The Mistake

It was a particularly cold night in the Way basement. Four boys sat huddled before a small coffee maker, one of which was appropriately dressed in a heavy sweatshirt and socks, while the others were waving their hands in front of the pot.
The feeling of bliss inside Gerard was ineffable. He never knew much about coffee, but now that he had it, he didn't think he'd be able to live without it again. He didn't care much for the cheap beer his visitors had brought; it had an unpleasant bitter taste that burned the back of his throat. He had passed it off for another cup of liquid gold. Frank had warned him he wouldn't be able to sleep, but why would he when he had actual friends -- real people! -- to talk to?
Bob flicked open a lighter, which was almost immediately snatched from his hand by none other than Gerard. He gingerly rolled his thumb over the flint wheel, letting the flame dance in the eerie silence. Frank let his head fall on the pyromaniac's shoulder, gazing at the fire adoringly. It reminded him of Gerard, in a way. So small and innocent in itself, but also so unpredictable and dangerous. It could be warming one moment and--
"Anyone else hear the inner monologue?"
That's it! Good luck finding another narrator who'll take this shit.
--Technical Difficulties--
...I better get a fucking raise.
Gerard let his head drop gently onto Frank's. He moved his left hand around the flame, making it wiggle lightly. He didn't see anything wrong with his display of affection; being locked in a basement for almost fourteen years will do that to a person. Ray and Bob exchanged another look, but stayed silent and took a simultaneous sip of beer-in-a-can.
The darkness seemed to scream "TROUBLE", while the dusty light filtering in through the window quietly murmured "I have a knife" while pacing the length of the room.
"Hey Gerard?" Frank muttered after Bob and Ray had nodded off. The half-asleep boy hummed lightly. "Will you come out with me some day?"
"Yeah, Frankie, I will," he whispered, pulling himself away from Frank and crawling onto the bed behind him. He reached down and pulled on Frank's sleeve, motioning for him to climb on the bed. The shorter boy did so, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was buzzed, he could tell. His thoughts weren't quite as rational as they should have been. "You know, you'll have to leave before Harriet comes in." His breathe was tickling Frank's neck, making him shiver pleasantly and smile sloppily.
"We'll take care of it later," he slurred quietly, curling around Gerard. He had always been a mildly affectionate person and, with the mixture of alcohol and Gerard's body heat, he was practically a leech.
Gerard nodded tiredly and closed his eyes. His ration brain was already asleep, leaving him with raw, unadulterated thoughts. There weren't many of those, considering it was four a.m. and Frank was warm as hell. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't slept well for the past few weeks. The voices had gotten kind of loud just three weeks before he had meet his cuddly friend, and as he fell off the cliff into something that resembled a coma, he thought, I can't scratch my foot.
How fucking thoughtful, Gerard. Jesus H.

Notes

Yep, shorter than normal. I got that. But fuck you picky shitheads, I'm tired.
And that was the bitchy narrator speaking. She's a hoot, huh? She's actually just me when I'm grumpy. Frankly, she's actually just me. But yeah, I'm really tired and I know it's later and shorter than normal. I'll update twice tomorrow, if I can be that creative. Time to watch more Comedy Central.
Weird Google of the Day: Phrase: "How do you...?"
UGH, no one does this.
Comment and subscribe and shit.
-Stitches