It's Not a Fashion Statement

Gerard's POV
After a well-spent afternoon, we decide to go home early so that I can continue with a suit I’m working on in my home office. I think Frankie will look amazing in it; I know he’s going to love it so much. I think I will really suit his style; he’s just going to look amazing.
It’s the final piece of my line, and I think I’m going to call it ‘the black parade’.
It’s a parade jacket, black with white stripes on, almost like skeleton bones. The trousers are tight and have a white line running down either side of them. I have an assortment of the jackets planned; the first one is plain black and waist length, with plain black sleeves. The other is black with white stripes on the sleeves, and another is a longer version of the first with a medal on.
The collars are up and the sleeves are cuffed with white lines and white buttons. There is also two more, one sort of like the first, though more detail on the front stripes. Then, the last is like a coat, it’s quite long, only has a few stripes on the front and has a hood-like collar. I’m not too sure if I’m going to use all of them, as I don’t know whom else I can find to model them. I would love to though; I think it’ll be a really good image to round the whole line off with. If I manage to pull it off, it’ll look amazing.

“Gee, we have nothing in. I was going to cook for us, but there are no ingredients. I’m going to nip out to the shop, do you want anything in particular whilst I’m there?” Frankie shouts from the other room.
“Why don’t I come with you? Or we can get a take away-“
I sigh, putting my pencil down onto my desk and running a hand through my hair.
Frankie joins me in my office, wrapping his arms around my stomach from behind me.
“I can get food by myself. You have stuff to do, stay here baby.”
“Frankie it’s late, I don’t want you walking in the dark to the shop and-“
“Gerard stop being over protective. The shop is a five-minute walk around the corner, it’s only half nine, and I’ll be perfectly fine, all right? Now, is there anything I can get you whilst I’m out?”

I huff in defeat, a funny feeling telling me to go with him. I know nothing will happen and I’m just being ridiculous, over protective. He’s seventeen, he’s not a five-year-old Gerard, and you’re not his mother.
“I’m alright. Just don’t be long okay, baby?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure thing, mom.” He smirks and rolls his eyes, as I pull him into a kiss.
“Jesus Gerard I’m going on a ten minute trip to the corner shop not a vacation for half a year. Let go and let me get some pasta you big idiot.”
I let go and shout bye as he leaves through the door. I stare out the window, a big pit of regret settling in my stomach. Is this what it’s like sending your kid to their first day to school?

It’s pitch black outside, what if he gets lost? He doesn’t even have a phone, oh god, what if he gets run over, or mugged, or even worse stabbed if he takes a short cut down and alley or beat up or what if someone has a gun and-
Breath. Just breath.
I shakily pick up my pencil to start sketching, but awful, horrific thoughts crowd my head.
Sure, he’s been to the shop plenty of times with me; I don’t doubt he knows his way around by now. But, it’s dark and he’s by himself, and he’s so small and fragile and such a little idiot. Oh god, what have I done? He’s still a kid, technically. Gerard you’re letting your kid boyfriend out in New York whilst it’s really dark, anything could happen.
Why would I let this happen?
I inhale a deep breath and pace the room nervously, trying to decide what to do. Maybe I should follow him in the car without him knowing, just to make sure if anything happens.

God, Gerard, shut up! Stop being a boob head and just let frank walk to the god damn shop, pick up some freaking pasta, and return within ten minutes. He’s okay. He will be okay.

What if he does something stupid, what if he gets into a fight or what if a pack of huge dogs chase him? Franks tiny, and there’s some really big nasty dogs around here. I mean, I like dogs… but some of them are not nice.
I drop the pencil and make my way into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and preparing a mug of coffee.
I didn’t even realise I could be this protective…
My little Frankie, holy crap, anything could happen.
Yes, we’ve established this, I say to myself, whilst mentally relisting every incident that could possibly happen.
Frank is seventeen; he’s old enough to walk to the fucking shop. I bet twelve year olds go out at this time.

The kettle chimes; indicating the water content inside is boiled. I pour it into my prepared coffee mug and stir it around several times, adding a splash of milk and the teeniest bit of sugar.
I take a sip and the milky, bitter, yet sweet taste floods my mouth, instantly relaxing me.

I crash onto the sofa, sipping on the drink and staring blankly at the television, until there is no more coffee left in my mug. I glance at the clock and realise Frankie has been gone over fifteen minutes.

I shoot up, frantically pacing the room trying to think of what to do. He shouldn’t take any longer than this, no matter what, unless something bad has happened. He could be anywhere now, he could be fucking dead for all I know-

“It’s really cute you worry so much about me-“
I realise I’ve been talking out loud for the last god knows how long, when Frankie’s stood at the door laughing about my loud thoughts.
I run up and hug him, clinging tight to his little figure.
“Holy shit, calm down, Gee,”
I run my hand through his soft hair, joining our lips and kissing him softly. Thank god he’s all right.
I knew nothing bad would actually happen; of course I was just over reacting.
I pull away and kiss his forehead, returning to my work.

“Crap, I forgot that actual pasta. I’ll be back in a minute, won’t be a second-“
Before I can react, the door slams shut and Frankie’s sentence is cut off. Oh great, another fifteen minutes of torturous hell.

He was more than fine the last time; he’s going to be perfectly fine, once again.

I continue with my work, finishing my sketch and pinning it up with the required measurements. I hunt through my rolls of boxed fabrics, searching for a particular black wool material. I find it and lay it out across the desk, stroking my hand over the soft fabric. Perfect.
I cut the fabric and pin the hems down, moving to sew it with my machine.
I hum to myself as the machine rattles, whilst I turn the fabric in careful patterns, directing it along the edges. I’m halfway through sewing on the arm, when I glance back at the clock and all of my worries flood back.

I shout Frankie’s name, but there’s no reply. I rush out of the room, searching around the kitchen and shouting a few times more. He’s been over half an hour! I knew this was going to end badly…

I grab my keys and rush out of the door, not even bothering to lock it as I leave. I jump into my car and fiddle around trying to slot my keys in to start the engine, but my hands are shaking with panic so much I can barely even see them.

I finally manage to start the car, bolting out of the drive and down the road to the corner shop. The area is completely empty, just dim lampposts highlighting the small puddles that litter the uneven concrete-slab streets.

After slamming the door shut, I lock the car and shove the keys in my pocket, making my way to the alleyways that you can shortcut through. From past experience, I know these alleyways pretty well. Even though it was further on in town, I still came here occasionally.
I hug the coat around me tighter, trying to put an ease to my shaking. Maybe it’s because I’m cold, but it’s most likely dependant on being terrified for my poor Frankie. God, I just knew something like this would happen-

I pause my thoughts when I hear the sound of a bottle smashing, pausing my feet also, when the shards of glass fall in front of me. I hide myself around the corner, trying to keep my breathing as quiet as possible. Not only the sound of it, but breathing too heavily in this weather causes clouds of fog to erupt from the back of my throat. It looks pretty, but it’s not so pretty when you’re getting beaten up because someone has spotted it.

I hear a whine of pain, one that I instantly recognize. It breaks my heart. I peer around the corner, eye to eye with Frankie as he yelps in pain and tears roll down his face. He immediately notices me, his face lighting up, although he’s still sobbing heart wrenching cries. Instinctively, I rush around the corner and grab the attacker around the neck, squeezing around their neck with my elbow and pulling my arm up. I can’t tell if the blood it rushing to their face, they’re wearing a wool mask over it. But the way they’re gasping for air, I can tell they’re certainly struggling.

“GERARD!“

I turn to Frankie, as another figure progresses on him. I drop the person from my grip, rushing to knock the other person out.
I grab them by the wrist, twisting it around and pulling them around and kneeing them hard in the balls. In fact, not just hard, but with so much fucking force I probably popped their testicles.

They wince and fall to the ground in pain, screeching and clutching their crotch. Not going to lie, it does give me a slight thrill.
“Hey, jimmy and –oh shit”
A feminine voice cuts off; I’m guessing when the scene comes into view.

I turn around, and a girl with pigtails and a mini skirt is standing with a beer bottle in hand.
I feel another presence behind me, as I immediately send my fist flying without thought, hitting the person square in the face. I pin the masked human against the wall, getting close so that I am right in their face. We meet eye contact, and there’s something I recognize. Just a glimmer, something about them I recognize. I don’t know what, but it’s defiantly there. I shrug it off, spitting and scoffing.

“I don’t know what the fuck you have against him, but I swear, ever fucking lay a finger on him again, I will fucking murder you. Got it?”
I growl, tugging them by the collar and pushing them back against the wall, just for added effect.
“And trust me, I will fucking know if you ever touch him again.”
I drop them to the ground and turn away.

I pull Frankie into my grip, directing him back through the alleyway, glancing behind us to make sure no one is following. We reach the car, and I help him into the passenger seat. I take a moment to actually look at his injuries. He has a huge cut across his forehead, and one on his neck, that’s dripping with blood. I think that might be it, but the cuts are really deep, you can tell even from a meter away. I start the car, driving back down the damp, dark streets to my house.

I look back at Frankie every other second. His cheeks are tear stained and bloody, and he has red and purple marks that are starting to show under his eyes. His head leaning back against the window, and his body is slouched in the seat. He stares back at me, completely emotionless. I feel like I’ve just been stabbed in the heart.

I pull up in the drive, picking him up and holding him in my arms, locking the car and then the front door after entering the warm house.
I rush up the stairs into the bedroom; laying his frail body down and trying my hardest not to let the tears that are rimming my eyes fall.

I rush into the bathroom, returning with a first aid kit.
In all honesty, I have no fucking idea what to do. I know the basics, clean the cut, and bandage it. But that’s literally it.
I prop his head up on a pillow, Frankie winces in return.
I bite my lip to prevent myself from crying. I can’t cry now, I need to clean his cuts and help him out, crying won't do that for me.
I take a better look at the cuts. The one on his forehead isn’t too bad, the blood isn’t pouring out anymore, which I guess is always a good sign… I think.

It’s dried with blood and I really don’t want to make this any worse than it already is.
“It’s going to hurt baby, I’m so sorry, but it has to be done-“ he nods, bringing his hands to his lips and biting down on his fingernails.
I apply the antiseptic cream to the cotton, dabbing it onto the split gash in the corner of his head. His face scrunches up in pain, and his fingers curl into his palms as he clenches his fists. I don’t want to look, but I really don’t have a choice. He’s in so much pain; I honestly can’t stand watching him like this.

“Shh, baby, just one more now okay? I love you,”
I dab the cotton onto the slice in his neck, as he squirms under my touch. I feel hot tears slide down my cheeks, whilst I continue to clean the cut out as gently as I possibly can.
I notice a little speck in the center of the cut, which I can’t manage to clean around. I look closer, and notice it’s a piece of glass.

I gulp and pick up the tweezers, refraining from telling Frankie. He’ll probably just get really scared and flip out.
Carefully, I pull out the little piece of glass, whilst Frankie hisses in pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-“
The piece of glass still isn’t quite out, which makes me wonder actually how big it is. Maybe he should’ve gone to the hospital for it. Y’see, unless it’s a super emergency, he’d probably have been waiting a long, long time just to get a shard of glass pulled out of his neck. Though, that actually sounds pretty extreme in context.

I look away and tug the piece of glass, unable to pull it out carefully anymore.
“What the fuck was that?” he screeches, silent tears streaming down his face. I examine the around 3 cm shard of glass I just had to pull out of my boyfriend's neck, wincing.

There’s still blood on it, covering it. I was starting to think he’d need stitches in it, but I think he should be okay, that is if I bandage and clean it correctly.
I place the glass on the side, returning to cleaning the wound. I dab around it carefully, until I’m pretty certain it’s been properly cleaned.
I open a thick plaster, sticking it down around the cut.
“Are you done?”
He asks, with a shaky breath. I hope so; I don’t think I could take having to do that again.
“Let me check your body.”
He nods and sits up, as I help lift his shirt above his head.
Generally, his body is perfectly fine, apart from the odd pale bruise that’s starting to form, but I can tell it’s nothing too bad. I check his stomach stitches, to see if they’re damaged, but they’re all good too.
“I think that’s it baby. Does it hurt anywhere else?”
He shakes his head and carefully crashes back into the covers, sighing and tucking himself in. I sit on the edge of the bed and sweep his hair from his eyes, kissing him softly on the forehead.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Soup? Strawberries? You should probably drink some water.”
“Water will do, thanks.”
I nod and leave to get him a glass of ice and water. I return, handing the drink to him, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.
“I’m so sorry baby, I should've gone with you and it’s my fault and I’m-“
“Don’t be an idiot Gerard. It was nothing to do with you. And can I ask, how the fuck did you learn to fight like that?”
“Eh, dunno. I guess I just did.”
He hums suspiciously in response. I’d rather not go into my past with Frankie, there’s stuff he doesn’t need to know. No doubt he'd leave if he found out half the stuff I did, stuff I still deeply regret.

“Get some sleep honey.” I sigh, ditching the subject. I pull his jeans off for him and tuck him into the soft covers, flicking the light off behind me before I join him in bed.

That look… the masked man, I just remember that look from somewhere.

Notes

:)