Frank hadn't been exactly have the best of times after the apparent split with his sanity, but right now he was living for the little things, and he really liked these jeans.

The jeans, which were, of course, black in colour, suitably represented his punk rock passive aggressive homosexual pixie boy aesthetic, and didn't actually bunch up too much at his ankles, which was the absolute penalty he paid everyday for being short. And of course, since Frank was about four centimetres tall, he was overjoyed to see that his jeans only bunched up halfway up to his knee

"Those jeans make your ass look great."

And with that voice: all too fucking familiar by this point, Frank's heart sunk to the bottom of the motherfucking ocean, exhaling sharply as he met the hallucination's gaze in the mirror, because Gerard was a hallucination, and Frank needed to keep reminding himself of that.

"Frank, you don't look happy to see me, you know? And I get those vibes, I really do, because you're being so obvious about it, but your ass in those jeans was something I couldn't ignore, okay?" Gerard- the hallucination grinned a little, stepping closer to Frank. "Are you going to say sorry for slapping me the other day?"

"I didn't even slap you because you're not real, you're a hallucination, Gerard!" Frank raised his voice, pulling himself away from the mirror and spinning around to meet Gerard's gaze for real.

"You don't seem to think so." Gerard muttered casually, taking a seat on Frank's bed behind them. "You called me 'Gerard', you wouldn't call me that if you didn't think I really was me."

"Oh fuck off, it's early, and I have something to do today, probably..." Frank trailed off, biting his lip and cursing silently as he came to remember that he was planning on spending the Sunday with nothing but himself and possibly Netflix.

"Frankie, you do know this schizophrenia thing is bullshit, don't you?" Gerard gestured for Frank to sit beside him on the bed, and needless to say, Frank didn't oblige. "Look, you're perfectly healthy, you're perfectly perfect-"

"Say that to the years I spent in a mental hospital." Frank lost his temper before even really knew what it was, and he considered slapping 'Gerard' again, just to get him to fuck off, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it, and for what reason, Frank reckoned he'd never know.

"You were depressed, Frank, I know these things, I know what I'm doing, I-" Gerard was cut off suddenly, but not by Frank, his words almost seemed to just stop mid sentence. "Frank, is there anything I can say to make you believe me?"

"You can have a fucking argument with my therapist if you really want to, but, like you're in my head, so, I'm sure you'll have a few problems with that." Frank rolled his eyes, grabbing a jacket from his bedroom floor. "I'm going out." He added as the explanation for his hallucination, because Frank liked to be kind to the figments of his imagination like that.

"I'm not in your head, Frank, you're just the only one who can see me - there's a difference." Gerard got up from the bed, stepping forward and opening the door for Frank. "Come on, we're going out, aren't we?"

Frank stood there stunned into silence: butterflies jumping hurdles in his stomach as he came to accept the fact that he'd just hallucinated the opening of his own front door, because there was no way that hallucinations could open fucking doors.

"Fuck..." Frank trailed off, shaking his head firmly, blinking a million times and turning away. "I'm not hallucinating open doors as well, Jesus, fuck, this is- fuck, why am I even talking to you- fuck, I'm talking to myself, I-"

"Frank, the door is open." Gerard stopped him before he collapsed in a wreck on the floor or something. "I'm not a hallucination, Frank, I'm a ghost."

"Fucking prove it!" Frank was screaming and he didn't even care if Ryan could hear him from his apartment right now.

"Walk through the fucking door, Frank." Gerard's voice was stern, and Frank found himself considering it, before fucking drowning in flashbacks, memories: the reality of what had happened last time. "Come on."

"No, because I listened to you the last time you told me to do something, and that... that fucked me up big time, Gerard." Frank glared 'Gerard' or whatever the fuck he was with every bit of anger he had. "That time you told me to kill myself, don't you fucking remember? Or another hallucination of you, or whatever."

Gerard's eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry." He reached across, closing the door, and turning back to Frank. "I wasn't in a good state then... I... I... it's hard to explain, and it's harder to explain to someone who won't listen and won't believe you."

"Okay then." Frank exhaled loudly, meeting Gerard's gaze with all the strength he had in him. "If you're really not just in my head, then fuck off, just fuck off, you're making my life, or what's left of it hell. You've ruined it twice before and I'm not going to let you do it again."

"But that's who I am, Frank, it's like I was made for nothing else than you and your emotions." And Frank really couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but Frank went with the likelihood that he was.

"Just leave me the fuck alone, Gerard, please. I have my life now, and... you have your fucking death, or whatever, you chose that. You chose to leave me, you chose to fuck me up like this: you chose to make me hate you."

"No, I didn't Frankie, I was just trying to save you, I-"

"Save me? From what? Insanity? Schizophrenia? Myself? You fucked up there, didn't you?" Frank rolled his eyes, turning away from Gerard and wondering whether he should even be letting his hallucinations get quite as real as this.

"I..." And Gerard was speechless, and Frank was fucking done and he ensured that Gerard was well aware of that, as he spun on his heels and slapped him across the cheek.

Or at least, tried to.

His hand almost seemed to be repelled from Gerard, like he had a fucking force field around him or something equally as ridiculous... something equally as ridiculously concocted in Frank's own head.

"Doesn't work, Frankie." Gerard stepped away from Frank a little. "I'll leave you be if you really want me to, but promise that you'll look after yourself, okay, because it hurts me to see you hurt- fuck, it hurts me when other people call you 'baby', you're my 'baby', always will be."

"You should have thought about that before you decided to kill yourself then, shouldn't you?"

And with that, Gerard was gone.

But Frank wasn't smiling, Frank wasn't happy, Frank wasn't even relieved.

He just hurt inside, he ached, and fuck, even a part of him missed Gerard enough to plead with his brain into believing in the hallucination that just wouldn't leave him alone. 

-

"Buttplugs, Frank, buttplugs!" 

Frank threw his head against the rain stained Starbucks window and contemplated whether Brendon was worse on or off duty; with the guy stood serving people at least Frank could have some peace and quiet, but as long as Brendon wasn't the one making his coffee, at least he could be sure that it had been made right.

So really, Frank was just praying that Brendon deemed Ryan's butt cute enough to hire him, because well, it was Brendon and Frank wouldn't put hiring some on the basis of their butt past him. In fact, Frank wondered if he'd put anything past him.

Of course, Frank had a lot more going on in his head that moment, but he'd much prefer that there wasn't, and perhaps the twenty eight year old really would give anything and everything to forget all about Gerard Way and join in Brendon and Ryan's conversation about buttplugs, even if Frank didn't particularly feel all the comfortable talking about buttplugs in a public place.

But whatever, it didn't matter, and Frank forced a smile in mimic of Ryan's laugh, because Brendon had said something funny, he guessed, or at least, he read it off Ryan's face, and really, it didn't matter all that much if he was still utterly clueless as to just what they really were discussing, did it?

Frank didn't consider weighing up the pros and cons of each situation worthwhile, and took another sip of his coffee, and thanked himself for getting, as Brendon would put it 'a bigass drink', because if he met a guy with a dick as big as this coffee cup Frank would never ever get out of bed.

Just how quickly and just how easily Ryan and Brendon had, well clicked together kind of irked Frank in a way that it shouldn't have, because Frank wasn't even jealous, and of course he had no reason to- Frank was just... he was just... alone, and he knew that deep down, or something.

He took another sip of his coffee and cursed public health and safety regulations for not allowing him to smoke inside because it was cold and motherfucking rain out there, but still, that did nothing to subdue his cravings for nicotine.

Frank wondered if he should quit, but then wondered what the point was, because well, Frank wasn't at all fussed either way; he wasn't addicted, and he didn't want to quit, it was just... Frank smoked more as something to do, a way to pass the time than anything else.

Frank smoked because... why shouldn't he? Lung cancer, yeah, lung motherfucking cancer; Frank had little to no concern for his lungs and if they should become affected with cancer, because he had the same sort of relationship with his life as he did with cigarettes - he didn't really give a fuck either way.

And that kind of mentality would really throw up several million red flags with any therapist, but Frank was just overjoyed that everything he was seeing right now was real, and he treasured that thought as he finished his coffee and found himself forced into Brendon and Ryan's conversation as a result.

He really was a third wheel here, but Frank didn't particularly mind; he wasn’t particularly bothered about relationships and love, or at least he did a pretty good job of convincing himself as such, because he laughed along with Brendon and smiled like everything was alright and that he totally hadn't just had a fucking mental breakdown just yesterday because his dead boyfriend had told him his ass looked good in a pair of jeans.

Frank considered talking to his therapist, but found himself brushing the thought off the very moment it had entered his head.

"Right, right, so Frank, Ryan says that he sees no point in buttplugs, back me up here, like-" Brendon giggled a little as he spoke, and nearly spilling his coffee as he did so, which Ryan of course found ridiculously cute.

"They just sit in your ass!" Ryan exclaimed, his eyes widening, before glancing down at his coffee. "There's not enough milk in this- I'm gonna get some milk." And with that, he stood up, drink in hand, on a quest for milk, but of course he'd made the amateur mistake of not taking Brendon with him.

"Have you ever had a buttplug in your ass?" Brendon asked far too fucking casually in Ryan's absence.

"I... no... I can't say I have." Frank shook his head, blushing a little, because well, it was kind of awkward.

"That dude over there keeps looking at you, Frank." Brendon added a moment later, having taken a moment to stomach Frank's lack of experience with buttplugs, which was evidently stressful for Brendon.

"What? Who? Me?" Frank exclaimed, sitting up straight- well, gay, and meeting Brendon with wide eyes.

"No, when I said Frank, I meant Frank fucking Sinatra." Brendon rolled his eyes, and pointed across the coffee shop. "That dude, with the beard and the dark hair, he's kind of cute I think, not my type though, but he keeps fucking staring, dude."

Frank met the guy's gaze across the coffee shop and smiled, blushing a little as he did, and the guy did much the same in just an awkward fashion.

"If you're not going to get his number, Frank, then I'm going to get it for you-" Brendon announced, only to be cut off as Ryan returned from his milky quest, only for the guy to call him over to his table and point vaguely at Frank, who of course, blushed again. "Looks like Ryan's getting in there first."

"His name's Ben, and here's his number." Ryan slid the piece of paper across the table in Frank's direction, leaving the twenty eight year old to look up across the coffee shop and smile at 'Ben', before putting his b=number into his phone, and mainly just because the guy was practically watching his every move.

'Hi'

He added a quick text too, before putting his phone down, and leaning back against the window, craving a cigarette more than ever before, and with even less he could do about it, because that guy- Ben would definitely ambush him on his way out for a smoke.

Okay, 'ambush' was the wrong word; the guy looked nice and cute enough, but Frank had enough shit on his hands right now, and well, if Ger- the hallucination had reacted in such a volatile manner at Brendon calling him 'baby' then he couldn't imagine just what the fuck would happen if he actually started flirting with someone else.

Perhaps Frank should quit smoking.

Perhaps Frank should quit dating and romance altogether.

Perhaps Frank wished he could.

-

"Are you going to call him?"

Brendon and Frank were sat in Brendon's living room at eleven that night, with Ryan having gone to see his uncle or something that Frank hadn't paid nearly as much attention to as he should have done.

"Who?" Frank asked, turning away from the TV screen to look at Brendon.

The two were sat watching some shitty rom-com, which was pretty much the only thing on besides the porn channels and Brendon was apparently boycotting porn 'permanently' now, but Frank knew he'd catch the guy having a wank the very moment he got up this morning.

That was just Brendon, though, and Frank was more than used to that and him by this point.

He was just kind of content, or something... something close to it, anyway.

Close enough.

"Ben, you know the guy from Starbucks who gave you his number, duh." Brendon rolled his eyes, because the possibility that Frank could have forgotten this seemed impossible to him, because well, Brendon couldn't possibly believe, let alone imagine the kind of things that really went on in Frank's mind.

Of course Frank had no desire to tell him, and the twenty eight year old reckoned that things would indeed stay that way.

"I don't know, I mean, he's just a guy-" Of course, Frank knew that this was a sentence Brendon wasn't going to let him finish the very moment he'd started it.

"Excuse me? Our queen, goddess, lord and saviour, Taylor Swift didn't go through multiple heartbreaks and shitty boyfriends who treated her horribly and terrible breakups and heart wrenching crushes just for you to say 'it's just a guy'." Brendon looked genuinely disgusted, and grabbed his cellphone from the coffee table. "I'm unfriending you on Facebook."

"Okay." Frank mumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest, and just trying to focus on the TV screen, despite how little interest he had in whatever the fuck they were even watching right now.

"Wow, Frank, I'm unfriending you and all you can say is 'okay'?" Brendon's eyes practically fell from their sockets as put his cellphone back on the coffee table. "You're a really shitty person, you know that? It's like you don't value this friendship at all."

"Thanks." Frank rolled his eyes, sitting up and moving closer to Brendon. "You're my best friend, I'm just tired, you know."

"Yeah, I didn't really unfriend you on Facebook." And it was very much as Frank had suspected.

"I know." He let his lips twitch up into a small smile, because this kind of casual fucked up friendship thing he had with Brendon really did work for him at least nine times out of ten.

"I did send you like fifteen game requests, though, which is probably just as bad-"

"Worse." Frank corrected him with an over exaggerated grimace. "I'm going to block you from sending me game requests."

"You can do that?" Brendon exclaimed, sitting up straight at once.

"Yeah, it's under the like blocking settings bit-"

"Fuck, remind me to block everyone on Facebook." Brendon grinned, putting his arm around Frank's shoulder, and pulling him in closer. It was just a friendly kind of thing, and it was just their kind of thing, and everything was okay, it really was.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that: you're such a likes whore, Brendon." Frank rolled his eyes, watching as the next episode of what was probably the worst show ever started on screen.

"I'm just an all round whore, Frank." Brendon corrected, looking entirely far too proud of himself. "At least I'm not you, it's like you're a fucking prude, Frank, you had like one boyfriend and that was it, it's like you don't even care. You're going to be thirty soon, you know."

"Don't remind me." Frank rolled his eyes, groaning a little. "I'm not prude, I mean, I just haven't met the right guy yet."

"You believe in all this soulmates bullshit?" Brendon raised his eyebrows at that. "Hadn't expected that from you, of all people."

"I don't... anyway, if it was even real I reckon I've already met and fucked it up with mine." Frank shrugged it off, knowing that this was really the number one topic to avoid with Brendon, but it was late and Frank was tired and he really did not care.

"What? You don't mean-"

"No, Brendon, I dated this guy when I was seventeen and he was my whole fucking world, my fucking everything, and- fuck..."

"You've never mentioned him before." Brendon pointed out what Frank already knew all too fucking well.

"I don't tend to... it's... it's difficult. Look, face it, Brendon, there's an awful fucking lot you don't know about me, and I can imagine that you could say the exact same thing."

"Why don't you mention him if he meant so much?" Brendon found himself asking before he could stop himself, because well, Frank was evidently uncomfortable, but Brendon, was well Brendon.

"He died." Frank admitted, exhaling loudly, and moving away from Brendon, instantly regretting ever even bringing it up.

"I'm sorry." Brendon added after a minute of silence. "You really think he was your soulmate?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah, I guess, whatever soulmates means anyway, that was him, him and me, I really loved him and he really loved me- he- he was complicated, but I knew him well, I always did... he was just one of those people... you know the kind that you know are important from the very second you meet them, but you're just never sure why. He was beautiful, and perfect, well not perfect, but perfect in his own way... he had a lot of flaws, but I wouldn't have had him any other way. I miss him a lot, sometimes, I guess I don't let myself think about him more often than not, but... I don't know, I can't help it sometimes."

"He sounds lovely... I'm sorry." Brendon stared off into the distance: a genuine sadness in his eyes, which kind of threw Frank off a little.

"It's okay. It's enough."

And Frank looked up, glancing around the darkness for the red haired man smiling at him, but his heart stopped entirely as he came to the set in stone conclusion that he and Brendon were indeed completely alone.

-

hey guys lmao i need help i love writing fic lmao my writing playlist for it is literally life though lmao anyway, remember with every chapter we're a chapter closer to the traumatic ending :) and with that remember that you should vote and comment because i love you all lots<3