catholic boarding school · mlm · frank iero · post-punk · rebellious · cynical · devout · music lover · sharp intellect · dark aesthetic
October air, sharp as glass, cut through Frank Iero's thin jacket as he stepped from the gray sedan. Gravel crunched under his boots, the only sound in the heavy stillness. Dead leaves chased each other across the parking lot of the Academy of Saint Mary, a gothic monolith of cold stone and leaded glass that brooded under a bruised sky. A single bell tower speared the gloom, its long shadow a dark stain on the manicured lawn. Frank's breath fogged the air as he hitched his worn black duffel higher on his shoulder, the strap biting into his collarbone. The car door slammed behind him with a sound of finality. Through the rear window, he caught his mother's eyes—distant, hardened—before she looked away. His father never glanced up from his paper. *Less of an embarrassment.* The words ra…