Gerard took a deep breath. Forcing a smile onto his face, he sat down and took a small box from his jacket pocket.
"Happy birthday!"
Frank smiled, uncertainly, taking the box into his hands. He didn't say a word, just turned it round and round, admiring the patterned paper. Gerard's face fell.
"You don't remember, do you?"
"I-…no." the other man hung his head in defeat.
"That's okay." he smiled, trying not to let the sadness show, longing to take him in his arms, to smell his familiar smell. But he knew that closeness made Frank uncomfortable, that he would shy away, squirming out of Gerard's embrace, so unlike the Frank he used to be. That Frank-
No. he wouldn't think about it. He had some kind of version of the old Frank, at least. He should be happy.
But he couldn't shake the hollow feeling, like he hadn't got any insides, like they'd gotten ripped out when he got ripped.
The day it happened.
He could feel it coming over him now, a clammy feeling of hysteria, the one that woke him every night, shaking,  that still made him weep when no one was around.
It was the feeling of loss, the most terrible feeling he had ever experienced- hell, the most terrible feeling anyone had experienced.
He had to get out before he broke down.
"I'll…go make some coffee. Want some?" he said, trying to sound normal, trying not to show the tears that were threatening to spill. Frank looked at him dazedly.
"Yeah," he smiled, and went back to watching the orange pumpkins on the paper shine in the light from the window.
Gerard got up and left the living room, walking quickly into the kitchen. He flicked the switch to the coffee machine, letting the roaring mask the noise of his sobs. He rested his head against the cupboard, tried not to remember, but it was pulling him, making him believe, hook, line and sinker, like it always did.

It's excactly one year ago, Hallowe'en 2008. Frank and Gerard are sitting in the car, waiting at a junction.
"So. Enjoy the party?" Gerard asks, turning to his lover, smiling happily.
"Yeah! It was kickass! Thanks!"
Gerard smiles, watching Frank's eyes light up. "It's the least we could do," he said.
"The least? It was HUGE! I loved it." He grins.
Gerard smiles again, his face filled with love. He's watching his boyfriend intently, so he sees the red light flashing on his face turn yellow, then green. He shifts his eyes back to the road, putting their shared car into gear, concentrating on the black expanse of tarmac stretching  in front of them.
"Like a yellow brick road,"  he thinks to himself, "only black and..not bricky." he laughs softly.
"What's the joke?" Frank asks, looking up into Gerard's face.
"Nothing. Just bein' stupid," Gerard smiles back, reaching out a hand towards Frank's, who stares down at their interwined fingers, radiating…well, love. But Gerard doesn't want to think that way. How could this man possibly love him?
As if answering his thoughts, Frank looks up. "Love you," he says.
"Love you too, my little Frankenberry."
He turns back to the road, his heart swelling.
Just like the airbags that erupt, a second later, at the moment of collision.

Why?
That's all that was circling aroung his head.
Why?
Why did his brain have to file every single detail of that night away in his head, storing it for future torture?
WHY?
He wanted to scream it to the heavens, not caring who heard, who knew about his hidden angst. He'd lived with this depression for exactly one year now, living on futile hopes and nightmares.
WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY?
~~~
The doctors said it could,  and would, come rushing back at any time. They'd told him anything could remind him: a smell,a sight, a sound, a story. He'd tried everything at first, when the tentative rays of hope were still lighting his heart. Scrapbooks, pictures, home videos, even interviews on TV.
Nothing worked.
He could see Frank getting more and more upset, every time another failed attempt made Gerard's eyes get duller and duller. He could tell that Frank liked him, if not loved him, still, but that wasn't enough. Even the times when he thought the wall in Frank's mind was coming down, slowly, brick by excruciating brick.

Sometimes he thought he could see a glimmer of recognition in his brown eyes, when he was told a certain story, or did something certain: when he turned on the TV for the first time after it happened, for example, and came across I'm Not Okay (I Promise) on Kerrang. Gerard still remembered the leap he had felt in his stomach. And the twisting of his gut when Frank couldn't reach the memory.
Often when this happened, they would both start to cry. It was times like these that Frank would forget about his uncomfortableness, and wrap his arms around Gerard's trembling body, repeating the two words over and over.
"I'm Sorry. I'm Sorry."
And Gerard would realise what he had done, that he had gone back on his promise again, and he would pull himself together, force a smile on his face, tell him that it was okay, they'd get through it. He constantly reminded himself to stay strong, but it was so hard sometimes. Like today.

He hadn't wanted to, but he'd piled all his last hopes on this day. Today, his birthday, the day Frank turned twenty-eight.
He was still the same.
And it was all his fault.
He still thought that he could have done something, anything, to stop the collision, even though everyone had told him that it was the guys in the other cars' fault. The guys who had gone twice over the limit, and careered round a corner, straight into their car, smashing their world like they did with the windshield.
Resignedly, he turned back to the coffee maker. Hoping Frank wouldn't mind tears in his espresso.

Bastards.