Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Frank on a Leash
Frank Iero sat in his desk--bouncing around, really--glancing at the clock every half-second. Currently, he had 5 minutes and 27 seconds--26, 25-- before lunch, signaling the end of gasp Advanced Trigonometry. How he landed this class is way beyond his realm of plausible theories--he didn't know a hypotenuse from a cosine, despite the constant drilling from his teacher. This was a senior class, and he was only a junior, not to mention shoddy at math. By some miracle of his own, he was managing to pass the class without cheating on every test. But that did not mean he enjoyed the class. He actually despised it from the very core of his being and wished that his mom would just let him drop out already and take foundations 2. But he knew that without this class, there was no way his mom would let him keep playing music loudly in the basement, the only outlet he had left since he quit the school band after they refused to let him play Die Monster Die at a basketball game halftime. He didn't see what was wrong with the song, it was a classic.
His friends Bob and Ray sat in their assigned seats in the same row as Frank, but while he was in the front, they were in the back. They glanced at each other with matching grins as they watched their younger friend come close to the brink of exploding. Yes, an agitated Frank was amusing entertainment. He was always the first one out the door, first to make it out of the lunch line and mark their territory by laying on top of their jungle gym and threatening other people who got too close. He was very protective of the jungle gym across the street from the school. It was prime real-estate during lunch, as it served as a fortress against ants and worms, not to mention the kick-ass slide.
The last thing Frank was expecting as the clock ticked its way down to the 12 mark was the door to open, but that's what happened. The figure who walked in looked so outrageous that Frank had to bite the inside of his jaw to stifle giggles. He'd seen goth kids before, of course, but not at this school, definitely, and never thought the day would come. But there he--let's hope it's a he--stood, clad in black, depressing clothes and chains on his lanky frame. His limp hair was dyed black, his face was as white as a sheet of paper, and eyeliner lined his eyes thickly. Frank had a passing thought that he looked like Eric Draven with glasses.
Ms. Jameson, the math teacher, quickly stood up at the sight of the goth boy, her rolling chair spasming out of control and hitting the wall with a loud thud behind her. Her eyes widened and she seemed at a loss for words. No one was making their usual chatter, in fact. All noises had ceased. It was a first that no one, not even the kid in the back who thought all his perverted jokes were funny was talking. Eventually, Ms. Jameson regained her composure with a little jerk of her head and looked down at the roster in her hands.
"Michael Way?" she asked timidly, eyes not leaving the paper. The boy just huffed, so she took it as an affirmative noise. By this time, Frank had to lay his head on the desk, covered with his arms to hide his laughter. He felt sorry for Ms. Jameson, having a kid like this in her first year of teaching, but it was too much. Michael was too perfectly goth. If there was a checklist for everything a goth kid needed to be nominated for goth of the year, Mikey would pass inspection with flying colors.
Mikey Way--he hated the name Michael--was the official nerd at his last school. Every possible stereotype you can throw out applied to him. He got excellent grades, wore glasses, was rail thin, and just asked to be beaten up. After an exceedingly bad beating two weeks ago, he begged his parents to let him switch schools, from Belleville to Newark. They consented, him being the perfect student and all.
But still the problem remained. What was going to be different about this school? Changing schools didn't make him any cooler, any more less of a nerd. He was still Mikey, the hopeless fist magnet who never seemed to do anything to provoke the beatings besides study. He lost plenty of sleep thinking of how he could remedy this. There was no way he could make himself stop making good grades, it wasn't worth it. He had the smug little fact tucked away in his brain that while he went on to be a great...whatever, all the assholes who beat him up would most likely end up in a retail store selling knockoffs of name-brand clothes at a fraction of the costs of other high-end retailers, and he wasn't going to jeopardize his chance to get into a good college just to avoid getting hit. If worst comes to worst, he would just take the punches like he always did.
In a great glimmer of genius, he settled on the path his brother went down in high school. The goth. No one ever beat up Gerard, they were too afraid he'd use arcane magic to rip their souls apart and feed them to ghosts. Pft, Gerard wishes he could do that. So, Mikey called his brother in New York, and learned that Gerard had left all of his gothic clothes and makeup downstairs in the basement. Upon venturing down there, Mikey found all sorts of goth goodies, and thus became goth. At first, his parents were wholly against the idea, but Mikey, being the baby in the family, managed to convince them and get his way. Everything was done.
*
Frank, Bob, and Ray were congregated at their jungle gym, like every day at lunch. And their conversation had turned to what else than Michael Way, resident goth boy. Three days had passed since that first day he showed up, and Frank couldn't get enough of him. He cursed himself for being a junior and only having one class with Michael. He also cursed that the class had to be math, and he was stuck at the front of the room where he couldn't turn around and gawk at the boy inconspicuously. He was addicting. If you happened to be walking through the halls and glance at Michael, you had to do a double take.
Bob and Ray didn't feel the same addiction to Michael that Frank did. They wanted nothing to do with him, and tried to convince Frank to not go near him. They recognized that blatant fascination in Frank's eyes. He always wanted to take the other things no one wanted and shower them with attention. He wanted to save the world.
"Hey, why do you suppose he's like that?" Frank pondered. He rested his chin on his hand and looked up to the sky in a thoughtful manner, squinting his eyes against the bright light of the sun. "Did something horribly tragic happen to him?"
"People like him don't need a reason to be that way, Frankie. They do it for attention," Bob said. He glanced across the road to the schoolyard where Michael sat alone under a tree, no doubt hating his existence. That is what goths do, right? Wish the world could understand them but scowl at anyone wearing black who wasn't exactly GOTH.
Mikey looked up and happened to catch a blond guy staring at him. The blond guy was sitting on the top of some monkey bars that were running out from a jungle gym tediously, one hand gripping the bars tightly.
"Hm, idiot. I hope he falls," Mikey mumbled to himself. Then immediately felt a little rush of regret. He wasn't a bad guy, and would feel bad if this blond guy fell and broke something. Just wishing something wouldn't make it happen, but he'd still feel a twinge of guilt. He stretched himself out in the grass and stared up at the clouds overhead, watched as one solitary cluster of rain matter broke away from the rest in some gay metaphor for what he was feeling right now. For the first time since switching schools, he felt lonely. The repercussions of being goth: everyone goes out of their way to avoid you. At first that's what he longed for, to be left alone, but now he began to doubt his choice.
"Aw...he looks sad. I want to go over there..." Frank said, looking over at Michael as he laid down, looking defeated by life. At his words, Bob suddenly became alert and tense. Frank didn't need to be caught up with that crowd, he was too impressionable. Bob wasn't losing one of his best friends to the goth kid.
"Frank Iero, you stay away from him, okay?" he snapped. Frank sat up, alarmed at Bob's tone. He saw his friend frowning at him, and wondered what he did. It didn't seem like Bob to judge someone because of what they wore. He was generally an open guy. Frank crawled over to Bob and situated himself in his lap.
"Why can't I talk to him? He's lonely. Pwease, Bob?" Frank fluttered his eyelashes in a way he hoped was cute, widening his eyes to extreme proportions in the patented 'puppy dog face' that always seemed to work. Ray looked on at the exchange in amused silence. This happened quite alot. Bob tells Frank he can't have something, which just fuels his desire even more, and Frank pouts and mopes until he gets it. It was like watching a little kid at the supermarket asking his parents for candy, then crying and making a fuss when he was told he couldn't have dessert before dinner.
"No, Frankie. He'll prolly...I don't know, sacrifice you to the vampire lord he works under. Just let it alone." Bob commanded. Frank pouted and turned his attention to a particularly interesting rock sticking out of the sand in the sand box. He went down the slide and dug around until he located the heart shaped rock.
"Hm, now how can I use this?" he asked himself with a smirk playing on his lips, balancing the rock delicately on his fingers.
*
Mikey leaned against the cold tiled wall in the boy's bathroom with a lit cigarette between his lips. Courtesy of his brother's stash, of course. Gerard shouldn't mind, since he had the money to buy them and he was old enough. Mikey wasn't cutting class like he'd like everyone who passed through to think. No, he still cared greatly about his grades, but today in English they had a test, and he finished it within five minutes of receiving it, so he was allowed to skip the rest of the period.
Frank, unlike Mikey, was not a Straight A Student, and had no reservations about skipping his history class with the teacher--male teacher, Mr. Roberts--who always checked him out. So, he found himself once more in the bathroom that period. The smell of nicotine greeted his lungs, and he was momentarily surprised when he saw Michael leaning against the wall, smoking. Frank could almost skip, this was so perfect. After Bob had told him earlier to stay away from the goth boy, Frank had decided that he was going on a quest to see if Michael could laugh. It was a dumb thing to wonder, of course he could laugh if he had vocal chords, but Frank needed to hear it.
Mikey heard the door open, and there stood the little kid from his math class. His eyes met Mikey's, and they showed none of the usual fear or disgust Mikey had grown accustomed to in the past few days. Frank pranced over to Mikey and leaned himself on the wall beside him. He looked up at Mikey and smiled. "Hello," he greeted warmly.
"Um, hi," Mikey greeted awkwardly, furrowing his eyebrows and plucking the cigarette from the corner of his mouth to flick the ashes on the ground. They landed near his shoes and he kicked at them absent-mindedly as he waited for whatever else this kid wanted to say to him before finally leaving him to finish smoking in peace.
Frank's eyes widened at the sound of Mikey's voice. He'd expected to get a grunt, or some other indistinguishable form of an answer. Mikey took a drag from his cigarette but didn't exhale. He let the smoke tendrils escape his lungs at their own pace. For a kid who's only been smoking for four days, Mikey thought he was managing himself pretty well. The first time he tried it, he choked and nearly threw up.
The kid beside him began rolling on his feet from his toes to the heel of his feet, hands crossed together behind his back and supporting his weight against the wall."I'm Frank, by the way," he added confidently. Mikey bit back his smile and just nodded. Frank pouted at Mikey's anti-social behavior and put his hand on his hip. "It's your turn," he prodded.
"Okay, Frank. I'm Mikey."
Frank giggled at the name. Not that it was funny, but it was much cuter a name than Michael, and, well...he didn't associate cute things with Mikey. Mikey cocked his eyebrow at Frank, eyelids drooping slightly in a condescending way.
"What are you laughing at?"
Frank didn't hesitate with his next statement, smiling up at Mikey brightly, eyes squinting at the corners. "It's a cute name. I like it."
Mikey was about to retort with 'I don't give a fuck if you like it', but, surprisingly, Frank was only slightly annoying. And not to mention he was the only person who would talk to Mikey. Instead, he settled on sticking the cigarette back in his mouth. Frank found that he really enjoyed watching Mikey's already sculpted cheeks sink in more as he took another drag. Frank poked Mikey in the side, getting his hand hastily shoved away.
"What, Frank?" Mikey asked irritably. He looked down at the boy who was chewing on his pink lip thoughtfully.
"Can I have one of those?" he asked, pointing to Mikey's cigarette. Mikey outright grinned and looked Frank up and down.
"You smoke?"
"Nope, but I'll start." Frank was thrilled that Mikey was smiling. That answer just made Mikey's smile wider, and he was fighting the urge to laugh at this eager little whelp who was disturbing his free period.
"They stunt your growth. You don't need one."
Frank hated it when someone made fun of his height. Yeah he's short, so what? It's not like it wasn't obvious enough without everyone cracking jokes. He'd heard enough of that kind of shit back in his freshman year when he was the shortest boy in school. Frank made a growling sound at Mikey, and that's all it took to make him snicker. Mikey thought Frank's height-challenged stature was cute, and he liked how riled up he got when teased.
Frank forgot the jab at his height because Mikey laughed. It was a small laugh, but it was genuine. Frank could tell from the way Mikey's eyes crinkled at the corners. He was so excited that he latched himself to Mikey and hugged him without stopping to wonder whether he'd get pushed away or not. When he felt no resistance from the other boy, Frank looked up.
Mikey was definitely surprised when Frank hugged him. No one other than family members had ever hugged him, and even that was a rarity. Frank looked up at him with eyes full of questions that he voiced. "What's wrong, Mikey?"
"Ahm...no one hugs me." He was suddenly a little self conscious about his lack of contact with people. It wasn't normal for a seventeen year old to have almost never touched anyone in his life. Frank's heart pained a little when he heard Mikey's words. Maybe Bob was wrong, and he wasn't just looking for attention.
"Well, here, you're not doing it right..." Frank reached out to grab Mikey's arms and pull them around his body, securing them tightly and pressing his hands over Mikey's on his hips, then returned his own arms to where they were originally around the boy's skinny waist. He snuggled into Mikey's chest and smiled against the fabric of his shirt. "There, I hugged you, Mikey."
Mikey nodded and rested his chin on the top of Frank's head. He was becoming suspicious of the younger boy. Why was Frank hugging him? Was this all about to blow up in his face, just a cruel Frank can laugh about later to his friends? If it was, Mikey'd be crushed. No one had ever been this nice to him at school before,and he wanted it to be real. "Frank, why..."
"Am I hugging you?" Frank finished. Mikey nodded. Frank felt another little pang in his chest for Mikey. Had he never been this close to anyone? Did he not have friends? Frank said, "I always hug my friends."
Mikey frowned. Frank couldn't have just said they were friends, he didn't mean it. Something here was wrong. He knew Frank had plenty of friends, so why would he want Mikey as one?
"You don't want to be my friend. I'm not stupid." Mikey sighed, tilting his head away from Frank's. He let his arms fall to his side, but Frank still clung to him, fisting the black material of his shirt desperately.
"Why wouldn't I want to be your friend?" he asked. Mikey shook his head and backed away from the embrace, stopping when his back hit the cold wall. His cigarette had burned down to the butt by this time, and he discarded it.
"Just...I'm gonna go, okay? See you around, Frank," Mikey said, turning to leave. Frank reached out to grasp his sleeve, remembering the object in his pocket. He took it out and pressed it into Mikey's hand. Mikey curled his fingers over whatever Frank had handed him, hoping it wasn't something illegal Frank wanted him to get caught with, and finally was released. He walked out of the bathroom, more concerned with getting away than what was in his hand. He went to the library and sat down in a chair, and only then did he open his hand.
He could have cried. It was a rock shaped like a heart. And Frank gave it to him as a present. What if Frank was telling the truth? Did he just blow the chance to actually have a friend like Frank? Shit.
*
Frank tossed and turned in bed that night, thinking about how lonely Mikey seemed. He wondered if he kept the rock, or threw it in a trash bin at school, like one would do with something as menial as a piece of gum. Sure, a rock didn't sound important to most, but the one he gave Mikey was special. He wanted Mikey to know he wasn't like everyone else.
Mikey was up at three o'clock that morning. He was sitting in his windowsill, his legs dangling outside. He liked to watch New Jersey at night, when everything was quiet. Really, there was nothing to watch but the leaves swirling in the wind and occasional flicker of a streetlight, but those small movements were somehow calming. Even though there was no one to see him, Mikey had kept his eyeliner on. It's become a mask to him, and taking it off would bare his face to the world, which is something he wasn't ready for.
He tightened his hand around the rock, the one nice thing he'd ever gotten from anyone other than family. He could almost believe Frank when he said he wanted to be friends. But could he really trust this young boy that hugs people in bathrooms? Mikey sighed and pulled himself completely back into the room. Now, even his room reflected his goth lifestyle. Gerard had left tons of cool stuff down in the basement, and he used them to his advantage. There was a dresser with a mirror on top of it--Mikey believes they are called vanities, but that sounds feminine-- over run with candles and stacks of eyeliner pencils and white face powder. None of the candles were lit, they made his room too hot and stuffy. In fact, many things about this goth lifestyle was hot and stuffy. The face powder was heavy and felt caked on, and the completely black outfit made him sweat.
Mikey sighed again and crossed the hall from his room to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and looked at himself. He winced at the image reflected in the mirror. His make up had run, creating gray streaks on his cheeks, and his newly dyed black hair stuck up on end. He removed his glasses and wiped the muck off his face with a washcloth. He didn't like the boy that remained. He wasn't exactly tan, especially not compared to Frank's perfect olive skin, but he wasn't the crisp and pure white of the powder. His eyes looked too squinty behind his glasses and his nose pointed too sharply. There was nothing about himself that he liked.
His friends Bob and Ray sat in their assigned seats in the same row as Frank, but while he was in the front, they were in the back. They glanced at each other with matching grins as they watched their younger friend come close to the brink of exploding. Yes, an agitated Frank was amusing entertainment. He was always the first one out the door, first to make it out of the lunch line and mark their territory by laying on top of their jungle gym and threatening other people who got too close. He was very protective of the jungle gym across the street from the school. It was prime real-estate during lunch, as it served as a fortress against ants and worms, not to mention the kick-ass slide.
The last thing Frank was expecting as the clock ticked its way down to the 12 mark was the door to open, but that's what happened. The figure who walked in looked so outrageous that Frank had to bite the inside of his jaw to stifle giggles. He'd seen goth kids before, of course, but not at this school, definitely, and never thought the day would come. But there he--let's hope it's a he--stood, clad in black, depressing clothes and chains on his lanky frame. His limp hair was dyed black, his face was as white as a sheet of paper, and eyeliner lined his eyes thickly. Frank had a passing thought that he looked like Eric Draven with glasses.
Ms. Jameson, the math teacher, quickly stood up at the sight of the goth boy, her rolling chair spasming out of control and hitting the wall with a loud thud behind her. Her eyes widened and she seemed at a loss for words. No one was making their usual chatter, in fact. All noises had ceased. It was a first that no one, not even the kid in the back who thought all his perverted jokes were funny was talking. Eventually, Ms. Jameson regained her composure with a little jerk of her head and looked down at the roster in her hands.
"Michael Way?" she asked timidly, eyes not leaving the paper. The boy just huffed, so she took it as an affirmative noise. By this time, Frank had to lay his head on the desk, covered with his arms to hide his laughter. He felt sorry for Ms. Jameson, having a kid like this in her first year of teaching, but it was too much. Michael was too perfectly goth. If there was a checklist for everything a goth kid needed to be nominated for goth of the year, Mikey would pass inspection with flying colors.
Mikey Way--he hated the name Michael--was the official nerd at his last school. Every possible stereotype you can throw out applied to him. He got excellent grades, wore glasses, was rail thin, and just asked to be beaten up. After an exceedingly bad beating two weeks ago, he begged his parents to let him switch schools, from Belleville to Newark. They consented, him being the perfect student and all.
But still the problem remained. What was going to be different about this school? Changing schools didn't make him any cooler, any more less of a nerd. He was still Mikey, the hopeless fist magnet who never seemed to do anything to provoke the beatings besides study. He lost plenty of sleep thinking of how he could remedy this. There was no way he could make himself stop making good grades, it wasn't worth it. He had the smug little fact tucked away in his brain that while he went on to be a great...whatever, all the assholes who beat him up would most likely end up in a retail store selling knockoffs of name-brand clothes at a fraction of the costs of other high-end retailers, and he wasn't going to jeopardize his chance to get into a good college just to avoid getting hit. If worst comes to worst, he would just take the punches like he always did.
In a great glimmer of genius, he settled on the path his brother went down in high school. The goth. No one ever beat up Gerard, they were too afraid he'd use arcane magic to rip their souls apart and feed them to ghosts. Pft, Gerard wishes he could do that. So, Mikey called his brother in New York, and learned that Gerard had left all of his gothic clothes and makeup downstairs in the basement. Upon venturing down there, Mikey found all sorts of goth goodies, and thus became goth. At first, his parents were wholly against the idea, but Mikey, being the baby in the family, managed to convince them and get his way. Everything was done.
*
Frank, Bob, and Ray were congregated at their jungle gym, like every day at lunch. And their conversation had turned to what else than Michael Way, resident goth boy. Three days had passed since that first day he showed up, and Frank couldn't get enough of him. He cursed himself for being a junior and only having one class with Michael. He also cursed that the class had to be math, and he was stuck at the front of the room where he couldn't turn around and gawk at the boy inconspicuously. He was addicting. If you happened to be walking through the halls and glance at Michael, you had to do a double take.
Bob and Ray didn't feel the same addiction to Michael that Frank did. They wanted nothing to do with him, and tried to convince Frank to not go near him. They recognized that blatant fascination in Frank's eyes. He always wanted to take the other things no one wanted and shower them with attention. He wanted to save the world.
"Hey, why do you suppose he's like that?" Frank pondered. He rested his chin on his hand and looked up to the sky in a thoughtful manner, squinting his eyes against the bright light of the sun. "Did something horribly tragic happen to him?"
"People like him don't need a reason to be that way, Frankie. They do it for attention," Bob said. He glanced across the road to the schoolyard where Michael sat alone under a tree, no doubt hating his existence. That is what goths do, right? Wish the world could understand them but scowl at anyone wearing black who wasn't exactly GOTH.
Mikey looked up and happened to catch a blond guy staring at him. The blond guy was sitting on the top of some monkey bars that were running out from a jungle gym tediously, one hand gripping the bars tightly.
"Hm, idiot. I hope he falls," Mikey mumbled to himself. Then immediately felt a little rush of regret. He wasn't a bad guy, and would feel bad if this blond guy fell and broke something. Just wishing something wouldn't make it happen, but he'd still feel a twinge of guilt. He stretched himself out in the grass and stared up at the clouds overhead, watched as one solitary cluster of rain matter broke away from the rest in some gay metaphor for what he was feeling right now. For the first time since switching schools, he felt lonely. The repercussions of being goth: everyone goes out of their way to avoid you. At first that's what he longed for, to be left alone, but now he began to doubt his choice.
"Aw...he looks sad. I want to go over there..." Frank said, looking over at Michael as he laid down, looking defeated by life. At his words, Bob suddenly became alert and tense. Frank didn't need to be caught up with that crowd, he was too impressionable. Bob wasn't losing one of his best friends to the goth kid.
"Frank Iero, you stay away from him, okay?" he snapped. Frank sat up, alarmed at Bob's tone. He saw his friend frowning at him, and wondered what he did. It didn't seem like Bob to judge someone because of what they wore. He was generally an open guy. Frank crawled over to Bob and situated himself in his lap.
"Why can't I talk to him? He's lonely. Pwease, Bob?" Frank fluttered his eyelashes in a way he hoped was cute, widening his eyes to extreme proportions in the patented 'puppy dog face' that always seemed to work. Ray looked on at the exchange in amused silence. This happened quite alot. Bob tells Frank he can't have something, which just fuels his desire even more, and Frank pouts and mopes until he gets it. It was like watching a little kid at the supermarket asking his parents for candy, then crying and making a fuss when he was told he couldn't have dessert before dinner.
"No, Frankie. He'll prolly...I don't know, sacrifice you to the vampire lord he works under. Just let it alone." Bob commanded. Frank pouted and turned his attention to a particularly interesting rock sticking out of the sand in the sand box. He went down the slide and dug around until he located the heart shaped rock.
"Hm, now how can I use this?" he asked himself with a smirk playing on his lips, balancing the rock delicately on his fingers.
*
Mikey leaned against the cold tiled wall in the boy's bathroom with a lit cigarette between his lips. Courtesy of his brother's stash, of course. Gerard shouldn't mind, since he had the money to buy them and he was old enough. Mikey wasn't cutting class like he'd like everyone who passed through to think. No, he still cared greatly about his grades, but today in English they had a test, and he finished it within five minutes of receiving it, so he was allowed to skip the rest of the period.
Frank, unlike Mikey, was not a Straight A Student, and had no reservations about skipping his history class with the teacher--male teacher, Mr. Roberts--who always checked him out. So, he found himself once more in the bathroom that period. The smell of nicotine greeted his lungs, and he was momentarily surprised when he saw Michael leaning against the wall, smoking. Frank could almost skip, this was so perfect. After Bob had told him earlier to stay away from the goth boy, Frank had decided that he was going on a quest to see if Michael could laugh. It was a dumb thing to wonder, of course he could laugh if he had vocal chords, but Frank needed to hear it.
Mikey heard the door open, and there stood the little kid from his math class. His eyes met Mikey's, and they showed none of the usual fear or disgust Mikey had grown accustomed to in the past few days. Frank pranced over to Mikey and leaned himself on the wall beside him. He looked up at Mikey and smiled. "Hello," he greeted warmly.
"Um, hi," Mikey greeted awkwardly, furrowing his eyebrows and plucking the cigarette from the corner of his mouth to flick the ashes on the ground. They landed near his shoes and he kicked at them absent-mindedly as he waited for whatever else this kid wanted to say to him before finally leaving him to finish smoking in peace.
Frank's eyes widened at the sound of Mikey's voice. He'd expected to get a grunt, or some other indistinguishable form of an answer. Mikey took a drag from his cigarette but didn't exhale. He let the smoke tendrils escape his lungs at their own pace. For a kid who's only been smoking for four days, Mikey thought he was managing himself pretty well. The first time he tried it, he choked and nearly threw up.
The kid beside him began rolling on his feet from his toes to the heel of his feet, hands crossed together behind his back and supporting his weight against the wall."I'm Frank, by the way," he added confidently. Mikey bit back his smile and just nodded. Frank pouted at Mikey's anti-social behavior and put his hand on his hip. "It's your turn," he prodded.
"Okay, Frank. I'm Mikey."
Frank giggled at the name. Not that it was funny, but it was much cuter a name than Michael, and, well...he didn't associate cute things with Mikey. Mikey cocked his eyebrow at Frank, eyelids drooping slightly in a condescending way.
"What are you laughing at?"
Frank didn't hesitate with his next statement, smiling up at Mikey brightly, eyes squinting at the corners. "It's a cute name. I like it."
Mikey was about to retort with 'I don't give a fuck if you like it', but, surprisingly, Frank was only slightly annoying. And not to mention he was the only person who would talk to Mikey. Instead, he settled on sticking the cigarette back in his mouth. Frank found that he really enjoyed watching Mikey's already sculpted cheeks sink in more as he took another drag. Frank poked Mikey in the side, getting his hand hastily shoved away.
"What, Frank?" Mikey asked irritably. He looked down at the boy who was chewing on his pink lip thoughtfully.
"Can I have one of those?" he asked, pointing to Mikey's cigarette. Mikey outright grinned and looked Frank up and down.
"You smoke?"
"Nope, but I'll start." Frank was thrilled that Mikey was smiling. That answer just made Mikey's smile wider, and he was fighting the urge to laugh at this eager little whelp who was disturbing his free period.
"They stunt your growth. You don't need one."
Frank hated it when someone made fun of his height. Yeah he's short, so what? It's not like it wasn't obvious enough without everyone cracking jokes. He'd heard enough of that kind of shit back in his freshman year when he was the shortest boy in school. Frank made a growling sound at Mikey, and that's all it took to make him snicker. Mikey thought Frank's height-challenged stature was cute, and he liked how riled up he got when teased.
Frank forgot the jab at his height because Mikey laughed. It was a small laugh, but it was genuine. Frank could tell from the way Mikey's eyes crinkled at the corners. He was so excited that he latched himself to Mikey and hugged him without stopping to wonder whether he'd get pushed away or not. When he felt no resistance from the other boy, Frank looked up.
Mikey was definitely surprised when Frank hugged him. No one other than family members had ever hugged him, and even that was a rarity. Frank looked up at him with eyes full of questions that he voiced. "What's wrong, Mikey?"
"Ahm...no one hugs me." He was suddenly a little self conscious about his lack of contact with people. It wasn't normal for a seventeen year old to have almost never touched anyone in his life. Frank's heart pained a little when he heard Mikey's words. Maybe Bob was wrong, and he wasn't just looking for attention.
"Well, here, you're not doing it right..." Frank reached out to grab Mikey's arms and pull them around his body, securing them tightly and pressing his hands over Mikey's on his hips, then returned his own arms to where they were originally around the boy's skinny waist. He snuggled into Mikey's chest and smiled against the fabric of his shirt. "There, I hugged you, Mikey."
Mikey nodded and rested his chin on the top of Frank's head. He was becoming suspicious of the younger boy. Why was Frank hugging him? Was this all about to blow up in his face, just a cruel Frank can laugh about later to his friends? If it was, Mikey'd be crushed. No one had ever been this nice to him at school before,and he wanted it to be real. "Frank, why..."
"Am I hugging you?" Frank finished. Mikey nodded. Frank felt another little pang in his chest for Mikey. Had he never been this close to anyone? Did he not have friends? Frank said, "I always hug my friends."
Mikey frowned. Frank couldn't have just said they were friends, he didn't mean it. Something here was wrong. He knew Frank had plenty of friends, so why would he want Mikey as one?
"You don't want to be my friend. I'm not stupid." Mikey sighed, tilting his head away from Frank's. He let his arms fall to his side, but Frank still clung to him, fisting the black material of his shirt desperately.
"Why wouldn't I want to be your friend?" he asked. Mikey shook his head and backed away from the embrace, stopping when his back hit the cold wall. His cigarette had burned down to the butt by this time, and he discarded it.
"Just...I'm gonna go, okay? See you around, Frank," Mikey said, turning to leave. Frank reached out to grasp his sleeve, remembering the object in his pocket. He took it out and pressed it into Mikey's hand. Mikey curled his fingers over whatever Frank had handed him, hoping it wasn't something illegal Frank wanted him to get caught with, and finally was released. He walked out of the bathroom, more concerned with getting away than what was in his hand. He went to the library and sat down in a chair, and only then did he open his hand.
He could have cried. It was a rock shaped like a heart. And Frank gave it to him as a present. What if Frank was telling the truth? Did he just blow the chance to actually have a friend like Frank? Shit.
*
Frank tossed and turned in bed that night, thinking about how lonely Mikey seemed. He wondered if he kept the rock, or threw it in a trash bin at school, like one would do with something as menial as a piece of gum. Sure, a rock didn't sound important to most, but the one he gave Mikey was special. He wanted Mikey to know he wasn't like everyone else.
Mikey was up at three o'clock that morning. He was sitting in his windowsill, his legs dangling outside. He liked to watch New Jersey at night, when everything was quiet. Really, there was nothing to watch but the leaves swirling in the wind and occasional flicker of a streetlight, but those small movements were somehow calming. Even though there was no one to see him, Mikey had kept his eyeliner on. It's become a mask to him, and taking it off would bare his face to the world, which is something he wasn't ready for.
He tightened his hand around the rock, the one nice thing he'd ever gotten from anyone other than family. He could almost believe Frank when he said he wanted to be friends. But could he really trust this young boy that hugs people in bathrooms? Mikey sighed and pulled himself completely back into the room. Now, even his room reflected his goth lifestyle. Gerard had left tons of cool stuff down in the basement, and he used them to his advantage. There was a dresser with a mirror on top of it--Mikey believes they are called vanities, but that sounds feminine-- over run with candles and stacks of eyeliner pencils and white face powder. None of the candles were lit, they made his room too hot and stuffy. In fact, many things about this goth lifestyle was hot and stuffy. The face powder was heavy and felt caked on, and the completely black outfit made him sweat.
Mikey sighed again and crossed the hall from his room to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and looked at himself. He winced at the image reflected in the mirror. His make up had run, creating gray streaks on his cheeks, and his newly dyed black hair stuck up on end. He removed his glasses and wiped the muck off his face with a washcloth. He didn't like the boy that remained. He wasn't exactly tan, especially not compared to Frank's perfect olive skin, but he wasn't the crisp and pure white of the powder. His eyes looked too squinty behind his glasses and his nose pointed too sharply. There was nothing about himself that he liked.
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