Gerard was only thirteen when his mom dumped him and his brother off at the local group home. His mom was under the delusion that if she placed them with a foster care system, then they would go to a family that would actually be able to care for them. Yeah, it wasn’t the brightest plan. He felt like an idiot, because he felt like he was too old for this place. Surely, they would find him a place to be with Mikey. But it didn’t work out that way. Four years passed and even though people thought about adopting them, they never did. Gerard made sure of it, if only because it was the only way he would never be separated from Mikey. He knew why his mom didn’t want them. It was because she hadn’t known that she was having sex with a werewolf until her oldest son had shifted for the first time. After that, it had been a downward spiral of fights between his mom and dad, his dad walking out, and then his mom deciding that she didn’t even want her own kids, based solely on the fact that they were werewolves.

Frank was sitting on his lopsided piano bench in front of the counter, legs crossed up on the seat underneath him, red-painted toenails barely showing from under his thigh. He was in one of his oversized shirts, the wide boat-cut neckline barely keeping it on, and Gerard could see the strap of his bra (black, this time) running over his shoulder.