Frankie Fever

Frank was changed into a pair of boxers and a baggy t-shirt when I re-entered from the bathroom where I'd changed my clothes. He smiled at me from where he was seated cross-legged on his bed. It was just me and him; his Dad had gone out yet again. I often used to wonder if that's why Frank clung onto me so much, because he didn't want to be at home alone while his Dad was out doing whatever it was that he did.

When I think back over Frank, that's what he was afraid of, really. He was secretly terrified of being alone. The thought of having nothing and being all alone, scared the hell out of him. He didn't want to be like everyone else with nothing inside. Life without girls, shrieking music or his guitar wasn't possible for him. It was much too scary. He didn't want to sit and have the silence for company while he contemplated the emptiness he might have had inside.

"What are you scared of?" I questioned into the quietness.

We were sat on the floor with a can of coke each with a good slug of vodka in them. Frank sipped at his drink, wiped his mouth and chewed his lip. He would never admit to being afraid of being alone. Never in a million years. But he wasn't bigheaded enough to announce that he wasn't scared of anything.

"Spiders," He finally confessed after a moment of thought "They creep the hell outta' me. Anything with that many legs can't have come from this planet!"

He looked slightly offended as I snorted with laughter. But it was amusing! I couldn't see Frank being terrified of a bug. But, hey, he'd admitted it. Not many guys out there would admit to being scared of spiders. That was a girly thing, right?

"Well, what are you scared of?" He demanded, obviously stung by my giggles.

"Needles," I said straight away "Without a doubt."

"How come?" He questioned as if I were very very weird.

"Just 'cause you're not," I smiled, poking at his lip ring "I just am. It's like I could ask why you're scared of spiders!"

"Because they're creepy as hell!" He insisted "Needles aren't that bad!"

"Needles are creepy as hell!" I argued "Spiders aren't that bad!"

He laughed and shook his head, taking a slug of his drink and then shifting so he could rummaged through his bedside drawer for his cigarettes. He took the cigarette between his lips and sparked up his lighter, gently touching the end of his cigarette with the flame. I wondered if his touch was equally gentle. Was he that gentle with people when he was running his hands up and down their bodies? Or was he rougher with the girls? I pondered for the longest time over that.

* * *

"So. . . uh. . . where am I gonna' sleep?" I questioned as Frankie climbed under his covers and shifted about to try and get comfortable.

He smiled at me and shook his head.

"In here," He said, thumping the bed "Top to tail, okay?"

I blinked.

"Unless you want the floor that is."

I stepped forwards shyly and clambered under the covers of the bed with him. Frankie laughed and handed me one of the two pillows he had. I took that and settled down. I was in the same bed as Frank Iero. I smiled smugly to myself as I thought of all the girls who would kill to be in my place.

Frank was quiet for a few minutes. Just thinking. I wondered what he was thinking about as I rested my head on the pillow, hugging it awkwardly with one arm.

"Been quite a ride the last couple of days, huh?" He said gently.

I lifted my head to see him considering me with a tilted head. His eyes were boring into me with this soft glow and strange look of sadness.

"Mm," Agreed, lowering my head again.

I heard him sigh softly to himself. I lifted my head again to see he'd lowered his head and was staring up at the lights dancing across the ceiling with a saddened expression covering his face. It was one I'd never seen before. He looked like he was in pain.

"My Dad tried to kill himself," He murmered softly "After my Mom left."

"Frankie. . . I didn't-"

"No one knows," He cut across.

He sighed to himself again. I blinked at him. I'd never known that fact and him revealing it was his own personal way of saying he trusted me. I had yet to learn that. But, for now, I was being sympathetic. I was also buzzing with questions. He'd told me his Mom left when he was eight years old. How had he managed to cope with that news at eight years old? Who had told him? Who'd taken care of him during that time? How had things with him and his Dad ever gotten so bad after the attempted suicide?

"What was Mikey thinking?" He questioned in horror "He's just a kid."

I inhaled softly and exhaled hard. Frank hated being miserable. He generally avoided anything with the potential to make him miserable like bubonic plague. He didn't handle misery very well. He would later go on in life to become unstable and suffer serious depression for several months at a very key life-changing time in his life.

I won't go into details just yet.

Anyway, when faced with something that might make him miserable, Frankie tended to change the subject. And that's just what he did.

He grabbed at my foot and gave my ankle a sharp pinch, to which I made an odd shrieking noise, causing him to laugh. I pulled my foot away sharply, giggling.

"Loser!" He stated.

"Double loser!" I responded in a childish tone, a small smile on my face.

He inhaled hard, making fun of me.

"I hope you've washed your feet!" He said with a sniff.

"I hope you're not tickilish!" I replied, seizing his ankle.

Frankie squealed awkwardly and wriggled around as I brushed the tips of my fingers over the sole of his foot. He gave a gentle kick, trying to get me off without kicking me in the face. I smirked to myself, tickling mercilessly. He wriggled some more, trying not to burst out laughing.

"Gee, please don't- please!" He begged "I'm really ticklish!"

So I took pity and released his ankle. He smiled and propped himself up on one elbow, reaching into his bedside drawer. He pulled out a small container with a label on it: Franklin Iero.

"What are those?" I questioned as he swallowed two with a swig of water.

He replaced the cap and stored them carefully in his bedside drawer.

"Sleeping pills," He explained as he settled back down into the covers "I can't sleep at home without them. They knock you out like a light."

I blinked at the irony of it all. Frank smiled at me as he lifted his head to look at me one last time.

"So. . . y'know, I wouldn't bother trying to wake me or anything unless, y'know, the apartment's on fire or something! 'cause it'll take a hell of a lot of noise," He winked, snuggling down into the duvet.

"Night," I bade.

"G'night, Gee," He murmered in response.

His pills must have been working already because he'd sounded slightly groggy as he bade me goodnight. I smiled to myself and snuggled into the duvet some more to try and get some shut eye myself. Frankie's breathing slowed, indicating he was fully asleep. As his breathing got slower and deeper, he started to snore. My God could that guy snore! He'd get a gold medal easily if it was an olympic sport.

I smiled to myself and snuggled further down into the duvet cover, my legs occasionally brushing against Frank's if either of us moved. And sometimes, just sometimes, our hips brushed too.