Vacant Eyes & Butterflies(Frerard)

Chapter 9- Twenty three

"Um, thank you." I smiled. "But, this isn't all for me, is it? Where's your plate?"

He laughed. "I can't eat pancakes, Sugardick."

"Gerard!"

"Frank!" He mocked me, trying to match the pitch of my voice.

"You're an asshole, I hope you know that." I narrowed my eyes. "But anyways, you have to at least eat something."

"It's okay, don't worry about me."

I folded my arms over my chest. "Well if you aren't going to eat anything than neither am I."

"It doesn't work like that." He rolled his eyes.

"What that supposed to mean?" I raised a brow. "You need to eat just as much as I do."

"But you're Frank, that's different."

"Quit being a pain in the ass and eat, please?"

"I can be a pain in the ass, if you want." He smirked, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

I felt all the blood rush to my face. "Gerard, I'm serious..."

"And I am too." He winked. "Now are you going to eat those? Or do I have to feed them to you?"

"Why don't you want to eat?" I sighed, more frustrated now than ever.

"I can't tell you, Frank." He smiled, his pointed teeth, stood out ever so slightly against his chapped, pale lips. "You'd think I'm insane."

I looked down at the pancakes, then up at him, remembering how lost and confused Gerard was in the forest thinking that he had found Mikey. I felt my heart sink down to my stomach. "I don't think you're insane." I lied. "I just, I care about you, and I want to know why you aren't eating."

He bit his lip, and averted his gaze away from mine towards the window; bright red strands of hair fell over his face. "It's not that I don't want to eat." He said carefully. "I- uh. I just can't eat."

"Why?"

He smiled. "That's something that I just kind of want you to figure out on your own, Frank. Now eat up; your pancakes are getting cold."

It didn't take me very long to eat Gerard's pancakes. They were fucking terrible; they were mostly burnt and were more so crunchy than soft, but I didn't want to be rude, so I ate them anyways. After all, it didn't really seem like Gerard cooked much, or really did anything for that matter.

"Do you believe in love?" Gerard suddenly asked me.

We were still both sat at his kitchen table, with the window slightly open a small breeze blew the red strands of hair over his pale complexion.

"I uh... I don't know." Gerard rolled his lips into his mouth trying to fight back a smile, and I just really wanted to know what he was getting at.

"I think I do." He carefully said. "I mean... I think I've been in love before... no, I know I have. It's just... it would be nice to feel that way again, Frank."

"Well...when was the last time you lo-"

"A long time ago." He cut me off. "A very long time ago. I'm just so lonely here."

"Me too, I mean..." All the blood rushed to my face. "Fuck, I just..."

"I know what you mean." He laughed. "And you're blushin', so that's kinda cute."

"Me? Cute? Impossible." I rolled my eyes. What was Gerard even on about anyways? Clearly, I was too punk rock to be cute. I'm not cute. I'm not supposed to be cute.