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It wasn’t the sharp pain throbbing in his every muscle that kept Gerard on the ground. By now, he was practically used to it, but that acclimation was swiftly abandoning him as the adrenaline fear had brought on ebbed away. No, what kept him a trembling heap on the ground was the emotions piercing his every mangled thought. Anguish. Anger. Shame.
He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, his face tucked against them in rigid imitation of the fetal position. Even the slightest movement made his breath hitch as the pain flared up. His ass ached worse than ever before, it was a wonder he was even sitting up at all. He would have liked to curl up on his side, but this was better. This way, the blood and cum could drain better.
The blood poured all the way down his spine from the back of his head. It matted his hair and darkened the bright red colour he wished would have lasted longer. He had been here long enough that his dark brown roots were peaking in by a few inches. He wished he could do a touch up job, but that would have been impossible to negotiate.
His thoughts were wandering and difficult to reel in. Where was he? Oh, right, the pain… the blood. He could recall his skull being slammed against a slab of concrete, though he wasn’t sure if it was a wall or the ground since it had happened several times. It quickly disoriented him which made the blur movements that ensured all the more alarming.
Every memory was garbled with sounds and colours he couldn’t place very well. His shrill screams and random smears of red–his own blood–made for almost a dazzling sight. At some point, he was woozy enough to be mesmerized.
But now there was nothing. Nothing to see but the darkness behind his eyelids. Nothing to hear but the shaky breaths clawing out his throat. Maybe he could hold his breath and not have to try to force any semblance of coherency into his mind. He would turn blue and then fade away, first his soul and then his memory. No one would mourn a dead convict.
He was perfectly content to be just another statistic. A number on a graph. A victim in an article. A tally in a book no one wanted to read.
But he knew he wasn’t content with that. He fought to keep his sensibility. This had only happened because he had given in. He fought back best he could, but at some point, he had given up the fight. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew he had deserved it–or something worse, even. He didn’t regret any of what he did, but some retribution was befitting.
Maybe he shouldn’t have provoked the guy, but he still didn’t expect things to progress to this. Gerard knew it was his own fault sauntering about like he owned the place, but it was the best way to mask the cracks in his porcelain ego that had since been shattered into a dust. It was a good thing that mask was always ready to be donned. No one needed to see the mess he was.
To the world, he was just some psycho. Deranged. Unfeeling. Insane. While that was certainly true on some level, he wasn’t quite as maniacal as he was made out to be, not that anyone cared anyway. Besides, it wouldn’t have been easy to argue considering the several counts of murder hanging over his head.
When he finally lifted his head and pushed the lock of hair from his eyes, everything was just as it had been left. A bunk bed, a table, a chair. Nothing was out of place like a perfect model cell. His assailant hadn’t wanted anything to do with his cell. No, Gerard was the target. Gerard was the one making him look like a fool around the other inmates. Gerard was the one who made sure he didn’t touch him when he initially tried to ‘put him in his place’. But it was obvious how well that had turned out.
He swallowed even though his mouth was completely dry. It did nothing for his throat except illicit a spluttering cough that only made his throat burn more. He hoped he would cough up blood so he had something to choke to death on, but it never happened.
Wishful thinking had been entirely fruitless ever since he stepped foot in the prison. Even minutes ago, no one had heard his shrieking. His cries for help had gone unnoticed like breath in the wind. But even if he had been heard, how would he have faced that shame? No one could see him like that, but luckily, no one had.
The pain was far from gone, but faded into a dull quivering under his skin. He still ached all over as it seeped down to the bone. Despite that, he steeled himself to shuffle away from the wall to the bed. He collapsed on the bottom bunk, simply incapable of making it to his own bunk on top.
It was better than sitting naked on the cell floor as blood pooled beneath him. Every drop that spilled was certain to soak into the concrete and stain. A cruel reminder to both him and whatever poor motherfucker would find himself there next. Whether “there” meant that cell or that situation didn’t matter. The whole building was a death sentence, no matter the crime.
Though his breathing had nearly evened out, his heart was still racing. He needed something to calm his nerves but he didn’t have any cigarettes on hand. He hated his desire for them, even though he hadn’t had one since his imprisonment. There was still that craving the dark récessif his mind that didn’t shy away from a little bloodlust every now and then.
Gerard was just glad he had no cellmate to worry about. His whole stay had been in that cell by his lonesome and he was grateful. It was the only blessing he figured he would ever receive.
Staring up at the bottom of the top bunk gave him nothing. Nothing was registering. He was just trying to process and piece together everything. Though he was nauseated by those thoughts, it was important to him that they stuck around. He clung to everything that happened in that prison, unwilling to let any sliver of who he was slip away.
From the tiny, barred window perched high on the wall, the full moon rose. It cast a pale light over the equally pale boy, the resulting shadows stretching across his eyes and cheeks and making him appear as hollow as he felt. Exhaustion was extinguishing the pyre that once raged on and swelled with every breath.
But he wasn’t broken. He wasn’t defeated. He didn’t know how he had managed to avoid this type of incident for the two months he had spent behind bars, but clearly something about him was working. He couldn’t drop his bravado now. He never planned to, but this only solidified things. And if it happened again, well, he would just have to learn to keep his pretty, little mouth shut.
He held his arms straight out above him, examining the purple bruises dotting them in the remaining moonlight. The splotches like bracelets around his wrists were particularly nasty. He could feel blood pulsing beneath the skin in time with his heart. Those marks would prove difficult to conceal, but maybe he could tug his sleeves down a bit more than usual.
This was all he had to hide. Shame was an all-consuming beast, but no one would ever know if you were smart about it. And Gerard was very, very smart. He had been refining the act his whole life and prison only gave him rien to perfect it. It was simple, really. As long as he showed no shame for some things, no one would bat an eye trying to unbury the rest. But when then those “some things” included the fact he was gay, things got… tricky. At least his promiscuous act paired nicely with the violent threats he wouldn’t have been torn up enacting.
Which is why Gerard appeared completely unfazed the next morning. The bleeding had stopped sometime in the night and dripped through the frame of the unoccupied bottom bunk. He’d be the one stuck mopping it up, but he didn’t feel up to it in the morning and didn’t know when he’d get around to it. As much as he didn’t want to do it all, the metallic stench would only get worse.
As for the blood that was left on him, he scrubbed it away with the small sink he had access to. The place he wanted to be was the showers, but he cleaned up best he could. He washed most of the blood out of his hair and what remained blended in fairly well now. As he finished up, he gritted his teeth looking into the polished metal sheet that served as a mirror. While he had pretty features, his face was shadowed with death, even if he was the only one who saw it.
Really, it was for the best that there weren’t any glass mirrors around. There was no telling what he would do if he could get his hands on something sharp. Hurt himself or others? He couldn’t decide. Both options were extremely appealing.
Throughout the day, among the other inmates, he met every hard stare with the same childish aloofness as always. He knew some would have recognized his cries, or simply pieced what happened last night together, but he wouldn’t let it show. He even squinted a bit to keep from wincing with every step he took and wove delicately around others to avoid bumping any of his numerous bruises. The illusion really was immaculate. Despite whatever everyone thought they knew, they couldn’t help but question it.
By dinner time, things were normal, as normal as possible in a prison, anyway. Gerard was eating quietly by himself, but still didn’t shy away from whatever the other inmates deemed cutting words. They really thought themselves smart, but “slut” and “whore” didn’t make for a complete vocabulary, and Gerard told them as much.
“Could you try to get a little creative?” he sighed, waving his spoon flippantly, “You’re really starting to bore me.”
But before another could reply, the metal doors swung open. Gerard cocked a curious eyebrow as two guards led a stranger in. He was just another skinny, white boy who probably could have had it all but went and fucked something up. The sour expression on his face came as no surprise and nor did the rough shove he was given after a sneer at the guards.
The inmates’ interest had been lost. Everyone always hoped for some kind of scuffle, but this kid was just that–some kid. No one cared and Gerard respected that. He almost wanted no one to care about him, but that would mean sacrificing what little sway he had, at least over those who didn’t see him as a challenge.
Gerard briefly considered beckoning the stranger over, but it wouldn’t have mattered as he had already come and sat down at his table. They sat apart from each other at an otherwise deserted table. The redhead set down his spoon and turned to him with his eyebrows raised.
“What?” The other boy grumbled, not looking at him, just staring down at his tattooed hands folded on the table.
“Why’d you come sit here?”
“Everywhere else was taken. What’s it fucking matter?” His tone was low but still harsh.
“It doesn’t. God forbid I ask a fucking question.” Gerard went back to take another bite.
“What’s your name?” He asked after a few beats of silence, finally looking at Gerard.
“Oh, so you’re done being an asshole? Glad to hear it. I’m Gerard.”
“Frank.”
“You always sulk this much?”
Frank scowled, his eyes searing with intensity. But Gerard wasn’t intimidated. He had seen worse. Besides, the other was shorter than him and his slumped shoulders bore little threat.
“Not much of an answer, but I catch your drift.” The redhead sighed, pushing his empty tray out slightly. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he turned completely toward the other, sitting cross-legged on the bench.
“So what’d ya do?”
“A bit cliché, isn’t it?”
Gerard shrugged. “I guess, but what would you rather I ask? Tits or ass? That’s what straight guys ask, right?”
“You’re not straight?”
“With this ass?” He grinned. “It’d be such a waste to be straight.”
“Is that wise to tell me?”
“Why?” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer with doe-eyes. “You’re not gay are you? Tsk tsk.”
“‘Course I’m not,” Frank shot back rather quickly, crossing his arms in front of him.
“Fine.” He threw his hands up defensively. “Then tell me what you’re here for.”
“Not in the mood.”
“I’ll tell you what I did first.”
“Don’t really care.”
“Aren’t you a talkative one.”
“I’ve had a particularly shitty day, what’d you expect, asshole?”
“Fair enough,” Gerard hummed, “You seem like the only decent fucker in this hell. We could talk sometime if you want?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You may want to eat. Time’s almost up.”
“Not hungry.”
“Suit yourself.” But Gerard hadn’t been particularly hungry either. He hadn’t all day, but finally forced himself to eat something now. It had been awkward sitting in the cafeteria without eating at earlier meals, but he couldn’t shy away from others after last night’s incident. He didn’t need anyone getting any ideas.
As a buzzer signified the end of dinner time, Gerard got up and cleared his tray. He headed back to his own cell, eyeing Frank over his shoulder. He could hear the other’s uneven footsteps trailing behind him and while he wasn’t threatening, it was still slightly unnerving.
“Can I help you?” The redhead huffed, spinning on his heel with crossed arms. Not only did he hate the idea of being followed, but he worried his gait might give something away. It was exhaustingly uncomfortable to disguise. “If you want something, fucking ask . Don’t just follow me like a creep.”
“What the hell are you whining about?” He shot back.
“You really don't think I know why you’re following me? Everyone says they aren’t gay. No ones gay in here except the real fags like me.”
“I don’t wanna fuck you. Get over yourself, asshole.” He gritted his teeth, shooting a dirty look at one of the guards watching over their interaction. A smile twitched on Gerard’s lips seeing that.
“Care to explain, then?”
“Just tryna get to my fucking cell.”
“O-oh.” Gerard felt his cheeks get a little hot. It was easy to jump to conclusions after everything he had seen, but here he was throwing accusations around when the other boy was just going about his business. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
But as the two continued on their ways, their ways were, in fact, only one way. They both stopped in front of the same cell. Gerard flashed him a blank look of curiosity which the other responded to with a shrug. They went inside where the redhead climbed up into his bunk and Frank watched the barred door slide shut with a reverberating clang .
“Guess we’re really stuck in this hell together now,” Gerard laughed dryly, sprawling out on his stomach and peering over the edge of the bunk.
“Apparently. I can imagine worse cellmates, though,” Frank answered, turning around to meet his gaze.
“I’m flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be. We are still trapped in here with rapists and pedophiles and shit,” he continued, dropping down on the bottom bunk which now had a mattress, blanket, and pillow to match Gerard’s.
“How do you know I’m not one?” He asked, flipping over into his back and examining the same cracks in the ceiling he had memorized a month ago. He winced at the motion, but at least he wasn’t on his feet anymore.
“I don’t. But if you are, I won’t hesitate to beat the shit outta you.”
“Easy there, Frankie. I’m not, but spewing that–to anyone, really–will get you in some deep shit.”
“It happen to you?”
“Huh?” Gerard’s heart skipped a beat. Had Frank figured it out? So soon? He was glad they couldn’t see each other’s faces.
“Your neck. Why’s it all fucked up? You say something stupid to the wrong fucker?”
Gerard held his throat, stroking the skin tenderly. With a little pressure he felt the blossoming pain of the ring of bruises encircling his neck. He hadn’t even noticed them earlier, but it wouldn’t have mattered. There was no way to conceal them.
“I’ll take that as a yes. A big mouth like yours no doubt has a lot to say.”
“You should see the other guy,” the redhead chuckled, closing his eyes, “Aren’t you curious what I’m in here for? Why I’ll only get out in a body bag?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, my hand slipped and– oops! My knife found its way into a couple pretty faces. I’m what the court deemed ‘violent and unpredictable’, ya know.”
“Somehow that doesn’t strike me as accurate.”
“Well it wasn’t my fault they thought I was a hooker.”
“But ‘violent and predictable’?” He scoffed. “You’re like sixteen.”
“Eighteen, actually, or else I wouldn’t be in here. But don’t doubt me, Frankie,” he giggled, crawling closer to the edge and gripping the metal frame to peek his head down to the bottom bunk where the dark-haired man had laid down.
“Would you quit calling me that?”
“No, I don’t think I will. It suits you. If we’re gonna be cellmates, we could at least be friends, right?”
“I guess, but that nickname’s fucking annoying.”
“Too bad. But you can call me Gee if it makes you feel better.”
“Pass.”
“Your loss,” he sighed with a roll of his eyes. Flopping backward onto his back, he began speaking a bit more enthusiastically again. “Maybe you’d care to share now? Or whatever you told the judge. I don’t care either way.”
“Fine.” He cleared his throat, speaking in a voice low enough that no neighbouring cells would hear. “I was doing a lot of dealing– like a lot . That alone was enough to get me thrown in jail. I shouldn’t have come to max. I fucked up hard , though. Shit went south real fast with some important white-collar asshole and I couldn’t let him rat on the operation.”
Gerard hummed attentively.
“I didn’t want to do it. I really didn’t,” he finished through clenched teeth.
“I guess that’s the difference between you and me. ‘Cause I did .”
“And that makes you sick in the head, asshole.”
“Oh, I know. But we’re both the scum of the Earth now, so what’s it matter?”
“Fuck off. I’m getting out of here eventually. I can’t imagine you are.”
“No, you’re right. But what if I told you the whole story? Not just the bullshit I threw at the judge.”
“Not really ever in the mood to hear someone recount murdering innocent people,” Frank huffed.
“Oh, trust me– they were far from innocent.” Gerard climbed down off his bunk and crawled onto the bottom one, sitting cross-legged at Frank’s feet. The other boy frowned and retracted a bit, but stayed on his back.
“You had to come down here to tell me?” He asked with a grimace.
Gerard shrugged. “No, but maybe you’ll believe me if you can see me.”
“I think I could believe any asshole in here’s got blood on his hands.”
“I suppose. But wanna know what makes me special?” He leaned in closer, hands pressing into his thighs. “I did it for love.”
Frank raised an eyebrow, hoisting himself up on his elbows. “Really?” He asked slowly. “That doesn’t seem so special to me.”
The redhead nodded. “And,” he added with a click of his tongue, “so many more times than they found out about.”
“Should you be telling me all this?” He wondered with a light-hearted snort.
“Well, words mean nothing. They’ll never find the bodies.”
“Who was the lucky guy?” Frank flicked his chin toward him, urging him on.
“Oh, it was some chick. Said she’d go out with me if I could kill a thousand times.”
“And you took her seriously?”
“She was definitely not joking. But I try not to think about that bitch. She’s the one who ratted me out. There I was: in the center of a restaurant with my next two targets when the police fucking storm in.” He scowled, rubbing at his wrists absentmindedly. “Come with your arms raised high,” he mimicked, holding his hands together like a gun and pointing them at Frank.
“And you don’t regret anything?” He hummed, unfazed.
“I mighta done it with her around. I only regret trusting her. I’m surprised you’re not more repulsed by me. You’re the only one in here I've told the whole story to too.”
“I guess part of me just doesn’t believe you.”
“Aren’t you worried I might do the same to you?” Gerard murmured, his eyes huge in the dim light. “I got nothing to lose at this point.”
“There’s not much waiting outside for me. My parents are kinda torn up, but who wants an ex-con for a son?”
“I’m glad you’re not scared of me,” the redhead sighed, “I think we’ll get along.”
Frank vaguely hummed his agreement, closing his eyes as he leaned back again. It was getting late and he was especially tired.
Maybe he actually trusted the other with the way his neck was bared. Maybe he was just too stupid to care. But Gerard wasn’t going to hurt him. He didn’t want to. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in his neck.
Gerard climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and leaning in. His fingers hovered over the scorpion tattooed on the side of his neck, curious if the other was still awake and would feel him touching. But it didn’t matter because when he finally exhaled, Frank’s eyes shot open.
“What the fuck?” He breathed, arms coming up to grab the other’s wrists. Gerard gritted his teeth with a hiss of pain and, surprisingly, Frank let go.
“Get off, you psycho.”
“Sorry,” the redhead chuckled, rubbing his sore wrists and climbing off as Frank sat up against the wall. Gerard stood awkwardly in front of him with a sheepish look on his face.
“What was that about? You tryna fucking choke me?”
“No… I just… I just wanted to see your ink.”
“Oh.” He pursed his lips. “Just fucking ask, alright?”
“Can I?” Gerard immediately asked with an eager grin.
“Tomorrow,” Frank agreed.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated with a nod before retreating to his own bunk.
In the morning, the pair went to breakfast with the rest of the general population, not speaking much to each other or anyone else. Gerard couldn’t help but give a flirty smile to anyone who shot either of them a dirty look, though. It always made him giggle to see them caught off guard by that.
When they were back in their cell with time to kill, Frank quickly pointed to the large bloodstain coating the ground. He hadn’t noticed it earlier in the darkness, but now with the fluorescent lights of the halls, it was obvious. “What’s that from?”
“Do you really wanna know?”
“That’s why I asked, isn’t it?”
Gerard shrugged. “I think it was from the guy before me.”
Frank grimaced, but was satisfied with that answer. At some point in the day, he had acquired some books. He picked up The Catcher In The Rye and sat against the wall in his bunk to read. The stack of books on the table made it clear he wasn’t going to stop there.
“That one any good?” Gerard chirped, climbing in next to him even though he had barely cracked open the spine.
“Yeah. It’s my favourite,” he answered curtly, still trying to focus.
“Sorry about last night.”
“I’m over it. You’re a freak, I get it.”
“But you did agree to show me your ink and I’m still pretty curious.”
Frank shut his eyes, then he shut the book. “Alright.” He tossed the book over onto the table and then rolled up his jumpsuit sleeves.
“Cool,” Gerard breathed, his eyes roving over the intricate designs.
“You got any?”
The redhead shook his head, not looking up. “Nah, needles freak me out.”
“Sure, needles freak you out.”
“Knives are different, ya know?”
“You fucking maniac,” Frank snickered.
“To no one’s surprise,” he replied softly, taking the other’s hands to examine the tattoos littered across them. “How many do you have.”
“Don’t know, but I’ve been getting down for a few years now.”
Gerard turned his hands palms-up. “Your fingers are calloused. What do ya do for a living?”
“Went to Rutgers, but I’m in a band too. I play guitar.”
The redhead looked up at him with a smile, his eyes sparkling. “You should play for me sometime!”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“What about you?” Frank asked in return, meeting the other’s gaze and holding his hands to keep his attention.
“Art school.”
Frank flipped the other’s hand over and dragged a finger down his palm. “Real soft for holding pencils all day.” He ran his thumb over one of his wrists, still splotched with a now green tint.
“Some assholes are real grabby,” Gerard grumbled, flinching at the light pain despite the delicacy with which he was being treated.
The dark-haired boy nudged his sleeve further up, curious about the extent of the bruising, but Gerard quickly pulled away.
“Don’t get all touchy now,” he hissed, holding his wrists to his chest.
“Did I hurt you again?”
“‘Course not. I’m not the weak bitch you take me for.”
“What’re you hiding, then? If we’re gonna be stuck together for a couple years, might as well tell me now.”
Gerard kept his eyes squeezed shut as he stuck out his arm and rolled his sleeve. His forearm was littered with jagged white lines. There was no pattern or sense to their placement. “Shitty parents call for stress relief,” he muttered in a tone demanding that it be a sufficient answer.
“You made these?” He murmured dumbly, but didn’t know what else to say. “Sorry for bugging you tonight,” he apologized, rolling his sleeve back down for him. “I get it, though. At least a little bit…”
Gerard avoided the other’s gaze as he climbed up into his own bunk. Frank frowned at the blank wall, touching the circle of a cigarette burn he knew was there, marking his shoulder. It was a lovely testament to his own shitty father. But he didn’t bring it up. Gerard was obviously no longer in the mood for any conversation.
Frank laid down, but couldn’t close his eyes. There was little to look at, even though his eyes had long since adjusted the light. Instead, he imagined the shape of Gerard curled up on the top bunk. Even if he was out-of-his-mind crazy, Frank found something about his presence anchoring. He cared, or at least acted like he did, but it was a feeling Frank was unfamiliar with. He even hadn’t felt a single violent urge around him, something he had expected given his fickle temper.
But of course Gerard cared. He could hide it all he wanted, but he was lonely. Frank seemed like a decent person and maybe he just wanted a friend, a companion, anything .
After several minutes of nighttime silence, Gerard draped an arm over the edge of his bunk. He pressed himself against the side of the frame to reach down as far as he could. Frank saw the hand and shifted closer curiously. When the other made a small grabbing motion, Frank reached up and grabbed his hand without a second thought. They held hands until both their arms had gone numb and then even longer until that tingling faded into sleep.
And it continued like that for next week.
~~~
“Fuck off!” Gerard hissed through angrily bared teeth
“What’re you gonna do about it, ya fuckin’ fairy?” The stranger growled.
“I’ll snap every one of your fuckingfingers if you touch me again.”
“You can fuckin’ try.”
Gerard yelped as his chest was slammed up against the wall of his cell and the wind was knocked out of him. He kept his eyes open despite the involuntary tears that stung there, threatening to fall. He struggled to claw back against his assailant, but his still healing wrists were swiftly pinned above his head.
It was all happening again and he was just as powerless as before to stop it.
“You gonna be good?”
“Fuck you,” Gerard spat back, actually spitting on the man the moment he was spun back around.
“You little bitch!” He grunted, grabbing the boy by his hair and shoving him to his knees. “I’ll put your brains on the fuckin’ wall if you bite me.”
“What the absolute fuck is going on?”
The man was caught off guard and stumbled trying to turn around. Gerard used it to his advantage and clambered away, gripping onto a bedpost to stay upright on his trembling legs.
“Get the fuck outta here,” Frank snapped, hunching as menacingly as possible.
“He was just leaving,” Gerard growled, forcing himself to straighten up with clumsy effort.
“You here to rescue your little tease boyfriend, fag?” He snarled, but Frank didn’t even flinch as he stalked up to him, “Maybe you could tell me what that pretty mouth of his feels like?”
“Get out,” Frank repeated, “and leave him the fuck alone.”
“Or what? You could only reach my fuckin’ knee.”
The man towered over Frank, but it didn’t matter to him. With a near animalistic growl, he threw a punch right into the man’s jaw. There was a loud pop as the bone shifted out of place.
“Son of a bitch!” The stranger shouted, clutching his bloody face as he retreated down the hall.
“Fuck, I hope he doesn’t rat on me,” Frank grumbled, rubbing at his reddened knuckles.
“He probably won’t,” Gerard hummed weakly, dropping onto the bottom bunk. He haphazardly glanced over his quivering hands. He could have really used a cigarette then, but they would be a nightmare to acquire.
“Shit, Gerard, you okay?” He gasped sitting down next to him.
“Just a little woozy,” he answered softly, holding his head in his hands. Frank instinctively wrapped his arms around him. The tension faded from Gerard’s body as all his muscles relaxed. He had always been a touchy-feely sort of person and he rarely got to act on it–and certainly not while in prison.
“Sorry I couldn’t have come earlier…”
“It’s okay, Frankie. I can handle myself and he only got a few hits on me.”
“Still…”
They stayed still for a little while, just clinging to each other.
“It’s getting late…” Gerard drawled, blinking his eyes open, “I’ll leave you alone now. Sorry to bug you so much this evening.” He pulled away, getting to his feet unsteadily, but before he could climb up to his bunk, Frank took his hand gently.
“Stay,” he said simply, gazing off toward a wall. There was no command in his tone. The other could have easily refused, but he didn’t want to.
The redhead gave a simple nod and shuffled back closer. Frank laid down, making room for him to join him. Gerard happily filled the rest of the small bed, tucking his head against the other’s chest. Frank draped an arm over him, making the other boy sigh contently.
With his chin resting on Gerard’s head, Frank could smell the sweat and blood that clung to him. But there was something else present, something surprisingly sweet. It wasn’t really his place, but he figured he would urge the other to shower tomorrow as it must have been several days since he had. Frank knew he would miss the scent, but this would probably never happen again. Even the hand-holding thing must have seemed weird, right?
“You think I’ll be remembered?” Gerard whispered, making the other’s heart flutter with surprise.
“Huh?”
“You think anyone will remember me? Like, after I die?”
“People tend to remember felons…”
“Yeah,” he sighed sadly, “That’s what I was worried about. I’m so much more than just a felon, though, Frankie! I’m an artist and a writer and a singer and– I’m just so much more…” His voice was muffled against Frank’s chest, but his words were sincere. Sincere and drenched in sorrow.
“I’ll remember you. If only for what’s happening tonight.”
“And why’s that?”
“I’ve never held some like this before…”
“I know you didn’t know me before last week, but please remember me for who I really am. Even if I am the deranged psycho they say I am, don’t forget this side of me.” The redhead’s voice choked at the end with a dry sob.
“I can do that, Gee.”
“Thank you.”