Summertime (Frerard)

Epilogue

It had been a week and it was still the only thing on my mind, almost rendering absolutely everything else utterly irrelevant, but that's just how he'd always made me feel and it had always been everything and far too much of the good, the bad, and the ugly, and now it was just nothing, and I was empty enough to crave the very things that had destroyed me in the first place.

And somehow my cereal looked more promising than my future, because Mrs Way still made let me stay here, and when she made us breakfast she always accidentally set a place for him too, and then nobody spoke for the duration of the meal, and Mikey would leave and go see Pete and try to forget about everything, and I would just sit there, sometimes for hours, and most just until Mrs Way forced me to get up and get along with my life, but without Gerard it just seemed like there was nothing left of my life to get along with, because he was everything and without him I was nothing.

And I didn't even like cereal, yet I still continued to eat for Mrs Way because she still continued to let me stay in her house even now I had no reason to be there, besides the fact that I'd be homeless otherwise, and she just cared far too much about everyone, and Mrs Way was just too nice, especially to me, because I didn't deserve it - not at all.

Gerard said I deserved better, but there was no one better than him and therefore I deserved nothing, or perhaps I just deserved a better pastime than making sense out of the nonsensical, because this was a behaviour I should really stop before insanity decided that my head would be a great place to take up a permanent residence.

"Frank, come on, it's time to go see the therapist." I jumped a little at Mrs Way's voice, and it made me uncomfortable with how much she'd turned into my mother as of recent, because I didn't deserve this, and I didn't need this, but I found myself unable to even gather the motivation to say 'no'.

I simply nodded at her as I got up, finding no need for words and no desire to speak when it wasn't necessary.

I continued not to speak as I grabbed my coat and we made our way into the car and as she started it she muttered something about Mikey always being out with Pete, and I tried my best not to think about Gerard, but I always found myself thinking about Gerard, and just deemed it hopeless, as we fell back into silence throughout the whole drive to the therapist's, and I tried not to think about Gerard again, and expectedly, it didn't work, causing me to let out a heavy sigh that caused Mrs Way to ask me if I was alright - I only nodded.

"You'll be alright there on your own? I'll be in the car, I-"

"It's fine." I told her, words barely audible, but there nonetheless and that was what counted, and then to stop thinking about Gerard, I counted my footsteps into the building and I stuttered while speaking to the receptionist before sitting down, and I found myself not caring, and I found that just so odd.

And as I sat in the waiting room, aimlessly reading every poster upon the wall to try and stop myself from thinking about Gerard, I found my eyes meeting the ones of someone far too familiar indeed, and in fact, unmistakeably so, which was exactly what sent the contents of my stomach half way up my throat, but then back down again.

Skully.

The boy across the therapist's waiting room was Skully, and unmistakeably so; we noticed one another, but not a word was said and not a question was asked and it was just so easy, because this was forgetting and this was acceptance, but everything fell into two as my name was called by the receptionist after putting down her phone, and all I got was a vague gesture towards a corridor and then an 'on the left'.

And walking felt like dying, because I felt like I was marching the procession of my own funeral, and my boots were concentrate against a quicksand floor - the world was swallowing me whole and I was far too eager to let it - to just give in, to just give in again, because that was exactly what I was good, and it wasn't just that, but a skill I had absolutely perfected.

Unlike, forgetting about Gerard Way, and somehow it seemed that this fucking therapist asshole couldn't help with that at all, but I found myself trying, and I found myself trying for Mrs Way, because despite all this mess, she still scared, and despite the depth of the hole I'd dug myself into, she was still ready to pull me out again.

And she was coping far too well, and she was okay, and she was there for everyone: Mikey was just ignoring it - fucking his problems away with Pete, and I simply just wasn't coping at all - there was no way around that kind of reality.

I imagined Gerard beside me and I imagined and I pretended and I lied for the last time, and I pretended that he was beside me and this was his therapy appointment and he was going to get better and we were going to be okay, but we weren't and I wasn't a liar, and I was never made to be one.

And I just wanted to kiss him again, and I just wanted him to yell at me again, and I just wanted him to punch me again, and I wanted to remind him about his medication and I wanted him to hate me for it, but most of all, I just wanted- no, I fucking needed Gerard Way to be alive.

And this was insanity finally creeping in as my vision began to blur and my footsteps felt like everything then nothing as I reached the door of the office that I was told would change my life and the 'therapist' that was supposed to magically fucking fix this, and I had all the right to be cynical and all the right to hate this with every ounce of my being.

And the therapist had every right to be an asshole and to ruin everything, or even to fix everything and somehow make me accept and forget, or even turn out to be a serial killer and kill me and write it off as my suicide - or maybe that was just insanity speaking, because being lost and alone inside my own head for so long had taken me on a one way trip to insanity itself.

And still, I was nowhere near a good enough liar to make everything okay, despite that being all I need right now, and that was just what spurred on the 'fuck it' though, causing me just to push the door open.

But as I did so, I saw something I'd never even fathom to expect.

Red.

Fire truck red hair - something I would never forget.

-

Heyyy:') Wow, it's kind of weird to even think that this story is finished now like wow that's just kind of crazy - I've been working on this for too long and I really have to thank everyone that's commented and voted and read this thing because you're all fucking amazing and I really do love you all very much<3

And as for the ending, interpret it as you like, emotional trauma is intentional and no I'm not sorry, and no there will be no sequel. I don't like writing sequels okay? I'm sorry. Just clarifying that - I mean like Gerard's technically dead anyway, well, technically, I mean, wow I'm sorry, this ending is kind of a mess but oh well:')

Also, I finished the playlist I made for this fic so you can go listen to that and cry or something idek. The link is 8tracks.com/potatoyoghurt/summertime-frerard-mix so it'd be cool if you could listen to it, and idk if you care but I added like little extra things of how the tracks relate to the story in the annotations so it would be cool if you cared idk:')

Anyway this is still really weird to say that this is finished, but seriously, thank you all so fucking much, I hope you enjoyed<3