context, who needs it?
Frank acts perfectly casual as he walks in, shucking his leather jacket and tossing it across the waist-high partition between foyer and dining room. His nonchalant amble sets Mikey on immediate alert; he follows Frank into the living room, where his friend turns to him with an expression that hovers somewhere between smug and annoyed.
“Hey Mikey. So, what the fuck?”
“What the fuck what?”
Frank lands, quickly and decisively, on annoyed. “What the fuck is going on with Gee, Mikey?”
“…Ah.” He feels his face go flat. “That.”
“Yeah, that.”
“I… don’t know. Um. I think I might be bisexual?”
“And you figured this out because you wanna get with a college student who reminds you of your dead brother?”
The incredulity in his voice would be comedic if this were any other situation. Mikey hopes it is in this one, too, but he has no way to know. He soldiers on, like this is just the same as any other conversation they’ve had, like he’s not afraid he’s about to lose his best friend of twenty-plus years over his brand new… whatever-they-are.
“Jesus, let it all out, why don’t you? He’s 23, he works freelance graphic design.”
“23 isn’t really better, Mikey, that’s still nearly half our age.” Frank grimaces as soon as he hears himself. “Christ, we got old.”
It slips out before Mikey can stop himself: “Not all of us.”
“…No,” Frank agrees, much softer. “Not all of us.”
The conversation grinds to a brief, painful halt, but there’s no point in apologizing. It’s been decades since there was. And Mikey isn’t sorry, really; Frank is the one who brought it up. If you call up a ghost, you can’t be mad about the wailing.
That sounds like something Gerard would say.
Would have said.