I think it's gonna be okay Bobkey/Frikey/Rayrard

It's a fact that I wasn't happy anymore. I just wasn't. Bob was gone, how could I possibly be happy? It just wasn't something that was possible. He was my life, honestly the only reason I got out of bed some days.

He's been gone for exactly six months and twenty-one days, I've been counting, if you couldn't tell. This isn't exactly a situation where I could just call him up and make plans to go out for coffee during a break in the tour, no it wasn't. He was dead, killed in a car crash after losing control on a slippery road, crashing into an oncoming truck, killed on impact (or that's what the doctors said).

I was lost without him, for lack of a better term. He was literally my smile, and the main reason I looked forward to do anything.

Gerard's tried talking to me about his death, but I've just brushed him off, along with anyone else who tried. I didn't want to talk about it, I'd find a way to cope, in my own time, and I sure as hell didn't need people to tell me just to get over it. I resorted to trying to shut everyone out, just going from day to day, not giving a fuck as to what happened to me.

It wasn't healthy, but I didn't care; not without Bob.

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"Hey," a voice, Frank's, said coming out of the bunk area and to where I sat near the front of the bus in the little living room area.

"Hi," I mumbled, looking over the top of the book I was reading to glance at him. He was leaning against the wall, playing with the hem of his shirt, his hair falling in front of his face. I looked back to my book, skimming over a page to find my spot again.

I heard Frank shuffle from his spot against the wall a few moments later, taking a spot on the couch next to me. He didn't say anything, leaning against the arm of the couch. I glanced up again and saw him looking at me. I wouldn't know how to start describing how he was looking at me, maybe interested? Or maybe like how a cat looks before it goes after a little field mouse (I saw something like that on TV once). I'm really bad at describing things, so let's just go with that it's a different look than he gives someone else.

"Is there a reason you're staring at me like that?" I asked, trying to turn my attention back to my book but failing when Frank scooted closer to me, his hand resting on top of my leg (I was half laying on the couch and he was by my feet).

Frank didn't say anything, just dropped his gaze to where his hand was, moving it away and getting off the couch so fast, it looked almost like he got pushed off since he started stumbling over his own feet, running to the back of the bus where I assumed Gerard and Ray were.

I closed my book, half getting up before I stopped myself and lowered back down onto the couch. "It's just Frank being Frank," I muttered, "he's always doing stuff like this." I opened my book again, to a random page, my eyes skimming over the words but none of it processing in my mind, all I could think of was how strange Frank acted.

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Just because I tried shutting everyone out didn't mean it worked.

I had a soft heart, at times, and hated seeing people act differently than they normally did, although I did that all the time. I didn't go up to people and ask them what's wrong, though. I just watched them to try and figure it out, but with Frank, it was really hard to do that.

There'd be times where he was acting normal, where we all were, for the most part. I still wasn't back to my full self (one year, two months, and thirteen days later...still counting), but I wasn't moping around...as much.

There were times where I'd see something while I would be talking to Frank that would make me think of Bob, and Frank's mood was just change from whatever to something not Frank.

I wasn't the only one that noticed, either, because whenever that happened Gerard and Ray would stop what they were doing and look over at us, and usually Frank would leave the room, and it'd be awkward.

Gerard told me I had to stop talking about Bob all the time, but how could I do that? That's like telling him to stop talking, period. It was impossible to do, but he never listened to me.

No one did.

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One year, five months, and six days after Bob's accident, we finally got a nice, long break from touring. By break, I mean we were taking a nice, long break before our next record, if there'd ever be one.

I knew right off the bat that Gerard and Ray were going to spend most of their time together (of course they'd want to, they are a couple and manage not to get sick of each other), and I overheard Frank saying he was going to his mom's for a while to see her.

Which meant I'd be alone.

That thought alone made me smile one of my most genuine smiles in over a year.

I wasn't a big fan of being alone all the time, but after being surrounded by the same people, trapped on a bus, for as long as I have, being alone was such a welcome thing.

It didn't last long, though.

Not even two weeks.

There was a knock on the door of my apartment, just a few short little taps. I paused by the bathroom, wiping my nose with my sleeve. I heard the little taps again. I stepped into the bathroom, turning on the light and looking at my reflection. My eyes were red and puffy, my hair sticking out in numerous places. I frowned, sniffling, and grabbed some toilet paper to blow my nose into, throwing it in the garbage before I left.

I shuffled to the front door, another round of taps playing before I opened the door. I saw Frank, wearing faded blue jeans and with a black sweatshirt zipped down enough to reveal a white tshirt underneath. He was more dressed than I was - pajama bottoms and a grey sweatshirt, no shirt on underneath (I didn't feel like looking for a shirt in my suitcase, and really hated being shirtless).

"You've been crying," Frank stated simply, pushing past me into the apartment, not even bothering with an actual greeting, or waiting to be asked inside.

"Hello to you too," I said, shutting the door, ignoring his statement. I turned around, about to ask why he was there, but I didn't get the chance.

Before I turned completely, Frank was against me, pushing me into the front door, standing on his tiptoes, his lips against mine. I could feel his hands working their way up to around my neck, pulling me down closer to him.

It took me a moment to remember how to move, and another to act on it. I wrapped my hands around Frank's wrists, pulling them from around my neck, breaking the seal between our lips, and pushed him back, just enough for me to step away from the door and away from him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, taking a few steps backwards from him. He didn't move from where he stood, turning to face me.

"Shopping for pineapples," Frank answered sarcastically, "what do you think I'm doing?"

"That's why I'm asking," I said, confused, looking at him. He still hadn't moved, and I stopped moving,but continued to watch his every move, though.

"You know, Gerard said you were stupid, but I didn't want to believe him," Frank said, sounded rather defeated. He looked away from me for a moment, my eyes still trained on him. He started walking towards me, slowly, taking small steps. "Mikey, don't move," he said quietly and I couldn't help but listen. I watched him, wanting to run and hide, but my feet wouldn't move. Frank stopped less than a foot away from me, standing on his tiptoes again, leaning towards my ear.

"I'm in love with you," Frank whispered, his hot breath sending a tingly sensation down my spine.

I forgot how to speak for a moment, Frank's hands going to my shoulders, his mouth latching on to a stretch of skin on my neck. Frank started doing what he was doing before, pushing me back against the wall, which was more than a step away and I almost tripped over my own feet. I reached my hands up, tangling a hand in his hair, half of me screaming on the inside to end it, while the other half yelling to let it continue. "Frank, I can't," I whispered.

I pulled his head back, needing to be able to think clearly. "I can't," I repeated, looking at his face, as his expression visibly fell.

"Mikey, you have to move on!" he said, his voice more stern than I can easily remember it ever being before.

"I can't!" I mumbled, looking away from Frank, not able to meet his gaze, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

"It's been over a year, Mikey, he'd want you to move on," Frank said, and I could feel his gaze on me.

"One year, five months, and twenty days," I whispered, closing my eyes.

"Mikey, listen to me. He's gone. He's not coming back, not now, and not ever."

"Don't you think I know that?" I asked, my voice cracking as tears started to make their way down my face. "I've lived everyday without him, the one person who treated me right! He didn't use me for anything, or toss me away for someone else!" My voice was almost to the point of screaming at Frank. I pushed past him, heading blindly to my room, but Frank grabbed my wrist before I got too far.

"Mikey, I wouldn't do any of that-"

"You wouldn't use me? Then why'd you come in here and the first thing you did was push me up against the door? Huh? I've been down that road and it does not end good for me," I yanked my wrist free of his grip.

"-because I love you, Mikey. Since day one, I've been head over heels for you, but you were too fucking blind to see it. Then Bob came along, and you went for him instead of me. How do you think I felt then? I felt like my chance of being yours was gone, and I honestly had nothing to live for at that point!"

Frank had tears on his face, too, I noticed, wiping my eyes. He stepped closer to me, but I stepped back, keeping the same distance between us.

"Remember when Bob had to leave for that surgery and how you couldn't see him for a month because we had to keep touring? Don't you remember I was there every time you called for me and even when you didn't,I was just hoping you'd realize how much I cared about you, and that you'd just give me a chance!" Frank paused to take a deep breath, his voice louder than when he started. "You never did, of course, because everything was about Bob, and no one else mattered inside your thick head!" Frank paused to take a breath. "And now, you're still all about Bob."

"I can't just forget him, Frank!"

"I'm not asking you to," Frank wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, "I just want you to give me a chance. That's all I want, that's all I've wanted for years, just so I can prove to you how much I love you."

In that moment, things started making sense. Why Frank always stared at me, why he got touchy when Bob was mentioned, just how he acted around me compared to the others. I took a step forward, ignoring the part of my brain screaming at me to stop, and wrapping my arms around Frank, leaning down to kiss him, feeling how somehow, this was right.

"You have one chance, and that's all," I whispered against his lips.

"That's all I'm asking for."
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Two years, seven months, and three days after that day in my apartment, (which was four years and twenty-three days after Bob died, if you're curious) I was getting married to Frank. He managed to steal my heart right off the bat, aside from the tiniest little piece which would always belong to Bob.