Incisions to Corrupt a Mind

“I hate PE.”

Frank slowed his sorry excuse for a jog down to a stop, hands pressed on his knees as he keeled over, breathing ragged and sharp. He felt as if he had inhaled thumbtacks. Brendon stood next to him, jogging lightly in place– seriously, how did the kid do it? He watched Frank with a mix of slight concern and humor before sarcastically drawling, “Really? Oh, I couldn’t tell!”

“Shut up,” Frank said, and wheezed for good measure. “Curse my fucking lungs, dammit. Why the fuck did I have to transfer in the middle of track unit?”

Brendon had stopped jogging by now, and he blinked, face clear of expression. “You don’t look so good, Frank. Should I take you to the nurse?” Frank attempted waving him off, but a loud cough foiled his plan.

“Fuck, fuck no. I’ll be fine,” he said. Brendon didn’t look reassured in the slightest.

“Boys! Urie, Iero, get back to running!” the coach, some pinprick ex-drill sergeant called from across the gym. Frank was entirely tempted to give him the finger, but Brendon pushed his arm down halfway, and called back, “I’m pretty sure Frank’s dying, Mr. Salinas, can I take him to the nurse?”

Mr. Salinas grunted and began walking over to the two boys. Frank attempted to stand up and not look like a pathetic weakling– he shoved Brendon’s arm away from himself but the boy barely budged; for being so thin, he was really pretty solid.

“Iero,” the coach called, and Frank withheld the great want to sarcastically salute him. “Do you have a doctor’s note to get out of the rest of this period?”

Frank narrowed his eyes at the large, tall man. “Of course I don’t,” he responded snippily, and then wheezed again. Mr. Salinas looked down his long, fat nose at Frank with distaste.

“Then you will continue running until the shower bell rings,” Mr. Salinas spat. Frank growled; Brendon looked appalled.

“But, Sir, he’s practically wheezing himself to death–!” Brendon tried to interject, but the coach turned and gave him the most evil glare Frank had ever seen in his sixteen years of life.

“Urie, are you the one with the breathing problems?” he grunted.

“Well, no Sir–” Brendon began to stutter out, but he was cut off once more.

“Then you do not get any say on the matter. Back to running, boys, or you get a zero for the day,” Mr. Salinas snarled, and then turned around, waddling back to his chair.

“His fucking chair,” Brendon hissed as the overweight man sat down, watching the running children with a sadistic smile on his face. “One day I’m going to steal that fucking chair and shove it up his ass.”

Frank let out what was originally supposed to be a light chuckle– turned gross, heavy cough. “Shut up, Bren. Don’t make me fucking laugh,” he whined, and stood up completely straight– or as straight as he could get himself without a lung collapsing. “Hey, Mr. Salinas! If I die, I’m totally suing!” Frank shouted.

He received a gruff, “Good luck; being a ghost and all.” Frank grimaced.

“I wish I were a ghost,” he grumbled under his breath, “so I could fucking haunt your ass.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, turning to Brendon. “Well, time to start dying again.”

Brendon gave a sympathetic nod. “Yeah, and you can tell me all about yesterday.”

Yesterday– and the Ways, right. Oh, yeah. Brendon would have fun hearing about that.

•••••

“Wait, you what?” Brendon only blinked at Frank, slow and disbelieving. Frank sighed, leaning against the brick wall. Last period had gotten out five minutes ago, and Frank had nearly escaped being hassled to death by a not-so-emotion-lacking younger Way who had nearly thrown himself at lunch, warning that, “I’ll try to stop him, I swear, but he’s ruthless! Don’t be jacking off now when we get there, or nothing,” and Frank was so confused he’d just let the moment roll.

It wasn’t until he was recounting the day’s events prior to Brendon that he realized Mikey had meant they would be over, at his house, after school.

The Ways were seriously fucking weird.

“It wasn’t nothin’, weird, you know?” Frank breathed out, cheeks pink from the autumn cold and maybe the memory of cuddling (could you really call it that?) with Gerard the day before.

“Except it was,” Brendon pried. “You went over to his house, what?”

“I did,” Frank grunted in protest. He didn’t really feel like recalling the day previous’ events to a hyped-up skinny kid in a bowtie.

“Well, what happened?” Brendon leered. Frank rolled his eyes.

“What do you know about the Ways?” he asked, turning to look questioningly at his friend. He wasn’t so sure that telling around about Mikey’s cross-dressing or Gerard’s… whatever-it-was was going to get him on the right track with anybody.

“Well, I know that they’re weird,” Brendon retorted sarcastically. “I mean, Gerard’s art-y, and he never showers and stays away from people like they’re plague. Mikey’s endearing, but aloof– a lot of junior girls dig that kinda thing, but he doesn’t really swing that way, so he’s super popular with the ‘mocking jocks’… I heard he has a thing for Wentz…” Brendon trailed off. Frank flapped a hand in front of the other boy’s face.

“You’re rambling, Bren. Wait, Wentz, who’s W–”

“That’s not the point, though,” Brendon whined, cutting him off. “How were they, you know, in person?”

“Well, if you’d let me get there,” Frank groaned. Brendon sent him a sheepish grin.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well you’re still not shutting up.” Frank decided this was the point where he’d just give up on what was right to admit or not. It wasn’t like Brendon telling any of his friends –the two, he’d heard Brendon admit, himself and a weird freshman named Ryan Ross who he was pretty sure he’d seen like a locker once, and not even on a dare– so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Mikey rocks a miniskirt, man,” Frank breathed out when he was sure Brendon wasn’t listening.

Apparently not. The kid had eagle-vision, but for ears. “What?”

“M’not sayin’ I dig it,” Frank blushed. “I mean that’s totally cool, it’s expressive,” he added, rambling, “but like, I dunno. And Gerard’s got this weird touch thing, you know, he doesn’t like people touching him, really…” Frank trailed off. He still wasn’t too sure about the whole truth behind Gerard’s haphephobia, especially after that whole cuddling (Frank decided, it was totally cuddling) deal.

“Wait, Mikey Way wears miniskirts?” Brendon let out a tiny laugh. “What?”

“Mm?” Frank questioned, his attention having been lost at the thought of Gerard’s arm around his hip, the feeling of the older boy’s heartbeat under his ear. He looked up to Brendon quickly, almost shy. “Sorry? What, I didn’t hear–”

“Mikey in a mini,” Brendon drawled. “Never pegged him the type. I can kinda see it though,” the boy trailed off, getting lost in his thoughts. “Wow, ooh, I imagined it. Okay, pushing that visual away.” Brendon’s face scrunched up and he laughed. “Speaking of Mikey… what was that deal at lunch? I mean, he practically screamed a warning at you– was it a warning? I mean, I heard like two logical words in that whole sentence and I’m pretty sure I heard him use apostrophes wrong…” Frank chose to ignore Brendon’s weird hatred over incorrect apostrophe use as he thought back, almost in slight horror, to lunch.

Right. The Ways were going to be at his house, after school– and he’d spent a half hour loitering outside school, talking to Brendon.

“Fuck, Bren, I gotta go,” he said apologetically, cutting a very vigorously lost-in-his-thoughts Brendon immediately. “Sorry, but that warning, or whatever? Was Mikey, yeah, um telling me about– what, I don’t even–” Frank cut himself off, leaning in to give Brendon a quick hug. “I mean I guess they’re coming over,” he added frantically, pulling away. “I’ll fill you in!” Frank shouted and Brendon barely had a chance to open his mouth for reply’s sake before Frank had shoved himself into his car, pulling out of the school’s student parking.

He was not ready for this. What was it with the Ways and their seeming abrupt need to consume his life?

If Frank thought about it hard enough, though, he really didn’t mind.

•••••

“I tried to stop him,” Mikey said, the second Frank pulled open his door. His mom wasn’t yet home –a note said something about staying late at the salon which Frank had shrugged off in favor of the defrosted blueberry poptart she had left as well– and he had spent the majority of his time since home arrival hectically scourging his room for something decent enough to wear that wasn’t his ridiculous uniform. He stood with the door open out to the two Ways with nothing on but a pair of Batman boxers and the most oversized Metallica shirt the world had produced, and he really regretted not calling out a ridiculous, “Who is it?” to save face in front of his probably new friend and oddly attractive older brother.

“Batman,” Gerard grinned, the word drawled lazily from his crooked lip. His eyes flicked over Frank’s body and he gave a mischievous smile. Mikey just looked tired– and done. Tired and done and Frank almost understood because Jesus, Gerard was leering at him and he wanted to hide every part of his body under the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, I kinda have a boner for comics?” Frank let it out as a question, but that didn’t seem to mean a thing at all to Gerard, who just grinned at Frank like he’d been the second coming of Christ.

“Marry me, or something?” Gerard giggled. Frank couldn’t help but remember how stupidly perfect that giggle had been, every time that he’d heard it. Mikey’s eyes rolled and he shoved past Frank, into the house.

“Ugh, the UST in this room is choking me, and it’s not even mine,” Mikey intoned. He flopped himself down onto the couch and looked up at Fran, slightly apologetic. “I’m only staying around for a bit. Gerard wanted to get all intimate with you and his pen–” Gerard blushed at Frank’s widened eyes and Mikey figured it best to add, “That’s not like, a metaphor for his dick or whatever. He actually had an actual pen and he’s actually going to draw all over you. I just don’t stay around for that part because he gets all… augh, never mind. Ignore me, whatever.” Mikey waved them off, turning around in search for the remote.

Frank looked back at Gerard, who was still in the doorway, wringing his hands nervously. “You can come in?” It was a question met by suffocating silence, and then the older Way slipped past him without not much other than a, “Thanks,” and maybe a, “Hi.”

“Look,” Gerard said, as soon as Frank had shut the door and turned to face him. “I kinda had a revelation, you know?” Frank did not know. He never knew; he wished people would stop assuming he did. “Well, anyway,” the older boy said, waving him off. “I figured that I could just draw on you, you know? Cos I don’t really like touching people, but it wouldn’t be me, it would be the pen, or whatever? So I could, I dunno; it would be the same as, like, high-fiving you or like giving you a brohug or whatever-the-fuck,” Gerard’s rambling was slightly lost to Frank at the suggestion of what the older boy was saying.

“You know who draws on each other, Gerard?” and the older boy looked up, biting his lip. “People in relationships,” Frank finished.

Mikey snorted from the couch. He had given up on his remote-search and was now texting very enthusiastically someone on the receiving end of his Sidekick. “I told him that,” the younger Way added, before snapping his phone shut. “Hey, bro, I’m gonna be out with Pete. I’ll come get you at like, whatever time? I dunno, just text me or whatev–” The younger boy’s words were cut off as he slipped out the door, seemingly uncaring that his message was not fully delivered.

When Frank turned back to Gerard, the older boy was still grinning like his revelation had been from the messiah himself. Frank thought it was cute– he didn’t mention this.

•••••

“Your room is cool,” Gerard said from his place on Frank’s bed. The younger boy’s arm was currently extended in the elder’s lap, being drawn on every now and then when Gerard’s eyes would stop wandering from Black Flag poster to Iron Maiden wall of sacredness. Frank nodded in response– he realized this was dumb the moment he coincidentally realized the older Way wasn’t looking at him at all.

“Yeah, it’s home,” Frank sighed. He did like his room; it was the perfect size of average– not too tiny to bother with his claustrophobia but not too large to collect spider webs every which way.

“Sorry, I’m getting distracted a lot,” Gerard apologized quietly, returning to his drawing of cartoon vampire!Frank and chibi zombie!Gee running off into the sunset together. Frank didn’t know what this drawing was suggesting. He liked it a lot, though.

“It’s fine,” he said, shifting lightly as the pen tickled at his skin. If anyone was getting distracted, it was most certainly him– for having a weird introverted nerd with everything but the glasses hovering over him, a hand just so barely touching Frank’s hip every now and then as he attempted to steady himself– it was a bit distracting, especially how enveloped Gerard would get into his work, biting at his lip or puffing his cheeks out in frustration.

It was really cute and weirdly hot, and Frank wanted to die. No, he thought. No crushes on the weird kid in second senior year. Those kinds of things are not allowed, Jesus.

“If I fuck up,” Gerard mumbled, “I give ten thousand apologies.” Frank shrugged, pushing down the though of, “If you fuck up, fuck me,” because it was absolutely ridiculous and entirely inappropriate and Frank wasn’t even really sure he meant it– he could just be having weird teenage boy feelings, which was likely because he was a teenage boy.

“It’s kinda perfect,” Frank admitted when Gerard pulled away from his art, pen capped and hanging loose in his mouth like a cigarette. Maybe that’s what his crooked smile came from, Frank thought as he saw the pen droop out of the particular already-droopy corner.

“Ya think?” Gerard spoke around the pen. Frank nodded, bringing his arm up to examine the work more. It was a vampire and zombie version of the boys indeed, complete with different shades of sunset and a crude, “FRNKI + G SAVE THE DAY” scribbled underneath chibi zombie!Gerard’s feet.

Frank might have to take up the marriage proposal, he realized while staring at the drawing. He was pretty sure Gerard was just about perfect.

“I think,” Frank smirked back. Gerard gave him a bright grin; teeth shining and eyes squeezed shut. He looked like a five-year-old. Frank needed to stop staring at him.

Frank almost wanted to say something cheesy, something overwhelmingly dumb like, “Hey, I have a supermural painted on my ceiling,” to get Gerard to lay down next to him, but he didn’t need to; the older boy was already shuffling closer, collapsing himself near on top of Frank in his haste.

“I like you, Kid,” Gerard giggled. “You’re pretty fucking cool– most of Mikey’s friends are weird, but not you. You like Danzig and Grant Morrison and you have a dumb smile, and you’re short.” Frank thought this was the absolute best thing anyone had ever told him in his life– even the short part.

“Yeah?” he asked. Gerard looked up, nodding at him.

“Yeah,” he smiled. Frank rolled his eyes playfully and shoved at the older boy.

“Well I think you’re the fucking bee’s knees, Gee,” he mocked. “I mean, I do. To your proposal, or whatever; cos you have a crooked mouth and dumb pretty eyes and you rant like a motherfucker, and you have passion in your life, and reason behind everything you do. Fuck, Gerard, you’re the cool one, I mean– hell. I take a swing at that ball and hope it hits home, you fucking know where that ball’s hitting to before you even step up to bat. Why are you so great?” Frank suddenly felt as if he were on a high, words of emotion pouring out of his mouth in an excessive waterfall. “You’ve got a lot going for you, you know? What, three days and I can tell. It feels like it’s been a lifetime.”

And in that moment, in the room that had never seemed so small, with a boy that had never seemed so perfect, it had. It had seemed to Frank as if he’d know the older his entire life, and not the majority of a three-day period.

Gerard grinned up at him, and a hand reached up, only to catch Frank by surprise as it found and gripped his own. “You talk big about someone so fucking small,” he sighed.

Frank thought this was stupid. Gerard was not small. Frank had to giggle at that, because it sounded so fucking wrong, before letting out, “I know you aren’t though. You’re gonna grow up with 2.5 and a picket fence, and you’ll be an artist, and everyone will love you no matter what weird shit you spew. Me? Eh, I’ll be a bum in Belleville who plays local shows once a year, if he’s lucky. I’ll live under a punk rock and I won’t know the top 40 and God be damned if I ever find anyone to share in my misery, but I’ll be fine as long as I have you and Pansy.”

Gerard blinked up at him, almost sadly. “You’ll go places to, Frankie. No one ever just stops. I mean, you’ll be in bands, and I’ll be in a rut, I know it. But maybe you’re right,” and then the older boy laughed. “I think I’ll be okay too, if I got you, and Mikes.”

Frank grinned back at him. “See? Why we worrying over this shit anyway, taking about life plans like we’re high and twenty-two on a never-ending happy bender, like who cares? Fuck plans, man. Wherever life takes me, as long as I got you, I’ll deal.”

Gerard gives him a small smile in response, uncaps his pen, and begins to doodle aimlessly on Frank’s revealed leg. Frank can’t see from here but that doesn’t matter right now– what matters is that he’s got Gerard, no matter how long he’s know him; and Gee’s hand still hasn’t let go of his own.