The drive back home was long. I was depressed. Everyone kinda was, though.

Mama and Pete and I all drove back in one car. Apparently she wanted to "keep an eye on me" in case something happened. Patrick and Gerard had a separate car ride because we had a whole other car to take back.

Anyways, now I'm at home. Laying in bed. A hoodie on my chest and sweatpants on my legs with my shoes kicked off on the floor. Mama wouldn't let me help carry stuff in because I might hurt myself. Apparently now that the cancer is official, I'm going to get hurt at every little thing that happens.

Pete and Gerard and Patrick and Mama are carrying in luggage, and I'm just laying in bed taking in everything.

I'm gonna die. I know I'm gonna die. I'm not gonna finish the list, Pete's gonna leave me,

Gerard's gonna go back to college, and Patrick? He's been there for me. He and Mama will be there at my deathbed.

I pull my knees up to my chest, tears beginning to rise to my eyes. I'm gonna die. I am dying.

Everything is going to hell. I've completely fucked up.

I run my fingers through my hair and finally just pull the blankets up past my head so I'm engulfed in darkness. Everything. There is no cancer when there is nothing. There is no hate, no change. Nothing.

I pull my knees to my chest and stare into nothing. Just... pretend everything's okay.

Everything is not okay. Everything is a planet and a half away from okay. The information is still sinking into my brain and screaming in my ears. My hands are shaking and tears are falling down my cheeks in the warm darkness.

I'm not sure how much time passes, enough for me to break out into full on sobs and my hands to start shaking, but the next thing I know, there's a hand tugging the blankets off of me and two, sad baby blue eyes gazing at me.

"Mikey, hey, you okay?" Patrick asks quietly.

"Do I look okay?" I snap, glaring at him, "Go away, 'Trick. And gimme back my blanket. Just... go fuck my brother or something. I don't care."

Patrick stares at me, but his features stay soft, "Mikey, I-"

"Go!" I yell, tugging the blankets up and over my head, "Just go away, Patrick. I don't want your fucking pity."

I can feel his presence for a moment longer, then his footsteps fade, creaking out of the room.They're back not long after, though.

"Patrick, I told you to fucking go away!" I yell, tugging off my blanket and glaring at-

Pete.

He's kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket, letting both of them go to the floor. After a quick glance at the piano in the corner of my room, he crawls into bed and pulls the blanket up over the two of us, the Polaroid camera gone from his neck for the first time in forever.

"'M sorry," I whisper, lowering my eyes. Pete only presses a finger to my lips, then kisses me.

"Don't say sorry, Love," he whispers, "you're afraid. I understand. I'm afraid, too."

"You don't..." I trail off, just shaking my head before pressing my face into his chest, "I just wish this had never happened..."

Pete hushes me softly, running his fingers up and down my chest, "It's gonna be okay, Kay? Never gonna let it kill you..."

I nod slightly, subconsciously itching at the lump. Pete stops me, though, running his fingers over the hard skin, then pulling off and holding my hands. I shiver a little at he feeling of his fingers on it, but I don't let it get to me too bad. I just listen to his soft breaths and shit my eyes and try not to cry more.

"Do you ever use that piano?" Pete asks, voice quiet and gentle.

"Sometimes," I reply, "When I feel depressed."

"Can I play?" He questions.

"Uh... sure?" I frown. He pulls the blanket off of us and takes my hand, making me smile as he pushes me down on the bench.

"Play a song for me," he says almost immediately.

"I don't... I thought you were playing," I say.

"You first," he whispers, nuzzling into my neck, "play me something pretty. Please?"

I blush a dark red, then after a long moment, I nod, sighing and turning on the piano, placing my right hand on C, E, and G and my left hand on C and G. I play a simple rhythm, switching to F, then to G twice and repeating.

It takes a moment of courage and a couple more round before I can finally part my lips and sing.

"Some say, now suffer all the childrenAnd walk away a savior,Or a madman and pollutedFrom gutter institutionsDon't you breathe for me,Undeserving of your sympathy,Cause there ain't no way I'm sorry for what I've done."A flat, F, C, B flat.
"And through it allHow could you cry for me?'Cause I don't feel bad about itSo shut your eyes,Kiss me goodbye,"
C, E, C, E...

"And sleep
Just sleep...

"The hardest part is letting go ofYour dreams."

I blush, lowering my hands from the piano while Pete smiles behind me, then reaches over and plays it back just as I had (although, he messes up a couple times).

"You really like this song, don't you?" He asks. I nod absent-mindedly.
He kisses me.

"I love it, too."