25 Reasons Why I Hate You

Monday went by in avoiding Gerard, Tuesday went by in fighting with Lindsey, Wednesday went by in avoiding Bert, Thursday went by in fighting with Lindsey, Friday went by in all those things combined plus getting shoved into a fucking locker and Frank can fucking swear it was fucking Andy's work. Now it's Saturday, oh bloody Saturday, and all he wants is to do is get moped and thrown into a trash can along with all the dust in his bedroom. Oh, and did he mention that his front door opened like approximately 10 minutes ago and that his parents welcomed a few of their old friends inside? Why would he, you might ask. Maybe because those old fucking friends are the fucking nest of Satan himself.

„Frankie, are you ever coming out of that room?“ The voice is followed by a useless knock at the door; no way in Hell is he going out there. Right now, the last thing he needs is Mr. I-Still-Love-You-Let's-Pretend-Like-It-Never-Happened in his house, or across the table from him, or anywhere that isn't on the other side of the mother fucking world. He really isn't in the mood to look at him, to talk to him, to feel his presence in his living space. He literally wants him to disappear, poof, like a snowball in the sun. Yes. He wants Gerard to melt into water like a fucking snowball and then fucking dry in the fucking sun and to never fucking exist again.

Fuck his mom and fuck his dad and fuck Gerard and fuck Gerard's little brother and his mom and dad and everyone who agreed to go along with this.
Of course, Frank didn't know about this until about, what, 10 minutes before the Way family actually came over? Naturally. Because his parents forgot that they had a son, or just liked to fuck with Frank's emotions. Worst case scenario; both. He just wants to jump off some cliff like those hot dudes in badass action movies and make everyone think he's dead when he's actually chilling somewhere in Hawaii with pretty Hawaiian people feeding him pineapples.

Now Frank is on the floor, leaning against his door (even though it is already barricaded, but you can never be too sure) and probably has dark lines running down his cheeks, because screw gender stereotypes. If Pete Wentz can pull it off, so can he, and Pete Wentz is straight. Okay, he's probably not straight, but he's totally fucking closeted so it doesn't matter.
Frank is already over the crying phase, but now he feels like he could smash something (someone) against the wall and break it (him) into tiny little pieces so he never has to see it (him) again. He already has a plan in his head, whose title is „How to kill fucking Gerard fucking Way“ written in bold underlined letters. He can't deny the fact that the plan contains tiny bits of necrophilia but he doesn't care, it's still just in his head. He totally didn't write it down and isn't currently keeping it inside his desk drawer beside the lube and condoms he never got to use because he hasn't brought anyone home in over a year. Ha, totally not painfully pathetic.

„Frank.. Please?“ He only realizes his mom is still on the other side of the door, and what the crap is he gonna do if she starts crying? Or, worse, maybe she'll get his dad to knock the door down. Probably not. She's also talking with a really careful ring to her voice and he's now kinda afraid because, fuck him if his mom isn't into some telepathy shenanigans- don't get him wrong, she's like full on Catholic, but she's probably a witch, too, as far as Frank can tell- and he was thinking about fucking the goddamn brains out of fucking Gerard's dead body, like, two seconds ago.

„Fine. If I kill anyone tonight, don't call 911.“ His mother sighs in relief and practically fucking leaps down the stairs, if the creaking noises are anything to go by. Huh. At least no one scolded him for having fantasies about fucking dead people. Literally fucking. Heh.

Frank actually gets up and looks into the mirror; he looks like a zombie, but nowhere near as cool. Now his head is literally echoing with Dolores O'Riodan's voice and he can't seem to stop thinking about it and how perfect that song is. And then he mentally punches himself because that fucking song is literally the song he and Gerard went around fucking singing on his birthday in sixth grade because it was Halloween and they were both dressed up as fucking zombies.
He is also wearing a washed out Poison shirt, which, considering he didn't really remember buying, is kind of weird but it could easily be his dad's. His sweatpants are decent, they are gray and low waisted, nothing special but they have no stains on them, so he counts that as a win.
He also considers wiping his face off, but out of sheer spite decides not to. Gerard deserves to know the things he's done to Frank, and so does everyone else. Well, maybe he'll tell a different story, but Gerard can go screw himself if he thinks Frank is just gonna let this go like it's no big deal. Frank is too fucking stupidly proud not to make a fucking scene. Everyone knows that. It's literally the only thing that's keeping him from crawling back into Lindsey's arms praying for forgiveness for calling her a 'cold-hearted bitch' the other day. Even though she kinda is a cold-hearted bitch.

When he calms himself the best he can, he takes a deep breath and opens the door. He and Gerard are both going to get emotionally unstable tonight, and Frank already had his fair share. He starts going down the stairs and prays to God he doesn't smash Gerard's face the second he sees him.

He can feel all of the eyes on him when he steps off of the stairs and into the dining room. His mom looks vaguely concerned (he still doubts it's because she knows he secretly wants to fuck Gerard's dead body, when he's like, y'know, gotten what he deserves) but also like she is just glad he actually got out of the room; his dad is eying the make-up, of fucking course, he looks like a member of Misfits (not that he has a problem with that); Gerard's mom looks delighted and Gerard's dad looks like he's trying to remember who this emo kid is. (and failing miserably, apparently)
Frank can also see Gerard and his brother- Mikey, he remembers, the nerdy kid with the weird hair and semi-cool glasses- exchanging glances. He sneers to himself; he probably told the little shit all about it and now he's helping him set up a plan to win Frank over, or whatever. Frank hasn't really thought about the possibility that Gerard is actually genuinely sorry, but he doesn't give a shit because 'sorry' isn't gonna make anything better.

Frank stands there for a couple of seconds before remembering what he is supposed to be doing, smiling (though it looks more like a grimace than anything else, really, and is probably creeping the fuck out of poor Donna who obviously has no idea what the fuck is going on, Frank can swear to fuck that woman is high all the freaking time) and then sitting down, hoping everyone will just stop fucking staring at him like he is the eight wonder of the fucking world.

"Frank," his dad is the first to talk to him as he grabs the fork, struggling not to fling it at Gerard.

"Yeah?" He mumbles, not bothering to look up- he's not in the mood to glare at Gerard with bloodshot eyes and a teary face. That would seem like he's admitting that it's Gerard who got him all worked up like this, and he might as well kill himself rather than do that.

"Why is your face all... smudged?" He sounds kind of careful, like he is trying to ease the tension, but he's only increasing it. Thanks dad, Frank thinks to himself.

"Ask Gerard," he says before he's able to stop himself.

"Wh-" his dad starts, but gets interrupted by, surprisingly, Mikey.

"Yeah, because he's obviously the one to blame here," Mikey raises a daring eyebrow at Frank and suddenly, all Frank wants to do is strangle the kid.

"Frank?" His dad sounds even more cautious now, subtly (not really, even Frank can see his trying to use his non-existent deduction skills) looking at all three boys; Frank is clutching his fork; Gerard is fumbling with his hands and Mikey's face looks as blank as always. That kid looks like he could challenge Frank in a fucking gladiator fight and fuck him if that's not scary. And he's like, what, thirteen?

"Do we really have to have this conversation right now?" Frank is not even sure who the question is directed to, but he sure as Hell wasn't expecting Gerard's mom to answer.

"We don't, but you two need to work this out," she speaks calmly, chewing on her food, "This is great, by the way, Linda,“ She smiles warmly and they carry on talking.

I thought he didn't tell anyone, Frank thinks to himself. Well, obviously Mikey knows, but his mom seems to be onto something, even though Frank does not recall Gerard being that close to his mother.

-

The „fight“ (discussion?) seems to be forgotten, but the tension is still thick in the air as the mothers are in the kitchen, washing up, and their dads are still in the dining room, talking about politics, or sport, or something else that Frank couldn't give less of a fuck about. (not that he doesn't care about politics, it's just not the most common conversational subject for Frank, since he usually talks about music or horror movies or boys and.. yeah, the list is pretty long.)

However, this means that the rest of them (which is what Frank mentally refers to himself, Mikey and Gerard as) are left sitting in the living room.
Gerard and Mikey are on the couch, and Frank is sitting on the armchair, trying to disappear into himself (and failing).

„You know you can't just not talk forever, right?“ Mikey mumbles, which earns him a kick in the shin from Gerard and a raised eyebrow from Frank.

„I can try,“ Frank grumbles back, wishing he had a hoodie he could just pull up and pretend like he doesn't exist. Like he does in Maths. Mr. Brown has no idea Frank even attends that fucking class, and he's been attending it for three years now.

„Ha! You just did, so technically, you failed at your task,“ and Frank just couldn't believe how smug Mikey looks. Frank rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

„I'm talking to you, yes. Never had a problem with that. I, however, do have a problem with.. your brother,“ he all but spits out.

„Yeah? Why is that so?“ Mikey muses. Frank takes a quick look at Gerard and a second before all he can see is a flash of red, he notices how pained the boy looks. He brought it onto himself, Frank thinks bitterly.

„Ask him, he's the one who fucking started the whole fucking thing,“ Frank doesn't even want to swear, the shit is just coming out of his mouth. No pun intended there. Gerard now looks even more pained and it kinda hurts Frank's chest for some unknown reason. Maybe he's having a heart attack or something. He'd be grateful for that, though, if it means he'd get away from this fucking situation. Mikey, on the other hand, looks pissed as fuck and Frank's mind is filled with gladiators again. „You know what?“ Frank continues, „I don't care.“

„You wouldn't be so flustered if you didn't care.“ Mikey simply states, and Frank is ready to rip his fucking throat out because he knows Mikey is probably right, but he will never admit it. Fucking never.

Notes

This chapter was barely written by me, okay, so give Milo all the credit and stuffz, they're a lifesaver, seriously.

But yeah, extremely honest A/N time:
In all honesty, I'm so sorry for the long wait and the fact I barely wrote this, my words just didn't make sense and yeah, extremely sorry.

-Rogue