---Gerard---

Overhead, the birds are tweeting outside my open window.

That's the first thing I hear as they call to each other, telling each other about their night, their food supply. Most likely fighting for nests. I've never studied birds much, though. I have no idea what they say to each other in the early morning when the sun is just coming over the horizon in vibrant colors. I don't know how they communicate through only tweets. Maybe each twitter is a war-cry, and they're in constant conflict with each other, demanding food and shelter. Maybe that's their way of moaning during morning sex. Maybe I should stop thinking about birds.

The next thing that wakes me up is a cold breeze upon my chest, it makes me shiver and pull the blankets around myself as I try to gather as much warmth as I can in the crisp morning air. The fresh scent of fallen leaves floating through the open window, the scent of our season. Autumn. The scent of September, October, and November. The scent that reminds me of The Black Parade. Mikey.

Dad.

The third thing that wakes me up, though, is that there's something in bed with me. It weighs down the blankets, and at first, I'm convinced it's a serial killer about to plunge a knife into my chest. So, as if I actually believe it, my eyes shoot open in fear.

The sunlight in the room is blindingly bright, but once my eyes adjust, I quickly realize I'm not home and, much to my relief, there is no serial killer. Only a beautiful blonde boy beside me. Mouth open slightly in his undisturbed slumber. His green eyes shut and lined with long eyelashes while his hands are spread out across the bed. That's when my mouth curves into a smile and the memories of last night invade my mind.

"Holy shit, Patrick, you're huge,"

"Th-th-thanks,"

I bite my lip as I gaze down, remembering the way he arched his back in pleasure. The way his hands gripped the bedsheets. He did that. I made him do that and oh my god. I gave Patrick a fucking blowjob.

I'm still kind of shocked that he let me do it in the first place, I mean... He's always so shy and embarrassed and troubled, but for some reason, he was okay with me giving him a blowjob. I guess it's because Kevin's never done it to him and... I don't know... I honestly should get more experience with sexual abuse so I can understand him better. So I know what he feels like. How he reacts. Like I could be his personal counselor...

Who am I kidding? I could never do something like that. I'm not experienced. I know nothing of psychology. I would probably make the situation worse. I need to get him to a professional. Someone who could actually help him. It's not healthy for him to keep it in. Even I know bottling feelings isn't good.

His lower half is covered by the blankets, but I know he's not naked. His pants are still on, and it honestly frustrates me a little. He shouldn't be so self-conscious. He's beautiful, and I want to see him all but, I also know he might be purging.

I can't talk to him about that for a little bit. I want him to trust me first or tell me on his own.

Crash!

That's the fourth thing that wakes me up, it's a loud sound of a dining plate, muffled by the door but I already know it came from one of the other people in the house. I don't know who yet but as I check the clock beside the bed, I realize it could be any of them. It reads 8:03 AM and none of them usually sleep too late that I know of.

I hear another crash and Joe's voice, "For fuck's sake, Brendon, get a fucking room!"

I chuckle slightly, Brendon's probably stuffing his hand down Ryan's pants. He's the kind of person to do it.

My eyes dart back down to Patrick, his blonde hair is tickling my nose, and I honestly could go again. I don't mind that I didn't get a release last night because as long as he's happy, so am I.

I bite my lip softly, my eyes gazing down at him as I prop myself up on my elbows. I evaluate my choices. I don't want to disturb him, but I know it's probably time to get up. Everyone else is already awake, and I'm feeling really clingy this morning. Slightly horny from last night, too. But he's cute when he sleeps.

And the more that I think about it, the less I actually feel like I should do something about my semi-hardon and I should probably just deal with it later. I'm not just gonna wake him up by straddling him and tugging off his pants. That sounds like a very Kevin thing to do. So, instead, I just give him a peck on the lips and call his name gently. I want to let him sleep in, I really do, but I want to go downstairs and talk to people, too. And I know I could just leave Patrick up here but I don't want to, it seems kind of rude.

"Patrick, Sugar, hey."

He frowns a little and whines with a strong, "Nooooooo."

"Patrick, hey, we gotta go downstairs."

The blond boy finally squints his eyes open and looks up at me, an expression of pure reluctance in his honeyed features.

"I love you," I say with an innocent smile.

He smiles himself, rolling his eyes and throwing his pillow at me, straight in the face, "I love you, too."

I laugh slightly, pressing the pillow away and crawling back over to straddle him (also desperately trying to hide my morning wood at the same time, might I add) with my hands quickly weaving in his hair as I kiss him.

He follows along for a couple minutes, closed mouth, chaste, the whole sweet and cute kind of thing, but eventually he pulls us away with a look of nervousness in his eyes, "So, uh... About last night..." He says.

"I liked it," I reply, "We could do it again if you want..."

"No," He says quickly. Too quickly and my heart sinks. Did he not like it? Was he disappointed? Did he not want to do it halfway into it? He continues, "I mean-" He sighs, frustrated, "I like it... I just... I don't know... I shouldn't have done it... It's not your fault..."

I feel a saddened look cross my face, "Why not? Why shouldn't we have done it? We had fun, you're getting better."

He shakes his head slightly, "I just... I... I don't..." He looks so afraid and nervous to say it, so I rub his arm gently, trying to comfort him a little, and it seems to work. He squeezes his eyes shut and releases a breath before finally speaking, the words flowing alright again, "I feel like a slut. I am a slut. I don't know why I feel so bad about it-I know I shouldn't-but I just do and... and Kevin always calls me a slut and a whore and he's right," He pauses, looking up at me with sad eyes, "I'm not making any sense am I?"

"You're making perfect sense." I reply, phrasing it differently, so he believes me, "Kevin calls you a slut and a whore, and he's basically made you think you are. Words hurt, I understand, but you need to listen to me. You're not a slut, and you're not a whore, whatever he's said to you it's not true. You haven't been sleeping around, have you? And you don't sleep with people for money, do you?"

"No, but-"

"Butts are for gay sex." I reply blandly, "What I'm trying to say is no matter whatever he's called you, it's not true. And the next time I see him I'm going to fucking kill him."

Patrick smiles crookedly and nuzzles his face into my neck, "Can we stay here for a while? Please?"

I hold him in place as I lay down beside him and brush his blonde hair out of his eyes, as bright as the stem of a rose.

"Fifteen more minutes." I reply, "And then we have to go downstairs because everyone else is awake."

"Thank you," He smiles, hugging me tightly.

I rest my lips on his forehead as he begins to doze off again in my arms. His breathing becoming steady again and eventually slowing down to a sleeping pace, letting my mind wander like it always seems to do at times like these.

I want to protect him from the world for as long as I can. I want him to know that I love him and I'll be here to keep him safe.

I want him to know he's worth being protected. I know he doesn't think that yet, but I'll make him realize it. Someday he'll realize how sweet and beautiful he is. He'll realize it, and I'll be the one there helping him understand that he's not a whore or a slut or a failure or a mistake. All those things he'd sent in the text at the skyscraper broke my goddamn heart. So I had to text him the truth, and that's all he needed.

I didn't expect it to affect him that much, but it did, and after a while of crying, he was there. His lips inches away from mine, my back against that railing, my feet planted on the bridge. And he kissed me. For real.

I feel my hands squeezing him closer like if I loosened my grip even the slightest, he'd disappear. Without him is how I'd disappear and I can't disappear yet. I still have a job to do.

My eyelids are getting heavier as he shifts slightly beside me. Heavier and heavier... and... I can't stop myself.... as I fall into... sleep...

***

"Gerard, wake up," Patrick mumbles beside me in a sleepy voice, "We should get up..."

I open my eyes, rubbing the sleep from them and as soon as they rest on him, my lips curve into a smile. He's sitting up and holding my shirt out for me to put on while he's wearing both this hoodie and my jacket.

That little thief.

"Come on," Patrick laughs, pulling me up. I only give him a mischievous smirk and tackle him on the bed, attacking his neck with kisses. My hands pin his hands above his head, roughly into the bed, and my lips leave more marks on his neck. At this he gasps, his hands struggling frantically against my grip, and cries out a soft, "Gerard. No."

I pull away as soon as I hear it. My smile fades as I see his look, the look of fear and there's a plea in his eyes. Pleading me not to hurt him. Pleading me to just leave him alone and my heart fills with guilt as I pull off of him. My mistake carving into my heart like a knife, "Sorry, fuck, I'm so sorry."

He sits up, taking a deep breath and rubbing his wrists before he shrugs with a soft bite of awkwardness to his strawberry lips. His eyes dart to the bed in shame and guilt before he replies, "Let's just go,"

I sigh and cup his jaw. I'm so fucking stupid...

I nod as I pull my hand away and slide shirt back on, so I'm dressed in guilt and clothes... He was doing so well, what happened? He let me suck his dick (and might I say he is really fucking long) and now he's calling himself a slut, and he's scared of me. The more I think about it, the more I realize it's my fault. I'm the one taking this too fast, I'm the one who offered to have sex. I'm the one who's making this relationship much more intimate than it needs to be. He's still getting beaten at home and just because I sucked him off doesn't mean shit. It just means we're taking this relationship somewhere.

I need to get him out of there as soon as possible because he needs to heal. I need him to realize it's not safe and Kevin and his dad are better off in jail.

We walk down the stairs one step at a time. Patrick looks slightly shaky on his feet, but it disappears as soon as we're downstairs, masked by a fake smile and his tired eyes. That hurts me a lot. His fake smile looks so real. All the smiles he's flashed me in the past could have been just as fake as this. When did he get so good at it?

As I climb down the last step, I realize my scars are showing, but I don't really mind, they've seen them before and they know I'm trying to stop.

Frank and Brendon are sitting at the table while Pete is in one of the couches in the living room half asleep and we can easily tell Ryan and Joe are in the kitchen from the loud rumbling of plates and the smell of pancakes. It smells delicious.

Patrick's knuckles turn white as he grips the railing of the stairs, but he still continues, sitting down at the table next to Frank with me following suit.

"Okay but you've gotta admit, Josh is so much hotter than Tyler," Brendon says to Frank.

"Nope, Tyler's better," Frank replies as he holds his coffee close.

"Good morning," I say, interrupting them. Patrick takes my hand in his, the warmth of his fingers covering my cold, and leans against me, so his head is in my lap and his legs and crisscrossed on his chair. There's a ghost of a smile on his sleepy face as he shuts his eyes and cuddles into me in a search for even more warmth than he already has.

"Morning, you have fun last night?" Brendon asks with a smirk that basically screams my-friends-and-I-know-what-you-did-in-the-dark, and honestly, it scares me.

"We didn't do anything," Patrick grumbles from my lap, his voice muffled by my shirt.

"For fuck's sake. We heard you," Frank laughs, "Patrick is loud."

Patrick whimpers in embarrassment as he presses his face even further into my stomach with shame.

"Patrick isn't that loud..." I say defensively, still extremely embarrassed that they heard us.

"You woke up Ryan, and you know he sleeps like a goddamn brick." Brendon laughs.

"Really, though, you haven't gotten complaints about it before?" Ryan calls from the kitchen.

I roll my eyes, "You're all a bunch of sluts. No, we haven't gotten complaints before. That was... a first..."

Frank perks up slightly, "So, Patrick isn't a virgin anymore?"

"I'm still a virgin," Patrick says, pulling his face from my shirt, "That was just my first blowjob."

He smiles slightly as he looks up at me, "And it was fucking hot."

Joe fails to hold back a laugh, and I can hear him from the kitchen trying to regain his breath as more plates crash into each other.

I'm honestly a little surprised by Patrick's confidence. He's not embarrassed about it. Why not? He was embarrassed last night and this morning. Is it because we're with his friends and he's comfortable around them? More comfortable with them than with me? I don't know, but it makes me kind of happy. Like a warm feeling in my stomach. It may not be me, but he's showing at least a little improvement.

"Ten inches," I say with a smug grin on my face. Patrick's cheeks go a bright red, his eyes go wide.

Everyone kind of just shuts up after that. Frank drops his spoon in his coffee, Brendon chokes on air, I hear yet another crash from the kitchen and Ryan's head peeks out from the doorway, "Excuse me?"

"Ten inches long," I reply with my best know-it-all expression. The jealous much? look. The 'that's fucking right this little squish has a ten-inch hard dick.'

"You gotta be kidding me, Patrick? No way." Brendon says, shocked.

"Oh my God, Gerard, they're not supposed to know that." Patrick blushes.

"Oops," I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice like honey from a toothpick.

"Fuck you," He groans, a hint of playfulness in his soft voice.

"If you insist," I reply.

"You little shit,"

"Have you ever considered having a threesome?" Brendon blurts out.

I look up at him before I squeeze Patrick closer in mock defense, "Mine."

The blonde giggles slightly as I nearly suffocate him against me and then I let go, not wanting it to trigger him.

"Rude," Frank scoffs.

"Says the guy who insulted Pete for not being gay enough," I laugh, remembering what had happened about a week ago.

"You shut the fuck up about that!" Pete yells from his place on the couch. Patrick smiles up at me before looking at the clock on the wall. My gaze follows his, and I see the clock, it reads about 8:50.

"When do you want to go home?" I ask Patrick, leaning down to his ear.

"As late as possible... I don't want to see Dad for a while..." He replies, still in a whisper.

I'm frustrated. Not necessarily with him but still kind of with him. I want him to just turn Kevin and his Dad in. His life would be so much better, and prison couldn't be that bad. Even if it is, they deserve it after everything they've put him through.

I shut my eyes as my breath leaves moisture on his lips, my tongue prods my lips quickly before I kiss him. Our lips rest together for just a second, his breath on my cheek, my eyes shut, leading me to darkness, and his hands pressing me down softly.

I pull away, much to his disappointment but there are other people here, and he said it. He doesn't want to do anything like last night, so I'll give him time and try my best not to be sexual if I can, that is. I honestly won't be able to achieve that for long, though, because frankly, I don't exactly have... limits. It's just that nothing like that embarrasses me or makes me uncomfortable. Hell, if I were paid for it, I would probably masturbate on stage in front of millions of people for no reason at all. Why not?

"I love you," Patrick whispers to me.

"I love you, too," I whisper back before raising my head away from his lips and watch as his eyes shut again.

"What are we doing today?" I ask.

"Brendon and Ryan have to go home soon, so it'll just be the five of us in a bit. Dying the tragic death of boredom," Joe calls from the kitchen as he sets a plate of pancakes on the table, "Sorry it took so long, I kind of suck at cooking."

Patrick sits up immediately, accidentally banging his head on the table and yelping out a "Shit," in pain.

"You clumsy ass," Brendon laughs from across the table. Ryan comes in, following Joe and sitting on Brendon's lap like he almost always does.

"Fuck you, too, Forehead," Patrick growls.

"At least I wasn't named after a tree," Brendon replies.

"Like Urie is any better. Mine isn't Japanese for lesbian." Patrick spits back as I serve myself a pancake and drizzle syrup on top.

I burst out laughing, trying to hold it back as well as I can while Brendon huffs in defeat but I know he's just too lazy to finish the argument because pancakes are here. I begin eating as soon as I serve myself and look to Patrick who's basically drooling over the fluffy disks of beauty. Nowhere near as beautiful as he is, though.

"You want to eat?" I ask him once I swallow down my bite.

His head snaps to look at me, but instead of nodding, he only shakes his head and says, "I'm not really hungry."

My heart sinks, but I don't press it. Not yet anyways. The comment basically confirms my suspicions that's he's been starving himself and the fact that he wouldn't take his shirt off last night only raises my suspicion.

Like I said, I want to wait before I confront him about it. He's happy. I don't want to spoil it for him.

"Whatever you say," I smile, it's fake, but it's better than a grimace. I take another bite and softly chew as I gaze down. I feel like I'm about to pass out of exhaustion quite honestly, and it doesn't take me long to realize why "Is the coffee still warm?"

Frank nods, "Should be,"

I sit up from the table, careful not to hit my knee on the surface, which I've done dozens of times in my life before I walk into the kitchen, grab a mug from the cupboard, and fill it with coffee, still emitting steam.

"Good morning," Pete says to me as he comes into the kitchen right behind me.

"Morning," I reply tiredly. I need coffee.

"I need to talk to you, about Patrick," He mutters, "In private."

"We can go out on the porch for a bit after breakfast, if that's alright," I suggest. I'm a little surprised that he asked it since we haven't really talked much and I honestly have no idea what he has to talk about.

"Okay," He replies simply, serving himself a mug of coffee. I leave the kitchen, grabbing a spoon on my way out, and sit beside Patrick, setting my coffee down. I fill my spoon with sugar and stir it in the blackened liquid. It's the only way I'll take coffee. Black with sugar. No creamer or anything else, just sugar. It's the way I've always taken it, and it's the way I always will take it.

We eat in near silence, Brendon makes a few comments, but they're followed by an incredibly awkward silence, so he shuts up after that.

It's 9:20 by the time we've finished eating, and while everyone starts getting cleaned up, Pete pulls me aside. He gives me a nod and takes me out the front door, onto the porch.

The air is cold, cold enough to see my breath, and goosebumps immediately cover my bare arms as I step forward and take a seat on one of the stairs of the porch. Pete sits beside me with his own mug of coffee.

"What did you want to talk about?" I ask, taking a sip of the Heaven in a cup.

"Patrick." No shit Sherlock, "He... look, I love him as a friend. I care about him, and I don't want to see him get hurt."

"Are you giving me the Dad talk?" I ask with a grin.

"Basically," Pete shrugs with a smile himself, "But really, he's been through some shit, and I don't want him to hurt any more than he has to. I want you to take care of him. He means a lot to me."

But really, he's been through some shit.

What? He knows about what's happening at home? And after three fucking years, he hasn't bothered to do anything? My smile fades fast.

"What happened?" I ask, clenching my teeth.

"He... um... probably doesn't want me telling you this but... his mom died three years ago in a car crash..." he bites his lip.

"Oh, yeah... he told me..." I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying anything else, "I'll take care of him. I promise."

"Thank you," Pete replies with a hug, he looks out across the street, blowing out a warm cloud from his nose, "I just... take care of him for me, alright? I miss him, we've always been good friends and I don't wanna lose that. I'm going back inside so talk to you in a bit."

"Okay, see you," I reply as I shift myself, my back against the railing of the stairs and my legs bent in front of me while my head is turned to watch the house across the street. It doesn't look like anyone is home and I wonder who lives there. Josh? Hayley? Hell, maybe even Ray, Dallon, or Andy. Those were some of my friends from my old high school before I moved to Mountainside.

The front door shuts, and it's not long before I hear it open again.

"Hey,"

I turn my head to see Patrick, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and my jacket hung over one of his arms, "Here's your jacket back... sorry I stole it..."

I take it gratefully, wrapping it around myself and taking in the much-needed warmth, "Thought I'd never get it back,"

He sits down beside me and leans his head on my shoulder, "I'm sorry about this morning... about calling myself a slut and stuff... I... I'd be willing to give it a try again... if... you wanted..."

I smile before I kiss his lips and pull him on top of me, so he's straddling me this time. His breathing hitches softly, I can feel him pressing against me while his hands rest on my shoulders and his wide eyes soak in what just happened.

"I could teach you..." I whisper, "If you'd be up to it."

His eyes dart back up to mine and like a spark my stomach flutters with butterflies and my blood begins to rush, "Not now... I mean we're on a porch,"

"Well of course not," I laugh gently, "We could go somewhere a little more private, alright? But I do want you to get better. I love you."

"I love you, too," He smiles, those green eyes crinkling in the sunlight and that blond hair covering part of his eye. I brush it away, still gazing into those endless green orbs and smiling again before I hug him close, nearly choking the life out of him.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?" I ask.

Patrick rolls his eyes but hugs me back despite his obvious reluctance, "Can I listen to it again?"

"21 Guns?"

"Yeah..."

I laugh slightly but take out my phone anyways, followed soon after by my headphones.

He takes a bud into his ear, and I take one before I scroll through my music and find it: 21 Guns. My thumb taps the button turns up the volume, and I set it down beside us before Patrick's lips collide with mine, slow but passionate as the music flows through our ears.

"Do you know what's worth fighting for
When it's not worth dying for?
Does it take your breath away
And you feel yourself suffocating,"

His hands tangle in my hair, pressing my head further into his with want and I let him take the lead as my hands slide up to his waist.

"Does the pain weigh out the pride?
And you look for a place to hide,"

Patrick rests his head on my shoulder and shuts his eyes.

"Did someone break your heart inside?"

"I love you."

"You're in ruins."

"I love you, too."