*Frank’s POV*

“If it’s a fucking knick knocker, I swear to god…” I growled under my breath as I stalked down the hall to the front door. The unknown person on the porch outside was apparently intent on battering their way in, probably to murder me or something. Not that I’m complaining. I already looked like death animated and I reeked of cigarettes, though I did have the decency to pull on a pair of foul, old ripped up jeans. Briskly, I gripped the tarnished brass door handle and jerked it toward me, an unbecoming scowl gracing my features. The unidentified disturbance hesitated with the next strike, and I realized that it was the face I had envisioned earlier. I stared in shock, my mouth falling open as my memory finally returned. This was the guy I scared yesterday afternoon when he knocked my desk over; when on some rant on different suicide methods I was going to attempt.

I stood there floundering for something to say, and he just looked at me in relief, breathing heavily with a small smile curling the side of his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I managed after some time spent gaping in bewilderment. The boy’s expression immediately changed to one of chagrin, shuffling uneasily from one foot to another whilst blushing profusely.

“I, ah, you worried me yesterday, and I had to know that you were okay.” He muttered gawking at his ratty, permanent marker covered converse. Switching his gaze from his feet to my face, He took in my shirtless state and blushed even harder, before frowning and moving a little closer to me. “Frank…” he murmured, “Frank, why the hell are you so skinny? I can see like, all your ribs.” I took a step backwards as he came closer, and looked down at myself. Oh. I didn’t even notice I was practically skin and bone.

His concern only seemed to intensify when I didn’t reply, instead backing up further and beginning to shut the door.The boy stepped forward hastily, wedging his foot between the threshold and the rapidly encroaching wooden slab. “Frank! Frank, wait.” He puffed, trying to shove his way inside. “Dude, I don’t even know you!” Pausing, I exclaimed in slight exasperation, “How do you even know my name? Or where I live?” fending off his entrance when he advanced again.

“Okay, okay, just listen. I’ll tell you everything if you just let me help you.” He pleaded, shooting me a despairing face. It took me a moment to process this. “I don’t need help.” I deadpanned, avoiding his scrutiny. He snorted, and utilized my momentary lapse in concentration to force his way inside.

“Yep, you do.” Shutting the door softly behind him, he turned to me grinning. “Gerard Way.” He held out his hand jovially and I just stared in confusion. What the hell was happening and who still shook hands anyway? The strange boy, Gerard, sighed and retracted his hand, running it instead through his overly long tresses in a habitual gesture that suggested he’d been doing so most of his life. Upon further inspection of him, I surmised that an essential part of his overall makeup consisted of bitten lips and smudged eyes, combined with his delicately curved figure and pronounced cheekbones, created an alluring and gorgeous image. Shaking myself out of my daze and back to reality with a sharp scolding, I caught the surreptitious glances Gerard was sending me himself, though his expression was more concerned than appreciative.

“Frank, when was the last time you ate?” Gerard questioned urgently.
“I don’t actually remember.” I stated in an offhand tone. Gerard visibly paled and opened his mouth to have a go. “Look, calm down, it’s not like I’ve been doing this on purpose.” I turned on my heel and strode in the direction of the kitchen, leaving him to stutter on after me.

Notes

Hey. You know that feeling when you have something to say, but you can't remember what it was? Yeah, I've got that feeling now...