nobody will love you like the devil will//frerard/ferard

chapter twelve

Frank spends the next few days stewing in his guilt, dreaming about it eating away at his skin and picking his bones clean. Gerard texts him now and then – nothing untoward, just the occasional how did u sleep? or superman v batman, no gloves, go. Frank doesn't reply to a single one. He wants to, though, every time. Once or twice he's on the verge of writing back before he's even thought about it, his thumbs poised over the keys, and then he remembers himself. He resists. If he can't trust himself not to fuck up and do stupid things, then he doesn't get to talk to Gerard.

He buries himself in his schoolwork, because it's easier than being all alone in his own head with nothing to think about but the way Gerard's hard-on felt pressed up against his ass. He definitely doesn't think about that, or Gerard grabbing at his hair and moaning into his mouth, or whether Gerard got himself off after Frank left. Frank doesn't think about any of that, especially not when he's jerking off. And he definitely, definitely doesn't wake up again desperately hard in his sweatpants and humping the mattress.

Hormones, he tells himself. Hormones are some seriously crazy shit, and this is obviously their fault.

***

"It's Frank, right?"

"Yeah?" Frank turns around. He's pretty sure the guy standing behind him is called Ray. He's got a nervous, shifty look on his face and some seriously fucking epic hair. Frank really hopes this guy isn't going to try to recruit him to some club or something. He feels guilty every time he wriggles out of Bible study group or chess club again.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Frank is getting a bad feeling about this. He gestures down at himself. "Here you are, talking to me, and here I am, being talked to."

That was probably rude. He blames the lack of sleep.

"Right, sure," Ray says. "You, uh. You know Mikey's brother, right?"

Frank folds his arms across his chest, crushing the sick rush of shame. "Yeah?"

"Okay, don't let me... like, tell you what to do or anything, I just think you should be careful." Ray bites his lip, his eyes all big and concerned, and Frank can feel the scowl settling over his face.

"Why? You know something about him?"

Ray fidgets uncomfortably. "No, I just – I get a really bad vibe from the guy, is all. I mean, none of my business or anything, I just wanted to... yeah."

shifting from foot to foot like he's worried Frank is about to punch him and he's getting ready to book it to somewhere far, far away. Ray's probably twice his size, but Frank is too pissed to even appreciate how fucking hilarious it is that he looks so scared.

"You get a bad vibe?" he says disbelievingly. "What, because he doesn't go to church? Is that it? You don't know him, man. Fuck you."

***

doesn't stick around for a moment longer than he has to when his last class finishes, and he takes out as much of his twitchy, restless irritation as he can on the sidewalks between school and his house. He walks fast, jamming his key into the lock when he gets home and wrenching the door open.

He stops in the hallway, halfway through kicking his shoes off. He can hear raised voices coming from the kitchen. Normally, he'd just sneak upstairs to his room as quietly as possible, plug himself into his headphones and turn the volume up too loud, but this feels... different. When they fight, it doesn't normally sound like this. He hears an honest-to-god shriek, his mom's, high and angry, and the back of his neck prickles. This isn't some dumb fight about his dad spending too much time out with the guys from the garage or his mom giving the world the cold shoulder when she's pissed off. Slowly, slowly, he slides out of his other shoe and pads down the hallway until the muffled back-and-forth between his mom and dad solidifies into actual words.