Thank You for the Coffee

Frank could tell something was wrong the second Gerard came into the shop. The sadness clung to him heavily, apparent in the step of his walk, the slump of his posture and in his face more than anything. The skin around his eyes was darker than usual, the expression in them dull. Frank had never seen him look so bad.

Gerard had told him about the depression, but had also enthused at just how well he had been feeling recently. It wasn’t like Frank hadn’t seen him on a bad day, when everything about him just felt a little off-kilter, but this wasn’t the same. He could feel it in his gut.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Frank said, reaching across the counter as soon as Gerard approached it.

It was subtle but Gerard took a slight pace backward, and Frank retracted his hand, wounded. When his friend lifted his face they locked eyes solidly for longer than was strictly comfortable. He wanted to move forward, offer a hug or something, but after already having been knocked back once he couldn’t make himself shift to make the gesture.

Eyes were so revealing, in one sense. Gerard could have been smiling with his teeth but the expression in his eyes would have still given him away. However, the emotion itself was murky, rife with pain and sadness whilst clouding any hint as to what had gone wrong. He’d seemed fine on Friday, so Frank could only surmise that whatever had happened had done so over the weekend. It didn’t narrow it down, overly much.

Gerard kept staring, looking right into Frank like he was searching for something. He nodded to himself once, so lightly that it was almost imperceptible.
“Gerard -”
“Can I have a black coffee please, Frank?”

The fact that Gerard verbally spoke his order was like a slap in the face. It communicated clearly that he didn’t want to talk about whatever was wrong, and Frank was readily accepting of this. However, it shouldn’t have hurt like that.

Frank fumbled, turning to punch in the order, almost knocking over a mug as he went. Gerard had the money and student card waiting for him like usual, but everything about it was wrong. Wordlessly they exchanged money, and Frank trickled the liquid into a fresh mug. His mouth was dry, like swallowing cotton.

Gerard sighed, curling his fingers around the handle of the cup, letting his hair – visibly unwashed – fall over his eyes. His voice was scratchy when he spoke.
“I’m okay.”
“Fucking bullshit” Frank fired back.
Gerard flinched and moved away from the counter, crossing to sit at a single table in the corner before Frank could react. He didn’t even glance at the booth.

*

It went without saying that Gerard felt terrible. Frank had seen it immediately, and although it hurt him to distance himself, Gerard could do nothing but shrug off his concern. He had made himself come tonight, even though it stung, jagged reminders in his chest of how fucking stupid he was.

He hadn’t even drunk the coffee Frank made him about half an hour ago, and it had gone cold. Frank had respected Gerard’s need for space, which he appreciated, especially as he knew Frank was probably feeling just as weird about the whole arrangement. The booth had gone to someone else – a blonde girl with glasses, nosing through a musty library book and making notes. It was all wrong, and Gerard sighed again. He had reverted his relationship with Frank back to barista and customer and it was fucking ridiculous.

He flipped open his bag, and absently studied the papers he’d tucked in there four days ago. Taking a deep breath he stood, shouldering his bag and crossing to where Frank was wiping down the display unit. He was wary as Gerard approached, but turned to meet his eyes, concern still rife in them.

“I’m sorry” Gerard said as soon as he stopped, forcing the words out before he swallowed them again.
Frank’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he tried on a bit of a smile, which Gerard couldn’t have returned even if he’d wanted to, despite how happy it made him to see it.
“Don’t apologise” Frank said quietly. “You don’t want to talk about it. It’s... okay. Frustrating, but okay.”
“Things are...weird” Gerard started, trusting Frank to honour his words and not jump in. “I’m finding myself very hard to live with right now. It’s not the depression, it’s-. ...It doesn’t matter. I needed to give you something.”

He handed over the papers. Frank laid his cloth down and wiped his hands on his apron before taking them, brows knit in confusion. He looked at the small note in Gerard’s handwriting paperclipped to the front first, and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“You want me to go back to Rutgers?”

Gerard had given Frank an application form to go back to college, affixed with the name of the course he should apply for, and the course description ripped from the Rutgers prospectus.
“Yes. But this time on a course you’re actually interested in. You can do it, Frank; start up your own label, look after the bands you fight to sign. Fill out the form. The deadline is next week.”
“I don’t even know what the fuck to think right now” Frank exclaimed, out of a loss for words rather than anger. “You come in here, ordering your coffee like a normal fucking customer, and then thrust this under my nose urging me to ‘follow my dreams’? What the hell is even your deal today?”

Gerard reached out and gripped Frank’s arm, thumb over the star.
“I’m not full of shit, Frank. You know you could do it.”
“Perhaps whether I can do it or not isn’t the fucking issue. You think I can afford college? They fucking cleaned me out, you know that.”

“What are you even saving this money for, Frank?” Gerard asked, throwing out his arms and gesturing to the cafe. The look on Frank’s face was stirring something in his gut that he couldn’t allow to brew. He turned on his heel and left, calling out behind him “Fill out the form.”