Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lepidopterology has been one of Dr. Frank Frankly’s greatest interests ever since he was a young child. Once he learnt about the butterfly’s four stages of life in elementary school, Frank couldn’t help but become immersed in their incredible life cycles. Butterflies began as miniscule eggs attached to leaves, exposed to the elements on any kind of greenery that you’d find. Unless you’re explicitly searching for butterfly eggs, you wouldn’t see them with the naked eye as they’re rather tiny things. They eventually hatch into giant caterpillars - Howdy Pillar swears that he wasn’t a caterpillar in his past life, chowing on greens like no tomorrow. Caterpillars are soft, quickly molting to always accustom to their growing bodies as they’re delicate, small lifeforms. They eventually crystallize into gorgeous chrysalis, an eating machine deliberately resting after munching down leaves to transform their bodies into something much more beautiful - a butterfly.

To the average person, a butterfly is an annoying insect. A pest that constantly bugs the world around them, fluttering into people or landing on desserts.

In Frank’s eyes, butterflies are impeccable creatures deserving of humanity’s respect. Glittering, colorful scales decorating their wings in unique patterns - similar to how human beings have special fingerprints. No butterfly is the same, like how humans aren’t. Everyone is distinguishable, yet they’re able to recognize and scale certain identities down to a single fingerprint. It’s like how Frank categorizes butterflies by their wing patterns, their species, and everything else that makes them fascinating to him.

He sits at his wooden desk, peering over to his screen and formally answering his emails. Student papers are stacked neatly, organized into “not touched” and “graded & critiqued” categories as answering emails is just as enjoyable as reading their essays. Some of them could use some work, others barely turned everything in according to his criteria close to the due date - he offered a grace period, yet Frank’s students regarded him as a ‘total grouch.’ Frowning at all times, says things matter-of-factly, blunter than Wally’s palette knife.

Aside from his clean inbox and work-in-progress grading session, Frank is currently invested in something else - researching a new butterfly species that he discovered three years ago elsewhere. One trip to an unfamiliar location and Frank found a species nobody has seen before or heard of. Hell, Frank couldn’t recognize the patterns on the thing. A tropical butterfly with beautiful white wings and bright cerulean patterns similar to clouds. It has a special trait that discerns it from any other butterfly: neon pink hearts near its tips, almost glistening in the light. Nobody knows what adaptations this new species has, yet, and Frank is tasked to sort everything out seeing as he’s a trustworthy, credible lepidopterist amongst entomologists. Butterflies are his specialization, everything that gave him happiness as they symbolized change and freedom. Transformation. The human soul personified.

Frank inspected the butterfly’s wings, as seen in its photograph, and the close-ups of its face. Its adaptation has to be focused on temperature regulations, seeing as its species lives in a hot tropical climate. Humid, wet - ugh, memories of the stickiness clinging to his skin gradually return back to him. Frank keeps his mind off his past trip, reaching into his drawer to pull out his favorite pen. Before the professor begins writing some vital information into his leather journal, he’s startled by random knocking on his door and a deep voice shouting: “Delivery!”

He hadn’t heard this one before. An unknown stranger on his office doorstep, delivering a parcel. Was it the items he ordered last month? They finally arrived? Frank stands up, tightening his plush bowtie, and trots over to the door. He turns the brass knob, calmly opening it to reveal a taller man standing in front of him - a simpler description, really. Combed, fluffy red hair with prominent round sideburns, a gentle squared jawline befitting of an Olympian hero, and long eyelashes framing his pretty chestnut eyes. He’s wearing the usual mail carrier outfit given to people delivering from their campus post office, save for his rainbow-colored tie. Patterned like an ocean’s waves, giving off a mellow demeanor.

Frank raises his unibrow at the newcomer, then stares down at the box in his hands. Sheesh, it looks heavy . Not for this guy, though. He clears his throat, opening the door wider to question the mailman. “Is this for me? I didn’t think it’d come this early, seeing as the person I obtained these from is usually a fickle, pickle idiot about mailing stuff. I should’ve seen their reviews before daring to touch their page.”

The mailman reads off the box, “Are you Dr. Franklin Frankly, entomology professor of Gold Coast University?”

“Indeed. You may come in, I’ll need you to set the box down on my desk.” Frank glances behind him, double-checking to see if there’s an empty spot for it. “Right next to the lamp.”

His strong, soft-looking arms hold up the parcel as he walks towards Frank’s desk, careful to not knock over anything on the desk or bump his leg against the fancy-schmancy foot-rest in front of it. He sets it down all nice and gentle, patting the box and turning to Frank. “ Alright , that’s all. Is it fine if I ask something, cher? ”

Frank blinks, holding onto his signature frown as his hand is still latching onto the doorknob. “Speak. You can question if you’d like. This isn’t too confidential, you’re only a mailman.”

“What’s in the box?” He stares at Frank, rubbing behind his neck. “Considering how you wanted me to set it down for you, it’s gotta be something fragile.”

Frank retorts, arms crossed. “And why are you asking?”

The chunky mailman shrugs, unbothered by Frank’s accusatory tone. “Curiosity. I’m not someone who’s usually interested in science, buuuuuut…” 

His eyes look around Frank’s office, gathering details about what entomology could be and maybe, the deeper parts of Frank’s still-young career. Is he able to even figure everything out by analyzing it all? 

“Your decorations are nice,” he continues. “You’re one of those insect guys, right? A scientist that looks at those. Your package said you’re an entomologist, so I assume that’s what you study.”

Frank answers, shutting the door. “That’s what I am regarding my doctorate. Specifically, I study lepidopterology.”

“Lepi… Lepidopterology? Funny words. What’s that supposed to mean, professor?”

“The study of butterflies. Look, shouldn’t you be going somewhere? ”

Bulky Mailman responds back, kind and polite. “Not really. My shift is practically over, seeing as I’ve delivered your package and the mailing bag is finally empty.” 

He shakes it in front of Frank, revealing there’s not a single thing left in there. Not an envelope or a box. Nada. “See? I’m all good to go tonight! You don’t mind a chat or two while I’m here anyways, right?”

Frank stares at him, tugging on his vest sleeves and sighing. “Of course. If this means I have an opportunity to practice discussing what’s inside them before anyone else asks.”

The lanky Frank - not exactly slim or lanky, he’s rather average - sits down back in his chair, clearing his desk for more space as he places the cardboard box in the center. His entire office address, full name, and tracking number listed for all to see. As a mental note, Frank should absolutely use his nickname rather than his full legal name this time. He keeps forgetting to do that, but hearing someone speak ‘Franklin’ and it’s a voice he doesn’t know! It agitates him.

“I’m not a professor, by the way. I’m a doctor.” Frank opens his drawer, taking out a butterfly knife to slice open the box. He gestures for his visitor to have a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, lavish seating only available due to how much Frank spends on thrifting over the years. A silent thanks for the advice on saving money, Poppy.

Frank watches as the new campus mailman (there were only three of them prior to this guy’s arrival) takes a seat in the chair in front of him. Struggling to sit down with his thick frame, barely managing as he had to remove the pillow and set it down on his lap. As the mailman sets his feet down on the opulent leather rest, he’s finally comfortable enough to listen to Frank’s explanations and he continues to ramble.

“These,” he begins, “are not decorations, rather - they’re important material needed for research and to display examples for my students. As you can tell, these are authentic. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bought them.”

“Oh, really?”, the mailman coos. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Entomology is one of those studies, isn’t it? Pardon my rudeness, I’m interested in what you have to say!”

A nervous laugh comes from the mailman, almost like he’s close to tearing up from Frank’s eternal frown.

Frank sighs, holding up two taxidermy frames in his hands. “You’re fine. If you were bothering me, I’d kick you out by now. Returning to the topic at hand, these are taxidermy frames containing butterfly specimens and they’re older ones unlike the recent frames in my collection. As you can see, there are multiple species displayed inside them: vanessa atalanta , the iconic danaus plexippus , erynnis icelus , morpho menelaus …”

“They’re older specimens as these are taxidermies that are at least a hundred years old. There could be more that go much further if I happened to track them down…”

The man before him whispers a small ‘ wow ’ before speaking up again, crisscrossing his legs. “Golly, I didn’t think they went for a hundred years. You’d think their fragility would make them last for a few months or so, cher. Say - is it because they’re framed?”

“That’s correct.” Frank taps the glass with his finger. “Air exposure leads to decay and these are preserved specimens, meaning that they shouldn’t make contact with air for long. They would last for ten years, at least five as air-tight spaces are the only way to keep them all intact.”

“Interesting! All of this good effort, to have them out for the world to see…” He’s smiling, lips closed to prevent a toothy grin from sneaking by. Man’s close to doing so, hearing Frank passionately talk about insects and butterflies. “Why do you like butterflies so much? I’m only asking because, you know… ”

Frank’s unibrow furrows some more, confused. “What in the world do you mean by that?”

And he points at Frank’s giant bowtie, sitting front and center for everyone to see paired with his vintage sweater vest. “That looks an awful lot like a butterfly and you know what? I love it…”

Frank blinks once more, relaxing his shoulders as he still holds up the frames. He gradually sets them down on his desk, gaze averted to hide his quivering frown as he also closes his eyes. Thankfully, nobody’s able to see him blush. “Ah - uhm - is that so? Thank you, I picked it out myself.”

His high-pitched voice lowers to a strained whisper, barely audible. “ I did not mean for that to happen. It was not intentional… ”

The Cordial Mailman finally gives Frank a toothy grin, showing off his pearly whites. Those things are grinders, but they can’t compare to Howdy’s smile. He reminds Frank of a caterpillar, whilst the man before him seems more like an Adonis Blue. 

Obviously, he didn’t hear Frank so his deep voice talks and it rumbles through his bones, moving like the sea instead than Poseidon's earthquakes. “It’s no problem. I can enjoy good accessories when I see them!”

Frank doesn’t nod, scoffing at the compliment. He’s close to losing his marbles in the middle of his own office, he’s not used to endearing comments and conversations with anyone that isn’t Julie. Their friendship dates back to their middle school years - a pair of dorky best friends talking about the things they love, staying at each other’s homes. Frank would hear Julie say, ‘I love what you did with your hair! It’s better than the last style!’ and ‘You’re fashionable and functional, Frankie! Those shoes bring out the color in your clothes!’ 

No matter what Julie said, he’d accept her words and take them in great stride. What this stranger says, he can’t exactly absorb with pride just yet . 

Unlike a butterfly, he’s not ready for changes. He’s not prepared nor will he be ready to break his routine.

Frank takes out the study journals that laid underneath his brand new old frames, grabbing them in his hands and stacking them. He heeds with caution, meticulous to not drop them onto the floor in fear of accidentally destroying them or causing unnecessary damage to antiquated material. He needed these for a class discussion next week, an example of the work placed into entomology and its research. A way to show how essays can be done without changing personal writing styles.

The lepidopterology professor lightly pushes back his chair, moving away from the desk and towards the muted green bookshelves on the right. He doesn’t touch any of the souvenirs or photographs hanging off the thicker pillars, searching for his designated shelf for important journals and documents…

Ah, there it is! Frank tries placing two of them on his bookshelf at once, fingers slipping from the beefy amount of pages that caused his hands to shake. He nearly yelps, knocking over an old pocket-watch sitting on the shelf - maybe, past Frank shouldn’t have placed it there. Prioritizing the journals, he couldn’t pay attention to the watch and that is when the new mailman made a swift save.

He intervened quickly, leaping away from his seat to grab the watch by its silver chain. His giant hands held onto the pocket-watch with a firm grip, handing the poor antique over to Frank in his hand. Standing right in front of him, relatively close to where Frank makes direct eye contact with his chest and up towards his kind gaze. 

Frank brushes his one bang away, unable to find the exact words to thank him. He exaggerates his grimace, appearing silly instead of displeased and anyone can tell Frank doesn’t mean to be overly grumpy if he’s forcing it like right now. He drops the watch back in the mailman’s hand, his right palm pushing his giant hand back, sincerity in his voice. “You can have it. I can live without owning a pocket watch, there are plenty back at my home I can replace it with.”

Allowing a stranger to have his pocket-watch? Suddenly, Frank can hear Julie giggling about how peculiar he’s acting. That’s not the Frank Frankly she knows!

He observes with a side-eyed glance, seeing the other’s cheeks glow makes him somewhat jubilant for whatever reason. Frank doesn’t have the time to decipher his feelings tonight. 

“It’s mine…?”, he grins. “Thank you so much. I haven’t retrieved a gift in a long time! I’ll take care of your watch, now that I own it.”

Frank snorts, turning around to where Sir Mailman That Warps His Heart can see his side. “Of course. Besides, it’s getting late and I’m frankly tired. Shouldn’t you be off elsewhere, sir? ”

“It’s about seven already, isn’t it? Oh dear.” He heads for the door, pocketing the watch in his mail-bag. Do the mail carriers here actually own and pay for their bags? Gold Coast is generous for a smaller university. Once the exit swings open, his cherubic face turns one last time and glances towards Frank. With a compassionate smile, he waves goodbye and shuts the door. Footsteps echoing in the hallway before fading away altogether. 

One minute passes, a second and a third. Frank relaxes his tense shoulders, loosening them as he lets out a frustrated sigh. He wasn’t expecting to talk during office hours, nonetheless, to someone he hadn’t seen around campus before. It’s relieving to talk about the things he loves to people he doesn’t know, ramble off about his favorite butterflies and the various meanings behind them. How butterflies grow and change from an egg to a breathing art.

In a way, Wally would understand. Except, he’d say we’re humans and not butterflies. Two different beings. 

And he’s right, too - Frank isn’t a butterfly, he’s a human who can’t metamorphosize. Yet, it feels like he is. Thinking of the mailman’s comforting smile, his smooth & deep voice, soft gestures, and sensitive heart. He genuinely listened to everything Frank said and wanted to ask questions. He expressed interest and showed it!

Frank spares another glance at his office door, heading over to his clothing rack and grabbing his favorite jacket. He stares at the hand that was grabbed and held onto, softening at the thought of holding them again.

He needed to know more about this man. Who he is, where he came from. What does he like? What is something he does for fun? Is he willing to hear more from him?

Julie says he needs to open up about his feelings more, after all.

Chapter Text

Late afternoons are the coldest in Brooklyn. Frank merges with the crowd, sticking out through his vibrant outfit courtesy of his individual fashion tastes and recommendations. He understands how to dress to where so-called fashion critics wince and groan at his choices. Minimalism is considered somewhat popular in professional fields, to where corporate dimwits seek to remove humanity from everything they touch. In his hand is a pocket encyclopedia and Frank’s wearing a  butterfly-patterned scarf wrapped around his neck. Reading saved him multiple times - in the city’s underground subway system, you can never tell what’d happen in the cars when you’re inside them. 

He turns a street and then another, grunting. Company employees running late bumping into his shoulder, frantically apologizing to him on his way to work. Inattentive people on the sidewalk minding their own business, oblivious to their surroundings as they’re distracted by phone calls. Frank took a brisker stride, heading straight down the road to eventually reach a bright flower shoppe nestled in a tight space between two skyscrapers.

Brooklyn’s last remaining tulip sprouting in the cracks, its childish logo sprawled out in extravagant letters: The Joyful Jubilee. 

Frank steps inside, refreshed by the floral scent in the air. The doorbell above rings - it’s actually a painted brass cowbell with flowers and butterflies. A courtesy gift provided by Poppy, after she opened her farmhouse-themed bakery from down the street. (He’d never forget how delicious Poppy’s cupcakes were on her opening day - a charming batch!) Frank adjusts his striped double-trimmed coat, straightens out his bowtie, and yells into the store.

“I have arrived for the flowers, Julie!” Frank’s voice echoes throughout the flower shoppe, ringing the air. He steps away from the glass door, considerate about staying out of other peoples’ way - she has other customers and Frank wouldn’t want to disrupt her business. Waiting, he studies the flowerbed decorating Julie’s store - carnations, roses, alliums, lantanas, gardenias… Everything Julie loves seeing involves nature’s beauties, her love for a vibrant world alleviates many peoples’ troubles alongside his own in the concrete jungle of New York City. 

He waits and waits. Shuffling is heard in the tiny greenhouse further back, then the back door swings open and Julie reveals herself underneath fluorescent lights. Her usual hairdo is styled into a thick braid resting around her neck, on top of her shoulder. Iridescent hoop earrings change color depending on their angle and the multi-colored apron she’s wearing as opposed to the typical overalls he’d associate with a gardener. Julie is a talented botanist with impeccable fashion tastes that can be described as ‘Julie.’ Even one of his students was surprised to discover he knew Julie ever since his junior high years: moving from Yorktown, settling into the Big Apple. 

Alone, overwhelmed, stressed. Meeting Julie pulled him out of a perpetual state of disassociation, hearing her laugh and smile. Her vivid imagination coating the walls and floors of her store, everything on the walls is self-painted with Wally’s help to add character to a previously drab building. Exaggerated movements to contrast Frank’s calm gestures, her energetic shower of playfulness paired with his tranquil dab of grumpiness. Julie tried making him smile a couple of times when they were younger and to her delightfulness - she succeeded by taking him to the Butterfly Conservatory on his thirteenth birthday and they’ve been close ever since. 

Julie is Julie and Frank couldn’t be any happier around her. When she waves, he waves back with a quiet greeting and almost smiles. It’s natural for him to frown, less exhausting than grinning all the time like a certain painter. 

“Frankie! Franklin!!! Frank - !!!”, shouts Julie as she sprints in front of him. “ Oh my gosh , I didn’t think you’d come!”

Frank exposes his palms, shoulders slumping. “You know I never intend to be late or forget to arrive on time, Julie. It would be uncharacteristic of me, nonetheless, you gave me an exact time and I came.”

Julie beams, exposing her joyful pearls. “Ahaha, ohhhh! I know, Frankie! There’s nobody else more on-time than you are - except for Sally, she’s awfully strict about those things! It has to be both enjoyable and frustrating for her to be promoted to stage director.”

She tilts her head, blinking at Frank. “I wonder how she’s been…”

Frank huffs into his hands, warming them up. “As good as she has always been, I presume. Now, I would rather have this done as soon as possible…”

“Oh, yeah! Your flowers!” Julie swivels her head to the backroom again, turning on her heel. “Uhm, hold on! I think I have them all nice and prepared for you!”

Julie sprints out of the main area, slamming the back door open to grab his order and run back to him. In her hands is an ivory white vase containing the most precious lavenders he’s ever seen. Julie’s handiwork never disappoints. She sets it down on the store counter, pulling out an eco-friendly bag and placing his flowers inside. 

The botanist-florist-gardener (as Julie calls herself, graduating as a botanist with hobbies in caring for flowers) hands the bag over to Frank, who takes it from her immediately.

She stretches her arms up in the air, grinning. “That’s all, then! We’ve got that taken care of, and I’d like to say sorry for calling you in the middle of class! I keep forgetting you hold morning lectures on Wednesdays…”

Frank pats her shoulder, retaining his scowl. “You are fine, Julie. Everyone’s prone to forgetting things they don’t think too much about. You don’t think often.”

“Like how you think too much?” Julie giggles, unable to hold back her enthusiasm. “Frankie! It’s not like I don’t think at all!”

Frank replies, “You’re impulsive… and most importantly, I worry too much about you! Ms. Julie Joyful is always running around!”

“Running around and making people smile! Besides, I think a lot!” She walks behind the front counter, pulling out the stool and sitting on top of it. “I think about Barnaby’s punchlines, I think about how many pigeons are in front of the store today, I look at the sky and think how beautiful it’d be with a rainbow!”

Julie points at Frank, pouting. “And I think about how you’re doing, most of the time! Holed up in your office or teaching your students all about butterflies! Whatever I think of that’s on my mind, I’m smiling no matter what!”

“You smile when upset, too?” Frank raises his unibrow, pressing his elegant palm on the counter. “Ah, forget it. I cannot say that when I have known you for a decade and a half at this point! Regardless, these flowers -”

He lifts the bag upon mentioning them. “- will help with raising my butterflies. The sixteenth generation is going smoothly and I shall raise them with the same care as ever.”

Julie pipes up, leaning forward. “Speaking of your butterflies - how’s Hermes and Psyche? Are the lavenders for them, too?”

“Well, yes.” Frank clears his throat, twirling his free hand around. “You see, Hermes and Psyche are Painted Ladies, they’re the most widespread species in the entire world seen throughout multiple - if not, all - continents. I’ve taken a considerate amount of care of them already, as they should be migrating south soon.”

“Because it's getting colder?” Julie glances to her left, up at the ceiling. Thinking of butterflies and how long they take to move. How far they travel, occasionally stopping for rest. “I guess, they’d want to stay warm. The cold wouldn’t be good for their wings…”

“Precisely. The autumn season is when they migrate, however I picked up Hermes and Psyche to bring them back to full health and release them later this week. They can still reach the south in time, if you acknowledge how fast Painted Ladies are.”

“I’d be faster than a butterfly if I had my rollerblades!”, she chortled. “Howdy’s as fast as those butterflies, too! Have you seen him restock his shelves? The bodega cats love how much work he places into each nook and cranny of his shop!”

Oh, Howdy. Frank recalls how many arms he has, despite having only two. He has enough speed and manpower to carry his entire bodega by himself, constantly on top of his inventory and ordering supply. It’s no wonder why his bodega's developed into a popular meeting place for everybody within their group, Mr. Howdy Pillar has everything you could need and want right on his shelves. Now, if Frank was able to pet one of his bodega cats without the poor things being intimidated by him… or, it was his bad luck with cats.

Typical Frank. He mumbles inaudible things, speaking his thoughts to arrange them right in front of his best friend. That’s when he had an idea - something he’d bring up earlier if it wasn’t for the flowers themselves.

“Julie? Do you have a couple more minutes to talk? If not, I can leave. You have flowers to care for and a shop to run.”

She puckers her lips, smiling from ear to ear. “Sure thing, Frankie! Anything for you! I mean the shop’s closing in three - so, I doubt anyone else’s gonna come in. What’s this about, then? Student troubles? Is that one kid bothering you again?!”

“If you are talking about the one who tried to prank me during notes, I assure you, they were taken care of.” Frank places his bag down on the counter, reluctant to accidentally spill its contents. “This is about my campus mailman.”

Julie whistles, bending closer to meet Frank’s eyes. “What, really?! I see, I see - what about him? Are you here for romantic advice, Frankie? ”

Frank mouths his answer, then stammers. “I - You are fantastic at reading people, Julie. Sometimes, that horrifies me. I would like you to know that.”

“Heehee, thanks!” Julie exclaims, giggling in raptures. She spins around on her stool, back to Frank as she bends down and looks at him upside-down. Her astonishingly-long braid slips itself all over the rose quartz surface, blonde hair close to unraveling as the bow is rather loose. “So, like - what? Are you looking into a relationship with him? Do you wanna kiss the mailman? Gee, you’re trying too hard not to laugh!”

Frank huffs, twisting his heel. “Yes. Ugh, look… Like how I cannot stop thinking of the wing patterns of butterflies or why they continue to change - I absolutely cannot think of anyone else but him. It has been non-stop, since the day he arrived in my office for the first time, and it’s… it’s… ”

Julie sticks her tongue out, watching Frank cradle his head in his hands and have a good ol’ matter-of-fact crisis. “It’s your heart telling you that you’re in love, Frankie! Think about it - you and the mailman, going out together! I can’t say much, yet… I don’t know a single thing about him! So, c’mon.”

She sits back up again, taking out a pair of thick-rimmed, lens-less glasses from her apron pocket to put them on. “Tell me all about him, Frankie! What’s he like?”

“You want me to - Fine, Julie.” Frank stops, holding back from his usual grumpiness to speak with utmost honesty. More truthful than he typically is, never holding back the details. There’s a bit of hesitation, but they share each others’ trust and he knows that it’s impossible for her to figure out who he is based on description alone. 

Or so, he thinks.

“He is an enigma, it’s hard to not look at him every time we cross paths. I have no idea where he came from, the way he speaks throttles my heart, and his voice is… soft, pillowy.” Frank spreads his fingers, sighing once he feels ice-cold nail polish being applied. “Is this matte?”

The peppy botanist responds, nodding. “Yuh-huh! You can continue!”

“Of course, you have nail polish on hand. If you cannot tell already, yes - I am in love with him. When I see him walking around, he acts sophisticated - noble, even. Lending his help to those in need of it, speaking with the staff, cleaning up trash laid about from our… late-night partiers.”

Frank places another hand in front of Julie, allowing her to paint them as well. “He delivers letters to my office and waves as I unlock it. At times, we chat and have small-talk before he leaves. He is a distraction whenever I teach, too.”

“Uh-huh! So, you can’t stop thinking about him? Of him?!” Julie blurts, leaping in her seat. “Wait, how long have you known this guy?”

Frank furrows his eyebrows, more than they already are. “As of now? A few days, three weeks. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing!”, she tilts her head to the right. “What’s his name?”

He opens his mouth, holding his tongue and searching for any memory of hearing it before. Frank presses it to the roof, biting his lower lip and frowning. “Ah, he never - I didn’t ask for his name. How impolite… ”

“You can ask him next time, silly! ” Julie fans his hands, applying the quick-dry finish. It’s waterproof, so it’d last longer. “There’s gonna be a next time for as long as he’s working there! You’re within the same area at work, you’re talking with him - how hard can it be?”

Frank cranes his neck down, not convinced. “Harder than grading midterms.”

“Oh, you’re smitten by him!” Julie laughs, re-screwing the caps on her bottles. “One day, you’re gonna find him standing with you. Side-by-side, and you’re gonna look at him, eye-to-eye… You’ll whisper…”

The professor pushes himself away from the counter, picking up his bag. “It will be difficult. Gold Coast is already notorious for having gossipy students and we never went there for our degrees. That is how hard it will be, when several of them are highly perceptive and worm their way through hints to piece together a narrative.”

“It’s tragic.” Frank finishes, grumbling under his breath. He heads straight for the front door, gripping the handlebar and glancing back to his joyful best friend. “You should tidy the shop and officially close. I shall head home. Hermes and Psyche are waiting for their new flowers and I cannot have them wait any longer.”

“Okay!” Julie waves her hand goodbye, smiling. “Stay safe, Frankie! I’ll be here when you need me!”

Frank waves back, leaving with the cowbell ringing behind him. She watches from her counter stool, humming by herself - alone. Amidst the store’s silence, Julie builds a brand new plan in her mind that’d certainly bring Frank peace and hope for his future endeavors in romance!

“I can’t do this alone…”, she whisper-shouts. “I’m gonna need tons of help from my neighbors!”

On this day, Julie Joyful declares herself as Frank Frankly’s unofficial-official-secret wingman and she’ll help him gain a boyfriend!

Chapter Text

Tonight, Frank has finally learned his visitor’s name: Eddie Dear. He’s sitting down on the fleur-de-lis patterned seat next to Frank, long eyelashes adorning his eyes and dark freckles glazed all over his cheeks. Eddie says he isn’t from New York City, as it’s obvious from his rumbling Cajun accent. He journeyed from his hometown of New Orleans to New York searching for work, wishing to experience the East Coast and live there as meeting new people is what drives him to travel. Settling in the Big Apple has, in his own words, been difficult as he’s not all-too familiar with the streets and the underground subways. Transportation in New Orleans involves buses and streetcars as its swampy grounds are unfit for digging, burying, and everything else that involves construction. It’s why their graves are aboveground and their homes never had basements. 

Throughout the rest of the week, Eddie Dear arrives at Frank's office right on time to talk and if he’s busy having a discussion with his students, he’s waiting patiently outside. He doesn’t block the window view, passing the time by looking at his wrist-watch or watching adorable cat videos on his phone. In many ways, Eddie enchants Frank - for one, he constantly asks questions and has a curious mind and for two, it turns out Eddie has an otherworldly talent that makes him fit for being a mailman.

Eddie has trouble recalling the names of places he’s been, where he’s exactly from in Louisiana - How did he recall he’s from New Orleans? Eddie explains he calls his mother when he can’t remember where , and has it written down in his notes. It’s hard for him to remember on the fly. Sometimes, Eddie explains during his travels that he stumbled into countryside towns and lent his help on whatever they required. Farms, restaurants, mail delivery, unusual fetch quests. Whenever Frank listens in, he catches onto how the names don’t sound like they exist. They’re typically all made up by Eddie’s jumbled memories, yet his experiences sound real and Frank doesn’t push; either they do exist with made-up names or they happened to not exist on the map at all.

And yet, Eddie is an innate navigator who doesn’t need to use a GPS. He can memorize street names and entire maps, memorizes details and addresses, and the issues surrounding his selective memory bank revolves around names . Eddie has mistaken Brooklyn for Queens, the Bronx for Staten Island, switched names here and there with Washington and Washington D.C. His ears quickly turn red when Frank points out his mistakes, ending with Eddie’s quick apology as he corrects himself during conversation.

If Eddie wasn’t a mailman, Frank thinks, he would’ve been suitable for being a commercial pilot or a cartographer. Maybe a taxi driver. But, who calls for taxis these days when Uber and Lyft are dominating the ride-hailing industry these days? 

Frank finished grading essays a long time ago, one giant stack towering over his desk. The only reason it appears stable is due to a medium-sized pebble sitting on top of it with a painted smiley face. An old gift from Julie that he still kept, even after he was given the little thing. He keeps his eyes on Eddie after he finishes explaining, studying his heartfelt smile and the dimples on his cheeks. 

“Mr. Dear?” Frank presses his lips together, thinking of a better way to phrase this. Well, it’s better for him to be Frank . “You have all the skill to become anything you would like. You could fly a plane, draw maps, drive a ship, and travel the globe. Why, of all things, did you become a mailman?”

Eddie leans down, palm to his beating heart. “Well, my mother owned a post office years before I was born. Still does! When I was younger, I looked up to her. Delivering mail is an important part of keeping a community together. You can buy stamps and send mail, connect to family and friends…”

He runs hefty fingers through his cherry red hair, rambling. “Mail can reach all types of people in the world, too. International penpals can share their lives through letters, you can have one delivered to you from who you were years ago. You can leave letters in bottles or inside books… We might live in an age where everyone’s connected with fancy-schmancy technology and all, but a hand-written letter comes from the heart and it’ll live on forever and never truly die .”

Frank reaches for the water bottle on his round table, taking a sip. “You traveled far from home to live in New York and deliver mail here?”

“It’s working out so far!” Eddie breathes in the office’s biblichor, tasting its faint earthy vanilla on his tongue. “Mail delivery’s a noble job in a world full of porch pirates and carjackers. I wanted to own a post office just like her, but I have to start small first. That’s why I’m here! Nothing is smaller than Gold Coast University.”

“You are a humble man, Eddie. Did you know that?” Frank observes, folding his warm terracotta hands. “Delivery is arduous work and I respect you for the effort you have placed into it.”

Eddie blushes, twinkling. “Awh, you don’t have to say that! Dr. Frankly, you’re too kind… It’s the only job I’ve wanted to do, aside from - well…”

“The local craft store back home, but they shut down before I was old enough to apply…” He bows his head, reminiscing. “I couldn’t go there anymore, and it’s sad to think about. It’s where I always got my paper for origami…”

“Ah, I’m…” Frank plants a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, rubbing him. “Sorry about that. I would not know what to do if the Butterfly Garden closed down. It’s understandable you followed your dreams, Mr. Dear. Delivering mail or crafts, I am glad you went for mail.”

“Heh, yeah.”

Frank stares at Eddie, and then to the paper animals decorating the rest of his table space. Cats, cranes, dogs, chickens, and frogs. He focuses on a violet dove seated front and center, standing out from the rest, and back to Eddie’s admiration-filled face. “Your hobby in paper-crafting and origami takes a lot of time and patience, does it not? One of my students is an artist, yet I barely know a thing about the arts. Tell me, when did your interest start?”

“Oh, it’s a long story!” Eddie leans back in his seat, happy to indulge. “Originally, I wasn’t interested in crafting and doing things with paper. I was bored at Mom’s post office, I was dragged along to her workplace since she couldn’t afford to hire a babysitter or ask my Uncle to stop by when he was busy operating the bar. Doesn’t help that I'm her only kid.”

Eddie grabs another paper square (this time, it’s pink) and he steadily folds it into a perfect heart. “I’d take printer paper from the desk and fold it into shapes. Glue things to form animals. Staple and stamp everything so it’d look all tacky. Mom saw and thought I was quite the artist!”

“I can imagine what sorts of creations you’d make as a child,” says Frank, taking a square for himself to try and fold an origami crane by following what he’s learnt from Eddie. He folds the paper in diagonally, unfolds, folds diagonally again… 

The professor curses underneath his breath, leaning back and looking up at Eddie. “Drats. The way you do origami eludes me.”

“Have you done it before?”

“Similar,” he presses his lips together. “A friend taught me how to fold a paper plane. It was a one-time only thing, since she wanted to throw planes around the cafeteria. Usually, I could never dream of participating in her games. She took the time to explain to me how to make one out of her notebook paper and then we threw them around.”

Eddie chuckles, beginning to hum. “Oh, Dr. Frankly… Engaging in mischief. What happened?”

“We were caught and given after-school detention for the day. It was the only infraction that stained my record until graduation.” Frank snorts. “No person cared about one case of misbehavior after seeing my grades. Rockefeller accepted my application without mentioning it.”

“You were young! It makes sense why they’d take you in, anyways.” Eddie glances down at Frank’s attempt at a crane, whistling. “So, what’s that supposed to be?”

“A crane.” Frank side-eyes, feeling awkward. “You can tell papercrafts are not my strength.”

“I get it! Let me show you how to do one again, okay? This time, a bit more slowly.”

Eddie takes a dandelion yellow square, folding diagonally and unfolding. He folds it again, unfolding, folding, flipping the paper over, continuing to fold until its shape transforms into a recognizable form: a near-perfect crane. Save for the nicked corner on one of its wing tips. An imperfection that could only be made by a human being. 

“See?”, he smiles. “It’s an easy fold. Nothing like… let’s say, a gift box or a pencil holder.”

Frank sets down his square, arms crossed. “Are you trying to gloat in my office, Mr. Dear?”

“ Alors pas , I wouldn’t dream of it! I don’t like bragging, Frank.” Eddie shifts in his chair, opening his arms. “It’s a hurtful thing to do, and hurting people isn’t what I like to do. I don’t mean to. ”

Frank’s expression changes, raising his unibrow and slumping his shoulders - oh, a misunderstanding of the century. He clears his throat, muttering an audible apology as he places icy cold hands on Eddie’s hairy ones. They sit together in mutual silence, gazing into each other’s eyes and communicating through them. It takes a while for one of them to break the uneasy silence with Eddie’s gentle voice reassuring Frank.

“You’re okay, it’s alright. Look, Dr. Frankly, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re just… honest, but I didn’t hear a single drip of hatred when you spoke. Guess what?” Eddie leans against the side of his chair, his wide frame almost denting the arm-rest. “I prefer it when people are open and honest about their feelings. No matter how brutal.”

“Truly…?”, whispers Frank.

Eddie nods, rearranging his hands to where he’s interlaced with Frank’s. He holds them up all high and kind in the air, grinning when Frank lightens at his earnestness. “If I were, I wouldn’t be trying to go out of my way to come here and talk with you right now.”

“Again, you’re good!” Eddie releases Frank’s palms, he’s glowing . “Now that we’ve cleared that up… We shouldn’t talk about me all night, it gets overwhelming when I spew everything out at once. I want to hear about you, cher . How’s your day been?”

“Oh joy.” It’s like Frank is back to his typical self, albeit, tired. He pinches the bridge of his nose, collapsing into his seat. “I can talk about many things that happened today. But, I would rather not. It has been fine, thank you for asking.”

“Are you talking about last night’s fraternity party?” Eddie snickers, maintaining eye contact. “I had to deliver tons of boxes to them yesterday morning. They contained solo cups and speakers from what I was told, not so sure about the other things. Didn’t think to ask.”

Eddie scratches his forehead, shrugging. “Did they blast any music?”

“Yes, and I was lucky to have avoided the noise last night. I cannot say the same for my fellow professors.” Frank steepled his fingers, bending down to take another sip of his water bottle. “It is a staple among our students to party - Gold Coast is notorious for being a party school, rowdier and louder than Colgate’s. Somehow, in some way, we have overtaken the lists as number one when it comes to online ranks.”

“Quite ridiculous.” Frank sighs. “Even Wally’s kindergarteners are more polite and invested in their schoolwork than the young adults studying here.”

“You already sound fifty, cher.” Eddie laughs, scratching his neck. “Keep it up, and you’ll sprout gray hairs.”

The entomologist crinkles his nose and unibrow, giving Eddie a half-smile. “People find salt-and-pepper hair attractive.”

“So, what if I do?” retorts Eddie - he holds his breath, about to say something else until Frank’s sneer caught his attention. Oh, oops. He bites his lip, untwisting his tongue and rubbing behind his neck in a sheepish manner.

“You are in luck.” Frank grins, holding back his own laughter. “I am not getting gray hairs any time soon, but if I happen to see some… You will be told as soon as possible.”

Eddie covers his mouth with both hands, slipping them down to giggle and shuffle his feet over Frank’s immaculate carpet. “Oh my. Thank you then, Future Frank.”

His shuffling halts the instant Eddie recalls something from earlier, head tilting to the left. “Say, Frank - who’s Wally? A friend of yours?”

“I would say he is an acquaintance.” Frank points his feet inwards, frowning. “We have gotten closer as of late. I have known him since high school and I was surprised to discover he was hired as a kindergarten teacher. Wally always talks about how much he loves his students, gushing about their art and whatever they have done in the homeroom.”

“So, he does teach kindergarten…”, ponders Eddie as he cranes his neck forward. “What else does he do, aside from teaching?”

“Art.” Frank crosses his legs, scratching his chin. “He has raw talent and potential touched by the world around him. His inspirations involve the lives of people and our communities, his friends, and Wally does not resist the urge to paint when he finds a spark. Wally’s paintings have complicated themes, but it is all rooted in innocence and the shared love humanity has for each other.”

Recalling a time where he and the rest of the group were invited to an art exhibit about Wally’s artworks, held in opalescent frames and protected by clean varnish. He stood around inside his third-floor exhibit, not sitting on a stool or hanging out like the other artists, Wally stood and watched visitors tour through his gallery without daring to blink. Others thought he was a wax statue or a performance artist before Wally corrected someone about the type of paints he used - never did he use acrylics for his paintings, it was gouache and oil pastel. 

Wally is a particular man, a kindergarten teacher, and an experimental artist whose abstract paintings have all sorts of meanings to ponder on. He doesn’t talk much about the meanings, only the subjects, and Frank couldn’t help noticing the underlying horror that devoured his venting pieces. He still showed them off at the exhibit, which is something Frank found surprising. Wally refused to discuss them or the subjects, preferring to remain quiet. His deeper personal life is mysterious to everyone who knows him and Wally Darling prefers to keep it that way.

Eddie coos, “He sounds complicated. That’s not a bad thing, it means he has depth.”

“Right. You know what else? Wally takes apples from his students every morning. I visited once to teach his kids about butterflies. That has to be one of my favorite lectures - their child-like curiosity and wonders about the world is unmatched and they were enthusiastic to learn.” Frank smiles again, taking a seat pillow to cuddle. “Then, I took one look at his desk. Apples. Multiple apples on his desk, not one or two, I am talking about ten. Eleven. Rows of the worst apple in existence and he does not eat them.”

“What kind?” Eddie’s drawl drags out when he asks. “Does Johnny Appleseed love his Mcintoshes?”

“Red Delicious - ugh.” Frank furrows his unibrow, finger snapping. “He is obsessed, I tell you. Taking rows of them on his desk to stare at. They are collected on his desk more times than I can count.”

“Good for him!”, exclaims Eddie who puffs out his chest. “As long as he’s not eating the poor things. They’re too waxy and mealy for my tastes. All looks, no substance. Every time I think of an apple, I try my darnest not to think ‘Red Delicious!’ and, yet, it’s everywhere. ”

Frank hums, lifting his chin. “What is your favorite apple, hm?”

“The Pink Lady! Yup, it’s… sweet, fizzy fresh, juicy .” Eddie adjusts his rainbow-colored tie, licking his soft lips. “Like, whoo! It’s a mighty strong apple. How about yours?”

Frank holds on talking about his favorite, eyes narrowing as he thought long and hard about what kind of apple-based fruit he likes to snack on. The moment Frank settles on an answer, he speaks.

“Northern Spy. I am not a fan of sweet apples. Now, when they are tart - I can enjoy them at a reasonable pace. … It is also great in apple pies.”

Eddie expected that he’d have an answer like that. “That’s a new one for me. I hadn’t heard of anyone choosing the Northern Spy as their favorite and not `cause of the name.”

He taps his chin, interested. “Where’d you get your apple pies?”

“Ah, another one of my friends owns a bakery in Brooklyn. Her name is Poppy, and she is the kindest, gentlest soul in New York. … Despite the fact, she is not the best at handling things on her own. It is incredible how she runs a successful business and is able to add a hint of love to each of her personal recipes.”

Frank sniffs the air, thinking of the fresh pastry smell from Poppy’s bakery. “Poppy does not care for perfection, so each of her treats are flawed and it is why her cooking is a regular staple. Sometimes, I come over to help on day-offs. She cannot do everything alone at all times.”

“I think I might’ve passed her place before.” Eddie nods, planting an elbow on the arm-rest. “It doubles as a café, too - yeah?”

“You might have seen the name on your way through. Partridge Pastries is what it is called.”

“I definitely might’ve. Maybe, maybe not.” Eddie reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out his smartphone - encased in My Melody's pastel pink. He opens the Notes app, typing the name in and reminds himself in all lowercase to come here when he’s free from work. “I’ll try and remember it for later. I’d like to check it out. … Actually, that reminds me.”

Frank raises his unibrow again, blinking. “What is it…?”

“I need your number.” Eddie switches to his contacts, prepared to input it in before the thought leaves his mind-pan. “Y’know, if I need to call you anytime or let you know if I wanna come in to visit.”

“One second.” 

In a jiffy, Frank slips a hand into his back pocket to pull out his Gold Coast courtesy brick. Right after he was approved to become a professor, he was required to download a few applications to help with his grading and to add the other professors’ contacts. Prior to this, Frank carried an ancient-looking flip-phone everywhere. He was fine using a flip-phone, unlike the luxuries everyone carried - all he needed to do was call and look at the time. That’s literally it. 

Frank is a stubborn man that doesn’t lose his guard, he doesn’t bow down to society’s standards and expectations, and he lets everyone know it. Until, he finally relented to exchange his flip-phone for an already-paid smartphone. Nowadays, Frank uses its screen to call, look at the time, and watch butterfly videos. 

He holds his smartphone and switches to his contacts. Quickly, Frank exchanges numbers with Eddie and pockets the thing. Eddie takes a while to settle on a name for the professor, before nicknaming Frank as ‘sunshine }:(.’ 

Frank studies Eddie’s face, butterflies fluttering about in his stomach. He held his breath, taking in how expressive his eyes were. Everything about Eddie is honest and thoughtful and Frank couldn’t bring himself to stop spending time with him. What reason would he need to? He’s right there, and Frank could…

“Let me know when you have a day-off,” he suddenly said to Eddie. “I can introduce you to Poppy and you can be free to try anything you like. I will pay for it, Mr. Dear.”

“... Anything?”

“Anything.”

The mailman leans forward, shoulders rising. “Does she have strawberry turnovers?”

“Of course!” Frank nods, closing his eyes. “Poppy creates all kinds of turnovers at her bakeries. She also sells cookies and cupcakes. One time, she was commissioned to make a wedding cake for the city’s mayor and his wife. She is not only a professional at her craft, but loves baking at heart.”

Eddie gasps, clapping his hands. “How about that! I’ll get the turnovers and some cupcakes when we stop on by!”

Looking at his watch again, Eddie gradually exhales and stands up from his chair. He heads on over to the door rack, grabbing his uniform jacket to slip on. He takes his standard mailman cap, dropping it on his head and turns around to face Frank. 

There’s a snug smile on his face, tugging at Frank’s heartstrings. “I should get going then, Frank. It’s getting terribly late and you oughta head out, too. … See you tomorrow, Frank?”

“Indeed.” Frank returns the smile, yawning. “See you tomorrow.”

“Oh, and by the way -” Eddie twists the doorknob, winking to Frank. “You can drop the 'Mr. Dear' and call me Eddie, cher. There's no need to be formal when we're already friends.”

Chapter Text

Saturday afternoon summons trailing autumn winds and waving branches, particularly the ones swaying on the sidewalks. Chirping birds land on his windowsill, hiding within the colorful flowers and plants growing in its fresh soil. Stepping outside of the shower fully dressed in his robes and vibrant pajamas is Frank, putting on his favorite slippers as he enters his living room. He pours some piping hot pea flower tea into a clay mug, stirring raw honey to sweeten its flavor. One sip and the doorbell rings behind him. Frank sets down his mug on the table, tightening the soft ribbon of his night robe around his waist as he speed-walks over to unlock and open it to reveal - oh, hello Julie.

“You are early.” Frank pries the door open further, gleaning at the man close behind her. “And so are you! Come inside, Brooklyn gets colder and colder every night.”

Autumn winds blow straight inside Frank’s house through his front door and he gestured for his two friends to follow him into the living room. Brocade couches decorated in fleur-de-lis patterns and the one-seated sofa that he loves to sit on when he needs somewhere to read. Framed butterflies and moths protected by a thick layer of stainless glass, cleaned daily to remain dust-free all over his walls. On the right, well-organized elm bookshelves carry fine literature from non-fiction biographies to the numerous fantasy novels written by recognizable names such as Terry Pratchett and Diana Wynne Jones. The ancient grandfather clock left by the flat’s previous residents stayed right next to the staircase, where it always belonged.

(“Wow!”, says Julie as she looks at his books. “I didn’t know you loved fantasy, Frank!”)

(“You already knew, Julie.” Frank breathes in, trotting into his kitchenette. “Otherwise, you would not have suggested that I dressed up as Rincewind last Halloween.”)

Eddie pats down his plaid sweater, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his wristwatch and burly, hairy arms. Freckles speckled across his arms, denser than Frank’s university textbooks. He takes a seat right on the couch, setting a thick limb over its backrest. One glance over to Julie, baby-talking to something in Frank’s glass jars - he can assume they’re tiny caterpillars from what she’s whisper-shouting about, saying their names in an endearing tone. He takes another to Frank in his kitchenette, setting up a formal arrangement of snacks for what should be a casual sleepover. 

He whistles and hums, nearly jumping out of his seat when Julie skips, then leaps onto the seat next to him.

“You’re Eddie Dear!”, she chirps. “I know I’ve already introduced myself on the porch, but I wanna do it again! I’m Julie! You can call me whatever you want!”

The mailman holds up his hand, grinning. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Julie! Inside of Frank’s house, that is. I didn’t think he knew someone as vibrant and energetic as you.”

“Hah! I’d say that too, if I were meeting me for the first time!” Julie stretches her legs, kicking them around to the grandfather clock’s rhythm. “I’ve heard that one a lot, Eddie. People are saying that me and Frank aren’t the most likely friends - heck, they’d say we’re a couple! ”

Eddie blinks in astonishment, catching a gentle whiff of shortbread cookies and sweet, frigid tea. “And what do you say back, sugar?”

“That we’re not! Frank’s my best friend, but I wouldn’t ever think of dating him!” Julie puffs her cheeks out, almost jolting when said best friend places a steel platter down. Her voice lowers to a hoarse, yet loud whisper towards Eddie, hands cupped to muffle everything she says. “`Cause he happens to like certain guys. You get what I meaaaan? ”

Frank raises his unibrow at Eddie’s curious looks, eyeing the man’s stocky build and broad shoulders. He clears his throat twice, sitting on his favorite sofa with untold grace. In his hands is the same mug with Frank taking sparse sips to taste its flavor. 

“Julie, what were you and Eddie talking about?”, inquires Frank.

Julie blows a drawn-out whistle, wrapping her arm around a relaxed Eddie. “Uhm, nothing! We weren’t talking about anything, Frank!”

Funnily enough, Frank caught Julie in the tail-end of her short conversation with Eddie. But, he rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother pushing her. It may be his house, but everyone has private conversations once-in-a-while. By the narrow context alone, he can already tell Julie was talking about romance with Eddie, of all people. 

She really is taking her position as a wingman seriously.

“My apologies for asking, then.” Frank sips his tea again. “How are you both faring tonight? I am thankful you happened to come by. Not many people ask to stay at my flat.”

“`Cause we’re all hanging out at Poppy’s?” Julie giggles. “Her house is much nicer than Wally’s - I think it’s haunted.”

Eddie adds in, “Haunted? Wuh - wait. Wally has ghosts in his house, boo?”

“No, no. He does not.” Frank sighs, grabbing a shortbread biscuit to dunk in his tea. He takes a soft bite, careful to divert crumbs onto his napkin. “Julie is dramatic. She is talking about Wally’s dog, Home. It’s an unusual pup, a strange dog fitting for a strange artist. Rather than bark, Home seems to love using the floorboards.”

“He’s got a dog?!” Eddie pipes up in excitement, beaming wide. “What breed issit? I happen to enjoy seein’ dogs around, contrary to my job as a mailman. Them pups cannot outrun my mail truck.”

Frank scrunches his brow, pulling out his smartphone to view Wally’s ingoing texts to him. He takes Wally’s typing quirks at face value too much, but he’s thankful for how easy to understand and straightforward everything he says is.

Scrolling by morning and evening texts, random pictures sent during their lunch breaks, an assortment of wonderfully-polished apples for sale at the bodega… 

“Ah, found it.” Frank taps the image, turning it around to reveal a photograph featuring Wally’s dog, Home, sitting right next to the afro-latino for a quick selfie. “As you can tell, this is Wally and this is Home. Home, I believe, is a… Great Pyrenee?”

“Great Pyrenees don’t have floppy ears, Frank!” Julie munches on a cookie, staring at it. Why couldn’t she have anything sweeter? “Home’s a Newfoundland! I remember `cause Wally was trying to find a puppy when he first moved out. And he specifically said he was looking for a Newfoundland."

Eddie leans forward, dipping one of Frank’s shortbreads into his fruit teas. “Oh, goodness… Newfoundlands are patient, kind dogs. You said he was a kindergarten teacher?”

“Indeed.” Frank huffs. “Wally has a tendency to bring his dog in to entertain his classes. Home seems to love them, too. However, it stays a far distance away from the rest of us and I still have no idea why.”

“Shyness, maybe?” Eddie shrugs. “I doubt it. Home’s breed is a family dog. I don’t have a dog today, but before I left for New York… Mom was raisin' a Schipperke. She's a playful and tempered girl, loves chasin' people around.”

“Her name's Eve. Miss `er all the time…” Eddie takes his napkin and folds the thing into a miniature dog. 

Julie watches in awe, grabbing the dog in her hands and tapping its head with her fingertip. “Oh, that’s right! I should ask again! Fraaaaank…”

Her twinkling brown eyes meet Frank’s rigid dark blues. Julie places her petite hands on her knees, tilting her entire body to her free side. “Frank! Are we stayin’ overnight? It’s not like I have anythin’ to do tomorrow…”

“You have to open your store.” Frank contemplates, thinking of his answer. “And what about Eddie?”

The redhead sits comfortably in his seat, unwilling to move. “Eh, I can wake up early and return back to my shift tomorrow morning. I’ll be fine, Frank. Let us stay overnight.”

“Hm, fine. You can stay overnight.” Frank trusts that his friends are responsible as much as they are available. He understands how much Julie loves selling her flowers and bouquets, her deeper understanding of flower language overpowers his entomology knowledge at times - a wonderful friend filled with passion. Eddie is devoted to his job as a mailman, an unlikely career, and he is loyal to the post office in many ways. He feels strongly about delivering mail and the impact of writing letters. Smartphones may exist today, but letter-writing is an art that will last forever. 

Both of them adore their jobs a lot and Frank can say the same for himself. Between work to live or live to work, it’s safe to say Frank’s friends have settled on working to live. Better than spending the entirety of their lives at a mind-numbingly boring office to only retire without any love left in their human hearts. 

Frank crosses his butterfly-patterned legs, planting his square-jawed chin against an open palm. “I have a single guest bedroom that’s free, though - it’ll be first come, first serve.”

Julie grins devilishly. “I’ll take the guest bedroom, then! And you two’ll have to share!”

Frank almost spills his tea, holding it back in his mouth while Eddie scratches the hair behind his head. The calm atmosphere livens up at Julie’s mischievous antics, her intentions mean well and yet, Frank feels anxious - endangered, even. Oh, he doesn’t know how to conceal his nervousness aside from shielding his feelings with a fortified grimace and a matter-of-fact attitude. Frowning comes naturally for Frank, unlike Wally’s comforting smiles, and the corners of his mouth twitch in an agonizing way that makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter.

Oh, goddamn it.

“... Julie. You know what, it is yours. These are my terms and I intend to follow through with them.”

Honesty is the best policy! Eddie can’t help, but give Frank a warm nod and a welcoming gesture. “Awh, Frank. I can sleep on the couch, if that’s what you’d like. Won’t be my first time, cher. ”

Frank doesn’t stay stunned for long, he returns back to Earth and waves his hands around. “No, no, no. You do not have to do that, Eddie. I assure you - as long as you are in my flat, you will sleep in a bed. What I am saying is -”

The florist interrupts Frank, singing in joy. “You’re gonna have to sleep with Frankie!”

“ - we will have to share my bed.” Frank lightly glares at the snickering Julie, not holding malice against his best friend. “It is a queen-sized bed, so you can fit in nicely.”

“Really now?” Eddie grins. “Thank you, neighbor! I’ll be sleeping in yours.”

As Frank was about to speak again, rampant knocking is heard on his front door in a familiar melody akin to an oldie. He stands up from his chair, discovering how freeing it is to have an excuse to temporarily escape from the current topic at hand. Galloping towards the front door, Frank rapidly unlocks, opening it to their tanned bodega buddy in his traditional pompadour and tightly-fitted casualwear. It’s somewhat formal compared to what everyone else is wearing, business casual would be the right description that fits his themed attire. 

Behind him is his shorter, also-pompadoured friend with his eternal, loving smile and carefree eyes. He’s also in his night robes, carrying a stylish backpack that reeks of vintage hairspray. Frank theorizes he’s also carrying an apple each for everyone else - it’s considerate that he typically grabs an apple of each of everyone’s favorite kinds to give them out. A usual tradition starting out in high school, carried all the way to the present without anyone becoming sick of his innocence.

Wally stands right next to Howdy, glowing with unadulterated confidence. “I heard you’re having a sleepover, Frank.”

Shit. Frank presses his lips together in a frown, gathering his newfound energy to speak. “Yes. Yes, I am. Is there a problem with that? … Howdy?”

“Well, erm.” Howdy grins, prying the door wider. “No, there isn't. That’s what we’re here for! Julie’s told us there was a sleepover goin’ on and we thought to join on in! Isn’t that kind, Wally?”

“Yes, quite.” Wally doesn’t blink, catching sight of a particular newcomer that he hadn’t met before. He stares right at Eddie, making direct eye contact for a full ten seconds before withdrawing his gaze back to Frank’s bothered face. “Who is that? I never knew you were into big men, Frank.”

Speechless, the professor turns around in his heel to face his two other friends talking away in the living room. He gives a defeated sigh and steps to the side, allowing for Wally and Howdy to enter inside his cramped, homely flat. This is a reminder that living on the same block as all of his friends makes them neighbors, and it’s best if he lets his neighbors befriend a new one. Last time Frank checked - Eddie doesn’t live in Brooklyn. In a way, he’s still a neighbor by living in New York City alone.

Howdy takes up another seat next to Eddie, willing to socialize as the painter follows close and sits down right on his boyfriend’s lap. He and Eddie look at each other with Julie happily bubbling up in her part of the couch. Frank quickly shuts the door, swiftly heading back to his sofa and sitting back down to observe their interactions when his anxiousness increases with each sentence. 

He greets Eddie with a powerful benevolent voice. Always selling, always haggling. “Hello there, neighbor! We’re gettin’ eerily close to Halloween, eh?”

“We sure are, mister.” Eddie smiles politely, instantly hitting it off. “I haven’t met someone with your kind’a energy before! Mon dieu, you’re taller than I am.”

“It’s a part of the family charm, yes sir! ” Howdy glows brighter than Julie, not minding how Wally succumbs into his chest. “A lot of the men in my family are six and over. Me? Seven feet of delectable deals and store-made, fresh stuffed peppers! I’m Howdy Pillar, owner of the bodega you might’ve passed on your way to Frank’s.”

“And this is -”

Wally pushes a finger to Howdy’s lips, monotonous in his humble laughter. “Howdy, I can talk for myself. Thank you.”

He points at himself with one hand and the other moves around his backpack, searching for Julie’s Ambrosia. “I’m Wally Darling. Not everyone knows who I am. You might’ve heard of me. I don’t know your face, are you new around these parts?”

“Not new, new .” Eddie twirls his hand, thinking. “I’ve been here a couple’a weeks or so. I’ve been gettin’ acquainted with New York, deliverin’ letters to staff and students. Frank’s a helpful hand! If it weren’t for him, I’d be more lost than an orphaned fawn.”

Frank rustles in his seat, thankful that nobody can see him blush. Grateful, even. “I try my best to aid those who need it.”

“Usually,” starts Wally. “You keep to yourself. And you’re helping a new neighbor. I knew, one day, Frank would turn around and see my ways.”

“Likewise.” Frank tightens his frown. “I do not help everyone, but I have exceptions.”

“Mhm! Anywho.” The pompadoured teacher hands Julie her Ambrosia apple and watches as she chomps into it. He shifts his eyes over to the mailman, examining his face closely for too long. “What’s your name?”

Eddie messes with his clicking wristwatch, re-adjusting its time. He stares at Wally, partially startled by his stare. The constant eye-contact. This guy can be unsettling by accident, if not, on purpose.

“It’s Eddie Dear! I heard lots about you from Frank.” 

Wally opens his mouth to silently gasp - or the Wally Darling equivalent of a gasp. Tugging on his strings to look at Frank’s hilariously adorable face. No matter how intimidating his sharp cheekbones and sanpaku eyes made him appear to be, Wally knows how much Frank loves his friends. 

The artist grabs Eddie’s palm with both hands, holding it close. “He talks about me? What did Frank tell you?”

“Well,” begins Eddie. “For one, you’re a teacher like him. Mentorin’ today’s youths to be tomorrow’s leaders. Another is that you’re a type’a apple connoisseur.”

Wally hums, staring up at Eddie’s violet orbs. “Mm, mm, mm. I love apples. They’re a flawless fruit. What you can’t get in a pear, orange, or a lemon is what you can have in an apple.”

He withdraws his hands away from Eddie, letting go to plant his head on Howdy’s wide chest and look up at him. “Oh, you can have them in slices. I believe apples taste better while they’re whole and beautiful. You can look at them, eat their beauty with your eyes. An apple is oh-so round and fits in your hand easily. The prettiest apple to me can be painted on a canvas as a life study such as a Red Delicious.”

Wally is careful to conduct his hand signs, piecing them together into a picture frame to bore into the shopkeeper’s romantic gaze with one eye. “The imperfect apples are gorgeous, too. Pink Pearls, Beauty of Bath, even the Black Oxford has its own charms. An apple is like a person, Eddie. There are so many varieties, shapes, and sizes to the definition of an apple to where we can describe people with them.”

Ah, this is why Wally can teach younger students well. It helps to have an artist’s perspective in seeing things differently, nonetheless - Eddie leans in, listening to Mr. Darling’s lecture. 

“Go on,” he says. “I wanna hear more from you.”

( In the background, Frank is combing Julie’s hair in preparation for a double braid. It’s what she wants! )

Wally hugs Howdy, who in turn, embraces his shorter beloved in a cuddle. “Sure. For example, I’m not the Red Delicious as much as I want to be. They’re too perfect. Made for display. I’d describe myself as a Cortland. Polished, crimson skin and a sweet, refreshing flavor. Every day I comb and style my hair akin to a glossy Cortland!”

“And for Howdy.” Wally smooches his boyfriend’s neck as he laughs. “Howdy is a Hidden Rose. Pastel green with unexpected pink flesh. It’s tart with a mild sweetness, just like how he runs his shop. Oh, he loves asking for jokes and stories as payment if nobody can afford to spare dimes they don’t have for food. He’s firm about it, too.”

Howdy chuckles, kissing Wally on the forehead. “Darling! You don’t have to say all that!”

“But, it’s true.” Wally grins. “I can go on about Julie. You saw her with an Ambrosia, it’s her favorite apple. What she is, is a Fameuse. Intense sweet flavor like her. For the years I’ve known Julie, she smiles through the toughest times and makes us laugh. Julie plays because she wants to spend time with us, too. I’m glad to know Julie.”

His spiral pompadour bounces against Howdy’s chin, stylish and fashionable. What a pretty boy. Wally purrs, powering through Howdy’s affectionate, high-octane warmth while listening to Julie and Frank’s conversation in the background. What were they discussing? He has no idea.

( Wally could figure out it’s gossip - what type of gossip is unknown to him. )

“As for Frank, he’s a Black Oxford. Stern and dark on the outside, a moody broody intellectual. He’s acidic at first, but you can taste his sweetness when you keep talking to him. Hints of vanilla and cane sugar. That’s what Frank is like.”

Eddie nods, moving around in his seat. “What about me, Mr. Darlin’? What type’a apple do you think I am so far?”

Wally taps his chin, frozen on his smile. “I’d say you’re a Ben Davis. You look like a hard-working guy. Hardy, rigorous, productive. Your voice is mellow and sweet like one, too.”

The benign postman feels relieved, having a burden lifted from his shoulders as he glances over to Frank and Julie. He’s thoroughly brushing the latter’s thick, healthy hair using a personal hairbrush that couldn’t belong to him, that was until Julie talks about how Frank should’ve pursued cosmetology school. If he wasn’t into insects, styling hair and braiding them was another talent that could’ve been tapped into.

Eddie watches them from afar, lost in Frank’s adroit movements and the meticulous skill he places into each stroke. Soon after, he braids Julie’s locks and picks up her assortment of colorful accessories. Holographic clips, frilled ribbons, bedazzled scrunchies. His kindness speaks volumes in actions, despite how dangerously blunt he can be. 

( And Eddie loves Frank for his brutal honesty. No sugar coating required. )

Howdy taps on Eddie’s shoulder, chewing on an Evercrisp. “You’ve been staring at Frank for a long time, pal! … Are you into him?”

“Uh, ahem!” Eddie coughs into a balled fist, not registering his own feelings. “I don’t know for sure. How can you tell?”

“You looked like you were in the middle of a whimsical daydream a second ago, bud.” Howdy wiggles his eyebrows, winking at the postman. “Wally did the same thing before we got together. He’d stare outside of my bodega window, looking at me while I worked. His silence was deafening and I noticed him instantly every time he’d watch me from the glass!”

A tired Wally slurs his words, nearly drifting off to dreamland. “Did not… I wasn’t looking at you, I was looking at the apples.”

“You were looking at me while I was taking care of the apple stall, Darling.” Howdy tightens his clutch on his significant other, noticing his sleepiness. “You’re already wanting to rest, huh? Feel free to take your eight hours in my arms. It’s not like you’re teaching a class tomorrow.”

Wally lowers his drooping eyelids, yawning. “True. It won’t hurt to sleep now…”

Within a few seconds, Wally closes his eyes and slumbers against Howdy, attempting to sleep in his loving embrace. He repeats in his typical even voice, gradually speaking his ordinary mantra in a quiet voice.

“I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping.” Until he quiets down, murmuring a repetitive mantra that’d certainly seem out of the blue to those who aren’t close to Wally.

Like Eddie.

“Does he…” Eddie snaps his fingers, careful to control its volume. “Does he do that often?”

Howdy sighs, holding onto Wally. “Insomnia. He won’t tell you that, Wally doesn’t want people to worry about him and he hates making people worry. It’s how he gets anxious and then he ends up not sleeping. So, he tells himself to sleep and in the end, it all works out.”

Eddie stares longingly at Wally, wondering if his insomnia had any relation to the painting gallery discussed in a previous time. A reasonable conclusion, he thought, it wouldn’t be necessary to pry. Everyone has their personal lives and backgrounds, none of which are Eddie’s business as he prefers learning about folks when they’re ready to open up to him. It’s like what his Mama said - when people are ready to trust you, you’ll be their chosen confidant and you have to uphold their trust with utmost loyalty.

He stares up at Howdy, then over to Frank finishing up Julie’s hairstyle. “I get what you mean, Mr. Pillar. He has trouble sleepin’ and I feel remorse for him. Everyone deserves to be able to sleep easily, stayin’ up for too long isn’t good at all.”

“Speaking of staying up...” Howdy yawns, picking up Wally in his arms and gestures for Eddie to stand up. As he does, the shopkeeper reaches underneath the couch cushion to pull out a large, queen-size futon. “We should be sleeping in a bit, Eddie! It’s not like we’re teenagers anymore. The living room’s ours for the time being. What about you and Julie?”

Julie walks upstairs, waving good night as she sprints into the guest bedroom. 

Eddie points a thumb to the staircase as Julie goes, yawning loudly. “She called dibs on the only guest bedroom.”

“Shame.” The taller man shakes his head, setting Wally down in the bed and heads over to the one-seated sofa. He takes its multi-layered woolen blankets from the backseat, covering Wally up with them. “Where are you sleeping then, hm?”

“We are sharing my bed.”

Frank suddenly walks next to Eddie, standing by his side while observing Howdy. His piercing eyes barely made Howdy budge, as they know each other well and Frank’s true nature isn’t something to be forgotten by those who talk to him. 

“This will not be a problem.” Frank crosses his arms, unamused by the bodega owner studying his butterfly slippers. A Christmas gift from Julie. “... Yes, Howdy?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Howdy sheepishly laughs, moving in to sleep with the teacher. “Either way, you two should get going. The night won’t last forever!”

Frank stares at Eddie and Eddie stares at Frank. The two wave and say their good nights to Howdy - thankfully, he doesn’t have to shut the curtains. Frank dislikes having strangers look into his flat without permission, it’s an invasion of his privacy and he can’t stomach anyone watching him from his home. Save for Howdy, whose bodega is right below his flat and he’s able to handle shutting the entire thing at night-time. Nobody wants to put in the effort to climb and spy on him through his third-floor windows.

The moment Frank opens the door to his bedroom is when Eddie realizes how skilled his friend is at decorating his own home. A cozy den separated from the rest of his flat - a house is made to be lived in and Frank certainly lives in his.

Eddie enters and Frank follows him inside, locking the door shut behind him.

Frank Frankly’s bedroom is an entomologist’s dream - starting clockwise into the center wall, he has a butterfly cage with actual butterflies resting their wings in the moonlight. Their patterns reminiscent of multiple sweater vests Eddie has seen a classmate wear before, it’s remarkable how gorgeous they can be. Smaller bookshelves containing entomologist journals serving as collectables and limited edition encyclopedias from ages ago, their authentic bindings showing their genuine age even in the dim lighting. The dull brown carpet below is covered by a multi-colored, vivid carpet with triangular, striped patterns that exude Frank’s adoration for insects and bugs alike. Abstract paintings leaning on a mixture of impressionism and pointillism lined Frank’s walls, transitioning into framed photographs displaying Frank’s childhood in multiple scenes. From holding his first net inscribed with his name to school achievements and club pictures with Julie holding her abundant flowers. 

( Or, was that Julie? Her hair’s much shorter, yet her cheerful face is recognizable. )

His polished oak desk is organized like the one in his office. Personal journals are stacked with academic notebooks and his stationery items are intricately separated by category. Pens with pens. Pencils with pencils. Highlighters aren’t hastily thrown in with permanent markers. The neat categorization and organization of his items makes Eddie’s heart beat against his chest, a heavy thump thump thump he’d feel during one of his morning jogs and not when he’s about to sleep with a friend.

Frank yawns, picking up his weighted quilt blankets and resting his head on the pillow. His slippers are on the side, but Eddie practically wondered if he should sleep on the other side. He pats both of his cheeks, telling himself that it’ll be okay and he shouldn’t take sleeping with a friend too seriously!

The mailman glances over to Frank’s closet, thinking of changing and as if he was being mind-read…

“Eddie,” he calls. “If you did not bring your sleepwear - I know you did not - you are free to pick anything out from my wardrobe. What I have inside there will definitely fit you.”

Keeping in mind Frank’s average build, Eddie accepts the professor’s offer and struts over to the closet. He pulls the doors open, selecting a shirt and pants to change into - Eddie’s swift about it, too as Frank doesn’t bother looking at him as he wears something else. 

Once Eddie was in Frank’s pajamas which barely fit him, he shuts the closet and approaches Frank’s queen-sized bed to sleep right next to him. He scoots right next to Frank, leaving some space between them and sets his head on the pleasantly cold, plush-stuffed pillows that comforted his head like a floating cloud. 

Eddie covers his entire body in the blankets, finding them nicer than the ones he has back home. Better ask Frank about the kinds he’s using tomorrow morning. It’d help him sleep, too.

“Say, Frank.” Eddie slowly inhales through his nostrils, melting into the mattress. “You… don’t really mind if I’m sleepin’ here with you, yeah?”

Frank turns around to face Eddie on his side, fixing onto the postman’s eyes. “No, I do not. Why do you ask?”

Eddie senses the faint daunt in the other’s nasally voice, scooting closer to narrow the space between them. “Just askin’. … I didn’t see Julie had her pajamas when she went inside. Why’s that?”

“Julie partially lives here.” Frank answers earnestly, not holding back. “She has her own home on our street, but Julie prefers spending time with me. The only guest bedroom I have is hers by default and so, she keeps her clothes there. Her drawers are labeled, too.”

“Oh, I see. Okay.” Eddie lays in silence, questioning him more. “... Before we sleep, are you willin’ to hear me out on somethin’, Frank?”

The entomologist stares blankly at Eddie, looking over to the one-sided windows over his shoulder and back to Eddie’s concerned face. “... Sure. What do you need?”

“May I stop by your flat some more on our off-days, if that’s alright with you? Sometimes, I feel a lil’ lonely hangin’ out at my home and the silence gets unnervin’. I just need a bit of company to keep myself sane.”

Frank doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “Yes, you may. Any one of my friends is allowed to come by, and that includes you.”

And the sleepover crashers. That was definitely Wally’s idea to come by.

“Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

Frank doesn’t roll over, clapping his hands to shut off the lights. 

Bathing in darkness, the two stare at each other for a long while in a serene silence. Afterwards, one of them mutters a drawn-out…

“ Bonne nuit, dors bien. ”

And the other responds in a hoarse murmur.

“... Good night.”

Chapter Text

Turnovers are flaky puff pastries comparable to an unlocked childhood memory, simple and easily forgettable as there are several likable treats stacking themselves over them. Filled with fruit jam and baked in the early mornings, unlike the Italian-American stromboli and similar to a breakfast calzone.

Monday noon brings idle autumn winds and the powerful scent of Manhattan leaves breaking down on its sidewalks. In front of his bathroom mirror, stands Eddie Dear with a heart-patterned towel wrapped around his capacious waist. He splashes cold running water onto his jawline, melting leftover shaving cream and soft facial hair into the smooth marble sink below. If he was back in high school, he would use a huge Elmer's Disappearing Purple gluestick and style his signature tidy, brushed back hairstyle. As a professional mailman, he has to appear somewhat approachable if his deep southern voice and soft demeanor doesn't help him in any way, shape, or form.

Instead, Eddie reaches for strawberry-scented styling jelly and a bedazzled comb purchased months ago. He coats his short-length auburn hair in gratuitous amounts of jelly, cleaning his hands underneath running water and takes a simple hairbrush in his free paw. He smiles throughout untangling and combing, bringing his style back to fruition after spending an entire night in a chaotic, tangled mess. His tongue sticks out at the final brushover, comforted by his neatness - sure, it's a throwback to a certain decade he wasn't born into. Friends and strangers alike as he spent time growing up in Louisiana said Eddie's handsome appearance increased tenfold with his hair prepped like a greaser! And this style, fortunately, stuck with Eddie throughout his adult years. 

He sets his tools back in their rightful places, whistling away as he strolls jolly and kind into his flat's bedroom. Frank's floral wallpapers contrasts Eddie's simple multi-colored stripes. It was informally lived in and formally beautiful - an organized chaos where paper chains and origami birds are attached to his ceiling, floating above him. He carefully kept everything hovering over his head rather than hanging too low, too. 

(Tallness ran in the Dear family and Eddie was no exception. Six feet and four inches tall, like his late father.)

Eddie trots over to his poster-covered closet door, skimming over his favorite vintage bands for an earnest minute. His burly freckled arms jiggle the closet's brass doorknob, smoothly opening to reveal his thrifted wardrobe - save for a couple of hand-me-downs from Father Dear's suit collection. Pinstripes, checkered, shepherd's check. Double-breasted, tweed, dinner, notch-lapel. 

Today isn't a formal dinner, it's a first date (for the both of them, Eddie assumes), and he couldn't bring himself to wear his father's treasures. Not yet . 

It isn't time for Eddie to wear an old milkman's suits and ties, so he settles for something casual and loosely-fit. Made for New York's mild temperatures and fine weather. He yanks on his transparent clothing hangers, sorting through them until his plum eyes finally come across what exactly he's searching for! 

After spending a whirling half-an-hour in front of the bedroom mirror, he neatens up and hums at his outfit. Long-sleeved, ridiculously soft flannel over a basic white tank-top and worn-out, boot-cut blue jeans made to last, aged from constant love, care, and the summer work from a relative's farm. He carries Frank's watch in his right pocket, rewinding its hands to current time. It ticks and tocks in conjunction with his own gorgeous wristwatch, two antiques together on one person.

Eddie re-evaluates his appearance one more time, stretching out his hairy limbs to let out a yawn. He moves downstairs, taking a soft peppermint from his coffee table's basket and throws it in his mouth. Satisfied to have a fresher breath once he meets Frank again, the mailman double-checks the time and grabs his favorite crimson backpack away from the door rack. 

He swiftly unlocks the front door and steps onto the welcome mat, shutting the exit behind him with an automatic lock. 

It wasn't a requirement for Eddie to carry any semblance of a GPS or map on his person, neither did he use any application on his smartphone to locate his meeting place. Frank provides a name and address, Eddie uses his uncanny gifts to navigate from Manhattan all the way to Brooklyn based on how much he remembers regarding New York City's grid and how much he's already explored shortly after moving. 

Holding a miniature slip in his sizeable hands, Eddie read over the handwritten note in Frank's immaculate penmanship and examines the bakery sign: Partridge Pastries. Conveniently located on Roost Avenue. Whistling away, Eddie re-inserts the paper slip into his back pocket and stands right next to the door as he chortles "Excuse me!" and "Pardon!" at the nameless customers coming in and out. Before he knows it, he's taking his time to stare at the clear blue skies above with their spacious, airy clouds.

If Eddie had any talent in painting, he'd try and capture the sky's essence. Above everything else - literally - he was captivated by the sky's ever-changing blends of pure color no matter what time he's outside. The mornings brought upon dawn blankets that welcome brand new days, seasons in-between summer and winter had the nicest cerulean tints that ranged from gentle to washed-out tones, and the evening sunsets have stronger hues brought upon by twilight. 

Midnight skies in the countryside were Eddie's favorite for a particular reason - he would be visiting somewhere rural for extended family meetings at his great-grandfather's estate. On the summer fields, he sat in Texas' rolling plains with the sleeping cattle away from his crop fields. Ol' Martha curled around him when Eddie gave her tender pets on the short mane between her nubbed horns. The cool breezes hit his bare young skin, whilst his older cousin's wide-brimmed cowboy hat was lowered right behind his neck. He'd watch the bespeckled stars on the night sky sparkle and twinkle, witness the clearest view of the Milky Way's magnificent river with naive eyes. Eddie could point out and name every constellation he spotted, chatting to Martha and her sleeping calf, Lee. 

Elsewhere, in New York City, Eddie can't look above his head and into the same night sky. The excessive noise pollution makes spotting the Big Dipper rare compared to his childhood spent down south - homesickness aside, Eddie doesn't regret moving to Empire City as it led him to following his dreams of becoming a mailman and encountering Frank. 

Oh, how he loves Frank! Speaking of Frank - where is he?

Eddie turns around thrice, scratching his neck and looking down at his watch: 11:35 AM. He probes the bustling crowd around him, hoping that Frank wasn't slumbering away in the City That Never Sleeps. He hums an uplifting, melodic tune to revive his spirits. His friend was the delightful, responsible type that'd arrive before everyone else! When he starts his morning shifts, Frank arrives two hours early before his fellow professors - Eddie knows from experience. The morning after their sleepover, Frank wakes up at 4 AM every day to prepare and drive into campus.

Now, again - where is Franklin Frankly?

Eddie squints, then a hand is placed on his shoulder and he leaps out of his beaten sneakers.

"Holy mack - !", he spurts out in alarm, lowering his gaze to see a smug-looking woman grinning up at him. 

Champagne blonde hair extending down from her mocha black roots fashioned into thin braids with rainbow star-shaped beads attached to the bottom. Her sun-kissed sepia skin laced with denser freckles lifted by her contemptuous smile, eager to talk or mess around in the middle of Brooklyn's streets. 

She leans against the glass panels, careful to not smudge them. "Hey! Are you Eddie Dear?"

Eddie steps back, dumbfounded. "Err… Yessum, that's me! Pardon me for askin', how do you know my name?"

The stranger's five-pointed headband tilts over, knocked down by a gentle wind and she hurries to fix it. "Word goes around quickly these days! You're all Frank talks about when he's not busy-busy with his lectures."

Oh, this is one of Frank's friends! He holds out an open palm for a handshake. "Does he now? Heh, heh… Well, I'm Eddie Dear! What about you…?"

His honey-hued cheeks are shadowed by his freckles - if his blushed face is visible right now, she isn't saying a darned thing about or acknowledging it.

She chirps, taking Eddie's hand. "Sally Starlet! It's nice to finally meet `cha, you kind soul! You might've heard of me, hm? I'm pretty famous… Lead role in Hadestown's premiere, I've acted in a older showings of West Side Story, Waitress…" 

Eddie rumbles, tapping his chin. "Your name doesn't ring a bell, Sally. Sorry! I'm not too into plays an' musicals an' all that… It's not somethin' I could afford to see back then!"

"No sweat, Mr. Dear! Broadway isn't as big as it used to be…" Sally sticks out her lower lips covered in a thin layer of glittery lip gloss. "So, what're you waiting here for? You can waltz right in anytime, y'anno."

"You see…" Eddie fidgets with his wristwatch, radiating a warm glow. "I've got a date with Frank and he's runnin' late. It's unusual…"

Sally blows a fine whistle, staring back up at Eddie again. "Already caught on to his habits, eh? That's kinda neat of you to notice. Frank never runs late - he's, like, the god of being early. Rises up at the asscrack of dawn to work, is the first one at any of our group hangouts."

"I don't think he's had a tardy back in high school, either. They'd run sweeps and Frank would always be the first in class." She holds up a finger in the air, recounting her experiences. "When I'd be super late, he'd scold me at lunch! Sally Starlet, when are you going to prioritize your education! Like as if he was my dad or something."

The actress playfully scoffs, puffing her chest out. "And he was right, too. He went after me so much, I had to stop getting swept. Ironically, he helped me out there because I wasn't late for a rehearsal after junior year."

"So, you knew Frank in high school?", asks a puzzled Eddie. "I'm glad you could tell me what he's like. The most I'm wonderin' about is why he's late…"

"Hah! It could be for two reasons." Sally opens the door in anticipation. "One, he's having trouble picking out the right clothes for the occasion. Two, he's fighting someone who pissed him off on the way here."

In the far distance, a nasally high-pitched voice could be heard from ten lightyears away: "SALLY STARLET."

Eddie's attention is yanked away by Frank's outspoken, agitated shouting. He notices his undone yellow bowtie and the vintage floral-patterned vest over his blue-ish white dress shirt. His shiny black oxfords aren't coated in grime, but they're absolutely dusted from what must've been the worst time of his life.

His bright yellow eyes darkened the round frames decorating his square face, save for the typical scowl characteristic of a blunt scientific bookworm.

Sally stands near the door, still holding it open by the steel rail. "Looks like it's number two! Hey Frank, how's it going! Did you win?"

Frank grumbles, crossing his arms as he stands right next to Eddie. "Win? Do you think I care to win my battles?"

"With your attitude, yeah." Sally sneers, gesturing towards the door. "By the way, I kept Eddie company while you were making a fuss."

Eddie holds onto his backpack's strap, ready to set it down. "She did! This darlin's quite a friendly face, Frank."

Sally laughs, waving her free hand. "Damn! Thank you, Eddie. Have fun, Frank. You two - take care and enjoy your date, okay? I'm only here to help out Poppy since I'm free today."

The poor grouch straightens out his back, strained from his recent brawl. "Yes. Stay well, Sally."

The red-haired mailman heads inside the bakery, surprised at the homely atmosphere gathered inside such a place. It has a warm-hearted ambience amplified by the overpowering smells of freshly-baked artisan breads and pastries. Imperfect, yet delectable treats are displayed in the glass cases at the front counter. Nicely wrapped shortbread cookies decorated in buttercream icing of technicolor characters sealed tightly with satin bows of assigned colors. The blue-haired smiling guy with sugary pink cheeks has red ribbons, while the spotted blue dog wearing a tiny red hat has blue.

He looks around the bakery, realizing there's a larger kitchen in the back and a spacious area for sitting down at round wooden tables. Four chairs at each, then a smaller coffee bar at the back that has eight stools. 

As Frank glances over the tea menu, Eddie walks over next to his side and skims the rest of the menu - she serves every manner of drink here save for the alcoholic kinds. Can't have hard drinks at a cafe. He hums again, thinking about ordering a hot apple cider…

Sally already moved inside, standing behind the counter with her head poking into the kitchen door. She's talking with someone - assuming it's Poppy - about something indiscernible. There's a few words about Sally jokingly running for mayor? 

Eddie shrugs and minds his business, whispering to Frank. "The hot apple cider with the strawberry turnover sounds mighty nice. What are you gettin', cher? "

"Darjeeling tea and a custard tart. Poppy has the best tarts in Brooklyn, I can't live without them." Frank expresses his patience by minding his own business, taking out his handcrafted leather wallet. "If you're ready, Eddie. I'll pay for everything."

Eddie presses his lips, holding up his palms. "No, no. You don't have to pay if you don't gotta, Frank! I have money on me."

"Oh, but I insist. " Frank shakes his pointer, confident. "The university tuitions pay me well, my salary can be comparable any Ivy League professor's. You don't have to spend your money, Eddie, I'll take care of everything today."

He's stunned, not caring about Sally's astonished expression in front of them. "Right! If you say so…"

To say Eddie is elated would be an understatement of the century, he's bursting with good spirits about being treated well on their first date. This is what it's like to be pampered? Sheesh, Eddie can't allow Frank to pay for his meal without paying him back. 

(Would Frank allow Eddie to help out at the office? He seems to have everything handled.)

Pots and pans clatter in the background, some minor shuffling is heard - rapidly approaching the kitchen door. It swings wide open with a pleasant, rotund woman stepping to the front with her prismatic-dyed spiraled hair styled into a bouncy undercut and long, thick ponytail. Her hands are covered by flowery oven mittens, but Sally is considerate and handles the cash register for the time being.

"Happy Monday, Frank!", Poppy greets her friend with a northern Texan dialect, heavier than Eddie's deep Louisiana one. She looks over to Eddie, granting him a welcoming smile. "And you too, sir. … Frank?"

The professor halts his trance, hands planted firm on his hips. "Is there anything wrong, Poppy?"

Poppy rests her elbow on her hand, resting a cheek against an open palm. Her egg-shaped earrings spin, light bouncing off them. "I'm happy you invited your sweetheart over to the café today! He's as nice-lookin' as you say he is!"

Forget what happened earlier - the heat rushes up to Eddie's face, coating him in scarlet while Frank is holding back from messing up his words. He seems as flustered and overwhelmed by romance as he is, though, Eddie could help him along - it's not like they're officially boyfriends. Are they? Oh, now Eddie's confused…

Frank clears his throat, not wanting to accidentally say anything weird or out-of-place. "Ahem. I - ah. Uhm. He truly is. Yes, indeed."

Eddie smiles, hearing Frank's wavering candidness. "Awh shucks. You mean it! Frank's talked about me to you, too? That's what I have to assume, Sally's told me he's talkin' up a storm!"

Frank buries his face in his hands, not sure what else to say.

"That's right, dearie!" Poppy claps her oven mitts together with a muffled noise. "It's a pleasure, Eddie. Not many people grace Frank's good heart, nor does he let them in too easily… Now, order up! What would you two like for today?"

Eddie pipes up. "I'd like a hot apple cider and two of your strawberry turnovers, please!"

He pokes Frank's shoulder, causing the grump to return back to normal for the time being.

Frank manages to stammer out his order, pausing to confirm to himself it's the correct one. "Your custard tart and darjeeling tea, please."

"Trying something new?" Sally adds their total, thankful for the new registers that came in after a nine-month delay. She recites the exact price plus the "on-the-house discount." Frank takes out a twenty dollar bill, paying for everything as he said and requests that the change is kept - Poppy is a generous woman, he can live without some change as long as the money goes towards her humble business and a brand new extra oven. 

(Thank you for destroying that one, Wally . How he managed to cause it to burst into flames is a mystery to Frank and everyone else involved in that incident.)

"Yes. As customary of this place being a cafe, I tended to order coffee." Frank spins his hand around. "You see, I thought it'd be nice to have some tea here. It's not morning, so having my afternoon tea here would be suitable for the time being."

Sally leans against the counter, teasing. "Is it because you're feeling awake now that Eddie's around?"

The owner heads straight inside her kitchen, poking her head through its open windows. "Sally, dear. Do you mind helping me out back? It's a slow day and the lovebirds are waiting!"

Sally side-glances, yelling back to Poppy. "Coming!" 

As she finally left the cash register, throwing the door wide open and entering inside. Poppy winks to Eddie and Frank, carefully heading back to work - at times, Eddie wonders if Poppy's height naturally surpasses his or is elevated by her clicking high heels alone.

He and Frank sit in front of each other at a window seat, sneaking glimpses at faceless strangers passing by - invested in their own vivid and complicated lives, ones populated with their own friends, goals, routines… His job was delivering mail, whether they were important letters from relatives or distant penpals from afar still keeping in context with each other. Parcels marked for specific addresses, carrying items that he'll never know the purpose of. 

It was a parcel delivery that led him to meeting Frank and their relationship ended up being what's inside the package.

Eddie takes a couple of napkins, handing them to Frank who accepts them to sit his plate on. He eyeballs Frank's adamant features, the stringent way he moves his fingers and organize his utensils. For a while, Eddie hesitates to speak as he doesn't know what to say. Plates clatter and Sally's hollering overwhelms the cafe's sole radio playing its old-timers with Frank concentrating on using formal table manners at what's supposed to be a casual lunch date.

Eddie doesn't mind Frank being Frank, in fact, that's what makes him a wonderful friend to be around! Friend? Boyfriend? He ponders, setting his fork and knife on the opposite sides of each other. 

One of them has to break the silence - it has to be Eddie.

"How've you been, Frank?", he asks. "I hope you liked the picture of the cats I sent last night."

Frank's frown mends itself into a caring smile. "I've been faring well. Presentations with my students have been enlightening and I already finished grading. As for your cats…"

Smartphone in hand, Frank opens Eddie's multitude of adorable cat pictures. "What were their names? Minmo and Peach?"

"Mhm, yessir." Eddie grins. "I've been takin' time to volunteer at an animal shelter. Lots of cats over there, poor things need homes! It's an idea of mine to take pictures of them while they're playin' around - mon dieu , every single one's adorable."

The redhead watches Frank remake his bowtie, tying it into a butterfly-shaped ribbon with immaculate skill. He takes it upon himself to continue talking, noticing how Frank's deeply interested in anything he has to say. 

Eddie crosses his leg over one another and places an arm on the table, keeping his violet eyes on Frank's daffodil yellows.

He chuckles, yammering on. "I've been makin' sure to film a couple of videos featurin' the kitties for my channel, too. Makin' papercrafts in the animal shelter to increase adoption rates an' all, commenters request tutorials so I'm happy to help."

"Hmmm, I see. Do you have any cats of your own back home?", asks Frank. "The most I have are butterflies, as you've seen before."

Eddie waves his hand. "No, I don't have a cat or anythin'. In fact, I don't have any pets! Havin' a lot of paper decorations at home means I'd have to be mighty careful if I was carin' for one."

In the middle of their mellow conversation, Sally exits the kitchen and walks over to their table carrying two plates. Balancing their orders, she delicately places them down one at a time and whispers something barely audible in Frank's ear. He lowers his thick unibrow in interest, opening his jaw and mouthing a 'Hey!' to Sally. 

The actress laughs, unzipping her fanny pack to pull out Broadway tickets to place in Frank's open palm. "Hah! There you go, Frank. You better not be late to my show, if you barge in midway through, you'll break the immersion again!"

"It won't happen, Sally. You know how important it is for me to be on time." Frank scoffs. "Now, move along. I need to talk with Eddie."

Sally sticks her tongue out, doing a mock salute and winking to Eddie. "Okay, bud! See you later - and you too, hunk."

As Sally leaves them alone, Frank pockets his tickets and Eddie picks up his clay mug to take a tiny sip of hot apple cider. He familiarizes himself with its various spices - cinnamon, maple syrup, and the sampling of orange juice blended into its concoction. 

"Hey, this tastes pretty good." Eddie smiles, biting a turnover and expressing his pleasures. "Poppy's a talented baker, I'm guessin' she prefers quality flavor over looks."

Frank hums, sipping his tea. "Precisely. She disliked the idea of removing any visual imperfections from her goods. In her words, it destroys the integrity and love placed into each of her homemade pastries."

"It can be the same for her drinks, too.", Frank adds. "Artificiality hurts not only her love for cooking, but her business. Poppy prefers using organic ingredients - it's why Howdy's bodega is closer to her place."

Eddie utters. "Ain't everything organic, Frank?"

"That is a question for another time," replies Frank. "What you should know, is that Poppy is careful and we're thankful for said carefulness."

The world itself is incredibly flawed and embracing said flaws allows for a coherent honesty unfound in most - people and objects alike. Eddie wonders if seeing through Frank's eyes would mean he'd be able to pinpoint every flaw on his person, whether it's his appearance or the southern Cadence in his voice. His clothing choices, too, were imperfect as he tossed away aesthetics in exchange for comfort. He thoroughly sips his hot cider again, close to daydreaming about the wondrous things that came with humanity.

Poppy doesn't discard her pastries, no matter how many blemishes or faults they have. Dents and burn spots, messy pies and wonky cakes - imperfect desserts are delicious and their appearances shouldn't matter. Their scents are attractive to many, such as the nameless worker coming in to buy a few iced cookies from the bakery and walking out with a goodie bag containing some caterpillar's face. 

Nothing comes out of the oven in their ideal form, except for Dr. Franklin Frankly.

They chat throughout the hour - two lovebirds keeping each other company in the middle of November, the joy bubbling up between them as Eddie's laughter and Frank's scientific explanations lighten the atmosphere a little more. 

The more time they've spent, Eddie notices the smallest quirks about Frank and the things he adores about him. His signature frown brightened by the occasional smile, the feathery way his hair waves in the air. Frank's posture is straightened and professional at all times, displaying lenience when he's surrounded by friends or chatting with Eddie. It's unusual for him to slouch, especially in a casual setting. He's spruced up, prim and proper in his cotton-weaved vests and shiny black Oxfords. 

Rarely does Frank answer to Franklin, preferring to be spoken to as 'Frank' and nothing more. If you use his full name - Eddie has a feeling he doesn't know the rest - he won't answer at all or completely annihilate you on the spot. Frank doesn't lose his temper easily, unless the line is crossed and the line is nigh thin. 

Eddie dreams in front of Frank, lost in his eyes. To softly brush his knuckles against his ridged cheeks, caressing the doctor's elegant hands, planning a vacation together… He's smitten by a handsome yankee and he wouldn't trade his feelings for anything else in the world.

Frank's flaws made him perfect, whether it's the moles on his neck or his unpleasant way of snapping. He could spin his head around in anger and Eddie would, still, wrap his arms around Frank in a loving embrace to calm him down. 

"Oh, Frank…", he wonders. "There's so many things we can do together…"

The person in question raises his unibrow, perplexed. "What's that, Eddie?"

Eddie snaps out of his halcyon daydream, apologizing multiple times and downing his hot cider mug. He laughs anxiously, setting down his mug. "Nothin', Frank! It's nothin', I promise! … What were you sayin'?"

"Ah, of course." Frank restarts his long-winded speech, leaning close. "I was only asking if you're interested in sending letters to each other, instead of texts. The human connection in sending letters is stronger than using a phone, yes? Then, why not send letters to each other?"

Eddie perks up, vocalizing his approval. "That'd be swell, Frank! Here, you can have my address."

He takes out his notepad and rips out a page, writing his home address in purple ink. Cursive is a beautiful way of handwriting, so why would Eddie ever print? Handing the page over to Frank, he prays that the other can read it and as expected - Frank is able to! 

Oh, Eddie's lucky to have such an intelligent… significant other? Again, are they officially dating? 

"You have magnificent handwriting, Eddie."

Frank's compliment, wrapped at the end of an arrow, pierces Eddie's heart and reduces him to smithereens. 

Heart throbbing, Eddie brushes a strand of loose hair behind his ear and exhales slowly. "I - thanks, darlin'. First time I've ever heard that."

And it really was. Eddie's handwriting is a labor of love, developed for decoration and calligraphy. It is a subtle expression of the real gentleness swelling in Eddie's chest, reassurance that his physical strength isn't anything to fear nor is his towering height. Compared to the muscular Howdy who definitely kicked out thieves on a daily basis, Eddie's built for farmwork and intimate cuddling.

As their date wraps up, Eddie thanks Frank for paying and he stalls to squeeze the last remaining time they have at the cafe. Their goodbyes are long with Frank withdrawing his eyes away from Eddie's pillowy smile and Eddie would've moved in for a kiss if he wasn't unsure about whether or not they were exactly… a couple. 

Romance comes easily for him, but not for Frank. He has seen how Frank becomes timid around him, read like an open book. 

Eddie starts leaving with Frank by his side, before his name is screamed out by Poppy and he turns around to speak to her. 

Frank stops in his tracks, waiting for the mailman by the door and he has enough patience to last for another minute or two.

"Eddie Dear, you don't mind if I tell you somethin'. Do you, sweetheart?"

Poppy's Texan drawl brings back comforting memories for Eddie, so he allows a minute-long chat. 

"Go ahead, Poppy." He moves closer at Poppy's gesture, listening to her quietened words.

"I've never seen Frank smile that much in a long time. He's a private guy, keepin' to himself all the time. Always frownin'."

Poppy's half-lidded eyes is accompanied by a relaxing smile and she plants a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"You're everythin' to him and I can tell. If you need anythin', let me know. There's a lot to Frank you don't know and I can share a thing or two."

He nods, moving to the exit. "Sure thing, ma'am! Thank you, and take care of yourself!"

Strolling by Frank's side, they leave the bakery after their afternoon date - Brooklyn's previously bustling streets are emptier than when they arrived with enough space for them to walk around the sidewalks together. Pigeons dance around, bobbing their heads and attempting to fly onto Eddie's slick-back hair as a replacement to a traditional nest. Frank swats them away, calling them flying rats in a bothered manner.

Eddie escorts Frank back to his flat, standing in front of his porch once more as they waved farewell. When Frank shuts the door, Eddie steps off and reminds himself: "You'll see him again, Eddie. He's workin' on campus."

He walks down the street, heading downstairs to a subway station. The autumn wind blows right behind him, carrying warm leaves in its whirlwind and the world keeps spinning in celebration of changing times.

Chapter Text

The Chrysalis is one of Brooklyn's most enjoyable bodegas and a satisfying tourist destination for people aware of the city's hidden gems. Howard "Howdy" Pillar is rightfully proud of his hard work, buying an old establishment underneath his to-be flat upon graduation to transform into a kempt convenience store containing a mixture of everything needed for your standard neighborhood grocery. It triples as a delicatessen, newsstand, and candy store where he carries imported goods of all kinds from different countries, stocked on his shelves at all times. Howdy's generosity is on Poppy's level, where he prepares home-styled meals in bentos to give away to the troubled youth and unemployed homeless that stop by to his store.

Now, Howdy's romance advice isn't free - he provides guidance in exchange for some fine American currency. If you don't have any on hand, jokes and stories suffice as a suitable replacement since he enjoys hearing about other experiences depending on the context or newly-conjured jokes with well-made punchlines that isn't anything he's heard before. He enjoys guffawing and speaking his mind on things, having a sincere conversation with whoever's lurking in front of his counter.

Frank has known Howdy since their high school years at the academy, he was one of the more passionate and chipper members of their friend ship. Upbeat and fast-talking in his Trans-Atlantic accent, never relenting to constantly speak like he's haggling or hosting an auction where he's shouting bids at rapid speeds. The moment Wally was attached to him at the hip, it was all over. They started dating, doting on each other in public with their affectionate displays around the block or during Julie's planned road-trips where they'd cuddle each other.

He enters Howdy's bodega, rattling the silver doorbell on his way inside. The late evening means there won't be any unwanted strangers around to bother him or dig their claws into a personal conversation. Frank shuts the door behind him, ringing the bell again and he stands in front of the counter where his Cuban friend is concentrating on reorganizing his behind the counter shelves with the strength and speed of four limbs. 

Frank clears his throat, crossing his arms as he waits for Howdy to finish. He takes another look around, noticing Barnaby's wide figure checking out the deli for he and Wally's dinner - as adopted brothers, they're sharing a flat and Frank wouldn't intrude on Barnaby's choices. He's an expert home-chef, unlike Frank's grueling attempts at complicated dinners that end up encased in cheap jelly. 

(Frank is proud of his gelatin creations, even if Sally has called them seventies era abominations.)

"Ahem. Good evening, Howdy."

His shrewd, high-pitched voice has Howdy by the metaphorical antenna, giving him time to turn around and look down at Frank's stoic intelligent visage. 

Howdy beams, slapping his palms on the countertop with an energetic bounce. "Francis! Long time no see! It's been a week or so, since I've seen you? Ah, whatever! You're here to talk?"

"Obviously." Frank deadpans, beginning to explain his reasons. "It's about Eddie. I'm lost on what to do concerning our relationship and moving forward in terms of… romance. In fact, I can't tell whether or not this is romance!"

The bodega owner places both hands on his hips, snickering. "I know what you're saying, pal! You're asking for love advice. That's something I have tons of knowledge on, but…"

Howdy wags his finger in an animated fashion, closing the empty gap between he and Frank to talk face to face for a quick second. "... you're gonna have to pay a buck fifty for it! Hey, don't look at me like that! I know you have money, your teaching job pays you a fine salary with their expensive tuitions and all."

Grumbling, Frank raises a splayed palm and lightly pushes Howdy's face away from his. He fishes his wallet from his houndstooth long coat's cavernous pockets and pulls out a fifty dollar bill to slip next to the cash register. 

Howdy grins, pocketing the beaten fifty and blurts out. "Aha! Thank you very much, doctor. You have the rest of my evening, so go on. Talk about your problems."

Frank twirls his hand in the air, figuring out if he should start at the beginning of their relationship or how they ended up meeting. "You see, Eddie and I have been friends ever since I met him. We have gotten rather close as of late, quicker than I'm used to, and I'm wondering if what we're experiencing together is love."

"Like, kissing and hugging love or holding hands looking at the sunset love?" Howdy pauses, waiting for Frank's reaction. His stone-faced expression doesn't move, staring right through Mr. Pillar's jokes without laughing. In fact, he doesn't think it was a joke. 

Howdy laughs awkwardly, caterpillar-shaped earring dangling in the air. "Right, right! My bad, Francis. I forgot you're not exactly the best at humor."

"To answer your question, we've had our first date recently as of last week and I'm having trouble describing my feelings as words." 

With an extensive vocabulary surpassing his ex-teachers, Frank's prose is academic in nature and breaking down his emotions into a few words is exceedingly burdensome. It's demanding work when he poured his years into strict education, rather than socializing with his peers. He'll have to try and shatter his habits of speaking like an essay assignment, figure out how to stay at a comfortable level of natural friendliness likened to his students. Informal and easygoing, so that he doesn't come off as extremely pretentious while keeping his identity as Frank.

"Hm, that's interesting!" Howdy spins on his heels, staring down at the orange tabby cat that leapt onto the candy boxes sitting on his shelves. "You're known as the brutally honest one among us."

(Barnaby snorts in the background, overhearing Howdy's statement as he examines a leg of lamb.)

He begins petting one of his bodega cats, scratching underneath its chin. "It wouldn't make sense for you to not know how to string some words together! You don't hesitate on talking about your true feelings, as well. Then again, you weren't one to fall head over heels easily."

"That's why I'm here, Howard. " Frank pinches his nose bridge, inserting his wallet back into his pockets. "Romance isn't something I've been through before and I'm hoping you can tell me how to properly handle it."

"You know how Wally and I have been dating for the past six years? It's because we talk to each other! We're both on equal ground and we're free to talk about our thoughts without judging each other." 

Ciao, Howdy's orange tabby cat, emits a booming purr from his constant petting and chin scratching as a way to reward one of his pets. Bodega cats tend to control pests and exterminate invasive rodents from breeding in the Chrysalis - due to Howdy's popularity on the block and in Brooklyn, he has four to handle the local rat population and dwindle them down. 

A fluffy tail wraps around Frank's leg, revealing Bonjour in her loveliness with a smoke gray-colored coat and misty stripes that capture her beauty. Frank sighs, cradling the warm feline in his arms as its whiskers twitch and body squirms. 

Howdy leaves Ciao to nap, confirming that these are the only two cats willing to approach them. "Hallo and Yassou are probably sleeping elsewhere. I don't ever see those two separated. Anyways, now where were we…"

"Eureka! That's right." He pulls out a mint gum strip and starts chewing, spinning the cogs in his brain. "You need to be Frank to Eddie and think of him like you're on the same level as each other. I know he's tall, but I'm taller than him and you're fine with telling me off all the time!"

Frank exclaims, holding Bonjour closer to his chest. "That's different! We're friends, but Eddie is more like… He's something else."

"You can call him your boyfriend," remarks Howdy. "It's not gonna hurt, pal! Like, what - it's been one date? You've been yapping off about how you feel nervous to a lot of us. At this point, you should swallow your spit and tell Eddie you love him!"

The professor's lower lip trembles and he mouths a short complaint. "Fine. How should I go about confessing my love to him?"

Howdy takes out a comb and styles his pompadour for one final time tonight, staring at the mirror hanging on his side that Frank couldn't see. "Write him a love letter or something! You're great at letter-writing, yeah? That's how you've done things for years , Francis."

"What'd make this different from the other times you've sent us stuff in the mail?" 

Howdy's words ring true in Frank's mind, what'd exactly make sending a formal letter (a declaration of love, nonetheless) different from the previous times? His handwriting is deemed interesting by everyone who's read them with his written critiques and mail sent to his only friends. His academic prose needed to be separated from his casual speech, too. This is a work-in-progress confession that had to be told before it's too late, so what'd be more fitting than sending a love letter to the very mailman that snatched his heart?

Frank set Bonjour down on the counter, stroking her long and silky fur. "You're right. And how do I go about writing a love letter?"

"Tsktsk! You're what Julie would call all intelligence and no wisdom! Give me a second to think…" Howdy hums, setting his left hand down for Bonjour to rub her cheeks on. 

He pipes up with a solution, yelling. "What I'd recommend doing is taking apart your emotions for him that are romantic, as in - what traits do I find appealing about Eddie? Why did I fall in love with him? Add in stuff about how you first met, confess that you love him, and there you go!"

"How you confess your love is up to you. Personally, I'd write that I want to be his boyfriend and give him loads of kisses on the cheek!" 

Howdy's bronze skin glows underneath the dim lighting of his bodega, reflecting his pearly whites onto the sparkling countertop. "Wally confessed to me with a letter! In fact, he invited me over to the Hudson River and handed the envelope over to me! He covered the damned thing in bright red lipstick and I've never looked back since."

Frank needed to say something, then Barnaby stops by the front to set down tonight's dinner. He lowers himself down to Frank's height and wraps an arm around his shoulders, waving a hairy hand to Howdy. "Hey, Howdy. What's up, Frank? Tonight's not looking busy - that's a good thing around these hours."

Howdy is eye-to-eye with Barnaby, sharing their towering heights. "I know right! Thieves would usually try and shoplift while I'm in here! Little do they know…"

Bam, bam. Howdy rolls up his sleeves, revealing his pumping hot biceps with a single flex. He flexes again and again, causing Barnaby to cackle at Howdy's chiseled muscles. Frank watches in awe, as if he hadn't seen his friend flex before. 

To be fair, it's been a long time since Frank had seen progress from Howdy's grueling workout routine.

"Oh man! If you weren't runnin' a bodega, you'd be at the Olympics!" Barnaby pays for his ham sandwiches, nudging Frank's shoulder as Howdy inserts the crisp bills into his cash register. Brand new and recently placed into circulation. 

The comedian mutters into Frank's ears. "Between you and I, bud. Get Eddie to see a Yankees game, he would love to share a hot dog on the bleachers with you."

Hyuk, hyuk! Barnaby pats Frank's back and then leaves with his sandwiches, letting the two resume their private conversation concerning Frank's awkward love life and the things motivating him to continue pursuing Eddie.

Howdy glances at the ticking clock, yawning. "It's close to nine, Francis. I'm gonna have to close up real soon. What else do you have trouble with, hm?"

"As far as I'm aware, nothing else."

"Are you sure?"

Frank shuts his eyes, opening one to stare daggers into Howdy's pleasant smile. "Yes. Now, leave me alone. I'm heading home, thank you for your advice."

Giving Bonjour one final pet, Frank buttons up his long-coat and pulls up his butterfly checkered scarf in an effort to regain warmth. He almost steps outside, nearly tripping on a seal-pointed cat stretching out its legs and meowing. As Hallo sprints out of the way, jumping onto the nearby ice cream refrigerator, Frank rolls his eyes and exits the bodega. 

This evening in Brooklyn is one of the coldest record temperature to date in the current season, it wouldn't stop Frank from commuting to work or visiting his friends. He needed to be paid and he needed to interact with others. Though, taking breaks was mandatory to recharge his social batteries. Spending time alone is as important as having quality time with those closest to him that he also thinks of as family.

Frank turns a corner, heading down the street to his flat when he comes across a lone kitten scurrying around. Black fur with blinding yellow eyes blending into the city's darkness, its fluffy tail sticking up upon sighting Frank.

It mewls, running over to play with his oxfords in an effort to gain his attention. 

He doesn't sigh or roll his eyes, unbuttoning his long coat. Frank picks up the miniature stray, calling the adorable troublemaker a runt and holding it underneath his coat. The kitten's head pokes out, yelling at Frank as he heads home with a new friend.