Folie a Deux

The back of his head caught my attention almost instantly. You can tell a lot about a person from the back of their head. You could tell more from the front, of course, but the back of the head carried a lot of secrets. It was the one part of your body that you never saw, unless someone held a mirror for you. It was a very raw, pure part of the body. You could never control how it looked, you couldn't see for yourself what it looked like. It was, often, the only truthful part of a person's body.

His hair was completely unruly. It was tangled and greasy, and reminded me a bit of my own, but black instead of bright red. He sat with his shoulders slumped, his elbows on the table. I couldn't see exactly where his hands were, but every few seconds I would see the tips of his fingers poke through the hair behind his ear, like he was playing with his hair.

He looked... Tired. Tired and sad and very much alone.

"Can I start you off with some coffee, sir?"

I glanced up at the waitress, blinking a few times in surprise. I had not noticed her approach me. "Sure." She smiled so I returned the gesture. "Thanks."

The waitress moved on and I found myself looking back at the boy. He was sitting up now, looking over as the waitress approached him.

"Done with your soup, Frank?"

"Yes ma'am," the boy- Frank- said quietly, scooting his bowl towards her. I watched as she took the bowl, eyeing him carefully.

"Are you okay? You're awfully quiet today."

"I'm fine. Just tired."

I'd never met the boy before in my life, and I could already tell that he was lying. The way his shoulders curved, tired and worn out, the way his fingers trembled slightly as he ran his hand through his hair again, all gave it away. He was much more than just tired.

"Oh. Well... If you need anything, just let me know."

"Thanks, I'll be sure to."

She walked off, leaving him sitting there in a quiet, peaceful air of sadness. I could almost feel the emotion from where I sat. I could sense the despair and the worry from here.

He let out a sigh, running his fingers back through his hair, twisting a few of the black strands tightly around his fingers, and then let them go, not really seeming to care where they fell.

"That's really bad for your hair, you know," I commented, wrinkling my nose.

The boy turned to look at me, surprised.

He was about my age, maybe a year or so younger, and had the most amazing eyes ever.

I gave him a slight half-smile, flicking my hair out of my face.

"What?" he asked, staring at me.

"The twisting isn't healthy," I explained. Sometimes I felt like I knew far too much about hair for my own good. All it was was a bunch of strands of dead cells, anyways. "It's like twisting the stem of a flower."

"Oh." He blinked rapidly. "Um- thanks, I guess."

I winked at him, grinning. "No problem, kid."

His eyes went slightly wide as he turned back around and I couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

The waitress came back with my coffee, but before she could sit it down, I stood up. "Do you think maybe I could sit with that boy?" I asked quietly, waving vaguely at Frank.

She giggled, grinning and nodding. "Sure."

We moved over to his table and I sat across from him in the booth as the waitress sat my coffee in front of me. "Thanks," I said, sending her a thankful smile.

"No problem," she grinned, glancing between Frank and I.

Frank looked up at the waitress, lips parted slightly in confusion, and she just smiled at him. "Wha- I mean..." He turned his head back to me, eyes going wide.

I just laughed, lifting my coffee mug with both hands and taking a sip. "Hi," I said, offering a small smile.

He just stared at me, looking surprised, like he had expected me to kill him, instead of just drinking my coffee. "Hello."

I took another sip of my coffee and flicked a few of the long, messy strands of hair out of my face. I couldn't bring myself to break eye contact. He was too handsome a person to break eye contact with. "What's your name?" I asked after a few seconds of just looking at him. I already knew, of course, but asking was the polite thing to do.

He blinked a few times, startled. "What?"

"Your name," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. I didn't like repeating myself. "What is it?"

His eyes went wide, like he couldn't understand how he had misunderstood such a simple question. "Why do you want to know?"

I shrugged with one shoulder, raising my mug to my lips and taking a long sip to hold back the sarcastic reply that desperately wanted to escape. "Because I need a name to go with your face. Now, are you going to tell me, or am I wasting my time talking to you?"

"Frank," he said after a moment's hesitation. "My name is Frank Iero."

"Nice to meet you, Frank Iero." I sat my mug on the table and leaned back in the booth, folding my arms over my chest, smiling a bit. "I'm Gerard... Gerard Way. The baddest bitch you'll ever meet."

And then I winked at him again.

He just looked at me, eyes wide.

He seemed to like making eye contact, and I wasn't about to argue. He had amazing eyes. I was quite intrigued by the hazel irises. They were both outlined with dark, dark brown on the outside, but were then all green, with a light brown color sloppily outlining his pupils. That brown faded out into the green, almost like a single, muddy rain droplet had fallen onto a green sheet of paper and then spread outwards.

His eyes were natural watercolor paintings.

"What do you want from me?" he said after a few seconds.

"Nothing," I said simply, taking a sip of my coffee, clutching the mug with one hand, holding it close to my chest. I took my time, letting the coffee sit in my mouth, letting the flavor linger. Coffee was one of my favorite things in the world, and I loved just letting the flavor sit in my mouth. "Why?" I said, after I swallowed the coffee. "Do you expect me to want something from you?"

"Not exactly, but-"

"Then why would you ask that?"

He seemed to freeze up, not having an answer.

"Frank?" I said, testing his name out on my lips for the first time. I liked the sound of it, short and stark and taking my full attention to pronounce. It was one of those names that made your entire mouth move, like kissing. I liked how my front teeth touched the inside of my bottom lip as I pronounced the "Fr," and I liked how the "an" tensed up in the back of my throat. I liked the way it snapped at the end, the "k" clicking the word closed, like a well-read book, and I liked the way it tasted, too. I liked the way the air felt on my tongue, escaping my mouth quickly through my teeth with the first half of the word, and then slipping out slightly more unnoticed with the rest of it.

All in all, it was a nice name. A name I liked saying. A name that I wanted to say over and over again until it became a subconscious thing in the back of my mind. I wanted that name to come as easily to my lips as breathing did.

There were so many words that I had to think about before I said them, but I didn't want his name to ever be one of those words. I have an over-active mind sometimes- I even have to stop and evaluate the way my own name sounds and feels in my throat before I let it all escape- but there were some words that came out without a second thought.

'Coffee,' for example, slipped out easily. The word 'love.' 'Pain,' I suppose, was an easy thing to say, as well. 'Music.' 'Art.' 'Death.'

They all fell out of my mouth easily. They weren't things I had to think about because they were a second nature to me.

I wanted Frank's name to be like that.

I wanted Frank's name to be up in my head and deep in my mind with coffee and love and pain and art and music and death.

"Frank," I said again.

"What?" he snapped.

"Why would you ask that," I repeated quietly, "if you didn't expect me to want something?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, if you don't know, why would you ask?"

"I don't know! Just tell me why you're sitting here!" he shouted, frustrated.

I raised my hands, mocking innocence. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Well, I didn't invite you to sit with me! You don't just approach random strangers and sit with them like that. I'm leaving."

I looked down at my coffee, sighing at the loss of what could have been an interesting conversation. "Then leave, Frank. Go on and just leave me here."

He didn't though. I glanced up at him to see him looking at me again.

"Go on," I said. "Leave, if you must."

He didn't, though. He was letting out a slow breath instead. He made no moves to stand up.

"Why were you eating all by yourself?" I asked quietly, realizing that he was going to stay.

He let out a soft sigh. "Because I wanted to..."

"Okay, but why? Why didn't you invite your friends? Or your family?"

"Because I like being alone, okay?" He kept his voice quiet but he did sound thoroughly annoyed. "Is that enough for you?"

I gave a small, half smile, in a lame attempt to comfort him. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"What about you?" he countered. "Why were you eating alone?"

I looked down, taking another sip from my coffee mug. "I like people watching," I explained. I always hated admitting that. So many people called it a strange hobby. "If there had been someone sitting with me, they would have wanted my full attention, and my full attention isn't something that I give sparingly."

He paused for a second, letting the thought sink in. "Then why the hell are you giving me your full attention?"

I laughed, tossing my head back and sending my hair flopping over my shoulders. "I'm not giving you my full attention, Frank. I have a million things on my mind right now, and you're just a stranger at a coffee shop who looked lonely. You're the least of my concerns."

It wasn't true though. He was very much my concern. He was flooding my mind right now, and it was frightening me. I speak to many people during my people watching trips, but not many managed to catch my eye like he had. Most people I just smiled at, I just said a couple of words to. Sometimes I'd strike up a conversation.

I'd never been so intrigued by someone, though. I had never wanted to get to know someone more than I did Frank. I'd never wanted to remember someone like I did him. I didn't want to memorize the sound of their voice or learn to read their expressions. I didn't want to know why they looked so sad, I didn't want their names sticking in the back of my head. But I did want that with Frank. I really, honestly did.

We both fell silent and I looked at him, resting my chin on one hand and my elbow on the table.

I felt my eyes searching his face, wondering what it was, exactly, that was making me feel so drawn to him.

He looked at the table, his hands, across the room, everywhere, everywhere but me, and something about that bothered me. Did he not like being looked at?

Something buzzed and he swung his head in my direction, eyes wide. I laughed, rolling my eyes and pulling out my cellphone.

"It's just a text message, Frank. Calm down."

"S-sorry," he said, blinking rapidly as I flipped my phone open. "It just..."

"Scared you?"

He nodded and I did, too.

"Paranoia is a shitty thing, isn't it?" I sighed, looking down.

"Paranoia? What?"

I looked up, meeting his round, beautiful brown-green eyes.

That was the wrong thing to say.

I should have known better.

I didn't want to scare him off.

"Frank, calm down," I said quietly. "I just recognized the symptoms, I'm sorry. I have really severe anxiety and paranoia sometimes, too. I don't know what triggers it, or- or why... I just... I'm sorry."

He nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, sorry."

He looked very on edge all of a sudden, though. He looked nervous. Jittery.

I looked down at my phone slowly, sighing as I scanned my eyes over the text message.

"It's my brother," I said, putting the phone back into my pocket. "My mom wants me to come home."

"Oh." He looked both disappointed and relieved. "O-okay."

I didn't move, though, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Are you-?"

"I haven't finished my coffee yet," I shrugged.

"Oh."

I tipped my head back, draining the last few drops.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, as I sat the mug back down.

I tilted my head to the side, eyebrows coming together in confusion. "For what?"

"For being rude, earlier."

I grinned at him. "It's okay. I'd be a little weirded out if someone approached me like that, too. You just looked like you were having a bad day."

"I was," he said simply, nodding. "Thanks for this. Really. It definitely made my day a little more interesting."

"No problem," I said, standing up.

I turned from the booth, not knowing what else to say.

I didn't want to leave the conversation like that, though. I didn't want it to end there.

"Hey, Frank?" I said, turning back around.

He looked up, blinking in surprise. "Yeah?"

I put my hands in my back pockets, shifting from foot to foot, not sure how to word the question. "Same time, tomorrow?" I said eventually.

"I- uh- I don't know..."

I looked at my feet. I knew I shouldn't have asked. It was such a stupid question.

"Sure."

I looked up, lips parting in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "I don't see why not."

I felt a slow smile spread my lips. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

He smiled back. "Okay. Tomorrow, then."

"Bye, Frank."

"Bye, Gerard."

My name sounded almost as beautiful coming from his lips as his name tasted on mine.