The Boy With The Thorn In His Side (A Frerard Fanfiction)

1. Ask

High school was the prime time for students to extend the development of their personalities and form a kind of cruel hierarchy depending on those personalities. Stereotypically, at the top of the hierarchy comfortably sat the bleach-blonde girls and testosterone-filled footballers who seemed to enjoy social gatherings and beating the shit out of the students at the bottom. They were well respected and feared, after all they were certain to survive and exceed into adult years.

Gerard always had it in his head that he was going to kill himself soon. Fuck living past 25. Every time things got really bad he'd swallow a bottle of pills. The failed attempts just made him want to kill himself more. What low-life sack of shit couldn't even kill himself?

"I should just invest in a gun." He sighed, catching sight of himself in the mirror of the changing room. Raising his index finger to his temple, Gerard smiled softly at the sight. Blowing his brains against the ceiling may not be such a bad idea. He might mess up his hair, but he'd be dead. So who cares?

"Bang bang. You're dead," He flicked his finger up and flopped his head limply to the side.

Gerard was one of the students who sat uncomfortably at the bottom of the unforgiving high school hierarchy. He had transitioned from school to school in attempt to grasp onto some form of popularity and teenage-fame, but his chubby and alternative physique failed him. By the time he reached Belleville High he had given up and didn't give a shit about anyone around him. Tragedy and unpopularity, it seemed, ran in his blood. There was rope to drag him out of that terrible fate. He was doomed, in a sense. And he accepted it with a crooked smile.

"Shame you're not holding a real gun."

Well, shit.

The sound of Iero's voice made Gerard writhe. It was condescending and bitter. It made his stomach lurch. Whether that was out of jealousy or pure hatred was another point to make.

Frank Iero was the impossible boy. The generic alternative kid who somehow managed to rise to the top. He was muscular, well hung and chiseled but sported the punk rock look. If he hadn't proved himself to be the worlds biggest asshole on the first day Gerard arrived the long -haired male might actually be interested in him.

"If I did it'd be pointed at you," Gerard pivoted on his heel, pointing his finger gun at the other and pulling the invisible trigger. If only.

After gym class Gerard hung about in the old locker room that is yet to be converted into another classroom to avoid being confronted with the intimidating and 'sporty' students. They would humiliate and torture Gerard in there. So he purposely hung about to stay safe. Either that or he'd just get changed and shower in there. He had resorted to that before Frank came in, already standing shirtless with his black hair wet and clinging to his face.

"I'll break your wrist if you don't put your fucking fingers down." Frank warned, leaning against the wall and frowning. There was a lot going on in his head. Anyone could tell that.

"Whatever." Gerard let his arm hang loosely back by his side and turned back to face the mirror. He then proceeded to root through his messenger bag for his eyeliner. Once he had found it he set it to the side and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, taking one out and resting it between his lips. He could get kicked out for smoking on school premises, but it wasn't really like he cared much anyway.

"You can smoke in here?" The voice spoke again, confusion lacing it's tone. Frank had gotten a little closer, and it made Gerard tense up. People like Frank getting close either meant you were going to be robbed or beaten up. And even though Gerard had no sense of self worth anymore he just wasn't in the mood for either today.

"Who fucking cares? This place is barren. The only person who comes here anymore is me," Gerard lit the cigarette, moving quickly to get away from Frank and to begin drying his hair, "Besides I stole the 'No Smoking' sign. So technically It's allowed."

Frank stayed silent, watching Gerard for a few moments.

There was an unforgiving tension in the room, one that was thick enough to make the older's skin break out in a sweat.

Being alone with someone so powerful as Frank was something that Gerard did not enjoy. What did he do in those kinds of situations? Flee. And that's exactly what he did.

Quickly, Gerard put the cigarette out on the wall and put his shirt on. Frank just stared, his expression perplexed. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn't quite string the words to form a sentence that wouldn't make the situation more awkward than it was. If that was even possible.

Luckily Gerard didn't give Frank that chance, already out of the room once he had gathered all of his things.

It really did look like there was something that Frank wanted to say, Gerard thought as he glanced over his shoulder.

Why didn't he just give him a chance?