We'll Carry On

Prologue

There are four boys crammed in the treehouse, as per usual. This time, there's wrapping paper on the floor, and cards tucked away under the cushions they brought in last summer. 

Dante cheers as he pulls an action figure out of the package, two birthday hats  positioned like horns on his head. Laurence  reads the manual mockingly, Garroth draped over his back and laughing. Aaron sits cross legged  in the corner.

A very battered boombox promises that the future is bulletproof, and the aftermath is secondary.

Mrs Zvahl calls them down, and they extract themselves from the pile of tweens with as much grace as drunken sailors. She's set up a table on the grass, with two boxes of pizza, a pitcher of lemonade, and a cake centrepiece. 

Dante sees this and laughs, already asking to light it himself. Mrs Zvahl smiles maternally at the boy who's parents forgot, who's brother will slip in past bedtime and give him a muffin and a hair ruffle.

She tells them to settle down and smile for  a picture, as they groan and complain. They can hear the music from the boombox from here. The neighbours have already given up restoring peace.

Dante make a peace sign, already holding a slice of pizza. Laurence sticks out his tongue and Garroth, blessedly photogenic, flashes a grin and a very discreet middle finger. Aaron smiles, looking a little lost as they pull him into the group.

A week later, and Mrs Zvahl decides she loves the picture, completely ignorant to the one finger salute. She prints four copies, and hands them off to her son to distribute.

One copy is framed and hung in a hallway with many others, all taken by the same camera, and is gently dusted from time to time.

One is proudly shown off to an older sibling who helps him glue it to the back of a bedroom door amongst smokey Polaroids and art projects.

One copy is framed and set on a cluttered shelf with trophies and an eventual collection of scented candles , occasionally rearranged with a fond smile.

One is painstakingly laminated with clear tape and used as bookmark until he is given a wallet with a place to slot it in and shipped off to boarding school.

When the next summer rolls around, the treehouse is empty, rustling only with dead leaves and a poster.

In the picture, there are four boys and behind them, there's a treehouse with a boom box that tells them to let this world explode.

-*-*-*-

Five years and a month later, it's 10p.m and Dante Marshall is drunk as fuck.

It's illegal and not entirely his fault. He sits in beanbag, glass in one hand and his phone in the other.

"Holy shit." He says, eyes wide. Gene, slightly more sober, repeats the statement.

"Told you t'was easy." He slurs.

Two hours ago, Gene came into his room with three bottles of beer to mourn over a rejected college application. As an adult with a job and family, he hugged his little brother and told him that there were going to be many other opportunities. As a rambunctious older sibling, he poured out a reasonable amount of alcohol and told Dante that school was a social construct and everyone with a doctorate could get fucked.

An hour ago, a radio host interrupted the flow of music and reminded them that My Chemical Romance was back ("fuck yeah, they are!") and tickets were available, and most importantly, up for grabs if you call after hearing a MCR song in full on air.

Twenty minutes ago, SING started playing, and Dante snatched his phone off the drawer.

The music dies off and Dante calls the radio station.

Fifteen minutes ago, he got through and was told to wait.

Ten minutes ago, he was on live. The radio host told him that they were going to play the first 10 seconds of MCR songs and for every song guessed correctly, he won a ticket. Through the haze of cheap booze and Gene's occasionally chiming in, Dante answered 5 out of 6 correctly.

Seven minutes ago, Dante Marshall won 5 tickets to a My Chemical Romance concert.

"Holy shit!" He yells, standing while  downing the rest of the drink.

"I- what the fuck? I won? 5 tickets? Holy freaking shit, I've got to call Travis." He paces, still cradling the phone. Dante stops, frowning while working out the math in his head.

"If I take Travis, you and Zenix, what do I do with the other? Does Sasha wanna come? Can I... can I take Ava? Oh shit, I'd  be her favourite uncle ever."

"She's three, and your her only uncle, dumbass. Besides, what makes you think me and Nix are coming?"

Dante stares at him.

"Eugene Marshall, did you just turn down a concert ticket ?"

"I have a job. I can't just up and fucking disappear."

Dante deadpans him and Gene sighs, sipping from his own bottle.

"Okay, Zenix and I are already going at a different venue."

"Shit. I have way too many tickets. I could just sell them, right?"

"Don't you have more friends than just Travis?"

"Yeah, but not "get in losers, we're going to see Gerard Way" kind of friends." He whines, flopping down next to his brother. Gene frowns at an old picture tacked to the door of his childhood room.

"What about your dorky Teen Spirits friends?"

"Oh my god, I forgot we called ourselves that." Dante slides off the bed. "Talk about cringy emo 13 year olds."

"You guys stole one of my posters."

"Hell yeah we did."

"So? You gonna take your homeboys?"

"I haven't seen them since Grade 8, I don't think they're my homeboys anymore."

"I'll think about it." Dante finally concedes.

Another opened bottle later, Dante is nearing incoherently drunk with his phone in hand, and a plan. 

The plan : add his ex friends to a group chat and let sober Dante deal with it later.

The time is 11pm, Dante drops his phone on his face and passes the fuck out.