Due to the fact Frank had no social life or parents that could also occupy his time, he had taken it upon himself, despite the anxiety screaming in his head, to get a job. He would have preferred one where he didn't have to communicate with other people, but he had been unsuccessful in finding one and had taken a job at a small local cafe.
The atmosphere was warm; dimmed lights casting a yellow glow over the area. There weren't many other workers and the manager seemed polite and understanding of Frank's social anxiety. In the first week at his new job, he was given small tasks where he didn't come in to contact with lots of customers. He often came in late after school to sweep floors or clean tables.
Over time, he was given more substantial tasks, such as jotting down orders. Frank's legs shook every time a person at a table called him over, however, he knew he could have done with building up some confidence, so each time, he swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to make sure he spoke clearly.
On a slow Saturday, Frank had taken the evening shift. For the most part, it was quiet and he'd gotten to sit at one of the back tables, drinking a coffee. Though it was only a few minutes before people started piling in; the majority partly drunk and looking for something to sober them up. With their drunken states, they also brought in noise and crowds, sending Frank's anxiety levels through the roof.
"Frank?" The manager clapped to grab his attention, then motioned for him to begin serving.
Taking a deep breath, Frank nodded and thus began his own personal nightmare.
-
Eventually, as if God had finally answered Frank's prayers, the crowds gradually died down and the noise ceased to a low chatter. There were only a few people left. Frank grabbed the empty mugs from a table near the back and was about to clear them away, when a certain customer caught his eye. They were sat in the very back corner on their laptop, typing away furiously.
Of all people, Frank was least expecting to see his art teacher there. Gerard was hunched over his work, staring intently with half lidded eyes at the screen. A leather jacket was draped over the back of the chair, and he was wearing a thin, sleeveless t-shirt and the tightest jeans Frank had ever seen. They were ripped at the knees (and one rather large rip creeping up the seams of his inner thigh, which Frank tried to avert his gaze from). As usual, Gerard's hair was a mess and Frank suppressed a small chuckle at the sight of him.
Keeping his head down, Frank made his way over. Regardless of the fact he knew Gerard, he was even more nervous to approach him. Though if he didn't, he knew the manager would tell him to anyway -he was the only waiter working so late in the evening.
Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. "What can I get you?"
Gerard's chapped lips parted and he slowly tore his eyes away from the screen. "A-" his eyes traveled up to meet Frank's, the words evaporating in to thin air. A redness instantly tinted his cheeks at having been caught all dishevelled outside of school. Putting his hands in his lap, he glanced down briefly, biting his lip.
"Hey." Frank offered a smile, hoping this situation wasn't going to be uncomfortable.
"Hey," He gazed up at him, "I-I'll have a coffee. Black."
The lights above cast hazy shadows upon Gerard's face, making his delicate features seem even softer. The light reflected golden in his eyes, too, and Frank almost stared.
Shifting nervously on his feet, Frank took his lip ring between his teeth before speaking. He found it odd and simply had to voice this out loud. "Is this weird?"
"Only if you make it weird." Gerard returned the smile. Suddenly remembering, he put his knees together so the huge rip in his jeans wasn't visible to Frank, although Frank had already seen it.
Having noticed what Gerard was doing, Frank blushed and wondered if he was crossing a line. "I know."
Narrowing his eyes at him, Gerard tried to read the expression on his face, but ended up clueless. "Is it weird now?"
"I think so." Frank chuckled. "Anyway, I'll bring you your coffee-"
"Oh, wait." Gerard grabbed Frank's hand gently before he could walk away. Frank glanced down at their hands, his heart pounding in his ribcage -it might have shattered. "Sorry." Gerard let go, his slender fingers brushing Frank's as he pulled away. "I-I was going to say, I'll need two cups of coffee, actually."
Shaking his head slightly, Frank switched his gaze to stare at the laptop instead. "Late night?" He asked with a small smile.
"Unfortunately. I have a lot of work to do, but it's nice to be outside of a classroom."
Pulling up a chair, Frank sat opposite him, resting his elbows on the table. "Not more work for my class, I hope?" He sighed internally, really hoping it wasn't.
"Well. . ." He bit his lip with a slight smirk.
"Really?" Frank groaned, running his fingers through his hair.
"Don't worry," Gerard flicked his gaze from the screen to his student. "If you struggle with anything, I can help you out."
"That'd be great."
"Frank?" the manager came up behind him, making him jump.
Frank pressed his lips in to a thin line, rolling his eyes, and Gerard had to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.
"Enough skiving, I need for you to get back to work."
As much as Frank wanted to stay with Gerard, he nodded, rising from his seat. Now he had to decide if he was embarrassed by being told off in front of his teacher, or scared he was going to get shouted at later. Perhaps it was both.
When the manager walked off, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Sighing, he tore his gaze from Gerard's, cheeks blooming a faint red. "I'm sorry, I have to. . ." He gestured to the empty plates, bowls and mugs on the numerous tables.
"I understand." Gerard waved a hand dismissively. "I'll see you on Monday."
"And I'll get you your coffee."
Gerard chuckled quietly, muttering a small, "Thank you."
-
Of course, the one time Frank came home late, was the one time that his parents are actually there -for a change. He'd taken the late shift, on a Saturday night, and as a result, had had to walk back in the pitch black streets of New Jersey, which his parents really did not seem too happy about. In his defence, their house wasn't too far away.
When he'd gotten home, he'd unlocked the door to an angry mother, who was sat on the stairs, an unimpressed expression on her face.
Immediately, he wished he could slowly close the door and hope he hadn't been seen already. He was glad it was dark in the hall and he could only see outlines of furniture and his mother. The one light source was the streetlamp shining through the window by the stairs. At least she couldn't see the terrified, yet irritated, look on his face.
Though he could see hers. She scowled. "Why're you coming home so late?"
"I was at work." He muttered, dropping his keys on the side cabinet.
"Oh," She smiled, seemingly briefly distracted, "You have a job?"
"Yeah. . ?"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You weren't here to tell." He retorted, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it on a hook.
She folded her arms across her chest. "You could have called me."
"You know I don't like talking on the phone."
"You could have texted me?"
Frank sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "You never answer me." If they went on any further, he was going to start to get stroppy. Truth be told, he didn't like talking to his parents, they always turned every joke, or conversation, or hobby in to a year-long lecture.
"I might have if you actually tried contacting me."
Having already heard enough, he kicked off his shoes, then trudged down the hall to the kitchen for something to eat. He hadn't had a chance to have dinner while he was working, now left starving.
"Don't walk away from me while I'm talking to you." She huffed, striking a pang of fear in Frank's chest -he hated it when she started shouting.
"I'm getting something to eat, Jesus. I've been out all day." He whined, yanking the fridge open.
She appeared in the doorway behind him, clearly not in the mood for her son's rude attitude. "I was too, but I had time to get dinner."
Frank kept quiet.
She tried to lighten the dreary atmosphere. "So, where do you work?"
"At the cafe a few minutes away." He mumbled, grabbing an oat bar and pouring himself some juice. "It's going well, but I hate having to talk to people." He shuffled in to the dining room, slouching in one of the chairs.
"Well," She began and he just knew a lecture was coming, "You can't go your whole life without talking to other people. You have to stop this, Frank. You can't isolate yourself forever."
I can try, he thought bitterly, taking a deep breath. He didn't reply as he stood and left the room, desperate to get away. He had heard it all plenty of times before. "I'm going to bed." He called back.
"Don't make a racket, your dad's already asleep. He has to be up early."
Frank scoffed. What did she think he was going to do?
[Published 20 August 2019]
[Last edited 25 November 2019]