Preaching to Sinners on the End of the World (5/?) Part 1
Title: Preaching to Sinners on the End of the World (5/?) Part 1
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 would buy MCR but I have my eyes set on a blazer that I find would be more seasonal
Word Count Overall: 14,380
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
Author Note: Livejournal hates me and I keep having to split up solid chapters into small parts, I apologize.
( Chapter 1)
( Chapter 2 Part 1)
( Chapter 3)
( Chapter 4 Part 1)
It was a Saturday night preceded by most Saturday night events: in that everyone all week had been talking about some party to end all parties that would duel and then kill whatever prior party to end all parties. Regardless of whether it did, and regardless of whether the party was the climactic ruin of any future festivities, Frank was still expected not to be within 100 yards of it. Sometimes, the idea of just showing up in order to see what the hell actually happened at these parties (it’d be easy, since everybody shouted out the address in the middle of the hallways anyway) would cross Frank’s mind once or twice, much in the same manner that people went across busy streets with heavy traffic and no stoplights. Every time Frank thought of crashing and infecting the room with his allergic reaction to social situations, he instead took the safer route that led to him staying at home telling himself that he didn’t care. All to make sure he didn’t end up crossing anything that would get his mind run over by a passing minivan and splayed across suburban streets. Figurative streets with figurative minivans, of course, since Frank had seen minivans and those pieces of shit couldn’t splay a rotten banana across a tile floor if it wanted to.
It wasn’t difficult for him to be sitting at home anyway, since he’d grown used to it. Instead of sulking like an average, less productive teen of his generation, Frank did reasonable things to pretend that social gatherings just didn’t exist: like avoiding the internet and his cell phone. Thankfully, his phone was more than happy to oblige to the want by being dutifully obedient and not pestering him with something obnoxious like someone actually wanting to talk to him.
While his phone was being so kindly silent, Frank was rolling around on his couch and willing the Baker Street Boys to solve the mystery of why the temperature dropped to Icebergs Would Want A Sweater weather. All in all, it was a Saturday. A regular, ho-hum, Saturday. Regular Saturday nights weren’t the scenery for “epic nights,” so it seemed only fitting that in some constant case of opposite day Palooza, Frank’s phone would decide to abruptly break through the noise of British actors and beg for attention regarding the one topic Frank had begun to not care about.
“Eh.” He still wasn’t really good at phone calls, so from automated voice messaging systems to Gerard - because really, who else would be calling him - they all got the same awkward grunt as a greeting.
“Wow, at least when I call my orthodontist he sounds excited about my cavity count; you need to take notes.”
Frank flipped again on the couch and tried to burrow his head beneath the sofa seat without accidentally hitting the mysterious Bermuda Triangle/city dumpster land that existed beneath the cushions. With half of his forehead nestled in the space, Frank shook his head. “This call’s been on for at least twenty seconds and you haven’t even said who’s calling yet. Caller ID doesn’t mean you get to be lazy.”
“Given all those calls you get at 9PM, right? I should queue up next time.” Frank was silent because it wasn’t as if he was going to disagree with him. As if Gerard would hear the disagreement anyway, since there was a bunch of ruffling and shuffling sounds in between every response he was giving. “Sorry, I’m getting dressed. The queue isn’t too long, right? Cause it would really suck if you were busy tonight.”
There was friction on the front between Frank’s mind that spouted rational, non-conclusion jumping type arguments, versus Frank’s whirling stomach and growing grin that was lobbing grenades at the opposite side in the midst of an undeclared, civil war.
He rolled so that he was facing the TV again. “Uhm… no, my busy schedule starts next week, actually. Why, what are you doing?”
Ruffle, ruffle, ruffle, from Gerard. “There’s some big party happening, you heard about it? Yeah, I think I’m going to head over there.”
“And my lack of goals is important to this, why?” Whenever Frank forgot about his insatiable desirability, his biting sarcasm would drop through the filter in his mind and roll out of his mouth as a tiny reminder.
“Well, are you going?”
An airborne strike left rationale without a majority of its army or supplies -allowing spastic, Happy Frank to take control of the entire area. Like, yeah, Gerard was a jittery mess in front of Frank’s mom because his tongue had been in Frank’s mouth a good two seconds before she showed up; and in front of Gerard’s mom, he and Frank were apparently playing the role of really good friends that never talked about anything besides music and comic books, and always kept their respective personal bubbles at an anti-social distance. Sure, that was…less than awesome. However, at a party - especially party to end all parties #25 - there would be no moms, and hopefully, enough alcohol would make Frank social enough to blend in. Frank liked Gerard in basically all the senses of the word that could comprise in the Webster English Dictionary, so that was no problem, but sometimes he wanted to do something more besides sit in Gerard’s room and watch TV or read comic books. Rightfully so, squawked Happy Frank, who thought that going to a party, even under the premise of friendship, seemed pretty fucking sweet. Animal Planet Presents: Gerard In His Natural Element, and then there would be Frank tagging along, smiling and other dumb shit he needed to stop doing when other people were watching.
He shrugged against the couch cushion even though this was a phone call and body movements were insignificant. “I don’t know; I hadn’t planned on it, but...” He dropped the sentence short in order to give that casual demeanor he sometimes forgot was an option.
“Listen, I’m going to sound like such a tool right now, but, can you do me a favor?”
“Yeah, what is it?” Frank was passing the self-written casual behavior exam with flying colors.
Gerard huffed out a short burst of breath. “See, my mom is out for the night, and she told me that I have to watch Mikey, which I don’t understand because Mikey’s a person and not a rescue dog with abandonment issues. I told her that I had plans, but I guess making sure that Mikey doesn’t drown himself in shallow bowls of soup is important or something. Anyway, long story shortened for the maxim benefit of this question: if you could watch Mikey for me, you’d be the greatest.”
The cold water splashed down from Frank’s roof and threatened to drown him.
Gerard continued, “Like, my friend’s throwing the fucking party, of course I have to show up, and my mom didn’t understand at all because she says I go out enough as it is anyway -which is total shit. You’d know better than anyone else that, half of the time, I’m hanging out with you.”
Frank brought his other hand up to his mouth and started chewing on his nail to keep himself grounded in wake of his excitement shooting itself in the face.
“Would that be okay? I’m pretty sure that you’re the only person Mikey doesn’t hate outside of his immediate bloodline, and you can raid the fridge, even.”
“Uh,” and it would have been lazy had it not been the only thought that was going through Frank’s head.
“I won’t be out too late, but, I’m leaving soon, so if you can be here in like… thirty minutes, I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Eternally.” Frank echoed.
“Eternally. I’d basically be in your ownership; dog collar, chain, handcuffs, whatever - if you’re into that kind of thing.”
Even if Frank had wanted to be upset about the light slap in the face that this whole conversation was, his insides weren’t as discerning.
“Fine, go out there, you social butterfly. Branch out, see the world, and have some curious five-year-old pluck your wings like the future sadist they’ll become.”
Gerard laughed and ruffled one more time. “You’re such a dork. Seriously though, thanks, you’re amazing.”
And like, really, how was Frank supposed to be angry when sentences such as those existed?
So as Regular Saturday moved forward, Frank went to put on his holed out sneakers, a jacket he’d accidentally gotten caught on a fence and had threads falling off with each movement, and planned on walking as normal. Like some all-knowing hawk or shadow, however, his mom happened to come downstairs right as Frank was debating whether oven mitts could serve as regular gloves during his adventure.
“Where are you going?” She positioned herself before the turn for the front door, and it was really smart and really uncool of her to be thinking ahead of Frank the way that she was.
Frank slipped his oven glove covered hands behind his back. “Gerard’s little brother, Mikey, is home alone, and so Gerard asked if I could babysit him.”
“Really, now?” It wasn’t even that Frank had a lying problem; it was mainly that the sentence sounded completely crafted out of bullshit. Everything sounded bad when his mom thought he was some harlot of the night, disappearing from dusk to partake in wanton escapades.
“Just a regular, helpful, duty to society, I’m sorry to say.”
Her crossed arms were untrusting almost to a point of insult. “A regular duty that will be done before midnight right?”
Frank threw his gloved hands over his eyes. “Mom, oh my god, if this is some lead into a self-respect, I-raised-you-to-make-important-choices type discussion, I’m going to make sure I get hypothermia and they have to chop off my unsalvageable ears. It’ll be entirely your fault and no one will ever get to hear your complaints ever again, literally no one wins.” Frank did not fuck around when he hated a topic.
“When you say that, I’m going to assume that you know what I expect and will listen to it,” she said slowly. “I’m trusting you, Frank.”
Of course, there was no quicker way to make Frank feel like a complete asshole to his own mom than when she reminded him that she was looking out for his life. To make up for that, Frank decided, rationally, that some family bonding would be great if she gave him a ride to the Way’s house.
****
When Frank said goodbye to his mom for the hundredth time and let himself into the Way’s house (apparently, Frank wasn’t the only person who had no idea that locks were made for a reason), only then did boredom creep up and tackle him. Unlike being at his own house, where he could do whatever, say whatever, and sleep on everything he wanted to, something about a different setting made Frank realize how impossible that was. He didn’t have his bedroom to grab comic books out of; closet to “clean out” and play with shit he’d found for half an hour; no leftover Chinese food to eat without permission.
But what was at the Way’s house that Frank absolutely couldn’t replace in his own meager home life was laid across the couch in the living room, playing some video game that had blood spurting out every two seconds.
Frank didn’t dislike Mikey, far from it, Mikey just… scared him. Yeah, that was the thing. Mikey spoke in these super short, tense sentences that all sounded factually based and previously researched by university scientists, and Frank didn’t know if Mikey planned on smothering him in his sleep or giving him a hug because the scale seemed to be able to go either way. Not that Mikey had ever hugged him, because, no. He was the little brother that Frank always wanted to have in order to shake by the shoulders and tell to make him pancakes - that was the endearing state that they were at.
“Guess who! It’s Mary Poppins come to rob you of your valuables ‘cause no one locked the front door!” he sang out, since otherwise, Mikey wasn’t paying attention to the home invasion.
Mikey slaughtered a herd of cows and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Mary Poppins was a nanny, not a babysitter. Plus, I don’t need a babysitter; I can take care of myself.”
Frank worked his way to the kitchen and opened up the fridge to secure his expectant sadness that there would be no leftover Chinese food. Sadly, he was correct. “Yeah, right, you’re totally prepared. Pop quiz: How does a stove work?” he called out.
“Works best when it’s on,” Mikey shouted back.
This fucking punk.
Walking through the kitchen and back into the living room, Frank and his consolation prize - a tub of Rocky Road - silently scorned Mikey from their position on the love seat, and came to agreement that the world would be better if the zombies Mikey was outrunning in the game suddenly devoured his head.
“Mikey, as your babysitter, I feel like we should use this time to bond,” Frank said.
He turned his head the slightest degree towards Frank. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, like maybe do some arts and crafts, or go hiking in the woods. Maybe tell a scary story or two about the spirit of some kid with a terrible haircut that drowned in the backyard because he spent his entire life playing videogames and didn’t notice that his house was being flooded. Fun stuff, you know?”
Mikey completely turned and narrowed his buggy, goggled eyes at him. “What are you even talking about?” Mikey having taken his eyes off the game, for the longest five seconds since Frank had met him, left the game character vulnerable to the passionate gnawing apart of his limbs by a legion of zombies.
“Checkmate, motherfucker.” Frank raised his spoon in victory. It honestly was the little things that made life all the peachier.
“ADHD asshole.” What with that crass language, Mikey might as well of challenged Frank to a duel at twenty paces.
Frank shook a spoonful of Rocky Road in his direction. “Don’t cuss.”
He scoffed. “You just did.” The game started back up from some recent checkpoint, and then the magical world of gore and chainsaws sounded off.
“That’s totally different, I’m older than you, and my job is to guide you down correct roads and make sure you don’t become some meth head trading your body for needles in the back of a 7-11.” No one ever specifically said that this was their cause when they were trying so hard to be role models, but once all the fluffy fat was cut away, that was basically what they were getting at. Don’t become a stripper, don’t blow strangers in back alleys for Miller Lite and cigarettes - wham bam, longwinded introduction done and over with. Then again, it seemed that at least the Miller Lite was a reward at the end, as much as Frank knew about blowjobs was that not once did it end in the receiving of a Price Is Right type gift.
“Is the road you’re guiding me down to make sure I’m babysitting on Saturday nights instead of doing normal things?”
Mikey was oddly confident despite Frank not being afraid to punch a kid.
“I’m not afraid to punch a kid,” his mouth decided this was a choice piece of information for Mikey to know before he continued speaking. “Maybe making sure you don’t set yourself on fire is normal, you ungrateful tool.”
“I’m just saying.” Mikey raised a shoulder, wiped his nose, and then ran into an abandoned building and shot at a zombie hiding behind a door. “Why didn’t you go to the thing Gerard’s at?”
“Because.” Frank wasn’t invited. “I didn’t want to. I’m perfectly capable of doing things without allowance from Gerard, hate to inform you.”
Mikey snorted, and Frank was growing less and less a fan of Mikey owning emotions and the ability to speak. “Okay then, that’s why you’re here all the time.”
“So?”
“So, the walls are thin as shit.”
This conversation was officially done, and Frank didn’t want to think there was a possibility of it continuing, so, calmly, he slid on the floor and pulled out the chord that connected the controller to the video game.
Mikey’s jaw unhinged, which Frank assumed was his version of shock. “But. But-.”
“Shut up, and stop cussing, asshole.” Frank went back to eating, and watched Mikey try to salvage his game in a short burst of panic before quietly starting up again.
What was Mikey even talking about? No, who cared, because Mikey was like, 10 years old, and he knew nothing about anything. That was that. Fucking Mikey didn’t deserve to be babysat - maybe if Frank wished hard enough, Mikey would get kidnapped for a short few hours, rattled up for a bit, and then he’d stop jumping to vague conclusions about things he knew nothing about.
Frank closed the ice cream after a while and turned his head, ready to sleep and ignore Mikey in the small hope that he’d disappear by morning.
(Next)
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 would buy MCR but I have my eyes set on a blazer that I find would be more seasonal
Word Count Overall: 14,380
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
Author Note: Livejournal hates me and I keep having to split up solid chapters into small parts, I apologize.
( Chapter 1)
( Chapter 2 Part 1)
( Chapter 3)
( Chapter 4 Part 1)
It was a Saturday night preceded by most Saturday night events: in that everyone all week had been talking about some party to end all parties that would duel and then kill whatever prior party to end all parties. Regardless of whether it did, and regardless of whether the party was the climactic ruin of any future festivities, Frank was still expected not to be within 100 yards of it. Sometimes, the idea of just showing up in order to see what the hell actually happened at these parties (it’d be easy, since everybody shouted out the address in the middle of the hallways anyway) would cross Frank’s mind once or twice, much in the same manner that people went across busy streets with heavy traffic and no stoplights. Every time Frank thought of crashing and infecting the room with his allergic reaction to social situations, he instead took the safer route that led to him staying at home telling himself that he didn’t care. All to make sure he didn’t end up crossing anything that would get his mind run over by a passing minivan and splayed across suburban streets. Figurative streets with figurative minivans, of course, since Frank had seen minivans and those pieces of shit couldn’t splay a rotten banana across a tile floor if it wanted to.
It wasn’t difficult for him to be sitting at home anyway, since he’d grown used to it. Instead of sulking like an average, less productive teen of his generation, Frank did reasonable things to pretend that social gatherings just didn’t exist: like avoiding the internet and his cell phone. Thankfully, his phone was more than happy to oblige to the want by being dutifully obedient and not pestering him with something obnoxious like someone actually wanting to talk to him.
While his phone was being so kindly silent, Frank was rolling around on his couch and willing the Baker Street Boys to solve the mystery of why the temperature dropped to Icebergs Would Want A Sweater weather. All in all, it was a Saturday. A regular, ho-hum, Saturday. Regular Saturday nights weren’t the scenery for “epic nights,” so it seemed only fitting that in some constant case of opposite day Palooza, Frank’s phone would decide to abruptly break through the noise of British actors and beg for attention regarding the one topic Frank had begun to not care about.
“Eh.” He still wasn’t really good at phone calls, so from automated voice messaging systems to Gerard - because really, who else would be calling him - they all got the same awkward grunt as a greeting.
“Wow, at least when I call my orthodontist he sounds excited about my cavity count; you need to take notes.”
Frank flipped again on the couch and tried to burrow his head beneath the sofa seat without accidentally hitting the mysterious Bermuda Triangle/city dumpster land that existed beneath the cushions. With half of his forehead nestled in the space, Frank shook his head. “This call’s been on for at least twenty seconds and you haven’t even said who’s calling yet. Caller ID doesn’t mean you get to be lazy.”
“Given all those calls you get at 9PM, right? I should queue up next time.” Frank was silent because it wasn’t as if he was going to disagree with him. As if Gerard would hear the disagreement anyway, since there was a bunch of ruffling and shuffling sounds in between every response he was giving. “Sorry, I’m getting dressed. The queue isn’t too long, right? Cause it would really suck if you were busy tonight.”
There was friction on the front between Frank’s mind that spouted rational, non-conclusion jumping type arguments, versus Frank’s whirling stomach and growing grin that was lobbing grenades at the opposite side in the midst of an undeclared, civil war.
He rolled so that he was facing the TV again. “Uhm… no, my busy schedule starts next week, actually. Why, what are you doing?”
Ruffle, ruffle, ruffle, from Gerard. “There’s some big party happening, you heard about it? Yeah, I think I’m going to head over there.”
“And my lack of goals is important to this, why?” Whenever Frank forgot about his insatiable desirability, his biting sarcasm would drop through the filter in his mind and roll out of his mouth as a tiny reminder.
“Well, are you going?”
An airborne strike left rationale without a majority of its army or supplies -allowing spastic, Happy Frank to take control of the entire area. Like, yeah, Gerard was a jittery mess in front of Frank’s mom because his tongue had been in Frank’s mouth a good two seconds before she showed up; and in front of Gerard’s mom, he and Frank were apparently playing the role of really good friends that never talked about anything besides music and comic books, and always kept their respective personal bubbles at an anti-social distance. Sure, that was…less than awesome. However, at a party - especially party to end all parties #25 - there would be no moms, and hopefully, enough alcohol would make Frank social enough to blend in. Frank liked Gerard in basically all the senses of the word that could comprise in the Webster English Dictionary, so that was no problem, but sometimes he wanted to do something more besides sit in Gerard’s room and watch TV or read comic books. Rightfully so, squawked Happy Frank, who thought that going to a party, even under the premise of friendship, seemed pretty fucking sweet. Animal Planet Presents: Gerard In His Natural Element, and then there would be Frank tagging along, smiling and other dumb shit he needed to stop doing when other people were watching.
He shrugged against the couch cushion even though this was a phone call and body movements were insignificant. “I don’t know; I hadn’t planned on it, but...” He dropped the sentence short in order to give that casual demeanor he sometimes forgot was an option.
“Listen, I’m going to sound like such a tool right now, but, can you do me a favor?”
“Yeah, what is it?” Frank was passing the self-written casual behavior exam with flying colors.
Gerard huffed out a short burst of breath. “See, my mom is out for the night, and she told me that I have to watch Mikey, which I don’t understand because Mikey’s a person and not a rescue dog with abandonment issues. I told her that I had plans, but I guess making sure that Mikey doesn’t drown himself in shallow bowls of soup is important or something. Anyway, long story shortened for the maxim benefit of this question: if you could watch Mikey for me, you’d be the greatest.”
The cold water splashed down from Frank’s roof and threatened to drown him.
Gerard continued, “Like, my friend’s throwing the fucking party, of course I have to show up, and my mom didn’t understand at all because she says I go out enough as it is anyway -which is total shit. You’d know better than anyone else that, half of the time, I’m hanging out with you.”
Frank brought his other hand up to his mouth and started chewing on his nail to keep himself grounded in wake of his excitement shooting itself in the face.
“Would that be okay? I’m pretty sure that you’re the only person Mikey doesn’t hate outside of his immediate bloodline, and you can raid the fridge, even.”
“Uh,” and it would have been lazy had it not been the only thought that was going through Frank’s head.
“I won’t be out too late, but, I’m leaving soon, so if you can be here in like… thirty minutes, I’d be eternally grateful.”
“Eternally.” Frank echoed.
“Eternally. I’d basically be in your ownership; dog collar, chain, handcuffs, whatever - if you’re into that kind of thing.”
Even if Frank had wanted to be upset about the light slap in the face that this whole conversation was, his insides weren’t as discerning.
“Fine, go out there, you social butterfly. Branch out, see the world, and have some curious five-year-old pluck your wings like the future sadist they’ll become.”
Gerard laughed and ruffled one more time. “You’re such a dork. Seriously though, thanks, you’re amazing.”
And like, really, how was Frank supposed to be angry when sentences such as those existed?
So as Regular Saturday moved forward, Frank went to put on his holed out sneakers, a jacket he’d accidentally gotten caught on a fence and had threads falling off with each movement, and planned on walking as normal. Like some all-knowing hawk or shadow, however, his mom happened to come downstairs right as Frank was debating whether oven mitts could serve as regular gloves during his adventure.
“Where are you going?” She positioned herself before the turn for the front door, and it was really smart and really uncool of her to be thinking ahead of Frank the way that she was.
Frank slipped his oven glove covered hands behind his back. “Gerard’s little brother, Mikey, is home alone, and so Gerard asked if I could babysit him.”
“Really, now?” It wasn’t even that Frank had a lying problem; it was mainly that the sentence sounded completely crafted out of bullshit. Everything sounded bad when his mom thought he was some harlot of the night, disappearing from dusk to partake in wanton escapades.
“Just a regular, helpful, duty to society, I’m sorry to say.”
Her crossed arms were untrusting almost to a point of insult. “A regular duty that will be done before midnight right?”
Frank threw his gloved hands over his eyes. “Mom, oh my god, if this is some lead into a self-respect, I-raised-you-to-make-important-choices type discussion, I’m going to make sure I get hypothermia and they have to chop off my unsalvageable ears. It’ll be entirely your fault and no one will ever get to hear your complaints ever again, literally no one wins.” Frank did not fuck around when he hated a topic.
“When you say that, I’m going to assume that you know what I expect and will listen to it,” she said slowly. “I’m trusting you, Frank.”
Of course, there was no quicker way to make Frank feel like a complete asshole to his own mom than when she reminded him that she was looking out for his life. To make up for that, Frank decided, rationally, that some family bonding would be great if she gave him a ride to the Way’s house.
****
When Frank said goodbye to his mom for the hundredth time and let himself into the Way’s house (apparently, Frank wasn’t the only person who had no idea that locks were made for a reason), only then did boredom creep up and tackle him. Unlike being at his own house, where he could do whatever, say whatever, and sleep on everything he wanted to, something about a different setting made Frank realize how impossible that was. He didn’t have his bedroom to grab comic books out of; closet to “clean out” and play with shit he’d found for half an hour; no leftover Chinese food to eat without permission.
But what was at the Way’s house that Frank absolutely couldn’t replace in his own meager home life was laid across the couch in the living room, playing some video game that had blood spurting out every two seconds.
Frank didn’t dislike Mikey, far from it, Mikey just… scared him. Yeah, that was the thing. Mikey spoke in these super short, tense sentences that all sounded factually based and previously researched by university scientists, and Frank didn’t know if Mikey planned on smothering him in his sleep or giving him a hug because the scale seemed to be able to go either way. Not that Mikey had ever hugged him, because, no. He was the little brother that Frank always wanted to have in order to shake by the shoulders and tell to make him pancakes - that was the endearing state that they were at.
“Guess who! It’s Mary Poppins come to rob you of your valuables ‘cause no one locked the front door!” he sang out, since otherwise, Mikey wasn’t paying attention to the home invasion.
Mikey slaughtered a herd of cows and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Mary Poppins was a nanny, not a babysitter. Plus, I don’t need a babysitter; I can take care of myself.”
Frank worked his way to the kitchen and opened up the fridge to secure his expectant sadness that there would be no leftover Chinese food. Sadly, he was correct. “Yeah, right, you’re totally prepared. Pop quiz: How does a stove work?” he called out.
“Works best when it’s on,” Mikey shouted back.
This fucking punk.
Walking through the kitchen and back into the living room, Frank and his consolation prize - a tub of Rocky Road - silently scorned Mikey from their position on the love seat, and came to agreement that the world would be better if the zombies Mikey was outrunning in the game suddenly devoured his head.
“Mikey, as your babysitter, I feel like we should use this time to bond,” Frank said.
He turned his head the slightest degree towards Frank. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, like maybe do some arts and crafts, or go hiking in the woods. Maybe tell a scary story or two about the spirit of some kid with a terrible haircut that drowned in the backyard because he spent his entire life playing videogames and didn’t notice that his house was being flooded. Fun stuff, you know?”
Mikey completely turned and narrowed his buggy, goggled eyes at him. “What are you even talking about?” Mikey having taken his eyes off the game, for the longest five seconds since Frank had met him, left the game character vulnerable to the passionate gnawing apart of his limbs by a legion of zombies.
“Checkmate, motherfucker.” Frank raised his spoon in victory. It honestly was the little things that made life all the peachier.
“ADHD asshole.” What with that crass language, Mikey might as well of challenged Frank to a duel at twenty paces.
Frank shook a spoonful of Rocky Road in his direction. “Don’t cuss.”
He scoffed. “You just did.” The game started back up from some recent checkpoint, and then the magical world of gore and chainsaws sounded off.
“That’s totally different, I’m older than you, and my job is to guide you down correct roads and make sure you don’t become some meth head trading your body for needles in the back of a 7-11.” No one ever specifically said that this was their cause when they were trying so hard to be role models, but once all the fluffy fat was cut away, that was basically what they were getting at. Don’t become a stripper, don’t blow strangers in back alleys for Miller Lite and cigarettes - wham bam, longwinded introduction done and over with. Then again, it seemed that at least the Miller Lite was a reward at the end, as much as Frank knew about blowjobs was that not once did it end in the receiving of a Price Is Right type gift.
“Is the road you’re guiding me down to make sure I’m babysitting on Saturday nights instead of doing normal things?”
Mikey was oddly confident despite Frank not being afraid to punch a kid.
“I’m not afraid to punch a kid,” his mouth decided this was a choice piece of information for Mikey to know before he continued speaking. “Maybe making sure you don’t set yourself on fire is normal, you ungrateful tool.”
“I’m just saying.” Mikey raised a shoulder, wiped his nose, and then ran into an abandoned building and shot at a zombie hiding behind a door. “Why didn’t you go to the thing Gerard’s at?”
“Because.” Frank wasn’t invited. “I didn’t want to. I’m perfectly capable of doing things without allowance from Gerard, hate to inform you.”
Mikey snorted, and Frank was growing less and less a fan of Mikey owning emotions and the ability to speak. “Okay then, that’s why you’re here all the time.”
“So?”
“So, the walls are thin as shit.”
This conversation was officially done, and Frank didn’t want to think there was a possibility of it continuing, so, calmly, he slid on the floor and pulled out the chord that connected the controller to the video game.
Mikey’s jaw unhinged, which Frank assumed was his version of shock. “But. But-.”
“Shut up, and stop cussing, asshole.” Frank went back to eating, and watched Mikey try to salvage his game in a short burst of panic before quietly starting up again.
What was Mikey even talking about? No, who cared, because Mikey was like, 10 years old, and he knew nothing about anything. That was that. Fucking Mikey didn’t deserve to be babysat - maybe if Frank wished hard enough, Mikey would get kidnapped for a short few hours, rattled up for a bit, and then he’d stop jumping to vague conclusions about things he knew nothing about.
Frank closed the ice cream after a while and turned his head, ready to sleep and ignore Mikey in the small hope that he’d disappear by morning.
(Next)