Break the Law For Me [completed]

weekend at frankie's

Saturday; the night Frank should have spent by going out with friends -or in his case: friend. Instead of going outside like a normal rebellious teenager, he spent the night in a twenty-four hour café, waiting tables and being punished unjustly by his social anxiety. It was swell.

However, while he was clearing tables, dealing with sleepy business men, who basically jacked themselves up on shots of caffeine, and drunks from the nearby pub, the one thing that cheered Frank up was the fact he saw Mr Way.

Since Frank had seen him that one time a few weeks ago, he'd been secretly hoping Gerard would be there again. Totally not in a stalker-ish way. And low and behold: there he was.

Just like last time, Gerard was slouched at the back of the café, sipping a cup of steaming coffee. He was staring intently at the screen, blinking hard to keep his eyes focused, and Frank could tell by the way that he had his jaw clenched that he was supressing a yawn. Obviously the caffeine wasn't doing its usual job of keeping him awake.

Before a different table could call him over, Frank quietly speed walked towards Gerard, head hung low. He didn't want to annoy him, or seem over-eager in any way. "Hey, Gee."

Gerard didn't even have to look; no one ever called him that except Frank. A grin already overtaking his lips, he flicked his gaze away from the screen. "Hey."

"Whatcha up to?"

"Whatcha?" Gerard giggled.

"Never said it, so I thought I'd try it out." Frank felt his cheeks heat up. "Not me?"

"Not the slightest." He took a sip of his drink, raising his eyebrows. "Not unless you're secretly in a street gang, are you?"

"You never know, I could be." Frank pressed his lips in to a thin line, stuffing his hands in to the pockets of the black apron he had to wear to show he actually worked here. "That's why it's a secret gang."

"Well," Shrugging his shoulders, Gerard set his mug down, closing his laptop halfway. "I guess you could pull off the leather jacket, greasy hair and skinny jeans aesthetic."

"You think so?" Frank chuckled, suddenly aware of how he looked right then: baggy jeans, a plain long-sleeved t-shirt and hair tied back in a much too messy bun, taken from a very manly tutorial off the internet.

"Possibly, but your face would give you away."

"My face?"

Shifting in his seat, Gerard scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "You've got a kind face." He murmured, avoiding all eye contact like his life depended on it. "You've got to be mean if you're in a gang."

"Oh, yeah?" Frank smiled, unable to wipe the smile away. He continued on, fighting the blush rising to his cheeks. "I'd love to have a leather jacket, but I can never find a decent one."

"Really?" He paused, running his eyes along Frank's torso, then back up to his face. "I think I can imagine you in one. Proper tough guy." Gerard nodded, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands on his knee. "Now. . . Do me."

"Wh-what?"

"Oh," He laughed quietly, "I meant: do you think I could be in a gang?"

"Uhm. . ." Frank traced his face with his eyes, squinting at him. "I don't really have to imagine."

Gerard furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Last time you were here, you already had the leather jacket, tight jeans and greasy hair," He explained. He was towering over Gerard, basking in the feeling of what it would be like to be tall.