I'll Be Better Tomorrow (frerard)

Bruises and Friends

Gerard was on a caffeine high after Frank let him drink a Red Bull at eight thirty. Gerard truly was ready to sleep under the false energy, and so was Frank, so they were burning time by getting ready for bed before they got too tired. Frank was sitting in bed, leaning his back against the headboard, while he talked to Gerard. Gerard's back was to Frank, standing across the room from him, undressing. "...Mikey wants us to hang out at his place tomorrow," Frank said. Gerard pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the deepened bruises along his spine. Frank was concerned, wondering why the bruises wouldn't fade and heal.

"I don't think we should go," Frank said.

Gerard turned around to look at him at that.  "Why not?" He asked.

"You can't do any work, G.  You'll make it worse."

"Frank,"Gerard protested, "I've been sick forever and I'm bored .  I don't think I'm contagious, because you haven't gotten sick.  And Mikey doesn't have to know, I can act like I'm fine."

"He'll know the second he sees you.  You're not even pale, you're green, and you've lost so much weight, you're bony."

"Well, so what if he knows?"Gerard struggled.

"He'll be just as worried about you as I am," Frank said.

"You already said no to him once; what are you gonna tell him this time?" Gerard said.  Determined he was winning the argument, Gerard resumed with changing out of his clothes.  He pulled his pants off, revealing his pale, slightly thinner legs.

Frank opened his mouth, but then caught sight of Gerard's legs - there were new, purple-brown bruises on his knees.  "What have you been doing?" Frank said.

"What?" Gerard demanded.

"Your legs, all those bruises, what -" Frank stopped himself when Gerard started looking at the bruises, an equally confused expression on his face.

Gerard shook his head, looking at Frank with wide eyes.  Looking disappointed with the fact Frank was right, he dropped his head.  "Oh, G," Frank said, voice softer.

Gerard resigned and crawled in bed next to Frank.  "I'm sorry," Gerard said.  "I know you're just worried."

"It's okay.  I - you've gotta get better.  I don't want you pushing yourself more than you should."

"And I probably am.  I'm just sick of laying around.  I wanna write with you guys."

"I know you do.  I just—" Frank looked at Gerard's expectant face, and continued, "Do what you want.  You know how you feel more than I do."

"No, you're right.  I'm... really sick." Gerard cast his eyes downward.  "It's just... constant pain.  And I want to get better, really, but nothing is helping, and I am worried about myself, you know.  But sitting here isn't doing anything to help me, so, I don't know, I'm impatient."

"I'm sorry.  I don't want to make it worse than it already is, I guess.  But we can talk to Mikey if you want." Frank thumbed Gerard's cheekbone lightly.

"I don't want to get him worried over nothing, but... I  want to go over there.  Or he could come over here.  I just feel like I can do stuff."

"Maybe not sing...?"

"Probably not.  I don't think I could breathe through anything," Gerard said, but with a sad, close-lipped smile.  "You can sing, though, Frankie."

Frank shook his head.  "It's not the same without you." Frank missed the sound of Gerard's singing just at home; it felt too quiet and unhappy without the belting-outs of punk rock. Gerard spent more time in bed, half asleep, too fatigued to do much else—even so, Frank made him rest as much as he could. Frank was hoping that Gerard would wake up healed, his normal self again sometime.Gerard had grown frustrated with being so tired all the time, miserable.