Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces

[Frank's P.O.V.]

Disorientation was the only thing running through my mind. The utter confusion of not knowing where I was or what had happened coursed through my system. There were vague recollections flitting just out of reach, haunting and powerful. These sheets were not mine; this mattress did not feel like mine. My eyelids were heavy and difficult to open. There was a general grave feeling pressing down, pushing me against the bed. I managed to flicker my eyes open and the surrounding came to me as a scene in a movie would. It was unreal, inexistent.

Yet, with a jolt, I suddenly realized everything that had occurred. I had not fallen into a dream and was still living it as I had previously thought; instead I had fallen into something different: into reality. Events, words, actions, came like lighting bolts. They struck against my mind, harsh and heavy, sending electricity up and down my spinal chord. Distant blurs were what I was seeing, memories from the day before. My breath caught in my throat, choking me.

I was in Gerard's room. I closed my eyes, willing myself to fall back into reality. I want to go home. I want to go home. If only I could simply click my heels and whirl back into my former life. If only I had a clock, an hourglass, anything, that could turn back time and prevent everything from happening. Alas, I did not possess those powers. I could not tear through the fabric of time, the stitches holding together the universe and space that kept it from falling apart. I couldn't go back in my life and fix my errors. There was nothing I could do but face them head-on and hope I get out with most of me intact for surely I was to end up losing something in this war.

I shook my head, making the disorientation return. Sighing, realizing I could not simply hide beneath closed lids, I opened my eyes again, taking in the setting. Oh, if only this were a movie and the director would suddenly yell, "And, cut! Perfect, guys. You're all great actors. Now you can go back home to your regular lives. We'll continue shooting at noon tomorrow." No, this was not a scene in a movie; this was my life: my twisted, confusing life. I was a vital part of this, the main character in the film. Only, this film did not have a happy ending from what I could see.

I shifted, hearing the springs squeak in protest beneath me. I grinned, thinking back on my bed at home and reveling in the familiarity of it, the dose of normalcy in this world. I turned my gaze to the floor besides the bed, looking at the huddled form of Gerard on the deflating air mattress. Instantly, guilt welled up inside me at having taken his position: this was his bed, I was his guest. Still, how did I get here? Though all of the events of the night before are quite blurry, there was simply a void after the rush to the bathroom. Try as I might, it was impossible to garner the information on the events that had occurred after Gerard had intruded on my privacy in the bathroom.

I tried to move as quietly as possible, bringing my legs over the side of the bed, the sheets still wrapped tight around me. Unfortunately, I had never really been a graceful creature and somehow I managed to wrap myself so profoundly in the sheets that I fell from the bed. My landing was mildly okay, despite the fact that I had landed on a living, breathing, solid human being. I heard a grunt, a yelp and scuffling. The grunt and scuffling was of my doing; the yelp however came from the man beneath me. My lips were nearly at his lips, my arms and legs hopelessly tangled in the sheets at his sides. I groaned, trying to get out of the predicament but finding it incredibly hard to do.

I heard squeaks of protest and could see the shine of his open hazel eyes. And suddenly, he quieted, staring directly into my eyes. My heart began pounding painfully in my chest, threatening to break my bones yet again. He moved none, spoke none, blinked none. And I panicked. There was an intense rush of emotions ripping through my system, debilitating and frightening me. I attempted to lift myself up, run away from his captivating hazel eyes...I couldn't.

He swallowed hard, the Adam's apple bobbing on his neck. I swallowed hard myself, still staring at him. It seemed I kept finding myself in the most awkward situations lately. And it was he who moved now, who brought his face closer to mine. His breath mingled with mine, our lips parted, our hearts beating faster and faster in our heaving chests. I felt my eyelids lowering, my gaze locked on the rose color of his lips. And this time we both moved closer, skin brushing skin.

My eyes closed and all I could do was feel: feel his soft lips against mine, feel his cheek brushing against mine, feel his nose nudging mine. And it was amazing; it was different to everything I had known before. I tilted my head to the side by instinct, deepening the kiss we were sharing. Slowly, reluctantly, I pulled away, opening my eyes to look into his. They were closed, though, his lips parted, frozen. But then they opened and I could stare into the irises, see the care, the affection there. And in my mind, soft songs erupted and softly I sang under my breath:

"And rescue me from me, and all that I believe
I won't deny the pain
I won't deny the change
And should I fall from grace here with you
Will you leave me too?

Carve your heart for keeps in an old oak tree
And hold me for goodbyes-and whispered lullabies
And tell me I am still
The man I'm supposed to be
I won't deny the pain
I won't deny the change
And should I fall from grace here with you
Will you leave me too?"

And I stopped, stricken, frozen, paralyzed. I shook my head, trying to control myself, to keep myself from giving in to the emotions coursing through me. The song was superfluous; the emotions excessive. My mind was running, racing and I groaned. It was too early in the morning to be thinking so profoundly. But I couldn't help leaning in again, tasting the sweet tang of his lips. And my mind was vacant as I kissed him; it was vacant as he returned the kiss, disentangling his hand from among the sheets to caress my cheek. It was vacant until he broke apart, and I kept my eyes closed, biting my bottom lip.

I didn't want to pull away; I didn't want to fall back into thoughts. His hand drifted from my cheek to my shoulder and I winced. I hadn't wanted to; that shoulder had been injured. He murmured something softly but I couldn't focus on the words, just feeling the soft rumble of his chest 'neath mine. And he continued murmuring soft words, reassurances, loving words. But I could only grasp their vague concept as I tried to ignore the prickling beneath my closed lids. His hand moved back to my cheek, stroking it softly. I stopped biting my lip, the metal from my lip ring having dug into my skin so profoundly it hurt. Something, a sound, an impulse, burst from my lips and I felt something trickling down my face. A sob, a tear.

He said nothing more, moving his hand to trace the line of moisture, brushing it away. It was too much to handle; too much to process in a moment such as this. He murmured something more, a few simple words, "Hush now, Frankie." And I leaned towards him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. And he said nothing more, bringing out his arms fully to wrap them around me, pressing me as much as humanely possible against his body. My body shook, my arms and legs still hopelessly wrapped up in the sheets.

But I was warm. I was warm and I was comfortable and I was safe. He whispered in my ear, "Everything's okay, Frank. I'm here and everything will be fine and I'll protect you no matter what. Okay, Frank? I'm going to be here for you." I nodded silently, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. And suddenly all I could think of was the little we knew each other. We had met each other the day before and already I was a wreck, looking to him for comfort and love I couldn't find in my own family.

"Speak to me in a language I can hear
Humor me before I have to go
Deep in thought I forgive everyone
As the cluttered streets greet me once again
I know I can't be late, supper's waiting on the table
Tomorrow's just an excuse away
So I pull my collar up and face the cold, on my own."

And I couldn't help but ask myself why I kept singing, why I kept voicing the music in my head, my heart. But he didn't mind, continuing the lyrics softly, his voice lovely, a comfort to me:

"The Earth laughs beneath my heavy feet
At the blasphemy in my old jangly walk
Steeple guide me to my heart and home
The sun is out and up and down again
I know I'll make it, love can last forever
Graceful swans of never topple to the Earth
And you can make it last, forever you
You can make it last, forever you."

I lost myself, lost myself in the lyrics, in his voice, in the melody. The song was a lullaby, his voice a guarantee of safety. This was comfort; this was love. This was everything I had yearned after and everything that had always been just out my reaching hands. And now I had it and I clutched it tight to me, afraid that if I let go for an instant, it would fade away. Dressed up in innocence is what I was. I was dressed up in this manner, dressed up as a vulnerable individual. And it was who I was; I couldn't hide it. When I found something I clung to it because my belief was that I would lose it the next instant. Perhaps it was simple insecurity; the thought that no one else could love me because my own mother didn't.

Perhaps it was that, or something deeper. Perhaps it was spawned from the attentions bestowed upon me against my will by Dorian. Perhaps it was the sick individuals that would stuff me in my own locker at school. Perhaps it was the snickers, the constant mutterings and rumors that trailed behind me. The words thrown at me at every opportunity. The words that labeled me as "fag", as "crack whore" as "dipshit". Did those words classify me? Did they make me who I was? Did they place me in a particular category and mark me for the rest of my life?