You're So Dark

Frank woke up with a giant pounding headache. Probably because he and Ray had a regular Tuesday night drinking party last night. Okay, they never have those because Ray is usually the only one chugging, Frank just watches and eats a shitload of fries, because that is all he can cook. But last night was somewhat different. Very different, since the reason of his sudden failure into weakness was a certain raven-headed 18 year old that just happened to be in two of his classes. Honestly, he hadn’t felt such interest in someone since tenth grade and the first time he saw his ex-girlfriend, Jamia.

Frank got up as quickly as he could, letting the blood spill into his head and break his train of thoughts. He honestly didn’t want to think about that. It was fucking disturbing.

He walked into his apartment kitchen and almost bumped into Ray, who was sprawled on the living room carpet with a couch cushion under his head. He rolled his eyes and kicked Ray’s side. That was something he shouldn’t have done, because apparently lifting his foot caused his head to spin and he almost fell headfirst into the coffee table. Ray’s eyes opened and he yelled ‘hey’ at Frank, who just regained his balance while walking [practically falling] into the kitchen. He made coffee, which reminded him of yesterday’s free period time.

Hell, poor Gerard. They beat him up pretty hard, his rib was slightly cracked. And he felt really disappointed with Sean and Darrell; he thought they weren’t such douche bags.

Yeah, Frank, because jocks are fucking cutie pie cat grandma people who treat everyone around them like they’re best buddies, didn’t high school teach you that?

He drank the coffee and went to do all of that morning shit people had to do to, like, smell sanitary, and like taking a shower and brushing their teeth. He kicked Ray again on his way again, regretting it when his head felt like someone released spiky bees or something inside it because he had to lift his goddamn foot again. Ray just yelled something like ‘dickhole’ and rolled over to his side, his afro hanging around the pillow, probably not even aware he was on the fucking floor.

Frank managed to survive the life-threatening trip to the bathroom somehow [that fucking room was so fucking slippery like what the actual fuck] and went back into his room to put on some clothes. He managed to dig out a pair or relatively clean skinnies, some actually genuinely clean underwear and a probably-possibly clean t-shirt. He was totally in denial about the shirt, but at least it wasn’t stained and it didn’t smell unpleasant.

Okay, it wasn’t stained.

He put everything on and sprayed deodorant all over his upper chest so the shirt wouldn’t reek or something. Okay, now he felt like a totally gross motherfucker for was going to work in filthy clothes but he didn’t exactly care because nobody was going to see/smell it. And the t-shirt was even nice looking, despite its previous odor and everything.

He remembered Jamia again and his stomach twisted. Not because she was disgusting or whatever, she was really pretty, with happy eyes and a huge smile, but because of the mess he became after she dumped him. And now he felt the same weird-ass interest like he did when he met her. And that would be a good sign, goddamnit, if he wasn’t feeling it for a goddamn student. His student. Who was also a boy of 18 and a bit of an emotional mess according to his poetry. He really hoped the interest wouldn't turn into a love interest, because that would fuck him up totally.

Goddamnit, he still had the paper inside his pocket, the only thing different was the fact he now had two of those, the other one of his other poem which he, once again, scribbled within the first 10 minutes of class.

"As lead rains, will pass on through our phantoms,
Forever, forever.
Like scarecrows that fuel this flame we're burning,
Forever, and ever.
Know how much I want to show you you're the only one
Like a bed of roses there's a dozen reasons in this gun.

And as we're falling down, and in this pool of blood,
And as we're touching hands, and as we're falling down,
And in this pool of blood, and as we're falling down,
I'll see your eyes, and in this pool of blood,
I'll meet your eyes, I mean this forever."

Fucking sick. And good. Like really, really, really fucking good. And Frank wanted more of it and he actually also wanted to know who it’s for. Probably because he was a student-sadist. Or just in denial, like he usually was. He wanted to know who that fucking person who was ripping this kid’s heart out was and he wanted to do something about it even though it was absolutely none of his goddamn business but he felt the hurt on himself because this shit Gerard wrote was so fucking good and he frickin’ empathized just because it was so realistic and there, and like when someone gets wet and you touch the wet spot and you feel wet too, even though you aren’t actually. It was so confusing but at the same time so easy to understand and it was giving Frank a major fucking headache.

“You’re fucked up, dude,” Ray groaned at him when he kicked his side again while walking back into the kitchen to have another cup of coffee. His head was killing him.

“More than you’ll ever know." He rubbed his eyes and had another sip.

“What’s the matter, Strawberry Shortcake?” Ray yawned and walked past him, ruffling his hair [and messing it up, thanks Ray].

“Don’t call me that. And it’s nothing, really,” he sniffed. “I’m just kind of fucked up, like, always. Not really anything new.”

“Yeah, but you look even more fucked up than you usually are." Ray cocked an eyebrow at him and wiggled his fro. Frank groaned, he knew he couldn't exactly keep a lot of things from Ray, they were friends since kindergarten and he knew him like the back of his pocket.

"Okay, look. There's this student," Frank sighs, already regretting it. "He's kind of..."

"Is it the same one who wrote that fucked up poem? I mean, thegood fucked up poem." Ray scratched his scalp. Oh shit, he was still holding the other paper.
"Yeah, I guess that's a yes." Ray poured himself some coffee and grinned. "Wait, what is that?" He looked over to Frank's left hand which was squeezing the crumpled piece of paper. "Gimme."

Frank handed him the paper and Ray examined the messy written lyrics with Frank gawking behind his back. Well, barely, because he would have to like, grow ten feet to level with Ray.

"I honestly think this kid is talented. Like, really talented. But also a real mess in the head. A wacko maybe or something." Ray looked at him and gave him the paper back.

"Yeah. He is talented. But batshit nuts," Frank sighed. "I'm still trying to calculate if it's a good thing or not."

"Well, if it stays in writing, it probably is. Just try to, like, keep an eye on him. He might suddenly want to see what the top of Empire State Building is like."

Frank rolled his eyes, but he knew Ray was right. "Yeah, good point."

*

"I swear to God, Gerard, when our hands touched... it was magic." Brendon was practically squealing while grabbing his Science book out of his locker. Gerard sighed and closed the door of his, patiently waiting for Patrick to get his shit out so they could go. Brendon was faster than Patrick, though, so he was next to Gerard in a second and continuing with his lovestruck ranting.

"And his fucking hands are so nice and soft, holy fuck, but they are also like, strong and you can see he's a guitarist." Brendon exhaled sharply and waved his hand around. Gerard rolled his eyes again and started mumbling something, but at that moment Patrick was ready so he was the first to talk.

"Was he nice? Did he give, you know, any...signs or something?" Patrick looked genuinely interested. I mean, Gerard was interested, but he never looked interested so it wasn't the same.

"He was nice. I don't know about the signs, though," Brendon scratched his scalp. That moment his eyes darted off to some spot in the hallway and when Gerard turned, he realized it was, of fucking course, Ryan Ross's messy brown fringe coming towards the classroom. At one moment he noticed Brendon and his face stretched into a smile as he waved at him. Gerard looked at Bren who was totally blushing and waving back like an idiot.

"You're so not obvious," he rolled his eyes and kicked Brendon's arm playfully. Brendon glared at him but stood quiet, and then the bell rang and they had to get to class.

*

"Basically, you should all read the Black Cat. I mean, if you want to learn something or something like that," Mr. Iero seemed really distracted today. That moment the bell rang and he sighed loudly. Gerard noticed that, well, obviously, but he pretended like everything was normal. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask.

"Uhm, Mr. Way?" Gerard heard Mr. Iero's voice from beside him.

"Yeah?" He looked at him while grabbing his book from the desk.

"You were off again," he coughed and Gerard suppressed an eye-roll. Look who's talking, Gerard thought. Mr. Iero was really observant, though, Gerard had to admit that, but he obviously didn't realize the reason of Gerard's 'off-ness' because, well, then it would be really awkward to maintain, like, a normal student-teacher relationship or whatever.

"Sorry," Gerard said. "I just have a lot of my mind." Yeah. A lot of you.

"It's alright. But I hope you work it out soon," Mr. Iero smiled half-warmly half-awkwardly and went back to his desk. "If you need to talk..."

"I don't think I'll ever work it out," Gerard blurted out casually, kinda weirded out that he just said it like he was ordering a pizza. Mr. Iero's eyes met his again and his stomach turned a bit. "But thanks," he said and walked out of the classroom before Mr. Iero could say anything else.

He did feel crappy, obviously, although the next two periods weren't going to make him feel any better. He met up with Patrick at Trig again, who left the Lit classroom before he did, since Mr. Iero held him back.
"How are your injuries?" Patrick looked at him sympathetically. Gerard wanted to punch him in the face for that.

"Mental or physical?" Gerard sighed and plopped down on his chair.

"Both."

"Well, my body's okay, my head's a mess though," he confessed. He might as well have, I mean, Patrick was practically his best friend now, along with Brendon and Pete. And more importantly, the only one who knew about his little crush on Mr. Iero.

"Mr. Iero problems?" Patrick sighed.

"As usual."

"It's kinda messed up," he said in a hush voice when the teacher came.

"What is?" Gerard whispered.

"That Mr. Iero is your teacher. You'd be a cute couple."

*

"I don't give a shit, Mikeyway, Green Day is better." Patrick and Gerard found Pete glaring at Mikey with eyes full of judgment like he killed his mother when they got to their table.

"Blink is the law," Mikey chewed on his sandwich, never removing his poker-face.
Gerard rolled his eyes and plopped down on his chair. He didn't feel like eating. Well, he didn't feel like living, but y'know.

"Where's Bren?" Patrick turned to Pete.

Pete was about to answer but the answer revealed itself when Brendon sat on his spot. With Ryan Ross by his side. "Uhm, hi, Ryan's friend, Dallon, who he usually sits with at lunch, isn't at school today so I offered him to come sit with us." Brendon was totally beaming and Gerard almost wanted to point and laugh but that would've been rude. Not that he cared, but whatever. Friends got each other's back, and shit.

"Green Day or blink-182?" Pete gawked at him. Ryan looked a bit startled and Mikey rolled his eyes, but he managed to answer.

"Green Day, I guess," he shrugged his shoulders with a small smile.

"I like him, Bren," Pete got back to his popcorn [Gerard had no idea where he got popcorn from].

Ryan chuckled and everyone at the table, including Patrick, rolled their eyes.

"Uh, you're Gerard, right?" Ryan said and Brendon kinda glared at Gerard for getting Ryan's attention.

"Yeah." He looked at him, trying to seem friendly or whatever. He wasn't in the mood for chit-chat since his mood was a real bummer but the guy seemed cool so he tried as hard as he could.

"That thing you wrote during Creative Writing, the thing Mr. Iero read out loud," Ryan paused. "That shit is really good. You could even use it for lyrics, or something."

Gerard blushed and Bren's glare went all death-y and creepy. "Thanks," he smiled a bit.

Notes

It's really shitty, sorry about that and sorry for the wait. Tell me if I should work on something, seriously.