Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[9]

Frank's POV

-

I'm sat on a bench in the middle of the graveyard, shivering in just my thin t-shirt and ripped jeans. I always seem to forget that it gets colder as it grows darker. I feel as though the cold is biting at me from every angle.

In the light of the sunset, withering in the distance, it's much less sinister.
The branches of the winding trees recoil to keep their distance, and I can finally see the frost that paves the edges of the grass.

Slung over my shoulder is a camera bag. Its contents: a decade-old Polaroid camera and a fresh box of film that I spent a good four hours looking for. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing with it or why.
I look down at the floor and shuffle my feet, hoping nobody else walks in and wonders why I'm here alone and what the fuck I'm doing with a camera bag and no coat.

Suddenly, I hear the gate creak open. I look up- it's Gerard. I awkwardly scratch my head as he walks towards me.

He holds a small sketchbook and several pencils. He's wearing his usual attire- a black coat and scarf.

"Are you not cold, Frank? It's the middle of January." He grins as he reaches me, looking down at my try-hard punk attire.

He sits on the bench beside me and begins tracing the goosebumps along my left arm with his index finger. If anyone else did that to me, I'd usually tell them to fuck off, but something about Gerard doing it makes me shudder a little, like the butterflies in my stomach are beginning to increase, flying around in a giddy haze.

"Nah, I'm good..."

"No, Frank, you're fucking freezing!" He looks at me, concerned. "Look at you- you're so pale, and you're shivering like crazy!"

"Fuck, I didn't even notice." I lie, "I guess I was just too distracted to realize."

"Whatever. Here." He pulls his scarf from his neck and wraps it around mine. "You can keep this on for the time being. I don't mind, plus you look cute in it."

"Why, thank you, dear." I grin.

"C'mon, give us a twirl!" He jokes, and I stand up to spin around, giving my most overemphasized bow afterwards.

We both giggle, and Gerard opens his sketchbook out on his lap, flicking through it quickly. Its pages are lined with doodles and sketches of comic book-like characters. He finally flicks to a blank page and rests one of his pencils upon it, putting the rest in his pocket before turning to me. "You got the camera?" he asks with a shy smile.

I lift up the bag that hangs from my shoulder and open it up, pulling the camera and film out. "This any good?"

"Fucking perfect."

I insert the film into a small slot inside the camera and flip it shut.
"So what do we need this for?" I ask, curious.

"I want you to kind of, uh- model for something. Basically I'm just gonna sketch you and stuff." He blushes. "I- I just need a reference... for a character, I guess."

I nod and pass the camera, "Is this because I'm hot?" I laugh, in jest.

"Absolutely."

"Between me and you... I'm definitely not the hot one here." I give a deliberately exaggerated wink.

"Okay, so if you just wanna move over here..." He gets up and directs me over to the tree he usually sits in, the camera pressing up against his face, ready for him to take the photo. "Yeah, just sit there."

He takes a couple of photos of me and sits back town on the bench, where the used film glides out of the camera. He leaves the pictures to dry and motions for me to sit beside him.

The orange sky begins to fade to a dark grey.
"Hey, do you have a flashlight or something?" I ask Gerard, who's sat fiddling with his matchbox in his hands.

"Will one of these do?" He waves the box in front of him, making the matches inside rattle.

"I guess so." I nod, and he strikes one of the matches against the side of the box. The light is dim, but it illuminates our surroundings a little.

I glance over to the photos beside us- they're now perfectly developed. Gerard picks one up and puts his sketchbook back on his lap. He studies the picture and begins to trace out the basic shapes of the photo. The lines are thin, light and clean. They dance across the page and start to take the shape of me, stood leaning against the trunk of a tree. He pauses, suddenly, resting the tip of his pencil against the page.

"Hey, Frank?"

"Hm?"

"Can we take one more picture?" he asks, picking the camera up again, "Together?"

"Yeah, sure!" I nod, smiling.

He gestures me a little closer towards him and points the camera towards us with one hand.

As if in slow motion, he brings his other hand up to my face and rests it on my cheek. I shut my eyes as he begins to move closer. Our lips interlock, sending a rush of warmth and a haze of anxiety across my body. The camera flashes, yet again.

I jump and pull away, hesitantly as I hear the photos roll out of the camera. We sit in silence, facing each other on opposite sides of the bench; wide-eyed and in shock, we stare at one another with not a word to say.