One for Every Day of the Week. [Frerard Standalone]
Title: One for Every Day of The Week
Author: Cnopbl
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
POV: 3rd
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: About as real as Tori Spelling's boobs. Fake.
Summary: " 'M gonna have all these tattoos when I get bigger," Frank went on. "One fer every day o' the week."
Warning: Needle discussion, tattoos, character death, a whole bunch of tears.
Beta: My weary eyes.
Author Notes: Centered around the word 'tattoo'.
"Y' know," The raven-haired boy started. He was laying on top of the rug in this room, the walls of the kindergarten class room feeling so big to his small form. The other raven-haired boy, a good four years older, sat next to him on the floor. The third graders were atching the kinders today.
"I know what?" The older, who had much more of a knack for talking back, brought himelf up to an Indian-style position. He brought his hands to his lap and looked at the younger expectantly. Their eyes met briefly before both sets fell to the floor.
" 'M gonna have all these tattoos when I get bigger," Frank went on. "One fer every day o' the week." He nodded as he sat up enthusiastically, hairflopping into his face. He began to illustrate this by waves of his hands, where his 'tattoos' would be. Most of them remained situated around his hands; curling between fingers and twisting around knuckles. He gave Gerard a toothy grin, as if to say, 'You know that I'm going to keep my word to you.' Gerard found himself nodded in agreement, mainly because he just couldn't say no to that face.
The elder's head trailed as Frank went on about the numerous 'tattoos' he'd be getting. Didn't tattooing involve needles? He wondered this. Even the thought of needles made him cringe. He hated them with a ridiculous passion, no matter what circumstance.
"Aren't you 'fraid o' the needles?" His voice was careful. For all he knew, even the word could make the boy erupt in a fit of tears. To his surprise, Frank just laughed and shook his head. He sat up and looked at his friend triumphantly.
"Nope!" He said, smiling. "Them needles don' scare me!" He leaned in to Gerard's ear, tearing his way through weaves of hair that matched his own in color.
"I halfta have a bunch o' needles everyday, so they is no longer scary," Frank then leaned back, giggling to himself like a madman, as if he had just told the best joke in the world. Gerard, on the other hand, looked throughoutly mortified. How could he NOT be afraid of needles? They were horrifying.
But, as his mother said, 'to each his own'.
But now his mind was focused soley on what Frank had said. He needed needles every day?! That was just insane! Why, if it were Gerard who needed shots every day, he'd probably die just from having to see them all the time! He twisted a lock of hair around his index finger, sighing to himself. Suddenly Frank looked so little to him, almost infantile.
"Why... do y' need needles everyday, Frankie?" Gerard's voice was careful, almost hesitant. He was eager to know, yet at the same time he was frightened. What if what Frank had was contaigious? What if, from being around him, Gerard caught it and he needed needles every day? The eight-year-old could feel his heartbeat steadily increase. Frank pointed to his wrist, where he'd been describing a tattoo that would one day be planted there.
"'Cause my blood is sick," He told Gerard, nodding matter-of-factly. "I have lee-oh-kay-mee-uh." A small frown tugged at his tiny red lips. "My mommy says it's some kinda cancer?" He shrugged. "All she told me was that 'm gonna lose my hair one day from kee-moh-theh-ruh-pee and that it is gonna keep comin' back." He nodded as a last word on the subject before he began to pick at his fingers, staying next to completely silent save for the few winces from when he picked himself into a hangnail.
[[cause the hardest part of this is leaving you...]]
16 years later...
Frank had entered remission. The cancer had come back, and he was back in the hospital. There was a central line running into his frail chest, bringing blood out to clean it. A oxygen mask had slipped it's way over his lips, tucked neatly in a thin line. His black hair that hadn't been cut in months sprawled against the stark white pillow underneath his head. Headphones blasted in his ears, spilling the songs of Pencey Prep into his ears.
He looked much younger than twenty-one.
Gerard sighed, tucking one foot beneath the other as he sat in the waiting area outside of Frank's jail cell. His wrist was throbbing, face white-washed with the fear of being in one of the places he hated the most. His younger brother, Mikey, had his hand running over his brother's shoulder. It was a way of saying, "Don't worry, Frank is going to be fine."
"You can come in now, mister Way," The nurse, apparently named Donna, motioned to the older of the two brothers. Gerard nodded slowly, bringing himself up with a sigh. Mikey gripped his older brother's well hand and nodded at him, being as supportive as he possibly could wordlessly. The elder nodded back, before letting go and approaching the door. Donna stuck her hands out, a mask and protective shoe slips contained within them. Without a word, he slipped into them and followed the caretaker into the prison cell.
Frank's eyes traced along the cieling to where the door was opening, and almost immediately broke into a smile at the sight of the man he hadn't seen since kindergarten. He recognized the facial features; the bright hazel eyes (that looked a tad nervous,) the bottom lip being chewed on. His hair was almost the same as when they'd first met. He could tell, straight off the bat, that it was Gerard.
"Hi," The older's voice waned, frightened that he might have woken the sleeping frame up. Frank's smile made his face twinge. He gave a small laugh before tracing a spot next to him with his finger. Gerard sat down carefully, bringing his leg up to meet his knee. In an instant, he began rolling up his shirt sleeve. He could hear Frank's heart rate monitor begin to slow, and it made tears jump to his eyes.
Inscribed on Gerard's left wrist, three inches underneath the hand, was a tattoo written in flawless script. It read;
'I love you, Frank.'
It was the last thing the boy's brown eyes glazed over, his body went cold. The heart monitor fell flatline, and a few tears slipped down Gerard's cheeks. Mikey had to pull his brother's sobbing form away.
[[and as we're touching hands,
i'll meet your eyes.
i mean this forever.]]
Author: Cnopbl
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
POV: 3rd
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: About as real as Tori Spelling's boobs. Fake.
Summary: " 'M gonna have all these tattoos when I get bigger," Frank went on. "One fer every day o' the week."
Warning: Needle discussion, tattoos, character death, a whole bunch of tears.
Beta: My weary eyes.
Author Notes: Centered around the word 'tattoo'.
"Y' know," The raven-haired boy started. He was laying on top of the rug in this room, the walls of the kindergarten class room feeling so big to his small form. The other raven-haired boy, a good four years older, sat next to him on the floor. The third graders were atching the kinders today.
"I know what?" The older, who had much more of a knack for talking back, brought himelf up to an Indian-style position. He brought his hands to his lap and looked at the younger expectantly. Their eyes met briefly before both sets fell to the floor.
" 'M gonna have all these tattoos when I get bigger," Frank went on. "One fer every day o' the week." He nodded as he sat up enthusiastically, hairflopping into his face. He began to illustrate this by waves of his hands, where his 'tattoos' would be. Most of them remained situated around his hands; curling between fingers and twisting around knuckles. He gave Gerard a toothy grin, as if to say, 'You know that I'm going to keep my word to you.' Gerard found himself nodded in agreement, mainly because he just couldn't say no to that face.
The elder's head trailed as Frank went on about the numerous 'tattoos' he'd be getting. Didn't tattooing involve needles? He wondered this. Even the thought of needles made him cringe. He hated them with a ridiculous passion, no matter what circumstance.
"Aren't you 'fraid o' the needles?" His voice was careful. For all he knew, even the word could make the boy erupt in a fit of tears. To his surprise, Frank just laughed and shook his head. He sat up and looked at his friend triumphantly.
"Nope!" He said, smiling. "Them needles don' scare me!" He leaned in to Gerard's ear, tearing his way through weaves of hair that matched his own in color.
"I halfta have a bunch o' needles everyday, so they is no longer scary," Frank then leaned back, giggling to himself like a madman, as if he had just told the best joke in the world. Gerard, on the other hand, looked throughoutly mortified. How could he NOT be afraid of needles? They were horrifying.
But, as his mother said, 'to each his own'.
But now his mind was focused soley on what Frank had said. He needed needles every day?! That was just insane! Why, if it were Gerard who needed shots every day, he'd probably die just from having to see them all the time! He twisted a lock of hair around his index finger, sighing to himself. Suddenly Frank looked so little to him, almost infantile.
"Why... do y' need needles everyday, Frankie?" Gerard's voice was careful, almost hesitant. He was eager to know, yet at the same time he was frightened. What if what Frank had was contaigious? What if, from being around him, Gerard caught it and he needed needles every day? The eight-year-old could feel his heartbeat steadily increase. Frank pointed to his wrist, where he'd been describing a tattoo that would one day be planted there.
"'Cause my blood is sick," He told Gerard, nodding matter-of-factly. "I have lee-oh-kay-mee-uh." A small frown tugged at his tiny red lips. "My mommy says it's some kinda cancer?" He shrugged. "All she told me was that 'm gonna lose my hair one day from kee-moh-theh-ruh-pee and that it is gonna keep comin' back." He nodded as a last word on the subject before he began to pick at his fingers, staying next to completely silent save for the few winces from when he picked himself into a hangnail.
[[cause the hardest part of this is leaving you...]]
16 years later...
Frank had entered remission. The cancer had come back, and he was back in the hospital. There was a central line running into his frail chest, bringing blood out to clean it. A oxygen mask had slipped it's way over his lips, tucked neatly in a thin line. His black hair that hadn't been cut in months sprawled against the stark white pillow underneath his head. Headphones blasted in his ears, spilling the songs of Pencey Prep into his ears.
He looked much younger than twenty-one.
Gerard sighed, tucking one foot beneath the other as he sat in the waiting area outside of Frank's jail cell. His wrist was throbbing, face white-washed with the fear of being in one of the places he hated the most. His younger brother, Mikey, had his hand running over his brother's shoulder. It was a way of saying, "Don't worry, Frank is going to be fine."
"You can come in now, mister Way," The nurse, apparently named Donna, motioned to the older of the two brothers. Gerard nodded slowly, bringing himself up with a sigh. Mikey gripped his older brother's well hand and nodded at him, being as supportive as he possibly could wordlessly. The elder nodded back, before letting go and approaching the door. Donna stuck her hands out, a mask and protective shoe slips contained within them. Without a word, he slipped into them and followed the caretaker into the prison cell.
Frank's eyes traced along the cieling to where the door was opening, and almost immediately broke into a smile at the sight of the man he hadn't seen since kindergarten. He recognized the facial features; the bright hazel eyes (that looked a tad nervous,) the bottom lip being chewed on. His hair was almost the same as when they'd first met. He could tell, straight off the bat, that it was Gerard.
"Hi," The older's voice waned, frightened that he might have woken the sleeping frame up. Frank's smile made his face twinge. He gave a small laugh before tracing a spot next to him with his finger. Gerard sat down carefully, bringing his leg up to meet his knee. In an instant, he began rolling up his shirt sleeve. He could hear Frank's heart rate monitor begin to slow, and it made tears jump to his eyes.
Inscribed on Gerard's left wrist, three inches underneath the hand, was a tattoo written in flawless script. It read;
'I love you, Frank.'
It was the last thing the boy's brown eyes glazed over, his body went cold. The heart monitor fell flatline, and a few tears slipped down Gerard's cheeks. Mikey had to pull his brother's sobbing form away.
[[and as we're touching hands,
i'll meet your eyes.
i mean this forever.]]