II
When Frank awoke, the intoxicating sound and aroma of brewing coffee coaxed him from the depths of sleep. The rich, dark fragrance swirled through the air, mingling with the soft hum of the coffee machine, while warm morning light streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the room and gently nudging him into consciousness. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he ran his fingers through his tousled hair, feeling the soft texture of the strands as he stepped out of bed, the cool tiles beneath his feet sending subtle jolts of awareness coursing through him.
In the kitchen stood Gerard, casually shirtless in plaid sleep pants, his skin glistening softly in the morning light. Frank slid onto one of the metal barstools, the screeching sound echoing in the stillness and drawing Gerard’s attention. Gerard turned, a warm and inviting smile breaking across his face as he cradled a steaming cup of coffee in his hands.
“Good morning, Frank,” he greeted, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Did you sleep alright?”
“As best as I could,” Frank replied, feeling a flicker of uncertainty under Gerard’s concerned gaze. He quickly added, “Oh—it wasn’t anything to do with you. Your couch is incredibly comfortable; I slept like a baby. I’m just paranoid about Mark finding me and dragging you into this mess.”
Gerard nodded, the concern still lingering in his eyes. He set his cup down gingerly, as if it were crafted from delicate glass. “Would you like some coffee?”
Frank shook his head, a nervous tick surfacing as his fingers began to tap against the smooth marble countertop. “I’m good. It usually messes with my stomach,” he admitted, swinging his legs back and forth like a child perched on a swing.
“How about tea?” Gerard suggested, his voice brightening, a hint of hopefulness in his tone.
“Do you have oat milk?” Frank asked, a wave of embarrassment washing over him for being so particular, especially since Gerard graciously let him stay. “I’m really sorry. I have a lot of food allergies, and my health isn’t exactly stellar.”
“It’s all good, man,” Gerard reassured him, his eyes sparkling with genuine warmth. “There’s a corner store just across the street if you want to grab some.”
Frank's eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, no, it’s totally okay. Water is fine.” The thought of venturing out with Mark still hunting for him made him shiver.
“C’mon, man!” Gerard insisted, his enthusiasm infectious. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
Frank squinted at him, still unsure. “Are you sure?”
“Positive as a prairie dog,” Gerard replied with a grin. “I totally just made that up.”
Reluctantly, Frank nodded, making his way to the front door where his shoes lay sprawled. Gerard disappeared into his bedroom, reappearing moments later clad in a fitted Muse shirt and an oversized, fluffy red coat that looked even more extravagant than the jacket Frank had seen him in the night before.
“Oh!” Gerard suddenly exclaimed, his eyes widening with realization. “I almost forgot. Do you need anything for your swelling?”
Frank had blanked entirely on the injuries adorning his face. He gingerly touched his cheek, wincing as a sharp pain shot through him. Stepping into the tiny bathroom beside Gerard’s bedroom door, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and had to stifle a gasp. The right side of his face was an unsettling canvas of purple and yellow bruises. Dried blood clung stubbornly to his nostrils, and upon closer inspection, he realized he had chipped one of his front teeth.
“Holy shit,” Frank muttered to himself, disbelief dripping from his voice.
Gerard leaned against the doorframe, a chuckle bubbling up from his throat. “They really did a number on you, huh?”
Frank shot him a side-eye, a grimace twisting his features. “I can’t go out like this.”
“Oh, sure you can!” Gerard said mischievously, winking at him. “Makes you look tough.”
“Or like a nerd who just got his ass kicked by the school bully,” Frank shot back, a hint of frustration flaring. “It’s not exactly classy.”
Gerard rolled his eyes dramatically. “We’re going to a bodega. And since when do you care about class?”
“Since when do you know anything about me?” Frank retorted, lightly bitter in tone.
Gerard fell silent, and Frank noticed the frown etched across his face. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, guilt pricking at him. “Let’s just go,” He said.
*
The walk to the corner store was awkward and tense. Frank had a feeling that his apology fell flat on Gerard’s ears, even if it was genuine. They walked in silence, Frank trailing behind Gerard like a lost puppy. He was glad no one was around to witness his battered face, so he didn’t feel the need to cover himself and hide from intrusive eyes.
Gerard walked confidently and quickly, forcing Frank to scamper behind him until they reached the small store across the street. Gerard held the door open for Frank, the entrance bell ringing and catching the cashier's attention, who barely glanced at them before turning his attention back to the magazine in his hands.
The aisles were cramped, and the shelves running along the sides were stocked full of anything and everything someone could possibly need on the go. Gerard walked straight to the back of the shop and stood in front of the refrigerated section. Frank tailed him and stopped behind him.
“Pick your poison,” Gerard smiled slightly. Frank exhaled internally, relief falling on his shoulders from the confirmation that Gerard wasn’t as mad as Frank was perceiving him to be. He grabbed a carton of oat milk and led them to the counter. The cashier didn’t speak to them as he rang them up, staring at Frank as he fumbled for his wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill.
The cashier suddenly looked through Frank and opened his mouth in what could only be shock. Frank had no clue what was happening until the sharp and unmistakable bang of a gun came from behind him. The cashier looked down at the hole in his chest before falling sideways, dead, and splattering blood on the shelves behind him.
Frank screamed and whipped around, preparing to find himself face to face with the gunman before being shot himself. Instead, he turned around to Gerard, holding a nine millimeter and a wicked smile painted across his face.
“Oh my god-” Frank gasped. “What the fuck? What the fuck? Oh my god. Gerard, what the fuck? ”
Instead of replying, Gerard calmly walked around the counter and took the ten-dollar bill out of the cashier's hand. He handed it to Frank and walked out the door without a word.
Frank ran after him, cursing and tears trailing down his face, “What the fuck did you just do?” He yelped. “Did you just fuckin’-” He keeled over and vomitted on the sidewalk. “You fucking killed him!”
Gerard turned around, looking annoyed and borderline inconvenienced. He stared at Frank as he dry heaved on the ground, arms crossed and foot tapping on the concrete. “What I did,” he began, “Was save you a whole ten dollars. Ten dollars, of which you don’t have the means to waste. Four thousand, remember?”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t you just tell me that before we left?” Frank yelled, “And where the fuck did you get that gun?”
Gerard rolled his eyes and sighed, “You’re awfully ungrateful to the person offering you refuge from your gang stalkers.”
“Ungrateful that you just murdered someone in cold blood?” Frank sobbed. “This isn’t fucking real.” Frank decided. “I’m dreaming. I’m gonna wake up on your couch and everything will be fine.”
“Sure, man,” Gerard sighed. “While we wait for you to wake up, let’s get back to my place before someone finds us.” He looked down at himself and at the brown blood stains on his jacket.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Frank backed away. “You’re nuts. You’re a fucking psycho.” He gripped his head and shook it back and forth. “I’m out of here. I’m gonna fucking call the police and get you arrested. I can’t believe this is happening."
Gerard rolled his eyes and grabbed Frank’s shirt, pulling Frank towards him. “Look down.” He demanded.
Frank pulled away from Gerard and looked down at himself. His shirt and pants were doused with blood, “Wha-” Frank sputtered. “I didn’t even- I didn’t even touch him! I was five feet away from him!”
“I guess it splattered,” Gerard said simply. “Now, are we going back to my place, or would you rather stand in front of a crime scene covered in blood?”
Frank looked back and forth between Gerard and the door to the store behind him. “I’m getting my stuff from your apartment and getting as far away from you as I possibly can.” He said.
Gerard shrugged. “Okay.”
Frank ran across the street and into the condominium parking lot, busting through Gerard’s door and grabbing his wallet and keys from the coffee table in front of the couch. He turned around to book it away from Gerard, but he ran straight into Gerard’s hand, who pushed him back onto the couch.
“Sorry, man. I can’t let you leave.” Gerard said, “Not now, at least. How about you take a shower?”
Frank stared at Gerard, “How can you be so nonchalant about this? Are you used to murdering innocents on random Wednesday afternoons?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“You’re fucking crazy, man,” Frank backed away from Gerard. “Let me out of here, or I'll call the police.” He reached into his back pocket for his phone, but his hand landed on nothing. He looked back up, and Gerard was holding his phone in his hand.
“Sit down, Frank. We have some discussing to do.”