Action Cat

The next morning, Frank woke up to the sound of his Harry Potter alarm clock. He groaned, pulling the blanket over his face. After a few moments of yawning and complaining, Frank stretched his short legs and got up, crossing the bedroom towards his television. He grabbed a shirt from the basket by it, and light blue jeans. Red converse complimented his look.

Frank headed up the stairs as fast as his little legs could carry him, and reached for his Dick Grayson backpack. He ran outside, only to see Gerard calmly walking beside him.

"F-f-frank?" he questioned, eying him. "Y-y-you o-o-okay?"

He froze for a minute. "Um, yeah I'm fine," Frank rubbed his neck. "Are you okay?"

Gerard nodded happily. "M-mhmm, I-I'm o-o-o-okay. J-j-just a-asking y-you c-c-cause o-of w-what y-you're w-wearing," he pointed to Frank's Hellboy boxers. "H-hellb-boy's c-cool th-though."

"Shit," Frank mumbled. "My house is far away from us."

"M-my h-h-house i-is j-j-just b-by t-the c-corner, y-you c-c-can u-use m-my s-stuff," Gerard offered. "Or M-mikey's. H-h-he's t-travelling r-r-right n-now, s-so I d-don't th-think he'd m-mind."

Gerard laughed. "W-w-wait, m-m-maybe h-his c-clothes a-are t-too...l-long f-f-for s-someone t-two f-f-feet tall."

"Hey!" Frank hit Gerard playfully. "I'm not two foot, I'm two foot three."

Gerard led Frank inside his home, which was small with little lighting. The floors were plastic linoleum, and the ceiling was the same. There was a crack in the wall by a large record player. "Come on!" he said, dragging Frank's hand with him up the stairs. The stairs creaked loudly.

Frank forced a smile onto his face as he entered Gerard's room. It was the size of his walk-in closet. There was a bed with a sheet, and a pillow. There were comic books and drawings scattered across the floor. Pencils everywhere. There was a hole in the ceiling. Frank didn't even want to know what that red color by the corner was.

"L-la v-vita `e b-b-bella," he smiled, jumping unto his bed. "L-life is b-beautiful."

"You speak Italian?" Frank asked.

"J-j-just e-enough s-s-so I-I c-c-can u-understand t-t-the m-movies," he pointed to a stack of movies. "T-those're a-a-all Italian. I-I-I got a b-b-bunch of E-e-english h-h-horror, J-japanese h-h-horror, and some P-p-pixar."

"You like horror movies?"

"Y-yeah, I do," Gerard laughed, and reached into a box of clothes. He pulled out a long sleeved burgundy shirt, reaching into his own basket for a pair of black jeans. He handed them to Frank. "Th-there y-you g-go."

Frank stared down at the clothes, blushing, and Gerard chuckled. "D-dude, j-j-just ch-change, y-you're o-o-only w-w-wearing b-boxers a-a-a-anyways." Frank laughed and slipped into them.

The jeans fit perfectly, and the shirt's sleeves were a bit too long (well...more than 'a bit').

"Thanks," Frank said as they were going out. "So, Gee, you said this 'Mikey' was travelling?"

"O-oh, m-m-my br-brother, y-y-yeah, h-h-he's i-in R-russia."

"Did you hear from him lately?" Frank questioned.

"T-the s-s-system o-over t-there i-is c-c-c-comp-plicated, s-so, n-not y-y-yet," Gerard smiled to the sky hopefully. "T-t-the o-o-officials t-t-t-told m-m-me th-that th-they've b-b-been t-trying t-t-to s-s-send s-s-something f-from him to m-m-me for a c-c-couple y-years now, b-but h-hasn't b-been a-accepted y-yet. Not yet."

In the distance, both of them could see the school. And when Frank left to his classes Gerard felt something he thought he was more than used to being.

Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word of the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.

Notes

the last part from Stephen king c: