eyed look. Mikey might be a creepy motherfucker, but Gerard was cute.

Ryland snickered. “Cut the shit, Gee, we know it was you.”

“Can’t be proven!” Gerard pulled his coffee cup a little closer to him. “And you didn’t care how much caffeine I had last Friday when we had to finish all the Powerpuff slides!”

“Those were desperate times!” Ryland barked out in a surprisingly convincing British accent. “And desperate measures were called for, Master Way!”

“Oh my God,” Nate moaned. “Shut up, please, the both of you.”

Vicky continued calmly filling in her cels.

Alex cleared his throat. “Anyway. Gerard, look, the guys upstairs are looking for a new cartoon to add to the afternoon line-up.”

“Yeah?” Wow, that only happened next to never. “Do you mean…?”

“They’re shopping around, but there’s nothing that says you can’t present your idea. If you come up with something, I’ll back you. And since you’re actually in this job for the cartoons, unlike the rest of these clowns, I figured you’d want to know.”

That was true. Gerard had fun with everyone in the department, but he was the only one with more than a passing affection for cartoons. VickyT was doing this to put herself through college, Nate worked part time so he could eat and have running water while his band tried to make it big, and Gerard was pretty convinced that Ryland stuck around to be near Alex.

“I… yeah,” Gerard murmured, mind already furiously thinking away. The Umbrella Academy thing he’d been working on was good, but he’d never meant it to be anything long-term. The Demolition Lovers were probably a little macabre – or as Mikey liked to call them “really fucking creepy” – but Gerard had always wanted to do something with the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse…

“And now that I’ve officially lost your attention,” Alex continued, “I’ll be in my office. Bother me and die.”

Mikey sighed. “I take it I won’t be dragging you out anywhere Friday night?”

“Mike can’t manage it,” Gerard murmured. “What makes you think you can?”

“Speaking of Mike, you didn’t forget you were leaving early today, did you?”

Gerard stared at Mikey for a moment.

Mikey stared back. “Dinner?”

It still took him a minute. Then – “Fuck!” Gerard sputtered. “I was going to surprise Mike with dinner!”

Nate and Ryland started snickering.

Gerard felt to make sure he hadn’t smeared paint all over his forehead again. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Ryland paused. “Well – ”

“Just that you’re going to die alone,” Nate finished cheerfully. “Surrounded by comics. Maybe a cat, if you’re lucky.” Even Vicky giggled.

“I’m allergic to cats.” Gerard could feel his forehead wrinkling. “Why do I need a personal life if work makes me happy?”

“Because getting fucked is a whole hell of a lot better than making cartoons,” Vicky added decisively. Ryland and Nate nodded in agreement. Mikey caught himself from doing the same just in time.

Gerard was weighing how much he wanted to drink his coffee compared to how satisfactory it would be to dump it over Nate’s head.

Alex stuck his head out of the office door. “Ryland, could I see you in my office? I need to have a look at the, uh, Summer League reports.”

Ryland flounced off.

Gerard suddenly needed another latte. Maybe two. Seriously, if Ryland wanted to sleep with the boss, fine, but did he have to yell in a British accent while he did it? Some things were just too motherfucking weird, even for Gerard. “Do you think that could be me one day?”

Mikey blinked owlishly from behind his glasses. “If it ever got that bad, I’d shoot you and put you out of your misery.”

Gerard had never loved Mikey more in his entire life.

| |

Gerard hummed to himself as he the climbed the stairs. He’d moved in with Mike a little over eight months ago and tonight he had a plan, he totally had a plan. Eight months wasn’t exactly an anniversary – it wasn’t like he expected Mike to remember, or anything – but making dinner was a totally cool thing to do, just randomly. Before Gerard’s mom had unceremoniously kicked him out of the house, she’d made sure he at least knew how to make a basic pasta sauce. And Italian was romantic, right? Gerard had even made sure to get all the stuff for garlic cheese bread, which he knew Mike loved and Gerard hardly ever burnt (always a bonus).

Gerard managed to juggle the bags of groceries and the keys successfully, and kicked open the door. “Mike? Mike, are you home, I was just…”

Mike was, in fact, home.

He was also in bed with a fucking supermodel. With Tyson fucking Ritter.

| |

“Gerard. Gee, I never meant – ”

“How long has this been going on?” Gerard asked frostily.

“Fuck. I… just today. I mean, this is the first time, I didn’t – ” Mike ran one hand through his hair. “You know I was shooting the new Dior campaign. Tyson’s one of the top models at the agency, and we’ve… we’ve been working together on it for about three months now. I knew – I mean, of course he’s really fucking hot, right? But he’s from Oklahoma too, and he loves AC/DC and he’s really sweet and funny when you get to know him and –”

“Oh my God.” Gerard squeezed his eyes shut. “Please tell me you’re not waxing poetic about the guy I caught you fucking in our bed.”

“No!” Mike said, horrified. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just.” Mike took a deep breath.

Gerard braced himself.

“I think I’m really in love with him.”

| |

“Dawn of the Dead or Legend?”

Gerard blew his nose.

“Dawn of the Dead,” Mikey said decisively. He put the DVD in before sitting on the couch next to Gerard. “How are you holding up?”

Gerard blew his nose again. “All right. I think. We were just doing so well, you know? Or I thought we were. Fuck.” Gerard sank a little deeper into his hoodie. “I really liked him.”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “You always really like them, Gee. That’s your problem. You think everyone’s basically good and worth loving, and you fall for them right away. Idiot.”

“Hey! Way to be supportive in my time of need, assmunch.”

“I’m just saying. You think all of this would have taught you not to get emotionally involved so easily.”

“I can’t help it,” Gerard said pitifully. He really couldn’t. He was a romantic soul underneath the black clothing and zombie movies and the caffeine addiction. “There are four million men in New York, Mikey. Why can’t I find one good one. Just one!”

“You know how you get weak in the knees and crazy over Doom Patrol?”

Gerard nodded.

“Have you ever felt that way about a guy?”

Gerard made a face.

Mikey sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

“Hey, fuck you! It’s not like you’ve ever been weak in the knees over some guy.”

“I’ve never been weak in the knees over a comic either.”

Gerard blew his nose and tried to glare at Mikey, but it was honestly difficult to do both at the same time. And besides, Mikey might – just might – have had a point. “I guess. I should just focus on work and forget about men anyway, right? I need a ton of time if I want to make that new cartoon.”

“Right,” Mikey agreed, settling back against the pillows. “Sounds like a plan. And I always thought it was weird your boyfriend had the same name as me anyway.”

“Mikey!”

“I’m just saying.”

Gerard tried to pay attention to all of the zombies stumbling around the mall.

“And you’re starting to look for an apartment tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, Mikey.”

“Because ten years in the basement with you was more than enough.”

“I know, Mikey.” Gerard threw the snottiest Kleenex he could find at Mikey’s head. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

| |

Gerard should have known something was wrong with the apartment the minute he saw the flyer. For one thing, it was purple and covered in rainbows and sparkles and looked like it had been made by a kindergartener on a sugar high. For another, it was only a block from Gerard’s work and cost less than what Gerard had been paying with Mike. It looked perfect. Even the outside of the building was beautiful.

He definitely should have been on his guard, because things never went that well in Gerard’s life.

Gerard braced himself and walked into the foyer, hoping that he was presentable and a little less paint-spattered than usual. The guy at the security desk just raised an eyebrow, so he must have more or less passed muster.

“Hi, uhm…” – nametag, nametag – “Zack. My name’s Gerard Way. I was just heading up to 504, to check out the apartment?”

Zack nodded and waved him on. “No problem. Elevator’s just to your right.”

“Thanks.” Just liked someone had timed it, the elevator reached the ground floor with a cheery “ding,” and when the doors opened what looked like a hundred pounds of furball came skittering out and straight into Gerard.

Okay, yes. This was more like Gerard’s life.

Gerard stumbled, flailed, and ultimately fell over, taking what looked like a potted plant from a nearby table with him. Someone was chuckling in the background – Zack, Gerard could only assume – and Gerard was still running through a mental checklist of possible injuries when the dog came back again to nose around in his crotch.

“Christ,” Gerard swore, batting at the dog’s head. “Back off…”

“Hamlet, no!”

Gerard was suddenly batting at the empty air.

“Uhm.”

“Are you all right? I, uh.” Some random guy grinned down on him. “I think Hamlet likes you.”

“Would like to take a bite out of me is more like it,” Gerard bitched. “Do you always let him run people over?”

Mystery Guy’s eyes widened and he looked a little panicked. “No. Uh, no… it’s not my dog. I’ve just been walking it for my neighbor.” He tried a tentative smile. “She just got her hip replaced.”

“Oh, right,” Gerard snapped. “That’s what you say to avoid the lawsuit.” Forget that Mr. Lawsuit had the prettiest fucking eyes Gerard had seen in a long time, and a wickedly sharp grin. And, oh, a lip ring. Gerard was always a sucker for piercings.

“Uhm.” Mystery Guy had the decency to look a bit abashed. “I’m really sorry. Could I get you something? Coffee? Cigarette?”

Shit, and now Gerard wanted both of those like burning. He’d only quit smoking because it’d bothered Mike so much. He was tempted to start up again just for the self-destructive edge of it all.

“I don’t think so,” Gerard said dismissively, dusting himself off and pushing his hair back. “I have to go look at an apartment, so I’ll just…”

The Mystery Guy waved weakly. “Okay.” He looked like someone had just run over his puppy. Except – no, that would have brought Gerard some measure of satisfaction. Gerard stabbed at the button for the elevator sullenly.

“Oh!” Gerard squeaked, and turned around. “Hamlet. I get it!”

Mystery Guy was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a clever name for a dog, that’s all. Hamlet the Great Dane.”

Mystery Guy smiled. “I thought so too.”

Gerard kind of felt like an asshole for yelling at him before, but he was pretty sure if he stayed around any longer he’d do something embarrassing. Well. More embarrassing than falling on his ass and knocking over a plant. “Have a good day?” Gerard stammered, and bolted inside the elevator.

He was pretty sure Mystery Guy was laughing at him. “It was nice meeting you too.”

| |

The man who opened the door to 504 looked like he could cut you with his hips and then make you apologize for getting blood on his clothes.

“Spencer Smith.”

Gerard shook his hand gingerly. “Gerard Way.”

“So,” Spencer said abruptly. “The room is five-hundred a month. You can pay cash, check, money order.” He paused. “Cash.”

“Uhm. Can I see the room?”

| |

It was a closet.

“This looks like a closet.”

Spencer stared at him. Gerard felt something seize up in his chest. “Closets don’t have windows.”

“Ah.” That explained it. Clearly.

“Besides,” Spencer continued, unperturbed. “This is the closet.”

When Spencer pushed open the door to the next room, Gerard thought his jaw was going to hit the floor. “This… is the closet?” It was the same size as his old apartment and it was stuffed full of clothes, not to mention the wall-to-wall shelving filled with shoes and boots, and what looked like an entire Hot Topic’s worth of hoodies.

“How much room do you need to sleep?” Spencer scoffed. “But shoes, they need their space.”

Gerard decided it would have been unwise to mention he’d been wearing the same pair of duct-taped army surplus boots for six years. Then again, Spencer was looking at a pair of white leather loafers with the same love Gerard reserved for mint-condition Star Wars action figures, so maybe he got it.

“Now, we have a lot of people interested,” Spencer said briskly, herding Gerard back into the main living room. “What is it that you do?”

“I work over at – ”

“You work? I like you.” Spencer crossed his arms and tilted his hips. Gerard couldn’t help staring. “Did I mention you’re in the lead for the apartment?”

Seriously. Hips. “Uhm. Thanks?”

Gerard couldn’t even look away when the door slammed open.

“Oh, hey.” Spencer pushed Gerard over to the door. “These are the rest of the guys. Guys, this is Gerard Way. He works.” Spencer gestured towards the tallest of the three. “This is William Beckett. Bill.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

Bill raised an eyebrow at Gerard’s outstretched hand. “You know what’s nice? Paying the rent, that’s what’s nice. That’s fucking awesome, okay?”

Spencer looked like he wanted to slam his head into something. Like Bill’s stomach. “Ignore him. He’s hung-over. Again.”

“Hi!” One of the shorter, darker-haired boys bounced over. “I’m Brendon. And not, like, Brandon, okay? Brendon, Brendon Urie.”

“Gerard Way.”

Brendon’s eyes widened. “I totally had a pet gerbil named Gerard once.”

“A pet gerbil?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure a cobra got it. Or Uncle Gabe, but that’s basically the same thing.”

“Right. Okay.” These people were all insane.

Spencer’s grip tightened on Gerard’s arm. Gerard wondered if he could sense fear. “And this is Ryan.”

Ryan put his hand forward and tilted his head. “Enchanté.”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “Christ, not the ring again.”

Gerard had never actually seen a guy wear a diamond ring before, but considering Ryan also had birds painted in eyeliner down the side of his face, Gerard was willing to bet Ryan did lots of things other guys didn’t do.

That said, it was a very impressive ring. The kind that would take Gerard the rest of his life to buy even if he had a job that paid better than crap.

“It’s beautiful. Are you engaged?

“Oh, God no,” Ryan scoffed. “It would take more carets than that. And scarves.”

This time Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Want a drink?” Bill asked. “It’s what, three o’clock? That’s totally tequila time.” Bill headed for what appeared to be a very well-stocked bar tucked into the corner of the room. “Seriously, anyone want anything?”

“It’s all yours, Bill,” Ryan said lazily.

Brendon looked up at Gerard with wide eyes. “Have you been in New York long, Gee? Can I call you Gee? You don’t seem like a Gerard.”

“Gee’s fine,” Gerard said automatically. “And I’ve been here for about… seven years? Since my first year of college.”

Brendon beamed. “Cool. I’ve been here… a year and a half? Brent wrote me and told me I should come out here, and seriously, seriously, New York is so awesome.”

“Brent?”

“He used to live here.” Brendon scrunched up his face. “We went to school together back home, and he was Ryan and Spencer’s friend, I guess? But something went way wrong there, so just don’t mention it and no one’s gonna get hurt, okay? Anyway, the agency lets us stay here for free, so we rent out the extra closet – ”

Of course it was a closet.

“—for spending money,” Brendon continued. “So now it’s me and you and Ryan Rossy and Spencer-Spencer Smith and Billy Beckett!”

There was entirely too much alliteration there for Gerard’s mental state. “The agency?” he repeated.

“Our modeling agency,” Ryan cut in. “Free housing until our contract runs out.”

Modeling agency?

Like… models?

“Oh my God,” Gerard said faintly. “You’re all models.” It explained a lot. Okay, fuck, it explained everything.

Spencer thrust out his hip. Bill threw back his hair. Ryan – if it was possible – looked even more disinterested. “Yeah.”

Brendon took in Gerard’s fallen face and patted him once on the shoulder. “Oh, but dude, don’t envy us. We’re totally struggling.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think he likes models.” Gerard thought he meant to whisper to Ryan, but it came out more of a stage whisper. Gerard got the impression that Bill wasn’t the type to do much of anything under the radar.

“Oh no, it’s not – there’s nothing wrong with being a model. It’s just. My boyfriend just left me for one.”

Bill froze mid-drink and Ryan started fiddling with his scarf.

Gerard wanted to slam his head into something. Again. “It wasn’t any of you.”

“Oh, thank God,” Brendon said. “Do you know what happened the last time Bill slept with someone’s boyfriend?”

Spencer put his arm around Gerard’s shoulders. “Let’s not scare him.”

“It’s not appropriate roommate behavior,” Ryan said. “God, Brendon.”

“Shut up, Ross,” Brendon shot back cheerfully. “Gerard, I’m gonna get you your key, okay? Oh, and are you vegetarian? Or vegan? On any special diet? I’m mostly vegetarian, Spencer’s currently no carbs, Ryan – ”

“Doesn’t eat,” Bill said snidely.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “And Bill’s on an all-liquid diet. Vodka, tequila, and gin.”

“And on that note,” Spencer sighed. “Welcome to the apartment.”

| |

Gerard wheezed. Six months of no smoking and his lung capacity still wasn’t worth shit. And where the fuck was Mikey, anyway? Wasn’t this what younger brothers were for? Dragging heavy boxes upstairs? Manual labor?

When Gerard finally – finally, oh Christ, maybe he should go to yoga classes with Vicky – reached the fifth floor, there were two guys lurking outside the door.

Gerard groaned. Of course he would move into an apartment with crazy stalkers.

“’Scuse me,” he said quietly, holding the boxes out in front of him just in case he had to toss them and run. But the two men nodded at him and stepped back politely. One even tried to help him open the door.

Gerard tried not to slam it behind him too quickly.

Inside of the apartment was complete chaos. Everyone was running around half-naked and there were piles of clothes all over the apartment, though Bill seemed mostly concerned with stacking empty liquor bottles in the shape of a pyramid.

Ryan was standing in front of the mirror. He might have been frowning. Gerard wasn’t sure. “Does this shirt make me look like I’m homeless?”

Spencer didn’t even look up from the pile of shoes he was sorting through. “Yes.”

“And not in a good way,” Bill added helpfully.

Ryan shrugged. “Maybe with a vest.”

“Gerard!” Brendon bounced over. “Gerard, dude, the navy paisley or the maroon hounds-tooth?”

Gerard wanted to burn them both and never speak of them again. “Uh, the maroon? You shouldn’t wear blue with your coloring.” At least art school was good for something.

“Told you,” Bill said smugly. He grabbed the blue shirt out of Brendon’s hand and slipped it on. There was a solid three-inch gap between the bottom on the shirt and the top of Bill’s jeans. “Fuck yeah.”

Brendon pouted. Ryan had added a grey newsboy hat to his ensemble, and Spencer had managed to find even more shoes to sort through.

Gerard was seriously rethinking this apartment thing. “Uhm. Did you know there are two guys waiting in the hall for you?”

Spencer finished lacing up his boots. “Only two?”

Brendon raced over to the door and threw open the latch. “Back it up, boys!” Spencer and Ryan followed at a much more leisurely pace.

“Not bad,” Spencer murmured.

Ryan twined one arm around Spencer’s waist. “Not great.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and turned back towards Gerard. “See anything you like?”

“Uhm,” Gerard felt a sudden urge to hide. “I’m. Not really into dating right now?”

It was like being stared down by the Children of the Corn. If the Children of the Corn had been supremely attractive twenty-year-old models with bitch faces to rival Mikey’s.

“But they seem nice?” he tried.

Spencer shrugged, and everyone in the room let out a collective breath. “Of course they all seem nice. You have to learn to look past what they want you to see.”

Huh. Gerard might learn something here after all.

“See that guy?” Ryan pointed. “His suit’s Hugo Boss, but it’s straight off the rack. The tie is a Gucci knockoff, and those shoes are between him and Payless.”

Bill shoved his way to the front. With both of his bony elbows, the fucker. “But check him out. Either that’s a jewelry box from Tiffany’s in his pocket or…”

“Oh God.” Brendon covered his ears. “Stop it!”

Bill grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “Dibs.”

Gerard slowly backed away from the door. “So you pick relationships based on clothing and gifts?”

“Instead of what? Personality?”

“That never goes well,” Brendon said darkly, and stalked back over to the couch.

Gerard shook his head. “But… I mean…”

“C’mon, which one do you want?”

“Pick one!” Bill urged, bumping his hip up against Gerard. Gerard almost fell over.

“I don’t think I can afford to go out with you. In fact, I know I can’t.” Not to mention that Gerard felt like a huge fat slob next to every single one of them and their hipbones that could cut fucking glass, Christ. He was going back to his room and reading comics until he woke up tomorrow morning with ink dialogue stamped on his forehead.

Bill looked puzzled. “We don’t pay. We’re models.” Spencer tilted his head to the side, like he was trying to figure something out.

“I need to do my makeup,” Ryan said abruptly. “Bill, do you still have that fuchsia face paint?”

| |

Gerard flopped onto the couch next to Brendon. “When did my life turn into a sitcom?”

“I blame Ryan myself,” Brendon said idly, looking out from behind his copy of Spin. “Oh, hey. You have a really symmetrical nose, did you know that?”

“Thanks?” Gerard wrinkled his forehead. “Why are your ears bandaged?”

Brendon shrugged. “The agency had them fixed. They were uneven.”

Gerard suddenly wanted to hug him. Ryan and Spencer seemed like symbiotic sarcastic bitches and Bill had already consumed a worrying amount of alcohol, but Brendon seemed like a sweet little innocent. Who knew what thoughts the modeling agency was putting into his head! “Brendon, you know really great faces don’t have to be symmetrical.”

Brendon blinked up at him.

Gerard tried again. “Beauty is often in the flaws. In the individuality of each person’s appearance!”

“Dude. I’ll still be an individual with even earlobes.” Brendon went back to his magazine.

Gerard tried to remind himself that this was the most awesome apartment, like, ever, and he would live with Mikey again to get this place if he had to. He could deal.

“So,” he tried again. “Nice view we’ve got, huh?” Their windows look out onto the other half of the apartment complex, all windows and brick. It kind of reminded Gerard of Rear Window, but they were high enough up that there was some skyline too.

“Pretty nice,” Brendon said off-handedly. “There’s this one woman on the floor below us, though. Total slut. I don’t want to see that much pussy, ever, you know what I’m saying?”

Gerard let his head slam up against the window. He might have to rethink that “innocent” thing.

When he realized exactly whose apartment they overlooked he reared back so quickly he didn’t even notice the grease spot he’d left on the glass. It was Mr. Short, Dark, and in Possession of One Particularly Evil Great Dane. Like, a fucking Hell Hound of a Great Dane. Although, Gerard quickly noted, there wasn’t actually a dog anywhere in the apartment. Maybe he’d told the truth about it being his neighbor’s. In which case – that was fucking adorable.

And – seriously, fuck, like Gerard needed a rebound relationship.

“Oh, hey, is that Frank?”

“Who?” Gerard asked dazedly.

Brendon tapped on the window. “Frank Anthony.”

“You know him?” Brendon knew him? Fuck, with Gerard’s luck, it was probably Spencer’s ex-boyfriend, or something, and Gerard would wake up with a knife to his throat.

“He’s a fashion exec. The hottest young guy in the business.” Brendon grinned. “And I mean hottest. You want him, huh?”

Gerard blushed. “How do you know that?”

“The look on your face. I always used to catch Uncle Gabe looking at me that way.” Brendon looked a little dreamy.

“Uhm. Right.” They were verging back into uncomfortable territory again. “It doesn’t matter. I never go out with guys like that. Even if I did date.”

Brendon waggled both of his eyebrows and looked back out the window. “I’m pretty sure even Spencer would go gay for him.”

Gerard paused. “Spencer’s not gay?”

“That’s what he says. I have my doubts.”

Gerard had the world’s worst gaydar, and he had doubts.

“Whatever,” Gerard said, deliberately turning away from the window. “I don’t care if I ever see him again.”

| |

So of course Gerard ran into Frank on the way to work.

And by “ran into” Gerard meant something more along the lines of ‘had Hamlet push him onto the sidewalk and spill his coffee on Frank’s shoes.’

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Frank said solemnly, and pulled Gerard to his feet. “Well, I say that, but Hamlet must really like you to keep doing this.”

“He doesn’t tackle everyone?”

“He tackles fucking everyone, man!” Frank giggled. Giggled, oh Christ, Gerard was so gone. Then Frank leaned in and nodded mock-seriously. “But he only drools on his favorites.”

Gerard really shouldn’t have felt this awesome with dog slobber all over him. There had to be a rule about it somewhere.

“Which, you know, sorry about that,” he continued, finally letting go of Gerard’s hand. “Let me get you another coffee.”

“No!” Christ, first it’s coffee, then sex, then Gerard gets knocked up and Frank runs away with a bar maid. “No-no-no. Frank, man, it’s cool.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “Dude, I don’t remember telling you my name.”

Oh my God, why can’t Gerard ever keep his mouth shut? “But. Of course you did! Because you’re Frank! Because that’s your name!” Gerard tucked his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t flail. “And I’m Gerard. Gerard, Frank, Hamlet. That’s totally how it works.”

“Gerard, huh?” Frank grinned. “I dunno, I’m pretty sure I would have remembered your name.”

Gerard tried not to melt into his shoes.

“Seriously though. Coffee? I was gonna get some anyway. I can’t get through the day without, like, a pot and a half.”

“I’m, uhm.” Gerard pulled on the hem of shirt. Was the dog slobber noticeable? Spencer was going to kill him. “I’m actually late for a lunch date.”

“Oh.” Frank’s smile dimmed. “Well, yeah, you don’t want to be late, so…”

“With my roommates!” Gerard choked out. “A lunch date with my roommates! Not like, a date-date. Like a meeting! Eating lunch! Like, platonic and shit!”

Sometimes Gerard wondered how he manages to get laid at all.

Luckily, Frank was looking at Gerard like he found him more amusing than batshit crazy. Gerard had never been more grateful for what Mikey called his “strangely appealing brand of really fucking awkward.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Frank said.

Gerard stopped himself from saying something like “would you please?” and choked out a goodbye.

| |

The address Spencer had given Gerard was to some quietly swank place that took Gerard an extra fifteen minutes to find because there wasn’t even a name on the door. Everyone already had their food by the time Gerard arrived, and Ryan had apparently ordered something for Gerard that he couldn’t recognize on sight, but which tasted better than the stale poptarts he’d stolen from Ryland’s desk for breakfast, so he counted it as a win.

“And why didn’t you have coffee with him?” Bill asked, after Gerard had made his excuses. “You totally could have ditched us.”

“Bill would’ve.”

“Bill would skip his mother’s funeral to get laid,” Spencer said wryly.

“I would not!”

“That’s a relief,” Ryan murmured, tugging on the end of his scarf.

“… everyone is always totally horny after funerals,” Bill continued. “Duh.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gerard interrupted. “I can’t go get coffee with him.”

“Okay, seriously. Why not?”

“Cause then we’d have sex and I’d move in with him and wind up brokenhearted in a hotel room in Tacoma while he went off with the slut who ran the front desk.” Everyone stared at him. “Oh yeah. It happened.”

Brendon reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gerard muttered darkly.

“Spencer once went out with a girl who thought he was a lesbian.”

Everyone turned to stare at Ryan.

He shrugged. “Just thought I’d share something embarrassing to make you feel better.”

“You’re supposed to share something embarrassing about yourself,” Spencer hissed.

Brendon’s panicked expression clearly read help, please.

Gerard cleared his throat. “Question? If these guys are your dates,” he asked, pointing to the line of men standing at the bar. “Then why do you make them stand over there?”

Spencer glared at Ryan a moment more before making a noise of disgust. “Have you ever had a date with one of these guys? It’s all the same. ‘You look beautiful in that shirt, you look beautiful in this light, come marry me and be the queen of my country’.”

“Spencer tends to get the queen comments more than the rest of us,” Ryan said dryly. “It’s the child-bearing hips.” Spencer shot him another look.

Bill tossed back another shot of vodka. Gerard stopped counting how many half an hour ago, but he was still impressed. “He worked out the you-sit-over-there system. It’s brilliant.”

“He’s brilliant,” Ryan corrected, smiling a little, earlier tiff forgotten. “He turned down a full-ride to Stanford.”

Gerard wasn’t sure which he was more surprised at – Spencer turning down a full ride to Stanford, or Ryan smiling. “You ditched a full ride, really? Why?”

Spencer smirked. “Gerard, sweetheart, look at me. What do I need Stanford for? It’ll still be there when I’m old and ugly.”

Ryan wrinkled his nose. “God forbid.”

“Knock on fucking wood, man.” Bill rapped his knuckles on the table. “Do we have time for another bottle of vodka?”

Spencer signaled the waiter for the check.

Bill pouted.

Gerard peeked at the bill. And almost swallowed his tongue. “It’s a hundred-twenty dollars.”

Ryan huffed. “Its twelve-hundred, moron.”

This time Gerard thought he was actually going to have a fit. “Twelve-hundred dollars?”

Ryan rolled his eyes and pulled the check from Gerard’s clammy grasp. “Relax.” He raised his arm so that the check was visible from the bar.

The line of men who had been half-heartedly nursing drinks suddenly stampeded towards the table. One of them, blond and tan and with some kind of European accent, managed to snag the bill and clutched it to his chest.

“Gentlemen,” he said, bowing his head and smiling, “May I have the honor of taking you to lunch?”

Gerard wasn’t sure how Spencer managed to work his hips that well while sitting down, but he did it. Brendon fluttered his eyelashes and Bill worked on staying upright. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re so sweet.” Ryan’s voice was so deadpan that Gerard choked on his water.

| |

Gerard spent all of the next day watching Frank through the window.

Brendon shook his head. “Dude, I know you say you don’t like him, but you certainly watch him a lot.”

“I’m not watching him!”

Brendon gave him a Look. Clearly, he’d been taking lessons from Ryan and Spencer.

Gerard huffed. “Okay, I am, but not like that. I’m doing it just to prove to you that he has some huge flaw.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m attracted to him.”

Brendon grinned and went back to Guitar Hero. “You’re sunk, dude. You might as well just admit it. Admit you want to have his tattooed, mini-goth babies and move on.”

“I do not!” Gerard insisted.

Brendon started to play ‘You Really Got Me.’

“Seriously! Seriously, there has to be something wrong with him. I’ll show you. Just wait, you’ll see!”

| |

“Aw,” Brendon cooed. “Look at the baby.”

“Brendon,” Spencer said slowly. “Are you making grabby hands at the window?”

“Baby-baby-baby,” Brendon sang, and made grabby hands right in Spencer’s face. “It’s so cute, Spencer Smith! Come to Cambodia and adopt one with me?” He batted his eyelashes.

Gerard threw up his hands. “See? See, this is his flaw. He has a lovechild.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow and pointed back to the apartment. “Then who’s the woman?”

And okay, there was a woman in the apartment. Long dark hair, dark eyes. Definitely pretty, Gerard supposed. If you were into that thing.

“You can’t have a lovechild without a lover!” Brendon squawked, Cambodian babies already forgotten.

This time Ryan rolled his eyes. “Then who’s the guy with the ugly baby carrier strapped to his chest?”

Gerard looked back towards the apartment windows suspiciously. “A little threesome action?” His eyes narrowed. “They probably don’t even know who the father is.”

Bill grimaced. “Eww.”

Spencer looked bored again. “I’m erasing all the TiVo’d episodes of Days of Our Lives. It’s clearly for your own good.”

| |

“Aw, schoolgirls!” Brendon cooed. “They’re so cute!”

“From anyone else that would have been disturbing,” Spencer said. “Try not to say things like that in public.”

“Ooh,” Bill cooed. “Schoolgirls!”

“Put it away, Beckett.”

“Do you remember the last time I dressed up like a schoolgirl?” he asked fondly.

There was a collective shudder. “Yes. Stop bringing it up.”

Gerard ignored them. “See, you think they’re schoolgirls, but really.” Gerard flailed. “Really, they’re underage prostitutes dressed as Catholic girls. Look! He’s giving them money!”

“That’s probably for the candy bars he’s buying,” Ryan said.

Gerard twitched. “Those little whores are good. They even brought the props.”

Bill patted Gerard on the shoulder. “I’m going to go hide all your Frank Miller comics. Obviously you need some time off.”

Gerard tried to run after Bill but couldn’t quite make it. Damn him and his spidery legs.

| |

Gerard spent the next night watching Frank do chin-ups. If that fact that he could do about a zillion and a half of them wasn’t hot enough, he did them bare-chested. And sweaty. And he was covered in tattoos – beautiful swirls of ink that Gerard was giving serious thought to worshipping. With his tongue.

He was so fucked.

Bill clicked his tongue. “I don’t know, Gee. I’m looking very, very closely, and I don’t see any flaws.”

“I have to agree with Bill on this one. He’s perfect.”

Gerard narrowed his eyes. “Straight perfect?”

Spencer actually laughed. “Gerard. He works in the fashion industry. If he was straight, we would know.”

Bill nodded fervently. “I would have tried to convert him.”

“You can’t convert someone to a different sexuality,” Gerard started bossily.

Bill opened his mouth again, but Ryan cut him off with a swift elbow to the stomach. “Do not take that bet,” he hissed. “It will only end in tears.”

Bill rubbed his stomach and started to pout. “You’re no fun, Ryan Rossy.”

“I’ve been telling you guys that for years,” Brendon said gloomily.

| |

The next day Gerard came home to find Brendon running around with cucumbers on his eyes under a sleep mask.

“For exfoliation purposes,” Brendon explained. His sleep mask had “hot bitch” stitched on the front, and Gerard did his best to nod seriously, even though he knew Brendon couldn’t see it.

“Brendon,” Ryan tried, his tone long-suffering, “you could just go and lie down, you realize that?”

“I need to be free! Free, Ryan Ross, like the spirit of Pocahontas!”

“Brendon…” Spencer warned.

Brendon grinned like a hyena and took an exaggeratedly deep breath. “Haaaaave you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon? Or asked the grinning bobcat why he griiiiinned?”

Ryan threw a shoe at Brendon’s head.

“Ow! Motherfucker!”

Spencer finished painting his toenails.

“Exfoliate that,” Ryan said satisfactorily, and Gerard had to walk away before he burst out laughing. He doesn’t gravitate to the living room window purposely. There was just a lot going on in Frank’s apartment tonight. What looked like a small swarm of men in tuxes were moving around tables, setting up a bar, and generally getting the apartment ready for what appears to be a really swanky party. And fuck, but Frank looked really hot in a tux. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, goddamn.

“We could go over,” Bill said off-handedly, hanging over Gerard’s shoulder. “It’s pretty much a win-win. I get free booze, you get to go over and properly introduce yourself.”

“I’m not even invited.”

“So what? We’ll crash it!”

Gerard blinked at him. “In what universe is that not a bad idea?”

Bill rolled his eyes. “This one, moron. Who would keep models away from a party?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

Brendon giggled. “Gee. Gee, you are so into him, you don’t even know.”

“I am not!”

“Oh really?” Spencer waved around a handful of sketches of a tiny cartoon Frank.

Gerard froze. His sketches. The ones –

“Those were in my room!”

“Busted,” Ryan deadpanned, and Gerard sputtered.

“He’s a very interesting looking character! And anyway, even if I did like him, he’s in the fashion business. He probably only dates…” Gerard flung his hand toward the other guys in a ‘you know!’ type of gesture.

“Sluts?” Brendon suggested helpfully.

Gerard sighed. “Models!”

Spencer looked at him for a long moment before smiling.

Gerard’s breath caught in his throat. This was probably what complete and total terror felt like.

“If he wants a model, then we’re going to give him a model.”

And it was, he thought despairingly, probably too late to run.



Part Two