I'm Not Okay: a Ferard fanfic based on Cancer and I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

Ch. 15: Gerard

Gerard's POV
Gerard was used to being the submissive one. The shy, sweet one.

Not this time.

Frankie was stretched like a cat against him, exhausted and asleep. Gerard smirked when he thought about how helpless Frankie looked underneath him, how Frankie was the one who was begging, how Frankie moaned his name, so unlike his usual, in-control self. He adored how Frankie seemed to fall apart under his touch. Gerard yawned, and even that small motion was enough to stir Frankie. He sat up tiredly, pausing to blow Gerard a kiss, and stumbled out of bed.

"I'm going to go get food from the cafeteria. I think they have a Starbucks down there. I'm sick of hospital food."

Gerard chuckled and Frankie turned around to glare at him. "What?"

"Your, ah... hair." Gerard gestured to Frankie's black hair, wild and sticking up in every which way, no doubt a result of last night. "Might want to fix that before you go. It's a small disaster. Just saying."

Frankie looked sullen. "My hair is fine." Gerard raised his eyebrows skeptically and reached out to slap Frankie's ass. He received a slap on the arm back. "Ow! You know I'm ... sore." Frankie muttered.

Gerard feigned confusion. "Wow...why would you be sore?"

He laughed, seeing he had sufficiently embarrassed and annoyed his fiance. Frankie stomped away, turning red, to go to the bathroom. Presumably to fix his sex hair. "Fuck you." Gerard heard Frankie mumble.

"That's what I did to you last night! It was great. I might have to go for a round two." Gerard called to Frankie teasingly from the bed and heard Frankie scoff in reply. It was so fun to poke fun at the boy who was usually the one to be poking fun.

When Frankie had tamed his hair the best he could, he exited the bathroom and told Gerard he'd be heading to Starbucks.

"Get me something." Gerard told him, pecking his forehead.

"No!"

"You better!" Gerard yelled after him as Frankie sauntered from the room, laughing.

Gerard settled back against the bed, content and satisfied. He felt happy, which was odd. He never thought that he could be happy in the situation that he was in. Who honestly could be happy in a hospital? Yet there he was. He let his eyes shut. He was exhausted after all. It wasn't like either Frankie or he had gotten much sleep...

It was only a short while before he heard footsteps at the door.

"Mr. Way?"

Reluctantly, Gerard opened his eyes. It wasn't Frankie standing in the doorway, holding a Starbucks bag like Gerard had hoped, although he knew deep down who it really would be.
A doctor in a fresh, stiff white coat stood in the doorway and waited for Gerard to acknowledge him.

"Yes?" Gerard asked, dread already coursing through his veins, which happened whenever a doctor paid a visit to update Gerard on his health. "Come in...what is it?"

The doctor entered the room, and stood a few steps back from Gerard's bed. He didn't take a seat in one of the chairs, but chose to stand there, brisk and professional. "Mr. Way, I'm very sorry. We have some bad news."

All previous good cheer, playfulness and happiness slowly drained out of Gerard and his stomach lurched. His mouth was dry and he felt sick with anticipation. "Well? What is it?" Gerard was dimly pleased to note that his voice was a monotone. He sounded almost bored.

The doctor paused to clear his throat and link his hands in front of him. "It's very unfortunate. We're doing everything we can. But it seems that the chemo treatments aren't effective. They don't seem to be working."

"Not...working?"

"No." The doctor said apologetically. "Not working. I'm sorry. But don't give up. There's always a chance that it could. We doctors are hoping for that chance."

"Be real." Gerard snapped. "Don't sugarcoat me. Tell me the truth. I'm going to die, aren't I?"

"Not if the chemo treatments kick in." The doctor murmured, seeming used to having to deal with emotional or angry patients.

"Tell me!" Gerard shouted. "Look me in the eye, goddamn it, this is my fucking life, I deserve to know!"

Gerard met the doctors eyes, and stared fiercely at him.

"...Yes, Mr. Way. You're correct. If the chemo treatments continue to be ineffective, then you will die." The doctor had the decency to break eye contact and look away as Gerard took in the information he already deep down knew.

Swallowing, Gerard fell back against the pillows, all energy and rage he had just a minute ago gone.
He could barely force himself to ask the next question he had and it came out in a hoarse whisper. "How long do I have?"

The doctor looked at him again.

"Maybe two months. Maybe not even that."

Gerard stared straight ahead. Quietly, the doctor left the room, shutting the door behind him with a click.