Our group erupted in laughter at a joke Jimmy made, resulting in some dirty looks from other people at tables. Brendon and his band (which we have learned has been titled "Panic! At the Disco") haven't come on yet, so we were just passing the time by talking to Jimmy. Patrick, his friends, Mikey, Bob, and Ray joined us. It was the most people I'd ever been around, other than school. My hand found Gerard's under the table and he intertwined our fingers. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and saw him smile, his cheeks beginning to flush, and he tucked a strand of his newly-dyed black hair behind his ear. He still blushes when I hold his hand, as if we aren't already boyfriends. We decided not to consider our relationship as engaged. A bit saddening for me, but he told me that way it won't be as devastating when he... well... yeah. I don't like saying that he'll die, alright? I leaned my head on his shoulder and saw Patrick smile at us. "You guys are so cute," he mouthed.
"Not as cute as you," I heard Pete mutter before leaning over to kiss his cheek. The lights on the stage dimmed and all our attention was directed to it.. I hadn't noticed that Jimmy left, but his voice came on over the intercom.
"Please welcome... Panic! At the Disco!"
We cheered with all our hearts, while the other patrons of the bar/venue just clapped. On stage walked Brendon and two guys. One had a round face and was wearing a white shirt under a golden vest, his eyes lined with makeup. The other one had messy hair and wore a red vest decorated with roses under a white ruffled long-sleeve shirt. He had a purple stripe across his face and black and white branches painted on, coming from his eyes. Brendon followed them. He had on a black and red checkered vest and hat, a velvet jacket, and pinstripe pants. He had lines drawn from the corner of his lips down, from his eyes, and red painted on his cheeks.

(for visual reference:
brendon's outfit and makeup
ryan's makeup and outfit)

I couldn't help but giggle a bit. They looked ridiculous. They didn't give an introduction or anything, just went right at it. The music started and Brendon sang.

It's these substandard motels on the, la la la la la,
Corner of First and Fremont Street
Appealing only 'cause they're just that unappealing
Any practiced Catholic would cross themselves upon entering
The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe just a dash of formaldehyde
And the habit of decomposing right before your very, la la la la, eyes
Along with the people inside

Brendon took off his top hat and threw it at our table, landing right in front of Mikey. He laughed and was about to put it on when Pete reached over and took it from his hands. The rest of the guys fought over who would get the hat as the band went on.

What a wonderful caricature of intimacy
Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy
Tonight's tenants range from a lawyer and a virgin
Accessorizing with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie
She's getting a job at the firm come Monday, and the missus will stay with the cheating attorney
Moonlighting aside, she really needs his money
Oh, wonderful caricature of intimacy!

---

GERARD'S P.O.V.

The I.V. and
Your hospital bed
This was no accident
This was a therapeutic chain of events.

Brendon and friends bowed to the audience. Our group clapped our hearts out while the rest of the people just apathetically clapped. Brendon smiled and walked off stage, the other two following. Pete laughed as the clapping died down. "They looked like fucking circus freaks when they came to me and asked to get a gig here." Jimmy suddenly appeared behind him.
"Freak show, indeed," he agreed. "At least their music is good." We all laughed.

Brendon and the two guys came over to our table a few minutes later, dressed in normal clothes. They kept their makeup on, however. Brendon smiled. "I haven't introduced you all yet, but here are my bandmates and friends!" he announced. "This is Spencer," he pointed at the guy with the round face, "and Ryan, my boyfriend" he pointed at the other guy and wrapped an arm around him. We introduced ourselves to them and they sat with us at our table. We talked a bit about their performance before Jimmy came over, two plates of pizza in hands. We cheered as he set it down on the table, telling us it was on the house for being his most popular customers. We immediately started eating. I was starving, seeing as the last thing I ate was breakfast at 6, and it's nearly 9 PM now. Frank laughed when I got pizza sauce on my face. He wiped it off with a napkin and kissed my cheek.
"TO THE MOST WONDERFUL FRIENDS ONE COULD ASK FOR!" Patrick cheered, holding up a glass of beer I didn't know he had gotten. I smiled hearing the word "friends". The idea of friendship has always been so foreign to me, being the outcast and all. But I guess now I can consider these eleven guys sitting here at this table my friends. And that's amazing. Everything has changed since I met Frank, and I mean that in a good way.

If only it wasn't for this damn cancer.

There I go again, upsetting myself. This happens whenever something makes me happy, I have to go and think about my fucking illness. I rested my trembling hand on my leg, under the table. Don't cry. Don't have a fit. My breath caught in my throat when I tried to speak, to lie and say I didn't feel well and run off to the bathroom. But it seemed I lost any ability to speak. Instead, I simply got up from my seat and half-jogged, half-speed walked to the bathroom.

PATRICK'S P.O.V. (A/N: Probably never gonna do this again, fyi)

I looked away from the plate in front of me to see Gerard get up from his seat. Frank said something to him but he kept on walking, to the direction of the bathroom. He turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "What happened?" I mouthed. He shrugged in response. I held up a hand, as to say "it's okay", and got up from my seat and went in the same direction as Gerard.

I tiptoed into the men's bathroom, not wanting to startle Gerard if he was in here. I called out his name, only to be met with someone sniffling. I pushed lightly on each stall door until I found one that didn't budge. I found it, at the end. I crouched down to see black boots, the ones Gerard always wore. "Gee, what's wrong?" I asked him. He just sniffled again. Except this time, it was followed by a sob. "God, are you crying? Come out, please." I begged him.
"N-No." he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Look, Frank is probably gonna get worried and come in and find you crying," I argued. "I know you wouldn't want him to see you like that. I know you want to be someone for him to depend on, and you think him seeing you a sobbing mess would make him think you weren't strong. I don't believe that, but I know deep down you do." I sighed. "Please, come out."

Silence.

"H-How... do you know that?"
I scoffed. "Gerard, I'm your best friend, even if we don't hang out that much anymore. I can tell things just by looking at you. Now, let me see you."
I heard shuffling before the marker on the door went from "occupied" to "vacant". Slowly, the door creaked open. Gerard stood there, his black hair a mess, eyeliner smearing down his face, his body hunched over and shaking slightly.
"Oh my god. Are you okay, Gee?" I asked him as I hugged him. He pushed me away.
"Take me home."
I've learned not to question Gerard over all these years of being there when he cried about being so lonely, and though I wanted to argue with him, I didn't this time. I nodded and grabbed his hand, leading him outside the bathroom.
"Back exit. I don't want Frankie to see me." I tried to question him, but he just sent me a death glare. I nodded once more and stealthily edged the walls of the building, pulling him outside from the back door. I led him to my car and let him get into the passenger before getting on my side.

We drove in complete and utter silence, save for an occasional sniffle from Gerard. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. I wanted to ask if he was okay, but there's a certain aura I get from him sometimes that says "speak to me and I will rip your jugular out". I was getting that feeling right now. He muttered a "thank you" when I pulled up to his house, before getting out and slamming the car door. I watched him go up to his door, unlock it, then slam that too, before pulling away.

GERARD'S P.O.V.

I don't know how to describe this feeling in my chest. It's the same way I felt that day. The day I was told I had cancer, that I was dying. Helplessness doesn't even begin to describe it. Loneliness can't hold a candle to this. It was an overall numbness. As soon as I got in my house and closed the door, I pressed my back to it and slowly slid down, until I was on the floor. I huddled my legs up to my chest and rested my forehead on my knees, completely ignoring how uncomfortable the position was from wearing skinny jeans. My entire body was still trembling. I could hear the plant pot next to the door shake from the vibrations going through the floor.

For the second time in the past half hour, I cried.

I don't even know why. It just felt like it was all I could do right now, in my lonely, helpless, depressed stupor. At least, I could pray this would pass. This was a terrible feeling, one I hoped I would never feel again. Is this how Frank felt every time he chose to harm himself? Every time the only way his internal pain could match up with his external was by bringing a blade to his skin? Because, to be honest, that is how I feel right now. You're already dying, what's the harm? a voice in the back of my head nagged. I shook my head and forced myself to stand up, gripping the door handle for support. I was home alone, I could yell and scream all I wanted. Better way to get my pent-up depression out than hurting myself. Slowly, I stalked up to my room, my body still shaking uncontrollably. As I stepped into my room, I laid my eyes upon a potted plant my mom put in here. Without realizing it, I grabbed it. I threw it down on the floor, relishing the sound of the terracotta shattering. I took my alarm and threw it in the same spot. Disappointingly, it didn't break. But fuck, this a lot better than cutting would've been, I'm sure. I grabbed a framed picture I had on my wall, of a drawing I made when I was a little kid, and threw that on the floor. The plexiglass cover broke. Music to my ears, at least right now.

I don't know how long this went on, or exactly how many things I broke and shattered. What I do know is the only thing that was able to put me, though not fully, out of my daze was the door to my room creaking open. I took a deep breath and one last look at the destroyed picture frames and pots around me for turning around to see Frank standing in the doorway. "Gerard," he sighed, slowly stepping in and shutting the door, "w-what's wrong?" His voice was shaky.
I scoffed. "What's wrong? Everything!"

"Every-fucking-thing is wrong. I'm dying. My life is finally coming together and I'm DYING!" I waved my hands around as I spoke, a subconscious action. "I have friends now. FRIENDS. Ten of them to be exact! AND A BOYFRIEND! Yet I've been diagnosed with this bullshit cancer that's going to end my life in four months. This isn't fucking fair!" I grabbed another framed picture and threw it on the floor, the glass cracking satisfyingly and spreading out amongst a small area. The shards shined in the light
"Gerard, calm down--"
"Calm down?!" I yelled. "How am I supposed to calm down when everything in my life is going right while my body is slowly but surely decaying?"
"Gerard, please."
I grunted and stomped on the broken frame, breaking the shards into even smaller pieces.
"I know this must be hard for you, but I know more or less how you feel. Everything will be okay."
"NO. NO, IT WON'T. NOTHING WILL EVER BE O-FUCKING-KAY," I growled at him. "Don't give me that 'I know how you feel' BULLSHIT! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO BE DYING. YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO KNOW THAT IN A FEW MONTHS, YOU WON'T GET TO SEE THE ONES YOU LOVE, BECAUSE YOU'LL BE RESIDING IN A MAHOGANY CASKET SIX FEET UNDER!" I took a deep breath. "You don't know, Frank."

Frank.

I was talking to Frank.

I hadn't registered until then that I was talking to him. I just screamed at him.

Shit, what have I done?

"You're right, Gerard. I don't know," he muttered, loud enough only for me to hear. His voice was shaky, as if he was about to cry. I don't blame him.
I slowly brought my hand to his cheek. "Frank, I'm sorry--"
He slapped my hand away and turned on his heel, stomping out of my room and down the stairs.
I followed him downstairs and through the living room, grabbing on his arm when he unlocked the front door. "Frankie, I'm s--"
"Shut up," he hissed before jerking his arm away, stepping through the door, and slamming it.

I stood there for a moment, trying to understand the situation. And when it hit me, I broke out into sobs again. No use in going out and chasing him, it'll make it worse. And so, I simply rested my forehead against the door, and let the tears stain my cheeks grey with running eyeliner.

---

FRANK'S P.O.V.

I held the single razor in my palm, examining it in the dim lighting of my bathroom. I turned it around and around in my hands, not exactly sure what I was waiting for. I had turned on the shower to avoid any suspicions, along with locked both my door and the bathroom door. I sighed and clutched the blade between my index and ring finger. My eyes still burned from crying, and last time I looked in a mirror, but a few minutes ago, they were bloodshot and puffy with tears. Stupid, a voice in the back of my head nagged. Try to get a good angle this time, I want to hear you sob as you bleed out on the floor. Down the lane, not across the street!
"Shut up," I murmured under my breath as I pressed the razor to my wrist. "Here goes nothing."

I slowly dragged it across my wrist, leaving a gash. I gasped in pain. I haven't done this in a while, not since... since before I moved in with Gerard, I guess. He flushed down all the razors. Well, the ones Jamia found. I hid some in my closet, tucked into hidden pockets in my jackets. This was one of them. I did the same right below the previous cut, which was now oozing blood slowly. The skin around the lacerations became pink with irritation. I closed my eyes and let my hands do their own thing.

That worked, until I felt something run down my hand. My eyes shot open and I saw blood running down my hand. It was all over my fingers, but I hadn't cut myself there. Along with that, my arm burned. I gasped when I realized what had happened. In my daze, I hadn't realized what direction my cuts were going.

Nor how deep I had made them.

Blood was pooling on the linoleum floor below my arm, quickly spreading from the amount being contributed to it. I dropped the blade, letting it fall to the floor with a dull clang. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I wiped the cut to assess the damage, whether or not I could patch it up with the first-aid kit I kept under my cabinet.

It was a lot worse than I had thought.

I had to cover my mouth to silence the groan of disgust and pain I made when I saw it. I could already feel myself getting dizzy. No, no. This is not happening. Not happening, I told myself. I tried to get up, using the edge of my sink to steady myself, but I couldn't.

Looks like that day had come.

I always thought I would be prepared for the day I cut a major vein, that I bled out in my small, tiled bathroom. But I thought that that day, it would've been intentional. But I think I can accept my fate in the solitary of my bathroom. "I'm sorry, Gerard," I whispered as I shut my eyes, a single tear escaping and running down my cheek. "I'm so, so sorry."

I let out a shaky breath. One of the songs Brendon and his band played suddenly ran through my head as I felt myself slip out of consciousness.

There are no
Raindrops on roses
And girls in white dresses
It's sleeping with roaches
And taking best guesses
The shade of the sheets and before all the stains
And a few more of your least favorite things

Notes