THE ADVENTURES OF FRANK AND RYAN

8

JEREMY HAS HIS arm draped across Francis's shoulders, as he idly browses through Francis's phone.

"Dick pic, dick pic, dick pic," recites Jeremy. He pauses. "Oh, this one's not a dick pic. Some guy. Kind of cute, actually."

"Let me do my homework, please," mutters Francis. "Fucking bridges. Fucking angles. Fuck."

"Frank, bud, ol' pal, why do so many people send you pictures of their genitalia?" Jeremy asks.

"You're going through my Grindr, you piece of shit," Francis says. "What do you expect? Also, get out of my Grindr."

"Relax, I'm not responding to any of the messages but Jesus, some of these are weird. Christ. Some of these guys are real horny."

"Remind me to delete my Grindr and change my passcode," says Francis.

"You never do any of those things, and I'll never know why."

"Can you please stop looking at penis pictures while you're sitting right next to me? In the library? Jesus, Jeremy. What if someone looks?"

"Then who cares? So it's a bunch of genitals. Big deal—woah, Nelly—" Jeremy whistles— "that's a big one."

"Give me back my phone," says Francis. "And let me do my homework."

"Fine, fine. Tell me when you turn off nerd mode."

Francis doesn't ever recall knowing what he ever saw in Jeremy to end up as his friend. Well, he does. It's that hey-look-I'm-a-bastard-and-I-have-a-superiority-complex look that really made Jeremy attractive in the first place. Dark hair, broad shoulders, liquid grey eyes—these were all secondary features. What mattered was the way Jeremy carried himself. Sort of in the same lazy way David did, but much less confident and much more sluggishly, like he was conserving his energy for greater things. He was, at one point, incredibly sharp and witty and sometimes Francis would forget to think in his presence, mostly because Jeremy did all the thinking for him.

Now, Francis just thinks he's an asshole.

"What're you thinking about?" Jeremy asks, squinting at Francis.

"My homework," says Francis.

"Frankie, that's a lie, and we both know it. I don't need your weird mind reading skills to know it."

"You know I'm not a mind reader. I don't understand what you get from—"

"Shut up, shut up, hot guy at your nine o'clock." Jeremy shifts away from Francis. "Don't look."

Francis looks up from his homework. He goes still.

"You chucklefuck, what did I just say?" Jeremy whispers. "Now he knows we're looking."

"Jeremy, be quiet. It's just Ryan."

"Oh, him. Why didn't you just say so? Could've made your life hell of a lot worse by now."

Francis smacks Jeremy's head, and Jeremy's about to hit Francis back when Ryan finally gets close enough that both of them look at him.

"Hey, Frank," says Ryan. "Mind if I join you and your friend?"

"No, not at all," says Frank. He smiles, as charming as he can. "Jeremy was just leaving anyway."

"The fuck I was," says Jeremy. "I'm not going anywhere, Frankie."