---Gerard---

Patrick's hand is warm as I take it.

Soft, warm, comforting. It grounds me. Makes me realize how amazing it is that I met him. It makes me want to never let go, to hold his hand and show him how amazing he is. I can't now, though. We're going to the café. He's going to tell me everything. About his issues. Family, anxiety, why he feels so... worthless, I guess.

I continue to lead him at a run through the pouring showers. My shoes squish the dirt beneath them, the dirt that's quickly turning into mud, as Patrick follows me, smiling through it all. The shh of the rain echoes around me blocked out only slightly by the shuffling of Patrick's jackets and his huffing breath. The coffee shop is only about a block away from the mausoleum and cemetery, but it feels like forever by the time we finally get there.

My shirt and pants are soaked, but Patrick is almost entirely dry. That's all that matters. As long as he's safe and comfortable and happy, I'm happy, too. Is that love? Wanting the best for someone else? Wanting them to be happy? To do anything to make them happy? What is love? I want to believe I'm in love. I want to believe I'd do anything for him. I think this is love, but maybe I'm just a naïve teenager without a clue as to how the world works.

He laughs slightly as we stop in front of the door, red neon light labeling the place. His eyes crinkling at the edges and the corners of his mouth twitched up to meet his cheeks.

"What?" I ask with a smile on my own face.

"I don't know, just... You..." He whispers.

"Just me?" I ask as I pull up the sleeve on his arm, making him gasp slightly.

"I didn't give you per-" He's cut off by my lips on the deepest scar on his arm, resting on the sensitive flesh gently.

Surprisingly enough, he doesn't pull away. I don't know if it's of shock or because he doesn't mind but either way I stay where I am, looking up into his eyes. My pink lips linger on the soft skin, leaving sensations on my mouth.

I pull away but he doesn't do anything, he's burning a bright red, and it makes me laugh even more, "You're so cute when you blush."

"Y-you've told me..." He whispers, finally pulling down the gray fabric, down past his arms and hand. I turn away for a moment to open the door, and as we enter, we hear a bell ring in the distance. I let him go first, followed soon after by me (giving me a damn perfect view of his ass and legs and damn). He leads me to a table farthest from the counter and farthest from any other occupied booth, careful to make the conversation as private as possible. The chairs are wooden, a light brown material which I assume is oak, make up the legs and back while the seat is just a cushion. The table between the two chairs is made of wood as well and overall, it's a cozy place. Vast and spacey, but cozy. We sit down, him across from me and I find myself immediately aiming my head down in nervousness. I don't know why my mood can go from playful to grim so fast, but I guess Dad just does that to me.

We sit awkwardly for a little bit because we both know what's next. We both know that we can't hold off any longer. I had completely forgotten about it for a blissful hour or so of my life but... It's over now. And we have to confess everything to each other... I wonder if this is really healthy. I wonder if I really want to tell him what happened to Dad and I wonder if he'll actually tell me what's going on in his life but I'm determined to get the truth out of him.

I swallow, my nervousness building before I say something softly, "Do you want to go first or..."

"Y-you..." He says quickly, "Just... Tell me everything..."

I love you. I'm in love with you...

"Okay... Well... Um..." I blush slightly, pulling my hands into my lap, I'm not sure how to start, but I just decide if begin where all stories begin. My birth.

"My dad wasn't around when I was born... He was out working for the military... So Mama had to go through labor at the hospital without him. I know it was a lot of stress on her, though. She had to take care of a kid all on her own while still working. As I grew up, I'd heard stories about him, and Mama always told me how brave and strong he was as lullabies. All the video calls could only do so much...

"One year later, he came home for a little bit. I was only one, but Mama always talks about how my eyes lit up when I first saw him. I was so happy and surprised and a little scared, but I eventually started to warm up to him. After Dad had left back to the army, Mama found out she was pregnant, and soon enough, Mikey Was born, again when Dad wasn't there. Mikey and I got along at daycare, and two years later, Dad came home for good.

"As we grew up, Mikey, Dad, and I hung out all the time, and since I never really got to talk with him for the first four years of my life, we kind of had a bond, y'know? He... He was the best Dad I could ask for. Every year, he'd take Mikey and me to see The Black Parade. We'd sit at that same corner year after year, and he told us to always be brave. That no matter what happened, we had to be strong and we had to take care of ourselves. He also wanted us to join The Black Parade when we got older, he said it had a good message. No matter what happens, always have hope. You'll be okay, just keep fighting.

"Seven years passed. We went year after year and every year he'd take us there and tell us the same thing. Mama never came because she thought it was more of a father-son bonding thing, I guess. So it was just Mikey, Dad, and I.

"Um..." I purse my lips because this is it. This is the part where it hurts, "Five years ago. H-he... He was diagnosed with cancer..."

Patrick reaches out and takes my hand under the table as he tries to comfort me, but it's useless. The tears are already appearing in my eyes.

"H-he died after a year of fighting. He... He... He just gave up on us." I whisper the tears are streaming down my cheeks, "He was in so much pain, and he couldn't take it... So he gave up and waited for it to kill him... He didn't care, he just wanted it to end... He gave up on us. He told us to be brave but he just stopped caring, and it hurt..."

Patrick squeezes my hand tighter but doesn't say a word, waiting for me to finish my story.

"We had a funeral... Mikey joined the school that hosts The Black Parade which meant he wouldn't be living with us anymore. He said it was because Dad asked him to but I know it's because he can't bear to be at home. He can't bear to see Mama crying and smoking. Hell, I can barely take it.

"So... Now he's in Los Angeles, and I'm stuck here with Mama." I finish, "And I guess you know why I cut..."

He nods, looking down, "I'm sorry..."

"There's nothing we can do about it... It's not your fault," I reply, "Your turn."

Patrick's grip gets stiff. He doesn't want to go, but he has to.

"Gerard, please..." He whispers, fear in his eyes.

"Patrick, I know you can say it. Just tell me everything, if you're scared I will judge you, I won't. I promise."

"How strong are your promises?" He asks.

"I have yet to break one," I repeat.

His grip relaxes slightly, comforted by my words. As he stutters to begin, I wonder exactly what's happened to him. I think he's being beaten, and I know his mom died. He showed me her grave for crying out loud. What's happening to him at home? What's it like? What's it like to be Patrick Stumph?

"Okay..." He whispers, shutting his eyes, "S-so... I was born here, same place and everything. I... I have an older brother, he's eighteen right now... Um... And I was happy. My... My mom and Dad and Kevin and I were all pretty happy... When I was four and Kevin was six, my little sister, Megan, was born. And we kind of kept growing up. I had a group of friends at school, and I was happy. There was nothing wrong, and we were just a regular family. Um... I-I got a girlfriend, too... When I still thought I was straight... Her name was Ashley and... I don't know... I was just happy..." He smiles slightly, but I know he's close to the wrong part, so it's not strong.

"One night I was driving with my mom... And... Uh..." The tears begin leaking out of his eyes, his voice lowers to a whisper, "We got in a crash."

"I was uninjured but... She died... Sh-she passed away in the accident..." I squeeze Patrick's hand.

"Afterwards, I began pushing my friends away, I broke up with Ashley... D-dad started drinking..." He whispered, "And that's it... That's all..."

A lie. I know it is. Nobody just says that's it, that's all to end a story. It's obviously not it, "Patrick, the whole truth." I murmur.

"There's nothing else, Gerard. That's it. I swear." Patrick says, but I can still see the lie behind his green eyes. I don't know if he wants me to keep pressing or not, but I don't care. I need to know what's happening. This is unhealthy, and it hurts, I know, but I need to know what's going on.

"Patrick, you limped on the way downtown, you flinch every time I touch you, what's going on?"

"Gerard..." He cries out, trying to keep his voice low even though nobody can hear or see us.

"I know you can do it, come on," I whisper, trying to soothe him. He says something, and I can't quite hear, "Hmm?"

"He hurts me..." He whispers, "He beats me almost every night, and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a failure, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

I pull him up from the table and hug him hard, squeezing him and letting him cry into my shoulder.

"Shh," I hush, "It's going to be okay. You don't deserve any of it, you understand? You don't deserve any of the beatings, you don't deserve this life, you don't deserve those scars on your arms. Don't ever say you do."

"B-but I do, I'm such a fuckup, and I'm so pathetic and stupid, and I can't stomach anything I eat and-"

I pull away from him and yank up the sleeve of his hoodie, he flinches, but I hold him still as I kiss each and every scar, his face going bright red again at my determination and the fact that I'm kissing him. Well, kissing his skin at least... The scars feel odd on my lips, different from any kind of normal skin but I love it. I love him. I'm in love with him.

"Patrick, don't you understand? It hurts to see you like this. It hurts to see you like this. It hurts to know you put yourself down like this." I say as I pull his sleeve back down and kiss my way up his other arm.

"K-Kevin..." He starts, but stops, trailing off.

"Kevin?" I ask.

"N-Nothing..." He whispers, shaking his head and looking away.

"Patrick," I warn sternly

"I'm sorry." The blonde whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing the lump in his throat. After a minute, he speaks again, "He does things to me, too..."

"What does he do?" I ask, sliding the sleeve down to his wrist and letting him adjust it himself. He doesn't. Instead, his eyes stay to the ground, his face burning a bright red in embarrassment.

"H-he touches me..." He whispers gently. So gently, I almost don't hear it. Almost.

"What?" I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"He touches me, and I don't like it... He told me not to tell anyone, or he'd kill me..." He says. He isn't crying anymore, just staring into the patterns of the wooden floor. His head darts up so he's looking into my eyes, fear tracing his own, "I'm scared, I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die." I whisper, placing my hands on his shoulders and making him flinch slightly, "We're going to call the police, and we're going to have them take your Dad and Kevin away for a long time, and they can't make a scratch on you."

"No," He whispers, "Gerard, no."

I bite my lip, "We have to."

"No! They're my family I'm not just going to send them off to jail. You know what they do to guys like them in prison."

"We don't have a choice!" I snap.

He flinches, accidentally falling down in surprise and fear. His jaw clenches in pain but doesn't make a noise as I hold out my hand. Almost as if my hand controls him, he flinches, even more, backing away in a panic as he gets back up.

"Gerard, just... No..." He says, "Give it time, alright? I promise I won't let them hurt me."

"Patrick," I say warningly. I'm not letting him go home to just be beaten and possibly raped. Oh god... I can't believe he has to go through that... For three years he's been abused and molested. I can't let him go through that again. I can't let him go home... Maybe he could come to my house or...

"Promise me you won't call the cops on them, please, they don't do it often and... and..." He hugs me, burying his face in my chest as quiet sobs come from his mouth. I let out a sigh. If he really doesn't want me to call the cops then... I guess I won't... but I need to figure out a way through this problem. I don't want him to be scared, and I don't want Kevin to touch him anymore. I'm really surprised he told me, he's usually so shy and untrustful, but he puts all his trust in me for some reason. I don't know why.

"I can't promise anything, Sugar, but I can promise I won't call the cops tonight..." I sigh, pressing him closer.

"Thank you, Gee," He whispers. Gee. I haven't heard that name since I was friends with Ray, Andy, and Dallon... I look down slightly to see him gazing to his left, his face still pressed to my chest. I wish I could kiss him... Even just his forehead but I have a feeling even it would be too intimate for him... I mean kissing the scars is one thing. We both understand that pain but kissing his forehead would be too far, wouldn't it? I don't want to risk it.

"Do you want to leave? There's one more place I always go after The Black Parade." I suggest. The rain outside is stopped for a little bit and I know it'll be back soon but I don't care if I get soaked right now. All I care about it making Patrick realize he is amazing and respecting Dad's memory.

"It's going to start raining soon." He replies, his face squished against me.

"That's what the jackets are for."

"But won't you get soaked?"

"It's alright."

"But you're going to be so cold."

"I don't care."

"At least take your jacket back."

"I don't need it."

"Please, Gee? For me?"

"You're making it sound like we really are dating."

"You're the one kissing me."

"I'm trying to comfort you, dammit."

"Ugh, just take your jacket and let's get out of here." He smiles, looking up at me.

"Fine," I reply, rolling my eyes and taking it from his shoulders. I drape it over my own shoulders as we leave our table and I hold the door for him on our way out, his hands in his pockets and his head down as we begin to walk away from the cemetery and towards both of our houses but our destination isn't there. It's the old bridge by the river. Dad took Mikey and me there after The Black Parade, and we sat and talked for a while, sometimes he'd be generous and bring donuts. Those were always fun times... Before he left...

All we can hear is the soft tweets of birds and the scurrying of the squirrels in the distance as we walk in silence. The breathing of the city giving us light through the growing darkness. Lampposts and moonlight guiding our way. Stars hidden by the lights of the shops and buildings and houses and... it's peaceful...

"Hey, Gee...?" He asks, interrupting the silence very softly.

"Hmm?" I reply.

"What... What are we...?" He says. What? Aren't we just friends...? Unless... well... he wants to be more...

"I don't know... Just a couple of gay friends." I say.

"Oh," He seems disappointed. But... that can't be it. He doesn't like me. He can't love me. Not after everything he's been through, it's probably just my imagination. How could he trust someone enough to love them? Maybe that's just very stereotypical of me, but it seems like that's what he's going through.

"What do you want us to be?" I ask. My God, it's risky, but we're getting close, and I already know we've broken the friend zone at least twenty-one times tonight.

"I..." He sounds like he's going to say something... like more than friends... but no, "I'm okay with us just being friends... Really close friends, but friends..."

"Alright," I reply with a smile. There's a small silence, just him and I. The clicking of shoes on the sidewalk, the occasional tweet of a bird in the distance. The smell of rain in the air and it's refreshing, "So... about the whole story... and stuff... um... Can you promise me you'll take this to your grave... a-and I'll take it to mine?"

"Of course," He smiles, looking up at me, "I... I've never really told anyone before... I mean..."

He blushes his smile fading slightly, "I told one person once..."

"Who?" I ask, curious. The bridge is only a block away, but it seems like forever before we'll get there.

"Um... My best friend... I told him about The Incident... I mean the car crash..." He says shaking his head slightly.

"But who is he? Who was your best friend?"

"Uh... I mean I don't want to stop you from hanging out with them or anything but... Um... I had a group of friends before The Incident... The ones I pushed away. Th-There was uh... Frank," Frank? What? "Ryan," Ryan, too? "J-Joe... Brendon... and... and uh..." Oh my god I'm breaking his heart. I'm such an idiot. That's why he never hangs out with us at lunch! "Then my best friend... W-Was Pete..."

The bridge is here, and Patrick looks like he's about to cry as we take a seat at the edge of the bridge. He sits down with his back leaning on the railing, and I just plop my head in his lap, burying my hair in his crotch (It's weird, but neither of us really seem to mind).

He's upside down in my eyes, but he looks peaceful. Blonde hair, soft lips, green eyes, gray hoodie.

"I'll stop talking to them if you want me to," I suggest with a sad smile.

"No... I want to talk to them again... I... I think I want to get them back." He says quietly. Not quite a whisper but not quite normal volume. Those words make me happy... He really is trying to fix himself...

"I'll help you," I say, "If that's what you want..."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I promise."

He laughs and replies, "How strong are your promises?"

"I have yet to break one," I smile back, happy with this little routine we've made.

He smiles, "Thank you..."

I shut my eyes, humming in reply to his gratefulness as I feel Patrick's hands on my arms and we sit in silence. I enjoy this, the silence... The feeling of Patrick's breath on my forehead... His soft breaths in the silence, the crisp, fall air. The way Patrick shifts his hand in my hair, the feeling of his lap rising and falling slightly with his breaths.

The feeling of his lips on mine.