Tracking down and collecting the rest of the bodies takes up the afternoon.
When we've thrown the last mangled corpse onto the pile, I soak it all in lighter fluid and throw a match.
"Best leave before the smell hits us." I warn Frank, waving him back to the car.
I offer to drop him back to the bus, but he insists on staying with me. The only thing I have left to do is give the house a scrub-down. I carry bleach in the car - for occasions such as this - but there's some leftover cleaning products in the kitchen.
"Let's just..." I look around the cluttered kitchen, with rubbish on every counter and blood splatters on the tiled floor. "Let's do walls and floors. Tomorrow we'll make a proper start."
"I'll take floors." He offers, filling two buckets with warm water and pouring copious amounts of bleach inside. "We should open every window in the house too. It smells like rot in here."
We work in companionable silence. It's methodical, easy, normal work. It's nice to imagine that we're just normal people cleaning a normal house. Of course, we're cleaning blood and brains and broken furniture away, but still. The work isn't dangerous, and Frank works just as hard as me. We move from room to room together, and if I'm finished on the walls before he's done with the floor, I help with his job and vice versa.
There's a lot of rooms to check, and we get a good scope of the house while we're at it.
It's everything we need.
There's a massive kitchen with pleasant white walls and wooden cabinets. There's a big table in the middle of the room. A separate dinning room, with a massive oak table and double doors that lead out onto a patio. Beyond that concrete patio, the back garden is absolutely huge. Just a field, basically, which gives way immediately to woodland. The bedrooms are all reasonable sizes, with one gigantic bedroom decorated with duck egg blue.
"Might as well pick a room." I encourage him as we make it to the second landing, downstairs completed. "Get first dibs on one of the big ones."
"The perks of actually doing some work, huh?" He waggles his eyebrows, lip ring flashing as he smirks.
"Exactly." I chuckle.
The second floor is just one long corridor, really, with all the rooms branching off. There's one massive bathroom with a deep tub, but four other bedrooms have en suites. Frank and I claim one each.
We finish quicker than we anticipated, so we decide to clean the kitchen and bathrooms. The essential rooms that can be wiped down quickly.
"Lucky," I mutter, as we check everything is working in the main bathroom. "Plumbing is one thing I haven't managed to become an expert in."
"How dare you slack in such a horrific manner, Dailey." Frank gasps, hand clasped dramatically to his chest.
I throw a wet cloth, and he yelps as it wraps all the way around his face.
The kitchen is certainly a state, and needs a deep clean rather than a simple once over with sponges and mops. We clear the rubbish away and do a light sweep, and decide to start again in the morning.
We return back to the bus, Pandora trotting ahead of us, tongue lolling out of her mouth.
The guys are relieved when we walk in, and Gerard greets both of us enthusiastically. He drags us in for hugs after checking we're in one piece with no injuries.
Dinner is ready ten minutes after we arrive home. Ray and Mikey had already started it in the hopes we'd be home as the sun started to set. We eat together in the living room, and we tell everyone about our day and the house.
"It's going to be fucking awesome." Frank insists, slurping down pasta. "I can't wait to sleep in a space bigger than a coffin."
"And there's a proper kitchen?" Mikey asks, the heat from the food has fogged up his glasses. "With stoves and ovens and things?"
Frank and I confirm.
"And a bath?" Alissa demands. We nod.
"When will it be ready, Nevaeh?" Mark asks casually.
Frank bristles and opens his mouth, eyes flashing dangerously, but I beat him to it.
"Not long. Two or three days. I'll clean tomorrow and go on a supply run the day after. After that it'll be reinforcements, but I can do that while we're in there."
Mark sighs, "It's just such a long process."
From the look on Frank's face, he seriously considers frisbeeing his dinner plate at Mark's head. But he smiles quickly.
"You could get up early tomorrow and help out." Frank suggests, pleasant.
Mark chokes on his pasta, "Why would I do that?"
Frank sniffs and levels a withering, cold stare at Mark. "So you're willing to complain but not willing to pitch in. Interesting."
Mark scoffs and shakes his head, but he doesn't comment further. He turns instead and faces Alissa, and starts murmuring quietly. They're sat on one of the little tables, facing each other. Ray and Mikey are sat on the other. Gerard, Natalie, Frank and I sit on the sofas, plates in our laps.
"How did our Frank do, Nevaeh?" Gerard nudges me with an elbow, smiling gently.
"Only one near-death experience." I grin, "But I took good care of him, don't worry about that."
Gerard chuckles, and ruffles my hair. "We weren't worried about him at all, knowing you were there."
I'm taken aback by the words. I knew they trusted me to some extent; they've allowed us into their home and relinquished the decision-making mostly to me. But to know that they consider themselves safe in my presence, to know that they trust me with their lives, and the lives of their closest friends... It makes my chest feel tight. Not with dread, or with worry. But... It's a warm, golden feeling.
"Don't just tell him about me almost getting my ass beat," Frank exclaims, scandalised. "I did more than that today!"
"All right, all right." I scoff, "He did pretty good. Pulled his weight. No complaining or puking or freaking out."
Gerard's giggle is delighted, and he reaches over to smack Frank's knee. "Amazing. Well done."
Natalie is pretty quiet, and stares down at her pasta without looking up. She doesn't seem happy for Frank, nor acknowledges the conversation. I'm not sure what has made her so miserable, but Gerard's excitable chatter is contagious and distracts me.
It's another early night - Frank insists upon it. Not for himself, but for me. I'm glad, because it's been a long day for us with lots of heavy lifting. We've been submerged in cloying smoke and harsh chemicals. Though my injuries have squatted in the back of my brain all day, now that things are quiet and my body is relaxing, they're happy to announce themselves again. By the time the guys trudge off to bed, my eyes are stinging and my head feels heavy.
"Thanks for letting me come with you." Frank says as we lay in the dark.
Pandora's sleeping beneath me again, breathing heavy.
"Thank you for helping me." I murmur back.
I sleep like the dead.
***
In the morning, Frank checks my injuries before we leave. He changes the bandages on my stomach, leg, hand and back. We have breakfast together and get back to the house for a full day of work.
Today the house needs a deep clean.
Of course, though it's not in awful shape, there's no getting around the fact that dead people have been living in it for who knows how long. So there are messes to scrub away and clutter to collect.
There's also damages to fix, but I'm able to tend to most of them with my toolkit and some patience.
On top of that, we're very aware of the fact that people have lived in the house too. Before the corpses, there was a family living here. Everywhere we turn, there are reminders of them. Pictures, clothes, belongings. These things will all need to be sorted and moved too.
Frank is just as reliable as the day before. Work gets split evenly, and we stay together. I don't think either of us are comfortable roaming the house alone yet. Soon it will be a home, and with eight of us inside there will be plenty of noise to keep everyone company. For the moment, it's just too big and too empty for two people to move around without feeling jumpy.
"What about this living room window?" Frank's got his hands on his hips, and it's late morning.
The window has a small hole in it, about the size of a tennis ball. The glass around the wound is shattered, like a spiderweb creeping outwards.
I purse my lips. "I could pick up a big board of wood, nail it into the frame."
"That'll block a lot of light." He muses, "What about sheets of plastic? The sticky kind."
"That's a good idea." I nod, "I'll look for some tomorrow."
And this is how we work. Encounter a problem, talk through until we find a solution. He might be an artist, but he's a decent problem-solver with a logical way of thinking. I find myself settling into his company, relaxing in a way I don't often do with anyone. He doesn't rely on me to fix something alone; he's independent and capable. It's a nice change from what I've been dealing with for ten months.
Gerard and Alissa arrive in the early afternoon, and they have chicken noodles for us to eat. We hear them calling cautiously from the second floor and rush down to meet them in the entrance hall. They're looking around with wide eyes and dreamy smiles when we arrive. Pandora beats us there, barking happily at Liss.
"Good fucking find, Nevaeh." Gerard says, impressed. He hands me a hot bowl.
"We're going to live like Lords and Ladies." Alissa agrees as she passes Frank his food.
I lead them through to the kitchen, and Gerard whistles. "Mikey's going to love this. And look at the garden! Oh my good god."
He rushes to a window to inspect the field and the trees beyond.
"How's the work coming?" Alissa enquires politely. She's been wary of Frank since his outburst two days ago, but he's been perfectly civil with her ever since, and Alissa doesn't hold onto grudges.
Frank leans against a counter and slurps down the wet noodles. "Slow. Zombies are messy, apparently, and there's stains and grime everywhere. Little things to fix as well. But Nevaeh is a regular handy-woman with the most efficient toolkit I've ever seen. It'll get done."
Alissa gives me a pointed look that I don't really understand, but I think she's impressed with his compliment.
We get back to work after they've left. By the time the sun starts to set, we deem the house liveable. As in, fit for humans and not the undead. Though, it is neither safe nor stocked. That's more problems for me to address.
Frank tries to come with me the next day, but I refuse his help for the hunting trip. I need to be able to move quickly, and he's too much of a distraction. I can't worry about him and Pandora and myself and the job at hand. So I go out alone and leave a moody Frank behind.
Still, I'm slow without him.
As I scour empty stores and warehouses with only Pandora for company, I find myself missing Frank's steady presence at my side. The miserable tasks - involving bodies and blood - had been over quickly and easily with help. The boring stuff - cleaning and tidying - had been more entertaining beside a real human being. I might not like his attitude, but his company is starting to feel... Natural. Expected.
I fill the car quickly with supplies. Food. Building materials. Bits and pieces for various rooms.
The trip away from my companions doesn't feel like the freedom it usually does. Whenever I used to leave the guys and wander alone through the empty world, it often felt like taking a break. Being alone was effortless. I'd wished for it more than once.
By the time midday approaches, I'm itching to get back.
When the car rumbles to a stop outside the double front doors of the house, Frank appears almost immediately.
"Any injuries?" He checks in way of a greeting. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, the lingering annoyance clear in the set of his jaw.
"No." I say defensively.
Pandora yaps and bounds to Frank, happy to see him. Traitor. He greets her more enthusiastically than he did me.
"Maybe you should go hose down, change your clothes." He inclines his head towards the house. "I'll start unpacking."
I look down; my blue jeans are splattered with blood. My shirt is ripped. I feel the sticky film of blood tightening as it dries on my neck and arm. It's the remains of the six corpses I encountered. The fourth one was pretty unwilling to die.
"No, I'm good." My stubbornness flares, and I unload the entire car - with his help - without changing.
"A good haul." He nods as we survey my morning's work, strewn on every surface in the kitchen, and all over the floor. "Fill the freezer first and then the cupboards?"
We do just that.
Everything that is left over is for repairs. I fix the window in the living room. A bedroom has a bloodstain on the carpet, and I've brought a rug to cover it. There's a dozen more little tasks, but none of them give me any trouble.
"I might bring in another freezer, like I did for the bus." I muse after I've fixed some tiles in the kitchen.
"If we bring the bus onto the driveway, we could just go out every day to get food." Frank shrugs, hands on his hips. He's been fixing a few of the cabinets and drawers, some were missing and others snapped. "We could use one of the smaller rooms upstairs for supplies though. Bring in some bookshelves or something. There's no pantry, so another room for storage would be good."
"We could do that with the dining room," I suggest, "Line the walls with shelves, keep food there."
Frank nods, and a solution is found. He seems to have forgiven me for leaving him behind. He's still a bit frosty, a bit distant, but he'll get over it, it seems. I know that logically, he understands why he can't accompany me into danger. In reality, he thinks he'd be more of a help than a hindrance. Of course, I disagree.
When the sun starts to set, Frank and I head back to the bus.
Everyone is gathered in the living room, and there's palpable relief from Gerard when we appear unharmed and relatively happy.
"Why..." Ray drags the word out with unease, "Are you two smiling like that?"
I wait for Frank to make the announcement, but he shakes his head and waves a hand.
Stepping forward, I take a breath. "Would everyone like to see their new house?"
Ray manoeuvres the bus into the massive driveway. I ask him to turn it so we're pointing towards the road and have an easy way to escape if we ever need one.
Most of us only have one bag to carry.
It's one of the rules I insist upon. Carry everything of importance in one big bag, and if we need to leave in a hurry all of your irreplaceable items are in a single spot. I delivered the same lesson to the men when I fixed the bus.
The tour ensues.
It's a two-story Manor, faded white with a slate grey roof. The windows are huge, and the double front door is heavy, black wood.
Even the most difficult to please - Mark and Alissa, hands down - seem impressed with the house. Alissa insists on having one of the other bedrooms with an en suite, and everyone draws knots for the remainder. Ray gets it, which he's thrilled about.
"Everything is very plain." I wince as we stand on the second landing and everyone chooses their rooms. "But I'll take each of you out individually and you can pick decor and entertainment."
"Who gets to go first?" Mark demands. He's throwing his duffel into a room, thankfully at the other end of the hall from me.
"I don't give a shit." I scoff, "Sort it out amongst yourselves. Make a schedule if you want. I've got to make the house safe first anyway, so it won't be for a few days."
We can't stay up late; the windows aren't secure. Every corpse and human for miles will see the upstairs lights glowing. I add that problem to the list.
It's odd climbing into a real bed. I've grown used to the couch on the bus. I sleep fitfully, tossing and turning and surging up with wide eyes. My subconsciousness must realise that Frank isn't sleeping nearby, and so feels comfortable making a fuss all night.
I shower and dress in the gloom of the very early morning. Changing my own bandages is a struggle without an extra pair of hands to help.
Nobody else is awake, of course. I feed Pandora and myself and leave to scavenge.
Everyone is up but groggy and yawning when I get back. I arrive in the kitchen, sweaty and strapped into my tactical gear, and Gerard's eyes flare with surprise.
"I thought you were still asleep!" He exclaims, "I knocked on your door. I didn't want to disturb you."
I tilt my head with a frown. "Thanks for the sentiment, I guess. I've been up for hours."
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Alissa waves a fork drenched in oil. She's got a plate full of bacon. Mikey is stood over the stove, cooking it.
"What should I be figuring?" Gerard frowns.
"I did." Frank holds up a hand, like he's volunteering.
"Pretty sure I have too." Ray says around a massive yawn.
"Figured what?" Gerard demands.
Mark is brewing coffee, and starts filling mugs. He's not wearing a shirt and his dark hair stands up in every direction. "She doesn't fucking stop, man. It's our Nevaeh's fatal flaw."
"You're in a good mood." I sneer at Mark, and knock him out of the way to grab a mug. "And I do stop. I know how to rest." I get several scathing looks for this. "Whatever, okay? When the house is safe, I'll transform myself into a sloth."
"Yeah, all right." Alissa scoffs.
I roll my eyes and fill my cup with orange juice. "I'm going up to shower. The car is full. Someone unload it."
By the time I jog back down the stairs, hair wet and clothes changed, Frank and Ray are on their last trip from the car. They've scattered my supplies in the entrance hall, because there's plenty of space.
"So..." Frank is looking at me apprehensively. "What's the plan, Dailey?"
Unexpectedly, this prompts a genuine smile from me. I clap him on the shoulder. "No plan for you. Take the day off."
Ray squares his shoulders, "I'll help then."
"That's okay-" I try to wave him off.
"Nevaeh, a helping hand for the heavy lifting is the least we can do." Ray chastises.
"And you can fuck off if you think I'm lounging around all day." Frank gripes.
So I'm trailed by the two of them. In all fairness, I sort of need the help. I have to reinforce the house, which means a lot of DIY. Also a lot of trial and error. The weakest entry points first; doors and windows. I add security bars to the front doors. Metal and wooden shutters to the insides of downstairs windows, which can be left open in the day and slid shut at night. I add black out curtains for good measure on most of the windows. Corpses and humans alike will track lights through the dark. I must do my best to snuff it all out.
My biggest worry comes in the form of two sets of glass double doors. One set in the kitchen, another in the dining room. Glass is easy to shatter for corpses and people. They're massive entry points.
"I suppose we could board them up." Ray suggests, he's sitting at the dining room table, taking a moment to have a coffee.
Frank and I are surveying the doors.
"That'll block the light." We say, at the same time. I glance at him and he glances at me.
Ray raises an eyebrow and grins softly, but doesn't comment. I'm glad he doesn't, and Frank's face reflects the sentiment.
"We could try the plastic again," Frank suggests. "The sticky kind. It'll be harder for someone to shatter it."
"True." I muse, tapping my chin. "I suppose I could try and track down some big panels of chain link fence, too. Strap it to the building, somehow."
"That's a good idea," He nods, "If we drilled some kind of bracket into the outside walls, we could lock the fence in place and wedge them there, you know? They'd be easy to open in the mornings and safe for the nights."
I deliver a sharp slap to his chest, "Fucking genius, Iero."
We set the plan in motion. I bring in massive, heavy drapes and install curtain poles above the doors to block the light. We apply sheets of sticky plastic to the windows. Frank and I install the fences. All we have to do in the evenings is drag them across and lock them in place.
In the days it takes to complete this task, I see to the others around the house. I go scavenging every day to stock up on supplies. I add black-out curtains to every window that might produce a glow. I add weapons and first-aid kits to almost every room.
Once the house is finished, I move my efforts to the surrounding land.
Establishing a loose perimeter dampens some of my paranoia. If anything heads our way, I have to know about it. I install CCTV cameras and motion sensors surrounding the property. I set up trip wires, linked to bells and wind-chimes and grenades. If I don't hear any of my warning system, Pandora will.
Frank is a steady presence at my side.
Ray sticks around to help with the heavy lifting, but that need passes quickly once we've got the shutters in place over the windows. In the days after, Frank is all the help I need. He seems to enjoy being busy, and never complains about the ceaseless work.
We don't talk much, but I don't mind. Out of all the new group, he seems to prefer my company the most. He doesn't like Alissa and Mark, and Nat actively avoids him. Still, I get the feeling he doesn't trust me. He's guarded.
I can't say the same for Gerard, who spends as much time as he can in my presence. He chatters to me at meals and sits with me during the quiet evenings. He speaks of his family, and his life before all of this. He talks of home and the band. I discover that he's a dreamer and an idealist, who loves his parents and hated high school. He's not married and doesn't have a woman back home, and he's glad for that because he couldn't deal with the worry of it. He asks questions of me, but doesn't push when I seize up or dodge an answer.
Almost always, we gather in the living room when the sun goes down. I bring in a big TV a few days after arriving and we settle down for movies. There's only two sofas, so there's not enough room for everyone, but the carpet is good enough.
We start to fall together naturally. Ray and Natalie seem to grow friendly; he's a calm, sincere presence, and Natalie has the same quiet air. They speak a lot. He starts to teach her how to play guitar, and I often hear them laughing during these sessions.
Mikey and Alissa do the same. He's pretty funny, with a sharp wit and helpful attitude. She's dramatic and emotional, but she's got the same quick tongue. She makes him laugh, and his good manners seem to soften some of her nastier characteristics.
Mark even comes to tolerate them. This sudden change comes about when I bring gaming consoles into the house a few days in and set them up in one of the spare bedrooms. Ray is a hardcore gamer, Frank and Mikey participate during fits of boredom. But Mark finally has boys to play with, and him and Ray spend hours together yelling at their screens. Mark is also pretty artistic, and when I bring home art supplies, him and Gerard seem as enthusiastic as each other.
We settle into the house, Frank and I reinforce it during the days. We work out a rough routine.
I never eat breakfast with the guys. I'm up and gone before any of them rise. I'm usually back for lunch, but if not I'm always back for dinner. In the first two weeks of living together, I never once have to cook a meal or wash the dishes. I don't have to clean or tend to the house. Mikey and Ray cook. Gerard and Frank clean. Natalie and Alissa, seeing the effort that the guys put in, start to help out too. Only Mark stubbornly maintains his laziness.
It had surprised me when I'd appeared in the kitchen in the first few days of moving in, ready to cook dinner, and found the operation already underway. It had been four days since we'd arrived. Frank and I had been working all day, and the hunting trip that morning had been rough.
"I was just about to start." I'd frowned. Mikey and Ray were whirling from counter to counter, chopping and frying and checking on times. Gerard was carrying plates and cutlery through to the dining room.
"You've been busy all day." Gerard scolded, clapping me on the shoulder.
"But, it's my job-" I insisted.
Ray had cut me a scathing look, "We're grown men, Nevaeh. You can't cook for eight people on top of everything else. We're perfectly capable of doing it."
Just like that, the responsibility wasn't mine anymore. It felt weird, relinquishing that to the men - a show of trust, definitely - but it gave me free time where before I'd only get a few spare moments in the day.
Two days after that, Frank steals another of my responsibilities.
Though he helps me with the work as best he can, I still won't let him come scavenging with me. There's too much to collect, too many things we need, and I have to be able to move quickly. I promise him early on that once I don't have to venture out every day for supplies, I'll start in on the training.
But six days after we arrive, I come home laden with supplies and an injury.
Frank always seems to be nearby when I arrive home. I'm not sure if he listens out for the car, or if the living room is just where he prefers to hang out, but he appears almost immediately after I arrive, every day.
On this particular day, I'm very late. The scent of dinner is already in the air, and the sun is threatening to set. Pandora is whining and yapping as I take a moment to breathe with my back to the closed door.
"Nevaeh?" The voice is a whoosh of breath, and the hand that grips my elbow is strong.
I open my eyes to find Frank stood over me, face paler than usual. He's breathing a little hard, his eyes are wide and full of... Panic.
"I'm fine." I straighten.
"There's blood all over your face." He frowns, "And you haven't ever been this late."
"It's nothing." I shrug off his hand and move for the stairs. "The car needs unloading."
"I'll shout for Ray-" he says, and his tone tells me there is more to say, but I'm already climbing the stairs and aiming for my room.
I strip my bloodied shirt off and use the ruined material to scrub at my cheeks. I'm just bending to untie my laces when there's a knock on my door.
I groan, check that my sports bra covers my chest adequately, and call; "Come in."
It's Frank. His eyes are scornful and his lips are pressed into a thin, annoyed line. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb. Though Pandora lopes over to sit at his feet, he doesn't acknowledge her.
"Can I help you?" I prompt bluntly.
"No, you can't." He retorts in the same cold tone, "But if you want to wash your face, I'll see to that cut."
"I have hands and I have eyes," I snort, and kick off my boots. I'm left in the bra and black cargo trousers. "I can tend to my own injuries."
"Poorly," He counters, "If you let me do it properly, it'll barely scar."
"I coped just fine without you."
His eyes narrow, "But I'm here now. You might be some kind of warrior, but you're a shit nurse. Let me take care of you." My eyebrows flick upwards, and his face flushes red. He splutters. "It. Let me take care of it. The cut."
We stare at each other. His stance says he's ready for the argument. My face must say the same thing. But-... At this point, I'm just tired. I sigh and slump, and eventually heave myself up and into the bathroom.
Frank follows, and watches as I splash water on my face. The blood has soaked all down my cheek, dripped down my jaw and drenched my chest. It's only a cut on my temple, following the curve of my eyebrow, but faces bleed dramatically.
"Okay." Frank urges me to a stop. I'm spun with a hand on my elbow, and he boosts me up onto the bathroom counter, beside the sink.
He passes a towel gently over my face, patting it dry. He empties a few things from the bag he's brought with him. His hands are quick and deft, capable and sure. His eyebrows are pulled together, eyes focused. He takes up a stance in front of me, between my knees. For once, we are eye-to-eye. The counter has levelled the small height difference.
Leaning in close, he wraps his hands around my jaw and angles the cut into the light.
He's not looking at me, rather at the task, so I take a moment to drink him in.
His hair is black as pitch, and for the first time I note that this must be his natural colour. It's so black I'd always assumed he dyed it - for dramatic purposes, being in a rock band - but his roots, eyebrows and lashes are all the same shade of obsidian. His hair is long enough now to brush his shoulders, and I add hair clippers to the always present lists in my brain.
He's only been eating properly for about three weeks - has that all it's been since I met him? It feels like a lifetime - but he's already gained weight. His arms and thighs have thickened, his cheeks have lost their hollowed look. He looks healthier, sturdier. Though he's still sporting the sharpest jaw I've ever encountered. My gaze flicks up to his eyes, and I almost smile at the seriousness there. In the pure white of the bathroom light bulb, his eyes are astounding. There's a ring of chestnut brown around the irises, but there is a halo of forest green around that. In the sterile lighting, I can see every fleck of green and brown and black and amber. There's enough colours in his eyes to fill a painting.
"What're you looking at?" He asks, and it's a quiet, gruff question.
Still, I startle at the noise and hastily send my eyes downwards. I scramble for an answer.
All sorts of stupid replies flit through my brain. His dark eyelashes. His ridiculously chiselled jaw. The contrast of his rose-petal lips against his snowy white skin. The contradiction that is his eyes. The truth is out of the question, the truth is absolutely forbidden from ever leaving my lips.
The truth is, of course, that I was looking at his face and realising, with some shock, that he's kind of beautiful.
But I absolutely swear to myself, right there, that this realisation will stay buried in the depths of my brain.
So I swallow and offer pathetically; "I was just adding hair clippers to my list for tomorrow."
This makes him chuckle. "Gerard and I would be very grateful for that. He might ask for hair dye too, so I'd brace for that conversation. It'll be long and painful."
"Thank you for the warning." I grin.
"You're welcome." He returns the smile. He's pressing cotton balls to the cut, and it stings. "This'll need paper stitches and painkillers after you've eaten. It might give you a bastard headache."
I nod.
"How'd it happen?"
I shrug, "Big corpse. This guy was at least eighteen stone, and when he swung at me I blacked the fuck out for a second. Lucky I was thrown over a counter with the force of it, or he'd have been able to get to me in those few seconds."
Frank isn't impressed with the story. "I don't suppose you'd be annoyed if I asked you to be more careful, would you?"
My temper flares immediately, and I knock his hands clear of my face. He rocks back a step.
"So that's a no, then?" He deadpans.
"You say it like I intentionally go out there to get hurt." I snap. "I am careful, you buffoon. I'm cautious and quiet and fast. Sometimes it makes no fucking difference."
He holds up his hands, warding off my irritation. "Okay. All right. You're the expert."
After a moment of judging my expression, he steps in close again and goes back to cleaning the wound. I let him do it, sitting in stony silence.
"Can I make another request?" He asks. His voice is overly innocent. He's smoothing paper stitches over the wound. He's pressed in close, focused entirely on the task.
"Is it less idiotic than your other one?" I demand.
He grins, "I reckon so."
"Go on then." I huff.
"Could you try to look after your face a little better?" He's still smiling when he asks, but his eyes are entirely serious.
The request is so unexpected that I don't even bother to get angry. I just blink at him, dumbfounded.
"What for?" I demand, bewildered.
"Well," He shrugs, frowns, and looks away. "It's just... It's a good face." His eyes flicker back to mine, and his stare feels like a physical weight. "I'd hate for you to do real damage."
A... Good face? He might be the strangest man I've ever met.
"You know," I scowl, "Normal people might have just called me pretty."
His snorts, and his expression softens. "Pretty is a bullshit word."
"I dunno what the fuck you're talking about sometimes." I retort.
This makes him laugh, and the sound is almost a giggle. "You didn't acknowledge my request."
I scoff crudely, "Fine. I promise to be a little more careful. With my own face."
He grins, and pats my thigh to signify that we're done here. "See? That felt like compromise. That felt productive."
"Don't get fucking used to it, Iero." I punch him in the stomach, and leave him spluttering as I flee the bathroom.