I don’t think I’d ever felt so normal since that first damn visit to the psychiatrist. Frank treated me like he would anyone else, and I loved every moment of it. He showed me around his house, pointing out essential things like the shower and the coffee-maker, for which I was grateful. I hadn’t had coffee since leaving Momma’s house, and it was the longest I’d even been without a caffeine shot. He laughed at the sound I made when the scalding-hot liquid hit my tongue. Damn, his laugh. It was more of a giggle than anything else; light, bubbly and altogether adorable. Not that I was crushing on him or anything. That was the least helpful thing I could do, since I appeared to be temporarily living with him. I mean, it’s not like he’ll feel the same way, and I didn’t want to make the situation awkward or difficult. A tiny voice in my head kept reminding me of what he’d told me, that he was g ay, too, but I squashed it down. Just because he likes guys doesn’t mean he’ll like me, does it? Kind as he may be, nobody wants to date a head-case. Or a normal person who got labelled as a head-case, in this circumstance. Depressing as that may be, I tried to cling to positives, such as the fact that Frank and I got on like Batman and Robin, except without the cool outfits and weapons. We talked a lot, about any number of subjects. He worked at a music store in town, and had excellent music taste. He also wrote music a little in his spare time, which I found awesomely cool. He refused to show me any of it, though, getting embarrassed when I pestered him. He did let slip that he used to sing in a small-time band, Pencey Prep, and I made a mental note to YouTube them when he wasn’t around. He showed me his guitar, a white Epiphone Les Paul, and told me about all the effort he’d put into saving up for it. We also talked about comics, again he had awesome taste. “Wouldn’t it be awesome to write your own comic?” I mused almost dreamily. He raised his eyebrows. “You draw comics?” he asked. I shrugged, getting shy, and told him that yes, I’d done a little work on my own comic concept. “Dude!” His voice was excited. “Do you have our stuff with you?” I nodded, and he grinned. “Show me!” he demanded. I shook my head.“Aw, come on!” he tugged on my hands. I thought for a moment. “Show me some of your music first.” I countered. He sulked, pouting, and I laughed. “Come on, dude, compromise.” He sighed heavily. “If I sing one of my old songs, will you show me your comic?” I agreed, and he stood up with another heavy sigh, picking up his guitar. I clasped my hands in my lap and watched him expectantly. He took a deep breath, before opening his mouth and beginning to sing. My jaw dropped. He had an absolutely fantastic voice. It was rough and kind of violent, but at the same time musical and rhythmic. But his voice was nothing compared to his playing. He seemed completely at ease with the guitar in his hands, his tattooed fingers moving effortlessly over the strings and creating the most wonderful music I’d heard in a very long time. His lyrics, too, were amazing. “I don't know how you don't choke, on every lie you've ever told to me, you kept me sick, you took it all, you kept me complacent, but not for long.” He brought the song to a close, too early for my liking, and I continued to stare at him long after the strings had finished ringing. He stared back and I noticed a blush beginning to rise in his cheeks. I broke out into applause, and he grinned, placing the guitar carefully back down. “Now,” he said, “Let’s see this comic of yours.” I got up and went to the room he’d given me, and unzipped my bag to pull out the fat sketchbook I’d packed. It had all of my designs in it, my concepts, my storyboards, everything. I’d put a lot of work into this, a result of having too much time on my hands. I hesitantly showed him the drawings and plans I’d made, explaining the plot of the comic and pointing out all the details I’d come up with. He watched and listened with an intense look on his face and I described all the characters, events, and places I’d come up with. When I was finally done, he looked at me. “It’s awesome,” he told me earnestly. “Do you have a name for it?” I shrugged. “I was thinking… Danger Days.” He thought for a second, and then smiled. “Danger Days, I like it!” he ran his fingers over one of my character drawings, Fun Ghoul, tracing the lines of his black and yellow clothes and his long hair. “You, my friend, are going places,” he declared in a grand voice. I laughed, and then sighed. “I wish,” I murmured. He frowned. “Why just wish when you can make it happen?” he asked seriously. I looked down. “Because I can’t make it happen,” I sighed. “Not with my record.” Frank shifted and put an arm round my shoulder. “Gerard, you can get where you want to be. So what if you’re seen as a little bit different? It doesn’t matter to me, and it shouldn’t matter to you. You should be proud of who you are.” I smiled at his words, and turned to face him. I’d never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. I studied his lips wistfully, wishing I had the guts. I was so lost in thought I almost didn’t notice them moving closer to mine.

Notes

New update :) and i know, it's a mean place to end but oh well, the next part will be up real soon. Like the new banner? I made it myself today, first one I've ever done. Keep commenting, I love reading them! Paranoia Violence out xø