Gerard's POV

(Two months later)
Arms drape around my neck, clasping together at the nape of my neck and sending chills down through my spine. My heart beats loud in my ears, sounding distant and echoed though it drowns most of the other sound out. In the background, music plays softly. It reverberates in my mind, swirling around, encompassing me, and making me feel dizzy. The good kind of dizzy. At first, it's nothing but a tune, mere guitar catching and mesmerizing. And then a voice. His voice and his words.
These are the eyes and the lies of the taken
These are their hearts but their hearts don't beat like ours
There's a part of my brain that recognizes the song, recalling the night when Frank first sent it to me. Just another song among many others he's written and performed for me, posting it on YouTube for the entire world to see, and adding a "for Gerard" at the end.

Now, I can barely focus on the song. Instead, all of my attention is on it's creator; The shorter man stands before me, pink lips stretched into a grin and beckoning to me. But I can't move, it's like I can't even feel my body anymore. His arms wrap around my neck, my own hands somehow settling on his hips, while he sways back and forth. My body only follows the movement.
Are you thinking of me
Like I'm thinking of you?
Frank giggles suddenly, an addicting and captivating sound, and ducks his head. "You know why I came here, right?" He wonders as his hazel eyes meet mine.

I swallow down the lump that arises in my throat, not managing an answer. I shake my head.

"I wanted to see you." Frank bites onto his lip ring and I feel his arms tighten around my neck, pulling me closer. His breath hits my parted lips when he sighs softly, stirring up a pleasant storm in my stomach. "I came here because I need you, Gee."

I can't think. I can't breathe. I can't feel anything anymore aside from the overwhelming urge to press forward and pull him in, lock his lips with mine and tangle my hands in his hair and never let go.

But, even as he leans in closer, our lips never meet. A ringing slams through my head, striking through my body like electricity and pulling me in a dizzy haze away from dream Frank and back into reality.

I'm lying in bed, my bare chest slick with a sheen layer of sweat, and the blankets twisted uncomfortably around my legs. My alarm clock sounds to my left and I groan, rolling over to shut it off and taking note that it's only nine in the morning.

Sighing heavily, I lean back onto my pillow and close my eyes. I will my unconsciousness to take control again and drag me back into my previous dream with Frank, but nothing happens. The mattress creaks underneath me and my bladder begins to protest and eventually I'm forced to get out of bed.

Twenty minutes later, I find myself perched in the center of my bed, sketchbook in my lap and scribbling a new picture of Frank, this time accompanied by a cartoon that looks similar to myself. Like in my dream, Frank has his arms wrapped around my neck and music notes flutter around the pair on the paper. When I'm finished with that, I sketch out another quick one. It's set up the same as the other, but in this drawing, the cartoon characters are kissing.

I finally toss the sketchbook onto the bed a few hours later and decide that there is no way in hell I am showing either of those to Frank.

Around one in the afternoon, I decide to emerge from my bedroom in search of food. It's Saturday so it shouldn't surprise me when I see Bob in the kitchen; With no classes on the weekend, it's normal to see each other around the apartment. I've even gotten quite used to seeing Jamia around the house. What does surprise me is when I realize Bob has Jamia's smaller frame pinned to the kitchen table and is currently attempting to unhook her bra, thankfully still under the shirt.

"Oh shit!" I immediately cover my eyes and go into panic mode. I hear Jamia's slight gasp and a few movements, which I hope is them removing themselves from the kitchen table. "What the hell are you doing!?" I demand without moving my hands from where they shield my vision. "I mean... It's quite obvious what you were doing but... On the fucking table!? You have a bedroom for a reason, Bob!"

Bob's sigh reaches me and I hesitantly peak out from behind my hands. They're both now straightened and standing near the counters along the far wall of the kitchen and I allow my arms to fall back to my sides. "We were not going to have sex on the kitchen table," Bob swears.

"Well you looked pretty damn close from my perspective," I argue, folding my arms across my chest.

Bob shrugs, looking nowhere near apologetic. "Sorry. Jamia got me some stuff for Valentines Day and I was just thanking her."

"By attacking her face and shoving your tongue down her throat?"

Jamia blushes and tries to look invisible as she fidgets next to Bob. Bob simply sighs again, rolling his eyes. "Like I said, it's Valentines Day. I figured you were probably busy with Frank on Skype all day, being all lovey dovey or whatever. I didn't expect you to walk in."

I tilt my head to one side and raise an eyebrow at him curiously. "Why would I be all 'lovey dovey' with Frank today?"

Bob and Jamia both watch me silently for a long moment before a dubious look crosses Bob's face. "Well, he is your boyfriend right?"

My own eyes widen at the question and I find myself laughing. Bob just continues to watch me. "No!" I finally sputter out. "No, we're... Just friends."

Frank wouldn't want to be my boyfriend anyway, I add silently. Even if he weren't in another state, he would never want to date someone like me. Sure, he flirts sometimes-- we both do-- but that means practically nothing. Of course, I want to be more than friends, but that doesn't mean Frank does. That doesn't mean dating could work out. Like I've mentioned; he lives in another freaking state.

Bob cocks an eyebrow at me, speaking slow as if he's talking to a child. "The dude has your art pinned up on his wall. Obviously he likes you."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "That hardly means that-- Wait, I never told you about that."

"No," Bob agrees. "But you told Mikey."

My eyes widen and I feel both betrayed and embarrassed. "You were eavesdropping?"

Bob nods easily. "Does that honestly surprise you?"

I sigh heavily and fight the urge to hide under the kitchen table. When I'd first seen Frank's wall, adorned with the images I'd created for him, I had called my brother almost immediately to tell him. I needed to know what it meant; Did Frank just like the drawings, or did he hang them up for another reason? When Mikey confirmed that it kind of sounded like Frank liked me, I had proceeded to jump around the room and squeal like a fangirl. Had Bob seriously heard all of that?

I bite my lip and decide that denial is once again my best option. "Maybe he just likes my art," I protest with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Yeah," Bob nods slowly. "Or maybe he wants in your pants." He pauses for a moment and tilts his head to one side to study me. "So you don't want to fuck him?"

I freeze, honestly not sure how to answer. If I said I didn't, that would be a lie. I'd awoken plenty of times in these past few months from a wet dream starring Frank. But that didn't mean that sex was all I wanted. I wanted to make him smile. I wanted to roll over in the morning and see him smirking at me. I wanted to make him laugh and comfort him when he cried. I wanted to sit on one side of the couch with a mug of coffee in my hands and watch him silently as he strummed his guitar. I wanted to stay awake later than he did just to watch his sleeping form, just to capture the complete and total innocence of him in a sketch. I wanted... Everything.

I bite my tongue and narrow my eyes at Bob. "I'm going out," I decide. "Keep your shenanigans off the kitchen table and I'll be back later."

Bob, clearly amused, nods his head and I revert back to my bedroom to get my shoes.

Not even an hour later, I find myself standing before a receptionist desk at a place called "Jordan's." I glance nervously around the large, spacious room, taking in the sinks, shelves, and stations set up. This is stupid. I shouldn't be here.

"Hey sweetheart!" A girl chirps, appearing behind the desk. Too late to turn back now. The girl doesn't look any older than nineteen, grinning with her painted red lips and brushing some of her sleek brown hair behind her ear. "Do you have an appointment?"

I shake my head quickly, chuckling softly. "It was kind of a spur of the moment decision actually."

The girl nods, her smile never faltering as she looks down at the appointment book on the desk. After flipping through a few pages, she meets my eyes again. "Lucky for you, it looks like Lindsey is free right now. She's one of our best."

I nod and the smaller girl takes my name before leading me back to a vacant station. A mirror hangs before me and I study myself. Messy black hair, dull hazel eyes outlined in a smearing black shade of eyeliner, mostly worn off from sleep. In all honesty, I hate what I see.

Another woman appears behind me, catching my eyes in the reflection and smiling. "What can I do for you today, Gerard?"

I bite down on my lip and muster every ounce of courage I have to reply. "I need a change."

"In cut or color?" The woman, who I assume is Lindsey, wonders. She brushes a few fingers through my hair as I think.

"Both," I decide. "I don't want to recognize me anymore."

Lindsey nods, grinning, and grabs the pink scissors from her station drawer. "I can do that."

•••

It's seven o'clock exactly when Frank calls me. The familiar icon appears on my screen, just like it does every night around this time. Without much hesitation, I answer the call and I'm almost immediately connected to see his face. He's seated comfortably-- and shirtless- on the couch wearing heart glasses. Glancing into the corner of the screen, I confirm that my side of the screen is black.

"Happy V-Day, Gee-Way!" Frank beams, throwing his arms up and proceeding to laugh at his own little rhyme. But the laughing almost instantly ceases and Frank frowns, sliding the glasses off. "Hey... Is your camera busted?"

"Nope," I reply, shaking my head though he can't see.

Frank's brows furrow. "You're hiding again." I can hear the disappointment in his voice and it makes my heart flutter. "Gee, what's up? Why are you hiding from me again?"

"I'm not hiding," I answer, which is kind of a lie.

Frank can hear the lie in my voice and sighs. "What's wrong?" He wonders, concern obvious in his words. "Did something happen?"

I'm silent for a long moment. "Kind of," I admit. I bite down on my lip and tap my fingers anxiously on the desk. "I'll uncover my camera on one condition--" I bargain.

"Okay, deal." Frank agrees easily.

I laugh. "You don't even know what the deal is."

Frank shrugs. "I'd do anything," He says softly. "I just wanna see your face."

I hesitate again. He sounds sincere and yet I can't believe him. Still, I reach out and remove the post-it-note, revealing myself to the camera. Frank's eyes instantly widen and his jaw drops. "Holy hell," He gapes. "What the frick did you do!?"

I feel self-conscious suddenly, my esteem plummeting and my heart dropping. I reach up, twirling a lock of the freshly dyed red hair around a few fingers and frowning. "You don't like it?"

Frank shakes his head fervently, a grin spreading across his face. "I fucking love it!"

I smile shyly and sink down lower into my chair. "Thanks." I mumble.

Frank continues to watch me in awe and I can feel myself blush, probably about the shade of my new hair. After a few moments of silence, I speak up. "Alright, I showed myself. Now for my condition..."

"Yeah...?" Frank prompts when I don't say anything else. I've spent the entirety of the day thinking of a way to word my next question, but still nothing seems quite right. I don't know what to say and I freeze up. "Come on," Frank chuckles. "I said I'd do anything, remember? Just tell me what your condition is."

"Well..." I take a deep breath. "It's kind of a question really."

Frank nods, waiting patiently until I eventually, somehow, manage to push the words forward. "What are we?"

I silently applaud myself for speaking the question aloud without throwing up all over myself, but Frank's eyes only narrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Another deep breath. "I talk to you every day," I say, my voice nearly silent, but I know he can hear me. "You're my best friend, which is probably kind of lame because we've only known each other for a few months and we live in two completely separate states, but it's like I can tell you anything. I can show you my face and you don't act like I'm some freak." Now that I've started, I can't seem to stop speaking, and my voice raises as I continue. It's like everything is coming out at once and it both terrifies and exhilarates me. I know that anything I'm saying could mean the end of our friendship, but I just have to know. "And the flirting. It's fucking obvious that we're flirting-- like even a blind guy could see it. You wink at me and you call me darling and you write songs for me. I draw you and I told you about going to rehab in High School and I've never told anyone that before, not even Bob, but it's because I trust you, Frank. And I just... I need to know because it's driving me crazy."

Frank's expression is impossible to read, maybe because he's holding back on what he's feeling and maybe because I'm just too blind to see what he is feeling. "What are you saying, Gerard?"

I sigh heavily and wipe the back of my hand across my eyes before speaking again. "I'm saying I like you, Frankie. A lot. A whole fucking lot. You're all I can think about and it's driving me insane because I don't know if you flirt with me because you're just naturally flirtatious or if you feel sorry for me because I'm twenty years old and still a fucking virgin and I just--" My voice seems to fade out, all of my energy draining suddenly as I look at Frank again. "I just want to know what we are, Frank. Are we... Just friends?"

Notes