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Frank thinks of ghosts. He thinks of ghosts a lot, particularly around this time of year.
Halloween.
The night when ghosts and goblins come out to play.
His birthday.
The day he gets to see Gerard.
October’s always been his favourite month anyway. He loves how it’s the definitive marking of the seasons changing; how the leaves change to glorious browns and reds; how the pink sky in the evening never looks the same any other time of year; how the cool air breezes around him like it’s whispering things exclusively for him to hear.
The sun’s setting now. Frank sticks his hands deeply into his pocket and looks around the graveyard. Gerard’ll be here soon.
With barely contained excitement, Frank sits down on the hard ground in front of his favourite tombstone and lights up a cigarette. Someone’s already been here today and put down some flowers and for a second, Frank wishes he’d brought something to give to Gee. Stupid thought though, really. You can’t give ghosts anything.
There’s a subtle change in the atmosphere when he arrives, like the air gets warm and cold simultaneously. Gerard sits down next to Frank with a heavy sigh, sending up a pile of leaves as he does.
“That time of year again, huh?” he asks. “Well, I suppose we should get this over and done with.”
“You act like I’m putting you out,” Frank replies. He can’t keep the smile off his face, even with the grumpy greeting. “You got an elsewhere to be?”
“Ha-fucking-ha. You know those things kill?” Gerard says, nodding to Frank’s cigarette.
“So I’ve heard,” Frank says dryly, taking a deep draw.
Gerard could have been a ghost much sooner. The thought used to scare Frank at how close if felt that would happen. Frank can still remember far too clearly what it felt like to have all of Gerard’s weight leaning on him as he dragged him back to the tour bus with Gerard still half out of it, the stench of beer, cigarettes, vomit, sweat and stale piss everywhere. A membership to the exclusive Forever 27 club seemed far too inevitable; whenever Frank’s phone went off in the night, part of him was already resigned to the worst.
But he didn’t die. He made it through and then some. Gerard might be gone now but he made sure he properly lived before he went.
“So, did you miss me?” Frank asks cheekily, holding out his cigarette to Gerard.
Lived... and loved.
“If I miss anything, I miss sex,” Gerard says, taking a drag. The embers on the end glow red as the pink haze from the sunset paints Gerard’s face, softening the contours and hiding the flaws. “It’s hard enough to focus on being in one place physically long enough, let alone actually get something going!”
“Damn, no weird ghost ceiling sex for me then,” Frank says.
“We’re in a graveyard, you tool.”
“You’re such a grumpy lil’ ghost. You’re like Casper’s emo cousin.”
“Says the man who likes to wait in graveyards for ghosts. Pot. Kettle.”
Frank bursts out laughing and collapses backwards, lying on his back and staring up at the sky. His laughter echoes around them, disturbing the peace and sounding far too loud. Gerard’s mouth is twisting up into a smirk, like he’s trying not to smile.
“So, what you been doing with yourself?” Gerard asks. He’s got one leg stretched out in front of him with the other curled up so his knee lightly touches the edge of Frank’s bare arm. The denim is rough and cool, but Frank’s got so many memories of hot friction warming it up.
“The usual,” Frank says, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose. “Nothing new. What about you?”
“The usual. Nothing new.”
He can hear it in Gerard’s voice when he’s smiling.
“How’s the studio?” Frank asks.
“Awful. Some new band came in trying to record their album. I swear to God, I just don’t GET what teenagers are into these days. It’s all techno and fake guitars – how the fuck does a BAND work if the majority of the members are using hologram guitars?! Or maybe that’s just my ghostly interference that’s making it sound bad...”
Frank chuckles and opens his eyes. Gerard’s scowling, staring off into the distance; the sun’s almost set and faintly, Frank can see the purple of the sky at twilight through him.
“You’re the one who chose to haunt a recording studio,” Frank reminds him.
“Not by choice. I just... I remember when we were there. Do you remember, Frankie?”
Frank nods. They were happy. They were excited. He can still remember late recording sessions, faint music echoing down dark corridors where Gerard would lead him by the hand and press him up against the wall, losing themselves in the shadows.
“I sometimes see kids who remind me of how we were,” Gerard says with an unconscious smile gracing his lips. “They’re often the ones who actually succeed.”
Frank grins and pushes himself up on his elbows. His feet are pointing towards the headstone and he realises that someone’s put some red candles at the base. He leans forwards and lights them with his lighter before leaning back, admiring the warm, golden glow they produce in their darkening surroundings.
“Nice,” says Gerard. His fingers are idly tracing over the tattoos on the back of Frank’s hand. “Who keeps putting them down?”
Frank shrugs. “Not sure. I think it’s one of Lily’s grandkids. Something about it being a tradition, passed down from generation to generation.”
Gerard laughs and looks back at the tombstone.
“Trust your family to be that morbidly weird,” Gee says, shaking his head and smiling. “Put a candle to celebrate some dead relative’s birthday!!”
He pauses and looks at Frank, suddenly sad.
“You would have been 107 this year.”
Frank laughs and idly kicks at some dried leaves around the base of the tombstone. He looks at his own name etched deeply into the stone with his dates underneath (he’s proud of his kids, they picked him out a nice one). There are shadows flickering from the candles.
For some reason, Gerard’s absolutely fine with his own passing, but the fact that Frank died always makes him sad. Frank suspects it’s some kind of lingering survivor’s guilt – ironically, after everything they went through in their 20’s, for everything Gerard put Frank through and all of Frank’s fears that Gerard would die young, Frank actually went first.
It’s a bit of a moot point now though.
“You would have been 111,” Frank points out. “All ones. That’s probably significant.”
“You’re right. Huh.” Gerard tilts his head to the side, the way he always did when he’s thinking about something. A few strands of red hair fall across his face and Frank reaches up to brush them back. One of the things Frank likes about being a ghost is the ability to take on any appearance you had during your life; it’s a relief not to be stuck in the same form he died in for all eternity. For one thing, it’d get incredibly boring.
Gerard’s apparently been in a bit of a Danger Day’s mood lately. Last year he was styled in his Revenge!Era look, a skull painted beautifully onto his skin and his black hair hanging long and greasy. There’d been some kids who’d broken into the graveyard around midnight, looking for cheep thrills and ghosts. Frank can still remember their screams and being impressed at how quickly they’d scaled the gate.
Frank’s noticed over the years that Gerard prefers to stick to his older forms more than his younger ones. He can’t blame him; Frank tried out his 19 year-old look once but it felt all wrong. He wasn’t that kid anymore and it was too much effort to hold onto the form. It’s easier to be when you were happiest, which is why Frank generally sticks between his 20’s and 40’s than anything earlier or much later. Sure, he liked being old and he had a good life... but compared to his life before, it was so boring a lot of the time.
Especially with things like going grey and getting arthritis. Yeah, that sucked.
“I don’t know why you still hold on to this, Frankie,” Gerard says softly, his voice like dry leaves. “Why you try so hard to come here every year.”
Some times are clearer than others. Ghosts are creatures of habit; they stick to where they know, what’s safe. Sometimes, they’re aware of the world around them, of time passing, but most times they’re not. Frank prefers to stay where Jamia is, like how Gerard likes to be around Lyn-Z. Mikey’s sometimes with them too, but he has his own places to be too. Sometimes, his path crosses with Frank’s.
You don’t make appointments with ghosts. They don’t keep the same time as us. They’re barely aware of humans most the time, most the time they just see them as vague shadows. But there are some things they’re aware of, some dates they’ll try to keep to, and All Hallow’s Eve – the night when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest – is the one day they don’t miss.
“It’s the only place I know you’ll be,” Frank replies.
Frank’s fingers link between Gerard’s and squeeze. After he died, it was – Years? Months? Days? Minutes? Frank’s not sure exactly but he knows it was a while - before he realised who the shadow of an old man lurking around his grave was. And then, one Halloween, a long leg clad in tight jeans stepped out from behind the stone and there he was, dark hair blowing in the wind, eyes glittering and that smile that always made Frank’s breath catch in his chest.
Frank likes how things are now. It’s peaceful. He’s done. He’s content. He doesn’t miss Gerard when he doesn’t see him because he now understands the concept of forever.
“Hey, Frankie...”
Gerard’s whispered voice breaks through Frank’s thoughts. Cool fingers trace Frank’s jawline and then Gerard’s lips finally meet his; he tastes like ice water but his lips are still the same as they were in life.
“Happy birthday.”