Into The Dark

The skin on Frank's hands matches the color of the steadily falling snow across the road. His fingers grip the steering wheel with a desperate intensity; he can feel the energy draining from his weakened form. For six more minutes, he will be forced to keep his tired eyes transfixed on the slippery asphalt while suppressing the urge to vomit.

But, being the hopeless romantic he is, Frank doesn't mind. He looks at it as being three-hundred-sixty seconds away from the one man he cared for.

His vision begins to swirl nauseatingly, mixing the yellow traffic lines with the blinding white of the snow and the charcoal gray of the dashboard. His head pounds, his throat stings, and with every passing moment he becomes more and more disoriented.

But he doesn't mind. He is only half a mile from the one man who could make him feel whole.

Finally, after what feels like ages of uncertainty, Frank rolls haphazardly into a parking spot. Snow begins to fall harder, and the shredded Converse adorning his feet leaves him susceptible to slipping. He attempts to walk quickly, a need for affection gnawing at his fragile organs, the urgency matching that of his need to empty his stomach. The boy soon breaks out into a stiff run, his legs carrying him as fast as they could towards the chipped-white door. Unsurprisingly, he trips not thirty feet from the car and lands in a small pile of snow. His pants and shirt are saturated with icy water, and his death-white skin becomes tinged with the frost. His fingers numb quickly enough; his side aches with cold.

But it doesn't matter. Gerard is less than fifteen steps away, and in just a few moments (as cliché as he felt thinking this) the warmth of the love between himself and his lover will be enough to chase away any remaining chills.

With a new-found sense of motivation, Frank finds himself almost running towards his apartment, a small smile slowly decorating his sickly face. The feeling of angst that had previously enveloped his tired mind suddenly ebbs away; he forgets the angry burn in his mouth and the bitter pounding in his skull. All he knows at this moment is relief and love.

"Come on, baby."

And with those few muffled words, Frank's slowly-ticking heart quiets drastically.

Curiosity doesn't quite describe the new emotion replacing his blood. He knows he feels confused, and his innards feel as though they've become pipe cleaners for a child's craft project. His breathing seems shallow, his blood seems thick, and yet over it all –

He's never felt more alert in his life.

Facilitating what little strength lies within his bones, Frank pushes himself upwards on his tiptoes, peering into the glass window adorning the entrance. He sees the apartment as it usually is: cluttered, bland, and quiet. He sees an unfamiliar sweater laying across the glass coffee table, the red stripes standing out violently against the white carpet. He sees Gerard sprawled clumsily on the cream sofa, his body looking awkward and out of place.

And then he sees him. The recurring nightmare that never seems to fade.

Frank stares with bewildered eyes as the tall, dark man hovers seductively over his fiancée.

He watches as his hands travel across Gerard's torso, corrupting the smooth and exposed skin.

He gazes, completely stunned, as his chapped lips connect effortlessly with those of his self-proclaimed soulmate.

"I can't do this, Bert," Gerard mumbles against his lips, pushing his hands against the man's shoulders.

"He'll never know," comes the husky whisper, followed by the sound of sensual kisses against skin.

An odd strangled noise escapes from Gerard's lips, one that Frank can't quite place.

"But I would!" he shouts, shoving the man forcefully from his recumbent form.

The tightness in Frank's chest becomes lest drastic, and he allows his lungs to inflate fully once again. Relief slowly trickles through his veins; he looks at the greasy man again, but this time feeling triumphant and confident as opposed to unsure and ill.

Gerard now stands in the center of the room, shirtless with bloodshot eyes, focused on the man at his feet. "I told you I love him," he began again, voice trembling with an onslaught of emotion. "I told you I fucking love him, and I won't do that to Frank!"

Bert grunts as he rises, matching the intensity of Gerard's stare with his own. His hands maneuver their way around the man's waist, pulling him closer with venomous stealth.

"Just one last kiss."

Frank's heart breaks again.

In a single fluid motion, the two resume their lusty encounter, reacquainting themselves with the landscape of their bodies. Gerard, although once adamant in the affairs of his so-called "love" for the boy outside the front door, seems to trade in his qualms for a taste of the forbidden fruit.

I can't handle this.

In a split second, Frank finds himself dropping his backpack to the ground and running through the near blizzard.

"What was that?" he hears faintly, followed by the slam of a door and his name being shouted through desperate lips.

But he doesn't turn. He recognizes the strangled cry as Gerard, but he doesn't turn.

He runs. He runs as fast as he can and as far as he can, one-step two-step faster faster faster. The car is twenty feet away, ten feet away, he can reach the handle. Snow keeps falling, harder and thicker and colder and he can't feel his body. He can't feel his arms or his face or his legs or his barely ticking heart. More shouts ring out through the air, breaking up into separate fragments and echoing around the small boy in sharp shards of pleading. His head swirls with the wind, around and around and around and things begin to darken and he falls.

His eyelids flicker pathetically, his body feels cold, his clothes dampen rapidly. Something is lifting him from the wet pavement, supporting his head – is it raining now? Someone rubs his cheek, but he can't focus on the face or scared voice or the warmth radiating from their thumbs.

He tries as hard as he can to look up at them, but a blinding white surrounds the face. He can see a dark circle of black, then a white oval; his fragmented mind thinks of piano keys, the contrasting light and dark, porcelain ebony –

"Frankie!" the man sobs – Gerard? – "Please stay with me…"

The rain falls more steadily, yet still slowly, but why is it warm? Frank moves his numb fingers to his cheek, inspecting the dampness; he moves them upwards to the almost angelic face and feels a similar state of moisture.

"Gee?" he croaks, every fiber of him protesting the simple action.

"I'm here, baby, I'm here and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please stay awake! Help is coming, just stay awake…" His voice slowly fades into a dull ringing, and Frank's ears soon feel hollow and useless.

His eyes close sloppily. "I love you, Gee…"

Everything fades to black.