I'm Not Okay (I Promise) • Geetrick

18

---Gerard---

Patrick's hand is warm as I take it.

Soft, warm, comforting. It grounds me. Makes me realize how amazing it is that I met him. It makes me want to never let go, to hold his hand and show him how amazing he is. I can't now, though. We're going to the café. He's going to tell me everything. About his issues. Family, anxiety, why he feels so... worthless, I guess.

I continue to lead him at a run through the pouring showers. My shoes squish the dirt beneath them, the dirt that's quickly turning into mud, as Patrick follows me, smiling through it all. The shh of the rain echoes around me blocked out only slightly by the shuffling of Patrick's jackets and his huffing breath. The coffee shop is only about a block away from the mausoleum and cemetery, but it feels like forever by the time we finally get there.

My shirt and pants are soaked, but Patrick is almost entirely dry. That's all that matters. As long as he's safe and comfortable and happy, I'm happy, too. Is that love? Wanting the best for someone else? Wanting them to be happy? To do anything to make them happy? What is love? I want to believe I'm in love. I want to believe I'd do anything for him. I think this is love, but maybe I'm just a naïve teenager without a clue as to how the world works.

He laughs slightly as we stop in front of the door, red neon light labeling the place. His eyes crinkling at the edges and the corners of his mouth twitched up to meet his cheeks.

"What?" I ask with a smile on my own face.

"I don't know, just... You..." He whispers.

"Just me?" I ask as I pull up the sleeve on his arm, making him gasp slightly.

"I didn't give you per-" He's cut off by my lips on the deepest scar on his arm, resting on the sensitive flesh gently.

Surprisingly enough, he doesn't pull away. I don't know if it's of shock or because he doesn't mind but either way I stay where I am, looking up into his eyes. My pink lips linger on the soft skin, leaving sensations on my mouth.

I pull away but he doesn't do anything, he's burning a bright red, and it makes me laugh even more, "You're so cute when you blush."

"Y-you've told me..." He whispers, finally pulling down the gray fabric, down past his arms and hand. I turn away for a moment to open the door, and as we enter, we hear a bell ring in the distance. I let him go first, followed soon after by me (giving me a damn perfect view of his ass and legs and damn). He leads me to a table farthest from the counter and farthest from any other occupied booth, careful to make the conversation as private as possible. The chairs are wooden, a light brown material which I assume is oak, make up the legs and back while the seat is just a cushion. The table between the two chairs is made of wood as well and overall, it's a cozy place. Vast and spacey, but cozy. We sit down, him across from me and I find myself immediately aiming my head down in nervousness. I don't know why my mood can go from playful to grim so fast, but I guess Dad just does that to me.

We sit awkwardly for a little bit because we both know what's next. We both know that we can't hold off any longer. I had completely forgotten about it for a blissful hour or so of my life but... It's over now. And we have to confess everything to each other... I wonder if this is really healthy. I wonder if I really want to tell him what happened to Dad and I wonder if he'll actually tell me what's going on in his life but I'm determined to get the truth out of him.

I swallow, my nervousness building before I say something softly, "Do you want to go first or..."

"Y-you..." He says quickly, "Just... Tell me everything..."

I love you. I'm in love with you...

"Okay... Well... Um..." I blush slightly, pulling my hands into my lap, I'm not sure how to start, but I just decide if begin where all stories begin. My birth.