nobody will love you like the devil will//frerard/ferard

chapter four

The movie is fucking terrible.

Frank doesn't think he's ever had so much fun in his life.

"Oh, god," groans Gerard. "Look at that fuckin' blood spatter, that is not what would happen if you stabbed someone in the head."

Frank almost chokes on his mouthful of the popcorn Gerard insisted on buying, and has to stifle his laughter in Gerard's shoulder. The theatre's pretty empty and they're right up in the back row, but Frank's under no illusions about the fact that his laugh is pretty obnoxious.

"She doesn't even look scared, what the shit," Frank giggles helplessly, when he can speak again.

"Right? You don't look bored when you're running from the hordes of the undead, Jesus Christ," Gerard says with disgust, and reaches into his jacket pocket. "I'm gonna need a drink to get me through the rest of this," he mutters darkly, pulling out a hipflask. He unscrews the lid and knocks some back, then offers it to Frank.

I shouldn't, says Frank's brain. I've got school tomorrow, I don't...

His hands aren't listening to his brain, so they reach out and take the flask anyway. He's never really drunk beyond the occasional sip of his dad's beer or a small glass of wine at family dinners, and he can smell that whatever Gerard's got in the flask is a hell of a lot stronger than either of those. He decides he doesn't care, so he lifts it to his mouth and downs some like Gerard did. Unfortunately, Frank isn't prepared for either the foul taste or the way it burns his throat, and he ends up coughing and spluttering, tears running down his cheeks.

like an asshole and takes the flask back, but Frank can't help feeling like he's just passed some kind of test.

***

When the movie's finished, Gerard leads Frank back out to his car. Frank's giddy and punch-drunk with laughter, staggering and leaning on Gerard. Frank can't remember ever feeling so comfortable around someone, but he also can't remember the last time someone whisked him away in the middle of the night to see a movie. Gerard pulls out into the street, but the turn he takes isn't the one for Frank's house.

Frank pokes him in the shoulder. "Um," he says. "Dude. You're going the wrong way."

"I know," says Gerard.

It suddenly strikes Frank that he's out in the middle of the night in a near-stranger's car, heading out towards the edge of town. He thinks back a little uneasily to all the times his mom and dad have told him not to go out without telling them, not to go out alone at night, not to-- well. Not to do most of the things he's doing now, is the point. He chances a look at Gerard, sizing him up as a potential kidnapper. He's not a big dude, but then again, neither is Frank. Frank swallows, and feels for the reassuring weight of his cell phone in his pocket. He scrabbles back through his memories of the last few days, trying to figure out when he last plugged it in to charge. Shit, if he gets abducted or murdered out here, it is so totally going to be his own fault. He'll come back to life and die again immediately out of embarrassment.

Then Gerard flashes Frank an infectious, sharp-edged grin. "Don't worry," he says. "I'll get you home."

And for some reason, as utterly fucking stupid as it sounds, Frank has a hard time not believing him.

Gerard pulls up at the edge of a field on the outskirts of town and gets out of the car. Frank follows him. It's cold outside and the air smells of wood smoke and fresh rain, the earth soft and damp under Frank's feet. Gerard walks around, sits down on the hood of the car and pats the space next to him, looking up expectantly at Frank. Frank takes it, shivering slightly, and Gerard lights a cigarette. The cherry glows orange in the blue darkness when Gerard takes a drag, and Frank watches, hypnotized, when Gerard exhales. The way the pale smoke curls away into the cold is different every time. It's really fucking difficult to look away from.

"So," says Gerard, looking over at him and raising an eyebrow. "You enjoying life as a teenage delinquent so far?"

"It's awesome," Frank says happily, tucking his hands under his arms to keep them warm. Gerard chuckles, and Frank doesn't even care that Gerard is laughing at him. He's got that flying feeling, the one he hasn't had since he was a kid on a swing set. Nothing this cool ever happens to him. He looks up at the scattering of stars and the fat, pearly moon, taking a deep breath of smoky night air and wondering who was burning dead wood earlier. He feels all wired and turned on – not in a sexy way or anything, just like he's been on standby mode for years and now he's suddenly alive. And okay, sure, his parents would probably be pretty pissed if they found out, but they never explicitly told him not to sneak out with virtual strangers without telling them. He's pretty sure that means it doesn't technically count as disobeying them.

"Here," says Gerard, pulling the flask out of his jacket again and handing it to Frank. "Finish that, it'll warm you up."

Frank takes it, and this time he manages to drink without hacking up a lung. He sips cautiously at it while Gerard finishes his cigarette, enjoying the weird, bright warmth that kindles in his throat and radiates outwards, threading through his veins. The silence between them is easy, and Frank doesn't feel any need to break it with an inane comment or an awkward joke like he normally would. Maybe it's the booze.

"Oh – dude, here," he says, holding the empty flask out towards Gerard.

"Mm? Oh, you can keep that. I've got another one at home."

"Really? I mean, I don't have anything to put in it."

"Ahh. No fake ID?"

Frank shakes his head. He's pretty sure there's a dude at school who knows how to make them, but it just sort of never really occurred to him to get one before now. Although, he thinks, if this is how being half-drunk feels, it's actually pretty awesome. Maybe he should get on that.

"Keep it," says Gerard again, pushing Frank's hand away. "Just stick with me, I've got an ID and loose morals. You'll be fine." He takes one last drag on his smoke and drops it, grinding it into the dirt under his heel. He pushes himself away from the hood of the car, stretching like a cat, then walks back around to the door.

"C'mon," he says. "Let's get you home before you pass out on me."