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Frankie nodded his head succinctly and folded his arms over his puffed-up chest. He’d never thought Diego’s awkwardness was anything other than a part of his personality, but what if the reason he always recoiled from Frankie’s joking gestures was because he had a problem with Frankie, or Frankie’s sexuality?
“No, of course not, Franklin. I’m qu–... er, gay myself. I just like my personal space.”
Frankie noted the correction, which seemed unnecessary, but who was he to judge how someone else identified? He tried to ignore the small thrill that shot down his spine. He wasn’t interested in Diego like that, even if he enjoyed their banter and sometimes looked forward to this class to see him. He just… enjoyed the challenge! That was all.
He said none of this, of course, instead focusing on the other thing Diego had said. “You do know that not even my parents call me Franklin.”
Diego’s trademark smirk was back on his lips and Frankie was glad to be the one to have placed it there. “I guess I’m just special then.”
* * *
Getting registeredas a scribe was easier than Frankie expected, only requiring him to fill out a few forms and take a typing test. He submitted the forms to his professor the next class and he caught Diego giving him a strange, almost soft look.
The next two weeks were uneventful. He and Diego talked only once, when Diego gave him the dates he would need the scribing and studying help. Unfortunately, it was during the weeks leading right up to their midterm, so he would trulyneedFrankie’s help.
Frankie wasn’t used to being relied on. He was the rambunctious, bratty younger brother. He was the good time, not a long time, flirty and fun friend who could be called on for a night out, not a heartfelt conversation or a shoulder to cry on. He’d never minded up until then, but as the days passed and Diego looked more and more anxious, Frankie sort of wished he was the heartfelt kind of friend.
Maybe that was why, when the time came, and Diego stopped showing up for class, Frankie got to class ten minutes early to snag a seat in the front, and took the best, most comprehensive notes of his life. He wasn’t called on to answer questions, but he documented all of his classmates’ questions and answers, and even tracked some of the conversations the groups were having during breakout time. When the teacher made a reference to other material or cited a source during the class, Frankie would look it up during a break in the lecture and add the citation to the notes.
At the end of the first class, Dr. Thompson glanced through the notes and seemed genuinely impressed.
Frankie felt like a proud peacock the rest of the day, so much so that his new man of the moment, Dustin, commented on it over dinner. Frankie carried his proud energy into their night together, initiating a frantic back and forth where they took turns humping each other into the mattress, and then curled up on Dustin’s couch to watch a movie.
Frankie really liked Dustin. He was in the same frat as Chris and wasn’t so much in the closet as he was sort of comfortably sitting on the floor right outside of the closet, reading books, and being an adorable nerd. He apparently hadn’t dated much in college, only engaging in a few hookups, and Frankie was having a lot of fun exploring their mutual interests in bed. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that Dustin was looking for more – not with Frankie, hopefully… Just to be safe, Frankie vowed to help Dustin find a nice guy before the Thanksgiving holiday, which, come to think of it, was coming up in just under four weeks.
The rest of the first week without Diego passed in a blur. At the end of the sixth class Frankie scribed for, the professor approached him with a sticky note in hand.
“Diego has really appreciated your notes, and he asked if you’d be able to go to his apartment and help him study. He offered to meet at a coffee shop if you’d prefer, but he’s had an unexpected complication with his surgery and isn’t feeling very well, so he’d prefer his apartment.”
Surgery? Frankie accepted the note with Diego’s phone number and address. He wasn’t sure why he had never asked for Diego’s number before. He had lots of classmates' phone numbers, so he would have someone to text about notes and study materials if he missed class, but for some reason, he’d never exchanged numbers with Diego. It felt almost invasive to get his number this way.
Still, he shot Diego a quick text with an ETA and Diego responded with a thumbs up emoji. Okay, maybe he was being dramatic. Diego clearly didn’t care if Frankie had his number.
As he made his way to Diego’s house, Frankie finally admitted that he had butterflies in his stomach. He decided it was because he was a little bit intimidated. Diego seemed so intense and moved around the world in a sort of haughty, self-satisfied way. While it should have been an immediate turnoff, Frankie found he really respected it, and it made him want Diego to approve of him. He was only a few years older than Frankie, but he seemed to have lived almost a full lifetime compared to Frankie.
When Frankie knocked on the door, there was soft shuffling on the other side before a very haggard-looking Diego appeared. He had little tufts of a beard starting to grow in; his eyebrows, which were usually well-manicured, were unkempt and he was wearing a flannel about two sizes too big. One of the shoulders was threatening to fall off and Frankie was surprised at the vulnerability of seeing his collarbone. Diego was always so buttoned up that even this small expanse of skin seemed to heat Frankie’s blood.
Then he noticed the expression on Diego’s face. He looked… defeated.
“Hey man, are you okay?” Frankie asked, even though it was very obvious Diego wasn’t. His skin had lost its bronze hue and was sallow and a little ashy. His eyes were red as if he hadn’t been sleeping. Frankie momentarily wondered what kind of surgery would allow him to answer the door but would keep him from attending class.
“Yeah, I’m… fine. Come in,” Diego said, stepping back to let Frankie pass.
His apartment looked well lived in, with an empty pizza box leaning against the recycling bin to the right of the door, and a glass of water and a cup of what looked like the remains of coffee on the coffee table. There were books and notes scattered across the kitchen table as well as on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. Frankie noticed a huge sweatshirt thrown across the back of the sofa, and he felt a momentary flare of jealousy. Did Diego have a boyfriend? Was he huge? Was that Diego’s type?
Before he could fully formulate his thoughts, Diego walked over and grabbed the hoodie, slowly maneuvering it over his head and shoulders with some pretty obvious effort. It got stuck on his shoulder blades, and he reached behind himself to try and pull it down, but he was clearly struggling. When he let out a pained grunt, Frankie didn’t stop to think before stepping up behind him, grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt, and pulling it down. His knuckles brushed along Diego’s side, and he noticed what felt like a tube, as well as copious amounts of fabric underneath Diego’s shirt.
Diego jerked away and had to steady himself on the couch.
Once again, Frankie seemed incapable of controlling his thoughts or actions because he blurted out, “Did you have back surgery? My mom had that when I was in middle school and had to wear bandages and baggy clothes for weeks. Me and my sis had to help her get dressed and she always got stuck pulling it over her back like this.”
Diego looked over his shoulder at Frankie and his eyes sparked with anger. Frankie almost took a step back, but for some reason he didn’t. He stood, holding onto the hem of Diego’s hoodie, trying to make his face look as supportive as possible.
As they stared at each other, Frankie tried desperately to think of something else to say but his mind had gone strangely blank. Diego seemed to be making him lose his train of thought and bumble around like a moron. Of course Diego didn’t want to talk about it. If he had wanted to talk about it, he would have opened up the ten-plus times he’d had the opportunity to do so before.
Frankie pouted slightly, just about ready to drop his hand, when Diego blinked, and his face cleared. It was like a curtain fell. All of the cold hostility disappeared, and he was left with a soft, almost vulnerable looking expression.
“I… had surgery on my chest,” Diego said slowly, reaching down to remove Frankie’s hand from his sweatshirt. Frankie would not admit that he felt tingles run along his skin from where Diego’s fingertips brushed his. Tingles? Seriously? How fucking lame.
