For me the night was bliss, I was with the three people I cared about the most and for a moment, I felt happy. It was perfect, being with these people that made me forget, made me realise that I could be myself around people and not be plagued by years of isolation and constant fear of the world, and myself.
Frank seemed shifty, he often looked away from me when I was talking to him and generally zoned out mid conversation. Also I noticed his slight hesitated thought whenever I praised or commended him to Mikey. I knew Frank didn't like attention or for him to be in a situation where he was too overly exposed but from all the times I caught him drifting away I could see in his eyes his mind was on something completely different.
From first glance I knew what he was thinking about, the thing. The thing that made me act so selfishly out of pity and relapse. The memory made a tight lock around my chest and every so often jerked at my ribs. I had no idea what Frank's thing was. I hated not knowing. It made me overthink and we all knew what I was capable of.
It was only until Mikey had gone back to his band's room and some nearby Motel, after making us promise that we would attend their gig at the club in the nearby town, we both agreed. Mikey seemed somewhat elated however tried his best to hide it, he was a shit actor. I could only guess Mikey and Frank were talking about something rather interesting in the kitchen. I felt rather relieved that Mikey and Frank were getting along so well, hell Frank could even join The New London Fire they were that friendly. Course Frank was too young and I doubt he would want to leave. Then again anyone normal would have given anything to leave Jersey, it was practically the living death of towns but I was attracted to it somehow, so go figure. I decided to push it from my mind.
Oh how wrong of my deductions.
Frank and I were trudging tiredly up the stairs, like always for every one step I took he took another three and yet I still reached the top first. In our own little silence of comfort we shared I pulled the pile of duvets and pillows into my room as Frank sat on my bed and started to admire my room. I often wondered why he was so interested of my collection of old gig flyers, drawings and maps that plastered my walls throughout my childhood and early teenage years. He thought they were fascinating.
My walls were basically just me throwing up emotion onto something that can been seen, a lot like my writing and drawing, I had violently scribbled over the maps, tracing the lines of each river and stream no matter how miniscule, words from books and authors on fields and along roads and doodled various animals on contour lines and hilltops. Nothing exciting, but I appreciated the way Frank saw it the way he did because a lot of people wouldn't. He had a vision that understood anything he saw or heard. That was a major thing I loved about Frank. Though I had no intention of telling him, yet.
Sitting on my bed shifting about uncomfortably, he spoke quietly,
''Mikey is really cool man, but explain one thing to me..'' He bit his lip.
I quirked an eyebrow at him, "Go on?"
"Buttsex boy?" He struggled to keep his face straight, furiously supressing giggles behind his mouth. I was instantly rutilant and a high pitched snort slipped out before I could cover my face with the nearest pillow. Frank had already doubled over and was chuckling violently on the bed from my accidental pig noise.
"You could say it was my nickname, in my old town. Buttsex boy Gerard Way. They'd say I was artist by day, cocksucker by night." By now I was curled up giggling like an immature 6th grade boy hearing about sex for the first time. All of it was true, that’s what the cruellest of kids said and spread throughout the recent years. Frank was horrified at first, I knew he was a big supporter of gay rights and so was I but I had to admit the shock was concern were highly amusing.
