from my head to my middle finger

04 friends

[TW//suicide ideation, self-harm]

Frank had been drinking a lot more.

Like, a fucking lot. And crying. Gerard could hear him from his room, yelling Bob's name. He'd tried helping him, while keeping a safe distance. Making sure he's okay, cooking for him, helping him up when he found him lying on the kitchen floor sobbing.

By now, Gerard knew Frank was a little overdramatic. But he also knew he was very intoxicated, and it hurt him to see him like that. He didn't know why he cared so much about him when they'd barely talked, but he did.

When he came home from work one day, he found him crying on the couch, so instead of locking himself in his room, he sat next to him to finish his project while they watched a movie. 'Finding Dori?' he asked, and Frank immediately said yes. He lay on the couch, his head touching Gerard's leg, only because he has his sketchbook on his lap.

They watched in silence, but Gerard knew he was crying.

He heated up the leftover lasagna for Frank, and stayed there to make sure he was eating, and not drinking anything, or having anything else. 'You wanna talk?' Gerard asked.

Frank sighed. 'Not really. That's why I drink.'

'But you're not going to.'

'But –'

'I don't care. You're only making things worse.'

There was silence for a second. Frank finished the lasagna, and just stared at the floor. 'Why do you care about me?'

That caught Gerard off guard. He didn't know why either. Was he attracted to him? Maybe. Though it wasn't so much physical attraction. He didn't know what it was, but he kept pulling him closer. 'I don't know,' he said. 'You look like you could use a friend. I've been there.'

Frank nodded. 'So I cause pity?'

'No – no. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that. I mean, you were really nice to me since we met, even though you didn't know anything about me. I know it's because of Mikey, but you kept trying to be my friend. You got me food, and invited me to hang out, even though I'm the least fun person ever. And I don't like to see you sad, because you seem a really nice person, and you deserve better.'

Frank didn't know what to say, and tears rolled down his face.

'Don't cry.' Gerard couldn't help sitting with him and hugging him to comfort him.

During the following couple days, Gerard would do the same thing when coming home from work. He'd sit with Frank to watch a movie. Some days, he could smell the alcohol. Some days, he could see Frank was different. Intoxicated, with sad eyes, and absent. Yet, they sat together every day to watch something. He'd let him cry, and listen to him complain about anything. They got to know each other better, talking about random stuff, and realizing they had a lot of things in common.

But as much as Gerard tried, Frank was drinking more and more every time, and getting high on whatever he found, which was worrying Gerard.

He went to check on Frank to his room before going to bed, to found him crying again, eyes half open, drooling. Gerard wasn't sure if he was on drugs or just sleeping. 'I'm fine,' he assured him, and Gerard chose to believe him. Despite not going to work, or not showering, Frank had been doing fine in the past couple days. He didn't look as sad, or at least tried to.

Yet, two hours later, Gerard found him in the bathroom, razor blade in hand, bleeding.

'What the fuck, Frank?!'