Frank Iero woke up one morning to see the curtains open.

It wasn't exactly a marvellous sight, but Frank was pretty damn sure he'd closed them before he'd fallen asleep last night, but then again, Frank reckoned he had very right to be sure of himself, after all, it wasn't like he was frequently hallucinating his dead ex-boyfriend up until about a week and a half ago, was it?

Frank stretched a little, turning his alarm clock off, and met his reflection in the mirror; he was tired and it was evident upon his face, but whatever, it wasn't like he had anyone to look pretty for, was it?

Frank laughed at his reflection, pulling a shirt on before he was forced to look at his just how pudgy he was getting any more, and with that, he met his reflection a newfound kind of courage and sense of self worth that led him to dismiss the curtains.

And just like that, Frank Iero set foot out of his bedroom, totally sure of the fact that he'd simply forgotten to close them the night before, because that was the logical answer here, and Frank wasn't an idiot, and he knew that he was susceptible to being fucked over by his mind, but he most definitely wasn't going to let it win - at least not this time, anyway.

Frank brushed his teeth for what seemed like at least three hours, and they most definitely didn't look any whiter as opposed how they did when he'd started, but he soon brushed the thought off, finding himself staring at his reflection in the mirror once again; it was a weird kind of staring - it wasn't vain, or self-loathsome, it was just, just, Frank almost felt as if he needed to keep looking at himself to know that he was really there, because fading away into nothing felt all too easy at this point.

Frank washed his hands in water far too cold, but with the shitty heating in this place, and the fact that it was wintertime, what else could he expect? He brushed it off, drying his hands on his shirt, and made his way into the kitchen.

You can't usually pinpoint the very moment that your entire life seems to fall apart; it tends just to be a gradual kind of slope in self-destruction that you tend not to recognise, let alone give a fuck about, before it's all too late, but Frank knew in the very moment that he walked into his kitchen that Tuesday morning that everything had just fallen apart.

Because Frank could have left the curtains open last night as he stumbled into bed and passed out, but he most certainly could not have set himself out breakfast.

He approached the set table with apprehension and distrust, almost expectant that it'd vanish away into thin air within seconds, but he dipped his finger into the coffee and felt the liquid piping hot against his skin, and fuck.

Frank pinched himself as he ran his finger under the cold tap, but he didn't wake up, and well, Frank reckoned the burn to his finger really would have done the trick already.

Frank didn't eat the breakfast; he didn't even question the breakfast because he knew what it was and who could have possibly put it there, but he wasn't going to let himself accept it. Frank ignored the breakfast and got ready for work in five minutes flat.

He grabbed his cellphone from his bedside table and plugged his headphones in, walking out of his apartment and passed the breakfast as fast as he could, and ignored how the door opened for him, because it wasn't real, and he just- no.

Frank stopped in front of the door, reaching out to touch it, and closing it, before opening it himself, because this way there wasn't any solid proof that what he kept seeing was real, because perhaps, just perhaps, Frank would even prefer insanity itself to this.

But Frank was anything but sure of himself at this point, and he did his best to bury that thought deep in the back of his mind and as he walked at twice his normal pace to the Starbucks Brendon worked in, because Brendon would probably slaughter him for treason for even considering going to another goddamn coffee shop, and well, although it sounded like a pleasant alternative to this insanity, he still didn't particularly fancy being murdered first thing in the morning, especially not before he'd even gotten coffee.

Because if you're going to be murdered, be murdered once you've had coffee.

-

"You're early." Brendon's eyes flew straight to the clock on the wall as Frank made his way inside the coffee shop at least fifteen minutes prior to his usual time.

Frank shrugged it off, and pretended that it was nothing more than a fluke, and that he didn't know it better than Brendon did, because he wanted nothing more than to just get the fuck out of his apartment.

"So what can I get you this fine, cold ass morning? You know, no one ever comes in this early, so I get to listen to Taylor Swift on repeat, like that's seriously the only benefit of the early morning shift, okay?"

Frank nodded along with fake enthusiasm and simply shrugged, because Brendon knew what to get him, because Frank drank the same damn coffee everyday damn day, and perhaps that should change, but perhaps Frank had other things on his mind right now as opposed to his early morning coffee choice.

"I'll give you this coffee for free if you can name the Taylor Swift song on right now." And of course, Brendon was deadly serious, but fucking hell, Frank wasn't exactly all that eager, but like, free coffee, fuck it, he could at least try.

"Give me a clue." Frank demanded, glancing up at the speakers as if they might give him some sort of clue as to what the fuck this song was called.

"Nope." Brendon smirked, watching Frank's face with an excessive curiosity.

Frank grabbed his cellphone from his pocket in what was probably the worst form of acting Brendon Urie had ever fucking seen, "it's from my mum, I've got to reply-"

"If you dare Shazam this shit I will slit your throat, Iero." And well, Frank glanced down to the knife beside Brendon and didn't doubt his threat at all, like goddamn who the fuck trusted Brendon Urie with a knife?

He looked down at his cellphone once more, ready to put it back in his pocket, only to see his note app open, and a simple '22' written on the first line of a new note.

Frank's heart fell still in his chest, glancing up at Brendon, his eyes widening a little as his lips went dry. "22?" 

"Fuck it, how did you get that?" Brendon exclaimed, leaving Frank to glance back down at his cellphone, to find the note deleted and a new one in its place.

This one reading something different entirely: a smiley face emoji, and a simple 'xoxo-g'.

-

In Frank's head there was a forest, because in the forest, he didn't have to feel quite so alone anymore, and in the forest the snow couldn't fall much past the canopy, and the frostbite couldn't claim his limbs and pull them away.

In Frank's head there was an island, because on the island he stood alone: campfire and starry night skies kind of alone, and on this island there was a record player, and it was that kind of teenage angst break up punk playlist you make when you're fourteen and your first girlfriend stops being there for you, and you feel so alone, but even on the island you're okay. It never snows on the island, and the campfire keeps the cold away.

In Frank's head there was a castle, and he was hardly the princess, but more so the dragon, but still he couldn't protect this place for the life of him. The place protected itself, and four walls made of stone was enough to take wintertime itself and burn it at a stake.

In Frank's head there was a whole other world, and Frank didn't live there, although he kind of wished he could.

Because the wintertime always got to him before it was too late.

It was six in the evening and Frank Iero was wearing a cardigan as he walked home amongst the unexpected wintery conditions. No one had even expected it to snow this year at all, let alone in fucking December, let alone this close to Christmas, let alone ever, or something like that - Frank didn't know.

But Frank did know that he was most certainly nowhere as excited as the rest of the world.

As he continued his way home, he found himself visualising every one of Brendon's countless facebook statuses about the snow, and well, even the thought of it made the idea of Frank slipping on the ice on the way home and breaking his neck rather appealing.

But, thankfully, that didn't happen.

Or at least, it hadn't happened yet, because, as we all know, anything is possible, and Frank held that in his mind as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not thinking about his dead ex-boyfriend and just what the fuck had been happening today.

Because even by now, even after near enough twelve hours of it, Frank still hadn't the slightest remnants of, to put it rather crudely, a fucking clue.

He fucking hated wintertime, though, because he was freezing himself to death here, and all while having his head haunted by legion upon legion of horrific thoughts fixated upon the madman kind of miracle that is Gerard Way, and his ghost.

Because at this point, Frank's kind of dead set on the paranormal nature of his being, because if he could possibly become and more insane at this point, he reckoned he'd wake up the next morning with the barrel of a gun pushed up against his temples and a million falsetto voices singing some kind of symphonic demand for him to pull the trigger.

But Frank had done some thinking and Frank had noticed, that if he ignored Gerard, well, the thing, the ghost, the 'hallucination' whatever, it didn't matter at this point - it was Gerard, and Frank knew that, and simply because no one else in the whole fucking world could be such a fucking asshole even in the afterlife.

Frank had noticed, that besides Gerard, he was in fact nothing but perfectly sane and functioning, perhaps even a whole world away from the person he'd been in hospital, not that he could quite recall too much about the kind of person he'd been when locked away inside the white walled prison that smelled a little too sanitary and always insisted that you said thank you.

Anyway, he doubted he could hallucinate his own breakfast, or just make it and forget it, or put away his own coat, or recognise a Taylor Swift song he didn't even know - of course, as to how Gerard was suddenly the Taylor Swift expert, Frank just didn't want to know - but it was all becoming awfully suspicious, and perhaps, in a way, it was kind of easier like this.

Frank wasn't insane.

But of course, that didn't mean he actually wanted this asshole of a dead ex-boyfriend following him around like some sort of lost and slightly psychotic puppy, because let's be real here, Gerard had always put the 'hot' in psychotic. 

But for sure, Frank smiled to himself, and made his way home with a minute, walking at twice the speed as he revelled in the newfound conclusion that alluded to his dubious state of sanity.

And whether it was true or not, a revelation like this certainly did a wonderful job when it came to lifting a weight from his shoulders.

Frank locked the front door of his apartment behind him and threw the keys in the vague direction of the table; he missed massively, and he knew it, even going as far as to let out some sort of dramatised sigh as he waited for the clatter of metal against his floorboards as he fumbled with the heating dial beside the door.

However, such a sound never quite reached his ears, but 'fortunately', Frank wasn't exactly abandoned and condemned to silence, as an entirely different kind of sound took the liberty of filling the silence instead.

"Your aim's fucking shoddy, Iero." 

And if Frank hadn't been almost half expecting it at this point, he probably would have had a full blown heart attack at that point, however he simply found himself, finishing fiddling with the temperate dial, before turning to face the voice, and found himself just a little intrigued to find its speaker stood in plain sight, keys in hand, and not hiding behind stupid fucking gestures as he had grown accustomed to as of recent.

"Oh, you're actually showing your face for once, are you?" Frank found himself speaking back with the same kind of tone before he could stop himself.

"When did you get so snarky?" He shook his head, fire truck red hair falling his face a little as he reached to place the keys onto the counter top. "I thought you were all denial and slapping me, and I did not want to be slapped again so I fucked off for a bit, I'm good at fucking off you know, but I'm curious and nosy and I like you a lot, Frankie."

"I decided that I'm not insane." Frank said with a certain kind of achievement that Gerard couldn't help but chuckle at. "Because, fuck it, worrying and fretting is going to drive me insane anyway, and you know what? Fuck you and your stupid breakfast and curtains and nice fucking gestures, and oh my god, fuck you, Gerard. Seriously, do I get an explanation now that I've accepted that you're real."

"You're drunk." Gerard noted, eyebrows raised just a little as he remained frozen on the spot, watching as Frank refilled the food and water bowls for his dogs.

"I'm really not." Frank didn't smile, just shook his head at that one, it having stricken more of a chord than anything else. "You know I would never drink and you know it makes me uncomfortable and you know about my dad and how much he drunk and you know why. I am maybe just a little baked, though, because there's this guy at work with dreads and is it offensive to assume he smokes weed? Turns out, he does, and turns out he's a nice guy-"

"Oh, when the fuck is the wedding, Iero?" Gerard shook his head, rolling his eyes a little. "Or am I not invited? Is it living guests only?" Frank threw him a middle finger in response as he made his way back to the kitchen and began to boil the kettle. "Does your dad seriously still upset you though, Frankie? It's been ten years, more than that, even, you should get over things with a decade, shouldn't you?"

"I don't know, I'm not the one haunting my boyfriend from ten years ago, Gerard." Frank poured the hot water into a mug of coffee and began to stir it furiously. "Seriously though, how did you know what Taylor Swift song that was?"

"I'm twenty two, I need an anthem, I need to dress up like a hipster and make fun of my exes, as Taylor would say, not that haunting was the idea of making fun she had intended, I reckon- I can do a pretty good impression of Bert, though, if you want to-"

"I'm older than you." Frank said with a suddenly, and strangely amusing realisation, he even fucking turned to face Gerard, who had now wandered into the kitchen, and was leaning back against a counter. "I'm fucking older than you, Gerard."

"Alright, shut it, Grandpa."

"I'm twenty eight, and anyway, if you hadn't... hadn't... died... I... you'd be thirty two, Gerard, so shut the fuck up."

"Thirty two." Gerard grimaced, as Frank grabbed his coffee and made his way over to Gerard, leaning back against the counter beside him. "Yikes, thirty fucking two- hey, at least I never made it to twenty three, because, you know, nobody likes you when you're twenty three."

"Very funny." Frank let out a sigh, stretching a little, before turning to face Gerard. "Explain this, come on, why are you here now and what's the catch and what the fuck is going on because I was doing fine without you, Gerard, I hate to break it to you, but you're not the fucking centre of my universe."

"You're the centre of my universe." Gerard admitted, sighing a little, and looking away. "You know I can disappear if I want to, not like fuck off, but be invisible, whenever I want, look," Gerard paused, almost giving Frank a heart attack as Gerard faded into nothingness beside him, "I'm still here, though, look," he pulled the coffee cup from Frank's hand and held it up into the air, of course, to Frank, it was nothing but a levitating coffee cup that was about to spill all over the kitchen floor with how precariously Gerard was holding it. Gerard faded back into view with a smile, putting the coffee cup to his lips, and leaving Frank to watch wide eyed as the liquid flowed through him like it was nothing and splattered onto the kitchen floor. 

"You can clean that up." Frank pointed at the coffee stain with wide eyes, and Gerard smiled a little, taking the kitchen towel and bending down just so Frank could see his ass to clean it up, because dead or not, it was still, Gerard, and to Frank, there was no question about that at this point.

"Look, anyway, I've been here all along Frankie," Gerard stood up, putting the kitchen towel back onto the countertop, "just you can't see me most of the time."

"Awfully romantic- wait, even when I'm pooping, I-"

"I can walk away, like I'm not tied to you, but there's an area I can go, and I fade away more the further I am away from you, like if I stand at the end of this room, I'm more see through, I look less real, more like a trick of the light, but when I'm next to you, I'm sort of more here- you're what's grounding me to the earth, you know, Frankie? And honestly, I do not mind, so like that's why I can hold things closer to you, however I couldn't do that across the room."

"So... the closer to me, the more sort of 'alive' you are?" Frank asked, grinning to himself in a way that reminded him an awful lot of his seventeen year old self. 

"Yeah?"

"Well, this isn't, this can't be like, well a thing, not now, but-..." Frank paused, blushing a little, "but how alive and human do you think you'd be if you were so close you were-"

"Are you thinking about cuddling, me spooning up close to you?" Gerard asked, grinning a little as he moved closer to Frank.

"No, Gerard, quite honestly, I'm thinking about your dick in my ass."

-

hey guys lmao this was unexpected i didn't expect frank coming to terms with it so soon but like there is still a heck load of drama to come, let me just tell you that gerard being a ghost isn't the main plot point in this fic, because oh pal it's barely the beginning;) anyway, with thoughts of trauma aside, I hope you liked this and if you did, votes and comments would be cool!!! <3