The first time Gerard met Frank, it was nothing ideal, perfect or even something either of them wanted, which at the time was so obvious that looking back on it now, Gerard cringes.

He was this awkward, adolescent, this semi-adult. He was 'The Man in the Basement' and he embraced that label, that tag that the people in town had given him. Gerard didn't leave his house, not often, not frequently. Not on demand or by request, but only when he so felt like it. On occasion, on a very rare occasion, Gerard would wrap himself tightly in black scarves - three at the least, all different shades of charcoal, and a long black trench coat with shiny, plastic buttons, and he would stumble out of his mother's house to wander around the town or quickly make his way to the art supplies store and then back home again. Familiarity.

Gerard was not shy, cautious or modest. He simply suffered from social phobia. His entire life, Gerard was home schooled, was taught piano in his home, and never once made a friend. His first day of kindergarten, as a five-year-old boy, Gerard was kicked to the ground in the sandbox just outside of the school house, until he spat up blood. The bullies never told Gerard why he deserved the punishment, but that violation was enough for his mother to take him out of public school. Gerard was grateful. Gerard also, very rarely stole away from the house. When he felt brave, when he had a good dream, a vision, perhaps, only then would he unlock the chain and deadbolt on the door and venture outside.

Scarved, cloaked and gloved, no matter what the temperature, Gerard would set out in need of paint or canvas. Brushes or palette knives. He'd go on these art supply missions alone. Secluded, even in public. And the timing had to be right. The weather had to be awful so that he knew just when to leave his home. Rain, heavy snow, finger biting cold. Perfect inhuman weather. And, really if it was not for Gerard’s affinity for things out of the norm, he would have never met Frank. Ever.

It wasn't a memorable day. Gerard likes this idea, this idea that he has no clue what the time was, what he was wearing or what his mother was wearing. He just liked that idea that he hadn't submitted to committing every single second of his life to memory because one day he’d meet his soul mate. His memory was awful to begin with. Paint something, and he would forget he even had the idea for it, or what inspired it. But, the day, it was cold, and that's all Gerard can really recall. His mother mentioned that the woman's husband across the street had passed away, and she wanted him to take over a green bean casserole to the lovely woman, and apologize for her loss.

After much debate, an almost thrown fist and a broken wine glass, Gerard's mother convinced him to just take the casserole to The Iero’s house and be done with it. So, Gerard bundled up, despite the fifty-two degree weather, in his three varied, charcoal scarves, long trench coat and kissed his mother's cheek in apology for the glass on his way out.

As an artist, Gerard didn't always understand the many aspects of life, didn't even pretend that he did. The dried and crunch filled leaves that were crying under this boots surprised him with every sound they made, the gravel on the street, freckled the asphalt with a morbid-like beauty; a car accident waiting to happen. And as an ambulance siren sounded a block away, Gerard seriously wondered if somebody had just crashed their car.

Nobody answered the door when Gerard knocked, rang the doorbell and knocked again. He wanted to give up, because that's just what Gerard did. He gave up when things got hard. He quit art school when his teachers didn't, well they really didn't understand the meaning behind his pieces, and he quit, gave up yelling when his mother seemed to be winning. Though, Gerard was glad he didn't give up this time.

"She isn't home. Go away. Go away! NOW!"

Gerard heard the voice coming from the backyard, and cut through the small side of the house, through dying weeds and grass, to find more dead grass and a patch of mud in the middle of the yard, and at the end a large tree with a small house built into the top around gray branches and orange leaves. Nobody seemed to be in sight, but the black checkered blanket on the makeshift window was just dropped, so there really was somebody up there.

"Whose not home? Hey?"

Gerard felt, he felt very stupid not knowing the kid's name or the woman who lived there, seeing as how they had lived across the street for most of his life. He made his way into the yard, the pan's warmth seeped through his gloves the longer he held it. He bit his lip, almost frustrated already. Gerard had no patience, had no heart when it came to his temper.

"Will you please come out? I... I have a casserole," Gerard rolled his eyes and muttered. "The kid's not going to want to come out for a casserole."

"I. I have...," Gerard thought about this for a minute. What kind of things did kids like? "I have, err, candy."

"I'm not supposed to take candy from stranger's you idiot," the voice shouted back, and then the curtains opened. A small boy's face, red and raw showed from the opening, his eyes visibly puffy. He sniffled, and wiped a chunk of unclean, jet black hair from his face. "You want to come up?"

Gerard had never had a tree house before, had nothing better to do, and the kid seemed harmless, so he went up; climbed the stable ladder, and crawled his way inside the small, nature scented box that was this kid's tree house. There was a burgundy sheet on the floor, covered in some dust and grime, the boy in the corner.

He was hunched over in the corner, dressed in all black, other than his suspenders, which were white. His hands were covered by gloves, though the fingers were cut out, showing off his stiff digits. More than half of them seemed to have dried blood on them, but Gerard didn’t ask questions.

"So...Nice place," Gerard mused, looking out the "window" to the yard.

It was dark; some sort of light seeping through the cracks in the wood, but that was all. It smelled like dirt and death in there, but Gerard didn’t mind. It really was nothing special. The boy though, he was something else.

Other than the dried blood coating his fingernails and most of the skin on each finger, he trembled. It wasn't cold, and yet he still shook, and rubbed his eyes hard every few minutes, letting out a small whimper. He was small, limbs short and his hair, though short in the back, framed his face, black and widow-like. He didn't say much, and Gerard realized that that was fine, because his father just died, and Gerard knew that if his father had just died, he would have taken it a lot harder than this kid.

"Um," Gerard hummed, annoyed by the silence. "What's your name, Kid?"

The boy was silent for a moment, just glaring at Gerard. "Frankie."

"'M Gerard. Look, um. I'm really sorry about what happened... Like, with your dad. Are you? Are you okay?"

Gerard tried hard to ignore the idea of vomiting that was forming in the back of his head, not to mention his throat. His hands were shaking, but his gloves concealed that, which he was grateful for. This kid, this Frankie, really needed somebody. Where was his mother?

"I'll live, right? Fifteen, right? I should be fine. Invincible." He seemed to be mocking himself, just reciting something he'd heard too many times to even care for anymore.

"Yeah. But. How are you seriously? What the hell happened to your hands?" Gerard asked as Frankie scrambled with his fingers behind his drawn in knees. The boy shook more visibly now, silent sobs, tears leaking down his face, each fingernail scraping the opposites finger.

"Leave."

"But..."

"Leave. Get out. Go. Now."

"You invited me, I'm not leaving. What's the matter with you?" Gerard pressed.

Frankie's eyes were clouded with tears, and still seemed to burn right into Gerard's face, right into his very soul. The shattered look on the kid’s face was enough to bring tears to Gerard's eyes. A muffled sob filled the small space when Frankie broke their eye contact, and bit his knee. He brought his hand to his mouth, blood, running down his hand into the cotton of the glove, mixing with his tears. Frankie licked away the blood around his middle fingernail and bit, hard.

Gerard wiped his cheek quickly when Frankie looked back up at him, eyes wild now, menace.

"You really want to know what the fuck my problem is, Gerard?" Frankie choked out, around his finger. Frankie kicked out his feet when Gerard said nothing, hitting his knee with a worn Converse sole. Gerard wanted to say never mind, say that it didn't matter, because after this he was never going to see this kid again. Ever. He went against his gut and nodded, slow and unsure.

"Yeah."

Frank paused, and kicked his feet some more, obviously throwing a fit, and threw his fists against the walls of the tree house. "He fucking killed himself. He... told me to go to sleep. He said, he said 'Frankie, you start guitar lessons tomorrow, bud, you better get some rest.' He... He killed himself last week. He's never teaching me guitar, he's never going to tell my mom he loves her anymore. He's not... he'll never take me to my first concert, and he'll never, ever tell me why he fucking did it," Frank screamed throughout the small area between him and Gerard. He threw himself against the wall, openly crying, breath heaving and uneven.

Gerard sat there, completely stunned, shocked, his heart suddenly so cold. This was exactly why he never left the house. Things like this happened. People like Frankie existed outside of his house, and Gerard couldn't handle that. Nothing was supposed to happen this way. In his house, nobody killed themselves, nobody left kid's without their father's. Nobody secluded themselves to a tree house that was barely livable.

But Gerard did. He secluded himself to his basement. He painted and ignored everything and everybody around him. The fact that he never accepted his instability with other human beings bothered him now. Because, there were kids out there like him.

There were kids out there like Frankie.

And on a gut instinct or just because he maybe needed it as much as anybody else in the world, Gerard let Frankie fall into his arms and hug him and just be. Gerard stroked the boy's hair, and listened until Frankie's voice gave out. He talked about how much he missed everything him and his father used to do. He missed his pancakes, and his aftershave and his laugh. Frankie admitted to stealing ten dollars from his father two nights before he died, and not telling him, even at the funeral. Frankie just let go. And Gerard ached by the time the boy sat back up.

"Goddamn, I'm sorry. I'm... sorry," Frank mumbled, pushing himself off of Gerard.

It was dark now, and Gerard hadn't had a cigarette all day, or talked all day. He hadn't said one nasty thing all day and he felt worn out, tired.

"You... Wow, you should probably go home or something'," Frank wiped his eyes, looking out the window. The moon stared right back at him. He looked at Gerard hopelessly. "I'll... I'll be okay."

Gerard shook his head. "No you won't. Not yet, but. Are you going to be up here tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I haven't moved for a week."

"Can I come back?" Gerard asked before he realized the words were even on his tongue, before he even realized he had thought them up.

"Yeah," Frank said, whispered. "Thanks, man."

Gerard climbed back down the ladder and crossed the street, hugging his father, asleep on the couch. Gerard fell asleep that night, watching out his window to see if Frankie would come down.

He didn't.

"How long have you been up here?" Gerard asked, cautiously, though, because he'd been sitting there with Frankie in a silence, and didn’t want to disrupt it. Gerard hated being the first to make conversation. Especially if it was conversation that may not be wanted or even necessary.

Frank was hunched in the corner like he'd been the previous day, clothes still the same, hair still an unwashed mess. He was chipping the dried blood off of his fingers, and jerked a little when Gerard finally spoke. He'd actually forgotten Gerard was there. Frank sat up a little and drew his bottom lip into his mouth, completely unaware that he was biting too hard, that it was swelling.

"Since the funeral," he answered simply. When he spoke yesterday, he was crying, and his voice still whispered. It was whispered now, quiet, subdued. Gerard saw a lot of himself in Frank. Physically they both had extremely dark hair, big eyes and pale skin. Emotionally and mentally, Gerard saw something in Frank that was far too familiar. He wondered vaguely if people saw this broken child in him, like he saw in Frankie. And only after one day.

"How... long ago was that?"

"Four days ago," Frank shut his eyes. Gerard knew he was holding back a rush of tears. The boy's fingernails worked like mad on the flesh just above his knuckle. Gerard made a face at the success of each dig of the nail, and held back his remark of 'You really shouldn't do that.' Gerard had no place to speak. He barely knew Frankie, and telling the boy what to do would probably not earn him any kind of trust. Why Gerard wanted to earn Frankie's trust was almost beyond him. That is, until he looked at the kid. He was so helpless.

"I’m sorry, Frank."

"It's fine. Whatever."

"Where's your mom? If... you don't mind me asking."

"I don't know. My Aunt Claire's house? Maybe?"

"She left you alone?" Gerard asked, with wide eyes.

Frankie just shrugged. "She left after the funeral. I told her I'd be okay. I really like her gone. It's fine. She'll be back this weekend I think," Frank said, nodding, sure of his unsure answer.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Do you see the casserole you left yesterday?" Frank asked snidely.

Gerard looked around the small area around him, but found nothing. Frank pulled the dish out from a box Gerard hadn't noticed before and handed the dish back to Gerard. "Tell your mom she's a great cook. I fucking hate casserole, but..." Frank motioned to the empty dish in Gerard’s hand. "It was really good," Frank said with only a hint of a smile on his face.

"Yeah. I'll uh. I'll let her know. Thanks."

Another silence fell upon Gerard's shoulders, a dull scraping echoing off the water-logged wood as Frank scratched his fingers and bit his fingernails. When he had auspiciously torn off a thin line of flesh, Frankie held his index finger in his hand and forced the blood out of the wound, licking his lips as the red trailed down into his glove. He wiped his finger on his pant leg and then continued his mission on completely making his fingers look mangled.

"Frank?"

Frankie's eyes darted upward to look at Gerard.

"Why do you do that to your fingers?"

Gerard knew he had no place to tell Frank not to do it. He was not his mother; he wasn't even Frankie's friend. The question though, Gerard thought that was allowed, because it really was just a question. Frank took his finger away from his mouth, and planted them safely under his shoes, stepping on them. He rested his chin on his knee for a moment, looking into one of Gerard's shiny, black buttons on his jacket before answering the question.

When Frankie finally opened his mouth, he was still examining the button. "I have CSP."

"Um..?" Gerard shook his head. "I don't know what that is."

Frank pulled his hands out from under his feet and scooted closer to Gerard and removed his gloves. He held out his hands in front of Gerard and showed him what CSP was. "When I'm stressed or... Well, the doctor's say it's because of stress, but I do it all the time. I can’t stop. CSP stands for compulsive skin picking. It's also known as... um. Dermatillomania, but saying CSP is easier." Frank shrugged a little sad. "It doesn't hurt, though. Not physically, anyway. It makes me feel better. No offense, dude, but being around people makes me freak the fuck out," Frank looked up at Gerard a little apologetic with big hazel eyes.

Gerard sighed. "I know what that's like. Um. Ever since I was little, uh. I was kind of diagnosed with social anxiety disorder. I mean, treatment’s pretty much shit, but... I know how you feel. Do you want me to leave, though?" Gerard asked only because he was starting to want to leave himself.

"No." Frank sunk back into his corner, putting his gloves back on his hands. "How do you get diagnosed with a fear of social... things?" Frank asked, folding his arms over each other.

"Heh. Well, when I first started school. I don't know, I was five or something, and we went outside for recess or whatever and these two kids just pushed me down and beat the shit outta me. I puked blood for the rest of the day, it was pretty sick. I still wake up sometimes thinking about it. Like, why would they do that? Why made them choose me to do that shit to, ya know? I just can't be around people. I get sick and just. Scared."

"Well, I'm a person. Are you sick now?"

Gerard ran his fingers through his hair and bit his thumbnail. "No. And you know what? I don't really know why."

"Has that ever happened before?" Frank asked, picking the skin on his bottom lip. Gerard shook his head.

"Why do you keep staring at my jacket? 'S it dirty or..?" Gerard pulled on the collar, feeling very... studied. Frank was caught in the headlights. He hadn't realized he was staring the entire time Gerard was talking.

"I like shiny things," Frank said slowly. "Did that make me sound um, like I have an attention disorder?"

"No. It's fine. Shiny things are nice. The buttons, right?" Gerard asked, plucking one. Frank nodded. "They're nice." Gerard smiled.

"Can I ask you something, Gerard?" Frank asked. "Um. Have you... ever done anything like this before? Like, I mean, its okay if you don’t want to say, because my mom said it’s rude to ask people this, but I mean I don't even really talk to a lot of people. I'm home schooled for Christ sakes, so --"

"--Frank?" Gerard interrupted the rambling boy. "It's fine. Uhm. When I was your age, I actually did do something like that, but not because it was a disorder I had. That's your own thing, Kid. Something you need to get over for yourself. Or not get over. I don't know. But, yeah. I sort of used to do something that wasn't... Healthy, I guess."

"Well, what did you do?"

"I don't want to say. Seriously, Frank I can't. Just, know that I did some stupid shit in my day and you really don't want to hear it, okay?" Gerard begged Frank, both with his eyes and with his hands. "Just, I'm sorry I can't tell you, but you'd regret asking.

"No I wouldn't."

"Yes. you would. Don't argue with me."

"No. I want to know. Tell me." Frank insisted. "I won't be mad."

Gerard stared out the small cut out window of the tree house and took a deep breath. Seriously, there was something he'd done when he was Frankie's age, maybe a little older, but that didn't mean he wanted the kid to know. Gerard hadn't talked about it for a long time, and nobody ever really brought it up anymore, so for the most part, Gerard tried ignoring the fact. He took another breath and let it out slowly, buying himself some time. Frank's eyes were still insistent and nagging.

"I. Tried killing myself when I was seventeen," Gerard whispered to his hands on his lap. The quiet in the tree house had become deafening in less than a second. Gerard couldn't breathe and he really didn't want to have to tell Frankie that. The idea of lying and telling the kid something else only came into Gerard's head the second after he said it.

"I'm sorry, Frank."

Just as Gerard looked up from his hands, Frank's fist connected with his face, his right eye to be exact, and Gerard was taken right back to kindergarten. Except he was older this time, and he didn't have to take this. The throbbing, stinging in his eye made his tear ducts open up and soak his eyes with tears.

"Jesus Christ, you little punk," Gerard moaned. "God, where did you learn to throw a punch?" Because Gerard seriously had only come up here the previous day, because the kid looked harmless.

Frank wasn't having the questions though. Frank wasn't talking. Frank was smacking and hitting every part of Gerard he could possibly reach, until finally he knocked the older man back and jumped on top of him, throwing his fists around. Gerard was in more pain than he thought he would actually be. His nose was bleeding, the wind was knocked out of him with every blow Frank took to Gerard' abdomen, and the blood on Frank's hands really could have been his own or it could have been Frank's. When the kid finally ran out of breath, Gerard pushed him hard in the chest, knocking him back against the wall, shaking the whole tree; threatening it to fall.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Gerard asked around a mouthful of blood. He spit on the sheet and wiped his mouth. Frank was recovering in his corner, shaking and crying.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't... I'm sorry," Frank whimpered.

Gerard wiped his bloody lip, tenderly, wincing with pain. He groaned at the weakness in his stomach and spit more blood on the grimy floor. He wanted to stay mad at Frank for attacking him like that, but. He couldn't. He couldn't stay mad at that trembling kid in the corner. Gerard was heavily reminded of kindergarten, and despite that he couldn't not want to just hug the kid and tell him that it didn't really hurt that bad. Though, that would be a lie.

"You're... Wow. Here." Frank dug around in that box in the other corner and dug out a small towel and handed it to Gerard. "Sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to hit you."

"No? So then, what everything else was on purpose?"

"No."

Gerard took the towel from Frankie and pressed it to his lip and nose, and tried to catch his breath. Frank rummaged through the box some more, and pulled out bottled water and handed that to Gerard too. Frank kept quiet, thinking it was for the best.

Gerard still couldn't be mad at him. He wanted to, because the kid had just brought back that childhood memory that forced Gerard to be silent for almost a year afterward, that kept Gerard home schooled his whole life. He apologized, though, and Gerard kind of thought that maybe Frank simply needed an excuse to pounce on somebody since last week, so he really couldn't stay mad. Gerard sipped the water, a little of the blood mixing in the bottle.

"Listen, Frank. Um. It's getting late. I'm gonna head home."

Frank was still staring at Gerard's shining, black button, not blinking. "I really am sorry."

"I know."

Gerard paused just before he went down the ladder and pulled hard on one of the buttons on his jacket and tossed it at Frank's feet.

"And I'm really not mad."

Gerard went home that night, convinced his mother that he was 'fine, really,' and then he showered, ate (under the hawk eye of his still over protective mother) and went to his room, only to have her follow.

"Who did you suddenly meet that gets you treated that way, huh?" She pestered him, poking a long manicured finger into his back. Gerard's mother had always been protective of him, even more so than of Mikey, Gerard's brother. Mikey didn't have problems at school. Mikey didn't hate people, nor was he afraid of them. Gerard was, though and that got him watched over and looked out for even when it wasn’t totally necessary.

"Mom, I'm fine. Honest. I just. Hit a tree really hard." Gerard thought about that for a second, and technically that wasn't a lie. He had actually hit the tree. With his back, yes, but he'd hit it all the same. His mother didn't buy it, though. She was good for knowing when somebody, especially one of her sons was lying to her; back turned or otherwise. Gerard figures it had a lot to do with body language. Gerard was never good at English of the physical nature or the literal nature.

"Who did this to you? Honey, look at me. Who did this to you?" The unsteadiness in her voice made, forced Gerard to turn around. He hung his head, most of the bleeding already stopped; now just drying to his face. "Gerard? Who did this? Something needs to be done, Honey," she said, stroking back the hair off of his face.

"Mom. I can't. I... I'm fine, Mom. Really. I would have come home a lot more upset if I didn't deserve it, okay? Please, just let me go to sleep. I'm fine." Gerard pulled his mother into a hug to reassure her that really he was just fine.

"No. Tell me who did this," she wailed, pulling away.

"Frankie," Gerard finally surrendered, feeling his heart collapse because of it. He mentally apologized to the kid still up in that damn tree house. "It was Frankie, Mom."

She was confused for all of one minute. "The kid next door? Why would he do this to you? Goodness, where did that boy learn to fight like this?"

"That's exactly what I asked him Mom," Gerard smiled a little wry. "But, Mom, listen. He's a good kid, ya know? He just. I feel really bad for him with his dad... passing away and all. I just think he needs a friend right now, and I want to help him. I can't really explain it, okay? He had reason to do this. The kid needed to let off some steam." Gerard gave his mother one of those looks that was just pleading for her to understand what was happening.

"This boy? He's a friend of yours? Even though he did this to you?"

"I don't know, Mom. I just really don't even know, but I know that he's trying to be okay. I thought I could help him. I'm going back to see him tomorrow. That's okay, right?"

Gerard's mother stood stalk still for a moment, not believing her ears. Gerard could see that she couldn't. Her baby had found himself a friend, and while this friend just beat him up pretty badly, he had him. This was news. This was headline, top story news.

"Well, Gerard you can see this Frankie tomorrow as long as you invite the poor kid over for dinner. And his mother. She's probably sick to death with grief. The least we could do is welcome them in our home."

"That's great Mom, really, but Mrs. Iero isn't going to be home until the weekend," Gerard admitted. "She's visiting with her husband’s sister. She's... taking it pretty hard, I guess."

"She left the boy all alone? What kind of mother...? He'll be here tomorrow for dinner. You make sure of it, or I will."

With that, she left the room rambling on about how she would never leave Gerard home alone. (And she never had before.) She prided herself on keeping her children safe in a place that wasn't so safe. Gerard shook his head and collapsed on his bed. For a moment he just lay there, reliving the anger, the hurt and the pain in Frank's face when he'd hit Gerard. Nothing really had scared Gerard that much since his first day at school. But, even then he kept his face covered so that the other kids didn't see him crying. He did the same as he lied there on his bed.

Gerard trembled and curled sideways into a ball on his bed, not able to get Frank out of his mind at all. Every punch, every swing he took. All the crying the boy seemed to do. The loss and regret both of them shared so deeply. Gerard scrubbed his eyes, working all of the tears out at once; they seemed to want to fall so freely. Gerard shuddered and gripped his pillow, and willed himself to stop crying.

He sat up and looked out the window, the streetlights casting yellow-orange glows up and down the street. This, even though Gerard would never admit it to anybody was his favorite moment after he met Frank. Gerard believes this is the moment he fell for Frank.

From his window, Gerard couldn't see the Iero's back yard, but he could see their front door, and when somebody came from around the house, and shuffled into the house, Gerard knew it was Frank. The idea of him getting out of that tree house, at least for the night, made Gerard feel like the kid had hope. Maybe he wasn't helpless. Gerard smiled for the first time that day, and curled into his bed after he watched Frank's bedroom light go on and then off again after a few moments; he'd gone to sleep. Gerard slept better that night too.

In the morning Gerard wrapped himself in his trench coat and scarves, and crossed the street. He didn't go straight up to the tree house like he had before, but paused in the middle of the yard, wondering if Frank had forgiven himself for what he did to Gerard. Gerard wanted him to, but wasn't sure he wanted to go up and get hit again. So, Gerard looked around his feet and picked up a few rocks.

"Frankie, you up there?" He called, throwing the rock at the boards. Gerard waited before throwing his second rock. "Frankie?"

"What?"

Gerard looked around, because the voice wasn't coming from the tree house, but from a window from the actual house behind him. Gerard raised his hand to shield his eyes against the sun. Frank was in the window farthest to the left, not his room. "Hey," Gerard waved, and squinted his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. You comin' in?"

"If you want me to," Gerard answered, shifting his feet, almost more nervous than he was two days ago when he smelled like green bean casserole. "Do you want me to?"

"Yeah. Go around front, okay?" Frank's voice sounded thick, like he'd been crying, or brushing his teeth. Though, Gerard didn't think the window Frank was at was from the bathroom.

Gerard waited on the front porch, not bothering to knock or ring the bell, because he could actually hear Frank running down the stairs and to the door. "Hey," Frank said when he saw Gerard. "What're you doing here?"

Gerard was confused; Frank just told him to come inside. "Um. You just..."

"No. I mean. I didn't think you'd want to come back after... Jesus, you still have a black eye," Frank grimaced, putting his own hand over his eye. "Why the hell aren't you still mad at me?" Frank mumbled, still behind the storm door, the screen dirty with dust and outside things. Frank's red fingers were barely visible, even as they trailed into his mouth, scraping his teeth along his middle finger.

"I'm not mad at you because I have no reason to be."

"But..."

"Let me in, Frank. I'm not going to hurt you. Seriously. I've seen you fight; I'm not getting into that," Gerard said with a smile, showing Frank just how innocent he could be. Gerard pulled open the door, and followed Frank into the house, only after Frank pulled the storm door shut and then slammed the front door shut. He locked three old, silver locks and turned around. "Room's upstairs."

"Mine's in the basement. It's darker down there. It's more my studio than anything. I paint, and draw and stuff... Oh, God. I'm rambling. Sorry." Gerard blushed behind Frank making their way into Frank's room.

"It's okay. Basements are cool," Frank said, curling into a circular seat in the corner of his room. Gerard had to smile, because Frank really liked his corners, didn't he? "Um, you can sit if you want. I don't... Do you want anything? I don't know how to cook, but like... We have Pop -Tarts," Frank offered with a shrug, pulling off the skeleton glove on his left hand, and scraping his fingernails along the palm of his hand. He examined the red trails of raised skin that was left in the wake of his fingernails. Gerard frowned.

"I'm okay. But uhm. I just came over today to. You want to come over for dinner tonight at my house. You said so yourself, that my mom is a good cook. What d'you think?" Gerard quirked an eyebrow and nodded at Frank, who suddenly went very stiff.

"What?"

"Dinner at my house."

"No. I... can't. Thank you, though. I just can't."

"Why?" Gerard asked, rather confused. "You just said you can't cook."

Frank bent his fingers back on the edge of his seat and shook his head, almost as if he never had any control over it to being with. "I just um. People aren't my thing, Gerard. I'll be okay though. Thank you. I can like. I can make something here," Frank said not making eye contact at all, which Gerard knew was bogus. The kid was lying. That, if anything, made Gerard feel worse, and wanted Frank to be with him more. For dinner.

Frank stood up and paced his room, shaking his head. "No. I can't, I can't," he kept repeating. His fingers were bleeding, slowly from just minor picking and toying with. "Why can't you?" Gerard asked, standing in Frank's way of making it successfully to the other side of the room. With some kind of urge or instinct, Gerard put his hands on either of Frank's arms, pulling them to his sides. Frank twitched, not having his fingers to pick at. He settled for biting his lip, pulling it into his mouth, and biting until his eyes started watering. Gerard couldn’t actually tell if it was from the pain or from the fact that Frank was genuinely scared.

"Listen. Frank, its just dinner. You need to eat, man. It's not going to be a party or anything. Believe me, if it was going to be or if my house was like that all the time I wouldn't be so damn secluded in my basement, but like. It'll just be you and my parents, my brother and me. I know you're scared, I know you are. I'm scared right now. You don't. Seriously, do you feel me shaking?" Frank nodded. "Well, see? Come on, if I can be brave, then so can you."

Frank's eyes were weak and a few tears rolled down his cheek. "Why are you doing this? Why are being so nice to me? You hate people. You just told me you're freaked right now," Frank choked, forcing his arms out of Gerard's grip and wiping his tears away. "God damn," he muttered. Gerard sighed. "I'm being nice to you because... I don't know, Frankie, because maybe you fucking actually deserve it. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone after your father's death." Frank's body tensed at the last few words.

"Shut up."

"I'm just trying to help you." Gerard couldn't hold back his own breaking voice. "I want you to be okay."

"I told you I'm fine," Frank spoke through gritted teeth. "Please don't."

"Look, man, its either I take you over to my house or my mother comes and gets you. That's what she told me," Gerard shrugged. "Take your pick, Frankie."

"Christ," Frank muttered. "Fine. Thanks, Gerard. I don't know why you're being so nice to me, but like... I don't want a pity party, okay? My mom isn't giving me one, why should anybody else? Besides, getting sympathy from people I don't know just. It sucks, dude. You should have seen me at the funeral. My entire family hates me now, because I wouldn't talk to them. I just can't." Frank shrugged, and glanced at his feet, which because he was crying again, seemed far more interesting than what Gerard had to say.

"Don't worry. This isn't a pity party. My mom just really likes cooking for people. I don't really know why, but she's really protective, so you’ll probably be having dinner at my house until your mom gets home. Hope you don't mind," Gerard said, as he fought the urge to wipe away that wet line that was drawn down Frankie's face. Gerard had only cried like that too often. And with nobody to help him dry his cheeks.

"Yeah, thanks, Gerard. Really. I should probably shower before we go, huh? I don't really want to smell like a dirty hippie going to your house. That's rude, isn't it?" Frank asked, and removed his gloves, tossed them to the bed. "Will you please stay until I'm done? I mean, you don't have to stay up here, but... Can you not leave yet?" Frank asked, big eyes hurting Gerard's insides.

"Yeah, no. That's fine. I'll wait; we can go back to my house whenever you're finished. Take your time," Gerard said, nodding like this was no big deal. This was a big deal. This was a very big deal in the sense that Gerard was needed. Just, somebody needed him as much as he needed them. And it didn't hurt to know that the person who needed him so much was a person he could actually stand to be around, despite their differences.

Frank gathered all of his things and told Gerard he wouldn't be long. This left Gerard alone in Frankie's room. The feeling was a weird one. Almost an out of body experience, only in his own room. Or a replica of his room. Frank had comic books scattered all over the place and a guitar in the corner which Gerard frowned at, because maybe Frankie was never going to pick that thing up again. His bed was a mess, which meant that he'd actually slept in it. That was good. At least he rested well. Or so, Gerard hoped. The silence in Frank's room was difficult to handle. The dark blue paint on the walls was covered mostly by posters from rock bands to movie posters. Gerard liked this room. Plain and simple.

"All clean," Frank announced, ten minutes later, dressed in all black, except for his red and white checkered suspenders and red gloves, with the fingers still in tact. His hair was still dripping wet. "Lemme just find my shoes, and we can go if you're ready," Frank dropped his towel in a chair and slid open his closet door in search of his footwear. Black and red Converse sneakers. The silence was still difficult to stand, but only more so, because there was another person in the room. Gerard's stomach began to ache with unfamiliarity.

"Your mom doesn't have some rule about not wearing gloves at the dinner table, does she?" Frank asked, as he wiggled his fingers around clearly showing off his gloved hands.

"No, its fine, Frankie. Gloves are fine," Gerard only half nodded, though his answer was truthful. Gerard headed for the door, as he thought that Frank was ready.

"Aren't you coming?"

"I was... Never mind. Yeah, I'm coming," Frank mumbled. "Yeah, let's go."

"No. What were you going to say?" Gerard held his hand out, heart beating faster than a train.

"Don't," Frank dropped his head. "Never mind."

"You can tell me. Come on. I won't laugh or anything," Gerard was persistent. Frank sighed and closed his eyes. "I was going to ask if you’d hold... if you'd hold my hand, because then I won't rip my gloves off and freak your parents the fuck out. But it's stupid, never mind. Come on."

Before Frank could push passed Gerard, the older boy stopped him, and linked their fingers together, feeling the cotton against his skin. "Yeah, I'll hold your hand," Gerard said, looking directly into Frank's eyes.

Frank needed to know that nothing was going to sound bad or wrong or stupid in front of Gerard, because Gerard didn't know how to make friends. He was just going to do whatever Frank wanted, whether it gave him heavily winged butterflies in his stomach or not.

Holding Frankie's hand, crossing the street, Gerard felt artistic all over again. When Gerard was a child, he'd picked up his first paintbrush and thought 'Oh, this is it' and now he'd strike that idea. This was it. This, holding Frank's hand so that he wouldn't hurt himself made Gerard needed, and more than that, Frankie had asked Gerard to hold his hand. He was wanted. The rough material of the gloves circled his knuckles over and over, brushing the skin, because Frankie was nervous and his fingers wouldn't stop moving. Gerard felt like he was being painted. Gerard felt (and he knows this is silly) whole. Completely perfect. Unafraid.

Frankie took in one long, deep breath and glanced up at Gerard as they stopped in front of Gerard's front door.

"Are you ready?"

"Are you going to let go?"

"No."

Frank looked right at the door and then back at Gerard with determined eyes. "Then, yeah. Fuck it. I'm ready," Frank said, putting his other hand near his mouth, running his gloved fingers over his closed lips. Gerard inwardly smiled at the fact that Frank was going to try. It was more than Gerard could say for himself. Ever.

Gerard pushed open the door, Frankie's hand still curled and rubbing his own hand, and found his father sitting on the couch, watching the news. "Hey Dad," Gerard greeted him. "Um. This is Frank, from next door."

Gerard's father held out his right hand so that Frank didn't have to let go of Gerard, and the two of them shook hands. "It’s good to see you. I'm so sorry for your loss, Son. Your father was a good man."

"Thank you, Sir," Frank nodded, curling his lip into his mouth and chewing, hard.

"Where's Mom?" Gerard asked as his father sat back down.

"In the kitchen; she's losing her mind, that one," he replied, shaking his head.

Gerard led Frankie into the kitchen where his mother and brother, Mikey were making cookies. Or more cookies, because it already smelled like some were baking. "Hey, Mom," Gerard announced his and Frank's presence. As soon as he did, his mother dropped the spoon she was mixing the cookie dough with and made a beeline for Frankie. She hugged him tight, Gerard and Frank's hands releasing their hold on each other. Frank went stiff.

"Oh, you poor thing. I'm so sorry about your father. He was a good man, Sweetie," she said, and finally let go. "Oh, for goodness sake, look at you. You're so tiny. When did you last eat, dear?"

"Mom, that's really not necessary. He's fine. Right, Frank?"

Frank nodded, stepping closer to Gerard as the woman went back to her position behind the counter, mixing the dough. Gerard watched Frankie dig his right hand up into his left glove, and rub hard against the palm of his hand. With the counter concealing them, Gerard pulled Frank's hand away from himself and held it, giving it a tight squeeze. "Mikey aren't you going to say hello to Frankie?" Mrs. Way asked. Gerard immediately looked at Mikey as if he were going to be rude.

"Hello Frankie," Mikey said, running his finger along the inside of the bowl of cookie dough his mother was mixing. Frank simply waved slightly with his free hand, and nodded a little. "Well, dinner will be ready shortly. You boys take some cookies and I'll call you when it’s ready, okay?"

Mikey pushed a plate of cookies in front of Gerard and explained that he would be helping with dinner tonight, because all of his homework was done. "We're having lasagna," the boy's eyes widened.

"Frankie, lasagna is fine, right?"

"Yes, thank you." Frank pushed his hand against Gerard's side, to tell him that if they were allowed to leave, he wanted to leave now. Gerard nodded, and thanked his mother, leading Frankie to his room. He still felt right and even powerful now because he'd touched another human being without asking or being asked to. And there were no objections.

"It’s dark in here."

"I have a light."

"I mean, if you want to keep it dark, I can't tell you to do differently. This isn't my-"

Frank was cut off by Gerard flicking on the light switch at the door. "There. This is what living in the same room for almost ten years looks like," Gerard stated, slowly letting go of Frank's hand so that the kid could look around.

Frank looked at Gerard for a minute with complete contentment and then went over to the desk in front of the small window that looked out to absolutely nothing. "These are nice," Frank observed. He picked up two separate pictures at once done of sketch paper, looking between the two of them. "Who're they of?" He looked back at Gerard who was still at the door.

"Well," Gerard said, going to stand next to Frank. "This is my Grandmother, and this is just a character I created."

"What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one yet."

Frank set down the pictures, nodding. "Oh," he said, and looked up, gripping the chair. His head swiveled, looking at everything in the room, and all Gerard could do was watch Frank and feel sick, feel... studied. "I really like it in here," Frank said and inhaled deeply at the stale paint filled air. "It's close, y'know? Like, my room is fucking huge compared to it in here. Could you lock the door? Please?"

"Yeah. Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just. I feel safer when I know nobody can... can come and find me. I'm sorry," Frank sat down on the side of the bed on the floor and pulled a loose string out of his glove.

"It’s fine. I know that feeling. Its locked, see?" Gerard turned the lock, waiting for it to click. "Um. Cookie?" Gerard walked over to Frank, holding out the plate of cookies. Frank bit the inside of his cheek and took a cookie from the top of the near mountain sitting on the plate. "Thank you."

Gerard sat down and put the cookies between himself and Frankie. For a moment, he just watched Frank eat. His mother was right, Frank was so small, and looked terribly underfed and so sunken in. Pale. He kept his knees drawn in close, like his insides would fall out if he didn't. Gerard remembers sitting like that for most of his life. The similarities between himself and Frank were heartbreaking. The differences were even more so.  

The fact that Frank was so passionate about his father made Gerard look pitiful and small. The way Frank accepted himself no matter what, and still wanted help was amazing to Gerard. His whole life, Gerard had been the outcast, the 'Man in the Basement', and he never wanted help. He never wanted to be with people. Frank eyed the cookies and bit his top lip.

"You can have another," Gerard said, breaking the silence. Frank blushed and stole another cookie and Gerard couldn't really think of anybody who he'd more like to be with.

"Aren't you having any?"

"Oh, uhh. Yeah. Sorry, I was just, um. I was just thinking. Sorry," Gerard stammered, his turn to blush. He looked over at Frankie. "Did you just pocket a cookie?"

"No."

"Then why's your hand in your pocket? I'm not mad. Just."

"It's not a cookie. It’s... Promise you won't laugh? Promise?" Frank pushed Gerard's shoulder. Gerard nodded. "Fine, I promise I won't laugh." He put the rest of his cookie in his mouth and waited for Frank to pull his hand out of his pocket. After a tense moment, he finally did, and in all seriousness, Gerard was expecting something awful, or something of Frank's father's that the kid carried around with him, just for memory.

It was nothing of the sort. It was Gerard's coat button.

"Um."

Gerard was stunned. Why the kid wanted to keep his coat button was beyond him, so he asked. "Why do you have that?"

"You gave it to me. I just. Like I said, I like shiny things, and whatever. It makes me kind of feel better. I don't even know why. Just, it reminds me of you and like it’s easier to sleep, I guess. God. Okay, that was fucking lame, so you know what? Feel free to laugh your ass off now, okay?" Frank shoved his hand back in his pocket, the button disappearing with it. He then pulled the gloves off of both of his hands and just started picking, more with annoyance and temper than anything. Gerard bit his tongue.

"I'm not laughing at you. I didn't even say anything, Frankie."

"It’s just. My dad used to have a coat like yours and I don't know where the fuck it went and so that stupid little button just helps, okay? It reminds me of him and it reminds me of you and its just better when I think about you, okay?" Frank was on the very brink of breaking down, the tears already coming slowly down his face, his hands going positively frantic.

Gerard was hesitant. "Why... me?"

"I don't know. I honestly am not sure. You were like the first one who actually came up to my tree house and listened to me all day and you didn't have to. And. You know, and you don't fake it. Why aren't you as fake as everybody else? If you were, I don't think it would be this easy to talk to you. I'm so glad you're here." With that being said, Frank got to his knees and threw his arms around Gerard's neck, apologizing for being 'so stupid.'

"You're not stupid, Kid. You're just. You need somebody. You're fine. Not stupid. I'm glad I'm helping," Gerard reassured Frank, wrapping his own hands around the kid's back, feeling warmth and his heart slow and quicken at the same time. It was an agonizingly good feeling. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry; I didn't mean to jump on you like that."

"Well, at least you weren't swinging any fists this time," Gerard mused. Frank sat back down, wiped his eyes and found his gloves. "Is it weird that I keep the button?" he asked, patting his pocket.

"No. It's fine. At least you have a good reason, ya know? I don't mind."

The dinner table was uncomfortably quiet, with just the clinking of forks and small thuds of half empty iced tea glasses against the ancient dining table.

The conversation had died within the first few minutes, after Mikey had explained that school was fine other than some project in history class, and that Sarah had actually spoken to him today. Mikey was the one who actually broke the silence with a heavy sigh halfway through his salad and asked Frankie why he never saw him at school.

"Home schooled," Frank answered simply, glancing at Gerard first.

"Gerard was home schooled too. How nice that you two have that in common." Gerard looked at his mother with a bored, yet disbelieving look; she really didn't just say that. And yet, her rambling about how while its good for the more shy kids to get associated with others, its far better for them to feel comfortable at school, rather than suffocated.

"...Right Frankie? Is that why your mother home schools you?"

Frank stabbed his lasagna. "Um. Kind of," he nodded.

"You don't talk much, huh?" Mikey asked.

Frank shook his head. Gerard kicked Mikey's foot under the table without either of his parents realizing what he had done. And when dessert came around (even more cookies plus coffee) Gerard's jaw dropped when his mother made the offer of Frankie maybe staying with them for the evening.

"Gerard says that your mother wouldn't be home until the weekend. Well, that's two whole days from now. Wouldn't you rather stay here than be all alone at your house?"

"...Um," Frank made a small noise in his throat and then looked at Gerard who kind of shrugged, because seriously, she really just asked that? "I don't want to impose, Ma'am."

"Oh, no imposition, Honey. You can camp out on the couch, or Gerard's room. We have a camper bed, sleeping bags. How's that sound, Sweetie?" She smiled at Frankie and then at Gerard.

"I guess, um, as long as Gerard doesn't mind. I don't want to -"

"It's fine. I don't mind."