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

chapter twenty-one

Before he lets Frank out of the car, Gerard kisses him one last time and murmurs a low, warm happy birthday in his ear. Frank feels like he's fucking walking on air. He doesn't know what's happening, but he's pretty sure he doesn't ever want it to end.

***

Here are some things you just don't expect to see in a church because the thought of them being there hadn't even crossed your mind, and it just makes no sense for them to be there. A herd of rhino, for instance, or a real live dragon.

That's sort of how Frank feels when Gerard plops down next to him in the pew the next Sunday, dressed in sober black and white Sunday best.

"What are you doing here?" Frank hisses out of the corner of his mouth. Having Gerard in such close proximity to his parents is making him nervous.

Gerard waves a cheerful hello to Frank's mom and dad. "I resent your assumption that I need an ulterior motive to visit the Lord's house," he whispers back to Frank, deadpan.

"I hate you."

"Liar, liar," Gerard sing-songs. Frank ignores him.

***

Frank is supremely distracted all the way through Mass, and it's only through muscle memory and force of habit that he remembers which parts he has to stand up for. What's getting to him is the fact that Gerard isn't doing anything.

He isn't trying to grope Frank, he isn't muttering darkly about the parts of the sermon he disagrees with, he isn't doing – well, anything. He's just sitting there, listening attentively and going through the motions like he's been doing it all his life. Frank knows he's up to something, and he isn't going to be able to relax until he knows what. Gerard is probably enjoying watching him squirm, the sick fuck.

It isn't until halfway through the Prayer of the Faithful that shit starts going down. Frank glances over at his mom, and notices with a sinking feeling that she's looking past him at Gerard with a worried furrow between her eyebrows. Frank can feel a profound sense of oh shit curdling in his gut as he turns slowly to see what she's seeing.

It isn't what he's expecting.

Gerard looks ashen and sick, his eyes glassy and his head lolling slightly on his shoulders. His breathing is quick and shallow, like he's struggling for air.

"Frank," his mom murmurs in his ear. "Why don't you go take Gerard outside to get some air? He doesn't look so good."

Fucking fuck. Frank doesn't know what Gerard's got planned, but it's probably not good. Somehow, knowing that doesn't stop the flutter of anticipation in his chest. But he helps Gerard out of the pew, suddenly deeply grateful that he made them late by losing his shoe and they're consequently sitting right at the back. Gerard leans heavily on Frank, dragging his feet and generally playing it up like he's after an Academy Award.

hates him, he hates him, he hates him.

As soon as they're safely into the hallway outside, Gerard straightens up, his eyes sliding back into sharp focus and a shit-eating grin unfolding across his face.

"I hate you," Frank says again.

"Sure you do," Gerard agrees easily, herding Frank down the hallway like he knows exactly where he's going. Frank has a bad feeling about this. He curses his stupid treacherous feet for letting themselves be herded so easily.

"What are you even doing?" he says, and Gerard stops, looking him up and down with a slow smile.

"You clean up nice," he says softly. "What's a boy to do?"