Frank couldn't help it. He honestly didn't know why it had bothered him so much, two weeks down the line, and two weeks of living with Jamia had settled him to a degree. But, this had gotten to him like an itch on his back that he couldn't reach, which was never usually how Frank saw things. This had really bothered him to the point that, for once in his life, he took charge of the situation. All it was, was that Jamia had spilled some sugar on the kitchen counter after she had made herself some tea before she went out to do shopping, but Frank had come into the kitchen and spotted it. Such a simple accident that could easily be wiped up and from which he could move on, but no. The small spill had triggered something inside of Frank's head, after so many years of living with a clean-freak, and after the short amount of time he had been apart from said person, it did something to him. Ryan's need to clean suddenly became Frank's need to clean.

At first, it started off simple. Frank found all of the necessary products under the sink and had used them to mop up the spill, but that hadn't felt like enough. All of a sudden Frank found an urge in him that was so unlike his usual relaxed demeanor. He never found himself being so anal about cleaning as Ryan had, but being without him and getting over their break-up this way, Frank had hidden certain parts of his feelings towards it. Two weeks of not being with said person suddenly hit Frank and the urge took over him faster than he could understand why he was doing what he was doing.

The counter ended up sparkling because Frank went out of his way to move everything on it, cleaning underneath everything, even choosing to open up the toaster and empty out all the crumbs that had probably been there for God knows how long. Frank then moved on swiftly, tidying and disinfecting as he had never done before. He could cope with some mess, not that Jamia's house was messy, it was clean, but Frank found himself almost getting into the 'Ryan' zone. Finding a mess anywhere and everywhere, like the time Ryan moaned at him for leaving a ring of coffee on the counter one time. Frank found himself internally grumbling about how Jamia's kettle needed to be immaculate, the stove-top too, but the way it had been wiped down left it smeared with watermarks. Frank couldn't bring himself to leave it alone, wiping it down furiously, buffing it up to the point that he swore he would be able to see his face in it. It had to be clean. Everything had to be apple-pie order because if it wasn't, it would tear him apart more than his break up with Ryan.

And that was the whole reason why Frank had taken to cleaning Jamia's house even though she hadn't asked him to do it. It felt like something was missing from him; a whole part of his life suddenly torn out, leaving a gaping hole deep in his chest which he refused to question. Frank refused to believe that the reason he was being like this was that there was a piece of his heart that really did miss the man that had been his high school sweetheart. Frank didn't want to believe that he actually missed the fucktard who had broken him down so much. But clearly there was a part of him that was calling out and letting itself be known because Frank was cleaning more than he had ever done. The tiles in the kitchen, the tabletop, the chairs. He even took to scouring the inside of the microwave even though it was already spotless. Not clean enough, he thought, this needs to be 'clean' clean. 'Ryan' clean.

Like a Duracell bunny on speed, Frank powered his way around the house, cleaning from top to bottom, dusting, and bleaching whatever he could in the process. He was vacuuming to the point that he actually moved furniture, making sure that he didn't miss anything because missing something would leave him irritated to the point that he would consider starting the whole process all over again. If it meant that everything would be immaculate then he would do it if he had to.

A part of him felt like everything was still messy, even though it wasn't. The 'Ryan' niggle in him reared its head so incessantly that when Frank moved everything back into place in Jamia's sitting room, he made sure that the coffee table was in line with the rug. He went full 'Monica Geller' on the situation, Frank made sure that the sofa lined up with the coffee table perfectly, also central to the whole room, and the TV in front of both things. He wandered over to the bookcase and rearranged them all after dusting and wiping down everything. There really was no need for it, even as Frank sorted out all of Jamia's pregnancy and baby books, putting them all together in one neat section, but he couldn't stop himself. Something in him was keeping him going as he moved around the house like a man possessed.

Upstairs wasn't too bad, he didn't feel like his skin was crawling at the idea of everything being a complete mess. He knew that away from where he had initially gotten triggered had probably helped, but Frank still found himself cleaning, having to go downstairs to retrieve the vacuum-plug adapter when the cord wouldn't reach anymore. He plugged it in when he got back upstairs, only to carry on with his furious need to pick up every speck of dust and dirt that might have been lurking in amongst the weave of the carpet. He couldn't stop, despite the raging pulse in his chest and the soft whimper that would leave his throat when he thought about stopping. Frank was sure that if he stopped then whatever was really bothering him was going to consume him. He couldn't let that happen, he pushed his bedroom door open with the vacuum, continuing to clean as he went around the house.

Frank switched off the vacuum for the time being when he finished in his bedroom, pushing it to one side, he groaned at himself when he looked at his bed. It was a mess and clearly he hadn't bothered to make it like he would have to, thanks to Ryan drilling his need for tidiness into his head. For once, he hadn't had to control his actions in fear of being yelled at. For once his bed was a complete and utter mess, the comforter was thrown back from when he had gotten out of bed, the bottom sheet half off the bed because for the past few nights, Frank had slept quite restlessly. The sight of the unmade bed had his blood boil under the surface and he bit on his thumbnail, chewing on it as his hands itched to fix it.

Frank threw the comforter away from the bed, tossing the pillows so he could straighten up. He remembered how Ryan had thrown a fit and had dragged him into the bedroom to physically show him how to make a bed. Fran had stood and watched every hand swipe and every throw of a sheet, scowling at Ryan's need for neatness. Every single instruction that had been drilled into his head for all those years now felt like a lifeline to him. Frank began to tug at the bottom sheet, trying to fold it properly so he could tuck it back under the mattress, but something caught him completely off guard. The memory of Ryan teaching him how to make a bed came screaming back quicker than he thought it would. He looked down at the tiny wet-spot on the sheet that he was trying to sort out and thought it was a stain, but he had been fooled. He had caused the stain when he blinked, letting the first tears fall from his eyes while he sniffed back hard, standing up to push the back of his hands against his eyes.

How could something as simple as making a bed make him burst into tears? Frank didn't want to understand it because if he did, then it would be like opening up Pandora's box. Everything would come out and Frank knew that he wasn't quite strong enough to deal with everything he had been avoiding since the day that he left Ryan. He wasn't missing him, Frank wanted to believe that the empty feeling in his chest resembled something very similar, or the tears that gave away how he wasn't coping at all. He kept telling himself that he was okay as he wiped his eyes, cleared his nose before continuing with the task of making the bed. Once he was done with that, placing the duvet back over the pillows he put back down, he realized that he had been crying the entire time. His emotions were unraveling and there was very little he could do to stop them.

He hoped that continuing with cleaning would help, but it really didn't. Even when he got to the bathroom and filled up a bucket with water to clean the floor, he really couldn't stop the pain or the tears that were now pouring down his face, every small noise that left him while he sobbed was echoing in the small room. He couldn't stop because every part of him told him to keep going. The bathroom floor was clean, but to Frank it was dirty and it had to be dirty because if it wasn't, then he had nothing to do other than realize that he was still so very broken. He felt like scrubbing the floor was the best thing for him, after finding a brush to do it with, but it wasn't helping him. It was something for him to do, but his heart still ached and his tears still dissolved into the soapy water on the floor. Frank missed Ryan, that was a given, but he didn't want to believe that he was that weak.

Frank hadn't realized that he was no longer alone in the house after some time. Jamia had come home, finding her place spotless beyond belief. She knew that she had left the place tidy, but even she could tell that Frank had been cleaning. The smell of bleach burned her nose from the moment she had opened the front door. She stepped into the living room to find that the sofa was closer to the TV than she usually had it, her bookshelf had been rearranged and the sugar spill she had forgotten to clean up was now gone from the kitchen. She followed the sounds that drew her upstairs, the grunts and sobs and the faint 'swishing' that sounded like a scrub-brush. She pushed the bathroom door open and found Frank on his knees, furiously scrubbing her bathroom floor while he cried his eyes out.

"What are you doing?" Frank heard instantly, stopping mid-scrub to look up and see Jamia looking down at him with a mildly panicked confusion. He didn't even shield how he looked, his red, swollen eyes and tear-stained face on display, his fingers looked pruned and raw, his fingernails had been chewed off and his hair was damp- Sweat or water, she didn't know.

"Wh-What does it l-look like I'm do-doing," Frank answered brokenly, turning his attention back to the floor, carrying on from where he left off, scrubbing harder than he had been, to stop the tears despite knowing that there was no way they were stopping anytime soon. He was full-flow now; ugly crying, snot coming out of his nose, his whole face probably wetter than the floor, "I'm- I'm cleaning."

"You're crying," Jamia stated the obvious, coming into the bathroom before trying to get down onto the floor with him. She gripped onto the side of the bath and knelt down in front of Frank, who was avoiding eye contact with her. She was suddenly grateful for prenatal yoga, in the back of her mind, but she focused more on the fact that he swore that the floor was dirty. It had to be cleaned and he had to finish this or he would feel like he had failed. She grew worried, "Frank, look at me."

"I'm busy." He told her, not even looking up when his words came out like a desperate plea for it all to stop. He was on a carnival ride without brakes and no one seemed to be hearing his screams, too busy having fun around him to notice how he was absolutely terrified.

"Frank, what is going on?" Jamia pushed, trying to reach out a hand to still him, but he refused to be stopped. She could not stop him, or the pain he felt in his chest would be real.

"No-Nothing is going o-on w-w-with me," He insisted, going into denial about how he was actually crying whilst cleaning, "I ju-just w-wanted to clean. Your h-h-house was dirty."

"No, it wasn't. I cleaned this morning before I went out."

"W-Well, I w-wanted to clean."

"Frank, just stop for one second," Jamia insisted, seeing how he looked so broken and hurt, but he was a stubborn bastard and even Jamia knew that. She watched him scrub the same tile on her floor intensely. He wasn't usually one for cleaning to the point of practically removing the pattern from the floor. The man had barely cried since the first week of moving in, he had closed up when it came to anything about his break up, so Jamia felt like she knew what had pushed Frank to his breaking point. She edged forward, "Frank, please."

He refused to stop, ignoring Jamia, he plunged the brush back into the bucket he had by his side, pulling it back out before he continued to clean the same spot again, sniffing hard, his eyes screwing shut for a second as a small sob left him. He gritted his teeth, feeling his fingers blistered under the tight hold on the bristled besom.

"Frank, just give- Hey!" Jamia gasped when Frank batted her hand away from him roughly. She had only wanted to take the brush away from him. get him to stop for a second so they could talk, but he had refused point-blank, pushing her away before he carried on "Frank, give me the brush-"

"No."

"Frank, just stop for one fucking second," Jamia spoke sternly, finally getting a hand on his own, "Frank, listen to me-"

"No!" He snapped, trying to free himself from Jamia's grip, but she had a hold of him, stopping him, the bristles on the brush being pushed down and bent against the floor as they fought over it, "I ne-..ed to clean. The fl-floor is dirty."

"The floor is fine," Jamia reassured him, trying to take the brush before he pulled back. Her grip slipped and Frank was finally free of her. Unfortunately, he forgot how close he had the bucket to him, hitting it with his elbow, causing it to tip and the contents of it spilling out onto the floor, "Fuck, Frank, for fuck sake..."


"Wh-Why did you st-stop me?" Frank shot his question out, finally looking back at Jamia with pain in his eyes. Her heart broke to see her friend like this, he was hurting so much. Even if the floor had been dirty at one point, it was now as the water spread across the tiles, soaking into Frank's jeans as he remained kneeling on the bathroom floor, "L-Look what you d-d-did. The floor is dirty a-again."

"It's not dirty," Jamia reassured him again, finally having his undivided attention. She watched his eyes fill with tears and she tried to fight her own reaction, "Frank, please... What is going on with you? What's happened?"

"I just w-wanted to clean," Frank told her, "C-Can I not just do something nice for you? Clean your fucking house... Nez, I just wanted to... I can't fucking... Oh, God..." Frank broke down, the weight of everything in his head became too much. Every thought he had been trying to ignore while he cleaned became too much. Every memory that made him realize that he might actually have missed Ryan came flooding back. He hated feeling like this, he didn't want to miss Ryan. He wanted to hate him for the way he had treated him over the past six years, but Frank could never 'hate'. That was too strong of an emotion for him. No matter what, he knew that he would never fully hate Ryan.

"Baby..." Jamia spoke softly, watching Frank dissolve on the bathroom floor, his pained sobs echoed in the tiled room as his hands came up to cover his face, He kneeled on the sodden floor, not even caring that his jeans had soaked up most of the water that he had been using, his knees ached and throbbed, his feet were numb under his weight. Jamia moved forward carefully, "Hey, shh... Frank, what's wrong?"

Frank didn't answer. The force of his emotional outburst was too strong for him to even consider answering. His throat felt tight from crying, like he was choking while the tears fell and his whole face contorted with pain behind his hands.

"I d-don't know," He finally answered, revealing his face, only to look up at the ceiling, "Nez, I do-don't fuck-fucking know what's going on with me. I th-thought I was fine... I've been feeling fine all w-week and then it just, it came over me and I needed s-something to stop me from thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Jamia asked, trying to get into Frank's head. Frank refused to admit it to himself, he refused to think about it any further because he had given in for a split second and the pain that made the tears spill over again, a choked sobbing forcing its way out of his throat, he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Frank, please talk to me," Jamia spoke, resting a hand on Frank's thigh to comfort him, "You're scaring me."

"Why do I miss him?" Frank finally let the question out, a weight lifting from him, but also at the same it pressed down harder. It hurt so much to finally admit what had pushed him to clean so aggressively in the first place. The sad truth that Frank had not wanted to admit, "Why, after everything he did to me, and how he made me feel, do I still miss him?"

"I'm sorry." She whispered as she wrapped an arm around Frank to comfort him. He had shattered more after finally admitting what was bothering him. Shaking against her, Jamia tried her best to hold it together just so she could be there for him.

Frank wiped his constantly-blocked, and runny, nose on the back of his wrist, "I wish I wasn't talking about him but, hey, it looks like I am. The asshole that took three-quarters of his dick and shoved it into his personality."

"Sweetie, it's okay to miss him," Jamia told Frank, watching him cry and sniffle. He had cried in front of her, but nothing like the gut-wrenching, heartbreaking crying that made you want to wrap your arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. The crying she had walked in on a few minutes prior. "You spent six years with him; it's completely normal for you to feel this way. He was your life for so long... You removed him from your life and you're struggling, I take it?"

Frank nodded weakly, already understanding why he had cleaned like he was possessed. The sad realization that he was only doing it because he missed the way that Ryan would nag him to clean and keep the house in order, and literally everything else about him that he had hated two weeks ago. He shouldn't have missed him because Frank was done with him, but he couldn't stop his heart from aching, feeling like it was splitting in half in his chest.

"I just w-wish that I didn't feel like this," Frank admitted, resting his head on Jamia's shoulder while she held him, "I mean, it's been t-two weeks since I left him. I thought that I would have felt stuff like this right after the break-up. Why is it affecting me now? Why do I all of a sudden miss him?"

"Because you're human," Jamia sighed, wishing that she had a better answer to give to him, "I was the same after Jimmy left me. After what he did, I still missed the bastard like crazy."

"I don't w-want to feel th-this," Frank admitted, keeping his eyes closed in an attempt to calm down, also trying his best to ignore how he felt completely pathetic. He sucked in a shaky breath, "I j-just want it to st-stop."

"It will," Jamia sniffed, fighting back the tears that were already threatening to fall thanks to her pregnancy hormones, "Please trust me, Poptart, it'll get better. It'll get easier, you've just gotta get through all of this first. Yeah, you're going to remember parts about your relationship that you probably enjoyed and that's going to make you miss him. Yeah, you might think that if you get back with him then everything will be different and that is why you miss him, but it's not. Frank, whatever you wanted Ryan to be, clearly he wasn't. This sucks, I'm not going to sugarcoat because I would never bullshit you, but breakups suck."

"Two weeks after a breakup?"

"It's different for everyone," Jamia sighed, "Some people can move on in a week, others, it can take months before they feel like they have moved passed what happened to them."

"I don't want to be like this in an-another month's time," Frank admitted, putting his arm around Jamia now, grateful that she had found him, "I don't w-want to miss him. I just want to go back to normal... Whatever that is. I don't know with my-myself anymore."

"Trust me, sweetie," Jamia sniffed again, sitting on the bathroom floor with Frank, ignoring how her tights were starting to soak up some of the water, she began to cry, too. No control over why it started, and what she was crying over, she sniffed and grabbed a tissue from her pocket to wipe her nose, "It will get easier."

Frank looked at her with a puzzled frown, noticing the tears, "Hey, what's up? Hey, Nez, shh, why are you crying?"

"I don't kno-ow," Jamia wailed out, her already heightened emotions spiking more, making the whole moment of crying so much more, "I can't co-control it at the moment, st-stupid hormones. You cry, I cry-"

"Don't make me cry more," Frank pointed a finger at her, knowing full well that he was the kind of guy who was usually quite comfortable with his emotions; he wasn't afraid to cry if he needed to and, right now, it wasn't even a need. It was more of a natural reaction. Best friend cries, he cries too, "You know I can't stop when you start."

"I'm s-sorry," Jamia whimpered out, feeling Frank wrap his arms around her. Now his turn to comfort her even though he really needed her so much right now. She was there for him and of course Frank was always going to be there for her.

Frank felt arms on him, holding him, almost pulling him as he snapped out of his daydream. For a second he had forgotten where he was, almost like he had left his own body, but he came back into reality with a bump. He had been sobbing, his crying unabashedly for God knows how long.

"Frank, come on, we need to go," The calming voice of reason that he heard over his own sobs, it came from the same person who had been holding him close. No one else at the funeral wanted him there so, of course, they weren't going to comfort him. They were looking at him, staring at him, wondering why in the world he was even at the service, ruining it for everyone else. He was so grateful that one person still had his back; one person in his life who had a hold of him, picking him up from where he was seated, pulling him along, "Come on, you need some air."

"I can't do this," Frank admitted, his words finally sinking in for Gerard, who had been proven wrong. The best thing to do was to get him out of the church as quickly and as quietly as possible but Frank was making that rather difficult when he sniffled, "I can't fucking-"

"I know," Gerard spoke soothingly, an arm wrapped around Frank, directing him towards the door they came through, "Let's just go."

Frank had been all but ready to leave, not wanting to be there anymore because it was destroying him from the inside out. But something made him look around as the last goodbye because Jamia's coffin was up at the front, her photo next to it. Frank looked around to the front, his bottom lip wobbling, his whole frame shaking until he saw someone in the small crowd that had gathered for her funeral. That was when Frank saw red, every emotion that was pushing him to cry uncontrollably, it suddenly changed on a dime. He didn't know exactly how to feel when he saw Jimmy standing there, looking at him like he was some sort of freak who had gone and gatecrashed this sad event.

"Wh-What are you doing here?" Frank called out, not caring that he was making a scene, wriggling out of Gerard's grip angrily, "You got a fucking invite, the ex that cheated on her and broke her heart. The man who abandoned her and her unborn daughter. The man who didn't even bother to make it to the birth. Did you get the voicemails she left you? Did you know your daughter was being born, did you care? Would you have bothered coming if you knew she was gonna fucking die!? I was the one picking up the pieces after you destroyed her," Frank pointed a finger towards Jimmy, the fury bubbling under his skin and making his veins thrum with adrenalin, "I was the one helping her mend her life after you went and fucked it up! Did I get an invite? Fuck no. I guess 'cheating scumbag' falls higher on the list than her best friend."

"Frank, calm yourself down now," Gerard spoke, the warning tone in his voice. There was no way he could calm down, he was seeing so much red. Frank was livid, his fists balling up, his whole chest swelling with anger before he tried to release. His whole body lunging forward for Jimmy, but unfortunately, not getting very far thanks to a Gerard grabbing hold of the back of his suit, the other hand on his chest, trying to reel him back in, "Frank, stop, now."

"Fuck you all." Frank hissed out, pushing himself from Gerard. He didn't need to be dragged out by his boss; he was more than happy to leave already. Frank couldn't even bring himself to be in the same place as the family, and people, who didn't even want him there. Frank had said his 'goodbye', he could say it whenever he wanted once she was laid to rest. He knew that right now he just needed to get out of there, wiping his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his suit, not caring about the telling off Gerard would give him for it.

Frank pushed open the church doors, walking out into the car park where they had been not that long ago. Blinded by tears and anger, Frank needed to vent, he had his fists clenched so tightly, and he felt the need to hit something- Kick something, let out all of the anger in him that was sizzling under the surface. It was completely overriding how sad he had been before he saw Jimmy at the service. How could he have been there when Frank wasn't even invited? How could this have happened at all? This wasn't fair. Jamia was gone but Frank really didn't want to accept that for a second. He just wanted to fume and blow up like a volcano, needing to take out how he felt on something. An oversized potted fern was the first thing he saw. Not wanting to take his anger out on anything that was close to where Gerard's car was parked, Frank bit down on his lip, and a pained, angry noise left him, his frustrations and feelings finally venting when he stormed over to the plant and kicked it hard. Kicked it again. Again and again. Over and over as he snarled and grunted like a feral animal.

"Stupid, fucking bush...bullshit fucking...plant," Frank cursed with every kick, not caring about how he was scuffing up his work shoes in front of Gerard, who was watching him from a distance with his hands in his pockets. He let Frank vent because it was obvious that he needed a moment, even if the moment was probably going to end with him having a fractured foot. Frank shoved at the pot with his hands, "Asshole- Cocksucking. Fern!"

It wasn't enough- All that it was doing was giving Frank a sore foot, he still felt angry and still felt a concoction of emotions battling it out inside of his body. Tears were falling again, but he was furious that Jimmy was there instead of him. He leaned down and grabbed at a medium-sized rock that was near the edge of the car park. There was only one thing he could think of doing, leaving a mark because they had single-handedly decided to not even include him, He wanted to let it be known that he was pissed off, angry, upset, and so many other emotions all at once. He went to take aim at the nearest window on the church, but he stopped by a strong hand gripping his wrist, squeezing to the point that the rock fell from his grip.

"I really don't think that is a very good idea," Gerard told Frank from behind him, still holding his wrist in case Frank decided to do something else. Gerard was right up against Frank, standing within his infuriated proximity, fingers still in a vice around Frank's arm as he leaned in, "Church windows are irreplaceable and I really don't think you would be able to afford to fix it."

It was at that moment, when Gerard stopped him, that Frank slowed down. Gerard had stopped his mind from racing and his actions from being damaging. His heart pounded in his chest and yet again, it all became too much. Having Gerard holding him, stopping him from doing something so stupid, Frank realized how he had lost control. In a moment of anger and aggression, he had vented, wanting to feel anything other than sadness. Frank felt the painful bubble forming in his chest as he dipped his head down. Gerard wrapped an arm around him when the first sob left his raw throat. He was leaning against Gerard when the tears fell again and he crumbled, gripping onto his boss's jacket tightly while he was held.

"Come on, dear boy," Gerard spoke softly against Frank's forehead, holding him while he shook, "Let's get you out of here."

"P-Please," Frank spoke against Gerard's chest until they moved. Gerard kept an arm around him and Frank felt somewhat more in control as he was led toward the car. The older man opened his door and Frank climbed in obediently, not watching when Gerard shut the door for him. He wasn't paying attention when Gerard got in next to him. Frank sat in his seat, zoned out, crying and whimpering when it all got too much for him again.

"Cafe Angelique, Maurice. Follow Riveredge onto Piermont, it's on the right. I think some coffee and a nice calm-down is in order before we go back into the office," Gerard spoke, hoping to grab Frank's attention, but he hadn't at all. Frank was staring out of the window when they passed the small John B. Geissinger field. Frank knew they were in Tenafly now, way too close to Jamia's house. He didn't say anything, trying not to show how he had very little control over his emotions. He didn't want Gerard to judge him or think less of him because he was crying yet again. He attempted to clean up his red and puffy face, "Frank, look at me, please."

Frank didn't want to look at Gerard at all, but it didn't stop the latter in the slightest. Frank looked down when he felt and heard his seatbelt being unclipped. Gerard had always been one for road and driving safety, but he ignored it when he wrapped an arm around Frank. He sighed softly, pulling him over, giving him the comfort that he so sorely needed. The hug to help him calm, like a comfort blanket that softly pressed a kiss to his forehead. Frank wept, letting it all out. He knew that he shouldn't have come to the funeral. It had been such a stupid idea, but at least he had Gerard telling him that it was eventually going to be okay.