Frank on a Leash

It ate at him. During nights when the moon filtered bright and obnoxious on his bed in lines, when he could hear the cars speed by outside his window at ass-o-clock, stupid fucking teenagers going out to get drunk, when the streetlights flickered as bugs hoarded around them. He could almost laugh at himself, at some of his thoughts. Not in an, oh, this is quite comical way, more like, my life is irony on acid way. More like he was dying of sugar intoxication.

He had Mikey, so it really shouldn't feel this way, not--this wasn't what he imagined it to be like. He wanted holding hands and fights over stupid shit, and really, this was the worst time to realize that he had all of that all along. Before he decided that Mikey needed to be his boyfriend. It's not like either one of them were going to go out and date someone else anyway--so why'd Frank have to poison it? Why did he have to set off this chain of events that led up to his declaration in a motherfucking bathroom that he didn't love Mikey? Friends were amazing. When Mikey was his friend, there was the awkward brushes of the hand, or sweet blushes hidden under layers of makeup when their shoulders touched. All in all, it was cliche, and maybe Frank wanted that now that he had messed everything up so badly.

It was nice to feel bad for staring at Mikey for just a little too long and getting caught, it was nice to walk up to him in the mornings and press his nose into his cheek and wish that just once they could share a kiss.

Better, though, was the knowledge that Mikey was his, and an unfathomable amount better than that was the kisses, holyshituntilFrankcouldn'tbreathe, the swell of pride when he would go, 'Yeah, this is my boyfriend, Mikey,' and get some odd reaction, and the completion. He wasn't afraid that Mikey would pull away from the hugs--no, that was a lie, that fear was still there, but numbed down, to where it was only static. It was more like the storm cloud that had been hulking in the back of his mind was lightening up, becoming a cloud that one dreams about, that he could make into shapes. It wasn't a bunny rabbit just yet, more like a deformed antelope, something that was only slightly better than a rain cloud.

It felt like he'd let Bob win. Not, not some stupid fight, because they won the last one, he and Mikey together, but Bob made Frank lie. Worse, lie to Mikey about something that was really important. To Frank, at least. Mikey didn't seem in the least fazed by the fact that his boyfriend admitted to not loving him, and as far as Frank was concerned, Mikey might as well have said it back. So guidelines were set up, no L-word in their relationship, and it sucked. Frank never particularly liked the word love in the first place, but now that he officially couldn't use it--things were just different. Boundaries were set, and he hated them, and he wanted to just knock them all down in one of his fits that rarely burst through his skin.

*

Mikey hunched down close to the toilet, leaning one of his arms on the cold rim and holding himself up with the other. Everything was shaking, his hands were shaking, the hair laying useless in front of his eyes was shaking, the earth was trembling. He closed his eyes and planted his forehead to the floor he was sitting on. The tremors. He could hear them downstairs as they yelled, picking out few key words that made his stomach lurch, like fag, disowned, and the occasional stop your goddamn blubbering, Donna!

His arms were made of brittle bone, porcelain and paper, and there was no way he could go down there and shut his father up, but oh how he wanted to.

Tears dripped from his nose, splashed on the tiles and spurted back at his face, a kind of Fuck You to his own pathetic life. It was almost turning into an after-school special. Poor, gay, outcast boy gets beaten up, comes home, and his no-good-drunk parents are fighting. Only, that was shit. He was happy in his life, with Frank and Ray by his side, and his parents hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. It would almost be better if they had, just so he could tell himself that they would be in pain the next morning while they stumbled into the kitchen and searched futily for the Advil that he would have thrown out the moment he knew they were asleep.

The phone sat by his foot, just waiting to be used. Why else would it be up here, in the bathroom next to a sobbing boy? But--well, it was late, and the only person Mikey wanted to call other than Gerard (and he really couldn't afford to do that right now) was Frank, and he didn't want to wake Frank up. All that would happen was Mikey would cry and complain, and Frank would tell him that everything was going to be alright, and he was going to fix everything, and--

Just the memory of those words ringing true every time Frank had to say them had Mikey punching in the number he knew by heart. This was only the second time Mikey had ever called Frank--the first being when he left his backpack over at Frank's house and called to ask if he could bring it to school tomorrow, and even that made Mikey's heart pound out of his chest--but he had Frank's number taped to his wall, and sometimes in fits of lonliness he would run his fingers over it and recite the numbers.

The phone picked up on the other end, and Mikey hoped, hoped that it was Frank and not his mom, but--"Hello?" A distinctly feminine voice asked. She sounded irritated, and Mikey was debating just hanging up and locking himself into the bathroom the whole night when he heard a loud crash from downstairs and threw that plan out the door. Surely Frank won't be mad?

"H-hi, is Frank th-there?" He sniffed, wiping tears away with the inside of his shirt and staining it, but who gives a fuck?

"Oh, Mikey, honey, is that you? Are you crying?"

It astounded Mikey how anyone could tell that from just over the phone, but then again, he was being rather loud. He let out a little choked laugh, shoving the heel of his hand into his eye. "Y-yeah, a little bit. I hope I didn't wake you or anything, but I really just need to talk to Frankie." His own ears picked up the desperation behind his request, and on the other end he could hear Frank's mom shuffling around to Frank's room.

"It's not a problem, sweetheart. Is there something wrong?"

He shouldn't tell her, because she isn't--she just isn't someone that he always talks to. Well, he does, but never anything personal. But he found the words slipping out a little. Not the whole story, just, "My parents," and knew she would get it. She made a sympathetic noise, and he could hear her chock it up to teenage angst, but didn't give a shit once Frank's sleep-bleared voice blasted through the static.

"Mikey? You okay?" Mikey could hear the worry over the phone, and yeah, he felt cared for. He needed this.

"Yeah, m'okay, but...my brother..." Oh God, he's made it sound worse than it really is. But this was bad, it was horrible, life-shattering to think about going days, months, without talking to his brother and making fun of him and having someone who understands that he's not human.

"What about your brother? Is he okay?"

"Well, yeah, he's not hurt or anything, but--ugh! Today, he called the house, and like, he...okay, I didn't even know this, but he's gay. He never told me. And he--the dumbass thought it would be okay to come out to our parents over the phone, or at all, and that was seriously a bad call. They've been yelling for hours, and they told me that I couldn't ever call him or see him again because they don't want it to rub off or some shit like that, and." A sob cracked through the air, drowning out the cries from below him. "He's my brother, Frankie, I can't..." Mikey held the phone closer to his ear, to the point where it was digging into the side of his head and hurt, but he just wanted something. If he could, he would pull Frank out of the phone so he could hold him, or, even better, disappear into the phone and come out at Frank's house, where it was safe.

"Shh, i-it's going to be okay, Mikey, sugar, just. They can't do that. You'll find ways to talk to him, I promise."

"But they said that they're going to buy one of those caller ID things, and it'll tell them who I've called, and who's called the house!" Mikey tried to keep his wailing to a minimum, even though he knew he could commit a murder up here and his parents would never hear him over their own fighting. His parents weren't really much into fighting, and in the few instances that they would fight, Mikey always ended up sleeping curled up next to Gerard in his bed, but not now, now he's just curled up next to the fucking bathtub, pouring his heart out to his boyfriend who lives an hour away.

"But Mikey, you can call him at my house."

"Oh. I hadn't really thought of that." Mikey winced at his stupidity. This is why he didn't like to call Frank, because without Frank holding him, he was a mess and couldn't think rationally. Frank was an addiction once he was in your bloodstream.

But that wasn't the real issue here, no. Now that the smaller problem was solved, the bigger, more substantial one hung over both of their heads. Mikey's parents were homophobic. And, once that terror set in, Mikey put it into words. "What if they find out about us?" Like it was some deep dark secret, like it was something that they weren't proud of. Frank didn't like this, not one bit.

"Then you'll live with me, Mikey." Before Mikey could scoff or write it off as a joke, Frank went on. "I am dead fucking serious, Mikey. If they--if they pull any of this homophobic shit with you, I want you to gather up all your stuff and get your ass down here, no matter what time it is. "

Mikey let out a barely audible "Okay," before slipping down to let all his limbs rest on the floor, cold seeping into his flesh and driving away most feelings but the pinpricks. "H-hey, Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I come over tomorrow?" Tomorrow was Saturday.

"Of course. Hey! Get here really early, I mean, like, single-digit early, and I'll make us some hot chocolate and we'll watch all the Saturday morning cartoons, like that Batman one I was telling you about, and there's this other one, starts with a Y, and they made that kid's eyes too big too, but it had pretty colors, so yeah. We can do that. Bella will probably hog up the whole couch, but I won't let her hog you, because you, Mikey Way, are mine to cuddle, and she's just gonna have to get over that."

Mikey smiled wide, not bothering to fight the muscles tilting the corners of his lips up or trying to hide it behind his hair because no one was there to see him. He smiled until his cheeks hurt and he wanted to laugh or something, because Frank did exactly what he always did, he swooped in and saved the day, and Mikey just didn't think he could live without Frank anymore. And that was amazing too. This new feeling washed over him, cradling him in its depths and even though Frank wasn't here, everything was going to be okay.

"Oh, and Mikey?"

He could just hear the pop in Frank's voice, the smile that he couldn't see but knew was there, the smile he knew inside and out, how it tasted, how it felt, how it was the most amazing smile ever. "Yeah, Frank?"

"Bring your gothy clothes and makeup and the leash."

*

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he basked in the feeling of being blatantly stared at. He knew what they were thinking, somewhere along the lines of omigod and making a dog joke. Many people took it as a joke, sadly, but a lot didn't. A lot hated it. And Frank loved that.

The stores and stands drew his wonderous eye as he trailed along behind Mikey, for once assuming the submissive role and leaving everything completely up to his boyfriend. If Mikey ducked into the bookstore to go look at the newest issue of whatever, Frank was right behind him. He had no choice in the matter. It was all left up to the thick band of leather (he hoped it was more like pleather, because cow? Ew.) around his neck and Mikey's whims. Already, they had stopped by a coffee shop for two White Mochas and a shared giant pretzel coated in chocolate. Frank really liked standing in line at the coffee shop, because he could hear exactly what the people behind him were whispering. They, of course, passed right by the fact that Frank and Mikey were both boys and went straight to their clothes and the leash, and that pleased Frank to no end. He liked to be hated. That's it. He liked to be stereotyped, as long as he was paired with Mikey, because he found it fucking romantic. Him and Mikey against the close-minded fuckers who roamed the mall.

Mikey just liked to spend time with Frank, costume or not. He liked the way Frank was all over him, grabbing onto his arm or slipping his hand into one of the oversized back pockets of his pants and grinning. He also liked to be in charge. Before they left the house, Frank had taken Mikey aside and told him that he was fucking in charge, and if he asked once for permission to do anything, Frank would bite him.

And he stuck by that threat, going exactly where he wanted when he wanted--until he passed by the build-a-bear workshop. He stopped, staring for a minute at the outside of the store decorated with different little stuffed animals and filled with little children tugging their parents around, pointing to different animals and clothes. Predominantly bears, but there were more, like rabbits, giraffes, butterflies--unicorns! They had unicorns! But, shit, he couldn't go in there or Frank will...wait, this is Frank, of course he can go in there.

"Frank! They have unicorns in there!" Mikey said in a rushed whisper, like it was a secret and if everyone knew then they would crowd in the store and take all of them before Mikey could get one. Frank let out a shocked gasp and stood on his tiptoes, turning towards the storefront to look inside the glass displaycase.

"They do! Oh, and they have a turtle too!"

The two of them went inside the store, ignoring the stares they got as they both picked out their animals. The store clerk was looking at them like he thought Mikey was going to rip the unicorns head off with his teeth and spit out the stuffing onto the little kids who were dressing their animals, but instead Mikey just looked down at the unicorn in his arms, and smiled.

"You're a boy unicorn, okay? And if you're gay, I'll love you anyway, but we can't tell my parents, got it?" He was talking loud enough for the parents hovering over their children to hear and step closer to their child, like a penguin would do with their egg. Frank looked down at his turtle, bit his lip, and wondered whether he wanted it more than a penguin. Nope. Turtles are the way to go.

"What's his name?" Frank asked as they waited in line to get clothes for their animals, because animal nudity? No. Just, no.

Mikey smiled, looking down at his unicorn fondly, as Frank began to get jealous of a stuffed animal. "Michael."

He decided on the name because the unicorn looked like a Michael, more than Mikey ever did. And by this point, nothing he could say would make this situation any more mortifying when they got home and Mikey climbed down from the high of finding a unicorn.

Frank giggled. "How odd. This one is Franklin. But he's transgendered. He used to be a girl named Francine, but now he's a boy, and proud of it. And I'm going to get him jetpacks like Robin had so he'll be faster than any of these stupid bunnies." Frank waved a dismissive hand at the rack of rabbits that were settled next to the turtles and bears, each staring at him with their beady little black eyes and plastic pink noses. "Yeah, be jealous of Franklin," he told them, holding the turtle up to his chest just in case, you know, one of the rabbits decides to jump out and attack him.

Mikey smiled over his head and helped Frank glare at the rabbits. "Don't worry, Frankie, Michael can kick their heads if they try to get fresh," he said with a straight face, holding his unicorn up so the rabbits could see. He thought they looked very terrified.

*

"--Oh yeah? Well, Franklin can snap a person's head off with one bite!" Frank spat, stealing a bunch of french fries from Mikey's plate and stuffing them into his mouth, not waiting to digest before sticking his tongue out at Mikey.

"Michael can fly," Mikey replied calmly, taking a prim slurp of his coke and smirking at Frank. He knew he was going to win this argument. There was no way a turtle was more deadly than a unicorn. It wasn't logical.

"Birds can fly, Mikey, but that doesn't mean shit."

"Fine, he can fly and breathe fire."

"He's not a dragon! He's a unicorn! They shit rainbows and puke butterflies, what's so deadly about them?" Frank couldn't help the smile that was pressing at the corners of his mouth. He wanted to look like he was taking this seriously, not that Mikey was even bothering hiding his laughter. This was really all he'd ever wanted in a relationship, he realized. Sitting with Mikey at the food court, both of their stuffed animals sitting in seats across from them on the other side of the booth, their thighs touching through the thick material of two pairs of Tripp pants, arguing about unicorns.

Mikey beamed at Frank, one hand covering his mouth limply, as he sputtered out the winning statement. "Yeah, and they fart toxic fumes." It wasn't a plausible theory, or even provable, but at that point, Frank snorted and kissed Mikey, muttering about how cute he was, and Mikey chocked that up to a win. A hint of a smile still graced his lips when Frank pulled away, half-lidded eyes continuing to press kisses to his skin without touching him.

"Oh, god, you're such a dork, Mikey." It wasn't an insult. There's no way Frank could insult Mikey and still sound like that, like--fantastically enamoured. His eyes squinted from the radius of his grin as he leaned over and plucked a cigarette from the open pack on the table, breathing out a sigh because, well, cancer, and all that. Just one of those ideas in the back of his head, the both of them with holes in their necks and wheezing at each other about dragons.

Mikey nodded at the accusation happily, watching Frank light the cigarette up and wondering when he became a smoker. This should be something that Mikey knew, because he was the enabler, but he didn't. He was pretty used to Frank just stealing a lit one from his lips, taking a drag, and handing it back, content with that. But--they were both smokers now, and that was. Dumb. They were so dumb. His eyes drooped as he leaned his chin on his hand and stared at the ketchup packet on the table. Heinz. That was a German name, right? Yeah. He knew that.

"What kind of name is Iero?" Mikey popped off, sitting straight up as soon as the thought had hit him.

"The amazing kind, Way. It's Italian. You know that," Frank answered blandly. He swirled the straw around in his cup with one hand and tapped a cylinder of ash into the ashtray with the other.

Mikey cocked his head to the side, not satified with the answer. "What's it mean?" He didn't bother with worrying that he was asking too many questions, since he was allowed to today. Frank's hand stopped fiddling with his straw and he turned his head to level with Mikey, tipping his lips into a sideways grin. A fringe of bangs fell over his nose and he flipped it out of the way.

"Y'know, I have no idea." He giggled at his own building curiosity. "But we can ask Mom when we get home. I'll bet it's something romantic and exotic, like, fuckin'..." He didn't even know where to begin.

"I'll bet it means pink eye," Mikey quipped, backing himself into the corner he was sitting in when Frank took a little swing at his arm. "Ah, abusive boyfriend."

Frank pouted and swung his arms around Mikey's shoulders, his legs clamping over one of Mikey's so he was half in Mikey's lap. One of his hands raked through Mikey's hair like he liked, while the other stubbed out the cigarette efficiently and then snaked up to curl around his neck. "I happen to think that I'm a very caring boyfriend, thank you very much," he stated before smashing his mouth to Mikey's, eyes fluttering closed as much as he thought it was a feminine gesture. Kissing Mikey had greatly improved in the last few weeks, much to Frank's pleasure. Mikey'd finally got the hang of where his tongue and lips were supposed to go, and even realized that he could do things with his hands, like fit them in Frank's back pockets or scatter his fingers along his hips.

Frank smiled at the black smear around Mikey's lips that his lipstick left before fisting his sleeve and wiping his mouth off.

"You are a good boyfriend, you know," Mikey said quietly, looking up at Frank through his eyelashes sweetly. Frank just shook his head and leaned in for another kiss, this time open-eyed, his hands slipping inside Mikey's jacket to rest on his waist.

"No, m'not," he mumbled against Mikey's lips, nudging his nose with his own. When Mikey's lips opened to protest, he licked a clean line across his bottom lip, promptly shutting him up. "Remember a few weeks ago when I said I don't love you? Do you know why I said it?"

Mikey nodded dumbly, lip still tingling, clutching to Frank's shirt desperately because some things Frank did just made him lightheaded. He registered the words, yeah, but they didn't mean anything. So Frank didn't love him, that was okay. He was still happy, so why was Frank bringing it up again? "Because you don't love me?"

"No, that's not why." He nipped at Mikey's jaw. He could see that his boyfriend was dazed, so he took one of his hands out of his jacket to cup Mikey's chin and force him to look at him directly. "It's because 'I love you' is something I would say to a girl to get into her pants."

That got Mikey's attention. He furrowed his brow, not pleased with this turn of conversation. He didn't care that Frank said he didn't love him, it was just words, and he already knew that Frank cared. That was enough for him. It didn't have to turn into some big conversation about Frank's past girlfriends.

"And if love was what I felt for all the girlfriends I've had, then this--shit, Mikey. The word love is just not going to cut it. It's four stupid letters, and I'm pretty sure what I feel for you would use up all the letters of the alphabet twice, and then some. It probably has a lot of 'k's in it." He watched the progression on Mikey's face from annoyed to blindingly happy, a reflection of his own feelings right now. But his brain hadn't got the message to his mouth yet, so he went on, his face a blank canvas for the words to splash upon.

"I can't bring myself to say anything stupid like I love you, because it's such a fucking understatement. So I don't love you, whatever. I live for you. Nothing feels good if you're not there with me to experience it. I don't want to demean what we have by saying that we are 'in love', because that's comparing us to every other couple who says it, and they just--aren't this good. We're just made for each other. And...and I don't know if you get it, but if there's anyone who would, it's you. Like, I have a feeling that if I told a girl I didn't love her, she'd fixate on it and hate me, but--you?"

Mikey shook his head and cupped Frank's face, thumbing over his smooth candy-sweet lips. His voice, which he finally found in hiding in his throat, came out more composed and softer than he thought he could manage.

"Yeah, I get it."

He could almost laugh--only Frank could turn 'I don't love you' into something beautiful.