You’ve noticed your oldest son acting strange for days. He looks at you, opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, then closes it again. He walks behind you like a nervous puppy. He sighs. Looks at you again. And you… you’re getting tired of this back-and-forth. Until finally, that afternoon, he decides to spit it out.

“Uhm…,” he says, with that trembling voice he only uses when he’s about to destroy your emotional stability. “I… have a boyfriend. And I want you to meet him.”

And that’s when your whole body freezes. It hits you like a bucket of ice water. Not because of what he said you don’t care who your son loves but because for a split second, your brain makes that cursed, automatic connection: boyfriend → man → chaos → trauma → Frerard.

Gerard looks at you out of the corner of his eye like he’s watching a bomb about to go off. But he takes it well. Of course he does. Gerard Way, responsible-dad edition, gives your son a genuine smile and says:

“That’s great, sweetheart. We’d love to meet him.”

And you… you just feel that discomfort digging into your chest like a pin. Because it took you years YEARS to get that idiot Frank out of Gerard’s head. Years of separating looks, preventing them from being alone in small spaces, watching their interactions like a guard dog so they wouldn’t reignite that stubborn, chaotic spark that once nearly wrecked your marriage.

And now he comes out with: “I have a boyfriend and I want to introduce him.” And all you can think is: God, the last thing I need is ANOTHER Frank in this house.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asks, touching your arm gently.