Candy Hearts ✰ Frerard

.CHAPTER FIVE.

lukewarm smile
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"How come you work here?"

"What'd you mean?"

It was once again late, much later than Gerard would have liked, and he didn't have to wonder if it was because of the mysterious man he had recently come to known as Frank- he knew it was. They had become very accustomed to meeting at random days, at random hours, and with more emotional baggage than they both generally cared to admit.

Today, Frank had shown up with a black eye and swollen lip, and Gerard, well, he was sporting black sharpie that said 'Bitch Boy' across his forehead, something he hoped would come off before Bryar saw him.

"How come a guy like you works here? I'd think you'd work.. at a.. well, I don't know, but definitely not a pink diner." Frank laughed, stirring the mostly empty strawberry milkshake in front of him.

Gerard smiled softly, "And you'd think a guy covered in tattoos would know one or two things about landing a punch." He laughed.

"Oh fuck you." Frank laughed back, flicked his straw at Gerard childishly.

See, Frank's black eyes weren't a random occurrence Gerard had come to find, they were indirectly self inflicted. Because to put it gently, Frank had a filtering problem- a fucking huge one.

He didn't know when to shut the fuck up or when to back off- qualities that never once bothered Gerard, but they sure as hell bothered the guys outside of the bar Frank works at. He was a bartender there, and was every familiar in the art of serving others, just like Gerard was, but unlike Gerard, the environment Frank worked at was much more hostile and feverish. People got angry fast, and by people Gerard obviously meant Frank, and unfortunately, some guys got angrier even faster than poor Frankie.

Frank was used to getting the shit beat out of him, and he wasn't too bothered by it, as it seemed, but Gerard was. Fuck, Gerard was terrified not only for Frank's safety but for his own. Gerard was an irrational idiot- so he was always worrying about something, whether it was the weight lingering on his practically boney hips, or the state of his wonderful 'wouldn't it be great if he were my boyfriend,' Frank.

Gerard looked down at his hands absently as he wiped down the counter, he had a lazy smile on his lips that oddly matched Frank's. He could still feel Frank's eyes on him as he turned around to place the used rag on top of the coffee machine.

"Who wrote that?" Frank asked once Gerard has turned back around.

He looked upset, angry almost, and Gerard really shouldn't have been as surprised as he was but Gerard was oblivious and evidently an idiot, and all he could focus on was that it made his stomach tingle aggressively.

Gerard sighed to himself, mainly because it was such a long story and he didn't think he had the energy to tell him what had happened during his lunch break. In his defence though, he wouldn't have guessed in a million years that he would end up falling asleep on the job and have a very fucking intoxicated teenager doodle on his forehead with fucking sharpie.

He probably deserved it, but at the same time Gerard wasn't exactly in the mood to explain to the guy he likes that a poor excuse of a person thinks he's a Bitch Boy, so much so that they had to physically mark him with that label.