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

Gerard's POV

I sat in the hospital waiting room, chewing the life out of my thumbnail. I sat, slouched, my elbows leaning on each of my knees, my thumbnail at my teeth. I stared to the tiled checkered floor, watching as a speck of dry, spilled, crimson liquid shone in the fluorescent lights, standing out against the blue and white tile.
I had surely been staring at that spot on the floor for more than 20 minutes now, and I caught myself, multiple times, swaying backwards and forwards, humming to myself. I have myself convinced I should be in a mental ward from this point on.
2 hours. 2 hours have passed since I'd arrived at the hospital in the ambulance. Well, 2 hours according to the last time I had checked the clock, which I am convinced was more than 30 minutes ago.
I had left Madison on the sidewalk with a frightened look on her face. It's plastered in my mind; she looked as if she thought I was crazy for insisting that I go with Frank, a stranger, to the emergency room. I learned his name by chance.
The paramedics searched his wallet and spoke his name between them and I had overheard. I recognized the name as the author of the book I have been reading. It's strange that his book jacket didn't have a photograph of him. 'Trainwreck' by Frank Iero.
I smirked, remembering how I laughed at his name the first time I read it. I looked him up on Wikipedia afterward. It turned out that I had been pronouncing his name wrong. It was 'eye-ear-oh', not 'ear-oh'. I had found myself correcting the paramedics and the doctors whenever they would read his name.
"Frank Iero." I sighed, another 'ear-oh'. I looked up and saw a nurse standing a few feet from me with a clipboard in her hands.
"It's 'eye-ear-oh'." I corrected her. She nodded.
"Well... Mister... Way, you can see your friend now." She said, slowly finding my name on her clipboard. I nodded.
I had memorized where Frank's hospital room was already. It was to the right of standing from my waiting room chair, down the far-too-narrow hall, past the bathrooms, to the left, and it's the fifth door from the end of the hallway-- the emergency exit.
I smiled briefly at the nurse who was an inch shorter than me and made my way to Frank's room.
Nothing had changed in the hall since the last time I had been through it which was 2 hours ago when I was kicked out by the nurses. I counted quietly to myself, finding Frank's door.
I went inside to see Frank alone in the room, laying on the gurney. His left arm was in a full cast up to his mid-forearm. His left leg was elevated and in a cast. I came closer to see his abdomen wrapped in another cast just above his stomach.
I almost vomited when I saw a bowl of bloody gauze on a stool next to his gurney. I switched sides of where I stood by his hospital bed, away from the blood.
"Frank, you look horrible." I whispered. I bit the inside of my cheek, scolding myself for having the audacity to insult his appearance while he's on a gurney.
I looked around the small room. Frank had been granted a private hospital room, with a nice, wonderful window view of an alleyway which bordered the hospital from what I assumed to be an abandoned warehouse with the rusting steel walls I could see.
I turned away from the depressed view and saw a comfortable-looking chair in the corner of the room.
I glanced at Frank's sleeping form in the middle of the room. I couldn't just leave him alone. No one had come to visit him yet, either. I sat in the chair, making myself as comfortable as possible. I closed my eyes and leaned the side of my head against the wall.

Frank's POV

I opened my eyes and light stung my pupils until they adjusted.
"Oh, Mr. Iero, you're awake." A man said. He pronounced my name "ear-oh", I hate that. I fake smiled at him. He wore a white lab coat and stood with a clipboard in his hands, looking over at me.
"It's 'eye-ear-oh'." I corrected him. He nodded.
"I'm Sorry. I'm Dr. Marshall. I'd like to ask you a few questions." He said. I looked at him, blinking twice.
"Do you feel any pain at all?" He asked. I began to shake my head, but a shooting pain struck up through my neck down through my chest.
"Yes." I replied in a huff as I tried to look down at myself. I saw my left leg elevated in a sling above my bed, itself in a bright, white cast. "Um... What happened to me?" I asked.
"Frank, you were in a car accident--"
"I know I was hit by a car, but I would appreciate knowing what the hell is broken!" I found myself losing my temper sooner than I would normally. Dr. Marshall looked shocked. I sighed.
"I'm sorry..." I mumbled. He half-smiled and walked towards my IV stand and turned a dial slowly.
"It's the medication, you have a bit too much than you need now." He explained. I stayed silent. He backed away from the IV stand and sat on a stool next to my bed.
"Anyway, you're left leg is broken at the shin. Your wrist is severely bruised and the bone has cracked. One of your ribs have cracked; it almost fell into your internal organs. If the paramedics hadn't gotten there as fast as they did, we may have lost you from a pierced lung." Dr. Marshall spoke slowly, having me take in the horrible news.
"Do I have to stay in the hospital?" I asked. I almost wanted to stay. A place to somehow relax in the absence of bodily strength to work on my writing. Richard wouldn't have the guts to ask me about my manuscript while I'm on a gurney.
"Not unless you have someone to care for you at home." He replied. I frowned.
"I live alone."
"Yeah, I know..." He whispered. I raised one eyebrow, confused as to how he knew.
"Um, how would you know?" I asked.
"The About The Author in your new book says a lot about your life." He explained. I rolled my eyes.
Not everything... I thought. But, just to be polite, I replied:
"Oh, you've read Trainwreck?" I said. That was the first novel I ever put an About the Author, only because I was tired of reporters asking huge questions about my life and also to compensate for not having a photograph of me on the book jacket, as well. Now with a small autobiography in the back of my book, all questions are narrowed down to 'how did you take care of all those dogs when you were so young?'. I chuckled when I thought about how I had 9 dogs up until I was 18.
"Yes, it's great. You're an amazing writer, Mr. Iero." I smiled as he pronounced my name correctly.
"Thank you." I said.
"And you've got a pretty dedicated boyfriend over there." He said, pointing over his shoulder with his pen. I looked at him with another confused look before I followed his pen. My eyebrows raised surely off my forehead now when I saw Gerard slumped in a chair, sleeping. His mouth was opened slightly, the side of his head leaning on the wall, his head itself falling backward.
I giggled at the sight, even though I knew he would have an extremely sore neck when he woke up.
"He's not my boyfriend." I said, looking back to Dr. Marshall.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed. He was about as obsessed with the pronunciation of your name as you are. So, I just guess that he was dating you." I crunched my eyebrows together.
"Well, friends would do that, too." I replied, even though Gerard wasn't even my friend. We've never even met, actually. That puzzled me.
Gerard and I have never met officially. We've seen each other around, on the bus and once at the park. He's reading my book, which doesn't have a picture of me in it, just a bit about my life. And I scared him the first night I was following him off the bus. And yet, he found the goodness in his heart to stay with me at the hospital. I've only been in here one night, right?
"The accident was yesterday, right?" I asked to be sure. Dr. Marshall nodded. I nodded in return and looked back at Gerard.
"Frank-- if it's okay to call you that,"-- I nodded and he smiled-- "We couldn't reach anyone in your personal information and I was wondering if you would be able to stay with Gerard." Dr. Marshall said. My mouth twisted in thought.
"I don't think that would be alright. I'd be a burden on him and Mikey." I said, and then bit my tongue, scolding myself for talking about things I shouldn't know about (AKA, Mikey).
Dr. Marshall frowned and spoke. "Mikey, I assume, is his brother. Well, I think it would be unsafe for you to be alone while you're in a wheelchair--"
"Wheelchair?!" I exclaimed, almost sitting up. He rested a hand on my shoulder to keep me calm on my back.
"Yes, you can't have crutches because your wrist is broken." He explained. I frowned.
"Can't I stay in the hospital until it heals?" I asked.
"Three weeks in the hospital is pretty pricey, Frank." He replied. I frowned.
"Ask Gerard, not me." I said. I would have crossed my arms at this point of the negotiation, but seeing as I only have one, I can't.
"I already have. He said he'd be happy to." Dr. Marshall said. I was shocked at this point.
Gerard didn't know me at all; we were complete strangers and yet he accepted the responsibility to take care of me for three weeks?
Oh, God... I've become a child again, I used the word "responsibility", the biggest poison a child can endure through the process of becoming a grown-up. I hate that word. I never use it anymore.
I looked back at Gerard, his mouth open a bit wider than before, his black hair falling over his closed eyes. I smiled.
Thank you, Gerard.