He woke up in a house. An unfamiliar house, an unfamiliar room, an unfamiliar world even, fuck, even his own body felt unfamiliar, and in fact they only thing he found himself remembering how to do was take breath in and expel it again, over and over, forever and ever, until the day it all came to an end.

The room he found himself in was small, dusty, abandoned with patches of wall missing and what looked like claw marks upon them, tearing it what had perhaps once been floral wallpaper several decades ago. The floorboards creaked as he pulled himself to his feet; they were uneven, sticking up more so towards the left side of the room, and underneath the one window in particular.

The window in question was closed, locked, Frank presumed, and the surroundings outside were impossible to make out in the darkness, as there was no natural light streaming in, and in fact, the only light illuminating the room enough for Frank to even make out the window in the first place was a small light bulb attached to the ceiling, but with no lampshade to cover it.

The room was empty for the most part, or at least what Frank could make out of it was empty enough: a window, a light bulb, a bookshelf, space, a table, and darkness. It was a small room, perhaps just used for storage, a whole life time ago judging by the state of decay, but Frank found himself distrusting of the darkness, and reaching out for the fourth wall of the room, because, he could make out the one which the window was situated open, and the one adjacent with the bookshelf pressed up against it, and the one opposite the bookshelf, only barely illuminated in the darkness, but still very much there.

However, he found himself walking, walking away from the window - tentatively, of course, but seemingly for far too long, as he'd already established that the room couldn't be very large, and in fact it'd be unrealistic for a room to be stretched out to be more than twice as wide as it was tall, but then again, Frank wasn't an architect, he knew very little about houses, and he knew very little about this one, and in particular, how he'd gotten here in the first place.

He'd just opened his eyes, and found himself sat upon the ground: confused, dazed, but unharmed, and he came to realise he had little more to do than search for the fourth wall: the one on which he presumed the door to be located, after all, he hadn't seen it upon the three other walls, and there had to be one, hadn't there?

Of course there was one.

The furniture wouldn't have been able to be transported in through the window, the bookcase especially, so it would have needed to have been moved through a door, of course, as to where that door was, Frank didn't know.

And as to why and how he found himself here, he also didn't know.

"You're brave."

Frank nearly had a heart attack as a voice, somewhat unfamiliar in nature interrupted him in the darkness. He span around, searching the room for any logical origin of the sound, but there was no figure, in fact, nothing but darkness and a dim glow of light so far away now, and in a room that had appeared so small.

"Hello?" Frank found himself calling out, his voice trembling a little, unable to find anyone else in the room with him, but of course there was; the voice didn't sound like a recording, or distant, but close to him, perhaps only a few metres away, perfectly hidden in the darkness.

"Hello." The voice repeated, mimicking his tone a little. "Hello, hello, hello," the voice did so three times more, and in this time, Frank found himself focusing upon the voice and deciding that the chances were that the speaker was male, and perhaps even closer than before.

Frank didn't say anything else this time.

"Good." The voice continued, just a few moments after Frank had made the conscious decision not to say anything else, almost like it had known. "You seem to have acquired common sense within the past five seconds, or perhaps it's just that instinct, fear, rearing its pretty little face. You were brave, stupid. You wake up in a room, in darkness, unfamiliar, and you... you stray away from the light. Come on, have you seen one horror movie in your life?"

Frank bit his lip, glancing around once more: his movements quick and nervous, like a deer being watched, and Frank realised so suddenly that he really wasn't far off that.

"Answer me this time." The voice requested, growing louder as Frank presumed the speaker to be stepping closer, but no footsteps were audible at all, in fact, no sounds of movement whatsoever - nothing, besides the voice.

"Y-yes." Frank stuttered out, unable to process just what the fuck was going on, if there even was a logical explanation here, and there had to be, fuck, of course there had to be, there always was, wasn't there?

"Then you should know." The voice paused: a pause longer than necessary - a dramatised silence, even, "what happens to the brave little guy in the horror movies, that one who walks into the darkness, the one who gets too curious. Tell me, Frank, what the fuck do you think happens?"

"Who are you?" Frank stammered out, his eyes widening.

"Tell me, Frank," he repeated, his words growing louder, closer: too close. "What the fuck do you think happens next? What happens to the boy who walks into the darkness? The boy who walks out of the light. Curiosity killed the cat, did it not? And satisfaction brought it back, but did it, because you're not always satisfied with what you find, are you? And were you satisfied, Frank?" The voice grew closer still almost as if whispered into Frank's ear at this point, but Frank turned, and still, he found himself alone in the room, or so it seemed.

"I-I-I..."

"What happens to the boy who picked up that book? That spellbook. What happened to the boy who tried it out? What happened, Frank, tell me, I'm dying to know-"

And then, like a bullet through his chest, he shot up, eyes widening: light where there had been an absence of it: a familiar room, a familiar face, and Frank was sweating all over.

"Frank?" Gerard exclaimed, eyes widened in concern. "Are you alright?"

Frank could barely even move let alone process a response, because honestly he didn't know. "I had a dream again, a bad one, but different this time."

"What happened?" Gerard asked, moving closer to Frank: concern making a less than unlikely appearance in his eyes.

Frank bit his lip, looking away, and seeing the world spin before him, and finding himself more than unsure as to how he was supposed to even get the words out, get his story straight, make sense of it all, make sense of himself even.

"I don't know," he exclaimed after a moment, finding himself leaning into Gerard's side without having really noticed that he'd done so.

"How come?" Gerard asked, brushing Frank's hair away from his face as he put a totally heterosexual, platonic arm around him, as the two lay in bed together - Frank was 'ill' after all, so, they had a reason to, because this was obviously all done in concern for Frank's wellbeing and not because Gerrard might have anything else on his mind, because, of course, he didn't.

"It was fucked up," Frank sighed out, finding comfort in the cold touch of Gerard's skin against his own. "It was really fucking vivid and horrifying, and I just... it felt real, but like it couldn't be real, and it's just messing with my head - it's just my head messing with my head, which makes the least sense in the world, I know, but... I don't know either."

"I'm sorry," Gerard sighed out, biting his lip a little: unsure as to how to comfort Frank in the best manner possible, "you could talk to me about it, but of course, only if you want to."

"Well..." Frank began, shivering a little as he felt his mind going back into the dark place, that dark room, and what lay inside it, "I was in a room, in some old house, like abandoned, and the whole room was really dark, it was like unnervingly dark, and so anyway, I was trying to find the door, but I don't even think there was a door, just darkness, and then I wasn't alone, someone was speaking to me, and their voice was easily the worst thing I've ever heard, it like cut into me as they spoke, and I know they weren't real, just in my head, but they knew everything about me and it was unnerving, horrible, it made me feel sick."

"But you woke up. It was a dream," Gerard added with a hand on his shoulder, "it wasn't real so you have nothing to worry about."

"I have to worry about getting that voice out my head, because I honestly don't think I ever will." Frank bit his lip, turning away and sighing, "it just didn't feel like 'just a normal' dream, you know? But who I am to judge? What the fuck do I know?"

"Frank-" Gerard exclaimed, shaking his head, "you know a lot, you're certainly not stupid if that's what you're saying here, fuck, you're like the opposite of stupid, you're talented, you have all this magical power, and hey, you're in college, you couldn't have gotten here being stupid, could you?"

Frank shrugged, "I'm a shit witch." He moved away from Gerard a little, "don't even try to tell me I'm not, come on, you know I am."

"You're only shit because you don't have practice." Gerard promised him, "and Lindsey can-"

"I don't fucking-" Frank exclaimed, getting up, "maybe I don't want anything to do with all of this shit. Maybe I want to be fucking normal, maybe I want to just go out and live my life as it was before all of this. Maybe I want to go out and get coffee with my girlfriend, but I can't do that now, can I? Because she's fucking dead, and that's my fucking fault."

Gerard was silent for a little while after that: unsure what to make of this, and generally how he was supposed to keep Frank from falling into the grave he'd dug for himself. Gerard didn't even know how this had all suddenly become his responsibility, but it definitely was now - there was no way around that.

"I'm sorry, Frank, I'm really sorry about Jamia, and we are working on it, you know we are, but we have to put your wellbeing first." Gerard sighed, smiling, "well that's what Ray said, and Ray just knows shit so, you know, we should listen to him. So we need to stop you from dying and figure out whether the book's cursed or whatever, and Ray is working on that, and I'm working on staying with you helping you if you suddenly start 'dying' again or anything-"

"And I'm working on trying to stay fucking sane when I'm just a headcase." Frank snapped, rolling his eyes a little, "I'm really sorry that my existence is such a fucking hassle for you, but I really can't help it, I mean I should have died in that fire, but I didn't, did I?" He paused for a moment, "what do you think would have happened if I did?"

"Don't even mention it, I don't want to imagine it-"

"You wouldn't have even known me, it wouldn't have affected you, none of this would have even affected you, or Mikey, or Ray, and I would never have been such a wreck, such a fucking burden on you all. And you wouldn't even have to listen to me whining about it and going on about fucking Starbucks and things that are my fault if I was dead. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but it would be doing you a favour-"

"Shut the fuck up." Gerard's tone suddenly became very stern, moving closer to Frank, "you're anything but a burden, Frank, you hear me? You're one of my favourite people in the world and I care about you a lot, and fuck, I want to listen to you whine about coffee if you want. I'm sorry."

Frank let out a sigh, looking at Gerard in disbelief, "what is it with you?" He asked, his eyes widening a little, "are you stupid or something? Do you seriously give a shit about me?"

"Yes." Gerard exclaimed, his eyes widening a little.

"Fucking knew it, you are an idiot," Frank exclaimed, his mouth turning up in a smile.

"I guess I am." Gerard nodded, tucking his hair behind his ears.

"I really do want coffee though." Frank added, pouting a little, and rolling over onto his side.

"We could..." Gerard trailed off for a moment, contemplating just how bad of an idea what he found himself proposing could possibly be, "we could go for coffee, if you want. I mean, I know I'm not Jamia, but I... we could go, forget about this all and just go out, you know?"

Frank sat up, biting his lip, nodding a little, "yeah, I think I'd like that," he said after a moment.

Gerard smiled: an uncontrollable smile, one that he had no control over, and felt conscious of upon his face, but it was easily the realest smile he'd experienced in a long while. "I would too."

"Hey," Frank got up from the bed, grinning a little, "I'll even try not to die on you, hey, how about that?"

"Now that really would be lovely." Gerard laughed a little, watching as Frank met his reflection in the mirror and tried to fix his hair, which was of course fine - it always was, or maybe that was just Gerard being a little too infatuated with him. Who would ever know? And who would ever care?

-

Frank had laughed at the amount of sun cream Gerard had put on, but it had been entirely necessary to avoid his skin peeling off and him possibly dying or something like that, because since Frank had promised to try his best not to die, Gerard reckoned that he ought to do the same as well.

And there they were: the two of them, outside, together, just living, perhaps normal, and perhaps happy, not quite fully happy, but this was different - this was important, it really mattered.

"So, Starbucks, you said?" Gerard asked, having to physical refrain himself from looking at Frank's ass, because well, he'd chosen a really tight pair of jeans and Gerard really liked Frank's ass as it was, like seriously, this was requiring him to put an incredible amount of effort into trying not to die, and it really wasn't like Frank was helping at all.

"I did." Frank nodded, smiling back at him, turning to face him, and ruining the view of his ass temporarily, which of course caused Gerard great emotional trauma for all of two seconds, which was of course very hard on him- speaking of hard ons.... that was also an area Gerard was having to put a specific amount of effort into in order to prevent something bad happening.

"Can you even drink Starbucks, you know, being undead and all?" Frank asked, entirely louder than Gerard was comfortable with, but of course, anyone that heard wouldn't have taken it seriously regardless.

"I can, Frank, I've been through this, I can eat and drink just like 'normal people'." Gerard rolled his eyes - he would have been annoyed if it had been anyone besides Frank, but it was Frank, and Gerard didn't have enough willpower to feel strongly about anything besides Frank's ass, which was indeed something he quite literally wanted to feel strongly at that moment in time, but they were in public and Frank was still mourning his girlfriend, and Gerard was actually a decent person, even though he was a weeb.

"Sorry," Frank laughed a little: this fucking awkward beautiful giggle that Gerard honestly couldn't quite believe, leaving him speechless as they made their way into Starbucks and ordered their drinks: something Frank got far too enthusiastic about, and spent far too much money and time with, like seriously, he got about three syrups and cream and like the entire continent of Europe in his drink, where as Gerard had gone for soy milk in his ice mocha, and that was about it.

"You like Starbucks, don't you?" Gerard noted, grinning a little as they sat down at a booth.

"Yeah." Frank nodded, rolling his eyes like it was obvious, and well, it was, considering his drink. "It's just really fun, also coffee, also they have wifi here."

"Oh yeah, because talking to me is so fucking dull, isn't it?" Gerard commented, pretending to be offended as he took a sip of his drink.

"Yeah." Frank nodded, joking, of course. "Your hair looks really nice today, you know?" He noted, having just casually glanced at Gerard's hair in a totally heterosexual, platonic, no homo, we're bros manner.

Gerard blushed a little - his cheeks matching his hair, as he tucked it behind his ears again, "I thought it looked nice everyday," he added, shaking his head at Frank in disbelief.

"It does!" Frank exclaimed, sighing a little, "you look lovely all the time, I just noticed it more - it's the lights in here, you always sit in the dark all the time so I don't see it as well."

"It's too bright in here." Gerard grumbled, throwing his middle finger up at the lighting, causing Frank to shake his head in disbelief.

"It's normal lighting, just enough to see, you know?" He laughed a little, watching as Gerard shook his head in firm disbelief.

"I'm nocturnal, so fuck you, you're just wrong." Gerard groaned, leaning back in his seat and really taking in Frank's appearance as he did so, "you look lovely today as well. I should have returned the compliment, but I didn't."

"You're just saying that to be polite, aren't you?"

"No!" Gerard exclaimed, suddenly very passionate in his answer, "of course I'm not. I really mean it, you look wonderful, you always do."

"Okay, calm down, Romeo." Frank laughed a little, taking a sip of his drink and trying not to focus upon the way the light reflected in Gerard's eyes and really illuminated them further - it was beautiful, he was beautiful.

"Romeo?" Gerard shook his head in disbelief, "dream the fuck on, Juliet."

"Ah, yeah you'd totally be Juliet, I get you-"

"Oh fuck off," Gerard rolled his eyes, slightly oblivious to the homoerotic obscenity of the situation, but of course, nowhere near totally unaware, because there they were in Starbucks together, practically flirting, fuck, some might even call it a date.

But it wasn't a date.

Because Frank wasn't over Jamia.

Because Gerard cared more about Frank than his own feelings from him.

It just couldn't be like that.

-

if u have any idea what the fuck is going on in this fic pls tell me because i don't. lov u guys vote & comment pls?????!!!!