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Nothing takes away the cycle of nature where the sunlight parts the clouds and grins down on anyone no matter how unsuspecting they made be of its radiance on a gloomy day. Gerard wishes it would shut itself out for once, but maybe it’s a thought he’ll later forget as he realizes it would succumb to isolation the way he has. Instead, he wishes for beauty in the sunlight that can be found on dependent petals and familiar lakes he’s dipped his hands into, but never his body— irrational fears of drowning. Dreams of floating timelessly through the deep.
It’s ironic how a lifelong fear manifests itself, but not in Gerard. It’s not a conventional form of drowning either as much as it is the loss of breath in lungs and the hollowness of a heart once rich with the sweetness of life. It was a life that cradled Gerard in comfort and lulled him to sleep when dry eyes drilled holes into the ceiling, distantly aware and unaware simultaneously. He no longer has anything so kind, so he dismisses himself and allows the hours of sleep to be lost, finding it’s not a loss at all if sleeping and staying awake now feel the same. It’s possible for people to drown without needing to make contact with a body of water. Gerard knows this because he’s seen it.
Gerard remembers the first time he saw him. A smile with a radiance like diamonds ground into glitter spread out into a sunny valley. His soul held a song that played softly like a piano melody that refused to wriggle out of its crib laid snug in the brain. His fingers, smaller than Gerard’s own, held things like pens and cigarettes and empty coffee cups. He was a masterpiece pieced together by hundreds of murals where his skin was the canvas and each one told a story Gerard felt inclined to ask about. When Gerard heard that unbridled laughter that caused the corners of his eyes and his nose to wrinkle, it became clear he was a man thousands of people must’ve wanted to learn about. Not for the way his messy chestnut hair grazed his cheek or the leftover scars where piercings once laid, but for the way his eyebrows rose and his eyes widened when he was intrigued by what he was being told, and the way he rubbed at his chin and lower lip while considering an answer to a question.
There was the bashful flush. The way he reddened when someone complimented a part of him and his art, or when a topic of conversation was embarrassing for him to speak about, such as incidents in earlier life and stories of intoxication or complete sobriety when he was high on the moment.
Gerard despises that the flush is erased from him as he lays still in the church. His lashes are still soft and subtle when his eyes are closed, his lips fuller when he isn’t sucking them into his mouth anxiously or tightening them into a concentrated line. His hair is soft and choppy as it lays perfectly patted down, but it’s missing its shine and looks like a prettily wilted flower. He’s fixed to be the image of peace, Gerard wants to say he’s like a mirage of heaven after its come to reclaim one of its angels. But Frank was not an angel, because angels are without flaw or hurting, and Frank was not exempt to either of those things even if they made him just as beautiful. And death does not make a person appear as though they’ve fallen into a deep eternal sleep— Frank is lifeless and pink has been drained from the roses in his cheeks. His hand is cold as Gerard brushes it and shatters any illusion he tries to create to cope. This is what makes the bridges collapse and set aflame inside, this is the hollow agony of loss and unwarranted guilt.
There’s something that’s always burdened Gerard’s mind as he’s known someone who burned his soul in many ways. It was knowing he was riddled with fears while Frank was completely without them. He was free, recklessly so, prepared to embrace anything, not excluding barreling towards the things he shouldn’t have craved so early despite the numbness rolling out like a cloak of fog.
“You know what I’ve always thought?” Frank asked, dumping a packet of sugar into his steaming black coffee and stirring.
“Hit me with it.” Gerard took a sip of his own brew and gazed over the lip of his mug to catch the way the pure white glow of the snowy day outside encompassed Frank’s silhouette.
“Sorry if it’s a little morbid. I’ve just always had this horrifically dark thought every time I’ve been let down in my life.” Frank paused for a second, his gaze drifting somewhere else. “It’s Day of the Dead.”
Gerard waits for more, but gets nothing. “Is that all? I was buckled in for a wild ride.”
“I’m providing context. Don’t get all impatient on me just yet.” Frank’s lips curved up and evoked a similar smile from Gerard. The sink dripped as the silence swelled again. Gerard found himself wishing once again that he could dive into Frank’s mind and listen to his thoughts like an old record player.
“It’s not really something we celebrate. I mean, anyone can, but it’s not our culture. But it’s a day where people celebrate life and death. Instead of choosing to be sad about the lives they’ve lost, they remember them. And they dance, they sing, they brings candles and all of these— these fucking beautiful colors, imagining their loved ones are doing the exact same thing with them even if they can’t see them.”
Gerard nodded slowly. “I’ve seen it before. It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve always thought that, too. But because of some other reason.” Frank licked his lips. “They’re not afraid of death. They’re not afraid of living, either. They’ve accepted what so many of us can’t— that death is the only thing in our lives that’s certain.”
Gerard knew that death was inevitable and it was perhaps the main reason why he feared it. “Yeah. I just– I’ve never been able to think that way. It scares me.”
“But it’s not the end of everything, Gerard. We know what comes after death. We never actually leave.” Frank looked intently into his eyes and reached out to graze Gerard’s fear in its swollen heart. “Even when we’re gone, we’ll be remembered until the people who loved us see us again. And it allows us to let them know that we’re still here.”
Gerard shifted uneasily. “Why are you saying this?”
Frank looked a bit surprised by the question at first. He sat back in his chair after neither of them realized he leaned across the table. Pressing his mouth shut for a second, Frank gazed down into his mug of coffee.
“Because it’s Day of the Dead. Like I told you.” Frank spoke as soft as the flame in the candle sitting on their dresser.
Frank’s not so animated now that he can’t speak. Gerard wished that day that he wouldn’t be so obsessed with the ways of death and the lack of fear that unfortunately caused unrestrained curiosity, longing. It left him confident as he grabbed the pills and saw tangerine skies when he emptied it. There was always a simple solution for him, one he thought would embrace him in its frozen embrace and sometimes, Gerard bitterly hopes he tastes cotton candy and sings among the butterflies if the other side was truly more worthy of his time than Gerard or any person who loved him.
But Gerard thinks selfishly because he’s walking along the gray pavements and he feels a warm breeze on his cheek that feels like the remnants of their memories. He sees images when he finally falls asleep and imagines it’s Frank’s voice rebuking him for wasting his tears and staining his pillowcase in their slow rivers because even though he cannot be seen, he still lays there every night and watches the breath fill and leave Gerard’s chest.
Gerard kneels beside the casket and listens to the complete silence. It’s a private viewing and Gerard’s the last person to come and pay Frank a visit. The priest kept in contact in case Gerard changed his mind about attending and called to inform him Frank was only an hour away from being taken from the church grounds for a proper burial. Gerard almost declined the invitation and encouragement to bid him goodbye, but something twisted in his throat and plummeted down to his stomach in a thick knot. He was incapable of saying no, so he managed to tame his hair and change into decent clothes to begin a death march to the church.
There’s flowers in every corner of the room. The scent is nearly suffocating, but Gerard breathes in the fumes as his eyes slowly move over the bouquets, the large arrangements, and the lillies that are clasped in Frank’s folded hands. Gerard’s eyes fall upon a presentation of marigolds laid just beside the casket. Gerard plucks one and leans in with trembling fingers that first stroke along Frank’s hair as he fights a choked sob, tucking a lock behind Frank’s ear to weave the flower into the space there. It kisses his temple the way Gerard won’t, because if his lips touch the cold skin he’s felt with his fingertips, he knows the world will wither and spiral out of his control.
There’s pictures and tokens Frank would’ve appreciated if he was still living. Gerard can hardly stand to gaze at any picture for long as he instinctively seeks out the incandescent grin he remembers and can’t accept he won’t ever see again in person. Frank’s lips are no longer a feature he can touch, the crinkle of his eyes are lost.
It’s funny how it strikes Gerard as he’s gazing down at the marigold tucked into Frank’s hair. He glances down at his phone, checking the day. November 1st. Day of the Dead.
“It’s like you planned this, huh?” Gerard’s voice cracks as he speaks for the first time since entering the church. “I thought doing it so close to your birthday was bad enough.”
Gerard half expects Frank to crack his eyes open and snort, telling him of course he had a plan because Gerard’s not the only one allowed to have a dramatic flair. He stops waiting for the moment to come and thumbs at the corner of his eye that’s grown misty.
“I did research. A couple days after you told me about what this day means. It’s a coincidence someone brought your marigolds since they go hand in hand with today.” Gerard looks down at the floral arrangement and back at the flower tucked into Frank’s hair. He touches their petals and notes their softness.
“Maybe it’s not just my imagination when I hear you talking to me when I’m asleep, yeah?” Gerard whispers. “You were never quiet. I shouldn’t expect you to be even when you’re— when you’re like this.”
Frank continues to be unresponsive. It hits Gerard square in the chest how real this is, how fucking terrifying it is to see someone you’re familiar with become silent and motionless. Gerard isn’t a complete stranger to death, but he’s never seen a body. And this is what Frank has become; a body.
So, instead of speaking to what once was, Gerard speaks to what Frank is now. The air, the light in the windows, the sound of the birds chirping outside. Gerard takes a deep trembling breath and twists around to sit on the cold tile, raking a hand through his hair.
“I actually got us tickets to go to this Day of the Dead festival in Hollywood. I was gonna surprise you with them for your birthday”. Gerard reaches into his pocket and pulls them out. They’re dented and wilted at the edges from how much he’s been handling them lately. “You were turning 30. Fuck, Frank, I know you didn’t like that you were moving out of your twenties, but I didn’t think you hated it that much to not even let yourself continue to age .”
Gerard remembers the sweet pout he kissed away each time Frank brought up his age, and how the laughter instantly faded from his tired eyes and brought the period of quiet that unsettled Gerard each time it happened. He wonders how long Frank felt exhausted and small. Perhaps he had his entire life, but it caught up to him and curled around his neck to ensure the drowning that eventually cut off his oxygen for good. Gerard couldn’t save him from unseen forces. Frank might’ve felt he was always fit for death's embrace, but Gerard never did. Gerard knew he was meant for life.
“It’s okay that you felt empty sometimes. I do, too. It’s okay that you weren’t completely satisfied with your life and you had so many heartbreaks and disappointments, those are things you can heal from. It’s not okay that you thought death was the only thing you could still depend on. You fucking had me .” Gerard fights back a pained gasp and tilts his head back. “You could’ve depended on me. You were supposed to let me go through with your fucking surprise party and take you to Hollywood. We were supposed to paint each other’s faces and hold hands so we wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd.”
Gerard twists back around and gets to his knees to look down at Frank’s pallid face. “I know you wouldn’t wanna see yourself like this. But this is what you chose. You wanted to be buried in the ground and never seen again except for in pictures.”
The tears are like lava as they ooze in trails down Gerard’s cheeks. He knows he’s being unfair, guilt tripping someone who’s already gone, but what else can he do? Accept this selfish decision and forgive Frank?
Yes. That’s exactly what Gerard is meant to do because there’s no use in remaining bitter over what’s already been done. There’s no alternative or reset button, Frank’s fate was never for Gerard’s choosing. Or he’d still be breathing and blushing the way Gerard loved. A broken heart weeps eternally when it loses its beloved, but Gerard knows deep down that it isn’t fair to disturb Frank’s peace because he screams at the sky and smokes enough to shrivel up his lungs, craving the sting in his throat because some part of him hopes the consequence will come and let him see the singing peonies and roses Frank sees now. Gerard can’t call Frank selfish for the pain he endured. Gerard knows suffering, he knows how it feels to wander to the edge of life, but he doesn’t know how it feels to be so exhausted that none of the reasons to stay suddenly didn’t matter anymore.
Gerard bows his head. Despite everything he believes and doesn’t want to feel, Gerard scoops up one of Frank’s hands and gingerly holds it between his. His tattoos are stark against his bloodless skin– that’s the only thing he knows Frank would appreciate about his appearance now. Gerard almost cracks a smile as he strokes over the inked letters and images, feeling the structure of bones, the valley of skin between knuckles once met with Gerard's lips in moments where his heart grew swollen from affection.
“I’m sorry. I can be an asshole when I’m angry sometimes. God knows how many times we’ve argued and you’ve given me the silent treatment for being a little too rude.” Gerard chuckles mirthlessly. “But I think you get it. I hope you do.”
Gerard stays there for a long moment, caressing Frank’s hand, occasionally stroking his cheek and his hair, revisiting the marigold. He misses the warmth and the responses. Frank loved it when Gerard cupped a hand around his cheek, he'd always burrow into it and press a trail of kisses from the center of his palm to his wrist.
“Just prove it to me. Okay? You know what I’m talking about. Everything you taught me has to mean something, doesn’t it?”
Gerard hates to ask, but he’s desperate for more than what he’s been giving. He can’t decipher reality from a wishful dream anymore. His head aches when he awakens in the morning and the hurting returns to find Frank isn’t there to curl up against his side and sleep the entire morning away with on the weekends. He isn’t there to press lazy kisses to Gerard’s face when he stirs, he isn’t there to love him the way he always has. There’s only his pillow that Gerard cuddles up with as it’s still laced with the fading remnants of his scent and Gerard inhales until he becomes nose blind and torn up. Gerard thinks to himself each time that this isn’t a laceration that will fade in time. His heartbeat was designed to synchronize with Frank’s when they laid together and it continues to stutter at the same rhythm even when he swears it’s broken.
“I love you.” Gerard whispers. “I hope it was enough during the time you were here. Your pain didn’t have anything to do with it— I’ll try to get that to stick so this won’t hurt so badly.”
Through the windows, the sunlight angles in and shines down on them both in a colorful spotlight. It shines across their hands and almost brings Frank to life again from how it colors in his small form tucked away in white satin, dressed in his finest clothes that never quite fit him properly. Gerard knows the sun doesn’t shift so low at 4pm. He turns to the windows, glassy eyes observing the light, and waves at Frank’s final acknowledgement. Peace flushes through him instantly like he’s never felt before. Through the surge of tears, Gerard nods once in thanks and lets his tears fall without humility or anger.
“I guess you were right.” Gerard says in the direction of the light that kisses his face the way he knows Frank would if he caught him crying this way.
Before Gerard leaves, he tucks the lillies out from under Frank’s clasped hands and replaces them with the marigolds.
Within them is one of the tickets to the festival; perhaps Frank would still like to attend.