Pretty In Punk

Frank goes into school the next morning with some explicit ideas as to how the day is going to go. At this point; he’s very adamant about inviting Mikey to sit at his lunch table. Why wouldn’t he be; Frank was a new student once, way back in sixth grade. He still remembers the swarming gorge that had been forming in his lower gut as he entered his new school for the first time. Where would Frank be today if it wasn’t for Brendon letting him into his circle? He wouldn’t be far; back in those days, he was short with strange hair (funny how these trends continue). To have been approached by the likes of Brendon Urie and his motley crew, to Frank, was the social equivalent of being handpicked in the lottery, only, instead of cash, he received a lot of unsolicited dick jokes and horseplay.
Empathizing with what Mikey must be feeling, Frank is set on a mission to be for Mikey what Brendon was to him some three years ago. Having suffered through all of his morning classes as usual, Frank immediately reaches the cafeteria with the specific intention of brightening Mikey’s day to try and make up for his own shitty morning.
Scanning the crowded room for the beanpole of a boy with birds’ nest hair, Frank finally finds him across the room. From where he’s sitting, he can recognize the subdued panic in Mikey’s hazel eyes as he clutches the straps of his backpack, his upper row of teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he contemplates where to sit.
Frank springs to his feet and waves the boy over, which prompts all of his oblivious friends to look at him like he’s some sort of idiot.
“Who are you waving at; you look like an idiot,” Brendon demands, mouth half-full of food.
“Yeah,” Pete chimes in. “You only have three friends and they’re all here. You aren’t fooling anyone.”
Frank rolls his eyes, explaining, “I’m inviting this new kid to our table.”
“Oh, don’t do that!” Pete protests. Brendon’s eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously. Josh is the only one to remain neutral, and Frank utilizes that fact.
“Josh, you know Mikey,” Frank reminds, desperate to try and get his friends to chill out.
“He’s in my art class; he seems nice enough,” Josh decides. He kicks Pete in the shin from under the table, scolding, “Don’t be such a little hobbit. Be nice.”
“Is that a short joke?” Pete asks, but Josh refuses to answer him. Mikey is making rounds to the table, so Frank makes a gesture out of moving his backpack on the seat beside him that was unoccupied to accommodate another person. Seeing this, Mikey sits himself down slowly, shifting his bag onto the floor as he settles in. “Hi.”
Frank nudges Mikey, getting the boy’s attention. He points to each of his friends, introducing, “That’s Brendon, there’s Pete, and Josh over there. Guys, this is Mikey.”
“We know he’s named Mikey,” Pete scowls. “You only talked about him for an hour.”
Mikey shoots Frank a questioning look as Brendon and Josh snicker, meanwhile, Pete just continues to fork through his potato salad as if he’d never said anything at all. Frank falls over himself trying to explain to his new acquaintance, “I swear, it wasn’t anything bad; I was just giving them a heads up.” Frank reaches across the table and swipes Pete’s phone from where it was sitting beside him, swinging it through the air as he adds, “These boys are kind of set in their routines.”
“Iero, surrender the phone or I will personally pile drive you into another plane of existence,” Pete threatens.
Frank sticks his tongue out, resulting in Pete slamming down his fork and heading over. Frank responds by transferring the phone into Josh’s lap under the table just as Pete’s arm wraps around his throat in a headlock. Laughing slightly, Frank strains to wheeze, “I don’t have it anymore!”
Pete shoves Frank away, then moving onto Josh, who passes it to Brendon before Pete can lay a finger on him, and Brendon just grins and locks eyes with Pete, raising the phone and waving it in the air mockingly. Pete rushes over and Brendon holds it from his reach, pushing Pete away with one arm as he passes it to Mikey. Pete stops, gazes at Mikey kinda vacantly, and Mikey instantly passes the phone back to its owner without a word.
A collective groan rises from the rest of the boys as Pete returns to his seat, beloved phone in hand.
“Thank you, Mikey. Good to know that one person at this table isn’t an asshole,” Pete jokes.
Mikey grins a little bit, answers, “Sure thing.”
“Mikey, are you into music?” Brendon asks.
Mikey’s eyes go huge as he nods. “Yeah, totally.”
Brendon bobs his head in approval. “What do you listen to?”
Mikey shrugs, listing off, “You know, some more punk and heavier stuff… the Misfits, Smashing Pumpkins, Iron Maiden.”
“OH SHIT!” Frank exclaims. “You did not just say the Misfits.”
Mikey’s brows knit, nodding slowly as he repeats, “Yeah, the Misfits.”
“That is mylike my favorite band to ever exist in the history of forever,” Frank gushes. He flaps a hand towards Brendon, sharing, “I always try to get our band to cover it, but Tyrant Urie can’t tackle those vocals.”
“Piss off, I could if I really tried!” Brendon snaps. “I just don’t want to.”
Frank shrugs, mumbling, “Just because you can’t scream.”
“Wait, you guys are in a band?” Mikey asks.
They all look at him and nod, which makes him light up. “Would you guys mind if I sat in on a practice? I’ll be good; I swear!”
The guys kinda sit there in stunned silence; they weren’t used to anyone even remotely caring about the fact that they are in a band, and here is this new kid, happy as a clam wanting to listen to them practice. Not perform, practice. It’s hard to tell him no.
“Go for it, Mikes,” Brendon decides. “We can always use a fresh set of ears.”
At that point, another figure looms over to their table in what looks like a dark cloud. It’s a lankier, pale boy wearing all black with dyed black hair. Frank can tell it’s dyed because, hello, nobody has hair that dark unless it came from a bottle. Frank can also tell that the boy’s heavy hazel eyes are framed underneath with some faintly smeared eyeliner, and a pack of cigarettes bulges slightly along with his phone out of one sagging pocket, dipping low enough to reveal a strip of grey underwear as he lifts his arm and snaps his fingers twice. “Mikey! What’s the plan?”
“I’m going with these guys,” Mikey tells him. “Butt out.”
The boy rolls his eyes, seemingly annoyed with the table’s new friend. “You need to help me with my math homework.”
Mikey groans, buries his head in the table.
“Who is this?” Pete asks. He leans across the table, licking his hand before extending it, which the kid looks at with moderate disgust before clapping Pete’s outer arm with his other hand. Frank doesn’t understand it what world that is the equivalent to a high five, but if it makes sense to this model of a boy, he’s sure he can get on board with it.
Mikey resurfaces, flicking some stray locks out of his face as he tells, “This is my older brother, Gerard.”
Gerard waves sorta awkwardly, stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So, what are we gonna do?”
“Can’t you get help from someone else?” Mikey begs.
Gerard frowns and is about to reiterate, when Frank offers, “Gerard, you can come with us if you want.” Pete shoots him the kind of look that a millionaire gives a breadline. Frank shrugs, mouths some words to his bass player, then returns his gaze to Gerard, who answers, “Why the hell not.”
“Cool,” Josh chirps. The table continues to talk, introducing each other and cracking jokes, only, Frank is distracted. By Gerard, that is. Frank’s always been attracted to boys; there was no doubt there, but this was the first time a crush had developed so intensely so quickly. What is it about him, Frank doesn’t know, and most of him doesn’t want to. All he knows is that he better do a fantastic fucking job playing guitar after school if he wants to impress this guy.
Glancing up momentarily, Frank catches Gerard’s green eyes, and that motherfucker has the audacity to allow a subtle smile to pull up at his lips. Frank smiles back dumbly; he really can’t think when it comes to cute boys, and Gerard sort of chuckles to himself before returning his attention back to whoever else was speaking. Frank sits there, twitches his nose, realizes that for setting in some potential future dating groundwork with the boy, he’s off to a bad start.

Notes

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