Say This Sooner

They were inseparable. Closer than any two friends could be without being anything more. But maybe they were. To themselves. In the five years of their friendship, and 15 months of Frank's engagement to Jamia, had anyone foreseen a single indication that they two were in fact lovers.

And as the boys sat together on the faded brown couch in Gerard's apartment, neither was prepared to say their goodbyes, and return to being nothing to each other except a 6:00, Monday night game of pool down at the billiard hall to catch up on their lives. And Frankie would talk about the negatives of Jamia, and Gerard would absentmindedly comment on how 'that sucks' while all he's wanting is to wrap his arms around the small frame standing across the green felt table.

Gerard was the first to break the harsh silence.

“Frankie?”

“Gerard,” he replied.

“You know that we can't keep doing this, right?" he asked; the slightest tone of a last minute effort to put a safety hold on the already sick and twisted relationship they had. And maybe Frankie would want to help, too.

“Doing what, exactly?” Frankie asked quietly, not meeting the older man's eyes.

A flicker of hope danced across the two hazel orbs, because, as they lapsed into yet another unfamiliar silence, Gerard knew that Frankie didn't want to give up on them as readily as he had imagined.

"Sneaking around, behind Jamia's back, Frankie," Gerard sighed.

“I wouldn't call it sneak-”

“Well, when you have a fiance that is clueless to this affair we're having, it's considered sneaking around,” Gerard unwillingly admitted.

“Gerard, we don't have to stop anything! All this guilt of keeping secrets is messing with your head! Jamia doesn't know, and she never has to find out, please?” he pleaded, and they locked eyes for one of the few times that night.

“No Frankie, I wouldn't want someone cheating on me, and you wouldn't want anyone cheating on you, and I don't think it's fair to Jamia. But I'm not saying that I want this to end anymore than you do. You know that, right?”

Gerard turned his body so that he was completely facing Frankie, Gerard's hands on his hands, which were laying by his sides on the soft fabric underneath him.

“I know,” Frankie said quietly, and his dull hazel eyes blinked, bringing forth a tear or two that spilled quietly from his eyes, which Gerard brushed away quickly.

“But we can-”

Gerard shook his head slowly, “No.”

Frankie stood up, hurriedly, ripped his jacket from the hook next to the front door. And after he put it on, he stood there, for what seemed like endless minutes staring at Gerard from the doorway. And Gerard, watching the digital clock placed above the TV set, tallying every second that he could feel Frankie's eyes burn another hole into his skin.

Gerard didn't move his gaze from the square, red numbers; afraid that if he took a last glance at him, he'd give in to the tears that were forming behind his eyes, threatening to spill over every time a thought of Frankie passed through his mind.

“Gerard?” Frankie asked as he unlocked the door, and pushed it open just enough so that he could slip through. Gerard could tell that he was crying. Gerard knew the different pitches that his voice would make, depending on his current mood.

“Yeah?” Gerard sighed, but not in annoyance.

“I love you,” he said, and went out the door.

Minutes later, and half a box of tissues, Gerard stood up, walked over to the door and looked down onto the dark, empty grass from his second story porch.

“I know,” he whispered, and closed the door.