stop

Maybe if Mikey had the balls to go get his own fucking deodorant, Gerard wouldn't be in this mess right now.


But no, Mikey insisted, all "Gerard, I can't let Pete"- some cute cashier or whatever- "see me buy deodorant, what would he think of me" ("That you practice good hygiene, dumbass"), although he seemed to have no problem with tagging along and waiting in the car while Gerard trudged into the Rite Aid.


So now Gerard is climbing out of his Subaru at 10pm after somehow managing to hit the only other (parked! It was fucking parked) car in the fucking parking lot. It's a pretty ugly blue minivan- not that he can talk, his own car isn't much to look at either. Not that he doesn't love it. But, you know. Comparatively.


Anyway, Gerard ignores Mikey's constant stream of criticism regarding his driving skills ("It was parked, Gee! It was fucking parked!" "I know, shut the fuck up") and braces himself as he walks around the front to survey the damage.


It's not that bad. Really. There's a small dent on his own bumper, but whatever, he's already got a ton of those. Figures that his car couldn't hold up to a minivan.


Except... looking at the vehicle in question, Gerard thinks maybe he did get the better end of the stick. Because how the hell did he do that much damage? He barely nudged the fucking thing! It's not like it's /wrecked/, but Gerard would much rather not explain to the car's owner why there's about a foot of blue paint missing from the back of their minivan.


By this time, Mikey has gotten out of the passenger seat and joined him. "Well, you fucked up," he says easily, positioning himself so that he faces Gerard and his back rests against the minivan.


"Shut up," Gerard says, not for the first time.


"Should we wait for the owner to come back?" He doesn't sound like he cares either way.


"I guess so," Gerard grumbles. He /could/ just leave. It's not like anyone saw what happened. It's a Tuesday night, and it's late. But the moral side of him wins out so he leans back against his own car, crossing his arms unhappily.


A couple minutes later Mikey says, "If they don't get back in the next minute, I'm driving myself home."


"You're not driving my car anywhere, anytime," Gerard shoots back. He glances around the parking lot. There's the Rite Aid, a teriyaki place, some hair salon, and a dry cleaner's. The lights are off in all but the Rite Aid. "Just wait, he's probably in the Rite Aid."


"Did you see anyone in there?"


Gerard thinks back briefly. "I don't know, I wasn't really looking."


"Well-" Mikey begins, but he cuts himself off, looking at something over Gerard's shoulder.


Gerard gives him a weird look before turning his head and following his gaze.


A dark figure is ambling towards them. Dark, because there are about two working lamps in this parking lot. They're holding what appears to be two bulging shopping bags, one in each hand, and as they approach, Gerard can make out a hoodie pulled over their head.


"Hi," they say pleasantly, shifting one of the grocery bags to the other hand so they can pull their hood down. Now that they're closer and his eyes have a adjusted to the dim light of the street lamp behind him, Gerard can see that it's a guy- a teenager- with a mess of black hair and an easy, open smile. He's a couple inches shorter than Gerard, which is saying something. He's been trying to break five foot eight for months.


"That's my car you're leaning on," he says cheerfully to Mikey, his voice snapping Gerard out of his thoughts. Mikey moves without a word, shooting Gerard a subtle yet meaningful glance.


"Uh, yeah, about that-" Gerard begins nervously as the boy fishes out his keys and unlocks the passenger side door, tossing his shopping inside. There are like, eight bags of Cheetos in there.


"Yeah?" Cheeto Boy prompts when Gerard doesn't continue. Gerard just stares at him, unsure how to go on. Mikey eventually takes pity on him.


"My brother kind of scraped your car with his car. Sorry."


"What? Show me," Cheeto Boy says, a small frown on his face. He doesn't look too concerned otherwise.


Gerard meekly points at the scraped paint. "Sorry," he adds, in case Mikey's emotionless apology wasn't enough.


Cheeto Boy looks at the damage for about two seconds before laughing. "Is that it? Don't worry about that shit, this is my mom's car anyway. She won't even notice."


Gerard, of course, worries about it anyway. "Are you sure? I can give you my, like, insurance information or something-"


"Seriously, dude, it's fine," Cheeto Boy assures him. When the nervous look doesn't leave Gerard's face, he continues, "but if you're really worried you can just give me your number, I guess? I'm Frank, by the way," he says, extending a hand. Gerard takes it hesitantly. In the dim light he can see the dark lines of tattoos on Cheeto Boy's- Frank's- fingers.


Frank extends the same hand to Mikey, who doesn't even shake it- he just holds it for a moment before letting it drop. Gerard's pretty sure he sees him wipe his hand on his jeans. Fucking weirdo. "I'm Mikey. That's Gerard." Which is when Gerard realizes he forgot to say his own name, what the hell.


"Cool," Frank grins. "Right, so, give me a sec." He turns to rummage around in his (mom's) car's glovebox, and emerges with a permanent marker. Then, without any preamble, he grabs Gerard's wrist, who immediately flinches.


"What-"


"Oh, shit, sorry dude, I'm just gonna write my number," Frank answers with another flash of teeth. Gerard tries to keep still as Frank scribbles down the digits on his arm. It tickles.


"You can just text that number and I'll have yours," Frank says brightly as he caps the pen.


"Okay," Gerard says.


Frank smiles again (Gerard just slammed into his car, why is he so happy) and holds his hand up in a wave. "Well, I have to get home and hide this car wreck from my mom," he says, winking. "'Night!"


Mikey looks at Gerard for a long time after Frank's car pulls out of the parking lot.


"What?" Gerard snaps defensively.


Mikey just gives him one last withering stare before he climbs back into the passenger seat. Gerard grumbles to himself and opens the driver's side.


x


Later, Gerard's gotten as far as typing Frank's number into his phone and he's doing a pretty good job of staring at the screen. What is he supposed to say? "Hi, it's that guy who rammed into your mom's car. Just wondering if your mother is thirsting for my blood or anything. Text me back when you can."


After a few more minutes of deliberation, he settles for "this is gerard" and hits 'send'.