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Frank, never in a million billion years, expected himself to have the strength to knock someone clean out.
Ok. So, technically, he hadn't done it all by himself. He'd had a little help from the chunky door which swung open by Frank's accord and hit the stranger in the face. Plus, he was way too drunk to process the fact that the door swung outwards and he should've done it slowly. Plus plus, his mind was still hazy and unfocused from how loud that last band had been; his head was spinning. Basically, Frank was still a weakling.
The night had fully come and there was only one fucking street lamp in the back alley of this club. Frank still had a beer in his and hadn't quite yet figured out that he'd have to put it down before helping the stranger. Eventually, his common sense (the very little that he had) kicked in and he unceremoniously threw the bottle to the ground before apologising profusely to the unconscious body.
The one light only allowed the intoxicated man to make out the outline of the body, and the fire-truck red hair atop his head. Nice.
"What the fuck..." came a groggy voice, that perhaps wasn't God like he initially thought, and Frank was only slightly disappointed to discover that he hadn't actually knocked someone out. What would he have to brag about now?
"Dude," he dropped to his knees, balance being a concept he couldn't quite grasp at that time. "You're, like, alive."
"I think so." the stranger still hadn't opened his eyes.
"I'm Frank." Frank said, frankly. "I'm sorry for hitting you with this door, man, the motherfucker swings outwards. I mean, like, who even designs that kind of door, ya know what I mean?"
"Wow, you're impressively drunk. And also kind of cute, so I'll let you off for nearly killing me this time." Stranger was coy. "I'm Gerard." Gerard was coy.
"Thanks, Gerard. I mean, I know my life isn't really worth all that much but I'd much ra-rather not spend it in jail. Ya know what I mean? And I... I am really sorry, like, so sorry." he slurred.
Frank then helped Gerard to his feet and the pair dusted the dirt from their jeans. Speaking of jeans, Gerard looked really good in his. Like, really good. And Frank knew the other man had caught him staring but, fuck if he cared.
Under the better lighting, Frank could see that Gerard was incredibly pretty. He'd never called a guy pretty before, but this one really was, ya know what he means?
"Hmm, I forgive you, Frank." Gerard smirked. "But, ya know, I think you should give me your number. In case I, like, die on the way home and need to give your number to the police so they can go arrest you for killing me."
Frank liked where this was going.
"I'd prefer if you, like, used my number for other things, ya know. But I'm so down with giving it to you. It'd only be right of me to accept responsibility for kill-killing you." he giggled towards the end.
Still smirking, Gerard retrieved his phone from his back pocket (Frank totally would've offered to do that for him buy he felt it was too soon) and gave it to Frank to save his number in.
"Well, Gerard, I hope when you call me it's not the police telling me you're dead and I'm going to jail."
The smirk turned into a grin. "I hope so too."