Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[11]

Frank's POV

-

A few weeks have passed since Gerard kissed me for the first time. Graveyard visits have become more frequent and the awkward, preteen romance-like tension between him and I has begun to slowly melt away.

We sit on the bench in the middle of the yard, his arm around me as I curl up beside him; me in my school uniform and Gerard in his usual attire- a black trench coat and scarf. In his spare hand, he fiddles with his matchbox and gazes blankly into the distance.

"Gerard?"

"Hm?" he asks, shuffling upwards slightly.

I sit myself up to face him. His skin is a pale white; covered by a veil of sleep deprivation and cold.

"So, we've been coming here a lot lately," I say.

He sighs and lets his head fall, so that his greasy hair dangles over his eyes. All I can see of his expression are the corners of his mouth, which begin to slowly upturn.
"Mhm." He nods a little.

"And I guess you could say we've grown closer, in a way, right?"

He raises his head and brushes his hair away from his eyes. He smiles from ear to ear, as if he knows what I'm about to say.

Fuck, he knows.

"I kissed you, Frankie." He giggles. "And you liked it. And we carried on. We've been 'carrying on' or whatever for the past two weeks."

"Oh shit, yeah."

"Anyway, continue."

"Well, anyway, does this like-" I pause, butterflies beginning to form and flutter around my stomach. "Does this mean you're my boyfriend or whatever? Or are we just-"

My stomach churns as I realize what I've just said. I can feel how naive I sound.

He lets out another giggle and wraps his arms around me, kissing me on the forehead.
"It can mean whatever you want it to mean," he mutters softly into my ear.

"Wait, what?"

"I mean- yes. I guess that kind of does mean we're like- a thing, if you want," his words are full of awkward pauses and anxious stutters.

"Okay, cool," I smile, curling back beside him as he wraps his arm around me again.

"Come to think of it, we've never left the graveyard together, have we?" He asks, after a moment of silence.

"Nope."

"You wanna come over to mine?" He runs his fingers through my hair, "You can meet my brother if you want."

"If it's okay with you. I mean- I don't wanna intrude or anything-"

"It's okay, Frankie. Trust me."

"Okay."

"Come on, let's go." He stands up and holds his hand out in front of him, urging me to grab it. He pulls me up from the bench as our fingers interlock. His ink-stained hand is icy against the tips of my fingers, which poke out of the tops of my fingerless gloves.

-

Gerard lives in a narrow, three-storey house in the center of town, sitting between several small shops.

A wave of warmth blasts my face as he opens the front door.

"Hi, Mikey!" he calls out as he takes off his coat and scarf and closes the door behind us. I've actually never seen Gerard in anything but the coat and scarf he wears to the graveyard. It's weird now, seeing him in just a plain black hoodie and skinny jeans. He looks less like a gay spy and more like a goth-y artist.

We walk into the living room and perch on one of the sofas. A younger looking guy, who I assume is Mikey, sits on the opposite couch, his legs slung over one of its arms. "Hey," he says, not looking up from the TV.

"Mikey, uh, this is Frank. He's my boyfriend now, I guess."

He looks me up and down and turns to Gerard, giving him a sarcastic grin. "Oh, Gerard's been telling me all about you!"

"Mikey, shut the fuck up-"

"Yeah, he's been saying you're into all this really cool music and that he thinks you're really precious and cute and-"

The two cut each other off, back and forth, playfully arguing. Gerard's face is flushed bright red with embarrassment. I sink into the corner of my side of the sofa and watch the argument unfold before there's an awkward, splitting silence.

"So, Frank. You wanna go down to my room?" He nudges me as Mikey quietly becomes invested in the TV once again.

I nod, and we walk down to the basement, where Gerard's room spans out across it.

*

"So, how come I've never seen you anywhere else apart from the graveyard?" I ask, sat cross-legged on his bed, flicking through one of his boxes of vinyl.

"Me and Mikey have pretty much always been homeschooled, so I don't get out much," He shrugs. "That's probably why I'm so strange."

"Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, I visit that graveyard basically every day, and my hobbies are lighting matches and writing crappy comic books about vampires and shit. Does that not strike you as unusual, in any way?"

"I guess I just didn't realize how strange it sounds." I let out a humorless laugh. "It doesn't really look weird on you, to be fair. Just seems kinda normal, to be honest."

"Oh, and why's that?"

"Probably because you're sorta goth-y anyway. It just fits."

"Yeah, I get you."

I gaze at Gerard's face as he pulls out another box of records for me to look through. I admire how delicate and unique his features are; how his red eyeshadow-rimmed eyes are like pools of honey in the light; the way their golden-green flecks pull me in. He's fucking gorgeous.