Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frank liked the night shift because it came with no responsibilities beyond making sure the coffee machine didn’t explode. Most nights, he could wander between the aisles, restock chips, and feel like he was the king of a tiny, fluorescent-lit fantasy land. It was like… a really shitty Narnia.

Sometimes, on nights when his manager Bob left him, he would even have full say over what radio station to put on. Bob was cool like that. He never even said anything when Frank refused to zip the stupid vests the chain made their employees wear.

It was also pretty great because he never had to deal with too many people, only the occasional trucker who needed gas, and teenagers coming in for midnight slushies.

Oh, and Gerard.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, complicated the whole “nothing to do” thing.

Frank didn’t know much about Gerard, but he knew enough. For one thing, Gerard was incredibly pretty. Like, enragingly pretty. He had very soft features and long black hair. He also bought cigarettes like he was trying to smoke the world into a shortage.

Almost like clockwork, Frank would see Gerard walk into the Gas n’ Sip around midnight. He’d avoid eye contact, pacing the snack aisles like he was conducting some very serious, very important peanut inventory. He’d sneak occasionally glances at Frank, which made Frank’s heart race fast than should be humanly possible. Then he’d head up to the counter empty-handed, point to the cheapest pack of cigarettes, and pay. Then glide out like he owned the night.
Every. Single. Night.

Frank would watch him saunter out of the station, shoving the pack into his artist’s satchel, and head to the 24hour diner across the street.

Frank only knew it was an artist’s satchel because he’d gotten in the habit of watching Gerard sit in the window of the diner across the road and sketch for hours in the booth. Hell, Frank only knew what his name was due to having IDed him that first time he’d come in. The first time Frank saw him, he’d been wearing a baggy Black Flag shirt and an expression that said he hated small talk. Frank had wanted to initiate conversation. Gerard had just smiled politely, handed over his Jersey driver’s license, pocketed the cigarettes, and vanished into the neon glow across the street. It wasn’t until an hour of boredom later he’d even noticed Gerard in that diner window, sketching away.

And now Frank had spent most of the last month rehearsing what he would say if Gerard ever actually, miraculously, looked at him and waited long enough to let him speak. Not that he’d admit to rehearsing, of course. That would be… pathetic.
Every night, as Gerard wandered through the aisles like a slow-motion catwalk, Frank’s brain would implode with possibilities. He’d clear his throat, open his mouth, and then somehow end up ringing up the cigarettes without saying a word beyond “That’ll be five thirty-two.” And Gerard would just nod politely, smile faintly, and vanish into the night.
Every. Single. Night.

It was maddening. And, frankly, probably a little unfair how easily Gerard could make him feel this jittery. He didn’t have a crush. No, no crush there. Just… mild, obsessive curiosity that occasionally made his heart do little pirouettes in his chest.
And tonight, Frank had actually committed. He’d made a plan. A real plan. And…
Okay, it was dumb. It was tragic.
Because Gerard had worn a Joy Division t-shirt last week, and looked damn good in it, Frank had dug his old highschool-era one out from the back of his closet. It was like maybe Gerard would somehow notice and think, “oh, this guy’s totally worth my time.”
Yeah. Totally genius.

He showed up to his shift, and through sheer power of shame, immediately zipped the stupid uniform vest up to cover his truly pathetic plan. He fiddled with the zipper once, twice, psyching himself up, before finally leaving it zipped.

“Nice zip-up today, Frank.”

Bob’s voice cut through his reverie. His manager leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Frank tugged the zipper a little higher, hiding the lumpy nerves the shirt couldn’t mask.

“Uh… thanks,” he muttered, realizing it sounded more like a question than a response and hoping Bob would move on.

“And seriously,” Bob continued, wagging a finger like a small, judgmental metronome, “you have to use your radio privileges better. The morning crew hates it, and keeps complaining. I don’t mind what you play, but the complaints are getting annoying, man.”

“I mean… maybe you could set up an MP3 player? All the big stores have one now linked up to their speakers. Then I could take my music home with me.” Frank shrugged, sheepishly. “Only having radio is so 90’s.”

Bob raised an eyebrow, considering it. “Huh. Maybe. I’ll ask the chain. But if the morning crew calls me again complaining about yelly shit at dawn, I’m blaming you.”
He left with a clack of boots and a sigh. Frank let out a long breath. Shift started. Now it was time for the actual night shift. And maybe, just maybe, Gerard would appear, and Frank would somehow, miraculously, speak to him without sounding like a total idiot.

He’d keep his vest zipped up. The shirt made him feel like he’d been branded as an idiot.

Frank busied himself with wiping down counters, rearranging snack displays, and pretending the inventory list was suddenly fascinating. The clock ticked painfully slow. Gerard was late tonight. Usually, he drifted in like clockwork just after midnight. Now it was 1 a.m., and Frank’s stomach had been doing somersaults for the past eighty minutes.
He gave himself a quick once-over in the reflection of the glass door. His mohawk was mostly behaving, shirt actually looked okay under the zipped vest, teeth mostly clean. He didn’t look like a total idiot.

Then the bell above the door chimed. And there he was.
Damn.

Gerard had his baggy satchel slung over one shoulder, eyeliner smudged just enough to make it look effortless. His hair was all in his face, and he was wearing the camo jacket he’d started wearing more often as it got colder. Frank watched as he entered, already preparing that he had about 3 minutes of Gerard pacing around the snack aisle to get his head int the game. He was not expecting to forgo his usual routine and head straight for the counter. Frank’s brain short-circuited.

“Cool shirt,” Gerard said quietly, leaning against the counter.

“What?”

Gerard gestured to the three skinny lines of white peeking from under Frank’s vest. “Uh… sorry. Is that not… Joy Division?”

Frank swallowed. “No, it is. Thanks.”

“No problem. They’re one of my favourites,” Gerard said, tilting his head. Hair fell away from his face, and now Frank was making direct eye contact.

“I know,” Frank blurted, then winced. “I mean… you just seem like the type,” he added quickly.

Gerard raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Frank waved vaguely at him. “Uh… standard goth-punk teenage obsession. Never really goes away. I… I just listen at work sometimes. Keeps me awake.”

Gerard tilted his head, looking genuinely interested. “I get that. I like music that makes me… productive, I guess.” There was a pause. Gerard’s eyes flicked to the vest, then back to Frank.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear your vest zipped up.”

Frank flushed. “Uh… special occasion?” He hadn’t planned what to say. “I thought… nevermind… you noticed?”

“Oh,” Gerard gasped, forming a perfect oval with his mouth. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Frank’s brain short-circuited. Gerard noticed. It was just a shirt, and yet…

“So,” Frank said, leaning on one elbow in his best attempt at casual, “you’re an artist, huh?”

Gerard blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

“I see you across the street sometimes,” Frank admitted, gesturing vaguely at the satchel. “At the diner.”

Gerard shrugged. “Thanks. I mostly draw the people I see. Helps pass the time. Keeps me from staying in. I don’t do much during the day besides sleep.”

Frank watched Gerard grow redder, like he was embarrassed to admit it. Frank could relate.

“I don’t get out much either. Perks of the night shift.”

Gerard nodded thoughtfully.
Frank licked his lips nervously and noticed, again, how Gerard’s eyeliner was smudged in just the right way, how his hair fell like a curtain framing his face. Upon closer inspection, his camo jacket was patched in many places, and had a wallet chain on it.
Frank told himself to Stop Thinking About It.

But Gerard, apparently sensing his gaze, tilted his head and said, “You got a new lip ring?”

Frank froze. “Uh… yeah. Just got it,” he mumbled, fiddling with the hoop at the edge of his mouth.

“Nice,” Gerard said with a faint smile, like it wasn’t a big deal but it totally was. “I noticed it last week and meant to compliment it. Suits you. Total rockband look.”
Frank’s stomach did another somersault.

“Uh… I was actually in a band. Pency Prep. We… uh, broke up last year.” He winced. “I play guitar.”

“No shit,” Gerard said, perking up. “Like, Eyeball Records Pency?”

“Yeah, actually! How did you…?”

“My kid brother knows Geoff from like, way back. Maybe you know him? His name’s Mikey.”

Frank blinked. “Holy shit, man! Mikey fuckin’ Way. He knows everyone. Small world, huh?”

Gerard shrugged. “Guess so.”

A pause fell over them. Then Frank remembered why he was at work. He remembered The Schedule. He cleared his throat. “So… uh… gonna get your usual cigarettes tonight?”

Gerard hesitated, brow furrowed. He looked like he’d been caught in a question he didn’t want to answer. Then, carefully, he reached into his satchel and pulled out his wallet. Frank immediately regretted bringing it up. Now Gerard was leaving sooner than he wanted.

“You… You’re a smoker,” Frank said casually, trying not to sound too accusatory. “Not judging, I’m a smoker too.”

Gerard shrugged, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at his lips. “Social smoker, I guess. Helps pass the time.”

Frank laughed softly. “I… uh… good to know. You headed to the diner like usual?”

“Yeah.” Gerard smiled again, sliding the pack Frank handed him into his satchel and adjusting the strap.

“Cool.” Frank watched him leave, heart sinking slightly even as a small grin spread across his face. “See you tomorrow?” he called after him.

Gerard glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

The bell chimed behind him, and Frank exhaled slowly. Frank leaned against the counter, chest hammering like it would burst. He’d fucked it up. He’d fucked it up so badly. He could have kept it going, but accidentally shooed Gerard out the door.

He ran the conversation through his head, each word sharp and jagged, gnawing at him. The lip ring. The vest. The band. Gerard’s smile when he mentioned Pency Prep. The cigarettes.
Then his stomach dropped.

The cigarettes.
Gerard wasn’t really a smoker. Social, he’d said. But he came in every night. Every night, buying pack after pack. Math didn’t lie. Unless…
Frank froze, heart hammering in his throat.

No. No, that’s insane.
And yet the thought wouldn’t leave. It twisted inside him like a soup of rubber bands.

Unless… he’s coming here… for…

The idea slammed into him like ice water. He had to do something. Had to. He stumbled toward the bathroom, ignoring the creak of the tile under his boots, and slammed cold water onto his face. The mirror caught his reflection: messy hair, wild eyes, lip ring glinting.
Gerard had noticed it a whole week ago. He’d thought about Frank for a week.

His gaze fell to the vest. Those three white lines, unrecognisable as a logo… except to Gerard. He saw.
Frank’s stomach clenched so tight it hurt. Heat flushed his chest. His pulse jumped.

Holy fuck.
This guy definitely fuckin’ liked him back.

Without thinking, he yanked the zipper down and the vest off, throwing it behind the counter. Then, reckless and urgent, he shoved the door open, turning the “closed” sign on. Bob could suck his nuts. He didn’t care.

He ran across the empty street, boots thudding, neon washing the wet pavement in surreal pink and green. The diner door swung open, coffee scent hitting him, and there Gerard was.
Frank froze a few feet away, chest hammering like a jackhammer. Gerard looked up, pencil paused mid-sketch, eyes meeting his with that same impossible, calm unconfidence.

“Were… were you just… hitting on me?” Frank’s voice came out clipped and nervous.

Gerard tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that… okay if I am?”

Frank’s brain short-circuited. Yes. Yes, of course it was. Holy shit yes.

“Yes. Of course… yes.” He probably looked like a lunatic. Hair sticking out, chest heaving, eyes wide. He didn’t care.

Gerard smiled. “Good. I was hoping so.”

Frank stumbled closer, hands deep in his pockets. “I… I don’t know what I expected. You come in every night, perfect and irritatingly pretty, and I… I don’t know.”

Gerard laughed low, amused. “I noticed you noticing me. For a while. I hoped you’d make the first move, but you never said anything.”

“Neither did you?”

“Oh.” Then he burst out into a fit of giggles, fist pressed over his mouth. “I suck. I… I’m ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous,” Frank decided. “Human. And… I like humans.”

Gerard smiled. “Thanks. You should sit,” he suggested, gesturing to the booth.

Frank realized he’d been standing awkwardly the whole time. He slipped in across from Gerard.

They lapsed into easy silence, only pencil scratches and diner hum filling the air. Frank leaned closer. “So… social smoker, huh?”

Gerard smirked. “Yeah. Basically I haven’t smoked in a year. Mikey keeps telling me I need to get out more.”

Frank’s pulse stuttered. “I… that’s… I mean… you buy a pack every night, and you don’t even…”

“Smoke them?” Gerard finished. “Yeah. Excuse to see you. Like how the diner’s an excuse to leave my basement.”

Frank’s almost fainted.

“Holy shit. That’s… such a waste of money, man! I'm honoured, but it'd be cheaper to just ask me out.”

“Well, I got nervous!” Gerard retorted. “Fuck off. I can do what I want with my money. You can’t talk. Those in glass houses…”

Frank laughed, chest feeling ready to implode. “Me? Nervous? Never,” he said, though his cracking laugh betrayed him.

“You blush. All the time,” Gerard said, grinning. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah, well… you spent like five bucks a day just to see me.” Frank shook his head. “I’d rather you spend it on a drink with me.”

“Okay cool. I’d like that a lot. I know of some good gigs we could go to, if you can get the day off.”

Frank nodded frantically.
Holy fuck. Dream date secured!