Three Cheers for Sweethearts [Frerard AU]

PART III: Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 – THIS IS HOW WE REAPPEAR

We walked into the house, Mikey careful not to let our mom know a thing was wrong or different. If you looked hard, you could see it there. Just a little bit.

"I have to run to a meeting after dinner," Mom told us as she was setting the table in the kitchen, "So make sure you finish your homework and all as quickly as possible, then don't throw too big of a party." Every time one or both of us was left home by ourselves, that's what she told us. I'd always wondered if she knew how few friends we had. She was always teasing.

What perfect timing the universe had, though. Getting mom out of the way for plot convenience. I internally gave myself a high five since I hadn't chickened out of talking to Mikey sooner rather than later, since now we could talk, just the two of us. That is, assuming Mikey wasn't paranoid about cameras or bugs hidden in the walls. I would find out after dinner, I supposed.

After we ate in mostly quiet, we cleaned up and sat in our usual positions at our computers. Our mom waved goodbye. The door closed behind her.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Mikey and I closed our laptops in sync and ran up the stairs to his room. I smiled to myself a little, and I could see he was, too. In middle school, that's what we did every time we were alone. In his room were some of the best memories I had with him. He flopped onto his bed and I sat on the stool he kept in the corner right next to his bass guitar.

"Tell me everything you want to," I said gently.

He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. I couldn't see his face, but I think that was what he wanted, so I didn't change anything. I knew how much easier things could be if you didn't think about who was watching you.

"I've been trying to figure out for the longest time when this started," he began, speaking to the ceiling, "because as long as I can remember, it's been like this. I – I feel numb. All the time. Like someone took my emotions away or something. Gerard, I can't stress how frustrating it is. I will look at something I love and not feel anything about it, even though in my head I don't understand why I'm not, because I know I love it. Or the same thing with things I hate, for that matter. Things that should upset me as well as things that should bring me joy, just... don't." He took a deep breath, and I watched his chest rise and fall. "I'd rather be depressed. I'd rather be anxious. I'd rather be angry all the time. I just hate not feeling anything- But see...?" His voice cracked. My heart broke. "I can't even hate feeling like this! My brain knows I do like it's something I memorized, but I can't feel it."

He broke off, and I dared to come over and sit on his bed with him. Silent tears were dripping down the sides of his face into his ears. "Don't cry," I tried to comfort him.

"NO!" he shouted suddenly, and I jumped back. "No, I... this is an emotion. I love hating telling you this. I need it, Gerard, let me have it. Please don't take it away again," he whimpered.

I put a hand on his shoulder and helped him sit up. He futilely wiped at his face and transitioned from talking to the ceiling to talking to the wall. His voice was heavy with tears, but I didn't mind at all.

"But," he said, trying to collect himself. "But it isn't all bad. Um, well... I've gotten more into bass playing," he gestured to his guitar.

"That's cool!" I said, sounding as supportive as I could.

"Yeah," he nodded.

I guessed our conversation was over, and that he was changing the topic. As short as it had been, I knew he appreciated it. The tears on his face said so. I appreciated it infinitely more; I knew he trusted me and the bond we used to have was coming back. Slowly, yes, but as long as it was coming back, I didn't care the pace.

I was about to point out I hadn't heard him play since we moved, but he kept talking. "I've always felt like there was emotion in music. I mean, think about all kinds of, I don't know, alternative bands. Not just the voices of the singers always sound a certain way or the lyrics or something, but... the music. The tempo, the key, the rhythm... it all comes together to display a particular feeling, a specific one, and... I try to do that myself. Of course, I'm not as good as most-"

"Shut up, you're a great bass player." I interrupted him. He chuckled once, just a little bit, through his tears.

"Well, either way, it's the coolest thing. I can feel when I'm playing. While I'm playing, I can summon the emotion I think I should be having: a really upbeat song if I should be finding something really cool; slow and in a minor key if I should be devastated, so on. Sometimes I wish I could just sit with my guitar and play every minute of my life and never leave, or at least that it was socially acceptable to carry it around with me or... or something, but I want to fit in so badly, Gerard, I don't know what to do anymore." He started crying again, a heart-wrenching sob that nearly made me cry, too. I wrapped him in a hug, for lack of a better thing to do, but it must have been okay because he hugged me back.

We sat like that for a while, just clinging onto each other because our lives depended on it. I was so glad Mikey had such a great outlet. I had known people, back at our old school, who had much worse, much unhealthier ways to deal with what Mikey had just described.

We heard the garage door start to go up; our mom was home. We had counted once when we were smaller and knew that it meant we had exactly forty-one seconds left to ourselves before she walked back inside.

We pulled apart, Mikey dried his tears, and I patted him on the back as I stood, and he followed suit. He sent me a small smile of gratitude, and I reflected it right back at him. We walked back down the stairs together and woke up our laptops just as our mom walked back in.

"You two haven't moved, have you?" our mom smiled at us. "Well, I hope you're at least getting that homework done so that you can have a nice free weekend." She walked into the kitchen and started doing the dishes. Mikey and I flashed small smiles at each other out the corners of our eyes, with a shared, positive secret to keep.

I didn't have a significant amount of homework, not enough to do right then; I could procrastinate in good conscience. Instead, I logged onto Facebook, where a post from Hunter popped in my face. It was a picture of him and one of his friends holding red solo cups and girls with huge boobs under a sign boasting the name The Cubicle. "Always fun to work Friday nights!" it was captioned.

For the record, I thought, I spent my Friday night much better than that.

***

A/N: Hello friends. Due to the results of the election in America I feel like I should make it clear that I am always available to talk to or message if you need me, and that I love each and every one of you regardless of who you are, how you identify, or what you look like. You guys are all people and diversity just comes with society being so big. As it seems the majority of America is afraid of change, we minorities have to stick together and be able to take the hits. We are so much stronger than all the bigots' ignorance. Keep loving each other and expressing yourselves and don't let the orange man lock you in a closet if that's not where you want to be. You're always welcome to talk to me! :)
Stay safe my dears,
~Your pansexual friend with questionable gender, Cassidy (acting_is_mylife)