When Gerard looked at him, every thought was speculation and a lacklustre attempt in predicting how he might react.

He was distracted, to say the least, and he hadn't listened to a single word Frank had said for the last ten minutes, but you had to admit that it was a little difficult just to interact with someone you'd already written a suicide letter addressed to like nothing was wrong.

It wasn't that Gerard wasn't good pretending that nothing was wrong, because if he excelled at anything at all, it was clearly that, but he just couldn't focus upon Frank and not imagine the look upon his face when he'd read that letter, when he'd hear the news, when he'd see the body, when he'd attend the funeral, and first of all when he'd wake up alone on November 1st and go through a house full of people looking for Gerard.

But Gerard wouldn't be there, and Frank would look in the garden and Gerard still wouldn't be there, and Frank would look at the beach, and Gerard still wouldn't be there, and he eventually go to Gerard's house and Gerard wouldn't be there either but what would be was a note on his bed, and Gerard was stricken with Frank's face as he read it over and added everything up and cursed himself for everything he'd missed and began to break down as it really sank in, and that Gerard was gone and there was no changing it now.

And that hurt, that hurt for Gerard who knew this had to be done, and he hurt now because he wouldn't be able to hurt later when Frank was hurting, and he reckoned that he owed Frank that at least, to hurt for him, as a gesture of kindness, of respect - all there was left to do to make this better. All that was left that he could do.

And Frank was so beautiful and he never wished a frown upon that face, and he never wished tears upon those cheeks, not even in his worst nightmares, not even in his wildest dreams, but somethings were just out of Gerard's control, and he had indeed already concluded that this was his final act and it would be for himself and not for the benefit of anyone else.

The last glimpse of selfishness before the lights when out and the tide went in, and the waves swept the world away, because the rain in the clouds became part of the waves, and the tide would one day rain back down again on his face - what goes around comes around, and nothing was ever the end.

Because the earth kept on spinning even as he ceased to breathe, and he could indeed only wish that his body would burn into beautiful ashes and that something could become of whatever remained, because it wasn't existing that Gerard had so many qualms with, it was just existing in this form, existing like this.

Because if he had be born as a bird or a flower or something he reckoned he'd never encounter such an urge to kill himself, now of course, that may just sound logical, calling upon the notion that neither a bird nor a flower really possessed the capacity for the want to kill themselves, but perhaps that was rather the point.

Or perhaps there was little point to anything at all, but what did that indeed matter in the six days he had left?

Gerard's heart seemed to start beating again as Frank reached for his hand a sudden wave of warmth flooded through his veins: a tender kind of love and care alongside his blood and that was what kick-started his heart: hammering in his chest, as the same mixture of love and blood rushed to his cheeks, marking them a less than subtle pink, and continuing to do so as Frank gave Gerard's hand a little squeeze.

The squeeze felt no way little or insignificant to Gerard, however, who felt it like a shockwave: a shockwave of feeling - every nerve in his body suddenly sparking and lighting up, and it was as if everything had been reset and switched on again, and suddenly Gerard was so much less floating away up inside his head like particles of dust: a premonition of the ashes he would become, but the seventeen year old boy called Gerard Arthur Way who stood on the beach close to his house, with Frank Anthony Iero, with his hand in his, and the waves just beside their feet, and a slight odd smell in the air, and a cold October chill about them, and a certain dampness in the air.

And it was only then that Gerard realised that it had been weeks since he'd found himself noticing any of those things. Weeks since he'd really felt like he was indeed inside his body and not disconnected, but tied down, or perhaps chained to it. And it was only moments later, as Gerard found himself focusing upon the sensation of breathing, and the feeling to the movement of his chest and the sensation of cold air against his throat, that he came to understand what had caused this all - what had switched everything on.

Frank's hand. Frank's hand in his.

And Frank stood there: oblivious, without a clue, still speaking - his voice so fucking beautiful but Gerard was far too overwhelmed to take even a single word he was saying.

And Frank remained oblivious, remained thinking that their hands held were just that, and there'd be a November 2nd for Gerard, and Gerard's stomach plummeted, and he then in turn realised he'd somewhat forgotten what that felt like.

He'd spent weeks in this odd kind of dissociated, wasted away state of mind where nothing had mattered, and then suddenly, he stood there, so very alive, and with a hand in his serving as warmth, and with cold air in his throat, and fuck, October was so very cold, and Gerard had been so very oblivious.

And he stood there, scared, scared of what was happening, because perhaps it was easier to just waste away, but he recalled the letter and he found himself hit by his inability in recalling the act of writing it, and the odd kind of fear that had struck in him.

And perhaps it was then that he realised that Frank certainly wasn't a fix it cure to all his problems, but that he most certainly was a help.

And that there was indeed an ever growing part of Gerard that yearned to just break down into tears and tell Frank the whole world, but he knew he couldn't do that; he had been so assured that six days meant nothing and that he couldn't change the course of actions in that time at all, but as he stood there with Frank, he stood there fearful, wide eyed, and alive, because of course, of course he could.

All it took were words.

All it took was to speak, to prevent himself from being buried in eternal silence.

And then Frank turned to him, looking Gerard in the eyes, "are you okay?" He asked: tone inquisitive, and Gerard wasn't sure he could get a single word out in that moment without losing control and breaking down into a flood of tears and just screaming every word of his suicide note right at Frank, right there on that beach as they stood there as the tide came in and seagulls circled overhead like vultures, like they could sense somehow that Gerard was dying.

Gerard held the whole world in that moment, Gerard held the world as he looked up at the seagulls and watched them part, as if his gaze damaged them to some degree. Gerard held the world as he glanced back to Frank and moved his feet slightly, feeling weight in his body, and every movement of his bones: a working, living skeleton. A creation of God or evolution, or perhaps both, or perhaps neither at all.

"Gerard, can you hear me? Are you okay?" Frank asked again, his concern increasing.

And Gerard bit his lip, because of course, he wasn't, fuck, the birds up in the sky knew he wasn't, the sand under his feet knew he wasn't, and so did Frank, Frank just didn't want to admit it to himself, because Frank was an optimist - a fucking optimist with a suicidal boyfriend.

A fucking optimist who imagined even the greyest and darkest of skies in a bright cerulean blue.

And Frank's vision of the world was perhaps even so beautiful fabricated that Gerard didn't even want to poke holes in it, let alone tear it all down, as he inevitably would as words tumbled from his lips, so instead, he met Frank Iero's eyes upon the beach, and squeezed his hand tight, as tight as he could, held back tears and nodded.

And Frank believed him.

Gerard was going to be sick.

Gerard felt physically nauseous, because here he was: a liar, hurting the person who mattered the most, and all of that, Frank fucking believed him like it was nothing at all.

And in that moment, Gerard couldn't quite distinguish as to quite whether he loathed or simply longed for such optimism.

But that moment passed, and he did indeed come to a conclusion.

-

The walk to Frank's house had been dragged out unintentionally, subconsciously, but between the both of them, but much more importantly, never once did they unlink hands through the entirety of the journey there.

And Gerard had agree that if there was something more to life: a certain something that he had been missing, it most certainly was held within the world he took in with his hand in Frank's, however, of course, the inevitable was that Frank would let go of his hand and the light would dim and the world would seem just so unappealing once more.

And Gerard wondered if that was what he needed, to hold onto Frank forever, to literally hold onto Frank for dear life, but that was impractical, and he couldn't physically tie Frank down to him like this, because what was the point in them both living but living a life devoid of meaning and whittled down to never leaving one another's side?

Gerard knew the better option was his death in order to give Frank a chance, because any which way he looked at this; he was the sinking ship and Frank was still on board.

That was the thing about anchors: not only did they grounded you, and kept safe; they also dragged you down to the depths of the ocean. That was the thing about everything: good without bad simply didn't occur.

And Frank let go of Gerard's hand to open his front door, and Gerard seemed to feel his heart plummet right through his chest and right down to the pit of his stomach as he did so.

It was pathetic, really - he was pathetic, really, and he wondered why anyone really cared about him at all.

Because, of course, Gerard didn't care about himself, Gerard cared only for a select few, but then again, still not enough not to break them in the worst way. In all honesty, there was a lack of real connection to the world around Gerard, and perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to drift away like a thousand tiny dust particles.

Gerard found himself tuning back into reality as Frank called out for his mother, reaching then again for Gerard's hand as they stood in the hallway and Frank took his jacket off, and Gerard did little but stand there paralysed: his stomach doing somersaults as he struggled to focus upon one fixed still point before him.

This was him being nervous.

This was caring.

This was something that mattered in the six days he had left alive.

This was Frank's hand in his and the feeling of the pounding of his heart in his chest.

This was him counting his breathing, and Frank telling him that his mum would love him, and Gerard being not so sure, because in all honesty, the notion of someone loving him was indeed foreign: the notion of Frank was something he found himself reluctant to believe in on a daily basis, but still, Frank was so very real and Gerard was so very sure of that. He was sure of something at least.

Kat loved him too, but Kat was his sibling and that was what they were supposed to do. The same went for his mother, even though his mother hadn't shown much in the way of love up until a point. And nothing went for his father anymore, who had made it rather clear now that he was indeed out of the picture, and Gerard found himself okay with that, because it wasn't like he'd spent the rest of his life upset that his father had walked out, because Gerard had so much more to do in the six days which remained.

And then Mrs Iero stood in the doorway to the kitchen: a smile upon her face, and then her eyes widening as they travelled down to meet Gerard and Frank's hands - something Gerard had almost stopped thinking about, but in retrospect he found himself in shock at such a notion, because how could he forget that - forget a single thing about the boy beside him, but in time, in six days' time he'd forget it all as he became dust, physical dust and ashes, a corpse, and nothing.

He'd forget his whole mind.

He'd forget the whole world.

And most importantly, he'd forget the boy beside him.

The beautiful boy beside him who wore a smile in oblivion.

And Gerard suddenly found himself hit by the realisation of forgetting and in turn that nobody knew what it felt like to die. And suddenly Gerard found himself very scared as he stood with Frank's hand in his before Frank's mother who met them with an odd expression before her lips parted.

And Frank's mother looked so much like him. And Gerard wondered if this woman might attend his funeral. And Gerard suddenly regretted ever coming into acquaintance with her, because every person he came into contact with was just another person he was going to hurt.

And he really couldn't keep doing this.

His heart began to burn in his chest, and he let go of Frank's hand, and the whole world fizzled out slightly, and like that time seemed to speed up to normal speed, reverting from the slowed down haze he had found himself sealed within.

"So it's like this." Mrs Iero said, glancing briefly to Gerard, before speaking more directly to her son. "I saw this coming." She smiled a little.

Frank groaned, rolling his eyes a little, "come on, stop, don't be embarrassing, please dear god, don't be embarrassing."

She chuckled a little, before turning to Gerard, "so you're Gerard then? My son's boyfriend?"

Gerard inhaled sharply before nodding.

"No need to be shy." Mrs Iero told him, smiling, "you can call me Linda, by the way."

Gerard bit his lip, opening his mouth and struggling upon the notion of forcing words out. Frank noticed this and took the liberty of speaking for him.

"Sometimes he can't speak, please don't make him." Frank glanced up at his mother, "it's... it's not him being rude, it's him. He does it with me sometimes - I'm used to it, and there was this one time he only talked in French." Frank laughed a little.

Gerard cringed slightly, brushing his hair away from his face, "I..." he stumbled out, looking up at Mrs Iero, "I- I... it's- I'm sorry-"

"It's not your fault, dear, don't worry about it," she assured him with a warm smile: a smile akin to Frank's - a smile full of meaning.

And Gerard shut his mouth that time, because no matter what he said, he was indeed still nothing but sorry, because she cared for him - that was evident, even within a few minutes, and Gerard was so sorry for what she'd face in November, both for herself, and with her son.

And as always, Frank remained horrifically oblivious to the whole ordeal, continuing in conversation with his mother and leaving Gerard to feel like a spirit out of place in their home, because fuck, he didn't belong here at all - he didn't even belong in the world of the living - that was evident, and here he found himself required to make an effort and a good impression, and he felt as if Mrs Iero simply felt sorry for him, when really she should be feeling sorry for her son in regards to the inevitable that would tear him apart in only days now.

But she remained oblivious too: they all did, his own mother in particular, as she had told him the night before that she thought things were really working now, and that she had everything under control, and indeed she'd even gone as far as to promise him that everything was going to be okay, and Gerard, Gerard had just smiled and nodded and tried not to cry.

And tried not to think about how she'd cry at his funeral, because surely it was every mother's worst nightmare to see the coffin with the body of their child in placed six feet underground, but still, there was just nothing Gerard could do about that anymore.

He'd have to explain: to write one hell of a letter to her, and he would, because that was indeed all he could do right now, as there was no place for apology nor explanation, only the end and the embrace of it, as Gerard tried too hard not to think, because when he really started to, that was when he began to change his mind.

And he did indeed fear the notion of that far much more than he could ever fear death: self-induced or otherwise.

-

this is late i know but my laptop broke and is actually still broken i am so sorry i am wrecked tbh having no laptop is literal hell. i lov u guys pls vote and comment :)))