….“Sorry I didn’t finish it- if only you came an hour or so later… I spent the whole night working on it, all the notes online were fucked up so I had to write my own,” he explains.

Gerard’s POV

Two months later.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Frank asks, sounding a bit concerned. He almost stutters in the middle of the sentence, and I can hear his tongue fumble in his mouth. He’s nervous, maybe even scared, and I’m the cause. A proof to this is his hand, which has landed on my shoulder and the palm of which is slightly moist and cold with sweat. His hands are usually dry.

I shiver a bit, wrapping my arms around myself and shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to look in the exact direction where his voice is coming from. My eyes run all over the place, kind of hoping that my vision will suddenly clear up and I’ll see him- maybe for just a second. A second would be so enough.

I’ve started getting used to not wearing glasses around him- I don’t feel as weak and exposed anymore. I feel almost equal to him, and I’ve even come to the realization that I’m, in fact, superior to him in some things. I can feel emotions, taste, smell, hear and sense surfaces better than most people, including him. He, comically, can’t smell anything at all. Some defect from his childhood, he told me. It makes me feel like I know something he doesn’t. A secret he holds is how the world looks, and the secret I hold- how the world smells. It probably doesn’t bother him much though- you can live without odours, sometimes it’s an advantage, even. Having non-functional eyes is a completely different story, it’s never an advantage and most certainly not something you’d call “cool”. You can hardly walk on your own. Sometimes bitter jealousy overwhelms me, but I try to not give it its way. It’s easy to get carried away with jealousy. It’s toxic.

I’m continuing to grow apart from my glasses, which were the reason Frank even came up to me in the first place all those months ago, asking me if I was some kind of douchey Casanova dude seeing a therapist to become a better person. It feels light to not have them constantly sit heavily on my nose, reminding me of my isolation. Also, him telling me I have pretty eyes is ridiculously flattering. From what I know, they look like somebody has spilled milk on them, creating a white, transparent veil. Frank said that they look like the kind of eyes a forest elf would have.

“Yeah, totally, just… My mom can’t know about this, okay?” I finally reply to him, smiling.

“And what if she finds out?” Frank inquires. First she’ll kill you, Frank, then me, I think to myself, but say a completely different thing.

“Well, you won’t tell her, right?”

“Your mom is like Dumbledore, she knows everything. You know, it’s great that you’re willing to do this and everything, but I still feel like we should talk to her first,” Frank blows cigarette smoke into my face, and I struggle to contain the coughs. He smokes a lot, at least two death sticks a day, and it sometimes bothers me. Especially when he finds it acceptable to intoxicate me with his breath.

“I’m only going to be backstage, Frank. Please,”

“Dude, I really want you to go, trust me, I’m just scared of your mom,” so, the reason to his wet hands and his nervousness is my mom. It makes sense.

I laugh sharply in response. “I’m 24, Frank, I can decide stuff on my own. Being blind doesn’t make me a man-child,”

Frank sighs loudly, and the smoke fills my lungs again. It clouds my eyes, it bites and stings. I blink several times, but the sensation doesn’t lessen.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I’m glad you’re gonna be there,”

***

“I have an announcement!” Frank shouts into the mic, almost immediately silencing the crowd. He hits the strings of his guitar, making it scream. Their drummer continues softly playing, as if adding a beat to his words. Now only several individual voices are heard, and those soon stop, too. Frank’s own breath is hitched, and he struggles for it with every word.

“I have an announcement,” he repeats, as if to assure the unresting audience. “A very important person is at the show tonight, whom I’ve known for almost a year,” he takes a long breath before continuing:” And i haven’t regretted a single minute spent with him,”

He talks quickly but clearly, and several loud cheers interrupt his speech. He quietly laughs at the reaction into the mic. “That person is my best friend,” he finishes, and I hear the smile in his voice. I can almost see it, in fact. I can imagine it in my head- just a floating mouth, lips spread wide and teeth showing.

“Where is he?!” a new, male voice rings in the room, and it’s supported by several others. Frank ignores it, not wanting to answer for whatever reason. I don’t bother thinking about it.

“And I’m really, really happy he could make it tonight,” he finally utters, letting the crowd erupt into more cheers.

***

“They are assholes for most part, but at least they know how to read notes,” Frank says as we walk out of the building, his hand gripping my elbow and leading me forward, as usual. He allowed me to wear glasses tonight, and I can understand why- there are so many people, and they all keep approaching him to talk. None of them ask for an autograph, they simply try to start up a casual conversation with him. They try to discuss everything- from his favorite beer brand to the current political situation. Some of them sound intoxicated, and Frank politely brushes them off, his grip on me tightening. It’s reassuring.

“But that dude- Brian, on the drums - always goes off the beat. You could probably hear it, right?”

“Sometimes,” I agree. “Why don’t you just get rid of him?”

“The rest of the guys will slaughter me in my sleep if I lay a finger on him. He knows where to get weed, they’d rather kick me out than him,”

“Well, if you find a cocaine dealer, maybe they’ll change their minds,” I joke.

“True, I’ll think that option over,” Frank laughs, and I smile.

We’ve exited the building, and everything around us is quiet again. The fresh night air is chilly, sneaking under my jacket and T-shirt, caressing my skin. I hear occasional cars passing by as we walk on and the far-away police sirens going off..

“Hey, I asked your mom, she said you can stay over at my place tonight,” Frank says after about two minutes of peaceful silence that didn’t seem to bother either of us. “Do you wanna go somewhere? A cafe?”

“Aren’t you tired?” I ask him, raising my eyebrows.

“No, not really. I’m used to it. Plus, I could really use a beer right now,”

“Sure,” I say then, and we slightly increase our pace. I think about my own stuff- about Frank singing on stage with his band, the freedom I felt, even though I was only backstage. I imagined what it would be like to be in the actual crowd- sweaty, stuffy and noisy.

Suddenly, the familiar smoke attacks me again, clouding my mind and thoughts, dusting my lungs.

“Are you smoking?” I turn my head towards Frank, feeling the toxic odour all around me, even heavier now. He undoubtedly is.

“Yeah,” he replies shortly. I think for a second, trying to evaluate what I’m about to say and do. It probably isn’t the right thing, but I can’t help it. What’s so great about these cigars?

“Can I… can I try?” I ask shyly, almost regretting the words.

“Smoking?” I nod wordlessly. “Sure,” Frank replies, and his hand closes around my wrist. He lifts it up, and I feel something smooth, long and round slide in between my fingers.

“Hold it tight,” he suggests, and I carefully tighten my grip on the cigar. Frank releases my wrist, and I hesitate.

“Just put the tip in your mouth and suck in,” he tells me, as if he’s teaching a five year old to smoke.

“I know, I remember,”

I put it in between my lips, and immediately feel that the end is slightly moist from Frank’s mouth. I wait for a second, getting used to the sensation before sharply breathing in. The next second a dry, burning, bitter taste fills my mouth and starts choking me.

“Holy-” I croak out, quickly taking out the cigar and bending over in a cough. I feel Frank take it away from me as he giggles. He slaps my back two times as I struggle for breath.

“How was it?” he asks when I finally straighten my back. I turn to face him, my eyes watering slightly.

“Horrible. How can anyone enjoy this?”

Frank laughs again, a bit louder this time.

“Well, I guess it’s just not for everybody,” he says, and I hear his smile. It appears in front of me in tones and notes, colors from my childhood, disturbing the infinite darkness that I’m surrounded with.

***

“Can I have another drag?” I ask Frank as we settle on the couch and he goes through his DVD case, choosing a movie. I lean against his shoulder, tucking my feet under me.

“Sure,” he says again and places yet another cigar in my hand.

No matter how much it stings, how dizzy it makes me and how disgusting the aftertaste is- I finish it.

Notes

is anyone still enjoying this