He was pretty sure he had stopped bleeding, but Gerard shook his head. He had one class left and he was already late for it. He didn't want to go in there looking like this; everyone would know.
"Me either," Frank said. He took off his sunglasses. "I need some study time. We got Chemistry tomorrow."
Gerard gave him a look. "You cut class to study?"
"Only this. I really want to get an A."
Yeah, Gerard thought, dream on. "Okay," he said.
"You wanna cut class together?" Frank was looking at him and his smile was strangely free and warm. Gerard thought it was odd, everyone was always so uptight in school, and for good reason.
He nodded. Frank put his sunglasses back on and stood up, "Great. Let's go to your house. I heard it's really weird, I want to see it."
--
Frank was just odd. But he seemed to really like their house; he took a tour of the downstairs without Gerard's permission and asked endless questions about the paintings and books and the photos on the wall, and he sat down by the piano in the living room, clunking out a melody that Gerard finally recognised as Hitchin' A Ride. He sincerely hoped Frank was better at guitar. When Ray had asked if he wanted to be in their band, Frank had seemed excited and Gerard worried slightly that it was the same type of excitement he had for croquet and science.
"Where do you want to sit?" he asked.
"Where's your music?" Frank countered.
They spent the afternoon in Gerard's room, books spread out between them on the bed, and Gerard thought that cutting class to study was maybe not the coolest thing he'd ever done, but at least he didn't have to suffer through P.E. that day, and his nose was feeling better.
He gave up before Frank, hoping that if he just let Frank keep frowning and chewing on the pen like that then maybe he would suddenly just get it and earn them a A. When he heard Frank sigh and look up a while later, he was just adding some finishing touches to the latest drawing for the art project.
"Oh? Are you done?" Frank asked, and Gerard gave him a look.
"Yep."
Frank closed the book, resigned. "Yeah, me too." He was sprawling on Gerard's bed, the big sunglasses next to him on the bedspread. He nodded at the sketchpad. "Can I see what you're working on?"
Gerard held it out for him. He didn't mind, he knew it was a good drawing, pretty terrifying and a good mix of colors. Frank looked at it, then up at Gerard, his eyes wide.
"That's fucking great."
"Thanks." Gerard couldn't help smiling, pleased and flattered. He knew it was a good piece, but it was nice to hear it from someone who wasn't his art teacher or his grandma.
"Can I?" Frank asked and flipped the page over without waiting for an answer "Who is that?" he asked then, squinting at the pencil sketch underneath.
Gerard felt his face heat up slightly. "Audrey Hepburn," he said. He wished he'd stopped Frank assuming he was allowed to go through the whole pad, because, for the moment, he would have liked to keep the non-horror drawings a secret.
"Oh yeah. The sixties, right?" Frank nodded. "Did you use a photo or something?"
"Yeah," Gerard showed him the photo he had hidden on one of the lower shelves in his bookcase. He didn't know which would have been stranger, to have a photo of Audrey Hepburn in his bookshelf or be able to draw her just from memory.
"It's a good likeness," Frank said.
He flipped the page again. Then he stilled. It took Gerard a few moments to realize why. The next drawing was the scene of the street outside the window that he hadn't submitted for the horror art project.
He froze. He hoped and prayed that it wasn't finished enough to be recognisable. There were a lot of monsters and blood and chaos filling the page, but the small figure of Frank sitting on the pavement still stood out. Gerard couldn't breathe.
"It's a good likeness," Frank said again, quietly.
Gerard felt his cheeks burn. He looked down at his hands twisted in his lap, and mumbled, "Yeah, uh, sometimes I draw people from school and – "
But Frank had already flipped over the page again. The next sketch was safe: a vampire feast done with different shades of red and dark blue. "That's cool," Frank said, his voice soft and neutral.
--
A few hours later, they were still sitting on Gerard's bed, the school books pushed aside, and music blaring, and Gerard had tried to convince Frank of Queen's greatness, but they had finally compromised on Smashing Pumpkins.
"Mikey discovered this one first," Gerard said. "He sort of forced it on me. I think he's sick of just inheriting my music."
Frank laughed. "Mikey's funny." Then he must have seen Gerard's frown, because he added, "Not in a bad way, like. He's quirky."
Gerard thought that Frank was probably the only one in school who thought "quirky" was a compliment.
"You're both quirky. I like that."
Gerard shrugged. "I think most people think we're just weird."
"Yeah, well, quirky is just another word for that, though."
Gerard rolled his eyes, and Frank laughed.
They stayed on the bed, chatting, as it got darker outside. When they were hungry, Gerard microwaved some pizza. When the Green Day album was over, Frank looked at his watch.
"Are your parents coming home soon?" he asked.
Gerard nodded and looked at his watch too. "Yeah, probably in a bit."
"You think they will mind if I stay over?"
Gerard blinked. "Um. Probably not," and Frank must have caught his look, because he said,
"Do you mind?"
"No." Gerard tried for a casual shrug. "What about your mom?"
Frank jumped up from the bed. "As long as I send her a text, she'll be alright." He went over to his backpack and got out his cell phone. "It's late, I might as well just sleep here."
"Yeah."
While Frank was in the bathroom, Gerard searched for an extra mattress or sleeping bag, but he couldn't find either, because he didn't have a lot of friends sleeping over. Frank didn't seem to mind. When he came back, he slipped out of his shirt and pants and slid in between the covers on one side of Gerard's bed.
Gerard turned off the lights, but left the stereo on.
"Aren't you glad Mikey doesn't have a girlfriend," Frank said, craning his neck towards the wall by their heads, "You'd have to hear him have sex." Then he snickered. "I suppose he'd have to hear you too."
"Not really. He sleeps with headphones on," Gerard said.
Frank laughed.
Gerard really wished Frank hadn't brought up sex. Frank was shirtless while Gerard had put on a long-sleeved pajama top and flannel bottoms, and he was currently sweating to death.
He didn't know why he felt so uncomfortable having Frank in his bed. He figured it must be because he wasn't used to sharing, except for how he was; he and Mikey had shared mattresses countless of times, sleeping on floors in relatives' houses, that was pretty much how they grew up. The extended family was big and liked to hang out; everyone had to share.
"Who was it that beat you up?" Frank asked then.
Gerard blinked. He had almost forgotten, and he touched his nose, gingerly. "Just some guys from the lacrosse team," he said.
There was no point in lying, it was always the same guys. They had been after him for years now, and everyone in school must know, because they weren't exactly sneaking around, it was more like a sport.
Frank sighed. "They're such assholes. Four against one is fucking unfair."
Gerard nodded. Since they were lacrosse players, he'd probably lose even if it was one on one, but still, Frank had a point. It was pretty unfair that they were a group and he was alone. He'd always thought so.
"I was shoved inside a locker once," Frank said, "but that was by the soccer team. They just wanted to see if I fit, which of course I did."
Gerard bit his lip. "That sucks," he said, although it was kind of funny. Probably hadn't been for Frank, though.
"Hey, you're – " Frank leaned over him, "You're fucking laughing, asshole. I was in there for ten minutes. And they kept banging on the door, gave me a fucking headache."
"Sorry," Gerard really tried to suppress the giggles.
But Frank was laughing too. He was still braced on his elbows and the covers had slid off his naked back.
Gerard felt like he would probably be able to wring out his pajama top. He was lying in a pool of sweat.
"It's just high school," Frank said then, his voice suddenly lower, sounding less amused, "You just gotta live through it." When he looked over at Gerard, his face was serious. "Right now everyone thinks fucking lacrosse and who's popular and who isn't is important, but in a few months time no one will give a shit."
"You could probably be more popular, though," Gerard said, thoughtfully.
Frank gave him a quizzical look.
"You're cute." Gerard felt his face heat up. "I mean, girls think you're cute. But you're kind of goofy."
"Goofy?" Frank raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, it's just that – you could probably get lots of girls, if you wanted to."
Frank was still pushed up on his elbows and he glanced over at Gerard. "I'm not really interested," he said.
Gerard's breath caught. "Right." He didn't dare say anything else. Their eyes met for a second.
Then Frank lay back down, turning his head to the side and Gerard blinked into the darkness. He could hardly breathe. Something was – it was something - and he wasn't sure what, but Frank was in his bed, half naked, and whatever it was it made the bed seem small and the sheets burning hot.
**
Gerard Way's younger brother was a weird freshman kid, who had asthma, glasses, strange hair and no interest whatsoever in soccer, cheerleaders or socio-politics. Pete had no clue what to talk to him about. The first time, Mikey had looked at his soccer shorts and burst out laughing right in the middle of Pete's carefully laid out introductory small-talk. The second time, he had nodded in all the right places during Pete's rant about the vending machines and Pete had gone on for maybe fifteen minutes before he discovered that the kid wasn't listening, like, even a little bit. Pete was a sophomore. And a soccer star. He didn't need this shit.
Pete used to be fine. He used to be OK. He wasn't anymore and he didn't know why. He had a blog where he noted the change, the new blackness. Luckily no one would in a million years be able to figure out that it was him, which at first had been a source of frustration, because he had a desperate need for people to pay attention to him and like him and listen to what he was saying, but lately it was a blessing. He sat at his computer at night and listened to the emptiness and wrote about it. He had trouble sleeping and he couldn't get up in the mornings; he wrote about staring at his wrists until he thought he could see dark shapes moving under the skin, and when he read the words back from the computer screen he felt slightly better. It helped writing the shit down.
He never got any comments or hits, thankfully.
--
He had first seen Mikey Way on the grass by the steps leading up to the cafeteria. Pete vaguely knew who he was. He was the younger brother of the guy who people said was gay and weird and some sort of Satanist or witch. He stopped to look at Mikey for this reason; it was intriguing to watch a freshman who was already unable to fit in, and to be reminded that his own life could be worse--he was maybe sinking deeper and deeper into some desperate, uncontrollable, sleep-deprived state where nothing made sense and everything that he so far had been able to ignore came crawling up the edges to spill out of him, but at least it didn't show on the outside. His parents would send him to a reform school for sad boys if he dyed his hair black or pinned buttons that said 'anthrax' on his schoolbag. But as he watched, Mikey scratched his neck and Pete noticed that he was wearing headphones, and that his eyes were somewhere else, that his tie was askew and a button on his shirt had come undone by the strap of his bag, and that he was quite pretty behind the glasses; there was a single blade of grass touching his elbow resting on his knee, and suddenly Pete's world was narrowed down to that until he had to look away. He couldn't stand there staring, he had to go eat lunch and talk about that evening's game. He found himself wondering what music Mikey was listening to.
It was quite ridiculous, because it wasn't like he and Mikey would ever be friends; they more than likely didn't have anything in common, Mikey wasn't going to fit in with Pete's friends, and Pete surely wouldn't fit in with his. Not that Mikey seemed to have many friends, just some seniors on the croquet team – one, a slight, dark-haired boy who fit perfectly into lockers, and a guy with the world's worst hair, and of course his brother, who Pete would rather avoid. He had once kicked a ball in Gerard's face—it had been an accident, Pete wasn't that much of a bully, but the look in Gerard's eyes had told him that he would probably be suspicious if Pete suddenly tried to be friendly.
Just thinking about hanging out with the Ways was high school suicide, but it was just part of the new blackness inside him. Suddenly he wanted it. It must be the self-loathing, he figured, like having a death wish. That was all it was: just good old fashioned cutting every time his thoughts lingered on Mikey.
--
They started talking about music because Pete brought up Anthrax. He didn't know anything about them, but it didn't matter because Mikey suddenly came to life, as if Pete had entered the right password. He chatted about band history and rare tracks and imports until Pete actually started to find it interesting.
They were leaning against the wall behind the Arts building, and if anyone saw them, they would probably assume Pete was doing this for a bet. That was comforting.
"Do they never take the ipod away from you in class?" he asked, "I thought they would if they saw it"
"No - " Mikey looked horrified at the thought, "I couldn't afford another one, so. I don't know. Not yet."
Mikey talked a bit all jumbled together, like the way the words felt inside Pete's head before he wrote them down, his voice was dull and soft.
"It's just, I never see you without it."
"Um." Mikey didn't say anything to that and Pete cringed.
"I just mean, aren't you worried someone'll steal it?
"Yeah." Mikey nodded. It was secured to the inside of his bag as well, Pete noticed.
"How much do you have stored on it? Anything good?"
Mikey hesitated. Then he took out one of the earphones and handed it to Pete. "Here. Wait."
When Pete put it into his ear, music blared out. Mikey still had the other earphone hooked in his ear and he switched between songs, telling Pete what it was. They had to stand quite close to share the music, their heads almost touching.
"The Misfits," Mikey said, a bit too loudly, and Pete could feel the words against his face. Mikey was the only fifteen-year-old Pete knew whose breath smelled of coffee.
"Cool. Where are they from?" he asked.
It wasn't just small talk. Pete actually enjoyed the music, it was soothing in a weird way. He suddenly understood why Mikey needed his iPod to get through a school day.
"Can you play anything?" he asked, "or do you just listen to it?"
"No," Mikey shook his head, "But I might join a band."
Pete frowned. "Whose band?"
"Just Gee and some of his friends."
Pete thought he could probably guess who they were. "You're going to be in a band with the croquet team?" he asked, somewhat dubiously.
"Some of them, yeah."
Pete thought Mikey must know what he was thinking: that the croquet team playing gigs was a pretty ridiculous idea.
"Why don't you try out for the jazz band?" he asked, "They're pretty cool. Honestly, the croquet team, it's..." He didn't finish the sentence. "I guess I don't really get croquet," he mumbled, half apologetically.
Mikey shrugged. "Me either."
"But you're on the team."
"Yeah. We're not very good."
Pete looked over. The way Mikey simply didn't care what people in school thought about him suddenly struck Pete, and for a moment he felt awed and like maybe he was the ridiculous one with his preppy hair and the unhinged feeling in his chest that he tried and tried to quench but couldn't.
"Maybe if you practiced more," he suggested, feebly.
Mikey grinned.
Yeah, Pete thought, that was probably about right. He had watched them once on his way to soccer practice. They had crowded on the croquet lawn, not doing much, even though the short, dark-haired one looked like he was at least trying to get a game together, and the tall one with the hair had been showing Gerard Way something in a magazine while Mikey had been sitting on the grass, lost in his music.
He took the earphone out and handed it back to Mikey. "So you think I can borrow some of your albums some time?" he asked, because he actually wanted to.
Mikey looked unsure. "No, you – you can come over and copy them, if you want."
"Sure," Pete nodded, "I'll bring my ipod. Great."
Then he thought, oh.
Give Ray time to think about something and he became obsessed. Suddenly all he wanted to talk about was riffs and drummers.
"So there's a guy I speak to a bit," he said, starting yet another conversation as if the band was all that was on Gerard's mind too, "He's got a good taste in music and he's a really good drummer, maybe we could get him to try with us."
"Mhm." Gerard kicked a little at the stone step. He had more important things to think about, like his science grade dragging his average down, and the lacrosse team having a game of Gerard-tag going, and Frank. He hadn't seen Frank all day. He kept looking for him.
"I'll tell my parents we're doing extra croquet practices, then we just need a place to rehearse."
They frequently made out to Ray's parents that the croquet team was really a 'team' and that it would look good on Ray's transcripts. Ray's parents didn't have a clue what high school was about, but they had high aspirations; they wanted him to become a doctor and get married, and Gerard thought it was pretty optimistic of them hoping for both, and that they must be disappointed because Ray only cared about music and he hung around with fags.
"Your brother can play bass. He'll be okay. He said he'll do it. You think he meant it?"
"Sure. Probably. Who knows."
When he looked towards the main building again, Frank was walking across the lawn, carrying his lunch. He smiled brightly and waved when he saw them.
While Gerard made room for him on the step, Ray filled Frank in on the band's non-existent rehearsal space and hypothetical drummer, and Gerard looked around to see if he could see Mikey anywhere. Sometimes Mikey would eat lunch with them, and sometimes he would sit with the other geeks in his class, and sometimes he'd spend the hour in the nurse's office, but sometimes he just disappeared. Gerard assumed it was when he wanted to listen to his music and read his British cult books undisturbed, which was difficult to do when Ray wouldn't shut up about the band and Frank talked incessantly, especially as Frank seemed to really like Mikey. Gerard wasn't sure why, and Mikey seemed a bit puzzled too.
Over on the other side of the lawn, a group of guys from the soccer team were kicking a ball around, and he noticed that one of them kept looking over. Gerard vaguely knew who he was, a sophomore and one of the star players - Gerard thought he could probably remember his name if he tried to, because it was that kind of school – and when their eyes met, the guy paused for a few moments too long and fucked up the next kick.
Gerard pulled a hand through his hair a bit self-consciously. He knew he should just ignore it, but it was never fun to be reminded how he was such a freakshow he could stop soccer stars mid-game by just existing.
Frank elbowed him in the side, "Ray wants to know if Mikey's looked at the tape yet?"
"What tape?" Gerard tore his gaze away.
"How to play bass," Frank said, giggling.
"It's actually a good tape," Ray interjected, "Very helpful. He said he would look at it, so has he?"
"Yes," Gerard said, because it was the simplest option. He didn't know why people thought he always knew what Mikey was doing. Half the time he didn't have a clue.
--
That afternoon, they stood around while Frank explained the rules of croquet to them one more time. He wasn't a good player by any means, but he tended to take his duties as team captain seriously.
"So that's the ball you're aiming for and you want to swing like this, and stand like this."
He was adding illustrations to his instructions by standing behind Mikey, holding his hands to guide his swing, and Gerard decided to actually learn this time, just so that Frank wouldn't do it again. He didn't think Frank was interested in copping a feel from Mikey, but the rest of the school might not see it that way, and Mikey still had three and a half years left.
Admittedly, Mikey didn't seem to mind, even though he didn't seem particularly interested either; when Frank asked him to start off the next game, he hit the ball exactly the same way he'd always done.
When it was Gerard turn to bat, or hit, or club, or whatever it was called, he made an effort to put his feet the right distance apart, and take aim. He shaded his eyes, set the ball, and absolutely did not see the tackle coming.
Winded, he hit the ground. The someone on top of him shouted "down!" and jumped off him again. Gerard blinked, looked up and saw sky, and when he looked sideways he saw Frank shaking his head and turning away, sighing.
He knew he should look around more, try to be more aware. But he should have started doing that four years ago. It was a little bit late now.
--
He woke up at 2 am when Frank threw pebbles and bits of dust on his window. It sounded like rain.
Once he realized that the smattering was too uneven and quite sizeable, he got up and stumbled to the window. It was pitch black outside, no moonlight, but he could still make out a small figure on the front lawn and a bicycle lying on the grass. "Frank?" he said as loudly as he dared when he'd opened the window.
"Hi, great," Frank said, waving. Gerard's room was on the second floor and Frank was whispering quite loudly.
Gerard hushed him. "What – what are you doing?" he asked, mostly in hand gestures.
"I wanted to see if you were up," Frank whispered.
When Gerard had tip-toed down the stairs, so as not to wake his parents, and opened the front door, he frowned and said, "It's really late." He was standing with bare feet on the porch, the cool night air biting his ankles.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake anyone up," Frank said, apologetically, as he came up to the door. He nodded at his bicycle lying on the grass. "I went for a bike ride and I came this way, so."
Gerard peered at him. "Why didn't you call?"
"I don't have my phone with me." He had his hands jammed deep in his pocket, shoulders hunched. "I just thought – I wanted to see if you were up."
"Well, no."
Frank grimaced. "Sorry."
It was odd, Frank seemed completely sober and quite calm, except his eyes were maybe a bit bright. Gerard felt unsure about what to do, so he just gestured at Frank to come and sit on the porch swing.
He pulled a blanket lying over the back of the swing around himself, as Frank sat down next to him. The night was quite warm, but it was a bit too cool to just wear pajamas. Frank had on a jacket and jeans and he was sweaty from the bike ride.
"What time is it?" Frank asked.
"Ten past two."
Frank blinked. "Is it? Sorry. It was only 11 when I left." He kicked his foot, making them slowly sway.
Gerard tried to figure out how far it was from Frank's house to theirs. He must have had to cut through the downtown area, unless he'd taken his chances on the highways, and either way it was pretty dangerous. "Are you - is everything okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, sure. I just needed to get out of there for a bit."
Gerard frowned. Frank was rarely melodramatic. "Why?"
"No reason, I. I just." He thought he could see Frank crinkle his nose and blush a little. "I hate mom's new boyfriend."
"Oh." Gerard swallowed. "Um, why?"
"He's not my dad." Frank picked at a thread at the seam of his jeans.
"Sure. No. Of course." Gerard didn't know what else to say. His parents had been married for 26 years.
Frank dropped his head back against the cushion, and closed his eyes, "I know I'm a dick. I want her to be happy, but I just can't deal with it tonight."
Gerard looked at his watch again. "Isn't she going to be worried?"
"She knows I'm with you." Frank glanced over. His voice was soft, but his eyes flickered. "I told my sister I'd go to your house. I made it sound like it was just around the corner, though."
Frank had pulled his feet up, and his shoes were leaving dust prints on the cushions. He pulled a little at the blanket to cover his knees.
"Do you want to go in?" Gerard asked. "It's okay, mom and dad won't mind if you sleep here."
"I don't mind sitting here for a while," Frank said, "It's nice."
Gerard felt like he owed it to Frank to spend the night on the porch swing with him, because Frank had bicycled across town in the middle of the night to see him.
They sat for a while, just swinging back and forth. The moon was still behind the clouds and the slow sway was lulling and ghostly in the dark. This late there were hardly any sounds around, and Gerard thought he could hear his own heart beat, or maybe Frank's, or maybe someone else's. He loved being awake at this hour.
"Listen," Frank said then, "I was thinking. You shouldn't let them do that to you."
Gerard looked over. "Who?"
"The lacrosse team. Like what they did to you at practice today, you shouldn't just let them get away with it."
Gerard had almost forgotten what had happened at croquet practice earlier that day, because it hadn't been a big deal; his ribs were a little sore, but there was no bruising and no bleeding.
He thought Frank was being kind of unfair. It stung. "I don't let them. If I'd seen it coming, obviously - but I didn't."
"That's not what I meant." Frank's voice was a little sharp. "But instead of just avoiding them, maybe you could try to get back at them. Get revenge."
Gerard moved, uncomfortably. "I just want to survive my senior year."
"That's what I mean, though. You only have a few more months until they've totally won."
"That's not how I see it."
"Well, maybe you should."
They fell silent. Gerard was suddenly tired. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled. The moon came out from between the clouds for a moment, and he wished it'd disappear again.
After a while he felt Frank's hand curl around his arm under the blanket. "I'm sorry," Frank said, "I didn't mean to piss you off, but you're, like, my favorite person in school, and I just don't think it's fair that they get away with it."
When Gerard glanced over, Frank's eyes were wide. "Oh," he said, even though he'd meant to say 'okay'. He cleared his throat, "Okay."
"You're not pissed off at me?"
"No." Gerard shook his head and Frank looked relieved. His hand was warm and sweaty on Gerard's arm.
Gerard was sure it was his own heartbeats he heard this time.
--
They woke up entangled under the blanket. Frank was lying with his head against the armrest and Gerard was propped against the cushions. Frank's legs were across his lap and Gerard's hand rested on his stomach. He pulled it back quickly. They were both covered by the blanket, sharing body heat, but he couldn't believe they'd slept outside. The sky was pink and grey, and his muscles were stiff; he needed to stretch his legs out and un-crick his neck. Untangling his hand from the blanket, he looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past 5. He wanted to curl up against Frank's body and go back to sleep.
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