A/N: Thanks for the reviews and for reading! This is just pretty much a filler. Sorry for that. But more will come. A bit more Freddie and Naomi, though. I think they're gonna be important for the fic. Let me know what you think! R&R. Enjoy!

I have no idea how much time has passed. I don't know how many pebbles that has probably fallen off and gotten stuck underneath our shoes among these footsteps of ours but what I do know is that the road we've been pacing during these millions of minutes that has gone by have led us to the place it always does.

The gravel road that has taken our sorrows to a location where it needs to be before entirely submerging into the deepest holes. The stony path that has been walked upon so many nights before. The road that has carried both heavy hearts and trouble-free minds. That has guided rootless souls to the resting place they're constantly in search of.

And as we sit on the pier that has carried our troubles oh so many times before, I get the feeling that this could have been any one of those nights when miserable state of minds comes here to discharge. Just like any other night that we've come here.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm never gonna get out of here." he absentmindedly breathes out while the smoke from his skilfully rolled cigarette slowly comes flowing out of his mouth.

I let my gaze follow the thin steam that followed his previous action, around in circles and away with a breeze that seems to grasp everything in its way except for our deeply bothered bodies.

I avert my stare and find myself focused on the widespread horizon. The streak where water runs dry and where I always thought, in my early years, that the world ceased to exist. Maybe it was because I never managed to get passed it. Maybe it was because no matter how far I kept swimming a new streak seemed to take place. A line that I never could cross.

And with Freddie sitting right next to me with this slim legs dangling between water and sky, fumbling with a cigarette and his beer bottle between masculine fingers I notice how the sun is starting to rise and I'm wondering how it feels to constantly have such a life altering mission.

How it can never just take a day off because the office party up in the big universe got slightly out of hand with Pluto throwing up all over the place and Jupiter screwing Saturn among the stars.

How it always has to wake up to keep us alive.

I wonder how it feels to keep someone alive. I wonder if it's a heavy burden. If it's a hurting cross to carry. If it feels more like a responsibility than a pleasure. And I wonder if I'll ever know what it would feel like.

"And sometimes I think I never really want to leave." comes from his hoarse voice and pulls me back to the reality I can't take a day off of.

I know what he's talking about. In so many levels I understand exactly what he means but yet at the same time the words that gracefully flows out from his mouth have never sounded more foreign to my ears than what they do in this moment.

And as we sit on this pier that leads to an ocean I've always wanted to cross every time we've plunged our feet into the damp wetness, I feel this longing. This yearning for everything I haven't discovered yet.

Everything that looks exactly like the troubled boy sitting next to me. Everything that doesn't exist in this moment. But the everything that's here. That's close enough for me to never wanna leave.

"You know what I mean?" he continues with his motionless and averted stare.

A stare that seems to be thinking exactly what I'm thinking. A stare that's mirroring a soul that longs to cross that water just as much as my legs are screaming for it. That sends a plea to my wrecked and childish heart to feel the same way for once.

"Yeah.. yeah I think I do, F." I softly say with my beer bottle leaning on the lips, hearing my voice echoing inside the curved green walls of glass.

A sighing "good" finishes a conversation that could've been about all the dreams we never followed.

All those shooting stars we left behind that could've taken us away from here. All those thoughts, hopes and rainbows on the other side of the ocean that we constantly hope can give us the release we've looked for so long.

All those places we never talk about but always think of.

With a heavy "good" that only unloads yet another weight onto this worn-out but far too familiar pier, I feel how it takes another diving step into the water below us. A step closer to a bottomless hole we try to stay away from every passing day. How it has descended throughout the years we've spent sitting here and unburdened sigh after sigh and how it still repeatedly tries to suck us dry from troubles.

How it has taken all the things we've suffered from and merely rebuilt the bridges we frequently managed to burn.

But with eyes that holds nothing but emptiness I fear that if I don't throw him a rope to pull him in with he might never come back. If I don't haul him onto land at once he might get stuck somewhere between all that he dreams of and all that he needs. The puzzle pieces that always refuses to compromise.

So I'm tossing him a rope with fingers crossed so hard I fear that I might be loosing him within this force of mine. I'm giving it a poor shot, trying to pull him closer with the weakest words I've ever come up with but that will hopefully bring him back from those darkened worlds. Bring him back and share places beyond obligations and impossibilities. Places where he can create the surroundings himself. Places where he can live for the sake of living instead of barely surviving.

And when I spin my head around, trying to grasp anything that could wake him up from his painful weariness, it's his jet-black hair that's the first thing that meets the eye.

His jet-black hair that will be the only rescue this pathetic and feeble brain of mine could muster up with today. His hair that holds a color that reflects all the gloominess lying underneath it. That could as well be carrying my sorrow. And in many ways actually does.

It's so dark that I sometimes wonder if the color itself actually wears off on his thoughts. That I sometimes wonder if he wouldn't feel better with a brighter shade. If his dreams would paint a greater picture for him to see.

"So Lennon, when do you have an appointment at the hairdresser, huh?

There I go trying to pull him. And I'm trying so hard that the rope almost slides out of my oh so slippery hands. That's how bad it was. So terrible but yet with so much heart behind those few words that I hoped could weave in a way too weighty soul. That I childishly enough wished could throw some light into those drained eyes.

He probably heard the despair in my voice. He probably heard how miserable that attempt of mine was but how very lovingly it blew against his left ear. And he saves me from digging a deeper hole inside the one I'm already standing in by letting out his well-known snort that tells me he have accepted the thin line that was far too short to actually reach. Telling me that he swam his way forth and pulled himself in from the slippery water with the help of such a brave but still poor act from me. A snort that at the same time tells me that he appreciated the effort.

"Promise me never to do stand-up comedy, Naoms."

And as I open my mouth with mock offence written all over my face I'm silently thanking him for letting me believe that I'm good for something.

As I teasingly hit him on his shoulder to demonstrate my obvious fake surprise from his mediocre insult I'm silently praising him for, in fact, pulling us both up from a far too big and scary ocean with the simplest snort of them all.

"I promise."

"And about my haircut.. I'm actually thinking about letting it grow a bit longer." he says while running a hand through that mass of hair that resides on his head.

Even though he's talking about his hair I can't think about anything else but his well-being. I can't help but think that the last thing I want is for him to let it grow longer, that the faster he gets rid of it the better he will feel. The faster he cuts of the miserable parts the lighter he will feel. But how am I supposed to say that without sounding insane?

"Why?"

"Because I like it. It's comfortable."

"Okay.. but I think you should cut it. You could even dye it too, you know."

He looks at me with such an astounding glare like I just took the wind out of his sails and I get it. I get it because I would have probably looked at me in the same way if I were him.

"What are you talking about, Campbell?"

So I try to take the easy way out. I try to get away with my lame request that I still believe will make him smile again. That I childishly enough think will take away his grief from his weak shoulders that look like they could fold any day now.

"Hey, don't give me that look. I've seen the way you watch extreme makeover. Who knows? There might even be a new bloke inside that skin of yours that's just waiting to come out." I try.

"Yeah.." A snort. "Not really."

"So you're not denying your obvious obsession with the show?"

"There was nothing to deny!" He says while chuckling in his own special way. "You didn't mention anything about obsessing it. You just said that I'm into it. I'm just as into the 90210 re-runs, ya know."

He's right. He is.

But what I'm looking for is something that can take me off the hook from my prior statement. Anything that wouldn't force me to actually explain why I so eagerly believe that all his troubles will suddenly disappear if he changes the color of them. That something so difficult lies inside something so simple. The years of disappointment and regret that lives inside those strands of hair upon his head.

"Whatever. You love it."

"Whatever makes you happy." he says with all the strength he can muster up at this moment.

"Oh, it does. I'm almost thrilled." I tease.

A murmured "good" hurries out from his chest and I'm almost positive that I felt the vibrations from his dark voice. I'm almost sure that the juddering in those words was the only thing that made me hear how he ended yet another conversation, really. A conversation that too could lead us to a place where we never put our feet down upon.

A place where I would be obliged to clarify what I meant just for the sake of it. A written sheet in the history books that could be retold to whom ever wished to hear about it. About how I openly speak about the way I think that his dim and dark hair dyes a way too beautiful heart with a blackness it doesn't deserve.

A place I really don't want to visit this time of day or in this moment and inside those fatigued eyes I see how he lets me off the hook. In those briefly dejected eyes I see how he knows exactly what I've been talking about. And how he won't open those doors I don't know how to close.

So we just keep sitting in our own silence, with beer bottles and cigarette-butts all over the pier, watching the world coming to life. Watching the world meet and greet a day we will soon hide from. A day we will soon slumber away with.

And as I tilt my head against his thin shoulder I feel him lean into the contact instead of flinching away like he normally does.

"Hey, Nai.." His rough and throaty voice that makes my head bounce up slightly when he says my name interrupts our recent stillness.

"Yeah?" I whisper back from my temporary resting spot. Breathing out a weak yes when all I want to do is say no. When all I want to do is to stop this dropping ball of promises that's heading for me. Promises I don't know if I can keep.

"Don't ever go away."

And I can't stop it. I just can't.

'Cause as I glance up towards the outlines of his strong cheekbones and see the person who tries with all his might to carry the weight that this pier we're occupying can't finish off for me, I can't help by try to give him a answer I really don't know if I'll be able to hold on to in the end.

The answer that was whispered in his ear long before I've even said it. A response that he accepts with everything that is him, because he knows that I'll do anything to keep that promise alive even if I might not succeed.

"I won't, F." A shaky breath circulates between two longing souls. "I won't."

"Good."