The World is Ugly (Frerard)

30: Memories of a Broken Heart

I search for solace in this waste that I once called home
But my attempts of piecing life together leaves me alone
But I can't repair what's been done
When the sky is as black as the ground that I walk on

Gerard's POV

"How are you feeling, Frankie?" I ask him when he wakes up and turns to look at me.

You see, this time it was me who was unable to leave him alone for the night, so I just climbed under the covers with him and spooned all night.

If we had been regular 'boyfriends', I know we would've most likely done more than that, but shitcops are a whole different story.

"Hello" He greets me. "I'm great now"

I smile. He actually does look better than yesterday. Both physically and mentally, for his wounds are healing well and his eyes contain a little less fear than they used to.

"I'm gonna go fix breakfast" I announce, getting up and walking to the door.

"Gee wait!" Frank says, looking offended.

I stop and raise my eyebrows.

"No morning kiss for me?" He says, pouting.

I roll my eyes. I walk over to the bed, sit by his side and plant a quick kiss on his lips. I laugh a little when he pulls me back for more.

"Come on, Frank. Don't be greedy" I say, booping his nose.

"You just love doing that, don't you?" He asks, referring to my booping.

I shrug. "You just have a boopable nose, Frankie". I get up once again and head to the door.

"Gee" he calls me.

"Frank, come on! I'm only trying to be good and make you breakfast"

He laughs. "Yeah, I know. I was just gonna ask you to add extra maple "

I shake my head. "How did you even know I was going to make hot cakes?" I ask him.

"Come on, Gee. It's like, the only thing you know how to cook". I try to argue against that but he speaks first. "And no, cereal and sandwiches do not count as cooking".

I laugh.

"You're hurting my feelings, Frankie" I say, exaggerating my words and the silly feeling of offence that comes with them.

"Be right back, Frankie. Don't destroy anything" I say, then leave the room.

"Can't promise that"

---------------------

"Here you go" I say, walking back into the room with two plates of gloriously stacked, yet not so acceptably unburnt hot cakes, and put them on the bed as I climb beside him.

He's holding a notebook, and I just peek over his shoulder to see what he's staring at.

"What have you got there, Frankie?" I ask him. He seems to notice my presence for the first time since I entered the room and turns his head towards me, but his eyes linger on the pages.

"I got bored and found your math notebook laying there" he explains. I decide not to question him about just when did he begin to find math notebooks even remotely amusing. I rest my chin on his shoulder and watch as he slowly studies and turns every single page.

I sit in silence and simply appreciate the way he seems to find an almost philosophical meaning in quadratic equations, given that he stares intently at each one. The truth is, I've never before thought that watching someone read a notebook would be my pass-time for more than a few seconds, but here we are.