Chapter Text
Frank hadn’t always run with this particular crowd. His family certainly wouldn’t condone such a thing. These boys didn’t even have a bad reputation on paper either. They were all wealthy enough and privileged enough to attend the esteemed private all-boys preparatory school, just outside the city limits on hundreds of sparkling (fenced) acres. Pency boys were somewhat of a legend, not only with the locals in the undeniably gritty suburb of Belleville, New Jersey, but on the national stage. A diploma from Pencey almost guaranteed the holder a spot in an Ivy League and then later, a wall street internship.
This perhaps, was where Frank and his current posse differed most noticeably. Frank was destined for a shining future, his shoes remaining forever dustless and pristine on his leisurely stroll through this life. The Ieros were old money. Generation after generation dating back to some original Italian settlers that Frank was all-too aware of thanks to his parents. He would probably go into government, or failing that, law. Either way the procession of cocktail parties and summer picnics and fund-raisers stretched endlessly before him like a red carpet he wasn’t sure he was ready to walk down.
Frank could be spending his weekends in private yachts, or at someone’s cabin in upstate New York with a group of like-minded peers who had futures as bright as his own.
Instead he was here. This crowd were Pencey boys, but of a different breed. They lived in McMansions, spent their trust-funds on whatever new drug craze was sweeping the nation and saw their trophy-wife mothers once or twice a year when they returned from vacations in the Caribbean.
They didn’t give a shit about their futures. Money was nothing to them, not because they didn’t have enough of it, but because they seemed to care less. Sometimes Frank was disgusted by this, and sometimes—like now, he envied their carefree attitude.
Bert passed him the joint. Unofficially, Bert was the leader here. For one, they were in Bert’s suburban monstrosity of a beige Kardashian-esque palace. And for two, Bert could get his hands on seemingly any substance under the sun. It was rumored that he had ties with a mob in New York City. It was also rumored that his estranged father was an international drug smuggler. Whatever the truth, Bert tended to act just as nefarious as the rumors made him out to be.
“Whose shitty basement band is this?” Frank had to raise his voice to be heard over the crashing of guitars and the total obliteration of a drum set from a pair of very expensive speakers behind the couch he was currently sitting on.
“Beats me.”
At least that was what Frank assumed Bert was saying since the other boy didn’t bother to speak any louder than normal, but accompanied his words with a non-committal shrug.
Frank took a long drag from the joint, it tasted better than the weed he had in a plastic bag in his dresser at home.
The room was practically bursting with people. Frank could recognize a few faces from his classes at Pencey, namely Bert’s normal crowd who seemed to orbit the guy perpetually were all in attendance.
Ray Toro, Bert’s closest friend and polar opposite—he was funny and genuinely nice, where Bert was only nice if he could get something out of it.
Bob Bryer, a quiet guy with a lip ring who seemed especially adept at following Bert around to do his bidding. Also a rowdy drunk and someone who could be convinced to do almost anything.
Finally there was Matt Plessier, a guy who had allegedly failed enough classes at Pencey to get himself expelled, although to any of these boys expulsion was temporary so long as their families were willing to put forth a hefty enough donation. Apparently Matt’s family had done just that, as Frank had just seen him in Latin on Friday.
The whole crew was somehow more deplorable than any of the chic townie girls who rotated through the room in black eyeliner and fishnets, or the street racers in leather jackets. Bert’s parties attracted two types—kids who wanted to party and party hard , and kids who fulfilled the requisite of partying for a chance to purchase some shit off of Bert and his friends.
“You seen Toro?” Bert had leaned over Frank’s shoulder. Frank could smell how long it had been since the guy had washed his hair.
“I think he’s downstairs.” Frank distinctly remembered seeing Ray earlier in the evening eagerly showing off some riffs to a couple goth chicks who were less-than interested. Frank made to hand the joint back to Bert but was waved off as Bert stood.
“You might as well finish that shit off, I need an upper or this party is dead to me.”
Then he was gone.
Frank hit the joint again and felt the weed fill his head with fog as he settled into the couch. Normally he’d be drunk off his ass by now and probably grinding on someone, or engaging in some form of fuckery with Bob. Tonight though, his energy was low and for some reason he felt an itchy irritation at the world at-large. He decided he needed to chill the fuck out before he said something rude.
A flash of red caught in the corner of his eye. It stood out from the swirling of black and gray. In the slow motion way of someone considerably stoned he processed that the red was a person and then… that the person was fucking drop-dead gorgeous.
His brain couldn’t seem to decide if the person was a boy or a girl, one moment he saw a sharp jaw and dark brows, and the next a softness to each feature, a pair of perfect pink lips and wide light eyes framed by long dark lashes.
Frank swallowed. His mouth felt dry, or maybe that was just the weed. He stood up. It felt like a compulsion more than any conscious action he had decided to make. Nothing was going to keep him from talking to this red haired beauty.
It only took a second more for their eyes to meet. Frank smiled and hoped he didn’t look too dopey. The (boy?) from closer up was even prettier, he was wearing a black hoodie, and sinfully torn jeans that hugged perfect thighs.
“Hey, I’m Frank. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?” Frank found himself looking up a bit, standing right in front of the boy.
“Yeah I uh, don’t usually come here if there’s a party.” The boy’s speech was undeniably Jersey. A Townie? Frank realized he should have assumed since there was no way bright red hair would meet Pencey’s dress-code.
“Have you seen Bert?” The boy seemed nervous, he was fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater and Frank began to get the sense that there was some urgency in his presence that he hadn’t picked up on earlier. Frank was already itching with curiosity. Townies showing up at Bert’s parties for drugs was par for the course, but someone looking for Bert personally? That was different.
“Yeah, we were just hanging out. He went downstairs. I can help you find him?” Frank tacked on hopefully. He hadn’t even learned the strange boy’s name, and he was hooked now, he wanted to know everything .
The boy’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.
“Are you sure? I um…I don’t wanna take you away from…” The boy gestured vaguely to the room at large, obviously uncomfortable and obviously adorable.
Frank snickered.
“No problem man, I need a drink anyway.”
The stairs to the basement were crowded with couples making out, or friends arguing. Frank wasn’t sure why the stairwell was such a great place to be having a moment with someone—perhaps a hard conversation seemed like less of a big deal if you were on the way to somewhere. Frank kept glancing back to make sure the red-haired boy was still following him and hadn’t been eaten by the crowd.
Bert McCracken’s basement was a thing of beauty. Frank had been taught to be disdainful of anything new, that was, anything that wasn’t inherited or antique or had previously belonged to some obscure royal family. The basement screamed newness in a way that even the mod, beige upstairs couldn’t, and Frank thought it was dope as fuck.
There was a full-sized bar, fully stocked with booze and beer, shiny chrome countertop winking in the dull neon light. The rest of the main room had been transformed into a full-on nightclub, strobe lights and lazers and EDM pumping through the speakers. There was even a stage setup with spotlights and shit for live performances, currently occupied by a DJ standing at a soundboard, acting for all the world like he was spinning records.
The next room over was a literal home theater, complete with rows of movie-theater chairs and a popcorn machine. One of the fast and furious movies was playing. This was where they found Bert, doing lines of coke off of one of the chair’s armrests. He wasn’t alone, because Bert was never alone. Bob was hovering nearby, already twitching with pent up energy. There was also a girl there he didn’t recognize who was accepting the rolled dollar from Bert’s shaking fingers.
Frank turned to look at the red-haired boy, wondering if he wanted to make his own presence known or if Frank should say something. It was unnecessary though because as soon as Bert saw who he was with he was on his feet.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Normally a sentence like that coming from Bert McCracken would have the other person already running for the nearest exit, but somehow it sounded different when directed at the red-haired boy behind him. Frank took stock of the way Bert’s narrowed eyes darted between the pair of them.
“Can I talk to you?” The pretty boy was looking at the floor while he spoke, and pulling at the already frayed bottom of his hoodie. If Frank had been surprised before, he was now full-on shocked.
Frank wasn’t sure what he expected Bert’s reaction to this question would be, maybe laughing in the kid’s face or telling him to do a line and loosen up, maybe a swift shove. What happened instead, Bert slung an arm over the boy’s shoulders and steered him off in the direction of the bathroom, leaning down to say something directly into the boy’s ear. Neither of them spared a single look back.
“Yo Bob, who is that?” Frank whipped around to see Bob taking a long swig from a beer bottle.
“Who’s what?” Bob blinked at him vapidly, his ginger hair appearing almost translucent in the flashing lights from the screen. Frank didn’t understand why no one else seemed to find that kid the most fascinating thing to ever occur at one of Bert’s parties.
“That kid!” Frank pointed to where Bert and the pretty boy were vanishing into the bathroom together.
“Oh… that’s Gee.” Bob sobered suddenly and Frank raised an eyebrow in an effort to get Bob to fucking spill whatever he knew.
“I don’t know, only Bert knows his deal probably. He comes around on weekdays sometimes.” Bob shrugged like that explained everything. Frank wanted to punch him.
“Okay so like, how does Bert know him?” Frank knew he was starting to sound desperate, but at the moment he couldn’t really care less. He wanted to know what the fuck was happening in the bathroom.
“Bro I got no clue. But hey, do yourself a big fucking favor and ignore him.”
“What?” Frank was ready to implode with every passing second.
“One time Ray made some comment about how hot he is, because well, I mean, you’ve seen him.” Bob smirked. “Next thing you know Bert’s fucking punching his lights out. Like dude is nuts over this kid.”
“So are they like dating or something?” Frank could feel his heart racing in his ears.
“Fuck no.”
Frank wanted to keep asking questions, but decided he’d made enough of an ass of himself so he went to get a beer from the bar and then came back to slump down in one of the theater seats to sip at it while he kept one eye on the bathroom door.
“Wanna do a line? Bert just got this new shit.” Bob sat down beside him and flashed a plastic baggie of white powder in Frank’s face.
“Nah man, I got some shit to do in the morning.” The idea of facing Sunday brunch with less than half of his brain’s dopamine sounded like hell on earth.
Bob shrugged.
“Suit yourself, hey aren’t you acting kind of weird tonight though?”
Frank took a long swig of beer to avoid answering. He’d been feeling irritated already and now, watching the closed bathroom door, he felt worse by the second. In a mood like this there was only one thing he wanted to do and it did not involve sitting around in Bert’s basement.
“Want to do shots?” He asked.