Frank took three pills that morning as opposed to the one in the morning one in the evening routine he was condemned to for what felt like all eternity.
The thing, the fucking figure was killing Frank: it had kept awake all night: just lying still and sweating into his sheets; it was a waking nightmare, it was the world at its absolute worst. Because he was fucking okay and this couldn't be happening to him not now, fuck, not ever, because if Frank Iero was really terrified of anything, it was nothing other than relapse.
He'd been fucking fine for all too fucking long, but it seemed that things couldn't possibly stay perfect for ever, could they?
However he'd only seen it for the shortest second, almost as if he hadn't meant to see it: maybe his mind had fucked up, maybe it was just sleep deprivation, maybe it was just his head fucking with him, because for that one glimpse of red hair to be gone as soon as he noticed it and be actually there, well that was unlikely.
Frank attempted to calm himself down as best as he could, smoking a cigarette - a habit he'd picked up aged nineteen - on the balcony, before he took yet another pill, just to be safe, because pills fucking somehow made everything better.
Frank's faith lay in the routine of medication, because it was medication that had finally given him relief from the hell of hallucinations, and it was medication that had stabilised him and finally gotten him his life back.
He told himself that he'd be fine now, and he promised himself that if he didn't see that hair again for the rest of today then he could forget about it completely: call it a fluke, right it off as a dream, whatever, just ignore its existence.
Frank put his earbuds in as he made his way out the apartment, browsing his music selection as he locked the door behind him, and put his music collection on shuffle, and in consequence, wincing a little as he came to realise that Brendon had fucking sabotaged his iPod by putting Taylor Swift on it, Jesus Christ.
This song wasn't bad though - Blank Space - and he couldn't quite gather the motivation to change it as he made his way down far too many flights of stairs and out of the apartment building.
Frank buried all thoughts of that red hair and the trick of the light that had befallen him last night in favour of predicting Brendon's reaction as Frank told him all about Ryan Ross who was kind of cute and lived next door.
He reckoned Brendon would even give him coffee for free in celebration of the existence of a possible love interest, and honestly Brendon would hire him right on the fucking spot, despite the fact that he wasn't even in charge of the place: he just fucking would.
Frank found himself reconsidering his mild dislike towards Taylor Swift as he continued to listen to Blank Space, because this song was damn well amazing, and Frank wasn't stupid, hell, he was most certainly cold because December sucked ass, and not in the way Frank liked, but whatever, Frank lived for the summertime but there'd be a long six months until June.
Frank wasn't even quite sure quite what it was about the summertime that was so important to him, it just kind of was, and almost ominously so: without question, and well, Frank much preferred it when it was light enough to actually see where he was walking on his way to work at a time entirely far too early in the morning.
Frank found himself almost forced into removing his earbuds as he made his way into the Starbucks, and Brendon shot him an 'I had a shot this morning' grin, and Frank shot him an 'I wish you just got shot instead' one back: their friendship was 'special', to say the least.
"Frankie, baby, what will it be this morning- spacing up your life again? Or are you going to be my little baby scrooge forever?" Brendon was very, very drunk, and Frank found himself with no option but to just laugh nervously at him.
"Uhh, just how drunk are you? Brendon, honey, you're working for fuck-" Frank words stopped dead, his eyes fixated into the air.
Brendon noticed his absence of speech and followed his gaze: staring in confusion at fucking thin air.
Frank was not staring at thin air: Frank was staring at the end of his fucking life: Frank was staring at the figure that had haunted his mind for years: Frank was staring at the one thing even the medication couldn't save him from.
Because there stood none other than Gerard Way: bright red hair, and face contorted into an expression disgust and agitation. And it became apparent that this hallucination wasn't quite like the last one, because no matter how long he stared, and no matter how much he blinked, Gerard- the thing made it very clear that it in fact was not going away.
"Frankie- are you alright?" Brendon's voice suddenly became audible like the turn of a volume dial on a stereo, and Frank jumped, his gaze turning to the barista, and staring wide eyed as the figure moved away from where it had been stood to just behind Brendon: ensuring that Frank could see it at all times, and holy fuck, Frank was so fucking fucked.
"I-I'm gonna call in sick today." Frank stuttered out, grabbing his cellphone, and watching as the hallucination raised his eyebrows and smirked a little.
Brendon turned around to where Frank's gaze was fixated and again found himself utterly dumbfounded at the lack of anything there at all.
Frank muttered something to his boss about feeling sick and how he didn't get enough sleep last night, because it was totally that, and the red haired figure was in fact nothing more than a result of his zero hours of sleep last night: a waking dream brought on by what he thought he'd seen last night. Not real, not even a fucking hallucination, well not a 'proper' one.
Frank was just tired.
And he did a very good job of convincing himself as such.
"Frank, what's wrong?" Brendon asked as soon as his friend had put the phone down. "Y-you don't look very good, baby, well you look good, but... you know." The hallucination grew more agitated at this, almost seeming to glare in Brendon's direction.
"I didn't get enough sleep last night." Frank looked the figure in the eyes. "And I'm so tired that I'm seeing things that aren't there. I'm fine, it's nothing, but I'm probably going to just sleep it off and then everything will be fine."
"That's not how it works, Frankie." The voice made Frank jumped, because fuck no, that was not Brendon, and as Frank's eyes widened, turning to the hallucination, and practically dying inside at the smirk and the part of his lips. "It's me and I'm here, Frankie, you know that, don't you?" And sure enough, the figure's lips moved as he spoke.
It was evident upon Brendon's face that he hadn't heard anything at all, and Frank really fucking needed to sleep this off before he went fucking crazy, but no, he knew from all his time in therapy that he needed to confront his hallucinations face to face and tell them that they weren't real until he truly believed it, because just like that, they would indeed fade away, because after all, Brendon couldn't see it, and it was all in his head: he had it under control, and he promised himself that.
"Frankie, baby, you need to go to sleep, go home, okay, b-baby?" Brendon's words were slurred but that didn't affect their meaning in the slightest.
"O-Okay." Frank nodded, stretching and yawning a little as he turned on his heels and made his way out of Starbucks, and headed down the road: back to his apartment and back to bed, or at least that was how thing should have been, and the hallucination most certainly shouldn't have joined him outside, hell, fucking follow him as he walked, even quickening his pace in time with Frank's, because fuck, this wasn't normal, and Frank was normal, and he couldn't- fuck, no: he wasn't going to deal with this, because Frank would honestly put a bullet through his brain than go back to the hospital again.
"You're not his 'baby'." The hallucination spoke once more, but Frank settled upon choosing to ignore it, because well, it was fucking real, and it could only exist as long as Frank continued to believe it was there, and unfortunately, he seemed to be believing awful hard right now. "You're my baby, don't forget that, Frankie, sugar."
And like a gift from God himself, with that, the hallucination disappeared, and the thudding of Frank's headache seemed to come to a stop.
"Fuck." Frank cursed aloud, standing up straight and glancing around him, practically fucking celebrating to find himself alone, and free from whatever he kept seeing.
He was just tired: he was certain of that now, and he found himself walking twice as fast as he made his way back into his apartment, locking the door behind him and petting his dogs for a moment, before putting his keys down on the countertop and stumbling to the bedroom before passing the fuck out.
And praying to heaven, hell, and everything he'd ever known that when he woke up that same red headed figure just wouldn't be there.
-
Seven hours later: one in the afternoon, came a knocking upon Frank's apartment door, and it wasn't that that woke the twenty eight year old up, but the barking and howling of all four of his dogs, who were most definitely far more excited about whatever asshole was knocking on his door right now than he was.
Frank sat up, groaning and rubbing his eyes, taking a moment to remind himself why it was early afternoon and he was still at home and still sleeping for that matter. He reminded himself that he had simply been tired and that he was absolutely fine now before making his way to the door.
He grabbed his key from the countertop, unlocking it, and finding himself almost pleasantly surprised to see Ryan Ross from next door who'd made him coffee on the other side. He remembered how he'd completely forgotten to tell Brendon about Ryan's existence, and just hoped that he'd never get distracted quite so horribly on his morning commute again.
"Hey." Frank pulled on a smile, feeling one of his dogs trying to push past his legs and run free into the hallway and smother Ryan or something, and there was indeed a part of Frank that didn't blame him.
"Can I have some milk?"
"Uhh... what?" Frank stared at him wide eyed for a moment, because he was still kind of half asleep.
"For coffee, I- coffee, milk, yeah... I-" Ryan blushed until his cheeks practically fell the fuck off his face, and Frank snorted a little.
"What else would you need milk for?" Frank rolled his eyes at his own idiocy, however Ryan blushed a horrible shade of red in consequence of an encounter he was doing his absolute best to forget. "Actually, do you just want to come in for coffee? You made me coffee yesterday, so it's only fair."
"Okay." Ryan's gaze fell to the floor and all four dogs yapping excitedly up at him. "Just how likely is that I'm going to be smothered and attacked by your dogs?"
"Oh, they will not leave you alone, but they're harmless: they just want to cuddle- big fucking puppies." Frank grinned, before letting Ryan in and leaving the poor homosexual milk man to get murdered by his dogs as he went to make coffee, because Frank was nice like that: anyway, if people couldn't put up with his dogs, then Frank wouldn't put up with them, and that was that.
"You really like dogs then?" Ryan made just about the most awkward conversation starter as he took a seat at the weird breakfast bar thing that Frank never even used because the sofa was like ten times as comfy and well, he just didn't give a fuck.
"Could say that." Frank grinned, pouring them both their coffees, and not doing nearly as well as Ryan had yesterday, but whatever, Frank wasn't destined to be a future barista at the Starbucks down the road, was he?
"Not a cat person then, I assume, which is good because I'm not either." Ryan continued to make awkward stabs at conversation, and Frank let him, because Frank was just a nice guy, and Ryan was nice, albeit a little awkward at times.
"Nah, never really been one for pussy." Frank smirked, breaking down laughing at his own joke, as Ryan sat there in something like disbelief. "I'm gay, in case you didn't get that."
"Oh, yeah, same to be honest." Ryan added all too fucking casually, and Frank could only grin, because Brendon was going to fucking marry him as well for this, like Jesus Christ, at this rate there really would be some weird milk and coffee based polygamous relationship going on between the three of them.
"How annoyed would you be if I set you up with my friend Brendon?" Frank asked, kind of casually just throwing the question out there like it directly related to Ryan's sexuality and wasn't just something Frank was going to do anyway in some ridiculous last ditch attempt to get the barista to shut up about Taylor Swift for once.
"Is he cute?" Ryan asked, blushing a little and Frank really did not know how to respond to that.
"I guess, I mean, all I can see from him is that fucking ego, so if you can see past that then I'm sure he's worth your time, anyway he works at that Starbucks I mentioned." Frank gave Ryan his coffee and sat down beside him, beginning to sip his own.
"Why aren't you dating him then?" Ryan asked what indeed was a genuine question, yet still practically made Frank sip his coffee out. "You're both dudes who like dudes and if he's not bad looking-"
"He's like my best friend, yeah, but not my type, not at all, and there's no way I could date someone that interrogated me on Taylor Swift every morning. Anyway, I'm not all that fussed with romance and relationships, I have my dogs, and it's all fine, I have Netflix- fuck yeah, I'm married to Netflix."
"What is your type then?" Ryan raised an eyebrow in Frank's direction, looking him up and down. "If you're going to get me a date then I feel obliged to return the favour, don't you think?"
Frank shrugged. "I don't know- I guess, I don't really have a type."
"Alright then, describe your exes to me: all of them, yes, I don't give a shit, all of them." Ryan grinned what was nothing short of a miraculously homosexual grin.
"I only have two... one of them turned out to be an asshole... the other... I don't want to talk about him I-... it was ten years ago, he's d-dead now... anyway-"
"Oh my god, Frank!" Ryan exclaimed, neglecting his coffee to wrap Frank in a serious fucking hug right there, because when it came to hugs, Ryan Ross most certainly did not fuck around.
"It's fine, it was ten years ago, so, like, anyway, I'm not really looking for anyone right now, I mean, if I see someone I really like, yeah, I'll ask them on a date, or whatever, but I'm not like on the prowl, actively searching or something." Frank let out a sigh, burying his face in his coffee mug, because he was okay, and it was ten years ago and he totally wasn't hallucinating his dead boyfriend, again.
"Okay, I just want you to be happy, okay, you're a nice guy and you don't deserve to be sad- hey, why aren't you at work today?"
"Oh, yeah, I called in sick." Frank put his mug down, letting out a sigh, and trying his best to bury all memories of what had really happened in Starbucks this morning. "I didn't any sleep last night, and yeah, my head was fucking with me."
"I hope you're okay now." Ryan seemed to look genuinely concerned, and well, this really was new.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I slept it off, I'm super good now." He promised Ryan with a smile, and Ryan was just about as convinced as Frank was: Ryan hardly believed him at all.
And to say the least, Frank was absolutely fucked.
"So, do you want to take me to meet Brendon at the weekend or something?" Ryan asked, finishing his coffee and standing up.
"Oh yeah, sure, I could get him to come over here: that'd be easier, and yeah, I'm pretty sure he's going to absolutely love you." Frank pulled on a smile as he too finished his coffee and got up to show Ryan out.
"We'll see, maybe I'll think he's an asshole, we'll see."
"Oh but he is an asshole, but you're gay as fuck, you're supposed to like asshole." Frank smirked, waving as Ryan made his way back across the hallway and into his own apartment. "Fuck." Frank cursed aloud for the second time that day, making his way over to the sofa and practically collapsing right then and there.
He laid there for a moment: evidently still tired, but his dogs ensured that he was not going to sleep as they insisted upon climbing onto the sofa and cuddling with him, well, whatever, at least he had four fucking dogs to cuddle with, and they were most certainly better than a boyfriend in Frank's forever alone mind-set.
He grabbed his laptop, browsing through Netflix like yesterday, because well, Frank's life was fucking eventful, but Frank loved nothing more than he loved the mundane and normalness of his day to day routine.
Frank let out a sigh, because this was his life now, and really, his younger self would have dreaded and hated every moment of this, but Frank wouldn’t even be lying to himself if he said that he was content with living like this.
He had two friends, he had four dogs, he had a job, he had an apartment, he had a laptop, he had a Netflix subscription.
What more could he need?
-
hey look lmao i literally wrote this all in one hour i'm going to go pass the fuck out, i've written 12,000 words in the past 48 hours anyone that tells you that writing isn't hard work is a fucking idiot because im going to go die rn. i love writing though but my fingers are actually going to fall off right now so vote and comment for my fingers pls lmao i love you lots<3