FicWad

"Bob, I swear I'm gonna smash your goddamn face up so bad..." Frank didn't have time to waste his breath on threats. He advanced on Bob and just punched him. No foreplay, no fucking lecture on how he shouldn't have done it, just straight on fist-to-face, resulting in a gratifying crunch.

That's what Frank hated about fights, the small talk. The only flaw to Dragon Ball Z was that the characters would spend so much time telling their opponent how he'd done something unforgivable that the audience would get to see, like, five minutes of bloodshed before the 'Next time on Dragon Ball Z' shit caught up and they were left there on the edge of their seats wondering--well, not so much, because the heroes always had to win--whether Goku was finally going to kick Buu's ass, or were they in for more transformations and small talk.

The room was spinning with adrenaline and sweat and the lurching worry that a teacher could walk in at any moment and see the two, but that made it better, and suddenly Bob didn't give a shit that this was Frank he was grabbing and slamming into the wall. His Frank, who he'd loved for years and years, jumping up to tug his head down and deliver another blow. The walls weren't being stained with his Frank's blood anymore. This was Mikey's Frank, and he didn't love this one.

*

Ray bit his full bottom lip as he contemplated going over to sit with Mikey in the corner. They both knew where Frank and Bob were, which meant that Mikey knew that Ray broke his promise, but maybe he wasn't mad.

Oh, screw that, Ray knew that he was mad. Mikey asked him for one thing, the only thing Mikey had ever wanted from him, and he managed to fuck it up royally. Mikey wasn't an easy person to please. It seemed like you had one chance with him, and if you fuck up...you fuck up. That's the end of it, move on, you're blocking the view. But who did Ray have to turn to now? He couldn't stand looking at Bob anymore, not after he realized just how bad he was hurting Mikey, even if Bob thought he had a legitimate reason. Ray almost sympathized with Bob, if only by the reason behind his actions. He had been in love with Frank for years, doting on his every whim, lusting after him in a way that was pathetic if looked upon by outsiders, and in comes Mikey, and in one day, it seemed like Frank threw both of them aside completely to go after the new kid.

Life was all about how one phrases things. On one hand, Ray's mind could make him feel really sorry for Bob--losing the love of his life so suddenly like that and justly wanting revenge; it was a normal human action. But, a stronger voice pulled toward Mikey, to his tough demeanor that hid a softer insecure side. He didn't ask for this, didn't go after Frank even, he was just a product of circumstance that Bob turned his misdirected anger upon. Mikey didn't do anything bad to Bob personally, just. Let Frank into his life. Resulting in a lifetime's worth of beatings crammed into a few weeks.

"...hey, Mikey." The floor was colder than Ray was expecting, and he gave a little yelp when he sat down that made Mikey tilt his head down to hide a smile.

"Hi, Ray."

"Hi....hey, are you okay? Like, with the cut and everything? It didn't get infected, did it?"

Mikey flipped his hair out of his face so the smile could be seen, somewhat touched that Ray seemed to care so much. "Er, well, yeah, it did, kinda. But Frank's mom, she's a nurse, and she ended up giving me stitches right in the middle of their living room. Frankie was kind of freaked out by the blood," Mikey said fondly, remembering when Frank had announced, halfway through, that he needed to go puke, and let go of Mikey's hand to do just that.

Ray barked a laugh, thumbing nervously at his nose because, well, they both knew what he was going to say next, and he really wished that Mikey would interrupt him and say that it was perfectly fine that he broke his sacred promise. But Mikey Way doesn't do that. He waits to talk.

"So..."Ray coughed, letting his nerves walk all over him as his next words came out strangled and high-pitched. "Are you mad at me?"

Mikey leveled him with a stare, like he really had to think about it. Though this was a conclusion that Mikey had come to last night while Frank was snuggled next to him in the dark, receiving little kisses to every one of his bruises and cuts and even some bare places that Frank just deemed too good to pass up on. "No. I-I guess I should thank you, actually. Because I could be in some deep shit right now if Frank's mom hadn't sewn me up. And I know you didn't tell because--you did it as a friend, and I'm not really used to people doing that, and it's weird, but thanks. For, like, giving a shit." Oh so eloquent and smooth. Mikey hated his talking habits. The stuttering, the sentences that just dropped off--but Frank always got it, and he was getting too used to that. Not everyone was going to get what he was trying to say, and he needed to learn that, but it was hard.

Ray smiled as Mikey's hands gestured nervously as he talked, fingers tightening around his legs then flying off in directions he wanted to think led somewhere, maybe a bit too broadly to fit Mikey's personality. He wanted to ask why his hands seemed to have minds of their own, but realized that wasn't something that Mikey would know. That was a dumb question anyway, it was like asking someone why they had orgasms, or why their nose had a bump at the bridge. Ray just smiled, heart beating an irregular melody against the bass drum that had taken residence in the pit of his stomach, and clapped his hand over Mikey's.

"S'not a problem, Mikey. But I told you that it'd get infected, you butt hole."

Mikey flushed a little at the sudden warm weight of Ray's hand on top of his own laying on his leg, but didn't shake it off. Normal friends touched like this, right? He and Frank did when they were just friends, and it's normal. And even if it did make his skin crawl and ache for Frank's hand instead, he didn't want to upset Ray by being a bad friend, so he kept still.

"I know you did, but it wasn't my fault that it got infected, because I used rubbing alcohol, and it bubbled up and everything! I thought that meant that the infection was out. I thought--oh well. D'you want to see my stitches? They're pretty awesome looking, like, there's still a little blood clinging to them and it's gory." Mikey ran his free hand over his hip as he talked, hoping Ray would go for this because he wanted his other hand back and he didn't know how to say it without being a bitch. Plus, his stitches were dope. And once, Ray had shown Mikey a big scar on the side of his head (Mikey thought it was pretty funny when Ray had to tilt his head completely horizontally and dig through all the layers of fuzzy hair to get to it) so this was normal too. Boys showed off their scars, yeah, and it was bonding.

When Ray nodded, Mikey's hand slipped out from under his to dip down to the bottom of his (Frank's) shirt and tug the material up, over his hipbone to where the stitches lay fastened to his skin. Mikey grinned proudly when Ray's jaw dropped, but his smile faded when Ray reached out to poke at the stitches. A twitch in the back of his head was screaming that only Frank should be touching anything Mikey covered with a shirt on a regular basis, particularly his hips. Hips were intimate, a part of Mikey that he only wanted to share with Frank, and all day he had to deal with people staring at them. Like they've never fucking seen hips on a boy before.

Ray slipped his hand over the stitches softly, feeling out the bumps and the smooth, surprisingly tan skin that was being held together by them. Mesmerized by the golden shell of Mikey's body, each little bone he could see popping out from beneath skin delicately, like he was really just made of silk stretched out over a small wire frame and set to live and breathe like a human while existing as a sculpture. Ray knew shit about art, as evidence of his second year repeating art, but he thought of Mikey, perched on a pure white stool in a white and black room, surrounded by paintings of trees dripping blood and mothers crying, and that was Art. A whole exhibit dedicated solely to Mikey.

Ray hated Frank. He wanted this, he wanted to let his hands venture over the ground he knew Frank must have already, because everyone knew that Frank Iero could seduce a nun. And teenage boys were a lot sluttier than nuns.

Mikey squirmed around a bit, hoping Ray would get the message soon that he wanted to put his shirt back down without him actually having to bring it up, because he knew that he was too passive to do it. But Ray was looking at him like Frank did when he just wanted to see, and Mikey knew that could take ages. He cleared his throat nervously and put his hand over Ray's. "Hey, you think we should go check on Frankie and Bob?" It was the first thing that had popped in his mind, and after a moment he realized that he was worried about it, now that the idea was planted in his brain. He didn't really think that Bob would hurt Frank--not after the big bitch fit he had about wanting Frank so much, about how Mikey wasn't good enough for Frank.

"Er." Ray didn't want to, not really. He wanted to stay out here and let the two boys in the bathroom kill each other, cut out all competition and then--no, Mikey would just hate him for letting it happen. "Yeah, sure." He stood up, grabbing Mikey's hand on the way to help him to his feet. Mikey bent down to pick up his jacket and sling it over his shoulders, covering his hips, and they both half-ran to the bathroom, because the situation was just now catching up to Mikey that he let his boyfriend--his rather short, completely pissed-off boyfriend--be in a room alone with a fucking monster.

Standing outside the bathroom door was complete deja vu for Ray, hand clasped around the doorknob nervously, dreading what could be on the other side of the door. Mikey's frantic nudges didn't let him take his precious time, so within two seconds of reaching the door, they were both flung in, stopping short as they saw.

This was fucking Fight Club material. Not two guys pushing each other, not one guy kicking someone else who was close to incapacitated, no. Frank and Bob were throwing punches, jabs, hard kicks to any spot on the other they could find, and it didn't look like either had the upper hand. It was almost orchestrated, a duel, each waiting their turn for a punch, trying their damnest to make it a significant one before their turn was up and they went on the defensive, lacking only the carefully planned and graceful movements of being controlled. Mikey stood in silent shock for a moment, taking in how Frank just slammed Bob up against the wall and looked likely to eat his face off before being thrown off, to hit the ground with a dull thud. Mikey only knew the gentle Frank, the one who spoke out against violence and quoted MLK at random points in the day, the one who cried if he saw someone kick a dog. Not this one, not the one who...did this. He had to fucking stop this.

Bob stumbled over to where he threw Frank, grabbing his hair and pulling his face up. He hated Frank's hair like this, long like a girl's, like a slut's, soft to the touch like it had never been when Frank had it cut short. Hated the way it hung in his face plastered by sweat and blood and hated the way it still didn't disguise the hate Frank held in his eyes when he looked up. Bob didn't really have the time to be examining every little flaw about Frank, though.

Mikey found himself grinning down at the blond that was now under him, sadistic, every threat that had ever passed his mouth coming out as punches as he worked on disfiguring Bob's face. For the first time, he felt indestructible, each crunch giving him more and more momentum, he couldn't even remember tackling Bob away from Frank now. All he knew was this, this power, he could kill Bob right now if he wanted, really. Arms working on their own as his mind became detached, and he was watching himself leaning over Bob, and it wasn't him anymore. He was floating, floating,--being pulled back into Ray's arms as he tried to pry Mikey's body off of Bob's, despite Mikey's protests that he wasn't fucking done, he hadn't done half as much damage as Bob had done to him.

But he knew it was over, he couldn't fight against Ray. Bob just groaned where he'd been laying in a daze, face covered with blood from his nose. Mikey knew that it wasn't as bad as it looked, it was just a fucking nosebleed and it probably wasn't even broken, and it wasn't fair. He wasn't going to have the marks that Mikey does, and--and he fucking hurt Frank! That was the real fucking point, that Bob had started all of this because he was jealous that Mikey had Frank, but here he was, hitting Frank like he didn't even matter, and--

"Motherfucker!" That was really all Mikey could think of saying at this point. His hands bunched up the thin denim of his pants, knuckles turning white and the delicate lines of veins making intricate artwork on the back of his hands. He knew better than to struggle against Ray, not only was he stronger and bigger, but Mikey's high had worn off. He let his head fall back to lay on Ray's shoulder because, suddenly, he was drained. "I'm gonna kick your brains in when Ray lets go of me, I hope you know," he murmured even as he shifted to fit a little more comfortably in the painfully tight grip. He was pretty sure his elbow was lodged somewhere in Ray's spleen, but he couldn't move enough to do anything about it, and the immobility felt oddly safe.

He glanced over at Frank, who was laying in the floor gripping at his own head, and a jolt went through him. Not like before, not a 'lunge out and rip out Bob's throat' jolt, but just. He wanted to crawl over to Frank and bundle him up in his arms and kiss everything better, like Frank had done with him. He wanted to go home and get in bed with Frank and just sleep all the pain away. "Hey, let me go," he said to Ray, jerking his arms for emphasis. When the arms around him tightened, he sighed and wished he hadn't let that threat slip out. "Seriously, I'm just going to go over there to Frank, he looks like he might be hurt."

Ray heard the sincerity in Mikey's voice, and was pretty sure that he could sprint across the bathroom if Mikey lunged out at Bob again--Mikey was kind of slow for such a small kid. So, when Mikey pried himself out of Ray's arms to slink over to Frank and cradle him in his arms, Ray stood up, brushing the dirt off of the ass of his pants, feeling dirty. He didn't let himself think of how unsanitary the bathroom floor was, and he ignored the squishing feeling under his foot every time he took a step closer to Bob. The floor was alive underneath him, brimming with small living organisms that could crawl under his skin and give him some terminal disease, but he didn't think about it as he crouched on his knees next to Bob and lifted his head into his lap.

"Hey..." He didn't know what to say--were they still friends? Was Mikey going to completely shun him for helping Bob? "Hey, how are you?" The question sounded dumber out of his mouth, out in the stillness of the bathroom where he knew Frank and Mikey could hear him as well. Ray hated bathrooms.

Bob grunted and sat up, looking past Ray's small worry and over to where Frank was curled into Mikey's side, looking small and fragile and nothing like the boy who he had just thrown across the room. Shit, he was going to be sick.

"Mikey...what the fuck? You--can't fight, what the hell was that!" Bob's jaw felt like it was being pried off of its hinges, muscle and skin snapping and just barely holding the bones together, and to top it all off, the little fucker was sitting across the room smiling back at him smugly. He knew he'd won this time. "You couldn't fight two days ago!" When I had you gripping onto the garbage can just so you wouldn't fall and bust your skull on the floor. What had happened between then and now?

Mikey smirked--Bob's least favorite emotion to see on Mikey's face, he was drawn more to the tears and begging--and dipped his head to kiss Frank's forehead. "Yeah, well, obviously I can fight, and if you ever even think about touching my boyfriend again, I'll kill you." He stated it simply, neutrally, holding Bob's gaze with his own to tell him, yeah, he was serious. Death was on the line here. Mikey curled his arms around Frank's waist to pull him into his lap, where he could take a better look at the patch of blood on the side of Frank's head. "Hey," he said softly, kissing the back of Frank's neck. "Are you okay?" The blood glared up at him, red, garish, and violent in the gray bathroom, not letting him forget for a minute that this was his fault. Frank looked up at him, eyes clouded over with some emotion that Mikey couldn't read--maybe exhaustion, like him--and smiled.

"Mhm, just a little headache. Take me home?"

Mikey nodded, relieved that Frank had similar wants, and let Frank crawl off of his lap before standing up. They were almost to the door, hands clasped tightly and Frank leaning most of the way on Mikey, when Bob called out.

"Frank?"

They stopped, Frank turning around but keeping his arm around Mikey just so he wouldn't fall. His head felt swollen with pain, a balloon had lodged itself behind his brain, and all he wanted was to get out quickly. He didn't owe Bob anything, he knew he could have just walked away, knew that it was the smartest thing he could do, but still. It was Bob. This shouldn't happening, he shouldn't feel compelled to let Bob say any more, but he wanted to. Nothing in his demeanor gave off the impression that it was going to be another apology, but maybe something actually important?

Bob whimpered a little as he stood up, with Ray's help, and leaned on the wall. "Why couldn't you love me? What was wrong with me that you picked him instead?" Bob gave a little gesture towards Mikey but his gaze stayed on Frank's face. Sincerity dripped from his words, and in a way, he was completely sincere. He wanted to know why. Never mind the fact that he knew he could still make Frank feel like shit with just a few tears and heartfelt words.

Frank groaned. "No, Bob, don't start this."

"Yes! Tell me what was such a turn off! I was in love with you for years, and I had to watch you go off and fuck every girl in the school--"

"Shut up!" Frank stomach lurched as he remembered that Mikey was here to hear it all.

"It's true! And, I thought that it was because you didn't like boys, and that was okay. I was fine with that, but then he comes along, and suddenly you're gay and I still can't have you! How do you think that felt? To see you so obviously in love with some boy that everyone in the whole world hates?"

Frank closed his eyes. No, Bob didn't just say it. He didn't say that Frank was in love with Mikey, it wasn't fair. Frank wasn't planning on ever telling him...

"Bob..." How the fuck can you do this to me?

"Frank, why didn't you love me?"

"I told you I loved you! And I did! You were my best friend, and I loved you like a friend!" Frank began his own little mantra of don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry inside his head as he thought of what Mikey must think of him right now. He reached behind to grasp at Mikey's hand, finding it and slipping it between his own sweaty palms, cradling it, treating it as a buffer to everything he had to hear.

"Why didn't you love me like you love Mikey?"

Their grasps on each other, the link binding Frank to Mikey slipped, Mikey's hand bouncing off of the wall and Frank's hanging limply at his side, little jagged pieces of intimacy falling out from his fingers to land on the floor and coat it. It was that word, love, one never spoken between them simply because it would fuck everything up. Frank wasn't giving this all up for one measly word, he didn't have enough pride anymore. His words came out practiced, steady, veined with chaos spiraling through the lie. "I didn't love you differently. I love Mikey as my friend just like I loved you."

"No, fuck you, I know that's not true." Bob's face was all one big grimace, from his forehead down to his chin. "Loving someone and being in love with someone is two completely different things, you know."

"S'what I've heard, but I wouldn't know."

"But you're in love with Mikey."

The biggest lie. He thought it would swallow him whole, gulp him down in one big bite, grin with razor teeth and stalk off to find another victim. It put fear into him where few things could. This could destroy his relationship, his life, he could be forced to exist with the knowledge that he lied to the one person who mattered the most and it would all be in justice. He cleared his throat, already void of any obstructions but it seemed the thing to do in this situation. It was the only way he could plunge into the thick silence.

"I'm not in love with Mikey."

His breath came rushing out of him in gusts, settling over the still-too-quiet room, over the tiles on the floor, in between the grout. Was this okay? Did he do the right thing? His answers came charging all at once, barely giving him time to take the breath required to keep his heart beating.

"..okay, Frank, whatever."

Mikey nudged him in the back, and Frank could feel light weight on his shoulder where Mikey was resting his chin in the dip between bones. "Can we go home now?" Anticipation laced Mikey's words, along with a few light pokes in his back.

Home. Their shared refuge. Mikey wasn't mad.

Frank thought he would be happy. But.

Mikey doesn't love him.

*

"Really, honey, I can walk," Frank insisted as he wiggled in his spot hoisted on Mikey's back. His fingers were hooked into the back of Mikey's hair, braiding pieces together, one under the other. Mikey's arms rested protectively under Frank's thighs as he walked down the mostly deserted hallway. There were a few kids at the end, but they didn't fill Mikey with the dread he would have if Frank wasn't here.

"Nah, I'm not so sure about that, Frank. You tripped twice just getting out of the bathroom door."

"Only 'cause I'm eager to get home and nap! Or, like, tackle you into the bed and force you to make out with me all day." He giggled and leaned forward to kiss the back of Mikey's neck, slowly moving up to his ear, tonguing the shell thoughtfully. "Hm...you taste like buttered toast. How odd. Are you made of toast? Oh my God! That's why you wear black! You're really just burned toast!"

Mikey's laugh caught in his throat when he felt the clash of teeth on the side of his neck, nipping gently. "Frank, I'm seriously not made of any kind of food," was not the right thing to say, Mikey found out, because after that statement, Frank decided that his goth toast needed a hickey, declaring it a punishment for being a talking toast. Mikey let him do it, smiling to himself that he was so un-fazed by this now. The corners of his mouth slid down when three guys came up to the both of them. Frank popped his mouth off of Mikey's neck to smile and wave at them.

"Hi guys!" he chirped, snuggling into the back of Mikey's jacket.

"Hiya, Frank," the tallest one said, a half-smile posted across the stubble playing on his cheeks. "What are you doing?"

"Mmm, giving Mikey a hickey and complaining simultaneously. I'm pretty boss at it. What are you guys doing out here, Manny?" Frank slid down off of Mikey's back, choosing instead to stand beside his boyfriend and throw his arm around his waist. Mikey just wanted to go. He'd never been beaten up for his sexuality, but he knew it wasn't unheard of.

"Oh, we just got kicked out of science for--"

"Oh, God, it was Lab Day, wasn't it?" Frank laughed, noticeably less feminine than he normally did. "You blew something up, didn't you, you dweebs?"

Manny scratched the back of his head and did his best attempt at looking sheepish. "Just...a few beakers and a Bunsen burner and some girl's hair and one of the teacher's boobs."

"But...don't you have Mr. Baker?"

Manny laughed. "Yeah!" And Frank joined in, pressing his face into Mikey's arm. Manny looked up, like he just noticed Mikey was standing there--which was probably the case--and then his eyes went back...down. "Oh, hi, Michael. Oh, er, Mikey, is it?"

Mikey nodded, a little pleased that this guy was making an attempt not to piss him off, though he knew it was only because he liked Frank. "Yeah, hi."

"So, where are you two going?" he asked, eyes fixated on somewhere that Mikey wanted to think wasn't his hips. Because, seriously, what the hell? He wasn't even gay.

"Home. We only came for three periods today," Frank answered, following Manny's eyes and not pleased with where they took him. He tightened his grip on Mikey's waist, running his thumb over the ribs he encountered.

"Oh. Lucky. So...you two are, like. You know."

"Dating, yep...you're not creeped out by that or anything, right?" Frank had a feeling he didn't. Frank had another feeling that if Manny didn't get his eyes off of his boyfriend's hips, he was going to suck them out with a stomach pump.

"No, no. In fact, it's kind of refreshing to see at this school. And...um...yeah, Mikey's really pretty, so congratulations."

Mikey blinked. "You think I'm pretty?" he asked, leaning more definitely into Frank's side. Silently flattered, but a little unsure if he wanted to hear this. Or, what if this guy was just fucking around?

Manny turned red, his hands tugging frantically at the ends of his long sleeves. "Er, yeah, kinda. Like, I'm not gay or anything, but you..."

"I?"

"Have a pretty nice body and--yeah, from what I can tell. And...like, I saw you in class earlier without your glasses, and. You have pretty eyes too. And Frank, no, I'm not hitting on your boyfriend, I swear!" Manny held up his hands in defense, grimacing at the look he was getting from his short friend. "I'm just saying. But you already know he's pretty, so I'll shut up now."

While Frank was nodding, redfaced, Mikey just smiled demurely. "Thank you." He just barely refrained from batting his eyelashes, pleased at the reaction from Frank so far.

Frank's mouth dropped open. "Okay, that's it, off to bed!" He tugged Mikey out the door and to his car in record time.

*

It ate at him. During nights when the moon filtered bright and obnoxious on his bed in lines, when he could hear the cars speed by outside his window at ass-o-clock, stupid fucking teenagers going out to get drunk, when the streetlights flickered as bugs hoarded around them. He could almost laugh at himself, at some of his thoughts. Not in an, oh, this is quite comical way, more like, my life is irony on acid way. More like he was dying of sugar intoxication.

He had Mikey, so it really shouldn't feel this way, not--this wasn't what he imagined it to be like. He wanted holding hands and fights over stupid shit, and really, this was the worst time to realize that he had all of that all along. Before he decided that Mikey needed to be his boyfriend. It's not like either one of them were going to go out and date someone else anyway--so why'd Frank have to poison it? Why did he have to set off this chain of events that led up to his declaration in a motherfucking bathroom that he didn't love Mikey? Friends were amazing. When Mikey was his friend, there was the awkward brushes of the hand, or sweet blushes hidden under layers of makeup when their shoulders touched. All in all, it was cliche, and maybe Frank wanted that now that he had messed everything up so badly.

It was nice to feel bad for staring at Mikey for just a little too long and getting caught, it was nice to walk up to him in the mornings and press his nose into his cheek and wish that just once they could share a kiss.

Better, though, was the knowledge that Mikey was his, and an unfathomable amount better than that was the kisses, holyshituntilFrankcouldn'tbreathe, the swell of pride when he would go, 'Yeah, this is my boyfriend, Mikey,' and get some odd reaction, and the completion. He wasn't afraid that Mikey would pull away from the hugs--no, that was a lie, that fear was still there, but numbed down, to where it was only static. It was more like the storm cloud that had been hulking in the back of his mind was lightening up, becoming a cloud that one dreams about, that he could make into shapes. It wasn't a bunny rabbit just yet, more like a deformed antelope, something that was only slightly better than a rain cloud.

It felt like he'd let Bob win. Not, not some stupid fight, because they won the last one, he and Mikey together, but Bob made Frank lie. Worse, lie to Mikey about something that was really important. To Frank, at least. Mikey didn't seem in the least fazed by the fact that his boyfriend admitted to not loving him, and as far as Frank was concerned, Mikey might as well have said it back. So guidelines were set up, no L-word in their relationship, and it sucked. Frank never particularly liked the word love in the first place, but now that he officially couldn't use it--things were just different. Boundaries were set, and he hated them, and he wanted to just knock them all down in one of his fits that rarely burst through his skin.

*

Mikey hunched down close to the toilet, leaning one of his arms on the cold rim and holding himself up with the other. Everything was shaking, his hands were shaking, the hair laying useless in front of his eyes was shaking, the earth was trembling. He closed his eyes and planted his forehead to the floor he was sitting on. The tremors. He could hear them downstairs as they yelled, picking out few key words that made his stomach lurch, like fag, disowned, and the occasional stop your goddamn blubbering, Donna!

His arms were made of brittle bone, porcelain and paper, and there was no way he could go down there and shut his father up, but oh how he wanted to.

Tears dripped from his nose, splashed on the tiles and spurted back at his face, a kind of Fuck You to his own pathetic life. It was almost turning into an after-school special. Poor, gay, outcast boy gets beaten up, comes home, and his no-good-drunk parents are fighting. Only, that was shit. He was happy in his life, with Frank and Ray by his side, and his parents hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. It would almost be better if they had, just so he could tell himself that they would be in pain the next morning while they stumbled into the kitchen and searched futily for the Advil that he would have thrown out the moment he knew they were asleep.

The phone sat by his foot, just waiting to be used. Why else would it be up here, in the bathroom next to a sobbing boy? But--well, it was late, and the only person Mikey wanted to call other than Gerard (and he really couldn't afford to do that right now) was Frank, and he didn't want to wake Frank up. All that would happen was Mikey would cry and complain, and Frank would tell him that everything was going to be alright, and he was going to fix everything, and--

Just the memory of those words ringing true every time Frank had to say them had Mikey punching in the number he knew by heart. This was only the second time Mikey had ever called Frank--the first being when he left his backpack over at Frank's house and called to ask if he could bring it to school tomorrow, and even that made Mikey's heart pound out of his chest--but he had Frank's number taped to his wall, and sometimes in fits of lonliness he would run his fingers over it and recite the numbers.

The phone picked up on the other end, and Mikey hoped, hoped that it was Frank and not his mom, but--"Hello?" A distinctly feminine voice asked. She sounded irritated, and Mikey was debating just hanging up and locking himself into the bathroom the whole night when he heard a loud crash from downstairs and threw that plan out the door. Surely Frank won't be mad?

"H-hi, is Frank th-there?" He sniffed, wiping tears away with the inside of his shirt and staining it, but who gives a fuck?

"Oh, Mikey, honey, is that you? Are you crying?"

It astounded Mikey how anyone could tell that from just over the phone, but then again, he was being rather loud. He let out a little choked laugh, shoving the heel of his hand into his eye. "Y-yeah, a little bit. I hope I didn't wake you or anything, but I really just need to talk to Frankie." His own ears picked up the desperation behind his request, and on the other end he could hear Frank's mom shuffling around to Frank's room.

"It's not a problem, sweetheart. Is there something wrong?"

He shouldn't tell her, because she isn't--she just isn't someone that he always talks to. Well, he does, but never anything personal. But he found the words slipping out a little. Not the whole story, just, "My parents," and knew she would get it. She made a sympathetic noise, and he could hear her chock it up to teenage angst, but didn't give a shit once Frank's sleep-bleared voice blasted through the static.

"Mikey? You okay?" Mikey could hear the worry over the phone, and yeah, he felt cared for. He needed this.

"Yeah, m'okay, but...my brother..." Oh God, he's made it sound worse than it really is. But this was bad, it was horrible, life-shattering to think about going days, months, without talking to his brother and making fun of him and having someone who understands that he's not human.

"What about your brother? Is he okay?"

"Well, yeah, he's not hurt or anything, but--ugh! Today, he called the house, and like, he...okay, I didn't even know this, but he's gay. He never told me. And he--the dumbass thought it would be okay to come out to our parents over the phone, or at all, and that was seriously a bad call. They've been yelling for hours, and they told me that I couldn't ever call him or see him again because they don't want it to rub off or some shit like that, and." A sob cracked through the air, drowning out the cries from below him. "He's my brother, Frankie, I can't..." Mikey held the phone closer to his ear, to the point where it was digging into the side of his head and hurt, but he just wanted something. If he could, he would pull Frank out of the phone so he could hold him, or, even better, disappear into the phone and come out at Frank's house, where it was safe.

"Shh, i-it's going to be okay, Mikey, sugar, just. They can't do that. You'll find ways to talk to him, I promise."

"But they said that they're going to buy one of those caller ID things, and it'll tell them who I've called, and who's called the house!" Mikey tried to keep his wailing to a minimum, even though he knew he could commit a murder up here and his parents would never hear him over their own fighting. His parents weren't really much into fighting, and in the few instances that they would fight, Mikey always ended up sleeping curled up next to Gerard in his bed, but not now, now he's just curled up next to the fucking bathtub, pouring his heart out to his boyfriend who lives an hour away.

"But Mikey, you can call him at my house."

"Oh. I hadn't really thought of that." Mikey winced at his stupidity. This is why he didn't like to call Frank, because without Frank holding him, he was a mess and couldn't think rationally. Frank was an addiction once he was in your bloodstream.

But that wasn't the real issue here, no. Now that the smaller problem was solved, the bigger, more substantial one hung over both of their heads. Mikey's parents were homophobic. And, once that terror set in, Mikey put it into words. "What if they find out about us?" Like it was some deep dark secret, like it was something that they weren't proud of. Frank didn't like this, not one bit.

"Then you'll live with me, Mikey." Before Mikey could scoff or write it off as a joke, Frank went on. "I am dead fucking serious, Mikey. If they--if they pull any of this homophobic shit with you, I want you to gather up all your stuff and get your ass down here, no matter what time it is. "

Mikey let out a barely audible "Okay," before slipping down to let all his limbs rest on the floor, cold seeping into his flesh and driving away most feelings but the pinpricks. "H-hey, Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I come over tomorrow?" Tomorrow was Saturday.

"Of course. Hey! Get here really early, I mean, like, single-digit early, and I'll make us some hot chocolate and we'll watch all the Saturday morning cartoons, like that Batman one I was telling you about, and there's this other one, starts with a Y, and they made that kid's eyes too big too, but it had pretty colors, so yeah. We can do that. Bella will probably hog up the whole couch, but I won't let her hog you, because you, Mikey Way, are mine to cuddle, and she's just gonna have to get over that."

Mikey smiled wide, not bothering to fight the muscles tilting the corners of his lips up or trying to hide it behind his hair because no one was there to see him. He smiled until his cheeks hurt and he wanted to laugh or something, because Frank did exactly what he always did, he swooped in and saved the day, and Mikey just didn't think he could live without Frank anymore. And that was amazing too. This new feeling washed over him, cradling him in its depths and even though Frank wasn't here, everything was going to be okay.

"Oh, and Mikey?"

He could just hear the pop in Frank's voice, the smile that he couldn't see but knew was there, the smile he knew inside and out, how it tasted, how it felt, how it was the most amazing smile ever. "Yeah, Frank?"

"Bring your gothy clothes and makeup and the leash."

*

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he basked in the feeling of being blatantly stared at. He knew what they were thinking, somewhere along the lines of omigod and making a dog joke. Many people took it as a joke, sadly, but a lot didn't. A lot hated it. And Frank loved that.

The stores and stands drew his wonderous eye as he trailed along behind Mikey, for once assuming the submissive role and leaving everything completely up to his boyfriend. If Mikey ducked into the bookstore to go look at the newest issue of whatever, Frank was right behind him. He had no choice in the matter. It was all left up to the thick band of leather (he hoped it was more like pleather, because cow? Ew.) around his neck and Mikey's whims. Already, they had stopped by a coffee shop for two White Mochas and a shared giant pretzel coated in chocolate. Frank really liked standing in line at the coffee shop, because he could hear exactly what the people behind him were whispering. They, of course, passed right by the fact that Frank and Mikey were both boys and went straight to their clothes and the leash, and that pleased Frank to no end. He liked to be hated. That's it. He liked to be stereotyped, as long as he was paired with Mikey, because he found it fucking romantic. Him and Mikey against the close-minded fuckers who roamed the mall.

Mikey just liked to spend time with Frank, costume or not. He liked the way Frank was all over him, grabbing onto his arm or slipping his hand into one of the oversized back pockets of his pants and grinning. He also liked to be in charge. Before they left the house, Frank had taken Mikey aside and told him that he was fucking in charge, and if he asked once for permission to do anything, Frank would bite him.

And he stuck by that threat, going exactly where he wanted when he wanted--until he passed by the build-a-bear workshop. He stopped, staring for a minute at the outside of the store decorated with different little stuffed animals and filled with little children tugging their parents around, pointing to different animals and clothes. Predominantly bears, but there were more, like rabbits, giraffes, butterflies--unicorns! They had unicorns! But, shit, he couldn't go in there or Frank will...wait, this is Frank, of course he can go in there.

"Frank! They have unicorns in there!" Mikey said in a rushed whisper, like it was a secret and if everyone knew then they would crowd in the store and take all of them before Mikey could get one. Frank let out a shocked gasp and stood on his tiptoes, turning towards the storefront to look inside the glass display case.

"They do! Oh, and they have a turtle too!"

The two of them went inside the store, ignoring the stares they got as they both picked out their animals. The store clerk was looking at them like he thought Mikey was going to rip the unicorns head off with his teeth and spit out the stuffing onto the little kids who were dressing their animals, but instead Mikey just looked down at the unicorn in his arms, and smiled.

"You're a boy unicorn, okay? And if you're gay, I'll love you anyway, but we can't tell my parents, got it?" He was talking loud enough for the parents hovering over their children to hear and step closer to their child, like a penguin would do with their egg. Frank looked down at his turtle, bit his lip, and wondered whether he wanted it more than a penguin. Nope. Turtles are the way to go.

"What's his name?" Frank asked as they waited in line to get clothes for their animals, because animal nudity? No. Just, no.

Mikey smiled, looking down at his unicorn fondly, as Frank began to get jealous of a stuffed animal. "Michael."

He decided on the name because the unicorn looked like a Michael, more than Mikey ever did. And by this point, nothing he could say would make this situation any more mortifying when they got home and Mikey climbed down from the high of finding a unicorn.

Frank giggled. "How odd. This one is Franklin. But he's transgendered. He used to be a girl named Francine, but now he's a boy, and proud of it. And I'm going to get him jetpacks like Robin had so he'll be faster than any of these stupid bunnies." Frank waved a dismissive hand at the rack of rabbits that were settled next to the turtles and bears, each staring at him with their beady little black eyes and plastic pink noses. "Yeah, be jealous of Franklin," he told them, holding the turtle up to his chest just in case, you know, one of the rabbits decided to jump out and attack him.

Mikey smiled over his head and helped Frank glare at the rabbits. "Don't worry, Frankie, Michael can kick their heads if they try to get fresh," he said with a straight face, holding his unicorn up so the rabbits could see. He thought they looked very terrified.

*

"--Oh yeah? Well, Franklin can snap a person's head off with one bite!" Frank spat, stealing a bunch of french fries from Mikey's plate and stuffing them into his mouth, not waiting to digest before sticking his tongue out at Mikey.

"Michael can fly," Mikey replied calmly, taking a prim slurp of his coke and smirking at Frank. He knew he was going to win this argument. There was no way a turtle was more deadly than a unicorn. It wasn't logical.

"Birds can fly, Mikey, but that doesn't mean shit."

"Fine, he can fly and breathe fire."

"He's not a dragon! He's a unicorn! They shit rainbows and puke butterflies, what's so deadly about them?" Frank couldn't help the smile that was pressing at the corners of his mouth. He wanted to look like he was taking this seriously, not that Mikey was even bothering hiding his laughter. This was really all he'd ever wanted in a relationship, he realized. Sitting with Mikey at the food court, both of their stuffed animals sitting in seats across from them on the other side of the booth, their thighs touching through the thick material of two pairs of Tripp pants, arguing about unicorns.

Mikey beamed at Frank, one hand covering his mouth limply, as he sputtered out the winning statement. "Yeah, and they fart toxic fumes." It wasn't a plausible theory, or even provable, but at that point, Frank snorted and kissed Mikey, muttering about how cute he was, and Mikey chocked that up to a win. A hint of a smile still graced his lips when Frank pulled away, half-lidded eyes continuing to press kisses to his skin without touching him.

"Oh, god, you're such a dork, Mikey." It wasn't an insult. There's no way Frank could insult Mikey and still sound like that, like--fantastically enamored. His eyes squinted from the radius of his grin as he leaned over and plucked a cigarette from the open pack on the table, breathing out a sigh because, well, cancer, and all that. Just one of those ideas in the back of his head, the both of them with holes in their necks and wheezing at each other about dragons.

Mikey nodded at the accusation happily, watching Frank light the cigarette up and wondering when he became a smoker. This should be something that Mikey knew, because he was the enabler, but he didn't. He was pretty used to Frank just stealing a lit one from his lips, taking a drag, and handing it back, content with that. But--they were both smokers now, and that was. Dumb. They were so dumb. His eyes drooped as he leaned his chin on his hand and stared at the ketchup packet on the table. Heinz. That was a German name, right? Yeah. He knew that.

"What kind of name is Iero?" Mikey popped off, sitting straight up as soon as the thought had hit him.

"The amazing kind, Way. It's Italian. You know that," Frank answered blandly. He swirled the straw around in his cup with one hand and tapped a cylinder of ash into the ashtray with the other.

Mikey cocked his head to the side, not satisfied with the answer. "What's it mean?" He didn't bother with worrying that he was asking too many questions, since he was allowed to today. Frank's hand stopped fiddling with his straw and he turned his head to level with Mikey, tipping his lips into a sideways grin. A fringe of bangs fell over his nose and he flipped it out of the way.

"Y'know, I have no idea." He giggled at his own building curiosity. "But we can ask Mom when we get home. I'll bet it's something romantic and exotic, like, fuckin'..." He didn't even know where to begin.

"I'll bet it means pink eye," Mikey quipped, backing himself into the corner he was sitting in when Frank took a little swing at his arm. "Ah, abusive boyfriend."

Frank pouted and swung his arms around Mikey's shoulders, his legs clamping over one of Mikey's so he was half in Mikey's lap. One of his hands raked through Mikey's hair like he liked, while the other stubbed out the cigarette efficiently and then snaked up to curl around his neck. "I happen to think that I'm a very caring boyfriend, thank you very much," he stated before smashing his mouth to Mikey's, eyes fluttering closed as much as he thought it was a feminine gesture. Kissing Mikey had greatly improved in the last few weeks, much to Frank's pleasure. Mikey'd finally got the hang of where his tongue and lips were supposed to go, and even realized that he could do things with his hands, like fit them in Frank's back pockets or scatter his fingers along his hips.

Frank smiled at the black smear around Mikey's lips that his lipstick left before fisting his sleeve and wiping his mouth off.

"You are a good boyfriend, you know," Mikey said quietly, looking up at Frank through his eyelashes sweetly. Frank just shook his head and leaned in for another kiss, this time open-eyed, his hands slipping inside Mikey's jacket to rest on his waist.

"No, m'not," he mumbled against Mikey's lips, nudging his nose with his own. When Mikey's lips opened to protest, he licked a clean line across his bottom lip, promptly shutting him up. "Remember a few weeks ago when I said I don't love you? Do you know why I said it?"

Mikey nodded dumbly, lip still tingling, clutching to Frank's shirt desperately because some things Frank did just made him lightheaded. He registered the words, yeah, but they didn't mean anything. So Frank didn't love him, that was okay. He was still happy, so why was Frank bringing it up again? "Because you don't love me?"

"No, that's not why." He nipped at Mikey's jaw. He could see that his boyfriend was dazed, so he took one of his hands out of his jacket to cup Mikey's chin and force him to look at him directly. "It's because 'I love you' is something I would say to a girl to get into her pants."

That got Mikey's attention. He furrowed his brow, not pleased with this turn of conversation. He didn't care that Frank said he didn't love him, it was just words, and he already knew that Frank cared. That was enough for him. It didn't have to turn into some big conversation about Frank's past girlfriends.

"And if love was what I felt for all the girlfriends I've had, then this--shit, Mikey. The word love is just not going to cut it. It's four stupid letters, and I'm pretty sure what I feel for you would use up all the letters of the alphabet twice, and then some. It probably has a lot of 'k's in it." He watched the progression on Mikey's face from annoyed to blindingly happy, a reflection of his own feelings right now. But his brain hadn't got the message to his mouth yet, so he went on, his face a blank canvas for the words to splash upon.

"I can't bring myself to say anything stupid like I love you, because it's such a fucking understatement. So I don't love you, whatever. I live for you. Nothing feels good if you're not there with me to experience it. I don't want to demean what we have by saying that we are 'in love', because that's comparing us to every other couple who says it, and they just--aren't this good. We're just made for each other. And...and I don't know if you get it, but if there's anyone who would, it's you. Like, I have a feeling that if I told a girl I didn't love her, she'd fixate on it and hate me, but--you?"

Mikey shook his head and cupped Frank's face, thumbing over his smooth candy-sweet lips. His voice, which he finally found in hiding in his throat, came out more composed and softer than he thought he could manage.

"Yeah, I get it."

He could almost laugh--only Frank could turn 'I don't love you' into something beautiful.