Longest chapter yet, sorry it took a bit :)

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"Roommate wanted!"

Gerard smashed his fingers on the keyboard. The bright screen flashed in his eyes against the dark of his room. The small computer screen was the only source of illumination in the room, and, as low as he set the brightness, it still stung his tired eyes. He read and reread the two words until they seemed to blur and become inconsequential. He buried his face in his hands and fell back onto the soft bed.

Still on his bed, he gazed out into the starry night through the foggy glass of his small bedroom window.

Eyes glossed over, Gerard flipped his computer closed and stood abruptly, tip-toeing to the window and sitting softly atop the pillows on the sill. He reached across the length of it and grabbed one, pulling it close against his chest, which held his beating heart. He counted the breaths he took, compared to the beats, a habit he had taken up over the years. His brother used to do it.

The memory made him shiver. It was still fresh in his mind, all the details clear as if it was happening in that exact moment, even though it happened so many years ago.

Gerard had sat in that exact position on the windowsill just over seven years ago, his head against the cold glass, which only separated him from the beautiful world outside, he had thought. It was late — around two in the morning, but he couldn't sleep. What ailed him could not be summed up into one word or sentence, for he didn't even quite know. Of course, there were many problems in his life, but none were particularly present in that moment. He just felt... numb. One moment, it was as if the whole world was crashing down on him and all he could do was cry, and the next everything was fine and nothing could put him down. And the next moment, there was just nothing. A lul, per-say, in life. His heart begged him to scream and cry, but his body couldn't move. Or it was like he didn't even have a heart. Just a sack of bones and muscles, void of any feeling. And his life mirrored this — empty. Nothing happened.

A single tear had fallen, betraying the statue-like face of the boy.

"Gee?"

The sudden sound galvanized Gerard to snap his head to face the direction of where it had come from. Just outside his room stood another boy, knees awkward.

"H-hey, Mikey. What's up? Why're you awake?" Gerard scooted around and flung his legs off the pillows to sit facing the other boy. Head hung low and shoulders not far behind, he sighed quietly, trying to hide his tiredness for his brother.

"Nothin', I was working on a project. Heard you get up. I was just getting a snack." The younger took a seat next to his elder. "Why're you up?"

Not wanting to talk, Gerard simply shrugged.

Mikey understood, and simply gave his brother some advice that never left him.

Now, years later, Gerard went back to it. So, he counted. He pressed two cold fingers to his neck and felt the steady pulse of rushing blood, somehow calming him, and matched his breaths to it, breathing in sync with his heart.

Meanwhile, Frank was also in the dark, laying atop his own bed (if you could even call it that; it was honestly just a pile of blankets thrown upon the ground haphazardly). His eyes struggled to remain open, not that there was much difference — the black of the backs of his eyelids mirrored that of his surroundings.

Shadows of the fire danced on the walls. When Frank was a child he would visit his cousin and make shadow puppets there, he remembered. Now, that was much like the boy with the red hair: only a memory.

~~~

The sun gleamed, coming out of hiding and rising over the black silhouette of the city buildings. A graffitied block of concrete covered most of the brightness of it, but a couple rays found their way around and directly into Frank's weary and annoyed eyes. He squinted and shielded his eyes with the back of his battered hand.

With a long groan, he pushed himself off the dirty blankets and leaned against a nearby pillar. He checked his watch quickly, even though the time was fairly apparent by the too-bright sun in front of him. His black hair stood out, like tree branches jutting out in every direction. Actually, there was probably a leaf embedded in it somewhere, blown through in the night and tangled in his locks. A cold breeze passed through, pulling the leaf free and away. It danced in the air.

Frank sunk his hand into a pocket of his ripped jeans, but came out empty. Confused, he searched the other pockets and sank to the ground, pulling the blankets away from each other and rummaging between the folds. Nothing. He threw down a blanket he had clutched in his hand desperately, sighing in exasperation. His head hung low as he rubbed his eyes and temples. "Fuck."

His mind raced and ultimately landed on Ryan, the older — yet far more childish — addict who would do anything for a hit (even steal Frank's pack of cigarettes). No matter; there were only two left.

Two he could've used.

Frank's eyes rolled so far back in the sockets, he wondered if he could see his brain, and pushed himself off the ground, dusting off his now converted-in-dust knees. The gravel crunched under Frank's feet as he walked out. The path was familiar; it felt like second nature to walk it. Soon, the fluorescent 'open' sign of the small shop came into view.

Mack, an old grumpy man, stood behind the desk, scowling as usual. Frank greeted him, matching his agitated demeanour. A small twitch at the corner of his lip was all he could manage without a smoke or some coffee.

He didn't even have to open his mouth before Mack grabbed a small pack of rolled-up death for Frank, who already had some cash sitting on the wooden slab of a table in front of him. They exchanged the money and cigarettes without even a glance or some semblance of conversation. Frank grabbed the pack, trying to mask his excitement and greed with a yawn, and sent a small grateful nod Mack's way before leaving the store. Once outside, Frank perched himself atop a table and unwrapped the plastic around the cardboard box. He slid a cigarette out and held it between his index finger and thumb while he searched for his lighter in his pocket. Once he had retrieved it and quickly and lit it, he brought the cancer stick to his mouth. It sat naturally between his lips, as if it belonged there. He took a long drag and shut his eyes peacefully as he blew the smoke out, a feeling of instant relaxation wafting over him.

In the time it took for the sun to rise higher and for Frank to finally feel the liberating euphoria that is a smoke, Gerard had already been hard at work. A blue fabric apron, draped over his body and tied behind his grey shirt and matching jeans, displayed patches of brown coffee and white icing and sugar. It wrinkled and frayed at the hems.

"Sorry about the apron," Lyn mumbled as she fiddled with her own, reaching her hands behind her back in a vain attempt to tie it around her small waist. Gerard noticed and went to her aid.

"It's fine." he smiled from behind her, finishing the bow. "Don't worry about it. You could've given me literally anything, I'm, ah, just grateful for the job."

"Yeah, 'course. C'mon let's get started."

And so, Gerard spent his morning learning the ways of the quaint cafe. Being a fast learner, he finished rather quickly.

With a new stain covering his apron (from where, he did not know), Gerard watched the coffee brew. He leaned against the counter, blinking at it. Drip, drip, drip. The strong scent engulfed the room. He looked weary: eyes droopy, a single fist holding his heavy head on one side, a knee lazily hitting the cabinets below every few seconds in a sad attempt to follow the beat of the quiet music coming through the old speakers.

The machine gurgled and spat out the last remaining drops of black heaven. Gerard reached into a nearby cabinet above his head and retrieved a cup (which, coincidentally, happened to be the same from his first time there). The cold ceramic warmed up quickly as the scorching liquid was poured in. Not even bothering to consider sugar or cream, Gerard greedily brought it up to his lips and gulped it down greedily. He didn't mind the bitterness or temperature. Or maybe he was just so focused on getting something, that it didn't matter.

The frosted glass door opened, ringing a bell and alerting Gerard to a customer, stymieing his coffee-induced ecstasy. He spun around, ready to put hsi training to the test. Lyn and Ma had gone out on an 'errand run', and had left him in charge. Oh, why would they trust me with this, all alone?

"H-hey." the man halted at the door, holding it a bit ajar and staring at Gerard with eyes practically popping out of their sockets. Gerard swallowed.

"Hi, how, uh, how can I help you?" He blurted out quickly, heart pumping too fast. My first customer.

"Oh, uh." The man seemed to snap out of whatever kind of trance he was in. "Can I just get a coffee? And, please, not decaf." Gerard nodded and poured another cup of the coffee he had made for himself just moments before. When he turned around, the short boy was standing right in front of him. He smelled of smoke and dirt, but looked perfectly clean.

Gerard paused for a moment, before shoving the hot mug into his hands and walking away. He heard a small chuckle from behind him.

"So, you, uh, you work here?" He asked between sips. It took a moment for Gerard to register that it was directed at him.

"Yeah," he replied slowly, nodding and blinking rapidly.

"It's just that." his hand went up, making odd motions as he spoke. "I saw you here a little bit ago. Looked like you were a customer."

"I was."

He nodded slowly, before extending his hand to Gerard, who was looking down at the register, and pretending to be focused on it. "I'm Frank."

Gerard's eyes went up, followed by his head. He looked between his outstretched hand and his eyes, which were surrounded by soft blacks. Was it makeup or bags? "Gerard." He walked off to the pastries behind the glass and examined them carefully, disregarding the offer for a handshake completely.  Another scoff-chuckle sounded from the far-too-interested customer.

"Nice to meet you."

"Yuhuh," Gerard mumbled.

A long silence ensued, the only sound being Frank's occasional sipping, which he purposefully enunciated. Gerard walked to and from the backroom, finding no excuse to be there but returning still. Eventually, he considered the almost-empty area and decided to fetch his laptop. He sat at a table and opened it, the screen instantly lighting up. Succeeding the login, the screen filled with last night's tabs. Gerard frowned, rereading the two words yet again.

"Lookin' for a roommate?" Frank's sudden voice made Gerard's cheeks redden and him jump in his seat, and prompted another laugh from the shorter boy.  He slammed the laptop screen closed.

"No."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not." Gerard made sure to enunciate every separate word. Frank frowned behind him and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Shame," he started, slumping down in a chair and looking at his dirty nails, "I was looking for a place."

The smart side of Gerard's mind's interest peaked, but the stubborn side urged him to simply ignore it — and Frank. But he knew he needed a roommate, someone to share the cost of rent with. He just didn't have the time to get another job or work full-time.

Grumbling, he gave in. "Fine," he pushed out through gritted teeth. Frank sat up, clasping his hands together in half-mock excitement. "Here." Gerard pulled a pen out of of his apron pocket and grabbed a napkin, scribbling some numbers and words on it and sliding it over to him. "My number and address."

"That's a little direct. Don't you think we should go on a date first?"

Gerard froze, eyes wide. "W-what?"

"Chill," Frank said through a laugh, "joking. See ya later, man." He dropped a couple bills and walked out, smirking.

Gerard whispered a response to the air: "Right."

September 25, 2019

2134 words