Troubles

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I open my eyes and look around the room. I feel groggy and everything around me is hazy. I'm tired; probably because I haven't slept very long.
I close my eyes and roll over. Brian will wake me soon.

-----

I wake up for what I think is the third time and frown at the realization that Brian hasn't woken me up. I can't possibly be this rested after just a few hours sleep.

Why hasn't Brian woken me up?

I pull myself out of bed and stand in the middle of my room, waiting for the wooziness in my head to go away. I haven't fully awoken yet. I'm still half asleep, and I actually wanna go back to sleep, but there's a nervous feeling in me that I know I can't sleep off. Brian didn't wake me up and the school thinks I'm skipping and are looking into my case – they'll find out everything and expel me.

Once the world is back to normal and I'm capable of opening my eyes, I walk towards the door to my room. With my first step, my hip hurts from where the waistband of my jeans have been digging into my skin all night. As I open the door, I rub the sore spot.

I step into the hallway and look to my right, into Brian's bedroom. It seems to be empty, and sure enough, when I look left, I see Brian. Despite Brian admitting that he's seeing someone, I seriously doubt he decided to invite her over after I fell asleep. I think I know him well enough to know that.

Brian is on the couch with a guitar in his lap. He's strumming it slowly, but no sounds are coming from it – all the sound being absorbed by a chord that leads to a huge headset. He's nodding his head even slower than he's strumming – it's really quite fascinating that the headphones don't fall off his head as he does, despite how small his nods are.

I drag my feet as I walk towards him, and just before I let my body drop onto the sofa next to him, he notices me and looks at me surprised.

“Hi,” he says and then pulls off his over-sized headphones, letting them hang around his neck.

“Hi,” I mumble back, my mouth still not fully awake. I wanna ask him immediately about what time it is, but the softness of the couch occupies and distracts my mind for a moment, and I yawn as tiredness rushes over me again – it feels as if my jaw is about to dislocate as I do.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say as I emit the last bit of my long, hurtful, satisfying yawn. I rub my one eye with my fingertips.

“Good,” he says lightly. I rub my nose, drop my hand in my lap and look up at him.

“What time is it? Why haven't you woken me up for school?” I ask. My scalp itches, but I resist the urge to itch. I'm tired of being tired, morning-groggy and itchy.

“I thought you'd need a day off,” he says, sounding almost proud and satisfied with his decision. I frown.

“But-”

“Don't worry. I called the school,” he quickly interrupts me. I raise my eyebrows. I guess he's starting to get a hang of my chain of thoughts as well. He smiles at me, and I return it quickly.
“So, what do you wanna do today?”

-----

It's actually kinda stupid that Brian kept me home for the day, because Mikey called when he got home and told me that the teacher had given us one, last, big assignment to do before Christmas break, and though Mikey tried to explain the concept to me the best he could, I don't think I understood exactly what I have to do.

Also, Bob apparently got in a fight. I really wanted to see that! By the way Mikey explained it, it sounds like it was an awesome fight. And of course, he won.

But in spite of that, I still would have rather stayed home with Brian. We ended up playing guitar for almost four hours and he taught me how to play with my eyes closed. It's so awesome that I don't have to look at the fretboard anymore when I play.

But now, using my eyes is the most vital thing in my life, because holding a sharp-ass knife in one hand and a tiny little chili in the other is making me paranoid. It's not like the knife is gonna attack me, but any slight, wrong move and I'll only have nine fingers – or eight.

“Frank!” Brian yells, and I swear that if I wasn't pressing the knife against the cutting board, I'd be missing a hand or a toe or something right now.

“Yeah?” I call back and carefully – very, very carefully – put the knife down and turn around. I remind myself for the twentieth time not to touch my eyes and walk towards Brian's bedroom with my hands stiff by my sides.

“Which shirt?” Brian asks frantically as soon as I'm in the hallway. He's holding up a gray and a white shirt, which practically look alike in this lighting.

I shrug.

How would I know? I might be gay – emphasis on might – but I'm not a fashionista. I have no idea what looks good on people.

Brian turns around suddenly and disappears back into his bedroom. I consider reminding him that his girlfriend is gonna be here in ten and that he might wanna clean up his room beforehand, but I think that would just make him even more stressed and freaked out and cause him to open the front door in only his underwear and a tie. Not that I think she would mind, really. I would, though. It would be embarrassing to admit to knowing him and it would be incredibly scarring and disturbing if I accidentally were hear them having spontaneous sex in the hallway.

I'm gonna stop thinking these thoughts.

I go back to the kitchen to finish cutting up the chili. When I get there, I have to get the pasta under control so it doesn't spurt water all over the stove and then I have to stir the sauce that I fear might already be slightly burned. I carefully scratch the ladle against the bottom. Yeah, it's burned.

I shrug and go back to cutting the chili. I've tasted worse than burned pasta-sauce. Plus, I can just add another chili.

Carefully, I cut another chili into tiny pieces before I put the knife cautiously in the corner on the kitchen table and dump the red, spicy stuff into the already tomato-red liquid.

“Which tie?” Brian suddenly asks from behind me and, as a reaction, I twist my neck awkwardly to look at him. I look down at the ties in his hands – two in each – and glance at each tie and then at the black shirt he's wearing. I just want this to be over with so we can eat. I'm not starving, just hungry, but the whole freak-out Brian's got going here is starting to get on my nerves.

“None,” I say resolutely, then turn back to gently stir the sauce and not let the ladle touch the bottom of the pot.

I don't think I understand his nerves. If it were Gerard coming over, sure, I'd be excited and happy, but I wouldn't be nervous or anxious. And I would certainly not be having a 'fashion crisis'. I thought only girls had those.

I've been watching too much MTV lately.

I don't understand why Brian's so stressed out, anyway. It was his idea to invite his girlfriend over for dinner – if that's even what they are. He hasn't mentioned what exactly their relationship to each other is, and they probably haven't even clarified that themselves yet.

The doorbell rings, and as the sound echoes through the apartment, I hear about three different kinds of bumps and crashes coming from Brian's room.

“Shit,” I hear him hiss, before he stumbles down the hall with a hand constantly in his hair. I walk to the kitchen door and lean against the door frame, amused by the sight of Brian mussing his hair and straightening his shirt. He finally reaches for the door handle.

“Hi baby,” the girl on the other side of the door says as soon as her eyes lock with Brian's. From where I'm standing, I can clearly see Brian's shoulders drop and relax, before he pulls his girlfriend into a soft hug.

I smile lightly. They look cute like that. I wish I had that.

I feel a pang of guilt in my gut and I space out for a moment. Am I not in love with Gerard enough to look that cute when I'm with him?

“Kari, this is Frank. Frank, Kari,” Brian introduces and effectively snaps me out of my little guilt-trip.

“Hi,” I say, my voice sounding like a prepubescent boy, and shake her hand lightly. It's a little awkward, but at least Brian's told her about me – or mentioned me in some way.

“Nice to meet you, Frank,” she says. Her voice is so soft and her eyes shine about as much as Brian's do, and I can't do anything but like her. And without a real reason, I feel proud of Brian.
♠ ♠ ♠
You can call this chappy many things. Happy. Funny. Cute.
Personally, I wouldn't be offended if you called it a filly. =D

So, just a question for you all, because this story is just as much yours as it is mine, so I need a bit of help/ mind of opinions:
What year are Gerard and Frank in, respectively?
Do you see Gerard as being a year older, two, or are they in the same year in school?

Thank you, guys!
You're f-in awesome!!