Frankie Y is a killer guy

gerard: *breaks up with you on the spot*

frank: *breaks up with you on the spot*

ray: *breaks up with you on the spot*

mikey: 'I understand' *goes home and breaks up with you over text*

At some point, you had to leave Frank’s side, but not before he sat you down, forcing you to eat something. It was bad, you already weren’t that big of eater just from how much you smoked. He’d let you borrow some clothes that were a bit too big.

But having to eat in front of him? It was terrible. Seeing those vicious marks you’d left on his ink covered skin. All you’d wanted then was to disappear from that world, New Jersey. To retreat back to guys who treated you and looked at you like any other man. Ones that didn’t look at you like you truly meant something, like you could actually disappoint them.

You forced down a couple of bites of the food Frank had provided. Even with all the money he’d made on tours and shit, he was a lousy cook. It was wheat bread and butter that must’ve had crumbs from a previous meal.

It was comfortably quiet. The TV in the background was on a news channel talking about the weather forecast. That made you wonder, what day was it anyways? You’d been so out of it for days.

“Hey, man?,” The casualty of your words was ironic, “What— what day is it?”

Frank had been reading something on his laptop, your words caused him to perk up.

“Huh?”

“I don’t know what day it is. Just tell me.”

“Jesus Christ— it’s the 28th of July, Y/N.”

You took in the information, doing the math in your head of how long you must’ve been in that concussed, not quite there state of mind. Then it dawned that you could actually think…and sit in the sunlight and not be in any pain.

It went quiet again. Frank didn’t sound like he was mad at you, but something in your stomach still stirred at his words. Your existence in that very moment felt so futile, so minuscule.

You were really left with your own thoughts, not fuzzy, not able to blanked out by, just you. You felt somewhat spoiled..?

So many girls, and boys, would kill to be in your situation. Sitting at Frank Iero’s fucking house, hickeys from him on your neck and chest, just sitting in light noise. To be Ray Toro’s little brother and get to know him personally? It was a dream to so many.

Yet, it felt heavy, all of it. You weren’t emo or alternative or anything of the sort. You were some stupid self-aware frat boy. The fact you’d cried so often the last couple weeks, more so than you had in years, made you internally wince.

“I’m gonna head out.” You told Frank, standing up from your seat.

The guy stared up at you, his eyes taking in your body language.

Frank replied, “You’re gonna do something stupid. You smoke too much.”

“It’s fine, it’s a 30 minute drive back to Kearny. I’m out of cigarettes and broke anyways.”

“You expect me to just believe you?”

“I’m not gonna have this argument with you.” You dragged your hands along your face.

The fact you’d almost said you loved him the night before replayed in your mind. You knew you were getting defensive, angry. Like a hurt animal, baring your teeth.

You were too hot headed for your own good.

Frank responded, moving to stand across from you, the table separating both of you from each other. Something dwelling in your chest screamed for you leave. To call your future landlord and never look back.

“This isn’t an argument, jackass. You’re a fucking idiot sometimes— all the time.”

“You’re one to talk.”

That was why it would never have worked then. You were so similar to each other, there was no mediator. Quick tempered, sharp mouthed.

Neither of you could back down from an argument or the fact that you might’ve been wrong.

You were pissed, and you didn’t even know what for.

“I’m a grown man. Just let me fuckin’ go home, Ie—“

“Would you stop calling me by my last name as if we’re just ‘friends’!”

Frank snapped at you, his speaking voice uncharacteristically frantic. Frustration covered his face as he ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it from his eyes.

You were almost intimidated but more ashamed than anything. Though, being you, you still wouldn’t just give it up.

“Oh, grow up. Do you want me to start calling you— like— babe and shit in front of my brother?” You laughed in disbelief, knowing you were worked up for nothing.

Frank barked, “Maybe I do!”

That shut you up real quickly. It made you realize the shake your hands had taken on in the last couple minutes. Frank’s eyes were studying your expressions.

You stared Frank down, he looked like a terrified animal, one stepping out from its territory. A tight feeling formed in your lungs. It stole all the air from your body and made your voice disappear. There was no running.

“Maybe I fuckin’ do, Y/N,” Frank’s voice had deflated.

There weren’t any tears that time, not yet. You were a man, a sober, well slept one. No way you were mishearing what you were saying. You were caught in a trap of sorts.

Guilt forced a flush onto your cheeks and added a familiar shake to your hands. Your stomach was a mixture of whatever you’d eaten and your emotions.

Maybe you shouldn’t have driven home. You felt so stupid. You’d had a way out just the afternoon before. Could’ve tossed your phone out a window and disappeared. Found some girl and started a family or some shit.

You were immature though.

“Great! Let’s just go tell Ray fucking Toro that we’re faggots! Fuck you, god, fuck you!”

You pushed past Frank, grabbing your keys. That relationship was fueled just by senseless thoughts. Whether they were positive or negative. Frustration just coursed through your veins.

The worst part might’ve been that Frank didn’t try. You didn’t want him to chase, and he didn’t. He let you leave.

Frank didn’t do anything but watch you grab your keys and open the door and, finally, slam it behind you. Your van seemed less comforting than it had before. It felt more like a coffin. You turned the key in the ignition…only for the engine to not turn over.

Your car attempted to rev up about four times before you gave up. Leaving the key in its spot you hit the steering wheel with your fists, then your head once on accident. There was at least thirty minutes you just sat, trying to remember where the nearest gas station was.

You opened and dug into your glove compartment. The day was partially sunny, mostly cloudy. It made your car not feel entirely miserable to sit in since you didn’t want to kill its battery by turning it on.

A relieved huff of air exited your body as you grabbed a near empty box of cigarettes that was squished at the bottom under some trash. Ray had always told you not to smoke, especially after how he’d seen his friends struggle so bad.

That was the last thing on your mind as you lit the thing, putting it between your lips. You’d always leave a lighter in your car. Smoke filled your lungs, causing that familiar hot sensation.

You turned the battery on, just to undo the window, then turned it back off. All the smoke in your lungs was let out in a hollow puff.

All you wanted was to drive off. Maybe you weren’t as well rested as you thought. You felt like total utter shit as soon as one thing went wrong. Why’d everything have to happen all at once?

One of your friends in high school, a girl a year older, had been the reason you started smoking. You’d been trying to get on her good side, she was cool, a bad influence. What mattered to you was the attention she’d give you.

You’d caught her smoking behind your high school after her volleyball practice. It was awkward, you just stood there, limbs too long for your sixteen year old body, watching her. She dumped a lot of depression shit on you while explaining what smoking did.

That’s when you’d asked the question, “Can I try one?”

The girl had responded by laughing and saying something you couldn’t remember. It didn’t take much to wear her down though. Within five minutes she was holding the filter to your lips, her other hand splayed along your chest.

It felt like hell, how could anyone enjoy that?

“You’re a natural, Y/N, you want the raft of the pack? I normally have menthols, i’m not a big fan of these…” She spoke on and on. All you remembered was just staring and trying to take a drag on your own.

The memory made you cringe, closing your eyes and thinking of how stupid you were. Then again, you took a drag from the cigarette currently in your hand.

It was half a pack you’d left in your car. No telling how old they were. It took you a bit less than 20 minutes to get through 4, just staring at the ceiling in your thoughts. You felt awful for what you’d said to Frank.

A sour feeling was the only thing on your mind as you picked up the phone, debating on what to do. There were missed messages from your friends, family, even a call for an overdue check up.

You bounced your left leg anxiously, so many emotions went through your body. You grabbed another cigarette, placing your phone in your lap to light it. Frank had told you to slow down before, you never did. Ray never knew anything about you, or maybe he did, he just never bothered to say it.

Even as you sputtered that first drag, it didn’t stop you. Your hand holding the cigarette sat outside the window as you picked up the phone again. The number you dialed was muscle memory, you didn’t fully expect an answer since it would’ve been 3 hours earlier in Los Angeles.

You were going to tell him, your brother, because part of you felt so angry at yourself that it was willing to blow up your home life.

The phone rang, over and over again. Your heart pounded in your chest. Each one left you a little more disappointed. It felt unfair to you to be disappointed though.

You were going to close the phone and just call someone else, but the other end of the phone finally picked up.

“Y/N?” Ray’s voice was quiet, as if he was trying to not wake someone, “You okay?”

Any courage you’d had immediately faded, crumbling down to nothing once again.

“Sorry. Were you— um— asleep?”

“Christa is, i’m up. What’s up? You never call.”

You never call.

Those three words rung in your head heavy. Even if it was just a passing statement. You took a breath, turning back on what you were going to say.

“Just wanted to say I missed you. When are you coming back to Jersey?”

You always missed Ray, somewhere deep in your mind. Then, though, you just needed a quick pivot.

Ray chuckled softly, “Not sure. I miss you too, kid.”

“Yeah,” You paused, “Bye.”

You didn’t even wait for him to respond, you just closed the phone and set it down. What a pussy you were. Every decision was the wrong one in your head. Your head fell against the steering wheel. Why couldn’t you just man up and say something?

The sun had begun to come out from the clouds, quickly heating up your car. A sigh came from your lips before you brought the cigarette back to them. Then you breathed out the hot nicotine.

You took your keys out of the ignition and stepped from the car, going to head back to the front door. The cigarette dropped from your hand, then got crushed by your heel. You didn’t even knock before going back inside.

“Ie— Frank?” You sheepishly called out into the cramped home. A cough forced itself from your lungs.

You weren’t good at helping others feel better, you weren’t a fan of being emotional. So many conflicting thoughts went through your head.

You took a breath before answering, “I don’t have any gas.”

A small sound came from the other room, quickly followed by an array of swearwords. You and Frank were two sides of the same coin. Boys who hated being emotional but just couldn’t help it. Just one of them actually had a support system they’d go to.

You had to tell yourself you weren’t there for him to not admit anything. But you followed the sound of where Frank’s voice had come from. He’d been stripping his sheets from his bed, an oddly routine thing to do.

The boy didn’t say anything. He glanced back for a second before continuing to remove the fitted sheet from his bed. It was a sour reminder of what you’d done last night, as if the hickeys weren’t enough.

Standing in the doorway, you just watched him awkwardly.

Frank sighed, “I’m not buying you gas.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you watching me?”

His voice was quiet, his hands trembling as he threw the fitted sheet onto the normal one. You felt bad, worse than normal. It wasn’t normal to feel that awful. It hurt seeing him hurt and not just trying to kiss up on you to make himself feel better.

You shrugged, sinking into yourself. You couldn’t cry, something in your mind stopped you now.

Neither of you had the words to articulate the shared thought. Frank sat on the edge of his bed, the same edge you kissed him on earlier that morning. He didn’t look at you, just bounced his leg.

So much of you was still so angry at him for no reason. Maybe it was the fact he’d made you hide this for so long. Or maybe it was that you’d made peace with your secret and now he wanted to be public.

The boy fell back against the mattress, his shaggy hair covering his eyes.

You took a breath before moving to sit on the bed next to him. It creaked under both of your weights. There was so much pent up shame in your stomach you couldn’t even try to look him in the eyes.

You finally replied to his question, “I don’t see you enough.”

“But you refuse to see me.” Frank mumbled.

That similar frustration bubbled up in your throat like bile.

“Don’t start that shit with me, Frank. You’re the one who made it a huge deal,” Your familiar word vomit was starting up, “And it’s your stupid band that stopped my own older brother from seeing my graduations.”

You bit at him. Frank was quiet, just sniffling every so often. He knew once you started, you didn’t stop, you couldn’t.

“And it was your dumb fucking idea to flirt with me— and make me feel so special around you and still so miserable around you— and god— I hate the fact you made me— fucking hell.”

The words caught in your lungs, you ended up laying back next to the boy. Two pairs of eyes were dead set on ceiling above. Lying on a bare mattress, it was silent.

Frank finished your thought, “Made me love you?”

Nothing came out of your mouth, you just turned your head to the side, looking at his side profile. It took Frank a second, and a deep breath, before he reciprocated the action. His eyes were pink, all your anger stomached itself just for a moment seeing him.

“Mhm hmm.”

It came out faster than you meant it to.

The sound was nothing but a soft hum from between your lips. One of Frank’s tattooed hands came up to your hair, brushing it from your face. He looked at you like you’d hung the moon. A lot of hurt was still tucked into his expression.

Your eyes darted around his face, taking in how different parts of his face made one, so beautiful person.

You asked him a stupid question.

“Do you love me..? Like— actually?”

Frank was silent, his gaze searching yours. His lower lip quivered, you could see a tear filling the corner of one of his eyes. The boy let out a singular shaky breath. Fingers tangled in your hair moved to settle on your cheek.

He nodded quietly. The truth hung heavy in the air. Not with words, but with looks and mumbles. Your hand moved to rest on the side of his throat where his heart beat thrummed. It was slow, steady.

“I can’t keep doing this shit, you know.”

You told him, your brows slightly furrowed. It wasn’t as angry as the times you’d told him before. Just a statement.

The boy across from you took a breath, “I know.”

Both of you sat there for a while, sometimes looking at each other, sometimes avoiding the other’s gaze. A bunch of buzzes began to come from your back pocket. It was easy to ignore at first, but the repetition became annoying.

“You smell like cigarettes, you know,” Frank told you.

“Nothing new.”

You turned back away from Frank, lying on your back. You took your phone from your back pocket. Stan had been calling you over and over again. Of course he was concerned.

The phone was in your right hand, leaving your left to just lay out flat. It wasn’t long before you felt a few fingers trace along the, mostly scarred, wound on your arm. It was only not healed shut right in the center.

“Hey, ST. Listen I—“

The voice on the other end cut you off, “Are you alright? I tried going by your house yesterday and you weren’t there— and i’m worried.”

“It’s okay, chill,” You responded into the phone, you were sick of people being worried all the time, “I just needed to get away. I’ll be able to record soon.”

Frank’s callused fingertips kept just running along your inner forearm.

“Y/N— forget about the whole interview!”

Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion, “Why? Something come up?”

The line went dead for a bit, your eyes fell back on Frank, he looked up at you. He seemed like a confused dog, head turned slightly and focused on whatever was puzzling him.

He mouthed, “What’s going on?”

You shrugged in response, keeping the phone to your ear. It felt rude, even if Stan didn’t know what was going on, for him to just waste time like that. You put the phone on speaker for Frank to hear, he might as well.

You spoke again, “I’m gonna hang up if you don’t—“

“I don’t— mm— don’t want us to be a one time thing.”

Aw shit. Your heart jumped into your throat, blood rushing to your face. Stanley was a good kid, truly, but you weren’t exactly too fond of the idea. Frank’s eyes were staring through your soul, waiting to see what you’d say.

“Listen— man— i’m not sure about that. It was just a cigarette,” You sighed, feeling bad again. Just another thing to deal with.

Stan’s voice sounded discouraged, “What? I knew it was a stupid idea. Bye.”

You were concerned, but as you tried to get a word out, the line went dead. Everything in you deflated and you put the phone behind you somewhere on the bed. Frank’s head had flopped back down to the mattress, his eyes wide.

“So that was that— that Altman kid that I saw you with two weeks ago.”

“Stanley,” You mumbled, turning your head towards Frank, “Ray’s not a huge fan of him.”

Frank looked up at the ceiling, then back at you. You just didn’t know what even to say, it was confusing. Some part of you wanted to call back, to explain it all. The larger part of your brain just let you ignore the phone.

So much had happened in such a short time, your brain was so full. But you knew Frank wouldn’t let you drink or get high when you were under his gaze then.

There were obviously so many questions hidden behind those eyes but they finally backed down. It wasn’t important to figure everything out yet.

“I don’t think Ray’s a huge fan of me either, neither’s our family.”

Your voice came with a huff of melancholic laughter. You didn’t know why you trusted Frank so much yet so little at the same time. He didn’t say anything. Something in his expression contorted, like he was trying to understand where you were coming from, but just couldn’t fully.

Saying everything out loud made that cloudiness in your head begin to swallow you whole. It was a scary thought. It felt all too intimate then, Frank saw right through you. You sat up abruptly, putting your hands in your lap.

“I wish you’d never started this,” Your hands balled into fists on top of your thighs. The words, you weren’t if even sure if you’d meant them, were shaky.

Frank sighed, “You’re saying that as if you didn’t just fucking say that you loved me.”

“Tell Ray then, see how he’ll react to his kid brother and his bandmate having screwed each other for years.”

You could feel yourself getting worked up again, stomach twisting as it did. Maybe that’s why Ray was the favorite, he almost never got as angry as you did. The way your brain was wired upset you.

It felt like a constant ticking time bomb in your head. But it wasn’t like you asked for help either. You just shrouded yourself in filmmaking and cigarettes. Frank didn’t know what to say. He knew you better than anyone but didn’t know you at all.

Again and again. That talk, you could tell it was going to happen again and again. Something kept you anchored down to the bed. Your feet felt too heavy for your body to move.

“I like you better when you cry,” Frank mumbled, “Not because you’re upset.”

There was no response, you couldn’t think of anything good enough to say.

Frank kept talking, “You’re so, so fucked up, Y/N. It makes me nervous whenever I’m home.”

“Well good thing I won’t be home for a very long time once my lease is ready. There you go, no more worrying.”

It was so hypocritical of you. Sometimes you hated when people worried, but you craved attention others. Frank sat up, looking over at you.

“What?”

“I never want to see Jersey ever again.”

It wasn’t the fact you were moving that was a shock, it was the fact you didn’t plan to come back at all. Frank’s eyes were on you, but you couldn’t meet his. You knew you’d feel bad if you did.

What was wrong with you? You’d grown up there, had some of your core memories, and your family resided there. A hand rested onto your shoulder, you tightened up for a second before accepting the touch.

You felt like you were going to say things you didn’t mean. Frank was trying to be considerate but you were slightly getting on his nerves with how pessimistic you were.

Frank used his other hand to make you look at him, “You’re being a bitch. I don’t think you understand how much your brother cares for you,” He told you off, “You know he delayed all of his plans and flights in LA because of your concussion? Or that he fought for you to not go the hospital because he knows you’d despise it?”

Shame on you, that’s all you could think. But you’d learned that real men were better alone. So many conflicting thoughts at once. There was no running.

“Ray loves you more than anything, guilt ate him alive when—“

“Okay, fine, maybe he does, great! I love my brother and he loves me! Doesn’t mean he takes me seriously. You and him and so similar, no wonder you get along so well.”

You barked at him, causing him to pull himself away. Frank flinched at you. The gesture just made you feel worse. What a harrowing spiral. Still, you physically couldn’t cry it out. Even if somewhere in your mind you wanted to, you couldn’t.

“Don’t talk about Ray like that. He may have been an asshole brother to you, but he’s been one of the best friends i’ve ever had.”

Emotionally exhausted was an understatement for how your head felt.

“I’m so fucking tired of this,” You were just cursing like a sailor, “I wish I could be you.”

“Y/N— no you don’t. I’m the last person in this stupid world you should want to be.”

“Fuck, Frank, I just don’t want to be me!”

“But I want you to be you. And I’m sorry if people caring about you makes you feel like shit but I cared from the first time you pulled out that stupid camera.”

His arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you against him. All your words were sucked from your lungs. So much had happened just back and forth and back and forth. You wanted to fight it, to push him off and say you didn’t want it.

Something wouldn’t let you. That same feeling did stop you from letting tears fill your eyes. You were unmistakably sober, so crying took so much pride out of you. But there you were, just beginning to sob.

“Why the fuck do you care so much.” You forced out.

You hated Frank, you hated him so much it was painful. You made sure he knew that fact by saying it over and over. None of it was loud. It was just breath after breath of cries through gritted teeth. Two and a half minutes passed before you slowed down.

That made you nothing more than a pussy, some man you were.

It felt so stupid to be sobbing like that. You didn’t even say anything once the tears slowed, just pulling away and shrinking into yourself.

Both remaining heat from your tears and shame flushed your face.

“This isn’t good for either of us, is it,” Frank asked. He wasn’t looking for an answer, you both knew it, “Keeping this big secret.”

“What should we do then?”

“Tell my friends, our families.”

That wasn’t the Frank you’d known for years. It kind of scared you in a way. What would people think of him, what would people think of you?

It’d been drilled for so long that that connection, that pull was wrong. The thought was firmly planted into your skull. It took a lot of looking around and thinking, mostly on your part. Frank just looked at you, waiting for you to say something.

You looked down at the bruises still branding his throat. They were a painting of affection covering his pale skin, a mark of you. Your hand slid up the boy’s arm, resting on the worst of them. You’d done that.

“Okay,” You whispered.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

A small, sad smile formed on Frank’s lips as he moved and wrapped his arms around you. You flinched slightly before accepting the gesture, hugging him back. You were his boy, you’d always been.

So much had happened in that time frame, it made you all the more relieved that it ended okay. Frank sighed softly, his face burying in the side of your neck. Against the shirt draped along your body. You felt a few stray tears. Some boys couldn’t help but cry.

“Later, though. Not yet,” Frank told you. It didn’t seem like the other times though. He pulled away, his hands moving to sit on your shoulders, “Let’s focus on getting you some gas.”

His eyes were bloodshot, then a sniffle came from him.

You nodded. Things were good for a time, for once. Once without alcohol or weed or cigarettes. Even if you still wanted one, you didn’t need it.