Chapter Text
Frank Iero wore his Mickey Mouse tee and boxers to class today. He figured his teacher’s complaints of his new take on uniform stem from a biased hatred towards classic Disney cartoons, and assumed the fact that he decided to wear a top at all for the past two mornings would earn him a merit of some kind. Instead, he got a smack on the head and a bunch of reprimanding with phrases like “first impression” and “taken seriously” fading in and out. It’s not that the young man is clueless when it comes to being presentable, and he surely isn’t anti-education, given his 3.8 GPA and great fascination with advanced chemistry. It’s just pretty hard to bother with real clothes when his teacher’s wearing a similar bed-time ensemble, is smoking a cigarette for breakfast, and holds class in his kitchen.
“Can I…?” Frank starts, already reaching for the cigarette lazily sitting between Mr. Moore’s lips. With a cursory glance towards the kitchen entrance, the significantly-older man lets his stepson-slash-student steal the cigarette. Frank grimaces at the string of saliva threatening to make an appearance and quickly replaces it, the man’s thin lips now forming a knowing smile. Mr. Moore—Or as Frank and his mother call him, Eddie—has always had an issue with wet cigarette filters, and tends to spit on people when he gets too excited during an argument of any kind.
“All for the best. Linda would kill me if she knew.”
“What, that I smoke? We smoke in the kitchen all the time-,”
“No, that you contributed to the kidnapping of her new pack of smokes.”
Eddie flashes one of his signature smiles from across the table. His long teeth are overwhelmingly-crooked, having seen too many dark liquors and hard drugs for the past thirty-something years. They are the only thing that throws off his otherwise handsome face, framed by long wavy blonde hair that will probably take hours to untangle.
“Well, since my smoking plans are ruined, mind if I make a cup of coffee before we dive in?” Frank croaks, shuffling towards the fresh brew and pouring before he could get a reply. His entire right side is aching from sleeping in the most fucked up positions in his new bed (Apparently Unconscious Frank has taken interest in contortionism), while his left arm stings and itches with a new tattoo.
“I was thinking, since advanced calculus is Hell in a Textbook, do you think we could skip out on that course for my last semester? How about we make a little time for an extracurricular, like music or something? That way we could have more free time, you know?”
Frank waits for a response, which could either be a nonchalant “sure” or a mocking but sung “dream on”, but gets silence as he spots an unopened box of blueberry PopTarts and rips it open.
“Um…Eddie, did you hear me?”
The instant Frank turns around, he finds his mother sitting in Eddie’s lap, cupping his face, taking an impressive amount of her husband’s tongue down her throat. Frank feels he should be used to it by now. He should be proud that his mother found another man so perfect for her and still sort of maintains that newlywed mindset after six years. So, Frank takes the most mature approach and audibly gags, bending over and holding his free hand to his stomach for dramatic effect.
“Oh, shut your mouth,” she grins, rising to her feet to tighten the belt to her robe. He takes in the sight of her swollen lips and equally-tangled hair and groans. Clearly that scooting sound he heard last night was not the sound of his parents unpacking.
“What’s wrong, bambino?” she coos, pecking him on the cheek before pulling a mug out for herself.
Um, I dunno, maybe the fact that you’re rubbing your post-coital bliss in my face first thing in the morning, he thinks. He settles for “just hungry”, which isn’t exactly a lie.
“I don’t see how, I made you some pancakes and facon an hour ago,” she shrugs. Immediately, Eddie’s shoulders start to shake as he flips his master textbook open and covers his mouth. Even with his back turned to Frank, there’s no mistaking his silent laughter. Frank play-slaps Eddie on the arm and takes a chair across from him.
“Thanks for eating my breakfast, it’s not like I wanted a meal to start off my day or anything.”
“Eddie!” Linda exclaims, both annoyed and amused. It’s definitely one of those moments that makes Frank feel like he lives in a strange sitcom. He nearly expects a laugh track to set off, the audience looking forward to their favorite mischievous character’s antics. Or maybe Eddie made him watch way too many episodes of Seinfeld last night.
“I guess this is the homeschooler’s version of getting lunch money stolen?”
“You gotta be fast in this house, kid, or your things are gone in the blink of an eye,” he laughs, pointing a long finger at him.
“What are we, in jail?” Frank asks around a mouthful of PopTart as his mom joins them at the table.
“I’m just sayin’, if it’s there, it’s yours for the taking,” he shrugs. Linda is the second one to play-slap him, warning him about missing car keys.
“Is that your way of justifying why you’re wearing my shirt?” Frank muses. Because Eddie’s all bones, long limbs, and scraggly hair, the Danzig shirt fits him with no stretch. He could easily wear Frank’s clothes from middle school if he wanted to, if he didn’t mind showing off half of his flat stomach.
“Exactly. Now, are we settled in, Class?” Eddie bellows, letting his cigarette extinguish itself in his cup of coffee. Frank perks up at the mention of his so-called nickname.
“Paratus est, Mr. Moore,” Frank replies.
“Paratus sum,” Eddie corrects. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”