It was one am.

Or close to that, at least.

Twelve fifty eight.

Close enough.

And Gerard was half asleep.

They were sat on Frank's bed now.

They, being Frank and Gerard, the two of them, as an item, a collective, a two piece, something more than just Gerard Way, and then Frank Iero, but not solid enough to real mean something, not quite yet.

Perhaps not quite ever.

Maybe Gerard wouldn't end up living that long.

And Frank sat there unaware.

They were sat on the end of Frank's bed, Frank having laid back and Gerard curled up almost awkwardly: desperately trying to fake the image of comfort, and feeling safe inside himself, inside the mistake he'd made, and with Frank's fingers reaching out to touch his.

A mistake among many: at home, perhaps, but still out of place: the rebellious teenager in the house of the perfect family, perhaps, but nowhere near as glamorous, nowhere near as cliché, or theatrical, just a mistake, and Gerard knew he really should stop glorifying things, but there was this horrible affliction cursed upon him, in the form of an addiction with his own inadequacies.

Perhaps instead he should sit there, making something beautiful out of the idea of Frank, and not the one of his own death, and heartbreak, and the wreck he'd leave behind him.

But Frank was already beautiful.

There was nothing left for Gerard to think, for him to say even, as they sat in prolonged silence, and Gerard wondered when they'd try sleeping, or when he'd have to leave, because it was usually Frank in his room, and Frank sort of seemed to know what to do with himself better than Gerard did.

For a start, Frank hadn't tried to drown himself in a bath little over a week ago.

For a start, Frank wasn't going to drown himself in a lake in little over a week's time.

For a start, Frank was going to have a November, and a December, and a Christmas.

And Gerard found himself hurting at the notion, and glancing at Frank, and finding the younger boy smiling at him in the darkness.

Because somehow, in naivety, Frank was happy, silent yet content, in the fact that they'd kissed, and it hadn't been spectacular or romantic, just kissing, just something, just an ache in Gerard's chest, and his mouth wetter than it had been before: an awkward kiss, a stumbled kiss, before Frank seemed to have forgotten that he was shorter than Gerard just as he'd leaned in, but it had been okay, they'd managed it, and Frank had told him that he was beautiful again, and Gerard had nodded, silently returning it, and then, they'd sat, a little closer for the rest of the night, and for the most part Gerard had listened to Frank talk, and now, come perhaps twenty minutes ago, Frank had run out of things to say.

Silence was okay, though. They were okay, though.

Gerard's whole life seemed to consist of late nights and early mornings, and silence, and too many feelings, and too many regrets: a mess of a life, and a mess of an ending, because this was something like his final chapter now - his not quite final week, but this was definitely the wrapping up of it all.

This was indeed him getting everything in order.

He still hadn't quite managed to write a decent suicide note to anyone even in weeks now, and it had come to the point where he'd almost given up, but, he owed Frank much more than a pretty polaroid of the ocean now, now with what had happened.

Because he'd let him kiss him.

He'd let this happen.

He was letting this happen.

And he could stop it.

But he wouldn't.

Of course, he wouldn't.

Even with an odd crushing kind of guilt about this all, because suddenly he really was the bad person here, because he was going to hurt Frank more than he needed to be hurt, and here he was, letting it all happen, doing very little at all.

"You try so hard with me," Gerard found himself saying: his voice barely audible, but loud enough for Frank to pick up as he leaned in closer, sitting up. "You don't make me speak. When there's silence or I'm speaking French, or anything."

Frank smiled a little, "I care more that you're comfortable, and hope that you'll tell me what you need to when you're comfortable."

Gerard shrugged, blushing a little, "I'm not going to get comfortable with myself."

"Not ever?" Frank raised his eyebrows, "not ever? In your whole life?"

And perhaps it sounded a little less realistic with an idea that Gerard might live for another sixty years, and not eleven days.

"Not in the whole of the rest of my life." Gerard sighed a little. "I never told you what I said in French that time."

"You never did." Frank nodded, sitting closer to Gerard and properly entwining their hands, and causing Gerard to shiver a little at the touch, "fuck, sorry- I keep forgetting to ask, I just-"

"No, it's fine, I'm just... jumpy, I guess..." Gerard let out a sigh, because it sounded like bullshit, and it was bullshit, but 'no it's fine, I'm just suicidal, I guess' didn't sound as good. Wouldn't go down as well, something like that.

"So what did you say in French?" Frank asked, leaving Gerard doing his best to focus on something other than the way Frank's hand was clutched around his.

"That's... the... point..." Gerard let out a sigh, "I'm not going to tell you, because I'm not comfortable, because that's the beauty of a language you don't understand - I can be brutally honest, and I was, I said everything, and you understood nothing, and it was fucking wonderful, and not because I want to make you look stupid or anything, it was just saying it aloud, and it being heard, because I would like to be heard, I just know I can't be, not yet, because you'd react in a certain way and I'm not ready for that - it can't happen, not yet."

"So when will I find out? I wish you'd tell me," Gerard shrugged awkwardly away from Frank's question, "what about on my birthday? As a present?" Frank laughed a little.

Gerard looked up at him, "you'll find out about then, a bit after, maybe a day or two, but around then, I think so, yeah, you will."

"I'm looking forward to it." Frank smiled a little.

"Don't." Gerard told him.

Frank laughed.

He thought he was joking.

-

Gerard made his way back home at something like two am.

He hadn't expected anyone to be awake, let alone wait up for him, but someone had. Kat had.

Kat was sat at the kitchen table, leaping to their feet as Gerard opened the front door, letting in a gust of cold October air as he did so.

"Where have you been?" Kat explained: more worried than angry, but still, it wasn't a gesture Gerard appreciated: having found that he didn't much care for pity or sympathy. "I was worried, I still am worried, I- hell, I don't know what I would have done if-"

"I was with Frank." Gerard said rather simply, brushing his hair away from his face and putting his coat upon the hook.

"Oh..." Kat seemed to freeze at that: the mention of Frank morphing the situation completely, and by now, Gerard had even expected it to - that, of course, didn't make it any better, he just found himself more accustomed to it - complacent, letting everything fade and rush past him as he lived out his last few days.

"What were you doing until two in the morning?" Kat continued to ask, meeting Gerard's gaze. "You've been out since midday, have you spent all that time with him?"

Gerard nodded, "I did."

Kat looked shocked more than anything; he didn't reckon Gerard had the emotional capacity for such an extended period of interaction with one person, even if it was Frank, whatever that meant, fuck, whatever Frank meant.

Kat didn't hate Frank.

Kat had made friends with Frank first, hadn't they?

Kat was just jealous, and of course, for unexplainable reasons.

"What's going on with you and him?" Kat asked, cutting the bullshit down to the bone.

"What do you mean?" Gerard asked, biting his lip a little.

"What I'm saying." Kat told him, rather matter of factly. "What is the deal? Why is he special, why is he different?"

"He just is." Gerard shrugged it off, "he just... he gets things, or he accepts that he can't understand and leaves it at that and doesn't make me talk, and doesn't make me do anything, and genuinely cares - he's just lovely."

"Lovely." Kat repeated: unsure what to make of such a claim.

"Yeah, he is." Gerard nodded, smiling a little. "He's also naive and oblivious as fuck, but that... that's okay too."

"Naive? Oblivious?" Kat exclaimed, taken aback, "what do you mean?"

Gerard shrugged, "he doesn't know what's going on half the time, but that's okay, because maybe I don't want him to, I like that he doesn't know, because I don't like when people know things about me, when people make assumptions. You do that a lot, I don't like it."

"I can't help it, Gerard, it's human nature." Kat told him, letting out a sigh.

"Then stop being human," Gerard rolled his eyes a little, "bend the rules of the fucking universe for me, Kat, or don't, because I don't matter, whatever."

"Of course you matter, Gerard, come on, you're making no sense at all, I just-" Kat shook their head as Gerard pulled away from them. "What's Frank said to you?"

"Nothing. Well he talked for ages, just about his day and his friends, and stuff, and it's nice to listen to him talk, it's lovely, he just talks, and doesn't make me respond, because I like listening more than I like talking and he gets that-"

"Something's changed," Kat looked their brother up and down, "something has changed, you're different somehow."

Gerard shrugged, knowing it was something to do with the fact that nothing was going to matter anymore after he'd kill himself in eleven days time. "I don't know."

"Did Frank do anything?" Kat asked, somehow certain that it was Frank, because something was off with Gerard, and Gerard didn't just change.

Gerard shrugged, "not really, well he did kiss me, but that didn't change anything, really I mean-"

"He kissed you?" Kat's eyes widened, looking Gerard over in disbelief.

Gerard nodded, "yeah, why?"

"He kissed you." Kat repeated, "fuck. That was it - he likes you, it makes sense now, fucking makes sense, so what? Did you kiss him back?"

"No, not at first, because it was a bad idea, but then I let him, because he insisted, and I mean, I wanted to kiss him as well, I think he's lovely, I just know it's a bad idea. And it wasn't particularly spectacular and nothing really came of it, we just continued talking after that."

"So, so, you-" Kat asked, meeting Gerard's eyes, "you like him? So this is a thing? Is it?"

"I like him, but we're not... we're not dating if that's what you mean, fuck, of course we're not dating." Gerard turned away, biting his lip, "I can't date him, that'd only fuck things up further, I already feel like... like shit for kissing him... I shouldn't- I shouldn't have done that to him."

"Done what, Gerard? What do you mean?" Kat continued, stepping closer to their brother, Gerard stepped away.

"Just... just... fucked things up: I'm fucking things up: eternally, perpetually, and it's not going to stop unless I force it to, and that's not happening yet, and I should stop... I should stop fucking with people, but I can't help it-"

"Gerard, please, you're not, you're not..." Kat tried again, stepping closer, "fuck, Gerard, please let me hug you or something."

Gerard shook his head, "it doesn't- it's.... I need to go to sleep. It's two in the morning. I need some sleep. I haven't gotten very much sleep lately, maybe that's why everything's going to shit, just crumbling around me."

"It's not like that-" Kat pleaded.

Gerard shook his head, "stop acting like you know things about me, stop acting like you understand, stop acting altogether. I love you, Kat, but you... you just... you don't understand like you think you do. You don't understand at all."

And with that, Gerard made his way down the corridor and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and laying down in his bed, and of course doing anything but sleeping.

-

Handing in the suicide letters to the police had taken one thing off Lindsey's mind - their response hadn't been exactly phenomenal, but honestly, what else could she have done? It was also evident that it was fucking with Frank to an insane extent, and when it came down to it, she had to put her friends over people she didn't know, as harsh as that might sound.

The other thing, was of course, Pete, who'd been very obviously off with her and well just about everyone, and Ray was too nice to confront him, and Frank was too caught up in his own shit to have the time, so therefore it fell to her to make her way over to Pete's house at two in the afternoon, and to knock on the door and wait outside for a good thirty seconds, however to find no response, and that the door was in fact open.

She shrugged it off, because okay, yeah it was a bad idea, but it was two in the afternoon and the only people who lived on Pete's road were over the age of seventy, so it was highly unlikely they'd be overly keen to come in and assault him, and made her way inside.

Strangely, there didn't seem to be any sign of Pete, downstairs at least, and after she called out his name, if not a little quietly, and found no response, she made her way upstairs, and stood outside his bedroom, wondering if he was still asleep somehow, or maybe even naked or something, and of course whether it was morally right just to walk into his room, and just how much angrier this would inevitably make him.

Eventually, she decided to push all such thoughts aside and just open the door and make her way inside, with one bold movement - perhaps too bold, in fact, perhaps because Lindsey really hadn't accounted for just what had kept Pete so preoccupied up in his bedroom.

The answer was, well, kissing someone, with a low hum of music in the background, which must have masked all of the noise Lindsey had been making, but Lindsey was a little more taken aback by the masculine appearance of the person, who she had assumed to be a boy, who however was not, than the Clash record playing in the background.

"Fuck!" Pete exclaimed, jumping up as he noticed Lindsey's presence: all opened mouthed and wide eyed, struggling to take in and really comprehend just what she'd managed to walk in on. "What the fuck? What? Why are you here? What the fuck, Lindsey?"

She turned to the person still sat rather awkwardly on Pete's bed, before responding; they appeared more apologetic than anything else, with glasses and light brown hair.

"If you don't want people to walk in on you then maybe consider locking your fucking door." Lindsey rolled her eyes, "I needed to talk to you, I mean, something was up, I'm guessing that something is this-"

"Lindsey, please just-" Pete exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Please just what? Leave you the fuck alone? No, you need to talk about your problems, and... your... your fucking... whoever this is," She gestured towards the person sat on the bed, "sorry, I- I'm sorry," she added to them. "This is a sexuality thing, then- fuck, I... I should have known, I-..."

"Stop making bullshit assumptions." Pete interrupted her, his tone somewhat snappy.

"Well, I think sexuality issues is a rather logical conclusion to come to when I walk in on you kissing a boy." She let out a sigh.

"Uhh... I'm not actually a boy," the person on the bed spoke up, "uhh... I...." they blushed, looking down, "I'm gender neutral, I don't know if you know what that is, but it's like, neither a boy or a girl... I... I'm Kat, by the way. And I use they/them pronouns, so it's not like he, it's they." They blushed again, looking up at Lindsey.

"Oh," Lindsey blushed a little too, "sorry, Kat, nice to meet you, awkward situation but, I-"

"Lindsey, please can you just fuck off!" Pete raised his voice more, growing angrier.

"Pete, please," Kat interrupted him, "you know this is how it always fucks up, because you can't come to terms with yourself and people knowing, and don't let it happen again, because I fucking love you, please."

Pete let out a sigh, biting his lip as he met Kat's gaze, "sorry... I... I... just... I'm freaking the fuck out.

"I know you are, and it makes sense too, but Lindsey seems nice." Kat insisted, glancing back up at Lindsey. "She doesn't mind, does she?"

"I don't." She told Pete rather matter of factly, "it's evidently you keeping this a secret that's fucking you up more than anything, and you're not the only queer friend I have, Pete-"

"Wait, what, who?" Pete exclaimed.

"I think there's maybe something about not outing other people that's just basic manners," she narrowed her eyes a little, leaving Pete blushing awkwardly, "so, this... you and... t-them? Is that right, sorry I don't really know how to use they pronouns?"

"Yeah, it's... yeah that's right." Kat blushed a little, nodding. "And yeah, we're dating," they added, before Pete could dig himself into an even deeper hole.

"Yeah," Pete let out a sigh: relieved because this was nowhere near as bad as he had imagined it to be.

"Shall I leave now?" Lindsey asked, laughing a little.

"Yes." Pete insisted: cheeks burning up.

-

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