The Fine Line Between Thrill And Fear ☆ FRERARD

Chapter 4

Frank didn't know if Gerard wanted to be alone or if he wanted to talk to Frank, so he quickly finished his sandwich and joined him outside.

"Are you okay?" Frank asked quietly, standing at the door.

Gerard ran his hand through his black hair and pressed his forehead to the top of the glass.

Frank neared him and rested a hand on his back. "I'm sorry, Gerard. I didn't know they'd follow you."

Gerard closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm not angry at you—I'm mad at the situation."

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" Frank inquired, his voice soaked in guilt.

"The last time I had a gun to my head was when I was fourteen. It still felt as bad as it did then." His mouth hardly seemed to open at all while speaking and his voice sounded like it would shatter at any given moment.

"I feel terrible, Gerard. I'm sorry." Frank pressed his lips together and rubbed Gerard's back.

Gerard squirmed a little. "It's okay. I'll get over it."

"You don't need to get over it so soon." Frank looked at the man sympathetically.

For the first time, Gerard moved from his position and wrapped his arms around Frank.

If it wasn't obvious already, Frank was utterly terrible at comforting people. In his list of things he sucked at, comforting people was up there with basketball and video games. Sucking at basketball was pretty obvious since he was short, and video games were just something he could never get the hang of. But for comforting people, or the lack thereof, he just wasn't good at it as his words often came across as dry or sarcastic—if he even did say words.

Gerard hugged Frank tightly and then shivered. "You know, you're right." He sniffled and rubbed his eyes on the fabric of Frank's shirt.

"Wanna go inside now?" Frank offered, now wrapping his arms around Gerard's body.

"Yeah," the man responded after a long sigh. "It's too cold out here."

As discussed, the two men returned to Gerard's house. Frank brought the dirty dish to the sink and Gerard sat on the couch with his shoes propped up on the armrest. He threw his head back over the opposite armrest, allowing his fluffy black hair to drape like curtains from a window. But this was a different kind of window—the mind. The mind could be considered a window as it can allow people to view things from different perspectives, including how awkward Frank looked staring at the back of Gerard's head for the better of a minute.

Blinking and feeling second-hand embarrassment from himself (which he didn't know was possible), Frank entered the living room and sat on the opposite couch, pressing his elbows to his knees and holding his head up with his palms.

Gerard's eyes were attracted to his ceiling, so much so that he didn't look away from it for a while, even when he heard Frank join him in the room. "I like what you said before."

"What did I say?" Frank asked.

"You said that I don't need to get over it so soon," Gerard provided Frank with some context. "It really resonates with me, you know. I'm always so focused on recovering from a setback as quickly as possible, even convincing myself that there's not a problem most of the time. But that's just not always the case."

"Well, I'm glad I could help." Frank shrugged lightly, intrigued by the way Gerard's eyelashes seemed to flutter with every blink.

Gerard chuckled to himself, but it was cut short unnaturally early, so it sounded like a sarcastic scoff. "Help."