Alicia had been right, and Mikey hated to admit it, but he was getting better and perhaps the secret really was in looking at things differently and just talking to people, which of course, made his heart sink for Patrick, who, as he'd heard, didn't talk at all anymore.

It had started with Alicia, and with another late night by the canal where he said everything and anything and still not nothing, but it was better, and Mikey felt okay and he didn't hate himself for it: either he was making progress, recovering, or Alicia Simmons was hypnotising him somehow, and this time not with her ass.

Mikey even ended up apologising for everyday he thought of her as nothing more than an ass to stare at and a girl to seek after, because she was so much more, and she would always be so much more than Mikey, because Mikey Way was all fucking hate and ignorance, whereas she was love and understanding, yet still more than prepared to call you out on your shit if it was necessary.

But, of course, Alicia was nowhere near perfect, and neither was Mikey, and if he could rank hopes for himself in a similar range to his hopes for Alicia Simmons, then maybe, just maybe, he'd make it out of high school alive.

Ray and Mikey sat in silence at first: words were secondary after just accepting each other's presence, which had been in a terrible abundance recently, and it was taking a toll upon the both of them, and Ray couldn't help but think back to when everything was just simple and okay and all about Mikey Way trying to impress the girl that he'd end up cheating on.

It was really quite funny how things turned out.

Ray wondered if in a few months he'd find himself looking back on this: him and Mikey talking again after too long, and in consequence, he came to wonder just how he'd remember it, and in turn, just how things would end up and just what he'd become.

He hated not knowing, especially when smacked in the face with a reminder of his naivety. This time, Ray wanted things to go well, and he didn't want to be worried about Mikey doing just what Pete did, and he definitely didn't want to attend a funeral for the second time this month.

But it was just what he said now and just what he did in this very moment that would determine this whole future: his words quite literally would change everything, and to say that such a realisation overwhelmed Ray was nothing more than the world's biggest understatement.

But it was okay, and he was okay, and it was nothing more than a matter of inhale, exhale, and repeat, flashing a smile at Mikey and breaking the silence that seemed adamant upon lingering for far longer than necessary.

Ray stopped for a moment, following Mikey's gaze out onto the water of the canal: watching the reflections as the corners of his lips twitched with the wavering presence of a smile.

It was okay, and he was going to make it okay, because phone calls that never got answered just weren't and never would be enough: he wasn't trying, not really, and that was exactly what was going to ruin Mikey.

Alicia had tried, Alicia always fucking tried, and perhaps that was the only reason Mikey Way was sat out here with Ray tonight and not in his bedroom with his favourite box of sharp objects.

"I love you." And the words tumbled out at once: with both too much and too little thought, and Mikey reacted before Ray could even really come accept just what had happened and just how the line between his words and his thoughts had chosen now to snap.

This was definitely something that would matter in the future, and still, Ray was hesitant to believe that those three fucking words had just slipped his lips because his head was spinning like hell as Mikey's lips parted into a simple 'o' shape: a response worth fucking nothing for the three most important words, well, in the mind of a romantic, and neither Ray nor Mikey would consider themselves as such.

"That wasn't intentional: I didn't mean to say that, sorry." Soon the apology caught up with Ray's heart: beating too fast for his head to cope with. But, of course, the denial never came, because Ray Toro wasn't a liar, and maybe, just maybe, that'd be exactly what would curse this memory, and just maybe that would be exactly what would cause Ray's heart to stop as he looked back upon this memory in a few months time.

And just like that, with Mikey's sombre gaze, he came to realise that this was a repeat of a disaster situation: this was Patrick and Pete all over again, and Ray wasn't going to let that happen - he was adamant this time, and that was for certain.

"Say something, Mikey. I'm sorry, I messed up, but please just say something." Ray's words: once strong and comforting, turned into nothing more than a beg and a plead. "Say something, make this okay, because I'm trying too hard to make you okay, and I'd accomplished nothing, I've only messed it up, and I-"

"This is Pete and Patrick all over again." Mikey sighed out: filling the silence with the fact that Ray could never quite bring himself to accept.

"I know." Ray choked out, soon to correct himself. "I didn't plan, I just- I... it came out the wrong way, in fact, it was never supposed to come out at all... I was never supposed to come out at all..." Mikey chuckled a little at that, meeting Ray's gaze and smiling, which left Ray at the point of insanity where he considered flinging himself into the sun to be a viable solution to this dilemma.

"You know what? I'm not Pete, and you're not Patrick, and I don't have to kill myself and you don't have to reserve yourself to silence, and this doesn't have to fail... maybe this can work, Ray. I don't know, I haven't even thought about this, but I feel like I owe this to someone, a situation that'll work. But, I’m scared, Ray, I’m so fucking scared – I need to think, but I care. I love you, Ray Toro.”

"Jesus, what did Alicia say to you? And do you think I can hire her to convince my parents that the porn they found under my bed was most definitely the dog's fault?"

Mikey just laughed aloud, leaning closer to his best friend. "Ray, your dog isn't and never will be a porn addict."

"Don't crush his dreams." Ray fake pouted, and the two smiled, because maybe, just maybe, everything was alright.

And maybe this was the end of something, but the start of something new, but most of all, a situation that ensured Alicia Simmons warranted a lifetime of allegiance in return.

-

Frank felt ignored, and not just by the narrative but by his boyfriend, which was mainly due to the fact that, unbeknownst to him, his boyfriend had fucked two other guys in the past week, and one of them being Frank's new found step-dad, and the other, well, that was just an awkward situation waiting to happen when they inevitably became acquainted.

But poor little Frank Iero, in his naivety and belief that he'd fucked up and Gerard was ignoring him on that kind of basis, curled up in his bedroom and lost himself in texting Jamia, who seem to be entirely over excited about something involving Brendon Urie.

Which was a first, to say the least.

And then before Frank knew it, his asshole of a best friend was calling him and she was screaming directly into his eardrums, which woke the teenager up, at the very least, but motivate him to sort his train wreck of a life out? No fucking chance.

"Basically, Brendon's going to be my fake boyfriend for my mum and I'm going to torture him as much as possible and it's literally going to be the best thing ever!" Needless to say, Jamia's moral compass was slightly off centre, she wasn't the antichrist per se, but you know, chaotic neutral.

"I thought I was your fake boyfriend." Frank groaned, falling back against the mattress and pouting, despite the fact that Jamia clearly wasn't going to appreciate such a gesture from over the phone, but then again, it was so ridiculously shit, that she really wasn't missing out on much: Frank was tired, okay.

"Yeah, but now you have an actual boyfriend and I'm sure you'd be too busy fucking him to possibly fit dinner with my parents into your incredibly busy schedule." Frank sighed out, as he hated to admit that the truth lay within nothing more than the utter contrary.

"Brendon has a boyfriend too." Frank pointed out, avoiding the truth between him and Gee, mainly just because he still could and there was no way around the fact that Frank was a fucking idiot when it came to relationships.

"Yeah, well not for that much longer, really - he's cheating on Ryan." Jamia sighed out, catching Frank entirely by surprise.

"What the fuck? He's practically head over heels for Ryan? Seriously what the fuck?" Frank exclaimed, utterly horrified, but glad, because although him and Gee weren't exactly fantastic right now, he knew like hell that Gee would never cheat on him.

"With a girl as well. Sarah from my band, you know-"

"With the fucking ridiculous surname, like fuck me if I can even remember that, I wouldn't be surprised if she has to copy and paste her own last name." Frank exclaimed, still wide eyed as he finally began to throw it into perspective. "So, are you like going to tell Ryan about this or what? How did you even find out?"

"Sarah invited him as date to band practice, so yeah, I'm just going to blackmail and generally emotional manipulate him for a bit because I feel like fuckboys need to be exploited. Don't tell me that's morally wrong, Iero, he's fucking cheating on Ryan who like loves him until the end of time, and looks at him like they should get married." Jamia groaned and Frank just shook his head to himself, knowing that there was no stopping Jamia.

"I haven't spoken to Gee in like a week, Jamia. It's weird, I think I fucked up, I just... I don't know... nothing major happened..." Frank sighed out, the truth coming toppling out before he could stop himself and even consider getting the slightest grip upon reality.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Frank, why are everyone else having severe relationship issues every five seconds, Lindsey and I are and have been just fine since we got together, seriously." Jamia sighed out, edging dangerously close to the four wall, not that there's all that much left of it at this point.

"Jamia... just sort my shit out for me? Get Lindsey to talk to him for me or something... I-"

"Just fucking call him you piece of shit, Frank." She exhaled, overreacting just a like, maybe, but due to the fact that Frank was being nothing short of a fucking idiot, maybe it was called for.

"He hasn't answered my texts and I'm scared, Jamia, I-" But of course, Jamia wasn't taking any shit at all, ever, especially not from fuckboys with first world problems.

"Grow a pair and call him." And with that, Jamia hung up, leaving the seventeen year old staring at his contacts list and the one he'd avoided for the past week, and through no fault other than his own.

He sighed out, preparing himself for the worst, because Jamia was usually right, and she'd probably slap him if he didn't take her world class advice, and so for the fear of being bitchslapped by Jamia Nestor, Frank pressed the 'call' button on his Gee's contact.

And waited.

Dial tones for too long: forever, almost, until the dial tones stopped, because they did stop, like everything, like the whole fucking world, they stopped, and nothing scared Frank quite like that - the ending of everything.

The inevitable ending of him and Gee, because whether it be 'death do us part' or 'fuck you I hate your guts', it was inevitable nonetheless.

But the dial tones didn't end to reveal Gee's voice; it was just answer machines and empty hearts for Frank Iero.

But as he rolled out of bed with the intention of making his way across down in search of the motherfucker in a miniskirt that he'd endured the curse of falling in love with, he came to realise that eventually, either him or Gee was going to have to grow the balls to sort out this shit, and as Gee frequented miniskirts and far too much makeup, Frank wasn't entirely surprised to discover that the responsibility fell upon him.

-

But of course, not everything worked quite as well in reality as it did in theory, and going other to Gee's house was definitely pretty high up on that list, and largely due to the fact that the bungalow also belonged to none other than Bert McCracken.

Who was quite amusingly, technically Frank's step-dad right now.

And really, this could be a family visit and not just a rather ballsy attempt at stepping up to face reality on Frank's part.

But, of course, this was nothing more than the result of Jamia Nestor’s scarily effective blackmail methods, as Frank took absolutely no pleasure in lingering awkwardly at the front door to the bungalow as he forced himself to admit that there was most definitely a problem with the fact that he hadn’t spoken to his asshole of a boyfriend in just about a week now.

Needless to say, Frank didn’t particularly enjoy seeing none other than Bert McCracken, his ‘technical step-dad’ as the door to his boyfriend’s house finally opened after what seemed like hours of ringing the goddamn doorbell.

The phrase ‘technical step-dad’ being used due to the fact that Frank downright refused to admit that Bert McCracken was in anyway at all part of his family – it wasn’t like his mum’s relationships actually lasted any amount of time either.

“I presume you’re looking for that whore you call your boyfriend.” Bert broke the silence after he’d spent entirely too long glaring at the seventeen year old on his doorstep, which, needless to say, wasn’t exactly the most welcoming of gestures, but then again, Bert McCracken wasn’t exactly the most welcoming of people.

And although Frank had come to accept that, he could never quite figure out just how on earth Gee actually put up with this asshole, but then again, Frank put up with Mikey, and that was before he came to the realisation that being a homophobic asshole wasn’t exactly the best life choice for a flaming homosexual like himself.

“Yeah.” Frank sighed out, deciding it best to just ignoring the whole ‘whore’ comment, as it was with just about everything Bert said. But of course, the only time in which Frank could actually disregard Bert’s words completely just happened to be the only time that what Bert had to say would actually matter in the slightest.

“Well, he’s not home right now, but he should be coming back soon, pretty soon, I guess – I just texted him. You can wait inside if you want.” Bert stepped aside, awkwardly gesturing the seventeen year old into his home in the least pedophilic manner he could muster, and really, he just had to commend himself on just how much of a fantastic job he was doing.

“O-okay…” Frank stuttered out, forcing himself inside and into the living room with the intentions of just waiting it out in the silence of his own company: whether it be minutes or hours until Gee returned home.

But as Bert joined him, sitting down on the opposite sofa with a rather questionable gaze, Frank came to accept that there was no chance in hell that Bert was going to let him actually enjoy his own privacy, and had decided that glaring at him like he’d take pleasure in watching his body burn would make everyone’s lives one hundred percent better.

“You have absolutely no fucking idea, do you?” Bert let a chuckle slip between his lips as he pulled his stare up to meet Frank’s gaze: confused and more than a little uncomfortable. “I know you don’t, I know him: he’s being a fucking asshole about this and you’re just absolutely clueless. You don’t even know where he is or what he’s done.”

“Okay…” Frank sighed out, choosing to ignore Bert’s ramblings for the second time, in what was probably his second bad decision. But then a thought hit the teenager like a fucking bullet train, causing his attention to snap to the older man within instants. “Where is he?”

“Fuck me if I know.” Frank decided that he most certainly would not taken him up upon that offer. “I took him to a party three days ago and I haven’t seen him since.”

And it was just those fucking words that finally grabbed Frank’s composure by the wrists and held it above an open fire, burning it away until there was nothing left, and poor Frank Iero was left in Bert McCracken’s living room, significantly more uncomfortable than he was just a few moments prior.

“Fantastic.”

“I texted him though, so I know he’s alive at the very least.” Bert added with the kind of grin that Frank had the urge to punch right off his fucking face. “Should be home any moment right now, in fact.”

And as if on cue, the front door burst open: a bang resonating throughout the house as it swung back on its hinges and against the hallway as a slightly drunk, slightly high, slightly confused, slightly guilty, slightly fucked Gee Way made his way into the bungalow.

“Nice to see you, asshole. How’s it been? Shame you didn’t send me a postcard, huh?” Bert called through into the hallway, grabbing Gee’s attention, and leaving Frank to hold his breath as the twenty five year old made his way into the living room, gasping aloud as his eyes met with Frank’s.

“What the fuck are you doing with my boyfriend?” Gee exclaimed, eyes widened as he made exaggerated gestures at the two of them.

“What the fuck have you been doing the past three days? That’s what he was here for – how about you enlighten him?” Bert suggested, watching through narrowed eyes as the twenty five year old sat down beside his boyfriend, letting his head fall down into Frank’s lap as he grinned up at the teenager.

“Hi.” Gee exhaled, smiling like a fucking idiot, and really, whilst Gee was being that cute, he was having a fucking goddamn hard time when it came to actually being angry with him.

“Yeah, that’s what you are, high.” Frank sighed out, taking note of his boyfriend’s reddening eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” His tone was gentle yet concerned, and really, Bert couldn’t help but be disappointed at the obvious lack of conflict here; he’d only invited Frank in for his own amusement when arguments eventually broke out.

“At a party.” Gee let out a giggle: a stupid fucking giggle – the kind that ensured that Frank couldn’t even consider being pissed off at him.

“For three days?” Frank exclaimed, raising his eyebrows as he did so, meeting his boyfriend’s gaze with nothing other than downright disbelief.

“It was a good party.” Gee assured him, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Sure… okay.” Frank sighed out: utterly clueless as to how to react, and to the point that he was looking up at Bert for help.

“For fuck’s sake, look, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Gee’s been cheating on you. Yeah, despite how fucking drunk you are, you should still always check just who you’re texting.” And with that, Bert got up, making his way to the door, only stopping to throw the final grenade into the rubble.

“I think you should do your boyfriend the honour of enlightening him as to just who ‘Dallon’ is, don’t you think, Gee?”

-

This was most definitely the worst situation Brendon Urie had ever found himself blackmailed into. Assuming for the majority of his life that he was in fact a gay dude, he never really prepared for an awkward meal with a girl's parents, and especially not when he was faking it and was only blackmailed into the situation, and as if that wasn't enough, he basically had to look like an asshole here for Jamia to be satisfied enough not to ruin his life, at least for the time being.

Associating with Jamia Nestor was the worst decision Brendon Urie had ever made.

Perhaps even worse than cheating on his boyfriend in the first place, but he reckoned it was just for the better if he didn't think about that right now, and really, as Jamia opened her front door and Brendon was thrown headfirst into what would be the worst dinner of his life, he didn't have a single fucking moment to ponder and mourn over the loss of his faithfulness.

He was an asshole: just about the whole world had come to accept that by now, and if Ryan had, well, then maybe he deserved this - a wake up call of some sort.

But he didn't - Brendon knew he didn't, and it fucking hurt, almost as much as the fact that he was lying to Ryan again now: he didn't want Brendon to do this 'favour' for Jamia, and of course, it wasn't like Brendon could exactly just explain as to why this certain favour was so important.

"You took your time." Jamia remarked, raising her eyebrows as she ushered Brendon inside, leaving the seventeen year old to consider the easiest way to kill himself with only the objects he had at hand in Jamia Nestor's living room, as she left him, presumably to go find her mum or something, and really, things could only get tragically worse.

And he just wished he had someone text throughout this experience for moral support, but unfortunately, this just wasn't the kind of situation that he could get away with explaining to either Ryan or Sarah, and besides the two of them, Brendon was just about fucked when it came to people that actually liked him.

"So mum..." Brendon was pulled from his thoughts with something close to a heart attack when Jamia returned with the woman Brendon assumed to be her mother. "This is Brendon." She gestured towards the awkward fuckboy in her living room, glaring as Brendon forced himself to smile and string together some sort of half-hearted yet vaguely acceptable introduction.

"Hi, uhh... nice to meet you and sh- stuff... I'm Brendon... h-hello." Yeah, this wasn't going well.

And to add to Brendon's self-confidence, Jamia mimed shooting herself from behind her mother, who had just about stopped dead in the middle of the living room, just glaring at Brendon like he was the scum of the fucking universe, and by Jamia's standards, he kind of was.

"Brendon." Jamia's mother finally spoke from behind her gritted teeth and painfully forced expression. "Nice to meet you too. Lunch is just about ready, I'll just finish serving up." And Brendon had to physically stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief as Mrs Nestor left for the kitchen, but of course, he still wasn't at all safe, as this left Jamia to torture and blackmail him as much as she damn well pleased.

Fuck Brendon's life basically.

"Come on then, 'boyfriend', don't fuck this up... well, not more than you're supposed to." Jamia unexpectedly grabbed him by the wrist, and rather forcefully too, dragging her fake boyfriend into the dining room, in which Brendon received the absolute honour of meeting Mr Nestor.

The copy of 'The Sun' newspaper he was reading said it all.

"This is your boyfriend, Jamia?" He looked up to meet Brendon's gaze, almost as if he was personally offended by his existence, and Brendon would have to say that the feeling was mutual.

"Yeah, this is Brendon." She sighed out, forcing back every little snide remark about how she was a raging homosexual, but this was worth it just to watch Brendon suffer. "Brendon, this is my dad."

"Hello." Brendon forced an awkward smile, and Mr Nestor sent him back a glare that roughly translated as 'speak to me again and I'll punch you in the face', and really, he wasn't taking any chances, especially ones that would lead him having to lie about just how he got a black eye to two different people, who would probably both punch him again once they realised it was bullshit, and then he'd have yet more bruises to explain.

Luckily, dinner was served and Brendon was sat awkwardly beside Jamia before Mr Nestor had the chance to punch him in the face, so Brendon would make it out of the house without a black eye, at the very least, by the looks of it.

"So, how did the two of you meet?" Mrs Nestor was soon ready to start with the world's worst 'meal with their parents' questions, which were only worsened by about one hundred percent as Brendon came to realise that Jamia was going to use these as an opportunity to make sure Brendon looked like the world's biggest fucking asshole.

"Oh, just at the skate park." She explained with a smile. The statement itself was relatively normal, but the meaning behind it was not.

"The one with all the drug crime?" Mr Nestor exclaimed, glaring in Brendon's direction, and immediately ignoring the fact that Jamia was far more involved with the drug scene than Brendon would ever be.

Nicotine, although in excess, was just enough for Brendon, whereas Jamia wouldn't be happy with just about everything she could ever possibly fathom getting her hands on.

"Yes." Jamia continued, smiling innocently yet with conviction.

"Oh." Mrs Nestor sighed out, turning back to her potatoes.

"How do you feel about the homosexuals, Brendon?" Mr Nestor asked, making sure it sounded like some sort of Irish folk band.

And really, this was just the icing on the fucking cake.

"T-the homosexuals?" Brendon choked out, glancing at Jamia who couldn't help but bite back a smirk as she came to realise that her parents were the only straight people there at all.

"Yes, they're corrupting the youth. Do you associate with any homosexuals, Brendon?" Mr Nestor asked in a voice all too professional, and really, it was just moments before Jamia burst out in a fit of laughter.

"Uhh... no?"

"What about Ryan? He's a homosexual, isn't he, Brendon? Doesn't he have a boyfriend, or has that boyfriend cheated on him, Brendon?" Jamia spoke up, glaring at the seventeen year old.

"Who's Ryan?"

"Ryan's my-"

"Ryan was his boyfriend, you see." Jamia added, grinning on innocently like the world's biggest bitch.

"A homosexual? In my house?" Mr Nestor exclaimed, standing up, leaving Brendon to just about die on the spot.

And let's just say that Brendon Urie did not make it out of that house without a black eye, courtesy of Mr Nestor.

-

Ray's dog died.

Ray's fucking dog died.

Hit by a car on the streets of fucking suburbia at approximately eight am on a Saturday, and that was really not what the teenager wanted to wake up to on the only day he was actually allowed to enjoy: weekdays being consumed by the great fearsome monster that was high school, and Sundays devoted to church services and excessive praying.

But no, Ray's fucking dog just could not wait one more day, could he?

It had to be fucking Saturday, and the fucking car had to drive away before Ray could even blame him, because Ray needed that right now: he needed someone to blame, he needed the whole world to blame, just so he could feel okay.

It was selfish, but whatever - Ray was allowed to be selfish, his fucking dog just died.

The funeral was lacklustre: a bottom of the garden, black binbag ordeal that was over before it had even begun, and performed entirely by Mr Toro, who'd never liked the dog in the first place, and showed nothing but reluctance throughout the whole thing, and Ray fucking hated that.

So he blamed his dad, and he only glared when he tried to coax Ray back inside afterwards - Ray was adamant upon standing at the bottom of his garden, gaze fixated upon the little patch of upturned dirt and realising he'd never see that fucking dog again.

It was over all too soon, and it was over before Ray even knew it had happened: unfair, to say the least, and cruel to say it all. If God allowed this to happen, he was an asshole in Ray's opinion.

He spent a good twenty minutes just stood at the bottom of his garden, staring at the mediocre and generally inadequate burial that his dog had received, and generally being really pissed off with authority, because this wasn't fair.

His dog did not deserve to die.

It was a fucking cruel world, and before Ray even knew what was happening, he was barging out of the front gate and out into the street: still in sweatpants and a shirt from like two years ago, but whatever, his fucking dog died - if you hadn't quite caught onto that already.

It was the road just outside his house: suburban and quiet, and with houses on one side and a park on the other - not a dog park though. Don't talk about the dog park.

And yet, the perfect picture of suburbia and happy little families living the luxury of upper middle class had only become a graveyard for Ray Toro's fucking dog. There was something deeply metaphorical and just deep about this, but Ray hadn't quite thought of it yet.

The teenager made his way across the road, with better luck than his dog, having made it across and to the park across the road without even a scratch, which really wasn't the case with the body in the backyard that was once a living breathing creature - something Ray had loved and something he still did.

Death was fucked up.

Death was unfair.

But it happened, and acceptance was almost impossible yet necessary, and that fucking sucked too.

Ray soon reached the playground, sitting down on a swing, and really just thinking himself lucky for the fact that no one else was here to bother him and fuck with his head.

It was like half eight on a Saturday - the rest of the whole fucking world were in bed, and really, the same should have gone for Ray, but things fucked up, and the whole world fell apart.

He felt like Mikey, and of course there was a lot of difference between a dog and a boyfriend, or at least you would hope so, but he still felt fucking empty, and he really wanted to punch someone, but there was no one to hand, let alone someone that wouldn't punch him back twice as hard.

"Ray?" The teenager jumped at the sound of his name, his eyes only widening as he watched Mikey crawl out from under the slide at the opposite end of the playground.

"Mikey, what the hell? What the ever-loving fuck are you doing?" Ray asked: one million thoughts whizzing around his head all at once, as his eyes practically popped out of their sockets as they followed Mikey to the swing beside Ray.

"I got drunk last night." Mikey sighed out, offering a simple explanation but one that Ray would accept nonetheless. "Ended up here, I guess." But there was a certain sadness to his voice, and perhaps it would have been something that Ray would have picked up on if he wasn't already far too preoccupied with his dog to even consider the existence of another human being.

"My dog died." Ray spoke aloud, and somehow, just somehow, that seemed to make it so much worse, so much more real, more real than the funeral had done: it was pathetic and fake, almost like this was all pretend, and Ray even began to wonder whether his dog's body was actually in the binbag or whether his dad had thrown it straight into the skip down the road.

"That sucks." Mikey sighed out, unsure as to just what he could say: Ray fucking loved his dog.

"Yeah. He got hit by a car like half a fucking hour ago and it doesn't feel real. My dad buried him in the garden but it doesn't feel enough - it feels shitty and it feels fake and I really want to punch someone in the face, and I fucking, I fucking hate this."

"Death does that: sort of numbs everything out - nothing feels at all real in comparison, and fuck, it's fucked up, Ray, but don't get as fucked up as I am. I don't want that for you: you're amazing and you don't deserve to be sad. We could go and spend today together if it makes you feel better, we could like-"

"I don't care, Mikey. It's just- I feel nothing, and I don't want to move, I just want to punch someone, I just want to feel something. It's just empty and-"

Mikey stood up, meeting Ray's gaze with a raise of an eyebrow, gesturing for Ray to get up too: he did without question.

"Punch me."

Mikey was far too calm and far too relaxed: he didn't care, but he did, and Ray's head was spinning at a thousand miles an hour as he came to accept the fact that he just couldn't punch Mikey Way, no matter if he wanted to or not.

"No." He shook his head: adamant in refusal.

"Why?"

"Doesn't make it better by hurting you." Ray shrugged it off, his gaze hitting the floor.

"I thought you wanted to feel something."

"I do." Ray sighed out, shaking his head. "But just not like that."

And then, before either boy knew what was happening, Mikey was kissing him, and the fucked up suburbia around them seemed to fade out into nothing with the simple connection of their lips.

It was so simple, and yet so complicated, but the moment was now: eight forty five on a Saturday morning, Ray's dog was dead, and Mikey Way was kissing Ray Toro, and complications could wait.

-

Hey guys:) I really don't know what happened here with Ray's dog but Ray's dog died for Rikey okay thanks. votes and comments are nice. I love you all<3