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Frank is not an asshole. At least this is what Frank himself thinks. So what if he missed every opportunity to buy all the groceries for Christmas dinner? It's not like he was planning to have that many people over (or anyone at all): his plans for this Christmas usually consist of spending the first eight to twelve hours of the day in bed, going to his mother’s house for dinner and then spending the next day recovering from the feast she is undoubtedly going to throw for all the family friends and distant relatives Frank usually sees once a year. He is almost certain that his mother is going to give him enough leftovers to last him for the next few weeks. He doesn’t need to buy groceries.
And yet there he is, standing in the middle of the only grocery store in the area that is still open at quarter past ten in the evening two days before Christmas Eve, because of course his friends decided to throw a potluck party and invited Frank at the last possible moment, and now he has to bring something, and he doesn't want to be that one asshole that brings cheap frozen pizza to a potluck. The only two people at the store are him and the bored cashier guy at the counter, and the entire situation is getting progressively more awkward.
The thing is, Frank respects retail workers’ rights. Been there, done that, grew to hate customers that show up five minutes before closing to do three weeks worth of shopping, especially when Christmas is around the corner and only psychos want to stay at work after the official closing hours this time of year. He would really prefer to spend as little time at the store as possible and let the poor cashier go home. And this is where the problem arises: Frank can't find flour. He is almost certain that the store has to have something as basic as flour.
The cashier doesn't pay any attention to Frank as he approaches the counter, too invested into the comic he’s reading. He looks cute, though. A bit like a vampire from a teen dark romance movie, only without glitter, and maybe if Frank wasn’t so preoccupied with looking for flour he would have even tried to get the guy’s number.
“Hey,” Frank says. “Sorry. I can’t find any flour, so if you could please…”
The cashier slowly raises his head. For a few moments his hazel eyes — a bit unfocused, as if the guy is having trouble coming back to reality — study Frank’s appearance with scrutinising precision. Frank gets just enough time to read his name tag: Gerard, with a little bat drawn in the upper right corner.
“We’re out,” Gerard says.
Frank blinks. He already forgot what he wanted to ask.
“Sorry?”
“We’re out of flour,” Gerard repeats.
“Shit.”
Gerard responds with a disinterested shrug. He clearly wants to go back to his comic, and in any other situation Frank would have left him alone, but right now he really needs something that isn’t frozen dinner, so it seems he will have to act like an asshole if he wants to leave the store before Gerard kicks him out.
“We have baking mixes,” Gerard helpfully adds. “I think.”
“Cool, thanks,” Frank blurts out and immediately disappears in the direction Gerard pointed at. Baking mix cakes are never as good as home-made, but desperate times require desperate measures, so Frank is ready to accept anything at this point.
He finds three different kinds of baking mix, and the choice seems almost impossible. He really needs to get a hold of himself, pick one mix, pick up some eggs and milk on his way out and leave before Gerard decides to kick his ass for making him stay after official closing hours. Even though Gerard seems sweet, if a bit awkward and withdrawn, and Frank would like to get to know him better. They’re probably about the same age; Frank might even run into him sometime later if he lives somewhere around Belleville, so there is no need to try to attract Gerard’s attention by being one of those annoying last minute shoppers.
He is getting distracted.
Frank takes a random box of baking mix and walks back to the counter. Gerard is still there, reading his comic, though this time he keeps shooting Frank glances that Frank himself wants to interpret as interested. He’s probably wrong — he barely even knows the guy’s name, and that is only because Gerard is wearing a nametag, — but he decides to settle on that. At the checkout counter, to Frank’s left, he notices candy canes and picks one before he can think this through. If Gerard has an opinion for that, he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s for you,” Frank says.
Gerard looks up at him.
“Thanks,” a tiny smile crosses his lips. “You still need to pay for it though.”
Frank obediently pulls out his wallet. For now he is going to take it as a small victory: at least Gerard didn’t tell him to go fuck himself, so that’s already good enough for Frank. He might actually have a chance.
“Got any plans for Christmas?” Frank asks.
“If you want my number, you can just say that,” Gerard replies as he accepts the money from Frank.
“And you're gonna give it to me?”
Gerard offers him a bright smile. “Mom told me not to give out my phone number to strangers.”
He wipes loose strands off his face and throws Frank an expectant look. Frank immediately gets the hint.
“I’m Frank,” he introduces himself. “And you're Gerard. We're not strangers anymore, right?”
Gerard passes him the change.
“I guess not,” he says. “I’m supposed to close up now.”
So Frank interpreted it all wrong after all. He tries to not let his disappointment show as he picks up the baking mix and tries to shove it into his backpack.
“Alright,” he mutters. “See you around, I guess.”
He didn’t really expect a Christmas miracle anyway. It would be nice to hook up with a cute guy, true, but what can he do if the cute guy in question doesn’t want to hook up with him?
“You know what?” Gerard breaks the awkward silence. “This is my last day anyway, so fuck it.”
He takes off the name tag and throws it on the counter. Frank watches him with a dumbfounded expression on his face, and Gerard smiles at him.
“Wait for me outside,” he says. “I’m gonna get my coat.”
Frank smiles back at Gerard. He has already forgotten about the potluck party, the cake he was going to make. All he can think about right now is Gerard’s sweet dorky smile, and the way he tries to get his greasy dark hair off his face and fails.
And maybe Christmas miracles really do exist.