Chance

“After you,” Frank says, opening the door for him. Gerard’s almost shot backwards at the smell of tea, and it’s not a bad smell at all, it’s quite nice, but it’s the kind of intoxicating smell that would make you easily susceptible to hypnosis.

“What a gentleman,” Gerard replies.

“Nope, just trying to look at your ass.”

“I meant what I said,” Gerard says, because he is really genuinely fond of his own butt.

“I love a man with confidence.”

Gerard walks up to the counter, he’s been here many times before and it’s mostly because of the proximity to work. Gerard used to be able to walk to work, and this place was right on the way, but he supposes that those days are over now. That’s fine, Starbucks makes better coffee anyway.

Gerard stops before the counter waiting for Frank to look at the menu even though most people already know their coffee order, even when entering a new place. Everyone knows their own coffee order, it’s like knowing your social security number or name.

“Oh they have cannoli’s, I need a cannoli,” Frank says, then turns to Gerard, “Cannoli’s are phallic shaped, I always try to indulge on phallic shaped objects when I’m on a date, and they don’t have any bananas.” He says it barely out of earshot of the cashier but close enough that Gerard feels self-conscious.

“So this is a date?” Gerard asks, which is probably not the part of that sentence that he should have clung to.

Frank goes a little pink and Gerard falls a mile or two further down the pit of his ever growing adoration for this man who he is sixty percent sure he’s going to marry someday. The percentage is going up every five minutes or so. In twenty minutes Gerard will probably suggest they take a road trip to Atlantic City. For a shotgun marriage of course, not for gambling and hookers.

“Fuck,” Frank says, “I love you.”

The cashier, who looks like the epitome of white trash, she’s even got the unwashed dreadlocks to prove it, is literally eating the two of them up like a four course meal. She thinks they’re just the cutest thing ever. Gerard thinks that she’s probably the kind of girl who loves gay guys but thinks lesbians are gross. She’s the kind of person Gerard would probably not feel bad about accidentally hitting with a car.

“How long have you two known each other?” she asks, and oh man, Gerard is sure he is fueling her fantasies tonight.

“Oh, about ten minutes,” Gerard says.

“Don’t trivialize our love,” Frank snaps at him, “more like fifteen.”

This squashes the cashiers creepy, creepy dreams and Gerard’s never been more pleased with himself.

“So what do you want?” She asks, looking less enthused than she had a moment earlier.

“Just a coffee,” Gerard says.

“Decaf?” she asks, and Gerard shakes his head.

“At this time of night?” Frank says with a startlingly bad southern accent. He doesn’t know why it is that it makes Gerard’s heart stutter, but it does. He wants to see Frank really offend some dude from Texas with that accent. His gayness would also do the trick, but it would be funnier the other way.

“I have a feeling I’m going to be up a while,” Gerard says.

“Call that an innuendo,” Frank says. “Speaking of, I’ll have what he’s having.”

Gerard turns to him and says, “So for girl’s names, I really like the name Delilah.”

“I like that,” Frank says, “it’s pretty.”

“Just like you.”

“I know,” Frank says. Gerard just grins at him and considers holding his hand maybe. He doesn’t know if they’re there yet. Joking aside, he’s not sure where Frank stands on the whole hand holding thing. Taking joking into consideration, they should be celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary sometime in the next five minutes.

“What are you doing?” Gerard asks when Frank gets out his wallet like he’s about to pay. There is no way Gerard is going to let Frank pay. Gerard is a gentleman. His mother raised him right.

“What?” Frank asks.

“I’m not going to let you pay,” Gerard replies, grabbing his own wallet from his pocket.

“Yes you are, I’m being chivalrous.”

“What if I want to be chivalrous?”

“Tough shit,” Frank replies.

“No but I want to pay,” Gerard says, and he can tell they’re about to have a debate about politeness so he prepares himself.

“But I got there first,” Frank says, and Gerard doesn’t know what he means. Maybe Frank reached to pay first, but Gerard had had the intention of it originally, so he doesn’t know who actually decided to pay first.

“Oh this is so hard. I’m beginning to understand why people hate the gays, it’s so hard to figure out who pays,” Gerard says, as a joke, but there is some truth to it. This is a genuine debate he’s had with most of the guys he’s dated. And then there’s the fact that you always pull out the others chair for them and then there’s an awkward moment when you both stare at each other because now you might as well just sit down in the chair you pulled out. It’s a really confusing situation.

“Only one way to solve it,” Frank states.

“And how is that?”

“Thumb war it out.”

Gerard looks at him, waiting for Frank to say ‘psyche’ but he doesn’t so he just shakes his head and says, “you’re completely serious aren’t you?”

“I’m never kidding when it comes to thumbs,” Frank says.

“You will be the death of me.”

“It’ll be poison,” Frank responds, nodding, putting out his hand, like he’s about to handshake, but it’s far more childish than that. Gerard takes his hand, and he supposes that this is close to hand holding. That is until he’s literally having a thumb war with a man who is almost thirty years old.

“The poison for me?” Gerard asks.

“The poison chosen specifically to kill Gerard,” Frank nods.

“That poison,” Gerard says, as his thumb gets what he thinks to himself is the upper hand until he realizes the horrible pun there. Honestly though, Gerard’s thumb is just way bigger than Frank’s and this was barely even a thumb scuffle let alone a thumb war. Gerard isn’t too focused on winning as much as he is on trying figure out what Frank’s knuckles say, but he can’t tell, so he makes a mental note to try later.

“Fuck,” Frank says, when Gerard’s thumb is victorious. Gerard can’t help it, Frank’s just got smaller hands. Frank is somewhat intimidated but he reminds himself that not everything about him is smaller than Gerard’s, in all likelihood.

“Fair is fair,” Gerard says, grabbing his wallet from his pocket again, and grinning. Really, he doesn’t know why he’s the one whose happy about spending money. It’s a date thing, he thinks. You always want to be the guy who pays, it makes you seem kinder.

“Fine, but I’m paying for your boob job.”

“It’s a deal,” Gerard says, turning his attention back to the cashier who looks wigged the fuck out. She just decides to ignore them apparently and turns to get them their coffees while Frank continues to behave like the most adorable puppy on the face of the planet. Gerard is practically crooning over him, he’s literally just so fucking adorable.

When the cashier sets their coffees on the counter, not even bothering to make eye contact, or say anything to them, Gerard looks at the cup happily.

“I love coffee so much,” Gerard says.

“I love you so much,” Frank says, grabbing his cup and walking over, beckoning Gerard to follow him. The coffee shop has a few tables with pillows instead of chairs, which makes it even easier to lure a hipster, like they couldn’t do that already. Though this place is starting to get popular which means it’s no longer popular, because hipsters will only go there if they liked it before it was cool.

Gerard instead goes for a table with a chair, because he is a grown ass man who uses chairs. He doesn’t have the youth in him to sit on a pillow at a table. He’s also too old for bean bag chairs.

“Okay, it’s question time,” Frank says, “if we can’t successfully win in a Newlywed game type situation than this isn’t real love.”

“That seems completely fair,” Gerard nods.

“Alright, I’m going first. Tell me about you.”

“What exactly about me?” Gerard asks.

“Just anything. Summarize your life for me.”

“Okay, I uh, I’m 29, I have a brother called Mikey, I’m riddled with debt, I love punk music and I unironically like musicals.”

Frank nods and says, “I’m 7 years old on a good day, no siblings, also love punk music, I’m the annoying vegetarian friend, and I really love comic books.”

“I also love comic books,” Gerard says.

“Who needs eHarmony when we have each other?”

“Rich people.”

“Okay, important question here. Have any dogs?” Frank asks.

“No,” Gerard shakes his head. “We have a cat, he’s black and fluffy. So fittingly, his name is Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“We?” Frank asks.

“My roommate and I,” Gerard says.

“Oh gosh, I’m getting breaking news here, new development, green eyed monster sighting in the general vicinity of where I am currently sitting,” Frank says, sounding a little nervous.

“She is nothing to worry about.”

“Oh okay,” Frank says, sounding instantly relieved, “Pardon my jealousy when we literally are not even dating.”

“It’s fine,” Gerard says. Gerard wouldn’t consider himself to be a very jealous person, he’s pretty confident in himself, and he genuinely believes the best in people. He doesn’t get jealous often because he just doesn’t believe people are capable of doing mean things. He’s been burned by that feeling before, but he still maintains his belief.

“I fell in love with a roommate once. Not a good situation to be in,” Frank says, “I’m just irrationally worried about that now for all time, which is hypocritical but sometimes I’m a shitty person and I don’t care.”

“What happened?” Gerard asks, hoping that it’s not too personal a question.

“He found out,” Frank says, “and he didn’t feel the same way. He wasn’t a dick about it or anything, he honestly felt bad about the situation, but it got really awkward. Eventually he just moved out.”

“And how about now? New roommate?”

“Yeah, Ray,” Frank says, “straight as an arrow, which shoots even the idea in the water. What’s your roommate like?”

“I’ve known Hayley for, wow, since the first week of college,” Gerard says. “She lived in the hall adjacent to mine and we shared a kitchen. We bonded over Ghostbusters, and we’ve been biffles ever since.”

“That sounds like a teenage romantic movie where you’re the fairy godmother character whose best friends with the lead, and you’re there only to serve the purpose of monopolizing on homosexual stereotypes.”

“Starring Dylan O’Brien.”

“I’d watch the fuck out of that movie,” Frank says.

“Who can resist Dylan O’Brien?” Gerard asks, “I’d let him slit my throat with a butter knife. In the lounge.”

“I’d let you kill me with a candlestick. In the kitchen.”

“Oh yeah, talk board game to me,” Gerard says in the only sultry voice he can muster without laughing at himself.

“We should play monopoly sometime,” Frank says, “we could go for hours without any breaks.”

“Fuck yeah,” Gerard says, and he’s starting to scare himself. He’s never had such a weirdly sexual conversation about board games before and he’s not sure why it is that it’s happening, but he knows he doesn’t like it. Well, he likes it a little bit.

“I’ll settle your Catan.”

“You have a ticket to ride anytime, baby.”

“Your weird kink aside,” Frank says, derailing the conversation before it really lands in the gutter, “let’s do a lightning round to speed things up. Favorite superhero?”

“Wolverine,” Gerard says, “Cereal of choice?”

“Cinnamon toast crunch. Favorite Harry Potter book?”

“Azkaban. Candy bar?”

“Kit Kat. Maguire or Garfield?” Frank asks.

“Garfield,” Gerard says, and Frank raises an eyebrow at him, “I know what I’m about, son. Drake or Josh?”

“Josh,” Frank says, grinning at the question, “pizza topping?”

“Only if I have a coupon, I’m not rolling in money to put shit on pizza,” Gerard says.

“Fair enough,” Frank nods. “Now we both get one philosophical question.”

“Okay, I’m ready, hit me.”

“What fictional character from anything do you identify with the most?”

“Nice question,” Gerard says, and he has to stop to think about it. “I have to say Willow from Buffy.”

Frank evaluates Gerard for a minute before saying, “You know, I don’t know why but I get it. And in case you’re wondering, I’m Toph from Avatar. Okay, you go.”

Gerard thinks and he tries to find the question that will divulge the utter depths of Frank, so what he asks is the only logical thing he can think of, “what’s something you wish you could change?”

“Change about what?” Frank asks.

“Anything,” Gerard says, “if you could change anything what would you change?”

“Uh, the number of digits in my bank account?” Frank offers, before shaking his head, “no I’m just joking. Though it would be nice. If I could change something, it would be that people would be kind to others. People would understand that we’re all humans and the only way to get through life is by being humane to others. Universal decency, because kindness is rare on this planet, especially genuine kindness. So that’s what I would change, if I could change anything.”

“That was a really dope answer,” Gerard nods, looking at Frank like they’re on their honeymoon and all he wants in the world is Frank.

“Thanks, I am pretty wise,” Frank says, but Gerard can tell that he’s happy that Gerard appreciates it. He really does, he likes Frank. He likes that he can just ask him a weirdly broad question and get a real answer to it. He just likes the way Frank thinks, the way he talks, the sound of his voice, the way he enunciates words, everything. He could spend years memorizing Frank’s voice, the words he uses and the way he puts them in a sentence. Gerard’s never been so fascinated in the way someone talks before, and it’s because Frank’s different somehow. Frank seems like he’s on a different frequency to the other people Gerard’s met, a frequency that matches Gerard’s own. It’s like Gerard found the right channel to talk to Frank through a walkie-talkie.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Frank asks, which sounds like dialogue straight out of that Dylan O’Brien movie.

Gerard doesn’t know why he’s looking at Frank; he doesn’t know how he must look. There’s nothing that isn’t interesting about him. From the curvature of his face to the way you can spot ink under his sleeve where it’s bunched up around his hands. He’s just something else to Gerard, something that he’s never known before.

Gerard wanders what it would be like to kiss him. Frank looks like he’d be a good kisser, maybe it’s because he’s just got the most tantalizing mouth Gerard’s ever seen. And he’s got those hands, covered in tattoos, Gerard can’t see much of them but he wants nothing but to have those hands all over him, everywhere, tangled in his hair, warm against his skin, soft on his waist or firm on his shoulder. Anywhere at all really.

Gerard’s got an obsession with kissing, not in a bad way, he just can’t help but to imagine it whenever he meets someone he likes even a little bit. Kissing is the most important thing to him, aside from talking, because it’s more intimate than anything else. Fucking is great and fun and all, but it’s always got an underlying goal, whatever that goal may be. Kissing doesn’t have an ultimate goal, it’s just about the act itself. You’re not trying to get off or meet an end, it’s just about kissing. It’s simple, but it’s more important than anything. Because kissing is about closeness. Innocent, caring, loving closeness.

Looking at Frank, Gerard thinks he does have an idea or two about why it is that he needs to look at him in whatever way he is. Gerard wants to know what that closeness with Frank would be like. He wants to know what it’s like to be lost in the moment, forget all the worries of the world around him only for a second, just be dazed and awestruck because of Frank.

Gerard doesn’t believe that kisses really can give you fireworks, and honestly, he wouldn’t want them if they did. That’s not what it’s about, it shouldn’t be about fireworks, it shouldn’t be about an ultimate destination or achievement. A kiss shouldn’t give you fireworks, a kiss should give you a hearth on a rainy day, a bed on tired feet, a blanket in the cold.

“I’m starting to feel like you and I aren’t being as sarcastic as we had originally intended,” Gerard says.

“How so?”

“I’m not joking when I say that you’re gorgeous, and I’m not joking when I say that I feel something for you.”

“Well that’s good,” Frank nods, “because I’m not joking either.”