#adventuresinaverage

Frank is out of cigarettes by 1 pm. He doesn’t linger on whether he smokes too much (he does). Instead, he drives to Wawa. The same one he used to work at back before he could reasonably call himself a musician, back when he wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get out of Jersey.

Inside, the lights buzz loudly. The one above the coffee station is flickering, just like it did three years ago. He’s halfway to the counter before he sees none other than Gerard paying for Marlboros. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, this is where Gerard’s always bought his cigarettes, and he always came around in the afternoon. Gerard’s a creature of habit. 

He shuffles behind Gerard, trying to make himself small, praying there’s some way that Gerard won’t see him even though he’s directly in front of him. He’s silent as Gerard pays, barely breathing, hoping the moment will pass him by if he’s quiet enough.

Of course, none of this helps when Gerard turns toward the door and makes eye contact with Frank.

“Oh,” Gerard says, flat. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Frank chokes out. “Hey.”

Gerard’s eyes flick to Frank’s neck, just for a second, then back to Frank’s eyes. “See ya,” he says. He’s walking away before Frank can even respond. 

Frank stands there for a beat too long, then steps up to the counter on autopilot. He buys his cigarettes, hands shaking just enough to annoy him. He’ll smoke one in the car. He definitely needs a cigarette now.

He stops walking when he sees Gerard across the parking lot, smoking where he always used to. Creature of habit. But there’s something different now. He looks less pissed than he used to. He looks like he’s smoking because he wants to, not because he needs to.

Frank doesn’t even think about it before he walks over.

Gerard looks up as he approaches, brows knitting briefly, like he’s surprised and doesn’t want to share his space. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t tell Frank to fuck off, which is positive. He nods once. Frank nods back as he lights his cigarette. At least his hands are steady now.

“Still coming here, huh?” Frank asks, aiming for casual and cursing himself for how high his voice sounds. He needs Gerard to talk to him, he needs to see if Gerard is pissed about last night. He needs to see if he can make it right.

Gerard just shrugs. “Cheapest cigarettes.”

“Yeah,” Frank agrees. “I liked it better when I could steal a pack though.”

“You used to do that?” Gerard asks, amused.

Frank grins. “Sometimes, on my shifts. Not often, didn’t want to get caught. I didn’t have a whole lot of disposable income back then.”

“Yeah, me either.” Gerard sounds quiet, far away.

“I would’ve stolen some for you,” Frank says. He’s immediately shocked that he said it. It’s true, of course, but only because he would have done anything for Gerard. It feels too much like a confession that Frank never planned on making.

Gerard studies him for a long moment, expression unreadable, eyes searching Frank’s face with a weird intensity. He finishes his cigarette and flicks it away.

“Should’ve told me back then,” Gerard says at last. “I would’ve taken you up on it.”

Frank doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t know if Gerard means stealing the cigarettes or the offer underneath the act, and not knowing feels safer than finding out he guessed wrong. So he watches Gerard pull out another cigarette, put it between his lips, light it. He holds his cigarettes in such a bizarre way, stretching his fingers out wide against the stick. Frank has always noticed that. Always wondered if Gerard knows how much he’s watched.

“I’m sorry about not coming up last night,” Frank says, realizing as soon as he says it that that’s the reason he came over here. It was barely twelve hours ago, but the apology feels overdue.

Gerard exhales smoke through his nose, gaze fixed somewhere past Frank’s shoulder. “No big. You’re busy. Got important shit going on.”

“Lazing around at my mom’s isn’t important,” Frank says. “I just… I don’t know.” He stops, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to ask me to hang out. It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“If you don’t want it to be like that, that’s fine.”

Frank frowns. “Well, no. That’s - that’s not what I said.”

Gerard looks at him then, his lips curling into something knowing and playful. “I guess not.”

They smoke in silence for a while. Frank wants to say something, anything, but it’s like the English language refuses to cooperate, like there’s no right combination of words to describe the way he feels. He can’t think of a single way to move the conversation along.

Soon, Gerard is finished with his second cigarette. He drops it on the concrete, steps on it, and says, “Well, offer still stands. I’m not working at the club for the next couple days.”

“The offer?” Frank’s not sure what offer he’s referring to. The offer to keep fucking in his car? The offer to keep driving him home after his shifts at the club?

“To come over.”

Frank blinks. Right. Obviously. “Oh. Okay, sure. When?”

“Now? I just finished a project so I have some time.”

“Uh, yeah, alright. You want me to drive you?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “I have a car, Frank.”

Frank frowns. “But I always give you a ride after my shows.”

“Yeah. Why do you think that is?” Gerard asks, his tone pointed and slightly mocking, like he thinks Frank is an idiot.

Frank stares at Gerard, the implication making his brain shut down. He’s suddenly scared. He doesn’t want to misinterpret, doesn’t want false hope. This thing they’ve got, the clandestine meetings in the warehouse parking lot, it’s not enough for Frank. But it’s something, and he doesn’t want his heart to get in the way and fuck that up.

Gerard laughs lightly, like he’s entertained by Frank’s silent spiral. “It’s apartment 3B. There’s a parking lot behind the building.”