„Do I even matter to you at all?“ Gerard whimpers and Frank can feel his heart breaking. Like, he thinks it might have actually split in two large pieces. And then in millions and millions and millions of pieces, tiny little fractions that can never be fixed. „ Is that how you really feel? Because, I don't- Is it all, like, a game to you? Is it, Frank?“

„Gerard, it's not, it's honestly fucking not, oh my God! What the fuck do I need to do to prove that to you?“ Frank is running out of responses here. It's not like he can take his words back, not exactly. Not after all that Gerard heard.

„Are you ashamed of me? Is that it? You are ashamed of me!“ Gerard blatantly ignores Frank's question and narrows his eyes, „That is it!“

„What? No, it's not. Of course it's not, I'm not ashamed of you, what the fuck, Gerard, if you would just-“

„Then what the fuck is it? Do you expect me to blindly believe you when you say things to my face, even when you go around saying I don't matter and you don't love me and things like that? I'm supposed to take your word for it?“ Gerard's voice drops from yelling to a tired, worn out tone.

„It wasn't- It's not even like that, ugh, Gerard, please, hear me out, it wasn't like that, please fucking listen to me!“ Frank sighs.

„What was it like, then? You just said that, for what, fun? Ha-ha, let's joke about not liking Gerard, hating his guts! Woo, how fucking fun! And why would you- why would you do that? After, after leaving me to think I might actually have a fucking chance with the only love I've ever known in my entire life? Are you honestly that much of a dick? You're such a fucking asshole, I don't..“

Frank opens his mouth but Gerard just scoffs, loudly, preventing him from saying anything he was going to.

„So, when I was at your house, and you were shirtless, were you teasing me? Did you just want a reaction? What was that stunt with the kiss? That part of your plan, too? God, I can't fucking believe you,“ Gerard wipes his face before Frank can see the tears welling up in his eyes, but he knows they're there anyway. His eyes are exactly the same.

Guess he fucked up badly this time, huh? Frank forgets every word he intended to say, even though he wanted to assure Gerard he loves him and he wants him and that he didn't fucking mean it, he fucking didn't. He didn't.

„Fuck you,“ Gerard whispers, but it lacks heat and sounds.. resignated, almost. Then he turns around, walking away slowly. He drags his body like he wants to get away but doesn't get to leave, and Frank is on the verge of tears, but he's not letting them fall until Gerard is at a safe distance. He's too fucking tired to even stop him from leaving. Not that he would listen to him, anyway.

Well, fuck. Fucking cocksucking Bert and his fucking- fucking everything. Fuck Frank's life, fuck Gerard, fuck Bert and fuck- ugh. He should have seen it coming, he should have, he fucking shouldn't have fallen for that.


„Hello, Frank,“ Bert grins, with his hand behind his back.

„What the fuck do you want?“ Frank asks tiredly. He's not even sure why he agreed to come to the school parking lot, seriously. Bert has only ever been trouble, but Frank just couldn't help himself when Bert called his house. Curiosity killed the cat, or whatever.

„Nothing, just wanted to have a chat,“ Bert raises his hands in the air in a manner that says 'what, like I can't just invite you to a public place without wanting to talk you into suicide', but when Frank raises an eyebrow, Bert sighs, rolls his eyes and shows him the bottle of alcohol he's been hiding behind him. „And maybe drink.. a little.“

Frank sighs and thinks about how much he'll regret this.

„Atta boy,“ Bert grins when Frank sits down on the floor next to him.


He really, really should have fucking known, as soon as Bert offered the drink. But of course he was stupid, so fucking stupid. He's not even sure what he expected to happen- it was definitely not this, though. He kicks at a can and fists his hair, wanting nothing more than to beat the shit out of someone. Preferably someone who has greasy hair, whose name starts with a B and is an alcoholic.


„So, Frank, how do you feel about Gerard?“ Bert asks suddenly, after about 10 minutes of semi-comfortable silence. It was only semi-comfortable because they've been drinking, and because Bert pulled out another bottle for himself.

Frank hears shuffling somewhere near, but disregards it as the leaves moving across the floor, or something. He also completely forgets April had only just begun and the wind isn't even blowing.

„Gerard? He means nothing to me,“ he scoffs and swallows what he's pretty sure is almost half of the bottle. Technically, that's not true, not even remotely true, but why would he tell Bert that Gerard is practically his entire world? That could only bring him no good.

„Really?“ Bert raises a suspicious eyebrow at him, and he considers telling him the truth, but decides against it, seeing as last time they talked Bert practically talked him into jumping off of a bridge.

„Yes. He's been nothing but mean to me, plus he's fucking pathetic, right? I mean I know you two are friends, but seriously, how do you deal?“ and, okay, Frank is overdoing it a fucking lot, but he just really wants to make sure Bert never teases him again about his crush, and if he thinks Frank hates Gerard, then he won't. Problem solved.

Bert just starts giggling, which is weird because Frank is pretty sure Bert is not high. With him, though, you never know. He continues giggling and when Frank makes a confused face, Bert just leans into his ear.

„April Fools,“ he whispers and points somewhere behind Frank. He stands up whilst Frank turns around and his fucking stomach turns around when he sees who is standing there, with tears streaming down his face and looking like a lost puppy.

„Gerard?“

Frank is... mortified, to say the least. Had Gerard.. Had Gerard heard what he just said? Fucking cock. Bert is laughing his ass off whilst walking away, that fucking dick. And Gerard just looks like he wants to cry. Or, well, he is crying.

Which brings us here. Or rather, it brings us to 5 minutes ago. „Here,“ is Frank Iero, with a pumping and bruising fist, coated in blood, and a brick wall that did absolutely nothing but is getting repeatedlly punched anyway. Much like Life treats Frank. Ha ha.

He walks home, and the entire walk is spent by him picking at his knuckles. It's an open wound, obviously, and he's risking one Hell of an infection, not to mention how much it hurts, and it burns, and Lindsey/his mom will kill him if they see, but he can't be bothered. He can only be glad that his cuts faded away so fastly- God bless Ville's brother and his creams and what not. But of course, right when things are okay in his life, something like this fucking happens. How does he get Gerard to forgive him now? It's not like this was a misunderstanding.. Well, it was, but Gerard doesn't fucking know that. For all Gerard knows, Frank couldn't care less about him. Someone should totally just stab Bert.

*

„Can I kill him? Can I kill that scum named Bert? Can I pretty please put a knife through that asshole's head?“ Lindsey whines into the phone, for the 147th time that evening.

„Please. Please do,“ Frank sighs, walking into the bathroom and locking the door. He pulls up the sleeves that were pulled over his fist and winces. That looks bad.

„You didn't do anything to hurt yourself over that asshole though, did you?“ Frank looks down at his bloody knuckles.

„Nah.“

He's silent for a few moments, trying to figure out where to put the phone.

„Frank? Where'd you go?“ Lindsey's voice comes through the phone's speaker.

„I'm here, in the bathroom,“ he closes the toilet and puts the phone on the toilet seat, then drops to his knees and rummages through the cabinet underneath the mirror.

„Ew, Frank, not whilst I'm on the phone,“ Frank can practically see her disguisted face and grins.

„Don't worry, just brushing my teeth,“ he says as he pulls out some bandages that he put behind everything. He takes the hoodie off- one sleeve is almost completely coated in blood, damn his fucking knuckles for bleeding so bad. Actually, he damns himself for even picking at them, but, Hell, old habbits die hard.

He turns the tap on, and tries to figure out will the water burn him. He shrugs and puts his fist under the water, almost screaming in the proccess. That. Fucking. Burns. He sucks in a breath and continues washing the wound out. God knows how many people had sex against that wall, or pissed on it or something.

„Frankie? You're worrying me,“ Lindsey says, and he knows, God, he fucking knows but he assures her he's fine, then they say goodbye and he's left trying to figure out how to wrap his fist in bandages.

Well, this is gonna be fun.

*

„And you punched a wall.. why, exactly?“ His mom raises an eyebrow, putting a spoonfull of the food in her mouth right after. She looks surprisingly calm. Then again, Frank has broken bones enough times that it's basically standard daily procedure to have to get him fixed.

„I was mad,“ he shrugs and toys with the food on his plate. His appetite is, like, minus 76 right now. The fact that the food looks like a dead rat (even though his mom swears it's vegetables only) doesn't make it any better.

„At who?“ his dad pipes up, which is weird, since he usually tries to stay away from Frank's.. well, weirdness. And bone-breaking. Not to say he isn't a good dad- he just prefers not knowing some things about his son.

„Bert,“ he says honestly, and then sighs. He just hopes they haven't heard of him. Otherwise, they might question what the fuck was their son doing around an alcoholic.

His mom and dad just exchange a look that Frank can't really be bothered to read.

„Frank, are you okay?“ His mom looks genuienly concerned, and his dad looks- well, like he always does. His look is maybe a bit softer, but Frank really doesn't try to figure out and doesn't really want to know why. „Why aren't you eating your food?“

„Am I okay? No, actually, not really,“ Frank adjuts himself on the chair. „My sort-of-not-really-boyfriend-crush-thing is so fucking pissed at me, because this fucking asshole that goes by the name of Bert made me tell how I feel about the before mentioned crush-boyfriend-thingie, and I didn't want to get teased so I said he doesn't mean anything to me but the sort-of boyfriend was listening and now he's so mad, and we've been through so much shit already, and things were finally looking up and we were so close to kissing and having a relationship but I don't think he'll forgive me this time. There, you happy? No, I'm not okay. I'm not even fucking close to being even remotely okay. Can I go upstairs now?“

His mom merely nods, and he excuses himself from the table. He didn't really mean to snap, but he's just had one Hell of a bad day. Whilst trudging up the stairs, he can hear them talking about him. Fucking Hell if this doesn't land him in therapy. Again.

Notes

Admittedly, this was a bad idea.

Yes, drama, wow, blood, stuff. Milo gets all the nice chapters, whilst mine are all like "Frank was enslaved and spent the rest of his life in a dungeon and his best friend was an infected mouse," yadda yadda. Don't hate me.

In other news, I've bought a new bra. It clasps in the front and it is literally Heaven.

That's all.

- Rogue