It's a Punk Rock Kiss, Asshole

“So, do you still want to go on that proper date with me?” It’s been three days since Frank busted in my place, and I haven’t heard anything from him until now. I was supposed to hang out with Mikey, but I guess Pete surprised him with some weekend getaway trip, so I’ve done nothing except sulk around in my apartment and sleep.
“Um, yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”
“Sounds good. Don’t ask where we’re going; it’s a surprise. I’ll pick you up at eight?”
“Yup!”
“Okay. See you later, Gee.” I could practically hear his little smirk in my head when he hung up.
Dates. I haven’t been on one in a long time, and of course I get asked on one when I actually really need advice from Mikey, but he’s probably doing couple-y stuff with Pete, like taking a million kissy face selfies that they’ll show me later. I figure showering is a good start, since most people don’t like to hang around other people who reek of death and acrylic paint.
After showering, I tear through my closet, looking for something that doesn’t smell like something died on it and isn’t too dressy or look like I’m trying too hard. I settle on kind-of clean jeans and a black tee shirt that smells like coffee because I spilled a little on it earlier. Coffee smell is better than stink smell, which is the only smell that’s going on with my other clothes. I try to cover any other kind of gross smells with some Old Spice, and resumed my place on the couch, going over in my head how to greet Frank. Should I call him Frank, or Frankie? I mean, he did call me Gee. Maybe it’s because he forgot my whole name? No, if he did he’d still be calling me Pretty Boy. God, I could really use Mikey right now.
Mikey is like an expert at dating, because in high school while I was busy being a recluse, he was busy partying and hooking up with people and just became like this quiet master of social skills. He knows when to talk and what to say and how to make yourself not ramble on about things if someone isn’t interested. I had a serious girlfriend in high school, but she was really cool and liked when I rambled to her about X Men and my art, so I didn’t know that other people wouldn’t appreciate it. I learned that a bit when I got my first boyfriend, because he’d always sass me to shut the hell up if I started talking about my “nerdy stuff.” Ever since I’ve been trying to find the perfect medium, but I always end up saying too much or nothing at all. It’s a big part of why I started drinking, because everyone else was doing it, so why not? At least then I could fit in. But I couldn’t stop myself until I was absolutely smashed, and that was usually because Mikey had to pry the booze away from me. I know I did bad things with people when I was drunk, but I don’t remember what, but after a while my reputation changed from “weird art kid” to “drunk slut art kid”. Luckily that was at the end of senior year, so not a lot of people were worried about me, since they had college to look forward to.
I was pulled out of my thoughts by a knock at the door. Frank is there, his faux hawk slightly mussed, and he’s wearing beat to hell Converse. I’m still getting used to the height difference, because this guy is like a hobbit or something. A little punk hobbit from Middle Earth with piercings and tattoos that scare off all the orks. “Hi Gee,” he smiles. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, let me grab something.” I pull on my black hoodie and follow him down to his car, which actually isn’t that bad. It’s some kind of older muscle car, with a shiny teal paint job.
Frank’s got some old school punk tape in and cranks the volume when a loud bass line starts. “Please tell me you know this song,” he shouts over the music.
I shake my head, embarrassed.
He laughs good naturedly, making the tension I feel disappear. “It’s The Clash! Spanish Bombs!” He turns down the volume so he doesn’t have to yell for me to hear him. “Don’t’ worry Gee, I’ll show you all the classics. Sex Pistols, The Clash, Rancid, Misfits-“
“Hey! I know the Misfits,” I interject excitedly.
“See, there’s a start!”
Frank hums along to the song quietly, drumming his fingers on the wheel. I feel him glance at me every few minutes, almost like he’s checking to make sure that I’m still there since I’m so quiet. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one that’s nervous. Finally, he pulls up and parks in front of a loud looking bar, and I feel my heart sink a little. “Um, Frank? Are we going in there?”
“Yeah! I know the band that’s playing there tonight. They’re really good. Don’t worry, I know just about everyone here, so if anyone gives you shit for not being hardcore then I’m right here.” He smiles and playfully nudges my arm, the grin wilting when he sees my expression.
“No, um, Frank. It’s- It’s not that.” I glance down at my hands, which are tangled awkwardly in my lap. “Frankie, I’m an-“
“Oh. Oh, shit. I’m sorry Gee.” He runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks tinging pink. “I’m such an idiot, I should have asked, but I was so dead set on impressing you… And I’ll probably get kicked out of some fancy restaurant because I can’t keep my mouth shut so. Okay, Plan B: What is your favorite food establishment? Because I’m taking you there instead.”
“Um, I know a good diner we could go to?”
“Yeah? Is it all retro on the inside?” He asks politely while turning on the ignition and pulls out of the lot. “Where’s it at?”
“Actually, yeah it is! They’ve fixed up this old juke box there and they have those things in the booths where you put a quarter in and it’ll play any song that you want it to. I usually go there for coffee at midnight if I can’t think of anything to draw, and there’s one waitress that I communicate with through only eyebrow movements.” I rattled off the address while Frank nods along to what I’m saying.
Frank turned to me when we slowed for a red light. “Well, maybe I can communicate to her that you are mine for the night, so she’ll have to do her eyebrow language with someone else,” he chuckled, squeezing my hand gently. “So, you are an artist. What kind of stuff do you do? Like, what um, medium do you do? That’s the word for it, right?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry if I get a bit ramble-y, but that’s usually what happens when I talk about art.”
“Ramble away,” he grinned.
I started from high school when I’d get ideas for comics all the time and jot down rough outlines for them and Mikey would freak out and love all of them, and when I graduated SVA, that I was basically a cubicle rat at Cartoon Network and quit because it was boring as hell, how I saw 9/11 and just felt like I needed to do something, so I painted and got drunk a lot and felt like I was trying to go somewhere in my life but wasn’t really. All while I was talking, Frank kept his grip on my hand, his thumb brushing my fingers supportively when I talked about my drinking. I started to taper off when it got to the darker topic of drugs, but Pete’s voice sounded itself in my head. “Be crazy, and give this guy a chance.” Well, I don’t think Frank was planning on picking up someone who has so much baggage, but then again, he probably doesn’t have the most polished history ever, either. But do people bring this up on first dates? “Hey, by the way, I used coke a lot and went to rehab and almost committed suicide because of it, but tell me about your hobbies.”
“Gee. We’re here.” Frank’s voice brought me back to the world of the living. “Damn, I would have slicked my hair back like Ponyboy Curtis if I knew we were going to a place that looks like a goddamn sock hop.”
I blushed. “Yeah, well, they’ve got really good coffee,” I mumbled, letting him pull me inside. We slide into a booth in the back where a huge Elvis poster has been hung up and framed. Around it are assorted records by Little Richard and even one from the early days of The Beatles.
“So, you kind of trailed off in the car. Do you want to continue, or…?”
I stared down at my hands. “Maybe later. I just…. I’m basically a recluse, and social skills are not at all my forte, so I don’t know if I’m going to say something that will scare you off or make you think I’m a freak. Because even though I may look like just a greasy artist, I’ve done things that I’m not proud of.”
“Why would I think you’re a freak? If anything, I’m the freak here.” He sighs a little and takes my hand in his tattooed ones. I didn’t notice it before, but he has HALLOWEEN on his knuckles. It seems like every time I look at him, some new design has formed itself on his skin, begging for my attention. “Look Gee, you literally can’t scare me off. Well, maybe if you’re a murderer that’ll kind of throw me a bit, but other than that, there’s nothing you can say that’ll not make me want to be with you. Hell, I’m the one you should be kind of freaked by. I broke into your apartment, for shit’s sake! I’m a punk ass piece of shit, and that’s what my dad told me when I left home as a kid, and that’s what I’ve stayed, and it hasn’t served me. I want to change that. I want to show him that I’m not a piece of shit who’s wasting my life away on nothing, because I’m not. I know I’m not, but I have to just get there already.” He sighed and rubbed his temple, then chuckled darkly. “Man, this isn’t going according to plan. I’m supposed to be wooing you right now, not complaining about my past.”
“No, no I don’t mind. It makes you real. I don’t think I could date someone who’s perfect. It’d make me feel like even more of a loser.”
“You aren’t a loser,” he said quietly.
“You don’t know what I’ve done, Frankie,” I replied.
“Then tell me. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is soft and comforting and supportive, and I immediately wonder that if any of the shrinks I had before rehab had talked to me like that, then maybe I wouldn’t have gotten worse than I already was.
I nodded. “Well, in between getting drunk and going nowhere, I started using drugs. Like, hardcore stuff.”
Frank nodded soundlessly, a supportive look on his face.
“And it got really bad. I-I almost killed myself, Frankie. I just felt so hopeless all the time, like I was stuck on a ride I didn’t want to be on anymore and I couldn’t get off. And I thought that was the way off. Luckily Mikey talked me down from it. If I didn’t have him, I think I would have gone through with it.” I sighed, suddenly feeling really drained. I guess it’s to be expected, since I haven’t talked about this with anyone but Mikey and a rehab therapist.
Frank stayed quiet for a minute, and then to my horror stood up. I knew I was going to screw it up if I told him! Being a punk rocker doesn’t mean you want a pile of garbage shit for a boyfriend. But then he slid into my side of the booth and slipped an arm around my waist, his lips barely brushing my cheek when he kissed me. “I’m really glad you didn’t do it,” he whispered, his breath warm on my ear.
“Me too.” I took his other hand and pulled it onto my belly, lacing our fingers together.
“Are you two ready to order?” I rolled my eyes inwardly at the waitress for interrupting us but ordered anyway. I grinned when Frank asked for waffles.
“What?” He grinned. “Breakfast for dinner. I like to change it up.”
“The rules of eating certain foods at designated times doesn’t apply to you?” I chuckled. “Are you too punk rock for that?”
He stuck his tongue out at me and took a sip of my coffee. “You’ve got that right. I’m not tied down by anyone’s stupid-ass rules. I do whatever the hell I want.” He talked animatedly through dinner about his band and some of his friends, and how he’ll tell the band that we were supposed to see tonight to play somewhere where there isn’t booze because they’re really good and he really wants me to see them. Then he drabbled a little about his dad and why he left Jersey and decided to come here to the city. I nodded quietly, wanting to listen rather than be the one who’s talking for a while. Frank orders us a shake the next time the waitress walks by, which really doesn’t need because he’s basically bouncing in the seat from all the sugar he’s already ingested. He also stuck a huge blob of the whip cream that came with his waffles in my coffee because he thought it was too bitter, that little shit. But he’s a little shit that’s really sweet, so I don’t mind.
Frank was bubbling up with excitement when our milkshake came. I’d always wanted to try one from here, but when I come it’s for inspiration and coffee, not for fun. “Here, open your mouth,” Frank instructed.
“Wh- why?”
“Because. I’m going to feed you some of this whip cream.” He scooped some up on his finger and grinned. I felt like an idiot as I opened my mouth, but it made Frank giggle, so I went along with it. We shared a straw, happily sharing the whipped cream. Frank got the cherry though, and tied the stem in a knot with his mouth. “Good huh? All the food I had was great. You picked a good place, Gee.”
“Thanks, Frank,” I grinned, sucking down the last of the shake.
He sighed happily, tucking himself against me. He looked up at me, chewing on his lip ring a little. “Was this a good first date?”
“Well, I haven’t been on a lot of dates, but out of the few I’ve been on, this is definitely the best.” I brushed his bangs a little and kissed the top of his head.

We were both reluctant for me to leave. The drive back home was kind of quiet and awkward again, so Frank turned his mix tape back on, singing along quietly and telling me the names to certain songs each time they changed.
When we pulled up in front of my apartment building, Ruby Soho was a soft murmur in the background. “So, I had a really nice time,” Frank said finally.
“Me too. Thank you Frankie. For everything.”
“We should do this again. I mean, if you want to…” He blushed and ducked his face down.
“Of course I want to! Frank this was… This was pretty perfect.”
Frank looked up and grinned, his expression genuinely pleased. He chewed his lip ring, and then the next thing I know Frank’s cupping my face and his lips are soft on mine and my mind is screaming OH MY GOD WHAT IS GOING ON HERE and I’m yelling back I DON’T KNOW BUT I LIKE THIS. The lip ring felt cold and sharp in contrast to his soft warm lips. My lungs were screaming for air when we broke off, and Frank rested his forehead against mine.
“Do you wanna come inside?” I breathed.
Frank stuttered a little “Uh huh,” before pulling the keys out of the ignition and followed me upstairs to my apartment. He glanced around and smiled. “I like your place. It’s so much cozier than mine.” He took off his coat and draped himself on the couch, patting the space next to him.
I laughed and sat down next to him. Frank snuggled into my side and slid a hand onto my belly and started to rub little circles. I kind of panicked a little, because my stomach isn’t really a point of confidence for me, but it feels really nice, Frank just rubbing and patting softly while pressing kisses on my neck and sucking a little on my collarbone.
After a while Frank yawned and tucked his head into the crook of my neck. “Is it alright if I stay the night?” I shuddered when he poked his hand under my shirt and thumbed the skin by my belly button.
“Sure,” I nodded, pulling us back so he can lay on me. Frank tucks himself into my side, murmuring a quiet “Thanks Gee,” before settling himself. His breathing becomes slow and even, his hand coming to a stop on my belly. I carded my fingers through his hair gently, staring at the dark ceiling in awe. If someone told me I would be here a month ago, I would have laughed in their face. But now, I’m really glad. I’ll have to give Pete a fruit basket for his advice, but I figure that not being annoyed while he and Mikey show me all their selfies will suffice.