outta town.

"When did you get this funny?"

"When you weren't noticing, asshole. Bless your heart, you're not even conscious most of the time. Can I go now, or do you have more intelligent questions for me?"

"I don’t think your life is in danger. Though if you do feel sick or light headed, please get yourself checked out. No one I know is allowed to get concussions." Garrett listened to Frank speak and nodded his head, laughing a bit. "Yeah uh- lacrosse is a tough sport. Usually as the goalie I only really get huge bruises on my legs. But sometimes when they rip one at you it can hurt. I don’t notice it though since there’s so much adrenaline during the game." as he talked, he made it to his dorm room, pulling out his keys and opening the door. "Go sit down by the desk, I’ll get the ice pack." he hurried to his closet, opening up a drawer with his lacrosse clothes that also had his small med kit and a hefty amount of instant ice packs. After popping one in his hand, he shook the bag as he came back out to Frank. "Here, put that on your face." 

"You're - hardcore, is the only word for it." Frank didn't bother to hide his admiration. Rowing wasn't the most trauma-prone of activities, and Garrett talked about lacrosse injuries like they were nothing. "Those must get really sore the next day, though." He moved to the chair obediently and took the ice pack. In seconds, the cold was numbing his cheek slightly, thank God. Talking took his mind off the pain somewhat. "Fuck, that feels good. Thanks again, Garrett. And I just gotta say, your room is impressively neat." 

"Here’s the official challenge for the week (Elliot will say it isn’t, but we’re just testing your loyalty). Every one of you has to dunk a freshman’s head in a toilet by 3pm today, or you’re out of the Society."

"Aw, great, our freshman to Society member ratio is more than enough. Can freshie members dunk their own heads? If I dunk more than one do I get a fucking promotion? You're so full of shit, Montgomery."

"Ahh…I see. What were they doing this time?" Garrett understood completely. In sports, sometimes upping the others came at a price. Sadly- it had to be Frank’s face this time. "Yeah, I always have something in my room. Always be prepared. Plus, I’ve been bruised almost everywhere on my legs from lacrosse. Gotta keep ice packs handy. Come on, let’s get you fixed up." 

"I'd feel sorry, but your experience with injury is sorta saving my life here." He grinned lopsidedly, feeling the ache in his jaw. "I hear there isn't a lacrosse match that doesn't end in someone carried off the field on a stretcher. Care to verify that one?" Frank followed the other boy down the hallway, pressing around the bruise tentatively. "Fuck, I hope it didn't loosen a tooth."

"Oh, yeah, I carry a first-aid kit with me everywhere."

"I don't see it, unless you keep it somewhere the sun don't shine. In which case, I don't think I want it anymore."

"Shit, someones got it in for you. Did start reciting bible passages during practice again?"

"Fuck you. You were in my place just last week, Montgomery - only not all of us can get punched for just being an asshole. If you'd be so kind as to provide this Society member with a small towel, captain, I'll wipe the blood off so I don't drip on the carpet and be on my way."

"That’s a nice colour you’ve got going on."

"Thought you'd had enough, Lipski."

"Oh shit- you need ice." Garrett always fussed over people that were hurt, it was part of his nature. "I have some emergency ice packs in my room. What happened?" 

"Rowers happened." He shrugged. They all had their stupid vendettas, their competitive streaks, their school pride. Garrett had to understand, Frank figured; he was a sportsman too. "You have 'em in your room? You're an angel amongst men, Herbert."

Is it true you have no fear? Take off your shoes then, let your eyes go bare, swim in their darkness as in a river do not disguise yourself in armour.

He couldn't help the surge of respect as Elliot spoke, something akin to reverence; Frank hadn't expected to look up to anyone the way he did to Christian, but what he felt for Elliot came close. There were other emotions he didn't want to consider just yet, but they were what delineated his interactions with both boys, the difference between admiration and want - fine as the line between rain and sleet. "I'll help," he said, feeling foolish even as he declared it. It was stupid. He, of all people, wouldn't know how. "You know. If I can. Just want you to know." Frank shrugged helplessly, shifting so he wouldn't have to look Elliot in the eye. "You don't have to clean up on your own." Then he smiled slightly, flicking his gaze back to the other boy again. "Well, then. Thank you, O Captain." 

"With the greatest amount of respect, I’m kind of trying to work here. Whatever it is that you’re doing seriously isn’t helping."

"Oh, damn, I'm sorry. Just that the library gets so noisy. Stuff a crowd of boys into a small space and that's what you get. Hey - keep it down, y'all. He's working on - what are you working on, anyway? Journalist's stuff?

"Selfish? How the fuck am I being selfish? Yeah, he’s the exact type of company I want, maybe if you used that as an example, I wouldn’t be so fucking sick of you nagging me all the time. Just fuck off, Frank, you’re not doing any fucking good."

"I can't reach you if you won't let me, Ade, you're just not fucking listening to me - it's selfish if you're the only person you care about! It's selfish if you're getting yourself into all this bullshit without even considering - "

"Harsh, but it’s the truth. When people claim to love plays, it’s usually Shakespeare they cite. He was good, though I like Ibsen better."

"Well, you sound like an avid reader. I confess to having attempted to read all of Shakespeare's plays - couldn't make it through Antony and Cleopatra. Any reason for Hedda Gabler? I mean, the character is infamous, but most people like A Doll's House."

"Well, O’Dea, if we’re being honest… if I could in some way escape myself I would. Unfortunately, though, I care too much about my future too much to allow myself to get caught up in the lovely drug reign of the Society. So, for now, we’ll say I’m wanting to escape a certain someone because it’s the next best thing on the list."

"The need to get out of oneself. Way too philosophical for casual conversation. Bless your heart, as if drugs were the only way of escapism - wis it the kids do these days? Road trips? Computer games? Pick your poison, as they say, only this kind isn't half as toxic. I myself bake the shit out of whatever's bothering me, but I figure that's not your cup of tea."

I adore the struggle you carry in yourself. I adore your terrifying sincerity.