“I never expected to like living back here again.” Frank says quietly, so softly that I almost wonder if he meant for me to hear him. We were still sat comfortably on my unmade bed that I had partially cleared off old, well read copies of Kerrang! and my sketchpad.
“Why not?” I ask him, curious but not wanting to push the shorter boy.
He shrugs his shoulders, ducking his head down a little, his scruffy fringe falling into his face, partially obscuring his stunning eyes.
“I just didn`t want to be back here, I thought it would bring back bad memories.” He mumbles.
“And did it?” I question sadly, unable to bear the thought of my precious Frankie in pain.
He shakes his head causing me to sigh in relief.
“No.” he lays down, placing his head shyly in my lap, making me grin madly as I begin to slowly stroke his wild, incredibly soft, tangle free hair. “Only good memories.”
I tuck a lock of hair behind his ear and gently kiss the top of his head, smiling against his skin, breathing in the delicious scent of his shampoo. “I`m glad.”
He smiles up at me for a moment, his perfect chocolate eyes lighting up, before dulling back down again as his full, perfect lips curve downwards and he lets out a deep sigh.
I frown, concerned, worried that I had done or said something wrong.
“What do we tell everyone? Gee, what If they hate us?”
It was my turn to sigh, as I sit there with his head resting on my lap, my hands frozen in his hair, unsure of what to say.
If was true, there would be many closed minded people out there that did hate us, that believed we were wrong and unnatural. We couldn’t do anything about that, no one in our position could. The world was just messed up, in so many different ways. People were fighting wars over silly little things like money, young children were abused terribly by their families and some, ignorant people refused to believe in love.
“It doesn`t matter if they hate us Frankie. It is our lives and we have to live them the way we want. If they are too stupid to see love when they see it then it isn`t our damn fault.” I speak with more force and honesty than I had known existed in my pale body, but I meant very single word.
“I love you Frank, and that is all that matters to me.”
“I love you too.” He sits up and cradles my face between his trembling hands, before gently pulling my face closer to his, our lips mere millimetres apart, out breathe mingling as we lean in the close the distance…
There was a sharp knock at my bedroom door and we jump apart as though electrocuted.
“Hello boys.” My mother smiles warmly at us both, a faint glimmer of amusement in her hazel eyes as she takes in our flustered, embarrassed forms.
“It is getting rather late.” She says, and we both look at the clock hung on the wall, shocked to see that it was almost half past six. “I was wondering if Frank would like to stay for dinner, it is nearly done.”
He bites on his bottom lip nervously, unsure what to say, I could tell that he wanted to say yes, and evidently so could my mom.
“It is pasta, is that alright?” She asks and he nods, ducking behind his hair.
She shakes her head, giggling sweetly. “No problem Frank. It is so nice to see you after all these years, I`m so glad that you and Gerard have found each other again.”
“Gerard, can I have a word with you?”
I nod my stomach tightening uncomfortably as my dark haired mother sits down on the sofa next to me. It was around ten, we had dropped Frank home about half an hour ago, mom had insisted on driving him there, claiming it was too late for a young boy to be out on his own.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice shaking a little more than I had intend it too, I can only hope that she didn`t notice.
“Well you and Frank…seem very…close...”
I nod once more, hiding behind my hair, the wild red locks proving a fairly decent curtain to shield me from her intense, knowing gaze.
“We are friends.”
“I know that you were best friends as children, hell I think everyone knew that. But well I was just wondering if there was possibly…more than that between you both now.”
I feel my normally pale cheeks flush a deep crimson, matching my hair perfectly, as I imitate a tomato.
“Why would you get that impression?” I try to keep a steady voice, but I fear that she can hear the dishonesty behind it.
“Oh Gerard, sweetie.” She sighs and places one pale, perfectly manicured hand on my knee. “I`m your mother, I know you so well.” I frown, and shy away behind my crimson red curtain even more.
“Besides,” she continues, patting my knee once, before removing her hand. “I see the way you look at him, with such adoration and concern, like he is the most important thing in your world.” he was. Frank was everything to me, everything. He understood me in ways no one else ever could, he believed that I was actually worth something, unlike most who thought I was destined for nothing. He saw past the rough, defensive exterior and saw the person inside, the artist who loved music, who still bore the scars of his past, who longed to be accepted for who he was, despite trying to pretend he didn`t give a damn.
“And he looks at you the exact same way.”
I sigh and she tilts my chin up, despite my protests so that I am forced to look her in the eyes, my face bright red.
“I`m happy for you Gerard, I really am.” I hear the honesty in her voice and I feel almost calm, like a huge weight had been lifted.
“I love him mom.” I admit in a small voice, turning away from her. “And he loves me.”
She smiles and kisses my forehead lightly, smiling against the white skin. “And that it all that matters.”
“Frank?” I am surprised to hear my mother`s anxious concerned voice as I unlock the door, kicking of my shoes and throwing my jacket down.
“Yeah mom. I`m back. I was at a friend`s house.” I tell her entering the small living room, unable to wipe the huge grin off of my face as I recall the past few magical hours with Gerard.
“You look like you had a good day. I assume it was Gerard`s house you were at?” She states, looking up from her steaming mug of coffee.
“Yeah. And I did.” I nod, sitting next to her on the sofa, not wanting to give too much away too soon.
We sit quietly for some time, her watching the evening news, while I listen to my IPod, daydreaming about Gerard, occasionally answering her brief questions about school. I stretch and unbutton a few of my shirt buttons, muttering something about taking a shower and get to my feet.
“Frank? What are those?” my mother asks, her eyes wide as she points accusingly at the bruise like marks on my neck, all courtesy of Gerard.
“Frank, are you and Gerard…together?”