I'll Be Better Tomorrow (frerard)

I'm Okay Now

On day five of the week Gerard apparently had left to live, Frank went home. He was horribly tired—due to the events of the night. He had peacefully sang until Gerard was asleep, peacefully cried himself to sleep, only for Gerard to be shaking him awake no more than twenty minutes later—begging him to get out of bed, give him his tray, where he puked more blood. It made him light-headed, and some nurses rushed in to get him water, more liquids going through his IV. Or something. Frank wasn't entirely sure.

Exhausted, high on morphine, and losing blood, Gerard told Frank to go home and sleep. He was somehow still concerned with Frank, even though he was the one dying, physically. Frank didn't listen, not at first, far too worried about Gerard's state of health. Gerard drifted in and out of sleep until sunrise, keeping Frank awake the whole time.

"Hey, Frankie," Gerard said, "I'm okay. Really. I've felt worse."

"I'm still worried," Frank said, sitting across the room. He didn't dare touch Gerard. He was far too fragile and easily pained.

"You're always going to be, Frank. It's gonna be okay. You don't have anything extra to worry about."

Frank grimaced. Gerard should've been worried about himself, not Frank. "You're throwing up blood," Frank stated.

"Yeah."

"I'm worried about that. You're losing blood, like, a lot. And you have leukemia, so your blood isn't going to just produce normally. This is bad," Frank said.

"I'm gonna die, anyway," Gerard said, but it was with a lazy smile. "You should just accept this, baby."

Frank cringed at the pet name. It seemed misplaced, misused.

At eight in the morning, when both of Gerard's parents arrived, Gerard was already trying to convince Frank to go home and get some sleep. Gerard seemed dreamy and definitely drugged up.

"Oh, Frank, dear, you look awful ," Donna said.

Frank didn't speak, simply nodded towards Gerard.

"I'm worried about him," Gerard said. "He's not sleeping enough, he stresses too much, he's going to make himself sick, and we don't need that. We can't make it two of us. Isn't that right, love?"

"I'm not sick," Frank grumbled.

"See? He's irritated, too. He needs some quiet, alone time," Gerard said.

"You should really listen to him, Frank," Donald said.

"He knows what's best for you," Donna said.

Frank looked at Gerard, who was looking at him like he was visibly wounded. "I don't want to leave you right now, if you need me for anything—"

"I'll be taken care of."

"I know," Frank said, defeated.

"I'm still gonna be here when you come back," Gerard said.

Frank debated with himself for a few seconds, internally agreeing with Gerard. He would feel better when he slept for a bit, he decided, and he would be able to comfort Gerard more. Maybe he'd even have a better outlook on everything after some time away from the hospital.

"I'll bring you back some dinner tonight, if you can think of anything."

Gerard nodded. "You've really been too good to me. I'll have whatever you want. I'm sure you're craving something."

Gerard was too good to him, Frank thought. "I'll figure it out. Text me if you think of something you want."

Frank caught Gerard's eyes, and they were glassy, but lighter than Frank had seen them in a long time. "I'm lucky you love me so much," Gerard said, and it made Frank's stomach flip again.