Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[7]

Frank's POV

-

I don't know what it is about the graveyard, but there's a constant urge inside me to go back. I've found myself lying awake at night, lost in thought about the secrets that lie behind it; my mind filled with questions. I just can't bring myself to set foot in it again.

I don't know whether it's the reccurring dream, or the interaction I had last time I was there, but something's pulling me in like I'm attached to a rope.

The anxiety of seeing Gerard again dawns on me and lectures me about the many reasons as to why I shouldn't start hanging out there- why it might be dangerous.

Yet, I'm here.
Stood at the foot of the grand cemetery gates all over again, thinking of the ways I can get over them without making too much noise.

I grab onto the smooth metal bars and hoist myself over the spiked top, making sure I don't get jabbed in the ass- after several experiences of sneaking out late at night and climbing over fences to get into shut-off areas, I know those spiked things fucking hurt.
The small flashlight I remembered to bring this time rattles in my coat pocket, buried among several used tissues and useless arcade tokens that have lived in there for months.

After getting over the gate, I dust my coat off and begin strolling around the graveyard. I don't really know what I'm expecting to see. I don't know why I'm here.

Suddenly, I hear a noise from the trees. I grab my torch out of my pocket and clutch it like a weapon, positioning my finger over the 'on' button as though I'm holding the trigger of a gun.

"Frank!" a voice calls- it's Gerard. I sigh, turning on my torch, and walk over to the tree. Everything looks different in the torchlight. Almost normal.

Gerard dangles from the tree he was sat in last time, his matchbox in one hand, a match in the other. His face is masked by a cluster of dying leaves that sit on a branch in front of him.

"Fuck, Gerard, I thought you were a fucking murderer, or a ghost or some shit." I shoot him an irritated glance.

"Yeah, sorry about that." He drops his matchbox to the ground and hops down from the tree, picking the small box up when he's reached the floor. "Maybe I am a murderer, Frank. You never know." He winks sarcastically.

As he's walking over to me, I take a closer look at him. His features are much more delicate than I remembered, yet he looks so worn. So tired. He looks a lot... prettier in the light.
My gaze stops at the top of his head. I notice the strange patch of color hiding in the roots of his jet black hair.

Teal.

It's teal roots boy. It's fucking teal roots boy, what the fuck.

I let in a silent gasp. He's real. He's actually real.

"So, do you want to like, sit down or something?" he says, and I snap out of the trance I didn't even realize I had entered.

"Yeah, sure."

We walk over to the nearest bench and sit down. I shine my torch along the graveyard. I've only ever seen this place in the light in my dreams.
Moss clings to everything- the edges of the path, the stumps of the trees, the gravestones.
Ivy entwines itself into the stone walls that section off the yard from the vast forest it sits inside, thorns taking a stance in front of any possible exit routes.

I then settle the torch in between us. It casts a light around our faces. Gerard's cheeks are flushed a light pink.

"You're blushing..." I blurt out.

"Am I? Fuck." He groans.

"Shit, no, I didn't mean to call you out on it- I- I guess I was just-" I stutter, "You look kind of cute."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow, inching a little closer towards me.

"Yeah, not to be weird or anything. I'm sorry if it-"

"No, it's okay." He stops me, placing a hand on mine and grinning flirtatiously. "Totally okay."

There's a pause. I realize that the thought of him being the guy from my dreams is still bothering me. It's like my brain is urging me to tell him where I know him from. Fuck it.

"Gerard, can I tell you something stupid?"

"Go ahead, I guess."

"I think I know you from somewhere."

"And? This place is tiny. Everyone knows everyone." He looks confused.

"But like, I've never met you before. I don't think I know anyone that knows you. I mean like- like a dream or something." I anxiously flail my hands around as I speak, trying to get my point across.

"Well, uh, what kind of dream?" He pulls out his matchbox and looks down at it, fiddling with it awkwardly. Fuck, I'm making this uncomfortable for him.

He nods as I explain the dream to him. I leave out the end part, where I see him stood alone at my grave. It's not the right time to talk about that yet.

He doesn't look phased when I finish my story. He just shrugs.
"You've probably just seen me in the street or something. Maybe you've passed me by and accidentally stared at my face for too long because you think I'm too damn sexy. Things get manifested into your dreams that way all the time." He teases.

No, this feels different. More genuine than that- like I really know him.

"I just feel like I'd have noticed you a lot more if I'd have seen you in the street. Plus, it's more of a reoccurring dream than a one-off thing."

"Eh, I don't know, honestly." He shrugs. "It's not too big of a deal."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Gerard and I spend the next few hours discussing random shit about ourselves. He's apparently an 'amazing' comic artist.
I tell him about my guitar, my obsession of being in a band- despite the fact that my parents are shitty people and believe that punk music rots people's brains- and how much I'm lacking in school.

"Right, it's getting late," he says, standing up.

"Yeah," I agree, collecting my torch from the bench and sliding it back into my pocket.

"Well, anyway." He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly. "I'm gonna go."

"Okay, well, I'll see you again, then?"

"Yeah. Uh, meet me here at six on Thursday, and bring a camera of some sort." He smiles, before spinning on his heels and walking away.

"A what?"