FicWad

What Am I?



“Gee, do you think I’m an emo?”

The question catches me so off-guard that I all but choke on my orange juice, the manufactured taste of nothing that was once a real fruit clogging in my throat as though it wants to crawl back out of me just to raise it’s metaphorical eyebrows at my pixie-esque boyfriend who is lying next to me on my bed, tongue rolling over his lip ring as it always does when he’s deep in thought.

“What d’you mean?” I mumble back after forcing the juice to go back down my throat; Frank’s always asking questions, this one is no different from any other.

Yes it is.

He usually asks about vampires or comic books or if I think he’s sexier than Batman, never about something that makes up him. Never does he second-guess himself like this, because that’s what he’s doing. He’s asking me if he is what the other kids at school tell him he is, what he always denies being because he hates being labelled and told what he can or can’t be. Not to mention the fact that they tease him about it, tell him that he’s wearing more make-up than their mom’s and he needs to go “slit his wrists, like a good little emo”.

Not that any of it bothers him. He just ignores it, laughs it off and gives them just as good back. Even when it does make his bubble-gum-smile falter and fade, I always manage to revive it like only I know how. I’m his boyfriend; it’s what I do.

At least, I didn’t think that it bothered him. Now though, I’m not so sure. Why else would he ask me that?

“Exactly what I said.” He giggles a little, trying to cover up the nervous note that doesn’t belong in the same symphony that his vocal chords play every time he speaks. “Do you, Gerard Arthur Way, think that I, Frank Anthony Iero Junior, am a motherfucking emo?”

I prop myself up on my elbows, gazing softly at his face until I reach his profound, baby-bunny eyes. To anyone else his eyes might just look like that of a kid messing around, having a laugh with his boyfriend and trying to pass the time until they find an excuse to make-out again. To me, though, to the person who knows Frankie better than his own mom does, I can see the relaxed glaze that he’s painted over his pupils is just to hide the inner-conflict swirling about in his bottomless irises; he’s looking for comfort in his own discreet way.

And I’m going to give it to him, just like he does me whenever I’m down. We’re like each other’s life-support system; making one another’s heart beat when it’s too broken to keep itself from stopping.

“No, Frankie. You’re not so don’t listen to any of their bullshit.”

My words are forceful, leaving no room for doubt, and I receive a soft smile in response, one that makes my heart soar like a firework because seeing my Frankie smile is all I need to be happy because he’s all I want in this world and all I have to take care of; him being happy means that I am doing my job right. Something that I take the upmost pride in doing. Because he’s the funniest, cutest, sweetest little boyfriend I’ve ever known anyone to have.

I feel him shift around next to me, crawling over to be closer to me and in response I wrap an arm around his shoulders, letting him soak up the warmth from the area of my chest that protects the heart that only beats because he’s here to give it reason to. I love the way he always snuggles up to me, like I’m his trophy and he couldn’t be prouder of being the one who gets to nestle into my chest. It makes me feel important, I guess, like I actually have a purpose that isn’t getting decent grades in school.

After a few seconds of silence, Frank sighs restlessly and sits up against the headboard, looking down at me with the curious gaze of a puppy seeing snow for the first time, thus making me fall in love with him all over again. But when I offer him the sort of loving smirk that I always do, the one that tells him he’s beautiful and mine no matter what, he just starts fiddling with his lip ring once more.

“What am I then?” He pauses in thought, letting me process the question. “I’m not dark enough to be a Goth, not sporty enough to be a jock and not smart enough to be a nerd. I’m don’t skate, so I can’t be a skater and I’m nowhere near tough enough to be a gangster.” I move to sit next to him, re-wrapping him in my arms as he continues to speak his mind like he only ever does when he’s with me. “I try to be a punk, but everyone else says I’m an emo. Apart from you because you know me better than that.” I smile at him, nipping at his lips as he stops to take a breath, relishing the way that he knows I’m different from everyone else. “So just what the fuck am I, Gee? I’ve got to belong somewhere.”

I hold him with my gaze, evaluating every part of him from wildfire eyes to his impish body and come up with a sure, certain conclusion that I know is the honest-to-God truth; he is him. Frankie Iero is Frankie Iero, not some mindless automaton in need of labelling and being told what to be. He’s just him. And he’s just perfect the way he is.

Just to make him see that.

“Don’t let them define you, Babe. You are you, no matter what name they give you.” I explain softly, pouring my heart into my words to ensure that they have the desired effect. “If Green Day were called Blue Day, would they still be awesome as fuck?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He sighs exasperatedly, fighting off the grin that is fast forming on his lips. “But everyone at school belongs somewhere, has some sort of way of being recognised for what or who they are. Apart from me, I’m just some emo-loser who isn’t even a goddamn emo!”

“Honey, you do belong somewhere.” I whisper, pushing my lips right up to his ears so that he can fell my breath hot against his pale face. “You belong right here, with me. Always have done, always will do.”

I ruffle his hair, earning a jokey scowl from him before he leans forwards and pecks my lips. It always sends jolts of electricity through my veins whenever he kisses me, no matter how many times he’s done it before. I guess that’s how I know we belong together; everything he does is a constant reminder of just how much I love him.

“And if you wanna be a punk, be a punk. Besides, I think you’re a punk.”

“Really?”

“Well, you certainly rock my world, Honey.”




A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope that you liked it! I know it’s kinda short and has little to no point to it, so sorry if it was really boring. Anyway, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)