9: Ray Toro's Quest For Milk

                                    

                                          
Frank had been all kinds of reluctant when it came to the matter of staying the night, but Ray was older, definitely wiser, and somehow, just in a way, still Frank's teacher, and still someone the younger man felt he should look up to and listen to, and with a huffy, teenage shake of his head and sigh, Frank had agreed to stay in the spare room and allow Ray to watch in far too much concern for anyone's good, as Frank refused to say anything of any substance.
                          
Because despite the very obvious mess that Frank found himself in, he still did indeed reckon he really was okay, and that this all would pass: one way or another, and at this point, Frank liked to say he was little but indifferent, but in reality, Frank was little but an expert at lying to himself, and Ray Toro was a world class expert at seeing through it all.
                          
Ray had known Frank since the younger was seventeen, after all.
                          
Frank felt sort of awkward, uncomfortable even, just like he didn't belong, in a house, in a world like this, but Ray was all kinds of stubborn, and Frank was all kinds of welcome, even if he didn't dare admit it, that he had something to think and complain about besides the absence of the ex-boyfriend who had been dead something like ten years now.
                          
Ray was of course just a little concerned for Frank's mental health, because well, with the subject matter and what he'd told him, who wouldn't be? But besides this, Frank seemed absolutely fine, and Ray found himself stumped, fucking stuck on the matter, and he reckoned that this wasn't something he could just discuss with his wife, Christa, at the dinner table, as he often did when he found himself in need of advice.
                          
He reckoned he owed Frank privacy at the very least, and he made certain of the fact that he'd stick to that promise, and would tell Christa the truth, to an extent; that Frank was an old student of his, and they were close, and Frank needed somewhere to stay tonight, or perhaps for a few nights, because Ray had no idea just how long it would be until he could let Frank leave through that door again and not shake with anxiety at the notion of never seeing him again.
                          
Because with the state of mind that Frank was in, it really felt like a possibility: a very real possibility, in fact, and there was little way out of that one.
                          
But Frank was sane, or at least, he seemed so, because Frank was Frank: older but still the same person Ray had known ten years ago, because sure, he'd matured, of course he had - time changed people, after all, but he was inherently the same person, and Ray felt that even as the twenty eight year old stood in the corner of the kitchen, leaned up against the cabinet, his whole body shaking, and his whole head vacant, and fixated upon matters of that certain ex-boyfriend, as Ray stood in the next room, attempting to explain this to a rather tired and flustered looking Christa Toro.
                          
Frank jumped a little as the kitchen door opened, and Ray lead his wife inside, and from the somewhat concerned look in her eyes, he reckoned that Ray had made some attempt regarding an explanation regarding the guy in her kitchen. "This is Frank; it's just a night, or a few, and it's important, isn't it, Frank?"
                          
Frank looked between Ray and his wife, raising his eyebrows a little, "I'll go if you want, it's nothing, but Ray's... Ray, and..."
                          
"He's not going to let you go, let alone give up on you." Christa finished for him with something like a smile, and well, that wasn't exactly what Frank was expecting. "No more than a few nights though, look, I'm guessing this is private, but still, I don't want the life of a student of yours from ten years ago ruining ours."
                          
"It won't." Ray promised her, sincerity in his eyes, and there was somewhat of an unspoken conversation, and a kind of love and trust that Frank reckoned he'd never reach, not with anyone, and especially not with Gerard.