Something I Could Hold Onto

The coffee and conversation had long since cooled, leaving the two boys in a comfortable silence. They walked together along the slowly-filling sidewalk, standing close and occasionally knocking hips in a brief moment of scraping denim and awkward smiles. Each time the knobby bones made contact a blush would rise to Frank's cheeks, clear yet a commodity that he could easily blame on the cold and misting rain.

Frank exhaled deeply as he braced himself against a sudden gust of wind; he tucked his face into the crook of his neck and pushed his hands into the bottom of his pockets.

"Cold?" Gerard asked, unwrapping the thin black scarf from his throat and laying it across the shorter boy's shoulders.

He smiled softly as the soft fabric met his skin, offering both a 'thank you' and a validation.

The elder of the two chuckled, darting his tongue out to lick his chapped lips. "Don't worry," he assured, "we'll be there soon."

As quickly as his numbness would allow, Frank moved his hands from his jeans pockets to the inside of his sweatshirt. He turned his head to make eye contact, staring for a moment at the man before him. The coy smile gracing his face was soon replaced by a grin, as he said, "How soon, exactly?"

… "I don't know about you, but I'm excited for these fucking pancakes," Gerard said, sipping from his proverbial coffee cup.

Frank laughed, reaching for his own small mug. "I can tell; you've been talking about them since we ordered."

"Can you blame me?" he questioned, pairing the words with a shrug.

Another smile appeared on the younger boy's face, becoming more and more common with each passing moment. "I guess not."

Another moment of quiet came over the pair, in which the only sounds were the quiet clinks of porcelain to plastic and soft sipping. Thoughts drifted lazily in and out of each boy's mind, distinct yet oh-so-similar in their own right.

He can't be real, he thought for the millionth time that day. As inconspicuously as he could manage, Frank glanced at Gerard, his green eyes traveling up his torso with a satisfying slowness. It seemed almost as though it were something from a movie; the older man's hazel eyes were transfixed on the window, watching carefully for nothing at all. His hair splayed across his forehead delicately; his strong hands were clenched around the mug's handle. The scripted feeling only became more powerful as Gerard turned to face his friend, creating such an eye contact that one could almost hear the click of gazes locking.

"What?" the taller boy asked, a toothy smile playing across his face.

Frank jumped slightly, his face turning red. "N-nothing," he said too quickly.

Gerard's pale lips parted, but his words were cut off by a harsher voice; a voice laden in contempt and youthful-ignorance.

"Fuckin' fags," a younger man said, his friend laughing behind him and clapping him on the back.

The instigators looked harshly at the two boys, their expressions daring someone to respond. Frank swallowed the lump growing in his throat, shifting his eyes from savior to threat like a hummingbird hopping from flower to flower.

With yet another cinematic air, Gerard simply smiled. His hands casually laced themselves with the younger boy's, creating a comfortable grip and comforting feel.

"What was that?" he asked simply, the grin on his face never faltering.

"I said, 'fuckin fags'," this new man reiterated, the self-satisfied smirk only becoming more obvious.

Gerard laughed, before leaning in slowly and touching his lips to Frank's; the moment blurred and faded and bled together in his mind like a watercolor painting as their mouths moved together in a haze of softness.

As they pulled apart, Gerard smiled again. "At least I'm getting some."