Cover To Cover [part 2]
Apr. 15th, 2010 12:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silentdescant“Mikey, come with me.”
“On your date? Fuck no.”
“Mikeeey. Mikey, please? Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, I need you, please?”
“Are you sure you’re the younger brother?” Alicia asks Mikey under her breath, rubbing her temples. “Just go with him if it’ll shut him up, babe.”
“Why do you want me there, anyway?” Mikey grumbles.
“Moral support?” Gerard tries hopefully. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s scared out of his mind, but he kind of is. What if Frankenstein turns out to be a total freak? What if he doesn’t like Gerard once they meet? What if he doesn’t recognize Gerard’s red scarf? What if he never even shows up?
Gerard pulls Mikey close. “Please, Mikes, you don’t have to stay. Just make sure I’m not going to be murdered or anything, and then you can go home. I’m freaking myself out, Mikeyway, please.”
Mikey rolls his eyes and shoves Gerard away. “Yeah, fine, okay. I’ll come.”
Gerard bounces on his heels, the excitement rushing back, while Mikey takes his coat out of the closet and shrugs it on. He has to restrain himself from hurrying Mikey along. They have time; it just feels like they’re going to be late.
The walk to the café is silent; Gerard tries to push his fears and nervousness aside, and just having Mikey there beside him helps. When they get to the cozy-looking place, Gerard freezes outside the door.
“Can you look in for me?”
“What?”
“See if he’s there yet. He said he’ll have books and skeleton gloves. Just look for me, please. See if he’s like, some old, fat, bald dude or something. Please?” Gerard puts on his most pitiful face and hunches his shoulders a little until Mikey shakes his head at Gerard’s idiocy and agrees to look.
He walks casually around to one of the windows and looks in, while Gerard keeps to the shadows.
“Books? And gloves?”
“Yeah. Is he there?”
“I don’t know, it’s kind of crowded.”
“Mikey—”
“Wait, wait, there’s some books.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know, there’s somebody standing in the way. But there’s definitely a stack of books.”
Gerard bites his lip and nudges Mikey further in front of the window. “Can you see him yet?”
“Um…”
“Mikey?”
“…Yeah.”
Gerard rubs his gloved hands together excitedly. “Yes? What’s he look like? Is he cute? He sounds cute in his emails.”
“Yeah, he’s cute.”
“What’s he like? Come one, dude, give me something!”
“You would definitely like him. He’s got tattoos on his neck.”
“Fuck, it’s not Brian, is it?”
“No… But he’s…”
“Mikey—”
Mikey steps away from the window and grabs the collar of Gerard’s jacket. “Just fucking see for yourself.”
Mikey drags him over to the window and pushes him up against the glass. Gerard spots the table with the books immediately, and sees a skeleton-gloved hand splayed across the open pages of one of the hardcovers. The man is young, from what Gerard can see; he’s thin and wearing a black hoodie and a collared white shirt underneath, and yes, there are glimpses of tattoos peeking out above the collar but beneath his dark brown hair, and really, he’s kind of familiar. Gerard can’t quite place him, just seeing his back, but he’s definitely seen this guy before.
Then the door of the café opens as somebody leaves and Frankenstein turns around to look, and it’s—it’s—
It’s Frank.
“It’s Frank!” he cries. “It’s Frank? How can it be Frank? Oh my god, Mikey, it’s Frank. It’s cute-guy-from-the-bookshop, hates-my-guts Frank. Oh god. I’m so screwed. I can’t go in there now!”
“Fucking hell, Gerard, calm the fuck down,” Mikey mutters, reaching out and patting Gerard heavily on the shoulder.
“We have to go. We have to leave. I can’t let him see me. He hates me!”
“Do you hate him?”
“No! But that’s not the point. We have to go before he sees me.”
The door opens again, this time as someone walks in. Gerard watches Frank twist around in his chair and look, his eyes hopeful and the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. After a moment, he sighs and turns back to his book. He hunches over it, his chin resting on one hand, and he looks miserable. Gerard checks his watch; he’s almost fifteen minutes late.
Gerard feels suddenly guilty. He’d been so worried about Frank standing him up, and he knows that Frank must’ve been insanely anxious about this whole meeting in the first place, given how carefully he guards his identity. He can’t leave Frank hanging like this.
Mikey seems to realize this as soon as Gerard does, or maybe even before Gerard does. He nudges Gerard towards the door.
“Should I take off my scarf?”
“Leave it on. Maybe he’ll get over himself and be friendly.” Mikey straightens Gerard’s jacket and fluffs his scarf a little. “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No, I should go alone. Stay out here in case he kicks me out, though.” Gerard takes a deep breath. “How do I look?”
Mikey gives him a rare smile. “You look good, Gee. Good luck.”
Gerard nods and heads for the door. He goes straight to the counter to order a cup of coffee, without even looking at Frank. He knows Frank’s watching him. He knows Frank can see the red scarf, and he knows Frank will recognize him.
Coffee in hand, Gerard turns around to face the rest of the café. Frank is staring at him. Gerard grins and waves, wondering if Frank made the connection.
“Frank!”
“Gerard?”
“Hi!” He gestures to the seat across from Frank. “Can I sit?”
“I’m waiting for someone,” Frank replies stiffly. “What are you doing here?”
Gerard remains standing and tries not to let his disappointment show. “I live near here, and I love coffee,” he answers simply. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Can you, uh, not stand there? I’m waiting for someone,” Frank says again.
“Okay, sure,” Gerard says easily. He sits down at the table next to Frank’s to continue talking to him. “How’s the shop? I wanted to come back, do a little last-minute Christmas shopping for my sister-in-law, but I wasn’t sure you’d be particularly pleased to see me.”
“I’m not particularly pleased to see you now,” Frank snaps. “Don’t you already know how my shop’s doing? I’m sure you send spies in every day.”
“Frank,” Gerard says, genuinely shocked. “I’ve never wanted to spy on you. I wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re such a fucking liar.”
The door of the café opens, letting in a cold rush of air, and Frank whips around to see who came in. It’s a pair of girls, giggling to each other as they approach the counter. Frank sighs and turns around again, and it’s on the tip of Gerard’s tongue to admit everything and apologize.
“Not who you’re waiting for, then?” he asks instead, as gently as he can.
“No,” Frank mutters. “He’s late.”
“Your boyfriend?”
Frank lifts his head and glares at Gerard. “No.”
“You look nice. All dressed up. I figured you were out on a date.”
Frank sighs again. He looks so sad, and his lips are pulled into a tense grimace. “Not really. I’ve never met him before, I just wanted to make a good impression,” he explains in a low voice. “He’s probably not coming.”
“How do you know him?” Gerard asks. He sips his coffee and fiddles with the fringe of his scarf, wondering if Frank even noticed its color.
Frank blushes, and that’s quite a sight to see. His cheeks and ears flush red and he stares down at his open book. “I met him online.”
Gerard can’t help but grin. He turns sideways in his chair to face Frank and rests his arms on the back of it. “How are you gonna recognize him? How late is he, anyway?”
Frank glances down at his watch and mutters, “Like twenty minutes. He’s supposed to be wearing a red scarf and a black coat.”
The door opens and they both turn to look. The man who walks in doesn’t fit Frank’s description, of course, and Frank sighs again.
“He’s probably not coming.”
“Maybe he got held up,” Gerard replies encouragingly. He nods at the empty seat at Frank’s table. “Can I join you, then? If he shows up, I’ll leave, I promise.”
“No!” Frank says shrilly. “No, I don’t want you to sit here. No, I don’t want you to come to my shop. No, I don’t want to talk to you. No, I don’t ever want to see you again. Can’t you understand the word no?”
Gerard sits back in his chair, blinking rapidly. He hadn’t realized Frank was so… upset with him. He takes a quick breath and forces his face into a neutral expression, betraying none of the hurt. He hates hiding his feelings, but Gerard knows he’s gotten pretty good at it over the years.
“Okay, I’ll just go.”
He stands up and winds the scarf around his neck a few times, then looks down at Frank, who’s watching him with a guarded expression.
“I’m sorry, Frank. I hope your friend shows up.”
He doesn’t look back as he walks out of the café, even though Frank calls his name like a half-hearted apology. Mikey’s waiting for him outside, smoking. He gives Gerard his cigarette.
“Didn’t go well,” he says, more like a statement than a question. Gerard doesn’t know if Mikey had been watching or not.
“No,” he mutters, exhaling smoke up towards the sky. “It did not go well.”
“I’m sorry,” Mikey says, and he sounds uncharacteristically sincere. “Let’s go home, Gee.”
***
Frank hadn’t missed the flash of hurt that had appeared on Gerard’s face before Gerard regained control over his features. He feels kind of bad for causing that, because Gerard had been somewhat friendly to him. A lot friendly, really, if Frank’s being honest.
He looks down at his book after Gerard leaves, but he can’t concentrate on the words. A few minutes later, he feels a cold breeze and looks over his shoulder, but it’s just somebody leaving the café.
Frank waits another hour before finally giving up and going home.
Jepha’s out again, which was the whole reason Frank had chosen tonight for the meeting, and Frank sits down at his desk feeling utterly miserable. He hopes Addict didn’t take one look at him and leave without even saying hello. Addict seems too genuine, too friendly for that to be true, though, and besides, Frank had been early to the café, and he hadn’t seen anyone in a red scarf except Gerard fucking Way.
He starts typing an email.
***
Coffee Addict,
I waited for you tonight. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t disappointed when I didn’t see you, because I really wanted us to meet. I hope this is just a misunderstanding. You’re still my closest friend, and I still want to trust you. You don’t seem like the type to just… not show up.
Instead of you walking through that door and sitting down next to me, my rival, the man I fought with at that party showed up and tried to talk to me. I got angry at him; I don’t even remember why. I think I was mostly just frustrated that you weren’t there. I overreacted and it didn’t help either of us, and I even feel bad about it now. I was kind of an asshole to him, and for once, he didn’t deserve that.
I’m sorry. If you had second thoughts about meeting me in person, please just tell me. I promise I’ll understand. My friendship with you has meant so much to me, especially in recent weeks. I’ll always appreciate that.
-Frankenstein
Gerard’s heart breaks a little bit when he reads Frank’s email the next morning. The timecode says it was sent last night, probably soon after Frank got home from the café. Gerard wonders how long Frank waited there for a man who was never going to show up.
He can’t bring himself to answer Frank’s email yet. He doesn’t know what to say. Part of him wants to confess, but that would ruin the friendship he has with Frank on the internet as well as any chance Gerard has of becoming friends with Frank in person.
He leaves the message open on his computer, as a reminder, and tries to go about his day without getting too distracted by it. Gerard throws himself into work for the first time in weeks, surprising Mikey and making Brian suspicious.
Brian’s grateful, though. He drags Gerard around the empty building, pointing out the workers installing shelves, the loading bay for new shipments, the color swatches for all the upholstery and carpet, everything. Gerard hadn’t realized how much he’d been ignoring.
Brian finally takes Gerard up to the top floor, where the offices have already been finished and furnished. There’s nobody working in them yet, but Brian has a room with his name on the door and his desk organized, and he leads Gerard inside.
Gerard drops into the chair and instead of sitting behind his desk, Brian pulls up the extra chair and sits beside him.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “I’ve been working for you for over a year and dating you for almost as long. I can tell when something’s wrong.”
Gerard sighs. “I just felt bad for not being more involved,” he tries, but Brian doesn’t fall for it. He gives Gerard a stern look. “I’m an idiot. It’s nothing.”
Brian looks skeptical, but he lets it go. “If you’re sure.”
“I just need to get over myself,” Gerard says. He flaps his hand as if it could distract Brian. “Is everything on schedule? Besides the shelves, I mean.”
Brain leans over and takes a folder off the desk. When he flips it open, Gerard catches a glimpse of a color-coded calendar with a huge list printed next to it, in very small type. At least Brian’s on top of things.
***
There’s no reply to his email when Frank leaves for work, and he tries not to think of what that might mean. As usual, Ray is waiting at the shop for Frank to open the doors. He takes the books from Frank’s hands and goes to put them back on their correct shelves, and then turns to look at Frank over his shoulder.
“What happened with that guy? Did it not go well?”
“Is it that obvious?” Frank asks, smiling sadly. “No, it didn’t go well. He never showed up.”
“He stood you up?”
Frank waves his hand in a vague gesture that doesn’t really explain anything. “No! Well… Shut up!” He sits down behind the counter and turns on the shop computer. Ray comes over to him.
“How long did you wait for him?” he asks sympathetically.
“Fucking hour and a half,” Frank mutters. “Never showed up. But you know who did?”
“Who?”
“You know that guy, Gerard, from Way Books? Gerard Way? He’s like the owner or something. He came in here once, with his brother.”
“He was there?” Ray says incredulously.
“Yeah, he was like, ‘I live around here, and I love coffee, so I’m in here a lot!’ and then the fucker sat down next to me! It was like he was actively trying to ruin my date,” Frank explains, jabbing at the keyboard with unnecessary force.
“I thought you said it wasn’t a date.”
“Well, I mean—Jepha’s not home, and it wasn’t a date anyway, so shut up before you even say anything.”
“But he stood you up, so it doesn’t really matter,” Ray points out.
“He didn’t stand me up!” Frank cries. “He was probably just… detained.”
“Detained? Like ‘stuck in traffic for an hour and a half’ kind of detained?”
Frank ignores Ray’s skepticism and nods. “Yeah, like, maybe he got held up at work, and then there was traffic, and he doesn’t have my number, so it’s not like he could call.”
Ray nods too, warming to the idea. “You know, I heard there was some kind of accident downtown last night, maybe he was caught up in that!”
Frank gasps. “What if he was in the accident! He hasn’t responded to my email or anything! Oh, oh my god, he’s probably in the hospital right now.”
Neither of them turns when the door opens; the shop doesn’t open for another half an hour. Bob walks in carrying a newspaper and a cardboard box, which he drops onto the counter next to Frank’s elbow.
“What’s going on?” he asks, taking in Ray’s open-mouthed horror.
“He wouldn’t have a computer in the hospital!”
“What if he broke his arms?” Frank asks. “He couldn’t even type if he did have one!”
“Who broke his arms?” Bob asks.
“Frank’s online boyfriend,” Ray answers helpfully.
“He stood you up?”
“Shut up!” Frank cries. “He didn’t stand me up. He was probably in that accident last night, with the fire truck and all those ambulances, and…”
“And now he’s in the hospital and can’t even type to send Frank an email to let him know what happened!” Ray finishes dramatically.
Bob shakes his head skeptically and unfolds his newspaper. Frank sees Bob’s eyes go wide, and then Bob says, “Frankie, I don’t think he was in an accident.”
“What?” Ray asks. Frank is almost afraid to know.
Bob turns the newspaper around. There’s a large black and white photo of a man dressed in black being led away by cops. There are handcuffs around his wrists, and his face is mostly obscured by one of the policeman’s outstretched hands. Frank’s jaw drops.
“‘Suspect Caught In Serial Murder Case,’” Bob reads the bold-print headline. “It says they found him trying to break into one of the apartments down the street from that café!”
“You could’ve been killed!” Ray squeaks.
“What? No! No way, man, there’s no way my guy’s a serial murderer,” Frank says defensively, although he really has no idea. He grabs the paper away from Bob and starts skimming the article.
“I bet that’s him, Frank,” Bob says somberly. “You should feel lucky. He was probably just going to follow you home and kill you in your sleep or something.”
“Jesus, that’s morbid,” Frank mumbles. There aren’t any specifics mentioned in the article, but fuck, he was caught really close to Frank’s café.
“I’m with Bob, dude,” Ray adds. “This guy could’ve like, kidnapped you or fucking raped you or something.”
“Shut up, guys, this can’t be him. It just can’t be! He can’t be a fucking psycho killer. I would know.”
“But you don’t know,” Ray says, and Bob nods his agreement.
“Jesus Christ,” Frank sighs. He pushes past them and turns the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN. “Just get to work.”
***
Disappointingly, there’s still no reply from Coffee Addict when Frank gets home from work. He finds Jepha on the couch watching TV, though, so he flops down next to him and burrows under Jepha’s arm for a snuggle.
“Long day?” Jepha asks.
“Weird day,” Frank replies. “What’re you watching?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I’m flipping.” He changes the channel to demonstrate and finally lands on a cooking show. “You hungry?”
“Not really.” Frank rubs his cheek on Jepha’s soft t-shirt for a moment. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”
Jepha curls his fingers around Frank’s shoulder and slowly drags one fingernail up Frank’s bicep, beneath the sleeve of his shirt. He’s warm against Frank’s side and yet the tease makes Frank shiver, like it always does, but he pushes Jepha’s hand away and stands up.
“No, I’m going to bed, Jeph,” he says.
“This early?”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
He’s halfway to the bedroom door when he hears Jepha’s quiet, “Goodnight, babe.”
***
Gerard’s uneasy feeling doesn’t fade while he’s at work. He’s able to push Frank to the back of his mind, but the guilt is constant, and it gets worse once he finally goes home. Brian calls him and says he’s busy at the store, working late, and Gerard gratefully reschedules their dinner plans for another night.
“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Brian asks. Gerard can hear people talking in the background, and he knows Brian wants to get off the phone and deal with whatever’s going on, so Gerard placates him until he gives in and says goodbye.
Alone in his apartment, Gerard has nothing to think of but Frank. He curls up on the couch with his laptop perched on a throw pillow next to him and stares at Frank’s message, still pulled up on the screen.
He needs to reply. It’s been well over a day and a half, and Frank deserves an explanation. Gerard just has no idea what to say.
Frankenstein,
I can’t even begin to express how bad I feel about that night. It’s no fault of yours, I promise you that. I’m so sorry I disappointed you like that, and that I have no explanation for you. I never meant to hurt you, and I know that I did, don’t even deny it. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you ran into someone you didn’t want to see, as well. I feel bad that you were even in that situation. I do hope your fight wasn’t too bad, and I know it’s my fault. I’m sure this guy will forgive you.
I value your friendship more than any other, and I really hope you’ll forgive me.
Gerard sighs. It sounds really sappy, like it’s from an apologetic lover rather than a… whatever Gerard is to Frank. He saves the message. He can’t bring himself to send it yet, although it hurts him to keep Frank waiting so long.
He gets up to reheat some Chinese food for dinner, and when he returns to the couch, the saved draft stares back at him, like it’s taunting him. He needs to send it tonight. Frank deserves a reply, at least. But it doesn’t have to be right now. He sighs and settles in to watch a movie, trying not to let his computer distract him.
***
The email comes in at four in the morning, Frank sees when he checks his computer before work. His heart leaps into his throat. The guy’s not a serial murderer, he’s not fatally wounded or in the hospital, he just… Frank releases a careful breath and rereads the email. He didn’t give an explanation at all.
But he’s sorry, and that’s what matters. Frank holds onto that instead of the sudden burst of anger and confusion.
Frank doesn’t know how to respond to the email. Part of him wants to ask for an excuse, but he knows that wouldn’t help patch things up between them, and he doesn’t want some flimsy lie. He doesn’t have time to sit here and think of what he should say, though. Frank grabs his books and heads to work.
It’s a relatively slow morning, so Frank sits behind the counter with a book propped up on the register and ignores Ray’s attempts at conversation.
Bob finally comes over to him and snatches the book out from under Frank’s hands. “Frank, come on, it’s lunch time. We’re going out.”
“I brought—”
“No, you didn’t, and if you did, it wouldn’t be as good as that deli down the street,” Ray puts in. He’s standing by the door with his scarf already around his neck. His hair puffs out more than usual because of it.
“What time is it?” Frank stalls.
“It’s noon, and we haven’t had anybody in here all morning, so shut up. You look like shit. We’re taking you out,” Bob says in his no-arguments tone.
Frank sighs his defeat and comes out from behind the desk. Ray helpfully holds out his scarf and coat.
***
Gerard tags along with Brian and supervises him supervising everyone else. He feels entirely useless, especially in the face of Brian’s efficiency, but he can’t sit at home and wait for Frank to reply to his message. Hopefully accepting his apology. He just wants Frank not to hate him forever just for being who he is. It’s not fair, and it sucks.
“Gee, you okay?” Brian asks, pulling him aside.
“Yeah, sure,” Gerard replies automatically.
“You just seem distracted. You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s up?”
Gerard looks down. Brian’s shoes are almost touching his own. He slides his foot forward and nudges Brian’s toes, feeling incredibly guilty. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”
“Alright. Come on, let me show you the café. They just got the espresso machines in this morning, so all it needs now is the napkin dispensers.”
Gerard looks up again and flashes Brian a grin. “Do they work yet?”
***
It’s a slow day, so Frank stays in the back room with Bob, unpacking boxes and making lists for the official inventory. Bob has music playing at low volume, but he’s otherwise silent, and Frank can’t deal with it for very long.
“So you know that guy I tried to meet—”
“The one that stood you up?” Bob asks distractedly.
“Fuck you. Yeah, him.”
“What about him?”
“He apologized.”
“For standing you up?”
“Yeah. I’m not really sure what to think about it. He didn’t really give an explanation, but he did apologize… So I guess it’s a good thing, right?”
“I guess so.”
“You’re no help at all. It’s just frustrating, y’know? Because I want to forgive him, but at the same time I am kind of pissed off—”
“And hurt,” Bob adds.
“Yeah,” Frank says, deflating. “I just need to fucking get over myself. It’ll be fine.”
“Sure.”
“Man, you are the worst at having actual conversations, do you know that?” Frank gripes under his breath. He shoves a heavy box towards Bob.
“Sorry. It’s a finely honed skill. Hard to break the habit.”
“So, when are you going to tell me about Brian?” Frank asks, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips.
Bob freezes in place. “What?”
“You went to school with him, dude, you know his methods, how his brain works. What’s his plan?”
“Ohhh. Well—”
“Wait, what did you think I was asking?” Frank interrupts quickly.
“None of your business,” Bob replies testily.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Brian is business and therefore my business. Spill.”
“He’s not just business.”
Frank opens his mouth to reply but suddenly can’t think of a word to say. He splutters for a moment. “Wait, wait, wait. Brian—”
“He was my roommate,” Bob growls. Frank’s one of the few people in the world that’s not scared of that growl, so he presses on.
“He was your boyfr—”
“Don’t say it! Jesus Christ.”
Frank squeaks and leaps over to Bob to fling his arms around Bob’s neck. “I didn’t even know!”
“Shut up, oh my god. It was a long time ago,” Bob groans, prying Frank’s fingers off his shirt.
“And now he’s working for Gerard Way and you’re working for me.”
“Yeah. I guess he got the job while he was in New York, and I was in Chicago. We couldn’t do the long-distance thing, it just didn’t work, so.”
“So you went your separate ways and now you’re here. It’s like fate.”
“You don’t believe in fate.”
“You might.”
“You know I don’t.”
“Apparently there’s a lot about you I don’t know,” Frank says with mock sadness. He clings harder to Bob’s neck. “And to think, I considered you a friend. I spilled all my secrets to you, and this is how you repay me?”
“Hey, I just told you a big fucking secret. Shut the fuck up.”
Bob finally gets some leverage and pushes Frank away. He falls to the floor on his ass, giggling.
***
Frank doesn’t respond to Coffee Addict’s apology email. He doesn’t want to dwell on it any more than he has already. His pen-pal apologized, and now, hopefully, they can put the whole awkward situation behind them. He starts a new email thread.
My rival has this boyfriend, let’s call him Brad, who also works for him. I have this friend, I’ll call him Rob, who works for me. Rob and Brad dated in college, though Rob tried to throw the “roommates” excuse at me the other day, before I heard the whole story. And now my rival and I are pitted against each other and, as I’ve just learned, so are Rob and Brad. I told him this was fate trying to bring them together. Except Brad is currently dating my enemy, so maybe not.
The only thing that would make this more ironic would be if I were dating Rob. That’d be more like some kind of Greek tragedy or something, I don’t know.
Thank you for your previous email. Let’s just put it behind us. Friends? :)
***
The day Way Books & Café opens, Frank is late for work. Because of traffic. Because of the stupid amount of people trying to get into the concrete parking structure for the grand opening, blocking the entire street.
“I don’t even drive to work and the fucking traffic made me late,” he gripes to Ray as they walk in and start turning on the lights. He doesn’t admit that he stood across the street from the entrance with his books clutched to his chest, frozen in place, watching the crowd in horror.
“It’s just the grand opening, Frank, it’ll die down. It’s just the new big thing,” Ray replies comfortingly.
“They’re not gonna fucking take our customers.”
“Damn right.”
“Business is going well. We’ve had good sales all month.”
“Exactly.”
“We’re gonna get through this.”
“Definitely.”
“Where is Bob? He’s usually here by now.”
Ray shrugs. “Maybe he got caught in traffic, like you did.” Frank nods and they settle in for the day.
Bob comes in two and a half hours late, blaming the traffic. Ray looks skeptical, but takes him at his word. Frank pulls him aside.
“Fuck traffic, where the hell were you?” It’s not like they’ve had any customers all morning, but it’s the principle of the matter.
“I went into the store,” Bob whispers. Frank immediately perks up and gestures for Bob to continue. “It’s fucking big, Frank. They’ve got, like… everything.”
“Everything, what do you mean, everything? We have rare stuff, out of print classics. We’ll be fine.”
“They have a whole classics section as big as this shop, man. And they’ve got a specialty section, too, for rare books. The guy I talked to said it’s not fully stocked yet, but they do special orders and shit.”
“So do we,” Frank insists weakly.
“Frankie…” Bob says slowly. “It looks really good. And I know Brian, okay, he runs a tight ship.” He takes a breath and looks around pointedly. “How many people have come in so far?”
Frank shakes his head. “It’s just because it’s the grand opening. We’ll get people back. The excitement will die down.”
Bob nods and reaches up to squeeze Frank’s shoulder. “Yeah. You’re right,” he says, but they both know it’s a lie.
***
The Shop Around The Corner hasn’t seen any customers at all by the time Frank steps out and locks the door behind him. Ray walks with him to the intersection, where they see the superstore with its lights still on and people streaming in and out of the massive front doors.
“It’ll be fine,” Ray says quietly. Frank puts on a brave face and nods, and they part ways.
Frank trudges up the stairs to his apartment, shifting his books under his arm, and nearly gets bowled over by someone running down towards the door.
“Jeph?”
“Oh, shit, Frankie!” Jepha says loudly, bending to pick up one of Frank’s books. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, I got a show tonight, babe. I told you about it.”
“Oh. Right, sorry, I forgot.” Frank shakes his head and takes the book.
“I gotta go, I’m already late. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” He leans in and gives Frank a quick kiss on the cheek, then turns and scrambles down the stairs to the next landing.
“Jeph!” Frank calls after him.
Jepha stops short and looks up at him, clearly itching to leave. “Yeah?”
Frank opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. After a moment, Jepha takes a few steps back up towards Frank and asks, “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Frank replies quickly. “Go on, I don’t want to make you late.”
Jepha waves and disappears around the corner. Frank listens to him thunder down the rest of the stairs and slam the front door behind him before continuing up to the apartment.
***
Today I passed the entrance to a store that could put me out of business, and I swear to god I nearly had a panic attack. I don’t know what happened. One second, I was walking down the street on my way to work; the next, I was staring up at the big glass doors and the cheerful grand opening banner and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. There were so many people. I’d been really optimistic before, but all of the sudden it was just this huge, insurmountable thing that I have no hope against.
Then I came home tonight and I just felt utterly defeated, and my boyfriend ran out the door because he actually has a successful career, and it’s all I can do just to sit here and remember to breathe. All my bravado’s gone, and I have no idea where it went or how to get it back. I’m so fucking scared.
“Oh my god, I’m going to hell.”
“Hmm?”
Gerard slams his laptop closed and puts on an innocent face by the time Brian appears in the doorway with a bottle of sparkling cider and two champagne flutes.
“Did you say something?” Brian asks.
“What? Me? No, nothing, I’m fine.”
Brian grins and puts everything down on the nightstand. “You’re hiding something,” he says as he unbuttons his shirt, “but I don’t even care right now, because today was amazing.”
“Yeah,” Gerard replies, and busies himself putting his computer on the opposite nightstand. He doesn’t know what his face is showing, and he desperately doesn’t want to show Brian the wrong thing. He finally turns back around when he feels the bed dip under Brian’s weight.
He’s holding out a glass of fizzing apple cider, and he’s not wearing anything but his boxers, and Gerard can’t help but smile at that.
“Tonight, we celebrate,” Brian murmurs, leaning in to kiss Gerard briefly.
“Tomorrow, we work,” Gerard finishes. Brian laughs and they clink glasses and both take a sip of their drinks. “Congratulations, Bri.”
“It’s your place—”
“Don’t even start with that, Schechter, you know this was pretty much all you. I couldn’t have done this, not without you. Seriously, congratulations, you deserve it.”
Brian shuffles forward and slides one hand low around Gerard’s waist. “Thanks for giving me the chance, then.”
Gerard puts down his glass without looking because suddenly Brian’s kissing him and he only has the brain power for a brief hope that he doesn’t spill sticky cider all over his laptop.
***
Brian goes into work ridiculously early the next morning, leaving Gerard to a leisurely breakfast of three cups of coffee and a handful of Lucky Charms. He promised Brian that he would go to the store today, to see for himself how things are going, so he can’t procrastinate on this email forever.
Gerard sits down at the kitchen table with his coffee mug held under his chin so he can breathe in the steam. His laptop is mocking him, a blank draft of a reply open on the screen. He doesn’t know how to comfort Frank, offer him encouragement, without directly going against his own company, but he knows he can’t send Frank anything but encouragement. He also can’t say anything that would give away his identity, or the fact that he knows Frank’s identity. It’s tricky, it’s a very tricky situation, and it’s entirely his own fault.
After about twenty minutes of staring at the blank draft, the taunting blinking cursor, Gerard sets aside his empty coffee mug and slides his computer closer.
You’re doing well to remember your deep breaths. I know that’s the first thing I forget whenever I start to panic. You shouldn’t worry about grand openings. They’re supposed to be a big deal, that’s why they’re called “grand” openings. I’m sure the excitement will die down soon, and there won’t even be any reason to worry.
From what I know of you, Frankenstein, you’re a confident, capable guy. Stick to your guns. You know what’s right. You know what you need to do to get past this, and you’ve got friends and coworkers to help you.
Stand up for yourself, motherfucker. You’ve been doing that all your life. You know how.
Gerard clicks send before he can overanalyze the message and talk himself out of it. He has an awful, sick feeling that Frank’s little shop is doomed anyway, but business is business, and there’s nothing he can do about that now. At least Frank can go down fighting.
***
The initial rush of Way Books’ grand opening has died down, but Frank can still feel the dip in their sales. It’s not like they had a ton of customers before, but now one person coming in is a good day. Frank sits cross-legged on the counter. Ray, across the room in one of the cushy armchairs, stares dejectedly back at him. Bob’s music is filtering through the supply room door, because he hasn’t bothered to put it through his headphones.
The bell above the door rings cheerfully and Frank nearly falls off the counter in his rush to look professional. He ends up banging his hip on the handle of one of the drawers and tries to stifle a grunt of pain.
“God, it really is dead in here,” Jepha says. Frank sighs.
“Don’t suppose you want to buy anything,” he replies.
“No.” Ray starts to get up, but Jepha just flaps his hand and he sits down again. “But I thought of something. This is a good shop, Frank, it’s been around for like… years, I don’t know, when did it open? Doesn’t matter. A long time, that’s the point, and it survived all that time, right? So now you just need to remind people of that.”
Frank rubs the sore spot on his hip and stares. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I think you should have some kind of protest. Like a boycott of the store or something. I could get a band to play, we could get some publicity. Put this place back on the map, y’know? Remind people that you’re still here.”
Jepha looks really excited, and it’s actually kind of a good idea. Frank cocks his head to the side, thinking. “So, like, a picket line or something?”
“Yeah! There’s some girls I work with who could make posters for you, get ‘em printed real cheap, and if I get the right band interested we could maybe get a newspaper article or something out of it. What do you think?”
“Frank,” Ray says, standing up again. “This is good. It’ll help.”
“Yeah,” Frank agrees after a moment. “Let’s do it.”
***
It takes Jepha a couple of days to get a local band booked for a possibly-illegal performance, so meanwhile, Frank, Ray, and Bob paper a few blocks in every direction with posters and flyers advertising both the shop and the band.
The day of the protest, a news crew actually shows up, and Frank starts to feel pretty optimistic. He sees a handful of his repeat customers in the small crowd, a few university students and one rare book collector, and he mingles for a few minutes, thanking them sincerely for coming.
The makeshift stage is cluttered with a few amps and guitars, and Frank steps through the coils of cords to grab the microphone.
“Hey, I’m Frank, and I own The Shop Around The Corner. I just wanted to say, thank you guys for supporting us, and we’re not going down without a fight, ‘cause we’re loyal to you like a superstore like Way Books can never be. So keep coming in, keep reading books. Tell your friends that if they want something real, come to us and we’ll give it to you. Don’t stop believing in us, because we still believe in you. We were here first, and we’re not fucking leaving!”
The crowd’s pretty into it, but Frank knows he can only hold their attention for so long. He turns around and motions to the band. “Anyway, here’s The First Goodbye, they’re gonna put on an awesome show for you guys. Thank you!”
Frank ends on a shout and tosses the mic over to the lead singer as he walks offstage, and he launches right into the first song. Frank stands to the side, watching them and watching the crowd, until Bob makes his way over.
“You think Brian knows you’re out here?”
“I know he does,” Bob replies with a grimace.
“Is it weird, fighting against him?” Frank can’t help but ask.
“Frankie,” Bob says seriously, “I work for you. I love your bookshop, and I believe in it. It doesn’t matter whose side Brian’s on, because I’m fighting for you.”
Frank flings his arms around Bob’s neck and squeezes him tight. “I’m so glad I hired you,” he whispers fiercely.
Bob gives him a smacking kiss on the side of the head and extricates himself from Frank’s arms to mingle again. Jepha bounces over a moment later.
“You did good! The news guys got you on tape, they said they’re gonna run the story tonight.”
Frank grins. “Cool. Thanks for this, Jeph, I think it’s really going to help, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Jepha slings his arm over Frank’s shoulders. “Can’t let you go down alone, Frankie.”
They listen to the music for a few minutes. “They’re pretty good,” Frank murmurs.
Jepha squeezes his shoulder. “I knew you’d like ‘em.”
***
“The music was fine, but now they’re just picketing,” Brian says with a frustrated sigh. Gerard hands him a paper cup of coffee from the café downstairs. “I mean, I don’t think they’ll have much success in getting people to boycott the store, but god, it’s annoying.”
Gerard just shrugs and goes to look out the window. He can see the top of Frank’s head in the middle of the crowd. He looks away. “Like you said,” he replies, turning away from the window, “at least the music was decent.”
“I saw a news crew out there, Gee.”
Gerard sips his own coffee. “You worried?”
Brian’s quiet for a moment. He paces the room a couple of times before answering. “He can’t win, not even with Bryar. I just don’t like being labeled the bad guy, and they’re gonna get a sympathy vote.”
Gerard’s gaze flicks back over to the window. “Yeah…”
“It’ll blow over,” Brian says determinedly. “He can’t put us out of business. The worst that happens is both stores stay open.”
Gerard thinks that’s actually the best case scenario, but Brian’s a businessman, and he knows better than to see it that way. He sighs. It’s out of his hands, now.
***
The picketing brings in a quick stream of customers for a few days. Channel Five ran the story as promised, casting Frank and the shop in an annoyingly victimized light, but at this point Frank appreciates all the help he can get. They even got Gerard Way to comment on the protest.
“It’s just business, it’s not personal,” Gerard says smoothly. “It’s not up to me if The Shop Around The Corner goes out of business. I’m not targeting them. It’s up to the customers. We just have more to offer them.”
“Yeah, fuck you too,” Frank mumbles at the television.
The sales are starting to dwindle again, and this time it’s less of a slow decline and more of a quick drop. Frank’s not sure how long he can stay afloat if things continue in this direction.
***
“I think I might have to close,” Frank says quietly. He, Ray, and Bob are out at a bar, and Frank’s well on his way to totally drunk, and Ray isn’t doing much better.
“We tried, Frankie,” Bob answers sympathetically. “We tried really hard. There’s no shame in bowing out.”
“Yeah, but…”
“It’s your dad’s shop,” Ray finishes. He nods knowingly and nearly falls off his stool. “I get it.”
“I totally failed,” Frank whines. “They left it to me, him and Grandpa, because they trusted me, and I totally failed.”
“Dude, they didn’t have a fucking superstore opening up next door,” Bob interjects.
“Yeah, it’s out of your control!” Ray agrees.
“I just… I wanted it to be great. It used to be great, y’know? But then I came along and ruined everything.” Frank drains his bottle and slams it down on the bar with a satisfying clunk.
“It’s not your fault, Frank,” Bob says seriously. “It’s not. We did everything we could.”
“Yeah, well. Doesn’t change anything anyway. I have to close.”
Ray holds up his beer bottle in a toast and Bob follows suit. Frank lifts his own even though it’s depressingly empty.
“To The Shop Around The Corner,” Ray says. “The best bookshop in town.”
“Owned by the best family in town,” Bob adds.
“With the best employees in town,” Frank finishes. “I love you guys. You know that, right? You’re the best I could have hoped for.”
Bob and Ray both clap him on the shoulder and drink the rest of their beer.
***
Ray’s helping Frank clear out the back room when he lets it slip that Bob accepted a job at Way Books.
“He what?” Frank says, stopping short with a box in his arms.
“Um…”
Frank puts down the box. “Ray.”
“Brian offered him a job, and he took it. He lives alone, he needs to pay the bills somehow,” Ray mumbles.
“He’s obsessed with rare books and he’s got a college degree,” Frank says, “and his old boyfriend’s in charge; of course they offered him a fucking job.”
Ray doesn’t reply. It takes a minute, but eventually Frank catches on.
“Did you take it, too?”
“No, Frankie, no, of course I didn’t,” Ray says at once.
“But Brian offered you a job.”
“Yeah.”
Frank sighs and sits down on the floor next to his box, running his finger distractedly along the edge. “You should take it, Ray.”
“I couldn’t do that to you, Frank—”
“Fucking take the job, Ray. They offered it to you for a reason, just like Bob, and don’t lie, you need the money too. I’m sure they’ll pay better than I did.”
After a moment, Ray sinks down to the floor beside him. “I felt like I was betraying you and your dad,” he says quietly.
“You don’t have to do that,” Frank replies sadly. “Take the job, Ray.”
***
The first morning Frank doesn’t have to go into work, he sits in front of the television and zones out for a good six hours straight. Jepha wakes up sometime during that and joins him on the couch for a while, but then he has to leave and go into the office, and Frank’s alone again, staring at the mindless cartoons and not really paying attention.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t even remember the last time he went on vacation, what he did with himself back then. He can’t remember himself as a kid, out of school for the summer. What the hell did he do with all that time to himself?
Day two, he wakes up at the same time as usual, rushes through a shower and breakfast, and only remembers he doesn’t have a job anymore when he’s about to walk out the door.
Frank sits down in front of his computer and begins typing up an email.
***
Gerard fists his hands in Brian’s shirt, holding him close even as Brian starts to pull away.
“Gee—”
“No, stay, please—”
“Gerard, I have to go,” Brian insists. “I have work tomorrow, and I need sleep, okay?”
“You can sleep here,” Gerard tries.
“If I stay here, neither of us will sleep, we both know that.”
Gerard finally gives up and throws his hands in the air. “Ugh! Fine. Go back to your apartment.”
“I have things to do tonight, Gee; I can’t be distracted,” Brian says apologetically.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gerard mumbles. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” And the truth is, he actually does. He reels Brian in for another kiss, but he doesn’t hold him there.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Brian says when they pull apart. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” Gerard answers. “Good luck with the work.”
Brian waves over his shoulder and sees himself out, locking the apartment behind him. Gerard flops down on the couch and turns on the TV, but there’s nothing on, not even the guilty pleasure daytime soaps. Gerard reaches for his laptop.
There’s an email from Frank, of course. Gerard’s hesitant to open it, sure that it will break his heart even more, but there’s no way he can just leave it unread.
The subject line says the truth about me. Gerard clicks.
I owned a bookshop. We made the news, though that didn’t last long. So yeah, that’s me. I owned this great little shop, and now it’s closed. We went out of business a few days ago, and since then, I’ve been sitting around my apartment watching stupid tv shows and sleeping a lot. I just don’t know what else to do.
The shop was my dad’s for a while, and my grandfather’s before that, and I guess I’ve always just been destined to work there and own it. I don’t have a degree, I don’t have any marketable skills, I’m just… I used to be a small business owner. And now I’m nothing. My employees were my best friends, and they’ve moved on to the very place that shut us down, and I have nothing left. My rival took everything I had.
I’m sorry for laying all this on you. I just need some time to figure myself out, I think. At least I have a little bit of money saved from the shop, so I’m not in a big hurry. I just wish I knew what I wanted to do, so I could have something to work towards. That’s the real truth about me: I know so much about my family and so much about fiction, but I don’t know anything real about me.
Thanks for being my friend through all this.
xo
fnstein
Gerard has to stop himself from emailing back the truth about himself. He can’t do that to Frank now. He needs to give it time, and see if there’s ever any chance Frank will like him in person like he obviously does over the internet. Now is the worst possible time to tell Frank who he is.
You’ll get through this, he writes instead. I’m sorry I don’t have much advice for you, but I at least have comfort. I’m always happy to be your friend, Frankenstein.
***
Even a week after Frank closes the shop, he’s still in the habit of waking up early for work. He rolls out of bed and stumbles to the kitchen for coffee, and then he sits down on the couch with nothing to do. He’s so used to rushing in the mornings; his routine was a quick shower, a cup of coffee while he checked his email, toasted Pop-Tarts if he was up early enough, cold ones on the way to work if he wasn’t, and then a full day at the shop with only an hour to slip out for lunch.
On the weekends, Frank caught up on sleep, sometimes went out with Jepha, or stayed home reading or watching the movie marathons on TV. Frank just felt useless, doing that during the week, when he should be working.
Frank takes his mug into the bedroom and stands at the doorway, watching Jepha sleep in their bed, tangled up in the sheets with the comforter kicked to the floor. Jepha always complained about Frank working too much, but really, it was just that Frank didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t working.
It occurs to him now that he’s been kind of a shitty boyfriend. He and Jepha never really hang out anymore, and even sex is only an occasional activity. Frank’s eyes follow the line of Jepha’s back down to where it disappears beneath the sheet that covers his ass. He’s still attracted to Jepha, fuck yeah, so that’s not the problem.
Mind made up, Frank walks into the room and puts his coffee down on the nightstand with a loud clunk. “Jeph,” he says, half-kneeling on the bed. “Jeph, wake up.”
“Wha…? What’s goin’ on?” Jepha mumbles sleepily.
“I want you to fuck me in the shower,” Frank answers determinedly. “Jepha, come on, wake up. Please?”
“Frankie,” Jepha moans. “It’s like, six in the fucking morning. I’m not awake.”
“It’s like, nine, and seriously, I just want your cock in my ass right the fuck now and then you can go back to sleep.”
“Fraaaank,” Jepha moans again. “As much as I love to fuck you, I’m not awake enough for this.”
But Frank is already stripping off his pajama pants and crawling down the bed, dragging the sheet with him until Jepha’s uncovered. Jepha rolls onto his back, apparently resigned to early morning sex, and Frank takes off his boxers for him. Jepha’s already hardening, and Frank speeds up the process by taking Jepha’s cock deep into his mouth and swallowing around the head.
“Jesus fuck, Frank,” Jepha cries, his hands flying to Frank’s hair.
“You awake now?” Frank asks, and Jepha pushes his head to make him go down again. Frank bobs his head a few times, bringing Jepha to full hardness, and then sits up.
“Why do you want me to fuck you in the shower? Why not here, where it’s comfortable?”
“Because I want to make it interesting,” Frank replies, pulling Jepha upright. Jepha lets Frank drag him into the bathroom and press him up against the wall while the water heats up. Frank kisses him greedily, swallowing every sleepy noise Jepha makes.
In the shower, Jepha returns the favor, holding Frank firmly against the fiberglass tile. Frank reaches between them and fists Jepha’s cock, urging him silently to get on with it.
“Okay, okay,” Jepha murmurs, groping for the shampoo bottle. Frank winds his arms around Jepha’s neck and bites his ear while Jepha squirts some shampoo into his hand. He then turns his head sharply to the side, breaking Frank’s kiss, and says, “Turn around, I can’t hold you right now.”
Frank spins around and flattens his chest against the smooth, wet wall, and Jepha lifts Frank’s thigh so he can rest one foot on the slippery edge of the tub. Jepha then slips his hand between Frank’s legs, slowly sliding his slick fingers up until he can press two into Frank’s ass. Frank grits his teeth and forces his muscles to relax.
“Come on, come on, fuck me,” he says quickly. “I can take it like this, come on.”
“Fuck, fine, shut up already,” Jepha replies, pushing Frank’s shoulder hard into the wall. His fingers disappear and Frank takes a breath, blinking the water out of his eyes. Jepha lines up his cock at Frank’s entrance and pushes just the head in, waiting for Frank to push back, to show that he’s ready.
Frank doesn’t waste time. He reaches back for Jepha’s arm and cants his hips to change the angle a little. Jepha slams into him with a sharp, surprised cry, which Frank echoes a second later.
“Fuck, Frankie, fucking hell, fucking fuck,” Jepha moans.
“Yeah, fuck, Jeph, fuck me,” Frank answers.
Jepha’s hands move to Frank’s hips, holding him and guiding the motion, and Frank leans back into it. “Fuck yeah, Frank, come on. Come on, baby, you want it this bad, you can fuck yourself on my cock.”
“Jeph, fuck, yes, there,” Frank cries. He slaps his left hand against the wall and grabs his dick with his right, stroking fast and hard to match Jepha’s pace.
“Gonna come, Frankie.”
“Yeah, fuck, me too,” Frank replies.
Jepha ends up coming first, and it’s less powerful than Frank expected. Jepha wraps his arms around Frank’s waist and torso and holds him close, rocking his hips up into Frank’s ass. Frank leans back against him, taking his weight off the wall, and finishes himself off quickly with one hand around his cock and the other around his balls, and really, his orgasm is less intense than he expected too.
“Can you stand?” Jepha asks quietly.
Frank wiggles his toes to make sure he won’t slip and says, “Yeah, I’m good,” and Jepha lets him go. They clean themselves up beneath the hot spray of the shower and pass the shampoo and the soap back and forth easily, like they’ve been sharing it forever, even though the last time they showered together was over a year ago.
Frank gets out of the shower while Jepha’s rinsing the shampoo out of his hair and says, “Sorry I woke you up.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Jepha replies loudly, to be heard over the water. “Just seemed a little out of the blue.”
“Sorry,” Frank says again.
Jepha pokes his head around the curtain. “Frank, shut up. I like fucking you.”
Frank grins and Jepha disappears again. “Yeah, well. You can go back to bed, now. What time did you even get home last night?”
“I don’t remember. Three? Three-thirty, maybe? You were fast asleep.”
“Because I sleep at night.” Frank sighs and wraps his towel around his waist. “Hey, listen. I think I’m gonna go get some groceries and stuff, maybe cook an actual meal tonight. Will you be home?”
“Yeah, should be, but there’s a show later I want to catch. See you tonight?”
“Okay, sure, we can eat early. I’ll be back later.”
***
Frank’s hair is still wet when he gets to the store, but he doesn’t care. He pulls his hood up and stares down the long aisles of frozen dinners and wonders when his life turned into this. It’s not quite the domestic bliss he imagined. He can’t put his finger on what changed, but he doesn’t remember sex being so dissatisfying when he and Jepha first got together.
He starts to think that maybe they should talk about it. Try to fix it. Frank’s just not sure it can be fixed, because he can’t even think of anything that’s technically wrong. Maybe they’ve fallen into a rut. Frank doesn’t know how to spice up their relationship any more than he’s already tried, and that feels like a bad sign.
***
They’re halfway through dinner and Frank has come to a decision. The guilt is making him antsy, the meal feels more like a last supper. He finally puts down his fork and says, “Jepha, I need to tell you something.”
Jepha actually looks relieved. “I need to tell you something too.” He puts down his own fork and wipes his hand on a napkin, and they both watch each other in tense silence for a moment. Then, at the same time, they both speak.
“I really think we should—”
“Maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Wait, let me go first,” Frank says quickly, and Jepha falls silent. Frank takes a deep breath. “I think we should, uh, not see each other anymore.” He looks up from his twisted napkin to see Jepha’s reaction.
Which isn’t what Frank expected. Jepha exhales loudly and says, “I agree.”
“Wait,” Frank says, not even bothering to keep the amused smile off his face. “Were you going to break up with me just now?”
Jepha gives him a guilty look. “Yeah. I felt bad, though, ‘cause you made all this effort for dinner and everything.”
“I came to the decision while I was on my way home,” Frank admits. “How long have you…”
“A while,” Jepha says. “But nothing was bad, so I didn’t even think about it most of the time.”
“Something was just wrong,” Frank agrees, “but yeah, not bad. Just kind of boring.”
“Yeah, exactly! I guess we’re more of a ‘friends with benefits’ type of couple,” Jepha laughs. “I love you, Frankie, just—”
“Not like that,” Frank finishes. He laughs as well. “I can’t believe we both wanted to break up on the same night. Jeph… is there somebody else?”
“No, no,” Jepha assures him quickly. “I mean, nothing that’s happened.”
“But there’s somebody you like,” Frank says with a playful nudge to Jepha’s shoulder. “Tell me! Who is he?”
“Just a guy in a band,” Jepha replies. “A drummer.” Frank giggles when he sees a blush creeping up Jepha’s neck, almost hidden by his tattoos. “They’re already signed to a better label, so I’m basically just stalking the band for him. They’re really good, though!”
Frank suddenly gasps. “This is the band you’re going to see tonight, isn’t it?” Jepha hangs his head and barks out a laugh, and that’s all the answer Frank needs.
A moment later, Jepha sobers and stares intently at Frank. “What about you, then; do you have your eye on anyone?”
Frank shrugs. “Not really. Well, maybe kind of? Remember my internet guy? I mean, we tried to meet and that didn’t work out, but I think I might be falling in love with him anyway. I don’t even know what he looks like, though. And he has a boyfriend already.”
Jepha lifts his hand to Frank’s arm and squeezes gently. “If he’s the guy for you, it’ll work out.”
“Yeah, I hope so.” Frank stands up to put his plate in the sink, and Jepha does the same. He kisses Frank on the cheek as he passes to the trash can. “You should ask this drummer out when you see him later,” he says pointedly.
Jepha raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I will.”
“Knowing you, I’m guessing you won’t be coming home tonight,” Frank replies with a grin. “Good luck, man.”
***
“Mikey.”
Mikey doesn’t look up from his magazine. He doesn’t even blink. After a few seconds, he turns a page.
“Mikey. Don’t ignore me, I’ve come to a revelation,” Gerard tries again.
Mikey raises an eyebrow, which Gerard takes to mean Continue.
Gerard sits down on the coffee table, bumping Mikey’s knees with his own. “I think I’m in love with Frank.”
At last, Mikey puts down his magazine. “You’re what?”
“I think I’m falling in love with him. Well, already in love with him.”
“He hates you.”
“I know.”
“You still haven’t told him the truth.”
“I know,” Gerard groans. “But I can’t. He hates me in real life, but… we have this amazing connection, y’know? I can’t give that up. Not yet, Mikey, please.” He realizes, after a moment, that Mikey can’t actually force him to give it up. “I can’t tell him the truth. But I don’t know what to do,” he admits.
Mikey carefully puts his magazine on the coffee table and takes one of Gerard’s hands. “What about Brian?”
“I think you were maybe right,” Gerard says in a very small voice.
“Gee, you haven’t loved him in a while,” Mikey replies gently. “He’s just convenient, and he’s comfortable, and he’s a really nice guy because he’s not in love with you either, and he’s still with you.”
“I’m not some needy pity case—”
“You kind of are. Gerard, listen. He’s been with you for more than a year. Don’t you think he deserves a chance to be happy?”
Gerard sighs and squeezes Mikey’s hand. “What about me?”
“You deserve that too. And if Frank hates you, well, you can find somebody else.”
“But what if I can’t? I love Brian, I don’t want to—”
“Shut up. You will, okay? You can’t just cling to him like he’s your last hope.”
Gerard pauses for a moment as that sinks in.
“Gee, if you let Brian go, you can find someone who makes you really happy.”
Gerard doesn’t want to tell Mikey he’s already found that person, and that person hates him. Something must show on his face, though, because Mikey pulls him into a hug.
“Think of it this way,” Mikey murmurs, “now you can focus on seducing Frank.”
Gerard whacks Mikey’s shoulder and says, “Shut up.” But that’s totally his plan.
***
[part 3]