Status: In Progress

All We Need Is Daylight

The Storm, Part I

Life is unfair. This is a lesson we all must learn at one time or another, some in more painful ways than others.

Frank likes to think he’s taken the blunt of most of what fate has in store for him. He thinks that he’s been through the majority of the hard times, and that at this point, nothing can really surprise him or catch him unaware. He’s already a gay hockey player who figure skates and can’t tell anyone about it, because he’d probably ruin his entire future if he did. That’s a precarious, dangerous, and corrosive place to be in. He’s also got a hopeless crush on a boy who can’t love him back. He’s got the anxiety, the depression, the pressure, and the stress. Things are fucking hard, and everything is pretty shitty. The article only made things worse. Things cannot, from this point, get any worse.

Another lesson we all must learn is that things can always get worse.

The weeks are beginning to pass by Frank, fast and swift, he’s hardly even aware that time is passing at all. Suddenly, it’s November, and snow has covered the ground. It barely feels like a week since Frank got here, but it’s actually been a month, almost exactly. In that month, the team have played seven games, and of those seven games they’ve won five. To say that the team has seen a spike in success would be an understatement. Considering their net losing streak, they’ve had a near one hundred percent increase.

Frank wouldn’t pretend this increase in skill is all due to him, it is a brand-new year after all, and the team had only played one game when Frank got here, which they did lose, but it was only one game. The fact that they’ve been increasing in skill dramatically could just be due to the fact that there are new players, and several other players left. The fresh faces have added color to the mix, and maybe that’s why they’re getting better.

Of course, no one but Frank is denying his role on the team, except for maybe Morgan and his cronies. They all know it. Everyone is playing better, that is definitely true, but it’s because Frank makes them want to play better.

Frank has fallen into the scheme of things, everything is beginning to become familiar. His classes feel normal, the practices feel right and become more enjoyable, everything is turning out very well. It’s been a week and a half since the article came out, and everything is starting to die down about it. The whole predicament has faded into obscurity, no one seems to remember or really care about the article anymore.

Frank no longer feels the thrum of his classmates discussing the article as he walks across campus. He’s starting to be able to breathe again. His birthday bash had taken a lot of the strain off of him, because it was pretty much the first night he got to have pure and simple fun without feeling the pressure all come crashing down on him all at once. Pete has that sort of effect on people. He can make you forget you’re in pain for a little while when you’re near him. Gerard has that effect too, but only on Frank.

The school has all but forgotten about the entire incident. The team, however, has not let it go so easily.

Morgan has moved on to a new target in the form of Mikey Way. Brendon is still definitely on his radar, that’s for sure, but Morgan’s giving the blunt of his evil glare to Mikey now, not Brendon. The difference is that Brendon had many physical altercations with the guy, one of which was during practice and left Brendon with a bruise the size of Alaska on his leg, but other than a slight limp, he’s doing perfectly fine. His limbs are still intact, and no appendages have been removed, so he’s come out relatively unscathed.

Mikey became the new target on the Monday following Frank’s birthday, and the bullseye on his back was quickly made clear by Morgan slamming Mikey’s locker door closed several times, nearly crushing his fingers inside of it once. He also “mistakenly” left Mikey’s hockey stick on the sidewalk instead of loading it on the bus when he was supposed to, meaning Mikey had to borrow a stick from their rival team on Wednesday. That same hockey stick was then somehow found in a dumpster, though no one could possibly explain how this could have been an accident. Mikey also got a creepy voicemail, but this turned out to have just been Gerard butt-dialing his brother while playing Call of Duty.

Morgan is more afraid of being hands on with his intimidation of Mikey, because Gerard, despite being much smaller, weaker and all around more pathetic, would definitely try to beat the guy up if he touched Mikey. Try being the operative word, of course.

Gerard has, yet again, tried to use this new evidence and some sneaky shots of the bruise on Brendon’s leg to convince coach to kick Morgan off of the team, but she must have trained as a lawyer in school because she counters that a bruise on Brendon’s leg and some heresy do not incriminate Morgan with anything other than speculation. Coach is a good person, she really is, but she’s very far in denial. Morgan is one of her best players, no one wants to have to admit there’s a rotten egg in the bunch, especially when it’s prettier than all the rest.

Nevertheless, the eye contact that Morgan and Gerard make in passing would be enough to petrify Medusa. Gerard is probably just one straw away from actually beating the shit out of Morgan. A broken hand, foot, six ribs, and lawsuit later, he’d still probably think he did the right thing.

Frank is sure that as soon as Morgan gets bored with intimidating Mikey, he’ll be next. Ray isn’t as likely as Frank is, because Ray’s about five inches taller, and quite a bit bulkier than Frank to begin with. Also, Frank is quite a bit gayer than Ray, and you don’t have to know his secret to see that much. Frank is definitely next on the list, he has no doubts about that.

Frank is prepared for it when it comes, or at least, he’s trying to psych himself up to be. He knows it’s coming, it’s inevitable. If he is careful the next month or two, no one will be able to tell. Eventually, even though it is going to take some time, even the team will forget about this whole thing. If they keep playing as well as they have been recently, no one is going to have the time to worry about exposing the gay player, because they’ll be in the NCAA tournament, or on the road to it. That should distract him. Frank’s got to be play even better than his best.

The week after Frank’s birthday is one of the weeks where they have two games crammed into one week. The first is an away game, about an hour away from Armstrong, and the second is a home game. The crowd for their Wednesday game is quite small, but so is the arena in which the game is played, so this doesn’t say much. The other team is not a particularly good one, definitely on the lower tier of teams, probably better than the Green Knights were a month ago, but they’re barely even the Green Knights anymore. The crowd on Saturday is thinner than it had been at the game a week before, but it’s still vaguely larger than their usual crowd, so at least one lasting effect may come of the article. Their win on Wednesday is pretty spectacular, by several goals, but that’s because the other team sucks. The second game is neck and neck the entire time, Armstrong only pulls ahead in overtime.

On the Monday following the two games, Frank finds himself in a pleasant mood. The morning passes by very quickly, and without trouble. Frank finds Patrick in the dining hall, sitting alone, save for the one person Frank doesn’t know if he wants to see right now or not. Frank takes a couple of deep breaths before he takes the spot next to Gerard, looking at him with this wistful expression on his face. Frank bites his lip instinctively when Gerard turns to look at him as he sits down and smiles widely upon seeing Frank.

All Gerard is thinking about is how fucking great Frank looks today. He’s so fucking gorgeous. His hair is a mess, he’s got a pimple in the middle of his cheek, and his clothes don’t match but he looks absolutely stunning. As usual. The asshole.

“Hey,” Frank says, and Patrick can tell that the word is directed at Gerard and not him, but he shrugs it off and plays his fork around in the pasta in front of him.

Frank and Gerard have been a little odd lately. They’re still speaking with each other, quite often in fact, but there’s a weird sort of tension that neither is aware that the other one feels. Frank feels very uneasy being so close to Gerard, remembering the last time that he had been so close to him. He hasn’t dared get as close as they had been that Saturday night.

Gerard keeps thinking about how close they had been to kissing. Gerard definitely would have done it if they hadn’t been interrupted. That would have been bad. It would have been good for half a second before Frank pushed him away and probably punched him in the face.

Patrick can see the tension like a brick wall between the two of them. It’s odd, and he’s sure there’s a reason, he’s just got to put his finger on it. Frank and Gerard have always been rather odd when they’re near each other. Frank doesn’t act the same way with Gerard that he does with himself or Pete. Frank seems almost uptight when he’s with Gerard, or like he’s got a stick up his ass. He’s also trying to be very, for lack of a better word, proper when he’s near Gerard. Patrick supposes this is because he views Gerard as an authority figure, which is ridiculous to say the least because Patrick once saw Gerard drink an entire 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew by himself, straight from the bottle, in one sitting.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do that horror movie marathon last weekend,” Frank says, still biting his lip which is definitely off, Patrick notes. Does he normally do that? Patrick can’t recall.

“It’s alright,” Gerard says, “you had to study, it happens. Maybe next weekend, yeah?” Patrick sighs, wondering if the two of them are tense because Frank blew off some plans. This is why he and Pete rarely make plans, they just get up to mischief in their free time.

“I’d love to,” Frank says, and he smiles in way that indicates he really would love to. Patrick’s not a huge fan of horror movies, but he can’t imagine a more ideal setting to have a date. Just think, if he gets scared, or rather get’s “scared,” he can curl up into Pete and that is a great situation to be in. He should propose it sometimes. There would be some major cuddles.

“The weekend wasn’t a total bust, of course,” Gerard says, “That game was great, I’m really proud of you. You were amazing. You made the winning goal, and fuck, I almost cried.”

“Thanks,” Frank says, blushing. That’s a little weird too. Patrick is analyzing them through squinted eyes, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. It must have happened within the past two weeks, because they have been acting very strangely, ever since, well, ever since Frank’s birthday.

Even at the restaurant, the two of them had sat next to each other, and every time one or the other bumped the other it was like a bomb going off. They flinched, breathed deeply, and then tried to pretend everything was normal, when it was clear things were not.

Could something have happened in those five minutes where they lost the group? What though? If it had been something big, they’d have told the others. If they’d been mugged, there would be no reason for them to keep quiet. If one of them pissed the other off, they surely wouldn’t be so hospitable to each other. What could have happened then, that makes them walk on egg shells?

“It’s unbelievable how fast we’re improving now that you’re here,” Gerard says, looking excited, “We might actually have a chance this year. Though I don’t want to jinx it so forget I said anything.”

“It’s not because of me, you know,” Frank says, “I mean I might have started off a chain reaction, but it’s not on my shoulders. Everyone is getting better. I only got a glimpse of what kind of team you were before I joined it, but it’s really not the same team it was. It’s only been a month and it’s already like we’re a different team.”

“Actually, I don’t think anyone really has changed,” Gerard says, “they’ve just finally started trying.”

“They were trying before,” Frank counteracts. Patrick grows disinterested in the conversation. Patrick lives hockey all day and all night, the least he’s asking for is a little bit of a break when he’s eavesdropping.

“Not the way they are now. I mean, I love Mikey to death, but he is not nearly as invested in hockey as you or I, or really anyone. He’s no diehard, that’s for sure. But since you got here, I think he’s started to realize how much of a damper he was putting on the team, like he wasn’t trying his hardest, never has. When you got here, it made him realize he needed to step up his game. I think a lot of people have done that. Most everyone, especially Morgan, though I hate to say it.”

“He’s an asset. Emphasis on the ass.”

Gerard laughs, and he laughs way more than he really should, because it’s not a good joke and he probably knows that. Patrick gets a flicker of an idea in his head. It’s like when a dog thinks it’s heard the “walk” but isn’t quite sure, so all you see is their ears twitch. Patrick’s face falls into heavy concentration as he looks at the two of them.

“You’re the best player, though,” Gerard says, “and you know that, don’t you?”

“I mean, I think I’m just the most dedicated. And invested, probably. I have a bigger investment in hockey than I do in anything else. Hockey is my life, if I’m not the best, or one of the best out there every night than I’m literally wasting my life.”

“You could play with a broken leg and be blind in one eye and still be the best goddamn hockey player I’ve ever seen. As it is, you’re already a shorty, but you still skate circles around everyone else.”

“Shut up,” Frank says, blushing way too much, and that’s when Patrick has his epiphany. It’s like a flash of lightning, where night becomes day. His heart and nerves all burst, squealing the word “Eureka!”

From the other side of the table, Patrick chokes on a piece of penne, and Gerard and Frank both turn to him, in shock and concern. Neither of them had even realized he was still there. Frank always puts on horse blinders when Gerard is in the room, and it’s not his intention.

“Dude, you okay?” Gerard asks, putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder and internally freaking out because he had ditched school the day they learned the Heimlich maneuver. If Patrick dies, his high school PE teacher will return from the grave and punch Gerard in the face.

“Fine,” Patrick says in a squeaky voice, as he coughs some more.

“What even happened?” Frank asks, confused, and still rather concerned at his red face, and his justifiably hacking cough.

“Just swallowed wrong,” Patrick says, “nothing.”

“Okay, just don’t die, because like, who else could we get to write so many amazing articles about the team?” Gerard says.

Patrick doesn’t say anything, just glances from one to the other, trying to confirm his own guess, but he’s already sure. Now that he looks back on it, he can’t believe he’s been such an idiot. Gerard bought Frank about a dozen movies for his birthday, when everyone else got the dude a card and a bar of candy. Gerard let Frank borrow his comic books, when Patrick isn’t even allowed to breathe near them. Gerard took Frank out to breakfast once? Gerard always sits next to Frank when he can, on the bus, in the dining hall, at restaurants, on the bench.

Not to mention Frank; Patrick originally thought he just blushes a lot, but now that he thinks about it, Frank only ever blushes around Gerard. Frank is always around Gerard. Frank is always finding new ways to ask questions about Gerard, or to bring up Gerard in conversation. Right fucking now Frank is looking at Gerard like he’s a piece of artwork that is somehow more captivating than anything else on the face of the planet.

Frank is head over heels in love with Gerard. And Gerard is heels over head in love with Frank.

He does wonder to himself if the two of them are aware that they like each other, or if they’re already dating in secret maybe? If that’s the case, then why wouldn’t Frank have told him? He understands why Gerard wouldn’t, until about twenty seconds ago, it never occurred to Patrick that Gerard likes boys. Maybe Frank wouldn’t tell him that, but Patrick is inclined to believe he would.

But what if neither of them have any clue? What if they’re both in love with each other but too afraid to say it because of the fear of rejection? If that’s the case, then does Patrick not owe it to them to tell them? If they’re both hopelessly in love, but neither can say it, would Patrick actually be doing them a favor by telling them? If they both knew what Patrick can now clearly see, surely they’d both be thankful?

But what if Patrick is reading things wrong? He really doubts that the case, but it’s possible. He has been wrong before. Though, the two of them look at each other like Pete looks at pizza, so it must be true love.

Patrick does not know what to do with this information, so he decides to hold onto it, though he feels a little weird about it. He just sits and eats a bag of chips for the rest of lunch, watching Frank and Gerard be totally fucking gay for each other, with neither of them even realizing it.

Frank’s afternoon classes are boring and uneventful, but they’re not unpleasant, so he can’t really complain. He drifts through the hours at a pretty normal pace, preparing himself for the practice tonight which is sure to be more vigorous that usual, as they’re next game is against a team which is quite a bit better than they are.

Frank is walking back from the library, his stomach a little empty because all he ate were things he could find in the vending machine, but on the plus side, at least he wrote most of the paper due next week.

“Frank,” Pete shouts, trying to catch up with him as he grabs the door to the rink. On a day as cold as this, it almost seems ludicrous going into a building full of ice. Frank stops, holds the door for him and waits for him, a little impatiently, because the cold bites at his nose and fingertips. Frank sometimes gets crabby in the winter, because he has a very low core temperature, and the cold only worsens that. He also gets sick all the fucking time.

“What’s up?” Frank asks, when Pete grabs the door from him and steps into the warm building, a relief that washes over the both of them, but does not immediately stop their shivering. The two of them wipe their feet by the door, scraping off the snow that’s stuck in the treads of their shoes, leaving the carpet looking wet and dirty.

“I’m fucking cold, man,” Pete says.

“You’re from Chicago, Pete,” Frank says, shaking his head.

“Hey, just because I live in the cold doesn’t mean I like the cold.”

“Well, the cold never bothered me any-”

“You finish that sentence and I chop off your dick,” Pete says.

“Duly noted.”

Frank brings his head into his shoulders, in the hopes that it’ll make him warmer, but it does not. The two of them step over to the locker room, opening the heavy door, where an immediate wave off hot, smelly air hits them. Frank doesn’t know why it is that all locker rooms are hot enough to be saunas, but it is a universal truth. Today they find the heat welcoming, and walk further into the locker room to find it completely empty, which isn’t very peculiar as they’re about fifteen minutes earlier than they really need to be.

Frank changes rather sluggishly, as he’s got plenty of time to kill. Pete hums something to himself, something that if Frank were to ask what it is, he’d probably facepalm.

“So, Frank,” Pete starts with this tone that simply cannot precede anything Frank will want to discuss.

“Oh god, what is that tone?”

“Nothing,” Pete says, his voice lilting in a way that tells Frank that whatever it is, it isn’t nothing.

“Pete,” Frank says, pausing and narrowing his eyes at him.

“Okay, okay fine. Patrick told me that he thinks you like someone and I wanted to know who it was.”

“He said what?” Frank asks, looking confused.

“He said he thinks you like someone, but he won’t tell me who.”

“I don’t like anyone,” Frank says, blushing a little bit.

“Oh my god!” Pete shouts, a little too excitedly. “Look at that red face! You do, you do like someone! Tell me who it is!”

“I don’t like anyone!”

“Yes, you do, it’s in your eyes!”

“Ugh, since when does Patrick give out secrets? That is not okay,” Frank says, making a face, because the last time Frank had a secret, Patrick had kept it so well that Pete broke up with him, so he wants to know what’s changed. Patrick has never even brought it up with Frank, and if he does seriously think Frank likes someone, why wouldn’t he talk to Frank about it first?

“He told me that he thought a friend had a crush on someone, and he wanted advice because he didn’t know what to do about it, and I guessed that it was you,” Pete shrugs, “actually, you were just the first person I’ve seen since Patrick said it, so I thought I’d throw a dart and see where it landed. Lucky me, though, because it really is you! Your face says it plain as day!”

Frank asks, “It’s not me, I assure you. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

“Oh it definitely is you,” Pete says, grinning, “look at your face!”

“Oh my gosh, Pete, you’re literally the worst.”

“You might as well admit it,” Pete says, smirking. He is entirely unaware that the subject makes Frank uncomfortable instead of embarrassed, which is his intended goal.

“Pete, just forget about it,” Frank says shaking his head and using a somewhat pleading voice, because he does not want to talk about this right now, or with Pete at all. He’s fine with Hayley knowing, because he doesn’t see Hayley on a day to day basis, and Hayley isn’t best friends with Gerard. Pete knowing is an entirely different story. But now Patrick might know too, and he can trust Patrick with a secret he knows that for sure, Patrick has definitely proven it, but he’s not so sure about Pete. Frank trusts Pete to keep the gay thing a secret, because he keeps his own sexuality a secret, but the fact that Frank has a crush on Gerard would be harder for him to maintain secret, given that he’s Gerard best friend. He’d probably accidentally slip it up when talking to him and then everything would disintegrate.

Frank just wants to steer the topic of conversation as far away from crushes, especially his particular crush on Gerard, as possible. Pete can’t know. Patrick, maybe, though not quite yet, because Frank doesn’t know if he wants someone so close to Gerard to know that he likes him. It might just make things uncomfortable, but if Patrick knows already, then he supposes there’s no harm in telling him.

“Who is he?” Pete asks, eagerly, getting that stupid fucking puppy dog look on his face that would have Patrick melting right about now. But Frank is not Patrick, and Pete is gross.

“Fuck off,” Frank replies.

“Is it someone I know? Oh, is it someone on the team?” Pete asks, looking excited. Frank doesn’t answer. Pete reads his lack of an answer as if it were an answer, “Oh shit, it is!”

Frank just rolls his eyes, turns his back to face Pete and tries to hurry up getting dressed so he can get the fuck away from Pete as fast as he can. He’ll have a couple extra minutes on the ice, but he could always use some more practice. He’d woken up very early this morning to practice his figure skating, and he’s feeling that fatigue in his bones, but he’s never too tired for skating. Or at least he tells himself that to rationalize spending an extra ten minutes on his already sore feet so that he can get away from Pete.

“I’m going to guess it eventually, and your face is a dead giveaway,” Pete says, watching as Frank hurries faster than Pete thought possible. “Is it Mikey?”

Frank doesn’t respond, because it would be better to not give a response than to tell him it’s not. If he gives Pete a negative, that will only cancel out some options, whereas if he says and does nothing, Pete will not be able to narrow it down.

Frank is also a little concerned with Pete’s health given that his first guess is Mikey. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with Mikey, it’s just that Frank can’t imagine a relationship that would feel more like dating a serial killer than being with Mikey Way. Dating an actual serial killer would still probably feel more normal than dating Mikey. Also, there are so many sharp edges on that boy, he’d probably cut himself if Mikey were to poke him with his elbow.

“Oh, who am I kidding, I know who it is,” Pete says, sounding very sure. Frank tenses up, though he tries to pretend he doesn’t. Pete can still see it, and he smiles widely when he says, “it’s Travie. Obviously.”

Frank sighs a little, in a way that he hopes doesn’t give away his relief. He hopes it could be interpreted as defeat. To be fair, Travie is the best guess as he is the most attractive human Frank’s ever seen. Other than Hayley, of course, but he’s gay so she’s definitely out.

“That’s fair, Travie is pretty good looking,” Pete says, probably to himself.

“Just, shut up, okay?” Frank asks, shaking his head. Pete doesn’t seem to have caught on to the fact that he’s wrong, which Frank is okay with. He’d much prefer Pete thinking he likes Travie than knowing he likes Gerard.

“Don’t worry your secret’s safe with me,” Pete replies, giving him a huge smile.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know!”

Frank shakes his head, but then exits the locker room, making his way for the ice, because he doesn’t want to be around Pete anymore. He just wants to be out on the ice where everything is simple and nothing has to be so angsty. Everything is a lot easier and more clam when he’s on the ice, even if he’s surrounded by half a dozen guys who want to push him into walls and stuff. The ice is still where Frank feels at home.

Little does Frank know, Morgan enters the locker room just as Frank leaves it, a sly smirk on his face.
♠ ♠ ♠
Good News: I should be posting the next chapter either tomorrow or Sunday.
Bad News: It's not a particularly pleasant chapter.