I Drew You Once in Art Class

Twenty-Six

Frank twiddled his thumbs throughout chemistry, which had been a dumb class for him to sign up for in the first place. He'd thought it would be all blowing stuff up and learning how to make stinkbombs, but he'd been disappointed when he'd discovered it was mostly worksheets and lectures. He pulled a Sharpie out of his pocket and began to draw on the soles of his Converse, putting this wasted time to use. He drew little stars, a simple enough pattern that he wouldn't mess it up, but complex enough that it still looked like he'd put effort into it. When the whole side of the sole was filled, he capped the marker. Better save the other side for when he was bored again.

The bell rang, releasing him from his chair. He shifted his backpack on his shoulder, trying not to anticipate art class, for which he was currently headed. Fighting to keep his heart still, he turned into the room where his eyes instantly darted to the back table, at which a brown-haired, tired-looking Gerard sat. Frank, instead of going to his normal table went to go sit with Gerard. "Hey," he said, pulling out a stool. Suddenly he felt awkward. Gerard hadn't invited him to sit here, what was he doing just making himself at home? Hastily, he tried to recover. "Um, is it um, okay if I sit here?" Gerard looked almost puzzled at Frank's awkward behavior. "Of course," he said, his voice steady and friendly. Frank took a seat on the stool, facing Gerard. "Where were you yesterday? Um, if that isn't too personal of a question," Frank asked, biting his lip.

Oh god, he was screwing everything up.

"I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to stay home," Gerard said, shrugging a little. "I'm doing better today, though."

"That's good," Frank said lamely, looking at the table. God, this was awkward. Hadn't they just been dancing in the record store 48 hours ago? Frank didn't get it.

Relax, he told himself. Gerard didn't seem to be having any problem with Frank. He could relax. So Frank started talking and Gerard started talking, and eventually, they fell into a rhythm, their voices jumping back and forth naturally, much to Frank's relief. Somehow, he found himself asking Gerard to hang out.

"Not my house," Gerard had responded. "And I have to be back by five to make my brother dinner, but we could do something in the meantime? Here, what's your number?" The boys took each other's phones, entering their own phone numbers. Frank smiled. He was just happy to be wanted, honestly.