Wanna Be Somebodies

GERARD’S P.O.V.

Anxiety has been eating at me almost as long as it's been tearing through Frank. Frank didn't have to say he was stressed; I just knew. These kind of things grow obvious the more I get to know Frank, and just when I’m convinced I know everything about him, he surprises me, proving me wrong once again.
This is one of those days where the nerves seem to radiate off of him. Whenever Frank’s stressed, it freaks me out as well. I can’t relax knowing that he’s distressed, and I like to think that it’s the same way for him when I’m wigging out. Then again, I can only hope; Frank has never been one to share his feelings.
I can only imagine how quitting wrestling is going for him right about now. Luke sure seemed concerned; should I be?
I must look really freaked out, either that or really high, because August notices my expression from his bed and calls, “Hey, uh, you alright man?”
I nod slowly, blinking furiously to try to snap myself out of this. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just nervous.”
Scrunching his nose in confusion, August asks, “Nervous? What about?”
I shrug, confessing, “Frankie’s quitting wrestling today.”
“That’s good, right?”
Again, I lift and drop my shoulders lazily, explaining, “It’s a good thing, yeah, but not if Matt or any of the other boys give him hell for it.” I shake my head, murmuring, “I don’t like to see him hurting.”
“Then maybe it’s best he quits,” August reassures. “Besides, I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be here any moment now.”
I know August is doing his best to make me feel better, but I never like to take gambles on these kinds of things. I want to ask him how he can possibly know that’s true. I don’t like taking leaps of faith; I always miss and end up in some kind of awful disappointed slump. Emotional investment in what isn’t guaranteed is never worth it, and it never has been, with the sole exception being my relationship with Frank. It’s a relationship that never should have been, and here it is going a year strong.
Still, I’m not having a ton of confidence in August’s misguided sentiment. I’m about to challenge him when a knock comes at the door. Warily, I stand, not wanting to open it to a bloodied Frank. I push the thing open with my foot to see Frank standing there, perfectly fine, just a little worn and sad looking. That’s how he always looks these days; it’s nothing new, unfortunately.
“Hey,” he mutters. He forces a cheesy smile, informing, “I quit and I didn’t even get my ass kicked.”
“How’d it go?” I ask, letting him pass me to come inside. I close the door behind him and grab his hand, following him over to the bed.
He sighs, confessing, “I haven’t really faced the guys yet, thank God for that. Just the coach, who seemed a little disappointed but it’s whatever.”
I lean forward on the mattress, resting my chin against curled fists. “It’s not right that you’re the one having to give something up.”
Frank scoffs, admitting, “With the way those guys were, I’d say there’s no loss there.” He’s quiet for a bit, and then he chuckles softly, mentioning, “I haven’t seen you wear tighty whities since, like, freshman year.”
I giggle myself, turning the slightest bit red as I pull the tail of my shirt down just a bit. “I haven’t worn them since then, not since I got teased about it.” I lay back, confessing, “But, no one’s going to be seeing these bad boys anyways. I don’t have gym class this semester, so no changing issues there, and I haven’t really been expecting to get laid recently.”
Frank frowns, asking, “Why wouldn’t you get laid?”
I pick at my fingernails, confiding, “Well ever since…” I glance over to August, who is currently fully engrossed in peeling away some adhesive residue left on his wall, before dropping my voice, “you know… I haven’t really wanted to. I haven’t felt like it.”
I’m worried Frank will be upset. After all, I’m his boyfriend, and here I am making him undergo this oath of celibacy out of nowhere. It’s not the fact that I’m saying no this time, but it’s the fact that I’ll be saying no for a while. Surely, he’ll see this as a reflection on himself. After all, how can I truly love him if I refuse to be intimate in the way we’ve always been?
But he doesn’t seem angry at all, not even ticked. As great as Frank is in veiling his emotions, the one that comes through clear and simple is anger. That and jealousy. If he’s angry, you’ll usually hear him say something about it, whereas if he’s jealous, it’s just written all over that sweet face of his. There’s neither of those things, no, not this time. He just looks totally neutral, laying back there on my bed, the sun streaming from the window to his eyes. He finally speaks up, comforting, “And that’s okay. You take whatever time you need.” He eventually sits up, leaning forward a bit to peck me on the cheek, ordering, “But the minute you start to feel shitty, you promise you’ll talk to me?”
I nod, knowing that I can keep this promise. “Yeah, of course.”
“Good,” he says, seeming satisfied with our agreement. He lays back down, asking, “What do we do now?”
I shrug, suggesting lightly, “Cuddle?”
With that, Frank takes my hand, pulling me against his chest. He laces my fingers with his, snuggling up next to me in the warmth of the sunbeam, coming mellow and gentle through the window. He ends up falling asleep there, and I think that’s just fine, because these nights have been something awful, and, as always, when things are truly terrible, it’s nice to have someone like Frank around to make it suck a little less.

Notes

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