I'm Not Okay Without You
Cooking....Something
Chapter 29
Frank’s POV
The few hours that were left of the day passed quickly. Eventually I suggested we go to bed, as I was very tired from not getting much sleep last night and then running all over town today. Being exhausted, I fell asleep immediately after my head hit the pillow. What felt like seconds after I had fallen asleep, Gerard moved his hand from around my waist and I felt him get up. The door opened and closed with a click. Sighing, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, unable to will myself back to sleep. It was obvious that Gerard had gone to get more drugs, which killed me. As I’m his boyfriend, I was worried beyond words and found myself wondering, ‘Couldn’t some kind of sex help him feel better?’ After those thoughts, though, I had to use all my self-control not to hit myself. How could I think something like that?
After some time of being lost in thought—in which I kept rolling around and eventually was in the same position as when Gerard had left—I heard the sound of the door being opened and some light filtered into the room. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Gerard didn’t need to know I knew what he was up to. He stumbled slightly before crawling back into bed with me, wrapping his arm around my waist again. Contently I snuggled into him a bit. Even if I couldn’t have him during the day when he used drugs, at least I could have him at night when he won’t be so fucking stubborn.
When I woke up in the morning Gerard was still asleep. I decided to be a good boyfriend and go make him breakfast. Now, you all should know I’m completely hopeless when it comes to cooking, so be warned of my stupidity. Grabbing some random cookbook off a shelf [A/N: why the hell does Gerard have a cook book…?] and flipped through it, stopping when I saw something about waffles or pancakes—I don’t remember which. Following the directions perfectly—except for how to actually cook it—I patted myself on the back as I put my concoction in the microwave. Being fucking smart, I decided to cook the mush in a plastic bowl with saran wrap over the top. Oh yeah, I’m a fucking genius. Not really paying attention, I messed around by crawling on the counter [Oh yes, it’s very fun]. I jumped from the counter and—just as my feet landed—I heard an explosion and smoke filled the room. Shit.
A muffled thud was audible coming from upstairs.
“Frank!” Gerard screamed as he entered the room. I was moving my hand in front of my face, trying to get the smoke that was currently pouring out of the open microwave away from my face. Glancing at Gerard I grinned. Gerard, in turn, burst out laughing.
“Oh my god, Frank, you are so weird,” he said, grabbing a towel and throwing it at me. I was about to get the towel wet and put it over my head [A/N: Fire-drill procedure! Our Frankie pays good attention to what to do when a room’s filled with smoke], but I decided to say, “I was trying to make this,” and point to the mush that was supposed to be some kind of breakfast food instead.
“Frank,” Gerard said as if he knew everything in the world. “You don’t put it in the microwave.”
“Well then how else would you get this mushy stuff to cook?” I asked indignantly, looking from the goop to Gee.
“Um… on the stove in a pan,” Gerard answered, snickering.
“Oh,” was all I could say, being utterly confused and defeated. Gerard was grinning at me. Slowly, the smile slipped away and he got this far off look in his eyes. Suddenly, he ran out of the kitchen. I heard a toilet flush and absent-mindedly lifted my arm and smelled my armpit.
“Nah,” I said aloud. “I don’t stink that bad.” When Gerard came back into the room he was wearing a triumphant smile on his lips.
“You know what?” I asked.
“Hmm?”
“If making breakfast is so easy why don’t you do it?”
“Gnuh…” he replied intelligently. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”
“What? I slave over a hot microwave all morning to make you food and you aren’t even going to eat it?” I asked, acting the part of an insulted house-wife perfectly. “Well that’s just fine. I’ll never make you breakfast again, Gerard Arthur Way,” I said, faking an indignant and over-dramatic huff. Gerard just laughed.
Frank’s POV
The few hours that were left of the day passed quickly. Eventually I suggested we go to bed, as I was very tired from not getting much sleep last night and then running all over town today. Being exhausted, I fell asleep immediately after my head hit the pillow. What felt like seconds after I had fallen asleep, Gerard moved his hand from around my waist and I felt him get up. The door opened and closed with a click. Sighing, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, unable to will myself back to sleep. It was obvious that Gerard had gone to get more drugs, which killed me. As I’m his boyfriend, I was worried beyond words and found myself wondering, ‘Couldn’t some kind of sex help him feel better?’ After those thoughts, though, I had to use all my self-control not to hit myself. How could I think something like that?
After some time of being lost in thought—in which I kept rolling around and eventually was in the same position as when Gerard had left—I heard the sound of the door being opened and some light filtered into the room. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Gerard didn’t need to know I knew what he was up to. He stumbled slightly before crawling back into bed with me, wrapping his arm around my waist again. Contently I snuggled into him a bit. Even if I couldn’t have him during the day when he used drugs, at least I could have him at night when he won’t be so fucking stubborn.
When I woke up in the morning Gerard was still asleep. I decided to be a good boyfriend and go make him breakfast. Now, you all should know I’m completely hopeless when it comes to cooking, so be warned of my stupidity. Grabbing some random cookbook off a shelf [A/N: why the hell does Gerard have a cook book…?] and flipped through it, stopping when I saw something about waffles or pancakes—I don’t remember which. Following the directions perfectly—except for how to actually cook it—I patted myself on the back as I put my concoction in the microwave. Being fucking smart, I decided to cook the mush in a plastic bowl with saran wrap over the top. Oh yeah, I’m a fucking genius. Not really paying attention, I messed around by crawling on the counter [Oh yes, it’s very fun]. I jumped from the counter and—just as my feet landed—I heard an explosion and smoke filled the room. Shit.
A muffled thud was audible coming from upstairs.
“Frank!” Gerard screamed as he entered the room. I was moving my hand in front of my face, trying to get the smoke that was currently pouring out of the open microwave away from my face. Glancing at Gerard I grinned. Gerard, in turn, burst out laughing.
“Oh my god, Frank, you are so weird,” he said, grabbing a towel and throwing it at me. I was about to get the towel wet and put it over my head [A/N: Fire-drill procedure! Our Frankie pays good attention to what to do when a room’s filled with smoke], but I decided to say, “I was trying to make this,” and point to the mush that was supposed to be some kind of breakfast food instead.
“Frank,” Gerard said as if he knew everything in the world. “You don’t put it in the microwave.”
“Well then how else would you get this mushy stuff to cook?” I asked indignantly, looking from the goop to Gee.
“Um… on the stove in a pan,” Gerard answered, snickering.
“Oh,” was all I could say, being utterly confused and defeated. Gerard was grinning at me. Slowly, the smile slipped away and he got this far off look in his eyes. Suddenly, he ran out of the kitchen. I heard a toilet flush and absent-mindedly lifted my arm and smelled my armpit.
“Nah,” I said aloud. “I don’t stink that bad.” When Gerard came back into the room he was wearing a triumphant smile on his lips.
“You know what?” I asked.
“Hmm?”
“If making breakfast is so easy why don’t you do it?”
“Gnuh…” he replied intelligently. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”
“What? I slave over a hot microwave all morning to make you food and you aren’t even going to eat it?” I asked, acting the part of an insulted house-wife perfectly. “Well that’s just fine. I’ll never make you breakfast again, Gerard Arthur Way,” I said, faking an indignant and over-dramatic huff. Gerard just laughed.