Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[17]

a/n: hi !! sorry for the late chapter- this hasn't been very fun to write, to be honest. i hope you enjoy it though.

i promise the pace picks up again within the next few chapters ! ;)

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Frank's POV

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"I love you, Gee."

"I love you too, Frank." He bends down to kiss me on the forehead, before wrapping his black and gray scarf around both of our necks, locking us together.

I giggle, before resting my head against his chest as we sit on the bench in the graveyard.
It's been a while since our last graveyard visit. A month has gone by, and we've spent most of the time at Gerard's house.

Yet again, my parents are still blissfully unaware of my relationship with Gerard. I'm scared of telling them anything at the moment, in fear that they'll throw me out of the house.

Gerard runs his fingers through one of the overgrowing blonde sides of my hair, playing with his matchbox in the other hand.

"What's the deal with the matchbox thing, anyway? It always confuses me." I look down at the box as it rattles in his hand.

"I don't really know." He shrugs. "I guess they were to stop me from smoking and shit like that. I try not to actually light the matches because, well- I don't wanna set someone on fire, but I guess they give me a little distraction from stress. I like the little noise they make when I shake the box. Calms me down."

"Oh, I get that."

"Yeah."

Gerard wraps me in his arms again and kisses the top of my head. I feel so tiny when I'm with him. I can literally sit on his lap and apparently I'm so small he doesn't even feel my weight. I can't tell whether that's true, though.

"Oh, hey, I brought something." He shuffles up and unwraps the scarf from around both of us. He reaches into the inside of his coat and pulls out a book- its cover smooth and encased in black leather. Held on top of it by his thumb is a tin of art pencils. "I thought I'd sit and draw something whilst we were here."

"Fuckin' sick!" I grasp the book from Gerard's hands and flick through the pages, admiring how delicate his artwork is.

"Wait, Frankie, don't-"

"Oh my god, look at this shit, Gee- you're amazing. You could be a professional artist or something."

"Thank you." He blushes, giggling. "Yeah, being an actual artist is kinda my aim..."

"Really? That's so cool!"

"Yeah. Gonna get myself a job at the comic book store, make a bit of a living out of that and then somehow try and make it as an artist or whatever."

"That'd be so fucking rad!" I exclaim. It would be so cool having an artist for a boyfriend. That's the kind of shit you'd tell people when you first meet them, and they start being all like 'wow, really?' and then Gerard would get all blush-y and embarrassed and then I'd tell them about what he does and-

"It's just hard to live off making art, though. I'd have to work for some massive corporation." He looks disappointed.

"Damn. It'll work out though, right?"

"I hope. I don't really like planning out my life and all that, but I think roughly what I wanna do is become an artist, get myself a house and then maybe settle down, you know? Maybe start a family or something..."

"Amazing. I hope I'll be with you too when all of that happens." I laugh, "I wanna be in a punk band. It probably won't work out as a career, but it'd be cool. I mean- I'm good enough at guitar."

"Sounds edgy. I could design your merch," Gerard jokes.

He kisses me lightly on the cheek and grins.
God, I love him so much.

Turning back to the sketchbook, I flick to a random page and stare at it; studying the delicately drawn lines that dance across the paper, fine-lined in thick, black ink. It's me.

I'm sat in a tree branch, my legs dangling from it. I look as though my head is resting against the trunk.
He's got me spot-on. From my facial features to the way I always cross my legs when I'm sitting down.

"This is beautiful, Gee. It's so accurate."

"Thank you, baby."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

We sit in silence for a moment, my head on Gerard's shoulder.

"I've just realized something," he says.

"What?"

"It's been three months now since we first met here." He smiles. "I remember that night so clearly. I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Wait- that means it's been just over three months that I first had that daydream- the one where I was standing at my own funeral; where I saw Gerard.
I'm still constantly questioning why I saw him there. I'd never even met him at that point.

"Woah, that's weird. Time's gone fast," I reply. "I couldn't stop thinking about you either..."