Vacant Eyes & Butterflies(Frerard)

Chapter 9- Twenty three

A//N: Hey guys! Just a quick little authors note here. I apologize for this chapter :c There is a little teeny tiny bit of Frerard in there for you, but I promise there will be more Frerard-y things soon, ok?? ok cool!!! Anyways, thank you to all who continue to read this, even if there isn't a lot of you guys. I really appreciate it. I don't get to write very much anymore, especially since I'm not in school, it's not like it's something that I'm constantly doing all the time, so it just really means the world to me that I have people who support the things that I do create, even if it's not as good. So thank you everyone <3 Any who, here the ninth chapter for y'all

Chapter 9

Twenty three

The next couple weeks I spent were mostly at Gerard's house. Of course I'd go home just as the sky began to settle itself into a water colour painting; purples bleeding into reds, bleeding into oranges and yellows. Inevitably the sky would gradually fade out into the darkest blue; like ink spilled on a page; stars coruscating through the murky clouds hanging in the sky.

Almost like Gerard's eyes; they were dark, and hollow almost as if something was missing, and perhaps it was only a reflection of how he really felt on the inside; empty. But there would be times when Gerard would talk to me about the things he loved the most, like art and his eyes would shine brighter than any star I'd ever seen.

It had become more so of a habit to go to his house just past noon, and be home by dark. I told my mother that I had gotten a job, which was a load of bullshit... but I couldn't tell her that I was with Gerard, and I honestly didn't know why.

It was Saturday morning, and I had gone over to Gerard's house a little earlier than usual. Ever since I found out that his mother really did pass away a few months ago (And no, her corpse was not in the bath tub, and there was no shrine for her either.) I felt obligated to help Gerard out with the housework, mostly because he wasn't mentally well enough to properly take care of himself, let alone the house.

When I stepped into his house though, something was... different.

Everything in his house seemingly felt more alive; the heat in his house was turned on, the curtains were drawn back, allowing sunlight to pour in casting warm friendly yellow tones against the walls and furniture. The radio was also on; David Bowie's voice echoing through Gerard's kitchen. Slowly, I closed the front door and slid my shoes off, making my way towards Bowie's voice.

And there Gerard was, in the kitchen; his back faced me, not even realizing that I was there, he continued humming along to the song, pouring some sort of batter into the frying pan. I had never seen Gerard cook anything, let alone eat anything before. It was great to see that he was actually making an effort to do things for himself now.

"Gerard," I said, approaching him.

"Yes?" He sang, turning to face me. He wore a pink apron with a flower pattern on it. I assumed that it was once his mother's, and he was covered in flour.

"Oh, Sugardick!" He smiled, brushing the flour off his apron. "I just really want to thank you; you've done so much for me these past couple weeks; more than anyone else really has, so, uh... I guess I want to return the favour. So, I'm making you pancakes, I hope that's okay."

"Sugardick?" I scrunched my nose. "I thought that we were over that, Gerard."

"I know," He laughed, turning back over to the stove to flip the pancakes over. "But I like calling you that; you always make cute faces when I do."

I stuck my tongue out at him, even though he couldn't see, and sat down at the kitchen table. Not long after, he came out with a plate full of pancakes, a fork, knife and syrup setting them down right in front of me.