Look, there’s a reason I’m lying on the floor of my hospital room like an idiot.

I wasn’t supposed to be walking on my own for at least another day, according to my doctor, but I’d be damned if I had to call the night nurse in to help me use the bathroom again. It’s not really night—closer to morning—but it’s barely dawn and I knew for a fact that the nurses would be dozing in their office, waiting for the morning shift to take over at 6am. There was no need to disturb them.

I made it to the bathroom with a lot of effort, but by the time I washed my hands and turned to look back on what remained of my journey, I felt drained. The few steps back to my bed seemed like miles. I started edging along the wall, embarrassingly out of breath already, and I made it to the foot of the bed before my legs gave out and I slumped to the floor. So much for my attempt at sneaking around.

“Fuck,” I say blandly. When the nurses do their rounds, they will find me on the floor, looking pathetic as I lean uncomfortably against the bed rails. I hope at least that it’s not the cute Mexican guy that finds me. But with my luck it probably will be.

There’s a tentative knock on the door before it slides open and I have woefully underestimated my bad luck because now I wish it was the cute nurse. Instead, Gerard-fucking-Way’s head peaks in. When he catches sight of me on the floor, he flings the sliding door open and rushes to my side.

“Fuck,” I say again because swearing seems like the only good option right now.

“Frank!” Gerard yelps. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you fall? Are you hurt? Should I get a nurse—”

“I’m fine,” I grunt, interrupting his frantic questions. I try to regain some dignity by struggling to get to my feet.

“Let me help you,” Gerard says and before I can respond with “Hell no,” Gerard takes my arm with one hand and his other arm snakes around my waist, pulling my up. Like the graceful human being that I am, Gerard’s touch makes me flail in alarm and I lose my balance yet again, slipping back to floor. Unfortunately this time, it seems Gerard is determined to “save” me by softening the fall, because I end up half on top of him with his arms wrapped protectively around my shoulders and head.

There’s a moment of stillness as we take in our compromising position. Then I shove myself away from him and lean against the bed again, glaring. “I don’t need your help,” I snarl at him as he slowly sits up and rubs at the back of his head. Maybe he hit it when we fell. I hope so.

“Kinda looks like you do,” Gerard replies infuriatingly.

“Well, I don’t,” I snap back like a mature two-year-old, and resume my struggle to stand.

“Let me help you,” he repeats, but this time he waits for a response.

“No. Thank you,” I growl. I pull myself up to my knees, and with another burst of effort, I manage to get on my feet. Only to be hit by the most dizziness I’ve ever experienced in my life. And of course, the next thing I know, Gerard’s arms are around me, holding me upright. “That was a no,” I mutter but my mouth feels like it’s floating above my eyes and I can’t do anything but clutch at Gerard’s shirt.

“Let’s just get you back in bed,” a voice whispers in my ear.

Once I’m sitting, my vision clears and the dizziness fades away, but I’d rather not be completely lucid in a room with Gerard Way, so I keep my eyes halfway closed. My hands are still clutching Gerard. He tries to push my shoulders back into the pillows, but I resist him and say, “Sitting is good.”

He stops pushing.

It’s quiet for too long so I add, “Sit with me.”

He doesn’t move, so I tug at his arm, and he finally sits next to me on the bed, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. Something about his caution puts me at ease, and I must be really dizzy still and really tired and generally ill because I scoot closer and lean my head on his shoulder. I can hear him struggle to remain breathing steadily.

I’m not telling Jamia about this. She will never let it go.

It isn’t until I feel myself drifting off to sleep that I wonder why he’s here so early in the morning anyway.

◊ GERARD’S POV ◊

“Not another fucking dime, do you hear me?” he bellows. “I won’t have you spending any more of my fucking money on that loser kid!”

Gerard clenches his fists around the tips from his Papa John’s delivery job. “It’s my money,” Gerard grounds out at his dad. “Not yours. I can spend it how I like.”

His father raises his eyebrows almost comically. “Oh,” he mocks, “It’s your money, is it? Remind me again, do you live in my house? Do you eat the food I provide? Do I pay for your fucking education?”

Gerard works his jaw, trying to stay calm. “Those are things you’re supposed to do. That doesn’t mean you can take the money I earn.”

His dad barks out a laugh like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh okay, well if that’s what a parent is supposed to do for their kid, why are you paying for that freak’s medical? Huh? Why isn’t his damn mother doing that for him?”

“She’s a single mom,” Gerard growls, and he can feels his short nails scraping the skin on his palms. “She’s doing the best she can.”

“Yeah?” his dad goes on. “Well, I guess her best just isn’t good enough.”

“Don’t ever fucking say that about her!” Gerard bursts out. “She’s a better parent than you ever were!”

Gerard doesn’t see the fist coming until he’s already clutching the left side of his throbbing jaw.

“Get out,” his father growls in low voice. “Sleep on the fucking streets. See how you like it.”

Gerard doesn’t have to be told twice. As he slams the front door closed behind him, he counts it as a win that he’s still clutching his cash in his pocket. It’s the wee hours of the morning, and even though he promised he wouldn’t, Gerard can think of no other place to go that feels safe.

And as Frank falls asleep on Gerard’s shoulder, he wonders if maybe Jamia was right. Maybe Frank doesn’t hate him after all.

Notes

Thank you for the comments! Always appreciated! Sorry for the long wait, I was out of the country for a couple weeks, but now I'm back :) Enjoy!