Frank moved in with Mikey five days later. It wasn't all that difficult, really. He made a call to his parents explaining that he would be living with a friend he knew from school, thanked the man who had been housing him, and moved his single suitcase to Mikey's apartment in Queens. Mikey hadn't promised him anything fancy, but the neighborhood made a lot of markets and restaurants readily accessible
Among these business, Frank had finally found a job. The money his parents had given him could only go so far, but the move to Mikey's place had given him the opportunity for financial help from a different family member. His uncle owned an Italian restaurant in Queens; Frank readily accepted a position as a busboy. He was grateful for the money, especially if he was going to keep living with Mikey.
The apartment was small but reasonable. When Frank opened the door, he was immediately confronted with a living room that consisted of a brown couch poised before a little, square television, all atop a carpet that was either beige or filthy. To the left of the door was an abrupt change in flooring to the white linoleum that marked off the kitchen. The kitchen itself was a refrigerator followed by a stove crammed in between cabinets; it was boxed in by a jutting counter along its length that took up precious space more than serving any other purpose. There was presently no functioning phone, but Mikey had assured him that the payphone outside the building was and effective stand-in, and family could be told to use the mail. Farther along the left wall of the main room was an opening that led to a small hallway containing three doors. Left to right, it offered you Mikey's room, a bathroom, and Frank's bedroom.
A routine soon developed starting in that last room in which Frank would fight the battle each morning against his warm blankets and get his self to work. He'd stay at work for most of the day with breaks between the dining rushes, and then he would come home and relax with his guitar. Sometimes Mikey would be there for some companionship, but he was an unpredictable roommate in more ways than one. The first way was that his schedule changed rapidly. Mikey was still interning for the record label as well as serving coffee on a night shift; his hours were never consistent. One day he would greet Frank at the door after work, and the next evening he would be nowhere in sight. The other manner of unpredictability was that Mikey's mind sometimes wandered so far away from him that he barely survived everyday tasks. He would be talking, and then Frank would have to intervene when he made blunders like absentmindedly sticking his hand down the garbage disposal or nearly placing a fork in the toaster. Ultimately, those incidents made Frank feel less insecure about his own mistakes as the new guy.
Thursdays were Frank's one day off, the result of another favor to a family member wherein his uncle allowed Frank's cousin Mary to fill Frank's position the one day she wasn't in school. Thursday was an odd day to have off, but a free day was a free day. The first of these Thursdays in the new apartment had proven to be very mellow, but the next time Frank's day off came around, it wasn't the same experience. He woke peacefully at 10:00 A.M., for having a job had managed the impossible task of drawing his sleeping hours into the realm of human decency. However, waking in the honest morning did not make him any less lethargic. It was 2:00 P.M. before he actually put clothes on, and that was only to return to the couch with his guitar. He strummed a few chords to a song he didn't fully remember before he saw the doorknob twist and heard the click of the lock. Mikey must be home, he figured, but it was the other Way brother who stuck his jet-black head through the door.
"Hey, Frank," Gerard greeted.
Frank was startled for a moment, but he soon realized that it made sense that Gerard would have a key. He and Mikey were brothers, after all, and very close ones from what Frank could tell. It was inevitable that Gerard would show up in the apartment sooner or later.
"Hey," Frank croaked out, glad he had gotten dressed.
"Is Mikey here?"
"Nah, I haven't seen him all day."
"What? I come to spend time with my dear brother, and he's not even in?"
"You could have called."
"You almost have a point, Frank," Gerard muttered as he rustled through cabinets, "but I refuse to acknowledge it." His search continued for a minute before he turned back to Frank. "Also, you don't have a phone." Frank admitted defeat.
Politely, Gerard inquired, "How are you liking New York?"
"It's nice. I haven't seen too much, though, other than that first day we met in the city," confessed Frank.
"That is insane!" Frank couldn't tell whether or not there was genuine outrage in Gerard's joking outburst, but Gerard was serious enough to make his next suggestion. "Are you doing anything today?"
"Not a thing."
"Alright, we're going into Manhattan, just to walk around. Just so you can give a less embarrassing answer to the next person who asks your opinion of New York. Besides, in light of my brother's disappearance, I need the company."
Going all the way to Manhattan just to walk around turned out to be a highly unreasonable undertaking. A series of buses and subways extended over an hour before Frank made it to the city with Gerard, so there was a lot of space to fill with conversation. As Frank spoke, Gerard would count the number of times Frank used his hands superfluously to illustrate a point. They were nice hands, strong and dexterous, but the way Frank waved them in front of his chest when he was having trouble getting the right words out was sort of comical. Gerard made a fair amount of hand gestures while talking too, but they were all very deliberate. Frank's haphazard gesticulation was an entirely different behavior, and it pulled a full smile onto Gerard's face.
The two finally made it into Manhattan, and, as promised, they walked. Neither of them ran into anyone they knew; though, for a moment Gerard could have sworn he saw Ray and Jill from the club across the street. If it really was them and Ray was working on getting them a gig, that was fine by him, but it wasn't where he wanted to direct his focus. He had come all the way out to Manhattan to talk to Frank alone. They discussed anything they felt like, from family to school to music as they moved aimlessly along the elongated city blocks.
"Can you scream?" Frank asked. "Like, singing-wise."
Gerard shook his head. "I wish," he replied, "but apparently you can."
"Yeah, but I can't always do it for you. You should learn."
"Okay then, teach me. How does one scream?"
Frank pondered it for a moment. It was difficult to explain something like that. Gerard repressed a smirk, as his earlier discussions with Frank left him expecting plenty of accompanying hand motions.
"It's something you have to work on to get," began Frank, "but… Okay, try singing a specific pitch but do it with more air and just try to make it a scream. Just that. Choose a word and a note. Let's go with," his face screwed up in thought, "Walmart."
"Walmart?" Gerard asked, stifling a laugh with a smile that permeated his voice.
"Walmart. I'm the teacher and I'll choose whatever word I want."
Frank took a moment and then released a scream, making a few passerby jump.
"There," he said. "Walmart works. Try it."
Gerard tried with minimal success, ultimately croaking with a slight squeak, and the two friends burst into laughter.
"You'll learn," Frank assured him.
It soon got dark, so Gerard suggested beginning the trip home. He still wanted to catch Mikey if he could. However, they returned to an empty apartment.
"Dammit," Gerard announced upon seeing the unlit living space. "Frank", he continued while turning on the lights, "Does Mikey keep any food in this apartment? I was looking through your cabinets earlier, but I couldn't find anything."
"I think he has two six packs of beer in the fridge," offered Frank.
Gerard soon took out both. "We are finishing them both as punishment for him not being here." He broke open a bottle. "I bet I can drink you under the table."
Frank accepted the challenge. A few beers later when he was starting to show the effects of the alcohol and Gerard remained unchanged, he regretted it.
"You can't take a drink, Frank," Gerard commented.
"I'm not down yet," Frank declared.
It was a while and several more determined drinks on Frank's part before Gerard began talking again. "It's such a strange feeling to do something and nothing at the same time. Like in Manhattan today, we went all the way to Manhattan, but nothing happened. We just talked, and it was still worth it."
Frank nodded with a vague smile plastered on his face.
"So, Frank, we didn't see each other for seven years. I still don't really know what happened to you in that time."
"Not much, I guess," Frank slurred, his words just starting to run together like melting ice. "I tried starting a band. We didn't go anywhere. School was god-awful. Not because of the classes but because I barely had any friends. However, I did see this one girl for a while… That didn't go anywhere either." He developed a wry smile. "She was pretty, though." Frank shrugged and tried to form another sentence on the topic, but it was clear that he was a tad too drunk to do so very coherently. Gerard mercifully spoke for him.
"I warned you. High school is terrible. I think I told you, though, before I left that you can't take anything from anyone if you want to survive."
Frank was quiet for a while, staring with glazed eyes at the wall directly in front of him and fidgeting with the cap to his most recently emptied bottle. Then he spoke.
"I remember. I had the biggest crush on you."
Gerard's eyes flashed and adrenaline shot through every stretch of his body. He had no idea what to make of that sentence. Surely Frank didn't mean to say that. There wasn't time to examine the comment further, though, because Frank suddenly tried to stand.
"I'm gonna get some water," Frank slurred. He nearly collapsed while trying to walk.
Luckily, Gerard lunged forward in time to wrap his arms around Frank's waist, catching him before he hit the floor. Frank slumped against Gerard's chest and rapidly beating heart while the supporting party tried to guide Frank to his room. Slowly, Gerard got Frank to his bed, laid him down gently, and rolled him onto his side. As he hovered over the mattress, Gerard's mind was plagued with thoughts about Frank's comment. He was too buzzed to sort through them in that moment, though, and the only person who could explain anything was beyond the ability to speak.
Gerard backed up into a wall and let himself slump down onto the floor by Frank's bed believing more than ever in his previous summary of the day. I had the biggest crush on you. Those words were something, but essentially nothing had happened because Frank wouldn't even remember them. Unlike the trip to Manhattan, though, Gerard had to wonder whether the words were worth it. In the heavy darkness, Gerard lingered, unwilling to leave the scene of the confession that could mean so much and which he feared he'd never hear again.