Chapter Text
"You're fucking hopeless," Mikey sighed as he followed his brother through the doors of the school's indoor pool.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gerard said. He fixed his eyes ahead of him and breathed in a deep whiff of the familiar chlorinated air that made his head spin.
Mikey shook his head, plonking his backpack onto the third- and highest- metal riser that rested against the wall before sitting beside it.
"Yeah, like you don't force me to come to these practices just to watch hot guys in Speedos for an hour four times a week."
"I do not," Gerard shot back. Technically, he wasn't lying. He only came here to watch one hot guy in a Speedo for an hour four times a week.
"Sure."
"I don't!" he repeated. "I just think it's a nice place to study after school!"
"I didn't know staring at someone's ass was now called studying," Mikey unzipped his backpack and pulled out his math binder. He opened it and rested it on his knees, focusing studiously like the fucking nerd he was.
The swimmers were all gathered near the shallow end of the pool, joking around and occasionally shoving one another further into the water. Gerard could even put a name to a few of their faces, though it was only to the ones who actually had a name in his school. It wasn't a matter of popularity.
In fact, you probably didn't want your name to be known at Belleville High, because it was usually for an embarrassing reason.
Take Josh Dun, for example. If his bright yellow hair wasn't enough, he had projectile vomited all over the lunch lady on the previous Halloween. Or Brendon Urie, who had chased Ryan Ross through the hallways in only a towel last year. Or Ryan Ross, who became known for stealing Brendon's bathing suit on the same day. Unsurprisingly, those two events weren't unconnected.
Gerard wondered if Frank Iero was known for something. He didn't tend to pay attention to kids who weren't in his grade (or kids in his grade, for that matter). He probably wouldn't even know Frank existed if he hadn't started using swim practices as distraction-free places to do his homework that eventually evolved into a place for him to admire guys.
The boys in the water starting doings laps as a warm up. One at a time, to the end of the pool and back. It was almost therapeutic, watching them swing their arms and kick their legs. It was repetitive and predictable, with no unexpected twists (unless, of course, someone started to drown or something). And Gerard, being a creature of habit, greatly respected that about the sport.
"Yeah, wow, I can tell that you're here to do work," Mikey's voice came out muffled through the pencil he was chewing. Gerard jumped, pulling his head away from where it had been comfortably resting in his palm and sat up straight.
"Shut up," he replied.
"Make me."
Gerard rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not interested in you in that way?"
Mikey let out a short laugh before averting his attention back to his work. After a moment of contemplation, Gerard decided to do the same, and he was very proud to say that he only got distracted by Frank half of the time.
-
A whistle screeched, echoing unpleasantly throughout the room.
"Practice is over! Go get changed, you animals!" the swim coach shouted.
"Alright, coach," a tall boy said as he lifted his gangly legs from the water. "Thanks for the practice!" he gave an energetic high five and went to collect his towel from the nearby rack.
Gerard's handwriting became rushed and sloppier as he hurried to finish the final question on one of his papers.
"Gerard, hurry up," Mikey dragged, already prepared to leave.
"Wait a sec! I just have, like, eight more sentences," Gerard's eyes followed his pencil across the lined paper.
"Since when do you ever finish anything?" his brother argued.
"Since when have you ever finished someone?" he shot back.
Mikey chose to ignore that last sentence. He crossed his arms and waited ever so patiently for about five more seconds before huffing and mumbling something about waiting in the car.
Just as Gerard was finishing up his last sentence, the boy's locker room door swung open, revealing a confused looking Frank with water stained on the collar and back of his shirt. He scratched his head and scanned the floor with sharp eyes like a hunter searching for game.
He hadn't noticed Gerard yet, which left him time to think about what to do. It wasn't like he had a crush on Frank or anything. It was an infatuation, at most. He didn't even know the guy apart from his looks! Gerard doubted that he could be that much of an asshole, though. He had nice eyebrows, and people with nice eyebrows were usually decent.
Gerard listed off his options. One: attempt to talk to him, and possibly ruin all chances of even a friendship, two: offer to help him look for whatever he was searching for, or three: ignore Frank and hope he would go away without noticing Gerard.
He didn't even get a chance to decide before he was torn from his mental conflict.
"Hey, are you waiting for someone?" Frank asked.
He reacted almost embarrassingly quickly, shaking his head no like a wet dog. "No- uh, no. I'm not."
Frank's gaze fell on the floor near the doorway. His face lit up with delight as he rushed toward the soggy object.
"Money," he explained, seeing Gerard's questioning glance. "Must've fallen out of my jeans on my way here."
"Oh," Gerard replied smartly.
"Anyways," Frank pocketed the cash, shoving it deep into his pocket. Oh god, Gerard wasn't prepared. He didn't expect the conversation to go on longer than that. "If you aren't watching these practices for someone, then why are you always here?"
Gerard felt the blood leave his face. How do you explain to someone that you watch their swim practices to admire their ass? That's right. You can't.
"I just- I really enjoy swimming?" he hadn't meant for it to come out like a question.
However, if Frank had noticed, he didn't let on. "Really? Then why don't you try swim?"
Gerard must have looked like a fish out of water- wide eyes and a gaping mouth. "No. Never." He formed an 'X' with his arms and swung downward, just in case he hadn't been clear enough with his obvious terror about the suggestion. "Not in a million years."
"Why not?" the younger boy asked, tilting his head like a puppy.
Gerard looked down at his knees. This conversation was embarrassing enough as it was with his constant stuttering. He really didn't need to be sharing one of his most shameful secrets.
"Ican'tswim," he muttered quietly.
"What?"
Gerard looked up at the ceiling, not meeting Frank's eyes, "I can't swim!"
He clenched his teeth, blinking away the burning in his eyes, and braced himself for the laughter. It always happened. Sometimes discreetly, sometimes not so much, and almost always followed by a "You can't swim? But you're almost eighteen!"
But it never came.
"Do you want me to teach you?" Frank asked before he could stop himself.
Gerard lowered his sight to look at him again. It took him a moment to process what he had just said. "What?"
"Do you want me to teach you?" Frank repeated patiently.
"Really?" this had to be some sort of joke.
The toe of Frank's sneaker scuffed against the floor, "I mean... yeah. If you want me to."
Gerard's hair bounced along with his head as he nodded, almost too eagerly. "I- yeah. That would be cool, I guess."
"Cool," repeated Frank. He jutted his thumb behind him, pointing to the locker room door. "I should, uh, get going back to my friend. He's probably waiting for me. Can we discuss this tomorrow?"
The older boy nodded again, "Yeah, that's alright. Bye, Frank. I mean- fuck. You never even told me your name." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his temple, realizing his massive fuck up. Now Frank probably thought he was a creep.
"I swear I'm not a stalker. I just heard the coach saying your name."
Frank cracked a smile, showing off his Invisalign, "It's fine. He yells at me a lot." He pretended to wince, "I'm not the best listener."
Gerard shared his grin, "Neither am I, to be honest. I promised my brother I'd be out once I finished my homework, but instead I'm setting up swim lessons." He put his textbook into his checkered backpack, suddenly remembering that Mikey existed, and was probably rather agitated.
"I've gotta go meet him now, though. He's gonna be pissed as hell."
He waved to Frank on his way out the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder and eventually exiting the school.
-
"What took you so long?" Pete asked as he ran his hand through his still damp hair.
Frank sighed, "I'm giving some kid who's in the grade above me some swimming lessons, I guess?"
Pete cocked an eyebrow, "Really? Who?"
Frank scrunched his face in an effort to remember, "Good question." He opened his locker and grabbed his bag, shoving his green striped towel and bathing suit in it.
"You don't even know his name?"
Frank shook his head and slammed the locker door. "Must've forgot to tell me."
"What did he look like?"
"Uh... he was taller than me."
"What a surprise," Pete joked as the two made their way through their deserted school hallways.
"Shut up," Frank whined. "Anyways, he had red hair-"
"Wait," interrupted Pete, stopping in his tracks. "Like, real red or dyed red?"
"Dyed. Do you know him?"
Pete jumped in the air, clapping his hands together. "Yes! That's Mikey Way's brother!" he exclaimed, eyes shining with the excitement of a little kid on Christmas morning.
Of course Pete knew who it was if it was related to Mikey Way. There wasn't a single thing about the boy that he didn't know. To be honest, his obsession was a bit creepy.
"Oh, so now you're obsessing over his brother as well as well?"
Pete mimed vomiting, like Josh Dun on that poor lunch lady (Frank still hadn't forgotten the smell), "Cute, but definitely not my type."
Frank opened the door, walking out into the sunshine and appreciating how the warm breeze felt on his still-drying skin.
"His name is Gerard, and that's basically all I know about him so far."
Frank made air quotations with his fingers, "so far."
"He's not as important, anyways," Pete sat down on the steps outside of the school and unlocked his phone and opened his camera app.
"What are you doing?" Frank asked as he watched Pete dig into the pocket of his bag.
"Applying eyeliner, shorty," he answered as he extracted an eyeliner pen.
Frank huffed, "I'm only two inches shorter than you. Besides, you're, like, 5'6. That's still pretty fucking short."
He watched as his friend looked into the front camera of his cellphone, applying the eyeliner heavily under his eye.
Pete Wentz was the the walking definition of 'you'll regret this in a few years.' He had it all: the choppy black haircut, the beanies, the ripped clothing, the spiked jewelry, and on top of it all, the copious amounts of black eyeliner. He probably wouldn't talk to you if you weren't on his top eight on MySpace.
Sure, maybe Frank was being a bit hypocritical when it came to his friend's fashion choices, he thought as he toyed with the metal of the recently self-pierced lip ring in his mouth. He was just glad that he didn't look like he had time travelled from 2006.
"Done!" Pete announced, capping his pen. He pushed himself up to his feet, looking at Frank with freshly smudged eyes. "Okay, we can go now."
The two began walking again, following the path to Frank's house. The two went there so often, it was basically Pete's second home.
"Hey mom," Frank greeted his mother as he walked through the door.
"Hello, Mrs. Iero," Pete said politely. He had a habit of becoming a total kiss up whenever in the presence of an adult, which annoyed the hell out of Frank, because it meant that they always adored him.
Frank's mother, Linda, looked up from the book she was reading on the dining room chair, "Hi, boys! How was swim practice?"
"Grueling," Frank replied as he kicked off his shoes. "Seriously, why do they always have to be so hard on us when we first get back?" He complained.
"I don't know," she said, clicking her tongue between her teeth. "Do you two have a lot of homework?"
Pete was already standing at the foot of the stairs, "Yeah. We should probably start working on that."
Frank followed after him up the stairs, leaving the voice of his mother promising to bring them sandwiches behind.