“Hi,” Gerard says awkwardly, standing in the doorway. Frank is sitting tensely in bed, propped up with pillows, and Jamia sits next to him, looking tranquil. Gerard wonders if Frank actually agreed to see him like Jamia claimed.

Frank fails to reply, so after a moment Jamia does. “Hi, Gerard, how was your day?”

Gerard watches Frank, watches how the boy flinches at Gerard’s name and how his fists clench the sheets subconsciously. “Fine,” he says shortly, beginning to regret this meeting.

There’s another long silence where Gerard tries to pick out every detail about Frank—the way his hair falls to the left, the tension in his shoulders, his ragged nails—and Frank avoids looking directly at him.

Jamia sighs irritably after a while of this, and stands abruptly. “Well, maybe I should go so you two can catch up,” she snaps, starting to leave. Frank’s hand shoots out to grab her arm. He doesn’t say anything, probably because Gerard is right there, but his eyes look scared and pleading and the moment Jamia looks at him she relents. “Fine, but talk,” she murmurs to him as she sits again.

Frank bites his lip hard, and Gerard wants to tell him to stop it because he’s hurting himself, but Gerard knows better than to say this aloud. “You got me lunch,” Frank says finally, voice barely audible from where Gerard stands in the doorway.

Gerard nods, so that Frank has to look at him before glancing away hurriedly. “Did you like it?” Gerard asks, feeling out of place.

Frank shrugs noncommittally, still looking away. “He loved it,” Jamia states blandly, and Frank throws her a glare, which she raises her eyebrows at.

Gerard looks between them, trying to decipher their silent language. “That’s good,” he says at last.

Jamia looks like she’s biting her lip to stop from berating them for being so awkward. Instead she offers smoothly, “Do you want to sit down?” She points to the chair just inside the door.

Gerard is about to take her up on this offer when Frank says loudly, “No!” Jamia turns to glare at him, but Frank just repeats, “No,” and he’s finally meeting Gerard’s eyes, so Gerard quickly says, rocking back on his heels, “I didn’t want to sit down anyway.” It’s a lie and they all know it, but none of them say anything. Frank is still staring at him and it makes Gerard both pleased and uncomfortable.

Jamia looks like she’s about to explode when Frank finally speaks, his voice hard. “You put me in here once. Why is this time any different?”

Jamia frowns in confusion, glancing at Frank, but he’s still looking at Gerard. Gerard, for his part, feels dread pooling like ice in the pit of his stomach. “That…I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Gerard tries, knowing his excuses mean nothing.

Frank arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t mean for that to happen,” he repeats blankly. “What exactly did you mean to happen?” he continues acidly, and Gerard can’t look away from his fiery gaze. “What else could possibly be the end goal of beating someone up? To help them?”

Gerard swallows a lump in his throat. “I…” he tries again, but what can he say, really? It was a mistake? It won’t happen again? I’m sorry? Those hold no meaning, and Gerard knows it. He did a terrible thing, and he has to live with it.

“You…?” Frank prompts angrily, but Gerard can’t speak. “That’s all you have to say? After you bruised my ribs and broke my arm with your little gang of friends?”

Gerard feels himself shaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, because he can’t seem to talk any louder.

“You broke his arm?” Jamia suddenly cuts in, her voice even sharper than Frank’s. Both Gerard and Frank look at her in surprise, not having noticed her cold fury before now. Her eyes are fixed on Gerard, her usual cheerfulness nowhere to be found. “I thought you just teased him, maybe pushed him around a little,” she goes on, her voice almost a growl as she glares daggers at him. She begins to stand, and Gerard cowers in the doorway, unsure what to do. “But you put him in the hospital?” She stalks toward him slowly like a predator, letting out a humorless chuckle. “I thought he was overreacting this whole time. But he’s right to be afraid of you.”

Gerard can’t meet her eyes anymore and he looks down at his shoes, swallowing thickly.

“What the hell is your problem, Gerard?” she asks him, sounding genuinely curious, and for some reason this hits him hard. Gerard takes a small step back. “You had me thinking you were all misunderstood, but really you’re just a pathetic, bullying coward.” She grabs the edge of the door tightly, and her voice is so low and murderous, Gerard wishes she was yelling. “Get. Out,” she snarls, and with that she slams the door in his face.

Notes

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