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***EDIT****

I'm sorry for not editing it the same day it happened and taking so long on leaving you with that last idea, but, y'know, as no one really commented or read or anything, I found it useless to update on the news about the guitar as it didn't really matter, but now I apologize for not telling none of you two what happened after that and that it's okay. I'm sorry!

You see, there're these two friends I've grown intimate with these previous years, Ivan and Ila. More with him than her. And without too much deepening on the story and such, both of them were the ones that saw me when I just broke down in tears when they were taking away my guitar. And so they tried to keep me company and such.
The following day, the shock had been replaced by a total down. Like when you party and dance and all or get on the stage and when you walk off it, and after you talk about the whole thing and laugh with your friends, then there's a sudden down that goes REALLY down and you feel exhausted.
So yeah, kinda like that, mixed with some sadness. Due to outside reasons, they were to send us back home after my first two classes. So Ivan asked me to walk him to the bathroom and there I go.
And so before getting there, there's Ila blocking the hallway and smiling, and Ivan just turns me around roughly and hugs me. Then turns me around again kinda roughly.

And there's Ila with a handmade sign of a drawn guitar, two or three little messages, and in big letters "Because we don't want to see a wingless angel".
And so Ivan takes a guitar out of fucking nowhere.

:)

It was no gift. It's Ivan's guitar, I played it a couple of times and he always keeps it in school. But that day when I left home with nothing in hands but my passport money, he took the guitar, asked my guitar teacher which strings I liked the most and took the guitar home. He bought me the strings, he took his (HIS) study and/or free time just to clean the guitar until it looked like new, and so did Ila take her time just to make that sign. 
And so, he lent me his guitar, not just as in "kay, take it and play, then give it back", but in this sense of "Take it home, take it anywhere, use it, play it, and it's ALL yours until you can afford yours".


Dang shit I love these guys.
This school has taught me, in a hundred percent, what friendship is, I think, fo corny and gay it sounds.
It's just, ohman. 

Even if it's a lent guitar, THIS is a gift. :heart:







When Maria, my first guitar, got broken, my ex gifted me his.

He's asked for me to give it back.

At first we both agreed on me giving it away at least when I was done with school (believe it or not, guitar is obligatory, and my most important subject on it, as it's a high school that prepares you for art universities and I'm in the music specific, and even more specific, on guitar area). But he went a bit nuts at some point of the conversation and yesterday nigh (wednesday) he asked for me to give it to him today (thursday).

He doesn't want to see me, so I had to give it to a friend of his (who is re-coursing third year in my classroom), who would give it to him later.

...

Ohman.

I couldn't sleep much last night, and kept on crying. They were taking it from me. My guitar. My little baby. My classical guitar, my source of work and passion and my needed material thing to be happy and angry and sad and excited and anxious and everything I wanted with a crescendo or an allegretto or even with just the Zelda theme. 

I took it in its case (also a gift from him), and another case he gave me because it was much more comfortable than the one I had. 

I was sad the entire day, angry, upset. Kept walking around, ignoring friends, pretending I didn't hear the Hey, Wait's, or What's Up's, and left on recess to a garden of a museum nearby (but not enough for my classmates to be around) and played it a last time.

Then went back, finished classes, and then that one friend had to leave, so I told him to pick up the stuff. He said that André told him to give me the strings. I smiled, already crying, and said I had nowhere and no way I could give them any use anymore, so it was okay. I bought and changed the strings just the same day André asked for the guitar. 200 pesos to the trash.

That one friend went back in the classroom (I was outside, sat on a table they keep on the hallway for no reason, with a friend at a side), and then came back with both cases, gave me an apology through the glance he put away immediately, and so he walked away.

...

I think that's how a mother feels when she's witnessing how they're taking their son away for his death sentence. 
I think that's how a father feels when he's seeing his daughter finally leaving home after finding her own house.
I think that's how a sibling feels when they've come to the house to take their most beloved sibling away for a life-long jail sentence.

I'm sorry if it feels overdramatic to you, but that's how it feels to me.

I don't have another guitar, and I can't afford one, and there's nowhere I can get money from besides what I get for my school days.

What am I supposed to do with no guitar, even if just for some months or a year or years? Sit there? Is he thinking I'll just not play guitar like it's nothing?

He made it into a music university, and he and his friends think that if you're not in a music university, you're NO WAY and in any shape or sense a musician.

Only because they're in a school like that, they think and KNOW that they are the only ones that can be sensible to music, that we people that don't study there don't feel it like they do, don't know it like they do, and they KNOW people who don't study are not musicians in any way.

That was his reason; as I'm not a musician, according to him, he didn't want to let the guitar be with someone who wouldn't give it its rightful necessities and priorities.
Do I need to join that university for him to realize there's passion on what I do?
Do I need a fucking dimploma to have passion?
School GIVES me passion?

His way of thinking is idiotic. If you're passionate about something, then you're passionate about it, and leaving it or being taken from it can hurt as deeply as losing part of your essence, as losing part of your soul. If you're in a school where you develop what you're passionate about, then that's good. But it's more due to the necessitie of the certificate than the passion itself.
Because passion is born, not learned or created.

You don't need to create passion for something, it comes on its own.
You don't need someone telling you how to Passion for something.
You don't need a classroom to develop your passion.
YOU DON'T NEED A SCHOOL TO HAVE PASSION.

But as I'm not in a music university like him, I'm not a musician, I'm not passionate, guitar and music are my "second plan", I can't do "real" music, and definitely, it won't hurt me to not have guitar and to not play it.


Excuse me if I'm wrong, but that, to me, is a very asshole-y way of thinking.

I'm deeply, terribly, hurtfully brokenheart for the loss of my guitar.

I know it's just a guitar and that I can buy any other guitar out there, but...thing is, the cheap ones EVERYONE can get aren't real good for classical. And I've grown passionate of classical. And the ones that work real well for that are...not as cheap. I can't afford one, not in a couple of months. I've got no other way of getting one. Sure, a friend could lend me his, but...it's this sentimental, emotional part of the thing, that it simply is not mine. It's not my guitar. I'm playing a guitar, I'm not playing the guitar. 

A guitar is like a friend. Someone can introduce you one of their friends and hang out every now and then, but he is NOT your friend. He's a friend's friend. And you have no connection with this person, no bond, and definitely no trust as if it would be about a real friend.

Oh god.

...

It feels like taking the emotivity from an actor.
Like taking any kind of material from a visual artist.
Like taking every pen and paper and every computer from an author.

It's like taking a ballerina's feet away.

Activity


Chapter 47: Part 2 - Blue Eyed Cat

It was unbelievable.

Gerard’s long hair was gone. It had been there, and in one second, it suddenly was not there anymore. It was that stupid and quick. It was there one moment, and in a blink, it was gone. Easy like that. Kind of like a murder; there is a whole living person standing there, and there are million and one stories behind them, a billion moments of memories behind the pupils, it’s a person that came out of a man’s balls, won a race among billions of others, took nine months to develop, grew up, got sick, got happy, got hurt, went to school, studied, lived, breathed, stargazed, cried, laughed, danced, sang, got embarrassed, lied, jumped, loved…and in a blink, from a moment to the other, it’s all merely gone. Like all those years, moments, seconds, like all the effort and stories behind it were totally worthless and useless. And never coming back. And nobody cares. Just like that.

Maybe he was exaggerating with comparing his hair to a whole human life, but for a moment, it was impossible not to make the comparison. It was more than just his long hair to which he had gotten used. It meant a whole thing to him, some which he had not even unburied until he could freely talk for hours about the subject with Billie once they had some intimacy.
His hair, being long, gave him some kind of freedom. Gerard had never really felt too attached to the masculinity he was conventionally asked for; he was not attracted to sports, or rude things, or fighting other guys. That did not mean either he felt attracted to play with dolls and paint his fingernails pink. He knew himself a guy, but that did not stop him from liking his looks with some eye-liner on, feel attracted to some ‘girly’ things, and even get the idea every now and then to randomly dress up like a girl just to see how people would react.

It was not that he wanted to become a girl; he was just a guy with no conventional and stereotyped manly interests. Just like the cases of girls that do not like to cook and wear dresses and prefer hanging with guys, play baseball, be rude, and still know themselves girls and still wear make-up or heels. Thing was, society was so much in the belief that women were so underrated and supported them to extremes, that they forgot about men in the process and even underrated them almost like in a desperate effort of making things get in balance; therefore, boys sometimes had more troubles accepting their sexuality than girls. If it was about a girl “You go, girl! Nobody can tell you who to be, rock those pants!”, but if it was about a guy, “How can he go out wearing a skirt, he’s a guy!”

Eh.

His hair gave him some comfort on his looks, some way. Not too associated with the manly side, the long hair made him feel kind of…and, blushing when the word hit him in the head, the first thing Gerard thought was ‘pretty’. He did not want to comb his hair with ponytails and side-tails and buns, no. He just liked it long. He liked how it felt. Still a guy, but with something conventionally accepted for girls. It made him feel…a bit, a bit secure on his looks. Even though, he had to admit, it was very annoying; long hair was a mess. A plain disaster. Too much for him to control. In a way, he felt much more free without it. The difference was like this; long hair made him feel pretty, but short hair made him feel comfortable. And from pretty to comfortable…bye to beauty.

But, his hair was not only a matter of his sexuality. It also meant his great effort as an actor. It was just a vague, clichéd school play. But he had not taken it like just a vague, clichéd school play; he took it like many should, like it had to be seen. Like a play, like a piece of art, like entertainment, something that needed to be treated with dignity. He would have worked as hard for the vague, clichéd school play as he would have done with some Shakespeare in an Italian theatre. After all, it was not the circumstances what gives something a value but what it really is. If it had been a shitty play, then he would have done a shitty work. But it was something with a good (even if clichéd) plot, with real-like characters with some great psychological analysis, something someone took months or years to create, all the effort and passion to write down, and who worked with all they had to make it work. And for such great work, Gerard was giving a great work. One gives what one receives.

The hair was a representation that he took Mrs. Collins seriously, despite all her random attacks of weirdness. Because she was a great director. She could not be in great theatres, or in every movie screen, but she gave her best in the best place she had taken and chose; her role as a teacher. And Gerard took her seriously as someone to work with. The hair had been some kind of his proof that he worked hard enough for the play and for her that he did what an actor of a big, globalized thing would have done.
The hair was Lily.

The hair also was, and what hurt Gerard the most, kind of like a representation of what had brought him and Billie together, in a metaphorical way. That was because the hair was Lily. But he would not have had been Lily if Mrs. Collins had not brought him to the play. And if Mrs. Collins had not brought him to the play, then Billie would not have had to be somewhat forced (in a good way) to spend time with Gerard, both in theatre class and in their personal lessons. It was being forced in the same class and play what brought them to being around in the same space in the same times, which was what somewhat forced them to talk and get in touch with one another. And that was what had brought them to become friends. And it was being friends what brought them to become intimate. And it was being intimate what brought them together as a couple.

And the only one that witnessed the whole process had been the hair. Not their shadows, which left in rainy days and darkness. Not their clothes, which changed day by day (because even wearing the same shirt the same week, you don’t wear it every single day every single second). Not their eyes, as irises are never the same, more in a spiritual and/or emotional than a physical one. The hair. It had always been there.
And it was gone.

The hair had been there when they first said Hi, at the cafeteria, when Lance had been picking with Gerard when Billie arrived to put things in order. The hair had been there when Gerard spied him playing the piano, when Lance made him stumble at the stairs and Billie received him, when they acknowledged each other as theatre partners and the protagonists, when they talked and laughed together, when Billie took him to his house after Gerard had saved a kitten, when Gerard had cried to him, when Billie had looked at him with those emeralds of his, when they had fake-kissed, when they had practiced together for dancing, for singing, for acting, when they had done music together, when they had fallen in love, when they had kissed, confessed, gotten together, held hands, slept in the same bed, argued, cried, hugged….and all of that, all of what the hair had with itself, was gone.

Gerard talked about all of that and more to Billie in the intimacy of his house. Well, ‘talked’ was one verb. He had talked about it, but had also stormed, raged, cried, sobbed, ranted, rambled, and all that was possible. In a way, Billie was happy that Gerard had so much trust in him he talked about what he was feeling and thought, and even got in other subjects which he found in the way of his words before going back to the main subject. Gerard had also endlessly stormed and sobbed talking about Lance, Leonard, the rest of those guys, and about some kind of hatred towards them. Billie merely listened to him, nodded every now and then, hugged him when needed, and spoiled him with a nickname and some words every now and then, as Gerard carried on.

It was a bit surprising at first that Gerard did not even mind the presence of his friend Bob in there as well, like he did not even exist at all.

Going out of classes, Billie and Gerard met by the doors and, like usual, the gang and Billie walked the same direction. Later on, they would have to take different paths, except for Ray, Gerard and Billie. Sometimes, the only one parting different ways was Frank, as Bob adored to spend his time at Ray’s like it was his own home. It somewhat was; Billie found his case very similar to his and Mike’s. Bob was…well, his life worked quite different to the average or conventionally (or humanly) ‘good’ or ‘normal’, so being under the roof of his house did not exactly make him the happiest or something, to put it some way. Therefore, his heart claimed for his family to really live in the blood of his intimate friends, and even thought Frank was very intimate to him, he was much more used to spend it at Ray’s. Just like Mike, Billie thought.

The guy was in a very similar situation, and his heart claimed for his family to really live in the blood of the Armstrong family, and in Tré as well. And even thought he was very intimate to Tré and Jason, he looked for Billie’s house. It was like Gerard and his gang were the tenth-grade mini version of them. The black haired guy that sings, the hyper and short guy, the one that uses to carry the guitar everywhere, and the wise one that tends to be the quietest. Even though Bob was a heck, million, zillion times quieter than Mike was. Mike spoke like a normal person; thing was that the rest of his friends talked a million times more than the average (with that hyperactive-like attitude from Billie and Tré, and the constant replies from Jason). But on the tenth-grade version of the gang, they all spoke what was average and even less than that (except for Frank), and Bob was the extremely quiet one.

As they walked, all of them already updated on what the hell had happened to Gerard’s hair, Billie came up with the subject of what he had earlier said about giving shape to his short hair. It had been cut just like someone cuts a piece of raw meat; randomly and carelessly. So it had no head or feet, not properly.
“But, y’know, Gee…I-I…” Billie chuckled with embarrassment as he caressed Gerard’s shortish-long hair. “…I have no idea how to properly cut hair, and, y’know, I’m scared I’ll fuck it up”

“I could do it” Bob offered, and Billie was sure it had to be like the fifth sentence he had heard the blond guy say in all those months of knowing him and sometimes hanging with him (due to hanging with Gerard). Everyone turned to look at him, quite surprised, eyebrows furrowed or arched, and confusion in the eyes. Bob did not show a single hint of emotion or amusement as he kept walking, looking at Billie and Gerard, who could not take their eyes off him. The blond one looked ahead not to crash with anything, but his friends kept looking at him. Understanding the surprise from everyone, he sighed and shrugged. “I…my aunt cuts hair real well, and I spent a lot of time with her during childhood, so…” and even though he really did not tend to show much emotions, Gerard was sure a very shy soft of red painted his cheeks. He cleared his throat before continuing “…I just know what I do with scissors and a human head with hair, okay?”

“I just hope it’s not murder” Frank joked and broke the tension, even though Gerard still blinked in surprise after the little laugh. Wow. Bob, the rough one, the strongest of the group, the tallest, the scariest one that had scared children away by growling like a dog when they won’t shut up, the quietest guy, and one of the two of their group of friends whose sexuality did not seem to go other way than straight (ha!), being a passionate for hairstyling. He had not said it that way, but it was quite obvious for Gerard, for the way he had talked, gotten slightly nervous, put his gaze away, and blushed. And even though he knew jobs and passions and liking did not have to be related to gender and sexuality, he almost snapped at Bob, in a joke, something like “Ha! Who’s the girl now!?”, but he was not much of a joke guy.

And so, Billie and Gerard went with Bob to the smallest one’s house to get a proper haircut. They did not need a chair or too many stuff; Gerard merely sat down on the floor of the living room, after placing some papers on the floor (for the hair to land there), and some plastic for Gerard’s shoulders, a water sprayer, a comb, and a pair of scissors. Bob mentioned, as he gathered the stuff, that he knew they wanted to talk, so they could go ahead; he was a deaf and mute tombstone. Billie seemed unsure at first, but Gerard thanked him and took the opportunity so his boyfriend went with it; Gerard knew Bob much better than he did, so he trusted it was okay to just go ahead and talk like the blond one was not there.

Gerard was sure of something; it was totally okay. Bob was the kind of guys who were loyal to the pores of the bones and the deepest of the soul. It was not a necessity of being loyal and brave and die for his friends; it was more his instinct of hating everything and everyone that he saw no single sense on getting in troubles or go drama on things, and he saw no sense on not being loyal to a friend. If he chose his friends and if they chose him, then he had no reason to go against them. And if he got tired of the relationship, or found it unhealthy, or something, he merely left. What was the big deal? Why could not everyone just do it instead of going drama and create problems? Eh, that was Bob. So, of course, he was not much of a gossip guy, not even about important stuff that was not celebrities and shit.

Bob was strange. And the fact that it was Gerard who said it really did make him strange. He was silent, and he had to be the most comprehensive, sympathetic person in the whole world, even more than Billie himself. He could listen to something very intimate from someone, and never judge, or do weird faces, or say anything about it. And he said nothing on it, sometimes not even to the person he listened to themselves. He really was a deaf and mute tombstone. His thoughts were: ‘that what they tell me, it’s theirs. It’s not mine. I’ve got no power over that stuff, I don’t own it. I have no right to judge it, to change it, to criticize it. If they want and need an opinion, I’ll give it to them. Then again, that what they tell me, it’s totally theirs. I’ve got no right to go around telling it to anyone else. I’ve got no right to speak about it like it’s mine, even if only with the person themselves. If they want to talk about it, then they’ll give me permission to speak about it. Before that, I have no right to take it like it’s an easy matter, because even if it is from my perspective, maybe it’s the heaviest issue for their perspective; and as they are the owners of that what they told me, their perspective is the right one. Not mine.’

The guy was either too wise or too weird, and Gerard found both as something great. He would not really be surprised the day Bob would stop at the doorframe and ask for his permission to be let in, three times, before walking in. He was as creepy as he was the most comfortable person to be around with. Maybe not the most outgoing or friendly or loving, but definitely, the most sympathetic and loyal friend. Gerard sometimes felt bad he had to be so cold and with a stone heart like that; he was so much of an amazing, wise, affective person, that it almost physically hurt to know people thought he was heartless and got away of him only due to his serious looks.

Gerard had gone on and on as Bob cut his hair about all that had been previously mentioned, and even when Bob was done, he continued. The blond guy did his job like it was the only thing that existed, and as the couple talked, he cut hair, cleaned his neck and shoulders, cleaned the floor, and entirely cleaned up whatever mess had been left, and as the pale guy was still talking, he still sat down at a respectful distance to listen. He was also in the belief that an idea had to be heard whole; he had a mania for finishing things (like not pausing or changing a song until it was over once it’s begun).

Before he started with Gerard’s hair, Bob had been aided by his classmate’s brother. He had gone around looking for the sprayer while the couple got comfortable and started talking but, before he could reach it from the place Gerard had signaled him, he stopped when he entered the kitchen and, standing there, with a cat on his head, the little brown haired kid looked at him with a bit of panic in the eyes. Bob looked discretely at the sides only with the eyes like making sure no one else was around to attack him (him, Bob, or him, Gerard’s brother…? He really was not sure, as it came as an instinct), and looked at the little guy again. The cat meowed, and Bob excused himself as he, slowly and carefully, leaned down to open one of the cupboard’s doors.
“What happened to his hair?” he heard little Mikey whisper.

Bob turned to look at him and blinked. The little guy looked a bit awkward, standing in the kitchen like nothing, with the knees facing each other, and the cat on his head, swinging its tail. But Bob, like the time he met little Mikey, could not see him other way rather than cute. The guy was twelve, a total sweetheart, and a cat-lover…how could he not be adorable even for a grown man’s eyes, and therefore, for a serious fifteen year old?
“Some jerk cut it” Bob replied quietly, even though Gerard and Billie were too busy talking to pay attention to whatever was going on at the kitchen. “Still, I don’t think it’s in me to talk to you about it…it’s Gerard’s, so I feel kind of nosy talking about it…” he said that but, as he finished, he looked again at the brown haired guy and those big, pretty eyes behind the pair of glasses that only magnified the eyeballs. Bob stared away and felt a bit bad, like he had screamed at the guy. “…then again, you’re his brother, so…” he shrugged, and after some moments in silence, he sighed. “Anyway, if you want I can tell you in other moment, but I wouldn’t ask Gerard if I were you…you know, just, not to keep the whole thing rolling in his head over and over”

“You talk too much” Mikey pointed out, and when Bob turned to look at him expecting some disgust or mockery, he found a sweet smile on the little kid’s face, like he had found that fact like something good, or like something cute. The fact that a twelve year old pointed at him that he had talked too much for his average surprised him. And the fact that a twelve year old smiled like he had found him cute made him feel embarrassed. He did not reply. “You’re the quietest person I’ve known, but if kind of feels you feel comfortable right now; like you feel free to speak what you tend to keep for yourself”

The quietest person he had known? Comfortable in that moment? Speak what he tended to keep for himself? What was this guy, a spy? A harasser? Bob felt a bit creeped out; it was like little Mikey knew it all, could read minds and feelings, and the future, and like he could control what happened. Like it was a book and he was the author including himself in the story, or like he was god and took some vacation time on earth without losing control over everything, or something. Yet again, he did not reply. But he could not deny one thing; indeed, without noticing, he felt free and comfortable in that moment. He was not sure of why, he simply felt that way. Maybe it was the house. Or the kitchen itself. Or Gerard. Or-

“I’ve got the sprayer” little Mikey said once again knowing it all forehand, smiling and shyly offering the thing to the older guy. Bob doubted for some moments; for a second, he felt like he was standing before a much older person, with a wisdom further humanly known, and with the noblest heart ever, which held the purest intentions of all. “I…sorry, I use it to chide Maya, sometimes” he said, and only then did Bob notice the scratches on his face and hands. Noticing Bob noticed, little Mikey blushed slightly and stared away. “…she offers a good fight”

The blond one could not help it. He did not even think about it, or realized after it was done. He merely gave half a smile and chuckled. It had been small, but it had been a little laugh that was born with sincerity. And he liked how that felt. He took some steps closer to the twelve year old and accepted the sprayer. He smiled at him and little Mike returned the smile. They stared at each other for some moments, and Bob realized; this guy was the biggest bless in Gerard’s life. He sure had a treasure of a human being as a brother. This guy was the kind of person that knew what they did, and always did things for others, careless of what would be the effect on them.
And the reason of the peace and calm that gave him freedom to speak without even realizing came from this guy.

Ray had once mentioned that little Mikey was the most comfortable person to have around, but he could not explain why; it was not exactly hanging with him, it was not what he had to say, it was not what he did. One merely felt strangely good when Mikey was around. Bob saw it like little Mikey was some kind of thing that, if present in a room, fills the air of an aroma and an atmosphere of entire peace, like humankind never knew war, hatred, or anger. You did not really need to stare at that thing, or talk to it, or have it in hands to just receive what it had to offer.

Bob’s eyes moved up to the cat that still rested on Mikey’s head, and gave another tiny laugh.
“Hey, you” he greeted and moved a hand up carefully. Maya hissed at first, but then she let the tenth grader scratch her right behind the left ear. “Stop offering a good fight…” and caused a small laugh in Mikey, which made him grin. “You know, he knows what he’s doing. So you should listen to him” he said but did not dare to move the gaze down and see whatever expression Mikey could or could not be showing in that moment. He merely scratched the cat a bit more until she started purring, and looked at Mikey only to thank him. Then he returned to the living room with the talking couple, and started his job.

In the end, Gerard’s hair ended up in a very ordered mess. It was not that Bob had not done it right; indeed, he did an excellent job further what Billie had firstly expected from him. Thing was, Gerard did not want a manly haircut. He wanted it, and quoting, “kinda like Jake’s”. Which meant it was longish-short, and messed up on purpose. The difference was that Jake’s hair was a mess because he cut his hair once every certain time, then let it grow with no sense or direction or shape, woke up in the mornings, and went to school just like that. Gerard’s hair, on his part, was a mess in which one did not feel uncomfortable; it gave this idea that every lock was where it had to be, where it belonged, like the mess was meant to be like that. He could wake up in the morning then leave to school like that, and still make his hair look like it was combed, while you looked at Jake and realized at first hand he woke up like that.

Gerard looked at himself in the mirror once he was done talking with Billie, and even though he had been talking about how and why it broke him to have his hair gone, he could not help the surprise of his new look. Billie smiled warmly when he saw the way Gerard looked at himself; he could not accept it fully, but inside, the tenth grader was admiring the job done with his hair. And one could not blame him; he looked hot.
When that thought got to him, Billie looked at both sides like someone had read his mind.

“Wow…” Gerard let out as he continued looking at himself. It was not so bad. Indeed, it was not bad in any way. He had to admit he preferred short hair when it was about comfort, and now that he realized, he also liked the look of it. Long hair made him feel pretty, but short hair made him feel…free, in some way. At least, that specific haircut made him feel like he was expressing some rebelliousness he did not dare to express through actions or words. It was strange. Even though the liking for his new haircut did really not fix the loss of the sentimental value of the long hair and all the troubles about the play, in the moment, Gerard did not care much as he did not think much about it due to being a bit lost on admiring his new hairstyle. “…Bob, it’s…wow, I don’t know what you did, but I love it”

“You look fine” Bob complimented, and both Billie and Gerard turned to look at him with a smile each one; the fact that he was trying to make explicit the sweetness and affection he roughly used to block away, even if only through a compliment, made them feel a bit moved inside; he really did have a big heart, and he cared a lot for Gerard, more than they knew…it was not his fault having such a hard time really showing it everyday, and now that he did it, they knew it had to be a big effort to him, but something he could do for the sake of healing Gerard’s sad heart. “I like you better with short hair”
“Yo” Billie called comically faking to be offended and aggressive against Bob, who blushed for a moment and widened slightly the eyes.
“Wha-” then his brain finally processed the joke and he chuckled. “You’re an idiot”

Billie laughed as an answer. He turned to look at Gerard, who turned to look at him as well. They shared a gaze that told a million things in among the silence, and as Bob smiled very slightly at the obvious affective connection between the two, the sound of a crash upstairs interrupted, followed by some awkwardly amusing yells from Gerard’s brother.
“Oh, god, Maya, get off my face! Get off my-ah! Ah!” he kept yelling and more stuff kept falling to the floor. The couple downstairs laughed, and Bob merely sighed. Surely, he was laughing inside.
“I think I’ll go see what’s up” he said as both an excuse to leave the couple alone and to really go check what had happened, and so he left the living room to head upstairs, where the fight kept going on.

Once left alone, Billie and Gerard shared an unbreakable gaze. For a moment, the tenth grader lost his breath and felt hypnotized. It was impossible for him to take the eyes off Billie’s, and he mechanically, like under a spell, got closer to him until they were chest-to-chest, still gazing in the depths of their pupils. Gerard thought, for a second, that maybe that was exactly how it felt when a vampire controlled you; the attraction was unbelievably strong, and it was literally impossible to stare away, and his feet moved on their own when they went to Billie like he had ordered it with the mind. The twelfth grader moved a hand up and caressed Gerard’s new hairstyle, both of them ignoring the noise upstairs, and the cat with amazing fighting skills murdering a pair of teenagers.

They looked at each other as Billie caressed Gerard’s hair.
“…you’re beautiful” Billie whispered to him, and the tenth grader could feel the other’s breath on his mouth. “I know what you’d said to that, so let me talk; I don’t care if you don’t think you’re beautiful I don’t care if you think people don’t think you’re beautiful. I’m not saying everyone, including you, see you as something beautiful. I’m saying that you’re beautiful to me” he explained with sweetness but an entire security and seriousness that made Gerard put the stare down, still feeling quite sad. “And the world’s a subjective thing. So if you’re beautiful to me, then in my world, you’re beautiful to everyone. And shut up”

For a reply, Gerard merely chuckled, bittersweet. He kept the stare down, but his toes helped him up to get closer to Billie’s height. He looked up, and only then did the twelfth grader found the other’s hazel eyes drowned in tears. He had cried a lot during their talking and ranting, but every time he started to cry again felt like the first time Billie ever saw him breaking down, and every time, his heart exploded in a mess of pain for seeing such cute thing suffering.
“…it’s going to be hard” Gerard whispered to him. “I’ll still take days to get used to this…and to get over it…” he admitted and his head went down again. After some moments in silence, he shrugged lightly and his voice broke. “…I can’t help but be deeply sad about it, you know?” Billie nodded, and he slowly and carefully placed his hands on Gerard’s waist. The tenth grader’s small hands had been resting on the other’s chest since who knows when. “…it’s hard”

“I know” Billie replied in a soft whisper as he stared down at his boyfriend. Gerard looked up after some moments, and gave a weak smile as a pair of tears rolled down his face.
“…thank you, BeeJ” he said with the threat of his voice breaking in any second. “…I feel…safe now” and so did the twelfth grader nodded. He knew exactly what Gerard meant with that, and both stayed in silence like they had mentioned somebody’s death. Once after the silence had been enough, the youngest of the two sighed again. “…thank you”
“That’s okay” Billie whispered, and moved his hands up to cup Gerard’s face. He brought it up as he leaned down and kissed him. Their lips slipped in between one another and met again in a soft fight that felt more like a dance, and after some moments, they broke apart. Billie got closer and kissed his boyfriend’s cheek, before whispering in his ear, “I’m here for you…”

Gerard hugged him tightly like a child who just lost his dog. Billie returned the hug, tightly.

He spent the rest of his afternoon with the poor little thing crying rage and raging sadness in his arms, and a cat fight upstairs.
Chapter 47: Part 1- Gotcha, Love Cats!

“Yo, Billie Joe”

The black haired young male stopped looking around as well as his steps through the hallway of school to look down at a short freshman who walked up to him. Billie smiled lightly the guy as he got closer, but the guy did not really return the smile or anything.
“Frankie” Billie greeted, but before he could ask anything or do anything, the younger and, strangely for Billie, shorter guy questioned him.
“Do you know what’s up with Gerard?” the tenth grader asked looking quite worried like one who does not find their son but tries not to panic just so soon, playing a bit with his lip-ring using the tip of his tongue. “He like, completely ignored me when I tried to say Hi” Billie’s smile faded as he listened. Just the guy he was looking for. “He was made a total beast for what it looked, and he just walked away ignoring everything and everyone”

“Gerard?” Billie questioned with disbelief, and the kid in front of him nodded. “My Gerard?” he questioned again, and Frank nodded eagerly once again. “Why was he angry?”
“I don’t know, I thought you’d of know or something” Frank shrugged and shook lightly the head. Billie stared at him with the eyebrows furrowed. He thought for a bit, and for harder he tried, he could not come up with anything that could be logical. The little guy looked so okay in the morning, what could have made him angry in the matter of one period? Billie was about to ask for more stuff to come up with an answer, but Frank won the word once again. “And, well, I don’t know if it had something to do with his mood, but…” Frank sighed lightly, scratching the back of his head, looking a bit uncomfortable. “…I think his hair was shorter”

Billie raised both eyebrows and stared at Frank in disbelief. He stayed quiet, remembering just how important his haircut was to Gerard himself, and the whole play. But mainly to Gerard. After some moments, Billie shook his head in confusion again.
“That can’t be, why would he…?” he muttered, but stopped talking to himself and just tried to focus on what the hell was happening. He wondered for a few moments, and then placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Where did he go to?”
“I don’t know, he was first rushing out of class, and he just kept walking through the hallway, we were in English at classroom 101” Frank shrugged once again. “I tried to catch up with him, but he hurried made a beast”
“…okay, he shouldn’t be so far away” Billie muttered more to himself than to the guy himself. “Thanks, Frankie, I’ll go look for him”

“Good luck, Billie” the tenth grader said with a small smile, and after the older guy had stroked his hair, Billie broke out jogging through the hallways seeking for his boyfriend anywhere, somewhere. He kept going and jogging through school for a bit, stopping once to ask for him and getting directed somewhere, to ask again and be directed somewhere else. Even though he was looking for a surely messed up Gerard, Billie did not feel under pressure and certainly not under panic like he had felt the first times he missed the tenth grader somewhere and somebody brought news on him getting in a bad time, or the probability of being in one. Billie did not really feel panicked this time. Like he had gotten used or something.

After asking once more, he was directed to the football field. He smiled and thanked and hurried there. The fastest way from where he stood at was across the basketball pitch. Even though it was not as popular as the football team, there was actually a basketball one as well. Physical Education classes, after all, were mostly taken in that one specific pitch. Billie remembered this one time a kid in ninth year kept picking on him because he was the shortest of class and told him he would not get to the top of the rope, and Billie, instead of crying and going to hide behind his always lanky friend Mike, actually went all the way up in almost a record time. He also remembered to have had been reported for having flicked off at this one kid while saying obscenities. Eh. He had never really…been the favorite to rules and such.

Billie crossed the silent and almost empty pitch in his way oblivious to everything and just headed to the door at the back. Once opening it, he blinked quickly a couple of times while using his hand for his eyes to hide under its shadow against the light of the sun that peered through delicate and thin grey clouds of winter. He waited a few seconds there, and then headed outside with firm steps. Once he had reached the football field, he stared around with curious and expecting eyes trying to locate his special little guy, but he was not on the bleachers and certainly not in the field. Billie stood in the middle of it and kept looking around a bit too innocent-looking. At first there was nothing, but then he caught it; movement behind some bleachers. And he knew about only one person with hair as black as that one.

Billie hurried his way over there and rounded the bleachers, stopping for a moment to make sure it was the little guy he was looking for. Feeling all fuzzy inside by realizing it was Gerard, just like he was a newbie fallen-in-love guy looking at his life-long crush in a beautiful outfit, Billie could not help the happiness of just seeing him as he reached closer for the tenth grader who, knelt down on the ground, groaned and mumbled stuff as he looked down at something. Billie’s excitement faded a bit as he got closer, and soon the worry hit him in the head; just a glance at the guy made him forget entirely why he was there in the first place. Getting closer, Billie stopped for a moment and, as he was about to open his mouth for a tiny first word, he stopped and his breath got cut at the same time his heart skipped a beat. He realized.

At first sight he did not really recall it nor did he pay attention; all of Gerard was always dressed in black almost like he was a freaking vampire, from neck to feet, and in the cold days, his gloves were dark as well. So his hair, being just as black, used to get confused with his clothes as it fell onto his back, and therefore he had not noticed before. But…after all, Frank had not hallucinated or anything. It was true. It was as true as any other true and obvious fact that there could be. It was…it was real. Gerard had done it. He had…it had changed.

Gerard’s hair was short.

Billie stayed still for some moments, and swallowed. After some seconds, he got closer and heard Gerard muttering obscenities; he really did not recall another time when Gerard could curse like that. The twelfth grader approached him more and leaned down as he did.
“Gerard?” he called quietly. His boyfriend looked over his shoulder like he was caught committing a crime. Billie stayed frozen for a few moments; Gerard looked a bit…out of place. Like he had turned into a different person just from last time they saw each other; into a more…fucked up person. After just a few moments of the surprise, Gerard closed the eyes and sighed with anger as he put his head down, cursing again. “Gee? What’s wrong?” the older one insisted carefully as he took another step closer and got on his knees behind Gerard. “What happened?” and he could not really help the obvious. “And what happened to your hair?”

“Ow, fuck” Gerard muttered once again and did not turn to look at the other. He just stayed like that, down on his knees facing the other side. “Just…oh, goddammit”
“What is it, Gee?” Billie asked once again, and he moved a bit to a side to get a better look of the younger guy. After he had moved and got a clearer sight of his boyfriend, he gasped and widened his eyes. “What happened to your arm?”
“I just…” Gerard stopped in a snap, like he had been about to explode but was able to control himself just in time but was struggling with it. He held a piece of cloth against his right forearm, where a bloodstain was visible. Billie stayed quiet, not knowing where to stare, and therefore having his eyes moving from Gerard’s face down to his arm and so on and on. He waited some moments until getting a real response. “I was, I just…fuck, I was just going through the fucking school and there was this…fucking…shitty piece of-“ he growled before continuing, “I mean, I just wanted to walk at a side of the goddamn wall, I had no fucking idea there was a shitty-ass nail coming from it like it’s fucking okay and normal, like, who’s fantastic idea was it to-?“

“Gee, it’s okay, it’s okay” Billie shushed him as his boyfriend started rambling. “Thing is, why are you so angry, sweetheart? I doubt it’s got to do with the lost nail on the wall”
“I’m not angry, I just-” Gerard half-exploded again before hissing and closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath and tried to calm down. Billie just stared at him; he was not used to Gerard’s new anger explosions. He was so used to see him so fragile and crying the whole time that he was a bit lost with his state anger. “I just, it’s just, for fuck’s sake, why can’t the world leave me alone? I don’t want freaking rainbows and shitty happiness, I just am sick of all this bullshit and-”
“Gerard, my love” Billie recalled, placing a hand on Gerard’s cold cheek. At first the tenth grader refused any contact and tried to stare away, but Billie did not move his hand away. “…do I have to guess it was someone’s fault?”

Gerard did not reply. A frown was drawn on his face, but he seemed to really be trying to calm down, leaning in a bit closer to Billie’s hand. After some seconds like that, Billie sighed and stared away. He closed the eyes and counted to ten in his head; one day, he really was going to chop Lance’s head off.
“Listen, my Gee” Billie called softly, moving again to sit in front of his boyfriend, taking his hand and putting it away so that he could hold the little piece of cloth in his place. Gerard hissed lightly at the new pressure, and insisted on not making eye contact. “You can’t let your emotions be controlled by othe-”
“I know” Gerard hissed as he interrupted, in a new explosion he almost immediately tried to control. “I know, I just; it’s driving me crazy, Billie, this is ridiculous” he exclaimed lowly. “Like, I understand if someone wants to beat the shit out of me, that’s what bullies do, but the hair? The hair!?” he growled and did a fist with so much strength his knuckles turned white like snow and Billie feared he would hurt himself with the fingernails, which was probably happening anyway. “For fuck’s sake, from all the bad things he could do to me, he had to specifically, only, just aim for my hair!? It’s ridiculous! It’s like, oh god”

And he kept growling and cursing. Billie could only stare at the other with worry, furrowing the eyebrows. God, to make Gerard get out of control like this…sure, he was not breaking windows and burning down somebody else’s house, but this was totally out of his usual self.
“I swear the world’s got a special aim on me, God’s fucking with me on purpose” Gerard growled, then looked up like he could see Jesus Christ from there. “What’s your damn problem, you, old man!? What did I do to you!?”
“Gerard, sweetie” Billie called. The other’s frown did not soft down nor did he turn to look at the twelfth grader. The older male was about to say it was only his hair, that it could have been worse. The problem was that doing that would only make Gerard feel misunderstood, weird, and not heard at all. And so, Billie knew why his hair was such a big deal. So, glad that he thought about it all in a snap right in that moment before he could say or do any stupid thing, Billie just got a bit closer, without letting go of the small cloth. “Tell me what you’re feeling”

“Well” Gerard snapped, not roughly like he was angry but like he had been impressed and did not even realize himself. After a small pause, he continued, shaking lightly his head. “Dumb. Sad. And angry” he hissed at the end of those previous words, then waited some moments in silence again before continuing. “More than anything, I feel anger. I feel…so damn angry” he muttered. “It feels like…liquid fire under the skin…behind my eyes, under my cheeks, and mostly, burning in my chest like it’s never done before” Billie listened carefully, and despite how bad he started feeling, how worried and upset he had started to get over seeing and knowing his boyfriend in such state of mind, the twelfth grader could not help it but stare at him with worried warmth, and smile for a moment, very lightly; even when angry, even when sad, even when distracted…Gerard was so poetic, so sensible, and with such great touch of an artist that he was plain beautiful. Even angry, he was entirely beautiful.

They stayed some moments in silence. After a while, Gerard’s frown faded and turned into a sadder expression, with the gaze lost in nowhere and somewhere at the same time. It was like the sudden rush of anger had exited his system as he expressed it calmly, accepting it. But it was also the same fact of accepting such unknown new sensation what caused his brain to collapse for a moment, giving him this new state of confusion in which he had to take some moments to process the information before continuing. And now that he was done processing that, the wave of sadness finally got to him.
“…I mean…” he gave away in a whisper, much, way much more calm than before. Billie turned the cloth to keep cleaning the blood away, while Gerard just talked almost only to himself. “…from all the pranks he could have thought about…he thought specifically on cutting my hair” he let out like it had been a total surprise, which it had somehow been. He blinked a few times, and Billie just watched him, waiting for him to continue. “…he thought, specifically, on cutting my hair”, the tenth grader repeated, in awe.

Billie discretely looked at a side when he thought he had caught movement somewhere nearby, but there was no silhouette or person or another living thing around that were not them, so he returned his full attention to his boyfriend. He had not even noticed Billie’s small moment of distraction. He was still a bit lost, like he was taking a bit too long processing.
“…it’s…I needed it for the next The Cat Duet presentation” Gerard whispered, now not showing any sign of anger, like it had never been there, but mere sadness. “…I…it’s…it’s not gonna grow back as long for June” Billie looked away and focused on the cloth on his boyfriend’s arm, even though he really did no find it any interesting at all. “…it’s…it’s gone…I’d have to wear a wig…I’d…I…Lily lost her essence” Billie nodded; it was a very weird way of putting it, but he understood. Any other person, and many actors, would just go Nah and get the wig, and carry on like that. But Gerard was much more different than those “many actors” and “any other persons” that Billie had ever known about in his whole life; Gerard did not take it as “I’ll dress up and act”, he took it as “I’ll let this character talk through me”. Of course the hair was a special matter.

And even if it was not only because his work as an actor had gone down the drain now that his character lost an important detail of their looks, Billie knew that Gerard was not as dramatic as for letting that take over his emotional life and kill him. No, he knew it was something else.
“…it’s, somehow, kind of a representation of what brought us together, BeeJ” Gerard whispered a bit lower this time, and if Billie had been previously scared by so much anger trapped in him, now there was no sign of it, like that little bit of conversation had taken it away in the air, and now only a sad face remained. “…and…it’s gone” as he said that, he finally looked up at the other, with tearful and shiny eyes. Billie felt inside as his entrails calmed down; there he was. The Gerard he knew. The same innocent, fragile and sad expression that was the Gerard he knew. Not the angry one, but this one. The cute and frail one that needed a hug.”…and it’s gone” he repeated.

“Oh, Gerard” Billie whispered as he moved a hand up to caress his boyfriend’s hair and cheek, getting closer to nuzzle at his head, before kissing his face. “It’s okay” he said lowly, closing the eyes and still focusing on just rubbing his face against the other’s head like a mom cat to her beloved kitten. “It’s okay, my Gee…” he insisted, and when he heard the first sniff-like sound, he let go of the cloth he had kept pressed against the tenth grader’s arm and held his face instead, making him look up for their gazes to meet, but Gerard’s eyes stayed down and away, in shame and embarrassment, with the eyes full to the limit of tears. “My baby…” Billie almost pouted the calling, and the first tears rolled down Gerard’s face, which he cleaned away with the thumbs. “I know it meant a lot to you…and I’m not telling you it’s dumb to cry over it because it’s not”

Gerard’s lower lip quivered and he let go of more tears at those words. If he had noticed something about the ridiculously fast speed in which Billie won his trust, that was that it was because the twelfth grader knew how to listen. When someone has a problem and they want to vent it out, people tend to say it’s okay, give a million advices over it, and do everything for you not to cry. Thing is, you didn’t need all those advices. You just wanted to say you felt sad. You never wanted an answer. Them giving away advices or saying it’s okay or asking for you not to cry feels like they don’t fully understand the shock the hit has left on you, and if something makes a human feel sadder or angrier, that’s to not feel understood.

Billie, on his part, listened all that he had to listen, then hugged you and cuddled the pain away, and kept telling you it was fine to cry, and that he was there with you. Of course he sometimes tried to give away advices, but he was never too quick on it, and he definitely never said “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad” with stuff. Gerard had not noticed it with something like that, but he was sure that if he ever got sad over a broken pencil, Billie would look at him the same way than now, would get as worried as now, and would cuddle him and listen to him like he had lost his grandparents or something. Indeed, Gerard had the feeling that he had found that certain one in a thousand; the one that understood that it’s not stupid if it’s making you feel bad.

“My GeeGee…” Billie purred with sadness as he wrapped his arms around the smaller guy, who kept the head down, buried in the crook of Billie’s neck, and sobbed only once, quietly. The older guy kept him tight in arms, pressing him close to himself. Billie had really not noticed, but now that he had, out of curiosity, compared the tiny Gerard he hugged back in the days when the tenth grader was bullied in an alleyway for protecting a kitten to the one who cried right there in his arms, his little boyfriend had gotten…well, his shoulders were a bit wider. He did not feel like a rag doll in his arms anymore, but rather like a…like a kid. Still making him overprotect Gerard, but not like he was a weak kitten; more like a healthy cat. Not a kitten anymore, but still being small and needy.

“Shit…” Gerard muttered under his breath and dropped another pair of tears. Billie kept him tight in the embrace, even though the tenth grader did not break down like he used to, and stayed much more calm and quiet than before. Yet again, he still could not contain the tears and the spontaneous sobbing. After some more moments like that, Gerard was who took the initiative to break apart, but as he did, he kept a tight grip with his fragile (but not as tiny as they used to be) fists on Billie’s jacket, by the chest. He looked up at his boyfriend with crystal-like eyes and a pair of tears on his face. “…that means I can’t be Lily anymore” just as Billie let out a small sigh and tried to convince him otherwise, Gerard continued. “I can’t just go with a wig, it kills the damn character…I-I mean I could have worn it here in school, but we’re presenting for damn New Jersey Performing Arts Center, I can’t just go with a wig! That’s pathetic!” he exclaimed, then went back to bury his face in Billie’s neck, back to tears. “I don’t care if we make it to their stage, I just wanted to be on stage with you…” he whimpered.

Billie furrowed the eyebrows staring down at him, keeping the arms around the tenth grader and caressing his hair.
“I-I…I wanted to have fun with the guys, and spend my stage time with you, because it’s theatre and I love it, a-and it’s you and I love y-you, and…” he groaned but sobbed as he kept going, like he was not sure of how he had to feel at all in that moment, struggling a bit with what he did and said. “…a-and I still could go like that, but I’d ruin the play for my fucking wish of doing the play with you…” he sobbed before continuing. “I-I mean…th-the play is…the play is the reason we’re together, and you’re the best fucking thing that has ever happened in my pathetic excuse of a life, wh-why can’t I freaking enjoy of the only thing that keeps me a-alive for once?”
“Gerard, sweetie” Billie called. “You’re thinking too much on ‘What if’s’ and future stuff that isn’t here just yet” he whispered. “I know it’s hurting you due to all that carries, but, listen…” as he said that, he broke away from the hug and kept the hands on Gerard’s shoulders, focused on keeping their gazes together in an unbreakable connection from which no one and nothing could distract them. “No matter how long your hair is, it’s not taking your hard-work and talent away” he whispered, looking serious rather than happy. “No matter how long it is, you’re beautiful to me” he smiled, and Gerard’s face hinted a soft shade of pink as he cleaned away a tear. After some moments in silence, Billie widened his smile. “And I’m talking about the hair”

“Ah!” Gerard exclaimed like it had been disgusting, but his body and face betrayed his expression as he started giving away a soft, quiet and broken laugh. Billie chuckled with him and looked at his boyfriend, and how cute he looked when he laughed like that, even if he was cleaning a few tears as he did. Once Gerard was done with the quiet but honest laugh, he kept the eyes down but a small smile on his face from the previous joke. Billie sighed and caressed his hair once again, leaning in closer to press a small kiss to the tenth grader’s forehead.
“Listen here, pie head” Billie called, still smiling, as he broke apart. “This is what we’re gonna do; you go back to classes, do your stuff, you won’t think about this, and then we’re going home” once said that, the twelfth grader stared slightly away and blushed. For a moment, Gerard had the sensation that he had gotten a bit nervous, like he had said something he should not have had. “I-I mean, your house…and there, you’ll tell me all that you feel and think, and then you’ll sit down at your living room, and I’ll give shape to that wonderful hair of yours” he winked an eye to the other. “You’ll see how you’ll rock that short hair like a bad-ass”

Gerard took a bit of a while. He sniffed again, even though he was not crying anymore. He rubbed the back of his hand on his face to clean away what remained of tears, and after some more moments, he nodded. He knew that Billie was interested on all that Gerard had to say about how he felt and what he thought, and that he probably had much more to cry, but the tenth grader also knew that Billie worried so that Gerard would do great at school. It could be a bit hypocrite, seeing as Billie skipped classes and tended to fail almost everything, but he still worried for Gerard to do the opposite. It was quite bittersweet when Gerard noticed that Billie wanted the best for him; that he wanted for Gerard to not be like him. That was the reason he worried so much over Gerard doing bad stuff, when he did them himself. Was that wrong? Gerard did not know what to think.

Still, he knew that Billie wanted him to have the mind clear for what was left of the day for him to focus on school. That was why it was some kind of “First focus on this, then we’ll really talk like we want”. And, in all honesty, he did not mind.

“That’s my man” Billie whispered with a warm smile as he yet again stroked the other’s hair, making him give away one of his adorable smiles. Then, Billie cupped his face in his hands and leaned in closer. Closing the eyes softly, he pecked Gerard’s slightly-harsh lips and stayed there some seconds before breaking apart. Gerard’s heart had raced at first due to them kissing in school, but then he remembered he was under the bleachers during class time, so it was okay. He smiled to Billie with sincerity when the older guy broke apart, and he could not help a tiny tear once again. Billie smiled at him and cleaned it with his thumb.
“You’re amazing” Gerard whispered with all the affection he had inside, and Billie needed no other thing to feel it in his heart. “Thank you…”

“The best for the best” Billie whispered back as he got closer again to Skimo-kiss him, before resting their foreheads together. After some seconds like that, he gave a last forehead kiss to his boyfriend, before he stood up softly not to stunt Gerard with the sudden change. Once on his feet, he offered his hands to the other and helped him up. “Let’s go…we’re in class, y’know?”
“Ah, I knew there was something missing” Gerard smiled at him.
“Class?” Billie asked as he took his hand and walked with him a few steps before they both let go of each other as they got out of the space under the bleachers.
“Nah” Gerard shook softly his head.

“Then what was missing?” Billie questioned as they kept going away.
“You hadn’t said ‘You know’ in a while” the tenth grader answered, and Billie left behind a bit of a laugh. “I was getting worried”
“You’re a dummy…”

Their voices got lost as they headed straight to the nearest building to get back to the warm inside of school and their respective classes. Soon enough, they were out of sight and there was no sound of their voices nearby the football bleachers, where one of the cheerleaders sat quickly after being knelt on one of the steps for her feet not to be seen from underneath the seats, putting a hand to her mouth and squealing while whimpering.
“Oh my god!” she squealed as quietly as she could, with her feet drumming like a mad rabbit and her fists shaking, smiling like a retard and blushing. Unable to speak, she let emotions and shock control her squealing for some more moments, before she tried to stay still as she took out her phone. She opened one of the applications of messages through internet, looked for the multi-conversation named “Team”, and started spamming them with emoticons and expressions, before sending four different photographs of the couple she had discovered just a while ago.

She laughed a bit as the squealing kept going, before picking up her stuff to get back to school. Thank God she had followed Billie from the basketball pitch, she thought. What one could find without even looking for it!
“I can’t wait for Charlotte to know!”

--

Gerard passed the rest of the day with the urge to run away back home and hide in there. His hair was a total mess, a shapeless disaster. It was not that it had been wrongly cut on purpose, but just snapping the scissors once did not really work. There were longer and shorter locks that went everywhere but a logical place. Somewhat, he was an asymmetric piece of art; you could not help to look at it, but something about it just did not feel entirely correct.

Everywhere he passed by, people gossiped or asked. He was at nothing to stop, turn on his heels, throw the arms up and yell “Oh my god, I’m an invisible, isolated ghost, and you people decide to notice me just to gossip and judge!? What the fuck?”, but he merely decided to keep on walking, with the head down and the fists done. He was not sure whether he was angry or sad, he merely knew he was upset and that people were total idiots. God, he wanted no sympathy or sincerity. He just wanted some damn peace.

Some people laughed by thinking he had gotten a haircut to feel included; “like, poor little thing, thinks he’s cooler with short hair”. Screw them. Screw them all. He had lost something intimate, and they gossiped and laughed, and pointed, and whatever. It was not like he asked to be noticed only when bad shit happened to him. The swirly back then, the bathroom beatings, and now this. Brilliant. Wonderful.

His friends were a very human thing as well each one, so Gerard understood that they, too, asked him what the hell had happened to his hair. He knew it was not their fault, anyone else would have asked it. Billie did. And if he were someone else, he would have done so too. So he understood in some way, and he calmed down before exploding at all, and promised to explain later.

He tried to pay attention, but his mind always went back to whatever subject he wanted to think about, always related on the hair and all he had lost with it. He sometimes woke up from his thoughts and tried to focus again on classes, because he knew that Billie was trying real hard for Gerard to really do better. It was not that Billie worried too much on his notes; it was not the notes themselves, but the fact that he knew that the lower they were, the lower Gerard’s self-esteem could go, even if not directly. And he also knew it was a strong reason for Gerard’s parents to strongly believe he really did need that psychologist, so the better his notes, the better they’d think Gerard was, and so, the better they would understand he needed no psychological help.
Maybe.

It was during a break that Gerard and the gang could gather around, Jake included, and so he talked about it. Even though all showed negative reactions out of anger towards Lance and his friends, it was Jake who showed some kind of deeper frustration. It was a bit strange; almost like the whole thing was personal, or something like that. Gerard had explained what had exactly happened, and a very tiny sum up of how he felt (angry, frustrated, quite down in the dumps to be honest), and rambled a bit about how important it was for the play they were repeating in front of important people from New Jersey’s art school.

His friends had tried to not leave him alone a single moment, due to all the people turning to look at him, giggle, or merely point. Even though Gerard was grateful for Ray telling him to ignore people, Frank flicking off at whoever giggled behind them, and Jake taking him somewhere else if someone pointed, Gerard could not help it but to smile when he was left with Bob sometimes because, more than doing any of what the rest of their friends did, Bob merely glared and people just shut up and walked away. And if they were brave enough to ignore the blond’s icy blue eyes that almost said you were getting torture if you laughed or said a single thing about Gerard’s new haircut, he could always go with his alternative. It made Gerard giggle every time, not because of the action itself, but by the reaction from people when Bob turned around and growled at them like an animal The worst of the whole thing (but best, and exactly what made Gerard giggle) was that people did not get creeped out or laughed at the sudden growling on their faces; instead, they ran away and even yelped.

Somehow, his friends made it easier for him to survive during that day, and mainly, to be distracted from the whole subject of the morning’s accident, which was exactly what he needed, at least until he could get home and be alone with Billie to talk about the whole thing, fully.

During the rest of the day, he could almost swear there were girls following him. And if he was hallucinating right, they were all from twelfth year. At first he thought it was just an idea of his; since Lance cut his hair and he went back to classes, he felt like everybody was looking at him when it was probably just his paranoia and stress. But all in all, he was sure that, many times, when he looked over his shoulders, there were two or three different girls each time hiding behind something or turning away, like they were spying on him or following his steps or something. Gerard gave them a cold look every now and then once it had become too obvious they were harassing him, and he had luck enough one of those times to have Bob with him during the way to his following class. Gerard could not help the laughter when the girl squealed and ran away like she had seen freaking Slenderman when Bob growled at her right on the face.

After a few times seeing that, it was almost totally certain that he was not merely hallucinating. A specific group of girls were following him, or watching him at least. The problem was, what could the reason be? Because he doubted highly it could be due to his hair. It did cause some polemic issues among people, and they did start noticing him only to judge and stuff, but it was not like they were going mad on it, or like it had caused panic at all. There was no reason for a specific group of people to just follow him around out of the blue. For a moment, he thought it could or not have to do with the fact that he and Billie had carelessly kissed in school. But then again, they had been left alone at the football field, under the bleachers, when everybody was meant to be in class. It was something out of the list.

Billie found him every now and then during the breaks between classes, and talked with him, comforted him without going too far for Gerard not to break down in there, and sometimes walked him to his next class. It was only when he was with either Billie or Bob that Gerard noticed no girls nearby following him or staring at him more than the normal. And after two or three breaks between classes, they merely disappeared, like they all had gathered the information they needed and had now hid in their cave to share what they found each one, and prepare an evil plan. Or maybe Gerard had watched too much TV and had read too many comic books, and was merely paranoid out of the fact that people had looked at him. It was not like he had done something to start hate in a group of girls.

Gerard had been getting some stuff from his locker and leaving some other things in there when a teacher called for Frank, who was the only one of his group of friends he was with at the moment. The small guy with a lip ring rolled his eyes when he heard the voice behind him, and signaled Gerard for forgiveness, and said he would not take long. The pale guy smiled at him, told him it was okay, and that he would wait there. Frank turned around and had to go with the teacher, who surely had only negative stuff to chide him about or whatever, he was not sure. Any or other way, when a teacher called him, it did not really use to be for something productive or good at all. Gerard stared at him going away, before sighing. He continued with the duty on his locker, when he heard a whistle in a calling way. He ignored it by thinking it was not for him, until he heard his name,

“Yo! Swirly-head Gerry!” Gerard sighed and closed the eyes at the sound of that voice. He swore that if it had been Lance and not his friend Leonard who called for him, he would have taken the fork the guy next to him was using to eat his bowl of fruit and would have gone straight to them, pinned Lance down some or other way, and stab him repeatedly in the eyes with the fork. He kept the eyes closed and his teeth clenched as he tried not to let his anger turn him into a total animal blinded by anger, and after some moments, he looked at his left side, glaring. There stood Leonard, and Daniel and Benjamin giggling like idiotic hyenas, surely already updated on the news of what the two jocks had done to the tenth grader early in the morning. “Nice haircut!”

Gerard’s teeth clenched so hard he feared to break his jaw. He felt an impossible heat inside his chest, and for a moment he felt like his blood was charged with hot gun powder. For a moment he thought of returning the words with something heavy, or at least go with flicking them off. He was not much the kind of guy to defend himself or stand up for protection and defense, but he had gotten sick and tired of letting anyone and everyone abuse of him. He needed a reply, but he was not strong enough to give one. The best he could give, and which came out  naturally, without him even needing to think on all of that, was a deeply sarcastic smile with a whispered “Thank you”, showing up a palm like a sign of gratefulness. The jocks laughed more and joked a bit more between themselves and went away. Gerard shook his head and softly but not so softly slammed his head on his now-closed locker, with a heavy sigh. God, he wanted to destroy something.

While Frank was getting back to him, the cheerleaders passed by screaming and yelling, singing and dancing for people not to forget that, finishing classes the next day, there was a basketball game. They motivated people not to miss it, that there would be a huge surprise for everyone, and that the game was going to be amazing, and also, that they had practiced a whole new routine with a whole new song written by themselves. They insisted on not missing the game, and went away singing for the school’s sport teams’ anthem thing, leaving straight to another hallways to cause the same fuss and disaster. Gerard rolled the eyes. Like he was interested in sports at all. And just copying his thoughts, Frank appeared at his side.
“Geez, cheerleaders” he whined, smiling. “I’m not amazed of a whore that sings. I’ll be amazed when it’s a girl that rocks Master of Puppets, goes sexy, and still gives herself to respect”

“Like I care about sports” Gerard whined as a reply, half-smiling and getting to Frank’s side as both started walking to their next class.
“Like I care about sluts” Frank joked back.
“Like I care about girls at all” Gerard joked and his was definitely the last one, as Frank started laughing and could not really win against that. Both of them liked how easy Gerard could talk and joke about his sexuality with his group of friends; even though he was scared of people finding out (as he had it bad enough being known as ‘straight’ for people to bring even more problems to him if they knew), he felt entirely free of joking about it with his friends. He was so free on the subject he even used ‘gay’ to insult them; it was not like it was an insult, and he knew it, but he liked to joke and mess around with the guys.

Entering their following class, they kept joking via paper texts. That, of course, until they were spotted and sent to the principal. Gerard had not really counted it, but he was sure he had not visited the principal’s office so many times in so little time before in his life.

--
***EDIT****

I'm sorry for not editing it the same day it happened and taking so long on leaving you with that last idea, but, y'know, as no one really commented or read or anything, I found it useless to update on the news about the guitar as it didn't really matter, but now I apologize for not telling none of you two what happened after that and that it's okay. I'm sorry!

You see, there're these two friends I've grown intimate with these previous years, Ivan and Ila. More with him than her. And without too much deepening on the story and such, both of them were the ones that saw me when I just broke down in tears when they were taking away my guitar. And so they tried to keep me company and such.
The following day, the shock had been replaced by a total down. Like when you party and dance and all or get on the stage and when you walk off it, and after you talk about the whole thing and laugh with your friends, then there's a sudden down that goes REALLY down and you feel exhausted.
So yeah, kinda like that, mixed with some sadness. Due to outside reasons, they were to send us back home after my first two classes. So Ivan asked me to walk him to the bathroom and there I go.
And so before getting there, there's Ila blocking the hallway and smiling, and Ivan just turns me around roughly and hugs me. Then turns me around again kinda roughly.

And there's Ila with a handmade sign of a drawn guitar, two or three little messages, and in big letters "Because we don't want to see a wingless angel".
And so Ivan takes a guitar out of fucking nowhere.

:)

It was no gift. It's Ivan's guitar, I played it a couple of times and he always keeps it in school. But that day when I left home with nothing in hands but my passport money, he took the guitar, asked my guitar teacher which strings I liked the most and took the guitar home. He bought me the strings, he took his (HIS) study and/or free time just to clean the guitar until it looked like new, and so did Ila take her time just to make that sign. 
And so, he lent me his guitar, not just as in "kay, take it and play, then give it back", but in this sense of "Take it home, take it anywhere, use it, play it, and it's ALL yours until you can afford yours".


Dang shit I love these guys.
This school has taught me, in a hundred percent, what friendship is, I think, fo corny and gay it sounds.
It's just, ohman. 

Even if it's a lent guitar, THIS is a gift. :heart:







When Maria, my first guitar, got broken, my ex gifted me his.

He's asked for me to give it back.

At first we both agreed on me giving it away at least when I was done with school (believe it or not, guitar is obligatory, and my most important subject on it, as it's a high school that prepares you for art universities and I'm in the music specific, and even more specific, on guitar area). But he went a bit nuts at some point of the conversation and yesterday nigh (wednesday) he asked for me to give it to him today (thursday).

He doesn't want to see me, so I had to give it to a friend of his (who is re-coursing third year in my classroom), who would give it to him later.

...

Ohman.

I couldn't sleep much last night, and kept on crying. They were taking it from me. My guitar. My little baby. My classical guitar, my source of work and passion and my needed material thing to be happy and angry and sad and excited and anxious and everything I wanted with a crescendo or an allegretto or even with just the Zelda theme. 

I took it in its case (also a gift from him), and another case he gave me because it was much more comfortable than the one I had. 

I was sad the entire day, angry, upset. Kept walking around, ignoring friends, pretending I didn't hear the Hey, Wait's, or What's Up's, and left on recess to a garden of a museum nearby (but not enough for my classmates to be around) and played it a last time.

Then went back, finished classes, and then that one friend had to leave, so I told him to pick up the stuff. He said that André told him to give me the strings. I smiled, already crying, and said I had nowhere and no way I could give them any use anymore, so it was okay. I bought and changed the strings just the same day André asked for the guitar. 200 pesos to the trash.

That one friend went back in the classroom (I was outside, sat on a table they keep on the hallway for no reason, with a friend at a side), and then came back with both cases, gave me an apology through the glance he put away immediately, and so he walked away.

...

I think that's how a mother feels when she's witnessing how they're taking their son away for his death sentence. 
I think that's how a father feels when he's seeing his daughter finally leaving home after finding her own house.
I think that's how a sibling feels when they've come to the house to take their most beloved sibling away for a life-long jail sentence.

I'm sorry if it feels overdramatic to you, but that's how it feels to me.

I don't have another guitar, and I can't afford one, and there's nowhere I can get money from besides what I get for my school days.

What am I supposed to do with no guitar, even if just for some months or a year or years? Sit there? Is he thinking I'll just not play guitar like it's nothing?

He made it into a music university, and he and his friends think that if you're not in a music university, you're NO WAY and in any shape or sense a musician.

Only because they're in a school like that, they think and KNOW that they are the only ones that can be sensible to music, that we people that don't study there don't feel it like they do, don't know it like they do, and they KNOW people who don't study are not musicians in any way.

That was his reason; as I'm not a musician, according to him, he didn't want to let the guitar be with someone who wouldn't give it its rightful necessities and priorities.
Do I need to join that university for him to realize there's passion on what I do?
Do I need a fucking dimploma to have passion?
School GIVES me passion?

His way of thinking is idiotic. If you're passionate about something, then you're passionate about it, and leaving it or being taken from it can hurt as deeply as losing part of your essence, as losing part of your soul. If you're in a school where you develop what you're passionate about, then that's good. But it's more due to the necessitie of the certificate than the passion itself.
Because passion is born, not learned or created.

You don't need to create passion for something, it comes on its own.
You don't need someone telling you how to Passion for something.
You don't need a classroom to develop your passion.
YOU DON'T NEED A SCHOOL TO HAVE PASSION.

But as I'm not in a music university like him, I'm not a musician, I'm not passionate, guitar and music are my "second plan", I can't do "real" music, and definitely, it won't hurt me to not have guitar and to not play it.


Excuse me if I'm wrong, but that, to me, is a very asshole-y way of thinking.

I'm deeply, terribly, hurtfully brokenheart for the loss of my guitar.

I know it's just a guitar and that I can buy any other guitar out there, but...thing is, the cheap ones EVERYONE can get aren't real good for classical. And I've grown passionate of classical. And the ones that work real well for that are...not as cheap. I can't afford one, not in a couple of months. I've got no other way of getting one. Sure, a friend could lend me his, but...it's this sentimental, emotional part of the thing, that it simply is not mine. It's not my guitar. I'm playing a guitar, I'm not playing the guitar. 

A guitar is like a friend. Someone can introduce you one of their friends and hang out every now and then, but he is NOT your friend. He's a friend's friend. And you have no connection with this person, no bond, and definitely no trust as if it would be about a real friend.

Oh god.

...

It feels like taking the emotivity from an actor.
Like taking any kind of material from a visual artist.
Like taking every pen and paper and every computer from an author.

It's like taking a ballerina's feet away.
I did awful.


I ain't gonna make it.


:iconsuperw00tplz:
Hi.

Just wanted to let you know, I may be kinda abscent, more than usual to say at least...and, maybe my replies will be quite short or vague, so please be patient if I'm not answering, and forgive me if I seem a bit too cold with you guys when I do, I just, well, feel kinda down in the dumps.

Destroyed if I must admit.

André and I, after quite a while of fighting non-stop, finally put an end to it. I think we both wanted it, I more than he did, but he asked me to do it as he felt he couldn't do it himself. 

Before anyone explodes, I'll clarify that the worst he did was to love me.
He did nothing wrong.

He loved me unconditionally, and was loyal, caring, gave me good morning every now and then, took care of me, even became obsessed (which was wrong, but he soon worked on it). And I didn't love him back like that. I was loyal a hundred percent, and I was caring and made sure he was happy.
But I wasn't loving enough. Have never been.

It's not in me to hug, or kiss, or fill with pretty words everyday somebody's day. I can't say I Love You, he was the only person I could say it to. I'm...I don't know how to treat people. And not treating him like he needed, finally got to him, and broke him down. And he still tried to carry on.

But I was tired of hurting him. Hurting him was having fights, and having fights was hurting both of us. So it's both a selfish and a non-selfish thing; not wanting to hurt him, and not wanting to carry the guilt and pain of hurting him on me anymore.

We've been fighting and both want to have the reason on everything. We've said foolish stuff to each other. Being a person drowned in the art of words, I can be especially cruel with my usage of them when I want, and when I'm not thinking.
We could not understand each other.

I had thought from some days ago to tell him, ask him for it...he...needed too much love, and I give too little. He was too sun, I am too moon; he was too summer, and I am too winter. One thing is to be each other's complement; another thing is to be eternally opposite sides. We're not two faces of one single coin; we're like sun and moon, we both exist but we can't work at the same time.

...

I broke him up. I was the one who broke his heart. He did not break mine. He did nothing to me. Nothing but love me, like we all should do. Like it should be. 
I'm brokenhearted for him being brokenhearted. 
I'm brokenhearted because he's the most beautiful person to treat me in the romantic aspect. First to not make me cry at the end for HIS selfish reasons.

I wanted to say how it was, the moment, but I think I'll edit it tomorrow and say it (as I take these as some kind of personal journal to come back and see memories), but today, I feel...I can't stand more of this day.

God. My head's never hurt like this.

(truth is, I don't need pretty words. I'll feel guilty when I won't know how to reply to them. I kinda want a hug. Tight. Long)

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Idunno09's Profile Picture
Idunno09
Yola
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Mexico
Hello :aww:

Here's a bit about me:

:bulletblack: Eighteen.
:bulletblack: Pansexual.
:bulletblack: Short.
:bulletblack: Amateur author
:bulletblack: Student of music.


My real birthday is January 11. Not January 23.

But if you come here in 23 to wish me a happy birthday, I don't mind. It's a mistake I did when I joined deviantArt.


Requests are always opened: feel free to ask!
Feedback is really appreciated too :aww:


:bulletred: My friends here in devA :bulletred:

My first friends: :iconsisterofgrace::iconmotleyprincess::iconpoisonkiss13666::iconburningsun95::iconmiharumatsuo::iconnattie-bug::iconcanadian-muffin::iconcivicusdreamer:
My Taco friend: :iconcacuga:
My (internet) big sister: :iconllamasaysquack:
My Billierard Buddy::icon2d-kiryu:
My Bike buddy: :iconsalty-runner:
A really unique person: :iconpampd:
Seems to be that I'm married: :icongirlofhearts:
My grandkid (on the internet): :iconmissmusicchanel:

I guess that's me. If you want to know anything else (Which I highly doubt) feel free to ask :meow:


Current Residence: Mexico
Favourite genre of music: Alternative / Punk/ Rock
Personal Quote: "I'd rather perish beside a friend, than go on without them"
Interests

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:icon2d-kiryu:
2D-Kiryu Featured By Owner Edited Jun 21, 2015  Student Digital Artist
Hey Yola, what's up?

Is everything alright there? I'm kinda worried about you.

:worry:
Reply
:iconidunno09:
Idunno09 Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist Writer
I'm so, so sorry I worried you, my buddy. Really, I'm sorry :saddummy:

Everything's marching on, going perfectly fine now. It's okay. Thank you for worrying :huggle:

What about you?
Reply
:icon2d-kiryu:
2D-Kiryu Featured By Owner 20 hours ago  Student Digital Artist
I'm fine. Just a bit lonely, worried & stressed out. My anxiety is taking a toll on me during work and I'm just... Feeling a bit lost right now...

I'm really glad that you're all right. I was really worried about you because... Reading your journals makes me feel like I just wish that I was there for you whenever something bad happens. I just really wanted to make sure that you're okay.
( ; n ;)
Reply
:iconidunno09:
Idunno09 Featured By Owner 12 hours ago  Hobbyist Writer
Why so? Are customers still being mean? Have you talked about it with anyone? Why not a break form your work? It doesn't feel healthy to me :(
Reply
:iconvintage-lightning:
vintage-lightning Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hello friend! I am a lot older since I last talked to you and likem..I seriously want to return the favor for the two requests you did for me..I know they were requests but I would very much like to return the favor now that I feel like I can..

I don't write on here anymore but you can find my stuff on wattpad as Alpha-Blue-Narwhal w.tt/1JiRTDk I hope you van get back to me
Reply
:iconidunno09:
Idunno09 Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hey! How have you been?

Ah, and don't worry about that, really. I took requests because I adored to work on it, not because I wanted it as job or an obligation or something. So no need to give anything in return, I did it with pleasure! :happybounce:
Reply
:iconvintage-lightning:
vintage-lightning Featured By Owner May 9, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
noooo I wanna write something for you~! and ive been better...just missing the good old days on here....
Reply
:iconidunno09:
Idunno09 Featured By Owner May 15, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Heh, then I guess any fic you'd want to gift me is okay :blushes:
Reply
:iconpampd:
pampd Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2015  Student Digital Artist
Hey dude guess who's decided to come and give a random nice hug? :icondragonglomp::icondragonhug: Hope everything's cool and good on your side of the planet. c:
Reply
:iconidunno09:
Idunno09 Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
YO! 
My, you're so sweet, cheered up my day :tighthug:
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