It doesn't take long before I find myself faced with the red haired figure leaning out over railings in the hospital car park, a cigarette dangling from his chapped lips - he clearly wasn't in favour of the no-smoking rule, which was far too excessively regulated via the means of flocks of anti-smoking propaganda fit with pictures of decaying lungs. Decaying lungs wasn't my number one choice of propaganda, and the scattered photographs weren't exactly pleasant to look at, but of course, the hospital had been far too persistent with their campaigns, leaving me stuck with a decrepit lung in the corner of my eye, no matter where I looked.

I was too scared to approach him at first; I was scared he might just disappear, smoke into thin air, because really he just doesn't seem real, I can't consolidate his existence ever again - the fear of him being imaginary had been too forcefully hammered into my mind over the past few weeks. He just seemed like a mystery, a barely breathing enigma, a shadow cast unnaturally into the corner of the room, and not someone I couldn't stop myself from referring to as my best friend.

I wondered if I was his best friend. I wonder if he had any friends. Any human contact apart from the inevitable arguments with his brother? That scared me, that worried me, because someone like Gerard could definitely not afford to be alone; I mean he was independent and more than happy to live like a hermit, but if he could, he would, and that was where the problem lay.

It sounded selfish, but I wanted to be his best friend by choice, not his best friend by default. I'm human, it's okay: I'm allowed- in fact, I can't help being selfish. Selfish was in my blood, selfish was a part of me just as much as the beating heart, the nervous wreck of a brain, the shattering skeleton and the thankfully uncharred lungs; I couldn't help but imagine them charred, though - I think the propaganda was messing with me.

He tapped his cigarette against the railing, cigarette ash floating through the air like toxic pixie dust. "Hello Frank." His words are expressionless, empty, devoid of feeling. And he still never quite feels real enough. I feel like I need to grasp onto him, simply to stop him from floating away like the ash from his cigarette.

I don't want to lose him, and the whole ordeal is nothing but selfish, and the only way I can convince myself not to leg it is the outstanding fact that I care. I think maybe I shouldn't, but overall I'm far too glad I do. I like to rationalise it with the fact that simply someone has to, and somehow that someone happened to be me, but I care because I want to, I care because Gerard matters, Gerard's special. He shouldn't be; I barely know him, but really, according to fate, he just is.

And I wasn't one to mess with fate.

"Hello." The word stumbles out in a mess of distorted and barely coherent syllables; Gerard doesn't comment upon my sudden inability to form a word, in fact he doesn't even look at me. I think, he too, is scared, but with Gerard, I could never really tell.

Gerard was awfully good at masking his emotions, awfully good, too good for it to impose nothing but a threat towards him, because that pale, bleak face could never tell someone he cared; the only thing that face could do was lie. And that made me sick.

The silence grips around us for at least another two minutes, before my throat lets enough air in to allow me to walk the few steps forward to meet him without collapsing against the pavement due to lack of air. That, though dramatic, wouldn't be exactly to my advantage in this situation; Gerard would just be crept out and leave, or maybe he wouldn't care; maybe he'd just watch from the corner of his eye and smoke until I regained my composure. I think I preferred the latter, and I think he did too, but needless to say, that didn't exactly make it in any way a desirable situation.

He still doesn't look at me, even as I stand centimetres away from him, leaning against the same pole his cigarette ash falls upon. I find the awkward silence a time to take note of the weather. It's awfully cold and the feeling of metal against my bare skin can do nothing but remind me of that. Gerard seems unphased by it, though. But really, I'm not at all surprised, let alone concerned, because really, Gerard seems unphased by everything.

He continues to smoke, his hazel eyes absent-mindedly fixated upon the horizon, they flicker as they watch the fluffy clouds fly past at a snail like pace. "Hello." He repeats my greeting from at least six minutes ago now, his eyes still not reaching mine, and in that moment, even I feel distant, even I don't feel real. He sort of has that effect on me, I'm not too sure if I like the feeling of weightlessness, the emptiness of non-existence, or if the excess air in my stomach is I thing I come loathe, but really I can't tell anymore, the simple fact of being around Gerard after so long cancels the entire thing out.

I glance up at the clouds; I feel as weightless as them. I want to go up there, but my wings are shackled to the ground. Maybe I'm not so weightless after all. I think maybe I'd like to fly, but that in no way diminishes my terrible fear of my feet ever leaving the ground, and I doubt that even Gerard and his non-existence and unphased approach to everything and blood red hair and excessive intake of nicotine, could change that.

I don't know how to respond to his absent minded attempts at conversation; plebeian small talk, but conversation nonetheless. The words simply don't form and my mouth grows dry with my prolonged inability to salivate. It's disgusting and soon I find my jaw hanging open, simply hurling in gulps of air manually; I look stupid, but quite frankly I don't fancy suffocating, not today, not yet.

After another minute, I find myself starting with the only words that feel real, I don't expect him to take them in, or even understand in his spaced out state of mind, but, I say them regardless. "I missed you."

I didn't know if I regretted my sudden show of far too much emotion, but Gerard actually didn't seem to mind and maybe I think, that's what concerned me the most.

He took a protracted drag of his cancer stick, before placing the cigarette between two fingers and letting words flow from his mouth, "you did?" He doesn't sound surprised, more of concerned. That leaves the two of us in some sort of madman esque state of concern and pathetic bewilderment. I chuckled; he's Gerard Way, I'm Frank Iero, really, what more was there to expect?

"Yes, Gerard." It feels weird to say his name; I haven't said it aloud in what seemed like forever. "I did." I hate laying out, propelling the words properly from my lips made me feel sickly and borderline ridiculous. I think I'm scared he'll laugh, but he's Gerard and I really doubt he will. My mind likes to play up like that, my mind enjoys playing games far too much for my own sanity's sake.

He put the cigarette to his lips, inhaling another gas bomb's worth of smoke. "That was rather foolish of you." His words came out in a raspy whisper and although I was engaging in some form of conversation with him, it never quite felt like he was actually there; it felt like I was reading a script along with a perfunctory voice on an old tape. It felt like he was some sort of ghost that couldn't quite materialise in this dimension, he couldn't quite break the veil, and maybe I sort of thought,, taht maybe he sort of didn't want to. Why I felt like I was stuck with him, though - I honestly hadn't a clue.

"There was a point when I didn't even think you were real." I confessed imprudently. I caught a glimpse of a thick eyebrow snaking up into an arch from the corner of my eye. He wasn't expecting that, that was for sure. But he was Gerard, and he wasn't the type to be caught off guard, he was far too proud, far too maniacal to let this go without an educated response. So, it took him a few minutes, but what he did eventually say made me truly question my existence.

"I like to think I'm not real sometimes." His voice drifts off into an extraneous dimension. I find this awfully concerning, and I find myself falling down into a downwards spiral of worry for Gerard, the guy I should have nothing to do with, yet find myself calling my best friend; this wa the oddest of situations, that was for sure.

"I thought I was going mad; I thought I'd imagined you." My voice comes off in a snap in order to convey the importance of my words; Gerard however seems awfully unaffected, almost immune to the effects of my change in tone of voice. But then again, he was Gerard, he would be. He just would be, wouldn't he?

"You must be mad to imagine someone like me." He lifts his cigarette to his lips again, and I can't help but let out a small, rather disconcerting giggle. Giggle? I did a double take; i don't giggle, I'm Frank Iero, I don't fucking giggle, or at least I really goddamn hope not. Giggle wasn't exactly the most masculine of traits, but then again, if you hadn't notice by my persistent desire to wear eyeliner, I wasn't exactly the most masculine of guys. Shut up, I like to look pretty.

His head snapped into my direction within an instant, and for once I had a full view of his pale, sickly looking face, hazel eyes that look overworked and underappreciated, and a dainty mouth open in a small 'o' shape. I can't help but admire the scenery; he was unsettlingly cadaverous, yet his face shapes and the way his cheekbones worked and his hair framed his eyes was commensurate to a marble sculpture. He was simply exquisite. The two statements almost counteracted one another: my mind worked in casuistic ways.

His aghast expression slowly fell into a smile, and I was glad to see that there was nothing maniacal about it; it was a genuine, innocent smile. Innocent seemed awfully un-Gerard.

This felt nothing like the Gerard I'd captured within my mind's eye. This Gerard was awfully withdrawn, almost as if he dared not admit to himself that reality was actually happening. This Gerard seemed to be in a permanent state of shock, and one could definitely argue that that was partly my fault. I just didn't like to admit that, because I couldn't bear the thought of ever even thinking about hurting or breaking Gerard in anyway whatsoever.

Then he did something entirely preposterous - he mimicked my giggle, his eyes interlocking with mine. "Thinking about it, I missed you too, you know?" His words still appeared distant, but there was an aspect of certainty that was now present in his voice, that before he'd been seriously lacking.

"That was rather foolish of you." I mimicked, and I found myself studying the creases of laugh lines as he let out another feminine giggle; it was rather, dare I say it? Cute? No, he was most certainly not cute, okay, good looking, maybe, (not going to lie, those cheekbones were doing him more than a small favour) but Gerard Way was most certainly not cute.

"Yes, yes it certainly was." He took yet another drag of his cigarette, looking down at the continuously diminishing stump with disappointed eyes. Taking a final drag, he discarded the cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with his heel, before turning his full attention to me. It felt weird, far too weird to find the guy not frantically smoking to his death as I threw words at him and he occasionally threw them back.

"Is it out of place to ask why you were here today?" I took a poke at the unknown; thankfully Gerard appeared generally rather unphased by my query. Being utterly unphased seems to be one of his many talents, along with looking like a member of the undead, and the imaginary.

"Yes, I think it would be rather out of place." I found his eyes drifting across my face, the inky pupils taking in every curve and shape, almost as if he was devouring me entirely. I was blushing more than a little, his gaze was in no way discreet, his ravenous eyes practically sucking me like some sort of Gerard shaped black hole.

"Oh." I'm not disappointed; at least I don't think so, because there's a part of me that's not even quite sure if it wants to know. Maybe it's best if I don't.

"Oh indeed." He pulled his face into an elastic smile, one that I took no hesitance in mimicking. "Would it be out of place, if I were to ask why you were here today?" He was awfully clever, yet painfully indiscreet.

I pondered over his words for a few moments, "I don't think- I don't think it would be out of place as such; it seems a perfectly reasonable question for a curious person to ask, but I don't think it would be a question I'd be willing to answer." He nodded, seeming rather impressed with my answer. I, too, was rather impressed; we all liked to feel clever once in a while - it was perfectly normal.

"Gerard?" His eyes met mine in an instant, the golden flecks in the whirlpools of hazel reeling me in like I was a fish ensnared in a net. "How old are you?" It occurred to me that I knew nothing more than vague details about the guy, and maybe his age would explain why he never turned up around school. I hadn't a clue how old the guy was, all I knew was that he had a young face, and a rather pretty one at that.

"I'm twenty two." That would explain it. In my defence, the guy didn't look twenty two, honestly. In fact, thinking of him as Gerard Way the twenty two year old, was awfully unnatural; it just didn't fit him. In my mind he didn't have an age label, he was just Gerard.

"Oh." I inhaled far too much oxygen at once and found myself spluttering amongst the excess of particles. "You said you were seventeen before." He was lying.

"I did, yet you asked me again - you thought I was lying."

"But you were."

"Fair point." He shrugged it off, "what about you, how old are you?"

"I'm seventeen." That's a five year age difference; that's almost dodgy.

He nodded, his eyes never once leaving mine. "You're Mikey's age." I cringed at the mention of the younger Way brother, his name still striking far too much fear in me to be reasonable.

"He's in my class." My stomach clenched up even thinking about it. "He might have mentioned me; I would have probably been referred to as 'that emo loser'." Gerard giggled for the third time; honestly it was weird, it didn't feel right, it didn't feel Gerard, but I wasn't exactly complaining; I was finding myself to grow rather fond of that weird little giggle that seemed to make an acquaintance with his lips.

"Hasn't mentioned you, I'm sorry." I grinned; this was probably for the better; my friendship with Gerard would be easier with absence of bullshit about me being fed to him from Mikey. "Not that I talk to him much. He seems to be awfully disinterested in anything vaguely interesting and he's terribly arrogant." I grinned, finding myself rather adept at relating Gerard's description of Mikey to mine. "He keeps baffling on about how he's going to marry this girl called Alicia someday - he won't shut up about her, it's distracting. Very much so, in fact."

It was my turn to giggle; I presumed this Alicia was the girl from the corridor the other day - in all honesty she didn't look like the girl to commit to a relationship for longer than a week, let alone get married. "What's distracting you? The vivid description of her breasts or the jealous that comes with it?" I winked at him; irritatingly, he didn't blush. I think maybe, I wanted to make him blush.

I didn't want to just make him blush a little, I wanted to make bold, unphaseable Gerard Way go the colour of his hair. I'd find that far, far too amusing for anyone's own good.

Instead, he giggled. "Neither. I think it's just his voice really, it's kind of whiny don't you think?" I smiled and nodded; my mind elsewhere.

"What about you, Gerard? Have you got any marriage plans?" I think I may have just accidentally and rather indirectly asked him if he was single. I didn't want to of course- fuck, I didn't play for that team. It was just a casual question gone more than slightly astray by my inability to form a basic sentence.

He grinned, "No, I guess not." He avoided my gaze in a rather awkward manner. Awkward was another emotion that was horribly un-Gerard, which only grew my curiosity for the subject and that's really not how my brain should work.

I cocked one eyebrow up, "why not? Not even unrealistic plans, not even Mikey esque ones?"

He shook his head. "They say in heaven there's no husbands and wives."

What the hell does that mean? Was it just another weird Gerard proverb, stupid words linked together far too eloquently, even?

"Oh."

"I'm planning to get to heaven first." The words hit like a bombshell. This couldn't be what he meant? Fuck...

"Gerard-"

"I shouldn't have said that, Frank." I held my breath, "I'm taking it back now."

"Why-"                                                                                    

"Pretend I didn't say it." I inhaled another sharp breath, "please, for me, Frank. Please."

His puppy dog eyes were irresistible. "Okay."

"Thank you." We shared a smile.

"Gerard!" A shuffling of footsteps came from behind us, and a long bang as boots hit concrete. I turned on reflex along with Gerard, maybe it wasn't because of the name, and maybe it was because I recognised the voice. "Frank?"

"Mikey."

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