The store looked a lot bigger than he remembered. Maybe it was because every step he took now was savored, as if it were his final. Gerard's hand was firm on his and, embarrassingly he was gripping Gerard's just as tight.
They walked close, Frank's head coming in contact with Gerard's bicep every few moments. He wondered how they looked to the public. Did everyone assume that Gerard was Frank's father? Brother? Boyfriend? Or did people take them as friends? He doubted the last one. What friends walked hand and hand this close.
"Are you nervous?" Gerard asked the younger boy.
"Why would I be nervous?" Frank asked not exactly denying the assumption.
"You're holding on to my hand pretty tight," Gerard said with a teasing smile that made Frank blush a lovely color. "Not that I mind, I'd much rather this than being left wondering if running away from me was on your mind." He said suggestively.
Frank looked up to Gerard with his eyebrows drawn together. He couldn't explain why but the offense that he felt from Gerard thinking that of him made his mood dampen.
"I'm not." He said after a few uncomfortable seconds.
Gerard raised an eyebrow, "You're not what?"
Frank regretted speaking in the first place.
"Not thinking about running away." Not now anyways.
Gerard smiled confidently. It made Frank wonder if he already knew. If he had only suggested that Frank wanted to escape to see his reaction. If that was the case he had fallen right into Gerard's trap.
•••
Frank pouted the rest of the trip.
Gerard noticed almost immediately and quite honestly he found it amusing.
He teased his boy every once in a while by asking him to collect an item from a different
aisle, giving him the chance to leave him if he'd like, toying with the boy for the hell of it. At first it made him nervous. He was sure that he'd leave him without a second thought but by the third time his boy came back handing him the requested item with an unreadable exasperation all feelings of anxiety disappeared.
This was training him, he thought. Justifying his actions.
Forcing his boy to make the smart decision himself. Soon escaping will be the very last thing on Frank's mind. It would just take time and work, and Gerard would be more than happy to out those things in.
"In the cart," Gerard said to Frank when he returned. He'd been instructed to grab a snack for himself and unsurprisingly he brought back with him a box of blueberry flavored Pop-tarts.
Frank wordlessly did as he was asked, still frustrated with Gerard but mostly himself. So far he had embarrassingly lost every battle that Gerard has set up between he and his less than perfect instincts. After a while a it started to feel right. Coming back each time to the taller man's degrading smile. He was going mad that must be it.
Gerard decided not to ask him about what was troubling. If Frank wanted his emotions to be know he would have to learn to voluntarily talk to Gerard. They wouldn't get anywhere if Gerard forced every response from him. The torture of not speaking would eventually get to him. He'd break himself so that he didn't have to.
After a while Frank noticed that by the ingredients Gerard was collecting, or having him collect, that he was going to make some sort of pasta. Frank felt like tearing up as he stared uncomfortably at the box of noodles and sauces in the cart. The same brand of tomato sauce that his mother used when she made his favorites.
He missed her.
The way that her perfume lingered in the house hours after she'd gotten ready in it and left for work, or the way she made him feel like the center of the universe even when the bills were piling up on the table. How warm and caring she was while she suffered, how she made him feel like it was all okay when it most definitely wasn't.
He found himself scowling at the back of his captors head as he followed like an idiot.
He could never show him the same affection. Give him that same reassurance of safety. He couldn't replace her or anyone else in his life—the life that he had been forcefully ripped out of like a bandaid from a bleeding wound. His life was far from perfect, with his father being absent and he and his boyfriend's less than perfect "relationship." Not to mention his own special problems going on right inside of his head. Still, he liked his dysfunctional life as it was, or at least he was able to convince himself that he was content.
Now it was all different. Changing quickly and permanently. He hated change, and commitment. Maybe it ran in the family, a trait passed down from his father. The idea of decisions, big and small, impacting the way you existed for eternity didn't sit well with Frank. And now, here he was, being placed into a situation he had no time to prepare for. It was like God was playing dolls with his life, moving things around while he desperately tried to drag them back into place, to keep them where they were. He hated change, but then again commitment was even scarier.
Gerard was playing God. The smug son-of-a-bitch with the soft looking black hair and and the calming voice. The voice that told him he was okay and loved. He felt as if his brain was trying to separate Gerard into two different men. One that would care for him how he promised and make him happy, and the man who had taken him without a care in the world of how he felt. The man who saw him as an object to take for their own. He knew that it wasn't healthy, or helping him at all with this whole "getting away" thing, but who was he to tell his brain what to do. He was just Frank.
The gentle tap, tap, tap of the man's sole against the smooth vinyl tile were slowing now. It was only background noise of the disarray of thoughts in his mind but it caused him to break out of his talking-to-himself-bubble. He looked up from his own dark blue converse with stickers from last spring stuck to the toe cap to see Gerard his captor coming to a stop.
They were at a check out line ran by a 5'2-ish girl in her mid 20's obviously uninterested in her job, or better yet existence judging from the unwavering look on her face when she said "Good evening, sir." with zero enthusiasm.
Frank kept his mouth shut tight as Gerard payed for the food watching carefully as the despondent worker attempted to scan his blueberry and poptarts once, then again, two more times before looking up at Gerard with her brown eyes still half-lidded to say, "The barcode is scratched."
Gerard hummed accepting the box back and examining the barcode, "That it is."
Frank was blatantly staring at the two now, genuinely concerned for the fate of his poptarts. He thought for a few seconds before speaking.
"I could go get a another one. One that isn't scratched." He offered. The words sounded twenty times more normal than he thought they would when we was letting the words roll around on his tongue. They were perfect, they made scene and wouldn't make anyone question him.
Gerard made eye contact with him, awfully calm making Franks legs go a little weak.
"Make it quick, Frankie." Gerard said with a little smile.
Frank turned slowly before walking so quick that he thought that he'd fall onto the shiny waxed floor. His feet made him go into the direction of the poptarts, he let himself be on auto pilot for now. He grabbed the same flavor, blueberry, his mouth nearly watered at the thought of the artificial fruit. He thought while holding the box about the last time he'd had blueberry poptarts. I'd been months. And now Gerard was buying them for him, like someone who cared for him would. Did Gerard care for him. . . Of course he did. Who would go through all of this for someone they didn't care for. Frank grunted closing his eyes tightly.
"Are you alright?"
Frank flinched at the sound of someone else's voice. A voice that wasn't his own or Gerard's.
"I'm—I'm okay." Frank said not taking his eyes off of the shelves full of pastries.
"Are you sure?" The woman asked, "You seem a bit scared." She seemed so genuinely concerned. Frank couldn't trust them, no matter how sincere they seemed, everyone was a fake.
"Yes." Frank said bluntly. He tucked the box of poptarts to his chest and turned to walk away. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. The woman, once again pressed him to speak, "Honey, who are you here with?" Her hand still on the boy's shoulder.
Frank's breathing quickened. His time was running out, Gerard was probably angry and suspicious now. She'd ruined his chance of getting away.
"Don't touch me!" Frank growled out jerking away from her stinging touch. Two people farther down the isle turned their attention to him, making it all worse. The woman backed up, making their distance obvious to the people behind them for her own sake most likely. Her blue eyes were wide as they stared back at him with shock.
The tension made him lip quiver. No one wanted to be looked at like that, like they'd sprouted an extra limb by a complete stranger. He wanted to be in a Gerard's comforting arms right now.
He turned around quickly, walking on shaky legs to get back to the register, disappointed in himself for not talking this opportunity to take his life back. He was so pathetic, even with his escape right in front of his face, he couldn't take the simple steps to leave.
He felt the cold air hitting his face, making the tears running down his check more apparent. He whipped his fave with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The closer he got to Gerard the more his headache eased, his breathing was falling back on track.
The moment that he was within reach, He wrapped his arms around Gerard's waist, letting out a sob into the man's shirt. He dropped the package of poptarts onto the conveyor belt not even bothering to apologize for holding up the line.
"Frankie?" Gerard asked, reciprocating the tight hold that Frank had on him once he'd realized what was happening. The woman behind the register barely reacted, carefully reaching for the poptart box and scanning it.
"85.97." She says.
Frank doesn't let up so Gerard works around him, handing the cashier a $100 bill and kissing the top of his boys head as he waited for his change. Frank sighed into Gerard's chest, holding him tighter, wanting to be as close as possible to Gerard.
The cashier sent Gerard a sad smile. Probably out of respect, a loving father comforting his flustered son. Or maybe a boyfriend, Gerard wasn't too sure of what they looked like together.
He took the money and receipt, Frank taking the hint and detaching himself so that Gerard could get the bags. He felt a bit bad having Gerard cary everything but he didn't seem to mind, moving all of the bags to one arm and hand to press him up against his side as they walked.
Frank waited in the car as Gerard put the bags in the trunk. Now that they were alone Frank felt his embarrassment triple from his behavior earlier. When the driver's side door opened he closed his eyes dreading being asked what had happened.
Gerard settled inside of the car, turning on the heater and filling the car with music just quiet enough to diffuse some of the tension. Frank felt better once he was warmed up and found himself relaxed muscles that he didn't know were tensed.
Still surprisingly, Gerard hadn't said a word about what had happened, only asking him if he had anywhere he wanted to go to which he responded, "No, just home please." The second the words left his mouth he wanted to reach out and grab them before they reached Gerard but it was too late. "It's alright, we can head home now." Gerard responded comfortingly. He deflated against his seat as the car started, turning his head to face the window. He, for the first time, wanted Gerard to get them back to the house quickly.
•••
a/n
i hope that this was alright ! more exciting things are to come in the next chapters.
-serrae