Archive of Our Own

Frank sighed, heavily, a hand braced against the wall next to him in the bathroom. He stood over the toilet, trying to drain his bladder - again, for the third time in about twenty minutes. They were going on stage soon, and Frank couldn’t calm his nerves for even a second. He wasn’t used to this feeling before a show, even if it had been happening more and more recently. He tried not to think about it, but his body only allowed him to ignore things for so long. His anxiety was transferring to his bladder telling him to void more than he needed to, for sure, and another layer of concern compounded inside of him as he flushed the meager amount of urine down the toilet. It was almost inevitable that he’d feel like he needed to go while he was on stage, and while it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that had ever happened, he felt much less equipped to deal with it tonight. 

Really, what he wanted to do tonight was go back to the van and put on his headphones and wrap himself up in the soft blanket he had folded up under his pillow in his bunk. He and Gerard usually cuddled up beneath it, it always smelled like him. Washing his hands, Frank stole a look at himself in the mirror. Beneath all the stage makeup, he could see his actual pallor peeking through. His uniform was itchy and warm, even before the lights and heat of the crowd. He groaned to himself, a foreign feeling of wanting their set to be over quickly washing through him. 

He hated when he felt like that. This was his fucking dream, so many other’s as well, and he was the one lucky enough to be living it. And yet, sometimes - a lot more times than not, lately, if he was being honest, which he really had little interest in being - he hated it more than anything. It shot cold and frozen terror into his heated veins. The idea of there being an unfathomable number of people in the crowd before him made his bones freeze up, made him nearly forget every chord progression he ever knew. He longed for the shitty, dirty basement shows in Jersey. The ones where you knew almost everyone who stumbled to the door, where you recognized each crowd surfer by the bruises they’d come back with from the last show, where you could hang around after and have a few beers and make a few bad decisions and no one would look at you twice. Frank longed for the eyes on him, but he longed even more for the invisibility that he used to be able to sneak back into after he was done.

Now? Now, all these people knew who he was. They knew he was back here, they were waiting for him with chests swelled with emotion and bated breath. Excitement fizzling through their veins for this broken man who couldn’t keep himself out of the bathroom for longer than ten minutes. Frank knew he wasn’t the man all those people thought he was. He was a liar and a disappointment to all of those kids, the kids who he knew looked up to him. A fucking fraud. And all these people had questions, some were innocent and others not so much. Everyone always had something to say to him - an opinion, an accolade, an observation, an offer. It made his head spin just thinking about it. He hated navigating this. 

He longed for anonymity in the in between spaces of time. He felt the most uncomfortable during transitional periods, he always had in his life - the waiting for it was what always killed him. Some might call that impatience, but Frank knew it more intimately than that. It wasn’t that he felt like he needed everything to happen at once, it was just his mind ran away with all of the possibilities the situation could go before it had the chance to unfold in front of him. And his mind always sent him on the strangest tangents, ones where he got kicked out of the band, where Gerard told him he hated him, where he’s sitting in an office somewhere in a paper gown being told the words “you’ll never play again”. 

It was irrational, and he knew it. But that didn’t stop it. It didn’t make his mind quit turning every situation into the worst possible outcome it could muster.

Once he made it to the stage, once the lights came on and Gerard’s beautiful voice began ringing out into the glittering darkness, only then did Frank find peace again. His hands remembered how to move, where to go, his body would glide effortlessly through the set, but the after effects would be catastrophic. He would be absolutely drained the moment the lights went down on the stage, feeling like he could flop over boneless and need to be carried off the stage. He usually made it back to the bus before breaking completely. 

He could usually fly himself under the radar. No one knew what was going on inside of himself, the unyielding and uncracked exterior he’d constructed for himself. No one knew how he was falling apart, and he tried to take comfort in that. Even if deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. Usually, no one paid him any mind. Usually, there were no comments about when the last time he’d showered was, they were all kind of gross on tour anyway. No one talked about his shitty eating habits, about how much time he’d been spending sequestered in his bunk. Usually, Frank felt like he was keeping things together pretty well. 

Usually. 

There had been one incident where Gerard had found him dripping naked in the shower of the dressing room, ass planted on the dirty ground, back pressed against the slimy wall, folded against himself with knees drawn to his chest and trembling arms wrapped around them. He hardly remembered how he’d gotten there. He remembered getting in the shower, washing off the sweat caking his skin from playing, and the next thing he knew he was frozen in place on the ground, the steamy air choking his lungs. He remembered Gerard calling out to him, asking him if he was going to be long or if he needed company in a jovial, post-show glow voice. Frank hadn’t been able to answer, and he could almost feel the shift in Gerard’s demeanor to concerned seeping through the crack under the door. He had wanted to speak, wanted to snap himself out of it and get the fuck up and tell Gerard he was fine now through gritted teeth until sleep found him, if it ever did. He’d been unsuccessful, and Gerard had come inside. He’d stripped his stage clothes quicker than Frank had ever seen in his life, throwing his limbs into the shower before the rest of his body. He’d crouched down in front of Frank, taking the brunt of the now cold water spraying from the shower head. The absence of the sensation made Frank feel a little better immediately, Gerard’s proximity certainly helping as well. His voice still felt like it was dead in his throat, and though he opened his mouth to answer Gerard’s questions, all of his words dried up against his tongue. 

Gerard seemed to realize what was going on, just nodded in some kind of understanding at the fear in Frank’s eyes. He’d adjusted the temperature back to warm and helped Frank get cleaned up, and Frank felt like a child. He felt like he wanted to cry, tears wet and dripping just like the shower spray. He wanted to cover his ears up like a child, press in with the heels of his palms, to try to get some of the buzzing ring that was always left over after shows to quiet. He barely remembered getting back to the bus that night, letting Gerard take over complete control of him and his safety. He had no idea where he’d even gone, mentally, it was like his mind had just burnt up and fizzled out for the night, worse than any night blurred out by alcohol or weed. 

That had been a week and a half ago, and each night had only taken more and more from him since. Frank didn’t want that to happen again. He was honestly terrified of that happening again. The past few nights had felt worse than ever, and Frank really wanted to chalk it up to the exhaustion that they were all feeling, but he knew deep down that it was something more. 

The rest of the guys weren’t reduced to a shaking and sobbing mess both after and sometimes before the shows, and they were all exhausted too. Frank knew his body better than that, he knew he was going to have to actually do something about this sooner or later. Probably sooner, if the jumping of his pulse and the heavy weight in his chest was anything to go by. 

His reluctance was a palpable weight in his stomach. He was no stranger to medications, that wasn’t really the problem for him. He’d very eagerly put anything in his body if a doctor told him it would help him feel better. Maybe he was too trusting, maybe too desperate. It was nothing to him to rattle around with his case of stomach and sinus medications and other such things - medicines that were not inherently desirable or particularly fun. The kind of meds he knew he fucking needed were the exact opposite of that. He knew how easy it was to fall victim to the incessant pull of them, he’d seen it happen firsthand. 

And he couldn’t bear the thought of hoarding a supply that close to Gerard. Gerard was very often the one who remembered to grab his little bag of pills, the one to peek in and check if anything needed to be refilled or replenished if they were going to be stopping. Frank was thankful, it was kind of nice to have someone else helping him worry about himself. It was so easy to get caught up in all the things that were going wrong than it was to focus on how to make things go right a bit easier. He had Gerard for that now, and he desperately didn’t want to let that go. But he’d have to, if he decided he couldn’t handle this on his own. A hot flare of anxiety licked into his chest, hotter than it had been before, at the thought of Gerard seeing a new bottle added to the roster - a shiny cylinder of benzodiazepines just asking to be popped into his mouth like candy. And he wouldn’t do it, no, he would never take something that he knew Frank needed, but Frank couldn’t stand the thought of placing that temptation in front of him day after day. 

Even Mikey kept his med use from Gerard now, it was kind of unspoken. He was sort of keeping it quiet from everyone, so Frank was losing that connection as well. He wanted to ask Mikey for a pill or two, but then he didn’t want to have to hold them, waiting for the inevitable. But then, in the moment when he did need them, desperately so, he could never bring himself to. He either didn’t have his voice anymore, or he was tangled up in Gerard and his bedsheets, sweating and unable to move, and certainly not about to ask Gerard to get some for him. Especially if Mikey was making it seem like he couldn’t trust Gerard with it - they shared everything. 

And beneath all of that, he was terrified for himself as well. What if the feeling of being numb, blissed and blunted out, became too addicting to him? He liked to smoke weed, and he felt twitchy if he didn’t have a cigarette on hand, his fucking body was covered in ink - it was easy to tell he had an addictive personality. He didn’t think his body could handle another addiction. He definitely couldn’t handle Gerard dealing with him through that. He didn’t want to fall down the slick and rocky slope of an actual, life threatening, scary addiction, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to resist that ugly beast. He was feeling so strung out, so weak and unable to fend for himself, a timid fawn without its mother, that he knew it would sink its claws in deep, gnash its teeth against his neck to swiftly tear out his jugular, leaving Gerard covered in the spray of gore. 

“Hey, Frankie?” Gerard’s gentle voice broke him from his thoughts, red streaks disappearing from the mirror in front of him in the blink of an eye. “You okay in there, sugar?” 

Frank cringed. He had truly no idea how long he had been just standing in here, staring at himself in the mirror and letting his mind carve a hole into the floor as thoughts retraced their steps around and around. He reached deep within, knowing he needed to find his voice, he needed to use it tonight still - the show hadn’t even started yet. The muscles in his neck felt taut, stiff. 

“I’m good, Gee, yeah.” Frank said, hoping his voice sounded strong and not as breathless as it did against the stuffed feeling in his own ears. 

“Are you sure? Ray said he knocked earlier and you didn’t answer at all.” 

Frank closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror anymore. He hadn’t heard Ray knock at all. How had he been that far gone? 

“Sorry, I - uh, my stomach is weird.” Frank lied, knowing karma would come back for him sooner than he’d like it to, but taking his chances anyway. Frank could imagine Gerard blinking at the closed door in his silence. “Not like…uh, that. I guess I was just, um, focused.” 

Frank felt dumb, what a stupid excuse. What, he was busy shitting so he couldn’t answer a knock on the door? Okay, that made sense. He bit his lip, trying to keep the sudden urge to cry bitten back. He couldn’t understand his emotions at all, they were making it feel like he couldn’t breathe. Everything was so much, clattering and pounding against his senses. His jacket felt stiffer than usual, like he might crack the fabric if he bent his arm too hastily. It was hard against his neck, where it brushed against his bare skin. It felt like it was slicing into him, leaving fine shallow slices in his skin, barely separating it but stinging terribly. It made the skin between his fingers itch, and he couldn’t explain why. 

“Oh, Frank, I’m sorry.” Gerard mumbled, easily accepting the excuse. Frank felt guilty for hiding the truth from Gerard, it sent a hollow pit into his stomach. “We have your meds if you think you need some.” 

Tears did start to fall when Gerard said that, his voice so gentle and caring, so ready to make sure Frank was as comfortable as he could be. He just wished the medication he actually did need right now was available, was easier for him to get his hands on, didn’t come along with so many fucking bright red strings attached. He wished it could be just as easy as it was for Gerard to slip him a pill into his palm, he wished he didn’t feel like he had to suffer to keep Gerard safe. 

And that brought even more crashing guilt. It nearly choked him. Who the fuck was he to get so hung up over having to do one thing for Gerard? When Gerard practically poured his very heart and entire soul into Frank every single day. Frank could never measure up, it was so clear to him now. This was going to start driving a stake between them either way. 

Frank would sooner pick it up and drive it straight through his own heart rather than Gerard’s, no matter how many times he’d sang about doing the opposite. 

“Yeah. Be out soon, promise. Sorry.” Frank could hear the breathless quality in his voice tenfold now, his breaths echoing across the tiling of the tiny room. 

“Okay.” Gerard spoke quietly. “We’ve got five until call. But I can stall for a little if you need.” 

Frank sighed, listening to Gerard’s footsteps walk away. A new shiver fell down his back at the tiny amount of time left until he needed to face this. Frustration arose again along with a familiar pang in his bladder. He did this every single fucking night for god’s sake, why did it suddenly have to start reducing him to a sweating trembling mess like he’d never held a guitar in his life and was being forced on stage against his will? 

He was running out of time. And he wasn’t going to make Gerard take the blame for him, or whatever he was planning on doing to stall. He was staring down the barrel of their performance and he had no other choice but to move forward. He certainly wasn’t sitting out the show. It was way too late for that now, and he would rather skin himself alive than leave his bandmates hanging. Violence permeated his mind, unable to drag himself back up from it. 

He shook himself off, zipping his pants back up with a grimace as his fingertips brushed the uncomfortable fabric. He could feel the sensation shooting up into his elbows. He shook his hands desperately for a moment before washing them, scrubbing to get the texture away. Frank tried to take a steadying breath before he opened the door and forced himself to find his way backstage. The monstrous thought hung in the back of his head that he was in for an awful night once the adrenaline from the show was sapped from his veins almost as quickly as it would be shot in once he started playing.

The breath got caught in his throat, traveled from his lips as sob. Frank just wanted to enjoy himself again. Why was that so fucking impossible? 

--

He had his guitar around his shoulders, a heavy and comforting weight pressing against his neck and torso, hanging protectively over his stomach. It had been tuned to perfection, ready to hit the stage. He just wished he could say the same thing about himself. He felt like he was a guitar strung too tightly, one turn of the pegs would send him snapping, edges sharp enough to snare the skin. He could feel his fingers tightening around the neck of his guitar, making the strings squeak just slightly beneath his calloused fingertips. He was trembling, shaking with the idea of how many pairs of eyes were about to be on him, warring with himself over why that was even bothering him in the first place. It never really had before. 

But it was almost inevitable that the anxiety from after the shows would trail its way into the spaces before as well. Frank was running out of places where that crushing feeling didn’t seep in and nearly take the breath right out of his lungs. His stomach twisted. It was almost time to get out there, no looking back, and this was the hardest part. It wasn’t remembering all of the notes and lyrics and where he needed to be on stage and when. No, it was making his feet move one in front of the other in the direction of the stage with everyone else, and not turning and sprinting like he desperately wanted to. The want formed a deep core in his stomach. It made him either want to vomit or allow it to swallow him whole, just consume himself from the inside, some kind of backwards supernova. 

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on the small of his back. He looked to his side to see Gerard, smiling cool and gentle down at him. Frank tried to return the gesture, but he could tell his facial expression looked strained by the way Gerard’s shifted. 

“You doing alright, sugar?” Gerard’s question was so open and earnest and Frank wanted to be honest, he knew Gerard was expecting him and relying on him to be. But. 

But he’d be okay, just for one more show. He could talk to Gerard about it after the show. Okay, or in the morning more realistically, when he woke up from a fitful night of sleep tangled alone in sweat damp sheets. He’d get a cup of coffee and talk about it with him then. If he was awake. And if Ray and Mikey weren’t. 

It was becoming less and less likely the more he thought about it. He could handle this on his own, anyway. He was just having some stupid sort of stage fright. Cold feet. He knew that was it, and he would be over it as soon as the lights went up. 

He hoped. 

“Frank?” Gerard’s voice was more serious now, and Frank realized he hadn’t answered. 

“Yeah, I’m good, sorry. Just thinking about something Ray and I went over.” Frank lied through his teeth and the guilt made his bones feel swollen. He hated lying to Gerard, it just came so second nature to him, the half truths about his well-being slid so easily over his tongue. 

Gerard reached down and squeezed Frank’s hand that was dangling at his side and not clutching the neck of his guitar. Frank tried to squeeze back in a reassuring way, but he could feel the tremble in his fingers. He hoped he’d be able to strum in time. 

Of fucking course he would, he was going to be just fucking fine once he got out there. 

That was what he kept telling himself, anyway. And if he said it enough times, it was going to become true. He could manifest it into existence. 

Soon, there were other hands on him as Ray and Mikey joined their side. Frank relished the group hug before they went on, it made him feel both whole and an irreplaceable part of something. He wanted to stay in this moment, selfishly wished he could somehow find himself curled and cuddled up with each of them when he felt like this, letting the weight of their bodies press away each feeling of insecurity.

The embrace was over much too quickly, Gerard dropping Frank’s hand at the absolute last moment before they all began the short walk to the stage. What should only have been a few steps felt like a marathon to Frank, seemed to stretch on ahead of him impossibly. He was unsure how his legs were going to make the journey, his exhausted body already weighing him heavily down. His head throbbed, reverberating all the way down to his hollow stomach. He had made the conscious decision to stay away from the catering that had been in the dressing room. He’d be mortified if he lost control of his stomach on stage in front of fucking everyone. 

Okay, that wasn’t something he should be thinking about. It was making terror lick through his veins and it wasn’t even going to happen because he had made the right choice this time and skipped dinner. He could get something later. Or, probably, breakfast. 

Breakfast was starting to sound like something magical to Frank. Like somehow the next morning things would be new and fresh and not feel so claustrophobic and overwhelming over a glass of orange juice. Like somehow he’d be able to fully explain his feelings at the bottom of a mug of coffee and find a solution inside of a bagel smothered in peanut butter. He was just setting himself up for disappointment. 

Somehow, he found himself at his place, waiting in the tenuous quiet for the lights to come up on Gerard so the show could begin. The crowd was cheering, screaming really, at the sudden darkness of the stage and their surroundings. Frank could only imagine the things that were creeping in around him, taking up all of his personal space and sucking down the oxygen that was intended for his lungs. A tenuous hush spread as the darkness lingered before the spot snapped on above Gerard. Screams anew and Gerard was singing and they were off. 

Frank almost immediately flew into autopilot, knowing the setlist by heart. He was glad for it, too, because his movements still felt stunted. It felt like he was telling himself what to do through a tunnel, through two soup cans connected by a string. He fell into the motions of moving around the stage, throwing his body into thrashing movements. He had hoped that forcing the motion of his body might burn off some of the anxious energy fizzling inside of his veins, but if anything, it made it worse. It felt like he was rubbing together flint and stone beneath his skin, sparks flying and trying to catch, stinging every time. 

He knew he was hitting the notes, knew he was doing everything the way he was supposed to be, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow inherently wrong. It felt like he was playing the songs transposed up a few steps, even if it didn’t sound like that. He wanted to crawl out of his skin and start over. Have them all get off the stage and regroup and come back on like nothing had happened. He knew that was impossible. He couldn’t even tell what song they were playing, only that he was bent completely over his guitar, following Ray’s lead from the other side of the stage. 

He felt like he wasn’t giving it his all, and the guilt burned. It left a shining feeling in his chest, a slippery and evasive one. One he wanted to reach up and rub away, with a flat hand against his sternum. He couldn’t move his hands from his guitar though, they were firmly in place, and he knew if he moved even a bit it would be impossible to glue them back where they needed to be. His arms would wrap around himself and hold tight in an effort to keep himself together, to keep himself from crumbling into a pile of dust in front of a crowd of a million people. 

Their set couldn’t end fast enough. 

That thought sent the guilt to swell and compound in his stomach and chest. He just wanted to lie down. Even though he felt like that was all he was fucking doing lately. The three walls and one curtain of his bunk were the most familiar things to him in the past few months. If they weren’t playing, he was sequestering himself into the tiny nest of comfort he tried to bring himself. It hardly worked, but what else was there for him to do? He was more exhausted if he forced himself to be social and interact, even if he still found himself bone tired anyway. Exhaustion was something he had always dealt with, even since he was young, but it was only getting worse and worse. He skipped out on exploring downtown strips near venues, shitty dive bars with Ray and Mikey, museums with Gerard. He didn’t even go to record stores anymore.  He felt like a husk of himself no matter how much sleep he got. He was feeling himself slip away. 

And he was pushing Gerard away as well. 

He felt like he couldn’t control it - he didn’t want to drag Gerard down into whatever thing he was going through mentally. Gerard’s hold on his own mental state was tenuous at best, and he didn’t need Frank weighing him down further. Something inside of him told him Gerard would vehemently disagree, but that wouldn’t make him open his mouth any more. 

He needed to snap out of it, bring himself back into the moment of reality. He was sure he was up there looking dumb, not thrashing like he usually did, bringing their whole energy down. He half wanted to throw himself onto the ground, writhe around a bit to try to save face, but he felt like if he got down he would be stuck there. His limbs and joints would lock up and freeze into place, rigor mortised like a corpse, unable to get back up, unable to move his fingers across the frets anymore. 

Ray was making his way to Frank’s side of the stage, Mikey looking on while Gerard was leaning off the edge of the stage to reach into the crowd. Frank could feel his heart beat in his ears, he could tell by the look in Ray’s eyes that he wasn’t just coming over to jam with him for the end of the song. Guilt swelled more in Frank’s gut, making him feel full and queasy and uncomfortable. He gave up on backing vocals in favor of taking a deep breath, trying to settle himself. His stomach cramped up, felt starchy and tight inside of him. But he was going to be fine. It had to be almost over, right? Frank wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t even sure what song they were playing at the moment and that was a terrifying realization. 

Ray was closing in, and usually his presence was comforting, but tonight it felt like a death sentence. It felt like he was breathing up all of the air around Frank, leaving none left for him to suck up into his lungs. He couldn’t fucking breathe. He was finally breaking. All day, he’d more or less kept himself together, and now he couldn’t even keep himself glued up over his biggest and most successful distraction. His hands started to shake as Ray approached his space, leaning over and whispering something in his ear. 

It wasn’t unusual for them to talk to each other onstage, wasn’t unheard of for Ray to come whisper something to him - a reminder about a chord change they’d made, telling him if Gee had decided to cut or move a song in their setlist, sometimes even cracking a snide joke about Gee’s ass in his stage clothes - but tonight it felt leaden. 

“Are you okay, Frank?” Ray asked, his voice clear and loud in Frank’s ear even over all the other sounds in his ear piece. 

Fuck. 

He knew he wasn’t acting his normal self on stage, but he hadn’t thought he was being so obvious. He was sure that if Gerard was looking hard enough, he would notice, but he had hoped he was keeping it close enough to his chest that the others wouldn’t. He should have known better. Now, he was sure that the entire audience could tell that he wasn’t feeling right. And it wasn’t even that he was fucking sick. If his body had decided to betray him in that way, he would have almost been able to make peace with it. The failure of his mind was something else entirely. 

He felt like he should be able to control that more. What the fuck did he have to be so upset about anyway? Sure, he had to get up in front of thousands of people almost every night, but he’d been playing his entire life. This was his god damn dream and now that he had it, it terrified him to think it wasn’t right. He wanted to fall to his knees, crumble and crash and go completely catatonic. 

“Frank.” Ray said, eyeing him up and down. He realized he hadn’t answered. 

He went to open his mouth, but his diaphragm constricted suddenly with horrible and undeniable nauseous tension. Frank had no warning before bile was heaving from his mouth, stringing out from his nose with the force of it. It burned up his chest with an awful choked sound, and landed in a sickly splatter puddling between his feet. Another gag was leaving his throat before he even stopped strumming, vomit hitting the back of his hand and undoubtedly spilling over his guitar strings. 

Hands quickly braced over his mouth, Frank couldn’t get off of the stage quickly enough. He wanted to tear the guitar off of his neck, the clothes from his skin, the skin from his fucking body. He felt like he was absolutely on fire. He didn’t care about the screech of feedback as he raced across the lines backstage. He knew he was running now, sprinting offstage and into the backstage area with his guitar still on and plugged in, but he couldn’t stop. He knew Gerard was probably hot on his heels, following the outburst onstage. Frank felt like he might have just a few moments, Gerard wouldn’t be able to leave the stage right away and leave the audience hanging, no matter how badly he may have wanted to. Frank felt so terrible, he had wanted to get through this without inconveniencing everyone, but he should have known better. He was losing his grip on pretending he was okay, it was slipping away further and further each time. 

He had no idea where he was heading. Back to the green room? The bus? Just a random dead end in a hallway where he could sit and bury his face between his knees and hope that everything around him would disappear by the time he could breathe again? He knew he wouldn’t possibly be lucky enough to run across a bathroom nestled into the hallway. 

He unplugged his guitar with a ravenous tug, leaving the thick cord trailing behind him. He yanked out his earpiece, and disconnected his lav mic before tossing them both to the ground in his wake. He didn’t care about the bill to replace it if it shattered on the way down. He knew he’d be leading Gerard right to him with the trail of tech stringing behind him in wires and cords, but he didn’t care. He needed everything off of him. It was starting to feel like it was all tangled up around him, strangling him harshly at the throat. He wanted to tear his jacket off, too, but he didn’t want to leave his guitar unguarded in the hallway.

He continued to scurry down the hall, hearing feedback and Gerard’s voice over the speakers echoing distortedly back to him. He had no idea what was going on. He felt like his chest was harboring flame, a forest fire lighting through his veins with ferocious tenacity. It was taking the air from his lungs, making him gasp and choke, his guitar an albatross around his neck, dragging him down. 

His legs quit working, his knees gave out. Frank had no clue where he was, or how he’d found himself there. He could feel breathless tears tracking cool down his face, smudging his makeup. It took everything he had left in him not to smash to the ground on his hands and knees, and crush his instrument beneath him. His knees took the brunt of the contact and stung. He was sure he’d have bruises later. He held himself up with sheer willpower before he forced himself to sling the strap over his neck and off of his shoulder. He had almost hoped he’d be able to breathe a little easier with it off of him, but that was not the case. He all but crawled to the hallway wall, carefully leaning his guitar against it. 

He turned his back to the wall as well, leaning himself heavily against it, bringing his knees to his chest and pressing his forehead into the top of them. Bone against bone, it hurt, but it was keeping Frank as present in the moment as he could be. His breaths were gasping, stuttering and great, but bringing him no relief. His stomach was turning empty inside of him, he knew he hadn’t eaten nearly enough that day to be as nauseated as he was, but that didn’t stop his stomach from crawling around, greasy inside of him. He gagged into his knees emptily, nothing coming forth but sour air but his body rocked with the force of it all the same. 

Shame jolted into him, unbidden. It had come out of nowhere, he barely remembered it, but he had fucking puked onstage. In front of everyone. Not just Gerard, not just his bandmates, not just their crew or whoever - but their fucking fans. Everyone. Thousands of people in person, and who fucking knew how many people had been recording him. It was probably already being uploaded. People were going to think he was wasted at the show, they were going to think Gerard had passed his problem onto him, that My Chem really was nothing but a self-destructive cult. They were all going to see the puddle of his stinking vomit onstage and laugh at him if nothing else. 

And Ray - oh, fuck , Ray had been closer to him when he’d lost it than he was that night after the restaurant. He knew Ray didn’t deal well with that. Fuck, and he’d just run off and left everyone to deal with his chaotic aftermath.

A sob broke from Frank’s throat. He’d never felt so openly alone and laid out in his life. He felt like a fucking spectacle, one he wasn’t even in any semblance of control of. The most infuriating part of it was that he hadn’t even done a damn thing to bring it onto himself, it simply just was.

A horrifyingly loud and gasping retch assaulted Frank’s ears and he couldn’t stop the gasp that came from his throat. It was deep and familiar and echoed louder off the floors than Gerard’s voice had. A dissonant splatter sent Frank’s stomach into his throat again and he squeezed his legs closer into his torso, hoping the pressure would ease it. Frank heard another voice cursing quietly before the audio was cut off entirely, fizzling feedback into nothing. He wanted to die. He knew that was Ray, probably barely making it offstage before he lost the battle with his stomach after seeing Frank. Now not only had he humiliated himself, but he’d brought Ray down with him, dragging at his ankles and weighing him down like a cement block. 

Frank’s mouth began to water, and he knew what was coming for him. Childishly, he wished for Gerard, even if he felt he didn’t deserve his sympathy right now. Not after completely ruining a show. Once again. His hands moved from around his legs to rest behind his head. He tried to soothe himself, tried to rub his fingers into his own hair, his scalp, but all he could feel was his own sweat. His mouth was hanging open, desperate to catch a gasp of air, but with drool slicking down his lower lip, gently dripping into the fabric of his jacket. He’d meant to take it off before he sat down, but he couldn’t fathom forcing himself to unfold enough to do it now. 

He didn’t trust himself to stop at his jacket either. He was so out of control of himself, he felt like if he removed it he’d take his undershirt off too, and Gerard would find him curled up in a naked ball at the end of the trail of breadcrumbs he’d left behind. That, or he’d find Frank torn to shreds by his own fingernails, bits of inked skin spread around a floor slick with blood. 

The image sent a twist through Frank’s stomach again and he moaned. He just wanted to be in his bunk. He wanted to stroke the soft blanket there against his face until his tears dried up in his throat enough for him to close his eyes and pretend he could fall asleep. His stomach was empty but it still hurt enough to send sweat beading on his brow, that awful incongruous queasy chill up his spine. He shook with it, feeling his back vibrate against the wall behind him, his feet jittering against the floor. He just wanted this to be over. 

It was too bright in the hallway, even from behind his closed eyelids. He felt like he couldn’t escape the burning lights, even with his head down and hidden. His own body heat was cloying, he was constantly puffing hot breaths out into the tiny space between his torso and legs, leaving himself with nothing to breathe in even if his lungs had been cooperating. His clothes still pressed against his skin, rubbing it raw, feeling like they weighed an extra fifteen pounds. 

He was flying out of his skin, clutching now at the back of his head, trying to somehow force it into the space between his knees. He knew he wasn’t exactly in the right position for that to even work, but he had no little else to reach for. He knew he needed to breathe, but god, he just fucking couldn’t. The too-rough fabric of his pants bit at his cheeks and he couldn’t stop as the sobs poured earnestly from him. He had no idea how loud or quiet he was being, his ears became filled with the sickly melted cotton candy static of full blown panic. The last of himself slipped through his trembling fingers like ash. 

He had no idea how long he sat there, sequestered in the purgatory inside of himself, before a gentle hand against his shoulder nearly shocked him out of his skin. 

“Frankie, oh, sugar , honey, what’s going on?” Gerard’s voice was high pitched, a bit scratchy from use, nervous and caring all at once. 

Frank couldn’t have answered if he wanted to. He was that far gone. He wished Gerard would just know what was singing through his mind, the notes turning to screams. He wanted to unfold his aching limbs, lunge at Gerard and let the other man take care of him. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He tensed up, squeezing his body into itself even harder. His stomach cramped into horrible painful knots. He wanted to reach out to Gerard, even just to steady himself, to remind himself that he was still inhabiting his own body because right now it really did not feel like it. 

“Frankie, Frankie, listen to me. I’m right here. It’s Gee. I’ve got you.” Gerard said, his voice was quick and almost sounded unsure. Frank could almost feel his hands hovering over his body, not close enough yet to touch but desperately wanting to. “Is it okay if I touch you?” 

Despite himself, Frank nodded vigorously. He knew Gerard’s hands would sting initially, burn his skin, but he couldn’t deny himself. He knew it would be too much too soon to be folded up into Gerard’s arms, but his body wanted it so badly it hurt. His head was spinning from the lack of oxygen and his stomach flipped worryingly. He all but whimpered when Gerard made contant, wanting to stuff the sound back into his throat as soon as it came out. He willed his stomach to settle, he knew Gerard wouldn’t magically have something for him to be sick into this time, not in his stage clothes. 

Gerard’s hands gently rubbed over his bent shoulders, barely ghosting over his tensed muscles. Frank could hardly feel it. He wanted to smash the back of his head against the wall until he could get the feeling back into his body. He still felt like he was hovering just barely one millimeter out of his skin, knowing what sensations he should be feeling, yet completely numb. 

“Frankie, take a breath for me, yeah? You gotta breathe, sweetheart. Everything’s okay.” Gerard’s voice rang into Frank’s ears like it was coming from somewhere down the hallway. Everything was not fucking okay, and Gerard knew that. He had to. He was just placating him. He had just ruined a fucking show, possibly his guitar - he was definitely going to have to restring it at the very least, and caused Ray to humiliate himself on top of everything. 

A sob wrenched out of Frank’s throat. He shook his head - back and forth, back and forth - once he started he couldn’t stop. The movement became connected to his desperate gasps for air and he couldn’t separate them. 

“N-not…okay.” Frank forced himself to grit out. His voice felt like sandpaper and sounded worse. He was shaking, desperately thirsty, but knew if he put anything in his body just yet it would make a swift reappearance. 

“Oh, sugar, yes it is. You’re going to be fine, I promise.” Gerard’s hands hadn’t left Frank’s shoulders. He was rubbing them in sure and repetitive strokes, trying to be a firm and reassuring presence. Frank was suffocating. 

“Ruined…show.” He gasped. He didn’t know why he was talking. It was taking so much of his energy. “ Ray .” 

“Ray’s okay, baby. Mikey’s got him. Don’t worry about that, it isn’t your fault.” 

“ Is.” Frank sobbed, he couldn’t make himself say a whole sentence, he could feel the words evaporating from his throat, drying up in his chest. He folded further in on himself, hands clasping together against the back of his head and pushing it down. Gerard moved his hands to Frank’s neck and tried to rub out some of the tension there. Frank couldn’t handle it. He wanted to be touched, wanted to be brought back into his body, but Gerard was being so fucking gentle he could barely feel it. 

“No one is mad at you, Frankie. You can’t control this. You just gotta focus on breathing right now, okay?” Gerard’s voice was still pinched with worry, but Frank could tell he was trying to inject the dulcet honeyed tone he used to make Frank hang on his every word. He’d breathe for Gerard when he asked if he felt like he had that function in his body anymore.

He really felt like he could feel his lungs seizing and nearly crumbling up inside of him. A mental image of those anti-smoking commercials he’d seen in his youth floated through his mind. Lungs, black and yellow and filled with tar, unable to inflate even a tiny amount without assistance. That was where he was heading. 

Even with that, he rabidly thought that maybe a cigarette would fix this. His mouth watered with the craving, his fingers itched to strike a lighter. It might force him to take deeper and even breaths, to get the nicotine into his veins. It would calm him down a bit too, maybe, give him a reason to put behind the tremors in his hands. Maybe he could convince Gerard to let him bum one once they were out of the venue. 

If Frank could ever find his legs beneath him again. They were going numb against the floor, his ass following suit. It was so fucking uncomfortable, but he felt rigid, like he couldn’t move a muscle. He knew he was tensing all of the muscles in his body, he was setting himself up for an awful pain to deal with the next few days. He knew he was being counterproductive. He wished he could fucking stop. He wished he could string enough words together to tell Gerard what was going on. 

“ Gee-” was as close as he got. His voice came out garbled, almost strangled, and Frank hoped that would be enough to convey what he was feeling. He started rocking again, bumping his lower back against the cold wall, Gerard’s hand keeping him from smashing his entire back into the concrete. 

“I’m right here, Frankie. Right here. You just really gotta take a breath for me.” Gerard mumbled, leaning in close over Frank, trying to shield his body and emanate comfort into him. 

“C-can’t-” Frank’s voice came out in a long strangled sob. He wanted to breathe, he really fucking did, his body was begging him for the oxygen, he felt twitchy without it. He wanted to reach up and fist his hands into Gerard’s hair, his shirt, claw against his skin, anything to feel like he wasn’t alone. He felt like he was barely even in this hallway anymore.

He just wanted to slip one of Mikey’s pills and be able to fucking sleep. He was so fucking exhausted. 

Maybe he could slip more than one, maybe a few, a handful, and then sleep forever. 

Frank cringed against the thought. He was losing his grip. His head was still spinning, his lungs felt like they were dying inside of him, desperately working to suck in air that his body just wasn’t absorbing, only heaving out ferocious exhales. Tears were streaming hot down his face, snot collecting between his nostrils on his upper lip. It was starting to leak salty into his mouth but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn’t unfold his hands from behind his neck. They were locked into place, felt like his joints would snap if he tried to pry them apart. His jaw was clenched, hard, teeth grinding into the spaces where they fit together. He felt like he was both stuck, trapped trembling inside of himself, and hanging on the outskirts of his own body watching his pathetic display unfold. 

To himself, he looked tiny, curled into the smallest ball his body could manage with Gerard’s lanky form framing him. He could see himself trying to disappear. He wanted so badly to feel the pressure Gerard was applying to his shoulders, but his body wasn’t allowing it. No external stimuli was getting in, nothing pleasant anyway, nothing over the buzzing of the hallway lights. He kept rocking with the tense and compulsive movement that the anxiety plowing through his veins was commanding. He felt so out of control. He wanted to vomit. His stomach hurt so badly, aching hollowly and terribly. He shook with it. 

“Okay, Frankie. Hey.” Gerard was talking. He was clearly trying to catch Frank’s attention. “I’m gonna move my hands, alright? Gonna move them to your shoulders and knees and help you unfold, yeah?” 

Frank just whimpered in response, high pained and drawn out. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But you gotta breathe, baby, and this is going to help. I’m going to be right here the whole time. I’ll keep you safe.” Gerard murmured, his voice starting to shine just a bit to Frank. Lightly golden, beckoning him back into his body. The call was tempting, he wanted to be soothed by Gerard, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He wanted to be as far away from his panic as possible. 

Gerard didn’t wait for Frank’s permission, instead he gently began to pry his hands between Frank’s shoulders and his knees. His actions were just as he told Frank they would be, but they still made him jolt. Gerard hummed quietly to him, trying to placate him gently. Frank felt terrible, like his bones were too big for his skin and broken in awkward places. Everything fucking hurt and he swore he could feel his eyes rolling in his skull when his head lolled forward when Gerard separated it from his knees. 

Frank wanted to move, wanted to lunge toward Gerard and claw into him, climb up into his lap and breathe the sweat from his neck, but he was completely frozen. His chest seared, and another moan surfaced between his teeth. 

“I’m gonna move you so you’re against me, yeah? So you can feel me breathe. I’m gonna help you, Frankie. You’re okay.” Frank wasn’t so sure. He really did not agree with Gerard, he didn’t think he’d ever disagreed with him more, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. He didn’t think he couldn’t find the words anymore. 

Gerard reached out to move him when he’d finished speaking. Frank’s body felt stiff, yet somehow boneless as Gerard moved him nearly effortlessly. Frank fell against him like a rag doll, back to Gerard’s broad chest. He felt Gerard’s shoulders curl around him protectively, his arms coming to gently wrap around his torso. 

He planted one hand in the center of Frank’s chest and the other rested gently against the upper swell of his stomach. Frank wanted to shimmy down into Gerard’s hands but he still couldn’t find it in himself to move. He was starting to scare himself and his breaths still weren’t coming any easier. His vision was starting to cloud black at the very edges and he was worried he would slip away right from beneath Gerard’s touch. He was desperate for Gerard’s comfort and soothing touches, but he couldn’t squash the thought looming in his head that he simply did not deserve it. 

“Frankie, you gotta try to stay with me, okay?” Gerard spoke again, his voice even quieter now that he was speaking right into Frank’s ear. Frank couldn’t feel the breath he knew Gerard was expelling against his neck. He was numb to everything except the horrible feelings clawing him apart from the inside. He could only manage a moan in response to Gerard. He wanted more than anything to stay here with him, but he was slipping away. He was losing his grip on himself, on everything. He felt trapped in this vicious, suffocating, nightmarish, and never ending cycle. 

Gerard’s hand on his chest rubbed gently up and down and Frank tried with everything in him to focus on it. Gerard was mimicking the self soothing gestures Frank used on himself when he was aware enough to. The fact that Gerard paid enough attention to notice those mannerisms was lost in the chaos still swirling in his mind. He wanted his pulse to stop thrumming through his veins fast enough that it was leaving him exhausted. He wanted his thoughts to stop racing, he wanted his stomach to stop cramping up inside of him. His palms were starting to sweat. He balled his fists up tighter, digging his jagged fingernails into the soft skin. 

“Okay, Frank. Just listen to me breathe. Join in when you can. Just focus and listen.” Gerard intoned. He made it sound like the easiest thing ever, like Frank didn’t feel like he was trapped underwater in a shark observation cage with a malfunctioning oxygen tank and no way to communicate to the shore. Gerard was trying his best to be Frank’s lifeline, trying to extend his hand and golden calming voice down through the chaos to him, but Frank didn’t have the strength to reach up to catch it. “Feel it against your back. Big breath in.” Gerard led by example, taking a deep breath and inflating his chest against Frank’s back. He held it for a moment before speaking again on his exhale. “And then out. Just like that. It’ll feel good, I promise. I’ve got you, Frankie. In….and out.” 

Gerard continued breathing and speaking to Frank in turn. Frank felt like his brain was turning into mush, absolute soup. Frank still wanted to turn around in Gerard’s arms, scramble up his lap and beg to be crushed by his embrace until he could feel it in his body again. He was starting to think he wouldn’t be able to come back any other way. The rhythm of Gerard’s breaths were finally starting to reach him - deep and slow and nice against his back. It was repetitive and predictable and Frank almost felt lulled by it. Everything in his body was an uncomfortable pinprick of pain, but where his back leaned against Gerard it felt warm. 

“There you go, Frankie. Come back to me. Big breath in, again.” Gerard intoned. Frank hadn’t even realized he’d successfully taken a breath until he heaved in another. 

It stung in his lungs and sent stars into his vision. He coughed, choked a bit on the exhale, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind. 

“That’s okay, Frank. You’re doing such a good job. I’m right here.” Gerard’s hand smoothed up Frank’s sternum and Frank heaved in another breath. Gerard praised him, told him to hold it for just a moment before letting it out. Frank followed as well as he could. He was beginning to feel his chest rise and fall in time with Gerard’s and the tension was starting to drain from his body slowly, like molasses. Gerard was still speaking, reassuring and gentle words tumbling from his beautiful lips. Words Frank knew he didn’t deserve by any stretch of the imagination. 

He was coming back into himself and it fucking hurt. His knees ached, his back and shoulders screamed at him for the tension he’d held them in for who knows how long. He had no sense of time, of how far behind schedule he was setting them. His breaths continued to heave in and out, huge gusts of air that felt like too much for his body to deal with. He leaned his head back against Gerard’s shoulder, the soft part on the back of his skull colliding with his hard collarbone. It stung, but it helped Frank breathe a bit easier in its wake. 

Gerard moved his arms, allowed them to wrap more securely around Frank now that he was a bit more aware.

“I’m - sorry -” Frank gasped, words bitten off into a sob. He hated the way his voice sounded, high and wet and nasally. 

“Uh-uh, Frank. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I promise.” Gerard whispered emphatically into his neck now, pressing a soft kiss into the exposed flesh. 

Frank wanted him to bite down. To bruise him, leave him bloody and whimpering for more. He felt like it was what he needed in order to fully reinhabit his body. He didn’t know if he had the words to ask, if Gerard would even comply. 

Frank closed his eyes and reveled in another slow and steady breath. He still didn’t agree with Gerard, guilt swam hot in his stomach. The breath did feel good, but he still felt twitchy and wrong. He wasn’t sitting there hyperventilating anymore, but his chest still sang with raw anxiety. He didn’t know how he was ever going to get past this. He wanted to sleep and start over with a fresh slate tomorrow, but he knew with the way his veins were singing he’d never be able to find the release of sleep tonight. 

They sat there for a few more moments, Frank barely hanging in the balance, tethered to the moment by nothing other than Gerard’s sure arms around his still trembling body. He wished he could be stronger than this. It seemed like anything that could be wrong with him just was, and he was meant to accept it with grace. His patience was running out. He was exhausted with himself. 

“ Gee… ” His voice was broken, a thin groan. He didn’t know what he was asking for, what he wanted, he just knew his joints were aching from being on the floor for so damn long. 

“You’re okay, babydoll. I’m still right here. Are you ready to try and get up? Head back to the dressing room and get some better clothes on?” Gerard asked, his voice gentle and knowing. Frank moaned. He wanted to, but he knew standing would bring new pains his body hadn’t registered yet coupled with more dizziness. 

He found himself nodding anyway, not wanting to sit in the openness of the hallway anymore. He wanted to be shut up behind the door of the dressing room, able to sit on the threadbare couch in there for a few minutes, let Gerard help him change his clothes and maybe drink some water before they made the walk of shame back to the bus. He hoped Gerard would be able to shield him from anyone who was hanging around, fans or otherwise. He knew he was going to have to talk to Ray, apologize even if Gerard didn’t think he had to be sorry for anything. 

“Hey, easy, Frankie.” Gerard said, trying to make eye contact but the angle was awkward. “Stay with me, yeah? I can almost hear how hard you’re thinking right now.” 

If Frank had been feeling better, there would have been a joke added to that statement, but right now Gerard seemed completely serious. Frank wished it was that easy to turn his thoughts off. 

“Let’s get ready to stand up, okay? You almost made it to the dressing room, we only have to go a few steps and I’ll be here the whole time.” Gerard’s words were meant to be encouraging but they only sent more embarrassment coursing through his veins. He was really that close to their dressing room? He opened his eyes and lifted his head from Gerard’s shoulder. He could see the door, open and lights shining from the inside, just a few more feet down the hallway. 

He’d almost made it. If he had just been able to hold himself together for a few more seconds, maybe he wouldn’t have had to make another spectacle of himself in another venue’s hallway. Tears threatened to swell in his eyes again and he tried to blink them away. It didn’t go unnoticed by Gerard. 

“Oh, baby, hey, it’s okay. I’m not upset you didn’t get there. I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant you won’t have far to walk right now. We don’t have to get all the way to the bus right away.” Gerard clarified, somehow easily following Frank’s line of thought. All he could do in response was nod and steel himself for the short and somehow grueling journey ahead of him. 

Gerard talked him through standing after another few moments. He moved his hands to brace beneath Frank’s armpits, standing up behind him and hoisting him to his feet. He tried to make the motion as gentle as possible, but it still made Frank’s head spin. He gagged on nothing, the sound trapped in the back of his throat. Gerard mewled at him, kissing against his neck again before gathering Frank up against his side. The position felt familiar, Frank fit right against Gerard’s side perfectly, he had been carried down more hallways than he’d ever like to admit like this. 

The trip was short, just like Gerard promised, but that didn’t make it any easier on Frank. He felt like he was practically limping, like the floor was made of thick mud that was sucking against his feet every time he tried to lift them. Dizziness bloomed anew in his vision and Frank had to reach his hand out against the tiled hallway wall in order to keep himself upright. The wall was cool against his palm and he left his arm trailing against it until the doorway broke its presence. A sigh of relief left Frank’s dry lips. They’d made it, they were there. Gerard quickly deposited him on the couch and it was all Frank could do to not immediately lay on his side. 

He wanted his fucking clothes off though. He felt like he was getting blisters from the way they were rubbing his skin raw. He knew they weren’t, his skin would be unblemished when he got undressed, but that didn’t stop the sensations. He was clawing at his collar without realizing it, the buttons on his jacket straining against his hands. He felt like each and every one of his tattoos were crawling around, writing just beneath the surface layer of his skin, reorganizing them in the wrong ways and putting them back in the wrong places. 

“Okay, okay, Frank, I know. Let me help you. I’ve got you.” Gerard said, gently taking Frank’s wrists and guiding them back to his lap. He pressed a kiss against Frank’s sweating forehead before he removed his hands to deftly slip each button out of its place. The jacket loosened around Frank’s body and he felt like he could breathe a little easier once more. Gerard slid it off of his shoulders and then reached for the hem of his sweat soaked undershirt. He rucked it up over Frank’s head and Frank tried to fight the shiver the cool air against his damp skin brought on. 

Gerard hummed, a little mewling sound that Frank knew he was using to try to calm his nerves. It was almost working. He just wanted to be folded up in the safety of Gerard’s arms. He wanted to deflect the rest of this night to him, let him make the rest of the decisions until he could get his mind back on straight. 

If he ever could. 

It never seemed to stay that easy for a terribly long amount of time. 

Gerard knelt down gently in front of Frank, between his splayed knees. He reached forward to undo the fastening on Frank’s pants. Frank lifted his hips a bit, helping Gerard along, wanting the stiff black denim off of his fucking legs. His boxers slid down with them, thanks to the awkward angle and the friction from the couch he was only barely lifting his ass off of. Frank couldn’t help but gasp at the nip of the cold air against his most sensitive skin. He could feel something shifting in his stomach at Gerard’s proximity to his dick. He knew this was literally not the time - he wasn’t feeling particularly desirable, and he was sure he looked anything but sexy right now, drenched in his own tears and sweat and trembling naked on a shitty backstage couch. 

But he couldn’t bite his tongue fast enough to stop himself calling out Gerard’s name. 

“ Gee.” his voice was a hoarse gasp, but it came out stronger and more sure than it had all day. He needed Gerard right now. He was becoming more and more aware of that, understanding that there was no way he was going to get himself out of the steel trap of his head without some kind of outside stimuli. He just prayed Gerard would provide so he wouldn’t have to come up with something himself. That always ended poorly for Frank, if he was being honest with himself. “I… please, Gee, I need you.” 

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not gonna go anywhere.” Gerard’s voice was gentle, placating. He hadn’t moved from between Frank’s legs - more and more heat was traveling there. It was almost making him feel even more lightheaded, like his body really didn’t have that much extra blood to be pumping as much as it was into his cock. He shook his head, whining, while canting his hips up a bit. His half hard cock bobbed in the open air, coming almost comically close to the tip of Gerard’s nose. 

“N-no, no.” Frank struggled out. His words still weren’t working the best, tangling into tight knots somewhere between his throat and his lips. He desperately tried to get his point across. He hoped the obvious physical signs would have been enough for Gerard, but they weren’t. He lifted his hips again to punctuate his next words. “Please, need it. Need you.” 

Gerard’s eyes darkened in front of Frank, pupils blowing wide as he finally understood. He reminded Frank so much of a cat, innately curious, always ready to cause a scene, but incredibly timid when he was asked to do something. 

“Frankie…I don’t know…” his voice trailed off and new tears wanted to spring to Frank’s eyes. 

He knew he looked a mess right now, but since when was that something Gerard cared about? He also knew he hadn’t been exactly as present as he wanted to be lately. Maybe he had missed something breaking between them. Maybe it was irreparable. A sob wanted to catch in his throat, but he tried to stop it. 

“Why?” Frank’s voice was dripping in anguish. Gerard looked up at him with alarm clearly plastered across his features. 

“I- Frank, I don’t know. You just had a panic attack, I don’t know if you’re okay yet. Is that a good idea?” Gerard’s words were tumbling from his mouth now. All Frank wanted was for that mouth, those vibrations, to wrap around the head of his aching cock. It was almost all he could think about, all the negative and awful sensations from before fading to the background to put his desire into sharp and confusing focus. It was the only thing pulling him back into his body, the prospect of Gerard making him feel good once again. He felt like he forgot what it was like to actually feel good and if anyone could remind him, it was Gerard. 

Frank threw his head back against the couch and moaned openly, shifting his hips again more out of instinct than anything. It was starting to burn. If his hands weren’t so shaky and unreliable, he’d have been reaching down to palm at himself. His heart started to beat quicker, a light sweat raising on his palms, and - oh god - what if Gerard wouldn’t do what he asked? What if he didn’t want to? What if that left Frank strung out halfway outside of his body for the rest of the night? For as long as it would take him to have enough mental strength to get himself off? It seemed like it would be impossible. He just wanted Gerard’s lips and teeth. He could feel his slit beginning to weep. 

“ Gee, I need this. I need you. I can’t…I’m not in my fuckin’  body right now. Everything feels all wrong and-and… bad . Need you to make me feel good. Need it. Please, please.” 

The tears had started to fall again, and Frank couldn’t stop them. Every feeling in his body was so overwhelming, he was sure he was going to burst from the pent up sensations. Gerard was silent for a moment more, watching Frank with his indiscernible eyes. It took everything inside of Frank to not repeat his pleas, over and over, to beg Gerard to please please fucking touch him or he was sure he was going to fucking die right here. 

He was sure his body couldn’t take another tidal wave of panic, and the perceived rejection was amping another up, yanking it from his stomach. He tried to quell it, tried to push it down, tried to ignore the lingering queasiness it left behind. His stomach tumbled, rolling around itself and the arousal that was tightening at its edges. 

“Are you sure, Frankie? I don’t want to…make anything worse.” Gerard said cautiously. Frank’s heart swelled a bit, but it did nothing to quiet his need. 

“You won’t. Please.” Frank hated the desperate tinge to his voice, but he couldn’t do anything to unsay his words. “I need to feel something, feel you.” 

“Okay, my love, okay. Anything you need. Just…just tell me if you need me to stop. You know I will.” Gerard said, still looking up at Frank, but his eyes were half-lidded now. 

Frank nodded, fervently, feverishly. He just needed to feel Gerard on him, in any way he could. Gerard took that as his cue to begin, and he leaned forward with a practiced motion, easily taking the tip of Frank’s cock into his mouth. 

His lips were heavenly, plush and waiting for his presence. Frank gasped as Gerard took him in further, a moan from him sending vibrations up Frank’s spine at his taste. Frank was sure he tasted like nothing but sweat and the awful pheromones of his leftover anxiety, but Gerard was still excited to bring him into his mouth. Gerard hollowed his cheeks as Frank felt his length brush against the back of Gerard’s throat. His eyes wanted to roll back, he wanted to get lost in the sensations, but something was still holding him back from it. It felt so good, all he fucking wanted was to feel good, but god he just couldn’t bring himself to feel like he deserved it. 

“Hurt me. Gee, please. Harder . Hurt me. I need it. I fucking need to come back.” Frank’s words were spilling, nonsense to his own ears. He was pulling at his own hair, but it wasn’t enough. He needed Gerard’s teeth, his fingernails, his fucking fists if he was willing. But Frank knew he wouldn’t be willing to do that. Not at the moment, not before they talked about it. Frank’s thoughts were flying away from him, dragging him along by the shoulders and lifting him roughly off the ground. 

In the same moment, Gerard’s hands were on his thighs. They clutched against his milky skin, the tangle of black ink littered there. Blunt nails dug in as Gerard pulled back on Frank’s dick only to suck him down again in the next second. Gerard’s mouth was hot and wet and perfect, cradling his cock against his tongue in the most perfect way, licking at the bottom of his glans with a beautiful flick of it. 

Frank whimpered in ecstasy, the first sound of actual promise, actual release and genuine reaction to the first good feeling he’d had that night. He wanted to reach down and tangle his hands in Gerard’s hair but he couldn’t make himself move them. 

“ More, fuck, please.” 

Gerard complied, driving Frank’s dick expertly back down his throat. Frank grunted when Gerard’s hands applied more pressure to the muscles in his thighs. They were sensitive, tender, and the red tracks Gerard’s fingernails were making as they slid across his skin was like nothing Frank had experienced before. It felt like Gerard’s hands were actively putting out a spreading forest fire beneath his skin, smoldering it and stopping the smoke from choking him anymore. 

The stinging pain felt reverent, felt amazing, felt grounding and Frank could feel himself slowly filing back into his bones. He was coming back down into himself, and he was about to fucking come. He knew they hadn’t been at it for terribly long, he wanted to reach inside and find some embarrassment for that, usually he could go much further than this, but he had spent most of the night in a very fragile state. He’d spent most of the last twenty four hours there, the majority of the last few weeks if he was really being honest with himself. 

“Gee…I’m gonna -” Frank wanted to warn Gerard, was falling all over himself and his words. 

Gerard just moaned around Frank’s cock, nodding, the vibrations sent Frank’s toes curling. His stomach tightened and his vision whited out for the briefest of moments before he was spilling himself down Gerard’s throat. Gerard swallowed it down diligently, devouring him with something near admiration. He kept Frank’s twitching cock in his mouth even after he was finished coming, holding him there almost like he was worshiping him. 

Suddenly spent, Frank’s stomach seized up without warning. Spit flooded into his mouth and it was sour, thick, and tasted awful. One of his hands came down from his hair and Frank wrapped it around himself, trying to soothe the ache. But it was futile, his guts turned and tumbled inside of him and he was sure Gerard could hear the groaning in his stomach. It felt greasy, hot and roiling, and Frank had no idea how he even possibly had anything in his body left to get up. He was running out of time. His diaphragm seized up in warning and a belch lit a line of burning pain up his chest. 

“Gerard.” Frank said, his voice was a thick mumble. He was back in his body fully now, but at what fucking cost? Couldn’t he have gotten the throwing up part out of the way when he was so incredibly out of it? No, his body wasn’t one to give him that kind of reprieve. His head spun worryingly. He swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, tried to, but it just flowed back into his mouth, blooming under his tongue sickeningly. “ Gee - I’m…ngh, gonna-” 

He cut himself off and Gerard was nodding around his dick again, giving him permission. Frank didn’t know if Gerard understood what he meant. Did he think Frank was going to come again? That’s not what he was trying to communicate at all but he was working on borrowed time already. He knew if he opened his mouth again, words wouldn’t be the only thing to come out. He didn’t want to vomit on Gerard, on the back of his head, his neck, his back, without explicit permission. 

His body didn’t care, and almost without any more warning, he was pitching forward and heaving emptily. Gerard’s lips slipped a bit from where they lay against his shaft, his cock popping from Gerard’s mouth with an obscene sound as he gagged fully for the first time. Gerard still sitting framed by his thighs, Frank could aim himself in no other direction. He clamped his jaw tight, tried to stave it off, but he was wearing thin. His body had been through oh so much in the past few hours that there was no way he was going to keep this in control. 

Another harsh gag ripped from his lips and a mouthful of hot stringy bile burst forth. It arced from his lips with a surprising amount of force, hitting Gerard square in the hair and down his back. Gerard froze between his knees, eyes slipping closed as Frank heaved again. A mouthful of a bit more substance came forward, spilling over Gerard and seeping through his stage clothes. Frank almost felt like he wanted to die, wanted to let the cushions of that couch swallow him up and eat him alive. 

Frank wanted to gasp out an apology, stomach still cramping horribly inside of him, but when he looked down, Gerard still had his eyes closed. He had reached a hand into his undone pants and was rapidly jerking himself off. Frank could tell he was close by the way the color was rising in his cheeks, the way his mouth hung open a bit crookedly on one side. 

“Fran- kie-” Gerard moaned loudly as he came into his own pants. Frank reflected distantly that he seemed to make Gerard do that a lot. He wondered if that was something he was particularly into as well. Maybe he’d have to bring that up sometime…

Suddenly, his mind was soft and malleable, no longer felt like soup but instead a wall of bubbles in a bath. Succulent and comfortable, but ready to disappear the moment it was touched. He reached forward to pet Gerard’s hair, the feeling slowly coming back into his fingers. He brushed a stringy strand of greasy hair behind Gerard’s ear as he looked down on him with awe. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, not really sure why he was thanking the man who was rightfully his boyfriend for sucking him off and not apologizing for puking on him. 

Gerard simply shook his head, looking up at Frank from where he knelt on the dirty floor. “Are you feeling a bit better now?” 

Frank considered Gerard’s question for a moment before answering. His stomach still ached but it felt empty now, like even if his body got the signal to throw up again there really wouldn’t be anything to come up this time. The anxiety had dulled down from a ginsu blade to a butter knife. The only thing that he felt could make him continue to feel better was getting some comfortable clothes on, and then spending the night curled around Gerard in his bunk until he fell asleep. He desperately didn’t want to be alone tonight. 

“Y-yeah.” Frank breathed, the first clear and satisfying breath he could remember taking in quite some time. He was finally being honest. He was already feeling a bit better. “Clothes? Wanna lay down.” 

Gerard chuckled from the floor. “I bet you do. Let me help you get cleaned up, okay?” 

Frank could do nothing but nod, allowing Gerard to care for him and envelop him in the soft comfort and safety only he could provide. 

-- 

The walk back to the bus was long, arduous and Frank was exhausted by the time his feet hit the step outside of the door. Gerard held him fast, opened the door for him and led him inside. He was bundled up in his striped hoodie and a loose pair of sweatpants. Gerard had put his hood up before they left the venue, doing his very best to hide Frank within his clothes. Frank’s mind felt numbed, a faint drone of static still ringing in his ears. The anxiety wasn’t as white hot intense now, but it still weighed heavily in his stomach and chest. His skin felt wrong on his body, and he just wanted that feeling to go away already. 

The door opened to the living area of the bus to see Ray and Mikey on the couch. The tv was on, quietly playing some movie or another, but neither of them were paying attention to it. Ray was laying on his side, eyes closed and head propped in Mikey’s lap. He had an arm delicately wrapped around his middle and a trash bin with an empty bag was sitting on the floor by his head. Mikey had one hand tangled up in Ray’s hair and the other held his phone, idly pecking away. His gaze shifted up when the pair of them walked in and the ghost of a smile lit upon his face.

Frank could feel the near telepathic connection the brothers shared as they seemed to have a conversation consisting of only facial expressions and pointed glances. He couldn’t find it within himself to feel left out, or even embarrassed that they were most likely talking about him and he couldn’t even understand. He was too fucking tired. 

He tugged on Gerard’s sleeve, weakly, insistently. He felt like was going to lose his footing and fall face first into the gaudy linoleum of the bus floor. He swallowed, felt his throat click against his saliva. He needed a drink. He needed some ibuprofen. He needed to lay the fuck down. And he needed Gerard to anticipate every one of these needs for him. 

“Okay, angel, come on. Let’s get you laying down and then I’ll come get some water for you.” Gerard mumbled to Frank, and for just a moment he wondered if maybe Gerard could read minds and that was how he and Mikey spoke without words. Maybe it was a Way Thing. 

Frank allowed Gerard to lead him through the small spaces of the bus and into the bunk room. He sighed in relief the moment his ass connected with the side of his mattress. He closed his eyes for a moment to gather the strength he needed to undo his shoes, but felt Gerard’s fingers working his laces instead. Unbidden, a single hot tear carved down his cheek. Gerard was so good to him. 

Frank opened his eyes again and Gerard was standing up, moving to sit next to him. Frank leaned against Gerard’s shoulder, the opposite direction of his pillows, but Gerard’s warmth was more inviting. 

“Stay?” Frank heard himself ask. 

“Of course, Frankie. I’m just gonna go get you water first, yeah? I’m sure you’re thirsty.” He was. He nodded against Gerard’s collarbone, still not willing to remove himself. His head felt heavy, a weight on his neck, he knew he needed to lie down. “Okay, sugar. I’ll be right back, then. Lay down when you’re ready and I’ll join you.” 

Gerard waited to move until Frank dragged himself off of his shoulder. He watched him leave, feeling dazed the moment Gerard wasn’t in his presence. Eventually, he tore his eyes from the open doorway and turned to get horizontal. He swung his feet up onto the bed and went to make sure his pillows were arranged correctly, went to grab for the fluffy blanket stashed beneath them. 

There was something on his pillowcase. A piece of notebook paper folded up into a triangle. And it had his name written on it. Frank reached for it and willed his fingers to work well enough to unfold it. It crinkled in his hands and a small white circle popped out into his lap. He picked it up and read the note written inside. 

Thought this might help. 

-Mikey 

Emotion swelled in Frank’s chest over how much his bandmates cared for him. Mikey had taken the time, left Ray, to fold a pill into a piece of paper so he could find it before he went to sleep. He knew this would actually bring him sleep and allow him to rest. He’d have to thank Mikey in the morning. 

And he’d have to talk to Gerard. 

He didn’t think he could do this anymore without medication of his own. He was recognizing the fact that he was entirely at his breaking point, and if he didn’t do something about it he would soon be beyond the point of returning. 

He held the tiny pill in his palm and waited for Gerard to come back with his water. It didn’t take very long. Soon, he was filling the doorway back up and walking to Frank’s bed. He handed him an already open bottle of water. It was cool to the touch and felt nice in his hand. 

“Mikey left this.” Frank held up his open palm. “Can I…is it -?” 

“Frankie. Yes. You don’t need to ask me. Whatever you need is okay.” Gerard answered. 

Frank looked at Gerard for a moment before tossing the pill into his mouth and drowning it with a few sips of the water. He didn’t take too many, didn’t want to throw his stomach into a frenzy again so soon. He needed to keep the meds down so he could go to sleep. He wouldn’t risk making Ray sick again, either. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, just trying to keep himself steady. He was glad the bus wasn’t moving yet. He couldn’t remember if it would tonight or not. It didn’t really matter all that much. 

“Come on, angel. Let’s lay down.” Gerard said, gently coaxing him down into the small space. Before their heads hit Frank’s pillow, he reached beneath it and grabbed the soft blanket he’d been thinking about all evening. It was black with gravestones and pumpkins in the fabric. Gerard had grabbed it at some store or another for him during one of his shopping trips around Halloween. 

Gerard unfolded it and tossed it over the two of them. Frank felt it land against his still sensitive skin. He felt like he could feel everything tenfold now, and was doing his very best to not get overwhelmed by it. His clothes at least were soft against his skin now, the blanket was too when Gerard pulled it up to his neck. He opened his arm and let Frank slot himself in beside him. The amount of space in the bunk was sparse, but somehow they fit in like puzzle pieces, like a key into a lock. Frank rested his head on Gerard’s shoulder, nosing into the space between it and his neck, the hollow of his collar bone. 

He breathed in deeply, took in Gerard’s scent. Sweat, unwashed hair, something almost metallic and woodsy, but with an undercurrent of Frank’s own vomit still hanging on him. Frank couldn’t find it in himself to be disgusted, to ask Gerard to go clean up, he didn’t think he could handle being alone once the meds started taking hold. Gerard slid a hand up and down Frank’s back, lingering at the small of it each time. Frank felt safe, warm and good, even if it still almost felt like Gerard’s hands were reaching inside of his skin. 

Frank had wanted to sleep now, just close his eyes and drift off in Gerard’s sure embrace. He’d wake up just as he fell asleep, securely tucked against the man’s side. Instead, his mouth was opening and words were pouring out before he could stop himself. Apparently, his mind had decided it was now or never and he was along for the ride. 

“Gee?” 

“Hmm?” Frank felt the hum rumble through Gerard’s chest and he pressed closer. 

“You…you said whatever I need is okay, yeah?” Frank ventured, still hedging a bit. 

“Of course it is, Frank. But, I think we both need to sleep right now.” 

“Yeah, I know, I know. But I just.” Frank hated that he kept cutting himself off, still only really able to speak in fits and bursts. He took another breath, puffing it out over Gerard’s chest. “I just wanna talk a little first.” 

“Oh.” Gerard said, and Frank realized he probably thought Frank was asking him to get him off again. “Sure, honey, of course. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

If only it was that easy. 

Frank sighed again. “I think I gotta talk to someone, Gee.” 

“I’m right here, Frankie.” 

“No, I know. That’s not…I meant like…a professional or something. I gotta find a fucking shrink somewhere.” His voice started to shake. He tried to laugh over it. It sounded pitiful. “I can’t do this on my own anymore.” 

Gerard’s arms tightened around him. He pressed a kiss to the crown of Frank’s head. “You’re never on your own, Frankie. Not ever. I hate that you feel that way. But I agree, if that’s what you think will help, then we can find someone.” 

“I…think I’m gonna need meds, Gee. For before the shows. It’s…you know how bad it is. I’m not doing great at hiding it. And I can’t keep fucking ruining our sets.” 

“You don’t ruin our-” 

“Yes. I do.” Frank said, his words a bit harsher than he intended them to sound. He really was so angry at himself, down beneath everything else. He took a breath to steady himself in Gerard’s silence. “Sorry. I just, I need something, you know? And I don’t want to…mess up worse.” 

Gerard nodded, but he was still quiet. Anxiety started to burn and bubble up from his stomach. 

“Is that…are you okay with that?” 

“Frank.” 

“Because I’ll figure it out if you’re not. I don’t wanna have stuff around you if it’s gonna bother you or-or…y’know trigger you or anything. Really, I’ll be able to-” 

“ Frankie .” 

Frank’s words died in his throat. Gerard’s hand had stilled on his back and Frank could feel his eyes cast down on him. Frank sat up a bit, to catch his gaze. 

“You never have to ask my permission, ever, to do something that is going to better yourself. Even if it would affect me in any way. I hate to see you suffer like this.” Gerard paused and kissed Frank’s forehead, lips lingering there for a moment too long. “And, of course this is okay with me. Tomorrow, we can have Brian start getting in touch with someone. And you don’t need to worry about me in this, Frankie. I would never touch your meds.” 

The last few words were spoken in a quiet tone, Gerard’s voice sounded just a bit hurt. Frank felt chided. If his mind had been on straighter maybe he could have figured out a way to say that less… offensively ? He should have just kept his fucking mouth shut. Story of his life. 

“I know that, Gee.” Frank said, tearing his gaze away from Gerard. 

“Do you?” Gerard asked, bristled, his words stinging just a bit. Frank felt like he deserved that. 

“I’m sorry. I do. I do know that, really, I just-” 

“No, fuck, Frank, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I know what you meant, and I appreciate you being concerned for me. But that’s not what matters right now.” 

“You matter to me, always, Gee.” Frank said. He could feel the slur in his words starting, the fuzzy cloudiness encroaching. He knew he wasn’t going to be awake for much longer, wouldn’t be able to fight the pull of the meds, but he was desperately clinging to wakefulness to finish the conversation with Gerard.

Gerard shook his head, smiling before laying it back down fully. Frank followed suit, his head finding the familiar place it had been before. 

“And you matter to me, too. But you’re first right now. I was first before, yeah?” Gerard said, heavily implying the long nights Frank sat with him through withdrawal. “It’s your turn now. And that’s okay. I promise, we’re going to get through this.” 

Frank just nodded into Gerard’s shoulder. His eyes were slipping closed, shutting against the unbidden tears that had started to form. It was such a relief to have this off of his chest, to have a pathway out, a light at the end of this fucking tunnel - no matter how dim it might seem right now. Gerard would be there waiting, keeping close watch of the flame of the torch, keeping it lit and waiting to guide him back down into his arms. 

Maybe now, soon, things really would feel okay again. 

Wrapped up in Gerard’s loving arms, softly rubbing the blanket against his upper lip, Frank felt a sliver of hope settling into his chest, cool and soothing where the anxiety had been burning inside of him all night. It didn’t take very long for his mind to go entirely blank and allow him to drop off into a blissfully dreamless sleep, Gerard vigilantly keeping all the nightmares away.