Chapter Text
Wake up. Possibly shower. Get dressed. Make coffee. Drink coffee. Walk to work. Work. Close. Go home. Eat. Sleep.
That was Frank Iero’s basic routine every day, any sort of unexpected interruption being a rarity. He lived by these steps and he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the expectancy and his expectations being met. He hated surprises and he hated being in situations if he didn’t know what the outcome would be. It may not have been the healthiest way to live, but it worked for him.
He was twenty six and had almost no social life. If he could keep himself alive by making money that would buy him food and put a roof over his head, he was content. He didn’t need the hassles that came with having too many friends. It had been long since he lost touch with any of his family. It was a miracle if he gave in and called his parents on Christmas or New Year. That seemed like an asshole thing to do, but Frank just wanted to live his life peacefully. From what he’d learned in his lifetime, interacting with people was detrimental to the ideology of “living in peace.”
The only person who came remotely close to being called a friend was the guy who did his tattoos. It took Frank years of constantly revisiting the tattoo shop to actually get familiar enough to know his name: John McGuire, which was exactly the name Frank used when referring to him. He never called him John or even the formal Mr. McGuire; he addressed him as John McGuire. The man eventually got sick of the unnerving formality, so he insisted on Frank calling him Hambone. Frank didn’t like the idea of nicknames; it meant they were getting close, but the man did his tattoos and he had to stay on his good side, so he complied.
Other than that, though, his best friend was his job, and his job involved music, and that was far more than enough to keep him happy—or at least his definition of happy. Ever since he was a kid, the one thing he loved was music, and over the years, that love never faltered. To be able to basically own the music shop he now worked in was a dream come true. The actual owner had many branches of the music store Frank worked in, so that specific store that Frank managed was basically his. As long as the profits never stopped, Frank was free to run it however he pleased. This meant, of course, he never hired other workers, ran the store himself, and allowed it to be the perfect excuse for his anti-social lifestyle.
Frank had built himself this perfect little shelter with an unfaltering barrier that kept him away from the world. He considered it to be one of his strongest creations. Little did he know it wouldn’t be holding up for long.
Let the demolition begin.