It had been about three days since Frank Iero was moved into the cancer unit.
The unit in which Gerard Way stayed.
In fact, the same room of the blunt, crooked-smile man.
Gerard had been quiet the last few days, staring at the ceiling, mapping out each crevice and refusing to eat. It wasn't a change that he wouldn't eat—it was normal, especially on the medication he was on. The chemo had the following effects—lack of appetite, increase of appetite, loss of hair, depression, nausea, and more.
But what was strange was his loss for words, or his lack of social interaction. It wasn't like him—if a nurse came for vitals, he'd throw in a couple jokes, and a lot of times he'd ask about his brother, Mikey.
But not since Frank arrived.
As of now, the sounds of beeping IV's filled the room, the huffs of machines pumping in the air. They hadn't talked since Frank had first arrived, and in all honesty, Gerard didn't want to.
But it wasn't because the man was somehow displeasing—it was the fact that he seemed to have this aura that aesthetically attracted Gerard.
The man was shorter than most, and was covered with tattoos. Sleeves of ink wrapped around his arms, and even extended to his hands. His hair was black and long, unruly and tangled.
Frank was interesting, and Gerard liked that.
But he was afraid of it.
Gerard wouldn't say he was bland, for sure—he was always thinking, calculating, drawing. Admittedly, he had thoughts out of this world.
Not to mention his appearance, with his turned up nose, dwindling red hair, or brown eyes. And he certainly wasn't normal. Not in abled terms, at least.
But though Frank didn't seem at all intimidating, there was this anxiousness that towered over Gerard whenever he thought about approaching him.
Gerard didn't want to rub him the wrong way, to say the least. He wasn't the nicest person.
But he wasn't necessarily mean, was he?
Gerard's mouth twitched subtly. The taste of smoke lingered on his tongue, fingers twisting onto the ghost of a cigar. It'd been exactly two months and twenty-two days since his last breath of tobacco.
He missed the taste of nicotine, suddenly.
Absentmindedly, the man clenched his jaw.
There was nothing to do.
Frank sat on the other side of the curtain, eyes focused on the TV as he played with his IV tube.
They'd locked eyes at least twice in the last three days, and exchanged small smiles before returning to their business.
It was cute, the way the light glinted in his eye, and the way his lips tugged his piercing upward.
Frank was cute.
Adorable.
Gerard sighed, aching for a few words of greeting with the man. He searched his room, feet folded under the sheets of his bed.
A table sat to the side of his bed, a few drawers pushed up against the wall behind him. A sink was placed on his right, along with the doorway leading to the main work place, where the nurses roamed. A bathroom was shared among the two patients, on the other side of the room.
