rivers_bend

back to part 1



Mikey is totally waiting for him when he gets there, and he looks happy to see Frank, and they have no trouble getting in—they don’t even get their IDs out, Mikey just says, “Hey, Tony,” and the guy on the door says, “Hey, Mikey,” and they walk inside—and then they’re hit by a wall of noise and smoke and fucking energy that makes Frank feel like he stuck his hand in a tank of electric eels. In a good way. He’s a little bummed that Gerard isn’t here, but maybe that’s better. Gerard is still a little scary. Mikey’s at least talked to Frank.

And, apparently, bought him drinks. Frank’s still getting his bearings, trying to figure out where the best place to get into the crowd up near the stage is, when Mikey’s arm comes over his shoulder, bearing a bottle of beer. Frank looks twelve, he knows, but he doesn’t think Mikey looks that much older than him, and yet here he is getting served in a club. A dank, dirty, basement club, that clearly doesn’t get too stressed about letting high school students in, but still. “Thanks,” Frank says, trusting Mikey can read his lips.

They drink their beers and edge to the right where the crowd is a little thinner. “Bob and Ray are up next!” Mikey shouts over the music. “We’ll head for the pit while they’re setting up.” Frank didn’t know Ray was playing, too. He wonders if Janine is here, but it’s not like he’d have a chance with her anyway. Not if Ray’s going to be on stage.

And Ray is so on stage, holy shit. Frank can play guitar. He’s not great or anything, but he can play in a way where he knows once he’s been doing it longer he’ll get better. And he’s got the basics. He knows what it takes. If Ray’s still in high school, he can’t be more than a couple years older than Frank is. But he plays like he was fucking born with a guitar in his hands. If he’d been in Frank’s older brother’s band? Frank totally would have spent the last two years wanting to fuck him, too. He does not blame Janine one little bit. “Damn!” he says to Mikey, eyes wide. Mikey manages to convey, Right? Totally amazing, with a nod.

Abandoning their empty bottles, they worm their way into the center mass, where Frank loses track of Mikey, his own limbs, everything but the way his heartbeat throbs with the sound. It’s been months since he came to a show, and he’d almost forgotten how it feels to get lost in it. He closes his eyes for a minute and lets the crowd move him, not really caring if he’s tripping and falling or being pushed, then he dives in and gets active, a pinball in a bag of pinballs, immune to bruises as long as the music’s playing. It’s like being high.

In the changeover between Bob and Ray’s band and the one following them, Mikey appears behind Frank again, another beer in his hand. Frank’s starting to wonder if this is his super power. And, man, if you’re the type of guy who likes to drink at seven in the morning, that would be a totally amazing power for your boyfriend to have. Plus, even though he’s super bony, Mikey looked pretty good to lean on, like Gerard was doing in the cafeteria the other day. Cuddles and beer. Frank’s almost jealous.

“Wanna smoke?” Mikey asks as he hands over the beer.

Frank can’t tell if Mikey means a cigarette break or bud, but either way the answer is a whole-hearted “Yes.”

Looping an arm around Frank’s neck as though they’re actually friends, Mikey steers him over to the stage door like he totally belongs and has been there before. Ray and Bob are wrestling with an amp on the other side. They shouldn’t have a problem, but half the width of the hallway is taken up by a stack of broken chairs that look like castoffs from a church hall, and they’re starting to fall where the guys are walking past.

“Hey, here,” Frank says, shoving his beer into Mikey’s hand and darting around Ray’s legs under the amp to rescue them from the attacking furniture. He holds back the tide long enough for them to pass, and then Mikey comes and helps him stack the pile less precariously. Frank’s pretty sure he hears Ray ask Bob about him as they make their way out the door to the alley, but half of what he says is swallowed up by Mikey saying, “You’re quick, dude. Nice,” and most of the rest by the night.

“Do they need help carrying shit?” Frank asks.

“Nah, Bob lets the Crackerjacks use his kit and most of the rest of the setup tonight’s JoJo’s, but Ray’s particular about who uses his amp.”

Frank can totally see how a guy as good as Ray would be picky about his equipment, but he doesn’t want Mikey to be putting him off because he thinks Frank’s too small to haul gear. “I’m totally stronger than I look,” he says. “If anyone needs any help later.”

“Good to know,” Mikey answers, pulling Frank into a headlock to drag him out back.

The alley is bigger than Frank was expecting, with room for six or seven cars under the too-bright security lights, but is otherwise the same rough brick, cracked and pitted asphalt, and sagging chain link fence he’s seen a hundred times out back the drug store and the music shop and his mom’s favorite deli. He figured they’d be smoking huddled between the wall and a dumpster or something, but apparently Bob is one of those dudes who always has a place to party. He and Ray are loading the amp into a little trailer on the back of an 80s-era VW van, open side door revealing a bench seat draped in blankets and a pile of the same pillows he had in the den, only twice the size.

“Mikey,” Bob says, checking the padlock on the trailer’s door is set. “Tell us you found Steve.” Neither Bob nor Ray seem to think it’s weird that Mikey still has his arm around Frank’s neck, so Frank tries putting an arm around Mikey’s waist. It goes a long way toward lessening the choke-hold aspects of the embrace and doesn’t seem to bother anyone either, so Frank leaves it there.

“I found Steve,” Mikey says, patting the breast pocket of his jacket. Pot then. Because if Mikey can buy beers, it seems real unlikely he needs to get someone else to buy his smokes for him.

Bob ushers them all into his lair. He and Ray take the pillows, leaving the bench seat for Frank and Mikey. Mikey needs both hands to roll, and Frank gets time to wonder what it meant that Mikey had his arm around him. He’s seen him with his arms around Gerard, of course, and then everyone he saw his arms around at the party he was kissing. Does he want to kiss Frank? Or does he only kiss girls when he’s not kissing Gerard?

“So, Frank,” Ray says, interrupting Frank’s musings before he can get to the part where he thinks too much about his jerk-off fantasy from last night. “I didn’t know you knew Mikey.”

“I, um—“ Frank says, just as Bob says, “They go to school together, but they met last night at the party.”

Ray’s face scrunches up and he drops Frank’s gaze. “Uh, about that—“

The dude almost looks like he thinks Frank’s gonna punch him, and like maybe he deserves it. “Oh, hey, no.” Frank rushes to say. “Seriously. I just met her this week, and we did like, one project together in English class. She’s obviously really into you, which, I get that. Have you seen you playing guitar?” Oh, god, why is it so hard for him to just stop talking?

Bob looks at Frank, looks at Ray, and bursts out laughing.

“Who wants to start?” Mikey says, holding out a neatly rolled joint. Frank grabs it.

Mikey starts a second one while Frank, Ray and Bob pass the first one around, and before long they’ve hotboxed the van and Frank’s starting to get a little worried he might slide right off the seat onto the floor. Except then Mikey’s hand appears out of nowhere to settle on the back of Frank’s neck, and while it should feel like it’s pushing him down, it’s more kind of pinning him right where he is. Especially once Mikey starts feathering his fingers through the hair at the back of Frank’s neck. A sharp pain in his fingers makes him jump, and he realizes he’s just holding onto a joint and letting it burn down. “Sorry,” he mutters, and hands it to Mikey. Mikey quirks a smile at him and takes it, other hand never pausing in playing with his hair. He and Bob seem to be having a seriously earnest discussion about the sound mix during the show.

“It was fucking awesome,” Frank contributes. “Lotsa beat, lotsa guitar, not too much of your singer, who, I don’t know if you’re friends or whatever, but I don’t think he’s doing a lot for you, so it’s cool if he’s more in the background.”

“Fucking Josh,” Ray says. Bob adds, “Fucking Arizona.”

Frank’s brain chugs through the smoke and the stupor induced by Mikey’s fingers and lands on Janine’s brother. “Fucking college,” he says. “With a better singer, I bet you guys could really make it.” He sits forward, better to emphasize his point. Mikey’s hand drops to the small of his back, resting just below the hem of his jacket, his thumb stroking up and down, rubbing Frank’s t-shirt against his spine. It feels really fucking good, but it doesn’t distract him. Frank totally has feelings about college.

“Music is fucking important, okay?” Frank says, looking at Bob and Ray, waiting for their nods of agreement. “And you hafta fucking just do it. You can’t say, ‘Well, I’ll just take four years out of living my dream to take all these classes that might get me somewhere I don’t even want to fucking be, anyway, right?”

“You have a band?” Bob asks.

“No. I mean, I play guitar a little, and my dad taught me drums, and there were some guys at my old school and we used to jam sometimes, but it’s what I love, ya know?”

“You gotta love it to do it,” Ray says and takes a hit so huge he looks like the big bad wolf.

“You could totally blow the brick house,” Frank says.

Bob starts laughing again, so hard this time he has to clutch his stomach and rock back and forth.

“What?” Frank says, and then they’re all laughing.

Mikey rolls another joint, and Frank’s back feels cold where his hand isn’t anymore, and they smoke it, and Frank thinks about how three days ago he didn’t have any friends, and now here he is, and Bob is being really fucking serious again, Frank thinks about pedal setups—which, doesn’t he play the drums?—and Ray is nodding really earnestly which makes his hair bob up and down like Sideshow Bob’s, and wow, there’s a whole lot of bob happening in the van right now, and Mikey puts his arm around Frank’s shoulders and pulls him so he’s kind of resting his head on Mikey’s chest, and he is pretty bony, but weirdly kinda comfortable, and his heartbeat is really loud.

“Ray and I need to go,” Bob says suddenly, in the middle of a sentence about something else entirely. “And see. Some people. About a thing. We’ll be a while, lock the doors if you have to leave before we get back. I have the keys.”

“We do?” Ray says.

Bob looks at Frank’s face pressed against Mikey’s collar bone. “We do,” he says, tugging on Ray’s wrist.

“Oh,” Ray says, pushing himself up. “Oh. Right. The thing.”

“You fail,” Mikey tells them. “Subtlety failure across the board.”

“I assume,” Bob says drily as he opens the van door, letting smoke out and icy air in, “that you understand the irony in you making that kind of accusation.”

“Fuck off,” Mikey says.

“Wait.” Frank’s brain catches up to the fact that people are exiting the van. “Are we leaving?”

“They’re leaving,” Mikey says, fingers twirling the hair that tufts out over Frank’s left ear. Ray’s feet hit the ground and he heaves the door shut. “They didn’t want to watch us make out.”

“We’re making out?” Frank is a little worried that he’s blurring the line between fantasy and reality again.

“Only if you want to,” Mikey says, low and reassuring, but he’s tugging Frank up by the handful of hair he’s gripping at the back of Frank’s head like he’s pretty sure Frank is going to want to.

Frank is totally going to say that he wants to, but before he can get the words out, he kind of launches himself at Mikey’s face instead. The action pulls sharply at his hair, but Frank discovers he doesn’t actually mind that. Is, in fact, really glad he didn’t take any of his mom’s hints that he should get a haircut.

Mikey doesn’t flinch away from Frank’s attack, but he does slow him down, the hand not fisted in Frank’s hair stroking his cheek, down his neck, down his arm and back up again, mouth moving slowly against Frank’s, teeth nipping gently when Frank does his best to stuff his tongue down Mikey’s throat in his excitement. Frank tries to remember to breathe, tries to slow down and let Mikey do his thing, since only including the ones Frank knows about first hand, Mikey’s kissed more people this weekend than Frank’s kissed in his whole life. Oh, wait, no, they’re tied. Because Mikey’s not only kissing Frank, Frank’s also kissing Mikey.

“Hey,” Mikey says, framing Frank’s face with his hands, pushing him back a little bit. “Bob won’t come back for at least an hour. We’ve got time.”

Frank nods, gets as much air into his lungs as he can before Mikey pulls him back in. He’s a really really good kisser.

When Frank made out with Becky Wilson on the sofa in her basement, she climbed into his lap, which meant he could get his arms tight around her, and after a while grope her boobs, edge his fingers up under her skirt. He wonders if Mikey would think it was weird if Frank crawled onto him. (The idea of Mikey sitting on Frank’s lap is both awesome and ridiculous, but not what Frank’s body is itching for.) He probably wouldn’t; Frank can totally imagine Gerard sitting on Mikey’s lap.

Gerard. Fuck. “Oh, hey, hang on,” Frank says, pushing Mikey to arm’s length. “Doesn’t Gerard mind that you keep kissing people?”

Mikey looks at him like he’s not speaking a language Mikey understands. “Why would Gerard care who I kiss?”

He looks so confused that Frank’s too embarrassed to explain. He’s certainly not going to judge their relationship. As long as he’s not going to piss Gerard off by making out with Mikey, Frank’s good. “Nothing,” Frank says. “No reason. Let’s make out some more.”

Mikey gives him one last bemused look and reels him back in.

Kissing Mikey is mostly amazing but also kind of maddening. Becky had always let Frank take the wheel, and he’d pretty much aimed at getting where they were going as fast as possible. Not that they were going very far ever, but there was always the risk of her parents coming home, or coming downstairs, and Frank wanted to get as much tongue as he could in the window of opportunity he had. Matt had been so drunk he’d mostly licked the lower half of Frank’s face for a few minutes and then dropped to his knees and sucked Frank off. So Frank has definitely never kissed anyone as in control as Mikey Way.

When Frank tries to pull Mikey down on top of him, Mikey just pulls him up, and when Frank tries to edge onto Mikey’s lap, Mikey holds him back. He seems perfectly content to just kiss, hands never exploring lower than Frank’s ribs. Not that that isn’t good. Frank feels like his face is melting and his skin is on fire and his dick is hard as fuck, and it’s not exactly like this is the first time Frank’s been hard where he couldn’t do anything about it, plus the high takes the edge off a little anyway. He concentrates on how Mikey’s licking into his mouth, gentle and pushy at the same time, and it reminds him of how he was grappling with Gerard in the parking lot, and oh. Yeah. Gerard. That’s probably why Mikey isn’t getting all up on Frank’s junk.

The sound of doors slamming breaks through Frank’s stupor and he pulls away in case it’s Bob and Ray coming back. He knows how it feels to have to watch other people making out in your face. “We should probably—“ Mikey says, adjusting his coat and straightening his glasses on his nose.

“Yeah,” Frank says. “Probably.” Then, “You’re a really fucking good kisser.”

“Like the man says: You gotta love it to do it.”

Frank isn’t sure what man Mikey’s talking about, then remembers that’s what Ray said about music earlier. “Well, you must really love it.”

“Kissing’s awesome.” Mikey smiles, pats his pockets like he’s checking for his weed and whatever. “And anyone can do it. No big deal, just fun. No harm, no foul.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Frank is stoned, but not stoned enough to miss the big neon ‘THIS DOESN’T MEAN WE’RE BOYFRIENDS NOW’ Mikey’s flashing in his face. “No strings attached, just kissing. Some fun between friends.” Great, Frankie, way to make assumptions. “I mean. Not that we— Not that you have to be my friend or whatever now just because we kissed. You probably— God. Just fucking shut me up.”

Mikey laughs, a quick burst of sound, then kisses Frank soundly on the lips. “Shut up,” he says. “We’re totally friends now. Not because we kissed, but, dude, we totally went to a gig together, and smoked up, and Bob clearly likes you, and Bob doesn’t like just anyone, believe me.”

“Oh,” Frank says, grinning fit to split his face in two. “Okay then.”

“Come on, though. He’ll like you better if we give him his van back.”



Sunday, Frank goes with his mom to visit his grandparents. She gets him up earlier than he would have gotten up on his own, but pot hangover is not nearly as bad as drink hangover, so by the time he’s had a shower and a couple cups of coffee, he’s feeling pretty good. With his mother still in her happy-he-has-friends-again state, she’s not complaining about two late nights in a row, and hasn’t even asked if he has homework he should be doing. (He doesn’t, but it’s nice not to have to justify anything.) Plus, his grandma is a really good cook, and gives him twenty bucks for being a good boy, then sends him and his mom home with a veggie lasagna, a pot of bean soup, a tray of cannelloni, and a bag of chocolate-covered toffees that she claims will break her teeth if she tries to eat them so it would be a favor for Frank to take them off her hands.

Monday, Frank’s almost looking forward to going to school. He’s pretty sure he’s got someone to talk to in English, and almost certain he has someone to sit with at lunch, and that’s two more people to talk to than he’s had since he started at this school, and maybe, if Mikey’s told Gerard about Frank, there will be three people for him to talk to. Frank would really like that.

His mom’s got a headache, so she’s running a little behind, and Frank has to jog up the drive and he still misses first bell. Mrs. Hopewell marks him tardy for homeroom, which means if he gets one more he’ll have to do detention, but he doesn’t even care. When he gets to English, there’s still an empty seat next to Janine, so he drops into it. “Hi,” he says, grinning, possibly scarily hugely. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

Barely glancing at him first, she covers her face with her hands. “I’m mortified,” she says, all muffled. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Did what?” He thought they’d already established he was cool about the whole Ray thing.

“I really do think you’re cute,” she says, taking her hands down, but still not looking him in the eye. “And I would have— you know. If I were a little drunker, or maybe not so drunk— But I shouldn’t have come on to you and then gone off with someone else like that.”

“Well,” Frank says, wishing she would look at him so she could see he’s being sincere. “You pretty much said you weren’t gonna kiss me, so I wasn’t really expecting anything. And, I mean. Ray. I saw him play on Saturday, and dude. I would totally, too. If. Well. I get it is what I’m saying.”

She sneaks a look at him again. Holding his gaze when she sees his (much more normal-sized) smile. “You do?”

“I do,” he says more quietly, as Mrs. Canetti picks up her attendance book. While her attention’s on the other side of the room, he quickly whispers, “I hope he called you.” Ray seems like the kind of guy who calls, so Frank’s pretty confident he’ll get the nod and pleased smile Janine gives him.

They have a freewrite assignment in class, and Janine takes the opportunity to pass Frank a note. He hasn’t had a note passed to him ever, he’s pretty sure. His friends were mostly boys at his old school, and they had assigned seating in all their classes and he never sat next to them anyway. It probably shouldn’t be as thrilling as it is that someone wants to pass notes with him, but whatever. He’s really glad Janine wants to be friends with him still. The note says, ray and I talked for like four hours sunday on facebook, and then he called me. asked me to come see him play next weekend. And maybe go see a movie. I think he likes me!!! Hope you don’t mind me getting excited at you. Can’t tell rachel because she’s sad mikey didn’t call her.

Sneaking a peek at Mrs. Canetti first—she’s doing her own freewrite—Frank grins at Janine so she knows he’s not upset, and then he shifts the paper onto his notebook so it looks like he’s still doing the assignment. hung with him some on sat nite. he’s an awesome dude you should totally go for it. He thinks for a minute, but it only seems fair, so he adds, pretty sure mikey isn’t going to call your friend. He kisses a lot of people I think. Folding the paper along the same lines as Janine had, Frank tosses it back onto her desk.

She smiles when she opens it, then frowns a little, Frank assumes when she gets to the part about Mikey. With a glance at the front of the room, she scribbles below Frank’s words. told her he doesn’t actually date but she wouldn’t listen. She said he’s the best kisser. I think ray’s the best tho.

Frank decides not to comment on Mikey’s kissing skills and the fact that he knows about them. Just says, yeah. Saw him kissing other people at party and also saturday. She should move on.

“Okay!” Mrs. Canetti says before Frank has a chance to toss the note back onto Janine’s desk. “Time’s up. Does anyone want to read what they wrote?”

One of the girls who cheers for the lacrosse team raises her hand. Boy. Frank can’t wait. He slides the note over as the cheerleader stands, watches as Janine reads it and nods, and then he zones out and waits for the bell to ring.

After making out with Gerard’s probably boyfriend, Frank feels a little weird about stalking him at his locker, so he avoids the art wing between classes. He considers going outside for lunch, too—the grounds are so big that he’s pretty unlikely to run into Gerard and Mikey out there—but he doesn’t want Mikey to think he’s avoiding him and decide he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, so he heads for the cafeteria instead. And there they are, sitting at the same table Frank’s seen them at before, facing the door.

Mikey nods in Frank’s direction when he catches his eye, and Frank nods back, sketching a little wave with the hand not holding his lunch. Gerard is looking at something on the table; Frank can’t see what it is due to the crowd between them. When he gets closer, Mikey says, “Hey, Frank, eat with us,” and Gerard’s head snaps up. Frank is pretty sure he doesn’t look like he’s going to attack or anything, but he definitely looks like someone who might eat a live frog in front of his biology class—eyes wide and a little crazed, mouth crooked awkwardly around the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. Frank is pretty sure the normal reaction to someone looking at you like that isn’t supposed to be an overwhelming desire to kiss the look off his face. It’s probably also not supposed to be a strong urge to see the guy he’s sitting next to do it for you because you’re too scared to do it yourself. But apparently if you’re Frank Iero, Gerard’s crazy looks really really kissable, because that’s all he can think about as he follows Mikey’s instructions and sits down across from them.


“Frank,” Mikey says. “Gerard. Gerard, Frank.”

Frank doesn’t gush or bounce or ask if Gerard really ate a live frog or if the drawing in his locker is Cat Woman with fur instead of a leather suit—he nods a little and says, “Hey,” like it’s no big deal to be meeting the dude he sort of maybe accidentally somehow got obsessed with while he wasn’t looking.

Eyes still big, Gerard nods back, and looks at Mikey, making his eyes even bigger, and then smaller, and then big again, and he does a thing with his hand that’s like, his fingers splay out and he flicks his wrist, all of which obviously means something to Mikey because he says, “Yeah,” and Gerard says, “Okay,” and looks at Frank consideringly, and mumbles, “Hi.”

“Gerard’s drawing me an army of hipsters,” Mikey says. “But their irony is no match for the zombies.”

“That,” Frank says. “Yeah.” Because how could it be? “Unless they had actual iron. Or maybe irons. Could you take a zombie’s head off with an iron if you swung it hard enough d’you think?”

Biting his lip again, Gerard starts to sketch something in the hand of the figure at the front of the pack. After a few seconds, it takes the shape of an iron. Gerard draws a plug, but then he erases it.

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “It would probably be better if it was one of those old fashioned ones you put on the stove, not one of those modern light-weight ones. No power behind that.”

“If you had two,” Frank says, warming to the subject, “one in each hand, you could crush the head between them. Like the Three Stooges clap, only, squish!”

For the first time, Gerard looks him in the eye. It’s only for a second, but it makes Frank feel special. “Squish,” Gerard says. “Disgusting.” He says it like ‘disgusting’ is a total achievement. The lead figure gets a second iron, and then Gerard erases his face and when he draws it again, Frank can see something of himself in the lines.

“Is that me?” he blurts.

“I’m not saying you’re a hipster,” Gerard says. “Sorry, Mikes. But if the humans are gonna win, they’re not gonna be hipsters.”

“No,” Mikey agrees. “Obviously.”

Frank’s stomach rumbles softly, making him remember that technically he’s here to eat, and he plunks his bag down on the table. Pop-Tarts, a granola bar, two fruit rollups, and a little baggie of carrots that his mom must have snuck in there while he wasn’t looking, because he definitely didn’t pack them.

“Fruit rollups,” Mikey says. “Hey, Gee, d’we have fruit rollups today?”

Frank looks at the food abandoned for the clearly more interesting zombie-fight drawing. They have matching ham-and-cheese sandwiches this time.

“No,” Gerard says. “Mom didn’t buy any. I’ll tell her we want some.”

So much for Frank’s theory Mikey’s mom is feeding Gerard. Maybe Mikey spends all his lunch money on drugs and shows, so Gerard is feeding him. Or maybe they take turns, and that way each of them only has to think about lunch half the time. Maybe Frank shouldn’t be so fascinated with his new friend’s (Or maybe friends’? The jury’s still out on Gerard.) lunch habits.

“You can have one of mine,” Frank says, pushing one toward Mikey. Gerard eyes the packet inching across the table toward his boyfriend. Frank wonders what Mikey told him about Saturday night.

“You can have one too.” Frank starts to poke the second one in Gerard’s direction, but Gerard shakes his head.

“We can’t take your whole lunch,” Gerard says. “Mikey’ll share with me.”

Mikey elbows him in the ribs and says, “That’s what you think,” but he’s already tearing off a piece and handing it over.

“See?” Gerard says, grinning up at Mikey, eyes shining. He tears off a bite with his tiny teeth, and his cheeks hollow as he sucks it, getting back to his drawing.

Frank tries really hard not to stare at the way Gerard’s tongue is moving in his mouth, obviously pressing the fruit to his palate, licking it, but he can’t tear his eyes away. When he finally manages it, he catches Mikey watching him, smirking. Which is embarrassing, but much better than Mikey watching him and glaring.

“So, zombies!” Frank says a little too loudly as he tears into his Pop-Tarts. Dialing it back, he adds, “I guess they’re a thing for you?”

Stopping all intriguing mouth movements, Gerard looks at him, eyes flat. Frank suddenly remembers that half the school calls Gerard psycho boy.

“I just— In your locker. You have— I totally love zombies. You’re really good at them.”

“You’ve been in my locker?”

Frank can’t tell if that’s alarm or anger, but it makes his stomach twist the way watching Mikey and Gerard fight over Gerard’s bloody wrist had. “Just walking past,” Frank says quickly. Now Mikey’s looking at him, too, no smirk in sight. “You were getting your books? And I could see— Zombies. They’re awesome. And, like, a cat woman, too. I wanted to— But you— Really. You’re really good.” Frank flaps his hand in the direction of the drawing Gerard’s doing now, where Mikey is starting to take shape in the face of the little figure next to Frank.

“Told you,” Mikey says to Gerard.

Frank watches them stare at each other for a moment and demands, “Told him what?”

Before Mikey can answer, Gerard pushes him and says, “Nothing!” with a hard glare right up in Mikey’s face so he can’t miss it.

“Nothing,” Mikey agrees placidly, but his little smile doesn’t say ‘nothing’ to Frank. It says something Frank wants to know about.

“I have to go,” Gerard says, shoving his sandwich back in his backpack, stuffing his pencil case and hastily closed sketch book in after it.

“You don’t have to go,” Mikey says.

Gerard doesn’t answer.

“Should you go after him?” Frank asks, watching Gerard dodge a flying bread roll as he ducks out the door.

“Nah,” Mikey says. “He just needs to sulk and smoke for a while. He sometimes gets weird about anyone but me and Mr. Zukaris liking his art.

“I didn’t mean—“

“He needs to get over it. Just, a lot of people make fun of the weird kid sitting in the back of the class drawing gory comics, so he kinda figures that’s people’s default. But you’re not like that.”

Frank is so not like that. He’s totally the weird kid, too. Only he can’t draw.

“Want some of my pudding cup?” Mikey asks. “I’ll get you a spoon.”




Frank has to run to get to Math. He and Mikey get caught up talking about the gig Saturday night and all the other shows they’ve been to—Frank far fewer than Mikey since Frank tends to be hampered by being a sophomore in high school, a problem he’s going to have to get Mikey to teach him how to get around. It means he doesn’t have time to swing past Gerard’s locker on the way. Mr. Bromley keeps droning on after the bell about what they can expect on their quiz, which makes a traffic jam near the door. Frank still detours down the art hall on his way to History, but Gerard is already shutting his locker and pushing through the classroom door by the time Frank gets there. Plus side, it looks like he definitely has art sixth period. Which is good to know. Just out of curiosity.

Between History and Business Skills, Frank catches Gerard slipping out the door that leads to the half-hidden corner made by the maintenance building and the wall around the staff parking lot where sometimes kids go to smoke. Business is a stupid class, and they’re just practicing typing today—Frank can already type just fine, thanks—and Frank hasn’t had a cigarette since the weekend and he’d really like one. He’s pretty sure there’s a crumpled pack at the bottom of his bag.

“You got a light?” he asks as he approaches Gerard’s huddled form tucked tight in the windbreak made by the walls.

Gerard eyes him suspiciously, so Frank holds up his last sad and slightly mangled cigarette. “Don’t you have class?” Gerard says, failing to produce a lighter or any matches.

“Don’t you?” Frank asks.

It seems Gerard thinks if he doesn’t answer Frank might go away, but Frank’s not cutting class and then not even getting some nicotine out of it, so he watches Gerard drag smoke into his lungs and send it billowing up over the wall until it’s all he can do not to jump on him and lick the taste of smoke off his lips. And wow, okay, now all he can think about is getting stoned with Mikey again, only this time with Gerard there too, and maybe pushing him back into Bob’s pile of pillows, straddling his hips, leaning closer and closer as Gerard takes a hit, diving in as soon as the joint’s out of the way, brushing their lips together, breathing in as Gerard exhales, getting dizzy but not stopping, melting into him, maybe with Mikey watching, saying, Yeah. Look at you.

“Please,” Frank says. Okay, begs—thanking god Gerard’s a smoker and surely will credit Frank’s obvious desperation to jonesing rather than wonder about the contents of Frank’s imagination. “You’ve gotta have a lighter or something.

“Mikey doesn’t smoke unless he’s drinking,” Gerard says, still not coughing up a flame.

“Okay,” Frank says. “Random. Or you could let me use your cherry.”

Gerard does cough at that, sputtering and hacking. While he’s distracted, Frank plucks his cigarette from between his fingers and uses it to light his own.

“Hey!” Gerard protests, wheezes out another cough and repeats himself a little more quietly. “Hey. That’s mine.”

“And this one’s mine.” Frank holds his finally lit stick of nicotine heaven aloft and hands Gerard’s only slightly worse for wear one back to him. “You were withholding. Desperate times and all that.”

“Mikey didn’t say you were this pushy.” Gerard is sulking. It shouldn’t be so cute. But it is. Totally cute. It’s also not a face anyone would call psycho, and Frank tries not to be too pleased that he’s getting to see it.

“What did Mikey say about me?”

“That you’re short,” Gerard mutters, still sulking, but standing up to full height so he’s got a couple inches on Frank. “And into music. And Bob approves of you.”

Frank tries to get bent out of shape about being called short, but Gerard is talking to him and doing distractingly hot things with his mouth again, and he just can’t. Instead he says, “So tell me about the cat woman gutting Freddy.”

“He also said you’re not an asshole and I should let you look at my drawings.” Gerard doesn’t exactly sound like he agrees with this course of action.

“I’m not,” Frank agrees. “And you should.”

“Freddy forgot that cats have claws,” Gerard says, flicking his butt to the ground and stepping on it. “I have studio time now. Have to work on my project.”

Before Frank gets a chance to suggest Gerard stay just another minute while Frank finishes his smoke, Gerard’s scooting around the edge of the building.

On principle, Frank smokes down to the filter before going back inside. He debates just going home early, but he might not get detention if he goes to class, so he does that instead. Mrs. Ware doesn’t notice him slipping in, and he even gets the assignment in by the end of the period, easy peasy.



When Frank got his locker when he changed schools, the secretary made a point of telling him how lucky he was to get one in the sophomore hall even though he was a late transfer. Frank doesn’t see what’s so great about it. He just gets to spend even more time surrounded by the assholes he already has to put up with during class. Like the jerks at the next table in chemistry who today decide that nothing would improve Frank’s day more than being shoved into his locker. He so should have just gone home after his cigarette. Though the one good thing about the lockers here is that their designer clearly used to get shut into lockers as a kid because there’s a latch on the inside, so all Frank has to do is wait for the assholes to stop congratulating themselves on their awesome wit and leave.

But they don’t seem to be leaving. One of them breaks off mid guffaw to say, “Fuck off, Way. Go blow your boyfriend in the bike shed.”

“I blew your boyfriend in the bike shed and he said I was the best he ever had.” The voice, clearly Mikey, comes closer, and by the time he gets to “best” he’s right outside Frank’s locker door. Great. Now Frank has to wait for all of them to go away.

“Fuck you, fag,” Frank hears. He can’t tell which asshole it is.

“I thought the possibility of my fucking you was the problem you have with me,” Mikey answers.

That’s greeted with a moment of silence and then, “Oh, go blow the short kid.”

Mikey doesn’t bother responding, and all Frank can hear is the general sound of people in the hall, until Mikey taps on the locker door. “You can come out now, Frank. They’re gone.” He doesn’t ask for the combination or anything, which makes Frank suspect he has reason to know about the latch on the inside. That makes coming out a little less embarrassing.

“Fucking assholes,” Frank mutters as he steps out of his locker with as much dignity as possible.

“Yeah,” Mikey agrees, handing Frank his coat which had gotten dropped on the floor in the scuffle. “Randy sits behind me in History. He’s a total fuckwit.”

“Chemistry,” Frank says. “He set his own homework on fire last week.”

“So do you wanna come over and watch movies or something?” Mikey asks.

Frank’s brain cycles through Yes! and Wait, is that a euphemism? and Will Gerard be there? and settles on, “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“Between you and Gee, god,” Mikey says, pushing Frank’s shoulder. “I came over to invite you, saw Randy and his friend shutting you in your locker, you’re out now, so I’m inviting you. I don’t do pity fucks.”

Pity what? “Wait,” Frank says, stopping dead in the middle of the hall. “We’re gonna—“

Mikey looks at him like he’s crazy and tugs him back into motion by the cuff of his blazer. “It’s just a saying. No need to panic.”

“Wasn’t panicking,” Frank protests. He wasn’t. Just it sounded like— and he was pretty sure Mikey wasn’t interested in that with him, and how was he supposed to know?

“You’re funny,” Mikey says, opening the main doors and ushering Frank out.

“Yeah. And short. Gerard told me.” Frank isn’t sulking. He’s just a little out of practice having friends who rib him, and Mikey has one of those faces that hides when he’s being sarcastic.

But hey! He has a friend who ribs him again, and that’s pretty awesome.

Not so awesome is that Mikey lives about a mile from school in a direction none of the buses go. But it turns out to be not that far from a bus that goes to Frank’s house, which at least means he won’t have much of a walk home after movies, even if his mom can’t come and get him. Speaking of which, he should probably leave her a message. Mikey doesn’t make fun when Frank says, “Love you,” before hanging up on the machine, which wins him points. Not that he really needs them where Frank’s concerned.

His house looks pretty normal from the outside, but the inside’s kind of a freakshow. If this is the aesthetic Mikey grew up with, Frank can see why Gerard and his macabre art appeals to him. Not that Gerard isn’t appealing even if you grew up in a house like Frank’s. Obviously.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Mikey says. “All the good movies are down there.”

As far as Frank can tell, all the everything is down there. It’s definitely not so much with the dolls and stuffed birds theme that was going on upstairs, but it looks like ten teenagers’ bedrooms exploded all over the floor and an artist’s studio vomited in the corner. “Wow,” Frank says, awed and impressed, and maybe a little horrified. “Is this your bedroom?”

“Naw,” Mikey says, wading through the detritus toward the bed. “It’s Gee’s.”

“Gee’s? Gerard lives with you?” Frank tries to imagine his mother being cool with someone Frank was dating living in their basement. He can’t do it.

“Is there a reason he wouldn’t?” Mikey asks, giving Frank another one of those looks like he doesn’t quite get how Frank’s brain works.

It’s not like Frank can’t sympathize—he’s not always sure how his brain works either—but this doesn’t actually seem like one of the times when he’s being particularly out there. Before he can say any of that, though, footsteps come down the stairs, giving a second’s notice before Gerard comes in.

“They didn’t have—“ he’s saying as he opens the door, looking toward where Mikey’s sitting perched on the edge of the bed. But he obviously caught Frank hovering out of the corner of his eye, because his head whips around.

“Mikes?” he says, looking at Frank as though if he stares hard enough Frank might either disappear or explain himself. “Did he follow you home?”

“I invited him,” Mikey says. “We’re gonna watch movies. He might even stay for dinner if he’s feeling brave.”

“I might?” Frank says.

“We’ll see what we’re having,” Mikey answers.

“Movies?” Gerard echoes, turning to look at Mikey, since Frank isn’t really saying anything helpful.

“Movies.” Mikey confirms. “You pick. Frank and I are easy.”

Gerard snorts at that and Mikey’s eyes narrow and Frank is suspicious that they probably did have a conversation about the kissing. “Did you want me to leave you two alone?” Gerard asks.

“Don’t be stupid.” Mikey scoots up the bed and settles himself against the wall by the pillows. “Something with zombies.” He turns to Frank. “C’mon. Have a seat.”

Frank tries to sit at the other edge of the bed, leaving room for Gerard between them, but Mikey pulls him over so Frank will be in the middle. It’s a lot like how his most recent fantasies have started (only there was never so much stuff on the floor or the bed in his imagination), and he hopes against hope that he won’t get hard.

When Gerard turns around he gives Mikey a look Frank can’t read, but he doesn’t say anything, just climbs on the bed and wedges himself in the corner. Frank suspects it’s not going to be nearly as easy to get Gerard’s arm around him as it was to get Mikey’s. He tries not to be too disappointed.

“Good choice,” Mikey says, and Frank looks up at the TV finally.

“Oh hey!” he says. “Astro Zombies! Like The Misfits song. I’ve always wanted to see this.”

“You like The Misfits?” Gerard says, uncoiling a fraction.

“There are people who don’t?” Frank asks.

“See?” Mikey says. Frank doesn’t see, but apparently Gerard does, because he leans across Frank and punches Mikey in the thigh. Mikey ignores the violence, and, sounding bored, instructs Gerard to press play.

They’ve been watching for about fifteen minutes when Gerard starts digging around between the mattress and the wall and pulls out a fifth of vodka with a red label that looks like the one he had in the parking lot the other day. Only this one’s full. Frank watches him side-eyed as he takes a slug, then another, then goes to wipe the mouth on his cuff. He thinks better of that, and offers the bottle to Frank as-is.

“You can wipe it,” he says. “Your shirt looks cleaner.”

Gerard isn’t wrong about that, but Frank’s not actually bothered about wiping off Gerard’s spit since he’d quite happily drink it right from the source. Or. Something that sounds a little less gross but means the same thing. “It’s cool,” he says and takes a small sip to assess the burn factor before taking a second, bigger one and then passing the bottle along to Mikey, who doesn’t wipe the bottle either.

Frank doesn’t mean to get drunk. Though he carefully hands the bottle back to Gerard when Mikey’s done with it so he’s not drinking coming and going, and after the first few rounds he limits himself to one sip each time even though Gerard is totally taking two, they’re not even half-way into the movie when Frank starts feeling floaty and finds it harder to concentrate on the plot than it should be (or harder to tell if there’s a plot at all. He’s not actually sure on that point), and he stops feeling like there’s any good reason he shouldn’t lean against Gerard’s side if he wants to. He hasn’t stopped wanting to.

It’s just his knee at first, resting against Gerard’s thigh, maybe pressing against it a little each time Frank reaches out to take the bottle. Gerard doesn’t seem to notice, so when Mikey shifts around to adjust his pillows, Frank takes the opportunity to move his own ass so his whole leg is up against Gerard’s. That puts him close enough that there isn’t really any good place to put his arm except his own lap, which is right there next to Gerard’s lap, and it’s probably not his fault if his fingers drift a little.

They’re all still in their uniforms, so Gerard’s pants should be just like Frank’s, but they’re not. The texture’s smoother, not really like chinos smooth, but more like Frank’s dad’s tux pants that he wears when he’s performing sometimes. They feel good under Frank’s fingers. He goes back to touching his own pants for a moment to appreciate the difference, then rubs Gerard’s again with his whole hand. He forgets that means he’s rubbing Gerard’s leg until he hears a squeak and looks up to find Gerard staring at him, eyes wider than Frank’s ever seen them. He had no idea eyes could even do that.

“Um,” Gerard says, shifting his gaze to Frank’s hand which is still on his thigh. But, like, at least six inches from his dick. Which is good. Because if Frank’s gonna grope Gerard, he wants to be aware he’s doing it.

“Your pants are soft,” he says.

“I think we need snacks,” Mikey says, and oh yeah. Mikey. “I’m going to go find some. Upstairs. It might take me a little while.” It’s weird the way he says it. Stilted. Not Mikey-like. Though really it’s only been a couple hours Frank’s spent with Mikey total so far, so maybe he talks like that sometimes.

“We don’t need snacks,” Gerard says, glaring at Mikey over Frank’s shoulder.

“Yes, Gee. We do.” Mikey reaches across Frank to pat Gerard’s leg just above where Frank’s hand is still resting. Still resting awkwardly. Suddenly really awkwardly. Frank moves it back to his own lap. “Be back in a while,” Mikey says, clambering off the bed.

It seems weird to just go back to watching the movie, so when the door closes behind Mikey, Frank says, “It’s nice of Mikey’s parents to let you live here.”

Gerard looks at him, at the bottle in his hand, at Frank again. “It would suck if your parents kicked you out of the house before you even graduated from high school.”

That would totally suck. Frank would cry if his mom didn’t want to live with him anymore. “Is that what happened?”

“Is what what happened?” Gerard asks.

“Did your parents kick you out?” It’s like fucking Abbot and Costello in here.

Gerard shakes his head slowly. “If they kicked me out, I wouldn’t be living here.”

“Where would you be living?”

“Somewhere not with my parents, I guess.” Gerard screws the lid back on the vodka and stuffs it back between the wall and the mattress. “I never really thought about it.”

“Wait,” Frank says. “I thought this was Mikey’s house.”

With his head tipped to the side and his eyes narrowed in confusion, Gerard looks a little like a puppy. Frank wants to pet him.

“This is Mikey’s house,” Gerard says, still looking at Frank like Frank’s the perplexing one here. “It’s Mikey’s house and it’s my house. But mostly it’s our parents’ house. Because we’re in high school. And we live with our parents, which is what most people in high school do, I think.”

Realization hits Frank like a snowball to the face. “Oh my god,” he says, scrabbling to his knees because this news is too big to process slumped against the wall. “Oh my god, you guys are brothers.”

The whole knee thing makes him dizzy and he pitches forward and has to catch himself on Gerard’s shoulders. “That explains so much.”

“You didn’t know we’re brothers?” Gerard asks. He reaches up to grab Frank’s wrists, but he doesn’t try to pull him off. “How did you not know we’re brothers?”

“I thought you were his boyfriend.” Frank says. How was he supposed to know they’re brothers, anyway. It’s not like they wear badges or anything.

“His—“ Gerard starts laughing, and he does push Frank off then, but more because he’s doubled up with his head on his knees, cackling and gasping for oxygen, than because he’s exhibiting a burning need to get Frank away.

“You’re always cuddling,” Frank says over the sound of Gerard’s honking and braying. And come on. It’s not that funny. “And the way you were wrestling in the parking lot when you—“ But Mikey and Gerard don’t know Frank knows about the tire thing. “And people always talk about you sucking each other’s dicks.” Frank pauses, mourning for a moment the fact that his dreams of a real life gay threesome while he’s still in high school are probably not going to be realized. “Wait. Do they know you’re brothers?”

“I’m pretty sure everyone but you knows we’re brothers.” Gerard says. “Those assholes just can’t think of any more imaginative insult than ‘cocksuckers’.”

Frank thinks about that. “To be fair, they’re calling you incestuous cocksuckers, which raises the baseline a little bit, right?”

“No,” Gerard says. “It doesn’t.” But he looks like maybe he’s mulling it over a little, so Frank takes it as a win anyway.

Not that he wants to defend the assholes. Just apparently something inside him likes disagreeing with Gerard. Mostly he likes the little wrinkle he gets over his nose and the way his mouth quirks down at the corner. Carefully, because the vodka in his system has made Gerard’s bed feel like it’s filled with water, Frank returns to his seat up against the wall. And against Gerard’s side. He’s warm. And cute. And not Mikey’s boyfriend.

“So are you dating anyone who’s not Mikey?” Frank asks. He never claimed to be smooth.

“No,” Gerard says, eyes on the screen where a woman seems to be burning someone with her cigarette.

Frank leans in and kisses him.

Gerard leaps back, though he only gets about half an inch before his head meets the wall with a thunk. Frank remembers the part where Mikey asked him if he wanted to kiss before he laid his lips on him. Asking might have been a good idea.

“You can’t just— Ow.” Gerard rubs the back of his head, pushing Frank out of his breathing space. “Just because I’m Mikey’s brother doesn’t mean we’re interchangeable.”

“I know,” Frank tells him, wondering if this is going to be the start of another one of those conversations where apparently neither of them’s making sense.

“Okay,” Gerard says. “Good.” He goes back to watching the movie.

“Just to clarify, does that mean okay I can kiss you?”

“What?” At least Gerard’s looking at him again now. “No! It means okay, we both agree I’m not a Mikey substitute and if you want to make out with my brother, you’re going to have to talk to him.”

“Oh,” Frank says, stuck on the ‘no’ part of Gerard’s answer. He was really hoping there wasn’t going to be a no. Then the rest of his sentence penetrates. “But wait.” He puts his hand back on Gerard’s thigh, but it’s not awkward this time because it has a point. “What if I want to make out with you?”

“You don’t,” Gerard says. Which makes no sense, because Frank really really does.

“I really, really do.”

Gerard glances down at Frank’s hand and then back up at Frank’s face. “Why? I, but.” He flaps his hand the way Frank’s seen him do at Mikey several times. Mikey always seems to know what it means, but Frank doesn’t have a fucking clue.

“I don’t have a fucking clue what this means—” Frank does his best approximation of Gerard’s hand flap— “but because I’m pretty much obsessed with you.” Frank plays that back in his head. “Not like in a dangerous stalker way. Just. You. With your—“ Frank gestures in a much less flappy, much more specifically pointing out the ways Gerard is awesome kind of way. “You.”

“Huh,” Gerard says. He doesn’t look all that convinced.

“How ‘bout this. You could try kissing me. I’m not— I haven’t had as much practice as Mikey, so— But hey. You’ve never kissed Mikey? Right? So that’s okay. You could try it. If you don’t like it we can stop. I won’t, like, be a dick about it.” Frank moves his hand a little higher and leans in a little closer, but he remembers to wait for Gerard to say yes this time.

Gerard tilts his head a little, and Frank thinks, Yes! but then Gerard says, “What if you don’t like it?”

Frank breathes. He’s pretty sure no two boys in the history of ever have had to talk this much before they kissed. “I’ll like it. I promise.”

“Okay,” Gerard says, fucking finally.

The angle they’re sitting at is not the best for kissing, especially because Gerard seems reluctant to move his shoulders off the wall, but Frank goes for it anyway, moving the hand on Gerard’s leg up to his waist, hooking the other one around the back of his neck in case Gerard tries to run away again. Not that Frank was lying about stopping if Gerard hates it. But he wants the guy to give it a fair shot first. Thinking about how hot it was when Mikey did his whole slow exploration thing, Frank tempers his urge to shove his tongue down Gerard’s throat. It’s hard, because he’s drunk, but actually thinking about kissing Gerard is part of what makes it awesome.

He seems to appreciate Frank’s careful approach, if the way his hands are gripping at Frank’s shirt and the soft noises he’s making are any indication, though neither of those things are making careful any easier to maintain. Mostly, they’re making Frank want to pin Gerard to the bed and hump him ’til they both come in their pants. Instead, he does the next best thing, which is straddle Gerard’s lap, easing the crick in his neck and getting a lot more body contact.

“Is this okay?” Frank tries to ask, because he’d only gotten permission for a kiss and now he’s kind of rubbing his nuts on Gerard’s junk. But Gerard has his arms around Frank’s back and his hands hooked over his shoulders and is pulling Frank down and grinding up into him and kissing him so hard Frank’s having trouble breathing, so he figures the question is moot.

In bed at night imagining this, Frank thought kissing Gerard would feel dangerous. It feels thrilling—heat, excitement, anticipation coiling in his belly—but weirdly safe, too, like Gerard’s got him, won’t let him fall, and like he’s got Gerard. That might be the vodka and the death grip he has on the tangle of Gerard’s hair, but Frank doesn’t care. He likes it. Likes feeling solid in Gerard’s hands.

He’s contemplating rolling them, making use of the fact that they’ve got a whole bed at their disposal, when Gerard shoves him back. Not in the fun lying down way, but in the holding him at arms’ length way. Frank frowns, draws breath to protest, and is hit in the thigh with a bag of potato chips.

“Hey, Mikey,” Gerard says, voice rough and cracking. Rough and cracking from kissing Frank. Hell, yes.

“Hi,” Frank says, trying not to grin too inanely.

“I’d leave you to it,” Mikey says, and Frank’s pretty sure he’s never seen someone manage quite that combination of perturbed and smug with nothing more than their eyebrows before, “but Mom brought Chinese home and it’s getting cold. There’s enough for Frank if he wants to stay.”

Frank would love to stay, but when he gets his phone out to call his mom and ask her, there’s a voicemail from her demanding to know where he is and did he forget his dad is coming over tonight.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck! My dad. I’ve gotta go.”

“Is he okay?” Gerard asks, face creased with concern. Mikey’s helpfully making sure none of the detritus from Gerard’s floor is tangled in Frank’s backpack straps.

“He’s fine. Just he’s here. Well. Not here, but at my mom’s house. To see me. And I’m here.” Oh, god, and clearly still drunk. “Fuck,” he says again.

“I’d drive you, but—“ Gerard does his flappy wave again, but enough in the direction of his vodka stash that Frank gets the meaning this time.

“No, it’s cool. I’ll call my mom.”

Gerard’s scooting over to get off the bed, and Frank envisions an awkward goodbye at the front door in front of his whole family. It’s not pretty. So Frank flees. “Bye!” he calls, already climbing the stairs. “I had fun. Lots of fun!” He makes it out the front door without running into either of Gerard and Mikey’s parents. He can meet them later, when he’s not already in trouble with his own.

part 3