"Mitch," Jerome grinned, looking over at his best friend. "We're breaking the law!"

He was giddy. Never before had he done something like this - at least, not with Mitch. Sure, it wasn't a felony, but it was still a crime. They could get a hefty fine if they were caught.

If they were caught.

"You're that excited about this?" Mitch smirked, looking over at Jerome. He'd broken the law, minorly, so many times before, that it had lost its thrill.

But now that he was doing it with Jerome...

Thrill fell to the back of his mind, and the urge to impress had taken over.

"Of course, buddy."

Night swimming was a creepy experience, especially in the open ocean. Normally, the beaches were still alight at this hour, and for the public to use, but a hurricane was brewing, and all the seaside had been locked down.

Mitch just chuckled and pulled his shirt off, throwing it in the back of the car. He turned the keys in the ignition before yanking them out and dumping them in the cup holder. "You ready?"

Kicking off his shoes, Jerome nodded. The two pushed open their doors at roughly the same time, and stepped out. Mitch had driven the car up onto the beach, past the parking lot, so as soon as their weight was under them, the sand sunk in between their toes.

"Race ya!" Jerome called, bolting down the beach. Rolling his eyes, Mitch followed, catching up before the younger could even reach the first wave. He pushed Jerome aside and splashed into the water, frothing foam surging over his ankles. Already, the water was higher than normal, but neither boy took notice.

"Okay, you actually work out, that's not fair!" Jerome groaned, then, as Mitch shrugged, lunged and pulled them both to the ground.

Salt water splashed around their heads, and Mitch shoved Jerome off him. He scrambled back, further into ocean. Jerome got to his feet, but Mitch stayed down. Waves started crashing over his body, and, like a madman, he started laughing.

"That's creepy as fuck."

"I know," Mitch smirked, staring up at his best friend with narrowed hazel eyes, oaken hair splayed across his forehead, silver earrings looking more like pearls than the metal they actually were. A lone strand of seaweed was tattered across his shoulder.

And he was grinning, white teeth glinting in the moonlight.

He looked less like a human and more like the Little Mermaid equivilant of a Cheshire cat.

Jerome splashed water at him, and Mitch stood, only to rush deeper into the water. He didn't really think about how far out he was going until the gentle waves started to lift him off his feet.

"Miiiiitch," Jerome called, starting to swim out to him. But instead of answering lightheartedly, panic started to set through him.

"Please tell me that's not rain."

Rain, in Florida, meant thunder and lightning. Inland, thunder and lightning meant power outages. But here, on the coastline, and especially out in the water, thunder and lightning meant hurricanes.

And the hurricane that had been coming was expected to be a Category Three on land, leaving it to be much, much more over open waters.

Jerome froze up.

"That's rain."

Swallowing hard, and getting a mouthful of seawater in the process, Mitch tried to swim back towards shore. Suddenly, the waves were bigger, the tug stronger. Real fear sunk into his bones, and he started to struggling, fighting. But the current was real, and it was dragging him out to sea.

"Mitch!" Jerome screamed, seeing his friend start to fumble. He could still touch fairly well, much closer to the edge than Mitch. He could still make it back.

But he'd have to leave Mitch.

The rain was picking up, as well as the wind. The ocean, which had been warm only minutes ago, was now freezing, and the subzero temperature was taking its toll on Mitch, who's movements were slowing. Struggle had worn him out.

Jerome's decision was split-second.

He surged into deeper water. He knew full well he was a stronger swimmer than Mitch, having grown up on the Jersey shore. It wasn't long before Mitch grasped onto his arm.

But shore was now not much more than a thin, impossible line in between crashing barriers of water. The wind was whipping through, and thunder had started to roll in. Lightning danced along the coast. Jerome fought the current, slowly but surely pulling them back to land. Mitch tried to help, but was weaker than he should have been. Every limb ached.

It seemed impossible, but the waves appeared to be growing in size yet again. Since his was mouth open, gasping for air, Jerome was swallowing more and more water, and the salt was starting to tear at his throat. Coughs began to rack his frame, dragging him further under the surface. Mitch was barely hanging on, unable to keep his grip.

One final wave came crashing over both their heads.

Mitch lost conciousness on impact. Jerome, however, was sent under the water. The feeling of weightlessness tore at him, gave him a sense of... relief.

The turmoil was over.

He opened his eyes, the water immediately stinging them.

Under here, away from the sky, it was peaceful.

····

When the darkness faded, and he could move his limbs again, it seemed like a blessing.

However, when the pain kicked in, the joy of that "blessing" faded.

Convulsing once, twice, Jerome coughed up water and spat it into the sand. He tried to push himself up, only lifting his shoulders a couple inches off the ground. He was sodden with water, and the wet sand under him scratched at his bare skin. His head pounded with the ferocity of a hundred drums.

Jerome coughed again, blinking. It was still dark out, and the rain was pattering against his back, but the worst of the hurricane was over.

Turning his head, he saw Mitch a few yards down. His body was mangled, completely cut up. His eyes were shut, one with a wound slashed over it. For a second, Jerome thought that he was lucky to have escaped unharmed.

It was then that he got a look at the sand below him.

Scarlet stained, crystallized in clumps.

Struggling to understand, he realized that he was bleeding from almost everywhere. He was just too numb for it to process.

It was about then that his headache became unbearable.

Shutting his eyes, Jerome succumbed to the darkness once more.

····

For the next few days, Jerome's world was glimpses of needles, nurses, and bright white. After a long while, the images became permanent.

"Where's Mitch? Where am I? What happened?" He was surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded.

One of the two nurses in the room whirled around in his seat. He states at Jerome for a second.

"Mitch? Is that the name of the man who was brought in with you?"

"Y-Yeah..." Suddenly, he could no longer speak above a whisper.

"He... We don't know how he's doing. We'll get word in a few hours. What's your name?"

"Jerome Aceti."

The male nurse turned to type it into his computer while the female picked up a landline and dialed a number. "Yes? Yes, he's awake."

Jerome took the time to look around. He was in a hospital - that much was obvious. How he got here was unknown to him.

"Again, sir... How did I get here?"

The male nurse looked back at him. "You were found by a police squad down on the shore. Your car has been taken out to the front parking lot. It's a good thing it was unlocked."

Jerome nodded. "Is there any... any way I can get any details on Mitch? Any at all?"

"Give us some information on the both of you and I'll see what I can do."

So Jerome spilled everything he could to help. All he wanted was to know how Mitch was doing.

"What's your relation?"

"I... He... It's... We're friends - really good friends. But he means so much more to me than that. If anything were to happen to him, it'd be my fault. I suggested it, and I wasn't good enough to save him."

The female nurse spoke up for the same time, walking over to him and resting against the edge of the bed. "Jerome... Mitch, he'll be okay. I just emailed one of the heads in the surgery wing. He's expected to make a full recovery. You were in worse condition than he was. If you're worried about him blaming you, don't stress over it. I think he cares a bit more than you think he does."

Content with that, though confused by her last words, Jerome nodded and settled back down in the bed. The male nurse, who's name was Aaron, as he found out, gave him a quick shot of morphine before telling him to get some rest.

And he did just that.

····

Days turned into weeks. It seemed like such a long time, all running together. Wake up, ask a few questions, be completely put under by the medication, and go back to sleep. Eating was a rare thing for him, but it made him sick whenever he tried.

Eventually, Jerome woke up to a room without Aaron or Joyce (the female nurse, as he had picked up). The door creaked open, and he expected to be bombarded with his meds. Instead, in stepped Mitch.

His hair was spiked up, dark eyes bright and laughing. A smile played out on his lips, and Jerome could have sworn he was holding his hand in the pocket of his hoodie for a reason. He looked pretty good, compared to Jerome.

"They say you're relapsing."

It had been an act. Something to fool the nurses. "I'm okay," he had told his nurses. When they asked how he was doing mentally, he had said he was just fine. Anything to see his best friend.

But Mitch knew Jerome's condition was steadily getting worse. A one in a million chance of survival.

"I know," Jerome murmured, smiling and holding back his tears.

Mitch walked over, shutting the door behind him. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, unfolding it. A crumpled up paper dropped into Jerome's lap.

"A fan brought it to me personally. It's for you, she said."

Jerome smoothed out the paper. It was a letter, written somewhat messily. Tearstains decorated the edges, probably not intentional.

Jerome,

Please be okay. You mean the world to me, and a bunch of other people. We need you in our lives.

What you did was stupid - there's no doubt about that. I hope you would have done it differently, if you could. Mitch says he would.

Speaking of, you should open up to him. I can tell by the way you look at him, talk to him, even over video, that he's your everything. The fandom isn't blind - we're starting to catch on.

I think Mitch is, too.

But... Get well, okay? Sometimes life does terrible things... I don't want this to be one of those times.

Sincerely,

Trisha Blaine

Jerome smiled, folding the letter neatly and setting it on his nightstand.

He wouldn't say anything, but he'd recognize Mitch's handwriting anywhere.

····

It was four years afterwards.

Mitch leaned against the stone, letting his tears fall. A quiet cold spread through him.

"...lost you," he was saying, staring straight ahead of him. The wide blue ocean was splayed out in front of him, the gulls dotting it with vague color.

And he hated it.

"You could have lost who?"

Mitch jumped, not expecting to be found. Jerome stood behind him, arms crossed, playfully smiling.

"You," Mitch responded, moving away from the cliff face and standing up. Jerome chuckled and shook his head.

"It's in the past, alright? Don't worry about it anymore. We won't do it again."

Mitch nodded, swallowing his tears and walking over to his husband. Without warning, Jerome wrapped his arms around him and hoisted him off the ground.

"Hey! Put me down!"

Settling Mitch so he was resting in his arms, Jerome pulled the older boy close to his chest.

"No. I don't wanna."

"Jeroooooooome."

Laughing, Jerome started towards their seaside house, opening the door with his foot once he reached it. Mitch had given up arguing.

"You probably saved my life," Jerome said, suddenly serious, laying Mitch down on the pale couch.

"How?"

Smirking, Jerome answered cheekily, "I mean, that letter was obviously yours. Trying to take a fan letter like that? Come on, Mitch. How coincidental that someone with the last name 'Blaine' writes to me and gives it you?"