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

chapter twenty-four

Frank hides out at the church until the night is pressed up against the walls and windows, looking for a way in, and he spends the time thinking about what Father Agostino said. He feels like a wishbone, pulled between God and Gerard. He can hardly tell which is which anymore.

He knocks on the door of Father Agostino's little office, and pushes it open. "I'm gonna take off," he says. "But, uh. Thanks, Father."

Father Agostino waves him away magnanimously, knocking a paperweight off his desk and not bothering to pick it up. Frank wonders if he even noticed. "All in a day's work," he says. "I hope to see you again soon, Frank."

Frank decides to quit while he's ahead, and ducks back out of the office.

***

Frank's halfway to Gerard's before he realizes where he's going. He doesn't remember making the conscious decision not to go home, but – yeah. He needs to see Gerard. That'll make things make sense again. He adjusts his backpack and starts up the next hill.

He feels like a junkie craving a fix by the time he gets there, twitchy and aching all over. The door is standing slightly ajar, faint yellow light spilling out into the cold like a beacon. Mikey must have gone out and left it unlocked, Frank thinks, pushing it open and stepping inside.

The light in the hallway that Frank could see from outside is the only one that's switched on, and Frank's skin prickles uneasily. He makes his way towards the living room, expecting to see the flickering glow of the TV screen, but there's nothing.

Weird.

His heartbeat kicks up a notch, a cold, uncomfortable feeling crawling up his spine and settling between his shoulders. He feels his way through the dark towards the kitchen. Something smells strange, sweet and cloying and... familiar.

By the time his fingers find the light switch, part of him already knows.

Frank turns on the light.

Gerard spins around to face him, and there are loops of thick, sticky shadow dripping from his fingers, blackness glinting in his eyes, too many sharp teeth in his mouth and something rotten hanging in the air.

He doesn't know whether run or hide or change, just stands and looks at Frank, as still as the dead. The silence blooms, swelling heavily until it's just about unbearable.

"Are you scared?" Gerard asks, finally. It's the same voice, rough and a little nasal, and that's the clincher, the tripswitch.

Frank has a pocketful of reasons to be scared, and he isn't. He shakes his head. "I thought I was going crazy," he says slowly, drinking in the extra shadows clinging to Gerard, the darkness gathered around him and the taint in the air. "All those dreams. I thought I was cracking up."

Gerard's eyes are tar-black and glossy like a beetle's shell, unreadable. "You gonna run away?" he says, and Frank shakes his head again.

Gerard holds his arms out, more dark stuff sloughing off his skin. "C'mere."

Frank goes without thinking or questioning, stumbling forward into Gerard's arms and holding on. They stand there in the harshly-lit kitchen, Frank's face pressed into Gerard's shoulder, Gerard's arms around him.

"You're one fuckin' weird kid," Gerard murmurs. "You flip your shit over a couple of orgasms and this is no big deal for you?"

"Shut up," Frank says into Gerard's shirt. He smells like his cigarettes and that same copper-sugar scent that's so heavy in the air. His head is spinning. All this time, fuck. Of course he fell for all of it, he never had a chance. The sudden lightness nearly knocks him off his feet, throwing him off balance. None of it was his fault.