Fic: The Coffee Shop AU - part 4
Part Four
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times he stares down the figures, they don’t change. It’s a little bit unfair, really. They manage to scare the shit out of him, and they’re just numbers on a page. Really, he should be able to intimidate them into changing. He frowns, re-reading the statement again, slowly and carefully, to ensure he hasn’t missed anything. And unfortunately for him, even as he pores over the page again and again, it all stays the same.
“Patrick? You okay?” Frank’s voice startles him, and he accidentally knocks over the stack of papers next to his right elbow. When he snaps his head up, Frank is looking at him with concerned eyes, and Patrick forces a smile.
“Yeah, Frank, thanks. I’ll be out in just a second,” he assures him, and when he sees Frank leaning forwards to try and get a glimpse of the papers, he shuffles everything around a little until it’s hidden from view. He doesn’t need this getting out just yet. He can work through this on his own, he knows, and he doesn’t need them worrying. Frank hesitates just a moment longer, clearly itching to know what Patrick is doing, but then he shrugs his shoulders and disappears back out to the front of the shop. Patrick breathes a small sigh of relief, his secret safe for now, and tucks the papers back in his bag and out of sight.
When he makes his way back out to the shop-front, Frank gives him another one of those looks, all confused and curious and more worried than Patrick would have thought, and he has to avoid Frank’s eyes. Luckily for him, Pete walks in the door just as Frank looks like he’s about to ask what’s going on, and Patrick greets him loudly before Frank even gets a chance to open his mouth.
“Hey Trick. What’s up?” Pete saunters into the shop like he always does, confident, easy sway with bright eyes. He’s got a bright smile on his face - the kind that Patrick isn’t used to seeing on his face before at least midday. As it is, it’s only 9 o’clock on a Monday morning, and usually, Pete would be glaring at them all and refusing to be spoken to. He’s never really been a Monday person.
“You look happy,” Patrick notes, the question in his voice easy enough for Pete to pick up on.
Pete grins at him as he slips behind the counter, dons his apron, and clocks into the computer. “It’s a beautiful day, Patrick!” he announces loudly.
Patrick pauses, glances outside and then back at Pete. “It’s cloudy and looks like it’s about to rain.”
With a laugh, Pete claps Patrick on the shoulder. “All in the attitude, Stump,” he says, and Patrick without bothering to come up with a reply, Patrick just shakes his head, and Pete hums contentedly to himself as he goes about making himself his morning coffee.
Taking advantage of a moment where Pete is occupied, Frank carries the bottle of caramel he’d been re-filling over to where Patrick is standing and continues as if he was meant to be standing there all along. Patrick barely suppresses a groan, but he plays along, going about his own work quietly and with no acknowledgement of Frank’s move.
“Read anything interesting lately?” Frank starts, and Patrick can’t help but smile. Never let it be said that Frank Iero isn’t a devious little fuck.
“I’m actually reading this really good book about statistics, if you want to borrow-“
“Okay, okay, you win. Ugh my ears are burning.” Frank groans like he’s actually in physical pain, and claps his hand over his ears just in case Patrick decides to talk to him about statistics further. When Patrick stays obediently silent, Frank uncovers them again. “But seriously, Trick. Is everything okay?”
Patrick shifts his feet awkwardly, feeling Frank’s eyes digging into his fucking mind and wishing that he wasn’t such a shitty liar. “I told you, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Unfortunately, Frank is like some kind of super-human liar detector or something because he only narrows his eyes further and puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “You know that you can tell us anything. Are you in trouble?”
It’s the concern in his eyes that almost makes Patrick slip up, but he holds his tongue in check. This isn’t something that he needs to land on Frank’s shoulders, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to cause worry over something that he can handle himself. “I’m fine, Frank, really. Thanks, but I can handle it.” He hopes he doesn’t sound too harsh, but Frank is acting almost as stubborn as Pete, and that’s never a good thing when Patrick’s trying to avoid something.
“If you say so,” Frank answers, but he continues looking at him as if he’s not going to let it go that easily. Patrick pretends not to notice.
As much as he wants to keep the information to himself, he’s not avoiding it simply because he doesn’t want to tell Frank what’s going on. If he’s being honest, he just wants to keep his own mind off it. He’s not usually the kind of guy to adopt the “if I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist” theory, but in this case, he just wants to forget about it for a little while and work in the shop he loves with the friends he loves. He doesn’t need to think about debts and payments and the fact that he might not have a shop to work in if he doesn’t do something soon. He’ll think about it tonight, and maybe go and see an accountant, but for now, he’s content to shove it to the back of his mind.
Besides, it’s Monday morning, and his customers are going to start arriving any minute. Customers, the little voice in the back of his head reminds him, who he doesn’t charge most of the time. And that’s always going to be the root of the problem, he supposes. He’s too stubborn to get up and move the shop to somewhere busier, somewhere he might actually get some business. And he knows that there’s no way he could have the same sort of setup if he moved. Here, the guys are free to be themselves, to have a little fun, to be a family. Here is the one place that they can all come to relax and it doesn’t matter where they all came from, they’re together. They need this place, just as much as Patrick does, and he can’t bring himself to take that away from them.
At the same time, staying put and ignoring the problem isn’t going to fix anything, either. If he doesn’t act soon, he’s going to lose everything, and the day he has to close his shop is the day his heart stops beating. It’s like he’s tied to it, like his own health and sanity lies within the walls, bound to the foundations. There’s no way he can just let it go.
The sound of giggling snaps him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see two barely familiar faces stumble in, followed by one very familiar one. Ryan does not look terribly impressed, though Patrick has the sneaking suspicion that it’s all for show, and that secretly, his own heart is warming at the sight of the laughing couple. Patrick’s good with faces, and despite the fact that he’s only met the two once or twice, he knows instantly who they are. Jon Walker, the guy rooming in with Ryan, and Greta, Ryan’s sometimes maid, sometimes best friend. The only time he’s met Jon was the first day Ryan brought him here, but Jon has the kind of face that makes you feel like you’ve known him forever. He’s easy laid-back and open, and there’s a bright smile on his lips, so warm that Patrick can practically feel it. And there’s Greta, who he’s only ever met upon the occasional visit to Ryan’s house.
Considering the fact that Jon only moved in with Ryan a few weeks ago, Patrick is a little surprised with how quickly Greta has taken to him. Though, he remembers, she’s always been fairly accepting and friendly, and Jon looks like the kind of guy you can’t help but get close to. Patrick watches them come in with a smile on his face, a tiny bit envious of the way they’re laughing so hard at something they’re leaning on each other and tripping over as they try to find a table, and Patrick can tell they’re going to be the new couple on the block that everyone is envious of, because it’s the kind of relationship that most people want. Greta waves to him over Jon’s head, and he grins back at her, and then Ryan is standing in front of him with a tired smile.
“Hey Trick,” he says, and Patrick begins to get drinks ready automatically, only half-thinking about what he’s doing. Ryan looks like he needs a strong coffee, and perhaps something sweet and with caramel for Greta and Jon.
“That was fast, then?” Patrick nods his head to the two, who are now sitting and talking with shining eyes and matching smiles. Patrick only hopes that they haven’t rushed into anything too hard and too fast, because he’d hate to see either of them crash and burn if something goes wrong.
“Yeah. As soon as she found out he was a kindergarten teacher, neither of them had any hope,” Ryan says dryly, a wry smirk lifting one corner of his lips.
“He’s a kindergarten teacher?” Patrick glances back over at Jon, at the bright smile and open arms, and he can definitely see it.
“Uh huh. And you know how Greta is with kids.”
Patrick doesn’t, but he nods his head anyway, frothing milk for Ryan’s cappuccino. Now with extra people in the shop, Frank hasn’t got a chance to get Patrick alone, and even though he can see Frank brooding over it, he’s enjoying it. He trusts Frank with his life, with his shop, but that doesn’t mean he wants to throw his own burdens onto Frank’s shoulders. Maybe, down the track, he’ll ask for some help, but only once he knows that he definitely can’t do it alone.
“No one else is here yet?” Ryan asks, and Patrick catches the silent plea of help me underlying his words. He grins to himself, finishing off Ryan’s coffee and passing it over. Ryan’s eyes keep flickering to the door, itching for somebody else to come in and give him someone to talk to other than the lovebirds. He can only keep Patrick distracted for so long before Patrick starts just nodding, going about his work and not really listening.
“I assume they’ll be along any minute now. Pete’s on shift, so they’ll be here.”
Ryan nods, takes a sip of his coffee and digs around in his bag. Patrick turns around to finish with Greta and Jon’s drinks, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ryan lean over the counter and tuck a few bills into the till. He puts his head down and tries to fight the urge to run out of the shop in order to fight the swell of emotion rising in his chest. He’s at risk of losing his shop, his life, and he doesn’t know how to tell Ryan thank you from the bottom of his heart. On some level, he feels guilty and wants to shove the money back into Ryan’s bag as soon as he turns around, but he knows that he needs it, and that, to be fair, he did make him a coffee. And then there’s the way Ryan leant over so casually, knew just how to nudge the till open and how to do it all so silently that there’s no way it was the first time he’d done it. Patrick wonders just how long Ryan’s been slipping him money in secret, and doesn’t know whether to be ridiculously grateful or embarrassed. He settles for somewhere between the two, and avoids Ryan’s eyes when he gives Greta and Jon their drinks.
The bell over the shop door rings, and Travis raises his hand in greeting as he comes through the door, Gabe, Spencer and Bill in tow, as per usual. For the morning, things will be a little hectic, and Patrick will have to play babysitter while they all treat the shop like a playpen, but he knows that Spencer and William have a class at 11 o’clock, and that Gabe usually spends the time going over his accounts and re-stocking his bar, filling out order forms and chatting to Matt about new ideas for the place. Alicia will due at Ryan’s in the late afternoon, which means that Pete will also clock out and follow him home. He assumes that Greta and Jon will drift out at some stage during the day as well. Patrick feels a little uneasy at the knowledge that this will leave him alone with Frank for the afternoon, and then he feels guilty. He loves having Frank around, but he hates being pestered about things he doesn’t want to talk about. Luckily for him, Brendon is usually in sometime around late afternoon to take advantage of the peace and quiet once the others have all gone, and maybe Patrick can use him as a distraction for a little while.
He thinks over all of this, and all of a sudden it hits him how much of a routine this all is. He knows the usual schedules of everyone in this shop, knows when they’ll be in, knows when they’ll be out, and who they’ll be with. And it’s because they’ve been doing the same thing ever since Patrick opened the place a couple of years ago. It doesn’t matter that they do the same thing over and over; there’s no sense of boredom or monotony because it’s the kind of routine that’s welcome, comfortable. There’s never a dull moment with Gabe and Pete around anyway, so it’s no wonder they all still keep coming back. And for the hundredth time, Patrick feels a sting to his heart when he even thinks about letting the place go.
He’s so busy watching them all interact, these people who he loves, who he relies on, that he doesn’t notice when Pete takes over what Frank was doing, and Frank disappears into the back room with a determined look on his face.
***
Frank’s not a fan of the word snooping. It’s not like he has no right to be here; he works here just as much as Patrick, more than Pete, and has as much reason for any of them to be out in the back room. He has Pete covering his ass - a task Pete is always more than willing to take up - and Patrick won’t even notice him gone. He can’t help it; curiosity is clawing apart his insides, and the look of unease and upset in Patrick’s eyes is enough to convince him that something is wrong, and he needs to help. It’s not in Frank’s nature to stand back and let someone hurt, especially someone who he cares for as much as Patrick. He’s obviously in some kind of trouble, and damned if Frank isn’t going to try and get him out of it. Only, he has no way of helping if he doesn’t know what’s wrong, and if Patrick won’t tell him, he’ll just have to find out for himself.
As he suspected, the papers aren’t where Patrick was looking at them earlier. However, it only takes him half a minute before he spots Patrick’s bag a few metres away. Patrick is not a good liar, nor is he terribly good at hiding things, and Frank knows him well enough to know that he would have just shoved them somewhere fast and easy so that Frank would stop looking at him. Checking over his shoulder and feeling more and more like a jerk the longer he stays out here, Frank reaches for the bag and sits down on an upturned milk crate. Taking a deep breath, he unzips the bag and shoves his hand in, feeling his fingers brush against paper almost instantly. There’s one last moment of hesitation, of his conscience making a firm stand, before it crumbles, and he closes his fingers around the paper and tugs.
Once he has them in his hands, he can’t help but glance back at the door, checking that Patrick isn’t about to come bursting in and fire his ass for going through his things. Frank’s heart is racing, and it only makes him feel more guilty, but he’s come this far now, he might as well go all the way. And so, he looks down, and feels his eyes widening with the more he reads.
And oh shit they’re in trouble. They’re all in trouble, but especially Patrick because this place is everything he is, it’s his baby, his life, and Frank knows that to lose the coffee shop is to lose everything. It’s not even something that he can imagine, really. He sits, and tries to think of what life would be like without it, and he can’t. He’d have no job, and he doubts very much if he were able to find a boss as awesome as Patrick. Brendon won’t be able to stay after hours scribbling tiredly until Patrick has no choice but to ask him to leave (and even then, he asks if Brendon wants to continue at his house). There’s no way any other coffee shop in the world would let Gabe, Travis and Will in with the way they act. Spencer will no longer have a quiet place to study with free coffee and Patrick’s ridiculously large fountain of knowledge (he’s the trivia master). Tom’s favourite photography subject will no longer be an option, and there’ll be no more breathtaking black and whites of Brendon hunched over paper, of a brilliant smile on William’s face when he looks at Gabe.
Frank looks back at the paper, the numbers and figures jumping out at him so large that he knows Patrick has no chance in hell of paying them. He won’t take money as charity, he barely charges anyone, and he won’t ask for the bank’s help, even if they would give it to him. On the other hand, he knows that there’s no way in hell Patrick will just let it go and not fight for his shop. And you can’t fight something like this without paying off the debts. Frank has no idea what Patrick’s planning, or even if he’s planning anything. And if Patrick has no idea what to do, maybe it’s time Frank stepped up and helped him out for a change. With one final look at the numbers, burning them into his memory until he can see them on the backs of his eyelids when he closes his eyes, Frank returns the papers to where he found them, and stands up. First thing tonight, after Patrick has closed up and gone home, Frank’s going to rally the troops. It’s time they showed Patrick exactly what they can do.
When he slips back out into the front, Pete winks at him, and Frank breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Patrick with his back turned, completely oblivious. Frank only has to look at Gabe, his eyes saying everything he needs, and Gabe nods. It’s not so much a matter of them having some crazy close connection, but more that Gabe knows when someone needs him to make trouble. If he’s good at anything other than running The Basement, it’s causing distractions, and the look in Frank’s eyes tells him clearly what he needs to know. In turn, Gabe gives the same kind of look to Travis, and then turns back to nod at Frank. Frank feels a little bit ridiculous already, like they’re in some kind of shitty spy movie, but he rolls with it. Let Gabe have his fun. And that’s exactly what Gabe does. Travis recognises the look immediately, and in seconds they’re staging a large fight in the middle of the coffee shop. Frank has no idea about what, exactly, but there’s a lot of yelling, and then they’re rolling on the floor, and Gabe is threatening to start throwing chairs. Patrick is alert in seconds, rushing forwards and trying to pull them apart, probably to salvage his shop more than them, but regardless, it has the desired effect.
Taking only a minute to admire their handiwork, Frank grabs Pete’s arm and drags him to the back room. Pete has as much of a right to know as anyone, considering it’s his pay-check that’ll be going if they have to shut the place down. And he needs someone to back him up, when he takes his idea to the whole group. Pete doesn’t even question it, just lets himself be dragged, and when Frank shoves the statements in front of his eyes, he reads them calmly and without thought. He pauses a moment, re-reads, and Frank bounces on his feet impatiently, not even noticing the fact that his hand is still clenched tightly around Pete’s arm.
“This isn’t good,” Pete says when he finishes, and turns his eyes slowly towards Frank. “This really isn’t good.”
Frank rolls his eyes, shoving the piece of paper back in the bag for a second time. “Of course it isn’t. Which is why we’re going to fix it. Make sure the others all get here tonight, after Patrick’s closed up and gone home.”
To his credit, Pete doesn’t even blink, just nods. For once, he seems to understand immediately. Frank thinks it probably has something to do with the way Pete’s head works. He can mess around and be as stupid as he wants, but the second something is serious, the second one of his friends is in trouble, he can be counted on to take it as a life or death situation. Frank knows that Pete will force the others to turn up no matter what kind of prior commitments they may have had.
“They’ll be here,” he says simply, and then he disappears back out to the front of the shop, Frank following.
The second they reappear, Gabe holds his hand out solemnly in an apparent offer of truce to Travis, despite the fact that two second before, he’d been screaming that he was going to tear his limbs off. Frank stifles a snort of laughter, because Gabe is anything but subtle. Patrick looks bewildered, but he doesn’t turn to look suspiciously at Frank or Pete, so Frank counts it as a victory. And tonight, after he’s spoken to the others about what he wants to do, he’s sure that sooner or later, it won’t matter that they went behind Patrick’s back, because it’s so worth it. At the end of it all, or maybe even before, Patrick will know what they did, and he’ll be forced to just say thank you and suck it up. There’s no way Frank’s going to all this trouble just for Patrick to refuse their help.
***
Patrick has just closed up shop, and Brendon is packing away his things, ready to go home and finish writing the chapter he’d been working on. He doesn’t even need to be told to head out, just watches as Patrick gathers his bag and his keys, and he gets up and follows him and Frank on their way out. After saying quick goodbyes, he turns to head home, but is stopped as a hand grips his arm and pulls him back.
“Wait,” is all Frank says, and they watch as Patrick get in his car and drive away. Brendon waits patiently, resisting the urge to ask Frank what’s going on. Frank likes to keep people in suspense, and it’ll be over quicker if he just lets him have his way. “Follow me,” Frank finishes as soon as he’s sure Patrick is gone, and when he grabs Brendon’s hand and starts pulling him in the other direction, Brendon just goes along with it. Frank’s never really understood the whole concept of personal space and that some people might see two straight men holding hands a little odd.
Brendon admits that he’s a little surprised when they round the other side of the block and Pete, Gabe, Travis, William, Spencer, Greta, Ryan, Jon and even Tom are all assembled, obviously waiting for them. He tries to think of what could possibly bring them all to this particular corner at the same time on a night that most of them usually have things to do, but he can’t. By the looks on their faces, none of them seem to know what’s going on either, except for Pete, who has the same sort of determined expression on his face as Frank.
“What’s going on?” he finally can’t help but ask, and there’s a murmured agreement from the rest of them. He almost expects Frank - and apparently Pete - to look smug about the fact that they know something the others are clueless about; Frank’s always loved knowing secrets. Instead, there’s only this grim set of the lips and eyes that wordlessly speak of something devastating on the horizon.
It’s that look that renders them all silent. Usually, with all of them assembled, there’d be some form of chaos, something to keep them laughing, keep them on their toes. Now, they stand completely still, waiting anxiously. Spencer is biting his fingernails so intently that Brendon wonders if he’ll have any left by the time Frank finally tells them why he brought them all here. It’s getting dark, and Brendon wraps his arms around himself as the cold start to set in, hoping that they can hurry up and do this quickly, or take it somewhere else.
“It’s about Patrick,” Frank blurts out as though he can’t hold it in anymore, and Brendon nods. That explains why Patrick wasn’t invited to this little gathering, then.
“But his birthday isn’t for another... Eight months.” Ryan points out what Brendon had been thinking, doing the maths quickly in his head. It’s almost like he took the words straight out of Brendon’s mouth - the only time Brendon can imagine them holding a secret meeting without the person being talked about, would be to plan some form of birthday surprise. He supposes that maybe they’d do it if they were bitching each other out, but the situation has never really arisen. Brendon can’t really imagine being that angry with any of the people assembled, and especially not Patrick.
“It’s not about his birthday,” Pete says, cutting across Frank just as he opens his mouth. “He’s in trouble.”
And that’s all it takes, really. There’s a flurry of voices, of questions, of concerns, and Brendon adds his own to the mix, because if Patrick is in trouble there’s no way they’re not all going to go out of their way to help him. This is Patrick and it doesn’t matter what happened, he doesn’t deserve anything bad to happen, ever.
“He might lose the café. He owes... A lot of money.” Frank leaves it there, waiting for the information to sink in, and watching the way everything unfolds. Brendon does the same, looking on as slowly, they come to grips with the idea and realise what it means, how shattered Patrick would be. And then as if they’re all working in sync, everyone rearranges their expression into one of determination, and looks fiercely at Frank.
“So, what’s the plan?” Gabe asks, already knowing that Frank and Pete have something up their sleeve. No matter what it is, they’ll all pitch in. They’ll lend whatever money and resources they have if it means saving Patrick and the shop.
Frank grins at them, and Brendon waits to hear what kind of plan he’s hoarding. “Well, first, we pitch in what we already have,” he says simply, and it’s the first that catches Brendon, the knowledge that Frank has some other idea that he’s not letting them in on just yet. They obey, and there’s the shift of movement as they all start digging around in pockets and withdrawing whatever they have as a start. Later, there’ll be inspections into bank accounts and balances, but for now, anything that they have on them could be a little help.
Unfortunately, after careful scrounging, the pile they have in front of them is a little pathetic. Gabe unearthed a condom, William a couple of buttons and a paperclip, Frank has a monopoly piece (which he looks at with a puzzled frown, not quite sure of how it got into his pocket), Brendon a ballpoint pen and Pete a guitar pick. Travis, at least, managed to contribute a handful of pennies, three quarters and a dime. Spencer threw in a crumpled twenty, Tom an empty canister of film, and Jon and Greta make up a ten and a bottle cap between the two of them. With a shy mutter, Ryan fumbles for his wallet and pushes a hundred into Frank’s fist, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Spencer smiles at him encouragingly, and Ryan’s voice is maybe a little more confident when he says he can ask his uncle to send over more to his account. All in all, it’s not much, despite Ryan’s additions.
“I don’t think that odds and ends from our pockets are going to let Patrick keep his shop,” Travis says dryly, and Frank’s eyes gleam.
“Which is why, dear friends, we’re going to fundraise.”
Knowing Frank, “fundraising” won’t just involve lemonade stands and car-washing. Brendon feels a tingle of unease, but then he looks around at the grinning faces, and caves. They’ll do what they have to in order to help Patrick, even if it means obeying Frank’s bizarre ideas of raising money. It’s only fair, after everything he’s done for them.
“When do we start?” Tom asks, and if anyone’s a little surprised at him joining in the conversation - usually, he keeps the talking to a minimum and the picture taking to a maximum - they don’t show it.
“This weekend. For now, I want everyone brainstorming possible fundraising ideas.”
It feels a little bit like a class project in elementary school, but Brendon keeps his grin to himself and just nods. “Yes Mr Iero, sir,” he can’t resist saying, and when Frank beams at him, he knows that this is all going to get really out of hand, really fast. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to care.
***
Ryan’s never really been that comfortable with his bank account. There’s more than enough in there, more than he could ever hope to exhaust, but he doesn’t like talking about it. He knows that his friends often struggle to make ends meet, and it doesn’t matter how many times he tries to offer help, they won’t take it. Sometimes, he wishes that he didn’t have the money, just because it makes him feel awkward and selfish. There are millions of people in the world with nothing, and here he is, all of this wasted money building up without him lifting a finger. It makes his skin crawl, makes him feel guilty in ways he didn’t think were possible. In an effort to counteract it, he gives large sums of money to charities whenever he can, but it still doesn’t stop the squirming of his gut. Patrick is more than a worthy cause, and Ryan would donate everything he had if it meant Patrick was okay, but he feels ridiculous even bringing it up.
He watches everyone dig around in their pockets and come up with nothing but miscellaneous pieces of junk, and when his fingers feel out the edges of the bill in his pocket, he has to fight the urge to throw up when he withdraws it and shoves it into Frank’s hand before anyone can get a good glimpse of it. And it’s kind of ridiculous, because he knows most people would kill to have what he has, and that makes it even worse. He’s not proud of his money, and he doesn’t like to flaunt it. He gave the family business to his uncle for that very reason.
Truth be told, he knows that if he made one phone call, he could probably have everything Patrick needed in about a week. Then, none of the others would have to sacrifice their time or their money, and for once, Ryan’s money would be doing something useful. At the same time, he knows that the others would feel inferior, awkward, and hate it if he managed to pay off all of Patrick’s debts in one go, where they couldn’t even contribute the tiniest amount. He sees the gleam in Frank’s eyes, and he knows that this fundraising idea is going to be crazy, that he’s going to go overboard, but he sees the excitement and doesn’t want to ruin it. If they don’t manage to raise enough money, then he’ll step up and donate everything he has, because Patrick is worth more than his own feelings. If Patrick gets to keep the shop, then Ryan can deal with people treating him a little awkwardly for a while. For now though, he’ll let things play out, and every time Patrick’s back is turned, he’ll slip more and more money into that till.
When Frank dismisses them, Ryan gets into his car and pulls out his cell phone. The number is quick off his fingers with hardly any input from his brain, and then before he knows it, he has his uncle on the line.
“Chris? I need a favour.”
There’s a small chuckle on the other end of the line, and then, “Little Ryan Ross, what can I do for you?”
“A friend’s in a spot of financial trouble. I need a few thousand, just in case.” He keeps it clipped, keeps it short. The sooner this conversation is over, the better.
“Playing the Good Samaritan, huh? Sure thing, Ry, I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.”
And this is what Ryan loves about his uncle. He may be a bit brash at times, and treats Ryan a bit like he’s still ten years old, but he has a good heart, and he doesn’t ask too many questions. Not that Ryan’s planning on using the money for anything illegal or immoral, but he doesn’t feel like talking out the whole situation, and the quieter he can keep this all, the better.
“Thanks, you’re a life saver.” Ryan pulls into his driveway and juggles his phone and his keys a little awkwardly as he slides out of the car. Jon and Greta have gone out for dinner, and he’s home alone for a few hours.
Chris laughs again. “It’s your money, Ryan. I just babysit it.”
Ryan has no means of arguing, and so he just shrugs, forgetting his uncle can’t see. “Thanks all the same. I’ll talk to you later,” he says, even though he doesn’t have any intentions of doing so. His uncle reminds him too much of the fortune he hides from, and the ties to his parents that he’s trying to dull. His uncle replies in kind, probably knowing that Ryan won’t call until he needs something else, and then Ryan hangs up the phone.
That’s done, and now he has a backup plan ready if the fundraising doesn’t go as well as he hopes. He wonders briefly whether this exempts him from the brainstorming task, and then figures that knowing Frank, it definitely doesn’t. Besides, he has no intention of telling anybody what he’s planned unless the circumstances call for it, and he doesn’t want to show up on the weekend with nothing. He knows that they’re going to be subject to ridiculous ideas from Gabe and Pete, and more practical ones from Spencer. Ryan, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea, and he’s never been the most creative person ever. Instead, he decides to sleep on it, and forces his feet up the stairs, collapsing into bed the moment he closes the door to his bedroom.
He hasn’t eaten dinner, but he’s not really that hungry. It’s getting late, and the house is empty and quiet, and Ryan hates being the only one at home in this place. He lays back and shuts his eyes, and tries to fall asleep rather than waiting anxiously for Jon and Greta to get home, if only so the place feels a little fuller. It works better than he expected, and soon, he’s falling into dreams of lemonade stands and Gabe in a school-girl uniform.
***
When Patrick arrives at the shop the next morning, he’s surprised to see that Frank is already there, and has opened the place up on his own. It’s not like Patrick’s late - he’s never late - and yet Frank is already pottering around, whistling to himself as he unstacks chairs from the tables and arranges everything neatly. Patrick allows himself a quick moment of amazement before he goes with the flow, assigning himself to whatever jobs Frank hasn’t already completed. They work in companionable silence for a few moments before Patrick notices that Frank’s whistling has stopped, and when he turns around, Frank is looking at him with something resembling pity and concern.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks immediately. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s listening. He likes to listen to people, likes to hear what’s going on in their heads, what they can’t make sense of, and see if he can work anything out in his own head. Sometimes, thoughts are easily arranged when you allow someone else to look at them. Everyone has a different viewpoint on things, and Patrick is good at picking up on things that someone may not have thought of, and helping them work through their problems. He’s a good listener, and he’d much prefer that to talking about himself, and so the question is off his tongue before he even has time to think about the fact that Frank looks like he feels sorry for Patrick. But that wouldn’t make sense, because Patrick doesn’t allow himself to be pitied. He’s quite capable of standing on his own two feet, most of the time, and he hasn’t done anything to spark that kind of look in Frank’s eyes. The only thing he could think of that comes even close is the fact that he’s slowly slipping further and further into debt, but there’s no way Frank could know about...
“How did you find out.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question. His voice is flat, eyes dead and resigned to his fate. This only appears to send Frank’s concern spinning even more out of control, and his eyes shine with it as he lays a cautious hand on Patrick’s shoulder.
“We can help you. You’re not alone in this,” Frank says, and he says it with such conviction that Patrick can’t help but believe him for a second. Just a second, before he’s shrugging the feeling off and reminding himself that this is his burden, and he’ll carry it, and he’ll work it out himself. In a way, he’s a complete hypocrite because no matter how many times he encourages everyone else to talk things out, he can’t seem to do it himself. An excellent listener, but an awful speaker.
“Don’t worry about me, Frank.” The words sound dead even to Patrick’s own ears, and the forced smile does nothing to help his case. He’s worried. He can admit that. He’s never really been the type to lie to himself, to pretend that he’s okay in order to shove everything to the back of his mind. Sure, he prefers to keep it to himself, but he doesn’t hide his own emotions from himself out of fear of acknowledging them. He can acknowledge this, and in time, he’ll deal with it.
“We’re all worrying about you, Trick. You can’t stop that.”
Patrick allows himself an inward groan. All. He’s already told the others. He wonders who exactly is encompassed in all, and whether or not he’ll have to face the same sort of ridiculous pity in their eyes when they look at him.
“Have you told Ryan?” Patrick asks, because if there’s one person who doesn’t need this on his shoulders, it’s Ryan. Patrick knows that Ryan’s okay, can hold his own, but he can’t help but still treat him with a little bit of fragility. He watched as Ryan fell apart after his parents’ death - nineteen is far too earlier an age to see both of your parents disappear - and he knows what it’s like to see that haunted look in Ryan’s eyes. It’s only just beginning to fade and be replaced with happiness, with acceptance, and Patrick isn’t about to go throwing more things at him. Ryan needs to work through his own problems, look after himself before he goes tackling other peoples’, and Patrick knows that it’s not in Ryan’s nature to ignore a friend in trouble.
And then there’s the money. It doesn’t matter that Ryan does his best to keep it all hushed up. They all know about the contents of his bank account, and while they might not know any exact figures, they know that it’s a lot. And they also know that Ryan can have more added to it with just a simple phone call to his uncle. Ryan doesn’t like to talk about it because it makes him feel uncomfortable, Patrick knows this. Ryan would have happily given the money to start his club to Gabe without expecting anything in return, had Gabe not been so determined to pay him back. He sees it as something heavy, something that weighs him down and makes him different to the rest of them, and Patrick knows that if they would accept it, Ryan would have given them all more than their fair share. He knows, therefore, that it would take only one word from Patrick’s lips, and Ryan would be on the phone making arrangements. It would put a considerable fucking dent in his wallet - Patrick’s not oblivious to exactly how much he owes - but he knows that Ryan would do it anyway. Ryan’s not the richest man in the world, but he has enough to his name that he could probably pay off Patrick’s debts and still leave himself enough money for food and rent and everything else. Ryan’s good with money, whether he likes it or not.
But Patrick isn’t going to take it. In fact, if he thinks about it, he knows that Ryan’s probably already made the phone call. It would be just like Ryan to start making arrangements the second he knew about the problem. It would be foolish of Patrick to think that Ryan would delay, having seen the way he whisked his money away to Gabe so quickly. But Patrick isn’t fond of acting as a charity. He’s not a charity case, and he won’t have his friends giving away everything they have just to pull himself out of a rut that he got himself into. He got himself in, and he can get himself out, and he accepts the support and the concern, but he doesn’t need their money.
Frank doesn’t even bother to deny it. He just shrugs, and Patrick can see in his eyes, in his body language, that all definitely includes Ryan. Patrick’s willing to bet a limb that the rest of them know too.
“I won’t take his money,” Patrick says firmly, feeling as though he needs to speak the words aloud, make it known, make it firm, so that they all know where he stands. “Tell him that.”
Frank just shrugs again. “You know Ryan,” is all he says, and really, that’s all he needs to say. Patrick does know Ryan.
Deciding that the conversation is over for now, Patrick turns and strides to the door, flipping the sign to open and avoiding the way Frank continues to watch him, as though he’s going to fall apart any second. For a moment, Patrick understands the frustration Ryan must have felt when they all watched over him like hawks, back when it didn’t matter how many times Ryan said he was fine, none of them believed him. And just because he can’t resist knowing, Patrick calls over him shoulder, “I’m fine.”
He can’t help but grin to himself when Frank answers with a “you’re not”.
The morning runs smoothly, and Patrick avoids any more confrontations with Frank. He feels a surge of déjà vu, and it’s almost exactly like working with Frank yesterday, trying to dodge around him so that no awkward conversation arises, and Frank watching him with keen eyes. The only difference is that now Frank definitely knows what’s going on, which in turn, makes Patrick even more determined to avoid him.
Their dancing around each other is interrupted when Ryan appears at around 11. Patrick has these conflicting urges to both run and hide, and to stay and evaluate Ryan’s reaction. It’s a little odd that Ryan’s thoughts on the matter are the most important to him. They’re close friends, but Patrick isn’t Spencer or Greta, and it’s rare that Ryan lets anyone else too close. He wonders whether it’s just the money issue that’s making him feel awkward around Ryan, and then he scolds himself, because that’s the exact reason Ryan keeps it quiet. And so instead, finally, he offers up a bright smile.
“Hello, Ryan,” he greets him happily, and Ryan smiles back. Any other person would see nothing wrong with it. It’s bright, it’s cheery, it’s the perfect morning greeting. But any other person isn’t one of them, and they know that for Ryan to smile like that, there’s a good chance it’s a front. Patrick has no doubts in his mind that the front is for him - one of those, chin up, you’ll be okay smiles that Patrick feels he’s going to be getting a lot of.
“Pete here, yet? Mike’s going to be at my place soon; I thought he might want to come over.”
Personally, Patrick doesn’t really understand how Ryan puts up with Pete in his house - his house which is littered with valuables and things Ryan treasures - for extended periods of time. It’s one thing at the shop, where Pete is forced to act somewhat civilly and get work done lest Patrick fire him (not that he ever would, but Pete doesn’t need to know that). Ryan’s house is something entirely different, and Patrick doesn’t even want to think about the possibilities of what could go wrong every time he steps foot inside that house.
“Not yet. I imagine he will be soon, though,” Patrick answers.
Ryan nods, and then he pauses, the cautious pity showing through his eyes, and when he opens his mouth to speak, Patrick turns away and pretends he didn’t see. To his relief, Ryan shuts his mouth and disappears to the lounge. Patrick makes him his usual without having to think about it, and when he sets it down in front of him, Ryan firmly hands him a twenty and tells him to keep the change. Patrick falters, not sure what he’s supposed to do. He really doesn’t want their pity, but he can’t afford to keep giving out free drinks anymore. Finally, Ryan makes the decision for him, and slips the money into the pocket of Patrick’s pants calmly.
“Think of it as a tip, if it’ll make you feel better,” Ryan says, and there’s a daring smile on his lips, mocking him. Patrick knows Ryan’s tactics, knows that if pity and concern won’t work, Ryan tends to try bullying people into accepting generosity, and so, with a reluctant sigh, he accepts the money before Ryan can work his persuasive techniques any further. The kid can be a compelling bastard, when he wants to be.
He’s about to argue further, but then he’s interrupted as Pete throws the door open with a crash. Pete’s always been fond of making an entrance.
“Ryan! I bet you were looking all over for me. Well, here I am, at your beck and call, oh good sir. May you do what you will with me.” He says this with an air of extravagance, arms thrown wide and chin up proudly, and his eyes zero in on Ryan in an instant.
For his part, Ryan looks like he’s trying to hold back a mocking grin, struggling to keep Pete’s dignity intact, because if Ryan doesn’t, no one will. Certainly Pete won’t.
“Mike’s lesson is soon, if you’re interested,” Ryan says instead, and manages to keep a straight face.
For a second, Pete looks a little put out that Ryan isn’t continuing with his charade, but in the end he just nods enthusiastically. “Awesome. When?” He grins, and Patrick is struck anew at how much Pete really does care for Ryan’s kids.
“In about an hour,” Ryan answers easily, without having to think. Ryan’s always been the kind of guy who can remember everything without writing anything down. Patrick thinks that he probably has some extra part to his brain, like his memory storage is bigger than everyone else’s, because it seems that no matter how many things he shoves in there, he doesn’t push anything else out. Ryan is the only one who can remember everyone’s birthdays, favourite colours, favourite foods, and pretty much their entire history. It makes things a little awkward when Ryan can remember a conversation that happened three years ago, which he deems terribly important, and nobody else can remember.
“Oh, excellent. The joys of a temperamental fourteen year old. I am ever so excited.” Somehow, Pete manages to make even sarcastic words sound genuinely exciting.
“Yes, well, he wouldn’t be half as bad if you didn’t torment him all the time,” Ryan throws in, gathering up his things and looking pointedly at Pete.
“I’m not expected to be the mature one all the time, Ryan, god. I leave that job to you. You do make an excellent Grumpy Adult Face.” Pete grins at him, and Ryan scowls deeply. “That’s the one!” Pete declares cheerfully, and Ryan glares at him harder, but Pete remains unfazed. “Coming?” he asks, and Ryan has no choice but to roll his eyes and follow him out the door.
For a second, Patrick panics, knowing that this will inevitably leave him alone with Frank again, but then William and Travis are tumbling through the door in Ryan’s wake, and he smiles. There’s no doubt in his mind that Bill and Travis will be able to provide an excellent distraction. He feels maybe a little guilty, like he should be more grateful about the lengths Frank is obviously willing to go to in order to offer a little advice and help out, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t like the thought of everyone looking over him like he doesn’t know how to look after himself.
“Where are those two off to?” Travis asks with a nod in the direction of Ryan’s back. Patrick can’t help but think that it’s a bit of a revolving door most of the time. It feels like every time one person leaves, another two will enter. There’s never really a moment that his shop isn’t a place for someone to hang out, and it’s almost like they time it.
“A lesson,” Patrick explains, and Travis catches on immediately, nodding his head.
“Is Gabe here?” William changes the subject with ease, and Travis laughs.
“We’ve split up the dream team for at least an hour and they start to lose their shit. Just get married already, Beckett, seriously.”
Frank snorts from behind Patrick. “There won’t be any marriage soon, I can assure you. Not when the both of them still have their heads in the sand.”
William makes a squeaking noise of indignation and splutters, “I’m right here you know!”
Patrick doesn’t know what he hopes to achieve with this statement. It’s not like they’ll stop talking about him if he’s standing there. Especially if it’s tormenting him about Gabe.
And maybe hanging around William enough has allowed Gabe to cotton onto Beckett’s unique talent of appearing when called, because in that second, the bell above the door jingles and Gabe offers up a bright smile. “You can all stop talking about me now, I know, I know, I’m amazing.” It’s a statement common of Gabe, and they’re used to him thinking everything is about him, but for once, it’s true, and it leaves them all shuffling their feet a little awkwardly. Bill goes a bit red, even, and when Gabe sees it, he grins. “I was right this time, wasn’t I? You were talking about me! Awesome.” He doesn’t seem the least bit fazed, like the thought that they could have been saying something bad about him doesn’t even cross his mind.
“Get over yourself, Gabe.” Travis rolls his eyes and lobs a scrunched up napkin at Gabe’s face.
Before it can turn into an all out war, Patrick lifts his hands and calls, “I’m going on my lunch break. If anyone breaks anything while I’m gone, you pay for it.”
Once, they would have laughed. Now, they just look at him with solemn looks of agreement in their eyes, and Patrick knows what they’re thinking. That yes, they will pay for it, because now Patrick can’t afford to. It’s this knowledge that has him forcing his way out of the cafe quicker than usual, determined to get as far away from their stares as he can.
***
Gabe likes to watch Will. It’s not anything creepy, he tells himself. He just likes to observe the way he moves, the way he speaks, the sparkle in his eye when he grins. He likes the way Bill crosses one long leg over the other, settles clasped hands on top of his knee and leans forward when somebody speaks, like they have his full attention. Gabe kind of wants Will to look at him like that, like he’s the only person in the world. Only, he knows that he’ll never have that, because William isn’t the kind of guy to devote all of his attention to one person. He has this notion that everybody is worth his time, that everybody deserves his attention equally, and Gabe supposes it’s a kind thing, but he sort of resents it. If William is constantly talking to everybody when will he ever just talk to Gabe?
It’s a selfish thought, but one that he can’t help. He finds that when he’s around William Beckett, most of his thoughts turn selfish. And despite all of this, he knows that he’s never going to open his mouth and say anything, because Gabe Saporta is a stubborn motherfucker, and if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he’ll never let his guard down. He can’t afford to bare himself like that, even if it’s just to William. Because then there’d be an obvious opening for someone (most especially Bill) to hurt him, and Gabe can’t afford that. His first instinct is self-preservation, even before the second one of following Bill to the ends of the world.
He’s aware that he’s at least a little pathetic. Unfortunately for him, Gabe does have a conscience, and it is of the frequent opinion that he’s being a fucking idiot. Sometimes, Gabe wishes he was just a hollow shell, so that he wouldn’t have to listen to either the yearning of his heart (which sounds unbelievably lame, even to him) or the insults of his brain.
“Gabe? You in there?”
Someone’s waving their hand in front of his face, and Gabe snaps back to reality within a second, recognising the hand as belonging to Travis. He nods, still a little absently, and Travis laughs. Gabe rarely zones out, but when he does, it’s usually thinking about William. Travis knows this, and as a consequence, he’s probably going to tease him until forever.
“You opening the club, tonight?” Travis asks, and it’s a stupid question really, but Gabe knows that it’s a favour to him, to turn his thoughts to something more welcoming, something he can really invest himself in and forget about Bill. It’s something to stabilise him, and he shoots a thankful glance at Travis before replying.
“Yeah, ‘course. It’s like, Tuesday though isn’t it? Won’t be busy.”
Gabe opens his club six days a week. Sundays are off limits, mainly because by then, Gabe will be so hung over he can barely move, let alone deal with flashing lights and loud music and people. Still, he opens on weeknights if only to offer a place to the others. It’s somewhere to go once Patrick closes, somewhere to go and hang out and relax and let everything go. There’s not usually too many other people there on a weekday, and so they’re given free reign.
“Cool. We’ll probably be over later.”
Gabe doesn’t bother asking who “we” includes, nor why exactly Travis felt the need to tell him this in the first place. Usually, they’d just turn up. It’s not like they need an invitation.
When Patrick returns from his lunch break, he has a satchel thrown over his shoulder that looks like it’s about to burst from being stuffed full, and a blanket and pillow. He takes everything into the back room without a word, face looking as though it’s carved from stone. They all fall quiet, and stare at him as he crosses the shop, slamming the door behind him. Nobody can find the words, and so they sit in silence, and when Patrick doesn’t look like he’s going to come back, things only get worse.
“I’m uh. Better go and get things ready at the club, then,” Gabe says awkwardly. He’s grateful when none of them point out the fact that it’s only midday, and he doesn’t need to be at the club until at least five.
In fact, as soon as he heads for the door, Bill and Travis get up and follow suit, and Frank watches them go before turning back to face the staff room door with a desperate look of helplessness on his face.
***
When Frank finishes his shift that night, he shuts off the lights and the fans, double-checks that the safe is locked, collects his bags and is out the door at the same time as Patrick. It doesn’t escape his notice that Patrick is moving slowly, untying his apron and pulling on his jacket with exaggerated movements. He turns to lock the door of the café behind them as Frank swings one leg over his bike, and then they both turn to look at each other in the same moment.
“Night, Frank,” Patrick says quietly, and Frank kicks the stand and pulls throttle, his eyes still on his boss. Patrick is showing no signs of moving, despite the fact that Frank knows by now, Patrick should be in his car and disappearing around the corner.
“Everything okay, ‘Trick?” he asks even though he knows he’s going to get a bullshit answer. As he suspected, Patrick just nods and tries to smile encouraging, and Frank slips his helmet on and resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” There’s really no point in arguing with him, not now.
Patrick waves, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder as Frank’s bike roars and he begins to move. For a second, Patrick starts walking in the other direction, like he’s going home. When Frank reaches the corner, he looks over his shoulder, and feels his heart plunging into his stomach when he sees Patrick turn around, open the shop back up quickly, and slip inside. For a moment, Frank considers stopping and going after him, offering up his place as somewhere to crash, but he knows that all he’ll receive from Patrick is indignant rejection. In the end, he continues on home, not able to throw the guilt.
Frank lives in a pretty crappy apartment building, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He parks his bike in the shared lot and grabs his bag, slipping inside and heading up the rickety staircase. He lives on one of the top floors, and he can hear his footsteps echoing through the corridor as he moves upwards, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Night Frank,” someone calls as he passes the balcony next door to his apartment. It’s the one he shares with the entire floor, and it’s small, barely enough room for two or three people. Frank rarely ventures out there; all in all, he doesn’t like spending much time at home at all.
He pauses, craning his neck to see out onto the balcony and smiles. The artist guy from next door - Frank thinks his name is Gerard but he’s not 100% - is grinning at him, hand lifted in a wave. Gerard has this crazy knack for remembering the name of everyone in the building, even though he looks like he forgets everything else. Right now, he’s standing out in the cold with one sock on his left foot, his right completely bare. His cheek is smeared with charcoal, which Frank attributes to the stick between his thumb and index finger. It’s almost used down to nothing, and Frank thinks it must be at the point where Gerard’s fingers scrape against the paper every time he draws. With just a look, Frank can tell that Gerard hasn’t showered or changed in a few days - his clothes are wrinkled and dirty, streaked with paint and charcoal and torn in places, and his hair looks rather like birds have taken up residence. Frank grins at him and waves back, because as addled and absent-minded as Gerard is, he’s probably the sweetest neighbour a guy could have.
“Long day at work?” Gerard calls as he sweeps charcoal across his already crammed canvas - why he’s drawing on the balcony Frank doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to ask.
“Not too bad,” Frank answers, and contemplates asking Gerard if he knows how to raise a couple hundred thousand dollars in order to save his boss from going bankrupt. Then he remembers the state of Gerard himself, and thinks the better of it.
“I’ve got an art exhibit next week, you should come.”
Frank doesn’t know whether inviting almost-strangers out to art exhibitions is common practice for Gerard, but he doesn’t stop to question it.
“Gonna sell anything?” he asks instead, and Gerard gives him a wry smile.
“That’s the plan.”
Frank’s phone rings just as he’s about to reply, and he digs it out of his pocket, holding up a finger to Gerard in a quick effort to excuse himself. “Hello?” he answers it without bothering to check the caller ID.
“Patrick’s sleeping at the shop, isn’t he?” Pete asks, and Frank doesn’t bother to ask why Pete’s asking him this now, or why he’s calling at all.
“Yeah, that’s what I gathered. You know he wouldn’t listen if I asked him to stay.”
He can hear Pete sigh from the other end of the line. “All right. I’ll offer again tomorrow, but I don’t know.”
“It’ll be fine, we’ll figure it out. We’ll come up with the money somehow, promise.” He doesn’t know who he’s trying to fool; he doesn’t particularly care.
When he says goodbye and hangs up the phone, Gerard is still watching him, head cocked to the side. “Financial problems?” he asks, like privacy doesn’t exist and it’s perfectly fine for him to stick his nose into Frank’s personal life. Frank doesn’t really mind that much. It’s not like Gerard’s the kind of guy to make fun of him or use it against him, and he gives off this vibe of openness, like you can tell him anything and he’ll listen and nod and offer advice without judging.
“A friend. He might lose his business.” Frank feels a sharp twinge of guilt, wondering whether it’s okay for him to divulge Patrick’s business, but it’s too late now, and Gerard is looking at him with thoughtful eyes.
“If the exhibit goes well, I promise I’ll help out.” Frank tries to cut him off - Gerard barely even knows Frank let alone Patrick, they can’t ask him for that kind of shit - but Gerard won’t hear it. “Hey. Gotta feel like I’m making a difference somewhere, right?”
And Frank can understand that, so he keeps quiet, takes a few quick steps forward so that he can clasp Gerard’s charcoaled hand in his own and nod. “Thank you so much, that’s more than we could even- I can’t believe- Just. Thanks, Gerard, really.”
Gerard looks pleased that Frank remembers his name if nothing else, and he squeezes Frank’s hand in response, smiling brilliantly. “I’m glad to help, Frank,” he says, and Frank makes a note to buy Gerard his own fucking art studio if he’s able to help Patrick in any way.
Gerard smiles at him again and lifts a hand in a short wave as Frank lets himself into his apartment, and Frank feels his heart warm at the knowledge that it’s people like Gerard who give him faith in humanity.
Part Five
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times he stares down the figures, they don’t change. It’s a little bit unfair, really. They manage to scare the shit out of him, and they’re just numbers on a page. Really, he should be able to intimidate them into changing. He frowns, re-reading the statement again, slowly and carefully, to ensure he hasn’t missed anything. And unfortunately for him, even as he pores over the page again and again, it all stays the same.
“Patrick? You okay?” Frank’s voice startles him, and he accidentally knocks over the stack of papers next to his right elbow. When he snaps his head up, Frank is looking at him with concerned eyes, and Patrick forces a smile.
“Yeah, Frank, thanks. I’ll be out in just a second,” he assures him, and when he sees Frank leaning forwards to try and get a glimpse of the papers, he shuffles everything around a little until it’s hidden from view. He doesn’t need this getting out just yet. He can work through this on his own, he knows, and he doesn’t need them worrying. Frank hesitates just a moment longer, clearly itching to know what Patrick is doing, but then he shrugs his shoulders and disappears back out to the front of the shop. Patrick breathes a small sigh of relief, his secret safe for now, and tucks the papers back in his bag and out of sight.
When he makes his way back out to the shop-front, Frank gives him another one of those looks, all confused and curious and more worried than Patrick would have thought, and he has to avoid Frank’s eyes. Luckily for him, Pete walks in the door just as Frank looks like he’s about to ask what’s going on, and Patrick greets him loudly before Frank even gets a chance to open his mouth.
“Hey Trick. What’s up?” Pete saunters into the shop like he always does, confident, easy sway with bright eyes. He’s got a bright smile on his face - the kind that Patrick isn’t used to seeing on his face before at least midday. As it is, it’s only 9 o’clock on a Monday morning, and usually, Pete would be glaring at them all and refusing to be spoken to. He’s never really been a Monday person.
“You look happy,” Patrick notes, the question in his voice easy enough for Pete to pick up on.
Pete grins at him as he slips behind the counter, dons his apron, and clocks into the computer. “It’s a beautiful day, Patrick!” he announces loudly.
Patrick pauses, glances outside and then back at Pete. “It’s cloudy and looks like it’s about to rain.”
With a laugh, Pete claps Patrick on the shoulder. “All in the attitude, Stump,” he says, and Patrick without bothering to come up with a reply, Patrick just shakes his head, and Pete hums contentedly to himself as he goes about making himself his morning coffee.
Taking advantage of a moment where Pete is occupied, Frank carries the bottle of caramel he’d been re-filling over to where Patrick is standing and continues as if he was meant to be standing there all along. Patrick barely suppresses a groan, but he plays along, going about his own work quietly and with no acknowledgement of Frank’s move.
“Read anything interesting lately?” Frank starts, and Patrick can’t help but smile. Never let it be said that Frank Iero isn’t a devious little fuck.
“I’m actually reading this really good book about statistics, if you want to borrow-“
“Okay, okay, you win. Ugh my ears are burning.” Frank groans like he’s actually in physical pain, and claps his hand over his ears just in case Patrick decides to talk to him about statistics further. When Patrick stays obediently silent, Frank uncovers them again. “But seriously, Trick. Is everything okay?”
Patrick shifts his feet awkwardly, feeling Frank’s eyes digging into his fucking mind and wishing that he wasn’t such a shitty liar. “I told you, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Unfortunately, Frank is like some kind of super-human liar detector or something because he only narrows his eyes further and puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “You know that you can tell us anything. Are you in trouble?”
It’s the concern in his eyes that almost makes Patrick slip up, but he holds his tongue in check. This isn’t something that he needs to land on Frank’s shoulders, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to cause worry over something that he can handle himself. “I’m fine, Frank, really. Thanks, but I can handle it.” He hopes he doesn’t sound too harsh, but Frank is acting almost as stubborn as Pete, and that’s never a good thing when Patrick’s trying to avoid something.
“If you say so,” Frank answers, but he continues looking at him as if he’s not going to let it go that easily. Patrick pretends not to notice.
As much as he wants to keep the information to himself, he’s not avoiding it simply because he doesn’t want to tell Frank what’s going on. If he’s being honest, he just wants to keep his own mind off it. He’s not usually the kind of guy to adopt the “if I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist” theory, but in this case, he just wants to forget about it for a little while and work in the shop he loves with the friends he loves. He doesn’t need to think about debts and payments and the fact that he might not have a shop to work in if he doesn’t do something soon. He’ll think about it tonight, and maybe go and see an accountant, but for now, he’s content to shove it to the back of his mind.
Besides, it’s Monday morning, and his customers are going to start arriving any minute. Customers, the little voice in the back of his head reminds him, who he doesn’t charge most of the time. And that’s always going to be the root of the problem, he supposes. He’s too stubborn to get up and move the shop to somewhere busier, somewhere he might actually get some business. And he knows that there’s no way he could have the same sort of setup if he moved. Here, the guys are free to be themselves, to have a little fun, to be a family. Here is the one place that they can all come to relax and it doesn’t matter where they all came from, they’re together. They need this place, just as much as Patrick does, and he can’t bring himself to take that away from them.
At the same time, staying put and ignoring the problem isn’t going to fix anything, either. If he doesn’t act soon, he’s going to lose everything, and the day he has to close his shop is the day his heart stops beating. It’s like he’s tied to it, like his own health and sanity lies within the walls, bound to the foundations. There’s no way he can just let it go.
The sound of giggling snaps him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see two barely familiar faces stumble in, followed by one very familiar one. Ryan does not look terribly impressed, though Patrick has the sneaking suspicion that it’s all for show, and that secretly, his own heart is warming at the sight of the laughing couple. Patrick’s good with faces, and despite the fact that he’s only met the two once or twice, he knows instantly who they are. Jon Walker, the guy rooming in with Ryan, and Greta, Ryan’s sometimes maid, sometimes best friend. The only time he’s met Jon was the first day Ryan brought him here, but Jon has the kind of face that makes you feel like you’ve known him forever. He’s easy laid-back and open, and there’s a bright smile on his lips, so warm that Patrick can practically feel it. And there’s Greta, who he’s only ever met upon the occasional visit to Ryan’s house.
Considering the fact that Jon only moved in with Ryan a few weeks ago, Patrick is a little surprised with how quickly Greta has taken to him. Though, he remembers, she’s always been fairly accepting and friendly, and Jon looks like the kind of guy you can’t help but get close to. Patrick watches them come in with a smile on his face, a tiny bit envious of the way they’re laughing so hard at something they’re leaning on each other and tripping over as they try to find a table, and Patrick can tell they’re going to be the new couple on the block that everyone is envious of, because it’s the kind of relationship that most people want. Greta waves to him over Jon’s head, and he grins back at her, and then Ryan is standing in front of him with a tired smile.
“Hey Trick,” he says, and Patrick begins to get drinks ready automatically, only half-thinking about what he’s doing. Ryan looks like he needs a strong coffee, and perhaps something sweet and with caramel for Greta and Jon.
“That was fast, then?” Patrick nods his head to the two, who are now sitting and talking with shining eyes and matching smiles. Patrick only hopes that they haven’t rushed into anything too hard and too fast, because he’d hate to see either of them crash and burn if something goes wrong.
“Yeah. As soon as she found out he was a kindergarten teacher, neither of them had any hope,” Ryan says dryly, a wry smirk lifting one corner of his lips.
“He’s a kindergarten teacher?” Patrick glances back over at Jon, at the bright smile and open arms, and he can definitely see it.
“Uh huh. And you know how Greta is with kids.”
Patrick doesn’t, but he nods his head anyway, frothing milk for Ryan’s cappuccino. Now with extra people in the shop, Frank hasn’t got a chance to get Patrick alone, and even though he can see Frank brooding over it, he’s enjoying it. He trusts Frank with his life, with his shop, but that doesn’t mean he wants to throw his own burdens onto Frank’s shoulders. Maybe, down the track, he’ll ask for some help, but only once he knows that he definitely can’t do it alone.
“No one else is here yet?” Ryan asks, and Patrick catches the silent plea of help me underlying his words. He grins to himself, finishing off Ryan’s coffee and passing it over. Ryan’s eyes keep flickering to the door, itching for somebody else to come in and give him someone to talk to other than the lovebirds. He can only keep Patrick distracted for so long before Patrick starts just nodding, going about his work and not really listening.
“I assume they’ll be along any minute now. Pete’s on shift, so they’ll be here.”
Ryan nods, takes a sip of his coffee and digs around in his bag. Patrick turns around to finish with Greta and Jon’s drinks, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ryan lean over the counter and tuck a few bills into the till. He puts his head down and tries to fight the urge to run out of the shop in order to fight the swell of emotion rising in his chest. He’s at risk of losing his shop, his life, and he doesn’t know how to tell Ryan thank you from the bottom of his heart. On some level, he feels guilty and wants to shove the money back into Ryan’s bag as soon as he turns around, but he knows that he needs it, and that, to be fair, he did make him a coffee. And then there’s the way Ryan leant over so casually, knew just how to nudge the till open and how to do it all so silently that there’s no way it was the first time he’d done it. Patrick wonders just how long Ryan’s been slipping him money in secret, and doesn’t know whether to be ridiculously grateful or embarrassed. He settles for somewhere between the two, and avoids Ryan’s eyes when he gives Greta and Jon their drinks.
The bell over the shop door rings, and Travis raises his hand in greeting as he comes through the door, Gabe, Spencer and Bill in tow, as per usual. For the morning, things will be a little hectic, and Patrick will have to play babysitter while they all treat the shop like a playpen, but he knows that Spencer and William have a class at 11 o’clock, and that Gabe usually spends the time going over his accounts and re-stocking his bar, filling out order forms and chatting to Matt about new ideas for the place. Alicia will due at Ryan’s in the late afternoon, which means that Pete will also clock out and follow him home. He assumes that Greta and Jon will drift out at some stage during the day as well. Patrick feels a little uneasy at the knowledge that this will leave him alone with Frank for the afternoon, and then he feels guilty. He loves having Frank around, but he hates being pestered about things he doesn’t want to talk about. Luckily for him, Brendon is usually in sometime around late afternoon to take advantage of the peace and quiet once the others have all gone, and maybe Patrick can use him as a distraction for a little while.
He thinks over all of this, and all of a sudden it hits him how much of a routine this all is. He knows the usual schedules of everyone in this shop, knows when they’ll be in, knows when they’ll be out, and who they’ll be with. And it’s because they’ve been doing the same thing ever since Patrick opened the place a couple of years ago. It doesn’t matter that they do the same thing over and over; there’s no sense of boredom or monotony because it’s the kind of routine that’s welcome, comfortable. There’s never a dull moment with Gabe and Pete around anyway, so it’s no wonder they all still keep coming back. And for the hundredth time, Patrick feels a sting to his heart when he even thinks about letting the place go.
He’s so busy watching them all interact, these people who he loves, who he relies on, that he doesn’t notice when Pete takes over what Frank was doing, and Frank disappears into the back room with a determined look on his face.
***
Frank’s not a fan of the word snooping. It’s not like he has no right to be here; he works here just as much as Patrick, more than Pete, and has as much reason for any of them to be out in the back room. He has Pete covering his ass - a task Pete is always more than willing to take up - and Patrick won’t even notice him gone. He can’t help it; curiosity is clawing apart his insides, and the look of unease and upset in Patrick’s eyes is enough to convince him that something is wrong, and he needs to help. It’s not in Frank’s nature to stand back and let someone hurt, especially someone who he cares for as much as Patrick. He’s obviously in some kind of trouble, and damned if Frank isn’t going to try and get him out of it. Only, he has no way of helping if he doesn’t know what’s wrong, and if Patrick won’t tell him, he’ll just have to find out for himself.
As he suspected, the papers aren’t where Patrick was looking at them earlier. However, it only takes him half a minute before he spots Patrick’s bag a few metres away. Patrick is not a good liar, nor is he terribly good at hiding things, and Frank knows him well enough to know that he would have just shoved them somewhere fast and easy so that Frank would stop looking at him. Checking over his shoulder and feeling more and more like a jerk the longer he stays out here, Frank reaches for the bag and sits down on an upturned milk crate. Taking a deep breath, he unzips the bag and shoves his hand in, feeling his fingers brush against paper almost instantly. There’s one last moment of hesitation, of his conscience making a firm stand, before it crumbles, and he closes his fingers around the paper and tugs.
Once he has them in his hands, he can’t help but glance back at the door, checking that Patrick isn’t about to come bursting in and fire his ass for going through his things. Frank’s heart is racing, and it only makes him feel more guilty, but he’s come this far now, he might as well go all the way. And so, he looks down, and feels his eyes widening with the more he reads.
And oh shit they’re in trouble. They’re all in trouble, but especially Patrick because this place is everything he is, it’s his baby, his life, and Frank knows that to lose the coffee shop is to lose everything. It’s not even something that he can imagine, really. He sits, and tries to think of what life would be like without it, and he can’t. He’d have no job, and he doubts very much if he were able to find a boss as awesome as Patrick. Brendon won’t be able to stay after hours scribbling tiredly until Patrick has no choice but to ask him to leave (and even then, he asks if Brendon wants to continue at his house). There’s no way any other coffee shop in the world would let Gabe, Travis and Will in with the way they act. Spencer will no longer have a quiet place to study with free coffee and Patrick’s ridiculously large fountain of knowledge (he’s the trivia master). Tom’s favourite photography subject will no longer be an option, and there’ll be no more breathtaking black and whites of Brendon hunched over paper, of a brilliant smile on William’s face when he looks at Gabe.
Frank looks back at the paper, the numbers and figures jumping out at him so large that he knows Patrick has no chance in hell of paying them. He won’t take money as charity, he barely charges anyone, and he won’t ask for the bank’s help, even if they would give it to him. On the other hand, he knows that there’s no way in hell Patrick will just let it go and not fight for his shop. And you can’t fight something like this without paying off the debts. Frank has no idea what Patrick’s planning, or even if he’s planning anything. And if Patrick has no idea what to do, maybe it’s time Frank stepped up and helped him out for a change. With one final look at the numbers, burning them into his memory until he can see them on the backs of his eyelids when he closes his eyes, Frank returns the papers to where he found them, and stands up. First thing tonight, after Patrick has closed up and gone home, Frank’s going to rally the troops. It’s time they showed Patrick exactly what they can do.
When he slips back out into the front, Pete winks at him, and Frank breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Patrick with his back turned, completely oblivious. Frank only has to look at Gabe, his eyes saying everything he needs, and Gabe nods. It’s not so much a matter of them having some crazy close connection, but more that Gabe knows when someone needs him to make trouble. If he’s good at anything other than running The Basement, it’s causing distractions, and the look in Frank’s eyes tells him clearly what he needs to know. In turn, Gabe gives the same kind of look to Travis, and then turns back to nod at Frank. Frank feels a little bit ridiculous already, like they’re in some kind of shitty spy movie, but he rolls with it. Let Gabe have his fun. And that’s exactly what Gabe does. Travis recognises the look immediately, and in seconds they’re staging a large fight in the middle of the coffee shop. Frank has no idea about what, exactly, but there’s a lot of yelling, and then they’re rolling on the floor, and Gabe is threatening to start throwing chairs. Patrick is alert in seconds, rushing forwards and trying to pull them apart, probably to salvage his shop more than them, but regardless, it has the desired effect.
Taking only a minute to admire their handiwork, Frank grabs Pete’s arm and drags him to the back room. Pete has as much of a right to know as anyone, considering it’s his pay-check that’ll be going if they have to shut the place down. And he needs someone to back him up, when he takes his idea to the whole group. Pete doesn’t even question it, just lets himself be dragged, and when Frank shoves the statements in front of his eyes, he reads them calmly and without thought. He pauses a moment, re-reads, and Frank bounces on his feet impatiently, not even noticing the fact that his hand is still clenched tightly around Pete’s arm.
“This isn’t good,” Pete says when he finishes, and turns his eyes slowly towards Frank. “This really isn’t good.”
Frank rolls his eyes, shoving the piece of paper back in the bag for a second time. “Of course it isn’t. Which is why we’re going to fix it. Make sure the others all get here tonight, after Patrick’s closed up and gone home.”
To his credit, Pete doesn’t even blink, just nods. For once, he seems to understand immediately. Frank thinks it probably has something to do with the way Pete’s head works. He can mess around and be as stupid as he wants, but the second something is serious, the second one of his friends is in trouble, he can be counted on to take it as a life or death situation. Frank knows that Pete will force the others to turn up no matter what kind of prior commitments they may have had.
“They’ll be here,” he says simply, and then he disappears back out to the front of the shop, Frank following.
The second they reappear, Gabe holds his hand out solemnly in an apparent offer of truce to Travis, despite the fact that two second before, he’d been screaming that he was going to tear his limbs off. Frank stifles a snort of laughter, because Gabe is anything but subtle. Patrick looks bewildered, but he doesn’t turn to look suspiciously at Frank or Pete, so Frank counts it as a victory. And tonight, after he’s spoken to the others about what he wants to do, he’s sure that sooner or later, it won’t matter that they went behind Patrick’s back, because it’s so worth it. At the end of it all, or maybe even before, Patrick will know what they did, and he’ll be forced to just say thank you and suck it up. There’s no way Frank’s going to all this trouble just for Patrick to refuse their help.
***
Patrick has just closed up shop, and Brendon is packing away his things, ready to go home and finish writing the chapter he’d been working on. He doesn’t even need to be told to head out, just watches as Patrick gathers his bag and his keys, and he gets up and follows him and Frank on their way out. After saying quick goodbyes, he turns to head home, but is stopped as a hand grips his arm and pulls him back.
“Wait,” is all Frank says, and they watch as Patrick get in his car and drive away. Brendon waits patiently, resisting the urge to ask Frank what’s going on. Frank likes to keep people in suspense, and it’ll be over quicker if he just lets him have his way. “Follow me,” Frank finishes as soon as he’s sure Patrick is gone, and when he grabs Brendon’s hand and starts pulling him in the other direction, Brendon just goes along with it. Frank’s never really understood the whole concept of personal space and that some people might see two straight men holding hands a little odd.
Brendon admits that he’s a little surprised when they round the other side of the block and Pete, Gabe, Travis, William, Spencer, Greta, Ryan, Jon and even Tom are all assembled, obviously waiting for them. He tries to think of what could possibly bring them all to this particular corner at the same time on a night that most of them usually have things to do, but he can’t. By the looks on their faces, none of them seem to know what’s going on either, except for Pete, who has the same sort of determined expression on his face as Frank.
“What’s going on?” he finally can’t help but ask, and there’s a murmured agreement from the rest of them. He almost expects Frank - and apparently Pete - to look smug about the fact that they know something the others are clueless about; Frank’s always loved knowing secrets. Instead, there’s only this grim set of the lips and eyes that wordlessly speak of something devastating on the horizon.
It’s that look that renders them all silent. Usually, with all of them assembled, there’d be some form of chaos, something to keep them laughing, keep them on their toes. Now, they stand completely still, waiting anxiously. Spencer is biting his fingernails so intently that Brendon wonders if he’ll have any left by the time Frank finally tells them why he brought them all here. It’s getting dark, and Brendon wraps his arms around himself as the cold start to set in, hoping that they can hurry up and do this quickly, or take it somewhere else.
“It’s about Patrick,” Frank blurts out as though he can’t hold it in anymore, and Brendon nods. That explains why Patrick wasn’t invited to this little gathering, then.
“But his birthday isn’t for another... Eight months.” Ryan points out what Brendon had been thinking, doing the maths quickly in his head. It’s almost like he took the words straight out of Brendon’s mouth - the only time Brendon can imagine them holding a secret meeting without the person being talked about, would be to plan some form of birthday surprise. He supposes that maybe they’d do it if they were bitching each other out, but the situation has never really arisen. Brendon can’t really imagine being that angry with any of the people assembled, and especially not Patrick.
“It’s not about his birthday,” Pete says, cutting across Frank just as he opens his mouth. “He’s in trouble.”
And that’s all it takes, really. There’s a flurry of voices, of questions, of concerns, and Brendon adds his own to the mix, because if Patrick is in trouble there’s no way they’re not all going to go out of their way to help him. This is Patrick and it doesn’t matter what happened, he doesn’t deserve anything bad to happen, ever.
“He might lose the café. He owes... A lot of money.” Frank leaves it there, waiting for the information to sink in, and watching the way everything unfolds. Brendon does the same, looking on as slowly, they come to grips with the idea and realise what it means, how shattered Patrick would be. And then as if they’re all working in sync, everyone rearranges their expression into one of determination, and looks fiercely at Frank.
“So, what’s the plan?” Gabe asks, already knowing that Frank and Pete have something up their sleeve. No matter what it is, they’ll all pitch in. They’ll lend whatever money and resources they have if it means saving Patrick and the shop.
Frank grins at them, and Brendon waits to hear what kind of plan he’s hoarding. “Well, first, we pitch in what we already have,” he says simply, and it’s the first that catches Brendon, the knowledge that Frank has some other idea that he’s not letting them in on just yet. They obey, and there’s the shift of movement as they all start digging around in pockets and withdrawing whatever they have as a start. Later, there’ll be inspections into bank accounts and balances, but for now, anything that they have on them could be a little help.
Unfortunately, after careful scrounging, the pile they have in front of them is a little pathetic. Gabe unearthed a condom, William a couple of buttons and a paperclip, Frank has a monopoly piece (which he looks at with a puzzled frown, not quite sure of how it got into his pocket), Brendon a ballpoint pen and Pete a guitar pick. Travis, at least, managed to contribute a handful of pennies, three quarters and a dime. Spencer threw in a crumpled twenty, Tom an empty canister of film, and Jon and Greta make up a ten and a bottle cap between the two of them. With a shy mutter, Ryan fumbles for his wallet and pushes a hundred into Frank’s fist, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Spencer smiles at him encouragingly, and Ryan’s voice is maybe a little more confident when he says he can ask his uncle to send over more to his account. All in all, it’s not much, despite Ryan’s additions.
“I don’t think that odds and ends from our pockets are going to let Patrick keep his shop,” Travis says dryly, and Frank’s eyes gleam.
“Which is why, dear friends, we’re going to fundraise.”
Knowing Frank, “fundraising” won’t just involve lemonade stands and car-washing. Brendon feels a tingle of unease, but then he looks around at the grinning faces, and caves. They’ll do what they have to in order to help Patrick, even if it means obeying Frank’s bizarre ideas of raising money. It’s only fair, after everything he’s done for them.
“When do we start?” Tom asks, and if anyone’s a little surprised at him joining in the conversation - usually, he keeps the talking to a minimum and the picture taking to a maximum - they don’t show it.
“This weekend. For now, I want everyone brainstorming possible fundraising ideas.”
It feels a little bit like a class project in elementary school, but Brendon keeps his grin to himself and just nods. “Yes Mr Iero, sir,” he can’t resist saying, and when Frank beams at him, he knows that this is all going to get really out of hand, really fast. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to care.
***
Ryan’s never really been that comfortable with his bank account. There’s more than enough in there, more than he could ever hope to exhaust, but he doesn’t like talking about it. He knows that his friends often struggle to make ends meet, and it doesn’t matter how many times he tries to offer help, they won’t take it. Sometimes, he wishes that he didn’t have the money, just because it makes him feel awkward and selfish. There are millions of people in the world with nothing, and here he is, all of this wasted money building up without him lifting a finger. It makes his skin crawl, makes him feel guilty in ways he didn’t think were possible. In an effort to counteract it, he gives large sums of money to charities whenever he can, but it still doesn’t stop the squirming of his gut. Patrick is more than a worthy cause, and Ryan would donate everything he had if it meant Patrick was okay, but he feels ridiculous even bringing it up.
He watches everyone dig around in their pockets and come up with nothing but miscellaneous pieces of junk, and when his fingers feel out the edges of the bill in his pocket, he has to fight the urge to throw up when he withdraws it and shoves it into Frank’s hand before anyone can get a good glimpse of it. And it’s kind of ridiculous, because he knows most people would kill to have what he has, and that makes it even worse. He’s not proud of his money, and he doesn’t like to flaunt it. He gave the family business to his uncle for that very reason.
Truth be told, he knows that if he made one phone call, he could probably have everything Patrick needed in about a week. Then, none of the others would have to sacrifice their time or their money, and for once, Ryan’s money would be doing something useful. At the same time, he knows that the others would feel inferior, awkward, and hate it if he managed to pay off all of Patrick’s debts in one go, where they couldn’t even contribute the tiniest amount. He sees the gleam in Frank’s eyes, and he knows that this fundraising idea is going to be crazy, that he’s going to go overboard, but he sees the excitement and doesn’t want to ruin it. If they don’t manage to raise enough money, then he’ll step up and donate everything he has, because Patrick is worth more than his own feelings. If Patrick gets to keep the shop, then Ryan can deal with people treating him a little awkwardly for a while. For now though, he’ll let things play out, and every time Patrick’s back is turned, he’ll slip more and more money into that till.
When Frank dismisses them, Ryan gets into his car and pulls out his cell phone. The number is quick off his fingers with hardly any input from his brain, and then before he knows it, he has his uncle on the line.
“Chris? I need a favour.”
There’s a small chuckle on the other end of the line, and then, “Little Ryan Ross, what can I do for you?”
“A friend’s in a spot of financial trouble. I need a few thousand, just in case.” He keeps it clipped, keeps it short. The sooner this conversation is over, the better.
“Playing the Good Samaritan, huh? Sure thing, Ry, I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.”
And this is what Ryan loves about his uncle. He may be a bit brash at times, and treats Ryan a bit like he’s still ten years old, but he has a good heart, and he doesn’t ask too many questions. Not that Ryan’s planning on using the money for anything illegal or immoral, but he doesn’t feel like talking out the whole situation, and the quieter he can keep this all, the better.
“Thanks, you’re a life saver.” Ryan pulls into his driveway and juggles his phone and his keys a little awkwardly as he slides out of the car. Jon and Greta have gone out for dinner, and he’s home alone for a few hours.
Chris laughs again. “It’s your money, Ryan. I just babysit it.”
Ryan has no means of arguing, and so he just shrugs, forgetting his uncle can’t see. “Thanks all the same. I’ll talk to you later,” he says, even though he doesn’t have any intentions of doing so. His uncle reminds him too much of the fortune he hides from, and the ties to his parents that he’s trying to dull. His uncle replies in kind, probably knowing that Ryan won’t call until he needs something else, and then Ryan hangs up the phone.
That’s done, and now he has a backup plan ready if the fundraising doesn’t go as well as he hopes. He wonders briefly whether this exempts him from the brainstorming task, and then figures that knowing Frank, it definitely doesn’t. Besides, he has no intention of telling anybody what he’s planned unless the circumstances call for it, and he doesn’t want to show up on the weekend with nothing. He knows that they’re going to be subject to ridiculous ideas from Gabe and Pete, and more practical ones from Spencer. Ryan, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea, and he’s never been the most creative person ever. Instead, he decides to sleep on it, and forces his feet up the stairs, collapsing into bed the moment he closes the door to his bedroom.
He hasn’t eaten dinner, but he’s not really that hungry. It’s getting late, and the house is empty and quiet, and Ryan hates being the only one at home in this place. He lays back and shuts his eyes, and tries to fall asleep rather than waiting anxiously for Jon and Greta to get home, if only so the place feels a little fuller. It works better than he expected, and soon, he’s falling into dreams of lemonade stands and Gabe in a school-girl uniform.
***
When Patrick arrives at the shop the next morning, he’s surprised to see that Frank is already there, and has opened the place up on his own. It’s not like Patrick’s late - he’s never late - and yet Frank is already pottering around, whistling to himself as he unstacks chairs from the tables and arranges everything neatly. Patrick allows himself a quick moment of amazement before he goes with the flow, assigning himself to whatever jobs Frank hasn’t already completed. They work in companionable silence for a few moments before Patrick notices that Frank’s whistling has stopped, and when he turns around, Frank is looking at him with something resembling pity and concern.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks immediately. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s listening. He likes to listen to people, likes to hear what’s going on in their heads, what they can’t make sense of, and see if he can work anything out in his own head. Sometimes, thoughts are easily arranged when you allow someone else to look at them. Everyone has a different viewpoint on things, and Patrick is good at picking up on things that someone may not have thought of, and helping them work through their problems. He’s a good listener, and he’d much prefer that to talking about himself, and so the question is off his tongue before he even has time to think about the fact that Frank looks like he feels sorry for Patrick. But that wouldn’t make sense, because Patrick doesn’t allow himself to be pitied. He’s quite capable of standing on his own two feet, most of the time, and he hasn’t done anything to spark that kind of look in Frank’s eyes. The only thing he could think of that comes even close is the fact that he’s slowly slipping further and further into debt, but there’s no way Frank could know about...
“How did you find out.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question. His voice is flat, eyes dead and resigned to his fate. This only appears to send Frank’s concern spinning even more out of control, and his eyes shine with it as he lays a cautious hand on Patrick’s shoulder.
“We can help you. You’re not alone in this,” Frank says, and he says it with such conviction that Patrick can’t help but believe him for a second. Just a second, before he’s shrugging the feeling off and reminding himself that this is his burden, and he’ll carry it, and he’ll work it out himself. In a way, he’s a complete hypocrite because no matter how many times he encourages everyone else to talk things out, he can’t seem to do it himself. An excellent listener, but an awful speaker.
“Don’t worry about me, Frank.” The words sound dead even to Patrick’s own ears, and the forced smile does nothing to help his case. He’s worried. He can admit that. He’s never really been the type to lie to himself, to pretend that he’s okay in order to shove everything to the back of his mind. Sure, he prefers to keep it to himself, but he doesn’t hide his own emotions from himself out of fear of acknowledging them. He can acknowledge this, and in time, he’ll deal with it.
“We’re all worrying about you, Trick. You can’t stop that.”
Patrick allows himself an inward groan. All. He’s already told the others. He wonders who exactly is encompassed in all, and whether or not he’ll have to face the same sort of ridiculous pity in their eyes when they look at him.
“Have you told Ryan?” Patrick asks, because if there’s one person who doesn’t need this on his shoulders, it’s Ryan. Patrick knows that Ryan’s okay, can hold his own, but he can’t help but still treat him with a little bit of fragility. He watched as Ryan fell apart after his parents’ death - nineteen is far too earlier an age to see both of your parents disappear - and he knows what it’s like to see that haunted look in Ryan’s eyes. It’s only just beginning to fade and be replaced with happiness, with acceptance, and Patrick isn’t about to go throwing more things at him. Ryan needs to work through his own problems, look after himself before he goes tackling other peoples’, and Patrick knows that it’s not in Ryan’s nature to ignore a friend in trouble.
And then there’s the money. It doesn’t matter that Ryan does his best to keep it all hushed up. They all know about the contents of his bank account, and while they might not know any exact figures, they know that it’s a lot. And they also know that Ryan can have more added to it with just a simple phone call to his uncle. Ryan doesn’t like to talk about it because it makes him feel uncomfortable, Patrick knows this. Ryan would have happily given the money to start his club to Gabe without expecting anything in return, had Gabe not been so determined to pay him back. He sees it as something heavy, something that weighs him down and makes him different to the rest of them, and Patrick knows that if they would accept it, Ryan would have given them all more than their fair share. He knows, therefore, that it would take only one word from Patrick’s lips, and Ryan would be on the phone making arrangements. It would put a considerable fucking dent in his wallet - Patrick’s not oblivious to exactly how much he owes - but he knows that Ryan would do it anyway. Ryan’s not the richest man in the world, but he has enough to his name that he could probably pay off Patrick’s debts and still leave himself enough money for food and rent and everything else. Ryan’s good with money, whether he likes it or not.
But Patrick isn’t going to take it. In fact, if he thinks about it, he knows that Ryan’s probably already made the phone call. It would be just like Ryan to start making arrangements the second he knew about the problem. It would be foolish of Patrick to think that Ryan would delay, having seen the way he whisked his money away to Gabe so quickly. But Patrick isn’t fond of acting as a charity. He’s not a charity case, and he won’t have his friends giving away everything they have just to pull himself out of a rut that he got himself into. He got himself in, and he can get himself out, and he accepts the support and the concern, but he doesn’t need their money.
Frank doesn’t even bother to deny it. He just shrugs, and Patrick can see in his eyes, in his body language, that all definitely includes Ryan. Patrick’s willing to bet a limb that the rest of them know too.
“I won’t take his money,” Patrick says firmly, feeling as though he needs to speak the words aloud, make it known, make it firm, so that they all know where he stands. “Tell him that.”
Frank just shrugs again. “You know Ryan,” is all he says, and really, that’s all he needs to say. Patrick does know Ryan.
Deciding that the conversation is over for now, Patrick turns and strides to the door, flipping the sign to open and avoiding the way Frank continues to watch him, as though he’s going to fall apart any second. For a moment, Patrick understands the frustration Ryan must have felt when they all watched over him like hawks, back when it didn’t matter how many times Ryan said he was fine, none of them believed him. And just because he can’t resist knowing, Patrick calls over him shoulder, “I’m fine.”
He can’t help but grin to himself when Frank answers with a “you’re not”.
The morning runs smoothly, and Patrick avoids any more confrontations with Frank. He feels a surge of déjà vu, and it’s almost exactly like working with Frank yesterday, trying to dodge around him so that no awkward conversation arises, and Frank watching him with keen eyes. The only difference is that now Frank definitely knows what’s going on, which in turn, makes Patrick even more determined to avoid him.
Their dancing around each other is interrupted when Ryan appears at around 11. Patrick has these conflicting urges to both run and hide, and to stay and evaluate Ryan’s reaction. It’s a little odd that Ryan’s thoughts on the matter are the most important to him. They’re close friends, but Patrick isn’t Spencer or Greta, and it’s rare that Ryan lets anyone else too close. He wonders whether it’s just the money issue that’s making him feel awkward around Ryan, and then he scolds himself, because that’s the exact reason Ryan keeps it quiet. And so instead, finally, he offers up a bright smile.
“Hello, Ryan,” he greets him happily, and Ryan smiles back. Any other person would see nothing wrong with it. It’s bright, it’s cheery, it’s the perfect morning greeting. But any other person isn’t one of them, and they know that for Ryan to smile like that, there’s a good chance it’s a front. Patrick has no doubts in his mind that the front is for him - one of those, chin up, you’ll be okay smiles that Patrick feels he’s going to be getting a lot of.
“Pete here, yet? Mike’s going to be at my place soon; I thought he might want to come over.”
Personally, Patrick doesn’t really understand how Ryan puts up with Pete in his house - his house which is littered with valuables and things Ryan treasures - for extended periods of time. It’s one thing at the shop, where Pete is forced to act somewhat civilly and get work done lest Patrick fire him (not that he ever would, but Pete doesn’t need to know that). Ryan’s house is something entirely different, and Patrick doesn’t even want to think about the possibilities of what could go wrong every time he steps foot inside that house.
“Not yet. I imagine he will be soon, though,” Patrick answers.
Ryan nods, and then he pauses, the cautious pity showing through his eyes, and when he opens his mouth to speak, Patrick turns away and pretends he didn’t see. To his relief, Ryan shuts his mouth and disappears to the lounge. Patrick makes him his usual without having to think about it, and when he sets it down in front of him, Ryan firmly hands him a twenty and tells him to keep the change. Patrick falters, not sure what he’s supposed to do. He really doesn’t want their pity, but he can’t afford to keep giving out free drinks anymore. Finally, Ryan makes the decision for him, and slips the money into the pocket of Patrick’s pants calmly.
“Think of it as a tip, if it’ll make you feel better,” Ryan says, and there’s a daring smile on his lips, mocking him. Patrick knows Ryan’s tactics, knows that if pity and concern won’t work, Ryan tends to try bullying people into accepting generosity, and so, with a reluctant sigh, he accepts the money before Ryan can work his persuasive techniques any further. The kid can be a compelling bastard, when he wants to be.
He’s about to argue further, but then he’s interrupted as Pete throws the door open with a crash. Pete’s always been fond of making an entrance.
“Ryan! I bet you were looking all over for me. Well, here I am, at your beck and call, oh good sir. May you do what you will with me.” He says this with an air of extravagance, arms thrown wide and chin up proudly, and his eyes zero in on Ryan in an instant.
For his part, Ryan looks like he’s trying to hold back a mocking grin, struggling to keep Pete’s dignity intact, because if Ryan doesn’t, no one will. Certainly Pete won’t.
“Mike’s lesson is soon, if you’re interested,” Ryan says instead, and manages to keep a straight face.
For a second, Pete looks a little put out that Ryan isn’t continuing with his charade, but in the end he just nods enthusiastically. “Awesome. When?” He grins, and Patrick is struck anew at how much Pete really does care for Ryan’s kids.
“In about an hour,” Ryan answers easily, without having to think. Ryan’s always been the kind of guy who can remember everything without writing anything down. Patrick thinks that he probably has some extra part to his brain, like his memory storage is bigger than everyone else’s, because it seems that no matter how many things he shoves in there, he doesn’t push anything else out. Ryan is the only one who can remember everyone’s birthdays, favourite colours, favourite foods, and pretty much their entire history. It makes things a little awkward when Ryan can remember a conversation that happened three years ago, which he deems terribly important, and nobody else can remember.
“Oh, excellent. The joys of a temperamental fourteen year old. I am ever so excited.” Somehow, Pete manages to make even sarcastic words sound genuinely exciting.
“Yes, well, he wouldn’t be half as bad if you didn’t torment him all the time,” Ryan throws in, gathering up his things and looking pointedly at Pete.
“I’m not expected to be the mature one all the time, Ryan, god. I leave that job to you. You do make an excellent Grumpy Adult Face.” Pete grins at him, and Ryan scowls deeply. “That’s the one!” Pete declares cheerfully, and Ryan glares at him harder, but Pete remains unfazed. “Coming?” he asks, and Ryan has no choice but to roll his eyes and follow him out the door.
For a second, Patrick panics, knowing that this will inevitably leave him alone with Frank again, but then William and Travis are tumbling through the door in Ryan’s wake, and he smiles. There’s no doubt in his mind that Bill and Travis will be able to provide an excellent distraction. He feels maybe a little guilty, like he should be more grateful about the lengths Frank is obviously willing to go to in order to offer a little advice and help out, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t like the thought of everyone looking over him like he doesn’t know how to look after himself.
“Where are those two off to?” Travis asks with a nod in the direction of Ryan’s back. Patrick can’t help but think that it’s a bit of a revolving door most of the time. It feels like every time one person leaves, another two will enter. There’s never really a moment that his shop isn’t a place for someone to hang out, and it’s almost like they time it.
“A lesson,” Patrick explains, and Travis catches on immediately, nodding his head.
“Is Gabe here?” William changes the subject with ease, and Travis laughs.
“We’ve split up the dream team for at least an hour and they start to lose their shit. Just get married already, Beckett, seriously.”
Frank snorts from behind Patrick. “There won’t be any marriage soon, I can assure you. Not when the both of them still have their heads in the sand.”
William makes a squeaking noise of indignation and splutters, “I’m right here you know!”
Patrick doesn’t know what he hopes to achieve with this statement. It’s not like they’ll stop talking about him if he’s standing there. Especially if it’s tormenting him about Gabe.
And maybe hanging around William enough has allowed Gabe to cotton onto Beckett’s unique talent of appearing when called, because in that second, the bell above the door jingles and Gabe offers up a bright smile. “You can all stop talking about me now, I know, I know, I’m amazing.” It’s a statement common of Gabe, and they’re used to him thinking everything is about him, but for once, it’s true, and it leaves them all shuffling their feet a little awkwardly. Bill goes a bit red, even, and when Gabe sees it, he grins. “I was right this time, wasn’t I? You were talking about me! Awesome.” He doesn’t seem the least bit fazed, like the thought that they could have been saying something bad about him doesn’t even cross his mind.
“Get over yourself, Gabe.” Travis rolls his eyes and lobs a scrunched up napkin at Gabe’s face.
Before it can turn into an all out war, Patrick lifts his hands and calls, “I’m going on my lunch break. If anyone breaks anything while I’m gone, you pay for it.”
Once, they would have laughed. Now, they just look at him with solemn looks of agreement in their eyes, and Patrick knows what they’re thinking. That yes, they will pay for it, because now Patrick can’t afford to. It’s this knowledge that has him forcing his way out of the cafe quicker than usual, determined to get as far away from their stares as he can.
***
Gabe likes to watch Will. It’s not anything creepy, he tells himself. He just likes to observe the way he moves, the way he speaks, the sparkle in his eye when he grins. He likes the way Bill crosses one long leg over the other, settles clasped hands on top of his knee and leans forward when somebody speaks, like they have his full attention. Gabe kind of wants Will to look at him like that, like he’s the only person in the world. Only, he knows that he’ll never have that, because William isn’t the kind of guy to devote all of his attention to one person. He has this notion that everybody is worth his time, that everybody deserves his attention equally, and Gabe supposes it’s a kind thing, but he sort of resents it. If William is constantly talking to everybody when will he ever just talk to Gabe?
It’s a selfish thought, but one that he can’t help. He finds that when he’s around William Beckett, most of his thoughts turn selfish. And despite all of this, he knows that he’s never going to open his mouth and say anything, because Gabe Saporta is a stubborn motherfucker, and if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he’ll never let his guard down. He can’t afford to bare himself like that, even if it’s just to William. Because then there’d be an obvious opening for someone (most especially Bill) to hurt him, and Gabe can’t afford that. His first instinct is self-preservation, even before the second one of following Bill to the ends of the world.
He’s aware that he’s at least a little pathetic. Unfortunately for him, Gabe does have a conscience, and it is of the frequent opinion that he’s being a fucking idiot. Sometimes, Gabe wishes he was just a hollow shell, so that he wouldn’t have to listen to either the yearning of his heart (which sounds unbelievably lame, even to him) or the insults of his brain.
“Gabe? You in there?”
Someone’s waving their hand in front of his face, and Gabe snaps back to reality within a second, recognising the hand as belonging to Travis. He nods, still a little absently, and Travis laughs. Gabe rarely zones out, but when he does, it’s usually thinking about William. Travis knows this, and as a consequence, he’s probably going to tease him until forever.
“You opening the club, tonight?” Travis asks, and it’s a stupid question really, but Gabe knows that it’s a favour to him, to turn his thoughts to something more welcoming, something he can really invest himself in and forget about Bill. It’s something to stabilise him, and he shoots a thankful glance at Travis before replying.
“Yeah, ‘course. It’s like, Tuesday though isn’t it? Won’t be busy.”
Gabe opens his club six days a week. Sundays are off limits, mainly because by then, Gabe will be so hung over he can barely move, let alone deal with flashing lights and loud music and people. Still, he opens on weeknights if only to offer a place to the others. It’s somewhere to go once Patrick closes, somewhere to go and hang out and relax and let everything go. There’s not usually too many other people there on a weekday, and so they’re given free reign.
“Cool. We’ll probably be over later.”
Gabe doesn’t bother asking who “we” includes, nor why exactly Travis felt the need to tell him this in the first place. Usually, they’d just turn up. It’s not like they need an invitation.
When Patrick returns from his lunch break, he has a satchel thrown over his shoulder that looks like it’s about to burst from being stuffed full, and a blanket and pillow. He takes everything into the back room without a word, face looking as though it’s carved from stone. They all fall quiet, and stare at him as he crosses the shop, slamming the door behind him. Nobody can find the words, and so they sit in silence, and when Patrick doesn’t look like he’s going to come back, things only get worse.
“I’m uh. Better go and get things ready at the club, then,” Gabe says awkwardly. He’s grateful when none of them point out the fact that it’s only midday, and he doesn’t need to be at the club until at least five.
In fact, as soon as he heads for the door, Bill and Travis get up and follow suit, and Frank watches them go before turning back to face the staff room door with a desperate look of helplessness on his face.
***
When Frank finishes his shift that night, he shuts off the lights and the fans, double-checks that the safe is locked, collects his bags and is out the door at the same time as Patrick. It doesn’t escape his notice that Patrick is moving slowly, untying his apron and pulling on his jacket with exaggerated movements. He turns to lock the door of the café behind them as Frank swings one leg over his bike, and then they both turn to look at each other in the same moment.
“Night, Frank,” Patrick says quietly, and Frank kicks the stand and pulls throttle, his eyes still on his boss. Patrick is showing no signs of moving, despite the fact that Frank knows by now, Patrick should be in his car and disappearing around the corner.
“Everything okay, ‘Trick?” he asks even though he knows he’s going to get a bullshit answer. As he suspected, Patrick just nods and tries to smile encouraging, and Frank slips his helmet on and resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” There’s really no point in arguing with him, not now.
Patrick waves, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder as Frank’s bike roars and he begins to move. For a second, Patrick starts walking in the other direction, like he’s going home. When Frank reaches the corner, he looks over his shoulder, and feels his heart plunging into his stomach when he sees Patrick turn around, open the shop back up quickly, and slip inside. For a moment, Frank considers stopping and going after him, offering up his place as somewhere to crash, but he knows that all he’ll receive from Patrick is indignant rejection. In the end, he continues on home, not able to throw the guilt.
Frank lives in a pretty crappy apartment building, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He parks his bike in the shared lot and grabs his bag, slipping inside and heading up the rickety staircase. He lives on one of the top floors, and he can hear his footsteps echoing through the corridor as he moves upwards, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Night Frank,” someone calls as he passes the balcony next door to his apartment. It’s the one he shares with the entire floor, and it’s small, barely enough room for two or three people. Frank rarely ventures out there; all in all, he doesn’t like spending much time at home at all.
He pauses, craning his neck to see out onto the balcony and smiles. The artist guy from next door - Frank thinks his name is Gerard but he’s not 100% - is grinning at him, hand lifted in a wave. Gerard has this crazy knack for remembering the name of everyone in the building, even though he looks like he forgets everything else. Right now, he’s standing out in the cold with one sock on his left foot, his right completely bare. His cheek is smeared with charcoal, which Frank attributes to the stick between his thumb and index finger. It’s almost used down to nothing, and Frank thinks it must be at the point where Gerard’s fingers scrape against the paper every time he draws. With just a look, Frank can tell that Gerard hasn’t showered or changed in a few days - his clothes are wrinkled and dirty, streaked with paint and charcoal and torn in places, and his hair looks rather like birds have taken up residence. Frank grins at him and waves back, because as addled and absent-minded as Gerard is, he’s probably the sweetest neighbour a guy could have.
“Long day at work?” Gerard calls as he sweeps charcoal across his already crammed canvas - why he’s drawing on the balcony Frank doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to ask.
“Not too bad,” Frank answers, and contemplates asking Gerard if he knows how to raise a couple hundred thousand dollars in order to save his boss from going bankrupt. Then he remembers the state of Gerard himself, and thinks the better of it.
“I’ve got an art exhibit next week, you should come.”
Frank doesn’t know whether inviting almost-strangers out to art exhibitions is common practice for Gerard, but he doesn’t stop to question it.
“Gonna sell anything?” he asks instead, and Gerard gives him a wry smile.
“That’s the plan.”
Frank’s phone rings just as he’s about to reply, and he digs it out of his pocket, holding up a finger to Gerard in a quick effort to excuse himself. “Hello?” he answers it without bothering to check the caller ID.
“Patrick’s sleeping at the shop, isn’t he?” Pete asks, and Frank doesn’t bother to ask why Pete’s asking him this now, or why he’s calling at all.
“Yeah, that’s what I gathered. You know he wouldn’t listen if I asked him to stay.”
He can hear Pete sigh from the other end of the line. “All right. I’ll offer again tomorrow, but I don’t know.”
“It’ll be fine, we’ll figure it out. We’ll come up with the money somehow, promise.” He doesn’t know who he’s trying to fool; he doesn’t particularly care.
When he says goodbye and hangs up the phone, Gerard is still watching him, head cocked to the side. “Financial problems?” he asks, like privacy doesn’t exist and it’s perfectly fine for him to stick his nose into Frank’s personal life. Frank doesn’t really mind that much. It’s not like Gerard’s the kind of guy to make fun of him or use it against him, and he gives off this vibe of openness, like you can tell him anything and he’ll listen and nod and offer advice without judging.
“A friend. He might lose his business.” Frank feels a sharp twinge of guilt, wondering whether it’s okay for him to divulge Patrick’s business, but it’s too late now, and Gerard is looking at him with thoughtful eyes.
“If the exhibit goes well, I promise I’ll help out.” Frank tries to cut him off - Gerard barely even knows Frank let alone Patrick, they can’t ask him for that kind of shit - but Gerard won’t hear it. “Hey. Gotta feel like I’m making a difference somewhere, right?”
And Frank can understand that, so he keeps quiet, takes a few quick steps forward so that he can clasp Gerard’s charcoaled hand in his own and nod. “Thank you so much, that’s more than we could even- I can’t believe- Just. Thanks, Gerard, really.”
Gerard looks pleased that Frank remembers his name if nothing else, and he squeezes Frank’s hand in response, smiling brilliantly. “I’m glad to help, Frank,” he says, and Frank makes a note to buy Gerard his own fucking art studio if he’s able to help Patrick in any way.
Gerard smiles at him again and lifts a hand in a short wave as Frank lets himself into his apartment, and Frank feels his heart warm at the knowledge that it’s people like Gerard who give him faith in humanity.
Part Five