Frank was love struck: all gooey and pathetic on the inside, and dear god, it was getting harder and harder to hide it from anyone in the world who ever had the slightest ounce of respect for him at all.
Gerard was different, because with them, he didn't have to try: it was all natural and it was just fucking perfect and Frank felt pathetic even thinking about it, but it felt right, and Gerard was everything, and cute as hell, and Frank just cared far too much about what people thought of him.
His mum was definitely starting to suspect something: Frank hadn't broken anything in the house for at least a week now, and Mrs Iero was beginning to grow just a little concerned, and every evening when she got in from work, she found herself almost praying to see her favourite vase smashed on the floor or something, but she saw nothing.
Mrs Iero was on the wrong track in her suspicions, though: she reckoned that Frank was depressed or being bullied or something, when really, it was nothing short of the opposite, but Frank wasn't known to act like this - he was supposed to be 'tough' - the kind of guy who fucked things up and got into trouble for the damn hell of it, and Mrs Iero had found a certain comfort in the routine and the call from the school about the window he'd smashed and then the argument with her husband about just who'd have to work overtime in order to cover the repair costs.
She'd never thought that anything was wrong with her son until now, which was much to the contrary of the many school counsellors and nosy teachers that dug just a little too deep in things that were just not their business. They reckoned Frank had learning difficulties or that he was being abused or he was depressed or that had ADHD, and really, it differed with every one, but Mrs Iero just knew that Frank was Frank and that he was like that - he broke things sometimes and got into more trouble at school than he probably should, but otherwise he was a good kid: he was nice and he meant well.
He usually walked Daisy, their dog, everyday, and he was always complaining about his homework or something, and well, the house was always a fucking mess when she got home, and there wasn't one instance in which she hadn't been forced to run up to her son's bedroom and yell at him to turn the music down, which he reluctantly did so.
But not anymore: Frank was quiet, and complacent, even, and that just wasn't natural, it just wasn't Frank, so really, Mrs Iero wouldn't be all that surprised if soon enough she found herself just damn asking him to break something to stop her head fucking spinning like this: she was a worrier, to say the least.
She'd asked Mr Iero about this, but he didn't spend all that much time at home, having to work until seven except on Sundays, and hadn't really noticed much, and really, that was supposed to settle her doubts and questions, but it didn't, and by today: a fucking Wednesday, when fucking Susan at work had fucking spilt fucking coffee down her shirt 'accidentally', she found herself giving up and growing tired of this mess and this cause for concern, and she made her way into her son's bedroom, almost catching him by surprise as she did so.
"I haven't got... music... it's quiet... I..." Frank was a little startled to see his mother walk into his bedroom with such a vigour, and really, he was just overjoyed that she hadn't left it one minute later because he was just about to jack off, and that really would have been awkward, to say the least.
"I know. You're not yourself these days, and it's worrying me." She shut the door behind her and sat down beside Frank on his bed, glancing over at his cellphone, but he'd turned the screen off the very moment the door had even opened - he was a teenager, after all. "What happened to the loud music and the getting in trouble and the breaking things and that friend of yours, Bert? I haven't seen him in a while. Are you okay?"
"You don't even like Bert: you've told me that a million times." Frank reminded her: just a little confused by just what his mother was getting at here.
YOU ARE READING
Lie To Me (Frerard)
أدب الهواةGerard was late, and it was fucking raining. He'd missed the bus and it was fucking raining, and he was totally going to get dropped from the play if he was late again and he was so fucking screwed, but honestly Gerard wasn't all that keen on it whe...
