Gerard's POV
Frank.
He was all I could think about all day. When I was out helping Brendon or watching the fences or helping harvest tomatoes, I was constantly distracted by thoughts of him. At dinner, I kept sneaking glances at him across the table, which really distracted me from the conversation everyone was having. When I went back to our room and saw him sleeping, I was frozen at first, unable to do anything but stand there and stare. I know it sounds creepy, but I was transfixed by the way he looked while he was asleep. Then he opened his eyes and it was like the spell was broken.
I decided to do what I always do instead of expressing my feelings; draw. I apologized to Frank for waking him and made my way over to the desk. I continued my drawing of Frank that I had started in the bookshop. It was one of my better drawings, but it still didn't look quite right. His face had a certain quality; one that said he's been through more shit than he lets on, that I couldn't quite capture on paper.
I gave up, switching off the light and crawling into bed.
"Night Frank," I said, praying he was still awake.
Thankfully, he said goodnight back. I wanted to stay up and talk with him for hours, but he probably needed his sleep, and if I was being honest, I did too. A few seconds later I heard a quiet "Gerard?" From the bed across the room.
"Yeah?" I responded, trying my hardest to hide the fact that I loved hearing his voice again.
"Thank you," he said. I didn't understand why though. Why would he be thanking me for showing human decency and bringing him in? He must have been on his own for a while, and he probably had problems trusting me. I decided I could figure out what was going on in his head later. For now, a simple "You're welcome" would do.
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I was woken in the middle of the night by a sound. I instinctively wrapped my hand around the handle of the switchblade I kept under my pillow, only to realize it wasn't necessary. The sound was Frank, crying. It was soft, but anguished. It was heartbreaking, and made me want to fix him. I wanted to find out what broke his heart and find all the pieces to put him back together.
Of course, I couldn't do that. I had only just met him, and I was kidding myself if I thought he was just going to tell me why he was hurting. He would think I was invading his privacy, which I really was.
So instead of comforting him, like I wish I could, I turned over and tried to fall back to sleep, with thoughts of Frank crowding my head.
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On the second night I woke up to him crying, I decided I had to talk to him. At breakfast, his face was red and puffy, so he was probably crying well into the morning. I told myself that the reason I wanted to help him was selfish; he was practically falling asleep whenever he tried to do something to help the camp, but I knew it was more than that.
I knew that whatever instinct I had felt to protect him was still there, and it hurt to hear him cry.
"Frank?" I said softly. The crying cut off instantly, but there was no response. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said. "Just... nightmares. I have them every night, and I don't know how to make it stop."
"You seemed okay when we were in the bookshop."
"Well, yeah... I guess that was because you were right there."
I was speechless for a second. I was so surprised that I had that much of an effect on him. However, I had been looking for a way to make him better, and I seemed to have found it.
