It happens like this: Frank needs a roommate. Apparently, independent record stores and garage bands don’t pay the bills. Or, not all of them at any rate. So he asks around and it turns out Mikey’s brother needs a place to live that is not their parents’ basement or Mikey’s couch. It’s the perfect solution and Frank happily empties out the spare room.
Frank doesn’t actually meet Gerard until they move him in and, by that point, Frank wonders if maybe he should have asked a few more questions. His first impression of Gerard is that he’s quiet and a little strange. It’s spring in Jersey so it’s a little chilly, but not enough to explain Gerard’s hoodie/puffy coat/double scarf combo. Still, maybe he has thin blood or something. He keeps edging away whenever Frank tries to talk to him, so he can’t just ask. Then Frank gets distracted by Bob and Ray maneuvering the bed up the stairs because, well, hot. Biceps and displays of manliness make him all weak-kneed.
It takes Frank about half an hour alone with Gerard, and some pretty uncomfortable attempts at conversation, to figure out that he’s quiet because he’s awkward, which Frank unwillingly finds adorable. Also, he’s bundled up like an arctic explorer because he’s sick. So of course Frank calls Mikey to chew him out.
“You made your brother move while he has the flu?”
Mikey snorts. “You’ve known Gerard for, like, five minutes. No one can really make him do anything. He insisted he was fine.”
“He’s not fine,” Frank persists. “He can barely stand up without falling over.”
“Gerard’s an adult. It’s the flu, not the plague. Relax.” Mikey sounds vaguely amused when he hangs up on Frank.
Intellectually, he knows Mikey is right: Gerard is an adult and not some stray Frank dragged home. Frank doesn’t even know him, but he does know what it’s like to be sick and alone and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. So he sneaks out to stock up on Theraflu and chicken noodle soup, feeling somewhere between Florence Nightingale and nosy jackass. When he gets back, Gerard is cocooned in a Batman comforter that looks like it barely survived the 80s, on top of his still-bare mattress. He looks the epitome of miserable.
“Come to the couch,” Frank cajoles. “I made you soup.”
Gerard lets Frank help him shuffle to the living room where Frank has a mug of soup waiting. He decides not to mention that the majority of the can is still seared to the bottom of the pan. Most of the scorched bits got picked out and, really, isn’t the broth supposed to be the most important part? While Gerard listlessly sips at the soup, Frank heads into Gerard’s room to put sheets on the bed. No one should have to sleep on a bare mattress when they’re sick. The clean, tidy corners make Frank feel vaguely efficient and he wonders when the hell he turned into his mother.
“Hey, Gerard, do you…” He stops short when he notices that Gerard is passed out on the couch.
He’s curled up in a little ball at one end, nose tucked under the comforter, and looks like nothing so much as a little kid. This, of course, serves to make Frank feel extra pervy since he’s just taken a moment to realize that his new roommate is kind of pretty and oh, hello completely inappropriate crush on someone he doesn’t even really know. Frank crushes inappropriately a lot, though, so this isn’t insurmountable or anything, just kind of inconvenient. Not-sick Gerard will probably dispel all attraction anyway.
Mikey calls back and Frank thinks about not answering, but knows that will only exponentially increase the amount of mocking he will have to endure later. “Hello,” he answers resignedly.
“You tuck Gee into bed yet?”
“He’s crashed on the couch,” Frank mumbles. Mikey starts humming ‘Get Sick Soon’ and Frank flushes. “Shut up, asshole!” he snaps. “It’s not even like that.”
