Frerard OneShots (finished)

XXIV - I Couldn't See Your Dark

I walk down the path covered in pebbles, the shovel in my hand scratching over it. Heaving a sigh, I breathe in the cold, muddy air of the cemetery. It smells like death, like it always does.

My next 'customer' is a young man, already in his coffin. It seems like he didn't have any relatives, so there's no funeral, just me and him.

It's mundane, doing the same thing every day. But I don't mind. Dead people are better company than living ones, anyway. My dad would've agreed with me but, unfortunately, only because he isn't here anymore, I have to do his job.

I arrive at the grave, sighing and starting to shovel the dirt away.

When I finally finish covering the coffin, I hear faint sniffling. At first, I thought I had imagined it or the old ghosts played a trick on me again, but after sticking my finger in my ear and pulling it out again, I came to realize that the sniffling was indeed an actual human.

Looking around, I see the silhouettes of some ghosts, sitting around and chatting with each other, the usual. But, there's one person that stands out--a teenage boy, sitting next to a grave and choking back his sobs. He does a terrible job at that.

"Hey, kid!" I call out, casually walking over to him.

The black-haired flinches and turns around, frantically wiping away the tears from his cheeks as if I hadn't seen the red stains already. "O-oh, I-I'm sorry, it's so late, I probably shouldn't even be here," he rambles, not even meeting my eyes.

Finally standing next to him, I raise an eyebrow and my gaze flickers to the gravestone. "Linda Iero, huh? Was she your mother?" I ask, nodding my head in the stone's direction.

"Y-yeah, she is- was," the boy answers, clutching the red rose in his hand.

I put the shovel in the dirt and sit down on the moist grass, crossing my legs. "Sit down, come on."

The boy hesitates but sits down next to me. "What?"

"I'm Gerard Way, I bury the people no one knows," I say, sticking my hand out that is still a bit covered in dirt.

"F-Frank Iero," the teenager stutters, obviously caught off-guard by my casualty.

"Nice to meet you, Frank," I shake his hand, smiling genuinely at him, "well, it probably would've been better under different circumstances."

Frank chuckles, a few sobs still escaping him. "You're pretty funny for someone who buries dead people."

"You get used to the smell of death after living next to the mausoleum for the first nineteen years of your life," I shrug, "also, it wouldn't be better if I buried living people, would it?"

"Wait, you lived next to a mausoleum?" Frank stares at me with big eyes, "wasn't that like, super creepy?"

"I still live there and no, it's not. As I said, you get used to the smell of dead people."

I sense a presence next to me on the other side and surely, when I look over, the ghost of my brother sits there. He shoots me an unconvincing smile, then vanishes again. I sigh, hanging my head.

"What is it, Gerard? Why do you suddenly seem so sad?" The teenager asks, cocking his head to the side. The red rose loosely lays in his hand.

"Nah, I just remembered my brother who died a few years ago," I smile sadly at the ground, "he never visits me and when he does, always to the worst times."

It is silent for a minute or two, neither of us looking at the other. "What do you mean with 'visiting'?" Frank asks into the silence, "can you, like, see dead people?"

I blink at him, dumbfounded, "you can't?"

"No?" Frank's eyes grow wide, "do-does that mean you really can see ghosts?"

I shrink back, feeling self-conscious, "I-I don't know, maybe." I start picking at the grass in front of me to avoid looking at him.

"Oh, come on," Frank scoffs, "you can tell me, okay? I won't tell anyone."

I hesitate for a moment, looking up at him through my lashes. Seeing his hopeful expression, I sigh and let my fidgeting hand fall down onto the grass. "Yes, I can see ghosts," I admit with a frown.

"That's so cool, dude!" Frank exclaims, grinning at me.

A few ghosts start to stare at us, shooting glares in our direction. "Does that mean your brother sits next to you now?" He continues to ramble. "How old is he? What's his name?"

With each question he asks, the glares intensify and I shrink back further. When I decide I can't take it anymore, I place my hand over his mouth. "Shut up!" I hiss.

Now it's Frank's turn to stare at me with big eyes, dumbfounded. "It is past 10 pm, the ghosts want to rest now," I explain, "they don't like loud voices. Or, teenagers."

Frank nods and gently pushes my hand away, "sorry."

"I-it's okay," I stutter, feeling his hand lingering on mine a bit, "just don't do it again."

Immediately, Frank nods and I already know he's the kind of guy you can trust with everything. He bashfully scratches the back of his neck, "I should go now. My aunt is probably looking for me already," he chuckles without humor.

"Why would she?" I lean my head to the side, genuinely interested. I could listen to him talk for hours.

"I'm living with her now since my mom is dead. And I kinda sneaked out," he admits, a shy but challenging smirk on his face.

"Well, Frank," I start, sitting up straight and sticking my hand out, "if you ever miss the smell of dead people, you can come around and maybe we'll meet again."

Taking my hand, Frank smiles and pulls me in, kissing my cheek shortly. "I'd love to," he says, standing up and leaving without another word.

I stand there, dumbfounded--again. When my gaze flickers back to where he sat, I see the red rose lie there. A sad smile finds its way on my lips and I take the rose, placing it in front of the gravestone. "Your son is an angel, Linda," I start, smiling at the ghost sitting on the stone, "I will take care of him, I promise."