Chapter Text
Possibly A Tuesday - November ?
Gerard makes his way up the basement stairs, dead set on the cup of coffee that’s five minutes and ten feet away from him. It’s going on noon - which is nobody’s definition of early - but he lost track of time while drawing last night, and didn’t fall asleep until sometime after six in the morning. He’s distantly aware he should shower soon, and that there are several letters sitting downstairs on his desk that he’s been ignoring for the past week - but coffee comes first.
Mikey is sitting at the kitchen table, his own cup of coffee in front of him. In an unprecedented miracle, he didn’t take the last cup, which means Gerard doesn’t even need to brew a new batch.
They sit quietly, drinking their coffee and staring off into space, until eventually Mikey looks at Gerard in the way that means he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like a dick.
“What?” Gerard asks. It’s easier to try to make Mikey come right out and say it, especially when Gerard is under caffeinated and his penchant for guessing games is lower than usual.
“I got you something,” Mikey says, and gets up from the table, presumably to go get whatever it is from his room. Gerard sips his coffee and tries to remember the date, because he’s almost certain it’s not a holiday, and it definitely isn’t his birthday, so there’s no reason for Mikey to have gotten him a present.
Mikey comes back in, holding something fairly small, wrapped loosely in newspaper.
“Here,” he says, and hands it to Gerard.
Gerard unwraps it, letting the newspaper fall to the floor. It’s fine. He’ll get it later.
It’s a small, leatherbound notebook. Gerard would guess it’s a sketchbook, but the front has the year embossed in a tiny, serif font on the bottom right hand corner. He flips it open. Each page is labeled with a date, and the rest of the page is blank.
It’s a planner. Mikey bought him a planner. Why did Mikey buy him a planner?
“Thanks,” Gerard says, because he’s not rude. A pause. “Um- why did you buy me a planner?”
Mikey shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee.
“I know you had trouble keeping your shifts straight when you worked at Barnes and Noble. I figure it’ll help you when someplace new finally hires you.”
Gerard bristles a little at that.
“How many times do I have to say-”
“That Lisa had it out for you, and you know you weren’t on the schedule that day, despite whatever she says, and it’s good that you got fired anyhow, you want to focus on your comic. I know. You really don’t need to say it again.”
Mikey is overexaggerating. He hasn’t complained about getting fired that much.
“Listen,” Mikey says, “I’m not saying unemployment isn’t good for you-”
“Fuck you,” Gerard says, easy and without sting.
“Whatever - my point is, you know you’re gonna need a job sometime soon, and I saw this when I was out the other day and figured it might help you. At the very least, if your next manager tries to screw you over in the same way, at least you have some kind of proof.”
Gerard can admit Mikey has a point. Maybe not out loud, but he can admit it to himself.
“Thanks Mikes,” he says, more genuine this time. Mikey nods.
“It’s not a big deal.”
Two cups of coffee, three cigarettes, some idle chit chat, and another silence later, Gerard flips open the planner again, sighs, and then speaks.
“Bert offered to get me a job at the hardware store he works at.”
He chances a glance at Mikey, who is looking at him, his face unreadable.
“Yeah?” Mikey says. “Have you guys been talking?”
Gerard shakes his head.
“Nah, not even. I ran into him at Dunkin last week. Asked him what he was up to, told him about Barnes and Noble. He says it’s an easy gig, and that it pays over minimum wage,” Gerard says. Mikey’s face relaxes, almost imperceptibly.
“Oh, good. Well, as long as you wouldn’t have to like, build shit or whatever,” Mikey takes a final swig from his mug. “How’s he been?”
“Good, I think. He looks good. He said he’s been going to meetings down in Newark.”
The tension Mikey’s been holding in his shoulders dissipates. He smiles.
“Yeah, give him a call. The student loan office was not happy the last time I pretended you weren’t home.”
Gerard grimaces.
“Good point. Yeah. Maybe I’ll do that later.”
Monday, March 31st
work: 7am - 4pm.
need more fineliners!!!
The world woke up today and decided to play a round of early April Fools Day pranks on Gerard. That is the only logical explanation for his shitshow of a morning.
It’s been storming off and on for the last week, and last night the rain was bad enough that it knocked out the power. That’s not a life or death mishap, sure, but it reset Gerard’s alarm clock, meaning it didn’t go off, and he only woke up because Mikey got up and saw none of the coffee had been taken, and knew that meant Gerard had never gotten up.
So Gerard ran (half-heartedly speed walked, honestly) to work in the pouring rain, no coffee, no breakfast, half awake and decidedly miserable.
Brian - his manager - thankfully didn’t give him shit for it, not after he saw Gerard walk in the store at 7:10 looking like a half drowned puppy. That really sums up what Gerard likes about working at the hardware store. Brian treats them all like human beings who are subject to the unfortunate mishaps of being a person.
When he was still at Barnes and Noble, all of the managers had this attitude that the sheer desire to work for the company should allow their employees to power through any-and-everything - whether that was traffic there was no way to control, or a god damned death in the family. It had been awful.
Gerard really owes Bert for hooking him up with this job. It’s the only one he’s ever had that doesn’t make him want to start screaming and run out of the building as soon as he clocks in.
General gratitude aside, though, today already sucks, and Gerard is not above wallowing.
He’s sitting behind the counter - that’s another magical thing about this job, he gets to sit down , holy shit - and glaring at the rain outside through the window. His t-shirt is still sticking miserably to him, and water drips from his hair and down his back every once in a while. It keeps sending these uncomfortable shivers up his spine, and he wishes he’d thought earlier to keep a spare change of clothes in his locker. He should write that down in his planner - otherwise he’ll never remember.
A half hour ticks by, the rain eases up back to a constant drizzle, and barely anybody comes in. Brian wanders out from the back sometime before 8:00.
“One of the guys from the Altura site down the road should be over in a little while to do a pick up,” Brian tells him, placing a package down on the counter behind Gerard. Gerard cocks his head to the side.
“They’re working in this weather? Jesus,” he says. He thought having to walk to work in this weather was bad enough. But having to actually work in it ? No fucking thank you.
“Most of ‘em only tend to call it off if it’s thundering,” Brian tells him. “Poor bastards. I gotta go try and make sense of the QuickBooks. If you need anything, Patrick is over in painting. Only come get me if the store is on fire and you forget how to use the fire extinguisher again.”
Gerard rolls his eyes. It was one time.
“Good luck, Bri,” he says, and looks back out the window - maybe he can summon customers in with his mind. At least he’ll have something to do.
After Gerard accepts he has no latent mind-control powers, he digs out his sketchbook from his backpack, and gets lost in doodling an old woman and her dog who spent a while standing outside the window. The woman and the dog look remarkably similar to one another. Almost comically so. That observation launches him into a thought tangent, and soon enough he has a whole page of faces and dogs that resemble each other in some manner or another.
There’s a rumbling outside, the cut-off of an engine, and then the noise of the bell attached to the front door of the store. Gerard looks up.
A guy - who has to be somewhere around Gerard’s age - is standing in front of the counter. He’s in typical construction gear; jeans, boots, and a t-shirt. The only thing that deviates from the non-uniform Gerard usually sees is that this guy is wearing a Misfits zip-up hoodie, and has more tattoos than normal. That, and he’s prettier than anybody Gerard has even seen. Dark, short cropped hair, big eyes, and a funny moustache and beard combo that shouldn’t work, but does.
Gerard blinks.
“Uh,” He says, and then barely refrains from hitting himself in the face. This is why he needs coffee before he goes to work. The guy is just staring at him, half a smile on his face. “Can I help you?” There. That’s better. That’s how actual human beings speak.
The guy cocks an eyebrow at him.
“Do you wanna go get somebody else? I don’t wanna make you work while you’re enjoying your victory,” the guy says.
Huh?
“I’m- nobody else is available uh,” Gerard has no idea what to say. Is this a joke he doesn’t get? “Sorry, what?”
The guy smiles, all teeth, a little sleazy and fucking irresistible. Gerard feels himself blush.
“I’m just saying,” the guy says, coming up to lean against the counter. Gerard tenses. “You clearly won the wet t-shirt contest today. I don’t wanna make you work if you’re still basking in it.”
Ah.
Gerard scoots his stool slightly away from the counter.
He gets this sometimes, from some of the construction guys who come in. He thinks it’s a fucked up evolution of the shitty, homophobic comments guys would throw at him in high school. Back then, it was Brandon-From-Math-Class cornering Gerard in the hallway to ask if he really blows people for five bucks in the locker room. Now, it’s these random dudes with some kind of masculinity complex flirting with him as some kind of fucked up joke, waiting for him to fall for it so they can freak out on him.
It got old after the first month here, and Gerard isn’t in the fucking mood, no matter how pretty this guy is.
“Hilarious,” he says to the guy. His tone makes it very clear that it is not hilarious. “What can I help you with?”
The guy’s smile falters, and he takes a step back.
“I’m here for the Altura pick up,” he explains.
Gerard nods and grabs the box off of the counter behind him. He scans the label on the box, taps a few keys, and waits for the slip to print.
“I’m just going to need you to sign for it,” Gerard says, staring at the computer screen so he doesn’t have to look at the guy.
“Alright,” the guy says. He’s quiet for a moment, and there’s only the sound of the ancient receipt printer struggling to do its job. Then, “you want my number while I’m at it?”
Gerard looks directly at the guy.
“I don’t get paid enough to even pretend I want your number.”
The guy frowns, looking a little hurt. Good. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson.
The printer finally forks over the receipt, and Gerard slides it and a pen over to the guy. Behind him, Gerard hears the door to the back office creak open, and approaching footsteps.
“Gerard, did-” Brian’s voice comes, “Oh! Hey Frank. They have you doing pick ups now? Or are you just here to bother my employee?”
Gerard glances behind him, and Brian is smiling at this douchebag. Great.
Frank smiles back at Brian, and signs his name on the slip, sliding it toward Gerard again.
“Just for now, I think. Geoff’s off for a little while - family thing. I told ‘em I could take over. I come this way anyhow.” He shrugs. “Not that it isn’t fun to come in here and bother you guys. Is this guy new?” He asks, gesturing toward Gerard.
A spark of irritation runs up Gerard’s spine. So the guy can say weird shit to him, but can’t ask him a regular question directly? Typical.
“You been here, what? Four months, Gerard?” Brian asks him.
“Something like that,” Gerard agrees, focusing extra hard on the receipt he’s been handed.
“Well I like him,” Frank says, “He’s feisty. I gotta run. See you guys later.”
Gerard looks up just in time to catch the wink Frank throws his way, and then he’s out the door, the bell jingling behind him. He rolls his eyes so hard at Frank’s retreating figure he’s surprised he doesn’t strain something. He turns toward Brian.
“Did you need something?” He asks. Brian shakes his head.
“No I just wanted to make sure somebody came for the pickup, but then Frank was here doing just that.”
Gerard nods.
“Is he in here a lot? I haven’t seen him before.” Please say no. Please say no. Please say n-
“He will be now.” Brian says. “He works on the Altura site, and if he’s taking over for Geoff, he’ll be in here pretty frequently. Geoff’s their supply guy. You’d probably recognize him if I pointed him out to you.”
Fuck. Gerard makes a vague noise, and nods.
“I gotta go back to fighting with the Quickbooks, now that that’s done,” Brian says.
“Don’t lose,” Gerard says, and watches as Brian laughs, and turns back into his office, shutting the door behind him.
Gerard better catch a fucking break from the universe tomorrow. First, the fiasco that was getting to work this morning, and now this. He can deal with random men he’ll never have to see again annoying him at work - he usually just tells them in a thinly veiled manner to fuck off, and that’s that. But if - fuck, what’s his name? Gerard glances at the receipt he’s still holding for some reason - if Frank is going to be in here all the time, he doesn’t know how long it’ll be until he tells him to fuck off for real.
He can’t stand people who think they can be rude just because they’re hot. It’s teenage ego complex bullshit that some people never manage to grow out of, and it’s insufferable. What really pisses him off is when those people seem to think that being rude makes them hotter somehow. Gerard doesn’t care how pretty Frank is, if he’s going to act like that, Gerard wants nothing to do with him.
Plus, he wasn’t even that hot. Certainly not hot enough to act like that. Fuck that guy.
—
When Bert strolls into the store at 3:52, Gerard has never been more ready to clock out. Today really has it out for him, and he just wants to go home, sit in his room, ignore everything, and hope tomorrow will be better.
After the irritation of being late this morning, and then the rude-not-that-hot guy, the day had continued to kick Gerard while he was down. An old lady had yelled at him for giving her the wrong change back, after she’d insisted on paying for her $1.82 purchase of several screws with a coupon and a 50 dollar bill, and after lunch Brian had emerged from his battle with Quickbooks a broken husk of a manager, and had begged Gerard to go do backroom inventory for him.
Inventory was usually an easy gig, but there’d been a dead rat inside one of the boxes he’d taken off of the shelf, and he’s still upset by it.
“Hey,” Gerard says to Bert, and moves to the side to let him punch in on the computer.
“How was today?” Bert asks, “You look like you’ve been through the fucking wringer, man.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Bert cocks his head to the side, like he’s waiting for Gerard to elaborate, and you know what? Fuck it. Gerard still has seven minutes of his shift to kill. He might as well spend it bitching to Bert.
“I don’t even know where to start. I was late because the storm knocked my power and Mikey had to get me up, and then this dickwad who was doing the Altura pickup decided today was make-fun-of-Gerard-to-his-face day, which was loads of fucking fun,” Gerard says, distinctly aware of how bitter his voice sounds.
“That sucks,” Bert says, making himself comfortable on the stool Gerard has now vacated.
“Also, there was a dead rat in the back room.”
Bert raises his eyebrows, but the corner of his mouth quirks up, like there’s a punchline Gerard is missing.
Oh, no fucking way.
“You motherfucker, did you know there was a dead rat and not get rid of it?” Gerard is going to kill him. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
Bert bursts out laughing.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You know I’m fucking freaked out by dead shit. I saw it last night while closing and didn’t want to deal.” Bert doesn’t seem very sorry at all.
“You’re such an asshole,” Gerard says, without malice. It is kind of funny. Or it would be, if it had happened to anybody other than him.
“Aw you love me,” Bert says, beaming. “What was up with the Altura guy though? Was it Geoff? He’s usually pretty chill.”
“Nah, it was- fuck, what was him name? Frank! It was Frank. I’ve never seen him in here before, but Brian clearly knew him.”
Bert stares at Gerard, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“It was Frank? I don’t know him that well, but he’s always been nice to me. Did you not have the order ready, or-“
“No it wasn’t anything like that. He was just being a weirdo. Doing that thing some of the guys do where they pretend to flirt with me or whatever,” Gerard explains. Bert blinks at him a couple times.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asks.
Gerard sighs and runs his hand through his hair. Shower. He has to remember to shower when he gets home.
“You know!” He says. “That thing where they’ll fuckin like, say shitty stock porn lines as some kinda weird set up so if you fall for it, they can get all aging-homophobic-ex-jock on you?” Bert has to know what he’s talking about.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bert says. “Are you sure they aren’t just flirting with you? Have any of them ever actually freaked out?”
Well-
“No, but I know what it is. It’s the same thing dudes used to do in high school, it’s just evolved slightly. I know when I’m being like, for real flirted with,” Gerard says.
“You absolutely do not,” Bert says, in the same certain tone that he’d tell a stranger the sky was blue.
“Fuck off, I do,” Gerard says. “Besides, even if he was flirting with me, nobody is hot enough to really pull off the sleazy thing like he seemed to think he did.”
Bert smiles at him, slow and a little mischievous.
“Oh, so you do think he’s hot though?”
Gerard flaps his hands at Bert, annoyed. He glances at the clock. 3:59. He can finally fucking clock out and end this day. And this conversation.
“Move, I’m leaving,” Gerard says, inputting his ID number into the computer. “And that’s so not the point. It doesn’t matter if he’s hot - and he wasn’t that hot - it matters that nobody is hot enough to pull that stupid persona off.”
“Whatever you say,” Bert singsongs at him. Whatever. Gerard is clocked out. Gerard doesn’t need to finish this conversation. Gerard is just going to go the fuck home.
“Oh get fucked,” Gerard says, just as an ancient looking old woman enters the store, and stares at him, scandalized.
He is so done with this day.
“I’m outta here. Have fun,” Gerard tells Bert, hoping the exact opposite. Well, not really, but it’s cathartic to pretend to be spiteful sometimes.
Gerard grabs his coat from his locker, puts on his backpack, says goodbye to Brian, and heads out into the drizzle.
If he walks quick enough, he can catch the 4:05 bus, and be home by 4:30, where he won’t have to think about work, or hot men, or Bert’s dumb opinions, for at least 16 hours. That sounds fucking blissful.
Thursday, April 3rd
work: 12pm - 8pm
laundry!!! do ur fuckin laundry !!!
Gerard is caught in the dead zone of his shift. He’s halfway done with today, but that means he still has another whole half to survive. Today hasn’t been particularly bad, but it’s that specific kind of early April freezing outside, and it’d been so hard to get up this morning, and he’s spent the whole day fantasizing about getting back into bed.
Hayley is pacing behind the counter in the Paint Department - that is, the back corner of the relatively small store - and Gerard is enjoying watching her glance from her watch, to the wall clock, to the door every minute and a half.
“Patrick is never late, what the fuck,” Hayley complains, for the fifth time in the last three minutes. It’s 4:07pm, and she has made it clear to Gerard, Brian, and God himself that she wants to go home.
Gerard gets it.
“He’s probably just trying to find parking. You know Main Street fills up around this time. You mention it often enough,” Gerard says. He has his sketchbook out, and he’s trying to capture Hayley’s erratic pacing, but something is off. He’s not sure what.
Hayley deflates, all at once, and leans against one of the paint can displays. Gerard puts down his pencil. He can work on it later.
“You’re right. I just told Lindsey that I'd pick her up when her train got in, and I don’t wanna be late.”
Gerard tries to fight off a smile. Hayley sees it anyhow.
“Be quiet,” she says. Gerard smiles.
“I just think you guys have a sweet friendship,” Gerard placates.
“That’s not what you think at all and I know it.”
Gerard holds his hands up in mock surrender. He’ll get it out of her eventually.
“Alright, whatever, I yield. Also, if Patrick isn’t here soon I’m sure Brian will let you go anyhow,” He tells her.
“Yeah I know,” Hayley says, leaning against the counter, “I just don’t wanna leave him understaffed. I’d feel bad.”
“Yeah, because it’s so busy in here right now.”
The door opens, and the sound of bells follows directly after.
“Jesus,” Gerard says, “I’ll learn my lesson someday.” He abandons his sketchbook on Hayley’s counter, and heads up front to see who it is. He’s fairly certain it isn’t Patrick, he usually announces his presence in some way or another.
It’s not Patrick. Of course it’s not Patrick. It’s Frank.
Gerard curses silently. Brian had said the other day that Frank would be in here pretty often, but on Tuesday a different guy from the Altura site had done the pick up, and yesterday nobody had come at all. Gerard has been hoping that something changed, and Frank wouldn’t be coming in - but Gerard has never had luck like that.
He’s only had one interaction with the guy, sure, but something about him got under his skin. He hasn’t been able to shake off the thirty second back and forth they had. Frank pisses him off.
Frank hears him coming up the aisle, and smiles when he sees Gerard. Gerard has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
He takes him time before addressing Frank, just to be contrary. He walks the long way around the counter, readjusts the stool before sitting on it, types in his employee ID and brings up the POS, and then turns toward Frank again.
“We don’t have a pick up for you. Is there something else I can help you with?” Gerard does his best to keep his voice almost hilariously monotone. He’s not giving Frank a reaction if he can help it.
Frank rakes his eyes over Gerard, slow and deliberate.
“Well, if you’re offering,” Frank says, and laughs, like he thinks he's a comedy genius. “But no, I just need batteries.”
“Aisle 12,” Gerard says, and then turns toward the computer screen.
If this motherfucker thinks he can come in and bother Gerard for fun, Gerard is going to make him work for it. He’s not a fifteen year old kid who freaks out everytime a guy so much as looks at him anymore. And he’s not going to revert back to that just because some short guy has some internalized bullshit he’s trying to subconsciously work out.
Frank wanders away in search of Aisle 12, and Gerard is left alone up front. He knows they have batteries in stock, but he finds himself hoping somebody came in this morning before his shift and purchased their entire stock, just to inconvenience Frank.
In his mind it’s a confused millionaire - top hat, monocle, and moustache - who has never had to do anything for himself in his entire life. Through a series of wacky but family friendly circumstances, he ends up in Jersey, alone, and has to learn how to function as an adult in order to get home. He comes into the store after his car, which is probably some old jalopy, runs out of gas. For some reason the millionaire thinks cars run on batteries, so he buys the whole stock, just in case it needs a specific kind.
In the end, through the power of working class solidarity and love, the millionaire would donate his fortune and retire to live a simple, regular life.
It needs some work, but Gerard can see it going somewhere. He should write that down when he gets home.
He’s pulled out of his petty reverie by Hayley walking up to the counter, a hopeful smile on her face.
“Was that Patrick?” She asks, looking around like he’s hiding somewhere.
“Nah, just a customer,” Gerard says. Customer is a kind term. Nuisance would be better. Or pest, or bother, or pla-
“Damn,” she says. “Oh, also, you left this back in Paint,” She puts his sketchbook down in front of him.
“Fuck, thanks,” Gerard says, and then frowns when he sees Frank emerge from the aisles.
Frank waits behind Hayley, shifting his weight like he’s not sure if she’s in line or not. Gerard doesn’t acknowledge him.
“Have you tried texting Patrick?” He asks Hayley.
She nods.
“Yeah, he hasn’t responded. He’s probably stuck in traffic. But if-” she glances over her shoulder, and spots Frank. “Oh! I’m not in line, sorry,” she says, moving behind the counter.
“No problem,” Frank says, smiling, and Gerard is suddenly faced with a shitty dilemma.
If Frank says some kind of gross shit to Hayley, Gerard is going to need to step in, like, morally. Frank could probably kick Gerard’s ass, despite the fact that Gerard is a couple inches taller than him. Frank looks pretty broad in the shoulders, and his arms are- no, that’s not the point.
If Frank says something gross to Hayley, Gerard is going to need to step in, and while Gerard isn’t the fighting sort, Frank could be, and Gerard didn’t come to work prepared to get punched in the face today. But he’s not gonna let a gross construction dude say inappropriate shit to his only female coworker, even if Hayley would be pissed off if he did tell Frank to fuck off for her. It’s still-
“I like your hair,” Frank says to Hayley, a polite smile on his face. Gerard’s stomach twists. “I could never get mine that bright when I dyed it. It’s cool.”
Huh.
“Thanks!” Hayley says, smiling back at him. “The trick is to only wash it in cold water. It keeps it more vibrant.”
Frank nods, like he hadn’t thought of that before.
And that … isn’t where Gerard was expecting that line to go. He’s confused now.
The door opens, the bell rings, and all three of them turn their heads.
“Patrick!” Hayley says, sounding relieved. “Finally. ”
“Hey! Sorry I’m late. The light at Main and Chestnut is down. I was stuck on red for like fifteen minutes.” Patrick explains, looking sheepish.
“It’s whatever, you’re here now! Come on, go clock in so I can leave,” Hayley says, and practically drags Patrick back towards Paint.
Gerard inhales, deep, and turns toward Frank. Might as well get this over with.
“Is that all?” He asks, motioning toward the pack of batteries Frank is holding. Frank nods, and steps closer so he can put the batteries down on the counter.
Gerard scans it in, staring firmly at the computer.
“That’ll be $7.94,” Gerard tells him. “Cash or card?”
“Card,” Frank says, taking his wallet out of his pocket.
Gerard takes the card from it, swipes it into the computer, and is almost in the home stretch of this painful interaction when the card slips out of his hand. It’s almost like it falls in slow motion - hitting the leg of his stool, the ground, and the sliding underneath the counter.
“Oh come on,” Gerard says to nobody in particular. He looks back up at Frank, who has an eyebrow raised and a small, annoying smile on his face.
The printer spits out his receipt, and Gerard hands it to him.
“Here’s your receipt, give me a minute, I just gotta dig your card out from underneath the counter.”
Gerard pauses briefly - it’d probably be easier to go around in front of the counter to get it, since the opening underneath is larger on that side, but he’s staying as far away from Frank as possible. There’s no real point in trying to preserve his dignity here, but he’s nothing if not stubborn.
He steps off the stool, and drops down onto his knees. It’s dusty as fuck underneath the counter - he should clean under here the next time he’s bored to tears - and pretty dark, but he can see where Frank’s card slid to the far side of the counter, where it abuts the wall. He sighs, moves the stool over, and reaches. It’s just ever so slightly out of reach.
Nothing is ever easy.
He sits up, and motions to the pen sitting on the counter.
“Hand me that, will you?” He asks Frank, who complies immediately.
Gerard leans back underneath the counter, and manages to slide the card along the floor with the pen until it’s within his actual reach. He grabs it, sits up again, and looks up at Frank.
“Sorry,” he says, not thinking.
Frank is leaning with his elbows against the counter, looking at him. His face is a little too close for comfort. Gerard focuses on the space between his eyebrows, instead of making eye contact.
“Wasn’t on purpose,” Frank shrugs, and smiles, just like he did the last time he was in the store. “Besides, not like it’s a bad view.” He nods his head toward Gerard on the floor, on his knees- oh fuck this guy.
Gerard feels his face heat up, and he glares at Frank. He stands up quickly, and hands the card back to Frank.
“Here,” he says, hoping he’s coming across as annoyed as he is. “Have a day.” He’s definitely not going to tell him to have a nice day, but hopes it’ll prompt Frank to leave.
Frank barks out a laugh, and puts the card back in his wallet.
“Bye Gerard,” He says, still smiling, and leaves the store.
Gerard watches Frank through the window. He walks around the row of cars parked in front of the store, and climbs into a sky blue, vintage looking pickup truck. Gerard rolls his eyes and looks away.
--
An hour before close, Patrick comes up to the front counter, his bag over his shoulder, ready to head out for the day. Gerard always forgets the paint department gets to leave an hour before close, and he gets fiercely jealous every time he remembers.
“You alright, Gerard?” Patrick asks.
Gerard shrugs. He’s been in a foul mood since Frank was in earlier, and he knows it’s visible.
“The guy who was in here when you came in pissed me off. It’s nothing.”
“What’d he do?” Patrick asks.
“He- I don’t even know. He does this weird, fake flirting thing to annoy me. He did it last time he came in, too. It just bothers me.”
Patrick laughs.
“Are you complaining because a guy flirted with you? Twice?”
“It’s more complicated than that! Don’t laugh, fuck you, c’mon,” Gerard says.
“First of all, only you could make some guy flirting with you complicated ,” Patrick says, “second of all, I have reserved all rights to laugh at your misfortune since that time I complained to you about suburban moms who agonize over the difference between Eggshell and Ivory White, and then you made me listen to you detail their differences for a half hour.”
“But there really are some important differences! Like-”
Patrick throws his hands up.
“No! No. Absolutely not. I am off the clock, and I refuse to listen to this. Bye Gerard,” Patrick says, and then as an afterthought, yells “bye Brian!”
Brian’s farewell floats out from the back office, and Patrick turns heel and leaves.
Gerard closes his eyes. Only one more hour. Only one more hour.
--
Gerard gets home sometime after 8:30, and does what any reasonable person would do after they had a day like his: he gets directly the fuck into bed.
His bed has been calling to him all day, and it’s paradise to strip off his uniform, and climb under his mountain of blankets in just his boxers. He has tomorrow off, and he can just lounge.
He smokes, and channels surfs, and eventually finds the will to reheat leftovers from when his mom made lasagna on Tuesday. After that, he wastes some time trying to draw, but nothing of substance will come to him, so he gives up the ghost and gets into bed with the intent to sleep.
As much as he hates it, he has to keep a semi-normal sleep schedule, even on his off days, or he’s a wreck the next time he has to go into work.
But he tosses, and turns, and stares at the ceiling, and stares at the inside of his eyelids, and counts sheep, for fucks sake, but he can’t manage to drift off.
Gerard just cannot get comfortable.
He glances at the clock on his bedside table. 2:03am. Fuck it.
He rearranges himself so he’s lying on his back, and reaches into his boxers, and idly gropes his dick, and thinks, yeah, he could probably jerk off right now. When all else fails, that tends to put him to sleep.
He gets up, grabs the lube from the drawer next to his bed, turns on his clunky old laptop, and plugs in his headphones. It’s always overwhelming trying to decide what to watch, so he just selects something he has bookmarked - some amateur blowjob vid - and lets his mind wander.
He’s half hard already, his dick clearly supportive of his decision to jerk off, and he’s stroking himself nice and slow, watching as this pretty, blond haired twink moans around a buff, dark haired guy’s dick.
God, he hasn’t gotten laid in forever. He misses giving head, like, misses it. It isn’t always pleasant on paper, but there’s something about the subversion of power when you’re blowing somebody - letting them use you to get off - that puts you totally in control. He gets off on it hard.
He rubs his thumb over the head of his dick, and bucks up slightly. Jesus .
The blond guy on the screen is sucking the other guys balls now, jacking him fast and rough, and Gerard picks up the pace himself.
Fuck. He groans under his breath. There was this one time, back when he was in college, when he hooked up with this guy in his figure drawing class, and he’d practically put Gerard through his shitty dorm mattress. He’d been so fucking hot. All built, with these dark eyes, and he’d given him beard burn that Gerard had felt for days .
He’s sweating now, thinking about it. He throws the covers off himself, and reaches down with his other hand to tug lightly at his balls.
The video has moved on. The blond guy is getting rimmed by the dark haired guy, but he’s not touching his dick - just vocalizing with a constant, hitching whine.
Gerard’s leaking into his hand. He twists on the upstroke, and has to muffle a moan that threatens to spill out of him. Fuck. He’s close.
The dark haired guy is talking on screen now, telling the blond guy he has to be good if he’s going to let him cum. He grabs the blond’s dick and strokes, once.
“Say please,” he says, and licks up his dick. The blond moans, but shakes his head. The dark haired guy laughs.
“You’re feeling feisty tonight, huh?” He asks.
Gerard gasps, almost silently, and is now picturing dark hair and a pretty face and broad shoulders and tattoos and ridiculous flirting. On his knees, staring up, undoing ratty jeans in the middle of the hardware store. Fuck, fuck - he starts stroking himself faster. He’d probably be rough with Gerard, grab his hair, make him take it. Call him pretty and then cum on his face. Jerk him off afterwards, bite at his neck while he did and leave marks and the faintest hint of beard burn from his stupid fucking moustache.
Gerard flicks under the head of his dick, one, twice, and cums, hard.
A minute or two later, after he’s gotten his breathing and his heart rate back to normal, it hits him.
Oh no.
Saturday, April 5th.
work: 7am - 12pm
LAUNDRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday shifts are easy enough that Gerard doesn’t mind having to wake up early on the weekend. Besides the over enthusiastic fathers who come in to buy supplies for their lawns, it stays fairly slow, and it’s usually just Gerard, Brian, and Adam - who only comes in on weekends to do inventory and restock, and occasionally man the paint counter when needs arise.
Well, usually working with Adam is nice, but right now he’s trying to convince Gerard that the 2004 remake of Dawn of the Dead was better than the original, and Gerard is not having it.
“I just don’t know how you think you can have this argument when you haven’t even seen the remake,” Adam says to him, crouched down in front of the counter, replacing the empty candy cartons on the shelving units attached to it.
“I don’t need to have seen it,” Gerard argues, “the original is a near perfect movie, and any overly showy redo of it is an affront to God.”
“You’re so fucking pretentious,” Adam laughs.
“Maybe! But I’m also right. All the beauty of the original is in the slow burn, in the fucking desperation. I know they didn’t keep that in the remake. So what’s the point?”
“Isn’t it enough to wanna see some people get fucked up by zombies?”
“No!” Gerard is aware he’s reaching a level of indignation that’s almost shrill, but he feels strongly about this.
“Just give it a watch, it’ll be worth it,” Adam says, and then, “fuck, I gotta go get more Snickers from the back.”
“Give yourself a good, hard look in the mirror while you’re back there. Think about your choices.”
Adam shakes his head, smiling.
“Whatever you say.”
Gerard knows he can convince Adam to see the light on this issue, he just has to be strategic about it. Maybe later he’ll go home and rewatch it, take notes so he has some real talking points for the next time he sees Adam. Maybe he’ll even watch the damn remake, just to really shut him up.
Outside, there’s the rumbling sound of a truck's engine, and then silence. Gerard tenses. He still hasn’t dealt with- whatever happened on Thursday night. It was a fluke. A mishap. An unfortunate parallel drawn by his brain when he was in a vulnerable and horny moment, that’s it. But he still doesn’t want to see Frank. Not just because of what happened. Just in general.
He is still anti-Frank.
Door, bell, deep breath - he looks up.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
Mikey and Ray are standing in front of the counter, both staring at him, clearly confused. Ray seems amused, but Mikey is looking at him like he knows something is up, and Gerard does not need to deal with that right now.
“Nice to see you too, Gerard,” Ray says, laughing.
Gerard flaps his hand at them.
“I thought you were- I figured it was gonna be a customer. It caught me off guard. Sorry.”
Mikey raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push it.
“Anyways,” Mikey does say, “Me and Ray came in here to see if you wanted us to grab you coffee while we were downtown returning his uncles truck.”
“Does he deserve it now though?” Ray asks. “He was kinda rude.”
Mikey smiles.
“You’re right,” he says to Ray. “He didn’t seem very happy to see us at all.”
Gerard pouts.
“Oh that’s just mean.”
“Yeah, it is,” Mikey agrees, smug.
Gerard rolls his eyes.
“I’m so happy to see you both. Mikey, my favorite brother, and Ray, my best friend. Please, oh please, get me a coffee,” Gerard says, deadpan.
“I’m your only brother, dickhead.”
“And I didn’t kill you when you were small and vulnerable, even though I could have, and that should earn me coffee privileges for life,” Gerard argues. Mikey scoffs.
“I don’t know why you think that is ever gonna work. Why should I reward you for not murdering a child?”
“I don’t know, Mikes, he got me,” Ray says. “I’ll get you a coffee, Gerard.”
“And that’s why you're my best friend!”
Gerard gives them his coffee order, and watches them leave the store and walk down the street. Adam comes back out, and they chat for a little bit, but something is bothering Gerard. Once he realized it was Mikey and Ray, and not Frank, who had come in, he should have been relieved - but there’s this small rock of a feeling rattling around in his chest, and if he didn’t know better, he would call it disappointment.
It couldn’t be disappointment. Absolutely not.