Turn Off The Dark (Frerard)

Part Eleven

-Frank's POV-

Another week dragged by before I saw Gerard again. To my great surprise (and delight), he trekked down to the lobby at about one in the morning and walked right up to the desk. He actually startled me, as I'd been sitting with my feet kicked up, reading.

"Hopkins?"

"Gerard!" My face erupted in blushing color as I quickly sat upright, even more hastily stowed the book.

He giggled.

I marveled at the sound. Gerard don't seem like the type that laughed- ever- much less giggled, but there was the sound, emanating from him, high, slightly feminine, and oh so adorable. Son of a bitch.

"You don't have to be embarrassed" he said, looking down.

I'd been reading a book written in the form of free verse poetry. That alone, coupled with the fact that I was male, was plenty to be humiliated over, according to stereotypes and so-called gender roles. 'Boy' and 'poetry' were never meant to mix.

"I've read that book too" Gerard offered.

I glanced up at him, offered a half-hearted smile, then said, "Come sit down," more out of the instinct to be polite than anything else.

"Frank, I sit all day, every day." Gerard let that sad truth hang in the stagnant air for a long moment

"Uh.. what's up?" I was notoriously bad with conversation. Gerard looked down again and shuffled his feet a little.

"Well, actually.. I was kind of wondering just why you seem to be so interested in me."

"What?"

Oh, dear God. Here it came. The 'are you gay or something' conversation, the one that ha opened me up to so much torture and humiliation in school, on the streets.

"I don't know.. stupid question" Gerard mumbled, and inched away.

"No! No please, please don't start that social anxiety loner thing and go upstairs again and clam up and start talking, I actually like you and I actually don't care about anything you think could be embarrassing."

It all came tumbling out of my mouth at once, sounding jumbled and teen-girlish and unintelligent, but it was enough to stop him. Gerard raised his eyebrows.

"That's what you think." He scratched his arm underneath his hoodie.

"That's what I know." Dammit, Frank, scale back, scale back! You're making it so fucking obvious! Why don't you just stick a sign that says "I'm gay" on your forehead and parade around that way?

But Gerard smiled. Barely, but it was there.

"If you say so."

After an hour's worth of gentle persuasion, I managed to engage Gerard in light conversation- about books, art, music- and found that he was not only intelligent but witty as well, if you could get him to speak long enough.

I also took note of his face- the way his eyes shined, his eyebrows moved, the lusciousness of his hair, his cupid's bow lips, the positively stunning animation in his face with every smile, every breath, frown or nod of understanding.

It was then that I realized just how much I wanted to lean forward across the desk and kiss him.

This was going to be a problem.

---

Gerard's visits became regular occurrences over the next few weeks. We talked about anything and everything, more and more, convinced him to open up to me.

From these late night talks, I learned his full name, Gerard Arthur Way, and that he was nineteen, just two years older than me. I learned his dream had been art school. I learned that he missed his brother Mikey, that he hadn't seen any family since moving here. That he had issues. He wouldn't elaborate on them, just said that they were the reason he kept to himself.

"I still want to see your art" I professed one day. Gerard rolled his eyes.

"It really isn't great."

"I'll bet it is."

"You're so demanding." He launched a rubber band at me, which went wide by about six feet.

"Please?" I wasn't about to give up. Stubbornness was in my nature, thanks to the rampant Italian blood in me.

"Fine. Tomorrow. Just come up to my place." Gerard sounded slightly reluctant, but I had won. Fuck yes. I grinned.

"Will do, Gerard."

"Alright, Frank."