Everything we take for granted about our sensitive selves, everything we see, everything we think we remember, is nothing more than a construct of the mind. I had never questioned what I knew, or who I was.

Perhaps I should have, and maybe then I would have realized that I was someone else.

"So, you're really back," Frank stated in disbelief as if it was too good to be true, interrupting the flood of unspoken words of love we were exchanging through gentle touches.

The two of us were currently cuddling on Frank's couch. I was hidden in his arms, finding comfort in what reminded me of my old cocoon of innocence and ignorance.

It's okay to be lost. We spend most of our lives lost, seeking a refuge or some universal explanation that we will never get. Most people are so desperate to get answers that they would be willing to believe anything - although for a moment, I was feeling perfectly serene in a place where I felt like I belonged. I had found a shelter. I had gotten the tiny piece of truth I was due.

Actually, it's very rare to know or understand anything at all. But in this moment, I felt blessed with some sort of short-lived epiphany. A bittersweet numbness had settled after the shock. I was just lying there, perfectly calm, exploring my... 'new-old' memories lazily like one would wander in a park in midsummer. My hair was gently being played with.

And for five minutes, everything was alright.

Maybe things happen for a reason. Is it a part of some greater plan or simply karma balancing our lives?

Or maybe they simply don't, which means the world would be nothing but absurd, a joke, a simple coincidence. Being so tiny on the universe's scale, obviously we can't see the big picture. We will never know. The only thing we will never grasp is our own incapacity to understand anything else than our own incomprehension.

That one last thought made me smile and chuckle under my breath. Frank looked down at me. "What's making you laugh, buttercup?" he asked softly, caressing my cheek gently with his knuckles.

I shook my head. "Nothing, I was lost in my thoughts."

"Mhm. Don't drown." He kissed my forehead and brought me a little closer.

It was still raining cats and dogs outside, a hellish downpour by anyone's standards. I caught myself blessing the roof above our heads. I rested my head on Frank's chest and closed my eyes. He barely budged but kept the steady rhythm of the soothing motions of his fingers through my blonde scalp.

But I couldn't block my thoughts forever, not more than stopping time or keeping Frank and I in our bubble. Eventually, the anxiety came back. It's so hard to hold on to anything good. It's all so slippery. It drips and slides out of our hold like thin sand.

Dante was the very first to conceive Hell as an urban, organized environment. Before him, we didn't speak of the Gates of Hell, but of the mouth of Hell. I had just crept out of the shadows of amnesia, only to begin a journey to damnation as I was slowly being swallowed whole by the beast of depression.

My world had been bleached and then tinted black and white. I couldn't see the colors of life around myself anymore.

Being conscious of our own existence help us ask ourselves a lot of questions, most of which are too complex to answer. But it also makes us realize how very little time we are granted on Earth. We barely get enough to learn how to enjoy life before we die of old age. That thought terrified and paralyzed me.

I started worrying, not for my own fate but for Frank's. He was the anchor I needed. But unlike Frank, anchors barely undergo the ravages of time. Humans suffer from aging more than anyone because they see themselves decay and suffer from it.

If I die, at least I wouldn't have to worry anymore. But without Frank, I would drown. Oh, how terrible it is to love something Death can touch...

I balled my fist, clutching Frank's black hoodie. "What's wrong?" he asked. I shrugged and hid my face in the warm fabric. It was so comforting. "You're worried about me... The scars?" Frank asked and I nodded.

"I don't want you to go. Not now that I just found you again," I whispered.

"You shouldn't spend your life worrying for others. We'll all die eventually, sometimes sooner than we think. You know, I probably won't make it to 50 at this pace. But I'm totally okay with it. And being okay with it allows me to stay remotely happy and enjoy my time here."

I frowned. "Frank, what are you saying? What are you talking about?"

Frank looked at me in the eye. "I don't wanna get old, Gerard. I don't want to be an old, bitter idiot. I wanna die before I turn ugly and wrinkled. I already hate what I see when I stand in the mirror. I can only imagine the pain of seeing someone I don't recognize. Someone whose face became a rock for time to carve its damages."

I was appalled by his speech. "Frank, no." I shook my head. "You can't leave me, not now that I finally remember you ! You can't do that to me."

Frank laughed. "Hey, I'm not saying I wanna go now. I've still got a bit of time ahead."

He held me tighter and kissed my cheek. I snuggled in his arms.

"I would die if you were to disappear, you know?" I mumbled.

He hummed. "I would too. That's why I love you."

"We'll make it out of here, Frankie. Together. You and I are gonna tear down these walls and break free."

"Just you and I against the world." Frank smiled thoughtfully.

Tears welled in my eyes. "Frankie? Do you... Do you ever cry for no reason at all?" I barely had time to ask before tears rolled on my cheeks.

Frank closed his eyes. "All the time, buttercup. All the time. Sometimes I wonder who I would be without this chronic sadness sticking to my skin."

"You wouldn't be yourself."

"Yeah... I hate my weaknesses. They make me who I am." Frank shook his head.

'Who I am'... The words echoed in my mind as I peered at Frank, while he was thoughtfully stroking my cheek. He eventually noticed my insistent staring and asked me what was on my mind.

"I'm wondering who Frank Iero is," I said, slightly narrowing my eyes at him. "I feel like I only start to scratch the surface of who you really are."

"You will only know who I am the day I die. You can't see the big picture yet. It's too soon to tell."

I sat up properly and tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

"See it as an alphabet. So far, I've chosen to do A, B, C things in my life. Various things. You can also see them as steps I take. You won't know until we get to Z. You will know what my real nature is - who Frank Iero truly is - the day I die." Frank explained.

I hummed. That was an interesting way of seeing things. Our actions and choices define what we are.

Frank looked at me. "Gee, are you feeling okay? You look-"

"-Like shit?" I completed crudely. "That's because I am feeling like shit. Can't stop thinking about her, about everything. I feel like my head is about to implode."

"Yeah well, you do look like shit. But I've got a little something that could make you feel better."

I arched an eyebrow. Frank stood up from the couch and motioned me to follow him. Intrigued, that's exactly what I did. Frank led me to what seemed to be his bedroom.

I looked around and recalled what it used to look like before the accident. My fingers glided on the bookshelves filled with philosophy and old literature. I heard Frank rummage through his stuff to extract some hidden bottle.

"Here you go, the key to one of the most bearable artificial paradises," the punk said, tossing the bottle at me. "You'll thank me later."

I looked down at the bottle I had caught. I already had migraines from what I had been drinking for two days, and my own mind tearing down its inner walls. Add to that my emotional pain due to my grandmother's death, and you will obtain a blonde 18-year-old teenager unscrewing a bottle of alcohol and drinking from it shamelessly.

It tasted stronger that what I had been drinking the past few days. Frank eventually grabbed the bottle and gently made me stop drinking. "Whoa, easy there. Don't swing down the whole bottle. We wouldn't want you to end up in another coma."

I wiped my mouth. "It's proportionate to my pain."

Frank chuckled, snatching the bottle from my hand. "Alright, sad boy. Well, leave me some of that painkiller juice." He took a swig of the bottle.

He handed it back to me, and while I was finishing it, I watched him grab something else beneath his bed from the corner of my eye. He brought what looked like a cigarette to his lips and lit it, collapsing on his mattress.

He held the item with two fingers and took a long drag. I sat a bit more carefully on the edge of his bed. Frank sat up behind me and presented the cigarette to my lips.

"Want some, pretty boy?" he asked with a smile, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"I don't smoke..." I replied and a faint chuckled vibrated through Frank's chest.

"That's not a cigarette," he stated and whispered in my ear, "and I know for a fact that you do smoke pot - at least you used to."

Keeping my head still, my eyes attempted to look back at Frank. Then I closed them for a split second and searched though my newfound memories. I remembered when Frank and I used to smoke together. The good old days, I guess.

I reckoned that it was safe for me to do it again. I trusted Frank. I opened my mouth, and the punk slid the joint between my lips. He held it for me while I took a drag, the feeling it brought me triggering memories and igniting something inside me.

Frank placed a kiss on my jaw and set the joint aside. Blowing smoke on his face, I looked at him with brand new eyes and eyed his entire self with want. I felt as though time had slowed down.

His hand on my cheek. Mine on his. Our lips slowly, progressively brought together, pressing on each other in a gentle kiss. I was feeling so perfectly relaxed and serene, without a care in the world.

My experience of Frank's attention was surely so profoundly harmful, yet so irresistible it undermined my ability to think rationally. I had found again an old flame that had never really ceased to burn. A simple blow on the glowing embers was enough to set it ablaze.

At the moment, a fire had started to burn intensely between the two of us. Frank made me lie back on his mattress while our lips were still moving together gently.

It felt as though we were following a script, not as in play a character we weren't, but as in doing what we were meant to. What was written and somehow meant to be.

Frank placed himself on top of me as I embraced him loosely, wanting nothing more than to feel him close to me. Everything we were doing felt somewhat numb but so much more pleasurable. Frank unbuckled my pants before focusing on loosening my tie.

I felt some sickness slowly take over but decided to ignore it. There was no way I was interrupting what Frank and I had begun. Frank started palming my crotch gently, making me utter a soft noise in his mouth. That made me lightheaded and desperate for more.

But I barely had the time to push him off me before I threw up on the floor right next to the bed. Oh God... Okay, maybe I had too much of Frank's 'painkiller juice'.

"I-I'm so sorry..." I apologized pitifully in a groggy voice and heard Frank giggle - which kind of reassured me. He wasn't mad at me. "I'll clean that."

"Nah, it's okay. We'll deal with it tomorrow," Frank said carelessly, lying down on his back and resting his head on one arm. He took another hit of his joint.

I looked at the disgusting mess I had made. It stank, but the whole room kind of reeked of some indescribable stench. I opened the window so we wouldn't suffocate.

"We have class tomorrow though..." I looked back at Frank; he seemed to be falling asleep. Aw...

I collapsed on the narrow mattress next to him. Frank wrapped an arm around me and nuzzled the crook of my neck gently. "You're back," he whispered. I hummed positively and let my migraines get the best of me.

I fell asleep in Frank's bed. In Frank's arms.

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