He was sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall. No sound was heard, just the steady beating of his heart.
The house seemed empty and abandoned, dust covering everything from the kitchen table to the poor boy on the sofa, waiting for someone he was sure, would never come. The clock was ticking, marking the time and separating him from the breakdown that was about to come.
The glass that he was clutching in his small tattooed hand was full of a light drink, water or vodka no one really knew.
He wanted to cry, cry himself to sleep on that stupid sofa, wetting the cushion under his right arm and maybe wake up the next day to find the reason of all his crying, just lying next to him, with those big bright hazel eyes which he fell for long time ago.
He could see his red hair sparkling in the sunlight of a May afternoon, his taller figure running down the hill because it was fun. No other reason, it was the funniest thing he could think of, and his crooked smile proved it.
Sometimes Gerard acted like a small kid, enjoying life and not giving a fuck about the adult he was supposed to be. Frank loved him, he really did. He found it easy even when the light disappeared from the boy's soul, leaving the red haired young man like an empty shell, surrounded by all the insecurities and the awful fears that had always hunted him. No one could break into his private world to help him, it was impossible.
Frank had tried many times, soothing him with love words, while the latter was holding on for dear life onto his smaller frame, shaking terribly and not even succeeding in saying a word or something like that. His heart shattered when he heard his boyfriend crying at night, crying because of his incapacity to see what a beautiful mind and soul he had.
Gerard was what you could define an artist, a troubled one. Everything he touched or was near him became the most amazing and perfect artwork ever created. No one knew his secret, but many had tried and failed to understand his mind and what was under that mop of messy hair. If asked, Gerard simply replied with an "I don't know either".
It looked like his imagination and the body were two different entities of the same person. Each part had its own life and sometimes, sadly, they collided and ruined everything. You could see how he looked at what he was creating and just despised it, deciding to throw it away and lock himself away in his bedroom.
Same went for music. He would grab Frank's guitar because he had that one riff he wanted to try but, not making any conspicuous progress, he decided to stop trying. He felt like he was a failure, and his life even worse.
That was why last Saturday he decided to run away. He disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving his side of bed as cold as ice. Frank noticed he was gone just the morning after, when he woke up and saw his lover's sketchbook on the bedside table.
He never left his sketchbook behind.
Inside, as he later found out, there was a note written in a messy, and probably drunk, handwriting. It didn't say much, just "I'm sorry, I love you xoxo". Frank had immediately checked every part of the house, fearing the worst, but fortunately he didn't find what he was looking for. That didn't mean Gerard was safe and sound, everything could have happened since he probably was drunk as a lord.
He had called everyone, just to be told the same thing: "I'm very sorry, but I haven't seen him anywhere, I'll keep on searching".
Three days had passed and still no news from the police, his friends or Gerard himself. Frank was still sitting on the sofa, heart sunk deep down in his stomach. He had given up, keep trying was useless. If his boyfriend wanted to show up again, then it was his choice.
The clock was about to hit midnight when someone knocked at the door. Outside was storming, so Frank thought it was just some rock thrown at the door by the wind, even if when the doorbell rang he had to think about it again.
Who could have been so stupid to stand outside in the rain? Little did he know that the answer was so obvious that even a child would have guessed.
He opened the door, expecting to find the homeless man that lived at the end of the road, but when he looked up the words died in his mouth.
- I'm sorry, I can't hel...
- Do you remember when you asked me what my favourite season was?
Gerard, drenched from head to toes, was looking at him with wild eyes. His body was trembling and smelled awfully. He was drunk. Again.
In any other situation, Frank would have kissed his lips without thinking twice about it, instead this time, he let the glass go (it went shattering on the wooden floor) and slapped him in the face. He didn't hesitate. The love of his life was standing in front of him, that same person that made him suffer like a shit for four whole days, disappearing from the face of the earth without a good reason. That seemed the right thing to do.
- Do you have a single idea of how worried I was? I thought you were dead, for fucks sake!
- I'm sorry baby, it will ... - the boy was cut off by annoyed groan of Frank, who stepped outside to get closer to him.
- Don't call me like that, not today. Not after you left me alone with no explanation!
Gerard started crying, and his voice refused to come out. Probably if he hadn't drunk all that alcohol before coming back home, he would have listened to what Frank had to say and waited for him to calm down a little before explaining what had really happened. Unfortunately, his brain was too clouded to focus on the scene before his very eyes, resulting in an awful knee-jerk reaction.
- Please baby I'm sorry ... I'm sorry - he was talking nonsense and Frank, understanding that, chose to put aside his anger to help the poor human being that risked to catch a cold if he stayed outside any longer.
- Listen, come inside and go take a shower, you smell like a fucking dump.
- JUST GO! We'll talk again tomorrow morning, when you'll finally be able to stand trial.
Gerard, still crying, stumbled inside and made his way up the stairs to the bathroom. The second he disappeared, Frank let the tears fall.
He had refused to cry for three whole days and now that his boy was back, the relief was so much the only way to express it was crying.
"Fuck"- he muttered under his breath.
He cried because Gerard was still alive. He cried because, one way or another, his alcohol-clouded mind had found the way back home. He cried because in the past days his imagination had gone so wild that the nightmares had kept him awake at night.
After a good fifteen minutes he decided it was indeed time to dry his eyes and go check on Gerard to see if he was okay. The boy slowly walked up the stairs, the sound of the running water of the shower mashing into the rain's one.
When he opened the bathroom door he almost wanted to facepalm himself.
Gerard was standing fully dressed under the stream of the water, staring absentmindedly at the tiles on the wall. His eyes were red, just like his hair, but he couldn't tell if that was because of whatever he had drank or the crying.
- What ... What are you doing?
Gerard turned a bit into his direction.
- Do you remember when you asked me what my favourite season was?
- Yes Gee, you told me you couldn't choose because they all sucked.
- Well that was a lie. My favourite season is fall.
What he was saying made no sense at all but Frank was too nice to interrupt him, especially after not hearing his soft voice for what seemed an eternity.
- My favourite season is fall not only because it's your birthday, but also because drawing you in all those leaves, with your skin so light and you hair so dark that makes so much contrast with everything else, is one of the few things that make really happy. When you run in those soft hills of dead leaves because it reminds you of when you were little and your granddad made them just for you, so that little Frank could destroy them two seconds later.
He made a pause to catch his breath.
- It's fall because when my mother died you were there with me, and you gave me that brown sketchbook with the oak tree on the front that didn't make me feel better at all, but it was the first thing you ever gave me. You cared about me from the second our eyes met. It's fall because when we shared our first kiss, school had just started and you had found me in the backyard crying because of people calling me obese and other shit, and you didn't give a fuck about my weight and saw who I really was. It's fall because if four days ago I hadn't ran away I would have asked you to marry me and ... and - he couldn't go on, because the emotions were too many, because of the regret and his insecure-self convincing him that Frank didn't want to be his forever anymore.
Frank was speechless. It was like when you have a very high fever and everything spins around you, the world is out of focus and you can't really understand what is happening to you. That was Frank felt like when, stepping into the shower too, faced his beautiful boyfriend, whose tears were unrecognizable among the droplets of water on his face.
He hugged him tightly, listening to his uneven breath and fast heartbeat. Frank eventually ended up getting drenched too, but that was the last thing he cared about when he had his world right in his arms.
Slowly, he began to undress him. Not in a sexual way, he had to do that because Gerard was too weak to even lift his head from Frank's shoulder.
Every piece of clothes off was replaced with a gentle stroke on his lover's face, which was what he really needed in that exact moment.
From time to time Gerard muttered something that vaguely sounded like an apology, but was immediately hushed by his boyfriend, that was still washing him with a sponge. That was one of the many times in which both really understood that they would never break up: they literally depended from one another.
When Frank finally turned off the shower, the bathroom fell into silence. The two boys looked at each other for a long period of time, communicating with the eyes, one fully naked while the other one still dressed and soaked wet.
- Oh and do you remember the last reason why fall is your favourite season?
Gerard nodded, Frank smiled a bit.
- I do.
Hello you beautiful people.
So, I dont think you know who I am, since this is one the few stories i've written in a language that is not my native one.
For the ones it may concern, i write sad fics. Really sad fics, and this one is quite soft. I mean, no one died. :)
I apologize for the errors you may have found, i tried my best but i'm sure there are some minor left.
I have another pair of one shots planned, but who knows if they will ever get published.
In the meantime, kisses xx
Merci pour le venin
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