Troubles

Hallway

I walk into the school with a heavy feeling in my gut. I know today is gonna be hard. I have a math test I didn't prepare for, I have to hand in the assignment late, along with a note saying that my grandfather died, and then I have to fake being all broken up about it, which isn't gonna be incredibly hard because I've been okay at lying so far.

But something that is gonna be hard is talking to Gerard. I'm not gonna lie; I feel like running away. Every time I think of just seeing him, I feel like I have a rock in my stomach. I'm not even sure what I'm gonna say to him, all I know is that I have to and then I just hope the words will come to me. And that he will follow.

I walk towards my locker, feeling my heart beat faster as I see the empty table Gerard usually sits at and collects money for his charities. I haven't seen him since that time I said 'no' to donating anything and then yelled at him. I hope he hasn't quit the soup kitchen after he saw me. I really do hope I haven't ruined his hope for helping people in need; or just people in general – he used to help me.

I open my locker and pull out the math book I forgot. I'm hoping to read a few pages before class, just so I can at least pass the test. I don't even remember how important it is, so I assume it's half of my grade. That way, I'll take it serious and not half-ass it.

I rummage through my backpack and find a pencil before I stuff the bag into my locker and slam it shut. I walk down the hall to find a quiet corner to sit in, but as I turn down a new hallway, I find something I didn't expect: Gerard.

My heart is pounding in my throat, making it hard for me to breathe or think or even just keep a hold of my book. I jump when it hits the floor, sending a loud slam and crack down the quiet hall. It's a quiet hallway and it's only 8:30, so there aren't a lot of people here; but Gerard is.

He turns his head and looks at me, one hand on his locker door and the other somewhere I can't see. He looks me straight in the eye for a split second, before he lowers his blank eyes onto my book on the floor. I bend down to pick it up, not taking my eyes off of Gerard's, and by doing so, I get to see his expressionless and empty stare glide away from my book and disappear behind the cold steel of the door he's holding.

I swallow down my heart and take a deep breath, telling myself to just take it easy and go talk to him. He'll understand everything; I just have to say it.

I get back up and take a few normal steps before my feet start feeling like lead and my arms like cement. I feel like I'm about to fall because of all the weight. It's as if my mind wants me to stop; as if it's trying to convince me that talking to Gerard will only make everything harder. But it won't. I don't believe that.

“Hi,” I say and stop. I stand next to him, staring at his temple and just waiting for him to respond.

But he doesn't. He just keeps staring into his locker, apparently looking for something, but only with his eyes. His one hand is still holding on to the locker door, while the other is just hanging limply by his side.

He looks so unreal. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was a statue – some kind of modern art piece meant for students to relate to. After all, he is beautiful enough to be a work of art, and it always seems that everything he says, I can relate to.

But he doesn't say a thing.

I glance down at his arm, trying to think of something that will break him from his trance. I could ask him how it's going; how Mikey is doing or what he's doing after school, but they're all just lame conversation starters between friends; and as things are now, we're not friends.

I swallow down a new lump in my throat and look up at him, determined to get a reaction out of him.

“What did your parents say?” It's a question only I can ask. Mikey probably knows already; either because Gerard ran to his room afterward or because he was called into the living room for a family meeting, or because his parents talked with him. But no one talked to me, and I think that if anyone should tell me what happened, it should be Gerard himself. After all, he wouldn't even have had that conversation with his parents yet if it weren't for me kissing him, so I think I have the right to know if I should feel guilty or relieved or terrified from outing him like that. I deserve to know. I deserve his attention. I deserve at least one glance or grunt: just any sign of life from him. I love him, for fuck's sake! I deserve his recognition.

“What do you care?” What do I care! I care about you, for crying out loud. I care about the safety and health and life of Gerard fucking Way. That's what I fucking care.

“I care a fucking lot,” I say, my voice suddenly raspy and low. I feel like screaming my head off, but apparently, my voice can't muster it.

And as if he heard my begging – my non-verbal, non-thought beg – he turns his head and looks at me. It isn't much, but there's a tinge of shock to spot in his eyes. Doesn't he believe me? Why is he so surprised that I care?

“I-” I squeeze out, but with every tiny sound of my vocal cords, I'm losing my voice more and more. I want to tell him that I love him. I want my voice to echo through the empty hallways and make it resonate in his ears how much I fucking love him, because I can't ever say it enough; not even an echo will do.

I smile at my thoughts. I smile at how my heart is pounding and at how cute Gerard looks when he's stunned.

My voice doesn't work.

The thought of my voice not working is the only thing that goes through my mind before I grab onto Gerard's arms, push him around and back up against a closed locker and place my lips on his. My hold on his upper arms is so tight that I fear that I might be hurting him, but I just don't wanna risk him running away. I don't wanna let go of him, in case he'll disappear. I don't wanna lose him.

And I don't think I will, because while my frozen lips stay pressed against his and my thoughts run through my mind, he moves his lips. Slowly, tenderly and so carefully, his lips pucker and press tighter against mine. With ease, he slightly opens his mouth, letting his soft, velvety lips glide over mine, caressing my slowly thawing ones.

My knees give in, and if it wasn't for my tight hold of Gerard's arms, I would have fallen flat on my ass.

My brain is tickling. Something in my brain is tickling. It's sending shivers through my entire body, making my toes curl and my spine sway. And as soon as the shiver reaches my lips and makes them tremble briefly, they start moving in sync with Gerard's.

We're kissing. Again. But still, it feels like the first time. Maybe it's because we're finally realizing how the other feels, or maybe it's because we're alone and sober and still slightly morning-groggy. But really, I'd like to believe it's just love.

I love him. And he loves me; I just know it. I can feel it. I can sense it in the air around him. It's just... there.

With a sigh, I pull away from him. I feel lightheaded and sleepy, but I also feel completely aware and wide awake. The pounding in my heart is making every vein in my body throb painfully, but the way it makes my skin swim with warmth more than makes up for it.

I open my eyes and stare at Gerard's eyelids. Slowly, his eyes appear from behind the thin layer of skin, and to my relief, they're overflowing with feelings. Momentarily, his brows furrow up over the bridge of his nose, making him look worried and quizzical.

“I love you.”

Those words doesn't make his questioning look go away, but I don't know what else to say; how else to explain it. It's what I feel. It's the simplest way I can put it. For some reason, it's the only thing my brain can conjure up at the moment in order to resolve his wondering, explain everything that's happened and make things between us okay again; perhaps even better than okay.

“Why did you leave?” For some inexplicable reason, I know exactly what he's talking about. Perhaps it's because it's the last time we were alone together – the last time we even just saw each other – or maybe it's because I can see it in his eyes, but I know he's talking about Thursday night.

“I wanted to talk to your dad. I didn't want him to be mad, but when he wasn't, I decided not to say anything.” I stop babbling. Suddenly, I can't talk enough. I usually just stick with being short and concise so I won't bother anyone, but now I find it hard to stop talking. And it's especially hard when Gerard keeps looking at me like I'm keeping things from him.
“I went back to Mikey's room, but you were already gone. I just wanted to make sure everything was cool, and it was, but you weren't there to hear it. You just left.”

“No, you just left,” he cuts in, looking hurt within a second. My stomach hurts, as if I've swallowed a brick.

“No. Gerard, no,” I rub his arms comfortingly, “I didn't just leave. I was gonna come right back.”

He frowns, still sad, looks down at my chest and then back up at me. I feel like crying when I see the abandonedness in his eyes; the obvious lonely and lost feeling shining in them.

“I squeezed your hand before I left,” I justify, remembering how I thought he would see that as a comfort.

“I thought that was just you telling me to let go.”

A tear slides down my cheek. I don't even know how it formed so fast, but it did. The feeling of guilt must have pushed it out, because the way it's filling up my entire body – inside and out – doesn't leave much space for anything else. I feel like puking and crying and pissing out blood; anything to keep myself from choking on the feeling that's currently ripping apart my chest and throat.

“I'm sorry,” Gerard suddenly whispers, pries his arms out of my hold and quickly wraps them around me. He presses me into him, my face digging into his neck and with my next inhale, his scent makes me relax so much that I can't help but cry.

He holds me tight – holding me up – as I cry my heart out against his chest. It's as if everything that's been building up inside of me just flows out of me suddenly, pressing and shoving to get out first. I sob so loud that the sound resonates in my ears four times before it dies down, only to be replaced by the next and the next and the next. Every hurt I've felt the last year is let out in one huge meltdown, and the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely is Gerard. He sits down slowly, gently bringing me with him. I lay on the floor with my legs sprawled out and my head leaning on his chest. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, praying that he'll never let me go.

I think half an hour passes by before I stop crying completely. And after that, I feel like flying. And I almost do – almost levitate off the ground – when Gerard kisses me and whispers that he loves me too.
♠ ♠ ♠
A HAPPY CHAPPY!!!

First a grenade and now a blackout.

Let us win this MTV thing, shall we? =D
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P.s. Next chappy isn't written. I'm a bit blank. Any hints from ya'll about what you like to read? =D