sober//joshler

FRANK

Tyler made it though the rest of his day through means of carefully avoiding everyone and frequent trips to the bathroom. Most of all, he stayed clear of Jenna. He felt kind of bad, ignoring his best friend, especially when he had freaked out on her earlier, but he knew she was better off not dealing with him. He knew she would worry, ans she would ask questions, and Tyler didn't even have the answers himself. She had better things to worry about than him, and he had better things to worry about then her worrying about him.

Like, for instance, the fact that Frank Iero was missing.

At first his mind had jumped to suicide, and he knew that's where Gerard's had been earlier, up in the art studio. He wasn't stupid, it was an obvious reaction to the shitty situation Frank was in.

But the thing was, Frank wasn't an idiot either.

Sure, maybe be wasn't the brightest kid in school. And, from what Tyler could remember from seeing him at various parties last summer, he wasn't the most controlled or restrained individual. It was possible he had acted on impulse and done something stupid.

The thought made Tyler's head swim with worry as he shoved past his fellow students at the sound of the end of day bell. He squeezed out the door and hurried down the hallway, hood up, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Within five minutes he was outside ans hurrying down the street, mind still wholly occupied with worry for Frank.

Where would he be? He and Frank had never been close, they'd never hung out outside the parties they attended, and Tyler knew little to nothing about what Frank liked to do.

Or maybe...

Tyler stopped short at the end of the street. Leaning up against the icy lamppost, he pressed his fingers to his temples, willing himself to think.

There was something. A vague memory of Frank one night. Playing...playing something. Something loud ans aggressive and violent.

Guitar.

Tyler slapped the lamppost, realization flooding through him. Frank was a punk kid, he was into music. He was in a band. Or, at least he had been, as far as Tyler could remember. And everyone knew that the local hangout for small, angry, punk guitarists like Frank was the local music bar, The Shack.

And it was only five minutes from school.

Tyler took off running, his feet pounding along the cold pavement as he hurried down the main road and turned left. Panting, he stopped, pressing his hands to his knees. Above him, throwing a dull purple glow across the darkening street was the sign for The Shack.

He hurried inside, ignoring the onslaught of yelling and music that nearly deafened him. The place wasn't that crowded in comparison to the noise that seemed to be emitting from it, so it was easy to pick the small figure of Frank out amongst the tables.

He was sitting alone, pressed up against the corner, a cloud of smoke hiding his face from view and a gloved hand wrapped around a beer bottle. tearing off his jacket, Tyler hurried over to where he sat.

"Tyler?" Frank looked up in surprise as he lowered himself down opposite the small guy. They shook hands awkwardly, the material of Frank's gloves unpleasantly itchy. He sat back, smiling slightly.

"Haven't seen you in ages, man." Frank shook his head slighrly. His voice sounded hoarse. "Where you been?"

Tyler shrugged slightly. "Same as you. School."

Something flickered through Frank's hazel eyes for a moment. He took a drag, slowly blowing out the smoke.

"Just got out, actually," Tyler carried on, hating the nervousness that made his hands shake slightly. "Look, Frank-"