blood infections

!disclaimer! i wrote this for a writing contest, but i wanted to upload it here to kinda test it out. obviously when i enter it I'll change the names and stuff, but maybe I'll make a chapter two if it's well received?? idk it's a oneshot for now. enjoy!

gerard's pov

"No, don't fucking run from me! Tell me why. Why have you been following me?"

Fuck.

He fucking knows.

I looked around the alleyway where we were standing, looking for an out. I could go to the coffee shop, to my left, but he could obviously find me there. I mean shit, he would chase me practically anywhere I went. He was that pissed. I decided that if I didn't respond, he might just kill me.

"Listen, kid, it wasn't- it's not like that." I tried to reason with the boy, but dammit, he was pissed.

"What? It's not like what? It's not like you've been stalking me?" He yelled back at me. He made sure to stand at least six feet away from me like I had a goddamn gun or something. i mean i did, but damn.

"No, just fucking listen to me, okay? I haven't been-"

"No, you fucking listen to me! Have you or have you not been following me?!" He cut me off. His voice was trembling now, but he kept his composure.

Now, listen. I wasn't sure how to respond at this point. Because I hate lying. I do it all the damn time, but I still hate it.

Truth is, I have been following the kid, but I couldn't tell Frank that. Frank was his name, but he didn't tell me that. I found out on my own. But it wasn't my choice, ok? I had no choice. I decided to tell him that, because like I said, I hate lying. Especially to kids, which is what he is. A fucking kid. Nineteen, to be exact. Just a fucking kid.

So, I will attempt to reason with him. Explain that I had no choice. If I could be doing anything right now, I certainly wouldn't choose to be in a screaming match with a fucking kid.

"I had no choice, okay?" I responded, calmly, trying to deescalate the situation.

"Bullshit! There's always a choice, asshole!"

Okay, clearly he did not want to calm down, and talking to children is hard, and I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there. And stared at him. Trying to think of what the fuck to do.

He stared right back at me. His arms were crossed, partly because he was pissed, partly an attempt to generate some heat. I didn't blame the kid. It was November in New Jersey, and he wasn't wearing much of anything, just some jeans, a long sleeve, and some sneakers with poems and drawings all over them that looked like they had seen better days. In a different, more positive situation, I would've given him a jacket or something. I felt bad.

And then, I felt worse. Because Frank started to cry.

It was only a few tears, but he was trying so hard to hide it, that it made it more visible. I wondered if he was tearing up because of the cold, or because of me.

He wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve before speaking again.

"At least tell me your name. Just tell me your goddamn name. I get to know that, don't I?" His words came out as almost a whisper, which I wasn't used to, considering that we had been in a screaming match seconds earlier.

Shit, I did owe that to him, didn't I? I had been put in charge of documenting a month of this kid's life, making notes each time he entered the coffee shop where I "worked". Where we all "worked". It wasn't my choice, but I completely understood why I made this kid so angry. I owed him my name, at least.

"Gerard. My name is Gerard." I replied softly, matching his tone.

He sniffled.

"Gerard." he echoed. "Gerard, you have royally pissed me off".

And with that, he ran.