1. Frankie #2
“No, actually, this is one of the most problematic classes. Three of my other five classes have a volunteer scribe already signed up with the university, so I’m going to be able to get notes from them without a problem.
My fourth class is missing a scribe and has a lab that doesn’t permit scribes, so I may be out of luck there.
This class doesn’t have a scribe either. ”
Frankie scrunched up his face. “A scribe? Can’t you just ask one of the other students to give you their notes?”
Diego leveled an unamused look at Frankie and then gazed out across the room. “I… don’t want to burden anyone. It means they can’t be late, and have to attend every single class, paying the utmost attention throughout.” Diego cast a cursory glance at Frankie who let out a disgruntled huff.
“Also,” Diego continued, unperturbed, “scribes get special accommodations and aren’t asked to participate in discussion if it would take away from their note taking.
I believe they also get study materials to share with the student and extra credit if they help them study, so…
it’s a bit more involved than just asking for notes. ”
Frankie tightened his hand around Diego’s arm, making him flinch. “Well, if you’re done being a dick about me being late, I’m more than happy to take notes for you, or I can even apply to be a scribe or whatever.”
Diego blinked at him like he’d just offered him half of a moldy sandwich instead of a clear and easy solution to his problem. “Why would you do that?”
Frankie shrugged. “It sounds like you’re in a bit of a bind, and I’m happy to help. It might help me focus better anyways and encourage me to stop messing around between classes.”
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Diego used his other hand to pry off Frankie’s grip from his arm. “Yes, well… perhaps don’t say that to the student resources center when you apply to be a scribe.”
“So, you accept?” Frankie asked, pulling his hand back, only to place it on the armrest between them and lean into Diego’s space.
Diego sunk back against the other side of his chair. “Yes, I… I mean, I don’t really think I have much of a choice– oh my god, can you please get out of my personal space?”
Diego tried to bat at Frankie’s chest, which made Frankie laugh until a thought struck him, hard. He pulled back and gave Diego a skeptical look. Diego immediately went on the defensive, his shoulders curling up and his body shrinking in on itself.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“So…” Frankie began, not sure how to say this, “if I do this scribe thing, we’ll probably have to hang out, and talk about class and study and shit… right?”
Diego slowly nodded, still looking uncertain and a bit worried.
“And that means we’ll be spending time together outside of the classroom, which we’ve never done before.”
Diego’s head tilted to the side in question, and he squinted at Frankie. “And… that’s a problem?”
“I mean… is it? Do you… I know you saw my lanyard that first day, and I’ve been none too subtle about flirting with pretty much any and all of our classmates. It’s not going to be a problem, right?”
Diego let out a short breath somewhere between a huff and a scoff. “That… you’re queer?”
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 registered as 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 truly need Frankie’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.