Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[19]

a/n: get ready, lads ! also, maybe leave a comment or somethin ? again, it'd be nice to see your reactions with this one.

-

Frank's POV

-

I lightly pluck at the strings of my guitar, resting it against my lap as I sit on my bed.

Gerard is cross-legged on the floor, searching through the reams of half-written songs I keep in a box under the bed, usually hidden away so that my parents can't see it.

They're out of the house this weekend. They travelled down to New York to meet up with some distant cousin or some shit, so they left the house to me, seeming unusually trusting about it. I promised them I'd sit and study until they get back the following morning.

So, Gerard is here. He thinks my family's customs are fucking weird, but I'm not too surprised. I do too.

"Holy shit, some of these are... really fucking good." He admires the sheet of paper he's holding, smoothing it out against the floor with his hands. "I can totally see why you'd wanna be in a band. You have some really great materials to work with here."

"Thank you, baby." I grin. "I could play you something, if you'd like?"

He nods eagerly, and I begin to strum a little tune, going off one of the songs I've written.

The words aren't exactly perfect, but I sing them anyway. Gerard sways in time with the music, smiling politely.

When I finish, he just blushes. "That was amazing, Frankie. I love you so much." He stands up and kisses me lightly, before sitting back onto the floor

"I love you too!" I smile. "You're so cute."

"No, you are!" He laughs.

"You sound like we're in some sort of movie."

"I know." He says, "So, have you ever written any songs about me, maybe?"

"I might have done that... a few times. I shall never reveal them, though. Not until the time is absolutely right." I smile. My plan is to play them for him when something big happens in our relationship, like- if I ever get the chance to propose to him, or if we've been together for a really long time.

"Okay. And when's that 'right time' going to be?"

"Well, I can't tell you that- not yet, anyway. That would ruin-"

"I miss you." He says, suddenly.

What the fuck?

I quirk a brow in confusion, watching him close his eyes; a blank expression taking form on his face.

"Baby?"

He says nothing for a few moments. Like a statue, he sits in the middle of the floor, his face unchanging, his body locked in position; set in stone.

"Baby... speak to me." I begin to panic a little.

"It's been four months. We all miss you." It's almost as though I can see tears, gently streaming down his face. The tone in his voice is unusually mournful. He looks like he did in my dream- the one I had before I'd even met him.

A boy with long, jet-black hair and teal roots is on his knees, crying into his hands. I can't seem to get a good look at his face, but he seems fucking distraught.

"Gee, s-stop it. This isn't funny," I say, shakily.

"I wish you could wake up and see that I'm right beside you. I've been here the whole time..."

"No, no, no- please. Gerard, you know this shit scares me. Quit acting like I'm dying... please- you know I'm terrified of death." I can feel myself beginning to cry as I watch him, rocking back and forth, sobbing expressionlessly. It's like he's possessed.

"Wake up, baby."

"I'm awake! Please, stop it!"

I turn around to place my guitar back on its stand before I begin to spiral into an even more panicked state. Although, when I shift my eyes back onto Gerard, everything seems... normal.

It's like I've hallucinated the entire thing.

He's sitting on my floor, just rummaging through the box of songs again.

"What the fuck was that?" There's a quiver in my voice.

"What?"

"I said- what the fuck was that? What were you talking about just then?"

"I was saying how much I love how you write your songs. Are you okay, Frankie? You look really panicked."

"Stop it! You're still scaring me, baby!"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, Frank- are you sure you're alright? You can lie down if you'd like, I- I'll make you a drink, and-"

"I said I'm fine! Stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about, please!"

"What did I do?"

"You- you just- I can't believe you!"

"Baby..." He gets up to sit beside me as I tremble in fear; curled up into a ball, letting myself sob quietly.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

We're both crying in frustration and panic, merely confused at one another.

He keeps switching from asking me what's wrong, to acting like I'm dead all over again.

Why? Why is he doing this to me?

"Please, just get out," I say, pointing towards the door.

His face contorts to a sympathetic expression, the confusion in his eyes switching to anguish and sorrow. "Take your time, I believe in you, baby." He sighs, "I think the drugs are wearing off again."

"Get out!" I scream, "This isn't funny! You're just scaring me, Gee- I just want to talk to you about it, but you keep acting like nothing's happening."

His face changes again, switching back to the frustrated, confused look in his eyes once more. "Frank, I swear to fucking god, I'm not saying anything- I just told you I love you..."

"Fuck off!"

He runs down the stairs, making a beeline to the front door, burying his head in his hands.

Am I going crazy, or is this just some sort of sick joke that's being played on me?

His voice rings in my head.

"I think the drugs are wearing off again."

"I think the drugs are wearing off again."

"Wake up, baby"

"Wake up, baby"

Wake up from what, though?

I pinch my arm, hesitantly, making sure I actually am awake. Nothing happens. Just a slight pain.

If I'm awake, then what the fuck is he talking about?