Not that Mikey had ever felt all that alive in the first place, but still, he reckoned that there should have been something more, even just from Pete, even just from the boy sat beside him with very little to say for himself.

But it wasn't like Mikey had ever expected Pete to explain this at all.

Fuck, this was nothing more than a sudden slap in the face reminder as to just how horrific school was, and needless to say, Mikey was much less than appreciative of the 'gesture'.

In fact, more than anything, he was just resentful of Pete's silence, not that he held it against him, of course, because Pete's entire purpose in life most certainly wasn't to provide Mikey with emotional support, and as distraught as he may have been, Mikey still knew that, and he knew it like he knew that there was and at this point, perhaps had to be something more between them, and it had taken the lake and Mikey's mother to ensure that.

Of course, Mikey had absolutely no fucking idea in the world as how on earth he was supposed to process the aforementioned information, and as with all dilemmas in his life, he'd taken to nicotine and the constant decaying of his lungs.

He even considered apologising to them every time he clicked his lighter, because they definitely were in need of some form of an apology at this point, and perhaps even several, because Mikey had frequent fuck ups, and terrible decisions that were little short of even more terrible, and his lungs were most certainly paying the price for it.

And he knew right then that he needed to get out of school: to ditch again, regardless of whether the shorter boy followed him or not, because surprisingly enough, not everything revolved around Pete, and Mikey needed his life back, and he needed to smoke weed and grumble and stare at stormy skies and leave his mind devoid of any emotion or feeling at all.

And the school building and the boy beside him: all wide eyes and smiles certainly wasn't helping with that.

He couldn't even bring himself to utter a single word before getting to his feet, and doing his best to avoid Pete's gaze even as he did so, not a clue as to how he'd accomplish this, and where the hell he'd even go, he just knew he had to go, and he had to clear his head and he could most definitely deal with the consequences later.

Or perhaps that was just the irrational part of his brain talking.

Or perhaps the entirety of Mikey's brain was the irrational part.

It was likely.

Very fucking likely.

"Where are you going?" Pete eventually seemed to notice the boy before him getting to his feet and making some attempt at an exit, and Mikey couldn't help but turn, because he couldn't help but care, because Pete couldn't help but matter, and it really wasn't his fault, but perhaps Mikey just needed someone to pin the blame upon - someone that wasn't himself, for a change.

"I... I... I just... away, outside, you know? For air, for a smoke, for something else, I need space, and I hate this... the silence that demands words, and I have nothing to say and neither do you, but it feels like we should say something, and I hate that, I really fucking do, you know?"

"I thought you hated everything." Pete added, a trace of a smile at his lips as he climbed to his feet: the gesture making his plans to follow Mikey evident.

"Well, I don't, not exactly, but... most things... like ninety nine percent of things, or something. You're definitely exempt: I could never hate you, and like cigarettes, I hate them, but I need them, and Gerard, I don't hate him, and Frank, because he's a good friend-"

"Where are we going?" Pete asked, interrupting and stepping closer to Mikey as he did so.

"We?" Mikey raised his eyebrows a little, taken aback, despite the fact that he'd known this was coming all along.

"Yeah, because I need you and you need me, and we need to talk, and maybe with time, we'll think of something to say, and truth be told, I can't deal with school either."

"Who can?" Mikey let out a sigh, gesturing for Pete to follow him as he made his way towards the gate he frequented as an exit, because this school was seriously fucking terrible when it came to security. "This place kinda makes me wish I had killed myself, you know?" And Mikey tried to laugh it off, as a joke, even a bad one, but he knew instantly, from the look on Pete's face, that it just wasn't going to slide.

"Don't say that. Don't fucking say that." He raised his voice, unnecessarily, perhaps, but it was a matter of perspective, perhaps it wasn't.

"I'll say what I like." Mikey rolled his eyes, not ready to deal with anyone at all, and perhaps on the very path to running his life, and fucking up the heart of everyone he even vaguely cared about. "Fuck, sorry, I just... I don't know, my head's all weird, you get that right? And us, because I... I need to talk, we need to talk... things need to be said, you know? They do, don't they?"

"I guess?" Pete frowned, the confusion upon his face making it evident that he'd missed the point; Mikey didn't fret over it.

"Yeah... do you think we could go to the lake again, like now? You'd have to find our way there, of course, but like, is it even an option in the day time, like of course it is, but it feels magical, like a dream, like it wasn't even real, you know?"

"I know." Pete nodded. He kind of didn't. He kind of did. He was unsure. He just wanted to make Mikey smile. To make him feel better. Or something like that. He meant well at least. At least. What did that even mean? What did any of this mean?

"Good." Mikey let out a sigh, moving just a little closer to Pete as he did so, "I need you, you know? You get me, and that's important, because we work, and you matter, and you make me feel like I matter, you know?"

"How do I? You should know you matter already... shouldn't you?"

"Of course I should, I'm just an idiot, Pete: leave it, please."

"Okay."

And then silence as the two made their way to the lake.

-

"I am sorry."

And despite how much Lindsey could mean it, it would never be enough, and she'd known that from the very moment she'd even considered fucking this all up, but still she found herself trying, because she was all kinds of pathetic and apologetic rolled into one.

It had been something Jimmy had said at two in the morning the previous night.

Jimmy Urine was hardly the kind of company she found herself desiring at two in the morning, but she was running out of options, and perhaps she had been just about drunk enough to let it slide, and even to let Jimmy talk, to listen, to let everything happen, no matter how fucked up things would get, because with Jimmy they did, and in fact, there'd be cause for concern if they didn't.

Not that Lindsey reckoned she'd be first in line to raise alarm bells at all.

But that was irrelevant, and Lindsey Ballato had found herself listening to the world's most horrific idiot at two in the morning, with perhaps a little too much alcohol in her system, and perhaps she was just insanely grateful that she was certain that nothing had happened between the two of them.

Because this wasn't how it was going to be, and although she was in quite a mess, she knew enough to know that she couldn't let things fuck up like that again.

And at two in the morning, Jimmy Urine had turned to her, and they'd made an odd kind of sincere eye contact that only seemed to exist in the moment; it was sentimental and most certainly unexpected, especially on Jimmy's part, because Lindsey hadn't reckoned that he was even all that capable of emotion, and showing it in such a way, but perhaps that all changed come two in the morning and a little too much beer.

Because nothing ever lasted: there was nothing you could rely on, and truth be told, Lindsey had become almost overly comfortable with the fact that Jimmy Urine would just be an asshole and someone not to listen to, but, it wasn't like that at all.

"You should talk to her again."

Lindsey had hated how she instantly knew what Jimmy was referring to, and who 'her' was, and why she'd even mentioned Jamia Nestor to him in the first place, but she had, and perhaps now it would prove its worth.

"You should say you're sorry, because you are sorry and you miss her, and you look sad, and it's... weird, Lindsey, it's weird."

And then Jimmy had rolled over, breaking the eye contact like a spell: a trance fading, as Lindsey began to tremble a little, unsure of how to continue, or what to say, or what to do, because Jimmy was right, for once in his entire fucking life, Jimmy Urine was right, and it mattered so much, but it was two in the morning and Lindsey Ballato was drunk, and she didn't know what to say at all.

She didn't know what to do either, and soon, seconds and minutes ticked by before irrationality finally set in: a last response, the most obvious one - a slap to Jimmy's face, and a string of cruse words afterwards as he got to his feet and looked at her in despise, muttering something Lindsey hadn't cared to remember, before making his way out and make one hell of a point of slamming the door behind him.

"I am sorry." Lindsey repeated once more, facing the present and the hazel eyes, filled with confusion, sorrow, and something Lindsey couldn't place. "You don't look like you believe me- why the fuck is that? I'm not lying, I-"

"I don't look like anything." He ran a hand back through his black hair, shrugging his shoulders a little. "I'm not saying anything, and that's not what I meant, Lindsey. I'm thinking, and this is good, because you're right, you are right, and you should apologise to her-"

"Yeah, I've already figured that out, thanks, Gerard." Lindsey rolled her eyes, groaning a little and making one hell of a scene out of her own existence, but since having known Lindsey for more than five seconds, Gerard was already more than accustomed to it.

"Why are you angry?" He let out a sigh, watching as Lindsey got up from the bed: his bed, and not like that, because Gerard and Frank were okay, sort of, now, but Lindsey needed help, and she seemed to have herself convinced that she could only feel good about herself whilst sat in Gerard Way's bed - with or without clothes, or sex, or kissing, or whatever.

It was odd, and Gerard had begun to notice, but he reckoned that now was anything but the time to question it.

"I'm angry at myself: I'm sorry." She let out a sigh as she made her way to the window, looking out into the garden, and groaning internally. "I'm a shit friend to you - you must think I only want to fuck you, because that's what it seems like, but it's not like that. I care about you, Gerard, and I'm very honoured that you seem to care about me too."

"You're not a shit friend to me." Gerard let out a sigh, preparing himself for what he was about to say, and just what Lindsey could possibly find to respond with, but it was of course the truth, and there was no way around that. "You were a shit friend to Jamia. Everyone knows that - Frank told me about that, in detail, actually."

"I didn't mean to be, I just-" Lindsey stammered out, her eyes widening in shock as she turned to face Gerard once more.

"You were a shit friend to Frank to - not that he thinks any less of you, that's just my opinion from what he's mentioned of you." Gerard let out another comment: all too nonchalant, and Lindsey had this terrible urge to slap him too, but then she'd most definitely have no one to turn to, and she wasn't quite that stupid.

"What do you mean?" She went for perhaps the more rational approach, gathering her strength and sitting down at the end of Gerard's bed once again.

"For a start, you used the phrase 'gay best friend', and well... you seem... you're not good with people, are you? It's not your fault, you do appreciate people but just not in the way people want you to. It's just different for you, because you see sex and romantic affection as what matters the most, and words as very little, but I think you need to realise that Jamia most certainly thinks differently to you." He let out a sigh, "I think a bit like you, not quite as much, but, I get where you're coming from and I get where Jamia is too."

"So what do I do? Because one simple sorry doesn't feel like enough, truth be told." She brushed her hair from her face, letting out a sigh as she did so.

"Explain. Explain it all to her, and bare in mind how she feels about you, and what there is, and could be between you, because Jamia probably thinks about it all the time-"

"What do you mean?" Lindsey's expression contorted into one of confusion. "How she feels? What are you talking about?"

"No one told you?" Gerard exclaimed, taking a moment to just reassess the situation. "Frank told me. Maybe even I wasn't supposed to know... I don't even know what to say; this isn't my thing to say, or mine to know either, but I think it'd help clear things up in your head, but... you can't let anyone know you know, and especially not that I told you, but I guess this isn't something you can just easily ignore, but I guess you could try, but I don't know... I really don't fucking know, Lindsey, you know? I don't know what to do, stop putting me in charge of your life and your problems, because I don't want to be to blame when things fuck up, because I hate to say it, but I feel like this isn't going to end well, because you're going to find out eventually, and you're not going to like it."

"Just tell me, Gerard." Her words were something like devoid of emotional, and impatient in nature, and Gerard didn't quite know what to think or what to do, or what this could all mean, and just what Jamia and Frank would make of him when it came around that he'd told her.

But it'd get out in the end.

And she would react explosively, and perhaps it was better in his bedroom than with Jamia's, because Lindsey wouldn't think rationally, and she couldn't chance really fucking things up with Jamia, because despite this all, she cared, and she always would care about Jamia Nestor, because Jamia was so much more than the best friend, and Lindsey Ballato was so much more than a cliché.

"She has this crush on you." Gerard reckoned it better to not allow Lindsey to butt in, and just keep talking: forcing the words out, perhaps, "and it's been for a long time, and despite all the shit you give her, she cares so much for you, and you might not even like girls, and that's why she hates all these boyfriends, and she's tired of everything, because maybe she's tired of being treated like shit and like nothing, and it's not entirely your fault, because you didn't know she liked you, but you did know she was a human being with feelings - you've always known that."

And silence: the loudest fucking silence that rang in your ears, and Gerard wanted to scream just to rid himself of it, and it wasn't even working against him; he was just the messenger, who perhaps shouldn't have spoken, but he had now, and there was little left to do in regards to the aforementioned.

Lindsey finally seemed to come to realise what was happening, though, her eyes blinking rapidly as she seemed to plummet back into reality with one hell of an impact, but still very little to say for herself, as she resorted to meeting Gerard's gaze with wide, near teary eyes, and lips that trembled, as if there were a million words behind them, just begging to be let out into reality, but she refused them that privilege, she refused herself speech, and confined herself to the silence.

"Say something." Gerard finally concluded it with what came out as perhaps more of a demand than he had previously intended. "Please, Lindsey, come on, I need to hear something, because I feel like I've fucked everything up, and I haven't even done anything, have I- fuck, that doesn't matter, you matter, what the fuck is going on in your head, tell me, come on."

"I'm an asshole." Lindsey uttered, falling back onto the bed, and leaving Gerard frozen in place for a good few minutes before he moved to join her. "I'm the world's worst person, I'm practically the fucking antichrist," she turned to face Gerard, "aren't I?"

"That's not true." He insisted, in an attempt to reassure her, although, truth be told, he wasn't exactly all that sure himself.

"It is." She let out a sigh. "You don't understand, you didn't know me when I was thirteen, and I had this stupid idea that maybe things would-... I had this stupid crush too, I just beat her by four years."

"You..." Gerard let out a confused noise, "I... I don't..."

"Understand." Lindsey finished for him. "Neither did I. Neither do I, because I still fucking don't, but whatever, I never told anyone, and I started getting with boys, I don't know to forget it, and it didn't mean much, nothing meant much in my love life, but I was okay, and straight, because somehow that was imperative and Jamia was just my best friend, and by the time I turned fifteen I was content with forgetting about it completely."

"You suppressed it?" Gerard shook his head in disbelief. "That's the absolute fucking worst thing you can do."

"I... I was thirteen, I didn't fucking know how to deal with it, and anyway... it didn't matter, but it does now, and I-" She shook her head, "can you forget I even told you? Because I don't- I don't want this, I... I just... I'm Lindsey Ballato and I fuck boys, and everything's fine in my life, and I just want my best friend back, and she's just my best friend, and that's that, and that will be that."

"You can fuck boys and girls- not at the same time- well maybe at the same time if you want to, you can do whatever. The worst thing you can do with sexuality, or anything about yourself is pushing yourself into a box and closing the lid behind you, because you don't fir into the 'straight box', I can fucking see that."

"And what if I want to, because it's been years and I'm here just fine, I'm just fine, Gerard, you fucking- you don't know me, you don't know me at all!"

She stumbled to her feet and made her way to the front door, slamming it shut behind her, as tears started to roll down her cheeks and the whole world began to fall apart - right then and right there.

-

hey pals!!! how are you??? im very smile actually this is 420/10 ! :) ! :) ! 666 !!! vote and comment pls it would be great!!!!!!! i love you all super lots!!