Strangely, this shall be in a 1st person view and most likely be a Frerard. And this was inspired by a oneshot from archiveofourown.
Hooray, knowing that most things that I'm inspired by are usually depressing, along with the fact that they're usually long as fuck.
Here we go.
Close your eyes and imagine this;
"We'll see each other again sometime, right?"
"Yeah. I promise."
I loved our last kiss. Even though it was short and sweet, we were just teenagers. Usually craving fights and sex, it was different. We were different. Not the average couple just based off of sex, sex in the morning, sex in the afternoon, sex at night. We loved each other dearly, and would die to see another.
Frank was my boyfriend for pretty much the entire time I've stuck around New Jersey. When my parents forced me to move all the way across the country because of my father's work, well, I wasn't really pleased.
We spent our spare time sending letters to each other, but not too soon after, my parents started to hide his letters from me, knowing we'd grown attached and that they've told me to move on. Find someone else. By the time they've started to hide them, though, we were too in love.
I remember our last kiss. His lips, soft like a feather and agile as a butterfly. I felt as if rose petals slowly fell from the sky, brushing against my cheek and painting it red, bright red in contrast to my pale skin. We had a strong grip in one another, not wanting to let go, our tears that fell from our eyes mixed with one another. I remember his hand, caressing my neck and running up and ruffling my hair. He whimpered, scared of the future, wondering when will be the next time our lips will meet but at the same time, too sure that this may be the last time our lips would meet.
Frank had always been sick and yet, we felt as if we would never meet again, we were sure of it. Even in those very few letters I would ask about it, but he would never answer back. We hardly spoke on the phone, knowing that he never had a house phone and the only phone in the house was his mother's cell phone. He would steal it when she slept or home from work, which wasn't very often. It was hard to listen his voice over the phone, making it a reality check to notice how sick he's become. His voice was weak, he weezed out a cough every now and then even when he tried to hold it back.
One night, he promised to call me the next night yet never did. I sobbed and rocked back in forth nearby the phone, trying to calm myself down as I thought that he'd be doing other things. He might be with other friends, or find someone new. Paranoia gutted me open and twisted my stomach around, knowing that today would have been one of the few days that we would talk for a long time, but I even remembered that he usually didn't have a phone to call me with. It wasn't until the next day that I found out what had happened.
Me and my mom sat in front of the TV, watching whatever was on when the house phone rang, my dad being gone from work. I got up and headed to the kitchen, picking up the phone and answering it. "Hello?" I didn't really pay attention, just thinking about my show and what I'm missing out of it.
