Chapter Text
It was Christmas Eve, yet Frank wished it could have been any other day of the year. He hated winter, and everything that came with it. He hated having to spend the holidays with his deadbeat father. He hated the cold, and thanks to his weak immune system he’s had since he was a little boy, he always ended up sick and with a constant runny nose. He hated being away from school, which was ironic, as he would much rather be getting high at the skatepark, or going to another shitty show in someone’s basement, but he found himself missing the security of knowing what he would wake up to every day. His life with school was simple. Wake up, get stoned, shower, throw some clothes on from his floor, do his hair, get yelled at by his teachers, go home, get stoned again, eat, and that was about it. A constantly boring cycle, but at least it was something. Having to be with his father, he never knew what would happen next.
He almost wished it was Halloween so he could go back in time and make a new wish—blow out his candles and wish for a new life. Something that didn’t leave him empty inside. He wanted to disintegrate into nothing but a pile of bones. Bleed out and decompose outside in the snow. Then maybe he would be of use, aiding the spring flowers that would bloom out from underneath him. Nobody would know what took place—who he was. It would be nice. Maybe someone would even come along, pick the flowers, and give them to their mother or girlfriend. Then, just maybe, Frank would be something of worth. Something that brought love instead of pain. Although, this is only a fantasy. It is still Christmas Eve, he is still stuck inside his father’s house, and he is the loneliest he has ever felt.
Earlier, his father tried to bond with him by making Christmas cookies. It was pathetic how he thought he was able to fix their relationship with some pre-made cookie mix from the store. It was a painful and slow interaction that stretched out for much longer than it should. Every awkward silence, pause in their movements, scrambling to find the words to make up for everything. But once again, there was nothing. No words to be said.
“How is school going?”
“Have you met any special girl yet?”
“Are you excited for Christmas?”
The questions went in one ear and out the other. School is shit. I don’t have a girlfriend because I'm gay, but you will never bother to acknowledge your son likes boys. Christmas is going to suck like every other year. He didn’t say those things though. Frank was accustomed to answering his father on auto pilot with monotone, vague answers. He couldn’t give a shit to sound interested in what was going on.
When the cookies went into the oven, Frank sped walked away as fast as possible. There was only so much talking with his father he could deal with. He spent the rest of the time lying in bed contemplating his whole life. He went over every memory that came into his head, carefully turning each over and examining them. Maybe he hoped that analyzing enough would lead him to the conclusion of where his life got fucked up. Letting out a sigh, he realized that would get him nowhere. Sulking in bed used to be his favorite pass time, but lately he’s too depressed to even lay there and do nothing.
Instead, he focused on some other memories, more recent ones—the ones that occurred after his life already got fucked up. He thought about the shy boy in his music class who seemed to have a burning hatred for him. It was so subtle and hidden that it made him feel crazy. He couldn’t talk to anyone about it because they wouldn’t be able to see it the same way he did. If he pointed it out, he would seem like the asshole. Frank knew he was an angry person. Everything set him off, he had no control over his emotions. He had a new grudge to hold every other week. Although for some reason, he didn’t have it in him to hate the boy from his class. It was probably Frank’s fault that he hated him anyway. Gerard... that’s what his name is. Frank remembered now.
With a huff, Frank got out of bed. He needed to get out of this suffocating house. He swapped his pajama pants for a pair of decently warm jeans, and threw a jacket on over his Black Flag shirt. He wasn’t able to sneak any weed at his father's house, so he needed to stop at a store for the next best thing—cigarettes. His shoes were dirty and beat up, but they could survive the snow. If it wasn’t snowing, he would bring his headphones to listen to music, but he didn’t want the wiring to get messed up. Instead, he just shoved his wallet and phone in his pockets and called it a day. He knew his father wouldn’t worry at all that he was gone, so he didn’t bother telling him where he was going. He was allowed to go on a walk whenever he pleased, he had no control over him. With that, Frank shut the front door behind him. The sudden cold stung a little, but it made him feel at peace. He began his journey searching for the nearest gas station. He wasn’t too knowledgeable of the area. Sure, he grew up in Belleville, but his father’s house was on the outskirts. Even though his father was on the wealthier side, he much preferred his mother’s house.
It didn’t take long to find a gas station. It was a little run down, not in a dirty way but rather an old way. The kind where you knew many different kinds of people had walked the same steps as you, bought the same items as you. Those were the best places to buy cigarettes. The more modern gas stations ID checked almost everybody that came in. Frank was basically a professional at this point.
He backed up a few steps, holding the door open for an older lady that was behind him. She thanked him with a smile on his face. He nodded in acknowledgement before walking into the gas station. He didn’t have a ton of money on him, but he could afford to snag a drink or snack. It was a lot warmer inside the building, which he was thankful for. He stood in front of the snacks trying to find something appealing, but nothing stood out. He didn’t want to buy a drink either, because it would be freezing against his finger tips when he walked home.
The cigarettes were easy to buy, just like he expected. The man at the cash register took a glance at Frank’s neck tattoo and didn’t question him any further. Most assumed he was 18. None of them had to know he got a shitty scorpion tattoo at a punk show a year ago from an inexperienced teenager. Frank thought it was pretty cool, his mother was furious. She wouldn’t let him go anywhere but school for a long time after that.
Frank engaged in the man’s small talk before exiting the gas station. Luck must be on his side today because the snow had stopped for him to have a smoke break before it picked up again. He took the wrapping off the box and stuck a brand new crisp cigarette in his mouth. Fumbling from the cold, he grabbed the lighter from his jacket pocket. When it ignited it gave his hands a bit of warmth for a fleeting moment before he tucked it away in his pocket. He inhaled the nicotine with a newfound will to live. It was time to explore the town. Frank settled on walking forward from where he was standing, not sure where his feet would take him.
After a few minutes of walking (he didn’t want to travel too far in the fear of getting lost), he stopped in front of a comic store. It didn’t stick out a lot, he wouldn’t have been able to tell it existed from the road. Eager to go inside, he put his cigarette out against the brick wall and stepped inside. The store was cozy and warm. Each wall was decorated almost head to toe with something interesting. There was tall bookshelves lining the walls and posters on display. This was probably the coolest thing Frank had discovered in a while. He was almost happy to be staying at his father’s place. He shook that thought away and laid eyes on the person behind the counter.
Gerard.