Touched by Demons, though I fall into grace (but on my second acc)

Frank woke me up this morning by throwing a hoodie in my face. Creative.

"I woke you up early, as I'm guessing you have no clothes. We're going shopping, and you can't pay. It's not an option." He says, immediately beginning to brew a cup of coffee. I ask him to double it, and he nods.

I stand up, groaning as I stretch out my back. It's been a while since I slept on a couch, and I forgot how strange it feels. I hear a few satisfying pops coming from my back, and smile as I walk over to the kitchen counter. In a moment, he hands me a cup of coffee, which I gratefully take a sip of.

"Sorry for crashing here. I should'a stayed at my motel." I say, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. He shakes his head, immediately objecting. And, to be honest, I kind of liked staying somewhere that feels lived in. Don't get me wrong, my motel room feels lived in. Just a different kind. I want to sleep on a couch where friends have laughed, and songs were listened to. Not where a couple has had sex.

"Gerard? Here's some toast. We're going to Old Navy."

I take a bite of the bread, and my eyes drift to Frank's ass when he turns around. No homo. My eyes just 'slipped'.

"Go ahead and go to the car. I'll be out in a minute."

He nods, and walks out the front door, leaving me alone, with time to spare. All the scenes in movies where the teenage boy goes snooping around in his crush's room come flooding back to me. I could do that, risk being caught, and have to explain myself when he finds me looking under his bed. Or, I could be a normal human who finishes his toast before going out shopping.

Speaking of which, I dust my hands off as I finish the last of my breakfast, then starting out the door. Frank is already in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I hop in, inhaling the scent of pizza. Why does it smell like pizza? We didn't even eat it in the car.

"How much do you think you'll need? I'd say about 7 outfits for now, and you can buy the rest later." He says, and I almost choke on air.

"Seven outfits? You'd be wasting..." I do some calculating in my head, figuring out the cost of jeans 40 years ago. "70 dollars just on jeans! I just need one extra pair."

"Nope. What the hell, I'll get you a jacket too. I've been saving up for a new guitar, but this is more important."

"It's not--wait. You play guitar? I sing."

"Cool. I wanted to play in a band, but we kind of had to disband after a few years. We just couldn't hack it. We were called Pencey Prep."

"Yeah. I played guitar for about three months before I quit. When my brother got his first bass, we started a solo band called the Raygun Jones. Literally just covers of Que-The Ra-The Beatles and Zeppelin." I nearly rattled off two bands that haven't even gotten together yet. Oh, I bet Frank will love Queen and the Ramones.

"Sounds rad! Pencey Prep actually got a bit of traction, but we just couldn't hack it. Pretty sad. That was 4 years wasted."

4 years? When did they break up?

"How old were you when you started?" I ask.

"About 18. Hence, why I run a record store. Didn't go to college, so I figured that I'd go into a bit of debt in order to buy the shop. And look where I am now."

He's gotta be about 25. So how did he start this business in only 3 years? One of the rules that I've learned throughout life is that if you want an answer, ask something you already know. If that doesn't work, just don't say anything. Trust me, it works. I'm gonna go with the latter.

"When I rented the shop, I had a friend help me out. I had recently lost my apartment, so he gave me a couch to sleep on. Helped me out, bought me food until I could support myself. He's the reason that I'm here. And, in a way, the reason that you are, too."

I know better than to ask who 'he' is. The fact that he hasn't said the name means that they are in a love-hate relationship at the moment. I'm not quite sure who's the lover and who's the hater.

"Since he was such a great help, when I was finally able to pay my bills, I knew that I should help out other people. So when this girl came to me, desperately asking for a job because her parents had kicked her out, I knew what I had to do. Jordan is my second-in-power now. It just shows you what a bit of help can do."

That makes more sense now. Maybe if we ever got mar--No! I met him yesterday! I'm not even sure if he's gay!

"I never really wanted a wife, so I'd probably adopt a kid, and hand down the business to them. Maybe I could run it with another guy, though. Someone who shares my interests."
Okay, so he's gay. I'm not sure how homophobic people were back in 1972, so this could go one of two ways.

"I'm bi." I blurt out, "If you wanna fire me, that's okay, or pull--"

He cuts me off with a hug. I hadn't noticed that he pulled into the parking lot a minute ago. What I do notice is how he smells of pine, like when you would pick out a Christmas tree with your family on December 13th. What I do notice is how ragged his breathing sounds when his lips are an inch away from my ear, like there are tears in his eyes. What I do notice is how the scorpion tattoo on his neck only has 7 legs, and how the only reason I notice is because my eyes are less than half a foot away from it. What I do notice is how his hair brushes against my forehead, and I swear that he washes it with something expensive.

I expected him to say something. He doesn't, and it fits. I couldn't even think of something to say if I tried. We just relax into each other, breathing in the scent of pine and vanilla, the vanilla on my behalf, (I like to wear woman's deodorant). He doesn't need to say that he is too, because he already told me. The way he's touching me--This touch--can't be anything other than love.

Notes

ew sentiment