Prom Fever

I spend a lot of time in the shower that morning, partially because of my jumbled thoughts, and also due to the amount of time I donate to distracted masturbation.
It seems I masturbate more and more these days. When I was fourteen, boy, I felt pretty confident my libido had peaked. Just as it was starting to mellow itself out the way it’s supposed to, I have to go and fall for my best friend.
Basically, Gerard is the direct cause of my excessive masturbation. I mean, it’s not like I think about him when I do it or anything, but… he just… it’s hard to be around him for how many hours and try to never be turned on.
I head downstairs, expecting Gerard to be at least considering getting out of bed at this point. Alas, he’s still asleep, one socked foot hanging off the mattress and his arm wedged between the bed and his wall.
I groan, returning to the floor for lack of better activity. I go through my phone for a while, staying there until Gerard’s alarm finally goes off.
The drowsy fuck takes about five minutes to get up and turn his alarm off. Even then, he stumbles back to bed and falls beneath the covers.
“Oh no you don’t,” I mutter, rising. I reach over Gerard and shake him, ordering, “Get up.”
Gerard moans sleepily, swatting at me weakly. “Five more minutes.”
I refuse to take that as an answer, shaking him harder. “Come on, Gerard.”
Gerard groans, complaining, “Get off me.”
I tear his blanket off of him, tossing it to the floor. Watching him reach for it blindly and then proceed to panic, he finally wakes up shivering.
“Morning, sunshine,” I greet, tossing the comforter back at Gerard.
“Ugh,” Gerard grumbles, sitting up slowly. “How are you up already?”
“I woke up kind of early,” I admit. “Couldn’t sleep very well.”
Gerard frowns. “Why not?”
I shrug, lying, “Just one of those nights.”
Gerard stretches his arms over his head, deciding, “I guess I’ll get up, too.”
“You’ll never guess who I saw this morning,” I share.
Swinging his legs over his mattress and standing, Gerard asks, “Who?”
He crosses the room and starts digging through his dresser for clothing. I follow him, telling, “Pete Wentz.”
Gerard stops. “What was Pete doing here?”
“I dunno,” I reply honestly. “But in all honesty, he was probably fooling around with Mikey.”
Gerard sputters, “Uh- you can’t know that for sure!”
“Gerard, he was sneaking out in his underwear,” I reason. “He had to be.”
Gerard shakes his head, mumbling, “Damn kids.”
He goes up to shower, leaving me alone in his room for a while. Already bored of my phone, I lean over Gerard’s bed, peering at everything pinned up on his bulletin board.
Everything and anything is tacked to that thing. Letters, sheets of stickers, old candy grams, coupons, receipts, sheet music, photos, you name it. Amongst the mess, there is one particular thing that always sticks out, a shitty older photo of Gerard and I from first grade. It’s only shitty because of the camera grade; the picture is washed out, underdeveloped, grainy, and all the like. But the content of the photo itself is priceless; it shows Gerard up on my shoulders right as we tip over. Gerard loves the photo, and he always jokes about doing a fifteenth anniversary retake, but we both know our expressions are something that cannot be replicated.
Brining myself up the stairs, I paw halfheartedly through the Ways’ cabinet, not totally in the mood to eat. Rarely enough, I eat only because I have to, not because I want to.
I dig out a box of cereal and fix myself a bowl, making myself comfortable at their dining room table.
Gerard joins me after some time, and Mikey is the last to finally stomp down the steps and fill his traveling mug with black coffee.
“So,” I begin, taking another bite of my now soggy cereal. “What were you up to last night, Mikes?”
Mikey squints. “Nothing, why?”
“That’s funny,” Gerard mentions. “Because Frank here actually bumped into Pete this morning.”
Mikey about chokes on air, stammering, “W-what?”
“He has a nice body, Mikey,” I joke. “Of course, it’s easy to tell when he’s trying to slip off into the night wearing nothing but his skivvies.”
Mikey buries his head into the table, murmuring, “That fucking dork, I told him to get dressed beforehand.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Gerard chuckles.
Mikey nods, confessing, “We’re dating, okay? There.”
“Are you guys going to prom?” Gerard pries. “I mean, Pete’s a junior and all. You could get matching tuxes or something, that could be cute.”
“Jesus, stop riding my dick,” Mikey growls. He grabs his mug, rushing outside. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”
Gerard rolls his eyes, and I mumble, “Kids these days.”
Gerard giggles, brushing off his hands before rising to follow Mikey. I do the same, trotting slightly to keep up with Gerard’s longer strides.
Anytime I get the chance that day, I shoot Pete a knowing look followed by a wink. It never fails to make him blush and break eye contact. It’s by far the most entertaining asset I’ve had in a long time.
That in itself makes for a pretty good morning. Well, a fair morning. I mean, Gerard’s still going to prom and I’m still not the one to take him and that sucks. At least I have the comfort knowing that I can practically have Pete flustered on demand.
The point is, the day is shaping up alright by the time I get to lunch. Just as I remark about the day’s quality, that’s when it comes crashing down. I’m always one to jinx good things, and I fuck up majorly in this aspect that day.
That is, I approach my lunch table feeling all smitten and whatnot, not even realizing that Lyn-Z is all but in Gerard’s lap in my seat.

Notes

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