Follow me home (Frerard)

In this moment we can't close the lids on burning eyes

Gerard's POV

(Two months later)

Arms drape around my neck, clasping together at the nape of my neck and sending chills down through my spine. My heart beats loud in my ears, sounding distant and echoed though it drowns most of the other sound out. In the background, music plays softly. It reverberates in my mind, swirling around, encompassing me, and making me feel dizzy. The good kind of dizzy. At first, it's nothing but a tune, mere guitar catching and mesmerizing. And then a voice. His voice and his words.

These are the eyes and the lies of the taken
These are their hearts but their hearts don't beat like ours

There's a part of my brain that recognizes the song, recalling the night when Frank first sent it to me. Just another song among many others he's written and performed for me, posting it on YouTube for the entire world to see, and adding a "for Gerard" at the end.

Now, I can barely focus on the song. Instead, all of my attention is on it's creator; The shorter man stands before me, pink lips stretched into a grin and beckoning to me. But I can't move, it's like I can't even feel my body anymore. His arms wrap around my neck, my own hands somehow settling on his hips, while he sways back and forth. My body only follows the movement.

Are you thinking of me
Like I'm thinking of you?

Frank giggles suddenly, an addicting and captivating sound, and ducks his head. "You know why I came here, right?" He wonders as his hazel eyes meet mine.

I swallow down the lump that arises in my throat, not managing an answer. I shake my head.

"I wanted to see you." Frank bites onto his lip ring and I feel his arms tighten around my neck, pulling me closer. His breath hits my parted lips when he sighs softly, stirring up a pleasant storm in my stomach. "I came here because I need you, Gee."

I can't think. I can't breathe. I can't feel anything anymore aside from the overwhelming urge to press forward and pull him in, lock his lips with mine and tangle my hands in his hair and never let go.

But, even as he leans in closer, our lips never meet. A ringing slams through my head, striking through my body like electricity and pulling me in a dizzy haze away from dream Frank and back into reality.

I'm lying in bed, my bare chest slick with a sheen layer of sweat, and the blankets twisted uncomfortably around my legs. My alarm clock sounds to my left and I groan, rolling over to shut it off and taking note that it's only nine in the morning.

Sighing heavily, I lean back onto my pillow and close my eyes. I will my unconsciousness to take control again and drag me back into my previous dream with Frank, but nothing happens. The mattress creaks underneath me and my bladder begins to protest and eventually I'm forced to get out of bed.

Twenty minutes later, I find myself perched in the center of my bed, sketchbook in my lap and scribbling a new picture of Frank, this time accompanied by a cartoon that looks similar to myself. Like in my dream, Frank has his arms wrapped around my neck and music notes flutter around the pair on the paper. When I'm finished with that, I sketch out another quick one. It's set up the same as the other, but in this drawing, the cartoon characters are kissing.

I finally toss the sketchbook onto the bed a few hours later and decide that there is no way in hell I am showing either of those to Frank.

Around one in the afternoon, I decide to emerge from my bedroom in search of food. It's Saturday so it shouldn't surprise me when I see Bob in the kitchen; With no classes on the weekend, it's normal to see each other around the apartment. I've even gotten quite used to seeing Jamia around the house. What does surprise me is when I realize Bob has Jamia's smaller frame pinned to the kitchen table and is currently attempting to unhook her bra, thankfully still under the shirt.