Pretty. (Frerard, Petekey, Ryden, Peterick)

41: A Bunch Of No Homo Kids Doing No Homo Things

Gabe Saporta was alive.

Which was a start, to say the least, because this way, at least there didn't have to be another damn funeral, because Spencer had totally trashed his suit and he'd have to buy a new one if there was to be another funeral, so with Gabe staying alive, he had saved Spencer Smith a good fifty dollars, so that was good.

Gabe Saporta wasn't exactly in the best state of mind though.

Of course, that kind of went without saying, but it needed to be said, it really did.

Because Gabe had tried to be sorry and Gabe had tried to put on a suit and go to the funeral, but quite honestly, fucking drowning himself seemed far more fun.

And so Gabe rolled a dice that night, because chance itself was the only thing that hadn't destroyed him yet: even, he stays, odd, he goes.

The dice landed on a number three.

And Gabe rolled it again, best out of three or something equally cowardly like that.

The dice landed on a number one.

And Gabe rolled it again, because all or nothing, because spiritually, he was Phil Lester.

The dice landed on a number five.

And Gabe was fucked, and Gabe felt like drowning himself, like for fucking serious this time.

Perhaps he'd just lay down in his bathtub, and let the water run indefinitely. Perhaps he'd like that, perhaps he was overreacting, perhaps he was just too fucked up for his own good, but whatever it was, his bathtub smelled oddly of milk, and Gabe Saporta did not want to die smelling of milk.

So, fuck it, Gabe went; he grabbed a jacket and locked the front door behind him and didn't look back, and he most certainly didn't look as he walked past the park, because it was just 'he goes', and never, absolutely never, was it specified as to where.

Gabe could fucking walk to Mexico if he wanted, and a part of him kind of liked the adventure, and of course, impracticality of that idea, but it felt like freedom and a perfect reminder of a funeral he didn't want to go to and a crowd of people he couldn't face.

It had been alright when he'd had Bill, because there was some sort of 'love' thing there, and he didn't ever doubt that Bill would slap anyone who talked shit about his boyfriend, but of course, he didn't ever expect that Bill Beckett himself would be the one talking the shit.

Fuck, well, life was just full of fucking surprises.

And Gabe made a mental not to curse the entire world as he made his way down a street that he didn't know well enough.

He didn't know an awful lot of this town, and he didn't know an awful lot of the people, and he didn't quite know why he was confining himself to the same area and the same few people, because he could just start again, he didn't have to ever go to that funeral, or face those people again, because the world was big, and even his ego was relatively small in comparison.

He could make new friends, he could find a new boyfriend, he could have a fucking new life, but he couldn't quite see it actually happening at all.

And as Gabe Saporta found himself sitting down a top a hill on the outskirts of town, near the woods, he found himself thinking about the time when he'd dated Pete Wentz, because goddamn, that seemed like a million years ago, and it seemed very much like the Gabe Saporta who'd dated Pete Wentz was a different Gabe Saporta altogether.

He smiled to himself, because fucking in Pete's bedroom, and that one condom hidden behind that photo of Jesus, and he even dared to think if it was still there.