Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces

[Gerard's P.O.V.]

For the longest time, I merely stared into the lit confines of my room. There was no other thought running through my mind than Frank and this mysterious encounter. I couldn't be sure if this was simply a dream, some hallucination caused by my worried mind. I simply couldn't be sure of anything and that was what caused me to continue trembling uncontrollably. The right side of my face smarted and stung but it seemed impossible that I had actually been punched.

Resolving to try and sleep it off, I buried into the pillow, throwing the sheets over me. But how could I possibly sleep when the current events were playing over and over in my mind? I sighed, rolling out of bed; there were too many lights on in the first place now. Switching off the lights, I pulled on a jacket, resolving now to take a walk to clear my mind. There were countless dangers in walking the streets at such a late hour but it didn't matter at the moment.

Sneaking down the hallway and out of the house was a breeze, one of the reasons I loved the basement. My parents and Mikey had bedrooms upstairs which limited the noise they could hear from down here. The cold night air greeted me as I walked down the outside steps, hugging my jacket close around me. I wished I had thought to change; the thin material of my cotton pajamas simply couldn't stand up to the currents of air. There was no turning back now, though; if I went back, I wouldn't go out again.

So I started walking aimlessly, letting my feet take me to where they wished; I wasn't going to be picky with directions. Briefly, I entertained the thought of visiting an old friend, just stopping by, but what person would welcome me into their house at such an ungodly hour? Therefore, I simply continued walking, focusing my attention on other matters at hand. What was that person, that entity, whatever it was, in my room? Frank worried me greatly; the trial had me at my wit's end.

I continued walking only to find myself on the streets past Cabel's liquor store, entering the neighborhood of the very friend I had thought I would neglect. Finding it too troublesome to turn back and find some alternative route, I snuck past the sleeping guard, ducking through the one open gate. My feet took me down the road, past the sleeping houses, in the general direction of the house.

There was a house there that caught my attention suddenly. Its lights were on, a warm smell wafting out onto the sidewalk from within. Unlike every other house lining the street, this house seemed alive; it seemed occupied. Against my better judgment, I crept closer, walking up the creaking porch steps. It seemed so quaint, so well-kept. It must belong to an elderly couple; those were the kinds that tended to pay most attention to the overall appearance and maintenance of structures, trying to preserve the same beauty that had attracted them in their early years.

Moving along the porch, I crept to the window, peeking in. Feeling like a creep or some obsessive stalker, I pulled away, concealing myself under the window pane. "What am I doing?" I asked myself, standing up, separating myself from the dusty face of the house. However, instead of walking away, leaving this house behind, I walked to the next window, peering in as well. The sight I beheld made me gasp, made me rap frantically on the glass. This had to be a hallucination, some product of my twisted mind. My hand still tapped on the window pane, motioning to the person inside to look over.

The person inside was not any ordinary person: it was my Frankie. His head snapped up quickly, hair flying away from his malachite eyes. They glinted brightly from sudden fear, pale hands trembling on the table. A smile began to form across his rose lips though, disbelief etched across his delicate features. He stood, chair scraping against the floor, tumbling to the floor. He didn't notice, winding around the table, pretty little lips parted in confusion. The quivering in his hands hadn't ceased as he threw open the window, not a word leaving his shell-shocked lips.

Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I took advantage of the moment, pressing my mouth against his, reveling in the taste. He didn't respond, despite the fact that his eyes had fluttered closed to feel my skin against his. "W-what are you doing here?" he stuttered in a hiss, hands grasping the lapels of my jacket, pressing my abdomen harshly against the window pane. A smirk crossed my lips, leaning in, breath hitting his pale face.

"I wanted to see you," I whispered, though it wasn't the truth; I had wanted to keep my mind off him.

"How'd you find me?" I laughed softly then, trying to keep down the volume of my voice so as to not alert anyone of my presence. Glaring, he tugged lightly at the jacket trying to pull me inside the dimly lit kitchen. Without any further encouragement needed, I slipped through the window, just barely avoiding crashing onto the floor.

"I was just in the neighborhood and-"

"Bullshit. Just tell me, Gee."

"I'm not lying. I was in the neighborhood; an old friend of mine lives here and I thought I'd wake him up because I couldn't fucking sleep. I don't know why I came here, I really don't, but I found you and that's all that matters to me." He nodded softly, averting his gaze and walking away, leaving me standing awkwardly in front of the open window. "So, this is where you live?"

"Get out."

"W-what? I don't think I quite heard you clearly."

"Get out." He turned back towards me, eyes brimming with crystalline tears, cheeks tinged pink.

"You can't be serious."

"Get out, Gee. Go away."

"Why?"

"You can't be here right now, Gee; you just can't." The distance between us had diminished, his back pressed against the cabinets as I loomed over him. His lower lip trembled, ring glinting in the little light that came into the room. "G-get out," he ordered again but his voice sounded so uncertain, all conviction gone from it.

"Why would I want to?" I planted my hands on either side of his frail body, grasping the counter tightly. Capturing his trembling lips in mine, I ignored the small whimper he let escape, pressing my body to his warm frame. He responded against his will, hands hesitantly reaching out to settle on my hips. His hands began tugging at the frayed end of my cotton pajama shirt, wrapping a loose string around a finger. I was the one to pull away, the need for air becoming overpowering. "What were you saying?"

"Gee," he pleaded gently, fingers grazing against my sides. Without replying, I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my hands against the protruding bones of his spine. "This is my grandpa's house; if they find you...I just don't want them to know."

"Know what?" He shifted fretfully, hands tugging again at the hem of my shirt, snapping off the loose string. I removed a hand to trail it along the line of his jaw, strong despite his age, fierce and beautiful. He flinched as if I had hit him, the tears beginning to roll lazily down his flushed cheeks. "Oh," I whispered as the realization hit me, taking my hand away quickly as if his skin had burned me. His lower lip trembled and he bit it harshly, trying to hold back the sobs rising in his tender throat. Trying to be as gentle as possible, I pulled his lip out from beneath the vice grip of the white enamel. The marks were visible, denting and marring the silkiness of his lip. "You don't want them to know you like men, do you?"

He nodded, that one little movement sending tremors through my heart, rushing up and down my vertebrae. "Are you ashamed? Are you fucking ashamed?" I hadn't meant for my voice to be so harsh, a near threat in the hoarse whisper with which I spoke. He broke down then, sliding down against the counter to the floor, hiding his red-botched face in his hands as he sobbed quietly. The guilt roared through my veins, making me kneel down before him, placing my hands tenderly on his shoulders. He winced and the movement caused me to flinch as well, feeling as though he had just backhanded me across the face with a ring shining on his finger.

Broken apologies poured from his lips, shattering on the floor beneath him. Biting back my own sobs, I raised a hand with the intent to run it through the silky locks of hair tumbling down over his blood-shot eyes. I refrained from doing so. "Frankie," the whisper escaped from my lips, as tenderly as I could possibly speak, "I'm sorry, Frankie. I didn't mean it like that. It's fine; don't cry. Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you like this. I'm so sorry, sugar. It's okay." He shook his head, hands never leaving his face, body shaking with his silent weeping. "Frankie," I pleaded again, reaching out my hand, pausing a few centimeters away from his silken hair.

"God, Gee," he whispered through his sobs, raising his head as I rapidly took my hand away, resting it on my thigh. "What am I going to do?" Unable to find an appropriate answer, I simply tore my gaze away, looking down at my own trembling hands. Another strangled sob tore past his raw throat, his hands searching my sides, bringing me closer. His fingers brushed past the bandages that had been securely taped to the left side of my torso, his blood-shot eyes throwing me a questioning glance.

"It's nothing," I whispered sheepishly, leaning slightly against his legs, faces mere inches apart. He opened his mouth, a shaky sigh leaving his lips as he swallowed his sobs, searching my eyes for something. I met his gaze, not daring myself to look away as his wandering hands lifted the hem of my shirt, my rotund stomach exposed to his curious gaze. His fingers gently ran over the stained gauze, hitching the fabric up higher with his other hand, clutching it tightly. Again, his eyes asked what had occurred, a certain soft concern taking over his tear-stained features.

"It was an accident, sugar," I muttered, trying to put him at ease. "A vase broke but that's fine; I'm fine. It was just superficial; there won't even be any scars." The look he sent was incredulous, his hands dropping the hem of the shirt to push at the jacket. "Babe, I'm fine and cold. I swear it's nothing." He sighed, leaving his trembling hands over my shoulders beneath the warm fabric of the jacket. "Where's your room?"

"W-why do you want to know?"

"Darling, I'm not leaving and I don't plan on staying here all night. There'll be some privacy in your room and I want to talk with you." He sighed again, giving me the directions to the room in a hushed tone. Whispering my gratitude, I picked him up in my arms, pressing his frail body close to mine as I stood. His head burrowed into the crook of my neck, his hands gripping tight to my shirt as I walked. The burden I had taken upon myself now weighed so much heavier upon my shoulders.