He's Not Dead He Only Looks That Way

Frank isn’t very concerned about Gerard’s words overnight, where he sleeps. The two wake up in the morning, and with Gerard next to him, Frank can actually smile at the beginning of a school day.
He and Gerard even arrive at school early, early enough to actually sit with Pete (fresh from morning cross country practice) in the cafeteria and have breakfast.
Pete eats like he’s dying, wolfing down muffins and donuts and a total of four cartons of milk. He explains between mouthfuls that this is what running does to you; it turns you into an animal, a distorted beast of your past self.
Frank nods, not understanding the point of running if you’re going to eat and gain every calorie back. He sips on his juice and tears away at his waffle sticks slowly, stuffing bits of bread into his mouth.
He’s not very hungry. He’s a little nervous that other kids have found out about his relationship with Gerard. Upon walking in, they had received a few stares, and when Frank sat down, he noticed an entire table of freshman with their eyes glued on him, talking in hushed tones.
His stomach rolls, and so he stuffs the remains of his breakfast into one of Pete’s empty milk cartons, tossing it into a nearby trash.
They hang out in the cafeteria until the bell rings, spanning the three teens across the floors of the building.
Frank takes his seat at the front of the room, not daring to meet the eyes of anyone.
The bell rings, and thus Mr. Garrison starts writing a gospel’s worth of information about geometry on the board, mumbling to himself.
This is when Frank starts to hear the whispering.
It starts off with him hearing his name but brushing it off as nothing. However, after the fourth time, he’s pretty sure he’s being talked about, literally behind his back.
His eyes start to wander as the whispering grows louder, and they meet the gaze of Derek, a football player in the grade above Frank. Derek glances over to the teacher before swiftly giving Frank a blow job gesture, then mouthing, ‘fag’.
The muffled snickering that ensues is almost deafening, and Frank retaliates by flipping the boy off with a scowl.
The boy responds as though Frank had murdered his family, hissing angrily, “The little shit flipped me off!”
The first spitball hits Frank’s shoulder. Frank turns his head slightly, flicking off the offending speck. He’s then hit by several more, all coming from the desks of Derek and his nearby friends. A big one hits his neck, and he gives up on picking them off, eventually feeling decorated as a Christmas tree.
They get discouraged when his reaction stops, so they opt to flick thumbtacks at him instead.
Frank’s throat starts to swell with tears, and he finds himself looking up to force them back. The bell rings and he rushes out of the room, despite the fact that he’s in that same classroom the succeeding period.
In his desperate haste, he rushes into the boys’ room, despite the fact that he’s being tailed by Derek and his posse.
Frank runs inside, banging on each stall door urgently to assure no one’s in there. Little does he know, anyone else being in there would prove useful.
Derek kicks the door open, sauntering in with his friends flanking him.
“Kick his ass,” one encourages.
Derek prowls over, and Frank heads for a stall, to be grabbed by the back of his shirt and roughly pulled back, making him choke and cough.
He’s given no time to recover; he’s promptly punched in the gut by the boy, who lets Frank drop to the floor.
Frank, biting back tears and struggling for breath, lies on his stomach, his arms wrapped protectively over his middle. Derek crouches down closer to him, growling, “You’re a fucking freak, Iero.” He spits on Frank, standing slowly. “Come on,” Derek orders. “We don’t want this little faggot to make us late.”
The boys hurry off to their next classes, leaving Frank on the floor, winded, and crying, with bodily fluid dripping down his cheek. He staggers to his feet, limping to the paper towels and using one to wipe the saliva off his face.
Sluggishly proceeding to his next class, he hardly makes it on time, despite the fact that it was in that same classroom. He sits in the back of the class, not saying a word the entire period, his head ducked and eyes fixed onto his lap.
His phone goes off in third period, the message ‘you’re a faggot’ flashing across his screen. He sighs, texting back, ‘who is this’, only to receive the text, ‘blow me’.
Frank rolls his eyes, turning his phone off of vibrate and to silent. When he checks it at lunch, he has a total of 8 messages all from unidentifiable numbers, which he deletes without reading.
“Frank, you alright?” Gerard asks.
“Yeah, why?” Frank lies.
“You seem tense,” Gerard mumbles, glancing from person to person.
“I’m fine,” Frank mutters, digging his phone back into his pocket. He sets his head on Gerard’s shoulder, groaning, “I’m just tired.”
“Welcome to being a high school student,” Mikey scoffs. “Pick up your condom and Adderall at the door.”
Gerard laughs, running a hand through Frank’s hair.
Mikey’s eyes go up past Gerard’s head, and he warns, “Gerard, there’s some douchebags coming.”
Gerard turns his head, sizing up the boys approaching them. Gerard could easily take any one of them in a fight, but all four of them, that would be a different story.
“Hey, Iero!” one of them calls.
Frank clenches up, burying his face further into his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Gerard…”
“Iero!” he repeats, more stern than last time. He bends over, spitting, “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Gerard rises, planting himself in front of Frank. “You look at me, shithead. Fucking leave him alone before you get hit.”
His friends come in closer, one of them pushing Gerard.
The kid scoffs, towering over Gerard. “And who’s going to hit me? Gerard Faggotface Way?”
Gerard curls his hand into a fist, fuming.
“Gerard, the teacher’s looking,” Frank whispers, eyebrows knitted.
“Twink boy’s got a point,” the taller boy smirks, backing off. “Let’s go, guys.” The pack of teens head back in the direction they had come from.
“You had a rough morning, didn’t you?” Gerard questions.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Frank murmurs, picking at his fingernails.
Gerard places a hand on Frank’s knee under the table, and the gesture calms him down, enough so that he can make it through the rest of the day.

Notes

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