The Blue Streaked Boy and Me| frerard

7. what i've been looking for

if you (surprisingly) haven't read my other frerard work, You Had Me At 'Down With Cis', do that for me please

Gee was leaning on his Ferrari when I pulled up.

"Thanks for coming, Frankie," he started.

"No problem." I shrugged like I skipped school all the time and wasn't stress sweating my ass off.

We began our walk through the park. Gee stopped in his tracks and looked at the bottom half of my outfit. My stress sweat became heavier.

"Are you wearing a...skirt?"

I clenched my fists ready to start my 'Let Boys Be Feminine' argument. I was shocked that he would dare to criticize me on this when we were both gay.

"You look–" He swallowed, "You should wear skirts more often."

I unclenched my fists, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Really?"

"Yes. Is it okay if I call you 'Princess' sometimes?"

I nodded quickly, biting my lip. Gee took my hand and began to swing it.

"So tell me about yourself Princess. You can't base a relationship on just In 'N Out can you?" He grinned with those tiny teeth and everything about him was perfect. No. He wasn't perfect. Perfect is boring and the Gerard Way I know is complete opposite of boring.

"I guess I'm an only child," I began, "I'm literally always sick and I play the guitar. Oh, and I like to wear skirts sometimes."

He countered with, "I barely know how to play guitar. I only picked it up because I like to sing. I have a little brother, he's six. Not to brag," he said cheekily, "but my art is pretty rad. My big plan is to move to New York and go to art school."

"I wish I could figure out what I wanted to do, you practically have your whole life together." I think choosing a major was another Big Talk with Lynn. Her ranting at me to get a handle on my future, and not to amble around blindly during my high school career.

"You're wrong about that Frank, what kind of solid job can I get with an art degree?"

"An art teacher? You'd look pretty hot in a tie, Professor Way."

He started to laugh. I huffed at his audacity and a large puff of white smoke escaped my mouth. It was November, it was Jersey, and therefore it was cold as hell.

He tried to think of another question.

"What's your favorite book? I saw tons of them on that bookshelf in your room."

"That's like picking my favorite child," I chided, "but if I had to choose it would have to be... The Dove Keeper."

Gerard snorted, "You're more pretentious and messed up than I thought you were."

I started to defend my wonderful movie adaptation posters and all the slash fanfiction I'd gotten into because of my favorite published series.

"Oh really, you're going to judge my tragic and wild love story, that highlights the struggle of homophobia and the romantization of the starving artist! It's the most eloquent thing that's ever been written in the English language!" I took a large breath after my exhausting flurry of words, "What's your favorite book then?"

That shut him up. He cleared his throat and mumbled, "The Dove Keeper."

I threw my head back and laughed. We had a whole conversation on the first novel and the sequels he hadn't read yet. We talked about everything from what made Arthur such a strong character and how Anthony was literally goals. There was a slightly serious exchange about the exposition and how extremely developed all the characters were (especially the secondary ones) and how it should have ended. But Gee would have known how it really ended if he'd bothered to read the sequel. Eventually, the conversation topic shifted.