Yoh, Drop The Dagger got reported eh. So I don't know if it'll stay up or not or if it's still up, or if I'll get banned or whaaaaaaaaaatever else, so yeah.
Anyhow, sorry for not posting anything recently, my computer broke, wrote the first two chapters of this one on my old computer, got it back, had to re-format it, write another chapter, took a while. xD

"I totally remember that!" Frank exclaims, laughing harder. "And then he just like, looked at you with the most embarrassed expression!"

"I know! Like, I thought he was coordinated enough to play soccer!" I agree, unscrewing another Oreo from the several boxes I have on my bed. There are other things, too. Jackets, shirts, several empty juice boxes and several more unopened ones. Frank and I are reminiscing about Des, which is something I thought I'd never do. But it feels really good to talk about him while eating shitty food like this, comfy on my bed and shirtless. We're both in sweat pants, he in borrowed ones and me in my favorite ones that Des gave me, with the claw marks on the back. I run a hand through my hair before licking the icing off the cookie in my hand and popping the top part into my mouth.

"Remember that other time," Frank pipes up, amidst giggles, "when we were all hanging out at the mall, and he went to put his arm around you at the food court, and he fell out of his chair?!"

I almost spit out my chewed up Oreo. "Oh, my God! Yes! He was so clumsy!"

Frank echoes my exuberant laughter, and he grabs an Oreo for himself. He doesn't eat all the separate parts, like me, he just eats the whole thing together. I don't see where the fun is in that. "Come to think of it," Frank says, chewing, "he was."

"Yeah..." I trail off, leaning back and resting my hands behind my head. I feel suddenly tuckered out. "Ugh, what a fucking sucky day this was."

"Hey!" Frank says defiantly.

"Oh, no, no. You were great, but this whole thing, like, the funeral and all. That was the sucky part."

"Des always used to say 'sucky'," Frank muses.

"That's where I got it from," I say, smiling in spite of myself. "But can you believe it?! They cremated him! He was scared of fire!"

"I remember that!" Frank exclaims, less angry than me about it but riled up nonetheless. "Like, I'd put my lighter up to his arm, and-"

"See how long it'd take him to notice?" I ask, a little calmed down by the shock that Frank used to do the same thing I would.

"Yeah! He was always like," Frank says, making his voice a little higher in pitch for a sub par Des impression, "'Fuck off, Frankie! Gerard always does that and it scares me so bad!'"

I laugh a little bit and take an Oreo. "Oh, man. That was a pretty fun game, eh? Vindictive, I'll admit, but fun."

"Definitely, dude."

"I remember this one time," I pause to stifle a giggle, "when he and I were at Bamboozle, we were walking around, right, and it was at least a billion degrees. I guess Des wasn't listening to me or something, 'cause I said something like, 'Fuck, dude, I feel like I'm on fire,' and he just looked at me like a deer in fucking headlights! And I was like, 'What?!', and he just kept staring until I realized it, and then I was like, 'Oh! I meant I was hot.'"

I recall that day and the aftermath. I fanned myself to show emphasis, and Des said, "I know you are." and he kissed me, but I really don't want to divulge that with Frank.

"We were such assholes about that, weren't we?"

"We were," I agree. "But he knew it was for shits."

I unscrew my Oreo and lick the middle. I see Frank watching from the corner of his eye and I ask, "What?"

"Can't you eat like a normal person?"

"I am!"

"Nuh-uh," Frank says, picking up a cookie and popping it in his mouth. "This," he continues, swallowing, "is how you eat like a normal person."

"Nay," I remark, "a boring person."

"Whatever. I think it's cool to not eat Oreos like a porn star."

I gasp and almost choke on the mouthful of icing I have. "Excuse me! Look at me in the face and tell me the icing isn't the best part."

Frank bursts out in belly laughs. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why he's laughing so hard. I just munch on the rest of my cookie and ponder. All I said was- oh. Now I get it. That's embarrassing. I feel my face go about ten billion degrees warmer, and Frank falls off my bed. I make an odd sort of squeaking noise and I cover my face with my hands. Damn, I hate being foolish.

"How," Frank gasps between laughs, "did you not notice that?!"

"Shut the fuck up," I say dejectedly. "I'm humiliated, hardy har har."

Frank climbs back up onto the bed and faces me, one hand holding his face up and one hand draped along his side. "Sorry if I upset you," he says modestly. "I didn't mean it."

I roll over to face him, and I smile at his expression. "Don't mention it, dude."

Frank looks uncertain for a moment, and he looks around the room before looking directly in my eyes. I notice the subtleties of his face I hadn't before, like the way the left side of his top lip is a little fuller than the right, his long eyelashes, and the way that his eyes seemed brown in the light of the car, but now are green in the light of my room. I like what I'm noticing, though. They suit him.

Then he moves a little closer to me. I don't mind it, really. I'm in a very Desmond-ish frame of mind right now, so I'm not sure if I want anything to happen between us at this particular moment, but I don't know. My mind isn't working properly today, in hindsight. Frank cranes his neck to press his mouth gingerly onto mine, and I do respond, but not in the hungry way I would have this afternoon. I'm perfectly happy to be in this moment with him with no anticipation of sex or anything like that. But after a few seconds, I don't want to kiss him anymore. The romance feels like it's been drained from my body entirely. I back away and tell Frank not right now. He understands and leans back. We talk more about Des and eat more cookies until I feel like it's alright to go again. I haven't a clue why my libido is working so weird today, but Frank doesn't seem to mind. He's apt to kiss me again, which makes me happy. I'm not rebuffed like I'm scared I would be, since I pushed him off a few minutes prior. We continually break the kiss in order to start it again, and soon enough Frank rolls on top of me, with me cupping his face in my hands and pulling him closer. Our legs are twined into a complicated knot, and Frank's breathing is becoming labored in the throes of passion. I don't blame him; mine is, too. And one, measly, fleeting thought about how I used to do this with Des puts me off the whole thing completely. I shove Frank off me and sit up with a start. "I-" I stutter, "I'm sorry."

"What's the matter?" Frank snaps, although I know he's trying to be patient with me.

"I... it's being here with you, in my room, like Des and I used to be, it's fucked up, sad deja vu and I don't like it. It's-it's not you, or anything."

"It's not me," Frank says jeeringly, getting off the bed. "It's never me."

"Frank," I plead, "Don't be that way... I can't-"

"Deal with it? It's fucking hard for everyone, okay? He wasn't only yours. And here I am, trying to move forward and help you the fuck out, and that's my thanks?"

"Sorry! But you're not exactly making it easy for me to have a clear enough head to do this sort of thing!"

"This sort of thing?!" Frank mocks. "Oh, spare me! This sort of thing is where you get me all worked up and you push me away! I'll do us both a favor and leave."

"Why are you being like this?! We're not even together!"

"I'd like to be! But you're making it impossible!"

"I don't get why you're so-"

"Angry?! I don't get why you're not! It's feeling something, it's tangible! If you're gonna sit and fucking mope all the time, then-"

"I didn't just mope!" I retaliate, barely absorbing any of what Frank said. "I-"

"You weren't at school since Des died! How the fuck do you explain th-"

"HE WAS MY BOYFRIEND! He had a year of my life! You don't just disregard that! And-and-and you don't know what it's like!"

"Fuck you, I 'don't know what it's like'! You don't know me," Frank yells, holding up one finger, "you don't care about me," he holds up another, "and you're in love with a fucking pile of ashes! News-fucking-flash, Des is gone, and he's never, ever, ever coming back. And I've got to say, with you around, he had the right fucking idea," he snaps, and storms out the door. I don't say anything. I can't. If I speak, I don't know what will come from my mouth. Could be screams, could be words, could be nothing. It's anyone's guess, because I don't even know. If I don't have a decent handle on what to say, I won't speak until I know exactly what will happen.

I sit on my bed, in the exact same position, and stare at the wall for an immeasurable amount of time. I am unthinking, and I barely blink, barely breathe. I don't see the reasoning. Why go through the motions of living if there's no one to live for?

There's a knock on the door, and then it creaks open. I'm happier to hear Mikey's voice than one of my parents'. He has a greater understanding of my psyche than them, and perhaps even me. "Dude, is everything alright? I heard shouting."

I don't reply. I'm still not sure what'll happen if I do. The walls could melt, the apocalypse could come, or nothing could shift at all. "Gerard?" Mikey asks. "You okay?"

I want to talk, I really do, but I simply cannot. It's hard to explain if you've never experienced it, this mutism, but it really sucks. I take a deep breath, not wanting to worry my brother, and take my chances. "I'm fine," I murmur quietly. Cool, I can talk normally if I expend the effort.

"No, you're not."

"I'm good, I just need a minute, alright?" I mumble quickly. "Then I'll be out."

"Alright, call me if you need anything."

"Yup."

I fall back on my bed, back into silence, back into misery. I pull my comforter over me and melt into my mattress. I pay vague attention to my slowly darkening room, until I fall asleep at some point during the night or morning. My dreams are plagued with Des and Frank, but in the form of horrid nightmares. The most predominant of which involves a zombified Des haunting Frank and I wherever we go. He shuffles along, practically leaving limbs in his path. Chunks of flesh drop off him as he always manages to find me and Frank. He moans about something I don't understand, and I'm jolted awake. It's light in my room now; my white walls seem blue. I don't have the energy or will to look at my clock and judge time that way. It feels like midmorning. My eyes are a little sore, so I shut them. There's nothing worth seeing, really. Des is gone, and my only hope of normalcy stormed out on me. I am completely and utterly alone. The thought is damned depressing. Depressing enough, in fact, to make me stay in bed for extended periods of time. I can't feel right now, so I'm not hungry or anything like that. Shitty, maybe, but not really anything else.

I fall asleep at some point during the day and I wake up to orange light. Sunset. Like it matters even a tiny bit. I don't intend on leaving this room for a while. The sunset has no merit if I've nobody to enjoy it with.

I hear someone come into my room when black paints my walls, and there's a pressure on the end of my bed when they sit down. "Gerard?" asks the person, who has just identified herself as my mother.

"Yeah?"

"You've been in your room for a day now... are you alright?"

I want to scream at her for being so obtuse in asking if I'm okay. Of course I'm not. I want to say that, but she's my mom. I know she's well-intentioned. "Just not feeling good," I reply plainly.

"That much is obvious, Gerard. Please just tell me what exactly is bothering you, and maybe I can help."

"Mom, you can't wake the dead."

"I know," she says, a little dejectedly, "but maybe I can talk to you about Desmond, and-"

"Des," I correct. "And no, I wouldn't like to talk. I'd like to lay here a while."

"You've already been laying there for long enough, sweetie. Talk to me."

My eyes moisten up. My mom always has this way of making me choke up when I'm holding something in. I don't understand. But I don't think now is the time to tell her about Des and I. Or what we used to be, anyway. Then again, how is she to understand what I'm going through if she thinks Des was just my friend?

I take a deep breath. "Fine. You know how close Des and I were, right?"

"Of course. He was your best friend."

"Not... quite." And now I've got one foot in the grave. There's no going back. Although it feels strangely liberating.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Des and I... we were best friends, but there was more to it..."

"What do you mean?" asks mom in a pinched type of voice. I think she's got the jist of what I'm trying to say now.

"We were... we were together. We were in love. We'd been together for a year..."

Mom doesn't say anything. I have a fleeting though that she wants to kill me with a frying pan, but to my own shock, there's more of a pressure on my bed and I feel her wrap and arm around me and squeeze. "Gerard," she whispers. "why didn't you tell me?"

"If you were me, would you have told you?"

Mom sighs. "I suppose not, no. But thank you for saying something. I appreciate it. But is that all? Mikey told me he heard commotion up here."

Fucking Mikey. "Ah, that's another story entirely. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"I don't see why not."

"Alright... that was Frank yelling at me because I was moping about Des when he wasn't feeling it. Oh, and Frank's Des's old best friend besides me, and he and I have kind of been... trying eachother out and seeing if it's what we want." I know I told my mom relatively everything, but not all. She doesn't need to know about the sex that never was. She's absorbed enough today, I think.

"Oh," she says simply.

"Yeah," I reply. "Oh."

"Well, laying here isn't going to get Frank back. You should do something about it. Call him or see him at school or whatever you have to do. I do hate seeing you sad like this."

"Thanks, Ma," I say, a little more empowered that I had been before. "I think I will."

I roll out of bed, walk around and give my mom a kiss on the cheek. I thank her for being so exponentially cool about all this, and she says it's what moms are for. I hop in the shower, eager to get my shit together, stop moping, and call Frank up. If there's someone I need right now, it's him.