Frank hasn't even fallen asleep when his phone starts yammering angrily at him, setting a shrill ring that he swears he hates the most. He thought of bugging Mikey to help him with his stupid ringtone the other day, maybe switch it to Tik Tok by Kesha, but he brushed the idea off because Mikey's been busy visiting stations, printing fliers, all that crap.

Speaking of, Frank hasn't eaten for days - which okay, it's the least of his concerns because Gerard is missing and he probably needs food more than Frank's stupid stomach. Everyone's been frantic for a week now, it's insane. Ray told him a couple of times to, "Chill out and stop starving yourself, dude, that won't bring Gerard back," and Frank has always replied with a grunt.

He just doesn't get it. Why Ray's all composed while his friend is literally missing. Missing. And fuck, they don't know where he is or what really happened - Gerard just dropped off the face of the earth, not even a stick-on notice.

Frank's cheap phone that weighs like, a whole brick, stops ringing and brings him back to reality. "Ugh."

He groans, hauling himself up just enough to reach for the phone on his nightstand and flipping it open. One missed call from Mikey. Shit.

Frank fumbles for the pin and dials his number. He doesn't really know why he's calling at ass o'clock. Mikey has never resorted to a phone call except for one time, and that One Time was when the studio got burned down into ashy, charred pieces and Mikey had to dial everyone ten fucking times. In the middle of the night. You get the point. It never, ever ends well, at least in Frank's experience.

The phone picks up, and Frank heaves a heavy sigh of relief. "Mikey? Mikey, what's wrong?"

"Frank, it's Gerard," says Mikey-from-the-phone. He sounds panicked. "He's," he breaks off, and Frank holds his breath, chanting to himself, Don't say dead, don't say dead, until Mikey goes on, "Okay, just wait. Ray and I are coming over, don't go anywhere, and don't even think about opening your stupid door."

Frank's about to open his mouth to start bitching, but then the phone ends in a beep so he just curses at himself. Fucking Mikey.

He shoves the phone in his pocket and fishes for a cigarette, lighting it up with a lighter that also came from the same pocket. God, the first drag feels so good, Frank has already started relaxing as the warm burn made its way. He winces at the smoke, waving it and taking another drag when the doorbell rings.

Mikey.

Frank groans, stubbing the cigarette out. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets off to stagger downstairs and open the door.

Nobody.

"Goddammit," Frank sticks his head through the door, "Mikey, this isn't funny, you asshat."

It's pitch black outside, not the best time for kids to start ringing a stranger's doorbell. Well, a stranger who only wants to fucking rest, that's for sure.

Frank shuts the door and turns around.

He doesn't scream. He doesn't scream because he can't, like someone is pinching at his throat. "Gee?"

Gerard is standing in the hallway, wobbling a little. His clothes are now torn to shit - his clothes are soaking in blood, and the skin under his eyes are hollow and sleepless. He's staring pointedly at Frank.

"Gee?" Frank repeats, walking a step closer. "Is that you?"

There's a silence.

"You asshole, we were-"

Frank stops and stumbles against the door when Gerard lets out an ear-piercing shriek. He vomits a stream of black bile that splatters all over the wall, where some of Frank's old portraits from high school are hung.

He tries calling for him again but nothing comes out. He can't even pick out which words, because what the hell, Gerard's right there, alive and totally not missing anymore, but there's blood everywhere and he's laughing a little crazily, much to Frank's discomfort.

Frank grabs for Gerard instead and starts to shake him. "Dude, what is wrong with you?"

Gerard smiles, and it's terrifying because it doesn't look like his smile, it looks like someone else's, and Frank widens his eyes, feeling the bitter, slick acid form in his throat.

Frank takes a clumsy step backwards; before he can even get out, Gerard runs over, slamming him against the door and pinning him there.

"Gee," Frank gives a shuddery sigh. "This isn't funny, man, cut it out."

Gerard leans over, tipping his head to the side and brushing his face against Frank's neck, his hair, his ear. Then he slides a fingertip across his jawline, tracing it.

"Don't touch me," Frank bites out.

"Frankie," Gerard breathes out on his neck and Frank shivers. His heart is thumping in his throat, everything is so silent, but his breathing's loud in his ears. Gerard goes on in a voice below a whisper, "Are you scared, Frank?"

Frank doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods hard.

He feels Gerard's lips against his neck, wet, which makes Frank want to vomit out the hotdog he ate this afternoon. Its so familiar, but the circumstances are obviously much, much different now.

"What are you doing?" says Frank softly.

Gerard stays quiet, starting to part his lips and nib at the skin there. Frank is a shuddering mess by now. "Mmm."

Frank opens his mouth but only a whimper comes out, which is pretty much everything he wants to say anyway, and Gerard must've heard it because he pulls away, pushing Frank aside and bolting out the door.

"Wait!" Frank yells after him, scrambling up and running out the street, but he's nowhere to be found anymore.

"Oh my God," he hears a voice from behind, and he frantically turns around to see Mikey gaping at him. Ray's beside him, sharing the same expression like twin-heads. "I saw that. Shit, Frank, are you okay?"

Frank sighs. "Inside, let's go."