I Drew You Once in Art Class

Seventy-Seven

Gerard was having fun. It had been a long time since he had done this, ever since he and Bert had stopped talking, which was last summer. He was glad they were friends again, honestly. He'd kind of missed this side of his life, the sneaking out and being places he probably shouldn't be. There was a thrill to it, and he'd forgotten how much fun it could be.

But he was back, watching his friend play totally epic music, and he had Frank here, which made it even better. Gerard brought a bottle to his lips and watched Frank, who looked increasingly more conflicted as the minutes passed. Gerard decided to let it be; Frank was entitled to his feelings. He'd never been here and Gerard had definitely been scared his first time, so he figured he'd just give Frank time to breathe.

The song ended, and Gerard stuck his thumb and pointer finger in his mouth to sound a loud whistle.

"Yeah!" Bert shouted in response, pumping his fist in the hair. He lowered his voice to talking volume. "That's my friend."

The audience laughed a little bit, and Gerard just barely saw it, but he could have sworn Frank rolled his eyes.

"Okay, well, since you're here, and so enthusiastic (more laughs), I'll play the song I wrote about you. It's a little angry, sorry, I wrote it, like four months ago."

Gerard giggled and put a hand to the side of his mouth to amplify his voice, smiling.

"Fuck you, Bert!"

Bert flipped him off across the crowd before one of the other dudes started playing a simple riff, which apparently the crowd recognized because half of them started screaming.

"This is called Pretty Handsome Awkward; I'm so sorry, Gerard."

Gerard cackled, and it took him about 20 seconds to realize Frank was gone.

His eyes scanned the group around him, and his eyes flew to the exit door, which was falling slowly shut. He set down his drink and rushed toward the door, pulling it open, surprised to be met by snowflakes, big and clumped, falling from the sky. There was an old, rusting dumpster with a clump trash bags congregated at its base, a thin layer of snow on the ground, and a boy in a striped shirt, sitting on a bench with one knee to his chin, his arms wrapped around it. Gerard, a little stunned, took a seat next to him. The music was muffled by the wall, and it was pretty quiet as the two sat side by side in the snow.

"You okay?"

"No. I feel weird and out of place, and third wheel-y and I kinda just wanna go home."

Gerard leaned his head on Frank's shoulder, nosing into the shoulder-neck juncture, covered by the striped fabric of his shirt. "You've just never been here before, don't worry. I felt out of place at first too. And you're not a third wheel. I just thought... I thought it would be fun."
He started at his feet, the snowflakes piling on and melting against the leather of his Docs.
"Come on, can we give it one more chance? I promised him I'd be here."

Frank scowled, and Gerard scoffed, pulling himself up to sit upright and look at Frank properly. "Why are you acting so weird? I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"No, you're acting weird." Frank put his knee down away from his face.

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"I don't know! You just have, like, a whole other life that I didn't know anything about, and you just act different, and I don't know what it is, but you're just.... You're just not... not yourself."

Frank had sort of just spluttered it out; he didn't realize he was standing up until Gerard spoke calmly at him, still sitting on the bench.

"Are you jealous?"

"What? No. I'm just trying to tell you you're acting we-"

"Because that's what it looks like." His voice was firm.  "If anyone is acting weird, it's you, and I'm pretty sure it's because you're jealous."

Gerard was standing now, too.

"Even though you have literally no reason to be, I assure you, there is nothing going on between him and me. I saw you rolling your eyes in there. I don't know what you want me to do, Frank." His mouth was a thin line, and snowflakes melted on his hair, burned up by his anger.

Frank balled his fists.

"So you're trying to tell me you're not totally different in there? You acted like I was a fucking child.  'I wouldn't understand half of the things?'  I'm not fucking stupid, Gerard. And after he said totally shitty things to me, you told me to be nicer to him. I know I'm the fucking third wheel, okay, you don't have to pretend I'm not. But you being a total asshole is driving me fucking crazy, and your denial about it is even worse."

Gerard scoffed. "You're the one being pissy over a relationship that I told you wasn't happening anymore. And you know what? You wouldn't understand half the things that happened, okay?" He frustratedly ran his hand through his hair. "You have never lived a life where you've had to deal with crazy shit like addiction, and suicide, and crazy illegal fucking drugs, okay? You don't know shit about it because you've never had to deal with it."

"The fuck do you mean, I wouldn't know anything about it? How would you know? My dad's in fucking prison because he sold crazy illegal fucking drugs, okay? You were being a total asshole and you're trying to change the subject."

Gerard scoffed again, his next words uncensored by the alcohol in his system. "You're being fucking stupid, Frank."

Frank stiffened and turned away from the building, making his way to the parking lot.

'"I'm still your way home, you know!" Gerard called through the brush, his hair illuminated by a lamppost and snowflakes.

"Taxis: modern invention," mumbled Frank, not turning around.

A second later, he heard the door to the bar slam. He turned to face the tan-bricked building, illuminated by the single white light, moths fluttering at its source. Crickets chirped around him in the brush, and he turned back toward the road, angry and confused and just really goddamn tired.