I Drew You Once in Art Class

Fifty-Five

Gerard was a little caught off guard.

That was okay.

After recovering from the initial shock, he closed his eyes and let his arms fall upon Frank's shoulders, leaning into him as the rain trickled down their faces, between their lips, and ran its icy fingers down their backs. What felt and sounded like TV static fell around them, and their lips were cold and warm at the same time from the bitter air around them and the heat they generated.

After a moment, their lips parted and their foreheads joined as they leaned against each other, the rain falling around them in a watery, cacophonic white noise. There was a heavy gray mist around their feet where the rain splashed up from the soaked asphalt, rising into the somehow-still-humid-in-September air, and looking up at Gerard, the rain clinging to the wet strands of his brown hair, the raindrops that looked like dew resting upon his eyelashes, the flushed look of his pink lips, Frank had one thought. You're beautiful, he thought. You're beautiful.

Gerard spoke.

"Something's different," he said, running a finger over the new metal ring in Frank's lip. His teeth chattered in the cold.

"It hurts."

It did.