Why You'd Want to Live Here

So I posted a message about this story last month explaining that it's a work in progress for a Space-AU challenge I'm doing (and very excited about). I have check-ins and deadlines for the work and so I'll be posting here what I have on each of the check-ins so that you guys can give me your honest opinions and then i can improve and edit before the final deadline.

So please, please let me know your thoughts, what's working, what isn't, what you like and dislike. 

The title is a song by Death Cab for Cutie and it will make more sense once more has been written.

They had pulled him out of the water on the first Tuesday-  it was a Tuesday, Frank knew, because the nurse in the sick bay was the type to cross off each passing day on the calendar parallel to Frank's bunk. He was dragged into the infirmary hacking up his lungs along with half of the pacific ocean, and Frank thought, great, now I'm not the Earnshaw of these choppy, blue mores. Even if the man looked far more Heathcliff than Frank ever would, with the long swing of his wet hair and heavy, buckled boots. 

When he looked up, his face was very pale and his eyes were very wide. He was pretty like a girl, even though Frank wouldn't ever say so out loud, or even very loudly in his own head. He feared, with those eyes, the man might be able to see into Frank's brain, right into the back where Frank kept all his thoughts of porn and boys looking like girls. 

People gathered outside of the room, prying eyes and not so hushed whispers, ponders on where he came from and what he was doing in the middle of Sector One's ocean, a lady draped in a red dress and with even redder cheeks exclaimed that he should of been dead, that there were sharks in the waters, man killers. 

The nurse, a stocky lady with a severe bun, closed the door and smiled sweetly at Frank, running a hand over his forehead to check his temperature. His fever wasn't burning as hot today, but Frank knew better than to expect that he was getting better.

The nurse didn't look at the man with the same gooey eyes she looked at Frank with, but that was okay, Frank was used to that. Frank was thin and his hair was too long and his Ma called him Bambi whenever he was sick or unstacked the dishwasher at home. The only lady who didn't look at Frank with honey, melted eyes was Frank's grandma, but her eyes were such an icy blue that Frank didn't even think the real Bambi could melt them. Frank liked his Grandma a lot. 

Girls his age didn't look at him with that affection either, they didn't look at him much at all. Frank was mostly okay with that though, girls weren't all that great, and he was in hospital too much to date anyway.

The nurse helped the man down onto the bunk next to Franks, the one closer to the wall, and he collapsed with a sigh. The noise was full of tiny rocks and honeycomb, and the sheer exhaustion of it made Frank want to pass out himself. He only didn't because he'd spent every minute since four PM Sunday sleeping, covered head to toe in sheep and half formulated fever dreams. This was the most excitement he'd had since boarding the luxury cruise.

The man looked at Frank and his mouth quirked up. Frank guessed it was a sort of smile. He grinned back.

And then the nurse was there again and fussing with all the things she'd fussed about with on Frank. The man was a good sport about the whole ordeal and didn't even roll his eyes when the nurse went to re-check his temperature after searching for signs of concussion. 

"You look okay." The nurse said, said it like Gerard had hoped for a life threatening illness. "You should count that a miracle." The man nodded and smiled at her, and the nurse told him to rest up before drifting out of the room.

Frank stared at the man without any of the shame his mother would of expected him to have had. His eyes were closed and his breathes were even. His nose was pointy and small, and his lips were thin, but pink.