All We Need is Daylight

Frank is nothing but numb. He feels empty, he feels broken. He doesn’t feel like he even has enough emotions left to give. It’s like he’s wearing a mask that he can’t take off and no matter how hard he may try, things aren’t getting any better. They aren’t getting any less, either. Frank had hoped, at least with some part of him, that maybe time would make things wear away, would erode the pain like a sea eroding a beach. He knows these things take time, but that time is passing all too slowly.

It’s been three days. Not only has he refused to get out of bed, he also refuses to talk to anyone. Ray has tried, honestly he has, and Mikey even attempted to physically pull him out of bed himself, but nothing that anyone can do will make him get out. Pete’s sad face mixed with those big puppy dog eyes that he’s sure must drive Patrick up the wall and back and then up it again are still no match for Frank’s despair, and that’s saying something, because Pete’s got the biggest, brownest, softest eyes imaginable. Except of course, for Gerard, whose light hazel eyes roast Frank from within and then set him on fire.

Gerard’s the only one who hasn’t come to see him. Gerard’s also the only one who might be able to get Frank to talk to somebody, but even that eventuality seems unlikely. Since he stepped out of the doctors office on Monday night, or rather, early Tuesday morning, he hasn’t said a word to anyone. He doesn’t intend to anytime either.

Frank is, for all intense and purposes, gone. He won’t speak to anyone, won’t even glance at people who walk into the room. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Ray will walk in and he’ll be glaring up at the ceiling, and then four hours later, he’ll find Frank looking at the same part of the ceiling. But he’s awake. Throughout every single second, it seems that Frank is awake. He’s awake at night, in the morning, afternoons, evenings. Ray’s only seen him sleep once in the past three days, and even then, all it took was Ray coughing a bit too loud and Frank was awake in a flash. It’s like he’s prepared for the worst, every single sound he hears is one that prepares him for war.

Ray doesn’t know what happened, he hasn’t even a clue. He’s long since given up on trying to get Frank to talk, because it’s clear that Frank doesn’t want to talk. Ray hasn’t heard his voice in what seems like years. He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed it. He likes Frank, quite a bit actually. Frank is probably the roommate of Ray’s dreams. They like all the same music, come from right around the same area of New Jersey, both have an insatiable hunger for gory horror movies, and more to the point, Frank’s funny, creative, and most of all a kind person. It’s felt like there’s a vacancy in Ray’s life ever since Monday, like something checked out, and it just hasn’t been the same since.

Ray is not the only one to have noticed that. Though Frank may not realize it, and in fact, he hasn’t even a single clue, there’s definitely a lull in the air when he’s not around. Frank adds something. Frank is like a spark that set ablaze a world of colors, and it’s not just on the team. Lunches, dinners, even walks through campus aren’t the same. Everything is just off. It’s just wrong.

Frank hasn’t gone to a single class since Monday. He hasn’t touched a textbook, a computer, or even his phone. He hasn’t even considered going to practice, let alone actually attended.

It’s hard to believe, but Frank truly has spent the last three days doing absolutely nothing. He’s lied in his bed, wishing, wanting for sleep, and it hasn’t come in anything more than twenty-minute naps which he’s woken from when a villainous face with fierce eyebrows invades his dreams.

It’s like his only activity the past few days has been to lie around, look at the ceiling, and contemplate something. Occasionally he’ll cry, and he’s tried to hide it from Ray, but he does it enough that it’s unavoidable for him not to have heard. Frank cries a lot. He never really stops. People will look in on him and even when they don’t think he’s crying, there’s still a few silent tears. Something is gravely wrong, and there’s nothing that anyone can think to do about it.

Frank’s sure he’s dehydrated. All he’s done is sleep, sneak out for food and bathroom breaks, and then return to the cocoon of his bed. He’s starting to smell. He doesn’t care. People are growing increasingly worried about him. He doesn’t care. He’s getting emails from his professors, asking him why he’s not been in class for several days with no notice. He doesn’t care. The team is getting anxious, they’ve got a game tomorrow. Frank doesn’t care.

Ray will talk at him every now and again. Update him on what’s going on in the world, tell him about some of the assignments that he’s missing, or details about lectures he didn’t attend. He talks about the team a lot, but Frank blocks that out. He doesn’t want to hear about hockey, doesn’t want to hear about Morgan, or Mikey, or Gerard, or anyone really. Frank just wants to sit in his own silence and stew in his own misery.

He’s been doing nothing but that recently.

Frank has a rather eventful Thursday evening, with not one but two guests. The day starts off the same as all the rest. He lies in his bed, eyes having gauged out circles into his skull, from lack of sleep, or crying, or both. Everything passes as usual. Ray leaves around eleven for his first class, comes back an hour later, eyes Frank with either worry or pity before he leaves again, not returning for several hours this time. When Ray does come back that night, he settles down into his desk for his usual one-way conversation with Frank. Ray worries that it’ll eventually become a habit he’ll have to get used to.

“So, you’ve gotta read chapters twelve and thirteen by Monday. And, last night the Wild beat the Devils by two goals. Pretty sure one of the Kardashians was in the news, though I couldn’t tell you what for, probably something inconsequential. We got a little snow today, but it’s not supposed to last. Global warming, and the works, you know? The weather was pretty nice though, almost warm, you could go outside without a jacket, at least. It might even rain tomorrow, which would be cool, I guess, but it’s not supposed to rain in November, is it? Practice was tougher than usual, because Coach is working us extra hard since you’re not there. The whole team is worried about you, they want to know when you’ll be back, because we’re not going to survive tomorrow without you. It’s just a game, though, I’m sure we’ll do okay if we lose just the one game. Pete misses you especially, you know how he gets, he’s like cling film.”

Frank does know how he gets, Pete has visited him about four times a day for the past three days. He doesn’t say much, talks about hockey, bands, tells him he’s worried and how Patrick is really sorry if Frank’s behavior has anything to do with the article. Then Pete will sigh somberly, and leave, closing the door gently behind him. It’s kind of heartbreaking. It’s nothing compared to what Frank has to go through at every second of his miserable fucking life though.

“Gerard keeps asking about you. He said he wants to talk to you whenever you got the chance, even if you just text him. He wants to know if you’re sick, because he says it’s alright to take a few days off, but that the team really needs you. And he’s not wrong, you know, we really do. It feels like we’re missing a screw, you know? The whole team is hurting without you there, it doesn’t even feel like we’re a team right now, because somehow, you’re the glue that holds us together. We’re just a bunch of guys playing with sticks on the ice without you. But when you’re there, everything comes together. It’s alright if you have to miss the game tomorrow, Gerard said he would just like the heads up.”

Frank doesn’t say anything, but he turns his back to the wall.

Ray sighs, somberly, his head falling down between his shoulders, as he shakes it, wondering what could possibly have happened to have made Frank act this way. Frank is a little sensitive, that has always been fairly obvious, but whatever has happened to him has transcended everything. Whatever it was must have been enormous, monumental. Ray is worried Frank may never come back. Not only to the team, but as a person. It’s like his soul has been lost in the river Styx, and Ray just doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get it back out.

“I really hope you’re okay,” Ray says softly, looking at Frank who’s nothing more than a lump in his sheets from the angle Ray is sitting. He sighs dejectedly and turns his gaze away from Frank, but his attention never swerves.

The two of them sit in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of Ray flipping pages in his textbook every now and again to fill the room.

There comes, at about half past nine, a knock on the door. Ray’s head perks up instantly, but Frank doesn’t so much as blink. Ray assumes it’s another well-wisher for Frank, as every knock on the door for the past three days has been. When he opens the door, he’s not surprised to see Gerard looking back at him from the other side.

“Hey, Ray,” Gerard says, “Frank is… oh there he is.” Gerard starts, apparently peering around before he sees Frank in his bed, not looking back. Until he hears the voice, he doesn’t even know it’s Gerard at the door. Nor does he overly care.

“You can try, but, he’s not talked to me since Monday.”

Gerard nods, and then he walks over to Frank’s bed, and tries to peer up into it, but he can’t, as Frank’s too far up, and Gerard’s not particularly tall to begin with.

Ray gestures around and then leaves the room, leaving the door ajar behind him, hoping that Gerard will have better luck with him than Ray has had. Gerard and Frank do have a special connection that Ray doesn’t share with either of them, though he couldn’t put a name to what that connection actually is.

“Hey Frank,” Gerard starts, looking up at the lofted bed, trying to find signs of any motion at all to confirm that Frank is at least breathing. There’s nothing. Gerard makes a sad sound.

“So, you’ve missed practice for three days, which you know already. I’m not mad at you, I want you to know that. No one is mad at you, not even Coach. We all know you’re going through something right now, and whatever it is, we just hope you make it out of things alright. Especially me, Frank.”

Frank wants to smile, because Gerard’s words are always so kind, and his voice, which isn’t quite like caramel, but a little bit more like honey, is something that never fails to fill Frank with joy. Except for right now. Even Gerard’s voice isn’t enough to pull him out of the hole he’s dug himself into. He feels like his life has been pushed to the bottom of a crater, and even Gerard, who’s offering him a ladder to pull himself back up, isn’t enough.

“I don’t know how to describe it, Frank, but the world seems to have lost some of its beauty without you in it. Like, everything has become monochrome. Birds sing a little less loudly, and the earth spins a little slower, like it’s waiting for you to come back and doesn’t want to waste too much time turning without you in it. My life especially, fuck, it doesn’t feel right without you there. Not just on the team, or anything, no, I just miss, like, I miss just seeing you. Casually, I guess. You’ve become one of my best friends, and I don’t know how you’ve managed to do that, because I’ve known you about a month, and it took me at least six months to warm up even to Pete. You’ve met Pete, he’s like a fucking lap dog, he attaches himself to everything, but still, even him, he hasn’t, like, grown on me in quite the same way you have, and I don’t know why.” That last bit is a lie. Gerard does know why. It’s because Frank is quite possibly the love of his life, but he’s definitely not about to tell him that, especially not when he’s in such a delicate state as he is right now.

“If we’re getting serious about things, Frank, I don’t really care about the team. It’s not… it’s just not important in the end. It’s a game. A trophy or not, it’s still a game. So is hockey, really. That’s not what matters to me. I mean, obviously it does, but not like, not more than you do. Frank, like I said, you’ve become a really close friend of mine recently, one of the best I’ve ever had, and like, I want you to be happy. To just be okay. Okay is all I need from you, but right now, you’re not that, and it kind of kills me.”

Gerard stirs, playing with his feet, but Frank doesn’t take any notice. Gerard seems uncomfortable not necessarily with Frank, he’s just uncomfortable. It can’t be easy for anyone to see him like this, not Gerard, not Ray, not anyone. Their discomfort doesn’t hold a candle to Frank’s, though, so it’s just something they’re going to have to live with.

“The reason I’ve taken so long to come and see you is because I’ve just been so scared to see you like this. I heard things were bad, but I didn’t want to have to see you looking so down. I know that things can get tough sometimes, things can get harder than you ever thought they could, but I know that you are strong, Frank. I know it, because you’ve proven that much to me a million times over. You’re the best goddamn hockey player I know, and one of the best people I know. Sometimes… I think you’re something more than just a friend to me,” Gerard says that, and then instantly regrets it, turning a bright shade of red, and hoping that that didn’t sound as gay as it did in his head. It did sound pretty gay though.

Gerard hurries to cover up the words by spewing out more to take Frank’s mind off of the fact that technically Gerard just admitted to liking him. Frank hasn’t moved an inch since Gerard walked into the room, though, so there’s a chance he’s talking to an asleep Frank. Maybe Frank being asleep will be a good thing for Gerard, though, because he’s letting a lot of his heart and soul out in this tiny little dorm room, and he doesn’t like being so vulnerable. He feels like a cub, alone in the wild, with even the trees looming over him like ominous predators. Frank does that to him, not just now, but all the time.

“You’re just too valuable to this world to let this beat you, whatever it is. I’m sure that it warrants this, I have no doubt about that, because you are so strong. So, I also know that you can push past this. You’ll come out on the other side, and the team will be ready to have you back when you can. If it’s a few days, or even a few weeks, we’ll still have you back. But just know that, we- I, especially I, am not angry with you. You need to do what you need to do. Be who you need to be. Just know that, like, you’ll always be welcomed back, and that I am always, always rooting for you.”

Frank can’t see it, but he can tell when Gerard gives him a small, sad smile. It uppercuts his insides like a sword that goes all the way through. It’s painful, and it’s not fair that Gerard can make him feel even worse than he already does. Gerard is supposed to make everything better. Gerard is supposed to make Frank smile, and make him happy, and yet, every time he’s near the guy it’s like he only does the opposite.

It’s not Gerard’s fault, to be fair. Gerard’s a good person, too good in fact, which is why Frank always feels like shit when he’s around him. Frank is in love with the guy. Far past in love with the guy. If Gerard asked Frank to marry him tomorrow, Frank will have said yes three weeks ago. The reason it hurts to be around him is because Frank wants him so bad and he doesn’t have him. He wants Gerard’s everything. He wants his love, and his affection. He wants Gerard’s jokes, even the bad ones. He wants to be in his apartment all day with horror movies, or under a blanket fort when the power goes out. He wants his good hair days and his bad hair days. He wants to scream at the TV with him when the Devils are losing, and throw shoes at it when the Blackhawks are winning. He wants Gerard for his morning breath, and for his bad habits. He wants to have arguments with Gerard about him throwing clothes all over the bedroom, and he wants to cry next to him in movie theaters, and he just wants everything to be simple. He wants Gerard, and things couldn’t get any simpler than that.

Frank wants a little apartment in a new city, their own little nook of the world. He wants it to be small, wants it to have loud neighbors who they complain about while they’re making dinner.

He wants not to be here. Frank wants for everything that’s happened the past few days to have never happened. He wants an alternate future, one with Gerard where nothing terrible has happened. He wants Gerard, and he wants to be in the NHL, and he wants to walk down the street holding Gerard’s hand and see a little girl wearing a jersey with his name on it as he passes by.

Frank wants to escape. He wants to run away from here, far far away. He wants to start a new life. He wants a new school, new interests, new loves and new hates. He wants to take some things with him. He wants to take his friends, wants to take his mom, and most of all, he wants to take Gerard.

But Frank can’t have that. He can’t even have the simple little life with Gerard in a tiny apartment. He can’t have any of it. Frank can’t even have happiness. Can’t have contentedness. He can’t even feel okay. Morgan took it all away from him. What he has left Frank with is hollowness.

Frank is in a constant state of hollowness and finality. He feels like the moment after you scream into a canyon, those minutes following a big long scream into an empty valley or crevice of the world. The sound reverberates off of the landscape, and then there’s just quiet. Nothing happens, everything is still, you’re just hearing the mimicry of your voice along the surface of the plains and then it goes, further, further, until it’s gone. Then there is nothing, not even the sounds of nature. It’s a vacant, decisive sort of feeling. Somehow, it hurts.

Left alone to only his thoughts, it feels like years pass by in his head. Every single second of every day has felt like an eon. He feels like Gandalf after being killed by the Balrog. Everything is eternal. Years pass by him, when in reality, it’s only a few moments.

There’s a long moment, which feels longer for Frank, where Gerard just stands there, looking around the room, looking at the lump in the sheets that might be Frank, or could easily just be a well-placed pillow. There’s no sound, no shuffling, no breathing, it’s like there’s no living thing at all in the bed, or even in the room. Eventually, Gerard gives up, he sighs sadly, in a way that hurts Frank more than he thinks he can bare, and he makes for the door.

As Frank lets his thoughts settle for what feels like years, but is really only a couple of seconds, he can hear the sound of someone rushing past Gerard who’s exiting back through the doorway. Gerard rushes an “excuse me” and Frank doesn’t lift his head up because he assumes it’s Ray returning from wherever he ran off to.

Frank is more than surprised then, when he hears the door close behind Gerard but the voice that follows it is not that of Ray’s at all. It’s a familiar voice, but not one Frank knows well, and he’s so startled by it that he has to lift his head up to see if his ears are deceiving him.

Standing just below him, a foot or two into the door, stands Brendon, probably the only person in the world who Frank never thought he’d see in this room, short maybe of the Queen or the ghost of Al Capone. Frank furrows his eyebrows together, looking at Brendon who spares no time for casualties before he erupts into words.

“Hey, Frank, so I know you know who I am, or at least I fucking hope you do cause I’m on the same team as you, but anyway, there’s some things we’ve got to talk about. Or at least, I’ll talk and you’ll listen, as I hear you don’t do a lot of talking these days, and I suppose I understand because I know exactly what you’re going through.”

His words throw Frank off, and the fact that they’re coming from the guy on the team that Frank can honestly say he knows the least about is what makes it all the stranger. Frank honestly knows more about Morgan than he does about Brendon. A quick google search will tell you that Morgan’s dad owns a law firm in Atlanta, Georgia and could probably buy this entire school if he so wished to. Googling Brendon’s name just brings up a private Facebook page.

Frank doesn’t say anything to Brendon though, he just glares directly back at him, confusion clear on his face, and Brendon should count himself lucky, because it’s the closest thing to communication that Frank has offered anyone in about 72 hours.

“Listen, Frank, I know I don’t really talk to any of you that much, and it’s not because of some big huge riddle that you gotta work out, I just don’t really like to hang out with jocks, because in general, you’re all dicks. No offense, I’m sure not all jocks are dicks, it’s just that I’ve met a whole bunch of shitty hockey players, and not a whole heck of a lot of nice hockey players, so I’m really playing the odds here. I’m doing hockey for the scholarship, nothing else, okay? Hockey just means school is cheaper, I don’t want to make friends with the team, I just want to stay under the radar, get myself a degree that my mom will be happy to put on the refrigerator, and move on with my life. Now, unfortunately, for god knows why, everything has all fucking blown up. I can’t stay under the radar now, because everyone’s all out there screaming bloody murder over some shitty ass stuff that doesn’t fucking matter.”

Frank is barely able to keep up with Brendon at all at the rate he’s talking. Frank doesn’t process words as fast as Brendon is saying them. Nevertheless, he does his best to keep up, but it’s like a little kid running after a car on the highway.

“But anyway, this is a longwinded way of saying that, fuck, I know it’s hard. Believe me do I know. I know how tough things can be, and now, they’re getting all the worse, because Frank, oh fuck, I don’t want to say it but I’m going to anyway because I think you need to hear it. I know what happened to you, Frank,” Brendon says, resolutely, and Frank’s heart stops. Like, he can actually feel the beating halt, and it’s like the air around him is sucked out of him too. He doesn’t know where it could have gone off too.

How could Brendon know? Was Brendon there? Was he in the locker room, in the arena? If so, why didn’t he stop it? Maybe Brendon followed him to the doctor? Maybe he read his fucking mind? Maybe Brendon’s just a Holmes in disguise. Whatever the means he used to find out, Brendon knowing is not good. Maybe he doesn’t even know, though. Maybe Brendon just thinks Frank got beat up. He does have a pretty nasty cut on his head, and several bruises up and down his arms and legs, but no one has really noticed either. His hair does cover up most of the redness on his head, and he’s been under the covers for three days, so no one has seen anything further than his neck, besides the rare straggler that spied him slipping off to a vending machine or the bathroom. What could Brendon suspect that’s not the truth though, if it’s not that? Maybe he just knows that Morgan is on his trail. Maybe that’s what this is about.

“If you’re wondering how I know, the truth is,” Brendon sighs, and he looks up at Frank, his words slowing down now as if it takes a great weight to so much as utter them. “The truth is, he did it to me, too.”

Frank is aghast, and his face shows it. He can practically see his own shock reflected in Brendon’s eyes, even from several feet away. There is nothing on earth he expected to hear less than what Brendon just said.

Frank doesn’t even consider that Brendon could be talking about something else at this point, because the only thought he has in his own head is that this is unreal. It’s like finding out the tornado that tore threw your house also ripped apart an entire city. This can’t have happen. Not twice. Not to Brendon. Brendon was… he couldn’t have been. And by Morgan? When? Why didn’t he tell anyone? What is he still doing on the team? Why didn’t he disappear like Frank has? What is he even doing right now, how is he able to just talk about this? Why isn’t Morgan in a prison cell? Is Frank the first person he’s told, or did Brendon go to the hospital just like Frank has? One of the most pivotal questions that Frank has which he knows is probably selfish, but he doesn’t care that much: why didn’t Brendon warn him? If it happened to him, and he had about two weeks to prepare Frank for the storm, why is it that Frank is only finding out after the fact?

“I know that’s a hard thing for you to believe, and it’s a harder thing for me to say, but it’s true. He did the same thing to me. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come in here and tell you that since about Tuesday when you didn’t show up for practice, because I just knew. I just fucking knew that he’d done it again, and I don’t know how to tell you that I’m sorry, because I should’ve stopped it from happening. I should have, I don’t know, I should have told the school board, or the cops, or you, or fucking anyone, but I didn’t and there’s a simple reason for why I didn’t. I’m a fucking coward, Frank. I just, I chickened out, I ran scared, I’ve just been so, I’ve been embarrassed I guess mostly. I feel violated and dirty, and it’s not my fucking fault, and I know that, but like, you understand, it’s like a grease that you just can’t wash off. It’s like when you get that super permanent glue on your hands and you can’t peel it off no matter how hard you try, and you could cut your finger off but you’d still have it all over. What he did to me, what he did to us, it’s like, it’s not something I can just say, and even though I know I should have, I couldn’t, not even to protect you, and that’s my fault.”

Brendon takes a deep breath, and then he paces the length of the room once, which isn’t an overly big deal, because it’s a college dorm so it only takes him two strides to be at the other end of it. He puts his face in his hands for a moment and then shakes his head like he’s trying to shake something off or away, and Frank is still looking down at him completely in shock. He doesn’t have the words to say anything, even if he was using words right now, which he’s not.

“It’s partially my fault, and I won’t be upset if you hate me. I should have… and I just… I remember not seeing you come into the locker room that night, and my every instinct said to stay and wait for you, but like, when he came in, and I looked at him, and then I just, I-I made eye contact with M-” Brendon stops, and Frank realizes all of a sudden that Brendon can’t say the name. Frank looks at him, and it’s like he’s struggling against a stutter, or like he’s trying to say the word Voldemort. “I just, I saw him, and it all came flashing back to me. And I know I should have stayed, but I felt like, fuck, if I didn’t get out of there I was going to suffocate. But I let myself believe that you got away safely, I did, I really did, but I knew in my heart that it wasn’t the truth, and I’m sorry for that. I’m just, I’m really sorry. This shouldn’t have happened to you, shouldn’t have happened to either of us, but now you and I just sort of have to deal with it, which sucks. Like, there’s nothing I’d less rather have to deal with than this, but this is my life now, so I’ve just got to like, take it as it comes at me. And so do you now.

“But I do know what you’re going through, that’s what matters. I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me, especially since you’re not talking at all, I bet I’m the last person you’d ever want to talk to, because, fuck, I’m the reason this happened to you. But, if for a second, you can forgive me, then just know that like, I need a hand to hold through this too, so like, if you need to talk, please, for god’s sake, let me be the one you talk to, or let me be the one who talks at you, because I’m dying. I am an exploding star right now, and there’s nothing that can be done to stop me from turning into a blackhole, but what I do need is for someone else to understand, and right now, you’re the one I’ve got. And I really fucking hope you’re the only one I will be able to talk to, because if he does this again, I swear to god, I’ll kill him myself.”

Frank is lying there, with too much information trying to beat its way through his skull, and he doesn’t know how to respond to that, or how to react to it at all, considering he’s not talking right now.

Brendon really did have this happen to him. It must have been several weeks ago, before Morgan had latched on to Mikey. The thought of Mikey sends a chill running through Frank’s veins. If Brendon and Frank were both attacked, and Mikey was Morgan’s target before Frank, does that mean…?

Frank gulps hugely, feeling a cold heat wave wash over him like he’s suddenly started to burn up in the middle of a snow storm. What might have happened to Mikey? If Mikey was ever alone, if he ever turned his back, the same could have happened to him. Mikey always makes himself out to be so strong, to be unperturbed by just about everything but no one can be impervious. What if it happened to Mikey too? Mikey, one of Frank’s closest friends, someone who he feels bad to say is a far more important person to him than Brendon is. Is Mikey okay?

But that thought is pushed to the back of his mind when he remembers why this happened to him. Frank gave that interview. He may not have typed the words, but it might as well have been his article. Brendon was hurt because of his actions. A guy he barely knows, someone he’s scarcely ever talked to, was hurt, torn apart, because of something Frank did. And now Brendon is blaming himself for it happening to Frank, when Frank’s the one started the ball rolling in the first place.

This really is all Frank’s fault. Everything that’s happened these last few weeks, it’s all been him. He’s the one to blame.

How would Brendon feel if he knew? Would Frank even be able to live with himself if Brendon knew? The answer is probably not. Frank might just crawl under a rock, or swim to the bottom of a lake and keep himself there just to spare the world of any other monstrosities he’s sure to cause by merely existing.

The thought also crosses Frank’s mind that Brendon hasn’t shown anything of the nature that Frank has the past few weeks. This must have happened recently to him, but his behavior hasn’t changed in the slightest. Not that Frank knows much about his behavior to begin with, but Brendon hasn’t missed a day of practice, hasn’t missed any classes, nothing at all. It’s like he’s gone totally unaffected. Of course, Frank hasn’t seen the goings on of Brendon behind closed doors.

Still, Brendon is on his feet. He’s talking, he’s going about his days like everything is regular and routine. Does that make Frank weak? He hasn’t been able to get out of bed for days, hasn’t talked to anyone in just as long. Is Frank more fragile? Weaker? Is Frank just less of a person than Brendon? What makes Brendon so strong as to pretend like this never happened to him?

How can he pretend? How does he pretend that everything is fine, when nothing is fine? Nothing is okay, everything is awful. What gives Brendon the strength to even go on, especially considering the fact that Frank genuinely can’t envision his life moving forward from this point.

“I get that you don’t want to talk to me, and that’s fine. If you never do, I’ll respect that decision. It’s just that, you deserved to know you weren’t alone. Like with that interview in the school paper said, it’s a relief knowing there’s someone out there who can share your same emotions, frustrations, whatever. I’m not happy that there is someone else, because what happened was despicable, but if we’re both going to be miserable, we might as well be miserable together. Even if you choose not to talk to me, at least you’ll know that you’re not alone, that the same weight you bare is one I have to trouble with as well.”

Frank lets the silence of the room settle, staring down at Brendon, blinking every so often, and the two of them just look at each other. It’s the first time in days where the minutes seem to pass by quickly, because Frank can swear it’s only a few seconds, but it turns out to be a good couple of minutes. Frank doesn’t know what he should say, doesn’t know what he can say. Frank feels much like a confused owl who has come across another owl and they’re now having a staring contest to see who is allowed to retrieve a small mouse.

“Right, so I’ll just go and leave you to come up with insults to try out on me for the future,” Brendon says, “might I just point out that I have an above average sized forehead, so if you’re looking for some ammunition, it would do best to start there and work your way down.” Frank actually smiles a little bit at that, noticing only now that Brendon is right, he does have a huge fucking forehead. It’s usually covered with a hockey mask, but now he doubts he’ll be able to unsee it.

Brendon makes for the door, and that’s where Frank swallows something that’s definitely not his pride, but it’s a big lump in his throat anyway. “Brendon,” Frank says, and his voice comes out hoarse and croaky because of little use. “Thank you for… for telling me.”

Brendon turns back to look at Frank at the sound of his voice, and he looks somewhat surprised to see him talking, but not altogether in disbelief. He nods at Frank curtly, but respectfully.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Frank says, and he means it in several ways. He’s sorry that Brendon went through the same horror and torment that Frank did, and that he’s been fighting that battle alone, keeping his head up all the while when Frank can’t even imagine the strength it must take to do so. He’s also sorry that it’s probably him to blame for Brendon’s assault in the first place. Everything is his fault these days, it’s growing wearisome having to acknowledge it.

“I’m sorry too,” Brendon says, and the look in his big brown eyes is nothing if not sympathetic. He does understand, and he does truly know what Frank’s going through. In a world full of too many survivors of the same thing, Frank connects most with Brendon. He’s on the same hockey team as Brendon, lives just down the hall from the guy, and he was hurt by the same person. They share a bond that Frank is never going to have with anyone else, or at least, like Brendon had said, he hopes no one will ever share. Especially Mikey.

Frank thinks about how full of blame his life is. He blames himself for everything. He blames himself for everything he can think of. Everything always comes back to him, and he’s not egocentric, it’s just that, he is the cause of almost every single one of his problems right now. He’s the one at fault for the article. He’s the one at fault for Morgan’s reaction to that article, including both his and Brendon, and hopefully not Mikey’s attacks. He’s to blame for his own despair around Gerard, as it’s his own fault that he went and fell in love with the guy in the first place. It’s all his fault he’s even hear at this school right now. Frank should have stuck with the way things were before. He should’ve stayed at Boston, stayed at the school with the best hockey team which was going to take him the furthest in life. He should’ve stuck with the emptiness he felt there, the lack of friends, the lack of any real motivation besides hockey. Armstrong was a mistake, all of it, it’s all been one big, monolithic mistake.

Because now, even though he’s here at a school he’s growing to love, with friends that he’d probably step in front of an oncoming train for, even with all the sunlight that they bring into his life, it’s never going to stop being overshadowed by the cloud that is Morgan. Morgan is a black stain on a white shirt. He’s a stain on Frank, one that he’s afraid everyone can see.

Even Frank’s truest, longest love has gradually come to be ruined for him, and it’s all because of Morgan. Frank has some serious soul searching to do when it comes down to the subject of hockey, and sooner or later, he knows he’ll have to face that. The truth is, he’s scared of what decision he’s going to come to.

Notes

I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long, I just moved house which, on top of being depressing and hard, has made everything super hectic.