Folie a Deux

Author's note: So. How long has it been? A while, right? I'm really sorry for that, there's just been a lot going on. School ended, I'm dating someone (holy shit, right? How did I ever get this lucky? She's the first thing in a long time to make me happy,) my best friend went to California (and just came back!) and I've been given permission to dye my hair blue soon... So much has happened! Anyway. I won't bore you with the details, but basically, I've been busy.

So, hope you enjoy! (Sorry if the spacing is a little funny, and sorry if the editing is terrible. I'm uploading this at four in the morning haha.)

-Eve

---

It was probably the worst "official" first kiss ever, if I'm being honest.

I guess it was because we were both out of practice, and he was so nervous that he was shaking.

He'd asked me to kiss him, hadn't he? I hadn't been hearing things?

Those butterfly lips of his seemed so timid...

His fingers curled a little too tight against my skin and he forgot to tilt his head, but I did too, so I guess I couldn't complain, even though our noses bumped together awkwardly. I think at one point I forgot how to breathe because I felt like I was choking, and when he pulled his head back the first thing he did was take his hands off of my shoulders to wipe those butterfly lips of his with his sleeve.

I just felt terrified of rejection the whole entire time.

What if he left again, like last time?

Frank seemed to realize what he was doing, wiping his lips with his sleeve, though, and slowly moved his arm away from his mouth, blinking at his jacket sleeve and then at me.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay," I told him, even though it really wasn't.

Who the hell wipes their mouth after a kiss? Wiping a butterfly clean won't wipe away the sins, no matter how beautiful it's wings are.

He looked at me for a few seconds, and then shifted his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry," he said again.

All I could manage this time was, "Okay," because there was a sinking weight in my chest that was pulling my heart down with it. "Whatever."

"Uhm," he said. He reached his hand to his mouth and pressed the tips of his fingers against his bottom lip.

I sighed and let myself fall backwards onto my bed, closing my eyes, trying to ignore how uncomfortable I felt.

My skin was crawling; I felt fucking disgusting. I felt repulsive. I just wanted to fold in on myself until Frank couldn't see me, I wanted to hide under my blankets and never come out again.

I didn't really know what was supposed to happen now, for the first time in a long time I was absolutely clueless. I hated not knowing what was happening. I was so scared of not knowing what would happen next.

Was he going to leave again?

I wouldn't blame him, I realized, feeling my fingers dig into the sheets as I realized that it was very possibly that he would leave.

"You can go," I said- choked out, rather. I squeezed my eyes as closed as they would go, so tight it hurt the tops of my cheeks and made my nose scrunch up in an odd way. "If you want to. I- I'd understand, if you wanted to, or something."

But instead of leaving, I suddenly felt a weight draped across my stomach, so I blinked my eyes open, felt the muscles in my face relax from worried and scared to surprised.

He'd moved so he was more or less on top of me, head on my chest.

"What are you doing?" I said, confused. Was he not leaving?

"Getting comfortable," he told me.

I paused, struggling for air as I tried to comprehend what was happening.

He really wasn't going to leave? Were things okay now?

Did he actually... Did he actually want to be here now?

I shifted a bit, uncomfortable with unsureness."Can you-"

"Wh-?" He paused, realizing he had interrupted me.

"Move, just for-"

"Oh, uhm-

"Just for a second?" I cleared my throat, squirming a bit.

He nodded his head. "Yeah, sorry, I'm-"

"Sorry, it's just-"

"Sure."

He scooted off of me and I moved up on the bed, letting my head hit the pillow. "Okay," I said.

"Okay. Uhm, can I-?"

"Yeah, I don't-"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, positive."

"Okay, Thanks."

He moved up next to me, and then we rearranged ourselves a bit.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly, resting his head on my chest. "I'm not too heavy-?"

"It's fine."

"Are you sure, I can-"

"You're not heavy at all, really," I insisted. "It's okay."

I wrapped my arms around him on instinct.

"I don't believe you."

I didn't say anything, because he was right. I wasn't exactly used to people laying on top of me, and he was crushing my lungs. I could live with it, though- being this close was nice.

I curled my fingers against his skin. "Did it work that time? The test or whatever? I feel like we failed."

"We haven't passed, not yet... I think- Well. Give me until tomorrow morning to decide. I mean, at least-"

"It's okay," I told him. "If you need some more time, I understand." (Even though I really didn't.)

He nodded, slightly. "Yeah, okay. Thanks... Just give me a while to think."

I placed one hand between his shoulder "That sounds fine to me." Actually, it didn't- I wanted to pull him up until his lips met mine and I wanted to kiss him until I drowned, but I doubted that would happen anytime soon.

"You sure?"

"I'm positive, Frankie," I lied.

He sighed a bit. "Can I sleep here tonight? I mean- on- on the bed? With you?"

"Of course. You sleeping on the floor is getting pointless, anyway," I said, chuckling slightly. I don't think there had been a single night, recently, that I hadn't gone down there to join him.

He shifted around and crawled up next to me, letting his head rest on the pillow next to mine. "Right here?" he whispered. I looked at him, tempted to press our lips together, but I settled for touching foreheads. "Like this?" he asked, and suddenly, somehow we were all tangled up, limbs holding limbs and skin brushing skin. "Is this okay?"

"Right here, like this." I tried not to hold him too tight. "This is fine."

"Okay," he said, closing his eyes.

I closed my eyes, too. "Okay."

"Goodnight, Gerard," he said, quietly.

I found his skin with my lips, brushing either his cheek or his forehead or just somewhere random on his face. "Goodnight, Frank."

And I felt something touch my lips, soft, barely there, and I didn't dare to open my eyes. I hoped desperately that it wasn't just my imagination that a butterfly had rested itself on my lips for just a few moments before fluttering away in fear.

---

I forced myself to sleep that night, all tangled up with Frank. I woke up a few times, jerking in surprise at some invisible monster in my dreams, but I was more or less okay. I liked night like this, when I slept easily. I don't think it was Frank's presence that was soothing my nightmares, but it might've been the knowledge that he wasn't going to leave again that was comforting me.

We left the lights on, but I'm not sure if it was because we were too lazy to stand up and turn them off, or if we were too scared of what could happen if we did.

I was mostly alright, throughout the night. The only one time I really panicked was when I thought that Frank wasn't there, when I thought he had left.

The bed was so fucking cold without him, I hated it. I wanted to scream for him but my throat already felt raw, like I had already been screaming, so I just looked frantically around the room, staring at my open bedroom door, feeling my heart beat faster in a natural reaction to the fear of rejection.

I immediately began to wonder what I had done wrong.

"Frank," I said to the empty air.

My voice sounded sadder than I though it would, it cracked half way through his name.

"Hey," he said from the door.

I looked at him in surprise, jumping slightly. "Wh-"

He leaned against the door frame, cigarette clutched between his fingers. "You okay, sweetheart?"

I glared at him. "Fuck. You," I choked out, feeling the fear escape my lungs with a both relieved and angry breath of air. I curled my hands into the sheets, trying to slow my breathing back to a normal pace. "Where did you go?" I asked desperately.

"Bathroom," he said simply. "For a cigarette." He flicked the ashes on the floor and made a small sound to let me know that he'd clean them up later. "I didn't want to wake you up so I went in there so I could open the window. Didn't want the smoke to freak anyone out."

"Oh."

I focused myself on his silhouette, the way his clothes wrinkled in some spots and clung to him in others, the way how his hair was all tousled and messy and sticking up in awkward places.

I watched him for a few minutes, watched as he smoked the cigarette and let out a slow breath of sighed smoke that made me want to kiss him; he was a burning butterfly and I wanted to put out the fire.

"I heard you scream," he explained, looking down at his sock-clad feet. "That's why I came back."

"I screamed?"

"Yeah." He closed his mouth tightly for a few moments, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You sounded... You sounded really fucking terrified, actually."

"Oh. I- I'm sorry."

Frank crossed the room, sitting next to me, our legs pressed together. "Nightmare?" he asked, taking a long drag from the cigarette.

"Kind of."

"Do you remember it?"

I thought about it for seventeen seconds exactly. "No."

"And you don't remember screaming?"

I answered faster this time. "No. Did I say something, or...?"

He shrugged his shoulders, slightly, looking away from me. "Just my name, but..."

"Oh." I stared at the back of his head as he continued to look away from me.

I realized, then, that I did that a lot.

The first time I met him, I'd been staring at the back of his head before he'd even seen me.

That first day he sat in my lap, when we made a plan for our failed Christmas date. In the middle of the night, when he rolls over in his sleep. Every time he's ever held my hand and pulled me along with him somewhere. The few times I'd been there when he cried, he had a tendency to fold over on himself, leaving me to rub his back and touch his hair. Every time he'd ever sat in my lap, every time he'd turned his head away in anger or annoyance, I'd been left staring at the back of his head.

And now.

I could add guilt to the list of reasons why I'd seen the back of his head.

"I don't think it was about you leaving, or- or something like that," I told him. "I must've just been scared, and- and I don't know, when I'm scared I guess I would go to you first, and you weren't in bed anyway, so..."

He didn't say anything, but he did turn to look at me for a few moments. He met my eyes but I looked away, not being able to take his gaze. He stood, suddenly, and crossed the room, putting the cigarette out in the ash tray on my desk. "You were just scared? That's it?"

He sounded annoyed, and that hurt.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I think so."

He came back over to the bed and sat down, flopping onto his side roughly.

I moved myself up on the bed and laid down to face him, concerned.

He was watching me with this hurt look on his face and I just wanted to hug him.

His fingers touched the side of my face. "Don't leave me like that," I told him quietly as he pushed hair away from my face roughly, tangling his fingers in it at the back of my head. "And I won't get scared."

"I just left for a cigarette, Gerard," he sighed angrily.

"The keyword there is 'left,'" I pointed out.

"Gerard..." His fingers tightened into my hair and he forced my head forward a bit, touching his lips to my forehead. "I'm not going to leave you. Not ever again. It makes me feel like an asshole when you think that I would leave you."

I squirmed a bit, and he untangled his fingers from my hair, but left his hand there. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I promise, Gerard, I'll never leave you ever again."

"Okay," I said, slowly. "If you promise."

There was a short pause during which he took slow, deep breaths and I took a few short, shaky ones.

"Doesn't it bother you?" he said, smelling like smoke and the chocolate we had bought earlier.

"Doesn't what bother me?"

"The fact that I never touch you," he said, rolling onto his back, away from me. "Not as much as you touch me, at least. The fact that I don't kiss you. The fact that I... Well, doesn't it bother you how careful I am? Haven't you ever wondered why I'm so scared of kissing you, of touching you, of being with you?"

I stared at him for a few moments. Last time we had this conversation, he'd still been scared of the gender issue- it worried me, that he might not still be over it. We'd been together for quite some time now, the fact that he might still be confused over whether or not he even likes me or not made me feel like complete shit. "No," I said, finally. "All that matters to me is the fact that you like me for me."

"But-"

"Why are we even talking about this?" I sighed, annoyed. "You have school and it's like three in the morning, Frank." I brushed his hair out of his face. "Go to sleep..."

I had almost said "Go to sleep, beautiful," but after a moment's consideration, I didn't think that it would help the situation.

He sighed, too. "Fine. Whatever. Just... I don't get why- why you don't complain, or- or get impatient, or- well, not saying that I want you to, but- you're just weird, is all."

I pressed my lips near his- not quite a kiss, but as close as I thought he would let me get away with. "Because I know you don't want me to. Whatever it is- whatever the reason is, that you're so careful, I'm cool with it. Take your time, Frankie, I'll be here when you want to talk."

His hand found mine, his fingers squishing mine. "Well, can we talk about it now?"

I considered for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

He shrugged. "Now is better than never."

"It's also the middle of the night and you have school," I reminded him again.

He just sat up. "Screw school, this is more important."

I sighed, but sat up, too, rubbing my forehead. "Okay, then. But you're still going tomorrow, even if you don't get a lot of sleep. You've missed too much school because of me."

"That's fine with me, if you promise to bring me lunch."

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want me to bring you?"

He didn't hesitate in answering, "Veggie burger."

"Okay, veggie burger it is. Now, let's talk. What do you want to start with?"

He paused for a moment. "I think I'm gonna need another cigarette for this."

　

---

　

Frank decided to go ahead and change into his clothes for school, since this conversation would evidently take quite some time to talk through, but I just kept my pajamas on, figuring it wasn't worth it since I'd just fall asleep the minute he left for school.

We sat on the bathroom floor and smoked for a while, sharing a cigarette- Frank didn't like smoking elsewhere in the house at night because he was convinced it would set off the smoke alarms and terrify Mikey, though I tried to assure him that it happened often enough that Mikey would just wander into the living room long enough to make sure he wasn't in danger and then go back to bed.

Frank leaned back, laying on the cool tile floor, closing his eyes as the muscles in his back stretched, his head resting in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair, leaning back against the wall and breathing in the smell of smoke that surrounded us. Smoke was so familiar, it was like a second skin to me. I've always been around cigarette smoke, ever since I was a child, and the scent of it clung to all of the people I cared most about, except for maybe Mikey. (I couldn't help but hope that he never picked up smoking, it was kind of a terrible habit.) The smell of a good cigarette was more comforting to me than any other scent in the world.

"When did you start smoking?" I asked Frank, watching as he took a long drag from the cigarette, eyes still closed.

"I dunno," he said, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. "I think I had probably either just turned fifteen or was about to when I had my first cigarette."

"You don't remember your first?"

"No. Do you?"

He passed me the cigarette. I didn't dare raise it to my lips- I was thinking too steadily about Frank right now and would end up adding the flavor of his kiss to that of the cigarette, and I didn't want to torture myself like that.

"Of course I do. I remember everything, Frank."

I took one long, slow taste of the cigarette, though- I could allow myself to over-indulge at least once, right? I was allowed addiction-driven and sexual gratification at the same time, right? That wasn't too selfish of me?

Did it really matter, anyway? I'm so selfish in other aspects of my life, how were addictive things any different?

I finished off the cigarette. I almost felt bad, just for a minute, as Frank watched me toss the small crumpled remains of it into the toilet. I hadn't even offered it to him once since he handed it to me.

I just slid another one out of the pack, though, without being asked. "We're going to kill ourselves with these things," I said.

"Do I look like I care?" he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. "No. C'est la vie, c'est la mort. c'est l'amour, I suppose."

"That's French, right?"

"Yeah. It basically means, 'Such is life, such is death, such is love,' or, 'That's life, that's death, that's love.'"

"Do you actually speak any French or do you just happen to know that?" he asked curiously.

I laughed. "Both, I guess. I got really bored for about a month last summer and taught myself a lot of phrases in different languages."

"Yeah? What else do you know?"

"Uhm- well, there's, 'Alle beetjes helpen, zei de mug, en ze piste in de zee.'"

"What does that mean?

"It's Dutch," I chuckled. "It means, 'Every little bit helps, the mosquito said, pissing into the sea.'"

Frank laughed, tilting his head back as much as he could with it in my lap, his back arching slightly, and I smiled at the way his laughter echoed through the bathroom. "What the fuck, man?" he cried. "What the fuck?"

I laughed, too. "I wish I knew."

Frank kept laughing for a few seconds and then stopped abruptly, looking up at me with a cute little smile on his lips.

"You're really pretty, Gerard," he said suddenly. "Not in a feminine way- well, kind of in a feminine way, but not really, I don't think."

I rolled my eyes and grinned. "Great, my best friend thinks I look like a girl. Thank, Frankie."

"I didn't mean it like that!" he said defensively.

I ran my fingers through his hair. "I know, sweetheart."

He squirmed a bit. "Can we- one more cigarette, I mean? Just one more for the night?"

"Sure, of course."

I didn't actually want another cigarette, but hell, who turns down an offer to share a cigarette with their completely adorable best friend, ya know? You'd have to be an idiot to turn down that smile.

Frank sat up just for a moment, long enough for me to place the cigarette between his lips and then light it for him. He stayed sitting up as he took the first long inhalation of smoke, but leaned back with his head in my lap again after a few minutes. I watched him smoke and tried a little too hard to ignore the way his lips curved upwards into a slight smile when he caught me staring.

"Hey, gorgeous," he said.

I looked away, playing with his hair. "Hey, beautiful."

He doesn't blush as often as he used to, and I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Had he just gotten used to the things I say and do, or was he starting to enjoy them?

I didn't know which I wanted to be true, but I was leaning towards the second option.

"Fuck," he said quietly, suddenly, sitting up and clutching the cigarette a little too tight between his fingers, coughing.

"Hey," I patted his back a bit and he handed me the cigarette, coughing in what sounded like a sadly painful way, leaning over with his face pressed into his elbow. I could feel my face tense up in worry and forced it to relax again. "You okay, Frankie?"

He shook his head and sputtered, coughing some more, curling over slightly. "Fuck- no. Fuck no. I-" he broke off into coughs again, his face pained.

I sighed and put the cigarette out by leaning over and dropping it in the toilet, like I did the first one. "Ya know," I said quietly, after he stopped coughing. I rubbed his back, between his shoulders. "Maybe you should take a break from those things, kiddo."

"I'm fine, it-" he cleared his throat. "It wasn't the cigarette, I just- I breathed wrong, or something, when I was leaning back. Couldn't breathe."

I raised an eyebrow, brushing hair away from his face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He glared at the toilet and the soaked cigarette. "That was a waste, you could've finished that."

"I finished the last one," I said, shrugging slightly. "And I wasn't about to let you finish that one while you were coughing up your own internal organs."

Frank rolled his eyes, sighing slightly. "I'll be fine."

Before I could stop myself, I was pressing my lips against his cheek. "Okay. That's good to hear."

He kissed my cheek, too.

I stood up and pulled him with me, sighing a bit.

"Ready to talk?"

He nodded. "Ready to talk."

I nodded, too, and laced our fingers, pulling him towards the living room.

"Hey, Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For taking away the cigarette."

"No problem."

He paused for a long moment, and then; "Have you ever thought about quitting?"

I blinked a few times, raising an eyebrow as we sat on the couch. "It's crossed my mind once or twice... Why, have you?"

"A few times... I mean, more recently I guess. I was just thinking about like the future, and growing up, and how bad it is for your health." He blinked a few times, and looked down at his hands, resting them in his lap and picking a his fingers. "I don't want to end up with some type of cancer, Gerard," he said softly. "I don't want to cough like that for the rest of my life. I don't want it to ruin my voice and make everything shit."

"That's understandable," I said, nodding. "Are you going to try it, quitting?"

"Maybe. I mean, once I get into college."

I nodded. "Okay. That sounds like it could work."

He nodded, too.

"So, uhm... Where should I start talking?" Frank said.

"Wherever you want to," I said, shrugging.

"Okay." He leaned back into the couch. "Okay. Uh. I guess- I'll just start at the beginning, I guess."

The beginning of what, I wasn't sure. "Okay..."

"Okay. Yeah. So. I had a girlfriend last summer, right?" He looked at me.

"Okay."

He looked away, suddenly seeming too nervous to be healthy. "So part of my whole issue is that I kissed this girl three days after we started dating."

I blinked a few times.

Just three days? Hell, I'd wanted to kiss him from the second he first stuttered out his name to me in the diner. That hardly seemed fair.

"It was... It was a fucking terrible relationship, to be honest, and it was the first one I'd ever been in, so it sucked and she totally- well, she was just totally a horrible person, I guess."

He looked at me for a second, so I just said, "Oh."

He looked away so fast that it made me want to hug him.

"And I guess- I just see kissing as a big commitment, ya know? It's like saying, I trust you, and I care about you, and I'm not going to hurt you. And..." He looked so uncomfortable. "I gave her that trust way too soon. I thought- I dunno. She was the first person to ever look at me like I wasn't a waste of space, I guess. She made me feel wanted. And I assumed that she would want me forever, because that's what it means when you love someone, right? That you want them? That's love?"

I nodded, slowly, hating myself for ever being jealous.

"To be honest," he said quietly. He looked so vulnerable, it was a strange look on him. "She- she kind of wrecked me."

I reached over and took his hand.

"Every idea I'd ever had of what being in a relationship would be like, she killed. Love is supposed to be honest, ya' know?" His hand squeezed mine as he stared at our fingers. "And you're not supposed to do things behind one another's backs, and you're supposed to be there, for everything, you're supposed to help each other. Like, no matter how tough shit gets, no matter how bad one of you hurts? You stick together. You don't stop loving someone because they're angry and they're taking it out on you. You don't stop loving someone because they're in a 'I fucking hate everything mood,' and you're just horny and not in the mood for deep conversation. You don't stop loving someone because one of you feels like shit and the other doesn't; you stop whatever the fuck you're doing and you help each other and love each other. You help each other and love each other and you work everything out until you're both okay again... And she didn't give me that. Not at all. Her needs came first, and most of the time, her needs were just sitting in her room and making out with my hand up her shirt, or some stupid shit. She didn't give a fuck about me but she made me really, truly fucking believe that she did."

I didn't quite know what to say, so I just settled for switching the hand that was holding his and putting my arm around his shoulders.

"And I guess... I just don't see much in myself, for someone to like, ya know?" He rested his head on my shoulder. "There's not much of me that... That's appealing, I guess. I'm not really a lovable person, and she just kind of proved that. She proved that I'm only good for making other people happy."

"That's not true," I told him, resting my head on top of his. "You know it's not."

"But I do," he insisted, squirming a bit. I sighed and leaned away, and he kind of curled in on himself, which broke my heart, his fingers slipping away from mine. He pulled his feet up onto the couch and wrapped his arms around his legs, knees pressed against his chest. "I'm not really anything special- there's nothing here for you Gerard. There was absolutely fucking nothing for her except for a pair of lips, she let me know that, and there's nothing for you, either, because I've just gotten worse since then."

"That's not true," I told him, shifting until I was completely facing him. "Frank, you're- Hell, I don't even know where to start. You are worth something, you're worth a whole fucking lot, okay? You're-"

He looked over at me and I just swallowed down a painful breath of air.

"I'm what, Gerard?" he said, almost sarcastically.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," I told him, honestly, and his expression softened a bit. "And I hate that you don't seem to understand that. If- If you weren't here, Frank, I-"

"Don't say that, Gerard, I-"

"I think I'd have killed myself by now," I said, all in a rush. I looked away, down at my hands, at the wall, the turned-off TV and the empty ceiling and down the hall and everywhere but him. "I don't think I would still be here if it weren't for you. I need you, I want you. I like you a whole fucking lot. You make me happy and not much else does. I don't like life, I really fucking don't. A lot of days Mikey and my mom and you are the only reasons I stick around."

He sighed and leaned over, sitting on his knees and hugging me. "You... Hell, Gerard..."

I hugged him back, pressing my face into his shoulder. "Are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

I shrugged and held him tighter, my voice quivering. "Because I want to die."

"I'm not mad." His voice got quiet, very quiet. "I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be," I told him, closing my eyes so tight I was seeing spots. I suddenly found that I couldn't let him go, I didn't want to. I was a selfish creature, and he was mine, and selfish creatures do not let what is there's get away.

I curled my hands into the fabric of his shirt, pressing my fingers as close to him as possible. "I take it back, Frank- don't go to school today. Don't leave."

"Okay," he said, even though it hadn't been so much a question as a demand, hugging me back just as tight. "I won't leave."

"Okay," I said, too. "Good."

He leaned away, looking at me for a long second, and I just studied his eyes.

"Kiss me," he said. "Please?"

I blinked at him for a few seconds. "Really? You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I really like you, Gerard."

I smiled a small smile, bringing my hands up to cup the sides of his face. I ran my thumb across his cheek, below his eye. "You're so gorgeous, Frank."

I pressed my lips to his, softly, and fought the urge to pull away and tell him other things, I fought the urge to say the words I wanted to mean but couldn't quite yet.

His fingers tangled into my hair and I sighed against his lips.

I remembered to tilt my head this time, and I remembered to breathe, too.

I breathed, I breathed in him and I breathed in all that he was, and I breathed in the smell of smoke that clung to his skin and lingered in his hair.

He tilted his head, his mouth away from mine.

"You taste like cigarettes," I said, letting out a soft breath of air.

"So do you," he said, and his lips brushed mine for just a second, his eyes closing for just a moment.

I sighed. "You do know what these means, right? I'm addicted to you now."

He laughed, honey hazel eyes warm. "You weren't already?"

"Your smile was my gateway drug," I told him. "But sweetheart, your nicotine is one I won't give up."

And I kissed him again, softer and shorter this time.

"Is it okay?" I asked. "That I keep kissing you?"

"Yeah. I like kissing you," he said.

"I like kissing you, too."

He laughed, just a bit. "I'm not even blushing."

"You're not," I said, and I couldn't help but smile. "That should scare me but it doesn't."

"Yeah, I guess it should."

He looked at me for a long minute.

"Kissing you isn't how kissing her was," he told me. "She just kissed me because she wanted to, I wasn't even into it."

"But you're into this?"

"I'm totally into this."

I grinned. "That's good."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

　

---

　

I woke up a few hours later to a pair of lips pressed against mine, and I tilted my head back to make the angle better, and he chuckled at me.

"That's a really nice way to be woken up," I breathed, not bothering to open my eyes.

"It's almost noon," he said softly. "You slept forever."

I shifted around and forced my eyes open, trying to figure out where we were.

The living room couch.

My head was in his lap, his fingers brushing my hair from my face.

"You're cute when you sleep," he said, cheeks flushing pink.

I laughed. "You're cute when you sleep, too."

He just rolled his eyes a bit.

"So I'm guessing you didn't and aren't going to school?" I asked as I sat up, stretching.

"You told me not to leave, so I didn't."

I nodded. "Thank you for that. You should have ignored me, though."

"No problem, and no way."

I slumped back on the couch, rubbing my eyes. "I needed that sleep. But what did you do all day?"

"Yeah," he said, ignoring my question. His index finger touched the skin just below my eye. "You always look so tired."

I shrugged. "It's no big deal-"

"It really is."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

Frank moved around a bit and I watched in silence as he clamored into my lap, fingers going to my shoulders, one leg on either side of my hips.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly, putting my hands on his waist.

"Nothing, really," he half mumbled, sitting in my lap. He hugged me, resting his head on my shoulder, lips close to my neck. "I just need a hug... Oh, and we have dinner with my mom tonight, remember?"

I sighed, tightening my arms around him. "I just woke up, and you're already talking about dinner? Can't we just focus on getting lunch first?"

He shrugged, tilting his head to look up at me. "We agreed to meet her, Gerard. There's no way we can not go."

"I should probably shower, in that case."

His fingers went up to my face and he sat up, kissing me, both mine and his eyes closing.

"Is this," I said around his lips, opening my eyes, "going to be a normal thing, now?"

He leaned back a bit, tilting his head and studying my eyes. "I think so, yes."

I laughed. "Okay. That's good to know."

He grinned. "Like I said, kissing you isn't like kissing her was. You're..." His expression got serious, all at once. "You really make me feel something, Gerard."

"Something?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Something good," he decided. "Like... I don't know. You make me happy, I guess."

I smiled. "Happy is good."

"Happy is very good." He patted the top of my head.

I laughed. "Did you just pet me?"

"I might've."

"I'm not a dog, Frank."

"Really? I could so see you in a collar."

I didn't know if I should laugh or blush, so I think both kind of happened.

Frank's face was pink, too. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh but you totally did."

"I did not! And even if I did, it's totally true..."

I just laughed a bit more, and found myself kissing him again, my hands on his face this time, soft and short and sweet. "Just go get ready, Frankie," I chuckled softly. "Don't want to make your mom mad."

　

---

　

His fingers tugged nervously at the bottom of his shirt. "I feel like everything has to be perfect, or else she's going to hate you and hate me even more than she already does."

I rolled my eyes. "She doesn't hate you, Frank. And even if she does hate me, I can deal with it."

He looked up at me sharply. "She does hate me," he insisted. "And if she hates you, I'm the one who's going to have to listen to her yell. If this doesn't go right she might not ever let me see you again."

"And in that case," I told him, taking his hands to make him stop fidgeting. "I'll sneak in through your bedroom window and hide in your closet."

He giggled, just slightly. "Okay, okay. That sounds like a plan." He glanced at the clock, and then back at me. "What are we supposed to do until then?"

I shrugged, biting my lip. I really wanted to kiss him again.

"You should show me your art," he suggested.

You should make out with me, I wanted to say, but I let the words linger on the tip of my tongue, letting "Okay, sure," slip over the truth.

---

　

He'd gone through every drawing notebook, every canvas that was stowed away in the back of my closet, and every rough sketch stuck in the drawer of my desk or in-between book pages. I didn't let him see the notebooks that I kept as journals- no one had ever seen those, not that I know of.

We hadn't spoken a word since I handed him the first notebook, though, with the exception of Frank's occasional, "Can you pass me that?" and "Next, please."

I was laying on my back, and he was leaning back against the headboard of my bed, legs on top of mine. He placed a notebook on my stomach and I opened my eyes, looking down at the page he left open, the very first one.

It was a shitty sketch that I'd done of him a few months ago, of him sleeping. I'd done it in the early morning, just a bit before he woke up.

"You drew me?"

"I draw you a lot. This entire notebook is just you."

His eyebrows went up slightly. "Oh?"

"Yeah."

He looked back down at the notebook and turned a few pages, pausing on each one. "Gerard..."

"Yeah?"

He shook his head slightly, letting out a slow breath of air as he flipped through the notebook, stopping on each page but pausing at one in particular, blinking down at the page. "Is that a butterfly where my mouth should be?"

"That one's my favorite," I told him, shrugging. "I like you, I like butterflies. It seemed fitting."

"When did you draw this?"

"Some time during that week that we- well, after we failed the 'test,' or whatever." I looked down. "When you weren't talking to me."

He sighed lightly, closing the notebook and setting it to the side.

"I'm sorry for that. I didn't-"

"May I kiss you?"

"Gerard... Can't we talk about this first?"

"Can't I kiss you again?"

He rolled his eyes, but rotated himself on to his knees. "Fine. Okay."

I sat up, too. "You sound mad." I kissed him, just barely. "Don't be mad, please."

"I'm not mad, I just think we should talk about a few things."

"I'd rather kiss you again," I told him, quietly, honestly.

"Really?"

"Kind of, yeah."

Frank looked away. "You'd rather kiss than talk about something that almost destroyed our friendship?" His voice was soft.

I blinked a few times.

"I don't mean it like that..."

"Yeah, well it seems like you did."

"I didn't, I just like kissing you, talking can wait-"

"And so can kissing!" he snapped.

I rolled my eyes. "We've been talking for months, Frank. Can't we just have some fun?"

He covered his face with his hands, sitting back sightly, sighing. "I think I'm gonna' cry," he said quietly.

I looked down. I just really did not want to talk about it- that was one of the worst weeks of my life, when he stopped coming over. I thought about how much better off I would be dead during that week more than I ever had in my entire life.

But hadn't he just confessed to me that his last relationship had gone the same way I was treating him right now? Just ignore the things that hurt? (Until they all build up and explode in your heart...?)

Fuck, I really do hate myself sometimes.

It wasn't that I wanted to ignore the problem- well, actually it was. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think about the most miserable week of my life. I didn't want to think about how sick I felt or about how many times I considered killing myself.

I just didn't want to fucking talk about how badly he had hurt me.

"Don't cry," I told him. "Please."

He shook his head, dropping his hands away from his face, and took a few deep breaths. "I won't," he said. "I'm not."

I wanted to kiss the hurt away, both his and mine, but hell, I didn't think that would help anything.

"I'm sorry," I said, forcing as much honesty into my voice as I could. "I'm fucking sorry, Frankie."

He looked up at me. "Now you sound like you're going to cry."

"I'm not going to cry," I assured him, looking at my hands.

I suddenly wanted to get drunk.

I hadn't wanted to get drunk in a long time.

"I just don't know how to make you believe my apology," I told him. "I- There's a lot I want to say, but- I just... I don't know how to say it all. Okay? I just... I don't want to avoid problems but I just don't want to talk about this, okay?"

He sighed. "Well why not?"

"Because," I said softly. "It hurts to think about it, okay?"

He just looked at me. "What hurts about it, though?"

I laughed, bitterly. "Everything. You left me that week, Frank. I though you were gone forever."

He frowned. "I'd never leave you, Gerard. Not for the world."

I nodded, looking at my hands. "Yeah. I get that now. But I... I don't want to be away from you, like, ever."

"That's understandable," Frank said. "I don't want to be away from you ever again, either."

I sent him a look. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

I sighed and scooted back down on the bed, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling. "I'm tired."

I blinked a few times- I was pretty sure I'd just been staring at one spot, and that I hadn't looked to the side or anything, but hell, Frank was in front of me, and he was kissing me.

I wasn't exactly about to argue, I guess, even though I was pretty fucking confused.

His fingers pressed against my cheeks, and a felt a slight weight on my stomach as his lips pressed closer to mine.

"Are you sitting on me?" I mumbled sloppily, tilting my head away from his to breathe.

He nodded slightly, and then rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath. "I'm not really the best at this, sorry."

"It's okay," I said, putting my hands on his knees, slightly out of breath even though the kiss hadn't even taken that much effort. I think it was just the overwhelming sensation of him that was making me feel like that. "But why, exactly, are you sitting on me?"

He shrugged. "I just... You're right. Talking can wait. We can talk at dinner."

I looked at him for a long moment. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

He didn't sound sure, not at all, but fuck, I didn't care. I'm such a selfish bastard, but honestly, I wanted to kiss him, so I would kiss him.

It's a vicious cycle that one falls into, when you begin to want someone in a physical way.

"Kiss me, then," I said.

And so he did.

He kissed me soft, and I sighed, my fingers finding their way to his hair, curling slightly against the back of his head.

"You're good at this," he said.

"You are, too."

He rolled his eyes. "I so am not."

"You are," I insisted. "I wouldn't enjoy kissing you so much if you weren't good at it."

He laughed, slightly.

"Really," I said, touching my lips to his jaw. "It's true, sweetheart."

He looked away. "I don't want to go out tonight, Gerard. I just want the share a few more cigarettes and hang out."

"I know," I sighed, pushing hair away from his forehead. "I don't want to leave either. But we told your mom we would meet her, remember?"

"Yeah. I remember."

"I feel bad about having to leave Mikey on his own again."

"He'll be fine," I reassured Frank. "He likes being home alone because he can blast his music. And read comics in the middle of the living room floor."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I smiled at him and he beamed back.

"Let's go impress the hell out of your mom, okay, babe?"

"Okay."

　

---

　

Mrs. Iero was already at the diner by the time we got there.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit-"

I put a hand on his shoulder.

We stood just outside, looking in through the glass door.

"That's her," he said in a whisper, like she could hear him from all the way out here, or something. He waved his hand vaguely.

I blinked around what I could see of the restaurant from here.

"With the turquoise shirt?"

Frank nodded, taking a step away from the door. "I can't do this," he said, shaking his head. "Forget impressing here. I hate her, she hates me. She's going to hate you, Gerard, fuck, I'm-"

I looked from him to the woman, who I must admit looked like an older, female version of Frank from here, sipping coffee, studying the menu.

"Sweetheart," I breathed, dropping my hand from his shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

He wrung his hands nervously. "Don't call me that please."

"Sorry."

I rolled my eyes, just slightly. "Frank, it's going to be okay. Even if she does hate me, what will it matter?"

Frank shrugged, rolling his eyes back at me. "I dunno. But I'm going to be the one being yelled at, ya know."

I sighed a bit, shifting from foot to foot. "Look, if she has a problem with me, she needs to take it up with me, not you, okay?"

"But-"

"But nothing. Look, let's just go in there, be polite, eat a nice dinner. I'm assuming we're not telling her about our relationship status?"

Frank laughed, snorting slightly. "You're kidding, right? If she knew I'd be banned from the house and shunned for the rest of my life."

I rolled my eyes again. "Okay. Whatever. Let's just go have a good time, okay?"

"Okay," Frank said. "I can do that. Or at least I pretend to."

"We'll be fine," I told him again. "When we get home we can go straight to my room and get comfy and go to bed, okay? Eat some chocolate or something, listen to music. Whatever you want. Just at least pretend to have fun now and once we leave everything will be alright again."

He nodded, taking a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay. I can do that.

We went into the diner and I followed Frank to the table his mom sat at. He slid into the seat across from her without hesitation and I eased myself next to him, trying not to study his mom's face with too much precision.

"Frank," Mrs. Iero said, blinking between Frank and I.

Frank blinked a few times, lips parted in slight confusion.

I laughed at him slightly and rolled my eyes. "Hi Mrs. Iero," I said, trying to drown out Frank's impoliteness. "I'm Gerard, Gerard Way."

I reluctantly shook her hand- I was being polite, right? That's what people do, shake hands?

She just nodded, and didn't bother to tell me her first name.

I guess it didn't matter, too much. I wasn't an adult yet so I guess I wasn't worthy of knowing her first name.

I disliked her instantly. She launched straight into conversation with Frank, blatantly ignoring my presence after she gave me one long, slightly disgusted look over. She had manicured hands, her red nails tapped the table in a steady rhythm as she listened to what her son had to say and clicked her tongue in disapproval or shook her head in disappointment.

I was struck by how much she and Frank looked alike- right down to the curve of their nose, they looked alike. She was sharply more feminine, however, all the shapes of her face smaller and rounder in some spots but sharper in others.

The similarities in midst of their contrast was astounding to me.

I listened to the conversation for a bit-

"Did you go to school today?"

"Of course."

"And you went to bed at an appropriate time, I assume?"

"Of course, mom."

"And there's been no smoking? I could've sworn I smelt smoke."

"Neither of us smoke, mom. We just passed some guy smoking on the way here, was all."

I almost rolled my eyes about how much of a liar he is.

Mrs. Iero continued to pound Frank with questions for a few more minutes, until the waitress approached us.

"Gerard, Frank! Nice to see you two."

"Hi Sandra," I laughed slightly. I think by far she was our favorite waitress here; Frank has known her a lot longer than I have but she was almost always here, so I knew her fairly well too. I nodded to our guest. "This is Mrs. Iero, Frank's mom."

Sandra offered a sweet smile to the woman. "You have a very polite son, Mrs. Iero, and the same goes for his friend." Sandra laughed a bit. She sent Frank and I a sly smile and I returned it, knowing that she was being overly polite for the sheer purpose of helping us out. "Frank and Gerard always tip well, they're so sweet... It's nice to meet you, I'm Sandra."

Mrs. Iero just nodded, returning the smile with the slight raising of the corners of her lips. "I don't see how any of that is true, but it's nice to meet you too, Sandra."

Sandra's lips parted in slight surprise and glanced between Frank and I, but I was just a stunned by Mrs. Iero's insult as she was. Frank didn't really seem to notice.

"So," Sandra said, clearing her throat. "Uhm, I'm guessing you boys are getting the usual, as far as drinks go?"

"I am. Frank?"

He nodded and I turned to Mrs. Iero. "What about you, ma'am?" I asked, as politely as I could.

She pressed her lips together, turning to Sandra. "Just a water please."

Sandra nodded. "Okay, so two waters and-" she pointed her pen at me, "the usual coffee. I'll be back in a minute with that for you guys!"

As soon as Sandra left, Mrs. Iero raised an eyebrow at me. "Coffee? At your age?"

I shrugged. "I think seventeen is plenty old enough for coffee."

Mrs. Iero didn't seem to agree.

The rest of dinner went on with her basically asking us tons of questions, most of which were directed at me.

"So Frank is spending the week with you... Why?"

"My mom is out of town," I said. "My aunt in Chicago was recently in a car crash and suffered slight brain damage, and with her girlfriend's job, there's not anyone to take care of her during the day, so my mom drove out. Frank didn't want my brother and I to be alone, so he offered to stay with us."

Mrs. Iero pressed her lips together tightly. "You said your aunt has a girlfriend?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

Her eyebrows went up slightly. "Well then."

Frank frowned. "Mom, there's nothing wrong with same-sex relationships."

She just rolled her eyes. "Why do you always get so defensive when this topic comes up? If I didn't know any better I would think you're gay."

Frank was grinding his teeth, a small muscle in his jaw twitching.

I'd never seen that muscle twitch before.

"Yeah. Whatever."

Mrs. Iero glared at him. "Yeah, Frank, 'whatever.' That seems to be your answer to everything these days."

I shifted in my seat, a bit uncomfortable.

"When are you going to get your hair cut, Frank?" Mrs. Iero snapped suddenly.

"Never."

Frank's mom made a protesting sound. "I don't like your hair long."

"But Gerard does," he defended himself, leaning back into his seat.

"Is Gerard your parent? No. Which is why his opinion is irrelevant."

I stared at her.

"Gerard is my friend," Frank snapped, that muscle in his jaw twitching again. His fingers were curling into fists. "I care about his opinion more than I ever have about yours, mother."

She glared at him and I noticed the same muscle in her jaw twitch. "That's the single most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, Frank Anth-"

"You know," I interrupted, clearing my throat. "Maybe-"

Sandra walked up just then, smiling as she sat our drinks down.

Mrs. Iero stood abruptly. "I'm going to the restroom."

The second she was gone Frank let out a long string of profanities. "I fucking hate that fucking bitch I swear to god she's the biggest motherfucking piece of shit, Gerard, I-"

"Hey, hush."

He glared at me. "She fucking hates me."

"She does not. You're just both losing your patience?"

"Are you- are you taking her side?"

"No. Of course not. I hate her just as much as you. I'm just saying, there might be less arguing if you control yourself a little more."

He sighed. "Fine. Whatever."

I wrapped my hands around my mug of coffee and brought it to my lips, resting my elbows on the table. "I need a cigarette."

"Yeah. I do too."

"Coffee is so much better with a smoke."

"Really?"

"Yeah..." I looked at him from the corner of my eyes. "I still don't get how you don't like coffee."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I haven't had it in a really long time..."

I offered him my mug. "Here, try this."

His lips parted in surprise as he wrapped both hands around the mug, our fingers overlapping. "Really?"

"Sure. Just don't drink all of it."

He nodded, raising it towards his face and sniffing a bit. "This smells really strong."

"But it's good," I assured him.

"Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He took a small sip, considering for a moment. He blinked between the mug and I, and then smiled a small, cute smile, taking another sip.

I laughed, grinning. "You like it?"

"Yeah," he said shyly, giggling a bit. "It's not as bad as I remember."

Frank took a few more sips of my coffee, but then Mrs. Iero returned to the table, so he handed it back to me.

The woman narrowed her eyes a bit. "Sharing drinks is very unsanitary, Frank."

"It'll be fine," he said, shrugging a bit. "We've done it before and I didn't get sick."

That wasn't exactly the truth- we'd never shared drinks before, except for maybe once or twice when one of us was too lazy to get up and get our own drink. And anyway, sharing cigarettes and kissing was probably a lot worse than sharing a coffee.

We fell into awkward conversation, after a while, which mostly consisted of Mrs. Iero asking Frank and I questions.

"So how are you in school, Gerard?"

"Good," I said, shrugging slightly. "Pretty average."

Frank flicked me in the arm. "Don't lie," he scolded.

Mrs. Iero blinked at me. "You're lying? So are your grades worse?"

"Well, not exactl-"

"Gerard is a genius," Frank interrupted, stating it quite simply.

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm not-"

"Have you seen your own art, man? Have you heard yourself the piano? Have you ever watched yourself do complicated math like it's two plus two or fly through a book in an hour? You seem pretty much like a genius to me."

"Frank, I-"

Frank looked at his mom and cut off my sentence. "Ask him something, mom. Anything. Any math problem."

She looked at me, a slight look of curiosity that I recognized from Frank appearing on her face. We sat there for a minutes while I just listed off the answers to their questions.

Mrs. Iero looked impressed, which surprised me.

"He's also really good with time," Frank said. "What time is it Gerard?"

"That's-"

"Please?"

I rolled my eyes. "When you asked that question it was nineteen seconds after five thirty seven."

Mrs. Iero glanced at her watch. "That almost accurate, that's astounding."

"It's not almost accurate," I said, slightly offended. "It is accurate. Your watch is off."

"Well how do you know that?"

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I just- I like numbers I guess? I count things in my head."

She nodded, slowly. "Really now?"

I nodded, too, slightly confused. "Yes."

"What else do you count?"

I shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. "The number of people in a room when I enter. The number of corners in a room. The number of times someone-" someone being Frank, I wanted to say; "says my name every day... Uh, why does any of this matter though?"

Mrs. Iero looked at me, studied my face for a few seconds. "Do you have any other odd habits, Gerard?"

"You talk from the side of your mouth," Frank offered when I looked lost. "You check the buttons on your shirt a few times-"

"Seven," I corrected him. "I check them seven times. And the mouth thing is because there's a nerve in my jaw that's screwed up, you know that."

"Yeah. Well- You check buttons on your shirt seven times to make sure they're all buttoned. And what is it that you do with shoes?"

I felt my cheeks flush slightly. I hadn't realized he payed such close attention to my habits. "I check to make sure the laces are even."

Mrs. Iero was blinking at me. "What's your issue?" she said, rudely. "What type of disability do you have?"

I stared at her for a few seconds. "Are you- are you talking about OCD? That's not a disability."

She wrinkled her nose. "Yes, that. What does that stand for?"

"Ob- obsessive compulsive disorder," I said, nervous. I sent Frank a look. I had never really explained anything about it to him. "But I don't have it. At least not bad. I know I don't. I don't think I have it."

Frank was staring at me, I knew. "Is that- is that why you always like to be on the left side of the bed at night? You never say anything, but..."

I looked down. My face felt hot, my fingers were curling into the fabric of my jeans. I was so embarrassed I just wanted to curl in on myself.

There wasn't anything wrong with me and they were making me feel like a freak.

"Is that why we always sit in the same spot when we come here and why you- is it why you always do the sugar in your coffee yourself, all carefully and whatnot?"

"Frank-"

"Gerard, I'm-"

I sent him a look and then stood up and crossed the diner to the bathroom.

I couldn't take it.

I didn't like them knowing so much about me, about the disorder the doctors are convinced I have.

I don't fucking have a problem, it's not a fucking issue. I'm not insane.

I locked myself in a bathroom stall and sat on the floor with my legs pulled up to my chest, my face pressed into my hands.

"I'm not crazy," I told myself. "I'm not a freak. I just-"

"You're just different," Frank's voice chimed in.

I let out a rough breath of air as he tapped on the stall door.

"But it's a good different," he said quietly. "It's a different I like."

"It's a terrible different," I said back, rolling my eyes and leaning against the wall. "I hate it."

"Don't say that-"

"It's true."

We were both quiet and I felt like crying.

"Can I come in?" he said after twenty-nine seconds exactly.

"N-"

"I'll crawl under the door, Gerard."

I rolled my eyes and leaned over, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

Frank closed and locked the door behind him and immediately dropped to his knees next to me, wrapping his arms around me, pressing his face against my neck. "You're so wonderful, Gerard. You're so amazing. Don't feel bad, please."

I titled my head to press my cheek against his. "I'm not," I told him. "I'm really not," I believed. "I'm a screw-up." I curled my fingers against his skin. "I'm a mistake, Frank. I'm a flaw. And I don't like mistakes or flaws."

"You're not a mistake," Frank insisted. "You're so spectacular. You're not flawed, Gee. You're perfect."

I curled my fingers against his skin so hard I'm sure it would leave bruises, and held him close as I tried not to cry.

"That's not true," I told him.

I'm so fucking weird. I'm a freak, I'm a glitch in the system of humanity. I shouldn't be here. The doctors are right, I do have a problem, and it's one that I should've died for.

Frank leaned away, only to cup my face with his hands. "It is true." He kissed me, gently, slowly, sweetly. "I know it is. You're beautiful, Gerard. You're spectacular. Trust me on this."