Glassy ⇝ Frerard | Incomplete, vvv slow updates

When I woke up alone, I had everything

TW:// Mentions of self harm.

When Gerard wakes up Monday morning a week later, he's horny. While laying in the heat of his bed and lack of clothing, he contemplates palming at the bulge in his black boxer briefs. When he reached downwards, he can feel a wet patch formed already. He sighs at the small amount of pressure being added to his erection. But he flops on to his back, resting his hand over his forehead.

This was all Frank's fucking fault. Every night is a new wet dream about the sixteen year old. As much as he enjoyed watching these movies in his head, he wanted them to go away. He was always on the fritz. All day he's antsy if he sees Frank, he's uncomfortable, and he has trouble looking his mom in the eye.

He decides to ignore his boner and get out of bed. He grabs a pair of dark jeans off the floor, sniffing the crotch and deciding they don't smell as bad as they look. Next, he grabs his D.A.R.E. Shirt he got in freshman year. This is significantly more wrinkly than the pants, which is surprising because it was hanging up in the closest. He decides to stay in the same boxers, steal a pair of Mikey's clean socks, and head to the washroom.

Gerard turns on the shower nozzle until it can't be budged and steam is raising in the small room. He shuts the door, laying the clothing over the top of the shower curtain. This little trick worked all the time, the steam would get rid of the wrinkles and his mom thought he was showering. In the meanwhile, Gerard brushes his teeth and decides that he'll wash his face once this week. His bags have bags, which is weird because he slept for twelve hours the night before. He doesn't need to shave because he's still a little baby.

When he hears his mom banging on the door, he opens it, grabs the coffee and Prozac from her and kisses her cheek for she goes to work. The seventeen year old washes the Prozac down with the coffee, basically becoming immune to the nausea that comes without eating food. The scolding liquid burns his esophagus but he decides it's a small sacrifice.

He's late, again. He downs the rest of the coffee when he notices he should've left already. He shuts off the shower and Gerard attempts to tug on his pants and shirt at the same time. He has to pause to properly get them on but he rushes out of the room, only stopping to grab his wallet, backpack, cigs and chewing gum (which were conveniently placed neatly at the end of his made bed. His mom rocks).

Crisp November prickles his skin so he quickly grabs his green bomber jacket off the coat rack. He unloved his car easily and slides in. The material of the seats are cold against his jeans but he ignores it and checks his mirrors before starting the engine and pulling the gear shift into reverse. As he starts to back up, he checks his glove compartment for his lighter. Thankfully it's there.

As he gazes back up at the mirror, Gerard sees a boy directly behind his car.

"Jesus Christ!" Gerard exclaims, sheer panic as he slams on the brake. The whole car jolts to a stop and the seventeen year old slams his head into the headrest.

He takes a couple minutes to place his head in his hands and calm his heartbeat down before he has a heart attack.

He hears a knock on the window. As he lifts his head, he prays it's not an angry mother. God, he really doesn't wanna fucking deal with that today.

It's Frank, nose pink and lip in mouth, sides turned up. He's in his school uniform and there's a scarf neatly tucked into the nape of his neck. Gerard frowns but rolls his window down.

"Hey, Gee."

"I hate you, Frank," Gerard says in a passive-aggressive tone.

Frank pulls a face. "Why?!"