After a failed suicide attempt, Frank Iero is placed into an induced coma to prevent any further self harm. While he's asleep, he's visited by what he believes is an angel who sings to him. When Frank finally awakens, it becomes his obsession to find who the voice belongs to. [[Trigger Warning! Suicide-- do not take this warning lightly. Suicide is a main theme. Pretty explicit self-harm, child abuse, underage drinking, reckless behavior, and depression. If you notice anything else that needs tagged, please let me know!]]

It's 2018 and people think that the apocalypse has ended. Where cities, homes, businesses and humble towns once stood, now there lies only death, only destruction, only emptiness. Only the moans and the shuffles of the living dead. But in reality, it's only just begun. And for two lonely boys, once separated from each other by dead-town states and not even aware of each other's existence, it's far from being over. It's not about saving the world. It's about saving themselves. ----------------------------------

Frank is twenty eight: he's mentally stable for the most part, and well nobody has to know about pills he takes twice a day, do they? He's normal now, he's a person now, he's a fucking adult with an office job and he fucking hates it and that's fine, because he got out of the mental hospital three years ago, and these past three years of mundane nothingness have been the best three years of his life. Ten years ago, or so, Frank was in love with a boy called Gerard with fiery red hair and the personality of a switchblade knife, and ten years ago that boy called Gerard had killed himself. Frank still saw him though: hallucinations, as he knew them to be now, and it took him years in a hospital he never thought he'd get out of to convince himself of his newfound sanity, but he was okay now. Twenty eight year old Frank Iero had been officially 'okay' since he was twenty five. He hadn't seen Gerard again, and he didn't even think about the guy - he was just normal, and he was almost painfully content with being the secretary to someone with a five figure salary. But of course, on one fateful morning in December, that has to go and change, doesn't it? (Technically a sequel to Summertime, but I wouldn't say you need to have read Summertime to understand and enjoy this)

"You can run away with me, anytime you want." I want to get away. Away from the abuse at home, at school hell, but we're not friends. I could never be friends with Gerard Way. He's just some guy that fate seems to drive me towards. His brother may be even more of asshole than him, making my school life living hell and I guess things at home are not too great either. And despite how much of an asshole Gerard Way is, he's the only one that seems to make anything better.

Frank Iero has just started work at Glenside Mental Institute, New Jersey. All seems easy enough, until he's assigned to the new patient, Gerard Way. [only read if you canstand chapters shorter than frank himself]

It's the lake in November, and the move closer to the ocean, and Gerard's fixation, and Gerard's compulsions like tidal waves dragging him down, and Mikey's more distant than ever: like they're drifting out into the middle of the ocean, whereas Gerard's just stuck there: water turning to quicksand around him, drowning. And it's the letter; Frank finds it on the floor of the boys' bathroom on the first floor. It's dropped in accident, perhaps from a pocket or something, and it's drenched in what Frank hopes is tap water, and the words: scrawled in blue ink are difficult to make out as the words join together in a fuzzy inky mess. The only paragraph legible is the final one, and even still, it barely is: 'I've been underwater for a long time now, but I'm not drowning, I'm beginning to think I can breathe like this, but I can't, I'm gasping for breath, and I have to do this, Mikey, I have to end this myself. I'm going to the lake on the 1st of November, don't wait for me... I'm not coming back.' And the name signed at the bottom is little more than a smudged mess of blue ink, and there's nothing Frank can do about it, but he knows for certain that the one thing he can't do is ignore this letter, and he reminds himself of that as he folds it into his pocket. It's a suicide note, Frank's stupid, but not stupid enough to brush over that fact, and whoever this person is, Frank knows that they most certainly don't deserve to die. And Frank isn't going to let them. Because he's going to find this person; he's got time now at least, and he can save them, he will save them - Frank promises himself that. But one person in a whole school, it's like a needle in a haystack, but he's got time, it's November 1st in thirty days, and he can only hope that it will be enough. He's got one month: the date is October 1st.

"And what I felt was more than thumping. I felt his love for me. and I think he loves me with his soul too." .*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*. •Warning: Triggers • Drug Use • Soft Sexual Content • .*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Gerard Way is the future valedictorian of Pencey Preparatory School for Boys, a straight-A math whiz, and frankly, a pushover. He's lived his whole life in the shadow of an overbearing father, determined to live up to the expectations presented, and he'll sacrifice his physical and mental health in order to become the person everyone wants him to be. Frank Iero is private school trash - the gay emo - sent to prep school in order to clean up his "attitude." Frank and Gerard collide in the one class Gerard truly loves and Frank truly hates, Art History, and for once in Gerard's life, he's met someone who truly couldn't care what the expectations are or whether Gerard lives up to them. Disclaimer: I am not in any way affiliated with My Chemical Romance, Gerard Way, Frank Iero, or any other people portrayed in this story. Trigger warnings: Mentions of self-harm, suicide attempts, and depression. Also, smut (eventually).

"There was something so awfully strange about him that I don't think I could put it into words if I tried. He was so distant, so out of touch with the world around him. He could stare at something, and stare for hours, but never really see it. It was like he wasn't living in the same world as me. If I saw something solid and definite, to Gerard that something would simply be present in his vision but, somehow, not there at all. It was as if he lived in a state of continuous dream, like everything around him was solid but malleable under his palms if he needed it to be." -Frank, The Ghost Room.