It was morning.

It was hazel eyes and fuchsia skies and a world that felt like tomorrow: futuristic, hopeful, different and indeed evidently so in all aspects of it.

It, being Frank's life.

And the certain divide in it, as he lay now at the start of a new chapter, forcing himself to look forward instead of glancing behind. Perhaps he couldn't quite bring himself to look forward right now, but looking across: across the sofa to the man curled up at the other end, still asleep with locks of black hair strewn across his face, and the sunlight highlighting the contours of his nose and his cheekbones.

He was beautiful.

Beautiful now.

Beautiful always.

Beautiful in the sun.

Beautiful in the rain.

And Frank was so fucking in love with him and it was coming to him like a fist now in morning light on the second day: on the Sunday, God's day, although that meant little to him, because the only thing he found pure and holy was the way the sunlight casted Gerard's features as he sleep: peaceful and a picture perfect image of grace: capturing the world and life itself.

He embodied all that was good about the world for Frank, and Frank doubted that he should let himself do that, but still he did, because it was so fucking early and there was nothing to stop him.

He was in love.

In love with the man sleeping at the other end of the sofa.

And he was alive.

Breathing and living in a world painted in warm oranges and brilliant golds.

And he was happy.

He figured that now.

Because it was seven in the morning on a Sunday and he felt no regret in waking, because to this day and to this life there was indeed purpose: purpose encompassed in the man beside him, purpose encompassed in himself, purpose encompassed in the patterns of their breathing and how they didn't quite align.

Because they were indeed separate beings: separate beings who lived different lives who had found solace in one another's company; finding comfort in a reflection of yours was simple, whereas finding comfort in the shadow casted behind you was a whole new ordeal.

An ordeal that was indeed difficult to come to grips with, because when you had the Earth in the palm of your hand what was to traverse the solar system for? But an ordeal that made sense in the end, because in a great expanse of blackness and silence there was indeed the sun, and although you could never hold it in the palm of your hand, getting close was good enough.

And the sun lay sleeping: radiant and beautiful in the silence of the solar system: the Earth left long behind.

Because one day soon the Earth would grow corrupted and destroyed in one way or another, as it did so, the Sun would still shine and burn, only burning out inevitably millions of years down the line, because the sun was indeed majestic, but everything had to die.

Frank didn't want to die unhappy.

And perhaps this was him changing that in the early morning as he couldn't help but smile, because everything was so fucking beautiful.

He got to his feet and began to walk around Gerard's house, which was his house in certain ways now too; it was definitely more so Gerard's than his, but it was a house they shared, and that was indeed something controversial - something that people would talk about, but Frank didn't care.

The house was loved and Frank felt safe inside as he made his way upstairs and felt along the walls with his fingertips.

He found himself wandering into the room at the far end of the hallway: past Gerard's bedroom, the bathroom, and the spare bedroom. Gerard had mentioned little of the room and naturally Frank grew curious and indeed curious enough to step inside.

As he walked inside he found himself hit by a level of light he was unaccustomed to it in the varying low levels of early sunlight through of the house: dimmed further through blinds and curtains, but in this room, one of the walls was taken up almost entirely by an enormous unobstructed mirror that faced into the garden and failed to even have curtains around it.

The room was bright, and immediately fascinating.

It was constructed simply as it wasn't exactly great in size: consisting of just a desk with a series of notepads and various pens and pencils a top it, and it was as Frank glanced across to the other side of the room that he realised that this was where Gerard did his art.

His heart thudded in his chest as he realised that Gerard had been awkwardly reluctant to show him any of it, but there at the other side of room, just turned away from him slightly lay a canvas upon an easel, and in that moment, Frank valued curiosity more than anything.

As in the light of the room, he walked over to glance at the piece and felt his heart falling from his chest as he did so, because the image upon the canvas in oil paint: only around half way completed, depicted himself, and even at such at stage it was evident.

And Frank didn't know what to think.

Frank didn't know what to think and what to feel, because the way Gerard had painted him was beautiful.

He lay there asleep with hair across his face and an awkward lopsided expression upon his face, yet indeed beautiful, and Frank's whole life stopped as he found himself coming to consider whether this was how Gerard saw him, and as to how anyone could ever look at someone as non-descript and just normal as him in such a radiant light.

Gerard had made him something there.

And Frank just wished he could repay him somehow for this, because to see him like that was something he could have never imagined asking of anyone, and yet, here Gerard Way was: a modern day miracle, and suddenly everything meant something.

And as Frank couldn't help himself from crying and he found himself pondering a confession: to speak of his feelings, and to make sense of the mess they'd found themselves in, because he loved him and this was all the confirmation he needed of that.

The piece was just indeed something else entirely; he'd put power and meaning in every brush stroke and beauty in every colour of the spectrum: there was passion right there before him in what was no doubt anything but a revolution on canvas.

-

Frank jumped a little as the door opened behind him, and Gerard made his way inside, raising his eyebrows a little before a blush fell upon his cheeks as he came to realise just what Frank was looking at, and indeed just how that might frame him.

"Uhh..." Gerard trailed off, "I... I... good morning..." He tripped over his words, standing still just inside the room, despite the fact that he wanted to be closer to Frank, but he was currently going for the strategy of avoiding the painting and praying that if he ignored it, it might just disappear eventually.

"This is..." Frank sighed, looking at the painting once.

"I'm sorry!" Gerard exclaimed before he could stop himself: his voice coming out embarrassingly high pitched.

Frank looked at him oddly, before his face broke into a soft smile, "Gerard, I love it- this is... I... I can't believe you did this, I- it's amazing. Honestly. I'm so honoured. You're so fucking talented, you shouldn't be teaching in a shitty high school - I mean that."

Gerard blushed, shaking his head before making his way across the room to stand beside Frank and look at the painting, which did indeed appear just a little bit more than platonic, Gerard noticed, as he looked at it, but the thing was, Frank didn't seem to mind. There was something: something unspoken yet something tangible between them, and Gerard had never been more thankful.

"It's not the best thing in the world, Frankie, come on-"

"It is to me." Frank said, meaning it with all his heart, "and I just- you chose to paint me, and I- I'm honestly speechless, Gee. Honestly. I just. Thank you. This is unbelievable."

"Frank-" Gerard felt his cheeks heating up.

"I just... I don't deserve this. No one's ever done this for me before, it's... it's so- you're so..." he trailed off, catching himself from falling into the slightly less than platonic pit of certain death he was headed towards. "So perfect." He finished after a minute.

Gerard only shook his head, laughing a little, "shut up. I just, I don't know- I don't really paint so much anymore, but, you, well, you inspired me, it's the whole- I don't know, I don't know what it is really, it's just you, Frankie."

Frank blushed in response, pulling his gaze away and catching sight of a sketch left on the desk, "what's that?" he asked: unable to completely see it from where they were stood.

Gerard blushed even redder, "don't look at that! That's the tattoo I'm doing for you - it's a surprise-"

"Shit!" Frank exclaimed, his eyes fixated upon Gerard, "you're actually doing that?"

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, "of course I am. I said I would, didn't I?"

"God..." Frank trailed off, biting his lip a little, "I just... I honestly don't know what to say, you're amazing, Gerard. And to think I thought you were this piece of shit when I first met you and now..."

"Now we live together." Gerard laughed a little, putting a casual, totally casual thisisnotgayipromiselikewhatthefuckevenisahomosexualwowyouhavesuchprettyeyeswaitwhathahahahha arm around Frank. "Would you have ever guessed that?"

Frank sighed, "I could never see myself breaking up with Max..." he trailed off, "I'm glad I did, though. I hope he's okay, but I have to worry about whether I'm okay first, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do." Gerard nodded, "and are you? Is everything okay?"

"I think..." Frank trailed off, "I really think, that stood here, right here in this room with you and that fucking painting and your house and just you, I... I honestly think I've never felt better."

And that was the fairytale moment where Gerard was supposed to lean in and kiss him, because he really couldn't think of what to say in response to that, and it was good of an idea as any, but Gerard couldn't fuxking breathe; his chest began to tighten and he was pretty sure he was going to die, and as he managed to regain his ability to breathe, he found himself far too nervous to even consider something of that nature.

Because with Frank, there was so much to lose for the both of them, because there was no doubt about the fact that they meant the whole to each other.

Gerard didn't kiss him.

He went for a smile instead, but the thing was, Frank kind of knew what he meant and what he had intended to do.

-

Ryan Ross was on a motherfucking mission.

A mission to get laid.

Well, apart from that, because Ryan was always on a mission to get laid and to get stoned, either at once or otherwise - it didn't matter much to him.

The particular specific mission Ryan found himself faced with today was focused on Megan Clifford and her knife, which, yes, did have the long term goal of getting him laid, because he was doing it for Brendon, but that was besides the point.

He also cared a lot about the safety of the school and the misuse of knives - what would make anyone think that he didn't?

And he just didn't want Megan to get in trouble, because he did actually value her as the only friend who was yet to abandon him, despite him setting her hair on fire, making fun of 5 Seconds Of Summer, and laughing uncontrollably whenever he remembered the existence of her absolutely top notch youtube vlog channel: the creatively titled - xXMeganCliffordXx.

So regardless of his intentions here, the fact of the matter was that he was on a mission to rid Megan of her knife, which was easily going to be the hardest thing he'd ever do, because Megan was probably more eager to delete all seven thousand photos of Michael Clifford from her camera roll than she was to part with her knife.

She'd even fucking named the thing.

Muddy's eyebrows.

Because that was the most terrifying thing she could think of, and she wanted her knife, Muddy's eyebrows, to really strike fear into people's hearts, and well, with a name like that, it had to.

On the note of Muddy's eyebrows, they were indeed looking particularly atrocious today, despite the fact that she'd posted like six pictures of her 'on fleek brows' to her instagram - 'muddywarter' this morning before school.

Ryan didn't even follow Muddy on instagram but Megan had screenshotted all of the eyebrow pictures and sent him them with about seven hundred words of rant focused on them and Muddy in general.

Anyway, fifty seven new messages from Megan Clifford was a particularly 'interesting' way to start the morning, at least.

Ryan joined Megan by her locker in the corridor near to the biology department. Or what he thought was her locker, as moments later he realised that her locker was in a completely different part of school and that she was just standing there in hopes of catching a glimpse of the rare Mr Petty, who she still hadn't stopped obsessing over.

"Sup Meggy?" Ryan joined her, sliding into conversation like the super cool knife crime fighting guy he was.

"Ryan!" She exclaimed, looking genuinely pleased to see him, which was again one of the reasons why Ryan valued her friendship, because he was Ryan Ross - he set people's hair on fire for fun, and one time he punched an eleven year old in the face for absolutely no reason other than to get Mr Urie's attention - who the fuck was ever pleased to see him?

"So..." Ryan trailed off, wondering how best to approach the subject of Muddy's Eyebrows - the knife, not Muddy's actual eyebrows, although he didn't doubt that Megan would bring them up too soon enough.

However, before he could even start to think, Megan interrupted him, "you know who I hate?" She didn't give Ryan long enough to respond, despite asking him a direct question. "Fucking Emilie Sodden. Not fucking Emilie- but... you know... her. She is in that classroom there," Megan pointed down the corridor, "with Mr Petty, wasting her time with her shit, and all because she started crying because someone told her that she was a cry baby piece of shit, which is true, after she said she was suicidal because her mum won't buy her a rabbit- can you believe her? Mr Petty has to deal with that shit, and- I... he's not even going to notice my message to him now-"

"What message?" Ryan looked at her in disbelief, wondering if she was about to go in and stab Emilie or something, because as much as he wanted that to happen, he wanted to get laid, and Mr Urie seemed to be particularly fussed about the whole having a fucking knife with you in school at all times bullshit.

"Oh, we were using those fancy ass calclulators with the letters on them. I have no idea why, I wasn't listening, but, well, I was the last to hand mine in, so mine would be on the top of his desk, so I wrote 'Daddy' on mine, and-"

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Ryan practically screamed at her, "oh my god, Megan- look, let's just- give me the fucking knife, will you? Brendon wants it confiscated, because I'm not gonna get laid if I don't hand it into him."

Megan looked at him like he was a piece of shit.

"Megan, please, look I'll buy you a new fucking knife just let me hand this into him-"

"Ryan, buy me..." She paused, opening her bag, "buy me a chainsaw and we have a deal."

"A chainsaw?" Ryan exclaimed in pure horror, because he reckoned he could be trusted better with a chainsaw than Megan, and that was really saying something. "A knife's one thing, but a chainsaw, I-"

"Do you want that knife or not?" Megan narrowed her eyes, smirking at him, "because I'm not gonna give it you otherwise."

"As long as you make sure the chainsaw is officially nothing to do with me, then sure, fuck, fine whatever," Ryan sighed, taking the knife from Megan and quickly hiding it at the bottom of his bag.

"Anyway, that's better, because he said I can't have a knife on me - never said anything about a chainsaw, did he?" Megan grinned, looking far too pleased with herself.

"Yeah, I think that's just implied." Ryan let out a sigh, wondering just which limb he'd lose first with Megan having a fucking chainsaw in her school bag.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm going to miss Muddy's Eyebrows." Megan let out a sigh, "as in the knife, of course."

"Of course." Ryan nodded, "wait, so what are you going to name the chainsaw?"

"Fuck..." Megan trailed off, finding herself faced with the very serious and relatable first world problem of what to name your chainsaw, "hmm, what's truly ferocious and terrifying? What makes you feel truly horrified?"

Ryan turned to see Emilie Sodden make her way out of Mr Petty's classroom: crying because she was just so damn suicidal because she didn't have a rabbit.

"Emilie's bright orange hair."

-

hey pals hope u enjoyed love u vote and comment if u want i'd like to add that the megan  youtube is a real thing u can go watch it right now