The Chasing of Moons

The age of the joint has never been as transparent as it is now. There’s a noise like water hitting tin, the roof in heavy disrepair leaking with a small trickling sound of water into a glass behind the counter. The creaking sounds from above lend fear to the idea that the roof might just up and collapse in on itself.

Conversation within the bar is completely halted when a clap of thunder rumbles from only a mile or two away, followed by the sound of laughter from the bar counter where three boys sit.

The smallest of the boys doesn’t look old enough to be drinking, and the reason for this is because he’s not old enough. None of them are, but at least the other two don’t entirely look it.

According to his ID, his name is Franklin Durham. According to his friends, he’s a twat with a face like an orangutan. According to his mother, he’s a little angel. According to him, he’s just a slightly snarky, somewhat inferior-minded, above-average player of Tetris. His name is Frank, and the barman must be incredibly thick if he believes for one second that any of them are twenty one.

In total, five people sit at the bar. The three boys in the middle, a woman to the side with mascara running down her face, and a man, somewhere in his mid to late twenties, on the left of where Frank sits now.

“To be fair though,” one of the boys says, the one with the enormous forehead and the ego even larger, “it’s not like it’s impossible.”

“No see, the reason they tack on that ‘fi’ at the end is because it’s fiction. Science fiction. That’s what it stands for you dolt,” Frank says to him.

“You can’t prove that it’s impossible, can you? You’ve got no proof. Like, you’ve never met someone from the future, have you? So if you haven’t than it’s literally impossible to know for sure.”

“No, it really is,” the other boy says. “Because, like, I’ve never seen anyone with telekinesis but that doesn’t make it real.”

“He’s right, Bren,” Frank says, “There’s really no justification for time travel.”

“Oh sure, take his side,” the boy with the forehead says.

“Dude, the fact that we’re even debating this it all is sad beyond belief. Time travel is not real. End of story,” Frank announces, rather loudly at the sound of another ferocious crack of thunder, which conveniently disguises the man behind Frank laughing to himself.

“Okay, seriously though, it’d probably take a whole hell of a lot of electricity or something, like probably not enough energy could even be found on this planet, but anything is possible.”

“Anything’s possible, huh? So you’re saying it’s completely possible that Pete’s going to get laid by Angelina Jolie sometime in the next five minutes?” Frank offers.

“Anything’s possible, it’s just not necessarily plausible.”

“Why would Angelina Jolie even be here, and why wouldn’t she be attracted to me if she were?” The boy, presumably Pete, asks.

“Because Pete, and I mean this in the sweetest possible way, you’re disgusting,” Frank says.

“Fuck off.”

“But if you were to like get a shitton of electricity and had science enough to back it up, why not? I mean, look at Frankenstein.”

“Yeah, okay, again, we run into the fact that you’re example is science fiction, emphasis on the fiction. Apart from that though, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be possible. There’s a storm out there right now, why don’t you go stand under a metal rod and Pete and I will watch from a safe distance.”

“Absolutely! Brendon, I am very much supportive of this plan,” Pete says.

“You guys are dicks,” The boy, Brendon, sighs, taking a sip of his completely illegally purchased alcohol.

“I think she’d go for me,” Pete says, apparently still caught up in the other topic, “I mean, if not for the whole Brad Pitt thing, I don’t see why not.”

“Please,” Frank says, “Brendon and I have far better a chance then you.

“Oh so now you’re taking my side?”

“Well, please, Pete looks like he got hit with a car door. At least you’re tall. Chicks dig tall guys.”

“So then she wouldn’t really be looking your way, would she?” Pete says. Pete has, for the last five years, been dangling their height difference over his head like an identical twin who was born five minutes before their sibling. Their height difference is almost nonexistent. If there were a competition for the specificity of rulers, you’d be hard-pressed to find a single one better than any of the ones in the collection Frank has compiled in his effort to prove he’s taller, but he’s been unsuccessful. He’s had to face the fact that Pete is about a millimeter taller than Frank, but it’s entirely possible that it’s because Pete wears thicker socks. Or at least, that’s what Frank likes to think.

“Please, Pete. I may not have an advantage vertically, but I sure as hell have one horizontally.”

“Okay, so I see your joke, and I respect it’s cleverness, but I can’t help but to picture you planking on top of Angelina Jolie now.”

“You’re just jealous because I’m better at getting girls,” Frank says, and this time, there’s no well-timed thunder to prevent from them hearing the guy sitting directly behind Frank from snorting loudly at his words.

Frank turns, astounded by his candor and he tries to get a look at the guy, but he’s hiding his face with his hand, and looking in the other direction.

“Excuse me?” Frank asks the guy, and Brendon puts his head in his hands, nervous of the secondhand embarrassment that is about to fill him. The guy doesn’t turn to look at Frank, he just stares off in the other direction, apparently staring at a picture on the old wooden wall, but Frank doesn’t buy that.

“Dude, if you’re going to eavesdrop, maybe don’t make it so obvious.”

“If you’re going to talk in public, maybe don’t talk so loud,” the guy replies, still not turning his head. The man’s voice is unique. Sort of soft, but also carrying well. It’s modulated, unlike one Frank’s ever heard, and it’s charming at the center of it. Kind of sweet, hauntingly beckoning.

Frank thinks that maybe he knows them and that’s why he hasn’t turned to face them, because Frank senses something vaguely familiar about him, but it’s not enough to know for sure if he can’t see the dudes face.

“He has a fair point,” Pete says nodding, and Frank rolls his eyes, and turns back to his friends, trying to ignore the guy altogether.

Ten minutes later though, Frank can’t stop feeling self-conscious of people listening in on him. He can’t stop glancing back to look at the guy with the midnight colored hair. He doesn’t know why, but something about the man is eerie, and it’s not even in a bad way. He tries to shrug it off, owing it to the weather they’re having, and he almost convinces himself that that’s true when he’s met with the rumble of the sky above a few seconds later. Almost.

“Dude, we gotta head out,” Pete says, checking his watch. “Bren and I have to be awake early tomorrow, so I’m gonna drive him home.”

“Ugh, no, don’t leave me here all by myself,” Frank says pleadingly.

“You can leave too, you don’t have to stay here,” Brendon says, looking at him as he stands up, and pulls on the hood of his coat.

“I’m going to wait the rain out a little longer,” Frank says, “see you later.”

“Yep,” Pete says, giving him a backhanded salute as he makes his way towards the door. Frank looks around, uncertain of what to do with himself, and that’s when he realizes that the guy who’d been eavesdropping has gone. He’s almost disappointed, because Frank was curious as to why he’d laughed and who he was. Frank looks around, but apart from himself and the lady at the other end of the bar, there’s not very many other people here. It’s a slow night.

He sits, looking around, taking the occasional sip of the water in front of him. He’s not stupid enough to try to get himself drunk when he knows he’s going to have to drive home, so he takes surreptitious sips and tries to find something to occupy his attention.

He settles on looking at the glass behind the bar catching the water leaking from the roof. It’s a small sound, a barely there little pitter-patter but it’s pleasant and calm. He listens to the rain on the ceiling above him until it gradually starts to fade out.

Frank decides, maybe about fifteen minutes later, that he should head home. He’s certainly not about to go to bed, but he wants to be in the comfort of his own house for now. He likes rain, he really does, but it’s made all the better when you can just watch it from your own window.

Frank gathers his coat and makes sure he’s not missing anything before he makes his way across the short distance between him and the door. He’s not anxious to get out in the cold rain, but he figures he ought to be heading out sooner rather than later.

Frank walks outside, not sure if he’s ready to drive home if the roads are so wet. He doesn’t like to drive in the rain, he very nearly hit a tree once and it wasn’t a good experience, so it’s something he avoids. He’s not worried about how much he drank, because Frank honestly isn’t much of a binge drinker. He’s sure that he’s not impaired, not with how watered down he has to make that shit for it not to taste like piss.

Frank spies the guy who’d laughed at him earlier, standing a few yards away, cigarette in hand, staring straight ahead so that Frank can only see the side of his face. It’s dark anyway, so Frank can’t see much of him, and the distance isn’t doing him any favors. He knows it’s the same guy because he’s got the same jacket. It’s black with a red lining that Frank can spot because his hood is sticking out.

Frank doesn’t move or say anything for a few seconds, he just watches the man, almost hypnotized as he blows smoke out into the dark night waiting in front of them. The rain has all but stopped, only leaving a slight drizzle in its place, but the ledge of the building above them drips an excess onto the street in front of them. If not for the overhanging roof of the building, which extends about four feet from the wall, they’d be feeling the damp air hit their clothes and make everything all the more uncomfortable.

“You lied to me,” the guy says, out of nowhere, not even turning to look at Frank. At first, Frank’s not even sure that the guy is talking to him, but there’s no one else about, so he must be.

“I what?” Frank asks, looking over at the guy who he’s literally never met before tonight, and thus, can’t have lied to.

“You told me that you came out ages ago,” the man says.

Frank feels a fearful stuttering of his heart and rushes over to the man, shushing him, even though there’s no one around to hear. The guy looks at him, a small sneer on his face that doesn’t look entirely mean-spirited, just amused.

“Shut up,” Frank hisses at him, finally getting a clearer view of him as he sweeps a few strands of hair out of his face. He’s a good looking guy, Frank is willing to admit it, but that doesn’t make up for it if he’s an asshole, which Frank’s kind of getting the impression of. He doesn’t like to judge so quickly though, so he’s giving him the benefit of the doubt.

The biggest thing that Frank notices is that he looks familiar. No, familiar isn’t the right word. Frank is positive he knows this guy. He’s absolutely, achingly sure that he knows that face. There’s not a doubt in Frank’s head that he’s seen this man before. It’s not a subtle inclination, he’s surer that he’s seen this person before than he is of anything else ever.

Except, with a face like that, Frank’s sure he’d remember him. How could you forget a face like that? No one is that pretty, but here’s living proof of human perfection. He’s got these oddly shaped eyebrows that add a lot of character to his face. They’re almost triangular, but they’re not because they arch upwards at the bottoms. His face is innocent in a way, and also not. It’s weird. It’s a very soft face, the kind that Frank feels like you’d never get tired of kissing, and then he stops himself from thinking that, because he’s a weird little pimply teenager and this is a grown man who probably dates a supermodel, and he’s not gay, and he thinks Frank’s a fucking weirdo.

Frank thinks he must be famous or something, because there’s no other way for him to be that familiar and still have Frank’s memory of him escape his head. That’s the only explanation. Frank’s probably seen him in a movie or something and he’s just having a hard time recollecting what movie that is. He knows that’s not it, that can’t be, but it’s something to at least guess at for now.

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy says. “It’s just, you shouldn’t lie to people or else you’ll be hit by the repercussions it brings.”

“Lie?” Frank questions, “I don’t even know you. How do you know I’m... how do you know that?”

“I’m just clairvoyant.”

“Yeah, and you’re also an eavesdropper which means that you heard my opinions on that shit. Science fiction. So what is it then? Is it the way I dress?”

“Dress?” the guy asks him, “You think the way you dress can make you look gay?”

“Well, I mean, there’s a certain attire that can imply that, isn’t there?”

The guy shakes his head, and says sarcastically, “Right, Frank. It’s the way you dress.”

“Okay, how do you know my name?” Frank questions, pointing a finger out slightly like he’s caught the guy in some sort of lie.

There’s still something so familiar about the guys face. He can’t place it and it’s really starting to bother him. There’s a tension in his stomach at the fact that he just doesn’t know where he’s seen this guy before.

“Your friends said it,” the guy shrugs, and Frank’s confidence falls faintly, because that’s obvious. Of course he heard Frank’s name.

“And what’s yours then?”

“My what?” the man asks, taking a step closer to Frank, who has to pull his face back so as not to get a face full of smoke.

“Your name.”

“You can call me Gee,” he says.

“Is that your real name?”

“No one names their kid Gee, dingbat.”

“I-” Frank starts, before he digests the man’s words, “did you just call me a dingbat?”

“I’d have called you a dumbass, but I don’t want to get on your bad side,” Gee says.

“Okay, and why’s that?”

“Because,” he shrugs, with an air of mysteriousness that pisses Frank off.

“Do I know you?” Frank asks him, not able to hold the question in any longer.

Gee snickers lightly, mostly to himself and replies, “I don’t think you know me. I know you better. After all, I know your name.”

“Well that’s because you won’t tell me yours,” Frank says.

“And I won’t. I think you can probably figure it out yourself.”

“Well what the fuck does that mean?” Frank asks loudly.

“You’ll figure it out, I’m sure of it. Give it a couple of days.”

Frank purses his lips, confused by the answer, “You’re very cryptic. It’s giving off a very stalkerish vibe, I’m not gonna lie.”

The guy looks down at him, with this look on his face like he’s highly amused with Frank, and it makes Frank feel small. It makes him feel years younger than this man whose way too attractive to even look Frank’s way. And there’s the fact that Frank is a hormonal, immature eighteen year old boy with almost no experience at all, so really, this guy should find Frank invisible.

The thing is that, even if the guy was a stalker, and he really does not come across that way, there’s no way for him to have any clue Frank’s gay. He literally has not told a single soul on the planet. No one. No one knows, so this guy couldn’t possibly.

“Right, I’m stalking you. That’s what this is,” Gee says as if it’s all some big joke.

“Well what other conclusion am I supposed to draw?”

“Dunno really. You don’t believe in science fiction, so basically, that guess is as good as you’re going to come.”

“Right, because you’re totally a psychic,” Frank states sarcastically.

“No, maybe not,” the man says, and he throws the last of his cigarette onto the ground and crushes it between his heal, which Frank finds oddly mesmerizing. He doesn’t even realize that he’s watching until he looks back up and the guy is now standing so much closer than he had been a moment before. Frank doesn’t know when that happened, or why he’s really nervous about it now.

“S-so then who am I to you?” Frank asks.

“You’re Frank.”

“Well yeah, I know I am, but to you, specifically. Who am I?”

The man declines to answer, just smirks some more and shrugs his shoulders up. Frank swallows audibly, and curses himself out at how awkward he is. He doesn’t understand why his heart is racing like this.

“You’re not going to tell me?” Frank asks him. “How you know about me?”

“Maybe I’ve just got one hell of a gaydar.”

“And do you?”

“Nope,” Gee says, popping the ‘p’ loudly, directly into Frank’s face. That’s all he says before he starts to walk past Frank in the direction of the parking lot. Frank stands there, stalk still for a moment, before his curiosity takes over and he’s forced to follow.

“Just tell me, okay? I don’t want my friends to know about me, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of. Just tell me what it is that makes me so obvious, so that I can fix it. It’s just that being... being like this, it’s embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing about being gay?” Gee asks seriously, the sound of wet pavement slapping below them as they walk. Frank can feel the sprinkling of rain around him, coating him delicately in a fashion similar to perspiration, but nicer, more pleasant. It sticks the very tips of his fringe to his forehead, which he swipes away as he follows behind Gee who seems to have legs miles longer than his. Frank’s not sure where it is the guy is heading, or which car is his, because there’s not very many. It’s a Thursday, a long weekend from school for Frank, no one is out tonight, so there’s very few cars parked in front of the bar.

“It’s just... you don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand being the gay guy in high school?” the guy asks, looking at Frank judgingly, “yeah, I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what that’s like.”

“I’m not in high school!” Frank defends himself loudly, because they are outside of a bar, so he’s got to pretend that much at least. Gee actually stops walking when he hears that to look down at Frank narrowly, no words even needed to enunciate his disbelief of Frank’s lie.

“Okay, so maybe I am, but you don’t know what it’s like having to hide from all of it. Or, I mean, maybe you do. So you’re gay then?”

“Would I be talking to you if I weren’t?” Gee says, “I do know what it’s like though, Frank. I know very well. But you’ve got a whole assortment of friends, I know you do. I had no one. Well, there was this one guy who was nice to me.” The guy looks up, like he’s thinking about something in his past and Frank wishes he could see into Gee’s head. He wishes he could know who ‘this one guy’ is, and what’s so special about him to get Gee to have that look on his face.

Then Frank puts the pieces of what he said together and feels alarmed at the answer he gets when he thinks about it. What did he mean about not talking to Frank if he weren’t gay? That’s obvious to Frank now, but does he mean what Frank direly hopes he means? Is Frank being hit on? By a boy? For real?

Frank’s never been hit on by a boy. He’s never kissed a boy either. He’s never had a boyfriend. Nothing. Frank’s a sad little boy in an eighteen year old teenagers shoes who’s never kissed anyone of the right gender. Never slept with anyone of the right gender. Never dated anyone of the right gender.

That sucks, because Frank’s not exactly an unattractive teenager, and he’s easily one of the more socially affluent kids at his school, so he really could date any number of girls, but the sad truth is that he doesn’t want any of them. He’s tried to make them work, he really has, but in the end, they’re just the wrong gender. Girls are great, they can be fun to talk to and all that, but they’re not the right gender and even the great ones, the really really fantastic ones, will never be right.

“Okay then why are you here?” Frank asks, hoping he might be able to get him to say that he likes Frank or something which sounds like a fairytale, but he’s trying to be optimistic.

Gee finally stops in front of a car a moment after hearing Frank’s words and turns to look at him. Frank glances at the car they’re standing next to and then has the realization that that’s his own car. That’s Frank’s car. He drove that here. He looks around but there’s no other car directly next to him, so it’s obvious Gee stopped in front of this particular car for a reason. That brings Frank back to the theory that Gee is a stalker, but that doesn’t make sense. He’s too cool and collected to be a stalker, and it really wouldn’t add up. So who the hell is he then?

“How do you mean?” Gee replies, turning to look at Frank straight in the eye, his eye contact unwavering. He’s so unbelievably close, Frank can practically feel him breathing. Frank backs up a little against his car. He feels his hand come against the metal exterior which is damp to the touch and almost slips.

“I just mean why are you here? Talking to me?”

Gee chuckles for a moment, looks down at the ground and then back up, straight into Frank’s eyes again. His eyes are a pretty alarming shade of hazel. The color that the coffee turns just after you add creamer. They’re the kind of eyes that people easily overlook because their almost brown, and people often don’t like brown eyes, which makes no sense, but they’re also an almost greenish color which is pretty striking.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Gee says, before he’s pushing Frank up against his car and swiftly biting down on his lower lip. Frank doesn’t even know what to think. He doesn’t get it. He feels like he’s in a porno. It’s weird, but it’s weird in the nice way where you really wish you had the common sense and strength to question it and make it stop, but it’s completely out-trumped by the part of him that controls all the nonsensical bits. The nonsensical bits include, but are not limited to, his lips, which are kissing back, his hands, which find themselves almost instinctively wrapped up in Gee’s hair, his toes, curling in the front of his scoffed up vans, and his heart, picking up a new speed that he hasn’t felt in ages.

And for a weird couple of minutes it feels like he knows this guy. Obviously there’s the fact that he recognizes him, but it’s different than that. It feels like he’s known Gee for years. Like this guy is someone he’s known since forever, and Frank’s only finally realizing that they were always made for each other. It’s just a weird sensation that he doesn’t know, and sure he’ll never be used to. There’s nothing like it, because it’s not even a feeling per se, it’s more like knowledge.

It doesn’t feel like he’s known this man for years, kissed him a thousand times without getting bored, it’s not a feeling. It’s just something he knows. He knows this man, and has for years. He knows what this kiss feels like but it still feels like a first kiss. He knows everything about this man, and he knows nothing at all.

Frank doesn’t know his real name. Gee obviously can’t be it, so it must be short for something. George. Gene. Garret. Gideon. Gordon. Jeff. No that last one doesn’t start with a G. His name could literally be anything, and Frank has no idea what, and he’s got his tongue in this guy’s mouth which is not something you just do when you don’t know someone’s name.

“Whoa!” Frank says, coming to his senses about three years too late. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Gee asks, looking down at him quizzically. Frank’s got a hand on his chest where he pushed the guy away, but he doesn’t remember putting it there.

“Why did... what was... did you feel that or am I going insane?”

“Feel what?”

“Like... I don’t know, like I’ve known you for years. I’m being stupid, why are you even, like I’m just some fucking high school kid who you don’t even know.”

“Okay, trust me Frank, it’s definitely not just you who feels that way, about the knowing you for years thing. You’re not going insane.”

“Really?” Frank asks, feeling a little better about how his heart had overreacted a little bit there.

“You could say that it feels like we started dating eight years ago, almost nine. Technically eight years and ten months.”

“That’s so specific, but you’re right!” Frank says, looking excited because somehow, Gee, whoever the hell he is, knows precisely what it is that Frank’s thinking. Frank’s not sure he would’ve said those exact numbers but he’s just really glad that he didn’t sound stupid when he said that.

“Feels like I’ve known you since I was the one in high school. Like you were, god, you were really annoying at the start, very clingy, which was weird because I wasn’t really used to attention at the time, but you gave it to me pretty adamantly. Honestly, you behaved much like a dog, following me around for ages, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“That’s a little more specific than what I was thinking,” Frank says, now thinking that he’s not the weird one at all in this situation and that’s both comforting and oddly hot.

“I get carried away sometimes,” Gee shrugs.

“I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed a boy before,” Frank says, hoping that that doesn’t sound too immature and dumb. He’s hoping that it doesn’t make him seem all the more unappealing, but he also thinks it was probably obvious in that kiss so there’s really no hiding that fact.

“So I’m your first,” Gee says, “well that just makes this all the more special, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not weird? That doesn’t freak you out or anything?”

“Why would that freak me out?”

Frank stumbles for a moment on his words, “well be-because, like, I don’t know. I’m not experienced or anything. You’re like, really hot, and I’m just this dumbass kid who you just kissed and you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, and you could literally have anyone, but you’re hitting on me.”

“Well you’re legal,” Gee says with a shrug, like it’s a fact. Frank doesn’t even consider how strange it is that Gee knows that, because he’s correct so it doesn’t even compute.

“Yeah, I am, but I mean, you could literally get anyone else besides me. I mean, how old are you exactly?”

“27.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, and you want to kiss me?” Frank asks, dazed at how incomprehensible this all is. Why on earth would someone that much older than Frank with probably tons of experience, ever hit on him?

“There are some things I have to do to make sure that everything goes according to plan. Now, if you want to turn me away now, that’s fine, but I think it’s important to note that I don’t give a shit what you’re thinking about the incongruence here. The fact of the matter is that I like you, and I don’t see why you need to dwell on the specifics as to why that is.”

“But,” Frank starts, but Gee stops him by kissing him again, and Frank melts in it. He’s almost positive that his entire body just turned to jelly and there’s this soft buzzing in his ears, muffling any coherent thought. It’s all too much. It’s too good. Frank never knew that there was a real spark there when you kiss someone you’re attracted to. He’s kissed a few girls before, but it never felt like this. He’s not even sure if it’s as simple as the fact that Gee is a boy, or as complicated as the fact that it could be Gee himself.

Frank has a terrifying thought for a second that it’s Gee’s influence on him, because that’d be kind of embarrassing. He doesn’t want to be the kid who falls for the guy nine years his senior. That feels so degrading, but this is too good a kiss to break it off.

So Frank just closes his eyes and lets himself float along for what feels like too short a time before it’s over.

“So,” Gee starts, “this is the part of the story where you’re supposed to invite me home because your mother is out of town for the weekend.”

“My-” Frank starts and stops, his mouth opening widely, “how the fuck did you even know that?”

“I’m just really smart,” Gee replies. “Like Sherlock Holmes, I just pick up on these things.”

“Well that seems like the most likely option,” Frank says shrugging and walking over to the driver’s side door, forgetting completely about his aversion to wet roads for the moment.

“As opposed to?” Gee questions.

“The idea that you’re a psychic, or a mind reader or-”

“Or what?” Gee asks, stepping back as Frank opens the door to his car. He doesn’t seem at all worried about Frank driving off without him, which is what Frank really should do, but he doesn’t want to. Frank doesn’t think he can, he’s far too intrigued.

“I don’t know, the only other idea I’ve got is that you’ve time traveled back from the future or something.”

“Now,” Gee says, mouth aghast, “wouldn’t that be something?”