i'm going to be honest here; this one-shot is really just an excuse to use a few weird words from both u.s. and brit. english, that could really be replaced by more simple ones, and to write some emo shit. mostly emo shit. this was written shortly after reading november 1st so maybe you'll see similarities. *shrug* This is purely unedited, so there will be some grammar mistakes, and i know it's got the same name as something i posted in lumins, but it's not the same.
- danstroya (king of the un-ironic rawr XD)

frank rolled the pen between his pollex and index finger, trying to find some sort of inspiration for his creative writing assignment. he was supposed to create some sort of poem about something that meant a lot to him, but he couldn't think of anything. his gaze wandered to the window and to the dying oak that rested just outside it, surrounded by a plethora of wildflowers because the groundskeeper hadn't trimmed the grass yet. it was just a tree, but maybe he could write something about it.

that shouldn't be too hard, right? the damned thing had been there since he first arrived here, but his early memories of it weren't fond; he'd spent his first three years here climbing it to avoid being caught by the heteronormative gender roles patrol, being hung from the branches by his shirt, resulting in more than a few torn up band tees, and being pinned against the trunk while he got the shit beat out of him.

maybe he'd disregard the fact that it had to be about something he liked and write the poem about something, or someone, he hated. well, maybe hated wasn't the word, and disliked didn't fit either. after some careful thought he decided that 'missed' was the word he was looking for. yes, he missed this person, longed for them with every fibre of his being. he'd be lying if he said he didn't have hundreds of polaroids featuring that person; frank was in a few, but most were of only them. some with the ever churning ocean waves as a background and wind gently stirring their black hair, some taken in frank's bedroom, showing off that messy bed-hair he loved so much and pale, unblemished skin.

but his favourite; that was definitely the one of that person, wearing only a pair of shorts, looking up at the camera with such longing. frank could still remember their slightly pudgy stomach and rounded edges, and that shy look he was given as he praised them and planted soft kisses on every inch of skin.

but that person left, abandoning frank, forcing him to survive alone in this shithole of a town, and as much as frank wanted to hate them, he couldn't. it wasn't as if they'd left intentionally. at least, that's what he told himself. after months of grieving he'd convinced himself that they'd slipped, accidentally drowned, and that it hadn't been suicide. but their suicide note, there were multiple pages of it, lay buried under photographs in his drawer, so he'd never have to see them again, so he could finally move on.

but as much as he'd tried, his mind always wandered back to them, back to him; back to gerard.

gerard, the boy he'd fallen so hopelessly in love with.

the bell rang, and he gathered up his things, fleeing the classroom before he could be asked what he was writing his poem about.

-

the walk home seemed to take hours, but finally he arrived on his mum's doorstep, soaked to the bone in april rain and muttering profanities because his creative writing notebook had been soaked too and he would have to carefully peel apart the pages and hope it dried without smearing the ink too much. he fished his key from his pocket, jamming it in the lock and turning it so he could hurry and get inside, where the heater was running and there wasn't a continuous onslaught of rain pelting him.

when he got in and closed the door he dropped his things on the table, rushing up to his room and looking for dry and (mostly) clean clothing. linda iero kept an immaculate house and surely wouldn't appreciate the water puddles and mud all over her floors and stairs, but frank was sure he'd get off with little more than a few extra chores for the day. christ, she'd given up on making him clean his disaster zone of a room, and you would too if you'd been trying as long as she had with no results.

he kicked off his shoes, worn black converse that were stained in quite a few places and had been glued back together too many times to count. any day now they'd give up. but he'd still keep them, prolonging their life as much as he could, because the little white pen drawings covering them were gerard's, and he couldn't bring himself to throw them out. in his eyes, that'd be like throwing a piece of gee out, and he couldn't do that.

frank was starting to realise what a walking contradiction he was. he hid away all of gee's drawings, photographs, and suicide note, so he could forget him, but kept the shoes with him always, not wanting to lose that piece of him. that small, seemingly insignificant piece that was little batmans, darth vaders, vampires, and spidery little i <3 you's drawn in white pen on his shoes.

but that was fine. he was okay with being a contradiction, a hypocrite. he shed his wet clothing and grabbed the closest things on his floor, giving them a quick sniff to determine their cleanliness.

-

frank couldn't recall how exactly he'd ended up pulling everything out of that drawer, but here it was, splayed out in front of him on the bed, suicide note and all. the tear smudged red ink taunting him. he also couldn't remember who's tears had smudged what words, because when he found it it was tear-stained, and he, mikey, and the way parents had only further smudged it. fortunately, the words were still somewhat legible. frank left them for last, hiding them under a pile of photographs while he sifted through drawings and sketchpads, forcing tears back so he didn't ruin gee's hard work.

so many of them featured frank, depicting him as gerard saw him, perfect in every way. even his imperfections were perfect to gerard, and gerard's imperfections had been perfect to him. they had completed him, made him who he was.

unfortunately, the imperfections under the surface, in his head, had led him to suicide. why drowning, he had wondered. it was a slow, painful way to go. shouldn't he have wanted it over quickly? frank would never understand, and he never desired to. he like the idea of there being parts of gerard, little pieces of the puzzle he'd never figure out. to be honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to figure them out, because they might be too much for him to handle.

-

the next hour and a half were spent going through photos, hoodies gee had left, and another stack of drawings he found stashed in his closet. frank was trying to avoid re-reading the suicide note, but he knew he'd have to eventually. after looking at the picture of them at the beach for the fourth time he saw the corner of notebook pages peeking out from under the pile. he knew what it was.

hesitating, he pulled the suicide note out, treating it's pages like the most fragile glass and flinching at every crinkle they gave off.

frank,

gerard's spidery handwriting sent chills up his spine. it was so beautiful, yet wrote words that hurt to read. beauty truly is pain.

i know how much this will hurt you, and i'm absolute shit for doing this to you, but i just can't anymore. i can't handle it. my head is so messed up and the pills aren't helping, so i'm going to fix it, permanently. there's so much i wanted to tell you before i did this, but i ran out of time. i never got the chance to tell you just how much i love you, and i never got to tell you that i'd gotten accepted into that art university i told you about. i'd never told you that i wanted to marry you and adopt a pretty little girl with you. i never got the chance, and i never will frank. i'm sorry you had to have the shittiest boyfriend on the planet.

i'm sorry i couldn't stay long enough to see you turn seventeen. i'm sorry i couldn't bring myself to tell you what was wrong with me. i'm sorry i didn't let you help me. please don't cry for me, okay? cry over your favourite bands instead, wear your eyeliner and spiky emo hair, and join a band like you've always wanted. find a nice guy and marry him, adopt kids if you want them, and stay together forever. please, don't let my memory ruin your life like i ruined mine.
i don't want you to be sad and miss me. be pissed, angry as hell, shred my suicide note and burn it, tear my drawings, hate me for the rest of your life, just don't be sad because of me, and don't miss me. i'm not worth it frank, i never was. but thank you for everything you did. every time you called me beautiful i almost believed it. don't come looking for me frankie, i don't want you to remember me as a corpse fished out of a lake, skin eerily pale, tinted bluish.
- gerard

choked sobs had filled the previously quiet room as frank read that damned note. he buried his face in his hands, his sobs slowly dying out while he soaked his palms in tears.

-

the weekend had passed quicker than expected, and frank found himself standing in front of his fellow students, preparing to read his poem to the class. he took a deep breath, calming his nerves and glancing at his teacher, who gave him a reassuring nod. he scanned the page one last time before he began reciting the poem. the poem he hadn't even written on the page. the poem he'd memorised, just like gerard's suicide note.

"it scares me to think,
to think that in an a moment,
a fraction of a second,
everything can change.
in a fraction of a second you were gone,
leaving me alone in this place
while you ascended to the stars,
joining their ranks.
the stars fall, you know.
and sometimes,
i swear,
the stars seem to rain from the sky just for you, gerard."

Notes

this is completely unedited, so expect grammar mistakes, and things that make no sense.