I carry Gerard's crutch up the stairs as he sits down and hoists himself up the steps one at a time. He uses his good leg to push up while his other drags straight in the brace. He makes it to the top faster than I anticipated. He must be used to it by now. He hoists himself up with the railing and takes the crutch from me. He mutters thanks and I give an acknowledging smile.

"Sorry, I thought I had the movie in the living room but apparently not," He says stepping into his room. I follow behind.

"It's okay," I say. "You know, I could have gone up and got it myself if you said where it was."

He teeters horizontally looking in his desk. "That requires me knowing where it is though. And I thought it was in the living room. So now we're wandering." He rustles over his top desk, shoving sketchbooks and colored pencil boxes around.

"What was the movie again?" I ask.

"Second Hand Lions," he says. He grabs a handful of sketchbooks and drops them on the floor against the wall. I flinch when they splat on the floor.

"You didn't say what it's about." I wander closer toward him.

He doesn't lookup. He grabs another handful on sketchbooks and drops them on the pile. "I don't know how to explain it," he sighs. He pauses his search and thinks. "It's a coming of age theatrical comedy with adventure stories and found family themes. The good stuff or whatever. I don't know, I just, I used to watch it a lot when I was younger."

"Usually when I ask for a synopsis, you gave me some wild, funny hook explanation. Now you sound like an English teacher."

He hobbles to the other side and continues looking. "Yeah, well, I don't remember my sense of humor or if I was even funny."

I sway side to side. "You were funny. I think, maybe in a natural way?"

He thinks for a moment then shrugs. "I guess." He slithers to the floor and rummages under his bed and slides away some contents. A few bottles of acrylic paint, a pad of tracing paper, a metal T-square, a pack of brushes.

I pick up the brushes set and look at them. They're in good condition and cleaned. I open the flap and run my finger against the bristles. "You have a lot of art stuff," I say.

"Well, I used to do a lot of art stuff," he says. His voice is drowned out from being under his bed. He flings out a sketchbook and the papers rustle in the air.

"A while back, you showed me ideas you had from some comic books," I say.

Gerard peaks his head out. "What about it?"

I run the brush against my palm. "I'm wondering what you've been up to with that project."

He brushes his hair out of his eyes. "It's a permanent hiatus since I can't draw anymore and have no will to be creative."

My heart sinks. "I really liked what you had."

"Well, maybe you can do something with it," he says. I shake my head. "I can't draw and using a mouse on the computer to draw is worse than using my left hand. I don't want to quit. I don't have a choice." He returns to digging under his bed and I sigh.

I roll the brush between my fingers. I glance down at Gerard's right foot and run the brush down the middle.

A screech followed by a thunk emanates from the bed. I jump back as he spasms. Gerard groans and rolls on his side and drags himself out from his bed. My hand plasters over my mouth as I try not laughing. "I'm sorry, that was an impulse," I finally let out.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Clearly," he mutters.

"I didn't know you were ticklish."

He sits up then scoots away from my reach. "I feel this is not new information." He stares at the brush then back at me. "Don't do that though."

"Oh, sorry, did I hurt you?" I ask. "How's your head?"

He runs his finger over the top. "Eh, no bump. Don't worry, you can't mess me up more than a tree can while skiing." I strain myself and Gerard gives me a look. "Like that? Was that my humor?"

"Um, maybe?" I tilt my head. "There wasn't um, you didn't have... You take graveyard humor to a new level."

"Well, rock bottom makes a great tombstone," he says. "Okay, the movie isn't under here," he mutters and starts shoving the contents back under his bed. When he grabs a black paint bottle, he stops for a second.

"What's up? I ask.

He rolls the bottle in his hand. "I miss it," he mutters then tosses the bottle under the bed.

"Why don't you try again?" I say. He rolls his eyes in my direction. "No, I know it's not the same. But it's painting, right? You love painting. Maybe just try doing something abstract. No mess-ups, just, doing what you feel."

He looks at and swishes his jaw side to side. I pick up an indigo bottle of paint and hand it to him. "What, right now?" he asks.

"It's not like we have the DVD," I say. I hold out the paintbrush and he takes it looking around. He rustles for paper but I think the sketchbooks he has are meant for drawing. The weight of the paper or something like that isn't enough for wet mediums. I hold my arm out instead.

He glances at my arm then at me. "What?"

"Paint on my arm," I say. He cocks his head at me. "You did it once before."

"I did?"

"Yeah, we were in art and you had extra paint so you gave me a 'tattoo' with it." His expression is lost. "It's okay if you don't remember."

"But it's not okay," he whispers. "I know you used to mean so much to me and I can't remember these things."

I glance down then scoot closer to him. "Then make new memories. Ones that also matter."

He looks at me then down at my arm. "I don't know what I'm doing," he mutters, shaking the paint bottle a few times before flicking open the cap. He holds my arm steady with his left then squeezes a line of paint down my arm. I inhale when it touches my skin. It's cold.

The paint line comes out squiggly as his right-hand shakes while he pours. He sets it down then picks up the brush and spreads it out. The brush feels weird on my skin and I try not laughing. He holds my hand with his a bit firmer to steady himself. Or prevent me from moving around. But either way, he's holding my hand again.

"This is nice," I say. He tries his best to spread out the indigo into an even layer. I don't know if this is the base of if he's turning me into one of those Avatar creatures.

"What?" he asks.

"Just this. Us." He doesn't look up at me. He's focusing on keeping his hand steady. "Do you ever think of us?"

"What do you want me to say?" he asks.

I close my eyes for a moment to collect myself. "The truth?"

The bristles trail from my wrist to the crook of my elbow. "What was the question? Sorry."

My voice is softer. "You ever think of us?"

"I try not to," he whispers.

"Why?" He lets go of my arm and sets his brush down on a scrap piece of paper. He grabs a bottle of magenta and pulls a new brush out of his pack. He fidgets with the cap. "Gerard, why?" I ask again.

"I assumed we broke up?" He chews on the insides of his cheeks. "As far I'm aware, no one found out? No one's brought it up to me at least but I'm not exactly hot gossip material at the moment.

"I didn't tell anyone," I say. He nods. "Did you want to break up?"

"I don't know, not really," he whispers. A relief comes off my shoulders and I take an easier breath. "But we aren't exactly together either. I don't think this was..." He trails off.

"Gerard, before you say anything else, can I say something?" He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. "I really really miss you," I say. "I know things and are hard. But if there's any way we can make this work, I would want that."

His face grows flushed. "I-correct me if I'm wrong but, yesterday I realized it would have been our 'one month' or whatever. But I wasn't sure."

I try thinking back. Yesterday would have been one month. One month of us getting together. But also Gerard getting hurt. And Amelia. Kind of a shitty anniversary to share. "You're right." He flicks open the magenta and dribbles droplets on my arm. He takes the clean brush and swirls around the paint in spirals. "Would you want to try?"

He starts sniffling but keeps his gaze on my arm. "I really, really don't think I can." My jaw clenches and I nod. "I had terrible mood swings not that long ago and I feel awful for what I did."

"I know you're sorry."

"Frank, it doesn't make what I did okay by saying I'm sorry."

"I know," I tell him. Now my eyes are watering. "Look, it wasn't okay. But none of us were okay. And I can forgive you because I want you to get better. And you are. I see more of you every day. It's little progress but it's still progress. I know it feels like everything is getting worse and I can't blame you for feeling that way. But there are things that are getting better."

Gerard finishes swirling the magenta and he leans against his wall still holding my hand. "I am so depressed. I am so numb inside. I don't think I should be in a relationship where I am emotionally unavailable."

I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. "Are we never going to be a thing again? Just that was it and in a blink of an eye it's all gone?"

He rolls his head against the wall. "I don't want it to be never. But I can't do this now."

"Look, now you're going through it, which, I get. But later, it's..." There's no gentle way of reminding someone their brother is going to die soon. That soon he will be busy spending what time he has with Mikey. And then coping with his loss. "There's going to be more grievances. That's how life is and it's not fair but it is. We're almost done with this year. We'll be seniors soon and who knows what's going to happen then but we'll graduate and we'll be in college. There's always a reason not to be together. But that shouldn't mean we can't try. Right?"

Gerard grabs the yellow bottle of paint. He dots on small splotches. It's rhythmic and soothing. "I want to be with you but how unfair to you will this be?" He picks up the magenta paintbrush and blends in the yellow. It blends into a sunset orange color.

"Forget about being unfair to me. Be selfish for me."

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he finishes up. I can't really tell what he's painting but it's beautiful and abstract. He picks up the smallest brush and a bottle of white paint. He stamps white dots in the center of the spirals. Then he uses his thumb to pull the bristles back and spray white over. "I'm done," he mutters.

I take my arm back and smile. There's a sense of glowing around the white with it blending. And the white splatters against the indigo background looks like... I gasp. "Oh my god, a galaxy?"

He smiles and nods. "I was wondering if you'd get it."

"I love it," I say.

He nods. "Thanks." He grabs the dirty brushes then hoists himself up. Without his crutch, he hobbles over to an empty glass jar and places them in. He grabs a water bottle nearby then pours it in. "I'll clean it later."

"So are we going to watch the movie or you want to answer my question?"

He looks at me. "I want to date you, okay?"

"Then let's do it," I say. "We both want it. Nothing is really stopping us. It's not us against the world. We can make it work."

He rubs his face and sighs. "Say we were to do this, okay? Then what? What kind of dates would be going on with me like this?"

I walk over to his bed and hop on. "I'd want you to get better first. Are you in therapy?"

"What do you think I do on Saturdays?"

"Just once a week? Is that enough to rebuild your muscles?" I ask.

"Oh," he mutters. "Physical, um, no, not yet. But I will have that starting soon," He mutters. I make a note of that. He's getting help, which is good. "Look, I don't know where this is going. I can't be there for you in a relationship right now." He grabs his crutch and he makes his way over to me and sits down.

"I really want to be with you," I say.

"I know," he says. "I do too." He glances down at the paint on my arm and he runs his fingers over it. It's dried by now and crusted over. His fingertips feel weird over it. "I'm not in a good place and I, unfortunately, rely on a lot of help now. My mother also doesn't like you because of everything with..."

I shrug. "I'm here right now," I point out.

"Yeah, but she doesn't know that and until I'm 18, she's going to try dictating my life. So I got over a year of her tyranny."

"Oh yeah, you're still 16," I say.

"Yep," he mutters.

I count ahead. His birthday will be on a school day. A weekend party may be a bit impossible but maybe we could do something at school to cheer him up. It's harder now that he's not in art but there's also lunch. We can't really throw him a party at school either. But maybe we could get him a gift. I have no idea what he'd want anymore.

I want to find a way to get him into art again. Maybe if he has his coping mechanism back, he'll be able to be in a better place. But he can't draw or paint up to his standards anymore and he gave up on trying. He has the computer but he just said the mouse was difficult. What if he had a tablet? A drawing tablet with one of those stylists? That's the fancy stuff that can do the calibrations to stabilize the shaking, at least what Lynn was talking about. But our school doesn't have that kind of equipment.

What if he had a drawing tablet though? Maybe that would make it easier again? Or give him hope? He'd have to practice with it but it would give him something to do. They're very expensive. However, Gerard is the one who arranged to get me an electric guitar for my birthday. Everyone pitched in and it's the best gift I've ever gotten. If I could get everyone else in on this, a tablet doesn't seem as expensive split like 8 ways. I'll probably recruit Lynn on what to get because she knows this way better.

"What are you thinking about?" Gerard asks.

"Huh?" I snap out of my schemes. "No idea," I mutter.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks.

"No," I say. "I'm mad that life is not kind to you and I'm mad that you're hurting. But I'm not mad at you." He looks at me softly and I stare at him. My gaze falls down to his lips and my heart starts beating faster. "Can I kiss you?" I ask.

Gerard looks at me wide-eyed. "I don't think that's a good idea," he says. The words trail off his tongue but a spark ignites in his eyes. He shrugs. "But who said I had good ideas?"

He leans forward and I close the gap. His lips are chapped but it feels so nice to kiss him again. I pull his shirt closer and he rests his hands on my leg. He kisses me deeper and my hands slide up to cup his face. My heart races and I tangle my fingers in his hair. When my lips part, he slips his tongue in my mouth and it darts back. If he's using tongue, so am I.

Gerard pulls himself closer to me and I tip backward on his bed bringing him with me. He scoots himself on top but when I lie back, I land one on something and cry out. Gerard breaks off the kissing and I wince. "Ow, the fuck?" I turn away and my hands scavenge around. "Something's under here?" I say patting down.

Gerard climbs off me and I sit up. I pull the blanket over and find the DVD of the movie. "Oh shit, that's where," he mutters and grabs it. He looks it over still out of breath and his face flushed. "Yeah, I put it there but then made my bed. Okay, now I remember."

I look at him. "We're going to watch it?" I ask.

"That's the plan, yeah?" he says. He reaches over and grabs his crutch. "That was um, really good."

I smile at him. My heart still is racing. "Friends don't kiss that good," I say. He winces but I continue. "If you're really not able to, I can't force you. But I want you to know the offer is still out there. To date me or to kiss me." He laughs at the end and I smile at him. "Either way, I'm here for you and I love you."

He holds out a hand and I take it, hooping back on the floor. "I love you too."

We head downstairs, Gerard slides down the stairs. More like shoots himself down as he launches off the top step and flies down the whole staircase in 2 seconds then springing onto his good leg.

After we set up the movie, we make it to the couch. Gerard looks at me and I smile. He slides down and I crawl up next to him and we start cuddling as the movie plays. Things aren't perfect but I'll take what I get now. I don't want to take anything for granted anymore. Life is too cruel to waste good.

The movie is set back in the '60s or something like that judging by the cars. Not that I know anything about cars. It's funny and I hear Gerard's laugh every now and then which is wonderful.

Toward the end of the movie, Walter starts talking to his uncle asking for his speech. I feel Walter's pain of wanting to be loved and his mother not caring enough to be around. But I understand why Gerard watched this movie a lot and why it's important to him.

"Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good. That honor, courage, and virtue mean everything. That power and money, money and power mean nothing. That good always triumphs over evil. And I want you to remember this. That love... true love never dies. You remember that, boy. You remember that. Doesn't matter if it's true or not. You see, a man should believe in those things, because those are the things worth believing in."