He Calls a Mansion, Not a House, but a Tomb

Frank's POV

"Frankie, look at me." Cold fingers turned my chin towards darkness, "Frankie, where are you?" The same taunting voice boomed.
"Why are you so angry with me?" The voice asked in a soft, yet hoarse voice. Weather-worn almost.
My eyes started to flood with tears, and vision became blurry. "I'm sorry..."
Hands travelled down my body, running over my back, and legs, and arms; tracing over fresh and old bruises. I stared into the darkness as I failed to even flinch; frozen in place by the cold hands.
"Frankie..." I closed my eyes, tears still flowing. "I love you, Frankie... Where did you go?"

"Frank..." I woke up a bit startled, realizing someone was whispering my name.
"Frank, are you okay?" Gerard whispered, his fingers making a gentle trail up and down my forearm. I smiled weakly, looking into his hazel eyes.
"I'm fine." I said, closing my eyes.
"No, don't -" Gerard protested, his hand moving to my cheek, and I opened my eyes, confused. "I'm scared for you... Your dreams are narrated; and I do not like to hear it." Gerard explained, tracing circles over my cheek bone. I frowned.
We were both silent for a few minutes, just listening to each other breathing, while Gerard continued tracing invisible circles on my skin.
"F-Frank... You are okay about last night, right?" Gerard stammered. I smiled.
"Of course."
He leaned in and kissed me.

"Oh, I should have put money on you and him getting together..." Richard said, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Oh, shut up... And do they even let you bring drinks into the book store?" I asked, looking around to check for employees. Richard shrugged, taking another sip.
"Anyway, I want to check out our research findings with some actual psychologists and stuff. I want to be accurate, for my character." I added that last part in sheepishly.
"Okay, I'll try and find a good one for you and make an appointment - maybe get some sort of councelling as a bonus; you need it, boy." Richard teased, flipping through the pages of a book about some mental disorder that is too difficult to pronounce.

*

"I - AM - FREE!" I screamed, basking in the glory of oxygen access to my leg.
Gerard laughed as I scrambled to stand on my own, only ending in horror as I had to fall against him for support.
"The bone may be healed, but your muscles have been weakened for not walking or standing on their own for such a long time." The doctor explained, helping to set me down on my wheelchair. I frowned, tapping my fingers against the wheels.
"He's still going to need some care getting around," Dr Marshall said to Gerard, then turned to me, "so I suggest not going home until you can walk on your own." I nodded. "Other than that, you should be well on your way soon."
With that, Gerard and I left the hospital. In the cab on the way home, Gerard wrapped his arm across my shoulders, leaning his cheek on the side of my head. I smiled and closed my eyes, hoping to cherish this for now.