I know the sun is going to start rising soon but I can't tell if I managed to fall asleep at all. Just lying here, turning over every so often, seeing the hours slip away. I don't think I fell asleep. It's been a long night, dragging on with burning eyes. But I just couldn't knock out.

It feels like I'm already asleep, like I'm dreaming and this is all a nightmare I'm waiting to wake up from. It doesn't seem like this is real. But I know that it is because I'm wide away. I turn on my side, glancing at Gerard sleeping. The last time I slept next to him, he looked years younger. More innocent, less tension and stress in him, age has worn off from his face. But now, he looks just as disarrayed as he was awake. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, body lock and rigid. I look at him softly, curling up closer to him, wrapping my arms around him and absorbing the heat radiating from his body. I lay my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thumping in my ear and my head rising and falling in sync with his shallow breathing. He's hurting. I don't blame him though. His best friend passed away. Horribly tragic. Hyper...carido-something. I can't remember what Gerard told me but sudden heart failure.

I guess it was hereditary in his family. But Gerard was with him when it happened. They were walking back to the office after lunch when he just collapsed. Called 911 and I guess they did CPR so he was back but wasn't responding after that. Gerard took it hard when he got home. Which is why I found him so self-destructive and he couldn't give me a straight answer. The next morning, he went to see Brendon but he passed away before he got there.

I couldn't imagine what he's going through. I didn't know him well but from what I remember, he was very nice and had a calming presence to him. And I could tell he and Gerard were very close. The way Brendon looked at him in the hospital in Austria when Gerard was going into shock, how desperate he was for him to be okay. The tables have turned here. Why did they have to turn? Why did something have to happen? Things were going just fine, well, starting to at least. Gerard's had a rough last few months. Why can't he just catch a break?

I look at him, staring at his bangs dusting over his forehead. I know he's older than me by a few years but I feel like he's a little child I want to protect from the world. At least from all the tragedy going on in his life. He suppresses everything down. I don't think that's good for him. One day, he's going to crack, deeper than he did with the vodka. And I pray he's not alone when that happens otherwise who knows what he'll do to himself.

Why does someone have it cut out for him to suffer? Even when I met him, he was getting mugged. Had I not been there, he would have been shot. Then he would've been in the hospital and who knows if he would have been lucky like me to not get shot somewhere important. And then there was the bombing at the hotel his colleagues and he were staying at. I know a few people died too. He wasn't as close to them as everyone, well, I think he slipped once and a close friend of his did pass away in the terrorist attack. But he doesn't talk about that friend much. I remember he used to tell me about Johnny. But now, Gerard acts like he never met Johnny, never bringing him up. It probably hurts him too much.

Just when the trauma of the hotel was finally passing, he gets in that stupid car accident and nearly died. Again. He went into shock, he got hurt badly. He was so broken and weak and hurt. But he was going home at least. And all the terrible memories could heal properly, leaving them behind in Austria. But it seems it's not Austria that has it out for him. It's just him. Because even here, suddenly, his best and longest friend dies in front of him.

His life is so hard. Well, it's his work life that seems to be cursed. It was the hotel his company was staying at. And he was in a car accident after meetings. And his colleagues died. Well, I also know his parents passed away when he was little. One would think the life of some accountant or financial advisor or translator or...whatever it is he does, it shouldn't be this...traumatic. What even is it that he does? I get the translation part but I don't know what he does when everyone is speaking the same language. Something with numbers but like I don't know. He tells me things the company does but never himself. Granted, he finds it boring and usually, I'm the one talking about work.

I feel like I've known him for a long time but it hasn't been that long. I mean, I guess what I do feel is he knows me. But I don't know if I really know him. I'm probably delirious from not getting any sleep but it feels like I just don't know who Gerard is anymore.

I hear Gerard's heartbeat slow down. I can barely hear it beating, it's so faint and slow. I sit up, looking at Gerard worried. What's going on? He's hardly breathing, his chest not even moving. I hold still, focusing on the soft sounds. Inhale Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Silence. He...he stopped breathing.

I brush my hair out of my face. What do I do? I gently place my fingers on his neck. What do I think I'm doing? I'm no doctor, I don't know what a pulse is. The only logic I know is panic. I grab Gerard's shoulder, shaking him to wake up. Of course, I have no sense of what I'm doing so I frantically jolt him.

I can't tell what noise he makes but it's between a growl and some jibberish. He grabs my wrist and bolts off the foot of the bed, dragging me with. "Oh god!" My shoulder jars and I tumble backward, my legs and torso falling over my head. My body contorts so much that my wrist twists out of his grasp and I fall onto the carpet with a heavy thud. Gerard stumbles forward and crashes into his dresser. The mirror rattles against the wall and the objects roll off the top and onto the floor. He's muttering a million words a minute and I can't hear what he's saying. I lift my face out of the fibers of the carpet and look up at him. He's muttering his name. "I am Gerard Way." His voice catches in his throat as his hyperventilating gets worse.

With the little light I see, I can make out his silhouette. He hangs over his dresser, gripping the edges to hold himself up. His hair's tussled in his face, shoulders rising and falling with heaving breathing. "Gerard?"

He whips his body around, falling against the dresser. "You-Frank," he gasps.

I slowly get off the floor without turning away from him. My arm is a bit sore from him grabbing me but I can't blame him. "I'm sorry. I-Are you okay?" I get out.

"I'm fine," he dismisses. He tenses up when he hears his edge in his voice. "Yeah, I'm okay," he says in a much lighter manner. "Just...some nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask him.

He pauses, thinking for a moment. He breathing is back to normal. "I...I can't really remember it. Just...I was alone." He straightens up, glancing around. "What time is it?" he mutters. He freezes up, his eyes catching the glowing light of his clock. It's too late to go back to sleep but too early to get ready. But Gerard decides he's had enough with sleep and leaves the bedroom.

The morning blurs by as agonizing as the night did. I head back to my hotel room to shower and change. I also grab a bite to each before I head back. Gerard told me the door would be unlocked for me to return. I step back in, seeing him at his kitchen counter, sitting at the edge of the stool which is balanced on the front two legs. He's holding his head up, staring out into space. "Hey," I greet gentle.

He flicks his eyes up at the sound of my voice, sitting back properly when he sees me. "Hi," he mutters.

"Did you eat?" I ask. He doesn't move. "You going to?" Nothing. "Do you want me to give you some time?"

He sighs. "I've had enough just now." He gets up, the chair scraping against the floor. "We can go now."

I didn't know what I was expecting from a funeral but for some reason, it doesn't seem...right. But it's a funeral of a 28-year-old man who was a week away from getting married. There is nothing right about it. But attending this funeral didn't seem exactly like a funeral.

Brendon didn't have any parents come. I thought it was absurd until I learned his dad had cancer when he was little and passed away before he was a teen. And his mom had a stroke when he was in college. He has no siblings or many relatives. His neighbors came. A second cousin. But all his friends were people from work. And Sarah. Sarah's family was there. Her parents. Even her grandparents, the grandparents she was close to. Her best friends that would have been in her bridal party. Her guy friends and male cousins that apparently would have been the groomsmen.

It's off-putting how Brendon didn't seem to make a life outside of work. Besides the one he loved. I mean, he didn't have a lot of family but he found one within Sarah. Another thing that gets to me is how...eerily similar his life is to Gerard's. No parents. Barely any family. Not many friends outside of work. I knew Gerard and Brendon were close but...I feel they were able to understand each other a way no one else could. And probably no one else can understand each other better.

Gerard holds face for the wake. With an hour remaining, a tall guy approaches Gerard and I. Gerard sees him, immediately standing up. "Hey, man," he says in a deep voice. He gives Gerard a sad look.

"What are you doing here?" Gerard asks. Before the guy can answer him, Gerard throws his arms around him.

The other guy smiles, hugging him back. "Last couple years, plans never seemed to work. Now seems like no time to not see each other."

Gerard pulls away, laughing bittersweetly. "Thank you." He glances at me and gives a gentle smile. "Uh, this is Frank," he says.

"Hey, I'm Mikey," the guy says, extending his hand.

"Oh, hi," I say, shaking his hand. "You're his brother?" He nods his head. I take a look at him, starting to see the resemblance. They have similar facial features. Mikey bleached his hair to a lighter brown but I can see the roots matching that dark, if not, jet black color. The only difference are his eyes. They aren't that vivid green Gerard has. Mikey's eyes are a deep, chestnut brown in the center but it's a softer, honey color along the edges.

Shortly after Mikey comes, Gerard finds Sarah and tells her goodbye, offering her anything else she needs. We'll see her tomorrow for the burial.

We head out for an early dinner with Mikey. Going to a restaurant seems to help Gerard ease up, not necessarily forgetting his pain but not letting himself remain in pain.

Mikey brings out a younger side of Gerard I haven't seen. The way he makes him laugh, the memories of when they were younger, a little more reckless, a little less...Gerard. A Gerard that wore T-shirts and jeans. A Gerard that got in trouble at school but weaseled his way out of it every time. An impulsive daredevil teen stayed out after curfew, running through yards to hide from the cops. All these wild stories of their adolescence that aren't particularly wild. But it is to me because it's Gerard.

When we've all finished and the two die down from reminiscing for a moment, long enough for Gerard to get up to pay.

"You guys are close," I say to Mikey.

He nods, finishing off the last of his water. "Yeah, we grew up with just each other. Our grandmother was more of a caretaker than someone who raised us. Nothing against her. She just couldn't keep up for us."

"I understand, but you guys turned out okay," I say. I don't know how to really respond to this sort of thing.

But Mikey nods along. "Yeah, I mean, I was too young to remember really what happened. I barely remember my parents. Or that night."

"Gerard's never talked about it," I say, trailing off. "He mentioned it once but briefly and it's never come up again. But I understand why."

"I think it's hard for him because he was old enough to remember how things were before. He's able to remember and miss it." I look at Mikey, listening. I don't want to pry but I am curious. "My parents went traveling to Eastern Europe. They took Gerard with but they didn't think it would be best to travel with a toddler. So I stayed home and had a nanny taking care of me for the time they were gone." He pauses for a moment, his eyes falling softly. There's no sadness on his face. Just numbness. "They got into a car accident and they both died. But Gerard survived. I didn't really understand what happened until I was older. But by then, it had been too long to be shocked about it."

"How old were you?" I asked.

"Four. Gerard was seven. When he came back...he was different. It took him a long time to finally open up again when we were in junior high. We were with our grandmother, who never met us beforehand. The last pictures she had of us was when I was born and Gerard was holding me. But I think we turned out okay. I mean, Gerard went through his angsty, edgy phase harder than I did, but he grew out of it."

"Gerard had an edgy phase?"

Mikey's eyes spark and he smirks. "Oh, you have no idea." He glances up and sits back in his chair. "Hey, bro, what's up?"

Gerard stops short at the table, glancing suspiciously between Mikey and me. "I'm gone for not even a minute. What are you two scheming?"

"I would never," Mikey says, placing a hand over his chest.

"Ya-huh," he says, gesturing with his head for us to follow out. I look at Mikey and he gives me a reassuring nod. He'll continue later on.