Chapter Text
The cold winter air nips at Frank's nose as he walks into school, not happy about winter break's untimely ending. He spent two whole weeks having fun, playing video games, smoking and drinking with friends, partying, opening cards full of money from rich family members that dont know him well enough to actually shop for him, and experiencing two Christmases yet again, the only perk of having divorced parents.
Now, however, he's back in hell. The worst part? New semester means new electives, which means new people, which means having to sit next to somebody he dosent know.
He's very socially outgoing, of course, but he's not the greatest at being stuck next to a complete stranger for the next 5 or so months. He got switched from guitar and metal shop into journalism and PE. Needing 4 years worth of gym credits to graduate was not something he wanted, especially since he's already on the hockey team.
Plus, once he hit freshman year, he realized that high school gym teachers couldn't care less as long as you show up and walk 5 laps on the track at the beginning of class. He would usually sit on the upstairs track doodling or talking to people. Sometimes he'd play solitare, but that was only if his friends weren't there, or if he got really desperate for entertainment.
But he's got no time to reflect on old memories before time caught up with him because he's gotta walk into the place that fuels his depression and makes his friends believe that he's way past due for an ADHD diagnosis (seriously, he needs to get that checked out.)
He checks his phone's gallery for his schedule because he always makes sure to take a picture of it. If not, he'll lose it and forget class numbers in an instant if muscle memory hasn't yet kicked in. 1st period is journalism. Wonderful, a brand new class to start off the semester.
He always thinks about dropping out, afterall, he's 17 and a junior, which means he legally can.. but he'd probably have his ass handed to him because, in his family's words, he's not going anywhere in life if he doesn't graduate high school at the very least. What do they know about that? His uncle never graduated, but married a lady who's insanely rich. So obviously no lessons were learned.
'Maybe I should just run the fuck away,' Frank thinks to himself while navigating, 'Not like many people would notice, let alone miss me.' Absoloute edgelord.
Or maybe he just needs to marry a rich white lady from California, that's unrealistic though. They dont usually go after 17 year old Jersey punks. Or at least he hopes not. His body gets cold and a shiver traveles down his spine, not knowing whether its from the cold or the thought of being groomed by rich white ladies.
He locates the classroom and looks around, glancing up at the board with a drawn-out seating chart. It even detials the front and back of the classroom, along with the side the windows are on. And lucky for him, he's at the very back right next to the window. Not alone, he doesn't even bother checking the name of the other kid who's supposed to sit next to him.
He takes his phone from his pocket and opens Tetris, finding way more entertainment in changing the direction of shapes than he probably should.
The bell rings, and within a minute, the class is full. People like pushing the limits.
The teacher enters the classroom and introduces herself as Miss Smith, which adds her to the list of teachers with the last name Smith, making her 7th or 8th if Frank had to guess. He scans the room for anyone he might know, eventually spotting Pete's poorly cut hair (He thought he could do the back himself... he couldn't. There's a small, barely noticeable bald spot if you look close enough.)
He's got two whole rows of people in front of him, which means he can't throw a paper airplane at him to say 'Pete I'm behind you turn around' and that sucks because if he tries and hits anybody else with it, he'll have his ass handed to him at 3pm in the back parking lot, just like middle school.
God, 8th grade was quite the year.
He stares out the window as the teacher starts talking, only snapping back to reality when his name gets called, "Is Frank.... uhm.. Leeeero.. present?"
"It's Iero, miss. With an i," he informs. Miss Smith apologizes and continues calling. Pete turns around and waves to Frank, getting a weird look from the girl behind him. It's as if shes disgusted by his very existence, which he doesn't understand because he's never even noticed her.
Pete gets called on, and then a kid that was in his guitar class, Ray, gets called. He doesn't remember many people from that class, but he remembers Ray. He's super tall, got this awesome hair, and is like if the school had their own Hendrix. This kid can shred, and he's probably one of the nicest people Frank's ever met because he can somehow get along with basically everybody... except Ronnie, who also happens to be in the class.
Ronnie barely gets along with anybody, though. He's known for being a dick, only had friends because hes scary, and if you cross pathes with him, arent considered normal to him, and he finds that out, you're fucked. He's a big-time poser, not following any of the political ideologies that come with being alternative.
After he packs up, Frank realizes that the kid that's supposed to sit next him never showed up. But oh well, not his problem, at least its not Ronnie fucking Radke. That would be a MAJOR problem.
The bell rings and he excitedly gets up, sneaking up behind Pete and dragging his entire body backwards by his backpack, "BOO!"
His friend lets out a girly screech, heads turning in their directions before everyone went back to what they were doing. "What's the big idea?? Its like, 8:00am on a MONDAY."
Frank grins and cackles a bit, "Nothin', just wanted to scare ya. Anything intestesing happen?"
"Dude, we hung out, like, 2 days ago. Of course nothing happened between then and now. We live in butt-fuck nowhere New Jersey."
"Oh hush, Jersey is awesome. Sorry it doesn't fit your Chicago standards but after living here for 12 years, you should be used to it!"
Pete sighs, "We've got fucking algebra." Frank pulls out his phone and punches in his 4 digit password in record time. Pete was right, they've got algebra, "Kill me."
They arrive and sit down at their desks, next to each other because their algebra teacher doesn't assign seats (even though he probably should, those two goof off as if they're in fucking South Park.. but manage to hold C-'s somehow.)
Mr Green walks in and takes one look at the class. He looks, as usual, like he wants to fucking kill himself. "Looks like hell," Pete remarks, nudging Frank with his elbow. "You could say that again.."
Pete grins, "Looks li–" "Shut the fuck up," comes a voice from behind them. "G'morning to you too, Bob," Frank grumbles, turning to give the blonde a first bump. He complies with his friend's greeting.
"Okay class," Mr G starts grogilly, "Today you'll be doing this sheet." He begins walking about the room, placing papers on each persons desk, "The guided notes should be in your folders from last class, help each other out if youre stuck, I don't care. If you have questions, come see me."
The boys huddle together and start talking about how much it blows that they're back in school after nearly 2 weeks of pure bliss. Time seemed to fly because the next classes passed by surprisingly fast. Before he knew it, Frank was standing in the lunch line, listening to Gabe bitch about how fucking soggy the burgers were. Not like Frank would know anyway, 'Veggie boy' as Pete refers to him from time to time.
"Okay, so, by the way, party at my place on Saturday night," Gabe starts, "My parents are away for the weekend and I'm inviting a shit ton of people. Oh, and Pete met this dude, I've been told he's kind of a party animal but you seriously wouldn't expect it by just looking at him. But, anyway, he's coming. And Pete said he's bringing his, in Pete's words, 'nerdy brother that could probably benifit from interacting with someone like Frank', so you should totally come meet this kid and his nerdy brother."
Frank raises an eyebrow, "What's in it for me?" Not that he wasn't gonna go, he would never pass off a party, but he wants to know what's really waiting.
"I met with my plug and I'm saving it for our group and these kids that Pete had picked, so we'll smoke it when the party dies down."
Awesome, sold, "I'll be there. Gonna need a ride."
"Drive yourself, asshole. That fucking Chevy pickup truck?"
"Not mine, it's my mom's boyfriend's. I don't have my license or permit and if I take his truck and anything at all happens to it, I'll probably get my studded belt torn from my loops and whooped with it."
Gabe bats an eyebrow and takes a plastic fork, "Never took you as a beaten child, Iero."
"Was sorta exaggerating," not fully, he was mouthing off sometimes. But never the belt, "The belt wasn't used."
Gabe grinds his teeth, "You gotta talk about these things, man," he scoops some corn up on his fork, "Not much better. How often?"
"What are you, CPS?" Frank questions, squinting suspiciously, "It was, like, thrice. Been beat by Ronnie WAY more."
"Not a good thing. Anyway, my party. I can pick you up. But you need to get a fucking job and take drivers ed."
"Noted," he replies, realizing that his last class is that new PE class. "Do you have gym next?"
Gabe chews faster, covering his mouth and swallowing before he speaks, "Nah, I've got.. Ceramics with.. Pete, Bob, Joe and Anthony. Shit, you've got, like, none of our group. Sorry man," he pats his friend's shoulder and continues eating.
Frank groans, "Good lord. It's like the school is trying to punish me."
"Well.. didn't you get caught smoking by the principal a while back..? Maybe that's why it's fucking around with you."
"Oh, for fucks sake.. yeah, I don't know why I went into the bathroom with a cigarette thinking the smell wouldn't be noticed. But that was, like, 2 months ago."
"He's a dick," Gabe says bluntly, "with no balls."
Frank chuckles a bit, "Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I could go the rest of my life without seeing him it wouldn't be long enough. He's such a dick."
Gabe remembers something, "Wanna know a fact abo—" the bell interupts him and he lets out a groan, "I don't wanna go to class."
Frank picks up his bag, "You think I do? New class with nobody that I'm friends with."
"Dude, you're friends with everyone.."
"Nope, I'm chill with most people. I know how to talk to people and I'm a charmer. And you have ceramics. That's so fucking cool, and gym is so fucking lame because hockey is never an option, obviously. Everyone wants to play fucking kickball."
"Whateverrrr, have fun in gym class, catch you later!" Gabe says before taking off towards the ceramics room. Frank wants to get it next year. It seems so awesome.
He arrives in gym class and scales the bleachers that are pushed all together and offer very little room, but Frank is 'pocket sized' as his friends put it, so he fits there just fine.
The teacher starts to call names, having very few absent people. Frank didnt pay attention though, instead choosing to take a nap. Last class of the day, he'll probably wake up to the bell.
Somehow, he dreams. In his hour long nap, he manages to dream about being next to Khrushchev and JFK. He only woke up when the bell rang and they did the historically inaccurate thing and nuked each other while Castro watched. His last history class has taken over his mind.
He doesn't like walking all the way home all by himself while the snow beats down on him, but he has to. So he brings Pete because he wants someone to talk to, and why not talk to his best friend?
"Dude, there's this cute guy in my class where we play with the clay and whatever," Pete starts, "His name is Mickey I think.."
"Like the mouse?" He knows Pete's gotta be stoned. Playing with clay is just ceramics.
"No, uhm. Fuck, the nickname for Michael.. uhm.. fuck," he knocks on his head like a door as if that'll help, "Mikey! Mikey was his name!"
"What was so great about him, gaybo?" Frank wants to know, starting to kick a rock around.
"Shut up you just haven't had your gay awakening. Anyway, he's tall and skinny with glasses and greasey ass hair but it's super cute. Annnnd he's got a brotherrrr," Pete elbows him and does the thing with his eyebrows.
"Shut up, I like girls," Frank says, not a ton of confidence behind his voice, nor in his head. Pete gives him a knowing glare. "I'm not gay, Pete!"
"Still haven't kissed me to figure that out," his best friend dramatically complains, "You're an expirimental learner, right?"
He's got him there. He always says 'Don't knock it till ya try it,' so he's stuck.
"God, I hate you. What's in your wallet?"
Pete grins and digs through his jeans, pulling out his wallet and opening it quickly. He pulls out cash, "All I've got is $25."
"Gimmie the $20, keep the $5."
"Kiss me and then you get it."
Frank forgot about that part, he really doesn't know how to kiss. But it's not like he's kissing someone hes into, he'll be kissing Pete. $20 is $20.
"Wait, where's your mouth been?"
"What? You afraid you might catch gay if you kiss your dicksucker friend?" Pete taunts, "Just jesting, no i haven't eaten any meat, veggie boy."
"Jesting?"
"Like, joking. Are you stalling?"
Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. He doesn't even know. "No. Let's get this over with."
Pete pulls him into a kiss and puts a surprising amount of passion in. He's not even into Frank like that, he just appriciates their friendship so much that he can only show that through invading his personal space.
Frank doesn't know why he feels good kissing a dude, but he didn't hate it. He doesn't like Pete in that way so maybe kissing people is just something he really likes. All that he gained was the knowledge that Pete Wentz is a good kisser and their friendship isn't gonna be affected by this because neither of them are into the other.
Pete ends the kiss with a grin on his face, pulling out the folded $20 and holds it between his index and middle fingers, "You need to learn to kiss, you lowkey suck at it."
"I don't go around kissing everyone. Unlike someone who's slobber is in my mouth."
"Whaaaat? Nooooooo.. I don't kiss EVERYONE!"
Frank gives him a 'do you really wanna go there?' look and sighs, "Wanna count? Well, me once, Joe 3 or 4 times, you've kissed Gabe way more times than I can cou—"
"Okay," Pete interjects, "I only kiss my friends though."
Pete hands him the $20, "Get yourself somethin nice, why don't ya?"
"Thanks.. Lets keep walking, it's gonna get dark before y'know it."
So they do. When they arrive at Frank's, he unlocks the door and the two kick off their damp shoes before running upstairs, closing the door behind them.
Frank drops his backpack and flops down on his bed, his friend choosing the beanbag chair. The younger boy turns on the TV and doesn't bother changing the channel when the fucking Tellatubbies end up on the screen. He doesn't know how the hell they got there, he's pretty sure he's never seen it a day in his life, but he doesn't care.
"Do you have weed?" Pete asks while fidgeting with his tie. God, these school uniforms weren't designed for alternative people.
Most jeans are a no-go, they've gotta wear a blue blazer, white collared shirt, and weirdly colored striped tie. Every bit of self expression has to be on their backpacks. Frank has his Misfits and Black Flag pins, while Pete has miscellaneous little pins of cats and skulls and all of that jazz.
"Of course I have weed. Bong or joint?"
"Joint, don't feel like slaughtering my lungs."
Frank gets up and goes to his sock drawer, pulling out a bag of bud from his Batman socks and grabbing notebook paper from his small desk. He sits down on his squeaky chair and folds the paper in half to get a guide as to where he should cut it. He takes more paper off until satisfied with the amouht and begins filing in the bud.
When he's finished rolling, Frank grabs his lighter and opens his window. Pete sits down next to him on the bed and waits patiently for him to finish taking a hit and passing it to him.
The two pass it back and fourth until satisfied and Frank puts it out, packing the remaining piece into a plastic bag and putting it back into it's hiding place.
Frank grabs his remote and turns on his Xbox, "Minecraft?"
"Fuck yeah," Pete responds, catching the controller tossed at him.
They create a new world, a survival one. Keep inventory is a must, both of them being foregetful and clumsy, even in video games.
"Can you grab as much wood as possible so we can build a house?" Frank asks while fighting skeletons, his stone sword on the verge of death. When he finally stops getting shot at, he builds up to avoid getting hit by zombies or blown up by creepers.
Pete nods, mining iron, "Yeah, lemme finish this up."
"Fast, please. You see the position I'm in, right?" Frank asks while going into 3rd person to show the full scale.
Pete hurries to where he's at, killing mobs in cold blood and making sure Frank's still alive. His friend jumps down from hiding and joins the fight. Eventually, they resurface and build a house.
Pete leaves around 6, leaving Frank by himself to sit with his own thoughts. He hates being alone with his own mind, he hates being alone most of the time. He wishes Pete's parents weren't kinda strct, but with him as a kid, he kinda gets it. The phrase 'Wentz is wack' exists for a reason.
He dosent know what to do with himself. He dosent have hockey tonight, playing games alone isnt as fun, theres nothing good on tv, he's read all of his books (He really needs to stop at the library tomorrow for more, and return others.)
He gets called down for dinner, though, so that's something.
Frank decides that COD is his best bet at some fun, so he grabs his controler and headset, turning his Xbox on again and starting up the game.
He's not great at it, but he isn't that terrible. His teamates are assholes for the most part. He can't even count how many times he's gotten called a faggot, it's not even his fault for having a twinky ass voice, but he doesn't care enough to argue. Strangers online are fucking losers, clearly.
After a bad loss, he gives up and goes to bed, cuddling a pillow to sleep because he's so fucking lonely.