Turn Off The Dark (Frerard)

Part Sixteen

-Gerard's POV-

If its possible to be addicted to a person, then I was most definitely and irrevocably addicted to Frank.

Waking up was surreal, having someone- especially Frank- so close, arms around my waist, shallowly breathing.

It felt fucking great.

Mikey was awake, sitting at my drafting table and doodling a little himself. He looked up at me, smiled and made a heart shape with his hands. I flipped him off.

My movement made Frank stir. He retracted his arms, but nuzzled closer still, making tired noises low in his throat.

"What time is it?" I asked Mikey quietly.

"Like nine at night."

I slowly sat up. Frank whined a protest and rubbed his eyes, turning over on his back. Tiredly, he glanced up at me and smiled.

"Hey" he croaked.

"Hey. It's getting late, I don't know if you have to be downstairs or home" I said.

Frank sat up with me and I immediately burst into uncontrollable giggles. Mikey laughed as well. Frank cocked his head slightly to the side like a curious puppy, confused.

"What?"

I giggled.

"Your hair's a mess. It's sticking up everywhere." I reached over and smoothed down his hair in the back, trying my best to fix the frizz.

"Stoppp" Frank squealed, ducking and moving away.

"Do you need a ride home, Frank? I was going to go grab something to eat" Mikey interjected. Frank sighed heavily.

"Yeah, I guess I should at least stop home. I'll see you later, okay?" Frank turned and hugged me tight.

"Okay. See you, Frankie" I replied softly.

"I'll be back soon, Gee" Mikey said, and the two slipped out.

It felt weird, being alone after having company for so long. Unsure of what to do, I trudged to the bathroom and opened the cabinet. I definitely needed to brush my teeth. As I did, I noticed something. The third row of shelving was completely empty.

Where were my blades?

I didn't remember moving them. No, I wouldn't have. I hadn't seen Mikey come into my bathroom. I heaved a sigh.

Frank. Of fucking course.

"You can't stop me, Frank," I said out loud. "I still own kitchen knives."

But I didn't want knives. I wanted my blades. I felt lost, uncertain. Undoubtedly he wasn't going to give them back.

So this was it? I couldn't cut?

(We'll just have to find a way around it, won't we?)

"Shut up" I mumbled, and incredibly, the voice kept silent.

Turning on the tv for background noise, I settled back into my bed as Mikey returned.

"He took my blades" I announced.

"I know" Mikey confirmed.

"He had no right to do that."

"Your skin is mutilated, Gerard. Of he hadn't, I would've. Come on, let's watch movies."

I could have come up with an argument, but I decided to just give in and let it go. There was no point in protest.

Movie night with my much-missed little brother sounded much nicer than cutting, anyway.