Gerard walked into Starbucks for the first time that day. He was on his lunch break, which wasn’t like most lunch breaks since Gerard painted at home or in his studio. Instead, it was more Brian forcing him to stop working for an hour and eat something, not that his lunch break involved eating much food.
Gerard had been annoyed at first, but over the past couple of months, he’d begun enjoying his lunch breaks. Looking forward to them, even.
“Hey!” the barista – Frank, his name was Frank – said when Gerard took his turn at the counter.
If Gerard was honest with himself, Frank was the reason for his sudden interest in leaving his studio. He was also probably the reason for Gerard’s newfound addiction to corporation offee.
“Hey,” Gerard said, ducking his head so that his hair fell in front of his face. “I’ll take…”
“Venti mocha frappuccino, no whipped cream,” Frank said with a grin. Gerard noticed he was wearing the nametag with the little blue vampire drawn next to the K. It was Gerard’s favorite.
“Yeah,” Gerard said. He reminded himself not to get excited that Frank recognized his order. Last week, Frank had recited it and then followed up with the orders of the next two people in line behind Gerard. Gerard was no one special.
He paid for his drink and stuffed a dollar into the tip jar. Leaning over the counter under the guise of being impatient for his coffee, Gerard studied Frank’s tattoos. He had them all over his arms, hands and neck and they were beautiful, but Gerard’s favorite was the saint that stretched across Frank’s left elbow. Her eyes were hollow and she held her broken heart in her hands as swords pierced it.
“Mocha frap?”
Gerard jerked out of his reverie to see Frank holding out his coffee expectantly.
“Oh, um, thanks.”
“Which one are you looking at?” Frank asked when Gerard took the cup from his hands. He twisted his colorful arm towards Gerard.
Gerard felt his face flush at having been caught staring. “The, uh, the saint?”
“That’s the Lady of Sorrows,” Frank replied. “Got her the day after I graduated from my Catholic high school.”
“She looks sad,” Gerard said, before he could stop himself.
“Really?” Frank asked, frowning. “She’s supposed to be bad ass.”
“That too,” Gerard said quickly. It was true, she had zombie eyes and looked like she could fuck you up. “You went to Catholic school?”
“From kindergarten up,” Frank confirmed. “It fucking sucked. What about you?”
“Public,” Gerard mumbled. Just the memory of high school was enough to make him clam up.
“Was it any better on your side of the fence?” Frank asked.
“Definitely not,” Gerard said. The silence stretched out awkwardly until Gerard picked up his coffee and prepared to leave. “Thanks.”
“Do you have any?” Frank asked.
Gerard frowned, confused. He put the coffee back on the counter. “Have what?”
“Any tattoos, sorry,” Frank clarified.
“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid of needles.”
“Oh, well it’s not that bad. You get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t get used to it. I wish I could because I love the idea of tattoos,” Gerard said. He could feel himself winding up and warming to the subject. “I mean, look at yours, they’re beautiful. All these pictures, and they all mean something to you. Like, this cobra.” He touched the cobra visible on Frank’s arm for emphasis and then trailed over to the words ringing Frank’s wrist. “And
