Work Text:
Frank closed the door behind him, leaned against it and heaved a sigh. Then he pushed off the wood, shuffled over to his bed and sank down on the mattress, next to the body that was currently wrapped in probably every blanket he owned.
"Scoot over. And give me some of the blankets," he said as he pushed his shoes off his feet.
The blanket lump groaned, but the fabric lifted nonetheless. "Hurry up, it's getting cold in here."
Frank slipped under the blankets and tucked himself in. Gerard was watching him in the dark. His cheeks were red. Frank stared back at him. "You okay?" he asked, "Everything warm enough?"
"How are you doing this?" Gerard asked quietly.
"Doing what?"
"You know. This," Gerard gesticulated a bit, splayed his fingers out as if he was holding a small kitten or something, "the depression thing."
Frank looked at Gerard's hands. He sniffed. He reached under his pillow to get his tissues. "I don't deal with it. It deals with me," he said before turning away from Gerard and softly blowing his nose.
"I don't understand. It's obviously affecting your life, but somehow you can still keep going. How are you doing it?"
Frank turned back to Gerard. "Well, it's not like dying is an option, is it? I don't exactly have any other choice."
"But dying is an option. But you still choose to keep on."
"I'm way too scared to off myself. Fear is bigger than my will and wish to die," Frank said. "Sometimes I feel like that's the only reason I'm still here."
Gerard was silent then so Frank was, too. He let the used tissue fall off the bed. He'd clean up later. Then he laid down on his pillow and closed his eyes. He felt Gerard shift a bit, and then his voice floated through the stuffy silence under the blankets again.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Frank fell asleep with Gerard's warm breath on his face.