And You Don't Know A Thing About This Life

Frank's POV

The minute I woke up, Gerard pushed a coffee mug to my chest, filled with the hot liquid. I smiled and thanked him. "Frank, I'm making pancakes. That okay?" Oh my fucking god. It just occurred to me that my art teacher is making me pancakes. And I'm in his home. I've only really talked more than five words to him yesterday, and he was already making me breakfast and sharing his beloved coffee with me. "Yessir, Mr. Way."

He raised a brow. "How many times do I have to say this? Call me Gerard or something. I'm not that old. Just in my twenties, that's all."

"But you must speak politely to your elders..." I blabbered on.

"Stop fucking preaching me!" Gerard laughed. " I'm not a priest or sensei or any of that so just call me Gerard."

Gerard started to prepare the pancake mix until the doorbell rang unexpectedly. He stopped his progress and answered the door to a tall and sleek teenager with dirty blonde hair and thick rimmed glasses that he wore at the tip of his nose. He introduced us. "Mikey, Frank. Vice versa."

Mikey smiled and said, "Hello." I smiled back.

"Hey Frank," Gerard handed me a plate of pancakes. "Your brother Darrell called and really wants you home."

My smile faded away. I was going home. No.

"Do I have to?" I pouted.

"I'm not going to shoo your family from our friendship," he chuckled. "Let's go."

I frowned and didn't move a muscle. I didn't want to go back. I couldn't go back. No. But, Gerard had lured me into his car with his kind words and I found myself at my doorsteps.

Darrell was there, and he opened the door. watching as Gerard's car left the scene.

"What the fuck were you doing yesterday?" he questioned.

"Hanging with a friend." Or a teacher. Same thing.

"Faggots like you don't have friends."

"Who's to say that?"

His knee went hurtling to my stomach where I yelped in agony. He wasn't finished. He was never finished

I want to go home. This isn't home, this will never be home. Home is where someone cares about you and makes sure you're okay and loves you and...and my home is with my art teacher.

That isn't awkward. That isn't awkward at all.

Notes

new chapter c: