---Gerard---

Tuesday. Three days until homecoming. Patrick was at school, thankfully, and we talked at lunch but I could tell he had yet to be invited to sit with his ex-friends so I sat with him, instead, he seemed relieved. I told him about what we're going to do after homecoming and he looked nervous but hid it with excitement. Did I do the wrong thing? I hope not, I want to help him. I want to make him feel better and this is part of my promise.

It was Wednesday. Two days until homecoming. Brendon and Pete got into a fight. Verbally. But it still scared the hell out of Patrick, he was shaking and trembling, so I held him close while they yelled at each other. It was about Patrick. Brendon didn't want to forgive him but Pete did. Patrick just wanted them to stop and it took all my will not to slap Brendon across the face. Can't he see how hurt Patrick is?

It was Thursday. One day until homecoming. Joe, Frank, and Pete sat with us and we talked. Patrick was partly excluded even though we tried to include him several times. It was awkward and he's shy but he was happy, too, so I guess I did take a step in the right direction. Brendon and Ryan met up with us after lunch and apologized, much to my relief, Patrick forgave them and they hugged.

Homecoming.

It's homecoming.

Patrick said yes on Monday when we were on the bridge. When we admitted our love for each other. So it's official. He said he'd meet me at my house before it started because he obviously doesn't want me going to his house. It worries me, though. He really shouldn't try to hide it. I know what happens there and I know how much of a fake Kevin and his Dad are but I'll respect his decision if that's what he wants. I just want to get him out of there but he won't let me. It's frustrating.

Anyways, homecoming starts at five and lasts until about eight. It's just a dance so hopefully it won't be too bad for Patrick. I'll hold him close and comfort him if he needs it. If my own anxiety doesn't get to me first... Thankfully, Ryan, Brendon, Patrick, and I are probably going to leave early and go straight to Joe's. It's just a dance after all and I'm excited to drink a little. Only a little, though, I still want to be there for Patrick and I know he doesn't have a good experience with drunk people.

It's 4:24 right now and Patrick said he'd be here at 4:30, so I have a few minutes to destress. Or try to at least.

I'm nervous. It's all I can focus on right now. I'm really nervous. What if I embarrass him? What if something triggers his PTSD? What if he has a panic attack? I'm afraid someone's going to trigger something in him and I don't want that to happen. What if-

It's going to be okay Gerard. As long as you're here for him, he's going to be okay. You're fine.

It's going to be okay. The only way for him to be okay is if I calm down myself.

I gaze in the mirror for what has to be the tenth time. It's a casual event which means a black jacket and skinny jeans for me. I don't wear tuxedos. I hate tuxedos. They're too uncomfortable and not my style. So here I am, about to go to a dance in a pair of dark black skinny jeans, holes in the knees, a black jacket, messy, black hair, and vans with a guy I just started dating on Monday, and a couple other gay dudes. Not how I was planning to spend this year but I like it. It's nice.

I rinse my face with water trying to clear my thoughts.

Mama is excited to meet him, too. Really excited, I honestly haven't seen her this happy since Dad passed and it warms my heart. She's making progress, hopefully she'll be able to accept it and continue with life, cigarette-less. Maybe she'll never pick one up again. I hope so... The smoking really affects her. It makes me worry a lot.

"So how old is he?" She had asked as soon as I admitted I started dating him. It was on Monday night and I had just gotten home. She'd asked where I was because I usually don't come home that late but she obviously wasn't too bothered, she was on the porch smoking a cigarette. Like always.

"He's my age, sixteen," I chuckled as I sat beside her, trying not to inhale the toxins.

"Is he sweet?"

"Yes, Mama," I replied with a smile.

"When can I meet him?" She asked. The questions wouldn't stop until I told her she'd have to wait and see. I even made a deal with her, "If you approve of him and I chose right, you have to cut down on two cigarettes a day for the next week."

Those are the deals we make. The deals that I try to make to help her. The deals we make to save both of our sanities. She agreed.

Knock, knock.

I sprint into the living room from the bathroom, accidentally tripping on nothing and stumbling to the entryway. Me and my clumsy ass.

I brush myself off, though, making sure my hair looks alright, my jacket is straightened and I don't look like a fuckup before I finally open the front door and greet the boy.

Sure enough he's there, cheeks that remind me of light roses with the way he almost always blushes. Hair the color of an amber wheat field in a sunset, emerald eyes, and that small, fragile smile. One wrong move and it'll break. He's wearing a loose black sweatshirt, it looks soft above his denim jeans and black converse shoes. His hands are in his pockets nervously but he still has a glint of excitement in his eye. He's beautiful.

"Hey, Sugar," I say, returning the smile as I open the door and let him in. He smiles a little more, looking down as he steps awkwardly into the living room with short strides.

"Hey," He replies.

He looks around a little, taking in my house, there are two couches. One is two cushions long and against the same wall as the door and the other is three cushions long. They're both a dark brown, the color of freshly harvested coffee beans while a table rests in the center of the room, in arm's length of the couches. It's the same color brown. The wall are a tan-white color and from the living room, there's a large, door-less entrance to the dining room where four chairs circle a long, pill-shaped table. There's a sewing machine beside the table and an area behind glass built into the wall where Mama keeps all her fancy plates for Thanksgiving and such.

"Is that him?" Mama calls from the kitchen before he can look around any more.

"Yes, Mama," I call back. Patrick takes, my hand squeezing it nervously, so I turn to him with a reassuring squeeze back, "It's alright, she's nice. She won't hurt you,"

He looks into my eyes for a second, searching my face for a lie as he hesitates on whether or not to trust me but finally gives a slight nod, finding no reason to call me untrustworthy. She walks through the dining room and stops in front of us with a giant grin on her face. Her wavy brown hair reaches the tops of her shoulders but I can see it's starting to gray slightly, strands are highlighted by the fading color and it hurts slightly but I'm learning to accept it. The lights above us illuminate her chocolate eyes but can't make them much brighter mood wise. They're dim, sad, but somehow, lightened only today by the sight of my boyfriend. It makes me warm inside, like I just drank a warm cup of coffee. She hasn't smiled in a while. It's a beautiful sight to see her eyes crinkle again.

"Mama, this is Patrick, Patrick this is Mama." I say awkwardly. I hate introductions.

Oh well.

"Nice to meet you," Patrick says with a smile. It's real. That makes me happy, too.

"Nice to meet you, too sweetie," Mama replies, shaking his outstretched hand, "Gerard's said a lot of nice things about you,"

Patrick blushes, shoving his hands back in his pockets in embarrassment. That's alright. He's cute when he blushes, "Th-thanks,"

I kiss his cheek, causing his face to flush even more. Before the silence can last too long, I quickly add, "So, um... We're going to go. I'll be back tomorrow," I smile.

"Alright, Hun," she hugs me, making me blush slightly in my own embarrassment, sharing Patrick's feelings, "Don't drink too much."

"I won't, Mama, it's just Joe."

"And Brendon and Ryan and Pete and Frank."

"Brendon isn't that bad and Ryan almost never drinks. Neither do Pete and Frank. I'll be fine."

"Okay, well be careful," she replies, squeezing my shoulder. I give a slight smile before turning to Patrick.

"Ready to go?" I ask.

He nods with a slight smile, following me out the door with one last goodbye to Mama before we step down the stairs of my porch and make our way to the bus stop.

The air is cool, the sun still high in the sky but it feels like it should be later than it is. I don't know. It must be because the days are getting shorter or maybe it's because school wears me out. It could be because I wish I could be at the mausoleum again, laying with Patrick under the cloudy sky. My best guess is it's because Autumn is here and quite honestly, it's my favorite season. I love the warm coffee on cold mornings, sitting on my porch by Mama and watching my cloudy breath escape my lips while hot steam rises from my mug. I love the auburn leaves falling to the ground from the tops of oak trees, crunching the dried blossoms as I pass by with my shoes. I love passing by chestnut trees and picking up the fallen harvest from the ground, juggling the smooth nut in my hands. I love the crisp air the way it fills my lungs with a sharp edge of cold and as I exhale, feeling myself warm again. I love pumpkin and brown sugar in my coffee. I love the earlier sunsets and later sunrises. I love the light oranges and soft browns and dark reds and vibrant yellows, the warm colors of the season.

I love everything about autumn. It's beautiful.

Just like Patrick.

I squeeze his hand and kiss him on the cheek, the skin is cold but I don't care, it makes him giggle and I love that giggle. I could listen to it for hours and hours and never get old of it. It's so happy and joyful, the opposite of what that boy has been through. It makes me happy. It makes me realize I made him do that after so much shit has happened to him with his parents, siblings, and emotional crap. It reminds me there's still hope for him. It reminds me how in love I really am. I'd give him the world if I could. Anything to see his toothy grin again.

"So, Baby," I kiss him again, pecking on the cheek. I don't know why I'm so goddamn clingy. I guess it's because I get him to myself tonight. I guess it's because he makes me happy and I embrace it.

"So?" He replies as we stop at the bus stop. The bus be in here in about twenty minutes, we have time. I remember what happened on Monday and... We haven't talked about it. I feel a little guilty to be honest. But before I can confront him about the event, he adds on, "Your mom reminds me of how mine used to be. Same overprotectiveness but not really. Mom... she was always so carefree. If I drank, I drank, as long as I don't end up killing myself."

"Yeah?" I reply with a gentle smile, "Mama's like that a lot of the time. It's nice, though. Not having a parent that's super strict. My dad, he was the same way. Always told me to have fun and enjoy life while I could. I looked up to him because of that..."

Patrick nods, avoiding my gaze for a moment and when the silence gets too long, I finally decide to breach the subject about Monday, careful to break it slowly.

"I'm sorry... I've kind of avoided talking about Monday..." I bite my lip, taking in just how far I went. I kind of regret it. I shouldn't do that kind of stuff without talking to him first but... I... I don't have an excuse.

"What about it?" He asks, looking up at my eyes. Those green orbs are so beautiful. I could gaze into them for hours.

"I'm uh... Sorry... I shouldn't have done that..." I blush slightly... Remembering that bulge in his jeans and holy shit.

"I liked it."

I look up at him in disbelief, "You looked like you were about to cry, Patrick."

He shakes his head, "No, I was a little scared but it's just you. I know you'd never hurt me."

"But after Kevin-" I start. He cuts me off.

"Don't mention him... Please..." His eyes immediately begin to lower, weary. He's been through a lot with his older brother and tonight is supposed to be fun. I'm not supposed to ask about him because it only gives Patrick bad memories. There's something more this time, though. Something that scares him past what it usually does.

I look up at him worriedly. Is everything okay? What did he do? Oh my god I'm supposed to be here for him. I'm supposed to protect him and I can't.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, I just don't want to think about him tonight," He replies, quietly. He leans against the bus sign, his hands in his pockets and he immediately looks scared. Anxious.

Shit, Gerard. That wasn't good.

"Sorry," I walk so I'm right in front of him and brush his blond hair out of his eyes, gently like he's fragile. He is fragile. He's been broken and he's tried to fix himself with weak tape and glue. It didn't work as well as he may have hoped, though, he still has cracks in his smile and darkened eyes. He flinches slightly at my touch but I try my best to ignore it, "What happened to your fedora?"

He looks up at me. Sometimes I forget just how short he is compared to me and how much work he has to do to even reach my lips. Whenever he kisses me, he has to stand on the tips of his toes and whenever he hugs me, his face is buried in my neck. It's cute, though. I like his shortness.

"It fell off of my head when I was on the skyscraper." He replies.

I smirk slightly, I need to get him a new fedora, then. I don't care if he doesn't want me to, I'm going to.

"I'm sorry, Baby." I reply. He shrugs.

I kiss his cheek. He smiles and blushes.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" I ask kissing his cheek again.

"Whatever you say,"

"But it's true. You're the most beautiful person I know," I reply, leaning down and kissing his lips this time. He smiles into the kiss but something about it tells me it's fake. I just know. Intuition I guess. I don't press it no matter how much I want to, he needs to have an evening without having to think about his problems and anyways, I'm planning on talking to him about it on another night, one where we're not celebrating. It's homecoming. It's supposed to be a good day and I'm going to make it a good day.

I press my forehead to his as we sway back and forth gently, the setting sun at my back in hot beams. It's a comforting feeling, though, warmth. It feels like the mausoleum again. Silence. Nothing but him and me and me and him. Nothing but our breaths intermingled. Nothing.

"Mmm," I hum. I don't know how long we're holding each other. I don't want to know. But I know it's a long while because that's when I hear a soft sound in the distance. A squeaking. The squeaking. It's the bus and it makes me cringe slightly but it's slightly relieving. I'm excited to get the dance over with and get to Joe's house. I want Patrick to get his friends back and I want to get him through this. I'm honestly scared for him. I don't want something triggering his anxiety or PTSD. I know how bad they can get. I know it hurts.

"You excited?" I ask him, lightening the mood.

He shrugs, "Nervous... You'll stay by my side, right?"

"Wouldn't even think of leaving you," I smile.

I kiss him softly, letting my lips rest on his for just a moment. The taste of honey on his lips. I love the taste, absolutely love, love, love that taste. It's sweet and satisfying. I love the way he kisses back, somewhat nervous but still letting his body take control.

His fingers tangle in my hair because this is the last kiss of the evening. The last deep kiss until we're alone together again. Might as well make it passionate.

My lips move hard against his as I stumble forward, pinning him awkwardly against the pole holding the bus sign. His hands squeeze my dark hair harder, pain shoots through my scalp but I love it. I love the way he hurts me, even if it isn't as kinky as it sounds.

He pulls away, catching his breath as the bus comes to a stop behind me. Arrived at its destination, it blocks the sun from the blonde's eyes but I know he can still see my hungry gaze from the way he blushes slightly, still panting.

"You ready to go, Sugar?" I ask, pulling away and taking his hand.

"Yeah, sure," He replies with a breathless grin. It's much more real.

I walk to the doors of the bus, Patrick behind me as they open just for us, sliding out and letting the warm air inside free into the evening sky. I walk the two steps up, show the driver my bus pass. He gazes over the card for a moment, checking my picture, the bus company, blah blah blah. His gray hair sways slightly as he nods me away, letting us continue through the aisle. I can feel 'Trick's hand gripping mine tightly as we walk. He's nervous, scared, anxious. The feeling where something bad is going to happen, you know it, and you can't shake yourself from it. It grows and grows. You become scared and paranoid. You start jumping at nearly everything.

I get that feeling sometimes but not nearly as bad as Patrick does. He needs help. I need to help but I don't have the experience. He needs counseling and he needs it soon. I shouldn't keep letting him go home because it breaks my heart to know he's still getting hurt. He's still being touched and hit and I want to protect him. I should be protecting him but he keeps denying it. He keeps telling me not to. He keeps telling me it's okay when it's not.

I stop at an empty row and let Patrick in first. He sits down and waits for me to take a seat beside him. I do. He takes my hand and leans against my shoulder, resting slightly.

I turn my head and press my lips to his head softly, taking in the sweet scent of his hair. I can't place the smell but it's as sweet as his lips. If not, sweeter.

I lose track of time again as the bus continues through the streets. I'm lost in my worries and my fears.

What if something does trigger his PTSD? What memories does he have flashbacks about? Does he have nightmares too? Has he ever had counseling? Does he talk to anyone after he has them? What if he has a panic attack? What if someone insults him? What if someone there is homophobic?

I take his hand and try to drag my mind away from it as we talk for a while about lots of different things after that, ending one subject and starting something new. Our favorite songs, Hottest people in school, whatever else. He manages to get me to play 21 Guns again for him, too. He likes that song a lot.

We lose track of time and before we know it, it's 4:52 and the bus is arriving at the school.

"This is our stop," I say as the front doors open. I pull out of the row, helping Patrick out behind me, and we leave down the aisle. I thank the bus driver as we walk down the two steps and continue up the concrete path that leads to the school. It's lined with maple trees and dark oaks, lit by the sun in the west.

I open the door and let him through first, his hands are in his pockets nervously. It makes me feel bad but I know we'll have a good time. A couple guys from my math class are going to be playing. I can't remember their names off of the top of my head but they're pretty cool.

One of them, he has red hair, is a drummer. He knows the answers to math questions 90% of the time but he's the type of person to never raise their hand. The other one, who has short, black hair, plays a few different instruments. I've heard him in the music room playing piano and ukulele. I'm guessing it's just going to be an instrumental performance. I'm not sure yet but I know Patrick will like it.

The gym is right by the front door but before we go ahead, I pull him back so we're in the entry way. There's nobody here, just him and me. Almost everyone else is already in the room over.

"Patrick, listen to me," I say, stroking his hair, "If you feel a panic attack coming, tell me and we can leave. We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

He nods slightly, "I'll be okay, I promise."

I smile and before I can stop myself I whisper him a question he's asked me countless times, "How strong are your promises?"

"I have yet to break one," he replies, matter-of-factly.

I lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips, shutting my eyes and feeling him kiss back. I don't know how long we're there, his lips moving against mine, his hands wrapped around my shoulders, my hands squeezing his hips. I enjoy it. Fuck homecoming I just want to stay here for the rest of the evening and forget about the world. I feel him lean forward and pin me to the wall, kissing a little harder but soon after backing away for a breath and blushing, "S-Sorry..."

I smile but only pull him in again, running my hands up his chest. He's on the tips of his toes, I can tell by how unsteady he is so I make sure my hands stay around his waist, keeping him balanced. He begins kissing a little harder, more heated, more want and need. His determination surprises me because of how timid he usually is but I like it.

But I'm not satisfied.

I turn us so he's against the wall this time. He inhales sharply, taking my air and causing me to pull back.

"Is this okay?" I whisper, want lacing my voice.

He bites his lip but after a moment's hesitation, nods vigorously. I kiss him hungrily, my lips moving fast against his. Sucking, biting, licking. Everything I can do in the attempt to get some sort of reaction from him. His fingers tug harder at my hair as I slide my fingers down his chest.

Down, down, down. He's tensing up. I should stop. I really, really should but I want him so much. My fingers keep tracing down his figure, down his stomach...

"Nice show," I hear a voice say. My heart sinks. I swear to fucking god I am going to kill him. Patrick pulls away, blushing furiously as he glances at Brendon.

"Brendon fucking Urie!" I hiss, frustrated, "How long were you two standing there?"

Ryan laughs at me, his brown eyes crinkling in joy. His wavy chocolate hair reaches to about his jawline while a gray and white scarf hangs around his neck messily. He's wearing a dark brown sweater, each thread looks soft and honestly I'm a little jealous of it. To top it all off are dark blue skinny jeans, black vans, and a black fedora atop his head.

Brendon, on the other hand, has his black hair spiked slightly and his bangs spread out just above his right eye. His brown eyes look energetic, excited, like he just drank a pot of coffee straight out of the mug, a monster, and a bottle of beer. He's wearing a light brown jacket over a plain white shirt. One arm is slung over Ryan's shoulder and then, of course, in his hand is a packet and I know exactly what that is.

"Since you started," Brendon replies with a smirk.

"You are such a little shit." I growl, "What's the condom for?"

"Well, Ryan and I were going to use it once we got to Joe's but it looks like you need it more than we do." Brendon replies throwing it over. I catch it.

"You're stupid if you seriously think we'd go that far in one night," I reply.

He shrugs, "You two seemed to be having fun."

Patrick has a stone hard grip on my arm, embarrassment on his face. A look of pure shyness. I kiss his forehead once more, stuffing the condom in a pocket of my jacket, he pulls away slightly.

"Whatever, are we ready to go?" Ryan asks impatiently.

"Sure, just keep your dicks to yourselves, please, thank you." I say in a sweet voice, my best Professor Umbridge impression.

Patrick laughs lightly grabbing my hand with a gentle grip, "Let's just go. This'll be fun."

And I can't help but smile to myself as he leads me into the gym.