I'll Be Better Tomorrow (frerard)

MTV

After Fall Out Boy was scheduled to perform for the VMAs, the boys in the band were to fly to Vegas, in order to visit with Gerard for what may be the last time. Aside from that, nobody discussed anything with Gerard about the awards. It was too sensitive of a subject, with his inability to sing and the loss of his general strength.

He was nearly constantly shaking, body unsteady from the pain medication. He didn't eat much, mainly just nibbling on small snacks throughout the day. Frank couldn't push it anymore. Gerard had long since lost the ability to walk, as it put him in so much pain, and he had just grown too weak to support himself. His cheekbones were hollow, eyes shadowed by the circles around them. 

There were other things about him that had changed from the sickness manifesting his body, but they were really only noticeable to Frank. His lips were always dry, skin flaked and cracking. There were more tiny cuts from razors, since he still insisted on shaving at least every other day, across his jaw and chin—his skin was thin and easy to break. Frank was lucky if he could coax out Gerard's usual laugh, no matter what he said. His natural bright, contagious smile was nothing but a rarity, and his eyes lit up with it even less often. His eyes—there was a permanent vacant look, not quite glassy, but void of engagement.

On the nights that Frank managed to cramp them both in Gerard's hospital bed, Gerard continued to cling to him, and it could hardly be considered cuddling, he was simply desperate to touch Frank while he still could. Frank couldn't blame him, as he was the same—clinging to whatever life was left in Gerard, day in and day out.

It had been three months since Gerard's diagnosis; his life expectancy had been filled. Some abandoned voice of hope in Frank flickered awake, that maybe—maybe—Gerard would pull through, begin recovering at some point, the leukemia would be the only part of him that died. Frank couldn't help but smother that hope whenever he caught a glimpse of Gerard, but he was still kicking.

Gerard wanted to cut his own hair; style it again. "It's the only part of me that hasn't gone to complete shit," he told Frank. Frank snuck him some scissors and hair gel, brought him into the bathroom in front of the mirror, and left him to work.

When Frank saw him again, his hair was cut shorter again. It was more of medium length, it wasn't as long as in the Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge era.

Hell, he was still so beautiful, Frank was taken by surprise at seeing him.

With Frank's broken shoulder, he couldn't completely lift Gerard up for him to get back in bed. Gerard groaned, using every ounce of strength he had to stand up from the wheelchair, even with one of Frank's hands on his back, pushing him up and supporting a portion of his weight.

Trembling, he collapsed on the bed, legs dangling off the end. His eyes were wide, and he was wheezing. "Sh, I got you," Frank said. With his unimpaired hand, he picked up Gerard's thin legs, easing them all the way on the bed. "You're okay," Frank said.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Frank sat on the bed himself, reaching out to touch Gerard's new hair. "It looks really good."

Gerard managed a hint of a close-lipped smile.

"You're so talented," he continued. "And so fucking gorgeous. I don't know how it's possible for a boy to be this pretty."

"That's sweet," Gerard said. "You're sweet." Gerard didn't believe Frank, Frank could tell from that response. "But you're the prettiest boy, Frank. I don't even compare to you at this point." Gerard stared intently—seemingly entranced—into Frank's eyes, biting his bottom lip. "I think you're just . . . perfect . . ." He said. He brought a hand up to hold the back of Frank's neck, eyes closing as their lips met. They moved slowly, languidly, Gerard loosely twisting his fingers in the hair at the nape of Frank's neck.