Frankie was on his way to Ezra’s house.

They were supposed to go to Ezra’s on Monday, but when Frankie got to that Morning English class, he could tell Ezra hadn’t slept at all. His eyelids were heavy, his speech was delirious, and Frankie had to wake him up more than once ( at Mr Moore’s angry request ). Frankie told him that they could do the project the day after school instead.

“So…how’s school?” Foster asked. Their eyes met through the rearview mirror. Frankie looked away.

“We go to the same school.”

“Mm…we do,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “But we do different things, you don’t do Football y’know?”

“Not that different,” Frankie said while humming.

“Not that different? Yeah, so, uh how are the friends?”

“Good,” Frankie said, raising a brow. What is his problem? Frankie thought.

Foster nodded as he took a right turn.

Watching him drive was practically teaching Frankie how to drive again with all the errors he was watching him make. No mirror, no indicators, not even a hand signal.

It was like he wanted to die in a car accident with him.

“Well…” Foster started, turning around to face Frankie.

“Can you keep your eyes on the road…?”

The odd Cedric-like conversation he made while driving was already distracting enough but now he wanted to turn around completely. The way things were going, Frankie wouldn’t be surprised if he took his hands off the wheel.

Foster waved him off with a smile. “Calm down, Fran. It’s a straight road and no one ever drives here anyway,”

“Please,” Frankie said, damn near begging him.

“Fine.”

Two weeks of driving with him made it clear that Foster was reckless on the road, but today he was reckless.

Foster was in a particularly good mood, and it all started Sunday night. Frankie woke up from his nap and went downstairs to get water, he assumed Foster was asleep in his bed but- to every shock- he walked through the front door, chipper as all hell. When he walked through to the kitchen, smiling, Frankie genuinely thought he had taken something.

It was like suddenly seeing a hospice patient getting better; there was technically nothing wrong, but something was up.

Foster got into the kitchen and made something. About an hour later, he opened Frankie’s door and gave him a burger wrapped in tin foil. Normally Frankie would say no, to it but for some odd reason he said yes. Frankie gave him a 5/10 after eating—he had two of the three Foster made.

He doubted his brother had actually taken something but there was something making him unusually chipper. While Foster wasn’t Ezra levels off gloomy, he tended to be temperate; neither sunny nor cold.

Frankie watched him through the rear-view mirror. Foster was smiling.

He cringed.

Soon, Ezra’s house came into view.

It was big, made of stacked stone, and looked expensive. The landscaping was crazy as well.

“What time should I pick you up?” Foster said as he parked

“I’ll see.”

“That’s fine,” Foster said. “Just, uh, call me. It’d be nice if you answered your messages as well.”

Frankie frowned a bit. He didn’t like the way that sentence left his brother's mouth because he forgot to answer messages, or didn’t see them at all. It wasn’t like he was ignoring people on purpose.

Frankie left the car and watched as Foster started waving at him.

He pressed the doorbell and it had a little camera next to it, so whoever was inside wcould see whoever was outside. Just a moment after he pressed the doorbell and Mrs Grant's face was there, her smiled etched deeper when she saw who it was.

The door opened and Frankie was being dragged inside by the leather of his jacket.

Frankie thought the same thought he always did when he saw her. What if Ezra was that small? He’d be so adorable that Frankie would accidentally squeeze him to death.

“Frankie, it’s you? I didn’t know you were coming today. My son didn’t tell me.” she said while pinching the fat on his face. “It’s been ages, sweet.”

He came here last Wednesday.

“It…has,” Frankie spoke stiffly. It was hard to talk when someone's hands were on your face.

“ It's just that, all the littles in my family are all grown up, they’ve got nothing to grab at— and Foster’s got nothing to grab at either.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Frankie reassured her. Mrs Grant was strange in the way that Frankie didn’t care much if she touched him. He figured it was because she was gentle, or because she was really motherly. Phoebe had never touched his face like this.

“Mom, Stop,” Ezra said walking down the stairs. “It’s weird to touch strangers.”

Mrs Grant sighed, “So you do know how to use your legs and come downstairs?”

Ezra frowned.

“You skipped school, you’ve been here all morning and still haven’t found the time to walk downstairs to greet your mother,” she said, “and Frankie’s not a stranger, he’s your friend.”

“I’m sick,” he said, “and you’re a stranger to him.”

“You’re well enough to invite your friends over,” she said before turning to Frankie. “Do you think I’m a stranger?”

Frankie shook his head.

He was sick? Frankie thought. All Ezra told him was that he wasn’t going to come into school today, and Frankie had asked him if everything was okay- wondering if the lack of sleep from the Sunday night was still doing him in on Tuesday morning.

One was chipper as all hell while the other was sickly and frail. Did Foster steal the life force from Ezra?

“We’re working.”

“Right,” she said before smooshing Frankie's face once and leaving him alone after, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your project,” —she paused and snapped her fingers— “actually do you want anything to eat, Frankie?”

“No thanks, Mrs Grant. I’m fine.”

“You sure? Nothing big, just something snack on?”

“No, but thank you.”

“You’re always so polite,” She said, smiling, then she gasped as if she remembered something funny, “Why don't you teach Ezra some manners when you’re done with the project? He’s been so ill-mannered as of late.”

Ezra narrowed his eyes, “You’re not funny.”

“Frankie finds me funny,” she said, pushing Frankie into the fire pit.

Ezra turned to Frankie, brows knitted. Frankie pulled back his smile.

“A little bit,” he said, putting his index and his thumb close together. “Just a tiny bit,”

Ezra gestured for Frankie to follow him. “We’re leaving now.”

The boy pulled him up the stairs, and through corridors he’d seen some times before but could never describe the intricacies of it. It was pretty and fancy, that was the limit of Frankie’s vocabulary.

When they got to the bedroom, Frankie stuck to the door and Ezra looked at him strangely.

“Wait,” Frankie said holding his hands in place, “Whatever you have, is it contagious?”

Ezra scoffed.

“I’m not trying to offend you, just answer the question.”

“No. It’s not.”

Frankie went to the bottom drawer of the desk and got all the project writings. They’d been given the topic of ‘Friends’ as something they had in common but they’d only done Ezra’s side of the project so far, and they’d have to start Frankie’s next week.

It was sparse as hell because Ezra surprisingly had nothing to say about the people he’d been friends with for literal years. Frankie couldn’t begin to imagine how barren his side of the project was going to be.

Thinking of his friends remnined him of that time Jenner called him a ‘lonely, friendless, weirdo’ but Frankie paused as he thought, because it reminded of something else.

“Hey…” Frankie said as he closed the door behind him and sat next to Ezra.

“Hello…?” Ezra replied

You know when I asked you if you beat up Jenner or not, were you lying?” He’d been thinking about it for ages now, and nothing was really adding up.

“...No.”

Frankie raised his brows. Ezra was a lot more certain the first time he asked him.

“Ezra, are you lying to me?”

Ezra swallowed. “I’m not lying to you,” he said, “i just forgot to tell you.”

“So what did you ‘forget’ to tell me?” ‘Forgot’ as if.

His gaze averted Frankies.

Ezra said. “He was already pissing me off. I just messed with him a little bit.”

“So why didn’t you tell me that the first time?” He said

“You don’t like it when people are in your ‘business’.”

“I've never said that.”

“It's true, though.” Ezra shrugged.

“Maybe….” Frankie started, before raising a brow. “You sure that’s all?”

“I didn’t do anything else, I’d tell you if I did, he just thinks that it’s my fault my Dad moved his Dad up north—he works for him,” Ezra said. “I lied to you once, and you think I lie all the time?”

“But you just lied to me,” Frankie said, half suspicious and half believing him

“That wasn’t a real lie. I just said it because I didn’t wanna make you angry.” He shot back, immediately.

“...Do I get angry that much?” Frankie asked him.

“No,” Ezra said. “You just looked bothered about it.”

“I’m not bothered,” Frankie said, if anything he was happy that Jenner was out of his hair, “I just don’t like being lied to.”

Ezra nodded.

There was something, Frankie felt, utterly disgusting about being lied to. The idea of someone lying to him uneased him, and the recurring—slightly anxious—thoughts that someone might be lying to him made his skin crawl.

Even the littlest lies made him unhappy.

But Frankie put his thoughts aside, opting the lighten the mood instead.

“How did you two even…fight?” Frankie asked curiously. “Did you jump him?”

“No,” Ezra said, pulling a face. “I told him I wanted to fight.”

Frankie looked at him sideways, “Like? You just asked?”

Ezra nodded.

“And he accepted?”

Ezra nodded.

“You’re a bit old to be fighting people,” Frankie continued

Ezra threw a pillow at him, which he didn't dodge at all, “I’m 18, not 50, and bullying people when you’re 18 is even more embarrassing.”

Where does getting bullied at 18 years old rank on that list? Frankie thought.

Frankie threw the pillow back and missed.

“Pick that up for me,” Frankie ordered him, pointing to the pillow that fell off the edge of the bed. He’d gotten comfortable on the bed, getting up seemed like hell now.

“I’m not your slave,” Ezra said, sighing.

Frankie threw the other pillow at him, and that one, also, missed. “It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to ask,” he said. “Get that one as well.”

“No manners,” Ezra muttered.

“I’ve got more than you,” Frankie shot back. “Your mom told me to teach you some manners.”

Ezra shoved him on the shoulder. “She was joking.”

“You hit like a truck,” Frankie said, rubbing on his arm.

“I held back with that one,” Ezra told him as he threw both the pillows over to Frankie.

Frankie lay with his back on the bed, comfortable as all hell. Ezra’s bed was big enough for 5 of him to fit in, then a couple of Frankie’s to squeeze in between. It was soft, and always smelt like it was freshly laundered, like he changed his sheets every day.

Ezra would hate to be in Frankie’s bed.

“I don’t wanna do the project today,” Frankie told him.

He came all the way here to do it, but the thought of lifting himself off the bed and going over to the desk tired him.

“You don’t do anything either way,” Ezra told him.

It was true, he only even asked questions, and Ezra typed out the entire thing. He didn’t proofread either, you couldn’t pay Frankie enough to read all of that. Once they started doing Frankie’s side of the project, he wondered if they’d have to swap places.

Frankie kicked him.

“Felt like a tickle.”

“I was holding back.”

Ezra turned and looked at him for a moment. “Do you want to go out?”

“Aren't you sick?” Frankie said as he sat up a bit.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then.”

‘Going out’ always meant food between the two of them and Frankie might have been too tired to walk to the desk and work, but his jaw was never too tired to chew.