[[FRERARD]] One-shot. "He sleeps in the morning and sleeps at night. At any point in time, if you look at him, you can be sure he's sleeping."
He sleeps in the morning and he sleeps at night. At any point during the day, if you look at him, you can be sure that he’s sleeping. That’s all he ever does; all he’s ever done for a long time. He doesn’t know how many hours have passed by since yesterday faded away. He doesn’t even know if tomorrow is coming. To him, every minute seems like an hour. Every hour seems like a year. And every year seems like an eternity. He’s probably the first human to figure out how long that is. He deserves some sort of an award. A pitch black, granite plaque, with golden lettering that announces his brilliance to anyone who happens to look. All he has to do is wake up. His future’s bright, if he’d just open his eyes.
If you asked him, though, none of that really matters because he’s always enjoyed sleeping. It was never just rest for him. Those were the only eight hours he could be worriless...almost emotionless. With blankets covering his shivering body and a mattress relaxing his aching back, he felt like he was in heaven. He could sink into himself; let his own thoughts cover his eyes and kiss him goodnight. He’s always liked that feeling. Now, he does what he loves twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Well, that’s stupid. Doesn’t he know that he’s ruining himself? Why doesn’t he get up and make something of his goddamned life? Because he just can’t. Because he’s sleeping. It’s not like he knows that he’s wasting time. When his car lurched forward a few years ago, and his head collided with the steering wheel, he slipped into a coma. His brain apparently needed some time off. He didn’t realize what was happening and he still doesn’t. He doesn’t know how many people have come to visit him in his sanitized hospital room to try and wake him up…to save him. His golden years are sliding right through his fingers, but what can he do? Nothing.
At least he has an excuse.
He’s nothing like Gerard Way, who does the same thing deliberately. Gerard also has a habit of letting the days repeat themselves. Ever since that fateful car accident, he’s been waiting. Waiting for his best friend to wake up. He lives off what he made in his old job, because he can’t handle the task of finding a new one. It would be too painful. It’s not like he has the time to do so anyway. Every morning, he leaves his house in his small, compact car. He drives to the nearby hospital, and makes his way into a room; it’s the same room every time. He approaches the bed, and he stands beside it, staring at the young man who lays on it…sleeping. Sometimes, Gerard dares to touch the man’s face softly and whisper a few words. Sometimes, he finds it in himself to give the man a report about things going on in the world; the brand new poisonous gases, nuclear weapons, and presidents.
Sometimes, he sits in a chair, stroking the man’s arm tenderly. His eyes, although watery, are crinkled upwards. He almost seems a bit happy. Of course, he’s not. He’s not happy, he’s not really smiling. What he’s doing is remembering out loud. He’s going back to that place in the back of his mind where his best friend could always be forced to wake up, eventually. Frank. His Frank…with the droopy olive-oil eyes, tousled hair, and that ever-present grin. His Frank, who always knew just what to say and just what to do; who was just perfect, because he couldn’t be anything else. He understood everyone; he loved everyone, including himself. Unlike Gerard, Frank never had an itching feeling inside him that told him he was worthless; that he was going nowhere. Frank thought he could do anything. The mere thought that his dreams wouldn’t come true was not even existent. Gerard had always felt a tiny pang of jealousy because of this. However, he doesn’t want to admit it. It seems shallow and insignificant. He just wants to remember him and Frank, together. He wants to remember his Frank who had kissed him once, and only once. Even though the embrace was never mentioned again by anyone, the taste is still on his tongue and in his mind. Gerard never stops thinking of that one kiss, even though a few other lips had smashed into his after Frank’s. He regrets that fact now. It makes him want to cough out all his insides because they have risen up to his throat. He feels like a traitor. A filthy, greedy scumbag. How could he do that to his Frankie?
Despite all of this, most of the time when he visits Frank, he only cries. He breaks down and cries throughout the whole day, until it’s time to leave. What a waste.
Today, though, is very different from any other day. Today just doesn’t align…it doesn’t fit. Gerard feels horrible. He stumbles into his friend’s room with a dazed look on his face. He’s in tears already. As he approaches the bed, his hands tremble aggressively. He falls to his knees and before he can change his mind, his mouth opens. He hopes to God that something will come out.
“Fr-F-Frank,” he breathes out the man’s name erratically.
That’s all he can manage, but why does it really matter? It’s not like Frank can hear him. Gerard remains in kneeling position for a while, weeping. It’s the only thing he can do now. Frank was going to fucking die. Finally, he gathers some strength to rise onto his feet. He barely sees through his blurry hazel eyes. Frank seems sad, as if he wants Gerard to do something about this. Well, what is he supposed to do when Frank’s mother had signed the form? How could she do that to her own son? After only three years? It’s so stupid; a fucking piece of paper deciding it was okay to kill Frank. Gerard sobs, filling the room with the melancholy sound. If it were up to him, he’d keep Frank alive until the world explodes. It doesn’t matter how much it costs. Frank is a gift from heaven and he deserves to stay…he has to. He can’t be put in a goddamned box, and buried, with only a slab of rock to commemorate his twenty-two years on Earth.
Gerard rubs his eyes, although they don’t dry up. He slowly reaches forward, to touch Frank’s cheek. It’s so soft, so smooth, and it’s real; not like some cold marble statue. He shivers and moves his fingers down to clasp Frank’s hand. He feels no pressure around his palm, and this makes the tears running down his face heavier. A loud, distressed moan leaves his mouth. He wants to say something meaningful to Frank, but he doesn’t have the time.
“Mr. Way?” a frustratingly quiet voice asks from behind him.
Gerard jumps backwards from the bed and looks at the young doctor. He wants to scream and say that his name is not Mister Way. It never was. It’s Gee because that’s what Frank always used to call him. Instead, he does nothing and waits for the doctor to speak.
“Mr. Iero’s mother would like to see him now.”
Gerard sniffs and wipes his mucus covered face with his hand. He doesn’t care if it’s unhygienic. He gazes at Frank for a long moment and lets out a whimper. He doesn’t want to leave.
“Do you need a minute?” the doctor asks.
Gerard shakes his head because he needs more. A minute isn’t long enough…nor an hour, a year, or an eternity. He moves closer to his best friend and takes his hand. He tries to feel it, actually feel it, so that he can remember how it used to squeeze him back. It doesn’t work, it isn’t enough. Gerard sighs and loosens his grip. Then, something boils up inside of him and he screams loudly. He stomps his feet and he screams, ignoring the doctor’s cries of “Mr. Way, calm down!” In the middle of his tantrum, his voice just screeches to a stop. It must have been the same sound Frank’s car made before crashing. Tears are all that remain. Gerard leans forward so that he can feel Frank’s cheek pressing against his. He’s ready to collapse now; he wants to die with his Frankie. Then, he does something that shouldn’t have been delayed for this long. He slides his lips over to meet his friend’s. The feeling’s familiar and it’s nice. Gerard tries to soak it in, even though he doesn’t feel any response from the other man. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he knows what to wish for…maybe, with this kiss, Frank will wake up. Like Sleeping Beauty. Salty droplets glide down onto Frank’s face. Nothing happens. Gerard quivers and pulls away. He supposes that he’s not Prince Charming; he isn’t good enough to bring Frank back into the conscious world.
“I love you, Frank,” he whispers, as if he’s speaking to himself.
He closes his eyes and remembers Frank’s voice; it was so childish and innocent… and perfect. It used to make him giggle, really. And then he hears it. “I love you too, Gee.” The sound isn’t even a murmur. It’s as quiet as the sound of his breathing, but he can almost touch it; that’s how close it is. His eyes flicker open with anticipation and he glances towards the doctor, who has seemingly left the room. Damn! Gerard quickly stares at Frank. The man looks the same, still stained with Gerard’s tears. He also looks untouched and new. There’s no sign of any movement, he’s still fast asleep. But Gerard Way has never been surer about anything in his entire life; he heard Frank say those magical words. Because sometimes, you just need to hear something of that sort. Sometimes, you just need the hope.
Fuck my ass, I forgot the disclaimer.
You know the drill:
I don't own Gerard Way or Frank Iero.
Any resemblence to a real-life situation is completely coincidental.
This idea was boiled up inside that cauldron in my head and
any attempt to steal my work is not appreciated, and it's also against the law.