Frank;
Even after the bell rang well over ten minutes ago, Gerard and I are still sat in the shadows with him sobbing into my shoulder. In the time between when this fit started and now, tears have made an appearance in my eyes as well, some have even fallen. I know I have no idea what is making him so upset, but just seeing him like this is heartbreaking. I'm used to him being smiley and not caring about what people say, not this. I don't know what to do other than sit and hold him until he's calmed down.
I can feel the spots on my t-shirt where his tears have soaked it, it just makes more tears fall. It's clinging to my skin, much like Gerard, and it's starting to get a little uncomfortable but I don't care.
I run my fingers through his slightly greasy hair and brush it off his shoulder, trying to find any way to comfort him. I let my left hand rub up and down his back while my arm is curled around his torso. My right hand is in his hair. I'm not sure if I'm any help, but I'm trying. Without much thought, I press my lips to the top of his head, letting them linger for a few seconds.
I'm not sure exactly how much time has passed, but his breathing starts to calm, only catching a few times here and there, his tears have subsided. He pushes himself away from me and digs the palms of his hands into his face, rubbing all the tears away. A deep sigh passes through his lips as he stands up.
I get on my feet as well and look him straight in the eye, "What happened?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," he replies, rubbing under his eye one more time.
"Gerard... Why are you keeping things from me? I know we haven't been together for even a week, but you can trust me." I know some people have a privacy thing, but I don't think he should be keeping something secret if it's hurting him.
"I know I can trust you, but there's-" he sighs deeply and rests a hand on his forehead, "I'm fine, everything is fine."
I know he's not fine, I know everything is not fine, but I choose to accept his answer instead of continue to pry it out of him. He'll tell me when he's ready, right? So, with the confidence of and eventual answer, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest.
"We should get to class," he says after we pull away from the embrace.
I contemplate asking if he just wants to skip the rest of the day and hang out, but I'm almost positive he would say no. So, in the end, I agree with him and latch my hand to his as we walk to our classes.
*
So, even though missing class to comfort my stressed and depressed boyfriend was ideal choice to me this afternoon, my algebra teacher, however, disagreed. She lectured me on how I attend this school to get an education, not skip whenever I please. After that unnecessarily long rant, she wrote me up, assigned me detention, and sent me to the office.
I'm in detention now. Surprisingly, I'm the only one here. I'm sat in the front of the classroom with a teacher I've never had (or heard of), Mr. Sykes, sitting at his desk.
"This is boring," he complains in a foreign accent, holding out the o in boring.
"I'm aware," I mutter, subconsciously wondering who Gerard had as a teacher and why they didn't give him detention. Maybe they noticed that he had been bawling his eyes out for who-knows how long and went easy on him.
"What did you do again?" Mr. Sykes asks, leaning forward in his desk chair, resting his elbows on the desk.
"Skipped some of fourth period to comfort my distraught boyfriend. What about you?" I ask, making it sound as if we're cell mates seeing who did worse.
