The living space was dark, just like the rest of the house. The only light was from the repurposed Christmas lights that lined the walls of every room. They were either dying or dimmed, Frankie didn't know which but it meant that he could barely make out any faces. Red solo cups were on the tables, counters, chairs, and more often than not their contents were spilled out right next to them.

Looking at the tens of people either play-fighting, collapsed, or dancing to music that was way too loud, he started to realise why he'd never been to a party. Putting aside the fact that no one had ever invited him to one.

It wasn't very interesting, more annoying than anything else. He couldn't understand people who went to house party after house party, one was already too much for him.

Maybe it was because he was only tipsy, maybe being blackout drunk would make the party good enough for him to want to go to five others in the same night. The idea was tempting, but Frankie wasn't willing to get drunk in a place where he knew no one at all.

He's been abandoned, kind of.

When Frankie went to Finley's house and he was actually there, he was surprised- he was sure there'd be no one there and that he'd end up walking back home, he even planned out the rest of the night to do some homework. Then when they actually took him to the house party, he was even more surprised. Becca would pounce him with odd questions- asking him once again if he wanted a girlfriend, while the rest of the girls didn't talk to them at all, but they didn't throw jabs at him unlike Finley had the entirety of the drive. They're being oddly nice, Frankie had thought.

Frankie didn't want to hover around them when they got to the house, he felt like it was awkward- in hindsight, he probably should've. A bit into the party and he realised that he hadn't seen any of the girls in a while, then he went looking for them all around the huge house. The only place he hadn't been was outside, next to the pool. Frankie had no business being near water when he couldn't swim, he looked out from a window though, and didn't see any of them either.

It took Frankie an embarrassingly long time to realise that they were gone.

Finley sent him a winking smiley face after he texted him to find out where they were. The realisation that he'd been abandoned didn't make him feel much, Finley had already exceeded his expectations by taking him to the party.

The only problem was how he'd even get home.

The house was technically in the hilly part of town, where the richer people liked to congregate, though it was just at the base of the hill- there were only about 10 houses on the mountain and Frankie hypothesised that the higher up the mountain the higher the status.

His very average house was obviously nowhere near this place, but he didn't know it would be about an hour and a half walk.

It'd be a pain but he figured he could take the walk, if not for the rats..

The rats here came out at night, and they came in groups. Frankie didn't believe that rats or mice were 'More afraid of him than he was afraid of them,' there was no one more afraid of rats than him, just the thought of them made him sick.

He decided to walk home when it started getting bright, whenever that would be.

As the night went on he noticed that there were far less eyes on him.

When he got here at 9pm, nobody was all that drunk, just barely tipsy and probably wondering what he was doing there. Not that they knew Frankie, it was that they didn't. It always tended to be the same 100 people going to certain house parties, and there were multiple going on in the same Saturday night so they'd expect to see the same familiar faces. Except for some groups of people that went around to all the Saturday parties in one night- party hoppers.

He suspected that was probably how Finley and the other just ended up leaving him behind. Finley was friendly with too many people- a number Frankie couldn't really understand- it made sense for him to hop around parties.

Frankie watched a bunch of people surround a table, 3 on one side and 4 on the other. He assumed they were playing beer pong, the only drinking game that fit the description of what they were doing and the only drinking game Frankie knew the name of. As he drew closer to game, which was taking place on the marble kitchen island, he was knocked backwards.

Something remnant of an apology slipped from the culprits lips, while Frankie fell near the entrance to the backyard shoving into someone else behind him.

"The hell is your problem?" said the person behind him.

Frankie knew that voice well, even if every word he left his mouth was slurred

He froze, and even the apology that was about to leave his mouth stayed on the tip of his tongue. He didn't turn around, and instead walked straight out of the room. Even if he mistook a stranger's voice for Jenner's by some strange miracle, he wouldn't stick around to find out.

Jenner was faster, grabbing him by the shoulder roughly.

His eyes flashed with recognition as he looked at Frankie's face.

"Oh? Stahl's baby brother?" He started.

Frankie cringed.

Jenner's words made him go stiff like a deer in the headlights, paralyzed by fear.

He cocked his head to look at Frankie before leaning back and laughing. By the crooked smile on his face, Frankie knew something bad was coming- even without that smile Jenner Jenson always spelt trouble.

"You think you can fuck with me cause your brother's team captain?" Jenner asked. His nostrils were flared, and his face was red either in anger or the alcohol rushing to his face.

Team captain? That was news to Frankie.

"No," Frankie said. He doubted Jenner could hear his words over the loud music, but nothing compelled him to speak any louder, even the looming threat of getting beaten up.

Jenner pushed his face further into Frankie's and repeated his words even louder.

Frankie turned away from him, and in turn Jenner punched him in the shoulder.

"Fuck," Frankie groaned. He was sent backwards into the island, knocking down some solo cups as he did. He held his shoulder while inching farther and farther away.

The people around them didn't seem to care much, countless playfights had already broken out in the living room and to them, this was just another one.

"Say you're sorry," Jenner said while approaching him slowly

Frankie mumbled an apology. His voice wasn't cooperating with him despite how much he wanted it to.

When Jenner didn't get what he wanted he grabbed Frankie by his jacket, and dragged him to the floor. He balled Frankie's shirt in his hand, and pushed him against the wall.

"Say your fucking sorry," Jenner shouted.

"I said I'm sorry," Frankie said, huffing. It came out with an attitude he meant to put away, nothing Jenner would like so he braced for another hit.

But nothing came.

When Frankie opened his eyes, he was met with a very gloating Jenner Jenson. The corners of his mouth raised in a self-satisfied smile as he let Frankie's shirt go and moved backwards.

He stood over him for a moment, as something slipped from his lips, "Little bitch,"

It looked like he'd heard what he wanted to, and disregarded the rest- even the very clear annoyance on Frankie's face.

The bedroom was unlocked and empty.

He locked the door behind him when he got in, then slid down it.

Frankie held his knees to his chest, and fiddled at the warped material at the neck of his shirt.

He felt like he was supposed to cry. Sobs were meant to spill from his lips, and every grievance was supposed to be washed into the stream of tears, wiped away by his trembling hands. When Sophomore year came around he suddenly realised that he was unable to cry. Frankie didn't know if he had used up a lifetime of tears or if everything he experienced paled in comparison to that year- that nothing could ever hurt him as Freshman year had.

Frankie couldn't cry, so he just had to think things over and over again with dull annoyance stifling his chest.

He dragged his eyes across the bedroom. It looked stale, and impersonal- it was probably a guest room, and that made him feel a lot better about camping out in it.

The bedding was white, and the pillows were beige. The curtains were a light cream, a similar colour to the rug and the...closet.

Why was the closet moving?

He shifted backwards instinctively, forgetting about the door behind him.

It's not a rat is it? Frankie thought hopefully.

He glanced in concern as the movement became rougher by the second.

Frankie was scrambling to his feet when it looked like that thing was actually about to come out.

The door slid open, and he was met with a familiar face.

The boy was lying on the floor of the closet, a square pillow under him. His hair was tossed around, and he leaned his head on his arm.

If Ezra Grant was a rat, he had to be the biggest one Frankie had ever seen.

"What are you doing here?" Ezra asked. Half-open eyes staring at Frankie, he looked like he was about to doze off.

"Sitting...down," Frankie said, "...What are you doing?"

"You like sitting on the floor?" He asked. Ezra stretched, groaned, and yawned as he got up.

"You're sleeping in a...closet," Frankie said. He had no right judging him, when each was just as strange as the other. Ezra was arguably stranger.

"I was," He said, " The carpet is comfortable, that floor isn't,"

Ezra laid back down on the bed instead, then fell backwards to lay on it.

"Isn't the bed more comfortable?" Frankie asked.

Ezra answered after a pause, "The closet was quiet,"

"Right..." Frankie said. He fiddled with the neck of his shirt.

The room fell into silence after Frankie spoke. Ezra didn't seem to have any intention of continuing their 'conversation', and appeared to be sleeping with how still he was on the bed. He was in a grey hoodie, trousers, and socks- he looked quite comfortable

"Why are you here?" Ezra asked abruptly.

Frankie had stopped looking at him for a moment, picking at his nails to pass time, Ezra's questions caught him off guard for that reason, and because he had little idea how to answer that question.

"To...be at a party?" Frankie answered. Why else did people attend parties if not for the sake of going to one? He considered saying 'For Fun' but he wasn't a very good liar.

"You're not the type to get invited,"

"That's...true,"

It stung a little.

"Sit on the bed," Ezra suggested, "Can't be comfortable,"

He moved before he could really think about it, sitting at the bedside while Ezra lay down. Frankie stole glances, the boy's eyes were closed anyways- he doubted he'd be caught staring. Black curls fell like pools of ink on the pale bedding, his skin was light bronze and his face was dotted with moles. Frankie knew his eyes would be forest green if he opened them, and he noticed a black stud in the boy's right ear.

"Your brother doesn't know you're here," Ezra said.

It took Frankie by surprise, and he tore his eyes away instantly.

Why was Ezra mentioning Foster? They may have been the best of friends, and the only thing that he and Ezra shared- except for the looming English project- but they didn't have to talk about him. Why would this be any of Foster's business anyway?

"Why would he?" Frankie answered sharply.

Heat rose to his cheeks after he finished his sentence. That was rude of him, and he didn't quite know how to rectify that.

"He would've come if he knew you were," Ezra turned his head to the side, and his eye's met Frankie's.

He laughed the moment the words left Ezra, with a hand hovering over his mouth. It was so absurd Frankie couldn't take it as anything other than a joke.

"Why is that funny?" Ezra said, he knitted his brows as he did.

Frankie paused.

"Well...it's not true?" He said in confusion, his voice growing high with uncertainty.

"It is," Ezra stated.

Foster pretended to be fond of him when he really wasn't. Frankie didn't know that he liked pretending infront of his best friend though, he thought that his pretence was limited to the people farthest from him. Why else would he never admit to Frankie being his brother in front of his friends?

All of a sudden, Frankie felt a hand around his upper arm. He turned around, and then his face was only an inch away from Ezra's.

"You smell like alcohol," Ezra said, as his eyes lingered lower than Frankie's eyes- to his lips.

"I did drink a bit-"

"Do you mind if I kiss you?"

Ezra asked.