murderer - frerard

[025]

wow i don't even remember what i wrote the last time gtg check

okay here we go

Group was never fun. Maybe it could be, if Christina wasn't the one running the show. I'd considered trying a new therapist, but I reckoned it was pretty pointless, considering I never went anyway. Then again, it wasn't the sessions that I hated, right?

Andy, Ryan, and Jamia were actually pretty cool people, I found out after they came to see me the following day, and then the one after that — and almost every day I was in the hospital, really. However, they didn't stay very long when they came, so I was alone most of the time.

I overthought everything when I was alone. And God, I couldn't get Gerard off my mind, and how I missed that kiss, and wow, had it really been a week since we'd kissed? He didn't come to see me at all. It stung.

My mom spent the night in the ugly leather recliner beside my bed most nights, and considering she worked an irregular schedule, she wasn't there when I woke up the majority of the time.

I was released on a Friday, and the first thing I did after I got settled back in my own house was make my way over to Gerard's house. It felt weird to call it just his house, not Gerard and Mikey's. It felt weird to wait at the door for what felt like ages and not to be greeted by the tall, lanky boy. It all felt weird.

Finally, after close to three minutes of just standing there with my arms folded, Gerard opened the door, his hair wet, hanging down to his lips. A towel dangled from his fingers and he brought it to his head, tousling his damp locks in a dangerously sexy manner. "Hey," he said in a low voice.

I pushed past him and hopped atop the counter, which proved instantly to be a bad idea when the clenching of my abdominal muscles sent a fiery pain through my body. "You know what, I'd rather stand up," I mumbled with a chuckle. Gerard grinned back, wrapping the towel around his shoulders.

He asked me how my wound was healing up, and we stood in his kitchen for a long time, chatting nonchalantly until I finally blurt out, "Why didn't you come see me?"

He didn't reply for a breathtakingly long moment. "I didn't want to see you hurting," Gerard said softly. "I didn't want to make things worse, and —"

"Then I don't know how the hell you thought you weren't hurting me by leaving me alone in that shithole," I muttered, making my way past him and sitting on the sofa, careful not to hurt myself. It had been just over a week since I'd been shot, and I still had stitches throughout. Gerard stood there silently, gawking at me, making me squirm under his gaze. I hated that he had such an effect on me.

"I hate hospitals, man," he muttered, shaking his slightly damp hair. "It's so weird how, like, everything in the damned things are sterile and collectible, safe and — I can't stand it."

I didn't even pretend to know what he was talking about. I just nodded along, watching him ramble on about something I didn't think I'd ever understand.

Gerard's viewpoints always intrigued me. I liked to hear him talk about the way he saw the world: the good, the bad, and the dirty. I liked that I knew things about him that no one else did.

I forgot why I was upset. Being around Gerard shattered my sense of awareness, and after a few minutes, I was sprawled out on the couch in quite an awkward position so I didn't injure myself further, and Gerard hovered over me, careful not to let his weight fall on my still-sore body.

I'd spent so much time thinking about this, and I still wasn't prepared for what came next.

Gerard's warm, baby-pink lips pressed softly against my jaw, his thumb brushing the old tattoo on my neck. I shuffled back a little and tilted my head upward, kissing him gently. It was nice, it was comforting, it was everything I would've needed during the week I'd spent in the hospital. Maybe I would've been satisfied with such a kiss a couple days ago — but now? Definitely not.

Gerard's fingertips gripped my hip harshly, and he kissed me harder this time, his tongue slipping across my bottom lip.

God, this was it, this was what I wanted, and everything was perfect, and fuck, Gerard knew what to do with those gorgeous lips and —

I gasped in pain when he pulled my shirt up; the stitches had caught in the fabric, tugging harshly on my irritated flesh.

"Fuck, Frank — I'm sorry," Gerard murmured, slightly annoyed. He backed off me, helping me sit up and watch the blood seep out of the tiny holes around the sutures.

"It's okay, really, it doesn't hurt as bad when I'm with you."

jesus christ this sucks hah + im sorry for taking 948027 years to update

comment/vote/etc!! thank you guys so so so much and ily all !!!