Come, Angels of Unknown

I didn’t know what exactly was happening to him. I had no idea what was in his head and I had no idea what was in mine when I decided to hug him back. It wasn’t really a decision, I practically just followed my reflexes. I was a bit worried by my actions, but I hoped that comforting him wouldn’t cause me trouble. My gut feeling was telling me the opposite, though.
When his sobs finally turned into silent hiccups, I realized that I was [kind of] hugging him in the middle of the street. I shrugged the feeling of embarrassment off knowing that it was my duty to help. I felt like the merciful Samaritan and it seemed really funny to me, considering the fact that I was probably the biggest asshole this world had ever known.

“Would you now tell me what’s the matter?” I forced him to look at me. The hazel of his eyes was red and glassy, never losing the purple tint around them. His lower lip was chapped because he obviously bit it while crying, and his face turned slightly pink, but the abnormally pale color still remained.
His short hair was now messy, the black fringe wet and stuck to his forehead.

“I cannot,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I am scared, I cannot.” He kept shaking his head like he was having a seizure.

“I won’t force you. But I know I can help you,” I said insecurely, although I believed my words were true. He seemed confused.

“I… I shouldn’t trust you,” he whispered, like he was dwelling, “but I feel like I can.”

“Well, I’m not in the position to judge that,” I murmured, not really knowing how to handle this situation.

“I just… If you want me to talk to you, we have to go somewhere safer.” He stepped away and looked around. He seemed really tense and I recognized his behavior but the back of my mind sent a warning to the front signalizing I shouldn't remember why.

“Do you want to come over for coffee or something?” I heard myself saying. I wasn’t controlling myself and a pinch of fear rested in my stomach. This wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t a good shoulder to cry on, and I wasn’t a therapist either. I could only make things worse, I thought.
He looked at me curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“You’d actually invite a crying stranger home?” He smirked a bit. I felt the situation getting slightly calmer and it made me calmer also.

I thought about his question and was about to say that I didn’t know, but I lost control again. “I tend to be nice,” I told him the biggest lie that ever came out of my mouth.

“Okay, I will come over for coffee. Though, you actually seem like the ‘stay away from me’ type of person.” He laughed a bit and the tension briefly disappeared. He seemed really awkward, although he was actually trying to make this conversation more casual and I was thankful for that. I was awkward myself, but only for the first ten minutes, before I would turn my bitchy side on and drive people's urge to hang around off.

“Maybe I am,” I smirked. I didn’t want to show the asshole I actually was, not now and not to him.

I lead the way towards my apartment in an awkward silence. When we came to the entrance of my building, I remembered Mikey. It would be difficult to explain this to him. I had a hard time explaining it to myself, too. I actually didn’t have a fucking clue why I was doing this, and if my mind had any control over my mouth and my body it surely wouldn’t happen in the first place.
I climbed up the stairs with him behind me. I let out a sigh of relief when I realized the door was locked. Mikey never locked the door while inside, leaving me certain of his absence.

I opened the door and let us in, hanging my hoodie on the rack in the narrow hallway. I told him to take a seat in the living room while I changed from my soaked clothes into something more comfortable and less… well, wet. I dragged myself to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I stripped my jeans and t-shirt off, leaving me only in boxers. I grabbed a white, baggy t-shirt and a pair of old sweatpants from my closet. I heard a loud meow when I closed the door of my room and walked down the hallway, followed by an even louder purr.

Milo never liked strangers, he would usually just hiss at them, not having the chance to hurt them with his claws before I moved him away from them. He barely even tolerated Mikey, who called him 'the forever-pissed thin black ball of fur'. I walked into the living room with my hair in a tail, causing Frank to put on a confused smile when I walked into the living room. I saw him snuggling Milo and immediately felt more comfortable around him. Milo was picky, but never wrong.

“What?”

“You look much different.” He smirked awkwardly when I raised an eyebrow. “Not bad, just different.”

"Okay...," I said confusedly, ignoring the tension that filled the room immediately. "I see you've met Milo.”

"His name is Milo?" He cocked an eyebrow, grinning widely.

"What's wrong with ‘Milo’?" I frowned, taking a seat next to him on the couch. Close, but not too close. I was very sensitive when it came to my personal space.

"It's just a bit... funny. I don't know." He smiled and looked at the cat, which was still sucking up to him. "But he's definitely a Milo, though."

"I know he is." I stroked the cat's head and rolled my eyes when he started to snuggle himself in the crook of Frank's neck. The cat went insane for the guy, and Milo was a total hater over any humans who weren't me.

That reminded me of something. Was he a guy? Well, obviously - he was male, well probably a male, you never knew what's in people’s pants, though he looked somewhat young to be called a guy or a man, but I still didn't find 'boy' the best title for him.

"How old are you, Frank?" I asked him, taking his attention off the cat and pointing it to myself.

"Eighteen, nineteen in November," he said casually, still looking at the cat. I was right. Eighteen was, let's say, the line between a boy and a man, and I believed that was the reason I couldn't exclusively place him in any of that categories. When I looked at him closely, it wasn't just his age that made him look younger. In fact, some boys who would come to the record store quite often were younger than him, barely sixteen or seventeen, and they still looked way older than him. He had something boyish within his attitude, along with his thin, short figure and a juvenile face.

"How old are you?" He asked after a few minutes of pause. I cleared my throat.

"Twenty-three," I said. I knew I wasn't old, but I felt it when I was around him. He wasn't childish, in fact he seemed pretty mature for his age; I mean, look at Mikey who was only a year older than he was; but he had something childlike in him.
I had an old person's personality, or as my grandma used to tell me, an old soul.

"You don't look it." He seemed casual when a wave of realization crossed his face. "What's your last name?"

"Way," I said confusedly. I didn't exactly know why he was asking that, but I didn't have a reason not to tell him. "Can I know yours as well, so we can call it a tie?"

"You're kidding," his eyes widened. "You're fucking kidding. But you-. Oh," the shock in his eyes was replaced by a face expression that looked like he just calculated an equation.
When he realized that I was staring at him waiting for an explanation, he continued speaking. "You had a band. You sang in a band. I went to every single one of your Jersey shows when I was younger," he swallowed insecurely. I felt cold sweat covering my forehead when he mentioned the band. I didn't want to talk about the band, and it's been a while since anyone mentioned it to me.

"Oh... well...," I managed to mumble. I wanted to change the subject and change it right away, because I already felt my nerves tightening up, welcoming the old memories that began to flood my head. I blocked them with all the power I had and although it was purely a mental action, it reflected my physical state too. My muscles tensed up and my back curved.

"And it's Iero," he smiled.

"Frank, why were you crying?" I choked out, obviously confusing him as I tried to get my mind off things that weren't meant to be thought about. I built a barricade at the back of my head, holding the unwanted thoughts and causing me a headache.

"You said you were going to make coffee," he avoided the topic with a serious face, a bit of worry sparkling in his eyes, causing me to shiver.

"Fair enough," I said, agreeing since I needed the coffee myself. "But you're going to have to tell me, because the coffee will be worth it," I joked a bit, not even trying to hide the truth in that statement. I wanted to find out what was wrong, as much as I wanted to chase my mind off things. And I was darn good at making coffee.

I went into the kitchen and quickly heated the milk inside two mugs which I poured it in, sipping a spoonful of the beautifully brown-colored dust in each cup. I never understood the people who made their instant coffee with water. It tasted awfully, and the sole thought of it made me want to throw up. I added sugar, a fair amount of it as well, and brought the steaming mugs into the living room, offering him his own.

He muttered a 'thank you' and pulled Milo and the mug closer to him, obviously preparing himself for the story he was about to tell. I couldn't say that I wasn't eager to find out what was wrong and I was hoping it wouldn't be the thing I was aiming for. At one moment I really hoped that he had a skin condition and that all the blood in his face somehow went to the places around his eyes. I almost hysterically laughed at the thought, but I was grateful that the laugh came out as a cough. He suddenly started speaking.

"It’s really not an interesting story. When I was 15, my family... there was an accident," he started and I knew that it wasn't going to end like I hoped it was. "Anyway, some things led to... fights. And fights led to, well," he sighed, weight obviously on his shoulders. I couldn't help the sympathetic look cross my face and I knew how big of a hypocrite I was because of that.

I furrowed my brow.

“Yeah, uhm,” his voice was distant but frightened and I honestly didn’t want to make him tell me. I thought, if he was going to talk about it, then he should’ve said it himself.

“If you ever want to talk about it,” I took another sip from my mug and swallowed, “you can always talk to me.”

“Thanks,” his voice sounded slightly relieved, probably because he realized he wouldn’t be forced to talk about it today. “I might take you up on that one day.”

“I hope that day comes by soon.”

“Maybe.”

We sat like that, mostly in silence or some pointless conversations about the weather, when he suddenly stood up.

“I think I should get going.” He looked at the screen of his phone. “It’s getting late.”
I glanced at the clock as well, and it revealed that it was almost five. Not really late but it probably was for someone with a curfew or something, he hadn't been home for a few hours and he hadn't called anyone, [if he was indeed one of those people] so I didn’t want to disobey that.

“I’ll walk you out,” I followed him to the hallway.

When we were at the door he turned to me before leaving. “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“The coffee and the offer. And the kindness.” He smiled awkwardly. I felt a bit weird for being the good guy, but it wasn’t a really bad feeling so I didn't keep my mind on it for a long time.

“Anytime,” I genuinely said. I was somehow glad I could help and it was the thing so uncommon to feel for the person I usually was. My look followed him down the hallway before I closed the door, sighing loudly.

It was mentally draining, spending time with other people. But, for the first time in a while I didn’t regret talking to someone other than Mikey. And it felt good. Renewing.

I plopped down on my couch, turning the TV on without much purpose. I found some lame movie to watch, simply to kill the boredom that kicked in.
I almost dozed off when I heard the front door slamming.

“Gerard?” Mikey’s voice echoed through the hallway and into the living room, making me snap out of my daydream.

“Yeah?”

“I passed my exam,” he smiled.

“Congratulations, kid,” I threw a pillow at him.

“Thanks, jerk,” he rolled his eyes and sat beside me on the couch. “What are you watching?”

“I honestly have no idea.” I passed him the remote.

“Anything new?” He asked, more out of habit than out of interest, because he knew as well as I did that mostly nothing happened in my life.

I was already planning on replying with ‘nothing’ when I remembered there actually was something significant that happened today.

“Actually, yeah. There is.”

“What?” He seemed a bit surprised, though his eyes still lingered on the TV.

“I made an acquaintance,” I said insecurely, not really certain about the relationship level I had with the boy I’d just met.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Some guy I met at the doctor’s office,” I sighed. He turned his head to face me when he obviously realized my story was more interesting than anything that was currently playing on TV.

“Is he nice?”

“Yeah, very nice actually,” I acknowledged, then furrowed my brow when I realized I said that out loud. “We had coffee.”

“A date coffee or a friendly coffee?” He smirked. I rolled my eyes and sighed a bit.

“A friendly coffee. And I’m not sure it was even that, but he’s not a bad company.”

“What’s his name?”

"Frank.”

"Simple name." Mikey noticed, not really paying attention to the minor insult he treated Frank with. But, simple names weren't necessarily given to simple humans.

“Yeah. I think it’s kind of nice, even. I mean, mine is Gerard and I have to live with that.”

“Poor you.” He rolled his eyes.

“Any plans for this week, champ?” I changed the subject, suddenly feeling just slightly uncomfortable while talking about Frank.

“Not for this one, but Mel asked me to go to Florida with her for a couple of weeks at the beginning of July.”

“Are you going?”

“I don’t know, I wanted to consult with you because I’d have to drive there and it’s not like we have two cars. Are you going to need it?” He looked at me again.

“No, man, you can go. I’m on holiday starting next Sunday so I probably won’t step foot out of the house for three weeks.”

“That ain’t a bad idea, y’ know.”

“I know,” I smirked and turned my eyes towards the television.

I spent the whole rest of the afternoon like that, when my stomach woke up around eight to inform me I was human and I needed food for survival. I dragged myself towards the fridge, barely succeeding at my mission of eating something what wouldn’t make me want to throw the shit up from myself.

I successfully spent the rest of the evening just strolling around the apartment trying to figure out what to do with myself. I barely awaited for some reasonable time I could go to bed and just forget everything my mind was putting me through each minute.

The feeling itself was horrendous, like someone who wasn’t me was controlling my head. And that wasn’t pleasant because I felt like I was compelled. I hated the feeling, I’ve had it there since forever, but I never managed to get rid of it. I tried so hard to eject everything from my mind, I even went so far I drank anti-depressants and other nameless pills just to forget. It’s unnecessary to add it didn’t work.
I’d guessed it was a good thing you couldn’t get a descent buzz of those pills because if you could, I wouldn’t have been lying in bed now with my head inside my pillow, my breathing shallow and unsteady, my head screaming and the window open, so the traffic could scream along. I would’ve been getting high on anti-depressants for a change, and falling asleep happily stoned.

At one point, I simply let my mind go blank as I blacked out into the pillow.

Notes

I'm improving, I think. And if you see some weird names instead of 'Frank' or 'Mikey', I'm afraid that is my fault. Sorry about that.