---Gerard---

Everything is... perfect, I guess. Patrick's back, Mikey's coming home soon, Pete was okay with breaking it off with Patrick once he heard what happened to me, Frank and I have hung out a lot more, and it looks like Mama got promoted which means she'll bring home more money and she won't have to work as much. Patrick is still healing, and he's taking his pills again, much to my relief. It's like things are the same again.

This is the second time I've tried to say same, though, and I realize there's no such thing as same. There was never a same.

Maybe this can be our new same. Just him and I living happily, no fighting, no secrets, no hating, just loving each other. Maybe we can make it through the low self-esteem and the depression and the self-harm and the anxiety and the PTSD. I'm sure he will eventually. I believe in it.

My wrists have healed, thankfully, and they're beginning to disappear one day at a time. November is going by quickly. Quicker than usual and I have to double take the calendar when it reads Friday, December 2nd.

Patrick comes up behind me, his hands wrapping around my stomach and his cheek pressing into the back of my shoulder. I smile softly to myself because I love the way he's not anxious around me and how he'll comfortably hug me if he feels like it. He's become much more open to Pete and me. Counseling has helped him through a lot and... it honestly makes me feel really fucking warm inside. Really, it's like a furnace. I'm happy for him.

Mama, Patrick, and I went over to the Thurman household for Thanksgiving because we don't have any family in Summit. Most of them are in California, Oregon, or Washington so it's a relatively long fly and we agreed it would be better to just get together with a few friends. It was easy to tell that Lindsey was confused since the last time we saw her, we told her we weren't dating, and now we can't stop holding hands or kissing each other's cheeks.

Patrick still blushes every time.

Patrick caught up with Elisa, it's easy to tell she's his favorite while, of course, Lindsay is mine. Sometimes I feel sorry for Sarah because she doesn't exactly get a gay teen to chat with.

Maybe I should have invited Brendon over, they probably would have gotten along.

My hands rest on Patrick's before I turn and slant my lips against his, pressing him closer and resting my palm right on his ass while his arms wrap around my neck, warming the sensitive skin. His shaky breaths leave his nose and brush my cheek, those familiar, pleasured breaths.

He pulls away, immediately resting his head in the crook of my neck, his hands on my shoulders and his warm breath now fogging my chest.

"What are we even doing tonight?" He asks softly. There's an edge of tiredness in his voice, but it's hard to tell if it's tiredness or just him being content. It's a warm voice, and it's the kind of sound that makes you want to cuddle up with a blanket and a book, drinking hot chocolate next to a fireplace while orange and red leaves fall from trees outside.

But right now, I'm feeling exhaustion kick in as well.

"You wanna go to bed?" I ask softly, breathing in the scent of his honey hair. It's addicting, the scent of him. I love it. I love it so much.

"Sure," He mumbles, pulling away and looking up at the time. 8:52 PM. He squeezes my hand but doesn't lead me. He never likes being the lead in this. I asked him a couple nights ago if he wanted to top, he said no: He only did it with Pete and Joe because his self-confidence was up with the ecstasy and he forgot about it in the morning. I had laughed at that, but at the same time, I really didn't. I want him to top with me once, at least to try it. I don't want his PTSD to bother him forever and, frankly, if I can't take it rough with him, then I'm okay with him taking it rough with me. I don't want to force him into anything, though, so if he doesn't want to them, I won't make him.

My hands weave in Patrick's and with a peck on his cheek, I lead him into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind the both of us.

When I turn, I see him hoodie-less, baring his scars to me with shame. He always carries shame on those small shoulders like it's the weight of the world. He's ashamed of how his Dad beat him, he's ashamed of how his brother touched him, he's ashamed of his escape, he's ashamed of how weak his promises have gotten, he's ashamed of his body.

I'm going to make him feel beautiful. I swear to him, I will get him to feel beautiful because he deserves to know. He doesn't deserve to live like this, ashamed of everything. Afraid.

It's not even his fault...

He crawls under the covers as I pull off my own shirt, the cuts from the start of last month are slowly, but surely, disappearing. I don't know how long until they're just dark marks, reminders of what had happened once upon a time. It's over, now, we're together, nobody can tear us apart. I love him, he loves me, we haven't fought, he's healing.

I'm healing.

I mean... I'm still healing... but Patrick's helped me with... the grief of Dad's death.

Not to mention, Mama's getting better. She's cut her smoking down a lot. From about half a pack a day to only about 3... Patrick's helped us so much. I'm thankful and kind of jealous. Mostly grateful. I mean... how could he do something to Mama in two months that I couldn't do in four years? It's crazy. He's a miracle worker.

Mikey's going to be home soon, too. It's the 2nd today, that means only three more weeks until he'll be home. Then, it'll be like it used to be and we'll have a new same, adding my brother to it. We'll be happy.

I don't know. I've just been in a really good mood lately. I'm excited for... this...

Everything that'll happen soon: Christmas, Mikey, healing, whatever the fuck else I want to do with my life.

Maybe it'll turn out for the best, and nothing bad will happen for once. It would be a blessing.

My hands tug off my shirt, pulling it up over my shoulders and baring my own scars to the boy in front of me. The dark marks that just barely show that they'd been cuts once, that I'd desperately tried to cause as much pain as I could to myself trying to forget about everything that had happened.

Once upon a time.

I flop down into bed right beside Patrick, making him bounce softly with wide eyes. I smirk and pull him close to me, wrapping my legs loosely around his waist and burying my cheek on his shoulder while my hands pull him close to me. He giggles softly and turns, so he's looking right at me and with that smile, he kisses me. I kiss back, my lips moving against his softly with the edges of my lips twitching up.

My fingers tangle in his hair, messing it up into a bit of a little hot mess that's honestly really sexy but I'm not really in the mood right now. I need to ask him the question that's been on my mind for the past few days.

"So..." I whisper, untangling my legs from his waist because he's too goddamn short.

Really, it's annoying.

"We're not going to sleep are we?" He asks. I shake my head, "Wasn't planning on it."

I kiss the bridge of his nose then shut my eyes, pressing my forehead to his, "I need to ask you something."

"Hmm?"

My breathing mixes with his for a moment as I turn to lie on my back, looking up at the ceiling: White and bumpy. We were supposed to sand it down when we moved, but we never got around to it, and now it's so rough that I make shapes and designs and patterns out of the mess. Like stars in the sky.

"Do you... Do you feel beautiful?" I ask softly. He swallows, turning onto his own back.

"A little bit..."

He replies with a quiet voice and a bite of his lip. I tangle my fingers in his, our scars touching.

"Really?" I ask.

"Y-yeah, why?"

"Nothing, just... I don't know... Makes me happy." I smile up at the ceiling, a soft smile but goddamn it's real.

He really feels beautiful? How beautiful? A little bit isn't a good description. Is he still self-conscious about his stomach? When he looks in the mirror, is he still overweight? Or does he look skinny? Does he see what I see and he's too ashamed to admit it? Or is he really just beginning to see?

"I love you..." He whispers.

"Love you, too." I reply, then sit up and straddle him before he can protest, my chest on his and my fingers tangling in his, "Can you sing to me?"

He blushes a dark red and swallows, shrinking down slightly, "I uh... A-Are you sure?"

I nod, confidence in my movements, "Yes. You're incredible at singing. Please?"

He blushes but parts his lips anyways, "What song?"

"Any song."

He sighs but eventually nods, watching as I kiss his wrists gently.

"I never thought I'd die alone
I laughed the loudest who'd have known?
I traced the cord back to the wall
No wonder it was never plugged in at all."

I continue to kiss up and down his arms, every scar touching my lips for at least a second each. He only blushes more and keeps singing.

"I took my time, I hurried up
The choice was mine I didn't think enough
I'm too depressed to go on
You'll be sorry when I'm gone."

I part my own lips and let my voice mix with his once I've stopped kissing his scars. Harmonizing and blending. Following his pitches in such a way that sets both our hearts on fire and my hands pulling him closer.

"I never conquered, rarely came
Sixteen just held such better days
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside
The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over, we'd survived
I couldn't wait till I got home
To pass the time in my room alone."

Patrick pulls me closer, brushing the hair from my eyes and singing along with me, relaxing a little under me.

"I never thought I'd die alone
Another six months I'll be unknown
Give all my things to all my friends
You'll never step foot in my room again
You'll close it off, board it up
Remember the time that I spilled the cup
Of apple juice in the hall
Please tell mom this is not her fault

"I never conquered, rarely came
Sixteen just held such better days
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside
The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over, we'd survived
I couldn't wait till I got home
To pass the time in my room alone."