Stereotype

Frank didn't have hot chocolate near the heater when he got home; it was a little late for that. He did get, however, a delicious, steaming bowl of pumpkin soup for dinner. He enriched the welcoming delicacy with tons of cheese and hurried to start eating before it went cold. His parents and brother seemed to have the same idea in mind, since no one was talking at first. Not even the TV and whatever Talk Show was on distracted them from their task. The two males of the house were making quite a lot of noise, and Frank considered commenting on their lack of table manners, but that would have required him to stop eating. Not an option if he could avoid it.

It was Ray who broke the perfect moment. "Frank...can you tell me what you were doing at the practice, or after?"

Frank didn't even look at his brother, entertained with the thread of cheese that extended from the plate to his spoon. He raised the spoon as high as his arm reached until the thread broke, then he sucked the remains off the silver utensil into his mouth as if it was a noodle. Doing so was probably frown upon when it came to table etiquette -he thought, but he had been at least silent; not like others. 

"Frank..." Ray insisted.

"No, I can't," the younger mumbled into his glass of water.

"You can't...what?"

Frank sighed, looking at his brother sideways. "Tell you what you asked me."

"Why?"

"Because."

Ray's face showed that Frank had succeeded at annoying him. "Whatever," he said with a shrug. After that he grabbed the remote control and turned the TV volume up.

Frank knew that was Ray's way to shun him when he pissed him off. Their parents didn't complain, which was another sign of how lost in their meal they were.

Frank spent some seconds watching Ray's arm carry soup to his mouth blindly, like a robot. The speed and precision were amazing. Soon he returned to his own plate, but another voice calling his name interrupted him again.

"Frankie, would you pass me the salt, please?" his father requested.

The boy laughed. "Dad, you're almost finished. Now you realize it needed more salt?"

"Guess he only now calmed down and started eating like a person!" Linda said with a laugh of her own.

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Can I have it, please?"

"Don't use much, gotta watch your pressure," Frank advised as he complied.

"Thanks, sweetheart." His dad smiled warmly at him.

A loud sigh could be heard coming from Linda before she said, "Tony, do you think that's a proper word for a father to call his teenage boy?"

The woman accompanied the rhetorical question with a mocking gesture, surely wanting to mask it as a joke. Frank knew it wasn't. She was always accusing Anthony of encouraging Frank's attitude and mannerisms and discrediting her in front of him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" the man asked with frustration.

Linda huffed. "Sweetheart, really?"

"It's just a common pet name for someone you love, and I felt like using it with my kid. Do I really need to justify myself for that?"

"What you need to do is think before you speak," Linda raised his voice. "I keep telling Frank to try and act a little less femininely and then you go and call him 'sweetheart'. How is the poor kid supposed to know what to do? You're probably the one who confused him with the way you've always treated him!"

"No he's not," Frank barely whispered. He hated to participate in those discussions. He felt bad enough for being the cause.

"You're making no sense, Linda. Please, let's stop this and have dinner in peace. We're only upsetting him and he doesn't deserve it." Anthony struggled to keep his voice at a normal level, and Frank was thankful for that.

His mother, though, had a problem to control hers. "We wouldn't need to have these arguments if you agreed to address the subject instead of escaping every time!"

"But you already know what I think! I won't agree with you!"

It was the violent screech of a chair across the floor that made the couple shut up. All eyes were drawn to Ray, who stood near the table breathing heavily.

"Why don't you just divorce? Then you could each raise Frank however the fuck you want and bitch at each other on the phone and I wouldn't have hear you argue all the time," he roared.

"Ray, son, I..." Linda spoke softly now, a hand reaching out for her older's hair.

He took a step back, avoiding her. "You're always arguing because of him, always!"

"I don't think it's fair to say we're always arguing..." Anthony said.

"Maybe not, but when you do, it's always 'cause of Frank," Ray retorted. "And that is what's not fair. It's not my business and I don't want to hear it!"

"Please..." Linda tried again.

"Leave me alone, mom! All of you!" 

Once Ray left the dinning room, no one dared say a word. Frank was aware of the burning guilt in his parents' eyes as they looked at each other and then at him, but he had nothing to tell them. Nothing new, nothing that could solve a thing. Ray was right; those arguments happened because of him. Frank may not have done anything wrong or to purposely upset his parents -and he knew they'd never blame him, yet he was the cause of all their fights. However, he was conscious that it was their problem, not his. He couldn't, and wouldn't change who he was because of them. His mom needed to learn to deal; his dad to maybe be more patient and help her.

Frank heated up his -by now cold- remaining soup in the microwave and finished it in silence, excusing himself afterwards to go study for the next day's lesson.

*******

As Frank neared his bed, he patted himself in the back for having remembered to grab his favorite winter pajamas earlier and put them under his pillow for quicker access. It had taken him too long to get warm enough to fall asleep the night before in his thinner ones. His mom tended to always set the heater either too high or not high enough. Ironically, the level of heat appeared to be inversely proportional to the closeness of Winter. Thankfully for Frank, he had his flannel pajamas which, besides being extremely cozy, were also pretty cool-looking. They were white and covered in musical notes of all colors, mixed up with some likewise colorful guitars.

Once ready and leaving only the lamp on his nightstand on, Frank got under the many covers with his biology book in hand. He usually did pretty well at oral lessons with what he learned in class, but those last days had given him a lot to think about and distract him. He wasn't that confident that he would still be able to talk about bacterias and viruses with ease, so a reread sounded like a wise choice. It was also a good way to avoid thinking about what had happened at the table.

At some point, after he made a pause to listen to a couple of songs in his iPad, Frank got the feeling that he was forgetting something else he was supposed to do. That was uncommon for him. He kept on reading anyway, not wanting to lose time. 

He had already revised the lesson twice and was still trying to recall what his mind had misplaced when there was a knock on the door.

"Yeah?" He thought it was probably one of his parents wanting to survey the damage.

"It's me," said Ray's squeaky voice. Well, that was a surprise.

Frank left his bed grudgingly, running for the spare blanket over a chair as soon as he felt the change of temperature.

He opened the door and looked up at his also pajama-clad brother expectantly. He wasn't really mad at Ray; he understood. He just felt somewhat hurt by some things Ray had said. Or how he had said them. Especially about his parents.

By the way Ray fidgeted guiltily, he had -no doubt- taken conscience of that. "Can I come in and talk to you, princess?"

With that, Frank let go of all resistance and stepped aside to let his brother in. He smiled to himself as he closed the door right after.

To probably anyone but Marina, what Ray had called him would mean he was mocking him like he did at school when he called him "my sister". But Frank knew the difference, what hid behind those words. How opposite they were, in a way, when it was Ray using them.

When Ray called Frank his "sister", even if to pretend in front of his friends, what Frank heard was: "What is supposed to be my brother but doesn't look or act like it, so let's just call it that." On the other hand, when it was "princess" that fell from his brother's lips, to Frank it meant: "I don't care what you are, you're my little sibling and I love you, and I'll call you whatever cute pet name I feel like calling you when no one can hear us."

Plus, Frank might not be as good as Gerard at reading people's gestures, but the contrast between the annoying roll of Ray's eyes with "sister" and the kind, affectionate raise of his eyebrows with "princess", was a little hard to miss.

Ray spoke as soon as Frank turned to him. "I'm sorry, Frankie. I'm so, so sorry..." He was sitting on the bed, hands clasped tight in between his legs. His eyes were red, like the tears now falling weren't the first. "I didn't meant to blame you."

"I know."

"It's not your fault that they can't agree, it never really is. You've done nothing wrong, I-"

"I know, Ray," Frank repeated. "I know you don't really blame me. And I understand how you feel, believe me. They-"

"No! But..." Ray shook his head and screwed up his face. He looked so mortified that Frank had to reach up and ran a hand through his messy curly hair.

"Shh, it's okay, I get it," he cooed.

"I don't actually want them to divorce," Ray sobbed. "I swear Frankie, I don't."

Frank was relieved. He hadn't been sure whether or not Ray had meant that part earlier. Not knowing what else to say, he threw his arms around the crying boy.

As they clung to each other for dear life, Frank asked shyly in Ray's ear, "Do you ever wish mom had stayed with your dad?" He had always been afraid to ask. And then after Ray's dad moved out of the state, Frank had tried not to mention him much at all.

Ray undid the hug to stare at Frank like he was crazy. "Hell, no!"

"No?"

"Course not! I was only two when mom married Anthony, and he's been a better dad than my own could've ever been. And a much better husband too. My dad's a jerk, Frankie, you know that..."

"I know, but I thought..." 

"I've always been thankful that mom left him, believe me. Besides, if she hadn't married Tony, she wouldn't have had you. What would I do without an annoying bug of dubious sex like you, uh?"

Frank frowned. "The fuck? There's nothing dubious about my sex, you buttface! If it wasn't so cold I'd pull down my pants, case you forgot that I have balls and a dick."

Ray made a disgusted face. "Thank fuck for cold, then. And I'm sorry, it was just a..." He stopped, scratching his head in thought. "How do you call it when it's like a typo...but you're speaking instead of typing?"

The younger brought an open hand to his face with force. It was late and he was too tired for that. "Ignorance, you call it ignorance," he spat irksomely.

"Oh, gimme a break!" Ray groaned, letting himself fall back on the bed. "You're an annoying -pain-in-the-ass annoying- bug of dubious gender. That better?"

Frank could have protested harder but...Ray's eyebrows were raised in that affectionate way that warmed Frank's heart. "Yeah, makes a lot more sense..."

"Jesus. Your bed. I'd forgotten how awesome it is."

The mention of his bed and the reminder of how comfortable it was, made Frank feel suddenly twice as tired. Mentally counting to three, he got rid of the blanket he was cocooned in and speed-crawled to the head of the bed. Ray instantly got up to let him get under the covers.

Buried in them up to his nose, Frank saw his brother standing there with an air of unsureness.

"We're okay, Ray. Relax," he reassured him. "Just...you should maybe talk to them tomorrow. You know, apologize for what-"

"Oh yeah I...I will, promise." Ray scratched his head again, eyes fixed on the glossy wooden floor. "Okay. G'night, princess." He lifted his face to give his younger brother a smile, then turned to leave.

Frank had the urge to shot one arm out of the covers and seize a leg of Ray's checkered pajama pants. "Wanna stay here?"

"Uh?"

"You used to let me sleep in your bed when I was upset or scared. I think you need it tonight. And...you get to enjoy my awesome bed you envy so much."

Ray's meditative face was only a facade, Frank knew. It only took him five seconds to kick off his slippers and occupy the space his brother had made for him under the covers. "Just...don't tell the guys."

"Don't give me a reason." Frank turned his back on Ray and smirked. "Goodnight, fucker."

"Frankie?" Ray's voice pulled him back when he was at the brink of sleep.

"What do you want?" he whined, not caring to turn on the light. It's not like he didn't know what his brother's face looked like.

"What were you up to at the practice?"

"Again with that?"

"Yes," Ray said firmly.

Frank emitted a pained sound. "I needed to tell the Phillips that their 'friends' had beat the shit out of their brother earlier, okay? That's all I have to say." There was no way he was going to mention his and Gerard's mission or detail the conversation they'd had with Brandon and Adam. Ray would be on him like a hawk if he knew he was sticking his nose into those matters.

"But Matt said..."

"Yeah. Matt says a lot of bullshit. And why does he have so much influence on the couch, anyway?" Frank didn't have much hopes that his brother would tell him how Matt managed to get some guys kicked out of the team in the past, but he had to try.

"Why do you ask that now?" Ray sounded curious and a little nervous.

"Doesn't matter. Why?"

"I have no idea, I swear." Now his tone denoted honesty. He would be no help. "Guess 'cause he's the best player? Until Gerard came, at least." 

Frank snorted at that last comment. "Yeah, right."

"What?"

"Goodnight, Ray. School tomorrow, remember?" Frank yawned to make a point.

"Yeah, yeah. God forbid you miss your precious school. Goodnight."