25 Reasons Why I Hate You

It's one of those things that he should have seen coming. Once a traitor, always a traitor; and that's the harsh truth that Frank has been trying to avoid for so long.

Not that Gerard ever gave off any ((((hey I'm gonna leave you again vibes))), because Frank was finally pretty content what they had going on; he wasn't alone, they weren't separated, it worked; they worked.

But what Frank can't help but think, as he throws things into the wall and watches them smash down onto the floor, is why? Why wouldn't he tell him about it? It's not the sort of thing that slips your mind, like; oh hey, forgot to tell you, we're out of milk! Or, yeah, mom, I didn't clean my room, sorry. This is big. This is Frank-reliving-his-childhood-trauma big.

Frank can't help but recall the words that his therapist- his fucking therapist, he had to go to a therapist because his best friend left him when they were both at a young and vulnerable age- repeated to him again and again and again and again; „If you ever find yourself in a situation where you are so angry you just wanna break, smash, scream; write it down. What is making you angry, how is it affecting you, how do you think you could make it better? If you can't come up with more than 10 reasons why that thing is making you angry, it's not worth it. If you get past 25, think about why it's affecting you so hard. If you somehow get to 50, confront it.“

His mind immediatly goes to the notebook that Gerard left in his room sometime ago („Gee, notebook?“ „Nah, it's a spare one. You can keep it, if you want.“ „It's pink.“ „Something wrong with that?“ „Just sayin'.“), and he rips a few pieces from it.

Frank used to be able to list at least 700 hundred reasons as to why he hates Gerard's guts, but all his brain can come up with at this moment is WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY THE FUCK DOESN'T HE LOVE ME LIKE HE SAYS HE DOES WHY so he shuts the fucking notebook, and then throws it at the wall.

Making a mental check that he actually did lock the door to his room, and closed his window, turned his phone off, told his mom not to bother him OR 'let the fucking traitor into our fucking house, okay, Ma, and I will throw the fridge out of the house, got it?', he picks up the teddy bear that his mom gave him for his 5th birthday when no kids showed up, but Mom promised him Greasy would never leave. He never did.

He does certainly live up to the name, now- Frank hasn't touched the thing in years (sexual innuendo aside) so it is pretty dirty, and the ear that Bunny (the hamster that got violently murdered by 6 year old Frank operating a vacuum) bit off makes him look a lot creepier than he should be, but when Frank closes his eyes he can at least pretend it's someone else.

If he tried to deny that the person is Gerard, he would be lying. Even if he wants to strangle him right now.

-

Frank is starting to think Mondays are literally the work of Satan.

Not only did his mom insist that he goes to school, („Well, you can't sit around and mope all week, can you now?“ His mom smiled and put pancakes on his plate. Frank didn't see a problem with that, but couldn't be bothered to argue against it as he hummed around his fork and regretted his life intensely.)

He's pretty sure Lindsey's thrown him about, oh, seventeen fucking thousand worried glances so far, and they haven't even had a single class together yet- to be fair, most of them were in the last 7 minutes, since it's currently lunch and Frank is sitting alone, very aware of Lindsey's eyes on him. He feels like the entire school is concentrating on him, but that's just because he's being watched from all sides. Literally.

Bert McCracken is behind him- he knows this because he tried getting Frank's attention by throwing paper planes at him, which worked but only earned him a half assed glare because Frank couldn't be bothered to be actually annoyed. Bert did seem genuienly worried for a second but that could have just been Frank's imagination, which, yeah, it probably was.

Pete Wentz is off to his far left, half playing with the sleeve of Patrick Stump's argile sweater and half watching Frank studiously- which was fascinating, as he seemed equally engrossed in the conversation he was having with his friend as he was in watching Frank.

Lindsey and Ville are watching from the right, only a couple of tables away but far enough that Frank can't make out what they are whispering about, but he guesses that it's about him, as they aren't being nearly as sneaky as they can be with their intense stares and pointing fingers.

Frank also knows that Gerard is sitting right in front of him, tables away and all greasy hair and guilty face, but he also knows that he hasn't let himself look up in the last 8 minutes and 54 seconds and counting- he can't, he knows they would make eye contact, and there were only two plausible outcomes for that situation- and they both ended with murder, but with significantly different victims and vaguely different motives.

The vague thought of suicide crosses his mind, not serious and definitely not considering, but it lingers long enough that he pulls absent-mindedly on his sleeves and worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

Frank just hopes he gets through the day without lashing out.

-

That doesn't happen, of course- because God hates Frank, or Bert is just that much of an asshole. Frank's too tired to even consider the possibility that he may have over-reacted and it may have been his fault- he's surprised he's not too exhausted to blame it on Bert.

Paper planes, he can take. Little notes in Trig with things like, 'Trouble in Paradise? ;)' written on them, he can tolerate.

What he cannot stand, however, is the sight that meets him when he is late for Gym- again.

„Iero? How nice of you to join us,“ the teacher's voice is dripping with sarcasm, but his face is slightly concerned- perhaps it's because of how pale Frank looks or how he didn't start uttering apologies the minute he ran through the gym doors, „Meet up with some of those lockers again?“

Frank shakes his head and the coach sighs and nods his head to let him know he'll let him get away with it this time, though he does lower his voice when he suggests Frank should visit the school nurse if he's feeling poorly, but he once again shakes his head, and makes a bee line to grab a ball for whatever the fuck they're even supposed to be doing- he has no idea, because all he sees is Gerard and Bert being friendly, giggly, all noogies and no glance of worry on either of their faces, and his stomach just churns at the sight- it is not right, seeing Gerard so happy when he's so fucking miserable.

Once again- he blames it on Bert, because Bert is the one who spots him, and the one who whispers something into Gerard's ear that makes him go a whole shade paler than usual, before walking over to Frank, brushing it off as asking him for advice on whatever they're supposed to be doing when the teacher raises an eyebrow. Frank guesses Bert has no idea what they're supposed to be doing either because, a) he's got an entirely different type of ball than anyone else in his hands, and b) he's throwing it mindlessly against the wall, which, Frank is not sports person, but he guesses that that's not any kind of sport. Not one they'd be doing in a high school class, anyway.

„Hey, Iero,“ he says, showing off his stupidly white teeth that should not be that color on a person who consumes the amount of alcohol that Bert does (or pretends he does, anyway), „You alright? Look like you seen a ghost, or, you know, let a ghost slip away.“

There's something in the wink that follows that sentence that Frank will blame later on when he's convincing the principal that there is no need for her to contact his mom, and maybe it's the words that, even in the non existing echo of the gym filled with sweaty adolescent boys, have a hidden undertone that suggests Bert knows more than meets the eye- for whatever reason and whatever intention- Frank flings the basketball in his hands straight at Bert.

More specifically- his nose, that is now gushing blood as he's on the floor, still with that damn smirk on his face.
Frank's motionless for a good five seconds, and before he runs out of the damn room as fast as his feet carry him, he gets a faceful of a worried Gerard, which is maybe his reason for running out in the first place- but he will always find something else to blame, like always.

Notes

Hey, would you look at that- it's everyone's favorite spoof of 10 Things I Hate About You, with significantly more dick jokes and breaking the fourth wall!

This took a different turn than expected, but I've kept you guys waiting for long enough and when I started typing, this popped out, so.

Merry (delayed) Christmas, Milo, and I'm sorry that your present maybe contains a bit more emotional trauma that you expected it to.

-Rogue