Something I Could Hold Onto

Frank watched in disbelief as the boy made his way through the crush of bodies. His thin arms darted between bleeding figures, pale and welcoming. So many thoughts raced through his frantic mind: Why was he here? Was he real or just a hallucination? What should he talk about?

How's my hair?

Moments later, he was being enveloped by the same arms he had focused on moments before.

"What're you doing here, man?" Gerard laughed over the roar of the crowd.

"Like I'd pass up The Smiths," he responded, shocking himself with the calmness of his tone.

The taller man grinned. "True, true."

"What about you?" Frank asked, desperate to continue the conversation.

He grinned, shifting his position so he faced his companion more fully. "Same as you."

The first chords of a song rang out through the hall, echoing off of the gray pocked walls. A melodic, haunting voice met Frank's ears, sending shivers down his spine as he began to lose himself in the music.
Good times for a change.
See, the luck I've had
Can make a good man turn bad.

He jumped, unconsciously, and began to move with the crowd. To his left, Gerard did the same with a genuine smile plastered to his gentle lips.

So please, please, please!
Let me, let me, let me --
Let me get what I want this time!

As much as he would like to have devoted his entire attention to the stage, a part of Frank remained fixated on the boy next to him. The closeness they shared, although unavoidable, was intoxicating. He found himself transfixed on the warmth that was pressed against his arm, heating his blood and putting him into a state of hyper-awareness. The same smell radiated from his black jacket, though it was now mingled with sweat and the aroma of cannabis that hung in the air.

Maybe this could work out, he thought delicately. Maybe this won't get fucked up.

Haven't had a dream in a long time.
See, the life I've had
Can make a good man bad.

Without intending to, he began to relate his own situation to the lyrics. His mind raced as broken images of nightmares -- both imaginary and real -- pressed themselves against his eyelids. His heart beat faster, his blood pumped furiously, sweat gushed from every pore --

His head snapped to the side as he looked unabashedly at Gerard. He had stopped swaying, noticing his gaze, and simply smiled. Despite the gesture being completely unconscious, it chased the ghosts from Frank's battered and berated mind. The younger man smiled back, a true smile that rarely graced his visage, and he relaxed.

So for once in my life,
Let me get what I want.