Perfect in His Imperfection

Gerard’s Point of View

Call me.

PLEASE.

Do It! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO.

Come on Frank! CALL!

I sighed and flopped back onto the couch, a frustrated groan escaping my lips. Frank hasn’t called me and it’s already been two weeks! I mean, come on. I—

Oh my god.

Why I am such a girl?

Growling under my breath, I shifted my ass on the lumpy couch cushions and tried to find a more comfortable position—no luck. Not to mention that with one overenthusiastic jerk of the hips my ass found itself on the oh-so-much-more-comfortable hardwood floor.

Yes, as a matter of fact. I do love my life.

The room swayed drunkenly as I got to my feet—looks like I wasn’t the only one who had a rough night—somewhat inhibiting my ability to stand upright. However, it soon righted itself apologetically and, blinking groggily, I stumbled for the kitchen.

“Hungover Gerard?” called a mild voice from the foot of the staircase.

WHO the fuck—oh.

“Mikey. Wow. Jesus. Umm, yeah…How’d you get in here?”

“Spare key,” he said, smiling smugly. “But before you say anything—I come bearing gifts.”

I glanced down—his hands cradled a steaming cup of coffee. Ah yes, the joys of brotherhood.

A smile floated contentedly onto my lips. “Love you kid.”

He grinned. “I know.”

Yawning a little, I took a seat at the kitchen table. No, I am most definitely not thinking aboutFrank thegorgeous man who had sat there one night two weeks ago. Throwing back the last of my coffee, I glared affectionately—is that even possible?—at my “beloved” brother.

“And no, for your information. I am most certainly not hungover.”

Just like I am most certainly not thinking about—

“Sure you aren’t,” he grinned.

I shot him another baleful look, but my attention was soon drawn elsewhere. Staring morosely into my empty coffee cup, I contemplated breakfast.

Mmmm. Breakfast.

Yes, I could definitely do with some of that.

“So Mikey,” I asked innocently, “had anything to eat this morning?”

His answering grin was equally sweet and guileless.

“Yep,” he smirked. “So you better stop dreaming about your new boyfriend and make your own shit, Wolfgang.”

Ha-ha Mikes.

“Wolfgang Puck? Yeah fuck you—I’m no fucking chef!” I grinned, mock offended, and trying to ignore the boyfriend reference.

Mikey just grinned and nodded: I didn’t fool him one bit.

Fucking Christ. You know, sometimes I think that kid’s a fucking psychic. I mean, seriously.

“Fine,” I sniffed. “Then I,”—pause for dramatic effect—“am going out.”

And scene.

Mikey stifled his giggles as I strutted out of the kitchen and right through the door, snagging my keys and some eyeliner on the way.

I think this calls for a trip to the mall!

Grinning, I climbed into my ’78 Camaro and turned on some Bowie, waving a goodbye out the window in case Mikes was watching. I ran stop signs the entire way there, and focused all my brainpower on not thinking about him.

Yes. I, too, wonder how I make it through the day.

Upon arrival, I breezed easy as a Covergirl through the mall doors, my eyes scanning the shop fronts restlessly. Mmm. Where to go, where to go?

My eyes lit on a new addition—a cool-looking little store called Urban Outfitters. Perfect. Let’s see what they’ve got, shall we?

As I walked in, I surreptitiously took note of all the rich ass kids and their designer jeans. Shit, another one of these places? I guess I could give it a try.

Sighing, I snagged a passably cute pair of black skinny jeans—why yes, they’re girl’s, fuck off!—and walked into the dressing room, ignoring the weird looks the sales people were throwing in my direction.

My hasty fingers fumbled my zipper and I struggled for a second, pulling my jeans off.

You know, if Frank were here he could—

GERARD.

Not in the dressing room you horny fuck!

Hahhhh! Fuck…

GERARD!

Oh, right. Jeans…

Damn it.

I didn’t even need to check my reflection—I could feel the jeans cling tightly to my ass and my package.

Gross. I probably look like a cheap hooker.

And that’s when I made the mistake of glancing up at the mirror. I shuddered at the sight. I could literally see my ass hanging out, begging to be freed from its denim confines, and my dick definitely—okay, let’s not go there. But seriously—who wears these?

I shook my head in disgust, tossing the disgustingly tight jeans into the corner of the stall and yanking the door open. Flicking my hair out of my eyes, I headed for the exit—this place really isn’t worth my time.

Oh. OH!

My feet stuttered in their steady rhythm as I caught sight of the one person I’ve been dying to see for two weeks.

Frank!

My eyes searched the spot I had seen him last desperately, but I’d lost his adorable head in the crowd. Cautiously I stepped to the side, craning my neck to get a better view.

Damn it.

Walking swiftly, I headed in the direction I thought I’d seen him go.

I just need to find that gorgeous boy!

Frank’s Point of View

“I need a new pair of jeans,” I said, half to myself and half to my companions as we walked through the glass sliding doors of the mall.

“You serious? You have, like, ten. That’s more then most people,” Brandon, my room mate, told me and stopped at the foot of the escalators, much to the annoyance of the people behind us.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of their way, our other room mate, Bob, trailing along behind. Bob had “kindly” woken me up at ten o’clock this morning telling me that we were going to the mall because he needed some new shoes. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just go by himself, and when I had raised this with him he had simply shrugged and told me to get dressed. So here I was, and I’ll be damned if I was leaving this place with nothing.

“Yeah, but the more I have, the less I have to do laundry,” I pointed out, leading my friends into the nearest clothes shop, which happened to be ‘Urban Outfitters’.

“The man has a point,” Bob said, agreeing with me and picking up a shirt to look at it.

I wandered over towards the girls section, flicking through the various pairs of jeans they had before finally pulling out a pair of tight blue ones.

“I’m going to go and try these on.” Bob and Brandon nodded simultaneously at me, hardly glancing up from the selection of shoes they were currently browsing. I held the pants up to the assistant so that they could acknowledge I was trying them on and walked into the nearest changing room. Once in there, I pulled off my shoes, followed by my Dickies and pulled on the new jeans, which I already knew would fit because it was not the first time I had tried on girls jeans. I even knew my size.

Not bad, I mused to myself, turning around and looking into the mirror so that I could see myself from all angles. I lifted up my shirt a little and made sure the pants accentuated my ass and package, there was no point in buying them if they didn’t.

Just as I was pulling down the jeans I was trying on, I noticed another pair of black jeans slumped in the corner. I pulled the blue jeans completely off and picked up the black jeans, holding them out so I could fully see them. They were black and looked extremely tight. I checked the size on them and realized that they would probably fit me. I kicked the blue jeans away and pulled on the new black ones, zipped them up and looked at my mirror image.

I met my own eyes in the mirror and smirked at my reflection, not bad at all.

“You fucking done in there? Fucking pansy!”

Bob was at my changing room door, hitting it with what I assumed were his fists. I looked up at my reflection and rolled my eyes before dropping the pants to my ankles. I would definitely be taking them.

I pulled on my own pants once more and exited the change room, passing Bob on the way who was being scolded by a mother for swearing when children were around. I walked up to the counter and rested my head on Brandon’s shoulder as he handed over his credit card.

“What you buying?” I asked him, the jeans hanging folded on my arm.

“Shirt,” he responded, taking a pen and signing his name on the dotted line.

“Bob find anything?”

“Nope.”

The shop assistant smiled widely at Brandon as she handed him his bag, fluttering her eye lashes in a way in which I assumed she thought was sexy. She definitely thought wrong.
I threw my jeans on the counter, which quickly caught her attention as she forced her eyes away from the man candy that I happened to call my friend.

“Just those?” She asked me, to which I nodded. I thought it was quite funny how oblivious Brandon was to this woman’s obvious attraction to him.

“So, what do you want to do after this baby?” I said, turning to Brandon and brushing a lock of his hair behind his ear affectionately.

He gave me a weird look at being called baby and replied, “Food maybe?”

“Sounds wonderful, Honey.” I leaned up and pecked Brandon’s cheek, much to the disbelief of both him and the cashier, who had been patiently waiting for my platinum Amex to land on her glass counter.

I smiled at her and handed my silver card over.

“Frankie, you are one weird individual! I know you don’t think anything of kissing a dude, but seriously you know I don’t like boys!” Brandon said as soon as we got outside the shop.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh please, it was just for show. That girl totally wanted you. I did you a favor,” I replied, clutching my new purchase in my tattooed arms.

“What if I wanted her!?”

Bob looked thoroughly confused. “What did you do?” He asked curiously. I scoffed; I loved it how he assumed that I had done something.

“He fucking kissed me!”

“Did you?” I asked Brandon, as we walked in the food court.

Brandon looked on the verge of another outburst but quickly changed his expression as he realized he didn’t understand what I meant.

“Did I what?”

“Did you want her?” I asked plainly.

“No, but-“

“You’re welcome.”

Brandon glared at me, but soon his lips were curving up into a smile. Bob was just laughing, completely used to my antics having lived with me for a year and been my friend for even longer.

“What do you dude’s want to eat?” Bob asked, surveying the food court. I glanced up, looking around the crowded space for something to catch my eye. As I scanned the room something did catch my eye, or rather someone.

I swear that’s Gerard, I thought to myself as I saw a retreating figure leaving the food court rather quickly.

“Gerard!” I called out, ignoring the questioning looks from my friends as I started jogging after the figure clad in black.

“GERARD!”

I stopped chasing him as the figure turned a corner and out of my sight, not wanting to be embarrassed if I was following a complete stranger. If it had been him he probably would have turned around, unless he really didn’t hear me. Now that I thought more about it, it probably wasn’t even Gerard, more like wishful thinking. I felt kinda bad because I had lost his number at my parents that night and I didn’t want him to think I had blown him off.

“Who were you following now?” Bob said as I walked back to my friends, as if me chasing a stranger was a regular occurrence in our lives.

“I hung out with this dude one day, but lost his number and I thought that just then was him. I kinda wanted to apologize for not calling him, that’s if he even remembers who I am,” I explained, getting distracted by the smells around me and my hungry stomach.

“Want to get sushi?”