Ink

Mornings sucked.

Like, really sucked.

Especially when Frank was suffering from his typical post-Sunday night hangover. He warned his friends and family about his mood in the morning. He told them distinctly that they should leave his rousing to the alarm clock. He liked to take his early morning surprise/anger/irritation out on it, usually by slapping the shit out of it like some kind of pint-sized Batman and electronic Robin.

But here was his mother, chatting aimlessly about something or other while pulling his curtains open.

And here he was, trying to melt her face with his Gaze of Death, Doom, and Destruction.

Yes, the capitalization was necessary.

"Ma, I'm naked under here, ya know?" he mumbled into the pillow after aiming his glare away from his innocent mother.

Linda laughed lightheartedly. "Please Frankie, what's there to see?"

Linda Iero: making dick jokes about her son since 1998.

Frank laughed slightly and waved his hand noncommittally, shooing his mother from the room. He rose slowly and stretched his back. He and his friends had gone to Mikey's house, where they knew the booze were, and got hammered, as was routine on the weekends. As always, Mikey had said to stay away from the basement, although Frank couldn't remember what the reason for this was. He was positive it had something to do with his father though. Maybe he had an underground sex dungeon? It wasn't a likely story, considering his dad was the owner of the local winery. He was too busy stomping on grapes to run a whore house.

After showering away the smell of booze and pizza and dressing, he hopped down the stairs and kissed Linda's cheek before heading out the door with an apple and a plan to steal Ray's biology homework. Bob probably had the same plan anyway and Mikey probably turned his in the day it was due. Little overachieving bastard.

Frank passed the usual sights: Bastardly Dan and his clan of meatheads picking of the dark-haired kid with earphones in; a group of nerds studying for a test that wasn't to come for another week; two girls practically humping that one guy that everybody loves; a couple of lesbians giving each other piggyback rides. Mikey was already standing by the shrubs, patting at his overly-hairsprayed locks and pushing up his forever-sliding down glasses. Frank usually slipped into the shrubs and latched onto Mikey from behind, but he just wasn't feeling it today.

Mikey greeted him in his usual fashion: slugging his arm rather harshly and saying "'Sup muthafucka?" quite ironically.

And Frank replied with "Lesbians still jumping each other, those girls still humping that guy, Bastardly Dan still beating on the overly-dressed kid--"

"Overly-dressed kid being my brother," Mikey interrupted, sighing long-sufferingly and shaking his head. His hair didn't move even slightly.

Frank's eyebrows seemed to leave his face. "You have a brother?!" he asked incredulously. Mikey always pulled this shit, goddamnit.

Mikey rolled his eyes in that determinedly Mikey way (Frank cracks himself up). "That's why I tell you to stay out of the basement, fucktard."

"I always thought your dad had a whore house down there."

"Nah, he's too bust squishing grapes."

Frank nodded because yeah, that confirmed his theory.

"So," Frank started casually, "tell me, why have I never met your mysterious brother?" He attempted to lean back suavely, but he fell into the shrubs. Right, those aren't solid. Got it.

Mikey didn't seemed fazed. "Gerard doesn't really like company. He's one of those troubled-artist types. All angsty and shit."

"Why does he always dress so," Frank made an all-encompassing hand gesture.

"Heavily? Eh, body issues or something. I don't know, troubled artists don't need reasons to be weird," reasoned Mikey.

Frank glanced over at the dark-haired boy. His eyes were closed and his earphones were in and he looked totally relaxed even though he was surrounded by obnoxious bullies who seemed to think it was fun to throw insults at a completely uninterested and no-fucks-to-give guy.

Now that kid knew how to survive high school. He had that whole I-forgot-all-my-fucks-at-home-sorry-guys look down. He opened his eyes and watched the pricks mouth soundlessly and smirked. Fucking smirked at the steroid-junky buffoons who probably weighed three times more than him.

Frank admired his bravery, but also pitied him for being a complete dumbass. When he voiced these thoughts, Mikey made a noise of agreement and waved Bob over. What a loving brother the dumbass had.

"Oh yeah," Frank said suddenly, " did you turn in the biology assignment?"

"Last week."

Frank hated being right all the time.