This was a world in which alone was devoid of meaning.

And meaning itself held very little worth, as lines frayed and ink bled and words spewed from lips when they shouldn't.

This was the epitome of aftermath: the stand still, held breath, prolonged eye contact, eyes watering in the need to blink. One moment of baited breath and crossed fingers as the world fell apart.

This was a world in which together was devoid of meaning.

As hearts grew and changed and attraction was momentarily and so permanent at the same time: like ink bleeding and paper tearing away as you scribbled over everything, until there was nothing left, besides inky finger tips, and regret, and a desk.

A seaside view, also, for what it was worth.

Which was indeed so much and so little.

A view he'd see for only eight days now.

And yet he made no particular effort to appreciate it, as he sat at his desk: inky fingers - dark blue, and the remains of paper - several mistakes, forged in solitude in and company all at once, as thoughts danced around his head like people, dancing to a tune he couldn't recognise, one they sang along to, laughed along to - one which dictated the room, and one which outcast him instantly.

Gerard was indeed the outcast in his own mind: forced back against the wall with a cup in his hand: wide eyes as people danced, and the world spun in and out of focus: a scene he soon found himself able to recognise as his aunt's wedding, where he'd found himself outcast and alone, trembling at age fourteen.

A room he hadn't belonged in, and a room that was still on his mind at age seventeen for a reason unbeknownst to him. A reason he didn't particularly care to ponder, because all he could think of then was that the food at his aunt's wedding had been shit, and that Kat had fallen over when playing with the other kids, having been twelve at the time, and cut their knee open and their mother had acted like it was the end of the fucking world.

In that moment, as everyone flocked to a bloody knee and an unfussed twelve year old: eager to just get up again, Gerard had watched his aunt down half a bottle of vodka and smooth down her wedding dress as she made it out of one of the rooms off to the side of the venue. A few minutes later, his other uncle, the one she was not getting married to, stumbled out of the room after her.

And the two had gotten married.

And the next year, he attended his other uncle's wedding, and his aunt had just looked at that man as he said his vows and married another woman, because thirteen was too old to fall over and cut your knee and cause a distraction, and the spare rooms were in use.

The food was better at that wedding, though.

Gerard did wonder what had gone on between them.

And Gerard did wonder why he wondered, because he only saw his extended family at funerals and weddings, and he wouldn't be seeing them again.

He glanced down at his desk, grabbing a new sheet of paper, and wondering whether he should ask Kat to watch the way his other uncle and his aunt looked at each other at his funeral, or if that would be inappropriate, or if they'd even have much of an opportunity of anything anymore, because sixteen was far too old to fall and cause a fuss, and his mother didn't even care that much anymore.

It was okay, though, because what she had done was care too much, this was perhaps the middle ground, and yet something Kat refused to appreciate. Gerard knew they would miss it though, once it was gone, once he was gone, because he knew his mother wouldn't keep it together after he killed himself, and still, this didn't change anything at all.

He wore the title of selfish like a crown in his final days, as he held onto Frank's heart, as they were together, but he was so alone, and in eight days, Frank would be too. And that'd be one hell of a birthday party, fuck, one hell of a birthday present - a bittersweet twist to it all.

And Gerard wouldn't apologise, because he wasn't sure if he was sorry anymore.

He wondered if he should have said something at his aunt's wedding. He wondered if that would have changed the world. He wondered what would have happened if Kat hadn't fallen, if his mother hadn't cared quite so much, and if he'd been able to recognise a single song on the wedding playlist.

He realised what he was condemning himself to: a life of retrospect, over analytic reflection, a self inflicted, self critical hell: obsessing over what he couldn't change, and what he'd witnessed, and the life he'd lived before he'd cope up with the idea of dying.

Because all Gerard had wanted to do before he'd died was live, but it seemed as if he'd never really accomplished such a thing, because it was evident in his over analytic personality that reckless was the last thing he could ever be, and that impulse was unheard of, and that kissing Frank had been all of that - it was wrong, hurting, selfish, and yet, living.

And Gerard hated it, because Frank made him wish he had longer.

And Gerard began to hate Frank, because he should have never put him in such a position, even if of course, unintentional.

And Gerard began to hate himself, because he should have never hated Frank.

And Gerard began to hate the world for getting him into such a mess.

And all he had to say for himself was seventeen years of mistakes and standing in the corner of rooms on his own, and dark blue ink smudged against pale skin, and what was something like the seventeenth draft, and indeed a failed one at that.

Because there was no easy way to go about this.

Because there was no way make himself sound sorry, there was no sympathy, there was no regret, he was in anything but the right mind to write these letters, these concocted apologies, but he was in anything but the right mind to begin with.

Perhaps the last thing he owed the world was honesty.

Or perhaps the last thing he owed the world was honesty.

-

It was a certainty.

He didn't think he was in love with them anymore.

He was certain of it.

As they stood there.

Cliff top.

Hand in hand.

Rainstorm: gentle, cooling.

Smiling.

Together.

And yet so alone.

The world was indeed vast and terrifying, but in that little patch of existence they were okay: hand in hand, in love and okay, and breathing, alive, laughing, smiling, talking: just exchanging words, exchanging breaths as hearts beat in time and lips met and the world began to spin, and Kat wondered if Pete was going to send them falling off that cliff, because this was all making them dizzy.

The good kind of dizzy.

A kind of dizzy that Kat found themself unaccustomed to, but a dizzy they welcomed: a dizzy they welcomed with Pete, because this time it really felt like it would work out, and they still be in hand in perhaps a years time, but of course, what Kat didn't know was that although they and Pete may be still together, they wouldn't have a brother anymore come next October.

Unbeknownst to Kat, they'd be attending a funeral next week. They didn't even own anything vaguely smart and/or formal. They'd burn the one suit their parents had bought them on a bonfire that summer in some sort of stance against gender norms, and it really had made their world. But of course, a suit meant very little in the scheme of things.

They were in love, and they were about to lose the most important person in the whole fucking world, and they were so clueless, so oblivious, and so happy, because finally, things were all about to work out, until suddenly things were destined to topple over into the world's worst kind of chaos: something that'd surely dismantle everything completely.

And Kat didn't know, but they should treasure these days, this happiness, this love: this cliff top, and the rain, because it all be worth so little in a week or so's time. Everything would mean so little and yet so much, and they weren't ready, and they could never be ready, because no one was supposed to die at age seventeen.

Because he'd never even reach adulthood. He'd die young. He'd die as a child. He'd die as a virgin. He'd die in high school. He'd die before he even knew what living was.

And Kat would come to realise that all in time, and hate it, and wish and look back, that in that moment they were not kissing their boyfriend on a cliff top but back home and in their brother's room, noticing the suicide notes and the pills, and the noose in his cupboard, and the hell he'd made out of the world around him, and they'd wish that they could have just known, let alone tried to put it right.

Because he shouldn't go out that way.

But he would.

Gerard was determined. Gerard was deadset, and stubborn, like Kat, but quietly so, unlike them.

Gerard was stubborn with himself, and Kat was stubborn with the world. Bitter too.

Kat was simply a concoction of bad character traits, and still, they were loved, and still they were happy.

And Gerard who'd never done anything to hurt anyone since a few days ago, was anything but happy.

And there was something just not right about that.

And perhaps Kat might have picked up upon it if they weren't so infatuated with Pete, if they were at home right now, and if they just walked into their brother's room, because that's all it would have taken, and yet that was too much.

Kat felt odd pang of guilt in their chest: unable to source or distinguish it, simply looking across at Pete as the two sat in the rain, watching the water come over the horizon and the sky fade out into a darker shade of blue.

"Something's wrong." They said, unable to stop themself before the words slipped out.

Pete glanced at them: a little confused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." Kat pulled their gaze up to meet Pete's, "I don't know, but I just feel it," they moved their hand up to their chest, "right here."

"You have any idea what it could be?" Pete offered after a moment - unsure what to say in all honesty.

Kat shrugged, "there's a million things it could be. I don't know. I just... it feels... strong. It feels real. It feels real."

"I don't know what to say, I'm sorry. I don't know what to do." Pete told them, pulling an arm around them.

"I'm not expecting you to." Kat let out a sigh, "I just... I don't know.... I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. It's probably nothing. Your head just fucks up like that sometimes, you feel things for no reason, or something like that?"

Pete shrugged, "I guess. I don't know, honestly, I'm hardly a psychologist."

"Neither am I." Kat told him, "I'll say it's nothing unless there's anything that tells me otherwise."

"Yeah, I mean, sometimes we just get paranoid about nothing," Pete continued, "like... people who love you for you reacting badly to your sexuality," he laughed a little, "that was me being paranoid. Also Lindsey being an amazing friend."

Kat nodded, "yeah, she's nice." They paused. "I like her. I really think I do."

"That's good," Pete smiled, "I was scared you'd hate my friends, honestly. I don't know why. Perhaps me being paranoid again, but... I don't know. I care a lot about what you think, and then a lot about what they think and then things going well with Lindsey is the best thing that could have happened."

"If all your friends are like her then it'll be fine."

"They're similar but not... I don't know, Ray's less strong willed, he's more chill, but he's really nice, really caring. He's got this massive afro and the only time he'll ever yell at anyone is if you touch it." Kat laughed a little at that, liking the sound of him already. "And then there's Frank, and Frank's a bit... I don't know, he's kind of I don't know, secretive, and he always drinks too much at parties and never pays attention in school, but he's a really nice and funny guy. Genuinely lovely."

Kat nodded, "I know someone called Frank too. Genuine and lovely. But I'm jealous of him, and it's horrible, and all because Gerard likes him more than he likes me."

Pete shook his head, "I'm sure that isn't true. Gerard loves you. He'd never pick this guy over you. He'd never leave you alone. Ever."

"You think?"

"I'm certain."

-

And Gerard swore that with the knock upon his window, he practically had a heart attack.

With pen not yet to paper, and words circling above his head like vultures - never quite reaching him and serving a sole purpose of taunting him, as they refused to be placed into sentences upon paper: a last testament to the hell he'd served upon planet earth, in a seaside town, with his head in the clouds, and every late night, and every fight he'd over heard, and everything he'd always known but never told anyone.

His eyes widened a little as he looked up and caught sight of Frank: wide smile and bright eyes - so much love and so much joy and all soon to be shattered, and Gerard knew he found himself somewhat infatuated with the kind of power that held, to finally feel powerful in a life full of weakness and meaning nothing to no one.

And then there was Frank who changed that all completely. And then there was Frank climbing through his bedroom window at ten at night as Gerard hastily throw lackluster letter writing attempts into his draw and shut it, throwing his pen to the side and getting up from desk, and hoping Frank wouldn't find the need to fixate upon it and just what he'd been doing there.

But thankfully, the thing with Frank was that he didn't ask the kind of questions he knew Gerard wouldn't answer, and more importantly, wouldn't want to answer, and perhaps that was why Gerard let him climb into his bedroom through the window at ten pm.

Frank seemed to break every kind of rule and promise Gerard had made for and with himself, and Gerard didn't seem to mind that as much as he thought he would, because although Frank was a beautiful person, he was going to ruin him in just over a week, but then, finally, it'd be okay for him.

And he reckoned, that in time, with contemplation, and a sufficient explanation in blue ink upon paper, Frank might come to appreciate or at least pretend to understand why Gerard had to do what he did, because if there was anyone willing to make sense of him, it was Frank.

"Your window is a bitch to get through." Frank commented, stumbling a little as he attempted to close it behind him.

Gerard let out an awkward kind of breath that somehow represented his amusement and masqueraded as a half hearted kind of laugh... thing. There just weren't any words - any words in his head at all.

"It's worth it though," Frank smiled a little, making his way over to Gerard, "can I..." He stopped himself, meeting his eyes, "kiss you or something?"

Gerard bit his lip.

The answer was no.

The look in Frank's eyes asked yes of him.

And Gerard didn't want to hurt him.

"Or just a hug?" Frank noticed, because Frank could read him when it came to the small things, but when it came to his set in stone plans to kill himself at the end of the month, Frank was, of course, clueless.

"Yeah..." Gerard blushed, brushing his hair away from his face. "Just a hug."

Frank nodded, not understanding entirely but appreciating Gerard and his right to say no, and his right to not be uncomfortable. "That's okay." He pulled Gerard into his arms, running his hands up his back into the taller boy's hair. "You okay today?" He asked, still holding Gerard tight.

"Y-yeah." Gerard told him, like he hadn't just been writing his suicide notes before he came in.

"Good, I don't like it when you're upset," Frank told him, pulling away and going to sit down on his bed, Gerard watching as his eyes travelled across the room, and focusing on the polaroids upon the wall and the muted tones in the furniture, and not on the cupboards and drawers in which his suicide notes, pills, and things were hidden away in, because it was all, and had always been right under everyone's noses, and he knew that Frank would hate that more than anything come November, but this was him living with that guilt, because it wasn't like he had to live with it particularly long anyway.

"And how are you?" Gerard found himself asking, finally pulling his gaze away from the cupboards and sitting down beside Frank on the bed: his bed, his room, his boyfriend, and yet all things that meant so very little to him.

"I might come out to my mum." Frank told him, because despite being an emotion, it was really everything on his mind, "I think it'll be okay. I don't think hiding it all's good for me. And it's not always easy to do what's 'good' for you', but I think I have to try. And I don't know... so... like... this... of course you can say no, but like... do you want to meet my mum?"

Gerard was frozen for a moment, eyes widened, and focused upon Frank, and the last few days he had left of his life, and how that was hardly enough time for anything to really go wrong. "S-sure."

-

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