He's Not Dead He Only Looks That Way

Frank manages to make his way home, and luckily, his mom isn’t there, because he knows that she’d pitch a fit at Frank’s current state.
He takes a shower, not using soap because just the splash of water on his wounds hurts enough; no need to add any dyes or perfumes to it.
He steps out, noticing that his left eye has now bruised over and his nose isn’t in as bad of a shape as he’d thought. He dresses his wounds, dumping peroxide onto each one even though it makes him have to bite a towel so the neighbors won’t hear him squealing in pain.
Finally, he strips to his underwear and shirt and curls up in bed, exhausted. He hasn’t been beaten up since seventh grade, and since then, he’s forgotten how much it takes out of you.
He glances at his phone and sees a message from Gerard. He grabs it instantly, checking his texts to see Gerard’s. It reads:
‘Do you want to come over? I look pretty gross tbh but we can hang out with lots of blankets and soup and cuddle.’
Frank knows that Gerard will be furious when he sees Frank’s battered face and body, not at Frank of course, but at those boys. He figures that he may as well go over though; he can’t turn down snuggling when he feels so tired and shitty.
He walks the three blocks, limping slightly the entire way. Their kicks struck his ankle real good a couple of times, and he figures it’s sprained by how tight it is.
He shows up at the door, ringing the bell. Mikey is the one to answer, and he simply furrows his brows, asking slowly,
“Frank, what happened?”
Frank shrugs, kicking a stray pebble passively. “I just… these kids really don’t like me.”
“Why not?” Mikey questions.
Frank shakes his head, answering, “I dunno. Maybe they know I’m gay…” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, continuing, “Is Gerard here?”
“Yeah, down in his room,” Mikey replies, stepping out of Frank’s way to allow him inside. “Do you want an ice pack or something for your eye?”
“No, that’s okay,” Frank insists, moving past Mikey. He goes down the stairs gradually, wondering if it’s an option to completely obscure his face.
“Frank!” Gerard greets from his bed. He’s completely wrapped up in blankets like a cocoon, only his tiny nose and doe eyes visible through the mess of cloth. Frank steps over, his head ducked, hands in his pockets.
“Sit down,” Gerard encourages, scooching over for him. He tears his eyes away from the movie playing (he was watching it intently even though he’s seen Full Metal Jacket at least twelve times) and looks at Frank. Immediately, he frowns, and he asks,
“What… what happened?”
Frank gazes down guiltily, telling, “Some kids from school beat me up.”
Gerard whips his blanket, off, standing abruptly. His hand then goes to his forehead, and he sits back down, cringing from whatever pain he’s in.
“Headache?” Frank questions, taking one of Gerard’s hands.
Gerard squeezes Frank’s hand as if it’s all he’s got, and he nods, but manages to ask,
“Who was it?”
“I don’t want you to know,” Frank admits.
“Why not?” Gerard wheezes, rubbing his sore temples.
“Because,” Frank replies. “I don’t want you fighting anyone for me, ever, but especially not when you’re sick!”
“I’m fine!” Gerard insists. He coughs violently, hacking almost.
“You’re obviously not,” Frank responds. He pushes Gerard’s shoulders down to the mattress, wrapping his blanket back around him. “Just please, lay down, and get some rest. It’s no use getting all riled up over me.”
Gerard opens his mouth, surely ready to give a snappy comeback. But he pauses, and just flicks his eyes to the TV screen, back to Frank, and then once more on the TV, where they stay fixed.
It’s not for a while before Gerard speaks again, and even when he does talk, it’s hesitantly so.
“Frank?”
Franks sighs, “Yes?”
“Why’d they beat you up?” Gerard asks.
Frank shrugs, mumbling, “They came to me at lunch, and I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
“You know, you can’t always blame yourself,” Gerard reasons. “I know, it’s an easy thing to do, but you have to try to stop it.”
“It’s not called blaming when it’s actually my fault,” Frank retorts.
Gerard shakes his head. “I know you Frank. I know that you said nothing that those boys don’t have coming to them.”
Frank doesn’t have a response for that, so he opts to stay quiet. He finally pleads, “Can you just please not face them? There’s two of them, and I’d hate to see you hurt.”
Gerard considers this, and nods. “Yeah, I won’t.” He stays quiet for a moment, but then adds, “But if I so happen to run into them, I’ll have some choice words.”
“Please, please, no choice words, no threats, none of that, alright?” Frank begs. “They’re bad news, Gerard, I’m serious.” He squeezes Gerard’s thigh, assuring, “I just want to keep you safe.”
“I don’t need to be kept an eye on, you know,” Gerard grumbles. “I’m fucking seventeen years old.”
“Yes, but so are they,” Frank answers. “And there’s two of them. And one of you.”
Gerard pouts, and murmurs, “You think I can handle seeing you like this?”
“Look,” Frank begins. “As long as I watch my mouth around them, they shouldn’t do this again.”
“But what if they do?” Gerard asks.
“They mostly did it because they knew you were gone,” Frank realizes. “I think they’re scared of you.”
“Good, they should be,” Gerard smirks.
Frank giggles, and replies, “I’d just like to remind you that you’re wearing Hello Kitty pajama bottoms as we speak.”
Gerard frowns, and peeks beneath the blanket, murmuring, “Shit, you’re right.”
Frank laughs, and hugs Gerard, pecking at his cheek. “I really miss having you at school. Get your ass healed.”
“Send me to the vet,” Gerard moans dramatically, tossing his head back. He blinks, then admits, “That’s a lie, I should be better by tomorrow.”
Frank chuckles, “Good, because I can’t do this without you.”
Gerard shakes his head, promising, “You can do anything, Frank. I promise, you are so much more special than you think you are.”
“I’m really not,” Frank mumbles. “Trust me.”
Gerard knits his brows, and pulls Frank down to a laying position, cuddling with him.

Notes

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