Gerard didn't know how to feel. He was furious Kris had said no, but near tears because of what that meant, and he felt a hint of gratitude as he looked at Aaron across the room; strange, how you didn't notice the people you shared your fifth class with until they looked at you with soft eyes. He played a game of glances with those brown eyes, each boy turning their gaze back to the board when they caught the other looking.
"I thought you were into... what is it that you always say... ports, not drives?" the statement was followed by familiar, bubbly laughter.
Gerard looked up, and lost his train of though. A smile curved up his mouth as he looked up at the girl he had been friends with since childhood. Ebony curls spilled down her back and fell into her electric blue eyes, which looked huge in her pale face. She had always been short and delicate, but she had grown painfully thin in the last year- her clothes hung from her frame, and when her shirt pulled up he would see her hipbones and ribs clearly defined. The cancer took a heavy toll on her body- but not on the bright smile she gave him.
"Hey Bree," Gerard said, pointedly ignoring her snarky remark. Even if it hadn't been business as usual for them, he couldn't exactly explain why he was staring at Aaron without fumbling over his words like an idiot. It was why he had pleaded for help.
Gerard was in love.
Gerard had never noticed it before. Sure, he was nervous around her sometimes, but she was a firecracker who made a lot of people nervous. And maybe he'd taken to watching her hips sway as she walked, or delighting in the way her jeans hugged her legs. Gerard figured everybody in the school loved the glimmer in her blue eyes, the way she always chose the dented cans, and how she always seemed to find the silver lining.
Then Bree had a seizure while they were lounging by the pool. It came out of nowhere, so Gerard, despite her protests, drove Bree to the nearest hospital and called her parents. In the course of several days and dozens of tests, Bree revealed what she had hidden so well: headaches, weakness, clumsiness, morning sickness, and the seizures- the one by the pool had not been her first. Armed with that knowledge, the doctors didn't take long to figure out what was wrong.
Bree was diagnosed with brain cancer. A malignant tumor had caused the seizures, and it was life-threatening. It was in a place that made surgery impossible, but they tried everything else- chemo, radiation, anything that had a chance of working. None of it did. In the end, they sent Bree home with medication to ease her symptoms and under a year to live.
That had been over a year ago. Everybody knew Bree was living on borrowed time, but nobody would say it- especially not Gerard. The thought of losing her would instantly bring tears to his eyes, make his stomach churn and put lead in his heart. The threat of losing her was what finally convinced Gerard that he was truly, deeply in love with her.
And he'd tried to tell her. It had slipped out, when they were cuddled on the couch or he was helping her choose which wig to wear when they went out to dinner. But Bree had always laughed him off; of course he loved her, they'd been friends for seven years. No matter how many times or ways he told her, or tried to show he, she never believed. In fact, Gerard found it hard to believe she wasn't-
"-blind?" her voice matched his thoughts, breaking them into pieces.
Gerard blinked at her. "What was that? I wasn't-"
"Paying attention. I know," Bree sighed, a tolerant smile curving her lips.
Gerard had no choice but to grin back at her. "I thought we promised we weren't going to-"
"Finish each other's sentences anymore," Bree arched an eyebrow at him, "I know."
They dissolved into laughter, their easy familiarity obvious as Bree leaned her head against his shoulder, their desks shoved next to each other and feet jumbled together. When Gerard looked up, he saw Aaron watching them, his eyes soft and a small smile on his lips. He probably saw what Gerard wanted, two lovebirds enjoying what time they had left together. He didn't understand Bree's inability to see.
Gerard dropped his gaze back to the girl on his shoulder, whose curls had fallen over eyes that were beginning to drift shut. Gerard gently pushed those curls away from her eyes, his lips pressed together tightly in an attempt to hide his sorrow.
Bree had been getting tired quickly lately. Even walking between classrooms wore her down; she napped at lunch, after school, and went straight to bed after dinner. Even when she was wide awake, the restlessness was gone, Gerard's energizer bunny no longer to be found in the girl who had stolen his heart. Who had probably held it since the day they met, a day Gerard remembered remarkably well.
Gerard had been ten years old and recently removed from an abusive home. He had believed everybody shouted and constantly stank of whiskey; the idea of not being beaten for doing something wrong, even if it was breathing through his mouth instead of his nose, was foreign to him. He had been a broken boy, dropped into the laps of a renowned plastic surgeon and his trophy wife.
The couple was loving and caring, spoiling him without a worry, and it only made Gerard's behavior worse. Because he knew he didn't deserve it, knew he was rotten; his mommy and daddy had told him so. Soon, it came to the point where Gerard's new family was ready to give him back to CPS, a threat that terrified Gerard and pushed him into acting worse than ever. He was miserable, and on the edge.
Then he ran over an adorable girl with curly black pigtails and the most stunning blue eyes he had ever seen. She bit her lip against a whimper of pain when she hit the ground and sent her books and papers flying.
The girl had sat there, as stunned as Gerard, until she regained her composure. Then those gorgeous blue eyes found their way up to Gerard. "Well," she had said sharply, "Are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna be a gent and help me? Since, ya know, it was all your fault."
Gerard had been completely stunned but the tone of her voice, the irritated command. He moved without thinking, gathering her books and papers in one arm, neatly stacked. When he had them all, he offered the girl his hand.
For a second, with those glaring eyes, Gerard thought she would rather bite his hand off than take it. Then the glare vanished, the storm clearing from her eyes. She bounced to her feet without his help, a bright smile on her pretty face. Once she was standing, she had taken his hand, and she shook it exuberantly. "I'm Bree Sharp. What's your name?"
That question had started a conversation that lasted for days, then weeks, months, and years. Gerard slowly told Bree about his parents, old and new, and about his desire to learn to play guitar. Bree talked about her mother, who died from brain cancer when Bree was very little, and her father the writer, who spent as much of his time with her as he could, but it was never enough. She told him she loved to sing, and that she took in wounded animals and took care of them until they were healed.
And she'd looked at him with a somber expression rare for children their age and said, "I'll fix you too. You'll see."
Bree had been right. It may have taken seven years, but Bree's steady, gentle had done what his new parent's smothering embrace couldn't; she transformed self-conscious, depressed Gerard into a slightly soft, vaguely personable guitarist. She'd changed him almost completely, undoing the damage his parents had done, and Gerard was happy- until the doctors diagnosed her with brain cancer. Then his world had started to fall apart, piece by piece- and he was about to lose another one of those pieces.
Gerard felt Bree twitch, and at first he though she was dreaming. Then her whole body jerked, like a marionette that had all its strings pulled at once. Gerard realized what was happening in a split second: Bree was having a seizure.
Gerard shouted to the teacher, springing out of his desk. He barely heard the shouting that followed as students panicked and the teacher called for an ambulance. He was too busy lowering Bree to the floor, where she was less likely to hurt herself. Gerard shoved desks out of the way, clearing a wide circle around them. He clutched her hand tightly in his and found himself muttering prayers, terrified Bree's borrowed time was finally spent.
Gerard saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head enough to see the boy who knelt next to him. Aaron offered his hand, a gentle smile, his silent support. Gerard took it immediately, gripping Aaron's hand bone-crushingly tight. The boys sat together, one stoically silent and the other murmuring prayers to whatever god would listen, while they waited for the ambulance.
News of what happened spread at lightning speed, passed from phone to phone. Soon everyone was gathered in the halls, watching the EMTs carefully load Bree onto a stretcher; her seizure was over, but she was unconscious. The crowd of students moved back in a wave, and a man with tousled black hair rushed through the open space- Bree's father, the writer, with ink on his hands. Tears came to his eyes when he saw Gerard's bone pale face, and they burst out along with his heartbroken cry when he saw his daughter.
The EMTs intercepted the man as he tried to fling himself at the stretcher. They spoke in low, soothing tones, but none of it made it past the man's panic. He fought with them, shouting, even when they threatened to drug him.
Aaron moved his faze from the frantic man to the motionless boy beside him. "Gerard," he said softly, squeezing the boy's hand. It got his attention, and blue eyes met brown. Aaron's head tilted toward the struggling EMTs, "Her father needs you."
The quiet reproach in Aaron's voice pulled Gerard out of his stupor. He blinked himself back into awareness, and looked at Aaron with a mixture of gratitude and surprise; he never would have thought one of those supercilious host boys, who were despised by a good fifth of the school, would have a heart. His eyes flicked down to Aaron's hand around his, and a tiny flicker of panic crept into his eyes- at that moment, Aaron was all that kept Gerard from completely breaking down.
"I'll stay with you," Aaron sad. His tone was as low and soothing as the EMTs', but his actually worked.
Some of the tension drained out of Gerard, and his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. "Thank you," he said, more than tears making his eyes shine.
Aaron's only reply was a soft smile. He got to his feet, a bit awkwardly because of his connection with Gerard; then he offered his other hand and helped Gerard stand up. It took Gerard a few seconds and a few more deep breaths before he could move. He crossed the room with long strides, Aaron trailing behind him.
Kris was one of the students who watched from the doorway, emotions held tightly in check as Gerard stepped up behind Bree's father. Gerard reached out with his free hand, resting it on the furious man's shoulder and softly saying his name. The man turned, so unsteady he nearly fell over, and met Gerard's eyes. Gerard let go of Aaron's hand so he could open his arms to the man; Bree's father began to sob, recognizing the person who loved his daughter as much as he did, and accepted Gerard's embrace.
Kris watched Aaron step back; even from several feet away, he saw tears gather in those warm brown eyes. Aaron reached up to brush them away, only to find it impossible; Kris had crossed the room with quick steps and was standing in front of him. Aaron looked up at Kris as the raven-haired boy knocked his hand aside, slender fingers brushing across Aaron's cheek to wipe away the tears.
It only served to make the tears come faster. "Please, Kris," he pleaded; there was no need to explain what he was pleading for.
Kris closed his eyes, trying to avoid the influence of Aaron's infamous puppy eyes, made so much more convincing by the quivering of his bottom lip and the tears that had gathered in his dark eyelashes; it was useless, and a heavy sigh pushed between Kris's lips. "Fine. We'll help him."
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