MURDER MACHINE;; Mikey Way, 003

The raindrops on my window beat down strangely, making sounds like the water does on your head when you cover your ears in the shower. I'm getting a little fed up because I'm trying to sleep. I'm not sure why; it's not like I need energy for anything tomorrow. I'm not sure of a lot of things as I toss and turn, getting tangled up in the sheets. I'm not sure if I left the oven on. I'm not sure if I should go put a blanket over Gerard because we haven't paid our heating bill yet. I'm not sure if it's the rain that's keeping me awake...or the image of Frank's bright green eyes burned into my brain.

So I realize enough is enough. I snatch my glasses from my bedside table and roll out of bed, pulling a blanket with me. It'll be warmer now that my body's been wrapped in it. I go into the living room, and it's freezing, and yes, Gerard is shivering in his sleep, and no, the oven is fortunately not on. I go over to my brother, who is fast, fast asleep. He's completely still when he sleeps; I've learned that. But just because he's peaceful doesn't mean he doesn't wake up easy. So I gently lay my blanket over him, hoping that now he won't wake up iced over in the morning.

Just as I back away from the couch, I hear a voice from the other side of the small room. "What's up?" it says and I see that it's Frank in the darkness. Frank in the darkness wearing no shirt nor socks. Frank in the darkness wearing no shirt nor socks, with messy bedhead and a cute groggy voice.

"I couldn't sleep," I say quickly, beginning to flatten my bangs again. "So I just got up and took care of a few things. I'll probably just go to bed now..."

"Can you ever sleep?" Frank says, amusement laced in his voice as he leans against a wall.

"What?" I question absentmindedly. I should know exactly what he means by all these implicative statements. I should.

"Never mind," he says, striking the air with the wave of his hand. "Go get some sleep. You need it; I can tell."

I stare blankly for a few moments, wondering how one person can know another person so well. We're just humans. That's all we are. That's all we ever will be. We're selfish, pondering, searching creatures that just live here for the time being. So how can two people connect in ways that they do? I've never been able to figure it out. Not before I met Frank.

I nod at him and begin to walk toward my room. Two bedrooms, I told Frank he could take Gerard's for tonight. I pass Frank and he stops me, then leans forward and whispers, "I miss sleeping in your bed."

It's not quite a good enough pun but it works for me. You see, I've known Frank for a long time, since college. And even then, he didn't have any money. So he bunked with me in my dorm, literally with me. I believe that's the time of my life that I began to fall for Frank Iero. When I fell off the bed and ended up sleeping on the floor, I was always falling for Frank.

He watched me commit my first murder, and fuck, that's gotta count for something.

So Frank returns to my bed with me. He holds me the same way he used to, not because he particularly wants to feel me against him or anything like I do, but because he likes having something to hold onto while he sleeps.

Somehow, even through all the cigarettes that Frank smokes daily, his breath smells amazing against my skin. It's crisp and clean like winter morning air. He holds me like an adult nursing a child; his hand wrapped around my head, his head on top of mine, my face in his bare chest. I feel him begin to move around a tiny bit as we both fall asleep and he quietly asks what I'm doing tomorrow.

I have to think because this is what I avoid doing before going to sleep. I try to ignore the fact that tomorrow I might be in jail at this time. I might be dead. But that's how I chose to live my life. At least I don't go to bed each night knowing that all that's waiting for me when I wake up is a routine. All in all, I've got it pretty fucking good. I whisper, "I don't know. Some little fuck is starting shit with me anyway. I don't wanna run into him."

"Who?" I hear Frank ask above my ears, and I notice he's began to stroke my hair with his fingertips.

"Bert McCracken. Gerard knows him."

"Oh. Well, you just sleep in then, hun." And with that he resituates, and I'm feeling more calm than ever. More peaceful in the crowded bed, more serene, more at home than this apartment has ever felt.
This heart, it beats, beats for only you.
Sorry for the wait! Hopefully I've pulled you back in, because I actually like this story.
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