Stop Playing Around

Maybe it’s because Frank grew up as an annoying rich boy, or maybe he really is a germaphobe, but he was absolutely terrified of the Subway. Not because he was afraid of the train itself, or any other rational thought, but apparently because it is insatiably dirty. Also he might get mugged.

Gerard tries to tell him that of all the years he's ridden the damn thing, that has never happened, but he just doesn't listen. Gerard has to physically push him onto it, and all the time his phone doesn't seize ringing.

"Frank, just get a seat, I have to answer my damn phone."

"My dad?"

"Apparently, yes," Gerard says.

"But if he ran away, shouldn't you really give your phone to the police or something?"

"Why should they care?"

"Because he ran away!"

"Is this a Good Samaritan thought, or a vendetta against your father?"

Frank doesn't say anything, just mumbles and eyes the other passengers on the car nervously. It's like he thinks everyone is a criminal.

Luckily, he doesn't dress like a rich boy. He's wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt over a T-shirt. His shoes are a little pricey looking though.

Gerard looks down at his phone, waiting for it to ring again, which, if the timing is still remaining the same, it should do very soon. It’s a little rude to answer a phone on the Subway, but he’s really curious as to why Mr. Iero is calling him.

When he picks the phone up a minute later, there’s no one on the other end.

“Hello?” Gerard asks, but the line is empty. “Mr. Iero? Sir?”

No response. It muddles Gerard’s brain up a bit. He hangs the phone up, and waits for it to ring back, but it doesn’t. The whole ride to his apartment, there’s nothing.

“He’s not picking up,” Gerard says.

“The ever enigmatic Mr. Iero for you. Doesn’t tell you a fucking thing and then he abandons you when you most direly need him,” Frank replies.

The time passes slowly, as they go over bumps and Frank is forced to grab a railing to which he then squeaks and wipes his hand on his pants. Gerard honestly doesn’t blame him there. How many people have strummed off before touching that pole?

“Come on this is our stop,” Gerard says, and Frank is all too eager to get off. He’s out before Gerard is. His hands are in either of his pockets with his shoulders hunched.

Gerard drags him to his apartment. Surprisingly, Frank says almost nothing, no snarky comments about the shitty architecture, he just follows Gerard with his head down. His posture isn’t anything to write home about though. He looks like he’s got a weight on the back of his neck.

Frank doesn’t even turn his nose up to the apartment, which also isn’t very exciting. It’s pretty old, and kind of small.

Gerard suggests that Frank sit on the couch, and Frank just does what he’s asked. It’s pretty pathetic, seeing him so disheartened.

“Brendon will be home soon. I have to run this by him before anything is decided,” Gerard says.

“Is that like your boyfriend or something?”

Gerard snorts, “No. No. Ew. No. Definitely not. He’s my roommate. I can’t afford to pay for this apartment without him.”

“But it’s tiny,” Frank says.

“Well here’s an interesting fact, minimum wage is not a livable wage. That’s the least amount of money a person can possibly make legally for a job. I make, or well, made more than that for your father. Brendon doesn’t though, and either way, New York is an expensive city to live in.”

“Oh,” Frank replies.

Gerard tries to awkwardly not make eye contact until Brendon gets there. He doesn’t know the technicalities of what will occur when Brendon gets home but it will lead to an inevitable variety of shitstorm.

It’s about half an hour until that happens though. The keys fumble in the lock and then the door is pushing open, and Brendon, looking disheveled and tired, enters.

“Hey, Brendon,” Gerard says timidly, “I have a surprise!”

“Who’s the brawd in my living room?” Brendon says, without missing a beat. He looks at Frank with a raised eyebrow, and Frank just looks back timidly.

“That’s, sort of, uh, what I’m talking about.”

“Who is that?” Brendon asks, already sensing something’s wrong by the nervous look on Gerard’s face.

“Well that’s, um, that’s Frank,” Gerard replies.

Brendon’s face falls. Quite literally. His jaw drops open, and he looks at Gerard like he’s completely stoned.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Brendon says. “Frank? As in Frank Iero. Son of the man you hate so much it made your hair fall out.”

“How’d you know he made my hair fall out?”

“Well there were chunks of hair that were grossing me out, and they were far too large to be natural. Why the fuck is he in my apartment?”

“Our apartment!”

“No more yours than mine,” Brendon says.

“Well, I mean, the thing is that, he’s like, homeless,” Gerard says carefully.

“The rich guy. The rich guy is homeless? Daddy kick him out?” Brendon asks amusedly looking at Frank.

“No his dad... uh,” Gerard stutters, “how about we talk in the kitchen?”

Gerard grabs Brendon and drags him into the kitchen. There’s a doorway on either side of the kitchen, but no real doors, so it goes straight into the living room. Gerard’s often wandered what the purpose even is in having the wall there, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He just rents the place, he can’t take the wall down.

“Explain,” Brendon says with one word, sounding beyond irate.

“Okay, so the IRS levied his dad’s bank accounts, and they took everything to settle the debt. House, cars, I think even clothes. He’s literally got nothing. Other than the clothes on his back, he’s absolutely broke. His dad ran away, which doesn’t really surprise me, he wasn’t a very good man and was way to selfish to care about Frank. I saw the kid crying on the sidewalk, and I don’t know, it was just like... I couldn’t leave him.”

“Yes, you could. It’s called indifference,” Brendon says.

“But, Brendon!”

“No! No, I do not want him staying here. This is my home too, Gerard,” Brendon says.

“Need I remind you who had to spot your rent the past three months?” Gerard asks, “Please just let me do what’s right.”

“I’m going to pay you back!”

“I’m not asking you to pay me back, I’m asking for you to find some decency. I can’t just kick him to the curb, the poor guy has nowhere to go,” Gerard replies.

“That’s not my problem. Every time you come home you complain about him. You complain about Satan’s spawn and how he pushed you around all day, as he has for the past three years, and now you want to invite him to live with us? Nuh uh, no way,” Brendon says.

“But I can’t turn the guy away,” Gerard says, “Have a little heart. I’ll make sure he stays out of your way. I just don’t want to be the bitch who lets the guy live on the streets when I have the option of keeping him safe.”

“And why would you want that? You hate the kid.”

“He’s still a person! He’s still a human, with feelings and needs. I’m not heartless, I can’t let him go live out on the street.”

“Would he do the same for you, Gerard? If you were in a bad situation and got kicked out of your home, would he let you stay with him at his house?” Brendon asks.

“No, but that’s not the point. The point is that I would. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I would want him to take me in, so I should do that now. How would you feel in his place, Brendon? What would you want someone to do if your roles were reversed?” Gerard says.

Brendon sighs, and it’s quiet for a long time, with no words.

“He’s getting a job,” Brendon says, and Gerard smiles, “and he’s going to chip in on rent where he can. He gets the sofa, and I don’t want to hear a single complaint out of that snooty little mouth of his.”

“It’s done. I’ll find him a job. I have to get a new job too.”

Brendon sighs outwardly, “But I’m not happy about this.”

“Neither am I, but it’s gotta be done.”

“You sure no one else was willing to take him in? Someone with a spare room?” Brendon asks.

“No one wants to deal with him. Brendon, he’s a jerk. He’s a pretty awful person, but he is still a person.”

“You ate him out for pushing you around, Gerard. If he pushes me around, I will kick him in the crotch and then I will kick him right back onto the street.”

Gerard nods, “and I don’t blame you. I’m done with letting him push me around. He’s not a good person, Brendon. You have to understand that. Like, he’s the kind of guy that gets murdered at the beginning of cop shows. He’s the guy who pisses off someone so much that you sympathize with the guy who killed him, but just because he’s rude doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to live. You’ve seen the show Friends! Rachel started out like him, though not as much of a heartless bastard. It is possible for him to change. It’ll be hard, but I don’t want to give up on the guy. I’m a better person than he is.”

“You damn well are,” Brendon says.

“Right, and I know that. You know that. I’m a better person then Frank is, but I don’t know if he knows that. It’s not going to take him a long time to figure out though. He’s going to be middle class, which means that not a single person he meets is going to put up with his attitude, and that should help him to become a real person,” Gerard says.

“Well he’s a real person, he’s just not a very good one,” Brendon says.

“I’m not sure he’s that much. You didn’t work for him, I wanted to strangle the guy in his sleep a few times, but I would never ruin my own life over someone like him. That would just be disgustingly sad on my part. He’s got no real soul, but that doesn’t mean he can’t grow one,” Gerard says.

“He’s going to have to grow a pair before he gets a soul though,” Brendon says, and Gerard snorts.

“And a brain,” Gerard says, “you know he really needs to visit Oz. Look at the kid, he’s got no balls, no brains, no heart, and he needs to get back home.”

It becomes a trivial question as to whether or not Brendon and Gerard are aware that Frank can hear everything they say. He can though. Every insult, every statement, and it kicks him where it hurts. He didn’t know that anyone could be so vile to him with nothing but words.

The sad part is that he knows. Known for years. This isn’t the first time he’s heard it, because it’s been every tormenting nightmare for since he was at least ten. Frank’s not new to the fact that he’s not a good person. He can’t impress everybody though, and eventually someone pulls the short straw. Gerard pulled the short straw when he was hired by Frank’s father.

What was it that his dad had said? ’They’re the help, they don’t need to be treated the same way us accomplished people do. It’s their fault that they’re in that mess, don’t pity them.’

You try to do what your father tells you. If you don’t do what your dad says you get grounded, and you’re not allowed to eat. No, Frank’s not a stranger to starvation in the slightest. He’s got a better chance at a steady food supply here than he did in his own home.

But rich people aren’t allowed to complain because they have everything. How can you ever be sad when you have all the money in the world? When you have the luxuries of a first world country, you have no right to complain.

That’s the thing about sadness, it’s always there, and yet you can’t see it. No one can see it, so it’s easier to brush off. Frank’s not allowed to be sad, because why should he be? This is the only time in his life where he has a justifiable reason. It’s also the first time where he’s been able to pinpoint the cause of the sad.

There’s a lot of stereotyping of rich people’s opinions of their less wealthy counterparts, but don’t you think for one second that that categorizing doesn’t go both ways.

The two men leave the kitchen a few minutes later and Frank stares down at his fingers, wanting to keep his mouth closed for the rest of his life. What can he ever say that won’t be overanalyzed by them?

“We’ve deliberated, and Gerard says you can stay,” Brendon says, sounding extremely unhappy about it.

“I know,” Frank says, “I could hear you.”

“Boo hoo,” Brendon replies, rolling his eyes.

Gerard stares aghast, because he’d forgotten Frank was there. Now he feels horrible about himself. Frank’s not the best person, but he didn’t deserve to hear them ripping on him.

“Frank, that was...” Gerard says, because he’s been caught up in the fact that he really has no excuse again. Once again, Frank caught him saying rude things, and now what’s he supposed to say to counteract that?

“You don’t want me here, I get that,” Frank says pulling himself off the couch.

Gerard really shouldn’t feel as guilty as he does. He shouldn’t. Frank has never shown him any decency so he absolutely shouldn’t feel remorse, but it’s the look in his eyes. The way his eyebrows furrow together saying ‘angry,’ but the contradiction in his eyes, saying ‘hurting.’

“The last thing I’d ever want to do is inconvenience you,” Frank says, letting the last few words bite into Gerard.

“I’m-”

“What? Are you sorry? Me too,” Frank says, brushing past Gerard and out the front door without another word. Gerard just stares stunned at the air where Frank had just been standing.

“Well that takes care of that problem,” Brendon says cheerily.

“How can you fucking say that?” Gerard asks.

“I didn’t tell him to make a dramatic exit!”

Gerard scrambles for words, but comes up empty, so he makes a grunting sound, and runs back through the door behind Frank.