You're beautiful to me ||Frerard + Petekey||

Chapter three- but their hearts don't beat like ours

Gerard wasn't in class the next day, which scared the hell out of Frank. As much as he didn't want to admit it or even think about it, he really cared for Firetruck boy. Had he done something to drive the boy away? Had Frank gone too far with the punk persona? Did he just seriously fuck up the only friendship he really had?

His worries eased a bit as Gerard walked in, simply late to the day. He handed a pass to the teacher and sat down, turning around instantly to face Frank with something like a shy smile.

"Hey."

Frank smirked, blowing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. "Hey yourself, Firetruck boy."

"Does this mean you're not mad at me?"

"Well, I'm the one who fucked up, so I figured you must be mad at me." Frank Anthony Thomas Iero Jr.? Admitting he was wrong? It's more likely than you think.

"Oh. No, I'm not mad. I just feel bad for....Everything, actually."

"It's fine, dude. I'm just not the most confident about my weight is all. Most people just don't even mention it. I think you caught me a little off guard."

"Sorry."

"Chill. It's not that big a deal. No one's perfect. Not even me, as much as I seem it." He brushes his hair back, leaning back in his chair with an overzealous smirk on his face. "There's something wrong with everyone. My 'Something Wrong' just so happens to be... not something people expect from guys."

"Oh?"

"Confidence issues."

"Oh. I get it."

"Really? A cute guy like you shouldn't have to worry about shit like that."

"Mm. Doesn't mean I don't worry anyway."

"Fair enough."

"I hate to break this up, but we have a class to get back to." The teacher said, glaring at the boys. And with an almost soulmate-like telepathy, the two simultaneously made a silent agreement, nodding quickly and turning back to the teacher.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Frank said, standing up and walking right out of the classroom.

"I, uh, also have to go to the bathroom." Gerard added, walking out as well and quickly catching up to the smaller of the two.

"Park?"

"Park."

X o x o x o

The two, both now sprawled our in the grass staring at the blue above, sat in silence for a while.

"I think I hate the sky." Gerard pointed out, wrinkling his nose a bit.

"What? Why? It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's too beautiful."

"I don't think that's possible."

"Yeah, it is. It's got perfect colors and it blends so nicely and it's always so pretty."

"I agree, but I mean, I don't think it's possible for anything to be too beautiful."

"Of course it is."

"Well, if there is, then you're it."

"I'm what?"

"Too beautiful."

"Ugh. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

"Fine. Then lie to me."

"You're lucky that's my specialty."

"Tell me a pretty lie, then. I kind of need one right now."

"Alright, then." Frank paused for a moment, staring up at the sky ruefully. "I love myself."

"I wish I could make that true, Frank."

"It's not worth your time; I'll never believe you." A pause. "Now you tell me one."

"I love myself."

"Hey! You can't steal mine!"

"What? It's true for me too!"

"Jesus, get your own idea."

"Make me."

The two continued to sit in silence for a while, each looking over at the other every once in a while, just to check on them. Even though nothing had changed in the now thirty minutes. Frank had noticed Gerard's hands start to twitch, his fingers stretching out a bit every now and again. It was almost like he wanted to scratch at something, but his arm was strapped to a gurney. And the Firey-haired boy's hand drifted up to his lip, nails digging into the already beaten up skin. Whether he realized what he was doing or not, Frank had the feeling it wasn't exactly something he could simply chose not to do. Not quite an addiction but worse than a bad habit; perhaps something engraved in his brain.

But fuck that 'engraved in your brain' shit. Frank didn't give a fuck. He didn't care if it was simply a bad habit or a heroin addiction. He was going to try his hardest to help Gerard, even if it gets him killed.

So he did the only think he could think of; he gently took Gerard's hand away from his mouth and held it, weaving their fingers together.

Michael James Way is a genius, in Gerard's book at least. Or a psychic. Either way, Gerard closed his eyes and enjoyed the little bridge between their two worlds.

(A/N)
This is really short so sorry. I accidentally deleted some of it and I don't remember what I lost so *shrug*