I Didn't Mean to Fall in Love (But I Did)

“I don’t know how to make myself out to be anything but hopeless, but I really have no idea how to start conversations with people,” Frank says.

“That’s alright,” Aaron replies, “I’m not that great either.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got such a nice voice, that people probably just get lost in that,” Frank says, and then blushes. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to going out on dates or anything.”

“Really?” He asks, looking actually surprised, “you’re, I mean, I guess you’re attractive enough to get a lot of dates.”

Frank blushes again, “you too.”

He tries not to make eye contact and Frank’s face turns even redder, “so why then? Why so few dates? I mean, if you want to tell me.”

“Well, I guess, I don’t know. I’m so dull. My whole life is just a really depressing series of lusting after someone I can’t have,” Frank says.

“Straight guy?” He asks, “I think we’ve all been there if that’s the case.”

“No. Well... I don’t know. He’s just him. It’s just... have you ever fallen in love with someone you’re not supposed to? It’s really hard, but it’s worse when they don’t love you back. This guy, like, he doesn’t love me back. He doesn’t even give me a second glance. He never has, and I don’t know what’s worse. I don’t know if it’s worse to swoon over him knowing he doesn’t love me back, or swoon over him and hope that one day maybe he will. It’s hard either way.”

“I’ve never been in love with someone I’m not allowed to,” Aaron confesses, “I don’t normally fall in love with people so willy-nilly, so the development it would take to build up that connection would kind of null the process I’d think.”

“It doesn’t. If anything, it gets riper. I used to just be sort of silly in love, I could’ve gotten over it, but puppy love turned to real love so quick I didn’t get the chance to rethink falling. It just happened, and it’s been dealing with it ever since that has made life so miserable,” Frank replies.

“So who is it then? This guy?’

“Oh god, I don’t think we know each other that well,” Frank says, blushing profusely. He wants to keep his crush on Gerard to himself, and the several dozen people who already know about it.

Aaron smiles, and shrugs like he doesn’t really care. Frank lets out a breath, because the last thing he wants is to be pressed about Gerard while he’s on a date with someone else, with the intent to get over him. He’s not sure that’ll be possible, but he’s enjoying himself right now.

He wouldn’t have picked this restaurant though. Their breadcrumbs probably cost more than a week’s worth of food that Frank buys. He’s not used to the lavish dining. To be honest, he’s never really even been to a restaurant with a table cloth.

He’d have been content ordering pizza and watching reruns of crappy seventies shows. That’s what he and Gerard do a lot more than they probably should. It’s cozy though. It’s comfortable not having to leave the house, with a box of pizza and your best friend. It doesn’t take any effort, and there’s no pressure on him.

One of the hardest things about being in love with Gerard is obviously the fact that he is Frank’s best friend. There’s no one in the entire world he trusts more or likes being around than Gerard. Not necessarily in a love kind of way, Frank just enjoys his company. He likes talking to Gerard. He likes making Gerard laugh, and he likes the way that there’s never any pressure on him to be perfect or smart or fancy. He’s just Frank with Gerard.

This is nice too, Frank decides. It’s not really his cup of tea, but he’s enjoying himself. Still, it doesn’t really seem perfect. There’s definitely no sparks at the moment, but maybe he’s just getting sidetracked on the fact that this is not Gerard. This is Aaron. Maybe if Gerard brought him to a swanky, upscale restaurant he’d feel different about it. He wouldn’t necessarily like that though. With Gerard it’s familiar and inexpensive, and that’s enough to make it perfect.

“You’re frowning,” Aaron notes.

“Am I?” Frank asks, looking surprised. He looks up from where his eyes were trained, on the blindingly spotless silver wear in his place setting. It occurs to Frank that there’s two different forks, and they look nearly identical to him. He’s trying to figure out why on earth anyone would need two different forks. Maybe it’s for really hardcore walrus impressions.

In high school there had been a unit in Home Ec., which Frank had essentially fallen asleep in, where they talked about proper place settings. He recalls there being something about a salad fork, but for the life of him, he doesn’t know which one that is, if it’s even there. The fact that there’s the need for two forks at all is what gets to him. Why can’t fancy people use the same fork? It baffles him, and he tries not to dwell on it.

“You are, and you’re also deeply concentrating on your plate.”

“I am,” Frank nods, “it’s very shiny. All my plates were bought at the dollar store. I don’t own anything this fancy.”

“No?” he asks, looking interested. Frank doesn’t know why plates are interesting, but he’ll go along with it.

“Well you saw my apartment. You think we’re connoisseurs of fine china?”

He grins, “I guess not. Mine aren’t glamorous, but you might think it is.”

Frank snorts, “I’ve never even seen an actual real one hundred dollar bill. I regard them as about as fictitious as I do unicorns and dragons. Of course I’d think your plates are fancy. Our plates have been known to melt to each other in the dishwasher.”

“I don’t think that’s supposed to happen,” Aaron says.

“Our dishwasher is older than Larry King. We don’t know how to use it. My roommate, Gerard, he’s too lazy to actually wash dishes, and I don’t want to do it, so we just hope for the best, and go for it,” Frank replies.

“I seem to be really learning the fundamental pieces of you,” Aaron says mock seriously, “A guy who’d rather melt a plate than stick it in the sink and scrub it.”

“Pretty much.”

~*~*~*~

There’s this sort of inexplicable dislike for Aaron that Gerard is starting to feel. He doesn’t know why the hell he feels the way he does, but there’s something really troubling him. It’s not that there was anything wrong with Aaron. He seemed pretty nice actually.

Gerard just excuses it as being bitter over Batman. Batman is important. Frank flaked out on Batman! That’s just inexcusable.

He’s staring blankly at the TV, trying to stop counting the minutes Frank’s been gone. He knows it’s only been a few hours, but it feels like it’s been years.

“Oh!” Patrick says suddenly, looking excited. He’s sitting on the perch by the window staring down at the street below with interest.

“What?” Pete asks.

“This big fancy car just pulled up, and, hold on,” Patrick holds out a finger, “yes! That’s Frank. Man his boyfriend has a really nice car.”

“What kind of car is it?” Pete asks.

“I don't know much about classic cars,” Patrick replies, “but it’s nice, and aww, Frank’s boyfriend got the door for him.”

“He’s not Frank’s boyfriend,” Gerard says, though he doesn’t know what inclines him to do so. Gerard’s correcting something really inconsequential, but he’s not sure this Aaron guy is anything close to a boyfriend yet. He’s just got a strange feeling about the whole ordeal. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

“Whatever,” Pete says, “what’s he doing now?’

“Um, he’s getting the front door for Frank, and they’re stepping into the building. I can’t see them anymore.”

“Damn,” Pete sighs.

“Who gets to look through the peephole?” Patrick asks.

“Certainly not you, you’re a foot and a half tall, you probably couldn’t reach it,” Pete replies.

“You’re not that much taller than me!” Patrick says defiantly.

“Guys, quit arguing! It’s my apartment, I get to look through the peephole!” Gerard says.

They both frown, but Gerard looks at them warningly, and they decide not to question him. He bounds quickly over to the door to get there before anything happens outside.

“You’re going to tell us if something happens, right?” Pete asks, coming up behind Gerard and standing a foot behind him.

“Yeah, just hold on. They’re not even in the hall ye-” he pauses, “Oh no wait, here they come!”

“What’s going on?” Patrick asks excitedly.

“They’re just talking. Frank is smiling. That smile that people give when they’re thinking about twirling their hair around their finger,” Gerard relays, “and, oh wait.”

“What?” Pete practically screams.

“Oh god, they’re kissing!” Gerard squeals, and then turns away. He doesn’t want to see that. It bothers him. He decides it’s just the creepy nature of spying on Frank at all that makes him turn away.

“No fucking way,” Pete says, and pushes past Gerard to look through the small little hole in the door. “Shit, they are!”

“What, really?” Patrick asks, far beyond disbelieving. Last he checked, the guy Frank was in love with is on the wrong side of the door.

“That ain’t no peck on the cheek,” Pete says, “that’s not a ‘hey I had a good time, take care’ kiss either.”

“I don’t think I really need details,” Gerard says, scrunching up his face.

“I do!” Patrick says breathily, he goes over to Pete and tries to push him out of the way. “Budge over, Pete!”

“No, this is getting good,” Pete replies, laughing.

“Whoa!” Patrick says, getting a glimpse, “if Frank were a chick, that would be second base.”

“I don’t think there’s a distinction between bases when it’s two dudes,” Pete says. “I think it’s just first, second, and so on.”

“Well whatever it is, it’s heated as heck,” Patrick states.

“You two are such perverts,” Gerard says, trying to pretend that they’re not talking about Frank. It weirds him out to think that they’re referring to Frank.

“Shit!” Pete screams, “they’re done, he’s coming!”

Gerard is watching the two of them frantically try to act normal, while he leans against the back of the couch. Pete busies himself looking at a shelf in the kitchen, while Patrick jumps onto the couch. They look like they’re trying way too hard to act normal.

The door opens, and Gerard is the only one who doesn’t look like he just robbed a bank from the guilt on his face.

“Enjoy the show?” Frank asks, looking at Pete who seems to be thoroughly fascinated in a jar of basil.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pete replies.

“Mhm, sure,” Frank sighs.

“So how was it?” Patrick asks, and Gerard turns, trying to cancel out Frank’s words. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to hear them, but he doesn’t.

“It was good,” Frank says, “not perfect, but I’m going to go out with him again.”

“Well duh, you tried to eat his face out there,” Pete says, finally closing the cupboard door.

“You weren’t watching at all,” Frank says sarcastically.

“Well, I may have peeked,” Pete shrugs, “but you two were sucking face, so obviously it went well enough.”

Frank shrugs, because the date was kind of perfect, but shouldn’t he feel better if it was perfect? It really was. It was perfect, but it just wasn’t right. It was perfect, just not for Frank. Anyone else, any sane person, would say it was the best date ever, but Frank disagrees. Gerard wasn’t there.

“You guys are awful,” Frank shakes his head, “I’m going to bed.”

“Have fun dreaming about whatshisname!” Pete calls after him, and receives a middle finger in return before the door slams shut.