Home Alone

When Frank wakes up the next day, his stomach sort of feels like it's trying to eat him from the inside out. He groans and squints at his alarm clock across the room, noting that it's already one in the afternoon. He's about to do the math in his head to find out how long he slept when his stomach makes a very unhealthy noise. He jumps out of bed and runs to the bathroom, proceeding to pretty much bomb the place. He needs to remind himself to not be the next poor soul to clean the toilet.

When he's feeling a little better, he walks downstairs and into the kitchen. He's trying to remember what he ate last night, so he can never eat it ever again. He opens the fridge and looks around, finding the rest of the milk he used to have cereal last night and looking at the expiration date. When he sees that he's been drinking bad milk since his mom left, he clamps a hand over his mouth and uses the other one to chuck the milk carton into the sink. He's not sure why his hand is over his mouth, he doesn't actually feel like he's gonna puke, but it is convenient in that when he goes to slap himself in the face because the milk he just threw went all over the counter and floor, it's sort of a blockade. Dragging both hands down his face and groaning loudly for the second time in thirty minutes, he walks over to the sink and observes the damage.

After using three different washcloths to clean up the spoiled milk, Frank makes another trip to the bathroom. The good news is, he feels one hundred percent better when he gets out; forty five minutes later. He goes back into the kitchen, deciding to have some lunch. Completely forgetting about his sly move from the day before, he opens the freezer to look for a frozen meal and the ice pack from the day before, plus four other boxes of frozen goods, slide out. He rolls his eyes, giving up on the groaning thing, and starts to pick them up.

He actually takes the time to re-arrange everything so it all fits, only to realize he put all the frozen meals in the back. He decides it's just not his day, and settles for a Popsicle instead. The second he sits on the couch, the doorbell rings. He knows it's Gerard, because there's no one else it could be, and he knows his lips are probably bright red from his cherry Popsicle, but he gets up and answers the door anyway. He gets quite a shock when he does open it. As he thought, Gerard is standing there, but his hair has got this sort of I'm-crazy-but-super-sexy thing going on, without looking like he meant to do it, when he obviously did, you know? And he's got these black sunglasses on that make him look sort of mysterious, but not really; really he's just kind of hot. And Frank sort of stares at him, his Popsicle still in his mouth, but his mouth still open. He doesn't know if Gerard's staring back, because of the whole sunglasses thing, but he's not saying anything, which is sort of new.

"Your lips are red," he finally says, not moving.

Frank pulls his Popsicle out of his mouth and closes it, looking behind Gerard at the house across the street. "Yeah, uh. Popsicle." He really is a genius, today is working so perfectly for him. He shakes his head at himself and says, "You're here kind of early, aren't you? I mean, not that I don't want you here. I mean not that I don't, not want you here! I just. Hi." He gives up.

"Uh. Well I've got plans, so I thought I'd stop by before I left, 'cause I won't be able to come over later," he says.

And, brilliantly, Frank goes, "Plans? Really? Wow. Never really thought you had friends." And Gerard looks hurt for about one second, before flipping Frank off and walking away.

Frank closes the door and slams his head against it about five times, then spends the rest of the night wondering where Gerard was going, who he was hanging out with, and why he had to look so good for it.

****

It's day number 8. Now that the basically poisonous milk is gone, Frank's stomach is perfect. Although, his cereal was disappointingly dry this morning. Frank is outside getting the mail, because he's been forgetting about it, and the mail box is sort of starting to overflow. He's reaching in to grab all the envelopes when something hits the back of his head; hard. He automatically puts a hand up to hold the spot where he was hit, and turns around to see the little kid that lives across the street laughing his ass off. Frank looks down at the rock The Brat threw, and when he looks back up, he notices Gerard and two of his friends walking by, heading towards the Way house.

"Hey Iero," Gerard says, smirking a little. "Look out!" He and his friends laugh, and Frank just glares at him. Yeah. Telling me to 'look out' after the rock hits me. Funny.

"My back was turned, you dumbass. I couldn't have seen it coming."

Gerard just shrugs and says, "Still should'a ducked." He pauses, and when Frank doesn't look away from him he says, "Oh! These are my friends, by the way. Despite prior belief, they do exist," and then they start to walk away.

Frank wants to say sorry, really, and he's about to, until he sees Gerard whisper something to his friends and one of them looks back at him while they all laugh. "Yeah?!" Frank yells, trying to think of something witty as quick as he can. "Well- You're a jerk!" Brilliant. Good job, that'll get him.

Gerard turns back towards Frank and grasps his chest dramatically, then throws his head back like he's in the worst pain of his life. "No! Not a jerk! Frank, how will I live with myself?!" He and his friends laugh again, before continuing towards his house.

Frank scowls and heads back inside, mail clutched to his chest and hand still on his head. When he pulls his hand away from his wound to open the door, it's covered in blood. Nothing to be too worried about, but it's noticeable. He happens to look over towards Gerard and his friends, and Gerard's standing in his own yard, looking back. He looks at Franks hand and bites his lip, then turns around and continues talking to his friends. Frank just sighs and goes inside, heading straight for the bathroom, throwing the mail onto the coffee table on the way.

After his head has stopped bleeding and he's cleaned it up, Frank sits on his couch and picks the mail back up, flipping through it. He's about to open what looks like a letter from his Grandma, which usually includes money, when he hears a shockingly distressed yell from outside. He looks at his door expectantly, like someone's going to walk through it and explain everything to him, but when that doesn't happen, he puts the letter back on the coffee table and goes outside. When he's standing on his front lawn, he looks across the street and sees The Brat laying on the ground, curled up into a ball, rocking back and forth. When The Brat lifts his head and sees Frank, he stops all movement and stares, wide-eyed. Frank squints a little, and can see that the boy now has a cut on his eyebrow and a busted lip. The boy doesn't move for quite a while, but then he glances over at the Way house real quick, and his eyes get even wider, before he scrambles up and runs back inside. Probably gonna go cry to his mommy.

Frank starts to wonder what happened to The Brat, but then looks over just in time to see Gerard walking back into his house.