Asphyxiation. What a lovely word for such a horrible thing. What an odd thing to ponder. What a horrible place for your mind to go. What a way to go.

There are many, many ways in which to kill yourself.

Asphyxiation was by no means the easiest to accomplish, but was definitely the most freeform, but not Gerard's preferred way to go.

Drowning was of course his number one choice, and what he focused on the most, but like any concerned suicidal person, he had of course put some thought into a back up plan - a second choice, and a third too.

Although, he did half reckon that if he walked into a lake and make it out alive that if he was simply just not intended to die. Not that Gerard had ever believed in any kind of God or meaning behind the universe and life, but still, the thought of immortality had haunted his mind: like an awful ghost, perhaps one of a tennis player from the seventies, who'd died in his sleep in a bedroom that had been much nicer than what it was now, a generally shitty excuse for representation when it came to the horrors of death - useless, harmless, but annoying, barely even there, barely even real. Perhaps he'd sit there and repeat the hook of an old pop song for hours upon end, and drive you insane in doing so, but he'd never get up, he'd never cause you any real harm, but he'd watch as you went insane, he'd watch as they sent you away, and he'd smile.

Gerard wondered just how sleep deprived he had to be in order to personify immortality as the ghost of a tennis player from the seventies. Gerard laughed aloud, because it was four in the morning, and despite how thin his bedroom walls were, no one could hear him.

Because in that moment, it felt like no one in the entire fucking world was awake.

The most effective methods of suicide involved shotguns, handguns, any guns, and if Gerard felt strongly about anything in his life, it was that he didn't like guns. He didn't like loud noises, he didn't like mess, he didn't like triggers, he didn't like bullets, and how fucking artificial it all was. Guns scared him - there was no beauty in guns.

There was no beauty in killing himself, though.

But he desperately wanted there to be.

He desperately wanted to rationalise it all, but it was all based solely upon the imperfections in his head - it was his fault, and it wasn't beautiful at all.

But at least drowning himself was far less messy - he had that to say for himself.

Drowning was however, statistically, because yes, Gerard had researched this, sixty percent efficient, and took a hell of a lot longer than a bullet to, fuck, anywhere, did, but, the ocean defined his life in a way he never wanted a shotgun to.

The ocean was one of his first memories. He wanted it to be one of his last.

And he knew for sure that he'd never felt comfort in a gun.

Gerard's second choice was pills.

The pills he didn't take anymore and had stocked up in the back of one of his drawers. At first, he hadn't been saving them, just hiding them, but he reckoned that he might as well put them to some use, and if it came down to it, he'd take the whole lot - and fuck, he had a lot saved up by now, and in earnest, just taking the pills seemed like a much easier way to end it.

But Gerard yearned the sensation of water filling his lungs: a burning without a fire - something tragic, something beautiful in his own mind, and horrific in others, and he was well aware that he was beginning to romanticise, to even fall in love with the idea of his own death, but it was not that different from falling in love with the ocean.

And some people found the utmost joy in planning their wedding, Gerard found that joy in planning his funeral. Well, his death to be specific, but he had made vague funeral plans, also. He'd attach them to the end of Kat's letter, because Kat was stubborn enough to make sure that they happened, unlike his mother, who cared but lacked the strength.

His mother had been a strong woman. Gerard knew she wasn't so much anymore, but he knew even more so that she was the kind of person that didn't know what to do with strength, with power, with control, and that in horrible way, she was better off like this. She was fucked up inside, but that set them all even, didn't it?

He wanted his funeral on the beach.

He assumed that they would have found his body in order to pronounce him 'officially' dead, but they could have easily made it clear from his letters, so for those reasons, he'd made two sets of requests - one involving his body, and one involving a photograph.

The one photograph that he'd take.

Not of the ocean.

But himself.

On his very last day.

And he'd smile.

Smile like he was oblivious.

Smile like he was innocent.

Because he needed to control this all down to the very last detail, and that most definitely included what they had to remember him by.

They.

Just they.

Gerard felt like perhaps he didn't care enough.

And he didn't.

He wondered if it was cruel to specifically not invite his father to his funeral, but he didn't want his parents to get back together anymore, or even run the risk of doing so, because the version of his mother with a husband was not the kind of mother he wanted Kat to have, because Kat liked her like this - they wouldn't admit it, but they did. Gerard knew it.

Gerard's third choice was to hang himself.

He'd picked a spot: a tree up on the cliff top, and he'd stashed some rope away in the corner of his closet, and he'd practiced tying a noose, just to be... just to be prepared.

It wasn't even like he was putting all that much effort into hiding it anymore: all someone had to do was come into his room and really look beyond the photographs upon the wall and the clothes on the floor, and the perhaps now permanently open window, because Gerard needed the smell of the ocean like it was crack cocaine.

His room was littered with evidence, littered with things for people to find: a whole story to unravel, but only when it was all too late, because no one cared enough to actually look at the junk upon his desk, or through his drawers, but that wasn't their fault.

Gerard cared about Frank.

And still he hadn't searched his room.

Gerard cared about Frank.

And still he was going to kill himself.

Or perhaps, he was going to kill himself, because he cared so much about Frank.

It was natural, he didn't feel safe inside his own head anymore.

-

Frank had never been one for getting up early, but he simply couldn't sleep at all. Lindsey, was somewhat of an early riser, but even more of a worrier, and it was that what had brought them out for a walk at barely six in the morning.

Frank knew he would regret this in even three hours time when he passed out in maths class or something like that, but fuck it, whatever, he could probably get some time off school for fainting - it wasn't like he was much able to concentrate upon anything in his current state of mind, anyway.

"Pete still won't talk to me." Lindsey let out a sigh, tying her hair up and out of her face as the two made their way down through the streets: the two somewhat silent in the early morning, and the two surrounded by nothing but street lamps and early dawn light, and perhaps one car that they'd seen upon their whole walk. It wasn't a particularly large town they lived in, so it made sense.

"You kind of pissed him off." Frank hated to say it, but it was indeed true, and there was very little he could do about the truth besides make every effort to ignore its existence and do everything in his power to point himself in a different direction.

"I did. But he was... he was just being arsey, and hey, how the fuck could he just second guess us like that." She let out a sigh, "he was being a dick. It was his own fault that I retaliated."

"If you say so." Frank shrugged a little, barely even noticing the way the two were headed now, but perhaps, with the shoreline before him, he should have done so.

"What do you mean, Frank?" Lindsey exclaimed, appearing almost offended in her tone of voice, "he was being a dick. Hell, sometimes I think you don't even want to find out who's writing these letters."

"That's not true." Frank's tone was suddenly very quiet.

"You only care that it's not Gerard, and from then on you're acting like it's not your business anymore, so hey, let's only help this suicidal person if they're cute- fucking bullshit, Frank, that's fucking bullshit-"

"It's not like that!" Frank exclaimed, his voice growing louder than he could have anticipated.

"Is it not?" Lindsey lowered her tone a little, raising her eyebrows.

"No." He shook his head, "I'm just... I'm scared that it will somehow be Gerard, and I don't know if I can face that as a reality."

"So you'd rather just let him kill himself, or run the risk of it?" Lindsey blinked in disbelief, because she quite honestly couldn't quite believe what Frank was saying.

"No, it's just... I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do if I know it is him, like how the fuck am I- I... just I... I can't even-"

"Frank," she let out a sigh, pulling him into a hug, "I want to help you. Let me help you," she pulled away, meeting his gaze with a certain sincerity, "and let me help you by making sure that you know that ignoring it isn't going to make it any better or even make it go away."

"I know that," Frank nodded, finally looking up and taking in his surroundings as he felt sand under his feet, and jolting a little as he realised where they were, "when did we- get to the beach, I-?" He glanced around nervously.

"Frank, we just walked here, are you alright?" Lindsey looked him over with concern, "I think maybe you should have gotten some sleep instead of-"

"Fuck," Frank interrupted her as his gaze fixated upon a figure making his way down the beach quite a way away - definitely out of earshot, and it appeared as if he'd only just made it out from the houses closest to the shoreline, but that figure was, of course, "Gerard..." Frank lifted his finger up and pointed at him.

Lindsey's eyes widened in disbelief, squinting to make his figure out better, "so can I meet him? Or do we have to run away and pretend we don't exist for fear of hurting his feelings?"

"Lindsey..." Frank narrowed his eyes, shaking his head a little, "keep behind me a little," he instructed before quickening his pace into an awkward half jog across the beach, to Gerard, who had now stood at the shoreline, his camera in his hands and directed at the horizon.

"Gerard?" Frank called out, a little louder as he approached him, causing the seventeen year old to jump a little, glancing around in shock, but the look on his face seemed to soften considerably as he met Frank's eyes, however, as he looked past him and to Lindsey, his eyes lit up with concern once more.

"H-hey..." He stuttered out, putting his camera down and fidgeting with his sleeves, avoiding Frank's gaze and keeping his gaze fixated upon the ground as the two approached.

"Hey, this is Lindsey by the way." He gestured back to Lindsey with a smile. Gerard forced himself to look up and meet Lindsey's gaze, managing an awkward wave in her direction, to which Lindsey smiled and nodded, and Gerard decided that she wasn't going to cause him any immediate harm. "We were just out here for a walk, I'm sorry if this isn't a good time for you to meet new people, I-"

"It's okay." Gerard nodded, looking past Frank and at Lindsey now, curious to meet one of Frank's friends, curious in general - today was one of those days. He'd had a horrible sleepless night and now with the morning light it was like he'd never lived a day before in his life, or perhaps it was the pills he'd taken - only a few, but way more than necessary: not enough to cause any damage but enough to blur things out a little, because that was what he needed today.

"Frank's said an awful lot about you," Lindsey began, continuing to smile at Gerard as she spoke to him.

"Lindsey-" Frank protested, his cheeks burning up.

"Oh... I... I..." Gerard stuttered out, his face just as red.

"Good things." Lindsey added, "he thinks the world of you, I assure you."

"Lindsey, you're worse than my fucking mother, I swear to God!" Frank exclaimed, raising his voice a little, and Gerard wished to God that he could have hidden the way he jumped a little in response. "Sorry," Frank added, turning to Gerard, "I haven't had much sleep."

"Neither have I." Gerard admitted.

"How come?" Lindsey asked, deciding it best to step in before she was eternally left out of the conversation.

Gerard shrugged, because 'planning my suicide' wasn't exactly the best thing to say to someone you'd only just met, but it was however the truth. "Thinking," he went for after a minute's thought, which wasn't strictly false either, just vague.

"Thinking about what?" Lindsey asked what she perhaps shouldn't - what Frank never would have, because he had anticipated the awkward grimace upon Gerard's face.

"J-just thinking..." he stuttered out, blushing and making an effort to look away from the two.

"You can't think about nothing," Lindsey continued: pushing the fucking hell out of it.

"Lindsey." Frank turned to her, glaring a little.

"What?" She retorted, looking between the two in confusion.

"Just leave it." Frank let out a sigh.

"Yes, Frank, because 'just leaving' everything is the best approach to life in general." She rolled her eyes, leaving Gerard biting his lip; his eyes boring into the ground.

"Lindsey, please just leave it." Frank let out a sigh, looking up and flashing Gerard the most apologetic glance he could muster. "Why is the concept that maybe he doesn't want to tell you, someone he just met, about his private thoughts, so fucking hard to understand?"

Lindsey let out a sigh; Frank had a point, but there was also no way around the fact that he was being an idiot about this. "Sorry," she met Gerard's eyes.

Gerard nodded: evidently rendered awkward in their conversation, glancing back across the water and letting out a sigh, hating how he wished that Lindsey wasn't there, and that Frank wasn't there too. Hating how he wished that he was indeed completely fucking alone, hating how all he ever wanted to be in life was alone, and hating how nothing could ever possibly come of him, or come of his life, or what little was left of it.

Because Gerard had never really thought of things like a countdown before, but today was the seventeenth - he had just over two weeks left. Just over two weeks left of his life, and Frank looked at him and smiled, smiled at him like they be friends in November, like he'd be alive in November, and Gerard frowned, because he didn't want Frank to go to the beach in November alone, but it seemed as if he had Lindsey.

Frank wasn't alone, and Gerard even considered himself selfish to consider the fact that Frank's existence might revolve around him in the same way that Gerard found his own existence beginning to revolve around Frank.

Frank had friends, Frank had family, Frank had a dog, Frank had a life, Frank had a November, Frank had a December, Frank had a Christmas and a New Year, and all Gerard had was Halloween.

He found himself oddly amused by the concept of killing himself on the day after Halloween - it seemed almost like some shitty horror trope, but Halloween had never held any significance, it was just October 31st: his last full day alive.

"Hey, Gerard-" Gerard was pulled from his own train of thought as Frank's words came to slap him across the face with his own name, and he came to realise that a whole conversation between the two had passed him by as he drowned himself in his own mind.

"H-hey..." Gerard stuttered out, blushing.

"Did I tell you that it's my birthday soon?" Frank asked, his face lighting up a little, "I'm gonna be seventeen."

Gerard froze, his whole body tensing up, because how soon, because as much as Gerard hated the concept of birthdays, and even more so, the concept of parties, he didn't want to miss Frank's.

"You should do something for it. Then Gerard could meet the others-"

"I'm not particularly good with people," Gerard found himself speaking up, blushing a little.

"Don't worry, Frank doesn't have a lot of friends, unsurprisingly," she laughed a little, causing Frank to roll his eyes and try his best to be offended.

"Yeah, I'm not keen on people either. But maybe a small thing, just at my house, like maybe six people, some beer and shit, I don't know, just a thing." Frank found himself gesturing awkwardly, "would that be okay?"

"I don't really like alcohol either," Gerard admitted, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

"I'm not gonna make you drink, nobody is. Hey, I promise I won't get drunk for you, if that'd make you better, even though it is my birthday. It'd just be cool if you came." Frank smiled, meeting Gerard's gaze.

"When is it?" Gerard asked, biting his lip, already knowing he'd regret asking, because he knew already that it wouldn't be an experience which he could enjoy, or if it was in November, not an experience he'd be alive for, but what if... what if it was something like November sixth? Would he put off the whole ordeal for that? For Frank? Because he could, and he found himself truly scared by the prospect of waking up on November second, it just felt unnatural, and he stood there feeling a little sick.

But the reality of the situation was way worse.

"October 31st, Halloween, cool, isn't it? When I was a kid it was literally the best thing ever, I fucking tell you- so cool, don't you think?"

Gerard swallowed hard, nodding: forcing a nod. "Y-yeah," he stuttered out. He'd be alive then, and he owed Frank that at least, his last day alive at his birthday party with people and alcohol and too loud music and yelling and a house he didn't quite know, people he most likely wouldn't like. Frank deserved that at least.

"So you'll come?" Frank asked, his face lighting up as if it were the sun.

Gerard nodded, biting his lip as his insides seemed to turn to mush.

-

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