School Hours (Frerard) [Completed!]

Chapter Twenty-Five - EPILOGUE

**One Year Later**

Frank's POV

I tug my beanie down so it covers my forehead, shivering in the freezing New York weather. Even with thick pants, combat boots, socks that were made specially for winter and two jackets, the light drizzle and strong wind were enough to get my teeth clattering and my nose red.

I did not fancy getting a cold when Christmas was just around the corner and my finals were still due. Today was a Thursday, and my classes were all done for the day, so I decided to go for a coffee to warm me up and give me a bit of a boost to reach my apartment.

Lucky my roommate, he didn't have any classes since he graduated last year, and was happily working as a vet assistant on the store that was two blocks away from our flat.

I was glad I found Duncan just in time, he had been looking for a roommate to share rent with, since his parents decided that once he graduated college as a Vet, he would have to start paying it on his own. He was a friend of Kyle's brother, so he happily accepted me as a flatmate, and I paid half the rent with the money I managed to make from the Starbucks I worked at here in New York.

Mikey had pushed a few buttons, and as I already had some experience, they let me work at a Starbucks only a block away from my university, and I had the night shift so it wouldn't interfere with my morning classes.

All in all, life was going pretty great.

I was studying Special Effects like I dreamed off, and had made a few friends in all of my classes. I drove back to New Jersey from time to time to visit my mom and my friends, though Lennon and I broke up a few months ago on good terms. Because although my uni was only an hour away from home, he got accepted into one in Illinois, so we wouldn't be able to see each other as much as we would like to.

We remained friends, and although things were quite awkward at first, we managed to make it work, and I still see him from time to time.

As I enter the coffee shop, which is named Alberto's, the bell above the door jingles, alerting the people inside a new customer arrived. I smile politely at the barista and ask for a small latte as well as a cheese muffin.

Waiting for her to grab the mug and pour the drink in it, I look around the cozy little place. The tables and chairs are made of wood, and it looked almost like the inside of a cabin in the woods, complete with a fireplace and the smell of pines in the air, a gem in the middle of such a city like Queens, New York.

I unwrap the scarf from around my neck and watch an elderly couple complete a Sudoku game a few tables away, resisting the urge to coo at how adorable they look. On the booths further away from me, there's two women chatting animatedly, a small child next to one of them, coloring inside a children's book with enthusiasm. I smile softly, and my eyes move onto the next booth.

I'm struck with a sense of deja vu as my gaze lands on the forgotten black, greasy hair, a pale hand coming up to run its' fingers throught the strands, and my eyes fall onto his face. He looks just the same as all those months ago, his right hand moving quickly across the black page as his eyesflciker from the paper to the old couple a few feet away from me, undoubtedly drawing them.

"Sir?" I hear a small voice behind me, and turn to watch the girl behind the counter handing me a cup as well as a brown bag, which contains my food. I mutter a soft apology for being distracted and hand her the right amount of money with a few extra, telling her to keep the change.

My mind is set when I take a step forward towards the older man's table, but I stop dead on my tracks.

Wait.

Should I really go up to him?

I was the one who told him I didn't feel the same anymore, I was the one who told him we couldn't happen, the one who watched face to face as his heart broke when I told him I had a boyfriend. But I could approach him just to say hi, right?

It wouldn't mean anything serious, just a polite 'hello' to someone you used to know --date.

Getting nervous from debating my options, I discreetly watch him. He looks peaceful, sketching the older couple and quietly sipping at his brown coffee.

Images of us together flash through my brain: us kissing, our weekend at Saint Valentine's, our affair inside the art classroom, when he broke up with me, when I told him we didn't have a chance. Although these thoughts don't hurt as much as they used to when the wound was fresh, they definitely stir up something inside of me.

He looked so happy... I couldn't ruin that by being the asshole ex-boyfriend who had cut all ways of communication with him and then randomly popped up.

I couldn't do that to him.

But I also really wanted to know how he was doing. What he was doing in New York of all places, and what had happened with his life. I just wanted to know if he was alright- Wait, now I'm sounding like his boyfriend.

I sigh softly, shaking my head at myself, my latte getting colder by the second in my hand as I stupidly stood there with my cheese muffin in a paper bag, my scarf drapped over my arm and the styrofoam cup in my other hand.

To go or not to go.

Worst case scenario he would yell at me and spill his coffee over my white hoodie, which was miraculously not stained and I planned on it staying that way. Best case scenario, he smiles his goofy grin and says hi, inviting me to sit with him as we share the stories of the past year we haven't been together and laugh and comment at the funny stories.

Or, I could just live with the benefit of the doubt and walk away, leaving him alone and heading back to my apartment to watch The Walking Dead and re-runs of Spongebob in Duncan and I's shitty television.

But then I would have to cope with the curiosity eating me from the inside out, wondering why he was in New York and what was going on in his life.

Here I go, I'm doing this. I try to encourage myself as I slowly walk towards his table. Please don't lash out, please don't lash out, plese please please, I think to myself as I approach him. He still hasn't noticed me, as he is busy sketching away on his notebook.

Great, now how do I start a conversation with my ex-boyfriend and ex-teacher, who I've fucked countless times and who I ended the relationship on bad terms with. This is certainly not a situation I ever would've guessed I would find myself in.

This was a really bad idea.

The worst of ideas.

But before I can run away as fast as my short legs will carry me, he senses someone is watching him an his head slowly raises, until his eyes lock with mine, both his and mine filled with surprise. Although I shouldn't be shocked since I saw him minutes ago, we're both just frozen there, staring at each other dumbfounded, when it's his lips that form the first word we've exchanged since I graduated school.

Confusion laces his speech as he mumbles, "Frank?"