Turn Off The Dark (Frerard)

Part Eight

***Author's Note-

Hey guys. It's been a while. Not sure anyone's even still reading this. I wouldn't blame you for giving up, I've been gone for a while. Life got in the way, I summarize more than I can hope to explain. As things currently stand, I can't promise you my updates will be constant, but I'll do my very best to keep them coming. You're free to ask my anything you'd like clarified. :) -Morgan***

IMPORTANT STORY NOTE- Any lines spoken by Gerard's 'other voice' will be in parentheses. (Like this.)

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-Gerard's POV-

It was late. How late, I can't be certain. My sky clock was shaded by a lingering thick blanket of slate gray clouds that showed no sign of moving. The night air disagreed, a crisp chill of wind whipping insistently through my hair as I made my way home from another routine coffee run. This time, I'd indulged and picked up a Marvel comic. So I like Captain America. Sue me.

I raked my fingers through my bangs, shading my eyes in preparation for the awkward, quick walk through the building lobby. Reached the door.

Locked.

Locked?

I shook the handle a bit. Yup. Definitely locked. Praying the night kid wasn't passed out on the desk again, I buzzed.

No reply. Hit the button again, harder.

This time the door was pushed open by the kid. Frank.

He looked a little too excited, cheeks ever so slightly flushed and eyes bright. I assumed I'd yanked him from sleep.

"Sorry man. I must have leaned on the lock." Frank moved over slightly, and I slipped inside and out of the unforgiving cold. I made a point of keeping my eyes hidden.

"It's okay" I whispered, and in my haste to move, I dropped my comic. Fuck.

Letting the door swing closed behind him, Frank picked it up and handed it to me.

"T-thank you" I said. He stared for a moment, but I wasn't sure why.

Internally, I was torn. A large part of me felt the social anxiety building and wanted to run, up to my solitary room and the comfort of my knife. The other part pulled at the first one's pant leg, asking to stay. I'd wanted a friend, hadn't I? Been curious about Frank, hadn't I? Here was my opportunity, all but gift-wrapped and formally presented to me.

"So- you like comics?" Frank's inquiry pierced my thoughts as I noticed his eyes were now resting on Captain America.

"O-oh. Yeah. I like to draw them." That in itself was more than I had said or shared with a person in an extremely long time. Good job, Gerard. The little part of me that desired companionship patted me on the back.

"You draw? Cool. Me too. You'll have to let me see your art sometime" Frank continued conversationally. Sometime? Were we to purposely meet up in the future? Rather than questions, I offered a minuscule smile.

"Well uh, I'm going upstairs- pretty tired" I say, and he nods, and I scuttle away as he heads back to the desk.

A conversation without a panic attack. What an accomplishment. Rarely I could pull through something of the sort, but the side of me that wanted solitude was currently full of spite. Another voice talked to me.

(Who do you think you are, letting someone in like that? Letting him know personal information? Bad enough he knows where you live. Boy, you're walking a fine line. Don't. Get. Involved. The world wants to hurt you, and I' your only fucking friend. Where would you be without me? I want lines tonight, at least ten each wrist, and don't you dare stop before I say so, you hear me?)