The record store felt empty without Ray, and yet somehow, Mikey still couldn't help but gravitate to the place, and he often found himself wasting away many a night inside the now abandoned establishment.

Perhaps he should have continued on the business, and maybe that would have been what Ray would have wanted, but he couldn't be happy in this place - it just felt empty, it just brought despair and quite honestly, without Ray and that stupid fucking smile of his, Mikey felt lost, and really, the only thought he had to comfort himself in his lonely silence was that at the very least, Mikey had tried to save him.

Even if Mikey's attempts had been what had done the deed in the end, at least he'd tried to make things right, even if it wasn't exactly by the most lawful of means, Mikey had loved Ray, and Mikey had tried, and he reckoned that should have been enough, but nothing was ever quite that good, and the secret to self composure simply lay in the art of lying to yourself.

But perhaps it was only lying that had brought Ray to his grave: well, cheating, per say, but it was just as horrible, and Mikey could apologise for a thousand years but he'd still never be able to make it up to Ray, and now Ray was gone, he could never even try.

Trying was worth for something, and perhaps, some would even say that trying was everything - Mikey would disagree, of course, but perseverance was something he had to admire. The vampire was never at all good at holding on to things he should have: he let people go too easily and for all the wrong reasons, and now he was nothing but sentenced to a life of fucking people up.

It was just that unlike Gerard, he could never enjoy it.

This lifestyle, this fucking murder scene of a lifestyle was practically made for Gerard, and Mikey would perhaps even go as far as to say that it was all his older brother had ever wanted, but practically the opposite could be said for Mikey, and perhaps the younger should have prided himself on the morals and good heartedness that separated him from his cold and manipulative brother, but right now, he didn't fucking care about being special, he didn't even fucking care about being good, and he cared even less about being him.

Mikey Way just wanted to be okay.

But it rather seemed like God wasn't listening, not that God would even consider listening to the pleading cries of vampires and the general scum of the earth. Perhaps it was better if he was just left alone, and perhaps he would learn to cope some day, maybe even one day he could walk down this alleyway without stopping and bursting into tears as his feet took control and forced him into the record store that held far more meaning to him than anything ever should.

But he'd call that a long shot at the very least.

"Mikey?" And then within seconds, just as the silence was broken, everything that ever meant anything faded back away into the general state of nothing that hung over the room that the vampire found himself sat cross-legged in the middle of.

"Are you okay?" The voice tried again, footsteps creaking with the floorboards as the door slammed shut and they moved across the room, stopping within centimetres of Mikey, who still hadn't thought to open his eyes, and perhaps he was even scared, and it was likely, but unlikely for him to ever admit it.

He was a fucking vampire, and vampires never got scared.

"Mikey, come on? Listen to me! Just look at me. Acknowledge my presence in one way or another at the very least!" They exclaimed, their tone of voice raising and lowering like an untrustworthy rollercoaster as Mikey continued to be stubborn in his refusal of acknowledgement, and eventually, they just sat down with him.

And, almost in result, the whole room began to shake - almost a paranormal kind of shaking, and in a town like this, it really wasn't something to be overlooked, but thankfully, it was over within ten seconds, and nothing but a picture framed on the opposite wall fell and broke.

But of course, it was only then, and only in the aftermath that Mikey finally came to open his eyes, not even glancing for a moment at who had sat beside him, instead, his eyes focusing upon the picture frame that now lay in pieces on the floor and trying not to think about how important the picture inside was - the picture of him and Ray.

Then, finally, Mikey turned to his side, to where someone had sat, and only to find nothing, and absolutely no one there, and he was once again, nothing but alone, but this time with the wonderful addition of his head spinning like crazy as he struggled to place an explanation to the voice he'd heard and the presence he'd felt, because this wasn't just a figment of his imagination - this wasn't just voices, he wasn't just depressed and his head wasn't just fucking him over, he knew this was real, because the door still hung slightly off the lack from where what, or whoever had come in hadn't quite shut it properly.

Perhaps Mikey should have been scared and perhaps Mikey should have even considered leaving, but he just continued to feel nothing but empty as his eyes couldn't but fixate upon the smashed photo frame and his thoughts just couldn't help focus upon who was in that photo, and just how he'd fucked up and just how Mikey had lost him.

It was his fault - he knew. He was over that by now and it was just a given that he was the one who'd fucked everything up beyond recognition, but it was just the fact that Ray had died hating him that he'd never be able to forgive himself for.

He couldn't help but wonder how different this would have been if this plan of Gerard's had succeeded and it was Pete's funeral they had attended, and whether or not the guilt of knowing he killed someone, purposefully, would have made this easier or harder at all. He'd still have Ray though, he'd still have his boyfriend, and maybe things would have been okay, but he knew from the fact that his head was still spinning and if he was human he'd probably would have passed out by this point, that nothing, absolutely fucking nothing could ever be okay again, and really, Mikey was never any good at pretending.

Yet, as the 'voices in his head' had just proven, he seemed to be absolutely excelling when it came to imagining things.

-

And it was just another fuck up that led Frank Iero to find himself in none other than Bert McCracken's presence upon a rather unfortunate Wednesday.

He didn't particularly mind the elder's company, and they were decent friends, but ever since the incident with Ray, Frank had fallen into the rather unfortunate habit of coming to associate Bert's presence with nothing but the stomach churning feeling of bad news.

They sat in silence for the most part: at the park, under the trees and trying their best not to look overly suspicious or particularly creepy as their eyes fell over the various children playing across the field. It wasn't a particularly uncomfortable silence, yet it wasn't something that Frank would attach the word 'pleasant' too, either, it was just silence, and this was just a day wasted with someone he could tolerate for certain periods of time.

The silence wasn't unexpected either: Bert couldn't quite help the guilt of Ray's death at times, and Frank's head was on fire as his thoughts raced back and forth between Gerard and Alex and the multitude of fucks up in between, because that misplaced 'I love you' was nothing more than a time bomb, a hand grenade that he'd thrown, but not just at Gerard, at himself too.

And perhaps the silence between him and his perhaps not boyfriend anymore, was actually just nothing more than his own doing, and perhaps this consequence was not unlikely to be well deserved. And perhaps that was just that, and perhaps Frank should have just moved on and talked to Bert about something else - anything, really, and perhaps, just perhaps it would have been okay, but Frank was fucked up and more in love than he should ever be and this was his ultimate downfall.

"What actually happened with you and Gerard? I know things kind of fucked up and he yelled at you a bit and then you called him an asshole or something and then more screaming and then running and then hiding in Bob's living room in four blankets as he rolled his eyes and Pete looked kind of puzzled but just a little too scared of Bob to actually ask any questions - I know that, but what actually happened?"

"I told him that I loved him." Frank found himself answering the question with an unnerving lack of hesitance: he reckoned it was just a side effect of the apathic bubble he'd buried himself in as he came to re-evaluate his whole existence up until this point and only in honour of one fucking asshole that couldn't bring himself to say 'I love you' back.

But Gerard wasn't just some asshole, and that was the biggest problem that Frank Iero reckoned he'd ever face, because he genuinely cared about Gerard so fucking much that it wouldn't at all be unlikely if that itself had the power to destroy his life. Of course, the vampires had good aspects too, and in their multitude - excellent sex being number one, but by no means the only one.

"Yeah, Gerard's not really an emotions kind of person, but then again, technically, Gerard's not really a person either, is he? He's a vampire, and that sounds kind of harsh to say that he's not a person, but he's-"

"Bert, just how stoned are you right now?" Frank's eyes widened as he turned his gaze in Bert's direction: thinking it best just to clarify, because with Bert, there was really no telling.

"Only a little." Bert shrugged it off, before breaking into a smile, leaving Frank to roll his eyes and re-evaluate his life for the second time as he came to reconsider calling Alex and only essentially fucking his life up further, but Frank couldn't deny the fact that Alex was absolutely certain about what to do in absolutely every situation and by Bert's piss poor standards of advice, perhaps he needed that now, or perhaps just a cigarette.

Yeah, maybe just a cigarette.

And within seconds, Bert was handing him one and a lighter, and Frank was perfectly happy to drown his problems in excessive and almost copious amounts of nicotine as he tried his best not to think too long about the ever-looming and ever-growing risks of lung cancer and various other life threatening ailments that this fucking smoke could give him, and really, Frank wondered why he bothered just for a few minutes of relief.

But that was just addiction - it was bad for him, but he needed it.

And it was at that moment that Frank began to consider if he was addicted to Gerard, of course, at first, the idea was nothing but preposterous, but it soon cling to him and within minutes his head was spinning and he was re-evaluating his existence for the third time, and perhaps that was just that, and he left that train of thought satisfied that his life would comprise of nothing more than praying that Bert would feel no need to break the silence again, well at least for the next ten minutes.

Because Frank found himself getting rather attached to the idea of finishing the cigarette, muttering something irrelevant that could form an excuse to Bert, and making his way off to call Alex. It was of course a bad idea, but he reckoned his life was nothing more than a string of bad ideas tied together: this town, Gerard, Ray, everything, and yet he still survived, at least up until now.

So surely, one phone call with an old 'friend' couldn't quite be that bad.

-

Pete was really rather lucky in the fact that Bob Bryar had continued to neglect the matter of kicking the eighteen year old out of his house, and perhaps, Pete would even go as far as to say that Bob was actually growing to like him, as absurd as it may sound.

Of course though, one of the absolute joys that came with living with Bob Bryar was the multitude of idiots that came to his door on a regular basis, all somehow convinced that they were being personal affected by some kind of supernatural being and that they needed Bob's personal help within the next ten minutes or they were absolutely going to die.

Okay, that had actually been true once or twice, but otherwise it turned out that they just had a leaky roof or a particularly milky bathtub or something, but this time, after the doorbell rang and Bob returned with none other than Mikey Way, Pete knew that this was something else entirely.

"Does he have to be here?" Mikey took one glance in Pete's direction and instantly decided that there was no way in hell that his conscience would be able to take this, because that fucking idiot sat in the corner of the sofa with a shit eating grin upon his face could have very easily been dead if things hadn't fucked up quite so spectacularly as they had.

"It's my house too!" Pete exclaimed, of course taking it upon himself to be personally offended by Mikey's rather reasonable request, and really, by the expression upon Bob's face, he made it rather obvious that he was most certainly not in the mood to deal with some sort of 'domestic' that could very easily occur here

"Technically..." Bob sighed out, trailing off as he soon came to the conclusion that this wasn't worth it and that in general, arguing with Pete Wentz was nothing other than a lost cause. "Fucking whatever, Mikey you can deal with it if you're that bothered."

Mikey glanced between Bob and Pete for a few seconds before sighing and shrugging, making his way over to the sofa and sitting as far away from Pete as he could, leaving Bob to take the armchair opposite them, and for Pete to try his best not to make it overly obvious that he was doing absolutely nothing more than listening in on their conversation - he was curious, whatever.

"Bob, I've ever gone mad or there's something seriously fucked up going on here, okay?" Mikey decided that there was really no better place to start than that; there was no easy way to tell anyone that you were hearing voices and having trouble believing that they were just that.

Perhaps they were designed to seem real, to trick and to fool you, but really, Mikey just couldn't shake the feeling that it was just so much more than in his head. After all, the last thing he needed now was to go crazy, but with the guilt weighing down on him, he was sorry to say that it wasn’t exactly unlikely right now.

"Well, I'm going to be optimistic here and go for the fact that something's fucking with you, so, go on then, spill." Bob exhaled loudly as he spoke, stealing a glance in Pete's direction, and from the absolutely blatant stare in Mikey's direction that he received in response, he kind of really wished he hadn't even bothered.

"I went to the record store earlier, and I know I shouldn't, I mean, mourning, and stuff, but I just can't stop myself from walking in and it's fucked up, but whatever - I ended up spending far too much time in there: just sitting in silence and thinking and I was pretty sure I closed my eyes at one point or whatever, but like I think someone came in, like they spoke to me and I heard and felt that they sat down beside me, and they seemed to know who I was and were friendly enough so I wasn't like fucking panicking or anything, but I was still worlds away with my eyes closed, and they asked me to just acknowledge their existence and then the whole room started to shake and a picture of me and Ray fell off the wall and smashed and that was when I opened my eyes, and I saw that there was no one there with me and there never had been, but I was like so fucking sure I hadn't imagined it, I mean, it was just so real, I couldn't have imagined that-"

"Mikey, calm down..." Bob sighed out, biting his lip, his gaze distant as he found himself considering a possibility that he really didn't want to, but there was nothing but blatant evidence leading to the truth that Mikey had just relayed to him. "I don't think you're crazy, but fuck, if I'm right then this isn't going to be easy at all."

"What is it? Bob, just fucking tell me!" Mikey raised his voice and regretted it instantly, turning away momentarily to catch Pete's gaze and unexpected, but somehow needed smile, and fuck, he was so guilty and just so fucking sorry for what he could have done to Pete, who just didn't deserve to be a part of this mess at all: he was too young, and really, he should never have come here at all. He was stupid, of course, but unintelligence didn't warrant his murder by any degree.

"Mikey, I... I... don't even know how, but that's a... if I'm right, if you're right then that's a ghost you've seen - well not seen, but heard..." Bob paused, eyes fixating elsewhere as he double-checked the facts and triple checked just again because this was not something that he ever wanted to deal with. "I'm so sorry, Mikey. It's just obvious, that place, haunted, and there's no question as to who it would be I guess, I just..." Bob trailed off, meeting Mikey's eyes. "I'm supposed to get rid of him, Mikey, you k-"

"Fuck off, Bob, don't you fucking dare!" And with that, Mikey got up and stormed out, slamming the door behind him as he made a beeline back to the record store and this fucking ghost of a boyfriend of his.

-

Hey guys;) Not sorry to be honest, not at all. Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, I mean, like, no one died, you should, then votes and comments are appreciated:) I love you all<3