Just Sleep

Swearing under his breath as his stomach cramps with nerves, Gerard picks up another tiny rock and hurls it at Frank's bedroom window, chucking it so hard it cracks the glass and rains tiny splinters into the dead grass below. Crap. So much for subtlety.
With a shudder, Gerard marches up to the front door before the troubled thoughts in his head can stop him and starts knocking loudly with his right hand. His left arm is cradled against his chest in a nylon sling, twitching with dull itches and pains as the crusty wounds he made burn and throb under his bandages. There's no answer so he keeps knocking, louder and harder, until he hears the sound of a window flying open above him and a familiar slurred voice cursing loudly: “What the fuck?!”
“Frankie! It's me... Gerard. Ray hasn't seen you in a few days and he's real worried. Will you come down?”
More cursing and the sound of the broken window slamming shut again. Gerard huffs and shoves his hand into his pocket, knuckles throbbing from battering the door. He wouldn't even be here if Ray hadn't made him come. The big curly-haired oaf with a heart of gold is parked across the street watching him right now so he can't even run away. After the hellish week he's just spent in a hospital psych ward being pumped full of valium and useless therapy, he doesn't have the strength anyway.

Five minutes pass and he fidgets on the step, listening to the cars in the street and fiddling with his cell phone. He wants nothing more than to turn away from his ex's doorway, crawl back onto Ray's musty couch and lie there until the world ends or he dies, whichever happens first. The last memory he has of Frank is him crying and whispering that everything's going to be okay as Gerard's blood pooled stickily beneath their bodies on a dirty bathroom floor... and what right does he have to come here now after putting the younger man through all that shit? 'Attempted suicide' is such an ugly phrase: it reeks of failure.

The door suddenly bursts open, cutting through through his morbid thoughts, and Frank is standing right in front of him looking pale and tired in torn jeans and a baggy stained cardigan, making Gerard's heart jump into his throat. He's missed this kid so goddamn much.
“Hi,” he whispers hoarsely, his mouth bone-dry as Frank's bloodshot eyes bore into him, “Um...How are you?”
Frank raises his eyebrows, breathing roughly like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. For almost a full minute they just stare at each other, Gerard with his mouth open slightly in shock at his former boyfriend's ragged appearance and Frank trying to hide an obvious hangover behind a glare of disbelief. “How am I?” the teenager repeats with a pained laugh, “How am I? Oh I don't know, let's see: I spent all my college savings flying to the ass-end of nowhere to help you when your own family couldn't be bothered and found you bleeding to death in a fucking motel! Then I got thrown out of your hospital room for defending you to your own parents after I'd spent two solid days and nights sitting with your unconscious body praying and begging for you to wake up and be okay, after which I found out that you didn't even want to see me when you woke up because apparently I don't matter to you anymore, right?! So how am I? I'm fucking wrecked, you dick!”

Somewhere in the middle of his outburst Frank starts to cry and by the time he's done he can't look Gerard in the eye anymore. “You almost died, you fucker,” he sobs angrily, gripping the doorframe with trembling fingers, “I still have your blood in m-my shoes for fuck's sake! I thought you were gonna go away f-forever, Gee, a-and I couldn't even begin to deal with that! I still can't...”

“Fuck, Frankie,” Gerard whispers through a burning throat, warm salt-water flooding his eyes as concern overwhelms his self-hatred and sadness for a moment. Tentatively, he reaches out with his good arm to hug the sobbing teen and to his suprise Frank burrows into his embrace, hugging his ex so tight that Gerard can barely breathe and leaving slimy trails of tears and snot all over the older man's chest.
“I'm so sorry,” Gerard whispers, kissing his former lover's hair and holding him close, “I know it's fucking horrible, I AM fucking horrible! I can't do anything right! But I never wanted to hurt you this much, baby, please believe that.”

Looking back across the street at Ray's waiting car, Gerard lets go of Frank's quivering body just long enough to give their mutual friend a wave goodbye and then gently pushes Frank backwards until they're safely inside the house and the door can swing shut behind them. Wriggling away with a sniffled hiccup, Frank self-consciously scrubs his eyes dry with his shirt and swallows any remaining sobs, leaning heavily against the hallway wall. “Sorry I'm such a mess,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet, “I didn't wanna make a scene.”
Gerard nods and wipes his own eyes on the back of his hand. His heart is hammering hard in his chest and he feels slightly sick. “This is nothing compared to what I did in Florida,” he admits quietly.
“You're fucking right about that. Do you, um, would you want a drink or something?”
“Yeah. Coffee please, if you have it.”
“Of course we do,” Frank answers gruffly, shuffling into the kitchen and turning on the coffee machine while Gerard sits down stiffly at the breakfast bar, resting his injured arm on the clean white surface. “D'you still take it black with sweetener?” the teenager asks, reaching up into a high cupboard for a tin of Stevia and wincing slightly as his arm trembles and he brings it quickly back down to his side, almost dropping the tin.
“Yeah,” Gerard responds with a frown, “Have you hurt your shoulder?”
“No, it's nothing,” Frank mumbles, looking down and hiding his pained eyes behind his shaggy black hair, “I'm fine.”
“You don't look fine,” the older man says carefully.
“Yeah well neither do you,” Frank retorts angrily, his gaze moving to Gerard's bandaged arm. An awkward silence follows and both of them watch the coffee machine brewing and filtering in the tense quiet until the pot is full. Only then does Frank move, pouring out two steaming mugs and adding piles of sugar to his and Stevia to Gerard's. Plonking the full cups down with a little more force than necessary, he takes a seat opposite his ex and wraps his hands around his drink, blowing into the streaming fragrant brew and sighing shakily. His eyes are red-rimmed and up close he smells like stale beer and something metallic and sad that Gerard can't quite put his finger on.

“So... where are you staying?” he asks after a while, sipping coffee slowly with his eyes half-closed. “With Ray for now,” Gerard answers, “On his couch. When the hospital let me go and we flew back to Jersey I didn't wanna stay with mom and dad. Too many memories in that house, y'know?”
“Shit, of course,” Frank gasps, looking up apologetically, “I'm so sorry about Mikey. I can't imagine how that felt for you. I mean, I tried to talk to you after... it happened but you were so distant and, I dunno...”
“I was pretty fucked up,” Gerard adds with a grim smile.
“But it wasn't your fault,” Frank insists, grabbing Gerard's hand with warm tattooed fingers, “All of you were drunk and stupid that night, not just you. Your parents shouldn't have blamed you for everything.”
“Of course they should,” Gerard spits, pulling his hand away and taking a deep burning gulp of coffee, “They can blame me all they like, Frank, I was the goddamn driver! I FUCKING KILLED HIM!”
Shaking with grief and anger, Gerard suddenly throws his cup at Frank's head and the younger man ducks just in time. With a loud smash the cup shatters against the pale wallpaper, splashing inky liquid everywhere, and crashes to the floor in pieces, turning the smooth tiles into a carpet of sharp china shards. Panting and trembling, Gerard buries his face in his hands, shoulders heaving with rage and tears, and Frank stares at him with wide eyes, almost afraid to breathe for fear of upsetting him more.

“M' sorry,” Gerard mumbles after a few tense moments, dropping his hands and staring at the counter with hollow tear-stained eyes, “I'll help you clean up.”
“No no, it's okay,” Frank blurts, jumping up and grabbing a broom, “I'll do it. Don't move.”

When all the broken pieces are swept away and the coffee mopped up, Gerard slowly gets to his feet and wanders past Frank who is standing nervously by the fridge biting his nails, grabbing the teenager's wrist and pulling him into the hall. “Where are we going?” Frank asks, allowing himself to be led by the firm clammy hand as his stomach ties itself in knots. “Nowhere. Sorry, I'm just too fucking tired to talk anymore,” Gerard whispers numbly, his hazel eyes vacant and red as they trudge up the stairs towards the bedroom where they used to spend so much time together. “Can we lie down for a little while, Frankie? Just sleep?”
“Sure,” Frank croaks, uncertain whether he should be pleased or scared by the way his traumatized ex is behaving, “Just hang on a sec, okay?” Gerard nods wearily and Frank gently pulls his arm free and rushes ahead into his room. Grabbing the burned photos, beer cans, his bloody army knife and the trash can full of puke – fuck last night was a helluva bender - off his messy floor, he throws them quickly out of the cracked window into the thick bushes below and chews on his lip as a pang of guilt spears his chest. He'll deal with that mess later. For now his attention needs to be on Gerard and, hey, his hangover is pretty killer so all he wants to do is sleep now too.
After a respectable minute, Gerard steps cautiously into the cosy room and looks around at the familiar Misfits and Black Flag posters with a small groan of nostalgia. There are piles of dirty clothes on the floor that smell like cigarettes and Frank, and the sight of the old Playstation games and the well-used guitar in the corner takes some of the weight he's been carrying around off his shoulders. He feels safe here, like he's come home.

“Are you okay, Gee? Can you deal with being here right now? Is there anything I can do to help?” Frank asks anxiously, sitting down with a bounce on the messy bed and hurriedly tidying up the scattered pillows. His childhood stuffed dog Chilli is wedged between the mattress and the wall and he distractedly pulls the threadbare toy free and cuddles it to his chest, all his attention fixed on Gerard.
“No, I think I'm alright,” the older man sighs, kicking off his sneakers and sitting down next to Frank on the softly dented mattress, “I just need to lie down... with you.”
“Okay,” Frank says a little too eagerly, lying back against the wall and tucking Chilli under his pillow before reaching out with grabby hands. “You wanna be the big spoon?” Gerard teases with a smirk. Frank blushes and drops his hands, nodding sheepishly. Biting his lip to kill a smile – he doesn't deserve to be happy now his little brother is in the ground - Gerard takes off his jacket and the itchy annoying sling and drops them both on the floor before lying down with his back nestled against Frank's warm chest. Still wearing his cardigan, Frank pulls a comfy blanket over them both and wraps an arm around Gerard's belly, nuzzling his face into the other man's soft raven-black hair. He's missed this so much he could cry. “G'night Frankie,” Gerard murmurs, his voice already deep and slowing with sleep. Frank takes a last look around the small day-lit room and closes his eyes, curling up to Gerard and breathing in sequence with him until he feels like they're part of each other andothing can ever hurt him again as long as they're together, safe and sound. He falls asleep and all he dreams about is Gee until the sun goes down.

Notes

((Happy new year everyone! Hope you like this chapter.
Please feel free to comment with what you'd like to happen in this story ;)
Thanks for reading! xxx))