#5 - Outsides
#5 - Outsides
#5; Outsides
Frank hated being inside his head. His head was a jumble of pain and anger, lingering resentment from the bitterness of his parents’ divorce. That was the reason he tended to try and stay out of his head, distract himself. Playing was one of the things that helped him escape.
He closed his eyes, losing himself in the flow of the melody. His fingers flew across the fretboard, pulling and bending and hanging onto the strings. A raw, angry tune ripped out of the amplifier. It was cathartic, to Frank, his emotions seeping into the snow white Les Paul beneath his hands and bleeding through the speakers. It was what made him feel alive.
-
Frank loved the hill. He loved sitting there and watching the sun go down, sink slowly beneath the horizon, bleeding fiery colours into the sky. He loved going there to write, or play music. He loved the hill. It was his hill.
One Sunday evening in the middle of June, Frank was sitting gazing at the stars glimmering above him, the moon casting silvery pools of light on the grass around him. It was calming, being in such a serene environment.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice near him murmured, and he jumped.
"W-what...w-who...w-when...?" Frank stuttered, trying to control the several heart palpatations he'd just had.
"Sorry," the voice said apologetically, and there was a shuffling sound. The next time the anonymous guy spoke he was closer, close to Frank, almost too close. "I come here to see the sky every night."
"Why have I never seen you before?"
"I skulk." Frank giggled.
"The Incredible Skulk," he said, gazing up at the stars.
"That's me."
-
"I hate this place," Frank muttered, munching venomously on a chocolate biscuit. Mikey glanced at him half-sympathetically, half-oddly.
"I'm sure this place hates you too," he commented, biting into his tuna sandwich. Frank wrinkled his nose, because tuna.
"Nothing could ever hate me," he said decidedly. "I'm too cute."
"I beg to differ," Mikey mumbled.
"I beg to differ your face, fuck you very much," Frank retorted, snorting at the own hilarity of his comment. Ray and Mikey exchanged a look.
"If this place hates me it sure as hell hates you," Frank said, pointing his spork threateningly in Mikey's direction.
"Why would it hate me? What have I ever done to it?" Mikey said mildly.
"You existed," Frank said, stabbing whatever food was in front of him with angst and extreme passion.
"What are you eating?" Ray asked, a slightly disgusted look gracing his features.
"Dude, I don't know," Frank said helplessly. "Smell it for me." Ray squirmed away, protesting loudly as Frank tried to hold the Tupperware box under his nose.
"Dude," he squealed. "I'm not smelling your shit!"
"I'm not asking you to smell my shit," Frank retorted. "I'm asking you to smell my food."
"It might as well be shit," Mikey interjected. "You could have been eating shit every day and not have noticed." Everybody went silent.
"Before people start mocking me, I'd like to remind you you both ate a quarter of it yesterday," Frank said quickly.
-
His parents were arguing again. He couldn't cope with it. He couldn't be trapped in the same house as them constantly. He needed to go out, to clear his head. He didn't want to be in his head.
He traipsed up the hill, footsteps muffled by the lush grass. Stars were already twinkling in the dark sky above him, and the horizon shone with city lights.
"It's amazing you can even see the stars, with all that light pollution," the voice from yesterday commented, and this time Frank only had five heart palpatations.
"Could you not do that," he snapped politely, "creep up on me and scare me shitless like that."
"I didn't know I scared the shit out of you," the voice said mildly, in the exact same aggravating tone Mikey used.
"Not literally," Frank said, although it was close. "Metaphorically."
"I figured." They sat in silence for a while.
"Do you like comic books?" Frank heard after a few minutes. He nodded, taken aback, before remembering it was the night and the voice couldn't see him.
"Fuck yeah," he breathed. "Batman is the shit, man."
"No way, dude," the voice said. "Doom Patrol."
"What the fuck is that?" Frank wanted to know. "They patrol around looking for doom and impending death?" The voice laughed, and Frank smiled. He liked making other people happy.
"I'll lend you a copy someday," it said. "You'll love it." They lapsed into silence once again, each thinking their own thoughts as they looked up at the sky. Suddenly-
"Hey, hey, look! A shooting star!" the voice yelled, and Frank looked around wildly to find it. He needed this wish. He needed a wish.
"Where?!" he asked frantically. Finally he spotted it - a streak of orange among tiny dots of glimmering white.
I wish I could get out of my head. I wish I could meet someone to help me. I wish I wasn't me.
-
"Frank," Mikey said disdainfully. "Could you please not eat your food looking like you would like to slit someone's throat? It's most unappetising."
"Your face is unappetising," Frank muttered.
"I hope so," Mikey retorted. "I don't want people to eat my face."
"No one would eat any part of you, don't worry Mikes," Ray said soothingly.
"There's no meat on him," Frank said, gesturing with his plastic knife. "Nothing."
"Suits you then, Mr I'm-A-Vegetarian-And-Animals-Are-Perfection," Mikey snorted.
"Fuck you."
"Suck my dick," Mikey said, twirling his pasta elegantly.
"Sorry, I'm a vegetarian," Frank smirked.
"How the fuck does that stop you sucking cock?" Mikey demanded.
"It just does," Frank said. "Don't question the Frankenstein."
"At least he had more of a brain than you."
"Suck on your own-"
"Shut up," Ray said tiredly.
-
"Here," the voice said as soon as Frank reached the top of the hill, tossing something in his direction. It landed on the grass with a soft thump.
"What's this?" Frank said, squinting in the weak moonlight to see.
"Doom Patrol. I told you I'd lend you one," the voice said nonchalantly. Frank made a noise of interest and flipped the first page over uselessly, because of course, he couldn't see.
"Thanks," he said, putting it on the ground next to him. "I'll definitely read that."
"Are you wearing a Misfits shirt?" the voice suddenly asked him. Frank looked down, and yes, he was indeed.
"Looks like it," he said. "Why?"
"Dude, I love the Misfits. Second greatest band from Jersey ever." Second?
"No way, man, they're first," Frank disagreed.
"What about Bouncing Souls? Dude, they totally take the top spot," the voice argued.
"Misfits every day."
"You're not the man for me then."
"Hey baby," Frank cooed. "We could work something out." The voice laughed.
"I guess."
-
"Frank," Mikey said, treating this as some sort of traumatic experience. What, okay, Frank was gay, he couldn't be expected to keep his eyes off hot guys.
"What?" Frank said innocently, tearing his eyes away from the jet-black haired beauty that was heading somewhere in their general direction (just because he was gay didn't mean he was a stalker).
"That's my brother you're checking out."
"He's cute."
"Frank!" Mikey squawked, throwing a grape at him. Frank caught it and ate it, because hey, free food.
"One of you has to be," Frank shrugged, turning back to his food. "Hey guys, what d'you think this is today?"
"...Goopy casserole with severed limbs of a triple-headed owl?" Ray hazarded a guess. Frank tilted his head to look at it from a different angle.
"Yep," he decided. "Hit the nail on the head, Ray." He pushed his food away from him just as Mikey's brother sat down next to him (Mikey, that is, not Frank. Frank wouldn't be able to gaze longingly at him if he sat next to him without looking exceedingly creepy or climbing on the table).
"Hey," he said. "I'm Gerard." Something sounded familiar with his voice, but Frank couldn't quite place it, so he ignored it.
"Frank," he said, unsure whether it would be considered too formal to hold his hand out for a handshake. Gerard smiled at him, the hitch of his lips causing his hazel eyes to twinkle mischieviously, like he knew something Frank didn't. It made him uncomfortable. He needed to go.
"I have...chess club," Frank said, standing up abruptly and causing the table to tip. Whilst everyone was picking their food off the floor, he made his getaway. The Incredible Skulk, he thought to himself.
-
It was earlier than usual when Frank trudged up the hill, carrying the Doom Patrol comic he'd read and loved. The sun was still setting in the sky, falling below the horizon, but he had a cunning plan. 'Voice' always seemed to be here before him, so this time he'd be there first and see who 'Voice' was.
"You're early," a voice said from behind him. Frank whirled around - and there, in front of him, was Gerard Way, in the flesh. Frank felt his mouth hang open in surprise. This hot, awesome guy was a Misfits-loving comic book nerd?
"Gerard," Frank breathed. He looked impossibly beautiful, silhouetted by the sunset. It looked like his creamy skin was being engulfed by flames licking up and down his arms and legs, setting his hazel eyes on fire. Frank just wanted to kiss his soft, pale pink lips.
Gerard took a step closer.
And another.
And another.
And another.
By now, they were so close, that had Frank exhaled any more shakily than he was exhaling now, Gerard would have been able to taste it.
"Fuck it," he murmured, his words closing the small gap between their lips.
Frank hated being inside his head. His head was a jumble of pain and anger, lingering resentment from the bitterness of his parents’ divorce. That was the reason he tended to try and stay out of his head, distract himself. Playing was one of the things that helped him escape.
He closed his eyes, losing himself in the flow of the melody. His fingers flew across the fretboard, pulling and bending and hanging onto the strings. A raw, angry tune ripped out of the amplifier. It was cathartic, to Frank, his emotions seeping into the snow white Les Paul beneath his hands and bleeding through the speakers. It was what made him feel alive.
-
Frank loved the hill. He loved sitting there and watching the sun go down, sink slowly beneath the horizon, bleeding fiery colours into the sky. He loved going there to write, or play music. He loved the hill. It was his hill.
One Sunday evening in the middle of June, Frank was sitting gazing at the stars glimmering above him, the moon casting silvery pools of light on the grass around him. It was calming, being in such a serene environment.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice near him murmured, and he jumped.
"W-what...w-who...w-when...?" Frank stuttered, trying to control the several heart palpatations he'd just had.
"Sorry," the voice said apologetically, and there was a shuffling sound. The next time the anonymous guy spoke he was closer, close to Frank, almost too close. "I come here to see the sky every night."
"Why have I never seen you before?"
"I skulk." Frank giggled.
"The Incredible Skulk," he said, gazing up at the stars.
"That's me."
-
"I hate this place," Frank muttered, munching venomously on a chocolate biscuit. Mikey glanced at him half-sympathetically, half-oddly.
"I'm sure this place hates you too," he commented, biting into his tuna sandwich. Frank wrinkled his nose, because tuna.
"Nothing could ever hate me," he said decidedly. "I'm too cute."
"I beg to differ," Mikey mumbled.
"I beg to differ your face, fuck you very much," Frank retorted, snorting at the own hilarity of his comment. Ray and Mikey exchanged a look.
"If this place hates me it sure as hell hates you," Frank said, pointing his spork threateningly in Mikey's direction.
"Why would it hate me? What have I ever done to it?" Mikey said mildly.
"You existed," Frank said, stabbing whatever food was in front of him with angst and extreme passion.
"What are you eating?" Ray asked, a slightly disgusted look gracing his features.
"Dude, I don't know," Frank said helplessly. "Smell it for me." Ray squirmed away, protesting loudly as Frank tried to hold the Tupperware box under his nose.
"Dude," he squealed. "I'm not smelling your shit!"
"I'm not asking you to smell my shit," Frank retorted. "I'm asking you to smell my food."
"It might as well be shit," Mikey interjected. "You could have been eating shit every day and not have noticed." Everybody went silent.
"Before people start mocking me, I'd like to remind you you both ate a quarter of it yesterday," Frank said quickly.
-
His parents were arguing again. He couldn't cope with it. He couldn't be trapped in the same house as them constantly. He needed to go out, to clear his head. He didn't want to be in his head.
He traipsed up the hill, footsteps muffled by the lush grass. Stars were already twinkling in the dark sky above him, and the horizon shone with city lights.
"It's amazing you can even see the stars, with all that light pollution," the voice from yesterday commented, and this time Frank only had five heart palpatations.
"Could you not do that," he snapped politely, "creep up on me and scare me shitless like that."
"I didn't know I scared the shit out of you," the voice said mildly, in the exact same aggravating tone Mikey used.
"Not literally," Frank said, although it was close. "Metaphorically."
"I figured." They sat in silence for a while.
"Do you like comic books?" Frank heard after a few minutes. He nodded, taken aback, before remembering it was the night and the voice couldn't see him.
"Fuck yeah," he breathed. "Batman is the shit, man."
"No way, dude," the voice said. "Doom Patrol."
"What the fuck is that?" Frank wanted to know. "They patrol around looking for doom and impending death?" The voice laughed, and Frank smiled. He liked making other people happy.
"I'll lend you a copy someday," it said. "You'll love it." They lapsed into silence once again, each thinking their own thoughts as they looked up at the sky. Suddenly-
"Hey, hey, look! A shooting star!" the voice yelled, and Frank looked around wildly to find it. He needed this wish. He needed a wish.
"Where?!" he asked frantically. Finally he spotted it - a streak of orange among tiny dots of glimmering white.
I wish I could get out of my head. I wish I could meet someone to help me. I wish I wasn't me.
-
"Frank," Mikey said disdainfully. "Could you please not eat your food looking like you would like to slit someone's throat? It's most unappetising."
"Your face is unappetising," Frank muttered.
"I hope so," Mikey retorted. "I don't want people to eat my face."
"No one would eat any part of you, don't worry Mikes," Ray said soothingly.
"There's no meat on him," Frank said, gesturing with his plastic knife. "Nothing."
"Suits you then, Mr I'm-A-Vegetarian-And-Animals-Are-Perfection," Mikey snorted.
"Fuck you."
"Suck my dick," Mikey said, twirling his pasta elegantly.
"Sorry, I'm a vegetarian," Frank smirked.
"How the fuck does that stop you sucking cock?" Mikey demanded.
"It just does," Frank said. "Don't question the Frankenstein."
"At least he had more of a brain than you."
"Suck on your own-"
"Shut up," Ray said tiredly.
-
"Here," the voice said as soon as Frank reached the top of the hill, tossing something in his direction. It landed on the grass with a soft thump.
"What's this?" Frank said, squinting in the weak moonlight to see.
"Doom Patrol. I told you I'd lend you one," the voice said nonchalantly. Frank made a noise of interest and flipped the first page over uselessly, because of course, he couldn't see.
"Thanks," he said, putting it on the ground next to him. "I'll definitely read that."
"Are you wearing a Misfits shirt?" the voice suddenly asked him. Frank looked down, and yes, he was indeed.
"Looks like it," he said. "Why?"
"Dude, I love the Misfits. Second greatest band from Jersey ever." Second?
"No way, man, they're first," Frank disagreed.
"What about Bouncing Souls? Dude, they totally take the top spot," the voice argued.
"Misfits every day."
"You're not the man for me then."
"Hey baby," Frank cooed. "We could work something out." The voice laughed.
"I guess."
-
"Frank," Mikey said, treating this as some sort of traumatic experience. What, okay, Frank was gay, he couldn't be expected to keep his eyes off hot guys.
"What?" Frank said innocently, tearing his eyes away from the jet-black haired beauty that was heading somewhere in their general direction (just because he was gay didn't mean he was a stalker).
"That's my brother you're checking out."
"He's cute."
"Frank!" Mikey squawked, throwing a grape at him. Frank caught it and ate it, because hey, free food.
"One of you has to be," Frank shrugged, turning back to his food. "Hey guys, what d'you think this is today?"
"...Goopy casserole with severed limbs of a triple-headed owl?" Ray hazarded a guess. Frank tilted his head to look at it from a different angle.
"Yep," he decided. "Hit the nail on the head, Ray." He pushed his food away from him just as Mikey's brother sat down next to him (Mikey, that is, not Frank. Frank wouldn't be able to gaze longingly at him if he sat next to him without looking exceedingly creepy or climbing on the table).
"Hey," he said. "I'm Gerard." Something sounded familiar with his voice, but Frank couldn't quite place it, so he ignored it.
"Frank," he said, unsure whether it would be considered too formal to hold his hand out for a handshake. Gerard smiled at him, the hitch of his lips causing his hazel eyes to twinkle mischieviously, like he knew something Frank didn't. It made him uncomfortable. He needed to go.
"I have...chess club," Frank said, standing up abruptly and causing the table to tip. Whilst everyone was picking their food off the floor, he made his getaway. The Incredible Skulk, he thought to himself.
-
It was earlier than usual when Frank trudged up the hill, carrying the Doom Patrol comic he'd read and loved. The sun was still setting in the sky, falling below the horizon, but he had a cunning plan. 'Voice' always seemed to be here before him, so this time he'd be there first and see who 'Voice' was.
"You're early," a voice said from behind him. Frank whirled around - and there, in front of him, was Gerard Way, in the flesh. Frank felt his mouth hang open in surprise. This hot, awesome guy was a Misfits-loving comic book nerd?
"Gerard," Frank breathed. He looked impossibly beautiful, silhouetted by the sunset. It looked like his creamy skin was being engulfed by flames licking up and down his arms and legs, setting his hazel eyes on fire. Frank just wanted to kiss his soft, pale pink lips.
Gerard took a step closer.
And another.
And another.
And another.
By now, they were so close, that had Frank exhaled any more shakily than he was exhaling now, Gerard would have been able to taste it.
"Fuck it," he murmured, his words closing the small gap between their lips.