3 : 28

3: 28
Frerard

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Gerard was finally released with much ease from the hospital, he was resting in the day mostly and awake in the night. His specialist warned him about the fevers he’d end up having, and if it became worse that Mikey or the emergency number he was given would be called just in case for his own safety. Gerard didn’t care for the emergency number, he didn’t care for his life all that much. He was far more obsessed with his memories, whatever he had left of them.

Gerard entered his apartment, he undressed himself and tossed everything to the side and got himself naked and steadily got into the shower. The stitches and the swelling on his chest had decreased exponentially, considering he had been healing for nearly 2 weeks. He was glad he was in and out of consciousness for that first week, he didn’t mind pain but when it came to surgery—needles, anything sharp and piercing he would get vertigo and throw up instantly.

The shower’s hot water sprayed and he put himself completely under the shower head, he felt as if he was suffocating from the heat and water, as steam obscured his view. He sighed, he usually avoided showers because the memories that surfaced from them brought about heart ache. Gerard didn’t care anymore, he was a mess and much to his own reluctance, his heart begged for the pain of his own memories with Frank.

He touched the green tile in front of him, remembering the last time he showered it was Frank’s hand clasped over his. Gerard closes his eyes he struggles to breathe as his whole body shivers from the memory.

It was Frank’s gentle touch that reduced Gerard to nothing—he forgot where or who he was when Frank held him.

Gerard let out a gasp as his legs shook, he used his right hand to apply pressure to the wall as he was beginning to lose balance. Frank bit him on the back of his neck, Gerard moaned as Frank buried his face against the crook of his neck. The sounds echoing off the tiled cubicle as Gerard kept up with the pace of Frank rocking into him, under the constant spray of water Gerard felt dizzy—the heat, the passion, it was unbearable.

Gerard didn’t know what to do with himself, he was panting desperately for air.
“Breath,” Frank spoke calmly. “Focus on my voice.”

He listened diligently as Frank murmured small bits of poetry, squeezing Gerard’s hand thoughtfully.

Gerard stopped himself, this memory was far too soon for him. He tried to blink back the image of Frank and his comforting voice. He couldn’t afford another breakdown, Gerard removed himself from the shower, the heat already dizzying him as he wrapped a towel around his waist stumbling to get himself into his bedroom. Gerard glossed over the room and proceeded to find his last cigarette in the ashtray by his bed. He picks it up and lights it with a trembling hand, he lays down on obscenely large bed that practically swallowed him up.

He closes his eyes momentarily, remembering that the last time Frank was in his bedroom Gerard had made one of his most crucial mistakes.

He gave a copy of his apartment key to Frank.

He didn’t recall if Frank gave him back the key or not. Gerard didn’t really care, it was a mistake and he morbidly kept his foolish hopes up that one day Frank would show up. He knew eventually he’d have to change the locks but he never got around to it.

Gerard checked the time as he took a drag from his cigarette changing into a shirt and boxer briefs, it was 3: 00 AM, he lay back on his bed sighing inwardly as he was struggling to keep his eyes focused on anything as his head was spinning.

He closed his eyes hoping he’d just fall asleep.

“… Gerard, you have a fever…”

Gerard moaned, shifting as hearing the familiar voice disrupted his sleep. He struggled to lift his eye lids but he managed to see a blurred figure.

At first, he mistook the figure for his brother, “Mikey…?”

Gerard’s eyes rolled back from how uncomfortable he felt, his insides were burning. Finally he decided to utter the name of the only person that ever made sense to him.

“Frank?”

Gerard wanted to know if it was him, did that gleam of foolish hope finally come to fruition?
The touch of the man’s cooler hand to Gerard’s forehead made him moan in relief. He remembered this tender touch and he began to weep as he enclosed his arms around the man’s neck shamelessly continuing to cry like an inconsolable child. Gerard didn’t care anymore if it was fake from his fever or real—it was Frank, it was him.

“I’m sorry, Frank.” Gerard kept mumbling over and over again.

The man hushed him, soothing him with gentle strokes on his back. When Gerard managed to stop himself, he let go of the man’s neck. Wiping his tears, he managed to piece himself together and finally dared himself to open his sore eyes enough to focus, he managed to catch the time at exactly 3: 28 AM before they landed on the man hovering above him.

“Hey, it’s okay… I’m here now.”

It was Frank.

Notes

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