11:11

He used to wish with me.

We'd lay in bed together, wrapped in a cocoon of sheets and blankets and tangled limbs. The lights were always off; he said it helped him think.

"If it isn't dark, I'll just look at you," he'd whisper to the still air. "And if I look at you, I'll forget to pray."

I would giggle and shake the compliment away with some remark, only to have him smile lovingly and say "you always make me forget."

Silence would ensue, allowing us to preserve the moment in our own way. He would shut his eyes and bury his pretty face in my side to block out the world. Once he was comfortable, and his breathing became regular and soft, I would wrap my arm around his torso to hold him as close as possibly. I would hum a song, usually one sickly sweet and centered on storybook romance; his fingers would almost always appear on my chest to drum the natural rhythm against my skin.

The music we made those nights contrasted starkly with the requiems of the day: gun shot percussion and heartbreak vocals formed anthems of a different world where Frank and I didn't belong.

It scared me, sometimes, to think of how narrowly we managed to evade despair. It scared me to think of what would happen if I forgot to deadlock the door, or switch the alarm system on at night. It scared me to think of all the possibilities that threatened the boy curled beside me, of all the unseen evils lurking around the corner that never plagued his trusting conscious.

But those concerns could wait until the morning.

For now, all I wanted to do was enjoy the peace I shared with the boy I loved. On this particular night, during a heat wave in the middle of July, Frankie and I had opted to sleep shirtless to avoid overheating. Logically, omitting blankets was a better solution, but even if it were one-hundred-ten degrees we would still sleep with the white comforter wrapped securely around us.

Frankie said he liked it that way; that by virtually tying the two of us together he felt that nothing could ever tear us apart.

The minutes ticked by, and soon the church tower clock had signaled the change of the hour. Eyelashes batted against the bare skin on my ribs, followed by gentle kisses and warm breaths.

"Gee?" he whispered hesitantly, as if he feared the silence would shatter in a violently blast. His voice was shaking, and not three seconds after the word had slipped from his lips tired tears escaped from his eyes.

"What is it, babe?" I asked carefully, ignoring the sound of handguns outside the window.

He merely shook his head against me and burrowed deeper into the space between my body and the mattress. "Never mind," he resolved, tossing one arm over my waist and pulling me ever closer.

My fingers soon laced themselves in his raven hair, rubbing his scalp and gently pulling the strands the way he liked. "Frankie," I cooed, running my thumb down the side of his exposed neck. "You know you can tell me."

He let out a trembling breath, before pulling himself from the crevice and gazing at me with watery eyes. "I know," he smiled. Slowly, teasingly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. "It's nothing," he mumbled against me, retreating now to the gap between my shoulder and jaw. "Just promise me something," he croaked, drawing invisible letters on my torso.

I focused intently on the words he formed against my skin.

Frank
+
Gerard

Chuckling at the simplicity of the phrase, I replied. "Anything for you, sugar, you know that."

He smiled weakly, briefly tracing my clavicle. "Promise that… Promise that you'll love me, no matter what I do."

"You don't have to ask," was my hushed response. "Don't you remember what I said?"

A shy giggle filled the air before he answered. " 'Till death do us part, and long after that'," he quoted diligently, smiling as he heard the words again.

"And I meant it." My voice had become stronger, hopefully more convincing.

"I know, Gee. I love you, too."

A similar look of affection dawned on my face as I leaned to kiss him again. The gesture was simple, gentle, and innocent – like all the ones before and all the ones to follow; there was never an animalistic ache behind them, just care and faith and love.

It was all we had ever needed.

We pulled away seconds later, and Frank let out a soft gasp.

"It's 11:11, Gee!" he grinned, shutting his eyes tightly. "Make a wish!"

A dry laugh erupted from my throat, scratched with tobacco and long-past screams. My wish was the same as always – for us to just get the Hell out of the neighborhood.

He just wished for me to keep my promise.