Found Missing

"Why are you being so nice? You're supposed to hate me."
I don't mean to sound so blunt, but I can't think of any other way to address the issue - it's been bothering me since we left the park.
Gerard's eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the tacky menu in his hands.
"I don't hate you, I don't know you."
This is news to me but it seems so matter-of-fact to him which only leaves me confused.

"The menu says you can have chocolate spread on your pancakes or your french toast." He states, hastily darting the strain of my question. "It's hear in black and white, but whenever I ask for chocolate spread the waitress tells me they don't have any. Can you make sense of that?"
"Don't change the subject, Gerard."
He sighs and places the menu back on its stand. "I could be asking you the same question, Elfie."
"What do you mean?"
"So, it's totally normal for you to tuck me up in bed before I end up face down in some gutter, but it's weird for me to invite you round to watch the movie you haven't shut up about for months anyway?"
"You've just bought me french toast, too." I add.
"So?"
"So! I was just looking out for you, Gerard. This is different."
"You more or less tried to force a bowl of spaghetti down my throat last week." He shrugs. "French toast, spaghetti hoops - what's the difference?"

I open my mouth to argue but find myself with nothing to say. Somehow he's managed to make sense of his change in heart, or maybe it's made sense all along. Perhaps I'm the one being irrational, I'm not too certain of anything right now. Feeling stupid and, as I gawp, a little like a goldfish, I turn my attention to the sleet still falling outside of the diner window. We've ended up in the diner instead of Gerard's house as originally planned.

"I'm starving, I think I'm high." This had been his excuse. "Pancakes or french toast? Dumb question, everyone likes both."
I do like pancakes and french toast, but even if I didn't there would have been no time to protest before Gerard had dragged me into the diner, ordering for the both of us.

"I haven't got any money on me." I said.
"Don't sweat it, I'll pay."
"Thanks... what about The Blair Witch Project?"
Gerard grinned at me from over our table. "Don't worry your head over it, we're saving that for after."
I rolled my eyes, exasperated. He's beginning to take a toll on my patience.

"Actually, it's Mikey's fault."
I'm torn from the window and back to reality.
"Huh?"
"It's Mikey's fault." Gerard repeats.
"What's Mikey's fault?"
"Mikey said I should be more nice to you." Gerard explains through a mouthful of pancake, twirling his fork around in the air - as if that's going to help enlighten me.
"Right... why would Mikey say that?"
"I dunno', he just did. He said it after you got me home the other night, and then when I asked him why, he wouldn't talk about it anymore. Maybe he thinks you're lonely."
I snort. "So your brother thinks I have no friends?"
"No, you don't have to be a loser to be lonely, Elfie." He pushes his plate away and sits back, for someone so small he sure eats fast.
"Sometimes it's nice to have company, remember?"

I can't believe he's kept my words from the cemetery in mind, I didn't think he'd even been listening.

"Yea, I remember." I say, discontentedly beaten, making a start on my french toast.

*

"Fuck it." Gerard frantically pats through his pockets for the umpteenth time in three minutes. "I swear Matt gave them back to me last night, I swear, I just..."
I look from him to his front door to the dearth of light coming from his house that can only mean no one else is home.
He cusses again as he searches for his keys, which are quite obviously not in his possession, as I try to ignore the way my fingers are losing sense.

"Was last night another rough one then?" I question before even contemplating the necessity of it.
"No." He snaps. "Not really, it wasn't that bad, I mean I wasn't that bad..."
"So why does Matt have your keys?"
"I don't know, Elfie!"

I'm only trying to make conversation, in all honesty, but his sensitivity on the matter tells me to leave it alone.

After abandoning the idea of breaking the glass in his bedroom window, we give up on The Blair Witch Project.
"Everyone's gone to see my grandma, they'll be out for hours." He glances at me apologetically. "Maybe it's for the best, my TV screen is fuzzy, it kinda' hurts your eyes."
"Right, yea, I hate it when my eyes hurt."
"Me too... I guess I could always lend you the video."
"Yea, I guess."

We stare at each other for a second, neither quite sure of what to do.

"Maybe you should just go home." He says. "It's cold, and you look it."
I peer up at him through the streetlamp glow. His nose is red and the sleet is collecting heavily in his messy hair. Suddenly my frozen fingers seem limited in their importance.

"Well, where are you going?"
Gerard sniffs, his eyes flashing with something that looks like embarrassment.
"I don't have my keys, so I'll probably just walk to the club." He mutters.
"I'll come with you."
"Why?"
"I don't know, Gerard, it might be fun. I could do with some fun."
A mixture of both hesitance and amusement cross his face before he smirks, somewhat all the less dejected. "You wanna' have fun with me?"
I nod. "Why not?"
He shrugs, still smirking, and places a hand on the small of my back. I frown at the unusual contact, but allow him to guide me out of his front lawn.

"Honey, you have no idea of what you've just let yourself into."

I feel a jerk of apprehension stab at my insides. I'm not sure if I should be concerned for his slightly ominous remark or for the new nickname he's given me - at least it's an improvement from England.