Chapter Text
It was hot enough that Frank had lost his appetite. The air conditioner broke last summer and Frank just didn't have the money to get it fixed. He only had a window unit in the office, anyway, and the house was too old to add central air. He had lots of ceiling fans, and the shades were all pulled, but there was only so much they could do.
It made business even worse, of course, because he looked closed and the few people who did venture inside Frank's furnace-masquerading-as-an-antiques-shop wisely got out again as quickly as possible. The antique business was not about quick, which was one of the reasons Frank kind of hated it.
Frank loved and hated the store. His grandma had put her heart and soul into it, and Frank had a lot of fond memories of the place from when he was a kid. He also really liked being his own boss— he had a little Problem with Authority. But he wasn't cut out for antiquing and he knew it. He couldn't keep any of it straight, he tended to break things, and he hated all the paperwork. Frank was only just barely making a go of it as it was.
Frank's mom had told him to just sell the place, but giving up on his grandma's shop would be letting go of the last piece of her. It would also be one more thing Frank had failed at, and it would probably also mean a future in telemarketing. Unless Frank could cut out his own tongue or something. He'd be willing to do almost anything to avoid telemarketing.
So he spent his days (Tuesdays off) in the dark, creaky farmhouse that itself was an antique, stuck in the middle of nowhere, too hot in summer and too drafty in winter.
And today he had plenty of time to go through the mountains of boxes, years worth of boxes, that had piled up in the rooms used for storage, which were all of the upstairs bedrooms. He cracked open the window of the smallest bedroom, found a bit of wood to prop it open, and dragged one of the failing cardboard boxes over, choking on the dust. The tape was friable and he just pulled it off.
There were dishes inside, carefully packed into cardboard and newspaper. The pattern was… well, Frank thought it was gross. That was good. The more Frank hated something, the more he could sell it for. He checked the maker's mark and set the first stack aside. There was a large platter tucked down the side of the box. Frank pulled it out and fumbled when it tried to slip out of his hand. There was something slippery on it, a greasy dark smear along the bottom.
"Ugh," Frank said. He laid the platter down. It looked like oil, but when he sniffed at his fingers, it didn't smell of anything, certainly not petroleum.
"The fuck?"
He wiped his hand on his jeans, then wished he hadn't. These were his favorite jeans. Frank looked in the box, reached a cautious exploratory hand down, but he didn't feel anything like a leak, didn't smell anything. He looked at the platter again, at the slick smear on its bottom edge, but it didn't make any more sense than it had before.
He heard a car outside, crunching on the dirt drive, and Frank rushed down the stairs, ran his hands under the faucet, and then ducked behind the staircase, wiping his hands dry on his legs. Because he was busy. And because his heart was pounding, after running around in the heat. And if he kept telling himself that, he might believe it.
He heard the door creak open and the little bell ring, sounds familiar from time immemorial. Heard, also, the boots on the floor, newer but still familiar.
"Frank?"
It was Wednesday, must be Gerard.
He went into the main room and smiled. "Hi. You made it out today."
Gerard was still wearing his huge girl sunglasses, and he made a funny face behind them. "Well, yeah. Guess I did." He smiled. "You know I don't like competition. Um." Gerard fumbled his glasses off, looking anxious. "I mean, it seems like you have less customers on Wednesdays."
"It's totally dead in here," Frank agreed. Not like he could pretend otherwise. He eyed Gerard's clothes, which were all black as always. He appeared to have one outfit: black jeans, black shirt, black leather jacket. Although he had at least two pairs of black jeans, which was probably not something Frank should know about a customer. Definitely not, considering Frank could tell the pants apart because the corner of one the back pockets was ripped. "Kinda hot in here, I guess."
"Really?" Gerard said, tucking his sunglasses in the pocket of his leather jacket. "I hadn't noticed." Anyone else would have been sarcastic or ironic; Gerard was serious.
Frank had a theory that Gerard was actually cold-blooded; that or a vampire. He wasn't sure, yet, which one he preferred.
"Got anything for me?" Gerard asked, crooked smile bright and eyes wide.
Gerard was Frank's best customer. Frank thought of him that way, at least, since he'd first shown up a little over a year ago. He bought regularly, though nothing very expensive. Gerard used them in "installations" Frank had never seen, although Gerard talked his ear off about them. Gerard pretty much talked Frank's ear off about everything, which was how Frank knew Gerard moved out here after his parents forced him to move out of the basement, that Gerard had a little brother named Mikey, and that the New York art world was full of fakes and posers who were only in it for the fame.
Usually, Frank was perfectly capable of talking people to death himself, but around Gerard he was tongue-tied. Frank long ago got into the habit of putting aside oddments and interesting shapes for Gerard. He was pretty good at figuring out what would make Gerard's face light up.
He led Gerard into the kitchen, where he'd laid some pieces out on the table for Gerard to peruse. The back door was propped open and there was the faint whiff of a cross breeze. Frank did not hesitate to stand in it. He was acutely aware of the sweat along his forehead and down his back.
Gerard made some interested and excited noises, bending over the table, picking up things that caught his eye and turning them to see the different angles.
Frank was pretty sure he was allowed to watch customers in his store, so he only felt a tiny bit guilty as Gerard poked through the pile and made his selections. He took the window grill, like Frank had known he would, and a set of tin spoons. They both puzzled over the function of a metal disc about the diameter of a coffee cup, etched with vines and flowers; Gerard took it to puzzle over it some more. He picked up a few other odds and ends and Frank helped Gerard carry everything out to his car.
They sat in Frank's office, under the fan, drinking water while Frank pretended to carefully write up a receipt, and really just listened to Gerard talk. His brother was coming for a visit, and Gerard had started a minor fire over the weekend in his workshop.
"...And it burned a corner of this canvas I had propped up nearby, but I actually think it looks better this way, I'm totally gonna use it in my next show. I'm thinking about experimenting with fire more. I really liked the effect."
"That sounds like..." Frank paused and tried to think of a diplomatic word or two.
"A really bad idea?" Gerard grinned.
Frank grinned back without realizing he was doing it. "How can you stand to make fires in this heat? Or weld the metal together or…" that was the extent of Frank's knowledge about Gerard's creative process, so he finished with an expressive hand wave.
Gerard shrugged. "I'm just used to it, I guess. I don't even really notice it anymore."
Frank couldn't think of any other way to draw out the receipt-writing, so he handed over Gerard's copy. Gerard took it, folded it into a tiny square, and tucked it away in a pocket. He fidgeted in his chair, but didn't get up.
"Thanks," Gerard said quietly. "I really appreciate you putting things aside for me like that."
"It's no big deal," Frank shrugged.
"Okay," Gerard said. "I was just thinking— if you ever wanted to—"
"Yes?" Frank's heartbeat picked up. He tried to tell himself it definitely wasn't what he was thinking, and he shouldn't get his hopes up.
"I— oh shit, is that the time? Seriously?"
Frank looked at the clock behind him. "Yeah, that should be right."
"Fuck, I'm late. Conference call with my agent and some gallery… I told him not to do it on Wednesday but there wasn't any other time. Shit, sorry, I gotta go." Gerard was standing by the time he finished talking.
Frank, who had obviously got his hopes up really fucking high, swallowed down the disappointment and forced on a smile as he stood up. "That's fine. It was good to see you. It's always— yeah, nice to see you."
Gerard smiled, hesitated in the door of the office, but shot a worried glance at the clock and hustled out. Frank followed a bit more slowly and stood in the doorway, watching Gerard walk to his truck.
"Stay cool in there, Frank!" Gerard yelled. He waved and Frank waved back.
He watched Gerard drive away, like the pathetic thirteen year old girl he was, and went back inside his dark shop to try to stay cool.
On Monday morning, Frank's computer wouldn't turn on. He cursed and yelled and tried everything he knew, which took about ten minutes.
No lights, no noises, no nothing. Frank didn't use it for much— it was the shop computer, and it was really old, and he used it for bookkeeping and solitaire and not much else. They only had dial-up out here, so surfing the internet kind of felt like dying in a hospital— long, slow, painful, and involved lots of crashing.
Still, he kind of needed it. He made a few more accusations about the computer's probable ancestry and preferred methods of entertainment, then picked up his phone and went looking for a phonebook.
The most recent one seemed to be from 1998. He tried the one computer place listed but it was a Chinese restaurant now. Frank manfully resisted the urge to order fried rice. He considered just forgetting the whole thing, but at this point he felt like he was on a quest, some sort of Epic Battle between himself and the PC, and he had to win.
That, and Frank had been putting the bookkeeping off for three weeks and he kind of needed to know if he could pay the bills this month or not.
Frank idly scrolled through his phone, but he still didn't really know anyone out here. Well. He knew one person.
"Hi," Frank said, hating the way his voice immediately turned nervous and stuttery. "Is this Gerard? It's Frank. From the antiques store."
"Hi!" Gerard's voice went high. He sounded happy, anyway. "What's up?"
"Uh, I know this is random and kind of really inappropriate—"
Frank paused to take a breath, and Gerard giggled. "Yes?"
"—But do you know anything about computers?"
Gerard was silent for a long moment, and Frank was thinking about banging his head on the wall when Gerard answered.
"Um, I know a little. I'm not, like, an expert or anything, but I use it for gaming and I'm kind of online a lot…why?"
Frank tried to direct his sigh of relief away from the receiver. He explained the problem- not like there was much to explain- and added "And I'm really sorry but I don't really know anyone else to call."
"I don't know if I'll be able to help," Gerard said, "but I can come over."
"Seriously? Oh man, thank you so much."
"Now? I mean, should I come over now?"
"Whenever you're free. I mean, now's good for me, if you want."
"Cool," Gerard said. "I'll see you soon, then."
Gerard poked at the computer for awhile, doing some of the same things Frank had tried (which reassured him a little bit) and some other things, but the machine refused to respond.
"Sorry," Gerard said after an half hour or so, sitting back and running a hand through his already-messy hair. "There's nothing I can do. It just won't turn on."
Frank already knew that because he'd been hovering over Gerard's shoulder the whole time. It wasn't an "I don't trust you alone in my office/with my computer" hover, it was very much an "I want to be in the same room with you forever" hover. Frank wasn't sure which one he wanted Gerard to think was going on.
"I could call my friend Ray," Gerard offered, "see if he can come out. He's a total genius, seriously."
"Oh, sure," Frank said. "If you think he won't mind. I can't really pay him much—"
Gerard smiled, and Frank stopped talking. "I'm pretty sure he'll work for pizza, if you're up for that."
Frank smiled back. "I'm always up for pizza."
Gerard called his friend, and after he reported Ray would be right over, Frank called for pizza. It always took them a while to get all the way out here.
While they waited, Gerard told Frank about his plans for the latest load he'd taken from Frank. Frank was a little sad when another car pulled up out front.
He was pretty glad to meet Ray, though, because the dude's hair was epic. "It's so nice to meet you," Ray said, shaking hands. "Gerard talks about you all the time."
Frank glanced at Gerard, who was hiding behind his hair. Frank felt a little better about this morning, when he'd admitted he had no friends.
Ray went to get started on Frank's computer, and there were a few minutes of awkward silence before the pizza arrived. They took it in to Ray, and Frank and Gerard stood in the back of the room eating while Ray fought with the computer.
"Do you have a screwdriver?" Ray asked, absently wiping his hands on a paper towel.
Frank looked at the clutter all around them. "Philips or standard?"
Ray used the small screwdriver Frank eventually dug up to open the back of the CPU. "It's just completely dead," he said, turning to look at them over his shoulder. "I'm hoping there's just a loose connection somewhere."
Ray started poking around inside the tower, but withdrew his hand almost immediately. "What's this?" he rubbed his fingertips together, frowning.
"What?" Both Frank and Gerard peered over Ray's shoulder.
"There's, like, grease or something in here. All over the place."
"Is that why it's not working?" Gerard asked.
"Probably."
"Let me see that." Frank's memory was trigged. He leaned over Ray and slid his finger along the inside of the case.
It looked like the same grease or oil he'd found in that box of plates. "What the fuck?" Frank said, wiping his hand on a paper towel. Against the white, the oil looked brown.
"Can you save it?" Gerard was asking. "Clean it off?"
Frank didn't hear Ray's answer. He was searching the floor around the CPU. The box of plates had never been in this room, as far as Frank knew. "How did it get in here?" he muttered.
"It must have seeped in," Ray said. He poked in the open CPU case. "It's all over in here."
"Maybe it dripped in from the top?" Gerard said.
"Nothing spilled on it," Frank said.
"I can't believe it only just quit working," Ray said. "It was really working fine yesterday?"
"Yes," Frank insisted.
Ray shook his head. His hair moved around in a giant cloud. It was kind of soothing, like a lava lamp. "I don't know what to tell you," he sighed. "Except you'll need a new computer. Is your hard drive backed up?"
Frank laughed, even though it wasn't actually funny. "So I should just get another one?"
"Yeah, sorry. Well, they don't actually make Compaqs any more. Not for, like, eight years. But you could get an HP, they bought Compaq out."
Frank didn't care about that, but he thanked Ray profusely as he showed him out. Ray tried to apologize for not being able to help, but Frank pointed out firmly how ridiculous that was, and made Ray take the rest of the pizza home.
Frank found Gerard wandering around upstairs. "I've never been up here before," Gerard said. "I've always wondered what was up here." A guilty look settled on Gerard's face. "I hope you don't mind."
"No, that's—" Frank had to clear his throat— "that's fine." They were in what used to be the master bedroom, and there was still a large brass bed with a mattress in the room, buried under boxes. Frank's eye was continuously drawn to it. Frank resolved that once Gerard left, he would punch himself in the face.
The light was low and sort of sepia-colored up here, because Frank always kept the blinds drawn. It was also really dusty. Frank had thought, once or twice, about trying to clean the place up, but he was pretty sure that was a job for a team of people in Hazmat suits. All that dust flying through the air would kill his already fucked up lungs.
"See anything you like?" Frank asked. He wanted to give Gerard something, as a thank you. "On the house."
Gerard smiled and tilted his head as he looked around the room, like he was carefully considering his prospects. Or teasing. "I've got something in mind. But I think I'll collect it later."
Gerard smiled at Frank as he walked past, and their shoulders brushed in the narrow doorway.
Frank forced himself to take a deep breath, and forced himself not to think about it too much.
Gerard had to leave then. Frank was simultaneously relieved and lonely.
He wandered through the rooms, looking at all the stuff he wasn't supposed to think of as junk. The afternoon heat built, and no customers came.
Frank wandered back up into the storeroom with the dishes. He opened the window, trying to catch any breeze. He had to check a few boxes before locating the right one. The plates were still greasy, and it definitely seemed like the same stuff. Frank set the plates back in the box, frowning to himself as he wiped his hands clean.
This bedroom was not directly over his office. That was located in the back of the addition, which was only one story. This bedroom actually looked out over the addition— he went to the window to confirm it. Definitely the roof of the office below.
Frank went downstairs and looked in the room directly underneath the bedroom. It had been the study, and there were still bookshelves lining the walls. Frank poked around, pulled a few books off the shelves at random and checked them, but there was no sign of the oil. Not leaking through the floorboards, then.
On Tuesday Frank went to look at new computers. He thought about calling Gerard and asking if he wanted to come, but decided against it. They weren't really at that stage of the relationship. Or any stage of a relationship. And two pathetic phone calls in two days was a bit much.
After the antique shop, Best Buy felt big and bright and clean and full of things Frank couldn't afford and didn't know how to work anyway. He felt overwhelmed. He resolutely went and poked at the laptops, though. If he got a laptop he could take it home at night; his own desktop could use an upgrade.
There were a couple laptops that were much cheaper than he'd been expecting. He picked the one the Best Buy dude told him to, and tried not to wince as he put it on his credit card. At least he'd get to write it off.
Wednesday, Frank wasn't sure that Gerard would turn up, since he'd just been there on Monday, but he heard a car outside at 10 am. Frank's heart and stomach did a stupid little leap. He turned on the laptop— he wanted to show it to Gerard— and went out into the front room.
It wasn't Gerard. Frank tried to be a professional and not sulk at the guy, but he wasn't sure he really got "friendly and welcoming" across. Oh well, not like he could get fired. Frank told the guy to come find him or just holler if he had any questions. He tried to stand in the addition and straighten things up without looking like he was just watching out the window for Gerard.
"Excuse me?"
Frank jumped a mile when the guy spoke.
"Sorry!"
"No, it's okay," Frank said. "Just… lost in my own head, I guess. How can I help you?"
"This book," the guy said, holding up a blue cloth-covered volume from the study, "it seems to have some kind of… residue on it. I was wondering if there was a discount for damage?"
Residue now. "Let me see it." For a moment, Frank felt like he was watching the scene from outside his body, as he held out his hand to receive the book, already knowing what he'd find on it.
It was soaked into the cover along the bottom and side. It had got the pages along the bottom but not the side. They stuck together a little when Frank paged through the book. The dark greasy stain didn't penetrate too far up any of the pages, though. Didn't reach the text.
"Can you show me where you got this from?"
It had been in the middle of a shelf in the middle of a wall. Frank checked the books on either side, but they were fine. Well, there was a spot on the left one, but it was tiny.
"What the fuck?" Frank muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. This didn't make any sense.
"Um, you seem busy," the guy said. "That's okay. I'll, uh, come back later."
Frank should really be trying to make a sale— any sale— but he really was kind of busy. He set the damaged book aside and began pulling books off the shelves. The shelf above was fine, but he found the oil on the shelf below, and on the shelf below that, on a few more books each time, so that Frank had a pyramid of affected books. It was like it had started at the bottom and spread up the middle. Except for how that made no sense in terms of, like, gravity.
"Frank?"
This time it was Gerard, hovering in the doorway, concern on his face. "What's going on?"
"It's the oil! Residue! Whatever. It's on these books now, too." He waved the book the customer had brought him at Gerard, who came into the study and took the book. He flipped through it quickly, frowning.
"This is the same stuff that was in your computer?"
"Yes!" Frank told him about the box of dishes, too, and showed him how it looked like it had spread from the floor up in here. Gerard sat on the floor next to him and listened carefully. When Frank finished, more or less, Gerard reached into the bottom shelf and wiped his finger along it.
The oil was on his finger when he pulled it back. Like Frank had, he sniffed it. Then Gerard shrugged, and touched the tip of his tongue to the oil on his finger.
"Ah!" Frank shouted.
Gerard jumped. "What?"
"What are you doing? Don't eat it!"
"It's just a tiny bit. It tastes…" Gerard smacked his lips around and made a face. "Pretty disgusting, actually. But not like oil. I mean, not like I'd think oil would taste. It tastes more like… dust."
"Oh," Frank said. "That's probably just the dust. It's kind of dusty in here."
"I hadn't noticed," Gerard drawled. "There's something else, there, though. I don't know how to describe it. It's weird."
"I'll take your word for it," Frank said, making a face. Gerard laughed and wiped his hand on his jeans.
"Should we check upstairs again?" Gerard asked.
It was strange for Frank to walk up the stairs with Gerard close behind. It sent all kinds of wrong signals to his brain. He was relieved that there wasn't a bed in the small back bedroom. The box of dishes was where Frank had left it the other day, pulled out into the middle of the floor. Frank pulled the platter out for Gerard to see.
"Did you try washing it off?" Gerard asked.
"Uh… no." Frank took the platter into the main upstairs bathroom and ran the sink tap for a little bit, until the water turned clear— Frank never used the upstairs bathroom— and tried running the platter under the stream of water. There wasn't anything up here to scrub with, but there wasn't really anything in the kitchen, either.
It washed off about as easily as oil, so it was a pain in the ass. It looked clean, but after Frank dried the platter on his shirt he thought the edge still felt a little greasy. That could be his imagination though, or it could be on his fingers.
Frank went back to his desk, noticed a bag of almonds, and realized he had completely missed lunch, which just might also have something to do with his headache.
He went back out into the main room quickly. "Hey," he said, "have you had lunch yet?"
Gerard smiled slowly. "I haven't, actually."
"I haven't either, I guess I kind of forgot." He rubbed his hair through his hair, and resisted the urge to scuff his foot on the floor. "We could get some, if you want. Do you know any place to go around here?"
"I do, in fact, if you can leave the store for an hour."
Frank grinned. "My boss is kind of an asshole, but I can take a lunch hour."
Gerard took them to a truck stop diner. "I promise it's decent," he whispered as they went in. At a more normal volume, he asked "You really didn't know about this place?"
Frank shook his head, but even if he had, he probably wouldn't have gone in. The place looked full of the sort of people who'd shoved Frank into lockers in high school. It also looked a like grease pit of deep-fried BBQ-eating carnivores. Had Frank ever mentioned being a vegetarian to Gerard?
"The salads are really good, actually," Gerard said as they slid into a booth. "And the wraps, too." Frank must have looked doubtful, because Gerard laughed. "I know, right?" he leaned in to whisper. Frank didn't even try to stop himself from leaning in, too. "But the chef here is totally cool. His name is Bob."
Frank couldn't stop himself from bursting out with "Seriously, how do you know more people here than me? I'm pretty sure I've been here longer."
Gerard held his menu in front of his face so it blocked everything but his eyes. His eyes were smiling. "Maybe you just don't get out much."
Frank frowned. "I guess not," he muttered. Wow, way to look like a loser in front of the cute boy. This really was like high school.
Gerard dropped the menu. "Hey, it's cool," he said anxiously. "I invented anti-social hiding at home, okay? I only get out to restaurants, and that's only because my cooking is even worse than talking to strangers."
Frank smiled, only a little reluctantly. He picked up a menu and pretended to study it. Gerard never seemed to have any trouble talking to him. "I like cooking. So I guess that's why I never go out to eat."
"Oh, totally," Gerard said, nodding quickly. "Eating alone in a restaurant used to freak me out. I'm getting over it, but it's still kind of awkward at first, you know? That's why I end up talking to the chefs and meeting all the waitresses and stuff."
Frank nodded and started to actually look at the menu. Until Gerard said "So you cook, too?" in a low, sly voice. Frank looked up at Gerard, who immediately hid behind his menu. But Frank still got a glimpse of his red cheeks. As long as they were both teenage girls about this, it was probably okay.
Frank had an avocado-tomato-lettuce-garlic wrap that really was very good, and he was in a very good mood himself by the time they'd finished eating.
The famous Bob heard Gerard was there, or something, and came out to say hi. Bob was blond and pierced and in a band, and definitely much cooler than Frank. No wonder Gerard turned red when he introduced Frank. Frank tried to not let it bum him out, though.
They talked to Bob for a little and then Frank said he really had to get back, like he might have customers or something. When they were idling in front of the store Frank mumbled "Thank you. For lunch and everything. You're right, it was a good place."
"Maybe I'll see you there sometime," Gerard said.
"Yeah." Frank had his hand on the door handle but he was sill reluctant to leave. "So, I didn't get a chance to set anything aside for you today."
"That's okay," Gerard said quickly. "I mean, you seem like you've been really busy." He leaned in close, peering at Frank with a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay?"
"I think so. I mean yeah, I'm fine. Just this… spill, or whatever, is driving me crazy. If I just knew what it was…" Frank shrugged. He wasn't actually sure what that knowledge would give him, other than some peace of mind.
"Okay," Gerard said. "I guess I'll see you soon, then."
"Yeah," Frank said. He finally opened the door. "Thank you— for everything."
Frank was kind of embarrassed about what his voice did there, so he hoped out, slammed the truck door shut, and waved.
Gerard took his time pulling away and Frank was on the porch before he got the truck turned away. Frank waved again as Gerard drove off. Frank felt full, and kind of warm and tingly from being with Gerard so much, and kind of confused about everything else.
He got the old door unlocked and walked into the shop. It was hot and quiet, but a weird kind of quiet, like Frank had just interrupted something, and that something was holding its breath, waiting for Frank to go away so it could get on with whatever it had been doing. There were sunbeams filled with dust and the distant tick of a clock, and nothing looked disturbed, but the air felt disturbed. Frank felt uneasy and he felt very lonely. But not necessarily alone.
Frank walked, very quietly, over to the large fireplace and tried to remove the iron poker from its stand without making a lot of noise. There was some inevitable clanging, and once Frank had the poker in hand he held his breath and listened.
Other than the clock and the pulsing whir of the fans, there was no sound.
If there were burglars in here they were welcome to everything except the new computer, so Frank checked his office first. The door was shut and the room beyond dark, with the laptop asleep on his desk where he'd left it.
Frank kept the poker hanging loosely in his hand as he wandered the rooms, trying the back door in the kitchen. He griped the poker tighter as he went upstairs. It was just as quiet and empty as downstairs, and all the windows just as shut.
Frank sighed at himself and thumped loudly down the stairs. He should just be grateful no one else (Gerard) had been with him. Frank had just put the poker back in its holder when the ceiling creaked. Frank jumped, then snorted in disgust at himself. The building creaked all the time and he had never jumped before.
Frank went into the office, put a Pixies cd into the laptop, and turned the volume up as high as it could go. Fuck this silence shit anyway. Then he thought about lunch with Gerard. He listed all the reasons it definitely wasn't a date, in a secret effort to convince himself it was a date, but it didn't work. It was definitely lunch between friends. But Gerard also didn't seem like he'd be totally opposed to Frank getting in his pants sometime in the future. Maybe.
That was much more interesting to think about, so Frank wandered around and thought about Gerard like the lovesick tween he apparently was, until he realized he was back in the library. He looked at the pulled-out stacks of books and the empty shelves.
Frank felt helpless, and he hated that. If this were a tv show, they'd be running tests on it. Frank couldn't do that, and he couldn't exactly have the police do it, either. There wasn't a crime, except for some minor property damage.
"Gouge away, gouge away," filtered in from the office, and Frank decided he was so over this. He went into the office and came back with a bunch of grocery bags and a towel. He put all the damaged books in bags and left them outside the back door. He'd put them out with the recycling on Sunday. He rolled up the towel and shoved it into the bottom shelf.
"There," he said. "Take that, motherfucker."
"You recycled them?" Gerard asked, disappointed.
"Well yeah." Frank said. "I couldn't sell them like that. Why, did you want them?"
Gerard shrugged. "I had an idea for torn-out pages."
"I'm sorry," Frank said. "I would have given them to you. If you want, you can go in back and pick out some other books."
"I don't want to ruin good books," Gerard frowned.
"They're not good," Frank said, and grinned. Gerard grinned back. "They're a lot of those books rich people buy just to fill out their library shelves," Frank explained. "Like, Mechanical Plows of the Shenandoah Valley or something."
Gerard nodded. "I know what you mean. It's always so disappointing to go into those big private libraries and find absolutely nothing you'd want to read."
"My grandma used to take me to a lot of old houses," Frank said. "And I only ever saw one that had books it seemed like people would actually read. They had, like, a shelf full of Charles Dickens. And I was like: Wow! Books I've heard of."
Gerard nodded again. "Totally. Such a waste."
"So you can take any you want." Frank waved in the general direction of the library. "Nobody's going to buy them, anyway."
"I'll buy them," Gerard said, suddenly all anxious and guilty.
"Okay," Frank smiled. "All you can carry for… the price of a frappucino." He tapped the drink Gerard had brought him. Gerard smiled, and kind of blushed. Frank had no idea how far away the nearest Starbucks was, but Gerard had shown up this Wednesday afternoon with two frappucinos. Frank was kind of in love.
"Deal," Gerard said.
Frank was feeling generous anyway, because on Saturday a lady had shown up and bought one of the big beds upstairs for double its real worth. Normally Frank would feel bad about this because she was kind of an old lady, but she'd still had a W sticker on her car, so Frank felt overcharging her was a public service.
"Have you seen anymore of that… stuff?" Gerard asked.
"No," Frank said, although to be honest he hadn't really looked. In fact, he'd deliberately not looked.
When they finished their drinks they left the kitchen for the library. They picked through the lame books, laughing at some of them.
Frank left the study to get a bag, and when he returned he found Gerard kneeling in front of the affected bookcase, which Frank had otherwise managed to keep him away from. Gerard was pulling out the towel Frank had shoved onto the lower shelf.
Frank decided it was stupid to be annoyed and said "Find anything?" in a neutral voice.
Gerard jumped— probably guilty that Frank had caught him making himself at home again— and sort of flailed the towel around. "I just wanted to see if the oil was still all over the place."
Frank knelt next to him and they examined the towel, at first gingerly, then shaking it out and holding it up to look at the whole thing. "There doesn't seem to be anything on it." Gerard sounded disappointed.
Frank peered at the shelf, but it was too dark to see if there was any oil on it. "Maybe it's gone," he said.
"Still," said Gerard. "What the fuck was it?"
"If it's gone," Frank sighed. "I don't think I care."
Gerard was still holding the towel, so he shrugged and tucked it back in the shelf. They sat on the floor in silence for a little while. It was still hot and Frank felt sleepy under the dying caffeine jitters.
"I guess I should go," Gerard sighed.
"Yeah," Frank said. Neither of them moved for another minute.
"Okay," Gerard said. "I mean it this time. I need to wash my hands, anyway."
"I'll bag the books," Frank said, dragging himself to his feet.
Frank put the five books they'd chosen in the bag and tested the weight.
"Hey Frank?" Gerard called.
"What?"
"Come here a minute."
Frank left the bag on the floor and found Gerard in the tiny half-bath next to the stairs. "What is it?"
"Is this that oil stuff?" Gerard pointed to the dark space behind the toilet, along the floor.
Frank squeezed between Gerard and the sink and leaned over to squint at it. "I— I think it is. What the fuck."
He swiped his fingers along the smear, almost toppled over, and had to push himself off the toilet to get back up. "Definitely the same oil," Frank said. He held his hand to show Gerard, but Gerard was looking off to the side.
"Oh, um. Yeah. Where is it coming from, do you think?"
Frank washed his fingers off. "I'd say it was seeping up out of the ground or something except for the box upstairs."
"Have you found it anywhere else upstairs?"
"I haven't really looked," Frank admitted.
"We could go look now," Gerard said.
If Gerard wanted to stay, Frank was happy to have him there all day. So they went upstairs again, where it was dim and probably even hotter.
"So we know it's in that bedroom," Gerard mused, pointing to the smallest bedroom.
"And I was just moving stuff around in there," Frank pointed to the bedroom across from the stairs, "and I didn't see it."
"So that leaves…"
"Two other bedrooms, the bathroom, and the linen closet," Frank said.
"Oh great," Gerard sighed, but grinned at Frank. "So should we start at the other end of the house from the room we know it's in and work towards it?"
Frank shrugged, and lead the way down the hall. That put them in the master bedroom, which had a depressing amount of shit in it.
Gerard looked around and took his jacket off, laying it carefully on a tall stack of boxes. So it does come off, Frank thought, and bit his lips so he wouldn't smile.
"I can open the windows," Frank said.
"That might be a good idea," Gerard nodded.
Frank went around and opened windows while Gerard started poking at boxes.
"Is there any kind of order to these?" Gerard asked.
"If there is, I don't know about it," Frank said.
"We might need a knife— oh no, I got it."
Frank went to work on his own box, and for a few minutes cardboard and tape and newspaper made the only sounds in the room.
"How many crystal vases does the world need, seriously?" Frank asked with a sigh.
"And why are they all ugly?" Gerard asked.
"More seriously," Frank said, "is there any way to make a crystal vase so it isn't ugly?"
They smiled over their boxes and it was kind of a long moment. They opened new boxes.
"Holy shit, Frank," Gerard, excitement making his voice squeaky.
"What?" Frank picked his way across the room. "Did you find the oil?"
"No, there's a fuck-ton of 45s in this box."
"Seriously?" Frank nudged Gerard to the side a little. "Anything good?"
"There's a bunch of swing records in here," Gerard said. "People will pay a shitload of money for those, man."
"Assuming they haven't melted." Frank carefully started flipping through the 45s.
"You might have a whole record store up here and not know it."
Frank snorted. "I wish. It's be pretty cool to have a record store, I think. At least it'd be something I'm interested in."
"Why do you keep the antique store, then?" Gerard asked quietly. They were still slowly flipping through the records, like it was a lazy Saturday afternoon in someone else's store.
"I guess I feel like I owe to my grandma, you know? She left me the store for a reason. Just wish I knew what it was," he finished with a mutter.
"I'm sure she wouldn't want you to be miserable," Gerard said gently.
"I'm not miserable," Frank said, before he remembered he wasn't talking to his mom. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm kind of miserable," he admitted. "But I'm also kind of sick of being a failure."
"It wouldn't make you a failure," Gerard continued in his soft, warm voice. "You tried something and it didn't work out so you try something else. At the most it's a… strategic retreat."
Frank smiled at that. Their fingers were brushing, balanced on the edge of the next record. They flipped it, and neither of them looked at the records in the box. Gerard's face was very close, a few strands of black hair falling into his face. His eyes looked gold and his lashes were really long. Frank looked at Gerard's cute upturned nose and his crooked mouth that Frank was kind of obsessed with. Frank sort of forgot to look away from Gerard's mouth. He watched it form his name.
"Frank?" It was barely more than a whisper.
"Thank you," Frank said. "For helping me out with this. I probably seem crazy."
"No problem," Gerard said. "I don't mind. I don't—" he licked his lips. "I guess I get kind of lonely out here by myself. I like hanging out here."
"I like it when you're here," Frank admitted. "I guess I get pretty lonely too."
Gerard's fingers brushed his deliberately. Frank's deep inhale was shaky.
Gerard wrapped his fingers around Frank's and pulled them away from the records, bringing their hands up between them.
"Frank," Gerard said. "I might be being too presumptuous…"
"No," Frank said.
"No? Oh I—" Gerard's grip on Frank's hand slackened, and Frank grabbed Gerard's hand and squeezed.
"No, I mean— you're not. You really can't be too presumptuous. Presume everything you want."
Frank smiled.
Gerard smiled.
Gerard returned the squeeze and then leaned forward. Frank closed his eyes and tilted his face up, and felt Gerard's breath, and nose, and mouth. Gerard was tentative but Frank was kind of done with tentative and he pressed back hard. Their mouths opened, and Frank felt the wet slide of Gerard's tongue across his lip, against his own tongue.
Frank surged forward and wrapped a hand in Gerard's shirt, pulling him closer, as close as they could get, kicking a box out of their way.
It was really too hot for this, being pressed up against someone so close, but Frank didn't care. Anything that wasn't making out with Gerard was a terrible idea. They stood there forever, or long enough for it to count as forever. Long enough for Frank to get used to the way Gerard tasted, the way it felt to have Gerard's hands moving restlessly on his back.
The kisses were sometimes lazy and sometimes urgent, with more towards urgent as they went on, and Frank's pants were getting really uncomfortable now. He wiggled, trying to adjust the fit without taking his hands off Gerard, and Gerard gasped into his mouth. He bit Frank's lip, too, maybe on accident, and just a little, but Frank was so fucking done for then. He couldn't stop the jerk of his hips into Gerard, or the little moan.
Gerard stopped kissing him, fingers still entrapped in Frank's hair, and asked "There's a bed under there, right?"
Frank nodded, gulping air, and thought Oh shit, this is going to happen.
And somehow they shoved all the boxes off and Frank laid down and pulled Gerard after him because the mattress was probably gross and Frank really shouldn't be laying on it, but he didn't want Gerard laying on it either.
And then it was all Gerard's leg between Frank's, providing pressure and friction and Frank was thinking about how gross the mattress was, about roadkill, about anything just don't come yet. He kissed Gerard until it felt like his mouth shouldn't work anymore. Gerard's hands slid under Frank's shirt, and Frank whined and wiggled until the shirt made it over his head. He was trying to get his hand down the front of Gerard's jeans, but he was definitely going to have to undo them to get any serious action going. Gerard's hips were jerking like he couldn't control it, and Frank almost didn't care that made it really hard to get the button undone.
Fly open, finally they were getting somewhere. They both shoved and kicked until Gerard's jeans were off. Someone had their pants off, and someone had their shirt off. "Halfway there," Frank sighed. Gerard laughed and took advantage of Frank's distraction to attack his pants. Frank didn't mind at all.
As soon as Frank was naked he reached for Gerard's dick— at last— and Gerard let out a needy little whimper that made Frank bite his lip so he wouldn't come just from listening to Gerard. Biting his own lip hurt, so he bit Gerard's shoulder next. Gerard gasped and shoved at Frank a bit so he could wrap his hand around Frank's dick. Clearly, Gerard was a genius because that was a much better idea.
It was hot and they were covered in sweat and the bed was really loud and it felt so, so fucking good. Frank was thinking about maybe sliding down (because he'd been thinking about going down on Gerard a lot), when he felt a tightening behind his knees, in his back, everywhere, and realized no, he wasn't going to go down on Gerard because he was about to come. He was going to warn Gerard but by the time he'd remembered how to talk he was coming.
Frank floated for a moment, all fuck yeah about everything, then realized he was being a jerk 'cause Gerard was still twitching on the bed next to him. Gerard gasped when Frank pushed him on his back. Frank grinned and didn't mess around, just sucked Gerard into his mouth. Gerard made that seriously fantastic whimper again, his hips twitching like he could barely control them, and that was good. Frank was just starting to get into the rhythm of the thing when Gerard tugged at his hair. Frank backed off a little but still let Gerard come in his mouth.
He lay next to Gerard, eyes closed, feeling little pricks of coolness as the sweat evaporated off his skin and listening to Gerard's breathing normalize. Frank's life was awesome.
"Can I smoke in here?" Gerard asked eventually.
"If you give me one," Frank said. His grandma would have killed him but… it was Frank's store now, so fuck it.
Gerard found the cigarettes but was still looking for a lighter when the front door opened and closed, accompanied by the tinkle of the bell. Frank looked at Gerard, and wondered if his eyes could possibly be any wider than Gerard's.
Then Frank scrambled off the bed and started pulling his clothes on. Gerard had clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. "I feel like my parents just walked in," Frank muttered.
Gerard struggled not to burst out laughing. "Don't put your shirt on, Frankie," he whispered with difficulty. "Wash up first!"
"Shit," Frank said.
He ran across to the bathroom and splashed water on his stomach because yeah, dried come. Frank pulled on his shirt and ran down the stairs. "Hello?"
"Oh! I was wondering if anyone worked here." It was a mother with two small kids. Wasn't that just great. Frank followed them around, answering questions, trying to keep one eye on the kids— who of course ran off in different directions— in case they broke anything. The next twenty minutes were really annoying, and Frank's brain kept wandering back upstairs, wondering if Gerard had all his clothes back on yet.
The mother was trying to decide between one ugly figurine and another excruciatingly ugly figurine. Frank was trying not to worry about the kids; maybe they'd break something expensive for their mom to buy.
"Hey," Gerard whispered. He was creeping down the stairs, fully dressed of course. Even the jacket was back on.
"Hey," Frank went over to him.
Gerard looked apologetic, and Frank's heart sank. "I kind of have to go. Sorry." Frank was about to say "That's okay" without meaning it, but Gerard kept talking. "I'm going to New York tomorrow and there's still a bunch of stuff I have to pack. I'll be there through the weekend—" Frank's mood sank further— "staying with my brother, and then he'll be coming back with me for awhile, so…"
So Frank probably wouldn't be seeing Gerard for awhile. He nodded, hoping he didn't look as crushed as he felt.
"…You'll get to meet him!" Gerard smiled.
Frank blinked. "Oh. Right. Cool." He managed a real smile, and Gerard beamed.
"Um," Gerard looked a bit anxiously at the customer, who was watching them out of the corner of her eye.
"Let's go to my office,' Frank murmured. He mostly closed the door behind them, leaving it cracked a little in case the customer called for him.
"I am sorry I have to leave like this," Gerard said, inching close to Frank. "I didn't, um, plan this or anything so…"
"It's okay," Frank smiled, because it was now, and he leaned up and kissed Gerard. Gerard tasted like cigarette, reminding Frank he'd been robbed of a smoke. He wrapped his fingers in Gerard's hair to tug his head down. Gerard hummed and put his hands on Frank's hips, pulling him closer.
"Excuse me?" the woman's voice got noticeably frosty. When Frank turned around she was standing in the doorway, glaring at them.
Frank didn't care. Gerard's hands were still on his waist and this was his own office.
"Can I help you?" Frank asked.
"No, thank you. I think I'll look for a more family-friendly establishment."
He heard Gerard huff behind him, but Frank coolly watched her set the excruciatingly ugly figurine down and walk out of the addition, calling for her kids.
Frank snorted and turned to look at Gerard. Gerard looked horrified. "Did I just cost you a sale?" he asked.
They heard a crash in the other room, and a small child shout "uh-oh!"
"Nah," Frank grinned.
Once the really pissed off mother paid for the broken teapot, and Gerard kissed him goodbye on the front porch and promised to call him, Frank pulled a kitchen chair out into the backyard and finally had a smoke.
This was definitely the best day Frank could remember in a long time. He had sex! With Gerard! Who was totally into him! And now they had a thing! A meeting-family-thing! And the obnoxious homophobic mother who ruined their afterglow had to pay him $60 for nothing and got rid of an ugly-ass teapot for him! Karmic bitchslaps were so awesome when they happened to other people.
"Fan-fucking-tasic," Frank said, just to hear it.
He had another cigarette after the first one, 'cause why not, and then stayed in the chair for a little while. The sunlight was bright on his eyes, and he closed his eyes against it and felt the warm light on his face.
Frank woke with a jolt. The day was heading into dusk, and Frank was seriously the worst shop keeper ever. He dragged the chair back into the kitchen and took a quick look around. It didn't seem like anyone else had come in; Frank believed he would have heard if someone called for him.
He wasn't supposed to close for another hour, but there didn't seem to be much point in staying. He started closing up the windows downstairs and locked the back door. He went upstairs to close the windows, too. It looked like Gerard had straightened up a little in the bedroom; at least there was a clear path from the bed to the door. It looked incredibly obvious to Frank. It still smelled a little of smoke but not really like sex anymore. Frank's belt had somehow ended up under the bed, so he put that back on. "So classy," he muttered, rolling his eyes at himself.
Gerard has also put the box of 45s securely on another box. Frank moved the records out in to the hallway. He shut the windows without looking more than twenty times at the bed. He did a quick glance in the other upstairs rooms. He didn't remember opening any windows other than the ones in the master bedroom, but… no, there in the smallest bedroom, one of those windows was open.
Frank frowned— he really didn't remember opening it today— but shut it and latched it, and then tested it. It creaked but didn't open. This room felt weird now, and Frank felt compelled to glance over his shoulder. No one else was there, of course. Frank shrugged it off and shut the bedroom door as he left the room. He rattled the knob a bit to make sure the door would stay closed. He didn't normally shut the bedroom doors, but he didn't really want to look at that room. Probably had to do with the oil that was driving him so crazy.
Frank turned off the hall light and carefully made his way down the stairs with the box of 45s. He left them in his office, packed up the laptop, and stood in what used to be the entrance hall, before the walls were knocked down to make the main room. He still had a while until closing, but he'd sort of already turned the lights off. It was Wednesday night, no one was going to come.
Frank didn't really feel guilty as he hit the last lights, turned the sign around, and locked the door behind him.
Gerard took a break from packing to call him. He wanted to complain because he'd stapled his sleeve to a crate. Frank admitted falling asleep at work for hours, and they laughed at themselves (but more at Gerard). Neither of them mentioned the sex-thing, but it was in the air anyway, Frank thought, in the warmth of their tone of voice or something. When they hung up, Frank went to bed and slept really well for what felt the first time in a long time.
Frank was pretty sure today would be good. Not as good as yesterday, of course, but still good. There was even a hint of freshness in the morning air. Frank holed up in his office and made a list of the 45s, which was actually kind of fun. A customer came in around noon, looking at crystal vases. That reminded Frank of the box he'd found yesterday, so he went upstairs to bring it down.
Frank was leaving the master bedroom with the crystal vase box in his arms when he happened to glance down at the other end of the hall. And then he did a double take. The smallest bedroom's door was open.
This was the first time Frank had been upstairs today, and he very distinctly remembered closing the door last night, remembered jiggling the handle to make sure it was closed. Maybe when he'd tried the handle he'd loosened it. Must have been. And yet… the door had been shut. That had been the whole point of checking the handle.
Frank shook his head— it didn't really matter right now— and took the box downstairs. The customer was kind of giddy over the vases in the box, so Frank knew to charge him a lot. Maybe he wasn't totally bad at this.
Once the customer left with his boxful of vases, Frank rearranged the vases that were left and put on a new cd. He wrote a text to Gerard but didn't send it. Finally, Frank gave in and went back upstairs.
He felt uneasy at once but ignored it. He went to the smallest bedroom and stuck his head in the door. Nothing looked disturbed. Of course. He shut the door and jiggled the handle again. It seemed closed. Frank pushed against the door and it stayed shut.
Frank rubbed a hand across his face. It was heating up again, and it was worse up here than downstairs. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered. So the door had opened; who cared? It was an old house and the door probably didn't fit—
There was a loud crash behind him: a whoosh, a thump, and the sound of shattering. Frank jumped, bumping into the shut door, which definitely stayed shut, and Frank scrambled a little to turn around.
The noise sounded like it had come from the bedroom across the hall. Frank hadn't been in there since… he couldn't remember. Frank decided to just man up, and surged across the hall and threw the door open.
The room was empty. It took Frank a few moments to pick out the box that had fallen. He rolled it over carefully, wincing as the pieces of whatever clinked around inside. Frank pulled the box open. Whatever porcelain had been inside was in a lot of pieces. Frank looked around, but there was no way to tell where the box had fallen from. The window was shut, so it didn't seem like a breeze had come through and pushed it off.
"No, seriously," Frank said to the house at large. "What the fuck?"
He took the box of broken shards downstairs and dumped it. Frank was just coming back into the house when a door upstairs slammed. Frank kind of wanted to scream in frustration; instead he ran up the stairs. There must be a draft up there. It had blown the box off and now it had blown the door shut.
But when he got into the upstairs hallway he found the doors exactly as he'd left them. All open, except for the linen closet and the smallest bedroom. He checked all the rooms again; they were all empty, all exactly as he'd left them.
Frank went out back and had a smoke. He might be going crazy. There was always that. He finally decided he'd couldn't deal with this shit right now, and closed for lunch.
The truck stop diner was crowded, so Frank sat at the counter. He ordered coffee and a sandwich. He'd feel better after getting some food in him, and when he went back to the store this bullshit would be done.
"Frank, right?" Bob said, setting down a plate with Frank's sandwich and an extra pickle. "Where's Gee Way?"
"Thanks. New York. And yeah, it's Frank."
Frank took a giant bite of the sandwich. "This is really good," Frank said.
"Thanks. I try." Bob got himself a cup of coffee and hung out by Frank. Frank felt kind of awkward. "What brings you out today? Besides my Michelin star sandwich making, of course."
Frank put the sandwich down and wiped his hands thoroughly. "Work's kind of weird. I needed a break."
Bob frowned. "Don't you have a store or something? Gerard says he's always over there getting stuff for his art."
Frank nodded. "Antiques store. Used to be my grandma's. But, like…" he lifted the sandwich and put it down without taking a bite. "I don't know. It's been weird in there lately." Frank found himself talking about the oil, and how it spread, and how now he couldn't understand what was going on upstairs and maybe he was going crazy.
"Maybe you have a ghost," Bob said. "I mean, slamming doors and stuff moving around on its own."
Frank snorted, but Bob raised an eyebrow like he was serious. "Okay," Frank said. "So there's a ghost— why does it show up now? I've been there for two years and my grandma had the store for like, decades before that. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I thought hauntings were, like, permanent unless you had an exorcism or something."
Bob shrugged. "I'm not an expert or anything. But it's probably better than just you going crazy, right?" Bob clapped a hand on Frank's shoulder, finished his coffee in a giant gulp, and went back to the kitchen.
Frank finished his sandwich and ate both pickles. Well, it certainly wasn't worse than going crazy.
Frank got back to the store and he slowly climbed the stairs. It seemed still and hushed inside, and the heat made it oppressive. "Um, hi," Frank said aloud, slowly turning around as he spoke, since he didn't really know where to speak to. "I don't know what's going on, or if you're really here, or what, but… I work here and my name is Frank. Maybe you used to live here? You're welcome to stay, you know. I'm sure we can get along. Just don't break things anymore? Now that I know you're here— is that what you wanted? Recognition? I'm sure we can both hang out here, it might be kind of nice. So… are we cool?"
Frank felt pretty stupid, talking to something that probably wasn't actually there. Frank wasn't even sure he believed in ghosts. He sighed, shrugged.
The hall light exploded.