Chapter Text
"Urgh."
Frank groaned loudly at the obnoxious sound of his alarm clock. If his life was a sitcom, the opening song was absolute trash. Seriously, why do alarm clocks always have angst-inducing sounds no matter the sound of choice? On this day in particular though, Frank felt absolutely justified in his anger.
It was the first day of his senior year of high school. The summer was over, and it was back to bedtimes way too early for Frank's liking and straight boys that smelled way too strongly of Axe body spray for it to be considered legal. It wasn't like Frank had done much of anything over the summer, but hey, he's a teenager - he's allowed to do nothing when there is nothing that actually needs to be done. Why did Phineas and Ferb get eternal summer vacation? Something very wrong didn't seem right about that to Frank. Did he even word that correctly? Whatever. His own brain didn't have the rights to pick on him over grammar.
His internal debate regarding the universal unfairness of summer was interrupted, however, by a loud knock on his door and yelling far too loud for a Monday morning.
"Frank!" His mother pounded on his bedroom door like she was trying to take it off its hinges, "Up!"
Why did Italian mothers have powerful ass vocal chords? Who decided that was a good idea? And, most importantly: why did Frank have an Italian mother with a penchant for yelling when the sun had barely risen?
Needless to say, Frank had a lot of questions that morning.
"I'm up, goddamn!"
That was half true. Although Frank was indeed awake, he was yet to get physically out of bed. He then decided avoiding that was just a delay of the inevitable, so he whipped his right leg onto the floor before standing up. Yes, he made sure to get up on the right side of his bed every morning - because he was superstitious like that.
In addition to being a slightly superstitious weirdo, Frank was a bit of a neat freak. He liked everything organized, planned, and structured. He was the kind of person who easily fell into routine and hardly fell out of it. Over the summer, he had built a much different routine - one that violated his natural circadian rhythm so much he was operating on the same timezone as the Chinese - and now that he had to go back to waking up at the break of dawn instead of falling asleep at the break of dawn, neither his body nor his mind were very pleased about this change of events.
In shorter terms - Frank was the kind of person who outlined his outfits for the next morning every night. Like a middle schooler.
He made his way to his desk chair, where he already had a neatly folded outfit. Frank didn't know why he actually bothered to separate his outfits the night before, considering all his clothes were black and he could pretty much pair any of his faded band tees with any of his multiple pairs of black ripped jeans. However, having his outfit laid out for him every morning gave him a sense of security; and in an environment as insecure as high school, having a set manner to start the day was a way of Frank feeling like he had at least some semblance of control over his life.
Before he could start falling asleep on the very spot where he was standing, Frank rushed out of his pyjama pants and got dressed in his regular punk attire. He then made his way to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth, did his eyeliner, and began styling his hair. Styling, for Frank, meant combing down his hair in the exact same way he always did - sideswept and clean; he wasn't sure when the right side of his forehead last saw the light of day. When he decided his look was complete, he put on a pair of his usual black leather Converse before making his way downstairs.
Linda Iero didn't always do things. However, when she did do things, she did the absolute most. When Frank walked into the kitchen, the table was adorned with blueberry pancake stacks, assorted fruits, waffles, tubs of Greek yoghurt, fried eggs, toast, and… was she adding scrambled eggs to the mix? Who needed two different types of eggs in the morning?
"Mom, this is enough food to feed a horse."
"Yes," she agreed nonchalantly, adding a pan to the dishwasher. "But, I have a teenage son, and they tend to eat about the same amount. Now sit down and eat."
Frank knew better than to talk back to his mother, so he did as he was told and sat down on his assigned chair at the table. Sitting at the same chair every single day was a habit he just couldn't seem to break, although there were no rules at all regarding the sitting arrangements at the Iero household.
He brought the plate carrying a delicious looking waffle covered in strawberries and whipped cream closer to him, taking a moment to take in its delicious smell. His mom really did make the best food. A trait both Frank and Linda seemed to have in common was that if they weren't excellent at something, they just didn't do it. They did things at maximum capacity or not at all.
"Are you just gonna stare at your food, boy?" Linda stared at Frank expectantly, and when Frank's gaze redirected to his mom, he noticed she was frozen in place, watching him intently.
Without thinking twice, Frank dug into the waffle sitting in front of him. Damn, it was good. So good, in fact, it ripped a moan from his throat before he could even think to hold it back. His mother seemed pleased with this response, and sat down across Frank, digging into some pancakes herself. Before a comfortable silence could set in, however, she spoke again.
"Frank, we need to talk about your friends, darling," she said in a soft tone, indicating she was concerned rather than angry.
"What a-"
She interrupted him quickly, "Don't talk with your mouth full."
Frank swallowed the chunk of waffle in his mouth before re-attempting his question, "What about them?" Truthfully, this question was redundant, because he knew exactly what she meant. However, he figured that if he stalled her until breakfast was over, they wouldn't need to have this conversation again.
Frank tried Linda. But Linda was ready.
"Cut the B.S., you know what I'm talking about. I don't think Pete and Patrick are good for you, Frank. Their drama from the past keeps negatively affecting the rest of your social life at school. I know it takes a toll on you. Is this the stress you want to carry into your last year?"
Frank sighed, slightly annoyed, "I like Pete and Patrick, mom. They're good friends. Besides, why would I bother changing around my whole social life during my very last year?"
"Because if you fail at it, the people who bear witness to it will be out of your life soon enough anyways."
She had a point, and Frank knew that, because she always did. Having an incredibly clever mom kind of sucked sometimes, because Frank could never win arguments at home, but it also meant arguments never lasted very long, so he had more hours in the day to do other things.
"I don't know if I can let go of this, mom. I'm so used to it by now. It's comfortable. You know how I am with these things," he whined.
Linda's expression softened in sympathy, "Yes, my boy, I know because I'm the exact same. But sometimes we need to do difficult things, yeah? It's your last year. Treat it like what it is. Just think about what I said."
The rest of the time before Frank got to school went by in a blur. He barely made note of finishing his breakfast, grabbing his backpack, and making his way to his car. If you asked him, he wouldn't be able to give a proper answer on how he made it to school without crashing. When parked at his school's parking lot, however, his mother's words echoed back to him.
It's your last year. Treat it like what it is.
Frank sat solemnly in his car for a few minutes in a trance, dazed by the dilemma he faced. Were his friends really weighing him down? It didn't feel like it. Patrick and Pete had been amazing friends since day one, when they met at their freshman induction three years prior. They had always been by his side, supporting him endlessly, but never hesitating to intervene when they believed Frank was indirectly harming himself through his actions. Frank knew that if Pete hadn't gotten into that God damned fight sophomore year, his mom would be praising his friends left and right.
But the past couldn't be changed. And when the past weaves its web far into the future, tangling anyone it can reach, breaking free is easier said than done.
Could they untangle themselves from the past? Was it even worth attempting on their very last year? Frank really was full of questions that morning. He quickly glanced at his phone to check the time: 7:40. He had a solid 20 minutes until class started, but he liked giving himself extra time when he got to school since rushing in the morning always put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
He grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat, slinging it over his shoulder before exiting his car. Frank always thought the entrance of his high school looked grim, but it looked particularly shitty on the first day of a new academic year. Since Patrick relied on Pete to give him a ride every day and Pete was not known for his punctuality, Frank knew Pete and Patrick wouldn't be at school yet before he could bother checking. For now, Frank was alone. He stopped by the office to grab his new schedule and locker number, then began making his way to his locker. After three years at this school, Frank was well familiarized with their numbering systems, and quickly figured out he was on the ground floor this year. Score. Last year he had been placed all the way up on the fourth floor, and climbing those stairs multiple times a day was absolutely brutal on his leg muscles. That was the most exercise he got during junior year, and he did not plan on making up in physical activity this year.
It was safe to say Frank's life was stagnant in more ways than one.
When he got to his locker, he hung up his backpack on the inner side of the lock, opened it, and began meticulously organizing his books. In what order do his textbooks go again? He had forgotten over the summer. Alphabetical? Height? AP vs everything else? Alphabetical sounded good to Frank. He could do alphabetical.
Frank held a history book in one hand and a chemistry book in the other, deliberating whether the alphabetical order should be based on the name of the author, the book title, or the subject the book belonged to. Should chemistry come before history, since C comes before H? Frank then stared at the book titles before him: "Organic Chemistry 102" vs "History of the United States: Civil War". Fuck. The order would be totally different if he decided to organize them by title rather than subject. If he organized the textbooks by subject, he could place them with his other subject notebooks to make his class notes-
"Hey, um, excuse me?" A gentle voice to his right ripped Frank straight out of his textbook-related debacle and pulled his gaze in the direction where the voice had come from. When he fully woke to reality, he noticed the locker next to his had been opened, and identified the owner of the voice right away as they were the only ones in the hallway.
Next to him stood a boy who appeared to be his age, and Frank was immediately stunned by the sight before him. That was easily, without a doubt, the prettiest person he had ever seen. No, this boy was not handsome - he was pretty. And extremely pretty at that. Holy fuck, Frank thought. He couldn't have come up with a prettier person if he tried. The boy before him had jet black hair messily sticking out in every direction, embellished with a flower crown adorned in pastel blue and pink flowers. His sweater matched the soft blue on his flower crown, flowing well past his wrists into his hands. And was that… makeup? Frank swore there was a gentle glitter to the stranger's cheekbones and the tip of his pixie nose. When his eyes moved down to his lips, he noticed the stranger also seemed to be wearing lipgloss, as his lips had a shiny pink tint to them.
Frank quickly realized he had forgotten to speak while staring at the stranger.
"Oh, hi." He offered the boy a gentle smile, hoping that was enough to get him to talk again so Frank could look at him for a little longer.
"So, uh, hi? I'm Gerard. I'm new." The stranger, who Frank now knew as Gerard, returned the smile and a delicate pink filled his cheeks. God, Frank thought, I'm gonna pass out if this guy gets any cuter. Gerard offered Frank his hand, and it took Frank a few seconds to realize he was meant to shake people's hands when they offered handshakes, as he was busy mentally talking down a heart attack. He shoved his textbooks into his locker in a totally random order to free up his hands and extended his right out to Gerard. When their hands touched, Frank immediately noticed two things. One: Gerard's hand was really warm, and two: his nails were covered in a chipped pale yellow nail polish.
Frank thought Gerard couldn't possibly get more perfect.
"Hey, I'm Frank. I'm a senior."
Their hands broke apart before Gerard replied, "Oh, nice. Me too." He quickly fell silent after that. Frank could tell Gerard was trying to formulate the next part of his speech, so he opted not to speak, leaving them in a slightly awkward silence for a few moments before Gerard seemed to remember why he had approached Frank in the first place.
"Would you uh, would you mind helping me out? I don't know where any of my classes are." Gerard rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
Frank shrugged, trying to appear cool and indifferent. The stupid unintentional grin painted on his face gave him away though, showing how excited he was about such a cute boy bringing him into a conversation.
"Sure. Show me your schedule."
Gerard reached into his locker, carelessly throwing around multiple books before producing a crumpled piece of paper. Frank hadn't noticed Gerard's locker yet, and was genuinely shocked at how messy it was when he took a glance. How had Gerard conjured such chaos at a completely new school before classes had even begun? It was like a hurricane passed through the hallway and somehow spared everything but Gerard's locker. He sloppily attempted to smooth out the crumpled piece of paper he had fished out before handing it over to Frank.
When Frank looked at Gerard's schedule, he instinctively looked for classes they had in common. He immediately noticed they had AP English literature together - nice. Not so nice, though, when Frank realized that was a class he absolutely sucked in. Like, Frank wasn't a dumb dude, but he was utter shit at English. He only took it because he needed a certain number of AP courses for a fair shot at his dream college and had already exhausted the subjects he was actually good at. Frank also noticed Gerard's other AP courses: Art and Design, Psychology, and French. He felt like he had gotten a certain understanding of Gerard then. Four AP classes? Frank was taking three and he felt overwhelmed. This guy was either talented or an overachiever; judging by the state of his locker, Frank figured he was talented, because no overachiever pays that little attention to their academic materials.
When he was done observing Gerard's schedule, Frank then noticed AP English literature was the only class they had in common. He couldn't believe his luck.
Great. The cutest boy Frank had ever seen would think of him as a moron.
"We have English together, and that's first period today. I could walk you there if you wanted," Frank said, returning Gerard's schedule.
Gerard's face lit up in a stunned smile. "Really? You'd do that?"
"Yeah, of course." Frank couldn't help but laugh lightly at Gerard's shocked reaction. "It isn't a burden for me at all. You know, since I'm also headed that way."
"Right," Gerard's gaze timidly trailed down, as if he was also concerned about making a good impression. Could it be that he was as stunned by Frank as Frank was by him? He quickly disregarded the idea though, because there was no way he was as stunning at this human embodiment of sunshine that stood before him.
One of Gerard's painted fingers found itself twirling a piece of his own hair before he spoke again, "Um, I need to go by the office to sort out my school email. Can I meet you here before class?" When Gerard turned around away from his locker, Frank got a better look at the other side of his face and his attention was quickly caught by a sliver of sharp white on Gerard's cheek - barely standing out from his pale skin, but still very much there.
Frank almost couldn't stop himself from giggling. Gerard had drawn a tiny little daisy flower on his cheek. Could he possibly get more adorable?
"Sure. I'll be here," Frank nodded to Gerard as politely as he could, because Gerard's sheer cuteness was enough for Frank to develop a crippling fear of ever hurting the boy in any way. It quickly occurred to Frank that in this short meeting, Gerard had managed to get him willing to bend over backwards if it'd make him more comfortable.
Fuck. Frank had to talk to Gerard more. He couldn't let this raven-haired beauty slip away from him. He watched as Gerard walked away, seemingly unnoticed by the other students who had started filing in since Frank arrived. Quite a few minutes had passed since then, and Frank realized he hadn't even finished organizing his books, being distracted by the cutest guy in the universe and all that. He stared back at his locker, realizing he had put his history book before his chemistry one.
That was the wrong order, he decided. Chemistry should obviously be filed before history. C comes before H anyways. Duh. Frank rearranged his books then, and felt that order was right. At least he had one thing sorted that Monday morning. The adorable interruption to his normal routine, despite intriguing him, was starting to unnerve Frank a little bit. He spent the next few minutes getting the rest of his books sorted, placing his subject notebooks by the textbooks of their designated class. Then, he retrieved a small roll of sticky tape from his backpack, taping his schedule to the door of his locker after spending a few seconds making sure it was perfectly aligned at the center of the door. When he was satisfied with the placement, he checked his schedule again and began retrieving the books he'd need till lunchtime. First period: AP English literature. Just one book, a play. Second period: Chemistry. Urgh. Two classes he wasn't great at right off the bat. At least the rest of the day was followed by his two best subjects: AP Physics and AP Calculus. Yes, Frank liked math. Sue him.
As Frank filed for his last class of the day, a pair of hands on his shoulders and a loud shout by his left ear invaded his senses, scaring him enough for him to let out a short scream and drop the large calculus textbook in his hands. It fell to the ground by his feet with a boisterous splat, echoing throughout the hallway and startling numerous students in the process. Frank quickly bent down to pick up the book and shoved it into his backpack. When he turned around, a short figure wearing a random assortment of colors greeted him.
"FRED! LERO!" Pete yelled at truly unnecessary volume, drawing even more attention to them. He didn't give Frank any time to reply before flinging his arms tightly around his torso, not even bothering if the hug was reciprocated or not. When he stepped back, Frank noted that Pete's look was so loud and obnoxious that it made Patrick standing next to him seem pretty much invisible.
So almost nothing about Pete had changed over the summer. That was comforting.
Frank did notice, however, that Pete's hair had been dyed a bright bubblegum pink, as if his clothes didn't already make him enough of a human siren.
Frank then turned to Patrick, who was dressed smartly in a navy button-up and black dress pants. They were all perfect juxtapositions to each other: Frank looked like an emo twink, Pete looked like a randomized Sim, and Patrick looked like a Model UN delegate. If they didn't go everywhere together, no one would pin them as friends. The three of them were so different that if their friendships didn't work, they would likely be arch-enemies.
"Hey dude, what's good?" Frank offered Patrick a friendly hug, as was custom amongst them. They were a rather affectionate group of friends, given their nearly inseparable nature over the past few years.
When they withdrew from the hug, Patrick smiled politely. "I'm good. How was the rest of your summer?"
Patrick and Frank had spent the first half of the summer together, before Patrick's family went up to Canada for a vacation in British Columbia. It was an unspoken truth amongst them that Patrick's parents were rich, and thus could afford to take nice international vacations twice a year. Patrick never mentioned it though, so Frank and Pete left the topic unmentioned as well.
"It was fine. Didn't get up to much. What about you, Pete? How was Illinois?"
Pete's family drove to Illinois every vacation without fail, as the rest of his relatives lived there. And after every vacation, Pete gave the exact same verdict:
"It sucks, but not as bad as Jersey."
Frank liked Jersey, but he understood those who didn't. It smelled far too much like Manhattan without all the cool things about Manhattan. The coolest thing to do in Jersey was to take the train into New York.
"Guys," Patrick started, looking sympathetic, "sorry to cut this short, but I need to run to bio before class. I have some books I forgot to return last year and they'll have my head if they run short on books for the new students because of me."
"Don't worry about it," Pete said, opening his backpack and revealing a pile of miscellaneous items that almost seemed to overflow from the edges of the bag, "I need to drop all this shit by my locker too."
"Right. I'll see you in English then, Pat?" Frank asked, and Patrick nodded affirmative. "We'll all see each other at lunch?"
"Yeah, of course."
"See y'all, then."
"See ya." Patrick waved before he and Pete began walking in separate directions. Well, Patrick was walking. Pete seemed to be… rolling?
Oh my God, Frank quickly noticed, he's wearing heelys. What the fuck.
On the other side of the hallway, coming from the same direction where Patrick had been headed, Frank quickly noticed a bright blue figure. It was Gerard, and he was walking back towards him.
Can't I catch a fucking break today? Jesus. Frank thought to himself before plastering a kind smile on his face almost instinctively.
Gerard instantly noticed him and smiled back with a full-toothed grin.
"Hi Frankie." Woah. No one called Frank that except for his grandma. A shocked expression painted his face, and he immediately felt unguarded - disarmed. Surely Gerard could see the effect he had on Frank.
Frank suddenly felt naked despite being fully dressed.
"Hey Gerard. You wanna get going? English isn't too far from here."
Gerard nodded, "Sure."
They began making their way in silence, Gerard following Frank like a lost tourist. Frank just couldn't seem to open his mouth to say anything. What did people say to those they wanted to charm? Frank did not know. The silence was beginning to settle in, and Frank was starting to think that if he waited just a couple seconds more, it would be too late to break the silence.
A few moments later, Gerard was the one to break the stillness just before it became too strong to break.
"So… is there a system for how the classes are numbered?"
It was a valid inquiry.
"Uh, yeah. The first digit represents the floor. So if a class number starts with zero, it's on the ground floor. One, first floor. And so on. When you get to a floor, there are signs on the hallways that'll guide you to the different rooms. All the language classes are on the ground floor, and that's where we're headed now. Science and math are on the second floor. Humanities are on the third, and arts are on the fourth."
"Oh..." Gerard pondered. "... that… sounds like a lot of stairs."
That was the first thing he noticed? Frank laughed. The first thing he had done when he learned about the system as a freshman was to appreciate how organized it was.
"It is, isn't it? As a freshman I had music right after English on Thursdays and I think that was the most exercise I got throughout the whole of high school. Last year my locker was all the way up in art and it ruined most of my mornings."
"I suppose that's good, in a way. It's not like I'll be going to gym class," Gerard said with a shrug.
Frank grinned. "I cannot recall the last time I went to gym."
"Right? I skip it to paint, usually."
"I saw you take AP Art." Frank then took the opportunity to look Gerard up and down to emphasize his point, "You look like the artsy type too."
He was briefly worried that Gerard would feel like his gaze upon his body was invasive, but instead he let out a jovial laugh and Frank swore he felt his heart melting inside of his chest. Gerard lifted up his hands in playful surrender, "Alright, I've been caught. What gave it away, besides the everything about me?"
Frank felt himself beam, but couldn't care enough to hide it. "I'm impressed, I'm more of a music guy myself. Shame this school doesn't offer AP Music Theory anymore."
"What are your APs?"
"English lit, physics, and calc."
Gerard's eyes grew in bewilderment, "You take AP Calc?"
"Yeah, I like math. Always been good at it."
"Woah..." Gerard seemed genuinely impressed, "I never even learned my multiples of nine. I gave up on math when we got to long division. I'm pretty sure I take the most basic math course they offer."
"But the nine times table is the best one!" Frank said emphatically.
Gerard lifted an eyebrow, like he was questioning Frank's entire thought process, "You realize you sound like a huge nerd, right? No times table is the best one, dude, because they all suck. Math is just a poor excuse- oh, are we here?" He asked when Frank stopped in front of a classroom.
"Yeah, let's get inside. Some people are already here anyways."
When they walked in, the teacher immediately took notice of Gerard.
"Excuse me, are you Gerard Way?" she asked, facing the boy next to Frank.
"Yeah."
"Can you come here for a second? I need to give you some materials before we start."
Gerard glanced back over at Frank, nodding slightly before making his way to the teacher.
When Frank looked into the classroom, he noticed Patrick sitting in his usual spot right away. The desk next to him by the window was empty, as it was Frank's designated seat. Patrick motioned to Frank, asking him to come over, and out of habit Frank walked over and sat at the exact same desk he had last year. When he looked under the desk, a pen he had left before the summer was still sitting there, patiently waiting for his return. His seat wasn't at the very back of the class, but it was far back enough for him to divert attention from the teacher when she asked the class questions. Frank fidgeted with the pen he found and didn't glance back up when the class started.
He was vaguely aware that the teacher was discussing the text she had assigned as reading for the summer, Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot. Frank had actually done the reading, but he had to admit he didn't really understand jack shit of it. What was the message behind two guys waiting for some fucker who never seemed to arrive?
Frank briefly looked up and unintentionally scanned the classroom for Gerard. He was sitting at the very front row, in the dead center of the class. Had the classroom been a stage, Gerard was right in the spotlight. Frank wondered, had he placed himself there with that purpose? Or was it out of genuine desire to be engaged with the lesson? Maybe it was a mixture of both.
Frank was pulled out of his thoughts when the teacher addressed Gerard a few minutes into the class.
"Now, Gerard, since you're new, I can give you the following week to catch up on the reading if you'd like."
Gerard answered in a polite tone - in contrast to his slightly standoffish statement - likely to dull down his words and not appear rude, "That won't be necessary. I've read Godot before."
The teacher seemed surprised, "Oh. Did you study this text at your previous school?"
"Uh, no. I read it on my own."
Frank grimaced in confusion. Who the hell was this teenager who read literary classics for pleasure? And why was Frank so goddamn attracted to him?
He zoned out for a long while after that, staring out the window at the cars that occasionally passed by. He liked imagining what those people were doing, where they were going. Frank conjured little stories for every car that passed by. In the silver Volvo was a person on their way to their boring office job. As teens they had big city music dreams, but were stuck in their small New Jersey town as adults. In the white Ford Focus that sped by - definitely above the speed limit - was a teen late to school on their very first day. And in the black Tesla? A businessperson on their way to work in Wall Street.
Frank made a vague notion about Patrick taking notes next to him, but couldn't bother to do the same. What was the point of taking notes when he didn't even understand the notes he made? He noticed the teacher had asked a question, but of course, he didn't raise his hand.
Someone else did, though. Someone Frank had been intermittently watching for the past half-hour.
"Yes, Gerard?"
Gerard's entire body quickly took upon a joyful spirit Frank hadn't yet seen grace his being.
"Maybe the reason why Beckett chose to make this play seem so..." he waved his hands in circles, like he was searching for the right words to use, "... idle, so unmoving, is because the point of the play is inaction itself. Godot is a play about action, sure, but most importantly, the lack thereof. Vladimir and Estragon decide multiple times that they'll leave their place by the tree, but they never do. This could be a point about how we live our lives in conformity, like drones. We do the same things day in and day out. And we live our entire lives like that. Go to school. Then college. Then work, retire, and die. We think about rebelling, about doing as we wish, but how often do we follow through? And what happens to the ones who do? We truly are like bee drones or farm animals. A symbol that supports this theory is the radish, or carrot, as the characters believe. Those are both vegetables eaten by farm animals, which intentionally diminishes the human qualities of our characters."
"Godot is about conformity. At least that's what it means to me. It's about how we fall passive to our routines for years on end; no one truly being the boss of anyone, not even themselves," Gerard finally ended, looking around in shock as if he hadn't realized he had been passionately rambling.
"Woah, Gerard." The teacher smiled at him, as if Gerard had spoken the most intelligent words she had ever heard, "That is an excellent reading of Godot! If you can use more of the motifs in the text to back up your theory, that'll make a magnificent essay!"
"Thank you," he said sheepishly, the joy on his face diminishing once he retreated back into himself, feeling the gazes of all the other students on the back of his head.
Great, Frank thought, not only was the cute guy in his worst class, but he was absolutely brilliant at it. That would make Frank seem like even more of an idiot. Although he was already quiet before, Gerard's presence in the class made him feel like a mouse in the eyes of a hawk.
Curious how someone so adorable could have a presence so threatening.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
By the time he met Patrick and Pete at lunch, Frank's mood had improved vastly due to the confidence boost he always seemed to get after physics class. Physics and math were the two classes that always brightened up his day without fail. Don't blame Frank; we all like to be good at things.
The three of them were standing in line getting their food, each holding their trays carrying a juicebox and some hardly edible snacks. American high schools generally have terrible food, and their high school was no exception. Patrick could've sworn the random slice of carbs on his plate bore a slight resemblance to a pizza, but that could have been just wishful thinking.
Abruptly, a tall figure that was all too familiar with them sharply bumped into Pete, leaning between him and Frank over the counter, causing Pete to drop his tray and its contents straight onto the floor. Frank was slightly thrown off balance too, his juicebox dropping along with Pete's tray, but his own remaining firmly in his grip.
"Oops," the figure spoke in a deceptively sweet tone, "sorry little guy."
The figure was none other than Ray Toro. Ray was not in any way the school bully - you'll be shocked to hear. In fact, he was only ever short of kind to the three of them specifically; the bad blood between them and Ray and his friends ran deep. Although there had been a large initial conflict two years ago, the consequences of this conflict were nowhere near being lost to time. Instead, it was fed regularly with insults, bad practical jokes, and malignant silence.
"Fuck off!" Frank swore at Ray in a habit that was also all too familiar. He waited until Ray turned away from them before he picked up his juicebox and threw it as hard as he could, hitting Ray right on the back.
Ray instantly froze in his place, slowly turning around to face Frank and his friends again. At this point, Frank was aware that he had probably fucked up, but he was not the kind of person who just backed out once he did something. For a massive overthinker, Frank really didn't think about the aftermath of his actions before acting them out sometimes. However, no one could say he wasn't a committed person. He committed to all his decisions like he did to his daily customs.
Ray stared at the three of them with a gaze that could bore a hole through titanium. One could easily tell he did not enjoy having a juicebox thrown at him, which Frank had to admit was understandable. He noticed most of the cafeteria had turned to face the commotion, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mop of black hair covered in a flower crown, watching them intently.
Just great. Not only would Gerard think of him as an idiot, but an asshole too. This was all just perfect. Senior year was going swellingly for Frank so far.
Ray's face twisted in anger before he picked up the juicebox off the floor where it had landed. "Watch it, you dumbass fucking elf!" Ray swung his arm back and Frank braced himself for impact, closing his eyes and wincing slightly. But the impact never came. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a small female hand wrapped around Ray's bicep, holding him back firmly.
Who would have guessed it? Hayley Williams, his saving grace.
Hayley Williams was one of Ray's friends along with Brendon Urie, and had partaken in many of these fights herself, hence why Frank couldn't really comprehend why she had stopped Ray. The answer came shortly thereafter, however, in a shockingly deadpan tone.
"Ray," she said monotonously, "it's only the first day back, dude. Let's just ignore these idiots. We have the whole year to fight them."
This seemed like good enough reasoning for Ray, because he slowly but surely put his arm down, tossing the juicebox back to Frank in defeat. Frank barely caught it, almost embarrassing himself in front of the whole cafeteria. Ray glared back at Frank and his friends one last time before turning back around with Hayley, making his way over to a table where Brendon had been sitting and watching the situation unfold.
Frank sighed annoyedly at Brendon when he first caught sight of him, sitting at his table with his bright shirt and pompous hairdo. It had all been his fault. None of this would have happened if it weren't for him. In fact, if it weren't for Brendon Urie, the six of them would all still be friends today.
Frank then redirected his attention to Pete, who stood blankly next to him and whose dish was still on the floor. He didn't really know what to say to Pete. He never did in these situations. After every fight, every argument, every conflict no matter how small, Frank fell into silence, being drawn to it like we are inclined to jump from high places. To him, l'appel du silence was like l'appel du vide.
Luckily, Patrick always knew what to say. He was the most emotionally intelligent one amongst them, and it showed in moments like these.
"Hey Pete, do you wanna go back for another plate?" he placed a gentle hand on Pete's shoulder.
"No," Pete mumbled, clearly distraught, "I'm not hungry anymore. Let's just sit down."
And so they did. They made their way to their usual four-person table, an empty seat being left next to Frank as usual. Frank didn't mind, as he ate with his left hand and this generally meant bumping into people's arms constantly. He began unenthusiastically eating his food, having lost some of his hunger himself. As he chewed on a chunk of God-knows-what, barely listening to the conversation Patrick and Pete were making over the table, he glanced up straight at Gerard.
He hadn't exactly figured out why he made this choice; it was like his brain was willing him to look in that direction until he did so. Gerard wasn't looking back at him, however, instead being absorbed into what was clearly a sketchpad on his table. Frank noted he sat in silence across another boy, who seemed to be slightly thinner and taller than Gerard, reading a book Frank couldn't identify. The two boys weren't talking, but it seemed the stillness between them was comfortable rather than awkward. It seemed almost... practiced.
Frank took a closer look at the boy across Gerard, investigating his style. Although he and Gerard were equally colorful, they were not the same kinds of colorful. The boy across Gerard had platinum blond hair, clearly bleached, and wore a bright red faux leather jacket. As Frank was watching him, he momentarily put his book down and took off his jacket, revealing a… tiger print shirt? That was certainly an... interesting fashion choice. Frank quickly observed that this boy had the same kind of colorful style as Pete: like a randomized Sim. They'd look like a matching set if they were standing right next to each other. The notion of another human being ever matching Pete was so ridiculous that Frank started laughing to himself.
"What's so funny, dude?" Patrick asked, curious as to what Frank found so amusing.
"Nothing," he shook his head, "just thought of something stupid."
Patrick didn't argue that answer, and instead went back to the conversation he and Pete were having. Something about whether Mean Girls was better than Clueless. Patrick was absolutely obsessed with chick-flick movies, and Pete enjoyed them too, so this was nowhere near the first time Frank had overheard this conversation. It was one of the first times, however, that Frank had ever seen Gerard, so he turned his attention right back to the most interesting subject at hand.
Gerard was still drawing when Frank looked back at him, this time his eyebrows were further furrowed in concentration and the tip of his tongue stuck out of his lip. God, he was so fucking cute; Frank almost groaned in frustration. Frank was the kind of person who either wanted things with his entire being or not at all - his heart did not know what the term "middle ground" meant. Although he did not yet desire Gerard, he could feel it coming. There should be a term to describe the pre-crush period: when you can tell that you're going to fall for someone, but are powerless to stop it. Or maybe there was such a word, and Frank just sucked at English.
Well, that much was true.
Frank still felt it coming, though. Whatever it was called. He felt all the ugly emotions love brought out of him beginning to sizzle beneath the surface. Not yet a boil, but the heat was undoubtedly starting to spread.
Frank hated the person he was when in love. He hated the side of him it brought out. He knew it was bad. But Frank just couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried.
He felt the claws of possessiveness begin to take hold of him. Not yet its regular iron grip - just a light teasing scratch. His hands twitched minutely, aching to grab Gerard and take him away from whoever that boy was across him. Why did he get to be near Gerard, but Frank couldn't?! Frank felt his feet twitch in his shoes, aching to stand up and walk over to Gerard. Maybe not to act out his possessive desires, but to at least invite him to sit over with his friends. There was room for him at the table: a single spare seat that almost seemed to have "Gerard" written on it. Perfect and right next to Frank. He could tell the other boy across Gerard that there just wasn't room for him at the table, separating the two of them.
Except Frank didn't move.
Frank twitched and twitched, but he failed to make even a single voluntary movement.
He knew he had to act, that his friend group had to soon adopt Gerard before he was taken by another clique. He knew Gerard would likely be gone forever if he made other friends.
But Frank was stuck in his seat. He couldn't move a muscle. His arms were glued to the table, and he was unable to lift even an inch of his foot off the ground.
He had to get to Gerard fast, get him acquainted with his friends so that he could give future Frank even a chance at quenching what he knew would be an undying thirst for the raven-haired boy.
But, when Frank finally snapped out of his body's binding fit, he managed to only barely raise himself off his seat before the bell rang, a sudden wave of students vanishing Gerard from sight.