Preaching to Sinners on the End of the World (4/?) Part 2
Title: Preaching to Sinners on the End of the World (4/?) Part 2
Author:
lalaljay
Pairing: outcast!self-conscious!Frank/popular!Gerard
Rating: Mature/NC-17ish
Warning: Language (if that even counts), Brief conversation about suicide (don't worry I don't kill anyone off), the things NC-17 would have you assume
Disclaimer: I've never bought a group of people because slavery is bad
Summary: A high school AU where I basically decided to turn the cliches into ash. In which Gerard's in the closet and Frank and him begin an unofficial friends with benefits situation that becomes more complicated than either were prepared for
( Chapter 1)
( Chapter 2 Part 1)
( Chapter 3)
( Chapter 4 Part 1)
****
By the time Frank finished the alternating jog/walk/mad sprint combination that he was doing all in order to get back home under thirty minutes and not appear as an inconsiderate asshole, his face felt wind slashed and red, his jacket was tied around his forehead so it would stop hindering his aerodynamics, and all 25 tic-tacs were chewed and swallowed.
The thing was, first and foremost, Frank felt slightly like the biggest douche in reasonable radii because of relating to Bob about “having” a “girlfriend” as though in an alternate dimension he actually had one. He wasn’t lying, so Frank had yet to move down enough rungs on the ladder to become a complete loser, but things were being so enigma-in-a-mystery lately that what he said wasn’t exactly a truth either. The thing was that he “had” someone in the way that people “had” gonorrhea -no reveling, no glory, it was what it was and it was kept quiet. Let alone Frank having a girlfriend, that was almost funny.
As Frank’s final stretch ended and he dropped against the mailbox, he realized common courtesy wasn’t needed when Gerard was just sitting there smoking while he actually died.
Gerard -not so much as rescuing Frank from sure death, sighed out another puff of grey before crumbling the cigarette into the Welcome mat. So yeah, okay, fuck you too.
“You weren’t at school today,” Gerard pointed out but didn’t stand or anything weird and polite like that.
Frank walked by him and pushed the door open, only realizing when the doorknob turned that he had left the door unlocked when he left. How they’d yet to have been robbed, what with Frank on the scene, Frank had never really known.
“So is everything… fine?” Frank’s main address of the sentence being the not so casual way that Gerard draped himself next to Frank on the couch as if his limbs had grown incapable of supporting his body any longer. He wasn’t the pitiful, Waah Life Is Hard type of person, it seemed, since Gerard didn’t expel all his issues out in one extensive puke of feeling -he sat there without speaking and his eyes focused on the ground for what felt like forever.
Finally, he made a tiny laugh to cover up a groan. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he said, in complete disregard of the radiating depression that was pouring out of his presence. “I just didn’t want to be home when my mom got the call about the almost-fight at school.”
Frank could have laughed -Gerard might have had a long line of traits and special abilities, but there were some people who were fighters, and there were some people with no hand-eye coordination and the flimsy frame made for pacifists and peace activists. Sure, Karate Kid might have broken the mold, but Gerard was not the karate kid. In fact, the karate kid could totally kick Gerard’s ass.
“It wasn’t even a real fight, like it was yelling and shoving but there wasn’t blood pouring on the staircase, you know? But I know she’ll flip out about how horrid the mere thought of violence is, and so I’m here. Ta dah.”
“Well, did you start it?” If Frank’s acquaintance with ice packs and the school nurse told him anything, it was that not starting the fight was basically diplomatic immunity from any and all charges. Then again, it wasn’t exactly fights that Frank was in - people pushing him into lockers and knocking him down weren’t really WWE smack downs.
“No,” his voice cut with the sentence in an abruptness that basically murdered any expansion of the topic on Frank’s part. “If it really fucking matters, this brutally creative kid I hate decided I just absolutely had to hear his logic on why I’m such a fag.”
Frank snorted.
“What?”
“You’re pouting and it isn’t even anything worth starting a fight over.” Frank tried to subdue the twinge in his voice that made him “an apathetic bastard,” - words so clear by the girl Frank had seen freshman year crying outside of the school’s bathroom, and it was probably true. He’d laughed, not hard, but a tiny titter at her oh so tragic inconvenience that made her break down bawling. That’s why Frank had started saying “sorry,” instead of throwing his thoughts into the mix. A lot of the time he actually was sorry, but really bad at expressing such because of how quick people had been to dismiss him when he was in their position. Ha ha hell hole, the vicious circle spun and Frank just held on for the ride. “If anything, be pissed you were actually willing to throw a punch because of something so-.” Don’t say dumb, don’t say stupid, don’t say that it was kind of actually true. So Frank didn’t say anything.
Gerard’s hands closed and opened, not in a clench like he was threatening to see what was worth throwing a punch for, but… Frank searched his mind and realized he had no idea what it meant. But it wasn’t like he should have - he’d only known Gerard for a couple months now, it wasn’t as if he was supposed to know everything about the guy yet.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gerard finally spoke. Of course when he spoke it’d be the dumbest statement Frank had ever heard come out of a person’s mouth.
And he laughed. “Yeah, okay. What happened exactly? Some singular person teased you, aw how bad, man how do you handle it, you’re so strong.” Frank really wasn’t this mean as a person -he wasn’t a mean person. He just couldn’t sit there while some popular kid huffed and puffed over a slight stumble from their pedestal of perfection and invincibility and got a scrape. The wave of absolute shit that Frank had to deal with every other moment was only beginning to die down and go back to sea, and that was because he tried to make himself invisible; he’d love to see the Fragile: Handle with Care populous work with what he had to before. So yeah, Frank kind of knew what he was talking about.
“I get that you’re all high off the fumes emitting from the ass of your high horse and all, but no, you don’t. Fucking. Get it. And just never mind, I came here because I didn’t want to talk about it or have to deal with my mom -that wasn’t permission for you to become her.”
Judging by Gerard’s tightened jaw and twitching, crossed leg, Frank had rightfully deserved the 2 out of 4 he got in kindergarten for Ability to Play Well with Others. If you made a mistake Frank, then you need to say sorry. Those are the rules. And he didn’t want to make a mistake with Gerard -he really, really couldn’t afford making a mistake at this point.
“Sorry,” Frank mumbled into the blockade of his teeth because apologies tasted like battery acid.
Gerard rolled his eyes in a blatant, misunderstood teenager show of the war being settled but foreign trade forever killed by the participating countries. “Whatever. You fucking suck as a peer mediator.” But he was starting to smile as he spoke, and Frank found it tremendously slight of his body’s nervous system that it had yet to establish immunity to that common facial expression. Frank smiled all the time, well not really, but he smiled enough to understand that the body twitch wasn’t created to make him nervous enough to actually apologize and not blow it off as Gerard being too sensitive.
“I’ll take classes for it at the YMCA, I promise.” Frank leapt from the couch and headed into the kitchen -something about sympathy made his body feel drained of necessary liquids.
“Do they sell medicine at The Y? ‘Cause I’d build all the pool tables they want if someone could provide me with Advil.”
This time, Frank snorting was entirely justified. “I’m imagining you trying to build anything and my body’s literally clenching up and threatening a stroke. What would you do if your lies actually made me seizure out on the floor?”
“I’d do absolutely nothing, because without the wild, wild world of non-prescription medication, I’m powerless to the crippling effects of my headaches.” From where he was standing in the kitchen doorway, Frank could only see Gerard’s arms during his flailing motions on the couch, accompanied by the gargling noises of him and a possible beached whale fighting for claim over the shore’s inward land. “You hear that? That was me losing the battle against my headaches and you standing there not helping.”
Payback, asshole, Frank hummed into his glass of water. “No, instead of watching you become some heartbreaking tragedy about your dive into drug addiction, we’re going to be proactive and shit. Fight the demon with the demon, it’s foolproof.” Frank Iero: motivational speaker turned demon ridding master, set down his glass, calmly walked over to the couch, and then settled himself so that his knees were firmly planted outside Gerard’s thighs in a completely necessary, platonic way.
“Is this the part where I get exorcised and I have to admit the devil’s in me?” More of that tiny facial twitch and then Frank’s total patient-client focus was shot in the foot.
Frank shook his head and steadied himself with a hand on the back of the couch. “None of that overdone stuff, my procedure is simple, actually. I just shake you back and forth by the neck quietly chanting ‘fag’ until you’re more worried about whiplash than the word. Boom, you’re cured.”
Gerard’s breathing - as soft as it may have been - bounced off Frank’s skin in tiny puffs, and if it were anyone else, then Frank would cringe out of hate for people… breathing, all over him. The respiratory system was not made for sharing, and Frank respected its way that it stayed to itself as one of the limited single-man events left in the whole world. But. But, but, but the exception to the rule -like imaginary numbers in math- existed. And exceptions were cool too. Frank respected exceptions too.
“That doesn’t sound medically accurate.”
“I’m an innovator.” Obviously.
“You might actually be one of the dumbest people I’ve ever met.”
“Then you’re a glutton for punishment.”
Checkmate, have the medals awarded to the home team. As a gracious winner and nothing more, Frank decided that he could bother himself with bestowing a kiss upon the losing side like a king knighting the willing to serve. Of course though, since Frank thought he and the Knights of the Round Table were hilarious, he quietly chuckled against Gerard’s mouth.
Gerard groaned much too loudly for the small space that was between them. “Oh my god, seriously, like every single time, you start laughing. Is this some plot? Are you distracting me from getting my head sliced off by ninjas or what?”
“I’m not doing anything.” He immediately whined, his opposite hand pulling at the necklace that was peeking out of the collar of Gerard’s shirt. Not a necklace, apparently, at least not really. “Unless lying is sacrilege, Pope John Paul.”
It wasn’t as if Frank was planning to sit there, gawk at it for an hour, and ask for Gerard to recite hymns until he fell asleep or anything, but Gerard was blindingly quick at shoving the rosary back down underneath his shirt.
“That’s really cool, my mom will probably ask you a million questions if she sees it; she says she’s too lazy to do religion but she loves interrogating the people that practice it to find out if it’s worth it.” Watching his mom outside a McDonalds read the Tanakh while eating a bacon hamburger was what dreams were made of.
“I’m definitely not the best example.” Gerard didn’t seem like he was good at hiding when his emotions dipped. He flipped switches quickly though, his voice picking up in what - if Frank didn’t actually think for a second or two - sounded engaged. Casual, even. “When does she get back?”
“I don’t know, in a while?” It was three fifty-three. “But then again, time could just be a figment of our imagination. Maybe she’s already here and you and I were never-“
Whatever philosophical statement could have been birthed from Frank was killed on contact by Gerard and his assumed permission to kiss Frank whenever he fucking pleased. Perhaps the assumption had grown from the fact that he could - really, seriously, whenever. Frank even martyred his speech in trade off for running his hands through the shorter strands of hair on the back of Gerard’s head - an honorable martyrdom it was.
Frank was starting to understand where people were coming from when they did the friends with benefits, untitled thing that remained entirely up in the air in stark contrast to the short breaths against his mouth that seemed pretty fucking concrete. Frank was definitely beginning to understand the point of it all - the point being that it was fun. Like, so he never quite understood the analogy of having your cake and eating it too (on the pure basis of that analogy making no sense) but it was supposed to mean something good that came easy, right? Well, Frank thought kissing Gerard was good. Maybe it was not entirely the easiest thing in the world, but it made up for its lack of quantity by its quality.
Gerard muttered something to himself, and before Frank could point out how he’d just gotten reprimanded for making light conversation while his tongue was in someone else’s mouth, Gerard did this quick… motion, thingy, that had Frank suddenly lying beneath him in the time of what was apparently the longest blink of Frank’s young life.
“You smoke too much,” Frank said in the brief moment where he wasn’t rediscovering the structure of Gerard’s nicotine gum line -deciding to branch out and dabble in the Shakespearean art of romantic small talk.
“You talk too much.” Aah, a worthy opponent, Shakespeare would be proud.
In all honesty, Frank agreed a little bit, so he let Gerard believe that he was right and Frank lifted his chin so that they could kiss again. Having lost grip on everything during the new positioning, Frank’s arms were lazily by his head until Gerard slid his hands up his wrists and laid them straight. It was surprising how much stronger Gerard was than he appeared. Really now? rudely shouted Frank’s crotch as it jumped into a conversation it wasn’t invited to.
The exclamation went without reply since Frank was really caught up in just… this. In the action: the aching threat of a smile that hurt his face, the irony that Gerard’s original purpose was washed away and no one was paying attention to it anymore. He’d definitely overused the word to ash but, sometimes, life was really good. It wasn’t from a lack of a better word but the way that, sometimes, there wasn’t much of a better way to describe it. Good was simple - as was Gerard’s hand under his shirt, and the simple fact that pants were cruel and unusual punishments keeping Frank from a possible greater-than-good. Simple was the practical sonic boom of the front door being shut.
Evidently, the time it takes Frank to open up his eyes is slower than the way that the rest of the world turns, because by the time he let in sunlight was long enough for Gerard to have fled to the opposite side of the couch. While he was maybe inches from fucking riding the armrest, Frank was just scrambling to sit up quickly and find the remote. Of course, the last channel that was on was the Weather Channel, no matter how inconspicuous he wanted to seem, Frank had other issues to deal with besides Sonny Rogers and his fake tan telling Frank it’d be a beautiful weekend after Valentine’s Day. The bubble world of altocumulus clouds was likely what had Sonny looking so chipper, and surely, blinded him from the information that his time slot was strictly viewed only by housewives and teenage boys with inopportune hard-ons. To calm himself down, Frank’s body concluded the most natural appearing motion would be for him to cross and uncross his legs like the most serene and majestic cocaine filled Rockette, but it could have been worse. Worse, it seemed, was situated next to him -Gerard’s eyes were blown, and his chest moved in the constricted risings and dips that only happened when breath was trying to be controlled. Out of sight was the click of Frank’s mom as she walked more leisured than usual, stopping briefly by the turn in the front hallway even though there was nothing there besides an unwatered ficus and a flea market painting, and then the blatantly loud thud of shoes being kicked off -even though they weren’t “that kind” of house. Only after the longest possible time one human being could spend admiring the whimsies of the front door, did his mom wander into the living room.
“Hi, Frank!” Frank could smell the bullshit in her voice from where he was sitting, but his neediness for life to tip in his favor had him convinced that he was confused and that his mother always sounded like she wanted to sell him Girl Scout Cookies. “Oh, is this your friend…Jerome?” This would have been a bit of a stretch of incorrectness if “Gerard” didn’t insist upon being such a stupid name to begin with.
“It’s Gerard, actually. Hi.” Gerard was still on the verge of hyperventilating, and it was 61 degrees and sunny in Baltimore.
His mom waved a hand to excuse her selective memory. “So does this mean you’re no longer “sick”? I wouldn’t want to have let you stay home if I knew you just wanted to pass your cold around.”
“Funny story, actually, it was a miracle. You know those 12 Hour Mystery type shows? Crossbreed that with Mystery Diagnosis and you have the tale of my sickness.”
“You can’t crossbreed shows, Frank.”
Frank splayed himself against the back of the couch, seeing as he was deeply and irreversibly wounded by the correction. The entirety of his body obliged too, which was absolutely marvelous. Something about the presence of authority figures - his mom included, managed to quench completely the Push to Start sparks of Frank’s hormones. He wasn’t even alone; the aura that moms in specific painted was one that shooed away any actions besides, like, folding laundry and doing taxes. If there were enough moms in one location, then the possible growth of that area’s population would crumble to bits until the only object left that held any semblance of humanity in the forsaken wake would be a single ovarian egg fluttering to the ground in anguish.
The population abolisher and part time mother turned into the kitchen after ticking her tongue in the way that she always did - where it wasn’t a comment but he was supposed to accept it as one. Frank had hoped that after seeing how calm, and… “new age” his mom was, that Gerard would calm down too. Besides the obviously awkward means in which they met, Frank thought that Gerard would love his mom.
Not that it mattered, and not that it was planned, and not that Frank actually cared, but, he’d been over at the Way’s home a lot and that was fine, really. It was just… ugh; it didn’t make any sense when he tried expressing it into words like a human, so fuck it: Frank wanted to show his life as well. He actually liked his life, despite popular belief. The only thing that made it an unrelenting portal of shit were the people outside of his bloodline, plus Frank liked his mom the best, and, yeah, he wanted people to know that. Well not really “people.” Just Gerard. Gerard was an important person, and not that it mattered or anything, but he wanted them to be fond of one another. To be comfortable around one another. Whatever, words were terrible.
Despite Frank’s wants (as began most sentences in relation to his life), they weren’t comfortable. Gerard wasn’t, mainly. He went back to staring at the floor with his blown open eyes, and his hands had begun to shake. Where they were sitting and where his mom wasn’t, Frank figured they were pretty well hidden - maybe not as well as usual, behind closed doors and dropping daylights into dusk - but the couch was still a barrier, still a cover. Although it was a small cover, Frank thought that it was enough when he reached over to take hold of Gerard’s hand.
Gerard snapped away.
“I need to go home,” he said, standing up hurriedly and grabbing his things. He headed for the doorway.
Frank had never told Gerard how loud the door was, plus the door was kind of old to start with and basically any type of wind picked up how heavy it was made, so that made the closing of the door sound like a slam. Or maybe it made the slam seem louder. That was probably it. It really was loud, which Frank figured was the reason that Gerard didn’t answer when Frank called out “Wait.”
He let it go though, since it wasn’t as if what he had to say was important anyway, if anything, it was good that Gerard didn’t hear him. Imagine if he did, imagine how embarrassing it would be for Frank to shout out “What are you doing this weekend?” like a total loser, right in earshot of his fucking mom. Things would be really embarrassing, that’s how that would work out, and so Frank didn’t mind. Actually, Frank was happy because it was a stupid idea to start with.
“Your friend seems nice.” His mom’s voice pulled Frank away from himself.
He knew she’d like him, he’d told her that a million times already, but still, his face caught red.
“If we’re actually having this conversation, then I’m leaving.”
“What?” she exclaimed over the sound of the oven preheating, “You didn’t meet him on the internet, he doesn’t have a head tattoo - I approve. Cute, right? That adjective’s still acceptable to use?”
“Yes, Mom, the judges still accept cute as an answer.” Talking about someone was much easier when the person being talked to never met the person being talked of, but now that they’d met, Frank really wanted to leap out of the window. The conversations that poorly hid its true intent of unabashed flailing were the exact conversations that his mom would have with his aunt whenever she’d come to visit. They’d sip brightly colored alcohol that Frank wasn’t allowed to try, then they’d talk way too loudly way too late at night, and only when they got too out of it to reapply their lipstick did conversations such as these arise. Conversations Frank did not plan on having.
“Then that’s my opinion of him.”
“That’s nice, but it shouldn’t matter because he’s just my friend.” Also known as the exact opposite thing you were telling Bob earlier, readily applied deeper portions of Frank’s mind that really needed to shut up and learn proper social skills.
“I bet.”
“It’s true, you know.”
“I believe you.”
Arguing with the female version of himself was the worst stalemate Frank ever took part in. “Your lack of trust in me is disappointing to say the least.”
A tiny guffaw made way from the kitchen. “That’s a lot to be said from someone in whom I trusted to be responsible and happy as I let him stay home; instead this someone is someone I find taking advantage of my charity and spending special time with their boyfriend.”
Like seriously, the window was such a nice option. The thing was, coming out to his mom hadn’t been this show stopping extravaganza that shook hollow the core of metropolitan and suburban New Jersey alike. Really, looking back on it, during his whole “crippling anxiety” period where all she wanted to talk about was Frank’s feelings and everything, it was bound to come out. And it did. It was easier to clear his chest without the muting insulation of closet doors, if you caught his drift. Being the new-age, “small step for man…” yada yada human rights cheerleader that she was, his mom went overboard with “acceptance” in the beginning, as if she needed to prove to Frank she didn’t secretly search for heterosexual four leaf clovers on her daily walks. Thankfully, she pedaled backwards, and they left his Kinsey Scale rating along with all the other fun facts about Frank that really had no business being anyone else’s business (also on the list of things that wouldn’t alter the tilt of the earth’s axis: Frank sucked his thumb until second grade).
Sometimes though, his mom got like this. Oh god, did she get like this.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” The words were sharper knives than they appeared in the kitchen cabinet.
She went on, regardless. “I’ll have you know that I was a teenager, and not just a teenager, but a teenager in high school -shocking, but still. I understand how this works.”
Really, she didn’t, but she was trying. His mom was always, always trying to understand, and he didn’t want to ruin her parade.
“I’ll let it slide, but only once and only because I’m happy that he’s making you happy.”
“And how do you know that’s true?” Frank called over the ruckus of pans shifting in their cupboards.
“Simple mother’s intuition, Frank. Moreover, I’m not blind - you smile a lot more lately.” There was a brief silence. “I missed that.”
****
Frank’s mom didn’t let him stay home “sick” on Friday, so he had to go and dodge the storm of red and pink that coated the school’s usually comforting and lackluster appearance.
Frank didn’t get pushed that day - which was nice - since everyone was busy being romantic and whatever. It was like every other Valentine’s Day in Frank’s life, and that was it. No big gestures of grandeur or shocking surprises or anything else equally stupid, so that was fine.
Four girls gave Gerard carnations; Frank had counted when they passed each other in the halls.
The flowers were still alive two weeks later; their quality was shockingly strong as they wilted away in near stop-motion time on Gerard’s bedside table. It was dark, so Frank was pretty sure Gerard didn’t notice that when, after the first time that they had sex, Frank plucked every fucking petal off those flowers.
(Chapter 5)
Author:
lalaljay
Pairing: outcast!self-conscious!Frank/popular!Gerard
Rating: Mature/NC-17ish
Warning: Language (if that even counts), Brief conversation about suicide (don't worry I don't kill anyone off), the things NC-17 would have you assume
Disclaimer: I've never bought a group of people because slavery is bad
Summary: A high school AU where I basically decided to turn the cliches into ash. In which Gerard's in the closet and Frank and him begin an unofficial friends with benefits situation that becomes more complicated than either were prepared for
( Chapter 1)
( Chapter 2 Part 1)
( Chapter 3)
( Chapter 4 Part 1)
****
By the time Frank finished the alternating jog/walk/mad sprint combination that he was doing all in order to get back home under thirty minutes and not appear as an inconsiderate asshole, his face felt wind slashed and red, his jacket was tied around his forehead so it would stop hindering his aerodynamics, and all 25 tic-tacs were chewed and swallowed.
The thing was, first and foremost, Frank felt slightly like the biggest douche in reasonable radii because of relating to Bob about “having” a “girlfriend” as though in an alternate dimension he actually had one. He wasn’t lying, so Frank had yet to move down enough rungs on the ladder to become a complete loser, but things were being so enigma-in-a-mystery lately that what he said wasn’t exactly a truth either. The thing was that he “had” someone in the way that people “had” gonorrhea -no reveling, no glory, it was what it was and it was kept quiet. Let alone Frank having a girlfriend, that was almost funny.
As Frank’s final stretch ended and he dropped against the mailbox, he realized common courtesy wasn’t needed when Gerard was just sitting there smoking while he actually died.
Gerard -not so much as rescuing Frank from sure death, sighed out another puff of grey before crumbling the cigarette into the Welcome mat. So yeah, okay, fuck you too.
“You weren’t at school today,” Gerard pointed out but didn’t stand or anything weird and polite like that.
Frank walked by him and pushed the door open, only realizing when the doorknob turned that he had left the door unlocked when he left. How they’d yet to have been robbed, what with Frank on the scene, Frank had never really known.
“So is everything… fine?” Frank’s main address of the sentence being the not so casual way that Gerard draped himself next to Frank on the couch as if his limbs had grown incapable of supporting his body any longer. He wasn’t the pitiful, Waah Life Is Hard type of person, it seemed, since Gerard didn’t expel all his issues out in one extensive puke of feeling -he sat there without speaking and his eyes focused on the ground for what felt like forever.
Finally, he made a tiny laugh to cover up a groan. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he said, in complete disregard of the radiating depression that was pouring out of his presence. “I just didn’t want to be home when my mom got the call about the almost-fight at school.”
Frank could have laughed -Gerard might have had a long line of traits and special abilities, but there were some people who were fighters, and there were some people with no hand-eye coordination and the flimsy frame made for pacifists and peace activists. Sure, Karate Kid might have broken the mold, but Gerard was not the karate kid. In fact, the karate kid could totally kick Gerard’s ass.
“It wasn’t even a real fight, like it was yelling and shoving but there wasn’t blood pouring on the staircase, you know? But I know she’ll flip out about how horrid the mere thought of violence is, and so I’m here. Ta dah.”
“Well, did you start it?” If Frank’s acquaintance with ice packs and the school nurse told him anything, it was that not starting the fight was basically diplomatic immunity from any and all charges. Then again, it wasn’t exactly fights that Frank was in - people pushing him into lockers and knocking him down weren’t really WWE smack downs.
“No,” his voice cut with the sentence in an abruptness that basically murdered any expansion of the topic on Frank’s part. “If it really fucking matters, this brutally creative kid I hate decided I just absolutely had to hear his logic on why I’m such a fag.”
Frank snorted.
“What?”
“You’re pouting and it isn’t even anything worth starting a fight over.” Frank tried to subdue the twinge in his voice that made him “an apathetic bastard,” - words so clear by the girl Frank had seen freshman year crying outside of the school’s bathroom, and it was probably true. He’d laughed, not hard, but a tiny titter at her oh so tragic inconvenience that made her break down bawling. That’s why Frank had started saying “sorry,” instead of throwing his thoughts into the mix. A lot of the time he actually was sorry, but really bad at expressing such because of how quick people had been to dismiss him when he was in their position. Ha ha hell hole, the vicious circle spun and Frank just held on for the ride. “If anything, be pissed you were actually willing to throw a punch because of something so-.” Don’t say dumb, don’t say stupid, don’t say that it was kind of actually true. So Frank didn’t say anything.
Gerard’s hands closed and opened, not in a clench like he was threatening to see what was worth throwing a punch for, but… Frank searched his mind and realized he had no idea what it meant. But it wasn’t like he should have - he’d only known Gerard for a couple months now, it wasn’t as if he was supposed to know everything about the guy yet.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gerard finally spoke. Of course when he spoke it’d be the dumbest statement Frank had ever heard come out of a person’s mouth.
And he laughed. “Yeah, okay. What happened exactly? Some singular person teased you, aw how bad, man how do you handle it, you’re so strong.” Frank really wasn’t this mean as a person -he wasn’t a mean person. He just couldn’t sit there while some popular kid huffed and puffed over a slight stumble from their pedestal of perfection and invincibility and got a scrape. The wave of absolute shit that Frank had to deal with every other moment was only beginning to die down and go back to sea, and that was because he tried to make himself invisible; he’d love to see the Fragile: Handle with Care populous work with what he had to before. So yeah, Frank kind of knew what he was talking about.
“I get that you’re all high off the fumes emitting from the ass of your high horse and all, but no, you don’t. Fucking. Get it. And just never mind, I came here because I didn’t want to talk about it or have to deal with my mom -that wasn’t permission for you to become her.”
Judging by Gerard’s tightened jaw and twitching, crossed leg, Frank had rightfully deserved the 2 out of 4 he got in kindergarten for Ability to Play Well with Others. If you made a mistake Frank, then you need to say sorry. Those are the rules. And he didn’t want to make a mistake with Gerard -he really, really couldn’t afford making a mistake at this point.
“Sorry,” Frank mumbled into the blockade of his teeth because apologies tasted like battery acid.
Gerard rolled his eyes in a blatant, misunderstood teenager show of the war being settled but foreign trade forever killed by the participating countries. “Whatever. You fucking suck as a peer mediator.” But he was starting to smile as he spoke, and Frank found it tremendously slight of his body’s nervous system that it had yet to establish immunity to that common facial expression. Frank smiled all the time, well not really, but he smiled enough to understand that the body twitch wasn’t created to make him nervous enough to actually apologize and not blow it off as Gerard being too sensitive.
“I’ll take classes for it at the YMCA, I promise.” Frank leapt from the couch and headed into the kitchen -something about sympathy made his body feel drained of necessary liquids.
“Do they sell medicine at The Y? ‘Cause I’d build all the pool tables they want if someone could provide me with Advil.”
This time, Frank snorting was entirely justified. “I’m imagining you trying to build anything and my body’s literally clenching up and threatening a stroke. What would you do if your lies actually made me seizure out on the floor?”
“I’d do absolutely nothing, because without the wild, wild world of non-prescription medication, I’m powerless to the crippling effects of my headaches.” From where he was standing in the kitchen doorway, Frank could only see Gerard’s arms during his flailing motions on the couch, accompanied by the gargling noises of him and a possible beached whale fighting for claim over the shore’s inward land. “You hear that? That was me losing the battle against my headaches and you standing there not helping.”
Payback, asshole, Frank hummed into his glass of water. “No, instead of watching you become some heartbreaking tragedy about your dive into drug addiction, we’re going to be proactive and shit. Fight the demon with the demon, it’s foolproof.” Frank Iero: motivational speaker turned demon ridding master, set down his glass, calmly walked over to the couch, and then settled himself so that his knees were firmly planted outside Gerard’s thighs in a completely necessary, platonic way.
“Is this the part where I get exorcised and I have to admit the devil’s in me?” More of that tiny facial twitch and then Frank’s total patient-client focus was shot in the foot.
Frank shook his head and steadied himself with a hand on the back of the couch. “None of that overdone stuff, my procedure is simple, actually. I just shake you back and forth by the neck quietly chanting ‘fag’ until you’re more worried about whiplash than the word. Boom, you’re cured.”
Gerard’s breathing - as soft as it may have been - bounced off Frank’s skin in tiny puffs, and if it were anyone else, then Frank would cringe out of hate for people… breathing, all over him. The respiratory system was not made for sharing, and Frank respected its way that it stayed to itself as one of the limited single-man events left in the whole world. But. But, but, but the exception to the rule -like imaginary numbers in math- existed. And exceptions were cool too. Frank respected exceptions too.
“That doesn’t sound medically accurate.”
“I’m an innovator.” Obviously.
“You might actually be one of the dumbest people I’ve ever met.”
“Then you’re a glutton for punishment.”
Checkmate, have the medals awarded to the home team. As a gracious winner and nothing more, Frank decided that he could bother himself with bestowing a kiss upon the losing side like a king knighting the willing to serve. Of course though, since Frank thought he and the Knights of the Round Table were hilarious, he quietly chuckled against Gerard’s mouth.
Gerard groaned much too loudly for the small space that was between them. “Oh my god, seriously, like every single time, you start laughing. Is this some plot? Are you distracting me from getting my head sliced off by ninjas or what?”
“I’m not doing anything.” He immediately whined, his opposite hand pulling at the necklace that was peeking out of the collar of Gerard’s shirt. Not a necklace, apparently, at least not really. “Unless lying is sacrilege, Pope John Paul.”
It wasn’t as if Frank was planning to sit there, gawk at it for an hour, and ask for Gerard to recite hymns until he fell asleep or anything, but Gerard was blindingly quick at shoving the rosary back down underneath his shirt.
“That’s really cool, my mom will probably ask you a million questions if she sees it; she says she’s too lazy to do religion but she loves interrogating the people that practice it to find out if it’s worth it.” Watching his mom outside a McDonalds read the Tanakh while eating a bacon hamburger was what dreams were made of.
“I’m definitely not the best example.” Gerard didn’t seem like he was good at hiding when his emotions dipped. He flipped switches quickly though, his voice picking up in what - if Frank didn’t actually think for a second or two - sounded engaged. Casual, even. “When does she get back?”
“I don’t know, in a while?” It was three fifty-three. “But then again, time could just be a figment of our imagination. Maybe she’s already here and you and I were never-“
Whatever philosophical statement could have been birthed from Frank was killed on contact by Gerard and his assumed permission to kiss Frank whenever he fucking pleased. Perhaps the assumption had grown from the fact that he could - really, seriously, whenever. Frank even martyred his speech in trade off for running his hands through the shorter strands of hair on the back of Gerard’s head - an honorable martyrdom it was.
Frank was starting to understand where people were coming from when they did the friends with benefits, untitled thing that remained entirely up in the air in stark contrast to the short breaths against his mouth that seemed pretty fucking concrete. Frank was definitely beginning to understand the point of it all - the point being that it was fun. Like, so he never quite understood the analogy of having your cake and eating it too (on the pure basis of that analogy making no sense) but it was supposed to mean something good that came easy, right? Well, Frank thought kissing Gerard was good. Maybe it was not entirely the easiest thing in the world, but it made up for its lack of quantity by its quality.
Gerard muttered something to himself, and before Frank could point out how he’d just gotten reprimanded for making light conversation while his tongue was in someone else’s mouth, Gerard did this quick… motion, thingy, that had Frank suddenly lying beneath him in the time of what was apparently the longest blink of Frank’s young life.
“You smoke too much,” Frank said in the brief moment where he wasn’t rediscovering the structure of Gerard’s nicotine gum line -deciding to branch out and dabble in the Shakespearean art of romantic small talk.
“You talk too much.” Aah, a worthy opponent, Shakespeare would be proud.
In all honesty, Frank agreed a little bit, so he let Gerard believe that he was right and Frank lifted his chin so that they could kiss again. Having lost grip on everything during the new positioning, Frank’s arms were lazily by his head until Gerard slid his hands up his wrists and laid them straight. It was surprising how much stronger Gerard was than he appeared. Really now? rudely shouted Frank’s crotch as it jumped into a conversation it wasn’t invited to.
The exclamation went without reply since Frank was really caught up in just… this. In the action: the aching threat of a smile that hurt his face, the irony that Gerard’s original purpose was washed away and no one was paying attention to it anymore. He’d definitely overused the word to ash but, sometimes, life was really good. It wasn’t from a lack of a better word but the way that, sometimes, there wasn’t much of a better way to describe it. Good was simple - as was Gerard’s hand under his shirt, and the simple fact that pants were cruel and unusual punishments keeping Frank from a possible greater-than-good. Simple was the practical sonic boom of the front door being shut.
Evidently, the time it takes Frank to open up his eyes is slower than the way that the rest of the world turns, because by the time he let in sunlight was long enough for Gerard to have fled to the opposite side of the couch. While he was maybe inches from fucking riding the armrest, Frank was just scrambling to sit up quickly and find the remote. Of course, the last channel that was on was the Weather Channel, no matter how inconspicuous he wanted to seem, Frank had other issues to deal with besides Sonny Rogers and his fake tan telling Frank it’d be a beautiful weekend after Valentine’s Day. The bubble world of altocumulus clouds was likely what had Sonny looking so chipper, and surely, blinded him from the information that his time slot was strictly viewed only by housewives and teenage boys with inopportune hard-ons. To calm himself down, Frank’s body concluded the most natural appearing motion would be for him to cross and uncross his legs like the most serene and majestic cocaine filled Rockette, but it could have been worse. Worse, it seemed, was situated next to him -Gerard’s eyes were blown, and his chest moved in the constricted risings and dips that only happened when breath was trying to be controlled. Out of sight was the click of Frank’s mom as she walked more leisured than usual, stopping briefly by the turn in the front hallway even though there was nothing there besides an unwatered ficus and a flea market painting, and then the blatantly loud thud of shoes being kicked off -even though they weren’t “that kind” of house. Only after the longest possible time one human being could spend admiring the whimsies of the front door, did his mom wander into the living room.
“Hi, Frank!” Frank could smell the bullshit in her voice from where he was sitting, but his neediness for life to tip in his favor had him convinced that he was confused and that his mother always sounded like she wanted to sell him Girl Scout Cookies. “Oh, is this your friend…Jerome?” This would have been a bit of a stretch of incorrectness if “Gerard” didn’t insist upon being such a stupid name to begin with.
“It’s Gerard, actually. Hi.” Gerard was still on the verge of hyperventilating, and it was 61 degrees and sunny in Baltimore.
His mom waved a hand to excuse her selective memory. “So does this mean you’re no longer “sick”? I wouldn’t want to have let you stay home if I knew you just wanted to pass your cold around.”
“Funny story, actually, it was a miracle. You know those 12 Hour Mystery type shows? Crossbreed that with Mystery Diagnosis and you have the tale of my sickness.”
“You can’t crossbreed shows, Frank.”
Frank splayed himself against the back of the couch, seeing as he was deeply and irreversibly wounded by the correction. The entirety of his body obliged too, which was absolutely marvelous. Something about the presence of authority figures - his mom included, managed to quench completely the Push to Start sparks of Frank’s hormones. He wasn’t even alone; the aura that moms in specific painted was one that shooed away any actions besides, like, folding laundry and doing taxes. If there were enough moms in one location, then the possible growth of that area’s population would crumble to bits until the only object left that held any semblance of humanity in the forsaken wake would be a single ovarian egg fluttering to the ground in anguish.
The population abolisher and part time mother turned into the kitchen after ticking her tongue in the way that she always did - where it wasn’t a comment but he was supposed to accept it as one. Frank had hoped that after seeing how calm, and… “new age” his mom was, that Gerard would calm down too. Besides the obviously awkward means in which they met, Frank thought that Gerard would love his mom.
Not that it mattered, and not that it was planned, and not that Frank actually cared, but, he’d been over at the Way’s home a lot and that was fine, really. It was just… ugh; it didn’t make any sense when he tried expressing it into words like a human, so fuck it: Frank wanted to show his life as well. He actually liked his life, despite popular belief. The only thing that made it an unrelenting portal of shit were the people outside of his bloodline, plus Frank liked his mom the best, and, yeah, he wanted people to know that. Well not really “people.” Just Gerard. Gerard was an important person, and not that it mattered or anything, but he wanted them to be fond of one another. To be comfortable around one another. Whatever, words were terrible.
Despite Frank’s wants (as began most sentences in relation to his life), they weren’t comfortable. Gerard wasn’t, mainly. He went back to staring at the floor with his blown open eyes, and his hands had begun to shake. Where they were sitting and where his mom wasn’t, Frank figured they were pretty well hidden - maybe not as well as usual, behind closed doors and dropping daylights into dusk - but the couch was still a barrier, still a cover. Although it was a small cover, Frank thought that it was enough when he reached over to take hold of Gerard’s hand.
Gerard snapped away.
“I need to go home,” he said, standing up hurriedly and grabbing his things. He headed for the doorway.
Frank had never told Gerard how loud the door was, plus the door was kind of old to start with and basically any type of wind picked up how heavy it was made, so that made the closing of the door sound like a slam. Or maybe it made the slam seem louder. That was probably it. It really was loud, which Frank figured was the reason that Gerard didn’t answer when Frank called out “Wait.”
He let it go though, since it wasn’t as if what he had to say was important anyway, if anything, it was good that Gerard didn’t hear him. Imagine if he did, imagine how embarrassing it would be for Frank to shout out “What are you doing this weekend?” like a total loser, right in earshot of his fucking mom. Things would be really embarrassing, that’s how that would work out, and so Frank didn’t mind. Actually, Frank was happy because it was a stupid idea to start with.
“Your friend seems nice.” His mom’s voice pulled Frank away from himself.
He knew she’d like him, he’d told her that a million times already, but still, his face caught red.
“If we’re actually having this conversation, then I’m leaving.”
“What?” she exclaimed over the sound of the oven preheating, “You didn’t meet him on the internet, he doesn’t have a head tattoo - I approve. Cute, right? That adjective’s still acceptable to use?”
“Yes, Mom, the judges still accept cute as an answer.” Talking about someone was much easier when the person being talked to never met the person being talked of, but now that they’d met, Frank really wanted to leap out of the window. The conversations that poorly hid its true intent of unabashed flailing were the exact conversations that his mom would have with his aunt whenever she’d come to visit. They’d sip brightly colored alcohol that Frank wasn’t allowed to try, then they’d talk way too loudly way too late at night, and only when they got too out of it to reapply their lipstick did conversations such as these arise. Conversations Frank did not plan on having.
“Then that’s my opinion of him.”
“That’s nice, but it shouldn’t matter because he’s just my friend.” Also known as the exact opposite thing you were telling Bob earlier, readily applied deeper portions of Frank’s mind that really needed to shut up and learn proper social skills.
“I bet.”
“It’s true, you know.”
“I believe you.”
Arguing with the female version of himself was the worst stalemate Frank ever took part in. “Your lack of trust in me is disappointing to say the least.”
A tiny guffaw made way from the kitchen. “That’s a lot to be said from someone in whom I trusted to be responsible and happy as I let him stay home; instead this someone is someone I find taking advantage of my charity and spending special time with their boyfriend.”
Like seriously, the window was such a nice option. The thing was, coming out to his mom hadn’t been this show stopping extravaganza that shook hollow the core of metropolitan and suburban New Jersey alike. Really, looking back on it, during his whole “crippling anxiety” period where all she wanted to talk about was Frank’s feelings and everything, it was bound to come out. And it did. It was easier to clear his chest without the muting insulation of closet doors, if you caught his drift. Being the new-age, “small step for man…” yada yada human rights cheerleader that she was, his mom went overboard with “acceptance” in the beginning, as if she needed to prove to Frank she didn’t secretly search for heterosexual four leaf clovers on her daily walks. Thankfully, she pedaled backwards, and they left his Kinsey Scale rating along with all the other fun facts about Frank that really had no business being anyone else’s business (also on the list of things that wouldn’t alter the tilt of the earth’s axis: Frank sucked his thumb until second grade).
Sometimes though, his mom got like this. Oh god, did she get like this.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” The words were sharper knives than they appeared in the kitchen cabinet.
She went on, regardless. “I’ll have you know that I was a teenager, and not just a teenager, but a teenager in high school -shocking, but still. I understand how this works.”
Really, she didn’t, but she was trying. His mom was always, always trying to understand, and he didn’t want to ruin her parade.
“I’ll let it slide, but only once and only because I’m happy that he’s making you happy.”
“And how do you know that’s true?” Frank called over the ruckus of pans shifting in their cupboards.
“Simple mother’s intuition, Frank. Moreover, I’m not blind - you smile a lot more lately.” There was a brief silence. “I missed that.”
****
Frank’s mom didn’t let him stay home “sick” on Friday, so he had to go and dodge the storm of red and pink that coated the school’s usually comforting and lackluster appearance.
Frank didn’t get pushed that day - which was nice - since everyone was busy being romantic and whatever. It was like every other Valentine’s Day in Frank’s life, and that was it. No big gestures of grandeur or shocking surprises or anything else equally stupid, so that was fine.
Four girls gave Gerard carnations; Frank had counted when they passed each other in the halls.
The flowers were still alive two weeks later; their quality was shockingly strong as they wilted away in near stop-motion time on Gerard’s bedside table. It was dark, so Frank was pretty sure Gerard didn’t notice that when, after the first time that they had sex, Frank plucked every fucking petal off those flowers.
(Chapter 5)