Somehow, he'd just stopped caring.

About the inevitability of death, what people thought of him, and what could possibly become of him.

It was awfully weird.

It wasn't like Frank found himself particularly welcoming any of these things, he just found that he was rather accustomed to them, complacent even, and he couldn't quite figure out what to make of that at all.

Or even what he could possibly make of the whole situation at hand, because what was there to make of know that you were going to die in a few days? What was there to make of every cut and bruise open your body, and what was there to make of the man you loved, sat crying in shame and regret at the end of the room?

Honestly, Frank couldn't quite convince himself that this was even real.

That the whole world was real perhaps, which was certainly an odd situation to find himself in; a float statement between existence and non-existence, between life and death, and the wonders of what may lie in between, and the way time seemed to warp and curve as you reached the end of your life, as it did at the beginning: shorter or longer than it should be, as if perhaps the whole being of your life was spherical, cyclical, going round and round, and round, and time simply warping in order to try and catch up.

Catch up with you, and whatever hell you might fling yourself into.

But Frank didn't care about that, about hell: metaphorical hell, or 'real' hell with Satan and fiery pits and torture and pain, because if hell felt like anything at all, it was this silence and the look of pain on Gerard's face and the rather blunt fact that Frank couldn't do anything about it.

He didn't even try to speak to him, because he knew Gerard would spew out thousands of apologies and start crying as he did so, even finding himself tempted to storm out and fuck this all up, because Gerard was definitely taking it worse than Frank.

Gerard was feeling it.

Gerard was reacting like he had done when he was alive.

And honestly none of those things made any sense, but they really weren't Frank's number one priority in that moment, but maybe they should be.

Because gradually, it had been happening: slowly, it was coming back to Gerard - emotion, feeling, pain and reaction, as everything seemed to fade away from Frank - a balance of power, two magnets that had once clicked but were now polar opposites, and perhaps Frank really should have noticed that.

Not that it was Gerard's fault, because he'd been so caught up in feeling emotion to notice that he was indeed feeling emotion and recognise that logically, he shouldn't be capable of such a thing anymore. Which was perhaps ironic, although irony was particularly irrelevant in such a situation.

Because the thing was, neither of them knew what could and what would become of this, because there was no escaping the inevitable, and the inevitable was indeed some kind of chaos, some kind of fuck up, some kind of balance or imbalance of power - something, and Gerard, although run rampant and ruined, fuck, crippled by emotion, knew that.

Frank did too.

Frank did too as he sat on the floor of the room and struggled to focus on the mere objects before him, on the simplicity of the world, on the concept of reality and living, and even Gerard, because everything kept going fuzzy and out of focus, and he kept closing his eyes, just to blink, and opening them again to see twenty minutes had passed.

To put it simply: somehow, he was fading: fading away into nothingness, and perhaps he was dying, but not dying normally, not how he die: dying as a result of wounds and injuries not inflicted by himself but by the man across the room who kept sketching furiously: thick black marker pen lines and striking harsh scenes, that Frank hadn't really captured enough of a glimpse of, because even in a state such as the one he found himself in now, he felt inclined to appreciate Gerard's artwork, because it was always worth appreciating.

Gerard himself, was always worth appreciating - through the good and the bad, through heaven and through hell, through life and through death, and at whatever funeral could come of this all.

Because it was all too much. It had all been too much: too much and too soon - harsh and unfair, but firm and solid - a fixed event, as Frank faded away, and Gerard caught his eye less often, and the two shared only sorrowful looks and the distance between them grew larger: both physically and emotionally.

Because Gerard all of a sudden, just couldn't bare it: the thought of this all and what he'd done, and the mess he'd made, and how it was undeniably his own doing, his own fault, and how it was this time not just the collapse of himself but the collapse of Frank, because the two were linked: linked more so than they could ever have known, and one lifetime, one death, two deaths, even the whole universe couldn't put a stop to that.

But neither of them quite knew it to its full extent: regarding it as love and care and piecing together what they knew the best they could, and it was a good enough guess, but it was far off, because there was love, but what lay between them was so much more than love: it was deep within them, in their souls, connected through heaven and hell and what lay in between, as the two found themselves flung into place after place and world after world, until finally things began to add up.

And they hadn't, not yet, as Gerard was crippled with anger and disappointment, and love, and everything he'd ever hated, and found himself unaware: blissfully unaware, until, until he wasn't.

Because it was as simple as that: a flick of a switch, and the end of the world, in a simple sentence - simple words, that deconstructed the entirety of reality:

"I think I can feel again. Emotions. Anger. Pain. Love. Sadness. Regret."

And in response, Frank looked up, however with only one emotion within him - fear.

Because this wasn't how it was supposed to be. This was the last way in which it was supposed to turn out. This was the last way it could turn out.

Frank couldn't think this possible, and yet, it was: it was blindingly obvious, and evidently possible as it took the form of the truth before his eyes.

He didn't know what to think at all; he didn't even know why thinking was expected of him anymore, as he didn't expect thought of himself, only the inevitable end to everything he'd ever known, and the way that even now, reality was determined to continue to fuck with him until there was really absolutely nothing left of him.

Left of them, and the seeming rift they'd created in the universe: determined that Frank Iero and Gerard Way were simply something that just couldn't be, and opposed to that view point as Frank naturally was, it wasn't like he just couldn't see where the universe might be coming from because of course he could, because of course, it seemed the universe made more sense than him: more sense than them - more sense than Gerard being alive still - after all of this, after he'd practically been to hell and right back again, but somewhat always really there, just perhaps stood in the doorway to reality.

Whatever it was, however they fitted together, however things didn't - he could see how this had all meant to end when he was eighteen, and still, he could see that it was unfair, and he was beyond thankful that it hadn't, up until now perhaps.

Because perhaps there was a set way for things to be - perhaps there was a set direction for the world to turn and perhaps this was him fucking with it - perhaps this was him ruining the world, and perhaps this was him paying the price.

And perhaps he'd known that all along, and perhaps he still wasn't ready, because perhaps Frank loved him, and perhaps he was scared.

Something was going on with Gerard too, and Frank hadn't a clue what - perhaps that was Gerard's job to discover, how he seemed to almost be fading back into existence, right as Frank seemed to fade away, which was the definition of bittersweet, for sure, if there ever was one, and Frank owned it: together they owned it as the world around them crumbled into pieces, and they could only hold hands in the ash and hold tight and cry for what had gone, and cry for what was left.

Because they were scared. Hand in hand and they were scared. Gerard scared not just because Frank was, but because he could feel it: fear, running real through his veins, and he wondered whether if a large proportion of said fear was constructed only due to the fact hat it was there in the first place, because here he was: suddenly on fire with emotion when there'd been nothing at all: fucking nothing left for him at all, and now the whole world, and it hurt. After ten years it fucking hurt, and burned in his chest.

Because maybe this was what it was like to be alive again, and suddenly Gerard's death and that day with those pills was no mystery to him anymore - he couldn't feel like this - he couldn't handle a world intensified by human inadequacy and tendencies to fall in love and make mistakes. Of course, he still did those, but this was a thousand times worse, and when he looked at Frank, it was like the whole world was melting: caving it, twisting and contorting to emphasise and highlight his mere existence and Gerard wanted to know why, and he wanted to know how.

He needed to know how a world like this could possibly be physically possible, how people could live for eighty years like this, how it all seemed to real, and coloured in, when he was accustomed to black and white - it was simply all too bright, and it was stinging - not just his eyes, but the whole of him, and he couldn't bare the world like that, as they sat there and Frank seemed to fade away a little before.

And Gerard was truly scared. Scared like never before. Scared like no one before. In the whole world.

"What's going on?" Frank stuttered out, glancing around, biting down on his bottom lip in an attempt to feel something but indeed getting nothing at all. And he'd expected as such, but still he'd tried because Frank wanted something: needed anything: reluctant to let the whole world just fade away, as it seemed insistent to.

"I don't know." Gerard was forced to respond, because he didn't; he didn't have a clue, when Frank needed him, and Frank needed answers he had nothing to say for himself. At the end of the world. At the end of them, he had nothing, and there would be nothing as a result of that. And in the very same way, nothing he could do to stop it.

"I.... I...." Frank stumbled out, his breath suddenly heavy as he held up his arm, "I..." He glanced down at the marks upon it: marks that hadn't been there before.

"That's not right." Gerard insisted: something he did know was the rate at which he'd destroyed himself because he'd died.

"What do you mean?" Frank asked, running a finger over the scars: red and in a great multitude.

"That's not how it happened." Gerard told him, biting his lip and jumping a little at the feeling: at the sensation, at the suddenly reality of it all, because it hurt, and he hadn't hurt in so long that he'd almost forgotten what it felt like entirely. "Those weren't until- is... it... speeding up?"

Frank looked down at his arm in horror. "What? How? Why?"

"I don't know." Gerard let out a sigh again. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm useless, this is useless, but I don't know. I don't fucking know at all."

"So how long do you think I could have left-"

"Frank, don't, please." Gerard pleaded: his eyes sad, and his body echoing with melancholy, and he seemed to tremble all over with sensation and feeling, and perhaps felt as if he should be overjoyed but nothing about this was worth celebrating at all.

"Gerard- it's not like... it's not like not saying the word is going to fix it, is it?" Frank raised his voice, "it's just... inevitable, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily-"

"You'd say your death was inevitable, wouldn't you, though?"

Gerard nodded, because he'd say that even now, especially now as he ached with feeling, and the whole world just hurt, because it wasn't fair, not that the world had ever said it could be fair - Gerard just expected that of it, because there was nothing stopping him from just hoping, was there?

"I love you. Come here. Please." Gerard's gaze softened as he gestured for Frank to make his way across the room and meet him. "I love you." He repeated, as if once hadn't been enough to convince Frank, and took his hand, grasped it tight, and hated every moment of this, but adored every part of him, because what on earth was going on, and how on earth was it fair?

"I love you too." Frank forced his face into a smile as he leaned into Gerard's holding onto him and feeling the world stabilise around him a little as he did so, having given up when it came to attempting to decipher what the world was throwing at him now, as he saw little hope in it, and he indeed saw little hope in himself, just in the same way he saw little hope for himself.

"It could- What am- I... what's going to... happen... how could- I what- what are we supposed to do? Just sit here and wait and watch you fade into nothingness or die, or whatever, or whatever could possibly happen, because I don't know, and I don't know how I could possibly be expected to just deal with that like it's nothing because it's fucking worlds away from nothing, and you know that don't you? You fucking know that I'll hurt, I mean, if I don't fade away with you, I mean- I don't know one single fucking thing and I don't fucking like it, and I know for sure that it's not fair."

"Who ever said life had to be fair?" Frank asked, meeting Gerard's gaze, "who ever said death had to be fair? I think maybe you still being here, you staying here with me was a mistake, and not in an offensive way, I just... maybe it wasn't how things were supposed to be, and maybe this is the universe fixing that mistake, because maybe one of had to die in the grand scheme of things."

"Then why not me?" Gerard asked: his voice shaking, "and how the fuck do you sound so calm? So collected? Like it's nothing?"

"I don't know..." Frank trailed off, "my emotions don't really feel real anymore. It's weird. This is all weird. I just know that I love you, Gerard, I love you so much-"

"And what?" Gerard exclaimed, holding Frank in his arms as they sat in the room of a house they didn't own: of a house no one owed, of a house abandoned, a house abandoned like them. "You're okay with dying at twenty eight? With nothing to say for yourself? With a world unknown and unexperienced?"

"What else could I possible accomplish in life? There's very little for me. I fucked my life up pretty early and pretty easily. You're my one good thing, and I'll miss you like hell-"

"At twenty eight." Gerard reiterated. "That's too young."

"It's not twenty two." Frank reminded him: not speaking with malice, just with truth, because yes, twenty two and twenty eight were six years apart. "I'm not the one who died at twenty two-"

"But I'm still here-"

"But you didn't want to be." Frank told him, "and if you were alive again, age thirty two, you'd kill yourself in an instant: we both know that, and it's okay, because I'm trying to understand and I think I do. It's hard - life is hard, and you've always struggled - you feel things more than other people do, it's like you really absorb emotions instead of letting them just flow through you, and yet you act as if they bounce off you and you brush them away. There had been that facade, and who you thought you were at twenty two and how that never really worked out."

"It's not fair." Gerard insisted, screaming at a god he could never quite believe in as he ran a hand back through Frank's hair, "you mean the whole world."

"And so do you." Frank told him instantly, glancing down at his arm and noticing another set of scars that had just appeared.

"I shouldn't-"

"But you do." Frank stressed, "you do, and I mean this, and I love you, and I just want to say..." Frank's eyes widened a little: feeling a sudden harsh sensation at the back of his throat: an odd kind of burning, and he felt himself choking on his words and his body caving in upon itself as he made a grab for Gerard's hand but missed, and his eyelids grew heavy and the world cascaded into darkness.

There had been nothing. And then something. And then everything. And then nothing once more.

It was the end of the world - but only through this set of eyes.

-

so is he dead or not who knows lmao i do get rekt

vote and comment because i don't know vote and comment because i love troye sivan