As I sit in the dark corner of the youth club, all kitted out with art supplies and my name-tag, I begin to dread arriving so early. I did so to avoid the glaring eyes of Frank as I entered, but it just makes me look like a bit of a creep right now. Especially so in my all-black outfit, with a small, guilt-induced scowl on my face and a sketchbook with various illustrations of teachers, bullies, and general assholes dying in numerous and violent ways.

Girls creep past with expressions of "oh-mi-god-look-at-that-guy-lurking-in-the-corner-he-looks-fucking-creepy". And if you are unable to imagine what 'those' kind of looks are, try standing at a bus stop (at, of course, an absurdly early hour) in front of the locals and babbling to yourself in German. Or talking to someone who has already left. Or singing. Or dancing. Alone.

Anyway, whatever the circumstances, those are not the looks I am aiming to recieve.

Almost without realising, I begin singing to myself. (Cue the looks?) Nothing special, just the first thing that comes into my head.

"I would do anything and that's,
What scares me so bad,
Don't want to live my life alone,
Don't want to go back to what I had.
Don't want to spend my life without,
All those special things,
Don't want to walk around being tied to,
Anyone else's,
Strings, strings, strings, strings..."

"Blink 182!"

The statement knocks me off-guard, as I'm not particularly used to being listened to.

"Uh, yeah." I say, looking up to greet my fellow Blink fan, trying to surpress the urge to jump up and squeal at the fact that somebody has used one of the main excuses to 'avoid' me to actually 'acknowledge' me.

It's a girl, and a very pretty one too. She's dressed in a short, tight, tartan skirt, a plain work-style shirt, a black and red striped tie and a waistcoat decorated with studs and pins. I vaugely recollect her speaking out at the last meeting - and me being told her name - but who knows, I'm so bad with names it'll most likely be wrong. But still, I feel no sense of dread in the idea of talking to her.

"Oh, hey, then. Good taste." she beams at me, revealing rows of pure white teeth that contrast directly with her jet-black hair and punky outfit.

I smile weakly back at her and struggle to come up with a name to fit her face. Terry? Monica? Lisa? No, it 'has' to begin with a T. It just has to.

"Lindsey." she says, extending her hand to give me an awkward handshake. "Or are you more of a hugs kind of guy?"

Before I can respond she pulls me into a forced hug, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me down to her height. Her body feels warm against mine and I become aware of my lack of communication. Instentaneously, I decide I like her. Which is almost always a problem when meeting new people. I mean, if you meet someone you don't like, you can just walk away thinking "Oooh, I hate him!" but if you meet someone you like, like Lindsey here, or someone you may even come to love (naming no names - FRANK), you have to go to all the trouble of keeping in touch, meeting up, and trying to keep their interest. What a pain.

"Gerard." I say, finally responding verbally, painting my face with a true smile and rubbing her back gently.

It would be awful if Frank walked in right now, wouldn't it? Oh god. I should let her go now. Right now. Oh no. I don't want him to think "Oh look there's Gerard and he's moved on already. After like, four dull days of avoiding me he's found another spark in his life. Heartless bitch."

"Uhhhehhh..." I mumble, scrambling to let go, yet trying not to be to harsh. "Sorry. I'm not used to human contact."

I speak the truth. I'm really not into human contact. I mean, I like hugs, but...

Was that my first non-family hug?

Yes.

Wow! I should have a mind party right now. I'll set up the balloons, put on the hats-

Before I can fully fabricate my "mind party" I am distracted by a pair of dark eyes and a head of sleek brown hair.

Frank is here.

Uh, uh, oh, no.

What do I do? He's just there.

Right there.

He's coming over and I can see his small feet shaking as he crosses the dusty wooden floor.

Shit, should I apologise? Or should I wait for him to apologise? Or neither? Or somehow both?

Fuck.

Seconds pass before I realise that I am, still, standing uncomfortably close to Lindsey.

"Uh," I start, but before I can finish, Frank has stumbled nervously into the conversation, offering the gift of unrecognisable mumbling.

Lindsey sneaks a glance between the two of us. Automatically a penny drops in her mind, so obvious that I'm surprised I can't hear it dropping.

"I am not being part of your star-crossed lovers scene!" she says, smiling discreetly and backing away.

I wave my hand loosely - seeing her off as she looks to direct her attention elsewhere.

Now, to Frank.

I concentrate all of my energy into mustering up a conversation started that isn't "oh-mi-god-I-love-you-kiss-me-right-now-or-we-can-go-back-to-mine-and-fuck-if-you-like".

"Uh, Frank. My Frankie, um, please, um, I was an idiot, and I think I've just-"

"Look, Gerard, I was in the wrong. I was in the wrong for choosing those losers over you and-"

"I was in the wrong for making you choose, and -"

"Gerard, let me sp-"

"Let me apolo-"

He shocks me out of my ramblings by grabbing my hands.

"Gerard, look here, dickhead." he says, without a hint of malice, looking directly into my eyes. "'I' was in the wrong. I thought those guys were my friends. And I mean, I still like some of them, but no, I was wrong to choose anyone over you."

My cheeks flush red, and I turn my gaze from his green-brown eyes and towards the hard wood floor. I'm flattered. So flattered that I could jump out of the window in shocked glee that someone has chosen to be friends with me, but jeez, I hope I haven't done something wrong.

"And... Wait."

Shit, I have.

I've done something wrong.

I feel my heart plummet toward the floor in the silence as he collects his thoughts.

"Before..."

The tension builds, and I feel myself tense up like a sea anemone that's just been poked by an eager child.

"Did you call me ''your Frankie''?"

We begin to giggle together, until I glance sheepishly down at the hands gripping mine, and watch with self-pity as they fall away, only to be stunned into shock as I feel the unfamilar sensation of lips on cheek. Shit, he's kissing me. He's kissing me on the cheek. Oh, god. I feel my heart do a somersault in my chest, which is fucking weird as I myself can't handle gymnastics, so I am baffled a brainless organ within me doing better than I can...

Once he pulls away, I smile up at him, using my eyes to beg for another kiss, but the cheeky smirk he returns can only be taken as ''suggestive''.

I am pulled from my exchange of "suggestive" glances with Frank by a hoard of giggling strangers, seemingly fangirling over our situation. Glancing towards them, I realise that I kind of like it. I really, really do. I like being here, I like being here with 'him', and I like being out. It looks like the perfect, seemingly impossible, situation of being accepted by all has finally come, and it's my time to shine.

"So, uh, um," I start, wanting to strike up a passionate conversation to distract myself from wanting to press Frankie up against a wall and kiss him until our mouths dried. "I like your shoes."

Frankie chuckles, and -oh shit I'm calling him Frankie again- and takes a peak at his (liked) shoes.

"You haven't even seen them." he says in his weirdly manly voice for such a small thing, and looking directly in my eyes. Ahhh, I feel my heart melt, which is a surprise as just minutes ago I believed it was going to plummet through the floorboards and into whatever the fuck they keep in the cellar of the youth club.

Deliberately and exaggeratedly, I look down at his shoes and recoil in sheer wonder at their apparent beauty. They are pretty nice, to be honest. Misfits shoes. Good taste reflected in shoes. Ain't it just the best?

Jealously seeps into my bloodstream as I realise how good he looks tonight. I don't know what it is, but somehow, despite the fact that layer upon layer of dark clothing is layered upon his small body, he seems to be oozing colour. Just, everything. From every pore of his body, just colour. Simple, but beautiful. And he's glowing. Something about his smile is causing bright, pure light to penetrate me, and I feel so alive. He's fucking glowing. Obviously, it's not literal, and maybe no-one else can see it, but I can. I've found the colour in a colourless person.

And it feels wonderful.

Something in my mind is almost forcing the words to spill from my mouth to be liberated in the cool air, but I ignore it. Not in a denial way, just in a way that doesn't draw attention to my "artistic ramblings" (as they have once been named).

"They're beautiful." I say whole-heartedly, trying as hard as I possibly can not to add "Just like you."

The rest of the night passes quickly, the subtle flirting, passionate discussions (about brothers and shoes, music and art, penguins and badgers -whatever) and the awkward socialization blending into an unremarkable string of events. Well, I say unremarkable, but I enjoy it. I enjoy every moment I can spend with Frank, no matter what we do.

Anyway, yet again, Brendon's sing-song voice rings through the small room, demanding another "circle time". This time, I don't moan or groan, but look forward to it. Kind of. I mean, it's still shit scary having to talk infront of people, but I'm not dreading it. I feel... Comfortable.

Well, until, that is, Brendon announces the topic- "Our Perfect Relationship."

I hope I'm not first. Shit. I know what'll happen. I'll describe Frank. I'll describe him precisely.

And he'll laugh, won't he? Loudly. He'll open up his gorgeous little mouth and he'll fucking laugh.

Brendon's floaty voice pulls me from my fantasy with the very offer I have been dreading.

"Gerard, you go first."

It doesn't sound like a demand, but an invitation. Pushing all of the nervousness to the back of my mind, I seize the oppurtunity. I take it and grab it with both hands. I'm not going to lie about this. Breathe, stay calm. I'm not going to lie, and I'm going to describe my perfect relationship. I'm going to describe everything about him, and about what I want us to be. Now, I'm going to do it.

"Well, uh, Brendon," I say, testing the water, and discovering that I kinda like having a voice. Being listened to. "I think... Well, I want a relationship with... With someone who I understand. Not someone who I know everything about, but someone that intrigues me. Inspires me. Uh, reads comics with me. Who'll listen to music with me. I want him -uh, or her- to enjoy being with me as much as I enjoy being with them. Uh, yeah. They have to have passion. Passion for something. Guitar or... Uh, anything. I just want to..."

I pause for a breath. God, it's hard to keep this up, but I'm loving it. Eeep, I wonder if Frank has noticed? I take a quick glance at him, but he doesn't seem to be bothered. He might know, but might've brushed it off. Maybe the kiss meant nothing to him? I mean, it was only lip to cheek, but it still means something. To me. Only me? No, I won't think like that, we have a chance. Don't we?

"I want to enjoy walks on the beach. Paint with him -uh, or her- and dance, even though I can't, with uh, the person, sing and play music and share long, heartfelt embraces with-"

"I think that's okay, Gerard," Brendon says in a slightly condescending manor (but in his somewhat womanly voice everything sounds sweet). "A little too detailed, but lovely nonetheless."

I do it again - I look straight at Frank, and his face has changed. Not physically, duh, he hasn't grown a 2nd nose or anything, but his expression is no longer indifference, but mild pride. I can see it in his blushing cheeks right now - he recognises himself in my description, surely? He must do. He can't not have noticed. Oh god, I'm over-thinking, aren't I?

"Right," Brendon says, motioning, with his small hands, towards Frank sitting next to me,"Your turn, Frank. Go for it."

"Uhm," he begins, his dark eyes wandering around the room, eager to observe the reactions of the other teens. "I want this guy to be... I want him to be great. I want him to see me. Not just the small, passive-agressive New Jersian who plays guitar, but the me under all the dark clothing and good music... Um... And I want him to just... Be proud of me, and himself, and I don't want to have another shitty relationship with someone who's ashamed of who they are. Uh, yeah. And I wanna just... Have fun with him. And have... Love. I want love. I want to be loved, to be in love..."

His deep voice trails off, and I fall in love with his statement. I know I sound cheesy, but he really is perfect. How is that even possible?

"Thanks, Frank, that was great." Brendon chirps, before I zone out of his ramblings and whisper to Frank.

"That was sweet, man, it really was."

He turns and smiles, squinting his eyes into mere slits, and replies quietly.

"Your description sounded familar. I mean that guy - or girl-" he winks. "- must be real lucky. And flattered." I suddenly become aware of his shallow breath in my ear, tickling. I like it, aswell. It feels good. Have you ever had that? When somebody is just breathing next to you, and you're just like "oohoohoo that tickles! Noo!". It's awesome. And it's happening right now. Oh shit, yeah, I'd better respond. Wit, Gerard, wit. Say something. Something funny.

"Uh, yeah. I hope that he - or she-" I raise my eyebrows suggestively, giggling as he does the same, "-will, uh, act on their flattery."

"If you're lucky." he grins, with perfect timing as the group session ends and the chairs are suddenly eagerly being paraded across the room to their original placements.

I stack my chair cheerfully, becoming elated by the sense of Frank's glow and colour rubbing off onto me, and skipping a little on my way back. I feel good.

Really good.

"Frank! Frank!" I call, intercepting him as he attempts to leave quietly.

"Yes, Gerard?" he asks in a high, mocking voice, batting his short eyelashes at me.

"Uh, Frank, yes, Frank, give... No, can I have... Can I have your number? Please? I won't sell it or give it to strangers or anything..." I say, disregarding the voices in my head (not in a mad schizophrenic way, but genuinely just my consicence. I hope.) telling me to say "I love you! Marry me! And have my adopted babies!" and waving a hand at him gleefully.

His hand delves into the pocket of his dark jeans and brings out a small, thick nokia phone, as he suggests exchanging numbers.

I pull out my modest camera phone, toss it into his hand and recieve his phone in my other hand. Who knew I could juggle? (Nobody: I can't, but it sure feels like I can!) Frank gingerly fiddles with my phone, keying in the appropriate numbers as I do the same to his.

He hands my phone back and all I can think is - "Yes! Guess who got lucky? Me!" as I stare at the string of numbers under "Frankie xo" - the third contact on my list. (The other two are my brother and my mom...)

"Thanks!" I cheer, kind of fangirling over the fact I have his number. He's so much more than a number, obviously - he's Frankie: beautiful Frankie, colour-oozing, 'glowing' Frankie, yet still it means so much to me that I have some sort of ownership of those few numbers and it means so much that he's trusting me with the idea of contact at anytime - even drunk at two in the morning...

Looking at his laughing face, I have an epiphany. I grab my phone, set it to camera, and capture the moment. His smile is gorgeous, and I know that every time I see the picture I'll remember his jolly old giggle, and be reminded of his sheer perfection.

"Uh, sorry, yeah, um, I won't sell that to strangers, either. I shall simply use it for my, uh, own personal use." I say, only realising after the words leave my mouth how dirty they sound. "Uh, yeah, and everyone on my phone has caller ID... So it'd be weird if one person didn't, wouldn't it?"

Just like in the first circle time, my words don't quite flow perfectly - they flow as if you've turned the water on too hard and it's got you completely and utterly soaked when really all you wanted was to wash your hands.

"You're weird. I like it." he says as a substitute for "goodbye" or "goodnight". Which I think is awesome. I like it. Mental note - say bye in an interesting way next time.

As I leave the youth club, for only the second time, I feel something I haven't been able to feel in a long time. I feel comfortable. I feel like nothing can stop me. Nothing can stop me being Gerard. It's who I am, isn't it? It makes no sense to be anyone else! Why would I change for anyone? Well, aside from the fact that meeting Frank, very cheesily, may have changed me already - for the better and probably permanently.

It's crazy, how much someone can change you in a week. It's like he has, without realising, rubbed his perfection onto me, and I am reveling in the slice of perfection I have been served. And I'm going to keep reveling in it, because the more I do so, the more beautiful I become.

"I'll thank him," I say to myself as I leave the purple door of the youth club behind me, "I'll thank him in... My own special way."

And with that descision ringing in my ears- the descision to be myself and fuck the world- I become the person I've always wanted to be.