3:40pm. Where is he? Maybe he didn't get on the plane. He could have stood me up. Would I really blame him if he did? 'Could I blame him?' is the real question.

My thoughts run wild while I'm waiting anxiously, yet overly excitedly outside the 'Arrivals.' My eyes scanning over every person that shuffles through the doors as I keep a desperate lookout for Frank. A giant, childish grin is plastered across my face the second I spot him. He's dressed immaculate. Well, for me he is. Which is to say that he could be wearing a brown paper bag and smell like last weeks trash and I'd feel about him, just the same. But he wasn't. It's that shirt. I think. Fuck. He's wearing the shirt I bought him on our first date. Hot tears escape and fall down my burning cheeks as Frank casually strolls over, wrapping his small inked arms around me and hugs me tight against his tiny body; his face buried in my t-shirt. I take the brief moment to inhale his intoxicating and heart-melting fragrance that is truly made up of cheap airplane coffee and the faint smell of cigarettes. My brain has the urge to wander through past memories, most of which are too painful to remember these days and with difficulty I control the itch to do so. When it's regrettably time to release each other Frank notices the waterworks that I so eagerly wish would dry up and fuck off. Many doubts invade the peaceful thoughts of my mind and I am puzzled as to why he is here. I just don't understand why you would waste your time on me?

"You're crying,"
I nod as the words roll off his tongue in a most sympathetic tone. Yes I am, what an obvious, yet charming observation, Iero. My heart pounds erratically against my chest and it suddenly occurs to me that now would be an awesome time for a Xanax, or five...possibly even ten. "What's wrong?" Frank probes, his eyes still searching frantically for an answer, his hands not daring to fall from my waist.
"I'm okay. It's just nice to see you," I smile. I'm more than okay Frank. You're here, actually fucking here, with me. Please! I don't understand why.

On the walk to my car he asks about life and about Bandit and Lindsey. I want to talk about you though. Tell me about how much better your life has been without me. I want to hear it. Talk to me about Jamia. Let's talk about us Frankie, baby. God, do we have so much to fucking discuss. I could write a novel on the existence of my love that I have for you. However, now is an extremely inappropriate time for such nonsense. I should honestly be telling you Lindsey isn't particularly thrilled about your visit.

"So..." Frank starts once we are in my car, happily bringing my screaming conscience to a halt. "Can we stop at Walmart?"
"We can...what for?"
"Life source," he states with a half-smile. I'm confused at first by his response, but then I remember. I say nothing and nod in understanding as I recall the reference of the past; that being the long drunk nights fuelled by cocktails of drugs and many chaotic kisses we once shared; 'our life sources.'
"Is Lindsey okay with me staying?"

Fuck, the question I wanted more than anything to avoid. I really wish you hadn't of asked me that. Although I can't get mad at you for you do have a perfectly valid question for someone in your situation; not that I would exactly call two old friends meeting up a 'situation.' But I think that it's safe to say we are. I am so confused, Frankie. Help me.

"About that..." I trail off.
"She isn't aware that I'm coming, is she?" Frank's look diverts from the window and settles on me as I drive.
"Oh, she knows. Lindsey just doesn't exactly approve of it, I guess," I whisper nervously.
"Do you know why?" I sigh deeply.
"It's because of the way shit went down," I admit, pulling into the Walmart car park.
"Look, I'll be back," he mopes.

Fuck. Why does this have to happen? Why is everything so awkward? I thought you'd be different, be less...Frank. It's been two fucking years and you still looks as beautiful as you ever did. I want you. It's fucked up but I want you Frank. I shouldn't. Not with everything that has happened. But...I do.

My thoughts are cut short as Frank jumps back in the car, adjusting the sleeve of his hoodie. He always did have impeccable timing.
"Are you okay, Gee?" he mumbles. I look back at him, tears filling my own eyes. Don't call me that. Please, not now.
"Are you?" I retort.
"I...I don't know,"
"Can we talk?"
"Not yet Gee,"
Frankie...don't.

Frank pulls a small box from his jacket pocket, ripping off the plastic and opening it before pointing it towards me.
"Want one?" He asks, hesitantly.
"Thanks," I reply, taking up his offer for a cigarette. I'm shaky as I bring it to my lips to light it. It's been a while and I try to remember the last time I had a smoke with him. I cant. I wait for Frank to light his own and start my car, pulling off onto the busy road home; the drive is nothing but silence, the inhale and exhale of smoke accompanied by the low rumbles of the car.
"How's Jamia and the girls," I ask, veering away from the more important topics.
"They're good. Everyone is really good Gee,"
"And Jamia, how did she feel about you coming?"
The butterflies in my stomach rise and flutter feverishly as the unwanted words invade the air. "She's cautious, but aren't we all? After all, she was there to pick up all the pieces. All that she could at least," I say nothing, leaving an awkward and uncomfortable silence between us. Cautious doesn't even begin to explain how I feel. How do you feel Frank? How do you really feel? Will you tell me? I'm sorry. Don't say it. Don't say this was my fault.

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