A week had passed, and neither Frank nor Gerard could manage to be in the same room for more than ten minutes without wanting to rip each other's hair out. Gerard was an arrogant, egoistical asshole, and Frank pretty much mirrored the same effect, not to mention, he had greater art skills than Gerard did, which pretty much put the icing on the 'I hate Frank' cake that Gerard seemed to be baking every afternoon.

"Get the fuck out of my sight," Gerard snarled before Frank even said anything upon entering the dorm room.

"Fuck me," Frank snarled, taking a large chance by sitting down on the couch that Gerard was sitting on. Gerard glanced over at him, just like he was a mouse that had tried to sleep in the cat's basket. He was not pleased, to say the least.

"Get the fuck off of my couch," he hissed, his eyes examining the old skeleton gloves once again.

"This isn't your fucking couch, your fucking apartment, or your fucking property. I have just as much of a right here as you do, and there's nothing your jealous little whiney ass can do about it, fag."

That was what pissed Gerard off, and caused him to do what he did next. He sprawled across the couch and brought his hands to Frank's neck after tackling him to the dorm room floor. He straddled him, in a very unsexual way, before flying a punch at Frank's face. He never hit him, though, Frank caught his fist in his hand then buckled up and slipped out from under Gerard. Gerard, confused about how Frank managed such a move, was preoccupied and looking down at the absent space in front of him, and was completely oblivious to the set of feet that proceeded to strike him dead in the face and then send him tumbling backwards from the violent impact.

Gerard gasped as he sat up, a bloody hand held to his gushing nose, while his piercing hazel eyes sent burning daggers towards Frank. Frank wasn't phased by the so-called intimidating look at all, rather, he found it all pretty amusing.

"You fucking try to pull that one again and you'll loose your fucking face," he warned to the bleeding man on the floor.

Gerard didn't flinch or change any esteem of emotion. He continued to stare deep into Frank's eyes, trying to understand what it was about the man that held so much of an invisible power over him. It wasn't so much of a power over him though, it was more of a power in general, something that Gerard was having to struggle to defeat.

It was both intriguing...and annoying.

It was only after Frank had vanished into Gerard's ex-storage room (his bedroom) did Gerard finally come up with a weak attempt at snarling something back. "You son of a bitch," he hissed, though it had just enough meaning as it would if it was snarled upon deaf ears.

"Right back at yah," Frank whispered to himself as he was perched on his bed with his headphones on.

They both woke up the next day and tried to stay out of each other's sight. Coming from the dark shade that Gerard's nose had turned, it was safe to say that it was either broken, or sprained. A lot of people noticed it, but Gerard tried to hide what had happened with some big shot story about how he was on drugs and was out of it and fell down and smashed his nose against the coffee table. Obviously, with Gerard being who he was, everyone believed him...

Everyone besides Bob and Ray.

"Alright, so, now that everyone thinks you're a big-shot, what really happened?" Ray asked him as they took their seat in their Math lesson. They were sitting in the back row at the stop of the corol-risers of the room. Down on the floor, the Professor was already writing out some notes on that day's lesson (not that the people in the back could see it very well).

"Yea, man," Bob added. "You never do weed or anything without us."

Gerard scoffed then slumped down in his seat, his attempt at pulling off his 'bad boy' look like he always did.

"Yeah, tell them."

Gerard jumped slightly as he turned to his right to see a pair of skeleton gloves tapping their fingers against the wooden desk. For a second, it seemed as though the gloves had a mind of their own, but a few seconds later, Frank's body came into view and smiled.

"Motherfucker," he hissed.

"Hello to you, too," Frank said to him. "So are you going to tell them?"

"Yeah, are you going to tell us?" Bob asked.

Gerard glared over at his friends, hating them for being so smart as to find out that he obviously wasn't telling the truth about his little drug story. "Fine, whatever," Gerard hissed while rolling his eyes. "Me and...faggot over there got in a fight..."

"Where? How? What happened?" All the questions came blurting at him at the same time.

"Oh, yeah," Gerard remembered, scratching his head. "Didn't I tell you? I have a room mate." Bob and Ray looked very amused at Gerard's displeasure about the entire situation. "And he was getting on my last nerve, so I clobbered him," he explained.

"Oh, cause it really looks like he got clobbered," Ray wisely pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah," Gerard groaned. "So he got in a good hit, it was luck."

"No," Ray argued, "luck, was you getting everyone to believe your story about drugs."

Gerard rolled his eyes, again, and ignored his friends–and room mate for the rest of the lesson. He didn't like Frank, or how he was slowly tearing down his reputation that took him so long to build up.