Wintertime (Frerard, Sequel to Summertime)

34: there's like one chapter left after this and maybe an epilogue idk yet

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.