"So are you boyfriends now?" Gerard asked, perhaps all too casually for Mikey's liking: the younger of the two brothers, finding himself constantly on edge in regards to the subject, and well, perhaps, everything - perhaps that was just Mikey, perhaps that would just always be how he was.

"Huh?" Gerard continued to ask as Mikey seemed to make a point of ignoring his question, perhaps attempting to pretend as if he'd never heard it in the first place; Gerard wasn't going to let him get away quite that easily though. "Come on, Mikey, yes or no? Whatever, just talk to me, will you? Are you pissed at me or something?"

He let out a sigh, shaking his head, "no, Gerard, I'm not pissed at you, I'm just..." He trailed off, glancing down at his bedroom floor, "I don't know actually, I don't know."

"You don't know if you're boyfriends or not, or you don't know if you're pissed at me or not?" Gerard asked, raising his eyebrows, pulling his knees up to his chest, and making it apparent that he was in no rush to get up off his brother's bed, which he was sat on, or get out of his brother's room, which he had 'invaded' just a few minutes prior, much to Mikey's dislike.

"I don't know!" Mikey exclaimed, sitting down on the bed besides his brother, and reaching under the bed for a packet of cigarettes, which he'd put just a little too much effort into hiding from Gerard to just whip out in front of him, but right now, Mikey was prepared to do anything just to get this asshole he had for a brother to shut the fuck up.

"Just talk, talk to me, Mikey.." Gerard trailed off, watching as his brother put a cigarette between his lips and began to light it, "give me a cigarette too." He added, pushing his luck with an odd, hopeful smile.

Mikey rolled his eyes, and passed the packet and his lighter to the nineteen year old. "I'm really hungover." Mikey announced, gaining quite the eyebrow raise from Gerard.

"How come?" He asked, putting the cigarette between his lips and clicking the lighter as he waited for Mikey's response.

"Got drunk last night." Mikey shrugged it off: stating the obvious.

"Yeah I'd gathered that by now." Gerard let out a sigh: words muffled by the cigarette between his lips, and spoken from the corner of his mouth, "but what happened last night? Just talk to me."

"Went out." Mikey shrugged it off, once again, "just some people, some alcohol, something to get my head clear, get my stomach clear: of fucking butterflies that is - Pete's fault. He's so nice, just fucking nice and cute, you know?"

"I know enough about cute boys to last me a life time, trust me, Mikeyway." Gerard slipped into a grin, holding his cigarette absent-mindedly in his hand, gesturing wildly as he spoke, somehow invigorated instantly by just the mention of cute boys, fucking Gerard Way, what a big gay.

"Yeah, I gathered." Mikey let out a sigh, "Frank is kinda cute, not that I'm gonna steal your boyfriend, just yeah, Bert looks like he's always been punched in the face though."

"Usually because he has." Gerard shrugged that comment off, because it was mostly true, and Gerard knew that first-hand. "He's an asshole - gets what he's given."

"Oh, so you're no longer in denial of Bert McCrackheadassholeface-"

"Don't be such a prick about it, Mikey, he's got a lot of shit to deal with, he's just going to have to deal with it, without me being his boyfriend, or even his friend, because... that's not for me anymore." Gerard smiled, and Mikey was perhaps more proud of his brother in that moment than he'd ever been more proud of anyone.

"So yeah, I got drunk, because Pete Wentz is ruining my life, because I like him, so much, too much, and I'm a mess, and everything's just... perfect, with him, like in the moment, but I come down from the highs and I have to drown everything out in fucking cheap ass nasty vodka-"

"You don't have to." Gerard corrected him, narrowing his eyes, "you're just choosing to, and you can stop, whenever the fuck you want: remember that, that's important. You don't have to do anything."

"Except go to school." Mikey added, groaning at even the notion of such a ludicrous invention.

"Of course." Gerard smirked, "how is school, anyway? I haven't been in more than a year now, can't even really remember what it's like-"

"Fuck off." Mikey groaned, falling back onto the bed, "so do I... you know... with Pete, do I just... what do I say? What do I do?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Gerard asked, raising his eyebrows as he mimicked Mikey's actions, blowing smoke in his direction as he did so, because he was a fucking spectacular asshole, and he was indeed immensely proud of himself for it.

"You're older, you've had two more years of experience in romantic failures. And I need the help, and I'm asking you because I'm desperate and you're in close range, and you walked into my room and I don't want to make this a pleasant experience for you, because I can't risk you wanting to come back."

Gerard smiled, shaking his head, "but now I know what you're doing, so I'll come the fuck back-"

"No, no you won't." Mikey continued, his voice stern, "anyway, how do I even approach it really, because we're like... like together, but not together, and I just-"

"Just use words, Mikeyway." Gerard began, like it was the easiest thing in the world, and in Mikey's head, it was really anything but. "Be like, hey Pete, I like you, and your dick, wanna fuck-"

"Except I don't wanna fuck him because I'm asexual, Gerard." Mikey let out a disgruntled asexual sigh.

"Yeah, you know, interpret and adjust it as you wish, be like, hey Pete, I like you, and your... smile, wanna cuddle?-"

"I'm not fucking saying that-"

"Well from the way you're going it doesn't sound like you're saying anything, does it?"

"Fuck, fine, I'll fucking say something, I'll say so much, come on, Gerard you are not ready, I'll fucking fight you on this, I will say so much, I will recite the entire fucking dictionary, I-"

It was then that Pete appeared in the doorway, very confused as to what was occurring in Mikey's room that very moment, letting out a slightly overwhelmed and very concerned, "your mum let me in..."

And of course, Gerard practically died of laughter.

-

Lindsey was all nerves and anxieties: a mess, to put things as they were, however, she was of course, nowhere near comfortable admitting such a thing to herself, even it was the blatant truth, and even if there was absolutely no way around it, which there wasn't, until Jamia finally came over and they finally spoke, but still then Lindsey would be fucked up as hell, so perhaps after the conversation - if Lindsey survived it, that was.

The aforementioned was still a matter of question in her mind, because she couldn't quite believe that she'd actually convinced herself that she was going to do this... properly, for real, with words, and explanations, not fucks up and everything that made no sense at all - not with boys that meant nothing at all, but the one girl that mattered more than the rest of the world combined: she was special Jamia Nestor was, and she always would be.

Jamia was special, truly special, in her nature, in her person: a permanent state, whereas Lindsey's appeal, and valued existence stemmed solely from her appearance, the way she acted, who she fucked, and Brendon Urie, who she'd kicked in the balls last summer, but those things wouldn't last forever, and one day she'd find a crowd to impress, when she didn't look as pretty as she did now, when she was nervous as hell, and with no of whom she'd slept with, and with no convenient Brendon Urie to kick in the balls, and in that very moment, Lindsey Ballato would be dragged by millions of eager hands right down from her pedestal and into the kind of hell she belonged it.

But then, Jamia would still be special, she'd still matter: she always would, and one day, perhaps five years down the line, it would be Jamia in the spotlight, and Lindsey as that almost not quite friend, who you knew the face of, but couldn't quite put a name to, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, sure, for Lindsey's ego, it was, but Lindsey was soon coming to the earth shattering realisation that her own ego wasn't the most important thing in the world, and that over people did indeed matter more, perhaps Jamia Nestor specifically.

She missed her already: she'd had little more than a short conversation with her. She needed to see her, she needed to set this straight, just before she had time to chicken out, and freak the fuck out and run over to Jimmy fucking Urine, or someone equally as disgusting, and lie her way back down to the hell she'd locked herself into.

Lindsey was scared, scared both of Jamia and what she could possibly say, but of herself too, and what she could possibly do to fuck this up further: the ways her mind could twist and wreck everything even further - it didn't seem possible, but it was: so fucking possible, so fucking real, and she didn't quite trust herself.

She didn't deserve this opportunity, this forgiveness, Jamia entirely, at all, and she knew that, but still, she knew even more that she wasn't about to give it up for the sake of the way things 'should' be, and what she did or didn't 'deserve'; Lindsey wasn't that kind of person, Lindsey would never be that kind of person.

She wasn't sure if she even wanted to be.

She just wanted to be herself, to set things straight- okay, straight was a bad word, given the circumstances, but set things bisexual didn't make all that much sense, or pansexual, or fucking anything, honestly there were more varieties in sexuality than people Lindsey had slept with, and seriously, that was a lot.

However, she didn't quite have the time to fully ponder her sexuality and all the boys she'd fucked: anything really, just to keep her mind of Jamia, and just how badly everything could, and undoubtedly would go, however, there soon came a knock at her door, and Lindsey's whole body tensed up immediately, because there was no question about what this was: who this was, and just what kind of a mess she could make, effectively completely wrecking her friendship, or whatever was left of it, with the girl on the other side of the door.

But still, she felt like she didn't have much choice or control in the matter, and found her legs even moving for her: to the door, to Jamia, to the worst kind of confrontation, to perhaps the one thing that really mattered, because this was either a spectacular hit, or a spectacular miss - there was no inbetween - there wouldn't be inbetween anymore, and perhaps it was better off that way.

Lindsey couldn't quite figure that one out: perhaps it was something to do with the lack of oxygen going to her head, as she found her hand shaking around the door handle, and every breath a struggle: pathetic, it was, after all, but this was Lindsey caring, this was sincerity, and that counted for something. She could make it out to count for more than it ever would, of course, and she would, because that was the kind of train wreck Lindsey was, but that was besides the point, as her whole existence seemed to focus in on the door handle and the act of opening it, and the girl on the other side, now growing impatient and offering another knock.

Her knock followed, a few moments later by a hesitant, and somewhat awkward, "Lindsey?" It was evident in her voice, even in just that one word, that she didn't know what to think, what to make of this, what to do, and perhaps she was just as clueless and fucked up as Lindsey was in that moment, but Lindsey brushed even the notion of that off, because there was no way she deserved something like that, something along the lines of forgiveness; she'd fucked up, and Jamia needed to accept that.

Perhaps Jamia already had, and perhaps this was the forgiveness that followed: perhaps it was something completely different, perhaps Lindsey was just overthinking things, or perhaps Lindsey was just racking her brains for every excuse not to open that door.

However, the excuses soon came to a halt, and her palm grew sweaty around the handle, and pushed, opening the door, and letting everything fall apart as she met Jamia Nestor's eyes, suddenly finding the whole world: the meaning of this all, why it all mattered, and what she had to say, and god, how fucking beautiful Jamia was.

Perhaps she'd been wrong.

She'd been wrong many times, of course, although she had trouble admitting it, pretty much always, but this particular time was suddenly so fucking important and so fucking terrifying: it had Lindsey's heart pounding in her chest, but it was good, in the most fucked up way this was the best thing she'd ever had, and she found herself perhaps overly aware of that.

She'd been wrong when Gerard had told her about Jamia's feelings, starting this all in the first place. She'd been wrong when she said that she had no feelings for Jamia anymore, because the look in her eyes, and the way her heart thudded in her chest made the lie so fucking apparent, in fact, Lindsey wouldn't be all that surprised if Jamia could just read it off her, in fact she wanted her to, she wanted all the talking and explaining to be done for her, but that just wasn't how things worked.

Lindsey wasn't that lucky, and Jamia was once again growing confused and impatient, and Lindsey's palms continued to sweat, in fact, she was sweating a little all over, as gross as it was, it was kind of a hot day too anyway, but she was just that nervous. Too nervous. More nervous than she should ever be, regarding a girl she had been so comfortable with, a girl she would have still been so comfortable with, if she hadn't been the one to fuck it all up completely.

But she couldn't change that now.

And she hated that, more than she'd hated anything ever: this was a new hatred, a true ten out of ten, reserved for so long, and with good intentions, now to be put to good use, by the 'confident' girl who couldn't even force out a single word to her best friend, of so many fucking years.

But of course, it was all so different like this: with her heart pounding in her chest, and everything mattering.

Lindsey wondered if it had been like this for Jamia all along.

She wondered how Jamia had coped; she'd been such a bitch, and perhaps she would always be a bitch, even in silence, even in shaky breaths, and a world and feelings that didn't make sense. It was permanent: perhaps the only permanent thing about her, and Lindsey wasn't exactly ecstatic to accept it, but she had little choice in the matter.

And if this mess she felt for Jamia had been worth something, it was worth the knowledge that acceptance was always the fucking answer, and perhaps the only thing she could do.

"You should probably say something." Jamia was the first to break the silence: her words delayed, of course, but still enough to make Lindsey even more uncomfortable than she already was, but Lindsey didn't, and perhaps couldn't take it personally, perhaps she needed Jamia to insult her, perhaps she needed to feel this, perhaps she needed to feel anything, because this was so different, this was falling for someone... properly.

This was fluttering heartbeats, and dilated pupils, and smiles, and a lack of breath, and everything she'd never experienced before, because she'd fucked perhaps every guy she knew, and not a single one of them had ever made her feel anything like Jamia Nestor had, and all in such a short space of time.

She was special: Lindsey had been right about that, at least, but of course, that was never anything but an undoubtable fact.

"I don't know what to say." Lindsey finally conjured up something in the way of a response, avoiding Jamia's gaze as she did so, for fear of judgement, for fear of everything, for fear of Jamia, for fear of herself, for fear of the world, and what she could possibly make of it, what she could make of this.

"Just tell me what's on your mind." Jamia let out a sigh, her tone sort of dull, oddly expressionless, and perhaps Lindsey would have picked up upon it if she wasn't finding it just so insanely difficult to think right then.

"You." Lindsey said, and it was the truth: it was the abbreviated truth, but the truth nonetheless.

"How so? Please just... you're lucky at me different, I don't get it: I don't know why, what have I done? I'm sorry, I just want-..." She trailed off, letting out a sigh as she did so, "I don't know what I want, Lindsey, I just want us to be happy, I just want to know you again: I'm fucking tired, tired of pretending to hate you, and pretending to care about every fucking stupid thing you've ever done, and Frank's problems with Gerard, and fucking boys, and the whole damn world, and your 'boyfriends' and who you sleep with, and just... we could start this all over again, we could, we could make it right: it could work."

"It could work." Lindsey repeated the words aloud, her heart thumping in her chest, perhaps even to the extent that it was beginning to hurt.

"It could, and it would, and I just, I just want to understand you, Lindsey, because right now, with your silence and your looks, I feel like that's something I can't do, and I hate that, not you - I don't hate you, and I want to make that explicitly clear. Things need to be clear, this time around, so just tell me your feelings, what's on your mind, make everything fucking clear, I... I... need that..."

And as Jamia trailed off: cheeks ruby red, Lindsey had a fucking stupid idea, and of course, she couldn't manage to think for herself before just acting on it, because Lindsey was perhaps just as stupid as the idea itself.

The idea, of course, was based on the saying: 'actions speak louder than words', and okay, the silence was still deafening, but Lindsey could perhaps have spoken and rambled for hours, and her feelings still wouldn't be as clear as she'd just made them with a kiss to Jamia's lips.

-

hey pals!!! i hope u loved the homosexual action occurring right now!!! and if u did, vote and comment and i will smile at least 666 times per comment and 420 times per vote!!! i love u pals!!!