Frankie was more than ready to go home, and Foster was nowhere to be seen.

He looked at the field and tried his best to pick out his brother, searching for blonde hair and a height taller than most of the players, but it didn't work. Too many people were there, they were too far away, and he wasn't wearing glasses either.

Frankie was supposed to wear them full-time but they were too big for his face and made him look stupid so he only wore them when he needed to see. This morning he'd thrown them in his bag somewhere, and now he couldn't find them at all.

He'd been waiting in the library since Foster had practice, and when it turned 5 pm he went to the parking lot but Foster was nowhere to be seen. He was at the football field now and Foster was still nowhere to be seen.

Frankie checked his phone and he hadn't answered his texts either. He figured that his brother was in the changing room or forgot to take his phone off silent. Coach Maloney made his players put their phones in their bags, put them on silent, and turn them off. It seemed overkill, but he had explained in Frankie's earshot that 'distractions will ruin his boys'. Frankie didn't think it was all that serious.

Minutes passed and he still struggled to see the Foster. The players had lined up on the field but it only looked like about 15 players, not the 50 that were normally at practice. Frankie decided that he would adjust walk around the field and try to see if Foster was amongst those 15 boys or not. They weren't allowed to take shortcuts anywhere in the school, by Principal Grace's words, but Coach Maloney let people go through the field and get to the other side of the school. It was way faster than it would've normally taken.

He supposedly told Principal Grace that it was his field he could do whatever he liked with it.

When a group of people started walking around the field, he went right after them. Not closely, because that would be weird, but close enough that he just looked like someone who was a bit too engrossed in their phone.

The football field was large and was a bit over half the size of the entire school. Stadium lights surrounded the pitch, on each corner and in the middle of the longest sides. He felt a headache come by just looking at them and the lights weren't even on- the memories of the first game he watched there were bright enough.

The football players were lined up in the middle of the field. Frankie wondered why they were still there, didn't practice last for two hours? Foster told him it ended at 5, but it was half past and some of them were still standing in lines.

Frankie watched them closely, though their backs faced him. Coach Maloney stood facing them, he could see the streaks of white in the coach's thinning hair.

"You're getting benched," He said as he walked up to a line of two people. Frankie recognised one as Jenner and didn't know who the other was.

"Coach, come on," Jenner started, his shoulders slumping. "It was just one detention."

His voice dripped with desperation.

"Coach, this isn't fair," He said, pleading as he pointed to all the other people around him, "They're here for 'bad behaviour' as well- some of them have done more than me, and they don't even have to stand here,"

Coach Maloney took his hands from behind his back and folded them, "Who do you mean by that? Grant?"

Frankie couldn't see his face, but he watched as he squirmed around on one spot. The group in front of him were walking slowly, also looking at the football players on the field with interest. They watched Coach Maloney approach Jenson.

"Speak up,"

"I...I wasn't talking about Grant," said Jenson, stammering as he did.

Coach Maloney scoffed, "Who else is in more trouble than you are, and 'don't even have to stand here'? You say something, you own up to it."

Jenson turned his head away.

"Scared of Grant? Keep it shut then," said Maloney before looking Jenson up and down with a scowl on his face.

"I'm-I'm not-"

"Little bitch," He spat. "Stuttering and Stammering like a damn fool, speak up."

No matter how much Foster convinced him, he'd never think it was okay for Coach Maloney to speak to his players like that. When he and Foster were still friendly, Frankie had watched practice after practice and rarely liked what he saw.

Why should that man treat you like shit under his shoe just because of a game? Frankie had asked Foster.

Foster laughed when he heard it, and rustled the hair on Frankie's head. He explained carefully; Malonely was their coach and he knew what made them stronger.

Then told Frankie about the first time he had Football practice, that he'd sobbed when Malonely hurled all matter of things at his face but it hadn't taken long to make him stronger and that after only a couple of weeks he could take anything from the man without even blinking an eye. He was gloating when he told Frankie, his eyes were practically stars.

Foster told Frankie that this was how all relationships were, those between Coaches and players, that there was nothing wrong with it.

Maloney laughed, shaking his head, "You're right, I do treat Grant different- Stahl, Smith, and Mooney too. It's because they're good players, you aren't."

By now Frankie is practically at the other end of the field, not far from leaving entirely.

So far he hadn't seen Foster or Ezra. Wherever Foster was Ezra was never too far away, after all.

The last thing Frankie saw was the coach grabbing Jenner's shoulder.

"Get the fuck off my field, and lose the ball. Can't throw for shit anyways."

The last thing Frankie heard was players laughing Jenson off the field.

When Frankie checked his phone there was nothing. Not a call, not a text, nothing from Foster.

For a moment he wondered whether he should walk home, but just knowing that he'd already waited in the library for ages made him angry.

What was Foster playing at?

He walked around to the old changing rooms and kicked the empty can infront of the bench before sitting down.

A sigh escaped him. He pushed his head backwards while leaning against the wall.

The changing rooms were the ones the football players used to use until the school made a whole new building just for them. The building was small compared to the rest of the school but it was only for about 50 people so had a lot of space. It was also far more modern and stuck out like a sore thumb.

Frankie glanced at it through the clear swing door, the west entrance of the school.

Maybe Foster was in there.

Maybe he went home, completely forgetting that he was supposed to take Frankie. He couldn't have though, Frankie reminded him twice before he went to the library. But did Foster even have a good memory?

Frankie knew he liked football, liked cooking, and liked going out with his friends. But what else?

"Why were you laughing at me?"

Frankie's brows furrowed and his head shot to the source of the words.

Jenner Jenson was standing there.

At the swinging glass door, the west entrance of the school. There'd only been a light drizzle outside but he looked drenched. His chest heaved up and down, and his fists were clenched. The look in his eyes could only be described as crazy, and what he said unnerved Frankie.

He hadn't laughed— hadn't even spoken.

Instinctively, Frankie got on his feet. He inched back slowly, struggling between running for it or just taking the beating that was to come.

Jenner rushed him, slamming him onto the ground. A fist nicked the side of his neck- mostly falling on the floor, then another smashed into his collarbone, and then a final got Frankie square in the jaw.

Jenner didn't seem to know where he was hitting, not like the deliberate thrashings he'd given before. Frankie could normally predict where he would get hit, as sad as it sounded. It'd always be an arm, the stomach, maybe a leg-

Never the face.

Frankie cursed. He was already having a horrible day and here Jenner was, making his day worse.

Another fist came, straight for his face. Frankie blocked that one and pain shot through his lower arms, he knew there'd be another but at least it wouldn't give him a black eye or a broken nose.

But nothing happened.

Jenner's right hand stayed on top of Frankie's forearms. Neither pushing down nor moving back.

It was silent in the hallway except for the sound of Jenner's frantic breaths. The both of them were still, frozen in time, until Frankie moved. Slowly, he shifted the arms blocking his face, moving Jenner's fist with them.

Where his hands were, Jenner's face now was.

The boy's lip quivered, jaw clenched tightly, and tears pooled in his widened eyes. There was disbelief in the way he looked between Frankie and his own hands. It was like he couldn't comprehend what was going on.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, getting off Frankie.

Standing over him, Jenner wiped the tears from his eyes and a choked sob escaped him. He disappeared into the old changing room, quickly.

Frankie dragged himself onto the wooden bench and laid on it. He put a hand on his stomach and the other on his head.

Something wasn't right, Frankie felt. Something had gone terribly wrong with him.

He didn't care why Jenner had hit him- he didn't care at all.

Frankie wasn't anxious, nor uneasy, not even sad. He was empty when he should've felt something. In his head Jenner had beat him up... and that was it.

It was normal.

***

"What happened to you?"

The first thing Frankie saw was Ezra Grant's face.

The way he spoke was too different to his normal cut-and-dry speech, it was the most emotion he'd ever seen or heard out of the boy. So for a moment, Frankie thought it was a dream.

"...Ezra?"

Throbbing pain always made it hard for him to sleep, but he'd somehow dozed off on the wooden bench. He glanced out of the glass swing door and saw a dark sky, the stars were scarce. It made him remember that he'd dreamt a bit and it was something to do with Foster so it was probably a nightmare on second thought.

Frankie lifted himself up. He yawned and rubbed at the corners of his eyes.

His body was heavy with fatigue. He looked like someone who'd just woken up, but he didn't feel any bit of rested.

"It's me," He replied. He sat himself next to Frankie, and their shoulders brushed as he did.

"What are you... doing here?" Frankie asked.

It's rude to not look at a person talking to you, Frankie rationalised as he stared at Ezra.

Black curls framed his face, and his coral lips jumped out to Frankie. He was wearing something casual; grey sweats, and a black top.

"Walking around."

"...That's nice," Frankie said, and then there was silence, "...Elaborate?"

"If you answer my question first," Ezra said.

Frankie furrowed his brows until he remembered. What happened to you? That's what he'd asked.

"Sitting down," Frankie replied. He wanted to play the boy at his own strange game, and, he wasn't exactly lying.

A smile pulled at Ezra's lips, "Elaborate?" He asked.

"No," Frankie said, tearing his eyes away, and biting back a small laugh.

"You're much bolder today," Ezra said. He leaned in as he did.

"Am I...?"

"Yes. You didn't want to talk to me on Saturday."

"It's not like I didn't wanna talk to you..."

Maybe it was the tiredness, but he felt more comfortable around Ezra. A smile spread across his lips, but then there was stinging.

Frankie hissed and held his mouth.

Ezra pried the hands around Frankie's face and replaced them with his own. The larger hand cupped his cheek and a bit of his jaw. The skin there was tender, but Ezra was even more so. He was gentle with Frankie's face, and drew closer to him. He pressed a thumb on his lip, pushing it to see the broken skin clearly.

"I didn't know you were a nurse," Frankie said. He feared his nervousness leaking from him, goosebumps were already on his skin- stronger than anything he'd ever had before. He feared, that by some miracle of nature, they might just sprout on his face or neck.

It was a stupid thought but he'd never been this nervous in front of someone before.

"I'm not," Ezra said while knitting his brows, he knit them further as he came to a realisation, "...You were being sarcastic,"

"Yeah...Not good with sarcasm?" Frankie asked.

"No," He said as he picked something from his pocket. "I've got something for your lip."

"Antiseptic?"

He looked at the small tube in Ezra's hands.

Ezra nodded.

"I'll be fine without it," Frankie said, waving him off.

Ezra looked at him before quietly suggesting, "I can put it on for you."

Frankie wanted to refuse, but it felt like he was kicking a puppy. A huge puppy, bigger than him- but a puppy nonetheless.

"Okay then..."

When Ezra was finished the lip, surprisingly, felt a lot better. Frankie checked the time on his phone as Ezra wiped his hands, it was nearing 8.

He slept for way too long, there was no way he could have his eight to ten nap now.

Ezra stood up from the bench all of a sudden, "Do you need help standing?" He put his arms out as he asked.

"It's just a busted lip."

"Why were you lying on the bench then?" He asked while blinking.

"Because, I was tired," Frankie explained, yawning as he did. 

"That's not very comfortable."

"I'd know, I slept on it," Frankie said while rubbing at his lower back, "Are you gonna answer my question? Why are you here this late?"

"Was looking for you."

"...Why?"

"Foster got me to."

Right, they were supposed to go home together. School should've been closed by now, Frankie had no idea how he got into the school in the first place.

Frankie groaned, looked at Ezra's outstretched arms, and took them.

"I think I do need help walking, my back is killing me,"

Ezra pulled him up roughly.

"Slowly," Frankie snapped.

"My bad."