Frank on a Leash

This is part two of the bonus chapters. There is one more part! I highly suggest not reading this, because--well, just don't. Okay? This one doesn't make much sense, sorry, but. Don't read it.
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Frank twisted around in his seat several times after the bell for fifth period had rung. Mikey wasn't in class. Mikey hadn't walked him to class--Frank was fucking worried. Where the fuck was his boyfriend? Because he knew, knew, that Mikey would never blow him off. Every day they had a routine, around this time of the day before the bell for math rang they would meet up at Frank's locker and share the kisses they got in trouble for during class, Frank would cling onto Mikey stupidly and desperately because seeing what you couldn't have for a whole period was hell. Their teacher was pure evil incarnate for getting pissed at them every time they wanted to sit together. She didn't understand. She was probably fucking single.

Frank had waited at his locker diligently, clutching the Advanced Trig book firmly against his chest like it was Mikey, darting his eyes sharply at every splash of black he could spot in the crowd and heart hammering out of his chest with every false alarm. He decided that too many people wore black.

When Ray came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder, alerting him that he was about to be late if he didn't get his ass to class--Frank had been so worried he didn't make a joke--Frank turned a few more times on the spot incredulously. It wasn't right that Mikey wasn't here. This was where he was supposed to be, didn't he understand that? How was Frank supposed to walk to class now? It jerked his rational thinking on its side and he had leaned up against Ray, exhausted from the five long minutes he had spent standing in place and craning his neck over the crowd.

"This isn't right," he had said to Ray, knowing that he would get it because Ray watched every day--jealous eyes--as Mikey and Frank macked on each other for as long as they had, fitful, fast like lovers caught up in a moment the world was trying to wrench out of their hands. "...the fuck is he?"

Frank raised his hand, stretching his back up until he was within eyesight of even the oldest and blindest of teachers. But Ms. Jameson had perfect fucking eyesight, and she was just avoiding Frank's outstretched hand because one, Mikey wasn't here (and that meant that Frank wanted to skip) and two, she was afraid of how he was going to phrase his question. Lewd, as always, of course. He could never say 'May I please use the restroom,' like she preferred, it was always, 'I have to go take a piss,' followed by a badly hidden snort/giggle from his boyfriend. Those two were completely...ugh, a handful.

Frank shifted around in his seat, his arm tingling in its socket, tiny whimpering sounds coming from deep in his throat. His free hand gripped the edge of his desk until his fingertips were burning yellow and most of his body was falling out of his seat.

He knew she wasn't going to call on him. She hated him. She was a stupid motherfucking homophobic wench, and there was no way someone could be that earnestly oblivious. He slid out of his seat with a huff, stomping over to the door with fucking intent. His seat jarred the wall and left a chip in the paint.

"Mr. Iero, sit back down!"

Turning to his teacher, Frank pulled the best superior face he could amidst the blinding panic he had that something was--no.

"You were ignoring me!" He flung his hands out to the side and yelled, turning back to the door.

"Mr. Iero, sit back down. I'm not as stupid as you may think I am, mister. I know that your boyfriend is probably waiting for you to meet him somewhere so you can skip, and you can just forget about it, okay? I'm tired of dealing with the two of you." She pointed a stick of chalk between Frank and his desk.

Frank couldn't believe it. His mouth hung slack-jawed and everything because she had it all so fucking wrong...

"Okay, first of all," he clenched and un-clenched his fists, working on breathing and talking at the same time because, hello? his world was on its side here and he was terrified and knew he was about to have a fit. "You are an idiot. You don't say one fucking word when Patrick and Vicky are practically dry humping back there! You have a problem with us, don't act like you're treating us fairly. Not for one second do you pretend that you give us the same rights as everyone else, that it doesn't disgust you or annoy you or whatever."

"That's not--"

"Second!" Frank overrode, popping his hip out to one side. He was pulling out all stops now, because if the tingling in the back of his head wasn't Mikey trying to communicate to him telepathically, he was seriously losing it. "I don't know where Mikey is, and that's not good. That means something is wrong. Let me go look for him." And if it meant walking out of this class leaving all of his classmates and teacher staring at him with comically wide, gaping mouths, so be it. No one seemed to be getting the message that MIKEY WAS GONE. Not attached to Frank. The other half of Frank's heart was missing, and fuck, no one got it.

He ran a hand through his hair, gathering it all in a little bunch in the back to get it out of his face and blew his cheeks out in a pout. His heart was thudding so loudly and unmercifully that he could no longer tell the beats apart. There was about three seconds left before he was bolting to the door and doing a thorough search for Mikey.

"Frank, sit down, okay? Mikey probably just went home, there's no need for you to panic. I know you don't usually function without him, but chill out."

Oh, there was no way that some twenty-something, just-graduated-from-community-college probably-single bitch was telling him to chill out. No way. She was the one who didn't have a grip on reality, she was the one who couldn't hear the telepathy inside her head because no one would ever want to telepathize with her. She would just ignore the pricklings, but Frank couldn't.

That's about when he looked out into the class for the first time that day. He obviously didn't have time to survey the class earlier when he was freaking the fuck out about his missing boyfriend, but now that he did do a quick once-over of the class, there was a blond boy missing.

"Oh fuck."

"Language, Mr. Iero."

Frank locked eyes with Ray. Ray, who was probably the only one who would understand what it meant when he mumbled, "Where's Bob?" with the stark look on his face. He might as well have been told that Mikey was being mutilated.

"Oh, fuck," Ray agreed, pushing himself out of his seat as per the mutual unspoken agreement to go save Mikey when they should have known before but they didn't. It seemed to be the way the world was wired. Neither of them could really get it in time to help Mikey.

Frank chastised himself the whole way there, feet pounding on the tiled hallway floor and echoing back to him loud enough to blast his ears with cracks.

*

Time stood still. He really wished it wouldn't, he wished he could hit erase or rewind or throw the fucking thing up against the wall to get this scene off the screen. Because yeah, you hear about these sorts of things in the newspaper or in Lifetime movies that never really made you cry, just feel guilty about your own cancer-free life, but Frank thought that Lifetime could go fuck itself.

He inched forward, closer to the only good in his life, wishing for a washcloth or something because Mikey didn't like to have stuff on his face, and when he woke up he'd feel sticky from the blood and Frank didn't want him to grimace or anything but smile.

He wasn't moving, but Frank knew that he would. Sometimes Mikey slept while sitting up, if he had something to lean on. He said it helped with his sinuses and snoring, but the snoring never really bothered Frank. It was static. And Mikey looked pretty all fucked up.

"Hey, baby, get up," Frank murmured, reaching out to grab Mikey's shoulder. Behind him, he heard a soft sigh in Ray's tone.

"Frank..."

"Mikey, get uppp," Frank whined. Whining usually worked. He leaned forward, balancing on his knees while the tops of his shoes pinched his toes and laid his head on Mikey's shoulder. His thumb brushed up against Mikey's nose, picking off a little bit of the drying blood.

"Frank."

Frank pressed his face into Mikey's neck. "Hey, enough, okay, I'm getting worried."

"Frank!"

"Mi-"

"Frank, they're dead."

*

The paramedics came after Ray went wandering around the school with blood covering his shirt. Apparently that's not part of the dress code and it was disturbing the masses to the point of projectile vomiting. When they arrived, Frank was clinging onto Mikey's jacket and glaring at anyone who got too close. They all did. Didn't they understand that Mikey didn't like it when there was a lot of people? They really needed to back the fuck off before Mikey started to go off on them like he did with Jared.

Two Valiums, a hydro and three well-built paramedics later, Frankie was leaning hunched over with his forehead pressed against the cold metal rail of Mikey's hospital bed. One of his hands was curled around the bar, one was fisted in Mikey's sheets. The beep of the heart monitor was only reaching one ear.

He started to count down the seconds between the beeps.

One. One. One.

...two. One. One. One.

...three.