The Truth, The Lies, and The Love [Frerard]

Chapter Two: My Oxygen.

I saw him laughing today- not to sound like a creep, but i saw him laughing. He was walking down the hall with his friend, and whatever he told him made him laugh. There's something about the way he laughs. The way it tumbles from his lips like a stream. The way it fills every nook and cranny, every cobwebbed corner of every dusty room in my heart where sadness resides. The way its cold hand lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. The way it brings a smile to my lips. There's something about the way he laughs that makes me feel happy for the moment being. His laughter was like my favorite song- i never wanted it to end. 
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After school, i tried my hardest to dodge everyone- even Brendon. There wasn't anything in particular that was upsetting me, its just i wanted to get to the cemetery before someone tried to make plans with me so i would have to cancel my own. Luckily the cemetery is only a few blocks away from the school. 
The air is cold, and foggy. I wouldn't be surprised if it started to rain soon. When i got to the cemetery, i found my dads grave and threw my backpack on the ground where i was going to sit. When i sat down, i fixed my hood, now almost covering my eyes but enough space so i can see. I unzipped my backpack taking out my cigarette box, and lighter. I wasn't really able to smoke at home- though i didn't seem to care- i still tried to obey my mothers rules. I took out a cigarette and set it in my mouth, lighting the tip, inhaling the stick of suicide. After finishing the first cigarette, i took out another one and lit it, and started messing with the grass. The grass here always seemed different than the grass around town for some reason. It seemed lighter. Dead, compared to the grass around town.  Though it gets watered frequently. Not to mention its  over grown- as where it looks as if it hasn't been mowed in a few weeks. Everything about the grass, just screamed, cemetery. I guess that's a good thing though, since this is, after all, a cemetery.
"Aren't you a little bit to young to be smoking?"A voice said from behind me, causing me to jump a little. I didn't bother to turn around, the person was interrupting Father and Son time- as much as he was an asshole, hes my father. 
I let out a large, and over dramatic sigh, and said,"No." Everything went quiet for a short while. I knew they hadn't left because  i didn't hear the foot steps in the grass. 
"How old are you then."
"Eighteen." I probably didn't look anything close to eighteen, but they didn't know me, nor can they see my face, so there was no way they knew if i was lying or not.
"Bullshit."the voice called out right after i responded. It didn't even leave time for me to think.
"You don't even know me, so why don't you just fuck of-"i said, but stopped as i turned around to see Gerard Way standing 3ft away from me with his small smile flashed upon his face. I flipped him off, and he let out a high pitched giggle.

Today when i first heard his laugh, i knew i was too far gone. I still wonder how the most beautiful sound to most people is the symphony, or the choir, and how mine could be a stupid boys giggle. Yet knowing that didn't make me change my mind. It actually made me feel sorry for the other people, because they will never know what beautiful sound, actually sounds like.
"I'm not leaving because you're here-"i said inhaling and exhaling the cigarette smoke. "-Why are you here anyways." I flicked the cigarette ash onto the dry patch of dirt, looking at Gerard intently as he walked over to me, and took a seat by me. 
He giggled a little bit more and said,"I didn't say you had to leave."he said, putting some of his dark, greasy hair behind his ear. 
"Good, because i wasn't going to."
"Good."
"Good." 
"You still didn't answer me though... Why are you here?" he said nothing, but stared at me. And i knew the moment our eyes met for the third time today- I knew i was in trouble. And i learned at a very young age that  we all get addicted to something, whether its cigarettes, or alcohol. Mine- mine were his eyes. 
"My grandma"he said, now chipping of the old, black nail polish. 
"Why are your nails painted black."i said changing the subject. I only thought that was reasonable, seeing how much hurt was replaced in his eyes when he finally answered my question. He smiled, his crooked, lopsided smile. 
"My brother Mikey wanted to paint them, so i let him. He's a weird thirteen year old, I'm telling you."he said with a low giggle. 
"Frank-"he said looking up at me.
"Yes?"
"How do you feel about love?" I didn't know what to say. I was shocked at this question. I don't really now why, but it made it harder to breath, like my lungs were starting to deteriorate. Like i just got stabbed a million times. 
"I like the idea of love, i guess. Not the screaming into your pillow at 2am kind of love, but the good kind of love. Tracing patterns over the skin exposed from their ripped jeans, resting your head on their shoulder and feeling every breath they take. Kissing them and being able to feel the beat of their heart under your fingertips. Having their fingers twirl through your hair, having a mountain of words to say. Lying in bed, holding your phone up to your ear, just listening to the sound of their breaths when words take to much energy to say. Every little aspect of the good type of love." as i finished speaking, his cell phone went off. 
"Hello? Mikey? Yes... -Okay. Okay, i'll be home in 15. Okay, love you too." he licked his lips, and ran his hand through his hair. 
"Sorry Frank, i have to go." 
"Hm? Oh, its fine." He smiled, and crawled over to me. When he froze by my ear, my breathing hitched up in the back of my throat. And it felt like there was a dozen butterflies swimming around in my stomach. 
"See you tomorrow."he whispered in my ear, causing chills to run down my spine, and then got up and left. And i sat there for more than 3 hours longer just amazed. Amazed that someone can make your heart beat so fast, when you don't want it to beat at all.