Gerard was laid across the bed, a paralyzing weakness hanging over him. Frank pressed soft kisses to his lips, stroking his hair.
"You in there today, Gee?" He whispered against Gerard's forehead.
Gerard groaned softly, curling his fingers around the sleeve of his husband's shirt.
"What color is today?" They'd come up with a color system. It was easier for Gerard to remember than naming his emotions and physical feelings.
Green, Gerard could talk and move some. Yellow, he could barely move and could communicate through nods and shakes of his head, sometimes soft groans.
Red was bad. Very bad. Gerard couldn't talk or move. He could be spoon fed some ice chips, but that was it. Frank stayed with him on those days. He was scared on those days.
Today was obviously a red day. Gerard wheezed loudly, hands and feet and lips blue.
Frank tucked a cannula into his nose, trying to supply him with more oxygen so he had an easier time breathing.
Gerard mumbled unintelligibly, trying to swallow but ending up drooling.
"Shh, I've got you." Frank wiped his mouth and stroked the hair from his face. He kissed his husband's forehead, pausing. Just being there for a moment. Not caring about how Gerard was burning up or how Gerard's hair was thinning slightly and how there was less recognition in those hazel eyes every time he saw them.
He thought about how nice it felt to have Gerard's skin under his lips.
"I love you." He whispered. "You're so beautiful."
Gerard tugged a corner of his mouth up in a small smile, sticking his tongue out slightly as if to say: nah.
Frank tickled Gerard slightly.
The dying boy giggled weakly, smile widening. His eyes were barely open and his breathing was loud, but he was the most adorable thing Frank he ever seen.
So Frank curled up against his husband, falling asleep.
Gerard and Frank are at the park.
Gerard sits on the bench, sketching. His cannula supplies him with enough oxygen to be his normal, active self.
His hair is gone, but he wears a wig very similar to the haircut he had during Danger Days. His skin is pale, the same tone as the very paper he draws on. He's weak. He won't admit it, though.
He kisses Frank on the cheek, smiling sadly. He knows Frank's upset.
"What're you drawing?" Frank puts an arm around the musician, looking at the sketch pad.
On it, there's a little girl. She's looking down, blood spattering her face.
"What's her story?" Frank put a hand on Gerard's thigh.
"Don't know." He closed the book, smiling and putting his arms around his husband. "You'd have to ask her."
Frank just kissed him.
